💗

What you didn’t know was that he was that Manjiro Sano. Bonten’s leader. Japan’s most dangerous crime boss. Someone who could literally blink and make people disappear.

And you? You were a barista. Working the morning shift, half-asleep, armed with nothing but caffeine and sarcasm.

So when the man strutted in, cut the entire line, and leaned against the counter with an arrogant tilt of his head—you didn’t even flinch.

"You gonna pay for that coffee? Or are you just here to stand around and look mysterious?"

The room went dead silent.

You didn’t notice the flinch from the guy in the suit behind him. Or how the woman next to you suddenly ducked.

Mikey, however, blinked.

His head tilted. Just slightly. He looked you over. And for the first time in years, his lips twitched.

"What if I like standing around?"

You squinted. "Then stand over there. After you pay."

He paid. Silently. Didn’t say another word. But he came back the next day. And the next. And the one after that.

Sometimes he ordered the same drink. Sometimes he just stared at you, sat in a booth, arms crossed, like you were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

You ignored him. Mostly. Gave him nicknames like "pouty gremlin" or "white-haired menace" under your breath.

Until one day, you saw him again. Not in the café. Not in his fancy coat.

He was bleeding.

It was a rainy night, and you were walking home when you found him slouched in an alley, breathing heavy, eyes sharp even through the pain.

"Oh my god—are you okay?"

He looked up. Recognized you. Still tried to play it cool.

"It's nothing."

"Nothing?! You look like you got run over by a truck. Twice."

You dragged him to your apartment. Cleaned him up. Forced him to sit still.

"You know, for someone who looks like a villain, you bleed like everyone else."

He snorted. "You talk too much."

"And you sulk too much."

He didn’t leave for a while. Slept on your couch. Ate your instant ramen. Watched movies with a permanent scowl, until he started actually laughing.

And one day, out of nowhere, he just—

"You’re mine now."

You looked up from your cereal. "Huh?"

Mikey didn’t even blink. "You’re mine. Don’t make me repeat it."

"Is that your version of a proposal or a threat?"

"Yes."

And somehow, from that moment on, he just... never left.

The Bonten execs were horrified. Some were in denial. Sanzu needed a week to recover.

But Mikey? Mikey was obsessed. Protective. Clingy.

He dragged you into his world, but made sure you were untouchable.

The first time someone called you "Mrs. Sano," you almost spit out your drink.

But Mikey just nodded proudly. Arm around your waist. Dead serious.

"Damn right. That’s my wife."

(And you never had to pay for coffee again.)

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

requested by:

He rolls down the window and quirks an eyebrow at you, leaning back in his seat as he unlocks the car, watching you slide into the passenger seat, your head falling back against the headrest. The pulsing pain in his head simmers, a degree lesser than before when he sees your eyelids flutter shut and the sigh leak from your lips. A contented sigh, a peaceful sigh, and your arms drop to the side as you all but sink into the plush leather. 

‘Do you have to call me that?’ Rindou rolls his eyes and turns the key in the ignition, leaning on the seat as he reverses out of the parking space, the buttons on his shirt straining with the effort, delicate whorls of black ink now very much visible from beneath the open buttons.

‘What? Jellyfish?’ You suppress a smile and let your head fall against the window, now dripping with the first rain of the night. It drops in rivulets, and you trace the water racing down the glass with one polished fingernail, feeling the soft and simmering happiness thrum in your chest. 

‘Yeah. Such an embarrassing nickname,’ he mutters, his rough voice laced with mirth. ‘How was your time anyway?’

‘Oh, boring, you know I hate these things.’ Your eyes crease as you frown, watching the passing cars and their glaring headlights fade behind you as Rindou speeds up, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping on his thigh. ‘I’d rather be at home with you and Ran.’

He hums in agreement and curls his fingers over the gear stick. His hands are rough, calloused, blemished by cuts and bruises, scabs and scars sprinkled over his knuckles, a marked contrast to yours. 

‘It’s a shame he couldn’t come,’ you say, lifting your head to watch the glow of the streetlight pass over you, and in that light, Rindou’s lilac mullet flashes a deep burnished orange, the light illuminating the patch of skin where his tattoo slides up and down.

Rindou’s neck prickles with unease. Yes, he knows Ran should be here, that  he would be if he could, that he’d ditch anything in less than a minute for you. 

Always the job, always the looming paperwork, the assignments far away, the haunting and yet commanding voice of Mikey that propels them further, that leaves little room for error.

Rindou swallows against the pulse of pain that snakes up his jaw. ‘He would be, if he could be.’

He knows that. He knows Ran is probably doing exactly as he is right now, drumming his fingers on a steering wheel, or resisting the urge to check his phone for the umpeenth time, knowing you’re here, that he should be here too.

Rindou had taken the call only earlier in the day, hearing his Brother huff on the other end of the line as he jammed his keys into the car, cursing low under his breath when he dropped them on the gravel.

‘... and Y/N is going out with her friends later today, y’know for the holiday. Any chance you could pick her up for me?’ 

Rindou had sunk in his office chair, let out a huff of air indignantly, his chest both deflating and stuttering at the prospect. If only you were easy to ignore, to relegate to just being his Brother’s Girlfriend and nothing more. Perhaps it might make things easier, might make it easier for him to ignore how hard he wanted to press his lips to yours.

‘... again?’ Rindou had let the impatience seep into his voice, blowing a tuft of hair from his eyes, his skin prickling when he happened to think of how pretty you always looked, as if you had swallowed the sun whole. He cringes at himself now, at how he always feels so full and empty at the same time, of how his chest aches with how hard he fights to keep his breath even, of how sparks flit underneath his skin whenever you’re in his vicinity.

‘I know, I know, but you know Mikey’s been on my ass recently since everyone’s going to be busy for the holiday. She likes hanging out with you anyway and you’ll be doing me a favour. Come on Brother.’ Ran had said and Rindou had known instinctively that he’d have said yes anyway, that pretending it was a chore was just a ruse. He could never deny Ran, and more recently, he was discovering he could never deny you either, that the longer he hung around you the more he craved your time, your smiles, your attention and being your unofficial bodyguard didn't make that yearning any easier to deal with.

A sharp and ugly green spasm of self loathing worms it’s way into his stomach and he hates himself a little more every time he thinks about you, every time your name falls from his lips, said fervently like a prayer, like a wish he keeps tucked under his pillow, every time he fists himself to the image of you and then somehow, shamefully, looks you in the eye the next day. This was wrong. You were Ran’s. You are Ran’s. He repeats the phrase like a mantra when he leaves the office to come and get you.

And yet all his resolve, the wall he’s built up so carefully around himself, brick by unmovable brick, comes falling down when you smile at him as you tilt your head and sink into the leather of his seats and he forces his eyes away from your thighs peeking out from your dress.

You shiver, and Rindou flicks the heating on when he sees the goosebumps break out in his periphery. He gestures to the glove compartment by your thighs with a flick of his chin.

Your eyebrows knit together and you shuffle forward to pull the glove box open. 

A blanket, inlaid with tiny glowing stars, the fleece warm against the bare skin of your arms, falls into your lap alongside a sealed water bottle and a box of painkillers. You frown and Rindou marvels at the way your lips part and your tongue runs over the faded lipstick, at how you suck in a breath and your teeth pull in your bottom lip.

‘Emergency supplies,’ he says and grins sheepishly as he stops at a red light, the growl of the car’s engine slowing to a soft thrum. ‘For days like today.’

For you, he wants to say.

‘Oh.’ Warmth seeps along your skin and into your stomach.

Stop. Stop and ignore it. Ignore it, and go home and sleep in your own bed, the bed you share with his Brother and let this go, refuse to think about it again. It’s wrong, and Ran doesn’t deserve this. You love him don’t you? You said you loved him more than anything, that he was the one you called Home.  It wasn’t as if it was Ran’s fault. You knew he loved you, knew that he’d rather be with you than anywhere else, that his mind was filled to the brim with thoughts of you and you only. 

‘Can I ask why?’  You say and pull the blanket up to rest underneath your chin, knocking back the water to wash the taste of anxiety coating your mouth. Anxiety that’s thick and coagulated and churning with self hatred and confusion. Your tongue clings to the roof of your mouth.

‘Well, I thought, since I’m always picking you up, it would only make sense.’ He runs a hand along the nape of his neck, the inky black tattoo stark against the copper light spilling in through the window. ‘We can’t have you getting sick, or any accidents after all.’

‘Oh so I’m an accident now?’ You quirk an eyebrow.

‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ he says pointedly and you stifle a giggle at the way he puffs his cheeks and rolls his eyes. 

He heart stammers in his chest when he sees your nose scrunch with the effort to crush your grin and despite himself, despite how wrong he feels, a tentative smile tugs at his lips all the same.

It doesn’t help that he’s both beautiful and attentive, that his eyes perfectly reflect the moonlight when he looks up, pearly and opalescent and clear as the surface of a lake, that his hair is shimmering lilac and gossamer silk, that you imagine it slipping through your fingers like the soft velvet of spiderwebs.

‘Besides,’ he continues, ‘I’m your bodyguard, it’s my job to look after you.’ 

On the days when your thoughts get the better of you, when Rindou is there on hand as soon as you dial him, you wonder what it would be like to touch him. When he keeps you company late into the night, the phone pressed between his ear and the curve of his shoulder as he shuffles into his apartment, you wonder how his lips feel, how his throat feels pulsing under your mouth, how he tastes in every way you can taste him. You hear the jingle of keys as they’re thrown onto the coffee table, the low buzz of the TV as it’s switched on and your heart aches for him, for the loneliness he can’t seem to shake, the penthouse that is always deathly quiet. You recoil from these thoughts, shut them out. Pandora’s box, locked up for eternity.

You wonder on some nights, at what point did he stop being your bodyguard, and start being something else? At what point, did you think about kissing him more often than you thought about kissing Ran? At what point did you come to expect that Ran was busy and Rindou was there, always there, to pick up the pieces?

‘My bodyguard? You can’t stand the sight of me half the time.’ You huff and pout with indignation. ‘I remember what you said!’

Rindou’s eyebrows crinkle as he purses his lips. ‘If you’re referring to me calling you weird and annoying, it’s true.’ Despite his words, his voice betrays his mirth at the memory. ‘And it's only because you think vanilla is better than strawberry!’

‘That’s because it is!’ You say, as if the most obvious thing in the world, quashing down that flutter in your throat, a butterfly flapping its wings when he rolls his eyes and chews the inside of his cheek, a tentative smile still lingering on his lips.

‘See? This is why I can’t stand you.’ 

You throw your head back and laugh, your hair slipping past your shoulder, clinging to the seat behind you, and Rindou hates how it sounds to him, the lilting nature of your voice, the tinkly laugh that is both high and low at the same time. God he wishes he could make you laugh forever.

There again is that persistent thought, that remnant of his conscience that tells him he’s an idiot, that he should end this friendship here, that breaking his own heart is a small price to pay for saving Ran’s. Do you not love your Brother? The errant voice says. Do you not love him despite everything he has done for you, everything he continues to do for you?

Shut up, Rindou thinks. Shut up and stop making this harder than it has to be. But the claws of that self loathing are sharp and rake down the walls of his mind regardless of what he does to crush them.

At some point, he arrives at your apartment and the car slows as he glides into the parking space outside. This is it, he says to himself. This is the final time. He’ll refuse Ran next time, he’ll flatten that mixture of longing and obligation that propels him to see you, to pick up your calls and listen to your voice sluggish with sleep late at night. And yet, even as he thinks this, he knows the opposite is true. 

The car stops, the engine fizzing out as the key is turned in the ignition and Rindou sighs, letting his head drop back onto the seat, watching you with his chin jutted slightly out, the low hood of his eyes making them seem feline in the light. 

‘Rindou,’ you start and your tongue is a boulder of corrugated gravel in your mouth. You swallow, and the saliva is caught in your throat. ‘There’s something we should talk about.’

Ah.

Rindou knows this conversation has been on the precipice for a while, that there was only so long you could skirt and tip-toe around the issue. That air of simmering tension would be bound to break before long. At least this way, despite the nausea building in his stomach, it could be put to rest.

His knee bounces, anxiety prickling at his skin.

‘Rin, I like you,’ you say and the tension of holding the secret for so long bleeds out of your skin. There is no easy way to say it considering the circumstances, but still, the weight pressing down on your shoulders dips once you have the words out. ‘And I think you like me too, don’t you?’

