Chapter Text
Saturday, December 3, 2005
Katsushika
Tokyo Penitentiary
20:33
“Don’t cry for me, kyodai. There ain’t nothing worth cryin’ over, c’mon.”
But once the tears started, they just wouldn’t stop. And sure, Nishiki was no stranger to a waterworks show. He’s been bawling like a baby since he was a baby. But lately, it’s been different.
Lately, his chest completely seizes and caves in on itself, on the verge of collapsing, whenever he cries. Lately, it feels like static pools in his joints and there’s a bursting pressure trying to break out from in between his eyes. Lately, it feels like a little piece of his heart just withers up and dies – and he doesn’t have much heart left to give.
Saejima placed a steady hand on Nishiki’s back, in between his shaking shoulders. He didn’t move. He just let his hand rest there. Such an undeservedly kind gesture would usually ground Nishiki – maybe for a minute, maybe only for a few seconds – but it did nothing now. It only reminded him of the impenetrable warmth of the man beside him. How it was all going to be gone by tomorrow.
Nishiki, around the growing lump in his throat, managed to mutter out, “W-Why are you… so fucking calm about this?”
“‘Cause… I am.” Saejima probably didn’t know the reason either. A beat passed. “‘Cause this was a long time comin’,” he seemed to settle on. “Can’t stop the inevitable.”
Out of his peripheral, Nishiki could see Saejima lean his head against the wall, looking up at the long-darkened sky. There was a time when he would halfheartedly point out the constellations, and Nishiki would pretend to be interested. What he would do to go back in time, slap his past self, and tell him to listen. Listen when you still have the chance.
Saejima’s hand gently moved up Nishiki’s back, toward his neck, until his fingers intertwined with his hair. “You’re gonna be fine,” he murmured. Nishiki wasn’t sure how Saejima could always sound so resolute. He leaned into the touch.
“N-No,” Nishiki choked out. He couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking. He couldn’t even pick his head up to look at the other man.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Saejima repeated, like it was nothing. His fingers slowly traveled up until they fully entangled in Nishiki’s hair. The wispy strands unraveled between his fingertips. “You’re gonna walk outta here a changed man, and it’s gonna be hard as shit—but you’re gonna make it out on the other side. You’re gonna see the light of day, find yer place in the sun, and you’re gonna be an even better man than ya were before. The world is yers.”
It was easier said than done.
“Just, uh…” Saejima suddenly trailed off.
After the silence between them grew too long, precious minutes melting away, Nishiki finally picked his head up. Saejima’s eyes were on him. Dark, good eyes. But it took no genius to know that they had long lost their mirth – before prison, even.
“Keep livin’—for me. Can ya do that?” Saejima pulled Nishiki closer, until the Nishiki’s head fully rested against his chest. “If ya do, I’ll always be with ya.”
Nishiki twisted his lips. He could taste the desperate, bitter saltiness of his tears, fleeing into the corners of his mouth. He could feel his nails biting into the skin of his palms. His eyes flickered down as he whispered, “I… don’t know,” because it was the honest answer.
“Can’t forgive yerself and be forgiven if ya don’t live to see it through.”
Sunday, December 4, 2005
Katsushika
Tokyo Penitentiary
12:05
“It… must be time,” Yasuko murmured. Her words were so low, beneath a whisper. Yumi wouldn’t have caught them if not for the already still silence in between them. There wasn’t even any wind out this afternoon. As if the Heavens knew not to interrupt this sacred moment.
Yasuko’s hands clutched at her chest, her heart. Yumi could only watch on as she squeezed her hands over Haruka’s small shoulders. Haruka, being the smart girl that she always was, remained silent, eyes trained downward.
“Do you… think… he can hear me?” Yumi was sure that Yasuko’s question wasn’t directed toward her. It was likely directed toward no one in particular. A secret between Yasuko, her brother, and God.
Yasuko’s eyes remained squeezed shut. Even as tears streamed down her cheeks. Even as Yumi decided to move and take the other woman into her arms, and Haruka followed to do the same.
Sunday, December 4, 2005
Katsushika
Tokyo Penitentiary
21:00
“Got a letter, 1240.” It was haphazardly tossed into Nishiki’s cell. Obviously opened and already gone through. “That makes, what, your second letter in ten years? How about that? I think your little buddy went his whole twenty years without a single one. You’re a lucky bastard, you know.”
