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Everyone in the MCPTF is kind of terrified of the force of nature that is also called the Kambe-Katou duo.
No, scratch that. Everyone in the whole TMPD knows that out of all people, it’s heavily recommended to stay on the good side of those two. Inspectors Kambe and Katou are expected to be present in this meeting , Hoshino Ryo would say, and the whole room would groan around him. Ever since they got back from the US, the conversations in the First Division briefing room have gone something like—
“Sir, you cannot possibly be thinking about letting the MCPTF be a part of this case—”
“Ah! But consider this: they have Kambe and Katou.”
Because, well. The power couple that is Kambe Daisuke and Katou Haru simply get things done. When you combine Katou’s overly stubborn way of thinking and his knack for detective work with Kambe’s cunning and, well, status and money… It's pretty clear who is going to be victorious in the end.
The thing is, however, they both adamantly refuse to be transferred away from the Modern Crimes Prevention Task Force. The higher-ups could be on their knees, begging for them to leave the dusty, cheap office of the MCPTF — they even tried talking to them separately, but as it turns out, Katou and Kambe are a package deal. Katou doesn't feel the need to leave, and Kambe stays by his side.
What does that mean then? Well, a lot of gray hairs for those who happen to be in the office at the same time as the trophy terrors – a nickname Kamei had oh so helpfully come up with while they were gone.
Even right now, Kambe and Katou are standing by the door, presumably fighting. Only presumably, because no one is able to decipher the tone of their conversation. The scowl on Katou’s face is familiar and probably a permanent feature at this point, considering how much stress he seems to be under all the time. He looks like he’s about to chew Kambe’s head off, and the scene would seem almost frightening if Kambe didn’t look at him like Katou hung the moon and stars, why not all the planets, as well.
It’s actually so disgustingly sweet and such an unnatural occurrence on Kambe’s face that Kamei might gag a little. Across the table, Yumoto offers him a sympathetic look.
Then, Kambe puts his hand on Katou’s arm, squeezing a little, and Katou’s outburst stops just like that. His mouth clamps shut, and his gaze flits between Kambe and the gloved hand on his arm, before fully settling on Kambe. His eyes narrow in that certain, dangerous way that indicates another earful, and the room is quiet in anticipation.
“Fuck you, you know that?” Katou says instead, and his voice lacks any real bite to the words. The corner of his mouth quirks upwards.
Kambe smiles. ”I know. Shall we go now?” he asks, and Katou rolls his eyes before striding over to the door.
Kamei blinks, twice, and glances over at Yumoto, who only shrugs. Saeki grins, making elaborate hand signs that are supposed to mean something, though whatever that may be, it’s completely lost on both men. She shakes her head in disappointment and leans forward.
“Guys,” Saeki whispers, a tad too loud to be a real whisper, “they are—” and then raises her brows in a manner that says you know what I’m talking about, right?
A second ticks by, maybe another. Kamei’s jaw drops as the pieces finally click together in his head and he gets what Saeki is implying.
“They’re fucking?” he squeaks, and with a sigh, Saeki lowers her head into her hands.
Yumoto coughs loudly, and too late Kamei realizes that it’s to cover up his laughter.
======
Hoshino Ryo opens the door to the MCPTF office with practiced grace and elegance, locking eyes with one Katou Haru the moment they notice each other. Katou leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, cocking his eyebrow in a way that can only be read as a challenge — and Hoshino takes it, walking over to Katou’s desk.
“Katou,” he greets, a polite smile on his lips. Katou grins.
“Hoshino.”
No one dares to speak a word. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“Can I have a word with you?” Hoshino asks then, his unreadable mask breaking for a fleeting moment as he glances uncertainly at Kambe, who doesn’t even seem to be paying attention. That’s a tricky one, though, because he’s always paying attention to the situation if Katou is involved.
But Hoshino doesn’t know that.
“Yeah, sure.” Katou scratches his cheek, watching Hoshino with lazy interest. “What’s up?”
Or that’s what he asks, even though he fully knows what's up. There aren’t many reasons for Hoshino to be there – actually, just two, and Katou sincerely doubts that he’s about to get arrested. But he can humor his former partner for a minute or two.
Hoshino’s lips press into a thin line. “Outside.”
Katou gives a shout to Kiyomizu to inform him that he is, in fact, stepping outside for a moment. Kiyomizu dismisses it with a wave of his hand.
They walk down the hallway, all the way to the lobby, before sitting down on the couches that, really, could be a little more comfortable. Hoshino clears his throat before setting his eyes on Katou.
