Work Text:
Kouyou notices that something is off during dinner.
Needless to say, it is a miracle that she even convinced Mori to end work earlier and eat dinner with her. She should have been suspicious when he agreed after just a few minutes of convincing, but she was slightly too happy about it to register the unusual behavior.
Perhaps she’s overanalyzing it — he was as affectionate with her as ever, making sure to hug her from behind during cooking and smother her with the smell of the new shampoo that she assigned him. He distracted her with kisses as always, so she didn’t realize anything until she placed the steaming hot noodles on their plates to eat. Even during that, he held her hand during the meal, keeping his fingers over hers on the kitchen island, where they were sitting across each other. Maybe it wasn’t all that different; he was just less talkative, probably tired. Considering how much had happened just about a week and a half ago, it was impressive that he was able to work at all.
Well, Mori has always been stubborn. Kouyou guessed that coming back to work so quickly after being stabbed, infected with a deadly virus, seriously weakened, and fighting the president of an enemy organization with the intention to either kill or die was nothing out of the ordinary.
The small wrinkle between his eyebrows, however, signaled that he was intensely thinking about something and trying to hide it. Clearly.
“Is it too spicy?” she asks suddenly, just to test his reaction to a simple question. (Of course, she didn’t make his meal exactly as hers due to the fact that she had a much higher liking and tolerance for poignant dishes than he did.)
Mori looks at her, slightly surprised, seeming just as if she rapidly pulled him from his thoughts. Just as she supposed he would.
“No, it’s great,” he shakes his head, placing the chopsticks on his already empty plate. “As always,” he nods in acknowledgement, getting up to carry the dirty dishes to the sink, but the woman stops him.
“Stay. You shouldn’t move around too much,” Kouyou protests, standing up from her stool instead. All she gets in response is a snort and a roll of his eyes, as well as the eventual disrespect of her order, because he doesn’t allow her to place the plates by herself, of course.
She looks at him reproachingly, but Mori simply shrugs, looking completely innocent.
The woman feels an urge to scold him; it’s not uncommon for him to not take good care of himself, but this time, it is much more important to do so. Perhaps the whole incident happened more than a week ago, but she is still worried — he was seriously injured and brushed it off like it was nothing.
“Are the stitches healing well?” she asks, to change the subject and fulfill all of her doubts. Much to her surprise (or not really?) the man shrugs again.
“I got them removed today,” he comments, quietly, and wraps his arms around her waist. The purpose of his action remains unknown to Kouyou, but she guesses that the most probable option is that he means to humor her somehow, knowing that she won’t be very satisfied with his words. Nevertheless, his movements are slow and gentle, and before she realizes it, she’s feeling his warm breath on the nape of her neck. “They healed nicely.”
The woman lets out a low sigh, trying to organize her thoughts for a moment. She leans backwards to rest her head on his shoulder a bit, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest — maybe he knew what he was doing with the stitches, but knowing him, she should still be cautious.
It’s not that late yet; somewhere around ten in the evening at best, although Mori’s pensive face doesn’t allow her to glance at any of the clocks they have around the apartment. To be fair, they’re already washed up, ready to go to bed, but something tells her that the route towards that won’t be so easy.
“Let me see,” she whispers with the intention to turn around and unbutton his silken nightshirt. Mori seems quite dissatisfied at her action, refusing to let her go for a few seconds, but finally, he breaks.
They end up in bed, but certainly not in the way they’ve been indulging themselves physically for a while now. Such a thought doesn’t even brush by Kouyou’s mind — definitely not with the sight that awaits her under the purple material.
Much to her surprise, she is not met with as much protest as she initially expected.
Mori lies down on the soft, white sheets calmly, with his shirt undone, exposing the two most recent scars that blemish his pale skin; one, a long slash that goes through his chest, just under the collarbones, and a shorter one on his side. He doesn’t even wince as she rubs an ointment (that was prescribed to speed up the healing process) into his skin with gentle, slow movements.
Again, he doesn’t talk, and still has that one, small wrinkle between his eyebrows, but this time, Kouyou senses that the violet eyes are clearly focused on her. Combined with the intense, unpleasant smell of the salve, it makes a shiver run down her spine.
“What’s wrong?” Mori instantly asks, softly, still in the lying position. The woman stops — she should be asking this question in the first place! — and puts the tub with the ointment away, on a nearby nightstand. Both wounds have been thoroughly taken care of, but she’d like to devote some more time to one of them.
