Archive of Our Own

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu’s hands were sweating.

His breath was steady, expression even, clothes neat and ironed, posture relaxed but still professional. He’d schooled his face into a look of respect, one that (hopefully) still highlighted just how dangerous he could be.

But his hands were sweating.

He felt nervousness prickle at the back of his skull (which, naturally, only made his hands sweatier). It was stupid. It wasn’t as though he’d never been summoned by the head of the clan before - hell, he’d been getting attention nearly all his life, for fairly obvious reasons - but it was different, damnit. He was seventeen years old. He had a reputation to uphold.

Besides, this was something big. He’d heard higher-ups whispering about whatever he was here for in the halls. They sounded angry. Whether it was for him or at him remained unclear.

Carefully, praying that he didn’t wrinkle them, he wiped his hands dry on his pants and placed his hand on the doorknob. Stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, Fuyuhiko let himself release a breath, slow and steady, for a count of one-and-two.

“You wanted to see me?”

The head of the Kuzuryu Clan regards him with icy green eyes, measuring every inch of him, before he sits up and places his chin on top of his interlaced hands. “Have you been eating alright? You look like you’re getting thinner.”

Fuyuhiko groaned. “You always say that. Again, no, I’m eating just fine.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed. “If anything isn’t to your liking-“

“Dad,” Fuyuhiko whined. “I’m not a little kid!”

“You know, if your mother hears about this-“

“I’m eating!” Fuyuhiko protested. He was, it wasn’t his fault that he was scrawny.

“Alright, alright!” His father held up his hands in surrender. “I’m very sorry for being a concerned parent, Fuyuhiko. Please, find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Fuyuhiko sighed, trying to regain the composure he’d focused so hard on. “It’s- it’s fine. I’m sorry.” A moment of pause, and, then, “you didn’t just invite me here to question my eating habits, did you?”

“Not in the slightest,” his father said. “I have… I have something of a task for you. One that I can’t entrust to anyone else.”

Fuyuhiko’s pulse quickened. “What is it?”

His father eyed the door. “This is top-secret information, Fuyuhiko. You must swear on your life to share it with no one. I’m trusting you here, perhaps more than I ever have.”

Fuyuhiko wasn’t a child anymore, but that statement - however obviously baiting it was - still made his heart soar. His dad trusted him. The head of his clan trusted him! “Of course! I won’t tell anyone!”

“Even Miss Pekoyama?” his father asked wryly.

Fuyuhiko tightened his lips. Peko was his best friend, he hadn’t kept anything from her in… god, in years, but… “Not even her. I swear.”

His father nodded, and he removed a folder from a desk drawer. “A little under a month ago, three of our members were killed. Since then, there have been six more attacks and eight more deaths. All one-hundred-percent fatal. All traced back to one person.” He slid the file over to Fuyuhiko.

Fuyuhiko stared at it, heart pounding with horror. “How- why didn’t I know until now?”

“Frankly, we didn’t want to cause an uproar.” He glanced at the file, still closed in front of the younger Kuzuryu. “And, then, once we realized how dangerous the attacker was, we didn’t want to waste good men. But those in power - from business leaders to politicians to myself - are growing concerned, and we’re quickly realizing that our clan isn’t the only victim.”

Finally, Fuyuhiko opened the file—and caught his breath.

The first thing he noticed was that he was looking at the photo of a kid. A guy his age (which, okay, not a kid, not when it was him, but hardly prolific-dangerous-killer-age), with long, dark hair stretching down his face, spilling over his shoulders and out of frame. His eyes, a brilliant red, seemed to be staring down the camera like he was analyzing the best way to take it apart. His expression was neutral, but… tight, somehow. Like he was waiting for something.

He looked like a predator.

“This,” his father continued, “is the boy known as Izuru Kamukura. As we understand it, he is the result of human experiments performed by an underground organization searching for perfection in humanity. He is singularly talented in nearly every field, from hand to hand combat to gardening.” At Fuyuhiko’s snort, his father raised his eyebrow. “He is no laughing matter, son. If you are not careful, Kamukura will end your life before you even have a chance at him.”

Fuyuhiko’s laughter died in his throat. “Sorry. A chance at him? You’re saying this guy’s the best at everything, and- what, you want me to assassinate him?”

In lieu of a response, his father pulled the file away to look at it. “There was a mistake. Izuru Kamukura escaped the facility he was being held at, and has since been wreaking havoc on the country. We fear things could go from catastrophic to apocalyptic if we aren’t careful.” He gripped Fuyuhiko’s hand, and Fuyuhiko hoped fervently that it wasn’t still sweating. “I have to count on you, Fuyuhiko. I can trust no one else.”

…

Fuyuhiko stalked back to his bed and laid down, wondering which childhood infringement had first made his father want to execute him.

It didn’t make sense. If Kamukura really was the most talented person on the planet, then why wasn’t someone equally talented being chosen to go after him? Peko would be the obvious choice. Kamukura might’ve been a strong swordsman, but Fuyuhiko would bet his life savings on Peko, any day. Meanwhile, he himself was… fine? He could fight okay, and had access to a wide variety of weaponry (including firearms, which he could hope Izuru didn’t have), but he was no expert. In a couple months, he’d be going back to high school. He wasn’t a killer.

“Young Master, is something troubling you?” Peko’s voice came from across the room, where she’d set up her bed. They’d slept in the same room ever since they were kids (for protection, and definitely not so they could stay up till three talking).

“I-“ Fuyuhiko hesitated. “Nah. It’s nothing, just- kinda out of it, I guess.”

He felt bad for it, but Fuyuhiko had never been so grateful for the fact that Peko had been forbidden to press him. He could tell that she knew something was up, but she just nodded and laid back down. “Let me know if you need my assistance, then.”

“Will do.” I need your help now. He didn’t say it, but it was true. Peko would know what to do. Peko would be able to help him.

God damnit, Fuyuhiko was scared. This guy was scary. He saw the way he looked into that camera, like a practiced hunter sizing up a kill. If that gaze was fixed on him, would he be able to withstand it?

…

Despite all the secrets and mystery surrounding Izuru Kamukura, it wasn’t hard for Fuyuhiko to find him. He might not have invented fighting, but he knew how to get information. He had connections. It was all pretty simple to learn where the guy was holing up (for a superhuman, he wasn’t very good at covering his tracks). Fuyuhiko staked out the apartment, found a spot on the roof of the adjacent building, readied a rifle, and waited.

He wanted to avoid an actual fight. In an ideal world, he’d just shoot Kamukura in the head on his way in, and he’d never even get a good look at his face. Fuyuhiko didn’t always have good luck, though, so he’d prepped a few knives in his coat, too.

Kamukura must have left early, because the day eked on and he didn’t emerge. At first, Fuyuhiko thought he might’ve been staying in - which was worrying, because it could indicate that the young yakuza had been discovered - but that quickly became impossible, because, unless the guy was sitting stock-still in a corner, Fuyuhiko would have been able to detect some movement. Instead, the apartment was still. Silent. Empty.

So Fuyuhiko waited. For hours, sitting on the roof, watching and waiting and holding his breath. At first, he was too nervous to move, but eventually he realized that staying in the same position like that was gonna break his joints, so he sat down.

After the first few hours, nerves began to set in. What if he wasn’t a good enough shot? What if he missed, and Kamukura looked at where the bullet had been fired, and saw him, and… what? Would he scale the wall? Go into his own building, get to the roof, and kill him from there? Maybe he’d leave Fuyuhiko alive, bloody and bruised and mangled to limp back and give a message to his family before finally succumbing to his injuries.

Then, other things occurred to him. Fuyuhiko had assumed that Kamukura lived alone, but even if he did, there was no guarantee that he’d come home alone. What if he brought someone home? Or, even, what if there were eyewitnesses and he couldn’t get the shot in without being seen? Hopefully, from his hiding spot, he’d be able to slip away, but there was no guarantee. Anxiety pooled in the pit of his stomach, making him feel cold and clammy and nervous. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this.

His heart dropped into his stomach. Below him, fishing for the keys at the door, was a boy with long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Fuyuhiko couldn’t see his face, but he knew. Even without the visual similarity, deep in his chest, he knew it was him.

Fuyuhiko fumbled for his gun.

And Izuru Kamukura turned to look.

Fuyuhiko froze, heart pounding. It was impossible, but he imagined he could see the red of the other boy’s eyes. He swore that they were staring at each other, for just a moment.

Then Kamukura raised a single hand, and, somewhat awkwardly, waved.

Fuyuhiko nearly shit his pants.

He didn’t even wait to watch the guy find his keys. Fuyuhiko was up, running for the stairs and-

“Hey, wait a minute!”

Fuyuhiko stopped in his tracks. Like a fucking idiot.

“I, uh- you just dropped your gun.”

He shouldn’t turn around. Why was he turning around?

Kamukura was standing on the roof of the other building, pointing at the fallen weapon. “Can I ask why you were holding a firearm on the roof of this building, or…?”

Fuyuhiko ran for the gun, scooping it up and leveling it at Kamukura’s head.

Kamukura, for his part, didn’t look fazed. “Oh. That’s… sorry about that, I kinda hoped it wasn’t related to me.” He took a step back. “Look, I am so sure that you’ve got a really, really good reason for attacking me, and I really hate to be a buzzkill, but… I mean, I am going to leave, if it’s all the same to you.”

