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Although he knew that the air within the prison walls was no different than the air beyond them, Yoshitaka still couldn't help sucking in a heavy lungful as the prison gates rolled closed behind him. Logic be damned—the air was cleaner, the sun was brighter, and not even an uncertain future could dim the relative cheerfulness of his mood.
That he'd been sent to prison in the wake of the Black Monday debacle had been a mercy. By rights, he should've at the very least lost a finger or, more appropriately, been executed for defying the sixth chairman's wishes, but instead he'd been sacrificed to the criminal justice system—a sacrifice he'd been more than willing to make if it kept his blood off of Daigo's hands.
That had been over a decade ago, twelve years trickling past behind the prison walls. He'd borne it stoically, though despair had begun to wear on him as more and more time passed without as much as a letter from outside. He hadn't been surprised to be cut off from the business world—they'd lost interest in him the second he stopped making them richer—but it had stung that Daigo hadn't written to him even once.
Had what they'd had only meant something to him?
No, no. Daigo was not a man given to false pretenses or lies, so he must've had some other reason to keep to himself. Perhaps Daigo simply didn't know what to say, especially not when it would have to go past other eyes before it was delivered to him, and so had said nothing. It was much better than thinking that he had dismissed Yoshitaka from his mind.
It didn't matter now, really—Yoshitaka had no family to go back to, no business, but he'd clawed his way up from nothing once, and he would do it again.
The sound of a car door closing made him realize that he'd shut his eyes as he'd breathed, and he opened them to find a limousine pulled over in front of him, its driver bowing to him before he opened the back door and waited with an expectant air.
Well, it wasn't as though he had any better prospects.
He crossed the road and climbed into the car, settling the small bag of possessions at his feet as he studied his fellow passenger. Daigo watched him from the other side of the car, older, more careworn, and Yoshitaka wished he could map every difference, from the deepened lines between his brows to the unfamiliar scars that no doubt lurked under his suit. Instead, he bowed his head. "Sixth Chairman."
The sound Daigo made wasn't a laugh any more than the tight curve of his lips was a smile. "No one calls me that anymore," he corrected as he glanced down at the hand fisted against his thigh, then lifted his gaze to meet Yoshitaka's. "Just 'Chairman' is fine if you want to be formal... Mine."
Yoshitaka frowned at the sound of his surname, awkward on Daigo's lips. "I don't understand," he said. "Chairman?" Only then did he realize that the pin that usually adorned Daigo's lapel was missing, the black of his jacket undisturbed by its subtle gleam. "What's going on?"
"You hadn't heard, then." Daigo looked away and cleared his throat, then brushed his fingers over his lapel in a gesture that he didn't seem to realize he'd done. "The Tojo Clan is gone."
"Gone."
Daigo nodded sharply, eyes drifting to meet Yoshitaka's again. "Dissolved. We've restructured."
"Restructured," Yoshitaka parroted. "The Tojo Clan has been 'restructured'." He held Daigo's gaze as he leaned forward. "How?"
"We're legitimate now." His mouth quirked in another not-smile, no doubt at Yoshitaka's shocked expression. "Watase and I started a security company out of Sotenbori. We're doing quite well, really."
Yoshitaka straightened as he mentally reeled, unable to wrap his mind around Daigo's words. "You opened a security company with Watase. Is the Omi Alliance 'dissolved', too?"
Daigo nodded again. "For two years now." His fingers uncurled from their fist to drum against his thigh, a tic that Yoshitaka recognized even after the years of separation—not that it took a lot of familiarity to be able to read Daigo's discomfort. "There's a place for you, Mine—if you want it."
Yoshitaka frowned and dropped his eyes to Daigo's hand, unable to meet his suddenly-earnest gaze. "Why?" he demanded. "I don't have anything to offer you now."
"You're wrong." Daigo's words cracked like a whip. "You're more than your money." Daigo glanced out the window, frustration apparent in the lines that deepened between his eyes. "We don't need money—I don't need money. I need you."
Struck mute, Yoshitaka instead turned to the scenery flying past them, frowning again as he realized the buildings were thinning as they traveled farther from the prison. "Where are we going?"
Daigo sighed and slid a little lower in his seat, a slouch that sent a pang through Yoshitaka's chest, that small sign of weakness that he was certain Daigo still never showed to anyone else. "Osaka," he admitted, his tone stubborn, as though he expected an argument—an argument that Yoshitaka had no interest in giving.
"I suppose I don't have any other offers." He turned slightly farther toward the window, unable to look at Daigo as a trickle of relief wound through him. "Tell me about this place you have for me. Do I start at the bottom? I can't imagine you need more muscle."
