Archive of Our Own

In spite of the odds, Yomi Hellsmile turns around and leaves the detectives alone. It would seem even shadows would bow before ghosts. And there’s no greater ghost haunting Kanai Ward than that of Makoto Kagutsuchi. Unseen and inescapable in equal measure.

And always too late.

For a man with that much power- that acts as if he knows so much about the ongoings of Kanai Ward, he doesn’t really seem to being doing much about it.

“Master…” Shinigami trails off.

I’m right. Yuma spits out, venom dripping from his thoughts. He wants to help Kanai Ward sooo badly, then maybe he should actually try showing up before it’s too late! If he had then maybe Shachi wouldn’t- Yuma’s nails dig into his palms, breath trembling in his lungs, hands shaking under his raincoat. His heart sinks into the flood. Maybe Shachi wouldn’t be dead.

Shinigami presses into Yuma’s side, silence surrounding the two even as everyone else continues to talk about what happened. A stubborn sting making home in his eyes. Even as everyone else walks forward, Yuma remains firmly planted where he was.

Kurumi stills, looking back, “Yuma?”

He just barely meets her gaze, long enough to swallow the edge in his voice, “You guys go on ahead,” He turns his head to the water, “I’ll follow in a bit.” Yuma can see the group hesitate in the corner of his eye, but then they turn.

And Yuma drops, cape tucked underneath him, he curls his knees to his chest, hiding his face in them. He hadn’t dared breathe earlier because now his entire frame shudders with every breath, even as he tries to breathe deep and even.  He does not sob. No noise to rise above the pitter and patter of the rain. He hugs his legs close with a white knuckled grip sure to cramp his hands in the morning. His face is uncomfortably hot, and tears burn red rimmed eyes. Neither Shinigami’s cold form nor the rain succeed in washing away the heat of grief that threatens him with fever temperatures.

A sour and bitter feeling rises, with it, the almost want to kill Icardi again. For greed. For greed! It screams. All of this for fucking greed! Even when the water is drained it won’t repair the damage the flood caused. It won’t bring Shachi back. The quick death from the mystery labyrinth almost doesn’t feel like enough.

He sobs. Screams muffled by his legs. The injustice of it all wails in his heart and soul. He doesn’t even care that much about the whole having been made to look like a terrorist thing anymore. How could that possibly matter at this point?!

Every interaction with the Resistance rattles in his chest, bringing with it more sobs until he chokes. Only then letting go of his grip as he splutters and coughs, each one scratching his throat and stabbing his lungs. It still doesn’t feel like enough. The cold concrete presses a smattering of stars into his palms as he leans over and spills out every bit of air in his lungs. There is nothing in his stomach to lose. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Stomach acid mixed with saliva still drips from his mouth with every cough. He can already tell his nose is running.

The rain pours down around him. Long since seeping past his hat and cape. At least the weather is fitting. He couldn’t imagine having to try to hold it together in front of the others if it were sunny. At least everyone else is as miserable as he is right now.

His burning lungs shudder as he catches his breath. Faint, above the noise of the rain and harsh breaths, past the pressure in his head, there’s small splashes in the water as it runs down the hill and towards the flood. Yuma lifts his head just enough to see ridiculous looking platforms walking towards him. He pulls his hat further down, obscuring his vision. The last person he wants to see right now.

“I can think a few worse,” Shinigami weakly jokes. It briefly brings a strained smile to his face.

More than a few. He’s not upset at her in the slightest, she doesn’t deserve his biting tone from earlier. A cruel reminder, her deal with him might be, but she herself will always be a more than welcome presence to him.

She snorts and Yuma knows his intentions were heard loud and clear. His shoulders drop slightly, tension seeping away like the heat in the rain. Cold, finding its place in his bones as his heart hollows out.

A hand enters the corner of his vision. Yuma bites the inside of his lip before sighing and accepting it, allowing himself to be pulled up.

The sight of Makoto’s mask greets him. The smile on it mocking, but the tension lining Makoto’s shoulders promising that he does not feel the same way as it. His voice is quiet on the wind. “Let’s go home.”

Yuma lets go of Makoto’s hand. Voice dulled, “Lead the way.”

Makoto stares for a moment before nodding, he turns and Yuma falls into step with him. Silence resting heavy in the air around them. Yuma can’t be bothered to care though. He’s not even sure he wants to go back to the others right now.

…

He almost forgot.

No. He did forget.

The agency is gone now anyway.

“But wait, then where is Masky leading you?” Shinigami asks.

Yuma raises his head. Looking around, he realizes this isn’t the way to the river. It almost reminds him of-

“The way to the tower,” She finishes.

Yeah …

Shinigami hums, “I guess that makes sense, but then where are the others?”

He doesn’t know. Nor can he quite say he fully cares so long as they’re alive and okay. Most of them were staying at the hotel anyway, not like it’d change much for where they sleep tonight.

Shinigami floats closer, sighing.

