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Did it matter to Daigo that the low light of the dark bar was spinning? That he could hardly sit straight on his seat as he raised his whiskey glass to his lips again? At the moment, barely anything seemed to.
Although the catastrophe from earlier that year had been cleaned up, Daigo couldn’t drown his guilt no matter how hard he tried. Honestly, it was probably because there was a mess at all that needed to be cleaned up in the first place- not even by himself, but once again Kiryu had to intervene and rescue him from his own incompetence. Had to remind him how inexperienced and lost he was leading thousands of men, yet ultimately left with no alternative. A failure of a leader of a leadership he could hardly say he really consented to undertaking, nor truly deserved.
Sure enough, the men of the Tojo Clan still weren't keen on him on top of that. While they had accepted him reluctantly in the beginning, they had been far too eager to use the incident from March to antagonize him any instance he made a mistake. Though Daigo had finished off another glass of cheap whiskey, he couldn’t easily discern whether the burning in his throat had come from the booze itself, or from the rage and frustration he felt building up. He only wanted to yell, to vent his anger- but the worst part was that he wasn’t sure if he should have been upset at his childhood hero for putting him in this situation, or with himself for failing to live up to his expectations. Clutching his glass, Daigo could feel his face scrunch together, a cocktail of embarrassment, helplessness, and his flaming ire coursing through his veins, ready to burst any moment—
“Dojima-san?”
Daigo’s head was laggard as he looked away from the weathered counter in front of him, dragging his eyes to look up at the bartender’s concerned expression. Effectively shaken out of his self loathing, all that remained within him was shame, heavy eyes looking back down at the table. Scratching the stubble at his chin, Daigo sighed. “Y-yes?”
The bartender stared at him for a moment, deciding on what words he should say next. Comfortable with his choice, he spoke quietly: “You haven’t said much since coming in tonight. Is everything okay? You're not usually this quiet…”
Was that true? Truthfully, Daigo couldn’t even remember the last time he’d visited the quaint bar. He’d been so consumed with being chairman, he hadn’t found too much time for himself.
Maybe he just couldn’t stomach visiting this bar specifically anymore. Reminiscing more on his recent fumble, he was forced to confront a fact Katsuragi had mentioned at the start of it all: that alongside the Nishikiyama Family, the Hakuho Family was gone. That the Hakuho Family’s chairman was gone.
Beside him, Daigo directed his blurry vision to the empty bar stool. His silence that night might have been due to the vacant spot: where last year he would have most likely found himself laughing and smiling along with his friend, but now…
Daigo shook his head, weakly raising his glass and prompting the bartender to grab another whiskey bottle to replace the empty one in front of him. “I’m fine. Just… pour me another glass, if you will.”
As the bartender moved to pluck the old bottle away, Daigo tried not to grimace at the display of worry on his face, leaving him momentarily to fulfill his request. He must have looked pathetic, spiraling again into bad habits and not finding the heart to care that he was. Kiryu was right: being chairman was a heavy cross to bear- far too heavy for his sore back to carry. Daring himself to look at the empty chair beside him again, Daigo clenched his jaw. His eyes begged him to look away to dull the pain prickling his tear ducts, but his heart urged him to continue staring longingly, as though if he looked long enough suddenly his greatest confidant would come back from his own undoing. If only he was still here, perhaps this pain wouldn’t be so difficult to shoulder alone- perhaps Daigo wouldn’t even be in this situation if he only had his better half’s advice…
Creaking wood distracted Daigo enough to feel his sorrow evaporate, a mild curiosity taking its place. It wasn’t that no one ever came to the small bar, but it was a small bar; it was Daigo’s favorite spot for a reason, tucked away and isolated enough that he could get a drink in peace without worry, whether from rowdy citizens or displeased yakuza.
He assumed that perhaps it was someone else’s own oasis in the chaos of the city, yet as soon as Daigo heard the man behind him speak he was sure he was ready to throw his stool at the wall, his sanctuary quickly becoming tarnished by the man's presence.
