Archive of Our Own

It was easier, really, back when Wakasa and Benkei would go toe-to-toe, throat-to-throat in that no-mercy type way. Split knuckles, bruised and bloody, no holds barred. Adrenaline pumping, the cacophony of delinquents shouting washed out by heavy breathing. As soon as their eyes would meet, there was an understanding. They knew what to expect.

What Wakasa didn’t expect was for a lanky boy with slicked back hair and the weakest punch he’s ever known to pull him into his world—but not just him. Him and the boy he had spent the majority of his recent days bruising and exchanging blood-spit words with.

Sano Shinichiro is a standup guy. He thinks he’s bigger than he is, wears his heart on his sleeve and bandages on his skin, and has perhaps the biggest smile Wakasa’s ever seen. He quickly grew on Wakasa, and the respect and liking between them is mutual. After just a few months, he is honored to consider him his best friend.

Akashi Takeomi, he tolerates. As the youngest of the group, he certainly has a lot of maturing to do, but he still knows how to have a great time inside and outside of the battlefield. He and Wakasa work well together, and it’s not uncommon for them to slip away for a few moments at a time to indulge in a brief smoke session. Shinichiro hasn’t caught wind of this yet thankfully, because Wakasa’s certain that once he gets his lips on a cigarette, he’ll never turn back. His background isn’t nearly messy enough for him to have a smoking addiction at his age.

And then there’s Benkei—formerly Redcliffe. The guy is a pain in Wakasa’s ass. Something about the way he has all of the assets that Wakasa lacks rubs him the wrong way; a body built like a tank, sociability, the charisma to rise from the ashes like a phoenix. But more than that, there’s something that Wakasa just can’t let go of…all of those days spent fighting, head man in charge to head man in charge. Shinichiro had the power to bring them all together and form something bigger than them, but that power only takes them so far. To function as a group, to truly become the most powerful gang in Tokyo, they can’t simply coexist. They have to work as a team, and it’s quickly becoming obvious that working together is no easy task for the two former gang leaders.

So they’ve started a new approach to try to help the two work things out. And that’s that—

“—Oi! Waka! Benkei!” Takeomi shouts to draw the attention of their special attack unit captain and guard unit captain. Whipping his head around to acknowledge the vice captain, Wakasa wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, the gang member he had been tangled with heaving for mercy below him. He spots Takeomi, their leader slung around his shoulder with a geyser of blood coming from his nose. Despite the sorry state he’s in, Shinichiro grins.

“Yeah?” Wakasa shouts back, the man under him making one last sorry attempt at swiping at him. He responds with a swift kick to the ribs, metal-toed boot bruising bone. He springs to his feet like a jack in the box, climbing over the body in exchange for something less broken. He’s like a butterfly in how he quickly and gracefully hops over the delinquents who have tapped out. He settles his eyes on his next victim and watches the way his eyes widen in horror as he begins his death march toward him.

Before he can get too far though, a large, imposing hand wraps around his forearm with ease, stopping him in his tracks. Wakasa meets him with an icy glare, already certain of the culprit.

“Let go, asshole,” he mumbles. He tries to yank his arm away, but the grip around it tightens from his struggle.

“Are you deaf? Listen to our vice captain when he’s speaking to you,” Benkei responds gruffly, a sheen of sweat in his temples.

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Wakasa says snidely, and the grip on his wrist tightens for a brief second before the hand drops completely.

“But you should listen to them ,” Benkei gestures to their captain and vice captain, still stumbling for their footing.

“I said Wakasa and Benkei!” Takeomi calls out in annoyance, effectively drawing the encounter to a close. The two stand at attention, devoting their full focus on the situation at hand. Once he’s sure they’re paying attention, he continues. “We’re done here. The fight’s a wash.”

“Whatever. We could’ve still taken them,” Wakasa responds but follows orders anyway. He brushes his hands off on his pants, travelling light-footed toward the duo. He hears those footsteps, booming and unignorable behind him.

“It’s not about that,” Takeomi grumbles, yanking on Shinichiro’s arm so his shoulder fits in the crook of his neck.

“Without Shinichiro-kun it doesn’t matter how we’re doing,” Benkei affirms. From behind him, he can’t see Wakasa roll his eyes. “It’s over.”

Wakasa doesn’t dare to disagree, so instead he positions himself on the opposite side of Shinichiro and grabs his other arm so that he can hoist it over his own shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Takeomi asks, side-eyeing Wakasa as he rights himself with Shinichiro’s weight.

“Helping you get him out of here,” Wakasa responds, wrapping his other arm around Shinichiro’s waist to steady him. “How are you so damn heavy when you look like a twig?”

Shinichiro laughs, breaking his previous silence. It’s reassuring that he’s at least aware of what’s going on.

“You two,” Benkei interrupts, kneeling down on one knee and facing away from them. He holds his arms out behind himself, beckoning them closer. “Give him to me.”

Takeomi shakes his head ardently. “I’m taking him to the doctor to get checked. They rocked his shit pretty good. He could have a concussion.”

“Let Benkei carry Shin,” Wakasa interjects, his long lashes masking his irises. “He’s the strongest of the three of us. You and I would exhaust ourselves by the time we get to the top of the hill where we parked the bikes.”

Benkei glances over his shoulder at Wakasa but says nothing, only glancing down to where Shinichiro’s arm drapes over his shoulders. Wakasa wonders if he notices the way he’s shaking.

“Fine,” Takeomi concedes, “just until we’re at the top. Then I’m taking him to the hospital.”

As the opposing gang gathers their members to flee, Wakasa and Takeomi help Shinichiro stagger toward Benkei. Shinichiro wraps his arms around Benkei’s neck on his command, and he’s quickly swept off his feet to be anchored on his back.

“Up we go, big guy,” Benkei muses, beginning a steady pace away from the parking lot they were fighting in. Wakasa and Takeomi follow behind, but not before Wakasa leaves the grounded delinquents one final stony glare.

“Another win for Black Dragon,” Shinichiro declares, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. It comes back thick with blood. Wakasa grimaces.

“We had to retreat,” Takeomi teases him. “I wouldn’t call that a win.”

“But we didn’t lose,” Shinichiro retorts, craning his head toward the two trailing him. His face looks like a crime scene with the amount of blood smeared all over it. “Every fight’s a win when I’m with you guys.”

“We’re losing him,” Wakasa declares dramatically. Shinichiro sulks, displeased at the lack of gratitude. “I don’t think he’s gonna make it the rest of the ride.”

Benkei begins taking quick steps that fall into a sprint, and it takes a few moments of amused leering to realize that Benkei’s not in on the joke. Wakasa opens his mouth, bewildered. His legs in their wobbly state are in no condition to chase after him.

“He’s joking, Benkei!” Takeomi shouts, hands cupped around his mouth. Benkei stops sharply, almost toppling over with the weight of Shinichiro on his back. “He’s being facetious!”

“I knew he loved me! At least one of you does!” Shinichiro cries out happily. The sudden stop rattled him, though, and another gush of blood rushes from his nose. Good Lord…

“Oh hush!” Takeomi cuts in, preventing Wakasa from getting a word in edgewise. He can’t explain why, but his tongue feels as though it’s charged electrically, yearning to discharge. “Stick your jacket or something up your nose before you bleed out.”

“I can die happy now,” Shinichiro claims resolutely, hooking his chin over Benkei’s shoulder.

“You’re not gonna die,” Benkei states humorlessly. His steps have become heel-toe strides once more; the crawling pace of the duo behind him who are quickly losing that adrenaline rush from before and succumbing to their exhaustion.

“You’re not gonna die,” Wakasa emphasizes Benkei’s words immediately. “Holy shit.”

The motorcycles slowly come into view as they breach the top of the hill, calves burning and sweat-slick under the early summer sun. Takeomi leads Benkei to his bike, climbing over the saddle and making room for Shinichiro behind him. With sea legs, Shinichiro dismounts from Benkei and settles on the seat behind Takeomi compliantly.

“What about Shin’s bike?” Wakasa asks, leaning on his own bike for stability. He crosses his arms indifferently, but truthfully, he doesn’t want to leave it behind lest it gets damaged—or worse, stolen. Takeomi buckles his helmet and lets it dangle behind his head, but Benkei fits the helmet on Shinichiro’s head and buckles it under his jaw as it’s supposed to be. It’s a wholesome, if not slightly silly sight.

No more injuries , is what Wakasa thinks Benkei hums to Shinichiro. Shinichiro doesn’t protest, but his sulking is evident in his eyes.

“You and Benkei can stay with the bikes until we get back from the hospital. We can meet here after,” Takeomi rattles off dismissively. He revs the motorcycle to life, and a tumultuous wave of annoyance passes through Wakasa.

“You can’t be serious,” he stumbles away from his motorcycle, arms still crossed over his chest. Benkei looks at him like he’s an impudent child making a scene in public, and it only drives Wakasa further up the wall. “You’re leaving me with with the damn sack of rocks for who knows how long ? Are you crazy?”

“Wakasa…” Takeomi warns, eyes narrowed. It’s too late, though, since the gentle giant has been disturbed.

“What the hell is your problem with me?” Benkei faces Wakasa, eyes wide as his eyebrows meet in a furrowed knot.

“Because everything you try to sell yourself as is bullshit! ” Wakasa bites. Gravel crunches under his boots as he lowers his head, making himself even smaller than he is, while still challenging Benkei with his eyes alone. “Look at yourself. Tough guy, muscles for brains who could have anything he wants…struggles in fights against me.”

Wakasa gestures at himself—his short stature, the loose-fitting clothing, the bracelets around his wrist dangling precariously.

“Because you’re strong too!” Benkei declares in frustration. “I never said you weren’t.”

“ I never said I wasn’t,” Wakasa snaps. “But I had to work for my strength. Not all of us are born with strength and charisma. If anyone has a reason to live this kind of life, to survive, it’s me.”

Wakasa drops his arms, fists clenched. “Anyone can look at you and see you’re the poster child of delinquency and you instantly earn their respect. You look the part and you know how to act the part, but you choose to be an obedient little puppy instead. Only doing what your master tells you. Quit lying to yourself. You look stupid.”

Some of us need these numbers to be seen , is something that Wakasa holds back from saying.

“Enough!” Shinichiro shouts, resonating and commanding. Three heads turn to him, startled. His own voice seems to rattle him, and he reaches for his head to rub at his temples, eyes squeezed shut in discomfort. When he opens them, they’re like coal. “I’m sick of you two fighting all the damn time. We’re a team . We can’t be strong if there’s infighting. I want to grow our numbers so Black Dragon is a name everyone in the Kanto region knows and respects, and I know you want that too. But for that to happen, you two need to cut this shit out. Permanently .”

Wakasa swallows down his anger, his throat thick with emotion. “Shin…”

“Sort this out. That’s an order.”

Takeomi glances grimly between Benkei and Wakasa, waiting for someone to break the tension. When no one does, he sighs tremulously and pulls away with Shinichiro in tow.

The silence stretches as the ruckus of the motorcycle dies with the distance. After the silence has bloomed around them once more, heavy footsteps approach Wakasa. His boots come into view as Wakasa stares at the ground, the late afternoon sun casting a shadow of them side by side. Wakasa doesn’t dare look up to meet his eyes.

“...Benkei,”  Wakasa mumbles weakly. He’s not sure what he even plans to say to him. His tongue is tingling like it was earlier. The shadow below them shifts, an arm outstretched. A hand wraps around his wrist, swallowing it entirely. It’s warm and gentle, but firm. It pulls him.

Wakasa startles, finally looking Benkei in the eyes. Only Benkei breaks his gaze quickly as he begins dragging Wakasa behind him. “What are you doing?”

Benkei shakes his head but says nothing. After all that has happened in the past few hours, even minutes, Wakasa doesn’t have the strength to oppose him. He takes staggering steps behind him. Across the road from where they parked the bikes is a 7-Eleven, and it’s clear that this is where Benkei is taking him.

“What about the bikes?” Wakasa questions, but the tone of his voice is merely observing the circumstance rather than challenging it.

“They’ll be fine for a few minutes,” Benkei retorts conclusively. Stumbling through the parking lot of the 7-Eleven and through the doors, Wakasa allows Benkei to pull him along, his mind blank. Through the aisles, to the cash register, to the curb of the gas station platform.

Outside, Benkei sits him down and throws him the plastic bag, sitting beside him and opening a raspberry ramune. Puzzled, Wakasa opens the plastic bag and finds a variety of snacks.

“What are these?” Wakasa asks, glancing sideways at Benkei under his lashes. Benkei takes a swig of his ramune, sighing as he swallows.

“Food. You’re shaking like a leaf,” Benkei mutters, swirling the drink in his hand like it’s an alcoholic beverage. Part of Wakasa wishes it were, since maybe they could speak uninhibitedly then if Wakasa had a drink to match. Wakasa drops the bag beside him, hunching over his knees. Benkei watches, clearly vexed by the action.

“It’s the withdrawals, idiot,” Wakasa mumbles, resting his head on his palm aggressively. “I’m a smoker.”

Benkei sighs, stretching out beside Wakasa and resting his weight on his hands. He stares up at the sky, the buttercream clouds tinted by the burnt orange sky. He lolls his head at Wakasa, watching him as he speaks.

“What you choose to poison your body with ain’t my business,” he responds lightly. “I will say I think you’re too young to pick up the cancer stick, but that’s just my perogative.”

Wakasa rolls his eyes, especially since Benkei is younger than him. Nonetheless, Benkei continues.

“But smoker or not, you need to eat. I can tell those shakes are more than withdrawals,” Benkei shoves the bag toward Wakasa. “I spent money I can’t get back on those, and if you reject the food I gave you, I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”

Wakasa laughs then, the type he feels in his belly. The type that feels good.

“Are you now?” He smiles, pulling the bag toward himself in exasperation. “Guess I don’t have a choice if I don’t want Shin to chew our ears off.”

Benkei grabs his ramune, raising it in return. He takes another swig of his drink as Wakasa scavenges through the bag, eventually deciding on a pack of chocorooms.

It’s easier spending time like this. For once, Wakasa doesn’t feel that annoyance boiling under his skin as he’s next to Benkei. There’s no urge to pick a fight or challenge him. It feels…normal.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” Benkei says after a few minutes of comfortable silence, only accented by Wakasa’s chewing. “Not now, anyway. But…just for your information—I didn’t come with this body, and I had to work for my strength. I’m the product of everything my parents hated about me.”

Wakasa doesn’t know what to say after that. He wants to pry, ask what Benkei means by that. To understand him.

But this might just be the first civil conversation they’re having; the first heart-to-heart. It’s too early. Still, as dusk settles around them, clothing them in shadows, the urge to be heard is stronger than the urge to hold back. When he has finished his snack, Wakasa falls onto his back, folding his arms behind his head like a pillow. Benkei doesn’t copy him, keeping a watchful eye on the motorcycles parked across the street.

“How long have they been gone?” Wakasa asks with his eyes set on the sky. The orange and red tones have faded and been replaced with violet and indigo.

He hears Benkei beside him, voice far away as he speaks into the open air. “Thirty minutes, maybe.”

Wakasa huffs a laugh and shuts his eyes, his curtain of hair swishing across his face. It’s far overgrown, that stark white slowly fading as blonde roots creep in its place. “He’s lucky if they get him in and out of there before the local businesses close.

“We’ll be here until midnight at this rate,” Benkei sighs, but he doesn’t sound angry. Tired, maybe a little annoyed at the circumstances, but not angry.

“You can go home if you want, Wakasa,” Benkei hums, a defeat in his voice. “I’ll wait here until they get back.”

Under any other circumstances, Wakasa would spring to his feet and escape hastily when he’s given the chance to get away from Benkei. Perhaps Wakasa finally reaching his breaking point was the catalyst, or maybe it’s the food hitting the right spots in his stomach when he didn’t feel like he needed to eat. Maybe it’s the warm air and gentle breeze, or those gorgeous watercolor skies.

Or maybe Benkei’s simply not the bad guy that Wakasa has created in his head.

Rather than arguing with him, he shares a sliver of his own testimony.

“My mom was a smoker,” Wakasa admits, watching the clouds pass overhead—morph into an array of delineations. “Still is, but she never stopped during pregnancy. I wonder sometimes if I got it from her in the metaphorical or literal way; from watching her smoke when I was still in diapers, or if she passed it down to me in the womb.”

Wakasa brings his fingers to his mouth in that familiar way, but his hand feels empty without a cigarette between his index and middle fingers. He breathes in all the same, holds, and releases. His hand drops on top of his stomach. He lolls his head to look at Benkei lazily.

“Some sad shit to get from your parent, huh?” he smiles weakly, his hair falling over his eye from the motion. “I would’ve preferred getting a talent from her or something.”

Benkei stays quiet for a moment, reflecting. The breeze keeps the moment from keeping too stagnant. The time doesn’t cross Wakasa’s mind, neither does the worry that would cross his mom’s face if he returned home late. After all, he knows it wouldn’t be there. She wouldn’t notice.

“You’re not doomed to this, you know,” Benkei says, gentle, colloquial. Benkei hasn’t moved from his position of keeping watch, but he looks at Wakasa. His priorities seem to shift. “You’re not even fifteen, Wakasa. You have time to make better choices. You can turn your life around.”

Wakasa scoffs, a bitterness blooming in his chest. “Says the delinquent. Pot calling the kettle black.”

As Wakasa sulks, Benkei sighs tiredly. A motorcycle whizzes by on the street their own motorcycles are parked on. The sound warps as it passes them.

“These are my good choices,” Benkei argues. “I became the best version of me to live like this. I’m not saying you need to give up fighting or leave Black Dragon.”

Wakasa stays silent, nothing to add. Benkei takes that silence as his permission to continue.

“But I think you and I both know why you have a problem with me.”

“Because you’re a leader on a leash?” Wakasa asks, punctuates it with an eye roll. “Loud and obnoxious? A pushover?”

“I’m what you want to be,” Benkei interjects. Wakasa freezes, his lips parted.

“You don’t really hate me. You don’t like yourself .”

“The hell you talking about, asshole,” Wakasa grumbles, sitting up with a grimace. Benkei doesn’t back down. He leans into his frustration, looking Wakasa in the eyes, confronting that defensiveness. He gently puts his hand on his knee.

“My life isn’t sunshine and rainbows. Being happy is hard and it takes work, but I’m working on it every single day so I can get there. You owe it to yourself to try to get there too.”

Wakasa casts his eyes to his lap, his jaw set forward. Every muscle in his body is wound tight, his urge to run stronger than ever. It’s incredible how the weight of someone else’s urgency can keep him pinned in place.

“You’re not your mom,” Benkei reemphasizes. “I don’t know your situation or your story, but I know the shadows our parents cast are overwhelming. Only you can make the effort to break out of that.”

“You don’t know me,” Wakasa forces out around the golf ball in his throat. His anger is less prominent though, replaced by something more somber and vulnerable. “You know nothing about me.”

Benkei retracts his hand, releasing him, and Wakasa feels heavier somehow.

“When you know some things about Wakasa, you can tell me all about him,” Benkei responds definitively. “And I can tell you about Benkei, since you clearly know nothing about him either.”

Wakasa shuts his eyes, recentering himself. Slowly he opens them, his lashes fluttering as he glances at the other.

“This sounds like a proposal to be friends,” Wakasa chuckles weakly. His hand brushes the packaging from the chocorooms, an unfamiliar gratitude filling his chest. He engulfs it in his palm and swallows it into his fist.

Benkei’s eyes are glued to the motorcycles again, and Wakasa would think he didn’t hear him if not for the small quirk of his lips.

“If it’s any easier for you to stomach, then we’ll call it a truce.”

Wakasa smiles, a silent relief washing over him.

And it’s amazing how easy it is from there. They don’t spill their hearts to each other, bleeding all over the filthy gas station sidewalk to see eye to eye. But they don’t just stare at the night sky in a shared silence. There’s silence, sure, but they also make space to fill it.

Time passes, and they continue to wait. But after a while, it feels less like waiting for the interaction to be over and more like waiting for the next time they can just be like this. No where to be.

That’s how Shinichiro and Takeomi find them some time later, as the hour nears eleven. They ride slower than usual on the back of Takeomi’s bike since they pass residential areas, and Shinichiro’s mild whiplash thanks him for it. The other two must not hear them as they pull to the side of the road where the bikes sit untouched. Takeomi glances around, a moment of panic striking him as he realizes they’re not stationed by the bikes. Shinichiro cusps his shoulder, quietly getting his attention.

“Looks like they worked things out after all,” he hums, pleased. Takeomi follows his line of sight to find Wakasa and Benkei sitting together on the curb of the sidewalk next to the gas station, exchanging casual conversation. There’s no anger on their faces or wild gesturing, no indication that an altercation is brewing under the surface. They look…content.

