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Seven years and Yokohama is still more or less the same. A little more lively, perhaps, which is understandable since it's been protected by so many competent people like the Armed Detective Agency and Port Mafia against crisis after crisis.
Those two organizations... Mark Twain has never had any kind of fun that surpassed what he experienced in 2012 when the Guild was literally blown into the sea.
...Well, maybe not any kind. Sex is still very much enjoyable, especially when he's this good.
He finds himself grinning from ear to ear as he saunters downtown to meet his blind date that he met on a random dating app when he was waiting for his baggage at the airport. He's only here for a few days, has settled down in life steadily enough that he can finally take trips like this.
And what better way to start his vacation than to get laid?
A quaint café sits between a pizza place and an accessories store, the afternoon sun reflecting golden light against the large windows. Mark enters the place and briefly stands by the entrance to guess who he's going to meet.
Yes, he doesn't know what his date looks like, doesn't even know anything besides the name 'Mel'. He likes living life on the edge, okay?
Alas, he sees a person checking their phone, seated at the far end of the café as if trying to hide from someone but also wanting to see them. Bingo.
Mark is sliding the chair across the individual when he is met with a harsh glare.
Gorgeous, he can't help but think, instantly mesmerized by the stormy gray of their irises. Propping his chin on his palm, he checks his date out, noting the long raven hair that reaches their shoulders and the white at the tips. They are wearing a black sweater with black sunglasses slung at the v-neck, the lack of color emphasizing their pale complexion. The get-up looks awfully familiar, although he isn't sure where to place it.
"Who are you?" they ask, scowl deepening.
Mark, ever the charmer himself, applauds this stranger's attempt to spice things up. "Oh, Mel, I'm your date. The guy you were talking to a few hours ago? You said you wanted to meet here."
A pause, then— "I am not Mel."
"Of course you are."
"Do you have a death wish, you puny scum?"
"Scum!?" Appalled, Mark straightens, blinking at Not-Mel. And he was so sure of it, too. "Well, I'm hurt. Not many people call me that."
Not-Mel squints their eyes, holding their cup of tea close to their chest as if Mark's very existence is offending a ceramic. "What do people call you?"
"Uh, let's see." He pretends to think, tapping his chin for good measure. "Sexy? God-like? Oh, wait." He smiles innocently. "Sex god."
"If you had wanted to go to heaven that much, I could have sent you myself in a blink."
Mark raises his brows. "Are you saying you're gonna give me an orgasm so—holy shit." At once, a sharp black tendril is pointed at his throat, glowing red. He recognizes that. Anybody in Yoko-fucking-hama can recognize that! "Port Mafia?"
Akutagawa grunts, face contorted in something akin to disgust. "Who are you? Are you a spy? I haven't killed anybody in—"
"I'm your future boyfriend," Mark blurts out, holding out a hand. "Mark Twain, former Guild member. You're still as cute as you were seven years ago. And less bloody. Also, you smell damn good and—"
"I am going to kill you right here and right now if you do not shut your mouth."
"Noooo!" Mark pushes the cloth with a hesitant finger, one eye closed in case Akutagawa's ability stabs him for real. He's wearing expensive clothes right now, so he hopes he can get himself out of this bloodlust. "Come on, man, I come in peace," he says in English, slipping off his rusty Japanese because the mafioso glowering at him makes him feel...nervous.
Good nervous. Like whenever he's about to ride a badass rollercoaster that may or may not make him hurl.
"Go to your Mel," Akutagawa hisses in the same language, his accent impressive and on-point. "Get out of my sight."
"I don't want Mel now," he admits with a slight pout, relieved that the ability—Rasho-something? Is that what it's called?—has been withdrawn for now. "I bet they're boring. I'll stay here."
"Very well." Akutagawa stands and brushes an invisible lint off his shoulder. Mark stares without a hint of shame, fascinated at how the mafioso seems so fancy with anything that he does. Yes, including murder. "I'll take my leave."
Mark flinches. "No!" His voice echoes, and he has enough decency to wave a hand at the fellow customers that turn their heads towards the two of them. "Sorry," he says to Akutagawa who looks one step away from stabbing everyone, averting his gaze.
Right. He isn't in America. He can't be too embarrassing here.
"You..." With a cough, Akutagawa passes him as he strides to the door. "Leave me alone."
