Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 5 - Part 2

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The sun finished its work for the day and handed the sky over to night. In human form, Al stood up and stretched both arms high toward the ceiling. His spine extended with a pleasant tingling sensation spreading through his whole body. Maybe because he’d spent all day lounging around, his muscles had gone stiff. While doing some light stretching, he let out a huge sneeze. Unlike his cozy fur-covered bat form, human skin was vulnerable to temperature changes, so he threw a jacket over his T-shirt and stepped out of the room.

In the living room, Kyiv was sprawled out on the sofa, watching TV. A blonde woman on-screen was swinging a bloody knife at a young man. Al quickly turned his eyes away, just in time to ignore the ensuing high-pitched scream of "Kyaaaaa!"

"Huh? You’re heading out already?" Kyiv turned his head lazily.

"I thought I’d swing by Richard’s place before work. Martha asked me to pick up something too. Oh, and Pat said she’s busy tonight, so I might not be back until morning."

"Sounds rough," Kyiv nodded, rubbing his stomach.

Wait... is he watching horror because he's hungry? Al wondered. That morning, he’d run into Kyiv coming in through the front door, smelling distinctly of women’s perfume and blood—he must’ve fed already. And yet he was still planning to go out hunting tonight?

...Maybe despite his lean frame, Kyiv was secretly a glutton.

"Well then, I’m off!"

Al hopped onto the bicycle waiting on the porch. The cool night air brushing his neck felt refreshing. As February neared its end, the worst of the cold was behind them. March was just around the corner. In Los Angeles, that meant spring.

"That's why I told you so!"

The familiar tone in that voice made his pedaling feet freeze. Across the street, beneath the glow of a streetlight at the bus stop, a young couple was having a heated argument. Black hair, black eyes, flat-featured faces—undeniably Japanese.

"If you’d just admitted your English sucks, you wouldn’t have tried to take the bus! Just because it’s cheaper—look at us now! We’re lost, wasting time, and your phone battery’s dead so we don’t even know where we are! And now it’s night—this is the worst!"

The woman in the cardigan was yelling, her face flushed red with frustration. The man just stood there in silence, head bowed as he took the scolding. Tourists, probably…

Al glanced both ways, then pedaled across the street.

"Good… evening."

When Al called out, the pair spun around sharply in surprise.

"You… lost way?"

The woman’s eyes flew wide open.

"Wait—was that Japanese?"

"I… little understand Japan talk," Al said, carefully, stumbling over the words.

The man and woman exchanged glances. Then the woman stepped forward, opened a map in front of Al, and pointed.

"Um, we’re trying to get here."

"This way… wrong. One more… over," he explained, gesturing toward the correct street.

"I knew we were going the wrong way!" the woman barked, smacking the man’s back.

"You… walk go?"

"Is it far? Do you think we can walk?" she asked nervously.

"Dark is danger. Taxi, show map, it… okay," Al said, trying his best.

"I see… then maybe we’ll just take a taxi from here," she murmured, starting to scan the road for one.

"Money… seven dollar maybe. Is high. Trick price," he added solemnly.

The man, who’d been shrinking under her fury until now, suddenly snorted, clapping a hand over his mouth as he laughed. His shoulders shook.

"You know a lot of… funny Japanese," he said, clearly impressed.

"I… lived Japan one year… little more."

They both thanked him again and again. Al said goodbye, still riding the pleasant wave of warmth their gratitude brought. Hearing Japanese again after so long—it was nostalgic. And at the same time, it made something in his chest ache.

Fifteen minutes of pedaling along the main road brought him into Beverly Hills. Among all the luxurious houses, the one with the tallest walls belonged to Richard.

At the gate, Al spoke into the intercom. [Martha, it’s Al.] The door slowly swung open. He rode his bike along the bumpy stone path to the front entrance, parked it against a garden tree, and was climbing the stone steps when the front door flung open.

[I’ve been waiting for you, Al!]

Martha greeted him with a warm hug at the door. She always smelled sweet—like homemade apple pie, like a kind country grandma.

[Here. The thing you asked for.]

He handed her a paper bag.

Martha immediately rustled through it and pulled out a bottle of collagen capsules.

[Yes! This is what I wanted!] she said delightedly.

