Chapter Text
Encounter
en·coun·ter
/inˈkoun(t)ər,enˈkoun(t)ər/
verb
unexpectedly experience or be faced with (something difficult or hostile).
Japan isn’t what you were expecting. No, scratch that. Japan has been an absolute fuck all of a life choice. You sighed as you bundled your groceries into a small canvas bag, nodding at the sales clerk, who was trying not to laugh at your fumbling. Heaving the bag over your shoulder, you paid, albeit clumsily, the foreign currency sticking in your palms. Nodding your thanks a final time, you walked toward the sliding mechanical double doors. You ducked your head as others moved past you into the welcoming fluorescent lights. The crisp evening air burned your lungs, and you paused to glance at your cell phone. Three missed calls and 18 text messages chirped across the brightened screen. Sucking your teeth in agitation, you swipe across the most recent text.
[ Stephen: 10:20 pm ]
Hey- I know this phone is still on. Don’t just ignore me. I know you just want some space, but at least let me talk to you. Lmk when you get this. I’m at base until tomorrow morning.
Your frown deepened. On auto-pilot, you tapped into the reply bubble, raising the keyboard, your thumb balanced above the screen. A distant car horn breaks you out of your trance and a rogue finger clicks across a random string of letters. Thankfully, you hadn’t fumbled your way to the send button. Letting out a stammering exhale, you delete the gibberish and replace the phone in your jacket pocket, moving toward the nearest train entrance.
Looking back, you weren’t sure what you had been expecting. Glumly taking your seat on the train, you shuffled your grocery bag between your feet. Sure, moving to a new country always had its ups and downs. However, moving to a new country with your long time boyfriend on military assignment should have at least been a little less complicated than this.
Japan was always a wish list destination. It was one of those, maybe someday, daydreams. When Stephen, your boyfriend- no, ex-boyfriend, you reminded yourself with a scowl, had gotten the news that his next assignment would be at Yokota Air Base, you were both over the moon.
“How awesome! My dad was stationed there years ago,” Stephen had gushed, waving his official pre-deployment documents above his head.
“So,” you had grinned, his enthusiasm catching, “you’ll be near Tokyo? When do they expect you to begin the actual move?”
“Most likely a month,” he beamed, placing the papers on his briefcase. He moved to your side, scooting you down the couch to make room for his broad frame. “It gives us plenty of time to make some decisions about what to keep, what to sell. And,” he brought his index finger across the space to tap against your nose playfully, “it gives you time to look into your job. You know, if you want to keep it or look for something new-”
“Whoa, whoa,” you laughed, brushing his finger away and placing your hand against his chest. “What do you mean, what to sell and what to keep? And I don’t even know if my job has any openings for overseas positions right now.”
Stephen pouted, his lips furrowing. “I mean what you want to keep out of all this,” his muscled arm gestured out to your shared apartment. “I want you to come. Don’t you want to? Come on, it’ll be fun! Like one of those house hunting shows you love to watch! Don’t let me go over there all by myself. Cliff, one of the guys I was telling you about, said that he and his girl always go on the overseas deployments together.”
He was shining so brightly you wanted to look away. It was too much. It felt like he was placing too much on this transfer, and too much on you. There were way too many what ifs. Your grin fell away, but he didn’t seem to sense your trepidation, prattling on, “She gets teaching jobs but anyway, the higher-ups are always understanding of men who want to live off base with their partners. Please, (Y/N), just think about it, you get to go to one of your top five countries!” On and on and on, until finally, you nodded, a weak grin painted across your lips.
His overflowing enthusiasm had always been your weak spot. You, on the other hand, were always content to drift along, trailing after his beaming smile. The two of you had been an item all throughout college, almost inseparable, held together like glue. His exuberance knew no bounds, no limit. He always knew what he wanted. He was confident in his career choice and bounced out of college as an officer, his path clear. Whereas you had scrabbled out of college with a degree in support supplements by the skin of your teeth.
Stephen did his best. He really did. You could never say he didn’t try. But, post college, his career in the air force had flourished, and you often found yourself aimlessly following. There was this base, or this training, this assignment, this one time, the last time, and, oh, it would settle. Just wait, he would always say. Be patient, he would sigh. Then, be patient turned into, you knew what I was signing up for, (Y/N). That always translated to, you knew what you were signing up for, let it go.
