Chapter Text
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
The sound of the phone vibrating interrupts Rei’s focus on the book he’s reading. He reaches out and picks up his smartphone.
Text message. From Vermouth.
Gin’s sending you a toy. Be careful not to let him break you.
Rei’s eyebrow twitches. Surely it should be the other way around. Then another, single word appears at the bottom of the conversation:
Rye.
He frowns at the screen for a long minute before standing and stretching. Carefully, neatly, he grabs the book and crosses to his bookcase. The shelves hold nothing of particular importance: a ballcap and a wrist brace, a Canon camera with a large Zeiss lens, a pile of cheap yellowing paperbacks printed in the era before consumption tax. He drops the book in his hand carelessly onto that pile.
If he had to leave here tomorrow, he could replace all of it easily. And given that that’s always a possibility, it’s just as well.
Rei slips out of his room and into the hallway. The house he and Hiromitsu share is large for Tokyo; large enough for three separate bedrooms. Thus their newest addition. He reaches Hiromitsu’s door and knocks, then enters.
His fellow PSB agent is seated at his desk, working away at his computer. Rei focuses on intelligence; Hiromitsu on hacking. He doesn’t need to meet Rye to know his specialty; his reputation precedes him. Sniper.
“Got a text from Vermouth,” he tells Hiromitsu, coming over to lean a casual hip against the desk, legs crossing at his ankles. Hiromitsu’s eyes tighten, the skin at the corner wrinkling even as his lips slip into a slight pout. He’s never learned to guard himself around Rei. It’s endearing – and dangerous.
“Oh?” His fingers lift from the keyboard and he swivels in his chair to look up. “New orders?”
“No. A new roommate. For a while, at least.”
Now Hiromitsu’s pout becomes deeper, sharper. “Who?”
Rei slips his thumbs in under the waistband of his jeans, fingers tapping on his pockets. “Rye.”
“The Silver Bullet? This is bad, Zero, he’s dangerous.”
“Everyone in the Syndicate is dangerous. So are you. So am I.”
Hiromitsu’s eyes reflect the bright sunlight outside, a line of light drawn over his dark iris. “Why is he coming? Do they suspect something? Are they watching us?”
“Vermouth didn’t give any details. If he were being assigned to watch us, they certainly wouldn’t tell us. But…” His fingers still, his mouth quirking into a wry smile, “if they suspected us, we’d already be dead.”
“Very comforting,” grouses Hiromitsu.
Rei straightens from his relaxed slouch. “See what you can find on him. The more we know, the better. And Scotch,” he says, using the codename purposefully and seeing Hiromitsu straighten. “Be careful.”
***
Moroboshi Dai, alias Rye, arrives at the end of the week. He has a backpack, a suitcase, and a rifle bag. Like many Syndicate operatives, he’s dressed in all black.
“Welcome,” says Hiromitsu pleasantly, always the more easy-going of the two of them. Rei wears smiles like a second skin and charm like body paint, but they’re not who he is. He is something much harder, much more combustive. Now, with no need to wear masks, his face is flat, watchful.
Rye stands on the doorstep of their house taking them – and it – in with a long steady look. He’s tall, taller than either of them, and his sable hair tumbles down to his waist. His face is narrow with high cheek-bones; his eyes are a piercing green bordered by ridiculously long lashes.
A lady-killer, thinks Rei sourly, an assessment confirmed by Hiromitsu’s research. Rye is intimate with Miyano Akemi, a low-time member with ties to the Research branch. But handsomeness alone wouldn’t have won him the title of Silver Bullet. He’s the man who could make – or break – the Syndicate. Who could expose the two of them as the NOCs they are.
And he’s staring at Rei with laughter in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to welcome me, Bourbon?” he asks, voice rich and smooth as single-malt. The coincidence of their names hasn’t been lost on Rei. Bourbon, Scotch, Rye. Two traitors and a killer.
“It wasn’t my choice to have you here,” he says flatly. He turns, entering the house. “You can come in; that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“What I want,” murmurs Rye, his footsteps following Rei’s, “is to serve.”
Strange answer. “Serve Gin, you mean,” spits Rei. He and Hiromitsu are under Vermouth and there’s no named operative in the Syndicate who isn’t aware of the tension between those two key players.