Nishiki couldn’t hide his flinch. He just barely remembered to move his hand toward the letter. It felt like he was a puppeteer, controlling his body with detached strings from an unknown above. As if he was nowhere and just a step beyond himself.
As the guard began to walk away, Nishiki found himself murmuring, “Third,” without thinking, voice hollow. It was his third letter.
The guard must’ve either not heard him or ignored him.
The letter only contained two lines, both addresses. One labeled “your apartment” and another for a place called “Stardust.” Both addresses were in Kamurocho. The letter wasn’t signed, but Nishiki could make a good guess on who it was from. He just didn’t understand why.
If the letter was from Kazama, which it most likely was, then why? Why was he still looking out for him? Why did he want him back in Kamurocho? Was it even safe for Nishiki to be there?
He carefully refolded the letter and set it aside before returning to staring at the wall, staring at nothing.
Monday, December 5, 2005
Katsushika
Tokyo Penitentiary
14:09
“Clothes.” Nishiki was handed over the same clothes that he was arrested in, sealed in a plastic storage bag. What a fucking joke. They still had blood stains on them. “Personables.” Was that even a word? “Hm…?”
Nishiki fixed his eyes downward, at the bag containing his personal items. It was basically whatever pocket lint he had back in ‘95: a surely outdated cellphone, a surely emptied wallet, a surely worthless family pin. There was also the three letters he received. It shouldn’t look too out of the ordinary.
The officer shook off whatever had given him pause. He handed over a sealed envelope. “Earnings.” Nishiki was half tempted to count the money, but fully tempted to just shut up and take it. The sooner he could leave, the better. “That’s it. The cab that you called is waiting outside.” The officer finally handed him a stack of signed papers with a curt nod. “Nishikiyama Akira, you’re a free man. Stay out of trouble. We don’t want you to become a familiar face.”
Nishiki wasn’t even going to grace that with a response. He barely remembered to bow his head before he left.
It was surreal, being able to simply… walk outside. Walk outside of the building. Walk down the sidewalk. Walk toward an awaiting taxicab.
It made Nishiki keep checking over his shoulder. Waiting for his eyes to open and for everything to be a cruel dream. Waiting for the officer to chase after him. Wait! There’s been a mistake! Waiting for another hitman to sneak up behind him and shank him, stab him in broad daylight and let him bleed out on the street. Waiting for an assassin to shoot him from some sort of unknown vantage point, as there was no true definition of freedom.
But no. There was nothing. Nishiki could reach out and touch the door of the cab. He could feel its cool metal beneath his fingertips. The scent of cigarette smoke and seat leather invaded his senses. The sound of a cheery pop song was rendered tinny by the car speakers – electronic, unfamiliar, promising.
“Where to?” the cabdriver asked. This is real.
“Kamurocho.” Because there was nowhere else to go.
Monday, December 5, 2005
Kamurocho
Tenkaichi Street
14:42
Kamurocho was the same but different.
Same blinking neon lights. Same permeating smell of rain-soaked streets, smoke-billowing salarymen, perfume-logged streetwalkers. Same underlying tension. Same air of broken promises. It was just all underneath a new gift-wrapped veneer.
The district was shinier. Even more electronic. Little black dresses, baggy gray flannels, and gaudy animal print had been replaced with colorful crop tops, slim black suits, and flashy watches and jewelry. Everyone flipped their phones open now. Everyone talked faster, moved faster. There was no hope of keeping up.
Nishiki wasn’t sure how long he stood there, standing on Tenkaichi Street. It was like an out of body experience. Displaced. As if he had been cut out and pasted in the wrong place, wrong time. He wasn’t supposed to be there, standing – existing. The time for that was no longer. He was just a ghost in a shell.
There was no guide on how to simply “incorporate” yourself back into society after being out of the picture for a decade. “It’s gonna be hard as shit.” That was a fucking understatement. No matter how many times Nishiki looked down at his hands – flexed his fingers in and out, clawed his nails into the skin of his palm – it didn’t feel real.
If only Saejima was there to ground him.
Okay, okay. What would Saejima do?
What do I look like? Nishiki was sure to pick out an outfit that was both timeless yet casual. White shirt, dark jacket, dark slacks, black shoes. Nothing too ostentatious. The number one priority was to blend in, like the useless speck on the pavement that he was.
He had really thought that the ‘90s would continue a downward trend of darker shades, drearier cuts, but it looked like the 2000s had re-welcomed the multicolored shitshow of the ‘80s. He felt himself slightly smirk at the thought, but the feeling was detached.
