Zeke considers this, whether or not he should take your words as an admission of softness, and decides not to beleaguer the point. "You can use your razor if that'd more comfortable."

You laugh again. "My safety razor? Not very elegant."

He grins, that sly, wolfish grin you can't help but be charmed by. "I think I'd survive." He flops down onto the couch, knees knocking into yours, and plucks at the book in your hands. "Whatcha reading?"

You clamp the covers closed with a scowl. "Don't do that. You know I hate creased spines. And anyway, your poor grandparents don't need a shock."

Zeke shrugs and lopes back toward the bathroom, calling out, "I'll leave the offer open."

Left alone, you set aside the book and listen with fond exasperation to the sounds of Zeke opening and rummaging through your drawers. It's not until you hear him muttering to himself that you get up and lean against the bathroom doorjamb. A pair of scissors lies in the sink amid a dusting of pale blond snippings.

Zeke looks up at you, beard already trimmed down to uneven stubble. "No shaving cream."

"Imagine that," you say dryly. You open the cabinet and reach for a squat glass jar of cold cream. "You'll have to make do."

You have him sit, long legs criss-crossed, on the bathroom tile and scoop a thumbful of the cream to smear across his cheeks. Zeke watches you work, gray eyes shining. He's always looking for an excuse to be coddled, to be the object of your attention, even or especially if it's under the pretext of a dare.

"You'll owe me," you say with mock severity as you snatch a towel off its hook.

"I will," he says solemnly.

You settle over his lap, carefully leaning your weight on one wrist, palm flat on the tile between his knees. With the razor held between your fingers, you angle his face toward the watery bathroom light, and he tips his chin up to expose the line of his throat.

"Comfortable?" he asks.

"Don't distract me," you say.

Tentatively, you lower the blade to his cheek. The first pass is slow, testing. Cream gathers against the blade, and you wipe it clean on the towel before making another stroke. Neither of you speaks for a while as you concentrate on the little rasps of steel on stubble and on avoiding maiming the man in front of you. You take your time, folding his ear, turning his chin this way and that, and Zeke appears content to let you manhandle him as you choose, openly watching.

You know you've made a mistake before anything even happens, the moment your eyes accidentally meet his. Your focus breaks, and to your horror, the razor catches. A bead of blood wells up at the tiny red line on his cheek.

"Oh!" You reach for the towel, but Zeke is already chuckling, lifting a hand to thumb at the crimson. Steam hisses quietly, and by the time he lowers his hand, the cut has disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a miniscule smear on smooth, unbroken skin.

"No harm," he says with a teasing little tilt of his mouth, and perhaps to demonstrate his sincerity, he lets his eyelids droop, submitting utterly to your hands.

You huff and return to your careful work, paying extra attention to the difficult angles at the hinge of his jaw and around his lips. "Aren't you afraid someone might question why the War Chief's gone all smooth-faced all of a sudden?"

Zeke opens one eye. "Like what?"

"They might assume you lost a bet," you say, dabbing at the edge of his mouth. "Or that you've gone and shaved for a girl."

He raises an eyebrow, and you scoff.

"What?"

"I highly doubt anyone's gonna make that mental leap."

"Your grandma might," you mutter.

"Would that be so terrible?" His hands find your waist, drawing you in a little closer. "You could come along, you know."

"Where?"

"My grandparents'."

"Oh." You let out a nervous laugh and wiggle involuntarily in his hold. "I don't think I'm ready for that, Zeke."

He grins lazily. "Fair. That would certainly send them into shock."

You swallow and gently pat away the remnants of cold cream from his face. When you finally take away the towel, the visage you've revealed is uncanny—familiar, younger but not young. The rugged War Chief is gone, replaced by a rather princely stranger. Unburdened by its usual scruff, Zeke's jaw is so delicately sculpted, so boyish, you think you catch a glimpse of the sixteen-year-old he must have once been before his inheritance.

"Well?" he prompts, rising to his feet and pulling you up with him. "What do you think? Too cherubic for battle?"

You step back and tilt your head appraisingly. "Absolutely. You look like you should be lecturing in a hall somewhere."