“I knew I'd find you here!” Deceptively polite sounding, Daigo winced as he heard the bar door shut and the stranger enter, the newcomer soon revealing himself to be Masato Arakawa- or as the alias he insisted going by nowadays, Ryo Aoki. Where Aoki breathed a sigh of relief, Daigo felt a groan rumble in his throat.
He stood politely next to Daigo where he could see his pristine black, barleycorn suit pressed nicely against his slender frame out of the corner of his eyes, the blue-striped tie a distracting pop of color against his bleach-white dress shirt. Pulling his head to look up at him (and trying not to cringe against the hanging lights), Daigo forced himself to look at Aoki’s spectacled face, large frames complimenting his gentle smile.
He was exactly the last person Daigo wanted to see, not bothering to hide his disdain as he merely scrunched his nose at him before returning to his empty glass in time for the bartender to return. At the new guest, the bartender lit up, though his confusion was evident even to Daigo’s inebriated vision. “Welcome! Is there anything I can start you off with?”
But Aoki declined, raising his palm up to him to indicate as much. “I’ll be fine, thank you.” Turning back down to Daigo, his smile widened. “I just needed to check on my friend here.”
Faced with the new information, the bartender’s befuddlement deepened. “You’re friends with Dojima-san--”
“No- he's not,” Daigo interrupted, words slurring while Aoki laughed and clapped a hand over his shoulder.
“He’s still a bit sour over a disagreement we had recently,” Aoki excused, pulling the stool- his stool- back before taking an invasive seat. “You wouldn’t mind giving us some space, would you? I'd like to speak with him for a bit in private.”
Putting the bottle in front of Daigo, the bartender offered a quick bow before ducking to the furthest part of the bar. “Of course, just let me know if you need anything!”
Daigo hadn’t stopped grimacing since Aoki made himself present, and he especially hadn’t been a fan of the seat he decided to take. His mood worsened once he turned to face him, a sickeningly sweet expression still plastered on his face. “...I heard what happened recently.”
An indignant hum was all Daigo gave. How could anyone not have heard of the deputy commissioner of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department committing suicide after colluding with the yakuza? It had plagued the papers for weeks, reporters desperate to milk the subject for all it was worth. Of course, they would never consider those caught in the crossfire, but Daigo supposed he deserved the public humiliation as he reached over to pour himself a new glass and taking another scorching sip. “I’m sure you did- alongside with the rest of Japan.”
“And I’m sure things haven’t been easy for you since then.” To an outsider, Aoki’s words were sympathetic. However, the Cheshire smile Daigo saw out of the corner of his eye told him it was everything but, causing him to squint behind his glass as he put it back down.
“Nothing that you should be concerning yourself with. I’m sure you’re busy with other affairs, aren’t you?” Being a crime boss meant that Daigo was in the know about the underground world and everything that
opposed
that world. Though Daigo had learned of Bleach Japan some time after they had become established, he hadn’t learned until recently that it was his old 'acquaintance' that was the front man of the NPO. It was a cruel irony: despite the pair coming from criminal origins- at one point a common ground worth bonding over, saddled with yakuza fathers and feeling incapable of being close with them- Daigo had come to accept his life of crime. Meanwhile, Aoki happily waltzed into a position that would let him do everything he could to dismantle that ambition. In retrospect, Daigo might have also benefited in keeping away from the family business- it wasn't as though he didn't try for a period until it was forced upon him.
But with a calm shake of his head, Daigo found himself intrigued in Aoki’s supposed, alternative motives. “If you’re referring to Bleach Japan, then you should be interested to know I’ve stepped down from my position there.”
“You did...?” A surprising admission: Daigo would have assumed the rather successful group would have been Aoki's pride and joy. So why abandon it when it was hardly a decade old? Admittedly, Daigo had a bit of an eye on the organization; although they hadn’t done anything all-too concerning yet, a mild anxiety still managed to find its way to pick at Daigo’s subconscious about it for the past few years. Now hearing the man he was primarily concerned about leaving the group, he couldn’t help but to wonder why.
