Work Text:
Three Years Ago
Maki’s walking over the bridge at the entrance to the Zen’in mansion when she spots Jinichi waiting by the car she was going to take. She frowns as she gets closer. There’s another guy standing next to him, someone she doesn’t recognise. Dark hair, a katana-sized bag slung over his shoulders. He looks young, about her age, maybe.
“Change of plans, Maki,” Jinichi mutters around a cigarette when she stops in front of them, not bothering to look up at her.
“Who’s this?” Maki asks bluntly, jerking her head to the younger man.
“Latest addition to the hitman squad,” Jinichi replies. “He’ll be going with you on the job today.”
Maki’s eyes narrow as she looks from Jinichi to the new guy. He blinks nervously under her cold stare, obviously uncomfortable.
“Er, it’s nice to meet you, Zen’in.”
Fucking hell.
Maki turns back to glare at Jinichi. “We expecting trouble, then?” When he doesn’t reply she can only assume the answer is yes. “Wouldn’t it have been nice to warn me about that earlier, if you had that kind of information on you?”
Jinichi scowls at her and flicks his cigarette onto the floor, a warning in his eyes. “I’m sure it’ll be no problem for the two of you,” he says, already starting to walk away. “Report to me when you get back.”
Maki clicks her tongue loudly at his retreating back. Bastard. Irritation rises in her chest at the sudden change to her expectations for today and she crosses her arms at the new guy Jinichi’s just saddled her with.
Maki gives him a once over and doesn’t even bother hiding her sigh. Hitman squad, apparently, not that you’d be able to tell. She doesn’t know what the hell Jinichi’s on sending him on this job; the guy looks like he’d snap in two if you looked at him funny.
“You got a name, then?” Maki asks.
“Um, me?” he stutters.
“Who else?”
“Uh, Yuta Okkotsu.”
“Okkotsu, huh?” Maki repeats, rolling the name over in her mouth. “Fine. Guess we’re working together on this.” She walks around the car to the driver’s side, calling, “Get in.”
The drive to the city is an awkward one. Okkotsu doesn’t attempt to make any conversation, thank god, just looks out of the passenger side window and fidgets with the strap of the katana bag that’s rested against the seat between his legs. Maki glares at the other cars on the road as her bad mood worsens.
They reach a small back road near the meeting place and Maki pulls the car up at the side of the curb. She gets out and walks to the passenger side, leans back against the car, lighting a cigarette as Okkotsu also steps out.
“Um…” he begins, looking at her in confusion. “What now?”
“We wait. Meeting’s not until three,” she says. The dumb look on his face is not replaced by one of recognition and Maki sighs, pressing two fingers into her temple. “Jinichi didn’t tell you anything about the job, did he.”
“He, er… said you’d explain when we got there.”
“Yeah, of course he fucking did,” Maki mutters. She lets out a hard breath into the cold city air. “Officially, we’re here for a business meeting. I’m meeting a colleague that works with me on the racetracks, from one of the small-time families up north.
“Lately we Zen’in have been expanding our reach with regards to the bookmakers, so. I guess they’ve had enough of that.” She shrugs as she meets Okkotsu’s dark eyes. “They’re probably going to try to kill me, today.”
Okkotsu looks a little shocked, but his voice is level when he speaks: “Then why did we come?”
“Well, if we end up taking out this family’s boss, we can claim self-defence, right?” Maki says, managing only a small touch of bitterness to her voice. The way her family likes to operate is no surprise to her.
“Besides,” she continues, “my family won’t really care all that much if I do get caught in the crossfire. And they probably didn’t expect you to last longer than a few months anyway. Sorry to say.”
“But… you’re a Zen’in,” Okkotsu states, as if it means something.
“Yeah, and what else?” At Okkotsu’s questioning look Maki only sighs. “Forget it. Anyway, regardless of my family’s personal feelings towards me, I still make them money, so they’d rather I don’t die. And that’s where you come in, I suppose.”
The realisation finally, finally flickers over Okkotsu’s face. He swallows noticeably but is serious when he meets her eyes and nods. “Right.”
Maki keeps his gaze for a moment longer, not quite sure what to make of this guy. She feels for her pistol where it sits in the holster strapped across her shoulders, glances down at her watch. Time to go.
“Ready to earn your keep, Okkotsu?” she asks, and starts walking towards the large industrial building at the end of the road, not bothering to check if he’s following. “Let’s hope we both make it out alive.”
--
Maki’s reading over some paperwork when there’s a few short raps at her office door. When she glances up and sees Yuta through the open blinds, she leans back in her chair and calls, “Come in.”
“You wanted to see me, Maki?” Yuta asks as he walks over to her desk.
“Yeah.” Maki nods and pulls out a cigarette, offers one to Yuta. He leans over the table as she flicks her lighter, eyes turned down to the small flame. Maki’s gaze lingers a few moments longer than it should on his lips around the cigarette and she sharply looks away, trying not to think about it.
Since the ‘job’ for Naoya she’s been thinking about Yuta a lot more. It’s as if something’s been let out a box that can’t be put back in - she can’t just forget what happened that night, as much as it would make things simpler. She can’t forget the way her chest burned at the sight of him tied to that chair and beat half to death, can’t forget the vulnerability she saw in him then. Yuta’s strong, one of the strongest of them when it comes to it, but she can’t help the feeling that there’s a fragility to that strength, too.
