Archive of Our Own ^beta

The wintry air carried a sense of urgency as the crowded street pulsed with life. Inoo sat by the curb, a solitary figure amidst the bustling crowd. His stomach protested with hunger, a constant companion in his struggle for survival. He watched the faces of passersby, each lost in their own world, oblivious to his existence. The rain, a frequent visitor in this season, poured down, its rhythm adding to the chaotic symphony of the city.

As droplets soaked through his clothes, Inoo found a strange comfort in the cold embrace of nature. The scent of rain mingled with the earthy aroma of the street, a stark contrast to the sterile city life he knew too well. It was moments like these that reminded him of his humanity, amidst the harsh realities of his circumstances.

Then, like a twist of fate scripted in a novel, Takaki appeared—a figure of privilege in a world where Inoo barely survived. The umbrella Takaki held above Inoo's head was a shield against the downpour, but it also symbolized a gesture of unexpected kindness in a world filled with indifference.

Their meeting felt like a scene from a novel, clichéd yet strangely poignant. Inoo, with his worn-out appearance and Takaki, with his air of affluence, stood at opposite ends of society's spectrum. Yet, in that moment, they were just two individuals brought together by chance.

Takaki's offer of shelter was a lifeline, a chance for Inoo to escape the harshness of the streets. His traditional house, nestled in the countryside, offered a sanctuary far removed from the urban chaos. Inoo marveled at the beauty of nature surrounding Takaki's estate, a stark contrast to the concrete jungle he had known.

But beneath the surface of luxury lay a world unfamiliar to Inoo—the world of power and hierarchy. Takaki's associates, with their formal gestures and unwavering loyalty, hinted at a life Inoo had never imagined. The encounter with Takaki's confidant, a man of authority and sharp intellect, brought a mix of awe and trepidation.

"Inoo Kei, huh? What the hell brings you to Takaki's doorstep?" The man's piercing gaze made Inoo acutely aware of his own vulnerability.

Inoo navigated this new world with caution, aware that his fate now intertwined with Takaki's. The allure of safety and stability clashed with the unknown dangers lurking beneath the surface. As he stepped into Takaki's world, Inoo couldn't help but wonder if this newfound refuge would be his salvation or the beginning of a new set of challenges.

-

Inoo had anticipated some kind of punishment that would be imposed on Takaki, or more likely himself, since he was the subject of lecture anyway. This man reprimanded Takaki like a mother would to her son, but Takaki was as hot-headed as he was, his reasoning had long since turned into nothing but half-yelling.

“—I still don’t understand why someone as dumb as you are going to be the next kumicho of the biggest yakuza organization in Japan!”

“I didn’t even sign up for this shit! I’d rather be working as a clerk at some supermarket!”

The conversation had shifted albeit slowly, strayed into an entirely different topic, which seemingly what they both had wanted to vent out. Minutes later, after what seemed to be an eternity later, they finally stopped. And Inoo was finally able to organize his worn shoes neatly beside the already well-ordered pairs, feeling his awfully out-of-place. His ears finally picked up the name of that intimidating man. Takaki had called him ‘Yabu’, and from his tone of voice Inoo could safely identify him as the saikou-komon of the group, or in another term, senior advisor of the kumicho—which surprisingly wasn’t Takaki himself.

Rooms upon rooms they passed by, and Inoo finally arrived at a large rectangular room, large enough which could easily fit a hundred of grown-up men. The tatami mats felt soft beneath his feet, and the cushions upon it matched the colour of the walls. There, in the center, sat an old man in perhaps his sixty’s, guarded by four men who dressed similarly with the ones he saw earlier. Their postures stiff, hands clasped together in front, handgun holsters strapped tightly to their waists, hidden by their dark suit jackets.

The old man (who Inoo supposed, was Takaki’s father, and the oyabun himself) regarded Takaki with a motionless observance, his face devoid of any emotions, and then—with a flick of a hand, the women who sat not far from the intimidating kumicho immediately scrambled, quickly disappearing behind the shoji partitions of the zashiki, while Yabu quietly had left even before they reached this room. Inoo watched everything before him, deciding that everything that’s happened was by far—confusing, and he felt somewhat nervous under the old man’s intent scrutiny, perhaps he should’ve had thought about this twice. What if he were to be sold off to the market for prostitution? Although he didn’t look like a human trafficker, you never know what could happen in this set of circumstances.

“Sit.” The old man broke his disarrayed thoughts; his voice radiated power and superiority, the tone held a certain roughness and rustiness from his age, however not lacking any less authority above the rest of the house occupants. Takaki sat immediately at the order in seiza, as Inoo wordlessly followed.

“Yuya,” The old man regarded him first, and Inoo could see from his peripheral vision that he bowed slightly at the tone of his father. It was intimidating, and Inoo resorted to look down to his lap, idly fiddling his thumbs. “Explain yourself.”

“Father—,” Takaki started, pausing ever so slightly, but continued. “I saw this man in an alley fighting thugs that weren’t supposed to be there, they barged into our territory and terrorized pedestrians, I simply lent a hand and chased them away for good. I gave them a warning before they ran off. I brought him back because we may need more fighters in our midst, as just a week ago; several of our yakuza members were killed by one of the Yamada-gumi subsidiary group. He’s homeless, father, we may use this man to our advantage.”

Minus the homeless part, it was a big fat lie—Inoo didn’t understand why Takaki had to, but he supposed it was necessary to get into the oyabun’s good side. Maybe even get accepted into one of the syndicate regional groups, even if he lacked that physical ability that Takaki had kindly described to his father of him. He wasn’t built to fight. His lithe body was only capable of survive, not to attack. But he always wanted to learn martial arts, perhaps some karate or some other badass kick-ass moves.

Takaki’s father nodded slightly, almost in some twisted pride, and Inoo glanced at him. The oyabun’s eyes were closed, as if he’s thinking, the smoking pipe kept spreading across him a certain essence that Inoo hated, however forced to bear. The old man would bring it between his lips, inhaling before puffing the smoke out from his nostrils. It was a long pause, so Inoo resorted his gaze back to his lap, finding it to be the safest view. Not long after the group of women Inoo saw earlier scrambled back in, bringing trays of drinks and light snacks, and that’s where Takaki stopped talking.

Takaki’s father, with another wave of his hand, that seemed to motion some sort of sign to the women, says authoritatively, “You have to clean up. Everyone under this roof have to behave—” His eyes darted to Takaki, almost warningly, before continuing. “—And dress properly.” Inoo assumed that the oyabun was talking to him, so he looked up to meet his eyes.

Inoo squirmed in his seat, and before he knew it—quickly dragged by the women to a large room at the back of the house. He let out a resigned sigh before allowing himself to be hauled. On his way to what he would call ‘the torture chamber’, he passed by a big opening that led to the garden in the middle. There was a koi fish pond in the middle that seemed to be the main feature, red bridge that stretched across, and of course,shishi odoshi, a bamboo water feature that’s used to scare away birds with their clack sound that resounded every time the end crashes against the rock. Bamboos and other plants were also a part of the design, adorning the garden, heavily so on the edges.

Inoo, if he would ever had the money, would’ve gone to architect school, as he’d always been fascinated by the artistic and modernistic features that buildings could bring out to the world. While poems and poetry, some other forms of art, are almost exclusively indoors, Inoo wanted to bring art outside, and from several buildings that he’d seen during his time living in the streets, needless to say he was marvelled by the outrageously beautiful designs of the buildings.

He gazed upon the garden once more, and he smiled inwardly to himself. He didn’t realise that there was some kind of rock gardens that sat beyond the pond, the sand and gravel raked into some pattern to symbolise rivers, and the rocks portraying the illusion of seeing mountains from afar. All in all, it was marvelously eye-catching.

“Your garden is very beautiful.” He found himself saying, smiling slightly to one of the nee-sans.

“Takaki-sama wanted to bring out the nature side to our headquarters, so he and Yabu

-sama designed the garden themselves.”

“I see.” Inoo glanced sideways to her. “Are they close?”

“Yes, of course. Yabu-sama has been with the family ever since Takaki-sama’s this small,” She used her hand for a rough estimation for Takaki’s height then, it was almost her waist. “They often play together, but bicker just as much. And now, you may not see it, but they’re as close as one can get. Their friendship truly runs deep—Ah, this way.”

Inoo was led to a room in the right and arrived at a large space that was the bathroom, a huge tub in the middle, the glass doors were so clear he almost ran into it, if not for the women keeping him locked where he was. The bathroom, as the nee-san had kindly explained, was Takaki’s, and Inoo scrutinized around to find it a little bit more—modern than the rest of the house. Whoever designed it obviously took a minimalist reproach, with neutral colors that seemed to blend modern with traditional perfectly.

Inoo yelped when one of the nee-sans grabbed his clothes to tear them apart, and he knew his dirty clothes bothered them. He let himself be ‘violated’—to a certain extent—by the nee-sans’ hands upon his body, and he was forced to stay still at the tub, as they scrubbed his body clean. Powerless, Inoo finally settled down and let them do their job. After bathing, they proceeded to cut away his hair, nails, all the while giggling to each other at the lack of facial hair, and also the one down there. Inoo then was led somewhere else and soon was dressed in an expensive silk light blue yukata, and as he raised one of his foot to slip his toes onto the geta, he felt a strange sense of immense happiness that made him slightly teared up.