Rindou hangs his head, soft wisps of hair skimming his collarbones. ‘I do. I’m sorry, I never intended to. Not like this.’ After all, what does he have to lose now? 

A lot, considering the circumstances. 

‘Me neither.’ Your heart quails, falters as you reply in tandem and the terse silence thereafter only serves to heighten the incessant buzzing in your ears, the furious thumping of your heart in your ribcage. 

There is no going back now and the finality of the situation hits you like a freight train. He fiddles with the hem of his jacket and pulls out a silver tin inlaid with his name in neat cursive. From you obviously, because you were always very sentimental. Perhaps that was half the issue. That for all his skills and for all his cold brutality, he wanted to feel the sun, wanted to bask in your warmth and would have spent a lifetime running after you had it meant he could taste that sunshine once. If only he had met you first.

‘How long?’ He asks and his head snaps up to meet your eyes, eyes that are turned down with barely repressed sorrow. 

‘I don’t understand-’

‘How long have you known? How long have you felt the same?’

Since we met. Since that day you listened to me cry all night, had borne the fruits of that sacrifice later from Mikey and yet never, not once, made me feel guilty for it.

‘Does it matter?’ You say instead because it seems easier than telling the truth and letting that worm of self hatred gnawing at his insides fester knowing he’d assume he encouraged it. 

‘I suppose it doesn’t.’ He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, letting the nicotine fill his lungs once he pulls it into his mouth. He wants to drown in it, to feel it swim through his blood till his head stops thrumming and his ribs cease to crush his heart. If anything he just wants his hands to stop shaking.

He casts a glance at you as he blows a ring of smoke and absent-mindedly his hooded gaze drops to your lips, the indent in your chin and the sharp cupid’s bone that make them so alluring. It would be so easy to kiss you now, to just bridge the distance and slot his lips against yours. To let himself be weak and stupid for one moment, maybe leave this one mistake in this year, this one Christmas where he could perhaps blame it on the alcohol and rationalise it in his head to assuage the guilt. You’d taste the smoke on his hot breath, smell the shower gel he uses and wind a hand into his hair and Ran would never know. He knows you’d never speak about it, and neither would he, The shame would be his companion to the grave. 

But no, he’d never betray Ran like that, and he’d never put you in the position to deal with the shame of your sin either. Love is truly complicated and we do not choose who we love after all.

‘Rin, I love him.I love him more than anything. I want you to know that.’ The interior of the car is suddenly too close for comfort but despite the alcohol in your system that muddles your vision, your voice is firm and unflinching. ‘So this isn't going to go anywhere. Right?’

Keeping secrets was always your forte and even though Rindou has known this was coming, he can’t help the watery shake of his voice, the javelin headed straight for his heart, piercing through his chest till his back bleeds. 

‘Right. We can let this go,’ he says and inhales a lungful, hoping the shake of his hands and voice doesn’t betray the squeeze of his heart. ‘We’ll never talk about it again.’ 

This was the best future, the one in which the three of you could stay together and squashing your feelings was a small price to pay for the glimpse of that happiness. Perhaps he could learn to be content on the sidelines like this, just barely in the corner of the picture.

Did the fact that this conversation was months in the making make it any easier to have? Or had you done nothing but prolong the pain that was inevitable for the both of you?

‘Okay good,’ you say and run a hand through your hair. A part of you is deflating, breaking. You know in another world perhaps, you’d have been perfect for each other, that the golden thread that ties you together would somehow mean you would find each other there. But other worlds and timelines don’t exist do they? And it’s best not to dwell on half-truths and regrets that gnaw at your soul.

‘Can…can we still be friends?’ His hand reaches for you, a moment of unabashed and naked tenderness, so out of character for him that he feels the shame and embarrassment of it immediately. 

‘Of course we can. We’ll be friends forever, Rindou. Best friends.’ Your eyes soften, even as your heart beats against your throat. You want to kiss him, just once. No one would ever know, or tell. The secret could die here and just when you think your body is going to move of its own accord, Rindou turns away, slumping back in his seat, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

And the moment passes, and you unclip your seat belt, tucking the blanket back into the glove box, both relieved and ashamed at yourself.

‘I guess I’ll be seeing you then.’ Your voice is an earthquake tremor as you push open the door, the slicing chill of the night cutting right into your skin. ‘Drive home safe okay?’ 

That lump in his throat punches his chest as he watches you lean down to smile at him. ‘I will. Call me if you need anything Y/N.’ 

Because it’s easier to pretend like you haven’t just hurt each other, like you’re not both lying, like you don’t both feel sick with longing and shame and disgust.

You smile placidly and shut the door with your hip, bounding up the stairs to your apartment. You look back once, at his earnest stare as he raises a hand to wave, cigarette perched between his lips, both haunting and beautiful under the honeyed copper of the streetlight. 

And then you shut the door just as the engine fades into the distance. Maybe some secrets were better left buried. Pandora’s box. Never to be opened again. Left to die and rot, like bones in a graveyard.

a/n: sorry everyone lol. I just wanna say thank you for all the support this year, all the fics and comments, all the interactions, I hope 2025 brings us all some peace and love and our dreams coming true. If you wouldn't mind, I would greatly appreciate if you could show some love to my small business (I make jewelry) over on my instagram here. But if you got this far, thank you so much!

And you love him. You know you do. He loves you too, you know that as well. 

You know you’re lucky to find a man that loves you without you needing to beg for it, who loves you effortlessly, honestly, and that in this day and age, it is more than you could hope for considering how little you had when you met, how little you brought to the table. 

But he’s been sitting in the office for hours now, and the clock has shifted beyond midnight, and it’s not that you’re needy or frustrated, even if it’s true, but only that you know he’s slipping further away, the both of you circling each other every day in the same space, a husband and wife who are both here and not. Maybe you should have seen this coming, the neglect that was never his fault, the touch of him that never lasted long enough, the absence that cut you even if you pretended it didn’t.

You miss him, it’s that simple. You reach for him at night when he eventually slips into the bed, some time after 3AM, the bed warmed by your skin and hair spilling over the soft sheets and it aches inside him somewhere to slip out again not three hours later, leaving a lingering look at you tucked into the duvet, where his heart is, still nestled safely in your warm palm. 

‘Baby?’ You knock on the door and the light from the hallway leaks into the room, spills across the beige carpet now worn from his light tread, over and over, a line from the door to the desk and untouched in the places he never frequents.

He squints, glances in your direction and raises an eyebrow at you holding the blanket between your hands, dressed in an old shirt of his, yellow light shadowed by your silhouette dancing across the carpet, across the wall.

‘Yeah?’ He clears his throat, washes down the film coating his teeth with cold coffee and licks his lips, dry and dehydrated and cracked a little down the middle. ‘You okay?’ 

You gnaw at your cheek, purse your lips and step into the room, into this space that he has kept you out of willingly and unwillingly, the room that has stolen him from you, dried him out, snaked its way into his heart where something like joy should be. 

Briefly, you feel the stab of pain in your chest at the fact that his first instance is to ask about you, to reach for you, to look at you and always with love, always with a softened glance despite the stresses, despite the tired bags under his eyes, shadowy sketch lines and graphite pencil that stands out on his opal skin.

‘Mhm, yeah I’m okay.’ You feel awkward standing in here, in this place he ventures to alone, adrift and isolated from the warmth of your house, the cold slipping in through the window, the darkness that swallows the room, and all of it makes the hairs on your arms stand on end as you shiver in the chill.

You shift on your feet, glance at the netting fluttering in the breeze and blowing inwards towards the sheaf and stacks of papers that he keeps held down by cups of coffee and paperweights and the bookshelf that has titles you hardly recognise, tacked up maps and graphs and charts and slides from presentations and all of it so foreign that it feels you’ve waded out to shore. Was it always so cold in here?

‘Sure?’ His eyes are aching, the pressure behind them is more akin to needles than anything else, and he squints against the hallway light that feels too strong, too aggressive, and involuntarily, against you and your shape silhouetted by a ring of yellow.

‘Y-Yeah.’ You step further into the room, pass over the threshold that separates you and only now do you see the bottles of water lying in rows by the desk, the dinner you left untouched now cold and coagulating on the plate. ‘Are you okay baby?’

He tilts his head and you hear a bone click as he does so, something in his neck that he bites on his lip to hide, the shuddering breath that comes from holding in the pain as he is prone to do. 

‘You’re shivering,’ he says,  and turns back to the laptop screen, the only light in the room aside from the hallway light trickling through the open doorway. ‘You should go back to bed Princess.’ 

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s dodged you like that, that he’s shrugged off your concern so easily, and turned back to the screen where the numbers pile on the spreadsheet.

Your thighs are level with the desk now, brushing against the edge as you twist the blanket in your hands. He feels distant despite the proximity, despite the fact that he’s close enough to touch. You can see from here, that his hair hangs lankly over a shoulder, the skin around his nose dry and sallow, tight with exhaustion, eyes dulled and lidded. 

You’ve always thought he was beautiful, before you met and after and in the moments between, rare ones where he let the wall of his defences come down enough to let you look beyond, you would marvel at the simple beauty of him, soft and smooth and artful even. 

But you’ve never been dense enough not to notice the makeup and gels and masses of product that piled up in the bathroom, subtler ways he assumed he could hide the tiredness that clung to his skin, caffeine pills, stronger narcotics even that you had pretended didn’t sit neatly next to your birth control pills and vitamins in the bathroom cabinet. 

He is not nearly as good an actor as he thinks he is. 

‘Come with me Haji, come to bed.’ You reach out a hand, skim his cheek with the pad of your thumb, dry and smooth all at once. He stiffens and a muscle flickers in his jaw as he resists the urge to lean into your touch, sink his chin against the palm of your soft and waiting hand.

‘I have work to do Love I’m sorry.’ He pulls back, swivels the chair to face the laptop screen again, dimming the brightness till it spills a faint blue glow, and your hand is empty and cold again, waiting in the air for the softness of his touch, the fine silk of his hair. ‘Go back to bed, you’ll catch a cold Princess.’ 

‘Come now, please.’ And he’s right. The chill has crept into your bones, licking at your skin. You catch a glimpse of the goosebumps flickering over his neck, the wispy hairs along his arms now uncovered, the pressed white of his shirtsleeves tucked at the elbow. The same clothes he came home in, now creased.

A few months back, a man had visited your house during the day. He was blond, tufts of hair sticking out from his cap, and the scar across his eye and forehead had tickled a memory somewhere, a picture perhaps, buried beneath the film of your past. 

‘Hey,’ he had said, and shuffled awkwardly on his feet, rubbing his palms on the rough corduroy of his overalls. ‘Are you Mrs Kokonoi?’

You had frowned, and glanced at the street where a car should have waited, a kidnapping that you were almost certain was going to happen. How else would he know where you lived? Your tongue was slack in your mouth, the thick film of anxiety churning in your throat. 

‘I’m not-’

‘It’s fine, I’m not here to hurt you,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to ask how Koko was doing.’ And his hand had come up to remove his cap and run over the spikes and tufts of blond hair. He knew how it looked, how the tools in his belt looked, the paint stains and oil spills on the fabric of his overalls.

You had frowned and stepped back, pursed your lips and looked down the lawn, at the bike that lay on its side, the helmet propped up against the brakes, the paint immaculate and fresh, a vibrant midnight blue that caught the midday sun. 

‘Depends on who’s asking.’ You crossed your arms, searching for him in your memory, for the faint scar and his blond hair in waves, the clear ivory of his skin and jadeite green of his eyes that was tucked somewhere in your head. 

‘Just…someone he used to know. A friend,’ he said. And maybe it was true once, that they were friends, more maybe, in a time that was dead and long buried, before adulthood, before the moment Koko had run down the path he couldn’t follow. ‘I suppose he’s fine then?’

And you shrugged, and it was an answer in itself and the blond man had nodded, slipped his hat back on and looked both ways before propping up his bike and racing off, leaving a plume of smoke and wind in his wake. 

You think of it now, when Koko is so close to you, his skin and lips a breath away, his touch so achingly far that it splits you in two. You think of how loved he is, how needed, how hauntingly beautiful and yours.

He sighs and pushes the glasses further onto his nose, rolls his neck and flexes his tired fingers before clicking away again, washing the sourness of his mouth away with the last dregs of his once-hot coffee. ‘I promise I’ll come to bed in a bit Love, just let me finish this first.’ 

