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“Do you have to do that here?”
Hanma looks up from where he’d been about to light his cigarette to see Kakucho glaring at him from the corner of his eye. They’re both waiting in the cramped landing at the top of the stairs of Tenjiku’s hideout. Their large figures uncomfortably fill the small space as they each stand on opposite sides of the door that leads to the roof where Kisaki and Izana are currently discussing the upcoming battle against Toman.
Or maybe they’re discussing this morning’s homicide. Hanma wouldn’t know, he wasn’t invited to be a part of the conversation. He doesn’t necessarily mind, if he’s being honest. He’s always found those “big picture” conversations to be such a bore.
Still, Kisaki being alone on a rooftop with such a wildcard like Izana with only his own wits to protect him makes him antsy. He knows by now that if the blonde doesn’t think he’s in danger then he most likely isn’t, but Hanma’s never liked situations where he can’t step in if he needs to. Hell, he still hates thinking about Bloody Halloween, where their plan meant he couldn’t be the one having Kisaki’s back. He’d had to watch helplessly as his boss took a steel pipe to the back of the head all because those former-Moebius losers couldn’t keep up.
If Hanma had it his way, he’d never be outside of reaching distance from Kisaki. But he was given strict orders to hang back this time, so he’s left with nothing to do but try and entertain himself to keep from worrying too much. He makes sure to grin wide at Kakucho as he finishes lighting his cigarette, delighting in the disgusted look he’s rewarded with.
“What are you even doing here, anyways?”
“Hah?”
He takes a long drag as he turns to see the other boy giving him a look that would probably make a lesser man cower. To be fair, he probably should be intimidated. From what he’s been told, this guy’s one of the best fighters Tenjiku’s got, despite being the only kid here besides Kisaki and Hanma themselves. He’s probably used to people backing down from a single glare, deciding their pride isn’t worth their safety.
Joke’s on him, though, Hanma stopped caring about that kind of stuff a long time ago.
Besides, if Kisaki has his way – which he will, if Hanma has anything to say about it – Kakucho’ll be nothing more than a sacrificial pawn in his magnificent chess game, tossed aside like all the others once he’s played his part. The fact that he even dared to argue against killing Emma, that he made his disdain for Tenjiku’s staff officer so apparent, means his days are already numbered. Hanma just hopes he gets to watch when the countdown reaches zero.
Kakucho, of course, is completely oblivious to the danger he’s in, probably convinced Izana could protect him from Kisaki’s wrath if and when it comes to that. It’s a false sense of security, but Hanma’s sure as hell not going to be the one to pop that bubble.
“Everyone else here – the Haitanis, Mocchi – they all get something out of this, or at least they have their reasons. What reason could you possibly have to be here?”
He shrugs, answering honestly. “Kisaki decided to help Izana form Tenjiku, so here I am.”
That seems to only frustrate Kakucho even more. “But why? Why do you follow him? What can he possibly offer you at this point?”
Hanma blows out smoke as he tilts his head, a sly smile spreading over his face. “Offer me? You tryin to buy me out or something? Sorry, I don’t think you can afford me.”
That gets under the other teen’s skin, just like he wanted it to. “I’m being serious!”
He giggles as he responds, “So am I.”
He watches, amused, as Kakucho tries to fight through his irritation, now completely invested in figuring out Hanma’s intentions.
“Look, I heard about everything that went down in Shibuya last year. You went from being the leader of Moebius, to the vice leader of Valhalla, then to a captain in Toman. Now you’re just a member of Tenjiku. You lose more the longer you stand by Kisaki’s side, so why do you continue to follow him?”
Hanma could explain that all of that was just part of a larger plan, that any supposed power he held in the past year had truly belonged to Kisaki the entire time. But where’s the fun in that?
“What do you get outta following Izana?”
Kakucho looks taken aback, like it never even occurred to him that anyone would ask that. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t –”
Hanma takes another drag of his cigarette, long and slow. “The truth is, I’m the same as you. A loyal dog, following at my owner’s heels.”
Kakucho lunges so fast Hanma almost misses it, shoving him hard against the wall and knocking both the cigarette from his hand and the smoke from his lungs. The scarred boy leans in close, a snarl on his face. “You and I are nothing alike, you hear me?”
Hanma can’t help but grin. “Observant” is far from the first word that comes to mind when people describe him, but he pays attention when he needs to. He knows exactly what Kakucho’s deal is, and it’s almost like looking in a mirror.
Hanma had thought, in the past, that there were people who could understand what he feels for Kisaki. People he thought might have experienced it themselves, even. Kindred spirits and all that.
At first, Draken seemed like maybe he gets it. From what Hanma’s seen, the guy’s basically Mikey’s personal servant, feeding him and carrying him around, following him wherever he goes.
But the fact that they apparently almost ended things, almost ripped Toman apart before Kisaki’s plan could even kick off properly, proves that he’s nothing like Hanma. Draken, apparently, can get angry enough that he’d walk away from Mikey, even if just for a moment. There’s no blind devotion there, no unquestioning loyalty.
Then Hanma thought maybe that little runt of a first division vice captain gets it. His loyalty to Baji was almost beyond reason, to the point where he even let his former captain beat the shit out of him without any indication that they were still on the same side. Fuck, even Kisaki has the decency to at least tell Hanma what the plan is ahead of time.
