Title: Road Runners
Genre: Futuristic AU (dystopian)
Pairings: Numerous! Including (but not limited to) AkonGrimm and IbaShuu.
Rating: M
Warnings: Grown-up things involving alcohol, drugs, sex, and violence.
Series Summary: The world as we know it didn't end in 2012, but by 2040 three of its most prominent corporations have fallen destitute thanks to presidential irresponsibility. As a result, one unlucky causality - Hisagi Shuuhei - finds "creative" ways to keep his head above water. Meanwhile his friend, Abarai Renji, struggles to find a happy place when he's been unable to contact his best friend for two weeks, and her so-called "big brother" doesn't seem the least bit concerned. Then there's Akon, who couldn't care less about any of their problems. Unless it means the stress will have them keeling over, and he gets to harvest their organs. . .
Chapter Summary: Hisagi Shuuhei has a busy night when he's called to Iba Tetsuzaemon's rescue; has to survive another encounter with his feral cat; and receives the biggest shock he's had since Tousen Kaname's betrayal.
Iba Tetsuzaemon wasn't familiar with Kuchiki Byakuya.
He knew of the clan heir, but had hardly spoken to him.
Ever.
Yet here he was at the man's annual birthday event, because he was obligated to attend based solely on the fact that their companies worked in tandem. Kuchiki Byakuya was CEO of Camellia Corporations, and normally Tetsuzaemon's boss - Komamura Sajin, the CEO of Iris Industries - would have been the one making an appearance.
However, Komamura Sajin had, unfortunately, been taken with a sudden depression- due to the fact that his good friend - Tousen Kaname - had fled the city just a few months ago, after his fraudulent activities had been exposed.
As a result, Komamura-san was now wanting to spend vast amounts of time in solitude.
And thus, Tetsuzaemon had thoughtfully offered to go in his boss' stead.
(Because no one needed a man of nine-foot-five sulking at a party.)
But while he was sure Komamura-san was currently drinking in vast amounts of solitude, he was currently drinking in vast amounts of sake to distract him from the goings-on around him. Of course he could appreciate a party as long as booze were involved; and seeing as he'd yet to find himself at a party where booze weren't involved, that rarely was an issue save for one thing:
He generally preferred smaller gatherings (between him and his closest friends), and larger quantities of booze.
Unfortunately, this particular party was neither a small gathering, nor was it entertaining his closest friends.
And it also failed to meet his expectations wherein alcohol was concerned.
But that didn't stop him from drinking whatever was available; and at the same time hoping (despite his escalating inebriation) that he'd remain relatively undisturbed in the deserted hallway where he'd chosen to hideout (for the time being).
When he'd first arrived in the elevator, it'd opened onto a large foyer with polished marble floors and rich cherry wood furnishings. To his right had been the party getting underway, and to his left a hallway running parallel- that he later learned lead to the bathroom(s?).
The moment he could no longer take trying to mingle with a bunch of rich bastards, that's where he'd sought reprieve.
Only on his way back from pissing, he'd realized he didn't really feel like rejoining the festivities. . .
Things may have been different if Zaraki Kenpachi had shown up. No doubt Ikkaku would have been in tow, and then Iba'd finally have someone to relate to.
Seeing as it was an event for Kuchiki Byakuya, he'd been certain Kenpachi wouldn't be able to resist making a bold appearance. But presently, the festivities remained boringly uncrashed. . .
Tetsuzaemon frowned to himself contemplatively, as he leaned against the wall and struggled to successfully type a coherent text message to his boss. Buzzed or not, his bulky fingers always had trouble trying to gracefully navigate a touchscreen keypad fit for no one over the age of five.
He furrowed his brow at the insufferable device, backspaced irritably, then paused in his next attempt to consider whether he should be typing a message in the first place.
Even if it was just to ask how Komamura-san was doing. . .
Under normal (sober) circumstances, he would have immediately known the answer to that: Respect the boss and leave 'im the fuck alone while he was upset.
But alcohol had a funny way of blurring (or completely erasing) boundaries that people would have normally understood. . .
