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Aren chokes out blood and spits it to the side of the pavement, smudging his mouth with the back of his hand. There’s a bullet lodged into his left calve, sending a searing white pain throughout the rest of his body. But he can’t stop now, or else he’s dead.
Aren’s seen this fight before, he’s danced this same battle three or four years ago when he was thirteen. It was the first time he’d ever gotten shot, a rookie mistake. He knows how this’ll go. Aren will get beaten within an inch of his life, before his much older, bulkier gang members burst into the alley to save him. He’ll get carried home despite his many protests and will have to hold in his tears while his ma plucked out the bullet and his old man lectured him about being reckless and how he’s still just a kid.
The pain feels familiar, and all too real for a dream. Aren’s still throwing his puny, thirteen-year old punches against a tall, middle-aged monster. This wasn’t even his fight, it was his dad’s old rival, not his. Unfortunately, Aren had gotten too riled up and had stupidly brought his fists to an undisclosed gunfight.
They were delinquents, not samurai, honour was out the window.
He just needed to hang on a bit longer, and he would be saved. Just ignore the crimson pouring down his face, blurring his vision. Stop thinking about the metal pellet in your leg and stand up straight. Keep launching hits that’ll never land because he’s sure his dominant wrist is broken, as well as a couple ribs. Any moment, any second now, he would be rescued.
Except that help never came. He should’ve known better, this was a nightmare after all, but it hurt nonetheless. Aren’s shoved to the ground, and he wants to scream. It’s red everywhere around him, the alleyway painted in his own blood. He feels sick. This isn’t how it went, but why is it so real?
“Can’t get up?” The guy sneers tauntingly. “I thought you were supposed to be tough, being Rean’s kid. How odd for the Demon Killer.”
It should be the other guy’s blood, not his. That wasn’t right. Aren never lost a fight, draws at worst. Why did the fact that it was his blood even matter? Only thing that mattered right now was pummelling that guy to the ground with him.
But he couldn’t move. He was stuck rigid with the crimson boring into his eyes. He couldn’t shout or call for help. He needed to get up, kick, fight, anything! He can feel the cry lodged in his throat and it’s suffocating him. Aren needs to go, he needs to run, but the only thing he can feel is the blood gushing from his head, splattering in a pool beneath him, seeping into his fingertips that scratch against the maroon-soaked concrete—
Aren wasn’t one to get spooked by a bit of blood. But this, this had really ruffled some of his ragged feathers. He sits up on the futon and breathes heavily. He doesn’t have to worry about waking up any of the others: Nendou and Hairo were sleeping like rocks, and there was a lack of a body-shaped lump underneath Saiki’s covers, so the guy must be wandering off somewhere. He turns his head to look at Shun’s futon, expecting to see his fluffy hair poking out from the top of the blankets.
Aren’s met with surprise when he realises he’s not there, instead Shun’s replaced by crumpled sheets and a stray sock he might’ve kicked off in his sleep. The surprise turns to mild panic, a type of stress that did not hit him when Aren saw that Saiki was missing. Maybe it’s because he knew Saiki could mainly handle himself despite his looks, or maybe because Shun seemed to have a knack for attracting trouble. Aren blinks and attempts to steady his rapid breathing, trying to focus on his new objective; find Shun.
His task is quickly completed when he looks forward again, and sees Shun standing there in the pale moonlight that shines on the opposite side of the room, illuminating the kitchenette. He’s in those fuzzy, starry pajamas and holding a steaming mug of something. Shun’s hair is all messed up in a way Aren liked to describe in his head as cute, and the silver gleam from the night sky reflected in his eyes in a way Aren would have liked to say was beautiful, until he realised those eyes were looking at him.
Shun was standing still, staring directly at Aren in the barely lit room. He would have found it more creepy if he didn’t feel the embarrassment crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears. He couldn’t tell if Shun was either concerned or confused or maybe even both that his friend was sitting up in the middle of the night, with the front of his t-shirt drenched in sweat and his shoulders heaving with the effort of panting.
