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Chapter Text

Draken had had a long few days. He was the least fortunate of the boys and had gotten the short end of the stick when he was chosen to go to Idris with Shinichiro to handle some stuff with the Clave. If he was honest, he didn’t know why they were doing rock, paper, scissors to decide this when it was Kazutora’s faulty information that resulted in them accidentally attacking a vampire hideout instead of the promised nest of Moloch demons. If anything, that little brat should’ve gone instead of him. 

There was no point in complaining about that now, though; he’d already made the trip to Alicante and back. 

Shinichiro had already hurried to find Wakasa, saying something along the lines of “Waka-kun might forget how handsome I am if he doesn’t see me every day.” Draken knew he was just trying to look cool in front of him, but Shinichiro was aware that he and half the Institute were there when he was crying his eyes out because Waka had to leave for a one-week trip to the Osaka Institute, right?

Shaking his head slightly to get rid of the small smile that was starting to form on his lips, Draken made his way deeper into the Institute. The sun was out today, rays of light filtering through and illuminating the inside with a natural glow. It was only 8 in the morning, Mikey wouldn’t be caught dead being awake at this hour. Still, Draken made the conscious decision to walk past Mikey’s room; he just wanted to get a glimpse of his best friend. Mikey was always the cutest in the morning, with messy hair that would otherwise stay the same throughout the whole day if Draken wasn’t there to brush and tie it back for him. 

Draken’s heart lifted with each step he took; the closer he got to Mikey’s room, the harder it became to contain his excitement. He really missed having the small blonde practically glued to his side every minute of the day.

The door was already slightly ajar, so Draken sneaked a glance through the crack. His eyes immediately sought out the bed in which Mikey usually spent half of his days curled up in, but it was empty. The curtains were still tightly shut, making it impossible for any sunlight to get inside. Mikey’s favorite blanket was carelessly tossed to the side, the pillow on the floor, for Angel knew why; Draken’s hands itched to make his bed. He had not a single clue where Mikey could’ve gone and why he would ever voluntarily leave his bed before the clock hit 12, but Mikey was Mikey, and he was never short on surprises.

Just as he was about to push the door open to go inside and clean up the mess Mikey left behind, he saw a small shadow emerging from the bathroom. It turned out Mikey hadn't left after all.

With a smile so wide it almost hurt, Draken let the door swing open and stepped inside. He saw Mikey’s small frame jerked slightly but paid it no mind as he wrapped his arms around the small boy’s middle and pulled him to his chest, resting his chin on his shoulder. He breathed Mikey in, expecting to have the distinct smell of his skin and clean laundry fill his lungs.

What invaded his nostrils instead was the unpleasant smell of antiseptic – which was strange because they rarely ever needed anything more than an iratze to heal – and sweat. Something else had been off too – his body was softer, the firmness of his toned muscles replaced with fat. His hair looked suspiciously like a botched bleach job with not enough toner, and it no longer tickled Draken’s cheek when he hugged him. The body in his arms was tense and rigid, muscles pulled taut like a string as if he was in fight or flight mode. He hadn’t laughed and teasingly chided Draken for missing him too much like he normally would have.

Despite living in a world where magic existed, he doubted Mikey could have changed so much over the few days they weren’t able to see each other, so that could only mean one thing.

The boy he was holding was not Sano Manjiro.

**********

“Mikey!” Draken yelled, barreling into the big training room. The guys liked to spar with each other in their free time. Usually, you could count on finding at least one of them here, but today, it was just Benkei staring back at him with piercing blue eyes that seemed incapable of blinking.

“He isn’t here,” the man said, and if he had questions regarding the boy whose scruff Draken was holding the way one would a cat, he didn’t ask any.

Draken nodded wordlessly and moved to leave, but he stopped halfway through the door. “And Waka?”

“With Shinichiro.”

He gave Benkei another nod before he left, only allowing himself to snicker once he knew that he was far out of hearing range. One cannot be too careful when surrounded by people who could enhance their hearing with just a flick of their stele. Benkei did not look very pleased that his parabatai was stolen away from him. But if Draken was being honest, he could never tell Benkei’s stoic expressions from one another – that ability was reserved for Wakasa and Shinichiro only. Though they were both his closest friends, Benkei and Waka’s parabatai bond meant that Benkei would light Shinichiro on fire if it would keep Wakasa warm.

“Um… hey… could you maybe let me go?” The blonde boy timidly asked, shaking like a leaf under Draken’s tight grip.

“No can do, mundie,” Draken quipped. His nerves were fraying, and he could already feel the beginning of a headache. A mundane was somehow in their Institute, and to make matters worse, he just had to be in Mikey’s room. Draken’s eye twitched, he had to be careful not to put too much pressure on the hand he was holding the mundane boy’s neck with or he might just snap it. Though he was tempted to, killing him would really go against the whole protecting mundane oath all Shadowhunters were supposed to adhere to.

Walking down the stairs to the second floor, he decided to head to the kitchen. If Mikey wasn’t in his room or the training room, he had to be in the kitchen scavenging for some sweets. 

Draken made a split-second decision to kick the door open instead of using his free hand, letting it slam against the wall as he entered. His eyes skipped over the other people who were present to immediately lock on the small boy with messy blonde hair, stray strands haphazardly sticking out in all directions. Draken could tell that Mikey had stolen another one of his sweatshirts when he was away, seeing as the neck was way too wide – his delicate collar bones were on display, and he could see a hint of the Enkeli rune on his chest. For it being decently early in the morning for Mikey, he looked surprisingly awake. Draken looked him up and down in search of an Energy rune and smirked to himself when he found what he was looking for on the inside of Mikey’s palm, already fading. The lollipop Mikey was chewing on fell to the table as he exclaimed “Ken-chin!” with eyes wide as saucers. The neutral expression on his face was replaced by childish glee.

“Ken-chin! Ken-chin!” Mikey excitedly chanted as he quickly made his way over to Draken, the shattered lollipop long forgotten. Mikey always seemed to come alive when Draken was around. It was as if a switch had been turned on for him, blowing life into what otherwise would have been an empty shell. His movements are more animated, the light in his jet-black eyes glittered like stars.

“I believe you know this mundie?” Draken asked, ignoring how his heart soared at the sight as he released the firm grip he had on the mundane boy, letting him fall into a heap at Mikey’s feet.

“I wouldn’t say they know each other per se,” said Sanzu from the end of the kitchen table. His long legs were stretched out comfortably over another chair, ankles crossed. His pink mullet had been tied nicely into a high ponytail. One of his arms was draped over the back of his chair, his other hand playing with a butter knife. The knife spun in circles mid-air before landing gracefully back in Sanzu’s grip to be thrown again. Though a butter knife wasn’t anything that could usually injure you, Draken knew that Sanzu was perfectly capable of killing a man with it. 

At the sound of Sanzu’s voice, the boy on the floor looked up; Mikey immediately meeting his eyes. The staring contest only lasted for a measly five seconds before the mundane jolted to his feet, a trembling finger pointing accusingly at Mikey. “You!” He exclaimed. “Y-You’re the murderer!”

Mikey rolled his eyes and sighed. “I've already told you this. Killing a demon does not make one a murderer.”

“Killing you, on the other hand though…” Mitsuya slapped Sanzu on the back of his head on his way to the sink, making the pink-haired boy wince and stopping him mid-sentence.

“No threatening random mundanes you picked up from the streets,” Mitsuya reproached him with a small smirk on his lips. He threaded his fingers through hair the color of lavender and pushed it back. A single cross earring glinted in the morning light. “How was the trip, Draken?” He asked with his back facing them all as he put his dishes in the sink.

“Too long.” Draken immediately grimaced, thinking about the hours he had spent in the chamber of the Council Hall as the Inquisitor asked him the same questions over and over again. He could still feel the cold weight of the Mortal Sword on his palms and the echo of the Silent Brothers’ voices in his head. He tried to suppress a shiver.

“Where did you find the guy?” asked Sanzu, absentmindedly caressing the diamond-shaped scars at the corners of his lips with gentle fingers. “When I went to look for him in the infirmary, he was already gone.”

“In Mikey’s room.” Draken grimaced. He might need another meeting with the Silent Brothers to cleanse his mind of that unpleasant memory. “Someone better tell me the deal with him before I tell Shinichiro about this.” Draken gestured towards the mundane. 

“Shinichiro is useless,” Sanzu stated.

“He’s head of the Institute.”

“And useless.”

“Fine.” Draken rubbed his temples. “Then Waka.”

“Waka’s the one who patched him up for us.”

Draken threw his hands up.

“I’m the one who needs an explanation here!” The mundane boy exclaimed, awfully demanding for someone who was shaking like a deer surrounded by a group of wolves. “After seeing you kill that thing,” he jabbed a finger in Mikey’s face mid-air, “I think I deserve an explanation the most.”

“Stop pointing at Mikey before I rip your arm out of its socket,” Draken growled. The boy’s arm immediately dropped uselessly to his side. Draken had always been overly protective when it came to Mikey; it didn’t matter if Mikey was the strongest and most capable of the bunch, Draken would always come to his defense by pure instinct.

“What did Mitsuya just say about threatening mundanes?” Sanzu flashed a cheeky smile that stretched his scars; they were old enough for him to be able to move his face comfortably.

“Sit down and have breakfast with us first, Ken-chin. We’ll tell you all about it when the others are awake,” Mikey offered placatingly. He didn't want the hassle of having to tell Baji, Kazutora, Chifuyu and Ryusei the same thing all over again later.

Mikey slinked past the deflated boy to get behind Draken, and before his friend could open his mouth to ask what he was doing, Mikey laid both hands on his shoulders and applied a surprising amount of force for someone his size, pushing Draken towards the table and forcing his legs to move. Any complaints Draken might have had died on his tongue the moment he turned around and saw the look on Mikey’s face. When Mikey smiled – really smiled, his whole face lit up, and it was as if his ink-black eyes were a night sky alight with stars, his smile brighter than any witchlight. Draken was content being subjected to Mikey’s whims for the rest of his life if it meant making that smile a permanent resident on his face.

**********

“What do you mean it exploded?” asked Chifuyu for the fourth time, the same bewildered expression on his face as the first. He was still hung up on the idea that demons could explode and not just disappear into themselves after being slain.

“It exploded. Goo and black ichor fucking everywhere. What else do you want me to say?” Mikey sighed with barely contained annoyance. Just thinking about the hour-long shower he had to take after they got back to the Institute sent a shudder down his spine. He shook his head to stop the flashbacks before he could imagine the goo sticking to his skin and ichor burning away at his clothes, wild blonde hair flopping with the motion. His cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as he shoved six pieces of candy into his mouth with abandon.

“It melted my fucking katana!” Sanzu wailed, clutching at his chest as if he had been dealt a fatal wound. “All because of… YOU!” He cried out as he pointed one accusatory finger at Mikey, who was unbothered in the face of his distress, too busy choking on the sweets Draken had brought back from Alicante.

“Hey! Draken said that was for everyone!” Baji gave Mikey a hard slap on his back, more out of irritation than to save his friend from potentially dying the world's most stupid death.

“First come, first serve,” said Mikey between violent coughs. The tiny piece of candy that had been stuck in his throat was now on the floor. “It was an emergency. Mundie over there would’ve been killed if I didn’t come to his rescue,” he remarked, shooting the mundane boy a meaningful look.

“Can you stop calling me mundie?” The mundane boy had a pout on his lips. "I have a name: Hanagaki Takemichi.” His heart was pounding so hard that he was worried it might try to escape once he dared to open his mouth. His hands were trembling in his lap and cold sweat was clinging to him like a second layer of skin, but he held his chin high and met everyone’s eyes head-on.

“Sure,” Mikey said. “Takemitchy.”

“Actually, it’s–”

“Yo, Takemitchy.” Draken offered a nod.

“No, actually, my name is–”

“Takemitchy,” repeated Sanzu with a lopsided smile.

“You're getting it wrong, it’s–”

Mitsuya shook his head. Just let it go.

Takemichi sighed heavily and slumped into his chair, defeated. He looked sourly out of place, surrounded by the Institute’s Shadowhunters. A chair was offered to him by Mitsuya, so now he was sitting as far as possible from the strange group of boys. He tried breathing in deeply to calm his racing heart, his eyes flitting from one person to the next.

Sitting next to Mikey was Draken, who had placed a protective hand on his back and was now rubbing it to help ease his coughs. Though he was laughing at him, the gentle way in which he was drawing circles on Mikey’s back, and the soft look that seemed to be reserved only for the lively boy beside him with the fair hair betrayed his fondness.

On the other side of Mikey was Baji – long black hair tied into a ponytail, lounging on a chair with his legs stretched out fully and propped on the table. His eyebrows were still drawn together tightly, the angry expression looked so natural on him that Takemichi wondered if there was a permanent stick up his ass. A boy with dark hair mixed with golden streaks – Kazutora – was chewing on a Pocky stick, nibbling on the chocolate end before holding out the plain bit in front of Baji’s face expectantly. He gave Kazutora a glare that would send Takemichi into cardiac arrest if it was directed at him, but the other boy only stuck his tongue out and nudged the remaining part of the stick against Baji’s lips with more force. Sharp canines flashed as Baji begrudgingly accepted the food.

Across from them were Chifuyu – a blonde boy of small stature who looked like he was swimming in his sweater, and Ryusei – fluffy pink hair with a few streaks of black. In the middle of all the conversations and voices overlapping, Takemichi thought he heard those two bicker about one “Ronaldinho” and “Excalibur.” Mitsuya stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the door frame as if keeping guard on the off chance that Takemichi decided to make a run for it. Sanzu was perched on the kitchen counter, bare feet dangling just a little short of the floor. He was throwing pained looks of anguish in Mikey’s direction before his choking made Sanzu almost fall over from hysterics. 

They all had tattoos, and he didn't just mean Draken’s noticeable dragon tattoo at his temple or Kazutora’s elaborate tiger tattoo that covered half of his neck. Each of them had the same kind of tattoo – dark, intricate lines that ran down the expanse of their arms like Baji or littered here and there like Ryusei. They seemed to be an ancient language, runes of some kind. Takemichi didn’t understand what they meant, but he was drawn to them by a strange fascination.

None of their skin was not marred by black ink, even the ones who were wearing long sleeves; Takemichi could see a tattoo that resembled that of an eye on the back of Chifuyu’s hand whenever he moved to yank on Ryusei’s hair. He was getting concerned that the two’s psychological warfare had escalated into violence, but no one else even paid them any mind. Only when a shriek was pulled out of Ryusei that Kazutora finally looked over.

“He fucking bit me!” Ryusei whined in disbelief, defending himself against Kazutora’s judgmental gaze, showing him where teeth marks in the shape of crescent moons made indents on his forearm. Next to him, Chifuyu had a look that could only be described as victorious, a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. “Peke J doesn't even bite!” 

“It’s bleeding now! Look what you’ve done!” Ryusei exclaimed, shoving the bite mark in Chifuyu’s face. Takemichi had to squint to be able to see the tiny bead of blood. Chifuyu had his head turned the other way, suddenly overtaken by an extreme interest in the plain wallpaper. “I’m gonna need an iratze for this!”

“That’s not even worth putting a bandage over. If you want an iratze so much, I can give you a reason for one,” Chifuyu said, giving the tan boy a death glare that was eerily similar to Baji’s. The butter knife on the table looked a little too close to Chifuyu’s grasp.

Ryusei lifted his hands appeasingly, palms facing outward. “No need, no need. However, I do think a kiss from a cute boy would patch me up nicely,” he suggested, then added a wink for good measure. Even Takemichi, who had nothing to add to this conversation nor was he a part of it in the first place, wanted to wipe the coy smirk off his face.

The little to no reaction from Chifuyu made it obvious that he was used to Ryusei’s shameless personality. But if the way his cheeks were tinted a rosy pink was any indicator, this happening – however often – did not mean that he was immune to Ryusei’s smooth voice or the way his lips curved when he smiled.

Against his will, the corners of his lips almost tugged into a smile before Chifuyu pressed his lips together tightly. “How about you ask Takemitchy for one?”

Ryusei gave him a skeptical look. He gave Takemichi a once-over before turning back to Chifuyu, and then he looked at Takemichi again. This process was repeated a few more times before Ryusei finally opened his mouth. “Him?” He asked incredulously, like Chifuyu just asked him to make out with a Behemoth demon.

Takemichi was a little bit offended. Wasn't that reaction an overkill? His looks weren’t anything that would make people do a double-take when they walked pass him on the streets, but the prospect of kissing him shouldn't be that bad. It was true that he had a girlfriend who had never kissed him once in the two years they had been dating, but he was sure that she wanted to.

…Right?

He would have to call Hina to make sure.

Speaking of, Takemichi decided to reach into his pocket to fish out his phone. He hadn’t gotten a chance to text her back after their date; she must have been worried about him. Instead of the cool surface of his iPhone, Takemichi’s hand found crumpled candy wrappers. That was strange, he was sure his phone was in there last night. And he wasn’t one to have a sweet tooth. Reaching into the other pocket, all he could find was a few discarded lollipop sticks and… wait, was that a half-eaten cookie?

Okay, now that he had actually taken a look at it, this was not, in fact, his pants. Takemichi remembered specifically picking out his favorite red knee-length khakis, the word “OUTLAW” printed in black across the front for his date with Hina. He had wanted to impress her, dressing in his finest. The pants he was wearing right now were plain black sweatpants, and the unfamiliar shirt he had on was blue with a snowflake symbol and the face of a cat printed on it. Both did not belong to him.

“Rad, huh?” Chifuyu asked, a proud smile on his face. He had noticed that Takemichi was staring at the shirt. “I designed that my very self.” 

If the shirt was Chifuyu’s, then Takemichi knew exactly who the pants belonged to.

“Um… where are my clothes?” Takemichi asked, suddenly more concerned about who changed him than the state of his clothes. 

“Ichor was burning through most of it, so Waka had to cut you out of what you were wearing,” Mikey explained. He was sneaking chips from the bag in front of Baji, who was too deep in conversation with Kazutora to notice the theft happening right under his nose.

Draken was standing behind Mikey’s chair, deft hands combing through fair hair and gathering Mikey’s bangs to tie together with an elastic. He moved with practiced ease and gentleness meant for someone you love.

“I’d actually go thank Waka if I were you. Not for saving my life but for getting rid of those… ‘clothes.’” Mitsuya’s nose scrunched up in disgust when he remembered last night when Takemichi was brought to the Institute on Sanzu’s back, wearing something that should have earned him a cell in the Silent City.

“You said it was a Deumas demon?” asked Ryusei, who had somehow managed to appease Chifuyu when Takemichi wasn’t paying attention, for the smaller guy was sitting with his feet in Ryusei’s lap. “That one had to be the first Deumas here in years. They’re not usually found in big cities like ours.”

“I’ve got to say, by far, it’s one of the ugliest things I’ve ever come across,” Sanzu said.

“Saying that when you see Ryusei’s face every morning?”

Said boy gasped dramatically and looked at Chifuyu like he had just stabbed his dog and threatened the life of his grandma. “I’ll have you know that I’m extremely handsome, thank you very much!” He exclaimed with dignity. “You think so too! Don’t lie!”

Chifuyu just shrugged, immediately putting a pout on Ryusei’s face.

“So was it, or was it not uglier than Ryusei?”

Ryusei’s head snapped towards Baji. “Keisuke-kun!”

“Sorry, I was too focused on,” Sanzu pointedly looked in Mikey’s direction and suddenly raised his voice, “my katana melting to notice.”

“You were the only one with weapons! What else could I have used?”

“Anything but my katana! Now I’ll have to put in a request for a specially made one again!” Sanzu groaned. His katana was unique to him only, with detailed carvings of lotus flowers on the blade.

“Mikey, are you seriously telling me that you went patrolling without a weapon?” Draken raised the question with an exasperated sigh, as if the mere idea of that was beyond comprehension. Takemichi felt suddenly sympathetic towards him, being one of the very few people with common sense in the group.

“Without gear, too,” Sanzu added, unhelpfully. He seemed to be feeling better about losing his katana now that he had thrown Mikey under the bus.

“You didn’t wear gear either!” exclaimed Mikey, voice thick with betrayal. He then turned to Draken in an attempt to save himself. “We were just hanging out! There was no need for gear or weapons!”

Draken pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a Shadowhunter. You should be carrying some form of weapon always. ” He drew in a deep breath, then let it out in a frustrated huff. “Anyways, moving on, do we know why the demon was following Takemitchy in the first place?”

Kazutora shrugged. “Maybe it just really liked his impeccable fashion taste.”

“Or hated it so much that it had to target him specifically.” Takemichi winced. Mitsuya was never going to let this go, was he? Takemichi felt as if they had started on the wrong foot when he was unconscious and unable to use his personality to distract him from the disaster that was his clothes.

“We don’t know,” Mikey answered truthfully, a pout still on his lips. “When Sanzu and I spotted them, it had already come really close to him. We had only been following them for about five minutes before that thing opened its huge jaws and almost ate Takemitchy whole.”

“Okay, but about the explosion…” 

“By the Angel– yes! It exploded!” Mikey’s voice was sharp.

“This is what you get for falling asleep when Waka’s teaching, Chifuyu,” Kazutora sighed. “Some demons explode instead of just vanishing when they’re killed. You’re supposed to know this already.”