But still, Chifuyu refused to stick to Baji’s script. He didn’t trust that the plan would work out, even thought that he had the right to come up with one of his own, and it cost him in the end. That’s a mistake Hanma would never make.
None of them truly understood the kind of devotion he feels, what Kisaki means to him. Kisaki isn’t just his boss, or his leader, or even the love of his life. Kisaki is his everything.
But this guy. He doesn’t seem to consider, even for a second, abandoning his leader. Even though Izana’s clearly off the deep end, even though they’re doing shit he clearly wants no part of, even though he gets just as little out of this whole deal as Hanma does, he doesn’t even entertain the thought of walking away or going rogue.
Maybe he gets it.
“Oh yeah? You sure about that?”
Kakucho doesn’t dignify that with an answer, just digs his forearm harder into Hanma’s collarbone, makes his spine grind uncomfortably against the concrete. He grits his teeth at the feeling, but pushes forward. “He’s got a vision, right? Some sorta end goal for all of this?”
Kakucho narrows his eyes at him, distrustful of the other teen’s intentions – and rightfully so.
Hanma grins, wild and excited, and he knows his eyes are shining, just the tiniest bit unhinged, the way they always are when he lets himself think about the object of all his affections. “Kisaki’s got a vision, too. It’s fucking amazing, something you couldn’t even dream! And I’ll do anything to help him get it, just like you.”
“I-I’m not –”
Hanma ignores his stuttering, now incredibly eager to continue the conversation. He never got to ask any of the others their thoughts on their superiors, never got to pick their brains and really see if they understood, even a little bit, what he feels for Kisaki.
“Would you follow Izana into hell if he asked you?”
Kakucho doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”
“Would you die for him?”
“Yes.”
“Would you kill for him?”
That one stops him in his tracks. Apparently, it’s something he’s never even considered, that Izana would ever ask that of him. An almost panicked look comes over his face as he appears to try and process his own conflicted feelings, tries to respond to the question honestly when he doesn’t seem to actually know the answer.
Hanma smirks as he shoves him off. “How disappointing.”
Looks like he was wrong yet again. Kakucho’s no different than the rest of them, his devotion hindered by pointless shit like personal morals and boundaries.
What a shame. Hanma almost pities him.
Suddenly, the door swings open. Kisaki walks through, the same stern scowl on his face as when Hanma last saw him. Nothing gives away how his talk with Izana went.
He looks straight ahead as he makes his way past them. “We’re leaving.”
Hanma immediately falls into step behind him, making sure to fill the space between his boss and Izana’s servant. He turns back for a second to lift two fingers up in a mock wave with a teasing grin to match. He chuckles under his breath at Kakucho’s glare before following Kisaki down the stairs.
“What’s so funny?”
Hanma keeps giggling as he answers, “Izana’s dog is so damn uptight.”
Kisaki scoffs. “Izana needs to tighten that leash of his if he wants to keep him under control.”
The taller of the two hums, smiling fondly down at the boy he’d helped murder an innocent girl that very morning. “Maybe you can give him a few pointers.”
Kakucho may not get it, but he’s gotten a hell of a lot closer than all the others.
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It’s almost cliche, how Hanma finds out that Kakucho survived.
He’s walking through the streets of Nakano – he knows he should leave Tokyo altogether, knows the longer he stays the more likely he is to be caught, but leaving Tokyo feels like leaving Kisaki, and just the thought of that feels worse than whatever prison might have in store for him – when he passes by one of those electronics stores with a bunch of TVs stacked on top of each other in the window.
They’re all tuned into the same news station. It’s only been a couple of days – at least, as far as he can tell, but time stopped for him on February 22nd, so for all he knows it could’ve been weeks, even months since his world ended – and apparently nothing else going on in Tokyo right now is quite as sensational as two rival gangs meeting a bloody end, so they’re still covering the incident at Yokohama Bay.
After a brief, woefully uninformed summary of what happened, the news anchor lists the names of the people who died that day – he tries his hardest not to flinch when she says Kisaki’s name, with her matter-of-fact tone and infuriatingly neutral face, as if he wasn’t the most interesting human the world will ever know – and Kakucho’s isn’t one of them.
At first, Hanma thinks that maybe they’ve made a mistake, or simply decided he doesn’t make as interesting a story as the pretty blonde girl, the fallen genius, and the wannabe crime lord. But then they move on and talk about casualties and announce that, apparently, Kakucho was taken to the hospital that night and is expected to make a full recovery.
Hanma blinks at the camera shot of some random hospital in Yokohama. He doesn’t know what to feel about Kakucho surviving. Should he feel relief, that it’s one less murder charge hanging over his head? Maybe anger, that this guy got to survive when Kisaki didn’t? Maybe nothing at all?
To his own surprise, he starts laughing. He ends up bent over with it, holding his stomach as he laughs for the first time in however long it’s been since February 22nd. He can’t stop, not even when he starts to get hysterical, or when he starts getting stares he should absolutely be avoiding.
It’s just so damn ironic. Kakucho’s probably the only person in the world who would be disappointed to have survived that night.
The only person other than Hanma himself.
He finally stops laughing when his lungs feel like they’re going to give out and he can’t stand the bitter taste in his mouth anymore. He gasps for air as he manages to pull himself upright, shaking his head as he wipes a tear from his eye.
“Guess we’re more alike than either of us thought.”