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Maki sticks the key into the rusting lock of the safe house, swears when it unsuccessfully jams in the grip of her shaking fingers. She shifts the dead weight of Yuta slung over her and Inumaki’s shoulders over his side a bit, wills her hands to fucking stop as she takes a second pass at the lock. The lone lightbulb dangling over them in the hallway flickers, laughs at her.
With some degree of resistance, the lock slides out of place this time. She elbows the handle down and the door creaks open to reveal a dark, narrow hallway.
Only: it’s not completely dark. The door at the end of the hall is open, a tiny crack, revealing dim yellow light that trickles out in a thin line. Maki freezes; she senses Inumaki’s impatience at her side; she’s about to throw Yuta over her shoulder completely and bolt when the door at the other end of the hall opens and a familiar voice calls out “Maki?”, spiked hair silhouetted in the light.
“Megumi?” she breathes in disbelief. The adrenaline of the single moment passes and suddenly the weight of Yuta’s arm over her shoulder is very, very heavy.
She gestures with her head to Inumaki and they shuffle into the dingy hallway, Megumi closing and locking the door behind them. In only the low light from down the hall this place looks worse than she remembers, even more cracks in the plaster and paint peeling off the walls than the last time she was here. Someone’s been in and taken up the carpets in the hallway too, and then she’s glad it is dark and she can’t make out the bloodstains that must be on the floorboards.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Maki asks Megumi as he passes them, that slightly guilty look on his face that tells her he knows he’s doing something he probably shouldn’t be, but go the hell ahead and try and stop him anyway.
“C’mon, bring him through here,” Megumi says in reply, glancing at Yuta, and Maki has to concede there’s more important things right now than being pissed that Megumi is helping her.
“Hey,” she mutters to the side of her head where Yuta’s rolls forward, dark hair falling out of place and wet with blood and sweat. “C’mon, Yuta, we’re almost there.” A reassurance to herself more than anything.
They lug Yuta through to the main room at the end of the hall and onto the old leather couch. He winces when Inumaki shifts him so his head’s resting on some cushions, so at least he’s not out cold.
Megumi strides through the arched doorway off to the side of the room and into the tiny kitchen. When he flicks on the lights the fluorescent white bounces harshly off sickly green tiles. It’s too bright, too present, and Maki has to glance back to the subdued living room and focus on the cracks in the leather of the couch by Yuta’s shoes. She wills her eyes not to move back to Yuta’s face, because when she does there’s a feeling on the verge of boiling hot rage or nausea and she’s not sure she wants to tip it over.
Inumaki moves from the window where he’s looking out between a crack in the lowered blinds. “All good?” Maki asks.
“Salmon,” Inumaki replies with an OK sign. Maki nods approval.
Megumi walks back through to the main room with a bottle of liquor and a couple of threadbare towels in hand. He crouches next to the couch by Yuta’s head and nods to Maki. “Sit down, Maki. I’ve got it.”
“Inumaki,” Maki says, turning to him and pointedly ignoring Megumi. “There should be a first aid kit in the hall cupboard, under the stairs.”
Inumaki nods and leaves the room. Megumi glares at her.
“Maki…”
“Why’re you here, Megumi.”
“Inumaki called me. Told me to get down here as soon as possible.”
“That right.”
At that moment Inumaki returns with a small white bag he sets down on the coffee table in front of them. There’s not much of use inside but a couple rolls of bandages, a few plasters. Whoever used the safe house the last time clearly used up all the painkillers and didn’t bother replacing them, thanks much.
“Okkotsu, you awake?” Megumi asks Yuta. Yuta’s eyelids flutter like he’s coming around a bit, and when he gets a tiny groan of a “yeah,” in response Megumi coaxes him into more of a sitting position. “Drink this. It’ll help,” Megumi says, proffering the liquor bottle.
Maki scowls and turns away. “Inumaki, you got a smoke?”
Inumaki shakes his head. “Fish flakes.”
“Fucking hell.”
Feeling the fight drain out of her at last, Maki leans back against the wall and watches as the boys start to work on tending to Yuta’s injuries. The nausea in Maki’s throat drops away and there’s only anger left, igniting in her stomach like a combustion engine each time she hears Yuta hiss in pain at Megumi’s ministrations.
She should probably be helping, she realises, but the tension coiled in her shoulders is wound so tight she can’t move, can barely breathe, can only keep her eyes locked on Megumi’s back, the bruises already forming on Yuta’s arms, the bloodstains on his white shirt.