The slash on his chest is what captures her attention; just looking at it, she can tell that it was caused by a dangerous weapon in the hands of a skilled swordsman. The cut, despite being such a severe wound, is almost perfect from the perspective of someone that would wield a katana; perfectly even and clean. A hint of admiration for the skillful technique would have formed in Kouyou’s mind if it wasn’t Mori that had to deal with this damage.
Using her finger, she gently traces the mark that remained after taking off the stitches. In comparison to the mangled stab wound on his side, the cut on his chest reeks with perfection. And she hates it. Hates herself for being impressed with it, because she remembers how terrified she was for him back then.
Suddenly, Mori grabs her wrist, bringing her back to reality and reminding her that she pretty much ignored his question.
“What is it?” he repeats, not letting go of her hand; instead, he gently moves his fingers upwards to hold her palm in his, carefully, as if she was made out of porcelain.
The small wrinkle doesn’t disappear from between his eyebrows, but this time, it signifies concern rather than pensiveness.
“What are you thinking about?” she questions in response, looking down at him. When he’s laying down, she’s towering over him, which gives her quite the advantage, at least in theory. She feels way better, seeing how his expression spirals into confusion from this perspective. “Since dinner,” she adds, to highlight that she actually noticed.
His forehead immediately relaxes; understanding slowly appears on his face. A quiet sigh escapes his mouth, signaling that he himself was probably unaware of how focused he was on the pondering. He lets his gaze drop slightly, on her palm in his own grasp. He toys with her fingers a bit, and she lets him — lets him caress her skin, trace the tiny hints of scars that were left on her fingers along with the calloused patches that formed after wielding a katana for so long. Mori treats her hand like some kind of a sacred entity, and although it is strange, her expression softens.
“It’s nothing,” he brushes off after a moment. Kouyou frowns; and she’s supposed to accept it like that? No chance.
“Ougai,” she says, admonishingly. He gives her an innocent look in response, as if he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. “What is it?”
He shrugs in response, still focused on her hand. Kouyou sighs in annoyance; it seems like she has to try out quite extreme methods in order to get something out of him.
Without thinking much, she straddles his hips in order to keep him in place, but at the same time, she is being careful about both of his wounds. Mori seems dumbfounded at the sudden and very bold movement, but as she leans down to look at him from above, he lets out a quiet sigh.
“And why would you do that?” he raises an eyebrow, still lying down under her, completely relaxed for someone that has both of her arms on the sides of his head. Her hair is spilling from behind her shoulders, let loose for the night. The position isn’t exactly comfortable, but it gives Kouyou what she needs right now — an advantage.
“What is on your mind?” she asks again, set on the goal to get it out of him.
Unfortunately, Mori also has some great methods in his sleeve; ones that he doesn't hesitate to use either.
Before she manages to react, he lifts his upper body to unexpectedly kiss her, almost making her collapse on him. Although she somehow manages to remain in place, he very effectively distracts her with the kiss, bringing his arm around her waist and flipping both of them to change the position.
Surprised with his demonstration of strength, Kouyou lets out a shocked yelp into his mouth, somehow embarrassed to find out that now, he's the one on top of her.
Mori gives her a small kiss on the nose, just to raise his head up and look down on her with a smug smile.
“You were saying?” he whispers, holding himself up above her on his forearms, still with his nightshirt unbuttoned. His hair brushes her face with each small move, but Kouyou can’t be bothered; she’s too immersed in the feeling of his hot breath on her lips.
“Ougai…” she whines, resignedly, because there’s nothing more she can do, in an attempt to convince him to change his mind. It’s not uncommon for him to tease her like this, but right now, it was worrying. And his persistence to hide whatever he was pondering about from her was even more suspicious. “Don’t be stubborn,” Kouyou huffs, bringing her hands up to start buttoning his shirt up.
Once again, he lowers himself to kiss her; she doesn’t know whether it’s supposed to distract her this time as well, but she gives in to the kiss anyways, cursing herself for not being able to resist him.
She mindlessly raises her hands up, wrapping them around his neck to bring him closer. This, however, results in him almost collapsing on her; fortunately, he manages to lay down on her side, not breaking away from her lips for even a second.
