A New Beginning
Title: A New Beginning
Rating: G
Pairing: Arsenal/Toppo (subaru/yasu)... sort of
Summary: In the not so distant future, Tokyo is ruled by the rich while the poor hides in the shadows. In the morning, they have a normal job, a shopkeeper, a chauffeur, a bum. But when night sets in, it's a whole different story. This is the story of seven of those people.
Notes: A drabble from patchuppers!verse I'm working on since last month. Inspired by Prologue of Patch videos. The summary sounds more epic than the fic really is though.
The Chemist
Toppo’s glad that the rain has stopped when he steps out of the door. He clutches onto the paper bags he’s holding on tighter as he slowly makes his way through the dark streets in quick sure steps. Tokyo isn’t safe at night. It used to be though. His parents used to tell him of the times when people can easily walk through the alleys without a worry for their safety; the times when one will accept another’s offer without suspecting their motives; the times when one can trust. But those times are long gone. Tokyo is now only a grim remnant of its past.
He’s walking past an alley when he hears a groan. His step falters but he doesn’t stop. Because here, in Tokyo, curiosity does kill the cat. He walks on, head looking up, eyes forever scanning his surroundings for impending danger. But his mind keeps going back to the groan he heard back at the alley. He tries to suppress the thought as he walks faster. But even when he enters his apartment, even when he puts his purchases away, even when he lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling, that sound is still stuck in his head. He tries to close his eyes, to think of more pleasant things but that groan he heard keeps popping back in his mind. It was three in the morning - two hours after he’d reached home - when he finally gives in. He grabs his jacket and the gun under the counter - just for safety measure - and walks out the door. Sometimes, it doesn’t pay to be soft-hearted.
The Gunsmith
It takes him a while to come to his senses after he opens his eyes. But when the memories come rushing back, it hits him like a 2-tonne cement truck. He remembers being dragged into the alley. He remembers the pain when they pummelled him senseless, trying to get the information out of him. He remembers giving them false information. The last thing he remembers is the flash of light as they drove off in that fancy black car.
Slowly, still disoriented, he sits up but feeling the comfortably warm futon under his hands instead of cold hard concrete, he panics. He tries to stand up, but the pain in his chest forces him to lie back down. Instead of trying to escape, Arsenal is trying his best to breathe instead.
“You shouldn’t move to much.”
Arsenal looks up and he sees someone standing in the doorway. It was dark in the room; the only light source comes from the light in the hall so all he can see is a silhouette.
“What do you want from me?”
He tries to sound menacing but it comes out more like a wheeze than a snarl.
“Nothing.”
The man is coming closer and closer towards him. Arsenal instinctively reaches for his gun at his back. But that was when he realizes that he’s topless. He blindly moves his hand around him, trying to search for any kind of weapon, his eyes never leaving the man.
“You don’t have to be scared.”
Arsenal narrows his eyes. The man’s tone was gentle, as if he means no harm, but he has spent too many years in Tokyo to know that nothing is what it seems. He balls his hands into a fist when he notices the man reaching for his pockets; body poised forwards, ready for attack.
“Relax,” the man said softly, “If I want to kill you, I wouldn’t even bring you here.”
The man places his outstretched hand in front of Arsenal and he uncurls his fingers.
“Painkillers. It’ll help ease the pain, you know.”
He looks into the man’s eyes for any sign of deceit, hold his gaze longer than he should but all he sees is kindness in those brown eyes.The man makes the decision for him by putting the bottle next to him.
“Thanks.”
A small smile forms on the man’s face before he stands up and walks away. He was nearly out the door when Arsenal calls out.
“Why are you doing this? It’s stupid to bring a stranger home. You know that right?”
The man doesn’t turn around. Instead, he looks down on the floor. His voice is soft when he speaks. Arsenal has to strain his ears to listen.
“I don’t know.”
And with that he steps out, sliding the door behind him.
Arsenal looks down at the bottle for a while before he pops the lid and shakes it until two white pills spill onto his palm. He breathes in, thinking that this may be the most stupid mistake if the pills are poisoned. But he remembers those kind brown eyes that seem like it will never hurt anyone. With that image in mind, he stuffs the pills in his mouth.
As he lays back into the futon, he decides that he’ll get out of here first thing in the morning. But before that, he needs rest. He lets that calmness wash over him as he closes his eyes.
He’ll leave tomorrow, he promises himself.
But he doesn’t.
When he wakes up to see the man inviting him for a warm meal with that kind smile of his, he thinks he’s going to stay for a while. He’s not sure if he has a house to go home to anyway.
