#writewithlia

They sat on that rooftop again. The highest in the area, but still way below the clouds. Neither the overworked salesmen doing overtime in their glass offices nor the potential hero flying to the next emergency site were able to spot them here. Traffic noise was floating up from the streets beneath, but it was a comparatively quiet spot. Perfect for talks of treachery and corruption.

It was also much easier to reach than old warehouses cramped between buildings and infrastructure, at least if you came from above. How Dabi made it up all those stories without raising suspicion was a mystery to Keigo, one of many.

Regardless of what the HPSC’s tasks asked of him, his personal mission was to uncover each and every mystery surrounding Dabi. When his goal had shifted in this direction he didn’t know, but something about the man intrigued him. The more time spent with him and the more information he slowly gathered, the more he became invested in solving this puzzle.

And as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, for his own conscience, he knew this was not about his identity or his connection to the League of Villains or anything else that might be relevant for the greater good. No, this was purely self-indulgent. He’d give more for Dabi’s morning routine than his real name at this point.

Looking at him now, while they argued about adjusting the phrasing of a report, he wondered if he would ever be sick of learning more about him.

The topics they wanted to discuss that night ran out, so it was time for Keigo to bring his small talk training to use and make Dabi stay regardless. The longer their conversation lasted, the later he had to return to his empty apartment. Every minute spent with Dabi was valuable.

“It seems you’re not very fond of the way I handle things with the Commission,” he said.

Dabi pulled the USB drive with the fake paperwork out of his laptop. “You’re too vague. Even an idiot like Twice could figure out that those reports are bullshit. If you want to meet the boss, you need to get your shit together and stop jeopardising your own spy work.”

He tossed Keigo the drive, eyes not leaving the screen. There was precision in a lot of his movements that indicated professional heroics training. That acute awareness of his surroundings was familiar to Keigo. It was these tiny details he tried to pick up on, since Dabi did his best to stay as mysterious as possible. They’d shared a meal countless times and Keigo always had to rely on body language to see if he liked the food or not, because he refused to share facts about himself. It would annoy him if he weren’t so fascinated.

Dabi tried to pack up his stuff, but Keigo managed to engage him with irrelevant hero gossip. This was yet another thing he’d noticed: Dabi was unusually informed about the inner workings of the industry. He supposed this was all relevant information he should report back to the Commission, but something told him to keep it to himself. After all, they were sitting here, just the two of them, chatting without any obvious ulterior motives. It had taken a lot of time and building trust to get to this point, and Keigo wouldn’t waste it by ratting Dabi out.

He proved this decision to himself by making an off-hand comment about something Best Jeanist had worn at an event once. It was a pretty stupid joke, but suddenly Dabi was laughing, clear and full of joy. For such a deep and raspy voice, his laughter was surprisingly melodic. Keigo couldn’t do anything but stare at him, the city lights illuminating his beautiful side profile.

After a few seconds, Dabi seemed to notice him watching and turned around. Those intoxicating blue eyes were scanning Keigo’s face and Dabi’s expression became serious. Keigo didn’t dare to breathe, unsure what to make of this mood shift and the deliciously anxious feeling in his chest. Then Dabi’s eyes flickered to his lips. Keigo felt heat rush to his cheeks and his heart rate was increasing with every second they spent staring at each other.

Then, unsure, they both inched their faces closer together and before Keigo could process it their lips were touching.

It didn’t last long though, because Dabi pulled away before he even had a chance to press into it. He tried to regain his composure while Dabi stared at him, wide-eyed. His chest was moving at a rapid pace, the rest of him remaining rigid. For as long as Keigo had been studying him, he’d never seen him like this. Almost like he was…scared.

Now worried himself, he tried extending a hand in a weird way of offering comfort, but Dabi snapped out of it and slapped him away. “What the fuck,” he whispered and Keigo was unsure if he was even talking to him. This “kiss” must’ve upset him for some reason.

Keigo was unsure what to make of it too. It certainly hadn’t been what he imagined under getting to know Dabi, but it explained his fascination. Has he had a crush this entire time?

Before he had a chance to dwell on this revelation, Dabi suddenly sat down right in front of him, hand on Keigo’s thigh. His mouth stood open in surprise and Dabi closed it, putting his other hand on his jaw. Blue eyes were piercing into his.

