osakansax:

Nothing. Just an abandoned cafe, the Osakan would come to realize.

He relocated the discarded windbreaker on the floor, pocketed the dead cellphone and kicked the still sopping mess of clothing to the side. As he recalled, Heiji hadn’t been quite fond of the thing. It didn’t do much to break the wind, or at least lessen its hindrance as he ran the whole day looking for one shred of evidence to bring back to Osaka. But the bare bones of the fact was there wasn’t anything, not even a spot out of the ordinary that would catch his eye.

But that factor was the exact reason why his alarum bells were being set off. The dark-skinned teen allowed a quiet, exasperated sigh to escape him. What exactly were the odds that this case concerned his mutual benefactors, his superiors as it were? Or maybe it was a warning to himself, that perhaps he’d been caught in his ideal of perhaps shattering this organization from the inside. A thought like that could make him too paranoid, and what then of the original persona? How safe would he have been regardless of the pseudo-sleeper agent’s existence?

His thoughts upon that matter were shoved aside by a voice he didn’t recognize at first, and as such he responded by swiftly blowing out the lighter’s flare and pressing himself to the nearest wall. Of course, the owner of the voice was hardly unrecognizable—Hakuba finally returned, that forgetful teen who’d left an article of clothing behind. Inwardly he cursed himself as his hoary gaze fixed themselves upon the lighter resting upon the palm of his hand—damn. It would’ve been so easy just to return to the front and hand the lighter back, wouldn’t it? But that agent wanted no confrontation whatsoever, not even an exchange of neutral words. Slipping out the back would’ve been the preferable way out—and he could just mail this item back, procuring the address of another superintendent should be no problem, right?

But what if it was sent straight to the damn man? Chances were pretty high that Superintendent Hakuba knew nothing about this smoking vice of his son…Well. This was a bit of a tight bend, wasn’t it?

A handful of minutes later and the lighter persisted in its inability to be found. Hakuba abandoned the search only when his phone vibrated in his pocket. The detective straightened up, one hand on his back, the other lifting the phone to his ear.

“Moshi moshi?" 

It was Baaya, of course; Hakuba rarely received phone calls from anyone else. She apologized for not getting his earlier messages and, though the static, exclaimed that she would be there soon.

"Ah, it’s all right, Baaya. I’ve found a place to hide away from the rain. Yes, it’s safe." 

The detective paced, bare foot, while he conversed, tone light and casual. Genuine. With the apparent lack of company, Hakuba felt comfortable being more or less himself.

"Mm-hmm. Oh, I ran into Hattori-san. No, he’s gone off somewhere.” Pause. “You’ll have to see the bruise for yourself. No, I didn’t antagonize him! Well… maybe a little…”

The blond laughed, striding to the window to peer out, small and pleasant smile on his face.

“I know, I know. I’ll be careful. Ah, and, Baaya, I seem to have misplaced the lighter…" 

Silence for a few moments as the governess launched into a well-intentioned and loud rant. Hakuba cut her off. "Ah, I know, I know.. I’ll keep looking. I must have dropped it somewhere… but I was certain that I had it when I got here, and.. Hmm. You don’t think that Hattori-san would have taken…?”  Another brief pause. “N-no! Of course not, Baaya! Not with him. Certainly not. God…" 

He sighed.

"Fifteen to twenty minutes? Certainly.. I’ll trace my steps and meet you there in a bit. Thank you, Baaya.”

The detective hung up his cell phone and checked the time before replacing it in his pocket, only to pull out his watch to, again, check the time. “Damn cellular towers are almost thirty four seconds slow… Unacceptable." 

Rolling his eyes, Hakuba reached for his drenched shirt in preparation to leave.

osakansax:

… The notebook should’ve been more of an eyecatcher, honestly. Instead, fingers gently slipped the lighter from its place for his eyes to observe. Meticulously fiddling with it for details. Neither of them pegged the English detective for a smoker—but then again, who would peg him to be working for a Mafia-esque organization? 

Dropping the jacket back onto the chair, he flipped the lid open and set the sparks alight. The stormy, abandoned backdrop became illuminated by a slight colored light. Damn fool let his battery run empty and left it in the windbreaker where he first broke in. Sure, they’d been in here long but there was little he could make out without the lightning flashes, so this would have to do when the Osakan slipped his way into the back of the building. Clouds help them both if another fight would break out—he’d deal with it when Hakuba returned.

Of course, how he’d deal with it might be another matter on hand.

By the time Hakuba found the abandoned cafe, he was drenched from head to waist and damp everywhere else. But even with his hair plastered against his face, the detective found himself hesitating again once he reached the door. He pulled it open quietly and poked his head in first, taking a quick glance around before letting himself in the rest of the way. No one was there, as far as he could tell. Hattori had left. 

He sighed a breath of relief and shut the door behind him. If his hideout had been abandoned once more, it would once again be a suitable place to wait for Baaya, or at least for the storm to die down some. He ran his fingers through his sopping mop of hair, scattering rain water on the floor, then looked to his jacket and tie on the chair. Still where he left it. Good.

“Is anyone here?” He asked aloud, lips pursed as he stepped further into the building to take a look around. “Hattori-san?”