Rating: G
Pairing: Arsenal/Toppo (subaru/yasu)... sort of
Summary: In the not so distant future, Tokyo is ruled by the rich while the poor hides in the shadows. In the morning, they have a normal job, a shopkeeper, a chauffeur, a bum. But when night sets in, it's a whole different story. This is the story of seven of those people.
Notes: A drabble from patchuppers!verse I'm working on since last month. Inspired by Prologue of Patch videos. The summary sounds more epic than the fic really is though.
The Chemist
Toppo’s glad that the rain has stopped when he steps out of the door. He clutches onto the paper bags he’s holding on tighter as he slowly makes his way through the dark streets in quick sure steps. Tokyo isn’t safe at night. It used to be though. His parents used to tell him of the times when people can easily walk through the alleys without a worry for their safety; the times when one will accept another’s offer without suspecting their motives; the times when one can trust. But those times are long gone. Tokyo is now only a grim remnant of its past.
He’s walking past an alley when he hears a groan. His step falters but he doesn’t stop. Because here, in Tokyo, curiosity does kill the cat. He walks on, head looking up, eyes forever scanning his surroundings for impending danger. But his mind keeps going back to the groan he heard back at the alley. He tries to suppress the thought as he walks faster. But even when he enters his apartment, even when he puts his purchases away, even when he lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling, that sound is still stuck in his head. He tries to close his eyes, to think of more pleasant things but that groan he heard keeps popping back in his mind. It was three in the morning - two hours after he’d reached home - when he finally gives in. He grabs his jacket and the gun under the counter - just for safety measure - and walks out the door. Sometimes, it doesn’t pay to be soft-hearted.
The Gunsmith
It takes him a while to come to his senses after he opens his eyes. But when the memories come rushing back, it hits him like a 2-tonne cement truck. He remembers being dragged into the alley. He remembers the pain when they pummelled him senseless, trying to get the information out of him. He remembers giving them false information. The last thing he remembers is the flash of light as they drove off in that fancy black car.
Slowly, still disoriented, he sits up but feeling the comfortably warm futon under his hands instead of cold hard concrete, he panics. He tries to stand up, but the pain in his chest forces him to lie back down. Instead of trying to escape, Arsenal is trying his best to breathe instead.
“You shouldn’t move to much.”
Arsenal looks up and he sees someone standing in the doorway. It was dark in the room; the only light source comes from the light in the hall so all he can see is a silhouette.
“What do you want from me?”
He tries to sound menacing but it comes out more like a wheeze than a snarl.
“Nothing.”
The man is coming closer and closer towards him. Arsenal instinctively reaches for his gun at his back. But that was when he realizes that he’s topless. He blindly moves his hand around him, trying to search for any kind of weapon, his eyes never leaving the man.
“You don’t have to be scared.”
Arsenal narrows his eyes. The man’s tone was gentle, as if he means no harm, but he has spent too many years in Tokyo to know that nothing is what it seems. He balls his hands into a fist when he notices the man reaching for his pockets; body poised forwards, ready for attack.
“Relax,” the man said softly, “If I want to kill you, I wouldn’t even bring you here.”
The man places his outstretched hand in front of Arsenal and he uncurls his fingers.
“Painkillers. It’ll help ease the pain, you know.”
He looks into the man’s eyes for any sign of deceit, hold his gaze longer than he should but all he sees is kindness in those brown eyes.The man makes the decision for him by putting the bottle next to him.
“Thanks.”
A small smile forms on the man’s face before he stands up and walks away. He was nearly out the door when Arsenal calls out.
“Why are you doing this? It’s stupid to bring a stranger home. You know that right?”
The man doesn’t turn around. Instead, he looks down on the floor. His voice is soft when he speaks. Arsenal has to strain his ears to listen.
“I don’t know.”
And with that he steps out, sliding the door behind him.
Arsenal looks down at the bottle for a while before he pops the lid and shakes it until two white pills spill onto his palm. He breathes in, thinking that this may be the most stupid mistake if the pills are poisoned. But he remembers those kind brown eyes that seem like it will never hurt anyone. With that image in mind, he stuffs the pills in his mouth.
As he lays back into the futon, he decides that he’ll get out of here first thing in the morning. But before that, he needs rest. He lets that calmness wash over him as he closes his eyes.
He’ll leave tomorrow, he promises himself.
But he doesn’t.
When he wakes up to see the man inviting him for a warm meal with that kind smile of his, he thinks he’s going to stay for a while. He’s not sure if he has a house to go home to anyway.