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cheesus-doodles · 5 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.

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