Where am I? Tenkaichi Street. Where the address to “Stardust” was. Where Serena was. Was Serena still around? Was Reina still there? Probably, probably not. But Nishiki didn’t even want to look in the bar’s direction.
What am I doing? Nishiki would love to know the answer for that, too. It didn’t make sense, did it? Ten years in the joint, ten years of fighting for his life, and he was back in the venomous heart of the snake pit. His ass should’ve been hiding out in Hokkaido or Okinawa or even another country, but he went back to Kamurocho.
Why? Because Kazama told him to? Because he still had unfinished business? Because he wanted to—?
What do I want? Nishiki… didn’t know what he wanted. He was still trapped in a blind fog.
“Yo!”
Nishiki blinked back into reality. His head snapped around, fight-or-flight senses already taking over and making his heart rip and tear into his chest.
It was Majima.
He looked more or less the same as Nishiki remembered him. Still wearing the same tacky snakeskin jacket, still walking with a showy gait. Right now, he had an umbrella slung over his shoulders.
But Nishiki’s heart didn’t calm at the sight of a familiar face. Majima was always a man that was neither friend nor foe, and that could sometimes be more terrifying than an outright foe – when there was no definite line drawn in the sand.
Majima was nearly nose to nose with Nishiki. Too close for comfort. Nishiki was forced to look at the other man’s face – at the permanent lines that were etched into his skin, the stark red rim around his eye. His breath absolutely reeked of cigarettes, beer, and something unnameable.
Nishiki tried to swallow down the bile working its way up his throat as he took a step back. Does he know about Saejima?
“I fuckin’ know ya from somewhere!” Majima clicked his tongue as he began to snap his fingers, his voice rapidly and wildly rising and falling – just the way that Nishiki remembered it. “Why do ya look so fuckin’ familiar? Ooh, I know!” But the way he said it, the way his lips cracked into a manic smirk, the way his boys were looming in the distance – he knew all along. “Kiryu-chan’s kyodai, Kazama-san’s kiddo, Ol’ Man Dojima’s nail in the coffin: the Kin Slayer.” He butted the handle of his umbrella into Nishiki’s stomach. “Nishikiyama Akira.”
A beat passed between them. Was Majima waiting for him to say something? What was Nishiki supposed to say?
The guy beat his ass back in ‘88, when shit hit the fan, and he had some sort of weird ass… “kinship” with Kiryu throughout the ‘90s – something that Nishiki wasn’t a part of. He didn’t try to understand them, because something had shifted within Majima and he became something that wasn’t worth understanding. So, he never got into Majima. Just paid his so-called respects whenever they crossed paths here and there.
But now, ten years past, and Nishiki had somehow linked up with Majima’s kyodai in jail. Who was executed yesterday. Does he know about Saejima? He had to know, didn’t he?
What if Nishiki said something? Would Majima lose his shit and beat him to death with his umbrella? Call his boys to get some licks in, too? Cut his head off and take it to the clan headquarters?
“What should I do with ya, huh?” Majima pursed his lips as he jabbed at Nishiki with his umbrella. “I could turn yer ass in to the chairman. Bet I could get a pretty penny if he remembers ya. What’re ya worth? One thousand yen?” He held the handle of the umbrella underneath Nishiki’s chin, forcing his head up. “One million yen? One billion yen?” He snickered.
Nishiki choked on the inhale. “Majima…”
“Eh?” Majima frowned. He closed the distance between them again. “Speak up! I can’t fuckin’ hear ya!” His lips were twisting. “Hm. Or I could keep ya for myself.” He swept the umbrella across Nishiki’s hair, pushing it over his shoulders. “I got a thing for pretty boys with long hair, y’know. Ya probably was everybody’s little prison bitch, huh? Wouldn’t be nothing new to ya.”
Nishiki held his breath.
“I’m not gonna lie,” Majima continued, “one billion yen would be pretty fuckin’ nice.” Only he could make a sing-song tone sound so menacing. “But fightin’ Kiryu-chan would be even better!” He suddenly cackled. Nishiki flinched back. “I bet’cha Kiryu-chan would come outta his stuffy little office the second he knew that I had ya! He’d throw down with me for sure! How about that, fellas?!” Majima laughed again, the sound echoing through the streets, as he turned toward his family. “We deserve to let off a little steam before the fireworks show, right? Pack his ass up and take him to Kiryu-chan,” he turned back around, “and then we’re gonn—Eh?!”