He was right about that, at least to a certain degree. You knew there would be sacrifices, that it was out of his control. He belonged to a higher force for the time being, but it would get better. It was just too bad that better was always out of reach.
Again, tensions were running high, and differences that once seemed small were becoming insurmountable objects. You’d experienced it before. The barriers that held you back, or that prompted you to throw your hands in the air and demand a separation. They never lasted long. At least, not usually. Before you knew it, you’d be back with him again, sulking in his boyish affection and familiar touch when the tide had turned, your arms welcoming him back.
Don’t you want us to work? Seemed to be the underlying question as he peppered you with facts so rapidly your head spun.
So, in the end, you had asked about your job, resubmitted some applications and paperwork and found yourself with a shiny four month work visa to Japan. Thankfully, your boss could see past some of your previous, on the job missteps.
Most were nothing major. Simple requests for extensions, or careless submission of support paperwork. Nothing earth shattering, but just enough to hold you back from some of the leaps and bounds your colleagues always seemed to make. Despite everything, your boss trusted you, always saying that you had skill, had promise. She often said she had seen it once before, in a young man who had the same spark, but also harbored his own issues that held him back. Japan might help you clear those nagging anxieties, bolster some confidence, she ruminates as she signed the last of your transfer documents.
“Honestly, I’m glad you’re taking this step (Y/N),” she smiled, handing you back the paperwork.
“Oh, well, if it wasn’t for Stephen’s reassignment I doubt I would have even looked into it.”
“Ah,” she nodded, leaning back and eying you carefully. “Look, you’re good at what you do. So good, I honestly wish I could keep you here. You’ve got real promise and I’m not just blowing smoke up your ass,” she added, seeing your skeptical look. “You just need to learn how to use your outside voice. Speak up for yourself. Don’t just drift along. Hold your head up, you’ve got this, and you’ve earned this. Use this as a chance to get a leg up on your own endeavors. It’ll work out, I just feel it.”
Too bad it hadn’t.
The train lurched to a skittering halt, startling you from your cluttered remembrances. Leaning down, you snatched the canvas straps of your bag, maneuvered past the small crowd of fellow passengers and stepped into the damp heat of the station. As you regained your bearings, a dark shape skulked past you, bumping against your grocery bag. You looked up, startled, but they just seemed to be in a hurry, not paying you any mind; their black hoodie pulled low. You paused, a momentary shudder echoing along your spine. For a moment you ducked your head into your bag, silently and suspiciously, looking for your wallet. It was still resting against your hip in the canvas, along with your meager offerings for dinner.
A deep twilight streaked across the sky of the prefecture you now called home. You moved quickly across the darkening streets, keeping your head down and senses on high alert. The apartment that you found two weeks before wasn’t exactly in the best spot. But, you supposed, that was what you got for living with your head in the clouds.
It’s not like you didn’t have some savings before you came to Japan. But the sheer cost of the ticket, passport update, and other arrangements back in the states had almost put you in the red. Stephen had helped some, taking charge of what he could, using his military status to break the two of you out of your lease and ensuring that the majority of things that you hadn’t sold were in a storage unit. But, it still was a shock to the system to uproot your entire life, even if you had the relative security of a job waiting for you across the 17 hour flight.
Once the two of you landed and settled into your small hotel, Stephen had gotten an alert that he needed to report to base in less than 12 hours.
“Everything ok?” you asked, tugging your backpack open and hunting for your phone charger and plug converter.
“As far as I can tell,” Stephen replied, a frown belaying the casual response. “Why? You worried they’ll send me back as soon as I get here?”
“No,” you rolled your eyes, snapping your phone into its charger, “but they usually give you a little more time. I thought we had two whole days. How am I supposed to look for an apartment without you? I mean, I can, it’s just… it’s not like I speak fluent Japanese, and don’t you need to be there if I’m going to see any of the military housing?”
“Just work on buying us a bed for now,” Stephen absently called back, stepping into the bathroom to check over his appearance in the tiny mirror. “I’m sure they’ll let us look at some of the housing units outside of the base. I already told them you work in Tokyo proper, so hopefully we can get something near the city center.”
“I suppose,” you grumbled, joining him in the bathroom and wrapping your arms around his waist, standing on your tiptoes to rest your chin against his shoulder. “I just-”
“I know,” he finished, unwinding your arms and turning to face you, his brow cocked at your tired expression. “It’ll be ok, I’m just a phone call away. Besides, I’m sure they’ll be finished with me in no time and I’ll be right there with you before you know it. You still got some of the floor plans on your phone? Come on,” he smiled, his big hands enveloping yours, warmth seeping into your bones, a momentary balm against your worry. “Check some of them out and I’m going to crash for a bit. Gotta look cute for the new branch of command after all.”