“I know Mr. I-skip-class-to-go-on-a-date-with-Baji-san isn’t lecturing me about paying attention,” Chifuyu rebuked, a finger pointed in Kazutora’s face. It was true that he often fell asleep, and for some reason, nobody had ever thought it was a good idea to wake him up. And so, he often came to with doodles drawn on his face in permanent marker, but it wasn’t his fault. Matsuno Chifuyu was a growing boy, and he needed his precious sleep if he wanted to surpass Ryusei’s height one day.

“We were not on a date!” Kazutora’s face was heating up, but Baji remained silent.

Ryusei arched a brow. “To you two, going out to hunt demons together and returning with blood all over you and at least one broken bone classifies as a date.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Kazutora was stammering now, his lips were moving but no sounds were being made as his eyes flitted from the pair in front of him to Baji next to him, who also had one thick eyebrow lifted.

“I have a question…” Takemichi started timidly, one hand slightly raised as if they were in a classroom and he was trying to draw the teacher’s attention. “Actually, I have more than one.”

“Go ahead. Sorry, you must be feeling confused right now,” said Mitsuya. He seemed to be the most empathetic one out of the bunch, with kind, down-turned eyes and a warm voice.

“About yesterday… You said I was being followed by a demon?” Takemichi asked, looking confused by his own question. There was a chance he could've been imagining things and no demons had been mentioned at all.

“Yes, a Deumas demon. Big, grey creatures, sharp beaks, and teeth the size of your forearm.” 

“Okay… Not to sound stupid, but…” He hesitated. “There are no such things as demons, right?”

“I wish I could say no, but they do exist. It’s like they always say, all the stories are true, Takemitchy,” said Ryusei matter-of-factly, shrugging as if he wasn’t literally telling Takemichi that the demonic beings that had haunted his nightmares were walking the earth with them. “Demons exist, and in turn, so do we. We Shadowhunters – humans born with the blood of the Angel running through our veins – were tasked with eradicating demons and protecting the human race by the Angel Raziel a thousand years ago.”

“Think of all the stories you used to be told before bed, all the fairytales and myths and legends. Most of them are true, or at least a fragment of the truth. But all of them came from somewhere, and that is the Shadow World.” Mitsuya seemed like a nice person and his words were easy enough to understand, but he couldn’t be telling the truth, right?

“You can believe us, or not. It’s entirely your choice,” said Chifuyu.

Apparently, Takemichi wore his heart on his sleeves. It was either that, or Shadowhunters could read minds - which apparently, wasn't crazy at all according to these guys.

“I’d open a Pyxis right now and show you a demon to prove our point, but I’ve been advised against it in the past.” A mischievous smile bloomed on Kazutora’s face, golden eyes twinkling. 

“That’s because you released a demon in the fucking Institute and set us on a wild goose chase.” Baji’s tone was harsh but the look in his eyes was playful as he and Kazutora shared a brief smile.

“It got us all out of Benkei’s history lesson so I’d say it was a good decision on his part.” Mikey shrugged.

Mitsuya made a noise like he had just thought of something brilliant, and his usual warm smile had turned into something one might call devious. “You know… Sanzu here could call up his vampire boyfriend to show you living proof.”

“I’m not calling Rindou over for something as trivial as that.”

“Don’t you love taking any excuses to see him?”

Sanzu did not reply. He seemed to actually be considering it.

“No– um, it’s fine. I believe you,” Takemichi hastily interrupted. Whether they were telling him the truth or not, he really didn’t want to test his luck in case he had to actually meet a real-life vampire. “So, where are we right now?” He quickly changed the subject before Sanzu could have more time to ponder.

“The Tokyo Institute,” Draken said. “Each major city across the world has one of their own. They’re meant to be an asylum for Shadowhunters and sometimes Downworlders. Mundanes are occasionally allowed to take shelter here too, like in your case, when they’re put in danger because of the Shadow World.”

Too many questions. Takemichi had too many questions. “If cities all over the world have these Institutes, then why is this the first time I’ve heard of that? Actually, why is this the first time I’ve ever heard about demons and angels and vampires if they’ve existed for so long?” 

“Very few mundanes possess the Sight. Only when you have the Sight can you see the Shadow World, because it means that you have the ability to see past glamours. Our Institutes are protected from mundane’s prying eyes by magical wards. From the outside, they would just look like an abandoned church for you. Yesterday, you didn’t notice the Deumas demon even when it tried to eat you yesterday because you do not have the Sight. The reason you didn’t notice Mikey and Sanzu following you wasn’t because they’re exceptionally plain and easy to forget but because all Shadowhunters use the Glamour rune to hide our presence.” 

A dagger came flying at Mitsuya’s head with surprising precision. It would have found its target in his face if he hadn’t tilted the slightest bit to the left just before it had the chance to land. The blade lodged itself firmly into the wooden door with a resounding thunk, the hilt still shaking with the force of the throw.

“Benkei wouldn’t be happy that you’re still throwing things in his kitchen after last time,” Mitsuya said, way too calm for someone who just had a dagger thrown at him and would be bleeding out right now if he hadn’t moved in time. 

“The window would’ve been perfectly fine if you hadn’t dodged!” Sanzu deflected, visibly disappointed that he had, once again, failed to kill Mitsuya in front of all of their friends. 

Mitsuya pulled the knife out of the temporary home it had found in the kitchen door. What it left behind was a deep, jagged puncture wound and splintered wood. “You better find a way to patch this up before Benkei sees. ‘Cause then your katana won’t be the only thing that’s been melted.” 

Sanzu’s shoulders slumped, long lashes the same pink as his hair fanned over his cheeks. “Do you think Hanma would agree to fix it for free?” 

“Did you really just put ‘Hanma’ and ‘free’ in the same sentence? You know everything he does comes with a price,” said Kazutora, who was looking at Sanzu like he just spawned a third arm. Which, apparently, might just be possible if all the things they had been telling Takemichi were true.

“And it always has to be something weird, too. I remember that one time I asked him to do something for me and he made me perform a song and dance for it.” Baji’s eyebrows went back to their default and most natural state: being scrunched together. 

Across from him, Chifuyu impatiently made eye contact with Kazutora. ‘Did that really happen?’ his wide eyes implored. Kazutora simply nodded, a grin hidden behind a mug as he took it to his lips.

“One, did he record that? If yes, how soon can he come over?” Ryusei was leaning halfway over the table now. His eyes shone – Takemichi was almost certain that they were glittering. He seemed way too excited about this. “And two, what did you ask him for?” 

“He was recording–” 

Ryusei had just started to speak when Baji cut him off. 

“–but I broke his phone in two after.” 

Ryusei wilted like a flower being denied sunlight.

“I asked him to track something for me,” Baji answered reluctantly.

Draken raised an incredulous brow. “You do know that the Tracking rune exist?” 

“Idunnohowtodrawone,” Baji blurted, his words slurred together as he exhaled them all in one breath.

“What was that?” Mikey asked.

They all leaned or shifted towards Baji one way or another. Sanzu nearly fell off the counter in an attempt to edge closer. Even Mitsuya’s ears perked up.

“I don’t know how to draw one!” Baji raised his voice to almost a shout. His arms were crossed in front of his chest as if to shield himself, the tips of his ears an angry red, a deep scowl ruining his handsome features.

“How are you even a Shadowhunter, Keisuke-kun? What runes can you even draw?” Ryusei stared at Baji – who refused to meet his eyes – in disbelief. He snorted, somehow even louder than Baji’s voice when he spoke.

Baji opened his mouth, ready to retort, but Chifuyu immediately came to his defense – like a loyal dog heeding his master’s call. “Don’t you laugh at Baji-san! He’s a far better Shadowhunter than you, even if he can’t draw a single rune!”

Baji buried his face in his hand.

“Wait, I just remembered that one time–“ Kazutora couldn’t even finish his sentence before bursting into a fit of laughter. His normal speaking voice already carried a naturally childish tone, which became even more pronounced when he laughed. It was quite endearing, really. And maybe Baji thought so too, because he wasn’t glaring at Kazutora for laughing at him like Takemichi thought he would. Instead, his gaze was gentle, his eyes soft, an indulgent smile on his lips.

Kazutora was laughing so hard that he almost fell off his chair. That seemed to snap him back to reality though, because he managed to pull himself together just enough to stop laughing. Takemichi saw him wiping at the corner of his eye; he wouldn’t be surprised if Kazutora had actually shed a tear and he wasn’t just faking it to be dramatic. 

“W-When Baji had to limp back to the Institute be-because his leg was– was broken but he went patrolling alone, so no one was there t-to draw him an iratze.” 

At that, both Kazutora and Ryusei in front of him burst into laughter. Ryusei’s hand came down to slap the table repeatedly, and when he deemed it unsatisfactory, he started hitting Chifuyu’s shoulder instead, jostling the poor boy. Draken and Mikey both snickered. When the blonde turned his head around and their eyes met, they laughed even harder. The frustration in Draken’s sigh and the pout on Mikey’s lips seemed like a distant memory, fading into their shared laughter.

“Am I right to assume that this ‘rune’ thing you’re speaking of are the tattoos on your skin?” Once again, Takemichi was reluctant to ask his question, but he was basically kidnapped and dragged here, so the least these people could do was give him all the explanations he needed and sate his curiosity.

“Yep,” said Kazutora, popping the ‘p.’ “Runes are given to us by the Angel Raziel to aid us in our holy mission and whatnot. There are other kinds of runes like the demonic ones used by warlocks, but Shadowhunters are only permitted to use runes from the Gray Book.”

Takemichi gave the boy with the two-toned hair a once-over, looking him up and down. He was wearing a black t-shirt, the wide neckline showing off the swirling tiger tattoo on the right side of his neck. A loose jacket was barely clinging onto his frame, one side had already fallen off his shoulder. On his left ear was an earring with a bell dangling at the tip, making a soft jingle whenever he moved his head.

Takemichi’s eyes sought out Kazutora’s tiger tattoo again, then he looked over to Draken’s dragon tattoo at his temple, and then the snake tattoo resembling the infinity symbol on Ryusei’s neck.

“Those aren’t runes, just normal tattoos,” explained Draken, who had been following Takemichi’s gaze. He lifted his right arm, palm facing inward; the same marking of an open eye that he saw on Chifuyu earlier was also on the back of his hand. “For example, this is the Voyance rune. Typically, this is the first rune a Shadowhunter receives. It’s usually placed on the back of your dominant hand.”

Once again, Takemichi’s eyes darted all over the room. Draken, Mikey, Baji, Kazutora, Chifuyu, and Mitsuya all had their Voyance rune on their right hand. Only Ryusei’s was on his left. “It enhances our Sight and helps us see the Shadow World.”

“Are they permanent like how tattoos are?” asked Takemichi.

“Some are, some aren’t.” Mikey shrugged. “It depends. Runes that have temporary uses like the iratze fades after it’s done the job of healing your wounds.”

“Oh, but, runes cannot be applied to mundanes,” Mitsuya added. “They’re not meant to withstand them and will become Forsaken. Best hope that you'll never run into one.”

Takemichi didn’t know what exactly happened when one became Forsaken, but he sure as hell didn’t want to find out.

“I think after the time we ran into one and Mikey was back at the Institute snoring through Kazutora almost dying, I swear he secretly wanted to turn Takemitchy Forsaken. He almost drew an iratze on him!” 

“You were supposed to keep it a secret, Haruchiyo, you traitor!” Mikey exclaimed, hurling the half-eaten taiyaki at the pink-haired boy, fresh crumbs still dotting his face. Sanzu didn’t dodge, instead skillfully caught it with his teeth, yelling a muffled “Victory!” – which only made Mikey scowl.

“So, you’re telling me it was true that you were gonna turn Takemitchy Forsaken?” Chifuyu asked, mouth agape.

“No!” Mikey cried out, looking slightly offended. “I would never! I was just used to drawing iratzes on you guys so I temporarily forgot!”

Baji barked a laugh. “Is that what you were gonna say to the Consul too? That you ‘temporarily forgot?’” The last words were drawn out, accompanied by air quotes – just to really drive it home.

“I don’t want to hear that from the guy who can’t draw an iratze for the life of him. And I won’t have to say anything to her, actually, because I didn’t end up turning any mundies into Forsaken.” Mikey rolled his eyes. “Takemitchy is perfectly fine.” 

Takemichi didn't know how true this statement was. He was kidnapped and was now in a magical institution reserved for holy warriors with the blood of angels running in their veins. Said holy warriors were bickering with each other and engaging in catfights. Humankind might just be doomed if these were the people tasked to protect them.

“Was he not burnt by ichor? Or am I wrong?”

Now, that was a very good question. Thank you, Mitsuya the Reasonable. 

“That’s not the point. The point is that Takemitchy is alive and well.” Mikey spoke as if that was all thanks to him. He spoke like someone who didn’t almost turn Takemichi into… what did they call it? Forsaken. Not that he knew what that entailed, but when was the word 'forsaken' ever used in a positive manner?

“Plus, Waka called the Silent Brothers and they’ve already treated him. He looks fine now.”

And Takemichi felt fine, too. Which he didn’t think he should be…? He was about to open his mouth again before Mitsuya read his mind and spoke: “The Silent Brothers are special Shadowhunters. They dedicate their lives to knowledge and medicine. You could say that they’re our doctors, and they’re obviously better and far more capable than mundane ones. So that would explain why your injuries healed so quickly.”

“I think Waka said you’ll still have to stay here for a few days for us to keep an eye on your condition though, even if you’re mostly healed. But I stopped paying attention to what he was talking about halfway through so we’ll have to go find him again to confirm.” Mikey had the decency to look sheepish, at least. 

“That would be convenient. Shinichiro needs to meet Takemitchy, too – since he needs to be informed – and he’s with Waka right now,” said Draken. “So…”

A hush fell over the room.

“Who is it going to be?”

The kitchen suddenly felt suffocating. It was as if Takemichi was in the middle of a movie and he accidentally paused it, stopping all sounds and movements. No one made a single noise, nor did they move a limb – even Mikey had stopped chewing on his third taiyaki of the morning.

Takemichi didn't know what to do. Should he speak up and break the silence? Somehow, he had a feeling that if he did, things would get ugly real fast. He had no idea what was happening right now. Why was no one talking? Why were they all just staring at each other?

The tension in the room could be cut through with a knife. Takemichi gulped drily. Baji’s eyebrows were furrowed like never before, sharp eyes the color of dried blood. Ryusei and Chifuyu had ceased their fighting, both sitting with their backs straight and their smiles long gone. Sanzu’s hand was set idly on the table, but Takemichi didn’t like how his pinkie was grazing the butter knife he had earlier. 

Mikey’s dead eyes were calculating, betraying nothing as his gaze scanned the faces of his friends. Draken had put some space between Mikey and himself, now leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Not even Kazutora’s earring was making noise anymore; the image of the playful boy with the childlike laughter now no more than a mere memory. Mitsuya was slowly circling the group at the table, like a predator observing its prey before pouncing on it.

Without any preamble, they all moved at the same time, darting forward. Takemichi’s mundane eyes weren't fast enough to follow their movements, for they had already gotten out of their seats or wherever they had been before he could even blink. 

Suddenly, a chilling scream was ripped out of Chifuyu as he collapsed to the floor. He fell to his knees, hands clutching his head tightly, knuckles beginning to turn white. His eyes were clamped shut as if he couldn't bear to face his fate. “No… this can’t be…” He whispered, face scrunched up with unfathomable pain.

“It’s been decided,” Mikey said solemnly. The silence of the room was no longer uncomfortable, for this time it was out of respect for a fallen comrade. “Since the dawn of time, the eight of us have always abided by the sacred rules of ‘Rock, paper, scissors.’ And now, the ancient God of the game had spoken. You, Matsuno Chifuyu, had been bestowed upon the duty of walking Hanagaki Takemichi to Sano Shinichiro and his boytoy Imaushi Wakasa.” 

Chapter Text

In the distance, Wakasa could faintly hear the song of the morning birds. The bright morning light had slipped through the gaps in his curtains and was now testing his patience. Waka kept his eyes stubbornly closed as if the sun would magically retreat if he acted like it wasn’t there and didn’t acknowledge its existence. 

Eventually, he gave way to the sunrise’s persistence. Waka was a light sleeper, even the tiniest ray of light or the smallest sounds could wake him. And once he was awake, sleep never came as easily as it did before. Cracking an eye open, he looked at the poorly closed curtains scornfully, internally kicking himself for being careless with the blinds last night.

Waka sighed and clenched his eyes shut again. If he willed it hard enough, maybe sleep would return to him again. Today was Sunday, he had nothing to do. He was comfortable in his bed, buried beneath a heavy blanket, with Shinichiro’s arms around his waist. With whose arms around his waist? 

Wakasa’s eyes flew open and he looked down. Runed arms – Shinichiro’s – were clinging to his torso, squeezing a little too tight for comfort – just the way Waka liked it. He enjoyed being held like something precious, like losing him would be worse than death itself. Taking a deep breath in, he let the scent of sandalwood and tobacco fill his lungs. He gently ran his hand up the expanse of Shinichiro’s arms, lingering at the silver remnants of past runes and tracing the fresh, black lines with the tips of his fingers. He could feel the press of Shinichiro’s firm body against his back, warm and familiar. Dark hair intertwined with blonde and purple; the black strands tickled Wakasa’s neck where the taller man had buried his face. 

The beginnings of a smile played at the corners of his lips. “Shin-chan?” Waka whispered, threading his fingers through soft locks that spilled like ink on his skin.

Shinichiro didn't reply, nor did he lift his head from where he had settled comfortably in the crook of Waka’s neck. He hummed softly – the quiet noise would’ve been inaudible if his breath wasn’t hot on Waka’s collarbones. 

“When did you get back?” Shinichiro being the first thing he saw in the morning had become an everyday thing. But Waka had been prepared to wake up to a lonely bed for at least a few more days.

“Just now.”

Soft lips were on his neck, peppering kisses from his bare shoulder blades to just below his jawline. Waka turned his head, and their lips met. They exchanged a chaste kiss, nothing more than an innocent peck. Waka cupped Shinichiro’s cheek with a hand, long fingers applying just enough force to keep the other man’s head still as he captured his lips hungrily. Wakasa was starved of affection, of gentle smiles and knowing eyes that saw through him, of tousled black hair and the warm press of skin on skin. The kiss was returned with equal fervor; a flame ignited deep in his guts, licking at his nerve endings.

“Missed you,” Shinichiro whispered hotly into Wakasa's open mouth before swallowing his reply.

**********

“They’re not here either,” announced Chifuyu. He and Takemichi stood in the middle of the infirmary – a huge room with rows of beds, vacant of the Institute’s inhabitants. One of the beds was unmade, with a blanket tossed carelessly on the floor and a cart filled with bottles that looked like medicines of some kind next to it. Takemichi remembered waking up in the empty room with nothing but the echoes of his own voice to answer his panicked calls. He had then wandered aimlessly, keeping to the same floor, until his tired legs and curious mind led him to the wide-open door of Mikey’s bedroom.

Takemichi had lost track of the places they had gone in search of Shinichiro and Wakasa. There was the huge library with soaring ceilings – Takemichi remembered seeing it in passing when he was walking around – filled with an impressive collection of books that stretched from the first to second floor. Chifuyu had commented that it was wasted on a bunch of teenage boys who would rather lose an arm to a Shax demon before they touched a book.

They also went back to the training room – which, according to Chifuyu, was the largest in Asia – on the top floor. Various weapons were displayed everywhere, archery targets lined one of the walls, and there was a big, square boxing ring on one side of the room. It was spacious, to say the least. The big guy with the angry face – Benkei, was it? – was no longer there when they came.

The armory was right next to the training room. It was like a walk-in closet but instead of t-shirts, you had knives, and instead of dresses, you had more knives. Chifuyu had led Takemichi to a sword rack and spoke about the Shadowhunters’ trustworthy weapon – the seraph blades. They were made out of adamas – heavenly metal, deadly to demons – and needed an angel’s name to be called to invoke their power. Depending on the Shadowhunter, they might favor another kind of weapon – like Chifuyu, who called chakrams his best friends. Those weapons would then need to be marked with runes to be effective against demons.

They had also dropped by Shinichiro’s office. No one was there, but Chifuyu had a good laugh when he was showing Takemichi one of the framed photos Shinichiro kept on his shelf. Takemichi recognized Kazutora as the young boy Chifuyu was pointing at in the picture – big, golden eyes that held all the questions but none of the answers and a single bell earring. “He refused to go out of his room for a week because no one could stop laughing whenever they saw his hair,” Chifuyu had said.

Now, the blonde was once again leading him through the hallway. Takemichi couldn’t remember what floor they were on; his attention was on the murals on the wall. Quite a few of them depicted angels – beautiful in all of their glory, ablaze with heavenly fire. None of them were copies of each other, but some of them shared the same detail of a cup and sword in each of the angel’s hands, and in some, the holy being could be seen floating above a body of water. 

“The Angel Raziel was summoned,” Chifuyu said, startling Takemichi out of his stupor, “by Jonathan Shadowhunter, who asked him to assist in his battle against demons. The Angel then mixed his blood with the blood of Jonathan in a cup and had him drink it, turning Jonathan into the first Shadowhunter. That cup – the Mortal Cup, along with the Mortal Sword and Mirror, were the three divine items given to us Shadowhunters.”

