Archive of Our Own ^beta

With an heavy sigh, Mizukamiya extends his arms towards the ceiling, his hands moving like he’s reaching something in front of him. “Someone is here,” he mumbles dramatically with a fond, gravy voice. “Not closely. Not willingly”. 

He suddenly snaps, like someone is pulling him by his ridiculously large tunic. “I feel a holding back!” He exclaims with a loud gasp. 

The man in front of him fidgets nervously on his leather armchair. “What's the trouble, Takuma?” He squeaks. Seiryuu doesn’t miss the way Girikanan seems to know exactly who is talking to, which is obviously more than what he knows, so he’s quick to play along. 

“Too many memories, too much pain…” he begins to chant, moving around with his pretty eyes half-closed, open enough to see the old man’s reactions. “Too... much... sorrow!” He proclaims, with a voice that doesn’t suit him. Girikanan is raptured by his gestures, the way his chains and pendants rattle around him, and leans over with disbelieved eyes. Seiryuu has his attention. 

“Whoever is there with you, tell them to speak up, Takuma,” he orders to the void, the smell of incense getting milder as the night carries on. This time, Girikanan interrupts him, as he urges him:  “Tell them to come closer. I think I know who it is, Seiryuu-san. I think I know what's bothering her.”

Her?

Was there ever a she? Mizukamiya does a mental check of anything resembling an information like that coming from Haizaki’s mouth and of course, he finds nothing. Ok. Gotta verify with him later. With manners, of course. It’s not like it’s screwing everything up, anyway.

“Her, is it?” Seiryuu tries to not act as surprised. He tones down, his hands also lowering in a slow, steady movement, drawing gracious circles in the air. “Never you mind, Girikanan-Sama. I won't have you doing Takuma's work for him,” he assures the nobleman with the sweetest voice he can manage. 

He moves around, stepping in a little circle, the soft carpet brushing his bare feet. He finally sits down, as he jingle a little bell on his palm, as if catching the poor soul’s attention. 

“Now, let's have it, my love,” he chirps, “That's why we're here tonight. To help my friend be rid of his torment.”

Wherever he is, he’s sure Takuma has better things to do than helping him, especially his friend, considering the fact he’s not even a friend, more like a patron that pays his bills and his excessive fixation with expensive stones and weed. 

Better make him know the reason why he’s been summoned so abruptly, right?

It’s showtime. 

Seiryuu can’t even hold it in, too excited to see Girikanan’s reaction to his new, fresh discovery. 

“He has a right to rest her weary head on a pillow each night…” he spells out, marking every word, trying to not be too obvious though. “And sleep the peaceful sleep of the angels”.

“H-How did you know about my troubled sleep?” Girikanan stutters, clearly amazed by his skills as a psychic. “Who told you?”

“Her nights cannot go on like this much longer”, Seiryuu goes on, almost casually, as if Girikanan wasn’t even there. 

“I-I never told a soul about my nightmares,” Girikanan mumbles again, adjusting his tie knot, “How could you…"

“Who is this person who arrives in our presence tonight,” Seiryuu insists, “but does not dare to come close to us?”

The old man falls in his little trick like he’s never ever been one of the most powerful businessman in the whole Japan. He sure has seen better days, considering the fact he’s not even able to detect how’s been fooled around the whole time. “It's her!” He exclaims, almost victorious, “It's my wife Irina - must be…”

He falters, like he’s not sure how to move on from the realization. The knot that forms in his throat is enough for the psychic to know what’s going on. No spiritual power needed - lucky him.

“She stays her distance, Girikanan-sama,” he notes, his voice deeper and gravy once again, “for she does not feel… your love or your kindness yet”. 

Girikanan doesn’t respond, his small, wrinkled eyes lowering to his expensive black shoes.

“There is selfishness where you are,” Seiryuu pushes. And that’s where the dim breaks down. 

Girakanan breaks the spell. He springs up from his dear armchair, suddenly impatient to move around, his old fashioned walking stick always with him. He seems pensive, frightened maybe. His blue eyes dart into the void of the room, full of opulence and vanity, lacking of anything spiritual… or even domestic. Seiryuu hopes he’s in the right direction. 