“Listen, hero.” His voice, full of determination, faltered for a moment. “I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s not like anyone was ever dying to kiss me.” Keigo wanted to add something but Dabi’s grip on his face tightened. “Stop that. I don’t want you pitying me. Just…I warned you, so don’t be disappointed.”

Dabi leaned in and this time, Keigo was a lot less awkward about it. He tilted his head, pressing into the kiss without second thought. His enthusiasm seemed to reassure Dabi, who relaxed after the first few seconds, self-doubt forgotten.

Keigo’s hands found his waist as they pulled each other closer together. Kissing Dabi was addicting. It made Keigo feel like was burning up, in a good way. He should’ve realised much sooner that this was what he’d been craving all along.

The contrasting textures of his lips, the taste of him, the gentleness in his touch - Keigo added all of it to his mental list of things he knew about A-rank villain Dabi. After a lifetime of reporting and documenting his every move, it was thrilling to have information solely for himself. No one else knew Dabi like this. And with every new fact he discovered, he grew more certain that he would never get tired of learning about him.

Nights were unpredictable living with Keigo. Even though Touya had done his best to fix his own sleep schedule within the past few months and tried to work on his insomnia, he rarely managed to just sleep through eight hours without disturbance. The main reason weren’t his own issues though, it was Pro Hero Hawks.

His schedule was packed with all kinds of jobs and ever-changing. Not even Keigo himself was able to remember all of it and often noticed he still had work to do at the very last minute. And since this work included night patrols and him being on call, a full night of sleep was a rarity in their household.

This time, Keigo had gotten an emergency call at around 11pm. He’d been in the middle of brushing his teeth and hadn’t even gotten a chance to lay down, even though he’d had a full day of work. Touya was simply thankful that he hadn’t been sleeping either and didn’t get startled awake for once.

In the last few hours, he’s been dozing off every now and then, but his mind refused to fully shut down. Whenever he felt like he was almost there, he was suddenly wide awake again.

Frustrated, he stared at the alarm clock on Keigo’s nightstand and wished time would go by faster. Or slower. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted at this point. Watching the minutes tick by, the time it took for the last digit to change seemed longer and longer each time.

After what felt like eternity, his eyes finally started to grow heavier and the numbers blurred together. By the time they closed, Touya had been staring at that stupid clock for over an hour.

He jolted awake when he heard the balcony door open and wanted to scream into the pillow out of frustration. With great effort, he tried to focus his eyes on the alarm clock, but they wouldn’t adjust to the light.

One room over, he heard Keigo take off his shoes. By the sounds of his movements, all slow and deliberate, Touya guessed he tried his best to be quiet. For someone with stealth training who could follow a person for hours without getting noticed, he was surprisingly bad at it at home. Or Touya simply had great perception and could analyse his surroundings like the professional he was. That must be it, not the fact that Keigo probably just relaxed immediately when he got home.

His vision had fully come back now and he could see that it had only been about twenty minutes since he’d fallen asleep. Great. Fantastic, even. What a successful night.

He got the urge to scream again, but Keigo chose this moment to enter the bedroom and he quickly pretended to be asleep. The last thing he wanted was for Keigo to have to worry about him after a stressful day. Of course, the overly observant feathers saw right through him, despite his best attempts to even out his breathing.

“Oh sorry, did I wake you up?” Keigo whispered, concerned.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled and rolled over to watch him strip out of his suit. Even just his silhouette in the dim lighting of the digital clock was breathtaking.

How Touya deserved all this was a mystery to him. As much as he hated being woken up in the middle of the night, he often felt like the luckiest man alive. The descriptor clashed with literally every other aspect of his life, but at least he had this relationship.

Keigo left the room again to take a shower, his third of the day. It was necessary to wash off all the dust, grime and occasional blood, Touya recognised that much. Still, this couldn’t be healthy for the skin in the long run. But unlike his, Keigo’s skin was always soft and unblemished, so what did he know, really.

While waiting for him to finish his shower, Touya untangled the blanket from his legs and scooted more to the side of the bed to make room for a second person. He’d given up on sleep for the night, the least he could do was to make sure his boyfriend got some well-deserved rest.

After a while, the bedroom door opened again and Keigo dragged himself to the closet to put on boxers and an old shirt. His hair was still damp and Touya caught the scent of his vanilla shampoo when he slipped into bed.

Despite the fact that he should be used to the proximity by now, his heart skipped a beat. He was glad for whatever made Keigo want to be this close to him. Touya certainly wouldn’t if he had a choice.

