Butterflies & Hurricanes

Setsuko lay back against the pillows, her breath hitching as she watched him. In his eyes she saw nothing but dirty, dark, beautiful magic. Manjiro didn’t rush, he never did. He moved with a heavy, deliberate slowness, crawling between her legs until he was kneeling over her. The light from the bedside lamp caught the sharp line of his jaw and the damp silver of his hair.

He didn't look up at her. He just hooked his hands under her knees, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed until she was completely open to him. His touch was light, almost tentative, as his fingertips grazed the inside of her thighs with a reverent softness that made her skin hum. 

The first touch of his hands was cold, his fingers always seemed to hold a chill, but his mouth was the opposite. When he finally leaned down, the heat of his breath against her inner thigh made her back arch off the mattress.

"Manjiro," she gasped, her fingers tangling in the linen sheets.

He didn't answer, he didn't need to. He just tilted his head, his tongue tracing a slow, agonizing line upward. Setsuko closed her eyes, her head falling back as the world narrowed down to the warm, velvet pressure of his mouth. 

It was the stillness of him that always got to her. Even now, he was quiet, focused, his hands cradling her thighs as if she were made of the finest porcelain. There was no performance in it, no ego. Just a raw, silent hunger that felt more honest than anything he ever said out loud.

He leaned in closer, his hair brushing against her skin, and began to worship her with a heartbreaking slowness. Every stroke was a soft, wet caress, cherishing every inch of her. He took his time, his breath hitching in sync with hers, drinking in her scent and the honeyed sweetness of her arousal as if he were savoring a gift. 

She felt the damp heat of his mouth fully claim her, and a soft, broken sound escaped her throat. Her hips buckled instinctively and he let himself be guided by her movement, his hands sliding up to hold her waist with a gentle, grounding firmness. .

Everything else faded, the secrets she kept from Ran, the darkness that followed Manjiro everywhere. There was only the rhythmic, devastating pressure of his tongue and the sound of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.

She opened her eyes for a second, looking down at the top of his head. He looked so small like this, so vulnerable in his devotion, yet he was the one holding all the power over her body. Just the thought of it made her shiver from pleasure.

Every time his tongue moved, a shiver raced up her spine, making her toes curl. She could feel herself blooming for him, her core slick and aching, while he remained focused, his kisses becoming deeper, more enveloping, making her feel cherished in a way that made her chest ache. Setsuko felt exposed, stripped bare by the cold intensity of his gaze as he worked. She couldn't help it, she reached up, shoving her own hand into her mouth, biting down on her knuckles to keep from screaming into the quiet of the suite.

Then, the bedside table came to life.

The vibration was a violent intrusion. Setsuko flinched, her eyes snapping open as the screen lit up. Ran. The name pulsed in the dark, a cold reminder of the world outside this room. He was in Sapporo, probably just finishing a meeting, calling to check in on his wife before going to bed.

"Manjiro," she choked out, the word muffled against the back of her hand, "Wait... Ran is—"

At the sound of that name, the sweetness in the air vanished. He didn’t stop, not even for a second. But the gentleness was gone. His tongue moved with a sudden, cruel urgency that made her vision go white, as if he wanted to reclaim the territory he had just been worshipping. If anything, the way her body tensed seemed to pull him deeper into it, more focused, like the interruption had only sharpened his attention. She tried to shift, her knees trembling, but Manjiro’s reaction was instantaneous. His hands, which had been so tender a moment ago, clamped down on her thighs with a bruising force. He didn't pull away. He leaned in harder, driving against her with a sudden, aggressive hunger that made her head spin. 

"Don't move," he ordered, his voice a low, vibrating growl between her legs.

"He'll... he'll keep calling," she whispered, tears of pure sensory overload pricking at her eyes. But before she could breathe, she felt the sharp, sudden sting of his teeth.

He bit her right there, on the softest part of her thigh, hard enough to make her let out a sharp, strangled cry. The pain was a cold shock that instantly shattered the thought of the phone. 

"I said don’t move," he rasped against her, his voice a low, possessive vibration that made her skin crawl in the best way.

He didn't wait. He leaned back in, but this time his tongue found the exact spot where his teeth had just been, soothing the sting with a heat that felt a thousand times more intense. The contrast was devastating. Her head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed her as if to ease her pain.

The phone stopped for a heartbeat, then immediately began to buzz again. Ran was persistent. He always was.

Manjiro looked up then. The blue light from the phone reflected in his dark, bottomless eyes, making him look like a predator caught in the middle of a kill. Oh, the Devil could be beautiful. 

He reached out, his fingers, still slick and glistening from her, brushing the phone aside to flip it face down, silencing the light with a contemptuous flick. 

He dove back down, his mouth claiming Setsuko with a renewed, possessive ferocity. It wasn't just pleasure anymore; it was a reclamation. Every stroke of his tongue felt like he was trying to erase Ran’s name from her skin and mind.

As the tension in her chest coiled tighter and tighter, she felt him shift, his hands sliding up to cup her waist to keep her exactly where he wanted her. He picked up the pace, his touch becoming more insistent, more demanding, his thumbs digging into her skin to anchor her, his mouth becoming a relentless, wet pressure that drove her toward the edge. 

"Don't stop, please," she whispered, her voice a wrecked, desperate thing.

He obliged. He became relentless, his tongue working her with a wet, slapping rhythm that echoed in the quiet room. He stayed right there, relentless and focused, until the coil finally snapped. Setsuko’s body buckled violently, she cried out, her fingers tightening painfully in his hair as the waves of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her breathless and shaking.

For a long minute, the only sound in the room was her ragged breathing.

Manjiro slowly sat back, his lips glistening and stained with her, his eyes dark and unreadable as he looked up at her. He didn't say a word. He didn't wipe his face, he let the evidence of her surrender stay there, a trophy of the moment he had stolen from the man on the phone. He looked satisfied in that quiet, terrifying way of his, like a man who had just reminded her exactly who she kept coming back to.

He crawled back up the bed until he was level with her, his movements slow and heavy. He looked down at the bite mark on her thigh, his thumb tracing the reddened skin with softness. "Does it hurt ?" he whispered.

Setsuko shook her head, her breath finally evening out. "Not anymore,” she breathed, reaching up to cup his face. "It’s okay."

Manjiro kissed the imprint of his teeth in a futile attempt to ease her pain or to make amends. Or perhaps just to consecrate it, to remind her that even if she wouldn’t let him own her, he would leave his mark on her anyway.

He let out a long, shaky exhale and collapsed against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He let himself be heavy, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against him. He held her with a desperate, quiet intensity, as if he were trying to merge his heartbeat with hers. He began to trace idle, meaningless patterns on her lower back, his touch rhythmic and soothing, a silent apology for the brief flash of cruelty. 

Setsuko closed her eyes, her hand resting on the nape of his neck, feeling the softness of his silver hair. "That was amazing," she whispered, smiling in a post-bliss way.

Manjiro didn't answer, but his grip tightened just a fraction, and he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her collarbone before settling his head over her heart, listening to the rhythm he had just sent racing.

After a while, he looked at the phone, then back at her, his expression unreadable but his gaze pinning her to the mattress. "Tell him you were busy," he murmured, already shifting to sit at the edge of the bed, his back to her, looking like a lonely, beautiful shadow in the amber light. "Tell him everything is fine."

“Can I ask you something ?”

Mikey watched her carefully. “Yes.” 

Setsuko swallowed once. Her eyes lifted back toward him and somehow that single glance carried both the grief of everything they had shared and the ache of everything they never would. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm enough to make the entire room feel suddenly wrong. “Did you kill Ran ?”

The silence that followed was sudden and absolute, as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Manjiro straightened his back, slowly, vertebrae by vertebrae. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were two black pits, dead, lightless, and terrifyingly calm.

She was looking at him, wondering if the man beneath it was capable of destroying her life just because it suited his timeline. 

"What are you talking about ?" he asked, his voice devoid of any inflection.

“Answer me, please.”

“No, you answer me. What kind of question is that ?”

Setsuko didn't flinch, though her instinct told her to run. She stayed where she was, her hands clenched in her lap. She swallowed hard, her throat feeling like it was lined with glass. "Just tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you didn't have him handled because you couldn't stand sharing anymore."

"You think I’m that small ?" he said quietly.

"I think you’re capable of anything," she countered, without really looking at him, trying to mirror his tone. "I think you’ve forgotten what a human life is worth. I think you look at me and you see something that belongs to you, and Ran was a title deed you didn't want to recognize." 

“Did Kokonoi put that idea in your head ?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I just took the time to think about it, and it's the only logical conclusion I can come up with. You swore you'd find out who was behind his death, and nothing has happened. I find it very hard to believe that you, of all people in this world, can't get answers.” She locked eyes with him. “So that leaves me with one possibility.” Her voice dropped slightly. “You are the answer.”

A silence followed that seemed to last an eternity. Manjiro did nothing but watch her, as though offering her one final opportunity to take back her words and give him the apology they both knew he expected. 

When it became clear that she had no intention of retracting a single word and was, in fact, waiting for him to answer, Manjiro finally stood, moving toward her with a slow, predatory grace. He didn't stop until he was standing directly over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. He bent toward her and reached out, his hand sliding around the back of her neck, his thumb resting just under her jaw. It wasn't a caress, it was a grip.

"If I wanted him dead, Setsuko, I wouldn't have waited years," he whispered, his face inches from hers. "And I wouldn't have done it for jealousy, I would have done it because he was no longer useful to me." He leaned in closer, his dark eyes boring into hers, looking for a crack in her resolve. "Tell me, does it make you feel better ?" he asked, his voice a chilling murmur. "Believing I killed him for you ? Does it make the guilt easier to carry if you turn me into the monster in your story ?" His eyes never left hers. “Or does it become easier to live with yourself if you turn it into something else entirely ? Something more romantic maybe ?” 

Setsuko kept her eyes locked on his, refusing to blink, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. But the air between them felt thicker now, burning and stagnant. She searched his black, bottomless stare for even a flicker of regret or hesitation, but found nothing but an abyss. “Please don’t make me hate you, Manjiro. Loving you is painful enough.”

The tight grip of his hand on her neck grew noticeably warmer, his knuckles tightening just enough for her to feel the dangerous shift in his pulse. “You've got more guts than you give yourself credit for. Coming here with your little vegetables and then looking me straight in the eye to accuse me of murdering your husband.” 

“I'm not accusing you. I'm asking because I need to know. But the fact that you still haven't answered is making it harder and harder not to draw my own conclusions.” 

His gaze darkened, and Manjiro’s hand shot up, gripping Setsuko’s jaw harshly. “Alright, you wanna hear the ugly truth ? I’m glad he’s dead. He had what I wanted for years. What exactly did you expect me to feel ?”

“What you wanted ?” she repeated, disbelief in her voice. It wasn’t anger that hit her, but something far more violent, a raw, electric shock that tore through her body like an explosion. Setsuko stared at him, the fury and the grief tangling into a knot in her throat. She knew he was being honest, and that honesty was more terrifying than any lie he could have told her. "He was loyal to you, he would have died for you," she hissed, her voice shaking with the effort not to strike him. "and you’re standing here telling me you're grateful he was slaughtered like a dog ?"

"He did his job, and I paid him. That’s it. But he’s gone, and he’s never coming back and you can mourn your saint of a husband and the loyalty he sold me, but do it somewhere else and leave me out of it.”

Before she even realized it, her hand was already rising and she was about to slap him, with all the rage she’d been carrying for weeks.

Before her hand could reach him, and with that blinding, predatory speed that made him what he was, a firm grip caught her wrist. He’d stopped her, not with overt brutality, but with strength that left no doubt. His gaze pinned her in place.

Setsuko tried to pull away, but his hold tightened, just enough to remind her he could break her if he wanted to.

“No.” His voice was a low, guttural warning that made the hair on her arms stand up. He stared down at her, his dark eyes burning with a fury that mirrored her own, but it was anchored by something far colder. “No, don’t act like you’re surprised. Don’t pretend you don’t know who and what I am.”

Tears filled Setsuko’s eyes, and her chin trembled, but she didn’t flinch. Not once did she look away. “You really think Ran’s death opens doors for you ?” she spat, a bitter laugh rising from her chest. “You’ll never be half the man he was, Ran knew how to love. You only know how to own.”

For the first time since the day they met, Manjiro lost the calm control he always seemed to possess and raised his voice. “Then stop acting like I'm the one you belong with  !” When he spoke again, she saw in his expression he was determined to hurt her. “And remember, just because I love you doesn't mean you can let yourself think you can do or say anything you want.”

