Chapter Text
Kiku understood what it meant, for he had learnt English through lost foreigners he had killed throughout the decades. They’d come to him, ask for instructions to a specific city or place, maybe ask who he was. Kiku considered him a fast learner, and he soon came to the understanding of what those words meant. He’d also requested that Yao teach him some things from time to time. Though his vocabulary is extremely limited, he can respond.
“My name is Honda Kiku. You can call me Kiku.”
*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*
Alfred entered an abandoned house. The building looked to be built centuries ago based on its architecture. The house looked like no one lived in it anymore. Though Alfred knew better. And he knew that when a building is near the location that he was told vampires resided in, it is almost definitely never unlived in. Especially not when there is a coffin in one of the rooms, which he’d found after snooping around for a couple minutes.
He refrained from turning on the lights, for he has no reason to. Artificial light has no effect on vampires, and Alfred can see perfectly fine in the dark. In addition, he’d rather not attract attention in the middle of the night.
He kept a hand on his dagger inside his pants pocket. Though Alfred is aware that he can most likely react with the same speed if his hand was not touching the weapon, he likes to take precautionary actions.
He snoops around the house like that. There are old, yellow colored papers with sentences written with cursive Japanese letters, which he cannot read. The exterior of the house looks aged, but by the look of the interior, the last human occupants couldn’t have left more than a few decades ago.
There’s a large fridge in the kitchen, it’s covered almost entirely in magnets of pretty pictures from different countries’ landmarks. There’s also a long list of things, presumably needed groceries, on a small whiteboard. Alfred wonders if there was a family living here before. Yet, he doesn’t linger on the thought, because it’s obvious the family had left before they had a chance to clean, voluntarily or not.
The walls are made of the thin paper they used in the Edo period, the color is a pale beige, maybe even yellow. But with age, there are big, discolored patches on them that are caked in mold and dirt. The wood, too, is not well taken care of. It creaks beneath Alfred’s feet, and you can see decaying planks in the ceiling, once there to support the building, becoming unstable and weak.
It’s a melancholy scene, it feels empty and bitter, so Alfred leaves it alone.
He ventures further, until there is the sound of approaching steps getting closer. Alfred stops moving, and the sound pauses. Alfred can see someone, and no doubt that person can see him too. But it is not human. Alfred has no doubt that it is a vampire.
Yet, the vampire does not attack, it stays outside, not even entering the house. It does not chase Alfred, and he thinks it’s because this is one of the more intelligent ones he’s heard of, or because it has simply finished feeding its hunger. He prays it’s both of those reasons. He could easily strike a vampire down, no matter the intelligence, and it would add another check mark to this list.
Alfred is the first one to move. He takes slow strides, and they are careful but not timid. In the time he does that, his dagger is revealed from his pocket and the silver glints and shines, reflecting light from the night.
The closer he gets, the more he can see the other. The vampire holds an intimidating sharp glare in his eyes and it shows no fear. His hair is dark and black and neat, but there are small parts that seem lightly tousled. Other than that, he’s dressed in clothing that easily blends into modern society. If not for the dry, blood stained splotches. His shirt is a white button-down, its sleeves are cut off to above his elbows, and it looks slightly baggy. They’re tucked into high-waisted black pants that fit much better than the shirt.
His caliginous eyes dart around Alfred, from his face to his clothing with an emotion Alfred struggles to read. When it reaches his hands and dagger, Alfred can finally tell what he’s thinking. He’s confused, and his eyebrows are scrunched up. Noticing that, Alfred’s eyes also glance over to his hands, where he realizes the strain his hold on the weapon is causing. He also realizes that his arm is not immediately moving to attack, nor is the rest of his body.
Instead, Alfred talks. He asks what his name is. He cringes a bit by how quiet he sounds. And when he’s surprised by his own voice betraying him, he’s even more surprised by the way the other looks into his eyes with amusement, and, if possible, more shocked by the fact that he actually understands and answers. He was expecting an attempt to snap his neck and a bite, if anything.
“My name is Honda Kiku. You can call me Kiku.”
There it was. A name Alfred remembers on the list. Yet, when he has no reason why he chose to ask such a thing, and he has no reason to continue a conversation, he goes on anyway.
“My name is Alfred. Alfred F. Jones.”
From there, it goes silent. So silent, you can hear the cricketing sounds of spring cicadas. It’s also extremely awkward. Normally for Alfred, he’s the type to fill the stillness with a loud voice announcing whatever random thought he had. This was not normal for Alfred. He has no other thought in his head than the small smile on Kiku’s face causing his heart to flutter and flip.
