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There’s an alleyway spot near the Yokohama waterfront, a hole-in-the-wall bar illuminated with LEDs. Metal tables are strewn about and a small makeshift dancefloor takes up the center. In the afternoon it’s a lunch spot, quiet and quaint, away from large roads that disappear into the heart of the city, but during the night it evolves; benches are stowed away in favor of standing tables and lanterns and far more sophisticated decor. It’s a very classy joint if you stop by after 9PM—it isn’t anywhere you’d see girls wearing outfits priced at less than a hundred thousand yen, or men in clothes they wouldn’t be happy to wear to the grave.
Jyuto shows up one evening on a weekday, not to indulge, but on business. Nobody bothered to ask what nature of business compelled him to come out here to this high-end, relatively safe spot, so Jyuto doesn’t have an answer ready, not when he’s just out of the range of the valet who has his keys and he makes very certain and stilted eye contact with his division leader.
Samatoki is at a table hidden away from the bright lights, a lit cigarette in one hand and a tall, short-haired woman seated to his left, hip-to-hip. The woman’s reaching for his right hand—for the cigarette, Jyuto’s brain clarifies—and then there’s the shock of Jyuto realizing he’s staring, and Samatoki is staring right back, eyeing him through the smoke and lights. Samatoki sits up a little from how he’d been slouched, but doesn’t turn away or otherwise make to move, and Jyuto, for once, doesn’t really know what to do.
He has always been of the belief that Rio’s whole wilderness-survivalist deal is obsolete in the modern age and, to be frank, a bit silly. He’s eating those words now, though, because just when he was imaging how absurd his life would have to be that he'd ever need to know the protocol of handling a lion on its home turf, Jyuto runs blindly into one, unarmed. Samatoki is the one man, who, during his leisure, is probably meaner than the devil and with patience on par with a starved beast. Doubtless he had been referring to the real, quadruped creature and not their division leader, but Rio’s words ring in Jyuto’s ears as if Samatoki were no different: it is, under no circumstances, ever wise to approach a lion in his den.
Jyuto thinks himself sagacious as he breaks sight and ducks into the entrance, pointedly not looking in the man’s direction no matter how nauseous it makes him not to satisfy his curiosity. He doesn’t know Samatoki like that. They work together—their partnership may be unconventionally fruitful and by no means expected, but that just adds to the blurriness of their relationship.
A few months is enough to know Samatoki. He’s simple, yet far from boring, and hardly shallow. Jyuto has no room to doubt Samatoki—his tactics are tried, and have yet to lead him or Jyuto astray, no matter how much of a thorn in his side Samatoki is otherwise. Tonight, then, Jyuto’s more confident than ever and pending correction from the man himself that this is a line that he shouldn’t dare cross, stepping on his toes while he’s clearly occupied. It is a fool’s errand to pretend Samatoki trusts him more than made evident.
A single, virgin drink down, and Jyuto calls for the valet. With an unseen predator loose in Yokohama’s narrow city streets, Iruma Jyuto does his best to leave without ceremony.
Jyuto has to wonder why it is God hates him.
It isn’t even seven o’clock the next morning when he sees Samatoki again, something cherrypicked from his stream of consciousness as the last possible thing he could want to deal with. Samatoki at least has decency enough to text and ask to be let in rather than abusing the front door, and thinks it’s only because of this that he gestures a very fucked-up looking Samatoki to the kitchen, and sets about getting some water for him.
It’s awkward, but he’s far more approachable like this, without the woman on his arm. Jyuto considers that he might have overreacted as he reaches for a clean glass.
What he notices first is that Samatoki’s still wearing his clothes from the night before: he’s got a nice, treated leather coat on over a white shirt with deep blue accents around the shoulders, something Jyuto hadn’t noticed from a distance. His hair’s messed up, lips chapped, eyes moderately bloodshot and skin smelling horrifically of cigarettes. Jyuto’s been there before, and kills any comments about his appearance before they leave his mouth.
He places the glass of water in front of him, which Samatoki regards for only a second.
“Hair of the dog,” Samatoki says, making forced and slightly desperate eye contact.
“You’re not still drunk?” Jyuto doesn’t have any liquor on him that he’d be willing to give Samatoki under normal circumstances, but if it keeps him docile and less liable to trash his place looking for some, it’s worth the loss. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still snort in audible annoyance.
“No, and I’d really fuckin’ like to be.” Samatoki cradles his face in one palm, battling the brightness of the kitchen even with the blinds drawn and lights turned low.
Water is replaced with whiskey. Samatoki hums a single syllable that Jyuto deludes himself into interpreting as Samatoki’s thanks.
After the third sip, Jyuto moves. “Who was she?”
