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Tachihara had witnessed manifestations of many strange abilities, but this one certainly took the cake. The type of story he’d tell to his grandkids if Tachihara had any chance of making it to his retirement.
In his eyes, Tecchou had always been an embodiment of raw strength; unwavering seriousness and sternness that sometimes seemed nearly grotesque but, at the same time, always commanded respect. Tecchou with his impeccable moral compass, and that sort of aura that made you straighten your back. Tecchou whose observant eyes made you straighten your back, made you feel that you could do better.
Now, however, it was hard to relate any of those traits to his... body.
Tachihara looked around the room; at openly grinning Teruko, at the amused commander, and at Jouno who tried hiding his snickering behind his hand. At last, Tachihara looked at Tecchou again. Or rather- what remained of him. A tiny, long, slimy body in the color of unripe peach flesh, topped with a tuft of unruly black hair. The infamous sword, snatched from the battlefield by Tachihara himself, was resting propped against the table, and it was hard to imagine it being yielded by the very worm that was currently Suehiro Tecchou.
Jouno sneezed into his hand, and Tecchou's little form shook a little from the impact. Teruko gurgled happily.
"Now, now," Fukuchi raised his hand, and it seemed like the corners of his lips dragged upwards along with this gesture. Tecchou's little wormy form straightened up a little - a sign that he was listening. "We have to decide what we are going to do with our Tecchou."
Jouno tutted, "But why, commander? This is quite simple. Is it not the answer to all of our problems?" He asked.
"How so, Jouno?" Fukuchi's eyebrow lifted questioningly.
"Easy," Jouno grinned. "We can dispose of this inconvenience right now. It is, after all, much easier to dump a worm by the road than to hide Tecchou's dead body. We go out, put him on a really nice stone, and let nature do its thing. If we're lucky, a bird will snatch him by the evening," he explained with twice as much enthusiasm as he showed when interrogating criminals.
There was not a single bone in Tachihara's body that believed this speech to be a joke.
But, of course, Fukuchi only laughed as if Jouno was naturally good humored like that. As if Jouno wasn't threatening to kill Tecchou every other breath he took.
"Your ideas are always so unconventional, Jouno!" Fukuchi commented jollily, reaching out to pat his knee for good measure.
Jouno grimaced but before he had time to reply, Tachihara took it upon himself to pipe in.
"Well, someone has to take care of Tecchou-san until he..." He paused, trying to find the word that could possibly convey the sheer ridiculousness of this situation. "Gets restored to his proper form."
Which, according to the ability user that struck Tecchou with his power, was supposed to happen within the next two weeks. It was safe to assume that he was telling the truth after Jouno, in great detail, explained to him how he was planning to gut him alive if he as much as breathed out a resemblance of a lie. In full honesty, Tachihara couldn't quite recall the last time he had seen Jouno so furious.
"I could take care of him!" Teruko's hand shot up.
"I'm sure that it would help-" started Fukuchi but Teruko continued.
"I could, but I won't!" She exclaimed, and promptly giggled. "He is too disgusting as a worm! Sorry Tecchou!"
Jouno rested his chin on the back of his hand.
"One could argue that he is always disgusting," he grumbled.
Fukuchi laughed jovially.
"Maybe it's for the best that Tecchou isn't entrusted to Teruko..." Tachihara mumbled quietly.
Apparently, it wasn't quiet enough because - true to the name of hunting dogs - everyone turned towards him. Fukuchi's eyes were still crinkled in the corners from laughter; meanwhile Jouno looked like he swallowed something really, really sour.
"Are you volunteering, Tachihara?" Teruko grinned at him, her little hands happily drumming the surface of the table.
A sizzle of discomfort zipped down Tachihara's spine. Why did it feel like a set-up? Tentatively he raised his hands, as if in self-defense - and tried loosening up the collar of his uniform.
"Uh, I'd rather... My place is too tiny anyway!" He explained hastily, and Teruko's smile gained a sharper edge.
"It's not like Tecchou is big right now though," she pointed out in that voice that suggested she was stretching the conversation out even though she had already known that she had won.
"Yes, but--" Tachihara looked around frantically, searching for any way out. "I, ah, I've never really had a pet?" He tried weakly.
Jouno laughed sharply.
"See, Tecchou? No one is eager to deal with you even if you take such a minimal space. Always a nuisance, Tecchou… That is why you should be grateful for my patience towards you every day," he commented, and the tail of the tiny worm on the table hit the surface of the wood. One thing about Tecchou - he was inhumanly strong, even as a worm. So perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he was inwormly strong. Jouno only laughed again. Clearly, he was not at all scared of being beaten up by a worm. Tachihara couldn't say that he shared the sentiment. Something about getting his ass whooped by a worm didn't sit right with him. But then, that was Jouno. Tachihara doubted that Tecchou was truly capable of ever hurting him even in the slightest.