They laid there in silence for a few minutes and he was convinced Keigo was already dead asleep when he suddenly turned to face him, propping his head up on his hand. “Why are you just still on your back like a corpse?” He poked Touya’s arm. “And you’re so tense. What’s wrong?”

Touya waved him off and turned his back to him. “Stop always overthinking shit and go to sleep.”

He should’ve expected the arms wrapping around his waist, but it caught him off guard anyway. Keigo felt cold from flying outside for so long and the freezing showers he always took to ‘keep his hair healthy’. It was a pleasant change for his constantly overheated body. He leaned back into the embrace against his will.

“How about you tell me right away when something’s going on with you, then I don’t have to overthink,” Keigo whispered into his hair before pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

His heart fluttered again and he sighed in defeat. It had always been useless to try hiding anything from this man. “It’s nothing, really. Just couldn’t sleep again and managed to drift off right before you came back. Don’t worry about it.”

“You know I’m gonna worry about it now.”

Touya rolled his eyes behind his closed lids. “Yes, that’s why I told you not to. Go to sleep.”

“But- ow!”

Touya gave a light kick to his shin. Trust grown men to not follow simple instructions. Unbelievable.

He seemed to finally get the message and pulled Touya closer, entangling their legs. Touya could hear a rustling noise from where his wings settled on the mattress. Then there was another kiss, this time on the back of his neck. “You know I love you, but that was unnecessary.”

Touya made a huffing sound that approximated a giggle. “Sure it was,” and then, a few heartbeats later, “Love you too.”

Keigo’s arms squeezed his middle and that was the last sign of life he got before the quiet snoring started. The alarm clock wasn’t in his line of sight this time, but it wasn’t really necessary anyway. The night was bearable now, no matter if he fell asleep or not.

Oboro tried to grab his phone on the nightstand next to him, the repetitive ringing of his alarm echoing through the room. He held it up to his face when he found it and squinted at the screen.

Friday, April 4th, 8am.

The family picture of Shota, Hizashi and their kids stared back at him. April 4th, a day like any other. He rolled out of bed and threw on some clothes, just jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. No waistcoat to button, no necktie to tie.

When he left the guest room–his room–he was met with complete silence. Everyone had already left for work or school at this time of the day.

On his way to the kitchen he had to pass through the living room and glanced at the console on the TV stand. It was collecting dust since Hitoshi had to move into the dorms his first year at UA. No one else in the house seemed to have any interest in video games.

The kitchen was a bit of a mess, like every morning, because everyone had to leave in a rush. Eri’s half eaten bread with jam was still on the kitchen table, as was Shota’s coffee mug.

Oboro sighed as he cleaned it all up. He tried not to think of any other April 4th, where he wasn’t the last but the first one up, waiting in a sparsely decorated kitchen, candles lit.

Just as his therapist always told him, he pushed those memories away. That hadn’t been him. His last April 4th had been a normal school day over 15 years ago. Still, standing here, in the empty kitchen, it didn’t feel like it.

Even though his “programming” had long been undone, he could almost sense the head of blue-grey hair dragging himself out of his bedroom with lazy steps and rolling his eyes when spoken to.

Swallowing down a queasy feeling, Oboro poured himself a cup of coffee and tried to think of anything else. He shouldn’t remember all this, at least that’s what everyone tells him. But for some reason, he did.

Every single April 4th, every poor attempt at making a cake, the way the enthusiasm about blowing out candles lessened every year, every new video game wrapped up in old newspapers because buying gift wrap for a single present wasn’t worth it.

And it wasn’t solely the memories. How often did he look in the mirror and expected a cloud of mist to look back? How often had he not reacted to his own name? How much of him was still Kurogiri?

And maybe, sometimes, when Eri asked him for help, he looked at her nervous demeanor and red eyes and mistook her high-pitched voice for a different, scratchier one, calling out his name in the same tone.

His coffee had gone cold and he realised he’d just been staring at the wall. With a sigh, he dumped it in the sink and made his way to the bathroom.

When he had made the decision to bake a cake, he didn’t know. But now, there was flour and a bit of egg white on his shirt where the apron wasn’t covering it and the kitchen was a mess again. More stuff to clean up. Additionally, the smell of the cake baking in the oven was giving him a headache.

He wondered what had made him do all this, since he wasn’t much of a sweet tooth and no one else was here to eat it anyway.

Shoving the thought aside, he started doing the dishes, put each thing back into its place and swiped the counters until they were almost shining.