Majima looked left, right, up, down. But nope. Nishikiyama was gone. The goddamn weasel magically vanished into thin air.
“Where’d he go?!” Majima pointed the end of his umbrella to his nearest man. “Why’d ya let him outta my sight, huh? How am I gonna get one last fight in with Kiryu-chan now?!” And he lashed the umbrella across the man’s head, breaking it in the process.
Monday, December 5, 2005
Kamurocho
Stardust
14:50
Nishiki must have checked over his shoulder at least ten times. It was a miracle that he even managed to get away. Thank God that Majima was too distracted working up a hate chub for Kiryu to notice that he had ran off into the nearest building – Stardust.
Everything always went according to Kazama’s plan, more or less.
It was still only the afternoon, right after lunch, so there expectedly weren’t too many attendants in the club. Still, Nishiki’s panic was going through the roof. The dizzying lights and swirling music weren’t helping.
“Welcome, si—Oh!”
Nishiki shot his head up again. No. This wasn’t good for his heart. Why didn’t he just change his name and run off to Sapporo or something? Fucking stupid.
The man that called out to him was wearing a burgundy suit. He had a squared jaw and greasy, dyed hair. Maybe Nishiki would’ve looked like him in another life outside of the cell. That thought gave him a shudder.
“Are you Nishikiyama Akira?” the man asked. Nishiki didn’t speak, didn’t move. “‘Cause, uh,” the man scratched the back of his head, “Kazuki-san told me to look out for a guy that looked like you. Said you’d be… important.” The way the guy said “important,” it was shrouded in intrigue. The kind of intrigue that suggested something more on the curious side than the malicious side. But it wasn’t like Nishiki’s mind could tell much of the difference anymore.
“Yuya,” another voice called out. Nishiki’s eyes shot up. Coming down the stairs was another man. Hair also dyed, but a little less greasy. He was wearing a decent white suit. Had a crucifix pendant on display on his chest. “Who is this?”
Yuya, apparently, gave a quick nod to the approaching man. “Kazuki-san.” Nishiki was going to assume that Kazuki was the boss. “Is this the man you were telling me about?”
When Kazuki reached the bottom of the stairs, he gave Nishikiyama an obvious onceover. If not for the high possibility of the Majima Family scouting the streets for him, Nishiki honestly probably would have bolted again. Being scrutinized – always bad.
Kazuki seemed satisfied with whatever he was looking for. He bowed toward Nishiki. Yuya bowed in tandem. “A pleasure to meet you, Nishikiyama-san. Welcome to Stardust.” He directed his hand toward the stairway before making his way back up. Yuya followed after.
Nishiki could feel his nails scrape against his palms.
Kazuki looked down, already toward the top of the stairs, once he finally realized that Nishiki wasn’t following after. “Nishikiyama-san…?”
Nishiki couldn’t keep eye contact with the man. Misplaced. Everything was misplaced. This couldn’t be permitted. He couldn’t simply just speak to people from the waking world.
Kazuki and Yuya glanced at each other. Yuya made some sort of slight shrugging gesture. Kazuki nodded.
“Nishikiyama-san,” Kazuki called out again. “I…” He cleared his throat. He tossed another quick look toward Yuya before he descended the stairs again. He took a tight step toward Nishiki and lowered his voice. “Kazama-san told me that you would be coming today. I’m sure that we both would like to speak about this privately. The upstairs lounge would provide us with the privacy that we need.” The man had a formal yet straightforward way of speaking. But did that matter? Hidden agendas could be stuffed anywhere.
“How… do you know Kazama-no-oyasan?”
Kazuki’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” he murmured. “Excuse me.” He took a small step closer. “Kazama-san took me under his wing ever since I opened up Stardust. He helped me build this place from the ground up. All without the need for… certain affiliated businesses.” Just a fancy way of saying the business that starts with a Y. “He only had a single request for me: to invite you as a member of our staff.”
So, Kazama set him up with both a job and a place to stay? Expected yet unexpected. It would’ve been a lot easier if Kazama just threw Nishiki away like everyone else. But he wanted him here, in Kamurocho. Within arm’s reach. Why?
“You are free to decline the offer. And you don’t have to speak with me, either. But Kazama-san asked for me to give some things to you.” Kazuki gestured toward the stairs again. “If you will.”
