Chapter Text
The feeling of absolute disappointment swallowed up the room. To her irritation, Tokyo apartments seemed to appear significantly larger online than in reality.
Marin Kitagawa stood in the dead centre of her new living room, though the term ‘living room’ was far too generous for such a place.
She was entirely surrounded by cardboard boxes which were filled up to the brim with manga, merchandise, wigs, clothing and makeup. Tangled charging cables and the plastic wrapping of leftover takeout had been littered all over the floor, all under the deeply judgmental gaze of some cheap Ikea bed she clearly had assembled incorrectly.
The bed leaned unsteadily to the left. Marin leaned slightly to the right, opposing the bed and its gravity.
They stared each other down, almost in competition.
“You know what? Your vibes are unfriendly.” She stated to it, crossing her arms, “And it’s totally not cute. Not cute in the slightest.”
The bed remained motionless and completely uncaring to her insults.
Outside of the narrow and bare balcony window there was a good view of Tokyo and its scenery as it glowed against the afternoon.
The streets were illuminated by an endless sea of lights, from vehicles, apartment windows and large billboards. The distant city noise fought against the near-night’s silence Marin was used to, the sounds hummed with an energy that was impressively social.
Everything was alive here, it was all so fast, constantly moving and to someone like Marin, she saw it as thrilling, and terrifying, and thrilling all over again.
With a heavy sigh filled with fatigue, she took a dramatic step backwards, and ended up tripping over her own feet, collapsing onto the floor. Her head bumped against a nearby box, triggering a groan as she put no effort into getting up from her spot as she laid on the floor.
She stared up, her gaze gluing onto the ceiling as she draped an arm across from her aching stomach, which was loudly demanding for dinner.
As she turned around slightly, flipping her head, she came face to face with a cardboard box, written in her handwriting and a sparkly marker were the words: COSPLAY SHIT.
She sighed even louder.
Before she could sink too deep into her fatigue, her phone buzzed against her hands on her stomach, snapping her out of her haze.
Clicking on the notification, the message came from a familiar contact.
NOWA♡
You alive girl?
Marin lifted the phone above to her face to get a read of the text. The screen’s excessive brightness blinded her in an instant, immediately making her wince in reaction. Still a smile began to form on her lips, seeing a notification from her old, highschool best friend almost instantly brightened her up, sparking up a bit of warmth in the unfamiliar apartment.
With her long nails and typo’s getting in the way, she tapped out a quick response, luckily she was saved by auto-correct.
YOU
Barely. (っ- ‸ - ς)
I may have lost a physical fight against literal ikea furniture.
She was greeted with another buzz.
NOWA♡
Marin-channn,
I’d act concerned but that's kind of what you get for buying weird ass furniture. Don’t think I didn't notice the set label in that haul shot you snapped me. What type of person buys furniture called the BJÖRKSNÄS!!
…
I would literally die for you babe, but I gotta admit you can be pretty stupid. (╥_╥)
“Okay, rude.” Marin snorted as she talked to the empty apartment. “That’s literally not even–”
She rolled over to her side to confirm her fears, she checked the discarded and slightly maimed ikea box resting near the kitchen and its counter.
It’s label read, Björksnäs Queen-sized bed.
“... Oh fuck off.”
Though she initially felt annoyed, something about this all was so hilarious, and despite the exhaustion, Marin burst into a rich laugh which was very loud. The sound bounced and echoed off the empty walls of the unfamiliar apartment. But as the echo of a laugh that had once been, died down, a sudden wave of strangeness hit her. The laughter faded much too quickly as it left behind a sad quiet. Such things have been happening a lot recently.
The silence set back in, only interrupted every now and then by the distant hum of traffic and conversation she couldn’t really make out, and from the apartment there was some low mechanical rattle of the tiny yet freaking old refrigerator.
This was her home now. Supposedly.
Her gaze by instinct had drifted towards her previous idea of home.
Her eyes met a framed photo which she had carefully placed on top of one of the sealed boxes pressed near the wall. She had put it there out of habit, placing it on a pedestal without thinking.
