Young Writers Society

Soft winds caressed Shun’s face as he stuck his thumb out in a hitch-hiker's position. He shifted his feet, the dirt crunching beneath his feet. It had long since passed the time of year when grass would grow on the side of the highway - instead, it was replaced by the rough ground that always seemed to accompany winter. The trees and branches creaked behind him. Shun huffed with impatience and fingered the Swiss Army Knife in his pocket with his free hand, tracing the metal ridges of the knife and screwdriver implements. He licked his lips.

The road was deserted; people didn't tend to travel on cold days such as this one. It was the type of cold that would seep into clothes, bones, car, and upholstery - one would be feeling that cold long into the summer, when they have the windows open, but are puzzled as to how the leather behind and beneath them are bone-chilling when outside was 32 degrees out.

To Shun, it was eons until he heard the tell-tale sound of a car cruising down the highway, even if it was only a few minutes. He stretched his arm out - despite being roughly 160 cm tall (and is not 159 cm, thank you), he could lean out pretty far onto the road if he needed to. The car came into view. It was a welcome sight in the midst of bleak winter.

Shun might have not known too much about cars, but even he could appreciate the shiny, European-model truck in front of him. He would have guessed that it was new, if the tires weren't slightly worn out and if there wasn't a well-used tarp firmly strapped down to the back. It's either a rich person, and it's my lucky day, or it's a hand-me-down to a rich teenager, which is still a lucky day, Shun thought as the vehicle came to a stop in front of him. He dropped his hand and fidgeted with his scarf, which at some point had come undone and was dragging through the skeletons of grass behind him.

The person rolled the frost-tinted window down and a young - though it was quite gruff-sounding, Shun realised with a shiver down his back - shouted from the car: “Well, unless you want to be sitting out in this goddamn weather, get in!” In his mind, Shun danced a nervous victory in his head; while he certainly didn’t sound like a rich kid, the genuine leather jacket and silver necklaces dancing from his neck implied that he was quite the spoiled, rich child indeed. He began to shuffle towards the door and put it on the handle, wincing as the sheer cold of the metal felt as if it was burning his skin off.

Yanking the car door open, Shun scrambled into the car quicker than necessary, welcoming the heater and the seats that had some fancy gimmick to keep out the cold. He sighed and closed the door, leaning back into the seat and glanced over at the driver.

The guy pulled onto the road and cracked his knuckles individually. A strand of hair fell from his purple ponytail, ending halfway down his neck. Scars, partially covered in makeup, decorated his face in an unnerving amount. Shun bit his lip nervously. Nendou needs money from me by sundown, he reminded himself. I have no choice.

“So, where’re you going?” the guy drawled, tucking the strand behind his ear and looking at Shun with pretty black eyes. He smiled and looked back at the road. “The name’s Kuboyasu Aren, by the way.”

“Kaidou Shun,” Shun said. No harm in telling Kuboyasu his name if he was gonna die anyway. “I’m going up to the next city to meet my friend. He hasn’t been doing well. He’s one of those recluses, you know? The ones who don’t get out of their house unless they absolutely have to?”

“God, yeah, I know the type,” Kuboyasu laughed. “I have a friend like that myself. Saiki likes to pretend that we’re still in the 2020 pandemic.” He fiddled with a chain on his rearview mirror with a suspiciously intricate flame symbol that Shun just couldn’t place.

He made a noncommittal noise and looked out the window, only nodding when Kuboyasu asked if music was okay. The fast beat of an anonymous Loudness song echoed through the truck. Shun looked over at the very focused driver, admiring the curve of his eyelashes and the sharpness of his jaw. In another life, another situation, he would have asked this man out in a heartbeat.

“You’re staring,” Kuboyasu said, laughter dancing in his eyes. “Like what you see?”

“Yeah, actually,” Shun bantered, leaning forward from his spot on the window ledge. He looked up at Kuboyasu through his eyelashes. He could work with this. “I don’t think you mind.”

