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Clouds are drawing together on the horizon, a mass of dark grey that promises a storm. The sun is almost entirely blotted out, meaning the entire street seems several shades darker than usual.
It’s perfect! Mizuki thinks as she strolls along with an added spring in her step. The clouds are so cinematic - excellent for the mission today!
Her demeanor is a stark contrast to the buildings that surround the Ayatsuji Detective Agency. Worn brick, cracked windows and weeds creeping upon seemingly every surface, the antithesis of well-maintained.
Really, if the Division could afford to buy all these buildings, she doesn’t see why they couldn’t put a bit of money towards making them actually look presentable. Mizuki makes a mental note to mention it to her boss; after all, the heroine she aspires to be would not be caught dead here.
Tilting her head back to down the last of her latte, she reaches for her earpiece, swallowing before speaking.
“This is agent code 4048, Inspector Tsujimura,” she announces to the snipers. “Ready to extract the target from the building.” The words still send a thrill up her spine as they leave her lips, no matter how many times she gets to say them. She can’t let the glee leak into her tone, but she sounds just like the main character of a spy movie!
“Roger,” one of the snipers replies, and with that Mizuki flings open the door and strides inside, making a sharp turn to head up a flight of stairs. Despite the weak lighting, she easily navigates her way to a set of double doors, and flings them open.
Within the room the reason for the snipers awaits her. An A-Grade Dangerous Ability User, one who could raze an entire city if set loose. One who requires constant supervision (where she comes in) and one who is, at first glance, really quite unassuming.
“Good morning, Tsujimura-kun,” Ayatsuji greets, not bothering to look up from the book held in his relaxed grip. His other hand is on the cat sitting in his lap, scratching it beneath its chin and receiving a booming purr in return.
She has to forcibly ignore the way her heart pounds at the sight of him. The dim lights in his office make his hair practically glow, illuminating his long fingers that fuss with his cat perfectly. She finds her eyes caught on them as he strokes it tantalisingly slowly.
Focus, Mizuki, she tells herself sharply, bringing herself back to the matter at hand.
“Morning, Ayatsuji-sensei,” Mizuki says in a forcibly even tone, not allowing a single emotion to creep into her voice.
She waits patiently for him to stand and join her, in no doubt that he knows their task for today. He, quite pointedly, does not, instead turning the page of his book with a loud rustle. Mizuki lets out a rather aggressive puff of air in response.
Of course he’s going to make me ask for it.
“We’ve got a mission, remember?” she prompts with a forced, stiff smile, hoping in vain that he’ll make things easy and get ready to go.
“I remember,” he replies simply. His face is entirely blank, which may lead one to believe he is merely not understanding her implication. Except that one is Mizuki, and she rather unfortunately knows him better than anyone. This is another farce, another little game of his. She’s learned to expect them, but that doesn’t make them drive her up the wall any less.
“We need to go,” she insists, still not backing down and asking directly. Perhaps she’s stubborn, perhaps it’s to a fault, but no spy movie heroine she knows of would back down, so she won’t either.
“Do we?” he hums, turning the page once more.
Mizuki weighs the options in her head. They really do need to get going, or else they’ll be late to meet their informant. On the other hand, though, if she gives in she has no doubt Ayatsuji will lord it over her for the rest of the day.
So she goes for neither option, instead setting her sights on the only middle ground she can see: a threat.
“There are snipers right out there, just waiting for you to not comply,” she points out, voice saccharine sweet despite the implications of her words.
“You drive a hard bargain,” Ayatsuji returns with a sigh even heavier than hers was.
She hasn’t won, not in the slightest. She is under no disillusion that he will make any part of this easy; in fact, he’ll probably make everything more difficult, just to spite her. Internally, though, Mizuki fist pumps as he sets the book aside and rises from his seat, gently placing the cat aside.
At the very least, their mission won’t be compromised. In her book, it’s the first step to a successful day.
⋅───⊱ ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ⊰───⋅
The calm doesn’t last long. It can’t, not with someone as infuriating as Ayatsuji at her side. His presence alone is the guarantee of a storm.