He turns and catches a flinty smile on Rye’s lips. “Certainly I serve my masters,” he replies.
“Like a dog,” says Rei.
“Bourbon,” interjects Hiromitsu, voice tense. He’s glaring the way he always does when Rei pushes boundaries, the way he used to in middle school when Rei would interrupt the teacher with the right answer.
Rye toes off his shoes and stops at the edge of the living room, setting down his bags. “I sense you don’t appreciate my presence, Bourbon. Afraid I’ll put a spanner in your operation? I can assure you, I won’t. Unless of course it’s going off the rails…” His fingers brush against the top of the black rifle case. Rei’s face in no way reveals the sudden rush of adrenaline in his system, a cold sweat breaking out under his shirt.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re a smooth operator,” replies Rei in a dry tone. “And we have nothing to hide. But I don’t appreciate being judged by someone who’s never worked Intel.”
“I’m not here to judge you. I just needed a new place to stay, and your pad was convenient. I have no stakes in your games, Bourbon. And I don’t have any desire to have one.”
“Fine. Good. Your room is upstairs, end of the hall on the left. You eat or use something up, you replace it. You want to cook or drink, you supply your own needs. You plan to bring someone home, make other plans. We’re clean from surveillance here and we want to stay that way. Use a love hotel.”
“How diligent. We could use more uncompromising men like you.”
“Whatever,” says Rei, and stalks upstairs, leaving Rye and Hiromitsu alone. He hears the other PSB operative offer to help Rye with his bags.
“That’s alright,” replies Rye, his voice low. “I travel light.”
***
Rye’s room is next to his, the two of them separated by a single wall. Rei sits at the head of his bed and flips through messages on his phone, trying not to think about it.
As much as he’d rather not think about it, he knows why Rye rubs him up the wrong way, why they’ve instantly gotten off to a bad start. Rye has all the qualities he hates:
Dangerous operative
Confident bastard
Irritatingly attractive
Those three points are intertwined in Rei’s mind, tangled like tree roots strong enough to crumble cement. Rye’s smart enough to be a danger to them and arrogant enough to chase that danger. The fact that he’s good looking is just icing on the cake.
He can feel his skin itching, feel the instinctive desire to punch someone in the face. Preferably Rye.
But that seems unlikely to happen, so instead he plugs his phone into his speaker set, and turns on his playlist with the heaviest bass. Windows shivering gently in time with the beat, he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. Tries to see how exactly they’re going to banish Rye from their lives.
***
They meet the next morning in the kitchen, Rye already sitting at the table with a cup of black coffee, the portafilter still full of coffee grounds on the counter.
“We clean up after ourselves here,” says Rei pointedly, dumping the portafilter in the sink and switching on the electric kettle. He pulls some bread out of the bag and shoves it in the toaster, then produces jam, eggs and salad from the fridge. The eggs he puts in a pot to boil, the salad he portions out onto a plate, returning the unused greens to the crisper.
While the bread toasts and the water boils he leans up against the counter, palms resting on the edge behind him, studying Rye.
The operative is dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans, even his socks black. His long hair catches the light like onyx as it flows over the back of the chair – hair that is entirely unpractical for someone in his line of work. Rei briefly wonders whether he puts it up, whether he combs it into ties, fingers sliding through the sleek locks – but no. Who cares?
“I can see you’re a harsh task master, Bourbon.” Rye smiles into his cup of coffee, as if at a private joke. His long legs remain crossed beneath the table; he makes no attempt to get up to clean the coffee percolator. Rei taps his fingers on the composite countertop.
“I like things to be tidy.”
“A sensible stance for one in our line of work. I wonder how your partner feels about it.”
Rei’s eyes narrow. “My partner?”
“Scotch. You two seem often to be paired during tasks.”
“We’re not partners. We work in the same city; our skills are complimentary. Nothing more.”
“I see.” There’s something in his tone that Rei doesn’t like, a hint of disbelief.
“What?” he asks, as behind him the kettle switches off. He pours it into the pot and switches on the stove, movements supremely casual.
“There are rumours,” begins Rye, tone light.
“There are always rumours,” replies Rei suppressively. “You wouldn’t believe the rumours that are flying around about you.”