“You can try,” Fuyuhiko growled. “I’m not going to let you get a hit in.” Empty threat, but he was reasonably proud of how he sold it.

Kamukura blinked. “Oh, god, no. I’m not- I meant literally leave, I’m going to walk downstairs and go heat up some leftovers. I’m not going to kill you, that’s stupid.”

“Why not?” Fuyuhiko asked, vaguely insulted. “Am I not enough of a challenge?”

“No, I’d just rather not murder a teenage boy over absolutely nothing.” He eyed him. “Feel free to stop by again, okay? You know where to find me.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked back to the stairwell.

Enraged, Fuyuhiko tightened his grip on the gun. “I know where you live now! There’s nothing to keep me from killing you!”

Kamukura stopped, letting out a half-chuckle. “Yeah. But you won’t be able to.” He opened the door to the stairs. “Trust me.”

And he was gone.

Fuyuhiko glared at the spot he’d been standing, and then sat down and waited. Izuru Kamukura wanted to be a stubborn brat? He had no idea who he was up against.

…

“Still here, huh?”

“Yup.” Fuyuhiko didn’t open his eyes. His back ached against the hard stone floor. This had been truly irrational - he could’ve been killed at any point, or even caught by the landlord and kicked out - but it was worth it to hear the note of aggravation in Kamukura’s voice.

“Planning on going home anytime soon, or…?”

“Nope.”

For a long while, there was silence. Fuyuhiko felt a flush of victory, certain that the guy had finally gone to grab a knife and quit playing nice (and then immediately panicked over the fact that the guy might have finally gone to grab a knife and quit playing nice), when he heard the thump of something large and soft beside him.

“Here. It’s not actually much better for your back on the floor, and… I mean, if you’re planning to stay till you kill me, it’s gonna be a while.” Fuyuhiko cracked an eye open to see a large mattress. He looked up at Kamukura, incredulous.

What he should have asked: why are you doing this? Why are you pretending to be human? Why don’t you seem anything like what I was told you’d be?

What came out: “Did you have two mattresses in your house?”

Kamukura snorted, like he hadn’t expected the question. “Uh, yeah. Hadn’t gotten around to throwing the old one out yet. Any other questions?”

“How did you get up here so fast?” Fuyuhiko asked, sitting up. “Yesterday.”

“I’m fast,” Kamukura said, laughing awkwardly. “I- sorry, I’m not really sure why you’re here?”

Fuyuhiko reached for his gun, and was relieved to find it beside him. “The name Kuzuryu ring a bell?”

Kamukura frowned, contemplating. “I’ve, uh- I’ve kinda been out of it? For a little while? You guys are a yakuza family, right?” Just like that, his expression cleared. “Oh. Oh, yeah, I- I remember.” He held up his hands, as though to surrender. “Look, I’m really, really sorry about that. I was… god, it’s a lot to explain, but I wasn’t me, okay?”

“I know who you are,” Fuyuhiko said coldly, standing up and pointing the weapon at the other boy’s head once more. “You’re Izuru Kamukura.” The name echoed through the city’s morning air.

Kamukura winced. “Actually, not- not really? It depends on your definition of- of name, I guess. Legally, it’s not- I mean, I guess I haven’t checked, but I can assume-“ As he spoke, Fuyuhiko could see him getting increasingly nervous. What was happening? For such an accomplished killer, this guy… really just seemed like a kid. The face was totally different. There was no mistaking that it was the same person, but, at the same time, they could’ve been strangers.

“My point,” Kamukura said, extending a hand, “is that I much prefer Hajime.”

Fuyuhiko didn’t take his hand. The gun stayed up.

Haj- Kamukura sighed, putting his hand down. “Look. We both know you can’t shoot me, alright? You’re g-“

Before he could finish, Fuyuhiko fired.

And Kamukura ducked. It was like the bullet had been fired in slow motion. He’d just turned away from it. Like it was nothing.

Kamukura stood up with a self-satisfied half-chuckle, straightening his hair. “You’re gonna miss,” he finished.

“What are you?” Fuyuhiko whispered.

Kamukura’s smile slipped. “A monster, probably,” he said. “But I got out, and I- I think I’m me, again? I don’t feel… a lot happened to me, and I wasn’t myself, and I- yeah, I did some awful things, but I’m okay now. I just want to live my life, best I can.” He held up his hands again. “Can you put the gun down, please? I’m unarmed, it feels unfair.”

“You could kill me without a weapon,” Fuyuhiko countered.

Kamukura tilted his head in acknowledgement. “True. But I won’t.” He began rifling through his pockets (only stopping to duck as Fuyuhiko, panicking, fired another shot). “Don’t empty your gun, bullets aren’t free. Just- here.” He held up a credit card, and, deliberately, flicked it across the gap between the buildings to land at Fuyuhiko’s feet. “Use this to pay for any funeral stuff. It’s… it’s not the apology you deserve, I know, but I can’t do much better.”

Fuyuhiko didn’t look away from the other boy’s eyes. “You can die, you fucking bastard.”

Kamukura smiled ruefully. “God, I wish. Unfortunately for both of us, there’s more I’ve gotta do. Maybe check in on me in a month or two?” He offered a more genuine grin. “I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you again.”

Fuyuhiko felt himself flush, bewildered. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry!” Kamukura covered his face. “Bad joke. But, uh- if you want me to explain everything, we can… grab lunch, or something. Public place, nice and un-murdery, cross my heart.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the smartest guy on the planet?” Fuyuhiko challenged. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Kamukura sighed. “Expected as much. Then, can you leave me alone? I swear, your gang won’t be hurt by me. Ever again. Nor will anyone, if I have anything to say about it.”

“I,” Fuyuhiko growled, “don’t believe you.” Mostly, this was true. Mostly, he was too confused to know what to believe. Kamukura had been described to him as a dangerous, powerful, inhuman killing machine. He’d feared for his life. Instead, he’d been greeted by a tired teenager and a mattress.

“Alright, fine.” Kamukura stepped back. “Can you get off my neighbor’s roof, at least? Come back and try to kill me tomorrow. I don’t want your parents worried that I murdered you, or whatever.”

Fuyuhiko opened his mouth to argue, but… shamefully, Kamukura was right. His parents would worry, and, if they told Peko, she’d probably lose her mind. He trusted her to find him, of course, and to be alright doing it - lord knows she would be better equipped for all of this than he was - but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she shouldn’t have to worry at all.

And, of course, the point was that he wanted to take down this guy himself.

“Fine,” he spat. “But I’ll be back.”

“I figured,” Kamukura said. “I mean, I meant that I’d be glad to see you again, despite the… whole gun-to-my-head thing.”

“I’m gonna bring more next time,” Fuyuhiko promised. “I’m gonna keep trying until I find a way to take you down.”

“You’re wasting your time, dude,” Kamukura said. “At this point, were it not for the passage of time, I think I’d be immortal.”

As he stepped back into the stairwell and out of sight, Fuyuhiko wondered why he was letting him leave.

…

“I’m telling you, dad, it’s like you’ve got the completely wrong guy,” Fuyuhiko said. “I mean, he’s not a sweetheart, or anything, but he’s… I mean, he’s normal. If I hadn’t seen him dodge a bullet, I’d have thought he was totally average.”

“He’s baiting you,” his father said simply. “Hoping that you’ll let your guard down.”

“I know that,” Fuyuhiko said, a little defensive. “It just- it doesn’t make sense, right? He doesn’t need to bait me. He could’ve killed me yesterday, or last night, or this morning… he could’ve, but he didn’t. I don’t get it.”

“He’s a monster, Fuyuhiko. Do you think him above of playing with his food?”

“He’s not-“ Fuyuhiko frowned, frustrated. “He’s not playing with me, he just-“

“He knows you’ll come back. There’s no risk in taking his time.” Fuyuhiko’s father leaned in, deadly serious. “Do not take this lightly, Fuyuhiko. He’s incredibly dangerous.”

“Then why would he-“

“Fuyuhiko!” His father cut him off. “You’re letting emotions get the better of you.”

Fuyuhiko turned pink. “I am not- how does that- I’m not attached to the guy or anything!”

“Maybe not, but your judgement is still clouded.” His larger hand gripped Fuyuhiko’s, squeezing. “For your sake: the next time you meet, do not speak. Do not let him get a word in. Kill him without question.”

…

“So,” Kamukura said, voice tinged with faint amusement, “you’ve gone from breaking into other people’s roofs to breaking into my apartment.”

“I,” Fuyuhiko huffed, pulling out a long knife, “was already a criminal. This is nothing.”

“Whatever you say, bud.” Kamukura closed the door behind him, ducking to avoid the heavy bowling ball tripped to fall on his head the minute the door closed. He turned to Fuyuhiko, eyes filled with adoration. “Did you set traps in my house?”

Fuyuhiko felt his cheeks warm. “Like I’d tell you.”

Experimentally, Kamukura took a step forward, hitting a tripwire and catching an arrow inches from his face. He raised both eyebrows. “Wow. Dramatic.”

“It was… supposed to hit,” Fuyuhiko grumbled. “I just figured that you wouldn’t be able to dodge if you didn’t know it was coming.”