Zeke rolls his neck and blinks at his reflection. Gone is the wolf, and before you stands a lamb.

"You know," he says, meeting your gaze in the mirror, "I could always skip dinner."

"What?"

"Dinner. I could skip it and spend the evening here instead."

You shake your head. "Zeke, no. You should go."

He turns, leaning one hip against the basin. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," you say. "Your grandmother would be hurt if you didn't spend your birthday with them."

"Hm. Quite an assessment, considering you've never met her."

"You only get so many birthdays with them."

The words leave your mouth before you get the chance to examine them too much. You busy yourself with rinsing the razor beneath the tap, watching the last traces blond stubble swirl down the drain. Zeke wraps an arm around you and drags you into him, forcing you to tilt your head back to look at him.

"You know, the same could be said for us," he says, more so like a petulant child than the tragedy he is.

You sputter a protest, but he's already pressing a kiss to your hair, then down, behind your ear. The absence of his beard is jarring, smooth skin still damp and slippery against yours. For a moment, you let yourself imagine a wider expanse of years together. A birthday dinner not just this year, but the next, and the one after that. What would it be like, unshackled from the walls' curfew and the ticking of the clock, to settle into someone's life certain they'd be there tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow?

You shake the thought and step out of his embrace to reach for his armband where it sits next to yours on the console, bright red contrasting white.

"Go on," you say, holding it out to him. "I'll still be here when you get back."

"But—"

"Quit it." Levi's voice is firm but not unkind. "Stop overthinking every little gesture."

Your throat tightens. You can feel the bark of the tree through your shirt; it helps to distract from the discomfort rising in your body.

"Then… how do I know? How do I know I'm not just—" You swallow hard. "…annoying you by existing here?"

"We're in a relationship, dummy."

"So?"

Levi's gaze shifts to the grass, softening at the edges like worn denim. "Don't apologize. If you're unsure, ask."

"Okay…"

"Go on. Try it."

"What?"

"Ask me a question."

"You want me to practice and ask you a question? Isn't that… I don't know, weird?"

"Who gives a damn?"

Right. Ever direct, your boyfriend.

You manage a small smile at that, feeling the shaky release of something in your chest you didn't realize you were holding onto. "Levi… could, I, um…"

Levi arches a brow, waiting. A sparrow nearby screeches, but you ignore it.

"… Can I kiss you?" you mumble quickly.

A soft scoff escapes him. "Tch. Shot myself in the foot with that one, didn't I?"

None of these words or titles had ever meant shit to Levi. But you'd called him guard dog.

Those two words, and the way you'd said it — for some reason it had gotten under his skin. You looked down on him. Maybe even despised him.

Shit, he despises himself. Although his uncle has given him a new title and responsibilities, it's still the same old thing: kicking people's asses in the name of the Ackerman clan. It didn't matter if Kenny called him shorty or Captain, he was still doing whatever the old man told him to do. Like an animal.

A guard dog.

After dropping you off, he'd tried sleeping for a few hours, but it was no use. The sounds and smells of his own apartment felt foreign to him; the bed was too soft, the room too quiet. Five years of prison life had taught him to sleep with one eye open and to never let his guard down. It's going to take more than two days of freedom to break those habits.

And is he really free? His conversation with Kenny makes him wonder if he's just traded one prison for another.

A sigh escapes his lips.

He needs to punch somebody. But that will have to wait.

"Time to get to work," he grunts, pushing himself off his bed and heading for the shower.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The work day is already well underway by the time Levi parks his motorcycle in front of a large skyscraper in downtown Neo Tokyo. Every major corporation and company is headquartered within these few blocks, like a heart from which all things flow out and in. Amidst the buildings, the streets are packed with corporate workers, with their modern, flashy suits and high-class body mods. It was a different kind of augmentation than what Levi saw on the streets; titanium arms and legs gleaming in the light, instead of the cheaper silver or gold plate.

Levi hates this part of town and its upper crust society, thinking they are better and smarter than everyone else. For all their judgmental stares, he knows for a fact that these assholes all end up at the clubs and bars the Ackermans own anyway, craving companionship, sex, or alcohol.

Vices, the law likes to call them.

