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cheesus-doodles · 6 months

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Chapter 7: Swallow the Sun

Former Gang Leader Darling AU (Red Dragonflies)

Red Dragonflies Masterlist | Masterlist | Ao3 Link for the Sane

‎

The silence that filled the room was palpable, in every sense of the word. It weighed heavy on your shoulders, the air thick and heavy with every breath becoming harder and harder to take, the tension that clogged your lungs almost as if it was an invisible viscous liquid dripping from the ceiling and slowly filling the room. You never liked the feeling that crept like an eerie fog up your legs despite having gotten well acquainted with it by now; just the life of a negotiator you supposed, more so when the parties involved tend to be hot-headed and overly-excitable delinquent gang leaders faced with difficult decisions.

Time felt like it had come to a crawl as the world held its breath. It was an unusually quiet afternoon for the city of Shinagawa, the usual hum of traffic buzzing down the nearby downtown area noticeably missing from the background hum. Even the wind that rattled the clear windows lining one wall just prior to the Black Dragons’ arrival had faded away into a cloudless sky, leaving just the uncaring sun watching on mercilessly. But you didn’t rush, didn’t try to hurry the other party who seemed to have frozen in place, Taiju simply wordlessly staring you down with those beastly yellow eyes, the lack of emotions on his face a heart-racing sight for a lesser delinquent, while Inupi and Koko flanking him were outright gaping at you with their shock worn on their sleeves.

The calm before the storm. You understood what you were asking - no, demanding - from them. Well aware of the implication and the loaded threat that your words carried, it wasn't an if but a when and how the Black Dragons were going to be merged into your own gang, whether they wanted it to happen or not. Yet, despite the seemingly sudden nature of this meeting with Taiju, you knew that this had been really a long time coming. All these years you had watched silently from the sidelines as Shinichiro’s gang was ran into the ground by unworthy leaders, its name and reputation tainted and soiled; this was simply the final straw, and no longer were you going to let his good name be sullied any more: at least you could hold your head high and say that you upheld your oath. Quashing down the surging memories of the equally horrid direction that Izana had led the gang down during his time at the head of the Black Dragons, you turned your attention back to the painful, painful waiting: not that you didn’t want to think of the underground smuggling ring or the crime-for-hire that your former lover ran, but it wasn’t an issue to solve at this point.

The oppressive stillness seemed to stretch on, each passing second amplifying the sense of anticipation, as if the room itself were counting down to the inevitable release and the coming explosion. And oh how you hated to wait - the unpredictability of what was to come was like daggers in your skin. There was truly nothing worse than being caught off guard; you had learnt that lesson the hard way multiple times before. At least even in these turbulent minutes you mused, you could count on the rhythmic sound of Furusawa’s heavy breathing from behind you to keep you grounded as you waited, a reassurance that your best friend was there to back you up regardless of how this nasty business turned out.

In an instance, the momentary tranquility shattered, and reality came crashing back down. “What the fuck did you just say?!” His words came out almost like a hiss as Taiju leaned forward, open palm slamming down onto the abused coffee table that separated you and him, the vein on his forehead seemingly throbbing more than usual as the blue-haired boy gritted his teeth.

Pulling yourself out from your thoughts, you leveled your gaze at the gang leader who sat from across you, turning your full attention back to the present. This wasn’t the right time to be nostalgic about the past or ponder the future. “Should I repeat myself?” You raised one questioning eyebrow. No, it was time to play.

“You’re taking me as a fool? Huh?!” He sneered, teeth bared. “Merge my gang under yours? This a fucking game to you, little girl?”

The taunt failed to rile you up enough, even if the strong emphasis on the Black Dragons being his did send a flash of irritation through your chest. No, the gang had never been his. It was Shinichiro’s and Takeomi’s, Wakasa’s and Benkei’s. Taiju was simply another steward for their legendary legacy, just like Izzy had been. Not his. A quick glance at Inupi and you saw the same turmoil in those blue eyes, but you swallowed the rising annoyance. You had worse thrown your way before. “Surely you can’t be suggesting something so vile, Taiju-san,” Bending over slightly to lightly pick your full cup off of the coffee table, you continued, your voice as even as the color of a cloudless midday sky. “I have never messed around in meetings, and never will. This is serious business.”

His tiger eyes seemed to glimmer and glint from the sunlight that filtered through the large window panes, as if simply waiting for a chance to tear into you. To eat you alive. “Then what the fuck are you trying to say?”

You sighed, unimpressed with the lack of tact on show. You didn’t fear the newest of the Black Dragon Presidents, not in the slightest, but you could at least empathize with his poor victims; this man left little room for negotiation for those who lived in his shadow. Fortunately, you did not. “I’m sure you understood me perfectly fine, Taiju-san.” Leaning back onto your chair and taking a sip of your tea, you continued to meet his infuriated stare from the brim of your cup with barely a blink. Deciding that this little dance was going nowhere, you forged ahead. “You must have heard of the brewing storm coming your way.”

Taiju didn’t seem the least bit phased. “You mean that 8th Generation Black Dragon leader? Izana?” Scoffing, the blue-haired boy flicked his hand nonchalantly, as if waving off the fly he thought Izana would be. “Won’t be the slightest issue, dealing with that rat.”

You hummed, a low, single-toned haunting note. “I wouldn’t be too sure. Izana’s a lot stronger than he looks.” A fact that you knew firsthand and all too well - even you wouldn’t be able to take him down alone, with or without the handicaps he would give you.

Silence fell over the room once again, those shaking, balled-up fists told you everything you needed to know. Consumed by anger and preferring to speak with his fists, you noted to yourself, and you wondered if you would have gotten further along if you had just let Furu at him from the start. Maybe you should now in fact - this particular meeting of leaders is coming along much rougher than you had hoped, and your precious free time was slowly but surely ticking down the drain. Yes, it was indeed time to instigate, even if you did risk another human-sized hole in your walls. Pulling yourself back up, placing your cup gingerly back down at the coffee table with a clink as porcelain met porcelain. “What I have been trying to say is,” you leaned forward, head cocked slightly to the side as a small taunting smile began to pull at your lips. “The Black Dragons are far too important to me to let you lose.”

And that was all it took.

‎

Inupi had been looking forward to meeting you again for a very long time. He hadn’t been sure if he would ever be given the opportunity to do so, after everything that had gone down two years ago and you had evaporated into thin air after abruptly retiring, but now here you were. You looked so similar from when he had last seen you standing side by side with Izana, sans the physical growth, you had barely changed - but the weariness in your eyes. The sheer exhaustion that tainted your once lively eyes, it seemed to have only increased and intensified as the years went by; there was no doubt even with all he had witnessed in his life, those eyes had already experienced so much more. An old soul trapped in a young body was what you were, though it wasn’t hard for the Black Dragon member to remember the times that you had away from such heavy gang duties or the times you had spent with your now ex-boyfriend; the times when your eyes would light up as if fireworks against the dark winter sky, and your youth would come rushing back into that gaze like an water out of an opened dam.

Even this infamous meeting room brought back memories; its plush carpet always kept in tiptop condition, the eternal dance of the cranes across the walls, and the homely, worn wooden coffee table that was the centerpiece of the room. After all, the former Black Dragon Vice Captain had once spent hours within these four walls, locked at attention while watching over meetings where you and Izana poured over gang matters and strategies. Not too different from what was happening now, Inupi supposed, crystal blue eyes sliding to glance at the head of alternating blue and white hair that now occupied the sofa opposite of you.

But you always had this presence about you; not those heavy types like Taiju’s, one that commanded fear and attention. No, you had a different type of draw; you brought a sense of closure. An unyielding, constant pressure that meetings in your presence, be it in a room or on the battlefield, will one way or another be brought to a close, with the type of ending they get being left up to your unfortunate victims to decide.

The stoic mask the blond-haired delinquent wore threatened to break when your gaze landed on him, and your lips twitched upwards ever so slightly as you greeted him, but through sheer self-control, he had managed to simply acknowledge your attention. Now standing in your presence once more, Inupi could only wish it was you that he had approached for help with reviving the Black Dragons - the gang would have greatly benefited from a calm and experienced hand at the helm if you hadn’t upped and vanished immediately after you resigned from your beloved Reds.

And it only grew clearer and clearer that mistakes had been made as the meeting dragged on. Hearing you all but order Taiju into giving up the Black Dragons to you was the straw that broke the camel’s back, a gut punch that Inupi struggled to keep his face straight through; the reason they were here was because of his failure. There was no doubt that a lifelong delinquent like Izana’s former right-hand man had not heard the rumors swirling around about his old boss, and you being here to rescue his beloved gang from the depths of the pit he had dug them into only served to highlight one fact. Too important to let them - to let him - lose the gang: you were here because of his failure that started all the way back with the end of the Eighth Generation of Black Dragons.

Failure to protest harder against Shion being Izana’s successor, failure to pick a better boss to follow, failure to do better: there was no other way to put it. He had failed Izana, failed Shinichiro, failed the once-pristine legacy of the Black Dragons again and again. Scars and sins that he carried, that he once hoped he could lay bare before you, for the infamous Negotiator to wash it all away; but not like this.

‎

Koko must have noticed the turmoil brewing right under those usually impassive eyes, the financier glancing over in his direction with furrowed eyebrows.

Right as his black-haired friend was about to ask, the entire mood changed, and those almond eyes snapped right back towards the silent, tense standoff that dominated the room. In that moment, the universe felt as if it had collapsed in on Inupi’s gut, the flare of desperate screams to move, to fight, to duck from the back of his head overwhelming each and every one of his senses. But there was no time to react. The sunflower-blond boy wasn't sure what had happened, or who was faster. It was as if both Taiju and Furusawa had moved within the span of a sole heartbeat; a single blink, too fast for him to even catch; and the next thing he knew, his entire view of you was filled by the jarring red of Furusawa’s jacket and the black of his shirt, the draft he generated whipping his jacket backwards. An ominous creak of wood, and Inupi chanced a quick glance upwards - and there, held above your Vice Captain’s head with a sole hand was the other half of your beloved camelback sofa set that Taiju had been sitting on just seconds earlier, its shadow eclipsing the ceiling light around where you sat.

Silence consumed everyone present, as if the room was suddenly emptied of air. Inupi barely dared to breathe should break the temporary peace, blue shaky eyes darting between the brown and pink-haired man and Taiju belied the neutral, unmoved expression Inupi wore. What happened?

Chocolate eyes met yellow ones easily, with neither party willing to back down. The sight of the sofa failing to reach its intended target, however, didn’t seem to be enough of a deterrent to any further rash actions, as Inupi watched the Tenth Generation Black Dragon President reach for the walnut coffee table with the definite intent to hurl that as well, the telltale veins on his forehead throbbing with every heartbeat.

This time though, Furusawa was faster. A loud thud shattered the silence as a steel-toed boot came crashing down, the worn wood beneath letting out a groan at the sudden impact as it was pinned back down firmly to the carpet, a force too strong even for Taiju’s usually imposing strength to overcome. “Wanna take this outside, punk?” The Beast of the Underworld grinned as he leaned forward, that usual friendly, oblivious smile Inupi remembered having turned rather sinister, his sharp canines glinting even under the warm ceiling lights. “I can take you out right now. Makes Boss’ job a lot easier too.”

It was a threat as clear as the sun rising at midnight, and no doubt Furusawa could back it up and come out the other end without missing a breath off; not only was it well know within delinquent circles how monstrous your Vice Captain was, but also how much the man was always itching for a fight. The mere memory of the last fight Inupi had witnessed years ago where this fighting behemoth decided he was bored and decimated an entire gang himself - he would rather avoid that happening to him at all costs. The logo of the white dragonfly neatly embroidered on the breast of Furusawa’s red jacket was as much a threat as it was a reminder for everyone else to thread carefully: this was still the heart of the Red Dragonflies’ territory, and no matter the supposed strength of the latest generation of Black Dragons, you had historically always came out on top. Results speak for themselves.

And for all the ongoings around you, your small figure remained unmoved. Fingers tapping rhythmically on one knee of your neatly crossed legs as your gaze flittered between the four boys with not a single hair out of place; your continued composure in the face of imminent danger was just one of the things that Inupi had always admired about you. That, and the full trust you always had in your right-hand man and Vice Captain Mamoru Furusawa for your safety and security - it wasn’t lost on the seasoned delinquent that you hadn’t flinched the slightest bit at the sofa flying your way, making no moves to avoid the threat, let alone dodge. Even Izana would have reacted back in the day, Inupi mused.

You seemed content in letting this little game play out for a while more, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Perhaps to sate Taiju’s bloodlust, but he was well past done letting Taiju embarrass the Black Dragons and Shinichiro’s good name any further. This was getting way too out of hand.

‎

Taking a step forward was all that was needed to draw the room’s attention to him, but the Black Dragon second-in-command had his focus squarely on his leader, meeting that tiger gaze unhesitantly. “Stop it Taiju, don’t disrespect her.”

The blue-haired boy seemed to have been slightly taken aback by Inupi’s sudden boldness, his jaw dropping slightly at the open contempt on display from his own subordinate. In front of a rival gang leader, no less. It was provoking the sleeping dragon, that was for sure, but there was little else Inupi could think to do in the moment. Or maybe he should have sat back and let Taiju be utterly annihilated by Furusawa? A chanced look at you revealed that unlike Taiju, you weren’t caught off guard, somehow having expected that it would have been Inupi who stepped up, though seemingly disappointed at the same time for reasons beyond him. Had you been hoping for a different outcome? Something more out of him?

But unfortunately, the sunflower-blond delinquent didn’t have much time to consider this line of thinking any further as Taiju’s stunned state didn’t last long, and the historically violent and short-tempered Shiba emerged predictably into a state of utter rage. And as said gang leader turned bodily to face his rebellious subject, Inupi found himself dwarfed once more by the other’s large stature, and the memories of when he had first challenged Taiju in his search for a new Black Dragon leader came flooding back, though he didn’t take a single step back.

Taiju’s words came out as a hiss. “What’s the meaning of this, Inui?” Fist tightening to the point that his knuckles turned white, there was little chance that the boss was anything but furious.

Inupi refused to back down. “You’re not going to win this. Don’t embarrass the gang any further.”

“How dare you?”

This was it, Inupi supposed, mulling over what he had said. With you on the other side of the table this time round, he didn’t suppose he could rely on your intervention, and he wouldn’t count on surviving Taiju’s wrath. Yet much to his surprise, instead of the thrashing he expected, another voice that had stayed silent now interjected before the blue-haired gang leader could make a move. “Lay a hand on him and I’m out,” Koko threatened, his tone pointed as the infamous financier took a step forward, putting himself between the two. A valid threat. After all, there was no way Taiju could afford to run a gang like the Black Dragons without Koko’s legendary finance skills bringing in extra income and jobs.

For all the threats and posturing, the oldest of the Shibas still seemed unmoved, a disparaging curling his lips as he looked between the two. “And then what will you do, Inupi? Run the Black Dragons yourself?” He laughed humorlessly, the mockery clear. The empty smile dropped as he leaned forward, his shadow casting over the two defiant delinquents. “I’ll burn this whole worthless gang down with me.”

Time slowed to an immediate crawl as those fateful words were left floating in the still air, and as if a heavy, wet coat had been suddenly draped over the room, every breath became a challenge to take as the atmosphere itself seemed to press down on them. Unrestrained bloodlust that tainted his senses with the hint of iron led the Black Dragons back to one single, possible source. Furusawa wasn’t the slightest bit affected by the change in mood, his signature beastly grin plastered across his face, but Inupi knew that look of yours, partially hidden behind your right-hand man’s towering figure. Utter, unbridled rage pouring through your cracked facade that had even Koko stagger a step back. “Worthless?” Hatred, pure and plain, oozing from every pore, burning and consuming those tired, kind eyes. It was the first time Inupi had witnessed it with his own eyes after hearing about it from Izana all those years ago; the legendary other half that had tamed even the Eighth Generation Black Dragon leader

Your sheer contempt for the living. “Worthless?” You repeated, the word seemingly inconceivable to you. Your abhorrence of their continued existence.

“So that’s what you were hiding,” Taiju muttered to himself, his yellow eyes sparking with interest.

As soon as it appeared, the immense pressure evaporated back into thin air like it had never been there, the world seemed to sigh as the whirl of the air-condition once more returned to the background. Taking a breath, your face was once more schooled into that familiar calm expression as you relaxed back against the sofa, the tension in your shoulders gone. Picking up your teacup once more for what should be by now a stone-cold cup of tea, you allowed a small smile to lift the corners of your lips, your gaze landed back on a shaken Inupi. “Time is getting on. Furu, return their sofa to them, would you?”

A tch, but the brown and pink-haired man complied, walking round the coffee table to lightly place the sofa back in its place with nay a thud - a surprise, given he had looked ready to fling the object straight back in Taiju’s face. You waved your hand, drawing the three Black Dragon gazes back on you, though it seemed that both gang leaders present were well past the pleasantries. “I’m sure you have other places to be, Shiba-san, so let’s put it this way. One week to join willingly.”

Taiju scoffed, his vibrant red jacket flaring out behind him as he turned to leave without another word, storming past Inupi and Koko and leaving the meeting room door open as he disappeared round the corner. You simply sighed, your gaze landing on a stoic Inupi and an ashen Koko. “Sorry about that, boys,” you smiled, waving Furusawa forward, though your Vice Captain simply handed a letter to Inupi before backing off. “You should probably be on your way too. Stay safe, okay?”

‎

The hefty wooden door shut softly behind the two Black Dragons, though the click still reverberated through the room, ringing in your ears as you sat in the sudden silence, reflecting on all that had occurred in the past hour. Yet in the moment, all your mind could process was: you shouldn’t have lost control like that. You knew descending in such a state of anger was terrible for your mental health, and your nii-san would be so extremely disappointed if you did something unforgivable again.

You could really use a smoke right now.

You abruptly stood, forcing those useless, churning thoughts down and away from your consciousness, startling your long-time best friend out from his own daydreaming process. “How did you think that went, Furu?” Your voice nor expression gave no hint of the uncertainty brewing just below the surface, though you knew there was no hiding your clenched fingers from those eagle eyes, no matter how you positioned them at your side.

But your right-hand man seemed more occupied with thinking of the could-bes, having clearly been intrigued by Taiju’s raw strength, and the lack of a fight breaking out was no doubt the root cost of the dejectedness on his face. “Went pretty well, I guess,” he mumbled, kicking his feet. “No holes in the walls, nothing broken."

“You don’t sound too happy about that.”

Furu sighed. “That blue-haired dude looked kinda strong. Could have made a great fight.”

You lightly smacked him in the arm. “Not in my meeting room,” you reminded him, attempting to sound cross but utterly failing to do so. “I’m sure you’ll get your chance though,” you added thoughtfully.

That was enough to perk the Vice Captain up, chocolate eyes glinting with eagerness and hope, as if you had just promised the life of another human being to him as a Christmas present. “Really? You think so?”

But those questions only dredged back up the doubts you had suppressed since the start of the meeting; about the effectiveness of what you did, about what you should have done, about your past and the future of the Black Dragons. Sighing, you slumped backwards into the sofa, the soft backing cushion denting and giving way as you did so. “Most likely, given how that went,” you exhaled, turning your eyes up towards the ceiling once more as you ran one hand through your hair. “If Izzy doesn’t get to them first, that is. One week is a long time.”

A pause, your words lingering in the cool air for a moment. And then you continued. “I don’t know, Furu, I still think I should have just ran with my idea of proposing marriage. Would have saved us a lot of trouble.” Your mind wandered back to your precious Toman friends. Another problem you had no clue where to start, let alone solve. Every passing day spent trying to put out the fires of your past was another day letting your treasured relationship with your boys, with Mikey in particular, deteriorate. What else could you do other than try and make it up to them later?

Your Vice Captain was on you in a second, plucking you off your sofa and out of your thoughts by the back of your jacket before you realized what had happened, and earning a decidedly undelinquent-like eep from you. “Furu! Put me down!” You tried to insist, a 180 degree change from the refined gang leader facade you had donned just minutes earlier, but the much larger man was nonplussed.

"I'll kill him," Furusawa swore, the obliviousness that usually glazed his eyes having given way to a rare serious expression, and the lack of his usual playful lilt was enough to convey the gravity of your words. “I'll kill and eat that motherfucker if you ever say that again.”

You think that you’ve only seen the man so stern once before. Those chocolate eyes seemed intent on boring a hole straight into your soul, you mused, sighing as you threw both hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. I won’t mention it again.”

“And you won’t go behind our backs either?”

Touche. “I swear I won’t,” you crossed your heart. “Happy?”

Somewhat pacified, the brown and pink-haired man lowered you carefully back onto your two feet, though his grumpiness hadn’t disappeared completely. "Sometimes I don't think you have anything in there, Boss."

You playfully smacked him. You had, after all, told them what happened with Izzy when you met him against their advice four days earlier, and much to no one’s surprise, the meeting hadn’t gone as planned in the slightest without your usual chaperones present. Even hearing that Izana wanted to wed you immediately and went straight to violence after you refused failed to raise an eyebrow, Hase opting to simply let out a despairing groan while Koji threw up his hands in exasperation. What they said was completely true: you were way too personally involved to make sound decisions when it came to anything related to Izzy, and you shouldn’t have. Yet the lingering doubt refused to let go. "But what if-"

"We will handle it. Like we always do," Furusawa interjected. “You’re not alone.”

The grin you shone at your oldest friend was genuine as you leaned into his side. "Thanks Furu." As usual, your wiser friends were right.

“Anytime, Boss.” A grumble of his stomach broke the peace, and you laughed. Time for lunch with the others.

‎

Across town and just as you first waved the Tenth Generation Black Dragon leader through the ornately carved doors of your famed meeting room, a certain blond-haired time leaper was knee-deep living his most miserable past yet.

“Get up.”

Takemichi barely registered the nudge to his side, too busy ensuring that his chest kept heaving along through the throbbing pain as he struggled to catch his breath. Sprawled spread-eagle across the blood-splattered canvas floor of the fighting ring, it was only the rank, foul odor of sweat, blood and god-only knows what else - soaked up from a filthy past of countless fights and fermented in the summer heat - radiating up that kept him still clinging on to consciousness. Only the dead could sleep through a stink like that. Yet no smell could help with rebooting his shaken brain still rattling around his head from all the throwing around he had just endured.

Unfortunately, Hase didn’t seem as inclined to indulge his self-pity party nor give a second chance, and the next ‘nudge’ was instead a firm kick to his side, enough to roll Takemichi over several times and face first straight into the metal cage that separated this ring of hell from the outside world. “I’m not repeating myself,” came his drawl, followed by the familiar click of a lighter and the stinging smell of cigarette smoke that pierced his nose.

A snort off from the side. “Think you might have killed him,” Jun complained, his tone clearly bored as he lightly smacked his baseball bat against his calf. A pause. “That might be a boon though. Changing the future and all.”

Scratch that, his death wasn’t even an inconvenience. He could cry right now. He really could. Even Mikey didn’t waste his time finding nobodies to beat up for the hell of it. How was it that your brutal, heartless captains were so vastly different from kind, caring you? How is it you hadn’t yet been eaten alive by these monsters in human skin? Were you perhaps as much a monster as them? The mere idea of you staring down at Takemichi like Mikey did, with cold, empty eyes, sent a shiver down his spine, and he pushed the thought to the back of his head. No, there was no way you could hide something so sinister, not how genuine that gaze of yours had been or how sincere you were about your care towards your friends.

Then again, Mikey hasn’t had to shake the truth out from him just yet, and you weren’t particularly interested in digging those secrets out yourself either. Takemichi sighed, resigning himself to his fate. It wasn’t as if he could get his answers at the moment, and so albeit the reluctance and the protests of his body, the blond-haired boy pulled himself up from the well worn tarp, biting back the tears as he somehow managed to twist his bruised self into a sitting position, resting against the crisscrossing bars. Risking what Hase would do to him if he didn’t obey was just one more thing that Takemichi did not want to test - he might actually die if he gets tossed across the ring again.

“I’m up, I’m up,” the time traveler hastily reassured through swollen, bleeding lips, though it was more to convince himself than the other two seasoned gangsters as he carefully shuffled black and blue limbs around in an attempt to make things more comfortable. Dressed in just his sports shorts, he already made for quite the pathetic sight, with clear purple-and-black bruises decorated his upper chest, arms and legs, and this was barely helped by just how scrawny Takemichi looked next to the much taller and well-built Hase.

Hase, himself clothed in a simple shirt and shorts and with bandages wrapped around bare hands and feet, only rolled his eyes at the carefulness in which Takemichi picked himself off the floor, those dull gray eyes glaring down at him with disdain as he brought his cigarette up to his lips for another drag. “Nothing’s broken, stand.”

“But everything hurts,” Takemichi mumbled, the sharp flashes of agony that had rippled through his body from being beaten and thrown around having finally died down to a throb that radiated from his chest with every breath. How was it that he constantly finds himself in these sorts of situations? All he ever wanted to do was to save Hina from her unfortunate, undeserving destiny, was that too much to ask? Well, save Hina, Naoto, Mikey, and the rest of his newfound Toman friends, but still.

It had been a mere four days since you first waltzed into his life and class with a letter from the school principal, looking for him, and two since Jun had crashed his class and dragged him off in front of his teacher and all his classmates by the scruff of his neck, having figured through some unknown means that Takemichi was, in fact, a time leaper. And now, four days on from that fateful day, he hadn't even recovered enough from the beating he got from Hase two days prior before being today’s fresh punching bag. A time traveler of twelve years he was, but even now, Takemichi wished he had the ability to reach back just a single day to warn himself of what was to come.

‎

He had almost forgoed school this morning. A bad gut feel, one that was strong enough to cramp up his stomach, making it near impossible for him to roll out of bed; Takemichi couldn’t recall the last time when his body had protested this much against doing something. He knew he should have listened, stayed at home to rest out the pain. It might have been the air being denser than normal, might have been just a bad snack the previous day, or the fact that he was still recovering from the stomp he received courtesy of your Red Dragonflies’ First Division Captain. Whatever it was, Takemichi should have heeded the warning.

But Hina had promised to go out for tea with him after school if he showed up, and the blond-haired boy just wasn’t strong enough to resist. And so against his better judgment, he went anyway.

The ominous rumbling of his stomach a second foreboding time was hard to ignore as Takemichi slipped through the front door of his homeroom class, cutting it close to being late again just as the bell rang through the empty corridors outside. His homeroom teacher shot him a stink eye as he sat down, but with nothing to hold against him, she let him go. At least for those few precious seconds, the time-traveling delinquent recalled, there was peace in his world. Normality had returned, and maybe he could rest for a bit.

A tug at his sleeve. “Hey, Hanagaki-kun.” Followed by the rustle of a piece of paper being slid between tables. “For you.”

Alas, it was the third and final saving grace that fate had attempted to extend his way; the chance to simply ignore the Red Dragonflies’ gang member of a deskmate he had for the remaining five minutes that this period would last before he could make his getaway, but it was too little too late. Blue eyes slipped to meet Suzuki Hisao’s before Takemichi could stop himself, and the boy mentally kicked himself. “Uh- sure. Thanks Suzuki-kun,” he mumbled back, reaching out to quickly grab the offered note, attempting to slip the piece of paper into his pocket without looking. Perhap he could still get himself out of this mess…

“Aren’t you going to read that? It’s from Hase-san, you know.”

Dammit. Why did his usually sleepy classmate have to be so sharp when it came to this? “I was just going to,” came Takemichi’s weak reply, tinted with obvious despair. There was no avoiding or denying what was written in a surprisingly neat print on the inside of the folded scrap paper: an order to meet back at the “same place” at 11am. The same place? As in that dingy underground fight club where he got beat to an inch of his life? Not only had he been there just a single time and had no recollection how to make his own way back to that hellhole, but 11 in the morning was still class time. How was he supposed to up and leave?

The unvocalized frustration painted on his face must have been misinterpreted by Suzuki, because the unusually enthusiastic boy leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper, envy clear in his tone. “So how did you do it?”

Takemichi startled at the sudden interjection to his thoughts, though fortunately, the drone of his homeroom teacher about one topic or another (he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention) was enough to drown out any sound that escaped his lips. “Sorry?”

“First, Boss comes to seek you out personally, now you’re getting training from Hase-san? Two of the greatest honors. How did you do it?”

Greatest honors? Two? The blond-haired delinquent gave a nervous laugh, eyes shifting away to stare at the ground. Shit. “I-I think there’s been some confusion, a-ahaha…” There was no possible way to break it nicely to the starry-eyed Suzuki that all your Reds wanted with him was to wrangle as much information about the future as they could before discarding his lifeless body. “There’s no training-”

“Hase-san doesn’t train anyone outside of the Wings and his own two Vice Captains,” the Reds’ gang member interjected. “And you’re not even a Red. How’s the training? Are you learning quickly?”

Deciding that he no longer wanted to discuss his upcoming death, Takemichi instead racked his brain for a discussion change. “Uh- Suzuki-kun, don’t you report to Koji-san?”

The awe on his deskmate’s face melted away as the implication of the question set in, giving way to pursed lips and solemn eyes. “Yes, but everyone obeys Hase-san.” A moment’s pause, and then Suzuki hastily corrected himself. “Besides Boss and Furusawa-san, of course.”

Takemichi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Everyone obeys Hase? But isn’t he the First Division Captain?” That would be like expecting Hakkai or Peh to differ to Baji despite them being in different divisions.

“Hase-san’s the First Wing, yes, but he’s also the gang’s de facto commander,” Suzuki explained, keeping his voice down to a quiet mumble that easily blended in with the normal chatter as the homeroom teacher trailed off. “Runs the day-to-day operations for the boss. So if Hase-san gives you an order, you obey. And he personally - personally - asked me to pass you this note and bring you down to the club.”

With that, the excitement came roaring back onto the other’s face, and Takemichi groaned. So much for topic diversion.

As if on cue, the lesson bell rang, its shrill, ear-piercing scream marking the end of both homeroom and this conversation. Suzuki stood, swinging his bag casually over his shoulder. “Right, we’re leaving at 10.15 so make sure your bag is packed then. Hase-san despises tardiness.”

‎

Fuck, he was going to miss his tea with Hina. Lost in his recollections of the recent past, wondering whether Toman or the Red Dragonflies were the worse gang to be a part of, it was the new shadow falling over him that finally tore Takemichi from his memories and musings, though it was too late to avoid the hand that wrapped itself around the scruff of his neck, bodily lifting him from where he had been slumped against the fighting ring’s cage. "No speed, no technique, no strength,” Hase noted blandly, the smoldering cigarette held between chapped lips uncomfortably close to Takemichi’s skin as the older man gave him a once over before dropping him back on his two aching feet. “Can’t last a minute in a fight."

“Ouch,” Takemichi winced, sharply inhaling through his nose, the pain both physical, from landing on his sore and abraded feet, and emotional, from having the quiet part said out loud. Damn, do your guys really need to poke at his weakness like that?

The protest wasn’t lost on Jun, who snorted, lifting his wooden bat to point directly at him from where the Second Wing was lazily sprawled across several spectator seats. “You can barely throw a fucking punch and you’re still fucking complaining during training?”

“I tried! That wasn’t training, that was a curb stom-“

A loud bang cut Takemichi off before he could finish, and the Toman delinquent whirled around right as Hase lowered his leg from where the thick metal bars of the fighting cage were now clearly indented in the shape of his foot. Said man didn’t even bother sparing a second look, moving to yank a well worn chair to the middle of the ring, but the message was clear. If this had been anything but training, the blond-haired boy would have been dead many times over. “Start off from where you stopped,” the blue-haired First Wing ordered, his weary words as steely as the seat he slumped into, the metal beneath letting out a groan of protest at the sudden weight put on its tired joints.

“Fucking showoff,” the baseball player mumbled, though this was promptly ignored by Hase.

No seat for him? Takemichi sighed, opting to lean back against the cage for a bit of support to take the pressure off his feet. Even if neither of the two were clad in the usual red, he still very much felt the exclusion. “Well, we covered the first future-”

Jun interjected. “Where there was only Mikey and Kisaki are at the top of Toman and no Red Dragonflies, yes. And then the second future, all those clingy Toman motherfuckers are dead, and you got all fucking emotional where you had to kill that fucking Sano, get the fuck on with it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jun,” Hase snapped irritably, before waving his free hand at Takemichi as he lifted the other to pull the finished cigarette from his mouth. “Start from there, after your return from Manila.”

The Toman member shivered as those dull gray eyes came to rest once more on him: it was the same thousand-yard gaze from the timeline he was about to recall, the same look Hase leveled straight at you as he pulled the trigger. Somehow, those eyes hadn’t changed despite the events of the future being twelve years away; Takemichi could only wonder what the tired man had already seen. Wondered what you had seen - if anything, your eyes looked too awfully similar to Hase’s, for someone so young. Instead, shaking himself back into reality, the time leaper cleared his throat. “Well, after returning to Tokyo, I found out through Naoto that it was someone called Kurokawa Izana who was the boss of Toman alongside Kisaki. I'd never heard of Izana till then, so Naoto had mentioned that he was going to go back to the station to do more digging, but then we were jumped.”

The tap of wood against concrete ceased, and with a shriek of cheap plastic from his protesting chair, the Red Dragonflies’ Second Wing leaned forward, bat now propped up between his legs, black almond eyes fixed unblinkingly on Takemichi. Even Hase seemed intrigued, his posture stiffening - the word ‘jumped’ having caught both their attention.

“We were jumped from behind by you, Hase-san.”

As soon as those words left Takemichi, the loud ‘ha!, followed by the screeching of a chair being forced back nearly gave the Toman member a heart attack, Jun leaping out of his chair and swinging his bat at the First Wing. “I called it! I fucking called it!” He bellowed triumphantly, his screech as piercing as a murder of crows, ringing out over the hum of the large exhaust fans overhead and echoing across the empty betting hall.

But along with that celebration also came a loud groan followed by a thwack as Hase threw his head backwards, bashing it against the metal chair backing, one hand immediately slipping into his pants pocket to pull out that trusty pack of cigarettes. “Fuck me. It had to be me, huh?” The blue-haired man muttered to himself, pulling and pushing a stick into his mouth with a single fluent move.

“I told you I’ll never work for that fucking rat, not even once,” crowed Jun proudly. “Pay up, fucker.”

The other Red executive sighed, and from the other pocket pulled out a wallet. “At least come up to the cage.” Takemichi didn’t catch how much had changed hands, but there was no mistaking the size and color of those 10-thousand yen notes being passed between bars. They were betting on the future? Scratch that, the two of them had guessed enough of what happened to make a bet?

Hase grumbled something about blood money going to idiots, but did not return to his seat, instead opting to lean against the bars of the fight ring, gray eyes now fixed on the blood and sweat splattered canvas floor even as he spoke to Takemichi. “Continue.”

“Um- yes so both of us were knocked out, but you said that it was Kisaki that told you that I would be found easily near Naoto. Next thing I knew, I woke up as I was being dragged by my foot alongside Naoto through the corridors of some penthouse, and then Hase-san pulled us into a bedroom.”

All of the celebratory mood was instantly lost, evaporating into the hot summer afternoon and leaving behind a heavy, tense atmosphere; Jun’s face turned solemn once more, and Hase only seemed to age further under the harsh white lights that flooded down from the ceiling. The time leaper swallowed hard - no doubt they could already sense where this was going. He hurried on. “And Izana was there, on the bed, with- with-” But for all his attempts to just keep going, to tell your Red Dragonflies what they needed to know, it was the image of you that came flooding back into the front of his mind. His words failed him. Those dead glass eyes of yours were still staring straight at him from beyond time, haunting him from his memory.

“With Boss,” Hase finished off Takemichi’s sentence with a mumble, the words slipping from his lips like a prayer.

Takemichi shakily nodded. It was all he had left in him to do, and the boy collapsed back to the ground, his jelly legs finally having given up the last of their strength. Naoto had been right, he bitterly thought as he tried and failed to bite back the tears brimming at the corners of his eyes - this timeline they were headed down was truly the worst future. But what more could he do? The underground ring felt more like a desecrated church in the moment, the enormous concrete bunker forever hidden from the light of the sun falling eerily calm as the sound of the exhaust fans blended into the background, the whistle of wind being forced through narrow gaps under heavy steel doors as if haunted by the ghosts; though from his past lives or of fights past, the time leaper couldn’t tell.

“Keep going. What happened next?”

The rest of the tale spilled out of the weary time leaper as a whisper, but it was enough for the other two present to hear every horrid word and detail relayed: about your scars and bruises and Izana’s obsession over you, about your dead mind still trapped in a living body, about the white-haired man shooting a future Naoto before trying to get you to turn the gun on Takemichi. About how it was Hase that finally put you to rest, about Furusawa’s death by ambush, and then Jun’s and of countless others at said First Wing’s hands, and finally how he had a chance to escape to the past before his own untimely end.

The two older delinquents simply listened on in calm, eerie silence, content with taking in and absorbing the words for now. A tale that was way too specific to be made up yet still lacking a frustrating amount of detail, though neither seemed too bothered by the future Hase’s actions. A moment of silence as Takemichi’s words trailed off, and the three processed everything that had happened so far. The next time Jun spoke up, his tone was completely flat and volume close to conversational, his usual loudness nowhere to be found. “And you say this… Kisaki. He is the one pulling the strings?”

It took Takemichi by surprise, the fact that the loud and crass baseball player could sound so normal, but he still nodded. “Yes, that is what me and Naoto think. Izana mentioned that I was to be Kisaki’s target. And in every future, Kisaki is present as one of the heads of Toman.”

“But so is Mikey,” Hase pointed out. “How do you know it's Kisaki and not Mikey calling the shots?”

The Toman member’s jaw slackened. “But- but-” Takemichi stammered. “Mikey would never do something like that!” The face of the Toman President, framed by blond strands, cuddled into your side and protesting about something inaudible came to the front of his mind, the same boy that would fight through hell and high water for his friends; that Mikey?

An annoyed tap of wood against concrete. “You don’t know that,” the Red Dragonfly’s battle strategist pointed out, his long blond hair flung backwards over a shoulder in an attempt to get the sweat-covered strands out of his face. “That Sano shithead is another persistent factor, plus he’s already a current pest to Boss.”