“No!” Kamukura stepped back, holding his hands up. “It’s- it’s a good strategy! Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, insult you. You’re making a good effort!”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Only a little,” Kamukura insisted. “I’m sure you’d be able to kill pretty much anybody else with this kind of stuff.”

Fuyuhiko gave a half-smile. “Not anyone. I think I know one person who’d give you a run for your money.”

Kamukura stepped over the tripwire to stand closer to Fuyuhiko. “Really? Who?”

“My friend,” Fuyuhiko said, suddenly realizing that he shouldn’t give any more detail. He wasn’t going to reveal Peko’s existence to someone like him. No matter how charming the guy was - or, rather, awkward and overly polite - he was still a killer. And Peko was still the most important person in his life.

Kamukura seemed to get all that, somehow, because he nodded and didn’t press. “So… you’ve come back to kill me. Obviously, that’s not gonna work, so, uh- do you want something to eat? Or would you rather just leave, come back tomorrow, et cetera?”

Fuyuhiko nearly screamed in frustration, and swung a punch at Kamukura. Surprisingly, it connected. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t flinch.

“Did that make you feel better?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Fuyuhiko said, voice dry. “It’d make me feel a hell of a lot better if you let me hit with something a little sharper next time.”

“Yeah, well…” Kamukura laughed. “C’mon. Come back tomorrow? I’m kind of tired.”

“You’re expecting me to leave because you’re tired?” Fuyuhiko demanded. “I’m trying to kill you! Any disadvantage is a fuckin’ bonus, far as I’m concerned.”

“Okay,” Kamukura said. “Kill me, then.”

Fuyuhiko blinked. “Sorry?”

“You do a lot of talking, but, way I see it, you’re not putting in much effort.” Kamukura eyed him. “You set up a couple traps, but… I mean, you haven’t even tried stabbing me. Maybe I can’t dodge that.”

Fuyuhiko slashed at him with the knife. He moved backwards faster than Fuyuhiko could register.

“Huh,” Kamukura said. “Guess not.”

“Shut up,” Fuyuhiko snarled (well, meant to snarl. It sounded more like a whine). “I’m not here to play games.”

“Right. That’s why you Home Alone-d my apartment.” Kamukura moved past him and laid down on the bed. “Okay. I’m not stopping you from staying. Just don’t try to stab me, alright? You can’t hit, and I’d like to get some sleep.” Wordlessly, he flicked a small bomb out the window, where it exploded in the air and shook the apartment walls. “That one could’ve hurt somebody other than myself. Be more careful.”

Fuyuhiko nearly punched him again.

…

It went on like that for nearly a week. Fuyuhiko could always find Kamukura pretty easily - in his apartment, grocery shopping, taking a trip to the park - but, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hurt him. He avoided every trap. He dodged every weapon. He was unbeatable.

Worse still, he was just so fucking nice about it. He’d sometimes ask Fuyuhiko to go away if he was busy or in public or just not in the mood, but, usually, he treated the meetings like they were just two friends, hanging out and talking.

“So, got any favorite kinds of music?”

(Frustrated grunt, sound of gunshot, second frustrated grunt.)

“I’ve been getting into a lot of foreign music lately. Perk of speaking every language, y’know.”

(Sound of knife hitting the wall)

“You seem like you’d be into some really niche stuff. Got any recommendations?”

It was just stupid. It was stupid that Kamukura was friendly, and kind of funny, and seemed to genuinely like Fuyuhiko. It was stupid that he couldn’t just kill the guy and be done with it.

One particularly long afternoon, during which Fuyuhiko had used Kamukura as throwing knife target practice and (shocker) failed miserably, he just lost it.

“Fuck you!” He shouted. “Why don’t you just fucking kill me and get it over with?”

“Kill you?” Kamukura asked. “Dude, why would I want to kill you? You’re basically my only friend at this rate.”

“I’m not your friend, idiot, I’m- we’re enemies! I hate you!” Fuyuhiko hated how much it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. But it was true. This boy had killed people in his gang. His people. There could be no sympathy.

“God, you really want me dead, huh?” Kamukura sounded vaguely bemused. It made Fuyuhiko want to put his fist through a wall.

“Yes, obviously!”

“Sorry,” Kamukura said. He didn’t sound particularly apologetic.

“It’s…” what? It’s fine? No, it wasn’t. “Look, if you aren’t gonna let me kill you, will you answer some of my questions?”

“I have been answering all of your questions,” Kamukura argued.

“Alright, fine, then. I’ll start asking more.” Fuyuhiko smoothed his hair. “Why did you kill those people?”

All at once, the energy faded from Kamukura’s posture. “Oh.” He sat. “That’s… kind of a big question.”

“Humor me,” Fuyuhiko said coldly. “Why?”

Kamukura stared at the floor. “I, uh- when I escaped from- actually, how much backstory do you need?”

“I know you were… some kind of experiment?” Fuyuhiko thought back. “You were, like, injected with talent, or whatever. You escaped, and went on a murder spree.”

Kamukura nodded. “I was a part of a volunteer-based program with the Hope’s Peak Research Institute. You’re- you’re right, they were researching talent, and I was… sort of their final project, I guess? But- but to make the ‘perfect’ specimen of talent, they… sort of tried to make sure shit like humanity didn’t get in the way.” Kamukura stood up. “Izuru Kamukura was cold, and calculating, and entirely devoid of compassion and care. They tried to make me literally incapable of having a personality.” He snorted (clearly forced). “Didn’t work. I regained control, eventually. But in the meantime… I can’t justify my actions. But I can tell you that they weren’t- I wasn’t me.” With a start, Fuyuhiko realized that Kamukura looked shaky, and pale, and tiny, somehow, despite being significantly taller than Fuyuhiko. “I think I killed them because they got in my way. Or maybe I just wanted to do something, anything to be less bored and empty and sick. It was… it was horrible. It was horrible, and inexcusable, and I’m sorry.” He said it like a mantra. In the back of his head, Fuyuhiko wondered how long it had taken him to remind himself how to feel horror.

“Kamukura-“

“Hajime,” he interrupted, voice tight.

Fuyuhiko hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want to humanize the guy further, and he really didn’t want his dad to be right and for his judgement to actually be ‘clouded by emotion’ or whatever, but… “Hajime, maybe you could come back and explain this? If my dad doesn’t think you’re a threat, he’ll probably leave you alone.”

Hajime (damnit, it was sticking) shook his head vehemently. “I can’t risk it. If Hope’s Peak figures out where I am, they might take me back, and… y’know.”

“Turn you into that again,” Fuyuhiko finished. “Shit, dude.”

“Yeah,” Hajime agreed. “Uh. So, now you know. And you know I’m not doing it again. So… can you stop trying to kill me?”

Fuyuhiko considered. Hajime could be lying. He could be making it all up to get Fuyuhiko’s guard down, and… what? There was no point in pretending. If Hajime wanted to kill him, or kill more of his clan, or pretty much anything, he could do it. There was nothing stopping him. Plus, Fuyuhiko was a pretty good judge of character, and… shit, this guy wasn’t a monster, no matter what his paperwork said.

“Yeah, alright. Maybe I’ll take a break.” Fuyuhiko eyed Hajime dubiously. “Still, I’ll have to tail you. Just to make sure you don’t get up to anything.”

Hajime’s face split into a half-smile, and Fuyuhiko wondered if he had understood the ’tailing’ part. “Yeah, alright. I can work with that.”

…

“Young Master?” Peko had caught him in the hallway of their shared home, late one evening. He’d come back from a day tracking Hajime - who was still playing the part of the ideal citizen - and nearly jumped out of his skin at her approach.

“Peko! Hi, I- you okay?” Fuyuhiko hoped he didn’t sound too suspicious. It was hard, talking to Peko and not telling her the truth. He knew he could just command her to not ask, but he hated doing that. He’d always promised himself that, the minute he was able to, he was rescuing Peko from this place.

“Yes,” Peko said. “It’s just… not to pry, but might I ask where you’ve been these past weeks?”

Fuyuhiko stiffened. “Uh. Just. Just hanging out. With a friend.”

“A friend?” Peko raised an eyebrow.

“Yup!” Fuyuhiko nodded. “A boy… friend.” There was a brief pause before Fuyuhiko’s words caught up to him. “Like- like a friend who’s a boy, I mean. Not like- not like a boyfriend, that’s-“

“I understood your meaning,” Peko said. “Is there a reason that I have been forbidden from following you?”

“He’s a private person,” Fuyuhiko said. “And, uh… just private time, y’know? It’s- it’s important.”

Peko stared at him, clearly disbelieving. “Surely. I won’t press, Young Master. As long as you are not in danger, your will is my will.”

“Don’t say shit like that,” Fuyuhiko said. “That’s not- that isn’t right.”

“If you wish it,” Peko said evenly. “Get some rest, sir. I will see you tomorrow.”

…

Fuyuhiko crawled in through the window to find Hajime staring at him with a sort of cool, tired expression.

“So, is this just sort of the deal, now, or…?”

Fuyuhiko glared at him. “It’s not like I have keys.”

“It’s polite to knock, Kuzuryu.” Hajime tilted his head. “Huh. I don’t know your first name.”

“Are we really on a f-“

“You know mine,” Hajime pointed out.

