Erasure

oOo

Pride fought the alcohol.

The alcohol won.

oOo

When Hiroki came to, he found himself slipping in and out of consciousness as his senses slowly materialized again; the thrum of the city seemed farther away than usual, the sweaty crowd-smell a mere trace. He kept his eyes shut against what must be darkness, resting his head on the toothy roughness of the wall behind him.

Cold, he thought bleakly, and passed out.

He woke up in what seemed to be the same position as before and with a steadily mounting pain in his temples. This time his mind managed a Where...? Before falling back into drained silence.

"I don't care where I am", he murmured into the black behind his eyelids. His teeth had begun to chatter. "But I'm fucking cold."

I want my gloves.

He drew his knees up to his chest, ignoring the several popping aches that sprung up at this, and burrowed into himself.

Hiroki sank again.

oOo

"Kamijou Hiroki."

Cold...?

Warm.

"Kamijou Hiroki."

Kamijou Hiroki tensed before he was even fully awake, part of him plaintively begging to be allowed to sleep again. He was no longer cold; something light and soft but incredibly warm had been wrapped around him. Despite the throb in his temples and the corresponding ache in his limbs, he was comfortable enough to want to stay this way for a bit longer.

A bit longer...

How long has it been? What the fuck happened?

I want my gloves.

He'd gone to Akihiko's party, and found someone named Nami...? Namikawa? He didn't care. What he cared about was that he'd left with Akihiko...

"Hiroki, are you drunk?"

"Hiroki."

"Hiroki, stop! You'll hurt yourself!"

Hiroki, Hiroki, Hiroki... ugh... His head hurt worse now.

"Kamijou Hiroki", said the voice for a third time. The nineteen-year-old shuddered weakly and forced his eyes open. Time to wake up.

It was a while before the world swam into view; lights blossomed in and out of his vision and he had to struggle not to close his eyes again. He did not care where he was. He did not care about anything much anymore.

Was the voice growing closer?

"Kamijou Hiroki", it repeated; softer this time, even tremulous. Hiroki scowled feebly and let out a little growl of irritation.

"Stop that", he tried to say, but his throat felt clogged and his voice came out as little more than a wheeze. His sight was showing him a gloomy gray dawn now—a dawn amongst concrete and wire fencing and old crates. An alley...

Ugh...

He turned towards the voice and the rest of his vision flew back at once.

The blue eyes, wide and alert, seemed to leap at him. Hiroki stared mutely at the cold-whitened face, even whiter against dark hair and oversized dark clothes and the dark woolen cap pulled low on the boy's forehead, his heart suddenly crashing against his ribs, all traces of sleep now gone.

It's—

"You." It wasn't a question.

The boy—he really is just a boy, there's no doubt about it—lowered his gaze to the thin gray blanket that Hiroki now realized he was wrapped in. "Yes."

The world went quiet for a moment and Hiroki thought he could hear the diminishing throb of his head. The skipping beats of his heart. The unfurling mist of his breath in the morning air.

Then the boy spoke again. "How are you feeling, Kamijou Hiroki?" he asked evenly, not looking up.

"I don't know", Hiroki heard himself say. And would you not call me that? He added mentally with some petulance. The events of last night were becoming more pronounced in his memory and he thought he owed the kid some, but...

"Just stop calling me by my full name and I'll be able to think."

The boy nodded, unreadable. "Alright, Kamijou-san."

The silence stretched on and now Hiroki could almost hear the grinding of his own brain.

Say something. Say something. Was he referring to himself or to the owner of the eyes that followed him everywhere?

"Your friend calls you 'Hiro-chan' sometimes", the boy said suddenly. His eyes were on Hiroki's again and flashing with unexpected playfulness. Ignoring the older man's start of surprise, he went on, "It doesn't really suit you, though. Can I call you 'Hiro-san' instead?"

Hiroki meant to say "No"—with considerable heat—but what came out of his mouth was, "Why do you keep following me?"

An eyebrow went up. "I don't. You just catch sight of me when I happen to be around."

"But—!"

"I don't follow you, Hiro-san. I swear." And there was so much earnestness in those eyes—such comfort in the way he said "Hiro-san"—that Hiroki could almost believe it. To hell with that. I don't really care if he's following me, he thought idly, as long as he isn't getting in my way. There was something in the boy's innocence that caused him to abandon those questions in favor of more important ones.

If he really does follow me, why is it so easy for me to forget that? Shouldn't I feel his eyes on me everywhere?