“It can’t be.” He knew what they were saying was the truth, but still, it wasn’t something that Takemichi could accept - yes, Mikey from the future had been the one committing cold-blooded murder of people he knew and loved, but that wasn’t the real Mikey. That couldn’t be truly the Mikey he knew. “It can’t be Mikey. It has to be Kisaki that made Mikey do it. Or Izana.”

Jun hmmpfed, but fell silent. It was clear that they didn’t trust Toman much either.

Within the cage of the ring, Hase took a drag, exhaling another column of smoke as he pulled the stick from his mouth. “You’re back here to save someone, aren’t you, Hanagaki?”

“H-huh?”

The blue-haired delinquent turned his eyes up towards the giant overhead exhaust fans, the single constant sound that made up the background hum. “That’s why you keep coming back. Someone you lost that you just didn’t have enough time with.” Tired gray eyes turned on Takemichi, that gaze that seemed to see through him and his entire life. A statement, not a question. It was as if he already knew.

Takemichi couldn’t help himself even as he rubbed ever so gently at his tearing eyes. “Hina.”

“A girlfriend.”

“Oh!” A forgotten detail from twelve years later that had eluded Takemichi quickly returned, and the blond-haired boy looked up. “Hase-san, in the future, you had a boyf-“

The smoldering cigarette butt that came hurling straight at him cut any remaining words off, and would have hit him square in the face if Takemichi hadn’t dodged with an eep.

“That’s enough outta you,” Hase muttered, annoyed, even as Jun looked on suspiciously, though the room quickly returned to the topic at hand. “So the kid we’re looking for is a Kisaki Tetta.”

Jun spat, finally standing from the creaky plastic chair with a curse and pulling a flipphone from his back pocket. “I’ll get that name to Masashi, pull everything we got.”

Both sets of eyes once more slid onto Takemichi, and the blond-haired boy recoiled slightly as Hase took a few steps towards the boy, only for the man to stop right before him to crush the finished stick into the canvas. “You keep him away from Toman, Hanagaki,” Hase drawled, turning on his heel and making for the cage door right as the clock that hung on a far wall struck twelve noon. “We’ll take care of the rest once we find that fucker.”

A soft chime, combined with the screeching creek of worn hinges being forced open brought a sense of relief flooding through Takemichi; he hadn’t even realized he had been holding his breath all this time. His hell was over, at least for today. No doubt it’ll still be a tough slog ahead to save everyone that he cared for, but at least for now, of all the people in the world, the time traveling delinquent had come to realize that these two were perhaps exactly who needed to hear what happened. Instead of facing down the future alone, the events today were enough to tell him that they were who he needed on his side to counter Kisaki - maybe they really had a fighting chance. Maybe they could change the future.

“Suzuki Hisao will inform you when the next training is.” And then that eternally unamused voice that only ever carried the promise of more pain floated over from the doorway, and Takemichi immediately groaned. Great, now he regretted thinking all those good things about those two demons you called friends.

Jun didn’t miss the opportunity to rub it in as Hase strolled off, his bat letting out a muffled yet equally threatening thud as the baseball player swung it to rest once more over his shoulder. “Can’t have you fucking die on us again.”

Fuck him sideways.

‎

Looking over Shibuya from the rooftop was a vastly different feeling compared to wandering through the city streets below, Kisaki determined, gray eyes peering out from golden-rimmed glasses gazing down upon the unsuspecting passersby below. A skyscraper roof was one of the last places Kisaki thought of coming, and though he appreciated the silence and the privacy away from the hum and drum of traffic, he still couldn’t quite comprehend what Izana meant by light air pressure. Perhaps it was just a thing about the wind that the other enjoyed.

Yet it was the thought of the white-haired Tenjiku leader that led his mind straight back to you, and that mental image of you huddled tight against Izana’s side four days ago was proving impossible to push from the forefront of his mind. Kisaki hadn’t meant to stalk the two of you all the way to your meeting area - and it wasn’t the smartest decision, given how much trouble he had finding his way back out of the industrial area - but he couldn’t help his curiosity. The insistence with which he held you to his side, Izana's obsession with where you were and who you were with at all times, the gentleness with which he bundled you into his arms, completely contrasted with the dark bruises your former lover left you with the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course, he had already heard of the lingering hushed whispers about you and your formidable well before he ever made the acquaintance of Izana, while he was still chasing the invincible Mikey. Who wouldn’t have, even after the briefest dip of their toe into the delinquent world, even if you had already been away for two years? Hell, the constant rumors swirling on when, not if, you were returning were hard to ignore. But Kisaki could never quite find any trace of you despite having paid a handsome sum for an old photo of you, and neither were the Red Dragonflies accepting new members. So with Toman being the new up and coming gang and its undefeated boss Mikey at its helm, they were who the glasses-touting delinquent decided to go with.

But then out of nowhere you returned and were now back in the game. With what he knew, Kisaki was certain that Mikey and control of Toman were no longer the ultimate prize. No, if he were to stand at the top of the delinquent world, it had to be by your side. Not only were you back at the head of a gang that stated and enforced the rules of the delinquent scene in the Greater Kanto region, but you were now living rent-free in both Izana’s and Mikey’s heads: your presence and absence had a direct effect on the ebb and flow of their lives, and he had witnessed it with his own two eyes. After all, why else would the king of Tenjiku play his hand and risk it all just to get you back to his side? Why did Mikey only give him the time of day in exchange for information about you?

“Plot and play all you like, Kisaki Tetta,” those words echoed in his mind from a not-so-distant past, empty violet eyes staring him down when Kisaki first offered his services to Izana. “Touch her, and I’ll kill you myself.”

Yet despite you seemingly equally enthralled by the two rival gang leaders clad in black and red, making it easy to gain access to you if he stuck with Izana, you were also easily the biggest headache that the blond-haired tanned boy had ever tried to deal with. The Four Wings you surround yourself with, that monster of a right-hand man Mamoru Furusawa, and then for the cherry on top, your extensive network of contacts that spanned every level of society; you yourself were one dangerous foe, and crossing you would not be a fun experience.

Kisaki couldn’t ask for a better target. This win would be exhilarating.

Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, the mastermind exhaled, allowing himself to clear his thoughts of you and instead turn to take stock of and evaluate the day’s events. As per usual, with the news and information he had brought on you, Mikey had indeed deemed it worthy to grant him an audience, and Kisaki thought he had done a pretty good job riling the other boy up - that crease of eyebrows and flash of anger behind usually empty eyes, the lack of hesitation at accepting his offering of a vial of sleeping drugs. All in all, the blond-haired boy thought as he finally stepped back from the edge, turning to return to the building interior, a good day’s work that is enough to consider giving himself a pat on the back.

Needless to say, he would be elated to finally have the chance to meet you face to face soon.

‎

The celebratory mood didn’t transcend well back in Yokohama, where the rest of the notorious S-62 generation had gathered atop a similar skyscraper, the brutal heat of the afternoon sun somewhat dissipated by the constant wind and some shade provided by the towering antenna behind.

“Can’t believe we have to listen to that blonde fuckhead,” Shion complained, letting out a grunt as he slumped onto the concrete slab, free hand swatting at the beads of perspiration rolling down the tattooed side of his head. “Thinking he knows better than me.”

Ran, more comfortably positioned leaning up against a wall, raised one eyebrow at the statement. “Didn’t think that was hard to achieve,” the elder of the Haitanis commented lightly. “Rather low bar, in fact.” Rindo nodded, stoic facade firmly in place despite the clear amusement shining through spectacle-framed violet eyes.

Unluckily for the two, the insult simply bounced off of the former Ninth Generation Black Dragon leader, who shot them an annoyed look. “Don’t ya think it's all junk too? How come he gets to be the boss of us?” A snot, before the boy answered himself. “Fucking no, I say.”

Mochi, who had up till now been sitting cross-legged on the floor, suddenly stood, turning to face Shion with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you questioning Izana’s decision, Shion?” Fighting words that were enough to get the other to backtrack a little, and the conversation on Kisaki quickly died after that. After all, if Izana said so, that it was as such, no matter whether they agreed or disagreed.

The loud, jarring sound of a horn echoed up from congested roads below, cutting through the momentary silence and the peace that the open air brought - it was rare for delinquents like them to have downtime like this, given the conquering mood that their king had been in. To no one’s surprise, it was Shion who once more broke the silence. “I wonder what Izana wants with the Red Dragonflies.”

Rindo let out an unimpressed grunt. “His girl’s the boss,” the younger Haitani stated simply, earning himself an profanity filled exclamation of non-belief from said former Black Dragon President. “I don’t care if you believe it or not, it's true.”

“No fucking way, she left, didn’t she? Quit being a delinquent and all.”

“Not anymore, she returned after the latest president got the boot,” Ran weighed in, backing his younger brother up. “Kicked his ass herself too. We were there.”

“You think we’ll ever meet her?”

Kakucho kept silent, content with simply listening to his fellow executives' increasingly heated discussions about you. He knew better, of course, having been there when Shinichiro first brought you to the detention center to meet Izana, and had been keeping his ear to the ground for news on your movements since then. You hadn’t been worth a glance to the white-haired boy all those years ago, but the same couldn’t be said now, and with how important you were to his hero, his king, as a mere servant, there was no excuse for Kakucho not to know where you were at all times. Yet, above all, the black-haired boy with the scarred eye knew he had an obligation to Izana, to keep his best friend safe, be it from the world or from himself. And whatever Izana thought he was doing with Kisaki in a bid to have you back by his side wasn’t safe - Kisaki wasn’t to be trusted in the slightest, Kakucho knew. He could only hope that his friend would forgive him after the dust has settled for going to you with this information.

‎

Yet unknown to the Tenjiku executives making the most of their downtime away from the troubles of the streets, it was one of many Tenjiku grunts who had the misfortune of tripping over an awkwardly held white cane as a man in sunglasses breezed by, the loud thud of the boy landing on his ass causing the other to come to a stop. “Sorry, did I trip you?”

“Stupid fuck!” The apology was far from well-received, though upon several red-clad delinquents crowding around the offender, it was clear that he was simply blind. “Watch your fucking cane!”

“My sincere apologies,” Koji offered, dressed simply in a black shirt and jeans and a baseball cap, tapping his cane around in a show. “I didn’t mean to.”

At least it seemed the boys were unwilling to let loose on the disabled, and with a few more profanities, they were on their way, none the wiser to the miniature microphone that had been slipped into one unsuspecting jacket pocket. Bingo, the Third Wing amusedly thought as he turned, resuming his stroll down the busy streets of Yokohama City, before turning the corner and disappearing into a side alley. Masashi should have a much easier time with his task now.

‎

“I swear guys, cross my heart, I broke up with Izana two years ago,” you found yourself repeating for the umpteenth time reassuringly, as you bundled a sniffling Kazutora further into your arms, your other arm thrown tightly over Baji’s shoulders. “We aren’t together anymore. I don’t lie, never to you boys.”

“Bbu-but what about those red bastards?” A pathetic tug at your sleeve, as Kazutora sobbed into your chest, your shirt clutched firmly between his fists, a far cry from the rampaging, bone-breaking, unforgiving delinquent he had been just an hour earlier. “You’re going to leave us again,” the boy with the duo-color hair accused, before bursting into tears once more, only for you to smile and run your free hand through his hair.

“I won’t. I really won’t.”

Mitsuya didn’t seem impressed in the slightest, neither by the theatrics nor your answers. “But you were with them earlier this morning,” the Toman Second Division Captain blandly noted. “And you’re still going to meet them tonight. Without us.”

“You also still agreed to meet Izana, where he gave you a wedding ring,” Draken added, the tallest of the boys easily stepping over sprawling legs to pick you up by the back of your shirt, dislodging your clingers and setting you gently back on your own two feet much to the protest of Baji and Kazutora, though the raised eyebrow had you nervously looking away. “That doesn’t sound like breaking up to me.”

You sighed, throwing your hands up in the air. “I have an informant meeting tonight, I already told you boys this. And no, I don’t plan on meeting Izana alone again, let alone marry him. Ever.”

Despite it being a negative, the word ‘marry’ instantly triggered another loud bawl from Kazutora, who flung himself at your legs.

Outside, the sky was turning a dusty blue as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, the hustle and bustle of traffic from the city center fading away along with the dying light.

Yet for all the shenanigans going down, there was one notable exemption from the usual party, a blond-haired figure sitting a distance apart from where you and everyone else had gathered. You had returned exactly on time as you had promised, Mikey dully noted from where he was leaning up against the far wall of your room, empty abyss eyes staring blankly down at the taiyaki clutched in one hand. It had been five days since the Toman President had learned about your scars from Kisaki, and four since he had seen them with his very own eyes, the vileness that tainted your being, that you had hid from them all these years. You, their precious Toman princess, who Mikey had revered as his friend, as someone he would do anything for. You did not belong only to him.

The darkness settling over the land masked the same blackness that now tinted his eyes as Mikey looked up. You had caught his gaze and returned a gentle smile, but did nothing more than that where you would have usually beckoned him into a hug and forehead kisses; no doubt your relationship with Mikey was rocky at the moment, to say the least. And despite your efforts to patch things up, whatever you did was never enough, not with all that was at stake. Kisaki was right - to be able to keep you by his side forever, he - they - needed to get rid of the competition. All the competition.

The cold glass of the vial and the rustle of a needle pack tickled his skin as Mikey’s hand brushed past, though the blond-haired delinquent ignored the sensations only to pull out his phone. Soon. To start with that white-haired bastard, or with those Red scum? It didn’t matter, of course, not to Mikey. Because if you wouldn’t come quietly to him, then he would have to take everything else away.

64 notes · View notes

orchid3a · 1 year

Text

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 ━ 𝑨. 𝑻𝑨𝑲𝑬𝑶𝑴𝑰

☆ミ plot ➻ you ask your boyfriend to teach you how to smoke

☆ミ pairing ➻ girlfriend!reader x boyfriend!akashi takeomi

☆ミ cw ➻ smoking, hinted jealousy (takeomi lmao), fem!reader, shin has a gf and they both smoke, beta-reading (?)

☆ミ note ➻ omg aria wrote smt after two months!!! what a christmas miracle, btw this is my present to my cutie bby @haitaniapologist !!

at the end you will find a note for her, so if you aren’t interest skip

"Teach me how to smoke!”

Takeomi's eyebrows arch, hearing those words leaving your lips, sounding more like a demand than a request. However, before he can open his mouth to answer, you interrupt him again.

"And no, I will not accept a negative answer!" You remark, crossing your arms and furrowing your brows.

A sigh leaves his lips, he knows that making you change the idea will be very difficult.

"I beg your pardon?" He mutters as he observes your adorable pout adoring your features.

"You heard me well!"

Takeomi sighs again before patting the spot next to him, the bed shifts as you sit, still not close to him, leaving some space between you two.

"So, Omi, will you teach me how to smoke?"

He scoffs before ruffling your hair, as he continues smoking his cigarette.

"You're too young to smoke, plus it isn't healthy."

You bat his hand from your head, now frowning and crossing your arms against your chest, trying to appear, in his eyes, more dominant. It doesn't work, as your lover doesn't bat an eye, still smoking his cigarette.

"It isn't fair! Shin taught his girlfriend how to smoke!" You remark and frown your brows more when his answer is just him rolling his eyes "Plus he even shotguns her!" You add.

"And what I have to do with this information?" He adds, puffing the smoke on your face, a shit grin on his lips.

"Your brilliant mind should tell you to teach your lovely, adorable and kind girlfriend to do the same"

He laughs before ruffling your hair again, you puff your cheeks in sign of protest, before sighing and fall on the bed.

You feel the bed shift again, this time he lays next to you, caging your body against his chest.

“Why aren’t you like Shin?” You murmur hiding your face in his neck, sniffing his cologne mixed with nicotine, a smell that now has become familiar to you, a symbol of security and love.

His hands cup your face, tilting your face up, his eyes now more serious than before, his dark hues show signs of… jealousy?

“Omi… Are you… Perhaps jealous of what I said before?”

You tried to hold your laugh when his facade dropped, you almost swore you could see the tips of his ear red.

“No, of course not. I’m a grown ass man, how could I be ever jealous of my girlfriend praising my best friend”.

He was jealous.

Your lips peck his scarred cheek, trying to soften him, which succeeded, his face is less stiff than earlier.

“What I meant… Is that I find hot that Shin and his girlfriend smoke and do that.” You mutter, tracing circles on his chest.

He hums, then you feel his lips brushing against your forehead, then your cheeks and finally your lips, before he places a soft and chaste kiss on your lips.

Closing your eyes, you pull him closer, you wouldn’t let him go until you both run out of breath. Kiss after kiss, which was never enough both for you and him, finally Omi said something.

“I will teach you how to smoke, but” - your eyes lighten at his offer, wondering what the condition is - “You have to kiss me for every cigarette you use, sweetcheeks.”

You giggle “Shouldn’t be better to pay you?”

He rolls his eyes chuckling “And they call me the greedy one. Come here, now I need my payment.”

Another giggle leaves your lips before you run back to kiss him, he sure is a silly man. But he is your silly man.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩ to my dearest muse and friend;

hi june, or should i say bby, maybe it’s better that. what can i say? firstly, happy birthday! now you’re 22, and it’s been a year since we met! i can’t believe that!!

i love you so much, you’re the best thing it ever happened to me here on

tumblr. i will cherish every memory we made in these past months, i can still

remember how we first met.

i relogged your omi fic and you were so happy, i can still feel the

happiness when i found someone who loved omi like me!

and what better way to celebrate your birthday and our meeting with an

omi fic!?

even if this small work can’t be compared with the one you made for my

birthday, and i feel bad to write so little when you made a god-tier fic for

me, i hope you can still appreciate this small work.

my present may not be the biggest, but i hope you can feel all my love,

all the happiness you brought me. i love you so much, june, i’m so happy to

have you.

you’re one of the brightest stars and kindest souls i’ve ever met, i

love everything of you! i love how you smile, how you care for your friends,

how your eyes lighten when you are talking about something you love, i love

everything about you.

when i’m writing this, tears are spilling out my eyes, because no human

words can describe how much important you are for me.

let’s make more memories this year! i love you and happy birthday again

love,

your aria

#✒️ - aria writes #🧸- virtus #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers fluff #takeomi akashi fluff #takeomi akashi x reader #takeomi akashi drabble #tr fluff #tokrev fluff #tokrev x reader

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littleoanh · 2 years

Note

Your bonter x doctor reader has been my food for this days, and i just want to say thank you. Also, not a request, but just because i love chaos, how do you think bonten would react if because of an acident, the reader has a short lost of memory? Worst if reader cant remember them but remembers Mochi, dudes would cry (Sanzu for sure). When she gets her memories back i think some of them would be so petty, like "how could you forget about me" + the kicked puppy eyes.

Hello Anon 🤗, I'm so glad you enjoyed the doctor reader! And oh my gosh, this is BRILLIANT! I love this type of chaos lol.

Mikey - Be devastated you forgot him. You are his Peach, how could you forget the nights you both cuddled together? But he is glad you are still alive, he already experienced enough losses in one lifetime. Though he isn't exactly happy that you only remember Mochi but it's better than nothing. He refuse to leave your side even if you don't remember him. When he was having a nightmare, that triggered your memory and you woke him up by consoling him. His heart is in an emotional wreck and couldn't keep his tears from falling. The next morning, he took you to a tattoo parlor so you can get a tattoo that says 'Property of Manjiro Sano'. He wants it to be etched into your skin so that you will never forget him ever again.

Sanzu - He would be one of the executives who would be bawling his eyes out. You broke his heart even more when you only remembered Mochi. Of all people, why Mochi? Though it would be even worse if you only remember Takeomi. Sanzu always thought you have a soft spot for him. Like how could you forget his pretty eyes that you always admired? Were you feeding him lies? He couldn't take this anxiety anymore and thought you weren't looking when he was about to pop some pills. You slapped those pills out of his hands and yelled at him for breaking his promise to you. His eyes widens, your memories are back! He cried in joy and giving you the best kicked puppy eyes and will definitely guilt tripped the hell outta you. Sadly, it worked.

Kakucho - When you couldn't remember him, it felt as though you stabbed him in the heart. What's even worse is that you only remember Mochi. Did you only remember him because you felt more safe with Mochi? Did you not feel safe with him? Even though he is sad, he would still go out of his way to take care of you. He wants you to trust him. His caring nature made you remember him. When you told him, he pulled you into his arms and held you for so long. There were tears in his eyes, you wipe every tear and giving him kisses.

Takeomi - He would have the most reasonable reaction, he is grateful you are alive and you remembered one of them. It would have been a lot more harder on him, if you completely forget everyone and decide to up and leave. He would try to do some brain simulation to help trigger your memories by making you your favorite meals and taking you to familiar places where he took you out on dates. Unfortunately, it didn't work. As a coping mechanism, he needed to smoke. You started coughing and he immediately tosses his cigarette away. You thanked him and said his name, he was in shock. Did smoking help brought back your memories? He can't understand science behind it but he was happy he brought you back.

Ran - Would definitely be speechless when you couldn't remember his name. He has the most handsome face in the group and you only remember Mochi?! He needs to fix you, right now. Ran believes the true way to get your memories back is by touching. Your brain may not remember him, but your body will. He touches all the places he knew you liked. You started to remember him, his sadistic smile widens and will definitely punishes you for forgetting him. One of the punishments would be by collaring you with his initials and having you on a leash.

Rindou - He is definitely one of the executives to cry, but his will be out of anger and frustration. Why did this had to happen to you? And why did you forget about him? And what's so special about Mochi? This really hurt this poor baby. He takes out his phone and made you look through all the photos the two of you took together. There was an embarrassing photo of him that triggered your memory of that incident and you burst into laughter. Now you've done it. He made demands for you to heal his broken heart by giving him kisses any time he wants for a month.

Kokonoi - Feeling completely absurd that you forgot about him. Is your relationship with him not worth remembering? He brought a whole team of the best doctors in the world to retrieve your memories. He will search every nook and canny to buy you the best medications to help with short term memory lost. But it breaks him every time you still can't remember any details of anyone else except for Mochi. He refuse to give up. When you asked for something to drink and he made you your favorite tea. You took one sip and instinctively remember him. He couldn't believe one simple gesture trigger your memories. He wouldn't guilt trip you but he's not letting you off that easily.

Mochi - Feels relieved that you remembered him, he would be so sad if you forgot everyone. Because you are vulnerable in your state of mind, he felt overly protective of you. When the Bonten Trio were overwhelming you, he didn't hesitate to throw them out. What he thought would help trigger your memories is telling you fun and happy stories about all of them. The way he calmly talk to you, it was as though he helped you walk through memory lane. Your memories are back and he couldn't be happier. When Mochi gave the good news to the other executives, they all rushed to you immediately and demands to know why you only remember Mochi. They talked about all his flaws out of jealousy 🥲.

Albie ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

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betbeton · 2 years

Text

✃ Down Right Horrendous

Bad Dirty Talk With Various TR Men

Warnings - Explicit Content

18 + Below Cut Minors DNI

· GN Reader ·

· Twitter Request ·

· A/N- i'm so sleepy, but i have to give the people what they don't want first ·

Haikyuu Version

・❥・ Masterlist

⪧ Haitani Ran

This man ages you fifty years some days, whether it's from his bratty or petty comments or his current favourite thing. Down right horrendous dirty talk. As you laid there on your stomach with your lanky partner plowing into your hole like it owed him money, your mind was miles away debating on whether or not being basically banned from Tokyo for killing a Bonten member would be worth it. In conclusion the moment 'you stinky little muffin' left his lips you decided you could live with fleeing the country. Twisting your front half to face him you were met with a shit eating grin. The lanky bastard of a man had played you, he had been foul with his dirty talk for weeks on purpose! You would commend his dedication to his craft later, for now though it was the time for revenge. . . and by revenge it was you grabbing his nipple and twisting it - hard.

With a yelp Ran scrambled away from you, the petty little glare on his face quickly dissipating as a chuckle shook his naked body.

"Alright I earned that."

⪧ Kakucho 'Kaku' Hitto

You would go to war over the fact you had married the most beautiful perfect man in all of Japan, that was a fact. Kakucho was an amazing partner and a wonderful lover aside from his PassionFlix level dirty talk, it was like fucking a Chuck Tingle book. The moment you realized he was joking the entire time with his dirty talk was the time your soul ascended. How could such a perfect man do this to you! His lover! His life partner! The look on your face was one of complete and utter defeat as you felt Kakucho rearranging you organs while pressing you against the shower door. It would have been a wonderful amazing moment, all hot and wet with your hunk of a man, but NO the realization he had been playing the long con with his stale ass dirty talk had hit you like a brick.

You wanted to be mad you really did, but he just had to go an light a fire in your by redeeming himself after you grumbled over being called a sail boat for taking his semen.

"Such a needy and slutty hole, all for me."

This man had your heart in a chokehold and you wouldn't change it for the world.

⪧ Takeomi Akashi

You were used to him having to take a break to hack up a lung when hitting it from the back, after all you don't smoke like a chimney for years and not have some problems. What you didn't plan for was, when his scheduled old man time out from smashing your guts was over, for him to bust out some wild ass dirty talk. Like borderline about to have you throwing hands with him balls deep in you horrendous. In protest of his little joke you flopped down onto your stomach and didn't move, barely even letting him lift your hips into the air so he could thrust deeper into your ass. It must have been a comical site. Two grown adults going at it as one spewed foul ass dirty talk, not the good kind, and the other laid there like a dead fish with a glare plastered onto their face. If only you two weren't so stubborn you might have stopped going at it, but no you two went at it longer than usual . . . probably out of spite.

#tokyo revengers drabbles #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #ran haitani #ran haitani x reader #kakucho hitto #kakucho x reader #takeomi akashi #takeomi akashi x reader

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444takeomi · 9 months

Text

WHEN YOU’RE SICK

: ̗̀➛ summary: 1st gen bd taking care of their sick s/o

character(s): shinichiro sano, wakasa imaushi, takeomi akashi, keizo arashi

warnings: none

wc: 0.5k

a/n: i'm sick right now and i wish i had someone to take care of me, so i decided to write this instead💀 also i’m trying out a slightly different format for shorter posts like this one, not sure how i feel about it yet

: ̗̀➛ shinichiro

shin will literally drop everything to take care of you if he finds out you're sick. it doesn't matter if he's busy at work, he’ll close the bike shop without a second thought — you're always his number one priority, especially when you're not feeling well. he feels terrible when he comes home to find you all wrapped up in blankets, your voice scratchy as you weakly ask him if he can make you something to eat. he tries to make you homemade miso soup but he’s literally hopeless at cooking, so he ends up just making instant ramen instead. shin will cuddle with you and watch your favourite movies and tv shows, not worried about the fact he could get sick himself — he's willing to risk it if it means you start feeling better.

: ̗̀➛ wakasa

waka is already a clingy boyfriend, but when you're sick he’s extra affectionate with you because he knows you're not feeling well. he makes you something simple to eat like okayu (rice porridge) because it's easy on the stomach, but also because he’s not that great at cooking either. if you're feeling up to it he’ll run you a warm bath and will offer to help you wash your hair. he gets all pouty if you refuse to kiss him in fear of him getting sick, insisting that he’ll be fine and that one kiss won't hurt — however he ends up regretting his choices the following week, whining to you that he doesn't feel good. you have to spend the next few days taking care of him, and good luck because waka is so dramatic when he's sick.

: ̗̀➛ takeomi

omi was always responsible for taking care of his younger siblings when they got sick, and so he doesn't mind doing the same for you. he might complain about it a little, acting like your sickness is somehow an inconvenience to him, but underneath all that he's actually really worried about you and wants to do whatever he can to help you get better. he hates cooking with a passion, but he will go to the store for you instead and get you whatever you want to eat, as well as some tissues and medicine. omi will roll his eyes whenever you ask him to cuddle with you, but he always gives in because he secretly likes how needy you get when you're sick — he won't admit it out loud but he thinks it's adorable.

: ̗̀➛ keizo

benkei is so attentive when you're sick, you won't have to lift a finger. he has no problem with taking time off at the gym so that he can take care of you. unlike the others, he's a great cook and will happily make you homemade chicken noodle soup — he insists on feeding it to you even if you're perfectly capable of eating by yourself. he keeps on top of your medicine and checks your temperature throughout the day, just to make sure that your fever isn't getting too high. he also encourages you to drink herbal teas like ginger or peppermint, because they can help you feel less congested and reduce nausea. benkei wants to do everything he can to make sure that you're feeling better as soon as possible.

please do not translate, repost, or share my writing on any other platforms eg. tiktok

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #shinichiro sano #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro x you #wakasa imaushi #wakasa x reader #wakasa x you #takeomi akashi #takeomi x reader #takeomi x you #keizo arashi #keizo x reader #keizo x you #benkei x reader #benkei x you #✩444.writings #✩444.drabbles

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somemydayy · 2 years

Text

Extravaganza

Character Summaries

(Y/n) (L/n) was the typical high schooler, but that was until she met and fell in love with the notorious bad boy, leader of the Black Dragons Shinichiro Sano. And that was before she gave a bit of her heart to him, and as a result she became (Y/n) Sano, his wife and mother of his child. That was before she fell down that steep hole known as wanderlust and striking, crippling sorrow. But with the lost of her beloved, the once bubbly and energetic young girl was no more. Now what stood in her place was a cold hallow women who wore a mask to hide her pain. She was the leader of the Black Dragons, she always been. But being a women in this industry wasn’t easy so she had associates who lead the group time and time again as figure heads, but as time past she noticed the increase of deaths and injuries her men subsequently faced as as a result. So she resolved to lead her gang, her beloved Shinichiro’s gang herself.

Shinichiro Sano liked you ever since he first laid eyes on you. Love at first sight he always told you. After countless times of asking you out, you finally agreed to go on one date with him, but that one date turned to countless dates, eventually those dates turned into years of anniversaries. And soon Shinichiro bought you a ring, soon he proposed during Senior year with the promise to marry once you graduated from Highschool. And so after graduation, you both went to the courthouse and soon hosted a small ceremony for both your families. He was the first one you told when you found out you were pregnant, but sadly his time was borrowed. Not even a year of being newly married passed, when he passed away. But even if his time was borrowed, you could only tear up at the sight of your newly born son, he had his father’s features, dark hair and mesmerizing eyes. A different kind, but a love at first sight nonetheless. No even before he was born, you and Shinichiro loved him wholeheartedly and sincerely. And with the new found hope for life in your hands you named him “Shinji” for he was Real, and True just like the love you felt for his father.

Shinji Sano is the son of (Y/n) and Shinichiro. He was born a few months after his father’s death. He’s currently, a elementary schooler who loves his mother very much. Liked spending time in the neighborhood playground, and looking at his dad’s motorcycles. Doesn’t question why his father doesn’t visit, he knows because one day he witnessed his mother breakdown in sobs after he asked about his father. His tiny heart tore in pieces as he witnessed his mother sobbing pleading for forgiveness, saying she wasn’t strong enough to keep him alive. That she should have kept his father home that day. Shinji didn’t know what happened, but he knows his mother was a beautiful soul who suffered the most with his father’s death. In doing so he likes sneaking off by himself to play at the shop, sometimes he likes looking at his father’s pictures. In doing so he comes across a picture of his mother, and a man who he presumes is his father. Resting his palms against his mother’s belly with a wedding ring placed against his left hand with the biggest smile on his face.

Izana Kurokawa was always a quite boy. When Shinichiro brought him around, he liked keeping to himself, but over time he came to open up to you. You helped him talk about his feelings, and express his frustrations with life, with school and his family. He liked you, you were like a older sister to him. He harbored feelings of affection for you, ever since his youth. He even told Shinichiro he was going to steal you from him one day. But all Shinichiro could do was laugh, and nod in agreement to the young boy’s statement. That choice wasn’t his to make, it was yours and only yours alone. Shinichiro had no problem with the younger boy’s feeling for you, so with just a smile he told the younger boy to try his best with a giggle or two. But threatened him saying if he ever made you cry he was in for a world of pain. After that izana never mentioned the topic again, maybe because deep down he knew he was no match for Shinichiro. It was obvious from the way you both looked at each other, from the way your lips curved up as you said his name.

Mikey Sano after the death of his older brother, his contact with (Y/n) fell through. He didn’t know he had a nephew born after his brother’s unfortunate death. One day as he past his brother’s old motorcycle shop, and witnessed a young boy playing with toy cars, like the same ones Mikey used to play with in his youth. But just as he was about to approach, he heard it. The sound of your voice calling out lovingly to the young boy, with the name of “Shinji” he instantly knew. As tears ran down his eyes he memories of you reaching out to him, only to be ignored. Him changing his phone number soon after his brother’s death. The surprise that you both said you had, to tell him about. The toy car his brother bought, and only smiled when asked about it. It all made sense now. He felt like a fool, heartbroken and sad as he looked at the young boy, the spinning image of his late brother.

Emma Sano often enjoyed the times she spent with you, she loved how you talked and expressed yourself, especially how much you always said you loved Shinichiro and his family. Emma wanted nothing more than to have that fairytale wedding you had, wearing a white dress and a loving husband and children with Draken. But bestknown to her, after Shinichiro’s death that dream shattered. She couldn’t help but cry every time she saw you. She felt helpless and hopeless. She had no way to offer support of reassurance to you, because what occurred could never be undone. But with a tear striken face you told her you’ll live on, you had to for the child that resided within you. At first she had no idea what that meant but after asking her mother, she was told how babies grow within a women’s stomach. A symbol of the two’s love, when asked why she brought it up she lied and said, her friend’s older sister said she had a baby in her stomach. Her mother didn’t pressure her to say who, but she knew from the way you would often slip into the conversation. And soon Emma herself cracked and told her parents. They couldn’t help but feel horrible about the pain and difficulties you must be facing. So whenever they could they visited or would sent one of the kids to bring you food.

Wakasa Imaushi was your childhood best friend, he’s the one who introduced you to Shinichiro back in the day. He harbored feelings for you during his younger years, but knew it was never meant to be, especially with the way Shinichiro looked at you back then. And so being the good friend he was he set up a date between the two, resulting in your relationship flourishing. Wakasa was Shinichiro’s best man and confident. After Shinichiro’s death, Wakasa took care of you, and the baby when he wasn’t at work, even becoming your confident as well and godfather to your son. He unexpectedly came to love when people mistook him for your husband, and Shin’s father, but deep down his heart broke because Shinichiro should be here with you not him. He felt guilty, and so as the years past he resolved to live by your side to make up for it. He wanted Shin to have a happy childhood, at least the portion of the love he could give. He knew he was no Shinichiro but he couldn’t help, but feel his heart throb with love as he looked at both of your beautiful smiles.

Seishu Inui was a core member of the black dragons and as such looked up to Shinichiro. He inherited an abundance of mechanical knowledge from the bike expert Shinichiro. And as such he can often more than not be found at your bike shop. He helps you with the up keeping of Shinichiro’s bikes. He also serves as role model to Shin, and more than not you enjoy the sight of Seishu teaching Shin about motorcycles. It more often than not brings tears to your eyes. Because this is something Shin would never get to experience this bond with his father. He’s a great role model and friend to you. He’s like a younger brother, and reminds you so much of your dear best friend and confident Akane Inui. When he finds people he trusts, he devotes himself to them. And as such, he’s devoted to protecting you and Shin with his life if need be. Your his precious sister’s best friend, and the wife and now mother of Shinichiro’s child after all.

Takeomi Akashi was one of the founding members and oldest friends of Shinichiro. And as such, you held him in high regards. He attested to the love Shinichiro held for you, and promised at his grave he’ll take care of you both for the rest of his life. He owed it to himself to look after you, his dearest friend’s wife and son. When he catches wind of Sanzu harboring romantic feeling for you, he almost beats him severely but stops when Senju intervenes. He hold you in high regards, and as such makes sure to keep your side of town peaceful, if someone breaks the mutual peace or sullies Shinichiro’s name his wrath is evoked. He treasures the bond you both have, views you like a younger sister. Can’t help the smile spread across his lips as he hears Shin call him Uncle. He can’t help but see Shinichiro in the young boy, and swears to protect him with his life if need be.

Haruchiyo Sanzu after a business deal went downhill, Sanzu finds himself in enemy territory assaulted and beaten to a bloody pulp, he found himself clinging onto hope as he finds himself in your arms, was it tears or rain running down your breath taking features he didn’t recall. But what he did recall was soon he found himself shirtless, bandaged and probed up against various pillows. He was greeted by the sight of a small child looking at him, asking who he was. And soon you greeted him with a breathtaking smile and instantly Sanzu was in love. But as he awoke he caught sight of a wedding photo probed up against the bedside table. And the wedding and engagement ring resting on your ring finger. But he also caught sight of another ring which he assumed was too big to be your own wedding ring laid across a necklace instead, was it your husband’s? He was left bewildered, jealous even. For you were married and were a mother, he was born too late. Met you too late, but he swore he’ll never give you up. And that’s how you made the unlikely acquaintance of Sanzu Haruchiyo.

Senju Kawaragi was a women, and being a women in this industry was never easy, but somehow Senju found comfort in the fact you were also a women, head of a strong gang. But unlike her, you rather removed yourself from the position of leader and were more so a chairwomen, with though and absolute authority. You were her inspiration. You treated her like a younger sister, and when Sanzu declared his intentions to court you Senju couldn’t help, but shake her head. But she wished her brother luck nonetheless, if he was worthy enough he’ll gain even a shred of your affection. A difficult task, but nothings impossible she claimed. Maybe now she can call you “sister” and not have Takeomi look at her with a perplexed expression. She only hoped the best for you and Sanzu whatever choice you make, you’ll always be her inspiration and dearest sister.

#drabble #image #scenario #tokyo revengers sanzu #Tokyo Revengers #sanzu image #Shinichiro Sano #Mikey Sano #Emma Sano #Wakasa Imaushi #Seishu Inui #Takeomi Akashi #Haruchiyo Sanzu #Senju Kawaragi #akashi haruchiyo #akashi senju

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short-black-diamond · 1 year

Note

hey could you do some headcanons plus a little drabble about being bonten!haitani brothers little sister who's in her 3rd year of high-school??

mayhe she drops by to bonten headquarters sometimes when no one is at home and itd be so funny if she was also a raging feminist and talking back to her brothers (and maybe even the other members) if they make any sketchy comments (probably abt the prostitutes in bonten)

Aw Heck yeah I'll do this!