The words landed somewhere deep inside her and Setsuko hated them instantly. They were unfair, cruel. She hated them because, beneath the anger flooding her chest, she couldn't immediately prove him wrong. She hated that he had chosen that very moment to remind her that he loved her. “You’re despicable,” she managed to say. It wasn’t her lover standing before her anymore. The darkness had slipped between them, and she was finally seeing the man he truly was, cruel, ruthless, even with her. She was facing him with fire, staring straight into the abyss without blinking, furious and terrified. “You’re despicable and you’re nothing but a pathetic, fucked up, little psychopath. You spend your days playing the big bad wolf but you don’t fool anyone, we all know you’re nothing but a scared and lost little boy and you’re gonna die fucking alone, Manjiro.” She tried once more to pull free from his grip, furious and desperate all at once, but his grip held firm. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. How had they ended up here ? A painful knot formed in her throat. With her free hand, she wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. “But I get it you know, when you own something, you don’t have to answer to anyone the day you decide to throw it on the ground, stomp all over it, and finish it off with the butt of a gun.” 

Manjiro released her wrist only to seize her jaw even harder, dragging her face toward his until their foreheads almost collided. “I’ve been too lenient with you,” he said, voice low and shaking. “You’ve forgotten where you stand.” He leaned closer, breath ghosting her cheek, the truth coiling like smoke between them. “Let me tell you what I see.” His hand slid to the side of her throat, just holding, pinning her in place with humiliating ease. “You mourn him selectively, only in the moments that make you feel holy.” She froze and he tilted her face up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “And then,” he continued, voice almost gentle, which made it worse, “you crawl back to me, begging and crying for my attention.” Her breath stuttered. His thumb pressed harder along her jaw. “You think I killed him, and you still keep coming back here, opening your legs for me. What does that say about you, baby ?” And the word coming from him felt so dirty, so cruel. 

The room felt too small. Every word he had just thrown at her was still vibrating in the air, sharp and metallic, cutting through her before she could even process it. Her body reacted before her mind did. A cold flush up her spine. A tightening in her chest that made breathing feel like trying to swallow glass. She could feel her pulse hammering everywhere, too fast, too loud. Her throat felt bruised from the inside.

He didn’t move. He was watching her unravel with the same focus he used when studying a target, measuring what broke first.

“Shut up,” she whispered, a plea escaping before she could cage it, a reflex born from pain.

But he didn’t, of course. When he said, “what a shame he died thinking you were his,” it was like the floor tilted beneath her. She felt something inside her sink hard and fast, like a stone dropped into water. Her mind tried to reject the sentence, to push it out, but it lodged itself somewhere behind her ribs, exactly where grief already lived, and the impact was unbearable. By the time he added, “if he’d known the truth, maybe he would’ve fought a little harder for his life,” she felt heat building behind her eyes, slow, humiliating, inevitable. 

Her vision trembled. Her breathing hitched. The world narrowed to the shape of his mouth forming cruelty like it was oxygen. She hated him. God, she hated him. Hated the way he spoke like he was stating a fact, hated the way his voice didn’t waver, the way he stayed so whole while she was coming apart.

A tremor started in her jaw and she clenched her teeth to hide it, but it didn’t matter, he noticed everything. Her eyes stung until the first tear escaped. Just one. Barely anything, but it felt monumental, as if something in her had finally cracked open under the weight of everything she’d been carrying since the moment Ran died.

Manjiro didn’t react. He didn’t move his hand to wipe it, didn’t pretend to feel something he didn’t know how to name. He simply watched as they were standing in the ruins of a life they had both helped dismantle, and now, they were all that was left of it.

Then he let go of her jaw and Setsuko stayed there, breath shaking, chest burning, the taste of his words still coating her tongue, feeling like someone had reached inside her and torn out the last place where she had once felt safe. “I can take a lot from you, you know” she said, “I can take the cold. Your fucking arrogance. I can take the way you pretend you don’t care because caring makes you weak.” Her voice broke slightly, the crack small enough to make it worse. "And I love you, I really do but I can’t stomach you. And I'd rather sit in a house full of Ran’s ghost than spend another fucking second in this room with you.” She stood up, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity. “Now listen to my ugly truth, Manjiro. I hope one day you’re standing somewhere so empty, so ruined, that the only thing you have left is to jump off a roof. And I swear, oh my God, I swear, I hope the last thing you think about before you fall is me.”

Then Setsuko turned, grabbed her bag from the arm of the sofa, and walked to the door. She gripped the handle, the cold metal biting into her palm. She half-expected to hear him move, to feel his hand on her shoulder or hear a command to stay. She was calling his bluff, pushing the boundary of his control to the absolute breaking point.

But as usual, he didn't say a word, he just stared at her, probably waiting for her to change her mind. He was in for a disappointment.

"Don't come looking for me," she added, finally glancing over her shoulder. Her eyes were hard, the tears gone, replaced by a resolve that felt like whetted steel. "Don't send anyone. I’m done. We’re done. I hope you liked seeing me crawl and beg for you, because this," she made a small, jagged gesture between them, “ends right now.”

She stepped out, the click of the lock behind her sounding like a definitive end.

As she walked outside the building, her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard it hurt, but she didn't slow down. She reached the street, the cold night air hitting her face like a slap.

It wasn't until the car pulled away and she saw Manjiro's building disappear in the rearview mirror that she finally let out the breath she’d been holding. With her elbows resting on the steering wheel, her fingertips brushed her jaw; it wasn’t bruised, not really, but she could still feel the ghost of his hold, warm in a way that made her stomach twist.

The air was heavy with the heat of late afternoon. At the cemetery entrance, Setsuko hesitated, the white and pale yellow chrysanthemums tight in her hand. Ran would have hated them, he liked expensive things, silk and good whisky. But this was what widows brought to graves.

By the time she reached the family plot, dust had gathered in the grooves of the stone, and the old bouquet, probably brought by Rindou, had turned brown. She crouched down, moving her hands quickly before she could think too much.

She cleared away the dead flowers, the wilted stems, and the brittle leaves. After fetching water from the tap, she washed the front of the stone and wiped it down methodically, trying to pretend she was just being a good wife instead of saying goodbye.

Her shoulders began to shake before she even realized she was crying. She kept wiping anyway, her vision blurring against the gray granite. She pressed one eye against her shoulder and kept going. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she had not meant to start speaking yet.

She finished arranging the fresh flowers into the metal holders on either side of the grave, stepped back to make sure they sat evenly, then crouched again to light the incense with trembling fingers. The flame caught on the second try. She fanned it out instead of blowing on it, then placed the incense carefully in the burner. Smoke rose in thin pale threads between her and his name. For a second, she simply stared at it.

And that was when she broke. Her breath caught so hard it hurt. She bowed her head and cried soundlessly at first, shoulders folding in on themselves, her forehead almost touching her clasped hands as if grief could still become prayer if she bent herself low enough. “I’m so sorry baby.” Crushed by the weight of the past few weeks, she collapsed and fell on her knees. “If I had known…” she whispered, swallowing hard and failing. “If I had known it was the last time we’d have dinner together, I would’ve told you I loved you all night. I wouldn’t even have touched my food. I would’ve just sat there and told you over and over until you got annoyed.” Her mouth twisted violently at that, trying and failing to smile. “You would have rolled your eyes at me.” Another sob caught in her throat. She lowered her hands and pressed both palms flat against the cool edge of the stone as if it could still ground her somehow. “If I had known it was the last time you kissed me goodbye…” she whispered. “The last time you came home. The last time you touched me. The last time I heard you laugh. The last time I fell asleep next to you…” Her voice collapsed. She bowed her head harder and cried into the silence between the flowers and the smoke. “There were so many last times and I didn’t see a single one of them.”

She inhaled sharply, shakily, and wiped at her face with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming in hot, humiliating waves that made speech difficult and breathing worse. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m sorry for all of it.” The smoke curled higher. “I’m sorry for him.” The words came out quieter, ugly and barely audible. Still, she forced them out. “I’m sorry for Manjiro.” Her shoulders trembled harder. “I’m sorry that I let him touch parts of me that were supposed to belong to you. I’m sorry that I loved him too.” She pressed her lips together, trying to stop the next sob from tearing its way out and failing so badly it made her chest hurt. “I’m sorry for the baby, I don’t know how to carry something innocent inside something this ugly. I’m sorry for what I am,” she said at last, the sentence so quiet it almost disappeared into the wind. “For being this kind of woman, someone who could love you and still betray you.” She shut her eyes tightly. Tears slipped free anyway. “You deserved better than me,” she whispered, “much, so much better.” That one she had believed for years.

She covered her mouth for a second and cried again, smaller this time, quieter, the kind of crying that came from somewhere much deeper than panic. Then, after a while, she wiped her face with both hands and forced herself to breathe properly.

When she finally stood, her knees nearly buckled under her. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back,” she whispered. “I love you,” she said.

Suddenly, she had the distinct feeling that someone was watching her. Slowly, she turned her head toward the road and spotted a black SUV parked on the shoulder.

Out of all the men Manjiro could have sent to keep an eye on her, he had chosen Sanzu. That settled it, he hated her at least as much as she hated him. She sighed audibly and turned her gaze back to the grave.

The crunch of gravel behind her was too deliberate to be accidental. Setsuko didn't turn around immediately. She kept her eyes fixed on Ran’s name carved into the stone, her fingers tracing the cold granite one last time before she slowly turned.

He was lounging against a headstone a few rows behind her, a cigarette burning lazily between his fingers. Even in a place like this, Haruchiyo looked entirely out of place and entirely unbothered. His scarred smile stretched, humorless and sharp.

Setsuko crossed her arms. “Did he lengthen your leash or did you just volunteer to follow me around ?”

Sanzu took a long drag of his cigarette, tilting his head back as he blew the smoke toward the gray sky. “Don't flatter yourself. I’m just here to make sure you don't become a difficulty.”

“I’m not his problem anymore. Tell him to stop sending his minions to watch me.”

Sanzu’s smile vanished in a fraction of a second, his eyes darkening into that chaotic, unpredictable void she hated so much. He took two slow steps toward her. “Careful,” he whispered, his voice dropping into a dangerous, raspy purr. “The only reason you’re still breathing air and not lying six feet under next to your husband is because he hasn’t told me to put you there.”

Setsuko didn't flinch. She stepped right into his space, her chin tilted up, matching his venom with pure disgust. She looked at him thoughtfully and realized something interesting. She wasn't afraid. “Then go ahead, Haruchiyo. Pull the trigger.” She let out a soft, bitter laugh and with a wave of her hand, she showed him the place around them. “We're in the right place for that ! But you won't. Because you’re terrified of what he would do to you if you touched a single hair on my head.” A slow, pitiful smile formed on her lips, and she saw Sanzu’s eyes narrow instantly. “You’re nothing but a weapon he keeps in a dusty drawer, he doesn't even see you as a person, that’s pathetic.”

“Then what are you ?” Sanzu sneered. “Just another fucking cock-sucker. There are millions of bitches like you, ready to sell their souls for a chance to get that close to power.”

A jolt shot through Setsuko's body. The surge of adrenaline hit so hard that the words left her mouth before she even had time to think. "Yes, I suck Manjiro’s dick on a daily basis and I love it," she said, her voice dripping with a cruel, mocking pride. "And I love it as much as he loves it. But you know what, Haruchiyo ? I think you’re a bit jealous." Her tone dropped lower, becoming a soft, venomous purr. "I think you’d be dying to be on your knees for him, to be treated like a whore by him. Or maybe you’d prefer being his good boy ?” She lifted her chin, staring right through his blown-out, furious eyes. “You know, sometimes I look at you, and then I look at myself, and I wonder which one of us is Mikey’s bitch."

Sanzu’s jaw tightened, the scars on his mouth twitching with a sudden, violent urge. For a second, she saw his hand twitch toward his jacket. But the shadow of Manjiro’s authority was too heavy, even here. So, instead of pulling out the gun he'd clearly wanted to pull out, Sanzu simply smiled at her. It was that particular smile of his, wide, delighted, and just deranged enough to be genuinely unsettling. “I can't wait to see the day he gets rid of you and your bastard kid. I’ll be the one waiting for you. You’re a dead woman walking. ”

A few days ago, she would have pushed back immediately. She would have laughed at Sanzu and told him that unlike him, she had nothing to fear from Manjiro. The words would have come easily. Now they stuck somewhere in her throat, impossible to say with the same conviction. 

Setsuko wanted to throw herself at him, to finish what Mikey had started many years ago and tear his fucking ugly face apart with her bare hands. She wanted to call Manjiro and tell him exactly what his guard dog had said. That he'd called her a cock-sucker, as if he didn't dream about Manjiro's dick every night. He had threatened her. She could already picture herself calling him, screaming at him to kill Haruchiyo, to put a fucking bullet in his head and finally put everyone out of their misery. A furious knot tightened in her chest. She wanted to scream her rage at these men who never seemed to stop disrespecting her, talking down to her, making her feel small and dirty. 