It would hurt less if you loved him less, if he wasn’t thinning and slipping before your eyes, retreating to the shell of what he knew, if it didn’t feel like you were being left behind and shut out while he waded out to shore alone.

‘Baby, it can wait, you can sleep for a little while. I’m sure it’s not going anywhere.’ You try, and you push the sprightly zing of energy into your voice, push a faint and what you hope is an encouraging smile.

But his eyes never leave the screen, and your voice thins under the tap of his fingers on the keyboard, dies somewhere in your throat when he pulls his chair closer to the desk. 

He loves you, he does, but he’s stuck here now, swam too far out to shore to call for any help. He resists the urge to look at you, and your blanket bunched up in your hands, in his shirt that floats along your thighs. He knows he’ll cave if he does, that his resolve will crumble and he’ll taste the rewards of his weakness tomorrow when it’s not done, when it’s not enough.

It aches, in your chest, your stomach, in the place where his name lives, carved along your ribcage, the hidden parts of you only he has seen and touched and kissed and worshipped, the secrets he has left like painted marks on your skin. 

‘I miss you,’ you say and it leaks from your lips like a plea, like a half-whispered prayer into the darkness, your lower lip trembling and the tears gathering on your lash line and the cold creeping along your bones. He feels so far out here, in this room with its dim light and leather swivel chair and a desk that has rings of coffee imprinted into the oak, and paperweights and sheafs and folders.

He stops, his fingers halting over the fluorescent keyboard and hangs his head. ‘Princess, don’t do this to me now, I promise not much more.’

‘You always say that Haji,’ you say and your voice thins and wobbles under the weight of your heavy slack tongue. ‘I miss my Husband, I haven’t seen him in so long.’ 

I’m doing this for us Love, for our life.’

‘I know, I do. But I love you, and it means nothing without you.’ And you reach over his desk and cup his cheeks in your warm and waiting hands, the blanket dropping till it spills over his lap and disappears into the dark. 

‘If it’s not finished I-’

‘Love, just relax, it’ll be finished, just come to bed.’

‘I can’t, I have to work-’ And he almost flinches, almost pulls entirely back from you, resistance wilting under the warmth of your skin.

‘Shhh, just stay…here with me.’

And he sighs, draws in a starved breath and his head drops almost entirely into your palms, sinking till his lips meet your wrists and his eyes are fluttering against their will. He’s trying, he really is, to fight against sleep, to pry his eyelids open again and push away from your soft skin, the smooth and velvety touch of you that has him liquid in your hands. 

‘It’s okay, it can wait, it can all wait.’ A whisper in the dark as you click save on the file and set the screen to sleep, watching as the room dims, cloaked in shadow. 

You trace an arc over the apple of his cheek, his dry lips parted as he sinks into the chair, further on himself. 

‘I’m so tired Love, so damn tired.’ It trails off somewhere, and his breath fans across the limp strands of white hair now falling across his forehead, eagerly awaiting your warm hands and the softness of your touch on his skin.

‘I know Baby, I know. You work so hard, it’s okay to rest, you know?’ You say, because it's true, because he’s yours and you love him so, because he’s thinning before your eyes, sucked dry and exhausted and drained and you’re reaching out to catch him as he falls. ‘Come on, let’s go to bed yeah?’

His eyes flutter weakly and he knows he’s been holding on so long, that it’s not nearly as noble as it sounds when his skin is this tight and his lips are taut and he’s watching you pull him to shore in his mind’s eye. Is it weakness that has him folding against you as you wrap your arms around him to lead him to the bedroom across the hall? Is it love that has him following you like this, across the threshold of that forbidden place, the laptop that is shut and the hallway light that you’ve flicked off as you pass with him, his hands in yours?

You seat him on the edge of the bed and move to undo the buttons of his shirt, the smooth ivory of his skin peeking out from the hair that falls over his shoulder. 

‘Princess I can undress myself.’ He sways, his vision dazed and you, silhouetted in glory with your soft hands, pulling the shirt from his shoulders, his arms, running your hands on his chest, his sharp collar bones that swallow up the moonlight. 

‘Shhhh,’ you say and your lips meet the hollow of his throat, a kiss here and there, on his chest, his bare shoulder, and he almost blushes, almost flushes crimson at the softness of your lips on his skin, at the care and attention that he loves and doesn’t deserve. ‘You spend so long fretting over other people, just let me take care of you for once.’

His heart makes a thud against his ribs, and he watches you smile, a warm and encouraging smile, and his, all his, and it hurts that he’s spent so long by himself and you have not complained, but have nurtured your hurt and grief and given it back to him as love and care.

He isn’t sure whether he believes in destiny or fate, only that if it’s real in any way, it’s you, in all your light and love and your waiting arms.

You pull his trousers off, his shirt and toss them into the basket. You run your fingers over his features, as if committing them to memory and he slips between here and there, his eyes open and then not, the hum of your voice a lilting balm for the ringing in his ears.

It’s funny, he never noticed the picture frame beside the bed, your wedding kiss in monochrome, him dipping you as his white hair spills over the black of his suit and you, smiling against his mouth. He’s never noticed the collection of battered paperbacks on the shelves against the far wall, the vanity that you had painted and repainted, the new throw, the new pillows, the new everything he had willingly ignored.  

‘Supposed to be me taking care of you,’ he says, whispers even, as you pull back the duvet and gently push him into that space, the memory foam that remembers him, the indentation that refuses to forget the shape of his body as he slides in next to you, the two of you face to face and together.

‘You do, you take care of me so well Baby, so let me for once. I’m yours, I’m always yours.’ You bridge the gap and your lips meet his, your arms coming up to pull him to you. He fits, he always has, in that space between, his chest to yours, his lips to the bare curve of your shoulder and your hands finding a place at the nape of his neck and scratching lightly. 

‘I’m sorry for this, for making you do this,’ he slurs, his voice soft and undulated by the sluggishness of sleep and you ache with a love so fierce that it makes your chest tight.

‘No one makes me do anything Haji, I do it for you, because you’re everything to me, money or no.’

‘I am?’

‘You are.’

You would let him drink you up forever if you could, pulling the light from you for the slimmest chance of staying that little while longer, for his lips to find yours again and for him to sigh your name against your neck. He belongs here, with you, just like this, in the safety of your bedroom with the heavy brocade drapes, and the moonlight spilling between the gap and the soft carpet and the worn paperbacks and the downy throw that you pull over him now as he slots his mouth against your neck. 

‘I love you,’ he says on your skin, and paints it with his lips, your limbs heavy on his and sleep pulling at his eyelids and the temptation to let go so deliciously close. ‘I love you My Princess, my Love.’ 

And it hurts a little less when his sleepy murmurs fall away to soft snoring, his breath warm on your shoulder, your fingers tangled in the soft silk of his hair and running in smooth circles down his bare back. 

It’s temporary, you know that. You know when tomorrow comes and he rises and leaves, he will fall back into it. And maybe he will kiss you a little longer, touch you a little softer, smile a little more for a time, but he is a man of habit and memory. No matter what happens though, you know he will never wade out to shore alone, you will always swim with him. 

For now it’s fine to just exist, and sleep under a moonlit sky.

a/n : hi.......I think this is one of the best pieces I ever wrote ngl. I put everything into this one lol. Thanks for the love everyone.

Discover who your crush is: ✅ Ask her out: ✅ Kiss her after the first date: ❌

It should've been simple, easy, a no-brainer- yet how in the world did he mess this up? Rindou had the perfect plan in mind on how he wanted to kiss you. He figured all girls had their idea of a perfect date, which resulted in the night ending with a kiss at the front step of the house. Seemed simple in hindsight. No way he could mess up with this game plan yielding high success. How does he know this you might ask? Read it from a Cosmopolitan magazine he secretly bought prior to the date with the hopes of impressing you.

"fuuuuck..." Rindou let out a groan as he slumped to his feet as soon as he got back home.

"Ah Rindou, you're back!" Rin walked out of his room with a towel in hand, as he attempted to dry his hair. "How did the date go?"

"Awful, just awful" he sighed as he had his face in his hands, trying to hide himself away from the world. "I fucked up so badly"

Ran raised his eyebrow as he looked at his brother still lying on the floor. "right...well, why don't you pick yourself up from the floor, sit on the couch, and tell me what happened."

Rindou sighed, moving to the couch as he slouched against it, further highlighting his will to live. Ran rolled his eyes at the dramaticism displayed by his brother. Kid these days, he thought to himself. "So?"

"I ruined the perfect date plan I had for us," Rindou said, adding nothing further to his statement. Ran's face dropped out of annoyance. "Need a little more context there Rin. Try again from the start."

"Right, so I had this great plan set for us. Food, talking, walking her home once it got late...and just right when I was about to kiss her before she went in, I chickened out. I chickened out. Me! She was waiting for me to kiss her...and you know what I did? Patted her on the shoulder, told her to have a nice night, and left. I left her there!"

Ran bit back a laugh, not realizing that the story would be more amusing than it already was. "Oh...I see. That is...unfortunate."

"She is going to break up with me. My god. I'm going to be the guy whose girlfriend broke up with him because he couldn't kiss her. What if she finds someone who can kiss her? Holy shit- Why didn't I just kiss her?" Rindou rambled in panic at his newfound realization.

"Rindou. Rindou...calm down. She's not going to break up with you. I think you're just jumping the gun at this point" Ran tried to calm him down, albeit trying not to laugh at him. "You're making it sound like you guys never kissed before." Rindou stayed silent at his words, making Ran raise his eyebrow at him. "You have...right?"

Rindou sighed and shook his head "I was waiting for the right moment. I read that girls want their first kisses to be memorable so I planned things so that it would be good enough." Ran cocked his head to the side, taking him his brother's words. "I didn't take you for quite the romanticist there. Sounds like something you'd see in movies."

"Whatever- the point is I didn't do it and I know she must be judging me for it." Rindou continued with a groan. "How am I supposed to face her tomorrow?" Ran shook his head as he threw his towel at him. "Just shut up and cool down for a moment, why don't 'cha? It's not that big of a deal. You'll get more chances; and if it bothers you that much, just talk to her about it. If she is the girl you say she is, she'll get it no question. If she doesn't, she ain't the one for you. It's that simple." Ran spoke with a shrug, getting up from his seat "Now if you excuse me, I'm drying my hair and then going to bed."

Rindou stayed silent taking in his brother's words. He won't admit it but surprisingly the wet towel did cool him down, even though he almost instantly wasn't happy with the fact his clothes and hair were now wet. "I'm gonna go see her..." he said with a mumble, getting up himself and leaving the apartment to go see her.

Arriving at your place, Rindou rang your doorbell and waited for you to open it. Even though he was nervous, the excitement of still getting to see you was there.

After what seemed like a moment, the door opened and there you stood staring at him in surprise "Rindou? What are you doing here?" You asked him, not expecting to see you here. "Missed me already? you know, it's just been an hour right?" You continued with a tease.

"I know...I just wanted to see you" He said with his ears starting to turn red. He wasn't expecting to see you in pajamas and how cute they looked on you.

"Did something happen? Do you want to come in?" You frowned taking in how nervous he looked.

"Ah no! I just wanted to apologize to you about today-" He said awkwardly, his hand rubbing against his neck as he looked at you. "Apologize? for what?" You asked him. "Today was a lot of fun so not sure what you mean. Were we meant to go somewhere else?"

"Oh no, no. That was all part of the plan, but when I was supposed to take you home...I was supposed to well you know, kiss you and stuff." Rindou admitted, his cheeks betraying how cool he wanted to portray himself to be.

Before you knew it, you burst out into laughter. "Is that what that was? I knew you were acting strange but I didn't realize that's what you were trying to do. That's very cute of you Rin"

"So...you're not mad?" He asked quietly

You responded by tugging on his shirt, pulling him closer to you as you kissed him on his lips yourself. "Never. I love every part of today, including this moment right here."

The sun was filtering through your curtains, shining down on where you were laying in bed with Rindou. Your hand ran all over his shoulders as you two kissed. The two of you had lost track of time at this point. His hand on your waist slid down to your thighs, cupping it before sliding it over his hips.

Your hands on his shoulders pushed him to lay down flat on the bed, lifting a leg over to straddle him. You placed both of your hands beside his head, looking down at him beneath you. His cheeks were flushed a light hue of pink that you always teased him for even though he adamantly denies it each time.