Nishiki sucked in a breath before he moved to follow.
Kazuki directed him to sit, but he just couldn’t. Kazuki didn’t seem too perturbed with standing, though. “Would you like something to drink?” Nishiki didn’t answer. Still, Kazuki turned to Yuya. “Could you bring Nishikiyama-san something to drink, please? A glass of water will be fine.”
“Yes, sir.” And Yuya made his way back downstairs.
Kazuki walked over to the other side of the lounge, and then returned with a small black bag. He pulled out a key and a cellphone. It was a white flip phone with a small screen on its front. Nishiki allowed the other man to drop the items in his hands. He tucked them in his pocket.
“Would you like to hear about Kazama-san, Kiryu-san, and Kashiwagi-san?”
Nishiki answered, “Sure,” but he didn’t really mean it.
“Kazama-san is the Captain of the Tojo Clan now.” No surprises there. It was actually a little surprising that Kazama hadn’t become the Fourth Chairman over the past ten years. Looks like Sera was still kicking around. “Kiryu-san is the Third Patriarch of the Dojima Family and the CEO of Iron Trust.” Kiryu, a CEO? This had to be a dream, surely. “And Kashiwagi-san is the Second Patriarch of the Kazama Family and Captain of the Dojima Family.” So, Kiryu was the Dojima patriarch instead of Kashiwagi? Well, Kashiwagi preferred to work behind the scenes. Nishiki guessed it made sense.
How did it feel? Knowing that his chosen family rose up the ranks of the Tojo Clan without him? Knowing that they all achieved Nishiki’s dream without him?
It felt like shit, suffice to say. It felt like a hand had tightly squeezed around his heart, and was squeezing and squeezing until it bled out, until there was no space left to breathe. Until sorrow and envy became one and the same. It made his eyes burn, but Nishiki still had a scrap of pride left not to cry in front of a stranger.
Silence brewed in between them. Nishiki could hear Kazuki let out a small breath, but the white noise in his head drowned out any possible sentiment behind the sound.
Nishiki flicked his head to the stairs. Someone was running up. Yuya was back, holding a tray with a glass of water. “Nishikiyama.” He nodded. “Sorry for the wait.”
Nishiki shook his head. He had to get out of here. He moved to brush past Yuya.
“Nishikiyama-san,” Kazuki called out. Nishiki stopped, but didn’t turn to look at the other man. “I cannot begin to understand what you have gone through, but… it is understandable if you find it difficult to trust other people.” Nishiki felt his shoulders tense. “I would just like for you to know that Stardust is a safe space and you are welcome here any time. A friend of your oyasan is a friend of mine.”
Nishiki didn’t know what to say to that. So, he didn’t say anything.
Monday, December 5, 2005
Kamurocho
Nishikiyama’s Apartment
15:09
The apartment was just outside of the district, toward the north. Reminded Nishiki of where Kiryu used to live back in the ‘80s, in a little shabby apartment that served its purpose: a place to drink and sleep – nothing more, nothing less.
It was one room. Four white walls. Bed in one corner. A small dresser and smaller TV in another corner. A low table in the center. Kitchenette. Bathroom. That was it.
There was a small black box near the bed. Nishiki triple checked, quadruple checked that the door was locked before he went over to it.
The box contained two envelopes, a tanto, a gun, and plenty of boxes of ammunition. One envelope was significantly heavier than the other. Nishiki started with the lighter one. It was from Kazama, and was actually signed by him this time.
Ten years. In the ten years that you’ve been away, the Tojo Clan has changed. We have changed. Myself, Kashiwagi, and Kazuma have changed. You have also surely changed.
There are still Dojima Family members and other Tojo Clan members who hold a grudge against you, or wish to use you as a means of monetary gain and social stratification. Third Chairman Sera had initially offered a large reward for your death after your arrest. I am sure that there are still some clan members who remember this reward or have heard of it over time. Therefore, I have provided you with means of self-defense. I am sure that there are people who have caught wind of your release date, but no one knows of your return to Kamurocho for now – as long as you keep your head down.
Myself, Kashiwagi, and Kazuma, as especially high-ranking members of the Tojo Clan and the Dojima Family, cannot be publicly affiliated or associated with you. Still, there is much to discuss that cannot be contained within the confines of a simple letter. Stardust and Kazuki will be used as a means of communication. If you wish to speak with us, contact Kazuki and it can be arranged. In-person meetings must be conducted in secret, and preferably outside of Kamurocho.
