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the “somewhere to bounce off to” you’d chirped to gentaro as a farewell, is, in reality, yokohama, where a particularly ticked off presence lies in wait, and you can feel his eyes on you as you stumble through the city, even though it takes a few minutes to actually reach his place. the drinks haven’t completely worn off yet, but you definitely aren’t wasted enough for any bullshit with samatoki-the “bullshit,” usually, leaves you sprawled out on his crappy old mattress.
something in the back of your mind tries to tell you that maybe dropping by a perpetually pissed yakuza’s place unannounced for the first time in years with zero warning isn’t the greatest idea you’ve ever had, but you push it away. that’s for five-minutes-in-the-future ramuda to worry about, after all.
five-minutes-in-the-future ramuda, however, never exists, because you find samatoki stalking around by the pier, hands jammed in his pockets and cig dangling from his mouth. if you squint a little, he sort of looks like a dog, teeth bared and guard up as he catches you in his gaze, pink eyes burning through you.
gentaro’s fun to mess with, sure, but samatoki is the real thrill-one of the only people who can match your fire. if he can’t keep up with you, then why are you bothering? you don’t give half a damn about gentaro and his stupid pretty face and his apparent fucking around with dice.
(no fucks given, you tell yourself, even as your legs ache from wrapping them around gentaro’s waist and your lips feel cold without his ethereal presence. zero, zip, nada.)
“th’ hell you all the way out here for?” samatoki finally barks, (he’s “hama’s mad dog” for a reason, you think with a grin,) arms crossed and gaze calculating.
“i was bored, duh? i tried spending the night with gen-chan, but he’s soooo boring~! plus, he got all touchy-feely with me, and we can’t have that! i’d hate to break his frail lil’ heart with an unrequited love, hmhm ♡” you ramble, grabbing his arms and staring up in what you hope looks like childlike ignorance. he rips his arms out of your grasp-predictable. samatoki was never much for casual affection, not like-
well. that’s not relevant right now.
“unrequited, huh.” he says it like a finality, more a statement than a question. a brief wave of anger (or fear? whatever,) washes over you, but you put your sugary facade up in its place, the switch as natural as breathing. “i assume you’re coming back to my place?” samatoki groans, tone questioning despite both of you already knowing the answer.
“lead the way, samatoki-sama~” you reply, tone still its usual pitch but just a little bit sultry-what’s a little flirting gonna do? make you catch feelings?
(famous last words is a concept foreign to you, evidently.)
-
you can’t remember the last time you smoked.
samatoki was the only member of TDD who you ever smoked around in the first place; ichiro was only seventeen and you always felt weird smoking around a kid, and then…there was jakurai. always so concerned for your health, so caring for his teammates…such a piece of goddamn shit disguised as a god.
thinking on it, samatoki in general is the teammate you were yourself around the most; not upbeat, childish, charismatic easy R, but amemura ramuda, a much more subdued man. you played nice around ichiro, played the funnyman to jakurai’s straight man.
heh. straight man. yeah, right.
samatoki is on his second cig now, drawing it out of his pocket with an uncharacteristic flourish that he probably thinks you wouldn’t pick up on. someone’s pressed.
“why dontcha tell ramu-chan what’s on your mind, samatoki-sama? hmm?” samatoki is no fun when he’s all twitchy and pent up like this, so you’re taking this into your own hands. you came here to take your mind off of gentaro, and this should help.
(you hope.)
“dunno. nothing you’d care about.” the yakuza claims, which you figure is fair. back in your TDD days, it was never about emotions; at least not for you two. jakurai may have been a different story. you don’t know and quite frankly you don’t care-that old man can care about whatever he wants. it makes no difference to you.
“yeah. alright.” you mutter. being alone with samatoki…it’s easier than anything in this shitty old world. with him, there’s heavy touches, a few whispers in each other’s ear; your breath against his industrial piercing, his pretty words against your pale, artificial skin. it’s never been the same with two rather than three, but you’re okay with that. jakurai doesn’t matter; you don’t matter to him either, evidently.
his voice plays in your head. “i expected this from amemura, perhaps, but you at least seemed a bit reasonable.” fuck him for thinking you’re predictable. you’re fucking amemura ramuda, damnit, get it together. jakurai’s opinion on you shouldn’t matter for shit.
“why? you got shit on your mind?” samatoki asks, startling you. since when does he care? “can’t promise i’ll be the best listener, but. y’know.”
“nope! no thoughts, head empty, hehe~” you chirp, eyes bright and voice pitched up back to normal. if only he knew just how much of a lie that is.
“that was just a lie~” plays in the back of your mind, quiet and intimate and so close. gentaro’s rubbing off on you. never mind the fact that his voice is so beautiful like that, volume at a whisper and tone even.
“drop the fuckin’ cutesy shit. you know this-“ - samatoki gestures vaguely-“is much more tolerable when you’re just your normal self.”
something inside you aches at that; samatoki wants the real you, not the facade. not the sugar, but the bittersweet. even if it’s just for…intimate purposes…your heart clenches.
distantly, you wonder if (hope that) gentaro and dice would like that side of you; the side who loves so fully and has a normal voice and drops the stupid nicknames.
no. fling posse is just that, a fling. a means to an end. props. pawns. and yet. and yet.
“sounds to me like you’re a lil’ bit in love.” samatoki states bluntly, indicating that you had accidentally said that out loud. that’s fine. you can save yourself. smile plastered on, check; eyes wide and innocent, check-
you stop and sigh. right. the real ramuda. “‘m not. i can’t love them.”
“sure you can. lovin’ ain’t tough-learned that the hard way.” he barks out with a laugh, taking a newly lit cigarette and pressing it to the one dangling idly from your lips. classic samatoki. “plus, ‘s not like it’s some forbidden affair-you guys are always around each other, and so touchy-feely. people assume things.”
“‘affair?’ you’re so pretentious, samatoki-sama. it’s just a lil’ crush. nothing i haven’t had to get over before.” you fire back. you recall TDD-the lingering brushes of fingertips when you passed a single cig back and forth, the rare genuine smile he seemed to save just for you, and one other person.
the other person-
“felt that.” is his simple response, and then you’re both quiet. good. being a human tornado is exhausting; sometimes you just need the sounds of the night to clear your head.
“fling posse won’t be around long. just until i get what i need.” you feel the need to clarify, while also being as vague as you can.
a raised eyebrow. “right. temporary. we’ll see how that works out when you realize you fucking care about them. ”
there it was. he’d said it so bluntly-you’ve both been skirting around it the whole night, but here it is. he thinks you care about fling posse.
the question is; do you? and, if you do…you don’t even want to unpack what that might mean. for you, for your future, for them. after all, to be loved by amemura ramuda is a curse.
“hey, samatoki? this is usually a lot more enjoyable when you just shut up and kiss me.” is what you reply instead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to your rotten, no-longer-sweet core. he chuckles, putting out his cigarette and fulfilling your request for a few seconds before pulling away.
“glad i can be the perfect distraction,” he says, sounding almost forlorn. damnit, he makes it hard for you to focus on one emotional crisis at a time.
“yeah. it’s appreciated.”