His eyes fall shut. “Just someone.”
He doesn’t care enough to press. But God, that’s a lie.
Maybe he cares.
“You realize smoking on the first date is a surefire way to turn a girl off of you. Unless she’s looking for short-term, because that’s all she’ll get.”
“The fuck would you know about getting with girls?”
Jyuto shrugs. The real answer is nothing; he can pretend to know, if only to be contrarian. He pours Samatoki a bit more whiskey.
Samatoki puts his face down on the cool marble of Jyuto’s counter, the alcohol settling in his stomach. “She said she wanted a smoke, so I let her have mine.”
“Samatoki. If you sit there like a nicotine addict and wear your withdrawals on your face, she’ll feel like an asshole if she doesn’t accommodate.”
“All the better. If I give off the impression that I’m uninterested, she has to give up eventually.”
Jyuto’s eyebrows furrow.
"Eventually? Are you trying to… cut her off?”
Samatoki meets Jyuto’s eyes once, before looking back at the counter. He almost looks sad.
“How long have you been going out?”
“Met two months ago,” Samatoki responds, and Jyuto doesn’t know if that means they’ve been dating since ten, but Samatoki doesn’t clarify.
“You’re clearly giving her the impression you’re interested.”
He’s clearly thought the same thing before. “I know, damn it. Her brother… he keeps saving my ass. and every time, he’ll bring her up again, how much she talks about me, how she liked that first date we had. I feel like I have to take her out again as thanks.”
He’s treating her awfully nice for it to be out of obligation. “Did you smoke on that first date?”
Samatoki nods. “It was at a bar? The one downtown, across from that mafia-run laundromat.”
Jyuto wants to spit out his drink.
“I go there, for work. There isn’t a decent soul in that entire place, you fucking maniac. What are you doing, taking a young girl there?”
“She’s my age! And she knows what I do, asshole. Her brother’s been working for me forever.”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to be treated like a lady!”
Samatoki scowls. Jyuto feels the tug of the inevitable.
“And why were you there last night?”
“Also for work,” Jyuto sighs. It’s not like Samatoki’s in any spot to fact-check him on it. “I have to stop by every shithole in this city at least once. See what kind of clientele it gets.”
“That place wasn’t even bad.”
“It wasn’t,” Jyuto liked it a lot, actually. He’ll consider going back, if he can come to terms with potentially seeing Samatoki with his side piece again.
Jyuto puts down his own glass. He doesn’t remember pouring himself any alcohol.
It’s quiet. Sparse city birdsong and the low ambience of traffic makes it through the closed window, a gentle reminder that they’re now both drinking at 7 AM.
“You didn’t say hi.” When Samatoki says it, he sounds less like the man he is and more like an embarrassed teenage girl, down to the whine in his voice. “I’d have liked the company.”
This is ridiculous. Jyuto feels an irrational anger flare in his chest. He has to pretend his hands weigh 50 tons each to keep from punching Samatoki in the face.
“I didn’t want to interrupt you. You looked like you were busy.”
“I wasn’t. I told you I’m trying to slowly break things off with her.”
“I didn’t know that? And keep saying that, and you’ll break her heart.”
“That’s what ‘m trying to avoid!”
Something heated sparks in Samatoki’s eyes. But he doesn’t bite like Jyuto expects.
Is he an idiot for being so weird about Samatoki last night? Yes. But it’s not entirely without justification. They can be casual and talk about it now, over drinks and misery and moderate hatred for the world, but Jyuto’s learned quickly that even if Samatoki is far less intimidating than what he projects, he's still a force to be reckoned with. That aside, he’s just a bit of a brat.
It’s gone silent between them, again. The adrenaline of Samatoki in his apartment has worn off, and Jyuto’d really like to go back to bed.
The birdsong gets louder. There’s got to be a nest right outside his window.
“Is she your type?” Jyuto asks, eyes starting to sting. Fuck, it’s early.
Samatoki looks right at him. He doesn’t look tired, surprisingly. His leader sits up, hands on the cold marble. It’s uncomfortably intimate to look him in the eye.
“I don’t care either way—”
“She looks just like you.”
Jyuto’s eyes slip shut once, blurry when he opens them again. “What?”
“She looks so much like you, man. Didn’t you see her? She has the glasses, the sharp features. She talks a lot like you. She’s smart, and I really think she could kick my ass if I gave her the chance.”
He wishes he could bookmark this conversation and visit it again in a few hours with his brain fully intact.
“Ah.” Jyuto’s throat feels dry. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“What? No.” Samatoki furrows his eyebrows.
“You spent this entire conversation convincing me you don’t like her and that you’re ending things as soon as possible,” Jyuto appends. “How else am I supposed to interpret that?”
