Work Text:
MIHASHI
**
Those two, they’re trouble.
The first time it happened stuck to him like glue. It was a hot summer weekend, the kind of day where heat rose up off the concrete in rivulets and clung your shirt to your skin with oppressive fervor. Mihashi plodded ahead of his parents, both of them slow and loaded with the week’s groceries, to bounce on a creaky stairs that lent the creaky-creaky apartments its loving namesake. They lived on the top floor of the complex, the fifth floor, and as they rounded the bend of the flight of stairs Mihashi scrambled ahead to see if Hamada was waiting by the railing.
Hamada wasn’t at the next landing but two women were standing huddled together, speaking in low tones to one another; tuts and whispers and fingers raised to scandalized mouths that all stopped when the Mihashis passed by. The silence as damning as a fumblingly closed book, hands caught red.
Even as a child Mihashi recognized that feeling.
Behind the back gossip. Whispers turned into furtive greetings and forced smiles. A strange mood that made a sensitive kid like Mihashi dart his gaze between the adults, his mad scramble up the stairs briefly forgotten.
Those two, they’re trouble.
That poor kid.
His mom and dad had only looked at each other and smiled, small but happy, and offered their own greetings in return. They continued on as if shouldering a burden together in a way that Mihashi didn’t come to understand until years later when he learned what the word ‘elope’ meant, when he learned why his mom and dad never came together to visit his grandpa, and why grandpa’s face curdled with disapproval when Mihashi talked about his mom in more than just passing. When the detailed ink creeping up and down his dad’s body became more than just a pretty decoration that Mihashi liked to tap his fingers across, tracing the elegant images, fascinated by how the tattoos stopped just so at the wrists, right before the end of a long-sleeved shirt. Mihashi always thought it as normal as the unadorned skin stretched over his own body.
But the tattoos were a symbol for what they were: Yakuza. Trouble. A world of deep loyalties and spirit and blood and money.
His mom hadn’t been born into their world, and Mihashi’s dad had left in order to create a new one with her.
Grandpa never forgave that, even if he somehow found it in his heart to welcome Mihashi into the group, to lead him into that fascinating world with wisdom, experience, and a bit of ruthlessness. Even as Mihashi’s increasingly apparent grooming sometimes had his parents sending each other silent looks over the kitchen table, their expressions filled with sentiments that Mihashi couldn’t hope to parse.
People didn’t think Mihashi was trouble anymore. At least not like the trouble he was supposed to become.
“He’s the only one the boss favors.” One member announced over crossed arms, two others gathered tight and eager around him. Mihashi’s known them for years. “You won’t believe what I heard the other day!”
“Him? The heir?” Another whispered in the hallway. “No way. No fucking way. If it was Kanou -”
“- heard what happened with the dad, don’t know why anyone would -”
“- run us straight into the ground. The other groups would eat him up and we’d be stuck with -”
And on and on. Mihashi thought about koi fish flocking to pieces of bread thrown into a pond. Gossip, gossip, gossip, gobbled up in seconds; threatening to hook onto him and break him down into pieces too.
Ruri once said that Mihashi looked exactly like his father, and then she’d put her fingers on her forehead to mimic Mihashi’s thick eyebrows, puckered at a perpetually worried slant, something gentle about her face even when she tried to scowl like the best bodyguard in the house until Kanou pointed out that Ruri’s eyebrows looked almost the same as Mihashi’s, and all three of them fell into a pile of laughter in the big backyard.
For what it was worth, Mihashi looked exactly like his mother too. From their hair color to the way he pressed his lips together, the bird-like stuttering they both shared when excited – except Mihashi stuttered quite a bit more. His words tripped over each other nearly every time he opened his mouth, and that was nearly as bad as the rest of him.
Hatake said he should have stopped crying years ago. Hatake’s sighs were explosive whenever Mihashi stumbled through sentences or didn’t look him straight in the eyes whenever they crossed paths, ducking his head instead and scurrying by to avoid irking the man simply by being. That’s all it seemed to take to irritate him - just Mihashi being Mihashi. Hatake didn’t say things like “You’re too weak” to his face but the accusation of it was in every distasteful glance thrown Mihashi’s way, in the rough twist of Hatake’s hand around Mihashi’s wrist or arm, and in the way everyone else stopped doing anything about it. Turning a blind eye to the scenes, or rushing away to absolve themselves from the responsibility of a witness.
The weight of their uncaring attitudes settled like a final sentence over Mihashi’s shoulders; a terrible confirmation of what he was beginning to become certain of all along.
