Angels Fall

It was actually the first time Eren was going to be inside the car while it’s moving, his multiple steamy, depraved, and kinky actions with its driver completely tossed aside. The Lamborghini Aventador wasn’t just Levi’s car, it was his baby, his entire life, and no one got near it with a ten foot pole without Levi’s expressed permission and surveillance. Eren was one of the lucky few who was allowed to, and that was because he deepthroated its owner’s dick the moment its two doors closed in on them inside. His... something with Levi was still going strong, the thrill and danger of being with the car racer not wavering a bit. Now more than ever Eren spent his nights on the quarry, its large, fluorescent lights beaming over the parade of expensive, fast, illegal drag racers who put the pedal to the metal, flirting with death and destruction once the night had deepened and bets were made.

It was a fascinating world of chrome, leather and oil, the sound of roaring engines and screeching tires against the gravel predominant, air filled with heavy dust and the scent of burning gasoline. Eren was a goner the moment he heard the first tire squeal, the sharp whiplash of the wind as the two racing cars sped off from their starting lines, and it was turning into an obsession.

When he met Levi, it became an addiction.

Eren cursed under his breath as he pulled out his phone. He still had some time to go home, change clothes and prepare for the night’s event. Levi would be racing again and he didn’t want to miss anything, especially the opportunity to be taken on a ride, both figurative and literal. Taking the stairs two at a time, he finally got out of the building with a heavy exhale, shouldering his way through small clumps of people. What was it with people getting in his way today?

But as he got nearer to the school gates, the crowd had progressively thickened, with girls tittering and squealing in delight, and boys muttering and pointing at the front gates with increasing agitation and sound.

Of all the fucking times--! Eren shoved his way through the throng, irritated and about to punch a person’s face in, when he finally pushed his way to the school gates.

Eren’s jaw dropped in utter shock.  

Levi had always been fucking gorgeous, but right now, he was practically dripping in sex and sin. He was wearing all black today, silver hoops glinting at the lobe of one ear, one hand resting casually on his belt while scrolling through his phone with the other. A tight, tank top, showing his lean, muscular arms, faded, ripped jeans wrapping around his strong thighs, feet laced up in equally dark timberlands. He was leaning lazily against the Aventador, and if not for his height, he could have been posing for a fashion magazine. The keys to the Aventador clinked merrily, carelessly hanging on a belt loop, a siren call for any man who was a slut for cars, and the Lamborghini was definitely a tempting mistress.

“Levi?!”

The sex god on wheels flicked his head up to look at him and instantly Eren knew that hundreds of eyes were also on him now. But the only eyes that mattered to him right now were the ones staring right in front of him, quicksilver irises as dark as used car exhausts, dark, intense, inviting. Eren swallowed thickly, heat instantly curling in his blood.

“Took your sweet ass time.” Levi pocketed his phone and crossed his arms, instantly making his mouth dry. He had touched that body more than once, knew its planes and contours intimately and Eren hoped to god he wasn’t getting a boner right now. Levi cocked his head further to look at him completely, gaze dragging down bit-by-maddening-bit, taking in his school uniform piece by piece as if he could take it off Eren with the sheer power of his gaze alone. Levi’s eyes snapped back to his face and his lips tugged up into a smirk, one hand casually pointing forward, palm up, two fingers curling in the familiar, universally acknowledged come-hither motion.

Fucking smug gorgeous asshole! Had he been wearing panties he would’ve dropped them the moment he saw Levi move his fingers like that.  

“What—I—uh—I mean, what are you doing here?” His face was fire-engine red, could feel the warmth radiating from his cheeks, but he was a fish hooked on a lure, gravitating towards Levi helplessly. He could hear the mutters behind the back, the none-too-subtle flashes of phone cameras being shot their way, but all sound was muted except for the gasps of his breath, the pump of his heart faster than an accelerating V10 engine. This was bad, this was going to be the talk of the school the next day, the rumors were going to be so ridiculous—

“Picking you up. Jesus Christ kid, you don’t watch us race so you can be as slow as a fucking turtle. Haul ass so we can get out of here.” Levi eyed the complete crowd ogling them with disdain, foot tapping impatiently on the concrete. Eren moved sluggishly, still trying to process the information, because holy shit, Levi’s waiting for him in front of his school.

