[LWD] After Dark - part 3: overtime with no pay, 1/2
**NOTE: All previously locked fic on this journal has now been unlocked. I've gone ahead and unfriended all journals since it's no longer necessary.
Title: After Dark - part 3: overtime with no pay
Category: Kuroko no Basket
Pairing(s): For now, just Aomine/Kise, I swear I will one day get to the threesome I've been angling for since forever
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 12,000
Summary: Vampire AU - It's tough finding a job to match one's unique schedule and dietary needs. Beggars can't be choosers, but maybe Kuroko should have read the fine print before he signed.
» Part of the Long Way Down Series
To his credit, Kuroko tried to sleep. He made a heroic attempt, and by all rights he should have been out the moment his head sunk onto the pillow, soft and clean-smelling with the promise of rest and peaceful dreams. He had every reason to be exhausted. Any day that started during actual daylight hours took a toll on him, and that was in addition to the stress of sharing space with a young fox who didn't know any better (or perhaps, more terrifyingly, he did know, but Kuroko liked to believe he was a positive thinker). Not to the mention the kidnapping adventure which greedily occupied the bulk of his troubled thoughts.
Kuroko stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours, unable to cease the what-if threads that spun endless webs in his mind. He'd lived a long time and met a lot of people. He'd done a lot of things. Shifting uneasily, he found that those factors left him disconcertingly open to a lot of connections from a lot of angles. Ideas formed then fell away the moment he took a closer look, only to start accumulating again shortly after, paranoia hooking tiny little claws in him but never with any conviction.
Every once in a while an image popped into his head: two prone, unmoving figures lying in the darkness, left behind by the rumble of the truck. Two witnesses, two culprits, most likely alive and able enough to find him again.
He breathed in and out slowly, willing away the shadows creeping into every nook and cranny of his thoughts. Kuroko reasoned: even if he had taken that extra precaution, he'd still be in this very same position, anxious and awake and aching under the weight of a burden bearing down on his heart if not his head.
Admittedly, it was a bit of a lose-lose situation.
So with an air of resignation he slipped out of the bed, easily finding his way through the dim, windowless room, and paused only to listen by the door before turning the knob without a sound. From there he ghosted out-not towards the exit, not yet, but into an open living-dining area.
While Kise's house outside the city had been comfortably traditional, the Roppongi apartment was economically modern… or at least, it was intended to be so. The sleek, clean lines of minimal styling were offset by a smattering of clutter that spoke of careless familiarity. Multiple days' worth of mail dusted the glass dining table, along with an mp3 player, a pair of sunglasses, and a half-empty bag of chips. The L-shaped couch was home to haphazard pillows that looked used to taking beatings, a remote control on its way to being buried under the seat of the chaise, and an open magazine that was draped across the arm. As far as decoration of the more intended variety, sparse art adorned the walls like the awkward afterthoughts they were, though they looked to be original paintings rather than prints. Adding to the incongruity, a glimpse of the balcony revealed the puzzling sight of plant life thriving in a medium-sized box despite the location.
Abundant curiosities, but all irrelevant.
Kuroko drifted further into the room, head turning as he scoped out the space and catalogued everything contained within it. His gaze finally landed on the stretch of wall where a dry erase board hung, well-used by various hands, and perfectly suitable for his needs.
He uncapped a black marker and put the tip of it to the bottom part of the board that remained untouched. A brief note of thanks, a small apology for leaving without saying goodbye-his contribution was simple and plain next to the colorful personalities of Kise and his friends, out of place like the abstract oil painting above the messy couch.
Kuroko's hand hovered over the words that marked his presence, contemplating them, how easily they could be erased and forgotten. Although he had the feeling Kise wouldn't forget very easily. He told himself that was the best reason for sneaking out quietly. He left his message as it was, for what it was worth, and leaving intentional traces behind was so novel a practice for him that maybe there was some worth to it after all.
#
Nights were short at this time of year, and Kuroko could feel the sun's imminent approach sapping strength from his already depleted stores. The sky had not yet lightened, but it would soon, and the city would come alive with it while other creatures shrunk back into their meager shadows. He would have much liked to do the same, but he was technically still on the clock, and at the very least he should stop by the bar to let Seto know he was still alive. They were both aware of the risks that came with the job-that came with simply existing in their case-though if Kuroko had actually vanished and never returned he doubted Seto would be more than mildly inconvenienced, and Kuroko himself was undisturbed by this state of things. Maintaining a professional distance was good. Easier. Much, much easier.
Still, checking in was the polite thing to do. He might even be able to sleep in the bar along with the few permanent customers (who were more like fixtures in the literal sense), which would save him from the trouble and embarrassment of passing out in the middle of the street on his way home. It had happened before. The worst part was that the helpless exposure always resulted in terrible sunburn-which, at the very least, was better than outright bursting into flames. Throughout all his long life, Kuroko had never seen such a thing happen to one of his kind without the aid of gasoline and a match. Some vampires these days hardly even felt the difference between night and day anymore. If only he could be so lucky.
An eternity later, he finally made it to After Dark's doorstep. The entrance was guarded as always by the same stoic young man who had yet to utter a single word in Kuroko's presence; vampire and werewolf exchanged greetings with a brief glance and a perfunctory sniff, respectively. If the wolf noticed anything odd about Kuroko's scent, some lingering magicked gas perhaps, he raised no alarm over it.
The bar was emptier than usual, owing to the nearness of dawn no doubt, and when Seto looked up his expression was curious, but affable. "Long night, I see."
"Yes. I apologize. There was no helping it." Kuroko didn't offer anything else, employer or not, there was no full disclosure clause in their contract. Or much of a contract at all. The extent of their oral agreement had been, "run deliveries for rewards."
Seto shrugged, accepting the apology, and fetched a clean glass as well as a new bottle from the back. The red liquid inside was so dark it was nearly black, and the magic wafting from it once opened made Kuroko light-headed. "You look like you could use this," Seto said while pouring.
Kuroko's reasonable side advised that he should graciously decline. For one thing, the magicked blood was the priciest fare in the bar, and their first meeting notwithstanding, Seto wasn't known to be generous with it. There were customers who eked out every last one of their coins (or however they were paying, some of them could get creative) just for a taste. It was an imitation rush all of them had once experienced with the magic of being turned, but that was a one-time use deal. A vampire couldn't be changed twice. The only other way to feel that again was to feed from a sorcerer, and they weren't inclined to donate (although, apparently, there was profit to be had in this niche market).
Kuroko was more familiar with magicked blood than most. That was the main reason why he shouldn't-but the glass was right there in front of him, his teeth sharpening as he breathed in the scent, and the tight knot of anxiety that had been plaguing him for hours was swallowed up by a sudden, yawning hunger. He glanced at Seto, but the bartender was already busy with something else, completely unconcerned with him.
It had been a night of mistakes and near misses, and once again Akashi's words surfaced to gently remind him, "You won't make it that way."
Right now, refusing just to prove that he could seemed very childish.
Kuroko tipped the glass back, bracing himself for the taste of pure power that hit with a jolt and crackled through his system. The more blood he drank down the lighter his body felt, less affected by the incoming glimmer of dawn, and his worries began to dissipate with relaxing ease. Relief flooded him with every soothing swallow. What remained of his strength was glad to collapse. Even his thoughts began to flee.
Alarm was an increasingly distant thing in his mind, but it made itself known with persistent little grabs-instinct, maybe-that finally made his throat close in protest. Kuroko sputtered, coughing, and dropped the glass. Blood spilled across the bar and dripped down to the floor, but there wasn't much of it left. Most of it was already working its spell inside him. He clung onto his concentration with all the desperation he could muster.
"Relax," Seto said, his form behind the counter blurring around the edges. He flicked out a damp washcloth and mopped up the spill without a care in the world. "It's not going to kill you. We wouldn't want this establishment to have that kind of reputation. Bad for business and all. I'm sure you understand."
Kuroko pushed away from the bar and managed to keep his feet, but only long enough to stumble over a chair. It was all he could do to catch himself on the nearby table. There was no way he could make it to the door.
"That's why," Seto continued his one-sided conversation, "it would have been better if Furuhashi and Hara succeeded. Thanks for letting them live, by the way. You're not a bad kid. This is nothing personal, you know."
It would have been better if it was personal. Then Kuroko would at least have a clue. He slumped, all semblance of coordination slipping from his control, and not even the jarring sensation of falling down could free him from the spell's cocooning effect.
A shadow fell across the floor as Seto vacated his position behind the bar and crouched within Kuroko's hazy field of vision. "You've had a long night, so sleep it off for a while."
If Akashi could see Kuroko's tally of mistakes in this one night alone, he'd be disappointed. Or maybe not. He wasn't the sort to gloat, but Kuroko could imagine the I-told-you-so anyway.
"I've never once been wrong."
Kuroko had known that all along. He shouldn't be surprised by facts that didn't change.