“Is the Cup still used to turn people into Shadowhunters?” asked Takemichi.

“Well, yes,” Chifuyu said. “But it’s not as simple as it seems. For a mundane to Ascend, they have to be strong enough to survive the process of Ascension. They can train as hard as they can, but it’s more a matter of pure luck and coincidence than skills if I’m gonna be honest. There had been cases of promising Ascendants dying during the ceremony.”

Well, that kinda sucks, doesn’t it? thought Takemichi. He would be rolling in his grave if he had spent all his time training to become a Shadowhunter only to die the moment the Cup touched his lips. 

“How many people do you have in this Institute?” The place was crazy big, yet Takemichi and Chifuyu had not crossed paths with anybody since they began looking for Shinichiro and Wakasa.

“Um…” Chifuyu’s eyebrows slightly furrowed, as if remembering the people he saw basically every single day was a difficult task. “There’s me,” he extended one finger to keep count, “Ryusei, Baji, Kazutora, Draken, Mikey, Mitsuya, and Sanzu.” Eight fingers. “Then there’s Shinichiro – he’s head of the Institute. And Waka and Benkei, our tutors. So we have eleven people here in total. We’re a small, tight-knit group. Everybody here is like family.”

There was a small, fond smile on Chifuyu’s lips when he talked about them that made the corners of Takemichi’s mouth involuntarily curved upward. He remembered the pictures in Shinichiro’s office – Mikey receiving his brand-new Voyance rune, Baji and Kazutora with their arms around each other’s shoulders, Draken and Mitsuya showing off twin dragon tattoos on shaved temples, Chifuyu and Ryusei with the cat he introduced as Peke J, Sanzu brandishing his katana, Wakasa sitting on Benkei’s shoulders with a huge grin on his face. 

There had been another photo on Shinichiro’s desk. Two kids, a boy and a girl, with their hair in different shades of blond were standing on either side of a young man Takemichi assumed was Shinichiro. The girl was slightly shorter than Mikey, with long hair pulled into a high ponytail and golden eyes. She flashed the camera a shy smile, her tiny hand fisted into Shinichiro’s shirt.

When Takemichi brought up the girl to Chifuyu, his facial expressions turned into something unreadable. “That was Emma, Shinichiro and Mikey’s sister. I only got here last year, so I’ve never met her.” He spoke with a distant look in his eyes, detached from the story.

Curiosity killed the cat, but this time, the cat was the easy conversation they were having. Takemichi should have never opened his mouth. 

“Why are there only eleven people living here when the place is so big?” asked Takemichi, hastily. He was desperate to change the topic and ease back into the comfortable atmosphere they had going on before.

“The Institute is more of a base than a home. Shadowhunters mostly only come here for training or Enclave meetings. A lot of them have their own place, so there’s no need for them to stay here. But for those of us without parents, the Institute takes us in,” Chifuyu explained. The sound of their rhythmic footsteps echoed throughout the quiet hallway.

Takemichi decided not to pry further. Whether the boys he had met were orphans or not wasn’t his business. ”Where are we going now?”

“To Waka’s room. They ought to be in there,” Chifuyu said, pointing at the room just a few steps ahead. “We’ve tried all the other possible places, after all.”

They came to a stop, and Chifuyu rapped on the door a few times. When there was no answer, he gave another sharp knock.

“What’s the magic password?” came a voice from inside.

“What?” The two boys exchanged quizzical looks.

“You heard me.”

“Stop neglecting your duties, Shinichiro! Come out!”

“You’re putting me on the spot here. You see, I haven’t given that much thought about my sexuality…”

“Come out of the room or I’ll tell Mikey who really ate his puddings last week,” Chifuyu said. 

The door flew open to reveal a young man standing at the threshold, one hand on the doorknob and the other mussing his already dishevelled hair. He was wearing a plain, white t-shirt, rumpled and looking like it was hastily thrown on. 

“You promised not to tell!” The Shadowhunter – who Takemichi assumed had to be the older Sano – complained. Behind him, Takemichi could see another man. He was considerably shorter than Shinichiro, deft hands pulling blonde and purple strands into a ponytail, revealing a single red earring. That must be Wakasa.

“And I haven’t!” Chifuyu retorted. 

“Cheeky little brat,” muttered Shinichiro under his breath, but an amused smile played on his lips. He seemed to finally notice that Chifuyu didn’t come alone when he turned to look at Takemichi, confused. 

He immediately felt the need to explain himself and justify his presence; Takemichi was easily intimidated, yes, but even more so in front of adults. “I-I’m Take-”

“Takemitchy,” Chifuyu chimed in. “Mikey and Sanzu picked him up from the streets.”

“Out of the goodness of their hearts, or…?”

“Abduction.”

Shinichiro rolled his eyes. But Chifuyu wasn’t exactly lying when he said that.

“He was injured because a Deumas demon exploded and ichor went flying everywhere,” Wakasa said, joining Shinichiro at the door, droopy eyes betrayed no interest as he sized Takemichi up. When he blinked, Takemichi could swear that his eyelashes grazed his cheekbones. Waka’s t-shirt was definitely way too big for him – the hem almost touching his knees and the low hanging neckline showed off the dark bruises littered on his chest and neck. Looking at the state of the pair in front of him, Takemichi knew better than to think those were anything other than love bites.

“Ah, that explains it,” Shinichiro said.

“Also, because Manjiro hit him over the head with the hilt of Haruchiyo’s katana – which melted, by the way, so he’s still in mourning.”

“What?” Shinichiro’s head whipped to look at Wakasa next to him.

“I know, right? Third one in two months!” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a lazy smirk. “New record.”

“That is not what I’m focusing on here. Manjiro did what?” 

“Apparently, he panicked because Takemitchy was making a scene. They were glamoured so they wouldn’t have been discovered, obviously, but Takemichi is just a mundane. Plus, burns from demon ichor need to be treated differently from other kinds of burns; mundane doctors cannot help him. They couldn't just leave him there,” Chifuyu explained.

Takemichi remembered being unable to stop the screams that were clawing their way out of his throat. He felt like his whole body was dipped in liquid fire, even his soul was alight. He shuddered, trying to shake off the searing pain he had felt and the feeling of flesh being burnt off his bones. He didn’t even remember being hit. There was unbearable heat, and then there was nothingness.

Takemichi didn’t know what magic they performed on him but now, not only did he not feel any pain, he couldn't even tell where he was burnt.

“Well, they did the right thing, minus the hitting him unconscious part – I’ll have to have a talk about that with Manjiro later,” Shinichiro sighed, running a hand through dark hair. “What did the Brothers say?”

“Brother Shia treated his wounds yesterday – he said it was nothing too severe and that the boy was treated just in time. New skin should already be growing.” Wakasa turned to face Takemichi. “He instructed me to give you a special ointment and said that though the healing process would be over quickly, you still needed to be supervised lest there be any complications. I’m sure you don’t want to stay in the infirmary so Chifuyu can show you to one of our guest rooms.”

The blonde boy nodded dutifully. “Our bedrooms are all on this floor, and there are a bunch of guest rooms for you to choose from. I’ll show you around later. We should go back now though.”

“Waka, would you mind debriefing me on the whole thing so I can report back to the Clave?” asked Shinichiro.

Wakasa didn’t say anything, instead, he made a gesture to Shinichiro. The man immediately moved out of the way, letting Waka close the door behind them. “I’ll drop by your room later tonight to give you the ointment, Takemitchy. If you need us, Shinichiro and I will be in his office,” he said.

“We’ll be with the others,” said Chifuyu, and then they were all going their separate ways. 

Takemichi stole a final glance at the two Shadowhunters before they could fade away from view. Shinichiro had his arms draped over Waka’s shoulders, his tall frame enveloping Waka’s smaller one as he laid his whole body weight on him. Takemichi didn’t miss the short kiss they shared or Shinichiro’s chuckle when Waka murmured something against his lips. As Takemichi and Chifuyu rounded a corner, they left the lingering sound of laughter behind.

**********

“INCOMING!” was all the warning Takemichi had before something smacked him square in the face and knocked him to the floor.

“Man down! I repeat, MAN DOWN!” He heard someone scream over the chaos in the kitchen.

“WHO STOLE MY FLIP-FLOP?”

“Wasn’t me!”

Too many things were going on. He heard the sounds of chairs scraping, thundering footsteps, voices yelling, and names being called.

“I SAID IT WASN’T ME! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT KNIFE?”

Exactly what could have happened in the 30 minutes that they were gone?

“Are you okay, Takemitchy?” Takemichi opened his eyes to see Chifuyu leaning over him, a trembling hand covering his mouth, obviously trying to hold back laughter. Though he was failing miserably at it, Takemichi did appreciate Chifuyu’s attempt to preserve his dignity.

“I’m okay, but Ryusei won’t be if you don’t stop Mikey soon.” Chifuyu followed Takemichi’s eyes, turning his head to look at the disaster that was once their kitchen. 

A thin layer of white powder coated the obsidian floor – flour, if he had to guess. Utensils were everywhere: forks and spoons littered all over the place, and the chopsticks sticking out of the wooden door traced the figure of a person. Somehow, the table had been flipped over, the chairs in disarray.

Draken – soaked from head to toe, tank top clinging to his muscular frame – was yelling something inaudible (to be heard in the middle of this chaos would be a miracle) while pointing at Kazutora. Baji stood in front of the golden-eyed boy, firm and intimidating like a great Oak tree, shielding him from Draken’s view. Ryusei had been backed into a corner by Mikey, the kitchen knife in his hand glinting in the sunlight. Mitsuya’s hands hovered over Mikey’s shoulders, hesitant, like the guy would bite his arm off if he unwittingly touched him. Anything Mitsuya had to say fell on deaf ears as Mikey inched closer and closer to the cowering Ryusei. Sanzu was still perched on the counter, clearly having the laugh of his life as he watched everything unfold before him, his feet swinging mirthfully.

“Guys! GUYS!” Chifuyu yelled, trying to raise his voice to no avail. None of them even spared him a glance.

Takemichi was sympathetic. “I don’t think they’re gonna–“

It all happened so fast. Baji was pulling Draken’s braid – who in turn almost ripped the collar of his tank top, the sharp point of Mikey’s knife was dangerously close to Ryusei’s throat, Sanzu’s uncontrollable laughter somehow managed to be louder than the yelling. He saw a flash of movement in the corner of his eye; something flew past his face, barely grazing his cheek. Takemichi heard the unmistakable sound of glass shattering, followed by absolute silence as the commotion came to an abrupt stop.

“Now, can we all be civilized?” Chifuyu asked, eerily calm. He stood with hands on his hips, looking down his nose at the mess that was his Shadowhunter friends.

Everybody seemed to freeze in their place until Mikey broke the stillness. “Did you just… Wait– was that my flip-flop? Did you just break the window with my flip-flop?” he exclaimed in disbelief.

Chifuyu shrugged. “It’s your fault for throwing it at Takemitchy.”

“I did not throw it at him! Ryusei did!” Mikey pointed an accusing finger at the boy with the wild pink and black hair.

“I already told you, it wasn’t me! It was Kazutora!” Ryusei said, exasperated.

“Draken did it, I swear!”

“No, Baji did!”

“Did not!”

“Settle down,” Mitsuya said, his voice carrying over the group and effectively stopping them from coming for each other’s throats. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Mikey, I saw it flying off your foot when you were running around.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all you’re gonna say? Oh? You were gonna gut me over nothing and you’re saying ‘Oh?’” Ryusei cried. He looked around the room, trying to meet everybody’s eyes as if silently asking them Are you seeing this?

Draken busied himself with redoing his braid, Baji and Kazutora with each other, Sanzu’s eyes had already wandered out the window, Chifuyu was patting at his clothes – which did nothing because no dust was on him, and Mikey was suddenly in a rare silent mood that only ever occurred when he conveniently developed an interest on the pattern of the floor. Takemichi didn’t know where to look, so he settled on staring blankly at his feet. Ryusei turned to Mitsuya, desperate puppy eyes filled with unsaid pleas. 

“So, I assume you’ve found Shinichiro and Waka?”

“Mitsuya, I–“

“Since you’ve come back here, you must’ve, right?”

“Mitsuy–“

“What did they say?”

Ryusei left the room.

“Did I go too far?” Mitsuya asked, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. 

“No, Ryusei just has a flair for the dramatic. If I go look for him now, my bet is that I’ll find him sitting in a corner of his room and he’ll start fake-sniffling when he hears me come in,” Chifuyu said with a roll of his eyes. “But if I don’t go, he’ll come back in 15 minutes.”

“This happen often around these parts?” Takemichi inquired.

Chifuyu shrugged. “Every day, yeah.”

Sounds about right.

“I’ll relay this to Ryusei later, but basically, Waka confirmed that Takemitchy is indeed going to be staying with us for a few days so we can keep an eye on his condition.”

“Well then, it’s nice to make your acquaintance, Takemitchy,” Mitsuya said, amiably, and held out a hand.

Takemichi gratefully took it; they shook. “You too, Mitsuya.”

“I guess we’ll be seeing more of each other, Takemitchy,” said Mikey with a bright smile.

Somehow, this uneased him more than comforted him. Their first meeting was not the best per se.

Though, Takemichi was surprised by how well the Shadowhunters seemed to be taking this information. He was nothing more than a mere mundane intruding in their home, while they were divine beings, descendants of angels. They killed demons every day while Takemichi couldn't remember the last time he did anything that wasn’t just lazing around and reading comics. Which reminded him, the new issue of his favorite Weekly Shounen Jump just came out yesterday and he had yet to get his hands on it…

“So not one of you could remember how it started?” asked Chifuyu, whose facial expression could only be described as flabbergasted.

Apparently, conversations were being had while Takemichi was busy daydreaming about manga. 

“No… I was too focused on getting away from Draken. Had to put my survival first.” 

“I was trying to stop Draken from killing Kazutora.”

“I was trying to kill Kazutora.”

Chifuyu pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Look,” Draken insisted. “He came up out of nowhere and ambushed me with a bucket of water.” He gestured at himself – his hair was still dripping the occasional droplets onto the floor, his clothes still drenched and clinging to his body. Just to really make a point, Draken wrung out his tank top, splattering water everywhere.

“Because you tripped Baji!” Kazutora exclaimed, looking not the least bit guilty about nearly waterboarding Draken.

“Not intentionally! He was just stupid enough to trip himself over my foot!”

“Now, you listen here, fucker–”

Chifuyu rapped repeatedly against the back of the nearest chair to him, not stopping until his friends ceased their arguing. When they did, Chifuyu looked over to Sanzu by the window – who was absentmindedly twirling a pink strand of hair around his finger. “You’ve been oddly silent, Sanzu. You were watching everything, weren't you? Haven’t you anything to add?”

Sanzu thoughtfully contemplated for a moment, a faraway look on his face. And then, he took a deep, much-needed breath and opened his mouth. “Mikey thought Kazutora ate the secret stack of sweets he hid in the drawer with a false bottom so he confronted him but Kazutora denied it and Draken was on Mikey’s side while Baji was on Kazutora’s and Mitsuya was being the mediator that he is and Ryusei was just trying to insert himself into the argument but the funny part is no one knew that I was actually the one who ate everything and then things got a bit violent when Mikey pulled a chunk of Kazutora’s hair out–”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, you practically ripped it out, do you not remember?”

“No– that’s not–” Mikey sputtered. His lips were still moving but no words came out as if he was struggling to give voice to his thoughts. “You ate my food?”

“No, I didn’t?” Sanzu’s head tilted to the side, brows pinched in confusion.

“But, you said–”

“You must’ve heard me wrong.” He flicked his hand, waving away Mikey’s question as if it was a physical thing.

“Haruchiyo…”

A phone started ringing, echoing through the room and interrupting Mikey’s sentence – which was probably for the best, he would only confuse himself more if he kept entertaining Sanzu. The ringtone was an upbeat pop song that had been trending for the last couple of weeks. It was familiar.

“That's my phone!” Takemichi blurted.

Every head in the room turned to look at him.

“That’s my phone!” he repeated with more certainty. “Who has it?”

Mikey fished the phone out of his pants pocket and tossed it to Takemichi, who barely caught it in time. “There you go.”

Takemichi hurriedly answered the call, not risking a call-back in case the other person wouldn't pick up. The room was quiet, giving him space to talk. “Hello?”

“Hi, Takemichi-kun. I’m Hina’s mom. Sorry for calling you out of the blue, but Hina told me she was going out with you before she left the house yesterday. She wouldn't happen to be at your place right now, would she?” Takemichi could hear the concern in her voice even over the phone. Hina’s mother was a nice woman, Takemichi had never really had a chance to have a proper conversation with her, but she was always friendly to him whenever he came over. The implication that Hina had spent the night at his house, however innocent, still made him red in the face.

“No, I’m sorry… We said our goodbyes yesterday, and I haven’t seen her since. Plus, I’m not home right now, I’m– uh– at a friend’s house…” Takemichi didn’t really know how to explain his… situation, and he didn't want to put his (hopefully) future mother-in-law through the whole ordeal. Sooo I got kidnapped by these half-angel, half-human people after almost being devoured by a demon and then got a little burnt by demon ichor so now I have to stay in this Institute so said half-angel, half-human people can look after me. He didn’t think that would come across very well.

“Have you contacted her at all ever since? She hasn't been picking up my calls so I’m a bit worried. It’s not like Hina to behave this way.”

She was right. Not answering calls in general was already weird for Hina, but her mother’s calls? Now Takemichi was getting nervous too. “I haven’t, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you right away if she reaches out, though,” he promised.

“Thank you, Takemichi-kun.” The relief in her voice was evident.

After saying goodbye to Hina’s mom and reassuring her again that she would be the first to know if Hina contacted him, he decided to send a few messages of his own to her. He relayed the information and emphasized that her mom was very worried about her, and then debated on whether he should send the I miss you text or not. After going back and forth between the send and the delete buttons, he decided to click send. Takemichi then quickly pocketed his phone so he didn't have to look at it long enough to contemplate deleting it.

“This ‘Hina’ person your friend?” asked Baji.

“My girlfriend.”

Takemichi decided to not to read too much into the matching looks of surprise on everybody’s faces. 

“Normally, people being unresponsive to calls and messages is perfectly normal, but you don’t know Hina. She’s… she’s really nice. She cares deeply about her family; she wouldn't make her mom worry like this,” Takemichi said, his tone tight with unease. He had started chewing on the inside of his cheek before he even noticed; he couldn't remember when he developed this habit.

“Do you have any belongings of her?” Draken asked.

“Not really, no… Why?”

“Tracking runes only work if you have something that belongs to the person you want to find.”

That’s genius! Takemichi heaved a great sigh of relief. He had forgotten that they had mentioned it briefly before.

Now, Takemichi racked his brain, trying to remember if he had anything of Hina’s. She loved baking, so most of her gifts to him had been homemade cookies. Of course, he loved and appreciated them, but food that had long dissolved in his stomach would not come in handy in this situation.

Did he really not have anything?

…

Wait.

“She let me borrow her handkerchief last week – my nose was bleeding – and I haven’t returned it to her yet. Would that work?”

They all nodded, and the knot Takemichi didn’t notice was forming in his stomach untied itself.

“Thank God,” he exhaled, his voice trembling a little. “There’s just one tiny problem: I don’t have it in my person right now. It’s at my house.”

“That’s fine,” Mikey said. “You’ll have to get some clothes and things anyway since you’ll be staying here temporarily. So might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

Mikey had a point. Takemichi hadn’t even thought of that. He was still wearing someone else’s clothes – he was pretty sure the t-shirt with the cat design belonged to Chifuyu, but he would much rather wear his own.

“How soon can we get going?” he asked.

“Right now.”

Chapter Text

When Mikey said bikes, he was thinking two-wheeled with a pedal, thin metal frame, and tiny saddle. You know, the normal kind. Like the one he himself had at home.

“Those are motorcycles,” Takemichi stated.

“Motorcycles. Bikes. Same thing,” Draken said as he swung his leg up and over the intimidating thing, settling onto the seat with practiced ease. 

“No, no. Not the same thing. That’s–” Mikey gave his throttle a twist, and Takemichi almost jumped out of his skin at the roar of the engine. His reaction elicited an amused laugh from the blonde. “That’s a motorcycle . Bikes are the kind of things you usually see kids and students use. They’re quiet – except for the ones with bells – and they’re friendly. That’s a fucking beast. ” He pointed at Draken’s ride.

“Just get on already, Takemitchy. It’s not gonna eat you,” Sanzu snapped, fingers tapping impatiently on the handlebars. He was leaning over the controls, pink hair tousled by the wind. Though most of Sanzu’s features were obscured by a black mask, Takemichi didn’t need a full look at his face to know that the guy was annoyed. His eyes – blue as a cloudless sky – were narrowed into thin slits.

Sanzu’s bike was a bold color: a vibrant pink. The front fairing was tall and angular with a yellow-tinted headlight. It also had a tall backrest the same shade as lavenders. If Takemichi had seen the vehicle out and about in public without its owner present, he would’ve thought it belonged to someone in a biker gang. Sanzu seemed to treasure it a whole lot, he made sure to wipe the handles clean with disinfectant and wet tissues before even mounting it.

“D-Do you have helmets?” Takemichi asked Draken as he reluctantly inched closer to his bike. Draken’s Zephyr had a cool, retro look; the same dragon on his temple had been custom-added to the sides of its fuel tank. 

