take me back to eden | niragi x oc

八

It's not uncommon for militants to be found bothering the regular Beach-goers. Most of the time it's out in the open, but some take their proclivities elsewhere, away from prying eyes. While trailing around on his patrol, Niragi hears a couple of familiar voices and heads towards them. The area is private, small and mostly empty with the exception of the four.

Three militants ... and Hiyori.

Niragi recognises the apparent leader of the little troupe. Ozaki. An unimpressive weasel of a man, he was thin and wiry with the hint of a moustache. He was a handful of years older than Niragi, but still didn't wield any kind of respect. Niragi's acts of impulsivity looked tame in comparison to Ozaki's, the guy didn't ever seem to think before he moved, he had no tact. At his core, he was dull and irritating, as inconsequential as a fly.

For a moment, Niragi does nothing but watch. The militants crowd around Hiyori. Ozaki has their thin wrist grasped in his hand, leering over them. Hiyori squirms, pressing themself back into the wall, putting as much distance between them as they could manage. Distress is evident on their scrunched features, panic flaring in their teary eyes. He hears them whimper out a thready 'let go'. Another militant, one at their left that Niragi had never bothered to learn the name of, reaches out and snaps the elastic of their swim shorts against their hip. Hiyori yelps, surprised. The trio cackle. The sound of it stitches threads of discomfort under Niragi's skin.

Tongue flicking across his teeth, he works his jaw as he walks towards them. Clearing his throat sharply, he pulls attention onto himself.

"What are you doing?" He asks, tone leaning towards disinterested, keeping his expression flat, almost bored.

Hiyori looks quickly to him, their round eyes wide like a deer in headlights as they shrink in on themself. He gaze drifts slightly, watching them try and yank out of Ozaki's grip.

"Ey, Niragi," the militant says, casually, fingers still curled tightly around Hiyori's wrist. He shakes their hand at him, a trembling mimicry of a wave. "Did you want the first go at them?"

He hears the hitch in Hiyori's breath, their panic rising, a tear looses and drops down their cheek. The third of the militants pinches at their waist, his grin lecherous, and they flinch away, squirming and wrapping their free arm defensively around their middle.

"Let them go," he says, dismissively. The militants blink in surprise.

"What?" Ozaki huffs, disbelieving. His grip tightens and Hiyori squeaks. "No way."

Niragi's eyes narrow minutely and he adjusts his rifle on his shoulder. Ozaki glances at it as it shifts. His lips twist in a sneer and he huffs; despite the irritation, Niragi still ranks above him and to go against his orders is a death wish. Niragi doesn't say anything else. He doesn't have to, and he knows it. Ozaki will bend.

"Whatever," he says finally, then heaves Hiyori forwards, tossing them towards Niragi. They stumble, then quickly right themself and duck around to Niragi's side, like he's a shield to protect them.

The three eye them for a fraction longer, displeased at their escape, then turn and walk off. When the trio are far enough away, Hiyori lets out a held breath. They look up to Niragi, their warm brown eyes are still shiny. There's a wet streak down the curve of their reddened cheek, the unwiped tear slipping over their chin and down the pale column of their throat.

"Thank y-"

"Don't. I was just paying you back for the game the other night," Niragi cuts in quickly, his voice hitching slightly. A lie. Hiyori stares, still wide eyed, brows creasing slightly. He looks away, mouth thinning in a line. The act had slipped, a peak behind the stage curtains. "Stay out of trouble."