They both opened their mouths to speak, inhaling a sharp gasp of air before quickly shutting them.
“Sorry. You can talk first.” Not exactly what Alfred wanted to say, but he blurted it out before he could protest himself. He looked away from Kiku’s eyes locked on his sheepishly.
Kiku hesitated, eyebrows creasing, “…Are you going to kill me? Aren’t you a hunter—?"
“What? Oh, I mean, I am and I probably should, but, uh,” Alfred chuckled, albeit rather nervously, acting like he was caught committing a petty crime, “No. I won’t.” And he whispered the truth into the night.
“Why?”
Their eyes met once again. This time, the quietness was less awkward, more like given time to think of the next reply. But even with the given time, Alfred could not formulate an answer that could neatly compile his scrambled thoughts into something somewhat reasonable. So instead, he pivoted.
“Say, are you hungry?”
“No. I just finished…eating. Will this answer my question—?”
“Great!” Donning a smiling expression and shoving his dagger into his pockets, Alfred tugged on Kiku’s slim wrist, pulling him along a walk towards the bustling capital city of Japan.
Kiku, as he said before, was not hungry. He had eaten—or rather drank—what he needed, and now no longer felt the sensation of hunger. The risk of him committing distasteful actions were low, but the chances were never zero. But he supposes if he even attempted, the vampire hunter at his side would prevent it, one way or another, hence he shouldn’t have much to worry about.
The walk didn’t take long, and soon they were both standing outside of an alleyway and looking at Tokyo. Kiku stared at his surroundings in wonder as they continued onwards. It’s been a while since he’s last seen Tokyo, so long he can’t remember when. It’s been long enough, he thinks, for this place to look completely different. The buildings are tall and modern now, with light shining through the windows and neon signs illuminating shops, even at midnight. There’s a large crowd of people, with the majority holding glowing rectangular devices, which he has heard are called cellphones. Said people are crossing the roads, or sitting in funky-looking machinery with tinted windows and tires.
Next, his eyes shift to the trees. They carry cherry blossoms, and even without the daylight, Kiku is grateful he sees them once more. On the sides, there are bushes filled with lush, colorful flora.
It’s refreshing to see such a beautiful sight once more and he can only imagine more places in Japan look like this now. Kiku can’t help the overwhelming pride that wells up inside him.
Alfred seems to notice, or perhaps he’s also taking in the view, because he slows his pace and looks around as if searching for something.
By now, instead of Alfred’s grip being on Kiku’s wrist, they’re holding hands. Steady fingers wrapped in leather gloves on slender ones, intertwined. Alfred is providing heat for someone who’s naturally, eternally cold, and Kiku is giving reassurement that he’s not going to act violently. Still, their guards have yet to be lowered, as Kiku is aware Alfred’s dagger is swaying inside his pockets each step they take, and Alfred is aware Kiku’s vampire instincts are not something that can be simply retracted.
“There it is!” Kiku looks to Alfred, then to the place Alfred’s finger is extended to. What stands there is a small, tattered store. The interior is lit up with a warm light, and there aren’t many customers. Looking up, Kiku sees the sign. Written on it is: ラーメン！In bold font. And below that is what he assumes is an English translation based on the few recognizable letters he sees, that says Ramen. Alfred tugs on Kiku’s hand again, and he follows Alfred into the store, the bell jingling as they enter.
“いらっしゃいませ!” A young lady at the counter welcomes the two. She’s leaning against the countertop, and her mannerism seems lazy and bored by the lack of traffic. Even so, her voice is high-pitched and shy. She walks over to them, and she asks how many people will be attending, a slight Kansai accent accompanying her speech. During that, Alfred looks to Kiku, presumably expecting him to reply. Kiku answers, and the woman leads them to two seats in front of the window.
They sit down and are given the menu and time to consider the dishes. It’s quiet inside, and the noise from outside has become muffled, but from the window you can see the nighttime view.
Truth be told, Kiku is doubtful he will even eat anything here. He hasn’t eaten food meant for humans in a long while, and he has long forgotten the taste. He also worries his stomach might not be able to handle such a sudden change of diet, but he swallows down the thought and holds the list of dishes in his hands.