With no verbal replies, Hakuba began the process of unbuttoning his shirt again. It was soaked through and cold. The suit jacket wasn’t nearly as comfortable, but it was a fair bit dryer and would do better than his bare skin to keep the chill off. He stripped the shirt off, peeling it from its cling, and draped it over another chair before taking up the jacket and putting it over his shoulders. Much better. The cross wasn’t hidden, but he paid it no mind as he pulled his shoes and socks off, setting them similarly aside. 

All of this accomplished, the half-Brit detective reached into the inner pocket and pulled out a cigarette, walking toward one of the larger windows to watch the rain through the cracks in the boards, putting the filter to his lips. He held it there, fishing then for the lighter, and… paused. Hm? No lighter. 

He searched the next pocket. Then the side pockets. Then back to where the lighter was supposed to be, panic growing. That… What?

The detective turned to combing the floor around the chair where the jacket had been crouching to search around dusty table legs and bits of debris. Nothing. He looked to the door. Had he somehow lost it out on the street? Smoking aside, he loved that lighter. The notebook was in its place, so he was free to worry about it. Damn. 

Briefly, the idea that Hattori might have taken it crossed his mind, but he pushed it quickly away. No. As juvenile and hot tempered as Hattori was, he was no thief. Right? 

Hakuba bit his lip. This was highly distressing. He checked the floor again while his hands dug throug his pockets aimlessly.

osakansax:

The Osakan’s form remained slumped against the wall for a long while, even after his request was finally adhered to and he’d finally been left alone. A soft sigh seeped from his lips as he massaged his temples gently, and then allowed a hand to slide down his cheek. His face, previously red with heat, had cooled down considerably, but pulse still felt white hot despite the cold, dreary weather outside. Decidedly, he was less angry than some seconds, minutes ago but with the main source of aggravation gone, he could perhaps focus on cooling off and assessing the situation that brought them here in the first place—the case.

Despite sharing the body of one, he was no detective. He did not share that love of solving cases for a living, nor did he enjoy the thrill of the moment when a culprit was revealed. The one with the reins was on the opposite side of the spectrum—making the cases, becoming the culprit and pinning it on other circumstances. When it all came down to it, those aspects didn’t garner an emotion from him other than hatred for the notion that he’d been forced to do it—but that was neither here nor there. Right now, he should be completing his primary function—become the mask, the original persona. The one who shouldered the fury of two beings instead of his own.

“… What a pain.”

Head slightly beginning to clear from the red rage, he allowed his eyes to scan the area. Of course, there’d been nothing that he could spot for a first glance but all that was pushed aside when they found a jacket draped upon one of the chairs to the side. That wasn’t left here prior to their forced entry, no; that was… Hakuba’s, wasn’t it? A frown—that would mean he would return, and he certainly wasn’t going to risk another chance for a confrontation again.

So he walked to it, gingerly picking it up as if he’d spotted a wet, dead rat by his bedside. What was he going to do with this now, go out there and return it to the damn bastard? Tossing it into the whipping winds and harsh patters of rain seemed an idea preferred, but wasn’t going to exactly help relational matters, tattered and damaged as they already were. It would’ve probably been better to just wait; he didn’t know which direction the detective went.

Another seething sigh, and an inspecting look towards the wet article of clothing. What was in here, anyway?

The jacket contained two receipts – one for milk at a convenience store, the other for petrol; a little black notebook with short hand notes and numbers in a mixture of Japanese and English; a sturdy pen; a half-empty pack of cigarettes; and a silver lighter with a crest enraged on one side, the initials S. J. Hakuba on the back. All but the receipts were in the inner pocket, with the receipts in the outer.

Were it not for the notebook, Hakuba might have let the jacket go for the time being and come back for it in the morning. As much as he wanted to stand in a doorway and take a smoking break to calm himself, not letting that information up and disappear was far more important. Though, retrieving said jacket for said notebook also meant having the means for a break, so it was win win. Except that he had to go back to where Hattori was.

The detective deliberated about it for half a minute or so, looked at his watch, then started back through the puddles gathering on the sidewalk.  

Dammit.

osakansax:

…It felt like Heiji had suffered enough. Had he not taken the utmost control to calm himself down, things might have escalated into a situation worse than this. He hadn’t wanted to say anything more, and perhaps he should have left the abandoned building himself—but he didn’t care. Didn’t care about whether one of them would be left drenched in the rain, or if he’d have to throw another punch to make his want of solitude clear—

“Leave. I will not say it again.”

No. Barring those dire situations, he was above using physicality. 

“Ah…”

Hakuba wanted to say more, to perhaps try his comparison again, but the lack of accent and familiarity in Heiji’s voice stopped him. Had he known that his use of that nickname would be quite so offensive, he wouldn’t have gone there. The blond detective bit his lip, then took a step backward, turning toward the exit. “Excuse me.”

He was greeted at the door with the wind and rain, but left despite, shoes squeaking. Hakuba closed it behind him, then stood in the doorway, fishing in his pocket for his cellphone once more, before stepping out into it. 