Like an untrained dog, Mark follows Akutagawa anyway, waiting until they're out of the café before he speaks up again. "Look, I'm sorry, a'ight? I'd offer you to hit me for the shit I said, but I'm not tiger boy, so I'll probably die."
Akutagawa stops on his tracks but doesn't face him. "Why are you here? Why do you keep following me?"
"Okay, first off, I'm on vacation. Just visiting the city we almost destroyed and all." Mark skips ahead of Akutagawa, spreading his arms to communicate his sincerity. He's really treading on thin ice here despite it being spring, but whatever. This seems fun as long as he isn't skewered. "Secondly, you're cute. I want to take you out on a date."
Akutagawa tenses. Mark tilts his head in curiosity. Did he say something wrong again? "You do not mean that."
Sorry, but he has to laugh. "What?" he says, reaching up to pop open one of his shirt's buttons as he feels restricted with the collar. Shame that Japan doesn't let people walk around half-naked. "Why would I lie? Wait. I don't mean what? My vacation? That you're cute?"
He leans in, just barely. "Or that I want to go on a date with you? Because, dude, I mean all of those things."
He should probably shut up. It's been almost a decade, but Akutagawa must hate him. Not that Mark is really that relevant in the grand scheme of things, if he does say so himself, although Akutagawa just seems like the kind of person who would dislike someone for breathing.
Still, he's on a vacation and he hasn't gotten laid yet. Even if Akutagawa won't end up in Mark's bed before the night passes, he is still the only thing that looks and feels and sounds like a challenge. Like an adventure.
And Mark—he would kill for fun. Quite literally.
Akutagawa studies him for a long moment.
"Okay."
"You should give me a—huh?" Heart skipping in his chest, Mark grins, fist pumping in the air out of habit. "Okay to the date?"
"Yes." Akutagawa's gaze is fixed somewhere behind Mark, so he glances over his shoulder to see a familiar mop of silver hair passing across the road. "Let's go."
"Are you avoiding tiger boy or something—woah!" Akutagawa's ability binds his arms to his sides, and Mark has to obediently trail after the mafioso, snorting. "Kinky."
"What's kinky is you bleeding on the ground."
"Empty threats. Where are we even going?"
"To a place that will shut you up."
Akutagawa drags him from street to street, deactivating his ability not long after. Mark sidles beside him, careful to leave a foot or two between them. He would step a little closer if Akutagawa weren't flashing him a fierce glare every three freaking seconds. It's doable, though. In fact, Mark is kind of entertained with the views they're passing. Japan is always so busy, unlike the town where Mark grew up in.
It's when the path fills with cherry blossoms that he looks at Akutagawa. He hadn't realized they got closer in the last several minutes, enough that he notices the few inches he has on Akutagawa.
The mafioso has always looked so imposing, so dangerous, that Mark expected him to be taller.
"So," Mark starts, unable to keep his mouth shut around such a beautiful company, "you want to eat under a cherry blossom tree? That's kinda cute."
"Will you stop saying that word?"
"What? Cute?" To Mark's pleasure, Akutagawa blushes, lips pursed in defiance as he keeps his gaze at the large cherry blossom trees meters away. "Oh, Akutagawa, you're very cute. Cross my heart. I'd bang you in a heartbeat if you'd let me."
"I do not desire nor do I plan on engaging in intercourse, especially with the likes of you." Even with his cheeks tainted with warmth, Akutagawa still manages to look scary with his glare. Mark shudders in excitement. "If we share a meal, will you leave me alone?"
Humming, Mark places his hands at the back of his head, taking a seat on a nearby bench where they have a full view as the refreshing breeze blows pink leaves away. Akutagawa settles next to him, but with obvious reluctance. Mark scoffs. "You speak like I'm gonna pull on your shirt if you walk away."
"You almost did."
"I almost did," he confirms. "But, I was just trying to be friendly! It's been so long since I last saw you! We bonded and all, geez."
"Telling me you want to 'bang' me is hardly the right way to be friendly." Akutagawa crosses his arms, back stiff and straight. It's elegant and also uptight; Mark likes it. It's very Akutagawa, very far from what Mark is used to seeing. "I am not a fun person to be with, so I do not understand your sudden fixation on keeping me around."