They haven’t spoken much about it. At the end of the day, that was something between her and Naoya.
Maki wonders, though, if he feels the same; that the air between them is different now. She wonders if he lets his gaze wander for longer than strictly necessary too, and for why. But he was asleep for most of the evening that caused her to be thinking all of… this, so, probably not.
Yuta perches on the edge of her desk. “So, what’s up?” he asks expectantly.
“The Kamo family is holding a gala,” Maki replies. “Wanna come?”
Yuta blinks at her. “Huh?”
Maki rustles up a printed sheet of paper from the corner of her desk. “Officially it’s some sort of fundraiser for their charity.”
“…Right. Didn’t think you liked that sort of thing,” Yuta says, eyebrows raised.
Maki rolls her eyes at him. “It’s for business. The family’s heir, Noritoshi Kamo, is going to be there, and I want to make an alliance with him.” She takes her cigarette between her fingers and postures with it in the air as she explains. “The way I see it, there’s the older, traditionalist members of our families, and then there’s us. Tensions between the three families are growing, and that’s not to mention the tensions within our family. We’re going to need all the allies we can get in the future.”
The way things are now, the Zen’in family is more or less united in arms under Naobito’s lead. She doesn’t like him, but she can accept that he at the very least keeps the family from tearing itself apart; no one’s going to be vying for power while he’s still around. But when the geezer croaks… Maki frowns to herself. There’s going to be one hell of power struggle, and she’s not going to let Megumi and her be trampled over by the likes of Naoya.
Yuta meets her eyes with a serious look. “And why would he agree to that?”
“Apparently, the family head’s wife hasn’t had any sons, and Noritoshi was born to a mistress. He was a kid when they brought him into the family as heir,” Maki explains. “He takes his role seriously, but I can’t imagine he’s overly sympathetic towards the heads of the family. He’s been ostracised in the past, and they only accept him out of necessity.”
Sounds familiar, Maki thinks. There’s no guarantee Kamo will agree, but she’s quietly confident she can get him to hear her out, at least.
“A personal alliance with him would be mutually beneficial, and help mine and Megumi’s position,” she says to Yuta. “Obviously we’re not telling the rest of my family, so technically we’ll be going rogue on this.”
Yuta mulls it over for a moment. “Why do you want me there, though?” he asks finally.
“Well, I can’t go to a party alone, can I?” Maki says. “And Megumi’s busy.”
“Oh, right.” Yuta’s face falls, almost imperceptibly, and Maki kicks herself.
“But it’s better if it’s us, anyway,” she hurries to reassure him, not sure why it matters so much. “Two Zen’in family members might seem overly hostile. And you’re one of my best assets, so it makes sense for me to show him some of my hand.”
Yuta scoffs a little at being called an asset, but he doesn’t say anything about it.
“Alright, I’m in,” he replies. “But a gala, huh? I’m not sure I have anything to wear…”
“Don’t worry,” Maki says, grinning around her cigarette. “We’ll sort that out.”
--
Yuta’s waiting outside the entrance to his apartment block when the car pulls up. He opens the car door as soon as they come to a stop and slides onto the backseat beside Maki.
Maki turns to Yuta and gives him a proper once over as the car speeds off. He’s wearing a double-breasted suit jacket in a rich plum velvet with black lapels; black tailored trousers, shiny oxfords, and simple silver cufflinks at his wrists which he nervously fiddles with. His hair’s neater than usual, and she can see his dark eyes clearly with the way his bangs are swept off his face. He looks apprehensive, like he’s awaiting appraisal.
“You look good,” Maki states at last.
Yuta stutters, like someone’s flipped the switch in his head that controls speech. “T-thanks. Inumaki picked it out,” he admits. Yuta’s eyes flicker away from his sleeves and over Maki for a fraction of a second before darting away again. “You, um… look good, too.”
Maki smirks as she leans back into the car seat, not saying anything. The car ride is a subdued affair, and Maki passes the time watching the lights of the city as they recede and are replaced by the dark shadows of hedgerows on either side of the small country road leading to the venue.
The car pulls up around a wide circular drive and joins the lone Bentley that’s parked in front of them. Most of the guests should already be at the venue, but besides them there’s a few late arrivals making their way indoors. Maki stops Yuta as he’s got a hand on the car door.
“Yuta, you got a gun on you?” she asks.
“Uh, yeah?”
“Leave it in the car. We’ll be searched at the door.” Maki leans forward slightly towards the driver’s seat. “Thanks, Nitta.”
Nitta turns back to look at her. “And you still want to be picked up at 12, Maki?” she asks.
“Yeah. I’ll call if anything changes.”
“Right! Have a good time at the party!” Nitta calls as Maki slides out of the car after Yuta, short laugh on her breath. They are still here for business, after all.
When they pass security and enter the grand house, they’re met with a wide foyer area, long corridors heading off to either side of them and a vast marble staircase directly in front. Maki shrugs off her coat and hands it to an attendant standing next to several racks of dark coats and furs. She adjusts the long satin gloves she’s wearing and smooths down the front of her dress.
Yuta’s looking dumbstruck again as she wraps her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow, all but dragging him along to where the few guests ahead of them are filing up the stairs.
Another attendant with a sheet of paper stops them at the foot of the stairs. “Your name, ma’am…?” he begins, trailing off when Maki looks him in the eye.