#
The sun shone brightly overhead, yesterday's storm long gone without leaving a single cloud behind. The rain had taken the oppressive heat along with it, to the relief of the entire city, and the park today was full of people taking advantage of the pleasant change of weather. Families spread picnics across the grass and dogs were walked along the shaded paths. A pair of joggers trotted past the bench where Momoi sat, quietly observing everything with her chin in her hands. There was a clump of teenagers nearby made up of mixed boys and girls, snacking on frozen treats and laughing together as they enjoyed their summer holiday. A nostalgic smile touched Momoi's face.
"Erm… excuse me?"
Momoi straightened up to meet a bashful gaze-which to the young man's credit, was trained on her face and not the cleavage exposed by her sundress. He wasn't bad-looking, either, but there was only politeness in her tone when she said, "Can I help you?"
"Ah, well… I was just wondering…"
She suppressed a sigh. "Yes?"
"Would you-I mean, are you busy?"
His face was completely red, and she couldn't be too annoyed with him. Letting him down gently, she said, "I'm afraid I am, but thank you."
"O-oh. Okay. I just thought-well, worth a shot, you know? Um, sorry for disturbing you!"
"Have a nice day," she said with a loose wave as the young man all but fled.
She hadn't lied; Momoi was busy in spite of her idle appearance. The carefree atmosphere of the park was unaffected by the fact that yet another person had gone missing just last week, from this very spot if her guess was on the mark (which it very often was).
The news reported that this was the third person, but according to Midorima's files it would be the fifth. Maybe the sixth by now. The sorcerer community had started to lock down and plug up any leaks now that it was painfully clear they were being targeted. Shunning outside help, they would handle their problems themselves, hence Midorima's involvement.
Momoi ground the toe of her sandal into the dirt under the bench, allowing for a single, teensy jab of envy, unbecoming as it was. She could only dream of being a magistrate, those who were given the privilege of meting out the Conclave's judgment upon law-breakers. Not only did she lack the connections necessary to attain such a high-ranking position, but more importantly-and more regrettably-her skills were just plain inadequate. Her affinity for magic was average at best, and while her mundane methods could make up for that, investigation only accounted for part of a magistrate's responsibilities. Even if she could successfully locate every renegade there was, she didn't have the ability, the sheer firepower, to subdue them. In a perfect world she'd have help to complete the job, but thus far, Midorima was the only fellow sorcerer who humored her, and just barely at her insistence.
Frowning, Momoi slapped both sides of her face lightly, earning a few puzzled looks that she ignored. No time to feel sorry for herself, she came here for a reason. If nothing else, she was confident in her limited area of expertise, and not even Midorima could argue with her knack for info-gathering.
The most recent victim was Konoe Hikari, a 21-year-old student at Tokyo University. Originally hailing from Kyoto, her family line was famously ancient and well-respected, both in public and in more secret circles. She was bright, powerful, and being groomed to inherit her mother's position as Director of the Asian Branch. Since every branch director answered to the Conclave that governed over all sorcerers, this was news that could shake the whole community if it grew any bigger.
Midorin must be having a hard time of it. Although Momoi didn't delude herself into thinking he'd be grateful for her help. He'd owe her a favor, though, and unlike a certain irresponsible hunter, Midorima could be counted on to repay a debt in full. Momoi hadn't gotten this far by letting chances slip by. She bent her thoughts back to the task on hand.
Konoe may have been the biggest fish, but the others were impressive as well. Equal ratio of men to women. The youngest was 16-years-old, oldest at 42. The first went missing sometime in March. No pattern to the disappearances that would indicate a cycle, which crossed out some possible motives but left too many others to consider. Since the case was being handled by a magistrate Momoi could be reasonably sure the perpetrator was human-anything else would be the guild's problem.
Momoi reached into her purse and lifted out a round compact. She was mindful while opening it, and kept the mirror close so no one would notice the odd sheen flashing across its surface, already spelled to react. Some preparations had to be made in advance since there was no way she could work properly out here in public. As a result, the spell wasn't as thorough as she would have liked, but it would get the job done. Konoe's family crest, though faint, was misted on the glass as proof that she'd been casting here. It was hard to determine how long ago with just this, but Momoi's research indicated that the last known sighting of the victim had been in this park. She'd narrowed that down further to this very spot tucked in between a cluster of maple trees that were the same type as the ones commonly grown at the Konoe residence in Kyoto. That little touch of home was all the sentiment an ambitious type like Konoe would allow.
Being as inconspicuous as she could, Momoi muttered the words to alter the focus of her spell, essentially casting a wide net across the surroundings in search of another brand of magic. The surrounding hustle and bustle made it difficult, creating a noisy mess of disturbance that gave her a headache to sift through, but her determined efforts bore fruit: Konoe's crest faded and began to morph, giving way to a new shape that webbed across the glass.
But before the telltale sign could fully form, the mirror cracked. Momoi's reflexes were just good enough to fling the compact away and avoid getting caught in a tinkling shatter of glass.
Heads turned but Momoi didn't wait around fishing for an excuse. She left the remains of the compact and hurried away from the scene, diving into the press of a crowd to get lost in. Her hands clutched her purse tightly and the hammering in her chest echoed in her ears.
It wasn't… wholly unexpected, a reaction like that. Certainly, rogue sorcerers had reason to hide, and would thus be inclined to leave nasty traps for anyone who tried to sniff after them. A counter-spell had been within her margin of expectation. Momoi forced her grip to relax, clenching and unclenching her fingers, finally having the thought to look down and examine them. She was uninjured. Thinking about it objectively, she'd been more startled than anything else. Her overreaction was just that and nothing more.
Stopping by a fountain for a drink, the cool water helped soothe the last of her rattled nerves. She recalled the image that had begun to take shape right before the interruption. That would help narrow down the suspects, at least a little bit. If she could go back and further examine the trace amounts of the spell-and maybe something could be picked up on her shattered compact-that might yield more clues. Taking a calm, measured breath, Momoi turned to walk back to the bench.
She was stopped short by a hand that offered the jagged pieces of her cheap plastic compact. Bits of glass still clung to the frame like a mouth full of broken teeth. For a moment all Momoi could do was stare.
"Pardon me, but is this yours?"
Very slowly, Momoi's gaze traveled up the length of a thin, white arm. Narrow shoulders were framed within a fitted button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up on account of summer, and strands of dark hair draped around a pale face that might be described as refined. The shiver icing down her spine said otherwise. "Yes," she said, hollow and automatic. "Thank you."
The compact was dropped in her palm. Momoi flinched at the tingle of magic zapping through her skin, not enough to injure, but it had a sting.
"Ah, sorry about that." A sheepish stretch of the mouth and suddenly the stranger was a picture of innocence. "I didn't mean for someone else to get involved. I hope you weren't hurt."
Plastic creaked in Momoi's suddenly tight fist, not caring that tiny pieces of glass cut into her fingers. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, well… no, I'm just kidding." A shadow passed over the man's face, grin shifting into delighted malice. "That's a nice expression you're wearing."
Momoi whirled, searching wildly among the park-goers who went about their day without so much as a glance in her direction. "Somebody!" She interrupted a passing couple and they stumbled into her, shocked, but looking through her as if she was invisible.
Sight and sound were affected, maybe other senses, too. The radius of the spell couldn't be that big for such a complicated working, if she could just get out of its range…
A hand separated from the crowd to grab her. It was not a friendly grab. Momoi skipped her formal appeal, spitting out a few clumsy words in Latin-Midorin is so traditional-and the hand let go with an accompanying yelp. Momoi took off running, glad for her flat sandals, and heedlessly elbowed her way through anyone in her path, gauging their reactions. Bewildered looks followed in her wake, but no accusations or outrage at a recognizable source. She gulped in air and screamed at the top of her lungs, but that failed to get a reaction as well.
Her panicked flight took her all the way to the entrance of the park. He couldn't have spelled the entire park. Maybe just the path…? But how would he have known her route?
Momoi fumbled in her purse, wrapping her fingers (sliced bloody, she'd forgotten about that, couldn't even register the pain) around her phone and hitting the first button on speed dial. "Dai-chan, so help me God if you don't pick up-"
The call rang and rang. Momoi swore, under her breath at first and then louder just because she could. She would have welcomed the offended looks of little old ladies, elderly gentlemen, and mothers herding young children. She made towards the sidewalk as if to hail a cab, only to remember no one would notice her standing there. Aomine's voicemail recording taunted her. She'd try Midorima next.
Tires screeched as they pulled up in front of her, and a door clicked open. Momoi backed up a step, came up against something solid, and the words to the defensive spell flew from her lips only to break off on the last syllable when her wrist was captured and her arm wrenched back. Her phone was ripped free from her grasping fingers.
She yelled to high heaven with fury and fear-tinged abandon, firing off her spell once more to earn a satisfying grunt of pain. Struggling, she didn't make it easy for them as they tried to shove her into the backseat of the car.
The air changed at her back, and the pressure eased up just long enough to be replaced with a comparatively gentle touch to the nape of her neck. "Oh," she choked as the mild sting pricked her flesh, working quickly. Her limbs grew unresponsive and she crumpled forward, and barely missed knocking her head on the roof of the car.