“Oya, are you okay?” The nee-san worriedly came over to look over Inoo’s teary eyes. He huffed a row of laughter, shaking his head slightly.

“Happy. Just really happy.” He hiccuped, wiped the tears with the pad of his palm, not wanting to stain the expensive garment on his body. The nee-sans cooed on how cute he was, and he almost—almost, wanted to pout, but all that painted his face was a smile, showing his row of unusual pearly white teeth.

He was escorted to the living room, this time several yakuzas were occupying on the corner, talking. He thanked the nee-sans with a bow as they reciprocated as well, and later spotted Takaki in the corner talking almost animatedly with Yabu, who seemed to do nothing but nod once or twice every once in a while. Inoo came over with a small greet, and when Takaki looked up at Inoo, Takaki’s jaw visibly dropped.

He marveled at how the color of the yukata, ‘his’ yukata that Inoo’s now wearing, complimented everything, everything, from Inoo’s silky black hair, pale skin, gentle black eyes, long slim fingers, narrow waist. As if he’s exclusively made for it. He swallowed a big lump on his throat, and he could see that Yabu was slightly out of breath as well.

“You look…nice.” Takaki said instead, coughing to his fist as he felt his cheeks reddening.

Blood rushing up to his cheeks, Inoo looked around to find some other yakuzas were ogling at him as if he was a piece of meat, and he instantly shuddered. Quickly he took a cushion and sat upon it seiza-styled, feeling slightly, no—highly, uncomfortable under everyone’s gaze. Takaki seemed to notice this, and he smiled reassuringly gently at Inoo, patting the top of his head as if he just did something worth praising.

“You’re so cute, nee-san!” Someone cooed from afar, and Inoo’s head turned to face them with an indignant glare. Who’re they calling cute?! Wait, who the hell are they calling a nee-san!?

He huffed, deciding not to voice out his thoughts. They’re yakuzas, after all, he’d be dead before he could manage until midnight. He instead looked upon Yabu’s state, and he wasn’t faring much, if his reddened cheeks were any better, and Inoo’s gaze fell down upon the cup that’s protectively clutched with his palm. Maybe Yabu’s just intoxicated from the sake. That must be it.

Minutes later, they were ushered to another room right beside the living room. The dining room walls were similar from the room before, a traditional ink-wash painting hung on the wall, with red and white plum colors decorating the Japanese paper. There was a dark wooden table at the corner that served as decoration; a box of glass sat atop, and what’s inside was a black shiny katana from the koto period. Inoo was tempted to go over and inspect closer, but even if he was homeless, he knew basic manner. So with great forbearance, he followed one of the yukata-worn women and sat on top of a tatami zaisu chair, noticing that this time it’s pearly white colored as the back is hinoki cypresse, a traditional wood often used for furniture. The women—with such elegance and femininity that slightly baffled Inoo, poured down sake on silver sterling cups that glistened against the light above them.

He stared as other women came and served big portions of food in large plates, setting them up in the middle of the zataku table, and his eyes wandered over to the food sitting in front of him. Piles upon piles of food, with all their aroma puffing out upwards in soft steam, trailing towards Inoo’s nostrils and he inhaled every bit of smell, finding himself liking what he saw, or smelled—very much. These could feed even fifty people—which was not surprising considering how many people lived in this mansion. Inoo’s mouth watered—as his eyes followed along the women’s movement, moreover, the aroma that tickled his nostrils.

“Itadakimasu!” Takaki clasped his hands together as his thumbs clutched the wooden chopsticks, and eventually dug into the pyramid of food, while the kumicho decided to merely sip on his sake after shooing the women away with a wave of a hand. His pipe was suddenly nowhere to be found, Inoo faintly noticed this, however not a second later shrugged it off and proceed to dig into his food and brought it to his mouth.

Inoo kept glancing back and forward, to Takaki and then to his father as they ate silently. Feeling himself wanting to break the rather awkward silence, he found himself blurting out a question without thinking, “So, Takaki-sama, how old are you?”

Wrong move, his mind warned him, as literally everyone stopped at whatever they’re doing. He looked to where oyabun sat, his face unreadable, but not much difference from earlier. Yabu seemed comforted with the presence of his cup of sake, which he took sips from. Takaki seemed to stare at him, not providing any evidence of incredulity, but perhaps a little surprised. The rest of the yakuza members, however, stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

Inoo shook his head, a sheepish smile on his lips. “I-I’m sorry if I said som—”

“I believe he’s asking you a question, Yuya.” The oyabun, not meeting anyone’s eyes—spoke.

“Ah…yes.” He bowed respectfully to his father before looking to Inoo, observing him carefully before replying with a low, serious tone. “I turned twenty four this year.”

The oyabun grunted, then turned to stare at Inoo instead. Panicked, Inoo babbled almost instantly at Takaki. “I’m twenty four too! Well, last June. Twenty second of June. That’s my uh—birthday. Mm.”

“That’s great.” Takaki smiled, while Inoo chose to pick at his food.

And with that, the rest of Inoo’s dining experience was history.

-

Inoo sat alone in the guest room, the weight of his past pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. The room, with its traditional charm and serene garden view, seemed designed to offer solace, yet to Inoo, it felt more like a cage—a gilded prison that held not only his physical form but also the echoes of his tumultuous journey.

The memories, like ghosts, lingered in the corners of his mind, refusing to be ignored. He couldn't escape the raw pain of losing his home, the bitter taste of loneliness that permeated his days on the unforgiving streets, and the relentless drumbeat of insecurity that had become his unwelcome companion.

As he gazed out at the night sky, the celestial canvas painted with swirling colors and shimmering stars felt like a cruel juxtaposition to his inner turmoil. The vibrant hues mocked his own turbulent emotions, teasing him with their unattainable beauty while he grappled with the darkness within.

Inoo's breath hitched as he struggled to contain the flood of emotions threatening to engulf him. The memories of his past mistakes, the missed opportunities, and the unspoken desires clawed at his heart, leaving him vulnerable and exposed in the quiet solitude of the room.

Takaki Yuya's name echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, a constant reminder of the man who had inadvertently shattered his carefully constructed walls. Handsome, kind, and utterly unattainable—Takaki embodied everything Inoo had convinced himself he didn't need, yet secretly yearned for. Their brief encounter replayed in his thoughts like a fragmented dream, each fleeting moment etched with a mixture of longing and regret.

Inoo's fingers traced the intricate patterns of the tatami mat beneath him, a tangible link to the traditions and complexities that defined his existence. He wondered if Takaki ever thought of him, if their paths would ever cross again, and if he would have the courage to confront the feelings that threatened to consume him.

The moon casting a soft glow through the paper screens, as Inoo delved deeper into the labyrinth of his own self-reflection, searching for answers in the shadows of his past and the uncertain possibilities of the future.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approached, and Inoo's heart skipped a beat. Takaki's presence filled the room like a storm, his smile a beacon of warmth in the darkness. "Enjoying the view?" Takaki's voice was soft, carrying a weight of understanding that caught Inoo off guard.

Inoo nodded silently, unable to articulate the whirlwind of emotions churning inside him. Takaki's eyes held a depth of compassion that Inoo had never experienced before, and it both comforted and terrified him.

"You belong here, Inoo," Takaki said, his words cutting through the walls Inoo had built around himself. "As much as anyone else."

Inoo's eyes welled up with unshed tears, the rawness of Takaki's acceptance breaking through his defenses like a sudden downpour on a dry desert. His heart felt heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions, the turmoil of years spent burying his true self threatening to overflow.

"I—I don't know if I can," he choked out, his voice betraying the vulnerability he tried so hard to conceal. The words hung in the air, a fragile admission of his inner struggle and the fear of letting someone see the depths of his pain.

Takaki's hand reached out, a lifeline in the storm of emotions that raged within Inoo. His touch was gentle yet firm, brushing away the tears that spilled down Inoo's cheeks like the first raindrops of a summer storm. The sensation sent shivers down Inoo's spine, awakening a hunger he couldn't name—a longing for connection, for understanding, for acceptance.

As Takaki drew closer, his warmth enveloping Inoo like a protective embrace, the air between them crackled with unspoken desire and untold truths. Inoo's heart raced in rhythm with the thunderous beating of his own pulse, his breath catching as Takaki's warm breath caressed his skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

"Just trust me, Inoo," Takaki whispered, his voice a soft murmur that held a world of reassurance and unspoken promises. In that moment, surrounded by the storm of their emotions, Inoo felt a glimmer of hope—a belief that maybe, just maybe, he could find solace in Takaki's embrace and the courage to confront the demons that had haunted him for so long.

In that moment, Inoo felt a surge of emotion he couldn't contain. All the pain, the longing, the fear—it crashed over him like a tidal wave. Without thinking, without analyzing the consequences, he leaned forward, his lips seeking solace in Takaki's.