“Actually, I don’t know your last name.”

Hajime extended a hand. “Hinata.”

Fuyuhiko blinked, and, then, almost against his will, shook. Hajime Hinata’s hands were warm, and rough, and the feeling of the touch lingered long after they had parted. “Fuyuhiko.”

…

“Dude, did you bake cookies?” Fuyuhiko rolled in through the window like it was his life’s mission, striding across the room and grabbing a freshly-baked cookie off a plate.

“Hello to you, too,” Hajime said, amused.

“It’s called paying your dues, Hinata,” Fuyuhiko said, mouth full of cookie. “I don’t kill you, you give me cookies.”

“You can’t kill me!” Hajime argued.

“I don’t annoy the shit out of you, then.” Fuyuhiko took another bite of cookie.

Hajime snorted. “You’re already failing step one.”

Fuyuhiko felt a warm, happy laughter rise in his throat. “Just wait. I can do worse.”

…

“Hey, can I ask something kind of personal?”

Hajime looked at Fuyuhiko, nervous. “Shoot.”

“Why did you agree to it?”

“What?” Hajime pretended that he didn’t understand the question, but Fuyuhiko didn’t buy it.

“The whole… Izuru Kamukura thing.” Fuyuhiko glanced at Hajime. “Why would you do something like that?”

Hajime shot him a look. “When you say ‘personal question’, you really don’t fuck around, huh.”

“Look, bastard, you don’t have to answer, I just-“

“It was called the Kamukura Project.” Hajime spoke softly, but Fuyuhiko went silent immediately. “And it- it promised an opportunity to be something that I never was.

“I was nobody.” Hajime seemed to look down and notice that his hands were shaking, and forced them to still. “Less than nobody, I was just… average. Not a hero, not a disgrace. Totally average at everything. And I- I know it was stupid, but… I wanted to be good enough so goddamn badly that I would’ve died for it.” Hajime looked up, to make eye contact with Fuyuhiko. “What wouldn’t you do? To have everything, to be someone worth looking at, to… I don’t know, just to get something right. Once.”

“Um…” Fuyuhiko paused. “God, man, that’s a big… nothing, I mean. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do.”

“Yeah.” Hajime pressed his lips together, so tightly that they turned white. “Me, neither.”

“But-“ Fuyuhiko cut himself off, frustrated, trying to pick the right words. “But you- you shouldn’t have had to. You aren’t… you aren’t nobody. That’s stupid.”

“Sorry?” Now Hajime looked confused.

“You’re not… you’re worth more than that, alright?” Fuyuhiko stared at the ground. “You’re a dick, and you’re a killer, and you’re not my friend, but you’re still worth more than that.”

“Oh.” Hajime seemed to be testing the idea against the inside of his cheek. “Huh. Th- thanks. I… thanks.”

Fuyuhiko scoffed. “Don’t say thanks like that, makes me feel like you owe me or some shit. It’s not a favor, it’s just a fucking fact, got it?”

“Got it.” Hajime smiled tentatively. Fuyuhiko got warm all the way to his toes.

“And- and anyway, it’s not like the Kamukura Project did you any favors,” Fuyuhiko said. “The only thing that saved you was reverting back to yourself, right?”

Hajime frowned. “Reverting’s a strong word, I think. I choose to be Hajime, every minute of every day. And I have to try, really, really hard to keep being that person, to keep making that choice. It’s not an easy one to make.” He glanced at Fuyuhiko, and smiled again. “But I think it’s worth it.”

Fuyuhiko lost his breath. “I, uh. I do, too.”

…

“Uh, dare.”

Hajime glanced at him. “You’ve picked dare every single time.”

“So have you!” Fuyuhiko protested.

Hajime rolled his eyes. “I dare you to pick truth next round.”

“Cheating!” When Hajime didn’t back down, Fuyuhiko sighed. “Fine.”

They were sitting in the park. Fuyuhiko had been determined to keep watch on Hajime, but… well, Hajime had been reading quietly, and it had been boring, and, eventually, they’d settled on a game. Fuyuhiko couldn’t deny wanting to know more about Hajime. Unfortunately, as he’d said, both of them had only ever picked dare.

“Truth or dare?”

Hajime winked. “Dare.”

“You suck,” Fuyuhiko grumbled. “Uh, draw me a picture.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “You just wanna find one thing I’m not good at, huh?”

“Maybe.” So far, Fuyuhiko had asked Hajime to speak French until the next round, throw a pitch with a ball they’d found, write a poem, and, on a whim, tell him everything he knew about anthropology. So far, he’d excelled at everything. Fuyuhiko didn’t want to think about the French round (Fuyuhiko had thought himself passable in the language, but he was immediately lost).

“And… done.” Hajime flipped the paper to show a pencil sketch of Fuyuhiko, complete with the beginnings of his trademark suit and a angry, flustered expression.

“I don’t make that face!” Fuyuhiko insisted.

Hajime looked at him, fighting back laughter. “Really, now?”

“I- you- shut up!” Fuyuhiko tried to change his expression. “It’s- it’s good, though. Like… like, really good.”

Hajime glanced at it. “Uh. Yeah, it was sorta programmed into me.”

Fuyuhiko stiffened. “Oh, shit, man, is this a sore subject? Am I- am I, like, making a joke out of your baggage?”

“No! No, it’s fine!” Hajime waved him away. “It’s kind of funny, actually. I don’t mind at all.” He looked at the picture. “I mean, I’d definitely undo it if I could, but… there was a time when this kind of thing was the most important thing in the world to me.” Hajime chuckled, slipping the drawing back into his sketchbook and closing it. “Seems kind of stupid now.”

Fuyuhiko didn’t know what to say. It was… stupid, to feel sorry for a guy that he was supposed to be assassinating, but it couldn’t exactly be helped. “A little, maybe. I think it’s pretty fucking stupid to think you needed that shit, but… I mean, there’s no point wanting to go back and change the past. It happened, and now we’ve just gotta… move forward, and shit.” Fuyuhiko lowered his eyes, hoping he wasn’t noticeably blushing.

Hajime tilted his head to catch his eye. “That was almost inspiring.”

“Alright, then, I take it all back, you bastard!”

Hajime laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Truth or… I mean, truth?”

“Hm, I wonder.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

Fuyuhiko brightened. “Yeah! I’ve got a little sister. She’s fucking fantastic, you’d… well, actually, I don’t know if you’d like her, but- but she’s great. Tough, like me.”

“That’s awesome,” Hajime said. “I’m an only child, but I always sort of wanted a sibling. It got lonely, being the only kid in the house.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Fuyuhiko admitted. “I was never alone.”

“Because of your sister?”

“Well, yeah, sure,” Fuyuhiko said, leaning back against a tree, “but really because of my friend. Bodyguard, technically, but she’s probably my best friend at this point.”

Hajime touched a hand to his chest, as though shot. “I’m hurt.”

“Yeah, that’d be the first time,” Fuyuhiko snarked.

“So, is this bodyguard the person you think could beat me?” Hajime asked.

“That’s her,” Fuyuhiko confirmed. “She’s probably the most talented swordswoman on the planet.”

“I’d like to meet her, someday,” Hajime said. “If she’s important to you, I’m sure she’s great.”

Fuyuhiko’s heart twisted as, all of the sudden, he realized two things.

One: He shouldn’t be introducing his new pet serial killer to his family.

Two: He really, really wanted to.

“Uh. Yeah. Maybe not- I mean, you’re a murderer, and we’ve got it out for your blood, but…”

“Right.” Hajime tucked a piece of his long hair behind his ears, hunching in.

“Truth or dare?” Fuyuhiko realized he might’ve offended Hajime, and offered a chance to change the subject.

Hajime took it gratefully. “Truth.”

“Really?”

“I’m not letting you have any victories over me.” Hajime shot Fuyuhiko a grin. Fuyuhiko pretended it didn’t send his heart to his stomach.

“How long have you had your hair long like that?” he asked.

Hajime’s eyes darkened. “It, uh- it wasn’t really a choice. Just grew out during experiments. I don’t know if they made it grow faster on purpose or not, but no one ever bothered to cut it, so…” he shrugged. “I guess I don’t mind it. Younger me would’ve thrown a fit, though.”

“Why?”

“Oh!” Hajime seemed to shake off some of the darkness, twisting a lock around his finger. “Uh, I’m trans. Little seven-year-old Hajime had actual dreams about cutting all his hair off, so I can only imagine what he’d say if he saw it longer than it ever was as a kid.”

“Hey, me, too!” Fuyuhiko grinned, a tiny voice in the corner of his mind whispering that hey, maybe we shouldn’t be finding solidarity in the guy we’re still technically supposed to be murdering?. “I chopped my hair short as it would go the minute I came out and never looked back.”

“It looks good short,” Hajime said. “And, uh… is it weird to say I’m sort of glad to meet another trans guy? I know the circumstances are weird, but I really haven’t touched the community, like, at all since coming out, so…”

“Nah, that’s not weird!” Fuyuhiko forced his mind off the it looks good remark. “I feel like that’s a pretty universal experience. Going through that kind of thing alone can be rough, man. I was lucky. My best friend and I basically went through our realization together.” Peko and he liked to joke that they’d traded genders.

