Chapter Text
There is something to be said about the hunger that comes with gambling.
When Yuki was ten, her father had taught her poker for the first time. Poker’s not terribly complicated, and Yuki was clever enough to pick it up. She knew how to push and giggle and quiet at the right moments. She knew how to play him.
And he offered the stakes higher each time. Until it came to a head; If she won, he would get her a dog (an object of desire for a long time), but if she lost, she got nothing, none of the previous earnings.
And, immediately, she agreed. In that same immediacy, she was swiftly defeated.
It was in this gentle way she was taught that any risk with that level of reward was not a “risk”, but a trap. But Yuki had never been one for entirely heeding her father. She wondered, if back then, he had expected that.
The corridor beneath the parlour was long. Intentionally so. Without prior knowledge of the direction, and in a panic, it’d be hard to leave the correct direction. No windows in a basement. Just doors, and staircases, and those were easy to place high traffic areas near. In that sense, it was nice having a neatly suited guide walking ahead of her.
Yuki cleared her head with a deep breath. Shoulders back. Authority needed to shift into her posture to make up for the fact she was still in her schoolgirl uniform. Still, though, she beamed and waved at the men (Yamada and Ueda. Both married, both cheating on their wives. Easy to bribe) sitting in their offices. She received friendly nods.
Still, every man she passed held that same sad, sickly illness about their expression. The one that’d infected them all since— her father. The pity. The slight wear to the eyes, the draw of the brows. She spotted it from the corner of her gaze and her chest burned.
Yuki knew for a fact those ravens would pick the skin off her father’s bones if they found his corpse. She knew, with the same calculation, that she had the same meat coating her own, and wouldn’t let them. But they didn’t need to know that. For the moment, she was content being cute, and content being the object of sympathy.
Still. She’d just gotten off of school, and now wasn’t the time for this.
The man who was escorting her, Masuda (on her list of people she’d trust in a room alone with her— maybe not armed, but he’s not a threat, he’s got kids. Probably sees them in her. Wouldn’t kill a teenager even if given an opportunity, doesn’t discount him entirely, though), stopped by the door at the end of the hall.
Yuki beamed at him, giving an oblivious, “Oh, is this it?”
“Yes.” Uncertainty poked its way into his voice. “If you need us to force the door—“
Yuki held up her hand to dismiss what he was offering with a giggle. “No, no, it’ll be fine. Thanks!”
He nodded politely. Slow, unsure.
Yuki stepped forward, leaning on the tips of her shoes as she knocked rhythmically on the door.
“Grian, it’s me!”
In response, there was dead silence. Masuda glanced at the ceiling, perhaps with enough decency to not want to embarrass her when she doubled back. Yuki tightened her fist and started to knock again, but the sound of furniture behind the door shrieking against the ground stopped her.
Still, the silence remained a beat longer, then,
“No one else comes in. Only you.”
Yuki rolled her eyes, looking back at Masuda pointedly. “Mm-hmm.”
It’d be easy to ignore it, but Yuki obliged the request, gesturing for Masuda to stand down when he finished unlocking the door. Not for the sake of respect, or for the sake of the thing inside the room, no. She shut the door behind her, and blinked as her eyes adjusted more to the dim light, and Grian standing in front of her. The only reason she let Grian have that one sliver of hope was because she wanted the men outside, the scavengers listening through the walls, to know she had more claws than any of them.
But her voice stayed obnoxiously cheery when she greeted, “Hi!”
Grian sat on the floor. Criss-cross. He wore his own grin, loose, teeth the most visible part in the dark. Yuki intertwined her fingers behind her back, and leaned over him. Wary not to get too close. “People keep telling me you’re causing problems, huh?”
Phone call after phone call. Hissed between teeth, attempts at being polite. Monday turned to Wednesday to the Friday afternoon that brought her into the room. Every man she’d stationed in the parlour had tried or begged to kill him.
“Oh, ‘problem’ is such a big word for it.”
He really ought to have been more grateful she didn’t let them.
As he stood, Yuki could finally catch sight of the slight silver and red of bruises dappling his cheek. His wings tucked behind him, but the feathers were worried and distressed. In fact, feathers littered the room where claw marks and discarded furniture didn’t.
Still, none of this stopped him from circling her. They bound themselves into a brief position of animals, looking for an opening, before Yuki bit.
“What do you want?”
