To Jude

I feel like, as fans of this media, the growth of tokrev fandom largely relies upon our interaction with the fanfics, art, or anything made for tokrev. I know the tokrev fandom has been tagged as a dead fandom for quite some time now, but we have seen a surge of new fans, or old fans returning after the trailer release. It's ecstatic. But it can turn dead again. As a whole, maybe we should interact with the fanworks more to keep it alive and motivate the creators at the same time. it is not a demand but just a simple request. Interaction is obviously a very important part of creating and writing, as most writers write for themselves, but the motivation also comes from others who enjoy their work.

Sanzu Haruchiyo x reader

Updated - 12 . 07. 26

Tokyo has never been nice to the people roaming in its alleys. Especially after the clock strikes a certain time. Whatever tragedies occur, it is none of anyone’s business until someone responsible enough comes across the crime scene in the morning, or unfortunately, sometimes at dark itself.

One way or another, your steps always found their way through the district of Roppongi to your way back home. The familiar, mixing scent of cheap roadside perfume and high-end branded ones, the booming songs from inside the burlesques, or the silky smooth skin of women and hosts waiting outside for customers. They all felt unfamiliar, but home. 

Since childhood, you have had a dream of living a glamorous, elegant life. If not that, at least a comfortable one where you wouldn’t have to worry about money. As you stumble on your heel and nearly faceplant onto the road, reality comes back too. The reason you walk home late more than half the days of the week is because of your work. Neither glamorous nor comfortable. The life you lead is normal, some would say comfortable. But if comfort means only food on your table and being able to afford a few dresses a year, you might as well live in discomfort. It is utterly boring. 

You sigh and fix the strap of your bag on your shoulder. With your other hand, you massage the sore spot left by the strap and step out of the alley to the main road. The crowd is heavy as usual. 

Your eyes wander around the clubs, the people in them, and the carefree expression on their faces. Some are high off their minds, and some are engaged in lust. Compared to your normal office outfit, their world felt like another universe apart from yours. 

The crowd guides you ahead, feet moving on their own with no thoughts. It is a daily routine to check out the adrenaline-filled haze of these people while you think of dinner. Perhaps you could say it is the most entertaining part of your day, too. Some people bump into your shoulder and mutter quiet apologies. You offer the same, but pay no attention. For now, all you are is a doll enjoying the nightlife as a visitor. 

+

Until you bump hard into something. Or rather, someone. 

You hiss and recoil back at the sudden force. The person didn’t even faze and you feel a pair of eyes burning into your head. 

Great, just what you needed. Another deep bowing fake apology of some drunkard to fill your night. 

Any moment now, the sorry will be muttered, and you will do the same, then continue your way. Your eyes are already growing heavier each second, so why bother looking up at all? Keeping your eyes low, you wait. 

It never comes. 

Thoughtless. That is a word to describe your current state. Your brain is effectively a blank slate, too tired to process a word. But even you realise that the person was taking too long. You take a deep breath and turn your chin up to face the person. 

Your eyes meet his empty ones. They are a colour between green and turquoise. A lively colour in contrast to their emotion. Something about his stare felt deeply stirring in your chest, but your attention goes to his other features. The slightly parted lips, with diamond-shaped scars at the corner, catch your attention first. Then his well-groomed pinkish hair.

The man looks up and down your appearance, as if sizing you up in a glance. No emotion passes his face during that. One thing was clear. From his expensive-looking suit to his scars. To the gun hidden behind his pants, this man is dangerous. The alarms going off in your head make you take a step back and do a small bow. “Excuse me.” You step to the side to let the man pass and turn to continue on your way. But his rough, silk-like voice stops you. 

“Wait,” his hand stop a beat away from your wrists. From his folded sleeves, a tattoo peeks out under the light. One you recognised, but didn’t understand the harm of. 

You pause your steps and turn to face him fully, “Can I help you?” and this better be worth losing your rest over. 

The man doesn’t speak for a few seconds. When he does, your stomach does a small flip that you do not acknowledge. “You bumped into me. Apologise.”

Sure. Men are rather handsome until they speak. 

“Excuse me? That is not what happened,” you still maintain your polite tone, even though your insides were already starting to seethe. “You came out of nowhere and bumped into me.”

“Did I now?” he tilts his head to the side, scoffing. “Are you saying that you didn’t see a man like this in the middle of the road?” With one hand, he waves on his body. He reeks of confidence, tension and intensity that should make you run away right now and never look back. He is the danger lurking in the shadows.