"It's settled then!" Fukuchi pushed his chair away from the table, startling everyone. "Jouno will take care of Tecchou until the ability wears off!" He announced.
The corners of Jouno's mouth dropped. A very tired sigh shook the column of his throat as he clapped his hands in front of himself.
"Gladly," he commented flatly. "You may as well start searching for a new member of our division, commander."
Fukuchi laughed.
"I'll keep that in mind, Jouno." And the way he said it made Tachihara wonder if the commander would remember it by the end of the day.
Jouno clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. The motion drew Tachihara's attention and he searched for the little worm that, until now, was calmly sitting by Jouno's side. Only now, that spot was empty, and for a moment Tachihara felt anxiety raise in his throat at the idea of Tecchou falling on the floor. They might not be as close but Tecchou was still a fellow Hunting Dog after all. Tachihara opened his mouth, ready to announce Tecchou's disappearance when suddenly an unusual sight caught his eyes.
A tiny worm securely sitting on Jouno's shoulder, right beneath the dangling golden earring. His tail wrapped around Jouno's uniform button for better balance.
"I think that concludes our meeting today," Fukuchi declared, standing up from his seat. "Back to your usual duties."
"Of course, Commander!" Teruko chirped, and started gathering the documents spread in front of her, before she pouted and waved for Tachihara to do it for her.
With a prolonged sigh on his lips, Tachihara got up, quickly running through the list of things he was supposed to do today. Just when he was starting to sort his files, Jouno passed by him, his cape fluttering in the air, and a displeasure clinging to his lips. A hushed complaint was spat out, the moment he was by the door.
"If you misbehave, Tecchou, I'm putting you into my blender."
With Tecchou’s current predicament, it was only natural for Tachihara to be assigned to accompany Jouno during his next mission. Teruko was preoccupied with something else, the commander only stepped out of his office when they were after a highly dangerous individual and Tachihara… well, he joined the division as the last one, in the end, he had the least to say.
Many people would tremble at the thought of accompanying Jouno during his hunting dogs’ duties, but Tachihara had long ridded himself of such fears. Yes, Jouno was intimidating with his broken-glass edged smile and the silver of his blade by his gloved hand, but he was also… a lot less bite and blood than people took him for. That being said, cranky Jouno wasn’t overly pleasant company - that Tachihara had to admit internally, even if it would never cross his head to say it out loud.
“He just had to go and run away… pesky criminals,” Jouno grumbled, his heels clicking against the pavement as he walked down the street hurriedly. “He couldn’t just sit and stay there like a good boy.”
“I think…” Tachihara started tentatively, ready to shut up the moment some muscle as much as twitched on Jouno’s face. “That he ran away precisely because he is not, ekhem, a good boy.”
Jouno scoffed. “Never too late for a change of heart. Especially if that means making others’ job easier.”
Tachihara stifled a chuckle behind the sleeve of his jacket.
“We would be unemployed without likes of him,” he pointed out, trying to keep amusement on the bay.
“Speak of yourself.” Jouno waved him off dismissively, “My job record clearly shows that I can be flexible when it comes to my occupation. I don’t see why, I could not re-adjust morally once again.” he added, a corner of his lips crooking upwards, showing the sharpness of his teeth, and effectively wiping the smile off Tachihara’s face.
Tachihara was about to stutter a hurried apology when suddenly Jouno’s face twisted with disgust, and an offended yelp echoed down his throat, stopping both of them in their tracks. Immediately, Tachihara’s hand rested on the blade by his hip, ready and eager to fight whatever danger Jouno sensed. He didn’t expect - who would really? - for Jouno to hiss, reach to fumble with the collar of his own uniform, only to fish out a tiny worm hiding beneath it.
Tachihara’s eyes widened rapidly, his jaw unlocking and dropping open, watching Jouno in sheer shock.
“I told you to behave or else you’d stay home,” Jouno spat out, as a tiny worm - Tecchou - wiggled in his open palm. “I can’t believe that you’re that insufferable even in such a predicament.” His fingers crooked, his palm flexed, and for a moment, Tachihara feared that Jouno would squeeze poor Tecchou to death. “Why must you always act like a poor excuse for a moral compass?” Jouno laughed sharply. “Small, fucking, moral compass at that.” He added, and quickly shoved Tecchou into the front pocket of his uniform, placing him right above his heart.
Only then, did Jouno turn his attention back to Tachihara - who was still, frankly speaking, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened - and grinned.
“That will teach him,” he huffed proudly through a smile that sent chills down Tachihara’s spine.
Mentally, he took a tiny note that, yes, perhaps Jouno didn’t bite nearly as much as he threatened, but dear god, how could you ever tell whether he was joking or not?
