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A hand, outstretched with singular purpose, cut through the dark streaks and shadows of the almost unreadably blurry polaroid.
Someone examining the photo might guess that the camera's lense had to have been heavily smudged to produce such a dark, illegible image. Only here and there one could seen snippets of the scene: a storefront sign, a snatch of blue sky, the vague suggestion of passerbies on a busy stretch of sidewalk... No person clear enough to be identified, except maybe one.
The man with the outstretched hand, though not facing the camera, was less obscured than the rest.
Though his body was mainly hidden from view the back of his head was visible, his loosely combed back blonde hair made untidy by a passing breeze, the collar of a well-fitted light purple suit resting against the delicately pale skin of his neck.
***
"You'll need to leave Morioh, Yoshikage. Even if you eliminate the old man, you'll still need to deal with his son and nephew, not to mention-"
"Quiet, I'm thinking."
Yoshikage Kira had dealt with many dire threats to his peaceful way of life. Though things may have seemed hopeless at times, in the end fate had remained steadfastly on his side. These stand users would be no different.
Yoshikage's father had witnessed the ability of Joseph firsthand. Joseph had never seen Kira, nor did he possess any substantial information about his identity. Despite this, he was able to use his crude stand to generate a photograph showing Kira at that very moment, just by coming in contact with the remains of one of Sheer Heart Attack's victims.
That victim was now thoroughly disposed of by Killer Queen, and the photograph was in his hands. But Jotaro and that boy had seen it, and that left Kira in quite a predicament.
Just barely resisting the urge to bite at his nails, Kira forced himself to examine the situation with cold rationality. He could not underestimate his enemy's intelligence or power. But, neither could he allow for his peaceful life to be compromised. He would not run, he would not live a life of paranoia. He would fix this.
Kira slid the photograph into his pocket and walked across the room to the entryway, followed by his quietly fretting father.
"Where are you going?"
He snapped his briefcase closed and slipped into his shoes, despite the late hour. A long rectangle of tangerine-orange light fell across the floor as Kira opened the door, dust motes dancing in the sunset's glow.
"To the office. I'm handing in my leave of absence letter."
***
It took fifteen minutes to convince the receptionist, keys in her hand about to lock up, to take the letter and his explanation without calling someone higher up.
Such a call may have introduced a delay of hours, if not days, and Kira would be robbed of his chance for a clean escape. He could not wait a moment more than absolutely necessary.
A relative passed away suddenly. Yes, it was a great shock to everyone.
He needed to leave immediately for an indeterminate period.
No, the deceased lived overseas, and he must fly there tonight.
No, he unfortunately could not wait until the next day, due to circumstances he was not at liberty to discuss, involving the needs of those who were close to the deceased. The letter explained the details.
No, he would rather not contact their supervisor so late.
Yes, the letter covered everything of importance.
Yes.
No. Thank you.
Yes. Good night.
Thank you.
•••
Kosaku Kawajiri, on his way home from work as the sun set at his back, had a great deal on his mind.
Office politics, his boss' fluctuating moods. His chances of being chosen next month for a promotion. The piles of tasks that would await him in the morning. The cold dissatisfied wife and apathetic son that awaited him at home.
He passed by an arching doorframe, in which a blonde man stood casually watching the passerbies with a scrutiny masked as indifference, but Kosaku didn't see the man at all.
•••
Someone called out a name that wasn't his as the arrow fell from his shirt and clattered over the surface of the sidewalk.
Disbelieving, he pressed his palm to his chest and held his shaking hand up before his eyes. A small smudge of blood.
Impossible - he'd felt the arrow enter between his shoulder-blades and pierce all the way through his chest. His ears still pounded with the blood desperately racing to carry oxygen to his brain when he couldn't take a single breath. He had been moments from death.
"Are you alright?"
As streetlights buzzed and flickered on up and down the street the last rays of the day's sun fell on a hand outstretched before him, poised to help him up.
In that moment, Kosaku seemed unable to focus on anything beyond the hand. Shock, probably. He was still overwhelmed by the feelings of longing and despair the close brush with death had filled him with.
Before he knew what he was doing, his hand slid into the one offered, fingertips pressed into the surprisingly soft pale skin, then across his palm. A little more intimate than what Kosaku had intended.
The hand closed around his own, secure but not rough, and Kosaku was struck by the contrast in their skin tones, and the man's smooth almost cream-colored nails.