Draken shook his head.

Takemichi resisted the urge to facepalm. Why was he not surprised? If he had magical runes that could heal any wounds in mere seconds, maybe he, too, would be fine risking his life on these contraptions.

“If we happen to crash and I crack my skull open on the pavement, tell Hina that I love her,” Takemichi said as he reluctantly climbed on the back of Draken’s Zephyr – which, embarrassingly, took him three tries. He almost wanted to reach out and hold onto Draken’s arm for support, but the little pride he had left in him wouldn’t allow him to.

“How bad of a driver do you think I am?” Draken growled, glaring at Takemichi over his shoulder. The mundane immediately shrunk under his gaze.

“If you wanted to die, we could’ve had Baji or Kazutora come with us. Your death could be swift but I don’t know about gentle,” Mikey mused. He was hunched over the tank of his bike, chin resting lazily on the speedometer.

"Those guys drive like they got a death wish, Kazutora especially. He gave me a ride once and I–“ Sanzu visibly shivered at whatever unpleasant memory rose to his mind. “Never again,” he declared.

With a flick of his wrist, Draken’s engine slowly rumbled to life, thrumming steadily. Takemichi could feel the vibrations through the leather seat and he gulped dryly. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust Draken – the guy seemed reliable enough – this was just Takemichi’s first time being on a motorcycle. As a renowned scaredy cat, he had always tried to avoid these kinds of things to the best of his abilities. But there was no way to escape now, since his Shadowhunter companions had insisted they go to his house by bike, and Takemichi was not one to say no to people.

"I’d recommend that you hold on,” Draken said, a grin spreading on his lips as he gave his motorcycle a few good revs, the engine roaring in response.

Takemichi steeled himself, back straight and shoulders squared, looking forward with grim determination. But he wasn’t quite as ready as he thought. Because as the bike suddenly lurched forward without any warning, Takemichi felt his heart drop to his stomach and he barely stopped himself from screaming.

His legs desperately scrambled to trap the motorcycle between them in a vice grip. Any remnants of his pride were blown away by the same unforgiving wind that was whipping his face as he wrapped both arms tightly around Draken’s firm waist. The Shadowhunter barked a laugh loud enough for Takemichi to hear over the roar of the wind. Through the mirrors, he could see a mad smile on his face, braid thrashing wildly back and forth. He hid his face behind Draken’s broad shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut, counting down the seconds until he was finally able to get off this damn thing.

What a scene this would’ve been if Draken had used a Glamour rune. Takemichi would just look insane riding on the back of a motorcycle guided by unseen hands, holding onto an invisible driver for dear life.

The small group Takemichi had with him had neglected to draw any extra runes or even wear gear as Mikey said it was “barely even a mission,” and that they were going out during the day so no demon encounters would happen – sunlight was their weakness. But, still, a weapons belt hung heavy around Draken’s hip with daggers and knives of various sizes – for precaution, he had said. Sanzu, though he always preferred the reliable weight of a katana in his hands, revealed that he never left the Institute without at least a few blades on his person. When Takemichi looked him up and down – black from head to toe, a t-shirt and loose pants – he couldn’t quite figure out where Sanzu had managed to hide any kind of weapon.

Mitsuya – responsible, mature Mitsuya – had stayed behind to clean up the kitchen before Benkei could find the wreckage and start killing them off one by one. Ryusei, in fact, did not come back after 15 minutes despite the premonition; so Chifuyu had left them after promising not to be long and that they would both join Takemichi’s group. When Mikey came to check up on them, the two lovebirds had fallen asleep on Ryusei’s bed, limbs entangled and drool staining the sheets. Chifuyu’s head was on Ryusei’s chest, and the latter had an arm wrapped around the small boy. Baji and Kazutora had both shared the sentiment that the task was beneath them, so they went to spar in the training room. Draken remarked that their group would probably come back to at least one iratze on either of them – apparently, the pair also shared the sentiment that wooden swords were stupid.

Mikey was the first to volunteer to go, more out of nosiness than anything else. Draken – who could never seem to leave Mikey alone – reluctantly followed. Sanzu simply tagged along because he was bored and had nothing better to do. “You better make this worth it” was what he had said to Takemichi before going with Draken to the armoury. Now, Takemichi didn’t know exactly what the guy was hoping to get out of this. They were just going back to his place to retrieve some stuff: clothes, some belongings, and Hina’s handkerchief. What excitement could be found in that?

“Are you trying to kill me, Takemitchy?” Draken yelled, raising his voice so he could be heard over the howling wind. 

Takemichi belatedly realized that he had been squeezing Draken’s waist with way too much force. Even though it seemed like he would be blown away not unlike a twig in a storm if he loosened his grip, he did it anyway. Draken’s tone was playful, but Takemichi felt it would be bad manners to repay someone nice enough to give you a ride by suffocating them.

What he wouldn’t give to be off this death machine. Takemichi had a feeling that they had been on the road for hours, but he knew, realistically, five minutes hadn’t even passed. All he could do was keep his eyes closed and hope to make it out alive. His body was on high alert and all five senses were heightened because his irrational mind kept screaming “DANGER” and blaring sirens inside his brain. He couldn't feel his heart beat  – he didn't even know if it was still beating. Fear spread like poison through his body, and he found himself sweating despite the harsh wind.

**********

“Is he still alive?” asked Mikey, lightly kicking Takemichi’s unconscious body with his foot. When they arrived at his house, Takemichi had long passed out, despite the journey lasting no more than ten minutes – much to Sanzu’s dissatisfaction.

Out of everybody in the Institute, Sanzu was the one who spent the most time with his bike – except for the aspiring mechanics they had, of course, but they didn’t count. Sanzu loved his bike. He loved everything about it: the vibrant pink, the feel of the leather seat, the freedom it gave him. When Sanzu rode, it was just him, his bike, and the cool wind in his hair. Nothing else existed – not the Clave and the dumb rules they had to adhere to, not the demons that waited for him at every corner. When he rode, his mind was blissfully blank; no longer did the looming silhouette of the man he loathed plague his mind, any harsh words that had ever been directed at Sanzu lost to the undiscriminating gale.

The Clave and their hatred for mundane technology somehow didn't stop anyone in the Tokyo Institute from acquiring their own motorcycles. Considering their head was a man who would’ve loved to work in a bike shop if he wasn’t bound by his responsibilities as a Shadowhunter, there was a lot of leniency there. What the Clave didn’t know and what Shinichiro didn’t include in his reports couldn't hurt them.

“Takemitchy,” Draken called. He was squatting next to him and had started to give the guy a few light slaps to his cheek.

Takemichi stirred, blinking his bleary eyes open as the world slowly came into focus. “Is this heaven…?”

“Yes, actually. Your frail, little mundie body got flung off the bike and you hit the ground. Hard,” said Sanzu. The corners of his lips began to curl underneath his mask – he always had it on whenever they went out unglamoured. Mundanes were curious creatures.

Takemichi jolted upright, eyes frantically scanning the faces of his companions. Upon seeing that they all had pitiful smiles on their faces – save for Sanzu – he signed in relief. Only now registering that they had arrived at their destination, Takemichi got up after Draken and dusted his borrowed clothes.

“This your place?” Draken gestured to the house; the Hanagaki nameplate was plastered on the wall. Mikey had already found himself a seat on the porch.

The neighbourhood was rather quiet, considering it was a Saturday and the weather was decent – neither hot nor cold, dense clouds lending cover to sunlight. But it wasn’t like Sanzu was complaining: the fewer mundanes in their business the better.

“Yes,” Takemichi confirmed as he walked past Mikey to the door. He lifted a nearby pot of plant up, reaching for something hidden underneath – a key. Turning it in the lock, he gave the knob a twist and pushed open the front door. Politely, he stood aside and only went in after the Shadowhunters.

Takemichi led them all to the living room. While it was spacious, it lacked the warmth of a family, and there were no framed photos to indicate that Takemichi had any. In fact, it didn’t look like anyone was in here often. The sofa looked way too neat, and the accent pillows were stiff, sitting together in a straight line. A thin layer of dust had settled on the coffee table, undisturbed.

“Do you want some water while you wait?” Takemichi asked. “I’d offer you something nicer, but it’s only me here and I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while. My mom isn’t gonna be in town until next month.”

Ah, that explains it.

They all declined the offer, and Takemichi made his way out of the room. From a distance, Sanzu could hear footsteps creaking on wooden stairs.

“Do you think Mitsuya would be able to fix everything up?” Mikey asked as he flopped down on the couch. He always had a knack for making any place feel like home – it was one of his most endearing qualities.

“I have faith in him, but there’s no way he’s getting that window fixed. It needs to be replaced,” Sanzu said, dropping down next to Mikey. He lowered his mask and let it settle just below his chin.

“Oh, Benkei’s gonna be pissed. Do you not remember what happened last time?” Draken had settled down on the arm of the sofa, right next to where Mikey was. The smaller blonde instinctively leaned against him, as if compelled by an invisible force.

Ever since the day Draken showed up at the steps of their Institute, the two of them had never not been together. Wherever Mikey went, Draken followed; and wherever Draken was, Mikey could always be found nearby. The two had been inseparable from day one.

None of them was surprised when Mikey declared that they were to become parabatai. Shinichiro was delighted by the news, and later sat both of them down to talk about the importance of the sacred parabatai bond. Mikey had said that when his brother was hugging them, his eyes were glittering with unshed tears. Sanzu knew he still felt Takeomi’s absence like a wound that never truly healed, the stitches reopening every time he caught a glimpse of the rune on his shoulder. For they, too, were once impossible to part.

“Please do not remind me.” Mikey shuddered. “It took me weeks to get that paper on demonology done.”

“What do you think he’d make us do this time?” Sanzu mused. “Learn some demonic languages? Or worse, write an essay about why they’re important and crucial to our lives?”

Mikey was not having it; absolute terror was etched into the lines of his face as he groaned. “Shut up! I don't want to think about that!”

“Just food for thought.” Mikey whacked him on the arm, and Sanzu pretended to cradle it like he had just been dealt a serious injury.

The blonde turned to Draken, eyes pleading. “Ken-chin,” he said in the whiniest voice he could muster. “You’d slice my arm off if Benkei made us write another essay, right?”

Sanzu saw a glimpse of something horribly tender in the way Draken looked at their friend, so intimately raw that he almost turned away. Was parabatai love meant to make you feel like you were intruding every time they were together? It was forbidden by Law for parabatai to fall in love with one another, but even actual lovers would have had less tension than these two.

“I’d see to it that you get into a tragic accident.”

“Um– Ken-chin, wha–what does that entail?” Mikey paled. “I’m willing to lose an arm – has to be my left, though – but nothing else! Nothing else, you hear me!”

“What meaning would losing your non-dominant hand have besides making you a worse Shadowhunter and unable to ride the bike you spent money on? You’d still be able to write with the other one, wouldn't you?” Sanzu said, and kept going before Mikey had a chance to jump in. “And don’t say you’re ambidextrous. I’ve seen you use a sword with your left hand, Sano.”

“If you want to get out of Benkei’s punishments, you have to be willing to make sacrifices.” Draken shrugged. His gaze met Sanzu’s for a brief moment, making smiles bloom on both of their faces.

“I don’t like your tone.” Mikey’s eyes narrowed. “Are you gonna feed me to a pack of hungry Raveners? Be honest.”

Sanzu and Draken exchanged another glance before dissolving into laughter. Sanzu had sunk into the soft cushions from the force of his giggles, legs kicking in the air. Draken almost choked on a laugh, his voice becoming hoarse as he kept slapping his knee.

Mikey’s cheeks were puffed out, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his brows were drawn together. He was the very picture of a sulking child, despite being seventeen years of age. He rose to his feet.

“Call me back in when you’re done laughing,” said a pouting Mikey. Striding towards the door, his fair hair bounced up and down with each angry step.

“N-No, Mikey–” Draken wheezed, but he was already gone.

**********

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid Ken-chin and his stupid smile and the stupid way he threw his head back to laugh. Why did he have to look so good when poking fun at Mikey?

His and Sanzu’s hysterics only grew louder after Mikey shut the living room door behind him. Ignoring the way something twisted in his stomach when his mind wandered back to Draken, he made a beeline to the front door, half-hoping that his future parabatai would follow. He did not.

The horrid smell hit him the moment he stepped outside. Poor, innocent, little Mikey had once thought that his brother’s farts were a lethal weapon that would one day eradicate the human race, but that was before he encountered his first demon. The putrid stench had stunk up the place. Mikey wrinkled his nose. But isn't that strange? It’s daytime and– He tilted his head up. The clouds had completely covered the sun. Nevermind.

Mikey hesitated on the porch, debating whether to go back and call his friends for assistance – because he just had to be lazy and decided against bringing any kind of weapon, despite Draken having chided him about this exact thing earlier – or independently search the area first. He couldn’t tell where the demon was or what kind of demon he would be facing.

Silently thanking Raziel for blessing the Shadowhunter race with the Soundless rune, he cautiously stepped out of the recessed entryway. He knew that the rune was short-lived and would already be fading by now – since he applied it last night – but Mikey was planning to get whatever he could out of it. Which, unbeknownst to him, wasn’t much.

A disturbing, hooting noise from above was all the warning Mikey had before the Raum demon descended upon him. Despite their inability to speak, Raums had been known to be clever creatures. This one had been waiting atop the overhang of the entrance for the chance of an ambush – and Mikey had walked directly into its trap.

Before the demon could wrap its octopus-like arms around him, Mikey gave it the best kick he could manage from his place underneath. The hideous thing stumbled back, and he took his chance to roll away. White, grayish tentacles immediately pierced the concrete where Mikey had been just a second ago.

“Ken-chin! Haruchiyo!” Mikey yelled out, springing to his feet. Even if he wasn't loud enough to be heard from inside the house, he knew Sanzu’s Hearing rune hadn't fully faded away yet.

As expected, his friends came bursting through the door, heeding his call. Without a single word being exchanged, Draken understood what Mikey wanted from the look he gave him, and tossed the boy a dagger from his weapons belt. 

The monster was getting too close for comfort. Mikey blindly stabbed at the closest place he could reach – one couldn't be picky when one’s opponent was definitely capable of becoming a track star if it so desired – and the Raum demon howled. The sound threatened to puncture his ear drums. Mikey twisted the knife, driving the blade as deep as he could into the creature’s leg, stalling its movements.

Sanzu – who seemed to have pulled daggers straight out of his shirtsleeves – jumped on the demon’s huge back, skillfully avoiding the sharp edges of scales and drove both of his blades into pupil-less eyes. It roared, furious, elongated body twisting and turning in an attempt to throw Sanzu off. The boy didn’t falter. He used what he had plunged into the demon’s eyes as leverage and stubbornly held on. His hair tie had snapped, pink hair dancing with each violent jerk of the creature.

When the Raum demon stretched its tentacles out – slick and tipped with red suckers – Draken’s strong arms wrapped themselves around both, forcefully stopping its movements. The demon thrashed in his iron grip, but, with gritted teeth, Draken managed to restrain it. A reckless move. Black ichor splattered on him, spilling out of its injured eye sockets.

Mikey had sneaked behind the thing, taking advantage of the excellent distractions his friends had provided to drive his blade into where the heart would be, were this a human body. The demon cried out one last time before vanishing into itself, leaving behind nothing but a puddle of black ichor burning into the ground.

Sanzu had hopped down gracefully before the monster disappeared. His pink hair was a mess, but his eyes were alight with a crazed look. He had a few burns on his hands, and was already drawing an iratze on the inside of his forearm. Mikey could not figure out where he kept pulling weapons and now, a stele, from. Sanzu was like a magician, materializing things from thin air.

Mikey’s heart was still racing, his breathing still uneven, but he felt more alive than ever. A random demon encounter might just work better than an Energy rune.

He heard a heavy thud, and instinctively searched for the source. Though, he didn’t have to look far, for Draken had collapsed just behind him. Mikey swore.

“ Ken-chin ,” he gasped, falling to his knees beside Draken’s twitching body. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Ken-chin, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

A stupid question. Even a Shadowhunter without any field experience could have answered it. Raum demons were known for their poison, and when Draken was hugging its tentacles close to his body, the tiny, needle-like teeth had injected him with poison. Though, to the naked eye, he didn't have any life-threatening injuries except for a few burns. But demon poison was an intricate thing, it spread through your veins. Thus, capable of killing you from the inside out.

Draken’s eyes had ceased their rapid blinking and were now closed shut. He looked peacefully asleep, but Mikey knew that was nothing to be glad about. Stillness was never a good thing – it would've been better if he was visibly in pain.

“Ken-chin. Ken-chin, please…” Mikey didn’t know what he wanted to ask for. Please stay alive? Please be okay? Please survive this because I love you and I can’t bear to lose you?

He said none of that. With trembling hands, he laid Draken’s head onto his lap and cradled his face. The world had shrunk until there were only the two of them – or Mikey had just forgotten that anyone else existed. At this moment, when his Ken-chin looked more at ease than Mikey had ever seen him, no one else mattered.

He traced his eyebrows – which were often furrowed but now alarmingly relaxed; then, his cheekbones, where Mikey had laid countless punches throughout the years; then, his sharp jawline that Mikey had often thought looked so good from the side. Lightly, his fingertips brushed the pair of lips that always seemed ever so smooth.

Please survive, so I can test the softness of your lips against mine. Please live, for I cannot kiss a corpse. Please get through this, because I need to cancel the stupid parabatai ceremony.

“Sanzu,” Mikey called. He didn’t lift his head, black eyes still trained on Draken, as though he might lose him if he looked away.

“Yes?” Sanzu came to attention immediately. He had wanted to say something, to offer some kind of comfort, but the faraway look in Mikey’s eyes made him hesitate.

“Get Takemitchy. And be quick. We need to get Ken-chin back to the Institute.”

I will not let you die.

**********

“Is he going to be okay?” asked Kazutora.

“Brother Shia said the poison was treated in time so he’ll wake up in a few days,” Ryusei said. Poison was delicate work and could not be fixed with a simple iratze, so all they could do now was trust that Brother Shia had done the best he could.

The two of them stood leaning against each side of the doorway. The grim atmosphere of the room has stopped them from stepping inside like a physical barrier.

“That’s not who I’m talking about,” Kazutora said softly.

Mikey had been glued to Draken’s bedside ever since they came back. People had come and gone to check on Draken’s condition, but Mikey had been a consistent presence. He had held his hands and kept them warm, chasing the looming company of death away with whispered stories and laughing airily to himself until the Silent Brother came and shooed him out to the hallway. Even then, he didn’t go anywhere – not to his room to wash away the evidence of battle, not to dinner, nor to sleep. He had sat on the other side until the door finally cracked open again.

Now, Mikey was dozing off in the armchair he had curled up in, one hand resting atop Draken’s unmoving one. Even in his sleep, the tension never left Mikey’s body, as if his subconscious refused to let him rest until Draken was okay.

Shinichiro had dropped by to wrap his brother’s favorite blanket around his small frame, but, still, weariness weighed on his shoulders and clung to his bones, threatening to drag Shinichiro down, too.

“Mikey is strong, Kazutora,” Ryusei said in a hushed tone. “I know it, and you know it.”

“I do, and he is, but I don’t know if he’s strong enough to survive another.” The last word went unsaid, but they both knew what it was – another death. Saying it aloud would be entertaining the horrible possibility.

Mikey had survived Emma’s death because Draken had been there, holding his body up with strong, reliable arms when they thought he would never rise again. Who would be there for him now, if Draken was gone? What would happen to Mikey, if he woke up from a restless sleep to find that Draken’s heart no longer beat? What would Mikey do, if those scarred, calloused hands never squeezed back again?

Kazutora stopped thinking entirely. Not because the prospect of his friend dying was terrible – no, when you were a Shadowhunter, you learned to walk alongside death and accept it. But because he could not imagine a Sano Manjiro without his Ken-chin beside him. One did not exist without the other. It just wasn't right.

They say losing your parabatai is like losing half of your soul, but what happens to the pair whose ceremony has yet to begin? What happens to the pair whose souls were already entwined from the moment they met without any runes tying them together?

“I’m glad he’s getting some sleep in, at least. I thought he was gonna stay awake all night,” Ryusei sighed.

“So did I,” Kazutora said. Turning to his friend, he did his best to mask just how miserable he felt. “You should go to bed too, Sato.”

They exchanged a smile.

“You too, Hanemiya.” Ryusei gave him a wink.

Kazutora bid Ryusei goodnight and watched him go back to his room, but not before they bumped shoulders awkwardly in a clumsy attempt at comfort. They had a silent understanding – both of them the type to keep their emotions hidden, afraid of revealing too much of themselves.

Kazutora lingered just a bit longer at the door, eyes fixed on the way Draken’s chest rose and fell. Beside him, Mikey’s shoulders were hunched as if shielding himself from an invisible storm; the Invincible Mikey had never looked so small, so vulnerable.

Before he left, Kazutora closed the door, giving them some privacy and, hopefully, limiting the sadness to just one room. It was futile, he knew that. Sorrow was an all-encompassing force, looming over the Institute like a rising tide, ready to engulf it.

Mitsuya’s face when he saw Draken’s limp body carried home on Mikey’s back was like he had witnessed the annihilation of an entire town. He had locked himself in his sewing room ever since and nobody was allowed in, not even to bring him a late dinner. Takemichi was conscious of the gloomy mood everyone had been in, so he had politely kept his mouth shut and stood on the sidelines.