“I've had all I can take from her,” Girikanan rants with a rough voice, clearly in distress. “Night after night, coming into my dreams. Whining, complaining, trying to make me feel guilty,”

Seiryuu at this point he doesn’t just think that Girakanan-sama is a misogynist. He’s utterly sure of it. That old, vain, stingy scrooge. The poor woman couldn’t have it easy, for sure! If Irina had been really there with them, she sure would be glad to him for taking her defenses. Seiryuu is strangely proud of himself. He still doesn’t say anything, of course: he still needs that paycheck for the end of the night. Sisterhood can await.

“As though I need her to tell me right from wrong,” Girikanan hisses. He turns towards him, now imposing, almost angry at him for whatever reason. “Tell her I know what has to be done! I've been wanting to do it for a year,” he says fiercely.  But it is I, Valentin Girikanan who has made the decision. I don't need her to goad me on!”

Seiryuu almost wants to smile. Oh, what a glorious puppet. So entangled in his web of lies, amazingly so, and not even suspecting a thing! Men like him are his best preys. He looks so pathetic he has to repress the urge to mock him like a mid schooler. 

Girikanan seems in pain as he holds his head in his bare, smooth hands. “They're making me ill with their ugly words in my ugly dreams. Tell her to stop it, to go away!” He laments, almost screams. “…and leave me alone!”

Seiryuu shrugs his shoulders, mouth pressed in a line. He is raising his ringing bell already when Girikanan seems to reconsider it. “Oh, no. No, no. Don't let her go!” He yells as he sits down again, legs crossed and blue wyes wide open in despair. “Don't let her go away!”

Typical. 

Mizukamiya must concentrate very hard after this. He regains his composure and coughs, as he tries to wrap up the golden thread of his loom. “Irina-sama?” He inquires respectfully. “Dear Irina, stay with us. Your husband wants to speak to you now, from the depths of his soul.”

Assuming he has one, he scoffs mentally. He tries to conceive his laughter with a long, haunting howl, escaping his lips as of coming from hell itself. Seiryuu has always been proud of his acting skills: Haizaki could never, even if they come from the same art school of course.

“What's wrong? What is it?” Girikanan shudders.

Seiryuu makes a dramatic pause. “She says,"I've waited so long… "to hear from you, Valentin,” he improvises. “I've been so unhappy without you.”

At that, Girikanan seems to freeze. His eyebrows come closer in a frown for the first time that night and Seiryuu knows he did a false move. Goddammit. 

“… What?” Girikanan asks, clearly confused. 

Seiryuu coughs, hoping the incense might be a good excuse for his misspelling. “Oh, uhm, so unhappy with you. Yeah. So, so unhappy. Terribly so. I might hate you with every ounce of my immaterial being.” He laments with an high pitched tone. 

Was it too much? Maybe. He’s not exempt to panicking from times to times. Or better, very often.

He expects the businessman to get offended, but instead, Girikanan seems to relax. “Oh… well. Quite expected,” he mumbles, pensive. “But I can’t really blame you, Irina…”

Seiryuu can’t believe he got a ghost so right without even knowing her in her previous life, but of course, his horoscope was right, so he’s not too surprised. Lucky events were expected for those born under the sign of Aquarius, though the positive influence was probably due to Mercury passing by, guiding his story-telling. Seiryuu wouldn’t have accepted the meeting if that hadn’t been the case. 

Girikanan got up from his chair again, now calmly moving around the cluttered room, lost in his thoughts. Seiryuu can see many artifacts from different countries in the world he haven’t ever heard of, God knows how he got them all. 

“Ask her about our son,” Girikanan suddenly asks.

Seiryuu stutters, surprised by the information, which comes as new as it shouldn’t be.  A son now? Haizaki should have told him everything by now, he has basically been Girikanan’s chauffeur for months, and yet… He coughs again, his eyes darting nervously from side to side, like he’s searching for Irina. “Uhm, are you still there, Irina? What you say? No?” he murmurs. Seconds fly slowly, filling the room with their uncomfortable presence. Mizukamiya tries to sound disheartened and not as confused as he is. “I’m afraid, Girikanan-sama, she’s really upset at you”. 