He left after his nap. Sparing a quick peck on the cheek for you, he strode out of the room. You remained perched on the bed, checking and double checking that your phone had charged. You mapped the nearest furniture store into your phone, then looked it over a few minutes later to see if it was still saved. Finally, you flipped open your Japanese phrase book, brooding over some sentences listed in: “Common Japanese phrases and their uses,” before moving to stand, limbs aching. Shrugging on a light jacket and slinging your purse across your front, you shut the hotel door behind you, jiggering the handle to ensure that it locked, and stepped out into the hustle and bustle of the city.
You kept to the side streets as much as you could, tamping down your nervous energy as you checked your phone, watching your tiny avatar drift closer and closer to the furniture store. Two more blocks, you reassured yourself, hand shifting your phone back into your purse.
A sharp bell chimed behind you and you gasped aloud, stumbling off the pavement and onto the black asphalt of the street. Your ankle protested the sudden movement, pain racing up your leg as you glanced back to see a mounted bike messenger zipping past your partially collapsed form and out into the crosswalk. Ass, you thought, don’t bike on the damn sidewalk.
The clamor of a car horn pulled you out of your stupor and you hastily righted yourself onto the safety of the sidewalk once more. Just as you were readjusting your purse, you noticed the strange hush that had overtaken the small crowd of pedestrians around you.
Some of them were rubbing their ears, some shaking their heads, as if to expel water or some other irritant. For a moment you were just as confused, then realization crested over you and you snapped your hand to your mouth. Fuck, you thought quickly, taking several calming breaths and moving from the edge of the sidewalk, stepping away from the affected crowd. Your quirk, while not a powerful one, was something that could escape your control, especially when you were tired, worked up, or frightened. And, in this case, it was a full check on all those boxes. Great, now you’ve illegally unleashed auditory havoc on a tiny portion of the populous of Japan.
Once the light jingled that it was safe for you to cross the street, you practically leapt across the gleaming white stripes and walked, well, jogged, really, along the sidewalk. Your sprinting gait had others moving to make room for you and you made it to your destination in record time, basking in the brush of cool air conditioning that lapped against your face as you stepped into the furniture store. Smiling lackadaisically at the young man who chirped a welcome to you, you ducked into a less trafficked aisle, hand against your chest. Deep breaths, you mentally chanted while unhelpfully scolding yourself for turning your quirk on a bunch of unsuspecting pedestrians. Hopefully, no one realized what had happened, or just chalked it up to someone else in the crowd.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice called, and you couldn’t contain your gasp, heart pounding against your breast. “I’m sorry,” a young woman came into your field of vision, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder as she bowed to you. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you need any help?”
“Oh,” you stammer, reaching fumblingly for the clasps of your purse. “Yes,” you begin in halting Japanese, “I’m, um, looking, yeah, I think that’s right. Sorry, I’m looking for a, er, bed? And a box? For the bed.” Shaking your head, you revert to English again, “It’s called frame, but I don’t know how to say that. Jesus, let’s see… A bed and a bed box, yeah, that doesn’t sound wrong at all.” Exasperated by your own stammering, you pull a folded flyer out and the sales woman takes it in her hands, looking over the images. She smiles, bowing again, “Yes, we can speak in English, if that is easier.”
“Oh, no,” you begin, heat creeping along your neck, worried you might have offended her. “I mean, no thank you. I need to practice my Japanese.” Thankfully, the sales assistant smiled again and gestured for you to fall in step with her. You wipe your clammy palms off on your jeans as you follow her deeper into the store, letting out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.
“What do you mean? Didn’t you check with your superior officer? I don’t understand. How could you not even check on this, Stephen? I mean, come on, I moved halfway across the world to be here? I just bought a bed for us! For us! At your request, I went to a store and put real money down on a bed. I mean, fuck, Stephen-”
“I know, I mean, yeah, no. Look, (Y/N) I know, ok!”
You were fuming, fingernails pressing crescent shaped indentations into your palms. You whirled back to his hunched form. “Stephen, how could you not ask this shit? And what the fuck do you mean, you know! Because from where I’m standing, there seems to be a lot that you don’t know!”