Not an area spell, then. It worked directly on her person. What an unpleasantly personal piece of work. Momoi glared balefully at the sorcerer's face through the window before darkness closed in on her.
#
Aomine woke with the lethargy of one who couldn't be bothered to move, shuttering his eyes against the morning light and soaking in its lazy warmth. There was a familiar presence crowding his back; an arm loosely curled around his waist and the faint stirring of steady, languid breath tickling his skin.
Kise must have come back last night. There was something about that fact that felt off somehow, but when alarm failed to manifest Aomine got bored and dismissed the matter entirely.
Something buzzed. Was that his phone? Shit, he couldn't reach it from here. Aomine entertained the thought of getting up to answer it, then defeated the purpose by letting the call go to voicemail anyway. Whatever. He'd check it later.
Kise made a displeased sound and drew closer, nosing the crook of Aomine's neck while his fingers slipped lower under the sheet, though whether by accident or design it was impossible to tell. Seemed to be a fox thing-Kise could seduce even from a dead sleep (and what a dubious talent that was).
Less sleepy by the second, Aomine grunted, "You better be awake if you're going to start that."
The movement stilled.
"Of course," Aomine grumbled, but there were ways of fixing that. He rolled over, not caring that he half-squashed Kise in the process because served him right.
"Wha-oww!"
Smug satisfaction curdled at the note of a pained whine. Aomine sat up, frowning, and pulled Kise's hand away from his face to reveal a marvelously blackened eye. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Oh my God, is it as bad as it feels?"
"It's pretty damn impressive. Shame about the moneymaker, though."
"Shit, I have to call Yukio…"
"You do that." Aomine slid from the bed, stretching as he did so, and sauntered out into the kitchen to retrieve a cold compress from the freezer. Only years of Momoi's nagging prevented him from grabbed the nearest dirty dishtowel, stepping outside to pull a clean one from the laundry line instead.
Kise was already on the phone with his manager, sitting hunched over on the couch as if he could physically grovel his way out things. From the sounds coming through the phone, he may have to go do so in person.
"I know, I know, no, it's really swollen, I don't think all the makeup in the world could-yeah, okay. But other than that, I'm totally fine! That's a relief, right?" He pulled the phone away from his ear with a wince until the particularly furious yelling lowered to standard pissed-off levels "Yes. Yes, I will. I'll make sure of it. Thank you very much." He hung up with a dramatically dejected sigh.
Sounded like Kasamatsu was as much of a hardass as ever. Fortunately, Kise was the type to flourish under tough love. Aomine nudged the unmarred side of his face with the towel-wrapped compress. "Here."
"Thanks." Kise shifted the ice to his eye, but did a double-take when he got a good look at Aomine. "What are you-put some clothes on!"
"Don't feel like it," he said just to be contrary, and besides, the weather was plenty warm enough. He'd been out on the balcony for all of half a second, and they were several stories up, so on the off-chance someone did get an eyeful, that was their problem. The fact that Kise had slept fully clothed was weirder. "Isn't it a little late for you to be scandalized?"
"Not me," Kise said, then lowered his voice to an exaggerated whisper and pointed at the door to the other bedroom. "We have a guest!"
"Satsuki's seen it all before." Although she'd yell about it and Aomine wasn't sure he wanted to deal with that this morning, or ever. "All right, all right, I'll put on pants. Happy?"
"It's not Momoicchi."
"Oh?" He snagged some more laundry, stepping into a worn pair of boxers that were ideal for passing lazy summer days. As a generous concession, he also pulled on track pants, but didn't bother with a shirt. No need to get fancy here, unless this mystery guest was the Prime Minister or someone's mom. "Wait." A light bulb stuttered on, delayed though it may be. "It's not your mom, is it? Didn't you go see her yesterday?"
"It's a long story." Kise wilted as though the memory was too much to bear. Aomine guessed it was only a matter of time before he got the full disclosure, whether he wanted to hear it or not. "But first, Aominecchi, you have to promise not to kill him."
"What? Why? Kill who?"
"Promise first!"
"This is stupid." More curious than anything, Aomine ignored Kise's protests and went straight for the bedroom door, throwing it open without preamble.
"Wait, wait, wait, I'll explain-oof!"
Aomine rocked forward from Kise's weight barreling into him from behind, and caught himself on the doorframe with one hand. "No need," he drawled, taking in the view with an unimpressed eye, "there's no one here."
"Eh?" Kise stuck his chin over Aomine's shoulder, cheek cold from the ice. "Eeeh?!"
"Man, and I thought it would be something interesting..."
"No way!" Kise pushed forward to circle the bed, which did look somewhat more rumpled than the way Momoi usually left it. Bored and a little bit let down, Aomine wandered into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of milk (after checking-with good reason-to see if the expiration date hadn't passed yet) while Kise searched the rest of the apartment. "I can't believe it!"
"First time being ditched the morning after, huh?"
"In case you forgot, I woke up in bed with you. Regretfully."
"Ouch. That hurts."
"You'll live." Kise paused in front of the stupid whiteboard Momoi had forced on them under pretense of a gift (and just what was Aomine supposed to use it for, if not inappropriate pictures?). Scanning the messages, Kise's entire body slumped. "He really left just like that. Geez, what if something happens?"
Aomine came up to read over Kise's shoulder. "Don't keep me in suspense or anything..." His words trailed off, recent memory pinging him. "Kuroko?"
"Part of my long story, a torrid tale of kidnapping and thwarted romance and vampires breaking my mother's windows. Kurokocchi helped me out, though, so he is not for staking. But I guess it doesn't matter much now."
Huh, Aomine thought. Small fucking world. He prodded Kise. "Kidnapping?"
That was all the prompting Kise needed to regale Aomine with his late-night drama, colored with commentary on his embarrassing mothers (Aomine had never met them and was pretty sure he didn't want to) and Kuroko's way of being bad for the heart (Aomine sympathized), and closing with a half-joking appeal for vengeance (which Aomine was happy to take at face value).
"Interesting," he said with a grin that was slow to manifest, and edged with teeth as it did, taking his time to enjoy the prospect of a decent hunt. About damn time. "But we're gonna need bait. So... where does Kuroko live?"
"He didn't say." Kise pouted. "No matter how many times I asked."
"Stalker."
"I'm just concerned!"
Momoi could probably find out, she was good at that sort of thing. Where was his phone again?
"But," Kise added with a triumphant curve of his lips, "I know where he works."
Nearly purring with pleasure and anticipation, Aomine leaned in to plant a kiss on Kise's smiling mouth. "Good start."
#
Kuroko might have slept the day away if not for the nightmare. It was nothing new: a deeply furrowed glare, a bristling growl, fangs bared with a rush that ended blood-covered on the note of a wolf's keening howl.
The only outward sign of his startled awakening was a shudder, his reflexive intake of breath silent as he strained to listen to his surroundings. All was quiet, save for the soft sound of another person breathing nearby. He was curled on his side, the floor underneath him cool and unforgivably hard, and there was some light beyond the thin lids of his eyes. The sun's presence was muted, but in no way receding. He estimated a few hours had passed at most.
Kuroko was tempted to simply fall back asleep, get some rest while he could and be better prepared for… whatever was in store for him. He was still alive, but that fact was becoming less and less reassuring the more times he found it was his sole comfort.
Cracking his eyes open, the room swam into focus. There wasn't much to see, but it was looking very much like a barren cellar. There were windows at ground level letting in light, but otherwise the stairs were the only visible exit.
His hands were confined behind his back again, but not with rope. The weight of metal encased his wrists, connected by a short chain that left him scant room to move them around. His ankles were cuffed the same way, giving him enough maneuverability to walk but little else. How very medieval.
"Oh, you're awake." A female voice floated behind him, and with strained cheer continued, "Good! I was getting a bit gloomy by myself."
Lacking grace, Kuroko half rolled and half pushed himself up into a sitting position, then struggled through a bout of dizziness left over from his magically spiked drink. That would teach him not to accept things from sketchy barmen. It all seemed so obvious in retrospect.
Opposite him was a girl, also shackled, face pale but smiling. "Fancy meeting you here," she said. "Um… Kuroko-kun, was it?"
He scanned through his sizable memory but came up with no match for a girl with her features and coloring. There was a nervous lilt to her voice, understandable given the circumstances, but there was also the way her gaze measured the distance between them. His waking relieved her, but made her wary, too. Like she had no idea if she'd been locked up with a bloodthirsty monster. Kuroko made no move towards her, easing back instead to slouch against the wall. "I'm sorry, have we met?"
A shade of genuine humor lightened her expression. "Kind of. We have a mutual boneheaded acquaintance and one evening he decided to bring an unconscious vampire home." The caution returned when she added, "I helped save your life, you know."
Ah. "I see." Kuroko pressed his lips together and made an effort to not look hungry as that particular memory surfaced, because it would only be taken the wrong way. "In that case, thank you."