He… he just needs a night.

“Or two,” She presses.

Or two… he echoes.

“You’re lucky I like you,” She teases.

It brings a genuine smile to his face. I am.

Yuma looks forward to notice he started to lag behind Makoto a bit. The other’s stride slowed slightly from earlier but is still faster than his own. A peace offering, Yuma realizes. He picks up his pace, to fall back in line with Makoto. He nods at the other and a faint hum fills the air. The rest of the walk continues in silence, but it sits lighter than it had been before.

Underneath the creeping numbness, Yuma feels a little silly walking alongside Makoto. The other even the rain, still looking neat and proper, meanwhile you could’ve just pulled Yuma out of a hurricane after being doused because of a wildfire and not be able to tell the difference. He’s going to continue to walk at Makoto’s side, but it just… an observation is all. Something to draw his mind away from his worsening headache and the way he can feel his heart beating in his ribs as if it were trying to escape his own chest. At least there should be a lull in activity from the city, if he gets a fever there won’t be a rising crisis to deal with at the same time. Small blessings.

He slumps against the elevator wall and down to the floor. He’s well aware how long it takes from his earlier interaction with the snail-crawlingly slow thing. The only people to see him throw away appropriate decorum are the two who just saw him doing worse not too long ago. He’s sitting and that’s that.

Shinigami floats near the floor at his side, a mocking attempt at sitting. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me, you know,” She laughs.

I know. They both know he’s justifying it to himself. But the banter eases the lingering tension in his bones. It’s cold down on the floor. Being wet doesn’t help.

Though to their surprise, after a moment Makoto also plops down back against the adjacent wall. Though unlike Yuma who has let his legs just sit in front of him, Makoto has his crisscrossed. The man slumping to rest his elbows on his knees, fingers linked in front of him, he rests his chin on where they link. The only noise between them being the hum of the elevator and the occasional drip of rainwater.

“… Why did you come back?” Yuma doesn’t look at Makoto as he asks, staring down his distorted reflection in the elevator door instead.

Makoto hums in consideration before answering, “It felt wrong to leave you alone.”

Yuma scoffs, “I would’ve been fine.” His tone biting and sharp. Something far, far too reminiscent of how he spoke to Icardi’s mystery phantom. A small part of him regrets it the second the words leave his mouth.

“I didn’t say you wouldn’t.” Though Yuma isn’t looking at him, he can feel Makoto staring directly at him. Or glaring more likely, considering his dangerously even tone.

Yuma pulls one leg up and hugs his knee to his chest. He takes a deep breath. “Sorry.” He sees Makoto shrug off his bland apology in the corner of his eye. That’s… fair. He means it, yes. But still. Fair. He knocks his head back into the wall and stares at the ceiling. “I just-“ He huffs, “I don’t get it.” He tilts his head to look at Makoto, “Aren’t you angry?”

Makoto meets his gaze after a moment, “Why would I be angry?” But before Yuma can say anything he asks, “What made you think that?”

Yuma slumps back further into the wall. “You froze up, remember?” He has to swallow back some of his own dread at the reminder.

There’s a pause where Yuma can just imagine Makoto is just blinking at him. Eventually, he stutters out a choked laugh, “No, no. I-“ He lets out a sigh. “I was just surprised is all.” He leans towards Yuma and jokes, “Most people wouldn’t be so forward with someone they forgot. You know?” A sly tone cutting the edge of the question.

“You think he’s most people!?” Shinigami blurts out, as if Makoto could hear her.

Yuma snorts. Shinigami stares at Makoto from over Yuma’s shoulder in sheer offense and Yuma has to bury his laughter in his knee.

Despite being made fun of to his face, Makoto relaxes into his pose. Luckily, he lacks the knowledge of the jokes made in front of him. “I’m afraid I wasn’t a very good host last time.” He tilts his head away and asks, “Mind if I try again?”

…Thoughts?

Shinigami hems and haws, before falling into Yuma’s side, “Ah, what hell. Might as well make use of his nice shit if he’s offering. Beats staying out in the rain.”

A smile pulls at Yuma’s lips. He pulls his head up enough to rest his cheek on his knee instead. His gaze directed at solely Makoto. “If you’ll have me.”

Makoto doesn’t say anything, but Yuma is certain that he smiles as well.

Yuma goes back to looking at the door, while Makoto stares at the wall. The rest of the ride up is without conversation, but existing at peace, nonetheless. Although, it is enough time for it to sink in that Yuma feels just- kind of gross. Between the rain and the crying, and now only vaguely starting to dry off leaving him in this weird midway between wet and damp that lands solidly in the discomfort zone, he really could use a shower. Or maybe even a bath.

Shinigami snorts.

He shoots her a look. What?

“Guess Shady over there is going to get what he wants.” She lazily floats around him.

Yuma’s brows furrow. He has no idea what she’s talking about.

“During the whole moment you weren’t paying attention to. He asked if you wanted to join him in the tub.”

