Archive of Our Own

Believe it or not, some souls actually enjoy being exorcised. 

Honestly, movies and games and all those hoaxes about totally real demonic possessions (because if something is wrong with someone, surely it must be the work of a demon and nothing else, right?) have painted them in a bad light. It’s more like cleansing. It’s homecoming en masse for those who need a little boost to extinguish the last of their lingering attachments. 

Without all the bells and whistles, what he truly does is actually more of a purification sort of ritual, mostly about blessings and helping lost souls move on and all that jazz, but it’s easier to just call it an exorcism. That’s what his repeat clients usually ask for anyway, so it’s better to frame it that way from the very beginning. It’s probably got something to do with the nature of why they’ve got so many spirits to worry about in the first place, but Shu won’t complain. Work is work.

Besides, purification doesn’t really fit with the whole mysterious masked sorcerer image he’s spent all this time curating, and his mystique is half the reason he can still hold down this job in the first place, so it’s better to just choose the path of vague, vast power when it’s time to advertise his services. If they want an exorcism, then he’ll call it an exorcism, even if it’s nowhere near the evil-purging sideshow that they’re probably imagining in their grinning little heads.

It’s purely strategic. Sure, maybe the types of clients who request repeat work aren’t the friendly, mom-and-pop shop sort that he’d prefer to deal with, but the mere act of seeking him out is dually incriminating. If somebody squeals, then it’ll out them just as much as it does him, so he can easily cloak himself in the relative safety of mutually assured destruction. 

Shu feigns nonchalance as he strides up to the heavy metal door. As he approaches, a masked figure appraises him, staring with cold, narrowed eyes. They’ve got the trademark mask of the lowest rung of the Lions, off-white and slightly brassy from their time in the sun. That, paired with the little triangular pin, leaves no question as to whose territory he’s got to deal with today.

“It’s Hika,” he reports, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

As the feared and lauded type, he’s a man of few words. That, too, is all part of his cover. Green eyes, green mask, green robes and cowl that swirl around his arms. It should all resemble him as little as possible. 

The guard hardly reacts, inching forwards just enough to glare at his bag. As he tugs it open, Shu straightens up, trying to fill as much space as possible. His face hardens into something that should hopefully lie on the right side of unbothered, but it’s a useless exercise anyway, given the masks between them. Man, what he wouldn’t give to live in an era before CCTV. It would be so easy and beautiful and horribly uncomplicated. He could have just headed some little hamlet’s wizard’s tower and chaperoned a few dozen heads from afar and would never have to worry about whether some long-forgotten client’s going to turn up on his civilian self’s doorstep someday begging for some magical miracle— or, more likely, for a murder of some sort. It’s the kind of bucolic fantasy that’s impossible now. Even one person discovering the truth would be far too many to handle, so each time he does this, he’s got to don the permanent mask of Hikarino, gruff and hard-to-please and evil in an affable sort of way.

Shu sighs as he turns out his pockets and fans out his spell tags, flashing each for this poor excuse of an inspection. It’s a little rude, but that's part of his character— distant, snippy, and ruthlessly efficient. He’ll settle for charming in a brusque sort of way, watching the guard’s gaze crawl over his hands each time they disappear into his satchel with purposeful disdain. They really don't know a thing. They always try to put up a good front, but it’s little things like that that always give away the greenhorns.

You see, if he wanted to do some real damage here, then he wouldn’t need any trinkets to do it. Sorcery’s more of a primal, innate sort of thing, so it’s only the newest guards that waste their time poring over them. He is the fount and the conduit, not some book or amulet or set of reeds that must be played in just the right way, so he wouldn't need to hide any weapons anyway. 

“Well?” he huffs, receiving nothing in response. It’s always like this. Their skepticism elongates into the stringy sort of web that clings to his skin, and eventually, he grows tired of waiting. Shu scrapes his feet against the floor, recalling each and every time they’ve had to run through this. “Just get Deneb if you’re so unsure. I’ve got other places to be.” 

By now, he’s stopped wondering whether members of the Pride will ever speak back to him. The lackeys never do. In fact, the ones outside may as well be moving statues for all the good they do, though perhaps that’s the point. Maybe they’re supposed to avoid attracting attention, and they just choose the slowest ways to do it.

This wouldn’t be such a struggle if Denebola did his job properly, but he never does. He’s happy to clean his hands once the exorcism’s finally in the books, unconcerned with how long said exorcism actually takes. He’s lucky Shu (begrudgingly) respects his boss enough that he doesn’t kick up a fuss, or rather, he’s lucky Shu loathes the thought of confrontation more than he craves retribution for his underlings’ transgressions.

If he never sees him again, it will be far too soon. They met in passing just once, one quick brush of the hand at some sort of gala the year before last. He remembers it quite well, that man, his cold, white mask that gleamed like a bloated pearl, the way his gloves came off to reveal rusted blood trapped beneath half-bitten, half-mangled fingernails. There is only one man who’s ever allowed to wear such a mask— a pristinely painted maw that comes down to his teeth, showcasing glittering canines beside a swirl of gold. His mouth sharpened into a mean sort of grin as they slipped past each other in the crowd, and each time he saw him again, that man seemed delighted to cavort around with a goblet of dark, dark wine that could have easily been blood.

There was something unsettling about him. If he can afford a bespoke jacket and jewels that ripple in the light, then he can certainly afford some manners. 

Still, Shu must admit, he’s good at his job. Their boss is cruel but not exceedingly so, and they’ve started to recoup their lost pride under his fledgling leadership, so he can’t be that bad. Clearly something’s been working since he fought his way to the top. And maybe he would relent if Shu dropped a little complaint about Deneb’s pervasive lack of awareness, but that’s not what he’s going to waste his goodwill on. A minor monthly inconvenience is fine if it gets him what he wants in the end.

The Lions are the last people he ever wants to owe, but they’re methodical. They’re good at what they do— hunting their marks, dealing with targets that won’t affect their operation, maintaining order from their place near the top— and, more importantly, they owe him now. There’s only one person he’s cleansed more often than their hunting grounds, so they need him more than most. When he calls, they’ll have no choice but to do it right. 

The guard finally bows their head as they heave the door halfway open, and Shu strides into the hall like he owns it, clutching his beads with white-knuckled fists. Their facility always reminds him of an anthill, each corner hiding some gateway that leads to yet another route deeper underground. That makes each of the little lions that dot the halls an overgrown ant, methodical and silent and powerful once mobilised.

Shu gulps down a breath as the door slams shut behind them. Without pausing or speaking, he marches into the second door on the right, calculating the best way this is going to work. 

His request is simple. All he needs is for them to arrange a little kidnapping of sorts. 

Surely, they can manage that much, right? 

-

At around half past three on a perfectly beautiful Saturday afternoon, Shu’s still baking in the summer sun. No matter what he does or who he sees, none of them seem to pay any particular attention to him. 

They’re late. So much for a ‘simple’ and ‘easy’ job.

They’ve been late for the last half hour, and if he has to draw this out any more, then he may as well run back and change out of this ridiculous outfit before meeting up with Elira, running off to join some excursion which absolutely, positively isn’t supposed to be a double date (‘We swear!’).

If it makes her feel better, then she can call it whatever she wants, but it’s pretty obvious what they’ve been doing, dragging him and Luca around like some sad set dressing to a whole suite of couple-y activities. Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t dense, even though he never tries particularly hard to correct it whenever someone inevitably comes to that conclusion. 

He’s known how he feels and how little he can do about it for so long that it may as well be forever. There’s never been a moment where he’s forgotten, so it’s a silly arrangement for them to have fallen into somehow. She keeps pushing them into eating together or riding rollercoasters or diving headfirst into the glittering sea as if one memory they share is going to finally make the universe click into place, making him realise that Luca’s the one for him, that he’s loved him all along and he wants this now more than ever, when that's never been the missing link.

No, the issue isn’t his awareness of the situation. If anything, he can’t stop himself from being aware of him and all the Shu-and-Luca peculiarities that make up their whole relationship.