She imagines the shit-eating grin on Naoya’s face, no doubt thinking he’s scored a point in some game against her, and her nails dig into her crossed arms so tight it’ll leave a mark.
--
Maki leaves the meeting room before Yuta and doesn’t bother to wait for him before taking off down the hall. She hears Yuta shut the sliding doors behind them and jog to catch up with her.
“Maki, wait!”
When he comes level with her Maki turns to scowl at him, but there’s no real malice in the gesture. It’s just when Yuta’s looking at her with those big puppy eyes she can’t really help it.
“I thought that went well, didn’t it?” Yuta asks with a nervous quirk of his lips. “They’re giving you greater jurisdiction over the bookmakers.”
“It did,” Maki agrees, not slowing her step. “I just don’t want to be around this place longer than I have to.”
When they’re far enough away from the meeting rooms and out of earshot of any family members, Maki slows and turns to Yuta.
“So, this Saturday, I’ll meet you and Inumaki…” she starts, but trails off when she notices Yuta’s eyes flicker away from her. Maki follows his gaze and clicks her tongue when she sees her least favourite cousin sauntering down from the end of the dark hall towards them. Naoya looks happy about something, which pisses Maki off.
“Let’s go somewhere we won’t get interrupted,” Maki says lowly, but before they can turn back Naoya calls out.
“Okkotsu! What good timing, I’m glad I ran into you.” Maki’s eyes narrow. “Oh, and Maki’s here too, I guess.”
Naoya stops in front of them and makes a show of lighting a cigarette, puffs smoke into the air between them. Maki crosses her arms. She’d love to tell him to just piss off, might do depending on how this goes, but knows it won’t go down well. “What do you want?”
“I’ll get to it,” Naoya drawls. “I heard they’re putting you in charge of the racetracks for the whole Zen’in territory, Maki. I suppose I should say congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Maki says flatly, even though he obviously didn’t mean it. Maki can never quite figure out what’s going on behind Naoya’s sharp eyes, and she doesn’t like it. He shouldn’t be happy about her position getting bolstered, but there’s an almost gleeful edge to his voice that doesn’t sound fake, either. Bad feeling about this.
“Okkotsu,” Naoya repeats, turning to Yuta. Yuta keeps his face impassive, but Maki notices his eyes are in sharp focus, the way he gets when he’s in a fight. “I have a job for you.”
“Can’t you get one of your goons to do it?” Maki interrupts, cutting the building tension in the hall. “You don’t have to listen to this guy, Yuta.”
Naoya takes a long drag of his cigarette and motions it towards Maki, not looking at her. “You gonna let her talk for you, huh? I’d say I’m disappointed, but I don’t know what I expected from a hitman who runs around taking orders from a woman.”
“I’m just thinking I’d rather not take orders from someone like you, is all,” Yuta says before Maki has the chance to throw back a retort. The words are cold and Maki notices Yuta’s expression has changed from one of confusion and being put on the spot to downright deadly.
“Yuta, leave it,” Maki mutters, loosely grabbing Yuta’s upper arm as she swallows down the familiar burn of humiliation.
“So the dog does bite, huh?” Naoya laughs around his cigarette. When he speaks again there’s a dark glint in his eye, a hard edge to his voice, and Maki has a bad, bad feeling about this. “Let me rephrase that, then. You’re going to do a job for me. This isn’t a request, it’s an order.”
Yuta doesn’t say anything. “Listening now?” Naoya continues. The way he talks to Yuta makes Maki’s blood boil. “I’ll send the details to you, in confidence.” Naoya takes a last pointed look at the two of them, smirks at Yuta, and turns back the way he came down the hall, lazy hand raised in farewell. “I look forward to working with you, Okkotsu.”
“What the hell was that about?” Maki mutters to Naoya’s retreating back. Yuta’s eyes stay fixed to the spot, his expression still holding something ominous in it, and the bad feeling in Maki’s gut coils itself up tight until it’s a dead weight. Maki realises she’s still holding Yuta’s arm, and when she drops her hand he blinks, looks back over, eyes softening again.
“Let’s go,” Maki says, quieter than before. “I don’t want to be here any longer.”
--
A little while later, Yuta is asleep, and with a sigh Maki finally drops into the armchair opposite the couch. She can just about make out the soft rise and fall of Yuta’s chest from her position. His expression wears only the smallest knot between his eyebrows now, and she imagines herself brushing it away with the pad of her thumb, trailing fingers down the broken skin of his cheek, feeling to ascertain what she can see before her.