Yuma sputters internally. You’re the one who made the initial joke! Completely ignoring the second part of the comment, on purpose. It’s on purpose.

“You’re the one who continued not paying attention!” She fires back without hesitation. “I noticed what he was saying.” She floats in front of him and points in his face. “You did not.”

… He has no rebuttal to that.

Shinigami laughs, bright and loud. And Yuma? He just smiles. Small, but genuine.

There’s a bit of dissonance as they enter Makoto’s penthouse. When he first entered several hours ago (Has it really only been several hours?) he hadn’t done so whilst conscious. So, despite this being his second time in the place, it’s the first time he’s entering it. It feels… different. The world isn’t ending. He knows the others are safe. There’s no pressing deadline. No threat of violence hanging over his head (no more than normal anyway.)

“You are, however, once again wet,” Shinigami jokes. It pulls another smile from him and Shinigami idly floats closer to his side.

He shakes off his thoughts in time to be shepherded into the bathroom by Makoto. The other man speaking so fast, Yuma barely catches the meaning of what he’s saying, let alone what he says exactly. The door shuts behind Makoto as he leaves, and Yuma is left alone in the bathroom. Was… was he embarrassed?

Shinigami floats into Yuma’s view, “You’d think with how confident he was acting earlier he wouldn’t mind.”

Yeah … maybe he’s the sort of person who has no problem with jokes but is shy about anything actually happening.

Shinigami sticks her tongue out, “Laaame.” Yuma snorts and Shinigami floats around him. “Well, might as well take the chance given to clean up.” Shinigami floats closer to the shower, “I wonder what kinds of fancy soaps Masky has.”

Yuma takes her turning her back, for the courtesy it is and strips, leaving his clothes in a relatively neat pile by the door. It’s one of the few moments he’s glad they’ve been in Kanai Ward so long. Certainly has given them enough time to figure out a system for moments like this and kill any lingering awkwardness of having to shower while someone else is there. Although he won’t be forgetting the first couple of times of needing to explain to Shinigami that it doesn’t matter how many people she’s seen in various states of dress, it’s still very uncomfortable and highly embarrassing to have someone staring at him while naked. He’s pretty sure she still thinks he’s ridiculous for caring about that, but she has respected his request for her to not since.

He walks towards the shower, faintly noticing the floor is heated now that he’s barefoot. He supposes it shouldn’t be too surprising, given the amount of money a CEO of all people would have. (But if he’s a CEO, what was up with all the anatomy books? He idly wonders.) As he approaches, Shinigami turns, leaving her back to him the entire time. She waits outside the door, probably bored, but faithfully guarding him and keeping an eye on the bathroom door, nevertheless. The shower is shockingly practical in comparison to the everything else about the penthouse. There are several soap bottles on a caddy stuck on the wall. They’re nicer brands, all completely full, and all of them have the same generic citrus scent.

Despite the fact Makoto definitely doesn’t have to worry about hot water as much as Chief Yakou does, Yuma can’t help but keep the shower brief and quick. He does turn the water up hotter than he would on the submarine, but admittedly that’s not saying much considering he normally barely has it hit room temperature.

At one point, Shinigami hums warningly and Yuma faintly hears the door open and shut, but both only occur for short time, and she doesn’t actually say anything about him needing to be concerned so Yuma writes it off.

He’s unsurprised then when he gets out to see his wet clothes are gone and instead a pair of grey slacks and a white button-up are folded up on the sink counter instead. There’s also a folded pair of socks and rolled-up underwear which still has its small strip of tape holding it in place. Did Makoto just have a bunch of random clothing for this kind of situation? Or did he manage to get some in the short time Yuma was in the shower for?

At least there’s no doubt it’s new. It wouldn’t have been the first time he has had to share someone else’s clothes due to his lack of luggage, but he’s never quite shaken off the weirdness of it. He was more than okay with getting dragged around by Desuhiko and Fubuki as they went to help him get some clothes for him while they were all stuck in Kanai Ward.

There’s still a strange feeling once he realizes the clothes fit perfectly, but he tries reasoning it as Makoto knowing him from before. He doubts he’s grown much between then and now (even if Makoto never said how long he’s known Yuma for.) It’s fine. Probably.

Shinigami clicks her tongue but doesn’t make another argument towards Makoto’s suspicious behavior surrounding his knowledge of Yuma.

At least, the clothes are comfortable, even if not entirely his style.

“You look less dumb than normal,” Shinigami says. She’s never liked the look of the Master Detectives’ uniform. “Neon Blondie was right, it looks stupid.”

It doesn ’t look that bad.

“It does,” She says airily. “The bowl-cut doesn’t help,” she says as she mocks tugging on his bangs.

Hey!

Shinigami laughs, “Luckily for you, it’s fitting.”

Now you ’re definitely just insulting me.

“You can’t prove it,” She smirks at him.