"You're welcome. Since we're stuck here, we might as well officially introduce ourselves. I'm Momoi Satsuki, a witch of humble talent."
There was a faint whiff of active magic around her, proving that whatever small ability she had, she could use it if need arose. Interesting, and possibly useful. He filed the tidbit away for future consideration. "Kuroko Tetsuya. Nice to meet you."
Giving the room a more thorough sweep now that he was up and relatively clear-headed, something new caught his eye-a detail he hadn't noticed before. It was a trap door leading to a second underground level, a later addition not intended as part of the building's design given the crude way it had been dug out.
"I already tried it," Momoi said when Kuroko shuffled over to inspect more closely.
Of course it was locked, but not with bolt, latch, or padlock. The door was sealed with a spell to prevent it from budging. Kuroko bent his face near the cracks and breathed in. Aside from the magic scent, there was a hint of something else-something that made him think that they were better off with the door shut.
Momoi observed his actions with suspicion. "What is it?"
"Nothing."
She didn't look convinced, and continued to watch him in silence for several long moments. Then, apparently concluding that there wasn't anything else to be done, Momoi let some of the tension leave her body. Her chains rattled as she made a sad attempt to get comfortable. "Say, I don't suppose you can do something about these?"
"Not without a blowtorch."
"Oh, well. It was worth asking." Her sigh shook with brittle aggravation and did little to hold back her fear. "It will take forever for stupid Dai-chan to realize I'm missing…"
Kuroko thought back to Aomine and their first meeting. He was sure the homunculus had targeted the hunter; Kuroko's presence for that fight had been utterly ignored. There was no reason for a sorcerer to send something as flashy as a homunculus after someone like Kuroko. Then again, two kidnappings within 24 hours weren't very subtle, either. Kise's part in it had been a coincidence, just his plain bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This had started before, with Aomine. Somehow Kuroko had gotten someone's attention.
"Excuse me, Momoi-san?"
"Yes?"
"Do you happen to know who might be behind this?"
Her expression darkened, anger sparked to momentarily chase away her concerns. "Yes, a little. I don't know his name, but he's a renegade who's responsible for several disappearances in this area, all powerful sorcerers, God only knows why. Someone's on his trail, but I'm not holding my breath for a rescue." She winced as if the very suggestion was ludicrous.
The faintest wisp of an idea blew back and forth in Kuroko's mind, so unpleasant that he would have preferred to snuff it out. A sense of carefulness made him ask, "The same person who sent the homunculus after Aomine-kun?"
Momoi opened her mouth, then closed it. "Oh. Huh."
Kuroko waited patiently.
Momoi speculated aloud, more for her own benefit with little thought as to her audience's understanding. "I should have known a homunculus wasn't his style. I don't think he's powerful enough to create one, either. So why did he let me catch onto him? All it did was lead me here. …Oh, hell, are they working together?"
"They?" A sorcerer experimenting with homunculi was worrisome for the obvious reasons, but not too out of the ordinary. When vampires got thrown into that mix, however, it became a whole different kind of bad. Kuroko shouldn't have come to Tokyo. Maybe he shouldn't have come back to Japan at all.
Momoi went on, gaining momentum with her train of thought. "The guy who sent the homunculus is probably the same creep who brought me here, and is kidnapping all of Tokyo's best and brightest. But someone else was watching Dai-chan's fight, and I'm almost certain that he has knowledge our other sorcerer would be keen on learning, if he isn't putting it to practice already."
Kuroko should have gone to Europe instead.
"I mean, classified info or not, it doesn't take a genius to figure out there's some connection between magic blood and vampires."
He heard the Netherlands were nice this time of year.
"This begs the question," Momoi's eyes sharpened on him, "of how you fit into all this."
Kuroko blinked roundly at her, surrendering nothing beyond his placid facade, until she began to visibly lose patience and he finally said in his defense: "I was made the normal way." There was something darkly humorous about that, referring to his death and subsequent revival as normal and harmless.
He was saved (questionable though such a rescue was) from further interrogation by the near-silent swish of a door opening, and the trod of feet down the stairs. Two familiar faces appeared, looking as though they'd had almost as rough a night as Kuroko. He thought again of how he drove that truck forward instead of in reverse.
The blond popped his gum. "Awake already? Good, then you can walk on your own."
"Up," said the other.
Kuroko did as they said since it looked like the alternative was to be carried or dragged. He was led up the stairs through a Western-style house-more like a mansion with its pointlessly large and heavily decorated rooms. They passed right by the exit (so close yet so far), then up another staircase, this one a grand affair curving along the wall in the foyer. Conscious of his shoes tracking dirt all over the polished floor, Kuroko was briefly caught between a warring sense of petty revenge and staunchly ingrained manners.
Such distractions fell away when they stopped in front of a door. Three evenly spaced knocks, and a voice answered, "You may enter."
Stepping inside, Kuroko was assailed with the ozone scent of magic, so rich he could taste it and probably scrape it off his tongue. That wasn't all; his fangs unsheathed in physiological response to blood. Large amounts of it. Glassware of all shapes and sizes glinted in the dimly lit room, filled with dark liquid. Kuroko had the feeling that while Seto's bar catered to all kinds, this was more of a connoisseur's collection.
"We meet at last," said a figure sitting at the desk, head bent over an open book bound in sturdy leather that looked to be centuries old. Incongruously, there was also a computer screen glowing in front of him. Tradition wasn't everything. The man lifted his gaze at his own leisure, amusement evident in the smile that skewed his mouth, and made a short gesture with his hand.
The wordless command dismissed the other two from the atelier, though by the sound of it they only went as far as guarding the door on the other side.
Since it appeared he would be here for a while, Kuroko wondered if he had to wait for permission to sit. Before he could ask, his host cornered him and reached out to grab his chin, tilting his face up in curious examination. His touch stung with magic that crawled icy and unpleasant underneath Kuroko's skin.
"Hmm. You don't look it, but there's a slight resemblance."
Kuroko stared back, unblinking, but it failed to unnerve this man. The fingers on his chin slid up to thumb back his lip on one side, then the other, revealing elongated canines to measuring scrutiny. Next, the spidery sensation of the sorcerer's hand crept lower to press against the steady pulse in Kuroko's throat.
His recent brushes with bad magic aside, a steady diet was all Kuroko needed to remain in good health. This didn't have the feel of a benign check-up, though. The sorcerer's attention, expectant and weighing, said otherwise.
"When were you born?"
Kuroko had to think about it. "1851… probably."
"How did you die?"
"Shot to the chest." Ironic, how he'd died drowning in what he now consumes to survive.
"Who sired you?"
He remembered tasting his own blood, the last thing he'd ever known as a human, and then the heady rush of power that brought him back, never to be the same again. A crimson splash of color under a slate winter sky, cold hands touching his face, and, "Wake up, Tetsuya."
Despite himself, his eyes half closed in vivid memory. "…Akashi-kun."
The hand that ruffled his hair was rough with latent violence, and a condescending tone dripped poisonously in his ear. "Very good, Kuroko. It seems you are the genuine article."
Should he have lied? Kept silent? No, the result would have been the same. He was being toyed with, but there was no telling whether that might be good for him in the long run or not.
With a chuckle the sorcerer moved away, melding into the shadows of the room. "If you're his progeny then you're worth the trouble. But first…"
Fabric rustled, and without warning the world was ablaze with light. Heavy curtains had been pulled back to let in the sun, streaming full-force through immense windows and reflecting off an abundance of ruby-bright glass. All Kuroko saw were flashes, explosions of searing blindness, and he may not have been literally bursting into flames but the idea wasn't far off the mark. Swaying on his feet, he would have toppled if not for a sudden jerk on his arm keeping him upright.
"Please," scoffed a callous voice, "it won't kill you, and you're of no use to me dead."
Kuroko would have liked to say something unkind, but had to settle for hissing through his teeth while pressing the heels of his hands to his watering eyes and trying not to crumple to the floor.
"Still," the sorcerer continued with a thoughtfulness that failed to comfort, "a second generation is more sensitive than I would have predicted. Your sire hardly flinched on a cloudless summer day."
Kuroko kept his snort of disbelief to himself, recalling all too well the cranky moods Akashi could get into on those days when there was no one else around to witness his weakness.
"Then again, he had a certain ability that I believe you lack."
That was a valid point, though maybe not a fair one. Not everyone could be gifted with a talent for sorcery. "I suppose you'll want to test that, too," Kuroko said, knowingly easing into a state of dull resignation.
"In time." The man treated him to a smile that made all manner of self-preservation instincts flare up. He walked by a table where the expected magical paraphernalia was assembled: plants both dried and fresh, precious stones and metals, bits of bone and fur and scales from no mortal creature. His fingers trailed over the flat blade of a knife, thin and silver, picking it up by the handle with familiar grace. It was plain, made for utility more than decoration. An inspection of its sharp edge met with satisfaction, lighting an unholy gleam in the depths of murky eyes as they came to rest on Kuroko.