But apparently he was still walking slowly, and Levi was an impatient bastard, because the moment Eren was close enough, he moved.

A hand curling around his school tie, making him jerk forward, almost losing his balance. A strong arm, wrapping around his waist, tugging closer, until they were toe-to-toe and chest-to chest, with only the thin layer of their clothes separating them, and they had been much closer before. Then he was dragged down, a pair of lips covered his own, and everything short-circuited.

Eren’s mind blanked, a sound he didn’t mean to make escaping from his throat. Shit, he was kissing Levi in front of his schoolmates, swapping spit in front of his entire fucking school, and he was going to get in so much trouble for his, he was breaking school rules, what the hell—?!

But Levi sucked on his bottom lip, teasing out a groan, licking into his mouth, tongues tangling, warm, wet, and so fucking good, and instantly Eren didn’t care. Didn’t care if they had an audience, didn’t give a flying fuck if they were giving them a complete show. Levi was there, he was warm, he was real, and Eren’s chest throbbed with a sweet ache, because he missed Levi. Missed this short, snarky bastard, his quick hands and even quicker reflexes on the road with an easy grace that never failed to take his breath away.

So his hands found his way through Levi’s hair, fingers running though surprisingly soft ebony locks, lets himself get devoured, his knees to weaken, until he was whimpering, panting softly against Levi’s mouth, more than half-hard on Levi’s thigh.        

“Can’t get you out of my head, Bright Eyes,” Levi whispered against his parted lips, and it was the closest thing to an I miss you Eren was going to get. Hell, maybe it wasn’t even that, maybe Levi just missed a warm body to sleep with, but Eren was perfectly all right with it either way.

“Let’s go.” With a simple flick of his wrist the car keys were out of the belt loop and into his hands, one touch of a button making the hazard lights blink, the sound of the doors unlocking behind them. With a wider smirk, Levi loosened his grip on Eren’s necktie, hand going behind his back to hook his fingers under the door side panels, pushing the handle up, and instantly the door swung upwards, true Lamborghini style.

Jaws were already dropping at this time, and honestly, Eren wouldn’t blame them. It was a flashy ride, to be sure, massive against Levi’s more petite stature, but it was sleek, powerful, and absolutely beautiful, much like its owner.

“After you.” Levi moved to the side with a sweeping gesture, inviting him inside. Eren was sure that the entire student population was openly gawking at him at this point, but still slid into the passenger seat, still a little dazed and flustered. His door was closed, and Levi slid into his seat smoothly, the dark upholstery molding itself onto his body like armor. The gaggle of students were still clustered at the gates, waving excitedly and pointing fingers at their direction, but Eren couldn’t bring himself to care, not when he was here, inside Levi’s car, with Levi.

“So, Eren.” Levi slid the car fob into its slot, the dashboard lighting up, and with a flick of a finger, a red cap opening, pressing the ignition. The Aventador started up, a wild beast awakening from its slumber, its V12 engine purring like a sated kitty as the seat rumbled underneath his legs. Eren shivered, running his fingers through the leather interior detail, flashes and bits of memory surfacing in his mind, of gripping with mad desperation as Levi rode on top of him, sweat and sex staining its upholstery. “Where do you want to go?”

The promise. Eren looked at him then, finding him waiting patiently for an answer, with an elbow resting on the car door ledge, palm supporting his head, other hand on the steering wheel, fingers drumming in rhythm. The cover was up, windows heavily tinted, and instantly it was just the two of them, the car, and the road, stretching in front of them with no end.

And at once his blood spiked with adrenaline, the rush once again setting in his veins as the world widened, the thrill of speed never ceasing, and Eren was going to take his first step into it.  