There were many aspects of working under the Hunting Dogs division that Tachihara didn’t mind. With his childhood marked with death and splattered with blood, with nights cursed with nightmares of a rope locking around his neck, violence never scared him. His ability, too, seemed to be on par with his past - Tachihara rarely hesitated before dragging a shard of metal through someone’s skin, sinking rusted edges into beating hearts. So no, violence hardly repelled him, he recognised it as a part of his job, part of his life even.
The interrogations, though… The interrogations were always unpleasant. Perhaps it was the idea of getting under someone’s skin without a threat of a blade, perhaps it was the promise of bloodless, invisible wounds, perhaps it was something different altogether, but interrogations always made Tachihara uneasy. How it all depended on a word, and word alone. It was easier in Port Mafia – a loud bang of a gun, a swish of a blade, an explosion at hand, and it was all over... But the Hunting Dogs weren't exactly like that.
Here, Tachihara was always reluctant to take a spot next to Teruko in the room built like a prison. Always hesitant as he closed the door behind Tecchou with his stoic expression as the other followed the echo of the sharpest of smiles.
Interrogations were scary, but the finesse and satisfaction that Jouno displayed during them was even more terrifying.
That day, Tachihara was the one following this smile, its glint ringing in the air, carried by the sound of a bell-shaped earring. An easy task, Fukuchi assured Tachihara that morning, Jouno always exceeds expectations, just observe him Tachihara-kun.
The problem stood as presented - Jouno, just like Teruko, was ruthless in his search for truth. But while Teruko was a familiar force, a teasing smile cast Tachihara’s way amidst the unpleasantries, Jouno was not. At least not to Tachihara, not in this field, not in this room. Tachihara swallowed thickly, sitting stiffly on his chair, while Jouno’s smile twisted around the corner in a way that promised danger. The criminal in front of them hasn’t realized that yet. His discomfort was visible but not yet laced with fear. He didn’t know that he was about to be dissected with a couple of words. With the corner of his eyes, Tachihara watched as Jouno leaned forward, like a predator that was about to take a claim on his prey. His smile widened, growing fanged, gleaming with misplaced excitement, and Tachihara watched nearly mesmerized, because there was beauty to this game; an odd and twisted fascination burned in his heart, and - yes, perhaps Tachihara was meant for the life on the edge of a knife.
A subtle flush was sitting on top of Jouno’s cheeks, and the outline of words was crawling up the column of Jouno’s pale neck. Tachihara suspected that if he looked under the table, he would see Jouno’s fingers curled into fists, the tendons running beneath his skin pulsing with adrenaline.
Jouno’s mouth shifted under the weight of a question, but suddenly - before the accusations echoed in the room, his lips shut tightly. A muscle twitched beneath Jouno’s eye, and his eyebrows furrowed, stealing the ruthless glee from his expression. Slowly, Jouno straightened, his frown deepening with each passing second, and only when it became obvious that Jouno’s initial question died on his tongue, Tachihara realized that perhaps he should step in. Perhaps Jouno expected that of him.
“So the blueprints were stolen from your office?” Tachihara asked quickly, dutifully scribbling down the criminal’s reply.
Tachihara’s paper was full of lies, even he could tell. Every single word flowing through the criminal’s mouth was bullshit. Curious on how Jouno felt about it, Tachihara took a moment to glance at him and his pen nearly dropped to the floor. If someone asked, he wouldn’t be able to tell why his sight fell to Jouno’s hands but-- he doubted anyone would be asking him questions upon witnessing this scene.
There, on Jouno’s thigh, right next to his hand that was resting on his lap, sat a tiny worm, a tuft of ink hair unmistakable even from Tachihara’s awkward angle.
It was only due to rigid training that Tachihara was once put through, he still registered the criminal’s deceitful confessions enough to automatically write them down. His attention though - all of it - was focused on the fact that there was a worm on Jouno Saigiku’s thigh and he didn’t seem to mind it in the slightest. Even more shocking – technically Tecchou Suehiro was sitting on Jouno’s lap and Jouno was – Tachihara’s eyes quickly shot to Jouno’s face – ... in deep thought, instead of screaming with disgust, even though he must have noticed the little intruder. Tachihara glanced down at Tecchou again. Yes, Jouno certainly was aware that Tecchou was there, seeing as… Tecchou was methodically pressing his wormly tail against Jouno’s bare wrist.
Tachihara frowned, confused by the action. Did Tecchou have a death wish?
A moment of silence fell in the room and, not without shame, Tachihara realized that the criminal had finished his little speech. Tachihara was about to ask another irrelevant question, when suddenly Jouno joined the interrogation again. This time – his inquiries were different. Though still phrased like they were carried through the air with the whistle of a knife, the nature and topic of those questions had shifted subtly, focusing on other aspects.
The criminal hesitated; Jouno smirked. Ah, the bait had been cast and the fish was already impaled with the hook. The poor creature only had yet to realize that.