Was it still possible to hide the fact he just had a bad dream?
“Aren?” Shun whispered quietly from across the room, so low that he could hardly hear it. Shun glanced at the sleeping bodies of the two exercise freaks, then at Saiki’s empty futon, and shrugged to himself, padding towards him with whatever drink he had gotten up to make. Shun settled himself down on the edge of the side of the sleeping mat, carefully moving his stupid fake glasses out of the way.
Aren didn’t know what to say, and it seemed like Shun didn’t either. The only thing interrupting the silence was Nendou’s snoring mixed with the nighttime ambience. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, feeling frustrated for leaving his vulnerability out in the open. Shun cleared his throat.
“Dark Reunion?” He suggested. Aren stared at him in mild bewilderment. He couldn’t tell if Shun genuinely thought he was having bad dreams about the Dark Reunion or if he was simply handing Aren an out. If it was the last one, then Aren greatly appreciated it.
“Yeah,” he agreed, a bit too shakily for his own liking, “The Dark Reunion.”
Shun hummed, nodding his head. “I see, occasionally they tend to plague me with treacherous hallucinations during dark hours as well.” Ah, that was Shun-speak for that he sometimes had a nightmare or two. Was that why he was up already? It was too dim to see the clock ticking on the wall, but he assumed it must’ve been around 2a.m.
“Why’re you awake?” Aren asked, trying to direct attention away from himself. Shun didn’t need to know why he was randomly sitting up in the middle of the night. Actually, how much had he even seen? Had he only seen the aftermath of Aren’s ‘hallucinations’, or had he witnessed him bolting upright gasping for air? Aren silently prayed that he hadn’t been mumbling anything in his sleep.
“The Jet Black Wings never rests when the fate of the earth is upon his shoulders.” Shun declared ceremoniously, then quickly cleared his throat as he realised it probably wasn’t the time. “I also couldn’t sleep with Nendou’s snoring.”
“Fair enough.” Aren hummed, trying to avoid Shun’s gaze. He was eyeing him expectingly.
“Sooo…” Shun began, tapping the rim of his mug, “Will you tell me what’s up?”
Damn it, he was hoping they’d just avoid the situation altogether. Maybe joke around until the other fell asleep and then Aren could dream on, no problem. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Unfortunately, Shun was pretty fucking perceptive when he wanted to be, especially when it came to him. To most, Aren was as understandable as hieroglyphics, but apparently Shun just had to be an Egyptologist. He let out a harsh sigh through his nose and rubbed at his face, his skin slightly damp.
“Bad dream.” Aren answered vaguely. Best to keep it short and sweet, because that’s all it really was; his memories becoming a bit too messy. Even in the dark, Aren can tell Shun doesn’t believe him.
“Uh huh.” He muttered sceptically. “I might need a little more information than that if both of us want to go to sleep.”
Both? Both? Aren could handle insomnia just fine, but Shun might keel over within five hours if he doesn’t get the recommended amount of sleep. Was he trying to guilt-trip him? The nerve! If this was anyone else Aren would’ve punched their face in by now, but Shun seemed to increase his composure stamina. Well, unlucky for his sworn friend, because Aren does not give into manipulation so easily.
“Just some mild flashbacks from a fight I had before, no big deal.” Okay, maybe he could be manipulated. Or maybe Aren was too tired to put up any real resistance. He wants to believe it was the latter, because no way would Kuboyasu Aren fold that easily for any other reason. Shun looks more concerned than before, and seems like he wants to say something, but changes his mind and looks out the window instead.
“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure if I described anything it would be too violent for you.” Aren piped up with a poor attempt to lighten the mood. Shun stares at him weirdly, before putting on his confident act again.
