Chapter Text
The streets of Hole were a festering wound of grime, crime, and death. Ahh, home to some, it was a paradise where you could be anyone and take anything you desired. To many others, surviving with your heart on your sleeve was impossible. Tonight was a regular night. Dim lights barely let Kaiman see a few meters ahead. The rain was heavy, laced with acrid smoke, but his mask shielded his eyes from the sting. Each step sloshed through puddles, the only sounds the white noise of rain and the shuffling footsteps of those already touched by magic, wandering the streets.
The Hungry Bug was shuttered tonight because Nikaido felt sick again. Kaiman still didn't understand why the rain always got to her, but he never asked. He heaved the rolling shutter up, letting it slam shut behind him as he stepped into the restaurant. Inside, Vaux and Thirteen were bickering over a card game Thirteen was clearly losing.
"COME ON! Ugh, you old man! I'm down forty goddamn dollars! Please just—" Vaux slapped down three cards: an ace of hearts, spades, and a king of hearts. "Look, punk, want your money back? You're mopping the hospital floors for the next four weeks." Thirteen groaned louder. "Hey, don't take me out of a job!" Kaiman yelled, unhooking his gas mask. Smoke tinged water dripped into a puddle on the floor. "You two are here just… arguing before the others even show?" He rolled his eyes as Thirteen sank deeper into the booth.
"Oi! Lizard brain, Nikaido left a plate in the fridge for you, me, and Thirteen. He already ate his and mine! I had to rip him off yours," Vaux shouted at the sulking brat across from him. Kaiman opened the fridge and found an uncovered gyoza plate with Nikaido's note: Eat up, Kaiman! Sorry, I can't make it to tonight's poker game.
Later, more faces trickled in: Professor Kasukabe and the big bug, Johnson. They crowded around a booth, some snug, others mostly Johnson, who was actually playing, perched on a rickety chair, shouting "Shocking!" at random. Amid the noise, Kaiman felt it again: that gnawing pang he kept burying. Loneliness. Even surrounded by his closest friends, it clung to him like damp rot. Like standing in an ocean, parched. It had eaten at him for years, but lately, it was sharper and heavier. He didn't know why. He hated people getting too close, yet he held a winning hand, face blank. Poker was like that, sure, but all he could think was why this feeling wouldn't leave. "SHOCKING!" Johnson's outburst snapped him out of it, six limbs flailing in anger… or something else? Kaiman could never tell with the bug.
By night's end, wallets were empty, and Kasukabe's pockets bulged, three pounds heavier. "You all are so easy to read," he teased, voice smooth as silk. The group, broke enough to buy an apartment, drowned their losses in beer. Thirteen was shotgunning a warm can from the back, while Vaux and Kaiman sipped chilled glasses of the same shitty brew. It tasted like piss, but what in Hole didn't? Ten minutes stretched into three hours of drinking Nikaido's entire stash, she'd be sooooo. Kaiman's head rested on the table, his mask lost somewhere in the room an hour ago. His mind spun, not just from the beer.
"Am I that ugly? I knew I was ugly, but damn, am I that ugly?" he mumbled, so quietly no one heard. His reflection haunted him with green scales, shitty eye tattoos, and head spikes. Tears welled up, pathetic. Vaux, barely sober, noticed. "What are you crying about, you bastard?" His voice wobbled, slurred. “…greeeeen… spikes… aaaaaaa…” Kaiman was too far gone, eyes red and puffy, tears pooling beneath him. "Wha—? SPEAK UP!" Vaux burped, slamming his fist. Beer cans clattered to the floor. "FUCK YOU!" Kaiman shot up, glaring, but stood too fast. His stomach churned. "Don't—" Vaux started, but Kaiman's guts erupted, splattering Vaux's shoes. "YOU BASTARD! I'LL KILL YOU!" Vaux's weak punches barely even felt by the lizard.
Kaiman woke at home, head throbbing, mouth sour with acid. Sunlight stabbed through the window like a laser. Groaning, he buried his face in his raggedy pillow. His bed sagged, colder than usual, empty. It made him feel like shit, worse than normal. Alone again.