Mizuki leads him out to her car, elongating her strides due to consciousness of the time that is slipping away from them. Factoring in both how long it will take them to reach the meeting spot, and their additional slowness due to traffic, they really should’ve gotten on the road several minutes ago.
When she settles back into her car, though, Ayatsuji simply leans against the door on the other side, without making a move to get inside. Mizuki has to remind herself to take deep breaths as she flings open the door to urge him along.
“What are you doing?” she demands.
When he turns to look at her, it’s with this ridiculous expression plastered on his face, as if he has no idea what’s going on and is totally lost. It’s so obviously fake it makes her want to punch it. She’d probably even kiss it if she thought that would startle him into turning his attention to where it should be-
Focus, she thinks to herself harshly.
“I was just waiting for you to fill me in on the details of our mission,” he says innocently, blinking slowly.
“It’s your case,” Mizuki says in utter disbelief, frustration leaking into her tone. “Don’t you know?”
“But you’re my glorified secretary,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “Shouldn’t you be able to tell me?”
Mizuki bristles at that, ignoring the way her fists curl involuntarily. “Of course I can tell you,” she snaps, falling for his trick. He smirks, knowing just as well as she does that they don’t have time for this. “Just… ugh, get in and I’ll explain on the way!”
Ayatsuji hums as he pretends to consider it. “No, I don’t think I will. Why don’t you explain it to me now?”
As he continues to stare blankly at her, Mizuki finds herself momentarily questioning every life choice that led her to this moment.
Maybe being a spy isn’t worth it if this is the price I have to pay, she thinks dully. Really, out of every person on this stupid planet, how was I unlucky enough to catch feelings for this idiot?
With no other choice, Mizuki rushes through an explanation of the entire case, including the informant they’re meeting, and the client that hired them, too. She can tell he’s taking in her words, if only to check that she’s not missing anything out so he can call her out on it. She doesn’t, not when the clock is seemingly ticking in the back of her mind. Mizuki can’t afford to waste another second of time on this pointless endeavour.
As usual, Ayatsuji never allows a victory against him to feel satisfactory. He simply slips into the car beside her, and gestures for her to get driving - as if she were the one holding them up. Mizuki allows herself to scoff aloud at the notion, before slamming her foot on the gas, desperate for any way to cut down on their journey.
A silence blankets them as she drives onwards, thick and heavy. Only faint music fills the air between them, the radio tuned to her favourite channel. Or it does, until Ayatsuji turns the music off without even asking her. (It’s her car. His audacity really knows no bounds.)
Mizuki doesn’t bother to start another fight over the action; it’s not worth it. After all, Ayatsuji seems to have infinite ways to be annoying shoved up his sleeve, so she’ll take any semblance of peace she can get. Despite her detestation of silences, despite the way he is somehow more irritating than normal when he’s turning something over in his mind, she endures it.
“We’re here,” Mizuki announces as she pulls the car up to park. She regrets it the moment it leaves her mouth, and Ayatsuji, of course, takes full advantage of that.
“Thanks for that excellent observation, Sherlock,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm as he clambers out of the car, before striding off without another word.
Groaning under her breath, Mizuki hurries to get out, too, slamming the door behind her and jogging to catch up with his stupidly long strides. He stops in his tracks without warning, causing her to slam into his back. She gears up to protest immediately, but Ayatsuji beats her to it.
“Where are we going?” he asks, and she buries her face in her palm. Of course he didn’t actually know the way; he just set off in order to force her to work to catch up.
“Over here,” she says begrudgingly, reluctantly taking the lead and guiding him to the underside of a bridge.
A river runs steadily alongside them, casting reflections along the brickwork above them. Though they don’t speak, the gentle splashing of the water fills the space between them, only amplified by its echoes. Ayatsuji, predictably, doesn’t bother to keep an eye out for their informant, so it’s up to Mizuki to keep watch.
The silence persists as time passes, yet not a soul joins them. Mizuki feels herself beginning to grow antsy, so she checks her watch with a frown only to discover that the time for their meeting has already passed, and no one has shown up.
Ayatsuji’s face remains infuriatingly blank as she continues craning her neck to scour for someone, anyone, who could be the informant they need.