No, he is the shadow. Yet you remain on your feet and let out an unamused chuckle. Tonight, your lack of control over your expression might end up killing you. 

“Actually, I didn’t. Sorry, I don’t tend to check out every man walking past and around. But if you’re reacting like this, I probably should.” 

The tension in his jaw clenches. For a man as beautiful as the stars hidden in the Tokyo skies, he hides a terror beneath, one unnamed. A thousand thoughts might run through his mind, and you still cannot decipher even one as he stares down at you, as nobody else was allowed to exist in the space he created around you. 

“You have a sharp tongue. Good for business,” he unclenches his jaw and takes a step back. A few stray hairs fall on his face at the action. “Where do you work? Give me a name. I’ll buy it,” the hint of a wicked smile accompanied his equally odd sentence. 

Is he drunk? But he isn't stinking of alcohol. So, high? Whatever it may be, it's none of your damn business. The best option is to end this conversation as soon as you can. 

“I don’t think you can buy my work. Thanks for the offer-” 

“You think I cannot buy these clubs here?” he barks, pointing at the most expensive-looking buildings. “Every club, every bar, every host and hostess works under me. Give me a name. I’ll buy your damn work, and that damn apology out of you.”

Aah, so he thinks you work at the clubs. Interesting. 

“Oh,” unimpressed, utter disappointment drips from your words. “Well, at least you thought that im good enough to work there. But no, you’re wrong.”

Your words seem to irk the man more. “What? Are you not a hostess?”  his brows furrow as he steps closer and leans down with his intense stare at your face. ”You don’t look like a waitress to me.”

His breath grazes your cheeks. And they felt hotter for no reason. You fold your arms on your chest and lean in too. Backing down from a fight is not what you do. “That's because I am not a waitress. Thanks for saying I have potential as a hostess. But I’ll be killed in less than two days. I hate egoistic men more than my job.”

His brows twitch, but he maintains his cool expression. “Quite the loudmouth, aren’t you? No wonder you don’t work at those clubs,” his voice drops. “You just can’t. So you have to deal with your dull life,” the man leans back, certainly seeming cheerier than before. But it is better not to point that out. “Go. I’m in a compassionate mood tonight. You’re lucky.”

…just like that? Is he pitying you?

Your hand shoots out to grab his wrists before he can leave. The man stiffens under your vice grip. “I don’t want your compassion.”  

His eyes narrow, but you cut him off before he can speak. “This is a stupid argument. Handle this like adults and leave it out. You’re not apologising, and I won’t either. Im not dying for one either. It's not a matter of compassion.” his wrists fall from your hands, and you step back. “Go. We will pretend this embarrassing encounter never happened.”

The whole time, the man didn’t utter a word but only peered down at you. The corner of his mouth twitches from holding back a smile. But the silence extended. He listens to each of your words with unwavering attention. Almost borderline pathetically crazy sort of way. The way his eyes never left yours, something stammers your heart, but you don’t speak of it. 

When you finish, he starts cackling. 

Wild, crazed, eccentric in his ways, he doubles over on his stomach and laughs like he hasn’t had one in years. Your jaw clenches as a wave of nausea hits your stomach.

“Oh, you’re gone. As insane as me. Or more?” he slides his palms over his face, controlling his laughter. The tension in his shoulders is gone, replaced by the sheer amusement of you. It takes him a long time to manage his lopsided smile from the remains of his mirth. 

Finally, his eyes land on you. The upward turn of it and the strange look in there. He dissects you in his mind, taking apart every limb and piece until the blood drowns its own parts under it. Such an odd look for a man so beautiful. If only he were not the most batshit crazy guy you have ever met. He leans in until his lips are just over your cheeks. 

“My compassion is worth more than the life of the president. Keep it safe while you have it. Because if you lose,” the whisper brushes against your ear. For no reason, your heartbeat fastens. “- the consequences, they might not be as pretty as you are.”

His calloused hands find your shoulder and turn you around towards your original path, taking you by surprise. “Go on. Cherish your life a night more. And don’t go blushing on every man that bumps into you. Not everybody will let you go as I did.” A final whisper tickles your ears until you are pushed into the crowd. 

The push was uncharacteristically gentle for someone like him, the complete opposite of the shame you currently feel. You spin around to see a glimpse of the man once more, only to see that he has disappeared in that mere second. Like he never existed. 

Disappointment seeps into your heart, but you refuse to let yourself feel anything but annoyance for that stranger. You shake your head and force yourself to walk the way home.