He hadn’t asked. Hadn’t even bothered to inform his superiors. He just figured, what, why ask for permission when you could beg for forgiveness? The urgent call to the base turned out to be questions about his off base housing request. He had put in to live off the military base with his wife. Not his partner, not his girlfriend, his wife. Too bad he didn’t fucking have a wife. No, he had a girlfriend who was so blind that she couldn’t see her way out of a paper bag; you thought acidly.
Military personnel are strict at the best of times. There're protocols for anything and everything. Now, here comes this young officer requesting something that even some tenured officers don’t get and just expects that it will be ok when he shows up at base. God, how stupid, how absurdly stupid, are you (Y/N)? He had asked you to put on a pair of rose-colored glasses and you just slapped them on, no fucking questions asked. When were you going to learn?
“What do you want me to do now?” you asked sharply, coming to sit beside his stiff form on the bed. “I have this job. I can’t just fuck off back home. I had my boss pull some strings for me to even be here. I mean, living on base isn’t ideal, but we can make it work.”
“Yeah,” Stephen echoed dully, his head emerging from his hands. “Yeah, we can make this work. I can even help you to look for a place.”
For a moment, you wondered if you could use your quirk on yourself. You felt like your hearing had suddenly shut off as a roaring hiss filled its place. “What do you mean, help me look for a place?”
“Well, you can’t stay on the base. You’re not cleared for that. I can help you find something and then I can even see if I can get some of the stuff from home shipped over. I mean, it’s what, maybe a two year posting, then we can go from there. Sure, it’ll be weird living apart, but we can do it. I can prolly’ see you on weekends… what?” Stephen faltered, finally, finally seeming to look at you and see, what you can only assume, was an abjectly stricken expression etched across your face.
“So, you want me to find an apartment? But not one that we share, or split bills on, but one that I need to shoulder?” your voice was icy, abrasive, and Stephen moved away from you, coming to kneel on the floor in between your shivering knees.
“You know I can’t live off base right now. Baby, look, I know it’s not what we planned, but just be patient. We can make this work. Like I said, we’ll have weekends. I already agreed and signed the paperwork. It’s just how this is, for now.”
“It’s just how this is,” you echo, lifting your puffy eyes to his gaze. “No questions asked, no let me check, let me ask her, just… I decided, so take it or leave it.”
“What? No, it’s not-”
“Not like that? Jesus, Stephen, just get out.” The last few words come out more like a snarl, and you yank yourself away from his embrace. “Go to the base. It sounds like you’ve got a place to stay there. Just, just forget it. I’ve got a bed now. What the fuck is an apartment on top of it?”
“Baby,” you could feel him reaching for you, that warmth wanting to spill over into you. Shuddering, you rise to your feet, arm pointing toward the door. “No, I am so tired of listening to you, doing what you want, when you want it, how you want it. Get out, Stephen, I’m done.”
He grabbed his bag and slammed the door behind him. You crumpled to the floor, curling your arms around your quaking legs, trying to still the roaring in your ears.
Two days later, you were standing in front of what had to be the shabbiest apartment complex in all of Tokyo. The ground-floor apartment, toward the back, was for rent. It was close to the train, not too far from your work, and, most importantly, was something you could afford. Sure, it would use the last little crumbs of your savings, but what the hell, at least you had a comfortable queen-size bed to cram into your room, right?
The landlady was nice. An older woman who ran the apartment for her son, who was in finance? Stocks? He did something with money. The words were too similar, or too different, for you to tell apart as she rambled on, leading you to your unit. Step one, set up your apartment; step two, learn some Japanese.
The space, all in all, wasn’t too bad. A little genkan entry way, small hall closet, a tidy kitchen with a gas stove and fish grill, a living space that could at least fit a small couch, if you could scrounge one up. There was separate toilet and bathroom space, and it looked like the bedroom could blessedly fit the queen-size mattress and frame that was coming in the next few hours. After looking over the micro green space behind the living area, the only perk of a ground floor unit, the landlady escorted you to her tiny office. Four signatures later, you were the proud tenant of a ground unit, in the seediest section of Tokyo. It’s the little things.
Dark had fully settled across the sky by the time you finished the journey from the train station to your complex. The outdoor flood lights flickered around the heavy door that led into the first floor hallway. You glanced up at the failing bulb distastefully. Well, at least if you’re murdered trying to shoulder open the rusty door, the ambience is right.