Tachihara carefully covered the top of his documents with his arm, making sure that his notes were out of the criminal’s sight as he scribbled more and more information.
“And, um…” The criminal bit the corner of his lips.
Jouno propped his chin on his palm, his smile growing teeth, his posture suggesting bloodlust.
“Memory not as clear as you’d hope it to be?” he asked nicely, but his voice dragged against the tissue of the question, turning it into sick saccharide-sweetness.
The criminal’s jaw clenched.
“It’s been a while,” he argued.
“Ah,” Jouno clicked his tongue, and leaned back, his hand slipping to land back on his thigh.
Tachihara’s eyes flickered to his side, his gaze falling for a split second to the worm carefully perched on Jouno’s lap. Tecchou’s tiny, pinkish form was nestled against Jouno’s pulse, the slimy tail rapidly tapping rhythm into the flow of Jouno’s blood. Tachihara’s eyes widened. It was no erratic abuse of skin, it was not a peculiar way of annoying Jouno. Morse Code. Tecchou was talking to Jouno using Morse Code.
Tachihara was almost ashamed that it took him so long to recognize that. He and Gin… they used Morse Code too; exchanging observations during the operations, leaving tiny messages for each other at the staged crime scenes. Tachihara felt a sour melancholy tickle the back of his throat. Quickly, he focused back on the situation at hand.
He caught only the final couple of letters that Tecchou silently spelled out, before Jouno grinned again, and this time his expression wore no faux kindness. His teeth cracked under the weight of words on his tongue while his hands easily crossed on his chest. A flicker of lightbulb whispered a suggestion of a knife between the folds of Jouno’s crimson uniform. A pink life-like ribbon slithered beneath the pristine shirt cuff decorating Jouno’s wrist.
“Let me refresh your memory, Tanaka-san.” With terrifying ease, Jouno’s voice twisted the name of the criminal into an insult. “A little bird told me that the incriminating documents were found hidden in your supposedly nonexistent decoy office.”
“It’s not–”
Jouno clicked his tongue.
“Tanaka-san, Tanaka-san, Tanaka-san.” This time he didn’t even wait for the criminal to finish his sentence. “The Hunting Dogs are a group full of mysteries…” He sing-songed lightly. “Some of us work here while others… Well, others have a different purpose. We infiltrate every space imaginable. Including your disgusting rathole,” Jouno’s eyebrow twitched, the corner of his lips tensing, “Imagine how obvious your fault is in the face of what we have found there.”
The criminal began to rise from his seat at what perhaps he considered an abnormal speed, but Tachihara was trained to be one step before the inhuman, one breath before the unexpected. Without a hitch, he twisted his wrist and the pen he was holding shattered into dozens of needle-shaped shards that immediately formed a choker-like necklace around the criminal’s throat.
“I’d be careful if I were you,” Tachihara warned seriously, abandoning the facade of a confused newbie he put on the moment he had stepped into the interrogation room.
Jouno barked a sharp laugh.
“You’re quite in luck, Tanaka-san,” he announced, standing up from his seat. “Tachihara-kun is nothing but docile, as you can see.” Slowly, Jouno placed his gloved hands atop the table and leaned forward, the tips of his bangs looking like they were dripping with blood, the corner of his lips telling a tale of romance with violence. “Was my other coworker in his prime today, you wouldn’t leave this room unharmed. You see, he hates injustice… And what you just did, trying to deceive us so obnoxiously, would certainly fall under the category of lawlessness. So be a good boy,” Jouno purred, “And confess right now, and maybe, just maybe, I will argue in favour of giving you a lighter sentence.
Tachihara’s eyes fell to the tiny worm hanging off Jouno’s button, right above his wrist. This time, Tachihara was fast enough to read the rhythm of the entire speech punched into Jouno’s skin.
He felt pity for the criminal. There would be no lighter sentence. Even Tecchou agreed on that.
It was always bizarre how easily Jouno blended into the society. Maybe his ability had something to do with it – his silhouette blurry around the edges, borrowing the weight of the mundane into Jouno’s contours, pulling humanity and merging it into his form. A more terrifying idea, Tachihara thought, was that Jouno was intelligent enough to effortlessly switch off his hunger for drawing blood in favor of posing as an excellent citizen. No ability here, no past filled with criminal activity and lawless rampage, no sword to his belt and no justice to execute.
Tachihara quickly shook his head and jogged forward, catching up on Jouno. Surely, the other man had already been aware that Tachihara was behind him, surely he knew of his presence, before Tachihara as much as caught a glimpse of Jouno’s white hair, and burgundy sweater.
“Jouno-san!” Tachihara exclaimed, falling into an easy step next to Jouno, who didn’t bother stopping for a moment. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He looked down at the paper bag Jouno was cradling against his chest with one hand. “Shall I carry those for you?”