“Maki Zen’in,” she states with a commanding lilt to her voice. “You don’t need to look for me.”
At the top of the stairs they enter through double doors into a spacious ballroom - the walls are panelled in dark wood and lined with sets of white clothed tables and chairs, accompanied by lavish flower arrangements in stark black and white. There are several chandeliers fixed high in the ceiling, lighting the people on the ballroom floor below - most talking in groups, some nearer the middle of the room dancing to the notes played by the small orchestra sat against the back wall. A banner over the musicians reads Kamo Foundation Annual Fundraiser – Thank You for Your Generous Contributions! in large swooping letters.
Maki glances to her side and sees Yuta’s eyes are wide and sparkling like the crystal of the chandeliers as he looks over the room. Maki’s more used to the extravagance and the excess that comes with the old families - the Zen’ins used to host more things like this in the past, too, but she supposes someone like Yuta wouldn’t have been invited to them anyway. Not unless her family wanted someone dead.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Maki mutters to him. “Well, while we’re here…” she continues, grabbing two flutes of champagne off a silver tray of a passing waiter, “we might as well try to enjoy ourselves.”
Maki passes one of the crystal glasses to Yuta and moves from the doorway to a spot near the wall where she can see most of the crowd. There are several faces in the sea of people she knows – local politicians and businessmen, mainly – but no sign of Noritoshi Kamo just yet.
“I made contact with Noritoshi earlier to let him know we’re coming,” Maki says, leaning back against a table by the wall. “Once he’s finished his other business, he’ll come find us.”
Yuta nods his assent, taking a swig of champagne. His eyes dart around the room like there’s too much to take in all at once.
“Well, what do you think? Wanna go mingle?” Maki asks teasingly.
Yuta gives a nervous laugh as he replies. “I’m not so sure about that… I feel a little out of my depth, here.”
“Hmm,” Maki hums in response.
She watches as a large group of guests separates, and walking their way is someone she recognises - a local politician who’s been secretly involved in money laundering under the front of luxury property development. In other words, someone they can use.
“Wait here then,” Maki says as she starts to walk off, “I’ll be right back.”
“Huh – wait, you’re leaving me?!”
Maki’s pretty sure the smarmy politician wasn’t expecting to be apprehended by a Zen’in here, and it’s with a smirk of victory that she walks back over to Yuta after their short conversation.
Yuta doesn’t notice her at first, and just for a moment she lets herself appreciate the sharp lines his figure cuts under the low ballroom lights. His suit really does look good on him - Inumaki has good taste. His black tie sits perfectly at the base of his throat, silver tie clip to match his cufflinks shining in the light. Maki can feel her ears heating up and takes a large mouthful of champagne - it’s the lights in here, they’re too damn warm.
When she gets closer and he still hasn’t looked over, she realises Yuta’s eyes are focused elsewhere, intently locked on the guests spinning sparkling circles on the ballroom floor. Maki thinks about it for a second, then his name’s on her lips on an impulse.
“Yuta. Want to dance?” Maki bluntly asks to announce her return. Yuta’s eyes snap over to meet hers in surprise, looking a little like he’s been caught out.
“I, uh - what?”
She can’t exactly pretend she didn’t say it, so. “Do you want to dance?” she repeats.
Maki’s serious this time, no trace of a joking smile, and Yuta must realise that as he looks away, slight flush to his face under the ballroom lights. His hand reaches up and hovers just below his neck, a gesture that doesn’t escape Maki’s notice. “I don’t really… know how,” he admits at last, quiet under the roar of the party.
“That’s fine,” Maki says as she holds out a gloved hand to him. “I’ll teach you.”
Yuta stares at her hand for a few seconds, a frightened animal she’s trying to tame, then he places his empty champagne flute on the table behind him and takes it.
“Okay, sure.”
Maki leads him over to the middle of the ballroom floor, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than think about why her heart is beating so hard from the mere notion of his hand in her own. She stops and spins on her heel to face him, fixing him a serious look like they’re in combat training. The orchestra is playing the gentle, soft flowing notes of a waltz.
“Put your other hand on my shoulder blade,” Maki murmurs, looking over at their joined hands and moving hers so it sits lightly in his. When Yuta does so, Maki angles his elbow slightly so it’s in the correct position, then rests her hand on his upper arm, at the shoulder. In the awkward positioning, they’re so close now their torsos are touching.
“Um…” Yuta begins when Maki doesn’t move, wide eyes looking down at her, his proximity emphasising their slight height difference. “What now?”
“It’s a waltz, so… move your feet with mine.”
It’s probably easier to show than to explain, she thinks as she takes a step back, pulling him with her, and it’s a spilt second before he catches on and moves too. She moves to the side next, smooth heel step on the first beat, then pushes forward so Yuta’s forced to take a step back, and after that he gets the basic idea and they’re dancing to the slow one-two-three. Yuta’s a fast learner; he’s got good coordination, too, and lets himself move to the flow of Maki’s direction without fighting it. He only comes close to stepping on her toes once or twice.
After a few minutes, Maki lets her gaze wander from the dark walls and high ceiling to Yuta’s face. He’s looking down at their hands and feet, brow furrowed in concentration. Sensing she’s watching, Yuta’s eyes blink up to meet hers.
“What?” Maki says, seeing the question in the look.
“I uh, was just wondering… how come you know how to dance like this?” he asks with timid curiosity.