At that moment, Megumi walks back from washing his hands in the kitchen, palming damp hands against his trousers to dry them. Maki looks away from Yuta and puts unnecessary thoughts aside; she can already tell just fine that he’s hurt, her damned glasses aren’t broken.
“So,” Megumi begins, leaning against the wall nearest to her chair. Maki leans forward at the tone in Megumi’s voice and rests her chin in her hand. “Are you going to tell me what the hell happened to him? I thought Okkotsu was on a mission for Naoya. There’s no way he’d lose under normal circumstances.”
Across the room, Inumaki also sits up from where he’s draped in the other armchair. Maki pays him no mind; there’s nothing she can say here that she doesn’t mind him hearing.
“You’re right. Under normal circumstances Yuta wouldn’t lose,” Maki agrees. “Naoya gave him false information about the job, I’m sure of it. Even if you know you’re walking into a trap, if you don’t know what that trap looks like, there’s only so much you can do against it.”
“So it was a set up?” Megumi asks darkly.
“The whole damned thing was, Megumi. There never was any real job. I’m willing to bet whoever was at the warehouse was hired by Naoya too.”
Megumi’s eyes narrow. “But…”
“Why would he go that far?” Maki finishes for him. “This wasn’t about Yuta; he did it to fuck with me. He knows…” She hesitates, like if she voices it out loud there’ll be more power in it, that she’ll be giving Naoya exactly what he was hoping for. Maki’s been through enough shit for this family already; there’s nothing he could do to her directly that would make her bat an eye. But dragging other people into family business is something else entirely.
Especially him, the voice in the back of her head adds. It’s true, but she’s absolutely not going to think about why that is right now.
“He’s using Yuta to get to me,” she says in the end, picks her way over the words.
“If you knew it was a trap, why’d you let him go?” Megumi asks, but his tone’s not accusational. Megumi is, after all, relatively new to the business, and there’s certain intricacies to Zen’in family scheming he’s yet to fully understand.
“If Yuta refused to do Naoya’s job, Naoya would’ve gone to his father and got him killed for disobedience,” Maki explains. “The geezer’s a total pushover when it comes to Naoya, he can’t be bothered to deal with him so he just lets him do whatever he wants, so long as it’s not causing too much trouble with the authorities.
“But, the rest of the family’ll be pissed if Naoya has Yuta killed for no reason. He’s the best hitman we have. So Naoya can’t kill him unless he refuses a job, and that means Yuta had to go even though we knew damned well it was a trap.”
“It was an ultimatum,” Megumi adds.
“Yeah, pretty much. Naoya wasn’t going to let those guys at the warehouse kill him either, everyone would’ve known it was his doing. He just wanted to show that he can.” She points a lazy finger towards the sleeping Yuta on the couch. “It’s a message. Don’t go thinking you’ve got any power in this family, Maki.” The things you care about, I can take them away at any time. She doesn’t say that last part.
Megumi frowns like he’s thinking it over. “That still doesn’t explain why, though. Why’s he got it out for you this bad?”
“Hah!” Maki laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “Naoya hates anyone who isn’t himself, especially when they undermine his authority.” The word is dripping with sarcasm; she doesn’t bother to mask the disdain in her voice. “Thinks because he’s the boss’s son it’s his god given right to be a fucking asshole to everyone else.
“As for why he’s got it out for me in particular… My side of the business has been doing well recently. High turnover, no fuckups; he probably got intimidated. He knows the family business is the only way I’ll be recognised by those old bastards, so felt it necessary to knock me down a peg or two.” She says it nonchalantly, like she doesn’t really care, but her hands clench tight into fists.
Megumi doesn’t respond right away, but stares off at the far wall, deep in thought. For a second a pang of something like pity flashes through her chest; Maki feels bad for him, that he got sucked into this family when he was free before, more or less. Megumi’s a good kid, though, he’s got good senses. The type that can easily survive, even thrive, in their world. He’s not nearly as soft as Yuta.
In the quiet Maki glances back over at Inumaki, who’s still listening intently. He meets her gaze with a “you okay?” kind of look. Maki responds with a nod and a tiny quirk of her lips, the closest thing to a genuine smile all day.
Through the quiet of the apartment and the muffled sounds of the city at night, Megumi’s voice cuts again, softer than before: “Why didn’t you leave, Maki? You could’ve, right?”
Maki looks down at her hands, short nails and calloused skin; the floor beneath, beige carpet darkened by stains and years of tracked dirt, never cleaned. Why didn’t she leave. “Honestly, I’m not sure myself. But… it was probably out of spite. I always thought… I always thought I wanted to prove myself, and I couldn’t do that outside of the family.”