Despite his best efforts to distract himself, he kept thinking.

He kept remembering.

It was like he was merely eighteen or nineteen again, still getting used to the new restrictions implanted in his mind and tasked to take care of a child who thought it was exempt from birthdays. And then, on that first April 4th, after preparing the usual low-nutrient, tasteless breakfast, he used the little control he had and decided to bake a simple chocolate cake.

Tears sprang to his eyes now and he rushed to wipe them away. That hadn’t been him, for fuck’s sake.

But how could he ever forget the look of pure childish glee he got in return? Such a rare expression, reserved for only a select few moments.

The timer he set earlier went off and interrupted his thoughts. Disoriented, he took the cake out of the oven, almost missing the sound of the door being opened. After a bit of rustling, light steps made their way to the kitchen.

He turned around and stared directly into Tomura’s red eyes looking up at him.

“Mr. Oboro?” he asked, his voice hesitant and small. He’d been so small. Just a little kid. “Mr. Oboro, why are you crying?” A tiny hand reached out for him and he knelt down to accept the hug.

The tears started falling now, streaking his cheeks. It hit him then that he never gave Tomura a hug, not even once, and now he’d never have the chance to.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Oboro?” Eri asked again. He pulled away to look at her and smiled.

“Nothing, kid. Sometimes, adults just get a bit sad.” He ruffled her hair. “What would you say about eating cake for lunch today? I won’t tell Shota, I promise.”

She brightened up immediately. Children were truly easy to distract. He started grinning, too, ignoring the pain lingering in his chest and took her hand. “It has to cool off for a bit, but we could play a game while we wait?”

It was the best feeling in the world, standing at the railing, the wind tousling her hair and the sea spray hitting her face. Himiko loved the ocean. She loved sailing it and she loved the creatures that lived in it even more. One of them specifically. With a smile on her face, she watched the mermaid jumping through the waves like the waters were completely under her control. Her pink tail glistened in the sun, the scales reflecting the light.

Himiko could watch her swimming around for hours. She didn’t care that thinking that was a little creepy, especially considering she was part of a pirate crew that hunted merpeople. It was the one thing she was indulging in. Something peacefully beautiful amidst the cruel chaos of the world they lived in.

“Only focusing on that brown-haired girl again? You have a job to do,” Dabi suddenly said. She jumped when she heard his voice behind her.

“Apparently focused enough to not hear your loud-ass steps,” she told him and stepped away from the railing with a pout. “I don’t want to swipe the deck.”

He glared and threw a rag at her. “Then rot in dirt.”

He was already turning around to walk away but halted in his steps. His expression turned serious. “Don’t get fooled by their beauty. These creatures are cruel.”

He was gone before she could react to that. She had no idea what happened to him before he joined their crew, but it was his business. It had nothing to do with the girl swimming in the distance.

“If you want to give advice, stop being cryptic,” she called after him, but the only one hearing her was Spinner, who was fixing a sail and looking thoroughly confused. Himiko flipped him off and went to work. The mermaid was gone anyway.

—

Ochako listened to Katsuki’s rant against her will. He’d pulled her away when she was watching that pirate girl again. She’d seen her ship a few times now and she was always standing at the railing or hanging on the ratlines, looking over the sea. It was mesmerizing, watching her blond hair get tossed around while her eyes close to feel the wind in her face. But now Katsuki has interrupted her to rant about Izuku’s antics. As much as she loved her friends, she had much better things to do.

Sometimes, she excused her behaviour by telling herself she was just observing the enemy, but she knew better. This was purely for her own satisfaction. She had no idea what it was, this feeling that drew her to the pirate and made her feel warm all over. It shouldn’t be there, that much was sure. She should fear their gaze on her and yet she desperately wanted this girl to look at her too. Somehow, she knew they would understand each other. Like they were connected by something bigger than themselves.

It pained her to not tell her friends about her, but they would not take this in positively. After all, it was these very pirates who were out to kill them. She wondered if the girl would spare her, if she explained herself. Could she feel their connection to? Was she drawn to Ochako, just like she was to her?

Wie ein Verrückter rannte Keigo durch die Bahnhofsunterführung, in der Hoffnung, heute doch noch zu Hause anzukommen. Seine Schuhe machten schmatzende Geräusche bei jeder Berührung mit den Pflastersteinen und er konnte kaum etwas erkennen, weil Wasser von seinen durchnässten Haaren in sein Gesicht tropfte.