I hope to see you soon, Akira.
Nishiki’s hands had long gone numb before he set the letter down. Kazama only called him “Akira” when he wanted something.
The other envelope only read “Welcome home” on its backside. And that handwriting. Nishiki still recognized Kiryu’s handwriting after all of these years. It didn’t change.
There was no letter inside of the envelope. Only a hefty stack of yen.
Finally, within the confines of his own “home,” Nishiki could break down and cry.
Sunday, June 19, 1983
Fuchu
Sunflower Orphanage
13:03
Nishiki was fourteen-ongoing-fifteen. Kiryu was fifteen. Even back then, he felt like he was always playing catch up. He just didn’t want to believe it yet.
They had gotten into an argument over something that Nishiki didn’t even remember anymore. It was something that he had been crying about. He had been facedown in his bed, eyes pressed tightly against the crook of his arm, trying to will the tears away. Because it was dumb. So dumb. Kiryu doesn’t cry all the time, why can’t I?
It had been especially hot that day. The aircon unit was at full power, with the little paper streamers attached to the vents fluttering like crazy. But it still wasn’t enough. The room was sticky and sinking.
“Nishiki.” Nishiki’s body seized up. He hadn’t been expecting for Kiryu to come back so soon after storming off. “Nishiki,” Kiryu called out again. Nishiki refused to pick his head up. He hated when Kiryu saw him like this.
There was something cold pressing against his shoulder.
Nishiki turned and peeked one eye out over his arm. It was a popsicle. The blue soda Gari Gari-kun kind that only one convenience store up the street sold. His favorite.
“T-Thanks,” Nishiki muttered out. He swiped his arm over his eyes as he sat up.
Kiryu sat on the other end of the bed. Nishiki ate in silence. A reluctant truce for now.
It was in that moment when Nishiki realized he didn’t know exactly how he felt about Kiryu. The thought had twisted his stomach, so he ignored it and offered Kiryu a bite of the popsicle instead.
Tuesday, December 6, 2005
Kamurocho
Nishikiyama’s Apartment
2:42
24-hour stores were God’s gift to Earth, and inflation was the Devil’s.
Maybe Nishiki, all cried out, had made an empty, little joke to the exhausted cashier about the fact. He didn’t remember. He more so remembered clutching one hand around his tanto as he walked around the store, then picked up a brand of cigarettes and a box of beer that were adjacent to his old favorites. Everything was the same but different. It was like having double vision. It was going to drive him crazy. Or, crazier.
It was when Nishiki had gone through half of the pack of cigarettes when he decided that he was going to die.
“I’m sorry, Saejima,” he murmured around his cigarette. Could he hear him? Hopefully not.
What was the point? Being openly ostracized by his own family, constantly looking over his shoulder in a district that was out for his head on a stick – this was no life to live. There could only be an empty semblance of one. It was all a cruel joke.
He had no one left. Yuko was gone. Who knew how Reina felt. Yumi probably didn’t want to see him ever again. He would remind her too much of that night. That night that had ruined all of their lives.
He found his eyes returning to the tanto he had set on the floor, near the gun.
What do I want?
Just one last time. Even if it fucking killed him, he wanted to see everyone just one last time. To apologize to them. He wasn’t looking for forgiveness. That was out of the question. He just wouldn’t be able to face Yuko or Saejima if he was completely bound by regrets.
Reina, Yumi, Kashiwagi, Kazama, and Kiryu. One last time. That was the one thing he wanted. And maybe if he got the courage, he could fulfill Saejima’s last wishes, too. And then he could go to Yuko’s grave, use the tanto that Kazama had given him to slit his stomach open, and it would be the end.
Nishiki stubbed out his cigarette on the makeshift ashtray he had made out of an emptied beer can. It sounded like a plan.
There was a knock on the door.
The gun was in Nishiki’s hands before he could even blink. Who the hell would be knocking on his door at two a.m. unless they had bad intentions? (Well. People with worse intentions would probably just break the door down and not even bother with knocking.)
Nishiki couldn’t move, didn’t dare himself to breathe. He sat in the center of the room, eyes never leaving the door. His heart skipped a beat at the sound of the second knock. It sounded… hesitant. Why?
“Nishikiyama-kun?” a voice called out, muffled by the door. He dropped the gun. “Are you there? It’s me, Reina.”