It's hard to deny that Luca isn't a motivating factor in the way he acts. Sometimes he does outrageous, outlandish, decidedly not Shu-like things around him just to stare up at his eyes, suddenly sparkling or widening or getting rounder somehow, crinkling up with laughter and understanding. It's a code they wordlessly share and a pattern too. Like gasoline, they take in one joke and square the energy involved, delighting in the exponential trajectory of their current bout of ridiculousness. That's just what he does, what they do. Together. With Luca, he’s always honing his powers of ‘yes and’ and building up jokes into something concrete, finding these minuscule ways to treat all of it seriously without draining the fun from it, and it’s always been so, so good.

It's great for bonding, great for humour and entertainment and raucous nights where they act like they own the stars and by proxy all they can touch, which means they own the world. Sometimes Luca makes him believe things like that, silly as they are. He makes him feel like the world is theirs, and how could anyone resist loving somewhere like that?

It’s great, but it's not enough. And he can usually handle it, being the funny friend or the responsible one or the cool, older cousin type of friend, the kind that’s distant in a way that makes the good times stronger. That’s his default, and it’s a mold he fits well, but he doesn’t want to be Luca’s funny cousin or a friend of a friend or the kind of acquaintance you call up as you pass by an advertisement for their favourite food because wow, didn’t you like that back when we were actually close? It’s like an eddy or a whirlpool or a typhoon. There’s this little churning thought lodged in his head that’s so greedy for more, but he can’t let himself succumb to it.

It’s just so easy to love him. Love is so natural, but it’s unsustainable. It’s dangerous. 

Whenever he looks at Luca, it’s easy to find that twinkle of humour and fondness, and it’s so close, but it’s not quite what he wants. And sometimes when he’s searching, he discovers other things too. Pale skin. Purplish smears lingering below his eyes, hastily covered with some sort of cream. Yawns and drooping arms that melt into the night once the weight of attention shifts towards someone else in the group. Things that he can’t soothe when he’s running off at random as Hika. Things Luca never talks about.

Neither of them are in a great place right now, so maybe being friends is all they can safely manage. That’s all they can really be. He can't exactly drag Luca into his vindictive, green-covered world, not when it’s riddled with criminals and mafiosos (that can’t do their jobs) and the sort of red light folks who’d relish in discovering Hikarino’s weak point because it'd mean they own him. He can’t force that kind of headache onto them both. In the end, all he can really do is selfishly linger as close as he can without shattering the tenuous bubble of plausible deniability, purify the spirits that must be just as drawn to his fount of inner light as he is, and force his body to react as little as possible whenever they're thrust into close proximity. 

Last week, he had to swallow down a shiver when Luca did nothing but glance at him with shining eyes as they settled into their usual places around the table— him on the right with Shu on the left, squished between Luca and the wall. By now, he’s well beyond the point of turning off his feelings, so it’s got to boil down to control and awareness and finding new ways to downplay it all. He just has to be a good friend, which isn't that hard, all while shutting down any avenue that could push them into becoming anything more. 

That bit’s the tricky part, but nothing’s worth giving up on just because it’s hard. The best in life is hard won. There's no such thing as perfect, natural connections. All there is are connections formed through effort and love and dedication, and they’ll always have that, even if he’s got to lie about the rest. It’s stupid. It’s crazy. Everyone still thinks he works nonsensical hours because he’s some kind of nocturnal, always on-call IT guy since that little lie keeps them safe, and that’s just how it has to be.

If he frames it like that, it’s not that hard to accept. He's worked hard to become a good person living a half decent life, so even if easy things are usually a trap, even if it’s easy to love him, his relationships aren't like that. They're the consequence of care, of growing and working hard to connect with others, so it's okay if it's a little too natural for him to lean against his shoulder or grapple with the urge to grab his hand when they’re both in a crowd because it’s right there, looming like a beacon against the sandy shore.

There’s nothing wrong with having feelings.

There’s nothing wrong with choosing the safest, least impactful way to navigate those feelings.

Sometimes it gets hard though, and it’s the tired, equally red-eyed Hikarino that must lock his yawns away who ends up making silly plans like this. It’ll be easy, he thought. He won’t need to pretend he’s unaffected if he’s got a real excuse not to make it, right? Then he won’t have to sit and explain or fidget as he has to answer when Luca inevitably asks if he’s feeling better because he won’t be lying about anything. He does want to go, and he does want to see them, and he did plan on it, but he couldn’t because something came up. 

He can’t because he’s getting kidnapped today.

Still, the best-laid plans often fail to account for something, so it’s only logical that the worst ones fail somewhere too. His kidnappers haven’t shown any sign of making it, and to make matters worse, Luca can’t even come on their not-actually-a-double-date, so he did all this scheming for no reason. He doesn’t even need to worry anymore!

The lights seem to blink a little faster as the fourth bus of the day rolls up to the curb. Still, there’s no sign of anyone with their trademark mask. There are only dudes pushing strollers and students still in uniform rushing through the shambolic crowd, phones in hand, and absolutely no one at all with the Lion insignia pinned to their chest.

It’s a little ridiculous, to be perfectly honest, because this is a pretty simple task. All he needed was for Deneb, or Eta, or any of the other mid-tier underlings he’s had to parlay with to kidnap him for the afternoon! They didn’t even need any weapons! He was very clear. Their mark will be standing at the bus stop that sits right across from the museum with a large, purple umbrella, drawn-up hair, and a grey sweater with a swarm of butterflies stitched across the back. 

The extra guidance was supposed to be a failsafe, but no matter how much he unfurls his umbrella, twirling it from hand to hand, no one seems to care. The sea of pedestrians has slowly warped and flowed around him over the last hour, but there’s been no sign of motion nor anyone else that remotely matches his description, so what could be stopping them? He picked multiple inclinations for a reason! It’s not like they scooped up the wrong person. They shouldn’t have any trouble finding him, and they’re only supposed to hold him for a couple hours, so they’ve wasted a fair chunk of time doing absolutely nothing at all.

Deneb sounded so sure of himself too, preening as he swore up and down that he’d see to it personally as a sign of goodwill. He should have known better. The only thing he’s good at is talking.

After another bus’s departure and arrival and a good ten minutes of waiting, Shu’s finally ready to run home, ditch the umbrella and sweater for good, and resign himself to the slightly more tolerable endeavour of third-wheeling what should really be a group date when someone finally slinks behind him in a gentle, almost apologetic way. 

Finally! This must be it! He’s rightfully sorry, but he’s here, and he’ll whisk Shu away like he’s supposed to.

The anticipation snatches the air from his lungs. It’s fine. He’ll yell at him later when Hika’s scheduled to visit, but for now, he’s got to play the perfect victim. Shu’s not supposed to know a thing about it, so he makes sure to jump as a hesitant hand slips over his mouth, clawing at his assailant’s wrist as he wriggles in their hold, trying to pry it off.

“Shh,” he hears, barely discernable over the symphony of footsteps. “I’m not gonna hurt you, but you need to come with me.” Their grip loosens a touch but it never truly leaves, hand still hovering by his lips once it finally slips off. “Nod twice if you understand.”

Elated, Shu furiously nods before swivelling around, turning before he can even get another word out. The sooner they leave, the better! 

“Who—”

Partway through his rotation, Shu freezes, suddenly rooted to the spot. That can’t be right, but he rubs his eyes and the picture doesn’t change. The only thing that happens is that his kidnapper looks a bit more confused as he does it again, tilting his head slightly as Shu keeps scrubbing his face.

Standing before him is not the slightly crumpled tan suit— his grandfather’s, apparently, as he loves to remind him whenever he actually shows up— that Deneb’s never seen without. It’s not him and his slightly scratched up mask, still marred from some scuffle last month. No, this man is slightly taller and broader with the kind of frame that commands attention. And while he does have a mask, it’s not the bleached-white or half-gold varieties Shu’s used to dealing with. Instead, it’s a delicately painted thing, white and faintly purple with golden filigree and the suggestion of fangs that taper off a very real, very human grin.

As he turned, Shu expected to be greeted by an apologetic Deneb (at best) or maybe even that stubborn guard from last week (at worst), so why the heck is their boss of all people wasting time on something like this?!

Shu’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he shakes out of his stupor. “Sorry,” he finally gets out, forcing up a cough by slamming a fist against his chest. “I was just, um… just a little surprised. Let’s go…?”

