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Hayato can taste blood in his mouth. It's his this time, at least. He hates how familiar the thick coppery taste has become, as if it belonged there. Overcome with disgust, he spits, hoping to remove the offending liquid as much as possible from his mouth.
It's not much, but it's enough. He desperately wants to wash out the taste with water or whiskey (preferably the latter), but he won't be able to do so until he reaches his apartment. He needs to focus and pull himself together. Usually, he was better at this. Usually, people didn't manage to fight back enough to cause problems for him. Hayato grimaced as he gingerly felt his side. Probably a couple bruised ribs, cracked at worst. Probably. Nothing felt broken at least. And the punch he'd taken to the face just cut open the inside of his cheek. With enough time, he'd recover.
But time was the one thing he didn't have.
Tonight's target had been a rapist who got off on a technicality. And continued to evade the law through various bullshit hoops and intimidating his victims into silence. Hayato knew his type. They seemed like overgrown childhood bullies—easy enough to dispose of without fuss. After all, it wasn't like anyone was going to miss them. But this guy had been a bigger fight than he expected, getting in a couple good hits before Hayato managed to subdue him.
Just another worthless piece of trash off the streets, at least. Looking as though he took his own life out of remorse for his actions.
Hayato lets out a small sigh as he leans his head back against the brick wall of the abandoned warehouse he had stopped behind. His injuries would heal with time, but the city wouldn't. The world wouldn't. It needed people like him to dirty their hands with the blood of those who managed to evade the law. In his day job as a police detective, Hayato saw plenty of people escape justice. So by night, he became judge, jury, and executioner.
Perhaps it wasn't right. But if no one else was going to do it, then he would.
Before he allowed his thoughts to drift to his past, Hayato shook his head, steeling himself to stand up and get back to his apartment. He had parked several blocks away from his target's residence so as to avoid suspicion. Standing up was the hardest part, sending sharp pain through his chest. Though it dulled down after a moment, the issue wasn't entirely solved as even breathing hurt. He couldn't push himself too hard, but the sooner he got back, the better.
It's late, so there's no one else on the streets to notice his unsteady gait as he takes as deep of breaths as he feels he can manage. Even if there were, he'd probably be mistaken for someone who had a bit too much to drink. He wouldn't correct them. He tries to remember if he has any painkillers in his car, but it feels doubtful. Hayato fumbles with his keys for a moment before managing to unlock the door and gingerly lower himself into the driver's seat. Any movement that required him to twist his torso only rewarded him with more pain, but it was necessary.
He couldn't sit around trying to catch his breath, either. A glance at the clock in his car tells him it's a quarter after three in the morning. At least he wasn't expected at work later. Hayato had been keeping himself on his feet for the past week from black coffee and raw fucking willpower. And maybe that's why he'd messed up tonight. Or maybe he just needed to do better .
Either way, Hayato figures he should head back to his apartment for now. He'd probably grab a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer to apply to his ribs and hopefully pass out in his bed. Although he was willing to admit to himself that passing out on his couch was just as likely at this point.
While driving, the streets are almost as empty as when he'd been walking. He drives in silence, unwilling to mess with the radio at the moment. Hayato knows the streets well and takes the quickest route possible on the least busy streets. Even at this late hour, in a city like Tokyo he was bound to hit traffic somewhere , but he wanted to avoid it for as long as possible.
By the time he reaches his apartment, Hayato's chest is aching from the constant pains of breathing . He hates that he needs to get himself out of his car and up the stairs to his apartment, but he forces himself up anyway. He'd dealt with worse pain than this a million times before. Hayato grits his teeth as he walks up the stairs, fighting the urge to grip his side.
With shaking hands, he manages to unlock his apartment door, and quickly steps inside. It's dark and silent, just like the outside world. Hayato slips off his shoes and carefully removes his jacket, tossing it aside to be dealt with when he's not feeling like absolute shit.
"I'm home," he says, though it comes out as a half mumble.
There's no reply. There never is. It's a force of habit he never quite managed to break from the times when he lived with other people. Now all that greets him is silence.
It's better this way, Hayato thinks to himself. Less questions. Less suspicion.
Those thoughts don't entirely help ease the other ache in his chest—one he refuses to acknowledge is from loneliness.
He has more important matters to attend to than wallowing in his emotions, so Hayato forces down any unnecessary feelings and makes his way to the freezer. He can't remember the last time he actually had time to cook a homemade meal for himself, but that lapse is welcomed when he finds a bag of frozen peas that will work as a makeshift cold pack.
Pressing the bag against his side, he feels the blessed cold seep through his shirt and begin numbing the pain. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and twists it open, pouring just enough in his mouth to successfully wash out the residual taste of blood. He spits in the sink, and watches the water tainted slightly red disappear down the drain. Hayato shifts to turn on the faucet, rinsing out the sink and erasing any proof of his late night encounter.
Opening a cabinet, he shifts through the few over-the-counter medicines kept in a more convenient location than the bathroom. He finds the painkiller he'd be hoping for, and tosses a couple tablets in his mouth. He chases them down with a glass of whiskey, and feels the alcohol burn both the cut inside his mouth and the back of his throat.
Hayato lets out a breath as he finally allows himself to relax for the first time that night. Everything was taken care of now.
He pours himself another glass of whiskey. Liver damage be damned, it was more likely he'd end up dying doing either of his jobs anyway. The burn of the alcohol once again is familiar. Comforting. It gives him permission to feel numb.