“As the Jet Black Wings, I have seen many gruesome scenes, I’m sure some descriptions of blood won’t hurt.” He insisted, pretending as if he didn’t latch onto Aren’s arm when they watched that popular English horror movie, Coraline, which he was pretty sure was for children. Still, how many people did Aren have in his life to whom he could talk about this stuff with? His parents and former gang friends were all so desensitised to the topic that he’d just look plain pathetic in front of them.
Then the only other friend he had who knew of his past was Saiki, whose indifference towards everything frankly unsettled him.
Aren almost jumps as he realises Shun had shuffled closer, their shoulders now touching. He tried to ignore the way he felt warmer than before. It didn’t work.
“Isn’t your drink getting cold?” He pointed out, attempting to change the subject. This time it seemed to work out in his favour, as Shun quickly glanced down at the mug and shook his head.
“It was actually way too hot before. The microwaves here are weird.” Shun said almost sheepishly. He then held out his cup. “Do you want to drink some of this?”
“What even is that?” Aren could now see the milky brown liquid swirling inside the mug. He should be able to sniff it out, but his senses didn’t seem to be working. However, there was also an upward stain on the inside of the cup, which let him know Shun had already drank from it, so Aren knew he’d probably accept it no matter what the drink was.
“It’s coffee.” Shun said. Aren shot him a confused look. “With a lot of milk.”
“Won’t that, you know, make you stay up more?”
“Listen, I know this sounds weird but, this actually helps me sleep better. It’s kind of like the caffeine multiplies with the energy in my head and cancels it out. Does that make sense?”
“Fuck do I know. You know I’m practically failing maths.” They both giggled slightly. Shun nudged his shoulder playfully, and it sent sparks up his arm.
“C’mon, your grades aren’t that bad.” He tried reassuring him. They both knew that was a blatant lie, but Aren would like to proudly say that he is improving in his studies. “I think the tutoring I’m giving you is paying off!”
If by tutoring he meant ‘Shun droning on about complicated equations while Aren snuck looks at him and sketched out every angle of his face’ time, then yeah no. He’s been cramming in his homework as well as his extra studying when he returns home, with no dangerously cute best friends around to distract him. He won’t tell Shun that though.
“Sure.” He responded instead. He eyed the cup. “I don’t really drink milk coffee though.” What are you saying, you idiot!? Take the damn mug!
Luckily Shun was persistent, and took Aren’s hands, wrapping them around the mug himself. Aren could actually feel the soft skin of his palms now, because they weren’t sealed with the bandages when he went to bed. His cheeks heated up slightly at the sudden contact, so he focused on staring at the coffee. Not because he was shy, no, shy was not a word you used to describe Kuboyasu Aren. He must be really out of whack from that nightmare, because he doesn’t even notice Shun looking at him until he speaks.
“It’s not good lukewarm. Coffee either has to be boiling hot or iced to taste right.” Shun states matter-of-factly. Oh right, he wants me to drink it. Aren takes a sip and tries not to spit it out when he realises he drank from the exact same spot Shun did. The coffee stains were telling.
Man up, Aren! It’s not a big deal! He recited to himself, the mantra he liked to repeat when literally anything went wrong. This ranged from getting stabbed in the abdomen to getting way too flustered about indirect kisses from his sworn friend whom he definitely held no romantic feelings for. Strictly platonic over here, don’t worry, Asō-Sensei.
He felt a bit self-conscious as Shun watched him attentively, only looking away once Aren finished the coffee.
“Do you…feel better?” He asked tentatively. And to Aren’s surprise, his mind did feel less fogged up than before, though he had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t the coffee that helped. He nodded, and scratched the back of his neck.
“Yeah… I do. Thanks, Shun.” His friend beamed with relief, and Aren could only reflect that with his own smile. “You don’t have to stress about this by the way, just you being here cheers me up.” Why did I say that!? Well, it wasn’t like it was a lie. Shun provided a sort of warmth he’s never felt before. It’s comforting. Shun’s cheeks redden and he squeaks out something that sounds like a garbled, ‘No problem man!’