 An unease sets into your bones. His eyes, his scar, everything was an intrigue that pissed you off the more you thought about it. He is an unapologetic, rude and brash man who does not deserve another second of your time. If you ever see him again, you’d definitely ignore him. That man- 

Your steps halt in the middle, and eyes widen as a realisation dawns. 

His name. You never asked his name. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

A doctor’s visit is not one you appreciate very much when you go there. Half the time, you aren’t even sure why you sit in front of the person in a white coat, waiting to be lectured about your bad habits and ‘cut down on sugar’ bullshit. But right now? These are the times you wish you had a doctor friend who could fix your back pain. 

You press your lips hard to not make a sound and bend your upper body back, emitting a loud cracking sound from your spine. Your tense shoulders visibly relax. Your coworkers don’t turn to look. It is the 10th time you have done this in an hour. 

Whatever you expected when you accepted this sitting job, it was NOT the chronic back pain. A pain that has now cursed you for your whole life. You sigh loudly and return to your original position, with a straighter posture this time, hands on keyboard again and ready to type out another stupid document for your boss. The pay is good, the environment is manageable, but boredom is your killer. 

After a few minutes of typing, your eyes drift towards the corner of your computer screen. 

5:57 pm 

Three more minutes and Flash will have a solid competition for who can exit this office faster. You type out the last of the conclusion on the document in a moment of pure excitement about leaving. Japanese work culture? Yeah goodbye. If the others won’t leave until someone else will, then you will be the first one to do so. Being an inspiration is iconic on its own. 

5:59 pm 

The mouse makes a click sound as you turn off the computer. ‘No. Don’t show your excitement. You’ll get the evil eye.’ Suppressing a smile as hard as you can, you begin to pack your bags and prepare to leave the great four walls of lassitude. But luck is hardly ever on your side, is it?

Just as you stand up, the sound of heels stops nearby. It blocks you from standing up. 

“Miss [name]?” Your coworker leans on your booth, wearing a sympathetic smile. Oh no no no. 

“...yes?” 

“The boss has called for you.” She pats your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as if to say a quiet good luck. She speaks a few more words to you before leaving, but you hear nothing. 

Like a ghost, you walk towards your boss’s office and stand in front of his door. There is a very fine line between homelessness and breaking this door with your bare hands, and you were dangerously close to doing the latter. 

You take in a deep, violently trembling breath and knock on the door. The answer comes in a second, and you push the door open. 

“Boss? You call-” all the politeness dies from your tone. 

The older man lets out a nervous laugh and signals you closer, “There she is. [name], come here”

He stands beside the table like a meek fellow, slightly bowed down and with too stretched of a smile on his face. The chair he usually sits on is facing the other way, with another man on it like he owned the damn office. His elbow rests on the armrest while his hand holds a lit cigarette between his fingers. 

When you step closer, the sight becomes even worse than your expectations. 

“I hope you didn’t forget me, [name]” the velvety smooth voice of his saying your name does something you couldn’t quite understand in your stomach. The chair slowly turns around, and in his blue eyes you meet your reflection again. The man’s pink hair looks neater than last night, yet overrun with chaos. The perked-up corner of his lips in a smirk holds a conceit you hadn’t realised last night. 

The same man. 

He stands up and stalks towards your rigid figure, ignoring the existence of your boss entirely. If glaring could hurt, your eyes would have bled out by now. Only for the presence of your boss do you choose to remain quiet. 

Your silence brings him closer. His steps do not stop until he is right in front of you and stares down with that smirk, that egostic smirk that speaks ‘I own everything here’ without lifting a finger. 

“Well? Was I called here?” you smile. “Matter of fact, yes. We have been waiting for you. I was just talking to your boss about how exceptional you are as an employee.” his cockiness increases with each word. He turns his head slightly towards your boss, and he rushes in to explain. 

“This gentleman here has just proposed the most excellent job for our employees. The pay is above anything you can get here, and it's a transitory one too. I thought who better to suggest than our employee of the month?” his voice sounds unusually bright. 

You look between the two. “But I’m… not the employee of the month. If you want someone, then take Yuki. She deserves it more.”

The pink-haired man barks a laugh. “Humble. We like it. Or we don’t?” his hips rest on the table as he flicks off the cigarette. “But tell me, [name]. Do you really want to lose the money? Trust me, the pay is higher than anything even your boss begs to get.” 