The image had now dragged her back two years mentally, to the humid night of a new-years festival in her hometown. Wakana Gojo stood awkwardly beside her in a yukata, his expression was nothing unusual, it was soft and tinged with quiet embarrassment, almost endearing. In contrast Marin was grinning at the camera hard enough for the two of them. His hand hovered just a few inches away from her in the frame. Not touching but close enough to do so if he had only been a little bolder.
Marin stared at the said picture for a second too long, as the memories pulled her under into her mind.
She sat up abruptly whilst vigorously shaking her head as if to throw off such thoughts. “Nope! There is no way in hell we are having an emotional breakdown right now. Especially not before dinner.”
She picked up her phone coming to the conclusion that she would rather choose the route of aggressive denial as a way to cope and ignore her issues, but deep down she knew that she would have to face reality eventually, one way or another. But it certainly was not going to be today.
As she tapped her screen open, her cute wallpaper was now bombarded and replaced by fifteen unread notifications, it was impossible to not notice.
Eight of the said notifications were sponsorship inquiries, and three were convention invitations; each plastered with urgent and admittedly well marketed reminders about ‘last chance oppurtunities.’ The rest were texts. One was from her mother asking if she had remembered to eat after moving in.
Marin answered that one first.
YOU
Yes <3
Also for your information, I haven’t died in Tokyo… yet.
Her mother responded back instantly with a crowd of random celebratory stickers. Marin smiled though she had begun to notice a faint ache grow in her chest, she presumed it must have been homesickness.
Switching apps she opened up Instagram.
Her main account sat at a casual 3.5 million followers. Her latest post was a magical girl cosplay; she was dressed as none other than the Madoka, surrounded by LED lighting and a green screen to set the ethereal atmosphere. The post had already made its way to over 100k likes.
The comment section was even worse, not in a bad way, but the rush of praise was almost overwhelming:
GIRL! NOT MY FAVOURITE COSPLAYER AND MY FAVOURITE CHARACTER IN ONE!!
HOW ARE YOU REAL
MARRY ME PLSS!!
MARIN THE PINK WIG AND IT’S STYLING IS INSANE.
SO PRETTY XX.
MOTHER.
Marin was used to such comments, she was used to the endless praise, and even used to the occasional yet inevitable backlash. Her thumb scrolled automatically, passing by post by post one pure instinct. Bright photos, enthusiastic captions along with an even brighter version of herself.
It was all so strange. Seeing the very passion that used to bring her so much joy now completed disregarding into something she could simply scroll past. If this was what she had worked towards her entire life, why did it feel so empty?
Buzz.
A calendar notification popped up across the top of her screen: SHIBUYA SHOOT; 8:00pm.
Ugh right, work.
Marin groaned as she indulged in self pity, beginning to roll back onto the floor. “Okay. That’s it.” She stated, pointed a dramatic finger at the crooked bed as she began to address it. “New life strategy. We are going to survive through caffeine, denial and being hot.”
The fucked up bed offered no objections.
…
In contradiction to her previous declaration, Marin found herself three hours later sweating her ass off, her scent probably resembled a high school boys’ locker room as she was currently in the middle of a losing battle against her new bookshelf.
When she had originally bought it, she fully believed that she had hit the jackpot. It was supposedly perfect as a display for her manga sets and her somewhat perverted anime figurines. (And honestly why should she be embarrassed or secretive in regards to her interests. God forbid a girl has hobbies these days.) But clearly, the universe had some sort of vendetta against her. After all she had followed three different Youtube tutorials and still managed to butcher up the perfectly simple shelf.
"Why the hell would there be extra screws?!" she yelled at the botched pieces in front of her.
The sad excuse of a bookshelf offered not a single answer, neither did the instruction manual apparently, which appeared to be designed by a minimalistic themed sadist.
Marin shoved back a strand of her loose bleach-blonde hair out of her eyes, the tips of it were dyed in her favourite shade of soft pink, before getting back to squinting back at the half built disaster she had created. “If Wakana saw this he’d actually pass away.”
His name slipped out of her mouth so naturally that it took her seconds to realize what she had said. After becoming aware of her mistake, the apartment quickly went dead silent.
Marin stared at the second piece of furniture she had ruined then down at her hands. Her pale fingers were tipped with long and sparkly pink acrylics. Wakana’s hands in comparison had always moved with such precision and care around items in need of putting together. That was what had made him such a creative person to make her cosplays. He had always crafted the tiny yet perfect details most didn’t care to notice. Watching him work his magic with fabric and lace always soothed her, it probably still could.