Rye rests his elbow on the table and props his knuckles against his cheekbone, lips twisted into an attractive – and irritating – smile. “I’m quite sure I would,” he replies. “But if you’re so aware of the rumour mill, then I don’t need to tell you what people say about Bourbon and Scotch.”
Lovers under covers, is what Rei has heard, and fuck buddies, and, crudely, a pair of handsy fags. It’s not true – he loves Hiromitsu as a brother, but not more – but they have an undeniable camaraderie.
“Fuck them,” he says, succinctly. “I’m not in bed with Scotch.”
“Glad to hear it,” murmurs Rye with that same knowing smile. Before Rei can say something damaging, the toast pops up. He swivels, grabs it and tosses it onto a plate. Starts smearing strawberry jam on its surface as though he were rubbing his fist in Rye’s smug face.
It doesn’t help that sitting at the table, half-curled around his coffee, legs crossed and slipper dangling from his toes, Rye looks deliciously domestic. He doesn’t look like a Syndicate agent embedded in wet works and trained up to lick Gin’s ass. He looks like the kind of sweet boyfriend a guy like Rei would never be able to dream of.
Rei blinks hard. Fuck, it’s been too long since he burnt off steam. He needs to get out, needs to spar, needs to work off some of his pent-up frustrations. He’s been working at full capacity for weeks now, on project after project, mission after mission, and all the while managing his PSB responsibilities in parallel. It’s left no time for anything else, not for working out, and not for the one-night stands he occasionally indulges himself in.
Right now what he’d really, really love, would be to beat this good-looking bastard into the floor.
He turns back to Rye. “Are you trained in hand-to-hand?” he asks. It’s not really a necessary question; no operative would make it to the higher ranks of the Syndicate without close quarters combat training.
“How your mind must work,” the taller man muses. “But yes, to answer your question.”
Rei nods. “After breakfast, how about sparring?” he says.
Rye’s smile slowly widens into something wolfish.
***
There’s a local gym that allows rooms to be booked for martial arts classes and exercises; Rei and Hiromitsu use it sometimes to keep their skills up. He has the app on his phone. During working hours it’s usually pretty dead, and sure enough he’s easily able to snag an hour booking for one of the smaller rooms.
The gym’s only ten minutes away on foot; they walk beside the river, the sakura blossoms overhead beginning to brown. They wear loose athletic wear, easy to sweat in and hard to grab.
At the gym they sign in and find the room; the mats are already laid down. As they take off their shoes, Rye produces a hair tie and ties his hair up in a high ponytail. It makes him look like an Edo-era swordsman, tall and severe.
Fuck, it’s a good look on him. Rei kicks his shoe harder than he intended; it hits the wall and ricochets to hit his ankle.
When they’re both barefoot they meet on the mats and stretch briefly, Rei feeling his heartrate steady but quicker than usual. He’s excited. Excited at the prospect of beating this cock-sure bastard into the mats.
They finish stretching and face each other, Rei bouncing on the balls of his feet. There’s no sign to start the match; Rei simply launches himself forward with a strong right punch aimed at Rye’s face. The sniper throws up a forearm, turning the blow, and swivels into it like a dancer turning into his partner to jab an elbow into Rei’s stomach. Rei barely sees it coming and backs away; the edge of the bone draws over his tense stomach.
Rye launches the next volley with a high heel-kick that Rei dodges, followed by a series of close, quick jabs. Rei parries them; one grazes his cheek but he catches the rest of them and then stomps down hard on Rye’s instep. Rye is thrown off balance and falls forward, turning his tumble into a rush, shoulder out to catch Rei’s stomach and tackle him to the ground. He’s moving too fast to dodge; Rei instead braces himself for the fall and goes down under Rye’s weight.
They hit the mats hard and scrabble for dominance, Rei immediately jamming his elbows down into Rye’s hands and then twisting his hips to unseat the taller operative from where he’s pinning Rei down. As Rei scrambles to find his feet Rye scythes them out from under him, and then they’re wrestling on the mat like a pair of angry, desperate schoolboys, turning over and over as they use every move and trick possible to their advantage.