After a moment's more consideration, he finally concluded No (while shaking his head like he needed its confirmation), then abruptly switched his target-
To someone who hadn't told him that they needed time to themselves.
#I should've hired you for Byakuya's 26th.
It took less than thirty seconds to receive a reply:
#Iba-san?
A pause, then a second message before Tetsuzaemon had time to confirm his friend's suspicions: #Stop drinking. You know whatever you do will reflect on Komamura-san.
Bald brows furrowed, and a sharp grin edged Tetsuzaemon's mouth.
#Who d'you think you're talkin' to? I'd never do somethin' stupid ta dishonor Komamura-san. Like this shit could get me drunk anyway.
#I just hope you haven't suggested employing my services to the Kuchiki heir himself.
He couldn't help snorting a laugh.
#But why shouldn't I? This party's the fuckin' pits. It could use some entertainment.
#Can you imagine the morning headline? "Male stripper thrown out of CEO's annual birthday party." All those elites with their champagne and caviar? They'd shit their pants.
Tetsuzaemon was just trying to figure out how the other man managed to type such a long text message in such a short amount of time. When he didn't even butcher grammar, either. . .
#Or cream 'em. Besides, I've heard Kuchiki was "spirited" back in the day.
#Ha, well, I'd rather not be the guinea pig putting that one to the test. I'm dancing for extra cash, but I'd still like to keep it on the dl. Poppy's reputation is in enough jeopardy as is, without one if its employees arrested for disgracing corporate royalty.
The receiver's grin faltered. He downed what was left of the champagne in his hand, and his expression had sobered by the time he sent his next message:
#Not sure they can arrest u for indecent exposure if it's ur job. . . Just loosen up and have some fun with me, wouldja? I'm bored as hell an' Zaraki ain't even shown up yet, if he's gonna at all. It's been hell tryin' ta relate to just ONE of these people. . .
There was a lengthier pause than before, and Tetsuzaemon was starting to wonder if maybe he hadn't said enough to address what Shuuhei had said about Poppy's. . .
He was thinking of something else to say, when he finally got a reply:
#Want me to come get you?
Tetsuzaemon's eyes widened behind his shades, and quickly he peered around the corner to see across the foyer. It was hard to pinpoint the birthday boy through the horde of brownnosers, but when he finally spotted him through a parting of people, he found the man was gazing (regretfully, he would've sworn) out the window.
Poor bastard. . .
And Tetsuzaemon just turned back to his phone.
#Meet me in the lobby?
The elevator ride back down - from the topmost 113th floor- may have been long, but at least it gave Iba some time to collect himself.
To sober up-
Before he found his friend standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows; and looking strangely ridiculous because he was wearing a black cotton shirt so worn it was practically transparent, in a Kuchiki-owned building of marble and doormen just as stony.
"You're a stripper, but that doesn't mean you gotta dress like one even when you're off duty."
A maimed eyebrow arched, and an upturned smile bent three vertical scars down one cheek.
"And I suppose the future's still so bright you gotta wear shades?" Hisagi Shuuhei countered playfully. His hands were resting comfortably in the pockets of tight, low-waisted jeans, and he had a leather bag slung across his back- its single strap crossing diagonally from his shoulder to his waist.
Tetsuzaemon noticed then that the man's entire outfit was black. He gave the whole ensemble a quick once-over, and couldn't help lingering where he saw nipples (faintly) through Shuuhei's thin shirt.
Of course the man wouldn't know when Iba's eyes were concealed; and even if they hadn't been, he probably wouldn't have noticed anyway, busy as he was considering the nighttime cityscape outside. His thin brows did a funny little dance on his forehead, as they furrowed and arched questioningly. "Or. . .I still wear my sunglasses at night?" he tried again, with a burgeoning smirk.
"You'll be laughing when those fluorescent lights rot your vision."
Shuuhei chuckled huskily, and Tetsuzaemon just slung his arm around the slighter man's shoulders- putting him in a chokehold as he steered them both towards the nearest exit.