Of course, she did none of it. Instead, she looked at him with practiced indifference. “Funny thing is,” she said, “for all that anger, you still can't touch me.” Her smile was razor-thin. “You're a fucking nobody, Sanzu, and I’m not afraid of you. Remember I slept with and next to the invincible Mikey. No one can scare me the way he does."

Haruchiyo spat his cigarette butt onto the damp grass, stepping back with a tight, malicious grin. “Enjoy your visiting hours, Haitani,” he said, turning his back on her as he walked back toward his car. “But don't forget to look behind you when you leave. I’ll be right there.”

She barely glanced at him over her shoulder. She kept her eyes on Ran with an expression of regret. “I guess I'm sorry about that, too.”

The silence after the storm was deafening. Manjiro had retreated to the shadows of the suite, his movements fluid and quiet. Setsuko didn't look at him, couldn't. Her body was still humming, thighs trembling, and that sharp sting on her skin felt like a brand.

She picked up the phone. 3 missed calls. She didn't say a word as she grabbed a robe and stepped out onto the terrace. The Tokyo night air hit her like a slap. She slid the glass door shut behind her, creating a fragile barrier between the man in the bed and the man on the line.

She took a breath, trying to steady her voice, and hit redial.

He picked up on the second ring. "Hi muffin, I’ve been trying to reach you for twenty minutes." Ran’s voice was warm, it sounded like home, the home she was currently betraying.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, leaning against the cold metal railing. Setsuko looked out at the city, the wind whipping a few strands of hair across her face. "I was taking a bath. I didn't hear the phone."

"In the bath for that long ? You must be a prune by now," he teased, his low chuckle vibrating in her ear. "I just wanted to say goodnight. It’s freezing up here. I wish you were in this bed to keep me warm."

"I wish I was too," she not-so-lied. The words felt like ash in her mouth.

As she spoke, Setsuko felt Manjiro’s presence behind the glass. She didn't turn around, but she knew he was there, half-dressed, watching her lie to her husband with a cold, detached fascination.

"You’re okay ? you seem off," Ran asked.

"Yeah, just tired," she said, her hand instinctively drifting down to cover the spot on her thigh where Manjiro had bitten. Her skin was still sensitive, the heat of his mouth lingering there. "How was the meeting ?"

"Boring. Takeomi made a scene because the guys were late. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow," Ran answered, his voice dropping an octave, becoming more intimate. "I miss you."

She turned to check if Manjiro was indeed observing her. He was. "I miss you too," she murmured, her eyes locked on Manjiro’s. His gaze didn’t leave her. It was a silent challenge, he was letting her play the part of the faithful wife, letting her say the words, like he had not pulled out the moans she had tried to swallow minutes ago. "You should go to sleep, honey," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "I'll see you when you get back."

"Yeah, I'm exhausted. I'll call you tomorrow. I love you."

And, unwilling to let Manjiro see her say it, she turned away from him before saying "I love you" to her husband. She did. She loved him and still, against every instinct she respected in herself, her attention had already gone elsewhere.

Setsuko hung up and stayed there for a long moment, the phone heavy in her hand. Finally, she turned around and slid the door open.

She walked past Manjiro, the shame finally beginning to settle in her gut. "Go ahead, you have every right to judge me."

He reached out as she passed, his hand catching her arm, pulling her just close enough so she could smell the scent of soap, a slightly sweet hint of perspiration, and the lingering fragrance of their intimate time together. From the fruit bowl she had asked for earlier, he picked up a slice of mango, and pushed it gently into her mouth. "Not my style."

He watched her silently as she ate the fruit, then brought his fingers to his mouth to lick away the sticky juice. After a moment, he seemed to notice the annoyance on her face. “What’s with that face ?”

Setsuko sighed and glanced away. “Nothing. I’m fine.” She paused briefly. “It’s just... I don’t like talking to him when I’m with you.”

“You want me,” he went on. “You come clean. You think of him, you stay home.” A pause. “If you’re here,” he added softly, “then you’re here with me. All of you.” The silence stretched. “Choose,” he said. Not a threat. A rule.

Setsuko stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She removed her shoes automatically, her mind still somewhere between the cemetery and the long drive home, too exhausted to bother with the lights. Only as she lifted her head did she notice the silhouette waiting in the darkness of her living room. 

Sitting in her Kenmochi Isamu rattan chair as if he owned the very air she breathed, Manjiro had his eyes fixed on her, as steady and unyielding as the barrel of the gun he was leveling at her. Something in his posture, the quiet, the stillness, the terrible patience, made her stomach drop. Her breath fractured in her chest.

"What are you doing here ?" she whispered, her voice already breaking, useless and thin. Setsuko struggled to breathe, instinctively pressing a hand to her stomach, a gesture Manjiro didn't miss. "You’re scaring me."

Manjiro looked so relaxed it was disturbing. "Yeah, I know." He rose with a disturbing grace. He didn't rush. Every movement was calculated, precise, like a predator stalking its prey without a sound. 

He stood up, advancing toward her slowly without ever breaking eye contact. He was no longer aiming at her, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the weapon. When he reached her, he placed his free hand on her waist, guiding her toward the large sofa until her knees gave out and they were sitting face-to-face. She didn't try to escape his grip or even protest. Instead, all she could do was focus on breathing through the panic and trying to understand what exactly was happening. 

He held her now with both hands, and all Setsuko could feel was the cold metal of the gun pressed against her ribs through the thin fabric of her blouse. She was terrified, her heart hammered so violently she was certain he could hear it. "I love you," she whispered, again and again, unable to form a coherent sentence, desperate to say anything to save her life and her daughter’s, or at least buy a few more seconds. The words came out strangled, tumbling over each other.

He didn't answer. Setsuko was trembling so hard she could have sworn the sofa was vibrating against the floor. Without rushing, he tilted the gun over his open hand. The cartridges slid out of the cylinder one by one, landing in his palm with a dull, metallic thud. He chose only one. She whimpered, a broken, animal sound she didn't recognize as her own. “Manjiro, please,” she whispered. “I’m begging you, stop this.” 

He slid the single bullet into an empty chamber with a gentleness that felt obscene. It engaged with a sharp, dry click. Her vision blurred, her body twisting as if trying to escape its own skin. Then, with a flick of his thumb, he sent the cylinder spinning freely. He watched it slow down before snapping it shut with a flick of his wrist. The clean, violent crack echoed through the room.

Tears streamed hot and constant down her face, blurring everything into light and shadow. Her lungs burned with the effort to breathe. Her throat tasted like metal and salt.

Manjiro pointed the revolver at her forehead, and a sob tore through her throat. “You think I’m sadistic but believe me, you have no idea what this is doing to me.” A cry that tore itself out of her, shaking sobs, her chest convulsing, hands trembling so violently she dug her nails into her own skin to stay conscious.

She was going to die. She and her baby were going to disappear by the hand of the man she loved. He pressed the gun a bit more firmly against her forehead. "Lay down," he whispered. Those words, spoken in that terrifyingly soft voice she had heard a thousand times before, made her shiver for a very different reason today.

She obeyed slowly, her eyes desperately closed, until the back of her head rested against the sofa cushion. "Please, please Manjiro, I’ll do anything, please..." Her voice dissolved into quiet, broken gasps. “Wait, listen, the baby… she’s yours !” The words escaped her before she could think about them. They burst out between two sobs, desperate and ugly, thrown at him with all the blind panic of someone drowning.

For a second, Manjiro didn't move. Setsuko stared at him through blurred vision, her chest heaving violently. Maybe it had worked, maybe she had finally found the one thing capable of reaching him. Slowly, he lowered the revolver. Relief hit her so hard it almost made her dizzy. She let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. 

Then, the cold metal slammed back against her forehead. Setsuko gasped. The pressure wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to make her understand exactly how little control she had over what happened next.

"You wanna play that game ?" he asked quietly. He leaned closer, close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin. "You wanna lie to me ?" he asked, "right now ? Let's do it properly, then." 

The lie had lasted less than five seconds. "I..." Her voice cracked.

The muzzle pressed slightly harder against her forehead. "You really wanna find out what happens if you keep doing that ?"

Setsuko's breath hitched violently. "I'm sorry." The words came out broken and pathetic. "I'm so sorry." Manjiro didn't move, didn't blink, didn't lower the gun. Tears streamed down her face unchecked now, hot and endless. "Please..." Her voice shook so badly she could barely recognize it. "Please don't do this, please, Manjiro." Her hands trembled as she reached for his wrist. Just to touch him, to remind herself he was still alive. "I'm sorry." The words dissolved into another sob. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." And she didn't even know what she was apologizing for anymore. "Please, forgive me." Her fingers tightened helplessly around his sleeve.

When she finally dared to open her eyes, all she saw was the terrifying, expressionless, infinite abyss of his black gaze. Manjiro pulled the revolver away from her and pressed the muzzle against his own temple. "Is this what you want, then ? For me to finally go silent ? Is that the freedom you're looking for ?" The room warped around her, the walls bending inward, his silhouette stretching into something monstrous. “That’s what you would’ve wanted, isn’t it ? For me to die instead of him.”

“No, no, I swear, no, please don’t !”

He only breathed, slow, controlled, terrifyingly calm. The metal clicked softly as he pulled back the hammer. His finger brushed the trigger.

Click.

A small sound, insignificant. But it tore her apart. Her mind split open with panic. Her throat was too tight. Her chest convulsed under his. She screamed, already haunted by the echo of that empty click, looping inside her skull. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s…

But he wasn’t. He was still above her. Still breathing.

Her whole body jerked under him, a violent spasm she couldn’t control. Her breath tore out of her lungs in a ragged, choking sob. She didn’t even know she was screaming until her throat burned.

He raised the gun again, the barrel grazing his hairline.

“Don’t… don’t do that again, Mikey no… Please, please…” She couldn’t breathe. She knew with absolute certainty that if he pulled the trigger now, his body would collapse onto hers, lifeless, heavy, final. His blood was going to be on her skin, his last breath spilling into her neck, and she would be forced to spit out fragments of his sick brain. She wanted to scream, to vomit, to call for help. Ran... why wasn't Ran there to save her ?

The cold click of the cylinder turning above her head made her scream without sound.

Click.

Another empty chamber. Another sound that felt like a gunshot to her chest.

Her chest convulsed around another sob. She screamed his name, not loud, not dramatic, just a strangled sound ripped out of pure survival. And then, through her panic, through the ringing in her ears, through the devastation hollowing her out, she heard herself say it.  “Stop, please.” She sobbed so hard she nearly choked on it. "I chose you, you won."

He looked at her and, for the first time, seemed like himself again. His eyes moved slowly around the room before returning to her. For a brief moment, he appeared genuinely disoriented, as though he had only just become aware of his surroundings and the position they were in, like he wasn't the one who had brought them there in the first place. Something in him cracked. He exhaled, a sound almost silent, almost human.

Then he let himself fall forward slowly. His forehead met her chest not with violence, but with a heavy, bewildered surrender.

He didn’t speak, didn’t apologize or move to comfort her. He just stayed there, head resting against her sternum, breathing against the hollow where her sobs still trembled.

Then, he began to to retreat, reluctant, crawling away from her inch by inch. He just backed away until the space between them became real again, until he was sitting, breath uneven, hands shaking almost imperceptibly.

She folded in on herself, curled into a fetal position, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, shaking, sobbing hard, her body ached so violently from being tensed to the point of breaking that she thought she might faint.

His hand moved toward her ankle, slow, careful, almost gentle. She recoiled like he’d pressed a flame to her skin. “Don’t touch me !”

He pulled his hand back instantly. “Setsuko,” he said, but she flinched again, the tiniest tremor, and it shut him down instantly.

He stood up quietly, as if any sudden movement would break something beyond repair. The couch creaked and Setsuko made a small, wounded sound at the shift of weight. He bent, picked up the revolver and then she heard him walk to the door and leave her home. 

Setsuko lay stretched along the length of the sofa, one leg slightly bent to make room for him, while Manjiro was half on top of her, sprawled on his stomach with his head resting low against her chest. One of her arms rested loosely across his back, more from comfort than intention, while her other hand moved absently through his hair. One of his hands rested loosely at her side, shifting every now and then in small, absent movements against the fabric of her shirt. She would never stop being amazed that Manjiro could be so incredibly clingy and obsessive sometimes, yet also incredibly avoidant and elusive.

He hadn’t said much since he’d joined her in the suite. He was tired. More than usual. They had ordered food out of habit more than hunger, barely touching it, the silence stretching without either of them trying to fix it, and at some point he had just let himself sink onto her, head resting against her breasts like the effort of holding himself upright had become optional. Setsuko couldn’t help thinking he hadn’t taken his benzodiazepines, or whatever he usually used to keep himself together. 

