Rules Were Made to be Broken

‣ scene 02 [hot damn, he's familiar]

Kiyotaka deeply inhaled the tempting smell of miso as he waited. The line wasn't long, and he was still tired, so he wasn't in any hurry.

There was something distracting him, though.

Just behind him in line was a man. A man who was significantly taller than him. A man broad and muscular in build, with sleeves of tattoos and skin tinted a deep bronze and long wavy hair.

For whatever reason, Kiyotaka seemed to see that guy almost everywhere he went. He didn't get out much outside of his routine, so that wasn't saying a lot, but it was still true. He'd caught glimpses of him buying beer and dog food at the grocery store, and he'd passed him on the sidewalk, and he'd definitely spotted him at the gym, and they seemed to share similar taste in restaurants. ...Was this some series of insane coincidences, or was he being followed?

Kiyotaka turned to look over his shoulder at the man, who donned a devious smirk. His eyes— Kiyotaka had never been close enough before to see the details of them, but they were lavender and framed by thick black lashes. They were... intense.

"You." He said it before Kiyotaka could, lifting up his head like he was studying his prey. "What's your deal? Are ya followin' me or somethin'?"

This man's voice was low, a rumble that purred over his vocal chords. Kiyotaka frowned at him while ignoring the little thrill that raced down his spine.

"I was about to ask you the very same question!"

The other man chuckled and apparently didn't care to add anything else. He turned to look at the line beside him and judge the number of customers, so Kiyotaka got a good look at his hair. He had about half of it pulled into a messy sort of bun, and that hair was bleached an orange-ish brown, while the rest of it was black and hung free.

Kiyotaka pondered the exact number of encounters he and the other man had had while the line grew shorter. His face paled when he recalled a night when his anxiety had gotten the better of him and he'd had way too much to drink after celebrating a big contract win with some coworkers.

About three months ago, he had stayed for far longer than everyone else and downed more booze than he should have, trying to drown his sorrows. He'd wandered out onto the street. He was told later that a stranger had more or less rescued him from certain death and half-carried him back into the bar. That man had allegedly stayed with him until a taxi came to retrieve him, and he'd even paid a friend of his to ride with him and usher him back into his apartment.

Kiyotaka had wanted to thank this good samaritan, of course, but he had been unable to remember what he looked like. ...Unable to remember, that is, except for one small detail:

Since he had spent at least an hour with his head pressed against the mystery man's side, he'd gotten a good view of his pectoral beneath the loose-fitting black tank top he'd been wearing. And the mystery man had had some kind of elaborate crest emblazoned there in ink. 

Funnily enough, the kind-of-stranger right behind Kiyotaka seemed to be heavily tattooed, and he was wearing a shirt with a neck cut deep enough that it revealed more ink stretching down his chest. He tried not to stare. The other man's eyes caught his anyway.

"What?" he grumbled. He flashed a mischievous grin. "Like somethin' you see?"

"That—" Kiyotaka's face went red, and he sputtered helplessly. "What is that supposed to mean?!"

The near-stranger laughed at his expense as Kiyotaka's number was finally called. Kiyotaka retrieved his bowl of udon and fled the area with his head down.