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“He’s out for good,” Kouyou comments with a sigh, nudging an unconscious figure slumped over the table in the back of the office. Chuuya doesn’t move, although a muffled groan, that suspiciously sounds like a curse, escapes from underneath the mess of ginger hair. “Again,” she mutters under her breath, but the blanket in her arms ends up on the man’s shoulders when she tucks him with it affectionately.
“Let him be,” Mori chuckles in the back, staring at the moon, swathed in clouds. The sight is nothing compared to the magnificent sunset a couple of hours earlier, painting the sky soft pink mixed with warm, orange shade; yet it somehow manages to capture his attention. “We are celebrating a victory, after all.”
The woman rolls her eyes, comes closer and stands behind his armchair. The boss doesn’t seem to be affected by her act, quite the contrary, he leans into the plush padding with a relaxed expression on his face.
“Still, it doesn’t mean that you have to get wasted because of it,” she says, resting her arms on the back of the chair. The remark is supposed to sound like a reprimand, although she doesn’t have anybody to scold — with Chuuya unconscious and Mori sober as ever. The taste of wine is still lingering on her own lips and tongue, but it’s somehow distant, maybe more than she’d like at the moment. “He’ll be hungover in the morning,” Kouyou adds, trying to hide the slight concern in her tone.
“He’ll be fine, dear, he’s a grown man,” Mori dismisses it with a wave of his hand and a slight smirk on his face. “It’s not the first time.”
She hums a mhm in response, because she has to agree. She doesn’t like her worry about Chuuya to be belittled, but it’s Mori — he is well aware of the familial bond between the two executives and he doesn’t intend to mock or offend her.
Then, they spend a moment in peaceful silence. Kouyou observes how the clouds move, almost covering the bright, milky white moon for a second. There’s something seemingly captivating about their rapid race through the sky; only after a minute does the woman realize that it’s just her subliminal urge to distract herself from the unspoken words lingering on the tip of her tongue.
“There’s something bothering you,” Mori suddenly notices and she almost gasps, surprised upon the discovery of her inner struggle. “I can hear the way you breathe,” he points out, tilting his head so he can glance at her with his lips quirked up in a tiny smirk.
He’s always been exceptionally skilled at figuring out her emotions. Kouyou loves it and hates it at the same time.
She hesitates for a minute. It was something she’d much rather keep to herself, but considering the amount of time they spend together and the activities they participate in together, it’s inevitable that he would notice on his own. He would connect the dots and understand on his own as well, but she prefers to at least pretend that they have a normal, regular relationship that they certainly don’t need to hide. Her confession from a couple of hours before could be a step too far, knowing that Chuuya was right next to them.
On the other hand, the look in Mori’s eyes is genuine, as if he wants to look at her as much as possible; they haven’t seen each other since before her unfortunate kidnapping by the Agency. Naturally, the feeling is mutual — but the mention of the other organization is what sends a shiver down her spine.
“It’d be better if we talked about this in another room,” she proposes first. There are chances that Chuuya will wake up and even if they are minor, she certainly doesn’t want to risk it right now.
Mori gets up from his chair without questioning it and they head to the adjacent bedroom. He closes the door behind her, then walks to the huge bed and sits at the edge of it, looking at the woman expectantly.
Suddenly she doesn’t feel too confident, but the whole reason for this conversation is devouring her so much that she doesn’t want to back out either.
“My scars,” she confesses quietly. “They disappeared.”
Surprise only flashes through his expression for a second.
“I know why,” she continues, holding the top part of her kimono, unsure whether to expose herself or not. At first thought, it wouldn’t be much different from the other nights spent in this exact room, because he had already seen her naked many times — and when she thinks about it more, he also had seen her covered in blood, with her abdomen practically ripped open. He witnessed her sobbing uncontrollably with fragments of glass stuck in her bleeding palms and held her when she tried to calm herself down after a nightmare. Summing all of that up, Kouyou comes to a conclusion that there are worse things than seeing each other naked. “It’s because of the Agency doctor’s ability.”
An emotion that she doesn’t recognize appears on Mori’s face, but it’s gone before she can even think about it. Instead, the man gets up, gets to her in one, short step and reaches for her hand after taking off his glove.
Mori seems to be a little puzzled for the first few seconds. Then, his expression shifts into gentle understanding, which is comforting, because Kouyou can’t help but feel strange.
“It’s soft,” he says, sliding his thumb over the new , smooth skin on her palm. Her palms used to be rough and calloused in places, all from handling a weapon for such a long time, while his in contrast were much softer from wearing gloves most of the time. “It’s different.”
“I feel strange,” she confesses and rolls up her sleeve to show more scars that should be staining her wrists, but instead, there is just clear skin — untouched, like they have never even been there in the first place. Mori traces the nonexistent marks with his fingers with an unintelligible expression, but the gesture seems somehow affectionate, especially when she notices that he remembers exactly where they were. “Not like me.”
Mori doesn’t answer, instead, he raises his palm and brushes over her cheek with his fingers; a small, white line left there by a shard of glass was once right under her eye.
“I hadn’t thought about such aspects of her ability before,” he confesses, pulling away and her face feels empty without his touch. The gentle tracing of her skin managed to somehow imitate the sensation of the scars being there, but when she’s all by herself, she’s divorced from reality once again. “But I understand why you feel like that.”
“Like I lost a part of me,” Kouyou adds. “Like the stitches,” she looks at him, knowing that he’ll understand that it’s about one, particular mark on her stomach.
“Maybe it’s good that those disappeared. I did a terrible job stitching that wound,” he twists his face in disgust and she can’t help but smile a little.
“Yes, but you did them. That’s what matters.”
The surprised expression that appears in the blink of an eye makes her feel unexpectedly warm somewhere inside her chest, just like much earlier that day, when she told him why she doesn’t intend to leave the Port Mafia.
“I can always stitch up another one for you,” he offers in a nonchalant tone. “Although I’d prefer not to experience such an opportunity anymore.”
Kouyou sighs, unable to keep herself from smiling, but allows him to pull her into a hug.
“Don’t ever get kidnapped by the Agency again. By anyone in general,” Mori whispers into her ear, leaning into the embrace.
“You’re saying it like it was my fault to begin with! I didn’t ask to be kidnapped!” Kouyou hits him playfully on the shoulder, offended, but reciprocates the gesture anyway. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to.”