For a while, neither of them said much. She played absently with the soft ends of his hair, then let her nails drift lightly beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing idle, shallow lines against the warm skin of his back, and he stayed still beneath her touch.

After a long silence, she murmured, “You know, no one really knows what happened,” she shifted slightly beneath him, adjusting her shoulders against the cushions as his head pressed more fully into her chest, “after you dissolved Toman,” she said. “Before Bonten. Nobody knows where you were or what you were doing.”

Manjiro answered without any real inflection, voice slightly muffled, dulled by the fabric of her shirt and the fact that he hadn’t even lifted his head from where it rested against her. “I know.” 

That made her smile faintly. “Obviously.” Her fingers returned to his hair more slowly this time. As they moved, they caught for a brief second on uneven skin beneath, the faint ridges of old scars she hadn’t noticed before. She didn’t comment. Her hand just softened slightly after that. “I want to know.”

Still, he didn’t answer right away. When he finally did, his voice was low and flat in the way it always was when he said something just to annoy her on purpose. “You’re not the only one.”

She tipped her chin down slightly to look at him, though all she could really see was the top of his head. “Did I not earn special treatment ?”

“No.” The answer came too fast and he made no attempt to defend himself.

She huffed, a little offended, and sank into the cushions. “Fine. Keep your secrets, then.”

He let the silence stretch, long enough to be irritating. Then, just as she was about to speak again, he said, “I went to Manila.” Setsuko went still. Her hand, which had been idly scratching just beneath his shirt, stilled flat against the warmth of his back. He kept his eyes on the sofa's backrest. “I stayed there for a while.”

“With who ?”

“With people who knew more than I did.”

That was such a Manjiro answer that Setsuko almost rolled her eyes. “What people ?”

This time, he actually answered. “The mafia.”

The word settled between them more quietly than it should have. Setsuko felt something shift in her chest, not shock exactly, she had always known what he was capable of, but something close to vertigo all the same. She looked down at him more carefully now. “And they just… took you in ?”

He gave the smallest shake of his head. “No. I made myself useful.”

Setsuko was quiet for a second, then asked, “What does that mean ?”

Manjiro didn’t answer immediately, and she could feel the change in him before she heard it. Just a subtle withdrawal inward, like he was stepping into a room in his own mind he didn’t visit often. “It means I did what they asked,” he said at last. “I learned fast. I didn’t complain. I didn’t hesitate.” His tone never changed and that, more than anything, made it worse.

Setsuko swallowed. “What kind of things ?”

He was quiet for a moment. “The kind that made them trust me.” Every now and then, the back of his foot knocked lightly against the sofa in an absent, irregular rhythm. 

“Like an initiation ?”

“Something like that,” he said. “Only no one had to force me into it.”

That was enough to make her chest tighten a little. She didn’t press right away. Instead, she let her hand move again, slower now, a quiet anchor more than a distraction. Manjiro didn’t acknowledge it, but he didn’t pull away either. 

“How old were you ?”

He seemed to think about it. “Don’t remember. Maybe somewhere between seventeen and nineteen.”

Too young, far too young for whatever version of him had ended up in Manila trying to learn from monsters because he’d decided that was the only path left. 

Her hand softened in his hair without her meaning it to, and after a second she bent her head just enough to press a brief, absent kiss to the crown of his head. “And that was enough ?” she asked after a while. “Just proving you could handle it ?”

“No,” then, with the same unnerving calm, “they wanted loyalty too.”

Setsuko frowned slightly. “How do you prove that ?”

Manjiro didn’t answer right away. For a second, the only thing she could hear was the quiet rhythm of his breathing against her. “By not stopping once you start,” he said at last. “You do what they ask. You don’t flinch. You don’t decide which parts you can live with and which parts you can’t. You do it until they stop watching you like they’re waiting for you to crack.”

Setsuko was quiet for a moment, her fingers moving more slowly through his hair now, less absent-minded than before. “And that was enough ?”

“For most of them, yes. For the rest, I learned what they wanted before they had to say it.” That sounded harmless on paper, but Setsuko knew it absolutely wasn’t. “I watched how they spoke to each other. Who got listened to, who didn’t. What they respected. What they were afraid of. What made them feel insulted.” His voice stayed low and matter-of-fact, stripped of any self-importance. “You can learn a lot if you shut up long enough.”

She let that sit for a second, adjusting one of her legs beneath his weight when the position started to pull uncomfortably at her hip. “So you were just there,” she murmured after a while. “Doing whatever they asked.”

“Mm.”

“What did you even do when you weren’t working for them ?”

This time, something quieter passed through his face. Not softness exactly. Just a subtle shift, as though the answer belonged to a different part of the story. “There was a girl.” The words landed more softly than she expected, but not softly enough. She didn’t stop touching him. She did, however, become very aware of her own hand in his hair. “She was the sister of one of the men above me. She liked to go out. Parties. People. Noise. She took a lot of shit.”

“Drugs ?”

“Yes.” He stayed quiet for a second. “She liked trying things. So I did too.” Setsuko was quiet. Majiro had a way to make self-destruction sound very casual. She almost said something, then thought better of it. It would have been a little rich coming from her, considering she’d had her own brief affair with cocaine when she was younger. If she cared to look too closely, there was probably something unflattering to be said about her too. 

“Wait. Is that why you know so much about drugs ?”

“That’s exactly why. She had tattoos, like, everywhere,” he added after a second. “And she changed her hair color often.”

That was so far removed from anything she associated with him that it almost made her smile. With a dryness that was just a little too deliberate, she couldn't help but say, “that is… deeply not my aesthetic.” Being Setsuko, comparing herself to that stranger had been inevitable. She genuinely tried not to feel jealous of some reckless girl from years ago  but there was still a slightly twisted part of her that couldn’t help wanting to be the only woman he had ever given his attention to.

Manjiro stayed still. “I know,” he said. “She was fun and easy to be around. That was all that mattered.”

Setsuko hummed softly, not because she found that particularly convincing, but because she knew exactly what kind of girl he meant now. Loud, reckless, half-destructive and probably beautiful in a way that looked accidental. The kind of person who could make a city like Manila feel less lonely if you were eighteen and too numb to call it that. “Did that help you with them ?”

“No.” That answer came immediately. “She had nothing to do with any of it. I was with her because I wanted to be and because I could.”

That sat heavier than it should have. Setsuko looked away for a second, then back down at him again. He had been with her because he had wanted to. Asshole. “Were you in love with her ?”

This time, he was quiet long enough that she almost wished she hadn’t asked. “No, we weren't actually dating. We just drifted through the city, drinking, getting high, and fucking. She was teaching me Filipino. Love was off the table.” he said eventually. 

After a moment, because now she needed the answer whether she liked it or not, she asked, “So what was she, exactly ?”

“She was the first girl I touched,” he answered after a moment, his tone unchanged. “The first who touched me.”

Setsuko didn’t speak right away. For some reason, that detail felt far more intimate than if he’d phrased it more crudely. “Was she in love with you ?” Too many questions came at once. Had he been gentle with her or rough ? Had he looked at her with the same intensity he looked at Setsuko ? Did that girl shiver as much as she did whenever his lips lingered against her neck ? Did he nibble at her hipbone the way he sometimes did with her ? Was she thinner than her ? Manjiro interrupted her thoughts before they could spiral any further.

“No.” He lifted his head slightly then, just enough to angle a look up at her as he added with a raised eyebrow, “you’re getting strangely invested.”

“I’m curious, Manjiro,” she said lightly. “It’s not every day you tell me about your past.”

“Mm.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Of course,” he muttered as he let his head drop back down against her breasts, the words coming out more muffled this time before he resettled more comfortably against her.

Setsuko gave the back of his shoulder a light, offended tap for that. She forced herself to refocus the conversation. There was no way she was going to make herself sick over something that had happened years ago. Manjiro loved her. He had told her so, and she believed him.

“And her brother trusted you because of her ?”

“Eventually.” He went quiet for a second, then added, “Not just him. The man above him liked me.”

That phrasing alone made her stomach turn a little. “The boss ?”

“Yes.”

She felt a strange little chill at that. “And you wanted him to bring you into… what, exactly ?”

“Everything.” He said it so simply that she almost hated him for it. “At the end of my… initiation, he told me that if I ever built something of my own, I’d owe him a place in it.”

Setsuko’s fingers stopped entirely now. She looked down at him, frowning more openly. “So what happened ?”

Manjiro was quiet for just long enough to make the room feel slightly colder. Then he said, in the same voice he’d used for everything else, “I put a bullet in his head.” Setsuko stared at him, knowing he could probably feel her heartbeat speeding up. How little it seemed to cost him to say it. He didn’t move. Didn’t look up at her this time. “He thought he’d have a say in Bonten. I made him believe that would be what would happen, but it was never my intention.” Manjiro straightened up slightly then, just enough for his gaze to find hers properly. For the first time since he’d started talking, there was something darker in it. “I don’t share,” he said.

Setsuko should have been disturbed, probably. She was, a little. But underneath that was something worse, something she didn’t want to examine too closely, the uncomfortable awareness that this, too, was intimacy with him. Not softness. Not sweetness.  Quieter now, she murmured, “that’s terrible.”

Manjiro’s expression didn’t change, but he closed his eyes again and settled more comfortably against her, as if that qualified as a conversation ending naturally. “You wanted to know,” he said.

Slowly, she slid her hand out from beneath his shirt and let it travel up just behind his ear before her thumb drifted lower, brushing once over the tattoo at the nape of his neck, lingering there without thinking. “I did.”

And now she wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that he had told her, or the fact that some part of her was already wondering what else he had never said out loud.

“No more questions now. I need to sleep.”

Setsuko smiled softly. Manjiro could shift so abruptly from something frightening to something almost deceptively young. “Here ? Like this ?”

“Here,” he muttered, eyes half-shut. “Like this.”

When Setsuko woke up, the room was still dark. For one disoriented second, she thought she had slept through the night entirely, but then she noticed the thin gray light leaking around the curtains and realized it was already afternoon. She stayed exactly where she was, curled on her side beneath the blankets, staring blankly at the wall across from her. The memory of Rindou’s face came back slowly. Then his voice. Then the look in his eyes when he realized the truth. Setsuko shut her eyes immediately.

Beside her, Manjiro shifted slightly. She felt him before she heard him, the mattress dipping faintly beneath his weight. “You’re awake,” he said eventually. 

Setsuko made a small noise that wasn’t quite an answer.

The silence stretched again after that. Neither of them moved. Outside, rain tapped against the windows. 

At some point, Manjiro reached for his phone on the nightstand. She heard the vibration coming in one after another. He looked at the screen for maybe two seconds before locking it again and tossing it aside. “You should eat something.”

Setsuko’s throat tightened instantly. The idea of food felt grotesque and impossible. “I can’t.”

Manjiro didn’t argue, didn’t tell her she had to. For a moment she thought he was going to get up instead, but the mattress shifted again and suddenly warmth settled behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him without him fully touching her. One of his hands came to rest lightly against her forearm.

Setsuko pressed her mouth hard against the sleeve of the sweatshirt she was wearing as the first sob finally forced its way out of her chest. Small at first and humiliatingly weak. “I’m so tired,” she whispered, “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to survive anymore.” 

Then another sob. Her shoulders started shaking violently beneath the blankets. She struggled to breathe. She had no desire to do anything, didn’t know what to do, didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to stay awake. She didn’t want to be alone, and she didn’t want to see anyone. She felt as if she were living on borrowed time.

The hand on her arm tightened slightly, thumb brushing once against her skin in a slow, absent movement. “You’re thinking too much,” he murmured quietly.

This was exactly how it always happened : he hurt her, the world collapsed, and then somehow he became the only place left where she could survive it.

Setsuko cried harder, muffling the sound against the fabric while the bed dipped slightly behind her as Manjiro lowered himself back against the pillows without letting go of her arm.

And the worst part, the truly unbearable part, was that she silently begged him never to let her go.

Eventually, after hours of silence and crying herself into exhaustion beneath the blankets, she had stopped saying no every time he quietly asked her to come sit in the living room instead.

The apartment was dim when she finally curled up at one end of the couch, still wrapped in the oversized sweatshirt she had slept in, her hair tangled, her face swollen from crying. Manjiro sat beside her without crowding her, one arm stretched lazily across the back of the sofa while his phone rested face down on his thigh.

Setsuko stared blankly at the cup of tea cooling between her hands. 

“You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

“I said I’m not hungry.” Her tone came out sharper than she intended. A sob escaped her before she could stop it and suddenly she was crying again, covering her eyes with both hands like she was ashamed of how easily she kept falling apart.