Martha looked like she might be nearing her mid-seventies. But of course, it wouldn’t be polite to ask a lady her age outright, so Al had never confirmed it. Even at that age, she remained passionately dedicated to beauty, saying she wanted to "reduce wrinkles"—and that earnest effort was utterly charming and adorable.

[Thank you so much for going out of your way, Al. Since you’re here, why don’t you stay a while? Stan brought home some lovely Chinese tea.]

She smiled, wrinkles and all, in a way that could almost make collagen shy away.

[I’d love to, but I’m sorry—I’ve got my part-time job coming up.]

Al lowered his gaze apologetically.

[So busy, aren’t you...] Martha sighed.

The mansion’s grand entrance hall was brightly lit, but quiet. If the master of the house were home, and knew Al had stopped by, he’d have dropped everything to launch into one of his famous movie talks. The fact that it hadn’t happened meant—

[Is Dick out?]

[He’s been in Florida since last week. He should be back tomorrow.]

[Then, what about Stan?]

[Not tonight. He said he’d quit acting, but apparently he went and auditioned again. Got the part too. With rehearsals and shooting, he’s barely home lately.]

If Stan wasn't home either, that meant Martha was all alone in this massive house. If anything were to happen, the security company would be alerted immediately—the place was thoroughly protected. But still... Al promised to come by again on the weekend and left the mansion behind.

It took about ten minutes by bike to reach Rose Funeral. He rolled his bike into the garage, unlocked the door with a spare key, and slipped inside. Crossing the marble-floored, high-ceilinged hall—large enough for small funerals—he headed for the door on the left. Just beyond it, on the right-hand side, was a staircase leading to the basement and a long elevator used for transporting bodies.

He’d tried riding that elevator once, just for fun. Pat caught him and absolutely exploded.

[Don’t waste electricity! If you want to ride that thing so bad, do it after you’re dead! I’ll happily shoot a silver bullet right through your heart if that’s what it takes!]

...The threat was terrifying—not just because of the intensity, but because it was specific, and silver bullets really could kill vampires.

Al took the basement stairs instead. Beyond the heavy iron double doors was a tiled room, colder even than the outside air—the embalming room.

[Late!]

The second he stepped in, Pat’s shout cracked through the chilled air.

"So-sorry!" He stammered.

Pat stood poised over one of the bodies, scalpel in hand, splattered with blood, and looking like she could star in any horror movie without changing a thing. There were two embalming tables. Pat was working on the one on the left, while the other already had a body laid out—waiting its turn in solemn silence.

[Al, clean and massage the one on the right. Check for any wounds too.]

[Okay!] Al shrugged and slipped on a vinyl embalming smock.

Pat was crouched over the shoulder of a blonde woman on the left table. Probably a natural death—there were no visible injuries, her body intact from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. It was a gentler sight. Once, Al had entered the room and been greeted by a body missing the entire top half of its skull. He’d shrieked out loud.

Al washed the white-haired man waiting on the right table, then gently massaged him. Under his fingers, the stiff muscles slowly softened.

Rose Funeral is a small funeral home run by two people: the embalmer Pat, and her younger brother Gary, who handles all the administrative work. Gary’s wife used to manage the office, but she’s currently on maternity leave. Their parents passed away when Pat was still in high school. Since Gary is now married and living elsewhere, the funeral home—which also doubles as their residence—is occupied only by Pat and her cat, Beth.

The house was spacious, and Al once said, [Gary and his family should just live here too.] But the timid, Clark Kent-like Gary had only replied vaguely, [Well, uh… you know…]

The hierarchy in the house was clear: Pat at the top, Beth the cat second, and Gary dead last. Even though Pat ruled the place like a queen, the siblings seemed to get along well. Al had always wondered why they didn’t live together—until Pat narrowed her eyes and gave a sly grin.

[This house is haunted.]

The moment he heard that, Al had gone pale and pleaded, [Please never say that!] Pat teased him, flapping her mouth like she was dying to say more with a, [Oh please, you're not so different yourself.] But she was wrong. Ghosts and vampires were completely different things. Since hearing that story, Al had taken to keeping a small rosary tucked in his pocket. Whether it was thanks to good behavior or divine protection, he hadn’t encountered any residents of that category since starting the job.