She looks up, back at Megumi. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. So, I’ve decided. I’m either gonna rule this fucking family myself or burn it all to the ground. And you better not get in my way, either.”
It’s a bold declaration, sat opposite the sleeping Yuta, bloodied and broken only for the sin of being close to Maki. But there’s something about today, and the way Yuta’s barely open eyes had flickered with the tiniest spark of his usual self when they found him earlier in that warehouse, that only makes her mean it more.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” Megumi replies with a smirk of his own, and Maki thinks she’s finally found a proper ally amongst her kin.
“Now get lost, Megumi.”
“Huh?”
“You need to show face back at the house,” Maki states. “We don’t want the others getting wind of the fact that you’re helping me. They don’t like me, but they like you, and I’m not going to mess that up for you.”
Megumi tilts his head slightly in acknowledgement and asks, glancing in turn at Inumaki and Yuta, “You sure you’re going to be okay here?”
“Yeah. We’ll be back in the morning, I only wanted to lay low for a bit because I couldn’t take him back to the house,” Maki replies with a nod to Yuta. “He’ll be fine.” They both know it; Yuta’s injuries are nothing life-threatening. Give it a couple weeks max, he’ll be back to normal. Not like that changes anything.
Eventually Megumi concedes with a nod, walks over to where his coat is draped on the back of Inumaki’s armchair. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Call me if there’s any more trouble.”
“Will do,” Maki murmurs. And as he’s leaving: “Megumi. Thanks.”
“Salmon,” Inumaki adds with a solemn expression.
Megumi pauses, his hand hovering over the door handle, and looks back at the two of them. “Yeah.”
And then he’s gone. Maki hears the click of the front door and the grating noise as Megumi locks it behind himself.
At last, Maki sighs deep and lets herself sink back into the cold leather of the armchair. “Geez,” she breathes out, running a hand through her fringe. “What a handful. Thinks he can do whatever he likes, that guy,” she reprimands, but there’s a small smile on her face she can’t fight. Inumaki looks over, eyes twinkling, and they share a knowing look. Megumi’s alright.
Maki’s eyes follow Inumaki as he stiffly gets up from his chair. Drink? he signs.
“Coffee. Thanks.”
Inumaki traipses through to the kitchen; Maki can hear the sounds of him looking through the cupboards and putting the coffee on. Yuta’s still asleep. The dimly lit living room and the low sounds of the cars outside feel all at once out of focus, like she’s viewing them through clouded glass, a bad dream.
The light tapping of a mug against the coffee table breaks the tenuous moment. Maki mumbles a “thanks,”, avoids Inumaki’s questioning gaze.
The smell of the coffee helps, and she looks over at Inumaki while reaching for the mug. “Inumaki, I think there’s some bedrooms upstairs. You should get some rest. I’ll keep watch over him.”
Inumaki frowns at her but after a moment, he sets down his mug and walks to the door. She just barely hears his soft footsteps pad up the stairs, and then it’s her and Yuta. It’s going to be a long night. Maki settles back into her armchair and cradles the mug of coffee in her hands; it’s hot and bitter, just how she likes it.
Now that no one’s around, she lets her eyes linger a while longer on Yuta’s face, his closed eyes, relaxed now in sleep, feels the harshness fade away. It doesn’t feel right, though, even to be watching over him out of concern. Like she doesn’t deserve it.
“Tuna,” Inumaki mutters from behind her, and Maki nearly jumps out of her skin. She must be tired; she hadn’t heard him come back into the main room.
“Jesus – Inumaki, don’t do that,” she grumbles. Inumaki’s looking at her with a smirk in his eyes, and she realises then she’d been staring at Yuta the whole time. Shit.
“I thought I told you to -” Maki continues, but she’s cut off when Inumaki raises his arms above the back of the chair and brings the pile of blankets he’s holding into her view. He drops a blanket on her head before walking over to Yuta and gently draping another over his sleeping form.
Maki gives an exasperated huff. She’s not going to admit it, but she’s glad to have Inumaki’s presence back in the room. “But seriously, you should sleep,” she says as Inumaki sits back down on the other armchair. He gives an OK and signs, you too, as he curls up in his own blanket.
“Yeah, yeah,” Maki mutters. She leans back in the armchair with no intention of sleeping.
--
“I don’t like this,” Maki says. Yuta raises an eyebrow at her and turns back to adjusting the straps on his katana holster.