"Say you don't follow me", he mumbled. "Why..."

Why do you show up like this?

Why do you try to help me?

Why can't I turn you away when I don't even know your name?

"Who are you?" Hiroki whispered at last.

"What do I look like?" Is that a smile? Why?

He shrugged helplessly; this whole thing felt dreamlike, surreal. He had never been so bewildered, yet so utterly content with his confusion, in his life. I don't like this. This kid was unreal.

The boy's smile faltered only briefly before steadying again. "Some people around here call me an alley cat. You can call me that too, if you like."

"You're homeless." Hiroki knew it was true the moment he said it, and received a lighthearted nod in confirmation. "I suppose you'd call it that... This is my home, pretty much. These crates are surprisingly sturdy against the wind, and there's a tent-like tarp a little further in that's good for the rain. And that..." he gave a nod towards the blanket wrapped around the dumbstruck man, apparently about to continue, but stopped abruptly and let the rest of his words die away in a murmur.

"It's nice and warm", he said after a moment. "And you looked like you could use it. Would you like to keep it?"

"Are you shitting me?" Hiroki asked in disbelief. "I mean, it's warm, yeah, but—" He broke off, flailing for words, and resumed hurriedly, "Don't just go around giving stuff away. You need it more than anybody else."

This is fucking surreal.

The "alley cat" let out a sudden laugh. "I've only given away one thing in my life, and that was to you too, Hiro-san."

"Your friend calls you 'Hiro-chan' sometimes; it doesn't really suit you, though."

Oh god, he was talking about Akihiko...

"Ah", Hiroki said shakily, at a loss for words. That... Those gloves... I should have said thank you... "Yes, those... they're really good. I still have them." They're so warm...

They've been dead useful, he thought dimly. Because every time I meet Akihiko I come away shivering with cold.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything that would be construed as thanks, but the boy was talking again. "I'm glad you've been able to find some use for them. I don't think I ever really needed them to begin with—"

The hand in his hair caught him unawares, sweeping through his sweat-stained locks in one smooth motion. What?

Warm.

What? his thoughts stammered.

Oh god.

"—as you can see", the alley cat finished with an even wider smile. This one looked nothing short of delighted at Hiroki's gaping shock. Even in the comfort of the blanket, he was sure had never experienced anything so warming, so much stronger than the cold.

This isn't real. I swear I'm dreaming. Nothing is making sense.

"Am I asleep?" he managed.

Another laugh, this time genuinely amused. "No. You should be, after last night, but not here. It's about time you went to your own home, Hiro-san. I can show you the way from here if you're lost."

The back of Hiroki's mind stirred and he realized, to his faint horror, that he had completely forgotten about returning home. I'd forgotten about going anywhere at all. I'd even forgotten about Akihiko for a few minutes. My whole life was the alley

—and the alley cat—

and this blanket, he thought stubbornly. On the outside, he kept his face impassive and nodded.

Say thank you.

This is the second time now. He's weird, but you owe him. Say thank you.

Thank—

"I should be going now", he whispered.

The boy nodded serenely. "Okay. See you." After a heavy pause, "Now you know where I live, huh?"

Hiroki snorted as he shouldered his way out of the blanket, trying not to regret his refusal to take it home. God damn it, Tokyo in the morning is fucking freezing. "You don't live here", he said, sure of his words only as they crossed his lips. "You live all over the city. This is just the place you come to when you need to sleep."

"You're right." Hiroki was getting to his feet now and his back was turned to the boy, so he did not see the expression on that face—whitened with anxiety as much as the cold, he would discover later—as he said, "All of Tokyo is where I live, Hiro-san. That's why I don't call myself homeless—with a home that's bigger than anybody else's, how could I be?"

But...

He batted the thought away. Don't, he told himself. There was no good in allowing that particular question to form. "That's a nice way of looking at it", he told the kid dispassionately. But...

"See you, Hiro-san."

"Bye", said Hiroki quietly. His headache was mounting, as was the pain of last night; the spell had lifted. The world began to trickle back with all of its color and smell and now that it was here, he found that he would rather have let it go.

For a while, this place was my life.

It erased everything.

He did not look over his shoulder as he left the alley, but later on he did so almost every step of the way. But if you live all over the city...

His eyes sought blue ones in every corner of every street; he felt too dazed and weak even to berate himself.

But if you live all over the city and you don't follow me...

How will I find you again?

oOo

Neko Nowaki will be a lot of things, but cute is not one of them. That is all.