You bite down on your lip as you laughed. “You’re blushing again.”

He deadpanned at you. “I don’t blush."

“You always get so red when I do this.” You leaned back down to his ear. His breathing flattered when your lips brushed his lobe, tugging at it with your teeth before sliding down to his neck. You licked a stripe along his skin, up to his jaw and raised his head up for a better angle.

“Fuck,” he breathed heavily, gripping your ass tight when you bit down. You slowly began to grind against him, moving back to his lips for a kiss. He kissed you back hungrily, sitting up and pulling you close.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you kissed him back, playing with the ends of his hair as his tongue slipped into your mouth. His hands left your ass and slid under your shirt. Cold hands ran up and down your stomach, inching towards your waist to pull you closer. Your chest smushed against his, and you tilted your head to deepen the kiss.

“Take this shit off,” he grumbled as he tugged at your shirt.

You let out a breathy chuckle and pulled away, looking down at his hands impatiently fumbling with your buttons. “Calm down. I’m not going anywhere.” You removed his hand and began to unbutton your skirt.

“This too.” He reached behind your ass, tugging at the zipper on your pencil skirt.

“Stop rushing me.” You unbuttoned the last one and slipped your shirt over your head, then reached behind you for the zipper. At the angle you were sitting at, it was a struggle to take it off, so you slid off the bed.

Rindou grabbed your arm. “Where are you going”?

“Calm down. It’s easier to take it off like this.” You slid it down your legs and neatly folded it on the edge of his bed, not wanting to crease it for work tomorrow. “Happy?”

He stared at your half nude form, only in your bra and panties and bit his lip. “Come here.” He gestured and you wasted no time, eagerly darting back on top of him.

This time, Rindou greedily ran his hands up and down your body, making sure to not miss even an inch of skin. His hands ran up and down your back, hugging your body tightly to his, all as his tongue explored your mouth. You cupped his face, running the edge of your thumbs along his jaw.

His hands undid your bra and a cold breeze hit your skin as he pushed your bra off. Without wasting a beat, he palmed your breasts, punching your nipples and making your back arch as you angled for more.

“Rin, please,” you breathed against his lips. He bit down on your lip, eagerly listening to your pleas.

He left your mouth and ran his lips down your to your jaw, sucking intently, then past your neck as he made his way down to your breasts. He sealed his lips around your nipple and your head fell back, holding the back of his head. He moved to the other nipple that was hard and aching for him, his hand palming your other breast.

You pushed him back down onto his back, pinning both of his arms to the side of his face and kissed down his neck. Your hands left his to lift his shirt up past his chest and ran your hands down his muscles as you made your way down to his crotch.

He sat onto his elbows and watched you reach inside his pants, pulling out his cock. You pumped him steadily, pulling him back in for a kiss. Your thumb rubbed along his slit and he hissed into your mouth. You giggled and tugged on his bottom lip, drawing it out before letting go. You settled back between his legs and looked him straight in the eye as you ran your tongue up and down the length of his cock.

“Fuckkkk.” He threw his head back, biting his lip hard when you brought your mouth to his tip and started to circle it with your tongue. You took him into your mouth with a long moan that had his hips jerking. You began to suck him off eagerly, taking as much as you could fit into your mouth without choking.

His hand found your hair and began to press you down when his cock hit the back of your throat. You choked and he held you down for a few seconds before letting go. Your head shot up and you went back to sucking his tip, humming as you bobbed your head up and down.

There was a knock at the door and you both froze, startled. “Are you two love birds done? The taxi is like ten minutes away.”

Your eyes flew open to stare at Rindou who looked less shocked as you. “Oh crap.” You slipped off his bed. “I forgot we were going out later.”

“I remembered,” Rindou said simply. “I hope you would’ve forgot though.”

You rolled your eyes. “One second Ran! Gimme like five minutes to get ready. Oh, and we’re not love birds!”

Ran let out an unenthusiastic hum. “Tell Rindou to get dressed too.”

You looked down at the younger Haitani, lounging on the bed shirtless with his dick out. “Yeah, I will.” You stormed over to his closet and began to pick something decent to wear out.

He turned 21 today and his father purchased a nightclub for him to run as a present. Rindou wasn’t excited one bit, and could care less about owning one of the most upcoming prestige club in the city. He knew the opening for the club was tonight, but was more excited spending the afternoon with you. He hoped he would be able to distract you long enough that you would both miss the opening. Everything was going so well and he was sure it had slipped your mind by now until Ran had to open his big fat fucking mouth.

“Wear this suit.” You tossed it onto his bed. He watched it land and looked at you as you continued to scour his closet for accessories. “Where’s that nice watch I got you last year. Wear that too.”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“Why not! This night is so huge for you. You’re gonna become a businessman!”

“Sounds lame.”

“You’re lame,” you countered, rolling your eyes. You picked out a few nice rings and the watch and moved back to sit next to him on the bed. “Gimme your hand.”

He deadpanned at you and you kept gesturing. He finally gave in with a hefty sigh, holding his hand out as you began to slip the rings onto his fingers. As you fitted the watch onto his wrist, he began eyeing your neck. He leaned in and began sucking on your neck.

“Rin, stop. We have to go soon.” His hand came up to your neck, lifting your head up to look at the ceiling to give him more access. He kissed and sucked all over the plane of your neck, down to your throat. “Rindou I’m serious. We have like five minutes.”

“We don't have to go. It’ll be fine.” He shifted onto the bed, pulling you on top of him. You were reluctant but it wasn’t until he slowly eased you in with a kiss did you finally give in.

“I don’t want your dad to like shoot me in the face for making you miss this or something,” you said with an airy laugh despite being dead serious.

“He won’t do that, come on.”

“He’s scary!”

He shut you up with another kiss, gripping your ass tight. “He’ll get over it. Ran can run the club better than I can anyway.”

“Are you sure?” you mumble against his lips, holding eye contact.

“Sure about what?”

“Missing tonight. Wont it like make your dad really angry?”

He shrugged. “It’s not that deep. He will get over it.” He could see the concern written all over your face and pecked your lips. “I swear. He will like be mad for two days then get over it.”

“But this is a whole club though. Like people are showing up and everything.”

“Not my problem.” He flipped you over onto your back and hovered over you, your legs spreading to accommodate him on top of you. “Didn’t ask for this shit.” He kissed down your body, making his way to your legs. He spread them apart and pushed your panties to the side.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, throwing your head back when his tongue licked at your slit. You ran your fingers through his hair.

There was another knock at the door, louder this time. “Cars downstairs, are you coming or not?”

You looked down at the boy between your legs, his eyes closed as he devoured your pussy, having every intention of ignoring his brother. You recognised that and sighed, fixing your voice to sound as firm as possible and said, “Rindou will be a bit late.”

You could practically feel Ran roll his eyes from behind the door with the sigh he let out. “Man whatever. Tell him we will be waiting.”

“Mhmhm,” your voice came out shaky when he slipped a finger inside you. Your hand flew to your mouth, hiding your moan behind your palm when he began pumping his finger in and out, his tongue continuing its never ending torture against your clit.

He slipped another finger in, and your back arched off the bed. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, pulling his fingers out to grip your thighs, spreading your legs apart to stuff more of his face against your pussy.

“I’m cumming! Holy shit, wait wait—“ He in fact didn’t wait, his tongue speeding up rapidly against your clit. You tugged his hair hard enough he thought you’d rip it out. He licked you through it as you came down from your high, your hips stuttering as you slowly calmed down.

“Oh my fucking god, that was so good.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t bother wiping his face, hovering over you and kissing you slowly. “You sleeping here tonight?”

He watched you think about it. “I dunno. I have work tomorrow and knowing you I’ll get like one hour of sleep cause you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you grumbled playfully.

“I promise I will.”

“I dunnoooooooooo.”

“Please.” He pressed his nose against yours. “I’ll drive you back to yours early before work. Promise.”

“You’re too clingy. Fine,” you agreed and he smiled widely. You rolled your eye and pushed him off of you, standing up from his bed to stretch.

He sat up against the edge of the bed and pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your stomach. He kissed around your belly button and looked up at you with a smirk.

“What did I just say about being clingy?” He shrugged and continued kissing along your stomach. You lifted his face up to look at you. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

He pulled you back into his lap. “Thank you,” he moved to your ear and whispered slowly, “baby.”

Your cheeks heated up and you pushed him away. “Don’t say that so subtly!”

“What?” He said with a smile, “it’s just a word.”

“Wanna know what’s just a word?” You leaned in closer to his ear and whispered, “Daddy.”

“Oh fuck off.” He pushed you off and you landed on your back on the bed. You couldn’t stop laughing as he stood up from the bed. “You know I hate that shit.”

“It’s just a word though.”

“Don’t act stupid.” He changed into his pyjamas and tossed you a spare shirt to wear. You also got changed and slid into bed with him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

The room was silent for a couple minutes and you wondered if he was asleep or not. You began to think about what the two of you had going on. It felt intimate but there wasn’t a label to it.

“Hey Rin,” you said into the air. He hummed in response. “Look at me.” He shifted to face you and put a hand on your hip.

“What’s up.”

“Are you…are you ever gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?” He blinked and you almost immediately regretted it. “Nevermind, forget I—”

“You like me?” He looked ultimately shocked and confused which made you confused.

“Yeah? Everybody knows at this point. Even Ran. That’s why he calls us lovebirds.”

“That was for you? I thought he was calling us that because he knew I liked you.”

You froze. “Wait, you like me?”

“Of course. I didn’t know you liked me though.

“Wasn’t it obvious? I don’t sleepover at guys' houses for no reason. Dumbass.”

He snorted and buried his head in your chest. “Oh fuck, I feel so dumb.” You laughed and played with his hair. “This whole fucking time you liked me?”

“Whole time. Even before we started…doing this.”

“I’m glad.” He looked up at you and you pecked him on the lips.

The sun was filtering through your curtains, shining down on where you were laying in bed with Rindou. Your hand ran all over his shoulders as you two kissed. The two of you had lost track of time at this point. His hand on your waist slid down to your thighs, cupping it before sliding it over his hips.

Your hands on his shoulders pushed him to lay down flat on the bed, lifting a leg over to straddle him. You placed both of your hands beside his head, looking down at him beneath you. His cheeks were flushed a light hue of pink that you always teased him for even though he adamantly denies it each time.

You bite down on your lip as you laughed. “You’re blushing again.”

He deadpanned at you. “I don’t blush."

“You always get so red when I do this.” You leaned back down to his ear. His breathing flattered when your lips brushed his lobe, tugging at it with your teeth before sliding down to his neck. You licked a stripe along his skin, up to his jaw and raised his head up for a better angle.

“Fuck,” he breathed heavily, gripping your ass tight when you bit down. You slowly began to grind against him, moving back to his lips for a kiss. He kissed you back hungrily, sitting up and pulling you close.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you kissed him back, playing with the ends of his hair as his tongue slipped into your mouth. His hands left your ass and slid under your shirt. Cold hands ran up and down your stomach, inching towards your waist to pull you closer. Your chest smushed against his, and you tilted your head to deepen the kiss.

“Take this shit off,” he grumbled as he tugged at your shirt.

You let out a breathy chuckle and pulled away, looking down at his hands impatiently fumbling with your buttons. “Calm down. I’m not going anywhere.” You removed his hand and began to unbutton your skirt.

“This too.” He reached behind your ass, tugging at the zipper on your pencil skirt.

“Stop rushing me.” You unbuttoned the last one and slipped your shirt over your head, then reached behind you for the zipper. At the angle you were sitting at, it was a struggle to take it off, so you slid off the bed.

Rindou grabbed your arm. “Where are you going”?

“Calm down. It’s easier to take it off like this.” You slid it down your legs and neatly folded it on the edge of his bed, not wanting to crease it for work tomorrow. “Happy?”

He stared at your half nude form, only in your bra and panties and bit his lip. “Come here.” He gestured and you wasted no time, eagerly darting back on top of him.

This time, Rindou greedily ran his hands up and down your body, making sure to not miss even an inch of skin. His hands ran up and down your back, hugging your body tightly to his, all as his tongue explored your mouth. You cupped his face, running the edge of your thumbs along his jaw.

His hands undid your bra and a cold breeze hit your skin as he pushed your bra off. Without wasting a beat, he palmed your breasts, punching your nipples and making your back arch as you angled for more.