Kenny had always called them the great equalizers. Because no matter who you are, everyone has wants, needs, and desires.

"Everybody is a slave to something," Kenny always said, "might as well make some money off of it."

He walks into the Phobos Building, a dark presence amongst the gleaming gold of the lobby. The guard at the front desk doesn't stop him, more than likely noticing the pin of the Ackerman family crest shining on the lapel of Levi's jacket, like a golden ticket, getting him into anywhere he wants.

Anywhere within Ackerman territory, that is.

Furlan's office is located on the fifty-seventh floor, and is a far cry from the gritty downtown headquarters of the Ackerman Clan, but Levi knows this was all according to plan.

After Levi was arrested, Furlan visited him as often as he could, telling him of the clan's operations, and of Kenny's plan to enroll Furlan in university to study law. The fact that Furlan hadn't even finished high school didn't seem to bother Kenny in the least; he'd had a fake diploma and transcript forged in under an hour.

Months turned to years, and while Levi continued to languish in prison, Furlan had graduated from law school at the top of his class in record time. When he was recruited for the largest law firm in Neo Tokyo, Levi wasn't surprised. He knew Kenny had a hand in it, but he also knew his friend's skills: cunning and charming to a fault, and always able to talk himself out of any difficult situation.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Levi," Furlan had said on one of his visits. "We're filing for parole."

True to his word, Levi's parole was approved within the year.

Furlan, now the clan's saiko-komon, was tasked with keeping all the Ackerman's business pursuits lawful on paper, and to occasionally advise any clan members who found themselves in legal problems. It made sense: the clan needed an administrator to keep everything as legal on the surface as possible, should any law enforcement come snooping around their businesses or investments. However, Levi couldn't shake the feeling that Kenny had something more planned for the clan and for his friend, and he wondered what his own part would be in it.

That was a problem for another time; right now, Levi needed to know more about what the Jaegers were up to, and he knew Furlan could give him some of those answers. He walked past the law firm's front desk attendant with a glare that would have stopped anyone on their tracks. By the time he got to the office suites, Furlan was already expecting him.

"Security told me an angry man in a black suit was headed up here, and I had to assume it was you," his friend remarks, gesturing Levi inside his office. "You're here earlier than I'd expected. Or did you sleep at all?"

Though Furlan's voice is smooth as silk, his hair is disheveled and his shirt wrinkled. His suit jacket lays across a large sofa on the other end of his office suite.

Levi raises an eyebrow. "I should ask you the same thing. You look like shit."

Furlan just laughs, running his hand through his wavy, brown hair. "You never hold back, do you, Levi? If you must know, I had a business call with an organization on Earth that went through most of the night. I was just taking a little lunchtime nap."

Levi walks around the room with a discerning eye until he sees a flash of bright material sticking out from underneath the sofa. With the tip of his shoe he pulls it out, clicking his tongue as it comes into full view.

Lacy pink panties. Levi kicks them across the floor. "Yeah…working hard, I see."

Once Furlan sees what Levi is referring to, he strides across the room to pick them up. "Ah! I was wondering where those went. She'll be wanting them back." He looks at Levi, who gives him a scrutinizing glare. "What? We all have our vices."

"Vices? So it's a call girl? I didn't really think that was your style."

"She's an escort," Furlan corrects. "And why not? It keeps things professional and discreet," he casually replies, casting off his old shirt. "Come out with me tonight. I could introduce you to some of the finest women in Neo Tokyo."

"Maybe another time," Levi replies.

Furlan, who is now looking through a large closet, stops picking through clothing to smile at his friend. "Another time? My friend, you've been in prison for five years! How much more time do you need?"

"I have other things to think about right now."

"Other things, or other people?" Furlan smirks. "You're hung up on that girl from Earth, huh? What's her name?…" He pulls out a crisp, clean shirt and jacket, "…Luna?"

"Don't be delusional. I'm not the least bit interested in her," Levi instantly retorts.

"And yet you were asking me a lot of questions about her the other night."

"Because she's from Earth."

"And not at all because she's pretty." Furlan's voice drips with sarcasm, but Levi simply scowls. "Well, now you'll have plenty of opportunities to know her better, won't you. Did you get her safely home this morning?"