Their breakup had never once been explosive. There was no betrayal, no screaming, no dramatic shojo-worthy fight in the rain. Rather it was just two young adults sitting together one sullen evening and coming to the slow and agonizing conclusion that loving each other in that present moment had no guarantee of a shared future.
He had looked so devastated trying his best to let her go, the feeling was mutual, which had made it all so much harder.
Chewing on her lipgloss as she bit her lip, Marin opened up her phone and went straight to the photo library. Wakana was unavoidable, he was everywhere. Festival dates, late night dinner plans, fabric shopping, anime conventions she had dragged him to, and a heap of blurry photos where he was looking away from the camera shyly to hide the blush forming on his cheeks.
Marin smiled at this faintly, the memory of such fond moments made a familiar pain bloom in her chest.
Then she began to delete. Not all of the images but just enough to finally let herself breath and take a step closer to letting go.
When she checked the time at the top of the screen, her eyes went wide. Shit. She needed to get moving.
…
By the time Marin had finally arrived in Shibuya, Tokyo had fully transformed to match the night and the activities of such a time. Towering screens on buildings flashed with advertisements, Old Japanese pop songs blasted from storefronts and endless crowds flooded the streets like a human river.
Marin pulled up and adjusted the strap of her ita bag, a possession of hers that she kept from high school. It cluttered with familiar keychains and plushies as she picked up her pace. She hurried towards the studio’s location in a pair of chunky platform heels that had clearly been designed by someone who harbored some personal resentment against ankles.
Tonight’s cosplay theme was a popular cyberpunk anime. Translation; an abnormally short skirt that showed off her long and pale legs, paired with a fitting techno jacket, a massive prop weapon, and silver glitter absolutely everywhere.
The photographer she had hired nearly wept when she arrived at the designated spot. “Kitagawa-san you look absolutely incredible.”
“I know,” Marin sighed, before almost instantly tripping over a cable extension that snaked across from the floor to the camera.
Once that minor disturbance was sorted and out of the way the shoot had gone flawlessly. Marin was a professional after all; she could slip into a character’s persona with little effort. She smiled innocently at the lenses, posed, titled her shoulder to catch her face perfectly in the rim-lighting and then laughed softly on cue. Again and again.
By the time they wrapped up, she was completely drained. It was the specific type of exhaustion that could only be prompted by an intense social performance.
The photographer bowed repeatedly as they packed away their lenses, “Thank you so much for your time! I’m certain these are absolutely going to blow up online.”
“I’d prefer if I blew up offline and in real time first.” Marin mumbled under her breath, though she kept it quiet enough that it was impossible to catch.
It was nearing midnight when she finally walked back towards the main station. Tokyo at night felt entirely different now that all the cameras were gone. Without the glamour of the shoot and the romanticism, the city felt massive and much lonelier. The locals drifted like ghouls down the sidewalks. The bright convenience store lights which usually gave off a welcoming vibe now felt almost cold and artificial against the dark. From a nearby alley a weird scratching sound echoed so softly that she barely picked up on it.
Marin discreetly adjusted her hot pink and lace-framed push up bra, she found herself getting rather annoyed by the way the wire dug into her skin and made it sweat, even if it did have the positive effect of making her cleavage and curves look spectacular.
She slowed her pace as she spotted a close vending machine, a cold drink would be perfect.
That’s when she noticed the alleyway between the two tall concrete buildings.
It was both narrow and dark, making it come off as super dodgy. It was the kind of place a girl knew to avoid at night. But as she looked at it an unnatural feeling of sickening dread began to form in her stomach. It was not caused by the standard fear of a bad neighbourhood, rather this gut feeling consisted of something heavy, something wrong.
She noticed the pedestrians passing by rapidly. Subconsciously people seemed to be altering their paths and leaning away from the path to avoid getting too close to the alley, their bodies seemed to be reacting to a threat by instinct that their minds could not seem to comprehend.
Marin stopped walking.
A wave of a feeling like ice prickled across her bare skin, replacing what once was sweat into a sudden cold that made her shiver. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed something moving in the shadows of the alley.