BUT!!! Please keep in mind that I never really watched tokyo revengers, so please bear with me. Anyways I'll try my best!!!

The feminine Haitani Feminist

---

Scenario: You are Rika Haitani, the youngest sister of the Haitani, already in your third and hopeflully last year of high-school. Since you know of your two elder brothers daily activities, you visit them at their meeting with Bonten to scold them for not eating with you.

To say that you were angry was an understatement.

You were fuming at the sight of the dusty and dirty apartment you asked your brothers to clean up before leaving for school, but they never listened. Now, as you were heating up the soup you cooked the day prior to eat with your brothers, you called Ran.

"Hello, my sweet sister-" "Do you have any idea how fucking angry I am right now?! I told you guys to clean our home and you and Rindou just up and left!"

"Okay Rika, let's talk about that a little later-" "No, I'm coming over. I know that you two didn't eat shit the moment I left the house."

And after hanging up on him saying something mid-sentence, you turned off the stove and put the soup in metall containers and locking them securely.

It took you a while to get there but you could already make out the many familiar faces of the girls and women working there, and you greeted them all with a smile, but in your head you frowned.

They were doing a dirty job for even dirtier men.

As you knocked on one of the doors you frequented where your brothers were often in meetings, you opened the door after a silent "come in".

And as you were holding the two containers, you saw your two brothers, your frown deepening and Ran giving you uneasy smiles. Rindou frowned right back at you before looking back and forth between you and his older brother. "Rika, what brings you here?", the middle sibling asked dumbfounded, making you look at him.

It seemed like you didn't even aknowledge the other members' existence, because Mikey was looking at the scene unfolding him with a poker face and even though he might have gotten more depressed over the years, he didn't loose his love for drama, even if it was sibling bickering. It was something he couldn't have anymore. So he always watched with slight fondness and longing instead of interfering.

Haruchiyo Sanzu, Mikey's right hand man as he always dreamt, was looking at you with bewilderment, you interrupted his "king", after all. But seeing the man next to him look at you with something like...fondness? on his face, so Sanzu didn't dare to say anything, fearing that he'd get an angry Mikey like the time he beat up and shaved some Mikey-haters' hairs for Mikey's birthday.

"First off, I told you guys to clean up the apartment before I left for school, and second, you BOTH promised me that you'd eat lunch with me, so why didn't you guys hold your promise?!"

Kakucho was also looking at you, but with slight annoyance. 'Why was this little girl here again? And she just has to be the younger sister of the Haitani brothers, of all people'... Still, he was watching his mouth around Mikey.

"We're sorry Rika, we really didn't want to make you feel forgotten, it's just that-" "You guys were so busy talking about 'Bonten stuff' that you even forget to eat? Tell me, when was the last time you two ate something today?", you unterrupted, looking at your two elder brothers expectingly.

While the two brothers were looking in front of them in shame and you sighing in dissapointment while opening the still hot containers, Takeomi Akashi opened his mouth and letting his inferiority complex speak. "Jeez, letting yourself get belittled by your little sister sure is humiliating, huh? Why don't you tell her to shut her trap so that we can keep going with the meeting, Mikey?", his voice asked, smirking at you smugly while he stroked his ugly beard.

But, you were smiling. "Shutting my trap you say? And who are you to tell me that? Huh?", you asked, your voice bittersweet and your smile too forced. Mikey had a ghost of a smile on his lips, making Sanzu flinch and look at you in amazement.

The pink haired man didn't understand what you did to bring a smile to Mikey's lips, but he sure as hell wouldn't omplain about your sudden visits anymore.

Rindou and Ran were fuming in the meantime. "What did you just say?!", Ran asked, already standing up and Rindou was about to put on some gloves when you snickered and took one container.

"I'm just sayin', she just nags you guys around and brings you food, she might as well become a prostitute like the other women here."

Annndddd, that was the last straw.

As you walked over to him with the containers while staring at him menacingly, takeomi felt slight unease. Why was he feeling so nervous? Were you about to give him something to eat? But there is no spoon-

"AARHRGHRGRH SHIT, Fuck, You FUCKING BITCH!", he screamed as you flung the soup at him, giving him second degree burns, but your glare was ice cold.

There was a long moment off silence, when ignoring the tall man's cry of pain. Sanzu and Kakucho were glad they didn't open their mouths, and Kokonoi was looking at you with wonder in his eyes. Takeomi was at least a whole foot taller and at least ten times stronger than you, and still you had the guts to pour soup on him. You were a brave woman.

Mikey giggled and Sanzu wanted to call the ambulance upon hearing his leader laugh like a child. sanzu also might have gotten scared by your actions, unconsciously touching the scars on the corners of his mouth. Ran laughed his ass off and gasped for air while Rindou stared with an open mouth.

Meanwhile, you were putting the now empty container on the table the men were seated around at, and stepped closer to the guy who was now holding his face. "You know, I don't really like it when people talk about women like that. And do you wanna hear the fucking truth? There wouldn't be no prositutes if no man asked for it. And looking at you, talking about how I could become a prostitute -like the other women here- really makes my blood boil, y'know? Also, aren't you embarrassed for telling that a high-schooler? Let alone the younger sister of your collegues?"

Takeomi had trouble identifying you through the thick liquid threatening to also burn his eyes but when he opened on eye, he was met with a scary grimace of yours with your fist right next to it and in the next moment, he was out cold.

You sighed out before looking at Mikey and bowing in apology. "I'm sorry, Sano Manjiro, for my rude behaviour. I will take my leave now." "Stay. I hadn't had that much fun since I could last remember, Haitani. Please, make yourself comfortable."

And at that, you sat yourself down on Takeomi's stool and he got dragged away by some nameless underlings. Your brothers were giving you and their boss uneasy glances, not sure whether they should do or say something too. The other three conscious men, Kakucho, Kokonoi and Sanzu, were holding respective space from you, also swearing to not step too close to the women working in this facility.

"I'm craving Taiyaki...can someone order food?", Mikey chirped, making you giggle while you took out your phone. "Sure thing! And you two will eat too!", making your elder brothers nod eagerly.

Ran and Rindou didn't know that you could knock somebody like Takeomi out with a single punch, let alone fight.

They'd have to convince whoever was responsible for hiring women for their sinful needs should have a talk with them.

---

HEY HEY HEY!!! I hope that was what you were looking for... I tried to make the characters fit their personalities as well but also not too long, because then it'd would have to be a longer story, and yeah. I also wanted Mikey to have a laugh in a while, poor baby. It was actually fun looking up the Bonten characters to be honest!

I hope I'll get more requests like these!

Read you in the next post!!!

563 notes · View notes

8aji · 1 year

Text

too busy saving everybody else to save yourself. // s.s.

to think of a life without him filled you up with such sorrow you thought you'd let yourself drown just to be with him one last time. — or, an account of the events that transpired after the night of august 14, 2003.

pairing. shinichiro sano x baji!reader

wc. 18k

tags/cw. MDNI, angst with happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, baji!reader (reader is baji’s sibling), manga spoilers, shinichiro lives, anxiety/panic attacks, smoking, mentions of death, characters cry a lot, mentions of head trauma + hospitals + needles + blood, reader gets called 'nee-chan' a couple of times but other than that its pretty gn, very suggestive (one make/out sesh), takeomi is clowned a lot + please let me know if i missed anything!

a/n. its finally done sob i spent so much time polishing this as much as i could and what was supposed to be a 1k drabble mutated into this lmfao but all in all this fic is my baby, my child, and i love it so so much i just hope y'all will like it as much as i do !! a massive thanks to @tetsutits for betaing and to @mosviqu for letting me run the storyline through her !! hope all of u enjoy lots n lots !!

m.list ˖ tags ˖ byi/dni

One step, one blink, one breath, one step, one blink, one breath; like on autopilot, the pattern repeated itself over and over again. You could feel it beating inside your skull; the pounding of your heart resonated throughout your body, acting as the fuel behind your every move.

Your blurry gaze amplified all of your other senses, sending your brain into a downward spiral of emotional overwhelm; the loud keyboard clicking, the obnoxious chatter, the drinking and munching of coffee and donuts, all of it made you want to tear your ears off. How could the world keep turning, people existing like normal, while you were being consumed by the tightness enveloping your lungs? The thought made you want to light up the whole building, watch it burn as the flames simmered the concrete to ashes to relieve the turmoil brewing inside your body.

“I'm coming for Baji Keisuke?” You asked, barely managing to string the words together in a coherent sentence, head going a thousand miles per hour. “He’s my brother.”

The officer behind the desk pulled down his magazine, looking you over and taking in your dishevelled state. “Ah,” he sighed as soon as your brother's profile appeared on his screen. “Baji Keisuke, the little rascal with the breaking and entering charges, huh?”

lips forming into a thin line, you nodded, biting your tongue so as to not insult the man in front of you who, for some reason, couldn't help but chuckle, as if a twelve year-old kid being detained was funny.

“Can I see him?”

He gave you one last obnoxious glance, before typing on his computer.

“He’s currently under police custody,” he explained condescendingly as if you didn’t know, pulling a manila folder and pressing the button on the printer, handing you a pen in the meantime. “He's only got a minor charge compared to the other brat he came in here with,” He let out a quiet cackle, not wanting to attract anyone else’s attention. To you, it was like he acted this nonchalant to rile you up, make your blood boil. And, in spite of your reluctance to admit to it, it was working. Being in his presence made you want to punch him. “We’re betting on whether the other kid’s gonna get charged with manslaughter or not.

“And just between us,” he made a come hither motion, but leaned forward on his chair at your lack of reaction. “I’m betting in favor of manslaughter, so I'm crossing my fingers for the guy to die soon, ‘ya know?”

Had you been wearing long sleeves, he would’ve been able to see you rolling them up, emotionally prepared to be charged with aggravated assault against a police officer

Fortunately, another officer called out your name, catching your attention before you could act on the violent scenarios coursing through your brain. You didn’t bother excusing yourself before leaving to find your brother.

He looked small, smaller than he actually was, as he sat on the floor with both his knees close to his chest. His eyes were puffy and red, it was obvious he had been crying; though by the looks of it, he had yet to stop.

The cell door sounded like nails against a chalkboard as it scraped against the floor. It made him flinch in surprise, snapping him out of the borderline-dissociating trance as he looked up at the intimidating officer, trying to gauge his intentions while gathering all the energy he had left in his body to fight off the man just in case he needed to. But as soon as he made eye contact with you he could feel himself lowering his guard.

He didn’t even hesitate, his body moved on his own, running past the officer and straight into your arms, letting the harsh sobs he had tried bottling up rack his body, along with muffled apologies and incoherent explanations.

“It's okay,” you mumbled against his hair, trying to calm down his heart wrenching cries. He nuzzled his face against your neck, trying to get impossibly closer to the sound of your voice. You waited for him to nod, still clutching at your clothes with all the remaining energy he had. “He's strong, he’ll be alright.”

Though at this point you were unsure whether your words held any weight against the grand scheme of things; hopefully all your promises won’t turn into bold-faced lies.

You made your way out of the cell together, holding his left hand as he used the other to rub at his eyes, itchy and dry from all the crying. The two of you walked past a couple of cells before he stopped for what seemed like a millisecond, mumbling something under his breath in weak anguish. Had you not been hyper aware of everything going on around you, you wouldn’t have noticed the slight tug at your hand.

Kazutora sat on the floor the same way Keisuke did, knees pulled up to his chest, biting his cuticles raw to stop his brain from looping the traumatic set of events like a broken film; still, it wasn't enough to stop his whole body from trembling in shock. The distress fresh in his eyes made you want to drop everything just to hold him close, comfort him like you did with Keisuke.

But you didn’t have much time, the officer behind you pressured the both of you to move, and considering Keisuke remained under police custody, you weren’t willing to risk him getting locked up again now that you had him by your side.

“Wait for me over there, okay?” You said, pointing at the waiting area. “I just have to fill out some paperwork and then we can go home.” He held your hand even tighter in his grasp in response, as if he was scared to let go. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

Reluctantly, he dragged his feet as he walked, not wanting to stray far away from you. At least there was still some sort of stubbornness left in him. You’ve never seen him act like this, uncontrollably crying and apologising, devoid of the mischievous glint in his eyes. Knowing the Keisuke you knew was still there comforted you.

“How, uh, how much is bail gonna be?” You asked once he had made himself at home on the plastic chairs. Thankfully it was someone else behind the desk instead of the asshole you had the misery of interacting with.

You knew it wasn’t going to be cheap, already having a grasp of fines and bail costs thanks to your friends getting into trouble, but even with this knowledge, their response sent a shiver down your spine.

Maybe you could use some of your own savings, or part of your college fund. Using your mom’s money was also an option, but you didn't want to put the burden on her. If you skipped a semester it could give you some time to earn the money back, but you were already behind in a few classes, and the minimum wage from part time jobs wouldn’t stack up too much, so was it truly feasible?

Fuck, you knew they were children but you couldn’t help but curse at their recklessness, their stupidity and naivety. Did they actually think stealing a bike would be that easy? And now you have to pay for the consequences, quite literally. Of course, you could always leave him here, let him face the consequences straight on. There was nothing forcing you to bail him out. But who were you kidding, you’d kill for him, of course you were going to pay.

Making sure he was still where you left him, you looked over your shoulder back at him. He was slumped over his knees, aimlessly playing with his fingers as his eyes fixated on the corridor leading to the cells, a solemn sadness washing over his features.

No.

You weren’t going to. You were going to pay for your brother’s sins, or whatever the cheesy line says, and leave to never look back. You didn’t owe this other kid anything, most certainly when you couldn't afford it. But, after knowing him for so long, the thought of him staying in the middle of four cold walls until further notice broke your heart.

“Actually,” you sighed. This was gonna cost two semesters instead of one. “Could I pay for someone else’s bail as well?”

At first, he refused to acknowledge your presence, biting harder into his fingers. He tried self-soothing through slow back and forth rocking motions and the unintelligible words that spilled from his mouth, hugging himself tighter the closer you got.

He didn’t move, frozen in place as if the lack of movement would make him invincible to the naked eye. He didn’t cave in no matter what you did, not when you kneeled in front of him nor when you whispered his name in hopes he would acknowledge your voice.

It only took a couple of seconds after that for him to shyly meet your gaze, warming up to you in an instant and clinging onto you just like Keisuke had done, though he did so with a lot more desperation, this sort of comfort foreign to Kazutora. He felt so small in your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder, the only thing he could do was claw at your body for reassurance. Other than that, he didn’t speak, didn’t cry, he almost didn’t move, to the point it had you questioning whether he was actually breathing.

Once you coaxed him out of the cell and got a hold of your brother, your sole focus was on guiding the boys beside you out of the precinct as fast as possible, one hand holding Keisuke’s while the other rested on the back of Kazutora’s head. They didn’t need to spend more time than necessary in this place, surrounded by grimy cell blocks and seemingly socially inept officers who couldn’t keep their rambunctious laughter down.

Wakasa was sitting on his bike outside the police station waiting for the three of you, and though initially it was supposed to be just the two of you riding along with him, he wasn’t surprised you paid for your brother’s friend’s bail. He kept a fairly laid-back exterior, lit cigarette hanging from his fingers replacing his preferred strawberry flavored lollipops, inhaling back the smoke that seeped from his parted lips and freaking out on the inside.

The two of you were hanging out when multiple calls blasted through your phone, prompting you to rush to where you were now. First it was one from the hospital, one of the bearers of bad news that didn’t let you dwell on the fact that Shinichiro had written you down as one of his emergency contacts. Then came the call from the police station, sinking your heart down to the bottomless pit in your stomach.

“Everything alright?” He asked, putting out his cigarette, smothering the stick with his boot along with the other three he had finished while you were inside.

You hummed in response, words dying in your throat. The silence around you itched and burned, made your skin prickle with discomfort, and even so, no one dared say anything besides the occasional noise of acknowledgement. They weren’t dumb. They were one-hundred percent aware of what they were doing, and this wasn’t something you could blame on their age either. Yes, they were kids, but a twelve year old should be able to discern right from wrong; aware that stealing is bad and that murdering people is wrong.

And deep down, you knew this was even more fucked up than it appeared to be. You knew Kazutora wouldn’t have cared for the victim had it not been Shinichiro. The only reason he was shaking like a leaf, flinching when Wakasa fastened the belt of his helmet against his head, was because he hurt Mikey’s brother. That’s not to say Keisuke was innocent, it was clear he wasn’t. Intentionally breaking into someone’s shop to steal a very valuable, very expensive, piece of equipment and potentially complicit in someone's murder.

You wanted to tear your eyes off at the thought. Did they really think they could get away with this? That it would be as easy as stealing some candy or gum from the corner store? You wanted to curse them out for being so stupid, so naive. But looking down at their sunken faces, eyes bloodshot and teary as they sweated fear from every pore on their fragile skin, it made you want to excuse all their horrid behaviour, ignore the fact they committed a crime and in the process they mortally wounded an innocent man.

You held down an involuntary gag at the violation of your principals, the memory of what had just gone down stirring unwanted bitterness inside your stomach. You were no one to criticise the two kids sitting between Wakasa and you. They could be stupid, but you were the weakest of them all.

“Let’s get going then.”

You could question your moral compass later, first you had to get them home.

The voices of the characters talking in the background faded into an uncomfortable white noise as your muscles dissolved along with your bones, breaking through your skin and seeping into the cushions of the couch. Each time you breathed in the more stressed you became at the uncertainty of your friend’s mortal status.

You hadn’t received any news from the hospital, and though you knew that if they hadn’t called by now, they probably wouldn’t at least until tomorrow morning, that didn’t stop you from imprisoning your phone close to your chest. Maybe if you channelled all your strength into your hold then you’d lose the urge to cry.

In spite of their initial resistance, it didn’t take long to put the kids to bed. The two of them drifted off to a bitter, yet hopefully replenishing, sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. It wasn’t surprising, the whole incident had drained the both of them to their core.

“‘Sure you’re okay?” Wakasa asked, and had it not been for his voice you're sure you would’ve dissociated the rest of the night. Maybe the kids would find you the next morning still sitting on the couch, frozen like a statue as you stared at the ceiling, and freak out because they’d think you had died along with ‘Shinichiro-nii’.

You hummed, it was the only response you could muster it seemed, with your eyes zeroing in on his shoulders, then his cheeks and then his earrings. Looking straight into his eyes would do you no good. It’d blow your cover in less than an instant, and though it’s fair to say it was a shit cover, amplifying your grief through your dejected silence instead of toning it down, it made you feel safer from the imminent doom. Still, shitty cover up or not, Wakasa knew you weren’t okay. You wouldn’t be able to fool him even if he was stupid, and at this point, he’s convinced you wouldn’t be able to fool anyone; a single glance your way was enough to tell you were silently crumbling.

He let his head fall backwards against the back of the sofa, sighing in acknowledgement. No matter how many times he asked, deep down he knew you would only cave in at your own account, But at least his question somehow managed to bring you back down from the maze your brain had started fabricating to earth. And maybe, just maybe, if he gave you enough space that’d prompt you to speak. He didn’t mind waiting. Not for a couple of seconds, or the couple of minutes those seconds turned into, or the couple of hours they mutated into next, and so on until days and weeks and years had passed, until the scarcity of time felt infinite.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” You broke the silence, biting the edges of your words as if you wanted to hide them back inside, voice shaky and heavy against your tongue.

He hesitated, sharing a seat next to you inside the same sinking uncertainty boat, “Shin-chan’s stronger than you think.” He tried reassuring you, or himself he wasn't sure, but at this point the more he tried to tell himself his friend was still breathing, the more it felt like a lie. Shin-chan was stronger than the two of you thought, but was he really? “He’d be heartbroken to know you had little faith in him.”

At least he got you to chuckle, “I’d be heartbroken to know that I was right.”

You fell into an uncomfortable silence not long after, the stakes of the conversation too high, and if you continued talking you’re sure you’d end up giving Shin up for dead. But like this, maybe you could finally force yourself to get some sleep. The weight of your eyelids had doubled, eyes growing heavier against your will, and though you didn’t want to, just in case something happened while you were unconscious, you knew you’d be of no use without at least a few hours of rest. Plus, you promised yourself you’d never lose any sleep over a guy, ever, and you weren’t about to make an exception for Shinichiro Sano.

Not even an hour in your slumber, you almost threw your phone to the other side of the room as its desperate cry pierced your ears. You’re sure Wakasa almost had a heart attack with how fast straightened up next to you, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if it somehow managed to wake up both Kazutora and Keisuke, although your brother was more of a chronic heavy sleeper.

“What are you waiting for? Answer it!” Feelings heightened in his barely awake, panicked state, the desperation was palpable in his words. And though uncommon for him to act in such an erratic manner, he had bottled everything up the whole night, it was time for the stoic facade to break.

But, even so, in spite of your friend’s heartbreaking desperation you didn’t move. Not after the third ring or the fourth. You didn’t dare move, staying frozen on the couch, groggy from waking up yet hyper-aware of everything going on around you despite your mild dissociation. The sole thought of moving towards made your brain press against your skull, screaming at you to stop.

Not answering meant that Shinichiro could stay both simultaneously alive and dead, his fate linked to whether you picked up the call. If you didn’t, maybe he wouldn’t die after all, he’d stay stuck in the unknown limbo of immortality until you made a call.

But then again, this was your only chance to get an update on his status. And it wasn’t only you anxiously waiting on any sort of news. Wakasa was waiting; Keisuke and Kazutora, although asleep, were as well, and you could only fathom Benkei and Takeomi’s reaction. Mikey and Emma were probably up to date, the hospital must’ve called their grandfather before they reached out to you. And looking back at the people that depended on you, it really wasn't fair to put your own self-indulgent selfishness over the needs of others, was it?

It wasn't. Of course it wasn’t, but after putting everyone before you for as long as you’ve lived, didn’t you deserve to be selfish? At least once, when it pertainted the condition of the unrequited love of your life, didn’t you deserve at least that much?

“Hello?” Wakasa answered through furrowed brows and twitching lips. From the way he spoke, you could tell he was biting on the inside of his cheek to release some tension, putting enough pressure to draw blood. “This is Wakasa Imaushi speaking,

“–can’t get to the phone right now, can’t you just talk to me?” Voice getting progressively louder, he challenged the person on the other side of the call. “He’s my best friend, don’t I deserve to know whether he’s alive or not?!”

Only when his voice broke at the weight of his own desperation did you manage to snap out of your trance, snatching the phone out of his grip, ignoring his glassy eyes as you spoke into the receiver, mumbling your name through a shakily put together voice.

You’re not sure whether you imagined it or not, almost choking on a withered sob, but you could feel the moment your teeth sunk into the skin of your hand, digging hard enough for blood to prickle to the surface, preventing any other noise from coming out.

With your vision blurry and a tightness in your chest you could not describe, your body had gone completely numb, and yet your nerve endings were scorching under any semblance of atmospheric pressure, forcing you to feel everything, everywhere, all at once.

Had Wakasa not been there to catch you, you’d have collapsed on the ground, a pitiful wailing mess. Tears soaked through the fabric of both your clothes as you held each other close. For what felt like hours, the two of you stayed like that. Face buried against his neck and his against the top of your head, he rocked you back and forth in his arms until your tears stopped mixing themselves with your spit, sharp inhales tuning down into soft sniffles. And though his eyes burned with unshed sorrow, he kept on humming at your unintelligible mumbling.

“See? I told you he was stronger than we thought.” He whispered, though it sounded closer to a whimper, and nuzzled his cheek further against your hair. As if trying to ground himself, he gave you a tight squeeze, still in doubt whether he was trying to convince you or himself.

Only after a while, once both of your breathing had evened out, did you raise your head up from its hideout, hesitant footsteps catching your attention.

“Nee-chan?” You heard a tiny voice coming from the hallway, a little insecure, as if he didn’t think he deserved a proper response.

“I’m sorry ‘Tora, did we wake you?” You peeled Wakasa’s arms from your body, rubbing the haziness of your eyes away. He shook his head in response, carefully moving away from the shadows after acknowledging your lack of anger.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

His puffy eyes shimmered red under the soft moonlight coming through the living room window. He took meticulous steps in your direction, side-eyeing Wakasa and still wary of you, not knowing how you would react after his intrusion. Each one was lighter than the other, the wooden floors refused to creek underneath his weight, almost as if he had trained himself to become weightlessly invisible.

Slowly as to not startle him, you stretched your arms in his direction, beckoning him towards you and silently encouraging him to trust you. Even after drying out his tears once you tucked him in bed, holding his hand a little longer while Keisuke slept next to him, you’re sure that wasn’t enough to reassure him you wouldn’t blow up on him. For Kazutora, interacting with most people felt like trying to navigate an active minefield.

Hugging him close to your body, you pulled him on your lap and softly rocked him back and forth; the same way Wakasa had done with you. He nuzzled closer to you, letting himself relax against your touch once he registered you weren't a threat, basking in your warmth.

The silence the three of you fell under was deafening, uncomfortable even, though you didn't intend for it to be. Kazutora had this question stuck in his throat, sitting heavy against his vocal cords while the bitter taste of bile stained his tongue.

“Is…” he trailed off, still doubting whether he deserved to be asking such a question. “Is Mikey’s brother going to be okay?”

He tensed up at the lack of immediate response. The lack of positive reassurance that he hadn’t completely messed up everyone's lives made the grip he had on your arm grow tighter in fear of you letting go.

You didn’t. You weren’t planning to do so. Even if nausea piled up at the end of your oesophagus as the conflicting set of emotions brewing at the pit of your stomach, you were sure he needed you as much as you needed him to keep yourself grounded

“He will.” You brushed your fingers through his hair, lips curled up into a smile once you felt him relax against you once again. “Right now he’s resting, we can visit him in a couple of days, if you’d like.”

The silence amongst you became heavy once again, but inside Kazutora’s head the cacophony of your words bounced against the thick layers of bone and skin like worthless cries of distress. What he did was inconceivable, and in spite of that you still cared.

“I didn’t mean to,” barely a whisper, the words died out before they could be properly enunciated. They prickled and ached and stung at the walls of his throat. Something he couldn’t name but feel deeply inside his bones stopped himself from vomiting it all out. But mess after mess, like building blocks stacking one on top of the other, they piled up and pulled him down like a ball and chain made out of his own flesh and when he tried to pull at it to set himself free he could feel everything spilling out in a tangled cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, I’m sorry!” he cried, clutching onto your shirt and arms, anything he could get a hold of to ensure you wouldn’t leave him alone. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Holding him tightly and shushing his cries, you could do nothing more than let his tears wet at your shirt, mumble that it was okay even if it truly wasn’t; even if the two of you knew it was a lie. The weeping child in your arms did nothing but pull at your heartstring, conflicting feelings arising in your chest. In spite of the fondness you felt for the kid, the same fondness you felt for all of your little brother’s friends, you had unconsciously developed a grudge towards him, bitterness and resentment for hurting Shinichiro.

His lashes rested against his skin, casting thin shadows under the sunlight streaming through the window. He had always looked peaceful when he was sleeping, chest rising and falling as if following a metronome’s tempo. You can remember taking long summer naps next to him and the rest of your friends, you always being the first one to wake up. Every summer the three of them arrived late to at least five Black Dragon’s meetings because they had slept in. Shinichiro had developed this antsy habit of arriving weirdly on time yet slightly late ever since then, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of letting down whoever was waiting for him; you wonder how he’d react if he knew the shop wouldn’t open today.

So peaceful yet fragile., never in your life would’ve you remotely imagined you’d be sitting next to your best friend’s hospital bed, eyes puffy and droopy while his head laid covered in bandages. The beeping of the monitor filling up the unnecessary silence that wouldn’t have otherwise been there had he been awake.

Had he been awake, he would’ve talked to you non-stop, retelling everything that went down to the most insignificant detail, sprinkling hyperboles as much as he could just to appear a little cooler in front of you. But it's not like he had to try anyway, to appear cooler, that is, you already thought he was the coolest person in the whole wide world; though you’d go as far as saying he was the coolest person to ever exist. The sole idea made you smile, tears welling up in your eyes as you wondered if he’d blush once he found out how highly you thought of him.

And of course, had he been awake, he would’ve been worried about everyone but him. He would’ve asked about Mikey and Emma, if they had slept over at the hospital or at home with his grandfather, who he would’ve proceeded to ask about. He would’ve bitten his tongue to prevent himself from even mentioning the economic implications of his stay, but you would’ve been able to read right through him.

Then, had he been awake, he would’ve asked about Keisuke and Kazutora. He would’ve be worried about them, berated you with a flurry of questions, emotions switching from anger to guilt in less than a millisecond; angry at your deplorable encounter with the police, guilty because he was the one that called, and maybe if he hadn’t, then Mikey’s friends wouldn't have gotten in trouble.

He would’ve asked about the shop, if anyone was there watching over it while he was resting in the hospital, deflating a little after finding out it wouldn’t open for the day. He would’ve asked about Wakasa and Benkei and Takeomi, ask if they were aware of what happened, if they had already started making fun of him after finding out a twelve year-old sent him straight to the ER; he would’ve sighed at your response, shaking his head because instead of making fun of him his friends were worried.

Finally, he’d ask about you. And maybe you would’ve cried or laughed or screamed. Maybe tears would’ve pooled in your eyes, the fact your friend was breathing finally sinking in. Maybe you would’ve giggled at your past unjustified worries because he was here now and you never should’ve doubted him, not even for a second. Maybe you would’ve broken down, fatigue deep in your bones pulling you to the ground until you could do nothing but lay cold and empty and happy on the floor because you had not dared sleep but at least the existence of his consciousness remained.

But the only one speaking was the wind blowing through the curtains, kissing his forehead and messing up his hair just to give you the opportunity to put it back in place through the insecure brush of your fingers

Resting your forehead next to the palm of his hand, you sighed in defeat; maybe you should’ve let him rest alone. You had spent the whole morning next to him, ignoring any hunger cues alerting you it was time for breakfast or lunch or any sort of meal time that could fuel your body from complete exhaustion. Still, even if you wanted to fall asleep, it was like your subconscious wouldn’t let you. Every time you closed your eyes and felt yourself slip into a deep slumber, you were jolted awake to your own dismay.

Not being able to rest had started to eat away at your own sanity. Only eight hours had passed, but every second felt like a thousand and at this point, you had become a walking contradiction; hungry but unable to eat, tired yet unable to fall asleep. Your body was failing you, unable to react to any sort of external or internal stimuli, and you’re sure wouldn't be able to cry no matter how much you wanted to do so.

But even then, apparently you could still scream.

The weight of his hand on top of your head caught you off guard. It almost made you fall from the chair and smack your head against the bed’s metal skeleton. Maybe if you got a concussion and slipped into a weird pseudo-coma after a harrowing God-knows-how-many-hours-long surgery he’d feel guilty enough to make up for the tachycardia that had your heart beating where your brain should be.

“Hi.” He smiled, words a little slurred as the remaining anaesthesia wore off.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, I see ‘you missed me alright.”

And you did. Even though less than a day had passed since the accident, picturing a whole lifetime without him was enough to permanently alter your brain chemistry. But he was here now, he was back and he was safe and the toothy grin he sported reminded you of home.

“Don’t ‘cha know it’s rude to eat in front of someone who can only chew on ice chips?” He joked, flinching as the nurse adjusted his IV drip.

You were forced to leave the room after a flurry of hospital staff came running at your volatile reaction; Of course, you were quick to reassure that your friend had only woken up and that everything was fine, before leaving for the cafeteria; giving them some space to work on Shinichiro would be good. Plus, not that he was ‘okay’ and you weren’t worrying about his health every second of every minute of every hour, you could address the sudden pangs of hunger poking at your stomach.

“I’ll buy you dinner once you get out.” You smiled, scooping some of the jell-o into your mouth through your innocent smile. But, again to your dismay, the mischievous glint in your eyes ratted you out. Shinichiro knew that ‘dinner’ meant the cheapest ramen you could find, maybe add an egg to spice it up, and ice cream you’d eat directly from the tub; a long lived tradition between the two of you. “I’ll even add chives this time.”

“Gee thanks,” he mocked, as if he’d rather do anything else than eat stale ramen with you. As long as he got the chance, he’d do anything. He’d probably lick the floor for you—not that he’d ever let you know, but if you asked he would, no questions asked. That’s what happens when you love someone. You’d be willing to do anything and everything for them even if it's irrational. “Can I choose the ice cream flavour at least?”

You hummed, focusing on scraping the plastic spoon against the plastic container in your hands to avoid his gaze. “Only this time though, so don’t get used to it.”

“Everything’s looking good so far, we’ll do another check up in a couple of hours.”

Right, you were still in here. Talking like everything was seemingly normal made you forget that you were still in the hospital, watching over your post-op, bedridden friend.

“Lay with me?” he asked, not before the both of you thanked the nurse who excused himself after gathering the remaining equipment. “Please?”

You shouldn’t, something inside your head made sure to let you know even if the urge to hold him close was overpowering. He had just barely woken up after a long emergency surgery, and you taking up space would be of no help for him to get the rest he needed. But the silent plea in the puppy dog eyes you had trained yourself so hard to resist, the subtle pout and the cute dopey-ness that had yet to wear off were far too tempting to resist.

His little celebratory cheer made you inwardly squeal as you slowly moved to his side, watching him wince in pain while he slowly shuffled himself closer to the edge in a clumsy attempt to make some space for you.

The thumping of his heartbeat reverberated in his chest, the stress melting from out your bones. You couldn’t help but sigh in content once you laid your head on his chest. Now that you were wrapped in each other’s arms, it felt like you could finally rest.

“Tired?” He mumbled against your hair, breaking the silence that had settled in the room as you basked in each other’s presence. You hummed in response, nuzzling your cheek against his body and almost purring like a cat at his warmth. Letting your eyes close involuntarily, you couldn’t help but be lulled to a premature slumber. With how comfortable you looked, and because your obnoxious yawning was too contagious, he wanted to do nothing but follow in your footsteps.

Instead, his eyes stayed wide open and stuck to the ceiling as if the off off-white paint that covered the concrete was the key to shutting down his brain long enough for sleep to take over. It didn’t matter that his blood had been infused with what felt like at least twenty hundred thousand milligrams of various pain-deafening substances that were sure to knock him out in a matter of seconds, falling asleep seemed to be an unattainable goal.

Whatever they had injected into his body increased his senses’ sensitivity, multiplying it times a hundred instead of dulling them down to nothing. And it didn’t stop at the uncomfortable overtly bright fluorescent lights or the suddenly deafening sound of unoiled wheels from hospital carts being rolled around. It was the way he could feel you barely resting your weight against his body, as if scared the least amount of pressure would make his heart stop. The way he was met with your now dull eyes, almost bloodshot but not quite, sunken with a thick coat of desperation, or fear, or some sort of premature grief, as soon as he woke up. Or how, in spite of only being gone for less than a day, it seemed like you had spent a lifetime unable to exist alongside everything you held dear.

Hyper aware of all those little details and more, it hit him without warning, and suddenly, he could feel the overwhelming urge to cry.

It prickled uncomfortably at his eyes, the skin around his charcoal orbs itching like it was on fire. His mouth felt cottony, smothering his airways and cutting his airflow while his tongue rested uncharacteristically heavy in his mouth with the weight of unsaid words. It broke all his bones at once, leaving him numb on the ground, still like a corpse, and unable to suppress the dooming feeling of his own life spilling from his pores, mixing with his blood until the air around him turned thick and metallic.

In the blink of an eye he had been one step closer to the grave, barely hanging onto a thread of consciousness as the view of his shop turned blurrier and blurrier, and now he was breathing. His lungs had finally regained consciousness and he could feel everything around him overwhelmingly loud and clear and close and real.

Now awake, he could feel you laying on top of him, almost passed out due to the immeasurable amount of stress he had put you under. And maybe if it wasn’t for his reckless habit of parading around life with his guard lowered or for the lack of proper security measures at the shop—because who on earth would rob him? There’s no way he could be that unlucky. Impossible. Or maybe it was his inability to dodge, to hold his stance in a fight because even if he was strong, without proper technique he was rendered useless and, holy shit– he could’ve died.

He could’ve died and then Manjiro would’ve been forced to grow up way too soon because he would have to take care of Emma and grandpa—although knowing both his siblings, Emma was more likely to turn into the head of the house. And then his friends would’ve been left to grieve his death, make sad speeches about the best moments they had together and, fuck was Takeomi terrible at writing; his speech would just be a big mess of incoherent words stuck together. And what about the shop? Who was he leaving the shop to? And what about Inupi? Inupi was just a kid and he can’t just leave him all alone; he had promised to himself to take care of him the same way he took care of his siblings— fuck, Izana as well. Who was going to look after his brother? He was planning to introduce him to all of you guys soon. The two of you would’ve gotten along so well and,

And you.

What about you?

You looked beyond heartbroken. Words couldn't begin to describe exactly what somberness mulled deep within that brain of yours. If this is how you reacted to the possibility of him dying, then how would’ve you reacted to him actually doing so?

A choked sob rips through his lips, the sound painful as it breaches its forceful containment.

“Shin–”

“I’m sorry.”

“What…” you trailed off. The strained cry had erased any speck of slumber. For a second you thought you had dreamt it, that your brain had finally gone off the rails and you were hearing imaginary voices. That was until you looked up at him, eyes welling up with unshed tears, body stiff as if to prevent them from falling. “What’re you sorry for?”

“I just remembered the beach trip we were planning for Manjiro’s birthday,” he sniffled, “and I think we’re gonna have to cancel.”

“That’s okay, we can reschedule—”

“Yeah but I– I know he was really excited for it, all his friends were.”

“We’ll talk to them, make sure they understand—”

“And you were excited about it too,” avoiding your eyes even after you had tried to coax him into meeting yours. He felt so far away, almost unreachable despite laying right next to you. “And I know how much you love the beach and I really wanted to go with you even if we were gonna have to chaperone six hyperactive children,

“And, and I know the guys were gonna come with and we had it all perfectly planned out with this huge dorayaki cake thing and now we’re gonna have to cancel because of me—”

“Wait,” you shush him as gently as possible, sitting up and holding his hand tightly between yours. “What do you mean ‘because of me’?”