"She called me guard dog."

At that, Furlan laughs. "You've pissed her off already. What's that Earthling saying? 'You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?'"

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, you're more likely to get what you want if you're nice to someone."

Levi flops on the sofa. "Can we stop talking about Luna? She's the least of my problems right now."

"Ok then, let's get down to business." By now, Furlan is clothed in a new suit, and runs his hands through his hair with one final look in his mirror. "How can I help?"

"I need an update on the Jaegers. What's Zeke's angle with the clan?"

"That's the billion-yen question," Furlan answers, settling into his large leather chair. "He stepped into power after his father died two years ago and seems intent on extending their territory beyond the west side docks, where their main profit is off-planet smuggling and human trafficking. We believe most of the women and humanoids they traffic work in their clubs. We can't say for sure, though."

"I'd heard about that in prison. But why push their boundaries now?"

"Power," Furlan answers flatly. "Isn't that always the reason?"

"And the Ackerman Clan stands in the way of Zeke's total control of Neo Tokyo."

"Precisely." Furlan takes a slender, metallic device out of his jacket pocket, presses it to his lips and takes a long drag. Smoke escapes his nostrils and mouth as he looks out the window. "For someone out of the game so long, Levi, you certainly remember how it's played."

"I sure as shit do. So why's the old man just now doin' something about it?"

"I suppose Kenny thought he'd let the new leader bare his fangs a bit, and test his power. But Zeke's push into our territory has made it clear he doesn't want to play nice."

"Then it's time to put Zeke in his place."

"That might be easier said than done," Furlan counters. "Zeke is notoriously private. He lets his brother Eren handle most of the dirty work, while he controls things from the shadows."

"Shake things up enough, and the snake will show his head. Just in time for me to cut it off." Levi stands and makes his way to the door. "I need a list of all the Jaeger front businesses and clubs, as well as the names of the Jaeger Clan lieutenants and business associates. You can send a direct memory upload."

"I'll have that for you within the hour. Gonna shake things up?"

"Something like that."

At that, Furlan smiles. "Just don't forget to pick up Luna at the end of her shift. And be nice!"

Bastard. He had to bring that up.

Levi flips off his friend as he leaves the office, but Furlan just laughs.

"Now there's the Levi I remember!"

By the time Levi pulls in front of the Ackerman headquarters, Connie and Jean are waiting for him outside. They've traded out the tracksuits typical of new yakuza members for regular street clothes, and when Levi takes off his helmet, they stand in attention.

Levi surveys them for a moment, unimpressed with their enthusiasm. "This isn't the fucking Martian military."

"Yeah…but…you're our Captain now, " Connie defends. "We gotta show you respect."

"I don't care about any of that bullshit," Levi remarks flatly. "Let's get to work."

"What are we doing?" Jean asks.

"We're gonna teach the Jaegers a lesson," Levi coolly replies.

"Fuck yeah, that's what I'm talking about!" Connie punches into his hand. "Who we beating the shit out of first?"

"Nobody yet," Levi says. "Before you attack an enemy, you need to understand them, know their movements. That's how we'll find their weaknesses."

To that, Connie nods, letting his hands fall to his sides. "I mean yeah, that's what I meant."

"You." Levi points to Jean. "I want you and baldy here to pay a visit to our clubs and pachinko parlors. Find out any information on which ones the Jaegers have been messing with and for how long."

Jean nods, but Connie just rubs his hand over his newly shaved hair. "I'm not bald," he whines, "I'm just getting tattoo augments on my head soon."

"Speaking of which, what kinds of augments do you two have? Physio or Cosmo?" Levi asks, walking into the Ackerman Clan headquarters as the two younger men follow.

"Physio…you mean, like, performance enhancing?" Connie asks.

"…and Cosmo is cosmetic…stay with me here." Levi throws a scowl over his shoulder as he sheds his suit jacket.

"Only tattoos and comm augs, for both of us," Jean interjects. "We were told that Kenny isn't a fan of physiological augs. Can't really afford them anyway."