Your boss winces but stays quiet. The decision is not much of a dilemma for you. It is clear that whatever your boss said was probably a lie, and this man was not interested in giving this job to the best employee. If the money is good, why not take it?

“What is the pay?” 

He laughs again, “Whatever you ask. But the job will be… difficult.”

You part your lips to reply, but the memory of the gun with him last night brings you back. What if it is something illegal?... Whatever, your boss will be held responsible if you are arrested or die anyway. There is not much to live for in your tedious life. 

“Show me the terms and agreement, then I’ll decide.” 

The man looks amused, but agrees nonetheless. Since work hours were over, you did not want to stay in the office any moment longer. 

That is how you ended up at a cafe near your office with the pink-haired man currently writing something aggressive on a piece of paper. 

You sip on your drink. “We never exchanged names, you know. How did you end up in my office?” “Coincidence,” he says without looking up. 

“Bullshit. I never even told you my name. And who even are you?” The man finally stops writing and stares right into your eyes. His blue eyes reminded you of the ocean. “Sanzu. The name’s Sanzu.” The paper slides towards you. “Here. The contract. Read it carefully and do not make me repeat. 

Sanzu. The name sounds familiar, but not quite right. You look down at writings in blue ink and read the lines carefully. They were short and simple. And strange. 

“No questions about your job or personal life while working,” you mutter to no one and continue until you gasp. Loud enough to cover your mouth. You look to your side if anyone is listening, then whisper loudly, “Two million yen?!”

Sanzu folds his arms on his chest and leans back, speaking with that condescending tone. “I told you. The pay will be excellent”

“Do I have to steal something? A heist? I will not be becoming a hostess if it's that- what is this job?” “Be my girlfriend,” he continues after a pause, “ a fake one.”

…

Is this a prank?

You scan the paper again, “2 million yen… for a fake girlfriend? How does that work?”

“Just as it sounds.”

Very elaborative. The hardest blink ever, you take before speaking again. “Does that mean I have to accompany you to parties as your partner or?” Sanzu puts his finger up. “No questions about personal life or job. Did you read the contract? I thought you were one of the best, as your boss said.”

You deadpan, “That question is regarding this job. Not your-”

His body leans closer as he rests his elbows on the table and clasps his fingers. Sanzu, this man holds his eyes on you with such intensity that borders on insanity, yet quiet curiosity too. And nothing about this man is quiet. 

“Will you accept the job, or not? It is as simple as that.” 

Something about his whole demeanour irks you. Sanzu’s eyes are cold, but the smirk on his lips is chaotic. Your eyes drift from his eyes to the scar on his face. Diamond-shaped, they suit the harshness of his hands, but not his angelic beauty. They had a story to speak of their own. No doubt, the man is as extremely pleasing to the eye as he may be damaging. 

Suddenly, he clicks his fingers right in front of your eyes and scoffs, not in a demeaning way. But if it is all a play for him. “Still here? Or are you too checking me out? I didn’t expect you to be such a pervert.”

Heat rushes into your cheeks, but you barely change your expression. Clicking your tongue, you pull the pen from his fingers and scribble something onto the paper. Without a word, you slide the paper back towards him. 

Sanzu glances at the paper and smiles. “No intimate relations involved. If forced or acted upon by any party, the fine is 100k. Wow, truly a businesswoman you are, [name].” he signs the papers. “I’ll let you know when you are needed. And don’t worry about outfits or shit like that. I’ll buy you everything to suit the job.”

Your signature stops before hitting the paper as a question strikes, “Duration. How long do we have to do it?” Sanzu’s eyes drift out the window, towards the evening sky of Tokyo. The soft rays of the sun make his pink hair appear softer than it is. Or is it as rough as his calloused hands? You wonder if those eyes hold a secret unspeakable, or if the depth in them was always there until you noticed it now. To others, it looks like Sanzu has drifted to another world while still present. For the first time since you’ve met, the cocky attitude shows the smallest of cracks. 

“A few months. It won’t be long.” The words are spoken quietly. 

You look down at the paper and glide the pen across with your signature beside Sanzu’s. A few months' worth of your time for a huge payout. It is much better and higher than anything your current job can provide. 

Maybe this is a wrong decision. But who cares? The thrill will be enough to keep you alive for that time. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

It feels like a long weekend by the time you spend at your home. Almost uncomfortable, you feel after staying home for longer than a few hours during weekdays.

When was the last time you took a holiday off work? No recollection. 