Almost as if he had never started, your question managed to shut down his rambling like forcefully closing a water faucet. He had this estranged, far-off look darkening his face, eyes glassy, almost as if he were dissociating. It made your stomach churn with anxiety. Never in your many, many, years of friendship had you seen him lose himself like this.

“Because,” he paused, trying to swallow down the knot grappling at his throat, fighting off the urge to tear it off with his bare hands. “Because it's my fault we’re cancelling.”

“I– What’re you talking about?”

He groaned in desperation. Why was this so hard to explain?

“I’m the one who’s bedridden.” Still dizzy after waking up and to the best of his ability, he tried sitting up, wincing in pain to then give up and lean into his forearms. “I’m the one with random needles poking through my skin, fresh off the ER because my skull was bashed into with one of my own tools and maybe, just maybe, if I had been more aware at the time, I could've avoided the hit.”

“Shin, this wasn’t your fault—”

“But it is! Can't you see?”

“Shin–”

“D’you know what I did when I heard someone break the glass?” He looked at you expectantly, voice raised in frustration. “After I called the cops; do you?” You shook your head in response, knowing that any attempt to help him calm down would be futile. “I grabbed a wrench.

“After the operator told me to hide and wait for help because I told them it sounded like more than one person was inside, I grabbed a stupid wrench and decided to face them,

“I decided to face them even if I'm well aware I wouldn’t be able to take two people at once.”

And though he seemed to be dead set on believing that somehow he managed to land himself in the hospital, you wouldn’t allow him to give himself up to the restless thoughts, no matter how badly he wanted to indulge the bitter part of his brain that had gotten used to putting himself down.

“Someone hit you from behind,” you tried, “you were ambushed, of course you wouldn't be able to take them on.”

His defeated sigh gave you some sort of uncomfortable comfort. Knowing it made you glad that he had finally given up was a conflicting feeling you wish to never re-examine or experience again.

You sat up, swallowing the foreign relief down, and scooted further up the bed’s backrest. Your elbow rested well above the pillow where he laid, and you couldn't help but use your leverage to gently brush your fingers through his hair, only relaxing once he visibly melted against your touch.

“You didn’t do this to yourself, this wasn’t your fault.” You whispered, fingertips soothing his worries as they ghosted the skin of his forehead. “You’re not responsible for every single thing that goes wrong, no matter how much you try to convince yourself you are.”

He can’t recall a single moment in his life in which he felt like he was relieved from his self-imposed duty—the duty of an older brother, primary caretaker, and practically a parent. Someone who must put everyone’s needs above his own well-being. He’s responsible for everything going on around him, the good, the bad, the neutral, the everything. It only made sense that the break in and the subsequent series of events were, in part, his responsibility.

And he knew it was irrational thinking because how on earth would he have known what was going to happen? But he couldn’t help it, not when all the consequences of his actions reflected on the bigger picture; everyone relies on Shinichiro Sano, and it was his duty to fulfil.

“And I promise you no one is disappointed in you. Not a single one of us.” You press your lips against the top of his head, smiling through your own teary eyes at the little hum he involuntarily let out. “We’re all so, so happy that you're awake and talking and I bet Manjiro would rather move his beach birthday party a hundred years from now than lose his brother six days before his birthday,

“The beach is not going anywhere, and neither are we, okay? We are not going anywhere.”

And you knew it wasn’t not enough. Your words weren’t enough to shut up the swirling negativity spiral in his brain. But at least it was enough to calm him down, enough for him to fall asleep in spite of the dampness kissing his skin; he might have successfully managed to suppress the heart wrenching sobs, but he was not strong enough to hold back the tears that cascaded down his cheeks.

You follow through not long after, head lolling to the side in an uncomfortable position that would for sure leave your neck aching for days. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. There was no dreaming this time. No nightmares or worst case scenarios crafted deep within your subconscious. In spite of the gloomy circumstances, the two of you had fallen asleep. Finally, being in your arms was beyond comforting. Plus, indulging in the rest your body had craved for hours made it easier to regain consciousness once Manjiro decided to jump on the two of you in surprise, never minding the possibility of further injuring his brother by mistake.

Being on the receiving end of his lovable violence hurt more than you thought it would, one of his hands landing straight on your stomach and the other on Shinichiro’s chest, but you couldn’t blame the kid. Based on what Keisuke had confided in you last night, Manjiro had witnessed both his best friends’ arrest as well as his brother being pulled out unconscious on a stretcher out of the shop.

Beyond a muffled apology, he didn’t utter anything else, like his voice had given in. He clung onto Shinichiro’s body like his life depended on it.

A swift knock on the door caught your attention, though Manjiro didn't even bother looking up, face tucked against his brother’s body, letting himself relax as his brother’s fingers threaded through his blond locks.

Emma poked her head from behind the wall, hands holding onto the door frame for balance. From where you laid you could see how her eyes were almost as puffy as yours. They were rimmed with a bright red, the same shade that was splotched all over her cheeks and nose. Mansaku stood beside her, holding onto his hat.

You could physically feel the relief washing over Shinichiro the moment he saw his whole family entering the room. He laid lighter next to you, with a brighter smile decorating his lips. It was like his body had melted from hard concrete right into a puddle, your previous conversation seemingly forgotten as a twinkle of warmth returned to his pretty eyes.

Careful not to let Manjiro fall in the dent you were leaving as you stood up, you beckoned Emma over. She cuddled up to Shinichiro, clinging onto him while her soft sniffles filled the silent room, and you swore you had almost started tearing up again at the sight.

Mansaku placed a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch in surprise as he acknowledged your presence. Like a wordless thank you, he nodded at you before stepping closer towards the bed, letting his hand rest on Shinichiro’s, and gently squeezed as if making sure his grandson was truly there.

In no way shape or form was it the perfect family meetup—a perfect one wouldn’t entail the eldest-grandson-slash-parental-figure stuck in a hospital bed. But by the way they huddled together, Shinichiro pinching Manjiro’s cheeks, the latter not even fighting him off like he usually would, and patting Emma’s head in reassurance, with Mansaku displaying the ghost of a smile as he stood next to his grandchildren, the four of them gave off the feeling of everything being okay.

The familiar warmth between them left you to watch the scene like an outsider in a third-person point of view. It made you feel like you were intruding, messily glued to one of those fancy family portraits.

In spite of both your families spending the majority of their lives around one another, you weren’t a Sano. No matter how close Keisuke and Manjiro were, no matter how much Shinichiro and you acted like a married couple with at least five children, you were never going to be one. You knew this from the start, but even so, the knowledge didn’t stop the churning of a deeply seeded loneliness inside your stomach.

You didn’t bother with your goodbyes. Even if you had promised Shinichiro you’d spend the rest of the day together—pretending to be bothered and reluctant when you sealed it with a ‘pinky promise’ to hide the fact you’d willingly play nurse whenever he needed it—something from within told you it was your time to leave, you weren’t that important after all.

The question swirled inside your skull, bitter as it scratched your bones, as you leaned against the walls outside the hospital. At first, you intended to camp out in a waiting room, maybe join them after you had finally calmed down, but instead your legs had taken you right outside, landing you in a secluded area between the building and the many trees surrounding it so you could confidently retrieve the crushed package from your back pocket without disturbing anyone

Your thumb burned as you attempted to roll the sparkwheel of your zippo lighter, the metal forming uncomfortable crevices against your skin. You had to hold back the urge to bite down on the cigarette you had clumsily stuck between your teeth instead of your lips, frustration welling up and threatening to burst from the seams that clumsily held you together.

Waiting for the uncomfortable itch to burn at your throat, you traced the outline of the red koi fish at the corner of the lighter, eroded after thumbing at it like a nervous tick over the years. Every time you felt your eyes water you made sure to compulsively take another drag, as if the smoke could cloud your thoughts, mixing them up with the familiar nostalgia.

Anyone would think that after incinerating your taste buds with each stick you burn, you’d get used to the taste. Whoever said it gets easier the more you do it was a liar. They were as disgusting as ever, flavour the exact same as those you had tried when you were younger, fooling around with your friends. It first started when Shinichiro and Takeomi brought a couple of cigarettes they had stolen from his grandfather to one of your hang outs. It prompted the three of you to continuously choke and make fun of each other for doing so until there were only mustard coloured butts squished on the floor.

Neither Takeomi nor you had really enjoyed the experience, but for some reason, Shinichiro was quick to grow fond of the taste. He made sure to carry around a twelve-pack wherever he went, lighting up cigarette after cigarette in strategic places so the smell wouldn’t stick to his hair or clothes. Not soon after, the rather unhealthy habit had extended to the remaining two of you, who couldn’t help but carry your own packs to satisfy your newly birthed cravings.

Looking back, you’re sure younger-you did that to be a little more like Shinichiro, just like Takeomi, and for other even more childish reasons like appearing more mature and attractive in his eyes; you clearly remember him having a thing for older women for a while. Sure, the two of you were the same age but still, you felt like he didn’t see you like you wanted him to, and the only way for you to change that would be to gain some more common ground with him right?

So yeah, just like Takeomi, you wanted to be more like Shinchiro, but unlike Takeomi—as far as you know—you had started buying cigarette packets mainly to share back and forth with your best friend in, what you would call, a weak attempt at flirting.

At least the cringe memory managed to rip you out from the insecurity whirlpool you were being sucked into, making you groan while softly hitting your head against the concrete wall. Thank god Wakasa existed to berate you into stopping the unhealthily embarrassing habit. Back then you were just a kid, but were you being for real? Were you seriously intending to build your whole life around a man to the point you’d indulge in one of the most common and deadliest habits in the world for a slim chance at a high-school romance? Fuck, was younger-you so painfully stupid to even think–

“One of you is already in the hospital, we don't need you to auto-hospitalise.”

The old man’s voice made you jump, fumbling with the cigarette until it fell to the floor. You tried to hide the coughing fit to the best of your ability while frantically stomping on the lit stick laying on the ground. It didn’t matter that you were an adult, you were still terrified of getting caught smoking by the man.

“Would you mind sharing one with me?” He asked, ignoring the way your face morphed into a confused frown. With nimble fingers, you opened your cigarette pack once again, handing him your lighter when he was unable to fetch his from his pockets.

“You still smoke?” You questioned, adding a hasty ‘sir’ once you noticed how informal you had sounded.

He chuckled in response, taking another puff. “I only stopped doing it in front of the children.”

This time it was your turn to chuckle, playing with the gravel underneath your feet to avoid looking at the man at your slip-up. Still, even with your gaze fixated on the ground you could tell he was looking at you in curiosity.

“I didn’t mean to laugh it’s just,” clearing your throat, you stumbled with your words, debating in your head whether you should come up with one of your horrid cover ups or tell the truth. “You always smoked around us when we were little, like you didn’t care.”

You thought he would’ve left you alone after that, knowing you were purposely disrespectful towards him. It would’ve been better that way. Then you would’ve been left to wallow in your own self-pity in peace, with no one to stop you from finishing the seven remaining cigarettes. But he didn’t, taking you aback as he stayed rooted right by your side.

Had you been anyone else, he would’ve called them out. To cover up his own embarrassment or to make up for the disrespect? Not even he could be sure. But he had seen you grow up next to his own grandchildren, sharing your love and caring nature with them along with your mild irascibility and your talent for keeping Shinichiro on a tight leash. He couldn’t help but grow fond of you, even if most of your one-on-one interactions had consisted of you running away from him before he managed to scold you.

He had only stopped smoking once Manjiro was born, self-awareness finally sinking into his thick skull as he watched his two grandsons play together. No one had questioned him back then, letting him sit on the couch undisturbed while he read the morning paper. It was only after Sakurako had passed away, that he had started to notice the many areas he was lacking, watching both Shinichiro and you fill the gaps in each other’s broken homes while he alienated himself from the responsibility of taking care of his family. The two of you worked so in sync, he would be of no help—or at least that was what he had told himself.

“I wasn’t the best grandfather.”

“You think?”

“I know.” He smiled at your attitude; snappy as always, the only difference was the way you now recoiled in embarrassment at your slip ups. Using his fingers to get rid of the ash, he tapped on the back of the cigarette before taking another drag. “Thank you for taking care of them when I couldn’t.”

Not even a noise of acknowledgement, your vocal chords had closed themselves shut at the man’s sudden mild vulnerability. Out of all the things you expected him to ever say to you, a ‘thank you’ was never on the list. He was always sporting his characteristic cartoonish frown, speaking to everyone in a clipped tone with pointed words.

“You’re more important to us than you think.” He stepped on the cigarette butt. “That is one of the reasons why I can’t let you believe what happened to my grandson was in any way your fault.”

“‘Sorry?” You mumbled in confusion, his words pulling yet another frown onto your face; did you miss any pivotal points in the conversation? How had the conversation switched from his apparent familial issues to you?

“I know you feel guilty for what happened, even if you weren’t involved.” He sighed, not bothering to look you in the eye before continuing his speech. “You’re not responsible for your brother’s doing.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed in mild amusement, as if that wasn’t something you’ve been trying to tell yourself; all Bajis share their fuckups. But then again, of course he wouldn’t understand. “Easier said than done.”

This time you didn’t try to make up for the way had snapped at him. And bless the man for being able to read the room, because he didn’t push the conversation further. Deep down he knew you needed the outlet; you may have already cried, but all your anger was still pent up inside of you. And after everything you had done for him and his family, it was the least he could do for you.

“It doesn’t matter what we believe, we’re always responsible for everyone’s mess.” You scoff in dismay. “It’s like we were born for our families to have a provisional caretaker.

“So thank you for trying to tell me I didn’t break into Shinchiro’s shop, I know I didn’t, but it's still my mess to fix.” The aftertaste of the words laid heavy in your mouth, trickling down your throat like bitter bile tearing through the tissue. You didn’t like how they sounded; they were too impersonal, too selfish. You took a deep breath, holding yourself upright in spite of the pang in your chest. “Not that i wouldn’t have taken care of Shin if someone else had been responsible for what happened, I lo– I– I care too much about him to just leave him be but its just—”

You cleared your throat, “If I had made sure I knew where Keisuke was going or, or if I had actually tried to listen to him when he told me he didn’t know what to give Manjiro for his birthday then maybe– just…”

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence without breaking down the walls of the dam you thought you had finally managed to piece back together. You didn’t want the responsibility of rebuilding them back up, you don’t think you’d be able to do it as quickly as you’d want to. But you weren’t venting your sorrows to the wind. Mansaku Sano was still standing next to you, hands locked behind his back as he waited for you to continue, and though he was well aware of the times in which he had to remain quiet, he also knew when it was time to speak up.

“Then what?”

“Then,” you swallow, “then none of this would’ve happened, and he would’ve been okay.”

Your body itched for another cigarette, pawing at your skull for you to smother down the tears spouting from your eyes, even if the smoke would make your eyes teary once again. But with Mansaku Sano standing next to you, you didn’t dare touch a single one; it didn’t matter that you had just finished spilling your pent up emotions, you drew the line at smoking with Shinichiro’s grandfather. The thought sprouted a melancholic smile on your lips; Shinichiro would have a field day when he finds out what just went down.

The only thing left you had to ground yourself was the cold metal of your lighter, already starting to heat up at the warmth of your skin. You ran your thumb over it once again, the pattern already engraved in your mind. The habit had probably developed out of your need to be comforted by familiarity—of course the lighter was the right candidate, from its colour and texture, size and temperature, you had everything about it memorised like the back of your hand.

“It’s a really nice lighter.” You hadn't realised you were playing with it until he spoke up; twirling it between your fingers over and over again, flipping it open and close, lighting it up before shutting the lid and extinguishing the flame.

“Thanks,” you sniffled, and right after you finished speaking, your voice hoarse and tired, you regretted ever doing so. You felt like a child once again; like when your mom tried to comfort you after you had scraped your knee, or when a couple of older middle-schoolers had beaten your friends up. A child like when the day was finally over and you had to go back home from a play-date, or when your favourite toy had fallen inside the river while walking over a bridge. You regretted speaking the minute you had discovered your voice sounded as weak as you felt, and yet, at the mention of your beloved trinket, you felt the warm giddiness wash over your body forcing you to speak. And so, once again like a child, you did. “I got it at a summer festival, Shin got it for me.”

“I thought you said you wanted to come visit him.”

For a minute Keisuke didn’t speak. He looked straight at the ground, feet planted on the floors like roots had grown out of him as he held your hand.

Earlier this morning he had clung onto your waist while angry tears rolled down his cheeks. The moment he caught sight of you putting your shoes on the genkan he had broken into a run, letting his body smash against yours, and almost making you lose your balance. Both you and your mom had tried your hardest to calm him down for what felt like hours but to no avail. He persisted, begging for you to let him accompany you to the hospital.

Outside of Shinichiro’s room, it was a whole other story. All of a sudden he had decided he didn’t want to see him eye to eye. His reaction made you internally groan in frustration. Had you listened to your own gut feeling telling you Keisuke wasn’t ready to come with you, it would’ve saved him the stress of making a choice for himself. Instead, you were too weak to his puppy dog eyes and wobbly pleas, and now his eyes had started to water as he tried to hold back his own hiccups.

“I promise Shin-nii isn’t angry at you,” you cooed, kneeling down to the floor and looking up at him. When had he gotten this tall? When had he grown this much? Were your efforts enough to shape him into a decent person? “and if you truly don't feel comfortable we can go home, I promise I won’t get angry.”

He rubbed at his teary eyes with his free hand before nodding at you, trailing behind you as you stood up and knocked on the door.

“Hey!” you poked your head into the room with a smile, one that faltered as you tried to keep your mouth from falling open in awe once you noticed how the sunlight streaming from the window kissed every inch of Shinichiro’s skin as he quietly read the book you had given him as a joke. He looked up at you, pearly whites all up for display, and mumbled a soft mumbled a soft ‘hey’ right back at you; he looked so pretty he could be mistaken for an angel. “I brought Keisuke with me, ‘that okay?”

He hummed in response, marking the page he was reading before setting it aside. Even after the events that took place at the shop, you knew he wouldn’t mind your brother visiting—he had a soft spot for him after all. The verbal confirmation was more for Keisuke’s sake, who prompted by it, let go of your hand and walked into the room, a tinge of fear staining each step he took.

Shinichiro grinned, gently waving his way. And though the both of you had always found some sense of comfort in the warmth of his smile, it took less than a second for Keisuke to burst into tears. Sobs wracked his body as he stood frozen in the middle of the room, frantically drying out his cheeks with his forearms in vain. Tears kept pouring from his caramel eyes down to his cheeks until they stained his striped shirt.

At the sight of his distress, Shinichiro tried standing up as quickly as possible, almost ripping off his tangled IV. Thankfully, you managed to stop him before he could; the moment your brother had started crying you were already by his side wrapping your arms around his fragile figure.

Much like you had done the past few days, you combed his hair with your fingers while shushing his cries. It had become almost like a habit, Keisuke running to you in the middle of the day, hugging you close while you dried his tears for him. You’d think he’d ran out of tears by now, but something you didn’t take into account was how similar the two of you were, always feeling everything too much, all at once.

“You’re okay,” you whispered into his hair, “you’re okay, and Shin-nii’s okay, see?” you asked him, holding his tear streaked cheeks and motioning his face to meet your gaze, waiting for his breathing to even out before you coaxed him into looking at Shinichiro. “We’ve got you, the two of us, we've got you.”

He smiled at him once again, though you could see a twinkle of sadness in his eyes, as extended one of his hands for him to take. Warily, he warmed up to the invitation, wiping the remaining tears from his face before dragging his feet to the edge of the bed, asking if he could sit with him in a very un-Keisuke nature; it was unusual for him to ask before acting on his impulses.

Shinichiro softened once he felt Keisuke nuzzling his cheek against his chest. He ran his fingers through his dark locks, and as he did so you couldn’t help but think how his hair kept getting longer and longer with each day; hopefully no one from the school office would call you letting you know it was time to chop it off once classes were back in session.

In between hushed whispers, they talked amongst each other for a while. At first, Baji kept giving one word responses, still insecure in spite of your reassurance, but it wasn’t long before he started to loosen up, giggling between sniffles at Shinichiro’s questions and mocking his ‘honorary-brother’ back with teary jabs.

It was a solid dynamic they had been able to build after years of trust and consistent interaction; your two favourite boys extending their love to each other like they were flesh and blood. In that way, the two of them were similar, fiercely loyal and willing to give themselves up for those they loved. You were grateful that Shinichiro was there for Keisuke as he grew up, unknowingly making up for everything you lacked.

The mumble of your name caught your attention, popping your nostalgia blown bubble. Keisuke and Shinichiro alike were beckoning you over, the latter extending his arm as the two of them scooted over and patted the free space next to him.

He held your hand like you were a princess stepping onto a carriage, gingerly helping you keep your balance as you toed-off your shoes. You let out a sigh once you plopped yourself on the bed, letting his arm curl around your shoulders while he kept your hands interlocked, rubbing the skin with his thumb. In spite of the giddiness warming your stomach, you forced yourself to roll your eyes in response when he teasingly asked if you were comfortable, pretending to be bothered by his apparent clinginess

“‘Your sister made you try the jell-o cups already?” he asked Keisuke, the younger boy looking up at him through puffy eyes and wet lashes, and once he shook his head in response he whistled, turning towards you as if disappointed. “You haven’t made him try ‘em yet?”

“‘Came straight to see you.” You brushed off, pretending you didn’t feel his body tense beside you and smiling to yourself in subtle victory when he gulped.

“You should’ve gone to the cafeteria first.” He scolded jokingly, clicking his tongue as if that would help him hide his blushing cheeks that hurt from his own shy affection. Soon after, he switched his attention to your brother, ruffling his hair before speaking, “Remember those jell-o cups you used to share with Manjiro and Haruchiyo? The ones they sold at the konbini?”

“Yeah, but they don't have ‘em anymore,” Keisuke pouted, brows furrowed in thought. His sharp canines poked at his bottom lip, tilting his head up at Shinichiro and grinning. “Mikey almost fought the cashier guy when we found out they stopped selling them!”

“Yeah, I remembered that.” He chuckled, recalling the time he had heard the employee complain about Manjiro’s sudden aggression on one of his morning milk runs. “But guess what?” he sat on his forearms, dragging out the silence to build anticipation. He waited for the two of you to raise your heads from his chest, sharing an evident impatience as you urged him to continue. He took a deep breath before grinning once again. “They still sell ‘em over here.”

“No way! Really?!” The boy stood up in less than a second, forcing you to grab onto the neck of his t-shirt to prevent him from falling flat on his ass while he cried in glee, tears seemingly forgotten. Those jell-o cups in particular had been a staple of everyone’s childhood; you had been eating those snacks for years and years. You can clearly remember the clear disappointment in his face when he told you they had been discontinued, his somberness rubbing off on you.

“Yeah!” Shinichiro exclaimed back, scooting closer to your brother and placing one of his hands on the bed railing behind your brother, aiding you in your task of preventing Keisuke from falling to the ground. The memory had suddenly made its wake into his consciousness after mulling over ways to comfort your brother and coming up empty handed, until he had suddenly turned to his bedside table where an empty plastic cup sat with a flimsy disposable spoon. “Manjiro and Emma got a bunch from the cafeteria to take home, you could do the same.”

You were almost taken aback by the speed he used to turn his face towards you, surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash before he asked you with as much excitement he could muster, “Can we?! Please, please!?”

His pleading words made his bronze eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights and though you know you shouldn’t, you can’t find it in yourself to say no. You smiled and nodded without a shadow of a doubt that you’d do anything in your power to keep the toothy grin you missed on his lips.

“Does that mean I can go get one now?” He pleaded, tilting his head and yet again putting on display the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. “Please? I haven't had one in years, I wanna know if they’re the same as I remember.”

“Knock yourself out.” Shinichiro said before you could respond, ruffling Keisuke’s hair before the latter jumped down, ignoring the fact you didn’t give him a proper response before running off to the cafeteria.

You sighed unimpressed, turning towards the man beside you and letting yourself slump against his figure. His chuckle only made you roll your eyes.

“What? Were you planning to say no to him?”

He knew you too well for your own good.

“Shut up.” With a gentle push you force him back down on the bed, elbowing him lightly in the process and pressing your head back against his chest. You almost hum in satisfaction when he let himself fall back down without resistance, caving in under your touch. “I could’ve said no.”

“Yeah, right.” This time, he was the one rolling his eyes, mocking your mannerisms and chuckling when you smiled, hoping the apparent ‘nonchalance’ would mask his now increased heart rate, and the faster beating coming from the vital sign monitor.

“I could’ve!” You tried to sit up in retaliation, pretending to be annoyed, yet you didn’t resist when he pulled you back down. He held down his own giggling once he felt you cuddling up closer to his side, tracing random patterns on his dotted hospital gown and realising too late how close both your hands were. The proximity made you nervous; even if the two of you were practically laying one on top of the other, holding hands felt like a foreign act of intimacy.

Subtly enough, you tried reaching out for the tip of his fingers, moving what seemed like less than a millimetre per minute. Soon enough, he took notice of your plan; hesitantly, he moved his own towards you, letting your fingertips rest against each other for a couple of seconds, like he was asking for your permission, before interlocking his fingers with yours.

“You really can’t stay away from me, can you?” he teased, gaze focused on your entwined hands through his lashes as he felt too shy to look anywhere near your face. It seemed that hiding the pink-ish blush staining his cheek had become his number one priority; you were so close, so everywhere, he wouldn’t want it any other way, even if the closest he’d get to you would be through friendly teasing, bordering the line of ‘definitely, a 100% and unmistakably platonic’ flirting.

In your mind, you were desperately scavenging for any semblance of a comeback, preferably witty and with the same energy he was giving you.Instead, all you did was sigh.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

You blamed the gusty confession on a moment of weakness, likely born out of your depleting energy mixed with the way his hand fit against yours like two perfectly carved puzzle pieces. You weren’t sure why you had said what you did, the way you did; voice softening as the longing you had suppressed your whole life coated every syllable that rolled down your tongue.

He hummed in response, giddy and satisfied, before backtracking in confusion. The lack of sarcasm or annoyance lighthearted mockery caught the two of you off-guard, though it seemed to have a bigger impact on him as his body tensed up for a moment. If you were to look up at him, you’d probably see his head tilted to the side, with warm cheeks and the ghost of a frown clouding his features.

And that’s exactly why you don’t.

Not like this; you wouldn't allow yourself to do so, wouldn’t even dare. Not when the stakes were this high, multiple worst outcomes served on a silver platter for you to choose because once you look up at him he would notice the way you see him, like he hung up each individual constellation up in the sky on his own and then all of it would be over for you.

For the both of you.

“Do you, uh,” the slight shake in his voice made you gulp, like you had an inkling of a very possible question he could ask. Maybe this would finally be the end of your friendship which, to your own dismay, could be very easily broken by other things that weren’t death itself, “do you know if Keisuke has talked to Manjiro yet?”

You cleared your throat, holding back the sigh of relief, and shook your head. “I don’t think he knows how.”

“He’s scared?”

“I think so,” you pondered, “they’ve been friends since forever, I think he’s scared of losing…him.”

Knowing that both you and your brother’s situation overlapped in so many ways felt weird; both Baji siblings were scared to lose their respective Sano brothers. It sounded funny, almost cute, like both Bajis and Sanos were meant to stick together generation after generation. You would’ve giggled at the thought, explain the parallels between the two relationships to Shinichiro and laugh at the silliness of it, yet the fear that had taken possession of your body the last couple of days lingered at the thought.

Scared of losing him.

You almost choked on the words sitting heavy in your mouth, like you had confessed to a crime. Had you been alone, maybe they would’ve urged you to cry.

“Hey, ‘you okay?” You hadn’t realised that the worry had bled onto your face, dripping down your cheeks and coating your eyelashes with sorrow until he spoke up, tearing you away from your trance. But you couldn’t help it, the lingering torture you endured at the hands of your brain replaying past events, from the bailing your brother out of jail as he sobbed to having Wakasa answer the call for you, Kazutora crying in your arms and Shinichiro blaming himself for his own accident, the more you felt like losing yourself in his embrace, tightening your hold on his hand. “You left me there for a second I thought–”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I’m–” you stuttered, “I don’t think I’m okay, I–”

Rejection after rejection, you’ve seen what felt like an infinite amount of his confessions go sideways, and yet he handled each and every one of them with grace. You’d attribute his resilience to the amount of first hand experience he’s had with it, and though at first it had taken a big toll on him. By now, rejection was nothing to him. He could make a fool of himself in front of anyone and he really wouldn’t care; he has told you so himself.

But you were not Shinichiro, and you could never be him.

You were resentful and impulsive, oftentimes reacting way before you think. You were impatient and whiny, though you tried your best to suppress that particular trait to no avail. You were a selfish, self-destructive being that somehow managed to keep the insecure neediness brewing inside on the down low.

And you could go on. You could go on because you were stubborn, volatile, melodramatic and a part of your brain really does think you were just setting yourself up for failure listing every single negative character trait that comes to mind. But it didn’t matter because that just further proves you're not Shinichiro Sano, that you were never going to be Shinichiro Sano because you were weak.

Too weak to answer the call, too weak not to try and escape uncomfortable situations, too weak to hold back the urge for a smoke, too weak to forgive Kazutora, too weak to confess your feelings for your best friend even after bawling your eyes out at the thought of a life without him.

Too weak, too weak, too weak.

Being weak is all you’ve ever known.

The thoughts poured and they wouldn’t stop, crashing against each other like the same bumper carts you rode along with Shinichiro at the funfair with your siblings. Back then, you were all smiles and laughter, and right now you wondered if the two of you would’ve held hands if it wasn’t for Emma sitting in the middle of you both.

And he was so warm next to you, not pressuring you to clarify whatever word-vomit you just spewed instead of a proper comeback. So sweet as he squeezed your hand to let you know he was there to help in whichever way he could to lull your worries to sleep. So kind as he took care of you when you should be the one taking care of him. Always so him.

You had no right to be a coward, at least not in front of one of the strongest and bravest people you’ve ever met. It wasn’t fair. Listing your flaws from the top of your head would never justify your body preventing itself from spilling the truth just so you could try and grasp at the fragile strings of self-pity to sew yourself back together as unspoken words necrotize your tongue.

The same way you wouldn’t dare look at him, you wouldn’t dare stay away from him. It’d kill you just to try. So fuck every martyrish thought in your head, fuck the burned cigarette butts stained with indirect kisses, fuck the many nights the two of you spent stargazing in his garden, the infinite amount of chocolates you bought him for valentine’s day to make up for the emptiness of his locker; and the countless times he had dropped everything he was doing for the chance to spend just a couple of minutes with you. Fuck the worn out red koi fish engraved on your lighter and the possibility of breaking the promise you two made of never straying away from each other.

“I can’t stay away from you,” you took a deep breath, “I think I’d rather die than live a life without you,

“The sole idea of losing you almost sent me over the edge, and even after you were out of surgery I was a mess,” you stopped yourself again, giving yourself the chance to swallow down the knot in your throat; it didn’t work. “I was going insane without being able to talk your ear off because even when I talk about something you couldn’t give a shit about you still give a shit, you give so many shits when it comes to me, too many,

“You’re loyal and gentle and charming and you’re always smiling, and it's like, it's like you're absolutely everything good and even then you genuinely have no idea how wrapped around your finger I truly am,

“And I don't think I’ve ever properly thanked you for existing because I don't think I’d be the same person I am right now if it wasn't for you, and even if I'm not perfect, I- I wouldn't trade myself for a better version if that meant you wouldn’t be in my life.

“So, yeah, I guess you’re right, I don’t think I can,” you let your shoulders sag, like the confession finally burned years upon years of cover-ups and excuses and fake scenarios you had come up with before bed stored in the darkest depth of your brain. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to stay away from you.”

Pensive, he melted further against the pillows, letting his muscles melt at the sound of his own sighing. Even if you weren’t directly looking at him, you hear his smile reverberating throughout his body, and the sole idea of him possibly reciprocating your feelings made you impossibly giddy; a little too giddy. It was easy, after all, to get your hopes up once you lose yourself in him, his warmth and comfort. And for less than a second, you can see your hypothetical future with him pass right in front of your eyes, forcing you to accept a premature victory. But as the silence between the two of you started to drag itself out, you couldn't help but reluctantly welcome the acrid heartbreak tearing through your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you tensed up, “I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, it's–,” he blurted out tongue tied as if your words had snapped him out of a trance, mirroring the same giddiness you had displayed with the same hint of hesitancy, “no one has talked about me like that, I guess it just caught me off-guard.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I don’t– don’t think I'd be able to stay away from you either– not that I want to, of course it's just– sorry give me a minute.” Looking off to the side, he tried to collect himself, clearing his throat and pinching his cheeks, the skin already stained with all sorts of shades of pink. For him, it was inevitable not to become all shy and flustered, the least he could do was bite his tongue so as not to break into a fit of giggles, prevent himself from swinging his legs and twirling his short strands of hair like a lovesick middle schooler. All because of you. “Just, um, just to be clear before I look like an absolute fool, not that I don't look like an absolute fool on a daily basis, but this is a confession, right?”

You raised your head up in confusion, tilting your head and furrowing your brows. Had you not been so baffled by his self-explanatory question you would’ve fawned over this version of him, giddy and soft and in love with you because just by looking at his eyes you could tell he was looking at you like you hung the moon up in the sky—it was easy to decipher; after staring at him the exact same way countless times, you were bound to familiarise yourself with such display of devotion. And had he not looked this adorable, you would’ve teased him for being so painfully and hopelessly dense, but you didn’t have it in you to do so, only managing to nod in response.

“So you like like me?” He continued, waiting for your reassurance, either a nod or a smile, or any signal that he was right. “So you are in love with me?”

“I mean, I wouldn't say I'm in love but if that's what makes you sleep at night.” The more you stared at his face, the dimples on his cheeks, the creasing of his eyes at your words and the giggle he couldn’t help but contain, the wider the smile creeping at his lips became.

“Will you say it then?” He prodded, moving closer to you, now unable to hide the twinge of pink that grew what seemed like a thousand shades per second.

“I don’t know,” your legs innocently dangled from the side of the bed, trying to win back control of the situation by cutting down on your proximity, and sitting up properly from your half-lying position, “will I?”

“Please?” he begged, cupping one of your cheeks with the palm of his hand and pulling you closer until you could feel each other's breaths. His skin was warm against yours, the roughness of his palm from working non-stop at the shop offset by the tenderness he carried around for you.

And though you wanted to drag this on, enjoying the back and forth, you were so whipped for this man that you couldn’t stop your nonchalant act from crumbling as soon as you heard him once again let out a shy giggle after he nudged your nose with his.

“I love you.”

Voice dreamy and saccharine sweet, like confessing to your lifelong desire, you whispered, and just before your lips touched, through lidded eyes and uneven breath he whispered back ‘and I love you’.

After his own confession, you were unable to pay attention to anything that wasn’t him. All your senses were muted as his soft lips gilded against yours. The taste of the honey chapstick you applied almost compulsively melted against his tongue, and he wondered if like him, you could still faintly taste the strawberry chapstick you had gifted him a while ago; the same one he hadn’t stopped using since, going as far as asking the hospital staff to retrieve it from the pockets of the jeans he was wearing the day of the accident for him.

He bit back a whimper when he felt you bite down gently on his bottom lip, unable to ignore the way you smirk against the kiss once your hand makes its way up to the side of his neck to rest on his pulse point, in the perfect position to feel his heart doing somersaults underneath your touch. It made him want to melt right against you; the more you wandered down his body, the bigger the urge to hold you grew.

His calloused yet delicate fingers traced your skin, running from the apples of your cheeks down to your chin, coaxing you to fully give into him as he traced the tip of his tongue against your lips. He could feel himself grow hard once you gave him permission to enter, basking on the hidden whine you let out at the feeling of the warm muscle enveloping your whole body, drool pooling at the corner of both your lips.

Away from your face, he trails his hands slowly down your torso confidently ghosting the skin before the facade is broken the moment he almost freezes up once he gets to your chest. The blush on his cheeks deepened as you took notice of his apparent nervousness, laughing it off before he continued his path down to your hips,

He was sure he was ready to die right here in your arms the moment you softly suck on his tongue, his eyes almost rolling towards the back of his skull as you hands grazed his clothed dick. The teasing touch made him groan, the vibrations against your lips feeding the urge to get closer to him. And almost like he had read your mind, you shivered at the tight grip of his hips guiding you over lap until you were resting flush against him.

“‘Want you so bad.” He panted in between giggles, nudging your noses together and pecking your lips over and over again. You barely managed to catch your breath between his kisses; when he leaned away you pulled him in, and when you did so he tried to follow the path of your lips until they were once again interlocked with his. The two of you ignored the satisfying burn of your lungs like the feeling of your bodies close against each other was good enough of a replacement for oxygen itself. “–Waited so long for this.”

He pulled you down a little harder against him, bucking his hips against your. Mewling into the kiss, you wrapped both your arms around his shoulders, perhaps taking too much enjoyment in the minimal friction against your core. The sensation of him rutting desperately against you forced you to meet his attempts for more with an equal amount of want.

“You feel so good.” you cooed, whimpering as he sucked at the skin behind your ear. “Shin, Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

Before he could stop himself, he was groaning at the praise, peppering kisses along your jaw and neck and refusing to come back up to meet your lips to hide the raging blush tinting his skin, spreading from his cheeks up to his ears.

“You like that? Like it when I say you're doing a good job?”

He hummed, though it sounded more like a whimper, and waited no time to pull your face back against his, connecting your lips again in a messy kiss, to, presumably, stop you from teasing him. He took the opportunity to indulge himself, once again tracing the outline of your lower lip with his tongue and nipping at the supple skin in retaliation.

In spite of your own reluctance, you broke the kiss first, finding the way he tried to chase your lips with his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, indescribably cute. You took a minute to fully take in this version of him, his breath uneven and with a thin sheen of sweat making some of his black locks stick to his forehead. His lips were puffy, glistening with saliva as they part involuntarily in an enrapturing appetite.

He looked so pretty like this, you didn’t think you’d have it in you to control yourself.

Once you had lowered the sheets covering his legs, one of your thumbs proceeded to draw circular patterns on his exposed thigh, chuckling at the way he flinched before relaxing against you. Gently ghosting your fingernails over his skin, you hiked up his hospital gown until you had full access to the band of his boxers, toying with the elastic but doing nothing aside from that.