Finally, the door creaks open. Propping it wide enough to squeeze in, you stop to lean down and snag up your bag, and spot a sharp movement out of the corner of your eye. You rigidly pause your awkward maneuvering, one hand instinctively reaching into your jacket pocket and wrapping around a small bottle of pepper spray that dangles on your keys. You peer into the chilly blackness, waiting. The only thing that greets your wide-eyed gaze is a small clutch of leaves billowing across the empty street. After a few seconds, you relax your stance, eyes lowering. Whatever it was, it’s stopped now.
As quickly as you can, you finish bundling your bag into your arms and move into the apartment building, only turning your head when you hear the latch of the door click shut. So jumpy, you think to yourself as you walk down the small hallway to your unit. To be fair, it’s not like you live in the best part of this prefecture. Honestly, this place feels like a criminal enterprise at times, especially with the low scraping, heavy knocks and shouting voices that you often hear from the apartment nearer the entryway of the building.
As you unlock the doorway to your apartment unit, you feel a distant buzzing in your jacket pocket. Great, he’s calling again. You rest your foot against the open door and reach for your phone, already narrowing your eyes preemptively for the bright screen, when you hear the complex door creak open again.
You turn your head stiffly, foot poised against the door to your unit, hand frozen in your pocket. The dull green complex door rocks open, a shuddering creak echoing across the long hallway, and someone’s hand moves around the frame. You can just make out long fingers curling in and wrapping around the side of the door. A black sleeved shoulder follows, inching into the space. Just as the familiar grinding henges scream, you break out of your horrified trance and scuttle into your apartment’s genkan, leaning heavily against your door to close it and slide all of your locks closed. You press an ear against your door, groceries tumbling out of your bag, and strain to hear anything.
For a moment, all is silent. Then, you hear the complex door open fully and low footsteps echo across the building’s first floor hallway. The sound seems to dampen and you lean away from your door, afraid that you might have activated your quirk in your agitation. But whoever is outside isn’t interested in walking any further down the hallway. After what feels like ages, you hear the complex door open again, this time with more force, and then slam decisively shut.
Holy fuck, you think dully, moving away from your post and sliding off your shoes. That was creepy. Your trembling hands reach for your fallen groceries, gathering them into your arms and moving across your wooden floors, your socks making a soft shushing sound as you turn to enter your apartment proper.
Everything seems in order, you think as you take a quick glance over the small area. You flick on a side lamp and the space fills with a soft glow. Mostly, you’ve done pretty well at making this blank canvas look like a home.
In two weeks you had grabbed some bedding for your plush, oversized queen mattress, found some mismatched lamps at a market, and managed to dumpster dive for a rather stogy, but clean, couch that now resided in your living room. All in all, not too bad, you thought as you dumped your groceries across the kitchen countertop.
You switch on your stove and place a pan with some butter on the range, letting the metal heat as you walk to your bedroom to slip out of your work clothes and into your comfy clothes. Things were by no means perfect, but at least you had a stable job. Well, if you could call your fluctuating schedule stable.
You worked in support and prosthetic insurance for the most part, but, for the last week, your boss had you pulling some odd hours to fill in for an upper management department. Thankfully, this was your last week of early morning shifts. Unthankfully, you started your graveyard shifts after the weekend. So, goodbye to a normal sleep schedule and hello to getting off of work at 7 am.
Your job was mostly fielding insurance questions, and, since you were the only American in your department, they wanted you to be available for any customer questions they received. So, that meant your peak hours were in the middle of the night.
Sighing, you pulled your dinner off the stove and ducked onto your couch, leaning down to grab your gaming console controller and tv remote. So far, the only thing you had gotten out of your split with Stephen was the television that he had brought with him. As it turned out, the base wouldn’t let him keep it in his unit, so he had insisted that you take it. It wasn’t a bad little tv, and you were eternally grateful that you had insisted on not selling your gaming console before Stephen’s deployment.
Snapping across the screen to Netflix, you allowed yourself to lean back, head lolling to the side as you browsed the titles. After you finished your dinner, your phone vibrated again, gleaming on the kitchen countertop. You ignored it, turning back to your show. No, Japan hadn’t been what you were expecting, but here’s to hoping that things could only look up from now on.