That had been… odd, to say the least. Almost disturbing. Touching his neck as he walked, Hakuba stayed as close to the buildings as he could to find shelter from the storm. Baaya wasn’t picking up, but then, reception this area was poor. He’d have to get closer to the city center. He made it two streets down before he realized that he’d left his suit jacket behind. 

osakansax:

Was he all right? After all, hadn’t he drawn first blood in deciding to use that weakness? He’d wanted the chance to put the teen in his place. Make him walk in his shoes. And hadn’t that backfired so easily with the mutter of two words?

Yet… that concern gave him his own victory, in a way. It meant that his reaction, however violent and savage, had gotten through to the gentleman detective somehow. It still stood, however, that such a topic shouldn’t have been touched upon in that manner—but who was he to judge? 

The Osakan had almost wanted to spit down at the foreign detective, like he had in their prior meeting. But that would be an invitation to continue tempering the white heat encompassing his whole body that was only barely beginning to simmer—or was that his own consciousness? Either way, he’d chosen silence for quite some time, quite unlike him. Eventually, though, his innate restlessness urged him to withdraw that choice otherwise.

“… … … Yeah.” Voice quiet in clear denial. “All’s right.” Wrong, in a way. “Jus’… leave me.” All he needed.

Hakuba hesitated, but stood his ground. He couldn’t back down and leave, it didn’t sit right with him, but he also didn’t think that any attempts to comfort would be welcome. So still he stayed, mouth pulled into a faint frown.

Never before had he seen Hattori quite like this. Upset, yes. Insecure, certainly. But whatever this was didn’t suit him. Didn’t seem right.Indeed, something had gotten through.

“I… know this probably doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry. I only meant to illustrate a point, but I… went too far. My apologies, Hattori-san.”

osakansax:

If he was as savage as the foreign detective so pegged him to be, Heiji might’ve lunged for another choke hold. How dare he tried to make him sympathize. How dare he compare each other as equals and attempt to be diplomatic after what he’d edged the Osakan to do. ‘Lowly’ was the only word he could spare for the blond detective, yet that ever increasing ire—whether at Hakuba or himself—occupied the need to even blurt that word out.

The Osakan further pressed his body onto the wall, forehead tightly against his arm. Was he trembling? All he cared about right now was to keep himself in control, whether that drumming noise inside his skull was doing something to help with that became a matter he didn’t particularly pay attention to. If it would drown the storm outside, his own voice, the voice of the other detective with him—so be it.

The measure of control displayed, despite the outburst, was admittedly impressive to Hakuba. The longer Heiji stood there, inactive, the more the anger faded. Perhaps the Osakan understood. Perhaps there was a semblance of common ground within reach. 

Still looking at the other detective, Hakuba lowered his hand from his throat and instead to his stomach, gingerly touching the place of impact through his thin and still damp shirt. Then, he offered the faintest of sympathetic looks. 

“For the record, I’ve never thought of you as anything other than Hattori Heiji, high school detective. But I do understand. You needn’t worry, I despise you unfairly on your own merits." 

That said, he watched for the reaction. Would Hattori spur into a fury again? Or would he maintain that posture of – what was it? Control? Defeat? Hakuba blinked, watching the other detective. Perhaps he’d crossed the line a little too far in making his point. 

He pushed himself to a stand, brows pinched in worry.

"Ah… Hattori-san… Are you all right?" 

All coldness and anger were gone, replaced with the polite, but hesitant, voice of concern.

osakansax:

There was a crowing in his head that reveled, rejoiced at the situation. The surge of superiority slithering through his veins when prey finally hit floor—and that’s all it was right now, predator and prey, right? How easily they both fell into each other’s traps; how, despite that docile disposition, his fingertips could discern the betrayal of the body to the mind; how, if he continually added pressure, he could permanently end this animosity—

but those thoughts weren’t normal. Not for him. Not for he who upheld that near-hopeless notion of having faith in life until it was certain death had stripped it down to bare bones. It was hard to cling to that when it wasn’t dominance but rage that restrained such rationality. When it would be so effortless in his state to squeeze it out of existence.

So, Heiji let go. Latched himself off this smug parasite. Stumbled back, because taking the easy way out meant he wasn’t any better than the trapper who’d set him up. Turned away, and pressed his head to the nearest wall because he was better than this… Yet, that proximity gave him realization of how paper-thin that blockade was on both ends. 

But that fury still churned, brewing a storm perhaps greater than the one outside. Words wanted to force themselves out of him, and the red heat flushing his face wanted to subside. Heiji wasn’t at all willing—never at all willing—to put anyone through the ringer but himself.  For once, though, he wished for that damn pounding in his head would hurry it up and take him away from here. He didn’t know what he was going to do if he stood another second conscious in the presence of someone who’d nearly tempted him to act like the ones he imprisoned.

What Hakuba felt when the tense moment ended, throat once again exposed to air, was a chaotic mixture of flooding relief and shocking disappointment. He hesitated a moment, then pushed himself into a sit, hand moving to touch his neck where Heiji had previously gripped him.

“Ah…” the foreign detective directed his gaze to the one at the wall. “So you do know exactly how I feel.”‘