He expects the man to freak out, or at least act disappointed. Instead, he sighs. 

A lot of things happen then. Air becomes lighter, as Girikanan moves to open the large windows giving on the city’s skyline and incense moves out. “You can let her go, if she pleases,” he whispers. “I’m none to impose”. 

Seiryuu stays silent for a moment, too baffled by the sudden interruption. He pathetically gets to ring his bell and mumble an apology, maybe a little thank you. To whom, he’s not sure. 

Girikanan seems relieved by the sudden change of atmosphere. He turns at him and smiles softly. “I’m sorry to close our meeting so abruptly. I’m very thankful for your service. How do you feel?”

The psychic nods cautiously. “Some rest might do its magic. That has been intense,” he says, a bit apologetically. “I suppose that anything concerning this matter should be for another session?” He asks, a bit hopeful. 

Girikanan shakes his head and Seiryuu’s heart sinks. “We were so close,” Girikanan admits, “But I’m afraid I’ll not be able to proceed further, Seiryuu-san. My shame is too rooted to be excused”. 

“Shall I know what’s the bother, then?” The psychic presses. He can’t let his major resource escape like that, not after all his (their) efforts! “I’m sure I can help! It’s my duty to favor reconciliation between scarred souls, after all,” he adds, sounding determined. 

“That’s very true,” Girikanan confirms, “And that’s why you shall continue this journey alone. In my  stance, I mean”. 

Mizukamiya bats his pretty eyelashes. “I don’t understand,” he admits. 

Girikanan returns to his armchair, as the night breeze makes Seiryuu shiver. He’s wearing just a dress, his feet bare against the carpet. It feels like he’s not welcomed anymore. He reaches for his coat first, long pale arms extending towards the hanger.

“You see, Seiryuu-san,” Girikanan is saying, while he’s dressing up, “I don’t want reconciliation”. 

The psychic can’t help letting escape a muttered: “That’s very clear”. He is getting his shoes on as he listens carefully to what his magnate is saying.

“I want my son”. 

Seiryuu stops, eyes furrowed in disbelief. “And what I have to do with that?” He asks, almost exasperated, crying inside as his main source of income is just… gone, like that, and he can’t understand it. Sure, Haizaki’s taxi license is enough to let them live in modesty. But all those crystals and bath salts! He can’t accept it! He feels like he could start stomping his feet like a child. 

“Irina, of course!” Girikanan exclaims, almost excited. He stands up and walks ups to him, placing his fine hands at the side of his shoulder, almost in a fatherly way. “I can’t reach to her. But you can, that’s for certain”. 

“… Can I?” Seiryuu stutters. 

“Well, better than me, that’s out of question,” Girikanan admits, almost embarrassed. “You see, we didn’t really— fit, as a couple. After our divorce, it became easier to forget about her”. 

Girikanan sighs, as the memory brings him clear shame. He turns around, this time facing the windows. “I didn’t want anything to do with her. In doing so, I sent my son away too. That’s something I can’t really take remediation for, you see… but an old man can dream”. 

Mizukamiya’s eyebrows become even more furrowed, almost hurting. He starts figuring many things out, like dots connecting in his head forming constellations and such, he just doesn’t know what will tell him, he’s just expecting the old man to spit it out already. 

“Bernard is my only son. I wish to make him the sole heir of my company, as I’m sure nobody would be fitter for the role than my own blood,” he states proudly. “I’m sure you understand, dear Seiryuu-san”. 

Well, Seiryuu really should. He kinda inherited all his psychic powers from his grandmother, or so everybody in his family claims, except there have been none for the time he can remember. But playing the part has always been funny so he’s just stuck to it, almost believing it himself. But that’s it, there’s no magic in legacy, only privilege, and that’s something Seiryuu has always known, at least since the first time one of his former grandmother’s client came to him and asked a tarot read for his husband’s mumps. 

So yeah, he can’t really judge this kind of choice, Bernard must be a lucky man, that’s for sure.