Manjiro watched her for a second before finally reaching over. His hand settled instead at the back of her neck, fingers sliding slowly into her hair, grounding.

Setsuko folded toward him almost immediately, forehead pressing against his shoulder while her breathing shook violently. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against the fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t answer. His hand just kept moving slowly through her hair while the apartment darkened around them by degrees, afternoon dissolving into evening without either of them really noticing. At some point he managed to make her drink a little water. Later, food arrived, neither of them really touched, the containers abandoned half-open on the table while muted television light flickered silently across the room. The silence between them changed shape throughout the day, sometimes heavy, sometimes almost peaceful, exhaustion slowly dulling the sharpest edges of the disaster.

By the time rain started again outside, Setsuko was curled beneath a blanket with her head resting heavily against Manjiro’s lap, her body folded into itself along the couch while he sat beside her in silence, one hand moving absently through her hair. 

At some point, he dragged a hand back through his own hair and exhaled quietly. “They’re getting long.”

Setsuko glanced at him without much interest. “Since when do you give a shit about your appearance ?” The bitterness slipped out automatically.

Manjiro ignored it completely. “Will you cut it ?”

Setsuko frowned immediately. “I’m not a hairdresser.”

“I know.”

“If I fuck it up, that’s your problem.”

A faint shrug. “Fine.”

She stared at him for another second, almost suspicious of how normal the conversation felt. “…okay.”

Without another word, Manjiro stood up and disappeared down the hallway. She heard drawers opening, cabinets shutting, things moving around. A minute later he came back carrying electric clippers, a pair of scissors, and a towel slung over one shoulder.

The sight of it almost made something in her chest ache. It was so stupidly domestic, so painfully ordinary.

Manjiro dropped everything before sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Setsuko sighed softly through her nose and pushed the blanket away before sliding down behind him and reached automatically for his hair.

He handed her a hair tie without turning around. Setsuko gathered the silver strands together slowly, twisting them into a ridiculous little palm tree at the top of his head before securing it there. She swallowed hard. “You look stupid,” she muttered.

“Yeah ?”

“Like a depressed pineapple.”

A soft breath left him. The sound settled somewhere warm and painful inside her chest. Manjiro switched the clippers on then, the sudden buzzing noise filling the room as he adjusted the guard before handing them to her.

For a while, neither of them spoke. There was only the vibration of the clippers beneath her fingers, almost-white strands falling slowly onto the towel around his shoulders, the steady warmth of his body sitting between her legs.

And little by little, without her fully noticing when it started happening, the pressure inside her chest loosened. Not gone, but quieter. Because cutting his hair required attention and precision. Her hands stopped trembling after a while because they had something concrete to do besides hold grief.

When she finally switched the clippers off, the sudden silence felt soft instead of oppressive. She released the rest of his hair from the tie, strands falling loose again around his face.

Manjiro stayed still while she leaned closer, carefully trimming the uneven pieces around his jaw. “You’re concentrating really hard,” he observed quietly.

“I don’t want you blaming me if you end up ugly.”

“Mm.” His voice sounded lower now without the buzzing filling the room. After a while, he spoke again. “Rindou called me twenty-two times today.”

Her hands paused for half a second. “…what did you do ?”

“I turned my phone off.”

That almost made her laugh. Rindou had never been the kind of person who talked when he was hurt. He broke things. He drank. He vanished for days. But calling over and over again like that meant something worse. Desperation, rage rotting into panic. 

For one terrible second, all she could picture was him alone somewhere in the city, chain-drinking and smoking himself sick while replaying the previous night over and over in his head. And despite everything, guilt flooded her so violently it almost made her cry again. The scissors resumed their slow movement, but more carefully now. “Can you promise me something ?”

Manjiro’s eyes lifted slightly, watching her reflection vaguely in the dark television screen across the room. “Depends.”

Setsuko swallowed once before speaking. “If Rin comes for you, don’t hurt him.”

Silence. The scissors stopped moving entirely this time. Manjiro stayed facing forward for a few seconds before speaking. “You really think I don’t know he put his hands on you ?”

Setsuko’s throat tightened instantly. “That’s between me and him.” She forced herself to continue anyway, fingers tightening slightly around the scissors resting against his shoulder. “Please,” she said quietly. “Just promise me.”

Manjiro finally tilted his head back enough to look up at her properly. He didn’t like this, she could feel it immediately and for a second she genuinely thought he might refuse. A long breath left him quietly through his nose. “…fine.” The answer came flatly, reluctantly.

Setsuko stayed still behind him. “That’s not a promise,” she insisted.

“You always do this,” he muttered tiredly, “you always make me say things out loud.”

She leaned forward until her forehead rested against his shoulder, closing her eyes for a second. “Manjiro, please.”

Another silence. Then finally, “I won’t hurt him.” The words sounded restrained, almost dragged out of him against his will.

She lowered her gaze immediately after, blinking hard once before returning to his hair like concentrating on the uneven strands in front of her suddenly mattered very much.

When she finally finished, Setsuko leaned back slightly to look at her work. “There,” she murmured softly. “Done.”

Manjiro ran a hand through the shorter strands, testing the weight of them before tilting his head slightly. “Not bad,” he decided.

Setsuko rolled her eyes faintly. “High praise.”

His hand closed lightly around her wrist before she could pull it away completely. Manjiro lowered his head just enough to press a kiss against the inside of her wrist.

Setsuko smiled sadly at him then reached for her phone while he stayed seated on the floor between her legs. “Koko wants to get drinks tomorrow,” she said after a moment of scrolling.

“Are you planning to go ?”

“I think so, if I feel better.”

A short silence followed. “What are you gonna talk about ?”

Setsuko blinked once, already hearing the unpleasant shift in his tone. “I don’t know, Manjiro,” she replied, “I haven’t written the script for my future conversation yet.” Her eyes lifted toward him with deliberate false innocence. “Why ? Are there specific topics I should avoid ?”

His expression didn’t change. “You’re gonna talk about us.”

A sharp laugh escaped her immediately. “Oh, sorry,” she snapped, “I didn’t realize the subject was confidential, you know, considering you already blew up my entire fucking life by announcing it to your little subordinates.”

A small muscle shifted in his jaw. “First of all,” he said quietly, “change your tone.” The calmness of it only made her angrier. His eyes stayed on hers. “Second, you still didn’t answer.”

“First of all,” she shot back immediately, “fuck off.” She didn’t lower her eyes. “Second, it’s none of your business what I talk about with Koko !”

His dark eyes burned into her. “It becomes my business when you start needing another man to deal with me.”

The sentence hit exactly where it was supposed to. Setsuko immediately moved away from him. “Oh my God,” she laughed bitterly. “You cannot possibly be jealous of Hajime.”

“I’m not jealous. I don’t like him getting involved. If you wanna talk, then talk to me.”

And somehow that pissed her off even more because there was indeed no jealousy in his voice. No emotion at all. Just that horrible detached tone he slipped into whenever he wanted her to feel guilty without openly accusing her of anything. “Oh, right, I forgot I’m not allowed to have a friend !”

Manjiro stood up slowly from the floor and Setsuko immediately hated that she had to tilt her head back slightly to keep eye contact with him. “You think Kokonoi knows you better than I do ?” 

“No, I think Hajime actually knows how to speak to people without turning everything into some fucked-up psychological power game !” Setsuko stared at him, the romantic illusion of his protection from today suddenly dissolving into the harsh reality of who he actually was. He wasn't just keeping her safe, he was tightening the perimeter of her cage. “You spend the entire fucking day acting caring and gentle and then the second another person tries to help me, you start this shit again ! You know what ?” she continued bitterly. “I was actually gonna tell Koko that despite your insane fucking temper, I was gonna tell him I had good reasons to love you, but when you get like this…” She stopped herself abruptly. “Fuck this” she said, grabbing the blanket beside her roughly. “I genuinely cannot do this today. I'm tired and your face is giving me a headache.”

Manjiro watched her stand up. “Stay here.”

“No.” Her voice cracked violently. She hated that, and hated him seeing it. “I can’t try not to drown just for you to start acting like this because someone else was nice to me for five fucking minutes.”

Setsuko turned away before he could say anything else and walked back toward the bedroom with fast, uneven steps.

She slammed the bedroom door behind her hard enough to make the wooden frame shudder in the quiet apartment. She let herself slide down onto the mattress, curling onto her side almost immediately and burying her face in her crossed arms. Her throat ached from the sob she had managed to swallow right before walking out. 

Twenty, maybe thirty minutes passed, measured only by the sound of the rain heavy against the glass. Then, the bedroom door clicked open.

Setsuko didn't move. She didn't want him to see her face, didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had completely shattered the fragile calm she had fought for all afternoon. She forced her breathing to slow down, relaxing her shoulders with deliberate, agonizing effort. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep, letting him believe it. She felt the edge of the mattress give way as Manjiro sat down beside her. He didn't pull her into his arms, and he didn't continue the argument. 

Her body still hummed from him, from the violence and the wanting. But her mind drifted elsewhere, to a memory of warmth, laughter, the faint scent of Ran’s cologne. And guilt came crashing back, familiar, suffocating.

She wished she could hate Manjiro, it would be easier. But she didn’t. And that, that was the real tragedy.

Mikey woke up feeling like he had only closed his eyes a few minutes ago to the sound of cupboard doors closing somewhere in the kitchen. For a few seconds he stayed still beneath the blankets, staring vaguely at the gray ceiling while his brain caught up slowly. 

He got out of bed eventually and padded into the kitchen, shirtless and half-asleep, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his hair slightly messy from the pillows. 

Setsuko was standing barefoot in front of the open pantry, clutching an oversized bag of kit-kat like she had been caught stealing.

For one strange second he just watched her. Because this was not normal. Setsuko usually ate like someone permanently trying to repair herself. Healthy food, expensive fruit, protein bowls. She read ingredients. Avoided sugar. Controlled portions without realizing she was doing it.

And now she was standing in his kitchen at eight in the morning aggressively eating super-chemical and sugary snacks straight out of the bag with swollen eyes and tangled hair.

The second she noticed him watching, embarrassment flashed visibly across her face. “I was hungry,” she muttered immediately.

Mikey leaned silently against the doorway. “I can see that.”

She glared at him in reflex and shoved another kit-kat into her mouth almost defensively.

Despite himself, something in his chest loosened slightly at the sight, because for once, she was eating without thinking about it. He opened the refrigerator quietly, grabbed a bottle of water, and held it out toward her.

Setsuko stared at it for half a second before taking it. “Thanks.” The silence after that felt awkward in a strangely peaceful way. Finally she looked away first. “I have an appointment today.”

“I know.”

She nodded slightly, still focused on the bag in her hands instead of him. “I need to stop by my apartment before. I left some paperwork there.”

Mikey watched her for a second. He understood immediately what she actually meant. Space. Air. A few hours away from him after yesterday. “I’ll drive you,” he said quietly.

That finally made her look up, the offer had clearly surprised her. “No,” she answered a little too quickly, “it’s okay, I don’t wanna bother you.”

His jaw tightened faintly at the wording. She could be so exhausting when she got like this. “You’re not bothering me.”

For a second she looked genuinely thrown by the answer before glancing away again. “I’ll be fine, really. You surely have things to do.” she murmured.

Manjiro stayed quiet for a moment before nodding once. “Fine.”

The fragile peace between them settled carefully back into place after that. Setsuko reached into the bag again before speaking. “I’ll probably come back to my place here after and sleep a little.” 

Manjiro stayed leaning against the doorway, eyes resting on her a second longer than necessary. “Okay.”

Another silence followed. Then, because apparently she was physically incapable of letting things end normally, “and tonight,” she added, trying very hard to sound unaffected, “if I’m allowed, of course, I’ll go see Koko.”

Manjiro looked at her flatly. Setsuko took another bite of cookie with deliberate innocence. He ignored the obvious attempt to restart the argument. “You’re allowed.”

Then she smiled sweetly at him in the most irritating way possible. “Oh, thank you, sir, how incredibly kind of you.” A calculated piece of defiance meant to remind him that even if he owned the roof over her head, he didn't own her tongue. 

So she still had enough energy left to test him after spending most of yesterday emotionally disintegrating in his apartment. Manjiro looked at her for a few seconds in silence with enough displeasure in his expression to make it very clear he didn’t appreciate the tone. “Save your sarcasm for Kokonoi.” 

“Fine,” she muttered coldly. She shoved another biscuit into her mouth almost aggressively before dropping the bag onto the counter harder than necessary. “I’m gonna take a shower. Those things are gross anyway.”

Manjiro watched her brush past him toward the hallway without another word.