“Might as well,” Jouno sighed, pushing the bag into Tachihara’s open arms. “Tecchou is absolutely useless today in this department anyway.”
Tachihara frowned.
“Has Tecchou been dewormed?” he questioned tentatively. They were yet to reach the two-weeks mark that the ability user told them about but… if there was anyone who’d break free from the shackles of an ability faster – that would be Tecchou.
“What?” Jouno asked, and then immediately scoffed. “No. Haven’t I just told you that he is literally good for nothing?” he asked rhetorically, and then his voice shifted. “Seriously, Tecchou-san, you always preach how not even a flu would be able to pull you away from executing your duties, and yet here you are.” Jouno turned slightly to his side, making sure that the tiny worm perched on his shoulder knew precisely that these words were directed at him. “Useless.” Jouno spat out, and picked up the pace, leaving bewildered Tachihara half a step behind.
Tachihara blinked a couple of times. The sight of a worm – the worm – sitting comfortably on Jouno’s shoulder, his wrist or his lap was starting to become something familiar (once, a couple of days ago, Tachihara saw Tecchou nestled into the crook of Jouno’s arm, looking particularly adorable). For some reason, Tachihara had always imagined that it was Tecchou who insisted on being carried around, or rather – made a point of tagging along wherever Jouno went. Now, however… watching Jouno on his off day with Tecchou balancing on his shoulder… Tachihara bit the inner side of his cheek to stop himself from grinning.
Oh, Teruko would be ecstatic to learn about this.
“Tachihara-kun, have you perhaps decided to take an example from Tecchou and also exploit my patience?” Jouno called loudly, and Tachihara blushed deeply as several people on the street turned their heads to look at him.
“Apologies, Jouno-san,” Tachihara hurried. “I got lost in my thoughts.”
“Said Tecchou never,” Jouno chittered, “Oi! Don’t pinch me, you disgusting little–! I will flick you off and then we’ll see how you do without me!” He exclaimed, fingers flying to lift the worm off his shoulder, but – even without looking – Tachihara suspected that the gentleness of the gesture somehow contradicted Jouno’s threats.
Soon enough, they arrived at a tall building – white paint, rows of windows, and a glass door with a guard standing at the entrance. Compared to Tachihara’s flat, the building was almost obnoxiously high-end, but then – Tachihara never really cared all that much about the comfort of his daily life. Still, he hesitated a bit before stepping into the foyer. It wasn’t wealth that overwhelmed him; a lot of the building’s interior reminded him, almost fondly, of Port Mafia’s quarters. So, no, it wasn’t the wealth, but rather the private space of Jouno’s life he was about to enter.
Never in his life had Tachihara spent time with Jouno outside work, let alone visited Jouno at his house. Even now, technically Tachihara wasn’t even invited. He looked down at the rustling bag in his hands – he supposed that carrots, persimmons, parsley and kale served as his ticket to another world today.
His feet meekly dragged against the polished marble floor until he reached the elevator, where Jouno was waiting, grumbling profanities under his nose. Tecchou’s tiny body was nowhere to be seen, but Tachihara decided not to question that. He cleared his throat.
“You bought… a lot of parsley, Jouno-san,” he said stiffly. Small talk was never his forte.
“It’s for the enrichment,” Jouno shrugged simply, and Tachihara hummed in agreement as if it made any sense to him.
He supposed that it did. Jouno seemed like the type to look after his diet; something that Tachihara absolutely couldn’t say about himself. Stepping into the elevator, he cringed at the memory of old ramen boxes in his empty flat. Some of them were devoured by him, and others by Gin. Tachihara quickly shook his head and swallowed the thickness growing at the back of his throat. It was no time to dwell on the past.
Perhaps, one day, he would be able to punch the well-memorized number into his phone. Perhaps, it would be Higuchi who picked up – voice sleepy and tired. Perhaps, silence would reply to him and he would recognize the shape of a white face mask, guarding the breath. Perhaps, he would catch the sharp scent of tobacco, reaching him through the line.
The elevator’s door pinged and slid open.
Not today.
Tachihara quietly trailed after Jouno, nervously pressing the grocery bags to his chest. Should he leave them by the door? Should he step inside? Jouno had always been relatively friendly with him, but would that extend to the right to invade Jouno’s private space? It seemed like it, but it was hard to tell with full certainty. It was Jouno after all.
“Don’t clench that bag so hard,” Jouno noted suddenly, slipping his key into the keyhole. “You’re going to squish everything.”
A bead of sweat dripped down Tachihara’s temples as he loosened up his grasp around the bags.
“My apologies,” he mumbled when Jouno opened the door, and stepped through the threshold.
After a moment of deliberation, Tachihara followed, precariously ready to drop the bags and bolt out had Jouno shown any sign of displeasure.