What he said next only seemed to replace Daigo’s prior anxieties, Aoki’s grin becoming cavalier. “I’ve decided to take some time away from them for more personal pursuits.” Though, as if changing his mind, his smile eased into- the untrained- something more natural, yet to Daigo there still lingered an appearance of insincerity on his lips. “But first, I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Daigo couldn’t stifle his chuckle, shaking his head before drinking from his glass.
“How generous of you to grace me with your hospitality,
Aoki.”
He scoffed the name. Aoki wanted to watch Daigo wallow in his misery was the more likely reason he came down to visit; he would never be so personable to actually care about anyone else lest there was profit in doing so. He certainly reveled in the downfall of others, at the very least.
Unsurprisingly, Daigo’s dismissive attitude was met with a mask of hurt, Aoki leaning closer and lowering his voice to a worried whisper. “I’m serious. I know you're upset right now, but that doesn't mean you should take it out on me. This isn't the type of life you can lead all by yourself and come out unscathed, and though we might have had our… rough patches in the past, I understand how you feel. We're both human at the end of the day: whatever squabble we had back then doesn't matter to me now.”
He spoke incredibly lightly of their squabbles when such instances would involve vitriolic back-and-forthing with each other, more often than not at least one of them inebriated at that. With that searing memory in mind, Daigo tried not to let his saccharine words twist his perception of him- that Aoki was nothing more than a selfish snake who only looked after himself- as he turned to face him. He wasn’t a fan of being mocked, the frown on his face making that evident. “Really now?”
Aoki started with a nod, insistent on his act. “Tell me something: how is your relationship with your peers?” Daigo refused to admit the fact that such relationships hardly existed as much as he would have liked, and whichever ones did persist he undoubtedly soiled with his latest stunt.
“If I said we’ve never been better, would you believe me?” A condescending chuckle was his answer. He didn’t think so.
“Is that why you’re out drinking alone during the weekend?” In some feeble way to spite him, Daigo cast his eyes to the counter and took another lonely swig of his drink, granting Aoki the opportunity to lean into his space again. “I told you: I know what you’re going through- I’m the only one who could know. There's no need to be unreasonable with me.”
As if. Aoki had decided to become a politician, a position- perhaps arguably, quite honestly- many would find admirable. Meanwhile, Daigo had allowed himself to be sucked into the dark underbelly of society as its leader, an impossible career path to empathize with nor offer praise to. By now, Daigo was dedicated to not speaking another word to him, hoping he’d get bored and leave after making a passive aggressive comment or two. Cruelly, his silence only spurred him to continue talking- he always loved the sound of his own voice, anyhow.
“Don’t you wonder why I’m visiting Kamurocho, Dojima-kun?” Aoki effortlessly let the term of endearment roll off his tongue, letting the simple honorific make Daigo's stomach flip. Maybe he wanted to deceive Daigo into thinking he cherished him more than he really did; clearly, Aoki never shook off the sentiment Daigo was his favorite plaything, all the while Daigo was trying his best to forget such an idea.
It wasn't as though he didn't initially meet Masato Arakawa purely for hedonistic purposes, he only wished that amidst their time together he would have learned to see the two as equals opposed to a toy to entertain himself with until he was bored. To find some sort of stable relationship amidst their fooling around- that had always been Daigo's hope if he was honest, something he attempted to deny amidst his years of masquerading himself as a selfish misanthrope. Unfortunately, Aoki had a point in that their situations were so niche: it was difficult to find anyone else to relate with. Daigo only wished Aoki would use that knowledge to connect with him, not control him.
“So that trash about checking up on me really was a crock of shit, then.” Daigo was surprised to find himself spitting the words, yet the more he thought of their history and his situation at hand, he could hardly manage his agitation. He had been trying so hard to ignore the bitter and lonely feelings he’d been harboring thus far, and coupled with Aoki's maddening imitation of compassion, he managed to let them slip to the worst person who should see him vulnerable.