Trying to maneuver a tipsy Iba Tetsuzaemon became a bigger ordeal than Shuuhei had anticipated. Although he'd already suspected Iba had been drinking by the tone of his text messages, he believed it when the man had said he couldn't get drunk on Kuchiki's supply (or wouldn't do anything to dishonor Komamura Sajin).
But the man had to be at least a little light-headed, given his languid chuckles and the way he swayed when Shuuhei tried to safely push his bulk onto his motorbike.
Maybe he should have just hired a cab. . .
"Think I can handle gettin' on a bike by m'self," Iba finally groused (drowisly), while shrugging Shuuhei's hands off just to use his own to grip Shuuhei's bicep, as he swung a leg over the aircycle and settled heavily on its seat. Shuuhei just smiled obligingly as he followed suit, and positioned himself in front of the larger man.
"I think 'that shit' of Kuchiki's was stronger than you're willing to admit."
He could hear Iba grumbling something behind him, but was briefly distracted by a buzzing against his hip. He removed his phone from his pocket, and flipped it open to read a new message.
"Abarai wants to know if we're free to get some food," he announced, and would have turned to look at Iba if he didn't feel the man shifting behind him- readjusting, and consequently sliding closer to Shuuhei's backside.
"Do I even need ta answer? I don't know what the fuck they've done to Kuchiki, but a normal guy can't fill up on hors d'oeuvres."
Shuuhei laughed, but felt increasingly hot with the other man pressed so close. . .
He did, however, manage to remain coolly composed when he turned around to hand Iba his spare helmet.
"Hold on, and don't fall asleep."
"I had a few drinks but I'm not fuckin' crazy."
"Crazy to think you should've hired a male dancer for Kuchiki's," Shuuhei argued with a laugh. He slapped his hand over Iba's helmet to make sure it was secure, then slid his own over his head and turned back around to start his aircycle. It purred quietly to life, and slowly rose into the air from the docking ring where he'd parked. Iba's hands came to rest comfortably against his waist, and his grip tightened on the handlebars.
While his hips slid back before he had a chance to stop them.
And Iba's hands just slipped around, so more of his strong fingers brushed Shuuhei's stomach.
The latter revved the aircycle's engine, before shooting away from Kuchiki's building to join the whizzing traffic of other nocturnal flyers.
They met Abarai Renji in a small diner they'd all frequented over the years. With silver furnishings and neon lights (a throwback to chromatic design of the late 2020's), it was one of the few small-time eateries that still favored human employees over robotic replacements.
Kira Izuru was sitting beside the redhead when Shuuhei and Iba entered the joint; and when the former asked after Akon - the fourth member of a club he, Iba, and Kira struggled to make popular - the blond answered simply that he couldn't get ahold of him.
Of course pleasantries then lead to the scarred and tattooed asking the perpetually furrow-browed how Marigold Mortuaries was doing after everything that'd happened with their former bosses.
And of course, in turn, Kira asked after the wellness (or lack thereof) of White Poppy Automotive.
Their practiced replies had become monotonous with superficiality. What they'd really wanted to say - "I feel like I'm falling apart" - couldn't be rightly confessed, but neither could true feelings be completely suppressed beneath duty-bound obligation to appear professional.
Maybe Iba sensed the discomfort between his two club-mates, because that's when he transferred the atmosphere to Abarai- when he asked why he hadn't been at Kuchiki Byakuya's to wish him Happy 26th.
The tattooed redhead looked bitter and reluctant to say anything on the matter. He shared a glance with Shuuhei, and the latter understood him instantly; because he'd recently been told (just a few days ago), that for two weeks Renji had been unable to contact his best friend from childhood.
What made matters worse, was that the girl was the adoptive sister of Kuchiki Byakuya. Who, apparently, was well aware of the situation- but hardly seemed to care.
And, not only that. . . the man wasn't just Kuchiki Rukia's older brother, but Renji's employer and sponsor.
So, Shuuhei understood why Renji reacted unfavorably. Byakuya's supposed disregard was bound to exasperate the redhead's worry and frustration, until it festered to sour animosity. . .
But, although he'd initially looked bitter, he managed to shrug it off with a tight grin while explaining that he had too much training to do to waste time at some party.