“You want to do this here?” He pulled back, eyes wide and dazed with need yet frazzled at your sudden boldness, as if nearly dry humping in a hospital wasn’t bold enough. His hands played with the hem of your shirt, sending shivers down your spine every time his fingers grazed your skin. He looked like a deer caught in headlines, a way cuter version of Bambi, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your nose against his cheek before kissing him gently, once, twice, thrice.

“Only if you want to.”

“I do,” he swallowed, clearing his throat to keep himself lucid as he felt the tips of your fingers breaching the hem of his underwear, cold against the warmth of the covered skin. “Fuck, I really do, I need you s’bad I–”

“You fucking disgust me.”

Like a pair of surprised kittens, the sudden interruption had the two of you jumping away from each other, almost falling off the bed while desperately trying to pull the sheets back into place. In turn Shinichiro tried helping you regain your balance, grabbing your arm before you crashed against the floor, nearly pulling down one of the hospital monitors in the process.

“Don't you know how to knock?” You bit back, taking his comment more personally that you should’ve.

“Didn’t think it’d be necessary.” Wakasa crossed his arms in front of his chest, shifting the lollipop in his mouth from one side of his cheek to the other. Standing beside, Benkei held a teddy bear and a lavender flower arrangement, mixed along with baby’s breaths and eucalyptus. If anyone had to guess, the bewildered expression he sported only meant he’d rather have his friend die than see whatever blasphemous activities you were performing. But then again, he probably expected to see his friend bedridden and weak instead of the free front row tickets to your ‘dry humping a post-concussed Shinichiro’ expectale. “‘Thought the worst thing we’d come across was him sleeping.”

“Why did you think coming across me sleeping d’be the worst case scenario!?” Shinichiro butted in lightheartedly, though you wouldn’t rule out the possibility of him actually being serious. “Are you saying I look ugly when I sleep?”

“No, you dumbass,” Wakasa deadpanned; even with his usual unbothered facade you could tell he was grateful for the ordinary banter, questioning his stupidity with a hidden smile. “How’re we gonna talk to you if you’re asleep.”

“Wait, what happened? I didn't see,” Takeomi joined in, panting as he held a couple of balloons that had ‘it's a boy!’ written all over them. “These two assholes left me while I was getting something to eat.”

The two of you groaned at the sound of his voice, pressing the heels of your hands against while Shinichiro hid his eyes behind his forearm. Even if you wanted to be lowkey about the whole situation, sweep it under the rug to avoid facing the embarrassment over again, you knew you wouldn't be able to hide it from anyone, not even Takeomi, and he wasn’t the brightest.

Shinichiro’s hair was a tousled mess and his skin was dusted pink. Both of your lips were puffy, glistening under the fluorescent lights, and your breathing was uneven still. No matter how much the two of you tried to regulate it back to normal, it seemed to follow the rapid rhythm of each other’s heart beat.

“Nothing happened.” You grumbled, willing to attempt a lousy cover up in spite of your friend’s, including Shinichiro, giggling. Once he found out, it would be impossible for him to let it go. But even so, it took a lot of effort not to join in your friends’ laughter; it was funny to fuck with him—not literally—his puzzled frown as he borderline begged for someone to let him only feeding in your teasing. Still, once he found out. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah, talking about fuck–”

“Wakasa!” “Dude!”

The two of you exclaimed as the blond tilted his head to the side, making his earring jingle. A teasing smile stretched on his lips as the four of you waited for Takeomi to process what was just mentioned. Knowing the speed in which the neurons within his brain transported information, it’d take a little while.

To everyone’s surprise, it only took him a couple of seconds to do so. You could visibly see it in his expression, morphing into one of amazement the minute realisation hit him straight in the face

“Did’ya– No way, you finally fucked?” And though his lack of decorum made the two men beside him laugh louder and the two of you groan as if to muffle his voice, he paid your reaction no mind other than using it as an affirmative response to his question. “No way, congrats dude! Who would’ve thought you needed to almost die just to lose your virginity.”

“I hate you so much.” Shinichiro playfully complained, a stupid grin threatening to make its way onto his lips disproving his claim. Seeing his four best friends standing around him right after waking up from what could’ve been a tragic accident made him feel all sorts of things he found himself unable to explain. It almost made him want to cry once again—happy tears this time.

“Anyway, now that you’ve got someone to stay with,” you changed the topic, interrupting yourself to fix the stray hairs sitting on top of Shinichiro’s head before caressing his cheek with your thumb, “I’ll go check whatever Keisuke’s doing, I‘ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait no, don’t go…” You had to resist the urge to give him another quick peck at the way he dragged out the ‘go’, and instead, grabbed your phone from his bedside table to respond to the missed messages coming from your mom. “Don’t leave me with these people.”

“Very funny Shitty-chiro.” Takeomi fake laughed, letting himself fall on one of the chairs nearby, stretching his arms before fully slumping against the backrest and looking at you. “But’s fine, I left Haruchiyo in charge, Senju’s with them as well.”

“Well that doesn't make things any better, does it.” At your snapping voice, he raised his hands up in surrender, as if the idea of letting a 13 year-old in charge of two 12 year-olds didn't have multiple flaws. Doing a 180° turn, you turned towards Shinichiro, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be quick, promise.”

“Wait, before you go,” Wakasa interrupted, stopping you from slinging your bag over your shoulder. He took the bright red candy out of his mouth with a pop, using it as a little wand to emphasise his speech, before he continued. “Who confessed first?”

“Yeah!” Takeomi sat at the end of his seat, gaze switching from Shinichiro to you and vice versa. “How did Shinichiro confess to ya’?”

Again, faster than the usual processing speed of his cognitive skills, he managed to string the hints together, gasping at the silence that settled between the two of you as you tried to silently decide who should say what. Shinichiro opened his mouth like a fish, as if trying to come up with something to appease his friend’s reaction before giving up and averting his eyes, pointing at you with his thumb.

Wakasa’s smirk only grew the more Takeomi seemed to sink back into the chair in dejection. “‘gotta pay up Omi-omi.”

The ruffling of bills and the complaints birthed out of the apparent loser’s mouth distracted you momentarily. You were about to laugh at the scene in front of you, two of them waiting with their hands stretched out as Takeomi reluctantly placed the wrong amount in his palm, grunting when Wakasa noticed it wasn’t the amount they had agreed on, before it clicked in your head.

“Pay up,” you mumbled to yourself, “Pay up, pay up? Wait, did you three bet on us?”

“Kinda,” Benkei sent you a reassuring smile, counting the hundred yen bills that were handed to him once again; when it came to money matters, Takeomi wasn’t someone you could trust. “We bet on who’d confess first.”

“And you didn’t bet on me?!” Shinchiro exclaimed, a little louder than he intended.

“Sorry man, ‘didn't have faith in you,” Wakasa folded the five crinkled bills in half before stashing them in his back pocket. “After your failed attempt I kinda accepted you weren’t going to win, Benkei was always betting against you, though.”

“But ‘ya admit it!” Takeomi jumped from his seat, waving his now empty wallet in the air like he was fencing with the worn out leather rectangle. “He did confess first!”

“Hell no, it only counts if it was a successful confession.”

“So the bet wouldn’t count if one of them got rejected? What's the point then!”

Wakasa groaned, pressing his temples with his thumb and middle finger, “It only counts if the two of them understand whatever was done was a confession.”

“But the lighter was him confessing!”

“Takeomi, that was the vaguest confession to ever be seen by the entirety of mankind.”

“What confession are you talking about…?” You interrupted the animated discourse with a question. In spite of enjoying the banter between your friends, you remained in the dark. Shinichiro had never confessed to you, or even remotely tried to do so. You were a hundred percent certain, after all, had he done so you were sure you’d be dating by now.

“The lighter you always carry around,” Takeomi responded, “the fish one.”

Instinctively, you patted the pocket where your zippo lighter sat, carefully trailing your thumb lightly over the red imprints as you pulled it out. It looked almost exactly the same way as it did during the summer festival. The only difference, aside from the way the metal reflected the cold hospital lights instead of fireworks and paper lanterns, were the couple of dents on the metal and the previously well-defined engraving softening over the years.

“S‘not just a fish,” Shinichiro chuckled, letting himself fall back on the bed while hiding his flustered state behind a seemingly lame explanation. At this rate, he was sure his skin could be permanently stained a pinkish-red. “It's a red koi fish.”

“Wait,” you snapped your head from the lighter to him, letting your mouth fall open in surprise, “you, you meant that?”

“What do you…mean?” Shinichiro poked, voice twisting and forcing the ‘mean’ to come out strained. Watching your shoulders tense up and, somehow, simultaneously relaxed made him wary of the whole situation, like the universe itself was playing a prank on him. And though unlikely, he wasn't ruling out the possibility of random cameras popping up from behind the door or through the window or maybe from underneath his bed with a huge poster reading ‘you’ve been pranked!’.

He had given you that lighter seven years ago, the engravings were probably faded by now, there was no way…

“Red koi fish mean romantic love, don’t they?”

It took him a couple of seconds to properly run your words through his brain, before his eyes widened in amusement mixed with the mild disappointment his seventeen year-old-self had forced himself to ignore after his confession had gone wrong. “You knew!?”

“Uh…yeah? We learned that in literature class.” You shrugged with a sheepish smile in an attempt to tame down the laughter that had started bubbling in your throat at his mortified reaction. He groaned at your response, throwing one of his arms over his eyes, the sound mixing with a cry as the movement pulled on the IV digging into his arm.

He licked his lips a couple of times and rubbed the skin above the needle in an attempt to soothe the ache. Stalling, he was trying to buy time before he asked anything that could potentially hurt him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Aside from flustered and pouty, slightly amused at his own failed attempt, he appeared to be a little sullen, perhaps even sad. It was obvious to you, though you didn’t know why; maybe he was blaming himself for losing the opportunity to get in a relationship with you way earlier. Or, maybe he blamed himself for putting any sort of pressure on you; back then, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure how you felt about him, so maybe you had purposely ignored his advances because you didn't want him. But that couldn’t be it, could it? Less than a couple of minutes ago the two of you were confessing your love for each other, so if that were to be the case, when did your feelings for him start to change? “Did, uh, did you not like me back then?”

Looking at his hopeful yet gloomy expectant features, he appeared so small and vulnerable in front of you, you wanted to give him a hug. The question had visibly caught you off-guard, your brows furrowing as soon as he was done talking. Who would’ve thought that a seemingly innocuous event from your past would come back transformed into an apparent irrational insecurity. It prompted yet another silence upon the two of you. And though it felt eternal, it lasted only a couple of milliseconds, interrupted by both your annoyance and Takeomi munching on the chips he bought at an inflated price on one of the hospital’s vending machines.

“Do you mind?” You turned towards the obnoxious mistake you had chosen as a friend, snickering as he shrugged in questionable indifference, mumbling a muffled ‘go on’ before motioning you two to continue with a shake of his hand. But at the lack of positive feedback from anyone in the room he stopped himself to explain.

“What? It’s like watching a live romcom,” he shoved more chips into his mouth, “The ones we watch every friday, ‘ya know what I mean?”

“Okay,” Benkei clapped both his hands together, gathering everyone’s attention before he pulled Takeomi into a standing position and pushed both him and an amused Wakasa towards the door. “Seems like all of us are hungry, we’re heading to the cafeteria real quick, we’ll send Baji back up when we’re done, sounds good?”

“Sounds good, thanks, Benkei.” You smiled at him, watching the three of them leave and sighing in satisfaction when you saw the way the gentle-giant punched Takeomi’s arm once they were far enough for his complaints to appear silent. “But to answer your question,” you turned towards Shinichiro once again, sitting at the edge of the bed and resting your hand on top of his. You could see the way he visibly relaxed against your touch, the warmth of your skin coaxing his insecurities away little by little. “I did like you very much back then, too much for it to be considered healthy, I'm pretty sure…”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Well, I, you know,” you stumbled over your words, suddenly feeling the embarrassment for your younger self was all over you. Why didn’t you say anything? Well, in hindsight, you didn’t think Shinchiro had it in him to use a literary reference as a means of confession. Not because he was stupid, that was Takeomi's role, but because it was very un-Shinichiro. You had been witness to the countless failed confession attempts and nothing included anything as subtle and detailed as the lighter he had gifted you. Back then, he professed his brimming infatuation with an honest smile, the well-rehearsed question ‘would you go out with me?’ and absolutely nothing else. And though the ‘courting’ period included him acting all whipped and soft, he was usually very blunt when it came to asking people out, gentle but direct.

Although, thinking about it a little bit more in depth, he had always been very romantic, sometimes cringy with the shitty pick up lines, but during movie nights he had always chosen movies with clear romantic subplots, and you can recall that one romance poetry book he kept borrowing from the library, unable to finish it before returning it—at least that’s what you thought, by the amount of times he had taken it home.

When you were both in middle school and high school, he would watch couples holding hands with a gentle smile, sometimes going as far as spacing out and letting a dreamy sigh fall from his lips—he always brushed off the person asking the reason behind his sighing, but you were paying attention to him more often than not, so of course you knew—and of course, you couldn’t forget the many times he had shared hypothetical scenarios with the four of you, most of them consisting of him fantasising out loud the sort of dates he’d like to have with his hypothetical s/o or what he would do for them before being relentlessly teased by all of you.

So, in retrospect, him trying to confess through a pretty much evident symbol extracted from one of your favourite books was a very un-Shinichiro, Shinichiro thing to do, if that made any sense.

“I think…I might’ve gaslit myself into believing it was a coincidence, didn't wanna get my hopes up.”

“I thought, I– I thought it was pretty obvious that I liked you.” He chuckled, scooting to the side in order to make more space for you to lay, next to him, the same you had done most of the days you had spent here. “Everybody knew I did.”

“Wait, really? I thought you were being friendly!” You let out a laugh, watching him soften up even more at your obliviousness and simultaneously hold back laughter of his own. “Don’t laugh at me! You were flirtier with Wakasa than with me!”

“You can’t blame me!” He finally laughed along with you, interlocking your fingers together and pulling you close until you were squished next to him, and waited for you to get comfortable before continuing his spiel. “Waka’s my best friend, we’ve always been like that, and you know it.” He nuzzled his cheek against your head, muttering the words in the quietest way possible, like he didn’t want to be heard by anyone but you. “Plus I couldn't flirt with you, I'd blush and cry afterwards.”

“Yeah, I’d’ve cried if you flirted with me as well.”

“Hey!”

“I mean it in a good way! Happy tears or whatever.” You sighed with a giddy grin, caressing his cheeks with the back of your hand before smushing them together, forcing a pout and giving him a quick peck on the lips. “I promise I’ll forever be in love with you.”

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yandereloversblog · 2 years

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Here another one: I had a dream where I eating at a restaurant and I saw this Aquarium they had and one of the the octopus started to insult me- I start to argue back and the octopus told mw “if u don’t stfu right you little pussy bitch I’ll make you a whore for a whole 3 months” I said I’ll take my whore inspiration from you octussy- the octopus got rlly mad and turn into Ursala. I was trying to run away bc she was trying to eat me. I ran out of the restaurant but apparently bc I said ursala a whore a bunch of clownfish with legs wanted a fight- I don’t fight so I ran again and I ran into 5 10ft minions who were in the back licking cocain off the the ground - I didn’t relized that I walk into a cult and they got mad bc I walk into it and I had to run again. While running I ran into a night market where I got transported into a video game where I was stuck in a maze with a clown that was 4ft tall but if he catches you he suck on your toes. I didn’t want that but I wasn’t rlly fast at running so he caught up to me and I was drag down to the ground where he took off my shoes and started to suck and lick my toes and then I woke up

Idk if this should be a hc or scenario 😭 but I think either one works- I kinda want more Yandere BD (first Gen) and Yandere baiji trio (baiji, Chifuyu, Kazu) dealing with my dramas 💀

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!1𝐬𝐭 𝐆𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐁𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐨

I would like everyone's attention... Um- these crack dreams are now my priority and I'll be doing them as soon as I see them thank you very much. But I'd like to think of these more as discussions XD

... And yes I have a special border for BajiTrio don't come at me.

Him: Babe, if Ursula says one more bitchy thing to you in your dreams tell me, I'll go in the ocean, catch that bitch and cook her... And I'll kill every clown I see from now on to make you feel better. Those bitches better count their days.

Listening very intently, remembering every detail and writes it down to keep some inside jokes between the two of you when time comes: Shinichiro, Chifuyu, Baji

Him: I see... *Falls asleep*

Either fell asleep as you were talking or once you were done: Takeomi, Benkei

Him: What the fuck is up with the clowns like- Know what, next time we see a clown I'll punch them for you.

And he did punch those clowns, probably now has a deep hatred towards anything that bothers you in your dreams: Benkei, Kazutora, Chifuyu

Him: Are you sure you weren't doing cocain yourself before I kidnapped you???

Is starting to believe you've had some drug addiction he didn't know of before but thinks your dreams are entertaining: Baji, Wakasa, Takeomi

Him: Okay- listen bitch. Why am I not in your dreams?

You: What does that have to do with this?? Just shut up and listen.

Him: No, I want to be in your dreams from now on. Don't tell me anything unless I'm in your dreams.

Next time you wake him up to tell him something he BETTER be in your dreams saving you from some creepy ass clowns: Shinichiro, Wakasa, Kazutora, Baji

Him: Yes you're a whore- but you're MY whore, make that clear to her next time okay?

Just- it's just Wakasa, no need to elaborate more on this.

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y-umiko · 2 years

Text

TOKYOREV BOYS WHEN THEY FOUND A SKETCH OF THEMSELVES, DRAWN BY YOU - Drabbles

CHARACTER(S): Bonten WARNING/S: none :P Request

a/n: sorry, it took so long. first time writing for Takeomi and Mochi.

Mikey was never the prying type, but when he saw the canvas-like notebook among your things, one he saw you always scribbling in during meetings, curiosity got the best of him. he flipped through the pages of the book, the content have him being entranced as early as the first page. sketches of the Bonten executives linger on every page, the details exquisite as it can get, among those sketches he found himself. It was not weird to find himself among the others but seeing that majority of your drawings were him, mostly sketches of him eating dorayaki or dozing off during a meeting, either way, you manage to find and capture an innocent side of him, completely different to his current dark life. a small rare smile spread on Mikeys' lips as he continue to flip through the pages, but despite his attention completely drawn to your sketches he didn't miss the way you entered the room, followed by a gasp as he turned to look at you. and if Mikey thought your Sketches were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, your flustered self was even more alluring, with rosy cheeks and an awkward smile as you fidget with the hem of your shirt. suddenly bowing as you apologized for drawing him without permission. gently closing your sketchbook before making his way towards the exit behind you, Mikey passed by you but stop midway as if thinking about somehing before slightly glancing back at you.

"come with me, we should discuss your new position as my 2nd secretary"

Sanzu scans the sketches you drew once more, a hum of approval escaping his lips as he spins around on the chair, your chair. he was just supposed to drop some document on your table when he accidentally found your sketches, and instead of being a good person, Sanzu chooses to pry, opening the sketchbook as if he owned it. as soon as he flips it open, Ran's face was what he saw, earning a scowl from him, flipping to the next he saw Rindou, Koko on the next. frustrated he flipped through the entire sketchbook, every page filled with his team members, and not a single sketch of him. he was so close to flipping and complaining at you when he happen to stumble to another sketchbook, after rummaging your desk, which he aims to apologize to you later. the new sketchbook was filled with only his portrait, raging from sketches from when he was fighting to his serious face as he discusses something with the others, either way, you manage to capture all his best sides and the fact that you dedicated a whole new sketchbook just for him erases all his earlier frustration. Sanzu can't help but take a selfie of one of your sketches of him and sent it to you with a very cute caption.

"I should just steal you from Koko and make you work for me"

Kakucho silently and seriously scans the document you handed him, courtesy of Koko, it was just a financial report as usual nothing out of the ordinary, numbers after numbers yet as he flips through the next page a cough immediately escapes him, his face feeling rather hot. somehow a sketch of himself was mixed among the report, his name clearly written on the bottom with unmistakably your handwriting. the paper was a little torn but still intact, and despite it all - the sketch was so detailed that he easily identified himself, the cute doodle of the heart on the edge of the paper sending his heart into a frenzy. Kakucho is known to always have a stern or serious look on his face making him seem cold, even he knew that. yet the sketch you had drawn him depicted him with a small smile, making him appear kind. he melted inside. that day, instead of his secretary, Kakucho personally returned the documents to you, making sure you received them before quickly scrambling away with a rather red face. and to your surprise, you found the sketch you made among the reports and before you can pray that he didn't see it, you fond words were neatly written on it.

"meet me later at the bar across the street - Kakucho "

Mochi had become more conscious of his appearance ever since Ran randomly blurted it out to him that you've been sketching the members. he was doubtful at first but after catching your gaze one time before quickly scribbling down into a piece of paper had him correcting his doubts that the very next day he showed up dress-up more than usual. Mochi was so conscious that whenever you're in the same room as him he becomes stiff as he overthinks whether he should pose or not for you. this goes on for a few more days, the sudden change in his personality exhausts him and after a very meaningful and serious talk with Takeomi, he decided to just confront you about it. and sure enough, he found you sketching once more, with his powerful stature, towering above you had him freezing on the spot as you look up from your curled up form, his eyes catching the sketch you were currently doing, the person on the sketch unmistakenly his.

"So I heard you drew me…any chance I can see it over a cup of coffee?"

As much as Ran was amazed by your drawings, he was more astonished by your embarrassed state as you stood in front of him, face red, and avoiding eye contact as he smirks at your predicament. much like Sanzu he accidentally stumbled upon your sketchbook as he decided to forgo privacy and search your desk for some stapler but instead find something more valuable. he can't stop his lips from grinning as he flips through every page to find his portrait from various angles, only frowning when he found sketches of his fellow executives. but he was too lost to the high to keep lingering on them. his favorite of them all was his half-body sketch, you captured even his downturned eyes-his short hair that is styled slicked back even his earing, you captured down to every detail. although almost looking perfect there was one minor detail he notice, his tattoo stretching from his nape and collarbones down to his torso was lacking, possibly because of the fact that you haven't seen him without his shirt-which, he quickly propose a solution to you when you walk in with him grinning from ear to ear, your sketchbook on his hand.

"so how about it? drawing me like one of your french girls?"

Rindou already knew you were drawing him, it was hard not to when he always caught your stares during meetings, your wandering gaze coming up to his face as if memorizing every detail of his face and Rindo always felt warmth shot to his cheeks every time. when he would ask you, you always deny it claiming you were taking down notes. so when he caught you in the act, he didn't let the chance slip by. a satisfied, annoying smirk playing on his lips as he snatches the sketchbook away from you, he was ready to tease you or give a witty remark. but upon a closer look at the sketch drawn on the blank canvas, his black and purple hair standing out and bringing the whole sketch into life had him getting speechless. the familiar warmth creeping up his cheeks as he opens and closes his mouth, not finding any words to say. Needless to say, he love it very much that he also got you many more sketchbooks with a clear demand.

"Only fill them with my portrait"

Kokonoi has always been curious about what you've always scribbled, the sound of the pencil running across the paper always reaches his ears whenever you are around. his interest skyrockets when you refuse to show him the book when he asked for it, even though you work for him. he had no choice but to catch you off guard one time and sneakilly snatch the sketchbook on your desk. to his surprise his pair of black eyes stare back at him, his white hair flows with so much detail that it looks so real. the sketch itself shows the elegance of his lifestyle, the jeweled earing he was earning, the gold chain hanging on his neck, and even his favorite expensive bottle of wine in the background. he can only fathom how much time it took you to draw him and makes him wonder of other possibilities you can do, he didn't waste any more time as he staked the whole hideout to find you and make a very tempting offer.

"how much do you want for it?"

Takeomi always felt your stares, but when he would turn to look, you would already be buried in your sketchbook, eyes focused only on the paper in front of you. Takeomi is smart but he had no evidence so every time he would suspiciously narrow his eyes at you. and somehow he manages to take hold of one of your sketches of him, thanks to his strong connection with the Bonten members. he huffs a puff of smoke, a cigarette between his fingers, as his eyes focus on the sketch you made. the most noticeable on the portrait was the scar running down his eye, though many claims it made him look scary, somehow you manage to capture it in an angle that made him look more serene. was this how you see him? Takeomi didn't waste any time looking for you, quietly handing you the now folded sketch, a small smile decorating his lips as he watch you curiously unfold the paper, a look of recognition passing your eyes before your face grew red. you were about to fold it back and bury it somewhere he will never find, but he was faster as he quickly took hold of your hand to stop you and stood almost threateningly in front of you, a smirk on his lips.

"I didn’t know Koko's little secretary thinks of me that way"

#tokyo revengers draken #tokyorevengers #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revenger x reader #bonten x reader #mikey x reader #sanzu x reader #kakucho x reader #mochizuki x reader #ran haitani x reader #rindo x reader #kokonoi x reader #takeomi x reader #bonten rindou #bonten kakucho #bonten sanzu #tokyo rev fluff #tokyo revengers rindou

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cheesus-doodles · 2 years

Text

Chapter 6: Don't Look Back in Anger

Former Gang Leader Darling AU (Red Dragonflies)

Red Dragonflies Masterlist | Masterlist | Ao3 Link for the Sane

‎‎‎

tw/cw: mentions of murder, death, gun violence, body mutilation and self mutilation, suicide, dead dove do not eat

A/N: This was so supposed to be out for my birthday but I still made it in the end! Didn't get a chance to have this beta read because this is an absolutely monster! Hope yall enjoy, this was more for my sanity because I just had to tell this story! Thank you everyone for sticking around!

‎‎‎

‎

“I’m tired, Takeomi.” Your voice, soft and weary, was a far cry from the firm yet kind tone he knew well.

The man said nothing, cigarette clenched lightly between his teeth as he plopped down onto the still damp grass next to where you were leaning against the trunk of an old, gnarly tree, hands tucked neatly under your legs. Despite knowing you for as long as he had, your eerie ability to tell who was approaching you from behind without turning your head still sent shivers down his spine - you had always been a tad too aware of your surroundings for his comfort, let alone for someone as young as you, even if it did come with the territory. At the same time, it seemed like you weren’t actually registering that he was here. Almost as if you were just leaving a voicemail.

The early morning gale that had just an hour earlier blew the torrent of rain through his open bedroom window, heartlessly drenching both him and his bed, seemed to favor you more - now a soft breeze that lightly tossed your hair up as the cool air blew in from across the open field. You didn’t turn to acknowledge him, large doe eyes not shifting from where it was fixed on the overcast heavens, rumbling gray clouds with a hint of an impending thunderstorm blocking out what should have been azure skies ablaze with the dancing colors of the rising sun.

Next to you, your mobile phone nestled untouched among a patch of grass and flowers chimed incessantly, the small screen lighting up with what seemed like a continuous stream of message, the lull created by the humming of cars whizzing by a stone’s throw away only occasionally broken by the ring of what would be another unanswered call. A picture of a smiling blond-haired boy holding up a piece of taiyaki took the place of your phone’s normal background, accompanied by a familiar name splashed across the top of the screen - Mikey. “Not going to answer that?”

“I don’t think so.” Came your almost dreamy response, hand reaching out to absentmindedly flip your phone around, hiding the blinking screen from his view. But this was more an intuitive move on your part rather than an attempt to dodge your responsibilities - it was easy to tell you were barely even present in the moment, watching the time slip by through your fingers. More like a visitor simply watching from afar.

Takeomi lit his cigarette, before stubbing out the match on a small, mossy rock, the sizzle of fire extinguishing drowned out by the roar of yet another vehicle racing by somehow oddly poetic. Taking a deep breath, the once-feared Black Dragon Vice Captain allowed himself to consider his next move.

Nothing about you and your life had ever been easily rectifiable when things fell apart; and if there was anyone that had learnt this lesson well, it was undoubtedly him. He had tried to help previously, what with his renowned strategic skills in battle, but it was always Shinchiro that had a better handle on you and solutions for your endless troubles when you came knocking. Yet the duty that came alongside the blessing the Black Dragon founder gave to you all those years ago now fell to him, and no matter how unsuitable he felt for the role, Takeomi owed it to his best friend. Filtering through his memories, situations where he found you like this - a kid lost in the world with a burden far too great for your small delicate shoulders - were far and few between, though the outcomes were always the same: much like a game of chess with just the two opposing kings left on the board, there was no obvious solution and no obvious end. Exhaling, Takeomi dropped his hand from his lips as he watched the smoke quickly dispersing into the cool air, whisked away in the light draft - he was really getting too old for this.

But time ticked mercilessly on, the man turning once more to look over a still unmoving you, glazed eyes reflecting everything yet nothing at all; you needed to be grounded before you were in any state to talk. There wasn’t much he could ask or say if you remained as you were - and the curiosity was killing him. The longer he takes to rouse you from this zombie-like state, the more you would come up with worse and worse ideas, trapped in your head with nothing but time; and of course the lesser time Takeomi had to find out the comings and goings of your life and of the greater Kanto region when you did finally emerge. Passing his stick from one hand to the other, the former Vice Captain of the Black Dragon reached out, though he hesitated mere inches from your head. How did Shinchiro do it again?

Fuck it, he thought, withdrawing his hand sharply; it wasn’t like Takeomi could say exactly how his friend brought you out of these moods all those years ago. Might as well he tried something different. Reaching back down into the pockets of his pants, the man pulled out that comforting box of cigarettes.

“Stick?” He grunted, though he moved to pass you the slightly crumpled packet before you could offer an answer. And unsurprisingly, you accepted, the torn plastic wrapping lightly crunching under your touch as you slid one out for yourself with ease, allowing him to light it for you with a new match. His death at the business end of a furious Koji's cane when (not if) the other found out was but expected, watching you choke on the lungful of foul-smelling smoke you inhaled; you always hated the smell even after you had picked up the bad habit from Shinichiro (and him, though Takeomi would never admit it) all those years ago in a bid to manage your mounting stress, and was made to drop it cold turkey when your concerned friends cut you off. In his defense, this was the best he could think of in the heat of the moment.

The two of you sat in silence, the clouds above head leisurely drifting past in whichever direction the wind took them, uncaring about the problems of the mortal world below. Takeomi took another drag; now, to wait.

You seemed to shake back into reality a few puffs and several horrid sounding coughs in, blinking owlishly at your surroundings and then at the former Black Dragon Vice Captain as you took in your location; he wouldn’t be surprised if you yourself had no idea how you got here. He had heard of your legendary auto-pilot mode from both your weary Red Dragonflies and Shinichiro. “Takeomi? When did you get here?”

“Just a while ago.”

You hummed, taking another look around. "Did they send you?"

"Yep," The former delinquent dropped his head into his hands, rubbing weary eyes into his palms, his lit cigarette uncomfortably close to his skin. "That fucker Jun appeared yelling outside my fucking door this morning and woke me up at 4. Said something about giving you space and to look out for you, then left for baseball practice. Fuck me, I just went to bed and my neighbours were pissed. Don't even know how you people keep finding me."

“Sorry,” You laughed, not sounding the least bit apologetic, your eyes scrunching up along with your nose as you did, and just for that moment, you actually looked your age. Takeomi blinked, and the illusion dissipated. "Must have been Masashi’s doing. He doesn’t like it, but he’s good at this sort of thing," you mused, hand reaching for your discarded phone to weigh it in your palm. “Probably has me tracked here too.”

You didn’t seem concerned in the slightest that you most likely were being watched by your friends in red; nor that Takeomi seemed to have found you with little difficulty, sitting in the same open field you so loved since you were young. The delinquent with the scarred eye was certain that it wasn’t a lack of foresight for you to be sitting out in the open like this for several hours (even taking into consideration your disassociation), and that you were more than capable of vanishing into thin air with no trace to follow if you wanted to as you had many times in the past. Yet Mikey and his Tokyo Manji Gang were unable to find you even while you weren’t trying to hide? Did they even know you?

He shook his head; the more he thought, the more questions he had - and the one thing he was sure of was that you wouldn’t answer them all. But one question stood out in his sleep-deprived mind, the burning need to know overpowering his hesitancy. “So what happened?”

"Thought you know better than to meddle in our affairs?" The corners of your mouth quirked up as you gently teased. "What was it again? Something about a cafe and some Serpents- "

"Okay, okay I get it!" He hurriedly blurted out, cutting you off, cheeks burning slightly as you laughed once more. The last thing he wanted to be reminded of was that, no matter how many years ago that incident had been. You did take pity on him and his incessant need to know though (bless your soft heart), your gaze sliding off him and fixating onto a tiny white flower sprouting from the grass before you started speaking again.

"Izzy - Izana - he came to visit. And they met him in the morning."

Ah. Takeomi winced. That already explained so much. “And then what?”

You sighed, running one hand through your hair. “Furusawa snitched on my past to my friends. About my time with the Reds, most likely about me and Izzy. I don’t even know the full extent.”

“Mikey and his gang?” The former black dragon cocked his head. “Why?”

“I don’t know!” you threw your hands up, letting out an annoyed 'urgh'. “I’ve been trying to think of a good reason why, but I got nothing. It’s weird that Furu would do something like that - it’s not him, you know? Maybe he was influenced into ratting me out?”

And that was the danger of letting you stew alone for so long, Takeomi immediately reaching out to flick your forehead. “Or he could just be genuinely worried for you and not know who else to turn to.”

You reluctantly considered the older man’s words, rubbing at your forehead. “I guess so,” you grumbled, but you were far from convinced.

“Think on it for a while. Izana did put you in quite a bit of danger.”

You shrugged, just as a chime on your phone went off. “Well, time’s up.” Getting to your feet, you dusted off your spotless skirt, before turning to face him one more, the moodiness on your face replaced by a small smile. “Been good speaking with you again, Takeomi.”

“Off to meet Izana?”

“Not just yet,” you hummed, glancing at your phone once more before finally tucking it away in a pocket, unaffected by the continuous buzzing of your Toman friends desperately trying to reach you. “Got somewhere else to be first.”

“Take care of yourself okay?” Jun had explicitly instructed Takeomi not to let you go and meet Izana on the threat of death (he was going to die anyway for that smoke), and he remembered this fact fine despite his half-sleep daze - how could he not at the end of a baseball bat he knew painfully well? But you were you. You knew how to look after yourself.

Dipping your head, you raised a hand in parting. “You look a lot better, Takeomi. I’m glad. Try not to get into so much debt again.”

The former Black Dragon Vice-President blinked. Debt, again? Wait, had you been the anonymous benefactor that had negotiated with his yakuza debtors? The man whirled around, the wind whipping at his well-gelled mullet. “I-”

But you were already gone.

‎

“She replied to you, didn’t she?” Mikey demanded, abyss eyes swinging around to meet glazy sandy ones, the metal of his phone creaking and crying out under his crushing grip, the unfortunate messenger of yet another failed call. “Try again.”

Kazutora sniffled, a fresh round of hot tears trailing a well-trodden path down his already reddened cheeks. “B-But she’s not picking up-” His response was half whimpered, half wailed, mobile phone held just mere inches from his eyes as the boy desperately tried to scan through his flurry of messages on the tiny screen with blurry eyes, all in the hopes of that it was him who missed a newer reply from you. The reply had been just a single fullstop, more likely than not a mispress, yet the Toman founders couldn’t help but hold out hope. “She’s not-”

“Nothing from my side either.” Draken announced over the duo-colored hair boy, letting out a ragged sigh as he allowed his hand to fall away from his face, hitting the worn wooden bench with a muffled thud. Running one hand over his sweaty brow, the stormy clouds that had already unleashed its fury once but still loomed threateningly above did little to alleviate the humid air that clung to his skin. What a wretched day it was, with neither the sun willing to shine nor the wind willing to blow, yet it was especially so without you by their side to make the world brighter.

The dark eye bags that hung low from most of their eyes were even clearer in the dull sunlight - the previous night spent apart from you, knowing nothing about where you were or whether you were safe had weighed heavily on them. “This is all their fault,” Baji hissed, the audible anger that rolled off his tongue, enough to make any regular delinquent in his vicinity tremble at the mere thought of being on the receiving end, this time directed at a foe not present. Bronze eyes flickered over to the outwardly calmer Mitsuya, though the mix of rage and anxiety broiling behind his lavender eyes were clear to everyone around as he gingerly rested his phone face-down, his face taunt and stiff as he spoke up. “No word from any of the others. She hasn’t been at any of her usual spots.”

The sound of wood splintering as Baji hurled his bottle across the patch of grass, curses rolling freely off his tongue as the plastic now embedded an inch into a new split in the wood letting out one final groan before releasing its water to drain freely to the ground. Yet the boy was barely a breath off even after the incredible show of force, instead turning to stomp off and look for himself. And the rest of the Toman founders let him - the First Division Captain had always been the most agitated and impatient of them all. No doubt he was eager to have you back with him again, and the bad sleep the boy got only made him more impatient.

"I told you we shouldn’t have listened," came the accusation hurling from Kazutora, unblinking eyes reddened from hours of crying. “Why would they tell us the truth?” Given it was Kazutora that made the traumatizing discovery of you being missing from your room after shimmying his way up that big tree outside your window, his disgruntlement with Mikey’s decision to stand down was almost understandable. Just maybe if he had been a little earlier, a little faster in chasing your tails up that threateningly dark flight of stairs, he could have been there for you, to comfort you and tell you that it’ll all be alright, that Toman would take care of you even if the rest wouldn’t. Like how you were always there for him. They could have been there for you.

Maybe they should have, Draken considered, glancing back down at his phone as it started to beep with the quarterly hour updates from the rest of the captains and vice-captains of the Tokyo Manji Gang rolling in. But at the same time, he could argue that the information that they had gained in a single hour speaking with your left hand man in return for letting you roam for a night was almost worth the trade-off, whether or not the others agreed.

‎

“Leave her.”

The previous night had been choked full of emotions in the aftermath of the fight between you and Furusawa, your house falling into an uncomfortable, unusual silence despite the presence of so many people.