Eren leaned forward, reaching for Levi’s forearm, tilting his head and bringing his mouth close to Levi’s ear, lips brushing against the earring-studded shell as he whispered.

“Everywhere.”

The resounding smack of the ball on the other side's court was exhilirating, despite his aching muscles. Despite his meager height of 160cm, Levi managed to defy all odds in a sport that emphasized power in how tall someone was, making it up with natural athletic ability and the strength of his leg muscles. Why be tall when you can fly?

And to be honest? It felt pretty damn good. Levi exhaled as he held the ball in his hands, letting it spin as he narrowed his eyes on his opponent. Practice match be damned, Levi always played to win, especially when he was up against this brat.

Eren Jaeger. Freshman, idiot, and the biggest pain-in-the-ass Levi had ever met. He was tall enough to play volleyball, wasn't particularly gifted at it, which he made up for with sheer determination. Levi was an all around player, could set, spike, block, and receive, like the rest of them, even better. But what set him apart was his tosses and his serves, when Levi was in the middle of the offensive they racked up points faster than Erwin ran away when faced with a brow shaper. His sets, however, were difficult to spike, and only certain people in the club can keep up with him, which was why he hadn't played the setter position in a long, long time.  

But Eren, loud-mouthed, passionate, recklessly determined Eren, with his ragtag bunch of first-year misfits, managed a feat no other batch in the volleyball club managed to do: they fought an equal fight with their seniors, and for the first time, there was the very real possibility of them losing.

Levi glanced at the scoreboard. 23-24. One more point. One more service ace and his team would win. He breathed out another slow gust of air, felt the slide of sweat on his skin, the warmth radiated by his body, the twinge of his calves as his fingers dug into the ball.

The whistle sounded. Dribble the ball. Once. Twice. Hold it with both hands. Spin it, toss it forward, into the empty air. Run after it, knees bending. Inhale, look down on the other side of the court, see its blind spots.

Blue-green eyes, watching him like a hawk hunting its prey, unwavering in its intensity.

"I'll defeat you! I'll... I'll pull you down from the sky and send you crashing to the ground!

I'll make you toss for me, Levi!"

Levi's breath stuttered and his hand connected with the ball earlier than it should have, sending it tripping when it reached the net.

"Net ball!" The bald shorty screamed from the other side and Levi swore loudly, getting into position to receive. Fuck, how could he have screwed up that serve?! It was the perfect set up, none of the brats could handle the power and control of his serves at first try. Eren certainly tried, Levi thought with a snort.

It was those damned eyes. They were a color of their own and it was distracting.  

"Don't mind, Levi!" Erwin clapped him on the back and Levi winced, seeing the look in Erwin's eyes. Erwin knew it too and he was gonna get royally chewed out for this later.

After they win, of course.

"Give it to me, Marco!" Eren called out, and Levi snapped to attention, watching as the freckled first-year raised his arms to set the ball and Eren--

Was already running, going to the left side, where he was, and the ball was tossed, going to Eren's direction and--!!

Ah. Levi couldn't take his eyes off Eren's form, the arch of his back, the curl of his legs, the line of his arm as it swung. It was flying, not exactly, but Eren seemed to hover in the air, all raw and explosive power as he delivered the spike with a guttural roar that was more animal than human.

It made his spine tingle.

"Mike, Erd, block it!" Erwin screamed, and Levi snapped back into awareness, just in time to see Eren slam his hand down on the ball, right in front of the raised block.

It was fast, hard. Levi's feet were running before he knew it, because the Wall had crumbled, it was breached, and he had to protect their court before the ball landed on it.

His body jerked forward, arm outstretched to reach for the ball that was just a few meters--no, centimeters away. Just a little more, body, please move, Levi told himself desperately, so close and yet so far. But he did it, managing to reach the ball just enough to catch it with both arms.

Levi winced as the ball dug into his skin. So powerful. His body was shaking, his arms hanging by a thread, threatening to snap at any second. But he had never felt more alive, blood pounding through his ears, lips stretched out in a manic grin he was sure would bring nightmares to anyone who saw it.