Despite the presence of a nationwide funeral chain nearby, Pat’s small operation remained popular. The morgue fridge was always full. That was entirely thanks to Pat’s exceptional embalming skills.

What Al had always noticed, watching Akira at work, was how meticulously neat he was. Every thread, every needle’s eye—he gave all of it careful attention. Pat’s working style reminded him a lot of Akira. Her skill was high, and she was incredibly precise. Thanks to that, families of the deceased rarely ever complained after Pat had handled the embalming. Occasionally she’d be told the makeup was too heavy and asked to fix it, but that was about it. Word of her reputation had spread, and she was often requested by actors and people from Hollywood film circles. In the embalming world, she was something of a celebrity.

Normally, she wiped pizza sauce off her hands directly onto the couch, to Gary’s constant despair—he once moaned, “Sis, the sofa cover isn’t a napkin”—but when it came to work, she was a perfectionist. Strict with herself and everyone else.

After almost a month of hiding away, Al had started working at Pat’s funeral home, the job Akira had secured for him. He’d felt fairly confident going in. He’d helped Akira before, and figured he had more knowledge and skill than the average person. But Pat was even more precise and particular than Akira. On his first day, she didn’t let him touch anything in the embalming room. All he got to do was straighten a wrinkle in a deceased person’s clothing.

Her training was so harsh, Al started to feel like he had less value than a bug. But after a month, she finally began to trust him with small tasks. Embalming required a license, but under Pat’s personal philosophy of [As long as no one finds out, it’s fine], he was allowed to do anything that didn’t involve injecting preservatives, repairing bodies, or applying makeup. That said, if she didn’t like how he handled something, she’d kick him without mercy…

Al had entered the embalming room at 7 PM, and they didn’t finish with the two bodies until past 3 AM. One of them—the elderly man—had undergone surgery, and because of the damage and severed veins, the embalming fluid hadn’t circulated well. That’s what made it take so long.

Once they finished, Pat left the embalming room while Al stayed behind to clean up. Whether she was trying to give him some peace or just wanted to rest, he wasn’t sure—but he appreciated being left alone. He offered a prayer of thanks to each of the two deceased, who now rested in their coffins in the cooling room, then returned to the embalming room and sat down in a folding chair. From the bottle he had set aside, he began sipping blood through a straw he’d made by cutting a blood tube.

Tonight’s blood had a bitter edge. Both donors had been elderly—it was likely they’d been on a cocktail of medications.

After his meal, he went up to the first floor to borrow the shower. He scrubbed off the scent of blood and chemicals, and while he was at it, ran a bath and sank in up to his shoulders. Living in Japan had made him realize how wonderful baths really were. Just a shower? That was nonsense. A proper bath was what made it a real soak. He relaxed in the warm water, mulling that thought over… and dozed off.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, it was already less than ten minutes before dawn—meaning he would soon turn into a bat.

Ten minutes wasn’t enough to bike home. Turning into a bat mid-ride wasn’t an option—he could be seen, and he’d have to abandon both his bike and clothes. No doubt both would be stolen.

He got dressed and headed into the living room.

Pat was asleep, flat on her back with her shaved head resting on the grimy armrest of the couch—mouth clamped around a half-eaten slice of pizza. If she rolled over, there was no saving the couch from a full-on cheese impact. Gary had once told Al, with a helpless laugh, that they’d switched to dark-colored slipcovers because his sister "wrecks the house like a three-year-old tornado."

Al, feeling a little sorry for him, reached to pluck the dangling pizza from Pat’s mouth.

The moment he touched it, her white teeth snapped down with terrifying force—chomp chomp chomp—devouring the pizza like a shark. She nearly bit off his fingers. Al yanked his hand away in a panic.

[Don’t steal food from someone’s mouth.]

Pat glared at him through half-lidded eyes.

[It’s not like that, you're wrong! It was about to fall, so I was gonna put it back on the plate. If you stain the sofa cover again, Gary’s gonna yell at you.]

She gave a sharp huff through her nose and shut her eyes again. Pat hated Gary’s nagging—clingy, soft-spoken as it was. Al looked at her smooth, shaved head and asked, [Can I stay over?]

[Do what you want.]