When Kazutora threw open the door to his bedroom, he was grateful to see Baji there, lounging around on his bed like it was his own. It might as well have been – he had spent enough time here keeping Kazutora company to know the ins and outs of the place. As much as it was Kazutora’s room, in a way, it was Baji’s too.

Baji shot upright, his back straightening a little when he saw Kazutora’s expression. “Did something happen?” 

“No,” Kazutora said. He hadn't noticed that he was making a face. Maybe he looked as tired as he felt. “Draken’s stable, and Mikey fell asleep in the chair.”

Baji’s shoulders visibly relaxed, but the firm set of his mouth and the tight knot between his brows remained unyielding. “Come here,” he beckoned, and Kazutora was by his side in an instant. He was always quick on his feet when Baji was the one calling.

They settled into a comfortable silence. Kazutora had always despised those moments when the world came to a standstill – it gave his thoughts a chance to run wild – but not when he was with Baji. Baji was like a balm, soothing his unforgiving mind and, instead, filling it with his calming presence.

Most people shared the same sentiment that Baji Keisuke’s company was like a strong drink. Wherever he was, Baji commanded and owned the place, everything else reduced to nothing more than accessories to his presence. His crude tongue that didn’t hesitate to voice any thoughts could burn like alcohol going down. It was a hit or miss with most – they either loved him or loathed him.

The people who disliked Baji were people who had never had the privilege of seeing the other sides of him. Yes, he was brutally honest, but it meant that you could place your full trust in him, because Baji Keisuke did not lie. He was mean and he was intimidating, but Baji could be unbelievably gentle with you when he wanted to. His hands may be weapons capable of insurmountable violence, but that did not mean he couldn’t caress your face with infinite care. Baji was his poison, and Kazutora had been drunk on him since the day they met.

Right now, with his head resting where Baji’s neck met his shoulder, Kazutora was home. He had never known safety growing up. Being surrounded by raised fists and voices screaming from the top of their lungs meant that he was constantly in danger. He could trust neither his father nor mother, so Kazutora was left to protect himself – because who else would if he did not?

Here, in the space Kazutora had claimed for himself, with Baji next to him – chest rising and falling rhythmically – he knew that he was safe. Baji wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, his cheek resting gently against the crown of Kazutora’s head. Even through layers of clothing, the comforting heat of Baji’s body still managed to creep into his ribs and warm his heart.

In Baji’s embrace, where pain was neutralized by love, he was impenetrable. He hummed softly – a small noise of content – and leaned closer, allowing strong arms to hug him and hold him tight. Here, with Baji’s thumb tracing circles on his shoulder and his nose filled with the scent of black currant and a hint of smoke, Kazutora was where he was meant to be.

Chapter Text

Takemichi could barely sleep last night; he doubted anyone else in the Institute could, either. He kept seeing the haunted look in Mikey’s eyes when sleep didn't find him. The way he insisted on staying with Draken, the way he hadn’t let him out of his sight ever since Takemichi saw him on his knees next to Draken’s limp body. It was all too much.

Takemichi had heard the commotion from his room on the second floor and came rushing out. When he stepped out onto the porch, the only thing there was destruction in the wake of battle. Draken had fallen, and, in a way, he had taken Mikey with him. Mikey was there, but he was not present. He was talking to them, giving Takemichi and Sanzu instructions on what to do, but his mind was elsewhere.

They had left Draken’s bike behind, parked next to Takemichi’s bicycle. Sanzu had to give him a ride back to the Institute. Takemichi tried not to take offense when he saw Sanzu cleaning the seat with wet wipes the moment he got off. The guy just really liked his motorcycle, he had told himself.

Though Mikey was considerably smaller than Draken, he had carried him the entire time like it was nothing. Draken was positioned carefully on the back of his bike, leaning his whole body weight on Mikey’s back. The moment they arrived at the parking lot near the Institute, Mikey had carried Draken off without a word, not stopping for a moment to see if Sanzu and Takemichi had been following after.

When they made their way to the infirmary, Draken was already on one of the beds. His eyes were closed and his face was relaxed. If Takemichi didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he was just soundly asleep.

Draken’s burns had been treated with salves and an iratze drawn by Wakasa. Baji had offered to do the same thing for Mikey, but the blonde had denied it. His forearm was burnt quite badly, yet he kept refusing help. Frustrated, Baji had Ryusei and Chifuyu restrain Mikey while he scribbled a Healing rune on his wrist. When the poorly drawn Mark didn’t work – to nobody’s surprise – and was quickly disappearing on Mikey’s skin, Chifuyu had to step up and redo it.

Shinichiro was observing everything from a distance, his expression unreadable as he watched Mikey clasp Draken’s hand. He was squeezing tightly as if to make up for his friend’s unresponsiveness. Not long after, Draken had been sequestered in his bedroom in preparation for a Silent Brother. Though an iratze had taken care of any wounds on his body, it wasn’t capable of healing beyond that. 

Dinner had been awkward – the cheerful atmosphere that had filled the kitchen that morning now felt like a distant memory. Death hung heavy in the air like the inevitable blade of a guillotine, and tragedy loomed over them like a shadow they could never outrun. There were significantly fewer people then than there had been at breakfast. Benkei and Waka ate in silence, and Chifuyu and Ryusei barely spoke, let alone fight and make fun of each other.

After the meal, Chifuyu had led Takemichi to a guest room, just as promised. All the unoccupied spaces looked the same: a queen-sized bed, an unlit fireplace, a window with plain curtains, a private bathroom, and a wardrobe made of maple wood. He had chosen a random one, separated from Chifuyu’s own by three doors. They had shared their goodnights, and Takemichi had lingered for a brief moment, watching the young Shadowhunter retreat into the quiet of his room.

Not long after that, Wakasa had also popped by for a quick visit. He had given Takemichi the special ointment made from the Silent City – where the Brothers resided – and told him to apply it to his burns once a day. Takemichi thanked him and watched as the door closed after Waka.

Applying the salve himself had proved to be a rather difficult task, as the burns were mostly on his back – something Takemichi discovered only after he stripped down to his boxers. He had been relieved to see that his underwear was still his own, though he hadn’t expected them to have fully unclothed him just to treat some injuries. Finally dressed in clothes that belonged to him, he felt just a little more comfortable with having to stay here temporarily.

Now, Takemichi got out of the unfamiliar bed and took his phone with him into the bathroom. Carrying it everywhere with him had become an ingrained habit. Takemichi hadn’t had the chance to bring his trusty hair gel with him to the Institute – he had been in the middle of looking for it when he got distracted by the noise of battle outside.

Takemichi huffed an exasperated sigh, eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He raked his fingers through blonde hair, attempting to coax the strands into standing upright. He was given false hope when it seemed to be holding well for just a second before falling back into its original place. Takemichi sighed again. He hadn’t realized the gel was such an integral part of his look.

The bathroom only had the utmost necessities: a toilet, a ceramic sink, a mirror, and a small shower stall. Apparently, a comb was too much of a luxury. Takemichi considered borrowing one from Baji or Sanzu.

His phone buzzed, demanding attention: a new message had popped up. Actually, since yesterday, he had had a lot of new texts and some missed calls – all from Hina’s mom and, surprisingly, her brother too.

Hina hasn’t come home yet. I’m really worried. Do you know where she is? She hasn’t returned any of my calls. The messages Takemichi had received from Hina’s mom were all like that.

Scrolling through the endless notifications, he found the most recent ones from Naoto. There were only two of them: Did Hina not contact you? My mom said she’s going to file a missing person report tomorrow if she doesn’t hear from her.

Takemichi felt his stomach churn; anxiety wrapped its cold hand around his heart. What could have happened to Hina?

He hadn’t wanted to bother the Shadowhunters yesterday, when they were busy with Draken and sick with worry. But he couldn't afford to wait anymore. Hina – his sweet, lovely Hina – could be in danger right now. He was determined to ask the first person he saw to help track her.

Takemichi chose not to reply to his messages just yet. He didn't want to tell them that Hina hadn't yet seen any of his texts – he had even sent more after settling down in his new room yesterday. As long as he still had the hope of being able to find her, he refused to make Hina’s family worry any more than what was necessary.

Opening the top drawer of his bedside table, Takemichi retrieved Hina’s handkerchief – pink with floral designs. He held it close to his chest, right above where his beating heart lay. Even after being thrown in the wash, the faint strawberry smell of Hina’s perfume still lingered. He carefully folded the fabric and slipped it into his pants pocket.

Determined, Takemichi left the room. He had closed the door behind him and was about to go check the kitchen for people when he heard the click of another door. Ryusei had emerged from the room three doors away. Chifuyu’s room.

Now, Takemichi didn’t want to pry, but one simply couldn’t help but wonder when one’s acquaintance had just exited the room of one’s other acquaintance, looking like something other than concerns for their friend’s injuries had kept him up all night. Ryusei’s hair was disheveled, curls tumbling in messy waves, the casual button-up he had on was wrinkled and missing a few buttons near the collar. The shadows beneath his eyes were barely noticeable but hinted at a sleepless night.

“Long night?” was all Takemichi asked, though he had many more questions he wanted answers to.

**********

To say that Ryusei was thoroughly disappointed would have been an understatement.

When Chifuyu pulled him into his bedroom, hands impatiently fumbling with the buttons of his shirt while kissing him senseless, Ryusei had had… certain expectations of how things would go. Mostly, it would end with him feeling triumphant and wearing an even bigger self-satisfied smile than usual – which was saying a lot. A fleeting thought had crossed Ryusei’s mind: whether it would be wise to draw himself a Stamina rune beforehand.

But that was clearly not needed, because instead of bathing in glorious victory, Ryusei was left panting, every nerve alight, when the pretty boy in his lap passed out. Ryusei had been busying himself with marking up Chifuyu’s neck, lost in the feel of the soft body in his arms and drunk on Chifuyu’s scent, when he felt the blonde suddenly slump against him. He had simply thought that Chifuyu was feeling clingier than usual – understandable, considering what had happened to their friend – and wanted to be even closer. It wasn’t until Ryusei heard soft snoring that he realized all his ministrations had been for naught.

Though Ryusei was bummed with how it turned out, he couldn’t bring himself to blame Chifuyu. The boy was sleeping so soundly in his arms, face buried in Ryusei’s neck so every breath he took tickled his skin. His heart overflowed with affection, warmth spreading from his chest to the tips of his fingers.

After carefully laying Chifuyu down and tucking him in, Ryusei switched off the light and settled next to the smaller boy. He lay on his side, head propped up with a hand, studying Chifuyu’s features. He had never gotten a chance to do anything like this – usually, they tended to fall asleep at the same time. Ryusei hadn’t known just how much he was missing out on.

Moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating Chifuyu’s slumbering figure and casting a soft glow over his peaceful face. With his features relaxed and eyes closed, Chifuyu’s lashes almost kissed his cheekbones. His lips were parted ever so slightly, the previous snoring had long become quiet sighs. Ryusei thought he could catch a glimpse of black hair underneath the soft, blonde locks. 

Though this Chifuyu – serene in the silver light – was beyond lovely, Ryusei couldn't help but secretly hope that he would open his eyes. They were of a peculiar color, light blue in the clear light of day and jade green from certain angles, iridescent like the shifting hues of the sea. Ryusei wondered what color they would be under the moon.

Daybreak arrived sooner than expected. Ryusei was still admiring the beautiful boy in front of him when the first ray of light grazed Chifuyu’s cheek. Reluctantly slipping out of bed, Ryusei was already mourning the loss of their intimate closeness. He picked up his shirt – which had turned into a crumpled mess after being trampled on repeatedly last night – and threw it on. In the process of practically tearing Ryusei’s shirt from his body, Chifuyu had ripped out a few buttons.

Gently, Ryusei tucked a stray lock of hair behind Chifuyu’s ear before leaning in to place a tender kiss on his cheek. Chifuyu mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “five more minutes,” kindling a spark of affection in Ryusei’s chest. He almost didn’t want to leave him. But, as quickly as the sun had risen, Ryusei was out the door.

A voice addressed him suddenly, nearly making him jump. “Long night?” Takemichi asked, standing in front of what Ryusei assumed to be his temporary home.

“No,” he said, lips curling with quiet satisfaction. The night couldn't have been shorter – the flow of time meant nothing in the face of Chifuyu’s captivating beauty. “Not at all.”

He strode towards the blonde boy, who was eyeing him curiously and observing his every move. Takemichi was sporting a raglan shirt with the word “STAR” printed in bold letters and cargo shorts that were wasted on someone like him.

Do all mundanes have terrible fashion sense? Not being able to defend yourself from demonic forces was one thing, but being unable to protect yourself from terrible fashion choices was a travesty. 

“You want breakfast?”

“I was just about to head to the kitchen, actually.”

“Then, let’s go.” Ryusei marched forward, not even sparing a glance over his shoulder to check if Takemichi was coming with.

A black cat, whose forehead was marked with a faint scar, had appeared beside Ryusei, moving in perfect sync with his steps. “Peke J.” He grinned at the tiny creature. “You too, huh?”

The cat, of course, said nothing in response. The cross collar at his neck – courtesy of Baji – made a fun jingle as he walked. Ryusei wondered where Peke J had ventured to for the last few days. Not even Chifuyu – the rightful owner – had known where he was. But no matter, he was here now, and in time for breakfast. Peke J was a curious cat with a love for excursions, but he knew his way home.

Mitsuya had done a remarkable job at cleaning up the mess they had made and repairing the kitchen. Utensils had been returned to their place and the floor was shiny after being mopped. The table, crafted from sturdy acacia wood, was in the center of the room, flanked by wooden chairs with the tracings of angel wings carved into their backs. Every surface had been wiped spotless. Clean dishes gleamed from their place in the rack. The surprise in Takemichi’s eyes last night when he saw the transformation was comical. 

The jagged hole in the door was still there and the window remained broken, but Mitsuya couldn't be expected to fix that. Benkei hadn’t entered the kitchen until dinner last night, but due to the glum mood everybody was in, neither Ryusei nor Chifuyu – who were the only ones from their little group present – were scolded.

The rich aroma of freshly made coffee wafted from the machine, the glass carafe already filled with liquid of the deepest brown. Shinichiro must have woken up already; the man couldn't function without his daily dose of caffeine and cigarettes.

As Ryusei poured himself a cup, he lifted the coffee pot like an offering. “Want some?” he asked Takemichi. “We have milk and creamer in the fridge. The sugar’s right here on the counter.”

Takemichi nodded, taking a seat. “Just black is fine, thank you.”

Pulling another mug from the cupboard, Ryusei filled it with a steady hand. He gripped the cup carefully, securing it with slender fingers. With a quick flick of his wrist, the mug was sent gliding across the table, smoothly coming to a stop right in front of Takemichi. Not a drop of coffee was spilled.

Takemichi’s eyes blinked rapidly as he looked from the cup that was still perfectly intact to a very smug Ryusei. The pink-haired boy stood with his back straight and arms crossed, head tilted back slightly as if awaiting applause, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Are you magic?” Takemichi exclaimed, his hands slamming onto the table, almost upending his coffee.

“No,” Ryusei sniffed, sitting down across from the mundane boy. “Shadowhunters don’t perform magic, sadly. We only wield heavenly blades and use the sacred runes given to us by the Angel Raziel.” He mimicked a lofty tone in an attempt to mask any disappointment he might have been displaying. Little Ryusei had taken it real hard when he found out that Nephilims couldn't use magic.

Takemichi blinked, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth as if to say something but quickly decided against it. “Okay…” he started, “what are they then, if not magic?”

“Shadowhunters like to separate themselves from demons and Downworlders to feel superior,” Ryusei explained. “Magic is something we have in common with them, so the older and more uptight people like to preach that what we do is not magic because it doesn't stem from us. We use magical tools that were given by a higher power.”

“In the end, isn’t that still magic?”

“Yes. We, in the Institute, all think so. It’s just that Shadowhunters are a pretentious and self-serving bunch who hate Downworlders simply because they have demon blood in them, so they want to set themselves apart.” Ryusei resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Though times had changed and people were slowly getting more and more progressive, there were still a lot of Shadowhunters out there who secretly wished to break the Accords – the treaty that had introduced peace between Nephilims and the Downworld. Ryusei knew from experience that some Downworlders didn’t have a choice in what they were. Warlocks didn’t choose to have demonic parents, and vampires and werewolves were, most of the time, turned against their will.

Ryusei remembered trembling hands fisting in his shirt, tears soaking his shoulder, and talons digging into his chest – as if carving their existence into his very soul. His fingers instantly found the spot above his ribcage, where claw marks made a deep wound like a beast had tried to rip his heart out.

Please, if you ever loved me. Please, Ryusei, please, you have to kill me.

The memory still echoed in his mind, taking him by surprise every single time. Ryusei had pushed the ghost of a boy with hair the color of sunlight into the deepest depths of his thoughts, but still, he would resurface ever so often – stubborn as ever. Sometimes, Ryusei would get blindsided by a flash of toothy smile that barged its way into the forefront of his brain. The pain it would cause threatened to split him in two.

An iratze could heal a fractured ankle or slashes from a blade, but there was no rune underneath the sky that could undo a wound that was invisible to the eyes.

“…Ryusei? Can you do it?” Takemichi asked. His hand had a vice grip on the half-empty mug.

Ryusei belatedly realized that he hadn't been paying attention to anything Takemichi had said in the last few minutes. His mind was in disarray. He took a sip of coffee, hoping to ground himself, but immediately spat it out when the bitterness touched his tongue. “Fuck me,” he grumbled in between coughs. Ryusei eyed his cup with disgust – he had completely forgotten his usual cream and three sugar cubes.

“No, thanks,” said Sanzu. Sanzu, who definitely was not standing behind Takemichi five seconds ago. Sanzu, who Ryusei had mistaken for a ghost because the sticky face mask he had on made his face ten shades lighter. 

Ryusei managed to school his features into a more neutral expression, any evidence that could hint at his heart almost leaping from his body was covered up by a lazy smirk. Takemichi had clearly never practiced the art of hiding-your-feelings-from-your-friends, if the indignant scream he let out was any indicator.

“Please never do that again,” the blonde heaved, a hand clutching his chest that rose and fell with sharp breaths.

“Sixteen and still can’t drink your coffee without a sickening amount of sweetener,” Sanzu remarked. He sat down on the chair next to Takemichi, whose body seemed to naturally lean in the opposite direction, subconsciously trying to protect himself from the sardonic smile on Sanzu’s scarred lips.

The sunlight pouring through the window gave Sanzu’s pink hair a faint glow; his mullet was tousled – Ryusei could see a few knots, and his bangs had fallen into eyes the color of northern glaciers. The set of pyjamas and slippers Sanzu had on were in different shades of pink. Only when he was behind the four walls of the Institute did he dare to wear such colorful clothes. Sanzu’s hydrating face mask made him look ridiculous, once again showing that he didn't care how he appeared at home. 

“Seventeen and still can’t say a single sentence in Latin except to introduce yourself,” Ryusei shot back, lips curling.

“Salve, mini nomen est Sanzu Haruchiyo!” Sanzu yelled, finger stabbing the air between them.

“Tace! Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo, Sanzu pathice,” Ryusei spitted rapid-fire.

“Who are you calling a bottom-bitch at seven in the morning?” Kazutora yawned, poking a mess of black-blonde hair in through the door. The v-neck of his striped shirt – which Ryusei was positive he had seen Baji wear multiple times – was askew, slouching off one shoulder. “Didn’t Shinichiro say you’re no longer allowed to quote Catullus?”

“He called me a what?” Sanzu gaped, looking from Kazutora, who had just entered the room, to Ryusei, who pretended to study his mug, and then to a very silent and slightly scandalized Takemichi.

“Nothiiing,” Ryusei drawled, taking another sip of his coffee before, once again, spitting it right back into the cup. He decided to pour the distasteful liquid down the sink. “Why are you up so early?” Ryusei asked.

“Peke J woke me up when he jumped on me to get to Baji,” Kazutora said, pointing to the black cat that was trailing him into the kitchen, nose already hunting for food. “Which was deliberate, I tell you! It wasn't like I was actually in the way, he could've just gone around the bed!”

“Peke J, you bastard! You left me for Keisuke-kun?” Ryusei exclaimed, giving half a mind to Kazutora’s troubles as he glared at the traitorous cat, who sat expectantly at his food bowl. Ryusei hadn’t even notice that Peke J had disappeared on him.

Peke J meowed in response, looking back at Ryusei with big, fathomless eyes. And then, he glanced at his bowl. And then, at Ryusei again.

“Fine.” Ryusei threw his hands up. “Fine! Since you’ve gone through all the trouble of returning for breakfast, I’ll feed you.”

Peke J was, somehow, a very expressive cat, and he looked pleased now as Ryusei picked up his food bowl. His name was inscribed in colorful letters on the plastic.

“You didn’t wake Baji up?” Sanzu asked.

“No,” said Kazutora, pulling out a chair across from Sanzu. “He looked peaceful.” It was all the explanation he gave.

“Um…” Takemichi began. “Since you guys are here, would any of you mind helping me track my girlfriend?”

“See, now, are you sure she’s your girlfriend and not just really nice to you?”

Kazutora had a point. With a smile curving his lips, Ryusei ripped open a new packet of cat food and filled the bowl.