“Learnt all sorts of things as a kid,” she states. “Suppose they thought this would be useful.” It’s with a bitter tone that the last word comes out.
Memories of extra classes, afternoons and evenings spent in a large tatami mat room surrounded on all sides by panelled walls come to mind. One day flower arranging, the next how to load and shoot a revolver. All necessary skills for a Zen’in woman.
Ballroom dancing had been one she had taken a particular dislike to as a child, though she’s always had the posture and coordination for it, and she supposes now that based on physicality alone it’s not a million miles away from something like aikido. Maybe it was their teacher though, the one with the tight bun and the uncaring eyes, that Maki had really despised. She distinctly remembers one evening when that teacher had slapped Mai across the face for getting a sequence wrong, and Mai had cried and cried, her wails filling the room over the distorted notes of the gentle waltz from the gramophone in the corner.
Mai’s always been better at things like that; always hated them the most.
Her mind filled with thoughts of the past, Maki only just notices they’ve come to a stop. All around them dancers spin by, lost in their own worlds. Yuta’s hand tightens around hers, his expression indecipherable.
Maki’s about to speak when a man taps Yuta on the shoulder. He’s wearing an expensive, immaculately tailored black suit, gold signet ring on his finger. Long bangs tied into white bands frame an elegant face and cryptic eyes. “May I cut in?” Noritoshi Kamo asks.
“Y-yeah,” Yuta says, and drops Maki’s hand.
“Okkotsu, if you like, Nishimiya here will show you to a private room, where we can discuss our business,” Kamo says, gesturing to the short woman by his side. Her blonde hair’s smoothed back off her face save for a few short wisps, and her sharp features give them both a protective and decidedly unfriendly look.
Yuta’s eyes flicker back to Maki and she gestures with her head. “Go on. We’ll join you soon.”
Yuta nods respectfully to Kamo, and he follows the short woman across the hall towards the main doors.
Maki glances back to the taller man.
“May I?” he asks, holding out a hand and tilting his head to the other dancers.
Maki laughs a little under her breath. “Sure. Why not.”
Kamo’s a good dancer. She lets him lead, keeping her eyes trained on his face, trying to get some measure of the man. He seems gentlemanly enough, which is more than she can say about most of the men in her own family.
“Didn’t expect this was how our first meeting would go,” Maki deadpans.
“I’ll admit I was surprised to receive your message,” he replies smoothly. “Although our families have always been on amicable terms officially, I’ve heard the Zen’in can be… Hard to deal with. No offence intended.”
“None taken. It’s true,” Maki says. “I won’t make any false pretences about it. I came here today representing myself and Megumi Fushiguro, not them.”
Kamo looks at her sharply, eyes opening wider, curious. He stops their dance and takes a step back. “Perhaps that’s enough with the pleasantries, then. Let’s talk business.”
--
Kamo shows her to a small drawing room - Yuta’s already sat in one of the plush chairs surrounding a low table, and the woman, Nishimiya, stands by the wall with her arms crossed. The room is completely surrounded in dark wood panelling, save for the tall bookshelves that line the back wall. The whole thing feels claustrophobic when Kamo shuts the door behind him, but at least they’re alone.
“Please, have a seat,” Kamo says. Maki takes the chair next to Yuta as Kamo leans over the bottle of whiskey that’s set out on the table. Maki recognises the brand: expensive as hell. “Can I get you both a drink? We have gin too, if you prefer.”
“Whiskey’s fine,” Maki says.
Kamo pours four glasses and settles into the seat opposite Maki. Nishimiya doesn’t join them but walks across the room to take up position standing a little way behind Kamo.
“So, as I hear it, you want to make an alliance,” Kamo begins. Maki’s intelligence checks out so far- the Kamo family heir is measured, careful in his words. Almost as if he’s overcompensating, straining too hard to be perfect. He’s in a delicate position, perhaps even more so than Maki – as family heir the responsibility of survival falls on his shoulders, a duty she’s sure his family’s all too eager to remind him of.
“That’s right,” Maki replies, and leans forward to pick up one of the whiskey glasses. Maki’s not suited for talking around the point, so she decides to get straight to it. “I believe you have access to information that would be of use to me and my associates. And we in the Zen’in family have information, and allies, that could prove useful to you as well,” she says with a small tilt of her head to Yuta on the last point.
It doesn’t exactly sit well with her to be using Yuta like this, but it’s not a joke to say his reputation precedes him. Kamo’s eyes flicker over Yuta for a second and Maki’s sure he’s thinking of the stories he’s heard about the executioner of the Zen’in clan.
“The way I see it, there’s no reason for us not to get along,” Maki continues. “Neither of our families are going anywhere anytime soon. As the new generation, why shouldn’t we help each other out?”
“And yet the fact that you came on your own behalf, and not with the blessing of your family… Tell me Maki, is there trouble in your family’s future?” Kamo asks, keeping his gaze and voice level.
Maki takes a sip of her drink and smiles, deigning not to answer his question directly. “Even within family, it’s always best to cover one’s own bases, right?”
Kamo doesn’t reply, but he leans back in his chair, knitting his fingers together over a crossed knee.
“Level with me, Noritoshi,” Maki says, raising her eyes to look at him directly, “can you honestly say you trust all your older relatives? And that they hold the best interests of your family in mind before their own gains? Can you trust them to trust you in the future?”
“Zen’in,” Nishimiya growls from her position at Kamo’s shoulder. “Watch it.”