"I have a few other ideas to try first."
Part 2
Title: After Dark - part 3: overtime with no pay
Category: Kuroko no Basket
Pairing(s): For now, just Aomine/Kise, I swear I will one day get to the threesome I've been angling for since forever
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 12,000
Summary: Vampire AU - It's tough finding a job to match one's unique schedule and dietary needs. Beggars can't be choosers, but maybe Kuroko should have read the fine print before he signed.
» Part of the Long Way Down Series
To his credit, Kuroko tried to sleep. He made a heroic attempt, and by all rights he should have been out the moment his head sunk onto the pillow, soft and clean-smelling with the promise of rest and peaceful dreams. He had every reason to be exhausted. Any day that started during actual daylight hours took a toll on him, and that was in addition to the stress of sharing space with a young fox who didn't know any better (or perhaps, more terrifyingly, he did know, but Kuroko liked to believe he was a positive thinker). Not to the mention the kidnapping adventure which greedily occupied the bulk of his troubled thoughts.
Kuroko stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours, unable to cease the what-if threads that spun endless webs in his mind. He'd lived a long time and met a lot of people. He'd done a lot of things. Shifting uneasily, he found that those factors left him disconcertingly open to a lot of connections from a lot of angles. Ideas formed then fell away the moment he took a closer look, only to start accumulating again shortly after, paranoia hooking tiny little claws in him but never with any conviction.
Every once in a while an image popped into his head: two prone, unmoving figures lying in the darkness, left behind by the rumble of the truck. Two witnesses, two culprits, most likely alive and able enough to find him again.
He breathed in and out slowly, willing away the shadows creeping into every nook and cranny of his thoughts. Kuroko reasoned: even if he had taken that extra precaution, he'd still be in this very same position, anxious and awake and aching under the weight of a burden bearing down on his heart if not his head.
Admittedly, it was a bit of a lose-lose situation.
So with an air of resignation he slipped out of the bed, easily finding his way through the dim, windowless room, and paused only to listen by the door before turning the knob without a sound. From there he ghosted out-not towards the exit, not yet, but into an open living-dining area.
While Kise's house outside the city had been comfortably traditional, the Roppongi apartment was economically modern… or at least, it was intended to be so. The sleek, clean lines of minimal styling were offset by a smattering of clutter that spoke of careless familiarity. Multiple days' worth of mail dusted the glass dining table, along with an mp3 player, a pair of sunglasses, and a half-empty bag of chips. The L-shaped couch was home to haphazard pillows that looked used to taking beatings, a remote control on its way to being buried under the seat of the chaise, and an open magazine that was draped across the arm. As far as decoration of the more intended variety, sparse art adorned the walls like the awkward afterthoughts they were, though they looked to be original paintings rather than prints. Adding to the incongruity, a glimpse of the balcony revealed the puzzling sight of plant life thriving in a medium-sized box despite the location.
Abundant curiosities, but all irrelevant.
Kuroko drifted further into the room, head turning as he scoped out the space and catalogued everything contained within it. His gaze finally landed on the stretch of wall where a dry erase board hung, well-used by various hands, and perfectly suitable for his needs.
He uncapped a black marker and put the tip of it to the bottom part of the board that remained untouched. A brief note of thanks, a small apology for leaving without saying goodbye-his contribution was simple and plain next to the colorful personalities of Kise and his friends, out of place like the abstract oil painting above the messy couch.
Kuroko's hand hovered over the words that marked his presence, contemplating them, how easily they could be erased and forgotten. Although he had the feeling Kise wouldn't forget very easily. He told himself that was the best reason for sneaking out quietly. He left his message as it was, for what it was worth, and leaving intentional traces behind was so novel a practice for him that maybe there was some worth to it after all.
#
Nights were short at this time of year, and Kuroko could feel the sun's imminent approach sapping strength from his already depleted stores. The sky had not yet lightened, but it would soon, and the city would come alive with it while other creatures shrunk back into their meager shadows. He would have much liked to do the same, but he was technically still on the clock, and at the very least he should stop by the bar to let Seto know he was still alive. They were both aware of the risks that came with the job-that came with simply existing in their case-though if Kuroko had actually vanished and never returned he doubted Seto would be more than mildly inconvenienced, and Kuroko himself was undisturbed by this state of things. Maintaining a professional distance was good. Easier. Much, much easier.
Still, checking in was the polite thing to do. He might even be able to sleep in the bar along with the few permanent customers (who were more like fixtures in the literal sense), which would save him from the trouble and embarrassment of passing out in the middle of the street on his way home. It had happened before. The worst part was that the helpless exposure always resulted in terrible sunburn-which, at the very least, was better than outright bursting into flames. Throughout all his long life, Kuroko had never seen such a thing happen to one of his kind without the aid of gasoline and a match. Some vampires these days hardly even felt the difference between night and day anymore. If only he could be so lucky.
An eternity later, he finally made it to After Dark's doorstep. The entrance was guarded as always by the same stoic young man who had yet to utter a single word in Kuroko's presence; vampire and werewolf exchanged greetings with a brief glance and a perfunctory sniff, respectively. If the wolf noticed anything odd about Kuroko's scent, some lingering magicked gas perhaps, he raised no alarm over it.
The bar was emptier than usual, owing to the nearness of dawn no doubt, and when Seto looked up his expression was curious, but affable. "Long night, I see."
"Yes. I apologize. There was no helping it." Kuroko didn't offer anything else, employer or not, there was no full disclosure clause in their contract. Or much of a contract at all. The extent of their oral agreement had been, "run deliveries for rewards."
Seto shrugged, accepting the apology, and fetched a clean glass as well as a new bottle from the back. The red liquid inside was so dark it was nearly black, and the magic wafting from it once opened made Kuroko light-headed. "You look like you could use this," Seto said while pouring.
Kuroko's reasonable side advised that he should graciously decline. For one thing, the magicked blood was the priciest fare in the bar, and their first meeting notwithstanding, Seto wasn't known to be generous with it. There were customers who eked out every last one of their coins (or however they were paying, some of them could get creative) just for a taste. It was an imitation rush all of them had once experienced with the magic of being turned, but that was a one-time use deal. A vampire couldn't be changed twice. The only other way to feel that again was to feed from a sorcerer, and they weren't inclined to donate (although, apparently, there was profit to be had in this niche market).
Kuroko was more familiar with magicked blood than most. That was the main reason why he shouldn't-but the glass was right there in front of him, his teeth sharpening as he breathed in the scent, and the tight knot of anxiety that had been plaguing him for hours was swallowed up by a sudden, yawning hunger. He glanced at Seto, but the bartender was already busy with something else, completely unconcerned with him.
It had been a night of mistakes and near misses, and once again Akashi's words surfaced to gently remind him, "You won't make it that way."
Right now, refusing just to prove that he could seemed very childish.
Kuroko tipped the glass back, bracing himself for the taste of pure power that hit with a jolt and crackled through his system. The more blood he drank down the lighter his body felt, less affected by the incoming glimmer of dawn, and his worries began to dissipate with relaxing ease. Relief flooded him with every soothing swallow. What remained of his strength was glad to collapse. Even his thoughts began to flee.
Alarm was an increasingly distant thing in his mind, but it made itself known with persistent little grabs-instinct, maybe-that finally made his throat close in protest. Kuroko sputtered, coughing, and dropped the glass. Blood spilled across the bar and dripped down to the floor, but there wasn't much of it left. Most of it was already working its spell inside him. He clung onto his concentration with all the desperation he could muster.
"Relax," Seto said, his form behind the counter blurring around the edges. He flicked out a damp washcloth and mopped up the spill without a care in the world. "It's not going to kill you. We wouldn't want this establishment to have that kind of reputation. Bad for business and all. I'm sure you understand."
Kuroko pushed away from the bar and managed to keep his feet, but only long enough to stumble over a chair. It was all he could do to catch himself on the nearby table. There was no way he could make it to the door.
"That's why," Seto continued his one-sided conversation, "it would have been better if Furuhashi and Hara succeeded. Thanks for letting them live, by the way. You're not a bad kid. This is nothing personal, you know."
It would have been better if it was personal. Then Kuroko would at least have a clue. He slumped, all semblance of coordination slipping from his control, and not even the jarring sensation of falling down could free him from the spell's cocooning effect.
A shadow fell across the floor as Seto vacated his position behind the bar and crouched within Kuroko's hazy field of vision. "You've had a long night, so sleep it off for a while."
If Akashi could see Kuroko's tally of mistakes in this one night alone, he'd be disappointed. Or maybe not. He wasn't the sort to gloat, but Kuroko could imagine the I-told-you-so anyway.
"I've never once been wrong."
Kuroko had known that all along. He shouldn't be surprised by facts that didn't change.