“Should we go get them?” Takeomi shifts on the bike with his eyes never leaving the pair. Wakasa suddenly laughs loudly, and it’s a sight that Takeomi is certain they’ve never seen before.

Shinichiro shakes his head. He carefully dismounts the motorcycle and heads toward his own. He smiles over his shoulder, boyish and just a tad smug. “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

Takeomi responds by revving his bike.

~•~❀~•~

When Wakasa enters the apartment, just before one in the morning, he knows not to turn the lights on. The tv is a dim glow from the living room, playing reruns of an English show he recognizes but doesn’t understand. He slips his shoes off and places them beside the door.

In that worn out velvet purple armchair, the best money could buy in the year 1980, sits his mother. Her head has fallen to the side, heavy on her shoulders, tangled blonde framing her drooping face. Empty bottles litter the area around her, discarded on the floor, the scent of red moscato and merlot leaking through soaked rug fibers. The ashtray beside her has a litany of crushed cigarette butts, one still partially lit and glowing. Wakasa snuffs out the embers.

He begins his ritual—carries the ashtray to the garbage to tap out the excess, letting the cigarettes fall; gently wipes the ashtray with some water and a rag to clean it. He leaves it on the counter to dry. Then, he begins scooping up the bottles to clear the area.

He gently shakes each bottle as he grabs them, peering down through the lip to check for excess. When a bottle sloshes from liquid left behind, he turns it upside down and swallows whatever’s left. He quietly smacks his lips, the liquid thick on his tongue.

The bottles are recycled once he’s certain they’re empty. He returns to his mom’s side, taking another rag to sop up any of the beverages that spilled, bruising his knees as he kneels to make sure the area is clean.

Once the remnants of the past day are cleared away, he stands beside his mom, watching her softly snore. Her tangled hair, once a shade of blonde Goldilocks would have envied, is faded a sandy hue. Her face, now droopy and gaunt, betrays her age and the porcelain skin and mulberry eyes she was once adored for. She is no longer the beautiful model she once was. She is a barely living, breathing addiction.

Of course, this is all Wakasa has ever known her as. She smells the same way she always has—sharp and bitter like smoke with a tinge of a sweeter, less potent berry. She looks the same way, too.

He carefully cradles her head and slips a throw pillow underneath it to support her neck. He brushes away the web of hair from her eyes. She never stirs.

“Jag älskar dig, Mamma,” Wakasa whispers, something he learned from a book in a language he doesn’t speak, but a language she speaks. It’s not like they can talk otherwise. He kisses her head gently and disappears around the back of the chair.

It crosses his mind to sneak a cigarette from the package laying openly on the counter. On any other night, he would.

But between the buzz of the remnants of alcohol and the comfortable laughter he shared tonight, he feels warm.

The tv is all that’s left to be heard as Wakasa heads to sleep.

~•~❀~•~

At their next fight, Wakasa gets a sense of deja vu. Or rather, what comes after the fight.

The fight proceeds as usual, Wakasa’s agility serving Black Dragon perfectly. His kicks land and he successfully dodges all but one counterattack. That is, he launches into a roundhouse kick, only for the delinquent that he’s fighting to catch the appendage in his hands.

Blinking, eyes wide in surprise, Wakasa feels the other man force his leg in full rotation, throwing him off balance. He lunges forward to catch himself, hands scraping against the rough asphalt. He panics for a moment as he feels his leg continue to be twisted, as if the delinquent is trying to dislocate his hip from his socket or tear his leg clean off of him.

A grunt of pain spills behind him, the delinquent caught off guard. Wakasa uses that moment of instability to regain control of the fight, swinging his opposite leg up in the air as he supports himself with his hands. His foot connects with the man’s head, and his leg is released as the delinquent falls unconscious. His feet meet the road and he returns to his upright position.

Glancing around for the person who helped him, he’s met with the wide eyes of his former rival.

“These guys are strong!” Benkei shouts as he hurdles toward another batch of members of the rival gang. “Don’t let your guard down!”

Wakasa stares quietly for a moment, glancing down at the member they took down together. Together .

The exhaustion is starting to set in, after only a third of the opposing group’s members have been left incapacitated. He knows that by continuing to fight one on one, he’s going to drain his energy much faster and risk meeting an undesirable fate for the fight.

He has one of two choices: he can either continue the fight like this, expending everything within himself for a slim chance at pulling through, or he can align himself with someone else and demonstrate power with numbers.

The choice is obvious, if not damaging to his pride. But what pride will he even have left if he continues to leave these fights with his head low and trembling?

Turning on his heel, he dashes over toward where Benkei is slowly being cornered and swallowed by their opponents. Adrenaline pumping, he leaps and latches onto the back of one of the gang members like a spider monkey.

The man stumbles backward, his peers thrown off balance as well. Wakasa juts his elbow into one delinquent’s chest before kicking him with as much force as he can muster, launching him into the other delinquents. They tumble over and free up some space around Benkei.

Benkei glances at Wakasa with surprise, but is quickly set back into motion as the delinquents find their footing.

“Watch my back!” Wakasa shouts, hopping down from his perch and shoving his foot into the small of the man’s back. Benkei catches the man easily, head butting him and dropping him as he falls unconscious.

And maybe Shinichiro was onto something.

Wakasa and Benkei keep an eye on each other as they fight the other gang, compensating for where the other lacks. When Benkei is vulnerable below the torso, Wakasa is agile and can use his legs to protect him. When Wakasa is overtly overpowered, Benkei uses brute strength to clear space for him. They function as a unit, rather than two separate pieces.

The fight doesn’t end with every member from the other gang immobilized, but it does end with a plead for surrender.

And just like that, Black Dragon gains 40 members.

The topic of food comes up directly after, a celebratory meal for Black Dragon’s first win. Wakasa secretly hopes they’ll say yes, that they’ll cover his meal, but Takeomi has to bail to look after his younger siblings that Wakasa has yet to meet. Shinichiro gnaws on his lip and mumbles something about checking on his own siblings, and the plans fall through as Benkei and Wakasa are left alone again .

They might be on better terms now, but Wakasa still has too much pride to stoop to begging Benkei to feed him and cover his portion. He kicks some gravel as he tries to think of an easy way to say goodbye and leave before the moment becomes too awkward.

“Good fight, Benkei,” he settles on, holding his hand out for a good-natured handshake. “I think we really pulled the team through today.”

Benkei glances down at his hand. His mouth morphs into a soft smile and instead of shaking his hand, he grabs it. He begins gently pulling Wakasa wordlessly like he did the last time they spent time together. Only this time, he takes him by the hand and not by the arm.

Like this, his hand feels much warmer, much larger. Wakasa can’t explain why—doesn’t want to try to understand why, either, but—his heart skips a beat.

For whatever reason, Wakasa finds himself unable to speak. He can’t protest and doesn’t want to. He allows Benkei to pull him along, the blast of air conditioning as they enter the 7-Eleven a relief on his skin that’s burning up. Benkei doesn’t select nearly as many snacks this time, choosing the treats far more carefully. He contemplates thoughtfully between two flavors of the same fried shrimp snack, and Wakasa’s eyes wander as he takes his time.

At the end of the aisle, there’s a rack of cigarette boxes, boasting different brands and concentrations of the contents. He gravitates toward it, his hand slipping out of Benkei’s to peruse the options. In front of the display, his stare is so focused that he might as well burn a hole through the boxes.

He doesn’t have cash on him, nor does he have the legality to buy them. Benkei’s far larger and more built than he is, so perhaps he could pass for the legal age without needing to prove it. Of course, Benkei’s reaction to Wakasa admitting to smoking wasn’t all that savory, so the chances of him purchasing a pack for him are slim to none. Maybe he could slip a box inside of his pocket without them noticing—

“Hey,” Benkei calls, much closer than he was after Wakasa drifted down the aisle. Wakasa startles, but raises his eyebrows casually. “Go save our spot outside, yeah? I’ll meet you with the snacks after I check out.”

Wakasa huffs a surprised laugh. “That dirty old curb? Worried it’ll be occupied?”

Benkei taps him on the back urgently, guiding him away from the display and toward the door. “You can never be sure.”

Humored but slightly annoyed that Benkei escorted him away from the smoke stand, Wakasa steps outside into the blanketing heat. They fought earlier today since the end of summer is quickly approaching and they won’t have the chance for these midafternoon fights soon. Unfortunately because of this, the air is far more sweltering than it is when they wait until the sun has gone down. It doesn’t help that Wakasa’s hair surrounds his face like a cloud, the humidity serving as glue. He should invest in some hair ties.

Benkei emerges from the store a few moments later, sitting next to Wakasa on the curb. He offers a snack to Wakasa, and instead of stubbornly refusing it, he takes it easily this time. It’s one of the shrimp snacks he was debating between the flavors of, and Wakasa can’t deny how it tickles him when he sees the other flavor in Benkei’s hand.

They open their snacks, each popping a bite in their mouth.

“Hey Wakasa,” Benkei says around a mouthful of shrimp. Wakasa turns to him, his thumb between his lips as he sucks the residue that’s left behind from his food. He raises his eyebrows in question. “Do you think you could come a little earlier when we have fights?”

Wakasa tilts his head, finger falling out of his mouth. “Why?”

Sighing, Benkei glances down at his own snack. “You need energy to fight. I can tell you’re losing steam by the end of each fight. If we eat before the fight, you won’t be fighting on an empty tank.”

Wakasa shrugs. He feels his walls try to rise around him, his defenses resurfacing. It’s only natural.

“Don’t worry about me,” Wakasa says dryly, brushing off some crumbs on his pants and the insecurities crawling along his skin. “I fight just fine.”

“You’re going to crash at some point,” Benkei observes. “You need to eat.”

“I said I fight just fine!” Wakasa snaps, fixing him with a glare. Benkei doesn’t challenge his glare, but he doesn’t shrink under it either. His features soften; his jaw slackens.

“Wakasa…” Benkei begins gently, “Are you starving yourself?”

Wakasa blinks back in surprise, sucking in a breath. Benkei looks so…concerned. Not just sympathetic, and especially not patronizing. There’s an inexplicable ache in his eyes. Wakasa’s anger rushes out of him in a single breath at the sight.

“I…” Wakasa chokes out, at a loss for words. He feels that urge to run creep inside of him again, but he pushes past it. He just can’t lie to him. “No. It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” Benkei presses, and despite how loud and commanding he may be on the battleground, this is a far more urging approach than his usual demeanor is in private.

“I don’t have body image issues,” Wakasa states first and foremost, as if to ease Benkei’s mind of his suspicions. “But food in the house wasn’t something I could always count on. Mom spent all the child support on alcohol and cigarettes and I couldn’t just sit around starving all the time. And then I realized that cigarettes decrease your appetite, and one thing lead to another.”

Benkei wordlessly takes in the information, his face rigid but eyes a dead giveaway of how he feels. Shocked, apologetic, angry.

“Is that why you smoke?” He asks, as if double checking before making any assumptions or jumping to any conclusions.

“Partially, yeah,” Wakasa admits, eyes downcast. “But it also relaxes me. I’m always on edge and it takes that edge off.”

“Ah,” Benkei reacts, sounding partially defeated. He sits up straighter, assuming a better posture. Next to Wakasa, who sags like a ragdoll over his knees that are pointing in different directions, he looks far more put together. If anything, this seems to be the common theme.

“Well, my request still stands,” Benkei states eventually. The way he calls it a request and not an offer isn’t lost on Wakasa. “If feeding you can keep your lungs cleaner, then I’m happy to, uh…literally be your sugar daddy.”

Wakasa chuckles, the proposition ridiculous and phrased in such a funny and immature way. “It’ll take more than some food to get me to quit.”

Benkei passes the rest of his snack over to Wakasa, who eyes the shrimp wearily. As if he’s not sure he’s allowed to eat such a thing. When Wakasa makes no attempt at eating it, Benkei picks up a shrimp and playfully drifts it to Wakasa’s mouth, like a parent playing airplane with their baby. Wakasa isn’t sure Benkei understands the whole sugar daddy thing. Of course, they’re fourteen—there’s no reason to.

Benkei places the snack package in Wakasa’s resting hand, wearing a small grin of accomplishment as Wakasa chews the piece he gave him.

“Well, I’ll do what I can to help you quit. But you’ve gotta help yourself quit, too.”

Wakasa has half a mind to deny the offer, tell Benkei about how he doesn’t value his life enough to put in that kind of effort, but he doesn’t. Not with how hopefully the big, intimidating man of West Kanto is looking at him.

“Deal,” Wakasa responds. It’s incredible how easy and difficult it is to say just a single word.

~•~❀~•~

By the time summer comes to a close, September just around the corner, Black Dragon has quickly gained notoriety in the community. Now boasting close to 100 members, they’re no longer the four stray underdogs they were when they first formed. The fights don’t last as long with their sheer size, even as they’ve moved onto fighting larger gangs, so Wakasa isn’t finding himself nearly as tired by the time the fights are over. Of course, the food he’s been regularly receiving before fights could have something to do with that.

He’s made more of an effort to eat when he’s hungry rather than pick up a cigarette to stave off the feeling. Benkei helps him, of course, but Shinichiro also starts throwing some cash his way when he learns that he’s not eating like he should be. It’s nice to know that they care about him and go out of their way to make sure he’s eating well, and it’s that thoughtfulness that drives him to reduce the amount of cigarettes he goes through. Not eliminate, but reduce.

But anxiety is still a bitch, and he still can’t stop himself from self-medicating from time to time.

Today’s one of those days. It’s their last big fight before the new school year starts, and the stakes are higher than ever. They’re fighting against a gang consisting of 130 members, ranging from middle schoolers to university students. Many of them are big and built, some of them flaunting prison tattoos. They’re far beyond the caliber of Black Dragon, who despite its strength, doesn’t have any members that are adults.

Shinichiro doesn’t seem at all scared, despite being the member who’s most likely to take the brunt of the force. Every bruise he has is a badge of honor, and that fearlessness is what drew Wakasa to him in the first place. The four of them stand around, some of the other Black Dragon members trickling in as the time closes in for them to fight. Wakasa taps his fingers on his arm, shifts on his feet, trying everything in his power to not self-implode from the pressure he’s feeling.

Takeomi looks uncertain too, wetting his lips more than necessary. He catches Wakasa staring at him, giving him a meaningful glance, before excusing himself for a moment. Wakasa watches as he walks away, looking for a quiet alleyway to slip into.

Wakasa’s anxiety far outweighs his guilt as he dismisses himself for a moment as well, speed-walking as casually as he can to hide in the same alleyway that Takeomi is in.

Takeomi leans against the wall, a cigarette already hanging out of his mouth as he flicks his lighter to life. He wordlessly passes one to Wakasa, offering him his lighter once his own cigarette is lit. Takeomi exhales a cloud of smoke as Wakasa inhales one.

And he hates the relief that passes through him at the familiar taste and sensation.

They have limited time. The fight’s supposed to start in no more than ten minutes, so they have to be hasty. Wakasa wastes no time in puffing on his cigarette, breathing it like it’s the freshest of air. The toxins go straight to his brain, offering him that fuzzy sense of relief he can’t find anywhere else. He gets lost in it, his eyelashes fanning over his cheekbones as he shuts his eyes in bliss.

But the moment is cut short, the sweetness instantly turning sour.

“Oh,” is all Benkei says, his face flat. His eyes drift from the cigarettes to Takeomi, and linger on Wakasa. Although he’s expressionless, his eyes are sad. More emotional than Wakasa’s ever seen them. He looks…hurt.

Wakasa doesn’t know what to say. Neither does Takeomi, apparently.

Benkei straightens his posture, his face stonier than usual. “Just came to check on you guys. We’re fighting in five, alright?”

Suddenly, the cigarette isn’t quite so appealing. Wakasa drops the barely-touched cigarette to the ground and stomps his boot on it, grinding it into the asphalt. Takeomi gives him a what the hell kind of look, which he chooses to ignore.

“Cover your ass, Takeomi,” is all Wakasa says as he strides away.

Fighting feels different this time, somehow. Of course it’s different leading a division of delinquents than fighting on his own, but it’s not like he’s never been in this role before. After all, he lead a gang of his own.

No—it’s that concern that he can’t shake, shifty eyes as he tries to keep tabs on who’s where and when. Particularly, keeping tabs on the person who’s completely thrown him for a loop this summer.

Benkei leads the divisions with a bravado unlike his usual laid-back personality. He steps into individual fights where Black Dragon has a clear disadvantage, and his voice rises above the noise. He too keeps tabs on where everyone’s at, watching out for his fellow gang members and checking the status of their captains. It’s no surprise when he meets Wakasa’s eyes, wordlessly checking in with him. But surprise comes in the way Wakasa freezes under his gaze, his mind blanking.

He doesn’t hear the noise. He doesn’t feel the delinquents pushing past him, clearing the way for other gang members to provide backup. He doesn’t even feel the summer rain beginning, rolling like dewdrops down his hair. He only sees Benkei.

I broke his trust and he still cares.

“Waka!” Shinichiro exclaims to snap him out of it. He lands a punch on someone who had tried to sneak up on Wakasa, knocking him back a few pegs. His hair, usually styled away from his forehead, sticks to his skin from the rain. “Get your head in the game, man!”

“Right, sorry,” Wakasa says, sweeping his hair away from his own forehead. When it falls back in place, he snarls in frustration and combs his hair back entirely, plastering it in place. He goes to scope out his own division members, prepare for their next move, when—

“ Everyone listen up !” a voice calls out, brazen and spitting. It takes no time at all for Wakasa to spot the source, Takeomi standing amidst a heap of unconscious bodies. His hair is matted and sticks to his face, but the grit of his teeth is visible even from the other side of the parking lot where they’re fighting. “This is Black Dragon turf, and if you’re messing with my gang, you’re messing with the God of War!”

Wakasa lower his fists, the situation seemingly having resolved itself.

There’s barely any members of the other gang left standing, and those who are seem threatened by Takeomi’s posturing.

And in a way, Wakasa hates that it’s effective. Takeomi really thinks he’s the shit. This has got to be overcompensating for his comment earlier.

Shinichiro doesn’t allow the dust to settle. He steps forward, further ahead of his own members to establish his importance. It’s incredible how despite Takeomi’s arrogance, it’s Shinichiro who brings their opponents to a bow.

“This is Black Dragon’s win,” Shinichiro says, much calmer than Takeomi moments ago. Although his voice is lowered, his voice is heard by every person present to fight. No one dares to speak, the pattering of the rain on solid ground serving as the earth’s applause. There are no objections.

“We’re done here,” Shinichiro states resolutely, turning to face his own gang. Despite the way his clothes are soaked through and his hair is relaxed, his presence as their honored leader and beacon of hope remains. He holds his fist up, a grin overtaking him as an eruption of cheers break out from the group.

And this is the perfect distraction for Wakasa to slip out of the crowd and leave.

He knows he’s not going to make it far, so there’s no point in trying to run and hide. He just heads toward the nearest shelter from the rain, an old oak tree whose branches covered their motorcycles the day that Wakasa snapped at Benkei. It’s incredible how much progress they’ve made since then, and how much he probably undid from his lack of self control.

Benkei catches up quickly, his hand warm on the back of Wakasa’s uniform jacket. As much as he doesn’t want to at this moment, Wakasa feels Benkei deserves his respect enough to make eye contact with him.

“Saw you almost get creamed out there,” Benkei confesses conversationally. His expression is hard to interpret—but when is it not—when he looks at him. “That’s not like you.”

Wakasa doesn’t know how to respond, not verbally, not physically. But his body decides for him, apparently, as his cheeks rapidly heat up from being called out. He gives into the urge to look away, hoping his dripping hair obscures him from view. “Shut up.”

Benkei throws his arm around Wakasa’s shoulders. It’s embarrassing really, but he can’t find it within himself to complain or push him off when his body heat is so welcomed by his shivering frame, chilled by the rain.

“Look, Waka…about earlier,” Benkei sighs. He assumes responsibility of checking for cars as Wakasa begins to walk them across the street to the 7-Eleven without any regard for his safety. The silence as they cross kicks Wakasa’s heart into overdrive. Once they’re safely on the other side, Benkei guides them under a tree much like that on the other side of the road to temporarily get them out of the rain. His arm slides off Wakasa’s shoulders, but he gently turns him to face him. “I’m not mad at you.”

Wakasa remains expressionless, unsure of how to proceed. “You’re not?”

Benkei shakes his head. “I have no reason to be. What you do with your body is up to you. All I can do is encourage you to make decisions that will help you and not hurt you.”

Wakasa glances at the ground, down at his soaked boots. “But you’ve been buying food for me to help me.”

Benkei pats his shoulder good naturedly, and as Wakasa looks up, he sees a thoughtfulness behind Benkei’s eyes. He retorts, “And that won’t change. That’s what that money’s there for.”