Kamo raises a hand to Nishimiya, his eyes flickering back towards her for a moment. Nishimiya quiets, but her eyes are still piercing. “Go on,” he says to Maki.
“Our positions really aren’t so different, you know. You have a lot in common with my cousin Megumi, for example.”
Maki doesn’t need to elaborate the point. Kamo must be aware she’s researched him, and she can’t imagine he hasn’t done the same for her and her relatives.
“Perhaps,” Kamo replies with a smooth smile on his lips. “It’s an interesting proposal, Maki.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Maki drawls.
“Unfortunately, I have my own responsibilities to consider, as well,” Kamo says, uncrossing his legs and getting to his feet, signalling time’s up. “For now, I invite you both to enjoy the rest of the gala.”
Maki’s eyes don’t leave Kamo as she stands. She’s caught his interest, but she can tell Kamo’s still hesitant, probably considering his own position. For now, though, it’s fine.
Kamo and Nishimiya show them out of the drawing room, walking ahead of Maki and Yuta back towards the ballroom.
As Kamo passes a corner in the hall, two men move out of the shadows opposite, blocking Maki and Yuta’s path, and it’s with a dull rising dread that Maki watches as they both pull out revolvers.
Her first thought is how the fuck did they get guns in here, before a second, more prominent realisation: they’re going for Kamo.
“Kamo!” Maki yells in a desperate warning, starting forwards, but Yuta is even quicker and a second before the first shot rings out through the hallway he’s grabbed the man’s wrist and angled it up towards the elaborate ceiling.
Maki sees Nishimiya pushing Kamo just as the second man’s gun is fired; hears her cry out in pain as Maki strikes the gunman from behind, bits of plaster dropping like snowflakes on their heads. A gun skitters across the floor from the man Yuta’s just disarmed; the other spins around to face her, but Maki’s senses are in overdrive and she sees the telegraphed motion long before he trains the revolver on her.
She grabs the arm holding the gun, strains a little to keep it away from her as he fires again. The bullet flies a few inches from her waist on its way to the floor. The guy’s fucking tough, but Maki’s faster, her eyes better trained, and when her free hand sharply hits a point in his elbow he yells, his grip on the revolver loosening.
Maki wrests the gun from his hand, just in time to dodge the punch he sends her way with the full weight of six plus feet behind it. He’s off balance for a fraction of a second after it doesn’t connect and it’s opening enough for Maki; there’s a morbidly satisfying crack when the base of the revolver in her hand connects with his head. He’s swaying like he’s going down, but she sidesteps and hits the back of his neck hard for good measure.
No more than a second after he falls she hears a yelp, sees movement in her periphery, and when her eyes snap to the side she sees both Yuta and the other gunman on the floor, only Yuta’s down like he’s been hit and the other guy is straining his arm out for the gun that fell earlier.
Fingers reach and curl around the grip of the revolver, and he twists his body to aim at Yuta in one fast, fluid motion, but Maki’s already raising the gun in her own hand and when there’s a clear line between her and the back of his head she fires.
There’s the crack of the gunshot and the low noise of the man crumpling to the floor, his suit jacket muffling the sound, and then the hall is silent.
A second passes. Then two. Maki lets out a long, measured breath.
Crimson red spreads over the dark wooden floor, glistens under the light of the chandeliers. Yuta winces and raises his arm to wipe the blood from his face.
Maki’s eyes meet Yuta’s when he looks back up at her, and they stay like that for a long, agonising moment, neither saying anything, until Kamo’s black suited men rush into the hallway, guns raised.
--
Three Years Ago
It was a close one.
They sit on stone steps that slope down to the river; there’s a slight haze of rain in the air, the kind that sticks to your hair and clothes even when you don’t feel it. The city skyline, punctuated by high-rises and littered with sporadic dots of light, is painted in monochromatic grey.
Maki rubs at a point on her ribs where she took an especially hard hit. The knuckles on one of her hands are split, and it fucking stings.
Looks can be deceiving, apparently, because Okkotsu’s good. Really good, and she’s not too proud or anything to admit it. She’s never seen anyone swing a katana like that before. If it wasn’t for him, she doubts she’d be feeling the cold, hard stone on her ass and the non-committal rain on her face right now.
She fishes out her cigarette case from a jacket pocket, takes one for herself and holds it out to where Okkotsu’s sat next to her.
“You smoke?” she asks.
He looks back at her with an expression that clearly says no, takes one anyway.
She lights her own cigarette, hands covering the small flame from the rain, before offering her lighter to Okkotsu. He lights his on the third attempt, frowning as he passes the lighter back.
Her eyes flicker over Okkotsu’s profile as they sit and smoke in silence. She can tell at a glance that he’s not born to their world, which makes the question of how he came to be employed as a hitman for the Zen’in family all the more enigmatic. Jinichi’s good at spotting talent, she’ll give him that at least.
The river is a dark grey, water reflecting the clouds above them, keeping its secrets hidden beneath the choppy surface. Sounds of the city fill the air; barges and tourist boats pass in front of them, going about their business as usual.
“Okkotsu,” Maki starts, deciding to give voice to her curiosity, “why did you join the family? Why be a hitman?”
Okkotsu looks over at her like he hasn’t even thought about it much himself. “Well… I’m good at it.”
“That can’t be the only reason.”
“The pay’s good, too.”
