Death (of unnamed background characters), blood, violence word count: 517
Nijimura stands frozen in the entrance of the warehouse, his heart caught in his throat, his instincts telling him to run. The entire place smells like blood and bleach. There are bodies lying all over the place, and from this distance, he can't even tell if most of them are breathing.
In front of him, there are two men struggling. Nijimura knows that he shouldn't be here, he shouldn't have gotten caught up in all of this in the first place but he didn't know better, back then. He didn't really know the mess that he was stepping into, blinded by beauty, his senses dulled by what should have just stayed a schoolboy's crush.
There's a sickening crack that makes Nijimura's stomach twist, and then Himuro looks up, his lips spreading into a smile, his cheeks, teeth and chin covered in blood.
"Shuuzo. I didn't know you were in the area."
Nijimura takes a step backwards, not sure how to respond. He wanted to surprise Himuro, and when he asked around, he was told to come here.
He really should have thought about the fact that all the mutual contacts they have on this side of the world were in street gangs when he met them, years ago. He should have stopped and thought about why they were all giving him the address to a warehouse, of all places.
"I'm sorry," Himuro laughs quietly. He reaches towards the limp body under him, tearing off part of their shirt, and uses it to wipe the blood of his face. "If I'd known you were coming, I would have set up a better welcome. I didn't really want you to see me like this."
"Uh." Nijimura is still at a loss for words. He would have thought, after all the things he saw through middle school, that nothing would really surprise him any more. He supposes that Himuro always has been in a class of his own.
"It's good to see you, Shuu," Himuro murmurs, getting to his feet. The dress pants he's wearing are dirty, and a little torn, as if he's been in a knife fight. He probably has been. Nijimura wonders why these kinds of people keep happening to him.
He wonders why he hasn't yet learned to turn around and walk away.
"It's good to see you too, Tatsuya," he says, finally finding his voice, and he's not even lying. Even as he watches the blood dripping down Himuro's hand, from what must be a cut under his sleeve. "You look like you're busy."
Himuro's smile is so frighteningly charming, as he wipes the blood away. "I just finished the work I had, actually. Do you want to get dinner? Ah, I suppose it's a bit early for that. Coffee? I have to get cleaned up, though. Do you mind if the coffee is at my apartment?"
Swallowing hard, Nijimura shrugs. "I don't mind at all."
They fall into step with each other, and Nijimura's skin tingles as his hand brushes against Himuro's.
The hand that just killed someone—while Nijimura watched.
FILL: Team Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, M
word count: 517
Nijimura stands frozen in the entrance of the warehouse, his heart caught in his throat, his instincts telling him to run. The entire place smells like blood and bleach. There are bodies lying all over the place, and from this distance, he can't even tell if most of them are breathing.
In front of him, there are two men struggling. Nijimura knows that he shouldn't be here, he shouldn't have gotten caught up in all of this in the first place but he didn't know better, back then. He didn't really know the mess that he was stepping into, blinded by beauty, his senses dulled by what should have just stayed a schoolboy's crush.
There's a sickening crack that makes Nijimura's stomach twist, and then Himuro looks up, his lips spreading into a smile, his cheeks, teeth and chin covered in blood.
"Shuuzo. I didn't know you were in the area."
Nijimura takes a step backwards, not sure how to respond. He wanted to surprise Himuro, and when he asked around, he was told to come here.
He really should have thought about the fact that all the mutual contacts they have on this side of the world were in street gangs when he met them, years ago. He should have stopped and thought about why they were all giving him the address to a warehouse, of all places.
"I'm sorry," Himuro laughs quietly. He reaches towards the limp body under him, tearing off part of their shirt, and uses it to wipe the blood of his face. "If I'd known you were coming, I would have set up a better welcome. I didn't really want you to see me like this."
"Uh." Nijimura is still at a loss for words. He would have thought, after all the things he saw through middle school, that nothing would really surprise him any more. He supposes that Himuro always has been in a class of his own.
"It's good to see you, Shuu," Himuro murmurs, getting to his feet. The dress pants he's wearing are dirty, and a little torn, as if he's been in a knife fight. He probably has been. Nijimura wonders why these kinds of people keep happening to him.
He wonders why he hasn't yet learned to turn around and walk away.
"It's good to see you too, Tatsuya," he says, finally finding his voice, and he's not even lying. Even as he watches the blood dripping down Himuro's hand, from what must be a cut under his sleeve. "You look like you're busy."
Himuro's smile is so frighteningly charming, as he wipes the blood away. "I just finished the work I had, actually. Do you want to get dinner? Ah, I suppose it's a bit early for that. Coffee? I have to get cleaned up, though. Do you mind if the coffee is at my apartment?"
Swallowing hard, Nijimura shrugs. "I don't mind at all."
They fall into step with each other, and Nijimura's skin tingles as his hand brushes against Himuro's.
The hand that just killed someone—while Nijimura watched.
Nijimura takes it anyway.