#
The sun shone brightly overhead, yesterday's storm long gone without leaving a single cloud behind. The rain had taken the oppressive heat along with it, to the relief of the entire city, and the park today was full of people taking advantage of the pleasant change of weather. Families spread picnics across the grass and dogs were walked along the shaded paths. A pair of joggers trotted past the bench where Momoi sat, quietly observing everything with her chin in her hands. There was a clump of teenagers nearby made up of mixed boys and girls, snacking on frozen treats and laughing together as they enjoyed their summer holiday. A nostalgic smile touched Momoi's face.
"Erm… excuse me?"
Momoi straightened up to meet a bashful gaze-which to the young man's credit, was trained on her face and not the cleavage exposed by her sundress. He wasn't bad-looking, either, but there was only politeness in her tone when she said, "Can I help you?"
"Ah, well… I was just wondering…"
She suppressed a sigh. "Yes?"
"Would you-I mean, are you busy?"
His face was completely red, and she couldn't be too annoyed with him. Letting him down gently, she said, "I'm afraid I am, but thank you."
"O-oh. Okay. I just thought-well, worth a shot, you know? Um, sorry for disturbing you!"
"Have a nice day," she said with a loose wave as the young man all but fled.
She hadn't lied; Momoi was busy in spite of her idle appearance. The carefree atmosphere of the park was unaffected by the fact that yet another person had gone missing just last week, from this very spot if her guess was on the mark (which it very often was).
The news reported that this was the third person, but according to Midorima's files it would be the fifth. Maybe the sixth by now. The sorcerer community had started to lock down and plug up any leaks now that it was painfully clear they were being targeted. Shunning outside help, they would handle their problems themselves, hence Midorima's involvement.
Momoi ground the toe of her sandal into the dirt under the bench, allowing for a single, teensy jab of envy, unbecoming as it was. She could only dream of being a magistrate, those who were given the privilege of meting out the Conclave's judgment upon law-breakers. Not only did she lack the connections necessary to attain such a high-ranking position, but more importantly-and more regrettably-her skills were just plain inadequate. Her affinity for magic was average at best, and while her mundane methods could make up for that, investigation only accounted for part of a magistrate's responsibilities. Even if she could successfully locate every renegade there was, she didn't have the ability, the sheer firepower, to subdue them. In a perfect world she'd have help to complete the job, but thus far, Midorima was the only fellow sorcerer who humored her, and just barely at her insistence.
Frowning, Momoi slapped both sides of her face lightly, earning a few puzzled looks that she ignored. No time to feel sorry for herself, she came here for a reason. If nothing else, she was confident in her limited area of expertise, and not even Midorima could argue with her knack for info-gathering.
The most recent victim was Konoe Hikari, a 21-year-old student at Tokyo University. Originally hailing from Kyoto, her family line was famously ancient and well-respected, both in public and in more secret circles. She was bright, powerful, and being groomed to inherit her mother's position as Director of the Asian Branch. Since every branch director answered to the Conclave that governed over all sorcerers, this was news that could shake the whole community if it grew any bigger.
Midorin must be having a hard time of it. Although Momoi didn't delude herself into thinking he'd be grateful for her help. He'd owe her a favor, though, and unlike a certain irresponsible hunter, Midorima could be counted on to repay a debt in full. Momoi hadn't gotten this far by letting chances slip by. She bent her thoughts back to the task on hand.
Konoe may have been the biggest fish, but the others were impressive as well. Equal ratio of men to women. The youngest was 16-years-old, oldest at 42. The first went missing sometime in March. No pattern to the disappearances that would indicate a cycle, which crossed out some possible motives but left too many others to consider. Since the case was being handled by a magistrate Momoi could be reasonably sure the perpetrator was human-anything else would be the guild's problem.
Momoi reached into her purse and lifted out a round compact. She was mindful while opening it, and kept the mirror close so no one would notice the odd sheen flashing across its surface, already spelled to react. Some preparations had to be made in advance since there was no way she could work properly out here in public. As a result, the spell wasn't as thorough as she would have liked, but it would get the job done. Konoe's family crest, though faint, was misted on the glass as proof that she'd been casting here. It was hard to determine how long ago with just this, but Momoi's research indicated that the last known sighting of the victim had been in this park. She'd narrowed that down further to this very spot tucked in between a cluster of maple trees that were the same type as the ones commonly grown at the Konoe residence in Kyoto. That little touch of home was all the sentiment an ambitious type like Konoe would allow.
Being as inconspicuous as she could, Momoi muttered the words to alter the focus of her spell, essentially casting a wide net across the surroundings in search of another brand of magic. The surrounding hustle and bustle made it difficult, creating a noisy mess of disturbance that gave her a headache to sift through, but her determined efforts bore fruit: Konoe's crest faded and began to morph, giving way to a new shape that webbed across the glass.
But before the telltale sign could fully form, the mirror cracked. Momoi's reflexes were just good enough to fling the compact away and avoid getting caught in a tinkling shatter of glass.
Heads turned but Momoi didn't wait around fishing for an excuse. She left the remains of the compact and hurried away from the scene, diving into the press of a crowd to get lost in. Her hands clutched her purse tightly and the hammering in her chest echoed in her ears.
It wasn't… wholly unexpected, a reaction like that. Certainly, rogue sorcerers had reason to hide, and would thus be inclined to leave nasty traps for anyone who tried to sniff after them. A counter-spell had been within her margin of expectation. Momoi forced her grip to relax, clenching and unclenching her fingers, finally having the thought to look down and examine them. She was uninjured. Thinking about it objectively, she'd been more startled than anything else. Her overreaction was just that and nothing more.
Stopping by a fountain for a drink, the cool water helped soothe the last of her rattled nerves. She recalled the image that had begun to take shape right before the interruption. That would help narrow down the suspects, at least a little bit. If she could go back and further examine the trace amounts of the spell-and maybe something could be picked up on her shattered compact-that might yield more clues. Taking a calm, measured breath, Momoi turned to walk back to the bench.
She was stopped short by a hand that offered the jagged pieces of her cheap plastic compact. Bits of glass still clung to the frame like a mouth full of broken teeth. For a moment all Momoi could do was stare.
"Pardon me, but is this yours?"
Very slowly, Momoi's gaze traveled up the length of a thin, white arm. Narrow shoulders were framed within a fitted button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up on account of summer, and strands of dark hair draped around a pale face that might be described as refined. The shiver icing down her spine said otherwise. "Yes," she said, hollow and automatic. "Thank you."
The compact was dropped in her palm. Momoi flinched at the tingle of magic zapping through her skin, not enough to injure, but it had a sting.
"Ah, sorry about that." A sheepish stretch of the mouth and suddenly the stranger was a picture of innocence. "I didn't mean for someone else to get involved. I hope you weren't hurt."
Plastic creaked in Momoi's suddenly tight fist, not caring that tiny pieces of glass cut into her fingers. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, well… no, I'm just kidding." A shadow passed over the man's face, grin shifting into delighted malice. "That's a nice expression you're wearing."
Momoi whirled, searching wildly among the park-goers who went about their day without so much as a glance in her direction. "Somebody!" She interrupted a passing couple and they stumbled into her, shocked, but looking through her as if she was invisible.
Sight and sound were affected, maybe other senses, too. The radius of the spell couldn't be that big for such a complicated working, if she could just get out of its range…
A hand separated from the crowd to grab her. It was not a friendly grab. Momoi skipped her formal appeal, spitting out a few clumsy words in Latin-Midorin is so traditional-and the hand let go with an accompanying yelp. Momoi took off running, glad for her flat sandals, and heedlessly elbowed her way through anyone in her path, gauging their reactions. Bewildered looks followed in her wake, but no accusations or outrage at a recognizable source. She gulped in air and screamed at the top of her lungs, but that failed to get a reaction as well.
Her panicked flight took her all the way to the entrance of the park. He couldn't have spelled the entire park. Maybe just the path…? But how would he have known her route?
Momoi fumbled in her purse, wrapping her fingers (sliced bloody, she'd forgotten about that, couldn't even register the pain) around her phone and hitting the first button on speed dial. "Dai-chan, so help me God if you don't pick up-"
The call rang and rang. Momoi swore, under her breath at first and then louder just because she could. She would have welcomed the offended looks of little old ladies, elderly gentlemen, and mothers herding young children. She made towards the sidewalk as if to hail a cab, only to remember no one would notice her standing there. Aomine's voicemail recording taunted her. She'd try Midorima next.
Tires screeched as they pulled up in front of her, and a door clicked open. Momoi backed up a step, came up against something solid, and the words to the defensive spell flew from her lips only to break off on the last syllable when her wrist was captured and her arm wrenched back. Her phone was ripped free from her grasping fingers.
She yelled to high heaven with fury and fear-tinged abandon, firing off her spell once more to earn a satisfying grunt of pain. Struggling, she didn't make it easy for them as they tried to shove her into the backseat of the car.
The air changed at her back, and the pressure eased up just long enough to be replaced with a comparatively gentle touch to the nape of her neck. "Oh," she choked as the mild sting pricked her flesh, working quickly. Her limbs grew unresponsive and she crumpled forward, and barely missed knocking her head on the roof of the car.