“Rin, please,” you breathed against his lips. He bit down on your lip, eagerly listening to your pleas.

He left your mouth and ran his lips down your to your jaw, sucking intently, then past your neck as he made his way down to your breasts. He sealed his lips around your nipple and your head fell back, holding the back of his head. He moved to the other nipple that was hard and aching for him, his hand palming your other breast.

You pushed him back down onto his back, pinning both of his arms to the side of his face and kissed down his neck. Your hands left his to lift his shirt up past his chest and ran your hands down his muscles as you made your way down to his crotch.

He sat onto his elbows and watched you reach inside his pants, pulling out his cock. You pumped him steadily, pulling him back in for a kiss. Your thumb rubbed along his slit and he hissed into your mouth. You giggled and tugged on his bottom lip, drawing it out before letting go. You settled back between his legs and looked him straight in the eye as you ran your tongue up and down the length of his cock.

“Fuckkkk.” He threw his head back, biting his lip hard when you brought your mouth to his tip and started to circle it with your tongue. You took him into your mouth with a long moan that had his hips jerking. You began to suck him off eagerly, taking as much as you could fit into your mouth without choking.

His hand found your hair and began to press you down when his cock hit the back of your throat. You choked and he held you down for a few seconds before letting go. Your head shot up and you went back to sucking his tip, humming as you bobbed your head up and down.

There was a knock at the door and you both froze, startled. “Are you two love birds done? The taxi is like ten minutes away.”

Your eyes flew open to stare at Rindou who looked less shocked as you. “Oh crap.” You slipped off his bed. “I forgot we were going out later.”

“I remembered,” Rindou said simply. “I hope you would’ve forgot though.”

You rolled your eyes. “One second Ran! Gimme like five minutes to get ready. Oh, and we’re not love birds!”

Ran let out an unenthusiastic hum. “Tell Rindou to get dressed too.”

You looked down at the younger Haitani, lounging on the bed shirtless with his dick out. “Yeah, I will.” You stormed over to his closet and began to pick something decent to wear out.

He turned 21 today and his father purchased a nightclub for him to run as a present. Rindou wasn’t excited one bit, and could care less about owning one of the most upcoming prestige club in the city. He knew the opening for the club was tonight, but was more excited spending the afternoon with you. He hoped he would be able to distract you long enough that you would both miss the opening. Everything was going so well and he was sure it had slipped your mind by now until Ran had to open his big fat fucking mouth.

“Wear this suit.” You tossed it onto his bed. He watched it land and looked at you as you continued to scour his closet for accessories. “Where’s that nice watch I got you last year. Wear that too.”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“Why not! This night is so huge for you. You’re gonna become a businessman!”

“Sounds lame.”

“You’re lame,” you countered, rolling your eyes. You picked out a few nice rings and the watch and moved back to sit next to him on the bed. “Gimme your hand.”

He deadpanned at you and you kept gesturing. He finally gave in with a hefty sigh, holding his hand out as you began to slip the rings onto his fingers. As you fitted the watch onto his wrist, he began eyeing your neck. He leaned in and began sucking on your neck.

“Rin, stop. We have to go soon.” His hand came up to your neck, lifting your head up to look at the ceiling to give him more access. He kissed and sucked all over the plane of your neck, down to your throat. “Rindou I’m serious. We have like five minutes.”

“We don't have to go. It’ll be fine.” He shifted onto the bed, pulling you on top of him. You were reluctant but it wasn’t until he slowly eased you in with a kiss did you finally give in.

“I don’t want your dad to like shoot me in the face for making you miss this or something,” you said with an airy laugh despite being dead serious.

“He won’t do that, come on.”

“He’s scary!”

He shut you up with another kiss, gripping your ass tight. “He’ll get over it. Ran can run the club better than I can anyway.”

“Are you sure?” you mumble against his lips, holding eye contact.

“Sure about what?”

“Missing tonight. Wont it like make your dad really angry?”

He shrugged. “It’s not that deep. He will get over it.” He could see the concern written all over your face and pecked your lips. “I swear. He will like be mad for two days then get over it.”

“But this is a whole club though. Like people are showing up and everything.”

“Not my problem.” He flipped you over onto your back and hovered over you, your legs spreading to accommodate him on top of you. “Didn’t ask for this shit.” He kissed down your body, making his way to your legs. He spread them apart and pushed your panties to the side.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, throwing your head back when his tongue licked at your slit. You ran your fingers through his hair.

There was another knock at the door, louder this time. “Cars downstairs, are you coming or not?”

You looked down at the boy between your legs, his eyes closed as he devoured your pussy, having every intention of ignoring his brother. You recognised that and sighed, fixing your voice to sound as firm as possible and said, “Rindou will be a bit late.”

You could practically feel Ran roll his eyes from behind the door with the sigh he let out. “Man whatever. Tell him we will be waiting.”

“Mhmhm,” your voice came out shaky when he slipped a finger inside you. Your hand flew to your mouth, hiding your moan behind your palm when he began pumping his finger in and out, his tongue continuing its never ending torture against your clit.

He slipped another finger in, and your back arched off the bed. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, pulling his fingers out to grip your thighs, spreading your legs apart to stuff more of his face against your pussy.

“I’m cumming! Holy shit, wait wait—“ He in fact didn’t wait, his tongue speeding up rapidly against your clit. You tugged his hair hard enough he thought you’d rip it out. He licked you through it as you came down from your high, your hips stuttering as you slowly calmed down.

“Oh my fucking god, that was so good.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t bother wiping his face, hovering over you and kissing you slowly. “You sleeping here tonight?”

He watched you think about it. “I dunno. I have work tomorrow and knowing you I’ll get like one hour of sleep cause you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you grumbled playfully.

“I promise I will.”

“I dunnoooooooooo.”

“Please.” He pressed his nose against yours. “I’ll drive you back to yours early before work. Promise.”

“You’re too clingy. Fine,” you agreed and he smiled widely. You rolled your eye and pushed him off of you, standing up from his bed to stretch.

He sat up against the edge of the bed and pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your stomach. He kissed around your belly button and looked up at you with a smirk.

“What did I just say about being clingy?” He shrugged and continued kissing along your stomach. You lifted his face up to look at you. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

He pulled you back into his lap. “Thank you,” he moved to your ear and whispered slowly, “baby.”

Your cheeks heated up and you pushed him away. “Don’t say that so subtly!”

“What?” He said with a smile, “it’s just a word.”

“Wanna know what’s just a word?” You leaned in closer to his ear and whispered, “Daddy.”

“Oh fuck off.” He pushed you off and you landed on your back on the bed. You couldn’t stop laughing as he stood up from the bed. “You know I hate that shit.”

“It’s just a word though.”

“Don’t act stupid.” He changed into his pyjamas and tossed you a spare shirt to wear. You also got changed and slid into bed with him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

The room was silent for a couple minutes and you wondered if he was asleep or not. You began to think about what the two of you had going on. It felt intimate but there wasn’t a label to it.

“Hey Rin,” you said into the air. He hummed in response. “Look at me.” He shifted to face you and put a hand on your hip.

“What’s up.”

“Are you…are you ever gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?” He blinked and you almost immediately regretted it. “Nevermind, forget I—”

“You like me?” He looked ultimately shocked and confused which made you confused.

“Yeah? Everybody knows at this point. Even Ran. That’s why he calls us lovebirds.”

“That was for you? I thought he was calling us that because he knew I liked you.”

You froze. “Wait, you like me?”

“Of course. I didn’t know you liked me though.

“Wasn’t it obvious? I don’t sleepover at guys' houses for no reason. Dumbass.”

He snorted and buried his head in your chest. “Oh fuck, I feel so dumb.” You laughed and played with his hair. “This whole fucking time you liked me?”

“Whole time. Even before we started…doing this.”

“I’m glad.” He looked up at you and you pecked him on the lips.

‘I am, I’m sorry Rin.’ A shake of your head, a feeling of deep nausea and a regret that holds the weight of years of friendship, now potentially wasted. 

‘Oh.’ He kicks at the gravel, the blue silk of his hair falling in waves over the smooth arc of his forehead, and you resist the urge at a time like this, to sweep it back. ‘Can I ask why?’

No, you want to say, the word caught on the wind whipping through your hair. It’ll only make it harder. Harder to look forward, harder to resist, harder to keep at your word. 

‘You’re Rindou Haitani.’ As if it’s an explanation in itself, as if it assuages the guilt and the longing and gets the point across, that he could never not hurt you in any way you could recover from. ‘I don’t think you’d be happy with me.’

You think it’s easier to lie, to pretend that the burden that comes from knowing you is too much for any one person to bear, especially when that person is your best friend, instead of the fact that the uncertainty of his life is too much for you in turn. That there could be a day far or perhaps not so far, into the future where the uncertainty becomes the certainty of his death, where he does not come back at all.

‘You don’t know that,’ he says, fierce determination blazing in his eyes, the slight tremor of his voice. He thinks he could be happy with you, or content at the very least. Maybe you could watch as he climbed to the top with Ran, the Doll at his side, his partner in all things. He’s convinced he has it all planned out perfectly, the house, the marriage, the kids you’ll have, even what colour you’ll paint the walls, because despite himself, Haitani Rindou is meticulous in all things concerning you.

You tilt your head to the side, a knowing smile playing on your lips that you hope hides how much it pains you to break him like this, to break yourself along with him, cracks in the eggshell of your friendship you hope can be repaired in time. ‘I do Rin. You’re a Haitani, you’re used to the life.’

He knows it’s an explanation and he doesn’t begrudge you for it, for the way you step back and keep your distance, your bottom lip pulled back as you bite it nervously, a hand playing with the ends of your hair as he knows you’re prone to doing. He wants to be angry, wants to rage at you, throw all the excuses he thinks will suffice for coming to terms with the rejection, vitriol and jealousy and bitterness all curling together on his tongue. He swallows, the bump of his smooth throat sliding under the blue scarf that kisses at the dip of his chin and pushes it down. Down. Down. Tucks it safely in the pit of his stomach where it can ruminate till he’s let off the steam that prickling at the skin on his neck.

‘I see.’ He pulls back the flowers, scrunching the plastic wrapping in his white knuckles behind his back, the burn of shame and regret licking at his cheeks, hot enough to instantly melt the snow that sits on the cut of his cheekbones. ‘Can we still be friends?’ 

It aches somewhere, when you swallow against the tide of anxiety in your chest, a vice that clamps down on your tongue, hot and heavy and weighted with longing. You wonder how easy it would be to let yourself be swept away by him, the beautiful fullness of his laugh, the smile that’s reserved for you, quick and easy and big, all engulfing even, to let yourself run along with him as he climbed to the top, hand in unlovable hand.

You soften, reach for him with one gloved hand, finding his fiddling with a button on his coat and brush your  thumb across his knuckles, swinging it this way and that, like you have not broken his heart, like you are nothing more than a single passing memory. ‘Of course we can. We’re best friends Rin, nothing will ever change that. If you still want me that is.’

‘I do.’ 

‘Even now?’ 

He takes your hand, as if it’s a response and knowing that despite it all, his big words, he’ll wallow in self pity, the heat of your rejection biting at his chest, he’ll come to terms with it in his own way. It is all his fault, and the wind that cuts across his cold lips seems to chant with shame at him for it, for the fickleness of his feelings, for straying far from what he knows.

But it happens. You swing back into life and the easiness of your friendship that has always permeated the comfort between you remains, albeit hardened now, by what Rindou thinks are his one-sided feelings. He remains as steadfast in his efforts as usual, propelled more so now by the fact that he feels he must win you over, to make up for the duplicity of his feelings.

You think it’s cute that he is less than subtle with his affections now that they are out in the open. The chocolates that sit at the table when you return home, a bar of chocolate orange, a note on a yellow post-it, a heart and a terribly drawn sun that tells you enough, the trinkets and gifts that are somehow discreetly placed around your apartment, necklaces here and there, earrings, new books you hadn’t spoken about to anyone that wasn’t him and it burns you with self-loathing that despite yourself, you cannot let him go without peeling yourself open at the same time.

The regret is acid pooling in your stomach.

The same regret and shame that tickles your throat when you reach for the phone at night, and your thumb finds his name with a moon and a heart, the grainy picture of him sleeping with his mouth parted, blond silken hair clinging to his forehead, to his shirt. He rolls over in bed, hears the first sniffle, cut through by a crack in the signal, and bounds from the door, keys in one hand, his jacket only half-slung, whipping in the wind as he races to your apartment.