Grian spun back around, guided by the weight of his wings drawing his gravity to step back. He tilted his chin up proudly. “I noticed something, in all the time I’ve been stuck here.”
The chair he’d been handcuffed to lay discarded in the corner, with the rest of the furniture. One loose leg, but that didn’t deter Grian from picking it up.
“It’s weird. For all the punishment you’re giving me, you haven’t once come and see me yourself since Sam and Taurtis turned me over.”
Yuki forced out a laugh, one she tried to pitch up sweetly. “Aw, sorry. You’re just not very good company, are you?”
Grian spun the chair around backwards and sat against it, folding his arm over the back. “Awful lot of grace to give to the person who killed your father.”
And it was poker, at 10 years old, and that was a hunt for reaction. She fluttered her eyes and tilted her head, like she didn’t understand.
“But you’re not a gracious person, are you, Yuki?”
Grian pushed himself up, and grabbed the back of the chair, dragging it with him.
“So, either you’re an idiot, or—” He shoved the chair behind her, pushing her into it, “You don’t believe Sam, and you’re not as stupid as I thought you were.”
Yuki lifted her head up at him, and couldn’t strain out the disgust in her expression. The twisted feeling in her chest bubbling up into a scowl.
Grian’s eyes flickered. His smile didn’t. “I’m offering to help you. Isn’t that what you want?”
No. That was the last thing in the world she’d want.
What she wanted was Grian dead, beaten to death, answers spilled from the remains of his teeth. She could see the tips of his gums where he lingered above her, could imagine the stripped remains, could imagine him hanging like a cow from a meat hook draining blood into tile. She wanted her hands around his throat.
She wanted her father back. And Grian couldn’t give her that.
“That’s a cute business pitch,” Yuki laughed again, covering her mouth, “Have a good rest of your evening, Grian!”
She picked herself up, spinning around him with a swish of her skirt. She slowed her steps just enough to open up the floor for the begging, the predicted strain or offer of information or a hand on her sleeve.
Grian didn’t move. Just snorted. “Alright. Bye.”
Her hand froze on the handle, nails clicking against it. She caved, whipping around. “What do you know?”
Grian sat back down in the chair, picking at his nails.
“I already told you it was Sam.”
“Shut up! It wasn’t Sam!” Yuki struck forward and pointed at him, like a gun in her hand, like that stupid interrogation room. “You really think I believe a high schooler with no criminal connections killed my dad?”
Which, admittedly, is why she didn’t buy that Grian could do it, either.
Grian made a face, flicking off dirt. “I mean, he does rob graves all the time. Has he not told you about that?”
“It’s not Sam!” Yuki insisted. “And if that’s all you can tell me—”
“Two things.” Grian listed them on his fingers, starting by tapping his index with emphasis. “One. I want a guarantee you won’t just kill me after this is done.”
Easy to agree to, easier to disregard. Yuki nodded. “Okay.”
“Two. I want a house.”
What. Yuki must’ve had a visible reaction, because Grian shuffled, bravado slightly dented.
“Before they— I was living with Sam and Taurtis. So I want my own house.”
Right. Friend drama. Yuki waved her hand. “Done! Now, tell me.”
“No,” Grian shook his head, wings drawing out, doubling him in size, “My demands first. You have the power here, it’s only fair.”
Yuki fumed.
Giving Grian a house would mean paying someone overtime constantly to keep an eye on it. Multiple someones. And then she’d have to bribe them to keep each other from killing Grian.
With keeping him trapped beneath the Panchinko parlour, at least people were cycling in and out enough that she could just have one or two of them feed him, and if he got out, they’d know.
She turned the idea over, annoyed. She couldn’t grant that wish, she wasn’t a freaking genie. If she could just graduate, she could guard him herself and work on her—
She stopped. Oh.
“Okay. Fine.”
She offered a handshake, beaming.
“It’s a deal. We’ll move you out tonight.”
Grian’s wings puffed up. He took the handshake sharply. “Perfect!”
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
Logically, no one needed to stuff him in a trunk. But it was a little funny.
She kept Masuda back at the parlour. Masuda had daughters, not sons, but Grian had round eyes and bruises. She didn’t doubt his ability to play the victim, and if he begged, Masuda could fumble. Yuki wouldn’t risk that, not now that they’d finally made progress. Masuda was better as an advisor anyway.