“Nah, it’s flattering,” Kuboyasu said lightheartedly, punching Shun’s arm lightly and smiling crookedly. Was that a dimple? The song playing was about to end, signaling the time for Shun to take action.

The last beats faded out. Two heartbeats later, Shun found himself pointing a knife at Kuboyasu’s neck, who was reciprocating the action with a shiny pistol to the head. “Get out of the car,” they demanded at the same time.

Several more moments were wasted staring at each other dumbly. Kuboyasu had stopped the car in the middle of the road, discreetly putting the car in park. The starting notes of Angel Dust began to play; the tension between them could have been cut with a knife.

Kuboyasu broke the tension. “Bringing a knife to a gun fight? How shittily prepared of you.”

“To me it seems like you brought the gun to a knife fight,” Shun said back, gritting his teeth. The gun was pushed flush against his head. A small bead of blood dripped down from the small cut the knife made on Kuboyasu’s neck. Two seconds that felt like hours passed.

“Still the advantage, either way,” Kuboyasu said. His voice was completely calm, but a droplet of sweat ran down his face and disrupted his makeup despite the cool weather.

“Not if I’m faster.” Shun’s eyes felt strained. With horror, he realized that - even though it’s not as telltale as a sweat droplet - Kuboyasu saw it and knew that he was nervous too. “I’ve had guns pulled on me before; I’m still alive.”

The gun forced Shun’s eyes to tilt slightly downward. “Yeah, but you had gotten hurt. Pretty badly. That gunshot wound on your collarbone there indicates it, does it not?” Kuboyasu tilted Shun’s head back to its original position and moved closer to Shun’s face. He paid no mind to how the knife cut deeper in his throat.

The same crooked smile was on his face, his ponytail fallen apart. Purple strands of hair framed his handsome face and, suddenly, Shun recognized him.

“Mullet-Wearing Aren,” Shun breathed. The intricate flame was his ex gang symbol, wasn’t it? How could Shun have been so stupid? “The infamous hitchhiker killer.”

“And you’re the Jet Black Wings, infamous hitchhiking murderer, are you not?” Mullet-Wearing Aren retorted back, the grin still on his face. “Always uses a blue-handled Swiss Army knife etched with your alias and a tendency to attack after a song ends and before a new one begins.” Mullet-Wearing Aren was even closer, now, forcing Shun’s knife hand back closer to his face. “I also know that you don’t kill people unless you absolutely have to. I always kill them anyway.” His finger twitched on the trigger. Shun forced himself not to react.

Five more seconds have passed. Shun could feel Mullet-Wearing Aren’s breath on his face, smelling strongly of mint and slightly of strong coffee.

“I have a preposition,” Mullet-Wearing Aren said, finally. “How about you, and I…” He lowered his voice as if other people were around and tilted his body towards Shun. “Work together? I like you enough; you’re the type of person I can get along with. We have very similar styles of working, so we’re compatible.”

“What if I say no?” Shun challenged. He gained enough confidence to push against the gun and get closer to Mullet-Wearing Aren. They were almost nose-to-nose, now. God, Shun thought. I would kiss him if I didn’t need the money that badly.

“You’ll be the only man I’ve ever left alive,” Mullet-Wearing Aren swore. “You can’t go to the police anyway, since you’re also a wanted man, and you are very cute. I hate killing the cute people.”

“Can’t really say the same about you,” Shun joked. He paused for a second. “Are you serious? About letting me go?” He pulled the knife back just a little, and Mullet-Wearing Aren did the same with his gun. The muzzle gleamed in the sunlight.

“Of course I am. I might be a murderer, but I’m not a monster who doesn’t keep his promises,” Mullet-Wearing Aren said. “Again, it’s not as if you can go to the police.”

Shun removed his knife from Mullet-Wearing Aren’s neck, still holding it towards him, as he unlocked the car door and stepped out. Mullet-Wearing Aren took his gun and put it back in its hiding place between the seat and cup holders. He nodded towards Shun, who nodded back and shut the door. Mullet-Wearing Aren drove away, leaving Shun feeling like he missed something great.