“Sounds nice,” Hajime said, the smile on his face somehow genuine and still lacking. “Anyway, yeah, the hair’s all Kamukura stuff.”

“Do you want me to cut it for you?”

“Huh?” Hajime’s eyes flicked up to meet Fuyuhiko’s, wide with surprise.

“I just- I mean, if it’s a reminder of that,” Fuyuhiko reasoned, “plus, like, regular dysphoria stuff… I’d figure you’d want it shorter.”

“You know how to cut hair?”

“I’m good at a lot of shit, don’t act all surprised.” Fuyuhiko stood up. “C’mon, dude. You wanna prove that you’re not Izuru Kamukura anymore? Chop that shit off.” He fervently hoped that his eyes said what his lips could not: only if you want to. This isn’t a challenge, it’s the best I can do at an offer. I want to make you comfortable, and I am starting to have a clue why.

“…Yeah.” Hajime took Fuyuhiko’s hand and helped himself up. “Yeah, that’s… that sounds good.”

They made their way back to Hajime’s apartment, bickering back and forth about one thing or another. Fuyuhiko felt a fierce warmth settle in his chest. Emotional attachment. Damnit, he hated when his dad was right.

He’d been keeping his dad’s suspicion sated by claiming that he really was trying, but that ‘Kamukura’ was strong and fast and got the better of him, time and time again. He had been worried that his dad would simply assign someone else - not that it would affect Hajime much, aside from being inconvenient - but, instead, he sincerely told Fuyuhiko that the fact that he was still alive was testament to him being the right person for the job.

Fuyuhiko was a liar. He was also slowly realizing that it wasn’t just for personal glory, or his father’s respect, or whichever other bullshit excuse he’d been feeding himself for the past few weeks.

Hajime didn’t deserve to die. He didn’t deserve to be captured, or tortured, or whatever other horrific shit had been done to him, and Fuyuhiko would be goddamned before he let any of it happen again. If protecting him meant lying to his father, he was willing to do it.

Hajime was his friend. He wouldn’t let anything hurt him.

“What’re you thinking about?” Hajime glanced at him, and, for just a moment, the sunlight glanced off his hair in such a way that it silhouetted him in vibrant gold, bringing a shine to his eyes that sent Fuyuhiko’s stomach flipping.

There was also that.

“Nothing, man,” Fuyuhiko said, forcing a snort. “Don’t try to get all in my head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hajime mock-promised. “I’m just really, really good at reading people.”

Fuyuhiko’s heart dropped, and he struggled to fix his face into a blank stare.

They reached the apartment with little fanfare, and set Hajime up in a chair facing a mirror.

“You know, I really could do this myself,” Hajime said, smiling at Fuyuhiko through the mirror. “I’m pretty sure I’m the best hairstylist the world has.”

“You’re also a massive prick. Put your hair down.” Fuyuhiko flashed a pair of scissors. He’d been cutting his sister’s hair for years, along with, of course, Peko’s, who he’d practically taught himself to cut hair on (she wouldn’t say it, but he knew she’d never forgive him for certain haircuts before he’d gotten good). He’d also been cutting his own for a while, not that that was much of a production anymore. Point is, he knew what he was doing.

“I’ll start with it at… about this length,” Fuyuhiko estimated with his hands, “and then we can see how much shorter you wanna go. Cool?”

“Cool,” Hajime said, apparently resigning himself to the whims of Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu. Good.

Fuyuhiko wasn’t a quiet barber, and, as he cut Hajime’s egregiously long hair, he found himself chattering away about this, that, or the other. Hajime would occasionally pipe up with his own stories or opinions, but mostly he seemed content to just look at Fuyuhiko in the mirror. Which was… something.

Fuyuhiko was trying really, really hard to ignore the extent to which he liked Hajime. It was the stupidest move his dumbass heart could’ve made, which, naturally, meant that it’d flung full-force into it. If he’d been doing his job correctly, maybe Hajime would be dead. Maybe Fuyuhiko would be dead. Either way, he knew that ‘give the guy you’re meant to be killing a haircut’ probably wasn’t what his dad had in mind.

The scissors were so close to Hajime’s throat. Potentially, he wouldn’t even be able to pull away in time. If Fuyuhiko had ever wanted a chance… this was it. This was the best shot he would probably ever get.

He didn’t consider it for a second. His father would have been so disappointed. 

“You, uh- you okay?” Hajime asked, voice soft and stilted. With a start, Fuyuhiko realized that he’d stopped cutting entirely, and just left his hands to rest against the back of Hajime’s head, carding absent-mindedly through his hair.

“Oh!” Fuyuhiko resisted the urge to jump back and start making apologies, but his face did turn bright pink. “Um. Yeah, dude, don’t- don’t worry about it.” He finished layering the back, and then looked at Hajime in the mirror. “This good?”

Hajime took a moment to respond. If Fuyuhiko didn’t know any better, he’d say that Hajime wasn’t actually even looking at his haircut, so much as he was staring at Fuyuhiko in the mirror.

Fuyuhiko felt the room grow a few degrees warmer. Or maybe he was just blushing harder, it was difficult to say.

“You okay in there?” He teased, to break the tension (and also to check if Hajime was alive).

“Yeah,” Hajime said, still not taking his eyes off Fuyuhiko in the mirror. Slowly, heart pounding, Fuyuhiko made eye contact - indirect, but still - and stared back.

Neither boy spoke.

“It looks good,” Fuyuhiko tried, hoping it would bring the atmosphere back to something manageable. It didn’t.

“I, uh-“ Hajime’s lips tightened. “Fuyuhiko, I-“

Fuyuhiko was a lot of things, but patient wasn’t one of them. While Hajime tried to stumble out a confession or a come-on or whatever other bullshit, he flipped the chair around to face him, and stared him in the actual face.

Then, like an idiot, he froze up.

Hajime stared at him, eyes wide, entirely unmoving, and all Fuyuhiko could do was stare back. Move. Do something. Say something. Hell, just move away and apologize, it’s better than staring at him like a goddamn idiot.

“Um.” Hajime didn’t break eye contact. “Were you gonna do anything, or…?”

Fuyuhiko felt himself flush. “I was gonna kiss you.”

Hajime blinked, and unconsciously glanced at Fuyuhiko’s lips. “Oh. Um. Good. Can I ask what stopped you?”

“You did some…” Fuyuhiko gestured at Hajime—maybe indicating his face, or his hair, or his eyes, or something, he wasn’t sure. “Some dumb shit.”

An irritatingly smug smile spread across Hajime’s face. “Some dumb shit?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Make me.”

“What?”

Rolling his eyes, Hajime grabbed Fuyuhiko by the tie and pulled him into a kiss.

Fact number one: Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu had never been kissed before.

Well, there had been elementary school dares and pranks and the like - he distinctly remembered trying to marry some guy in the playground, only to be harshly rejected - but that didn’t count. He’d never been actually kissed kissed.

Fact number two: despite that, Fuyuhiko was 100% certain that Hajime was exceptionally good at it.

If he was going to think on it harder (which, at that moment, he definitely wasn’t, thank you very much), he’d wonder if it was a talent that had been engineered into him. While the idea was kind of funny in a horrifying way, Fuyuhiko was content to believe that it was just Hajime. Most of the things that he liked about the guy were just Hajime, so he was safe in his bet.

They finally broke apart, Fuyuhiko having given up any pretense that he wasn’t sitting on Hajime’s lap, Hajime’s hand in what little of Fuyuhiko’s hair he could grab, both boys breathing hard and grinning like lunatics. Fuyuhiko in particular was pretty sure he was about to discover if you could smile your cheeks off.

“Dude,” he whispered, feeling light and stupid and maybe a little bit in love.

Hajime groaned. “Don’t call me dude right now, I’m begging you.”

“Bro?” Fuyuhiko offered.

“Worse!” Hajime laughed. “I forbid it!”

Fuyuhiko pondered. “Kinda cliche, but I was always kind of a fan of ‘hon’.” The last word was directed at Hajime.

Hajime stopped laughing, face going pink. “Oh.”

“Work for you?” Fuyuhiko teased, delighting in finally having the upper hand.

In response, Hajime kissed him again.

They spent the rest of the afternoon doing mostly that - talking, kissing, talking more, kissing again - until, regretfully, Fuyuhiko looked out the window and realized how dark it was getting.

“I should go home,” he said quietly.

Hajime slumped, nodding. “No, you’re- you’re right, you should. Your dad gets worried, and- I mean, that’s it, that’s the ballgame. Just… promise you’ll come back?”

“Always do,” Fuyuhiko said with a grin.

Hajime shook his head. “No, I mean… promise this will come back? We won’t go back to just… dancing around each other?”

Fuyuhiko smiled, pretending that the sweetness of the request didn’t make him want to cry and curl up with Hajime and never leave, and kissed him on the forehead. “Cross my heart. When a yakuza makes a promise, he keeps it.”

“Cool.” Hajime looked up at him warmly, before eyeing the door. “Okay. Go.”

“Night, Hajime.” Fuyuhiko opened the door and stepped through into the hall.

“Night, hon!” Hajime called at Fuyuhiko’s back as the apartment door swung shut.

Fuyuhiko flushed. “Bastard,” he muttered.

God, he was so fucking happy.