Er hörte den Zug über sich einfahren, doch er wurde nicht langsamer. Erst war er verwirrt, schon bereit die Bahn still zu verfluchen, doch dann realisierte er was los war. Die künstliche, von den Lautsprechern verzerrte Stimme hallte in seinen Gedanken wieder: “Zug hält nur bei Bedarf.” Doch es gab keinen Bedarf, denn er stand noch hier unten, triefend und ohne Möglichkeit diesem Kaff zu entkommen.

Beruflich predigte er immer einen positiven Ausblick auf die Dinge, doch von diesem Enthusiasmus war hier zwischen Regen und Graffiti nichts mehr übrig. Mit einem Seufzen ließ er sich auf den Boden fallen. Eine Bahn in die Stadt würde erst am nächsten Morgen wieder halten, üblich für kleinere Bahnhöfe wie diesen und trotzdem hatte er das nicht mit eingeplant.

Man könnte meinen, jemand, der seine Jugend auf der Straße verbracht hat, würde es überleben, ein paar Stunden an einem Bahnhof festzusitzen, aber alles was er wollte war sein hart erarbeitetes Boxspringbett und die Fußbodenheizung. Er legte seinen Kopf auf die Knie und versuchte zwanghaft, das Prasseln des Regens als entspannend wahrzunehmen. Irgendwie würde die Zeit schon vergehen.

Das Unwetter nahm nicht ab und einige Minuten, vielleicht auch Stunden, kam niemand vorbei. Wieso auch, es fuhr ja kein Zug mehr. Trotzdem hörte er irgendwann schwere Schritte, die immer näher kamen. Die Schuhe schmatzen im Regen nicht wie seine, sondern quietschten eher.

Keigo hob den Kopf und sein Blick traf den eines Mannes, bestimmt größer als er, volltätowiert und alles andere als freundlich gestimmt. Auch von ihm tropfte das Wasser. Seinen schwarzen Mantel muss er sich schnell über den Schlafanzug geworfen haben, welcher aber trotzdem durchnässt wurde.

Keigo traute sich nicht etwas zu sagen und hoffte, dass der Fremde schnell weitergehen würde, zu seinem Pech blieb er aber direkt vor Keigo stehen und musterte ihn weiter. “Du siehst ein bisschen zu spießig aus, um dich auf die zermatschten Kippen zu setzen.”

Keigo sah von seinem Hemd zu seiner Anzughose und hinunter auf den dreckigen Boden. Darauf hatte er vorhin gar nicht geachtet. “Ich schätze.”

Er erwartete irgendeine Reaktion oder Nachfrage, doch der Mann sah ihn nur weiter schweigend an.

“Zug verpasst,” sagte Keigo schließlich, als ihm die Stille zu viel wurde.

“Dachte ich mir.” Er schaute von Keigo zu den verregneten Treppen, die hoch zum Gleis führten und wieder zu Keigo. “Weißt du, die meisten sind nicht blöd genug sich auf den letzten Zug zu verlassen. Man steckt sonst schnell fest.”

“Hab’ ich gemerkt.”

Als der Mann sich nach weiteren Sekunden Stille immer noch nicht vom Fleck bewegte, brach Keigo das Schweigen erneut. “Wenn Sie wissen, dass kein Zug mehr fährt, warum sind Sie dann hier?”

Der Mann nickte zu den Wänden, bemalt von oben bis unten. Wie eine Galerie zeigten sie die verschiedensten Werke, von bunten Landschaften über ausgefallene Tags bis hin zu simplen, von Herzen umrandeten Initialen. Direkt gegenüber von ihm war die Karikatur eines Mannes mit roten Haaren, einem überspitzt wütenden Gesichtsausdruck und einem Bart, der in Flammen zu stehen schien.

Gespannt schaute Keigo zu dem Mann zurück. Von Jugendlichen, die er begleitete, hatte er schon oft Geschichten übers Sprayen gehört, doch er hatte noch nie in echt beobachtet, wie ein Graffiti entstand. Zu seiner Enttäuschung zückte der Mann aber nur einen simplen schwarzen Edding.

“Haben Sie sich ernsthaft den Aufwand gemacht, mitten in der Nacht im Regen hierher zu schleichen, nur um ein paar Worte an die Wand zu kritzeln?”

Die Miene des Mannes verfinsterte sich. “Man darf ja wohl noch seine Wut rauslassen. Und siez’ mich nicht, du Spinner.”