The kiss was a collision of desperation and desire, a silent plea for understanding and acceptance. Inoo's hands clung to Takaki's shirt, anchoring himself in the storm of emotions that threatened to consume him. It was as if this moment held the promise of healing, of finding solace in each other's arms amidst the chaos of their lives.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and trembling, Inoo felt like a dam had burst inside him. Takaki's eyes searched his, mirroring the tumult of emotions raging within. There was vulnerability in that gaze, a rawness that spoke of shared pain and unspoken truths.

"I don't know what this means," Inoo whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. He searched Takaki's eyes, seeking answers, seeking validation for the feelings that had surged to the surface.

Takaki's fingers traced the contours of Inoo's face, his touch gentle yet possessive. "We'll figure it out together," he said, determination shining in his eyes. There was a sincerity in his words, a commitment to navigate the unknown waters of their emotions hand in hand.

Inoo nodded, a sense of hope blossoming in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something real amidst the chaos of their worlds. The trust forged in that fleeting moment of vulnerability laid the foundation for a bond that transcended words—a silent promise of understanding, acceptance, and unconditional support.

-

Takaki jolted awake with a sharp prod to his stomach, emitting a groan muffled by the pillow now ensnaring him. He attempted to dislodge the mysterious assailant with a half-hearted kick, only to have his futon blanket yanked away and a painful jolt below the belt.

“Holy—!” Takaki's hand instinctively flew to his nether regions, silently taking inventory. This person was so dead.

He hurled the pillow at whoever it belonged to, heedless of rank or stature. A terse, "What the hell?" escaped his lips as he squinted at the figure looming over him, none other than Yabu, immaculately dressed and evidently furious.

“It's Inoo-san,” Yabu explained, drawing a startled glance from Takaki. “Oyabun caught you both—last night. You should've known better.”

Disappointment tinged Yabu’s voice, causing Takaki to wince. His concern shifted to Inoo; he knew Inoo meant no harm, acting on instinct. Inoo's gasp and bewildered expression post-kiss confirmed that. He also knew the trouble Inoo faced if discovered.

As Takaki pondered solutions, Yabu interjected, “See the oyabun in the drawing room. Craft an alibi, if you can, and brace for impact. We don't want our lad out on the streets, do we?”

Yabu's tone, both sardonic and ominous, didn’t escape Takaki’s notice, but he held his tongue. Rising without a word, he dismissed Yabu with a wave and dressed.

Meanwhile, Inoo’s nerves frayed.

His complexion paled under the oyabun’s scrutiny. Summoned abruptly at dawn, Inoo fretted over the reason behind this summons, pondering the etiquette of such timing. The oyabun's irritation hinted at yesterday’s breaches: Inoo's impulsive question to Takaki, a slight to the oyabun, or perhaps the unanticipated kiss.

“Inoo-san,” Takaki's father addressed him, snapping Inoo back to reality. “I’ve heard reports of last night’s... inappropriate conduct with Yuya, a breach of our tradition. Care to explain?”

Inoo met the oyabun’s gaze evenly, summoning courage. “Yes.”

“Ah.” The oyabun puffed his pipe thoughtfully. “Are you aware of the consequences?”

Inoo’s composure wavered, but he stood firm. “Yes.”

“Do you not fear the repercussions for my son?”

Inoo hesitated before admitting, “I do.”

“So you have no qualms about the punishment awaiting my son?”

Inoo, though apprehensive, held his ground. “With all due respect, Takaki-dono, I initiated the act with Takaki-sama. I take full responsibility.”

“You’re claiming you forced yourself upon my son?”

Inoo faltered, avoiding the oyabun's piercing gaze. “Yes.”

“Actually, I did.”

All eyes turned to the unexpected speaker.

“Yuya, how delightful of you to join us,” the oyabun remarked.

The tension suffocated Inoo; the room felt claustrophobic. He wanted to escape, to apologize to Takaki. Inoo’s hands clenched, his gaze fixed on his lap, dreading Takaki’s gaze.

Takaki sat beside him, a silent reassurance. Inoo felt a shiver as Takaki’s hand rested on his shoulder, the weight of his mistake crushing him. He wanted to apologize, to make amends for his reckless actions.

“You’re foolish,” Inoo whispered to Takaki, his voice strained.

The oyabun chuckled, surprising everyone. Inoo and Takaki exchanged baffled glances, unsure of what to expect next.

“You’re quite forthright, Inoo-san,” the oyabun remarked. “I didn’t anticipate this honesty. I'll pardon you this time, but no repeats.”

Inoo nodded, relief flooding him. “Understood. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

-

Later that evening, Inoo sat in the stillness of his room, the echo of the conversation with oyabun and Takaki lingering in the air like an unspoken melody. The building seemed to exhale with a sigh, its wooden beams bearing witness to the emotions that had unfolded within its walls.

As the evening deepened, casting shadows that danced across the wooden floor, Inoo's thoughts swirled like leaves caught in a gentle breeze. He replayed the moments with Takaki in his mind, each word and gesture etched into his memory with a clarity that bordered on painful.

The silence around him was both comforting and haunting. It was a space devoid of distractions, where the echoes of his own thoughts reverberated with a resonance that filled the emptiness. Inoo traced the patterns on the floor with his fingertips, lost in contemplation.

The lamplight flickered, casting warm, golden hues that painted the room in a nostalgic glow. Inoo wondered about the fleeting nature of connections, how easily they could be forged and yet how fragile they remained. The night outside seemed to hold secrets whispered by the wind, a silent witness to the complexities of human emotions.

Inoo's heart felt heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. He longed for clarity, for a way to bridge the gap between what was said and what was left unsaid. The ache of longing mingled with the soft rustle of the evening breeze, a gentle reminder of the passage of time.

Hours passed in quiet introspection, the moon's gentle glow filtering through the paper windows, casting ethereal patterns on the floor. Inoo's thoughts meandered through the corridors of memory, retracing the steps of their conversation, searching for meaning in the spaces between words.

And as the night wore on, Inoo found solace in the stillness, in the knowledge that sometimes, it was in the quiet moments that the truest revelations unfolded. He closed his eyes, allowing the night to cradle him in its embrace, a silent companion to his thoughts and dreams.

-

Inoo received a summons from the oyabun and was introduced to Takaki’s personal bodyguard. Standing before him was a tall, affable man with an air of ease, dressed in casual attire that defied traditional yakuza norms. Yaotome Hikaru, as he introduced himself, greeted Inoo with a laugh, dispelling any formality.

"None of that, buddy. Just call me Hikaru," he insisted, waving away Inoo's bow.

Inoo found himself drawn to Hikaru's friendly demeanor. "I was just watching the garden," he replied softly.

The oyabun interjected, "Hikaru will be teaching you martial arts. It's good for you to learn a thing or two if you're staying here."

Hikaru nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely, Takaki-dono. We'll have a blast, won't we, Inoo-chan?"

Inoo mumbled a protest at the honorific but nodded in agreement. Hikaru led him out, and before Inoo could express his gratitude to Takaki's father, he disappeared behind a fusuma partition.

In the secluded part of the estate, they entered a multi-functional dojo nestled among the gardens. Hikaru, with a bag of training gear slung over his shoulder, explained the dojo's purpose as they walked. The scent of rubber from the mats filled the air as they entered.

"Hakama?" Inoo questioned, eyeing the traditional martial arts attire that Hikaru handed him.

"It's what aikido practitioners wear," Hikaru explained. "Let's start with the basics. Yabu suggested aikido for you."

Inoo raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Yabu-sama did?"

Hikaru grinned. "Yep, and he'll be here later to take over. Let's get changed first."

After changing, they began their training session. Hikaru emphasized the grace and fluidity of aikido, guiding Inoo through basic techniques and stances. Inoo struggled at first, but with Hikaru's patient coaching, he started to grasp the fundamentals.

"Aikido is about blending with your surroundings," Hikaru explained, his eyes reflecting pride as Inoo improved.

Suddenly, the rhythmic flow of the practice was interrupted by the confident stride of Yabu. His presence was commanding, almost arrogant, as he entered the dojo without so much as a glance in Inoo's direction. Inoo's eyes widened in surprise, his concentration momentarily broken by Yabu's arrival.

Yaotome, noticing the disruption, paused in his explanation and exchanged a glance with Yabu. There was a hint of amusement in Yaotome's expression, as if he found the situation amusing or expected Yabu's interruption.

"Oh, already?" Yaotome's tone held a touch of apology as he turned to Inoo. "Sorry, Inoo-chan, we'll continue this later. See you tomorrow?"

Inoo nodded, a bit dazed by the sudden shift in focus. "Thanks for today, Yaotome-sama," he said softly, offering a smile of appreciation.

Yaotome waved off the formality. "Oh, please. It's nothing. I haven't really gotten into the awesome stuff yet, though." He then turned his attention to Yabu with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Ah, Yabu here has some really cool moves! He can teach you some! Right, Yabu-kun?"