The next week flew by; and as much as you hated sleeping for the better part of the day, you honestly didn’t mind your new co-workers on the night shift. Unlike the day crowd, they were your age, and oh so excited to teach the expat how to enjoy all the delights of Tokyo. The first time you had all gone out drinking, you thought the resulting hangover just might kill you. And, truthfully, even though you still felt like a fish out of water, you found yourself not minding it as much. It was nice to feel you were finally getting your feet under you for once.
You yawned as you crossed the street to your apartment building, stretching your arms above your head and listening for the satisfying pop of muscles. You had some leftovers from dinner at that restaurant your co-worker, Hanabi, had taken you to the day before, so at least you could eat, maybe play a game on your console for a bit, then crash. After swiftly jostling open the complex door, you were surprised to see someone leaning low over the doorknob of the first apartment unit. This early in the morning, the apartment block was usually eerily empty, with the other tenants at work or school.
You stuttered to a halt, eyes wide. Wait, were they breaking in? It wasn’t like you could get a good look at them, whoever they were. They sported a vague, all black outfit, but had bright red shoes, but something felt oddly familiar to you. Like you had seen them somewhere. Stiffening against the sudden light, the figure shifted backwards, away from you, and you caught sight of a shock of white hair under the brim of their hoodie.
For a long breath, you both were still as the complex door groaned shut behind you, trapping the two of you in the darkened space. Then, with an agility you had never seen, they were beside you, and you blinked into vermilion eyes that seemed to gleam with an uncanny glow.
“Ah!” his voice was low and raspy, and now, directly in your ear. His exhale fanned across your hair. “The landlady told me that this key would open the vacant apartment down here. She said that I could take a peek inside before I signed the paperwork.” His long, elegant fingers were wrapped around a golden key, similar to your own. He waved it beside your face as his other hand came to rest lightly on your opposite shoulder, leaning you toward him. “Since you’re here, would you mind if I looked at your unit? She said that they were all the same on this level. It won’t take any time at all, I promise.”
Before you could stammer out a reply, he was leading you down the hallway, his fingers pressing indentions into your shoulder. The two of you slanted toward each other, almost conspiratorially, your feet in sync as he walked you forward.
“Which one…” he muttered, his voice soft, lilting, like this was some sort of game. “Hmm, how about this one?” He paused in front of your doorway and looked down at you expectantly. “Well? Am I right?” You looked up at him, suddenly realizing just how tall he was. His hunched form hadn’t done him any favors in that department, you thought. Guess I have another descriptor for the police if he tries anything. Red eyes, white hair, some kinda skin condition and tall, when he stops folding himself in half like that…
“Uh, yeah, this is mine,” you eked out. “Can - can I grab my key? I’m hoping the landlady didn’t give you a master key, so here’s hoping that yours is useless here.”
The stranger snorted at that, his arm looping a little looser against your shoulder, giving you space to reach into your bag, but not much. As you rummaged in your small crossbody purse, you ran through ways that this could go badly. Worse case, I guess I die; you thought dryly, snagging your keyring at long last. At least he doesn’t seem too dangerous. Yet, you gulped. The sooner you finish this “tour,” the sooner this guy leaves. Once you press your door open, he uses his other arm to gesture for you to enter first. You step into the space and, to your surprise, he releases his hold on your shoulder, allowing you to duck out of his grasp and move in front of him.
You turn slowly to face him, a weak smile on your lips, “Well, this way. There’s really not too much to see.” You toe your shoes off gingerly and step toward your living room, tilting your head ever so slightly to see if he was following. He paused momentarily to remove his red shoes, and then pads, barefoot, after you, his startling red eyes never leaving your face.
Exhaling heavily, you will yourself to be calm and get on with this farce. “So, this is the living area. There’s a small terrace just past that sliding door. I assume all the ground floors have them. It’s handy for hanging laundry…” You prattle, keeping your voice even and your body facing toward his as much as you physically can. He nods, his gaze shifting over your spartan belongings.
“Not bad, not bad,” he replies, his eyes moving away from yours. You take a deep inhale through your nose and try your best to flash him a winning grin. “The apartment itself, uh, leaves a lot to be desired, but it’s one of the bigger units that I’ve seen. I’m sure you can tell, I’m not from Japan.” While your Japanese is still nowhere near perfect, you were thanking whatever higher power was out there that you had thrown yourself wholeheartedly into studying up the last few weeks.
“Yeah…” he echoed, his lanky body turning to face your small tv. For the time being, he seemed intent on looking over your collection of games, and you tried to maneuver your pepper spray into the font of your purse. You kept your body as still as you could, doing your utmost to ensure the small bottle was within reach. Just in case, you told yourself.