Es scheinte, als hätte Keigo einen wunden Punkt getroffen. Der Mann drehte sich weg von ihm und lehnte sich ein paar Meter weiter gegen die Wand, offensichtlich zu verlegen, um in Keigo’s Sichtweite mit seinen Kritzeleien zu starten.

Ob es an seiner miserablen Lage oder dem Schlafmangel lag, wusste Keigo nicht, aber irgendwie wollte er dieses Gespräch noch nicht beenden. Er war neugierig geworden. “Auf wen sin- bist du denn wütend?”

Er hatte keine Antwort erwartet, doch scheinbar hatte er den Fremden noch nicht komplett verschreckt.  “Was weiß ich? Auf irgendwen. Auf jeden. Keine Ahnung.” Er zuckte mit den Schultern und drehte sich noch weiter Weg, als würde das Keigo von der Verzweiflung in seiner Stimme ablenken. Pech eben, dass Keigo für genau solche Gespräche trainiert war.

“Denkst du, das hilft dann, die Wut rauszulassen, wenn du nichtmal weißt woher sie kommt?”

“Was bist du, Therapeut?"

“Jugendamt.”

Der Mann schaute wieder zu ihm und verdrehte die Augen. “Schlimmer.”

Im schwachen Licht der Unterführung konnte man nicht viel Farbe erkennen und dennoch fiel Keigo auf, wie unheimlich blau die Augen des Mannes waren. Fast schon türkis. Die schönen Augen, die zerzausten schwarzen Haare und die tiefe Stimme hätten es Keigo wahrscheinlich angetan, hätten sie sich in einer Bar oder im Club und nicht hier am Bahnhof getroffen.

"Warst du dann hier wegen einem Kind?”

Keigo nickte, sagte aber nichts. Schweigepflicht und so.

“Krass. Dachte, das Jugendamt hätte das Kaff hier gar nicht auf dem Schirm.”

Er sagte es nicht, doch Keigo konnte erahnen, was er damit meinte. Es war ein Anfang, eine Gemeinsamkeit, an die er sich in dieser seltsamen Begegnung klammern konnte. “Ich war mitten in der Großstadt und für mich sind sie auch nicht aufgetaucht.”

Das schien den Mann kurz aus der Fassung zu bringen und er wandte sich Keigo wieder direkt zu. Mittlerweile waren sie beide etwas getrocknet und die Haare, die ihm vorher an der Stirn klebten, standen dem Mann nun in alle Richtungen ab. “Warum bist du dann zu denen?”

“Vielleicht hatte ich die dumme Vorstellung, etwas ändern zu können. Aber es sind viel zu viele Fälle und wir haben zu wenig Personal.” Er vergrub seine Hände in seinen Ärmeln in dem Versuch, sie irgendwie aufzuwärmen und sich davon abzulenken, wie unangenehm dieses Gespräch trotz allem war.

“Aber dann hast du ja was geändert. Es gibt zu wenig Personal, dann ist die offensichtliche Lösung, dass mehr Leute da arbeiten. Und das machst du. Also änderst du was.”

Keigo starrte ihn still an, zu verunsichert, um etwas zu sagen. Er fühlte sich auf einmal seltsam verwundbar.

“Schweigst du jetzt?”, fragte der Mann etwas schnippisch und kickte Keigo leicht gegen das Schienbein. “Du warst doch grad noch so gesprächig.”

Der Regen hörte langsam auf und ließ nur Pfützen und schwüle Luft zurück. Keine Regenbögen, nachts im Dunkeln. Auch den Mond und die Sterne konnte man dank der Wolken nicht sehen und in der Unterführung sowieso nicht.

Ekliges Wetter, würde seine Kollegin jetzt sagen, doch trotz dem modrigen Boden und dem Geruch von Urin, der an Bahnhöfen immer in der Luft zu hängen schien, fühlte sich Keigo gerade überhaupt nicht angeekelt. Etwas hatte sich verändert, in der kurzen Zeit nach dem Vorbeifahren des letzten Zuges. Als hätte sein Leben einen neuen Weg eingeschlagen.

“Ich bin übrigens Keigo.”

“Touya”, sagte der Mann und lächelte ein bisschen. Es stand ihm gut. “Wenn du willst, ich hab’ ein Sofa. Dann musst du nicht bis morgen früh elendig hier rumsitzen.”