Finally, Hayato makes his way over to the living room. He'd deal with the mess he'd left in the kitchen later. All he wanted to do now was lay down.
The trek to his bedroom feels too far in this state, so with a groan, Hayato gingerly lowers himself to the couch. It could be worse, he thinks to himself. But at least now he'd be able to get some sleep and check on his injuries in the morning.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
The vibration of his phone alerts him to an incoming call. Though who the fuck would be calling him at this hour and why are complete mysteries until he actually manages to extract it from his pocket and check the caller ID.
"What the hell, Kuranushi," Hayato says in greeting.
"Well hello to you too," Shizue says from the other end of the line. It sounds like she's smiling. Hayato hates it.
"You're aware it's ass o'clock in the morning, right? If you're calling me at this hour you better have a damn good reason," Hayato says, irritation seeping into his tone.
"Is that any way to talk to your Boss?" Shizue says, though her tone indicates she's not taking his complaints seriously at all.
"Tell me I don't have to come in tomorrow, Boss ," he says. The usually endearing nickname is now very much meant as an insult, but he doubts Shizue will take it that way.
"You don't have to come in tomorrow," Shizue reassures him. "I just…wanted to check in."
Hayato falls silent. Alarm bells are starting to ring in his head. How much does she know? Who told her? How did anyone find out? He'd been so careful, but this wasn't as easy to cover up as—
"Hayato? Are you there?" Shizue asks, her voice laced with concern. "I noticed you've looked kind of tired at work lately so…"
"So you called me at 3:30 in the morning."
Now there's an awkward silence on Shizue's end.
He hears the faint clink of a glass and realization (and some relief) sinks in.
"You're drunk, aren't you?"
"No!" Shizue says quickly. A little too quickly.
"Boss, I know it's Saturday night and all, but drunk dialing your employees isn't the best look."
"I didn't drunk dial you!" Shizue protests, and it's enough to elicit a single laugh from Hayato, which is quickly followed by a sharp inhale as his chest is hit with sharp pains again.
The noises seem to concern Shizue, who quickly grabs the opportunity to move on from Hayato teasing her about her drunk call.
"Hayato? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself laughing or something?"
"It's fine," he says, fighting the urge to grit his teeth until the pain dulls again. "I just…fell earlier tonight. Might've bruised some ribs."
"How hard did you fall?? Do you need to go to the hospital? When did this happen?" Shizue asks, and Hayato wishes he could gesture for her to calm down her barrage of questions.
"Boss. It's fine. Seriously, I just need a few days and I'll be right as rain. I tripped on my way down the stairs at my apartment complex, it was a stupid mistake."
"If you're sure…" Shizue says, but she doesn't entirely sound convinced.
Hayato tries to get her mind off it by pulling the same tactic she had before: changing the subject entirely.
"Y'know if you keep that attitude up, people will start accusing you of favoritism," Hayato jokes.
It seems to do the trick as he hears a small laugh from the other end.
"I care about all of my subordinates, thank you very much, Mr. Yagyu." Her voice drops in both pitch and volume with her next words. "But seriously. You're my friend. I worry about you."
Hayato closes his eyes.
It feels like forever ago since he and Shizue had first become friends. Back in the police academy, when he was an idealistic moron who believed that by becoming a cop he could make the world a better and safer place. They had shared everything back then. Talking with each other well into the night and sometimes into the morning.
It didn't matter what they talked about; people they thought were attractive, complaining about a superior, sharing their pasts and motivations for becoming police officers, nothing was off limits.
But then he'd killed an unarmed man.
Even then, Shizue had stood by him and argued in favor of that fucking cover-up. Maybe she did it out of loyalty to a friend. Maybe she also understood that the man had managed to cheat the system and couldn't be taken care of by any other means. Whatever the reason, Hayato knew he couldn't keep asking her to risk her career for his sake.
But he also couldn't help but wonder if she would support him, even now.
After all, they were friends, right?
They were friends, and then he'd started pulling away to try and protect her. Or maybe he was scared that she wouldn't understand that what he was doing was the right thing. (It had to be.) She was probably hurt and confused and lonely …just like him.
"Yeah…" Hayato breathes out. "We're friends."
"...If you need to talk about anything, or if anything is going on—" Shizue starts hesitantly, but Hayato cuts her off.
"I'm fine, Boss. I promise." He tries to force a smile into his voice, to sound as reassuring as possible. But he'd used the nickname for a reason—once again reminding her of her position and of one of the many invisible walls that separated them.
"O…kay," Shizue says, though she still sounds like she doesn't believe him.
"It's been a long week, I'll talk to you later, alright?" Hayato says. The sooner he ends the conversation, the less chance she'll have to try to pry further.
"Right…bye, Hayato."
"Bye, Boss."
The second he ends the call, Hayato drops his phone onto the floor and puts an arm over his eyes. He'd chosen this path for himself, and only himself. He couldn't let Shizue get tangled in his vigilante web.
You're my friend. I worry about you.
Her words ring in his head, and Hayato struggles to suppress his emotions yet again. He'd come into this world with nothing and had to fight and claw for every scrap he'd ever gotten. And now he felt like he was on a precipice, a mountain built from the corpses of those he'd killed. Any one wrong move and he would lose everything.
He couldn't bring Shizue into that world. As much as it pained them both, he had to leave her and the simple life he'd carved out for himself in an unforgiving world behind. It was a path he had to travel alone.
Shizue was his friend. And Hayato would rather set himself and his life on fire than watch her burn.