…

The next stretch of time was the happiest of Fuyuhiko’s life.

Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. Fuyuhiko hadn’t lived very long, after all. Frankly, though, he didn’t care. Every day, when he wasn’t fulfilling other duties as yakuza, he spent with Hajime. As far as his dad knew, he was still trying his best to murder Izuru Kamukura. In reality, he was far too busy finding new and inventive ways to make Izuru Kamukura blush.

Which, he was discovering, was a lot less difficult than it sounded.

Fuyuhiko laid down in bed one evening, heart abuzz, and closed his eyes.

“Sir?” Peko’s voice came from her bed, across the room.

Fuyuhiko cracked an eye open. “What’s up, Peko?”

“Just… checking in on you, Young Master.” Peko was staring at the floor. “It is… difficult to perform my duties when you are so often away.”

Fuyuhiko’s heart sank. “Oh, Peko, hey, I’m- I’m sorry. I haven’t been hanging out with you as much.”

“It isn’t a personal concern,” Peko said. “It is- it would not do to see you hurt, Young Master.”

“Hurt?” Fuyuhiko frowned. “Peko, I’m not in any danger or anything.”

“I know,” Peko said stubbornly, “but I can’t be sure that you won’t be, at some point. Who’s going to keep you from harm?”

Fuyuhiko bit back a smile. “I, uh… I’m not too worried.”

Peko turned her head sharply to look at him. “You should be. Trust may one day become your darkest foe.”

Fuyuhiko sighed, standing and making his way over to Peko. “If you think I’ll be safer, I’ll spend more time around here with you. But I need some space, Peko. You get that, right?”

After a beat of silence, Peko nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t request anything different.”

“You’re a good friend, Peko.” He nudged her shoulder. “Don’t stress too much about me, okay? You’ve got your own shit to worry about.”

“No, I don’t,” Peko disagreed. “Your concerns are my concerns.”

Fuyuhiko screwed his eyes shut, letting out a sigh. “Okay. We’ll, uh- we’ll talk about that later. For now, try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Alright.” Peko laid back down, and Fuyuhiko went back to his bed. He could feel

Yeah, he was happy. Incredibly so. But it hurt impossibly badly that his best friend couldn’t share in that, too.

…

“Mm…” Hajime hummed, contemplative. “I think I’d wanna keep the, like, calculator brain. It’s probably the most useful skill I got, so…” He tilted his head at Fuyuhiko’s expression. “What?”

“That’s so boring,” Fuyuhiko complained. “You’ve got every skill in the world, and you pick ‘good at math’ as your favorite?”

“I didn’t say it was my favorite, I said it’d be the one I’d keep!” Hajime said defensively. “It’s just… really helpful, that’s all. I’ve always been really bad at math.”

“Boo,” Fuyuhiko said flatly. “Pick a better one.”

“Reading people.”

“Seriously?”

“I wasn’t good at that, either!” Hajime protested. “Like- I mean, I’m not gonna pick something like skateboarding, because I was already good at that. These kinds of skills will be great for, like, getting a job. Making something of myself.”

“Basic and boring,” Fuyuhiko countered. “Besides, I’m good at math. You don’t need that.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize we were counting our skills together.” Hajime thought for a moment. “I’ll definitely go with reading people, then.”

“You’re a nightmare.”

“You love it,” Hajime said, with the matter-of-factness that one discussed a scientific fact. Because they could say things like that to each other, now.

“What?” Fuyuhiko scoffed. “Never.”

Hajime grinned, and pulled Fuyuhiko close.

Looking back, he wished he hadn’t been coy. He wished that he’d looked Hajime in the eye and said yeah. Yeah, I do. There’s so much that I love about you, and I’ll never be able to list it all out.

But he didn’t. Because, in that moment, everything went wrong.

First, the door burst open. Fuyuhiko broke away from Hajime to see men pouring into the room, weapons out, eyes focused. For a moment, he was just terrified, just confused, unsure what was happening.

Then, he realized that he recognized the men.

“Fuyuhiko?” Hajime asked slowly. “What’s going on?”

“These, um-“ Fuyuhiko found his voice. “These are members of my gang, I-“

“Both of you, quiet!” One of the men lifted the bat he was holding a little higher. “You’re surrounded. There’s no escape. Izuru Kamukura, we’re taking you into custody.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “You guys aren’t the cops. It’s kidnapping. Say kidnapping.”

“Hajime,” Fuyuhiko begged. These were dangerous people. There was no time for semantics.

“What?” Hajime turned to look at him. “I could take them.” The yakuza members in the room tightened their grips on their bats and crowbars and swords.

“Maybe,” Fuyuhiko conceded, “but antagonizing them isn’t gonna help your case.”

“…Okay.” Hajime stood up. “Hi. Really, really sorry about this, but I’m not going with you. I’d very much rather avoid a scuffle, but I won’t hesitate to punch somebody’s lights out if they don’t let me leave. Got it?”

In response, a bat was swung.

Fuyuhiko couldn’t make much sense of what happened next. Hajime caught the bat easily enough, but the minute he moved, everyone was on him. There was a flurry of movement, and two of the men went flying, crashing into a cabinet and causing a vase to topple to the ground and shatter. From there, Fuyuhiko lost track.

He was trying to locate Hajime in the chaos when a pair of arms grabbed him from behind and pressed a knife close to his neck. “You’re close with him, yeah?”

Fuyuhiko tried to twist to see the owner of the voice, but he couldn’t. Who would risk the life of the head of the clan’s son? Who was that stupid?

“Answer me!” The knife dug slightly into his skin.

“Yes!” Fuyuhiko yelped.

“Kamukura!” The man holding Fuyuhiko raised his voice. “I’m gonna make you a counteroffer. Come quietly, and your boyfriend gets to keep his neck intact.”

Across the room, Hajime stiffened. Fuyuhiko desperately tried to make eye contact. Don’t. They won’t kill me, not ever in a million years. Don’t do it.

Hajime stared at him. For all his gift in reading people, Fuyuhiko knew he didn’t understand.

“Put him down,” Hajime said slowly. “I’ll- I’ll go with you, if you promise that you’ll keep me safe. If you promise that I’ll stay there.”

In answer, Fuyuhiko was dropped like a rag doll. He fell hard, scrambling up immediately to see Hajime let himself be handcuffed.

“Hajime,” he said, breathless, trying to shout but unable to speak above a murmur. “It’s not- don’t.”

Hajime glanced back at him, and was led away.

The man who had threatened Fuyuhiko with a knife glanced at him on the floor. “Come on. Your father wants to have a discussion.”

…

Fuyuhiko’s hands were sweaty.

He was angry, so angry and hurt and terrified that it nearly tore him to pieces. His heart was pounding with rage. His father was behind this. It was all him. All him, despite Fuyuhiko trying to tell him that Hajime wasn’t a threat. Despite Fuyuhiko loving him.

Loving him. Fuyuhiko hated that this was the moment he first thought those words.

He opened the door and stepped into his father’s office.

“Fuyuhiko.” His father sat behind his desk, as always. “I want you to know-“

“I don’t care,” Fuyuhiko said flatly. “If you’re gonna scream at me, do it. I don’t care.”

“Frankly, son, I’m not sure you’re the one that gets to make demands right now.” He stood up. “You had orders. Specific, and clear, and precise. You were to eliminate the threat, and protect this family, and, yet, I hear from my men that you are… are engaged with this- this monster.”

“Don’t call him that!” Fuyuhiko’s voice burned on its way out. “He’s not… you were wrong about him. I tried to tell you.”

“You’re being manipulated,” his father said calmly. “I warned you, Fuyuhiko. This behavior isn’t like you, it’s… unsettling.”

Rage sat deep in his stomach. “Did you tell them to threaten me?”

“What?”

“One of the guys held a knife to my throat.” Fuyuhiko stepped closer, anger thick and hot in his chest. “Did you tell him to do that?”

His father leveled him with a look. “I mentioned it as a strategy. But no harm would actually come to you.”

“So you knew that he cared about me.” Fuyuhiko’s fist tightened. You knew that he would- do you realize what he’s risking, here?”

“We will dispose of Izuru Kamukura at our earliest convenience, and that will be it for risks,” his father said, voice firm and cold. “I suspected you might harbor affection for him, but this goes beyond the scope of my imagination. How- how dare you protect this creature-“

Fuyuhiko punched his father in the face. Hard. Hard enough that he stumbled back under his son’s fist, eyes widening, hand reaching up to touch the place that he’d been struck.

“You,” he spat, “are not my son. And I will not rest until you are restored.”

“Then you’ll never rest,” Fuyuhiko said with equal venom.

For a moment, they just stared at one another. Fuyuhiko burned with anger. He wouldn’t see, he wouldn’t listen, it wasn’t fair.

His father drew himself up to his full height. “Well. It isn’t as though any of this really matters. You can’t see him again. You’ll forget him eventually.”

“How did you know?” Fuyuhiko asked, suddenly realizing how little of this made sense. “I didn’t even tell you where he lived. What changed, how did you find me, what happened?”

“A concerned individual decided to do some detective work alone, and reported back to us. Suffice it to say, we were suitably horrified, and sent out a team immediately.”