This can’t be real but it must be. It must. Somehow, it is because it’s not enough for his bad plan to merely become a delayed plan. It’s got to become a thoroughly ruined one too.

“Let’s go!” His captor’s hands curl into fists in self-satisfaction as he gestures toward the street. “C’mon. You look like you could use some cool air.”

Is he going to kill him? It could be a euphemism of some kind. Maybe he’ll knock him out and leave him on ice and jeer at his wilting body. Isn’t that what they do? Isn’t that what he does?

Shu swallows his dread as they step out of the bus shelter, following out of necessity more than anything else. There’s no way he can escape now, even with his magic. Not if he doesn’t want to jeopardise all his hard work.

-

After wending their way out of the museum district, sneaking past the busiest choke points, and settling on one of the smaller side streets as their pathway of choice, Shu has finally started to accept his fate. No matter how he tries to explain it or downplay it, there’s no denying that it’s really him. He’s forgone the gloves and gun and the looming shadows, but it’s obviously him nonetheless, and he shows no signs he’ll let him get away easily.

The only slight positive about all of this is that he’s mostly keeping to the brief. He’s yet to pull out a bundle of nylon cord or a pair of handcuffs to keep him restrained, and it doesn’t seem like he’s planning on tossing him into an unmarked van to rot in for the afternoon, so it is about as painless as being in close proximity with a man like him can be.

Every time he looks a little too closely at Shu, it makes his skin prickle and protest. He just won’t leave him alone, asking question after question with this artificial softness that he knows better than to trust. There’s no way he came here to pal around the city with him. He must be scheming something. He must want something, and he won’t let him go. He’ll do anything else, letting him control their destination, but they have to go there together.

“How are you feeling?” he had asked as they dashed underneath a tree, waiting for the light to turn green.

“Were you waiting for someone?” he had tried, glaring at a passing stranger that stared a little too hard at his mask-and-hat ensemble as they both turned the corner.

“Has anyone been giving you trouble lately? Made any enemies? Is anyone bothering you?”

The vagueness of his answers seems to irk him, but that’s not Shu’s problem. He should have picked a better way of getting to him. An ambush is rarely the solution.

Leverage against him, maybe? That could be it. Maybe he’s tired of paying for their endless stream of purifications, so he needs some dirt to hold against Hikarino, and Shu’s the most logical source to get it. If Hika asked for him by name, then he’ll obviously be the first weak point to claw at, to shake for all he’s worth because there must be something that links them together.

Shu groans as they stop at the next corner. Red after red after red. This was never a very good plan after all.

“Tired?” The voice suddenly comes from a spot right beside his ear. It’s a little unsettling, watching the painted face he’s avoided for so long turning to face him. Unfortunately, each stoplight gives him another chance to grill him. “I could carry that for you.”

Shu grimaces, tightening his grip. The umbrella is his contingency plan. Even if it’s a poor weapon, it’s better than nothing, so there’s no way he can give it up. Out of season or not, it was a good visual cue, and now it’ll be a good way to ward off danger, like a barrier or a shield.

“I’ll be fine.” Tearing his eyes from his imposing form, Shu glances at the crowd, at the possible exits laid out before him. The subway, maybe. If they get separated in the sea of commuters, then it wouldn't be that weird. “Thanks though, uh— bro? Dude? Do you care what I call you?” Shu’s voice tapers off at the end, a little high, a little unsure even if he already knows the answer. 

It’s rude to ask but ruder to use whatever name he pleases, and he’ll love a chance to explain his name and all its associated merits. That’s just the way he is. He can't resist a chance to brag and show himself off, and yet, his kidnapper waits a bit before responding, staying uncharacteristically silent as he looks anywhere except Shu’s face.

“Leo?” he tries, frowning. “No, wait. Maybe you already know one of those.” As he throws out a couple options, he rubs his chin in mock thought. “Kuro,” he eventually decides. “You can call me Kuro.”

It’s a bit of an odd pseudonym, but it’s his choice to lie if he wants.

“Okay. Thanks then, Kuro,” Shu says, testing it out. It’s weird, but the whole notion of treating him casually is weird enough to balance it out. “But you know, your whole mask-jacket thing is white.”

At that, Kuro laughs— truly, fully laughs, with this uproar that floods into the street and shatters any notion of silence. “Are you nocturnal then? Do you keep your lights off all the time?”

Shu shrugs. Sometimes he does, when he’s just chilling at home. “I dabble.”

“You dabble?”

“You’re telling me you don’t get lazy sometimes?”

“Too lazy for lights? If it’s that dark, then you can just go to sleep!”

“You’re a morning person?” Shu shakes his head in mock disapproval. Of course he is. He’s probably one of those energetic types that can drill into some task from sunup to sundown. “You're not that bad, though,” he tacks on, because he’s stupid and hasn’t stopped talking and has to soften the blow somehow. “For a kidnapper, I mean. Even if your name’s wrong. It’s not that hard to buy a black suit instead.”

As Kuro steps closer, the nearby facades seem to follow suit, crowding into him. Suddenly, it’s like he’s been dropped onto the moon. The air is thinner. His breathing gets a little faster and shallower, scrambling to compensate for the lack of space. 

Kuro’s hand gets larger and larger as it approaches Shu’s face, but he stands firm. He does not flinch, not even as one of his fingers brushes against the fragile skin near his eye. 

“I can be mean,” he counters, standing too close for comfort. “I’m very mean, in fact. And evil.”

Shu’s not supposed to know the depths of truth weaved in there, even if Hika does, so instead of acknowledging it, he laughs through his panic, mostly at the absurdity of it all. Of course he’s mean. No one conquers a mafia group by being proper and polite all the time. 

Everything was so easy before Kuro took over. He's too unpredictable and powerful to risk ticking off, so every dealing with the Lions has gotten infinitely more difficult.

It’s probably a warning. He doesn’t need cuffs to restrain him. If he wanted to, he could claw into him right here and now. He could kill him, but then he’d be fresh out of luck since that kind of unsatisfactory death wouldn’t be enough to resolve his earthly attachments and he’d be all out of sorcerers willing to dispatch the spirits. It would be fun though, haunting him. At least then he could get his revenge.

But still, revenge isn't worth dying over. Not for something like this, no matter how painful. Honestly, he’d even take going on another emotionally constipated date with Luca over being stuck here like this. At least then, when he inevitably dies, he’d still be able to see him one last time.

“Well, you seem pretty nice to me,” Shu ends up blurting out, trying to backpedal a little. There’s a café within earshot, so he can’t do anything here, right?

Kuro stills, then straightens up. The vague suggestion of a smile vanishes as soon as it appears, but he doesn’t close the gap. “It's bad enough you’re stuck here with me, right?” he says, shrugging. “I can play nice for a day.”

Right. One day and nothing more. This isn't some chance encounter Shu can weasel out of through reputation alone. If he wants to make it out of here alive, then he’s got to be strategic because as soon as Kuro’s done here, he’ll probably run straight to Hikarino to hold this over him forever.

He’s just got to push ahead. Deneb wouldn't have hurt Shu, and he asked him not to touch him when they drew it all up, but who knows what Kuro’s going to do. He doesn't operate on mortal terms, and if he wants to maim him a little, then he will. He can get away with something like that.

From his spot beside Kuro, the sky’s only about a few centimeters wide. It’s barely the width of his hand, covered by awnings and hanging signs that jut out of buildings and those giant café umbrellas that artificially shadow a hundred people sitting in tiny chairs with even tinier drinks in their little manicured hands. He never lets the distance between them grow much larger than a foot, moving fast then slow as Shu tries to modulate his pace.

To ward off the chill that’s suddenly crept underneath his skin, Shu hugs his arms to his chest, surveying. He needs to calm down. He needs to be methodical about this.

Plan Subway Escape, it is then.

As they reach the next corner, air finally floods back into his lungs as Shu breaks into a run, conscious that Kuro will be hot on his heels. “C’mon!” he shouts, leaping down a staircase two steps at a time. “Let’s take the train. It’ll be faster.”

The whole way down, the clang of Kuro’s footsteps surround him. It sounds a bit like thunder, and he can already feel the corresponding storm brewing, roiling deep within his chest.

He’s got to find a way out of this somehow.

-

Just this once, Shu finds himself wishing that their infrastructure was just the slightest bit worse.