He’s of course a bit less lucky himself. 

“You want me to find him?” He gets around it, “for you?”

Seiryuu has his and Haizaki’s new identities already in mind as he mentally plans to move to the next state available. Haizaki will be fine being just a taxi driver, he’ll just have to learn another language… it’s his own marketplace his major concern now, he’s not sure if Tibet will be adamant to host a mock of a psychic as he is. 

“Exactly,” Girikanan exclaims proudly, facing him again. “You are the only one”. 

Seiryuu’s grip on the doorknob is humid with sweat. He’s almost ready to bolt out of the apartment without even getting paid, that’s how terrified he is. 

Then Girikanan-sama says the magic words.

“Of course, not without a fair compensation”. 

☽☼☾

By the time his boyfriend is out of the building, it’s pitch dark and the rich neighborhood is completely empty, probably because every sane mind has left for Friday night as they should too. Nothing too fancy, they don’t have money for that, just a little ridiculous date after work. Of course Haizaki is still on duty, his black cab waiting at the side of the old man alley, waiting for his favorite client to get out of the mansion. Yes, Haizaki feels stupid thinking of his cab like it’s a real person, but it’s his only way to cope to the fact that he’s in love. 

Miya must not know.

“You are late. So, how'd it go?” He grunts, welcoming him as he make open the back door before him. 

“I don't know,” he hears Seiryuu sighs as he takes place at his seat. He seems happy, for some reasons. “Having to do Takuma is murder on my throat. Murder” his boyfriend laments, touching his neck like it’s sore. 

As if his throat truly haven’t withstood more challenging strains— Haizaki stops his horny mind before it can proceed further. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” he offhandedly mutters. “So how did it go?”

He doesn’t even have the time given to turn on the lights and drive into the main road that his over-excited friend is all over him, pestering him with light touches on his shoulders. “Haizaki. This is a big one, trust me. A great big whale.”

“Well, come on. Give.” Ryouhei responds. Of course it is. They are always big ones, if Miya believes so, and Ryouhei for some strange reason indulges him. “Start waaaay up at the top.” He suggests, not even hiding his sarcasm. 

Mizukamiya doesn’t seem to mind. He sits comfortably in the immaculate leather seats and crosses his leg, looking at him with a mischievous smile. “Well, it was as simple as A-B-C. Takuma came to me from the Upper Brightness, whispered to me, ‘This man been having sleep problems.’ - Mizukamiya makes a silly face at that - From there on, things followed naturally, logically.

“Aha! So I came through for you again, didn't I, darling?” Haizaki snarls proudly, eyes on the road.

“No. What are you talking about, Ryo?” his boyfriend says, pressing a finger to his own lips in utter confusion.

“What do you mean, what am I talking about, ah?” Ryouhei protests, “You know damn well what I'm talkin’ about. All that information that I dug up by perching at Shibuya every damn evening. Do you know what I had to go through to find Girikanan and make him choose my ride? You don’t have any idea of the competition over there. Even sweet Inamori was tailing me. You had to see him, such a beast when he gets to it, you—“

“Why didn't you tell me about a wife, since you have been so efficient?” Mizukamiya pouts, interrupting him, his arms crossed over his chest.

Haizaki snaps at that.  “Why didn’t I tell you? He’s Valentin fucking Girikanan! He sure has a Wikipedia page or something like that! Do I really have to do all your work?!”

Miya’s cheeks get more pink, as if he’s been found slipping. He’s not as smart as he tries to sell. “Right, right… but that could have been useful to know directly from you, you know,” he tries to  pile it on, as he pretends to search something in his  purse to conceal his shame. He takes out his lipgloss and starts retouching his make up for the night. “Instead, I had to go through heaven and hell, the Great Beyond, with Takuma”. 

Ryouhei gasps. He knows he’s teasing, but he can’t help it. He starts to yell at his face as he turns around and finds him using his rear-view mirror, totally unbothered. “Takuma, my ass. It was me. It's always me. Without my research, you're about as psychic as a dry salami.”

“The road, Ryo…” Mizukamiya reminds him with a sigh. 