The ball ricocheted, whizzing by Levi's cheek to slam on the wall behind him. His eyes widened.

The skin burned.

24-24.

The cheer on the other side of the court was deafening, and Eren was mobbed by the first-years in sheer, disbelieving joy.

Deuce. It was going to be a tie-break.

"Our freshmen... are monsters." Erd shook his head while wiping the sweat off his face with the collar of his shirt. "That spike was so powerful I was almost afraid he's gonna blow my hand off."

"It doesn't matter. If it's a battle with stamina, we can meet them head on." Erwin huffed a breath, before turning to him. "Levi, let's go. It's their serve."

Levi stared at the spot where the ball had landed, still feeling the tingle and burn of his arms, the way the brat made him shiver.

"Levi?"

Titan. His mind whispered, and Levi couldn't help but smirk, glancing through the net to meet the unique-colored irises of the most intriguing freshman Levi had the privilege to meet.

"I'll do it, Erwin." Levi glanced up at him, eyes wide and brimming with barely hidden madness. "Keep him. I think I can be a setter again, if it's him."  

Eren Jaeger was a monster. A monster with a powerful spike whose reflexes might be fast enough to hit his tosses.

But first Levi would break him. Put him in his place and remake him into the most powerful player they had. Someone Levi had to put down with his bare hands.

-/-

A steaming mug of milky coffee was placed on top of the coffee table, Sanada placing it down in front of the author writing away on his laptop.

"Thanks. Sorry." Yukimura murmured, not taking his eyes off his screen as his fingers clicked-clacked away, line after line appearing on the document. His intent blue eyes were hidden behind framed spectacles, light reflecting off the clear lenses.

Sanada sighed. “At least tell me earlier. Thankfully I managed to ask the printers to give us until tomorrow morning.”

"You always pull through for me, Sanada." Without looking at him Yukimura’s lips stretched into a smile and Sanada felt the red creeping in his cheeks. "Thanks."

"A-Anyway, I need that chapter done for today, you hear me? Good grief…" Sanada took a swig of his own pure black espresso, trying to will away the heat on his face.

He had known Yukimura for as long as he could remember, when they were four and Sanada thought that he was a girl at first. Even as young as they were Yukimura had a way with words, and while Sanada also had the same talent, he could never compare to how Yukimura weaved his stories, a melodious harmony of flute and koto strings over a warbling river. Sanada would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous, but something about the way Yukimura wrote played and tugged at someone’s heartstrings, and it wasn’t something that should be kept hidden.

So he supported his best friend in the only way he knew how.

He became his editor.

"Sanada, for this one scene, I have a question." The sound of Yukimura’s voice brought Sanada back to the present and he made an affirming sound.

"So… here, the main’s character’s going to confess his love—"

"What?!" Sanada choked on his drink, thankful that he hadn’t drank a mouthful or he would’ve spat it out. "When did that happen?! This isn’t a romance novel!"

The look Yukimura gave him could peel paint. “Sanada. You’re my editor. You’re supposed to realize the foreshadowing in the first chapters. Haven’t you noticed that he’s slowly getting closer to his subordinate? That they’re clearly more than childhood friends?”

"But that’s—!" True, Sanada did feel a little something between the main character and his best friend, but Sanada thought it was just him overreading it. "Why now?"

"Maybe it’s cliche, but the protagonist’s about to go to his final battle. He’s not the man to think of the what ifs and the uncertainties, and he knew he wouldn’t have made it that far if not for the support of his best friend. So before he goes to certain death, he wants to convey his feelings." Yukimura leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes.

"But isn’t your main character a man of few words? How would he say it? It’s too out of character. And how would the best friend respond?" Sanada frowned.

Yukimura hummed. “Something like this, then?” He pulled his head off the couch and looked straight at Sanada, face completely serious.

"Tsurugi, I love you.”

I love you.