She traded him for Hayasi (father’s old driver– shoulder injury, still shoots a gun fine. Heavy debts, heavier drinking problem, but gentle. Gentle and funny.), thick fingered, middle-aged man who played v-kei for them on the drive. He chatted about BUCK-TICK concerts from his childhood and Yuki played sweet and giggled at his jokes.
She swung her backpack onto her shoulder as their little truck pulled up to the gate of her house. Hayasi, in turn, swung Grian over his. Yuki picked up speed to open the garage for him.
Grian made an easy package, 5/8" braided utility rope. Boxties too easy to remove– handcuff knots were unstable. Best point of contact is one at the elbows, one at the wrists, reverse prayer— Yuki shook her head clear.
That’d been the tricky part of leaving. No one had gotten out without bite marks. But now he was limp, which earnestly worried her more than if he were thrashing and trying to scream.
The garage had an easy route past the kitchen to the storage room she’d been planning on using. Hayasi set Grian down on the concrete floor to drag him the rest of the way.
“Are you sure you’re gonna be fine out here by yourself?” Hayasi glanced around, clearly observing the lack of hired staff. Yuki laughed.
“Aww, I’ll be fine.”
“Not saying you won’t be, but he’s a handful. Could be worth just keeping one person around.”
He swung Grian over the stairs, and into the kitchen. Yuki shut the garage door behind them and locked it. She shook her head. “You’re sweet. Right in here.”
She half opened the door with her back. Grian tried to kick himself up to stand up, but couldn’t manage to. Hayasi scooped him again to half toss him the rest of the way in, and the thunk sound sent a sick satisfaction up Yuki’s spine.
He made a muffled noise, lifted, then dropped his head. Yuki didn’t miss the wings around his ears twitching, unsure where to land. She turned to Hayasi, same trained smile and saccharine eyes.
“Have a safe drive back, okay?”
He hummed in response. She followed him to the door and, again, triple checked it was locked. Made sure he drove off. She was less worried about Grian than she was about the prospect of more people knowing where she was staying. Grian didn’t have anywhere to go. The police, maybe, but what was he going to say? Oh no, a high-school girl kidnapped me… and also leads a Yakuza. Yeah right.
If it came to that, she’d just say he broke in. Bawled up expression, teary eyes. No reason to believe Grian over her, that was just the way of the world.
She stepped back into the room, and found Grian had managed to get the blindfold off by using the edge of a box, and, presumably, his wings. He finished his work on sliding the gag down to his neck as she entered.
She tucked her hands behind her back, intertwining her fingers. “Comfy?”
Grian didn’t amuse her with a response, just struggled to his feet and started trying to work on the knots on his back. The painful shuffle of shoulders and wings indicated this wasn’t doing much for him.
“You’re so much nicer when you’re quiet.”
She stepped past him and plucked up the photo of her father that was resting on one of the boxes. She remembered this one— They’d gone to the beach, for— her grandmother’s birthday, she was pretty sure. Her father looked young there, and she looked tiny and sunburnt.
Yuki had tried surfing on one of those little swim boards, and got knocked underwater viciously. Her father fished her out, covered in sand and distressed. The picture there was before that, just her and her dad.
She didn’t know why it was in the freaking storage room of all places. She’d never thought about it until that moment.
“The other guy left.” Grian glanced at her. “You planning to stick around while I move into the new place?”
Yuki laughed, drawing the photo up to cover her smile. “Oh, no, this is my house. You get to stay here.”
Grian’s expression dropped. He quit trying to undo the knot at his elbows and spat, “That wasn’t the deal.”
Yuki tapped her chin with the frame. “Mm, I don’t think we ever specified.”
Grian tried to shuffle his wings up, and gritted his teeth. “I said I wanted my own house. Literally an apartment would work. I know you can afford it.”
Yuki prickled, and covered it with, “Eheh, well, beggars can’t be choosers.”
Grian blocked her exit, wings popping clumsily past the ropes and flaring up. “You know, I hate to say it, but I really feel like you don’t understand who’s the beggar in this scenario.”
Yuki theatrically looked him up and down. Puckered her lips. “I don’t?”
She shrugged and went to push past him. Grian scuffed his feet as he took a step after her.
“Is that your dad?”
Yuki stopped, moving the photo behind her skirt with a laugh, ignoring him. “I held up my end of the deal. So, really, it’s your turn.”
“You didn’t hold up your end of the deal, though.” Grian insisted. “I’m still tied up, and I don’t have a house.”