How he should be stronger. How he shouldn’t tremble or cringe so much. Even without his grandpa’s favoritism or the special grooming, Mihashi was a member of the yakuza, born into this world whereas some of the other had stumbled into it after graduating from delinquency, so Mihashi should be able to inspire something other than the misery slowly spreading through everyone else at the thought of having to follow someone like him.
Mihashi wanted… He wanted.
But. Maybe he wasn’t good enough after all.
KANOU
**
“Tell me again.”
Kanou stood in the middle of the darkened garden and looked at the far gate, needing to stare at something familiar and inoffensive least the gravity of what’s happened shake loose his composure. He stares at the walls that enclosed the Mihashi house until his eyes found the little pear tree planted close to it, its branches twisted up in full bloom, heavy with misshapen little fruit, offering the perfect steps up and over the wall. Kanou, Ruri, and Mihashi used to vault themselves over it all the time when they were little, snatching fruits on the way up and thinking themselves escape artists when the half the house’s windows could see their antics. Their stolen freedom actually an indulgence by adults who could easily keep track of them all.
The rest of the gathered group – at least the members who Kanou was closest to – all did their absolute best at shuffling their feet. Miyukawa cleared his throat but said nothing, deferring to Yoshi with a glance.
“Mihashi and Hatake got into it,” Hiiragi finally offered.
Hatake was being Hatake, Kanou translated.
“Uh huh,” he said, looking at the man in question. “And?”
“And Mihashi… left a few hours ago.” Hiiragi added.
“And?”
“He ain’t come back yet.” Oda stepped up, parting through the cluster with a thumb jerked over his shoulder. Thank god for Oda. Sometimes he seemed the only one with his head above all of this potential infighting, a drama which a new recruit like Oda didn’t seem inclined to get involved in, let alone pick sides. “Whole house’s trying to figure out how to reach him but he left his phone on his bed and he’s weirdly sneaky. No hint where he went. Boss’s lookin’ for ya, Kanou.”
“Okay,” Kanou said. “One moment.”
“He didn’t seem to be in a ‘one moment’ kind of mood.”
“Okay,” Kanou said again, rounding on Hatake. The man shrunk back before catching his own reaction and stopping. It could be a funny scene to anyone else: Kanou, not as tall as he ever wanted to be, never able to put on the kind of muscle others in their line of work could, yet able to make a bulky man like Hatake hesitate.
Kanou said, “Let me guess what happened."
“I just gave him some advice.”
And that was the last straw. Kanou balled his hands up, knowing they’d be on Hatake otherwise. “You treat Mihashi like shit when you think no one is paying attention, talk down the grandson of our leader, you all do, you badmouth a member of our family and you expect me to – what?” Kanou demanded when Hatake looked ready to interrupt, allowing only a sharp pause. “To what, Hatake?”
“To think about what’d be best for us in the future!” Hatake retorted, all bravado and gusto. A lesser man might be intimidated. Hatake put his hands on everything and thought he can shape the world that way, bruising it between his fingers and catching whatever rewards slip between them, and that was good in a lot of situations when they needed leverage and bloodied knuckles, a bull crashing through a china shop. But not in this. Not if Kanou had a say in it.
“I’m being honest,” Hatake continued, taking Kanou’s silence as encouragement. “Mihashi is no good for us. I get that the boss wants to keep the leadership with the family but he’s not cut out for it. I mean, it sounds like he’s just up and run away with his tail between his legs. You’d never do something cowardly like that. Hell, none of us would. You’re the only one of us who doesn’t think that Mihashi’s not a terrible fucking piece of -”
Oh, no. Kanou whirled around and tramped towards the house, swiftly toeing off his shoes before entering. He barely saw where the hallways took him or the faces he passed along the way, his mouth clamped down with distaste, ears buzzing with anger. He could walk this house blind and nearly feels so with rage.
Damn Hatake. Damn his bullying and damn his petty behavior and damn the rest of their obsession with picking at whatever loose threads they could find on Mihashi, yanking and tugging until the seams came loose. And Mihashi… Mihashi shouldn’t have run away, if that’s what he’s done, because a move like that simply adds fuel to the fire of everyone else’s accusations of he’s not enough. But even more than that, Mihashi shouldn’t feel so trapped in the first place – stuck constantly having to prove himself in his own home with no support to help him along. And that wasn’t on Mihashi. That was on them, on Kanou and the rest, all of them unable or unwilling to trust Mihashi with more than himself.
