Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Where is he?” 

The cabin practically shakes when Joe bursts in, all balled fists and gravel in his voice. 

In the last few days, the cabin has seen so many angry and unreasonable people barge in and out that Mikio was surprised the place was still standing. Luckily for them, Mikio jokes, he was still a recovering egoist who was too overconfident in everything he built. Life-changing concussion from Gearless Joe or not. 

Sure, he thinks, getting off the couch to meet his frantic guest. What's one more person slamming doors going to do? 

Mikio knew that Joe would come running as soon as he called. What he didn’t expect was how long it would take to reach him in the first place. It turned out Gearless Joe didn't own a phone himself and that his entire PR team consisted of plucky children who cursed him for every underhanded tactic he pulled on their star athlete. 

Totally his fault, Mikio admitted, before they finally let him through. The conversation with Joe was much easier after that. 

He tells Joe Yuri needs him – Joe hangs up and drives. 

Then Mikio wonders what part the faint screaming in the background played in getting him to beat every red light and get out here in record time. 

"He’s in there,” Mikio says, eyes darting towards the door in the back. 

He begins fishing for the keys that sit heavy in his pocket. Joe, however, didn't bother waiting. Soon enough, doors are slamming again as he runs downstairs without any of the usual finesse or grace he brings in the ring. The sound of heavy boots reverb in the narrow hall to the basement, and Mikio can only imagine what wonders that is doing for Yuri’s reacquainted sensory overload. 

Maybe he should have warned Joe. Maybe he could have if someone just waited.

“Hey!” Joe calls out. “What the hell is this?” 

When Mikio finally makes his way down, he finds Joe standing by the heavy-duty padlock on the door, looking at him with a glare that could cut. In the dark, Mikio swears his narrowed eyes have a yellow glow rather than their usual brown hue. 

Oh, he thinks, fighting the urge to backpedal, he’s really dealing with an upset animal now.

Mikio holds his hands up in defense, the keys dangle by the keychain on his finger. 

“Easy now – Yuri’s the one who requested it.” 

And he did so lucidly , he wants to add. Yuri was well aware that taking off the integrated gear would be anything but painless. However, there were… side effects …that made the process even more difficult. Mikio anticipated all of this – he had been for a long time now.

Much like his own gear (with all his hopes and dreams and bitterness pinned on it), Yukiko’s model was far from perfect. It catered well enough to the general public, yes. But for Yuri's kind, it presented concerns that were too easily overlooked. 

A memory nudges at Mikio – of Yuri, one month post-gear integration. He remembers the clarity and calmness he saw in Yuri’s eyes as he wore his sister’s model. Even now, he hates to think that there was happiness in there as well. He remembers how Yuri claimed he felt more in control of his body with the gear on. He said that the rabid dog that haunted his time in the streets was finally in check and that made no demands about being let out.

Mikio narrowed his eyes at him then. You don’t control animals , he wanted to say. Much more a wild wolf you humored for so long. 

He didn't say anything, of course. His petty sense of betrayal from Yuri choosing Yukiko over him blinded Mikio from ever doing anything. 

(Besides, what more was there to say?  The gear was already fused with Yuri’s body.) 

“He’s been quiet for some time now,” Mikio says, pushing past Joe to undo the lock. “The only reason I know he’s still alive is because he tells me to get out whenever I check.” 

There are varying degrees of fight in Yuri’s voice whenever Mikio enters the room. When Mikio offers painkillers, he’s mad. When Mikio suggests a change of bandages, he’s a little more compliant. Now, pushing the door open, Mikio gets nothing but shallow breathing and the sight of Yuri hunched over himself on the floor. 

God – he looks worse than he did earlier, Mikio notes. The bandages he just reapplied were already seeping red, and with each bone on his back emphasized, Yuri’s tightly coiled form looked too raw to touch. 

Stepping closer to the moonlight, Mikio notices a new development in the works – claws were starting to rip past the bruised skin on Yuri’s knuckles. 

“You need to call off the finals.” 