Pat slept during the day and did her embalming work at night. She said she could get more “in the zone” that way. For someone like Al, a half-vampire who could only be human after sunset, it was the perfect schedule. Working nights with Pat had helped him settle into a proper vampire-like lifestyle.

[Okay, I’ll borrow a room. Good night.]

Whenever embalming ran long and he wouldn’t make it home before sunrise, Pat sometimes let him stay over. There were plenty of spare rooms, and she’d told him he could use whichever he liked—but Al always picked the room at the far right end of the first floor. It had lots of windows, full of light, and felt like the kind of place ghosts wouldn’t like. He figured they probably wouldn’t show up during the day anyway, but still—he avoided anything north-facing and dim.

[If you’re staying, that’s perfect. Come hang out a bit.]

When he turned around, Pat was smirking, a beer bottle in hand. She always said there was nothing better than downing a cold one in a single gulp while fighting off sleep after work.

[I’m gonna turn into a bat soon...]

[Don’t be a buzzkill. Just three minutes—humor me.]

You couldn’t say no to your boss. Al stifled a yawn and sat down on the couch across from her. When they’d first met, Pat had said a boyfriend had shaved her head in a breakup rage. That was four months ago—and she still hadn’t grown it back. ...He figured she must like the look by now.

Even if he hung out and drank with her, it wasn’t like vampires got any nourishment from food or drink. They could put things in their mouth, but they vanished the instant they swallowed. Still, to humor her, Al let her pour just a fingertip’s worth of beer into a glass and slowly licked at it.

[You’re such a masochist.]

Pat said it with a dead-serious expression, not a hint of doubt. Al frantically shook his head.

[I’m not a masochist!]

Pat let out a slow, heavy yawn.

[But you’re the only one. You’re the only part-timer who didn’t quit even after I yelled at them that much. Gary keeps saying the same thing—he’s like, 'Al’s probably the first and last person who’ll ever stick it out through night embalming, so please treat him well.']

Sure, Pat yelled a lot, but compared to Akira’s volcanic rants and endless scolding, it was downright cute. Besides, neither of them got angry unfairly. When they snapped, it always made sense. They understood what he was—this half-vampire, half-something-else creature—and not only gave him blood to eat, but paid him too. Al couldn’t thank them enough.

[Gary’s been trying really hard to get me to marry you, you know. I told him you’re gay, and that you’re just leftovers from one of my guy friends, and he shut up for a bit. But I guess he couldn’t give up. Just the other day, he was pestering me—'Isn’t there at least a chance Al might be bi?' So annoying.]

When Al first started working at the funeral home, Gary had blatantly avoided him. He’d apparently misunderstood the whole “blood donation” thing and thought it involved sex. Since Al had figured out the reason, he didn’t push to get close—but maybe Gary had sensed Al’s lack of interest "in that way." Eventually, they started talking more. Being liked enough to be considered a potential brother-in-law now was flattering… but also awkward.

[Besides, if I were gonna date someone, I’d go for someone way more dangerous.]

Pat had a fiery heart and a short fuse—her past boyfriends were a lineup of pure muscle: a pro wrestler, a kickboxer, a football player… Just hearing the list was enough to paint a picture. Even if Al wasn’t in bad shape, he was nowhere near that level of physicality, and it was clear Pat didn’t see him that way. Among her rough-and-tumble preferences, she especially liked men with a hint of danger—guys whose brains were as pumped up as their biceps. Some had been arrested for drug dealing or brawling, others hospitalized after overdosing… her type was, to put it mildly, "active."

[Putting taste aside, I actually think you’re a pretty good guy. Too bad you’re gay and turn into a bat.]

She took a swig of beer.

[I don’t get why Akira left you behind. You’re not hard to take care of—he should’ve just brought you with him.]

A sting bloomed deep in Al’s chest. Even now, remembering being left behind hurt like hell. But he was determined—he’d keep going until he could stand on his own, until he could believe in himself.

He’d heard that during that month he spent holed up, not just Kyiv but Pat, Richard, and even Martha had worried about him. When he finally managed to come out of his room, Richard—who must’ve been incredibly busy—actually came over in person with Martha to comfort him.

[I don’t really know what Akira was thinking either.]

Richard’s arm wrapped around Al’s shoulder, his voice heavy with confusion.