But Jouno seemed to pay him no mind. He folded down his cane, putting it by the hanger, and comfortably slipped off his shoes, carefully lining them up in the genkan. He then moved aside, stepping over something invisible, as if he had expected something to obscure his way, another pair of shoes, bags full of shopping maybe – but the entryway was half-empty. No other shoes waiting for the residents to collect. No bags other than those that Tachihara was holding. Tachihara frowned, but decided not to comment on that. Hastily, he took off his own sneakers, cringing at how dirty they were compared to Jouno’s shoes, and slowly ventured deeper into the flat.
“Just put the bags on the countertop in the kitchen,” Jouno called, and it was as much of a permission and encouragement as Tachihara could count on.
Jouno’s flat was… surprisingly ordinary. Every furniture was of visibly high quality, very little decorations adorned the space. On the contrary to a popular rumour, spread among the lower-ranking military officials, no torture devices occupied the space. On the contrary to Tachiara’s personal presumptions (that he now felt foolish for harbouring), no illegal weapons decorated the walls as trophies from chapters of life long closed. There were no poisonous spiders and snakes either except–
The bags almost slipped out of Tachihara’s grasp as he watched Jouno lean over the terrarium that was taking up the entire coffee table.
The time around them slowed down. Tachihara held his breath.
A tiny worm was currently being carefully placed within the terrarium.
Jouno’s hands were gentle, his fingers skimming over the expanse of leaves that littered the flooring of the enclosure, his fingertips tracing the edges of the plants as if to assess whether none of them carried a hint of sharpness. His lips were moving, he was whispering something under his breath, a speech impossible to catch, spoken in a language that Tachihara would never have suspected Jouno was fluent with.
Tiny Tecchou wiggled on Jouno’s palm, before slipping down and disappearing into the foliage. The line of Jouno’s lips curved under the shadow of a smile.
Instantly, Tachihara looked away as blush spread over his cheeks. It was all too domestic, too tender, and unexpected. At once, under the pressure of this one scene alone, the entire flat changed its shape. Bits and pieces of mismatched personalities littered the space – rows of books written in Braille, a polished military order framed hanging on the wall, stacks of CD albums on the shelves, a tiny plushie fox sitting among the pillows on the sofa, a brand new terrarium that was taking up the space initially filled by someone else.
A patchwork of contradictions sewn into a fabric of life that Tachihara never knew existed.
With his ears burning, eyes plastered to the floor, Tachihara rushed to the kitchen, eager to dispose of the groceries and be done with his unexpected task. He felt like a thief, an old melody thrumming through his veins. Only now – instead of stealing treasures, he was stealing pictures that didn’t belong to him, catching the affections of people around who made this place their home.
The cupboards in the kitchens were all labeled – most of them in Braille, but others in kanji too. Cooking supplies, spices, plates, Saigiku’s vitamin supplements, meds, Tecchou’s poison, emergency kit… Tachihara squeezed his eyes shut and placed the bags on the countertop. It was impossible not to compare… This kitchen, seemingly so clean and pristine, but full of life, and his own kitchen – boxes of junk food he wanted to eat with Gin, a bottle of wine he wanted to share with Chuuya, an ashtray that he never emptied… A ghost of a place.
His heart squeezed painfully as he stared at the vegetable filling the paper bags he carried for Jouno. Kale, parsley, soft fruit… Was any of it truly for Jouno? Tachihara quickly wiped the tear that started to form in the corner of his eye.
He was thinking about the Morse Code, and the terrarium, and the cupboards labeled “Saigiku” and “Tecchou”, when Jouno walked into the kitchen.
“Do you want me to help you with washing the groceries?” Tachihara asked, turning around, hoping that no nostalgia tinted his voice with sadness.
Jouno only scoffed.
“Leave them like this,” he clicked his tongue, reaching for two cups and turning on the kettle. “He always says that he doesn’t mind when soil crunches under his teeth… This barbarian,” Jouno spat out. “Might as well indulge him now that he is actually an animal,” he added with a dirty smile, twisting the corner of his mouth.
It was hard not to smile back, but with a certain degree of softness. It was hard to stop this softness from manifesting when the suspicion that Jouno indulged Tecchou much more often than he was willing to admit was as palpable as it was real.
---
Tachihara entered the office, and Tecchou was just there – in all of his human glory, serious and poised as if he wasn’t a tiny worm just a day prior. Their eyes met and Tachihara nodded in a greeting, respectful as always, he opened his lips, ready to exchange pleasantries, when Teruko burst into the room – eyes burning, and mouth heavy with good humor, a hundred and one comments at disposal to make sure that Tecchou remembered that he was five inches tall a couple of hours ago. Teruko’s hand wrapped around Tachihara’s arm and he was yanked down, the most recent gossip stuffing his ears, and he felt himself smiling nonetheless, thinking that this was familiar.
