Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 5 - Part 9

Previous TOC Next

There was a knock at the door. Al glanced at the clock—just past 4 p.m. He responded with a quick, "Comiiing!" as he made his way to the entrance.

"Al, are you there?"

He opened the door to find Nukariya standing in a navy suit, a polite smile on his face and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. Al had arrived back in Japan just yesterday around noon. The rain hadn’t let up since, and the humidity still clung to the air.

"I can’t stay long—I’m on a case. Starting tonight, we’ll be taking turns on surveillance duty."

"Work… hard."

"Yeah, it's one of the big cases we’ve been tracking since last year. Looks like we’re nearing the end. Mind if I come in for a bit?"

"Of course, welcome."

With a chuckle, he stepped inside. Al sat on the folded futon, and Nukariya took a seat across from him.

"Anything troubling you?"

"Despair."

Nukariya tilted his head. "Despair?"

"…Despair."

"Okay, uh… can you tell me what that means exactly?"

Yesterday, Nukariya had called him “seikan” with his black hair and black eyes, now nearly fully vampiric. Al had become even more "cool," and while that wasn’t a bad thing on its own, the real problem was Akira. What would Akira think of how he looked now? The more Al thought about it, the more he couldn’t sit still. He decided—he had to dye his hair back to brown!

Fortunately, he had time. Going to a salon was too expensive, so he searched on his phone for a nearby drugstore and went out to buy the dye himself. After asking a store clerk for the hair dye section, he was faced with dozens of options and no clue what to pick.

Totally at a loss, he turned to a guy nearby—he looked to be in his twenties, with a nose piercing—and asked, "I want hair brown. Which good?"

When Al said it was his first time dying his hair, the man grinned and said, “So you’re a coloring virgin,” in that curious Japanese-English mix. He explained that for black hair, you should bleach it first and then dye it brown to get the best result. Taking his advice to heart, Al bought both a bleaching kit and brown coloring dye.

The guy’s own hair was a pale, milky-tea shade of brown—super stylish and seriously cool.

As soon as he returned to the apartment, Al pulled out the instruction leaflet. He’d been worried he might not be able to read it, but to his overwhelming relief—so much so that he nearly cried—it included English translations.

The first round of bleaching gave his hair a reddish tone. The second round stripped out the red and turned it blond—almost exactly the same shade his hair had been before becoming a vampire. The familiarity of it stirred a deep, nostalgic feeling. From there, he dyed it brown. As he applied the color, he could see it gradually soaking in, and after waiting the specified amount of time and rinsing the solution out, his hair emerged as that same soft brown he’d had when he was still only a half-vampire. It moved him.

He’d also bought gray-colored contact lenses for his irises, and once he put them on, he looked exactly like he used to.

Thrilled with the result, Al stepped out of the unit bath completely naked—and that was when a slow warmth began to spread through his body. A glance at the clock told him it was 1 p.m. Time for his two-hour daily bat transformation.

There was nothing he could do in bat form anyway, so he stretched out on top of the futon and took a nap. The gloomy weather kept the room dim, and under that quiet shade, Al slept soundly. He was jolted awake by a sharp “PAAH-PAH!”—an obnoxiously loud car horn. The walls of the apartment were thin, letting in every sound from outside.

It was just past 3 p.m. while he’d been sleeping, bat time had come and gone. Returning to his human form, Al headed to the unit bath, wanting to take another look in the mirror at his beautifully dyed hair.

“Huh?”

The man in the mirror had black hair.

It should’ve been brown—he’d dyed it brown! Confused, Al shoved both hands into his hair, ruffling it furiously. The man in the mirror mirrored him exactly, ruffling black strands. Had he somehow gone back in time? He dashed out of the bathroom and checked his phone. May 28th, 3:25 p.m. Time was moving forward, no mistake.

So what happened? He’d worked so hard to dye it, why was it black again?

A flurry of question marks danced through his head until one terrifying possibility came to him: What if… when I turn into a bat, my hair color resets?

That had to be it. There was no other explanation.

With a defeated slump, Al collapsed onto the floor of the unit bath and buried his head in his hands. He’d never be able to keep his hair brown. Or rather, he could—but every time he turned into a bat, it would reset. Not even a full day would go by before it all went black again.

When he told Nukariya the tragic tale of his bat-transformation-induced hair reversal, nearly in tears, Nukariya tried to comfort him with, “You still look cool with black hair.”

"I think... Akira like brown better..."

"You don’t know whether Akira prefers brown or black hair," Nukariya said, gently but firmly. "Even if he does like brown, dyeing it every day would be a lot of work, and it wouldn’t last. I think... maybe it’s better to have him accept you as you are now."

That was true. Nukariya was right. Kyiv had said the same thing once: to be accepted as your true self. Al understood that, logically. But to ask someone to accept a version of you that had changed—knowing that you’d changed—took courage. He’d come back to Japan with that courage in his chest. But still...

Nukariya glanced at his watch.

"Ah, I can’t stay long. I actually went to Akira’s apartment yesterday. I told him you’re back in Japan and want to see him."

Al leaned forward, breath catching. "Then? What Akira say?"

