Disclaimer: All Bust-A-Groove elements belong to Enix. I own nothing.

Note: Strike and Hiro-kun may seem OOC here, but for a good reason. While I was waiting for to pull itself together, I managed to start writing this fic. I put a lot of thought into this and I hope you like it.

Note: Maybe the rating on this should be NC-17, but I've decided to keep it R. This is my first atttempt at writing a 'gritty' story like this. I hope you consider it in good taste. If you don't, tell me!

SHADES

Take 1: Another Night

by ArchFaith (formerly known as the ArchPrincess of Saturn)

"Shit."

A single syllable echoed through the blue haze that covered the city of Tokyo. It almost always rained in Tokyo this time of year; a misty, indigo blanket of water, cascading down to pound the streets angrily.

It was late. A time when all good, decent folks were asleep in their beds, dreaming of a sunny morning.

Decent, that is.

Strike folded his arms his chest, in a vain attempt to keep warm. His thin tank and pants did nothing to ease the stormy fury. The wind was howling, blowing the freezing rain into his face. Dammit, he thought grimly.

He noted his surroundings. Under a streetlamp, standing on the corner of the road. Just standing there.

What the hell am I doin' out here? Strike thought to himself.

If there was an answer, he could not—or did not—want to recall.

The light burning from the lamp above him suddenly sputtered and shattered, extinguishing his only light source. Strike looked up and scowled. Oh well. No use waiting around for nothing.

Sneakered feet hit the wet cement as Strike made his way down the road. Judging from the buildings, he could tell it was downtown. Usually, on a Saturday night, there were plenty of clubs and bars open late. But not tonight. Too rainy, too windy for anyone to have an enjoyable time.

It was dark enough, yet Strike kept his glasses on. He was never seen without them. In fact, no one was sure what color his eyes really sure. Not even Kitty-N, his girlfriend and confidante, knew. It was just one of those things you could never question...

But now, Strike considered taking them off. It was way too dark to see anything, including the sidewalk he was walking on. Not good, not good. Any time, rival gangs could jump down on him and leave him for dead...or worse...

Hmm. Well...one club was still open. Strike neared towards the bright neon sign suspended above the entrance.

DISCO FASHION

Oh yeah. Those 70's freaks could have a good time any night.

Wisely deciding to keep his distance, Strike stood across the street from the club, observing. Inside, sounds of partying and excitement could be heard. From the upper floor, low toned squeals emanated. It was a typical place, with a twist.

So what am I doin' here? Strike asked himself again. Am I lookin' for somethin'?

As if in answer, the door to the Disco Fashion burst open.

-

The Disco Fashion was a wild place to party. Many of its regulars hadn't even been born when bellbottoms were popular. Yet they all felt a special attachment to the particular decade...one of them in particular...

"Uh, uh, uh, uh, Playboy..."

"Hiro-kun! Hiro-kun!"

The dance floor had been cleared for a young man in a white disco suit, his brown hair slicked back, a comb in his pocket, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He let out a puff of smoke and smiled.

Ever since he moved to Japan three years ago, Hiro had been the star of the Disco Fashion. Ever since people first laid eyes on him, they knew he'd be somethin' big.

Hiro smoothed out his suit and began to dance. When he danced, the whole world stopped for him. Everything was about him, everything revolved around him. That was what he thought, anyway.

As his song finished up, dozens of girls rushed up to him, screaming his name. Hiro quickly sidled past them, trying not to lose his composure. Despite his reputation, he was...well...shy around women. That's right. Shy.

Hiro made a mad rush to the door, bent on escaping from the obsessed women who followed him. Damn, there had never been so many of them...the other couple of nights, only about forty or fifty. This night there seemed to be more than a hundred, all careening towards him...

"Ah!" Hiro grabbed his umbrella and flew out the door, the girls on his heels. Surrounding him, they smiled.

"Oh Hiro-kun, it's cold outside! Why don't you come back to my place to warm up?" one girl with a black afro asked.

"No, he's all mine! I'll be his Dancing Queen!" another one in a peasant blouse stated.

Ugh, I think I'm gonna be sick, Hiro thought. He faked his charming grin. "Now, girls, I'm tired now. All that dancing, ya know...I've gotta be going."

The girls responded by crowding around him. Hiro's face grew red. "C'mon, now, I have to go..."

As the women engulfed him, two gunshots rang through the air.

-

Strike stood in the rain, his revolver in one hand, a stolen rifle in the other. The girls screamed at the sight of a possible murderer, scattering in all directions, leaving their Dancing Hero behind.

Hiro, left in a puddle on the floor, quickly rose to his feet and grabbed his umbrella. He squinted into the darkness, identifying the figure who had saved him. "Strike?"

Strike calmly put his guns into his belt and cocked his head.

"Whaddya doin' out here?" Hiro asked, cautiously approaching the malicious-looking man.

Strike scowled. "The hell you care, fag."

Hiro frowned. "Hey! You don't talk to me like that! I'm the greatest dancer around...Treat me with some respect!"

Strike stuck his hands in his pockets. "An asshole like you don't deserve any respect."

Hiro, thoroughly insulted, turned around. "I don't have time to be talking to the likes of you," he said rather snobbishly. He walked off down the sidewalk, leaving Strike cold, wet, and wondering why.

Same ol' Hiro. He's never gonna change.

Strike resumed his walking, deciding to simply follow Hiro and see if he could kill the guy before he got to his apartment. The wind whipped through his wet dreads, chilling him to the bone. He could see Hiro walking down the road, his umbrella shielding him from the rain. Poor guy probably didn't know Strike was following him. Heheheh.

Strike let his gaze wander down to his frostbitten feet for a moment. Looking up again, he realized he had lost sight of Hiro. "Dammit!" he cursed. He pounded his fist into the side of a brick building, causing several cracks to break.

Preparing to go back down the main road, Strike turned around....to see Hiro standing behind him, so silent he could've been dead.

"Yah!" Strike jumped at the sight of the vain one. "Where the hell did you come from?!"

Hiro's hand automatically (and involuntarily, I must add), reached out to gently brush against Strike's chest.

"Why you—" Strike was unable to continue, surprised by the warmth of Hiro's fingers.

Hiro felt the damp fabric between his fingers. "Ya know, you're gonna catch pneumonia if ya stay out here wearing only that," he scolded.

"Yeah? What do you care?" Strike replied rudely, batting Hiro's hand away.

"I can tell somethin's wrong with you," Hiro said softly. "C'mon, ya can't hide it. Ya seem different to me, somehow."

Strike looked Hiro in the eye. He had noticed. "So what if I'm diff'rent?"

Hiro sighed. "Listen, why don't ya come back to my place?"

"Why should I?"

"Suit yourself," Hiro answered, turning.

"Now wait just a minute...I guess I'll come. I need somebody to talk to..." Strike's voice trailed, not wanting to give out any more information.

"Then...let's go."

TBC I hope you like it so far!!