How could they be so blind to how much promise Mihashi had? The mettle? What was wrong with them? Damn them, damn them.
Kanou didn’t notice Oda had trailed after him until he was stopping before the boss’s closed doors, the bodyguard posted there giving a nod in greeting. Kanou tersely nodded back, feeling like he’d just woken from a slight stupor, like his anger blanked out the last few minutes of his awareness. His hands stung. When he unfurled them saw tiny red nail-shaped crescents.
Beside him, Oda said, “I feel like you didn’t hear a word I jus’ said.”
“Didn’t. Sorry.” Kanou smiled ruefully, and then buried the expression and dug deep for patience. He couldn’t step into that office angry and hissing, flying off the handle. That would do no one any favors. He rubbed his hands on his pants legs, trying to rid the stinging.
“Good job not punching Hatake in the face back there.”
“I’ve kicked him in the balls once before,” Kanou muttered. Oda wheezed that laugh of his, low and surprised, and Kanou found he had it in him to smile again. “I thought that would be enough for a lifetime. I guess not.”
“Yeah well, you still need to go apologize to Hatake and the rest of ‘em later. You’re both lookin’ out for us. In different ways, yeah – don’t glare at me like that – he’s got a mean way of showin’ it but the guy does care. If he didn’t he’d just leave Mihashi alone instead of pressuring him all the time. I don’t know much about your drama, but do I know that much.”
Kanou frowned. Mulled over the words, reluctant to find any truth in them, but not so bitter as to shrug off the possibility entirely. Oda tapped him on the shoulder in farewell and left with a tuneless whistle.
Kanou turned around. Gathered himself. Tried to scour out the worst of his temper and part open the double doors with a more helpful thought: they needed to find Mihashi as soon as possible
[ To: Ruri
Is he with you? ]
[ From: Ruri
Nope. But I heard what happened. Damn Hatake. ]
[ To: Ruri
Damn Hatake. ]
Kanou texted back in solidarity, resting his phone on his chest with a sigh. The device glowed for a long moment before cutting off and plunging the room into darkness, only strips of moonlight for comfort as they crisscrossed over Kanou’s bed.
Oda’s words echoed in his mind, wresting the last of his anger loose no matter how much he wanted to cling to it. The boss’s words swiftly followed, chased by the image of the old man sitting behind his desk.
I’m learning that I can’t make that kid do anything he doesn’t want to do, he’d said, voice smoke and metal and creak of leather as he sat back in his chair. Just like his father. I’m not putting all my eggs in one basket this time. I know how the others look to you. They respect you. A few of them are scared of you. That’s good. If Mihashi makes that decision, you already know that I think of you as family. I want to find the stupid kid and put some backbone into him, but I can’t keep coddling him. I can only hope the bastard can protect himself out there. You know how it is. Can I get you to do something for me?
Of course.
Of course.
Of course they were right. This was more than just Hatake. More than just Kanou. It was about the fate of their entire family, how they would shape their future, and who would lead them to it.
The buzz of his cell phone broke his thoughts. He rushed for it before remembering that Mihashi hadn’t brought his phone with him when he left. Kanou sighed and reached continued at a slower pace, wincing when he rolled onto his bad side.
[ From: Ruri
I can feel you being broody all the way over here. ]
[ To: Ruri
I’m not being broody, I’m sleeping. ]
[ From: Ruri
Sure you are. Renren will be fine! And so will you, Shuu-chan. ]
[ To: Ruri
Stop. We’re adults now. ]
[ From: Ruri
Shuuuu-chan. ]
He could hear that in her voice, strong and lilting. Kanou grinned and cast his phone aside, not gracing her with the victory of a response. She’d know it anyway.
Yet inevitably, despite Ruri’s bright distraction, his thoughts slipped back to Mihashi. Where Mihashi was, whether or not he was safe, why Mihashi hadn’t come to Kanou first. If Mihashi even felt like he could come to Kanou for anything. It didn’t mean anything, the running away. Mihashi was an adult with his freedoms and the household wasn’t an anchor demanding his presence every single hour of the day. It didn’t have to mean anything. He could be back by morning.
(Did Mihashi trust him like that anymore? Did he trust him like when they’d been kids and Mihashi had a loose baby tooth and cried and cried and asked Kanou to help, anything but a string tied to a door, and let Kanou reach right in to his mouth and pluck the source of his pain away? Had Kanou ever plainly said his support directly to Mihashi’s face before? Said something like You’re definitely good enough for us or I’ve always got your back or I’d kill for you or I’d even die for you. No machismo, no swagger, not a superficial line spouted between two men who make their lives off the less savory underbelly of the world - just a mouth full of honesty and a bleeding heart.