The poker game's laughter echoed in his skull, but it felt distant, like a memory from someone else's life. He dragged himself up, scales glinting dully in the cracked mirror across the room. He avoided looking. The night before had been loud, chaotic, alive, yet it left him hollower than ever. Why? He'd been with his people, his crew, the only ones who didn't flinch at his lizard face. But that pang, that goddamn Hole in his chest, had only grown.
He shuffled to the kitchen, stepping over empty cans he didn't remember bringing home. The fridge hummed, empty except for a half rotten apple and open beer cans. He bit into the apple anyway, wincing at the bitter mush. Hole's air was thick today, smoke curling in through the window. He didn't bother with his mask. Let it choke him. Maybe it'd fill the void.
Kaiman slumped onto a chair, the wood creaking under his weight. The game had been fun, hadn't it? Vaux's cackling, Thirteen's whining, Johnson's absurd outbursts. Even Kasukabe's smug grin as he raked in their cash. It should've been enough. But the moment the noise died and he was alone again, it all unraveled. The laughter was a bandage on a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.
He thought of Nikaido. Her note, her gyoza, her absence. She was the only one who seemed to see him, not just the scales or the spikes. But she wasn't here, and he didn't know how to ask her to be. He didn't know how to ask anyone to be. The thought of reaching out, of admitting the ache, made his skin crawl worse than the rain ever could. He was Kaiman! Tough, brash, untouchable. Right?
His fingers traced the tattoos around his eyes, rough under his touch. He remembered the first time someone called him a freak. Years ago, some kid in Hole's alleys, before he really knew anything. He'd laughed it off, punched the kid's teeth in. But the word stuck. Freak. Monster. Lizard. Every name piled on, heavy as the rain soaked streets. He'd built a wall of jokes, fights, and masks to keep them out. But the wall was crumbling, and the loneliness was seeping through.
He stood, pacing the small room. The floorboards groaned, each step echoing in the quiet. He thought of the others, probably nursing their own hangovers. Did they feel this too? This… nothing? Or was it just him, cursed with a heart that refused to shut up? He kicked a can across the room, the clatter too loud in the silence. It didn't help.
Outside, Hole was waking up. Shouts, curses, the distant crack of a gunshot. He could go out there, find a fight, and break something. That usually worked. Blood and bruises could drown out the ache for a while. But even as he grabbed his jacket, he knew it wouldn't last. It never did.
He thought back to the game. Johnson's "SHOCKING!" still rang in his ears, absurd and comforting in its stupidity. But even that faded against the memory of his own reflection, the one he couldn't escape. Green scales. Spikes. Eyes that didn't look human. He'd spent years pretending he didn't care, but last night, drunk and stupid, he'd let the truth slip. Am I that ugly? He hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to cry. But Vaux had heard, and the shame burned worse than the vomit.
Kaiman sank back into the chair, head in his hands. The dread was heavier now, a weight pressing on his ribs. It wasn't just loneliness anymore; it was fear. Fear that this was all there was. No matter how many poker games, beers, or fights, the Hole in his heart would keep growing. He'd always be the lizard in the mirror, too monstrous to be loved, too stubborn to die.
He thought of Nikaido again. Her smile was how she never looked at him like he was wrong. He could go to her... maybe. Say something. Anything. But the thought of her pity or worse, her rejection, stopped him cold. He'd rather face a sorcerer's blade than that. He wasn't even sure if she felt like that towards him; he wasn't even sure what his heart wanted.
The room felt smaller now, the walls closing in. He grabbed his knife from the counter, not sure why. He held it up, catching his reflection in the blade. The same green scales, the same spikes. He pressed the tip against his palm, not hard enough to cut, just enough to feel. To remind himself he was still here, still real. The dread didn't budge.
He dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor. Outside, the rain started again, a low hiss against the window. Kaiman closed his eyes, trying to summon the noise of the poker game, Vaux's laugh, Thirteen's groans, and Johnson's chaos. But all he heard was the rain, and all he felt was the Hole, gaping wider than ever.