Just For Tonight

Chapter Two

     Light filtered in streams of marmalade flickers throughout Shouto's bedroom, wrapping like silk over his prancing fingers. Shouto's eyes were tightly shut in frustration, twitching every now and then as he pressed over a note he was displeased with.

     A part of him wondered if the dullness of his capacity was a natural outcome of his ageing body (he was not even thirty yet) or if he was just born to die young because it was either that or something truly demonic, out of the occult, must have possessed him when he decided to take an elective in contemporary musical composition. Besides the obscure criterias of every assignment (and contrarily diligent marking), Shouto quickly realised he'd ended up spending more time on the elective than his actual core classes.

     Shouto's hands eventually stopped and his eyes peeled open. A blade of light dashed across his face causing his eyes to water and shut sharply. Shouto groaned, looking away before peeking out again.

     He wasn't sure when 9AM became 4PM, but it was vividly clear to Shouto now that he had just spent his entire day off trying to write a five minute composition of abstract sounds and, for a lack of better phrasing, interpretive, "jazzy" chords. The coffee in his stomach was running on its last, diluted, millilitre of fluid to keep Shouto from dying.

    Shouto's head slammed onto his piano, the sound vibrating and ringing through his entire being crudely. It was much like Katsuki's composition from last semester.

     "Didn't know you could play that with your head."

     Shouto stiffened where he sat. He hadn't seen the masked man since Wednesday, the day his life went to Hell, and the sigh of absolute fucking relief he breathed out when the weekend rolled around and he was still nowhere in sight was heavenly to Shouto. And, really, someone should've warned Shouto to not count his eggs before they hatched or maybe knock on some wood the next time because, although three days had passed, the smooth grate of his voice, muffled by the mask, was still as memorable as the day he ran away from home.

     He took a moment to consider what he should do. He decided nothing and remained stationary on his piano, perhaps without even active breath.

     "Are you dead?"

     Maybe. Hopefully.

     "Shouto?"

     Shouto closed his eyes, ready to wager his soul just to get the uninvited presence away from his window - on the twentieth floor, insanely enough.

     "Hello?" And then the window slid open.

     Shouto's eyes snapped open and immediately he turned his body. "What are you doing?" he pointedly asked, instantly walking towards his window. He tried to pull it shut but the man's hands were already wrapped around the handle.

     Shouto could innately feel him smile. "So you weren't dead."

     "God, I wish I was," Shouto muttered, unintentionally. He pursed his lips tightly after. His filter seemed to run in parallel with the sheer amount of coffee rushing through his veins at any given moment. Still, he wouldn't let likely the most suspicious entity to exist get into his house. "Get out."

     "I admit, I was a little hasty. How about we start with introductions again?" the man suggested in, what Shouto thought was, a string of reasoning devoid of any common sense. Shouto wasn't sure how he could be more apparent that he wanted nothing more to do with the man, and his juvenile but still, potentially, life saving first aid skills should've been enough to repay him for, well, not getting him shot or worse.

     That and Shouto had watched enough films to know that once he grew aware of helmet-man's name, he was most assuredly fucked.

     "Don't care. Get out."