The trains are never that late, and the lines demarcating each line’s endpoint are never that hard to navigate, but he still had a bit of hope bubbling inside him as the ground swallowed him up. Maybe the train opposite theirs would arrive a minute beforehand, meaning the down and up sides of the stairs would both be flooded by commuters trying to get to and from the platform. If that had happened, then maybe he could have dashed inside a car just as the doors slammed shut, leaving Kuro discombobulated as he tried to follow one head in a crowd of thousands. 

What actually happened was this. Shu ran down the stairs, slamming his card onto the turnstile, but it just wasn’t busy enough for any meaningful subterfuge. It’s still that weird purgatory afternoon hour between lunch and peak commuting hour, so while there were still a healthy number of people in the station, it wasn’t the barrage he needed to keep them separated for long. It was the most realistic outcome, but it was still a pretty lousy one, earning him a minute of freedom at most.

And when he caught up, Shu had to smile and wave like he’d been waiting for him all along.

“Nice sweater,” Kuro says, glancing at him as they stand on the platform. The fluorescent lights make his mask extra hard to ignore. It’s shiny in a cold sort of way, like polished steel and crystalline knives.

With nothing better to do but wait, they’ve fallen into talking more, and the more he says, the more he incriminates someone by association or, more likely, himself. It’s a losing situation no matter what. Either he throws someone under the bus or he hammers more and more nails into his coffin.

“Thanks? I like it a lot. I mean— Well, yeah. Of course I do, I’m wearing it, but you know what I mean.” 

For some reason, that seems to interest him. Kuro tilts his head, contemplative, until he slowly cranes his neck back, staring at the pattern that’s stitched into it. He doesn’t move far though, content to stay beside him as he looks around. For a moment, it almost looks like he has something vitally important to say, but he just laughs a little, asking what he could possibly like about wearing a sweater when it’s so dang hot out.

Shu shrugs. “I just like it.” Does fashion need a reason to exist? “You know, some people believe that when you die, you become a butterfly.”

“Do you?”

The corner of Shu’s mouth twitches as he suppresses a smile. He knows better than anyone else what wandering spirits actually look like, and most of them aren’t quite butterflies. “Nah. I just think they’re pretty. And it’s a nice pattern, right?”

It’s nothing special— and not even close to the kind of thing he usually wears— but if Kuro wants to call it nice, then he will too. It just happened to be the first thing he thought of. Patterns are more recognisable than colour alone, so it was a better identifier for his eventual kidnapper to watch out for, and he remembered exactly where he left it, so it was as good a choice as any. It certainly felt like a smart choice at the time, but now… maybe not so much.

Shouldn’t he be satisfied? They’re in agreement, so there’s nothing more to say. Surely, that should be the end of it.

Despite their accord though, Kuro’s mouth twists a little. His eyes, barely visible, seem to sharpen too. “It is,” he replies, tone a little clipped. “You seem to really like it. Did you get it from someone special?”

“No, I—” Shu pauses, shaking his head. The less he reveals the better. “My friend bought it with me. Nothing special, really. Just stopped by some shop after walking around one day.”

Kuro’s frown deepens at the lack of usable information. Serves him right, assuming he could trick him like that. There was no friend, so he won’t get anything out of trying to follow up on it, and he’ll waste hours of time sifting through CCTV and records of something that never happened. It’s just something he bought on a whim one day, staring at the various mannequins posing in a set of decorated windows.

“Your friend, huh.”

The lights at the platform begin to blink to signal the train’s impending arrival. A voice starts to play over the PA system, but it’s hard to make it all out. Please stand clear. The train will be arriving in one minute.

“Why? Do you want one?” As the train storms in, they move to each side of the gate. From this angle, he has to shout a little to make sure he’s heard. It’s mortifying. “We could probably find the shop if you want. They might not sell them anymore though. I dunno. It’s been a while.”

Kuro prickles at the suggestion, stomping into the train with another clap of thunder. As if anticipating the part of him that considered not coming with, he grabs Shu’s sleeve, forcing him to follow behind. He never answers any of Shu’s questions. Even when he does, there’s an opacity to it, a purposeful distance. He’s stubborn in his directive. No, he doesn’t want to change their plans for something like that. He doesn’t want to find some shop that may or may not have it. They said they were going to grab a bite to eat, so that’s what they’ll do. End of story.

Secretly, Shu’s a little grateful for the refusal. Elira could have ended up near there, and it’ll be a little hard to stick to his kidnapping story if they get spotted.

Inside the train, they're nestled against the doors in the back, the ones that won’t open on this stretch of track. There are a few empty seats dotting the car, but Kuro’ll probably make them sit beside each other so he can keep an eye on him, and then he’ll be so close their thighs will be forced to touch, and that sensation will be far too much to deal with. His physicality is threatening enough without any reminders.

“I just think they’re a pretty lousy friend,” Kuro says, continuing his pattern of vaguely prying nonanswers. “I mean, what kind of friend gets you kidnapped?”

Shu grimaces. To get close enough for Kuro to hear him— without raising his voice to an inappropriate level for such an enclosed space— he has to say it right against his ear. And because he insisted they stand rather than sit, he has to lean up to do it, bracing himself against Kuro’s shoulder while touching him as little as possible.

“I doubt any of my friends want me to get kidnapped,” he states, playing the victim.

Once he started slandering Hika, silence stopped being an option, but it all seems to have the opposite effect. The more he defends himself, the stormier Kuro seems to get.

“What, so you’re not even friends then?” he asks, appalled.

“How would I even know? Shouldn’t you know? They’re your client!”

No matter how offended he acts, there’s no way he’s going to trick Shu into incriminating himself. He knows better than that. It’s just a little frustrating. Something about Kuro really gets to him. Being Shu around him makes him want to appear smaller to protect himself, to make him think twice before killing the innocent bystander that he very well could be (and is), and yet he can’t help but talk and talk and talk.

“He is, but I can’t say I like him that much right now,” Kuro grumbles, staring pointedly out the frosted windows. They’re still a few stops away, but the scenery barely changes from one to next.

Nothing about Shu’s touch is gentle or light or avoidant as he grabs Kuro’s arm, shaking it slightly in his hands. A lash of adrenaline barrels into his heart. “Why not?! Did he lie to you? Did he cheat you somehow?”

Like it or not, the Lions are his most consistent customers, so he can’t afford destroying their business relationship for the sake of convenience. That’s what makes this so complicated. If that didn’t matter, then maybe he could have blown him off as soon as he appeared, consequences be damned.

“No,” Kuro grits out, but it’s hardly reassuring. It’s a hard admission, so he’s clearly not happy, even if he’s got no good reason to be upset. “No, he did not.”

“Then why don’t you like him?” Shu rakes a hand through his bangs, working through the laundry list of possibilities. They’ve never even met, so there’s no cause for concern, but it can’t be this can it? No one asked him to be here! It’s his fault for butting in! “It’s not because—” Shu sighs, staring directly into his eyes. As he speaks, he shifts slightly, letting himself lean closer and stay there, statuesque. “I don’t mind. It’s really not that bad, being here with you.”

Sincerity and concern can only do so much though. “Why do you even care?” Kuro half-shouts before remembering their surroundings, cheeks red and eyes vast and glacial. He softens as awareness starts to sink in, but he’s no less displeased than before. “Sorry. It’s not... I just don’t like wasting my time,” he adds. “I kinda had other things to do today.”

As they huddle in the corner, Kuro somehow looks more human than before. Maybe it’s the way he blends into the crowd, the way his back bends a little as he tries to free up space for everyone else as they slip past. It’s frighteningly normal, staring out the window, leaning close to be heard and ignoring the slight reflection of his white-and-purple mask in the glass. Maybe he is busy. Maybe it is unfair of Shu to be mad at him, to pin all of his frustrations on the easiest target, but how is Kuro’s busy schedule his fault?

How is it fair to hate him for that? They’ve never even met! He wasn’t supposed to be here! He has no idea how easily he can ruin someone’s life.

“Surely someone else could have done it then. You can’t be the only worker in your little group.”

He’s pretty sure Kuro’s eyes are shining— amused by his petulance or touched by his concern or upset, perhaps, by his presumption— but it’s a little hard to tell when he looks away, training his vision somewhere safer. A beat passes. Then two, time smothered and slowed by the awkward silence.