At once, Sanada’s face entirely lit up in a blush. “W-What are you saying?! It’s not even suki, it’s ai…!*” Heart, calm down, Sanada told himself multiple times, because this was crazy, Yukimura was just acting out his character, that’s all.

Yukimura threaded his fingers together and cocked his head thoughtfully. “Why not? They’ve been together for such a long time, always, through thick and thin. Even if Tsurugi knew he was hurting his friend because of his swordsmanship he was selfish and asked him to stay. And his best friend did.” Yukimura smiled at him. “No wonder he would fall in love, And Tsurugi’s the type of person to fall hard for the person he chose. So? How do you think they should answer?”

How…?! How would Sanada answer that? “O-Of course… it should be…” Sanada looked away, mumbling. “… ve you…”

Yukimura blinked. “Hm?”

"I said…!" Sanada exhaled a sharp breath, and finally looked Yukimura in the eye. "They should answer, 'I love you too'.”

Silence.

"I see…" Yukimura finally said, voice soft, as a shy smile on his lips as he turned back to his laptop. "…Thank you."

"Just finish it. I’ll look it over for you." Still red in the face, Sanada downed his coffee and went back to the kitchen, feeling that something much bigger just happened moments ago.

-/-

More often than not he'd go back to his apartment completely exhausted and just drop off to sleep in his bed (or couch, if it was a particularly grueling training session) without even showering or eating. Haru knew he would get used to it eventually, once he got into the rhythm, but the adjustment was taking some time, especially now he was smack-dab into the busiest city in Japan and not in peaceful, slow-going Iwatobi.

Like now. 

Haru was so tired he couldn't even think straight. He barely managed to dress himself in the locker rooms, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he forced his aching legs to move, one step at a time. His vision was dazed, head curiously light and floating as he bypassed the swarm of people going home as well, the sun already sunk on the horizon.

His body was moving on autopilot now, buying his ticket in the train station and waiting for his train to arrive, eyelids threatening to shut down every few seconds. Haru yawned as the train pulled up, covering his mouth with his hand as he entered along with the rest of the crowd and positioned himself by the nearest handle, grabbing one and resting his head on his propped arm. He should rest just a bit, Haru thought, barely able to see his shoes below despite his efforts to keep his eyes open. But he wasn't too familiar with the stations yet, he might miss his stop if he let himself sleep. 

Maybe he did doze off, Haru didn't know, because the next thing he knew his eyes were blearily opened and his feet were moving onto the platform. He moved with the evening rush, not even knowing if he was at the right stop, if he was on the right street back to his apartment. But he was too exhausted to really care, finally arriving into a complex that was vaguely familiar to his addled mind. He trudged the stairs with an herculean effort, almost toppling down if not for the firm grip he had on the metal bar. But he managed, and eventually made it to the right floor, dull blue searching for the right door.

There. Second on the right. He moved, almost tripping on his laces as he finally arrived, shoulder banging against the wood in an abnormally loud manner. He patted his pockets for his keys, while the other hand was rattling the doorknob. Where was it, he was so close, his bed was only a few meters away he could almost feel it--

Without warning the door opened and Haru found himself falling towards--

Warmth.

"Haru! What are you doing here?" A surprised voice sounded above him, large, gentle hands cradling his shoulders, effortlessly holding up the weight Haru suddenly couldn't carry anymore. 

"Mmph." Haru mumbled into Makoto's chest, almost falling to his knees if not to Makoto's sure grip. He gripped Makoto's shirt and inhaled deeply. The scent of the ocean breeze still clung to his skin, enough to lull him deeper into a sense of calm.

Makoto always smelled like home.

"It can't be helped." Haru could almost visualize the tilt of Makoto's lips, the fond exasperation on his face as he all but carried Haru inside his apartment. "Come on, inside." 

Haru didn't answer, completely boneless in Makoto's arms and already on his way to dreamland. Makoto was just so warm, so familiar it was too easy for Haru to drop his guards and let himself be guided by Makoto's presence.

He was safe with Makoto. 