“Hmm.” There’s no way that’s the full story; if it is, he’s clearly more insane than she thought.
“Well, to tell the truth…” Okkotsu continues, unprompted. “I made a… a promise, to someone. And this is the only way I could keep living, so...”
Like that clears it up. “A promise, huh?” she mutters, taking a last drag from her cigarette. She flicks the butt onto the stone by her feet, stamps it out. “Sounds more like a curse if you ask me.”
There’s something more behind Okkotsu’s eyes, something he’s not saying. A kind of sadness lingers in the air with his words.
“And that’s the main reason?”
“I guess so.”
Maki’s quiet for a moment and lets out a long breath, running her fingers through her fringe. “I’ll give you a bit of advice,” she says, watching the boats on the river. She’s not sure why she does it, but she feels like she should warn him. A couple of hours earlier she wouldn’t have cared if he lived or died, but for some reason now the thought of the latter doesn’t sit well with her. There is the fact that he almost certainly saved her life today, too.
“Guys without goals get swallowed up by this world,” she continues. “Doesn’t matter how tough you are, if you don’t have a reason to live - something for yourself alone - you’ll be dead within a month. Guarantee it.”
Okkotsu thinks about it for a moment, looks over at her. His dark, round eyes meet hers. “What’s… your reason, then?”
Maki blinks. “Huh?” She wasn’t expecting to be asked that. This guy really doesn’t know anything, does he. “Jesus, man. Ask something like that to any of my family and they’ll fucking kill you.”
Okkotsu looks suitably terrified as he hurriedly apologises. “S-sorry, I just… since you said…”
“Hah!” Maki lets out something between a laugh and a sigh as she gets to her feet. “S’alright. I don’t really consider myself to be one of them, anyway.
“As for my reason… I’m going to rule the Zen’in family one day. And turn everything about this rotten world upside down.” Feeling buoyed on the very idea itself, she declares it boldly to the river and the city around them and hopes the world is listening.
The wind whips her hair into her face, and the city says nothing but the low sound of a barge’s horn as it passes under a bridge. Maki knows it’s a goal that’s been placed purposefully out of her reach, but it’ll never happen if she’s not serious herself. The sky above her is vast, but she feels like she could grab the clouds above her if she stretched far enough; for a second, she believes it.
Maki turns back to Okkotsu with a short laugh. “Well, there you have it.”
Okkotsu’s looking at her with wide eyes, and he’s silent for a long moment.
When he speaks again, it’s not what Maki’s expecting. “Zen’in, I mean, Maki… Let me work for you.”
Maki’s eyes widen incredulously. “What?”
“Um… please?”
Does he even know what he’s asking, Maki thinks first, and then, it’s not a bad idea. Okkotsu probably doesn’t know this, but there’s no way he’ll be getting anywhere in the firm in his current position. Hitmen are used for dirty work; they aren’t trusted. Her family will use him as they like, but they’ll never give him rank, not liking to be associated with their own sins. Okkotsu’ll stay at the bottom forever, hands stained with blood.
“You do know my family hate me, right?” Maki asks with a sigh. “You’ll be in a position even lower than the bottom with me. They love to make my life as difficult as possible. Besides, even if you work for me, you were hired as a hitman for the family, and I can’t change that.”
“It’s alright,” Okkotsu says. For the first time all day, there’s a steady, driven look in his eye, and Maki knows he means it. “I think I know what I want to do, now.”
Maki laughs and shakes her head into the wind. It’s probably her imagination, but it feels like maybe, just maybe, there’s a change in the air as she considers the river and Okkotsu’s proposition.
“Fine. You’re on.” She reaches a hand out in front of her, and Okkotsu stands to take it. “Welcome to the family, Okkotsu.”
--
Maki gets off the phone to Nitta and walks back to the foyer where Yuta’s waiting.
“Nitta’s on her way,” she mutters before he can speak.
From above they can still hear the sounds of the gala, the guests ignorant to the fact their host was almost killed tonight. Maki wonders how they explained away the gunshots, but it probably doesn’t matter - people who do business with the three families do so knowing well enough what they are, even when they pretend not to.
Maki’s digging her cigarettes out from her retrieved coat when a door on the first-floor landing opens and Kamo walks down the wide staircase to them with a hurried step. His suit and hair are both looking unkempt, dignified mask slipping to reveal the slightly shaken expression he now wears.
“Is Nishimiya okay?” Yuta asks as Kamo comes to a stop in front of them.
“Yes. The bullet only grazed her arm,” Kamo says. “Some of my family are on the way now, so I think it would be best if you two made yourselves scarce.”
Maki nods her agreement and flicks open her cigarette case. The leftover adrenaline makes everything seem in sharp, painful focus; the smoke tastes worse than usual. She doesn’t miss the way Yuta’s eyes flicker over her face and hopes her expression is as impassive as she thinks it is.
“I’m sorry you got caught up in all this,” Kamo continues, eyes still betraying nothing, but his words sound genuine.
“These things happen,” Maki says, and fixes him with a look full of intent. “And if you happen to get any leads on the perpetrators of this incident…” She twirls her cigarette in her hand, tone light and voice low in case anyone’s listening in, full of double meaning, “You can come to us directly. The Zen’in clan hope to maintain our close relationship with the Kamo family, after all.”
