Party Favours (Natsume Yuujinchou, Nishimura and Matoba)

[puimoo]

Title: Party Favours.
Author/Artist: Puimoo.
Fandom: Natsume Yuujinchou.
Pairing/characters: Nishimura and Matoba.
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Prompt/challenge you're answering: How about it Nishimura, did you enjoy Matoba’s party?
Word count: 1889
Spoilers: Very slight ones for Nishimura’s family dynamics, as per last month’s chapter.




Detective work, it turned out, was way easier in the movies than in real life. Nishimura had seen enough movies and read enough books to know how it was supposed to go. Once an abnormality was duly noted be a sharp, enquiring mind, the keen detective ran through a series of increasingly awesome adventures as they tracked and then apprehended their prey.

When it rained in the movies while the detective was following their guilty man, it was atmospheric. On the dark, rain slicked streets of Nishimura’s home town, rain was turning out to be wet. Very wet. And cold.

Nishimura knew that Kitamoto thought he was being foolish. His best friend was totally not the type to be caught outside in weather that was clearly approaching typhoon level, if the way Nishimura was never EVER going to be dry again was any indication. No. Kitamoto was probably at home, buried deep in the warm folds of his duvet cover, fast asleep. The jerk was probably even having ridiculously cool dreams about cute girls and hot, sunny beaches.

Nishimura shuddered further into his overcoat at the mere thought. The miserable streaks of hair that were plastered in front of his eyes and his poor, soaked socks were not helping things. Not at all. He hadn’t exactly told Kitamoto that he planned to follow (or attempt to follow, it turned out that Nishimura was not a particularly good stalker) the strange, older boy who had suddenly started hanging around their school. The way the other boy would just turn up like some freak and shoot odd, barbed remarks in Natsume’s direction before swirling off in a flutter of ridiculous good looks and magnanimous authority was enough to set any sane person on edge, and Natsume … well.

Natsume was awesome. Clever. Kind. Sort of weird. A good kind of weird, of course! The BEST kind of weird. Nishimura had never known anyone quite like his quiet friend, but his little oddities only served to highlight just how caring his friend really was.

Arg! If Kitamoto had known this was why he’d opted out of a late night cram section, and not to return home for a family meal as Nishimura had said, then he would be eating his own lunch for weeks. Although, the fact that Kitamoto had brought such a flimsy (but sneaky!) lie in the first place was really Kitamoto’s own fault. When was the last time Nishimura’s family had sat down to have a meal together? He bit down on his bottom lip at that.

No. Telling Kitamoto the actual truth had been completely out of the question, as cool and understanding as his best friend usually was. The mere thought of Kitamoto’s humoured, exasperated, what-time-do-I-have-to-be-there smile was enough to make Nishimura flush in embarrassment. Yeah, Kitamoto would have thought he was a right idiot.

All the current signs (the rain, wind, the fact he’d lost sight of his target over half an hour ago and was sort of stalking after someone who happened to be vaguely wearing a similar coat just in case) were suggesting that maybe the Kitamoto in his head was right.

Nishimura blew out an irritated puff of air, before shaking his head violently from side to side, sending the wet strips of hair whipping painfully against his cheeks. Still! Regardless of what either Kitamoto thought, Nishimura knew he wasn’t imagining the almost sinister way the one-eyed boy seemed to just hover everywhere. If the detective movies had taught Nishimura anything, it was that any limb or body part left unaccounted for was some sort of secret symbol of inner evilness. He wasn’t entirely sure what kinds of evilness only having one eye represented, other than maybe a lack of perception.

Nishimura tucked in behind a fencepost, noticing for the first time that he had moved away from the more built up, commercial side of the town into somewhere distinctly residential. He frowned. Huh. He couldn’t ever remember coming down this street before. The old, creaky-looking houses that sat deep in wooded gardens were distinct in the fact that were really, really old (architecture was not Nishimura’s strong point, either).

Oookay. So. It was well past midnight, he was drenched through to his skin, following a fluttery coat that looked vaguely like the one the boy he had been following earlier had been wearing – although, strangely, Nishimura couldn’t remember what the actual person he was following now looked like, it was almost as though only the coat itself existed – and he was officially lost in a part of town that Nishimura was convinced hadn’t existed when he had passed this way with Kitamoto a month ago.

Um. Oops?

He crouched down miserably, folding his arms around his knees as he took the slight protection the fence offered him. The rain still slashed through the gaps in the fencing, but at least the wind was mostly cut off. Why hadn’t be brought his cell phone again? He was sure there had been a totally legitimate reason for it at the time, something about Kitamoto and not having to pretend he was somewhere he wasn’t even more than he had already done. Right now, however, it seemed one of the crappier decisions he’d made all eve-

Nishimura stilled as a flutter of black and red flirted at the corner of his gaze, before disappearing down what looked like a driveway. What was the point? He thought with maybe just a hint of melodramatic despair. There were probably a hundred black and red jackets in the world. Thousands, even! Maybe the older boy hadn’t even been wearing red and black, but blue and brown? Maybe Nishimura hadn’t even spied him in the first place, but some other one-eyed boy with an arrogant sort of flair.