“You do. You have my house.” Yuki rolled her eyes. “You dated Ellen, didn’t you? You’d think knowing a fae for that long would make you a bit more specific.”
Grian gritted his teeth. “And you’d think dating Sam would make you less annoying. Guess you’re sort of even now.”
Yuki tilted her head. “I can bring you back to the parlour. You don’t have to stay here.”
“It’s not like here has been much different, has it?” Grian shrugged. Right. At the very least, he had people to torment back at their base. She stepped forward again.
“No. Here, you’re not at risk of someone going against my orders and killing you anyway.”
Grian laughed. “Who’s listening to you?”
Yuki kicked him into the wall, and held him there with her heel. Held his eyes. “You are. Who killed my dad?”
For a brief moment, Yuki saw the satisfying flicker of surprise in Grian’s expression, before he masked it, and pretended to think. He leaned forward, grinned. “Told you already. It was Sam.”
Yuki tackled him.
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
Grian grumpily rubbed the sore spots on his wrists where the rope had been digging, rolling them out. He shot Yuki a look across the kitchen, trying to look smug.
“I don’t know what you expected.”
Yuki tossed the rest of the rope fibres into the bin, which she realised with a pang needed to be taken out. She’d had that thought the past three days and hadn’t gotten around to it.
“Take your shoes off.”
Grian looked down at his shoes, which were still his outside pair. He clicked them together idly, and then ignored her. “Do you have anything to eat?”
Yuki opened the cabinet, grabbed one of the protein bar things she’d been having that tasted like shitty chocolate, and threw it at his head. Grian caught it, and it pissed her off.
“This looks gross.”
He got up and poked through her fridge, and Yuki finished putting the last knife in the box. She’d grabbed a cardboard one from the storage room: She had decided to assemble a container full of non-baby-proof objects she was going to lock in her closet. Scissors, guns, anything slightly too sharp. She wasn’t taking any risks.
She grabbed the packing tape off the table and started wrapping it badly. Grian turned around, giving her a bewildered look.
“What have you been eating?”
The stupid protein things. School lunch. Yuki just raised her eyebrows and snickered, “Didn’t realise you were so picky. Maybe this is why Taurtis and Sam were so fast to ditch you!”
Grian’s lip twitched, and he shuffled back to the table. “Oh, and they’ve been talking to you a lot?”
No. Not at all, actually.
Yuki nodded, tearing the tape with her teeth after a few tries. She scooped it up under her arm. “You want the tour?”
Grian picked at the wrapper of the bar, and then discarded it. “I’d like some actual food.”
But he got up anyway, following Yuki as she walked. She indicated with her head. “Bathroom over there, your room there, living room—”
“Wait, I am not sleeping in your damn closet.”
Yuki planted her free hand on her hip, balancing the box on the other side. “You’re not?”
“No.” Grian poked her in the chest. “Get me a bed.”
“Ask nicely, and I might.”
Grian’s wings ruffled, feathers tightening at his back. He shook his head. “No, you won’t.”
As he walked away, Yuki blinked.
“Haven’t finished the tour.”
“I can figure it out. What was the room back there, by the kitchen?”
“Oh! Basement.” Better to avoid letting Grian know where the garage was. Yuki trotted after him. “You’re free to stay down there, if you’d prefer, eheh!”
“Why do you do that.”
“What?”
“The stupid laugh.” Grian frowned. “Even Sam makes fun of you for it. What’s the deal?”
Yuki rocked her weight around. “If I catch you on the couch, I’m gonna lock you in the room at night.”
“Wow, thanks.”
Organising after that was easier. Box in the closet. Closet locked. Key under her mattress, so when she slept, he’d have to move her to find it, and she’d wake up. Additionally, her boxcutter was placed under her pillow, in the case, and she trusted herself to be able to grab it fast.
Her room remained a mess. No time to fix it, really. It was school, then Yakuza affairs, then sleep. She glanced at her hamper, and then the clothes scattered on the ground. She should do that tomorrow. Too many sweater sleeves and lacy jackets to be strangled with. Plus, she was running out of clothes she actually liked wearing.
And uniforms, more importantly. She caught sight of herself in her mirror, and sighed. Thumped her head against it.
She’d always wished she’d looked more like her dad. Well— always was a strong term. But she’d wished for a while. Maybe since late high school. There was something comforting in knowing who you were going to turn out to be, who you were molded by.