"Yeah, he's old world like that. Never really been into Martian technology." By now, Levi has changed into a black tshirt. "And concerning weapons, no-"

"No guns or weapon mods…just knives and swords. We know," Jean interrupts. "We may be new recruits, Captain, but we're not kids. We know what we signed up for…" Jean stands up a little straighter as Levi turns, giving him a harsh once-over, "…sir."

Levi clicks his tongue at the two before grabbing his motorcycle jacket. "Noted. And just call me Levi. I don't do formalities." He walks outside as the two follow once more.

"Cap—uh, Levi…sir," Connie says, just as Levi mounts his bike. "Is it true that the Ackerman blood doesn't allow you to have augments?"

Levi is silent. Connie fidgets. Jean elbows his friend in the side.

"I mean," Connie continues, "the word on the street is that the Ackermans were some kind of super soldier, created for the Earth government before shit went down and they ended up escaping to Mars. Right, Jean?"

Jean looks at his friend, then at Levi. "That's what…they say…"

At that, Levi dismounts his bike and takes off his helmet. He walks towards the two, who now stand frozen before him.

"They, huh? What else do they say?"

Jean's eyes dart to Connie, who doesn't seem willing to help him with any further explanations. "That you and your mother were left behind on Earth until Oyabun brought you back as a kid to be his heir. That is until—"

Jean stops. Levi raises an eyebrow.

"Go on. Until what?"

"Until you…betrayed him and were sent to prison."

"Betrayed," Levi repeats the word with a weight that seems to physically effect the two standing before him. "Is that what Kenny calls it?" He looks intently at his 'little brothers', who are sweating under his gaze. "Then let that be a lesson to you both not to piss off an Ackerman. Understood?"

"Yes sir!" they say in unison.

"Enough with the badgering and get the hell out of here," Levi says, returning to his motorcycle. "I'll expect a full report by tomorrow."

"Where are you going?" Jean asks.

"To understand our enemy." Levi flips down the visor of his helmet, and in a flash, he's off.

"Fucking nosy brats," Levi mutters under his breath. He hates being the topic of gossip and speculation, but it infuriates him even more that his mother is brought into it all. No one has any idea what they went through on Earth. What she sacrificed to—

He can't think about this right now. Even years later, the images are too painful. So Levi pushes them down, as he always does, and focuses on the matter at hand.

While Jean and Connie were barraging him with questions, Furlan had uploaded all the Jaeger front businesses and lieutenants to Levi's memory. Along with his comm, it was one of the few augments that his enhanced body accepted, and it had proven useful on more than one occasion. Names and maps pass through Levi's memory like he's known them his whole life, as his motorcycle speeds down the streets, towards the industrial district on the western edge of Neo Tokyo.

Glittering skyscrapers give way to grey buildings caked in Martian dust and grime, the air heavy and black from star ship exhaust. There are no clubs here, not even a bar to be found; just one factory after another, with the sounds of machinery echoing around every corner instead of the usual drone of holographic advertisements so pervasive in the city. It's not glamorous by any means, but Levi knows that millions of yen in freight comes in and out of the loading docks just beyond the district's limits.

This had been Jaeger territory for as long as Levi can remember. The rival clan had made a name for themselves first by cornering the black market with counterfeit designer clothing and body augments made off-planet. In time, their empire had expanded to weapons, while the rumor spread that they were now trafficking humans into Mars. It was a market with endless possibilities and little competition, so why make waves with the Ackerman clan now? What's Zeke's game?

Levi turns a corner down a quiet street that is the location of the Jaeger headquarters. He remembers coming here once as a young boy, standing alongside Kenny as he and Grisha had their annual peace negotiations. Had Levi met Zeke at that time? He can't recall—those first few years on Mars had been such a blur.

His motorcycle passes a sandy red building; an imposing, minimalist block amongst the grey steel surrounding it. This is the headquarters, Levi is sure of it, but there's not a soul to be found on the street, and a titanium padlock bars the door.

He cross checks his own memory with the address Furlan uploaded to him. It's a match, and yet it's obvious that this building hasn't been used for a while.