Ever since Sanzu had paid his little ‘visit’ to your boss, you were granted a paid leave for an indefinite time. The same workplace where people refused to leave even after work hours. Every interaction with Sanzu makes your skin crawl in ways you do not understand. Everything in your life is ruled out, predictable enough for a surviving bachelor in Tokyo. 

You used to think that you hated the dullness more than anything. But perhaps there were some parts you liked, which included actually knowing what is about to happen in your day. Or whether you would live through the night or not. 

It is 8 pm on a Friday. You sit on the small couch in your living room, more like sprawled out and staring out of the window overlooking the city. The low hum of your favourite song plays from the speaker in your background. Jamming to the beats quietly while having a whole blast in your mind is what you usually do after work.

Oddly lonely, but fun. 

You wonder what Sanzu might be doing right now. He hadn’t even offered his full name the last time. So all you know about the man is his last name. You’ve had your suspicions since the night you met. The tattoo peeking out of his arm, or the gun obviously placed for people to see, or the way he made your boss almost piss in fear. He is no normal man. 

Your phone sits on the table, cracked screen and whatnot. There is no need to fix it and waste money on something perfectly functioning. You grab the phone and prop it on your chest in a weird position. 

Sanzu. The internet shows no results when you search the name. So that checks out any government position. Well, which government worker actually looks that cool? 

Nothing pops out in other pages too, except one private Instagram account with barely any followers. Sanzu looked like the type to keep his privacy and extroverted nature separate, so that might be it. The profile picture is of a black cat. 

Interesting. 

Your fingers hover over the follow button. If you did send a request, that would seem like you were stalking him. Which, in a way, you are. But Sanzu does not need to know that. Yet at the same time, the killer curiosity in you wants to gather as much information on the man you are working for now. Who knows what he knows about you? 

Eh, fuck it. Leave it for another day. The gun certainly spoke more for his career than his account. 

Right when you are about to throw the phone, the doorbell rings. 

Huh? You rarely have visitors, close to zero at this hour. You stand on your tiptoes and walk to the door before peeking from the peephole. 

A delivery boy. 

You open the door slightly, and the man hands the white box to you. “Have a good evening,” he says and leaves before you can ask anything. 

You kick the door close and take the box to your bedroom. When you set the box down on the bed, your phone rings this time. Talk about overstimulation. The caller ID shows no number, so naturally your first instinct is to decline. But then you remember Sanzu, and how a man with tattoos and power will have a traceable number. 

You receive the call and put it on speaker. The voice comes from the other side. Low and slightly whispery.

“What are you doing?” 

“Whoa, good day to you too, Sanzu. I thought calls started with a hello?” you speak while inspecting the box. It has no brand logo or anything to indicate where it came from. 

Sanzu pauses, audibly taking a breath to control a retort. “Did you receive the package?”

“What package- oh? You sent it?”

His voice is firm. “Be ready in 30 minutes. I will be downstairs. Don’t be late.”

“First job already? What's the occasion?” 

“Club. Your first mission. Fail it, and you lose everything.”

You blink. “By everything… you mean the two million yen, right?” Sanzu ignores your question. “Do not be late.”

“I’ll try.” 

You receive no reply, so assuming that he has cut the call, you can now open the box. Slowly, you pull up the upper part of the box.

The sight nearly makes you lose your footing. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Inside lay a red dress. The most beautiful you have ever seen. Pearls and glitter around the fabric; it is majestic. Along with the dress, there is a sleek handbag too. With a YSL logo on it. To the touch, it is smooth and expensive. Even holding the bag feels like a figment of your imagination. Maybe you are still in a dream and sleeping? 

You wince as the pinch to your arm feels as painful as any day. So it's a reality? You set aside the bag and pull out the dress. It is short, classy, every bit of chaos and elegance that you had dreamed of wearing. You can’t help it. Your feet feel like on their own. Hugging the dress close to chest, you jump around the room in pure exhilaration. The reflection in the mirror greets you as you try the dress above your clothes.

Perfect. The small squeals that escape your mouth are uncontrollable by all means. 

On the phone, you barely notice the quiet release of breath by the man, imitating a small laugh on the yet-continuing call. 

—

The sleek meeting room is filled with the executives discussing random things. Which division needs more control, which business fronts are losing their credibility, or who are the miserable ones to be executed soon enough. Usually, Mikey would personally be here and offer a few words. Those lifeless eyes and equally empty voice of terrifying words were the final order in Bonten. 