"I'm having fun right now." Mark heaves a loud sigh, purposely so in an attempt to clear the air between them. "But if you really don't want to hang out with me, that's fine, too. You can leave. I won't stop you again."
Mark waits.
Akutagawa does not move.
"Well?"
"The cherry blossoms are beautiful," Akutagawa says quietly. "Perhaps I shall stay for a while."
An idea pops in Mark's mind. "Huh. Why don't you stay for five hours?"
"Why the specific timeframe?"
"Well, it's gonna be like 8:00 in five hours, perfect time to end a date."
"We are not dating."
"Aren't we?" Clicking his tongue, Mark frowns at the mafioso. "Huh. Must've been mistaken. Whatever… oh!"
"What now?"
"In five hours, I'm going to show you such a great time that you'll want a real date with me." He beams at Akutagawa, shooting him a finger gun and a wink. "Sounds good?"
Akutagawa heats up, eyes wide and mouth opened in just the smallest centimeter. "You are pathetic."
"And you're too fun and adorable." He isn't lying. Akutagawa is pretty hilarious in the short hour they've known each other. Mark, for once, is thankful for his stupidity that led him to hanging out with this cutie mass murderer. "Let's grab a bite?"
Akutagawa grunts.
"I refuse."
Mark looks up at the fast food chain, the yellow initial of its brand standing out amongst the sleek minimalist motif. "What? Why? It's good! And cheap!"
"I should have known you have zero taste," Akutagawa spits, lips twisted in distaste as he glares at the security guard they pass by the entrance. Mark bites back a smile.
"Nah, I have taste, but not enough money." The usual woes of normal people. Not everyone are paid to murder people, after all. Well, Mark used to, at least, but not anymore. "I ain't gonna spend hard-earned cash on someone who'll ditch me anytime!"
It is only part-lie. He doesn't know why Akutagawa hasn't left when he seems so unwilling to be here. Mark lets him tag along, though, mostly because strolling through Yokohama is always better when you're not alone. Not that the lack of company is a big deal for him—he can always talk to people, so he doesn't mind if Akutagawa does abandon him. The issue is that he is on a budget on this vacation. He can't be spending mindlessly.
Akutagawa glowers but sits in an empty booth nonetheless, arms crossed over his chest as Mark stands over him. "Go order."
The former Guild member raises his eyebrows. "Well? What do you want?"
"Water."
"Uh, how about something solid?"
"Ice."
Facepalming himself, Mark sighs. How does the Mafia ever deal with a man made of so much attitude? "Whatever. I'll be back."
Because he is a gentleman, Mark orders a set of food with BFF fries, two drinks, and several burgers. It's a wise choice, something that can feed Akutagawa if he wants a bite and also something Mark can inhale in one sitting if he ends up eating alone.
Akutagawa is staring off at the window when Mark comes back, barely sparing him a glance when he almost drops the tray of food.
"Thanks a lot," Mark says sarcastically, digging in without further ado. A groan slips out of his mouth as he bites into a chicken burger, which earns him a disgusted glare from the mafioso. "Stop judging me," he defends around a mouthful of food. "I'm hungry."
"And apparently, you are also without class."
"Then leave?"
Akutagawa purses his lips. Mark almost breaks into a dance number (it's happened before) when Akutagawa pinches a French fry with long, slim fingers. "I'm bored," the grumpy man mumbles, getting more.
Mark laughs. "Sure you are."
Lunch passes peacefully after that. There isn't really anything to talk about, not between former enemies like them. Granted, Mark had never interacted with Akutagawa seven years ago, and he keeps expecting the mafia dog to up and leave any second, yet he never did. There's something comfortable about their set-up though, tethering over the edge of familiarity and complete mystery. It has Mark's blood vibrating with gusto.
And so he carries the conversation. He asks about Akutagawa's day. To Mark's astonishment, he almost never kills people on the regular anymore, merely staying in the shadows to train new mafia recruits. Of course, their boss still relies on him during vital missions, but his being an executive has given him more room to relax.
"So you were chilling in the café when I arrived?"
Akutagawa nods, sipping on his cola. "I was about to read a book saved on my phone."
"Ah, shit, sorry." He isn't. "Am I at least more fun than a book?"
"Of course not," he says, leaning back like Mark physically erred him. "Although I suppose you...are not what I had expected."
"Would it kill you to say you enjoy my company?"
Silence.
"Yes."