“And you’ve said as much, about, what… ten times the past two days?” When he’s satisfied with the length, he slings the bag over his shoulder.
Maki glares at his back. “I’m serious, Yuta.”
Yuta glances back to her and the solemn look in his eyes tells her he is, as well.
“You got the address?” Maki asks. Yuta wordlessly passes her a small slip of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. It makes Maki feel like laughing when she remembers how Naoya said he’d give the details of the job in confidence. Nothing’s done in confidence in this family, and he damn well knows that.
“It’s a simple assassination job, hit on a small-time boss of a rival family that’s been dipping into Zen’in territory and profits recently,” Yuta explains as Maki glances over the sheet.
“Whose favourite hangout spot just happens to be an old warehouse on the outskirts of the city?” Maki asks, voice cold with sarcasm.
“Apparently.”
Bull-fucking-shit.
“It’s clearly a trap. You know that, right? Please tell me you know that.”
“I figured as much.”
“Yuta…” Maki begins, but the words die on her lips. She doesn’t need to say what they’re both thinking.
“Don’t send backup too soon,” Yuta says lowly. “Naoya’ll be watching.” He glances up then to meet her eyes, and Maki’s heart twists roughly in her chest. “Say, four hours. If I’m not back by then…”
“Three,” Maki states bluntly, and Yuta’s lips quirk into a smile. He looks away again and the late afternoon sun filtering in from the crack in the screen window paints him in milky white and dark shadows. Strands of hair fall over tired eyes, hide dark circles, and Maki doesn’t want to let him go.
“Just be careful, alright?” she says in the end, quiet in the space between them, but it feels like shouting in the small side room of the Zen’in mansion. “Be prepared for anything. Don’t do anything rash, either.”
“I’ll be fine, Maki,” Yuta says with that slightly bittersweet smile of his that Maki can’t stand to look at too long. “Promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Maki mutters. “It’s a bad habit.”
--
When Maki’s pretty sure Inumaki’s asleep, she lifts herself out of the armchair and walks over to turn the lights of the main room out. The harsh brightness from the kitchen still leaks through the doorway, creating a dull glow across the room. Inumaki’s light hair is barely visible above the nest he’s made of his blankets. Once he’s out he sleeps like a log, so Maki doesn’t worry too much over waking him.
Maki settles back into her chair and lets the day’s events replay in her mind to ward off sleep. She had kept her word – no less than three hours after Yuta had been gone, she and Inumaki left the Zen’in mansion by the back entrance, picked up the car and drove to the address Yuta had given her earlier that day. It’d been raining outside then, hard sheets from a grey sky. Naoya will know she left by now, but that was the point, wasn’t it.
She remembers getting to the warehouse, finding it deserted, the sudden flash of regret that they didn’t leave sooner and the gnawing anxiety, an electric current under her skin.
Their footsteps echo loudly on the concrete floor, a rhythmic tapping to accompany the drip of water heard somewhere to her left - a burst pipe maybe, a leak in the roof, it accumulates in a stagnant puddle on the ground. The tempo increases, out of time, when she sees the empty room and the lone chair and the body slumped forward on it that can only be Yuta.
Maki’s hands reach out but stop short when she’s looking at him close up. His white shirt is rolled up to the elbows, smeared in blood and dirt, arms pulled behind him and tied at the wrists. His head falls forward, dark hair obscuring his features but what she can make out has a sickly crimson sheen to it, sweat and blood where fists have broken skin. Maki pointedly tries to ignore the guilt that’s climbing up her throat, the dead weight given arms and a mouth to tell her what she already knows: he’s hurt because of you.
Inumaki wordlessly moves past Maki to the back of the chair, pulls a switchblade from his jacket and starts sawing at the tight ropes binding Yuta’s arms behind him. He keeps his gaze lowered but Maki can sense the dark rage radiating off of him in waves.
The rope breaks and Yuta falls forward; reflexes kick in and Maki grabs him even as her thoughts are running in wild circles away from the warehouse and all the way back to the Zen’in mansion. Yuta groans at the contact and Maki can see him forcing his own eyes open, the fight still there.
She should probably say something, Maki realises when Yuta tries to pull away from her. “Yuta,” she stammers, takes a breath and regains composure, her next words forceful and commanding even though they feel like sandpaper dragged out of her throat. “Yuta, it’s us.”
Yuta frowns, his eyes starting to close again, and Maki isn’t sure he heard a word she said. She settles him back against the chair, cups his face with a hand and lifts it up so he’s looking directly at her. Dark hair falls in his face, damp and matted with blood.
