Title: Vagabond
Author: Ames
Pairings: None (for now?)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What good does a name do when it's all that you own?
Notes: I'm not sure if anyone besides little_bruises remembers this, but I finally got the next few parts to this AU homeless!Sho fic written! It's a bit confusing right now as to how they all relate to one another and whathaveyou, but I promise that will be explained later on :D

Parts 01-04 |

~*~

05.

"So what do you think we should do? I mean, he told me he wanted to stay with us, but..."

Ninomiya kicked his feet up and flopped backwards onto his bed with a snort.

Aiba paused and rested both hands on his hips in exasperation. What had started off as a discussion concerning the occupant in their living room - by Ninomiya's own suggestion, no less - was rapidly disintegrating as any attempt he made to hold a conversation was met with frosty silence.

"Look, I was just making small talk with him! It wasn't even that embarrassing, remember the time when you got drunk an--"

"No." (The glare Ninomiya levelled in his direction suggested otherwise, however.)

Aiba thought for a moment and tried a different tactic. "Well, I didn't get mad at you for giving him my clothes."

No response.

"Fine then, I'll just sit here and read until you feel like talking." He shuffled over to the desk and picked up the latest issue of Shounen Jump from amidst a mess of papers.

The ploy worked like a charm; Ninomiya shot up in an instant. "Hey! I didn't read it yet!"

"Let's see..." Aiba opened it to the first page and began to read out loud, obnoxiously affecting the voice of the main character between snickers. He barely got one line out before Ninomiya launched off the bed and tackled him to the ground with a loud thud.

Neither noticed the hesitant knock on the door in the brief skirmish that followed, with Aiba finally emerging victorious, the volume of manga held high above his head as Ninomiya struggled to reach up for it. The soft creak of an opening door was easily lost amidst their childish squabbling.

"Give-- me--"

A loud, clear laugh. "Beg me for it!"

"Fuck you, Aiba!"

There was a brief pause as both heads swivelled to find the source of the sudden bright light spilling into the room. Wide eyes took in the two bodies on the floor, one straddling the other with the ease and comfort that no doubt came with the familiarity of someone who--

"OH GOD I'M SO SORRY."

The door slammed shut.

"..."

"..."

"What's he sorry for, do you think?"

"How should I know?" Ninomiya said from beneath him. "Give it back."

Stubby fingers made another swipe at empty air as Aiba raised his arms higher and turned the page.

"...nah."



06.

Sakurai had seated himself on the couch when they finally emerged from the room some time later, one fixing his shirt and grumbling under his breath as the other ran fingers through tousled hair with a decidedly smug grin. He fumbled with and nearly dropped the remote control he was holding when he caught sight of them; studiously avoiding both their gazes, he sat up straighter and feigned extreme interest in the channel he had stopped on.

"What're you watching?" Aiba opted for the seat beside Sakurai as Ninomiya headed for the kitchen. Before Sakurai could reply (or even focus long enough to discern just what he was supposedly watching), he continued, "Porn? That stuff's expensive you know, I don't think Nino's going to be happy--"

Ninomiya immediately poked his head out of the kitchen, a half-filled glass of water in one hand. "What did you say?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" Sakurai lunged forward and flattened himself against the TV screen, turning his head back to flash Ninomiya a too-bright smile as Aiba retrieved the remote and turned it off with a shake of his head.

Ninomiya narrowed his eyes at him. "If you think you're going t--"

The doorbell chose this moment to cut in neatly, normally a cause for celebration for its ability to avert awkward confrontations, but what should have been relief flooding Sakurai was turning into apprehension with the gradual spreading of a smile on Ninomiya's face.

"Took him long enough," he said dryly. "Aiba, get the door."

"You only called him an hour ago," Aiba pointed out as he took his feet off the small table, leaving Sakurai looking from one to the other in growing confusion.

'Who's here?' Sakurai wanted to ask, but the look on Ninomiya's face was sufficient enough to keep his curiosity in check. He was about to find out anyway, for Aiba was already unlocking the door, admitting a young man Sakurai would later consider even scarier than unassuming Ninomiya with his acerbic tongue.



07.

He saw the bag first, a sleek leather case the colour of ink, which the man set on the floor as he took his coat off. Sakurai instinctively pressed back against the TV as dark eyes settled upon him; he was suddenly reminded of the way predators seized up their prey in the wild.

The man looked him up and down and wrinkled his nose. "Is that what you wanted me to look at?"

Sakurai's unease vaporized in a flash. "Excuse me?"

"That's the one," Ninomiya said airily; he seemed to be in a much better mood by contrast.

"Oh! Names!" Aiba stepped forward and gestured for Sakurai to come closer. Sakurai's name garnered little more than a slight raise of eyebrow from the newcomer, but Aiba's introduction of him as "MatsuJun, the bushy browed one" earned the former a prompt kick in the butt.

"Matsumoto Jun," he introduced himself to a startled Sakurai with a slight nod, then commented wryly to Ninomiya, who had returned to watch the scene unfold, "I see what you mean about needing me here."

Ninomiya shrugged when he caught Sakurai's confused look. "Don't look at me, I have no idea what he's talking about."

Matsumoto handed his bag over to Aiba and began to roll up his sleeves with a sigh. "We better get started now."



08.

Sakurai obeyed their instructions readily enough at first, if not a touch wary-- of course, it helped that Aiba was the one doing most of the talking, coaxing him into the single chair placed in the middle of the kitchen, even letting them secure a piece of cloth around his neck. He nearly shot off the chair when they tied his hands behind his back-- "So we won't have to hold you down again," Aiba said apologetically as Ninomiya tied his feet together with almost tangible glee.

By the time they began to lay out sharp, glinting instruments on the kitchen counter, full on panic had already set in. The look he shot Aiba was full of the kind of hurt one would find on the face of a puppy whose owner had abandoned in a cardboard box outside; Ninomiya had to forcibly drag him away lest the young man relented and freed Sakurai from his ties.

Then Matsumoto moved forward to a stop in front of him, and all that filled his vision was the reflection of light off a pair of scissors held in hands tipped with metallic purple.

What kind of guy would go around wearing nail polish, Sakurai wondered dazedly as the sharp edges slowly neared.

"Oh wait, hold on!"

He almost fainted with relief when Ninomiya popped back into the edge of his peripheral vision-- maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all, Sakurai thought to himself...

...as Ninomiya slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth.

"He's a screamer," he explained to a smirking Matsumoto, pointedly turning a blind eye to the way Sakurai was straining at his binds as he left the room.

Resting the pair of scissors back on the counter for the moment (it was only to give Sakurai a little fright, really), Matsumoto picked up a small spray bottle and began spritzing at Sakurai's hair with it, ignoring the sounds of muffled protests elicited by the icy drops of water sliding down his neck.

"You better stop squirming soon," he said without looking up, "or I might just slice your ear off when I start cutting." He offered no further elaboration on whether it would be an accident or a deliberate act.

There comes a point in life where every man had to cut his losses and admit defeat; to his credit, Sakurai recognized and conceded to this with as much grace and dignity as anyone bound and gagged in a chair with a checkered cloth tied around his neck could possibly muster.

Thus, the hair cut safely concluded with all body parts intact.



-to be continued-