“Yes, I’m sure!” Takemichi exclaimed defensively, a faint blush coloring his cheeks pink. “We’ve been dating for two years!”

“You got any proof, or…?” Sanzu trailed off.

“Are you gonna help me or not?” Takemichi quipped, refusing to put up with the teasing.

Ryusei stifled a laugh as he set Peke J’s bowl down in the corner. The ungrateful cat didn’t even spare him a glance before digging in.

“Yes, yes,” Kazutora sighed. “What’ve you got of her? I’ll go get my stele.”

“No need,” said Sanzu, whose stele was already in his hand. He had got to teach Ryusei how he kept doing these tricks.

“Do you always have a stele on your person?” asked Kazutora. A good question, indeed.

“You don’t?”

“Not at the buttcrack of dawn, no.”

“What kind of Shadowhunter are you?” Sanzu seemed genuinely bewildered.

“The normal kind that doesn't carry at least one knife everywhere he goes!”

Takemichi looked as if he was done with it all. Ryusei sympathized with him: if his Chifuyu was missing and the only people who could help him were simpletons who prioritized pointless bickering over helping him find his beloved, he would have pummeled them.

Sanzu had pulled out a small blade from his sleeve, the sharp tip was now inches away from Kazutora’s pulse point. “Then how would you defend yourselves in situations like this?”

Kazutora didn't blink as he swatted Sanzu’s hand away. “I don't usually have to worry about that because normally, there aren't lunatics trying to kill me inside the Institute.”

“Put that thing away,” Ryusei said, flopping down next to Kazutora. He swiped the stele from in front of Sanzu on the table, who made a noise of complaint. Still, the latter returned the blade to where he hid it inside his sleeve.

Pleased, Ryusei turned to Takemichi. “I trust that you already have something of her?” In order to track someone – in this situation, Takemichi’s girlfriend – one needed a belonging of them.

“Yes,” Takemichi said and produced a pink handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it over to Ryusei, who took it before placing the point of Sanzu’s stele on the back of his right hand, and began to trace the Tracking rune. Black lines bloomed on his skin, and along with it, the familiar burn of a rune in the making.

Sanzu’s stele was customized: it was made from adamas just like any other Shadowhunter tool, but the slender, wand-like thing had a metal flower wrapped around it like vines.

The Tracking rune was on the complicated side, but Ryusei had always prided himself on being handy with a stele. When he was done, he finished it off with a flourish. The stele was still warm in Ryusei’s hand when he returned it to its owner.

Silence settled over the room and Ryusei closed his eyes. He focused on the fabric in his hand, the softness of cotton on his skin. With his mind, Ryusei reached for the owner. He felt Hina’s presence inside the handkerchief, a flickering light, and grasped onto it, focusing on her life force. Ryusei immersed himself in the earth, like a tree taking root, and he searched. No nook or cranny could hide from his mind’s eye.

Sweat beaded on his forehead with the intensity of the rune. Ryusei searched, and searched, and searched. But he came up blank. It felt like a wall had come up between him and Hina, refusing to budge. Ryusei could no longer feel her presence.

His eyes flew open. Takemichi had been staring at him, blue eyes big and expectant. Sanzu and Kazutora had matching curious looks on their faces.

Ryusei swallowed dryly, the weight of the moment catching in his throat. “I can’t find her.”

**********

Draken was still unconscious. But he was breathing, Shinichiro noted with relief. Though his skin was still ashy and blood had drained from his lips, Draken was alive.

Mikey had been sleeping soundly in the same chair he was in last night, not even stirring when his brother entered the room. His brows were furrowed – even slumber was unable to ease his worries. The blanket that had been draped over Mikey’s shoulders was now on the floor. Shinichiro picked it up and wrapped it around him again. Mikey's hand still held Draken’s in a tight grip, keeping him in this world by sheer will alone.

They were all worried about Draken, but Brother Shia had done all that he could. Now, it was Draken’s turn to fight for his life. The others in the Institute could do nothing but wait.

Shinichiro’s hand shot out and froze mid-air. He didn’t know what it was he planned to do – whether it was to ruffle his little brother’s hair or to smooth away the tension in his brows. He desperately wanted to lighten Mikey’s burdens, to carry them all for him.

It had been like this with Emma, too. Mikey had sat the exact same way at her bedside, refusing to move from where his feet had planted themselves and taken root. He stayed in her room for days – even after she had left for the Silent City, where she would forever rest – in that exact spot.

Ave atque vale. Hail and farewell. Those were the ancient words Shinichiro had spoken over Emma’s body. He had worn an all-white suit and bore Marks of mourning as he stood before his baby sister – eyes bound with silk, never to be opened again. He had said his goodbyes, but Manjiro never did.

Now, Shinichiro was terrified that he would lose his only brother too. After Emma was taken away, Mikey hadn’t been eating. He had barely been staying hydrated and was in such a sleep-deprived state that they didn’t know what would kill him first – the grief that was eating him alive or how he was punishing himself. Draken had to survive. Shinichiro couldn't bear to see Mikey like that ever again. He had been there to pick up the fragmented pieces and rebuild Mikey anew, but who would do that for him once more if Draken was gone?

Shinichiro couldn't breathe; the room felt stifling. His legs carried him outside, where he slumped against the wall, gasping for air. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands were matted to his forehead with sweat. Shinichiro longed to be as far from here as possible, he yearned for the warmth and safety of Waka’s embrace.

The wall in front of him was decorated with a mural of Jonathan Shadowhunter, one hand wielding the Soul-Sword and the other raising the Mortal Cup. Latin words were engraved in the space above him, carved into the foundation of the Institute and deep into the minds of every generation of demon hunters.

Pulvis et umbra sumus. We are dust and shadows.

Chapter Text

Crack! 

Wooden weapons clashed mid-air, the sound echoing throughout the grand training room. Draken had advanced on Benkei, and his harmless blade met Benkei’s baton in a fierce battle of strength.

Mikey eyed Waka in front of him warily, who was holding the middle of a rope dart with one hand, swinging the rubber end in wide arcs. The rest of the rope coiled loosely around his other hand. Mikey spared a brief moment to contemplate his next move before charging forward.

He had hoped to push Waka into a disadvantageous position by closing the space between them, for a rope dart’s strength lay in its ability to attack from a distance without putting the wielder in harm’s way. Mikey lashed out with both swords, the right one coming down from above while the left went for the torso. But Waka moved with an unmatched fluidity, tilting his lithe body just enough to dodge the overhead strike. He raised his hand that was already gripping the hilt of his dart, blocking Mikey’s other attack.

Mikey cursed under his breath and attempted to leap back. But, with a quick flick of Wakasa’s wrist, he stumbled – the rope dart had slithered around his ankle. All of Waka’s movements had been no less than a blur to him. Mikey managed to avoid a fall as he quickly gained back his balance.

Taking advantage of the split-second Mikey took to free himself, Waka flung the dart. It sliced through the air, aiming at Mikey’s chest. The dull tip narrowly missed its target as Mikey tumbled to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Though he did dodge the attack, it wasn’t the wisest decision on his part.

The polished wood had been entirely covered by tatami mats to lessen the impact of collisions, but Mikey still had the breath knocked out of him. He immediately rolled away as his back hit the floor; the dart whirled in a sharp arc and crashed down on the spot the blonde had been mere seconds ago.

Mikey rose to his feet, chest rising and falling with each shallow gulp of air. He bared his teeth at Wakasa, who had barely even moved from his initial spot. The man gave a mocking smile, lilac eyes gleaming with mischief.

In the corner of his eye, Mikey saw that Draken wasn’t faring any better either. Though he was on the offense, every strike of Draken’s sword was effortlessly blocked. Benkei even looked bored as he swatted away the attacks like they were nothing more than pests.

Draken’s muscles flexed with each swing of the blade, the veins that ran along his hands standing out with how tightly he gripped the hilt. His broad chest moved with every ragged breath, abs rippling slightly. Strands of blond hair were plastered to his forehead with sweat; one drop traced the sharp line of Draken’s jaw before running down the expanse of his throat, past his Adam’s apple—

The ground seemed to give out beneath him, gravity yanking Mikey down hard and punching the air from his lungs. With no time to brace himself, Mikey gave an indignant yelp as he collided with the mats, dual swords slipping from his grip and falling uselessly to his sides. He really needed to start paying attention when they taught him how to fall properly. As he lay on the ground, disoriented and blinking up at the high ceilings, Mikey belatedly realized the cursed rope had circled both of his legs.

“I thought you knew better than to focus on anything but your opponent in the middle of a fight, Manjiro.” Waka appeared in his field of vision, looking down at him from above. He had his hands on his hips – coils of rope looped around one of them – and his mouth curled into a smug smirk.

“I looked away for one second!” Mikey exclaimed, cheeks puffing out in frustration.

“That was all that I needed.” Wakasa shrugged.

And then, it was his turn to cry out as Mikey swung his leg, sweeping Waka’s feet out from under him. Mikey didn’t give him a chance to recover as he sprang to his feet, hands once again clutching his swords. He pointed one of them at Waka’s chest. “What was that about knowing better?”

“Brat,” Wakasa hissed, but a genuine smile tugged at his lips. Amusement flickered in his half-lidded eyes.

Mikey glanced over just as Draken knocked Benkei’s baton to the floor with a satisfying clatter. His smile was wide and all teeth, a hint of canine flashing. The corners of Benkei’s mouth twitched slightly, as if he wanted to follow Draken’s lead.

“Looks like it’s our win,” Mikey said, turning back to look at Waka, who was still pinned underneath the point of his harmless blade.

Wakasa chuckled airily, shaking his head in resignation. He shifted his legs, slightly bending at the knee. Mikey was about to offer him a hand before realizing that he was still holding his weapons. Though, it wasn’t for long, because soon enough, Waka was sending one sword skidding across the floor.

With one foot planted firmly on the ground, Waka swung his leg up in a graceful arc, his heel striking Mikey’s wrist with pinpoint accuracy. If Waka had wanted to hurt him, he would’ve; but instead, he applied just enough force to the kick to forcefully release Mikey’s grip on his wooden sword. Letting the momentum carry him, Wakasa balanced on one hand as he twisted his lean body into a seamless one-handed cartwheel. Soundlessly – even without a rune to silence his steps – Waka landed on the mats, one foot after the other.

“I wouldn't be too confident if I were you.”

Mikey felt his eye twitch when Waka flashed him a smirk.

“Waka!” Benkei shouted. He was holding up well, despite having been disarmed just a short while ago. Though Benkei was built like a great mountain, years of experience had granted him enough agility to avoid Draken’s sword with each twist and turn of his enormous body.

Benkei had his back turned towards them, but Wakasa knew exactly what he wanted without even exchanging eye contact. Telepathic parabatai communication and all that.

Wordlessly, Waka hurled his rope dart. Draken instinctively took a few steps back, but the dart wasn’t aimed at him. Benkei slightly raised his arm, and the rope wound itself around the thick muscles of his forearm. Without even a moment of hesitation, Benkei anchored his feet and yanked at the rope. He swung his arm, and with it, Waka. 

They moved together in perfect harmony, with the synergy that came from years of fighting side by side. It was hard to believe that, according to Shinichiro, they used to be unable to even be in the same vicinity without a fight breaking out.

A sharp tug lifted Wakasa’s body off the floor, sending him into the air. He let Benkei direct him straight to Draken. A fleeting thought crossed Mikey’s mind: that Waka was being used like a human flail. With the ends of the rope still looped firmly around his hand, Waka pulled on it with force and tucked himself into a spin. His body was coiled like a string, waiting to be released. Mikey caught a glimpse of pure panic on Draken’s face before Waka slammed both feet into his chest.

As Draken was knocked down, Waka twisted his body mid-air to avoid landing on the kid. His feet touched the floor in a low crouch, right next to Draken’s head. Waka’s expression was calm, almost lazy, his steady breathing never once disrupted.

Before Mikey even realized it, his feet were already in motion, carrying him across the room. His practice swords had been long abandoned, strewn across the floor. Mikey went to his knees and pushed Waka aside, who made a noise of protest but still rose to his feet, joining Benkei in putting away the tools they had used.

“Ken-chin,” Mikey said, brows knitted tight with worry. His heart had dropped to his stomach when Draken’s victorious smile had been wiped away. His whole body shook with violent coughs, still recovering from having the wind knocked out of him. Mikey desperately wanted to make him smile again.

“We lost, huh…?” Draken rasped.

“I’d say we handled ourselves pretty well against the ‘Living Legends’ duo.” The nickname was given to Benkei and Waka by a few Shadowhunters after the pair took down a Greater Demon all on their own.

A smile tugged at Draken’s lips, and warmth bloomed in Mikey’s chest – like a flower unfurling under the sun. It spread through him, replacing the blood in his veins with liquid fire. Mikey beamed.

“You lost the moment you decided to split up,” said Benkei, approaching them with Waka – who had a lit cigarette between his lips – in tow. Arms crossed in front of his broad chest, Benkei looked at the young Shadowhunters with his signature intense gaze, his eyes shockingly blue.

“Parabatais draw strength from each other, and they support one another. They’re not meant to be separated,” Waka said, exhaling smoke. “You can fight back to back or side by side – however you want – but you stay together. Always.”

“We thought the best course of action would be to fight you two one-on-one! There's no chance we’d be able to defeat you if you’re together!” Mikey’s tone was defensive. He had thought that his idea was brilliant, absolutely fool-proof.

Wakasa arched a delicate eyebrow. “And why does that not apply to you, too? Like us, why can you not be invincible together? Are you not stronger together than when you’re apart?”

He held up a hand, silencing whatever words were on the tip of Mikey’s tongue. “And don’t say it’s because you’re not bonded yet. In your hearts, are you not already parabatai? Have your souls not yet entwined? Do you not already love him more than yourself?”

Mikey said nothing, his eyes were trained on the ground like a puppy being scolded, while Draken looked deep in thought.

Waka took another puff of his cigarette before giving it to Benkei. “A rune or a fancy ceremony are not the things that make you parabatai. It is the love you have in your hearts, the bond that you share, and the time you spend together. Anything else is just superficial.”

You stay together. Always. The words echoed in Mikey’s mind as he gazed at Draken’s unmoving face. It was like time had stopped – he was eerily still, save for the slight rise and fall of his chest. It was almost impossible to notice if you didn't pay close attention, which was all Mikey had been doing.

I’m here, Ken-chin, Mikey wanted to say. But his voice failed him. No words escaped his trembling lips; he pressed them into an unforgiving line.

It wasn’t like they had needed Waka’s reminder: Mikey would've stayed with Draken no matter what. If the Institute were to burn down and fall apart around them right now, Mikey would not budge from this seat. He would stay right here, hand clasping Draken’s tightly, where he was meant to be. Where he wanted to be.

If the world was cruel enough to take Draken from him, then let it take Mikey too.

Draken was ghostly pale even in the dim light of the room; blue veins streaked his eyelids like lightning. His lips were cracked and colorless. All life had been drained from him, rendering him no more than a breathing corpse. His blonde hair, a shade warmer than Mikey’s own, was out of their usual neat braid, spreading around his head like a halo.

Draken, his Draken that had always used to stare at him when he thought Mikey wasn’t looking, eyes full of tenderness, his Draken that would carry him home on his back after every mission, his Draken that would always have a toy flag on his person because he knew Mikey would be upset if his kid’s meal was missing the best part.

Draken, who knew him like the back of his hand. Draken, who had become irreplaceable to Mikey ever since their first meeting. Draken, who was the source of all the goodness in him. Draken, who had engraved his name onto his soul in burning letters. Draken, who was Mikey’s heart.

Draken might die, and there was nothing Mikey could do to stop it.

Even though it was forbidden to nurse feelings for your parabatai, Mikey would enter the ceremony without a moment’s hesitation if it meant that what he had heard that time was the truth. If Draken could take Mikey’s strength as his own and use it to recover, then Mikey would pull his stele out right now and start drawing.

Mikey would lay down his life for Draken if it meant his next breath would fill his lungs full of air. He would tear open his ribcage and offer up his heart if it would continue beating inside Draken’s chest. Mikey would trade places with Draken right this second if it meant that the person lying deadly still in that bed was no longer the person he loved most.

Shinichiro had once said that runes drawn by your parabatai were the strongest, most effective. Mikey cursed himself for delaying the ceremony, time and time again, just because he was too selfish to give his love up. Now, even if Mikey were to draw the iratze a million times over, until only black lines covered Draken’s skin, it would not compare to what he could've done if he and Draken were soul-bonded. Even though a Healing rune was generally ineffective against demon poison, maybe it would have made a difference coming from Mikey – if he was Draken’s parabatai, which he was not. He wasn’t quite sure what he was to him these days.

His shoulders trembled with the weight of unshed tears but his eyes remained dry – just as they had been since his mother’s death. I am not going to cry, he had promised her. And so, Mikey had swallowed his tears, until all he could taste was salt and the tanginess of blood at the back of his throat. Don’t leave. Don’t leave. Don’t leave. He had pleaded over and over. But the frantic litany of desperation was not enough to save his mother.

Mikey wanted to scream until his vocal cords broke, to lift his face to the sky and curse the Angels. He wanted to break things, to smash that window to pieces for daring to show the reflection of someone he no longer recognized. He wanted to fall to his knees and cry his heart out, he wanted to plead and pray and beg. Beg them not to take his Ken-chin. Tell them please, anything but him.

Mikey did none of that. His tears did not flow, the window was not broken, and the Angels were still blissfully unaware of his anguish.

“Entreat me not to leave thee,” Mikey whispered, his voice hoarse. It was the first line of the parabatai oath, the one he and Draken had practiced saying to each other a thousand times in the privacy of their rooms.

Except, now, no one was there to complete the poem for him. Only silence followed.

**********

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” Takemichi asked. Blood ran cold in his veins, and his heart had nearly stopped in his chest, only to resume beating at a much faster pace.

“I-I don’t know,” Ryusei said, brows tightly knitted. “I should be able to. The only instances when someone is unable to be found are if they’re a Shadowhunter with a Block rune that makes them immune to tracking or a warlock. This doesn’t make sense.”

Sanzu looked thoughtful, his blue eyes were serious despite the ridiculous face mask. “And you’re sure she’s just a normal person?” he asked Takemichi.

“Yes.”

“But why would anyone target two mundanes…?” Sanzu muttered under his breath. Though barely audible, it didn’t go unnoticed by Takemichi, who was sitting right next to him.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just–“ Sanzu began, then broke off, teeth worrying his lower lip. “Two days ago, the day we found you, you were being followed by a Deumas demon. The next day, your girlfriend went missing, and she still hasn’t been found. Then when we went back to your house, a Raum demon was there. Almost like it was waiting for us. For you.”

“What are you implying?” Takemichi was really confused now, dread settling low in his guts.

“Well, you know what they say about Raums.”

No, he didn’t. And he wished Sanzu would stop speaking in cryptic riddles. Takemichi expressed just that to him, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

“Raums are known to be retriever demons, often hired by warlocks to do their biddings. They’re unintelligent but clever enough to give you a hard time in a fight,” Kazutora explained. His wide, golden eyes oddly reminded Takemichi of a tiger’s – intense and unblinking.

Ryusei raised a question, “Isn’t that a bit of a reach? Why do you think that a warlock would want anything to do with Takemitchy and his girlfriend?”

He had a point. Just two days ago, Takemichi was living life blissfully unaware that demons roamed the earth and supernatural creatures that you could only find in storybooks walked amongst humans on a daily basis. He wondered if he had ever unknowingly passed any of them on the streets.

“Mikey said the Raum demon was waiting outside of the house for an ambush. It wasn't just a coincidence that it was there. I think the whole thing was purposeful.”

A chill ran down Takemichi’s spine. He hadn't seen the monster – when he went outside, it had already been killed – but the prospect of being hunted by one still terrified him, raising goosebumps all over his skin.

“So you think,” Ryusei began, “a warlock had the genius idea to kidnap Takemitchy’s girlfriend – Angel knows why – and then decided that one useless mundane wasn’t enough so they came for the boyfriend too.”

Kazutora didn’t even try to stop the laugh bubbling up from his throat. He seemed content just sitting back and watching his friends bicker, not contributing anything to the conversation.

“Can you stop making it sound like I’m being unreasonable?” Sanzu said, glaring daggers at Ryusei. “Let’s say the two things aren’t related, a mundane girl is still missing and we’re unable to track her, which means that there is magic at work here.”

“But doing all that for a mundie? Isn’t it overkill?”

Takemichi had an overwhelming urge to kick Ryusei. Or force him to gulp down the rest of his coffee. Both would work.

“Think,” Sanzu hissed with barely contained annoyance. “If a warlock were to abduct a mundane, why would they go through the effort of casting an anti-tracking spell on her? It’s because they’re using her for something they don’t want us to find out about. Like sacrificing her as a part of some black magic ritual.”

The atmosphere of the room shifted. Ryusei sat with his back straight, his eyes had lost their humor. Kazutora’s easy smile and curved eyes were replaced by an uncharacteristically grave look. Even though Takemichi didn’t yet understand the extent of magic, what it was capable of and its limits, the word “black magic” still made his mouth go dry. His head was spinning. Takemichi downed the contents of his cup in one go, the bitter aftertaste keeping him grounded.

“So what are you saying?” Takemichi asked, his hand trembling as he set the mug down.