And that's where Byakuya's sponsorship came in. While Renji worked a regular nine-to-five as one of Byakuya's closest employees, he'd once-upon-a-time been a street-fighter who'd later attempted pro (when he began official training at Zaraki Kenpachi's Yarrow Fitness and Martial Arts).
That was until Kuchiki Byakuya came along to adopt Rukia, and soon enough Renji's obsessive desire to outdo the privileged corporate-bound lead him right under the man's nose.
Now, Byakuya had taken with a strange competitiveness with Zaraki Kenpachi; which had him sponsoring Renji, after he'd heard the redhead wanted to step in the ring against Yarrow's best: Madarame Ikkaku.
Shuuhei really didn't know how Renji managed fighting for the man he'd wanted victory over.
Especially now, with his current predicament, and the strain it was putting on their relationship.
But then again, when it came to Kuchiki Byakuya, Renji never really made sense to begin with. . .
Essentially it was the change in topic from Byakuya's 26th to fighting, that effectively spared Renji more awkwardness. Both he and Iba took to reminiscing about their days at Yarrow, until the four of them finished their meals and they could head out. Renji and Kira caught a cab together, and Shuuhei took Iba home after declining the man's offer to check out a new strip club.
He saw Iba's silent disappointment in the set of his mouth, when they pulled up outside his home and he got off Shuuhei's aircycle- just to hover with his hands shoved in the pockets of his suit.
Shuuhei stared up at the other and felt like frowning himself, before going slightly wide-eyed when Iba leaned down to kiss his temple.
All the while using that unforgiving chokehold to hold him still- or hold him rough, so the manliness of it might distract him from Iba's caring mouth.
It didn't, but Iba pulled away and they bid each other goodnight and then Shuuhei sped away.
Just a month ago, he would have hurried to Iba's bed instead.
Finally returning home should have been a welcome conclusion to a disappointing night, but. . .
There was the issue of the thing.
Not too long ago, Shuuhei had noticed a small creature hanging around his apartment building. He'd caught it darting inside whenever someone opened the front door, and glimpsed it slinking around corners. . .
At first it had unnerved him, until he realized it was just a stray cat.
Little did he know "just" was not aptly applied.
The day he returned home to find Animal Control parked outside the building, he knew someone had finally complained. Then when he'd gone inside, and tried to get into his apartment without incident, the stray had dashed between his legs and straight through the small gap between door and doorframe.
Apparently Animal Control had been chasing it to no avail for over half an hour.
Apparently, they suspected it'd have to be put down as a feral cat, and they wanted Shuuhei to allow them into his apartment so they could retrieve it.
Something about the fact that they were already considering putting it down without even fully evaluating it first, is what had him saying it was his cat.
And it wasn't feral, just a little. . .energetic.
He hadn't bitten someone, had he?
They'd clearly been skeptical, but at the same time he'd had the needling sense that they were willing to buy his story- just because they were tired of dealing with a wild cat that'd given them the runaround for a good half hour.
They gave him a warning, not to let it roam freely inside the building if it was going to disturb the other tenants.
Had he known the thing was an absolute terror, he might have let Animal Control take it after all. Once it was inside his house it was like living with an escaped convict of very questionable sanity, and not being able to kick him out.
It tore through his apartment.
It shredded his furniture.
Gnawed his belongings and hid in corners or underneath the bed, so it could try gnawing him when he least expected it.
He could no longer sleep, eat, or watch TV in peace, now that he lived in constant fear of being attacked at any given moment.
And sometimes he came home to find it sprawled on his kitchen counter. Facing the door like it'd actually been waiting for him, and licking leisurely between its front toes while its tailed swished.
He'd named it Kazeshini, because of the way it tore through his house like a wild whirlwind with nothing but destruction in its wake (and the frightening implication that death was imminent).
Named it Kazeshini, and wondered how the hell it saw him anyway, when both its eyes were entirely blue. He'd never seen anything like it before (either animal or human), and initially he'd thought the cat had cataracts or been born blind.
But it became hard to believe that it couldn't see, when it managed to stalk him so disturbingly well that he wasn't even aware of it until he felt claws and teeth embedded in his flesh.