Hase dragged one hand down his face, the weariness usually confined to his eyes now smeared across his expression, visibly aging the poor soul by a good decade. Though this tire failed to dim his sharp words or that unnerving look that he leveled plainly at the Toman founders, with even Kazutora, himself already poised to follow you, hesitating. “It wasn’t a question, if I wasn’t clear,” the blue-haired man reiterated. The quiet lethality Hase emanated even as he was bonelessly slumped against the doorway to your kitchen was impressive, even by Mikey’s lofty standards - the unspoken promise of pain should they cross him received well and clear by all six. They could understand why this unwanted intruder was worthy of being your left-hand man and First Division Captain, though it certainly didn’t mean he had their respect. Far from it; these Red Dragonflies were the ones that stirred up this whole unnecessary drama in your life. A smooth-sailing life that you shared with them and only them. If only these assholes had never clawed their way out from the past.

“Why?” Mikey challenged, crossing his arms. Having to stand by and watch a side of you emerge like a cornered viper was already pushing the limits of what he could bear, not to say those doe eyes that had never known sadness with them that now brimmed with tears and anger; the boy didn’t think he had felt this angry in a long while. The one time he let you stray away from him against his will, let your leash loose on your pleading request and your absolute promise that you would be back by his side in three days, and this happens. The Toman President didn’t recall promising to let you leave him again and again like some sick game of peekaboo, and it didn’t help that your old gang was trying to cut your reel to your real friends for good.

The blond-haired boy was momentarily ignored in favor of Hase fumbling in his pocket, pulling out a pristine smoke pack only to sigh before tucking it away once more. “Fuck, can’t smoke in here,” he muttered, turning to face the boys again. "I’m sure you have your questions. If you don't go upstairs, I'll answer as many as I can."

Of course they would be immediately enticed - who wouldn't be? Someone as precious to them as you, who they thought they knew better than the back of their hands, but it turned out to be a complete lie. How much were you keeping from your dear friends? Draken held up his hand, cutting off Baji before the other could start to demand answers. "How many, and what kind?" Being a lot more skeptical than his hot-headed friend, Toman’s Vice Captain crossing his arms as he bodily turned away from the flight of stairs you had just fled up would have made for a frightening sight, his face taut with the effort of keeping the worry from his expression, though neither Mikey nor Kazutora held no such reservation, both boys almost a mirror of each other as they slammed open palms into your creaking wooden table, who took the blow with a groan.

“Who is Izana?!” “Who the fuck is Izana?!”

The Toman Vice Captain let out a groan, and both boys were sent reeling from the dining table with a slap each to the back of their heads. “Shut up.” Even in the wake of such a serious event, these two needy babies couldn’t take things seriously for once when it came to you - this was a negotiation between gangs, and jumping straight to the question was accepting all the terms at face value. “Sorry bout that, Hase-san.”

“No worries. An hour of questions, and nothing too personal about Boss.”

The blond-haired boy with the dragon tattoo pulled out a chair, waving the other to take a seat. “Let’s discuss.”

‎

It had been a full hour after Hase had concluded his talk with the Toman founders, and a ward away back in the Red Dragonflies’s home turf of Shinagawa City, it was in an unassuming room that two of the Wings had gathered over a chessboard. Plain, painted beige walls were covered with baseball pictures of kind, and another wall was lined with an unproportionally huge bookshelf and filled to the brim with books - yet the centre of focus of the room was a rack with a collection of various baseball bats right next to a simple bed, the sole shelf that no one else was allowed to touch. “White knight to D4 please.” Koji set his cup down on the coffee table, and not far from where he sat, a dull clink: the distinct sound of a chess piece being set back down on its wooden board. “So what do you think?”

Jun furrowed his eyebrows as he surveyed the board. “And they still don’t know about that night? Or what she’s done with him?” The Second Wing clarified. “Black bishop to D4.”

“Unlikely given their reaction,” the Third Wing responded, adjusting himself on the cushion as he recalled what Hase had told them earlier. “Can’t imagine they would have been as manageable as they were if they did. White queen to D4.”

“True,” Jun paused, momentarily falling silent as he thought both about his next move and Koji’s words. “Boss is on the move again huh?”

Koji nodded. “Cutting through Shibuya.” They had no doubt of your exact location as you moved through the city; with a gang as big as theirs and the number of connections the Wings had, it was almost child’s play to have eyes on you at all times. Okay no, even Koji had to admit to himself that that was a lie without certain caveats - it was child’s play to have you followed and tracked if you weren’t trying to hide, like you were last night after disappearing from your room. No amount of connections or eyes found you despite them scouring the city, and all the Red Dragonflies could do was wait on their ass for you to appear once more.

You were simply too good at concealing yourself when you wanted to disappear.

“Meeting Izana?”

“Not just yet. I have men in the area around the cafe, they haven’t reported any sighting of her or Izana.”

“Hmmm. She could have changed the location or the-”

The conversation and his thoughts were momentarily derailed when Jun’s bedroom door burst open, and two girls stumbled in, still dressed in their elementary school uniform. “Nii-san!” “Nii-san!” They echoed, instantly reaching to tug at those golden locks attached to their older brother's head.

“OI!” A flail of arms had them let go for an instance, though the twin Matsuno sisters were quickly back at it with their grabby hands. “I FUCKING TOLD YOU TWO I’M BUSY!”

“No cursing nii-san!”

“Yeah no cursing!”

“We can’t reach the biscuits!"

"We'll cry if you don't get it for us!"

Jun only let out a string of even more colorful curses as he forced himself to stand, grabbing his baseball bat as he stalked out the door, his screeching echoing back. “RYUU! I TOLD YOU TO HANDLE IT!”

Koji sipped on his tea, following the shouting and the various bangs of objects and doors fading down the corridor. “I told you I’m studying, nii-san!”

“FUCKing STUDYING MY ASS! ONLY SHITBRAINS LIKE FURUSAWA HAVE TO STUDY!”

“Its always the fucking Sanos I swear.” Jun complained as he settled back down, bedroom door having been slammed shut and locked behind him, though it was a moment later that Koji realized what the conversation had moved to. “First Izana, now fucking Mikey. I fucking hate that Shinichiro. Peanut for brains. What was he even thinking?”

“You think so too?”

“Fuck yes?! She’s like a fucking dog on a leash - indulges them too much. Let them do whatever they fucking want, have you heard how many of her schoolmates they beat up?”

“We did that too,” Koji pointed out, earning himself an extremely annoyed tsk.

“That was different! And we don’t ask for cuddles or to sleep in her bed, do we? Fucking clingy bastards, every last one of them.”

“Well-“

“Fuck you, if you had asked her out earlier we wouldn’t be in this fucking mess, would we?”

He could feel the very pointed look shot at him without even looking, and Koji couldn’t stop the blush that crept up his neck onto his face. That was a very personal attack, and Jun knew it. “I-I couldn’t, okay?”

Jun sneered, but the sound quickly gave way to a thoughtful mumble. “I supposed if we could turn them on Izana and his new gang, it would be useful.”

The Third Wing straightened, a feeling of hope blossoming in his chest. They just might be able to save you after all. “Explain.”

‎

If he was being completely honest with himself, Takemichi had to admit he lost the plot a long time ago. When he had first started, he had only one goal in mind: to stop Hina’s seemingly inevitable future death. Yet even several leaps in plus the counsel of a police detective in the form of Naoto, the twenty-six year old couldn’t quite say where he had gone wrong: he just couldn’t figure out where you fit in. In his current future, with so many deaths still fresh on his mind - Mitsuya’s peaceful, almost sleep-like one, surrounded by flowers, and Mikey’s tearful goodbyes and those pain-filled eyes, hiding out in the middle of nowhere begging to be put out of his misery - Naoto had been unable to find any head or tail of you, though you certainly did exist in the past (where he had seen you with his own two eyes), the detective having pulled out your old school records. But the trail went stale there - no job applications, no hospital records, no death certificate. You seemed to have vanished off the surface of the earth roughly twelve to ten years ago, never to be seen again, and there was no trace of the Red Dragonflies left anywhere.

It didn't make any sense - you clearly were the sun that the Toman founders revolved around despite you turning out to be a rival gang leader yourself, and Takemichi having only ever caught a glimpse of you alongside them once. Chifuyu had refused to speak any further about you after that fight in the abandoned docks of Shinagawa, muttering that Baji-san would not be happy and it was better Takemichi forget he ever saw you, and the same went for any member clad in the black and gold uniform - most simply paled and asked if he was looking to die. The six monster delinquents that made up the backbone of the Tokyo Manji Gang seemed almost normal (if he dared say) with you laughing in their midst, ruffling their hair and handing out forehead kisses like they were children - no doubt none would have let you go so easily. So where were you?

Takemichi was barely able to muffle the groan that slipped out, drawing just the attention of his classmate to his left as he ruffled his hair in despair. What to do now? Letting out a sigh, the blond-haired boy slumped in his seat, allowing his head to drop and hit the wooden table top with a thud. Though he did mildly regret that decision as well given the wood was much harder than it looked, and his forehead was throbbing. Hopefully it didn’t bruise too. The sun had barely rose over the horizon of trees that lined the windows of his classroom, rays of morning light filtering through the leaf canopy muted on the rough surface of the blackboard already scribbled with several math questions,

The light knock on the classroom door that broke his teacher's rambling words had him nearly rocketing off his seat, his train of thoughts quickly derailed with the wave of sudden dread settling into the base of his gut. The mere probability that it was Mikey and Draken that had come looking for him again was enough to have him break into a cold sweat, though his nerves instantly settled when it was your soft, melodic voice rang out across the otherwise silent classroom. "Sorry for the disruption, is there a Hanagaki Takemichi here?"

Oh you were just looking for Hanagaki Takem - wait. That was him. And your voice sounded awfully familiar for some reason -

Takemichi only had enough time to poke the top of his head above his propped up textbook before twenty sets of eyes instantly turned accusingly on him, but your own set of doe eyes never left his teacher’s to follow the others, a gentle smile pulling at your lips when his teacher couldn’t help glancing in his direction. The blond-haired boy was sure he could hear the unspoken accusations loud and clear from just those looks alone - what horrors did he unleash this time? First Mikey and Draken, now what?

More importantly, what in the world were you doing here of all places asking after him? Weren’t Mikey and the others turning Tokyo upside down looking for you right this moment? That mental image of you lying (asleep or unconscious, he didn’t know nor did he want to find out) in your Vice President’s arms, Toman’s founders having rushed to your side and congregated around you as if in prayer. Those looks on their faces: they had been burned into his mind ever since that night; the absolute fear, the sheer rage. The urge to maim. He gulped - you were going to be the death of him, and Takemichi wasn’t quite that keen on dying just yet after all. How the fuck did he get himself into this mess again?

Though somewhat fortunately for him, the same math teacher that had always scared the living wits out of Takemichi was in his corner this time, and was none too willing to give him up that easily. Probably because of his abysmal grades. “Excuse me, who are you to Hanagaki-kun? You don’t seem to be from this school and class is ongoing,” she demanded, though those extremely stern eyes simply bounced off an unflinching you.

Seemingly more perplexed at her question than frightened witless by that death stare, you paused, your head cocking to your side as you considered her question for a moment before it registered. "Ah! I have-" Turning to rummage through your bag, you retrieved what looked like a carefully folded note. "I have a letter from the principal to excuse Hanagaki-san for the rest of the day. May I come in?"

The once-lifeless classroom instantly erupted into hushed whispers, his classmates now shamelessly leaning over aisles and tables to discuss their conspiracies, the eyes that previously only stared as long as was courteous were now fixed on him like flies to a honey trap. Though this time, Takemichi had to admit he couldn’t quite disagree with the gossip storm whipped up - who were you to get a letter from the principal just to excuse a mere student like him? Why him? But he didn’t have much time to ponder that either. You were waved in regardless of their theories, the blond-haired boy only watching the letter changing hands, and then the resignation that washed over his teacher’s face as she scanned over the crisp paper. “All right then. Hanagaki-kun, please gather your things. The rest of the class, turn your attention back to the question on the blackboard.”

The pressure he felt on his chest grew with every step you took towards him, his heart pounding away while cold sweat coated his shaking hands as he attempted to shove his belongings into his bag as quickly as he could. You either didn’t notice his nervousness at your presence, or rather you chose not to, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you picked up and offered him a lonely pencil left behind on the desk. “You ready?”

Your attention was drawn away as he haphazardly stuffed down the last of his papers, a quick rap on the desk of Takemichi's deskmate having said boy jerking his gaze up to meet yours as the math class started up once more around the two of you, the scribbling of pencils and chalk against blackboard quickly rising to cover up the sound of murmuring students. Winking as you held a finger up to your lips, the usually silent Suzuki who Takemichi had been seated next to for the past half a year looked like he had seen a ghost, face paling to a chalk white before reluctantly nodding.

“Right, let’s go.” You ushered him out the back door. “Come on, we have five minutes before Hisao outs us.”

“Hisao?” The blond-haired delinquent repeated in a daze, his bag swinging loosely from his grip.

“One of Koji’s, if my memory still serves me well.” You scratched at the nape of your neck as you breezed down empty corridors with ease, navigating the corridors like you had been here your whole life. "Though I swore he was in a different school?"

Hisao-kun; that meek, quiet boy who barely spoke? He was a delinquent as well?

“How can someone so unassuming be a delinquent, huh?” You laughed when Takemichi almost walked straight into a wall upon hearing his exact thoughts said out loud. “You’re too obvious, Hanagaki-san. Not every delinquent wants to stand out, you know?”

Your hand shot out to catch the elbow of his uniform, pulling him round the bend of a side corridor. “They all have their own stories and histories they carry,” you mused, as the two of you started your descent down a dim stairwell, the lack of students in usually crowded halls only serving to amplify your voice, and then the deafening silence as you fell quiet.

“Um..uh…” Takemichi scratched at the back of his head, fumbling for a way to break the awkward lull. What should he say? Why did you call him out of his class? Where should he start with his growing list of questions? “How should I address you? D-do I call you Boss too?”

He wanted nothing more than to kick himself in that instance. But you didn’t seem to mind his foot-in-mouth moment, your lips instead twitching upwards as the two of you stepped out into the mid-morning, an umbrella sprouting up above you. “Told those meatheads to knock it off.” You mumbled under your breath, the fondness carried in your voice unmistakeable, those doe eyes turning on him as the blond-haired boy was pelted with drizzle. “I’m not your boss, Hanagaki-san. My name will do.”

"Takemichi is fine. So why did you call me out?" He tried to ignore it the best he could, the feeling of his clothes slowly drenching and his hair gel coming apart, given he had forgotten to bring his umbrella, but you noticed and generously waved him under the shelter of your own, though you did hand it over to him to carry for the two of you.

“Not beating around the bush, I like it. But here is hardly the place to talk, Takemichi-san. Walls have ears.”

“Walls have ears, right,” the boy muttered to himself, eyes turning back down to scan the wet gray pavement. Here he was, once more following a stranger to god-knows-where and crossing his fingers that it didn’t get him killed or worse. The rest of the short walk was spent in that same silence; at least you seemed comfortable, humming a tune under your breath as you led him down twisting alleys that Takemichi never knew existed despite having lived in this city all his life. At some point the time leaper couldn’t quite pinpoint, your silent duo seemed to have crossed some unspoken line, and his surroundings - even the very air - around him shifted. The buildings grew taller and taller with every turn the two of you took, reaching up like tendrils in an attempt to swallow the sky. Even in broad daylight, something felt very off with this place, and the unlit signs that popped up more and more, sprawled haphazardly across worn walls tiled with large gray bland tiles, loose messes of wires hanging low between buildings, didn’t help make the blond-haired delinquent feel any more at home than the unusual stillness permeating the narrow backstreet and the feeling of eyes following the two of you.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t hear the bustling city just a stone’s throw away; the crowds couldn’t have been that far off, one street, maybe two? Almost as if he was in a bubble of sorts, the rumble of people muffled and the atmosphere they brought muted. This was no place to be caught as a passerby, Takemichi knew, yet for all the nervous glances tossed your way, you didn’t once look concerned. He would have continued on his merry way without noticing you stopping in front of one of many well-decorated doors if not for you catching his sleeve once more, and the blond-haired delinquent just had enough time to straighten up when the door slid open with nay a creak, only for Takemichi to instantly pale at the sight of a burly man filling the doorway with full sleeves of tattoos, and a very thick hand wrapped around what was very obviously a gun. “Can I help you?”

You ignored both the man and Takemichi’s visible sweating, instead attempting to peek past the enormous figure in your way. “Shoji! I’m here!”

A crash immediately echoed out from deep inside the house, followed by a failed attempt at holding back swearing and a ‘Let her in!’. Said doorman stepped back and aside, and you said your thanks, walking in and straight onto sleek wooden floors without blinking an eye, though this time Takemichi was hot on your heels, blue eyes fixed unmoving on you as he kept his head down; he wasn’t risking being left outside by himself, not with the sharp gaze of the guardian of the door trailing him suspiciously right up till the two of you disappeared round a corner. He wondered what fresh new hell he had just walked into.

Fortunately, nothing of the physical kind (or yet at least), Takemichi having to cough back his laugh at the sight of said Shoji laying on the floor groaning with his head in his hands, a book on the floor next to him, as the two of you stepped through the doorway of a non-descript room. But you had no such restraint, the genuine laugh slipping from your lips light, taking both of them by surprise, Shoji blinking owly up at you, his mouth an O shape. “Always the compromising positions, Shoji.”

“I swear it’s not me this time,” the average-looking boy whined, quickly picking himself up and off the floor, narrowed hazelnut eyes sliding to glance at a now-shut door before returning to you. “Mia threw it at me right the instant you yelled.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

The other ran one hair through black hair, letting out a groan as he thrusted the book at you. “I swear! I don’t even read this shit!”

“You don’t read anything, you mean,” you retorted. “You still don’t read anything.”

For once, Takemichi felt lucky that he had all but faded into the background amidst the commotion your arrival had drummed up, the blond-haired delinquent watching from the doorway as you and your friend (?) bantered back and forth like kids on a schoolyard, Shoji having barely blinked an eye at his presence. Yes, you two were just kids. Amidst the plain, normal-looking reading room, and the laughter and smiles as you caught up with Shoji, lightly wacking him with the book when he complained, it was almost hard to remember where he was or the burly man he had scampered past just minutes earlier, Takemichi somewhat relaxing into the wooden frame - it felt homely.

“So what are you doing here? You hardly ever come round.”

“We’re just passing through. I need to access the tunnels.” You paused, before continuing. “And don’t let Hase or the others know.”

Shoji sighed, replacing the book on the table, switching it out for a judo jo that had been tucked away behind a bookshelf. “You never changed either. Come on, I’ll walk you there.”

“So how did you know I was back?” The black-haired boy grumbled, though he didn’t look particularly annoyed at the fact as he led the small group through winding hallways, Takemichi having long lost which way was back. “No one was supposed to know, not even you.”

“That’s because-”

“That’s because I told her, Shoji!” The blond-haired boy felt his face pale one more as yet another enormous man seemingly appeared from nowhere, bare chest and arms completely covered in hair-raising tattoos depicting an assortment of demons and man-eating animals, his yukata hanging from his waist as he marched forward. But it wasn’t just the tattoos or the threateningly thick muscles that had the twenty-six year old trapped in his juvenile body ready to bolt and never look back. There was something about his aura, the way the older man carried himself that screamed authority. That screamed danger. This was undoubtedly someone that had taken lives with not a wink of sleep lost, and would do it again.

“Mr Tsutsui!” You laughed, leaping forward into unexpected open arms. And Takemichi could only watch gobsmacked as said man with the pants-wetting glare burst into an equally unanticipated hearty chuckle as he wrapped those beefy arms around you. “It’s been a while!”

What was with you and men who seemed to defy human proportions?! The time leaper bit his tongue.

“Been a while? You didn’t come visit!” The yakuza boss ever so gently patted your back, the soft smile looking foreign on that hardened face. “How’s it going? Everything okay? Is that fucking piece of shit still bothering you?”

Those steely grays slid to him. “And who’s this?” It was the first time anyone had bothered to question his very out of place existence in this place, and Takemichi couldn’t say he liked it.

You came straight to his rescue.“This is Hanagaki Takemichi, Mr Tsutsui! He’s a friend,” you chirped.

“A new boyfriend?” One suspicious eye and a hand itching in his direction, the man’s shadow seemed to flicker and grow across the wooden floor boards like hungry ghosts - Takemichi gulped. This was it. He could see his life flashing before his eyes.

You, on the other hand, just seemed rather amused. “No, no. Just a friend. A friend-friend.”

And he was instantly dropped from all relevance, the yakuza boss instead turning on his son. “SHOJI! When are you going to marry her huh? Hurry up!” The older man complained, wacking the younger Tsutsui on the back hard enough for the slap to echo.

Shoji, on the other hand, seemed a lot more preoccupied with trying to cool his flushing face as opposed to the hit he just took, the poor black-haired boy trying desperately to look anywhere else but at you. “Oto-san! Stop it, you’re embarrassing me!”

“Embarrassing? You’re embarrassing! Why haven’t you learnt to be a better boss like this young lady here?! When are you going to snag her before someone else does?”

“OTO-SAN!”

“Ah Mr Tsutsui, I can assure you Shoji is a fantastic boss.” You patted one thick arm, looking up at the man towering over you with no fear in your eyes, conveniently pretending you hadn’t heard his second question. “He’s come a long way.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Mr Tsutsui humpfed, but he stepped aside to make way for you to pass through. “I’ll let you be on your way now. Come round more often, you hear?”

“Of course, Mr Tsutsui! See you soon!” One final wave, and the man disappeared behind yet another identical door, followed swiftly by another black-suited man that Takemichi had failed to see previously, the door sliding close and locking shut with little fanfare.

“Stupid oto-san and his stupid mouth,” grumbled Shoji after him, taking a turn in the opposite direction; the narrow corridor the three of you had been travelling down opening up in a vastly wider hallway lined with spotless wood panels but still equally devoid of souls, elegant paintings hanging at evenly spaced distance giving the place a softness and sense of delicacy that the people did not. “He needs to learn when to stop talking, I swear.”

But you obviously disagreed, stifling a laugh behind delicate hands. “Your father is a great boss. There’s still much to learn from him, I would say.”

“Still! He’s so embarrassing, god!”

One more turn, and it was a positively small, worn door that seemed to have been your final destination in this cold, lifeless place, Shoji heaving open the heavy door to reveal a void of nothingness beyond except for the sole light on the opposing wall, waving Takemichi on while pulling you aside. The blond-haired delinquent though didn’t dare to venture far from the door on the off-chance it did close behind him and seal him away; he knew you weren’t the sort to bring him all the way here just to sentence him to death, but still.

From his nervous dance right on the inside of the thick steel vault-like door, he found that he could still hear traces of your conversation. “You haven’t met Izana yet?”

“No, not just yet. In a bit.”

“Stay safe, you hear? He’s still as unpredictable as ever.”

“I promise I will - I’m not going around looking for trouble.” There was a pause, and Takemichi scrambled to move away as your voice floated towards him. “I’ll see you later, Shoji.”

The door closing reverberated around the round enclosure, the tunnel walls vibrating slightly with the force of the door.

“Sorry for making you walk all the way here,” you started, waving him to follow as you led him down into the nothingness, the dim light fixtures to worn, leaky walls doing little to illuminate where any of you were going. “But it’s kind of on-the-way for me, and it is a private place to talk.”

“Ah- don’t worry about it!” Takemichi let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “So what did you want to speak about?”

You hummed, the sole note haunting in the dark. “I know that look.”

Those few words were enough to almost trip him with how they caught him off guard. "Huh?" Takemichi spluttered out. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

Yet you didn't even miss a beat, unsurprised by his reaction, your walk coming to a stop as you turned to face him with a curious lilt of your head. "That old soul trapped behind your eyes," you elaborated, those doe eyes of yours that showed the world everything you thought yet at the same time seemed to read his past and present through his gaze alone. “You’ve… experienced things no one should, and they have left a mark on your conscience. On your soul.”

You couldn’t possibly know, could you? “I-I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Takemichi felt the lie seep through clenched teeth. He was in so much trouble.

And you instantly saw through that as well, your lips quirking upwards. "I won't ask. Too much information can be a curse." You continued to walk. “I’m more interested in your relationship with Mikey and Ken-chin.”

Ken-chin? “Oh, Draken? I- um- we’re…friends?”

“I’ve only just started seeing you around, but you’ve left quite the impression. They went to pick you up from school, didn’t they? Mikey’s spoken about you too, previously. Said you reminded him of Shinichiro-san.”

Mikey?! Spoke about him? Takemichi gulped. He didn’t like where this was going at all, and he was following a stranger down a tunnel.

“Takemichi-san.” Under one flickering lamp, you stopped once more, turning to face the time leaper directly. “I need your help.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve ran my Red Dragonflies since I was eight. They've relied on me as much as I've relied on them for strength. And I don't think I can walk away from them again. But my boys - Toman doesn’t like them. At all.” You admitted, your hands folding behind your back as you turned to lean on the old wall. “I think you know how overprotective they are over me. They hate my Reds. But I can’t pick sides.”

He didn’t respond, but you pushed on regardless.

“I- I’m worried. About Mikey. About Kazutora. About Baji and my friends. I don’t know how they would react if I can’t be there for them, whether they'll try to take it into their own hands.” Sighing as you ran one hand through your hair, you seemed to have age where you stood, the eyebags hanging under both eyes darkening. “Drastic measures with drastic, dire consequences.”

The tunnels were deathly silent, somehow even more so than the maze of rooms and tunnels above - Takemichi barely dared to breathe, let alone answer you, should he wake the creatures of the dark. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep everyone safe. But I can’t be everywhere at once. I don’t want them to get hurt doing something stupid in my name.”

“Promise me you’ll look after them.” He wasn’t being given an option, the gentle look in your doe eyes replaced by that same steely gaze he had seen all those nights ago now levelled at him, the first night he had ever seen you. The night of the fight at the Shinagawa container terminal with your own men. And trapped here with you with no knowledge which way was up or down, there was little else Takemichi could do, though he thinks he would have regardless of where you had cornered him.

“I-I promise.” Because how could he not? With your determination to go to any length for Mikey - and with Mikey’s cold body against warm skin still fresh in his mind - there wasn’t anything for Takemichi to lose in siding with you. Maybe you were the turning factor in his struggle against Kisaki. “I’ll keep them safe.”

You simply nodded, finally straightening from the wall and continuing to walk, your light steps barely audible despite his own echoing for miles down the labyrinth. The silence, at least, was now a more comfortable one.

“Well, this is your stop, Takemichi-san.” Glancing back down the tunnels into the swallowing darkness, you smiled at him, beckoning him to enter the phobia-inducing unlit side tunnel. “Just follow this all the way and you’ll see a ladder. It’ll bring you back out near your school. Mine is up ahead.”

“I’m counting on you, Hanagaki Takemichi.”

‎‎

Masashi has long been the quietest member of the Four Wings, and despite the mousy-brown haired boy being more than capable to lead his own division, it wasn’t a stretch to say his strength was far outstripped by the other three Wings and the beast that was Furusawa. Such were facts he and the others knew well, especially when it came to taking advantage of rivals underestimating him. So when Hase and Jun had approached him to discuss the high possibility of your Toman boys approaching him for information on you and what information he should disclose, Masashi made sure to listen to his two older friends - he didn’t want to mess up or worse, make life even harder for you.

And yet again, Jun and Hase had spot on with their predictions; Masashi had heard them coming before they ever had the chance to knock on his door, trampling all over his floor with their dirty boots. The Fourth Wing resigned himself to asking one of his members to clean it again after they left - he wouldn’t be able to work in peace with the thought of his floor being desecrated like that.

Moments later, as expected, a quick rap on the door before two heads, one lilac and one blond with a dragon tattoo, were revealed from behind the door, dressed in full Toman uniform. He supposed they weren’t too bad, given how clean their white boots were. “Pardon us for the intrusion, Tsuchida-san,” the boy he knew as one Takashi Mitsuya called out as he strolled in. “We have some questions if you have the time.”

The other - Baji Keiseke, you told Masashi before - simply kept quiet, glancing around the room filled with gadgets of all kinds and seemingly random objects that Masashi had been testing for use as weapons, though the annoyance at having been seemingly dragged here against his will was clear on his face. That was easy to read at least. He waved them into the only two available chairs.

Bringing up his hands, the Fourth Wing tried to communicate first with Japanese Sign Language, asking them to please call him Masashi, then switching to American Sign Language when he only got confused looks in return. But neither got through, only serving to anger the previously unspeaking Baji, who threw up his hands. “You throwing gang signs at us huh?!”

A hand shot out to catch him by the wrist, forcing him back down into his seat. “Behave, Baji,” Mistuya chided, before turning back to Masashi. “Sorry Tsuchida-san, we can’t understand you.”

The brown onion-haired boy let out a silent sigh, reaching out across his table. The duo tensed, only for a ding to ring out - Masashi settling back into his seat, his hand retracting to reveal a table bell.

A moment later, a knock, the door opening to reveal another brown-haired well-muscled boy in a tank top, signature red jacket tied loosely around his waist, spannel in hand. “You called, Cap?”

Masashi pointed at your two Toman friends, and signed quickly. The boy nodded as Mitsuya turned to shoot him a quizzing look. “I’m Hideo, the Fourth Division Vice Captain. And Cap says to call him Masashi.”

“Is there anything wrong?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not you,” assured the other, rubbing his neck. “Cap’s selectively mute. He doesn’t talk much, so I’ll be helping to translate his sign language.”

Masashi signed more as Hideo made his way over to his captain’s side of the desk, taking a seat on a stool that he pulled out from under the desk. “Captain says ask away, he’ll try to answer whatever he can.”

Mitsuya and Baji exchanged glances, before the shorter of the two took a breath and started. “We were wondering about Izana’s relationship-”

This was going to be a long day.

‎

What to do, you wondered, letting a hum slip past your lips, the resigned smile pulling at your lips matching the weariness in your eyes. You never meant to try to balance as many moving parts as you did, torn between your past and your present; yet with every tweak you made in a vain attempt to solve the kinks in the system only surfaced more problems you simply didn’t know how to solve. What to do indeed. “Am I strong enough, nii-san?” You sighed, resting your head against the cool stone as you mentally ran through the events of the past few weeks again in your head, your hand fiddling with the petal of a fresh flower. “Should I keep going down this road?”

The rustling leaves of the giant canopy stretching overhead whispered its answers, the breeze caressing your cheeks and hair, though you could understand neither. The cemetery was usually quiet at this time of day, with most of the living caught up in their own day-to-day rather than bother about those who were lost to time; but you found yourself having wandered here again, as you always did when you needed to think. Somewhere you could just be without the weight of someone else’s expectations. In a kinder life, you were sure this safe place would have been home, where your older brother would have fearlessly fought off anyone who dared disturb you during your rest time. The thought of your only family, forever young in your memories, squaring off with and scaring away a much larger yet very confused Furusawa brought a small wave of giggles. You yearned for nothing more than to hear those teasing words you could almost hear fall from your older sibling’s mouth, that of course you weren't strong enough, that you shouldn't try to bite off more than you could chew, that you should let your big brother take care of things. Alas, life had other ideas, and here you were.

“It’s tough,” was all you could bring yourself to admit out loud, though you couldn’t help but laugh as you hastily wiped away the accompanying tears welling along your eyes that came with the turmoil of emotion in your chest that you kept strictly locked away; who knew what would happen if ever you let that out. “Look at me being a complete mess. Crying for no reason.”

Hands wandering to tug at the few errant blades of weeds at the foot of the grave, it was times like this you had to wonder how he did it - how did your brother cope with being a gang leader along with all the stresses of raising you? And it wasn’t like your brother’s life was anything that could be described as easy even before you came along - you vaguely recall his own inner circle berating him for taking on the extra burden of caring for you once, though maybe you remembered that incident wrongly. It was quite the distant past after all, and the sound of boisterous laughter and copious amounts of alcohol filled the memories of your early life far more often than not. Running one hand through your hair, you instead turned your mind to more recent, pressing matters; no point reminiscing on a past you couldn’t change when you were now stuck in a conundrum of tangled situations. “Well nii-san, hope you’re ready to listen cause I think I got myself into quite a pickle this time.”

You had long fallen quiet after pouring out your problems and bouncing possible solutions off your unanswering audience, now content with enjoying the temporary peace that came with the territory. Having made up your mind on which road to walk, all you could do now was to wait and find out what laid for you and your friends at the end of the dark tunnel, heavy eyelids closing against your will with the onset of silence. It was the sound of footsteps nearing that finally broke you from your stupor, the quick glimpse of white-hair you caught from the corner of your eye giving away your guest. “Izzy?” You mumbled, turning in the direction of the sound as your eyes fluttered open, though you made no move to stand from where you had been resting against your family headstone. “What’re you doing here?”

The white-haired boy only chuckled as he squatted to gently brush away a freshly fallen leaf from the otherwise immaculately kept grave, carefully laying a bouquet of fresh chrysanthemums on the altar as you frowned down at your watch. The new glow of yellow reflected in black granite was a memento of the afternoon sun missing from the overcast sky. He knew exactly where to find you even before you failed to turn up at the agreed meeting spot - one glance at the familiar faces mixed in with the usual crowd on the prowl for him and you and Izana was sure you weren’t anywhere close by. You were always so diligent with the upkeep of this place. It had been raining earlier, yet your family marker was already dry while droplets still clung stubbornly to the others around you, the crisp flowers on either side of the headstone swaying lightly in the wind. “Pay my respects, of course. Brought some flowers.”

Your furrowed eyebrows only pinched further. “It’s not time yet, is it?

“It is. An hour past, in fact.”

Blinking, the words slowly settled into your head as he busied himself rinsing his hands off with your dipper and pail. “An ho-” Attempting to quickly lurch to your feet, you would have hit the ground face first if not for Izana’s quick catch of your waist. “I’m late!”

The white-haired boy tugged you down. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You’re here,” you repeated again, staring blankly at him as he picked his bouquet back up. “Oh! Izzy, you’re here!”

“I am indeed,” the white-haired boy replied amusedly, splitting the bundle of fresh yellow flowers into rough halfs. “I’ll just add them to the side.” Izana never had the chance to know, let alone meet, your brother, your older sibling having passed years before he ever met you, but no doubt without his influence, you probably would have never had come roaring into his life - he would suppose he did own a lot to this mysterious figure you so adored even now.

Simply humming your acknowledgement, you accepted his hand, and Izana pulled you back up. “You’ve grown a couple of tails.” One tanned thumbed pointing to behind his shoulder - there was one he spotted not far off, watching the two of you from a distance. “Seems like they knew you would pop up here.”

“They’ve been around. But we’ll lose them soon.”

But one tanned hand halted your steps before you could leave, the same hand retrieving a small brown envelope from the depths of his jacket to pass over to you. “Before we leave, this is for you. I found this stashed away.”

“A photo?” Those doe eyes of you instantly lighted up as the entire image was revealed from the depths of the envelope. “Oh, this is!” You certainly recognised the two men beaming back at you from the aged paper, each with an arm thrown cheekily over the other, posed dangerously on some kind of ledge with their two motorcycles in front. Izana knew the one of the right well - it was his Shinichiro, the same one who took him in when there was no one else to turn to. The other man though - “It’s nii-san and Shinichiro-san!”

But you looked uncertain. “Are you sure I can have this?”

“Why not?”

“Well… Shinichiro is here as well, wouldn’t you like to keep the photo?” Your gaze dropped away from his, though one delicate finger continued to lightly trace meaningless patterns into the frail yellow paper. “I could just make a copy of -”

A finger pressed on your lips before you could finish. You’ve never been able to hide your true feelings well, especially not from him. “It’s for you.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, hugging the paper to your chest, before ever so carefully replacing the priceless photo into its envelope and slipping it into your bag.

Izana stood, dusting his pants off slightly before offering you his hand. “Shall we go?”

‎

Hase never quite got used to the overwhelming smell of fried trash that was nuggets. Didn’t matter where it was from, what choice piece of chicken went into making it and what expensive oil they were fried in - the stomach-turning smell simply from being in the same room as a box of them was enough to make him hurl. There was no way Hase could spin this to even begin to understand what pleasure Furusawa (or anyone with better taste honestly) got from gouging himself silly on these, yet here he was strolling down the road with the most wretched smelling package consisting of not one, but two boxes of McDonald’s nuggets (the apparent holy grail of nuggets, whatever that meant) hanging off his arm that obviously weren’t for him.

Unfamiliar streets came with its share of stares and whispers, though the attention directed towards his towering figure, pierced ears and blue side-swept hair were to be expected - unlike their home ground of Shinagawa, the good folks of Shibuya were probably a lot less familiar with the sight of him or accepting with how much he stuck out of a crowd. Not that it bothered Hase of course; the Red Dragonflies’ First Wing clad in a simple black tee and jeans more focused on pausing at every shadowy side street and checking its name against the small text printed on his screen, the inability to find the small lane whose address he had drawing his ire a lot more than the opinions of nobodies.

How fucking difficult could it be to find one god-forsaken street? Letting out yet another sigh, he ran one hand through his hair, the well-gelled strands bouncing back into their precise location as his palm passed over them. This was precisely why he hated anywhere outside of Shinagawa, Hase concluded, with no relief to spare even as he finally turned down the right back lane, the overlapping shadows casted by tall glittery buildings lining both sides quickly swallowing him back into the comfortable darkness. Fortunately for him, there was little searching left to do, the sight of the former Black Dragon Captain leaning against an unassuming door frame, signature lollipop stick hanging from his lips, though it was the yellow and purple striped hair that really caught his attention. What a change from the mob of white he remembered, even if Hase couldn’t quite agree with the color combination, his lips involuntarily quirking as he neared. “What happened to your hair?”

“Changed it a little,” came Wakasa’s flat, unamused response, as he straightened, leading the way into the building. “Watch your head.” Though it seemed that Wakasa had said too little too late given there was little left to dodge - a very clear man shaped hole where someone clearly smashed through parts of the doorway where he couldn’t fit.

There was a brief moment of silence, and the neighborhood’s ambience, consisting mostly of the occasional quiet rumble of a nearby washing machine and the rustle of clothes being set out to dry, that seeped in through the gaps in the wall, only delayed the inevitable.

“So what’s up with Furusawa?” And there it was, Wakasa’s droopy eyes failing to hide the interest lacing his tone, the older man turning slightly to glance at Hase. “Haven’t seen him this upset since his first and only loss against me and Benkei.”