“We have to find her. Now. She might be in danger far worse than we think.”

**********

“Is Shinichiro in his office?”

“At 8AM? Fuck no,” said Sanzu. The hydrating face mask he had slept in was discarded in the trash, his skin now smooth and shiny like porcelain.

“But I swear he’s already up. He even made coffee.” Ryusei pointed at the empty carafe. He had accidentally swallowed a mouthful of bitter black coffee again and decided that today just wasn’t the day. So Chifuyu was now sipping on his drink.

After Chifuyu woke up, he was immediately updated on their plan. They – Ryusei, Kazutora, and Sanzu – had concluded that Takemichi’s girlfriend could very well be in grave danger, and that help was needed. Specifically, help from the High Warlock of Tokyo.

Hanma Shuji was a wielder of powerful magic and had proven to be of great help (when he felt like it) to the Nephilim. He was quite famous in the Downworld and possessed a vast network of connections. Anything that happened in the Shadow World would eventually reach Hanma’s ears. He was the man to go to when you wanted information.

“Chifuyu, does Shinichiro-kun sound like someone who goes to his office to do boring paperwork right after waking up unusually early in the morning?” Sanzu asked monotonously, not bothering to look up from his cereal bowl.

“No,” said Chifuyu curtly. He was stroking Peke J, who had curled up in his lap. “If we go to his office right now and I see him bent over paperwork, I’m gonna have to kill him ‘cause that’s not our Shinichiro.”

“There you have it.”

Ryusei rolled his eyes. Just earlier, he had been looking at Peke J with a wistful look. Chifuyu knew better than to assume it was because he wanted to be the one petting the cat.

“Do we know where Shinichiro keeps his contact book?” asked Kazutora. His black-blonde hair fell down his shoulders in unkempt waves. He was chewing on one of the cookies Benkei had made and left in a jar for them – one per person each day, he had said. Chifuyu was pretty sure that was Kazutora’s third.

“Yeah, it’s right on the table.” When he went with Takemichi to the older Sano’s office, Chifuyu remembered seeing a small notebook on his desk right next to the telephone, with names – both familiar and ones he had never heard of – written down next to what looked like phone numbers. Some even had addresses included.

Mundane technology was frowned upon by Shadowhunters of the older generations, so most Nephilims lived their lives without it. But Shinichiro had gone behind the Clave’s back to set up a table phone in his office. He said that it would be useful to have other means of connection – if not to other Shadowhunters, then to their acquaintances in the Downworld.

Embarrassingly, none of them knew how to send a fire-message – in Baji’s case, he didn’t believe in fire-messages – nor how to draw the rune that would activate it, so calling Hanma via phone was their best option. Asking one of the adults in the Institute for assistance was immediately crossed out. They had all decided that telling them would only complicate things. Sanzu said they should let Shinichiro know but only after a solid lead had been found. What they had right now was merely a hunch – fragile.

“Ryusei and I will go to his office. You guys can stay,” Chifuyu announced. In the corner of his eye, Chifuyu could see Ryusei grimacing as he stood up. He had a ridiculous grudge against Hanma and the warlock absolutely loved teasing him.

“Kazutora,” Chifuyu called. His friend knew exactly what to do even without further explanations. Wordlessly, Kazutora lifted Peke J from Chifuyu’s lap and cradled the small cat in his arms, allowing Chifuyu to freely rise from his chair.

“I’ll be back, Peke J,” Chifuyu said to his cat. His face split into a wide grin when Kazutora lifted Peke J’s tiny paw, making him wave goodbye. He didn't seem to have any qualms about being controlled like a puppet.

Chifuyu and Ryusei found their way to Shinichiro’s office with efficient speed. Soon enough, Ryusei was punching in Hanma’s phone number according to the small notebook lying open next to him.

“Do I really have to talk to him?” said Ryusei. His face was scrunched up, his handsome features twisted with both dread and disgust.

“Yes.”

Ryusei heaved a great sigh. Just to make sure Chifuyu really heard it, he sighed a few more times.

Chifuyu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you want me to talk to him instead?”

“No, no, no,” said Ryusei almost immediately. The way he was genuinely panicking was comical.

“Then get on with it.”

When Ryusei returned to his job of dialling Hanma’s number, Chifuyu finally allowed his lips to curve, the corners of his mouth lifting into a warm smile, his eyes fond. Ryusei could be rather cute at times. But Chifuyu could never let him know. His ego was inflated enough as it was.

The table phone started ringing so Ryusei turned on the speaker. It rang and rang, and rang. Chifuyu was close to smashing it when the irritating sound finally stopped.

“Hanma–“ Ryusei began before a voicemail broke him off.

“You’ve reached Hanma Shuji. In case your name happens to be Sato Ryusei, I’d advise you to take three steps back from the phone,” said the pre-recorded message. Chifuyu and Ryusei exchanged puzzled looks. “I’ve cast a spell so that an inch of your dick will be removed every five seconds that you’re in direct contact with the phone.”

“That can’t– he can’t– that can’t be real,” Ryusei stammered. Once again, panic was settling into his features. “Right? Chifuyu?”

If he was being honest, Chifuyu wouldn't put it past Hanma. It was true that the guy was a liar and an asshole, but he also loved a good joke. And cutting off Ryusei’s dick inch by inch would make for a wonderful joke.

Apparently, Chifuyu’s silence was an answer in itself. Ryusei immediately whipped his hand back like he’d been burnt, the phone clattering onto the table, still playing Hanma’s voicemail. For good measure, he took six steps back, eyeing the device warily.

“Any business you might have with me – the High Warlock of Tokyo,” Hanma continued in a sing-song voice, “would have to wait. I’m currently hosting a party, and unless you’re a debt collector or a vengeful ex-lover, you’re welcome to show up. It’s a free-for-all event, except if you’re Sato Ryusei,” – Ryusei winced – “then, your entrance fee is a pack of extra-large condoms.”

Ryusei buried his face in his hands. Chifuyu had to forcefully turn away from him or else he feared he might just laugh in Ryusei’s face.

“The party will start at midnight, when the moon is at its highest. It’s going to be held at…” Chifuyu quickly ripped out a blank page from Shinichiro’s notebook and picked up a nearby pen. He started scribbling the address as Hanma read it aloud, too focused on keeping up with what was being said to bother making his handwriting legible. It would be fine, the others didn’t have to understand it as long as Chifuyu could read it.

“See you there!” said Hanma. Ryusei gagged when he made a kissy noise right before the message ended.

Blue eyes met brown ones, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Ryusei stood next to the door, his body half-turned towards it like he wanted to bolt.

“What’s the chance that we don’t have to go to this stupid thing tonight?”

**********

“Tell me again exactly why we’re going to a party?”

“You never listen to anything I say!” Kazutora complained. He stood in front of the full-length mirror in his room, squinting as he tried his best to do a sharp winged line on his eye. Baji had offered to do it for him, but Kazutora refused to trust someone who couldn’t draw anything but a Strength rune, even if a knife was held to his throat and he was forced to draw every rune he knew.

Baji was sprawled on cheetah-print sheets – in the middle of a mess of discarded clothes – most definitely ruining his perfectly combed hair that Kazutora had taken the time to brush and untangle. He glared at the reflection of the boy whose hair spilled like black ink on his bed.

“Yes, I do! I always do!” exclaimed Baji with dignity. “I just want to make sure the reason is good enough for me to put myself through the torture of going to one of Hanma’s parties.”

Hanma Shuji was the High Warlock of Tokyo – a title he had appointed for himself and everybody went along with because Tokyo was one of the cities without a High Warlock at the time. He was flamboyant and unpredictable, notorious for throwing “the best parties” – as a large number of Downworlders had proclaimed, one of them being Haitani Rindou. The vampire, who was also Sanzu’s boyfriend, had told them that you hadn’t lived until you attended one of Hanma’s parties. Though Kazutora was highly skeptical, he was excited for a chance to dress up and go out. Even if it was technically a mission, he would find a way to have some fun tonight.

“I don’t know why you hate him so much,” Kazutora said, switching to his other eye. Making his eyeliner symmetrical was the hardest part.

Baji sprang to a sitting position. Even with his back facing him, Kazutora knew exactly what face he was making. Baji’s thick eyebrows would be drawn together tightly, his eyes that were the darkest red burning with fury, and his unusually sharp canines would flash when he spoke. Chifuyu had nearly shat himself the first time he saw Baji’s fierce glower, but Kazutora had always thought it was cute.

“I’ll stop hating him when he stops fucking asking me” – he made air quotations – “if my dance moves have improved every time we run into each other!”

“Well, have they improved?” 

“You know I can’t dance!”

“Oh, but you dance so well?” With a smile on his lips, Kazutora turned around.

Baji groaned – a low, throaty sound – and Kazutora felt pride swelling in his chest. He knew that he looked good, but confirmation from Baji was always welcomed.

Kazutora was wearing a long-sleeved mesh fishnet, the runes that ran along his arms acted as a nice decoration to his outfit. The neckline was wide, showing off his tiger tattoo and narrow shoulders. A black corset top was layered above, laced with matching black ribbons, covering his chest. Baggy cargo pants of the same color highlighted his small waist, fastened with a belt patterned in tiger stripes.

Instantly, Baji’s hands found their way to Kazutora’s hips and pulled him close, so that the boy was standing in between his spread legs. Kazutora hummed, letting Baji pet his cheek, his thumb lightly brushing over the beauty mark before tucking a blonde strand of hair behind his ear.

Kazutora had smudged black eyeshadow along his lower lash line, the look completed with simple winged liner. Gloss had been applied to Kazutora’s lips – purely because he liked the way Baji couldn’t keep his eyes off them whenever he did. His hair – a mix of black and gold – was twisted into a loose bun, held in place by his stele. The bell of his earring jingled every time Kazutora moved his head.

Beneath his leather jacket – which, looking closely, Kazutora could see claw-like scratches that were most likely Peke J’s doing – Baji was wearing a faded band tee. It was so old that the graphic was filled with cracks, the bold letters no longer legible. A cross pendant hung from his necklace, paired with a thick leather choker. 

“You’re staring, Baji,” Kazutora said, eyes crinkling with amusement.

Baji was indeed staring. Unapologetically, at that. His eyes were hungry, shamelessly drinking up the curve of Kazutora’s waist and the soft lines of his body. Baji was always honest, in both his words and actions. Right now, he was openly looking at Kazutora with so much want that it almost made him blush. Baji’s hand – scarred and calloused, a Shadowhunter's hand – rested possessively on the small of Kazutora’s back.

Licking his lips, Baji shamelessly raked his eyes over every inch of Kazutora’s body. “I am.”

“We’re supposed to get going,” Kazutora said in a low voice. With his index finger, he lifted Baji’s chin until their gazes met. His eyes glimmered like dark rubies, pupils blown wide. Kazutora had no doubt Baji would have kept ogling him for hours if he could.

“I can’t seem to remember the reason why,” Baji murmured, eyes already lowered, tracing the smooth lines of Kazutora’s collarbones. He didn’t even last a minute.

“We’re going,” Kazutora said with finality, stepping out of Baji’s hold, “because it will be fun.”

One did not skip the chance to go to a party. Especially if said party was being hosted by the infamous Hanma Shuji.

**********

Takemichi did not have a single thing to wear. Unless you counted a varsity jacket and sweatpants as party-appropriate. Which was why he had, once again, found himself in Chifuyu’s clothes. He didn’t want anything flashy, so Takemichi had borrowed a plain white jacket and dark jeans from Chifuyu’s closet. Only the black t-shirt he was wearing belonged to him.

Before they left, Baji had gone to check up on Mitsuya, who was still holed up in his sewing room. After knocking, knocking faster, knocking louder, and then shouting, Baji had received no response – so he gave up.

Ryusei had explained that they couldn't just barge in in full Shadowhunter gear, weapons blazing, because despite Hanma saying that anyone could come, most of the partygoers would be Downworlders. And the Nephilim didn’t have the best reputation in the Downworld. Though the relationship between Raziel’s descendants and those with demonic blood was no longer strained and detested by people from both sides, they weren't exactly co-existing in perfect harmony either. So, dressing appropriately for the party would show that the Nephilim weren't there with vicious intentions.

Somehow, even when dressing up, the Shadowhunters still found ways to hide weapons in their clothing. Kazutora’s bakh nakh were concealed under his palms, the only hint of them being the metal rings that looped around two slim fingers and the glint of silver when his hands flexed. A small but deadly axe had been strapped to Baji’s back, right beneath his leather jacket. Sanzu had refused to show anybody how he hid his knives, but none of them had any doubt that the guy was a walking weaponry. The inside of Chifuyu’s half-buttoned chambray jacket had been customized by Mitsuya – the resident fashionista – to hold numerous daggers in hidden compartments. Takemichi was taken aback by Ryusei’s retractable spears, which were kept in the pockets of his tactical cargo pants.

There was little to slow Takemichi and his companions down on their way to Hanma Shuji’s party. The road was practically empty when they departed at midnight; travelling by motorcycle made the journey even shorter. Takemichi had remembered Mikey’s warning from yesterday: only get on the back of Baji’s or Kazutora’s bike if you didn’t value your life. So, he had gotten a ride from Ryusei instead. Chifuyu, who hadn’t gotten around to getting his own motorcycle yet, got on Baji’s.

“Are you sure we’re at the right place?”

Takemichi barely registered Kazutora’s voice in his mind. He was doubled over on the ground, clutching his stomach with all his might and willing himself not to vomit. Maybe he would ask to catch a cab on the way back.

“I’m sure,” said Chifuyu, his voice steady.

“But this is…” Kazutora trailed off.

When nothing more was said, Takemichi craned his neck up. He hadn’t noticed just how narrow the street was: a car wouldn't be able to fit in here. But not only that, he didn’t even know where they were. Was this still Shibuya?

In the dead of night, only the soft glow of the moon illuminated their surroundings. All of the shops were closed, some even looked abandoned – the windows were boarded up, the once vibrant paint long faded. The store beside Takemichi still had a sign, but so many letters were missing that its name was lost to the decay that came with the passage of time.

Then, Takemichi saw it: there was another source of light. Something other than the moon. At the end of the road stood the only working convenience store. It was a tiny building with two floors. Through glass doors, past promotional posters of brand new snacks, Takemichi glimpsed a row of neatly stacked cup noodles and an aisle of bottled drinks. If he squinted, he could spot the cashier standing behind the counter.

The fluorescent light from the LED storefront sign was almost blinding. The bright colors were a stark contrast against the dull, almost haunted street. The name was displayed in bold letters: 7-ELEVEN.

“Is Hanma serious…?” muttered Ryusei, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“When has he ever been?” said Chifuyu with a smirk, already striding towards the store.

Chapter Text

“Can you repeat that?”

The cashier wasn’t even looking at Ryusei, too busy typing away at his phone with taloned hands. His dark hair was buzzed close to his scalp, sharp horns protruding from his forehead, his fiery red skin faintly shining under the bright light. Hanma had hired an ifrit – they were warlocks without magic – to stand guard and greet his guests as they came. The second floor of this 7-Eleven was where the real party was held, the convenience store itself merely acted as a front.

“C’mon, man,” Ryusei began in exasperation. “Don’t make me repeat it. Please.”

“To get what you want, you have to tell me what you want,” said the ifrit. A scowl that rivalled Baji’s claimed his features.

Ryusei took a deep, shaky breath. Behind him, he could hear his friends snickering. When he looked back at them, they all pretended to look away – Kazutora was checking out the energy drinks, Baji’s head was bent over a selection of chips – but Ryusei could feel all of their eyes on him as he turned toward the cashier.

“Can I have a pack of condoms? Extra large?” Ryusei said through gritted teeth, training his gaze on the floor so he wouldn't have to face the guy. His cheeks were most definitely red. 

“Extra large?” The ifrit gave Ryusei a once-over, his eyes glancing up and down. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure! ” Ryusei slammed his fist on the checkout. He heard an ugly snort coming from behind.

“Okay,” the cashier shrugged, and picked out a pack of Magnum XL from where it was hanging on metal pegs. He slid the box of condoms across the counter.

Ryusei hurriedly shoved it into his pants pocket before slapping a 2000-yen bill into the ifrit’s waiting hand. “Keep the change,” Ryusei said. “As long as you don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Of course not. I won’t tell nobody at all. But I can’t say the same about Hanma.” He tilted his horned head towards the surveillance camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. The spot provided whoever was on the other end with a perfect view of the register area.

Ryusei let loose a string of curses. “I’m gonna kill that asshole,” he grumbled.

“Be my guest,” said the ifrit. He moved his towering frame aside, revealing a door that had blended seamlessly into the white walls. The knob protruding from it was the only thing hinting at its true nature.

Ryusei made his way behind the counter, followed by the rest of his friends. He opened the door and ascended into the unwelcoming darkness. 

**********

The second floor had been expanded by warlock magic, the space was way bigger than it appeared from the outside. Takemichi felt as if they had walked right into a club: dimly lit with flashing lights and music blasting in his ears. 

Takemichi had never felt so out of place in his entire life. He didn’t belong here, and he had the unnerving feeling that everybody else knew that too. A group of vampires, with their flawless porcelain skin and needle-like fangs, had been eyeing him hungrily since the moment he stepped inside. Takemichi did not want to switch places with the human girl they were taking turns feeding on. Dribbles of blood ran from the tiny puncture wounds on her neck; a vampire with blonde locks was bent over her wrist, fangs plunged deep into her flesh.

A girl with hair the color of moonlight dancing on water glided through the crowd. Forget-me-not blossoms were weaved into her braid, the flowers complimenting her pale blue skin. She was holding a tray of various drinks, none of them normal-colored. Quite a few were the deepest shade of red – probably reserved for bloodthirsty vampires like the ones Takemichi saw earlier – while the rest were either a sparkly teal or an odd neon pink.

“Do not drink or eat anything. Even when it’s offered to you,” said Sanzu next to him. He had abandoned the regular black mask, folded and tucked neatly in his pocket. The pink-haired boy seemed to be more comfortable here, where warlocks flaunted their curved horns and faeries with tree branches for arms roamed freely. “You never know what could be in it.”

Flanking Takemichi were Sanzu – dressed in a simple white t-shirt and a leather jacket a little too big for him – and Chifuyu, whose presence gave Takemichi a strange sense of comfort. Ryusei was right beside Chifuyu, scanning the room with nervous eyes. Takemichi had believed Ryusei to be the confident and unshakeable type, but Hanma had a way of getting under his skin.

Baji and Kazutora walked a few steps ahead of them, leading the group. Baji’s huge hand was on the small of Kazutora’s back, simultaneously guiding him through the crowd of bodies and, at the same time, away from the flashing golden eyes of werewolves. Takemichi caught Baji glaring over his shoulder at a boy with fair hair and pointed ears, effectively stopping the faerie from approaching his boyfriend.

A scantily clad woman with bright red hair cascading down her back stared as they walked past with pupil-less eyes. A group of nymphs with their green skin and flowing dresses made way for Takemichi and his companions, their gazes flitting over the mundane to fix on his Shadowhunter friends. Their eyes burned bright with loathing as they looked from the runes on Ryusei’s arms to the stele entwined in Kazutora’s hair.

Conversations came to a stop wherever they went. Some Downworlders spared them no more than a curious glance, while the others glared at them with outright hatred. The attention made Takemichi uneasy, but Sanzu beside him was unfazed while Chifuyu was too deep in discussion with Ryusei to notice.

They slowed down once their group was nearing the dance floor made out of LED panels. It was slightly elevated, surrounded by sitting areas. On one side was the bar: a group of people had gathered to watch a warlock set fire to cocktails. At the end of the dance floor, past the swirls of colorful fabric and couples shamelessly grinding against each other and hands wandering where they should not, Takemichi glimpsed a DJ booth manned by a blonde man with blue streaks in his hair.

“What are you doing?” asked Chifuyu, his voice flat. If Takemichi was even a little bit farther away from him, he wouldn't have been able to hear it over the deafening music.

Ryusei was cowering behind Chifuyu’s much smaller frame, hands trembling where they were gripping his shoulders. He was bent awkwardly in order to hide behind the blonde, basically using Chifuyu as a human shield.

“I saw Hanma!” Ryusei groaned.

Baji’s hand flew to his forehead with a resounding slap. “I see him too.”

Takemichi directed his eyes to where the two had been looking. A couple was sitting at a booth between a group of ifrits engaged in a drinking contest and a table of rowdy pixies. The man of the hour – Hanma Shuji – sat with an arm thrown over the back of the bench seat, a lit cigarette between his lips. His hair was similar to Kazutora: a mix of black and blond. The sides were slicked back while the front was left messily parted to the side, some strands falling over his forehead. Hanma’s legs were parted and another man was perched on his thigh.

“Is that…?” Kazutora began and broke off in shock.

“Kisaki Tetta,” Chifuyu finished for him.

Whoever Kisaki was, he did not look like he wanted to be there. Though both of his arms were wrapped around Hanma’s neck and he was pressing his side against the warlock’s body, Kisaki’s brows were drawn together in a scowl and his gaze when he looked at Hanma could wither flowers before they got a chance to bloom. When Hanma tried to sneak an arm around his waist, Kisaki slapped his hand away unforgivingly.