Yaotome's playful poke at Yabu's cheek earned a glare from the taller man, who seemed slightly annoyed by the interruption. Inoo couldn't help but feel a sense of intrigue at the dynamic between Yaotome and Yabu, sensing an unspoken rivalry or perhaps camaraderie beneath their interactions.

Before Inoo could process the exchange further, Yaotome excused himself abruptly. "Oh, shit. I gotta go. Bye guys!" With that, he left the dojo, leaving Inoo and Yabu alone once again.

Inoo glanced at Yabu, curious about what Yaotome had hinted at regarding Yabu's "cool moves." There was a tension in the air, a sense of unspoken challenge lingering between them as they resumed their practice, Yabu stepping forward to take over the instruction with a determined expression.

"Let's start with the basics," Yabu said, gesturing for Inoo to take a defensive stance.

Inoo mirrored Yabu's movements, raising his arms in preparation. Yabu moved forward, demonstrating a simple irimi-nage technique, stepping off the line of attack and redirecting Inoo's energy with a circular motion of his arm.

"Watch carefully," Yabu instructed as he repeated the movement slowly, breaking down each component. "It's all about timing and positioning."

Inoo nodded, absorbing the details of the technique. He tried to mimic Yabu's fluid motion, but his execution was stiff and hesitant.

"You're telegraphing your movements," Yabu pointed out. "Keep it smooth and unpredictable."

They practiced the irimi-nage repeatedly, with Yabu offering corrections and guidance along the way. Inoo's movements gradually became more natural, his body adjusting to the rhythm of the technique.

"Good," Yabu acknowledged, nodding in approval. "Now let's move on to kotegaeshi."

Kotegaeshi involved a wrist twist that redirected an opponent's attack, using their own momentum against them. Yabu demonstrated the technique, emphasizing the importance of proper grip and leverage.

"In a real situation, you want to control your opponent without causing unnecessary harm," Yabu explained as they practiced the technique together. "Aikido is about neutralizing threats while maintaining control."

Inoo focused on the intricate details of kotegaeshi, feeling the subtle shifts in balance and pressure. He struggled at first, but with Yabu's patient guidance, he started to grasp the nuances of the technique.

"Keep your center of gravity low," Yabu advised as they continued to practice. "And use your hips to generate power."

As they moved through various aikido techniques, including shihonage and ikkyo, Inoo's understanding deepened. He learned about hanmi (stance), ma-ai (spacing), and the concept of blending with an opponent's energy.

"Remember, aikido is not about brute strength," Yabu reminded him. "It's about efficiency and control."

By the end of their session, Inoo's muscles were fatigued, but his mind buzzed with newfound knowledge. He thanked Yabu for the rigorous practice, feeling a sense of accomplishment despite the physical strain.

"Practice makes perfect," Yabu remarked with a nod. "Keep refining your techniques, and you'll continue to improve.”

Inoo nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks for pushing me.”

-

Alone now, the ache in Inoo’s body a stark reminder of the evening's events. He let himself fall back onto the rubber mat, absently rubbing his wrists where Yabu's grip had left a mark. His gaze wandered to the ceiling, thoughts swirling in his mind.

With exhaustion creeping in, Inoo closed his eyes, succumbing to sleep. The dojo fell into darkness, a silent witness to the emotions left unresolved.

(Not long after, a silhouette appeared at the dojo's sliding door, a quiet presence in the night. The sound of footsteps, a sigh, and then silence enveloped the empty space. The dojo, devoid of life, held onto the echoes of a fleeting connection.)

-

Takaki forced open his heavy eyelids, cursing the invading sunrays that pierced through the papery sliding door. The incessant chirping of the birds grated on his nerves, yet it was a familiar annoyance, one he had endured for twenty years. Perplexed and irritable, he rose from his futon only to discover his arm numbed by an object pressing down on it. With a gentle tug, he tried to free his arm, but the object resisted, unwilling to release him. Frustrated, he yanked the blanket away to confront the intruder, and for a fleeting moment, he found himself strangely unfazed by the intrusion.

His gaze shamelessly wandered to where Inoo’s yukata revealed his pale thighs beneath the obi. With a heavy gulp, Takaki tore his eyes away, battling against his escalating desires. Despite his waning self-control, he refused to exploit the situation, no matter how tempting it was to imagine those legs entwined around him. The realization of his newfound obsession unsettled him, reminding him of how long it had been since he last indulged in such desires, regardless of gender.

A soft moan interrupted his thoughts as Inoo stirred in his sleep, revealing more of his enticing skin. Takaki's self-control wavered further, compounded by the unwelcome presence of morning arousal. He reluctantly withdrew his hand from Inoo, realizing his thoughts were straying into dangerous territory, and silently thanked whatever forces had finally freed his hand.

"Inoo," came the groggy voice, breaking the tense silence.

Takaki eyed him warily, masking his inner turmoil behind a forced smile. "Good morning," he managed, restraining the impulse to tousle Inoo's disheveled hair. Any physical contact was strictly forbidden, a boundary he dared not cross.

"What time is it?" Inoo asked, oblivious to the charged atmosphere.

Takaki avoided looking directly at Inoo’s revealing position, answering with forced nonchalance. "Okay," he replied, relieved when Inoo disappeared behind the sliding door.

Unbeknownst to Takaki, Inoo rushed to his room, overwhelmed by a mix of emotions from the unexpected encounter. He leaned against the fusuma, his face flushed with embarrassment and a hint of something else—anxiety, perhaps even anticipation. The intensity of Takaki's gaze lingered in his mind, stirring unfamiliar desires. As he replayed the morning's events, he couldn't ignore the growing fascination and guilt that consumed him.

In the following days, silence hung between Takaki and Inoo, each grappling with their unspoken desires and the unspoken rules that governed their interactions. Takaki's demeanor grew more serious, consumed by his responsibilities in the yakuza world. Meanwhile, Inoo navigated his new life within the confines of the mansion, yearning for a taste of freedom yet bound by loyalty and duty.

-

To Inoo’s great delight—and initially, surprise—he was taken outside by the oyabun the following week, accompanied by a dozen of his underlings, to the nearest park from the mansion. There, the oyabun regaled him with tales of his past exploits, which Inoo found intensely intriguing. He was particularly fascinated by the oyabun's upbringing in the yakuza world. The oyabun recounted how he was bullied when he was young, chuckling nostalgically at the memories. Inoo often found himself laughing and smiling at the humorous anecdotes, delighted to discover that even the most formidable man had weaknesses, making him no different from the rest of the world.

“Yuya,” he said, reflecting on his time as both a father and the kumicho. “He was quite the rebel—never listening to anyone, doing as he pleased, frequently bringing home men or women to his room. A real delinquent, in many ways. Yet, there was always a tenderness about him, whether he was playing the piano or practicing calligraphy. He projected toughness, but underneath, he was gentle.”

When Inoo remained silent, the oyabun continued. “His mother—my wife—passed away when he was young. They were incredibly close, closer than we are even now. It broke my heart to see Takaki transform into such a wayward soul. But above all, he was my son, and I had to do something about it.”

Inoo looked pained. “I'm sorry.”

“There's no need.” The oyabun's tone softened, quieting Inoo.

“Takaki has changed for the better,” the oyabun remarked, gazing out at the tranquil lake before turning back to Inoo with a smile. “I've heard the ice cream here is quite popular. Would you care to join me?”

Inoo nodded, and they made their way to the ice cream stall, which turned out to be closer than Inoo had expected. As they settled on a nearby bench, overlooking the verdant park, the oyabun dismissed his men with a wave, urging them to enjoy themselves for a change. This moment of relaxation amused Inoo. He had never seen the oyabun so at ease, so free. His suppressed chuckles transformed into a contented smile. It struck him then that despite not being biologically related, he felt a deep attachment to this old man, a sense of duty to protect and care for him, akin to a son's devotion.

The tranquility of the moment shattered like fragile glass as a deafening bang ripped through the air, followed by the staccato rhythm of gunshots. The oyabun's men, trained to react with precision in moments of chaos, sprang into action, their movements a dance of survival amidst the onslaught of trained assassins. Inoo, caught in the crossfire of violence, felt his heart hammering against his chest, a primal fear gripping him in its icy embrace.

Survival instincts, honed by years of navigating the treacherous alleys of life, kicked in. Inoo was not one to succumb easily, but the brutality of the scene unfolding before him threatened to paralyze him with terror.

The heavy weight of a fallen comrade's body was abruptly lifted from Inoo's back, the realization of their mortality sinking in like a leaden anchor. A yakuza, his face a mask of urgency, guided Inoo behind the shelter of a sturdy tree, shielding him from the deadly ballet of bullets whizzing through the air.

Gunshots continued to echo, each report a grim reminder of the fragility of life. Inoo's mind raced, adrenaline fueling his senses as he scanned the chaos for any semblance of safety. With trembling hands, he managed to gesture to the nearby ice cream vendor, urging them to seek cover, a desperate attempt to save another life amidst the carnage.

“Inoo-san,” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony of violence, and Inoo turned to see Yabu, his features etched with concern and a hint of sorrow.