“They’d all just screw it up,” he replies, chuckling, and Shu’s not sure if he should laugh along too. Is he supposed to understand his threats? He has no time to start as one of Kuro’s hands briefly lands on his shoulder, weighing it down. “C’mon. Our stop’s coming up.”

As he parts the crowd, smiling softly as he makes sure Shu hops off behind him, Shu’s suddenly struck by the thought that he’s a little handsome when he isn’t trying so hard to look frightening. He curses himself as soon as the thought materialises though. Now’s not the time to start falling for his charms. That’s exactly what he wants! That’s why he’s here. He wants him to be charmed and beguiled and start unconsciously spilling secrets.

Kuro isn’t handsome; he’s evil. He’s strong and powerful because he likes to be menacing. He relishes in it, so it doesn’t matter if he smiles and offers to treat him today. He’s scheming something, and Shu absolutely, positively cannot let himself fall for it. That’s what he reminds himself as he stares at his feet, watching them both march him closer and closer to his doom.

Despite his best instincts, Shu can’t help himself. His career’s at stake here! Even though the matter’s reached a safe stopping point, he starts it up again anyway, saying: “You could have just refused the job then.”

“If I said no, he would have just gone to someone else,” Kuro counters. “I can’t trust them either.”

That’s probably true. If he knew this would turn out so terribly, he would have gone to some second-string group instead. It’s much easier to run from someone who underestimates him, which is what should have greeted him this afternoon. Kuro’s too sharp for any of his usual tricks, magical or otherwise.

And would it really have been so bad? Surely anything would have been better than playing nice with him, standing vaguely side-by-side as they walked down the streets towards their interim destination. 

Crepes are what they eventually settled on. Something sweet and quick and easy to eat. Something publicly available because it’s much safer in a crowd. Any notions of hunger have vanished over the course of their commute, but it gives them something else to talk about. In that way, it’s a blessing.

“I could kill him,” Kuro says nonetheless, glancing at the panels and panels of model food that make up the menu. “Do you want me to?” It sounds so light coming from his lips, spoken with the same breezy tone he just used to ask Shu which flavours stand out to him.

It does not feel particularly comforting or reassuring to hear him continue to threaten the guy who put a hit on him, even if it’s mostly a joke. And it’s got to be a joke, right? They’ve been volleying back and forth about it, but surely he wouldn’t speak so lightly of murder… right? 

Kuro’s hand makes the briefest contact with the back of Shu’s neck on its way to his shoulder, and it reignites old thoughts he should not have when he’s supposed to be a civilian. 

Kuro could easily kill him. Not him him but Hikarino him, whose death would be just as bad for the trajectory of his life and wellbeing. It's traitorously easy to imagine how he’d do it too. His mask would be glinting ever so slightly under pale daggers of moonlight, and he’d catch him from behind after some other job— an exorcism for the Tiger clan, perhaps. Then he’d close his gloved hands tight around his throat and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, piping a hollow laugh directly into his ears. He’d laugh until Hika’s too dizzy to keep fighting back, until his voice is barely audible through the thickening fog, and that’s when he’d finally force him to turn around, to acknowledge the man who decided his life was a fair price to pay for messing with the innocent man that may or may not be dying at that very moment. 

His concern is an unwelcome burden. No matter how kind he pretends to be, none of what he says is real. Only the glee is, the joy that bubbles up at the thought of killing him under the guise of honouring him.

“Shu?” The hand drops off his shoulder as Kuro circles around him, eventually pressing the back of it against his forehead. “Are you feeling alright? You look a little green.” He purses his lips, staring at the ever-shrinking line ahead of them.

He’s got to be mocking him, right? Green. Yes, of course, everything’s green. Surely that's why he had to push his men out of this one. He knows. He must know. 

And he wants to kill him. Whenever he doesn’t get his way, he answers with threats and looming violence.

Is that what this is? Is he punishing him somehow? But why should he care, even if he knows? Maybe he’s just into being kidnapped. Maybe Hika’s just a perverted sort of guy, and that's why he did it. Maybe there's no meaning to it at all.

“Huh?”

“I mean, we don’t have to get crepes,” Kuro hums, staring at the steam escaping from each pan. His expression sharpens with each hiss of grease against metal. “We can go somewhere else if you’re not feeling so good.”

Shu jumps, grabbing Kuro’s sleeve before realising what he’s doing. “No!” he shrieks, quickly letting go. “No, uh, let’s do it! Sorry, I was just thinking about how good they’ll be! Um. Yeah. We should definitely stay. And maybe we don’t kill anyone today?”

The laugh he manages to pull out of his chest is still a little frayed around the edges, but it seems like it’s enough to placate him. It’s hard to tell given the mask, but Kuro smiles slightly at the sound, nodding as they both take a step forward. 

“Okay.”

Once his gaze flits to the brightly coloured models again, Shu lets out a breath that seems to go down to his calves. He probably just saved that poor crepemaker’s life too. Judging from Kuro’s souring expression, he was definitely considering murdering them too.

When they get to the window, Kuro orders for the both of them, speaking with this warmth that almost manages to trick him. The cashier certainly seems charmed, briefly touching his hand as they point to the QR code reader in a way that could almost come off as accidental.

It’s unsettling. He didn’t even pause before looking up and saying: “One teriyaki chicken and one mango special, please.” 

Then, when he grabbed their receipt, he finally turned to him as they shuffled aside, reassuring Shu that the mango was for him, obviously. “I don’t like sweets that much,” he had explained, craning his neck towards the window. 

It would be a little funny if it wasn’t so bizarre. The problem isn’t the fact that he spoke for him. No, the weird thing is that that’s exactly what he wanted, and Kuro was able to guess it in an instant even though he never even mentioned it. There was a casualness about it too. It was a showcase of sorts, a chance for him to show off all this knowledge he dug up on someone who should have been a stranger. 

Each passing minute stretches into infinity. The oil spatters in slow motion as their chef finagles with a spatula. One of the other chefs is still hacking at some strawberries, and each cut leaves a trail of red juice behind. Shu must have underestimated them. He assumed they wouldn’t know a thing, but he's definitely on some kind of watchlist or dossier or something of the sort. How else would he know something as insignificant as that?

The whole outing is just one big charade. That’s what he realises as he stands there, watching thr knife clunk into a chopping block. 

No matter how casually he tries to spin it, there’s no way he’ll get out of here unscathed.

-

In the end, the distinction between what’s his and Kuro’s barely matters. Kuro slices his in half before Shu can stop him, which leads him to follow suit, complaining how the ice cream will melt if he doesn’t take his part already, so they end up eating a little bit of both. If he wants to pay for it, then he should at least eat his fair share. At least then it’ll feel a little less like a bribe or a threat or whatever the heck this is supposed to be.

What is it called when someone keeps dangling your death in your face?

The food could be good or bad and it wouldn’t really matter since it was never the point of this grand adventure, but he supposes it doesn’t hurt that it’s pretty darn good. After sweating in the sun, even with his umbrella for cover, a little bit of salt and sweetness goes a long way. 

“It’s a good thing your mouth isn’t covered,” Shu says, grabbing one of the many, many paper napkins laid out between them. If he goes straight for his secret stash of wipes, then he’ll end up smearing cream on his bag, so that’s a no-go. And besides, their stuff’s too far away. He’d have to get up and walk to reach it, since Kuro insisted on piling everything on his side of the bench. “I mean, how would you even eat?”

He probably opts for his weird half mask because it’s thematic and it makes his teeth look cool, but it’s a real problem. It takes Shu so long to arrange his costume and his whole kit of supplies. Eating fast has got to fit in there somewhere, but it’s so awkward, confining mealtime to any place where it’s secluded enough to pull the whole thing off his face.

“I’m sure I could manage!”

Shu hums, mulling it over. His bravado's more than a little misplaced. Judging from how big his bites are, there’s no way he could enjoy eating under any set of constraints. He’d either have to cut everything up real small or he’d have to wolf it down in one go, and neither sounds like something he would particularly enjoy. 

“Wha— Shu, don't look at me like that! I totally could!” Kuro mimes some sort of push-and-pull motion right by his mouth as he continues, but it’s unclear what exactly he’s trying to convey. “It’s easy!”