“Hey,” Ryusei started. “I think this is when we turn back and forget all about this…”

“No chance,” said Chifuyu flatly. “What kind of Shadowhunter are you? You’ve killed a demon bare-handed but you can’t even be in the same room as a warlock without cowering?”

“It’s not just a warlock, this is the warlock – it’s Hanma Shuji!” Ryusei’s voice fell to a whisper as if he couldn't bear even saying Hanma’s name, like the name itself was a horrific curse.

Takemichi tuned out the bickering pair. He wasn’t in the mood for delays caused by Ryusei’s aversion to Hanma. He was in the middle of a place filled with people who either wanted to feast on his blood or tear at his friends’ throats with their teeth. All Takemichi wanted was to just go up to Hanma and get this over with. As he stepped closer to Baji and Kazutora, their voices were finally audible over the booming music.

“Did you know that they’re together?” Kazutora said. His voice was raised just loud enough for Baji to hear.

“No. I didn’t think they were together at all. I thought Hanma was the type to just fuck around – you know, the kind that’s afraid of commitment. A few weeks ago, I saw him in bed with–”

“You do know that I can hear you, right?” came a stranger’s voice.

Takemichi couldn't figure out who it belonged to, there were people all around them. But Baji and Kazutora seemed to know exactly who had spoken, for they were gawking at Kisaki, who had long climbed off of Hanma’s lap and was now frowning next to him. Kisaki maintained a short distance between them; though they were sitting side by side, he did not allow even Hanma’s knee to graze his own. The cigarette that was previously between Hanma’s lips was now in Kisaki’s slender hand.

Kisaki was a vampire, Takemichi belatedly realized, if his poreless tan skin and superhuman hearing were any indications. His blonde hair was neatly combed, sharply parted to the side with an undercut. The first few buttons of his dress shirt were left undone, his necktie loosened. Underneath Kisaki’s collar, Takemichi glimpsed a hickey here and there.

“Hanma…” Baji approached the pair, Kazutora at his heels. Kazutora had a tight grip on his wrist, whether to make sure Baji would behave and not punch the High Warlock of Tokyo square in the jaw or just a cute romantic gesture, Takemichi didn’t know. “As always, it’s good to s–”

“Baji Keisuke!” Hanma’s cheerful voice somehow carried over the music. Takemichi saw the first hint of a warlock mark when he spoke: a flash of white teeth – razor-sharp and serrated. Teeth that belonged to a predator. “I hope you came today armed with new dance moves instead of seraph blades? You know I have high expectations for you.”

“Nevermind, you’re a fucking asshole and, as always, seeing you is worse than waking up with a demon at the foot of your bed.” The polite smile Baji had forced on his face was immediately replaced by a glower more dangerous than Hanma’s shark teeth.

The warlock barked out an amused laugh, throwing his head back. Hanma was in a full black outfit: a turtleneck that clung to his sinewy body with the sleeves rolled up, and ripped jeans that hugged his thighs. His fingers were inhumanely long, tapering into blackened claws that made Takemichi gulp dryly. The kanji characters for “sin” and “punishment” were tattooed on the back of each hand.

Hanma turned to Kazutora, and his eyes – vertical slits for pupils – gleamed with something Takemichi couldn't quite put a name to. “Princess,” he purred, and Kazutora shuddered. He was intentionally avoiding Hanma’s piercing gaze, and Baji’s hand instinctively sneaked around Kazutora’s waist, pulling him closer without a second thought.

Hanma cocked his head to the side, only now noticing Takemichi’s presence. “I see you’ve brought my dear Kisaki a gift. Though I must decline on his behalf. You see, he has just gone on a new diet.” At this, Hanma winked meaningfully.

Takemichi was too busy being offended by Hanma talking about him like he wasn’t there to process that he had basically just been referred to as a walking blood bag.

Kisaki’s merciless hand came down hard on the back of the warlock’s head, earning a pained yelp from the latter. “The only reason why I’m exclusively feeding on you is because after insisting that I moved in with you, you then proceeded to throw away my year’s worth of blood supply.”

“But warlock blood does strange things to vampires, does it not?” asked Chifuyu, who had joined the rest of the group. Sanzu was nowhere to be seen.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Kisaki groaned, massaging his temples. 

“Is that Ryusei I see?” Hanma perked up, straightening his back and craning his neck to look over Chifuyu’s shoulder at the shock of pink and black hair. “I hope you have what I asked for, Ryusei-kun! I wouldn't want to have to kick you out myself. It would be such a shame if you were to miss my wonderful party,” Hanma said in a sing-song voice.

Kisaki glanced at Hanma, his blue eyes icy. Though he remained silent, the vampire’s jaw was set. Takemichi did not doubt that he was intimately familiar with Hanma’s antics.

Ryusei’s head peeked out from behind Chifuyu, but the rest of his body stayed hidden. There was some color on his cheeks, and he was attempting the best imitation of Baji’s frown that he could manage. “Fuck off, Hanma!” Ryusei cried, hurling the pack of condoms at Hanma with full force.

A taloned hand caught it mid-air, black claws curling around the item. An impish grin spread on Hanma’s face as he showed Kisaki the small box. “You can’t turn me down when I try to undress you anymore! We have condoms now, as per your request, so you have no reason to refuse me!”

“Does the fact that I don’t fucking like you not work as a reason?” Kisaki snapped, but his words didn’t have any real venom in them and his eyes lacked even a hint of maliciousness.

“Oh, but that’s not what you said last ni–”

Hanma’s head snapped to the side; the force of the slap left even Kisaki grimacing. It effectively shut Hanma up, but the deranged smile plastered on his face was wider than before, his snake-like eyes glittering with dark amusement.

Baji and Kazutora exchanged quick glances, the surprise on their faces mirroring each other. Baji’s eyebrows shot up and Kazutora was barely holding back a smirk, but neither of them said anything.

“Please excuse Kisaki’s behaviors, he has terrible manners.” Hanma directed his smile to Takemichi and the Shadowhunters. His teeth were bared – sharp and lethal – but the gesture was not a threatening one.

Kisaki scoffed as he crossed his arms, mumbling something under his breath.

“Despite what he says, Kisaki’s got a little love for me, hidden deep inside his heart,” Hanma lamented, sighing dramatically. The man beside him snorted, nearly choking on a laugh. “Deep, deep inside, that is,” said Hanma.

“I’m sure,” Chifuyu deadpanned.

“And how are you, Matsuno Chifuyu?” The warlock’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I haven’t seen your pretty face since-”

“Since you came on to me right after making moves on Kazutora. Yes, I remember.”

From behind his boyfriend, Ryusei was glaring at Hanma with such intensity that it was almost surprising how there wasn’t a hole in the man’s face already.

“Such fond memories,” remarked Hanma, who was – once again – immediately hit by Kisaki. He yelped in surprise, looking at the vampire with the wounded expression of a kicked puppy. His mouth opened to speak, but a single glare from Kisaki had it snapping shut.

Hanma sighed, taking his cigarette back from Kisaki and bringing it to his lips. A smile still lingered on his face, but his eyes when he looked at the Shadowhunters were humorless. “Nephilim friends,” Hanma addressed them, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “to what do I owe the honor? I assume you’re not here just for my awesome party, so what business?”

“We need help,” said Chifuyu.

“Everybody needs help from the Great Hanma,” the High Warlock said in a sing-song tone. He had the kind of face that looked like it would feel great to land a punch on.

“We need information ,” demanded Ryusei. “Everything you know about black magic practitioners.”

Hanma quirked a brow. “And what makes you think I would willingly rat out people of my own kind?”

“This is serious.” His tone was grave. Ryusei had moved to stand beside Chifuyu, meeting Hanma’s gaze head-on as he spoke. “A mundane was kidnapped and I wasn’t able to track her. Something was blocking me, preventing me from finding out her location.”

“Have you considered that you could just be that bad at Tracking runes?” inquired Hanma.

Ryusei ignored this. “You know it could only mean trouble when spells are cast on mundanes to keep them hidden.”

Hanma was quiet and so was Kisaki, who seemed to be observing him, gauging his reaction. The warlock’s golden eyes were calculating as he took his time studying the group in front of them. Takemichi felt Hanma’s gaze slithered over him, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He gulped dryly, his heart hammering in his chest.

Hanma’s face was unreadable as he took his sweet time putting everybody on edge with his uncharacteristic silence.

“Well?” Baji urged impatiently. “You gonna help us? Or not?”

Hanma’s cigarette flared to life as he inhaled deeply. The cloud of smoke veiled his expression as he spoke – only piercing gold eyes cutting through the haze. “My answer depends on how good you are at storytelling.” He winked and Takemichi was positive that Ryusei almost doubled over and threw up on his boots.

“Don’t leave out a single detail,” said the warlock with a smile – all pointy teeth and gums.

**********

Sanzu made his way through the crowd of Downworlders like a shadow, slithering through gaps and openings between careless elbows and a tail here and there. No one spared him even a glance. Glamour runes didn’t work on magical beings, but Sanzu did not need a rune to render himself invisible. He prided himself on this peculiar ability to go unnoticed – becoming no more remarkable than a pebble on the side of the road.

In the midst of warlocks – with their protruding horns and extra arms in unconventional places – and a variety of faeries – from the kelpies that could be mistaken for horses to tiny pixies flapping their wings, Sanzu’s scars were barely anything they hadn’t seen before. He was paid no more attention than the nixie that nearly bumped into him, her webbed feet bare and a fish tangled in her messy hair as if it was a net.

The hatred the Clave had for Downworlders had never quite made sense for Sanzu. They weren't inherently evil – no matter where they hailed from or who their parents were – just simply misunderstood. They were people who had been let down by the Nephilim numerous times, so much so that they had to learn to rely on each other instead of reaching out for help.

Sanzu’s hand rose instinctively, touching the diamond-shaped scars at the corners of his mouth – a habit he couldn't seem to quit. His fingertips gently traced the roughened flesh, leaving a faint tingle in their wake. Sanzu had been one of the people to fail them, and he refused to allow himself the luxury of forgetting his mistake.

Rindou’s figure became more and more visible the closer Sanzu got to the DJ booth. He kept a decent distance from his boyfriend as he rounded the station, opting to approach Rindou from behind. The vampire had his headphones on, too focused on his job to notice Sanzu creeping up behind him. 

Slowing down his stride, Sanzu contemplated surprising his lover. Maybe he could wrap his arms around Rindou’s waist from behind like couples often did in rom-coms? Or he could catch him off guard – his breath hot on Rindou’s neck and soft lips on his skin? Another option was to just steal Rindou’s headphones and leave him to figure out who the thief was.

Rindou looked completely in his element here, in front of bustling dancers, bobbing his head to the music blasting from all directions. His blonde and blue hair was gathered neatly into a bun. The gold-rimmed glasses that Rindou insisted on wearing despite his perfect vampire eyesight were hooked on the collar of his white tank top. His skilled hands were twisting knobs and sliding faders, adjusting the music to the crowd’s liking.

A thick, black line ran down the length of his right arm like a snake. Sanzu knew that if he were to strip Rindou of his clothes, he would see that the tattoo didn’t just stop there. His matching tattoo with Ran spanned the right side of his body, starting from the base of his neck and ending at his foot.

Sanzu almost wanted to just leave Rindou be and admire him from afar instead. He didn't often get the chance to see him DJ after all.

“Hey, loser,” Sanzu said, kicking the love of his life in the shin with more force than he intended to. He internally cursed himself out when he saw Rindou wincing.

Rindou’s lips were twisting, forming the beginning of an insult when his purple eyes met Sanzu’s blue ones. His eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. “Haru?”

Sanzu offered him a sideways smile, feeling the scarred tissue at the corner of his mouth stretching just a little. It wasn’t uncomfortable - his scars were healed and Sanzu had grown used to them - but he was overly aware of them at times.

“What are you doing here?” Rindou asked, tugging his headphones down and letting them rest at the base of his neck.

“Is it so hard to believe that the High Warlock of Tokyo would invite me to his party?”

“No, Hanma would invite a cockroach to his party if it would show up,” Rindou said, and he cocked his head to the side. “But something tells me that an invitation isn’t the reason you’re here, so tell me, Haru.”

“Shadowhunter business.” Sanzu shrugged. “A mundane is missing.”

Rindou clicked his tongue, a smirk curving his lips. The music was still playing, deafening in Sanzu’s ears, even though Rindou's hands had stopped moving over the decks. His body was fully turned around now, his eyes trained on Sanzu’s face. Shadowhunters did not involve themselves in mundane business unless it had something to do with the Shadow World. “Mundanes go missing all the time and Nephilims never intervene. What’s so special about this one?”

“It’s a long story, honestly,” Sanzu sighed. “But we think this case might have something more to it than what meets the eyes.”

“Like?”

“Dark magic? I don’t know yet, the whole thing is still pretty vague. But that’s what we’re here to talk to Hanma about.”

“‘We?’” Rindou echoed, intrigued. “So it’s a ‘we’ thing and not a ‘you missed me so much that you used this investigation as an excuse to come here and see me’ thing?”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” Sanzu shot him a glare, but Rindou’s smirk didn’t falter – only seemed to grow even wider. “I didn’t even know you were gonna be here,” said Sanzu, who barely held back the accusation in his tone. Rindou was his boyfriend, and he was just the tiniest, teeniest bit offended that he wasn’t informed that Rindou had a DJ gig here tonight.

“I texted you about it!” Rindou exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “You never replied!”

“Oh, I lost my phone.” Sanzu didn’t look even slightly sheepish admitting this. His old iPhone had been given to him by Rindou, who insisted that they needed a way of communication that wasn’t Rindou going over to the Institute from Roppongi, or Sanzu sneaking a call to him using Shinichiro’s table phone. Despite saying he didn’t mind the short distance, Rindou was fed up with having to travel to Shibuya any time he needed to talk to Sanzu. 

The vampire heaved a sigh. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the blonde and blue locks back. “Is this the part where I offer to buy you a new one?”

“Well, only if you insist. ” Sanzu beamed at Rindou, who couldn’t hold back the indulgent smile that was spreading on his face. It wasn’t like Rindou was insanely rich or anything, but the club that he and his brother owned did bring them a lot of profit. And Rindou was nothing if not completely smitten with Sanzu. Head over heels. Down bad. Whatever you wanted to call it.

“A new phone will be delivered to your Institute tomorrow,” Rindou said, “in exchange for a kiss.” The cheeky bastard was grinning at him now, purple eyes glittering in the light. Ever the opportunist, this one. 

Sanzu took a step closer, until their chests were brushing and they were nose-to-nose. If it had been anyone else – a living person – Sanzu would have felt the heat of their breath on his face, stirring the pink strands of hair. But Rindou was undead, a vampire, and he did not need to breathe – air served him no purpose.

Their lips met, and Sanzu almost sighed into the kiss. Impatiently, he took another step, pulling his lover’s face even closer, his hand on the back of Rindou’s neck. Rindou’s lips – cool and familiar – had been the only thing he could think about for the last week and a half. Sanzu had missed this, missed Rindou.

Even though neither of them could care less about what other people thought of their relationship – a Nephilim and one of the Night Children together – Sanzu still preferred to avoid Roppongi altogether. Haitani Rindou was a name that invoked either fear or admiration in people, depending on who you talked to. It was true that Rindou and his brother had plenty of enemies, but they weren’t short on followers either. The Haitani brothers didn’t belong to a clan, no, but they were considered even more influential than the faceless leader of the Tokyo clan – Valhalla.

Sanzu didn’t want to cause Rindou any unnecessary trouble by appearing in public with him – Angel knew what the other vampires would think. Sanzu himself had been scorned by his own people, after he left his siblings and forsaken their family name. He didn’t want the same to happen to someone he held so close to his heart. Rindou was strong, Sanzu knew this. He could hold his own in a brawl and was a fearsome fighter. But pointed glances and hushed whispers could hurt you in ways that a fist couldn’t.

When Sanzu finally broke the kiss, he was panting heavily, sucking in air like he had been deprived of it all his life. Rindou, on the other hand, looked perfectly fine. Not even a hair was out of place. He often forgot to give Sanzu breaks between kisses, since not needing air meant that he could go on and on without stopping.

“Slip me a little tongue and maybe I’ll get you a computer too,” Rindou mused, thumb caressing Sanzu’s cheek. His skin was flawless, almost glowing in the light. On his lips was a wide grin.

“Shut up,” Sanzu groaned, giving Rindou a half-hearted push. He turned his face to the side, not even attempting to suppress the smile spreading on his lips.

**********

“So Hanma can’t do it either?” muttered Kazutora, golden eyes glittering with amusement. The fact that an innocent mundane girl could very well be in grave danger was completely lost on him.

“That can’t be…” said Hanma, whose expression was a mix of surprise and horror. Though he was also more terrified of not besting Ryusei for the first time ever than the life or death of a human. “I’ve never not been able to track someone before. As you can tell, I’m quite magical, being the High Warlock of Tokyo and all.” Chifuyu didn’t think this man had ever been serious even once in his long, long time on Earth.

“This is horrible,” Hanma said, distressed – not about the human life at risk. “I’m gonna have to kill you all so words about my failure don't get out.” His eyes were without a twinkle of humor.

“Okay, maybe let’s not go that far,” said Ryusei, who wholly believed that Hanma would go as far as murder over a small inconvenience. There was also the fact that the warlock just didn’t like him that much. Kisaki, who seemed to have never taken Hanma seriously for even a moment in his life and knew he lived every day like it was April Fools’, was unfazed. It could also be that his night wouldn’t be ruined if the Nephilims in front of him were to be brutally killed. Or, Chifuyu reminded himself, his night had already been wrecked because, at the end of this party, he was going home with Hanma, so he couldn’t care less if lives were taken right before his very cold eyes.

“So, it’s a dead end?” Chifuyu asked, to which Hanma responded with a nod. “Then that brings back my initial question: do you know any black magic practitioners that would kidnap a mundane for some kind of spell?”

“Not that I know of, no. None of the warlocks I know would go as far as human sacrifice. Osanai – a necromancer, by the way, don’t tell him I told you that – doesn’t deal with the living, even more unlikely that he would kill one. Shion is stupid, but not that stupid. He won’t do anything that would get the Clave on his tail.”

Chifuyu recognized both of these names. Nobutaka Osanai had always given him the creeps, the guy was blind and had two working eyes on the palms of his hands to compensate. The Clave had been known of his involvement with raising the dead – totally against the Law – and dealing with ghosts stuck on Earth – not against the Law, just plain creepy – but they had never been able to make an arrest. Osanai was too cunning, never leaving behind any traces or concrete proofs.

Madarame Shion was an odd one. There was nothing wrong with him per se, he was just peculiar. His tongue had no business being so abnormally long – every time he showed off his warlock mark, Chifuyu had to hold himself back from cutting it clean off. Shion was the man you came to when the best option, which was regrettably Hanma Shuji, wasn’t available. Don’t get him wrong, Shion wasn’t bad at magic – he was a rather powerful warlock, actually, one of the better ones that Chifuyu had encountered – it was just that Hanma was the best. 

“So, what you’re saying is,” said Baji, “it is a dead end.”

“Yes.”

Chifuyu was at a loss for words. He turned to Takemichi, who was next to him but standing just slightly further back, like he didn’t belong in their group. The poor guy. Someone he loved was taken away the same day he got attacked by a demon, then he got taken to an unfamiliar place where his whole world was turned upside down. He became a stranger to a world that he was once a part of, and now he was losing his girlfriend. All in the span of two days. Chifuyu’s throat tightened. He barely even got a minute to take it all in.

It was all too much. Chifuyu couldn’t bear to look at Takemichi, didn’t allow his eyes to linger – he didn’t want to look too closely and see the pain etched on his features, the light fading from his eyes, the same agony that was once on his own face. And so Chifuyu turned to Hanma, and there, he directed all of the sorrow that never left him, the anger that had nowhere else to go. 

“Hanma,” Chifuyu began. He grimaced, shutting his eyes tightly for a brief moment, willing the waver in his voice to go away, silently hoping that no one had taken notice. “You’re going to end this little party, you’re going to tell all your guests that it’s time to go home, and this– this will be your primary focus. You’ll devote your full attention to this. You’re going to look all over Japan– all over the world for this girl. I don’t– I don’t care what you have to do, you’re going to find her, and you’re going to bring her to the Institute.”

“Chifuyu–“ Ryusei didn’t even try to hide his worry. His arm shot out, his hand enveloping Chifuyu’s with its warmth, but Chifuyu recoiled at the touch. He was cold all over, and Ryusei was too warm, too hot, and not what he needed right now. He wanted to feel the anger, wanted to let the fury overtake him, wanted to submerge himself in the bottomless waters of his wrath, wanted to let the current pull him along. He did not look at Ryusei, did not see the hurt that flickered across his face.

Chifuyu zeroed in on Hanma, whose smirk was making his blood boil. How dare he laugh? How dare he look at someone tethering on the steep edge of grief, and smile? “Hanma–“

Hanma never got a chance to find out what venom Chifuyu had prepared for him on the tip of his tongue, because Takemichi had interrupted him. He was timid, being the only mundane out of the bunch. But he stood with his shoulders squared and chin held high, never once breaking eye contact with Hanma. Determination burned bright in his eyes. 

Chifuyu staggered back, lips clamped shut. Takemichi was as calm and level-headed as he should have been.

“This might be stupid – I don’t understand how the whole magic thing works just yet – but if it’s not possible to track Hina with magic, what about scent?”