He stayed alone in the kitchen listening to the water start running behind the wall, jaw tightening faintly despite himself. Because somehow, even after all these years, Setsuko still had the unbelievable ability to create an argument out of fucking nothing.

His eyes rested vaguely on the half-open bag of kit-kat she had abandoned on the counter. Then he picked up his phone and finally called Rindou back.

The line connected almost immediately. “Hello ?”

Mikey immediately knew he'd woken him up. His voice was rough with sleep, low and unfocused. “You done blowing up my phone ?”

A grunt came through the speaker. “Yeah, sorry about that. Was drunk.”

“I figured.”

The mattress creaked faintly through the speaker. Mikey heard sheets rustle and imagined Rindou finally sitting up, still half-asleep and hungover, realizing there was no point in pretending he could go back to sleep now. 

"You know, I’m trying to figure out which part pisses me off the most. Her ? You ? The fact that Ran's dead before I can punch him for being fucking blind ?" 

“Ran wasn’t blind, he saw what he wanted to see.”

“Listen, I just wanna understand something. I’d like to understand how the girl who was practically letting herself die from grief can also run straight into another man’s arms.”

The words settled heavily into the silence. Mikey’s expression didn’t move. He had spent most of yesterday listening to Setsuko cry herself sick and had watched her stare at walls for hours. Whatever explanation Rindou was looking for, he wasn't going to find it from him. “Maybe you should’ve asked her that instead of treating her like a whore,” he said calmly.

Rindou inhaled sharply through his nose. “Ran would’ve done worse if he’d found out.”

Mikey could picture it perfectly. Ran's rage, the inevitable violence that would've followed. None of that mattered now. “But your brother isn’t here anymore.” The sentence landed with surgical coldness. And before Rindou could answer, he continued. “And if you’re that desperate to talk to him, Sanzu would be happy to send you where he is.”

For the first time since the call started, Rindou didn't immediately fire back. Mikey heard nothing but his breathing. He should have understood the threat. Good. 

Unfortunately, his silence didn't last long. “For years, every time somebody crossed a line, or got greedy, or forgot where their loyalty belonged, you made an example out of them. You spent years lecturing us about loyalty more than anyone, and then, then you went and fucked your lieutenant's wife.”

“Be careful Haitani, don't forget that I don't owe you any kind of explanation. Neither does she, by the way. You're neither her husband nor her brother.”

“Is that a threat or a promise ?”

The bathroom door opened behind him. Mikey glanced over his shoulder to see Setsuko step into the hallway, a towel wrapped around her body. She walked past without acknowledging his presence, disappearing into his bedroom and quietly closing the door behind her.

His eyes lingered briefly on the closed door before crossing the apartment in silence. He stopped beside the living room window and looked out over the city below. The rain had started again sometime during her shower. Only then he lifted the phone back to his ear, lowering his voice slightly.

“I don’t have to make threats. People with brains figure it out on their own. But I’m gonna make an exception for you. Setsuko thinks I’m stupid enough to believe you didn’t touch her. She asked me to leave this alone, but If I ever find her the way I found her last night because of you again, we're gonna have a very different conversation.” 

He heard Rindou exhale slowly through his nose. A tired sound, the one of someone smart enough to recognize exactly where the line had been drawn. “Now go drown your hangover in coffee and get your shit together. You have work today.”

A heavy silence followed, thick with unsaid words and a pride that had been utterly broken. Through grit teeth, Rindou finally swallowed his anger. “Yeah. Understood,” he muttered, and the line went dead.

Outside the hotel bar, rain streaked lazily down the windows overlooking Roppongi, blurring the neon signs into colored smears. They were in the kind of place where no one ever raised their voice, except Koko, apparently.

“I get that you couldn’t ask anyone for advice,” he said, tone already sharp, “but what the fuck were you thinking ?”

Setsuko stared at the bottom of her glass, the ice melting too fast. “I don’t know. He was just… there. You know, with those dark eyes and…”

“Oh so you’re telling me,” Koko cut in, incredulous, “that you blew up your marriage and destabilized the most powerful criminal organization in Japan for Mikey’s dead-fish eyes ?”

Her jaw tightened. “Stop yelling at me ! You have no idea how hard it was to resist !”

“Oh, fuck you,” he muttered. His patience cracked like thin glass. “Being friends with you is like having a five-year-old friend with a drinking problem. You idiot. I’ve known him for over ten years, you think I don’t know the effect he has on people ?”

Setsuko almost smiled at that, just a flicker. The truth in his words stung more than the insult ever could. She took a sip of her sparkling water. “I don’t have a drinking problem, I’m pregnant.”

Kokonoi had just taken a sip of his gin tonic when something seemed to click in his head. His eyes widened slightly as the realization settled. “Wait,” he said, leaning forward. “Yeah. Let’s talk about that baby, Setsuko. Who’s the father ?” Setsuko grimaced. Part of her wanted to unload the weight she’d been carrying for months, but dragging Kokonoi into it meant painting a target squarely on his back. She took five seconds to think. Five seconds too long. “Please tell me you had the basic intelligence to use protection with Mikey,” Kokonoi said flatly.

Setsuko squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. “Well, yes, at the beginning...”

Kokonoi inhaled sharply, then held up a hand to stop her before she could continue. “You know what ? Actually, don’t.” He rubbed his forehead with visible regret. “I have absolutely no desire to hear about the disgusting things you two do in bed. I also do not want to know who got you pregnant. I would really like to keep the fragile peace of my soul intact.”

Setsuko rolled her eyes. “Contrary to what you seem to think, there’s nothing disgusting about what Manjiro and I do. It’s actually pretty gentle and…”

“I said no !” Kokonoi cut in immediately, raising both hands now like he was physically defending himself. “That’s my limit. I’m begging you. Not another word.”

Setsuko gave him a sad smile before turning serious again. “We’re having… problems right now. Actually, that’s probably the understatement of the century.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I figured. When you walked into the Chinese restaurant the other day, it was unsettling.” Setsuko lifted her eyes toward him. “You looked like a frightened animal on its way to the slaughterhouse.”

A tight knot formed in Setsuko’s throat. She looked back down at the table. “He decided to make it public on his own,” she said after a moment. Her voice had lost some of its earlier sharpness. “It was a punishment. He’s angry with me.”

“Why ?”

Setsuko stayed quiet for a moment. Now that Koko knew, she realized, for the first time in months, that she actually had someone she could talk to. Though Koko was probably the worst possible person for comfort. He judged too easily and had very little respect for kindness. “Because he didn’t know I was pregnant,” she said finally. “I never told him.”

Koko looked at her for a second. “Again,” he said, “why?”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, exhaustion settling visibly into her posture. “Because I was afraid of how he’d react,” she admitted quietly. “Because somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that having a child would be the end of whatever this is between us.” A small, bitter smile crossed her face. “And maybe I didn’t really want it to end.”

“I’d like to understand what’s actually going on between you two.”

Setsuko wet her lips and slowly stirred her drink. “At first, it was just sex. We’d see each other every now and then, and over time it became… more serious.”

“How serious ?”

She shrugged lightly. “Like two people who share a certain kind of intimacy for long enough, I guess.” Her gaze dropped briefly to the glass in her hands. “I think it happened naturally. We just… fell in love.”

Kokonoi looked genuinely unconvinced. “No offense, but the idea of Mikey being in love sounds completely impossible to me.”

A small laugh escaped her. “Oh, he’s definitely not… conventional,” she admitted. “In almost three years, I can count on one hand the number of times he actually told me he loved me.” She smiled faintly, something tired and fond mixing together in her expression. “He has a fucking terrible personality, he’s emotionally dysfunctional, and he likes punishing me way too much but…” Her voice softened slightly. “I know he loves me, in his own fucked up way.”

Koko grimaced immediately. “And when you say punishment…”

Setsuko rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, Koko, Manjiro doesn’t lock me in some weird red dungeon.” A tired laugh escaped her. “He just has this constant need to remind me that he’s the one in control.” She took a sip of her drink. “One night I was late meeting him, and he left without waiting for me. Didn’t warn me, didn’t answer my calls, nothing. He ignored me for almost a week.” Her mouth twisted at the memory. “And when he finally got over being pissed, the first thing he said to me was that I better not be late again.”

“Very mature of him,” Koko deadpanned. He sighed in resignation. “Listen, I’m not angry that you cheated on your husband,” Koko continued finally. His tone was almost calm, which was never a great sign. “That’s your business, and you’re a grown woman. I’m angry because you cheated on your husband with that sociopath. You’re putting you and all of us in danger.”

Setsuko’s fingers toyed with the straw in her glass, the ice clicking against the rim. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah, you’re sorry, I’m sorry, everyone’s sorry. You are selfish as hell. Both of you.”

Maybe he was right. She had betrayed Ran, hurt Rindou, and turned half of Bonten against her. Somehow dragged Kokonoi into a situation he never asked to be part of. She couldn't even argue. And the worst part of all of that was that if she had the chance to go back and undo everything, she wasn't entirely sure she would. 

“You make him sound like a monster and half the time I know you're right. And then he does something stupid like making sure I eat breakfast, or he remembers some completely insignificant thing I told him two years ago.”

“Setsuko.”

“Or he sits beside me for six hours while I cry and doesn't complain once.”

“Stop.”

A tiny laugh escaped her. “See ? That's exactly the problem. He’s not cruel with me,” Setsuko said quietly. “He’s still himself, but… softer.” Kokonoi rolled his eyes so hard it was almost theatrical. She ignored him and continued anyway. “He can even be almost funny, you know.”

Kokonoi pulled a face of pure disdain. “You’re so in love it’s disgusting,” he said flatly. Then he leaned a little closer, squinting at her suspiciously. “Do you have a microphone on you or something ? Bitch, blink twice if you think your life is in danger.”

For a moment Setsuko didn’t answer. She just gave him a small, sad smile. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Koko.” Her fingers tightened around the glass. “Ran and I… we had the world. We were young, rich, in love. I had everything I’d ever wanted in life.” She let out a small, shaky breath. “And then Manjiro walked into my life and everything became completely fucked up. I’m fucked up.”

“You’re not fucked up. Just stupid.”

“Yeah, I thrive off my own stupidity.”

Kokonoi reached into the pocket of his coat. “Here, before I forget,” he said. He placed a small fabric pouch on the counter between them. “This is for you.” Setsuko frowned slightly and opened the pouch. A small black stone slid into the palm of her hand, smooth and heavy despite its modest size. “It’s black tourmaline,” Kokonoi explained. “Supposed to protect you.”

She turned the stone slowly under the light, the surface catching faint reflections of her face. “Protecting me from what exactly ?”

Kokonoi lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Everything.”

Setsuko gave a faint, tired smile. “Thanks, Koko. What am I supposed to do with it ?”

“Have it set into a pendant. Keep it in your pocket.” He took a sip of his drink, completely indifferent. “I don’t give a shit how you do it, just keep it on you.” His gaze drifted toward her for a moment. “You’re going to need it.”

Setsuko stayed silent for a moment and studied him with an expression that was almost exasperated. “You know you’re a fucking genius,” she said, out of nowhere. “You could be doing anything like tech, or politics, even finance. You could run a legitimate empire and people would applaud you for it ! And yet you’re here. I’ve never understood.”

Kokonoi’s eyes flickered with something faintly amused, faintly irritated. “It’s insulting,” he replied coolly, “that you think I’m not nine moves ahead and haven’t already considered what happens next.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Next ?” she repeated and lowered her voice. “You think Bonten won’t last forever ?”

He exhaled slowly, the sound more tired than dramatic. “Of course it won’t,” he said. “These things always implode.”

She tilted her head. “What, you think that one day Manjiro’s going to get arrested ?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I always thought one day he’ll collapse. Now thanks to you I’m sure he will.”

“I’m touched you think I’m that important, but empires don’t collapse because of a woman.”

“That’s because you still think this is about love. Empires collapse because the people running them stop making rational decisions. Men like Mikey survive because they know how to separate emotions from business. The second they stop doing that, cracks appear. And honestly ? Your relationship should’ve never existed in the first place. The fact that it did tells me enough already.” 

Setsuko stared down into her glass for a moment, watching the ice shift slowly beneath the amber liquid. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of natural disaster.”

“You said that, not me.”

A small laugh escaped her despite herself. Setsuko absentmindedly traced the rim of her glass with her fingertip. “I feel so lonely, Koko.” she admitted suddenly. “I have no one. No friends. Nothing.”

Kokonoi didn’t react right away. He took a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down again with careful precision. “Sweetheart, I’m gonna stop you right there, we’re all in the same boat. Choosing this life means choosing loneliness. You knew that when you stepped into it. Those were your own words.”