With a hand to his mouth, Nukariya let out a thoughtful hum.

"...He said, ‘Who’s that?’"

Who...? Who...? They’d only been apart for half a year. There was no way Akira would forget him in that short time. It didn’t make sense. He’d asked about Al so many times, through Pat, through Richard... What had happened?

Forget... forgetting... A drama he’d seen long ago flashed through his mind. A beautiful heroine fell down some stairs, lost her memory, and forgot the face of the man she loved.

"Akira... memory gone?"

"I don’t think it’s that," Nukariya said, giving a wry smile.

If it wasn’t amnesia, then what? Could it be... an illness? Back when he lived in Japan, there were always reports on the news about memory loss in the elderly...

"Akira... dementia?"

Al asked it timidly, and Nukariya immediately apologized.

"Sorry. This kind of nuance is hard to get across. Akira hasn’t forgotten you. I think... I think he’s pretending to."

"Why?"

Nukariya let out a quiet sigh.

"I can only guess at what Akira’s feeling, but... I think by saying ‘I don’t know him’ or ‘I don’t remember,’ he’s trying to send a message. Something like, ‘Don’t talk to me about Al.’"

"What’s... ‘message like that’?"

"Hmm... Like putting up a wall. A defense. That’s probably easier to understand."

“Defense” called to Al’s mind a vivid image of big muscular men surrounding Akira protectively in a wall-like formation.

"But... me not danger."

"I know. I think Akira should face you head-on, too. But when someone as stubborn as him shuts themselves away behind triple-locked doors, forcing anything through just makes it worse. So I’ll start slow, pass on bits and pieces about you, see how he reacts. Even if he pretends not to care, he’s still listening. If I keep talking, it’ll get in his head eventually."

It was probably because Nukariya had that kind of steady, stubborn kindness that he could stay friends with someone like Akira—quick to anger, always contrary. Al felt that now, more than ever.

"You’re looking for part-time work, right?"

Nukariya was eyeing the corner of the futon. Al followed his gaze—there were flyers he’d picked up at a drugstore, advertising local jobs. He’d also been looking online, but if he could find work nearby, he wouldn’t have to pay for transport. That would be best.

"Yeah. Japanese... hard, but I try."

What he really wanted was to work at an embalming facility again. He liked it. It felt meaningful. But with things like this between him and Akira, getting near the workplace—let alone asking for help—felt impossible. So for now, he’d have to find something else.

Even though he’d finally made it back to Japan, Al couldn’t see Akira—and the frustration gnawed at him. "Just wait a little longer, okay? I’ll look into part-time jobs for you too," Nukariya had said before heading off. It was something he could’ve said over the phone, yet he’d come all the way to see Al in person. Steady. Kind. So kind… and yet—

Al sat on the futon, hugging his pillow, his back twitching with restless energy. Just how long was "a little"? A day? Two days? …Longer? Nukariya was busy with work, and Al couldn’t bring himself to rush him. He knew how stubborn Akira could be. So for now, all he could do was wait in this room, quietly.

Still, he wanted to see Akira. What could he do? What should he do to make Akira meet with him? Tossing the pillow aside, he flopped face-down onto the futon. The sky outside the window was gray, thick with clouds. Rain fell steadily, tracing long, delicate lines down the glass like brushstrokes. He was back in Japan at last. He was so close—so very close—and yet, Akira felt unreachable…

He bolted upright.

Even if they couldn’t meet, surely he could see Akira. After all, he was here—right here, in Tokyo. The Old Memorial Center was less than fifteen minutes away by flying. Akira had to be at work. If Al just ran to the center and peeked in from outside… if he was quiet, quick, and careful, he wouldn’t be noticed. The brilliance of the plan made his chest grow warm with excitement.

He rushed to put on his shoes—then froze.

Peeking might be fine, but not in human form. He’d stand out. And if Akira did spot him… the mental image of being shouted at was all too vivid. That alone, he could probably endure. But what if that anger hardened Akira’s already closed-off heart into something even more impenetrable? What if it pushed their reunion even further away? That would be the worst possible outcome.

Even so—he wanted to see Akira’s face.

Now that he’d realized there was a way to see him, he couldn’t go back to unknowing. So, in the end, he chose to go in bat form. Walking into the center’s grounds as a human would be suspicious, but a bat? Harmless. And it’d be easier to sneak a peek into rooms without being noticed. If someone saw him, he’d just pretend to be a regular bat.

Al opened the window just wide enough for him to slip through. Then he undressed, leaving himself completely naked. As he turned his head toward the window, sensing something, he met eyes with a woman across the street—on the third floor of the four-story building opposite his apartment. She stared, mouth agape.

Panicking, Al scrambled into the corner of the room, crouching down. Clearly, what he should have bought today wasn’t hair dye—but curtains.

Still lying prone on the floor, he transformed into a bat and slipped out through the window’s narrow gap. The drizzle soaked his body almost immediately, but it wasn’t cold—it wasn’t winter—so he’d be fine. Rising into the sky, he flapped with all his might in the direction of the center.

Previous TOC Next