She rubbed her eye, and was left with gritty residue from her eyeliner. She took a deep breath and started taking her makeup off.
Okay. Time to get ready for the night. Just like any other raid, any other job.
This one was just… different. In her home, without a father to come back to, without anything— to come back to, really. With her men, men who didn’t respect her, and—
She looked down at the makeup cloth she was holding, scrunched tight in her hand. She loosened her grip. Play pretty, and play dirty. God.
Predictably, night one, Yuki didn’t sleep at all. She’d assumed that would happen, but it was worse than she expected. She finished her homework, all except her stupid algebra because she didn’t want to think about it and whatever. She’d just tell them her dad just died.
The stairs kept creaking, she never knew how much her house did that, and she hated it. Every hour or two she snuck back downstairs to see what Grian was doing. The only satisfying part of it was finding he wasn’t sleeping, either.
Around 2 or 3, they both ended up in the living room watching television on mute. Some stupid gameshow neither of them were paying attention to. Grian sat on the floor, now in socks, and Yuki kept the coffee table between them, resting her chin on it with an air of exhaustion she didn’t feel.
Grian started fixing at his wings, and commented, “You want to know how he died?”
Yuki knew. She’d seen the body. She laughed, batting her eyelashes obliviously. “Hm?”
“Your dad.”
“Oh.” Yuki studied the television for a moment too long. Grian jumped on the silence sharply.
“He begged. Told Taurtis he was like ‘the son he never had’. He was on his knees. And Sam shot him anyway.”
Yuki huffed. Picked up the photo from earlier again. She thumbed over the frame.
Grian refused to look at her, either. Continuing to preen. “Guess that makes you a bit happier you’re never going to be him, huh?”
“What?”
“You’re never going to be your father.”
Right. Yuki steadied the shaking of her hand and put the photo back, shuffling over. “Do you ever stop talking?”
The TV outlined her satisfyingly as she cast a shadow over Grian, moving to her feet, leaving him beneath her, a bug, crushable— wings out like a windshield angel—
“That’s all you do!” She giggled. “You talk and you talk and you talk. But you’re a little useless anywhere else, huh? Can’t make Ellen happy, can’t make Taurtis happy—”
“Sorry?” Grian snorted.
“Oh, now you play dumb?” Yuki leaned down. “You think I didn’t know every person who could be a rival to me and him? I do my homework, you stupid—”
“Yuki— I can. See up your skirt.”
And— it threw her off. It threw her completely off. She blanked, and then stepped back and sat on the sofa. Grian stared at her, then flopped back onto the carpet.
“You’re wrong, though. I didn’t— Taurtis and I are complicated. I’m not gay.”
Yuki squinted at him. Grian raised his hands defensively.
“I’m not.”
“Is Taurtis?”
Grian sneered. “I thought you ‘did your homework’?”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“He had a girlfriend. Multiple, by now, I’m sure.”
“You’re not answering the question.”
“I’m— No, he’s straight! He’s a straight guy, is that what you want me to say??” Grian plucked at his feathers in annoyance. “He’s straight.”
Yuki scanned the television. Thought about Soul and Sookie, and sleepovers and debates and… all of it. And how badly she had wanted something like that. To be loved, the way that people loved each other. She shifted her gaze to Grian, who was glaring at the wall.
“Why even ask that? I thought you were into Sam now.”
“I am.” Yuki swung her legs around. “We’re very happy.”
“Yeah.” Grian coated his voice in honey. “Real match made in heaven.”
“It is!” Yuki chirped, beaming. “He’s my rabbit.”
“Ew.”
Yuki shuffled herself to sit straighter, grinning. “You’re just jealous.”
“And you’re too immature for any of this.” Grian leaned his head back. “You know— I’d make a better Yakuza leader than you would. I think I’d be rather good at it.”
Yuki snorted. “Oh, yeah? What, because the police let you go trigger happy for a day?”
Grian turned around and rested his head on the sofa cushion beside her leg. “No. Because I’m still alive right now.”
“That’s because of me, and you know that.”
“Agree to disagree.” Grian yawned.
Yuki wanted to spit, do you know how many men I’ve gutted. Do you know how many times I’ve watched bile spill into blood from a stomach injury do you know how full of water the human body is do you know how much effort and strength stabbing someone through takes do you know how weak you are but all of it died in a frustrated laugh. Grian hummed.