Teruko rambling loudly, smoothly pushing her work into Tachihara’s open arms. Tecchou standing at a healthy distance away, watching them, and showing no real emotion until–– his dark eyelashes shifted, his eyes trailed away from Teruko and Tachihara, when the clicking of the heels, and the soft chime of a bell announced the arrival of someone else.
“Tecchou-san, my god, first day back on a proper duty and you are already slacking off,” Jouno commented as he paraded into the room. “Perhaps, we should exchange you for someone else permanently, since clearly, you are not contributing much.”
“You hardly exchanged me for someone else in the first place,” Tecchou retorted flatly, adjusting the sword by his belt.
Jouno hissed under his breath.
“Stop being so snarky. You know I hate it when you pretend to be observant,” he replied with disdain. “Because if you were actually attentive, you’d know that the commander wants to see us. Now,” Jouno added, stepping closer, his hand skimming over the sleeve of Tecchou’s uniform as if he wanted to drag him out of the office on his own.
Perhaps, two weeks ago Tachihara wouldn’t bat an eye at this behaviour. But sometime during that time, he had learned to see better. And so, when Jouno’s hand lingered on Tecchou’s wrist, Tachihara noticed the gentle tapping of a fingertip on the soft skin; noticed the quiet message carefully planted in Tecchou’s blood system.
T-E-C-C-H-O-U
It was nothing special really. Just Tecchou’s name, hidden in a gesture so slight and, by such, so affectionate, that Tachihara thought it to be louder than any of Jouno’s insults.
It lasted only a moment, blink your eye and you’ll miss it, and then Jouno was spinning on his heels, marching out of the office with an expression that suggested immediate death to anyone who would dare to stand in his way and try to prevent him from executing his duties. Of course, Tecchou was quick to follow. He was always at the commander’s disposal after all. Although… by now, Tachihara was certain that Tecchou would follow Jouno anywhere he’d like even without a solid reason.
“They are a little bit ridiculous, aren’t they?” Teruko asked, hopping on her desk, her legs dangling.
Tachihara bit the corner of his lips.
“A little bit,” he admitted.
It wasn’t often that Tachihara had to visit the military’s archives. Usually, he had someone do it for him. Usually, he was put on the most recent cases, getting down to the nitty-gritty of crime syndicates that were currently active. He worked best in the field, undercover, “You just have a face for this, Tachihara-kun,” Commander grinned at him once, and it sounded like the verdict that would shape the rest of Tachihara’s life. He hardly minded it anyway.
He was thinking about that when he was descending the staircase leading to the archives. There was a piece of paper in his hands – the brief description of his assignment and the number of shelves where he could find the information about the target. All of that sounded easy but…
Tachihara pushed the door to the archives, quietly slipping inside.
Dozens of rows, hundreds of shelves were filling the third floor of the underground complex, and all Tachihara could think about was that he’d really rather be on the second floor, practicing his martial arts skills, or throwing daggers at the dummies with his eyes covered. He sighed – a noiseless sound that was immediately swallowed up by the files full of papers and documents – and checked the note he was holding again.
He’d be lucky if he found the folders he was looking for before sunset.
The archives were a quiet place. The majority of documentation was digitized a long time ago, and almost no one ventured here to look for the information. It was Tachihara’s own brand of luck that he needed the files which had been gathering dust for the past decade. He could almost feel the hint of mold settling in his lungs, and it made him miss the clean archives in Port Mafia’s headquarters – half of the shelves always empty, a sign that some information was removed, forcefully and ostentatiously erased, and that no one could do anything about it. Pieces of knowledge gone alone with unwanted pasted.
Tachihara was crossing one alley after another, eyes scanning the labels on the files, while his thoughts were straying away – reminiscing old days; a question whether he was erased from Port Mafia’s archives nagging him like a splinter stuck under a thumb.
He saw the flash of color between the shelves, before he heard the murmur of conversation.
A long stretch of crimson cradled between long shadows, a uniform that was a twin to his own. Tachihara quickly took a quiet step back, angling to hide behind the rack with documents. The shadows around the silhouette wavered, shifting to mold around whoever was standing in the neighbouring alley.
Tachihara’s eyes widened.
“The accessibility of the archives is non-existent,” Jouno complained under his breath, his fingers running over the numbers, marking the shelf. “You’d think that before I was recruited, there was not a single visually impaired person here.”
“We can write a complaint,” Tecchou suggested, looking through the files that he was holding.
Jouno waved his hand dismissively.
“I might as well use you as my personal aid,” he let out a prolonged sigh. “Give your miserable life some meaning.”
Tecchou lifted his gaze to look at Jouno’s back. He seemed to consider something for a moment, before closing his file and putting it back on the shelf. In two quick steps, he crossed the distance separating him from his partner and – at this Tachihara’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets – slumped against Jouno, placing his forehead on Jouno’s shoulder.