“Yabu... san...” Inoo's voice quivered, his vision blurring at the edges from the overwhelming surge of emotions and adrenaline coursing through his veins. “Takaki-dono, he…”

“They've taken him to the hospital,” Yabu's words were a lifeline in the storm of uncertainty, but Inoo's mind was already racing ahead, envisioning the worst.

“No, no, he's gone,” Inoo protested, his voice rising with panic. “I saw it in his eyes, he's not going to make it—”

Yabu's jaw clenched, his own emotions warring beneath the surface. “He's alive, they're taking him to the hospital,” he repeated, his voice strained with the weight of the truth.

Inoo shook his head, the reality of the situation crashing down on him like a tidal wave of despair. Yabu, with a tenderness that belied his hardened exterior, cupped Inoo's face in his hands, forcing their gazes to meet.

“Trust me,” Yabu's voice was a beacon of strength in the turmoil, and with that simple plea, Inoo's defenses crumbled.

Tears streamed down his face, mingling with sweat and the acrid scent of gunpowder in the air, as he clung to Yabu, his sobs a symphony of grief and guilt. It had all happened so fast, the line between life and death blurred in the blink of an eye. Inoo's mind raced with regrets, questioning every decision that had led to this moment of chaos and loss.

“It's okay,” Yabu reassured, holding him close.

-

It was not. 

As dawn broke, the oyabun slipped away, leaving behind a gaping void after gunshot wounds that ravaged his stomach and neck. Despite the valiant efforts of the medical team, he never regained consciousness. It was a stark reminder of life's fragility, a force that thrust Takaki into the daunting depths of the yakuza world, now without his guiding force.

-

Wandering aimlessly through the night, his earphones felt cumbersome, weighing down his ears, while his feet seemed heavier with each step. His muscles pleaded for respite, a plea to end the pain and suffering, to simply stop.

It was a raw evening, the sun having long disappeared beyond the horizon. With winter's approach, the weather had turned slightly colder, though still milder than usual. Inoo, however, was ill-prepared for the chill, his thin, cheaply made long-sleeve shirt making him acutely sensitive to every breeze, the cold seeping into his bones. Yet, he was wise enough not to make a habit of such outings, a credit to his discerning mind.

Three months prior, he had relocated to the city, utilizing funds from Yabu to secure a small studio apartment. It was modest, serving his basic needs without luxury. Yabu's frequent visits, though well-intentioned, were a source of discomfort and shame for Inoo. While a part of him acknowledged Yabu's concern and sense of obligation, especially after the accident, it also served as a painful reminder of past betrayals, including his own abandonment of Takaki-sama.

Despite these bitter memories, Inoo found solace in Yabu's company, appreciating the simple kindness and companionship. Yet, he was no fool, having learned hard lessons during his years on the streets. He knew not to rely excessively on Yabu and took on multiple part-time jobs to support himself and contribute to rent and other expenses, now that taxes were also a concern.

He kept himself busy, pursuing his long-held dream of education as an investment in his future. However, he was mindful not to let his guard down or become overly dependent, a lesson learned through hardship and experience.

-

The waitress glided over with a bottle of South Australian Merlot, the rich aroma of the wine teasing Takaki's senses as she poured it into his glass. He swirled the crimson liquid with practiced ease, savoring the anticipation that danced on his palate before taking a deliberate sip. The slight muskiness of the freshly opened wine enveloped him, a welcome distraction from the mundane chatter around him.

Her flirtatious smile and professional demeanor clashed in an intriguing dance as she poured the wine, her eyes revealing more than her words ever could. Takaki acknowledged her presence with a nod, a silent acknowledgment of her efforts that bordered on indifference.

The wine flowed into his companion's glass next, the rhythmic pour a subtle reminder of the passing moments. Takaki observed the waitress's actions with detached interest, noting the meticulousness of her movements even as his patience wore thin. He had little tolerance for trivialities that didn't align with his priorities.

Turning his attention to his companion, Yaotome, Takaki raised an eyebrow as they discussed Yaotome's plans for a dojo. The familiarity between them was evident, their conversation laced with unspoken history and shared experiences.

Yaotome's enthusiasm for the dojo project was palpable, his grin infectious as he explained his vision. Takaki, accustomed to Yaotome's quirks and aspirations, listened with a mix of amusement and resignation. The camaraderie between them was forged through years of mutual understanding and unspoken agreements.

As Yaotome expressed his hopes for Takaki's approval, Takaki's response was measured yet affirmative. He acknowledged Yaotome's autonomy while subtly hinting at his own authority, a balance they had mastered over time.

Raising his glass in a silent toast, Takaki offered a rare smile, a fleeting glimpse of genuine warmth. The clink of their glasses echoed a promise of new beginnings and shared ventures, a nod to the complexities of their relationship and the unspoken bonds that held them together.

"To the new dojo," Takaki declared, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia and determination.

Yaotome's laughter filled the air, a symphony of excitement and gratitude as they toasted to a future filled with possibilities. In that moment, amidst the swirl of emotions and unspoken understandings, Takaki felt a sense of relief and anticipation for the journey ahead.

-

Inoo Kei was in the midst of removing his shoes in the genkan when he caught sight of Yabu's furrowed brow, a silent question hanging in the air like an unspoken worry.

Yabu, now dressed in more casual attire, exuded a mix of familiarity and concern that Inoo couldn't help but find oddly comforting yet unsettling. As Inoo carefully arranged his shoes next to Yabu's, his mind raced with unvoiced questions and the weight of unspoken truths.

"Where have you been?" Yabu's voice cut through the silence, his tone laced with a mixture of curiosity and concern that mirrored the emotions swirling within Inoo's own heart.

"Just out," Inoo replied, his voice a carefully crafted mask hiding the tumult of emotions beneath. The chill in the air prompted him to keep his socks on, a small comfort against the absence of warmth in his modest studio apartment.

"How have you been?" Inoo deflected, eager to shift the focus away from himself and onto something less introspective.

"Tired," Yabu sighed, settling on the floor without a chair, as if the lack of comfort didn't faze him. "Yuya's been driving everyone crazy."

Inoo nodded, feigning interest while his mind wandered to deeper thoughts. The complexities of Yabu's world, intertwined with the shadowy realms of yakuza politics, were a stark contrast to the simplicity Inoo sought in his own life.

"Hikaru's been busy too," Yabu continued, his words carrying the weight of unspoken implications. "He's thinking of leaving the group to start his own dojo. Yuya's letting him go, but you know how it is..."

Inoo raised a skeptical eyebrow, a silent question lingering in his gaze.

"Betrayal is never taken lightly in our world," Yabu explained, his tone tinged with resignation. "Our tattoos bind us, leaving is taboo."

Inoo absorbed this information, his thoughts drifting to the tattoo-less expanse of his own skin, free from the markings that dictated allegiance and loyalty in Yabu's world.

"Would you like something to drink?" Inoo offered, a sudden impulse to break the tension with a mundane task.

Yabu, caught off guard by the change of topic, nodded. "Some tea would be nice."

As Inoo rummaged through his cluttered cabinet for a tea bag, Yabu observed silently, his gaze lingering on the chaos that mirrored Inoo's inner turmoil.

Inoo focused on preparing the tea, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he filled the kettle with water. Yabu's presence behind him, a comforting yet unsettling presence, made Inoo acutely aware of his own vulnerability.

"Do you need help?" Yabu's voice, softer now, broke through Inoo's thoughts, offering a lifeline of assistance.

"No, I'm fine," Inoo replied, his words a reflexive response as he focused on the task at hand.

As the tea brewed, filling the room with a fragrant aroma, Inoo leaned against the counter, feeling Yabu's gaze on him. The silence between them was pregnant with unspoken words and unexplored emotions.

"So, how is he?" Inoo ventured, the question hanging in the air like a delicate thread, referring to Takaki-sama with a formality that felt foreign on his tongue.

"He's well," Yabu replied, his tone measured. "Busy with upcoming projects."

Inoo nodded, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. Despite the surface calmness of their conversation, beneath it all lay a web of unspoken truths and unanswered questions, leaving Inoo to navigate the complexities of his own emotions in the shadow of Takaki's looming presence.

-

Takaki walked into the restaurant with the confidence of a man who knew his worth, his Armani Collezioni leather jacket hugging his frame like a second skin. It was his second night at this particular establishment, a place that had already witnessed conversations of ambition and camaraderie during his previous visit with Yaotome. Tonight, it was Chinen who shared his company, a fact that added a subtle layer of anticipation to the air.

Taking his seat with a casual grace, Takaki glanced at his watch, noting with a hint of amusement that he was two minutes early. The waitress approached, her smile sweet and professional as she inquired, "What would you like, Sir?"

"Just a glass of Pinot Noir and mineral water," Takaki replied smoothly, declining the menu she offered with a polite wave of his hand.

"Of course," the waitress acknowledged with a nod, her efficiency earning Takaki's silent approval for her impeccable service.

As Takaki settled in, he pulled out his phone to check his emails, a habit born out of necessity in his fast-paced world. He anticipated Chinen's late arrival, knowing all too well the man's penchant for making a stylish entrance.