“So, Katou,” he starts, already bracing himself for the upcoming rejection, “we in the First Division have an offer for you.” And fuck , why did he have to start it like he was doing an adread? Hoshino can barely keep himself from screwing his eyes shut.
Katou stretches his arms, takes a good moment to bask in the sunlight that seeps through the lobby windows (much like a cat, to Hoshino’s observations), and then smirks.
“I’m not coming back.”
Hoshino wants to slam his head into the case file he’s carrying. He doesn’t. He tilts his head, forcing his face muscles to form a somewhat strained smile.
“Why did you come down here then? You knew what I was going to say.”
Katou doesn’t miss a beat. “Why did you come here when you knew what I was going to say?”
They stare at each other for at least a minute and a half, Katou looking like he has never done anything bad in his life, ever, and Hoshino is just tired. Mostly because he's the one that has to come asking for Katou every two months since he apparently knows him the best. He doesn’t.
Word has it that Kambe Daisuke has been bringing Katou bento boxes to work for a few weeks now, and they’re probably made by Kambe’s private chef because he serves only the best to his partner.
Now, Hoshino Ryo wouldn’t describe himself as a jealous person, no. Jealousy is an ugly word, and he’s definitely not jealous. He doesn’t care if Katou comes back to the First Division, not at all, he’s just doing what his superiors asked him to.
So with that established, Hoshino gives Katou the case file he’s been holding. “They want you and Kambe to work with us in this case. You might be interested.”
Katou takes the manila folder, skimming through the contents quickly. It’s just a murder case, nothing big compared to what Katou and Kambe have been up to in the US, but at least it’s more interesting than just sitting in the office. Katou taps his fingers against the folder.
“Yeah, count us in,” he says, and Hoshino nods. He stands up to leave, in sync with Katou. Considering the man before him, Hoshino has to admit that he could’ve been a bit… Kinder towards Katou. He thinks that perhaps, just maybe he had taken some unnecessary measures to keep Katou at bay after he’d left the First Division.
Hoshino ponders this, and then says, “you’ve really made up your mind, huh?” right as Katou says, “I’m planning on proposing to him.”
They both stop in their tracks.
“Ah,” Hoshino says, as one does when they’re surprised. “Pardon?”
Surely he had heard wrong. Of course there have been rumors about the relationship between Kambe and Katou, which somehow has evolved from a reluctant partnership to something that no outsiders are able to figure out. The rumors range, though; two days ago Saeki had told Hoshino that Kambe had bought the Buckingham Palace for Katou and himself. Obviously that’s not true, Hoshino decides, because that’s where the Queen of England lives, right? And even Kambe with his ridiculous amounts of money can’t do anything he wants.
However, Hoshino is not stupid, and rumors are always based on something .
Katou practically beams. “Proposing. I mean, I can’t let him do it first, you know?”
Hoshino ignores the borderline icy feeling in his stomach as he processes the words — leave it to Kambe and Katou to turn a simple marriage proposal into a game of one-upping each other.
“I, um.” When did they even start dating? He doesn’t ask. “Good luck then.”
Katou only pats his shoulder with a sincere thanks as he walks by.
======
The scariest thing about the Kambe-Katou combo is how hypercompetent they are together. Behind the scenes, you can trust Kambe to be pulling the right strings and Katou neglecting his sleep for work more than an average human should be able to, but on the field they somehow manage to be just as horrifying. Some of it was already expected; Katou has been a police officer for years now, after all (the ace of the First Division, remember?), and Kambe had gone through special training, though no one is really sure what was included in it.
Anyway, mix that with their preference for martial arts and Kambe’s high-end technology, and the higher-ups will be working themselves to the bone, trying to figure out if the incident reports should be considered legitimate or not.
Because there’s no chance that Kambe casually bombed a car after Katou had stopped it with just his hands.
Well. Maybe.
“This is ridiculous,” Yamazaki snaps, slamming the folder down on Kiyomizu’s desk with a bit too much force. Kiyomizu only smiles, because even though Yamazaki technically is the new chief of the investigation division, the long-awaited successor to Takei, he’s still new to this particular office building. And Kiyomizu smiles because Yamazaki has no idea what he’s getting himself into.
“Well, you see, Yamazaki,” Kiyomizu says, reaching out to pat the folder like he’s offering it some sympathy, “That’s just how they are.” He says it like it explains everything, like Yamazaki is just too clueless about how the world works and he shouldn’t even question such things. The look in Kiyomizu’s eyes is gentle, warm, like it’s his own children he’s talking about. Yamazaki wants to rip his own hair out.