[When Akira told me he wanted to buy a house in America, I was thrilled. I thought he was planning to settle down here. I even wanted to tell him, ‘You don’t have to buy one, just live here with us.’ But he seemed so set on having a place of his own, and I didn’t want to rain on that. I never imagined it would come to this... I never thought you two would separate. You looked so happy together...]

Al shook his head fiercely.

[We didn’t break up.]

His voice trembled.

[I never wanted to break up. I told him I loved him. I begged him not to leave me. I said it over and over...]

Richard nodded slowly.

[You know, the fact that he bought you a home before leaving, and that he asked me to help look after you—that says a lot. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have done any of that. He would’ve just walked away. But he didn’t. He told you that you could live in Japan permanently, and yet… I don’t know why he made the choice he did. I truly don’t. But—]

He gave Al’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

[Speaking as a father, I just want to ask one thing. Please, try to forgive him. He’s shy, not good with words, and because of that, he ended up hurting you. But I believe he had his reasons. His own way of thinking.]

Al had thought he was done crying—but when Richard spoke to him so kindly, he couldn’t stop the tears from welling up again. Martha had sighed beside them, saying, [Al loves him so much… What could Akira possibly have been dissatisfied with?]

Al understood, in theory, why Akira had left him. It was for his sake. But even so… he still couldn’t accept it.

Still, he would return to Japan one day. He would. But not as the clingy mess he used to be. He wanted to become someone who could stand beside Akira—an equal who could support him, not just depend on him. Until then, he would do everything he could.

[Oh, right. Akira called yesterday.]

Pat dropped the sentence as casually as if she were commenting on the weather.

Al’s heart, which shouldn’t have been beating, thumped hard.

[He got impatient when I didn’t reply to his messages. Said a bunch of pointless stuff—like asking me to send him some books from here—but at the end, he asked how you were doing.]

Pat stubbed out her cigarette with a quick motion.

[Oops. He told me not to mention it to you.]

Then she flashed a sharp, knowing grin.

[Ah… thank you.]

Pat shrugged like it was nothing.

[No need for thanks. I just slipped up, is all.]

Just knowing that Akira was thinking about him—just that alone made Al’s chest feel softly warm. He could’ve contacted him directly. He should have.

Even with the physical distance between them, Japan was close when it came to phones or the internet.

Nukariya still picked up when he called. He was always happy to hear from Al.

But he wouldn’t pass anything along to Akira.

After realizing he’d been left behind in America, when Al tried to reach Akira and couldn’t, he’d called Nukariya instead. What he got was an apology:

“Actually… Akira told me that if you ever tried to contact him—like, if you wanted to come back to Japan—I wasn’t to listen to you, and definitely not to accept any frozen bats as delivery either.”

Akira had predicted his every move. It was honestly kind of infuriating.

“I think you should live wherever you want—Japan or America. But Akira wouldn’t budge. He was dead set on America being the right place for you. He said there were some people over there who could help, and... well, in the end, that kind of made sense to me too.”

“Me... wanna stay Akira side. Akira sneaky.”

Al mumbled into the phone, pouting just a little.

“He lie. He leave me.”

“Yeesh.” Nukariya sighed on the other end.

“He told me you two talked it out, but I had my doubts. I mean, if you’d actually agreed, he wouldn’t have needed to warn me not to accept a frozen bat. Seriously, Akira always makes snap decisions, but when it comes to emotional stuff, he just… runs away. He should’ve talked things through with you properly.”

Al clutched his phone tight and nodded vigorously.

“Honestly, I don’t really know what to do either. I mean, this is where things stand with Akira right now, so maybe you should just give it some time. When he’s settled down, I’ll try asking him how he really feels about you. Subtly.”

Al wanted to go back to Japan. But for now, he’d wait a little longer.

Nukariya, like Pat, found little ways to let him know how Akira was doing.

Just the other day, Nukariya had messaged him again on social media:

“Nothing much going on here. Akira still clams up whenever your name comes up. …It’s been about four months since you went back to America, huh? How’s life over there?”

Al replied, “Getting used to it. Pat the embalmer yells at me every day. Winters here in LA are warmer than Japan. Easier to live in.”

Even if he turned into a bat during the day, he had a place to live, a job, and something to eat. He had friends. He had people who were kind to him. It felt like a real human life.

To someone else, it might seem like he had everything he needed.