'Princess?’ It’s uncertain, halted, hesitant even, as he slides open the bathroom door, the ends of his hair wet with rain, glasses foggy and hands clammy with the chill of the wind. 

‘Rin?’ You look up, eyes red-rimmed, the wad of wet tissue in your hands falling apart.

And Rindou knows, of course he does, what your kind of bravery looks like. You've been sitting on the floor crying, the tears fast and free flowing and salty on your cracked cheeks and he doesn't judge, he knows this is you being brave, he knows he has no right to judge what your kind of brave looks like, the way in which you piece yourself back together.

So he holds you, one hand on the small of your back, the other tucking the hair behind your ear as you hiccup and the drool slips from your dry lips. He holds you, and holds you and holds you and rocks you with his eyes fluttering shut, and perhaps your hair will get caught on the thin screws of his glasses, but you don't care right now. All that matters is that he makes you feel less pathetic, less like you're falling apart on the cold bathroom tiles of your shabby house.

‘It’s okay,’ he says and you almost believe it, almost believe he can put you back together with his lithe skilled fingers, trace the cuts along your heart with tenderness and paint them gold again. 

You love that he waits it out, waits for it to pass, the cloudy storm that ends with you on his chest, softly snoring, your tears dried on cheeks that feel taut and tightened with the line of silvery drool slipping between your parted lips, mascara tracks, that have found a home on the soft grey of his shirt. 

‘Let’s get you into bed yeah?’ He whispers to the tiles, to you now slumped against him, the creases of your pajamas pressed into his side and carries you to bed, slipping in beside you, curling your hair around his fingers, your ribs under his hands, heartbeat pulsing against his skin. He hardly blames you for it, the rejection that’s weeks in the past. Part of him almost thanks you, for protecting yourself from him, from all the danger and blood and death that comes with him. Like you said, he is used to the life. 

You love that when you wake, he is that much softer with you, a hand on your back as you pad to the bathroom, to the kitchen, the coffee hot, the croissants and pastries fresh, a wordless kiss to your temple, fresh clothes and towels, the bathroom clean of the wads of tissue that bare witness to your moments. He never mentions it, but kisses you again, just shy of your mouth, the dip of your chin soft under his lips when he sees you off for work again.

‘Be safe okay? For me?’ 

Because he knows you’re capable, knows you’re strong, knows you are his weakness in a way nothing else is, knows that if something happened to you, you’d take a bigger part of him than he could ever take of you. Or so he thinks.

‘I will. You should be safe too.’ 

Because you know he’s capable, know he’s strong, know he is your weakness in a way nothing else is, know that if something happened to him, he’d take a bigger part of you than you could ever take of him. Or so you think.

You love that he comes back, time and time again. After every fight, every argument, every word of vitriol spewed back and forth, hateful words thrown with negligence and jealousy, embittered feelings you know deep down come from love, he comes back to you.

‘Princess?’ He says, and waits on the other side of the door in the rain, the film of his glasses now foggy with condensation, ends of his hair clinging to the exposed goosebumps breaking out on his neck, the grey sweatpants now a darker shade of charcoal from where he has slugged through the storm to get to you, his first priority always.

‘What do you want?’ It comes out harsher than intended, the bite of your still-fresh and ripened anger cutting at your tone. It hurts, it always does when it comes from him, the arguments that are wrapped in love, care, the attention he could give to anyone but chooses to give to you, and the regret that boils in your stomach when you realize that fact.

‘I want us to talk.’ Proactive as ever, because the option to find solace anywhere else, with another girl even, has never occurred to him. Because he loves you, and even if the sentiment isn’t shared, he thinks he can love you enough for the both of you. 

‘I don’t want to talk to you right now.’ But you push open the door, hand him a towel, and touch his cold and pallid cheek, because the promise of seeing him, in all your pain and bitterness, hurts less than not.

‘Not an option,’ he says and holds you, cold lips that brush just shy of the hot pulsing pressure point of your neck, warmed by the constancy of you. He smells of petrol, metal, the cold chill of winter, and against what you assume is your better judgement, you find warmth in the crook of his shoulder, the warm swell of his chest and arms that instinctively come around you, pressing your hips to his.

It would be easy, to give into the thrill for a night, to let yourself forget, reach out to him and grab at the promise, however temporary, for the risk of tasting him in all the ways you’ve imagined you can. You know he tastes of strawberries, tastes of the night and the moon, sweet and dangerous and warm, familiar and mysterious at once. 

You tell yourself, you tell Ran, he is just like this, that Rindou for all his brutality, for all the rough edges sharp enough to cut, for all the barricades smoothed down by time, he is just kind, he is just loving, he is just like that.

‘I thought you’d have known him better than that by now.’ And Ran sighs in that way older siblings do, half exhausted, half fond, and all pride in his Brother. ‘Rin doesn’t do things for anyone else.’ 

It changes at some point. 

Some point when you wake before him, nestled into his side, the warm breath from his parted lips lifting the hair now pressed against the pillow, an eyelash dancing on the perfect curve of his cheek. He looks best like this. Unguarded, the frown that usually graces the slope of his forehead now smooth, the bridge of his nose rubbing at the cotton of your shared pillow, and the soft blue of his hair resting on the sharp line of his jaw. 

You press a tiny kiss to his collarbone, trapping him between your legs, his hands resting on your hips that press flush against his. 

‘Watching people sleep is creepy y’know.’ His voice is rough and broken by the sluggishness of sleep and you can hear the smirk in it, the lazy languid curve of his lips that never fails to make the heat rise to your neck. 

‘You do it all the time.’ A whisper that kisses at his clavicle, eliciting a shiver that rolls along his spine, the perfect bones and muscles flexing under your touch.

‘S’different. You’re pretty.’ 

‘So are you. Really pretty Rin.’

‘Think so?’

‘Don’t fish for compliments with me, that’s shameful.’ You jab lightly at his side, the smile threatening to break out across your lips now peaking through with full force. The sun that cuts across his cheek rests on the swell of his bare shoulder, the black ink that whirls along the flexing tendon of his arm soaking up the light. This is him, your Rindou. Soaking up the light as if it belongs to him, because it does, because everything does, because you would hand him the world if he so much as looked at it.

He laughs, a throaty chuckle that reverberates against your chest, dangerously, achingly close, a flimsy t-shirt away. ‘You’re too smart, my smartest girl.’ And buries his lips against the warm juncture of your collarbones. 

‘And Rin?’ You ignore the way your voice wavers, the way it threatens to pull you back into what you know, the safety of your enclosed familiarity, the trapped bird looking out to freedom.

‘Mhm?’ 

A beat, prolonged, heady and weighted with love, years and memories. ‘I think I’m ready.’ 

‘For?’ 

‘To say yes.’ The pressure aches in your chest, the courage is a vibrating pulse in your blood. This is it, this is the deep breath and the plunge.

It’s strangely exhilarating to let go of it, the build-up of weeks of longing, of clutching onto his stomach as you bury your face against the broad swell of his back, muttering his name in your sleep, his lips only a breath away, a singular moment of decision away.

His eyes snap open, his hands pulling back instinctively from your hips to cup at your jaw, eyes narrowed, glowing with anticipatory longing, dull with the shimmer of sleep.  ‘You mean it? That’s not a joke? If it’s a joke-’

You shake your head adamantly, his palms rough against the curl of your cheek. ‘Not a joke. I’m sorry, my indecision hurt you. I think I was afraid.’ This last part is broken, snapped into a whisper that curls along your tongue.

It had been true, it had always been true. Because he’s Haitani Rindou, and you know he could break you, snap you in half, shred the pieces of you and spit you out, that you would have to trust him not to.

‘No, no Princess, don't ever apologise for that. You really mean this though?’ Damn him for the shake of his voice, for the wobble of it as he closes the distance between you. 

‘I do.’

‘You want this? You want …me?’ He knows it’s meticulous, extreme, that he must only bridge the gap to find his answer. But he has spent so long, nights reaching through the darkness for your warmth, a hand moving across the cold bed, looking for the space where he thinks you ought to be, to not do it right this time. 

‘Yes.’ 

He deliberates, searches your eyes, for the genuineness he loves in you, for the openness, for the love he has craved and never asked for, for what you have given to someone like him so freely. 

‘Can I kiss you?’ He asks, and his thumb brushes against your lips, against the softened pout, the dip in your chin that slices the sunlight in half as it spills over his shoulder.

Your heart smashes against your ribs, knocks the air from you so completely that your pulse rings in your head. You think this is the point you take the leap, jump into the unknown, knowing you’ll be caught either way by him, knowing he will catch you every time you fall. It's conscious, a decision weeks or months in the making, a step off the edge, the wind rushing at you as you fall.

So you do it.

You say yes.

And he kisses you. And kisses you. And kisses you.

a/n happy birthday to the boy himself, sorry this is a little late I did try to be earlier i've been slumped w work and stuff but I wanted to get this one out there. a kiss for the wonderful boy

You’re convinced Rindou hates you.

Every time you walk into the room, his eyes barely lift to acknowledge your presence, except for the occasional, scrutinizing glance. He never laughs at your jokes, doesn’t engage in casual conversation, and you’ve even caught him moving away from you more than once. It would be enough to make anyone second-guess themselves, but you know it’s not you—after all, you’re close with the other members of the Kanto Manji Gang, and they seem to like having you around.

Still, you can’t help the disappointment that settles in your chest every time you crack a joke and instinctively look at Rindou, hoping to catch even the slightest hint of a smile. Ran notices the way your expression falters when you hand Rindou a treat you bought just for him, only to receive a curt “thanks” before he turns away. He sees how you put in extra effort into your appearance whenever you know Rindou will be there, even though Rindou’s never once outwardly acknowledged your looks.

But Ran knows better.

He’s seen the small, secret collection that Rindou thinks he’s hidden well on his shelf, tucked between stacks of CDs. There are your missing hair accessories, cute keychains, and even a few lip glosses—all little things you’d set aside while hanging out with the gang, only to find them mysteriously gone when you returned.

The first time Ran realized what that pile of trinkets truly was, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud. As much as he’s tempted to tease his brother mercilessly, there’s a part of him that stays silent for Rindou’s sake, knowing how mortified he would be if anyone found out. 

But it’s more than just amusement for Ran—he’s intrigued. He sees the way Rindou’s cold demeanor towards you slips for just a fraction of a second when you’re not looking, the way his gaze lingers on you when you leave the room, almost as if he’s waiting for something. Ran wonders if you’ve noticed the subtle shifts in Rindou’s behavior, or if you’re too caught up in the belief that Rindou dislikes you to see the truth.

Rindou isn’t indifferent. Each dismissive glance, every word spoken with deliberate coolness, is calculated to keep you at arm’s length. He doesn’t hate you—he’s obsessed with you, in a way that terrifies even him. Ran knows that Rindou’s not sure how to handle these feelings, so he hides them away, tucking his desire into stolen trinkets and fleeting glances, pretending it doesn’t exist. But just how long can he keep it up? 

And as much as Ran tells himself he should step in, warn you, or at least tease Rin about his little stash, he doesn’t. Instead, he watches the two of you dance around each other, waiting for something. Ran isn’t sure that Rindou’s obsession with you will simply fade away, so until then, he’s content to sit back and watch how things unfold—curious to see just how far his brother’s fixation might go.

‘And then what happened, Haru?’ you say and you nod in encouragement, a small smile curling at your perfect mouth and Haruchiyo is ashamed to say he loves it, loves the small gestures, the tiny inflection of an accent saying his name, all sugary sweet from your even sweeter lips and he would drown in it if he could, the simple but divine and almost sensual way your lips part to use his name like some toy. He likes the other part too, the coolness of you that calms his heat, that simply listens, and he feels like more than just a glorified criminal for once.

‘Hm? Oh and then Mikey told me to shoot him and we ran for it.’ He finds himself leaning into you occasionally, as if you could warm the cold down to his bones and curl your warm hands around his soul. Well, whatever is left of it.

 He likes that you’re not afraid either, that he can simply speak, can come home bloodied and bruised and cuffs dotted with blood and you understand on instinct, take in his face, the glassy eyes that are still alight with adrenaline and pull the ache from his bones with nothing but the softness of your lips on his skin. 