He'd hoped to find at least something about it that was consistent with other cats he'd encountered, but even its fur was an otherworldly hue of unsettling uniqueness. With tortoiseshell pattern, it would have been normal if not for the red streaking coal black.
Shuuhei had never seen a red so vibrant (if what he had seen on other cats could be considered red, and not just ginger).
But he'd stopped trying to figure out if Kazeshini actually was a cat, because he'd become too busy trying to avoid its all-too-catlike fangs. . .
Now when he returned after dropping off Iba, he found the fearsome feline snoozing on his couch.
It's a lie.
With eyes narrowed suspiciously, Shuuhei slung his bag over his head and set it on the kitchen counter. He kept his gaze on the untrustworthy cat as he side-stepped to the fridge, then risked tearing his eyes away for just a moment to see whether or not he was grabbing soda or alcohol.
When he turned back with a can of grape cola, he found Kazeshini sitting on the counter behind him and nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Fuck," Shuuhei mumbled, as he popped the can open and took a drink. The blue-eyed feline stared at him silently with tail flicking, then suddenly let out a shrieking yowl.
That went on, and on, and on.
"Alright," Shuuhei hissed beseechingly. "Cool it before the neighbors call the cops."
Turning away to the cupboards, he pulled down a can of wet food. He could feel Kazeshini quickly approaching across the counter, but remained focused on scooping the food into a bowl.
Until a furry head appeared beside his arm, and he had to push Kazeshini away when it started biting his hand.
"Keep it up and I'll be the one calling Animal Control," he warned, although he didn't really mean it as he walked away to set the bowl on the floor beside the fridge. He heard the patter of feet landing behind him, and knew Kazeshini had jumped down to follow him.
The cat ran to its food, but stopped short of actually eating it. Instead it simply settled on its haunches in front of its food bowl, then looked up at Shuuhei accusingly.
"That's all you're getting," he informed the animal sternly. "Nothing else."
About a week ago, he'd made a crucial mistake when it came to feeding his violent feline. After discussing Kazeshini's predacious behavior with Abarai, the redhead had suggested feeding it live prey in an effort to satisfy its instinctive urges.
Then he'd gone ahead and personally provided one of the feeding rats he kept for his pet snake.
At first Shuuhei had been skeptical (and a little sick to his stomach), but resolved to give it a shot nonetheless. Kazeshini was so intent on stalking him 24/7 that he'd thought maybe Renji was onto something, and the feline would benefit from a no-kidding hunt. . .
In retrospect he didn't know how he could have been so stupid, but desperate times had called for desperate measures. . .
And so he had apologized profusely when he took off the container's lid, then tipped it over so the rat could wander on its own into his apartment. . .
No more than ten seconds had gone by before Kazeshini pounced. The rat's high-pitched squeal had chilled Shuuhei to the bone, but it was too little too late as its writhing turned to limp lifelessness in Kazeshini's mouth.
He'd left the cat alone to do whatever it had to do, but when he'd concluded it was safe to go check the scene, he'd found a sickening puddle of blood.
Worst. decision. ever.
After that Renji had wondered if he'd need more rats or mice, and he had stiffly declined. Although Kazeshini had seemed sated afterward (cleaning its fur happily, before dozing off and actually staying asleep), Shuuhei knew the brutality of it would wear on him if he had to witness it on a regular basis.
Only now, the evil thing seemed fully aware of what it was being denied. And come mealtime, it would stare that accusing stare and imminent cold resentment.
But each time he inevitably was forced to suck it up, because Shuuhei stood his ground and Kazeshini knew better than to starve.
"My home won't become a slaughterhouse," he reasoned tonight. "This-" he made an incomplete rectangle with his forefingers "-is a no-guts-zone."
And he swore the cat's eyes actually narrowed.
Then his cell phone rang, and effectively spooked them both. He fished it from his pocket irritably, then drew a calming breath before he answered.
"Hello?"
There was thundering noise like music thumping in the background, and Shuuhei's brow scrunched.
"Akon?"
The rasp of that familiar smoker's voice confirmed his inquiry.