This evening, it is different. Mikey is not present for whatever personal reasons he has. He is not a person to reveal his intentions to anyone. So, the second in command is seeing over the meeting. That is him. 

Sanzu sits at the head of the table, feet propped up without a care in the world. His fingers tap nonstop on the armrest. The other arm has its elbow propped on the armrest as he leans his temples on his knuckles. 

It is Kokonoi’s turn to speak. For whatever his financial sector is suffering from. But Sanzu pays little to no mind. If he has to sit in this room for another fifteen minutes, the world might call itself fucked and let Sanzu go haywire in the streets. He doesn’t understand what these people needed to discuss so fervently that there is a meeting today. 

His feet keep fidgeting; it has been for the past hour now. The only reason Sanzu has even bothered to keep sitting in one place for so long without Mikey dictating the meeting is the voice in his ears. Most of them have noticed his earpiece, but if it means that Sanzu is quiet, then they would not bother pointing it out. 

The small squeals coming from the other side press a cooling sensation on him that the meeting kept boiling. 

“What do you think, Sanzu?” From his left, Kakucho calls him out. 

Sanzu lazily runs his eyes over each of the men’s faces, looking at him for the final decision. What a bother. Mikey is better for these things. 

He looks down at the screen, the mute option glowing white and already on. Needless to say, he cuts it. “Why are the Yokohama shipments not done yet?” he speaks, devoid of spirit. 

Ran leans forward. “The police have been raiding our warehouses. So far, they only caught two. There’s a rat among us.”

Sanzu chortles, “A rat? Someone decided to go against the king? Against Bonten?” He glances at Kokonoi. “How many fuckers in the police are being fed by us?” Kokonoi answers without a pause, “About fifty, including the top officers.”

He pulls his legs down and stands up casually. “You all know what to do. Don’t bother Mikey with shit like this. And certainly, do not disturb me either.” 

Ran lets out a low whistle and leans back on his chair. “Someone’s been busy. Isn’t it you who usually does these jobs, Sanzu?”

His arms stiffen on the table. A wave of annoyance makes his brows twitch. “Do as you are told. Meeting dismissed.”

The tension in the room could be sliced through a katana. There is no lingering chatter or Ran’s biting responses. It has been like this for days now. Ever since… Sanzu couldn’t even remember anymore. Everything got on his nerves. An unbridled feeling of throbbing is always present in his head, unnerving and annoying. They all must have noticed it too. Maybe that is why people seemed to fear Sanzu more than before. Even the people who used to joke with him. 

As the meeting room starts to empty of people, Sanzu feels a hand touch his shoulder. He jerks slightly and shoots up, only to see the Haitani brothers at his side. Ran’s smirk is caught slightly off guard, and Rindou stares a second longer. For a moment, they don’t know what to say until Ran fills the void. 

“Still up for the club tonight?” he asks. 

Sanzu wants to refuse. He wants to go home and sleep off the headache that is always bothering. But that would seem weak. And he has already promised you the club too. He clenches his jaw and nods. Yeah”

“Perfect. We have picked out the best hostesses. You’ll see why our business has been booming nowadays,” Ran chuckles, charismatic as always and pats his shoulder. 

Sanzu’s brows furrow, a low pulse in his heart, almost feeling upset. “I’m not taking any woman.”

That definitely surprises the brothers. They share a glance and turn to him again. “Man, you good? The Yokohama shipments are not worth losing women over.”

It feels like shit. Does he have to tell them? “It's not about the shipments. I… I have someone. I’m bringing her over with us.”

The silence after the reveal is eerie. A beat later, chaos erupts. The meeting room that Sanzu previously thought was empty was, in fact, not. Word reaches Kokonoi, Mochi, Kakucho, and Takeomi already left before that. They pause on their way and spin around so fast that people would assume Sanzu might have announced his wedding. 

“You-  Haruchiyo Sanzu has a girlfriend?!” Kokonoi, losing all his calm, points his terrified finger towards him. 

“Woah! THAT is the fucking bombshell of the century,” Ran cackles like he has never before. 

Rindou and Kakucho are both too stupefied to speak. 

“So when are we meeting this lady- oh, yes. Tonight.” Rindou’s eyes travel the whole room, finding anything to focus on except the fate of Sanzu’s girl. “Is she… unstable?”

Kakucho clears his throat, speaking in his deep, troubled voice, “Treat her well” Heat rushes into each part of Sanzu’s body. Especially his ears. Sanzu scoffs and pushes Ran’s hands away. There is a deep pit of embarrassment in his stomach that's making him want to dig a hole and bury everyone inside it. 