It was clear Aoki delighted in that momentary weakness, his neutral expression quickly turning into one of subdued victory as he attempted to gloss over the comment casually. “...If you listen to me, then I’m sure you’ll find that my intentions are pure. After all, when you shoot for a seat in the House of Councillors, time isn’t something you have in spades--”
Watching Daigo instantly sputter on his drink caused Aoki to flinch, a light-hearted laugh slipping past his lips as he watched him try to reclaim his breath. “H-Hold on, you- as a representative!? ”
“What, you don’t think I’m qualified?” Daigo opened his mouth to interject: of course he wasn’t qualified! Not only that, Daigo could only cringe at the thought of Aoki having any sort of influence like that over the country. But as Aoki pressed on, Daigo found his reaction simmering, a sickening feeling of familiarity washing over him for every word Aoki spoke: “That I’m too young? Idealistic, perhaps? I’ve heard as much from everyone around me. I wouldn't blame you for thinking the same...”
For the first time that night, Aoki appeared somber, letting himself hunch over the table as he folded his hands together. Daigo wasn’t sure what to say- what
could
he say? He certainly wasn’t going to say anything nice, but the similar ache he felt prevented him from dismissing Aoki’s feelings altogether. Begrudgingly.
"We're about the same age, aren't we? You're only older than me by a few months: I can't imagine acquiring your position was any easier. Not when you're working with those brutes, nonetheless." Everyone was a brute to Aoki, but even if the Tojo's men weren't always sympathetic towards him, they proved their loyalties to Daigo when it mattered the most. That's what he convinced himself: any justification to keep himself in the chairman's seat and fulfill his duties. "I suspect they haven't been too happy with your work as of late, right? No one ever seems to be able to appreciate the efforts you do for them. They only seem insistent on pouncing on your flaws the moment they get the chance."
“...What’s your game here, Aoki?” He didn't want him to speak anymore, not when he was saying everything he needed to hear in that moment. It was by design Aoki managed to tick the box on every one of Daigo's latest miseries: there was no way he could ever truly understand his position, his attempts to do so merely being a way for Daigo to put faith into him only to be betrayed down the line.
Daigo knew better than to ever expect a straight answer from a politician, and he knew it was better to move the conversation along quickly before Aoki could effectively appeal to his pathos. If he just kept the conversation moving, he could ignore his effective words long enough before falling under their influence. On top of that, his hindered psyche made him desperate for Aoki to be honest just once in his life, though he persisted on keeping a look of dejection as he turned to face him.
“Winning your trust back, I suppose- if this must be a ‘game’, as you put it.” Aoki chuckled into his hand, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Would that make you my prize?”
“As if I’m some thing to win,” Daigo hissed, refusing to let the notion cause his face to redden any further than it already was from his booze. No, he refused to be treated like a pawn on someone’s chessboard again- not so soon after the incident that seemingly summoned Aoki in the first place.
Despite this caution, he would have to force himself to ignore the flutter in his chest at the thought of being sought after. Not for any explicit gain this time but for, supposedly, purely himself. It was difficult to precisely discern Aoki's intentions so far, and the more he managed to artistically pivot around giving Daigo a direct answer, he was truly starting to believe he might actually be concerned about him. Again,
Aoki met his hostility eagerly, not allowing Daigo's reaction dissuade him.
“You still haven’t lost that temper, have you? It’s no wonder you don't have a drinking partner.” If that were true, Daigo would have slammed Aoki’s head against the counter by now. He knew better however- he knew Aoki only wanted to worm his way under Daigo’s skin and rile him up, ready to use that anger against him the second he could. And what a master he was at his craft, his grin still utterly insufferable to look at. From feeling as though Aoki was treating him as a man deserving of respect and patience to being reminded of how conniving he could be, Daigo's patience was rapidly running out, and his mind was starting to hurt.
“You’re right, Aoki. I am alone- and frankly, I’d prefer it to stay that way for now.”