Kamo nods and holds out a hand in front of him. When Maki takes it with a tight shake, he leans in closer. “I believe that would suit the Kamo clan, as well,” he murmurs, meeting her eyes, and Maki knows she’s in. “I’ll be in touch.”
Kamo looks them both over before turning back up the stairs, flicking a finger in the air to summon his men hovering behind him to follow. Maki’s eyes watch him until he’s out of view, then she turns back to Yuta. There’s a tear in his nice suit jacket, blood on the collar of his shirt.
“Maki…?” Yuta begins when Maki doesn’t say anything.
“I need a drink,” Maki sighs finally, and starts towards the doors. “Let’s go back to mine.”
--
Nitta drops them off at Maki’s apartment – swanky place in a high rise in the city where she usually stays, though technically she has her own quarters at the Zen’in mansion too. It’s closer to her businesses here though, and she’s sure that’s the reason and not because part of her feels like she needs to sleep with one eye open in the same house as her blood relatives.
When they get to the main room Maki tears off her gloves, dropping them haphazardly over an armchair, and heads straight for the whiskey glasses and decanter that are set out on a small side table next to the couch. She pours herself a generous glass and turns to Yuta who’s still hovering by the door. Looking like a deer in the headlights as he does, Maki feels a bit bad dragging him back here, but she’s glad he came. She doesn’t really want to be alone right now. Besides, it’s just a drink.
“Whiskey alright?” Maki asks, turns back to the glasses.
“Yeah.”
“You want ice?”
“Oh, uh… that’s alright,” Yuta replies distractedly. “Can I use your shower?”
Maki’s head snaps back and it’s only then she notices the side of his face and neck are still lightly stained with that guy’s blood from earlier. “Shit, yeah, of course,” she says. “It’s down the hall, first door on the right. Use whatever you like.”
Yuta nods and wearily gives a “thanks,” as he walks off down the hall.
While she’s waiting for Yuta, Maki quickly polishes off her first whiskey and pours herself another. Too restless to sit down, she stands by the tall window and watches the cars on the street below between sheer curtains, swirling the glass in her hand. From down the hall, she hears the soft sound of water running in the shower.
The lights of the city fall out of focus as her thoughts wander back to earlier, and when she closes her eyes she sees the image of the man pointing the gun at Yuta on the floor and the dark red impression the bullet had made in the back of his head. It’s only now that her hands start shaking, and she swiftly downs the rest of her drink and sets the glass back on the table. The burn in her throat mixes with the uncomfortable, edgy feeling that’s caught there and she feels sick.
The sound of running water stops and a few minutes later Yuta walks back through to the main room. Maki’s stomach does a flip when she sees him; he’s left his ruined jacket in the bathroom and looks casual in only his white dress shirt, top two buttons undone, and his suit trousers. His hair is damp and his bangs fall forward over his face more than usual.
Yuta clears his throat; Maki blinks. “That drink still going?” he asks with a nervous grin.
“Yeah,” Maki says dumbly, and offers him the second glass.
“Thanks,” he murmurs as he walks over and accepts it. “Maki… about earlier…” Yuta starts, eyes blazing.
“Don’t mention it,” she mutters, crossing her arms and leaning back against the windowsill.
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“I know.” It’s so hard to meet Yuta’s eyes when he’s like this. Serious, earnest. Another uncomfortable feeling wells up in her throat; her chest feels painfully tight. “You would have done the same for me.”
“Ah… yeah.”
Yuta stares down at his glass. Maki can’t see his face clearly through strands of damp hair, and suddenly she wants to walk over and brush them off of his face, wants to trace her thumbs under the lines of his eyes like she could brush away the dark circles there too, the tired and melancholy expression he so often wears.
She wants to take Yuta’s slender fingers that are wrapped around the whiskey glass and intertwine them with hers instead, take him by the waist like they’re dancing again, like they can pretend to be one of those other carefree couples on the ballroom floor earlier; that it’s just them and nothing else can come close. She wants it all so much it hurts, is tired of pretending she doesn’t.
The jittery, anxious feeling she’s had ever since they left the gala venue wells up until it’s a crashing wave, knocking the breath out of her and pulling her under.
Maki pushes herself off the windowsill and stands upright so she’s facing Yuta. He blinks up at her, expression relaxing when he meets her eyes, and the roar of the waves is so loud she can’t hear herself think.
It’s partly the feeling that comes from living on the knife’s edge, one step away from the end in all directions - a near constant state in their line of work, but it’s only after getting as close as taking another’s life that you really feel it. And, right now, she feels it.
It’s the knowledge that it was almost Yuta’s brains splattered over the parquet floor that has her moving closer still, looking into his eyes and being caught by the simple fact that she’s still alive right now to see the dark irises, feathered lashes; that confused, endeared look that manifests itself in the slight curve of his lips when she doesn’t back away.
It’s also the alcohol, and the hazy curtain it drapes over everything, that has her taking Yuta’s face between her hands - and when he doesn’t pull away, pressing her lips against his before she can decide it’s actually a terrible idea.
Yuta sinks into her, and just like that the line between them is crossed and Maki doesn’t hold herself back anymore.
She teases Yuta’s lips open with her tongue, presses further, a little rough in the initial intensity, and his free hand moves to hover at her neck at the same time that Maki’s fingers tightly card through his hair and hold him in place.
When they pull apart Yuta’s panting for breath, and she probably is as well but she doesn’t pay attention to that, and her eyes flicker over his face for some indication that this was what he wanted, too.