Levi slowly passes through the main avenues and back streets of the district, but there's not a single clan member in sight, just factory workers going about their business. Levi continues to explore the area until the sun sets, its striking blue colors creeping over the dilapidated buildings. Something isn't right—he can feel it—but it's late and he's tired of searching. In a few hours, he'll need to pick you up anyway, so he heads back into the entertainment district, to the neon lights of Kabukicho.

At this time of night, the streets will be packed with people searching to escape the pressures of the real world, whether that be family, or work, or whatever responsibilities await them outside the walls of the clubs or bars to which they enter.

Levi gets needing an escape. The world is shit, ruled by shitty people going after their shitty desires at the cost of others.

Places like Club Azure are an oasis. A business providing a service just like any of the other Ackerman investments. But he can't help but feel disgust for the men who let themselves be swayed so easily by a hostess who's being paid to make them think they're the most interesting person in the room. It's a relationship built on lies and deceit.

Hange had once argued with him that he viewed the host and hostess world too harshly. "It's a world of make believe," they'd said. "Let the poor souls believe what they want to believe."

But Levi had seen firsthand what deceit—and the blind belief in it—could do to a person.

Now back at the club, sitting at the bar with a whiskey in his hand, he watches you charm an old fool into buying the most expensive wine on Hange's shelf — a vintage that had been smuggled from Earth during the climate crisis of 2033, so the story goes. You smile as you pop the cork and pour the glasses, absolutely shameless with satisfaction. You place your hand lightly on the man's arm and lean into him, whispering something in his ear that has him grinning from ear to ear and giggling like a god damn child. Other men and hostesses join the table, enraptured by whatever story you're telling them, your eyes shining as you give each man your attention.

Meanwhile, you don't even send a look Levi's way. He pours another drink for himself, then another, while you smile and laugh the night away with one man or another.

"Hange, I'm gonna need another bottle," he says, sliding the empty whisky bottle down the bar.

"Hold on there, buddy. Don't you think you've had enough for the evening?" Hange responds .

"Ackermans don't get drunk."

Hange raises an eyebrow. "You sure about that? Cuz it looks like you have a burgeoning case of rye rage."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that in an inebriated state, you, my friend, get pissed off."

"I'm not pissed off."

"You most definitely are." Hange leans against the bar and stares at Levi. "Your scowl is scowl-ier than usual."

Before he can respond, Hange has hurried away from the bar, thanking the last guests as they close for the evening.

It's only then that you finally acknowledge Levi.

"I just need to change," you say to him coldly as you walk briskly to the dressing room.

"Oof, that was frigid," Hange replies as they return to the bar. "She does not like you."

"I've barely even spoken to her."

"Maybe that's the problem, Levi. There's no harm in talking to her and getting to know the girl better. You'd catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

Levi rolls his eyes. "What is with that stupid-ass saying? It's the second time I've heard it today."

"Just be nice to her," Hange replies, shrugging their shoulders. "The poor thing doesn't have a single person in this world."

"She's told you that?"

"She doesn't have to. I can see the loneliness all over her face. Either she came to Mars on her own or the Earthling she came with is long gone."

Levi glances back at the dressing room. "Alone, huh?"

He wonders what would make a young Earthling woman desperate enough to travel by herself to Mars. Passenger ships from Earth were rare these days and ridiculously expensive, and Neo Tokyo is not friendly to anyone trying to make it on their own. Despite its cosmopolitan facade, the city is ruled by one law: that only the strong survive. But you probably knew that already. The fact that you're a popular hostess in such little time shows that you know how to play this city's game.

You play it a little too well, he thinks.

By the time Levi has gotten on his motorcycle and ridden to the back of the club, you're waiting for him, standing with Ymir and Historia. As he pulls up next to you, your smile and laughter fades, silently mounting the seat behind him. You give a quick wave to your friends before he starts down the alley.

"I told you, you don't have to drive me home," you say through your helmet's headset. Your voice doesn't hold an ounce of friendliness, as if you've become a completely different person than the one you portray at the club.

"And I told you, it's my job."

Levi turns a sharp corner, causing you to wrap your arms a little more tightly around him.

"Why were you watching me tonight?" your voice comes through the headset again.

"I wasn't," he answers.