“So, what, you’d just mush it all in?”

Kuro shrugs, wadding up their trash before tossing it with a little leap off the ground. Once he returns, he beckons for Shu to follow again, and he does. “Why not?”

“Into your mouth? Through the mask? That’s crazy.”

“What? Why not?” he says again, as if completely unaware that his idea is fundamentally flawed.

Now that they’ve eaten, they’ll probably go on some other excursion. When he was requesting the hit, he should have asked them to end it prematurely— maybe around five or six o’clock at the latest. At this rate, they’ll probably wander around for a while before getting something for dinner too, and then he’ll have to stew in the knowledge that Kuro would happily shove it all through his mask if he had to and still feel perfectly unbothered.

Shu cringes as he imagines it— the painted mouth covered in food and drops of blood, the slimy feeling of something clinging to his face when it inevitably drips, the sheer number of masks he’d have to clean and go through and lavishly decorate. It’s definitely better this way. His teeth are too prominent, but it works for him. It’s fitting. 

Rather than hiding behind a painted grin, he has full command of a range of emotions. He has fire and lightning and eyes like liquid steel that pierce into his surroundings, tearing them apart. His teeth carry a threat so heavy that it makes his lower lip slightly fuller, slightly swollen from the weight. So in the end, it’s only fitting that his mouth should be free too, that it should be able to twist into cutting shapes and be able to open wide and fearsome whenever he laughs. 

And sometimes, on the very rare occasions when their eyes meet, his mouth erodes into a softer sort of smile, the kind that’s childishly and enchantingly endearing and innocent.

Shu’s certainly not going to tell him that though, even if it’s true. It would give him the wrong idea. “Why do you even wear one anyway?” is what he asks instead, lurching as he steers them into safer territory. The sooner they stop talking about masks and secrets, the better.

“I dunno. They’re cool?” Kuro grins as he inches a little closer. His fingers wander from his neck to his ear like they’re not sure where they want to go. 

Not to the mask, Shu hopes. The last thing he needs is to see Kuro’s real face. They’ll definitely kill him then. It’d be a great excuse to finally get rid of him. 

Everything he does is just another thinly veiled threat. He hovers near him because it’s suffocating. He threatens to pull off his mask or kill people just because it amuses him. That’s precisely why he never wants to see him in the first place.

His unending bravado really ticks him off too. He’s mostly earned it, but it’s still annoying to be subject to his everchanging whims, powerless to fight back. Case in point: right now. Whatever Kuro sees in his expression amuses him greatly.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, knowing he’ll regret it.

“Maybe I’m doing you a favour, not showing my face. I mean, you can’t help but stare at my lips all the time, so really…”

Shu is not staring at his lips! He’s been looking at the mask, and, okay, maybe he’s also been keeping an eye on his movements as they walk through tree-lined streets, but that’s because he’s a snake! He could strike at any moment, so Shu’s got to be ready for it. It’s so obviously not him that he’s interested in, nor his face, and especially not his lips.

“I am not!”

“It’s ok. I know I’m very distracting. That’s why the doctors make me cover my face, you know. Something about being too handsome and causing heart failure or whatever.”

Shu’s chest heaves from the effort of holding himself back. If he wasn’t so dangerous, he’d punch that smirk right off his face. “I’m not staring! And it’s impossible to tell if you’re handsome or not! You’re literally running around like it’s Halloween in the middle of July.”

“Your eyes don’t lie, Shu, even though you like to—”

“—I don’t know what could possibly make you think that—”

“—and it’s okay to admit it. You wouldn’t be the first to fall for my charms. Why, I wouldn’t mind if—”

“—I mean, even if I was staring, and that’s a big if, because I wasn’t—”

“—so you don’t have to be shy. If anything, I’m surprised it took so long for you to—”

“I don’t even like you!” Channeling the storm that’s been brewing all day, Shu finally cuts him off, surprising even himself with the strength of his voice. “I’m in love with someone else! And I know you think it’s funny and you’re not being serious, but I’m not interested! So, please can we just move on?”

Kuro’s mouth clicks shut before he even finishes. 

As Shu stares at him, regret claws into his chest, raking trails of fire down his skin. He claps a hand over his mouth, but it’s too late. Too much of the truth has already slipped out.

It was the first defense that came to mind, but if today’s taught him anything, it’s that no one should stick with their first ideas. He should have lied. He should have started listing off facts about his fantasy marriage that keep him off the market and thus keep him unable to stare at his face, a sham which, admittedly, Kuro wouldn’t believe at all considering how much he already seems to know about him. 

There’s just no coming back from this. Of all the things he shouldn’t have said and the targets he shouldn’t have forced under the spotlight, he just had to stumble into revealing the worst of the bunch. Wasn’t that the point of it all? There’s supposed to be a clear dividing line between his life as Shu and his life as Hikarino, and they’re not supposed to mix. That’s why he can’t deal with his Luca predicament. They’re not supposed to mix, but now they inevitably will because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and he’s going to find out about Luca, and he’s going to kill him for no good reason.

The silence forms a cloud around them. It’s the first time he’s ever admitted it out loud, and he just had to do it in the most graceless way. 

For a minute, they keep walking in silence, only stopping when they reach another red light because of course they do. Of course he’ll be stuck here, waiting beside him as if nothing happened. As far as fate and luck’s concerned, there’s no such thing as leniency when you’re Shu Yamino.

“I’m sorry,” Shu eventually says, unable to take the silence any longer. They’re not the right words, but they’re better than nothing. It took too long to get past the regret lodged in his throat, and he can feel Kuro shifting beside him, but Shu refuses to give in to temptation. He won’t look at him. He won’t even try. “I wasn’t— That wasn’t because of you.”

It was the frustration talking, not him.

“It’s fine.”

It’s not fine at all. Kuro’s never been so subdued. He’s been quiet before, but that’s mostly when he wanted to use it to tease him. This is different. It’s a cold sort of quiet, the type that lights a fire beneath Shu’s feet to explain, explain, explain. 

What if he kills him over this? What if he’s so insulted he kills them both? Kuro was probably just joking, but now he’s gonna die, and maybe Luca’s gonna die too, and it’ll all be his fault. He should have just let him flirt and joke and have his way. That was the safe play. That was the smart thing to do, but being with him makes Shu a little impulsive and honest in ways he really shouldn’t be.

“I do like you,” he manages to add, which is the closest he can get to a placating truth because the solution is to keep talking. Obviously. Maybe he’ll forget about it if he throws enough out. “I’m just not… not, you know.”

“Not interested? Shu, you don’t have to lie. You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Or maybe not.

“I’m not lying! It’s just— I’m sorry. I really killed the mood.” Shu sighs, resigning himself to his fate. If he’s already started being honest, he might as well garner enough pity to save both of them from Kuro’s wrath. “It’s complicated. My friend and I, we were supposed to meet today. Well, he and I and a couple others. He’s the one that I… It’s hard to pretend I don’t, so I kinda didn’t want to go. So what I’m trying to say— What I really mean is that even though it’s weird, I’m glad that you’re here. I’m grateful. I don’t want you to think that I’m not.”

Kuro finally cracks a smile at that little nugget of reassurance, but he doesn’t do much else. He doesn’t say it outright, but it’s easy to see how resignation hangs off of his shoulders, making each step land a little heavier.

“What if he likes you too? Shouldn’t you want to be with him?”

It would have been far less mortifying if Kuro tried to play it off. That’s what he expected. He should have said something like: ‘Well, you should just date me instead! I’m evil, you’re evil, we’re perfect for each other!’ He should have just done that. If he did, then they could have kept playing their roles and avoided all of this soggy, emotional nonsense— even if it’s his fault in the first place, unable to truly separate his persona from his feelings. Shu the Random Guy™ that Hika wanted to displace for the day shouldn’t care about who flirts with him or why. He shouldn’t be frustrated about the limits he forces on himself, so he shouldn’t feel so shaken when it’s time to decipher them.

Besides, shouldn’t Kuro know better than anyone why civilian romance is completely out of the question? Love’s not the kind of thing they can keep a safe distance from. 