All at once, something began to happen.
He felt it start in the spots where their skin was pressed together closest. It felt almost like they stuck together for a moment, like velcro.
Then their skin visibly began to change, spreading out steadily from those points of contact. Kosaku's darker olive skin tone spread over the man's hand like a blot of ink on wet paper, then began to wind it's way up his wrist and forearm like a serpent. Wherever it went the little blonde hairs darkened too, a small scar dissappeared and little blemishes popped up here and there.
Enthralled, Kosaku didn't think to pull away, or even loosen his grip. It was the other man who jerked away with a cry of surprise and alarm, pulling free with some effort.
At the end of Kosaku's arm was not his own hand, but that of the man who had offered to help him.
When he looked up he saw a handsome blonde man looming over him with an expression of mixed disbelief, fear, and something else.
A bizarre cat-like pink figure loomed over the man's shoulder, one hand balled as though it clutched some kind of invisible switch. In front of his face the man held up what was clearly Kosaku's hand, poking out from one sleeve of his well-tailored suit.
•••
•••
Kosaku had never understood people who love cats.
A dog was loyal to a fault, their love unconditional and needs simple. Their owner was their whole world. A cat was too engrossed in itself and its own life, too independent, too finicky.
But he was beginning to understand the appeal, slowly.
There was something special about a creature that wandered off on its own, was capable of sustaining itself and living without restrictions, yet made the choice of its own volition to come back home.
•••
"Welcome back." Kosaku said quietly over his laptop when he heard the jingle of keys and turn of the doorknob.
Immediately he felt a little silly, even though technically, this was their apartment. Kosaku lived here, and Kira visited any time he needed assistance or time away, and stayed as long as he liked.
Karma Chameleon reacted to the entrance with the same interest as its user. The stand craned its neck to peer above the couch cushions it had buried itself behind, peering down its long snout in the direction of the doorway. It stuck its long thin tongue out as though tasting the air, then slurped it back in like spaghetti before diving back into the cushions.
"Hayato is causing issues."
Kira strode into the living room, laying his briefcase on the table without looking at Kosaku.
It was still a little strange for Kosaku to watch himself, his own body, walk around independently under the control of a different mind. Even though he didn't want his old life back, it was oddly comforting, too, to know that he could reach out and take his old self back with a touch.
He admired Kira's seemingly total detachment from such things. Kosaku had long ago switched out Kira's appearance with another, then another and another until he'd found one he was happy with. Who knew where "Kira" was now, but the man didn't seem to want his old appearance back any more than he wanted to give up Kosaku's.
Despite all the set-backs, his integration into Kosaku's old life was going well, and he had apparently thrown his pursuers far off his track.
"Again?"
It surprised Kosaku that his son would take notice of changes in his father after years of living a life secluded away in his room. But, Kosaku supposed, he was maturing, and was no longer the small child Kosaku pictured him as.
Kira made a small noise of affirmation, taking things out of his briefcase. Likely documents for Kosaku to double-check then sign.
Killer Queen materialized next to the couch, peering with a tilted head and quizzical body language behind the cushions.
KC's long bushy tail swept back and forth, hitting Killer Queen's legs. She swatted at it without malice with one hand until it dissappeared into the couch.KQ then climbed up onto the couch herself, sitting next to Kosaku with her feet drawn up and back leaning against the cushion moving with Kosaku's "burrowing" stand.
Kira spared a disproving glance at Killer Queen, who stared back at him steadfastly with wide unblinking eyes.Sighing, he returned to the task at hand.
"You may not be able to leave town as soon as you planned. Though grateful for your cooperation, I must insist that you stay until I have settled things to my satisfaction."
Closing the laptop, Kosaku smiled. Though leaving Morioh was important to him, he wasn't in a rush.
"It's not a problem."
Kira looked unconvinced, and Kosaku wondered if he had used to words too many times to lie, sapping them of their sincerity. In the office, at home, to his parents and relatives, his old friends and teachers. It's not a problem, it's not a problem.
Hoping not to scare her, Kosaku slowly lay his hand on Killer Queen's forearm. Under her unblinking gaze he slid his hand down her arm to the top of her hand, where he made a comforting, reassuring motion with his thumb.
Kira looked up at him silently, with much the same expression of disapproval he had given Killer Queen. But he touched his own arm where he had felt the ghost-caress with the air of someone perhaps a little reassured.