He squints at her. I’m leaving. Her laughter from earlier returns louder. Yuma turns for the door, careful to step over the splotches of water still left on the floor as he exits the bathroom, damp towel in hand. Shinigami’s laughter echoes behind him as she follows.

Despite everything, he can admit that the shower helped. He still feels the ache in his heart, and this want to scream about the unfairness and injustice of it all, but it’s more muted and not in the bad way it was on their way up to the penthouse. He’s not swallowing his feelings; they’re just dissolving down into something more manageable. (Or ignorable, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Shinigami hisses in the back of his mind even as she says nothing out loud.) A future Yuma’s problem.

He steps further into the penthouse, spying Makoto sitting on the couch, his back to Yuma, staring at something in his hand and the other arm is thrown across the back of the couch.

“Hey,” Yuma calls out across the room, waiting for Makoto to turn before asking, “Where should I put this?” Holding the towel up as he asks.

Makoto stares at him in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time before he faintly shakes his head and answers Yuma’s question, “You can leave it in the hamper in there,” pointing to another door near the bathroom.

Yuma nods, opening the door to find a small laundry room. He can feel Makoto’s gaze lingering on him as he walks in, the washer quietly swishing away. He looks over the edge and down into it, spying his uniform floating in the water filling the tub. That answers that question. Still 42 minutes left on the timer. He leaves the towel hanging over the edge of the empty basket. He doesn’t know when Makoto will wash it and he’s been given enough grief by the Chief about mildew that it’s habit at this point to try and leave towels in a position that they can dry in. He steps back out into the hall; Makoto has gone back to look in whatever he’s holding.

Yuma doesn’t stay in the hall for long, heading over to the seating area Makoto is at. He lingers at the edge of the couches, his earlier conversation with Makoto over here ringing in his ears. The moment of Makoto freezing up, creating a lingering tension in his spine. He knows Makoto said he wasn’t upset. He knows that. Yet…

Makoto looks up, from what Yuma can now see is his phone, from here he can’t tell what Makoto is looking at, but he thinks it might be emails. “You can sit down, you know,” He remarks in a playful tone, it’s not as light as the one he used earlier. It doesn’t sound fake, just tired. Yuma looks Makoto over, he can’t quite put his finger on what’s causing it exactly, but Makoto looks less polished than he did earlier. Looks like he’s not the only one for whom it has been a long day.

Shinigami nudges Yuma’s shoulder. “He’s not going to bite… probably,” She jokes.

Any restless he normally has rests under the flood and Yuma sits on the outstretched edge of the sectional. He doesn’t fully want to sit so close, but all the other seats are too far to be reasonable. His hands grip the edges of the seat, and he lightly swings his feet, just barely brushing the floor. He normally doesn’t let himself have such terrible posture, but… he’s earned it today.

An awkward silence fills the air. No one knowing where to start.

Eventually, Shinigami gets bored of the silence and in an act of mercy suggests, “Why don’t you ask him about himself?”

Yuma’s eyes flick over to where she’s sprawled to the best of her ability on the empty couch space between Yuma and Makoto. Huh?

She rolls onto her back. “I mean it’s not fair if he’s telling the truth that he knows so much about you, but you don’t know anything about him.”

… He could just ask…

“Worst thing he says is no,” She jokes.

No, worst case is he kicks us back out into the rain.

“Tomato, potato.”

That ’s definitely not how that goes.

They grin at each other.

Yuma leans back, legs swinging further as he genuinely considers it. Shinigami isn’t wrong. And if there was ever a good time to ask… He looks at the ceiling and all its excessive amount of lighting and throws his hesitation out at the door. “Tell me about yourself.”

He spies Makoto startle slightly in the corner of his eye. The other man hums, laying his phone face-down next to him. “What do you want to know?”

And before Yuma can help himself, he’s blurting out, “Everything.”

Shinigami jokingly gags, and Yuma shoots her a look. It was your idea. She just gags louder.

It earns him a head tilt and an amused, “Where do you want to start?”

… He didn’t think that would work. “Umm…” Yuma huffs thinking.

Makoto just tilts his head further. He’s definitely mocking Yuma.

Yuma shoots him a flat look before deciding on asking, “What’s your favorite movie?”

“2001: A Space Odyssey,” Makoto says instantly, not even needing a second to think about it. At Yuma’s confused look, Makoto explains, “It’s a science fiction film about a group going on a flight to investigate Jupiter when the A.I. in control of the ship, called HAL 9000, starts acting out and after the crew discuss shutting him down, he tries to kill them-”

Yuma doesn’t think Makoto realizes he’s doing it, but as he gets further into his explanation he starts to gesture as he talks. Growing more animated the deeper he gets. It’s distracting and Yuma has almost certainly missed most of the explanation, but he can’t help the passing thought about it being endearing.