Any lover of his must feel it too, the pressure. They’d hold him close under the sapphire cloth of darkness, and it would crawl into their veins. The smile they’d wear would twitch a little, desperate to escape, and maybe they’d want more with him, unsure how to ever get it when he’s always keeping his distance.

The only saving grace about his situation is that Luca’s never done anything about it either. Sometimes, whenever they toe the line too much, Luca actually pulls away first, and each time he does, it’s as much as a blessing as it is a disappointment. He can handle pretending he’s unaffected, and he can even handle being here with Kuro on some wacky quest to avoid it, but rejecting Luca for no discernable reason would really test his limits. His heart would shrivel up into a raisin— a very stubborn, purple-and-yellow raisin that purposefully rolled its way into the sun.

“Weren’t we just— I thought you—” The light changes, but they both stay firmly rooted in place. “I think he does,” Shu finally admits. “I think he knows about mine too, but he’s nice enough not to say anything. My life’s too complicated for anything romantic. That’s what I meant to say earlier, instead of yelling. I mean, I literally got kidnapped today. It’s not like I don’t like you or hate your jokes. I just… can’t. Not with anyone.”

At that, Kuro’s weak smile finally strengthens into a proper grin. It probably amuses him, the memory of his unconventional kidnapping. From there, it balloons into a tiny, nippy sort of laugh. It’s infuriating, but it’s nice because that’s how he should be. That’s his normal— infuriating and bright and impossible to ignore for long enough to matter.

“People don’t really shout ‘I don’t like you!’ if they actually do. That’s not how it works.”

“I told you! It just came out wrong! And it doesn’t matter if I like you or not because I can’t. I can’t drag anyone into my life.”

“You work a desk job. It can’t be that complicated.”

Shu can’t even find it in himself to be surprised. There he goes again, knowing way more than he should. Somehow, he stumbled into accidentally making the right call. Lying about his non-existent marriage would have just made his mood even worse. 

Honesty was the right way to play it.

With time, the streets begin to fill up again. When the signal comes again, Shu makes sure they walk, even if it means he’s got to get behind Kuro and push him onto the next sidewalk. He must be feeling better if he can joke around like that. 

They both know why it’s impossible. Even if he chose to believe that no one will ever connect the dots between him and his alter ego, which is already impossible, honestly, considering the fact that the Lions definitely know, it’d basically paint a giant target on Luca’s back because someone would eventually make the connection between them, and when they did, they’d know exactly who to attack first. It’s just not worth the future heartbreak.

“Can’t you just trust me?” Shu asks, shaking his head. What he really means is that he came here to avoid all of this. Can’t they just pretend like everything’s simpler than it is?

Kuro pretends to think about it before shrugging. It’s a crushing sort of smile he wears, one that presses its heel into the crux of Shu’s chest. Eventually, though, the clouds part and pity shines down on him with its full suite of warmth. 

He’s half-forgiven for his slip-up.

“Let’s end our date early today,” is how Kuro chooses to phrase it, interspersed with the fakest yawn he’s ever heard, but Shu can see it for what it truly is. There’s no choice buried in there. His word paints the very ground they stand on.

Because this will be the last time he gets to do this, Shu lets him believe he was fooled. If he’s got to die, then the lead-up should be as painless as possible. So as their steps sync up, he concentrates on the stillness and the unspeakable things that swirl around his heart. 

The sun, so high, thoroughly coats him in Kuro’s shadow. Every step he takes is covered in midnight, and as he agrees, he realises that he may never escape from the shadow he casts.

Kuro holds out a hand like a sailor might, like he’d find a way to leave fingerprints on each of his bones through layers of fabric and skin and an ocean of blood. He reaches towards him as they walk back to the station, ducking down as they’re swallowed by the earth, and Shu tries his best not to shiver as he grabs onto Kuro’s sleeve instead, unable to stomach the thought of walking hand-in-hand with death.

-

Right about now, it would be really convenient if he could manifest some sort of upholstery-related magic. What he really, really needs is the power to fuse into the couch and never resurface. It probably won’t happen, but that doesn’t stop him from trying, flopping face-first into it as soon as the door finally closes. 

If Deneb was chaperoning him instead, he would have stuck to the brief! He would have walked him to the front of the building and simply let him be, but Kuro can’t even give him one tiny victory. It’s not enough to walk him straight to his door. No, he really, really had to hammer the threat in, stabbing the keypad with one of his fingers as he punched in the code to his door, all while rambling about whatever they were chattering about. The exact details are hard to recall when someone basically tells you that they not only know where you live but also exactly how to find you, so don’t get any funny ideas about running away, okay?

The couch and its slightly rough, fabric-y surface welcomes him with the warmth of a hundred suns. This is what he needed. He had imagined so many innocent turns of phrases, simple things, and stories that ring true without giving anything important away, but they all vanished whenever he opened his mouth. That’s how they ended up talking about everything and nothing— strange buildings they passed, the humidity, the way it felt like wading through a bowl of soup whenever he left the comfort of his climate-controlled abode.

In the end, he revealed too much. They talked about clouds and billboards and whether anyone’s ever been convinced to visit cat cafés because of those electronic three-dimensional cat projections that bounce over rooftops, but they also talked about dreams. They talked about dreams and life and love and the impossibility of all of them. 

If he never has to see him again, it will still be too soon. 

The lights aren’t even on, so he doesn’t have to close his eyes before melting into a vaguely Shu-shaped blob. The entryway ones are, sure, because he had to shoo Kuro away after slapping his hand on the lightswitch, insisting everything’s fine, so he really didn’t have to stay. He really, really did not need to stay and interrupt Shu’s exciting plans of fusing into his bed.

“Don’t go out tonight,” he had reiterated, peering over his shoulder at the empty apartment. “I was supposed to keep you for longer.”

Shu merely smiled and insisted yet again that he had nothing to worry about because he was tired, so he’d just lie down or something. He wouldn’t sleep, but he’d lie down anyway because even his bones ache from all of the stress of the day.

In the end though, the bed was too far away, but the couch was right there, greeting him as he stewed in the orangeish pre-sunset overcast. 

From the table, his bag starts buzzing. Shu groans, extracting himself from his comfortable bubble. It’s barely been five minutes since he got here! Couldn’t he have waited until tomorrow morning?

He should have known that Kuro only ended things early for his own sake, eager to start whaling on Hika already. Digging out his work phone, Shu’s hardly surprised by what he says. A message from an unknown number. Three words: Let’s meet. Now.

Because Shu’s not some rich mafioso with way too much time and space on his hands, he keeps his Hikarino kit in the back of his supply closet, folded up in a box that’s wedged between a vacuum and one of those duster-mop hybrids. It used to be kept in his actual closet, but there was one day when Uki got dangerously close to poking around it, so it had to be banished somewhere a little more discreet.

The fabric’s cool and soft beneath his fingers. There’s something almost comforting about it. As he pulls it on, some of his katashiro flutter around his face, doing what he can almost assume is their equivalent of a comforting gesture. Shu laughs softly, letting them swat at his fingers as he pokes their little paper heads.

“Thanks, guys,” he says, pulling out his mask and contacts. They can’t speak, but it’s still nice to have some support. “You’ll protect me, right?” 

The best case scenario is that Kuro merely extorts him or something, using his civilian side as leverage. The worst case is… that he won’t be coming back. Ever. It’s entirely the wrong thing to think about as he holds his eye open, staring at the green getting bigger and bigger until it slots into place. First the left, then the right. 

That’s the plan, anyway. Left and then right, but the door slams open as he’s sat on the floor, surrounded by piles and piles of incriminating evidence. 

“Shu!” he hears, so loud it fills all the space between them. “I just realised I accidentally took your umbr—”

Sure enough, standing in the entryway, outline burnished bright at the edges from the relative glimmer of the outside world, is Kuro, frozen in place with his tacky umbrella held aloft in both hands. 

Shu blinks at him, half green and half purple. “Um. Surprise?”

“Why are you…” He doesn't move but his eyes certainly do, scrambling before they settle on his face. “What? You’re— Shu?”

Of course he’s Shu. Who else would he be?! “Why’d you barge in?!” he shrieks, averting his eyes. It’s too late to lie about the rest. “It wasn't that important! You could have left it outside!”

“I… I rang the bell first,” he tries arguing, but it's a poor excuse.