But the loneliness didn’t go away.

Without Akira, he was still lonely.

He was thinking about that—about his conversation with Nukariya and the ache in his chest—when Pat suddenly said:

[Oh yeah, I saw your vampire roommate the other day. Out with another girl again.]

Al snapped out of his thoughts.

Pat’s expression was sour, brows furrowed in irritation, her chin tilted slightly in disapproval. She never came out and said it, but it was clear—she wasn’t fond of Kyiv. His pretty-boy looks and playboy behavior rubbed her the wrong way, and it only made her more sensitive to his antics.

The ever-romantic Kyiv was enjoying his freedom in LA to the fullest.

During the month when Al was depressed and refusing to eat, curled under his sheets, Kyiv had stayed close, barely going out at all. But once Al started working, Kyiv had resumed his usual behavior and was often out late.

He never brought girls home, but it was common for him to come back in the middle of the night smelling strongly of fresh blood.

[With that many women, I’m amazed he doesn’t get into more trouble.] Pat muttered.

Pat had long since gone past being shocked—now she was actually impressed. A normal human in Kyiv’s situation would’ve been stabbed a hundred times over by now in messy love triangles, but Kyiv avoided trouble by making full use of his memory manipulation ability, erasing the memories of his girlfriends before things could escalate. If they forgot everything, there was no drama—even in a small social circle.

Pat still didn’t know that vampires could manipulate memories. Akira, who had shown very little resistance when it came to things like blood drinking or turning into a bat, had drawn a firm line at that.

And Al understood why—no one wanted their memories tampered with, or their thoughts invaded.

Kyiv had once even offered, [Al, if it hurts that much, do you want me to erase your memories of Akira? I’ve never tried using this ability on another vampire, but since you’re a half-vampire, it might work to some extent.]

Al had flatly refused. Even if his memories of Akira were just of being hit with newspapers or teased for wearing stylish t-shirts, he didn’t want to lose a single piece of them.

[Well, I couldn’t care less about your lady-killer roommate anyway. Oh right, I got a message from Mitani.]

Pat lounged sideways on the couch, her chin resting on the armrest.

[Mitani?]

Al perked up.

[He’s coming back over here again.]

[Really!?]

Al straightened up, excitement running through him. Richard had taken a liking to Mitani during the shoot for BLOOD GIRL Mahiro, and had contacted his agency with an offer: “Would you like to audition for a supporting role in my new film?” It had caused a stir—an unknown but talented young actor suddenly being scouted by a major producer. There was no guarantee he’d land the part, but Mitani had flown to the U.S. in mid-January for the audition.

At first, Mitani had asked, “Could I stay at your place for the week I’m in L.A.?” His agency wasn’t used to handling overseas auditions, so the arrangements had been a mess, and the hotel they found was in a sketchy neighborhood. Even though Mitani could speak some English, he felt uneasy. Al had plenty of room and really wanted to let him stay—but he turned into a bat at sunrise. If they shared a house for a whole week, his secret would definitely be exposed. Even if Mitani found out, he’d probably keep quiet if asked—but Al still didn’t have the courage to come clean. Not even about his name—he still hadn’t told Mitani that “Kane” was an alias, and that his real name was Albert Irving.

After wrestling with the decision, he asked Pat if she could let Mitani stay at the funeral home. It felt rude to ask a woman living alone to house a man, but Mitani was trustworthy, and when Al brought it up, Pat responded as casually as if he’d asked her to look after a neighbor’s cat:

[Sure, that’s fine.]

[There’s an empty room anyway. One time, one of my ex’s gay friends ended up living here for like a year.]

Al’s own home wasn’t an option, but staying at his part-time workplace, which also doubled as Pat’s home, seemed workable. When he suggested it to Mitani, the guy lit up with joy. He even started breathing a bit too hard from excitement.

“Also one more… that house maybe… ghost come out?”

After a brief silence, Mitani said, trembling with emotion, “Thank you… this is amazing.” Al was happy to see him so delighted, but part of him felt conflicted.

Mitani had come to America full of energy, yet aside from going to the studio for his audition, he had completely ignored the dazzling ocean and lively tourist spots. Instead, he holed up in the dim basement facility, quietly staring—happily—at the bodies Pat was embalming.