"Haru? Come on, on the bed..." Soon enough the warmth at his front disappeared, weight sinking beside him and hands brushing on his sides as his shirt was pulled over his arms and head. The cold air hit his bare skin, enough for Haru's sleepiness to dissipate and raise his head with a slight glare, but fluff replaced it when he was pushed to his back, with light cotton draped over him. Haru sank into the cool softness, the scent of home faint but still recognizable.

"Go to sleep." Makoto's voice was warm, whispered against his ear while a hand ran over his hair, and a rumble sounded in Haru's throat. It felt nice and soothing, his head torn between craning to feel more of those fingers, or towards the cloud he was resting his cheek on.

"Stay." He murmured. Still wasn't enough. He reached out, caught fabric and a solid wall of muscle. His arm raised weakly, haphazard in their placement over Makoto's waist, he recognized it with his fingers, He moved closer, away from the cloud into something firmer but much more warm as his breaths evened out. 

He could feel Makoto's breath stutter over his head, a bit quickened, his muscles tense against his cheek. But eventually he relaxed, his fingers resuming its work on his dark hair.

And for the first time in a while, Haru felt he was back at home.  

-/-

Makoto wasn't looking back, fingers tight where they wrapped around Haru's wrist, but his strides were long and heavy with purpose. Haru looked at their joined hands and then at Makoto's back, eyes wide, as Makoto deliberately pushed against the people on the walkway with polite excuses, pulling Haru along. 

Eventually they managed to find a darker, more secluded corridor, and it was only then that Makoto let him go and turned around to face him. 

Makoto's face was half-covered in the shadows, eyes hidden under his bangs. Out of the two of them, Makoto's the more vocal one, and the fact that he was so silent disquieted Haru more than he thought. 

"Is this what you've been worrying about all this time?" Makoto finally asked, looking up and staring at him. 

Haru couldn't meet his gaze. Only Makoto could make him feel so ashamed of himself without really saying anything.

"I hate it." His fingers clenched into a fist. "All this scouting, competing, talk of the future.... I hate it."

Nothing good ever came out of competing against one another. He lost Rin that way once. All those talk of his potential, his talent, deciding for his future as if he wasn't even there sickened him. He didn't want to be the center of people's expectations, to be the tether to their dreams and the support for their goals. It was suffocating, crushing and before he knew it his love for water would disappear and he would lose the people he cared about.   

He breathed in, but he was still drowning.

"But Haru--" 

"I don't swim for them. And I will never swim for them!" It was selfish, self-serving, but Haru didn't care. Rin would never understand how he felt. Swimming for his friends and himself was his only happiness, his dream, and he wouldn't let anyone take that away from him.

He faced Makoto with fire in his eyes, expecting the same thing to come from Makoto's lips, only for his eyes to widen in shock as Makoto closed the distance between them and enfolded Haru into his arms.

"Haru, you idiot!"  Makoto's voice wavered against his ear, hands splayed on Haru's back, clutching at his jacket. "Of course you don't have to swim for them! You've always swam for yourself! It doesn't matter what others say! So stop beating yourself up over it!"

Haru couldn't speak, couldn't think, surrounded by the large warmth of Makoto's body, cooled chests pressed skin to skin while Makoto's body trembled in front of him. 

"I... was really happy when you said that you swim for your friends as well." Makoto's voice was still thick with emotion, and some part of Haru instinctively reached out to pat Makoto's shoulder because Makoto was starting to cry again. "You're happiest when you swim. So it's fine. You're okay, Haru."

"Makoto..."

"Haru, it doesn't matter. So... so swim the way you want to." 

He should have known better. Makoto never expected anything of him, only accepted what he could give and was happy despite how little it could be. Makoto never had any illusions or goals about him, only saw him for who he was and liked him because of it. 

Makoto, who only watched and waited for him. Makoto, who was now telling him the one thing he wanted to hear the most. That it was okay. That he could be as selfish as he could be, and still make Makoto happy. 