Wakasa wants to ask questions, push the matter to understand why exactly Benkei cares so much for his health. But Benkei takes his hand, pulling him from under the tree, and walks them toward the 7-Eleven. Gazing down at their hands, the contrast of their skin tones and sheer size difference, Wakasa wonders how two people so different can end up in the same place; the right people at the right time. Against all odds—the nature their relationship has taken—this doesn’t feel unnatural. Despite the blood they’ve shed, worn by each other like war paint, this feels like how things should be.

That’s all too much to really think about now, though. Far too much to put into words. So instead, Wakasa squeezes the hand that pulls his and holds it back.

When they reach the entrance of the store, Benkei lets go of his hand. Quizzically, Wakasa says, “Not gonna drag me around the store today?”

Benkei shrugs, squeezing some of the excess liquid out from his uniform. “Probably better if we don’t both go in sopping wet.”

Wakasa huffs a laugh, some of his hair falling from his attempt at keeping it at bay. It falls into his eyes like a curtain. He parts it with his fingers so he can see. “Not afraid I’ll run away if you leave me here?”

Benkei raises his eyebrows, a playful glint in his eye. “Should I be? I’ll tie you to a pole if I need to.”

Wakasa just laughs, a mixed feeling in his stomach that can only be described as melancholy. There’s joy, there’s shame, there’s a deep sadness within him.

There’s Benkei, standing there with him. Unafraid of the messiness and conflict.

Wakasa waits. He sits just outside of the door, waiting for the rain to pass. The entrance to the 7-Eleven is covered but only slightly, so he has to shrink in on himself to avoid getting wet. He’s thankful the air is warm even in the shade, his uniform still uncomfortably damp and his hair unsalvageable from moisture. Every time the door opens and he expects it to be Benkei, someone else appears instead and Wakasa is blasted by a burst of cold air from inside the store. He shivers, silently wondering how Benkei is handling the air conditioning in his own wet clothes. If his hand and arm were any hint, he’s probably doing just fine.

At last, Benkei emerges no worse for wear, a plastic bag sagging around his arm. He spots Wakasa and smiles, gesturing to the tree they took shelter under. Wakasa stands and follows him.

The rain has slowed down some, more a drizzle than a downpour at this rate, but sitting in the rain won’t do them any good either. At least under the canopy of the tree, the branches will mostly protect them from getting soaked again.

Under the tree is a sidewalk in mild disrepair. This area doesn’t receive much traffic, much less foot traffic, so sitting on the pavement isn’t much of an obstruction for anyone. They settle under the tree, leaning against it for back support.

Once they’re settled, Benkei opens the plastic bag and pulls out the items he bought. Wakasa knows Benkei bought something for him, but he certainly doesn’t expect it to be something that isn’t food.

“Hair ties?” Wakasa asks, glancing down at the assortment of neatly packaged, brightly colored hair ties.

Benkei averts his eyes, an unfamiliar shyness to his aura. It’s cute.

Wakasa tries not to think about that.

“Your bangs have been getting longer and I figured it’s annoying trying to keep them out of your face,” he says simply. But there’s a nervousness when he speaks, like he has to explain himself further somehow. “They might not be the best type for your hair. Sorry about that. I’m not well-versed in hair ties.”

Wakasa smiles, his eyes softening and face relaxed. It’s such a sweet gesture, coming from such a pure place, that Wakasa has no choice but to return his energy. He looks just as honest as he sounds when he says, “Thank you, Benkei. That’s really thoughtful of you.”

Benkei smiles back, glancing away to watch the rainfall. Wakasa retrieves the hair tie between his teeth and ties it around as much of his bangs as he can. His hair is left in a half-up, half-down style, his face free to breathe. Benkei glances at the hair tie he selected, his expression unreadable.

“What?” Wakasa asks with an upturned eyebrow. “Did I do it wrong?”

Benkei shakes his head, eyes glued to his baby ponytail. “No, you did it right. Just—the color you grabbed was a good choice. The purple looks nice against your blonde hair.”

Wakasa certainly doesn’t expect that. He sucks in a sharp breath, coughing into his arm and pretending to clear his throat to obscure his reaction. He feels his face warm and hopes it’s dark enough to be unnoticeable.

“Oh. Uh… thank you.”

“Now,” Benkei steers the subject away from Wakasa’s appearance, a dusty rose faint on his own cheeks. Reaching into the bag, he pulls out a container unlike those for the snacks they’ve eaten during these moments before. Inside the container lies three rows of tricolor dough balls, each skewered down the center. Wakasa’s seen them in convenience stores before but never tried them.

“‘Dango skewers’?” Wakasa rattles off the label. “What are they?”

Benkei gives Wakasa a look of genuine surprise that he’s unfamiliar with the snack. “You’ve never tried them?”

Wakasa shrugs, his eyes glued to the package. Is it possible to crave something that you’ve never eaten before?

“Nope,” Wakasa confirms. “My mom never made or bought ‘em. There’s a lot I’ve never tried.”

Benkei opens the packaging, pulling out one of the skewers and passing it to Wakasa. Wakasa twirls it between his fingertips, examining it.

“They’re rice flour balls. They’re kind of sweet, but not in a candy way,” Benkei elaborates, pulling out a skewer for himself. Rather than chowing down on his own though, he looks over at Wakasa, waiting for him to take a bite.

Wakasa can tell he’s waiting to see his reaction, so he complies with the unspoken request and bites into the first ball. And… Benkei was right. They’re soft and slightly sweet, but not quite like a donut or candy. From his first bite, Wakasa feels as though he has filled a gap within himself that he didn’t know he had.

Benkei seems to notice this, too. He laughs, endeared by Wakasa’s reaction. “Good?”

Wakasa pops another dango ball into his mouth, and he swears he can feel the endorphins flowing through him the moment the food reaches his taste buds. Around his mouthful of food, he mumbles, “so good.”

Before he knows it, his dango stick is all that’s left, and he sadly drops it in the bag. He doesn’t want to take too much, take more than the portion set aside for him. But he can’t help himself as his eyes drift to the third dango stick, untouched as Benkei still works on his first.

“You can have it,” Benkei mouths around his own dango, having taken notice of Wakasa’s yearning. Wakasa’s self-control is slipping, so he gives Benkei a glance as if ensuring he’s allowed to take it. “These are for you.”

Happily, Wakasa snatches up the other dango stick and pops the first dango ball into his mouth. If he could, he’s certain he would be glowing right now.

Once their bellies are full of dango, Wakasa drops his second stick into the bag and relaxes against the tree trunk. Benkei doesn’t let him fall asleep or relax for long, though, as he pulls him into conversation.

“Waka,” Benkei says quietly, leaning along the tree beside him. The rain continues to fall outside of the tree’s reach, the pattering sounds a soundtrack for their moment. Wakasa turns to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

Benkei reaches down into the bag, fishing out one of the dango sticks they discarded. He offers it to Wakasa, who only looks at it in uncertainty.

“When you feel the need to smoke,” Benkei says, catching him off guard. Lips parted, he offers the gateway Benkei needs. Benkei gently inserts the stick inside his mouth, setting it on the fat of his lip like a cigarette. “Try sucking on a dango stick.”

Wakasa stares at him silently for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. This is new. It’s different and unlike any interaction they’ve had before, but something in Wakasa simply doesn’t want the moment to end. Before it can, he speaks.

“I will,” he says softly, earnestly. “But Benkei…”

Benkei quirks an eyebrow, and Wakasa reaches to his mouth to pull the dango stick away from his lips. Benkei’s eyes seem glued to that motion. Wakasa smiles, his lips curling, as he continues.

“You put it in backwards.”

He flips the stick around, finding the sticky side where all of the flavoring lingers. The side where Benkei plucked it up between his fingertips. He repeats the motion, sliding it between his lips with the stick between his index and middle fingers as if it’s a cigarette.

Benkei hardly reacts, but flushes red. Wakasa giggles, closing his eyes in bliss as the taste of dango floods his tongue once more.

Their bellies are full of dango and butterflies. Maybe their hearts are a little full, too.

~•~❀~•~

The next time that Wakasa sees Benkei, it’s under truly unique circumstances.

It was early in the morning when Wakasa received a call on the household phone. Thankfully he’s smuggled it into his room so he can use it, since it’s not as if his mom makes use of it, but the chirping of the ringing startled him out of his sleep state nonetheless. On the other side of the phone was the pleading voice of Takeomi, frazzled as he begged Wakasa to please come to my place right now.

So Wakasa quickly got himself together, pulling his bangs back with that same purple hair tie from just over a week ago, and hopped on his zombie of a motorcycle to see whatever the hell Takeomi’s problem is.

And that’s how he finds himself standing in the entryway of the Akashi household, which is far noisier than he could’ve ever imagined. He must not have been the only one Takeomi called, though, since Benkei shortly follows him.

The two stand still, watching silently as Takeomi zips from room to room, chasing and being chased by two little pink puffballs.

“So why did you call us here?” Wakasa asks, his displeasure from being woken up at an ungodly hour seeping into his voice. Takeomi managed to wrangle one of the kids, a small boy with short floppy hair and bright blue eyes. He holds him in place as he commands him to step into his shoes. Sulking, he complies, wiggling his feet into his sneakers. All the while, the other child tugs on the end of Takeomi’s shirt, the little fountain sprout on the top of her head wobbling.

“Haruchiyo is starting kindergarten, so I need to go to an orientation with him since my dad is a bas— bad father —and can’t go with him.”

Takeomi continues to get Haruchiyo ready, mumbling out orders to him as Wakasa talks. “Kindergarten? Doesn’t the school year start in April?”

Takeomi briefly disappears behind one of the walls, returning with a small backpack the perfect size for someone of Haruchiyo’s stature. “Yeah. But the school said he could join at the start of the new semester so I can get him out of my hair during the day. At least while I’m at school.”

“And we’re here because?” Benkei chimes in, a skeptical frown on his lips.

“I need you guys to watch Senju,” he says, placing a hand on her fluffy hair. She looks up at him with wide, emerald eyes. “Shin’s taking Mikey too and his grandpa’s taking care of Emma.”

“Are we getting paid for this?” Wakasa asks, his eyebrow quirked.

“In compliments,” Takeomi says without a hint of remorse. He scoots Haruchiyo toward the front door, who frowns but doesn’t protest. Wakasa rolls his eyes. “I didn’t have a choice, okay? I swear Senju will be easy for you. Just give her some dolls or something to play with and make sure she doesn’t set the house on fire.”

All the while, Senju stands wide-eyed, bearing a little confused pout. She looks uncertain of what’s happening, why her oldest brother’s leaving her and dragging her other older brother along with him. Without another word, Takeomi slams the door open and shut, dragging Haruchiyo behind him. When there’s a stall in the atmosphere—just Wakasa, Benkei, and Senju left—they give their attention to the youngest Akashi sibling.

“So… Senju, huh?” Wakasa asks, albeit slightly awkwardly. As an only child who didn’t grow up interacting with other kids, mostly holed away in his home, this kind of situation is entirely foreign to him. He doesn’t know how to act around kids, speak around them, and certainly not look after them. He thinks he knows the basics, at least—don’t swear around them and don’t let them almost kill themselves on anything that could be dangerous.

Senju blinks at him and nods silently, a shine in her eyes. Benkei takes a different approach, squatting down to be at the same level as her. As tiny as she is, his height may very well be intimidating or frightening, so it makes sense that he would want to remove that discomfort that could be there. Wakasa realizes that Benkei seems better equipped for this situation, so he doesn’t protest as he takes the lead.

“Hi, Senju,” Benkei smiles, holding out a hand for Senju to shake. She looks down at it, quizzical, and places her own tiny hand in his. “I’m Benkei. And this,” he gestures behind him where Wakasa shifts his weight from side to side, “is Wakasa. We’re gonna play with you while your brothers are away, yeah?”

She nods, still quiet, but her body language begins to open up like a flower blooming. There’s a trust she begins to express when she realizes that these two strange boys, although taller and older than she is, are here for her .

“How old are you, Senju?” Benkei prompts, his tone gentle, his eyes soft. Everything about him seems soft and welcoming. It’s such a vast contrast to how he fights.

“Three,” Senju responds. She holds up four fingers. “I’m four soon!”

Benkei gasps, lighthearted and exaggerated as he stands up. Senju follows his motion with her eyes, but she seems less intimidated now that she’s talked to him. “What a big girl!” Benkei declares, cooing over the little flower in front of him. She smiles big, twisting and swaying shyly.

“What do you want to do, Senju?” Benkei asks, tilting his head curiously. She puts her index finger and thumb under her chin in a stereotypical thinking pose, and the sight is so silly and innocent that it brings a smile to Wakasa’s face as well. Her eyebrows scrunch together as she pouts her lips, thinking a lot harder than either of them expected her to. When an idea comes to her, her whole face lights up.

That excitement doesn’t die as she declares her choice. “Tea party!”

“Well I guess we’re having a tea party, then!” Benkei quips happily, sparing a glance at Wakasa as if giving him a cue. Wakasa closes his eyes, humored and shrouded in disbelief, when a tiny hand grabs his wrist. When he opens his eyes, Senju looks up at him with worried eyes.

“You gotta be there too!” Senju declares, tugging on his arm with as much strength as her little body can muster (which surprisingly, is a lot). Without waiting for an answer, her walking quickly turns into running, and Wakasa has no choice but to let her pull him along lest his shoulder be dislocated. Benkei trots behind them, a proud glint in his eye.

They reach a room that glows a pepto bismol shade of pink, clad in all the glamor that would make any little girl jealous. There’s a teddy bear on the twin sized bed that’s surely bigger than Senju herself, white fur matted but otherwise pristine. Hidden behind it, there’s a hint of color etched on the walls in crayon. Not every toy is put away, but she seems to have a system to her organization.

It’s the room of a child who is well loved. Wakasa wonders when that changed.

Senju doesn’t say anything as she pulls Wakasa to the pretty pink tea table in the corner of her room, pointing for him to sit on one of the quilted butterfly-shaped pillows. As he settles into one of these pillows, he watches as Senju pulls Benkei toward the table and gestures for him to do the same. But rather than sitting down at the table with them, she turns and runs out of the room, the sound of her thudding footsteps trailing off as she disappears.

Wakasa glances at Benkei, raising his eyebrows with a smile. Bekei mirrors his humored look, his eyes soft. It’s as if they communicate telepathically, sympathizing over the strange situation they’ve somehow found themselves in—the befuddling little girl whose brain they can’t see inside. Wakasa feels those butterflies lift off from inside his stomach, flying in his chest cavity. He wonders if the pillow beneath him is somehow subliminally affecting him.

After a few moments have passed, the little feet come padding back into the room. Senju’s arms are full of a whole bunch of things—many of which Wakasa’s surprised she even carried at once—that she begins setting up around the table. She props up a dinosaur toy on one of the pillows, a skeleton model on another, and finally plops herself in the center seat. She drops an array of items on the table with a loud clack as she sets up a display arranged from a lavender teapot with a ring of roses painted on it and a matching set of white teacups. Lastly, she has multiple tiaras in different colors, each adorned with different gemstones.

“Green for Rex-san—” Senju declares, placing an emerald green tiara on the dinosaur toy. It slips off the head of the toy, far too big for it, but she persists until it is propped against the back of its neck and quits sliding.

“…White for Bones-san—” she places a glittery white tiara on the skeleton model’s head. Although it wants to slide as well, the width of the skeleton’s skull prevents it from getting very far.

“…Yellow for Benkei-san—” she stands and rises on her tiptoes to try to reach Benkei’s head. He laughs in absolute adoration, tilting his head down so she can crown him. She places the yellow crown on his head, and he happily adjusts it so it’s comfortable on him, 

“…Purple for Waka-san—” she does the same for Wakasa, who simply follows Benkei’s lead and offers his head to her to place the tiara on. The tiara is a close color to the hair tie he currently has in, and as he straightens again, Benkei gazes at the tiara. Wakasa smiles at him softly, the goofiness of the whole situation coloring his cheeks pink.

And speaking of pink— “…And pink for me! Princess Senju!” Senju declares loudly, plopping her rose gold tiara on top of her fluffy mess of hair. Her sprout of a ponytail still sticks out behind the tiara, like an extra peak of the diadem. Benkei and Wakasa clap for her, hyping her up, and she falls on her quilted pillow in a fit of giggles.

“Are we all princesses?” Benkei asks, the smile never leaving his eyes. He seems so at home in this situation, like he’s sat at a table just like this with someone just like Senju.

“Duh!” Senju exclaims, picking up the teapot by its handle. “It’s a princess tea party!”

Benkei cracks a smile so big Wakasa thinks it’ll break him. It makes Wakasa melt. Sitting quietly and observing is all Wakasa feels capable of doing, paralyzed from doing anything beyond that.

“I see. Do we have to have princess manners too?” Benkei asks, not letting his elbows rest on the table as much as Wakasa can see he wants them to.

“Princess Rex-san can’t put his pinky up,” Senju explains, gesturing to the dinosaur toy and its lack of dexterity in his fingers. Wakasa stifles a laugh behind his hand. “So it’s okay! Omi-nii says girls hafta be ladylike. But some girls aren’t ladies!” She pours herself an imaginary cup of tea. There’s a pout on her lips as she does so, but not one of concentration.

“Well, how about Waka and I have princess manners so that you and Princess Rex-san don’t have to?” Benkei asks, offering his own teacup for Senju to pour into. She happily obliges, making little glugging noises to simulate the tea filling the cup.

“Okay!” She giggles, watching expectantly as Benkei brings the cup to his lips. Behind his cup, he glances at Senju and exaggerates putting his pinky out before taking a sip out of the empty cup.

“So delicious!” He declares, and Senju lights up in joy. “Are there cookies at this tea party, Princess Senju?”

Her eyes open wide, her lips rounding in surprise. “Cookies?”

Benkei nods, taking another sip from his cup. “Every princess party needs cookies!”

Senju stands abruptly with a small gasp before dropping onto her cushion again. She’s restless and so, so happy. “Cookies for Princess Benkei!”

Wakasa stares, feeling as if he’s an observer from the outside. As if he’s outside of his own body. Still, there’s no sadness in his chest as he watches, because there’s too much warmth. He’s warm, feels like he’s going to burst into flames at any moment. He’s watching Benkei’s side profile. The way his jaw shifts as he plays with Senju, strong and set. The way his eyes shine like Senju’s. The way he smiles so damn brightly , blindingly bright, as he laughs.

Wakasa feels his throat tighten with emotion. It hits him, in this three year old’s room surrounded by a million shades of pink and purity, what’s been slowly burning under the surface—what’s finally come to light.

He has feelings for Benkei.

He realizes it in a single swift breath, his world shifting into place. He can’t run. He’s rooted in place, the task at hand requiring him to be responsible. He’s going to see Benkei whenever they have their next meeting, whenever they’re next dragged into another ridiculous job they aren’t being paid for.

This is just another stone the world has thrown at him.

Benkei calls him, bringing him back to here and now. He smiles the most organic, convincing smile he can as he offers his cup out for Senju to pour into. He sticks his pinky out.

He’s able to swallow down the feelings of fear and dread from his realization, Senju’s little chirping voice bringing him down and letting him relax into the moment. He eats his imaginary cookies and drinks his imaginary tea, but exchanges very real smiles with the animated tea party guests.

Before long, the sound of the front door opening draws their attention. But Senju’s too absorbed into her play, raising her voice so that she’s the prominent stimuli. Wakasa and Benkei keep playing alongside her to appease her, both wearing smiles. The fact that Senju wants to keep playing with them despite her brothers’ return just shows that they did a good job.

“We’re back!” Takeomi calls, sighing in exasperation. His heavy footsteps echo through the house, dragging and obviously perturbed. They draw close, searching for any life within the house, and eventually reach the doorway to Senju’s room. Takeomi huffs a laugh, humored by the scene unfolding in front of him.

“You guys look like you had fun,” he muses. Haruchiyo appears behind him, clearly just wanting to slip by and into his room. His eyes catch Wakasa’s though, and he freezes in place. Takeomi mumbles something about letting the girls play, waving his hand dismissively as he walks away.

Haruchiyo, on the other hand, lingers. His body language is anxious, concave, but the fear doesn’t drive him away. If anything, it pulls him in. He takes quiet, hesitant steps into the pink bedroom, but he doesn’t make it very far before he halts. Benkei seems to recognize the emotion he’s feeling and places his teacup on its tray so that he can address him.

“Would you like to join?” He asks softly, as if trying not to scare him away. Haruchiyo’s eyes are wide but his eyebrows scrunch, as if he’s debating internally. The conflict within him is apparent, but his curiosity ultimately wins. He nods with small head movements, barely even visible, as he closes into the table. He goes to take a seat beside Senju, undeterred by the fact that the cushions are all occupied, when a voice cuts through.