Not an area spell, then. It worked directly on her person. What an unpleasantly personal piece of work. Momoi glared balefully at the sorcerer's face through the window before darkness closed in on her.
#
Aomine woke with the lethargy of one who couldn't be bothered to move, shuttering his eyes against the morning light and soaking in its lazy warmth. There was a familiar presence crowding his back; an arm loosely curled around his waist and the faint stirring of steady, languid breath tickling his skin.
Kise must have come back last night. There was something about that fact that felt off somehow, but when alarm failed to manifest Aomine got bored and dismissed the matter entirely.
Something buzzed. Was that his phone? Shit, he couldn't reach it from here. Aomine entertained the thought of getting up to answer it, then defeated the purpose by letting the call go to voicemail anyway. Whatever. He'd check it later.
Kise made a displeased sound and drew closer, nosing the crook of Aomine's neck while his fingers slipped lower under the sheet, though whether by accident or design it was impossible to tell. Seemed to be a fox thing-Kise could seduce even from a dead sleep (and what a dubious talent that was).
Less sleepy by the second, Aomine grunted, "You better be awake if you're going to start that."
The movement stilled.
"Of course," Aomine grumbled, but there were ways of fixing that. He rolled over, not caring that he half-squashed Kise in the process because served him right.
"Wha-oww!"
Smug satisfaction curdled at the note of a pained whine. Aomine sat up, frowning, and pulled Kise's hand away from his face to reveal a marvelously blackened eye. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Oh my God, is it as bad as it feels?"
"It's pretty damn impressive. Shame about the moneymaker, though."
"Shit, I have to call Yukio…"
"You do that." Aomine slid from the bed, stretching as he did so, and sauntered out into the kitchen to retrieve a cold compress from the freezer. Only years of Momoi's nagging prevented him from grabbed the nearest dirty dishtowel, stepping outside to pull a clean one from the laundry line instead.
Kise was already on the phone with his manager, sitting hunched over on the couch as if he could physically grovel his way out things. From the sounds coming through the phone, he may have to go do so in person.
"I know, I know, no, it's really swollen, I don't think all the makeup in the world could-yeah, okay. But other than that, I'm totally fine! That's a relief, right?" He pulled the phone away from his ear with a wince until the particularly furious yelling lowered to standard pissed-off levels "Yes. Yes, I will. I'll make sure of it. Thank you very much." He hung up with a dramatically dejected sigh.
Sounded like Kasamatsu was as much of a hardass as ever. Fortunately, Kise was the type to flourish under tough love. Aomine nudged the unmarred side of his face with the towel-wrapped compress. "Here."
"Thanks." Kise shifted the ice to his eye, but did a double-take when he got a good look at Aomine. "What are you-put some clothes on!"
"Don't feel like it," he said just to be contrary, and besides, the weather was plenty warm enough. He'd been out on the balcony for all of half a second, and they were several stories up, so on the off-chance someone did get an eyeful, that was their problem. The fact that Kise had slept fully clothed was weirder. "Isn't it a little late for you to be scandalized?"
"Not me," Kise said, then lowered his voice to an exaggerated whisper and pointed at the door to the other bedroom. "We have a guest!"
"Satsuki's seen it all before." Although she'd yell about it and Aomine wasn't sure he wanted to deal with that this morning, or ever. "All right, all right, I'll put on pants. Happy?"
"It's not Momoicchi."
"Oh?" He snagged some more laundry, stepping into a worn pair of boxers that were ideal for passing lazy summer days. As a generous concession, he also pulled on track pants, but didn't bother with a shirt. No need to get fancy here, unless this mystery guest was the Prime Minister or someone's mom. "Wait." A light bulb stuttered on, delayed though it may be. "It's not your mom, is it? Didn't you go see her yesterday?"
"It's a long story." Kise wilted as though the memory was too much to bear. Aomine guessed it was only a matter of time before he got the full disclosure, whether he wanted to hear it or not. "But first, Aominecchi, you have to promise not to kill him."
"What? Why? Kill who?"
"Promise first!"
"This is stupid." More curious than anything, Aomine ignored Kise's protests and went straight for the bedroom door, throwing it open without preamble.
"Wait, wait, wait, I'll explain-oof!"
Aomine rocked forward from Kise's weight barreling into him from behind, and caught himself on the doorframe with one hand. "No need," he drawled, taking in the view with an unimpressed eye, "there's no one here."
"Eh?" Kise stuck his chin over Aomine's shoulder, cheek cold from the ice. "Eeeh?!"
"Man, and I thought it would be something interesting..."
"No way!" Kise pushed forward to circle the bed, which did look somewhat more rumpled than the way Momoi usually left it. Bored and a little bit let down, Aomine wandered into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of milk (after checking-with good reason-to see if the expiration date hadn't passed yet) while Kise searched the rest of the apartment. "I can't believe it!"
"First time being ditched the morning after, huh?"
"In case you forgot, I woke up in bed with you. Regretfully."
"Ouch. That hurts."
"You'll live." Kise paused in front of the stupid whiteboard Momoi had forced on them under pretense of a gift (and just what was Aomine supposed to use it for, if not inappropriate pictures?). Scanning the messages, Kise's entire body slumped. "He really left just like that. Geez, what if something happens?"
Aomine came up to read over Kise's shoulder. "Don't keep me in suspense or anything..." His words trailed off, recent memory pinging him. "Kuroko?"
"Part of my long story, a torrid tale of kidnapping and thwarted romance and vampires breaking my mother's windows. Kurokocchi helped me out, though, so he is not for staking. But I guess it doesn't matter much now."
Huh, Aomine thought. Small fucking world. He prodded Kise. "Kidnapping?"
That was all the prompting Kise needed to regale Aomine with his late-night drama, colored with commentary on his embarrassing mothers (Aomine had never met them and was pretty sure he didn't want to) and Kuroko's way of being bad for the heart (Aomine sympathized), and closing with a half-joking appeal for vengeance (which Aomine was happy to take at face value).
"Interesting," he said with a grin that was slow to manifest, and edged with teeth as it did, taking his time to enjoy the prospect of a decent hunt. About damn time. "But we're gonna need bait. So... where does Kuroko live?"
"He didn't say." Kise pouted. "No matter how many times I asked."
"Stalker."
"I'm just concerned!"
Momoi could probably find out, she was good at that sort of thing. Where was his phone again?
"But," Kise added with a triumphant curve of his lips, "I know where he works."
Nearly purring with pleasure and anticipation, Aomine leaned in to plant a kiss on Kise's smiling mouth. "Good start."
#
Kuroko might have slept the day away if not for the nightmare. It was nothing new: a deeply furrowed glare, a bristling growl, fangs bared with a rush that ended blood-covered on the note of a wolf's keening howl.
The only outward sign of his startled awakening was a shudder, his reflexive intake of breath silent as he strained to listen to his surroundings. All was quiet, save for the soft sound of another person breathing nearby. He was curled on his side, the floor underneath him cool and unforgivably hard, and there was some light beyond the thin lids of his eyes. The sun's presence was muted, but in no way receding. He estimated a few hours had passed at most.
Kuroko was tempted to simply fall back asleep, get some rest while he could and be better prepared for… whatever was in store for him. He was still alive, but that fact was becoming less and less reassuring the more times he found it was his sole comfort.
Cracking his eyes open, the room swam into focus. There wasn't much to see, but it was looking very much like a barren cellar. There were windows at ground level letting in light, but otherwise the stairs were the only visible exit.
His hands were confined behind his back again, but not with rope. The weight of metal encased his wrists, connected by a short chain that left him scant room to move them around. His ankles were cuffed the same way, giving him enough maneuverability to walk but little else. How very medieval.
"Oh, you're awake." A female voice floated behind him, and with strained cheer continued, "Good! I was getting a bit gloomy by myself."
Lacking grace, Kuroko half rolled and half pushed himself up into a sitting position, then struggled through a bout of dizziness left over from his magically spiked drink. That would teach him not to accept things from sketchy barmen. It all seemed so obvious in retrospect.
Opposite him was a girl, also shackled, face pale but smiling. "Fancy meeting you here," she said. "Um… Kuroko-kun, was it?"
He scanned through his sizable memory but came up with no match for a girl with her features and coloring. There was a nervous lilt to her voice, understandable given the circumstances, but there was also the way her gaze measured the distance between them. His waking relieved her, but made her wary, too. Like she had no idea if she'd been locked up with a bloodthirsty monster. Kuroko made no move towards her, easing back instead to slouch against the wall. "I'm sorry, have we met?"
A shade of genuine humor lightened her expression. "Kind of. We have a mutual boneheaded acquaintance and one evening he decided to bring an unconscious vampire home." The caution returned when she added, "I helped save your life, you know."
Ah. "I see." Kuroko pressed his lips together and made an effort to not look hungry as that particular memory surfaced, because it would only be taken the wrong way. "In that case, thank you."