“Do you play?”
“What…” you murmured, your head lifting from your purse to glance at him. To your horror, he was looking directly at the hand that was slowly exiting the leather of your purse. Vermillion eyes narrowed as he raised them coldly back to your own and he gestured roughly at your console. His posture had gone rigid, almost like a spring coiled too tightly, ready to snap. Fuck, you mentally kicked yourself. He saw you.
“O-oh! Yeah, a little, when I have time. I wouldn’t say I’m a pro or anything,” you laughed nervously. What the hell was that? A pro? God, calm down, (Y/N). “Most of the games I brought with me are older. I play more RPG, or single player titles. I’ve never been big on multiplayer.” And now you’re babbling. “What about you? D-do you play?” There you go, make him talk to you.
He seems to like this shift in conversation and smiles at you, his grin just a little too big on his pale face. “I do. Not as much as I’ve been wanting to. I’ve been… busy…” He trails off, sliding his hood off of his white hair, the strands curling against his dark shoulders. “So, this is the main area. What’s back here?” With that same unsettling shift of movement that trapped you in this odd predicament, he studies the layout of your space, his frame moving languidly around you.
“Kitchen is small, but I guess it has everything you need?” He’s right beside you again, leaning over your shoulder to look into the dim kitchen, taking in your small fridge and range. Then he’s breezing past you and into the hallway that leads to your bathroom and bedroom. For a moment, you are stunned into abject stillness.
He seemed tense, almost dangerous, a moment ago. Now, he was back to that oddly chipper tone. His voice lilting over his consonants, like skipping stones across a smooth surface. “And I bet this is the bedroom. Oh, don’t worry,” he turned, his hands raised and open by his grinning face, “I won’t go in there. Let’s see, this way to the bathroom?”
It’s like standing in the eye of a hurricane, you think dimly, watching his figure drift around. He doesn’t pry exactly. He seems to know there is an unspoken and unseen courtesy that you are extending to him, but he lets you know he is observing everything; like he is committing every detail of your space to memory.
His eyes dart around, but never really leave you, either. If he turns to look at one area, he is right back seconds later, this time his body even closer than it was before. His heat radiates against your skin, making your flesh prickle coldly when he steps away. You keep trying to get a better look at him, just to make out some defining characteristic beyond red, white and black, but it’s as if he knows what you’re planning. Every time you think you can sneak in a quick glance, his eyes are back on you, forcing you to blink and look away out of the sheer intensity of his blatant stare.
“So, yeah…” you finally croak out, when he steps back into your living room, his quick inspection of the backyard finished. His head turns at the sound of your voice, red once more greeting your eyes from under the fringes of his bangs. “It’s not much, but, for now, it’s home. Er, uh, are you thinking you’ll be moving into this complex?”
“I think I just might. I have a… friend, who lives around here.” He paused, his head cocked to the side, eyes darting around the features of your face rapidly, expectantly. “Thanks so much for the tour…”
“(Y/N),” you supply. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did you tell him your name? So much for self preservation…
“Well, (Y/N), I’ll let you get back to your day.” He moves toward your genkan walkway, eyes still honed into yours. “You should get some rest. You look like you need it.” The last comment was absolutely deadpan, no trace of humor in his tone at all. You bristle and without thinking blurt out, “Yeah, well, you don’t look any better.”
The silence that cracked over that last word was abjectly deafening to your ears.
For a long moment, he just stared at you. There seemed to be some silent battle raging within him, his crimson eyes flashing. It culminated in a deep feeling of foreboding that made you shudder involuntarily, your teeth chattering against each other behind your closed lips. Then, astonishingly, he laughed.
It differed from the strange one that he had given you earlier. This one seemed to be genuine. Not that that made it any less unsettling. It was almost a bark, but his face softened for a moment, his eyes looking away from you.
“Look-” you begin, meaning to apologize, but he cuts you off, tilting his head again, his white hair drifting to one side delicately. “I’ll be sure to tell the landlady how accommodating you were. See you around, (Y/N).” He moves back down the hallway and out of your sight, one hand raised in a last goodbye. Your feet felt rooted to the spot. You heard him tapping his shoes back on, then your front door opening and shutting. For a long time you just stood there, one hand on your kitchen counter, the other pressed against your chest.
Who- Who was that?