True to form, Chinen arrived fashionably late, drawing glances with his magnetic charm and confident stride. Despite his undeniable attractiveness, Takaki couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation at the delay. He took measured sips of his wine, wanting to maintain a clear mind for the discussions that lay ahead.

"Sorry for the wait!" Chinen exclaimed as he finally took his seat, a playful glint in his eyes.

"I'm accustomed to it," Takaki replied dryly, his tone betraying his slight annoyance.

"You've already started without me. How cruel," Chinen teased, his smile disarmingly charming.

"You know me," Takaki replied with a hint of humor, though his gaze remained focused and businesslike.

As the waitress returned with Chinen's drink, Takaki seized the opportunity to shift the conversation to more pressing matters. Leaning in, he spoke with a seriousness that contrasted with Chinen's light-hearted demeanor. "What's the occasion?"

"I'm planning a new hotel chain in Okinawa, emphasizing boutique luxury. I need your expertise," Takaki explained, sliding a thick folder across the table to Chinen.

"Ah, I see," Chinen nodded, his interest piqued as he flipped through the contents of the folder. "I believe I have a few ideas that could elevate this project to new heights."

The conversation flowed seamlessly from there, a blend of strategy, creativity, and shared ambition. Takaki couldn't help but feel a sense of impatience mingled with anticipation, eager to see if Chinen's ideas would live up to his expectations. In the world of business and aspirations, every moment counted, and Takaki was determined to make this meeting worth the wait.

-

Inoo couldn’t sleep.

It marked the 100th day since he last had adequate slumber. Yes. He counted. His eyes felt heavy as he stared at himself in the mirror in the bathroom. The reflecting surface seemed to mock him, his existence appearing as another discarded fragment in this world. Yabu wasn’t coming that night, leaving him lonelier. With no distractions, his mind spiraled into self-destructive thoughts. There was no one to reassure him he wasn’t a murderer. He was alone.

He clenched his eyes shut, unable to stand his own reflection. Turning off the bathroom light, he moved to the living room, intending to lie down briefly. He sighed as he settled into a comfortable position, gazing at the ceiling. His hand reached for his backpack without moving his body, retrieving his music player.

Listening to music had never been so soothing. It felt tranquilizing, almost easing his mind. Inoo closed his eyes, the music player clutched in one hand on his chest, the other resting below. Gradually, he slipped into a light, dreamless slumber.

At least, that's what he had hoped for.

As the world crumbled in his sleep, unsurprisingly, he woke up with sweat streaming down his forehead and neck. His eyes refocused on the familiar colorless ceiling. Gunshots echoed in his dreams, and what else?

He always returned to that same place, the same accident, the same people, and the same self-condemnation.

"I didn’t kill him," he whispered to himself, exhaling deeply to silence the self-blame echoing in his mind. His hand remained grasped on the music player, trembling slightly with fear, guilt, anger?

The lyrics of his favorite song continued in the background as he controlled his breathing. He didn’t want any more breakdowns, not anymore.

Another attempt to sleep thwarted by his haunting past.

-

Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.

But this wasn’t the kind of rain that made one think of hot chocolate, a nap in bed (although Inoo didn’t have one), wrapped up in blankets, and Norah Jones playing while watching the gloomy sky. No.

It was pouring, raining heavily, all its equivalents, and it was getting on Inoo’s nerves. Glancing at his plastic watch, he cursed himself for not checking the weather forecast before leaving in the morning. Taking shelter on the roof of a convenience store near his school, he found himself crowded among others, his frail body jostled into a spot where water droplets dribbled from the edge of the roof onto him. Using a free newspaper from the train station to shield his head from the raindrops proved futile; the paper was already falling apart.

Inoo exhaled. Why does everything never go right—

"Yo!"

Startled by the loud voice, Inoo turned to find Arioka Daiki, his classmate, beside him with an umbrella. "Arioka-san."

Arioka Daiki, always inclined to know everyone at school, was a chirpy fellow. Inoo wondered about his actual charisma, as he appeared mostly loud and cheerful, albeit popular in class. He was one of the few nice guys; the rest seemed to belittle Inoo, aware of his financial struggles and effeminate appearance.

"Seems like you could use an umbrella. Since I only have one, do you mind sharing?"

Inoo blinked, glancing at the soaked newspaper barely shielding his head. "Um—not at all. But it’s okay really—"

"Oh, come on, let’s go before we’re late for class!"

Before Inoo could protest, Arioka grabbed his elbow, dragging him through the crowded streets with the shared umbrella above their heads. Inoo felt grateful but struggled to keep up with Arioka's energetic pace, stumbling occasionally and splashing puddles on himself and others. He apologized to the glaring passersby as they navigated through the bustling white-collar and undergraduate crowd.

Thanking and bowing to a laughing Arioka, Inoo quickly dried his hair and shoulders with his handkerchief. The lobby of the school bore muddy shoeprints, a challenge for the cleaning staff.

As he made his way through the wet university students, a familiar sensation churned in his stomach—not butterflies, but apprehension.

Across the corridor, a familiar face came into view, alive and breathtakingly handsome, his eyes full of life that Inoo had forgotten. The sight of Takaki could be unsettling; he didn’t want an emotional breakdown here, of all places!

Inoo focused on his breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Just breathe normally, Inoo. He didn’t need Takaki to know he was here. He could do this. He always did.

Inoo's dark thoughts dissipated when Arioka slung an arm around his neck. "Whatchu’ looking at? You okay?"

"Nothing," Inoo replied, taking some distance from Arioka. "Shall we go?”

- 

Takaki stood in the dimly lit room, the air heavy with tension and the faint scent of blood. His posture was rigid, a stark contrast to the casual boredom that lingered in his expression. The suit he wore bore faint stains of crimson, but such trivialities were the least of his concerns in this moment.

Before him knelt Morimoto, a pitiful figure with blood trickling from his split lips, his body trembling under the firm grip of Yabu, whose hands held Morimoto's arms in a vice-like grip. Yabu's other hand was tangled in Morimoto's hair, a silent reminder of who held the reins in this brutal dance.

"I—I'm sor—Taka—" Morimoto's words were cut short by a pained gasp as Takaki raised a hand, silencing any further attempts at pleading.

"You see, Morimoto-kun," Takaki began, his tone devoid of emotion as he glanced down at the half-burned cigarette in his hand, casually flicking it aside. "My father always taught me that double-dealing is the worst offense one can commit."

A ghost of a smile played on Takaki's lips, but there was a steely glint in his eyes that hinted at the darkness lurking beneath. "And from what I can recall, we have always been partners, haven’t we?"

Morimoto's bloodshot eyes followed Takaki's every movement, a mixture of fear and resignation reflected in their depths. He no longer had the strength to protest or beg for mercy, his body broken and spirit shattered.

"And—" Takaki brought the cigarette down, pressing the glowing tip against Morimoto's cheek, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain. "I suppose orchestrating my father's demise wasn’t your wisest decision."

Yabu's lips curled into a cruel smirk, relishing in Morimoto's agony. "Shall I take him to the back room?" he asked, his voice tinged with sadistic amusement.

Takaki shook his head, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. "No need, Yabu. There are plenty of surprises in store for our dear Morimoto-kun."

"What—?" Morimoto's voice was barely a whisper, desperation seeping through the cracks of his composure.

Takaki leaned in close, his breath cold against Morimoto's ear as he whispered, "Let's handle this the Takaki-gumi way, shall we?" His words were a chilling promise of retribution, leaving no doubt in Morimoto's mind that his fate was sealed in the merciless grip of the yakuza's ruthless code.

-

When Inoo dreamed about the past, it was vivid and almost unreal.

They were more like scenes in a movie, with Inoo standing in a third-person perspective, looking in, watching his recklessness and behavior that he knew was just downright stupid. But overall, he saw how miserable and utterly pathetic he had become. He didn’t know what expression he was showing at the time, didn’t know whether he wanted it to stop or continue. They didn’t care—and just continued anyway, guiding Inoo step by step to where he was now.

There was a door at the end of the hall, and Inoo moved through the hallway, his boots (some really heavy ones) reverberating as they thumped heavier than usual, as if he had Herculean-size feet, upon the supposedly carpeted floor. His hand stretched to reach for the doorknob, but even before he got to it, the entrance flew open outwards.

It was him. Takaki sat behind his executive desk, the epitome of composed elegance, his hazel hair perfectly styled, and his attire exuding effortless sophistication. Inoo couldn't help but notice the way Takaki's fingers moved gracefully over the paperwork, a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions swirling within Inoo.

As Inoo stood there, unsure of what to do next, Takaki's pen paused mid-air, as if sensing the invisible thread that connected them. Their eyes met, and Inoo felt a jolt of recognition and longing that left him momentarily speechless.

Takaki's small smile was like a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty that engulfed Inoo. It was a silent acknowledgment, a fleeting moment of connection that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered.

Inoo wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between them, but his mouth refused to cooperate. It was as if the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires had rendered him speechless.