“Yes, but I had a family,” she insisted. “I had Ran. I had Rin.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Now Ran is dead, and Rin thinks I’m the worst kind of whore.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a tissue and dabbed at the corner of her reddened eyes, trying to keep her composure even as her mascara threatened to betray her. “Everyone hates me.” She gave a small, bitter smile. “You want to know the worst part of all this ? They don’t hate me because I betrayed my husband,” she said calmly, arms folded, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the glass. “They hate me because I betrayed their feminine ideal.” Kokonoi tilted his head slightly, studying her. “They saw me as the gentle, perfect, devoted wife,” she continued. “Because I worked so damn hard to become the archetype of what a woman is supposed to be.” A faint smile curved her lips, but there was nothing warm about it. “The moment I stopped being that polished woman in their eyes and became just a human being, imperfect, capable of lying, hiding and wanting, that’s when they started despising me.”

Koko let out a quiet breath through his nose. “So what you’re saying, is that it’s just about fucking sexism ?”

“Of course it is, Koko.” Her tone was flat, almost bored. “That, and the fact that everyone sanctifies Ran because he’s dead. If he were still alive, they wouldn’t give a single shit.”

“No,” he said quietly. “That’s not true.” Setsuko frowned faintly. “They would still care,” he continued calmly. “Because this isn’t just some random affair.” He gestured vaguely between them with his glass. “You slept with the only man in this organization everyone knows you absolutely should not have touched. I’m serious. Ran was Mikey’s executive. One of the few people he trusted. And you, you were basically part of the furniture at that point. ”

Setsuko looked away toward the city lights beyond the window. “That’s exactly my point,” she murmured, “they’re angry because I ruined the fantasy, like I woke up one morning and decided to fall in love with him.”

“No,” Kokonoi admitted calmly. “That’s what makes this whole thing such a disaster.” Silence stretched between them, the kind that hummed louder than any music. “Mikey’s dangerous and unstable,” Koko said finally. His voice had dropped, quieter now, almost resigned. “Setsuko… you’re playing with the devil.”

“I married one. I can survive another.” Koko pressed his lips together, but she didn’t stop. “Ran killed someone with his bare hands when he was thirteen. Thirteen. You think I don’t know what my husband was capable of ? So yeah, Mikey kills people. So did Ran. So does Rin.” 

“That’s a pretty fucking dark way to look at things.”

“Dark ? Koko, do I have to remind you of your line of work ?” She leaned back slowly in her chair, arms folding tightly across her chest now. “Do you know what’s funny ?” she asked softly. “Nobody ever expects morality from any of you.” Her eyes stayed fixed on him. “Ran was violent. Rin is violent. Sanzu’s completely fucking insane. Mikey is… Mikey.” A bitter smile appeared briefly on her lips. “But the second I become morally questionable, suddenly it’s shocking.”

Kokonoi sighed quietly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No ?” she asked calmly. “Then what exactly did you mean ?”

Another silence settled between them. “I think,” he said carefully, “that somewhere along the way you got too used to surviving inside this world. To the point where you stopped realizing how fucked up some of this sounds when you say it out loud.”

Setsuko held his gaze for a few seconds. “Or maybe I just stopped pretending otherwise.”

Koko apparently had nothing to say against that. He finished his drink in one gulp and gestured to the waiter to bring another round.

She knew Koko was right about one thing. Somewhere along the way, something inside her had become fundamentally warped. Not just because of Manjiro or Ran. She had always felt that something wasn't quite right with her, and that feeling had only grown stronger over the last few years. And her pregnancy did nothing to help the situation. Her body didn't feel like hers anymore. Her emotions didn't feel like hers either. The thought lingered for a few seconds before she finally spoke. “I think he hates my body.”

Koko raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure if Mikey hated your body, he never would’ve slept with you in the first place.”

“Maybe not before, but now…” Setsuko looked down at her drink. “The last time we had sex, he barely undressed me.”

“So ?” Koko shrugged. “Sometimes people just fuck without making a whole event out of it.”

“Not us,” she said immediately. “It’s never been like that with us.”

“Why would he suddenly hate your body ?”

She looked at him like the answer was obvious. “Because I’m pregnant and fat.” Her jaw tightened slightly. “He consciously avoided touching my stomach. I know he did it on purpose. Like he wanted me to understand that even his desire comes with conditions now.”

Koko dropped his head into his hands dramatically. “Oh fuck, no. We are not doing this again, okay ?” He looked back up at her. “First of all, you’re not fat.” He paused. “Does he know about your old eating issues ?”

“He does.”

“And you seriously think he’d risk pushing you back into that ?”

Setsuko hesitated. “In normal circumstances, I would’ve said no,” she admitted quietly. “But right now… I don’t know.”

“I think you’re looking at this from the completely wrong angle,” he said finally. Setsuko frowned slightly. “Setsuko… maybe it’s not your body.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe it’s the fact that your body currently represents something he’s trying very hard not to think about.” Koko continued carefully. “You’re carrying a baby. And whether he admits it or not, I think that fucks him more than either of you wants to acknowledge.” He paused briefly. “Avoiding your stomach doesn’t necessarily mean he’s disgusted by you.” Another sigh. “It’s probably the only part of you he can’t look at without thinking about you and Ran.”

A wave of sadness washed over Setsuko. “Can I tell you something very very fucked up ?”

He encouraged her with a wave of his hand. “Go on…”

“If I weren't pregnant, I'd jump off a fucking bridge.”

Kokonoi's expression changed almost immediately. “Don't say shit like that.”

Setsuko let out a small laugh and took another sip of her drink. “Relax. Like I said, I'm pregnant. The bridge is safe for another six months.”

“That's not funny.”

“Good, because I wasn't really joking.” The answer lingered between them longer than either of them seemed comfortable with. 

Kokonoi stared at her for a few seconds before reaching for his drink. “Well,” he muttered, “that's probably the most concerning thing you've said all evening.” 

Setsuko lowered her eyes again, while her heartbeat climbed unpleasantly inside her chest. The question sat heavily at the back of her throat now, ugly enough that even thinking it felt disloyal somehow. For a few seconds she almost forced herself to let it go. It was the kind of suspicion capable of poisoning every memory afterward, every touch, every moment they had ever shared. But then Rindou’s voice echoed through her head, followed almost immediately by all the things she had tried not to think about, and before she could stop herself, she finally spoke again. “Rin thinks Manjiro might have been behind Ran’s death.”

That made him look at her and Setsuko immediately regretted saying it out loud. Not because she trusted Rindou’s judgment blindly. Rindou was furious, spiraling through betrayal and paranoia badly enough that half the things coming out of his mouth lately sounded self-destructive. She knew that. But still, the accusation now existed between them.

 “Yeah,” he said at last. “I’d bet he did.”

Setsuko stayed silent for a long moment after that, her eyes fixed somewhere beyond the rows of bottles behind the bar. “Do you really think he’d be capable of that ?”

Kokonoi froze. For a second he simply stared at her, then leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He rubbed his temples, like he was already regretting the direction the conversation had taken. “Fuck, this is a very, very dangerous conversation we’re having right now, Setsuko.” 

“I know,” she said quietly. “That’s why I need to know.”

Kokonoi let out a long breath through his nose and looked back at his drink as if the answer might be floating somewhere in the glass. “I don’t know,” he said finally. He shook his head slightly. “On one hand it makes absolutely no sense.” He paused, then lifted his eyes to hers again. “On the other hand…” His mouth twisted faintly. “…it’s completely plausible.”

And somehow that was already enough to make her stomach turn. Setsuko watched him for a long time. Somewhere between the clink of ice and the distant piano, she realized he wasn’t trying to comfort her, just to tell her the truth.

Hajime let out a loud sigh for the hundredth time of the evening. “I swear, you two are the most fucked up people I've ever known. And I specialize in fucked up.”

It was now or never. She knew she could trust Koko. She didn't yet know where her next words would lead, but she had to say them. “Hajime,” she said quietly, “you asked me if I thought my life was in danger.”

Across from her, every trace of irony vanished from Kokonoi’s face. The lazy amusement he had been wearing until now disappeared instantly, replaced by something much harder, much more attentive. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly, shoulders straightening as his gaze locked onto her. “Yeah ?” he said.

Setsuko exhaled a shaky breath. For a moment she didn’t move. The noise of the bar seemed to fade around them. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his. “I think I could be. You know,” she said more quietly, “last night we kinda fought and after, I pretended to be asleep. And I’m pretty sure he spent the entire damn night just staring at me,” she continued, her voice dropping to something almost confessional, “like he was thinking about ways to hurt me.” 

Kokonoi suddenly grew serious. “You know that if things go bad, I’ve got enough contacts to make anyone disappear.”

Setsuko stared at him in horror. The last thing she wanted was to drag Hajime into this mess and put him in danger because of her. “Koko, no.”

“Will you listen to me for a second ?” he cut in. “I can get you a new identity. It’s easy, you disappear, problem solved.”

The idea was insane. Leave the country ? Leave Manjiro ? A wave of nausea twisted violently through her stomach. “I don’t know if I could actually do something like that,” she admitted quietly. “And it would put you at risk too.”

Kokonoi reached across the table and rested a reassuring hand over hers. “Hey,” he said softly, “don’t worry about me, okay ?” A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Out of all those fucked-up assholes, I’m the only one Mikey can’t replace. Without me, the whole organization sinks in six months.” He shrugged lazily. “I’m literally irreplaceable. I’ll be fine.”

Setsuko bit down hard on her lower lip, her thoughts racing so fast they made her dizzy. Could she really do something like that ?

Setsuko stood in front of the bathroom mirror in nothing but her underwear, one hand resting absently against the edge of the sink while the other adjusted the strap slipping from her shoulder. The apartment was quiet around her. The kind of silence that left too much room for thinking. She hadn't slept much; memories of her evening with Koko were spinning around in her head. Today, she would have to find the strength to face Manjiro.

Her eyes drifted over her own reflection without really seeing it. The slight curve of her stomach. The exhaustion still lingering beneath her eyes. The marks grief had left everywhere on her body despite the fact that she was still technically young, still technically beautiful.

Rindou’s voice would not leave her head.

If he’s the one behind Ran’s death, I swear I’ll fucking kill you.

She swallowed hard and looked away from the mirror immediately. She slipped on a silk robe and walked toward the altar she had built in memory of her husband. She stared at the photograph of Ran smiling broadly on their wedding day, hair slicked back, dressed in an Armani suit.

Being Ran’s girlfriend, then his wife, had been her pride for a very long time. For years, if someone had asked who she was, the answer had always started with him. Now she wasn't sure she deserved to carry his name at all. 

But no matter how much she missed him or how much pain she was in, she never would have erased everything they ever had. Even if she was drowning in grief, she'd rather hang on to every moment that she ever held him, every laugh she ever heard, every shred of happiness they ever had. She would rather spend every moment in agony than erase the memory of Ran.

That was what made the thought so unbearable.

Because if Manjiro loved her like he claimed to, how could he possibly believe removing Ran from her life would ever make her happier ? How could he have watched her break apart afterward and still live with himself ?

No.

The thought infected everything. Every memory, every silence, every unreadable look on Manjiro’s face. The fact that there were still supposedly no leads after all this time. The way the investigation had dissolved into nothing almost immediately despite Bonten’s reach. The way Manjiro had asked her to move in with him so quickly afterward, calm and certain, as if he had already known exactly where she would end up. Even the unbearable tenderness he’d shown her these past few days suddenly felt strange in retrospect, almost impossible to separate from guilt.

No. No. Manjiro would never do that to her.

He could be cruel and possessive and manipulative in ways that left bruises somewhere much deeper than skin. But Ran’s death had destroyed her completely. Manjiro had seen it happen in real time. He had held her while she cried. He had watched her practically disappear inside herself afterward. He knew what Ran had been to her.

He would never. No, he would never. Would he ?

The thought alone made nausea twist violently through her stomach. Because the horrible thing was that once the possibility existed, even for a second, she could suddenly see the shape of it everywhere. And no matter how desperately she tried to reason herself out of it, another part of her kept whispering the same unbearable thing over and over again, echoing Koko's words.

It’s completely plausible.

The restaurant was crowded enough that nobody paid attention to them. Soft music drifted beneath the noise of overlapping conversations, glasses clinking against marble tables and waiters moving elegantly through the dim golden light. 

Across from Setsuko, Ran had barely touched his drink. “I need to tell you something.”

She slowly lowered her chopsticks, instantly alarmed by the serious tone Ran almost never used unless something had gone catastrophically wrong. “What’s wrong ?”

Ran immediately noticed the tension in her expression and sighed. “Relax, it’s nothing bad.” He leaned back against the booth. “Just… don’t lose your shit.”

That did absolutely nothing to reassure her. “We’re getting married in a month,” she replied flatly. “If you have something to tell me, say it quickly.”