“-in the novelization they reveal the reason for HAL’s malfunction was him receiving conflicting orders in regard to him lying to the crew about their mission.” Makoto’s voice catches as he finishes, and he realizes how long he’s been going on for. He nearly slams his hands in his lap as he stops talking, looking away from Yuma. Yuma just barely hears Makoto mutter to himself, “That was a bit much.”

“You’re fine,” Yuma reassures. “It’s nice, listening to you talk.” Makoto snaps his head up to look at Yuma.

… He can’t tell if his attempt at flirting was successful or not.

Shinigami sighs, “At least the movie sounds interesting.”

Maybe we could watch it at some point.

She hums noncommittally. Yuma doesn’t push it.

“What’s your favorite song?” Yuma asks abruptly, changing the topic.

Makoto shakes his head, “I don’t have one.”

“What about your favorite artist instead?”

“I can’t say I have one.”

“Favorite food?” Yuma tries instead.

“Nothing in particular,” Makoto answers readily.

Yuma’s shoulders slump, “No fair. You got to pick something.”

Makoto leans away, “By who’s rules am I supposed to do that?”

Yuma squints at him. Were it not for the distance between them, he’d be tempted to shove Makoto. “I said so.”

Makoto huffs a laugh. “That’s not how that works.”

“Says who?” Yuma mocks.

Makoto doesn’t answer, instead grabbing one of the pillows next to him and throwing at Yuma.

It clips him in the face, completely unprepared for the sudden assault. “Hey!” He glares at Makoto as he grabs the pillow and holds it to his chest tight. “This is mine now.” He rests his chin on the top of the pillow. “How could you be so quick on answering the movie question, but not have anything on music or food anyway?”

Makoto slumps back into the couch. “I don’t have many opinions.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Yuma fires back.

Before Makoto can come up with a retort, Shinigami jumps in, saying, “He probably has an opinion on trees or something.” She winces as soon as she says it. Yuma gives her a questioning look, but she just waves him off.

… “What about your favorite tree?” Yuma cuts off their banter, following Shinigami’s suggestion.

Makoto stills, hesitating. “The baldcypress,” He admits, like it was a secret.

“Why?” Yuma asks, genuine curiosity coloring his tone even as the back of his mind pings off the fact that it worked.

Makoto rubs a thumb against the cushion of the couch. “It’s one of the few trees I think could survive Kanai Ward’s rainfall.”

Huh. He’s seen the fake plants around Kanai Ward, but he didn’t realize Makoto had been thinking about bringing in real ones as well. “Have you considered creating greenhouses to act like a local park?” Yuma suggests.

“I have occasionally.” Makoto shrugs. “The trouble is finding the space for it. There isn’t a great deal of parks as it is. And with the floods much of the available space is having to be converted for people who’ve been displaced- if they haven’t already come up with arrangements of their own.” He leans towards the side. “Not to mention convincing other higher-ups in Kanai Ward that it’s a good use of company money, chiefly among them being Yomi.” He returns to his original position. “And you’ve met him. So, you can see how it would be difficult to do as things are.”

“Huh, you’d think he’d have more power as CEO,” Shinigami remarks.

It does feel like that should be the case … but I guess to be fair it’s not like either one of us have ever been in that position, so we can’t say for sure if that’s the case.

Yuma swings his feet. “What else would you put in the greenhouses if you could have them made?”

“I-“ Makoto starts before sighing. “I don’t know.” There’s a pause in the air and Yuma waits. “I’d have to see what was native to Kanai Ward before most of it became residential or commercial buildings.”

A silence hangs and Yuma really looks at Makoto. “You don’t actually have a lot of free time, do you?” He observes after a moment.

And Makoto’s shoulders sink. “Not much, no.” He waves his hand, “Always something that needs my attention. Between handling exports, conversing with shareholders, and actually managing the company. It’s-“ He cuts himself off, hand brought down to rest against the edge of the couch once more. “There’s a lot that needs to be done.”

“What would you do, if you had the time?” Yuma asks, voice soft.

Makoto stares directly at the empty couch across from him. Answering after moment, “Paint.” He slumps down slightly. “I’d want to try painting.”

“Have you ever done it before?” Yuma unthinkingly scoots closer to Makoto.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“What would you paint?” And closer.

Makoto hums. “I don’t know. Kanai Ward’s skyline perhaps.”

He really doesn’t have much that he does that doesn’t have something to do with Kanai Ward, huh?

“Either he’s lying,” Shinigami begins.

Or he really is that dedicated to the city.

Shinigami hums. “You know I actually kind of hope he’s lying, for his sake even.”

What do you mean?

“It’s just sad otherwise.” Shinigami floats around Yuma. “Free time is meant to be spent on things that don’t have anything to deal with your responsibilities. And he literally can’t stop coming back to talking about Kanai Ward.”

It doesn ’t seem particularly healthy, no.

She slumps into Yuma’s side. “Jeez, now you’ve got me feeling actually kind of bad for Shady here.”

“What about you?” Makoto asks, pulling Yuma’s attention away from Shinigami.