“No? I mean, apparently yes, but wh— How— Did you even read this?” He shoves the folder further away from himself like it’s on fire. “It’s more of a script for the next Batman movie than a report, and frankly I find it hard to be—”
“Oh, yes, I’ve read it. They’re my subordinates, after all.”
Yamazaki squints his eyes, trying to read Kiyomizu’s expression as if there was any hidden meaning to it. “And you just accepted it like that?”
Humming as he nods, Kiyomizu leans back in his chair. “This is what they do, Yamazaki. I’m giving you advice; you should just get used to it.”
A few seconds pass by, and that’s enough for Yamazaki to realize that the conversation isn’t actually going anywhere. He sighs, trying to ignore the upcoming migraine that’s lurking at the back of his head, and takes the folder back.
Kiyomizu watches as he leaves the office, and wonders how Yamazaki thinks he’s going to last.
======
Suzue arrives at the scene a minute too late.
It’s not her fault, really. Daisuke had sent the signal just a moment ago, and Suzue tried to be as fast as possible — she’s usually very fast, mind you — but then her bike just had to break on her. So she ran, because the Daisuke’s location wasn’t too far away, but apparently far enough for her to be late anyway.
The sight greeting her makes her cringe.
There’s an ambulance standing on the sidewalk amongst three police cars, someone is shouting orders while people are running around, but most importantly — Suzue’s eyes zero in on the familiar figure of her cousin.
Her cousin, who is standing by the ambulance. Suzue’s heart jumps to her throat.
She makes her way in his direction, immediate relief washing over her when she realizes that Daisuke isn’t actually injured. Though it’s replaced by a different kind of fear when she notices Haru sitting at the back of the ambulance, his left leg being tended to by a paramedic.
And oh, there’s also blood. In fact, lots of it.
Haru doesn’t seem to be in distress, though, or if he is, it’s certainly not because of the bullet wound on his thigh. He and Daisuke are in the middle of a staring contest, looking like they’re minutes away from strangling each other. Daisuke says something, but Suzue is too far away to hear it.
When she walks closer, however, she catches Haru’s irritated answer.
“—this is my job , seriously, can you just shut up for once in your life, I’m completely fine —”
Ah. So that’s what this is about.
Daisuke shakes his head. “I told you to not go there, yet you still did, and now you have a bullet in your leg. Seems like the opposite of being fine to me.” The downwards curl of his mouth and the hardness of his eyes speak volumes, but he manages to keep his voice even, which Suzue mentally applauds him for.
“It’s not a big deal!” Haru exclaims, agitation creeping into his voice. “The paramedics are here, I’ve been shot in the leg before, I’m still alive! This is a win if anything!”
“ I’ve been shot in the leg before is not the winning argument you think it is,” Daisuke mutters, but his face softens ever so slightly as he sighs. Haru rolls his eyes with such vigor that his head almost lolls back, and Suzue deduces that this is a good time to make her presence known. This is nothing new, after all — she’s been subjected to these two bickering more often than she would’ve liked.
Then she stops in her tracks, because Daisuke says “Haru,” in the softest voice Suzue has heard him talk in years, probably, and maybe this is not something she should be interrupting.
Haru blinks up at the man, confused while Daisuke crouches down in front of him and puts his hand on the knee of Haru’s uninjured leg. Suzue can practically see the cogs turning and kicking in his brain, and she knows that Haru knows that Daisuke is up to something.
“I would rather not see you hurt, you know,” he starts, and Haru stares at him like he doesn’t believe a word Daisuke is saying. “Perhaps if you did me the favor of—”
Haru’s eyes widen as he suddenly realizes where this is going. “No,” he says firmly. “No no no. You don’t get to do this now.”
Daisuke doesn’t falter, just smirks. “Katou Haru—”
Haru pushes his hand against Daisuke’s face. “I’ve been shot in the leg. I am bleeding profusely. You are not proposing to me right now.”
Suzue bites down a chuckle. If someone asked her, she would say that the game those two are playing is somewhere between strangely petty and outright ridiculous , but it’s not like she’s going to stick her nose in it. If Haru and Daisuke were so insistent on creating their own mess, they could also get out of it on their own, although Suzue suspects that in some weird way, they know exactly what they’re doing.
There doesn’t seem to be anything to worry about, anyway — she can check on them later when they’ve sorted out their so-called disagreement.