He knows you like to mark him as much as he does you. There is no taming your mouth and the hot and fiery bites it leaves on his otherwise pale chest but it gives him a thrill to know that you have the same on yours, that it’s a territorial mark, the both of you sating your hungry appetites with each other.

‘Mhm, is that how you got the blood on your suit earlier?’ And you say it so naturally, with such reckless abandon, such welcome, that the heart Haruchiyo thought was dead in his chest pulses with heat. 

You like hearing him talk really, like that he feels comfortable enough to do so with you, to let you in after the years of trying to tame the bratty attitude that had him breaking out in a fever of sweat when he was alone. It’s a perfect balance. You enjoy the sadism of his unpredictability, the wild glint in his eyes when he twirls a gun around his lithe fingers, the softness that melts the razor edges when he touches you, as if he could break you by touch alone.

And he enjoys you, your smart mouth, the quick and dizzyingly attractive comebacks that have his pants tightening when you mouth off at him, always with a suspiciously teasing look in your eye. But he also enjoys this, the ‘you’ that lets him in, both fear and excitement, the understanding that comes from two perhaps equally monstrous souls. He hasn’t failed to notice the way your eyes glass with the clear shine of adrenaline, excitement and thrumming nerves when he twirls a gun in his hands, when he trails it down your lips, blank of course he makes sure (though you are none the wiser) and presses it between your sternum, between your thighs, your hands tied to the bedframe and him, holding your life between his lithe fingers. He likes it, you like it, him wrestling power from you like that, teetering on the edge of life and death.

‘It is, got his blood all over those cufflinks you got me as well, sorry about that Princess,’ he says and you touch your hand to his wrist on instinct. 

You lean against him, the fine pink of his hair tickling your cheek, kissing at your earlobes. It’s a perfect picture really, and you warm at the softness of his hands on yours, the lingering scent of gunpowder on his neck, cologne and metal and smoke clinging to the collars of his coat. 

‘S’okay Haru, I’ll just buy you another set if you like.’ You bite your lip, engrossed in the sharp shine of his eyes, the cut of his cheekbones darkened by the slant of moonlight, the smoothened diamond scars on his mouth that you long to press your lips to. 

The visibility is poor, and perhaps that’s what catches him off guard at first. The rush of a dark shadow barrelling towards him and it’s instinctual, the way he puts himself between you and them, a hand moving for his gun and the other holding you at arms length, angling his body to take the brunt of the hit as the man all but falls onto him.

‘You motherfu-’ He starts and the gun is loaded in his hand, his senses sharpened by the crisp night air, moving to press the trigger when your nails dig into his wrist as the man lowers himself against the wall, his hands thrown up in surrender. 

A drunk, that’s all, but it has your teeth on edge immediately. 

You dig your nails into his wrist, the glassy shine of your eyes now swirling with the copper hue of the streetlight. ‘Haru, are you okay?’ And you bend, a hand on his forearm to look over him, at the gun that glints metallic silver now pressed to his palm.

He glances at you, then at the man cowering against the terracotta brick, hands thrown up to shield himself, as if the zip of a bullet cannot tear through his flesh. 

‘I’m alright, Princess, just going to deal with this prick-’

‘You don’t need to-

‘Huh? Of course I do, he put you in danger Princess,’ he says, fast breath coming in plumes and curling against your nose.

And then, an idea that burns to life in your veins as his eyes flick to you and your smaller hand bunching up the fabric of his coat.

You test it on your tongue, chewing it up as you weigh the scales. ‘Why don’t you….let me?’ 

He frowns, a shrug of his shoulders as he turns from you to the man against the wall again. ‘Don’t be silly Princess, I just need to-’

‘Haru.’ Your voice an octave lower, authority and command and the click of heels moving into his periphery. He’s raising the gun to the man’s head and he can almost see it already, the back-splatter on his new cufflinks, the one’s he bought for today specifically, the sag of the body as the head lolls against the chest, a splash of red against even redder brick.

‘Haru,’ you say again because something is stirring in your stomach and the rush of adrenaline is coming to life in your veins. ‘Give me the gun.’

‘What?’

‘Give it to me. Let me. I want to.’ Your eyes alight with the pulse of the excitement he’s come to worship. You and Mikey, his deities.

It takes a second, a moment stretched out in time, in which his brows crease and his eyes search yours for the certainty, the surety of what you’re asking. He knows you like to live dangerously, like the power trip as much as he does, the give and take, the delicious and euphoric thrum of authority in your veins.

‘You’re sure?’ 

You nod and your lips are a firm line, the moonlight falling over a part of your face, cloaking it in shadow. You’ve never tried it before, at least not all the way. You’ve held his guns, weighed them in your hands, felt the warm kiss of his breath on your neck as he teaches you to aim down your sights, the intensity of his stare, the brush of his lips that has your thighs clenching and warmth pooling between them. 

For self defence you said, but Haru knew better. You liked it, watching the tilt of his head, the release of power that was so sexy to watch it had goosebumps breaking out on your skin.

‘I’m sure.’ You hold your hand out and the man watches as Haruchiyo hands it over, closing your hand around the barrel, your finger hovering over the trigger. ‘He disrespected you so let me do this.’

He wants to stop you, to stop you taking the plunge, from becoming like him. You, his laughing, smiling angel. You, cute and sweet and there for him when the pulsing in his head becomes loud enough to hear under his skin but he can’t deny there is something so deliciously erotic watching you throw back your shoulders, the hard set of your jaw as you stare down at the man who pushed into him, the cold fury in your eyes that has his pants tightening again.

He expects you to go for it immediately, press the trigger and hear the bang but you don’t. Instead, you pull your hand back and smash the barrel of the gun on the man’s jaw, all bone and sinew cracking with the blow, blood spurting from his cut lip and disfiguring his nose, his hands moving to shield him. He taught you that, and you remembered. It had taken a few practice runs, a swing of your arm without fear, without holding back like he knew you would. And oh is he proud, when the crack of bone reverberates, when a reddened welt appears almost immediately and he could kiss you, could worship you entirely. 

‘Apologize to my Husband,’ you say and bend, grabbing a handful of hair as you bridge the distance, your hot breath now fanning the blooming bruise along his cheek. You tug harshly and he whines, the gun now pressed up against his temple, trailing lower till the cold barrel is pushed between his bloodied lips.

‘Did you not hear what I said?’ You dig till he all but gags around the barrel and Haruchiyo’s jaw drops in awe, shock and pleasure and adrenaline all beating through his chest at once. Something twitches in his pants.

He watches, critically, euphorically, as you pull the gun out and push the man towards the ground, the barrel now firmly denting the back of his head as he lands on palms and knees, a hairsbreadth away from Sanzu’s shiny dress shoes. He recognizes this, the setup of it. It's his own, his little game he plays with victims, breaking them before the release. He really has trained you well hasn't he? 

The drunkard whimpers, and Haruchiyo almost feels like doing the same in his own twisted way. 

‘Kiss his shoes and apologise,’ you say, and the sharp edge of your voice is colder than Haru has ever heard it, colder than the spike of frost clinging to the streetlamps. 

This. This feels like power, it feels like pleasure, pride, authority. Anticipation, adrenaline, holding life and death in your hands. You, the grim reaper. You like it, and judging by Haruchiyo’s slack jaw,  the extremely obvious bulge in his pants, he likes this side of you too, the calculating side that has him aching with need. It’s at this point he realizes just how much he’s corrupted you, how much he has tainted you with his blood-spattered hands. His angel, falling from grace. And yes, he could easily kill this man without a gun, with one hand in fact but he loves your efforts, your possessiveness, your hold on him.

‘Will- will you let me-?’ 

‘Yes, yes, I’ll let you go after.’ It’s dismissive, almost bored in tone, as if this is a chore or punishment you’re doling out unnecessarily. 

So he grovels, and slides on his hands and knees till he’s a hair's breadth from Haruchiyo’s shiny black shoes. You think you hear him whimper again as he bends, his dry cracked lips trembling with the effort it takes to hold in his tears and control the shake in his voice.

And then he swallows against the tide of shame in his throat and Sanzu’s eyes are saucers as he presses a light and hesitant kiss to the instep of his shoe. It happens quickly , and the man is shuffling backwards as soon as his lips have parted from the black leather.

‘Okay good, now back up against the wall,’ you say and the gun is on his temple again, digging into the bony flesh of his cheek, hard enough to feel the indent against his remaining teeth. You can feel it, the way the flesh parts for you, the pudginess of his cheek underneath the cold barrel, the harsh sharpness of his teeth that block the way. There’s something interesting in it, something so fascinating about how the flesh parts with a little force, so obedient and disciplined.

He gropes blindly for purchase along the tarmac, the streetlight casting a golden light on the filth of his nails, the way they’ve cracked with strain and use, bleeding slightly from where they’ve scraped. He puts his hands up again and shakes, his whole body wracking with the tremors and you can’t deny that despite how shameful it is, how wrong, how perverse, the delicious shiver of pleasure running along your skin is too prominent to be ignored. 

Haruchiyo’s lips part to lick at the saliva pooling at the edge, to suck in his bottom lip and pull it between his teeth in need. 

You spare a glance at your husband, who stares at you with eyes pooling with lust, affection, admiration, that fine line between love and fear, before moving your sharp gaze back to the man cowering against the brick with his hands raised.

‘You-you said you’d let me go if I did it.’ He shrinks back as you take a step forward, the click of heels deafeningly loud on the otherwise quiet street, the frost kissing at your boots from where the snow has melted on the expensive leather.

‘I did…’ You make to lower the gun, skimming it along his jawbone. 

He waits, lets out a breath that’s all mist and dampened sniffles. 

‘I lied.’ And in one swift motion, you dig the barrel into his throat and pull the trigger, hard enough, the sleek metal parting for you like the lips of a lover and the bullet is fast and hot as it pierces skin. The splash of blood on your gloved hand is warm too, the smoke curling towards the sky as his head lolls against the terracotta brick, before falling completely, slumping against the tarmac, his hands still raised in shocked surrender.

The gunshot is loud, deafeningly so, a ring and drum of explosive noise that dies just as quick. 

‘Princess…’ Haruchiyo is all shock and awe, his voice a muted but lust-driven whisper, his throat dry with anticipatory longing.

It’s over far too quickly for your liking, the metallic tang of blood weak and dissipating into the air, coagulating already between the seams of your leather gloves. You lower the gun and your breath is quick and sharp, shallow enough to be pulsing in time with the ringing in your head.

Haruchiyo moves to take the gun, and it slides from your hand as you stare vacantly at the body, a carcass really, a suit of flesh and meat. And it’s funny, and yet not so, that that’s all it really is, a meatsuit of bones and blood tied together with stringy sinew, a life winked in and out of existence by a few minutes of your time, a split second decision.

Haruchiyo tucks the gun into his trousers, and takes your hand, still sticky with blood, and rubs it between his own. He warms it, brings your wrist to his mouth and presses a hot and chaste kiss to the vein in the juncture. He’s holding himself back, the ache between his legs an unforgettable thrumming of sweet pain. But he knows this is a big moment for you and so he’s letting it simmer for a minute, letting the gravity of your sin unfurl like an autumn leaf crushed underfoot. The weight of it descending on your shoulders is a boulder that presses firmly on your bones.

‘Princess are you okay?’ Despite himself, the vicious, blood-thirsty side that cackles loudly when blood is spilled, that’s hungry to sink his teeth into you in a place as shady and unsavoury as an alleyway, he’s letting you have this, this moment of clarity. His Goddess, his Queen, tainted enough to take to hell with him.

‘I-I’m fine Haru.’ Your voice, when you do find it, wavers on the end of each word, and now that it’s over, the clarity hits like a freight train. The shiver that had run along your skin is beaded with cold and the sweat rolling down your back elicits a dazed shake of your head.

‘Sure?’ He searches your eyes, looking for the come-down, the glassy eyed adrenaline replaced by the shock. Your lip trembles and he presses a quick kiss to your cupid’s bow. You sink against him and he holds you there, under the bronze streetlight, the frost clinging to your skin, dewy and wet and flushed with desire. 

‘I killed him…’ you whisper into the fine threads of his coat, your voice woven against his ear, dizzying and confused and almost shy.

‘You did. Now Shall we go home?’ 

‘Yeah, please.’ Your nails dig into his coat, his perfect lips close enough to feel the breath on the tip of your nose, his neck clean and clear of any marks your mouth might beg to put there. It’s shameful, how deplorable the both of you can be, how you both rein in the desire at once, how your thighs are clenching with the ache settling between them. 