"Hey, Kira said he couldn't get ahold of you earl- What? Wait, I can barely hear y- What? Right now? But I just got home. . ."
Pausing, he listened to what the other man had to tell him from the other side. With a burgeoning frown he considered Kazeshini (who'd started nosing around his food like it was unsatisfactory but would have to do), then quietly exhaled in defeat.
"Fine. I'll be there in ten minutes."
He'd known it was Akon because the man frequented nightclubs. To anyone who didn't know him well, that may have come as a surprise. A professional scientific researcher hanging out in a sweaty meat-market of drunken horniness?
Well, that was precisely the appeal. As a scientist, he was already inherently curious and prone to observing. And as a scientist who specialized in human physiology, he was inherently curious about bodies and what happened to them while people were under the influence (of alcohol, drugs, sexual tension, infectious music. . .).
But Akon's scientific interest in club-goers was only a pastime, and his actual scientific work consisted of experimenting with human enhancement. Namely in the form of robotic implants - or cybernetics, as he preferred to call it - despite the fact that it was steadily becoming obsolete as the years wore on.
And although Shuuhei worried what that meant for his friend's future, he was just glad the man had never had the chance to experiment with splicing before it became illegal.
(Twenty years ago, when they were both still children and. . .)
It made him shudder just to think about it.
That aside, Akon's daytime job was small time compared to his nocturnal responsibilities. His boss, Kurotsuchi Mayuri, was the president of Thistle Technology.
Which just so happened to be the largest company in the world that mass-produced organs for the infirm.
Unfortunately, organ donation often involved unfulfilled contracts.
Which inevitably lead to debt and runners, and that's where Akon came in.
He'd started training as a repo man around two years ago, and since then it'd been his job (although he wasn't the only one) to hunt down any sorry bastard who'd failed to make payment.
Obviously, Akon's interests and talents were numerous.
"What was so important that you insisted it couldn't wait?" Shuuhei asked the moment he spotted the other man at the bar, and slid into the stool beside him. Akon was facing the crowd of dancers, and he turned his head slightly as he removed the cigarette from between his lips, before passing Shuuhei a drink.
"I didn't insist, you were simply unable to resist."
Shuuhei knew by now not to get caught up in Akon's word games. So he just agreed, "Okay. Now what is it?"
Akon's bald brow furrowed minutely, as he chuckled and smoke filled the air. "What's the hurry? Patience is a virtue, all in due time, etcetera etcetera."
But regardless of what he said, he still turned towards the bar and reached inside his taupe trench coat.
"First of all, we never really stopped looking into the disappearance of Urahara Kisuke. Kurotsuchi-san may have been happy to inherit Thistle Technology, but who's really satisfied when their competition vanishes before they get the chance to prove they've surpassed them?"
Shuuhei frowned slightly (because what did any of this have to do with him?), but he remained silent as he watched Akon unfold a small map and smooth it over the countertop between them.
"Now I've called you here because recent findings have revealed something I thought could be of interest to you. We had good reason to believe Urahara Kisuke's disappearance was tied with the ten other disappearances at that time."
Shuuhei's heart started pounding as he realized what Akon was getting at.
"Now, we think we may have found their location-"
"I was told he died."
The other man paused, then looked him dead in the eye.
Hard and unflinching.
"Were you shown a body that confirmed his alleged death?"
"N. . .no."
"Then who cares what you were told. Sometimes your naivete makes me wonder how you ever made it this far to begin with."
Shuuhei's frown deepened, but he chose to ignore Akon's jibe when the man pushed the map towards him. He glanced down to study it, and-
"The badlands?"
He choked a strained laugh.
"You couldn't find anything out there."
"Can't isn't part of Kurotsuchi-san's vocabulary. In reality, it's more logical to believe they did flee to the badlands, than to believe they didn't. It's near impossible to stay hidden in the city for twenty years, but out there? A hundred years would be feasible."
"Exactly. How the hell do you know they're out there?"
"Did I say anything about knowing? This is theory, Hisagi. Not fact."
"Then it's a waste of time."