“Yuta, wake up. It’s time to go.”
His eyes open wider this time and there’s a flash of recognition that makes the guilt in Maki’s throat splinter into needles. She tastes iron, realises she’s biting her lip so hard it’s gone numb. “Maki…?” he asks, voice a broken whisper.
“Yeah,” she replies. “Yeah, Yuta, it’s me. Inumaki, too. We’re getting you out of here.”
There’s the ghost of a smile on Yuta’s lips when his eyes flutter closed again, the weight of his head falling against Maki’s hand. “Inumaki?” Maki asks numbly. The blade cuts through the last rope around Yuta’s ankle and Inumaki stands, grabbing one of Yuta’s arms and slinging it over his shoulder. Not saying anything, Maki takes the other and they drag Yuta out into the cold evening rain.
There’s a bright light against Maki’s closed eyes and she blinks them open, realises she’d been drifting off to sleep after all. On the road outside, a car’s parked up directly opposite the apartment building and left its headlights on. The light filters through the broken blinds and projects parallel lines across the room, over the furniture and against the back wall.
In the quiet Maki can hear the muffled thrum of the car engine; she silently walks to the window and peeks out a crack in the blinds. The car’s registration plate isn’t one she recognises, and it doesn’t look suspicious. She takes a glance down at her watch, illuminated in pale white - just gone four in the morning.
A slight groan sounds across the room and Maki’s eyes snap over to the couch at the sign of movement. Yuta rolls over to his side slightly, presses a hand against the couch like he’s trying to sit up.
Maki walks over and kneels on the floor by Yuta’s head. “Yuta, you awake?” she asks quietly.
Yuta breathes in sharply and eventually must decide it’s too much effort to sit up, because he lets his head fall back against the cushions. “Ugh… yeah.” His head tilts towards her and Maki meets tired eyes, one barely open under a burgeoning black eye – but looking at her with more clarity now all the same.
Neither of them speak for a moment. Maki lets out a sigh, looks down at her fingers where they’re roughly kneading the carpet.
“Maki…” Yuta begins, but he trails off with a pained groan, grasps at his side. “Shit…”
“Easy,” Maki murmurs, “Don’t overdo it. You got fucked up real bad, y’know.”
Yuta gives her a ‘you don’t have to remind me’ kind of look, and, right. It’s just that Maki doesn’t have much experience with this kind of thing and she really doesn’t know what to say right now, especially not with the way her gut is twisting itself into knots the longer she looks at him.
“Maki,” Yuta tries again, determined to get the words out. “I… I’m sorry. I should’ve been able to deal with those guys, but-”
“Don’t,” Maki cuts him off. Her heart feels a dark, black thing, an inky pool of anger. Don’t apologise. You did exactly what was expected of you, she thinks, and at the centre of the anger it’s Naoya’s smirking face that comes to mind.
There’s more Maki wants to say, more that she feels she should, but looking at Yuta’s melancholy eyes and his hair in untidy tufts sticking out every which way, the words and the meanings get muddled in her sleep-deprived mind and nothing seems to fit right.
Yuta’s eyes close for a moment longer than a standard blink, and Maki can tell he’s fighting to stay awake. “Go back to sleep,” she mutters eventually, reaching out a hand to stroke dark hair. At her touch he relents and sinks back against the cushions. “I’ll be here.”
Maki stays like that for several minutes, watching Yuta’s face soften once more as his breathing evens, a regular rise and fall. The light still projected over them in lines catches the angles of his face and the emerging bruises, ghostly grey.
When she’s certain Yuta’s asleep, Maki leans over him and places the barest kiss on his raised cheek. Maybe it’s the quiet of the night getting to her, the hazy unreality of the unfamiliar surroundings, but immediately regret burns and she hastily pulls away. As she does, a flash of something catches her eye - a glint of metal underneath Yuta’s shirt where the top few buttons are undone. It reflects the light streaming in through the cracks in the blinds; around Yuta’s neck a silver necklace, and on that necklace a ring.
Something in her stomach drops, a feeling she can’t possibly name, doesn’t want to. The words left unspoken burn in the back of her throat like cheap whiskey.
As suddenly as it came on, the car outside moves and the parallel lines of light undulate over them and away; the tiny star twinkling around Yuta’s neck is gone. The room seems somehow darker than it did before.
Maki wordlessly stands, careful not to disturb Yuta again. She pads back over to the armchair and the three of them see out the night, two sleeping, one wide awake.