“Concerned individual? But who…” Fuyuhiko trailed off. Against his will - more than that, against all his wishes - his eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where a figure he hadn’t seen previously stood stock-still.

Peko Pekoyama’s eyes were glued to the floor.

Betrayal tasted sour in the back of Fuyuhiko’s throat.

“Go to your room, Fuyuhiko,” his father said, softening slightly. “We’ll discuss this further another day.”

Fuyuhiko left without speaking. His entire head had gone numb and buzzing. Peko couldn’t have. She couldn’t have.

“Young Master?” Her voice, behind him, was like needles.

“Did you do it?” He couldn’t believe he was asking.

“Young Master, you have to understand-“

He turned to face her, and found her eyes impossibly guilty. “Did you do it?”

Peko’s lips tightened. “I had to protect you. I know what that boy is.”

“No, you don’t!” Fuyuhiko roared, voice cracking as it raised in volume. “You don’t- nobody does, nobody here has any fucking idea, and- how could you?”

Peko stepped back, as though burned. “I was afraid for you, sir, I- I thought you would be hurt-“

“Really?” Fuyuhiko asked, voice shaking with laughter he didn’t feel. “Or were you just mad that I liked being around someone that wasn’t you?”

Peko blinked, confused. “No, I-“

“See, that’s the thing, Peko: this whole ‘sick devotion’ thing only goes one way.” The words were acid coming out. He didn’t mean them. He wanted to rush to hug Peko, and apologize, and… stop. Stop talking. “You can’t always be my only person, and, god, if only I wasn’t yours. Grow up, or leave me the fuck alone.”

Fuyuhiko had never seen Peko cry before. It wasn’t an experience he’d ever want to repeat.

Straightening, she nodded stiffly, eyes filled with tears. “If that’s what you want.” And she turned on her heel and walked away, sobs becoming more noticeable the further she got.

Fuyuhiko collapsed against the wall, buried his face in his knees, and screamed.

…

Five days. Five days without getting to see Hajime. Without having any idea what they were doing to him.

If it was under threat of violence to Fuyuhiko… maybe they still couldn’t kill Hajime, but they could keep him there. They could hurt him. They could do practically anything to him, and Fuyuhiko wouldn’t be able to help.

Peko hadn’t spoken to him. He suspected it was more out of a deference to his wishes than to any actual anger, but he felt guilty all the same. Still, it wasn’t as though he was going to talk to her first.

And, then, there was his father. Fuyuhiko didn’t say a word to his father. Not when he tried to get him to come down for dinner, not when he entered his room late at night and asked to talk, not when he screamed and raged and threatened Fuyuhiko. It didn’t matter. He refused to acknowledge him. He knew it was petty, and childish, and stupid, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Then, late one night, he was shaken awake by Peko Pekoyama. Her jaw was set, face determined and yet still somehow nervous.

“Peko?” Fuyuhiko asked as he awoke, confused.

“You really think he is worth saving?” she asked.

He sat upright, awake immediately. “Yeah, I do.”

Peko sighed, as though she were disappointed in herself already. “Then prove it. Take me to meet him.”

“I can’t get to him-“

“I have the guard shift tonight,” she interrupted. “And no one else is awake.” She met his eyes. “I am truly sorry, Young Master. Let me make it right.”

Fuyuhiko took a deep breath, and nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Peko led Fuyuhiko down a winding path through the halls, heading towards what Fuyuhiko soon realized would be the basement.

“You locked him in the basement?” Like an animal?

“Shh!” Peko glared at him. “Do you want to get caught?”

Fuyuhiko grumbled, but stayed quiet.

“I didn’t do anything,” Peko reminded him. “Take it up with Mr. Kuzuryu.” Taking out a ring of keys, she unlocked the basement. “He is in there. I…” she sighed. “I know you do not want to hear it, but stay safe. Alright?”

“Okay.” Fuyuhiko nodded. “I’ll call you down in a second, just… just let me see him first.”

Peko nodded, and Fuyuhiko went down the stairs.

At first, it was just dark. Fuyuhiko didn’t trust the lights - for all he knew, it could alert someone to the fact that someone was down here - so he just blinked and hoped his eyes would adjust. Slowly, he could make out a wall of bars, clearly newly installed, separating him from a familiar figure.

“Fuyuhiko?”

Fuyuhiko felt a sob stick in his throat. “Holy shit, you’re okay.”

“Okay’s kind of a strong word, but-“ Fuyuhiko didn’t let Hajime finish, reaching his arms through the bars and pulling him into a stilted, awkward embrace. “Oh.”

“I fucking missed you,” Fuyuhiko whispered. “I really fucking missed you.”

“I- I missed you too.” 

Fuyuhiko took a deep breath, and stepped back. “How’re you holding up?”

“Alright,” Hajime said, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t… I mean, I don’t love it in here, or anything, but I’m okay. They haven’t really been able to hurt me, so…” He gritted his teeth, clearly frustrated. “It doesn’t make sense, y’know? Why keep me here? I’m not a threat, I- I could not be more clearly just some guy, regardless of talent.”

“My dad thinks you’re gonna end the world if we leave you unattended,” Fuyuhiko said. “And we can’t exactly trust the cops to handle you-“

“Not that I’d appreciate that,” Hajime interjected.

“-so this is our best solution.” Fuyuhiko shook his head. “But it’s not fair.”

“No,” Hajime said quietly. “It’s not.”

Fuyuhiko stepped back further, turning to get the door. “I actually - hey, you can come down - didn’t come alone.” Peko stepped down the stairs with him, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the low light. The minute she saw Hajime, she squared her shoulders, like she was expecting a fight.

“Hello.”

“Um. Hi.” Hajime glanced at Fuyuhiko. “She’s cool, or…?”

“That remains to be seen,” Peko said smoothly. “My priority is protecting my young master, so… mostly, I am here to decide whether you help or hinder that goal.”

Hajime wrinkled his nose. “Sorry, your what?”

“Don’t ask,” Fuyuhiko said with a sigh. “Peko, Hajime. Hajime, Peko.”

“Hajime?” Peko glanced at Fuyuhiko. “I thought his name was-“

“Yeah, Kamukura’s… I should explain from the beginning.” As Hajime spoke, Fuyuhiko watched Peko’s expression change. Her posture relaxed, eyes turning from cold to… something else. Something less accusatory.

“And… then Fuyuhiko tried to shoot me on the roof of my apartment, and the rest is history,” Hajime concluded. “Satisfactory sob story?”

Peko stepped closer to the bars. Confused, Fuyuhiko and Hajime followed suit.

“Let me make a few things perfectly clear, Hajime.” Peko said. “Firstly, I do not trust you. I know a tool when I see one, willing or no. A tool in the wrong hands is a very dangerous thing.” She took a deep breath. “But I also believe you. And I… you have to get out. You must not be trapped here. You don’t… you do not deserve to be stuck in a life that you do not want, living for something you cannot control.”

Hajime’s eyes widened, and Fuyuhiko wondered if he’d missed some hidden code or telepathic communication, because his best friend and his boyfriend were staring at each other with some kind of direct and deep communication that was going fully over his head.

“Okay.” Hajime offered a soft smile. Peko didn’t reciprocate, but she did nod, and he seemed to accept that. “Is there a plan?”

…

There was no plan. There continued to be no plan for a long while, especially considering that, unless Peko got the night shift, there was practically no way for the three of them to meet and discuss.

Still, they did get time. Time to take a quiet moment amongst the fear and pain and stress. Time to breathe, however stale and dark the air might be, and enjoy the fact that the three of them were together.

Hajime and Peko got along like wildfire once Peko wasn’t ready to kill him at a moments’ notice. Peko denied it - claiming she was doing all of this purely so that Fuyuhiko’s wishes could be fulfilled, and nothing more - but he could see. She liked Hajime, as much as she liked anyone.

Thank god. If his best friend hated the guy he was probably maybe slightly in love with, he’d probably have just curled up and died.

They made plans, careful and plotted and, usually, scrapped once an obvious flaw came up. Finally, though, they found a window: a night that, due to a business meeting that Fuyuhiko’s father wouldn’t tell him about, everyone was instructed to exit the building and stay out till the next day. The entire exit would be completely unguarded. It was the perfect time to escape.

“What’ll you guys do?” Hajime asked.

“What do you mean?” Peko’s eyebrows twitched, but otherwise her confusion was invisible.

“I mean… everyone’s going to know you did it. Especially you, Fuyuhiko.” Hajime ruffled the back of his hair in what Fuyuhiko was starting to recognize as a nervous tic. “How do you come back from that?”

Fuyuhiko eyed Peko. “I… was kinda under the impression that we’d be coming with you. Wherever you go.”

Hajime blinked. “Sorry?”

“I’m not the right choice for the yakuza, anyway,” Fuyuhiko said with a shrug. “I mean, sure, I’m good at my job, but… I kinda hate it? I love the family, but I just don’t have the… I don’t know, the something for it. Natsumi’s got it. She’ll be way more suited than me.” He turned to Peko. “I can’t speak for Peko, but… I mean, I’m coming along.”

“I plan to join you, as well.” Peko offered what little of a smile she could. “I go where Fuyuhiko goes.”

Fuyuhiko glanced at Hajime, mouthing we will get her therapy before nodding. “Sounds like a plan. So, Hajime, where were you heading to?”