“I just mean I don’t actively like her like that. She’s a nice girl, and it’s not like I don’t enjoy being around her. Why do you think I haven’t just stood her up?”
“Because you’re taking her out to thank her brother.”
Samatoki’s head falls with a sigh. ”Touché.”
The room’s well-lit by daylight now, and Jyuto eyes Samatoki’s slouched-over form, and then the mostly-full glass of whiskey within an arm’s reach. “I think I need to be a lot more drunk for this conversation.”
There’s a quiet shuffling, and Samatoki’s upright again. “No, actually. I need you to hear this, and remember it.”
He’s sliding up to Jyuto, then, effectively boxing him in against the kitchen island. The smell of cigarette smoke on him is heartbreaking.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Jyuto.” It’s the first time Samatoki’s said his name today. “What are we? What’s “us”?”
Jyuto wills his heart to keep beating. “You’re my division leader,” he starts. “And a business partner.” The business being, I get you out of jail, and you get me what I need.
“Is that all?”
Holy fuck. “Are we friends?”
“I dunno, friends would stop by if they caught one another at the same bar,” Samatoki leans in a little closer, and Jyuto’s lower back leans properly against the counter, now.
“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”
“I want you,” Samatoki says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You are my type. I can’t stand how every moment with this girl reminds me that I don’t have you. I pretended every word from her mouth was yours, and I watched you walk away last night and it killed me. I can't do it anymore.”
Jyuto’s head spins. If he’s hallucinating this, sleep-walking, dreaming, whatever—he’s going to be livid.
It’s real, he knows, and Samatoki leans a bit further, mouthing at the joint of Jyuto’s neck and shoulder.
“You never—fucking—said anything,”
“I could only eye-fuck you so many times from behind bars.” Samatoki doesn’t stop for long, nipping with teeth now.
“I hate you. You’re drunk.”
“A little,” Samatoki rests a hand on Jyuto’s hip. “Don’t bite me, ok?”
He tastes awful. Like cigarettes and whiskey and bubblegum, of all things. Jyuto’s met with teeth not five seconds in and he can only grimace at the taste for so long before it just becomes an extension of Samatoki himself, at which point Jyuto kisses again deeper, letting more of it on his palate.
Jyuto’s heart hurts. It’s like a soreness, compressed under 67 kilos and a pair of solid black boots. He feels upset, raw, tender—none of which being emotions he enjoys wearing on his face—but embarrassed, more than anything. He doesn’t consider himself emotionally out of touch, but there had to have been some way for him to have spared himself the elephant in the room. It’s all way too fucking much for so early in the morning.
“Stop.” Jyuto pulls away first, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Samatoki pulls back an inch, but doesn’t move any further. His eyes are soft.
“I’m going the hell back to bed,” Jyuto’s still running on fumes and as nice as this is, all of this, he needs another few hours to reorient himself.
Samatoki just laughs, the sound echoing throughout the kitchen. Jyuto bristles at the sound.
“Yeah? And did you sleep at all?”
“No,” Samatoki replies exasperatedly. He sounds like he’s going to elaborate, but he doesn’t, resting his forehead on Jyuto’s shoulder.
“We'll talk tomorrow,” Jyuto pitches, running a hand up Samatoki’s spine. Samatoki must be quite fond of the idea, if the smile Jyuto feels on his shoulder is to be attributed. “Shower, and you can take the couch.”
“The bed is plenty big.”
“It’s mine. Just because I let you lick in my mouth doesn’t mean you get bed privileges, mutt.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Samatoki finally separates, moving towards the open bathroom door. “After all the nice things I said to you today.”
“I should be happy because I now know you eye-fuck me from your prison cell?”
The door closes with Samatoki behind. Muffled, “I don’t do that for just anyone.”
Jyuto scoffs. He shelves the whiskey, noting a significant amount missing that was certainly there when he opened it earlier. He sets their glasses in the sink, straightens out chairs, and is feeling a lot less in the mood for chores when he checks the clock on his counter, reading an angry 7:18 AM.
He stops by the closed bathroom door. There’s no sound of water yet.
“I’ll get you a spare toothbrush.” A minute later, Jyuto knocks once, politely. “Hey.”
The door opens after a moment. Samatoki’s got a towel around his waist. “What.”
Of course he’d sour fast without a drink. “How do you know this isn't going to blow up in our faces?”
Samatoki sighs, but there’s a smile in his voice. “You’re the one who insisted we wait until tomorrow. Ask me again then.” And makes a point of shutting the door in Jyuto’s face.
Jyuto grins, turning away as if to not let Samatoki see it break across his face. He’s so fucking irritating.