And so, in that suspended moment of silent communication, Inoo and Takaki remained frozen in a delicate dance of unspoken truths and unfulfilled possibilities, their gazes locked in a silent conversation that spoke volumes of what could have been, yet remained tantalizingly out of reach.

-

Sleep had become an elusive dream, slipping through his grasp night after night. The soft glow of his bedside lamp offered little comfort as he tossed and turned, thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a restless wind.

"You haven't been sleeping, have you?" Yabu's voice, tinged with concern, broke through the silence.

Inoo's response was a simple shake of his head, a silent admission of the sleepless nights that had become his new normal.

Yabu studied him for a moment, the lines of worry etched faintly on his face. "But it's not like it's uncommon," Inoo offered, trying to ease the concern in Yabu's eyes. "I've just been buried under school assignments and projects. You know how it is."

Inoo adjusted his jacket, zipping it up against the chill that seemed to seep into his bones with each passing night. He turned to Yabu, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But I'm fine, see?"

Yabu's hum held a hint of skepticism, his gaze lingering on Inoo's weary features. "If we were lovers," he mused softly, "I would make you go to sleep even if I had to force you myself."

Inoo chuckled despite the heaviness in his chest. "Then too bad—and I'm glad—we're not," he quipped, a playful glint in his eyes as he tried to lighten the mood.

"Come on," Inoo said, pushing himself to his feet with a weariness that belied his attempts at nonchalance. He gently slapped Yabu's arm as he passed by, a gesture of camaraderie that masked the underlying fatigue. "I'm starving. You said you're buying me dinner."

Yabu ruffled his own hair, amusement dancing in his eyes as he joined Inoo in the familiar routine of gathering their shoes by the genkan. Inoo grinned, feeling a flicker of warmth amid the exhaustion as they bantered back and forth.

As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Inoo made an exaggerated motion of ushering Yabu forward. "Ladies first," he teased, a momentary spark of his usual playful self breaking through the weariness that weighed him down.

-

“Tokyo Architect School?”

“Yeah,” Yaotome replied, casually shoving his hands inside the pocket of his jeans. “If you’re wondering where it’s located, it’s only four blocks from there. Well, you must go through narrower streets to get there, so if anyone asks, just tell them that. The place has already been paid for, so all that’s left are really the equipment and some human resources to handle the administration and stuff like that. I won’t do extensive advertisements just to get members; I don’t do that stuff, but you can introduce some of your” Yaotome made an air-quoting motion, “connections. Won’t you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Takaki attempted to sound indifferent and hid his pride of his friend-now-partner, casually focused on pushing through the throng. Ikebukuro was unusually crowded today, and he wondered what Yaotome had persuaded, having—as Yaotome casually called it—‘quality time’ with each other. “I suppose I’m happy for you.”

“Of course, you should be, man!” Yaotome slapped Takaki’s shoulder in a casual manner. “It’s gonna be great! You’re gonna come by every once in a while to teach my students how to do basic self-defense because who are we kidding, I’m the best.”

Takaki raised his eyebrows. “That’s highly arrogant of you to say that.”

Yaotome grew sheepish. “Okay, maybe intermediate.”

“Right.”

“Slightly advanced.”

“Whatever.” Takaki stopped in front of his favorite ramen shop and looked at him thoughtfully. “Lunch?”

Yaotome glanced at the ramen shop, his mouth already watering. “Oh my God, you’re the best.”

-

Inoo found himself dealing with a particularly irritable boss that night, forced to compensate for his mistakes (like dropping an expensive wine) with overtime. Once his shift ended, he hurriedly left, not wanting to linger around his boss who had a knack for extending work hours indefinitely. His job was crucial; it was one of the highest-paying positions he had ever held, and he couldn't risk losing it.

As he distanced himself from the workplace, his hurried pace eased into a leisurely stroll. The dimly lit street bothered him, contrasting sharply with the bustling but unfriendly neighborhood. He mused that Tokyo, despite its modernity, could use better lighting to shed its red-light district ambiance.

The rain, a frequent occurrence lately, began to fall. Inoo, adept at weather predictions, pulled up his hoodie and focused on avoiding the rainwater covering the sidewalk. Opting for a longer route home, he inadvertently found himself in a bustling and less savory part of Ikebukuro. Dodging through crowds, he finally sought shelter under a convenience store's roof, his hoodie now drenched.

Inoo blinked in disbelief, his heart racing as he processed the surreal sight before him. Takaki, the man who had occupied his dreams with a persistence that bordered on obsession, stood there in the flesh, a vision that seemed too perfect to be real.

"I..." Inoo stuttered, at a loss for words as he struggled to make sense of the moment.

Takaki's smile softened, his eyes holding a warmth that melted Inoo's uncertainties. "I vividly remember the last time I did this to you, half a year ago," Takaki said, his voice carrying a nostalgic undertone.

Memories flooded Inoo's mind—the chance encounter in the rain, the fleeting connection that had left an indelible mark on his heart. He remembered the way Takaki's umbrella had shielded him from the storm, the kindness in his eyes that had sparked a glimmer of hope in Inoo's lonely world.

"I never forgot," Inoo admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "You've been... in my thoughts."

Takaki's gaze held a gentle understanding, as if he too had carried the weight of their unspoken connection. "I've thought about you too," he confessed, his tone tinged with vulnerability.

The air between them crackled with unspoken emotions, a silent symphony of longing and possibility. 

-

In the cozy ambiance of the coffee shop, Takaki's gentle inquiry hung in the air, catching Inoo off guard as they sat together, the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee swirling around them.

Inoo squirmed in his seat, the weight of Takaki's question settling like a stone in his chest. How was he? It was a simple question, yet it unraveled a web of uncertainties and emotions within him. He met Takaki's gaze, finding comfort in the familiar warmth of those eyes, yet also apprehension in the unspoken words that lingered between them.

The timing felt wrong, the setting too public for such intimate conversations. Inoo couldn't help but glance around, mindful of prying ears that might catch fragments of their exchange. What did Takaki think of him now? Was there anger, sadness, or perhaps a blend of both in those eyes that had once held admiration and affection?

After a moment of internal struggle, Inoo finally found his voice. “I’ve been—I’m surviving,” he admitted, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Takaki's expression softened, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes. “How have you been dealing with—everything?” he asked, gently shifting the focus away from himself.

“It’s okay. I’ve been in the city for three months already, and at first, it was a little hard for me to adjust to the—life, of a normal person, but—” Inoo's voice trailed off, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavily in the air.

“How did you get money to rent a place?” Takaki's question cut through the uneasy silence, his tone carrying a subtle edge of suspicion.

“I’ve been—working...” Inoo replied, his voice faltering slightly under Takaki's probing gaze.

Takaki gave him a curious glance, the mask of suspicion veiling his features. "And three months ago, you ran away from the mansion. So who paid for all your financial needs during that time?"

Inoo hesitated, the weight of Takaki's scrutiny bearing down on him. He struggled to suppress the sarcastic retort that threatened to escape, knowing that honesty might lead to complications he wasn't ready to face. "It's complicated," he replied evasively, his lips trembling with unspoken truths.

Takaki's expression darkened, bitterness seeping into his tone. "Was it Kota? It must have been him, right?" His words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the tangled dynamics that intertwined their lives.

Inoo nodded slightly, his gaze dropping to his hands as he bit his lip in a gesture of uncertainty. The conflicting emotions of guilt and loyalty warred within him, torn between wanting to protect Yabu and facing the consequences of his choices.

The intensity of Takaki's gaze bore into him, each glance laden with unspoken questions and unexpressed emotions. Inoo met his gaze with a mixture of disappointment, confusion, anger, and sadness. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him, questioning whether this impromptu meeting for a 'catching up' was a wise decision after all.

As the conversation lingered, the fragility of their reunion hung in the air, a delicate balance between longing for connection and the weight of unresolved conflicts. Inoo couldn't help but wonder if their paths were meant to intertwine once more or if they were destined to remain tangled in a web of uncertainties and regrets. He struggled with whether to tell the truth or keep silent, not wanting to upset either Takaki or Yabu, both significant figures in his life.

The weight of Takaki's scrutinizing gaze was palpable, leaving Inoo feeling exposed and vulnerable. The urge to escape grew stronger, prompting him to abruptly end the conversation. “I—need to go,” Inoo whispered, his voice trembling.

Takaki looked puzzled, prompting Inoo to rise from his seat and hastily exit the coffee shop, ignoring the curious stares from nearby patrons.

Needing to clear his head, Inoo wandered to a nearby park, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot a soothing rhythm to his troubled mind. He found himself drawn to a secluded corner where a lone swing swayed gently in the breeze, its rhythmic motion calling out to his restless soul.

As he settled onto the worn seat, Inoo couldn't help but feel a pang of uncertainty gnawing at his heart. Thoughts of the man he was in love with danced like shadows in his mind, their complexities and contradictions swirling around him like a whirlwind. He knew there was a connection, a spark that ignited whenever they were together, yet the weight of his past and his own insecurities held him back.

The creak of the swing echoed the uncertainty that tugged at his heartstrings. Inoo closed his eyes, allowing the cool breeze to caress his skin, a gentle reminder of the world outside his tangled thoughts. Memories of past hurts and failed relationships lingered in the recesses of his mind, casting a shadow over the possibility of something new and promising.