Right, the road. As he comes back to his drive, eyes piercing through the dark and empty roads of Tokyo, Ryouhei feels calmer, even if he doesn’t stop ranting, hurt in his pride. “I'm sick and tired of having you hang me by the crystal balls,” he mutters. 

“Leave your crystal balls out of this, gem.” 

“No, let's leave Takuma out of this and keep the bullshit for your customers!” Haizaki yells at the end.

A weird silence follows his words, as he feels more awkward and awkward by the second. It’s not the first time they bicker like that, of course, but they are supposed to spend a nice evening and somehow Ryouhei finds his own way to reconfirm himself as the stubborn son of a bitch he is. He doesn’t know if Mizukamiya has fallen silent for him being offended or simply for the fact he’s busy with his make up, but of course, it’s making him feel ashamed of himself nonetheless. 

The “snap” of the lipgloss being shoved up its container seems a clear clue of the fact it’s the latter hypothesis, but Ryouhei can’t be sure he hasn’t really ruined his boyfriend’s mood until his pallid, perfect face peeps out from the backseats. “You're jealous of him, aren't you?” Seiryuu whispers at him with a sly smile.

Here there are again. “Oh, please, Miya.” Haizaki sounds exasperated. 

“Your jealousy is priceless. It makes you look even dumber,” his Miya notes, waving his lipgloss at him. “I love it.”

Ryouhei can’t help but pout. Of course his amazing, cheerful, diplomatic boyfriend holds no grudge and instead, has now found another way to tease him. “You prick”. 

Seiryuu ignores him. “It’s just your driving that stinks. My make up is a mess”. 

“Hey, look. I happen to be an actor, not a cab driver. Not even a detective,” Haizaki protests. “I can play cab drivers, but I sure as hell don’t have to drive like one. You should appreciate me a lot more, since it’s me who’s paying for our bills this month.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Mizukamiya states too proud of himself for it to be just a joke. 

Ryouhei scoffs. “Well, how are we supposed to collect from this chicken? How much is this Girakanan dude gonna spout up?” He demands, not quite believing that for once Mizukamiya’s strange job has resulted somehow useful. He looks at him from the rear-view mirror. He’s gorgeous, obviously. He even took the time to change his jellewrises as if they aren’t dining at a KFC. Ryouhei is really ready to fight anyone daring to come too close and steal his perfect boyfriend from him. 

Too lost in his thoughts to realize that Miya is actually staring back at him saying nothing, still smiling contently as if he knows what’s going on in his head. He can’t allow it! Haizaki panics and starts yelling. “C’mon, stop with the teasing and fucking tell me you fucking mock of a ps-”

“Alright alright alright… Stop swearing, gem,” Mizukamiya says, placing an hand on his shoulder and slightly pressing it down his torso, filthy, wrinkling his fine shirt. “You wanna put the curse on the billion?” He then murmurs at his ear. 

It’s ticklish and Haizaki holds a shiver before snapping like a rubber band. “Holy shit, Miya,” he screams, holding the steer wheel for his dear life, “Did you say a billion?

“Mm-hmm,” Miya smiles as a Cheshire cat.

“One thousand thousands?!”

“Mm-hmm.”

Haizaki is jaw dropping, making calculus into his head like he’s back in middle school. “Wait, he’s Russian, right?” He stammers at one point, terrified by the implications. “Does he mean yen? How much rupies-“

Mizukamiya’s grin falls in an exasperated grunt. Haizaki knows he’s ruining some magic here. “Those are roubles, you nerd. Rupies are from Zelda. He means yens, Haizaki!”

Good, because he doesn’t have any idea how rupies- roubles, are actually worth. 

“Now, Miya, you got any idea… what you and I could do with a billion yens?” He screams, almost bouncing on his seat for the excitement. And fuck the road, who has the mind to pay attention to the road when all his dreams are coming true—

“We could even get married,” Miya chirps, arms crossed over the back of his seat and softly staring down at him. 

Now, it’s Mizukamiya the one ruining some magic here. Haizaki scowls as he mumbles: “What are you always a cold shower for?”

