Chapter Text
“you’re taking me through roppongi for a date?”
rindou gave no reply, bike soaring past car after car seamlessly. of course he would, just to show off.
the district wasn’t a mystery to you. it’s hard not knowing every nook and cranny, every street and shop, when you’ve been dancing around the youngest haitani for months. endless weeks with your arm looped around his—he’s not yours. every other day with his fingers idly playing with your belt loops—you’re not his.
and yet you wake at every call of his. phone chimes at the midst of witching hours quickly become your cue to sneak out your window. it’s routine without a label.
“i didn’t think tonight would be the night you confess you’re a table dancer.” no judgment from your end, though an annoyed sigh does leave your companion’s very own soul.
rindou couldn’t be bothered to turn off the engine just yet, slightly considering driving you both off the pier he parked at. “how do you even come up with all that?”
“i’m a psychic.”
he scoffed in response, turning the key to let the engine die. psychic is a stretch, you’re a bother, if anything. “s’that the reason you haven’t turned around yet?”
his words are commands, and you whip your head around. the thought of getting pushed and falling to your death seemed plausible—considering it was rindou who asked you to face the other way. however, such a beautiful landscape would have never crossed your mind. rindou had taken you on a drive to witness the beauty of night.
roppongi sang glowing notes of life below, more alive during the dead of night than when morning dew arises. the district was breathing, and it was alluring by itself.
you barely take note of rindou sneaking behind you, neither do you care when he eggs you forward, trapping you between the railings and his own frame. at this point you wouldn’t care if he actually shoved you, the tall buildings would make for a hell of view as you fell.
“you’ve mentioned you like the place better when it shines,” rindou mused. “thought we could come here together.”
we. although you know he meant it in a literal sense, you linger on the word.
what are we?
you’ve avoided the subject for an eternity. at this point, even ran has given up on trying to steal you from his little brother. it’s been that long.
maybe it’s best left unspoken. maybe you’d rather turn around to face him.
“did i?” he’s impossibly close to you, yet you wrap your arms around his shoulders. c’mere. “since when do you listen to anything i say?”
rindou doesn’t answer, it’s a little concerning. the silence isn’t heavy because there’s no such thing—there’s cars driving past, music blaring, and distant chattering. it’s not awkward because there’s an unspoken agreement. it’s only awkward if you make it awkward.
there’s little space between your bodies, and it lessens as he starts leaning in. his eyes are distant, they’re stuck on your lips. rindou is so close to finally picking the forbidden fruit.
until you turn your head. “maybe i’ll be your bouncer if i get this view every time you have a dancing session.”
for the record, he’s fucking embarrassed. rindou backs away quickly (his arms don’t care for the humiliation, they stay put and keep you in the same spot), the slightest trace of a blush disappearing with the lack of light. “joke’s dead.”
so is his mood, and it’s hilarious. “is it?” you face him once again, taking note of the blonde’s agitation. poor youngest brother, always taking the torment, no matter the context. “i think you could pull it off.”
rindou is sure the window of opportunity is long-gone. he’s certain there’s no way the mood will come back. pulling away and brushing it off would be a good move, but your arms don’t allow him to budge, and in the blink of an eye you’re brushing noses with him again.
the window opens again, it’s so free. he leans in again, tilting to the right. but you tilt a little too much to the left, and your face rests on one of his shoulders instead.
great, for a split second he made out with air.
it’s hard to contain your laughter, you can feel his hands grip your hips with anger. “you got the moves, so i’ve heard—ran says you make funny poses when you’re in a fight.”
after two failed attempts, he comes to a conclusion.
you’re messing with him. you’re playing with rindou haitani, man who’s gone to jail before for murder.
rindou is about done with your antics. he grips your chin, and though the initial force is harsh, it softens. it always does with you, especially when you’re trying to stifle that stupid giggling.
“you think you’re funny.” yeah, yeah you do. “actin’ all dumb, pulling away—is that why your arms are clinging to me?”
“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie.
“you a comedian now?” rindou is pressing you impossibly tighter against the railing. “am i laughing?”
you are. “sorry rin, just—you’re too easy to rile up.” he wants nothing more than to wipe that smug grin from your face, you’ve picked up on his facial expressions too well.
“lemme fuckin’ kiss you, damnit.” he muttering mostly to himself, stuck trying to hold your face in place.
but you’re having the time of your life running from him. it’s hilarious hearing the curses slip past the same lips desperately chasing after yours. (he’s not sure he wants to kiss you at all anymore! his patience has long since run out!)
whatever good is left in your soul takes pity on the delinquent. he comes crashing when you finally meet him halfway. it’s messy, and he’s angry. so he doesn’t stop at one kiss, he’s selfish like that. rindou finally got a taste, and the built-up tension demands a thousand more samples.
“was that,” he can only keep away from your lips for a split second. “so fuckin’,” it’s addicting. “hard?”
maybe it wasn’t, maybe you shut him up with another kiss.