Rye has the advantage of height and weight but Rei has the advantage of his spitting fury and refusal to surrender. He is working harder than Rye, who bears down from above to try to pin him, is relentless in his attacks and dodges. He manages to get out from underneath the other operative a second time, panting hard, and scrambles to his feet.
For a moment they stand facing one another, each breathing hard. Rei wipes his hand over his mouth, slowly untensing as the seconds pass. Rye’s dark hair is twisted and knotted where it hangs from the tie, his face hard and watchful. He gives none of his thoughts away, his poker face absolute. As Rei recovers from the wrestling bout that moved at a pace faster than thought he processes Rye’s smell: cigarettes and aftershave.
“Well?” Rye says, after nearly a minute has passed. “Had enough?”
Rei launches forward with a snarl, feinting with his left fist and then following through with his right. Rye doesn’t fall for it, dodging with time to spare and catching Rei’s wrist and shoulder. He flips him, Rei landing hard on his back, and then Rye is pinning him down, straddling his waist and holding his wrists against the mat.
“Attacking in anger is never a wise prospect,” he says.
“Fuck you,” replies Rei. And then, eyes locked on Rye’s, he twists his hips to the side and uses the strength of his legs to jam himself upwards, breaking the ground hold. Rye shifts forward and Rei snaps his head up, forehead impacting with Rye’s nose.
There’s a wet crunch, then Rye is pulling back and Rei is scuffling away. He regains his feet and his distance and watches Rye pinch his nose.
A drip of blood hits the white mat. “Broken?” asks Rei, lowering his fists.
Rye looks up at him from where he’s kneeling. “Probably,” he drawls, nasally. He doesn’t sound too bothered by the prospect.
“Shit.”
“It is embarrassing.”
“For you or for me?” replies Rei. Having your nose broken in a friendly sparring match is pretty bad, but being the asshole who breaks it isn’t any better.
Rye’s lips quirk upwards. “I’ll flip you for the honour,” he says. Then he stands. “I’m afraid that’s it for today. Draw?”
Rei’s instinct is to point out that only one of them is broken and bleeding. But he’s feeling suddenly magnanimous. “Draw,” he agrees. “Until next time. You’d better find a clinic and get that set.” They cross over to the wall and put on their shoes.
“You’re not going to accompany me?”
“Do you need a minder?”
“I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Rei considers. It’s probably not a bad idea to get to know the man who will be living with them, even if he’s already taken a dislike to him. “I’ll come with you to the clinic. But I’m not waiting around – I’ve got better things to be doing than see them clean up after you.”
“After you, you mean,” drawls Rye. They exit the gym together, Rei turning to the left towards the nearest clinic and Rye following. “Unless you’d like to go in 50/50?” He gives the percentage in English, his accent perfect.
“I thought we were flipping for it,” replies Rei. He slips his hands in his pockets. The spring air still has a breath of winter in it, the sun pale in the sky above.
“So we were. You don’t strike me as the type of man to let things go.”
Rei glances at him dryly. “Whereas you’re happy to forgive and forget?”
“Sometimes. It depends on the wrong. Some things are forgivable. Some aren’t.”
“Like what?”
“A broken nose, I can forgive.”
“Lucky me. What can’t you?”
Rye’s eyes are dark, shuttered. “Men are fickle, don’t you find? The things we care for, the things we value, change constantly. There is no permanency, no immutability. What I would die for today I might pass up tomorrow.”
“That’s a bad answer. There are plenty of things that are inherently valuable. Life, beauty, innocence…”
“A price for innocence? You sound like a philosopher, Bourbon.”
“Even you must have been innocent at some point. Don’t you remember the loss of it?”
Rei does. There had been a woman in a suit who had come to collect him from day care. She wore a yellow flower pinned to her lapel, and smelled of orange blossom. And after her, there had been no more mother and father, no hugs and kisses and cuddles, no more gentleness after bruises or warm bed to climb into after nightmares.
“If you stare too long into the past, you won’t be able to see the future,” replies Rye flatly, sidestepping the question.
“I don’t believe in practicality at the expense of passion.”
Rye taps his nose gently. “I can see that. But I do.”
“Cold blooded,” comments Rei.
“It has been said.”