“The evidence at hand tells me the contrary...” Audaciously, Aoki brought his hand over Daigo’s that still held onto his glass, sneaking his fingers in between the cup and his palm to give it a light squeeze. He didn’t need to say anything else to reaffirm his point: though Daigo urged himself to draw away and reaffirm his want to be alone, he didn’t. He couldn’t- not when this, as fake as he knew it to be, had been the first semblance of tenderness he’d been offered for over a year.
Daigo was still, eyes unable to pull themselves away from Aoki’s slender fingers. The last time he’d been so close to them, they were pale and frigid, black polish painted over the nails and steel rings decorating the digits. Though now they had more color to them, the tanner hue almost distracted Daigo from the fact he still felt that icy touch against his warm palm, his skin somehow colder than the ice in his glass.
“Dojima-kun,” Aoki murmured, Daigo still transfixed on the hand on top of his. “Don’t push me away. If not for my sake, then yours: you need me, and it’s okay to admit that. Why do you cling to this life, anyhow? With my help, you can do something productive with yourself. Wouldn't that be better than this?”
Why did he...? "...It's my responsibility. I can't abandon these men when things get tough--"
"And where did you learn that? From your predecessor?" Daigo bit the inside of his cheek, the hand entangled with his not at all soothing but at the same time not totally discomforting anymore. Perhaps because it wasn't disgusting to him that really scared him the most. "Where is he nowadays, by the way?"
Uncomfortable, Daigo wished he didn't find solace in Aoki's touch, nor that he felt like his feelings were finally being validated at the light allusion. Daigo thought again how Kiryu had the audacity to assert that leading the Tojo was a great responsibility not to be taken lightly- a bold claim to assert when such responsibility was merely tossed onto him within less than a day of holding it. Even with that in mind, Daigo felt himself shake his head, trying to will his temporary antagonism towards his hero away as guilt made his stomach twist. "Living his life, I'd assume- and I'd want nothing else."
What a terrible lie. He would have at the very least appreciated help settling into his new chair, not to be dumped all of these expectations and left to pick up the pieces. "You don't see that as hypocritical?" Daigo clenched his jaw. It was more than hypocritical, it was selfish. "Not even the slightest bit unfair?" Beyond so.
"It doesn't matter what it is," Daigo pressed, desperate to stop Aoki before he said anything else he found himself agreeing with. "Whether I was given this position one way or another, I accept it with pride. This is my family now, and I'm not giving up on them. We might not always see eye-to-eye, but family's meant to stick together and pick each other up despite our grievances." That seemed to silence Aoki for a moment, even more Daigo could feel his fingers flex nervously against him. Looking at him out of the corner of his eye, he caught Aoki staring off to the side, his lips just barely curled inward with muted agitation. Daigo wanted to smile: just as Aoki knew how to push his buttons, he was all too aware of what made him tick as well.
"...And this 'family' of yours... What have they ever done for you?" Aoki was back to looking at him, the fake quality of his voice only a seasoned politician could master beginning to chip and show his true resentment underneath. It was evident he was fighting the urge to snark at the mawkish display. "They don't care about you, Dojima. You're convenient for them- why can't you see that?"
As Aoki finally dropped the nickname, Daigo found himself amused at the sentiment. Who was he of all people to point the finger at who was selfish and who was not? His hand held hostage, Daigo could only chuckle wryly as he tapped his finger against his whiskey glass, regaining some of his lost confidence the more Aoki's pleasantries slipped. "Maybe I am too idealistic."
He hadn’t registered Aoki was carefully leaning into him until he could feel his breath against him, violating the sensitive skin along Daigo’s neck and finally drawing his eyes to look up into Aoki’s glasses. He thought to open his mouth and tell Aoki to give him space, yet no command ever came as he stared at him. He was so close to him- temptingly close, Daigo's eyes feeling heavy as he had to look down. He deluded himself into thinking there was an ounce of humanity behind Aoki’s eyes as they looked up at him, there existing a small furrow between his eyebrows.