“It’s not about us, calm down.” He rubbed briefly at his jaw. “It’s about something Mikey asked from us.”

Setsuko picked her chopsticks back up cautiously. “I’m listening.”

Ran glanced briefly around the restaurant before continuing. “He asked us, or rather, decided for us, that we’re cutting ties with everyone close to us.”

Setsuko stared at him blankly. “Seriously ? That’s cruel.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated briefly. “And not just us. He was, ah, he was talking about you too.”

This time, Setsuko looked at him like he was genuinely stupid. “What people, Ran ?” she asked incredulously. “I didn’t need your boss to stop talking to my family.”

Ran carefully set his chopsticks down. “Cupcake, he wasn’t just talking about family.” Before she could answer, he continued. “He meant friends too.”

Setsuko blinked slowly. “I’m sorry ?”

“It’s too dangerous,” Ran replied simply. “The less contact we have with civilians, the safer everybody is.”

“But…” She frowned harder. “I don’t understand. I’m not supposed to see my friends anymore ?”

“No, baby.” His tone stayed calm. “You’re not.”

The realization hit her all at once. “Ran, I have like two friends in my entire life,” she said, staring at him in disbelief. “And you’re telling me I have to get rid of them ? Why ? Why me ?”

“Because you’re already associated with me.” His expression hardened slightly. “And soon you’ll be legally tied to me too.”

“What the fuck are you talking about ?” she snapped immediately. “I literally own like twelve fake IDs. Nobody’s gonna know whose wife I am if I use another name.”

It felt horribly unfair. Not just the rule itself, the fact it had apparently already been decided for her.

Ran slowly massaged his temples, a dangerous sign she knew too well. “Can you cooperate a little, please ?” he muttered. “People know your face.”

“Fuck your fucking Mikey !” she hissed. “He doesn’t even know me. He has absolutely no right to demand anything from me !” Her jaw tightened harder. “I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

“I didn’t agree to shit,” Ran shot back instantly. “We didn’t get a choice.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Setsuko, listen. You have me, you have Rin, and you have Koko. 

“I don’t care !” she snapped. Several people glanced briefly toward their table before pretending not to. “I need to have girl friends, Ran. I need people who understand me and actually resemble me.” Her voice rose despite herself. “Who am I supposed to complain to when you’re being unbearable ? Your brother ? Who am I supposed to go drinking with ?”

“With nobody,” Ran answered flatly. “That’s over too. For the same obvious reasons.” And no more partying with Rin until dawn either.” 

Setsuko let out a short laugh devoid of humor. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I managed to get you a reprieve. Until the wedding, you can keep going out and seeing your friends.”

“Great ! Thanks, Ran. Only one month left before I become a fucking nun.”

“What’s the problem anyway ?” Ran muttered, visibly starting to lose patience. “Those girls are bitches.”

“Ran…”

“No seriously. Do I need to remind you they’ve spent years criticizing our relationship ?”

“Because they don’t live in the same world as us, they were raised to marry lawyers and surgeons,” she shot back immediately. “That’s not against you and you know it.”

“That’s bullshit.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “If they were really your friends, you wouldn’t have needed to spend years making them believe your father was some fucking Italian shipping magnate.”Setsuko froze instantly. Because if there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was being reminded that most of her life had been fabricated just so she could fit into places never meant for her.

Ran saw the look on her face and exhaled tiredly. “Look,” he said more quietly now. “You like your life the way it is, don’t you ?” She stayed silent. “You like the clothes, the restaurants, all this shit.” His voice softened into something far more dangerous now, the tone he always used whenever he wanted her to stop resisting him. “You like making your dumb friends jealous.” Setsuko lowered her gaze toward her untouched bowl. “You like your manicures and your overpriced shampoos.” He tilted his head slightly. “Did you ever think I’d be able to buy you a Cartier watch for your twentieth birthday ?”

“Alright, stop. I got it. And stop cooing at me, I’m not a fucking pigeon.”

“No, listen.” He leaned slightly closer. “This is our life now, the one we wanted. And we’re only getting started, sweetheart.”

Setsuko swallowed hard. “But why do I have to sacrifice things ?”

Ran smiled faintly. “Let me tell you something. I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor.” He held her gaze steadily. “And I’ll choose rich every fucking time.” Then, calmer, “so if sacrifices need to be made for this life, we’ll make them together.” He gestured lazily toward her soup with his chopsticks. “Now smile for me and finish your soup.”

When Setsuko came back the next evening, the apartment was quiet except for the television murmuring somewhere inside. Mikey had been staying on his balcony for hours, one arm resting lazily against the chair while the Tokyo skyline flickered below him in blurred colors.

For hours, he had been replaying a conversation he’d had with Setsuko three days ago. What she’d said hadn’t made him react right away, but now that he thought about it, he realized something he’d been trying to hide from himself for two years

How easily she had said it. No accusation hidden beneath the words. She had taken his hand and placed it against her own throat as casually as if she were commenting on the weather. I know you're capable of it. 

Mikey had spent years watching himself become someone capable of almost anything. He had broken lives, ordered executions, had cold-bloodedly killed both scum and simple civilians, he was even responsible for the daughter of a former enemy ending up as a hooker in Bangkok. He knew exactly how thin the line was because he'd crossed it more than could count. 

The promise he had given her that night lingered unpleasantly in his mind. I'll never do that to you. So what would be left of him if he ever proved her right ?

The sound of the front door finally pulled him from his thoughts. 

Setsuko stepped onto the balcony after slipping out of her shoes inside then walked toward him with a small tired smile already prepared on her face like she’d practiced it in her car. Immediately, something felt wrong. She seemed too calm. “Hi.”

Manjiro watched her carefully. “Hey.”

She leaned down to kiss him. And there it was. Tiny, almost imperceptible, but he felt it instantly. The hesitation, the distance.

She stood there for a second watching him silently, the city lights moving softly across her face. “Talking to the moon ?”

“I was thinking.”

“About what ?”

“Nothing.”

That made something flicker faintly across her expression. “It must be fun being you,” she murmured. The sarcasm was there, technically. But it sounded strangely hollow tonight, too tired to properly wound. Setsuko stepped past him toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry ? I brought food.” She didn’t even give him time to answer before continuing while unpacking containers onto the counter. “I got you a yasai itame. You need to eat vegetables.”

Mikey looked at her properly then, watching the irritated concentration on her face as she searched for chopsticks inside the bag. “Are you trying to put me on a diet ?”

Setsuko finally glanced at him, expression flattening slightly. “A diet ? Manjiro, you’re already all bones.” A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Setsuko’s features softened almost immediately afterward, irritation giving way to something quieter. “I just want you to take care of your health a little,” she muttered softly as she was bringing his food on the low table. “You have the eating habits of a thirteen-year-old teenager.”

Mikey watched her for a moment without saying anything. Setsuko had always done that. Not in obvious ways, she wasn’t the type to fuss over people or hover endlessly at their side. But over the years she had developed a habit of quietly fixing things around him. She did small, irritating acts of care he never asked for and never quite managed to stop her from doing. He still wasn't entirely sure what to do with that. “What did the doctor say ? You were supposed to keep me updated.”

“Yeah, sorry, I forgot. I was exhausted, I spent the whole day sleeping. Apparently I need to “reduce stress” which is objectively very funny considering my current situation. She also said I need to eat a little more. The baby’s fine.” 

The conversation seemed to be over. He didn't try to push any further. Mikey nodded once. “Good.” He got back into the living-room and looked down at the steaming container of vegetables, then back up at her face, noticing the slight dark circles under her eyes. He didn’t argue. “And how was your evening ?” he asked eventually. 

She opened the refrigerator without looking at him. “Fine.”

Too fast. Mikey’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Just fine ?”

“Koko psychologically analyzed me for two hours.” A pause. “So. Fine.” Normally that would’ve sounded amused. Tonight it sounded distracted. She stayed facing the refrigerator longer than necessary before finally taking out a bottle of water.

Mikey muted the television and Setsuko’s shoulders tightened almost invisibly. Interesting. “You’re acting weird.”

A tiny laugh escaped her immediately. “I’m pregnant, traumatized and sleep deprived. Weird is currently my baseline.” Deflection, again.

Manjiro was still watching her now with that awful stillness of his. Patient, so dangerous. “Setsuko.”

The use of her name pulled her brutally back into the room. She forced herself to shrug lightly. “He thinks you’re bad for me.”

“And ?”

She looked down at the bottle in her hands. “And nothing ? I told him he was being dramatic.”

The silence afterward stretched too long. Because now Mikey understood two things immediately. Kokonoi had absolutely said more than that and Setsuko had decided not to tell him what it was. 

Setsuko hated when he got quiet like this because silence was the closest thing he had to a weapon sometimes. The less he spoke, the more impossible it became to tell what he was thinking.

"He called me this morning," he said, with feigned nonchalance.

A tiny, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her spine, but she caught herself quickly, forcing her expression to remain vacant. "Did he ?"

"Yeah. Business," Manjiro lied smoothly. In reality, Kokonoi had sounded exactly as he always did, calculated, professional, and entirely unbothered. But Manjiro knew how Koko operated. He knew his financial manager possessed a dangerous streak of pity when it came to shattered things. "He didn't mention about your drink."

"Yeah, I guess he has to get used to this... situation. Just like everyone else, I suppose," she whispered. She took a sip of water just to have something to do with her hands. “Listen, I don’t have the energy for a fight tonight.”

“A fight ?” Manjiro repeated calmly. “Interesting choice of words.”

Setsuko shut her eyes briefly. There it was, that terrifying ability he had to pull at tiny details until they split open. “I just mean…”

“I know what you mean.” His voice remained flat, but she could feel something underneath it now. Not anger yet, something colder.

Manjiro crossed the room slowly toward her. Setsuko watched him approach and for the first time in years, something cold moved unpleasantly through her stomach watching him walk toward her. Suddenly she realized she genuinely did not know what he was capable of anymore. The thought made her feel sick instantly.

Manjiro reached out, his fingers moving slowly toward her. Setsuko didn't flinch, didn’t pull away. She stayed perfectly still, watching his hand with a strange, clinical detachment as his fingers settled at the back of her neck. His thumb pressed against her skin, a heavy pressure. Usually, this touch grounded her, it reminded her that he was her refuge. 

"You're tense," Mikey observed, his voice dropping lower, completely devoid of emotion. His fingers tightened slightly around her neck, pulling her just an inch closer to him. 

"I’m fine," she lied, her voice cracking slightly as she finally forced herself to look at him, matching his empty stare with a desperate, hollow innocence of her own. She reached up, calmly but firmly wrapping her fingers around his wrist to pull his hand away from her neck. 

Wrong answer. Setsuko was an excellent liar, which was exactly what made her lies so insulting. She was barely even trying. Mikey felt irritation flare hot beneath his ribs. 

Cautiously, Setsuko moved past him and went to sit on the couch instead, curling one leg beneath herself like the weight of whatever was happening had suddenly become too exhausting to carry standing up.  “We should eat before it gets cold.”

Mikey stayed where he was for another second, staring at her in silence before finally walking over to the coffee table.

Setsuko focused intensely on her food. Avoiding. Again.

Neither of them spoke. Minutes passed in complete silence before he finally set his chopsticks down against the edge of the container with a quiet click. “Are you planning to talk ?”

Setsuko didn’t look up immediately. “I don’t really have much to say.”

Another lie. A worse one this time. Something cold shifted behind Mikey’s eyes. Slowly, he leaned back against the couch, watching her with that terrible patience of his. “I can wait.”

Setsuko’s stomach tightened instantly. “Manjiro…”

“I mean it.” His voice stayed calm. Flat. “I’ll sit here all night if I have to.” Finally she looked at him. She looked disturbed, like someone trying very hard not to think too loudly. Mikey held her gaze without blinking. “I promise you, you’re not sleeping tonight,” he said quietly, “until you tell me what’s going on inside your head.” He wasn’t built for emotional archaeology, but he could be patient. Sometimes. And then, for one horrible second, he saw it. Not fear of him. Fear about him. 

Setsuko took a sip of water just to buy herself another second. “Did they find anything about Ran ?” 

“No, still nothing. You'd be the first person I'd tell.” 

“Alright.” She stayed silent for a moment, as if searching carefully for the right words. “You know, if I’ve learned one thing in this world, it’s that spilled blood never dries.” She looked at the man in front of her, the silver hair she had trimmed, the dark, empty eyes that never revealed a single secret. She had always thought he would never hurt her because he knew it would break her heart. Now, she wasn't sure if he even cared about her heart at all. “And I get the feeling that Ran’s is already completely dry.” There was something underneath the sentence, he could feel it. “Can I ask you something ?”

Mikey watched her carefully. “Yes.”