Mark chortles and stands to leave, waving a hand towards Akutagawa to prompt him into joining. "At least you're honest. I like you." When Akutagawa remains frozen on his seat, Mark tilts his head in confusion. "Hey, man, you good?"
Akutagawa meets his eyes and oh, they are so pretty. Like obsidian and midnight skies. Mark is positively gaping. "What did you mean by you like me and—why are you looking at me like that?"
"I bet everyone tells you you're beautiful," he blurts out. "You're literally my type, Aku. Effortlessly funny and pretty? I can't fucking believe this. Holy shit." He paces in front of their table, fingers on his chin as he reflects on his day so far. It can be that fate is just messing with him. A Port Mafia member? Really? And one with a hundred criminal charges on his head?
They are a match made in heaven (or hell; Mark isn't that picky). Mark is sure about this. After all, he never misses.
He is about to shower his man a few more deserved compliments when Rashomon wraps around his wrist, grip firm but not bruising. He blinks. "Yeah?"
"Stop playing with me," Akutagawa says quietly, cheeks warm. He is also frowning, shoulders curled in on themselves like he wants to hide. It's a subtle shift, one that anything but Mark's keen eyes would miss. "This is not a funny joke. I am not a joke."
Oh.
Cue damage control.
"Okay, I'll stop." Shrugging, he tugs on Rashomon, flashing Akutagawa his most comforting and subdued smile. He hopes it works on everyone and not just on his siblings. "I ain't lying, though… Just throwing that out in the open. You wanna leave or you wanna walk with me?"
"Let us walk." Akutagawa swerves past him, strides wide and with purpose. He seems to do that a lot, performing things purposefully, like someone would hit him if he made a wrong step.
Mark waits for a few seconds before catching up, mindful to keep his distance. As much as he likes having Akutagawa around in the short time they've been acquainted so far, he doesn't want to make him less than comfortable. That would be so damn uncool. They pass a couple of clothing stores, some badass boots catching Mark's attention for a split second or two. Akutagawa retains his calm demeanor, elegantly wandering around with his hands in the pockets of his tailor-made pants. At least, Mark is assuming they're tailor-made. They fit his ass and thighs very well.
About eight minutes of idly going around the city, Mark spots a photo booth in front of a restaurant. His Japanese isn't really that good anymore, so he can't read a majority of characters in signs. "Yo, Aku. We can take a photo there, yeah?"
Akutagawa stands beside him. "I am beginning to question your mental stability."
"I know, right?" Snorting, Mark walks up to the lone lady manning the camera. "Uh, hello?"
The lady tells him what seems like an entire paragraph, but Mark only understands "five" and something that oddly sounds like "nude", which he doubts is accurate at all. Akutagawa saves him by pushing him towards the booth with no hint of gentleness. Mark wants to kiss him, for both the assistance and roughness.
"What did she say?" he asks, rifling through some props in a box. He retrieves a pair of sunglasses with a fake mustache attached to them and hands a headband of cat ears to Akutagawa.
The mafioso growls. Jesus. "I'm going to kill you."
"Unprovoked?" Mark shakes his head and wears both, tilting his head towards Akutagawa as he holds up a peace sign. "Please tell me you're smiling."
The lady raises three fingers.
"No."
"What the—" The camera shutter goes off, right when Mark's mouth is open mid-sentence, face turned to a grinning Akutagawa. "Hey!"
Akutagawa's lips switch back to that familiar stoic line, although his eyes are shining with a light that could almost count as mischief. Mark finds him too gorgeous to actually take his mild pranking to the heart. "Look back."
"I hate you." With a pout, Mark crosses his arms and squints are the camera. Inside, he is beyond the moon. Getting Akutagawa to smile, however scary it looked, is indeed an achievement in Mark's books. Japan has always treated him well, never failing his penchant for fun, and it sure does not fail him now.
They take three more pictures, two formal and a last one where Akutagawa snatches the cat ears with Rashomon and puts it on his head. Mark sewed his mouth shut to not ruin the jovial moment.
When the printed versions are finally handed to them, Mark calls dibs on his favorite among the bunch. That one with Akutagawa's murderous grin. "I'll make copies of this one and paste them on my bedroom wall," he announces, flipping his wallet open to keep it safe. "I bet my siblings will stop intruding."