“Hey, Haruchiyo—Manjiro and Keisuke are playing with a ball outside. You should go join them instead.”

Haruchiyo freezes like a deer in the headlights, pale. His mouth opens and closes, a panic in his breath, as he tries to respond. “B-but—Your friends—” he gestures to their presence at this table—the pink table with lavender teacups and embroidered butterfly cushions. Takeomi doesn’t give him a chance to finish, an unprovoked irritation washing over him.

“They’re watching your sister, that’s why. Boys don’t have tea parties.”

That strikes a chord in Benkei, Wakasa notices. From the corner of his eye, he sees him flinch.

Haruchiyo closes his mouth, giving up his fight. He slowly rises, making himself small again. His eyes are damp.

Benkei seems close to snapping, an anger Wakasa isn’t used to. Before anything can build any further, Wakasa waits until Takeomi has left the room and carefully grabs Haruchiyo’s wrist. He looks over his shoulder in surprise and tries to hide his quivering lips.

Wakasa gently takes his other hand, simulating picking something up off the table, and cups his hand over Haruchiyo’s. He holds his hand firm over Haruchiyo’s for an extra moment as if to illuminate that he’s placing something in it. He makes sure he has his eyes on his own as he speaks.

Quietly, Wakasa murmurs, “Take this cookie to go, yeah?”

Haruchiyo’s expression remains somber and confused, but his eyes shine in understanding. Swallowing, he nods.

“Okay,” Haruchiyo warbles, but the emotion in it sounds more like thank you .

A few minutes later, Wakasa and Benkei are walking out the front door, putting on their most cordial smiles for the Akashi siblings. As the distance between the two of them and the house grows, so does Wakasa’s concern over what took place minutes before.

And yes, now he has the whole feelings aspect to deal with, but he doesn’t want to let Benkei go off on his own like this. It doesn’t feel right.

“Benkei,” Wakasa hurries out, trailing behind him on the cobble pathway. He can tell Benkei is trying to seem inconspicuous about his mood, his face neutral as he turns to acknowledge him.

“Yeah?”

Wakasa rubs his arm, a buzzing under his skin that he can’t reach. “My mom’s out doing…whatever the hell she’s doing. If you don’t have anywhere to be.”

Benkei chuckles, leaning against his motorcycle. “Is this your half-assed way of inviting me over?”

Wakasa narrows his eyes childishly. “Ugh, never mind.”

Benkei holds a hand out to stop Wakasa in his tracks. There’s hardly any life in his face, but he responds, “I’ll come over, Waka. I’ve got no place to be.”

It’s incredibly unfamiliar the way Wakasa’s chest lights up with fireflies when he hears that. He pushes those feelings down as he smiles softly, heading to his own motorcycle.

“Follow me, yeah?”

Benkei revs his bike in response, giving Wakasa the cue to lead the way.

~•~❀~•~

Wakasa slows to a stop in front of his house, Benkei following closely behind. They park their motorcycles on their kickstands and Wakasa beckons Benkei to enter the property.

The house is clearly one that would’ve been worth a great deal of money when it was purchased, but the state of disrepair it lives in masks any beauty the house may have once had. There’s vines growing up the sides of the building, wearing down sun-bleached paint and forming cracks in the house’s foundation. The grass is overgrown, weeds suffocating the flowerbeds that now sit empty. There’s junk on the side of the house that needs to be thrown away, scraps of metal and wine crates hidden by rotting wood plank fences.

Normally, Wakasa would be embarrassed bringing someone to his house in the state that it’s in. However, even though he respects Benkei far more than he’s ever respected anyone else—which should cause him to waver in bringing him here— he respects Benkei so much that he knows he won’t judge him .

“Home sweet home,” Wakasa says sardonically. Benkei’s eyes wander and take in the property, but he seems shy to take in all of the information around him. Perhaps he doesn’t want Wakasa to think he’s evaluating or judging him. They pause in front of Wakasa’s doorstep. “Stay here. I can get you a drink, if you want.”

Benkei blinks, suspicion in his eyes. “What kind of drink are we talking?”

Wakasa snickers, unlocking the door with a key he slips out from under the welcome mat. “You’re a delinquent, loser. Scared of a little booze?”

Benkei sighs. “You exhaust me sometimes, you know.”

Wakasa laughs, swinging the door open with a loud creak. “I’m just offering. You can say no.”

Benkei’s quiet for a moment, pondering a decision Wakasa’s certain would’ve been obvious from the get go. And then, “Why the hell not.”

Wakasa smiles, slipping his key in his pocket. “I’ll get you something weak.”

He doesn’t bother taking his shoes off as he trails into the household, sparing a glance at the empty armchair that his mom usually lounges around in. It’s empty, as he suspected, so she must be out restocking on whatever substances she’s running low on and can’t send him to get.

Rusting through the kitchen, Wakasa searches for a wine he knows won’t do much damage to a non-drinker. He scours the wine bottles in various states of empty, uncovering a bottle that hasn’t been opened yet. It’s a bottle of Moscato—one with a low alcohol content and a palatable flavor. His mom may retaliate for this later, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. He quickly pops the cork, not wanting Benkei to wait on him any longer.

He finds Benkei standing right where he left him when he opens the door. He’s staring into space and clearly lost in thought. The sound of the door shutting behind Wakasa grabs his attention though, and he swiftly returns to an expression of contentment. As much as his curiosity begs him to, he doesn’t point this out.

“We can sit on the side of the house. It’s not fancy, but it doesn’t smell like smoke and it’s quiet,” Wakasa says. With a shy smile, he gently wraps his hand around Benkei’s hand the way Benkei’s done to him. He walks him to an area shaded by a large tree, a couple of wine crates arranged underneath as stools. Thankfully the brush isn’t too thick here, as Wakasa often uses this area as a place to smoke. Wakasa sits down on one of the crates and encourages Benkei to do the same.

Wakasa holds the bottle out, offering it. “Want first dibs?”

Benkei rolls his eyes, but his lips stretch into a smile that he doesn’t try to hide. It’s a contrast to the choleric, hot-blooded boy he saw earlier. “Don’t let me overdo it. That or don’t let me drive home.”

Wakasa passes the wine to him, mumbling, “Got it.”

Benkei considers the bottle, putting his nose up to the bottleneck to smell the liquid. Without any hesitation, he wraps his lips around the bottle and takes a swig from it. Wakasa watches expectantly as he pulls the bottle away from his mouth, smacking his lips.

“I grabbed something mild. The alcohol content is low too, so it won’t get you too shitfaced.”

“Not bad,” Benkei murmurs, taking a second sip to confirm his feelings. He passes the bottle back to Wakasa, and Wakasa tips the bottle immediately to take three large sips from it. He doesn’t allow himself any time to dwell on the way his lips are slick with Benkei’s spit, childishly indulgent in an indirect kiss.

The late summer sun beams down brutally, the canopy of leaves the only solace from its intensity. Before his brain can melt too much from the heat and the booze, Wakasa needs to know—

“You were really good with Senju earlier,” he observes. Benkei clearly doesn’t expect the compliment, eyebrows raised. Wakasa expands on his statement. “I didn’t think you’d be so good with kids.”

Benkei takes the bottle back from Wakasa, taking another sip before he responds. He stares straight ahead, unfocused.

“I had a little sister. I used to do this kinda stuff with her when we were young, even though our parents didn’t like me doing the ‘little girl’ things.”

Wakasa’s mouth falls open, totally surprised at the admission. He didn’t know Benkei has any siblings, or really, much of anything about Benkei. He’s still been a closed book, his focus on helping Wakasa open up possibly and unintentionally forcing him into the background.

“I didn’t know you have a sister,” Wakasa admits softly.

“Her name was Keiko,” Benkei states. The past tense catches Wakasa off guard and he freezes.

“Wait… was ?” Wakasa murmurs, trying his best to keep his tone neutral so he doesn’t speak too harshly about this subject.

Benkei taps his fingers on the bottleneck, uneasy. “It’s probably best if I don't talk about it. I don’t wanna bring you down.”

Wakasa snatches the bottle from Benkei, taking one large swig of it before placing it on a crate between the two of them, up for grabs. He plants his elbow on his knee to rest his chin in his palm, looking at Benkei at an angle.

“Hey, you promised you’d tell me about yourself if I told you about myself,” Wakasa counters, recalling their first official interaction on equal terms. Back then it was said as a challenge, one Benkei knew Wakasa couldn’t resist taking. Now, though, it’s said as a plea—an invitation to open up.

Benkei nudges Wakasa with his knee, wearing melancholic eyes and a small smile. “Last I checked, learning about you means more than knowing whether or not you decided to smoke a cigarette between the last time you saw me and now.”

It’s an observation that leaves a mark, certainly. Wakasa doesn’t want Benkei to think that he’s holding back, though, and the little bit of alcohol in his blood makes what he’s about to say easy.

“Fine. I’m Imaushi Wakasa, I’m fourteen, I have a chronic smoking problem that I’ve been trying to kick—and have been clean since the last time I saw you, by the way—and my mom used to be a model in Sweden, but became an addict to smoking and drinking after my dad left when I was a baby because he had a secret mistress. Is that enough information or should I go on?”

Benkei blinks in surprise, overwhelmed by the influx of information, but he settles with an amused snuffle.

“I get the message. Unless you want to go on,” Benkei muses, a small twinkle in his eye that Wakasa barely catches. Wakasa dismisses him with a wave of his hand, swiping up the bottle and gently shaking it in his hand to seem occupied.

Benkei leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees to get into a more comfortable position to talk. “Keiko was a year younger than me. She bore more resemblance to my mom, who’s Japanese, than my dad, who’s Black. People used to ask a lot of questions when they found out we were siblings,” he pauses, a laugh escaping him. “She liked typical little girl things, but she also had a love for old warrior tales and movies. She loved to pretend we were warriors training for battle when our parents would get on us about our weight.”

Wakasa has questions, but he remains quiet so Benkei will continue.

“But she also used to do everything . She danced, she sang, she painted, she was teaching herself how to play guitar—she was never satisfied doing just one thing. And even though she was younger, I looked up to her.”

Benkei’s explanation pauses, so Wakasa decides to pursue answers.

“What happened to her?” He asks, his voice small and quiet. There’s a sancrity to the moment, no doubt to what’s coming next, that Wakasa wants to preserve.

Benkei closes his eyes, taking some time to collect his thoughts before he speaks again. He stares off into space again.

“Our parents were really strict with us, our mom especially. She didn’t want us to look like our dad because then we’d look ‘different.’ I have darker skin, so maybe she saw me as a lost cause or something because my restrictions were a lot looser. I just had to watch my portions and keep my appearance as clean-cut and Japanese as I could. They hardly even looked my way. But my sister was her passion project.

“She would style her hair like her own and try to blend her in as much as possible since she almost passed for someone who was fully Japanese. But worst was her diet. She wanted us to be as thin as possible so that we fit the damn beauty standards in Japan. We each had a jar and we would get a hundred yen everytime we denied ourselves food to ‘stay on track’ or lose weight. And because she was so harsh on Keiko—because she was a girl—her jar was so goddamn full.”

Benkei takes a shaky breath, emotion taking hold of him. Wakasa doesn’t know what to do, so he simply waits patiently until Benkei can gather himself in his own time.

“She had a shit ton of health issues that they ignored. Autoimmune stuff that made her lose weight even without the starvation, like Grave’s disease. But she was so goddamn determined to make our mom happy that she deprived her body of what it needed, and it eventually shut down. Just five days before her twelfth birthday.”

Wakasa scoots a little closer, hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. He can feel him shaking, unresolved emotions lighting him up.

“They killed her. Those bastards killed her,” Benkei grits through his teeth, his whole body tense. “And they knew it. They tried to make things right after that, but they took the only family I really had from me. She was the only one in that family that saw me as a person and not a failed attempt. She was my best friend.

“So,” Benkei continues, glancing down at his lap, “I wanted to do everything they didn’t want for me. I started eating more and bulking up, I got into fights, I got tattoos, I got cornrows. I use that money that my sister and I earned from years of suffering to enjoy the foods we never got to, because it’s what she would want me to do. And…that’s how I pay for you, because I never want to see someone suffer the way that Keiko did.”

“Thank you,” Wakasa chokes out, emotional at the confession. It’s painful for him to know that the love he’s receiving is the result of someone else’s pain. But he knows how Benkei is, selfless in that way that he once found obnoxious, and if Keiko was anything like Benkei, she would’ve wanted the same for him. He just hopes he can repay the favor with his appreciation. “Thank you, Benkei.”

Benkei just huffs a watery laugh. “You’re welcome. I hope you caught the rest, though.”

Wakasa squeezes his shoulder, his chest bursting. “I did.”

The still air is fragmented by a cool breeze, a quiet promise of the autumn to come. Benkei’s eyes remain shut, currently somewhere far from where he’s sitting. In this moment, he may be sitting next to someone else altogether. When he returns to the present, those strong, emotional eyes finding Wakasa’s, it becomes clear just how much Benkei’s gone through to get to this point.

Shit. And Wakasa accused him of having it easy.

“Benkei,” Wakasa realizes aloud, murmuring his name. Benkei lifts his chin, pushing away that sadness he was swallowed in before.

“Yeah?”

Wakasa shakes his head. “No—Benkei. Your name,” he reiterates. Benkei tilts his head, inviting an elaboration. “That’s not the name you were born with, was it?”

Benkei smiles. He looks impressed by Wakasa’s observation. “You’re the first Black Dragon member to notice,” he remarks. “Benkei is the name of a warrior monk who my sister and I looked up to when we were kids. Keiko loved him especially because he shared part of her name.”

Wakasa purses his lips, a sting behind his eyes. “You go by that name to honor her, don’t you?”

Benkei finds the abandoned wine bottle, taking another sip from it. It’s as if he wants his next words to be extra sweet as they leave his mouth.

“It’s the best way to keep her with me. I don’t want any association with those monsters who took her away. I go by Benkei because it liberates me, but always reminds me why I am the way that I am.”

Hesitantly, Wakasa reaches a hand out. He places it on top of Benkei’s, stunned as always by the size difference—the beauty of Benkei’s bronze skin against his pale skin. “Can I know what your actual name is?”

Benkei gazes down at their hands, his eyes unfocused. His breathing seems shallower, unfamiliarly anxious. “Only if you promise to never use it.”

Benkei turns his head to look at Wakasa, and it becomes apparent just how close they’re sitting when Wakasa feels his slow exhale against his own skin. Any sort of urge to tease him or make a sarcastic comment is sucked away in a single heartbeat—one that is stolen from Wakasa. He feels more serious now than he ever has when he whispers back to him,

“I promise.”

The ghost of a smile pulls at Benkei’s lips, and if Wakasa weren’t as close as he is, he may not have noticed it. He finds it takes all of his willpower to not let his eyes linger on that mouth.

“Arashi Keizo.”

Wakasa smiles softly, his voice like satin. “It’s nice to meet you, Benkei.”

~•~❀~•~

Sometimes blessings come disguised as problems.

It’s early autumn, and the cool breeze and crisp smell in the air reinforce this. It’s far too beautiful weather to stay cooped inside, and the weekend is free for Wakasa. He longs for the day ahead, one spent on his motorcycle cruising around the slower corners of Shinjuku.

That is, until he brought his motorcycle to life only to be met with a god awful noise .

He immediately turned it off, stepping away from the machine as if it was a bomb about to explode. He ran inside and grabbed the home phone, dialing a number he had scribbled down on a notepad and hoping the other end would pick up. After all, he’s not Takeomi—he has the decency to call after 11 AM.

Thankfully, his call made it through, and he’s especially thankful for the early autumn breeze as he walks his motorcycle up and down the Tokyo side roads to his destination. By the time the Sano household comes into view, he feels as if he’s moments away from dropping dead on the sidewalk. He really should work on his stamina.

“Oi! Waka!” Shinichiro calls, his hair relaxed and sprawled over his forehead. There’s a cigarette dangling out of his mouth, the end lit. As tired as he is, Wakasa has enough brainpower to get pissed about it.

“What the hell, man?” Wakasa snaps, gesturing to the cigarette. He feels disgruntled by the sight. “Since when do you smoke?”

Shinichiro shrugs, taking the cigarette out of his mouth to exhale a cloud of smoke. “Eh, a few months?”

Wakasa rolls his eyes, kicking the kickstand of his motorcycle so it stands upright. “I’m guessing Takeomi got to you, didn’t he?”

Shinichiro points at Wakasa with the same hand his cigarette sits in—a two fingered salute.

“Don’t act like you don’t smoke, idiot.”

Wakasa huffs a laugh, staying a distance away from his friend. He’s been good, sure, but exposure to a lit cigarette is a temptation he still needs to avoid for now.

“I’ve been trying to quit, asshole,” Wakasa mumbles. “This isn’t gonna help.”

Shinichiro flicks the butt of his cigarette, clearing some of the ash that has built up.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he muses. “I won’t offer you any to keep you on track. Now—bring the bike back to the shed so I can take a look at it.”

Shinichiro gestures for Wakasa to follow behind him, leading him through a beautiful landscape that Wakasa feels rather guilty traipsing through with this hunk of machinery. Shinichiro falls forward so that he can prop the doors open, allowing fresh air into the shed. There’s a space in the center that’s cleared out so that Wakasa can pull the motorcycle into the shade, as well as some bike jacks set out to raise the vehicle while it’s being inspected.

Shinichiro helps Wakasa pull the powerless motorcycle into the shed, his cigarette dangling out of his mouth. Once it has been secured on the bike jacks, Shinichiro fetches a rolling stool to sit on while he investigates the bike.

“Put out your damn cigarette,” Wakasa scolds him, watching in disbelief as Shinichiro sits next to gallons of gasoline and oil with his stick still lit. “Are you trying to kill us?”

Shinichiro laughs, his cigarette stuck to his lip.

“Chill. I work on my bike and smoke all the time.”

Wakasa sighs in exasperation, holding back his comment of Shinichiro having a death wish. After all, Shinichiro is doing him a favor and inspecting his bike for free, and there’s a chance he’ll even offer to fix it for free or a low price. He can’t exactly complain.

Shinichiro looks at the overall appearance of the motorcycle, skepticism crossing his face. Without asking Wakasa any questions, he  begins scanning the details of the bike for a tag that may have product information. He scoots around the bike on his stool, little pumps of his feet navigating him as he glances closely at the vehicle. He pops the cigarette from his mouth, stomping the embers into an ashtray that’s set aside. It’s clearly gotten real.

“Waka,” Shinichiro begins, staring long and hard at the cobalt machine. “Where the hell did you get this thing?”

Wakasa blinks, the question unexpected. “Don’t know. Some trash heap. I couldn’t afford a bike so I had to steal one that was discarded. Why?”

Shinichiro sighs heavily, distancing himself from the motorcycle to address Wakasa. “I don’t even need to look into the components of this thing. It’s a Kawasaki H2 Mach. They don’t even make these things anymore.”

“Couldn’t we still get parts for it though? If something’s broken?” Wakasa frowns.

Shinichiro snickers, knocking on the side of the bike with his knuckle.

“Hell no. These things are infamous for breaking, and they haven’t made them since the 70s. There’s no way we could salvage this shit show if it’s breaking down.”

Wakasa goes silent, his lips pursed. He and Shinichiro spend a couple minutes like that, staring disparagingly at the death trap. This creates a new problem for Wakasa. He can always take the bus to school if necessary, but this has been his only means of transportation for at least two years. His regular bike has been busted and since met the same fate that this motorcycle apparently had, and he has no car he can take or get behind the wheel of with his circumstances.

“How am I supposed to get to meetings,” he sighs, more for himself than for Shinichiro. Nonetheless, Shinichiro shrugs, racking his brain for solutions.

“Worst case scenario, someone could always pick you up,” Shinichiro suggests. He glances at the wall, or rather through the wall, referencing the house next door as he says “Takeomi and I are further away, but Benkei might be able to.”

And there’s the blessing. Wakasa’s heart sings, skipping a beat at the mention of his name. It feels so uncharacteristic of himself that it’s embarrassing.

Wakasa clears his throat, a flush on his cheeks. “Right. But, uh, what do I do outside of meetings? I need to get around somehow.”

“I could try to salvage this thing for parts,” Shinichiro points his thumb at the motorcycle. “There’s no guarantee, but we might be able to earn you some cash back on it to put toward a new ride.”

“How much do new bikes cost?” Wakasa quirks an eyebrow, inviting an estimate. Shinichiro gets a pained look on his face, hesitant to share with Wakasa. “C’mon, spit it out.”

“It depends, but probably between ¥400,000 to ¥800,000. Especially if it’s new,” Shinichiro states, grimacing. Wakasa’s jaw drops. How can such a fickle thing cost such an exorbitant amount of money?