"We don't," Daigo agreed, and abruptly caught Yoshitaka's hand in a firm grip. "You can make whatever position you want. I only want you with me."
Yoshitaka couldn't help looking at Daigo any more than a flower could turning to the sun. "It's been years. Surely there's someone else."
"No." Daigo's expression was fierce, his tone adamant. "Never. I've only ever seen you, Yoshitaka."
Yoshitaka froze at the sound of his name in Daigo's voice, eyes widening at the echo of it in his mind. His mouth opened, though no words came, lost before they could trip from his tongue. Daigo's grip on his hand was scorching, but he couldn't pull his own away, couldn't break that contact as Daigo shook himself, body language softening as he studied Yoshitaka with a familiar focus.
"I won't force you, Mine. If you don't want to come with me, I'll take you anywhere you'd like." He squeezed Yoshitaka's hand, then released him slowly. "I want you to be happy."
Before Daigo's fingers could completely break contact, Yoshitaka grabbed it, lacing their fingers together. "Don't call me 'Mine'." He laid his other hand over their linked ones, tugging them closer until they pressed against his sternum. The angle was awkward and uncomfortable, but the contact was all he could've asked for—until he wanted more. Yoshitaka unwound their fingers and, before Daigo could protest, wrapped his hand around Daigo's wrist and yanked.
Daigo grunted as he overbalanced at the unexpected pull and fell toward Yoshitaka, free hand catching high on Yoshitaka's thigh as he stabilized himself, only for Yoshitaka to pull him again—gentler this time, but no less insistent. Obliging Yoshitaka's unspoken request, Daigo slid across the seat until their legs came into contact, until Yoshitaka could lift his arm and thread his fingers into Daigo's hair, tilting his head back.
Pressing his lips against Daigo's jaw was as natural as breathing, the warmth of his skin intoxicating. Yoshitaka closed his eyes as he skimmed his lips toward Daigo's ear, inhaling deeply as he nuzzled just below it. "Say my name," he whispered, so close that each word brushed over Daigo's skin.
Daigo sucked in a breath, his hand tightening on Yoshitaka's thigh as he broke away from Yoshitaka's mouth, just enough to be able to catch his gaze. "Yoshitaka," he breathed, eyes darkened as they held Yoshitaka's. "You'll come with me."
Though soft-spoken, it was a command, and a corner of Yoshitaka's mouth curled; by his own admission, Daigo wasn't in a position to give him orders any longer, but it seemed some habits were hard to break. "I don't hav—"
Before he could truly begin his argument, Daigo's lips were on his, his silver tongue pressing into Yoshitaka's mouth and muffling his groan. Daigo echoed that groan when Yoshitaka's fingers clenched in his hair, but it did nothing to deter his assault, even as Yoshitaka fumbled to gather his thoughts enough to return the kiss.
It was as though nothing had changed, the heat between them, the rough touch of Daigo's hands as they climbed to anchor at his shoulders, the press of Daigo's weight as he rolled to straddle Yoshitaka's thighs. When Daigo's mouth left his, Yoshitaka blinked a few times, as though it would be enough to clear the haze of lust from all his senses. Focusing on Daigo at last, Yoshitaka found him watching with a fond expression.
"I've missed you," Daigo murmured, so softly that, even so close, Yoshitaka could barely hear him over the sounds of the road. He moved his hands to frame Yoshitaka's neck, thumbs stroking over his throat. "You belong next to me."
Yoshitaka settled his hands on Daigo's hips and tilted his chin up, huffing when Daigo did nothing more than press a soft kiss against a corner of his mouth. "You belong to me," he corrected, unable to help the faint smirk when Daigo's brows drew together. "I belong to you."
Daigo dropped a kiss to the other corner of Yoshitaka's mouth, then slipped from Yoshitaka's grasp to settle next to him again, a hand finding Yoshitaka's and clasping it firmly. "There's plenty of time before we reach Osaka to hash out the details, Yoshitaka." Daigo's mouth tilted with his private smile, the one he only showed to Yoshitaka, and Yoshitaka felt his chest tighten.
"I missed you, too."
Daigo's hand tightened around his. "I know," he murmured, then cleared his throat lightly. "Why don't I tell you what happened while you were gone?"
Yoshitaka nodded, though he only half-listened to Daigo's words, instead letting his voice wash over him. Before he realized it, he was nodding off, slouching low in the seat until his head came to rest on Daigo's shoulder. His eyes had closed of their own accord, but he felt Daigo smoothing his fingers over his forehead before Daigo tipped his cheek against Yoshitaka's head. Just before he slid into sleep, Daigo's fingers brushed over his lips, a contact almost as soft as the whisper that chased him into slumber.
"Welcome home."