“But, hey, if you wanted to be the leader so bad, maybe you should’ve just killed him yourself.”
Without even thinking about it, Yuki threw the photo at him. She missed, by a mile, and the frame shattered against the tile floor. Grian deadpanned her.
“I’m not picking that up.”
Yuki got to her feet and stormed upstairs.
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
She earnestly expected to wake up to the feeling of being strangled. But she was given no such adrenaline rush, no excuse to fight with Grian more than they already had. She woke up to her (still) firmly locked bedroom door, the buzz of her phone alarm, and the quiet hum of pipes in the walls.
She shut off her alarm and tugged off her uniform from the day before and swapped into another pair. Usually she wore pyjamas, but she hadn’t felt like changing.
Tying her tie left her briefly frustrated before she managed it and then stalked downstairs.
The kitchen light was on, none of the others. The explanation was a bleary-eyed Grian, picking at food on a plate. “Food” being… what Yuki assumed was peas and eggs. She gave him a confused look, and Grian didn’t say anything about it.
“You don’t take the bus— is someone going to drop us off at school?”
Yuki tied her hair halfway up, trying to position her bow in the reflection of the oven door. “Someone’s going to drop me off. You’re staying here.”
Grian scoffed. “Excuse me?”
“Again— Freedom wasn’t part of the deal.” And Ellen and the other girls were already too close to figuring Salex out. All Grian had done when Sam had lost his mind over Taurtis was lament about it and make snide comments. As fun as that was to spectate, she wasn’t risking it herself. Maybe for Sam, but not for her.
Grian didn’t argue this time. Yuki looked around.
“Where’s the rest of the food?”
“I only made enough for me.” Grian laughed. “Surely you can cook eggs.”
Yuki, admittedly, had never had to try. She stuck her tongue out at him, and Grian returned the gesture.
“What happened to all your rich people staff? Did I scare ‘em off?”
“Nope!” Yuki cheerily scooped her backpack up off the counter. “I fired them.”
Grian blanked. Yuki grinned. Yeah, no one’s coming to get you, jerk. The victory was short lived, because Grian’s expression was quickly explained by, “Wait, so you actually had someone to cook for you? Are you serious?”
Yuki turned to the door to get her shoes. Grian pursued.
“How do you think you’re going to solve your dad’s murder if you can’t even make yourself breakfast?”
Yuki, pleasantly, chirped, “I’m going to hit you again.”
“Yeah, right.”
⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔
The rest of the bag of frozen peas sat on Grian’s face, nursing what Yuki presumed was a broken nose. She picked at her phone case in her lap.
Grian, muffled, grumbled, “When does your ride get here?”
“He can’t today. So I’m not going.”
Grian made an exaggerated sigh. Yuki looked at the fridge as he stated, “Listen, if we’re going to live together, and I’m going to help you with this, you can’t keep throwing tantrums.”
“You killed my dad!”
“I thought we were saying I didn’t.”
“You were involved— You— ugh!”
Grian laughed at her, and she fought to keep her hands in her lap. This sucked. This sucked so bad. She wanted to cry and she couldn’t because Grian was in her freaking house now and— she balled up her hands into fists and dropped her head between her shoulders. She felt helpless not being able to act on any sort of threat and that made her feel pathetic.
“I’ll be around.” Grian decided, plucking a paper towel off the roll and tearing off some to stuff up his nose. He tossed the peas back in the freezer, winced, and then headed upstairs. Yuki didn’t follow.
If she was being left home alone, the least she could do was make it slightly more habitable. Or get work done. She assembled a list in her mind. Trash. Pick up the glass from the photo frame. Find a new frame. Clean her disaster of a room. Figure out how to get groceries without staying out too long. What is she going to do with Grian when she is at school. Leaving him restrained for long hours could damage his nerves. She squinted at herself. She didn’t really care about that. The worry was him strangling himself or something stupid. Probably the best option was to just keep skipping school. Until she graduated. Not like she needed to learn anything else, she wasn’t going to college. She was staying here and freaking figuring this out.
She hadn’t realised she’d been idly working on the glass problem until she was staring at small spots of blood all over her hands. She moved to toss it into the trash, and then remembered she hadn’t taken it out, and so she dispensed it on the counter before hauling up the bag. She stepped outside, shuffled off her slippers and swapped her shoes.
The walk to the bins was longer than she thought, and being away from the house made her feel like her insides were itching. Thanks to the gate, she couldn’t see if anyone was around them, perched nearby, guns or knives or rifles. Ugh.