"You undersell yourself: you're a brilliant man, Dojima. Your only fault is wasting that brilliance with a group of criminals. Wouldn't it be better to divert that energy elsewhere? Where people can really appreciate you?"
Aoki's praise was a rare thing to obtain, something he surely must have been aware of. In conjunction with that, Daigo receiving a compliment from anyone was something he was seldom privileged to as of late. Had Aoki tried this blatant ego boosting any other time, Daigo would have been better equipped to ignore it. But now, when he was so close and Daigo was in dire need of some sort of support...
Daigo hadn’t acted fast enough; when Daigo only stared at him Aoki was ready to pull himself away, giving one more reassuring squeeze to his hand and a placid smile as he moved to retract it. But l etting go of his glass, his hand clumsily clasped on top of Aoki’s wrist, rightfully startling the latter and even Daigo himself. Feeling the rough fabric of Aoki’s suit for a moment, Daigo released, quick to reclaim his cup and taking an apologetic sip. “I didn’t mean to…”
He felt sick- like he had just committed a crime more heinous than any he'd actually committed before, and Aoki’s smirk certainly didn’t make him feel any better. He only needed to control himself for a few more minutes- just a few more seconds and Daigo would have been able to retain his pride and a small victory once Aoki left. Now all that was left was the blatant fact he was truly desperate for some kind of connection- for Aoki's company- and that he was uncertain of himself and at a loss for what to do.
“It’s alright.” Pulling back his untouched sleeve, Aoki gleaned at the silver watch hidden under his suit, deciding then was the time to make his departure. "Ah. I only wanted to chat for a bit, but it's as I said: I'm on a bit of a schedule. I'll have to leave you to your drinks...”
Daigo felt dread as Aoki walked behind him, completely indifferent to his previously emotional performance. Patting Daigo’s shoulder on his way out, he urged him to awkwardly turn around to look up at him. “...But if you need anything, I’ll be in the city for the week. It shouldn’t be hard for you to find me... and I really think you should really consider what I've said: you could use an ally.”
All night, Daigo had only wanted Aoki gone. But as he heard the doorknob click open, a minuscule part of him wished his prior stubbornness allowed him to stick around. Defeated,
Daigo
was
stubborn enough not to say anything, letting him leave the bar without another word. Even if it meant filling the air with his unbearable presence, it would have been preferable enough to the deafening silence that took over the space again. Would Aoki have continued to spout nonsense? Undoubtedly, but at that point in time Daigo was losing his will to care and only wanted that dangerous sympathy if it meant ignoring his self-pitying.
Where Aoki held his hand, Daigo’s skin began to itch. Daigo finally had a semblance of an idea for the visit: what Aoki wanted was for Daigo to bend to him- to be reminded that despite the amount of time that had passed, Daigo still found himself sentimental and was ready to rekindle what they lost. If not that, then surely dispelling the yakuza was a part of Aoki's political endeavors to clean up Japan: what better time to plant the idea in its leader's head when he was at his weakest? Really, he might have been able to knock out two birds with one stone if Daigo was absolutely prepared to throw in the towel.
Despite it all, Daigo was scorched with the reminder that Aoki was a man of deception, purely self-serving, and only felt the people around him were tools for one reason or another. He was foolish to suspect him of anything different- to want him to be something different so desperately. That knowledge was the only thing stopping Daigo from wholly giving up. So long as men like him existed, he needed to be able to protect those in the Tojo Clan with little options for a life out of crime; there was no doubt that should Aoki succeed, Daigo and all of his men would be left in the dust to rot with the rest of society Aoki deemed filthy.
He was a turbulent sea of mixed emotions by the end of the night: scorning Aoki for being so capable of getting him in a bind and making him feel so confused and weak, yet the other part of him reveling in that illusion of solicitude. It was all awfully hard to comprehend and decide how he should feel- to prioritize his and his family's future, or to be selfish again and not, never mind when he was a solid bottle and a half into the night. Frustration was his only company now, even more so now that when he raised his glass to drink again, it was empty.
How he wished he could feel that burn against his throat again.