Did Mihashi know about that?)
Tomorrow. They would make more progress tomorrow.
It’s not just a day or two.
Mihashi stayed missing for a week, two weeks, no word and no one able to pin him down, and it began to make everyone antsy. Even Hatake, with whom Kanou exchanged a stilted apology with, the both of them eager to put that day behind them.
“What I want to know is how he’s just slipped off the grid like this,” Hatake grumbled, rounding the corner of the warehouse with a swaggered step that Kanou used to poke fun at him for. He’s a natural at it now. “Poof. Gone. We’ve got eyes everywhere and still nothing. Honestly, what the fuck?”
Kanou eyed the contents of the warehouse. Big giant crates cast posthumous shadows on the ground, the shapes turned long and eerie by the flickering overhead light. No one else around. Kanou didn’t mind a quiet night for once.
They stepped in and out of pockets of florescence, kicking up dust, looking for the mark on the crate which designated the drop.
“What?” Hatake said.
“What, what?” Kanou repeated, flicking his eyes over to the other.
“You were smiling. The weird one where you know something.”
Kanou forcefully resisted the urge to do something like sneer, or bring his hand to his mouth to check. “Ren’s-… Mihashi’s always been like that. We used to play ball with Ruri. He’d chase down every one when we gave them up for lost but sometimes he’d get lost too, or sneak up on us and scare the hell out of us. If you’re not watching out for it, Mihashi will always surprise you.”
“Well, I must not have spent enough time watching him,” Hatake airily replied, cold but not as ruthless as before. “This it?”
Kanou went to inspect the crate, half distracted.
If Hatake spent too little time watching, maybe Kanou spent too much.
There was a small, unmistakable mark branded atop the crate.
“That’s the one,” Kanou said. “Let’s take it to the car.”
Eventually even Kanou started to waver. Frowning up a storm, Ruri said when she dropped by to pay respects to her great uncle. You miss him, don’t you? We should all get together once when this is all over. I’ll make Renren pay for the drinks.
Kanou had snorted, heart heavy and light at once with her words, and asked, Why are you the only one who’s never gotten a weird nickname?
The punch to his shoulder had throbbed for a good minute.
When it happened, it happened in a flurry of activity.
One of the men guarding the front gate came running in, polished shoes scuffing all over the floor in his haste. Kanou gave that a distasteful glance. When he looked up the man was already pacing his way.
“Boss here?”
Kanou glanced up the hallway. The office had been locked up for a while, the people inside clearly not wishing to be disturbed. Not for something minor. “I don’t think he’s available right now.”
“Shitting shit,” the man said. Others were quickly coming out of the woodwork, drawn to the commotion like hounds caught by the smell of first blood.
“What’s happened then?” Oda asked, slinking closer.
“I-It’s the… Nakazawas.”
Kanou couldn’t turn around fast enough. Mihashi stood just past the threshold, sudden and whole and there and Kanou couldn’t summon any words.
“There’s kind of… S-Something happened, and now they’re here so I…” Mihashi fluttered a hand, a gesture with a meaning no one was able to interpret.
“Well shit,” Oda said in the waiting silence. “Older one or the younger one?”
“Older. Definitely Roka-san’s style! Riou’s actually pretty cool.” A little guy tumbled his way through the entrance, two guards on his heels looking ragged like they’d done all they could to stop him from barging in.
Everyone looked at the new intruder. The stranger kept on grinning.
“Who the hell is this?” Hatake, bless his tactless heart, demanded. Another beat of silence as the guy looked to Mihashi with a shrug. Mihashi bit his lip, then licked it.
“T-This is T..Tajima Yuuichirou from, um, from Momokan’s group.”
“Momo who?”
“Tajima?” Kanou ventured, gathering himself. “As in Bream’s Tajima?”
“Yep!”
A murmur went through the group. Almost everyone’s heard the name of the hitman before, or the stories attached to it, and seeing the root of such vicious tales attached to the cheerful man before them sent a shock through everyone. Seeing Tajima seemingly deferring to Mihashi of all people deepened it.
Mihashi looked uncomfortable, brow pinched. He scurried to Kanou’s side as if speed could spare him extra scrutiny. “Um… Kanou…”
“We can talk later. After this is done.”