Hajime looked practically overwhelmed. “I- uh- you guys are really coming with me?” His eyes were locked on Fuyuhiko’s.

“Yeah, man.” Fuyuhiko smiled, reaching over to interlace their fingers through the bars. “You’re never gonna be alone again, okay?”

“I…” Hajime took a breath. “Okay. Okay. Yeah, I- obviously, I’d be happy to have you.” He thought for a moment. “I mean, we’re gonna have to leave the country, at least for a little while. I don’t wanna have to deal with this. Would you want to just… travel for a while? See the sights, and all that?” He let out a half-laugh. “I’m actually kind of loaded, what with the whole ‘human experiment’ thing, so I can foot the bill.”

Fuyuhiko glanced to Peko, who nodded, and then let a grin spread across his face. “Yeah. Sounds good to me.” They had a plan. A future, created entirely on their own.

Hajime gave Fuyuhiko a kiss on the forehead, and then it was time to go back to his room and wait for a week.

It was, without question, the longest week of his life. He saw Hajime a few times, but, mostly, he was just waiting. He kept himself busy around the house, avoiding his dad and doing what work he could, but it barely helped. He was restless, certain that, at any moment, something would go wrong.

But, then, it was the night of the escape, and nothing had gone wrong. Fuyuhiko and Peko snuck into Hajime’s room while everyone else was leaving, hiding behind storage crates and whispering about timing while the building emptied.

Finally, they were alone.

“This is it,” Peko whispered.

“This is it,” Fuyuhiko agreed.

“Am I the only one who thinks this is gonna be too easy-“

“Please, don’t jinx it,” Fuyuhiko begged.

They sat in not-quite-silence for what felt like hours, but was probably more like 10 minutes. Then, suddenly, Peko nodded.

“Let’s go.”

Everything went to shit in a very organized manner. The beginning step - like, say, the snap of a string on a tripwire - was Peko making the call to move.

Fuyuhiko and Peko stepped out of hiding, and, just like that, the trap sprung.

Voices sounded from behind the door, loud and deep and professional.

“And he’s just down here?”

“Yeah. Had him for a couple weeks.”

“How on Earth did you manage to contain him for so long?”

“He’s got a soft spot for my boy. Used him as leverage.”

Fuyuhiko looked at Hajime with clear what the fuck signals, only to see him white as a ghost.

“Hajime?” Fuyuhiko asked.

“Goodness,” came a crisp, clear voice from up the stairs. “Seems he’s overridden some of the programming we implemented. We’ll have to fix that.”

“Whatever you do with him once he’s gone isn’t my business,” Fuyuhiko’s father said. “All I care about is getting him out of my house and with someone who knows how to deal with him.”

Oh. Oh, shit.

“Hajime, I-“

“Hide,” Hajime whispered, voice hoarse and terrified.

“Wh- no!” Fuyuhiko insisted. “There’s no way we’re leaving you to-“

“Fuyuhiko, they will kill you.” Hajime’s eyes filled with tears. “Hide.”

“And let them turn you into a fucking monster?” Fuyuhiko shook his head. “I’ve got a gun. We’ll-“

“No, we won’t.” Hajime pressed against the bars, grabbing Fuyuhiko’s hand. “Go. Leave. Find somewhere to hide.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Peko said firmly, drawing her sword. “We fight together, or not at all.”

“You don’t understand,” Hajime said desperately. “I’m not going to let you get hurt.”

“I know, idiot!” Fuyuhiko drew his gun, heart in his throat. “Same to you!”

“No, Fuyuhiko, you don’t get it, I can’t stop them.“

“Then we’ll figure it out!”

“I can’t stop them,” Hajime repeated. “But I know who can.”

The door opened.

And Hajime closed his eyes, as though resigning himself to a fate worse than death.

A second too late, Fuyuhiko’s mind flickered back to what Hajime had said. I choose to be Hajime, every minute of every day. And I have to try, really, really hard to keep being that person, to keep making that choice.

In that moment, he understood just how literal that was.

He understood, because he saw Hajime stop making that choice.

At first, the changes were largely imperceptible. He stood straighter, his face relaxed. There was a note of apathy to the tilt of his eyebrows, to the slant of his lips.

Then, he opened his eyes. Predatory. Murderous. Calculated.

For the first time, Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu stared into the eyes of Izuru Kamukura.

He opened the cell door like it was nothing. Crushed the lock in his bare hands and opened it. Stepped out into the rest of the basement and didn’t take his eyes off Fuyuhiko.

“Hajime?” Fuyuhiko breathed.

“Kamukura?” came a voice from the stairwell. There were five strangers there, all dressed in the same uniform. In the back, his father stared him down, rage building in his eyes.

“Oh.” Hajime gave the uniformed crew a dismissive glance. “You.”

“Yes,” a woman with a long dark ponytail and an artificial smile said. “Us. You’ve gotten incredibly verbose in your time away.”

“And you haven’t changed in the slightest,” Hajime replied, voice flat. “I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if I leave quietly.”

“Mm, no.” The woman narrowed her eyes, smile intact. “Heard from this guy that you’ve gone a little soft, so we’re taking you back home now, I think. Got it?”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “Yes, I could have guessed. You’re all horribly predictable.” He straightened his collar. “Alright. Come on, then.”

She stepped forward. He kicked her so hard in the chest that she flew into the opposite wall, her head making a sickening crack as it hit the stone.

Peko and Fuyuhiko didn’t move in the subsequent bloodbath. Of course, it wasn’t as though they had to.

If Fuyuhiko had thought that Hajime was good, Kamukura was inhuman. It was like watching a monster work, like looking at a wolf in a room of rabbits. Like seeing a predator finally close in with its prey.

Fuyuhiko watched his father drop to the ground hard, and nearly sobbed with a mixture of horror and relief to see that he was breathing.

Finally, Hajime - Izuru? - turned to face Fuyuhiko and Peko. “I remember you two.”

“Yeah?” Fuyuhiko put down his gun. “Yeah, Hajime, it’s, uh- it’s us.”

The boy in front of him didn’t smile, but he almost seemed amused. “Izuru Kamukura, please.”

“Are you a different person?” Peko asked.

He shook his head. “No. Same head, same thoughts, same identity. There is no part of me that is not Hajime, and no part of Hajime that is not me. That being said… I think it’s fair to make a distinction. Don’t you?”

Yeah. It was less like this wasn’t Hajime, and more like… more like Hajime was forgetting who he was.

Fuyuhiko remembered, though. Fuyuhiko remembered real fucking well.

“Hajime.” Fuyuhiko looked him straight in the eye, stepping close, having to crane his neck to see. “You did it. You got out, you got rid of them, now just- come back, and we can escape.”

“Why?” Kamukura regarded him coldly. “There isn’t a soul alive as perfect as me. Dreadfully boring, sure, but not something I’ll trade away for mediocrity.”

“You are not mediocre.” Fuyuhiko turned to see Peko standing tall, sword at her side, eyes ablaze. “Your worth is not determined by what you can do, your worth is determined by who you are, Hajime, and that cannot be broken or changed or destroyed, no matter how hard you might try.” She looked close to tears. “You are our friend. Before you are anything else, you are our friend.”

Kamukura didn’t seem to have a response to that.

“She’s right.” Fuyuhiko offered a shaky smile. “You’re… funny, and stupid, and snarky, and kind of an asshole when you want to be, and you- and you don’t always say or do the right thing, but you do your best, and you work hard, and- and you’re human, Hajime. You’re unbearably human. I love that about you, I…” he shook his head, almost laughing through tears. “I love you. You. Not a swordsman, or an artist, or a- or an athlete, or a mathematician, or anything else. I love you.” He stepped closer, grabbing Hajime and holding him close, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in his shirt. “And you aren’t untalented. You have a skill that most people would never dream of having. You can break this, Hajime. You can choose to be better next time, to work at it, to make the decision to be the person I love. And I- I don’t want you to do it for me, or any other dumb shit, or- or whatever else, I just… I just want you to do it because you are worth it. You got that?” Tears came faster. “You’re worth it.”

Silence. For a single, heart-stopping moment, there was silence and stillness, apart from Fuyuhiko’s sobs and Peko’s quiet gasps and the slight shaking of Izuru Kamukura.

And, then, all at once, Hajime wrapped his arms around Fuyuhiko.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Hey.” Fuyuhiko laughed, really sobbing now. “Hey. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Hajime pulled back to look at him. “You’re… you’re a fucking idiot.” He kissed him hard, and pulled him back into a hug. From behind him, Fuyuhiko could feel Peko join the hug, too, and the three of them sank to the floor, holding each other tightly.

“We have to get out of here,” Peko whispered. “Out of here, and then out of the country.”

“Then, traveling?” Fuyuhiko asked hopefully.

He could hear the smile in Peko’s voice. “Yes. Then, traveling.”

“I’ve always wanted to go backpacking,” Hajime mused. Peko smacked him.

Fuyuhiko let out a breath.

“I love you guys.”

“Love you, too.”

“You, as well, Fuyuhiko.” Peko shifted to glance at him, eyes teary but… but maybe hopeful, too.

“Cool.” Fuyuhiko grinned, and held his family close. He kissed Hajime on the temple, warmth settling tight in his chest. “Cool.”