Looking around, she spots Saeki in the crowd; making a beeline for her, Suzue waves her hand. Behind her, she can still hear the muted voices of Haru and Daisuke, and she smiles, mostly to herself.
Watching them manage their relationship is free entertainment at this point, and she’s fairly sure that many people around them would agree.
======
When Haru wakes up with an arm tightly wrapped around his waist and Daisuke’s face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, it’s nothing new. Maybe once it was — the first few times had definitely been kind of awkward — but now it just makes Haru close his eyes again and enjoy the warmth of someone else being there beside him.
Or for a while, at least, because then he really has to pee.
After a minute or two of patting around the bed, Haru finds his phone under the pillow. Checking the time, he decides that it’s as good time as any to get up, and pinches the back of Daisuke’s hand to get his octopus grip off of him.
Daisuke only pulls him against his chest tighter.
“Fucker,” Haru mumbles under his breath, fighting the smile that keeps tugging his lips and wiggles a little in an attempt to push back on the arms around him. Daisuke hums.
“S’not very kind of you,” he murmurs, voice low and groggy, words slurring just the slightest bit. Haru effectively ignores the sparks of affection in his chest and twists around to face Daisuke, who still has his eyes closed. His breaths come out in slow puffs, even and content.
There’s that certain type of peace that comes with sleep lingering on his features and like this Daisuke looks a few years younger, his hair framing his face messily. Haru purses his lips.
“Let go,” he says. “I’m sweaty and I need to use the toilet.” Daisuke huffs, cracking one eye open but releases his hold, and Haru takes the chance to stretch his numb limbs before getting up. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tries to listen for the familiar sounds of Kambe’s manor, except — it’s completely silent. No faint buzz of the lawnmower from the yard, or the muffled sounds of dishes being moved around from the kitchen. The house is eerily quiet.
Haru cocks his head in confusion.
“Is there anyone else here besides us?” he asks, looking at Daisuke over his shoulder. Daisuke sits up, rubbing his eyes sluggishly, and Haru bites the inside of his cheek because it’s adorable — an adjective he rarely uses to describe Daisuke.
Daisuke pushes his bangs back with his hand before letting them flop back onto his forehead. “I gave everyone a day off. We’re alone.”
Haru doesn’t say anything, just arches his brow in a silent question, but Daisuke only meets his eyes with a leveled look. Sighing, Haru stands up and gathers some clothes from the floor to take with him.
“Do you want to make breakfast?” Daisuke asks before he can disappear into the bathroom.
“I’m not your private chef,” Haru grumbles, without any actual heat in his tone.
Daisuke gives him a lopsided smirk. “You could be.” He gazes at Haru expectantly, gauging for a reaction, but Haru just rolls his eyes.
“Bastard,” he says and closes the bathroom door behind him.
Haru ends up making breakfast anyway; Daisuke helpfully takes responsibility for the coffee, and while Haru absentmindedly stares at the sizzling eggs, he sets a steaming cup on the counter next to him.
And not for the first time, Haru thinks, poking the eggs — he could get used to this, the domesticity.
Well, he kind of has already.
As if reading his thoughts, Daisuke says, “I’d like to have you stay here,” just like that, like he’s talking about how nice the weather is. He’s leaning on the counter, and Haru keeps his eyes pointedly fixated on the frying pan, warmth prickling on the back of his neck.
The words are not accompanied by the usual teasing tone that’s meant to aggravate, to get a rise out of him. It’s an observation, soft around the edges and so painfully honest that Haru wants to be buried six feet under just because .
“You keep dropping me off of bridges but I’m still here,” he opts to say instead, pushing down the telltale flush that keeps creeping onto his face. “You already have me, I think.”
It’s so ridiculously sappy and romantic that Haru really cannot bring himself to look up and see what kind of face Daisuke is wearing. He takes a plate from the cabinet, slides the eggs onto it, and does it anyway.
Daisuke watches him with an almost calculating expression, but it’s dampened by the look in his eyes that can’t be called anything else than fond . Haru’s heart does a funny little tumble.
“So you’re saying yes?”
Haru snorts. “You have to do it properly. Kneeling and with a ring and that stuff, you know.”
Determination dances on Daisuke’s face. “Oh, I absolutely will do that.” And he’s probably bought the ring weeks ago and hidden it somewhere, Haru guesses, because he’s Kambe Daisuke and because they’ve both known for a while that it would come to this.
Haru grabs his coffee and straightens his posture only to be tugged back down to meet Daisuke’s mouth in a soft kiss.
If the toast and the eggs go cold, neither of them mentions it.