It takes a while and she’s almost sure that this night will end just as she didn’t want it to, but after some time passes, they finally back away from each other.
Mori takes his sweet time before he speaks; he reaches out to brush the stray hairs out of her face with his fingers, because he left her quite disheveled with their change of position earlier. Finally, after a long, expectant glare from her, he breaks.
“I was thinking,” he sighs, with his palm on her cheek. “That you should take over if something ever happens to me. Like it did last time.”
At first, Kouyou looks back at him in disbelief.
In fact, it is true that during his sudden indisposition caused by the unknown virus, they had quite a large problem between the executives that was focused on who would take over the power. Nevertheless, despite wanting the best for the mafia, Kouyou absolutely didn’t want that role — why should she do it, if Mori’s leadership was the sole reason why she was a member?
Despite her reaction, he doesn’t do anything that would signal that he didn’t actually mean it.
“Ougai, are you joking?” she tries anyway, but he still stares at her with a serious expression. Kouyou lifts herself slightly up, resting her elbow against the mattress.
“As a matter of fact, I’m not,” he shakes his head, not letting go of her cheek for the whole time. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a tiny hint of a smile, something that Kouyou can’t entirely understand — but it’s in his eyes, and she views it as some kind of an acceptance; that he expected this reaction, but still decided to say it. “I want you to be my successor.”
The words almost make her head spin. Successor. No, never, it’s absolutely impossible; and why is he saying it like the possibility of her taking over was just about the corner? She starts to panic internally that maybe she missed something in his behavior, any alarming sign, but just as she starts to glance over his body, he stops her with a small stroke of his thumb on her skin.
“Kouyou,” he whispers softly, brushing over her face gently. “It has to be you.”
Her heart drops again, with every sentence that rolls off his tongue, and although Mori’s voice is usually the most soothing sound she could ever hear, this time it forces the breath out of her lungs.
“No, I can’t,” she protests, shaking her head frantically, still looking at him. “I won’t— It can’t be me. It should be someone else. It should be Chuuya,” she concludes. While it’s true that the younger executive is much more powerful and perhaps liked among the subordinates than her, Mori doesn’t seem convinced at all; quite the contrary, he gives her another smile.
“Chuuya is strong,” he admits, still caressing her face, perhaps in hopes of calming her down a bit. “But he is vulnerable at times.”
And I’m not?, she wants to ask. I’d leave the mafia if it wasn’t for you, she wants to say, but the words are stuck in her throat.
“He’d still do better than me,” Kouyou whispers, because in the end, she doesn’t know what could possibly convince him. “I don’t want it, Ougai. I can’t do it.”
Her state doesn’t go past him of course; seeing that the gentle touch doesn’t help, Mori slowly wraps an arm around her shoulders to pull her towards him, letting her rest her head on his chest to listen to his steady, rhythmic heartbeat. In comparison to hers, which definitely sped up just a while ago, it sounds almost comforting.
“It’s alright,” he brushes her hair with his palm, in an attempt to soothe her. The intense smell of the ointment that she rubbed into his wounds doesn’t really help, but having something else to focus on actually does, a little. “You’re the most reasonable choice, Kouyou.” Mori gently scratches her scalp, burying his fingers in the red strands.
“You’re strong,” he continues in a hushed tone, as she doesn’t reply. “I trust you with my life,” he says, like it’s nothing. “I know you’d do well, and you don’t have to be afraid—”
“I’m not,” she breaks in, taking a deep breath, trying to make her voice sound stern. Despite not seeing his face, she feels how he goes quiet to listen to her. “I’m not afraid of not doing well, I’m afraid of losing you,” she finally mutters, tightening her grip on his shirt.
Silence falls over them once again, and Kouyou can feel his heartbeat suddenly speed up.
“If you were to die, I would hate the mafia all over again,” she confesses, feeling that this time, it’s her chance. “I can’t be your successor,” she whispers and pauses for a second. “Because without you, I wouldn’t be here either.”
Mori sighs, seemingly resignedly, but his embrace gets a little tighter around her.
“And when Chuuya took over while you were sick, it was fine,” she adds, as if that explains everything, rubbing her cheek against his chest.
“You’re insufferable,” he murmurs in response, placing a light kiss on the crown of her head. Nevertheless, despite the remark being a little stinging, Kouyou knows that she won.
At least for now.