"You were glaring at me most of the evening."

"I don't glare."

"Levi…"

The coldness in your voice changes the second you say his name. There's a sweetness to it that, for a moment, makes his body feel hot.

Then your tender laugh echoes through his helmet. "…all you do is glare."

There's that hot feeling again. It's pissing him off, how much you're affecting him. Or maybe it's the alcohol after all.

He scrambles to deflect. "I've known Hange for years and like to get a drink at the club. Your table just happened to be in my line of vision."

The ride turns to silence once again. Levi feels your arms around him shift.

"You don't like me much, do you?" you finally add. "Or do you just not like hostesses in general."

"I don't have an opinion either way about you or what you do. It's none of my business."

You hum a response in a way that says you don't believe him, and he'll be damned if you get the upper hand.

"And what do you care what I think, anyway," he adds. "Can't get enough approval from your clients at the club?"

"They seem satisfied enough."

At that, Levi clicks his tongue. "Lonely men desperate for attention."

"And so what if they are? Who doesn't like to have their feelings and thoughts listened to?"

"I don't."

"Well then, I guess you're the one exception in humanity."

"You make it sound like you're their therapist or something. Like you're doing some kind of charity service. But you don't give a shit what they say to you; you'll just smile and nod as long as they pay up."

"It's my job." you reply matter-of-factly.

"A shitty one. Lying to people all night long, pretending to be someone you're not."

"You don't know who I am. You don't know a thing about me." Your voice has turned cold once more. "Not all of us can be lackeys for the Ackerman Clan."

"I'm no lackey," Levi quickly responds, his anger escalating.

"Yet here you are, driving a hostess home because your Oyabun told you to." You lean in close, as if to whisper in his ear. "Guard dog."

The words come out so condescendingly that it instantly has Levi seeing red.

He jerks his motorcycle over to the curb. "Get off."

"What?"

"You heard me. Get off my fucking bike."

"My apartment is still blocks away. You're supposed to take me—"

"—I don't have to do anything. Now get. Off," Levi commands in a tone that verges on the edge of frightening.

Without another word, you hop off the seat of his motorcycle and immediately start walking away.

"Oi!" he yells, "I want my helmet back."

You stop, look him dead in the eyes, and throw the helmet on the ground.

"Asshole," you spit, and then you turn and walk away.

Fuck.

What was it that Hange and Furlan said about honey and vinegar?

Probably doesn't matter now. You're pissed, and there ain't no amount of honeyed words that are gonna fix it.

And he may be an asshole, but before you get too far, he follows behind, from a distance, just to make sure you make it home.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Gunther sits in the monitoring room of the Ackerman Clan headquarters, his legs propped up on the table as his head bobs to the side, resisting the urge to fall asleep completely. It was expected of every clan member to take the security night shift every few weeks, to monitor the security cameras and check the perimeter of the building—a mundane part of the job that felt more important as tensions were rising with the Jaeger Clan.

Just another two hours, and Gunther could take a bath and sleep the day away. Security duty also meant you got the following day off, so he was counting down the minutes.

Suddenly, an image flashes across one of the screens.

His eyes fly open. He sits up and blinks a few times before staring at the monitor intently. Maybe he's just seeing things. More than likely, it's some punk kid trying to impress his friends by tagging the building.

With a heavy sigh, Gunther reluctantly gets up and looks around the front entrance. There's not a soul to be found on the streets; even the most serious of drunks have called it a night and made their way home. He walks to one end of the block, keeping a wary eye out for anything suspicious.

Nothing.

Gunther shakes his head. He must have dreamt it. The sound of his shoes echo through the street as he walks back towards the building, and then he hears it—a loud bang coming from an alley across the street.

"Oi, who's there?" he shouts, as he walks toward the sound. "Come out."

Something charges at him. Gunther scrambles to grab his knife, but he isn't fast enough.

A thud and a crunch, then the street goes quiet once more.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Glossary of terms:

Saiko-komon: "senior advisor" who focuses on legitimate, front-facing affairs for the yakuza

Kabukicho: the red light and entertainment district of Neo Tokyo

TAGLIST (message me to be added!)