At first her brain completely rejected and pushed back the shape.
After all, there were far too many limbs. It made a wet clicking sound that clearly did not belong to the tongue of either a human or a stray animal. Beneath this all was a human figure slumped now limp against the brick wall.
And towering over them–
The thing twisted. Its eye was massive as it turned it’s gaze locking directly onto Marin. In that moment her stomach dropped to her shoes that made it very hard to move.
The creature bore very little resemblance to anything living. It looked like a corpse put back together worse than any of her ikea furniture. From the shadows the last human victim had let out a horrific and wet sound as if they were choking. Their life eventually left their throat.
Marin couldn’t move. Her dumb fucking heels felt as if they were glued to the pavement.
No. No, no, no.
This wasn’t the first time she had encountered one of these things before. No. She had seen them in many places; in public mirrors, or distorted figures standing on train platforms. Once when she was no older than thirteen she had sworn something horrifically deformed had stood by her bed watching her sleep. But she had never ever once seen one attack a person in real time,
The creature lurked forward coming closer towards her by the second.
Her pulse pounded violently against her chest. It was a warning system that had come far too late. Move bitch, you have to move RIGHT NOW. But her legs completely refused to cooperate.
The monster raised a distorted and deadly arm.
Marin closed her eyes as a sudden bitter thought pierced through her panic. Is this really it? All of that work, all of those dreams, all of that just to die in a random alleyway? She wasn’t necessarily afraid of dying. Sometimes on the hardest of nights, she found herself wondering if it would be an easier escape. But not now. Not when she was finally so very close to building a life of her own.
The air hissed as the creature’s hand finally swung down–
“Wow.” A masculine voice drawled from right behind her, he sounded much too casual for the current setting.
“Seriously? On a Thursday?” He sighed as if he were a victim himself, “Its so late at night too. I do have students I need to teach tomorrow, you know?”
In a simple second the crushing pressure of impending death in the air almost completely vanished.
Marin snapped her eyes open and turned around. The man standing behind her towered over her, he was freakishly tall and completely unbothered. What shocked her most though was his pure white hair and a thick black blindfold that covered the upper half of his face obscuring his eyes from her gaze. His features were remarkably young in contrast to the white hair, and in honesty, he was frankly far too attractive to be standing in a sketchy alley opposing a monster.
He let out a dramatic and exaggerated sigh that opposed Marin’s usual sass. “You know I actually had dessert plans.”
The monster shrieked in response, the sound altered the night’s air as it lunged directly at him.
What happened after that barely registered to Marin’s already shocked brain.
From what she could recall, in one moment the monster was hurling towards them, and in the next it wasn’t. An overwhelming yet invisible force rippled through the space. It felt as though reality itself had simply come to the decision that the creature no longer belonged anymore and erased it.
The alley fell silent. The monster was gone. No blood left behind beyond the victims, there was no dust. Nothing.
The white-haired man casually brushed off an imaginary speck of dust that clearly did not exist off his black sleeve. “Anyway!” He chirped brightly as he titled his blindfolded face down towards her. “You can really see them, huh?”
Marin stared at him with pure and unadulterated shock showing unfiltered onto her face. For a couple seconds too long she was unable to form a response, or let alone any words. Finally she lifted a trembling pink-nailed finger and pointed at the now empty brick wall.
“WHAT THE SHIT WAS THAT?!”
The stranger blinked in response beneath his blindfold as his lips pulled into an unhinged and wide grin. “Ooh good.” He beamed with delight. “You seem entertaining already. Call me Satoru Gojo.”
Gojo? The surname hit her harder than a physical blow, after all the name was painfully familiar. Though this ‘Satoru’ seemed to share absolutely no traits with her Wakana.
Marin took a deep and ragged breath. She desperately attempted to mentally gather all of the shattered pieces of her dignity. She pushed her hair back and straightened up her bangs whilst combing them with her long nails before letting out the longest sigh of her life.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” She groaned, her voice reflected her exhaustion. “I should’ve just let that thing kill me.”
To her immense annoyance Satoru Gojo seemed to find this hilarious. He tilted his pretty head back with a laugh as if she had just told the funniest joke in the world.
Marin had never been more serious in her life.