“Good Lord,” Wakasa murmurs, dragging his hand down his face. He really wishes he could smoke a cigarette after this. “There’s no way.”

Shinichiro shrugs, standing from his stool and stretching his back. When he relaxes, he has a thoughtful glint in his eye.

“Crazier things have happened, man.”

~•~❀~•~

Wakasa wonders, as weeks pass by, if the crazy things Shinichiro was referring to were these very moments, where he sits at the back of the saddle of Benkei’s bike. He’s happily helping Wakasa out by being his chauffeur until he has a form of reliable transportation again. It’s nice, getting to enjoy the ride without worrying about driving. It’s much nicer when he gets to sit behind Benkei, spending time he didn’t even realize he wouldn’t have spared before with him.

And they still eat together before fights and sometimes after them. Benkei still offers Wakasa the dango skewers for Wakasa to suck on to help with his nerves. He doesn’t need to know that some of those nerves are caused by being around him .

Wakasa is faithful, though, and keeps his word. He hasn’t had a cigarette in months, and it’s amazing how it has become easier as time has passed. He still gets the urge of course, especially living in a house that smells of smoke constantly, but he’s trying his damnedest to avoid giving into that urge.

And that aforementioned blessing comes in a way Wakasa never would’ve expected.

Autumn has swept through Tokyo and teeters on the edge of winter, the air more than just a slight breeze. Wakasa walks briskly in his cardigan and secondhand coat, his arms wrapped around himself to preserve heat. Shinichiro had called him shortly after he got home from school, barely flopping on his bed and hoping to sleep until the next day. He had begged him to come over, stating it was an emergency and he needed backup.

Now, this walk feels familiar, but with much less effort required. Benkei couldn’t give him a ride, caught up in doing some egregious amount of homework, so walking became his only means of getting here.

Thankfully, the sun is still hanging over the horizon when he arrives, providing enough light and warmth for Wakasa to not feel like a walking ice box. He finds the entrance to the Sano household barren of life, so he lets himself into the property and begins calling out for Shinichiro.

“Shin? I’m here!” He shouts, scanning the yard with each uncertain step. The front door is closed, so he decides to check the shed first in case Shinichiro is stuck in a rut there. The grass is quite overgrown, frost clinging to the blades like ice pops. He’s thankful his boots come up to his mid-shin.

The shed door is cracked, suggesting he’s likely inside, so Wakasa pushes it all the way open to step inside.

Only, he’s caught off guard as an array of party poppers erupt around him, practically startling him out of his skin.

“ Happy birthday !” Voices declare around him, and Wakasa has to clutch his chest and wait for his heart to calm down as he takes in his surroundings.

Shinichiro, Takeomi, and Benkei all stand near the entrance to the shed, barricading Wakasa from entering the room fully with massive grins on their faces. There’s a hint of mischief to their behavior that unsettles Wakasa.

“Oh my god, are you trying to kill me?” Wakasa groans, an exasperated sigh escaping him.

“Not hard enough, apparently,” jokes Takeomi. He has a stupid little green and yellow striped party hat on.

“We wanted to surprise you!” Shinichiro defends their actions, a megawatt smile beaming at Wakasa. He has a stupid little red and blue dotted party hat on.

“It worked! Happy birthday!” Benkei declares, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He has a purple and yellow starry party hat on. It’s too small for his head, but it’s adorable.

“Thanks guys,” Wakasa says with a grateful smile. He scratches the back of his head bashfully. “I kinda forgot it was today.”

“Well we didn’t!” Shinichiro retorts gleefully. He gives a meaningful look to their friends besides him as he continues. “And—we have this to prove it.”

The human barricade parts down the center, revealing a large and imposing motorcycle, shiny and new.

“What’s this?” Wakasa murmurs, parting his lips as he takes in the beauty of the contraption.

It’s a sleek build—a black frame and seat contrasted with a metallic purple shell. Wakasa is mesmerized by the machine and can’t help approaching it; seeing it from closer up. It’s unlike any motorcycle he’s seen before.

“This is a 1995 Triumph Speed Triple,” Shinichiro explains excitedly. He stands behind the motorcycle as Wakasa inspects it, proudly grinning. “We got it for a reduced price because it had some mechanical issues. I was able to fix it up with parts I already had, and then we decided to give it a custom paint job so it would suit you more. Benkei suggested purple.”

Wakasa’s heart melts when he learns who decided on the color, wondering if that hair tie had any effect in influencing his choice. But…then it hits him. A nearly brand new bike, fixed up and painted a color to suit him, presented on his birthday—

“Don’t tell me this is for me,” Wakasa blurts, his eyes wide. His friends pause, looks of confusion crossing their faces at his outburst.

That’s the thing—Wakasa’s not used to having nice things. Everything he’s ever known is secondhand or stolen. Although his parents had money when they bought the house Wakasa grew up in, that money slowly dwindled as his mom gave up on her career and his dad left. Living off of child support could only do so much, and when most of that was spent on booze and cigarettes, it became clear where his parents’ priorities lay:

Not with him.

Faced with such a beautiful gift, something that’s his to keep and personalized for him , Wakasa has no idea how he’s supposed to accept something like this.

“It’s your birthday,” Shinichiro reinforces. He brushes his hand on the saddle of the motorcycle, sweeping away some residual dust. “Of course it’s for you.”

Wakasa takes a few steps backward to avoid the temptation in front of him. He feels shameful as he meets their confused reactions with a frown.

“I can’t accept this,” Wakasa mumbles. “It’s too damn expensive. There’s no way I could ever pay back when you guys must’ve spent on this.”

“Pay back?” Benkei furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “What are you talking about? You don’t need to pay us back. Our friendship isn’t about equal exchange.”

“Well I need to bring something to the table to justify accepting a gift worth hundreds of thousands of yen,” Wakasa responds irritably.

“How about this,” Shinichiro chimes in, circling around the other side of the motorcycle where the rest of them are standing. He approaches Wakasa and lingers in front of him, gazing down at him to meet his eyes. “In exchange for this motorcycle, you’ll promise to ride it until it dies on you too.”

Wakasa considers the offer, but Shinichiro isn’t finished. “ And —you’ll stay in Black Dragon until the day we disband. Sound like a deal?”

Wakasa finds it hard to hold back his smile. Shinichiro’s half of the bargain feels less like it’s for him and more like it’s for Wakasa. After all, a stable group of friends who are tied together by a common goal is all that he’s wanted for as long as he can remember. A reason to stick around.

Shinichiro throws his arm around Wakasa, enjoying the way Wakasa’s eyes are still glued to his handiwork.

“I can deal with that,” Wakasa grins. Despite the weather, this is the warmest birthday Wakasa can recall—surrounded by the people who care about him, and who he just so might also care about.

~•~❀~•~

Before he knows it, Wakasa realizes that keeping his promise to Shinichiro isn’t hard at all.

Even despite the cold weather, Wakasa takes his new motorcycle out at any given chance. Now that they’re on winter break, it would be all too easy for Wakasa to stay cooped up in his house and get sucked into old habits. Like this, though, gliding down ice-slick roads and burying his nose in his coat, he doesn’t have to worry about that. Better yet, on days with snowfall, he can sit on his idling bike while stopped at lights and catch snowflakes on his tongue. It’s a kind of whimsy he didn’t enjoy much as a child, the joy of simply existing.

His other promise he has obviously kept as well, always ( mostly ) on time to Black Dragon meetings. Some of the guys have noticed his new bike and whistled at it, complimenting the customization and asking if he designed it. Whenever this happens, Wakasa just scratches the back of his head in embarrassment and says it was the work of their captains, hoping that they dismiss his flushed cheeks as a product of the frigid air. Benkei somehow always meets his eyes during these conversations.

Other than attending gang meetings, winter break has been quiet for Wakasa. He sees his friends a few times, but the quickly approaching arrival of Christmas stifles any plans for the latter half of December. Fortunately or maybe unfortunately, Christmas is a time for family for most people. Shinichiro has his grandfather and his younger siblings to celebrate with, and Takeomi has his two younger siblings to make a magical Christmas for as well.

What Christmas means to Benkei, Wakasa isn’t quite sure. Living in a household with one neglectful parent calls for a lackluster Christmas for Wakasa—he wonders what adding another parent of the same type into the mix would change for the situation.

Now though, Wakasa gets to celebrate with his friends finally—the start of the new year.

When Shinichiro organized a group outing to their annual New Year’s Eve festival, Wakasa was so cooped up and suffocated from spending what should be the most wonderful time of the year with the most miserable person of all time that he didn’t even think before agreeing. But it wasn’t until this morning that Wakasa realized he doesn’t own anything he can wear to the festival.

He panicked, calling Shinichiro and asking if he had any spare haregi that he could loan to Wakasa. He could hear him rustling on the other line, searching for something to offer Wakasa. The whole time, Wakasa sat anxiously on his bed and drummed his fingers on his leg.

When Shinichiro sadly reported he didn’t have any extras, Wakasa groaned and collapsed on his bed. He dialed Takeomi and waited for him to pick up, but the holidays must have been additionally rough for him as he didn't answer. Benkei’s out of the question, since Wakasa would feel more than just a little desperate to ask him.

He almost redialed Shinichiro to try to fake some excuse for why he can’t go, his fingers hovering over the call button, when he had a thought.

Wakasa arrives at the festival last, his delay almost jeopardizing his appearance. He pushes through the sea of people, searching for the spot where they agreed to meet beforehand. His shoes, wooden and unfamiliar, force him to pay extra close attention to where he’s stepping. He just hopes it won’t rain, since he’s certain he’s not sure-footed enough to guarantee he won’t fall.

“Waka! Over here!” Shinichiro calls from somewhere just outside of the crowd. Wakasa cranes his neck, looking for him, when he spots Shinichiro with a bright grin and a white twisted hachimaki tied underneath his hair. He stands in his navy haregi under an imposing maple tree, accompanied by Takeomi in his green haregi and Benkei in a deep red haregi.

Wakasa holds his chin up as he approaches his friends, hoping to look as elegant and sophisticated as they do.

“Wow, Waka,” Takeomi raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed. Wakasa can’t deny that it gives him a slight ego boost. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this dressed up.”

“And you said you didn’t have anything!” Shinichiro teases him, taking in his appearance with bright eyes.

And it’s true— Wakasa didn’t have anything. But as it turns out, his mom does.

Tucked away in her closet, something she must’ve gotten before Wakasa was born and when his father was still around. Something lavish and far too expensive for Wakasa, but perfectly suited for the beautiful foreign model who moved to Japan to be with the love of her life. Royal purple and embroidered gold, its seams hidden by a shimmering gold fabric.

A women’s fit, but perfectly suited for someone like Wakasa.

He waits and hopes Benkei will take notice. Slowly, he glances at him, expectant. His face is unreadable, which isn’t unusual, but his eyes linger on the material itself rather than soaking in the vision of Wakasa in the material.

“It’s pretty, but it’s missing something,” Benkei says at last. Wakasa thinks his soul leaves his body for a moment.

What?

“Waka!” A twinkling voice chimes in before Wakasa can fuss too much over the reaction. Little hands pull at the material to get his attention, and he breaks out of his stupor to acknowledge the source of the distraction.

Senju beams at him, her sakura hair arranged in two little buns. Twin camellia flowers poke out, pink as well.

“Hey princess!” Wakasa smiles softly, gently ruffling her hair without messing it up too much (after all, he doesn’t want to piss off Takeomi).

Not far behind her, Haruchiyo, Manjiro, and Emma all arrive in what appears to be an exhilarating game of tag. How they’re able to run so fast in their kimonos and geta, Wakasa is bewildered.

The three of them join Senju in greeting Wakasa, matching sparkles in their eyes.

“So cool!” Manjiro shouts, touching the fabric of the haregi with curious fingers. Shinichiro gently discourages him, fluffing his hair and sweeping up the little hand into his own.

“You’re empress!” Emma beams, her usually shy and subdued behavior giving way to her excitement. Beside her, Haruchiyo says nothing, but he seems stricken by Wakasa’s appearance. There’s a shine to his eyes.

All of the excitement and compliments from the younger siblings certainly makes Wakasa feel warm inside. However, the one person he was hoping to be praised by barely said anything at all, and the bitterness from that knowledge still sours his mood.

“I’m glad you made it,” Shinichiro says happily, taking Emma’s hand into his hand that isn’t occupied. With his younger siblings' hands in his own, he playfully swings their arms. “I promised them I’d take them to play some games once everyone was here, so I guess I should live up to that promise.”

“We can go with,” Takeomi agrees, beckoning his siblings. Haruchiyo wordlessly returns to his brother’s side, but Senju continues to cling to Wakasa. “Senju, you don’t want to play games?”

Her head whips around, her eyes big. “I like games.”

Takeomi snickers. “That’s what I thought. C’mon then.”

Senju releases Wakasa’s haregi, but she pouts at him. She looks between Wakasa and Benkei, and then back at her brother. She seems conflicted.

“It’s okay Senju! We’re not going anywhere,” Benkei comforts her with a hand around her shoulders. It’s incredible really how the hand almost spans the width of her shoulders. A gentle giant, indeed.

“You can show us the prizes you won when you’re done playing,” Wakasa adds with a smile. Senju nods eagerly, her mind made up, as she jets off into the crowd without another word.

“Oi! Senju, don’t just take off!” Takeomi calls after her. He chases behind her with Haruchiyo left to stand in the absence he left behind. He watches in surprise as his brother darts through the crowd of people in search of his sister until they’re both out of sight.

“It’s okay, Haruchiyo,” Shinichiro laughs at the befuddled expression on his face, aquamarine eyes like saucers. Haruchiyo looks at him when he realizes he’s talking to him. “Just stick with us. We’re going to the games anyway. We’ll run into them one way or another.”

Manjiro giggles, pulling on Haruchiyo’s hand as if beckoning him to run off as well. Haruchiyo’s hesitance prevents them from making it very far though, their pace barely surpassing a walking pace.

“We’ll catch up with you guys later!” Shinichiro promises, his grin overtaking his face as he takes long strides behind the two young boys. Emma might be small, but she keeps up with Shinichiro like her legs are just as long as his are.

It’s clear that she’s used to this kind of thing.

In what feels like just a moment, Wakasa is left alone with Benkei. A happy little fire coils inside of Wakasa, knowing there’s nothing to distract Benkei from him now.

Well—except for the hundreds of people weaving around them, the smell of Japanese street food, and the shouting of vendors.

“So…what do you want to do?” Benkei checks in with Wakasa, clearly waiting for him to speak and taking charge when he doesn’t.

It’s hard for Wakasa to think about anything besides the child inside of him who wants to throw a tantrum over Benkei’s lackluster compliment, and especially hard for him to not act on that frustration.

“Oh, uh—I don’t mind,” Wakasa mumbles, his hands fidgeting. He suddenly wishes he had pockets in this attire. “I don’t have money to do anything, really. I’m just here to—” be with you… “—hang out.”

Benkei smiles, unaware of Wakasa’s turmoil. If anything, Wakasa is relieved he doesn’t have to address his disappointment. He doesn’t think he could handle expressing to Benkei that he didn’t feel validated enough when he’s this dolled up. He would simply burst into flames.

“That’s fine. We can just walk around and window shop,” Benkei decides. Wakasa nods in response, and when Benkei turns around and chooses a path for them to follow, Wakasa instinctively follows behind him.

He’s lost in this weird in-between of enjoying the moment and stewing in this feeling of rejection. The lights and lanterns strung up around them are beautiful, the hustle and bustle of the atmosphere invigorating. The smell of kushiyaki is divine, and Wakasa knows that if he brings it up, Benkei will immediately buy him some. But that’s the problem—Benkei is so hyper-conscious to Wakasa’s needs, making sure he’s eating well and feeling good, and yet he misses what Wakasa is sure he’s needed the most for a long time now.

And that’s Benkei.

Wakasa is broken out of his stupor by a hand brushing his hair. He sucks in a breath, his eyes wide.

Benkei’s face is just a few inches from his, the warm lantern light illuminating his eyes. Were they always this blue?

Wakasa doesn’t even breathe, terrified to spoil whatever’s happening in this moment. He’s rigid, reverence in his eyes as Benkei inspects him—far more intensely than he had earlier.

“There,” Benkei says softly. His hand pulls away gently, and it’s only when he feels his hair sag in response that he realizes that Benkei was putting something in his hair. “Now you look perfect.”

A mirror on the display shelf allows Wakasa to see what Benkei has done, and he gazes silently at the picture of himself.

It’s a beautiful floral kanzashi, royal purple and ornamental, tucked between tufts of hair. There’s pearls dolloped in its creases, delicate and iridescent. The trim of the flower is a brilliant gold, reflecting the light from above them. It’s magnificent.

“It’s beautiful,” Wakasa murmurs, unable to tear his eyes away. He’s entranced by the way it catches the light, practically glowing against his sunflower blonde hair. He finds Benkei’s eyes in the mirror, the other standing behind him with a patience Wakasa simply doesn’t understand. “But I can’t afford this, Benkei.”

“You don’t have to. I’m buying it,” is all Benkei says as he fishes inside of his haregi and produces his wallet. As he’s about to pay for the piece, Wakasa stops him with a hand on his arm, forcing the other to pause.

“Benkei, this isn’t food,” Wakasa mumbles, his eyes emotional. He glances frantically between Benkei’s eyes. He hopes that Benkei understands what he’s implying without actually saying.

You don’t have to do this. This was never something we agreed to. I’m not that important.

“There’s more to life than surviving, Waka,” Benkei says after a moment, slipping his arm out of Wakasa’s grasp to pass the money to the vendor. “And it may not be food, but it’s still a treat.”

Wakasa purses his lips, gingerly touching the hairpin. He can’t even dispute the argument. He likes being spoiled. It’s different, it’s a little scary, but it’s nice.

He wants to look good.

Wakasa’s heart doesn’t return to a normal rate until they’ve caught up with Shinichiro and Takeomi, Senju happily boasting the giant stuffed hamster she won from one of the game booths. Emma and Haruchiyo have prizes as well, but not quite the size of Senju’s. Apparently, Senju is the strongest out of the three of them.

It’s a fact that impresses Wakasa but also scares him slightly. The look on Takeomi’s face tells Wakasa he feels the same way.

“Ema, Ema!” Manjiro chants around a bite full of taiyaki.

“What, Mikey?” Emma snaps, holding her teddy bear close to her chest as she runs to see whatever her brother is so excited about.

“No, let’s make ema!” Manjiro declares gleefully, pointing his fish-shaped snack at the stand offering wooden plaques. This gets Shinichiro’s attention, and he breaks away from where he had been talking to Benkei and Takeomi to follow his siblings.

The rest of them follow suit, Wakasa quietly observing their purchases and rituals so that he knows what to do. Benkei kindly offers him yen to pay for the plaque, and although the custom is something Wakasa never really grew up with, he makes sure he thinks of a good wish so that the plaque and Benkei’s kindness does not go to waste.

I wish I could spend this next year just like this one.

As the hour drags closer to midnight, the excitement in the air only grows. Wakasa isn’t sure how, but all four of the younger children seem to be withstanding their tiredness to enjoy the festivities. That is, until Manjiro begins to crash. Shinichiro effortlessly scoops him up and hoists him onto his back, pushing forward with Emma’s hand in his own.

When there are just minutes left until the New Year, Manjiro stirs enough to recognize what’s about to happen, rubbing his eyes with his fists to clear the sleep from them.

Nerves and excitement are omnipresent, the very air around them seemingly electrified. Wakasa’s never experienced this level of a celebration for the New Year, and it’s all incredibly overstimulating and overwhelming.

But he knows some things. The important things.

With less than a minute left until midnight, Wakasa meets Benkei’s eyes and slips away wordlessly. He remembers doing this with Takeomi before, that silent communication when they needed time alone to smoke their nerves dead.

This, though, is something completely different. Benkei doesn’t smoke, and Wakasa’s not supposed to. If Benkei follows him, there’s a reason for it.

Wakasa finds a quiet, secluded space behind some of the vendors. The solid-back tents offer privacy, but the stone under his feet and dimly lit lanterns imply an area not off-limit.

He can hear the crowd continue to count down— 43, 44, 42 —

He pulls out the pack of cigarettes he had secured under his waistband, sliding it open to reveal the single cigarette he had left inside. With shaking hands, he strikes a match nestled beside it until it comes to life, holding it to the end of the cigarette. When the end is lit, the glow of embers matching the glow of the lanterns around him, he gazes at it— 27, 26, 25—

“Waka?” Benkei’s voice emerges, poorly concealed concern leaking through his tone. He spots him, his parted lips morphing into a small frown. “I thought you quit.”

—19, 18, 17—

“I did,” Wakasa murmurs, holding the cigarette a distance away from his face to fight the urge to take a puff of it. He so badly wants to take a puff of it right now. “I’m not smoking.”