“Huh?” Yuma blinks at him.

Makoto props his head up on a hand. “What have you’ve been doing for fun since coming to Kanai Ward?”

“I-“ help people. Except that’s not really a free time kind of thing, is it? He said he’s going to read some of the books Vivia suggested to him… but he hasn’t actually gotten around to that yet. Desuhiko has talked about wanting to do a movie night for a while, but they still haven’t scheduled anything. He doesn’t even know if anyone has gotten their hands on any movies to watch either.

“I’m surprised you don’t have more free time available,” Makoto comments.

“No, I do! Just-“ Yuma protests. He tugs on the edge of his shirt sleeve, caught off guard by the different texture briefly before he remembers that he’s not wearing his uniform currently. “I don’t know. Usually I just walk around town, seeing if anyone needs help with anything. But that doesn’t really count,” He looks up at Makoto, an empty half smile painting his face, “Does it?”

Makoto looks at him in silence. It’s an answer in and of itself.

“Annnnd now there’s two of you,” Shinigami sighs, falling into Yuma, sending a chill down his spine, but tugging the corner of his smile into something a little more real. “At this point you might just be made for each other.”

Yuma considers it for a moment, looking off to the side before getting cut off by Shinigami.

“Don’t you dare, Master!” She floats up into his face. “I was here first, and I don’t do sharing!”

He goes cross-eyed trying to look at her. His smile shifting further into sincerity. Wouldn’t dream of it.

“You better not!” Despite her exaggerated gesturing, Yuma hears the note of sincerity in her voice.

You always say I’m not getting rid of you that easily. I like to think the reverse is true too. Yuma promises.

Though the tension between Yuma and Shinigami breaks with his promise, it lingers between him and Makoto. Yuma looks back to the other, who seemingly has gone back to staring at the other couch. It strikes him then how close he is to Makoto. He hadn’t realized he moved that much. But unlike after the kiss, Makoto doesn’t seem uncomfortable or tense by how close Yuma is to him. Just… lost in thought perhaps.

Yuma knocks his shoulder into Makoto’s. He startles slightly and turns to Yuma. Yuma leans forward, turning further towards Makoto, vision tilted, he gives Makoto a smile.

Makoto’s shoulders relax and Yuma can imagine he smiles back.

“What about what you tend to eat for breakfast?” Yuma’s voice comes out softer than he originally intended. The moment’s tension slipping into intimacy in spite of the fact they’re only just talking.

They’re close enough for Yuma to feel the air vibrate as Makoto hums, thinking the question over.

The urge to cut Makoto off and kiss him for real rises and Yuma tightens his grip on the couch. They only just met as far as he’s capable of remembering, he chastises himself. But they’ve been together longer than that, regardless of his memories, the urge hisses back, justifying its existence.

Before he can argue with himself further, Makoto cuts off his thoughts with an answer, “I mostly have fruit cups and yogurt.”

Huh. Yuma didn’t really see many places that had either come to think of it. He doubts for some reason that it’s a case that Makoto only imports it for his own sake. Although if it’s solely an import, it’s probably a price thing. “Really?”

Makoto nods. “I keep early mornings. Too early to be reasonable to ask anyone else to be up.”

… “You can’t cook?”

Makoto looks away and chuckles, “I believe I’ve been banned from trying.”

Yuma bumps shoulders with Makoto again. “So have I,” He says, grinning. Makoto laughs and Yuma’s grin widens. He unconsciously leans in Makoto, asking, “What about your favorite season?”

Makoto meets him in the middle. “Summer.”

Yuma squints at him, cheek resting Makoto’s shoulder. “You know how hot it is in summer?”

Yuma can feel Makoto’s chest vibrate as he hums, “I don’t like the cold.”

“But the summer?” Yuma presses.

Shinigami floats to Makoto’s side, “No, no, he’s got a point. The summer is better.”

Yuma sticks his tongue out at her mentally. Cheater.

She does it right back.

“What you pick then?” Makoto asks.

Yuma looks away and plays with his sleeve. He doesn’t remember much, but… “Fall.” There are impressions of red, orange and gold on the backs of his eyes. A comforting chill in his bones. Spring is too much rain. Winter is too much snow. Summer is too hot. Fall is… fall is beautiful.

Makoto hums again, and Yuma feels it across his entire side pressed against Makoto as he is.

Yuma breaks the following silence, “I’m surprised you didn’t say spring considering all the plants.”

“Still too cold,” Makoto explains dully, it invites no further scrutiny.

Yuma meets Shinigami’s eye across Makoto’s lap, and he knows she’s caught on the same train of thought he is. She droops and curls into Yuma’s side, opposite of Makoto. And Yuma raises a hand to hold her as much as he can considering her incorporeal existence outside the mystery labyrinths. On his other side, he presses his legs closer to Makoto. Yuma trying his best to comfort both of them.