“Yeah, well I was in the middle of something!”

It's still dark enough. Maybe he can kick away his disguise kit and pretend like this isn't exactly what it looks like. 

“You didn't answer! I thought something bad might have happened to you!” The umbrella clatters to the ground, but Kuro makes no attempt to pick it up. “So you’re… Hikarino.”

Shu leaves his gear on the floor and starts walking over, ushering him over to the couch. It’s too late to deny anything now. “Yeah? I thought you knew. Weren’t you— Didn’t you know?”

“How could I?” 

“If you didn't know, then why were you here? I asked Deneb to handle it discreetly! He could’ve done it on his own!”

Shu’s never seen Kuro so nervous before. He’s not the type to worry about how others perceive him, but the weight of his thoughts seems to sink into him, making the surface of the couch dip down even more once he finally settles beside him. Shu’s got to push himself up to avoid falling against him, but the smallest correction has them both flailing around, scrambling for purchase.

“I couldn’t trust him with you!” Kuro says, starting with what most concerned him. “He’s not exactly the most organised of the bunch.”

Shu shrugs, thinking back to that day. He was late again, but he did eventually show, promising he’d be better next time when they both knew he wouldn’t. The issue isn't really his organisational capabilities. It’s the fact that he doesn't really care about who Hika is or how long he waits so long as he gets the job done in the end. “That was kinda the point. He would’ve been easy to deal with.”

“I was worried about you! I thought someone was trying to threaten you, so it was better to just go along with it. Do it my way.” Kuro sighs, cradling his head in his hands. 

“Worried about me?” Shu repeats, still confused. It's like he's plucking each word straight from Kuro’s mouth, all while trying to figure out what they mean. Beside him, Kuro still looks crushed.

“I just couldn't understand how you ended up targeted by someone! So after tonight, I was gonna— I was going to target you back. Maybe throw around a few threats here and there.” As he continues, Kuro's leg vibrates up and down, drumming faster and faster as he throws out excuse after excuse. “Okay, maybe I was going to do more than just threaten you. But it wasn’t you you.”

It doesn’t make any sense. He’s thrown all these pieces into Shu’s lap, but none of them fit well together. He was worried? But he also hates him? And yet he cares what he thinks? As Shu gnaws on his lip, thinking it over, Kuro finally looks at him, but Shu has nothing to offer. The chill of surprise still lingers in his fingers, coating his skin.

“So you’re here to torture me…?”

“What? No. Not at all.”

Eventually, Kuro takes another deep breath. His fingers migrate from his hair to his face, getting closer and closer to the edge of his mask before he tugs, prying it off.

“No, wait!” Shu reaches out, ready to push it back into place. “Don't—”

It’s too late. Right before his eyes, Kuro transforms. The low light makes it look washed out, warm like a watercolour left in the sun. His hair shifts into more of a brassy, golden sort of tone, and his eyes change too. Gone are the dark amber hues as they lighten too, morphing into something with a bit of a silvery undercurrent instead. Shu blinks, and as soon as the mask drops into his lap, he’s greeted by a familiar face. 

There it is. The final piece of the puzzle, adorned in all its breathtaking hues of marigold.

“Luca?!”

His head spins. It’s like his memories have been pulled up by the root and the dirt’s been hastily brushed off, revealing something knobby with a tuft of wilted leaves on top. It’s like looking out the window to see the clouds scoop water out of the sky, so gentle and slow that they occasionally bump into each other on the way up. They’re doing everything out of order.

As he stares at him, Luca laughs, and it’s so, so weird to see his head and his familiar boxy mouth attached to a body that’s been here the whole time. It’s weird and yet it makes perfect sense somehow. “Cool trick, right? Someone enchanted it for me.”

Shu smiles as their eyes meet. “I just use contacts. The hood kinda covers the rest.”

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“It’s a pretty flimsy system. I mean, you found out in less than a second.”

Luca scoffs. “I had an advantage,” he proclaims, tossing his mask to the floor. He fills the space with his body instead, swinging his legs across Shu’s lap. “Besides, if anyone finds out, then I’ll take care of them.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“See, this is why I always avoided you! You’re too impulsive.”

This time, the silence is a scarf wrapped around them. Rather than constricting or choking, it feels comfortable. Warm. 

“All this time,” Shu says, suddenly feeling quite foolish, “I thought you were threatening me. Because you knew all these things, and I just thought: ‘Wow. He’s showing off to keep me in check.’ Like I dunno, like I made you mad or something, but I tried to ignore it.”

“To be fair, I was a little mad.”

“At me?”

“No! Kinda? Okay, maybe. But I didn’t know it was you!” At least he has the awareness to look a little embarrassed for his nonstop bravado. “You never stay and never ask us for anything, so I knew this had to be something personal. And I don’t know what I thought it was, but every option just sounded awful.” Luca admits, flailing his hands around. “I guess I was just mad that he could have you and I couldn’t, but mostly it was the danger. You don’t deserve that, no matter how orchestrated it was.”

Shu’s face feels hot, but he lets it burn. He doesn’t turn and hide as he thinks about all the secrets he inadvertently spilled today, all in hopes of obscuring the biggest of them all— his double life. “Well, I’m sure you know why that could never happen.”

Luca shrugs, unbothered. “Now you know why I never did anything about my feelings. Or yours.”

It’s a little funny to imagine now. Maybe he’d end up moonlighting as Luca while also moonlighting as the Lions’ boss, trying to find ways to come see him despite his numerous, unpredictable absences. Maybe he’d have to keep a separate closet at work, but maybe it wouldn't matter anyway if he's got some fancy glamour. And obviously, they wouldn't be able to live together unless Shu found some better way to hide all his equipment, but he’d try his best. He’d find a way to make it work if it really, really came down to it.

The warmth persists.

“Should we do it again? Maybe go on a real date this time?” As he speaks, he realises just how true it is. A real date. No more well-crafted nonchalance or poorly thought excuses. “I mean, nothing’s stopping us anymore, right?”

After another few moments, Luca leans over, grabbing one of Shu’s hands. His elbow jams into one of Shu’s artfully displaced pillows as they totter around, squeezing each other’s fingers.

“Thought you'd never ask,” he says, surprisingly soft, almost dreamlike.

If it were any other day, he wouldn’t. It’s as simple as that, honestly. If he hadn’t found out, then he would have kept his feelings in a box too, stored somewhere semi-safe beside his sorcerer garb. He’d have tucked them away, maybe searching for somewhere safer to keep them— under a carpet or taped beneath a table— so they wouldn’t have to be disturbed or acknowledged until the right time to deal with them, which would have never come around.

“I’m still going to charge you though,” Shu says, nodding. “Got to make a living somehow.”

Luca’s eyes widen as this buoyant laugh spills out of him. It makes his smile go crooked at the edges in the best possible way, and Shu strains his ears to catch as much of the sound as possible. “Yeah, maybe we’ll keep it as a Luca-Shu thing for now,” he says, flopping onto the couch. The momentum almost sends Shu toppling into him.

Shu likes the sound of that. A Luca-and-Shu thing, one that’s free of all their subterfuge-related baggage. A Luca-and-Shu thing that’s barely different from the preexisting Luca and Shu things, except for the very real fact that this can work now.

As they sit, Shu holds out for about ten minutes before wriggling out from under him, placing his hands on Luca’s shoulders. He intends to plop into Luca’s lap, but it softens towards the end, seeming more like he’s melting into him as he stares into Luca’s eyes. If they’ve done everything out of order, then surely this is fine too?

It seems like Luca has the same idea because he leans up the moment Shu tips down, and they finally, finally kiss, and it’s nothing like he thought it’d be— messy and fraught with pools of fabric covering his wrists and shoulders as the purple subsumes the green— but it’s still everything he’s wanted. 

Shu breathes against Luca’s mouth, already amused by the thought. “Thanks for kidnapping me,” he says, stifling his laughter. 

It’s a losing fight. The moment Luca winks, offering a half-casual: “All in a day’s work,” he falters, grasping onto Luca for support as it slips out regardless. 

There’s still so much they’ll have to work out— the mechanics of this, the cover story they’ll tell, the way they’ll navigate the other side of things. 

There’s so much to do, but for now, this is enough.