— 11, 10, 9—

“But you—?” Benkei gestures to the cigarette as he approaches him. Despite the shadows of night and dark, the low lighting that surrounds them exposes the sharp angles, soft curves of Benkei’s face. He’s within reach now.

— 6, 5 —

Wakasa takes a fistful of Benkei’s haregi, pulling him close in a moment of courage. It’s amazing the way he can hear him gasp; feel his stomach flex in response. Wakasa holds him there, meeting his eyes.

“Needed an excuse,” Wakasa murmurs, watching him closely for any sign of discomfort. There isn’t any. Benkei swallows. — 3, 2, 1 —

Despite the cheers ringing out around them, everything seems to go silent as Wakasa surges forward, connecting his lips with Benkei’s.

There’s fireworks—above them, inside of him. Everywhere. They’re all-consuming.

The moment Benkei responds, his lips moving firmly and yet so gently against Wakasa’s, Wakasa realizes this is living. This moment—right now.

It only lasts a couple of seconds, a few additional heartbeats, until they separate. Their faces remain close, just a sliver between them as they breathe together. It’s a moment where they both just process what happened, watching the way each other’s face is illuminated by the fireworks. The shine in their eyes is present even without them.

Wakasa cups Benkei’s face, tracing his thumb across his cheekbone reverently as he adds some distance between them. He smiles, making a show of bringing the still-lit cigarette to his mouth. Benkei watches wordlessly, still entranced.

Wakasa takes a single puff, shallow and uninterested, before blowing it into the open air. He taps the butt of the cigarette, allowing some of the ash to fall on his haregi to cover him in the faint scent of tobacco. He drops the cigarette to the ground, stomping on it with his geta to smother it and grinding it into the ground.

“If they ask,” Wakasa winds his arms around Benkei’s shoulders. They’re so broad . “Just tell them I wanted one last smoke before I quit for good in the New Year.”

Benkei bites his bottom lip, his eyes switching between Wakasa’s as he considers something. He snakes a hand to fit over Wakasa’s waist, his other hand brushing some of Wakasa’s hair out of his face. Although he doesn’t see it, Wakasa knows the kanzashi gleams under the fireworks.

“Okay,” Benkei retorts, seemingly having made up his mind. This time, he connects their lips—just as soft and so right—not giving a damn over whether he will reek of tobacco too.

~•~❀~•~

Benkei makes good on his promise, and when they return just a couple of minutes after midnight, Wakasa gets off easy with just some light chastising from his friends. They walk together as the crowd dwindles, separating as the fork in the road leads to their respective residences.

Wakasa returns home feeling like a new person. He’s glad his mom hasn't passed out in her armchair and has actually gone to bed, since it allows him the freedom to slide dramatically down the front door as it shuts behind him and he sighs, butterflies in his stomach.

As he discovers, falling into a relationship—or whatever this is with Benkei—is more natural than he could’ve ever imagined. He still meets him before fights like he always does, but sometimes they share dango off the same skewer, swapping sips of tea, coffee, or ramune. Instead of a cigarette to calm his nerves before a fight, he indulges in a stolen kiss from Benkei while hidden from sight, whether in the alleyway or simply while the Black Dragons aren’t looking.

Black Dragon continues to grow alongside Benkei and Wakasa’s relationship, boasting over two hundred members by the end of the first quarter of 1996. Shinichiro says something about the trust that Black Dragon members have for each other boosts the morale and strength of the gang, and Wakasa can’t be certain but suspects the glance he gives to Wakasa means something.

Moreover, Wakasa has kept his word on not smoking. He still finds it difficult to relieve stress without using smoking as an outlet, and when he confesses this to Benkei, he offers him a solution. There’s a gym Benkei has been frequenting for years while training his muscles, and the owner knows him well. He trusts him to use the equipment with or without supervision, and he’s even lent him a spare key to use the facility during off-hours.

And working out…it’s good. It helps Wakasa’s stamina, for sure, and he doesn’t mind cardio all that much. He’s proud of his flexibility though, and he uses that as his excuse for why he chooses not to give his legs the same attention. He lifts weights occasionally and does leg lifts to strengthen his arms as well as his core, but it’s certainly not his favorite activity or biggest priority.

Admittedly, his favorite activity and biggest priority is simply watching Benkei train at the gym.

Now that he’s also fifteen, Benkei’s body has continued to develop and build. He’s gained muscle in areas Wakasa didn’t even know muscle could form in. He always works out in sleeveless tops so that he can lift weights more comfortably, and boy is Wakasa grateful for that. Benkei’s caught him staring on more than one occasion, scolding him and telling him to get back to his own routine, and each time Wakasa has gotten a little less and less apologetic about it.

What can he say—his boyfriend looks like he was sculpted by the gods. Sue him.

Late night workouts are not unheard of for Benkei, but Wakasa begins to understand his schedule over time as they spend more time together and develop their relationship. Something he learns is that while Benkei isn’t the top student, he still devotes time to his academics and doesn’t stick around at the gym after 10 PM during the week. Sometimes he’ll go to the gym before school starts, but he avoids it when possible so that he doesn’t have to rush himself in washing up.

This schedule allows Wakasa a general idea for when Benkei is home and can talk on the phone. He appreciates his schedule, as it does help Wakasa spend more time with him if he’s feeling lonely or particularly needy.

Which is why when Wakasa dials Benkei’s number at 11 PM on a Tuesday in March—a day and time Benkei would normally be near his phone to talk—and no one picks up, he knows something’s wrong. By 11:30, after a dozen missed calls and a rising feeling of anxiety, Wakasa grabs his keys and hops on his motorcycle.

There’s only one place he knows of that Benkei could be if he’s not at home, so it’s a no-brainer as he heads straight to the gym. Thankfully, it’s only a short ten minute drive, almost exactly halfway between their houses.

When he arrives, parking his bike out front, he notices the lights are all off inside of the gym. There are plenty of windows to let natural light into the facility, but looking in from the outside is difficult without any light source. Wakasa almost wonders if he made the wrong call, debating turning around and heading home in case Benkei was simply showering or having an evening snack and couldn’t get to his phone.

But he tries anyway, his keys in one hand just in case as he pulls the handle to test if it’s open. To his surprise, it is.

He lets himself in quietly, squinting his eyes as they try to adjust to the dark room. He feels around the space, maneuvering around where he knows the heavy equipment is. He hears heavy breathing.

In any other situation, Wakasa would probably become defensive. He would slot his keys between his fingers and make fists, assume a defensive pose for the potential intruder. Somehow though…Wakasa knows this isn’t an intruder. Maybe he’s just gotten quite adept at recognizing his boyfriend’s voice, even as strained and exhausted as it sounds right now.

“Benkei?” Wakasa calls quietly. His eyes begin to adjust to the low lighting, and he can just barely make out the silhouette of a body lying on one of the tables used for lifting weights. He can see the struggled heaving of his chest, far more intense than he’s ever seen it during workout sessions. He’s glistening with sweat, or rather drenched in it, and Wakasa can practically feel his body heat radiating off of him as he approaches him.

Benkei’s heaving doesn’t stop or slow down. Now that he’s closer, Wakasa can see the sweat pooling in his temples and around his closed eyes. The pained expression on his face causes something to click for Wakasa—

He’s crying.

His tears mix with his sweat, dripping down his cheekbones and soaking the table beneath him.

And if this were anyone else, Wakasa would be disturbed by the sweat, the grime, the scene. But this is Benkei, and so his response comes easily to him.

“Benkei,” he gasps, crouching down beside the table and placing a gentle hand on his face. Benkei’s eyes open slowly, fluttering and delirious. He drops the weights with a loud clang —something that would normally be frowned upon—but it’s clear that he dropped them not out of that obnoxious, egomaniacal male culture way, but out of pure exhaustion. He grimaces, appearing on the brink of blacking out. Wakasa takes his thumb and gently swipes away the sweat and tears under Benkei’s eye. He does the same to the other before returning his hand to base on his cheek. 

“What happened?”

Benkei doesn’t respond, stuck in a state of dissociation where he’s barely present. His hands twitch and he goes to pick the weights up again, but the exhaustion in his bones is overwhelmingly apparent. Wakasa prevents him from picking up the weights by slotting his fingers between his as he reaches.

“Hey, hey,” Wakasa murmurs, trying to bring Benkei back to reality. His eyes are glazed over. “No more. You’re done.”

Benkei shakes his head dismissively, but he’s so weak that he jitters with his movement. He purses his lips and swallows hard.

“It’s today.”

Wakasa tilts his head, his hand clasped around Benkei’s tightening. He does his best to keep his tone as light as possible despite his confusion. “What’s today?”

“Keiko died two years ago today,” Benkei admits through his gasping breath, thick with exhaustion and tears. Tears fill his eyes, rolling over his red-hot, swollen skin.

Everything suddenly makes sense to Wakasa as his heart drops. Benkei’s desire to be what Keiko would’ve wanted him to be, what their parents don’t want him to be. His perfectionism. The way he distracts himself when the cracks under the surface begin to show. The way he hides in here at this ungodly hour, slowly torturing himself where no one can see him.

“I have to get stronger—” he mumbles, his eyes darting around the dark room. He blinks the tears away from his eyes. He’s practically manic. He tries to tug his hand out of Wakasa’s, but Wakasa’s grip only tightens as he fights.

“No,” Wakasa responds, his voice warbling. He kneels down and rests his elbows on the table, Benkei’s hand still trapped in one while the other caresses his face. “You’re hurting yourself. You can rest.”

Benkei tries again to protest. “I have to get stronger, damn it!” His teeth are gritted, but there’s so much pain on his face.

Wakasa drops Benkei’s hand to cup his face with both hands, holding him still so that he will look at him.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” Wakasa whispers, his heart aching at the expression on Benkei’s face.

“I—” Benkei’s will to fight slips, his chest heaving.

“You can cry,” Wakasa murmurs. He watches Benkei struggle to hold back his emotion, a fight he’s rapidly losing. “It’s okay.”

Benkei tries to swallow down all of the pain that comes bubbling up inside of him, and Wakasa watches him try desperately to pull himself together. But at this point, it’s a losing battle. He sucks in one, two, three deep breaths, and then that pain boils over.

His breath drops into a broken sob, one deep within his chest. It’s followed by more, each less choked and more devastating than the last. Wakasa’s heart shatters as Benkei, this rock of a person, lies in front of him and falls apart, spilling out.

And maybe he didn’t think this far ahead, doesn’t know what to do in this kind of situation, but he just relies on instinct. He helps Benkei sit up and sits in the space where Benkei’s head was before. He doesn’t give a damn how sweaty he is. He leans in, wrapping him up in his arms like he can protect him from the world, the hurt in his heart. At this point, Benkei just lets him.

He holds him until his sobs stop, until his body finally gives into its exhaustion. They sleep like that—on this leather exercise equipment in the still-unlocked gym building—with Wakasa sandwiched between the bench and Benkei’s weight on top of him.

He’s never seemed smaller to him.

~•~❀~•~

Five days later is an equally important day to Benkei.

Wakasa is thankful that he doesn’t even have to propose accompanying him, as Benkei asks him first. It’s clear it’s in Benkei’s best interest to have someone who cares about him present when he’s being exposed to such a difficult memory and feeling all of the emotions that he did before.

They traipse through the graveyard, walking delicately around gravestones and shrines that have been propped up. Benkei’s basket filled with flowers and incense sways with each step, Wakasa following closely behind him. After all, he’s just there for moral support.

As they walk, Benkei brings up facts about Keiko as they come to mind. He tells stories and anecdotes, the happy and the sad, the comforting and the painful.

This day is for Keiko.

“She always wanted to see the sakura bloom,” Benkei says calmly. They keep their voices low to be respectful, but Wakasa listens closely to every word all the same. “We’d go see them every year, and every year she’d say, ‘I hope they bloom on my birthday next year!’. We’d always remind her that her birthday is mid-March and the sakura don’t bloom then. But she’d still wish for it.”

“She sounded like a dreamer,” Wakasa retorts softly. “Having hope isn’t a bad thing, I suppose. If it made her happy.”

Benkei laughs softly, shaking his head. “It drove her crazy. She was always disappointed when they weren’t in bloom on her birthday. It got to the point where I’d wish for a freak change in the weather just so they’d bloom early.”

“You loved her a lot. I get it,” Wakasa remarks, his eyes glued to the back of Benkei’s head. His chest feels heavy with the weight of those words. “You would’ve moved mountains for her if you could.”

Benkei glances over his shoulder, addressing Wakasa somberly. His expression is soft and sincere.

“I still would.”

As they reach the gravesite, the atmosphere feels thicker somehow. There’s a large tree whose branches reach just short of the grave, casting a shadow where they stand. Benkei stands frozen in place, gazing down at the tombstone marking where his sister lies. Wakasa watches him from a few steps away, waiting for him to close the gap rather than lingering in front of the site.

When he doesn’t move after a minute, Wakasa gingerly takes steps toward him and places his hand on the back of his shoulder.

“Go talk with her, Benkei,” he whispers, melancholic. He feels him take a shaky breath under his palm. “You know you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t. I know you’ll reach her.”

Benkei shuts his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed as he builds his resolve. After a couple more moments, he steps until he’s right in front of the gravesite. He slowly lowers himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged in front of the grave. With trembling hands, he sets out an incense burner and stick on the stone, lighting it. He then grabs the assortment of flowers—a delicate array of white, pale blue, and sage—and props them on either side of the engraving of the stone.

Taking a deep breath, Benkei speaks.

“Happy birthday, little sis. I know it’s been a while since I’ve come to see you. I hope you can forgive me for that. I love you and I miss you so badly sometimes that it’s unbearable.

“You would’ve been fourteen today. I wonder a lot, what you would’ve looked like when you became a teenager. How much your face would change. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about it and about you. It kills me that I’ll never have the answer.

“I still regret it, you know. When you came in before bed that night to play guitar and sing with me, but I fell asleep before I could sing my part. If I could change just one thing, I’d stay awake just a little longer to sing that song with you.”

Benkei inhales shakily, a visible sadness washing over him.

“I never would’ve thought you’d be gone when I woke up.”

Wakasa feels tears prickle in his own eyes. He may have never met Keiko, but he feels like he knows her. He sees her through Benkei’s eyes, his memories. Feels the love she’s given him through the food he’s consumed.

“I’ll sing with you now, Keiko,” Benkei whispers weakly, placing his hand on the stone as if he can feel her through it, warm and alive.

As Benkei starts to sing a sweet dulcet tune Wakasa doesn’t recognize, Wakasa listens a couple of footsteps away from him. He wipes the tears from his eyes, trying to front a strength that Benkei usually has. It’s apparent that this is a closure Benkei never got, one that’s weighed heavy on him. He needs this time to acknowledge her and exist in her memory. Moreover, this song isn’t for Wakasa’s ears.

It’s difficult to pull himself away, but Wakasa knows he deserves privacy at this moment. He makes a mental note that Benkei has a beautiful singing voice, hopes he can hear it again in the future, but he walks around the other side of the massive tree in the meanwhile.

He busies himself with gazing up at the bare branches of the tree, still recovering from the winter, when something catches his eye. That sumptuous, sorrowful voice continues to drone, distant but distinctive.

Wakasa returns to Benkei’s side at the same time his singing stops, the silence disguising any indication of what was there prior. Benkei’s head is hung low, his eyes screwed shut as a shudder of deep sadness wracks through him. Wakasa doesn’t touch his shoulder or try to physically comfort him. Something tells him this is a moment, an overwhelming feeling that Benkei needs to live through so that he can truly heal.

Instead, he speaks softly. “Benkei.”

The mourner’s head slowly rises, fragile. He says nothing, but his action is his response. His pain is tangible.

“She got her wish,” is all Wakasa says as he crouches down to sit beside Benkei. Benkei glances sideways at him in confusion, but when Wakasa gestures for him to hold his hand out, he complies. Wakasa carefully places his finding in his palm—

A lone cherry blossom flower, its petals beginning to open in a partial bloom.

The weather must have been just warm enough, barely reaching the threshold the trees need to sprout their buds. Hundreds of cherry blossom buds caught Wakasa’s eye, surely just days away from blooming vividly and magnificently. But this one flower simply couldn’t wait to bloom with the rest of the flowers.

In a way, it’s like Keiko.

Glancing up at Benkei, he watches his eyes begin to shine. The other touches the petals reverently, his hand shaking. Still quivering, he reaches out to place the flower on the slab of marble as an offering.

“One finally bloomed for your birthday, Keiko,” Benkei murmurs, returning his hand to the stone. “Even the flowers love you.”

Wakasa softly takes Benkei’s other hand in his own. It’s his way of conveying the unspoken to Benkei; hoping Keiko will understand it as Wakasa saying I’ll take care of him .

~•~❀~•~

It’s true, Wakasa finds—time passes quicker as you get older. That, or maybe stability provides a gentler curve to progress and that’s something he hadn’t known until recently.

Either way, the airborne sakura are replaced by fireflies, and then even quicker the leaves fall and welcome snowfall. Nothing of note happens during these months, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Wakasa and Benkei continue to date in secret, Wakasa becomes more infatuated with Benkei every day, Takeomi continues to offload Senju and occasionally Haruchiyo onto the two of them when he needs younger babysitters than Grandpa Sano, and Shinichiro continues to grow Black Dragon.

And well, maybe that’s the most notable thing that’s happened.

Black Dragon’s spirit and sheer size has taken Tokyo by storm . It’s no longer a stretch to say they’re the largest gang in Tokyo, nor is it a pipe dream to hope that they’ll win their fights. Rather, it’s a guarantee. The Black Dragon uniform is a symbol of pride.

With a captain’s position in the most powerful gang of delinquents in Tokyo, a group of friends he enjoys being around, and a boyfriend of over a year—Wakasa can’t complain. He has it made as the new year comes.

Stability, stability, stability…predictability, predictability, predictability. They’re the two facets of life Wakasa didn’t realize he had been missing out on to feel whole. To feel happy.

Not long after Benkei’s sixteenth birthday, Wakasa is stricken by the realization that his life has been too calm. He should’ve seen this coming.

Wakasa and his mom aren’t on bad terms, per se. They coexist in a house together, surviving off the same paycheck that comes their way every month. They can communicate in broken English when it’s necessary, but more often than not they simply don’t talk.

And it’s fine. It’s not the warmest relationship, but Wakasa still loves his mother. Although it’s hard to see sometimes, through the empty bottles of booze and smoke clouds, he knows his mother loves him, too.

She doesn’t usually say when she’s leaving, but neither does he. It’s always expected that at the end of the day, whoever is out will come home. Wakasa’s mom will drag her sorry ass to the store when she’s between drunkenness and load up on whatever she’s consumed, spending whatever’s left on some food with a decent shelf life so it’ll last and won’t spoil. Wakasa will go to school, gang meetings, the gym, and return home. No matter how late, they’ll always return home at the end of the day.

It’s not unusual for Wakasa to return home from his weekly activities and find the house empty. However, as he closes the front door behind himself, he finds that the armchair is abandoned and the television has been left on. When his mom decides to go to her bedroom or out somewhere, she always turns the television off to conserve energy (and more importantly, save money).

What’s stranger, though, is that the front door was left unlocked. The door to their house is always locked.

He locks the door as he lets himself in, since he figures his mom can just grab the key from under the welcome mat if she forgot her key and needs to let herself inside. An easy solution for an easy problem.

He occupies himself by talking with Benkei on the phone until past midnight, only parting ways because he can hear the other falling asleep over the line. It warms his heart and helps distract him from the strange circumstances.

As he’s preparing for bed, freshly washed and ready to sink into his mattress, he spares a glance at the living room for any sign of his mom’s return.

Nothing.

With a sour feeling in his stomach, he lies down to sleep and tells himself she must have gone to Shinjuku for some personal shopping and be stuck on public transit. It’s enough for him to fall asleep, but the feeling returns quickly when he awakens to his alarm and finds the house still empty.

His morning routine causes him to be a couple minutes late to his first class, since it is superseded by a phone call made to the police station reporting a missing person. He doesn’t explain his circumstances when he’s scolded for tardiness at school. He simply tunes it out, bowing his head halfheartedly and keeping his mouth shut.

He returns home later to find the exact same scene he left; no signs of life anywhere to be found. As much as he wants to reach her, she doesn’t have a phone with her. Moreover, the report has already been made and the police told him they would call his number back if they found any leads on where she could be.

He’s at a loss.

Several days pass just like the first that she was gone, and as terrible and sickening as it is, Wakasa begins to lose hope for her return. With the decay her habits have caused her, she could have dropped dead in the woods somewhere and never be found. It’s horrifying to think about, and it takes all of Wakasa’s resolve not to yammer about his personal issues to Benkei whenever he’s at the gym.