He doesn’t mean it of course. He knows Mizukamiya has him twisted around his finger already and surely they are going to get married at some point. Miya seems to know too because again, he doesn’t sound offended at all as he says:  “Oh, you flatter me so.” 

“Well, what's the deal? What do we have to do?” Haizaki urges.

Seiryuu is staring at his fine polished nails, faking annoyance. “I'll tell you about it in bed, afterwards.” He says then, barely containing his mischievous smile.

Haizaki’s toes curls at that unspoken promise. He’s a weak man after all. “Aw, come on, Miya. Give me a hint,” he pleads, something he rarely does. He blindly reaches for Mizukamiya’s tight with a hand and squeezes it a little. He too knows how to tease. “Just a little… Foreplay.”

“All right,” Miya blushes, a bit overwhelmed by the gesture. “Find one man. That's all.”

Ryouhei becomes serious all of sudden, feeling his boyfriend’s nervousness as if he’s just tasted it from that touch only. Suspicious. “Well, we've had to do worse than that. What's his name?”

“Bernard,” Seiryuu says, and things become very suspicious when his gaze starts wandering out of the window.

“Nice. How is he made?” Haizaki cracks it up.

And Miya’s voice turns weird when he says: “That’s a problem. Nobody knows.”

“Where is he?” Ryouhei asks again, already knowing where this is going.

Seiryuu seems to grow more upset at that. “That’s what we are supposed to find out, you moron.”

“Well, fuck! You mean, nobody knows anything, Miya? Nobody knows who he is, what happened to him, or where he is?” He snaps, the cab stirring a little as he dares to overtake a little smart in front of them. The man at the drive, a person of color with weird green hair and big eyes, stares at him like he’s a lunatic. Maybe Haizaki shouldn’t drive when he’s that upset, but he has places to go and men to find apparently, so… 

“God, gem, stop yelling,” Mizukamiya tries to calm him down, and he appreciates, really, but now he just wants him dead. He still listens carefully at what he have to say. “There’s a possibility of one person who might have known,” his boyfriend fidgets with a lock of his blue hair. “Trouble is... Well, she's been dead for 15 years.”

Haizaki wonders why he still dares to hope for anything with him at his side. It’s not that they are incapable of reaching anything, it’s just they seem absolutely cursed by fate, no matter what they do. “What the hell, Miya…” he cries.

Seiryuu seems to notice his distress. He knows how much emotional he can be and starts cooing him, little pats on his head to reassure him. “Oh, no, no, no, no, no, don't start to panic, Ryo, or there will be no fun at all tonight,” Mizukamiya says, giving him smoochies. “A gifted actor as you are should know panicking before a performance could ruin it irremediably.” He then whispers to his ear, conspiratorially. 

Haizaki isn’t sure if he feels more riled up or offended by all the teasing, as if Mizukamiya really considers him that weak. Maybe he is. And Miya makes him horny as fuck, to the point of forgetting anything else. “You’re not gonna have to worry about my performance tonight,” he grunts, and then turns around, the fire of his glare reaching his boyfriend as a statement itself. He accepted the challenge already. “As a matter of fact, uh, on this very evening, I’m gonna make you s-“

Mizukamiya’s eyes from glassy and tantalizing become somehow alarmed and Haizaki doesn’t even have to hear his screaming at his ear to stop the cab. His foot takes places on the braces even before figuring out what’s happening in front of him.

☽☼☾

Shinjo is well used to the crazy dynamics that only Tokyo’s traffic jam can convey, but sure as hell hasn’t risked once to be hit at the presence of a reassuring traffic light. He glares at the taxi at his side, hands secured to his precious, bulky baggage, and can almost hear the driver swearing by the movement of his mouth alone. Rude. 

He doesn’t say anything, simply goes on with his routine as every night. In no time he reaches the other side of the road and keeps a steady pace as he slips into one dark and anonymous alley. He made sure he isn’t followed so he doesn’t even care to turn around for confirmation, instead, he presses his other hand against the end of his gun. He rarely uses it, of course. He’s just a humble gallerist, to the eyes of all the neighborhood and to the police itself. That is, because they rarely have to deal with his master.