Aren puts the mug to the side; he’s not bothered to put it back and he’s sure Shun isn’t keen either. Therefore, he flops back onto the futon and pulls his blankets up. It’s getting a bit chilly. He waits to hear Shun lay down onto his own futon beside him, and is confused when he hears shuffling instead. He looks back and finds that Shun has pushed their mattresses together, so now they’re one. He looks at Shun curiously, who flushes.
“I—I just thought that, if we were closer, maybe that would help? You know, that way I can fend off the Dark Reunion attempting to poison your sleep easier.” He stuttered. That was…well that was just cute of him. Objectively!
“Of course. Wouldn’t want them brainwashing me in my sleep.” He agreed, but really he was just happy to have Shun so near. Shun smiled and laid down, then promptly tossed the covers over his head. Aren feels slightly bewildered, but still he joins him under the blankets. Shun blinks at him in the dark, eyes surprised and maybe embarrassed.
“I kinda need to be cloaked in complete darkness to fall asleep. It’s a curse of the Jet Black Wings.” He whispered sheepishly. Aren shrugged.
“It’s fine. It’s warmer under here anyway.” He whispered back. Why were they whispering again? Maybe it’s because the shield of blankets felt like they were sharing some type of secret. It felt wrong to disrupt that quiet nature. Plus, Aren really was beginning to feel tired now. Had the coffee somehow worked? Surely that had to bypass chemistry or something, right? He almost laughed; Shun was extraordinary in the strangest yet best of ways.
They stay silent for a while, and Aren is almost a 100% sure the other is asleep when he suddenly speaks up.
“Can I tell you something?” Shun mumbled sleepily. Aren turned over to face him, maybe rolling a bit too far, because now there’s an inch between their faces. “I feel better when you’re around too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He breathed out, and Aren can feel it against his face. It’s not unpleasant. Shun’s eyes fluttered closed with a small smile. “You’re strong, like Cyborg Ciderman Number Two… or whatever Toki says…” He trails off. Must’ve fallen asleep. Either Shun had stayed up more than necessary to say that to him and used up all his remaining energy, or it was sleepy rambling. However, being compared to a superhero made Aren happy. Usually he would've been compared to the villain of that story.
Then he felt an arm drape over his torso.
“Shun?” He tried softly. He got a subtle snore in response. God, it was getting really warm underneath all these covers, or maybe that was just him. Shun’s hair tickled the underside of his chin. When had he gotten so close? Aren had his own pillow but… Shun’s hair was like a mass of fluff that he couldn’t help but give into the temptation of. He cautiously leaned his head down, and Shun simply nuzzled into his neck further.
Aren might be digging himself a deeper hole by the second. He wraps his arms around Shun, curling in closer to him. He’s so warm, and he smells like the expensive shampoo that they stock the bathrooms here with.
Please, every god up there, don’t let Nendou ruin this by pulling off the blankets.
If someone were to catch them right now, Aren would have no idea what to say. Nendou and Hairo were dense enough to be written off with a poor excuse, but if it’s Saiki, Aren would officially live the rest of his life in pure embarrassment. And might potentially kill Saiki by accident. From what he could tell, the other boy had not returned to the room yet, so they were both safe for now.
He directs his attention back to Shun, his sworn friend, who is sleeping in his arms. Aren couldn’t move away even if he wanted to without waking him up—which was essentially like waking up a wet kitten— because their legs were entangled together as well. When did these things happen!? Though, he’s selfishly not complaining.
Aren hoped Shun wouldn’t find this weird when he woke up. He should move away, he really should, but his eyelids and limbs feel rather heavy. Well fuck it.
“Goodnight, Shun.” Aren mumbled, and he pressed his lips quickly into Shun’s hair before he could think about what he was doing. Instead of bloody fights haunting his dreams for the rest of the night, he could be tortured by feelings instead.
How odd, for the Demon Killer.