"I am inclined to feel insulted, but I remember I do not care."
"Aw, don't let me spoil your joy," he jests, nudging Akutagawa's side without actually touching him. "You can laugh. You've been doing great! Baby steps, right?"
There it is again, that attractive scowl of this angry marshmallow. If he doesn't stop doing that, Mark will ask him for a kiss before the day ends. "Initially, I was having doubts on whether you are merely putting up an act, but now I am certain that you are an actual idiot. More so than Atsushi."
"Atsushi, huh? Tiger boy, yeah? You guys friends or something? Why did you run from him?"
A scoff. "I did not run. He is insufferable. He calls us best friends after our reconciliation years before."
"I'm curious." Mark starts to walk, and Akutagawa follows right away. "I want you to call me Mark, too."
"Do you realize that Atsushi and I have tried to kill each other many times over the years before we became able to touch without hissing at each other?" Akutagawa brushes his hair from his cheek, scratching the skin as well. "You need to kneel and lick my foot before I even—"
"Ah, no. No, buddy, that's the line right there." A wide smirk crosses Mark's expression. "I will kneel for you, believe me. I'm shameless—"
"I am aware."
"—but I ain't licking any foot unless you tell me that's your fetish."
"My fetish is stabbing people with Rashomon. And you are almost meeting all the criteria, I assure you."
"Wait, can you hold that thought?" With a placating finger, he nods towards a theater house, the bright Now Showing sign popping out of the dim establishment.
Akutagawa rolls his eyes. Mark wonders how many times he has been mentally judged today… Truly, ignorance is bliss. "You are paying for the tickets."
"I didn't even invite you!"
"Indeed. I will leave." He hasn't even taken a step back when Mark yelps and raises his arms in surrender, already dragging himself inside. "You are easy to negotiate with."
"That's hardly a negotiation," Mark grumbles. "That's straight up blackmail."
"It is how the mafia gets what they want."
"I can see that, tha—wait!" Mark swivels to the mafioso, pinning him with an accusatory gaze. "You want this?" When Akutagawa stares blankly, Mark jumps and yowls in delight. "Oh, yeah! Can't resist Twaining, huh? Not so strong now, eh, Aku—hey! Don't leave me!"
Heree," Mark says, handing Akutagawa his serving of pastel blue cotton candy. The evening sky is cloudy and empty of stars, so Mark is left with looking at the next beautiful thing he can find—Akutagawa's eyes. "It's time to go, Aku. Did you have fun?"
Despite Akutagawa's initial resistance, they did do a lot of things today. Mark had thought Akutagawa doesn't speak much, but he does. It is unexpected since he has such a calm voice whenever he isn't agitated, but wow… Mark is a little whipped. Maybe. He's weak for nice voices! And pretty boys! And smart boys!
Akutagawa stands next to him. They're outside the theater, people idly walking past them. "Don't call me Aku. And yes, I did have fun. Unbelievable."
"Oh, don't be such a jerk! I know I'm a good—"
"How long are you going to be staying here?"
Mark blinks, taking an unconscious step back. "Hey." He leans in with narrowed eyes, and Akutagawa merely meets him with a steady gaze. Stupid cool person. "One week... Maybe longer. Why?"
Akutagawa mumbles something, but Mark is an idiot who likes things loud, so he asks him to repeat. "I said, perhaps you would like to watch another movie." Akutagawa coughs into his fist, hiding his face behind the cotton candy. "Because this one is terrible. I should not have listened to you."
The shit-eating grin that makes its way to Mark's face cannot be stopped even if he wanted to. "Hell yeah, let's watch another one." He hands Akutagawa his phone. "Give me your number."
"You do not know subtlety, do you?"
"Nope," he says, popping the 'p'. "You like me."
"That is an overstatement. You simply do not annoy me."
"I'll take it." Mark eats a pinch of cotton candy, shrugging as Akutagawa types in his contact. "That sounds like a compliment coming from you, really."
Akutagawa shakes his head and hands back the phone. He is infinitely tamer than six hours ago. More...casual, like he wouldn't suddenly stab anyone. "I'm going home."
"I'll call you."
"Please do not." Akutagawa walks away, raising a hand in a wave.
Mark glances down at his gadget, the name Aku coaxing something tingly in his stomach. That cannot be a good sign, but at the same time…
It doesn't feel that bad either.