"You're welcome. Since we're stuck here, we might as well officially introduce ourselves. I'm Momoi Satsuki, a witch of humble talent."
There was a faint whiff of active magic around her, proving that whatever small ability she had, she could use it if need arose. Interesting, and possibly useful. He filed the tidbit away for future consideration. "Kuroko Tetsuya. Nice to meet you."
Giving the room a more thorough sweep now that he was up and relatively clear-headed, something new caught his eye-a detail he hadn't noticed before. It was a trap door leading to a second underground level, a later addition not intended as part of the building's design given the crude way it had been dug out.
"I already tried it," Momoi said when Kuroko shuffled over to inspect more closely.
Of course it was locked, but not with bolt, latch, or padlock. The door was sealed with a spell to prevent it from budging. Kuroko bent his face near the cracks and breathed in. Aside from the magic scent, there was a hint of something else-something that made him think that they were better off with the door shut.
Momoi observed his actions with suspicion. "What is it?"
"Nothing."
She didn't look convinced, and continued to watch him in silence for several long moments. Then, apparently concluding that there wasn't anything else to be done, Momoi let some of the tension leave her body. Her chains rattled as she made a sad attempt to get comfortable. "Say, I don't suppose you can do something about these?"
"Not without a blowtorch."
"Oh, well. It was worth asking." Her sigh shook with brittle aggravation and did little to hold back her fear. "It will take forever for stupid Dai-chan to realize I'm missing…"
Kuroko thought back to Aomine and their first meeting. He was sure the homunculus had targeted the hunter; Kuroko's presence for that fight had been utterly ignored. There was no reason for a sorcerer to send something as flashy as a homunculus after someone like Kuroko. Then again, two kidnappings within 24 hours weren't very subtle, either. Kise's part in it had been a coincidence, just his plain bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. This had started before, with Aomine. Somehow Kuroko had gotten someone's attention.
"Excuse me, Momoi-san?"
"Yes?"
"Do you happen to know who might be behind this?"
Her expression darkened, anger sparked to momentarily chase away her concerns. "Yes, a little. I don't know his name, but he's a renegade who's responsible for several disappearances in this area, all powerful sorcerers, God only knows why. Someone's on his trail, but I'm not holding my breath for a rescue." She winced as if the very suggestion was ludicrous.
The faintest wisp of an idea blew back and forth in Kuroko's mind, so unpleasant that he would have preferred to snuff it out. A sense of carefulness made him ask, "The same person who sent the homunculus after Aomine-kun?"
Momoi opened her mouth, then closed it. "Oh. Huh."
Kuroko waited patiently.
Momoi speculated aloud, more for her own benefit with little thought as to her audience's understanding. "I should have known a homunculus wasn't his style. I don't think he's powerful enough to create one, either. So why did he let me catch onto him? All it did was lead me here. …Oh, hell, are they working together?"
"They?" A sorcerer experimenting with homunculi was worrisome for the obvious reasons, but not too out of the ordinary. When vampires got thrown into that mix, however, it became a whole different kind of bad. Kuroko shouldn't have come to Tokyo. Maybe he shouldn't have come back to Japan at all.
Momoi went on, gaining momentum with her train of thought. "The guy who sent the homunculus is probably the same creep who brought me here, and is kidnapping all of Tokyo's best and brightest. But someone else was watching Dai-chan's fight, and I'm almost certain that he has knowledge our other sorcerer would be keen on learning, if he isn't putting it to practice already."
Kuroko should have gone to Europe instead.
"I mean, classified info or not, it doesn't take a genius to figure out there's some connection between magic blood and vampires."
He heard the Netherlands were nice this time of year.
"This begs the question," Momoi's eyes sharpened on him, "of how you fit into all this."
Kuroko blinked roundly at her, surrendering nothing beyond his placid facade, until she began to visibly lose patience and he finally said in his defense: "I was made the normal way." There was something darkly humorous about that, referring to his death and subsequent revival as normal and harmless.
He was saved (questionable though such a rescue was) from further interrogation by the near-silent swish of a door opening, and the trod of feet down the stairs. Two familiar faces appeared, looking as though they'd had almost as rough a night as Kuroko. He thought again of how he drove that truck forward instead of in reverse.
The blond popped his gum. "Awake already? Good, then you can walk on your own."
"Up," said the other.
Kuroko did as they said since it looked like the alternative was to be carried or dragged. He was led up the stairs through a Western-style house-more like a mansion with its pointlessly large and heavily decorated rooms. They passed right by the exit (so close yet so far), then up another staircase, this one a grand affair curving along the wall in the foyer. Conscious of his shoes tracking dirt all over the polished floor, Kuroko was briefly caught between a warring sense of petty revenge and staunchly ingrained manners.
Such distractions fell away when they stopped in front of a door. Three evenly spaced knocks, and a voice answered, "You may enter."
Stepping inside, Kuroko was assailed with the ozone scent of magic, so rich he could taste it and probably scrape it off his tongue. That wasn't all; his fangs unsheathed in physiological response to blood. Large amounts of it. Glassware of all shapes and sizes glinted in the dimly lit room, filled with dark liquid. Kuroko had the feeling that while Seto's bar catered to all kinds, this was more of a connoisseur's collection.
"We meet at last," said a figure sitting at the desk, head bent over an open book bound in sturdy leather that looked to be centuries old. Incongruously, there was also a computer screen glowing in front of him. Tradition wasn't everything. The man lifted his gaze at his own leisure, amusement evident in the smile that skewed his mouth, and made a short gesture with his hand.
The wordless command dismissed the other two from the atelier, though by the sound of it they only went as far as guarding the door on the other side.
Since it appeared he would be here for a while, Kuroko wondered if he had to wait for permission to sit. Before he could ask, his host cornered him and reached out to grab his chin, tilting his face up in curious examination. His touch stung with magic that crawled icy and unpleasant underneath Kuroko's skin.
"Hmm. You don't look it, but there's a slight resemblance."
Kuroko stared back, unblinking, but it failed to unnerve this man. The fingers on his chin slid up to thumb back his lip on one side, then the other, revealing elongated canines to measuring scrutiny. Next, the spidery sensation of the sorcerer's hand crept lower to press against the steady pulse in Kuroko's throat.
His recent brushes with bad magic aside, a steady diet was all Kuroko needed to remain in good health. This didn't have the feel of a benign check-up, though. The sorcerer's attention, expectant and weighing, said otherwise.
"When were you born?"
Kuroko had to think about it. "1851… probably."
"How did you die?"
"Shot to the chest." Ironic, how he'd died drowning in what he now consumes to survive.
"Who sired you?"
He remembered tasting his own blood, the last thing he'd ever known as a human, and then the heady rush of power that brought him back, never to be the same again. A crimson splash of color under a slate winter sky, cold hands touching his face, and, "Wake up, Tetsuya."
Despite himself, his eyes half closed in vivid memory. "…Akashi-kun."
The hand that ruffled his hair was rough with latent violence, and a condescending tone dripped poisonously in his ear. "Very good, Kuroko. It seems you are the genuine article."
Should he have lied? Kept silent? No, the result would have been the same. He was being toyed with, but there was no telling whether that might be good for him in the long run or not.
With a chuckle the sorcerer moved away, melding into the shadows of the room. "If you're his progeny then you're worth the trouble. But first…"
Fabric rustled, and without warning the world was ablaze with light. Heavy curtains had been pulled back to let in the sun, streaming full-force through immense windows and reflecting off an abundance of ruby-bright glass. All Kuroko saw were flashes, explosions of searing blindness, and he may not have been literally bursting into flames but the idea wasn't far off the mark. Swaying on his feet, he would have toppled if not for a sudden jerk on his arm keeping him upright.
"Please," scoffed a callous voice, "it won't kill you, and you're of no use to me dead."
Kuroko would have liked to say something unkind, but had to settle for hissing through his teeth while pressing the heels of his hands to his watering eyes and trying not to crumple to the floor.
"Still," the sorcerer continued with a thoughtfulness that failed to comfort, "a second generation is more sensitive than I would have predicted. Your sire hardly flinched on a cloudless summer day."
Kuroko kept his snort of disbelief to himself, recalling all too well the cranky moods Akashi could get into on those days when there was no one else around to witness his weakness.
"Then again, he had a certain ability that I believe you lack."
That was a valid point, though maybe not a fair one. Not everyone could be gifted with a talent for sorcery. "I suppose you'll want to test that, too," Kuroko said, knowingly easing into a state of dull resignation.
"In time." The man treated him to a smile that made all manner of self-preservation instincts flare up. He walked by a table where the expected magical paraphernalia was assembled: plants both dried and fresh, precious stones and metals, bits of bone and fur and scales from no mortal creature. His fingers trailed over the flat blade of a knife, thin and silver, picking it up by the handle with familiar grace. It was plain, made for utility more than decoration. An inspection of its sharp edge met with satisfaction, lighting an unholy gleam in the depths of murky eyes as they came to rest on Kuroko.
"I have a few other ideas to try first."
Part 2