Stupid emotions. 

Sanzu glares daggers at everyone, and his cold mask returns. But the redness doesn’t go away. “Of course I will treat her well. Mention it to anyone else, and I will fucking pull out your windpipe.”

Because if people actually knew Sanzu Haruchiyo cares about anyone other than Mikey? That is a reputation he is not equipped enough to handle. 

Let them think that you are just a passing option. That is what he hired you for. A fake girlfriend. But no one else needs to know the commitment of your relationship. 

“So im guessing you won’t be joining us on the way.” Ran sucks his teeth and shakes his head knowingly. 

Sanzu scoffs, already pulling his coat to walk out of this goddamn interrogation room. He pushes a stunned Kokonoi aside. “I’ll see you at the club” Awaiting no response, he walks out. 

–

He waits outside your house, patiently like he has always been. Something is playing on the radio. The news? Or perhaps just a song. Sanzu can’t comprehend it fully. The volume is too low, and his mind is cluttered with thoughts far more important. One of them being– if the dress is fitting you well enough. 

It has to. 

Sanzu leans his forehead on the steering wheel, yet keeps his eyes attached to the entrance of your building. Any moment, you will come out wearing the dress he bought, the bag he chose specifically after researching your tastes. This moment is supposed to be fake, but it doesn’t have to look fake too. Sanzu can live with that for now. 

He tries to keep his eyes open, but the dull throbbing makes it impossible. 

Sanzu groans and slams open the glovebox. Inside is a bottle with small pills inside it. He shakes the bottle, taking out three pills onto his hands and pushes them into his mouth, swallowing them whole. 

“Fucking hell,” He mutters low and squeezes his eyes shut, waiting until the pills take action. 

Just how much of it can he fucking take?

The pills take some time, but they work. His head starts to feel a bit lighter than it did. Unknowingly, Sanzu releases a sigh and opens his eyes again. Close call. It would have been pathetic if you had seen him like this. 

His eyes travel to the window mindlessly, wondering how long it would take.

Until his breath hitches. 

Sanzu feels like all his nerves are on fire. He can count the exact heartbeats drumming in his ears. The most efficient and strongest man in Bonten, knows his body sits motionless and unable to move at all. For the first time in years, he feels his tongue unable to form a word. And how could he? When the sight in front of him is the one he had imagined countless times in his dreams, but never in his wildest thoughts dared to think that it would ever happen truly in his life. 

If only he could bury this moment deep in his heart and never let it go. 

–

Okay, take a deep breath. These heels are meant to be used and walked in, not sit inside the cupboard until it becomes an heirloom. 

The heels you wear currently may be the most expensive thing you have ever owned. You still remember how you had to put together months of your salary for it. And yes, you do love it more than anyone. 

You fill your lungs with the most oxygen you can take, and its still not enough. Anyway, you take a step back from your closet and turn to the mirror. You feel almost unrecognisable in your own skin. When was the last time you had actually gone somewhere other than work, and all dolled up?

You run your fingers through your hair and appreciate your outfit one more time, with a twirl or two. In your mind, you are a hundred percent convinced that Sanzu has only sent this dress and bag for the outing tonight. After this day, you will never get to wear it again, so why not love it while it is still on you. 

Uh oh, the clock on the wall says you have exactly one minute until Sanzu takes away ‘everything’. Hurriedly, you throw the mirror one more glance, then head out of the door. Upon reaching downstairs, a sleek black car parked right in front of your apartment catches your notice. 

Only then do you realise that you have never actually seen Sanzu’s car, so this might be him or not him. The car neither opens its doors nor rolls down its windows. But you continue staring at the tinted windows, lost in your own thoughts. When you are about to look away, the door opens. 

From the driver’s seat, the pink-haired man steps out in his black silk shirt and trousers. The waistcoat he wears is in a similar shade, yet distinct from his shirt. The man looks like he walked straight out of a funeral, or a magazine shoot at the same time. 

He throws one glance in your direction and opens the passenger seat’s door. “Get in,” Sanzu says without a care. 

Ouch, it isn’t supposed to sting. But maybe he could have offered at least one word on your outfit. You press your lips into a line and follow his gesture into the car. 

The silence is left gaping as he gets into the driver's seat and turns on the engine. You take a look at the interior, and every single visible part is customised. It reeks of money, yet no personal touch. The car ride halfway goes silently. You feel too awkward to strike up a conversation, and Sanzu’s hands grip the steering wheel so tightly it warns you of his tension. 