Beside him, Alfred also has his own respective menu in his hands. But contrary to Kiku, his eyes are practically twinkling in amazement by the displayed pictures. He’s glad there’s translations underneath the original Japanese text. Though it is miniature, without his glasses, he would’ve struggled more than he is struggling currently, so he's glad he has them. With the help of the photos, he can easily tell what his next meal will be.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot to say, I’ll be paying! You’re my guest for today, after all!” Alfred whisks Kiku’s simple worries with simple words. Even so, Kiku would feel guilty using so much of Alfred’s money, but he thinks Alfred would understand if he wanted much to eat, anyway. Still, he ends up not wanting to order much.
Not long after, the waitress arrives once more, and she asks if they are ready to place an order.
“Are you done picking?” Kiku looks at Alfred, and Alfred nods eagerly. After telling Kiku what he’ll order, Kiku translates it to the waitress, who writes it down swiftly on her notepad. She then leaves, probably to tell the chef what to make, and Alfred and Kiku are alone together, again.
Alfred leans back on his chair, hands laying on the tabletop with a relaxed posture as he keeps his gaze on Kiku, while Kiku is looking at the outside world.
Then they both are looking away, and through the window. It’s past midnight, hence the number of people has slowly dwindled. Most of the lights of other shops nearby have been turned off, the lampposts left with few assistants in illumination.
They stay like that for a while, until the waitress approaches to deliver their meal. Alfred’s bowl of ramen is rich with many contents, and the broth is filled to the rim. As it’s placed in front of him, Alfred’s glasses fog up and all he sees is a muddy puddle of colors, and yet he does not waste time picking up his wooden chopsticks and eating.
Kiku is watching it happen, and a part of him is thinking about what a shame the foggy glasses covering up his bright blue eyes are, and he silences that thought, pushing it to the back of his mind. One part of him is thinking about how impolite Alfred is, holding his chopsticks in an awkward way that’s probably uncomfortable and holding the bowl to his mouth. Then again, he supposes if it were him who was eating really delicious food, he would abandon all etiquette he’s been taught, and he also should not expect someone who doesn’t understand Japanese to understand Japanese table manners.
Kiku glances to his own bowl, and he feels a little embarrassed by the fact that he’s not indulging in his food like Alfred is. His dish is plain, with nothing more than the essential pieces of seaweed and egg on the side, that was added freely by the chef. He whispers grace to himself. With nervous hands, he picks up his chopsticks, and soon, muscle memory floods his hands as he wraps his fingers around the chopsticks in the familiar way he’s almost forgotten the feel of. Then he lifts his hand to the bowl, and then beneath the noodles, and then it’s soon by his lips.
It’s a bit too hot as he eats it, but the taste is enough to not make him want to spit it out. It’s only basic ramen, with shoyu broth and no additions, but it tastes far better than the metallic tang of red blood. He feels like a child again, warming up with homemade ramen made by his mother. Even if the taste is vastly different, the atmosphere alone makes it feel real.
He ends up feeling a little nauseous when his meal is done, either because his stomach is not used to this or because he’s eaten too fast, and Kiku wonders how Alfred managed to be done before himself and act like it was light work.
“Man! That was good, right?”
Alfred is honestly shocked how Kiku acts like this is his daily life. He watched how Kiku acted normal, wiping his mouth with the provided tissue with practiced politeness, eyelashes fluttering as he took a bite, and slightly pushing away his bowl when he’s done. Since their first meeting, Kiku has not failed to surprise Alfred.
“It was. I enjoyed this,” Again, a charming smile adorns Kiku’s face, and Alfred’s heart beats a bit faster.
Alfred calls over the waitress in a loud gesture with waving hands, and Kiku is slightly embarrassed by him, giving an apologetic expression to her. She gives them the bill, which Alfred pays for. The lady thanks them for their presence and they bid their farewells.
Once outside, Alfred’s hand latches onto Kiku’s again, but this time, instead of reciprocating, Kiku’s hand slips away and he steps back.
“I’m sorry,” he stutters when he sees the wide-eyed expression Alfred is wearing on his face, “I had fun today, truly. Thank you. But you understand, I was not supposed to stay with you this long, yes? I must leave now.” And he swiftly walks away.
Like that, Alfred is left alone with only his thoughts to accompany him. And he realizes. He was there, sitting with a vampire—a fascinating one at that—and conversing. He was there, being somewhat friendly with a creature he’s vowed to kill and hate. There, for once, not a single drop of hatred in his veins. But it wasn’t devoid of emotion, no, there was interest. And that thought alone made his stomach drop.
“Yeah, I understand.”
Vampires are cruel things, and he had no reason to play fair with one, so why did he? He knows the answer, yet refuses to admit it.