He rarely exposes himself, anyway. It’s usually him playing the part of the boss, dealing with all the negotiations, accommodating their rich costumers, and of course bringing their preys to him. Always concealed in boxes too tight for their size, which seems to amuse his master a lot. Tonight, it’s just a simple painting- one that disappeared from their gallery just a week ago and is now again safely secured into his gloved hands. 

Of course, not without a little amount of persuasion from their part.

But the trading hasn’t ended yet.  

As soon as he shuts closed the door of the polished garage two blocks over his master’s flat, he knows that the hostage is still there. Simply because his master’s hasn’t left yet, his fancy boots and jacket left at the entrance. He glances at the wall in front of him. He casually steps until he gets right in front of it. To a careless glance, it could look like any other brick wall. As Shinjo takes off one of the bricks to reveal a control board, he feels like a supervillain. 

Maybe he is. 

An automatic door is opened in front of him and at the other side of it, crouched down over a bloody, suffering figure, stands his master. Now that the soundproof chamber is opened, Shinjo can hear every wail, every lament and pitiful cry coming out of the robber, which is placed at his master’s feet, sitting down and blindfolded, a piece of cloth covering his mouth. He grimaces at the sounds, but his master seems totally unfazed. He looks at him, almost surprised to see him home that soon. “Ah, you are here,” he grunts. “Seems like we are finished here”. 

His stands up gracefully, like a prince. Shinjo isn’t bothered by the unprompted, violent kick that reserves to their hostage right after, and just lends him the painting, all wrapped in newspapers and old stained canvases. 

His master doesn’t reserve the man at his feet any second look as he approaches him and carefully takes the painting from his hand. A quick glance is enough to confirm that it’s exactly it, the work  missing from their gallery’s wall, ready to be displayed again without any other fuss. 

Except the fact that their hostage has to be freed before dawn, but it’s nothing concerning his master, who seems finally relieved after too many stressful days to be counted. “Thank you,” he says softly. “I knew I could count on you”. 

“My duty and my pleasure, sir,” Shinjo murmurs, his rough voice contrasting with his, still young and fresh. He doesn’t smile, he never does, as he bows and proceeds to raise their victim from the floor, grunting as his suit is stained with blood. The man hisses as he’s being tossed on his shoulder as if without weight. 

“Don’t bother. There’s still time until dawn. Let his mates live in fear a little more,” his master suggests. “Have you followed my instructions?”

Shinjo releases the grip on the man and lets him fall with a strangled moan. “I can be intimidating enough” he flatly comments. 

“Right, right,” the younger man sighs. “I know what you’re capable of. You never disappoint me”.

“If I may be so bold, sir,” Shinjo suggests, “Healing his scars before handing him to his family could be seen as a rightful act of compassion. There’s no harm in another alliance”. 

“I don’t fraternize with little fishes as him,” his masters retorts, giving the man another quick, disgusted glance. “Besides, I still don’t think he deserves it. Let’s go”. 

Shinjo bows again and keeps his mouth shut, as they emerge from the chamber and start heading out the garage. His master changes his boots, leaving those stained with blood and vomit inside the hide-out and shutting the door behind him. “Do you think I pushed it too far? Be honest,” he says, as he gives their painting a fond look. “It’s just a fake, isn’t it? It’s not worth a fraction of what they thought they could gain from reselling it”. 

Shinjo keeps quiet as he holds his jacket for him. 

The pallid, alien face of his master is crossed by a grin. “But I spent too much energy on it to make it this perfect, it’s really a pity”. 

“A talent as yours must be recognized, sir,” Shinjo gently answers.

“You are too kind, Takuma-san”. His master turns around and gives him a fond look. His bright eyes seem to look at him with a renewed esteem, and maybe something more. “Would you join me for some tea? I really need to stay up tonight, finishing a project”. 

“My pleasure, sir,” Shinjo says. 

With a gesture, he invites him into his cabin and opens the door for him, already used to any of those acts of service, but still not tired.

Old habits don’t wear off that easily, and neither does trust.