“It looks like-” Mizuki starts to say, but Ayatsuji raises a hand to silence her. She immediately gears up to protest the dismissal, until she notices the way his eyes are focused on a singular point, on something she can’t see. That, coupled with the way his jaw is clenched tightly, and all the pieces come together.
Mizuki has all the confirmation she needs to determine that Kyougoku is who his attention lies with. She glances between Ayatsuji and the spot he must be in, as if that will reveal him to her. Kyougoku, of course, remains as elusive to her as ever.
Suddenly, Ayatsuji’s eyes widen impossibly, and his head whips around to face her. Before Mizuki can ask what he’s been told, before she can do anything at all, he leaps forwards at the same time as the unmistakable sound of a gunshot rings out.
⋅───⊱ ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ⊰───⋅
Everything becomes a blur, time passing so quickly Mizuki can barely distinguish one moment from the next.
The first thing she registers is Ayatsuji crumpling to the ground, clutching at his side. She reaches out for him at the sound of the pained groan that escapes his lips, but he frantically waves her away, gesturing to the spot the bullet was fired from.
One glance up is all it takes to get the assailant in her sights. Mizuki’s eyes narrow dangerously at the sight of them, all of her common sense seemingly leaping out of the window. Her hand flies to her gun before she can even process the decision to whip it out, yet she doesn’t stop herself, despite knowing how this will end. She raises it, aims it, and takes a deep breath as she prepares to fire it.
Before she gets the chance to, before she can so much as blink, her ability activates, just as she knew it would. The Shadow Child unfurls itself into being, still not returned to its full height since its encounter with Ayatsuji, but nonetheless deadly. It stalks over to the assailant before she gets the chance to squeeze the trigger.
Mizuki is helpless to watch as the Shadow Child raises its scythe high above its head, and slices through the assailant in one fatal swing. It seems almost anticlimactic as they topple to the ground, like a puppet with its strings severed.
The gun clatters from her loose grip as the Shadow Child returns to her side once more, slowly fading away. Mizuki’s jaw is slack as she stands staring at the body, a stark contrast to the way her heart jackrabbits in her chest as the realisation of what just happened sinks in.
As the realisation that she knew how it would end if she drew her gun, but didn’t bother to stop herself. Her mind was too clouded with red to stop herself from acting with murderous intent, spurring her ability to finish the job for her.
It takes another grunt from Ayatsuji to startle Mizuki from her thoughts, and she immediately drops down beside him to examine the damage.
“Ayatsuji-sensei, are you alright?” she asks, horrified as she spots the wound on his side. All she can see is blood, so much blood, too much blood. His usually pristine clothes are already steadily being consumed by the red stain, and her mind seems to falter at the sight.
“Just peachy,” he manages to tell her, and she can’t help but roll her eyes slightly. Mizuki doesn’t waste time in peeling back a layer of his clothes to examine the wound more closely. She winces as more of it is revealed, along with the sheer volume of blood it is producing. Without a moment of hesitation, she rips her scarf from around her neck and presses it to the wound, applying enough pressure that he groans.
“Why did you do that?” she scolds.
“Do what?” he asks, as if he can’t tell what Mizuki is referring to. She has absolutely no doubt he’s smart enough to put together what she means, which means he’s avoiding the question.
“Take the bullet,” she answers sharply. “Kyougoku warned you it was coming, didn’t he? That’s what you were talking about. If you didn’t move, it would’ve been me who got shot.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ayatsuji insists, and Mizuki disregards the obvious lie with a scoff.
“Hold this in place,” she instructs, gesturing to the scarf. He hesitates to follow her command, and she lets out another puff of air in disbelief. “Seriously? You’re losing blood at an exponential rate, and you can’t even manage to listen to me for five seconds? Your life is at stake,” she snaps, refusing to acknowledge the way her voice trembles on that final sentence.
Ayatsuji sighs, but moves to press the scarf onto his wound. As gently as she can, Mizuki drapes his other arm around her shoulder.
“Stand on three,” she says softly, counting them down to heave him off the floor. With a lot of grumbling from him, she gets them both on their feet, and begins to lead him back to the car, going as fast as she can whilst deliberately keeping her steps even so that she can avoid jostling him, and by extension, the wound.