He swung back and forth, the motion a rhythmic pendulum that mirrored the ebb and flow of his emotions. Should he take the leap and pursue a relationship with the man who held his heart, or was he destined to repeat the patterns of the past? Inoo wrestled with his inner turmoil, grappling with the fear of vulnerability and the desire for connection.

Hours later, Inoo returned home, only to find Takaki waiting for him—a most unexpected turn of events. “You forgot your phone,” Takaki stated, his tone indifferent as he handed over the device.

Inoo, surprised yet again, took the phone and sighed. “How did you—” he started, then stopped himself, realizing the futility of questioning Takaki's knowledge.

Takaki made way for Inoo to enter his apartment, prompting Inoo to hesitate. Should he invite Takaki in, knowing the potential dangers?

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Takaki's question echoed Inoo's thoughts, leaving him torn between caution and curiosity.

-

Well, wasn’t that the best decision he had made?

Takaki organized his shoes by the genkan, while Inoo didn’t bother putting his away neatly. He needed aspirin to shoo away his growing headache and rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, only to find none. Cursing lightly, he then took a glass and filled it with water from the faucet.

“It’s quite a cozy place,” Takaki remarked, glancing around as Inoo forced a smile.

“Thanks.” Inoo’s reply didn’t sound entirely genuine, though he meant it. “This was the most reasonable price I could find. With no education whatsoever, it’s hard to land a job that pays well.”

It was true; Inoo had searched tirelessly for a job, part-time or full-time, that offered a decent salary to cover rent. While most apartments listed were moderately priced, they often excluded utilities, a factor that needed careful consideration. Fortunately, Yabu had helped him secure this accommodation through a friend of a friend, for which Inoo was incredibly grateful.

Feeling more at ease, Takaki shared a bit of his own story. “I gave away the mansion to my subordinates. We had new recruits arrive two months ago, and since I haven’t lived there since—” Takaki paused, opting not to mention the accident, “—I figured I could add some extra rooms for them to stay in. Perhaps even make it our HQ.”

“It wasn’t HQ before?”

“Before, it was in Tokyo. Easier access, closer networks, and cost-cutting benefits from suppliers, as most were based there. But after the recent hurricanes, I believe we all need a little peace. Somewhere quiet and serene.”

Inoo simply nodded.

“I’ve also been thinking of, um...stepping down,” Takaki said thoughtfully, as if reconsidering. “Becoming an investor instead. I have some projects coming up soon. I need something healthier than dealing with criminals. I’d probably hand the reins to Yabu; he knows what my father envisioned for the group better than I do.”

Inoo was surprised by Takaki's openness. As a yakuza leader, it wasn’t customary to share plans or intentions with strangers. While Inoo hardly counted as a stranger, Takaki didn’t know much about him, and such information could easily be used against him.

“Can I ask you something?” Takaki eventually inquired.

“Hm?”

“Are you involved with Yabu?”

Inoo raised an eyebrow.

“Romantically, I mean? Like, are you two...together?”

Inoo shook his head. “I see him as a brother. I’m not in love with him or anything.”

After those words left his mouth, Inoo realized that Takaki was asking if he was romantically involved with Yabu. It meant Takaki was interested in him, right?

Not sure what else to say, and assuming Takaki wouldn’t comment further, Inoo offered, “Tea?”

Takaki shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Sure.”

As Takaki settled on the wooden floor, taking in Inoo’s small living space, Inoo sulked in the kitchen area, waiting patiently for the kettle to finish boiling. His hands trembled as the situation had drastically changed.

The man he had cowardly run away from had waltzed back into his life effortlessly. He couldn’t believe it. All these ghosts from the past haunted his nights, intensifying the loneliness he felt when Yabu wasn’t around. Why was he so weak? Unable to be independent for once, always seeking support, he felt pathetic.

How many sleepless nights had he endured? How long had he yearned for this man’s company, to meet again and talk, like old friends? Only—

They weren’t.

(Everything felt like free-falling through somber, blackened regions. Avoiding the media was easy, but memories persisted like tenacious parasites. He found himself trapped in an endless cycle, reliving that moment and wondering why it haunted him, having seen worse living on the streets. The blank face of the oyabun, lifeless, stared through him, silently accusing him).

Inoo squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blur the images, but to no avail. Nothing worked anymore.

He realized he was crying again as he stared at his dinner. The chopsticks clattered as they fell from his grip. Unable to resume eating, he gingerly stood up.

A hand grasped Inoo's shoulder, jolting him back to the present with a gasp. His heart raced erratically, pounding against his chest like a drum in a frenzy. Ragged gasps tore through his throat, each breath a struggle as if the air itself had turned against him. The kettle slipped from his grasp, the metallic clang of its fall reverberating in the silence of the room like a thunderclap in the midst of a storm.

"Breathe, Inoo. Breathe," Takaki's voice, calm and steady, cut through the chaos of Inoo's mind like a lifeline thrown in tumultuous waters. Two giant hands rested on Inoo's cheeks, their warmth a stark contrast to the cold fear that gripped him from within.

Inoo's eyes, wide with panic, met Takaki's, finding solace in the depths of understanding and concern that reflected back at him. "Listen to my voice. You're fine, nothing's happening. I'm here, you're safe," Takaki's words were like a mantra, repeated with a gentle insistence that grounded Inoo in the reality of the present moment.

But despite Takaki's reassurance, Inoo couldn't shake the feeling that this was all too surreal, like a nightmare from which he couldn't wake. He started hyperventilating, the rush of air in his lungs a frantic symphony of panic, each breath a struggle against an invisible force constricting his chest.

"You're safe, you're here with me. Come back," Takaki's voice remained a steady anchor, pulling Inoo from the depths of his despair. The warmth of Takaki's touch, the sincerity in his eyes, felt too real to be true in the midst of Inoo's turmoil.

"I'm—a mess," Inoo finally admitted, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession. He felt like a burden, unworthy of the kindness and patience Takaki had shown him in the face of his own struggles.

Takaki remained silent, his presence a silent reassurance that Inoo wasn't alone in his battle. Tears continued to stream down Inoo's cheeks, his guilt and self-doubt threatening to overwhelm him like crashing waves against fragile shores.

"I feel awful for leaving you, especially at such a time. You must've felt so—" Inoo hiccupped, the words catching in his throat as he struggled to articulate the depth of his remorse. He couldn't bear the thought of causing Takaki any pain, not after all the kindness and understanding he had shown.

"I'm so sorry, Takaki. I'm so sorry," Inoo repeated the words like a desperate plea, his voice choked with emotion. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of regret, desperately clinging to Takaki's presence as his lifeline in the midst of a storm.

Takaki hushed him, and Inoo buried himself in Takaki’s embrace, feeling conflicted but safe.

It was gradual, but he came down from the high, realizing—

Oh my God, Takaki’s here, and I just broke down, and Takaki’s—wait, he’s hugging me and it can’t be real—I’m dying.

“Ta—Takaki? Wait.” Inoo moved back, creating distance. Takaki looked disappointed but concerned.

“Are you okay?” Takaki's concern was evident as he gently grabbed Inoo's hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles.

Inoo's breath caught in his throat for a moment before he managed to respond, "I—I'm okay. Sorry you had to see that. I was just—"

“How long has this been going on?” Takaki's voice was gentle, yet insistent, probing into the depths of Inoo's struggles.

“Um, three months? I don’t know, I didn’t count.” Inoo's admission came with a hint of reluctance, as if he had been avoiding confronting the timeline of his own turmoil.

“After the accident,” Takaki's statement was more of an affirmation than a question, a quiet acknowledgment of the catalyst for Inoo's emotional upheaval.

Inoo exhaled deeply, the weight of his emotions heavy in the air between them. “Yes, after that. Usually, it’s milder, but—you triggered bits and pieces from the past, and I lost it.”

Takaki's expression softened with understanding, but he offered no words of excuse or apology, knowing that some wounds ran too deep for simple explanations.

Inoo took a moment to collect his thoughts, feeling the weight of uncertainty settle over him like a heavy blanket. Time seemed to stretch in the charged silence that followed, each second filled with unspoken questions and hesitant possibilities.

“I don’t know if this is the right choice, Takaki. I don’t know what I want,” Inoo finally admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and longing.

Takaki's gaze held steady, his eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and determination. “Should we find out?” His question hung in the air, the unspoken invitation to explore what lay between them palpable.

Their noses touched in a tentative gesture, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection that had been brewing between them. Neither moved further, the moment suspended in a delicate balance of uncertainty and possibility.

“Maybe,” Inoo whispered, his voice barely audible yet filled with a hint of anticipation. The space between them held the promise of something new and uncharted, a tentative start to a journey they both felt drawn to explore. Their love story was a nuanced exploration, akin to a delicate dance of shadows and light. It was not a flawless creation but rather a mosaic of vulnerabilities and shared intimacies, each fragment adding depth and texture to their evolving connection. 

-Owari/End