“What kind of pet would you get?” Yuma changes the topic.

Silence hangs in the air. “I haven’t thought about it.” Makoto looks away. “The majority of pets people in Kanai Ward have require a large amount of attention. As for ones that don’t, they would need to be imported, and I can’t justify doing that.” He tilts his head towards Yuma. “Not to mention the logistics of transporting live animals.”

Yuma scuffs his left foot against the floor, looking down at where their knees are pressed against each other. “For some reason I didn’t think CEOs did that much paperwork.”

He can feel Makoto shrug. “Most don’t. That’s what having different departments is for. Yes, they host meetings and have to sign off of papers. But most of the papers are researched and written by the appropriate department,” He explains, rattling the information off as if he were describing the back of his hand. The careless confidence of knowing exactly what he’s talking about. Yuma wonders how long he’s been CEO for, or if he had prior experience elsewhere. “I prefer to do the work myself.”

“My bets are on working elsewhere,” Shinigami chimes in. “No way someone who’s been a CEO for that long would still be doing a majority of their paperwork themselves.”

I don’t know. We have to consider that Amaterasu isn’t a usual company. Yuma cautions. With the state things are in, I wouldn’t blame anyone for wanting to ensure the work is done right by doing it themselves. But while he doesn’t think the reason why is correct, he has a feeling that Shinigami’s bet is right. There’s a certainty to what Makoto is saying that feels like it’s something that was true long before he became CEO.

Yuma shakes off the deduction for the time being. This is meant to be an ice breaker, not an interrogation. “But if you did have the time?” Yuma asks.

“… A bird,” Makoto whispers. Yuma looks up at him, though he can’t see Makoto’s eyes, he gets the feeling the other’s gaze is lost in the distance.

“Any one in particular?”

Makoto shakes his head slightly. “No.” He turns to look at Yuma. “What about you? It’s hardly fair to be the only one answering questions,” Makoto says, a teasing lilt in his voice, even if it’s still on the quieter said.

Yuma looks around the room. He was hoping that Makoto wouldn’t turn the questions against him. He was expecting it but had still hoped for otherwise. He hasn’t really thought about anything he’s been asking for himself.

“A lot of things have detectives and dogs go together,” Shinigami suggests, offering an easy out.

But while it’s a true statement, it doesn’t feel right. He couldn’t imagine himself owning a dog of any kind as cute as they are. And he doesn’t want to lie to Makoto. Not right now. Not about this.

He casts his mind around and tries to think of different animals before remembering what the fake Zilch had said. Though he hadn’t actually had the forte the real Zilch did, he had said a true statement. “… A rat. They’re very intelligent animals,” as he says it, he realizes the other reason why he couldn’t imagine himself with a dog. “And they’re easy to carry, so they wouldn’t get tired out from how much walking around I end up doing throughout the day.” He’d feel bad otherwise. Sure, there were working dogs, but that doesn’t mean walking on concrete that much is okay for them either.

Makoto leans back, resting his against his hand on the opposite side from Yuma. “I can’t say I was expecting that.”

Yuma can tell without looking that Shinigami is glaring at Makoto. But he speaks up first, “You didn’t know?”

Makoto pauses before sighing, “I never thought to ask.”

“Really?” Yuma is… not surprised actually.

Makoto looks off towards the other couch again. “We never really did get to know you types of questions.” And it feels right.

Yuma might not know for sure, but even now looking back at his time in Kanai Ward, he’s… never really tried to get to know anyone like this. He talks to plenty of people. The others at the Nocturnal Detective Agency especially with the amount of time they’ve spent in close proximity. Yet, he can’t say that’s he’s had a conversation like this with them. Seeking answers about the small things. Usually it’s about Kanai Ward, or previous jobs they’ve done. And with Shinigami, their conversations in recent times have trended towards the more serious, and the lighthearted conversations they do have focus on the present.

“Was there anything you wanted to ask me then?” Yuma offers. “Now that we are talking about it.”

Makoto looks back at Yuma. He hears Makoto huff, and then his teeth click as if he couldn’t decide what to say. “You’ve taken most of the usual questions for small talk.”

“You normally ask about trees?” Yuma teases.

This time Yuma is prepared for the pillow that Makoto swings at him. Laughter fills the air between them.

“There is one question you haven’t asked yet,” Makoto observes after their laughter dies down, “What’s your favorite color.”

And unlike the animal question, the answer comes easy to Yuma, “Pink.” It is after all Shinigami’s main color.

“Corny much,” She teases, but Yuma knows she doesn’t mean it cruelly.

“It’s… comforting,” Yuma explains, smile twitching up as he gets the expected reaction of Shinigami trying to shove him for embarrassing her. He’s not lying though, so he refuses to take back his statement. “What about you?”

Makoto tilts his head. “Aren’t you a detective,” He teases, “guess,” as if it were obvious.