The worst part was perhaps the fact that Jouno hardly seemed bothered by that.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked instead, sounding almost disinterested as his fingers counted the folders stacked up on the shelf.
“Giving my life some meaning,” Tecchou replied without an ounce of shame.
Jouno scoffed, but his fingers stilled briefly. After a moment, he shook his head.
“You’re unbelievable,” he commented quietly, and handed Tecchou one of the folders. “Check this for me.”
Tachihara expected Tecchou to take the file and step away, reassume his previous spot, but instead he slipped his arms around Jouno’s waist and hooked his chin over Jouno’s shoulder. The documents in his hands rustled as he started reading the papers, his voice soft, murmuring any information he deemed important right into Jouno’s ear. Tachihara’s stomach twisted.
A fraction of the scene unfolding in front of him, reminded him of the late nights at the Port Mafia’s rooftop – the cherry of a cigarette burning along with the stars above their heads, the glint of Gin’s daggers as she swung them at the pieces of metal that Tachihara sent flying into the air. Something about this familiarity was so achingly similar. The comfort, the easy trust, all types of love glint with similar colors, they only ever wear different costumes.
Suddenly, Jouno raised his hand. Tachihara held his breath.
“That’s it,” Jouno announced. “Take this, and we can go upstairs, Tecchou.”
Slowly, Tecchou closed the file and placed it in Jouno’s open palm. A moment passed, then another, and then Tecchou’s arms slowly tightened around Jouno’s waist, their bodies pressing closer, folding them into an intimacy that reminded Tachihara of the moment he witnessed at Jouno’s apartment. Once again, the feeling of being unworthy of seeing all of that made him want to escape, but his feet appeared to be rooted to the ground, his eyes – fixed on the people in front of him.
Carefully, Jouno skimmed his fingers over Tecchou’s hand.
“Your breathing is loud, Tecchou,” he said after a couple of seconds.
“It didn’t bother you before,” Tecchou pointed out.
“Before? When the hell– Back when you were a worm?” Jouno exclaimed, voice rising a little. “Well, obviously it didn’t bother me before! You were tiny back then!”
There was a moment of silence.
“Did you prefer it that way?” Tecchou asked simply, sounding a bit uncertain in a way that momentarily threw Tachihara out of the loop.
A hesitance sounded strange on Tecchou’s tongue, it fell into syllables that spoke of foreign languages, unknown codes, and mysterious practices. A crack to the composed picture that was Tecchou’s psyche.
Jouno lifted his hand, reaching for the line of Tecchou’s jaw, tracing it with his index finger. An almost-there touch, a gentle invite into something that made Tachihara take a step back. Tecchou’s eyelids fluttered and closed as he moved his head, fitting his cheek into the curve of Jouno’s palm. From his perspective, Tachihara could barely see the expression Tecchou was making, but he could imagine the flicker of a smile in the corner of his lips.
“You’re less useless like this,” Jouno said carefully.
“So you missed me?”
Jouno tsked and lightly slapped Tecchou’s cheek.
“Don’t get cocky now!” He exclaimed. “Here I was hoping that the entire experience would humble you a little…”
Tecchou’s hand caught Jouno’s wrist and brought his palm back to his face. Quickly, as if he had done it hundreds of times before, despite the whisper of red mark on his cheek, Tecchou pressed his lips to the angular line of Jouno’s wrist, and Jouno didn’t pull away.
“Oi!” Jouno hissed. “You’re scaring off poor Tachihara-kun.”
Tecchou opened his eyes. His gaze instantly found Tachihara’s rapidly widening pupils. They stared at each other for a long minute, the tension continuously building up around Tachihara’s nape, while Tecchou appeared completely unfazed by this predicament.
“Tecchou, you’re wasting my time,” Jouno sighed suddenly, and in an instant, Tecchou spun him around, pressing Jouno’s back to the rack full of documents.
The metal shelves around them creaked loudly, and a strained squeak, coming from Jouno’s throat, echoed in the silence of the archive. It was all Tachihara needed to turn on his heel and bolt out of the room, rushing down the alleys that seemed to stretch to no end. The creaking of the shelves had long stopped by the time Tachihara finally saw the exit door. Somewhere far behind him, he could still hear Jouno’s vehement complaints until those, too, were cut short – and really Tachihara knew enough by now to know exactly what, or rather who, made Jouno shut up.
With his lungs burning and his heart hammering in his chest, Tachihara ran up the stairway, going up two stairs at a time. All he could think about was that tonight he would call Gin, and tell her all about his two respected coworkers getting too friendly in the archives. Perhaps, she, in exchange, would tell him about an ex-Port Mafia executive and Arahabaki vessel secretly meeting in the docks downtown.