Of course, he knows what’s going on. He’s perceptive as hell and Wakasa’s simply under too much stress to prevent himself from telling him the bare minimum. But Benkei promises not to pry, since Wakasa going to the gym as often and for as long as he is displays how badly he needs stress relief and escapism right now. It’s honestly a miracle he hasn’t resorted to old habits.

On the fourth day since Wakasa’s seen his mother, he returns home earlier than usual. He doesn’t feel like going to the gym, since the exhaustion from all of the stress he’s been under is quickly catching up to him. He unlocks the front door and lets himself in without any regard for his surroundings. After all, that’s his new normal.

But he’s shocked in the most visceral, physically paralyzed sort of way when he notices the tv on in the living room once more. From where he stands, he can see that weathered old armchair filled by its usual occupant, her hair peeking out over the backrest.

For a moment, he just stands in place, his breath sucked in and his chest tight. It’s physically painful when he tries to speak, his ribcage trembling.

“Mom?”

She doesn’t seem to hear him, no motion indicating any reaction. Swallowing hard, he takes slow steps toward the chair.

“Y—you’re here,” Wakasa says with a thick tremble in his voice. His footsteps get heavier, creaking on old floorboards. She startles, looking around for the sudden noisiness. “I thought you… God , mom—”

As her eyes find his, they grow twice their size. She collapses out of her chair, falling to the floor. Before Wakasa can offer her help getting up, she scrambles away from him, sweeping the lamp off the table and letting it shatter on the floor. He gasps in response, jumping away from the source of the fractured pieces.

His mom picks up one of the shards of the lamp, holding it tight in her palm and pointing it at Wakasa. Her hand shakes where she aims it, her whole body heaving for oxygen.

“ Inkräktare! ” She shouts, her voice thick from her accent. Wakasa freezes when he notices the fear in her voice, despite not knowing what she said.

“What…?” Wakasa responds, holding his hands out in front of him as if to demonstrate his lack of bad intentions. “Mamma—”

“ Get out! ” She cries in English, pushing herself to her feet weakly. As she takes a step forward, she narrowly avoids stepping in the broken porcelain and glass. The sharp end of the shard in her hand is still locked onto Wakasa.

He takes a step back, but his heart races all the same from this distance.

“ Get out, get out, GET OUT! ” She repeats, closing the gap slowly on wobbly legs.

“ It’s me, Wakasa! ” Wakasa says in English in a desperate attempt to reach his mother. “ I’m your son! ”

“ I have no son! ” She shouts back. It hits Wakasa square in the chest, piercing through him like a dagger. It’s clear it’s not because she holds some sort of malice toward him or grudge against him.

That look in her eyes, that bawl in her voice—it’s not upset.

It’s fear.

She doesn’t remember him.

Tears fill his eyes as his jaw quivers. He tries to say something else to her, something to help her remember him, but the distance between them is expansive. They’ve never communicated well with their language barrier. This time is no different.

When she screams, her cry practically shaking the walls of their home, Wakasa realizes there’s no going back.

He darts to his room as his mom tries to swipe at him with the shard, demanding his departure, thankful for the shoes he left on as he stomps directly on the broken fragments. It forms a barrier, one more metaphorical than even physical, as he slips into his bedroom and shuts the door behind himself, locking it. He can hear her continue screaming, crying out for him through the muffling door, as he picks up the home phone and dials the police department.

Her screams drone on, a haunting soundtrack as Wakasa speaks to the person on the other line.

“This is Imaushi Wakasa. I filed a missing person report earlier this week. I found her. Please come get her.”

~•~❀~•~

It’s around an hour later, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, when Benkei inevitably shows up.

Wakasa’s sitting in his living room, perched on the edge of the sofa he grew up with, staring into space. He feels hollow, the time passing merely a side effect of his reflection on his decisions until now.

That’s how Benkei finds him—slumped on the couch with a distant look in his eyes. He doesn’t react as the door creaks open, nor as it closes behind him. He doesn’t react as the sound of footsteps approach him; those familiar boots. The other man pauses in front of him, as if waiting for his attention.

He doesn’t have the energy.

“Waka,” Benkei says softly, cutting through that suffocating silence with his baritone voice. Wakasa slowly glances up, jealous of how much more put-together he is.

“How’d you know?” Is all Wakasa murmurs, sucked dry of any life in his voice. His eyes are dull.

Benkei sighs, shutting his eyes. They’re sad as he opens them.

“You’re on the news, Waka. With the missing person report and all that.”

Wakasa remains silent, his eyes downcast. The low lighting emphasizes the bags under his eyes, swollen with lack of sleep.

“What happened?” Benkei prompts, taking a seat on the sofa next to Wakasa. It sinks below him, the cushions surely once firm yet comfortable now deflated.

Wakasa straightens his posture, allowing himself to collapse against the backrest of the couch so Benkei can see his face. He stares at the coffee table in front of them—the ash tray sullied by the remnants of used cigarettes. One of them still flickers, a final sign of life from the woman who it belonged to.

“After four days she just…came back. But she didn’t recognize me and she started screaming when I noticed her,” Wakasa elaborates. Benkei sits a short distance away—far enough that he’s not encroaching on his personal space, but close enough that he can still comfort him. “One of the cops said he’s seen something like this with a distant family member, and their psychologist said it’s something called a dissociative fugue. He also said she’s lucky she knew where she lived.”

Benkei raises his eyebrows at the information. It’s so heavy. “So…what did they do with her?”

Wakasa shrugs and shakes his head. Despite his actions, it’s obvious he does know what they did with her. It’s just not something he wants to actualize.

“They’re taking her to a psychiatric hospital first, and then she’ll probably end up in a nursing home somewhere.”

“Are you going to visit her?” Benkei asks, sad eyes searching Wakasa’s.

“No,” Wakasa says flatly, his eyes dark. “The prognosis for this kind of thing isn’t good and she wanted to kill me when she saw me. It’s only going to make things worse if I show up.”

Wakasa pauses, blinking back tears that want to form. “Besides, no kid should have to lose their mom twice.”

“Waka…” Benkei murmurs quietly, desperation clutching at him as Wakasa sniffles repeatedly, almost hyperventilating. Tears spill over those pretty eyelashes of his, a sight Benkei’s not used to seeing. He wraps his arms around him, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “You’re going to get through this. I’m going to be with you no matter what, yeah?”

Wakasa continues his sniffles, his hands that were lying lifelessly finally sliding up Benkei’s back to clutch at his shoulders. He makes fists with the fabric of Benkei’s shirt.

“I’m losing my home,” Wakasa says, all watery. He can’t even apologize for the way his nose is definitely running onto Benkei’s shirt, but Benkei’s holding him like he’s something so fragile and precious that he knows he won’t say anything anyway. “Dad’s money—I don’t know what will happen. I can’t live here, not alone. I’m gonna lose it. I’m gonna lose everything .”

“Waka, hey—you’re safe. Kaseki-san is getting old, you know? He told me he wants to pass the gym onto us. There’s that spare room there. We can turn it into a studio apartment, yeah?” Benkei soothes Wakasa, one of his hands rising to Wakasa’s hair to pet it.

“Wh—…what?” Wakasa hiccups, pulling away just enough to see Benkei’s face. Benkei glances down at him, his sad swollen eyes, and his eyes soften. He gently wipes away the wetness under his eyes, resting his hand on his cheek to thumb at his cheekbone.

“I was planning on telling you soon. Kaseki-san is getting too old to run the gym and he trusts us. He told me a few weeks ago that he would sublet the room in the gym to either or both of us free of charge if we would continue to run the gym, and eventually take over it.”

“But—” Wakasa stammers, pulling away to wipe his eyes. “We’re sixteen. We can’t live alone.”

“We can if we have permission from a legal guardian—and Kaseki-san would take on that role if we were ever questioned,” Benkei scoops Wakasa’s hands into his own, warm and firm. It will never be anything but comforting in how Benkei’s hands swallow Wakasa’s in his own, protecting them from any harm. “It’s up to you. If you don’t want to live together, I’m sure Kaseki-san would work things out for you to live there alone and I could still help you run the gym. But I want you to feel safe knowing that you have somewhere to go.”

Wakasa tears up for an entirely different reason, his eyes flickering between Benkei’s. His heart swells despite the pain in it.

“Of course I want to live with you,” he whispers, placing a hand on Benkei’s cheek reverently. Benkei turns his face in Wakasa’s embrace to kiss his wrist, bringing his own hand over Wakasa’s to interlock their fingers on his face. Wakasa draws his face to his own and gently locks their lips, and it feels like coming home.

The home they’ve built together.

As frightened as he is, Wakasa knows he’ll pull through. Change can be beautiful; change can bring stability. 

Benkei is his stability.

~•~❀~•~

Three months later, life at the gym has become more or less routine for Wakasa.

With some help and a couple of trips, he managed to bring all of his necessities to his new residence—his clothing, personal belongings, and even the food and drinks left behind. He and Benkei managed to find some furniture for their new apartment on the cheap, including a bed, a small television, and a microwave. It’s not much, but it’s enough for them to live off of for now. Cup ramen is their go-to dish, considering they can only rely on their microwave currently.

Wakasa never realized he had nightmares before, either. He tends not to remember his dreams, but his sleep tends to be broken and unfulfilling. Since moving in with Benkei—and more importantly, sharing a bed with him—he finds his sleep is more restful. It was an adjustment at first, sure, but he quickly finds he’s a cuddler. Benkei is thankfully happy to oblige in this department.

In the first week of living together though, the topic of nightmares came up. Benkei falls asleep quickly but is also a frequent waker, so hearing Wakasa when he’s asleep is a pretty frequent occurrence. Benkei mentioned that he had heard him groaning in his sleep, and he realized pretty quickly that it was a nightmare that he was having. Benkei didn’t want to wake him up but couldn’t just watch him suffer, so he wrapped an arm around him to cause him to be still and provide comfort. And apparently? It worked.

That happened a few more times, and each ended with Wakasa wrapped up in Benkei’s arms. It became a preventative measure for Wakasa to fall asleep with Benkei spooning him, and Benkei noted that he no longer noticed him thrashing around like he had been before. It puts both of them at ease to fall asleep wrapped around each other.

Their routine otherwise is much the same as before—they go to school, return to the gym and operate it during their off-hours, and then retire to their room. They attend gang meetings and fights on the days Shinichiro calls them, and thankfully Kaseki is more than accommodating for these obligations (although he isn’t quite aware of what he’s excusing them to do).

Their life now is domestic. It’s a life Wakasa never saw himself capable of living, one with routine and goals; a kiss good morning and good night. Maybe being away from his mother has been good for him in a way. His smoking addiction has gone away in technicality, and he’s no longer fighting the urge with the smell of smoke thick in the four walls of his home.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have to contend with his two asshole friends who smoke, though.

“We’ll leave shortly, yeah?” Takeomi mumbles from where he’s perched on the front porch of his house. His words come out traced with the smoke from the cigarette between his fingers. Shinichiro leans against the wall of the Akashi house, a cigarette from Takeomi’s pack propped between his fingers as well.

Wakasa pulls his lips tight, nodding and wordlessly ducking into the house. Benkei follows him, his Black Dragon jacket dangling over his shoulder. Their meeting ended earlier than they expected it to—a resolution came to without the scale of their usual fights—and three of the four of them decided they would go out to eat together. First, though, Takeomi wanted to check on his siblings.

The Sano siblings have been in Grandpa Sano’s care, packing for a visit to a sibling even Shinichiro was unaware of until recently. He mentioned it to Wakasa sometime recently—a Filipino step-sibling of Emma’s who has been living in an orphanage for longer than Emma’s been living with them—but the situation is more complicated than Wakasa can attempt to make sense of. They’re preparing to take him in, a room ready for his arrival, and they have been visiting him regularly so they can get to know him.

Shinichiro needs to pack as well, since the drive is nothing to sneeze at. He bowed out when they mentioned going to get food, since their early departure tomorrow requires an early night for all of them. Still, he has time for a quick smoke with Takeomi, and Takeomi apparently has time for a quick smoke with Shinichiro but not a check in with his siblings. Go figure.

So when Takeomi said he wanted to check on his siblings before they grab a bite, what he really meant was Wakasa and Benkei would check on his siblings, since they’ve apparently become the designated babysitters.

Senju’s little hands grab each of their hands as soon as they step foot in the house, dragging them to her room without saying a word. The two boys go easily, since after all, this has become routine. They meet eyes for a moment as they’re pulled and they smile.

In the pink bedroom, Emma sits on the floor next to a dollhouse and an array of dolls. She smiles up at the two of them, her eyes twinkling.

“We’re playing dollies!” Senju declares, plopping on the floor across from Emma. While Emma’s dolls sit in various arrangements, a scene clearly in progress, Senju’s are simply lined up in front of her. Wakasa isn’t quite sure how they’re supposed to play like this.

Nonetheless, Wakasa and Benkei lower themselves to the floor and sit with their legs crossed. They each find a doll that’s been left unattended.

“Emma,” Benkei murmurs, a playful squint in his eyes, “did you finish packing yet?”

Emma nods, her blonde ponytail bouncing with the motion. “Grandpa helped me.”

“Okay, good,” Benkei holds out a hand for her to high five, which she shyly accepts. She engages Benkei’s doll in conversation right away, her shyness from just moments before washing away with her character.

It’s easy for Benkei to slip into this roleplay, his doll making friends with Emma’s and planning a slumber party. Wakasa tries as well, but he feels that he’s stumbling in this whole playing with dolls thing a lot more than Benkei is.

Wakasa wonders if Benkei ever played in a situation like this with Keiko—if she giggled like Emma does as she plays with him. If Benkei had that same kindness in his eyes when he played with her.

Wakasa is dragged into the slumber party he had been spacing out during, alongside Senju. There’s no judgment to say the right thing, because there is no right thing to say. All that matters are the megawatt grins on Emma and Senju’s faces.

“Can I join?” A small voice peeps out from the doorway, and Wakasa feels a sense of deja vu as he whips his head around and finds Haruchiyo standing anxiously in the doorway. He’s shrunken in on himself, ringing his hands in front of him. Still…the act of speaking up and asking to join is the kind of bravery Wakasa has been hoping to see from the younger brother in the Akashi family, and he instantly rewards him with a smile.

“Of course!” Wakasa responds. Immediately, all of the party members on the floor spread out just slightly, creating space for another person to sit.

No judgment. No right way to play.

Haruchiyo’s eyes light up as he picks up a doll, brushing her hair back reverently with his fingertip. He sinks to the floor, sitting beside his sister and Wakasa.

Unlike before, he isn’t caught by Takeomi right away. He has a couple of minutes to play in a way that makes him happy, joining the slumber party with an expression of what can only be described as joyful. He’s right where he wants to be. He’s who he wants to be.

“—Haruchiyo!”

Haruchiyo freezes and stiffens, his eyes widening. Once again, he’s like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes peeking anxiously from under his bangs. He doesn’t look his brother in the eyes when he turns to him.

“Um—” Haruchiyo mumbles, a shake in his voice.

“How many times do I have to tell you!” There’s a redness and disturbance in Takeomi’s face. “Get your ass over here!”

Haruchiyo scrambles to his feet, his hands held in front of him and ready to defend himself. However, Takeomi grabs his wrist and yanks him, pulling him behind him and heading to God knows where.

Benkei’s demeanor has quickly soured like last time, his jaw set forward as he fights internally with what just happened. Wakasa decides to take over and distract the girls, playing as if Haruchiyo’s departure is all part of their plan. After all, he doesn’t want anyone else to be freaked out by what’s happening.

It becomes apparent, though, that his attempt at salvaging the situation isn’t going to be as effective as it should be when Haruchiyo lets out a gut wrenching wail.

Wakasa and Benkei spring into action, offering their dolls to the girls and getting to their feet immediately. As soon as they’re into the main room of the house, the source of the crying is made clear. The sound, however, has been overpowered by a loud buzzing. The vibrations seem to be coming from the bathroom, so that’s where quick footsteps lead them.

Wakasa’s stomach drops when they reach the closed bathroom door, Haruchiyo’s sobs faint among the buzzing noise and Takeomi’s disgruntled voice. He tries to open the door but finds that it’s locked.

Benkei pounds his fist on the door twice, rattling it in its frame. “Takeomi? What are you doing to him?”

“Reminding him that he’s a man!” Takeomi shouts over the sound of what Wakasa realizes is an electric razor.

“He’s a kid, damn it! Get him out of there!” Benkei roars, desperately rattling the doorknob. Wakasa looks around the doorframe, hoping to find a key to unlock the door. Perhaps he should start wearing bobby pins in his hair for moments like this—God forbid they happen again.

Their struggle becomes futile when the door unlocks from the other side, peeling it away from the doorframe. Once it’s fully open, a flash of pink passes the two of them, Haruchiyo’s hands planted on his head in an attempt to cover it. On the floor under Takeomi’s feet are several tufts of pink hair, lying like feathers from a molting bird.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Benkei shouts, his teeth gritted. His posture indicates he’s moments from striking him, so Wakasa softly grabs his wrist to ground him. He can feel him shaking in his grasp.

“I told Haruchiyo that if he didn’t cut it out with the girly shit, I would remind him what little boys are supposed to be like!”

“He’s not even seven yet, you asshole!” Wakasa pipes in, taking on the role of bad cop so Benkei doesn’t have to. “What’s your problem with him? Who the hell cares if he wants to play with dolls? They’re just toys!”

“ Girls’ toys !” Takeomi snaps, shoving past the two of them to stand in the larger space with them. “They’re toys for little girls!”

Wakasa turns abruptly, holding his arm out to prevent Benkei from moving too much. He wants to keep him subdued, lest he do anything rash.

“I don’t care if you think they’re girls’ toys—”

“— I do!” Takeomi cuts Wakasa off. His jaw quivers, an emotion bigger than rage pouring out of him. “Do you think I want Haruchiyo to get bullied? If he does this shit at school, he’s going to get the shit kicked out of him! I just want to protect him from what people might think of him!”

“What Haruchiyo cares about is what you think about him, Takeomi! You’re his brother!” Benkei bites out at him. “How can you expect him to go into the world and be confident with who he is if his older brother doesn’t even accept him?!”

“I love him! He’s my brother, of course I love him!” Takeomi shouts, hitting the wall with his fist. The picture frames rattle at the motion like an earthquake is disturbing them. “But I have to be his parent now, too! I have to discipline him and set boundaries! You think I want to always be the asshole?”

“I know it’s hard taking care of them,” Wakasa begins in an even tone, but the feeling of disgust in his gut is anything but. “I know you didn’t ask to be their guardian. But you know what, Takeomi? You got to live with your parents a hell of a lot longer than those two kids did. And they deserve to feel loved like they still do.”

Takeomi seems at a loss for words, staring at the two of them like they’ve backed him into a corner. Wakasa turns around, back facing Takeomi, and makes a show of interlocking his fingers with Benkei’s. Just to piss him off a bit.

“Let’s go home, Benkei. I lost my appetite.”

Benkei bids Takeomi farewell with one last icy glare before following Wakasa to the front of the house.

Outside, Shinichiro stands hunched over Haruchiyo, stunned as he hugs the fragile boy. Emma and Senju stand next to him, confused and anxious. Shinichiro’s eyes find Wakasa’s, unreadable.

Wakasa places a hand on Shinichiro’s shoulder. “Have a safe trip, Shin.”

Benkei offers him a weak smile as well. They bid him farewell, leaving him with nothing but the purr of their motorcycles as they head home.

~•~❀~•~

Wakasa feels like he’s in a state of limbo.

Since the day at Takeomi’s house, there have been no gang meetings, meetups—nothing. In fact, he’s hardly heard from Shinichiro, and he hasn’t heard from Takeomi. He still wakes up next to Benkei every day, goes to school, and comes home to run the gym, but that’s it. His life is stable and his relationship is thriving, but… he’s lonely. He never thought he would find himself in this situation again after joining Black Dragon.

A few times, he’s been approached by fellow Black Dragon members at school, pulling him aside and asking if he has any idea why Shinichiro hasn’t called them in for a meeting in a few weeks. Wakasa has just had to shrug them off, telling them he doesn’t have any information. Which is true.

He doesn’t know what’s been going on in Shinichiro’s head. Maybe he’s just been preoccupied with the preparations for his step-sibling’s arrival. It makes sense to him to prioritize his personal life and obligations, and knowing how Shinichiro never prioritizes himself, he certainly can’t blame him for taking time for himself and his family.

If only he had considered letting Wakasa know ahead of time.

Come early July, Wakasa is sitting at the front desk of the gym, flipping through the pages of some magazine available for the patrons, when the man of the hour arrives without warning. Wakasa’s head pops up, his eyes widening as Shinichiro grins at him. The door shuts behind him, the balmy summer air slipping through the gaps.

“Long time no see,” Wakasa teases him, tossing his magazine to the side. “I started to think you forgot about us.”