“He had a fight with Boss,” Hase replied, the slight amusement he had found all but evaporating as the weight of life came crashing down once more, his expression returning to its usual sullen frown. Right, he still had yet to deal with Furusawa. “Must be pretty bad. He doesn’t even want to spar.” The delinquent-turn-gym owner directed Hase’s attention to the rightmost wall with a quick thumb as the narrow corridor opened up into a big, airy room. Allowing his eyes to wash over the racks of weights and the small boxing ring, the sight of a flat ass in white pants sticking out of what used to be a wooden padded wall broke the overall tranquility of the quiet area. He had to bite his tongue just to keep his expression serious, but even if Wakasa noticed, he didn’t bring it up. “Benkei and I offered for old times’ sake, since he looked so down. Furusawa ignored us, but Benkei went ahead anyway. One punch.”

“Fucking stupid old man.” The First Wing let out an aggravated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just send me the bill for the repair. We’ll take care of it.”

“Door and the wall. Can’t take classes like that.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll get it to Koji.” Hase mumbled distractedly, having spotted that eye-catching mob of hair even where it was sprawled from behind some benches from the moment he walked in. At least those colors made more sense than whatever the old Black Dragon was sporting.

“Koji?” Wakasa stopped him with an arm before he could take another step, that raised eyebrow saying everything without a single spoken word. “No Koji. Too stingy. You handle it.”

“That’s why he’s our treasurer. But fine, I’ll settle this later.”

‎

The sound of the front door clicking close behind the former Black Dragon resounded back down the dark corridor behind him, but Hase paid it no mind, advancing cautiously on his target. “Furusawa?”

There was no response, not even a twitch from where the usually unflappable Vice Captain lied. Reaching the makeshift barricade of racks and closets, said man didn’t turn at the call of his name nor at the smell of his ultimate indulgence, slumped on his side facing the wooden paneled wall where he had been since stumbling in the previous night.

“Mr. Nakamura said you didn’t turn up for work today. He was waiting for you by the gates all morning,” Hase paused, glancing to his side once more at the mob of brown and pink hair - still nothing. The blue-haired man itched to light the cigarette he was twirling between his fingers, though tucking the stick out of sight at least helped to temper that temptation. Wakasa definitely would have something to say about smoking inside his gym even if it did help momentarily lift this weariness of life Hase could never quite shake. “He and the others bought you some nuggets you know, said to come back whenever you feel better.”

“Don’t wanna work,” Furusawa grumbled, shifting slightly on his side, thick white-knuckled fingers clenched around his tattooed arms tightening their grip.

At least getting a response was a good start, but the actual content of the answer was not. Of all the defense, security and less-than-savory job contractors from around the world that had come knocking trying to recruit the infamous beast (the First Wing shuddered to think of all the trouble if you hadn’t stepped in to fend them off from your clueless partner-in-crime with your equally infamous connections), Hase was certain Furusawa had rather liked his construction jobs that you had found and approved for him. Manual, simple and well-paid.

“How bout a no-limits spar?” He offered instead, nudging the other’s leg with his heel. A rarely-offered treat, given Hase’s disdain for Furusawa’s no-limit strength and his lack of awareness and control over it whenever you’re not present, but if that was all it took to bring back the cheer in his friend, then so be it. Living with some bruises and a few broken bones is child plays for a veteran underground fighter.

A twitch earned from the sulking man at the salivating temptation, but ultimately no hook. "Don't wanna fight either."

That definitely wasn’t good - Furusawa never turned down a no-limits fight. Or any fight as a matter of fact; Hase was sure there was nothing in that empty brain of his but fighting. “Then let’s go get Boss.”

“No.” He must have been more hurt from your lashing out than Hase had first thought.

“Why not?”

“...We’re not friends anymore.”

He doubted that neither Furusawa nor you believed that statement. “Are you sure?”

Another twitch. “She said so. Not me.” For a man, the Vice Captain of the Red Dragonflies of all people, who had never tasted defeat in all his years as a delinquent, whose larger than life shadow kept the gang safe - seeing this beaten, defeated side was hard to stomach. A kicked, abandoned puppy indeed, waiting for its owner to come and pick him up from daycare.

Hase sighed again, dragging one hand down his face. Looks like he has to resort to that. Steeling his gut, the blue-haired man popped open one paper box, wincing as he felt the grease coat the tips of his fingers as he gingerly extracted a nugget from it's not-so-eternal resting place - he’s never going to get the smell off now.

Leaning over the side of the other man, Hase dangled the foul fried meat mere inches away from Furusawa’s face. “Can I not tempt you with this amazing, delicious nug- oh woops.” Two pairs of eyes followed the treasured treat that slipped free from lightly pinched fingers, hitting the ground and bouncing in an almost comical fashion.

A pause. Silence.

“You big fucking idiot,” Hase sighed out almost in relief as the tanned man stuffed into the wretched golden and now-dirtied shape made of meat into his mouth. Furusawa was back. “That’s disgusting.”

Furusawa paused mid-chew, looking back at Hase in confusion, free hand already sneaking out to grab the offered paper bag. “I thought you said it was delicious?”

The blue-haired man simply rolled his eyes as he surrendered the fast food bag, and the two fell into a comfortable silence, with only the sound of munching breaking the stillness.

“I should have killed him that night, Hase.” Furusawa muttered, stuffing yet another nugget into his mouth. “Boss would have been mad, but I should have done it anyway.”

The bonk of Hase’s fist bouncing off a barely bothered Furusawa was loud enough to echo in the large, otherwise empty room. “Don’t be stupid. Mad was what Boss was when she woke up in hospital; you'll be lucky if she ever looked at you again. Then what are you going to do?”

The older man shrugged. He hadn’t thought so far ahead.

As much as he hated having to look after this giant baby that had nothing but fighting, eating and you in his head masquerading as a fully grown human being, it was times like this that had Hase realize that beyond keeping an eye out for this indestructible force of nature as part of his gang duties, deep down in some part of his black rotted heart, Furusawa truly was worth doing all this for. After all, he had been the one to drag him kicking and screaming from that meaningless existence in those underground rings, and showed him what life had to offer beyond misery. You and him were the family Hase never knew or had, and he knew Furusawa thought the same - they simply weren’t so different after all.

“Are me and Boss still friends?”

A rare chuckle from the usually sullen man. “Better be. I ain’t counting your fucking lunch money again.”

“Okay,” Furusawa mumbled, looking back down at the empty boxes. “You forgot my ketchup. Boss never forgets.”

Yeah, nope. All that previous goodwill was gone now - he couldn’t believe he had actually felt good about caring for this giant manbaby for that moment in time. “Right, get up. We’re leaving,” Hase spared a glance at the semi-conscious man still half-embedded in the wall. As much as he would rather leave him to become one with the gym punching bags for siding with Shinichiro all those years ago, he did promise Wakasa to help clean up. “Go pull Benkei out first.”

“I didn’t even hit him that hard,” the brown and pink-haired man whined, though Hase’s raised eyebrow was enough to spur the other into action, Furusawa pouting as he trudged over, the wood splintering as he finally freed the groaning white-haired man from his prison. “Fucking old men getting weaker by the year.”

Hase would have loved to supervise, the thought of incurring even more expenditures making him cringe, though it was the ring of his phone that drew him away from listening to the crunch of wood splintering and watching the accompanying cloud of dust puffing up into the air as the now white-haired Benkei was freed from his temporary wall prison.

A familiar voice came stumbling across the line, the sound of the bustling city clearly audible in the background, with the occasional honk tearing through the phone. “Um, Captain, uh-”

“Just spit it out, Shou.”

“We lost her.”

Hase blinked, before the words sank in and he let out another dejected, drawn-out groan, dragging his free hand down his face. Fuck him. Fuck him sideways. “What do you mean ‘we lost her’?”

‎

Tap, tap, tap. Pause, and then repeat. No matter which way you led Izana down the winding alleys of Shinjuku, those footsteps seemed to haunt your trail. Never quite close enough to eavesdrop on your conversation - you could tell from the way the sound of their not-quite muffled steps echoed over the faint sounds of the hustle and bustle of the city in these otherwise empty lanes - yet near enough to keep up even if you made two lefts in a short span. You knew your little stalker couldn’t be any of your Reds; none of your boys would have left you alone with Izana for this long as per their captains’ standing instructions, Izana being quite a pariah among your gang. And the same went with your Toman friends; Mikey and the rest would have been already crawling all over you, whining and crying and demanding to know who dared hold your hand like they did. So someone was following you, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint who it was or why.

Despite the growing concerns obvious on your face, the Tenjiku leader, whose tanned hand was tightly intertwined with your own, didn’t seem particularly bothered. He must know of their presence, you determined, the arrogant crook of his lips and slight tilt of his head hiding no secrets from you when you glanced back at him, perhaps even their identity and purpose whatever that might be. And he knew you knew. But Izana remained stubbornly tight-lipped, meeting your raised eyebrow with those blank violet eyes as he always did, taunting you - this wasn’t information he was willing to give out for free, and at this point, you weren’t willing to start negotiating just yet.

Deciding to leave the matter for the time being, you turned to face forward once more, trying your best to concentrate on the quiet back alleys that stretched out endlessly in front of you. The sun was already starting to sink from its peak, its reign over the sky drawing closer to its end, though the day was far from over - good news, given this place could get quite unnavigable to the average soul once the night sets in. Last thing you would want was to be held responsible by Izana’s new Tenjiku gang should he go missing among the alleys.

“Don’t bite your lip, it’ll bleed.” A quick brush of his thumb brought your attention to the unconscious act, and you stopped.

Izana only wrapped his arm around you tighter, pulling you flush against his side, and you let him. “I heard you made new friends. The Haitanis brothers from Roppongi, was it?”

“You didn’t come visit.”

There was only one possible thing that Izana could have been speaking of, and you weren’t the least bit surprised that he was still hung up about those months spent in juvie after all this time. After all, you never quite managed to forgive yourself either for abandoning him. “You know I couldn’t.” You had never wanted to blame your friends for stopping you - they had their reasons that you understood later on after the dust had settled and you had time to think things through. But at the same time, you had your own selfish reasons; Izana was your last link left back to your brother. You didn’t want to let him go - you couldn’t. And you knew your boyfriend depended on you for his feeling of security, his source of affection.

But nothing you tried got through, no matter what time of day it was and who you talked to within the system, and after a while you had simply given up.

“You didn’t try hard enough,” he insisted, hand wrapping around your arm in protest. “You knew I was stuck in there, and you didn’t even send a letter.”

“I did!” You burst out, unable to keep silent on your unseen efforts. “I sent so many! Letters, lunchboxes, birthday gifts. I even turned up outside, but the guards refused to let me in to see you.” Your words had trailed off into a whisper that Izana caught loud and clear, though it seemed he still didn’t agree.

“You didn’t try,” Izana repeated, and you threw up your hands in surrender, letting the topic drop. It was just a short while more anyway.

‎

Pausing in the doorway, Izana watched as you felt around for the light switch to the left of the door. The click of light instantly illuminated a small room style in a way he could only describe as very ‘you’ - from the soft yellow lighting, to the tired wooden coffee table resting on a plush carpet, to the two sturdy camelback sofas with golden trimmings facing each other from across the room. It was almost exactly as he remembered your famous negotiation room back in the Red Dragonflies’ headquarters save for the lack of a painting, and it was clear the design followed you long after you had left. A quiet beep and then the whirl of ducts, the first of cold air sank from the ceiling as the air conditioning system started up.

You waved him in, closing the heavy wooden door with a thud behind the tanned boy. And as the lock clicked into place, your mannerisms switched into business mode, the familiar gentle look he so loved fading away behind a neutral expression and placid smile. “Sit, please. Sorry I don’t have tea here for you.”

It was no secret that Izana despised this side of you and your little meeting rituals with a burning passion. Of course he thought the whole shebang was still rather cute when it was directed at others; the introductions, the tea and the what-not. You were free to be as neutral and business-like as possible when it came to your dealings with mundane mortals. And if it were anyone else in his place, he would in fact encourage the distance - you weren’t supposed to get close to or show biases towards them after all. But to him? Of all people?

Unacceptable. Violet eyes followed you as you neatly seated yourself down on the plush seats, though your ex-boyfriend had little intention of putting so much space between him and you again. You let out a huff, the air forced from your lungs as the boy made to settle on your lap instead of the other available seat as expected, throwing his legs up onto the sofa (much to your dismay) and forcing you back as he snuggled and made himself comfortable - with his weight on you, there was no way you were going to get out from under him if he didn’t budge, and the boy knew that well.

And you did too, first trying to wiggle yourself free from your predicament, and then giving up and throwing him that look, the cracks in your facade already showing through. “Izana, the formalities-”

His hand shot out to catch your cheeks, lightly squeezing them together till your mouth formed a tight o. “Screw them,” he muttered, leaning in close, his lips just centimeters away from your own. “And you call me Izzy.”

Pulling away, your reddened cheeks softly marked with his fingerprints were finally released when you completely gave up the pretense, rolling those doe eyes at him as you obediently mouthed his beloved nickname, Izana allowing himself to sink further against your chest, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, satisfied. Ever since you had let that slip in your excitement at the first of many temple fairs Izana had brought you to, you had been forbidden from calling him by anything but that. And it seemed no matter how many years have passed, he would never let you forget.

On the far end of the room, the simple clock ticked on faithfully from its wall, to which you spared but a glance before returning your gaze to the fussy white-haired boy. “Can we start now?” Yet even with the minutes slipping away, it seemed clear your former boyfriend still wasn’t quite ready to settle down, Izana’s attention this time drawn away by your flawless shoulder peeking out from beneath the collar of your neatly pressed shirt.

“You better not be leaving a hickey, Izzy.” You sighed out, even though you already knew your words came too late; the feeling of Izana lapping his tongue over the newly formed bruise he had nibbled and sucked into your easily-marked skin was a familiar one from days past. “Fine, just the one then.”

But said boy wasn’t quite done yet, tugging at your shirt collar to reveal the other still flawless shoulder. “One more,” he mumbled. “Gotta match.”

“Uhuh, no more,” Your hand came to clap over his lips, lightly pushing his face away, though the pout you earned almost made you u-turn on your decision. “Come on, don’t give me those eyes. At least tell me why you called this meeting?”

“Kiss,” was all you got in response, Izana tapping his lips with his free hand, the other sliding around your neck, attempting to tug you closer.

You resisted, protesting the request. “We aren't togeth-”

But he didn’t let you finish, turning his face away from yours in protest. “Kiss first,” the tanned boy insisted again, and the sigh that followed slipped out from you once more before you realized. How many times was it you had sighed today? Realizing you were going to get nowhere, you gave in - a pattern you were starting to notice that you had yet to kick. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what the other was doing, trying to wring as many concessions out of you as he could get away with, yet here you were. “Okay, fine, fine. Come here.”

The room stilled as your soft lips met his, the quiet rumble of vehicles driving past the industrial building fading away into nothingness. Though the peck you thought you could get away with quickly turned into a full, lengthy kiss, Izana refusing to let you pull away as he cherished every moment of being able to taste you again, you couldn’t find it in you to be angry at him; not even at the tongue that lapped at your lips, eager to leave his own taste behind before he let you catch your breath. You had little doubt about how the other still felt about you despite all this time away, and you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t miss this either. Miss him.

"You've been smoking again." You could hear the frown in his voice without even having to look, the disappointed tone one you were familiar with from your younger years; Izana had always been very disapproving of the smoking vice you had picked up, complaining about how he didn’t liked that you ‘tasted different’, and had been one of the biggest factor that led you to stop cold turkey two years ago.

“It was just the stick.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, yes, I promise,” you assured the boy amusedly. “Now can you tell me why you’re here?”

Now satisfied, the Tenjiku leader moved quickly. The events of the next few seconds happened faster than you could see; Izana reaching to pull something from the depths of his pocket, grabbing your hand, and a new weight on your ring finger. The simple silver band shimmered under the warm yellow light as the shadow of his hand slipped away. “Marry me.”

It wasn’t lost on you that the promise band you had given Izana on his birthday was similarly worn, glimmering tauntingly against his brown skin from the fourth finger of his left hand, though unlike your own gift, the elegant engraving on his own was on the outside, the carving of yours and his name a clear warning to whoever cared to look close enough. On second thought, you really should have considered all the ways that your well-meaning birthday present could have been interpreted wrongly - you had just really wanted it to be convenient. Maybe you should have thought about a necklace instead?

More importantly, how were you going to let him down? Izana certainly wasn’t one that would simply give up and walk away without a fight, especially when it came to issues to do with you.

Yet in the physical world away from your mental turmoil while you pondered and considered, the reasoning for your hesitation seemed to have been similarly misinterpreted, your former boyfriend tilting his head as you struggled with yourself, breaking your train of thoughts when he grabbed your hand. "It doesn’t have to be now,” he emphasized, thumb stroking the new accessory, running over and over where your name was carved into the metal. “I'll wait for you as long as you want. Five years, ten years. It doesn’t matter."

The ticking of the clock in the dead silence sounded a lot more menacing now than it did just a few minutes ago. You let out the breath you had been holding, shaking off his grip. “Izzy, you know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not together anymore.”

Izana wasn’t pleased in the slightest at your statement, those violet eyes sharpening as he met your gaze, brows furrowing. “I am your boyfriend.”

“I-”

“You never broke up with me, did you?” Though technically true, you didn’t feel like pushing the same point again since the earlier discussion you two had, and you dropped that argument, trying a different one.

“My Reds-”

The interruption came again swiftly, Izana seemingly already having a counter prepared for every excuse. “We’ll merge our gangs, Tenjiku and the Red Dragonflies, and get married. Rule the world together. Like you promised we would, remember?” His tone dreamy, the Tenjiku President allowing his eyes to drift close as he pressed your face into his chest, arms wrapping ever so tenderly around you, even if those tanned muscular limbs felt a lot more like a boa constrictor tightening around its prey. “Tenjiku is yours. All of it. I even picked the same shade of red for you.”

“You know I can’t live without you.” Thump, thump, thump. You could hear his heartbeat from where you were, huddled close against warm skin, his quiet murmur echoing in his chest. You remember better times, falling asleep to this same comforting sound amidst raging thunderstorms outside in the dark of night. And when your expected agreement failed to materialize, it was the underlying agitated urgency that had been broiling and boiling mere inches under the surface, the depraved, needy side of Izana you dread to deal with, that reared its ugly head, and his arms tightened. “W-why aren’t you saying yes?”

Pushing off from you, those same wide violet eyes you had fallen heads over heels for were searching your own almost frantically, looking for any sign, the slightest indication of your agreement. But you had nothing to give but disappointment, letting out a sigh as you ran one hand through his soft hair in a last-ditch attempt to keep the Tenjiku leader grounded and the meeting on track. You didn’t like when he was like this - a crushing mess of insecurities lost in his own doubts and fears. You just wanted him to be happy. “Izzy, you attacked me and sent me to the hospital two years ago. Furu, Hase - none of them would ever agree.”

No answer. “Izzy?”

Izana didn’t seem to have heard any of your words, his pupils completely constricted; swept up by the voices in his head lying to him, whispering falsehoods. You knew that look - it was the same one you saw on that fateful night. Your gut sank like a stone as he began to speak - you were already too late. “I knew it.”

The slap that followed rang your ears, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the otherwise silent room. The surge of pain and throbbing only settled in after as you started to register what happened, one delicate hand hesitatingly reaching up to prod at your flushed, swelling cheek, you barely holding back the tears you could feel starting to brim. “You fucking slut.”

“You’ve been sleeping around with other men, haven’t you?” But his accusation wasn’t a question, his shaking grip latching onto your wrist, though the tremendous force behind his squeeze was a far cry from the gentleness he held your face with. “Is it Mikey? Someone else?”

“There is no one else,” you managed to get out through gritted tea, your attempts at pushing delicate fingers under his crushing one to free yourself failing time and time again. And as the throb escalated into a searing pain, your hand turning an ugly shade of red, you finally relented. “Izzy, you’re hurting me!”

‎

Like a hand scalded, the Tenjiku boss released you instantly, recoiling away from where you now nursed your bruising wrist. Violet eyes went back and forth between his own hand and yours - he hurt you? Him? Impossible. He could never hurt you. The disbelief faded as quickly as it started - he, of all people, couldn’t have hurt the love of his life - and his attention snapped back to your disagreement, pupils sharpening as his lips quirked into a playful smile. No - whatever he did, it was out of love. Unyielding, suffocating love. “Does your brother know I wonder? Did Shinichiro die knowing that his precious prodigy was a little whore that spread her legs for whoever?” He sang, his touch gentle once more as he danced his fingers across your cheek. "They were failures, wasting their lives to raise a heartless slut like you."

The watery eyes and tears that streaked down your cheek almost instantly disappeared, and in a split second, your face darkened, hardened narrowed eyes swinging to meet his gaze without hesitation, the darkening bruise on your wrist all but forgotten. “Don’t you dare speak of them like that, Izana,” you warned, that soft, loving voice of yours giving way to a dangerous edge.

There it was, the other side of you that Izana had seen all those years ago, that raised the hairs on the nape of his neck. The true Red Dragonflies boss, a ruthless, unyielding leader who wasn’t afraid to stomp on and break whoever dared oppose you. Not the benign, level-headed negotiator who only helped diffuse hot heads, but the delinquent gangster who wielded the sheer might of her gang to accumulate territory and claw her way to the top with the vain excuse of protecting precious friends - splattered with the filthy blood of scumbags, forcing down into submission all who came before with a sneer and the business end of a metal baton. The suppressed half of you who ignited this unquenchable fire in his chest that only the gentle, kind you could soothe.

“Or what?” He giggled, pressing his forehead against yours, white hair framing violet broken eyes as one tanned thumb caressed the eyebags that hung low from beneath your eyes, before following the contours of your cheek to the corner of your downturned mouth. “You’ll beat me into submission? Send me back to the hospital, maybe for good?”

Izana let out a hum, dilated pupils following his hand that danced a path down your chest, slipping below the hem of your shirt to trace the long, jagged scars that decorated your abdomen. He knew how they looked, having seen them countless times in his dreams - the same ones he gave you all those years ago to mark you as his, to remind the world that you were his. “Would you do it yourself? Or would you get your little puppy to do it again?”

His questions were like a punch to your gut, and you couldn’t answer - he knew. Izana was there when you had swore on your honor to Shinichiro to care for him like your own when you had first asked for permission to date; after all, he was the Black Dragon’s heir, and you were an upcoming rival gang leader. To never let him come to any harm while under your wing, the same promise you had extended to apply to the rest of your precious Red Dragonflies. He knew you couldn’t even deny the implications of his questions; you had broken your oath even before Shinichiro’s death. You had allowed hurt to come to him.

The hot air he exhaled against your skin made you shiver as he kissed and nibbled a hot trail down your neck. “You killed your brother, then my brother,” Izana breathed. "And now you want to kill me too."

"I-” Your breath hitched in your throat, and you turned away, swiping at your eyes. He didn’t push, simply watching as you took a deep breath to compose yourself (you always did this when in a tough corner), before facing him again. “I’m sorry Izzy. I promised Shinichiro that I would take care of the Black Dragons for him.”

Ah, he saw the full picture now. It wasn’t just your pesky little red flies orbiting you that was interfering with his ideal future, but also his lack of standing as the leader of the Black Dragons; you did make the promise to him when he was after all. No doubt once he had broken and reshaped Mikey into his Shinichiro, you’ll side with him over those annoyances, so all that’s left would be - “So when I take back the Black Dragons, you’ll be mine.” The Tenjiku boss hummed, tracing one finger down your jawline. He leaned in, and you didn’t move as he stole one more kiss from your soft lips. “Wait for me.”

It took but a blink for the tanned boy you called your ex to stand from the seat he had been sharing with you and pull the heavy soundproof door open with little effort, and one more for him to disappear from your sight, with all that’s left of Izana’s presence being the lingering scent of his cologne. The air left you as you slumped back into the sofa, dragging both hands over your face. You messed up royally.

‎

Takemichi himself was in an equally unideal situation. Being back in his twenty-six year old body only served to dig up unwanted memories; no matter how many times he that feeling of Mikey’s blood staining his hands and clothes, the sight of the light leaving those once unflappable abyss eyes, of his skin turning ashen and going cold in Takemichi’s arms - it was enough to make the man hurl. The streets of Tokyo felt much darker and hostile than he remembered despite the noon sun being high in the sky, and for the first time in many time leaps, Naoto’s presence didn’t make Takemichi feel any less lonely or any more hopeful. Even if he had started his fight in the hopes of saving Hina’s life, Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya - Takemichi couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving them behind. They were his friends now as well, and even if he had to keep forcing himself forward, he would find a way to save them all.

“Kurokawa Izana huh?” Naoto huffed out, leaning against the wall of the alley, fingers flying over the screen of his phone. The frustration was clear in his stiff posture. “How is it every time we get close to saving my sister, it's just more obstacles?”

“I don’t know,” Takemichi admitted, crossing his arms. “I don’t know.” And that was all he could say: despite having come back from the past, there was still too much he didn’t know even now, and there was nothing to gain if he lied anyway. More so he came back precisely because he was hoping that the future held answers he couldn’t find in the past. The more he dug, the more convoluted and confusing the information became, the lines between cause and effect joining and tangling in an impossible mess. Where does one start unraveling this? Was it Kisaki pulling the strings, like what they had suspected all this time? Takemichi had yet to see head or tail of him, let alone anywhere near Mikey, but the effect he had on past timelines was clear. Or maybe it was you being the sole factor that tipped the scales leading to Hina’s seemingly inevitable death? But then again, no matter how much the past world seemed to revolve around you, neither Naoto or Takemichi had ever encountered you in person or on paper, dead or alive in any timeline, and it was hard to ascertain your impact.

The time leaper sighed again, the hum and drum of vehicles speeding down roads just a stone’s throw away swallowing up the despair. What now? The silence was his only answer as the world continued to turn uncaring around the duo, the narrow alleyway that snaked between tall office blocks as devoid of life and hope as when they had started. Even the small strip of sky that peaked through the faraway roofs were empty of stars, the occasional wisp of gray cloud drifting by and disappearing as quickly as they appeared.

“There’s not much more I can do here,” Naoto finally announced, his phone screen locking with a definitive click as the other slipped it back into a pants pocket. “I’ll head back to the station and see what else I can find.”

Takemichi nodded, straightening from the brick wall he had been leaning against, though he wasn't quite able to stop himself from wincing at the crunch as his shirt pulled away from the crusty wall; that was going to take a while to wash off, he just knew it. Yet before the former delinquent could assure the detective of his own plans following his departure from this god-forsaken place, it was a stranger’s voice - one that seemed so familiar yet unfamiliar - that answered Naoto. “And what else is there to find?”

“Don’t play dumb. We still need to look into Kisak-” Those furrowed eyes barely had a chance to catch a glimpse of shaved and striped blue hair, let alone realize that it wasn’t his time-traveling partner he was responding to, before a swift kick smashing into the back of his head with a sickening crack had his eyes roll into the back of his head, the only surviving Tachibana sibling collapsing to the floor with a soft huff. Takemichi could only watch with wide eyes as Hase kneeled to carelessly roll over the unconscious man, comparing his face against a tiny photograph, before standing seemingly satisfied, tucking the picture away in a coat pocket - done under a minute. They hadn’t even heard the man.

Every last hair on Takemichi’s body instantly stood on end as those tired gray eyes swung onto him, though the man made no move towards him, only reaching into his pocket to fish out a fresh pack of smokes. “And I would presume you’re Hanagaki Takemichi.” It wasn’t a question, Hase leaning back against the same crusty wall, robotically lighting the end of his cigarette and letting out a sigh when he took a puff. “Kisaki did say you would be nearby.” Falling quiet, the other took the moment to enjoy his break and cigarette, even allowing his gaze to slide off Takemichi and onto the pavement. Both of them were well aware that there was no way Takemichi was outrunning or outfighting the former First Wing, the former delinquent needing only one look at the slim muscular build hidden behind that black turtleneck and similarly colored coat to understand the difference in ability.

The crunch didn’t seem to bother Hase as much as it did Takemichi when the man straightened his posture, sighing once more, his lit stick still hanging loosely from his lips. “If you relax your neck muscles, it won’t hurt so bad.”

“Huh-?” What looked like a boot flying his way, and then the world went black.

‎

Takemichi jerked awake with a bang, the sensation of pain once more flooding his senses as his eyes popped open. Wh-where was he? The table’s leg that his head was just carelessly smashed against gave a wobble, Takemichi noted, struggling slightly in a bid to right himself, make himself more comfortable even. But his new captor could barely care, failing to even spare a glance back as he continued to drag his two prisoners down what looked like a hallway of sorts by their feet. Next to him, a still unconscious Naoto, limp body being bumped and dragged with no complaint, and of course being of completely no help in attempting an escape; not that Takemichi could blame the other - that blow he took to his head had looked especially hard. Besides, he would have preferred not being awake for this very uncomfortable ride anyway, but it was too late to change that particular fact, and the black-haired man resigned himself to his fate of observing his new environment.

Simply calling his surrounding luxurious would be an insult; the ornately carved walnut legs of tables dotted with gold rising high above plush carpets, the granite bases of statues too far above ground level for Takemichi to see, the bottoms of Chinese porcelain vases decorated intricately with masterful paintings of cranes and dragons. Anything and everything he landed his gaze on was certainly worth more than his entire net worth, including that table he was mercilessly rammed into and probably the carpet he was dirtying with his mere presence - he would hate to find out what would happen to him should he be the cause of something breaking. The long, slow journey came to an end in front of a plain wooden door, one that was out of place amidst the opulence yet still flanked and guarded by two pairs of black shoes. Takemichi supposed this was Hase’s (and his own, by extension) destination, even if it didn’t seem like he was expected.

“Ah Hase-san, you can’t-” “The boss doesn’t want to be inter-”

Their attempts and warning did little to deter the blue-haired man who brushed past them, grabbing the worn bronze handle and wrenching the door open with surprising difficulty. The hefty door groaned, almost as if a welcome bell. “I’m coming in.”

The flood of sunlight hit Takemichi like a fork to his eyes, the sheer glare momentarily blinding him despite his eyelids shutting almost instantly on their own accord - he hadn’t even realized the absence of natural light throughout his short traverse along the corridor ground until now. Left to just wait for his poor eyes to adjust, it seemed that Hase wasn’t as badly affected by the sudden change, hauling the comparatively smaller man easily up into a seat of sorts and binding him to it with duct tape.

All he could hear was the sound of someone moaning and sighing, the wet pop of lips pressing, suckling and releasing. Of skin rubbing up tenderly against skin and clothes ruffling.

“Brought them both, Izana.”

Takemichi blinked, a moving brown blob slowly focusing into a man with shaggy white hair bent over on a low bed against the breathtaking backdrop of a clear blue sky, slim back exposed with what looked like a sleeping robe tied loosely around his hip. Were they in a penthouse? I-Is that Kurokawa Izana? The same man that Kakucho had begged for his help to save?

A brief glance of the gigantic room was enough to conclude that; even if the room itself felt positively spare compared to the grandeur of the corridor outside, the furnishing was still top quality - walnut wood trimmings and granite counters with hints of gold, an eye-popping amount of jewelry and branded goods scattered carelessly across various pieces of furniture, and the rug on which the bed rested on that looked more expensive than ten years of rent of his shitty apartment. And in the far distance, the edge where the city meets the sea, a priceless view that took his breath away, that few would ever enjoy.

But Izana didn’t even spare a glance at the marvel outside his window nor in their direction, more obsessed with something - someone? - huddled under him, only reluctantly leaving where he was cuddled against your soft skin when Hase let out a loud, annoyed sigh. No doubt the former Red Dragonflies Captain didn’t care to be here.

“Looks like we have guests, baby girl.” Izana whispered into your ear, before leaning down to press one last soft kiss to your lips, though your unblinking gaze never once moved from where it was fixed on the ceiling. Yet as he pulled away from you and the light pouring softly from the ceiling fell once more on you, Takemichi watched on with horror as every inch of skin revealed was littered with injuries of all kinds. Ugly yellow and green ones with clear teeth marks decorating your shoulders and collarbones, older purple ones that layered and overlaid again and again over each other, scars and fresher cuts long and short running in every direction that carved a twisted trail across your limbs and body. Almost as if they were markings of a devotee, though he doubted any of them were voluntary.

Hase grimaced at the sight, but said nothing, quickly averting his eyes as a fluffy towel was pulled over the vile decorations on your skin, the pure, innocent whiteness of the fur a sickening contrast to what everyone knew lied beneath. But the similarly white-haired man only hummed as he slipped his robes back over himself before expertly maneuvered your motionless body from the plush bed and into his arms like you were a life-sized doll, allowing Takemichi a flash of his own scarred arms and hip, the raised welts catching the daylight against his tanned skin for a single breath; what looked like your name scrawled again and again into his arms permanently.

Though all your injuries paled in comparison to the gaze that were carried in those doe eyes of yours as you were carefully lowered into an armchair, Izana ensuring that you were propped up and leaned against the soft backing of the curved frame before letting go. Gone was the confidence and assurity, the fire in your gaze that you had leveled at Takemichi just a mere few hours ago, when you had requested - no, not requested, demanded - he looked out for Mikey and Ken-chin and the rest of your precious Toman friends. You were but a shell of the self Takemichi had met, and your empty eyes reflected as much, that gaze looking right past him and into the abyss, at something no one else could see - you might as well have been dead if not for the steady rise and fall of your chest.

So fixated on you, lost in your blank look was Takemichi that he didn’t even notice Izana’s sickeningly loving smile running from his face as those unblinking violet eyes slid away from you, nor the gun, retrieved from a nearby dresser drawer, being held loosely in his grip as he turned back to face them. Two swift shots, and instantly Naoto let out a shrill cry of pain, hunching over as far as his tight restraints allowed him to. Takemichi whipped around, the spell broken, just in time to catch the tears spilling freely as the younger man’s eyes squeezed shut, the blood spurting forth from both his shins staining his black pants. Izana barely seemed bothered, the lack of care at the agony unfolding in front of him obvious in that nonchalant gaze. “Tachibana Naoto. You killed my Mikey.” Announced as if such a painful memory was worthy of a death sentence.

Wait. How did Izana know that? Catching a glimpse of Naoto’s black eyes, it was clear even through the pain that the other didn’t know either - it had only been him, Naoto and Mikey at the scene. So who? Then the gun was turned on him, and Takemichi found himself having other things to worry about.

“Hanagaki Takemichi.” The muzzle lowered, the new Toman boss tilting his head as he considered the twenty-six year old. “You’re supposed to be for Kisaki.” And there it was, that wretched name again - Kisaki Tetta. Was it Kisaki who did this to you as well, like he did to everyone else? Was he the one common denominator tying all these miserable timelines together? Alas, all Takemichi had were more and more questions, and a woeful lack of answers.

Running one hand through your soft hair, your face was nudged in his direction, Izana pressing his face side by side with yours. “Come on sweetheart, you recognise him don’t you?” He mumbled, lifting one of your limp hands in a vain bid to help you wrap your fingers around his gun, to which he lifted to point directly at Takemichi, the glimmer of a silver band from around your fourth finger catching his blue eyes for a moment. “That scum that was always hanging off of Mikey, remember?”

The gun went off, and for that moment, Takemichi felt his heart stop, his body hunching over automatically. Did you..? Did he? But the clink of metal hitting marble rang out from behind him, and you still didn’t respond (and Takemichi starting to think you never will again, not in this timeline), the white-haired man simply sighed, retrieving his gun from you - a missed bullet. “No matter. Maybe we should try carving your name into them again,” he cheerfully suggested, swapping the deadly weapon out for a small blade, the dull scalpel having long been caked in someone else’s blood. “You twitched the last round I did that.”

Naoto began to thrash with all his might as Izana rounded around your armchair, though the detective only succeeded in toppling him and his chair to the ground; the plush carpet and the awkward angle he found himself in made it impossible to budge any further. This was it, Takemichi thought, the cold sweat beading on his forehead making him shiver, his clammy hands refusing to even let him try and tug at the duct tape around his torso and arms. This death was going to be the worst.

Bang - a single gun shot rang out right as Izana stepped away from you. And then a second shot rang out from right beside him, and the time leaper whirled around, Hase's still smoking gun a mere meter away from where his head was. But it wasn’t pointed at him or Naoto. Even the man who now ruled Tokyo in Toman’s name was momentarily confused, glancing down at himself as if to check whether any red patches were blossoming, though that small quirk of his lips was back when none did. “You missed.”

Your head lolled to the right, and the dead weight pulled the rest along. A pause, the world falling silent save for Takemichi’s ears rang with the sound of his heartbeat thumping away. All eyes followed as your lifeless body tumbled off the chair, falling to the carpeted ground with a quiet thud, unmoving. Chaos erupted like a bat out of hell. Takemichi couldn’t quite tell who was screaming, what was happening, his vision blurring with hot tears that stung at his eyes. Was he screaming? Was it Izana? Why was he crying?

Falling to his knees with your name wailed out in a pained cry, the heartwrenching sight of Izana’s hands tugging at your arm like a child, at your hair to try and rouse you one more was enough to pluck at something in the time leaper’s heart, those violet eyes scrunching with the feeling of tears running even as the man broke into a laugh. “H-he didn’t hit you, did he? He missed! G-get up! Stop playing with me!”

The way your limbs were sprawled under you made you seem like you were fast asleep, though the blood pooling and soaking the once-spotless carpet underneath you told a different tragedy. Those empty eyes didn’t change even after your passing, still staring past Takemichi in the vast beyond.

“Y-you can’t! I won’t allow it! G-get up!” The Toman boss was all but a wreck, trying to help you up again and again, only for your body to slip from his trembling grip every time. “Please, please! Get up!”

“I can’t live without you, please.” A quiet murmur, the laughter died away as reality finally set in, Izana allowing you to fall for the final time, crazed smile wiped from his face. You really were gone.

“I-I-” Hands covered with your blood, he shakingly stood, turning to face the silent, solemn blue-haired man, and although the tears kept falling, it wasn’t just devastation in those violet eyes. It was pure rage burning in his usually emotionless gaze - and Takemichi understood. Even if you had been unresponsive all this time, you had still been there, a source of superficial comfort for the other to cling to. And that years-old comfort bandage had just been ripped away.