And he wouldn’t be wrong that there is an obvious answer, but if Yuma has learned anything about Makoto, it’s that he isn’t obvious. The most likely answer he’d get if he pushed is that Makoto hadn’t thought about it. But not thinking about it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one. Yuma looks around the room, he doesn’t think the decorations mean much. Most of them likely already here when Makoto arrived. Then his eyes catch on the skyline, and more importantly the purple lights illuminating Amaterasu Corporation. It matches Makoto’s suit. The obvious answer Makoto is expecting.

But Yuma turns to look at Makoto instead. The vibrancy of his suit sticking out clearly, but Yuma does his best to ignore it and look at Makoto. The first thing he sees shockingly isn’t the mask, but the pale blond hair. He’s been stopped once while eating to talk to several middle-aged women. He remembers them talking about hair dyes and Yuma swears Makoto’s hair matches the color the women had all agreed on was the ideal shade. He wonders if Makoto’s hair is dyed or if it’s naturally that shade. Those women would be very jealous if was the latter. The second thing he sees are two metallic rings, gold and silver.

“Yellow… I think it’s yellow.” Yuma’s voice comes out soft and it sinks in just how close they’re sitting to each other. Makoto is leaning slightly back, but their legs are still pressed together, arms crossing over each other. The urge to kiss him rises from the dead once more. His heart pounds against his chest. But he holds himself still. To properly kiss Makoto would mean removing his mask and in spite of everything they’ve shared together tonight, that’s a line that won’t be crossed. Not by him anyhow. He presses his lips together and smiles at Makoto.

“You think so?” Makoto asks, breath caught in his lungs.

Yuma leans in. “I do.”

Makoto starts to lean in too, “I’d be lying if I say you’re wrong,” but before he hits halfway, he stops abruptly, clearing his throat and pulls away from Yuma entirely. “But that’s beside the point, it’s late.” He stands and walks a few steps away, back to Yuma. “While I won’t speak for you, I know I have an early morning waiting for me.”

And Yuma feels his heart break. He quietly swallows it back down where it weighs heavy in his chest. Almost glad that Makoto has his back turned, because Yuma doesn’t doubt his expression has made his hurt by the sudden dismissal clear as day. Yuma is slow to rise after him. Limbs turning to lead as ice sends chills down his spine. He knows Makoto hadn’t been angry before. And he knows that Makoto doesn’t sound angry now. But- but he can’t help but feel like he’s fucked it up somehow. Did he go too far?

“You can use the room you woke up in before,” He says pointing to the door Yuma only just earlier today had exited from. “I’ll leave your uniform by the door in the morning. It’s connected bathroom is the door in the back, there should be unopened toiletries in there.”

Yuma takes slow steps towards Makoto’s retreating form. A half-formed plea for him to wait trapped on his tongue, bitter and desperate in equal measure.

Makoto barely turns his head, just enough to see Yuma. Over the rushing in his ears Yuma hears Makoto’s voice catch. “Have a goodnight, Yuma.” Then he turns his back on Yuma once more, and heads for the stairs, only barely not literally running away.

Yuma watches him ascend the stairs and never turn back once. He doesn’t cry this time, but it’s a near thing he knows. Somewhere a door closes upstairs.

He stands watching the upstairs landing before Shinigami nudges into his back. Physical cold knocking his focus away from where Makoto went. Her voice is soft as she mocks pulling at his arm, “Come on Master, he had a point, it is late, and you could use some sleep. And getting knocked out repeatedly doesn’t count!”

“But...” Yuma starts.

She shakes her head and cuts him off, “No, no buts! It’s not your responsibility to manage Shady’s emotions. If he really has a problem with what happened, he can talk to you like a big boy.” She rests her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eye. Her voice is firm. “It’s not on you to read people’s minds and know how everyone’s going to react to what you say or do. The only person you’re reading the mind of is me. Stop trying to do it for everyone else too.”

His shoulders sink and Yuma bites the inside of his lip. “… Okay.”

“You ready to go now, Master?” Shinigami asks. Her cold hands still resting on his shoulders, bringing him comfort.

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s… let’s get some sleep. We can meet up with everyone else at the hotel tomorrow.”

She nods back and pulls away, but only enough for Yuma to walk forward without walking through her. Quickly switching from being in front, to floating at his side.

It feels strange walking into the (now confirmed) guest bedroom instead of leaving it, more so as the unfamiliar fabric brushes against his skin, but he shoves the feeling away. Determined to not let it sit and bring him back down again tonight. Emotions can wait until at least tomorrow. Or never even after how today has gone. He winces at the reminder as he crosses the threshold and quietly closes the door. No. No, absolutely not. He’s not thinking about anything at all any more tonight. He throws his attention to counting up from one instead as he checks to bathroom to get ready for the night. Shinigami quickly jumps in and splits the count to a mental back and forth between the two of the them as she sits on the counter. It helps ground his focus and his heartbeat slows to a less noticeable pace.

He’s otherwise clocked out for the rest of the night.