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Maybe this was Akira’s sign to stop blasting music through his headphones at full volume in public to drown out the outside world. Or maybe it was his sign not to go into gas station stores alone. Hell, maybe it was just a sign to stop going to gas stations altogether.
Actually, scratch that. It didn’t matter where he went; trouble usually had a way of tripping him up.
He had finally taken off his headphones after stepping out of the store, getting ready to return to the car, but the second the music left his ears, it was immediately replaced with various shouts and yells from a multitude of people.
There was one voice among them that was more ferocious and banshee-like than the rest. Akira was pretty sure he knew who it belonged to.
Needless to say, he was dreading finding out what was going on.
As he approached his car, he spotted a number of figures crowded around it. The most prominent of them were two men, staring each other down as though they were about to partake in a boxing match.
“You cruisin’ for a bruisin’, pal? I’m gonna wreck your face if you keep this up!”
“Given your lacklustre display of intelligence in our conversation so far, I wouldn’t expect anything more mature.”
Akira rushed over, putting on his best “I’m so sorry for your inconvenience but also what are you doing” face.
“Hey fellas, let’s not get too hasty, huh? How ‘bout we all just calm down and…” Akira’s voice trailed off as he met the gaze of one of the two men. His suspicions were confirmed.
“Goro, what is—”
“Shut up. Let me handle this.”
His beautiful husband was glaring daggers at him, hands clenched at his sides. His brown coat hugged his lithe figure, which had taken on a sort of defensive, cautious stance. The car had long since been abandoned, and Akira wasn’t even sure if the gas tank had been filled.
“But dear, at least tell me what’s going on?”
“What’s going on is that this vile man almost killed someone,” Goro spat, turning his glare back to his opponent. His very large opponent.
This guy was probably half a foot taller than Goro, with at least five piercings on each ear and a shiny bald head. He had tattoo sleeves going down both arms, and his shirt looked like it was ready to give way at any second to his innumerable amount of muscles.
Now, Akira was never one to judge by appearances. For all he knew, the guy could be sweet as cotton candy. But based on the way he was scowling at Akira’s husband, and based on the fact that there was literally a gun holster hooked onto his belt, Akira would maybe hazard a guess that this guy was maybe, probably, definitely part of some kind of mafia.
“You little bitch, that is not what happened!”
Goro raised an eyebrow coolly. “So you mean to tell me catching someone completely unawares and cutting them off while driving isn’t liable to get you into a car crash? All for the sake of refueling first? What is this, a petty competition for a pitstop? Are we in Formula 1?”
“I was in a rush! I gotta be somewhere!”
“Yes, I surmised as much. But that hardly matters now, don’t you think?”
“They’re not even hurt!”
“Only because of their quick thinking and oh, I don’t know, actually being aware of their surroundings. They could have been seriously maimed or injured.”
“They don’t care!” The man sputtered, whirling towards some of the onlookers. “You don’t care, right? I didn’ do nothing that bad!”
Unfortunately, the people in question were rather frozen with fright, and could not answer the man’s question. But Akira somehow got the feeling that they did, in fact, care about what had happened.
So it wasn’t even his own honor Goro was defending. It was that of some random bystanders.
Akira couldn’t be prouder. God, his husband was gorgeous when he was angry.
“Do you make it a regular habit to ignore concrete facts?” Goro sneered. “Or are you just that dumb?”
Akira couldn’t be prouder.
“You bitch! What did you say?”
But honestly?
“If we’re going to continue this conversation, I’d rather you be a little more creative with your insults. ‘Bitch’ is becoming rather repetitive. I’m sure you understand.”
All he wanted to do was go home, cuddle with his husband, and watch the latest episode of Phoenix Ranger Featherman R. And if they were going to make it home in time for that to happen, things really couldn’t escalate any further.
“Shut up, you…you bitch! Don’t you know who I am?”
“Much as it pains me to say, I do not,” Goro replied scathingly, crimson eyes narrowed.
The man gritted his teeth so hard Akira feared they might crack. “I’m yakuza! Yakuza, you hear? I could have you in some real hot water for messing with me!”
“Maybe, but these folks over here could sue you for the damage you caused. Their headlights and front have been severely scratched by your car,” Goro pointed out, examining his fingernails as though the information didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“If they sue me, I’ll…I’ll kill you!”
And then, the fucker proceeded to pull his gun on Akira’s husband.
A chorus of gasps went around the area. Some people pulled out their phones to begin recording, but the majority, with more common sense, backed off as far as they could.
On instinct, Akira pulled Goro behind him, not caring that Yakuza Dude, as he had now dubbed him in his mind, had cocked the gun upon witnessing the movement. But because Akira apparently has zero control over the safety of either himself or his husband, Goro simply stepped back around him to face the man head-on.
Akira could only watch with horror as his husband, blazing with fury, engaged in a literal Western stand-off with a yakuza member holding him at gunpoint.
Though the crowd couldn’t stop murmuring just a couple seconds ago, everyone had now fallen silent. All stiff and tensed up, they were just waiting to see whether they should run.
Yakuza Dude cackled with glee. “Ya see now? You’re in deep shit!”
Once again, Akira tried to intervene, plastic smile stapled to his face. “My good sir, do you really think it’s such a good idea to point a gun at him? That’s my husband, you know.”
“And you think I give a fuck? You’ve barely said a word till now! Hell, you weren’t even here when all this happened! Some husband you are!”
Ok, that stung.
Akira opened his mouth to retort, but the voice of his husband stopped him. “Oh, that is it.”
And Akira stood there, mouth agape, as his clever, graceful, absolutely volatile and brilliantly radiant husband delivered a clean roundhouse kick straight to Yakuza Dude’s face.
The gun went flying out of his hand, clattering across the ground like a stone being skipped. Yakuza Dude stumbled back, howling. His head was bent low, hands clutching his chin in agony.
“Holy shit,” someone whispered in the crowd. Goro didn’t even notice as he walked forward, regarding Yakuza Dude with disdain.
“If you dare insult my husband again, I will find you, and rip your throat out myself.”
Holy shit, Akira loved his husband.
“So Goro,” Akira started, as they settled on the couch, arms wrapped firmly around his husband’s waist. “You never told me you knew how to do a roundhouse kick.”
“I don’t.” Goro threw his legs over Akira’s lap, nuzzling his face into his neck.
“Wait, what? So that was just an on-the-spot thing?”
“It was.”
There was a long pause.
“Something to say, dear?” Goro looked up at Akira, eyes wide, the very picture of innocence.
“No, no…nothing. Nothing at all. I love you, darling. Just remember that, ok?”
Goro smirked. “Why, you’re not scared of me, are you, dearest?”
Akira averted his eyes. “Ha, what, no, of course not, baby, what are you saying? How could I ever be scared of my beloved husband? I’m in complete awe of you! You don’t intimidate or terrify me in any way whatsoever!”
“So you are scared, then.”
“Shut up and watch the show.”