Mihashi shook his head. Nodded. Reached out and wrapped slim fingers around Kanou’s wrist. Kanou tried not to jolt at the contact.
“A-Are you…?”
But god did he miss this. Needing to look at Mihashi’s face to pieces together the gaps between his words and pauses, cracking it like a well-learned cipher. Missed having the excuse of looking into Mihashi’s eyes for the extra moment that it took for understanding to dawn.
“I’m… I’m not mad at you.”
“O-Oh.” Mihashi swallowed and nodded again. “Okay.”
And then Mihashi moved to embrace him. Kanou definitely jolted at that, feeling the press of something hard dig into his hip. A handgun, brazenly kept right there beneath Mihashi’s clothes. Kanou stared at it when they pulled away. Mihashi squeaked and shuffled, quickly taking the firearm and tucking it at his back, patting down his shirt as if to better conceal it. Kanou recognized the move for what it was – it was less obvious to reach for a gun from behind.
Can’t protect himself my ass.
“We’ve got company,” Oda drawled. “And they’re mighty rude!”
Half the group looked to Kanou. Kanou looked to Mihashi, as did Tajima. Mihashi looked at the ground, and then he looked up.
“Okay,” Mihashi breathed, a waver but no stutter.
He turned around and marched out.
Tajima cheered, “Let’s go fuck ‘em up!”
And, well.
They’d never needed a better rallying call than that.
“You’re crying now? After all of that? I was starting to think you didn’t know how to fight!” Hatake shouted, but it was matched with a heavy slap on Mihashi’s back that nearly sent him toppling off his chair and rattled a soft whine from his lips. Kanou bit the casing off a plaster and narrowed his eyes at Hatake. Hatake threw both hands up in surrender and ambled off to chatter with the rest, who welcomed him with the lingering camaraderie of a good scuffle.
Another soft gasp brought Kanou’s attention back to the task at hand. The way Mihashi rubbed at his eyes did look ridiculous, but Kanou couldn’t bring himself to care past the fond squeeze of his heart.
“W-Was that… a good thing?”
“That was Hatake trying to be nice, yeah. Did he slap anything important?”
“Wow. And n-no, I’m fine. It d-doesn’t hurt.”
“You always say that.”
“I’m fine.” Mihashi smiled. Kanou bit the inside of his cheek and looked away, busying himself with tending to the spot where a switchblade had nicked Mihashi. A shallow slice, thankfully, where a carefully twisted blade could have slid right between his ribs.
Thoughtlessly, Kanou let his hand linger even after finishing up, touching an ornate patch of ink that curved around Mihashi’s ribcage, catching a hitched breath at the contact in the palm of his hand.
“F-Fingers,” Mihashi muttered when Kanou jerked away.
Ticklish, Kanou remembered.
New additions flowered up over Mihashi’s skin all the time. Somehow, Mihashi never cried through those sessions, even with the needle buzzing over areas Kanou knew to be painful.
There wasn’t much else to do for stalling. Kanou packed up the first aid kit but stayed kneeling beside it, Mihashi blinking down at him, all of it a strange echo of the obeisance everyone paid to the boss. He wondered how Mihashi would react if he bowed his head.
“Are you going to stay, or…?” Kanou glanced at Tajima, who had somehow ingratiated himself with the bunch already. That level of charisma was scary by itself. In a hitman? It was dangerous. And Tajima actually listened to Mihashi, unlike…
“I’m… staying!” Mihashi exclaimed.
Kanou ripped his gaze back up.
“T-Tajima-kun is good but! He’s not… home.” They stared at each other, Mihashi unwavering in that fumbling, stubborn way of his. “I knew that I had you, at least, t-that you… in me… Believed in me. Even when I never really proved myself to anyone. And I wasn’t strong enough to, make everyone want me.”
I want you.
Damn it, damn it. Kanou nearly bit his tongue. “You’re not weak, Ren. Hatake’s an asshole.”
“I know.”
And there it was, an admission that shouldn’t be so startling.
You’re not weak. I know.
“I think you’re really good,” Kanou admitted, heat rising to his cheeks. Just with that. Only words.
“I… I want to stay. And try harder. I’m n-not going to give up. Thanks, Shuu-chan,” Mihashi added, and Kanou groaned and dropped his head onto Mihashi’s knee, uncaring of the sight they made when Mihashi dropped his hand into Kanou’s hair, fingers moving careful as if parting something new and delicate.
“I have a m-million text messages. Ruri says we’re g-going out for drinks?”
Kanou breathed, shivered, and said, “You’re paying.”