Because Makoto never expected anything from him. Makoto understood him, more than anyone else in the world. And that made Haru work hard to make sure Makoto would be proud of him, every single time.

"This isn't something you should be crying about, you know." Haru's lips sighed, but his hands were running up to Makoto's shoulders to loop his arms around his neck. Haru was never really a tactile person, but sometimes... it was nice to be held. Just for a moment. 

"But I can't help it!" The tears stained Haru's shoulder but he couldn't care less, holding on just as tightly as Makoto held on to him. 

Haru wouldn't say it, never would in a hundred years, but it could be felt in the way in his body relaxed and melded against the other's, the gentle movement Haru's fingers made on the back of Makoto's head, the subtle way Haru's head leaned on Makoto's collarbone, breathing quietly against his neck. 

Thank you, Makoto.

"You're not the oyabun yet," Sanada muttered under his breath, because he really didn't want to die early. But he immediately quietened as the tattoo artist came in, a flamboyant, sly figure of a man, whose dark curls instantly reminded Sanada of their youngest recruit, who was stuck shining their shoes for that day. 

"Ah, Yukimura-san," the man cooed, and Sanada felt a snarl rising from his throat, suddenly having the desire to protect his young boss, "it's been a while." 

"Mizuki-san." At once, Yukimura's expression melted into that cool, smiling, professional facade that he only showed when dealing with other Families. "Yes, it's been a while."

"How is my masterpiece? Surely you haven't done anything to it yet!" Mizuki's face was the picture of horror, sliding into Yukimura's space like a well-oiled snake, and Sanada almost pushed himself off the chair, snarl intensifying.

"Not at all." Yukimura answered with a polite smile, gesturing to Sanada with a glint in his eyes that had Sanada backing down quickly. Sanada honestly feared for Mizuki-san's life at that moment, no matter what kind of person he was. "I believe my friend has an appointment with you today?"

"Ah, yes..." Mizuki turned to him, gaze sweeping up and down his body in a way that made Sanada extremely unsettled, instantly having the urge to cross his arms over his chest, "It's also been a while that a... friend of yours was here, Yukimura-san."  

"Indeed." Yukimura's expression remained pleasant. "But you and I know that I only go to the best." As Mizuki preened, Yukimura moved closer, sitting in the chair beside Sanada. "Are you sure? It will be painful." 

"I'm sure." It will take several sessions, would be extremely expensive and painful, but Sanada would put up with it for the sake of a good tattoo. 

"Well," Mizuki said as he snapped his gloves, "as the design is... extensive, Sanada-san, this will take quite a while. And the method you've chosen... are you sure? There's still a chance for you to choose the electric needle." 

"You've done Oka--Yukimura's tattoos by hand. I want the same." Sanada had only seen it once and not very well at that, but it really was a work on art on Yukimura's skin. The splashes of color and the lineart was second to none. It was Yukimura who chose his tattoo as per his request, and as a part of the Rikkaidai-gumi, Sanada couldn't refuse him.

"If you're sure." Mizuki shrugged. He prepped his equipment, sanitized Sanada's back, placed the stencil, and began.

It wasn't so bad at first. But as the jabs to his skin became numerous and intensified, Sanada has a hard time concentrating to keep his mind away from the pain, the occasional blink as the pain ruptured almost unbearably. 

Silently, Yukimura offered his hand, the phoenix tattoo on his back covered, as always. Sanada didn't know what design Yukimura chose but he trusted him, wondered how Yukimura could stand this pain and he was even younger than Sanada was when he got his own tattoo at his coming of age ceremony. He imagined a teenage Yukimura, gritting his teeth to the pain, alone and lonely as a part of the ceremony, not showing himself to the public until his tattoo was completed, inking and lineart and all.

"Didn't... think... it would be... so bad." Sanada grunted after what seemed to be like hours, and they were just getting started. 

Suddenly Sanada was glad that Yukimura was with him that day. He took the offer of silent support, squeezing when it became too much, but not too hard. Yukimura's lips quirked in a smile, his other hand raising up to pet Sanada's head, fingers combing through the black locks, like he used to when they were children, Sanada's head on Yukimura's lap on summer afternoons.