“W-what did you do?! HASE!” Scalpel gripped in a white-knuckled hand, your once boyfriend leapt the short throw at Hase, who instantly swung out at him with a roundhouse kick, his black shoe a blur as it cut through the air. Izana was fast to dodge, having somehow already anticipated the move, but the blue-haired man was faster, switching mid-kick to instead swing out with his fist. And it caught the other straight in the gut, knocking the air from him. Izana dropped like a rock with a choke, hitting the carpeted floor with nothing more than a muffled thud.

Silence. Around them, the whirl of the air conditioning was a small relief from the deathly quiet that fell like a thick cloak over the bedroom, the smell of iron impossible to remove from their noses. It was over.

A soft mumble, just barely audible from where Takemichi was restrained, as Hase knelt to gently arrange your cooling body into something more peaceful and graceful as befitting who you were in life before sliding your eyes close, his black pants dampening with your blood barely given a second thought. “Rest in peace, Boss.” It felt wrong to be here watching this, a gentle intimate gesture by a man so stained reserved only for you.

‎

“Well, that’s that,” Hase stated bitterly, reaching out as if to run his fingers through your hair, though he caught himself and wretched his hand back. “She won’t be coming back. And we’ll be gone before he wakes up.”

"He's not dead?" Naoto mumbled disbelievingly, attempting to nudge Izana with his foot, halting when his earlier bullet wounds flared up again. “Fuck that hurts like a bitch.”

The former Red Dragonflies’ delinquent stood, reaching to pull over a dresser stool with one hand and to grab a crystal decanter with the other. He didn’t bother with the small matching glasses. “We promised Boss we wouldn’t kill him. Even if she’s gone, I’ll keep holding myself to that. He’ll probably kill himself later anyway.”

Takemichi took a shallow breath, trying to compose himself. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t the end. He could still change the future, he could still save everyone like he promised himself he would, but as much as that gaze would haunt him, Takemichi needed to know what went wrong. “W-what happened, Hase-san?” How did things turn out this bad?

Hase didn’t answer him immediately, the crystal letting out a chime as it was replaced onto stone counters, reaching into his pocket to pull out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes. The two watched as he lit up, letting out a sigh as he exhaled, the smoke hanging from between two fingers as the tired man slumped back into the chair. “Furusawa died."

Those two words seemed to echo, carried through the still air by the light breeze of the air conditioning, a hollow statement that carried with it so many memories. So much pain, even if those weary gray eyes failed to show any. "It was an ambush, fifty men with assault rifles jumped Furusawa when he was out alone. That fuckhead was a monster to the end, took most of them with him and badly injured the rest."

Popping open the top of the decanter, the weary delinquent turned hitman looked like he had aged far more than the twelve Takemichi had time leaped, the usual strength in his posture fading as he took a drink straight from the bottle, the bags under his eyes and the creases on his face seeming to lengthen with the shifting daylight, the clouds outside floor-to-ceiling windows drifting past casting shadows across the room. "We've always suspected it was Izana and Kisaki behind the attack even if they claimed it wasn’t, not that it mattered. Furusawa's death broke Boss. She was never the same after, retreated into herself."

“How long has it been, six years? Seven?” He let out a dry chuckle, running one ungloved hand through his hair. "I should have let him kill Izana. Maybe Boss’ll be alive and happy."

Takemichi swallowed dryly as he watched Hase take another drag of his cigarette, thoughts zipping through his mind faster than bullet trains with the sudden dump of information. This was the gold mine he had been looking for all this time, insights into the other half of the story that was all but opaque - no Reds would talk to him no matter how he tried, rebutting his efforts with a simple ‘That’s not our story to tell’.

"I did everything for her. Anything. I killed them right here. Whoever Izana said could bring her back, I killed them all: Takeshi, Shou, Shoji, Jun. Even my own fucking boyfriend." Swirling the amber liquid inside its crystal bottle, Hase couldn’t seem to bring himself to look at them, instead opting to take a straight swallow of whisky as he lived through those minutes again, the usual burn of alcohol down the throat seemingly missing as the man immediately took another gulp. "Two bullets to the back of his head. Isao never did let me break up with him though. Not even at the end."

A pause. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” Hase laughed, though the harsh, empty bark could barely be called one, the regret lacing his tone and weighing in his eyes clear to all. “Maybe because there’s no one else to listen.”

“Um- Hase-san uh-” The once-delinquent felt his voice fade when those empty gray eyes turned on him, but Takemichi could only swallow his hesitation and fear. He needed to know. “How did Mikey become like that?” You would have never let Mikey walk down such a dark path after all, and Takemichi doubted that the once boisterous Toman President would have ever left your side knowing you were in such a horrid condition. “Is Kisaki involved?”

That name drop earned him a raised eyebrow. “They made him believe she died with Furusawa. He couldn’t take the news, broke him differently. As for Kisaki, we took notice of him, but he disappeared and appeared one day in the ranks of Toman, and there was nothing more we could do. Boss forbade us from messing with Toman.”

“So what will you do now?” Takemichi blinked, turning to look at Naoto. The detective looked a lot worse for the wear, slumping as far as his restraints let him, his words all but a slur he could barely understand - it was clear that the pain and blood loss was getting to the Tachibana sibling. He needed to get the two of them out soon.

“Make sure Boss gets her resting place, maybe go visit Koji if he’s still kicking, then find Furusawa in hell.”

A groan of pain from the floor was the unspoken bell, Izana shifting slightly where he laid though still failing to wake. The towering man stood, crushing his cigarette out on the counter. “Right, time to go. It’ll be a pain when Kisaki returns.”

Takemichi squirmed in his seat. "Um, Hase-san, could you untie us please?" He didn’t quite fancy the idea of being left behind to deal with the fallout.

“Sure.” Retrieving a small knife from the inside of his jacket, the duct tape that had held them back fell away with a swift cut to each side, the time leaper giving his sore limbs a quick stretch before helping a barely conscious Naoto off his chair, Hase having wandered away back towards what was once your armchair. If what Hase said was true, then they needed to get out of here quickly.

“One, two, and-” The younger Tachibana let out a groan as Takemichi hauled him off the chair, the two narrowly avoiding toppling over with Takemichi almost losing his footing with the sudden weight. “I got you, I got you. Hase-san, we should g-”

A familiar shot rang out. A sharp stab of pain in his chest, then two as Takemichi fell to the floor with a cry, taking Naoto down with him. It hurts. Everything hurts. His ears were ringing again, his vision blurry with tears. Feels like his shirt was drenching with something. Blood? His? Someone was calling him, but Takemichi couldn’t hear anything, not with his own screams filling his ears, not until a weak slap to his cheek shook him out of it. “Takemichi!”

His gaze focused on a now visibly pale Naoto, the detective’s hand shaking with the strain of having to reach up to hit him.

“Good, you’re not dead yet. Would have made me feel bad if you died so quickly.” The voice came from the edges of his vision, that striking mob of blue-hair that sauntered back into his field of sight still perfectly gelled despite the ongoings of the day. “What made you think you’re leaving here alive?”

A new lit cigarette hung from his lips, though it was the muzzle of that same wretched gun that ended your life that was smoking once more, the shadow cast over him blocking the overhead ceiling light enough for Takemichi to watch Hase casually sliding out the magazine to check the number of rounds left before reloading it with a click. “Say your goodbyes or whatever. I’ll put you two out of your misery.”

‎

Twelve years in the past, the day’s horrors similarly had yet to pass for the poor souls gathered around a non-descript entryway just off the main shopping streets of Shibuya, men in neatly-pressed black suits could only watch on in a mix of horror and utter admiration as the Vice Captain of the Red Dragonflies bodily lifted the spotless jeep above his head, metal groaning under the stress while the man looked barely a breath off. “Give me back Boss!”

They knew who he was of course - how could they not with their own heir having being part of the same gang - but with their specific orders not to engage this particular monster in any way, there was not much they could do but cling on for dear life and pray to whatever god out there to watch over them.

Luck was on their side this fine day, as the plain wooden door was thrown open.

“Mamoru Furusawa!” Came that sharp lash of his tongue, and the monster of a man paused, car still hauled above his head as a familiar head of black-haired stepped out, clad in a simple blue yukata, wooden judo jo tucked neatly under one arm. “What did I say about throwing my cars around? You put that down now.”

The car alarm went off with a screech as Furusawa sheepishly replaced the vehicle back in its lot along the street under the watchful eye of the former Second Generation Red Dragonflies’ boss, as the side street started to flood with more men clad in a variety of outfits and covered neck-down in tattoos similar to Furusawa’s, seemingly pouring out from every doorway and alley along the street.

“Been a while, Shoji,” Hase’s voice rang out in greeting as he stepped out from the shadow of a vending machine, his half eaten bagel disappearing into the depths of his jacket pocket. “When did you get back to Tokyo?”

As if on cue, the other three Wings made their appearances from the various nooks and corners, and Shoji blinked. Had they always been this stealthy? “Sometime last month,” he admitted, throwing up one arm in mock surrender. “Sue me, I was caught up with work.”

A pause, the alley stilling as the yakuza’s made men tasked with protecting the boss’ son eyed the delinquents wearily, afraid that they would be the one to ignite the fire. What now?

“Come here you fucking piece of shit!” Faster than they could turn, Jun already had Shoji’s head tucked under one arm, furiously rubbing his knuckles into the top of that mob of black-hair, as Masashi gingerly boinked the same head with the end of the judo their former boss had just been holding. “Trying to keep secrets from us already huh? You’re fucking turning into Boss!”

Koji let out the laugh he had been attempting to stifle, and the alley seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Fuck Furusawa! Put me down!” You could hear Jun’s ear-piercing cursing and swearing even from deep within the maze of rooms, carefully folding and packing away the small amount of belongings you had brought along with you, and even the minor scuffle echoing down otherwise empty corridors as Shoji led the troop down into the hideout. “Yes, she is back, no Furusawa, you will use the hallways like they are meant to be used. And yes, I will ask Koji to charge every last cent to you if you tear through my walls.”

“She’s just through here.”

An almost stampede of footsteps and your door burst open, and five echoes of ‘Boss’ shouted into the small bedroom had you wincing at the volume.

Instantly swept up into the familiar, comforting arms of your oldest friend, you instinctively ran one soothing hand through that mob of brown and pink hair. “I’m sorry I burst at you, Furu.”

You didn’t need to apologize to him, and Furu had always insisted that you never needed to, that he couldn’t care what wrong you had inflicted on him as long as you were safe. But you knew when you were wrong, and you simply couldn’t go on leaving that mistake unresolved. Not after what you had gone through with your own brother - you would never let anyone suffer through that like you had.

Very carefully set back on your two feet, your Vice Captain’s giant hand came to rest ever so gingerly on your head with a gentleness reserved only for you. “Sorry for snitching on you Boss.” Though Furusawa’s sharp eyes and easily distracted mind had already zeroed in on something else, and with the lightest touch he could muster, picked up your wrist, the yellow and green handprints left having faded away into a light purple after a frantic icing session. “You’re hurt.”

The gleam of silver from said hand immediately caught another pair of eyes, and Hase leaned in to get a closer look. “A wedding ring?” Came that skeptical, disgusted voice - no doubt everyone present already knew you had met Izana in private against their wishes.

“He did this, didn’t he?” Koji prodded, Masashi nodding along. “What happened?”

"A lot," you sighed out, tugging off the ring and slipping it into your pocket. There was no point in hiding it anymore from your friends - like what Takeomi said, they really were just worried about you. “Izzy asked me to marry him, and that he wanted to merge his new gang with ours under me.”

You knew how toxic your relationship with the tanned boy was; that didn’t need to be said, but all it took was one simple question from Jun to break the camel’s back. “Why don’t you just fucking leave him be?”

Why? Why indeed?

Unable to stop the fat tears that burned their trail down your cheeks, you were grateful when Furusawa wordlessly turned your face into his shirt - your best friend somehow always knew what you needed before you thought of it. “I-I can’t. I can’t let him go.”

And they watched as you buried your face and shame away like you always had - so many years had they stood by, watching you hurting yourself for the sake of a sick, tormented soul in the name of love - and so many years have they tried to save you from yourself. But time and time again you always went crawling back. “He- Izzy’s the last link I have to nii-san. I can’t.”

They watched silently as you allowed yourself to sort out your turmoil of emotions, Furu stroking your hair as you composed yourself. What else could they do?

A few minutes of silence was what was need for your sniffling to die down, and there was a certain resolution in your eyes when you finally looked back up again, your eyes reddened.

“I’m going to tell them everything.”

“Boss, I don’t think that’s a good idea either.” “No, don’t fucking do that.”

You blinked. Your Reds… didn’t want you to talk to the Toman boys? “I shouldn’t?” You repeated incredulously, glancing at Jun and Koji who had spoken in unison. But that was exactly what Furusawa had did yesterday - you had thought that they were the ones who had prodded the man into action.

Jun slapped Koji on the shoulder, and the blind man sighed, taking up the unspoken torch. “Boss, we think your friends are too uh- volatile to take that kind of information in one go. Too overprotective, like how Izana was.”

Having promised yourself that you would try your best to listen to your trusted friends more, you let their words sink in. Ah, you could see what they were saying and where they were coming from. “They are, but they have a right to know as well.”

“Maybe you should try giving them some first, and depending on their reaction give more,” your Third Wing suggested, his white cane coming to rest in front as he leaned back onto a bookcase. “You should be careful around them.”

A chime went off on your phone.

“Well, time to go home,” you accepted the handkerchief offered to you by Koji, gently dabbing your eyes dry before returning it to the man with a smile as thanks. “I’ll keep in mind what you said, Jun, Koji, but I still want to try and fill them in.”

“I’ll walk you home, Boss,” Furusawa immediately offered, but you waved him down.

“I need to apologise to Mikey and the others as well first. But feel free to swing round later when I’ve settled them down.” Pulling your phone from your pocket, you texted a short message to your Toman friends, the ding carrying with it your apologies and your assurances that you would see them home within the next hour. You heaved the bag over your shoulder. “I’ll see you boys later.”

‎

The piece of bitten taiyaki hung listlessly from his hand as Mikey stared out into the open ocean, his mind a thousand miles away and two hours in the past from where his body was. The waves lapping at the wall under him were mild, the outgoing tide having started to draw out towards the calm sea, reflecting the vibrant colors splashed across the sky as it went.

He knew not to take anybody’s words at face value, let alone trust those falling from a stranger’s mouth, yet Mikey couldn’t quite shake off what Kisaki had just told him. As much as he didn’t want to believe it, as much as he wanted to just write off the other as a trouble stirrer, the Toman President simply couldn’t despite it all just being hearsay. That delinquent had been right - you were still hiding secrets from them. From him. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else in your life except for them, your Toman friends. The friends that had spent countless nights and days beating back any scum that had dared to try worming their way into your life, that had dared to steal your attention and love away from them. The same friends that had formed a gang just for you, one that revolved around you like the earth did the sun, that existed just to keep you safe. You were supposed to be theirs, and only theirs. Lavishing your love dishing out those priceless cuddles and forehead kisses, spending your time with them or for them, being theirs forever and ever. Being his.

And it was all their fault, that blond, spectacle-touting delinquent agreed. Those dirtbag Red Dragonflies that had come crawling out of the woodworks, those trash-eating flies you lovingly called friends that sullied you, that dragged you back into the dark underground he had been trying to protect you from. That had once let you get tainted and hurt. But he could help Toman. He could help Mikey get you back to his side.

A caw of a seagull, and then two as the sun slowly sank towards the distant horizon, the beams of sunlight growing thinner as the day neared its end. What else were you hiding in your past? The chime of his phone broke the peace of the seaside, thought the familiar voice calling his name ever so sweetly that Mikey had used as his ringtone for the past two years failed for the first time to bring any relief or any childish joy into Mikey’s darkening heart.

‎

You took a deep breath. It was the last small hill before your house, and you could already hear your friends mulling about just ahead. Above head, the first of the street lights flickered to life with a soft buzz as the night sky crept ever further, swallowing up what was left of the daylight. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation by any length, given how overprotective your boys had been even before this mess you pulled them into, but you resolved to at least see it through to the end. Taking the last few steps that brought you fully over the hill, it seemed your initial assumptions were correct, your boys failing to see your silhouette popping up over the darkening horizon, too lost in their thoughts or the anxious pacing and/or rocking up and down the asphalt.

"Hey."

Their heads were a blur with how fast they turned, and in an instant you were swamped. It was a miracle you weren’t thrown backwards from the sheer force of being tackled. “I’m sorry for running off like that. You boys shouldn’t have been dragged into what was a fight between me and Furu.”

“You’re back,” Kazutora whimpered, burying his face into your shirt which quickly drenched with his tears. “You’re back.” You rested one hand on the top of his head, a sad smile pulling at your lips - he must have gone through so much.

Yet you quickly noticed there was one familiar blond mob missing from your huddle - it wasn’t like Mikey to miss any chance to monopolize your hugs. “Mikey?”

Your friend continued to stay more than an arm’s length away from you. "How much have you been hiding from us?" Came the flat question that hid the boy’s boiling anger, to which you internally sighed. And here you go.

“Nothing that you boys have asked me about,” you held up a hand before the Toman founders could jump in, and they paused, allowing you to continue. “I have never lied to you boys about anything you asked me about. I don’t lie. But I’ve not said much about my past.”

You felt Mitsuya and Baji pull away, and those once huddled into you made space for the lilac-haired and black-haired boys who each grabbed at the hem of your shirt and skirt. Looks like they knew about that too even, most likely from one of your Wings if you had to guess - you didn’t fault your friends for outing you, not anymore. And you didn’t try to turn away as Mitsuya gingerly tugged up your shirt, while Baji pulled at your skirt with a quickly reddening face. Inch by inch, the gnarly scar that decorated your hip came into the dying evening light. The still of your neighbourhood was broken by a loud wail from Kazutora and the glances of horror between you and the carving into your skin, the duo color-haired boy once more throwing himself at you, the welling tears pouring from watery eyes.

Draken failed to hide his shaking clenched fist as he leaned in to get a better look, you shivering from the cool breeze on your exposed skin as the delinquent traced the scar with the tip of one equally cold finger. “Who did this?”

“Izana,” you sighed out, and even though your words were mostly lost amidst the panic induced by the reveal of something so gross being present on what was supposed to be your innocent self, it seemed Mikey didn’t miss it. He already knew that as well, but there was no doubt the Toman President knew more than his fellow founders - the blond-haired boy taking the opportunity to stalk directly at you, grabbing you by the wrist.

“So if I break your leg and carve my name into you, you’ll forgive me too?” Mikey whispered, and you froze in his grip, his hand placed exactly where Izana had, covering the fading purple bruise. “You’ll be mine forever and ever?”

But the Toman President was forced to release you just moments later as he dodged a steel pipe that struck and bit into the floor where he stood.

“I knew it,” Kazutora whispered, a one eighty from his miserable state seconds earlier, though his words carried clear through the still air, constricted sandy brown pupils quaking as they stared down an unmoving Mikey. And you could only watch as you nursed your aching wrist once more. “Y-you were trying to keep her all for yourself. From the start.”

But Mikey all but ignored the accusations, those abyss eyes fixed directly on you. “How much more are you keeping from us?” He repeated firmly, though before you could cave to his demands, a roar of a motorcycle, followed by a rush of stomps in your direction, and the familiar mob of brown and pink hair roared over the horizon as Furusawa came flying towards the gathered Toman boys. “Let Boss go!”

“Furu!” You called out, but it was too late.

Draken instantly stepped away from you, hand outstretched in protection as he moved to be between you and Furusawa, with Baji and Mitsuya quickly falling into line in a protective circle around you. The Toman President though, had a different idea, and a few quick steps brought him face to face with the massive beast of a man.

“Mikey! Stop!” You were too slow to stop the Toman President from lashing out, his leg a blur as it whirled at Furusawa, though that signature white boot was easily avoided. And Furusawa only grinned at the provocation, straightening to his full height as his chocolate eyes sharpened.

“Nice kick, kid.”

“No," Your blond friend spat back at you. "You wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn't for them.” The word was spat out so venomously that even you reeled back - was that really your Mikey? The Mikey that loved your handmade taiyakis and tried so hard to break down your bathroom door? “I’ll kill them.”

Both boys were quickly stopped in their tracks though when Pah, who had up till now been simply watching from the sideline stepped forward unnoticed. All it took was a bash to the back of both heads - Mikey’s, who had been busy staring down and trying to intimidate a very unmoved Furusawa, and Kazutora’s, who had been busy staring down Mikey, the hands wrapped around his steel pipe twitching with the itch to beat out transgressions, be it real or assumed - for the hostility to instantly break down. Both boys seemed to have been shaken out of their respective foul moods and straight back into the needy boys you remembered from just yesterday - before any of this drama went down, though the Toman Vice Captain had other ideas as the two tried to come crying back to you for kisses and hugs.

“No. Mikey, Kazutora, you aren’t staying here tonight,” Draken ordered, folding his arms as he moved himself in front of you, all but blocking the two from your sight. “Go home.”

And in the face of unyielding anger at the stunt that the duo had just tried to pull - right after your return to them too - your two crestfallen friends, one more stoic than the other, had little choice except to turn to leave, Furusawa watching them from the corner of his eyes with crossed arms.

“Mikey. Kazutora.” Both boys paused, though only Kazutora turned around, watering eyes wiped hastily on his sleeve. You knew Mikey was listening, even if those abyss eyes never did lift off the tarmac road. “I forgive you. I’ll see you tomorrow okay?”

“Boss, you-“

“That’s enough, Furusawa. Let’s call it a night okay?”

‎

Even hours later, huddled among your friends, their whimpers slowly fading away into light snores and mumbles of your name, you were still wide awake, staring up at the ceiling. Mikey had reminded you so much of Izzy that fateful night - you still lived through that nightmare in your dreams, though it had faded away over the years.

You recalled that it had been a quiet night, a few sparse hours spent alone in the dead of night in a vain bid to finish your piling homework; with your days usually packed back to back with classes followed by gang life (or more so both clashing in a constant fight for your time), surrounded by precious friends who brought with them their own lively vibrance, you rarely ever have time to sit down and chip away at work. Pausing for a mere few seconds to take a sip of tea and wonder what the rest of your friends were up to, the rain pouring outside didn’t help in your attempt to force yourself to stay awake, the pitter patter of droplets against the wide glass window panels a lulling, calming sound; a siren’s call tempting you to give in to your drowsiness.

Alas, you could only try your best to focus one more on the paper in front of you, the words and numbers starting to dance before your eyes even as you ran your pen over them, pointing out each one and imprinting it into your mind. You absolutely had to get this done tonight - there was no other time in the next week, what with the sudden influx of matches to officiate.

But fate had other ideas despite your desperate attempt to defeat your looming deadlines, the attention that you had just barely managed to refocus on your fifth practice test of the night drawn away by the familiar sound of your front door creaking as it swung open, and you sat up, the mental fatigue instantly draining away. Did something happen? What started as light footsteps that grew into a thunder of frenzied pounds up the flight of stairs only served to feed your growing concern, and you stood, your chair screeching as it was dragged across the wooden floor - it was unusual, highly unusual in fact - for any of your Reds to find you at this hour if there wasn’t an emergency that required you on scene.

And when your door was thrown open with a bang, revealing a drenched, wide-eyed Izana glancing wildly around your room before that gaze landed on you, your gut sank. You hesitated. The churn of doubt was unmistakable - the same instinct that warned you away from running headlong into danger countless times. Something wasn’t right with the boy you were facing down. Pushing aside the small voice in the back of your head screaming at you to run, to fight even (unthinkable, you rebutted yourself - not the man you love), you advanced forward cautiously, fingertips trailing lightly across the worn wooden top of your desk as if to ground yourself. “Izzy? What happened? Are you okay?”

“Y-you’re-” Izana’s pupils were completely constricted, chest heaving with his labored breathing, beads of water dripping off strands of white hair that contrasted with the rest of your unlit room. “You knew.”

An accusation - the weight of his words weren’t lost on you. Pausing as you reached the end of the table, you tilted your head. “Knew what?”

“T-that Shinichiro isn’t my brother. That he had a real brother.” Bitter, bitter words, laced with betrayal, with hurt. Izana had treasured the relationship he had with Shinichiro - the older delinquent was his idol, and you had lost count of the number of hours you had sat with that mob of white-hair in your lap, listening to Izana ramble away about everything and anything he had done and talked about with the older Sano.

You sighed, lifting your hand from the table to pinch the bridge of your nose. Of course he would find out, you had told Shinichiro. It was better to rip the bandage off earlier than let it sit and stew. Alas, the older former Black Dragon leader had disagreed, and forbade you from spilling the secret. “Mikey.”

“I knew it,” he whispered, the name leaving your lips all but taken as a sign of your deflection. A sign of your betrayal. “You were going to leave me. Like everyone else. For Mikey.”

“Izzy, I’m not,” you assured, as you tried to hide your trembling hand from your boyfriend.The last thing you wanted to do was trigger him even more when he was already in such a vulnerable state. You’ve never seen him like this. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

But he couldn’t hear you, his eyes completely constricted, his mind in turmoil and his ears filled with those treacherous whispers that escaped from the back of his mind.

A blink, and Izana had already crossed your bedroom. A swing at you you never saw coming, and then a crack. You remembered the sharp pain shooting up your leg that seemed to resonate through your entire body, the tears that instantly welled and broke free from your eyes as you went down with a cry, hitting the floor with a thud. He- Izzy struck you.

You tried to stand, lifting your torso off the ground shakingly with your hands, but your right leg simply refused to move, the agonizing pain from attempting to force your body to do so knocking you back to the ground. It was broken. Izzy broke your leg. But your boyfriend wasn’t done - those familiar gentle tanned hands, the same hands that had just yesterday been the one to ever so kindly taken yours and led you down festive lanes of vibrant color and sound, wrapped around your neck. And began to squeeze.

Izana laughed, even as fat tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto you, his shaking empty violet eyes fixed firmly on you. “Y-you can’t leave me. You can’t. I-I won’t let you. Never.”

“I-iz-zy, I ca-‘t br-eat-” The few words you could gasp out breathlessly, your face starting to tint blue, before Izana released you just as the edges of your vision started turning black.

A hum on his lips, Izana stood, leaving you lying on the ground gasping for air as he wandered over to your study desk, picking something from your stationary holder, before returning. Pulling up your shirt to reveal unmarked skin, the white-haired boy extended what sounded an awful lot like your penknife, and you froze as the cold tip of the blade touched your hip. He wouldn’t, would he?

“Izzy- stop-“

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He pressed down, your scream piercing the night as he began to drag. “It-it’s love. I’m leaving my name for love. Just a while longer okay? Just a bit more. We’ll never be apart again.”

You didn’t remember much after your world had gone to black - just flashes of images, voices, so many voices overlapping while your eyes remained closed, mind desperately trying to shut out the pain reeling through your body. Were they yours? Were they Izzy’s? Every part of you felt like it was on fire.

A sickening crack of bones, the sound of flesh sinking into flesh and the grunt of someone taking the hits. You vaguely recall opening your eyes once more to the dark of your room, the unmistakable flash of pink that caught the light of the streetlamp outside your windows and the silhouette of a fist rising and disappearing telling you everything you needed to know.

Your throat was hoarse, and your lower body was all but unmovable, but still you tried again and again to lift yourself up. Furu, stop, you wanted to say, though you weren't sure if you managed to say those words out. You could barely tell if Furusawa even did stop pummeling your boyfriend into the ground, your vision completely blurred with the effort it took to open your eyes.

“For fuck’s sake Furusawa! We - Boss - hospital -“ Hase. Your eyes fluttered close once more.

And then it was the blinding beams of the harsh unforgiving hospital lights shining down at you from the ceiling that you stirred to, and the rest was history.

You turned in your bed, a groan emanating from behind you from where Baji had been fast sleep, the boy whining as he immediately started trying to huddle closer, arms attempting tugging you back into his cuddle, though Draken’s wrapped around your waist stopped any movement away. Right up against your bed, Furusawa sat fast asleep, head nodded forward and unmoving - you never understood how the man could get a good night’s rest in such an awkward position, but you supposed he had had worse (and not for the lack of trying too, you had offered to both your spare room, and to bring the spare mattress into your room, but Furusawa had declined both).

You reached out to run one hand through his surprisingly soft hair, and your oldest friend stirred but didn’t wake. So much Furu had done for you, so much the two of you had been through together. This road you were walking, you couldn’t give them up again for your own happiness, not the same friends who you had started this path for at the beginning, yet neither could you simply let go of your past or future for your Reds. The delicate balance you had been so carefully balancing ever since your past started merging with your present - it wasn’t going to last much longer, and you were determined that even when it does finally come crashing down, it was you who would cushion that fallout. Not your Reds, not your Toman boys, and not Izzy. And that meant there was only one option left for you.

‎

Five more minutes, Jun told himself, cerulean eyes staring straight into a matching pair attached to a sweating Takemich awkwardly blinking back at him. Five more minutes, and if still nothing happened, he would leave and forget this entire absurdity. This entire situation was already so out of character for someone that thrived on logic and order like he does that the Red Dragonflies’ Second Wing was at a loss as to what to feel, yet still he persisted. What was he thinking, coming all this way on such a ridiculous hunch?

A time traveller? Seriously? Real life wasn’t one of those sci-fi stories like those Masashi reads; there was zero possibility that time travelling was real, no fucking way. Jun felt stupid even having said it out loud to Hase with nothing but hearsay as proof - that sideeye he got was especially telling as to what the First Wing thought. Plus that dumb kid didn’t even look older.

But it was the same unshakable gut feeling that had never failed to guide his battle instincts screaming and kicking that drove him to at least check it out, especially so given how uncanningly the stars seemed to align even in the sole week that Jun had been keeping an eye on this blond-haired kid. The split personalities that this Takemichi kid seemed to switch between seemingly at random, though subtle, had been validated by Hisao’s careful probing at Jun’s direction. And no matter which way he turned the other’s behavior, it didn’t match what he understood as borderline personality disorder.

The teacher had long fallen silent, now resigned to having a seat at her desk instead, her protests of the intrusion during her class by this man who was clearly too old to be a student of this school having gone completely ignored. And with the addition of long blond hair and shock blue eyes, and one very well worn baseball bat, it could be argued that she did make the right choice to not to engage, Jun mused to himself, tapping his prized bat against his leg, even if he wasn't in his red jacket today.

“Is that Matsuno Jun-”

“I think it is-”

“… baseball player who attacked the other…?”

“He looks so scary!”

“-think he would sign my baseball card?”

“Tsk.” Jun clicked his tongue, one foul glance at the source of the mumbles, combined with the threatening ring of his baseball bat hitting metal, was enough to silence them. “What a fucking waste of my time.” Of everything he did, including baseball, battle strategy and even chess, he hated waiting the most.

Four more minutes.

‎

One heartbeat, and Takemichi gasped, blue eyes flying open, both hands shooting to wrap around his gut where he had just been shot. He was… alive? The subtle throbbing pain from being shot, and the shadow of death that had hung so close, still lingered in his subconscious even though there was no such wound on his fourteen year old body. “HUH?! Where am I- Matsuno-san?” As if om cue, the blond-haired boy reared back. “Why are you so close?”

And the final piece of the puzzle fell into place, the Second Wing's eyes lighting up like warm christmas lights on a winter night.

Jun stood in a flash, single-handedly hauling Takemichi up from his seat by his shirt collar. "I fucking knew it!" He exclaimed, a fierce smile pulling at scarred lips, as he tossed the boy over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing more than a bag of potatoes. "You're coming with me."

There was no other information revealed - what Jun knew, why he was forcing Takemichi to come with him in what seems to be the middle of class (again), or why one of the Captains of the Red Dragonflies was at his middle school looking for him to begin with. But alas, all he had were questions and a woeful lack of answers.

Somehow, the once horror-inducing scene of delinquents like him (third years again this time, it seems) littering the corridors no longer surprised or frightened Takemichi as much as the first time, though it still did bring that awful sinking feeling to his gut. On more normal days he would attempt to shuffle past and avoid stepping on the groaning seniors, but much alike Mikey and Draken, it seemed that Jun held no such desire for pleasantries, simply stomping his way through any stray limbs or hairs in his path without a care for the cries of pains. Nothing Takemichi could do but wince and mumble apologies from his perch.

“Ah Matsuno-kun, I can walk…”

“I fucking know that!” The former baseball star pushed him off his shoulder with little fanfare, and Takemichi barely caught himself on his feet. “Better not try to fucking run, you hear?”

“Um-uh where are we going?”

Jun snorted, baseball bat coming to rest on the shoulder he had just occupied - a clear threat. “You'll see when we get there. Now shut it, shithead.”

‎‎

"Stand up.” Those two words were enough to draw Takemichi’s gaze straight to the centre of what seemed to be a fighting ring of sorts, a steel cage rising from the sights of the ring to meet in the centre many metres above, the noise of the giant exhaust fans above doing little to drown out those very pointed words.“You aren't done until I say you're done."

And under the glaring artificial light, that mob of blue-hair was unmistakable, be it now or twelve years in the future. Takemichi couldn’t say if it was a good thing that Hase looked absolutely in his element in what looked more and more like those underground fighting rings his classmates loved to whisper about, half-naked amidst the bright spotlights with bandages wrapped around his wrists.

“Hase!” The members of the First Division winced in unison at the sudden screech from the front door. “Need to talk to you about that fucking issue!”

“Five more minutes. You got the proof?”

“He recognises us today, but not yesterday,” Jun announced proudly, pushing Takemichi forward straight into another red jacket. “Tell him, shitbrains.”

“Isn’t that just split personality disorder?”

The boys in red shuffled nervously away as Jun swung his bat round in anger, the wood leaving a large crack in the cement where it struck. “It’s not! Fuck! I’m telling you it’s fucking different!”

The blue-haired man boredly dodged another two pronged attack, ducking under an arm while stepping back from a kick, retaliating with two quick strikes to each face with open palms, sending them hurling and crashing into the steel bars of the fighting cage. “Too slow, work on your coordination more. And I’m asking, Jun, where’s the proof?”

“The proof is fucking him! This fucking fuckhead!”

“What, you need help with getting information too?” Hase rolled his eyes, but his tone was a teasing one, and he signaled a pause, much to the relief of his two division vice-captains who collapsed on the ground with a sigh. Their hell was over. “Whatever, you are right on time anyway. Someone toss him in the ring.”

Takemichi couldn’t help but flinch as those uncomfortably familiar gray eyes were turned on him as he was manhandled into the cage by several obedient members, a trigger to his subconscious left over from his time in the future. Even though he instinctively knew that this Hase in front of him wasn’t the same that turned his gun on him, the time leaper couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the only difference between this set of eyes and the one that had shot him point blank was your active presence. And no doubt Hase definitely picked up on that, that already suspicious gaze sharpening, though he held back from commenting.

“Takeshi, Shou, you two need a lot more practice.” The First Wing turned to address the rest of his division gathered. “And so do the rest of you. I expect you all to up your spars in the next few weeks. I don’t have time for every single one of you bastards, so make use of Shou and Takeshi.”

There was a mumble of ‘Yes Captain’ that went around the room, and Hase nodded. “Everyone out.”

The fighting arena cleared under three minutes, with several boys in red entering the ring to carry out two very tired, very bruised boys, Takemichi only able to enviously watch as they disappeared outside the thick reinforced bars, and then behind the thick steel entrance doors - how he wished he had never come here.

“I guess Jun was right,” Hase grumbled, and the blond-haired delinquent whirled back around. “You know who we are.” Takemichi attempted to scramble back slightly as the First Wing approached him, though he didn’t get far.

“Ahhh- I mean I was at that fight ahaha…”

“I fucking told you he’s a time traveler,” the Second Wing grumbled.

Takemichi felt the fist bury itself into his stomach before he registered seeing it fly, the single blow forcing all the air from his lungs right before the onset of gut-wrenching pain moments later, the weight of the punch only magnified with the deceivingly gentle hand rested on his back that stopped him from flying back and mitigating its force. The hum of the large industrial fans above him drowned out the thud of his collapse onto the thinly padded floor, the blond-boy only managing to heave and dry-heave as he struggled to catch his breath, fat tears brimming at his eyes and breaking free to roll down his cheeks as the agony seemed to radiate through every inch of his poor body. But Hase had little sympathy, simply staring down at the downed Toman member. “I fucking hate liars,” said man mumbled, reaching into his pocket for his pack and pulling out a fresh cigarette.

“For fucks sake, can you fucking smoke outside?!” Jun complained, dropping into a nearby chair, a muffled thud as his baseball bat came to rest on the cracked concrete. "Fucking stinks." But ultimately he did nothing more but mumble more as Hase lit himself a new stick - this was very obviously Hase’s home turf, and Jun was but a guest.

“So are you going to start talking or not?”

“W-what am I supposed to say?” Takemichi stammered out as he clamoured to his knees, barely catching his breath.

Hase shrugged. “Either prove you’re a time traveler or you’re not. Stop this fucking goon from continuously coming to waste my time and fill my schedule.” He raised his fist. “And don’t lie.”

‎

“Thank you for taking the time to meet me on such short notice, Shiba-san.” You waved them in, your light, fairy-like footsteps leaving nothing but a mark where you had trodden across freshly-steamed carpets, as opposed to the heavy albeit cautious steps of Taiju’s. The clatter of boots and shoes alike against polished wooden floors was all but filled the air for the next few seconds as the rest of the audience fell into position, Furusawa taking his usual stand behind your camelback sofa, and Taiju’s two men, Inui and Kokonoi you heard, behind his, pristine white uniforms gleaming against the Tenth Generation Black Dragon leader’s blood red.

A red that was a tad too bright, too vibrant for your own liking, but who were you to question it?

“I’ve heard the tales about you from Inupi,” Taiju’s voice shook you from your musing, and you turned your gaze to meet that sharp yellow gaze.

“Nothing but good things, I hope,” you teased back, your gaze shifting to meet a familiar pair of icy blue eyes. “It’s good to see you again, Inui-san.”

Said boy held up his hand with a quick dip of his head. “Inupi, please.”

You nodded. “Sorry it’s just me and Furu here today. Hase had something come up, he couldn’t make it.” Receiving the murmurs of acknowledgement, you pressed on, the smile falling from your face as you shifted gear. “Well, let’s get straight into business. I want to merge the Black Dragons under the Red Dragonflies.”

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