“Maki…” Yuta begins in a shallow breath, but he doesn’t finish the sentence, eyes wide with something like surprise, something like relief. His eyelids flutter to half-mast and he swallows noticeably, Adam’s apple bobbing as he leans back towards her. Maki’s grinning when she meets him halfway.
She pulls away prematurely this time, eliciting a small noise of protest from Yuta, but before he has the chance to collect himself she yanks the whiskey glass from his hand, grabs his shirt collar with her other and steers him backwards. When his feet hit the base of the couch he falls back and Maki climbs over so she’s straddling him, discarding the empty glass onto the floor.
She presses a hand against his chest, keeping him in place, feels his breaths come short and hard under her fingers. Yuta’s looking up at her with a reverent look she can’t meet as she takes her glasses off and drops them on the floor as well; she pointedly stares at the buttons of his shirt instead as she picks them undone. A simplified version of the Zen’in family crest is tattooed on his left pectoral, right above the heart – a brand that all the new recruits have to get, and a simple message – you belong to the Zen’in now.
Yuta’s silver necklace drapes across his neck, that same ring from before jumping along the chain and falling back onto the couch. A familiar feeling of unease bubbles up in Maki’s stomach; she ignores it and leans down to kiss him again, harder than before.
Yuta groans against her mouth as her hands snake under his half open shirt and round to his shoulder blades, pressing him up against her. He smells like Maki’s shower gel, a sweet peppery perfume; tastes like whiskey.
Her lips leave his and trail over a sharp jawline, alternating hard and feathery kisses down his neck; at her unspoken suggestion his head leans back into the couch cushions, his hard breaths mixed with stuttered gasps as she works her way down to his collarbone.
Yuta’s soft and malleable beneath her, everything she wants and her head’s a daze, still pounding hard from what she thinks is the alcohol, mainly, probably a bit of everything. Letting out a hard breath, she stills at the base of his throat, and runs her fingers roughly through his hair when she brings her head up to kiss him again.
Across the room, the phone rings.
They break apart instantaneously, and for an agonising fraction of a second reality comes back to punch her in the face with the sound of the annoying trilling.
“Ignore it,” Maki mutters, and turns back to Yuta.
He’s still looking at the phone with an uncertain expression though, deep pink flush over his face. “Are you sure you should…”
Maki sighs. “Fuck! Fine.” She pushes herself off the couch, stomps over to the phone where it’s sat on an antique table by the wall.
She rips the receiver from its position and growls into it, “What?”
“Maki, it’s me,” Megumi’s smooth voice crackles into her ear.
“Megumi, this better be fucking important,” Maki mutters stormily, resting her other hand on the cool wood of the table and staring holes in the wall in front of her. She pointedly doesn’t look back at Yuta, feeling the heat in her own cheeks and the electric buzz running through her whole body.
“It is,” Megumi replies, his tone serious. “You should get down to the house as soon as possible.”
“Why, what’s wrong?”
“One of Naoya’s clubs was attacked by gunmen earlier. There was an attempt on his life,” Megumi says, and Maki’s blood runs cold. Not from the thought of Naoya being attacked, god no, but immediately her mind turns to the gala that already feels like days ago and the man she shot dead. Those guys were going for Kamo, then. No way that’s a coincidence.
Megumi continues when she doesn’t say anything, “he’s fine, by the way.”
“Shame,” Maki mutters to herself. “Alright, I’ll be there. Send a car for me, would you, I can’t drive right now.”
“Inumaki’s already on the way. See you soon, Maki,” Megumi says, and Maki replaces the receiver with a click.
“Fucking hell,” she murmurs, runs a hand through her hair, already regretting that second whiskey.
“What’s Fushiguro want?” Yuta asks from across the room.
“Some guys tried to kill fucking Naoya,” she says as she turns. Yuta’s sat up now, leaning forward on the couch. His shirt’s still open down to the last couple of buttons, damp hair a mess, and for a second irritation rises through her and she hates how good he looks wearing that ring.
“That’s…” Yuta begins as he meets her eyes, and she knows they’re thinking the same.
“Yeah. Exactly. Shit, I gotta get changed,” Maki mutters, looking down at the dress she’s still got on.
She strides through to her bedroom, tears the thing off and throws on the nearest suit she can grab, swiping a spare pair of glasses off the side table as she leaves.
When she returns to the main room, Yuta jumps to his feet. “Want me to come with you?” he asks.
“No,” she says without looking at him. God, what a mess. “It’ll be family only. Stay the night here if you like, there’s a spare room next to the bathroom. Or… call a cab or something, I don’t mind.”
The phone rings once then stops, and Maki swears under her breath. “That’ll be Inumaki.”
Yuta reaches out suddenly to grab one of her hands in his, and Maki’s struck by the boldness of the gesture. Then she looks up into his eyes and remembers five minutes ago, and her head’s spinning again.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” she says. If you want to wait. “We still need to debrief Megumi and Inumaki on the gala, after all.”
“Alright,” Yuta murmurs, looking down at their interlocked fingers. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
Maki reaches up her other hand to his face and kisses him, and it’s sweet and the air seems to still around them, heavy with unspoken intentions.
“Yeah,” is all Maki can say.
With a reluctant look, Yuta drops her hand, and Maki turns to grab her coat from the peg by the entranceway. She opens the door to meet the cold hallway, resists the urge to look back as she leaves.