Shinichiro laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry about that. I, uh—I actually came to talk to you guys about that. Is Benkei here too?”

Wakasa blinks in surprise, pushing away from the desk to stand. “Oh. Yeah, I’ll get him.”

Shinichiro closes his yes with a friendly smile, and there’s an uncertainty in Wakasa’s stomach as he walks away to get Benkei. He finds him at the rowing machine with a young woman, giving her feedback on her form as she exercises. Even despite his light footsteps, Benkei hears him approaching and turns his head with a smile.

“Hey! What’s up?” There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead that he wipes with the back of his hand.

“Shin’s here. He said he wants to talk to us,” Wakasa explains, gesturing to Shinichiro over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Oh! He’s alive,” Benkei chuckles. He turns to the woman with a professional yet friendly expression. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, if that’s okay.”

The woman smiles lopsidedly, brushing away the hair that’s stuck to her face. “No problem! I need a break anyway.”

Benkei bows his head and joins Wakasa, following him to the front of the gym where Shinichiro is waiting.

“Hey man! Finally realized you missed us?” Benkei jokes, stretching his arms out. 

“Maybe a little,” Shinichiro chuckles. His smile doesn’t last long though, as it wavers. “I wanted to talk to you guys about something.”

His tone is far more serious than usual. Now—Shinichiro knows how to get serious sometimes, when he’s leading meetings for Black Dragon or standing up for his friends in fights. He certainly isn’t one dimensional, and his generally positive outlook on life has always been a respectable feature to Wakasa. But this? He almost looks guilty.

“What is it?” Wakasa answers just as seriously. He can’t deny the uneasiness he feels in this moment, in this atmosphere.

Shinichiro closes his eyes and lowers his head for a moment, steeling his nerves. When he lifts his head, his eyes remain closed but form crescents, a big smile on his face.

“I want to disband Black Dragon.”

That sentence makes Wakasa’s heart drop like an anvil.

“What?” Benkei interjects, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Why?”

Shinichiro opens his eyes, but the expression on his face is rather unreadable. It’s as if he’s attempting to be nonchalant and happy, but there’s a heaviness in his chest.

“We’ve reached the top. We’re the top gang in this part of Tokyo. Don’t you think we should quit while we’re ahead?” Shinichiro rolls off his tongue lightly.

“You don’t quit, Shin,” Wakasa interrupts, his lips pursed. He swallows, his throat constricting. “You never have. Otherwise you would’ve given up the first time we got our asses beat.”

“You’re right,” Shinichiro says thoughtfully, smiling at Wakasa. “It’s not really quitting, though. We only have down from here to go. We’ve proven we’re capable as a gang and I don’t want that to change.”

“Change…?” Benkei trails off in a suspicious tone. The intensity of his gaze causes Shinichiro to flinch.

“Our teamwork,” Shinichiro says cryptically. When Wakasa and Benkei continue to look at him in an interrogating manner, his eyes grow somber. He smiles more. It’s apparent that it’s forced. “We’ve reached a point where some of us can’t work together anymore—and we can’t come back from it.”

It clicks for Wakasa in an instant—the screaming at Takeomi, the lack of resolution for their dispute, the way they haven’t exchanged words in weeks. They’ve reached a point where their relationship is beyond repair.

“Shin…you can’t give up on Black Dragon because of something that we did,” Wakasa murmurs, his voice breaking.

“It’s not something you did, either of you. It’s something he did,” Shinichiro retorts, the breath leaving him and exposing his vulnerability. “And I don’t want to force you to work with someone so hateful. Someone who could fight for the wrong reasons.”

Wakasa and Benkei exchange a glance, but neither of them know what to say. So, they stay silent. Shinichiro fills the quiet for them.

“But he’s the vice captain, so this is the best I can do to resolve this. This way, there’s nothing tying you to him anymore. I don’t have a choice, since I’m his neighbor, but it’s up to both of you if you want to keep him around. Although, please consider it—for the kids’ sake,” Shinichiro smiles, tilting his head. “Senju loves you guys too much to lose you.”

“She’s not going to,” Benkei promises. Beside him, Wakasa’s eyes fill with tears. The thought of not hearing her giggles and watching her grow up devastates Wakasa far more than he thought it would.

“Good,” Shinichiro responds. He heads toward the door, but before he leaves, he has one final parting statement for them. “Takeomi already knows. We’re having our final meeting tomorrow. See you guys then.”

As the door shuts behind him, Wakasa and Benkei are left in the lobby to process what happened.

Wakasa realizes that this was the very thing he was afraid of. Without the unity Black Dragon brought him, he’s a lone thread coming unraveled. Shinichiro and Takeomi have reason to stay connected, since they’re neighbors and have younger siblings that are friends. Wakasa on the other hand? He was only brought into this gang as an act that even Shinichiro didn’t realize was merciful.

Benkei has no reason now to keep him around. There’s no goal as a group they’re striving toward, a horizon they’re grasping at. No reason for Benkei to tolerate him anymore. After all, Wakasa was horrible to him until he was given an ultimatum.

And if there’s one thing about Wakasa, it’s that he hates being left behind.

Benkei begrudgingly returns to the exercising woman’s side with that customer service smile, which leaves Wakasa unattended. Guilt thick in his stomach and a knot in his throat, Wakasa stumbles into their single room apartment. Spotting some bottles of beer and saki, Wakasa drops them in a bag to sling over his shoulder. He pushes back into the gym, not sparing a glance at Benkei or any of the current gym occupants, and then leaves without a word. He escapes without trouble.

~•~❀~•~

Wakasa feels like glue. Sluggish, slow, stuck. Molasses limbs and tungsten torso. Heartbeat headache. Consciousness slipping through the grates in the Shinjuku alleyways.

He doesn’t know how much he drank. He doesn’t remember. Doesn’t remember how to count, either. He’s numb all over, matching that agonizing emptiness that struck him. He wiggles his toes to make sure they’re still there.

Above him, fluorescent lights blind him, forcing tears into his eyes. They slide down his cheeks as he lies there and breathes. In and out, in and out.

Lying on those yellow braille bricks at Hachioji station, he looks like a man at death’s doorstep. Maybe he is. He doesn’t care right now.

With the little strength left in those molasses limbs, he puts the bottle to his lips and drinks. He doesn’t finish it, his arm falling aside as he swallows. Moments later, he falls into a dreamless sleep.

Benkei isn’t there to hold him through it.

~•~❀~•~

Wakasa arrives at the final meeting of Black Dragon looking semi-put together. He had half a mind when he woke up to the burgeoning summer heat to go back to the gym and clean up. Benkei was gone by the time he arrived, surely at school, and Wakasa knew he’d be chewed out by his teachers for being late to class yet again, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He had a thundering headache when he woke up, a hangover that had him all but vomiting in the train station with no less than a hundred people around. It was a miracle that he even made it back to the gym in one piece, his feet dragging and his eyes half-shut. He took a shower and cleaned up the best he could, washing the scent of alcohol from his breath, hoping he would pass for just a little tired and not hungover as hell.

He grabbed his school bag and stuffed his Black Dragon uniform inside as well. Slinging it over his shoulder, at almost 11 in the morning, he took in the sight of the room he’s called home for the past three months. Somehow in those three months, it’s been more of a home than the home he was raised in ever was for him. The bed was still unmade, which Benkei usually never let happen. It looked like he had left in a rush as well, since clothes had clearly fallen on the floor and trinkets were knocked over on the surface they use as a desk.

Just as he was about to leave, he noticed Benkei’s perfume left open on the desk, the scent of it faint in the air.

If Wakasa were asked what he thought Benkei smelled like when he first met him, he certainly wouldn’t have predicted the scent of the perfume he wears regularly. It’s woodsy, like a campfire, but the scent of cinnamon and marshmallow dilute the smokey aroma with something sweeter. He smells like autumn, like the season Wakasa fell in love with him. The scent that always clung to his jacket when he’d chauffeur Wakasa on his bike when Wakasa’s bike was out of commission; the scent of his pillow that Wakasa buries his face in on mornings that Benkei is already out of bed.

Before he even realized, tears spilled down Wakasa’s cheeks.

He picked up the perfume and doused his clothes in it, wanting to memorize that scent—get high off of it—while he still has it. He capped the perfume when he set it down, turning on his heel and leaving the gym before he could change his mind.

He kept his nose buried in that scent throughout the school day, lifeless and thoughtless. He held back his tears even as he got on his motorcycle and headed to Shinichiro’s house so that he could ride with his group one last time.

As he pulls up to Shinichiro’s place, he sees Shinichiro and Takeomi standing outside the front gates, Manjiro hovering around them. Shinichiro waves him over, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Waka! Didn’t think you were gonna make it,” Shinichiro declares, pulling him into a hug. Wakasa stiffens in his grasp, not sure of what to do with his hands. Shinichiro seems to notice his uncertainty and holds him just a bit tighter. He doesn’t release him until Wakasa returns the embrace.

“Benkei’s been looking all over for you,” Takeomi laughs awkwardly. “He’s probably still out looking for you now.”

Before he can think too much of it, Wakasa pulls Takeomi into a hug as well. It’s a little uncomfortable, but as Takeomi folds his arms around him, he finds that it’s tolerable. And tolerable might be all that they need right now.

The sound of a motorcycle whirring grasps the attention of all three of them, and by the broad body and beautifully brown skin on it, Wakasa realizes it’s Benkei.

“I couldn’t find him!” Benkei announces with a frustrated growl, kicking down the kick stand. Shinichiro and Takeomi exchange a glance. Wakasa clears his throat as he takes a step forward.

“Benkei—” Wakasa trails off, emotion thick in his throat.

Benkei’s head snaps up, meeting eyes with him. He dismounts from the bike and hurdles toward him, and Wakasa barely has a moment to breathe before he’s being wrapped up in Benkei’s arms.

It’s far more intimate than the affection they usually share in public, and especially in front of their friends. Hell, they never told their friends about their relationship, but if it weren’t a suspicion before, it definitely is now.

“Where the hell were you?” Benkei shouts, but he’s not angry. He just sounds…worried. Like there’s emotion in his own throat matching Wakasa’s. Wakasa hugs him back, resisting the urge to hold him tighter so he can’t let go. “When you didn’t come home last night I freaked out.”

“I’m sorry,” Wakasa forces out, guilt sickening his stomach. “I had some drinks and fell asleep before I could come home. It won’t happen again.”

It won’t happen again. Coming home.

“It better not,” Benkei scolds him, squeezing his shoulders. “Are you okay to drive or are you still tipsy?”

Wakasa shakes his head, giving Benkei his best attempt at a smile. “I’m fine. Let’s finish this off with a bang, yeah?”

Benkei returns his smile, his gaze just a bit too soft for where they are. It’s barely noticeable, but Wakasa notices his eyes drift to his lips. As painful as it is, Wakasa pulls away and turns his back to him. After all, not only is it something that their friends shouldn’t see, but it’s something that Wakasa knows he’s going to lose. As painful as it is to think about.

“Ready to roll?” Shinichiro asks with a grin. Beside him, Manjiro is bouncing on his heels, a smile just like his brother’s on his face. It’s safe to say Wakasa knows where Manjiro is going to be when he’s Shinichiro’s age.

A chorus of cheers serve as Shinichiro’s answers, and the four Black Dragon founding members—as well as their littlest passenger—set off toward their final meeting.

~•~❀~•~

After a twenty minute drive, the four motorcycles reach the location where Black Dragon has been having their most recent meetings—an industrial train station that’s no longer in use. Other Black Dragon members are obediently waiting around for the founders to arrive, and more importantly, their leader.

The sound of motorcycles doesn’t alarm any of the members, since most of the members drive them anyway. However, a few things do.

The shout from Takeomi as they dismount their bikes, hushing the crowd. The faint sound of Benkei cracking his knuckles. The jingling of Wakasa’s earring with every step.

The confident footsteps of Sano Shinichiro.

Manjiro lingers closely behind him, matching the footsteps he’ll surely make himself with just a little time.

Shinichiro climbs up the old train car, the crowd of delinquents silent as they await his direction. He straightens, looming over them like a magnificent shadow.

Without hesitation… “The first gen Black Dragon is disbanded.”

Confusion washes over the crowd, quiet murmuring emerging like a steady wave, but no one dares to question Shinichiro. It’s not their place to.

Around him, Wakasa can hear quiet sniffles, watery and devastated. He sets his jaw forward, holding his hands behind his back like the proud captain he is. He won’t let this break him.

“The next generation will be handled by the juniors at the back. Good luck,” Shinichiro continues, smiling as the younger members triumphantly shout their enthusiasm. As their voices die down, the sniffles from the audience become more apparent, catching Shinichiro’s attention.

This time when Shinichiro speaks, he shouts.

“I don’t like this gloomy situation we’re in, so let me say one last thing!” He yells. He tries to lighten this moment, hush the sea of tears. It’s almost as if he’s speaking directly to Wakasa, as if he could feel his sadness earlier.

“I’m very proud to have spent all my teenhood with you guys!” The emotion in his voice is obvious even as he smiles. Wakasa can tell he’s crying, and as he sees their crybaby leader breakdown so openly in front of this group of people who bow at his feet, Wakasa can’t fight his own tears anymore.

“So all of you, take pride in fighting alongside Black Dragon! No matter how hard times can be, always remember this moment!” Shinichiro’s voice booms, an awe inspiring joy in his command. “Live with your head held high!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Wakasa can see Benkei crying, his eyes shining as he watches Shinichiro stand as their leader one last time. Beside him, Takeomi wipes at his eyes, tears falling faster than he can catch them.

“First Generation Black Dragon, for the final time—you are dismissed!” Shinichiro calls out, bowing in front of the revolution of delinquents he’s been responsible for. They cheer in response, their voices uniting in a roar. The group dissolves as Shinichiro climbs down the train—some leaving, others lingering and talking, and still others talking with the youngest members to which Black Dragon is being left.

Takeomi leaves without a word, seeking out Shinichiro. Benkei on the other hand…

“Hard to believe it’s over, huh?” He jokes, smiling at Wakasa as he dabs at the corners of his eyes. Wakasa forces a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah,” Wakasa drones. Before he can think too much of it, he holds out a hand for Benkei—but not the type he’s become accustomed to with interlocked fingers. Benkei glances down at his hand, visibly confused.

“It’s been fun, Benkei. It’s been an honor to fight by your side.”

Benkei blinks, his lips parted. “What?”

“There’s nothing tying us together now. You don’t have to tolerate me anymore,” Wakasa swallows. He hopes Benkei won’t see how his hand is shaking.

“Wakasa…what are you talking about?” Benkei’s eyebrows pinch together.

“Shinichiro said we had to get along for Black Dragon’s sake. But now—it’s disbanding. You can go back to hating me. You don’t have to pretend.”

“Have you lost your damn mind?!” Benkei snaps. Hurt flashes in his eyes, white hot. “You think I was pretending all this time? That I want to leave you just because we’re not in the same gang anymore?”

“ Everyone leaves!” Wakasa shouts back. His eyes gloss over with tears. “Everyone I love leaves! Why would it be any different with you? I just want to get out before I get hurt!”

For maybe the first time, Wakasa’s grateful that this exchange with Benkei is happening in such a densely populated site, since their shouting is easily drowned out among the revelry around them. Just as Wakasa is about to drop his hand, Benkei captures it between his own hands, holding it still.

“Wakasa…if you want to end things, then I’m not going to stop you. But—” Benkei continues, squeezing his hand, “I love you. I love you more than anything. And if you want to end things, then I need you to tell me with conviction. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me.”

Wakasa’s heart squeezes painfully. Tears are running down his cheeks, rapid-fire and hot. He risks a glance at Benkei, devastated at what meets his eyes.

Benkei’s crying as well. His eyes are red-rimmed and glistening. His nostrils flare as he takes in a deep breath, trying to be strong. Always trying to be strong.

Wakasa’s eyes flicker back and forth between Benkei’s eyes as he tries to find his voice. With each passing second, he finds himself less convinced of what he was trying to do in the first place.

“I can’t,” Wakasa says quietly, truthfully. “I love you. I’m in love with you. But I’m scared one day you won’t be with me.”

“My Waka,” Benkei murmurs, a fresh wave of tears spilling over his cheeks at the admission—the first of its kind. He pulls Wakasa’s hand to his chest with his hands still clasped around his. “I’m never not going to be in love with you.”

“How do you know?” Wakasa says weakly, his jaw quivering. He takes a shallow breath.

“I’ll prove it,” Benkei murmurs, interlocking his fingers with Wakasa’s hand that’s still in his grasp. His palms are not their usual warmth—they’re clammy. Nervous.

“How?” Wakasa pushes, his lip caught between his teeth as he falls apart in front of him.

“Any way I can. Every way I can,” Benkei responds instantly, not a trace of hesitation in his voice. “I’m not perfect, but you’ve never expected me to be perfect. That doesn’t mean I won’t try to be perfect for you. And…I’ll marry you. One day I’ll marry you.”

A sob escapes Wakasa’s mouth, and he lets his head hang and his hair hide his eyes. One of the hands protecting Wakasa’s hand pulls away, finding Wakasa’s face instead. It holds him as he finds his strength again.

“We can’t, Benkei. You know that,” Wakasa says through the tears that trickle down his lips like raindrops.

“Then I’ll propose to you every day,” Benkei murmurs, bringing his head to Wakasa’s to rest them together.

“How will I know when it’s real?” Wakasa closes his eyes, flattening his hand against Benkei’s chest. Against the strong and steady heartbeat under his palm.

Benkei gently shakes his head, but it’s closer to nuzzling than anything. “It’s always real for you, Waka.”

~•~❀~•~

It isn’t easy now that Wakasa and Benkei don’t go toe-to-toe, throat-to-throat in that no-mercy type way.

Relationships take work. Disagreements emerge. Mistakes are inevitable. It isn’t easy, but Wakasa has learned that it’s worth it.

With each passing day, they become a little more alike—a union, manifestation of their hard work and dedication to be together. Wakasa’s hair looks a little more like Benkei’s did; shaved stripes in his long blonde hair not unlike Benkei’s original hairstyle, accented by that same pretty purple Benkei always loved. Benkei’s hair looks a little more like Wakasa’s did; a buzzcut blonde to match that cloud of hair he had been so fond of.

As Benkei and Wakasa grow and change, so does the gym.

Gojo gym thrives, old man Kaseki occasionally paying a visit to see the two responsible for its rebirth. Over the years, he’s come bearing various gifts for them—a wooden dresser, a functioning mini-fridge, even smaller home-related items like hangers and wall hangings. It’s obvious he’s trying to help them furnish their rather underwhelming studio apartment, perhaps out of guilt over them living in the same space for a decade. He never says, so neither do Wakasa or Benkei. They simply bow their thanks each time and try to make space for another amenity.

And perhaps what has changed the most is Senju.

It didn’t take long for her to announce to Takeomi that she wanted to learn how to fight. Perhaps her brother had set a bad example as someone constantly away from home to participate in gang fights, but this shouldn’t have come as a surprise regardless. Moreover, it was something he has had to come to accept.

She had hardly lost her first tooth when she stepped foot in Gojo gym with starry eyes and mean little fists. That energy had to go somewhere, and the little firecracker she is, putting her focus into learning how to fight properly has been the perfect medium for her.

The day that she knocked Benkei over on her own, Takeomi realized she’s in good hands.

Now a teenager, she hasn’t lost that drive in fighting. In fact, she’s one of the top brawlers in Tokyo—a proud member of Sano Manjiro’s gang, following in their brothers’ footsteps. Despite her academics and her activity in Tokyo Manji Gang, she still shows up for her tri-weekly training sessions at the gym. She still looks at Wakasa and Benkei with that same glimmer in her eyes that she did when they met her.

After all, they practically raised her.

Staying close to Takeomi in addition to Shinichiro despite adversities has had some perks. Watching Senju grow into the strong, wonderful young woman she’s become has been perhaps the biggest blessing in Wakasa’s life.

Well…second biggest blessing. The biggest blessing is the smile he gets to wake up to every morning; see every day.

And so, when Senju finds Wakasa in his and Benkei’s bedroom one day and excitedly rambles about how he needs to see the ring oh my God the ring , Wakasa expects to see that giddy smile in the gym’s training ring, perhaps ready to show off some new ropes or that decal they’ve been hoping to finally design and apply to the floor of the ring.

When Wakasa walks out into the gym space, Benkei is in the ring—down on one knee with a different type of ring in his hands.

After countless proposals—asked between chaste kisses, fingers interlocked, wrapped around each other as they fall asleep; or maybe whispered in his ear during intimate moments, a hand on his hip and another holding his wrists to the headboard—Wakasa knows that this one is real. All of the others were too, simply leading to this very moment.

(And like every time before, and surely every time to come, Wakasa says yes).