"No fact would come about without research to prove it true. Don't pretend you can just write this off. Remember who you're talking to. I know you won't be able to sleep tonight, now that I've told you there's a chance he's still alive."
"You can be a real fucking bastard, you know that?"
"You should see me with those I don't consider friends," Akon remarked offhandedly, as he put a new cigarette between his lips and lit up.
"What am I supposed to do with this? Go looking around in the badlands? Out there I have a better chance of dying than finding sand in my shoe."
"I wouldn't say the odds are quite that severe," mused the other man drily, while waving the bartender over to refill his drink. "You're not meant to do anything at all, if you don't want to. But I had to let you know, because let's be honest. How angry would you have been if you found out I knew about this, but never told you?"
Shuuhei frowned unhappily, because he knew Akon was right- and thus, he knew that he had to regret calling the man a bastard.
He'd simply become frustrated (this particular topic made him touchy), after realizing he was being fed information that wasn't even confirmed.
But he also had to recognize that regardless, Akon was doing him a favor.
He would have apologized and thanked his friend for letting him know, if the man's eyes hadn't become fixated on something while Shuuhei wasn't paying attention.
Slowly, Shuuhei turned his gaze to follow Akon's. And that's when he saw a man (not surprising, although he wasn't sure anything would be as long as Akon was involved), decked out in all white as he strode closer. His pants hung low and baggy in the crotch - while being tapered around his calves - and he wore a cropped jacket with nothing underneath.
Wide open and tucked behind his arms (his hands were shoved in his pant pockets), it exposed a lightly tanned torso scarred beyond belief.
Shuuhei knew all about scars, but the sheer size and severity of this guy's was downright impressive.
And so was brightly-hued hair gelled to spiked perfection. Shuuhei was used to hair dyed a royal blue (that color seemed popular, for whatever reason), but this man's unique shade of blue was something akin to cotton candy.
He glanced at Akon out of the corner of his eye, and simply watched the man watching the blue-haired stranger. He was holding his cigarette between two fingers, and he removed it from his mouth when he finally turned his eyes away.
Looking at the bar, two trails of smoke escaped his nose; and glowed iridescent when the multicolored strobe light passed through.
As the man walked past them, Shuuhei noticed his head turn slightly. Regarding Akon - briefly - over his shoulder, when he was safe outside the scientist's peripheral.
And Shuuhei had known Akon since childhood. When he was just ten years old, a near-death experience had landed him in a children's psychiatric hospital to treat what he'd later realize was PTSD. There'd been another little boy (even smaller than him) standing in the hallway when Shuuhei first arrived, and he'd realized later that the other was checking out just as he was checking in.
Who he'd been standing with - a man with that royal blue hair, and impossibly white skin like he'd been sterilized in the paint they'd use for the hospital - had been enough to frighten Shuuhei into a watery-eyed panic.
Because there had to have been some kind of mistake. He wasn't meant to be where people with dead eyes (the boy) and sneering, cruel mouths (the man) had flocked.
But the other boy had held his gaze; unemotional and unafraid. So fearlessly calm, that it'd cooled Shuuhei from his feverish eyes all the way to his throbbing heart.
At the time he'd thought something along the lines of: This must be why they've brought me here. To forget being scared so I can be like him. Then when I am, I can leave like he's leaving.
He couldn't have been more wrong as to why Akon was there, and what he'd actually "accomplished" by the time he was released.
But the sentiment held regardless, and ten years later Shuuhei came face-to-face with a grown man with the same composed stare he'd had when he was just a boy.
He'd started believing in fate, then, when his second near-death experience (he still had seven lives left) cost him an eye- and he saw the boy who now had a name:
Kurotsuchi Akon.
Thistle's newest scientific prodigy, and the one who'd both design and implant Shuuhei's replacement eye.
Back then he'd started believing in fate, and now he felt - again - the shock of destinies intertwined.
Only this time it was Akon and some blue-haired stranger, and Shuuhei never knew those fearlessly calm eyes could look so frozen-stiff with distant disbelief.
He was thinking his friend was shocked to realize he was capable of experiencing instantaneous desire, and Shuuhei couldn't help laughing.