She fought with the bin lid, and then stalked back inside, brushing blood off on her thighs rather than her skirt or white collared shirt. Right. Uniform. She needed to change.
But before that, she needed to find a trash bag, and put it in the bin, and then throw away the glass, and then— Yuki knew it was stupid, but her brain sort of stopped short, overwhelmed. She stood still.
Grian reemerged, wearing one of her Hello Kitty nightshirts. Sure. Raid her closet. Why not. They were about the same size anyway.
He glanced over the floor, then pointed out, “You’re still going to want to sweep that so no one cuts themselves on smaller pieces.”
“I don’t know where the broom is.” Or the trash bags, or the code for the safe with their money that she needs to buy groceries or the information on how to pay their bills or. Okay. One thing at a time. “Have you seen it?”
“Nope.” Grian popped the P and moved to perch on the counter unhelpfully.
Yuki left him behind to look for it, feeling the beginning of a headache forming at the base of her head. God. This was going to be a long couple of days.
She found the broom in a closet, and then stepped out again, sweeping all the little pieces into a tight pile. And then realised she didn’t know what to do after that. She considered strongly just shuffling it all into the corner, but Grian approached from behind, leaning over.
“You need a dustpan.”
“Sorry?”
Grian scoffed. “It’s kind of ridiculous you don’t know how to do anything for yourself. What’d your dad think was going to happen to you after he died?”
Yuki pushed him, and Grian neatly stepped back to avoid it. He shrugged.
“You need to sweep it all into a dustpan and throw it away.”
“There’s no bag in the trashcan.”
“Okay, so get one?”
Yuki tapped the broom on the ground to shake off the glass and then whacked him with it. Grian yelped, grabbed it, and wrestled it from her.
“I’m not doing this for you! Find the bags, and then we’ll get a dustpan.”
The we was probably unintentional, but Yuki reluctantly caved and hunted in the lower cabinets. She found one down there, and pushed it down, trying to press out the bottom. Grian snatched it from her and with a few loud, sharp shakes, opened it up and handed it back. Yuki glared at him, and he returned the gesture.
She placed it in the bin, and dispensed the large pieces of glass inside off the counter. Next was the dustpan. She didn’t know where to find that if not where the broom had been, so she turned to go that way. Grian smacked her in the back of the head with the broom and she sputtered.
“You’re so annoying!!”
“Get the dustpan.”
“Ugh!”
Yuki, despite— complaining about it, did. She yanked open the closet, found it on the floor and picked it up. Grian shadowed her as she returned and finished clearing glass, dumped it in the bin, and then stepped back.
It was not as satisfying as she’d hoped. Her hands were still bleeding a bit.
She turned to the sink and— she knew, had always known, how to clean wounds, at the very least. And as she did, Grian moved away to sit on the sofa with a yawn.
Yuki wasn’t sure, by that point, why she wasn’t torturing him. She should’ve been. Wanted to show him how much she hurt how empty the house was now, cold cold cold cold. She felt weird. She shut the sink off.
She could do whatever she wanted when she knew who her dad’s killer really was. She stepped around the sofa, and sat in front of him. Criss cross, matching his posture.
“So. What happened?” She tilted her head. “The whole story.”
Grian, the bitch, leaned back on his hands. “What story?”
“How my dad died!!”
Grian giggled at himself, and Yuki narrowly kept from strangling him.
“Weeell. We went to work for you, and then for the police, and then we shot your dad.”
So it wasn’t just Paul and Rowan. Yuki nodded slowly. “How’d the police get involved? What do they know?”
“The whole thing, I’d assume?”
“And what’s that?”
“That you’re evil. That your dad is evil, that everyone who works for him sucks… that sort of thing.” Grian stretched.
“Could you give me specific names? Moles, people on the case?”
“Look, Yuki, it’s early in the morning,” Grian sighed, “Can we do this later?”
“No.” Yuki pleasantly smiled. “Keep going.”
“Maybe. You’d have to show me a list. We were kind of just dragged around as much as you were.”
But that’s more than she’d had all week. Yuki nodded. Snagged his arm, and Grian slid off the sofa to join her.
“You’ll get your list. And if you can get me what I want, you’ll get your life. Got it?”
Grian tapped her on the nose. “Don’t touch me.”
Yuki took a deep breath. This was going to be hell.