It’s not as successful as she may have hoped, for Mizuki begins to feel the warm, sticky blood meeting her side, meaning it has soaked through the scarf already. She grimaces, putting on an extra burst of speed to reach the car.
Only, when she reaches it, a new problem becomes immediately apparent.
“Shit!” she swears as she takes in the sight of her tires, which have been very obviously slashed. It’s quite obvious that their assailant planned this, doing everything they could to prevent a potential trip to the hospital.
“Shit,” Ayatsuji says drily in agreement and, really, if he weren’t actively bleeding out Mizuki suspects she would slap him across the face.
She has to push that particular desire down as her thoughts race to come up with a solution. She tries to picture where they are in her mind’s eye, trying to figure out how far they are from help. She doesn’t think they’re an impossible distance from a hospital, but a single glance at Ayatsuji is all it takes to confirm he won’t be able to get there. His face is several shades paler than it should be, and marred by a grimace as his hand scrabbles at his side. A glance downwards confirms that his hand encasing the scarf is stained with blood, blood his body continues to sluggishly produce.
Mizuki can’t go to the hospital and bring someone back - that would take too long - nor does she think she can call an ambulance. They are quite simply out of time, a thought only emphasised by the way Ayatsuji sways dangerously on his feet.
In an instant, it comes to her.
“Ayatsuji-sensei,” Mizuki says quickly, drawing his attention back to her. His eyes are hazy as they meet hers, urging her to hurry with getting her words out. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I don’t-” Ayatsuji tries to say, but Mizuki cuts across him.
“Good,” she says shortly as she reaches forwards, grabbing his legs, and hoisting him into the air. It’s a testament to his condition that she’s able to do so; he wouldn’t be caught dead like this if he had any say. The thought is rather sobering, in a way, and she internally vows to increase her pace as much as she is physically able to.
Mizuki’s legs tremble from the weight as she adjusts him to rest on her back, yanking his arms so they encircle her neck.
“Put me down,” Ayatsuji protests, writhing weakly in her grasp.
“No way,” Mizuki grits out, with considerable effort. She doesn’t bother to explain her reasoning, doesn’t bother to tell him that this is the only way she can see them reaching the hospital in time. She just ploughs onward, doggedly placing one foot in front of the other to get him there, determinedly shoving the addition of the words before it’s too late from her mind.
⋅───⊱ ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ⊰───⋅
“Just call an ambulance,” Ayatsuji insists, for seemingly the hundredth time. Ironically, every time he repeats it, he only ends up cementing that this is the right decision in Mizuki’s mind.
His voice is quiet, barely audible, and it gets quieter each time he speaks. His words are beginning to slur together. That, on top of the contrast between the warmth leaking out of him in the form of blood, steadily saturating the back of her shirt as well as her scarf, and the coldness of his arms around her neck, causes the worry clouding her mind to increase even further.
Progress is nowhere near as fast as Mizuki would like it to be. She has to stop every couple of minutes to hitch him further up her back, and prevent him from slipping off entirely. She has both hands hooked around his legs to support them, but he keeps falling down in tiny increments regardless.
Every step she takes both takes ten times as much effort, and twice as long to complete as normal. His added weight ensures every last action is a chore.
“We don’t have time for that,” Mizuki reminds him, straining just to get the words out.
“I’ll be fine,” he tries to tell her, prompting her to let out a scoff of disbelief.
“No, you won’t!” she cries, rounding a corner and plodding determinedly onwards. As she takes in the new street they’re on, she lets out a sigh of relief, finally recognising where they are - and how close they are.
Not much further, Mizuki urges herself on internally. She ignores the burning of her lungs, ignores the screaming of her legs at the extra weight she is being made to carry. She directs all of her thoughts towards the hospital, and how it’s just within their reach.
“Why do you even care?” Ayatsuji mumbles into her neck, and Mizuki flinches at the coldness of his skin.
“I wish I knew,” she mutters in response, tiredness lowering her barriers, causing the words to tumble out of her. “You’re insufferable, but…” Mizuki trails off. Even like this, she can’t quite bring herself to say it aloud.