This was probably the most logical he had been all evening, and the Kitamoto-in-his-head gave an approving nod. Nishimura’s mouth slid into a grimace, before he sprang to his feet.

It wouldn’t hurt just to have a quick look though, right? Even if this was just another dead end, at least he would be able to ask for directions. There, that sounded perfectly logical as well, and this time Nishimura gave himself a nod of approval.

Kitamoto (in his head) remained silent. Spoil sport.

The closer Nishimura snuck towards the house, the more the air seemed to pulse with the beat of music. Weird, given that he couldn't actually hear anything over the high whistle of the wind and the splatter of the rain against the pavement. It sort of made sense though, he thought when he did slip guiltily through the slightly parted gates. Festive lights flickered shadows across the yard, and he could hear chatter and laughter as it spilt out the open windows. There was definitely a party of some kind in process, even though it was a week night and only an idiot would still be out at this late.

… no comment.

It was about then (while Nishimura was doing his best interpretation of a shrub, maybe not his best choice of disguise) that he realised that the shadows that crowded the yard weren’t moving in time to the flickering of the tree lanterns, but to the same not-beat that hung in the air. Huh. How the heck were they-

“Why, hello there.”

Yeah. Nishimura hadn’t been feeling all that comfortable in his skin all night, so jumping out of it was almost liberating in an oh-my-god-I’m-going-to-die-and-noone-will-ever-find-my-body kind of way. Even though Nishimura was sure the porch had been empty just seconds ago, the very dark haired, one-eyed, kinda creepy boy that Nishimura had been unsuccessfully tailing was suddenly very much on that porch. Without the front door ever opening.

And he was smiling. Was that … was that what people did when they found an intruder in their garden pretending to be part of their greenery?

“Uh, hello?” Nishimura ventured back with a shaky smile. But … greetings were a good sign, right? Better than a threat, at least.

Right?

“You must be late. Why don’t you come in out of the rain?” Matoba invited, his voice smooth and even. Nishimura couldn’t remember the older boy introducing himself, but maybe Nishimura had caught his name on the letterbox or something. Still, the fact that Matoba assumed that Nishimura was simply another guest definitely worked in his favour, and his confidence rebounded back as though it had never cowardly deserted him in his hour of need. This was so cool, wait until Kitamoto found out how deeply he’d managed to infiltrate the (maybe) enemy’s lair!

The long, oak panelled room that Matoba brought him into was brimming with weird looking people and the strange not-music. The air seemed thinner in here, somehow, and there was sweet taste to the air that left an aftertaste on his tongue.

And, wait, that couldn’t be right…

Nishimura blinked. Surely, surely it was the light that spun the room into an array of elongated limbs and grotesque faces. His breath caught in his throat and Nishimura stumbled backwards when one such face twisted towards him in a way that could not be natural.

Ha, and of course it wasn’t. Nishimura grinned a little manically as he noticed that the surreal, blackened beak was crafted out of cardboard, and the strange silhouette was an illusion of darts and mind-bending lines. A fancy dress party, that’s what this was. All the weird faces weren’t faces at all, just disguises – although ones that Nishimura privately thought were in rather bad taste. The flash of fear began to recede, but he still felt oddly flatfooted.

“I see you forgot your mask.”

Kitamoto jumped at the smoky words were whispered against his ear on a hot puff of air. A nervous giggle bubbled up his throat. Maybe, maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea after all. This Matoba guy was creepy, and the guests … who exactly were these guys anyway? And why were they having such a weird party at this time of year – at this time of the night? If he’d gotten himself involved in some strange cult his parents were going to kill him. Ok, scratch that, they probably wouldn’t even notice. If anything, they’d probably enjoy the peace and quiet and not give his absence a second thought. But Kitamoto? Kitamoto would definitely kill him, it was how best friends showed their concern.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe I should go back home and get it. It was a really nice one as well, I spent all weekend-“ his babbling was cut off when something – a blindfold, his mind provided in a panic – was slid over his eyes.

“You can have one of mine,” that same voice said, except this time it was somehow even closer, as though the words were being spoken casually inside his head. He tried to open his mouth to protest, but something thick and black took that opportunity to side in and down his throat, and suddenly all he could breathe was the acidic sludge-

“It’s so good you could come, Nishimura-kun. The party never really starts until the guest of honour arrives, does it?”

The shriek of a heron slashed like glass through his skull, and Nishimura crumbled like a paper doll into Matoba’s waiting arms.