You lean your head against the window and stare out into the blobs of light rushing in and out of your sight one after another. Tokyo, at night, is the most beautiful version of itself. 

Suddenly, Sanzu clears his throat. You turn to him and tilt your head.

“Are you… uncomfortable?” he asks, looking between the road and you. The question feels meeker than his voice. 

You blink and shake your head. “No? Why did you think that?”

Sanzu looks like he regretted asking, “You haven’t said a word since you came. So I thought you were… forget it.”

You try, but fail to suppress the smile blooming. “I’m not uncomfortable, Sanzu. Thanks for asking. But you haven’t been quite the chatterbox, either, like you were that day.”

“I’m not some fuckass teenager. I don’t need to talk that much.”

“Sure, I must have met the wrong person then.”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, choosing to focus on the road rather than your teasing. “You never shut up, do you?”

The atmosphere inside the car begins to warm up without either of you acknowledging it. Only a few words were exchanged, yet you feel the knot in your chest begin to ease. The job, whatever you will have to do, is the last thought in your mind. Currently, you have to hold back from teasing the man driving. 

“You want me to talk? Okay,” entirely,  you turn your body towards him and prop your chin on your palms, staring up at him with a grin. “You’re looking nice.”

The man is visibly struck back. Not very noticeable, but his grip suddenly making his knuckles go white is a sign enough for you. Sanzu clenches his jaw so hard that you fear it might break. Gosh, this is better than a smile. 

“Tch, I know,” Sanzu replies, annoyed. But his actions didn’t give off the feeling that tells you to back off. Sure, this man can blow off your head at any moment, but he isn’t. He has not given you any reason for you to feel threatened. 

Should you really be pushing your luck?

“So, where are we going?” you chirp. 

The change in topic relaxes Sanzu. “A club in Roppongi. You must’ve heard about it. It's the most famous one.”

“Most famous?” You furrow your brows, remembering the names. “Oh? The one owned by the Haitani brothers?”

“Yeah. We are meeting a few people there. Just act however you want.” 

However you want? What exactly did he mean by that, you ponder. Technically, this is a job you are going for, so it is a business meeting. Does Sanzu want you to be polite and friendly? It is a bit embarrassing to admit, but your knowledge of proper girlfriend etiquette is horribly low. Most of the time, you end up either scaring the men away or proving to them that they do still love their exes. 

It is better to ask him than ruin your possible 2 million yen payout. “How should I act?” you stare intently, without realising. 

“Huh?” Sanzu is partially surprised. He runs his fingers through his hair, giving your question some thought. “However a girlfriend acts. Fucks with that question?”

“Tch, I mean, should I act like a-” No, this airhead won’t understand without an example. Internally cringing a bit, you cup one of your cheeks with your hand lightly and tilt your head, “-like a younger girlfriend, all adorable and innocent.”

Sanzu takes one glance at your expression and freezes. He coughs loudly, and the steering wheel loosens in his grip, but he grabs it back. Geez, are you looking that bad? Nonetheless, you continue the antics. 

“Or do I be like-” your posture straightens elegantly, and your legs sit on top of the other. Softly flipping your hair, you give him a wink. “The older, mature girlfriend. But wait- I don’t look that old. Eh, just say I got good skincare.” Sanzu doesn’t speak a word. In fact, he refuses to even look at you after the wink. His eyes do not stray from the road for a second, as rigidly as his back sits now. The dim light inside the car makes it hard to notice his expression; however, the weight of this silence is only felt by him. Not you. 

In fact, your shameless self gawks at the pink head even more intensely. As if his thoughts would speak to you if you peered hard enough. After a few seconds, Sanzu breaks his silence. 

“Just… just be normal. They’ll like you anyway,” he mutters his last words. The gruff tone does not go unnoticed, especially when it is accompanied by his bashed side glare. 

The last time you remember, gangsters aren’t supposed to be this affected by some cheesiness. Sanzu must be unbearably annoyed by now. You bite the inside of your cheeks while tracing the scars on his mouth with your eyes. Something about him is odd. Insane and weird. But not boring. 

Playfully, you scoff and settle back in your seat properly. The rest of the ride goes smoothly. Soon the nightclub comes into view. The blood starts pumping through your veins. All those times you had spent only dreaming about how the place would look from inside it are coming true. And to hell with it if you will lose this chance to have fun. 

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