“But?” Ayatsuji croaks skeptically. Mizuki can feel the tension leaking from his body as he relaxes further, which causes the opposite effect for her. She tenses up, heart pounding against her ribcage; she can feel his ridiculously long eyelashes fluttering closed, and she gives him one final shift upwards before spurring herself onwards.
“But I do care, you blithering idiot,” Mizuki says quietly the moment she feels the last dregs of consciousness leave him. His limp form is just one more piece of fuel for her fire, and, despite the way her legs want to buckle beneath him, she forces herself to run. She’s unable to reach anywhere near the speeds she normally could but, regardless, Mizuki pushes herself onwards.
It certainly pays off when the hospital comes into sight. She doesn't even have enough energy to let out the grin she feels bursting within her, but Mizuki manages to pull them both through the door regardless.
⋅───⊱ ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ⊰───⋅
The constant beeping of a heart monitor is an incredibly grating sound, Yukito finds. It’s only heightened when he has nothing to distract himself with, bar staring up at the incredibly white ceiling, and the only other noise in the room is the snores of his annoying shadow.
Tsujimura is slumped in a chair beside his bed, mouth dangling open rather unattractively. Drool is collecting within it, and, if he had his phone, it would be the perfect opportunity to secure some blackmail material. Alas, he doesn’t have it; all Yukito has is scratchy bandages, even scratchier bedsheets, a dull ache in his side, and the relentless beeping of the heart monitor.
And, of course, his other annoying shadow.
“That was remarkably stupid of you,” Kyougoku tells him, as if he doesn’t already know, as if he’s not just pressing for answers to piss him off. “You could’ve died - so why did you do it?”
Yukito determinedly keeps his eyes on the ceiling, pretending he doesn’t see Kyougoku’s crooked grin out of the corner of his eye. He, of course, doesn’t let that bother him, and creeps ever closer, leaning over his bed.
“You know what I’ve realised?” Yukito says flatly, still refusing to meet Kyougoku’s eyes. His grin only widens further at the meagre acknowledgement. “You are remarkably similar to a cockroach. A disgusting pest who, for some reason, refuses to just die.”
Kyougoku just laughs rowdily at his words, not offended in the slightest, not when he’s armed with the knowledge he has. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
He’s certainly got Yukito there.
Finally giving in, he allows his eyes to flick over to Kyougoku, and narrow into deadly slits. “You know the answer,” he snaps.
Kyougoku opens his mouth, but, before he can allow another word to drip from his greasy mouth, Tsujimura startles awake.
“Ayatsuji-sensei!” she cries, grinning at the sight of him being awake. Only a second later, however, she scrubs her face clean of the smile, forcing it into blankness. It’s entirely futile, of course, for Yukito has already seen it.
“Tsujimura,” he acknowledges.
Her face falls slightly at the lack of emotion in his tone, but she clears her throat, returning it to neutrality. Yukito can’t tell if she genuinely thinks she’s fooling anyone, but he doesn’t think he even wants to know.
“You didn’t… happen to hear anything before you passed out, did you?” Tsujimura asks hesitantly.
Very subtle, he thinks drily.
“Like what?” Yukito deadpans, suppressing the quirk at the corner of his lips. She must think he passed out before she made her utterly embarrassing confession, and want to ensure that was the case. To secure peace of mind, probably.
“Oh, I don’t know, things?” Tsujimura says vaguely.
“It’s all pretty much a blur,” Yukito lies. “I don’t think I did.”
She brightens considerably at that. “Great. I’ll, uh, let you get on with healing, Ayatsuji-sensei!” she says, before promptly ducking out of the room.
Yukito rolls his eyes at the departure. He has no doubt she’ll scurry back here soon enough, upon realising that she, his supervisor, just abandoned him, a dangerous ability user, in a hospital with no security.
He relaxes back into the bed, mind already chugging with ideas on how to lord his knowledge of her admission of care over her. There are infinite ways he can emphasise her foolishness, while ignoring one particular fact: she’s not the only fool who’s caught the disease of caring, especially not if the way a flush is spreading across his cheeks in the wake of her presence is any indication.