Mikio doesn’t miss the way Joe’s jaw clenches at the idea, already resistant. It must feel like a spit in the face after everything he’s given to get this far. After everything Yuri’s given up now. 

Trust me, Mikio wants to say, he knows the feeling all too well. But someone has to stop this impossible dream of theirs before it’s too late. 

“He’ll die in the ring fighting like this. That – or he’ll kill you and run loose. What are you going to do then, Joe?” 

“Shut up,” Joe growls, first kicking off his shoes then shrugging his jacket off. Everything follows soon after. “Just shut the hell up, okay? ” 

Mikio knows that the act of shifting can be something private as it is personal. However, it seemed like everything about Gearless Joe was made a spectacle one way or another. 

Not that Joe cared, of course. 

It still didn’t stop Mikio from feeling like a guilty voyeur, crossing his arms in front of his chest and forcing himself to look at all the scratches and scuffs on the walls instead. 

As a dog, Joe’s scars are more apparent than when he is human. Mikio supposes it helps that there’s a clear distinction between where the fur ends and the exposed flesh begins.

  For all intents and purposes, Joe is a real junk dog. Yet he slinks towards Yuri slowly – carefully. Joe is cautious not to startle the other when he nudges him with his snout, asking him to wake up. 

Yuri doesn’t. And so Joe pushes even more, trying to lift Yuri’s limp arm until he can slot himself close to his side. Mikio doesn’t know how this helps, but eventually, Yuri’s eyes slowly open, red and glazed over. Foggy and a bit confused.

“Joe…?” he whispers, his hoarse voice strained. 

If Mikio were Yuri, he would be scared shitless of the giant animal burrowed next to him, its snout and sharp teeth nestling near his neck. But it takes a wild dog to know a wild dog. Quite literally it seems. 

(Though, Joe looks less and less wild with every low whimper he gives. Always echoing back to Yuri’s quiet groans through gritted teeth. 

Now, Mikio really feels like a voyeur.)

The two don’t communicate any more than they need to. That is to say, they don’t at all. Yuri simply pulls Joe in closer, burying his face in his warm body and holding him like a lifeline.

The claws don’t suddenly pull back, and his breathing remains shallow. But it eventually evens out as the furrow on Yuri’s brow smoothens as he curls around the other. 

Mikio exhales deep (so fucking deep) and takes this as his cue to leave, closing the door behind him but not bothering with the lock and key.

In the morning, he finds two scarred-up animals sleeping together, side by side.

Chapter Text

The tea kettle goes off exactly at the best part of the program. Or so that’s what Mikio believes it to be. 

He keeps the TV on like a soft radio as he pours boiling water over chamomile. The steam fogs up his glasses, but it doesn’t stop the amused stop that crawls on his face whenever he glances at the screen. The commentators are really out there attempting to make sense of the empty ring right before them. All while trying to make it sound entertaining. 

After all, they have to keep people in their seats somehow. 

Mikio fully expects his sister to come calling any time now. But he hasn’t received any calls or texts since her last visit to the cabin. He supposes she’s too busy brokering the deal with the military now that her tournament-scale media campaign is done.

Mikio looks back at the empty ring on his second-hand TV set. There isn’t a single member of Nowhere or Shirato by the ringside – much less their star boxers. 

He scoffs. 

He wonders how that deal is going. 

When Mikio heads out to sit on the porch, the husky follows him outside. He even goes as far as sitting by Mikio’s side, nestled close to his lap. Mikio likes to pretend that they’ve come to an understanding of sorts. He keeps him company while his owner is away – the husky refrains from biting his fingers off without good reason. 

Fair is fair, Mikio thinks, drinking his tea under the ridiculously bright moon. 

It’s been waning for the last few weeks now. But it’s still so large and luminous that it’s almost comical to him as it is thematic. 

The two have been gone for over three days now. And as the hours pass, it seems like they’re about to make it four. With his hand rubbing circles on the husky, Mikio decides he isn't too worried or compelled to call for a search team just yet. 

The old dog, he thinks, still has a lot of old tricks to relearn.