Mitani still called him Kane. While Al could tell Pat and Gary, "I was using a fake name in Japan," it was trickier with Mitani, since he had told him Kane was his real name.

So he made up a story: that people started calling him “Al” because he looked like a comedian named Albert, and that it just stuck. It was the best he could do to get by.

Every time Mitani ran into him at work, he’d excitedly share things like, “I heard sounds coming from the room next door, even though no one was in there,” or “A pen that was just sitting on the desk shattered the moment I picked it up.”

He was fully enjoying his own little horror house adventure. And after staying for a week, he left with great reluctance.

On the night of his return flight, as Al saw him off at the departure lobby, Mitani said, “Thanks to you, Kane, I had a really great time.”

Then, as if just remembering something, he added, “Hey, didn’t that hijacking happen last year? The one Takatsuka-san got caught up in…?”

Al nodded, wondering why that was coming up now.

“After the shoot, we all gathered in Sakairi-san’s room to watch the news. We were glued to the TV. Especially since Takatsuka-san was one of the last ten hostages stuck on the plane. Everyone was really worried. I’d never seen Sakairi-san look so serious before. When all the hostages were finally released, we were honestly so relieved.”

Images of fighting the hijackers while covered in wounds flashed through Al’s mind.

Then Mitani asked, “…At the very end, after the rest of the hostages were freed, a guy came out wearing only an apron… That wasn’t you, was it, Kane?”

A black mark in his personal history that he desperately wanted erased. Al froze.

“No… not me. I not.”

“Right,” Mitani nodded.

“Your name wasn’t on the list of public hostages, and everyone figured it couldn’t be you… but Sakairi-san was insistent. He kept saying, ‘This must be another one of Kane-san’s master-level jokes—turning a hijacking into a punchline.’”

Sakairi was sharp. But this time, Al would appreciate being misunderstood.

“I no wear apron… naked.”

Mitani chuckled. “It sounds so weird when you say it like that.”

Then he grew quiet, his expression softening.

“Kane, did you meet anyone special while you’ve been here?”

Al shook his head.

Mitani gave a small nod. “I see.”

“When we heard from Takatsuka-san that you decided to stay in America after the shoot, everyone was really surprised. So I thought maybe something like that had happened. But thinking about it, you’re originally from here, right? You looked like you belonged… like this place really suits you.”

Mitani stretched, gazing up at the airport ceiling.

“…America’s fun. It feels so free. I wish I could’ve stayed a bit longer. Pat-san was really nice too.”

“I… return (home) Japan,” Al said.

Mitani tilted his head.

“Someday… I return (home),” Al repeated with emphasis.

Mitani looked at him, slightly puzzled, “You said ‘return (home),’ not just ‘go’?”

It reminded Al—that Mitani had asked something similar before. And that maybe there was something about that phrasing that had stuck with him.

[Mitani’s a strange guy.]

As they talked about Mitani, Al felt his body heating up. Ah, it must be morning… He glanced around, and just as he realized it, his body shifted into bat form. Crawling and wriggling his way out from inside his clothes, he was met with Pat’s rough hand rubbing across his furry back.

[Don’t you think so?]

She talked to him whether he was in human form or bat form.

Al gave a reply anyway: “Gyak! (Maybe?)”

But having someone like Pat—who was already wildly outside the norm—calling someone else “strange” felt off.

[He didn’t even flinch while looking at the bodies during prep, and he looked thrilled when he thought the house was haunted. I’ve never met such a weirdo.]

Al wanted to point out, “You live in a haunted house,” but being in bat form, he couldn’t. If he said that while human, he’d probably get punched.

[He sends me messages all the time. I think that boy might be in love with me.]

…Al had gotten the same impression. From what he’d heard, Mitani sent far more messages to Pat than to Al. At first, when he arrived in LA, Mitani had looked at Pat with admiration— but as time went on, that look had gotten more and more intense.

[I mean, I get it. I’m not surprised someone would fall for me. But Mitani, huh… Asian guys are known for being slim, but that kid is way too skinny.]

If he really wanted to win her heart, Mitani might need to hit the gym hard.

Then Pat started talking about a Muay Thai instructor she’d recently taken an interest in.

As Al half-listened to her go on, he eventually fell asleep on the sofa.

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