"And it would be another 4-5 sessions after this one. I don't do this for anyone, so be thankful." Yukimura said lowly, so as not to interrupt Mizuki's work. If Sanada's grip was tight, Yukimura never commented on it.

"Thank you then, Okashira." Sanada tried calling him Oyabun first, as was proper, but Yukimura gave him such a dark look afterwards he never did it again. 'Okashira' was the only title acceptable, even if Yukimura disliked it immensely. 

"If you want to thank me, call me Seiichi." 

Sanada remained silent, but gave Yukimura's fingers a gentler squeeze, conveying what he couldn't say in words.

He inhaled sharply as he opened his eyes; seeing the blank ceiling above him, right shoulder screaming in pain. With a pained hiss he sat up gingerly, opening the lamp by his futon to examine his wounds properly. It opened in the night, bleeding profusely, the bandages a dark red and spreading. The bandages spread to his chest, where thankfully it didn’t open up, but moving was still a terribly painful experience. His throat ached as he tugged at the knots with his left hand, teeth gritting against the pain.

He couldn’t remember moving in the night.  

Just as he managed to get one knot undone the papers doors slid open, and there Yukimura was, in his sleeping yukata, eyes bright and alert as they stared at each other.

“Okashira.” Immediately Sanada straightened out, despite the sudden flash of tear-inducing pain. He barely just managed to keep his stoic expression, the paleness of his skin the only indication of his hidden pain.

“Let me see.” Yukimura Seiichi said briskly, closing the doors behind him and kneeling behind him, swiftly undoing the ties at the back.

“Okashira, you don’t have to–” Sanada tried to intervene.

“Be quiet.” The steel in the Rikkai boss’s voice immediately made Sanada pipe down, letting the man do as he wished. “Lean forward a bit.”

They both kept silent as the bandages slowly unraveled, showing the healing scar, one large slash cutting through the tattoo of the dragon that encompassed the whole of his back.  The shoulder wound was a newer injury, a result of Sanada’s recklessness and complete devotion.

If he didn’t take that bullet, the man behind him wouldn’t be breathing right now.

Sanada kept his breaths even, trying not to immerse himself with the pain each tug at the cloth made. He didn’t regret what he had to do, it was his duty, but he had caused Yukimura pain. The Rikkai considered themselves family, and losing one of them would hurt Yukimura terribly.

At least, that’s what Sanada believed.  

“… Okashira?” Sanada noticed that Yukimura’s fingers had stopped, fingertips just hovering above the raised skin of his new scar.

Slowly, eventually, Sanada felt the press of damp skin against his own tender flesh, and he gave a start, stilling when soft, calloused hands pressed itself against his lower back. The brush of hair between his shoulder blades tickled, and Sanada’s heart lurched in his chest.

“… I thought you were dead.”  

A whisper, making the still air between them tremble, reverberating around them. Yukimura’s hands trembled, and Sanada’s chest ached, wishing he could turn around, see the expression on Yukimura’s face.

Oh.

“… I don’t regret it.” The bandages pooled at his hips. Sanada could feel the cotton on his back, the breaths that synchronized with his own. “But I’m sorry.”

“You’re not allowed to do that again.” Yukimura said lowly. Nails scratched against his skin, breaths heaving as something wet slid down cooling skin. “I’m making it an order. Once was enough.” The mention of it was enough to lift Sanada’s uninjured arm, touching the patch over his right eye where his sight will never be the same again.

“You can’t stop me from doing my duty, Okashira.”

“Stop it.” Yukimura’s voice was harsh. “Don’t call me that.”

Sanada paused, considered.

As hands moved to settle around his waist, Sanada pulled him closer, shuddering just slightly at the lips pressing lightly on his open wound.

 “… As you wish, Seiichi.”

He was content in chasing dreams and waking up with nothing. He was allowed to see this. Here he could touch a dream, and it wouldn’t disappear.