They come to the clinic; through the glass doors Rei can see that the waiting area is full. “Here you are,” he says flatly, nodding at the entrance. Rye stops beside him, glancing at him.
“You don’t like me, Bourbon,” he says. “I wonder why.”
“What’s the point in having friends in our line of work? Sooner or later, we’ll stab each other in the back.”
“And yet, you play nice with Scotch.”
Rei frowns. “I’ve known him since we both joined. I understand him. You, all I know is that you’ve got a big name and big ambitions. Those are expensive commodities – they come with a cost that’s more than I want to pay.”
Rye slips his hands into his pockets. “You seem to think you know a lot about me,” he remarks.
“Is it untrue?”
Rye’s eyes glint like a cat’s. “I didn’t say that.” Without a further word he steps in through the doors to the clinic. The doors close behind him and he’s gone.
Rei turns around and goes home.
***
Rei has it in him to be petty beyond any known limit, but the fact that Rye took up his challenge and forgave him the broken nose makes him willing to play nice. To a point. He refrains from starting unnecessary fights with Rye, and doesn’t complain when Hiromitsu takes to showing him around.
“He would be a valuable ally,” the PSB agent says after returning from a trip to the local supermarket with Rye, the two of them bringing home armfuls of groceries. Rye promptly changed his clothes and went out on a job upon returning, leaving Rei and Hiromitsu alone to put away the shopping. It’s been three days since the sparring, and the bruises that bloomed violent indigo beneath Rye’s eyes have faded to a softer violet. Not that Rei has been paying attention.
“He’s not the kind of man who makes friends.”
“Not easily, I think. None of us are – if we were well-adjusted, we wouldn’t be here. But he’s not callous, and he’s not cruel. And he’s been patient with you.”
“You mean I’ve been patient with him,” retorts Rei, pouring rice from a bag into its plastic container. “He needles me.”
“Because you’re such an easy target. And because I think he enjoys seeing you angry.”
“This is the man you want to turn?” He snaps the lid back on the rice and shoves it back into the cupboard, then straightens, glaring.
“Apart from your wounded pride, think about the benefits. He’s the top upcoming operative, someone even Gin has acknowledged. He could blow the whole thing up from the inside.”
“That’s our job.”
“And you don’t think we could use the help?”
Rei sighs. They’ve been undercover for more than a year, and so far they haven’t made much progress in identifying critical weaknesses within the Syndicate. It guards its secrets ferociously, and is a web of secrets. “I admit he would be useful. But turning him… it’s very risky.”
“Well, we do have one opportunity,” replies Hiromitsu brightly, putting away the eggs and closing the fridge. He turns, smiling lightly, eyes bright. “He likes you.”
Rei colours. “He likes pissing me off,” he grits out.
“He’s pulling pigtails, Zero. He’s been eyeing you up since he arrived. And you’ve been sidling away nicely. Offended, but not too offended.”
“I wasn’t trained as a honey trap. Besides, he has a girlfriend.”
“Who he hardly ever sees. Are you saying a top intelligence agent can’t make use of a man’s lust?”
“Are you trying to get me into bed with the enemy?”
For a moment they both stand there, amidst empty bags and a new pack of toilet paper. Hiromitsu, as always, gives in first. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have gone there. Forget it. Just… forget it.” He steps away from the fridge, grabs the toilet paper, and walks out of the kitchen. “I’ll put this away.”
Rei remains alone for a good minute after he’s gone, staring at the empty space. Arguments and counterarguments kindle like sparks from a lightning storm, searing over his skin. Finally, when all he feels is hot and angry and frustrated, he bunches up the empty plastic bags, shoves them in under the sink, and goes up to his room to try to focus on work instead.
***
The thing is, Hiromitsu isn’t wrong. Rye would be a phenomenal ally to their cause – a man even Gin respects. And seduction is a tried and proven way to turn men from one side to another.
Rei has made a huge number of sacrifices for this job. His name, his friends, very possibly his life. Why should his body be held sacred when nothing else is? What price innocence?
And really, it’s not like Rye is an ogre, or a monster. He’s an irritating son of a bitch, but Rei can admit that his opinion there is biased. He can also admit that, at some level, he’s attracted to Rye.
That’s what makes him nervous.