He grins, slides a hand down the small of your back and ghosts his lips over the shell of your ear, bites at your earlobe before pulling away entirely. He can’t decide which part he enjoyed the most, the power you held now, with the gun pressing into the gaunt cheek or the part where his shoe was kissed almost reverently at your behest. 

He feels divine, he feels as if he could eat the whole world raw and oh is he going to enjoy positively breaking you when you get home.

He shoots a bored look at the body still lying prone against the wall, the splash of red almost black under the bronze streetlight, running in thickened rivulets into the cement. Eh, Bonten will cover for the both of you, he thinks and shrugs. You are, the both of you, untouchable, godly, dripping with unsated power.

Right now he has only one thing on his mind, and that’s pinning you to the bed by the neck and sinking into you for as long as the night lasts. And, he thinks with a glance at the moon now unfurling behind a cloud, the night…is young yet.

a/n: I have nothing to say but the fact that I wrote this with my clit- ok im jkjkjk lol, I have been wanting to write this for ages because nothing excites me more than the idea of my puppy boy getting down awful for a woman willing to kill for him that's all. I need.

‘Ran?’ 

A voice pulls him from the darkness, and he rocks forward in his chair, groaning against the anxiety that threatens to climb its way out of his chest as his eyes crack open, squinting at the harsh flare of the lights.

‘Rindou.’ He chews on his lip and makes to pick up his glass again, the condensation wet against his clammy hands. He grips it hard to force down the shaking that snakes along his knuckles. ‘You’re here.’

‘This better be good Ran,’ Rindou says and pulls out a chair opposite, propping his chin up on his palm as he takes in the sight. His Brother’s tired eyes, shadows clinging to the skin underneath, the pinched brows that give him a permanent frown, the matted hair that sticks to his forehead, curling at the nape and around his ears, the sweat that rolls down his temple despite the air conditioning. 

‘Thanks for coming,’ Ran says solemnly, his head hung low, eyes downcast.

Rindou narrows his eyes and reaches into his jacket, fishing around till he feels the sharp metallic edge of his cigarette tin, frowning when Ran’s hands shake as he leans forward to accept the offered cigarette.

‘So what’s this about then?’ Rindou moves the glass from Ran’s reach absent-mindedly, noting the way his Brother’s lips purse as he takes a long drag, holding the smoke in till it burns.

The smoke curls from his mouth, grey against the light. ‘Had a fight with My Girl. A bad one.’ This last part is a barely imperceptible whisper, and Rindou leans in, tucking his hair behind his ears as he strains to listen.

Ah, Rindou thinks, his lips a firm line. He scoots his chair closer around the table till the thump of music gyrates his ears less and gestures with an incline of his head towards the bartender for a drink. Under this light, the shadows under Ran’s eyes and the creases in his otherwise immaculate suit are all the more prominent. As is the shaky exhale when Ran puffs his cigarette.

He knows the wedding band on Ran’s finger is still new, that Ran hasn’t fully adjusted to married life and domestic bliss is a concept he’s not well acquainted with, that it had taken Ran a very long time to persuade himself that he was capable of marriage in the first place.

‘What about? Can’t be that bad.’ Rindou watches as the bartender sets down a jug of iced water and two glasses, backing up when Rindou shoots him a look, bowing profusely. 

He fills a glass, all but thrusting it into his Brother’s hands and Ran doesn’t know if he should be grateful for the action when his hands itch for something dark and strong, and the pounding in his head tells him it can only be lulled by more alcohol.

‘It was bad Rin, don’t think we’ve ever fought like that before.’

It was new and it was ugly and the feelings are still fresh this many hours later as Ran drowns his anxieties for the umpteenth time tonight. 

 It’s not as if the two of you hadn’t fought before. At the beginning, your relationship was fraught with hushed arguments, vitriolic whispers that caught in your throat, words said without meaning, anger and bitterness and negligence thrown back and forth, a sharp word here and there that turned into something else entirely.  Sometimes, not very often, he would say something that cut you, a clean slice through the tendon of your heart, and you’d wonder at what manner of love you had for him that had you constantly crawling back, sniffling down the line as you both whispered your apologies to each other. 

It always ended in love, with you against his chest, your feelings for him, that of tenderness, the need to protect him renewed when he kissed you again and again and again, fervently, desperately, his lips latched onto your neck as you hoisted your legs around his waist.

‘So?’ Rindou fills his own glass and gestures with a hand, tilting his head as Ran curls around his glass of water, an injured animal hunched and hurt, his back and shoulders heavy with an invisible burden.

‘I cancelled our date,’ he starts and his eyes flick to the ceiling. The elaborate and ornate decor seems a mockery right now, and he can practically feel the desperation leaking from his skin. ‘You know how Mikey’s been on my ass lately,’ he says and his eyes move to his boss seated in a booth with his eyes closed, hair fanning the bridge of his nose. 

The spark of his anger had started small, a flickering flame. You’d huffed and his ears had prickled at the sound and he’d raised his eyebrows as you crossed your arms, glaring at him as he shrugged on his jacket. 

And the minute the complaint had left your lips Ran’s hackles had risen and the flare of his temper had sparked to life and you had cried, left sopping wet stains on the corner of your sleeve as you threw the insults back and forth. What hurt more, you couldn’t tell- the complaint itself or the fact that your complaints had been met by the domineering force of his viciousness, the wall that had slammed down on your voice when he glared, his lavender eyes swirling with rage. Rage at you. 

You’d learned somewhat, to accept that part of him. The larger than life part, the fullness of him, as if he swallowed the light in every room, the ruthlessness that came with that, the cutting edge of his words when they bit into you. But this was different and as he’d towered above you, dragging a hand down his face, you knew it was the smallest he had ever made you feel.

‘Okay and then what?’ Rindou refills the glass and pushes it towards his Brother. 

‘She told me she never got to see me, that she was always fighting to have my attention, that she missed me.’ Ran has never felt so humiliated, and the self loathing wraps its hands around his throat, and the guilt and shame is thick in the blood that floods his ears and head.

Rindou winces and sucks in a breath, the crease in his forehead growing larger as Ran takes another long drag of the quickly burning cigarette. 

‘So what did you do?

‘I yelled at her, told her I had enough, that she was selfish, that she was being a spoiled brat when I was working hard for our future.’ Ran feels small as he says this, judged, even though he knows the opposite is true and even now, replaying his words out loud, he knows how harsh and critical they sound and Rindou only drives the point home unintentionally as his lips part and jaw drops open.

‘In those exact words?’

‘Yeah…Yeah in those exact words.’

‘And then you walked out?’

‘Yeah…’ A whisper against the glass, his hands still shaky, slipping on condensation. 

Rindou purses his lips and pauses momentarily. ‘That was bad nii-chan,’ he says, the childish nickname slipping past his lips with ease. ‘Y’know she hates that stuff the most. It must have hurt her.’

Something in him softens watching Ran’s head tip towards his chest, the sad droop of his eyes, the singular strands of hair out of place around his ears, curling towards his forehead. He knows Ran can be brash and iron-handed and sometimes even cruel. 

But he also knows that Ran loves you, and it’s a simple fact in itself. He knows he loves you as the day loves the night and the sun loves the moon enough to share its light. An indisputable unchangeable fact.

‘I know, I’m an idiot.’ Ran lifts his head, setting the glass down and dragging a hand forlornly across his face. He sniffles, and maybe it's the alcohol coursing through his blood, so much of it that his brain is fuzzy and swimming in his head, or maybe it’s the thoughts of you, your broken sob that died when he slammed the door, the hunched figure alone and left staring at the paint as he drove off to drown his sorrows, but he thinks he’s never felt this wretched or consumed by bitterness at himself for damaging something so precious.

‘Yeah no shit Ran, you messed up big time,’ Rindou says. A fact, not a criticism. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘Well you’re going home to talk to her right?

Ran’s lips curve into an ‘o’ and he blinks owlishly, his vision hazy. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’ Even as he says it, he knows how cowardly that sounds. That he continues to run from confrontation, from difficult arguments and sullen silences, from the clenched jaws and the eyes misty with tears, that it’s a consequence of constantly treading on eggshells in the life he’s chosen, a life of constantly running.

‘You don’t know if that’s a- are you listening to yourself?’ Rindou is incredulous, his glass suspended in the air as he shakes his head. ‘So what, you’re going to sit here all night?’ He scoffs and blows the wisps of hair kissing his eyebrows from his face.

Ran’s head snaps up, his eyes a harsh deep violent and flaring with anger. ‘So what do I do then?’

‘Go and talk to her, obviously!

It’s Ran’s turn to scoff bitterly, despite the fact that he knows Rindou’s right, that running from this conversation only serves to cut through both of you and prolong the pain. ‘I can’t.’ It’s the most shameful thing he’s ever said, the most pathetic.

Rindou only softens in response and while he could berate him and drive home the point of how clueless he thinks he is, he knows this isn’t the time, that Ran needs both his honesty and his brotherhood, the lifeline that connects them.

‘Nii-chan…’ Rindou swallows and takes a breath, hot and heavy in this cloistered atmosphere. ‘If you’re not going to listen to her or give her what she deserves, then leave her, because she deserves someone who will.’ 

It isn’t laced with hatred, bitterness, jealousy or resentment, and the softness, the low cadence of his Brother’s voice only tells Ran that he is being given a rare truth, that Rindou wouldn’t say it if he didn’t care. As pathetic as he feels, with anger and tension and cynicism rolling in waves under his skin, he understands the gravity of what he is being given, the weight of what the consequences are. 

The thought itself however, is practically inconceivable. It’s another irrefutable fact that  you have made him the man he is, at least to him. You have chased away the days spent tossing in a cold bed, sheets wrinkled as he turned in his sleep, nightmares hooking claws into his back. You tore down those walls he had so painstakingly built as a nest around himself, believing he could never be hurt if he never loved.

Ran closes his eyes and his clenched jaw is a knife simmering on the precipice. 

‘And if she doesn’t want to listen?’

Rindou shrugs. ‘Then listen to her instead,’ he says, as if it’s the simplest concept. ‘And don’t get angry if she tells you things you don’t want to hear.’ She only does it because she loves you, he adds as a mental afterthought, a fact that he knows from experience and one he took too long to come to terms with.

Ran nods, his eyes fixed on a speck on the mahogany table and Rindou only hopes his words aren’t floating into the ether, that Ran’s addled state still allows him to grasp the gravity of them.

‘I’ll try.’ The words come out broken and cracked, his voice hitching as the breath forms a lump in his throat.

Rindou pats his Brother on the back. ‘Relationships are all about communication but it stands for nothing if there’s no comprehension involved too,’ he says. ‘It’s all well and good saying you want to talk to each other but are the both of you willing to listen? That’s what matters.’

A strange sense of pride tickles Ran’s chest as Rindou speaks. Pride in his Brother, in the way he raised him, in the way Rindou snatched a life worth living in a lifestyle that was less so and refused to allow it to break his spirit completely. Ran makes fun of him yeah sure, for the fact that Rindou is so homely and soft, tender and caring and embarrassed to hear it, but he’s also proud beyond belief, that Rindou had found something he loved so completely, or someone rather. Something that was so directly in contrast to the vicious and violent Brother he knew, raised and watched crack bones on a daily basis.

Underneath that pride comes the tendrils of love for you, the shame at having walked out on you when you had tried to talk to him, the renewed hope that perhaps he can fix his own mistake.

For the first time that night, Ran allows himself to roll the tension from his shoulder, his neck prickling as the coil of anxiety dissipates a little through the soles of his feet. He downs a full glass of ice water, the sharp sting a welcome sensation against the murkiness of his head. He winces as the cold rushes down his chest, cools the pulse of anxiety simmering in his belly.

‘How come you’re so good at this relationship stuff?’ 

Rindou chuckles and the faint warmth kissing his cheeks tickles the base of his neck as he hangs his head ‘It’s just experience. I had to work through this too, remember?’

Ran can’t help but smirk knowingly as the heat prickling his skin begins to ebb, leaving behind a strange tranquillity and it’s the calmest he’s felt all night since he slammed the front door. He knows he has a lot to make up for, that you’ve every right not to take him back, but he hopes the vigour of his efforts when he returns home will be enough to assuage the anger you no doubt have for him.

‘How is she?’ Ran asks, if only just to see the wistfulness in his Brother’s gaze, the glaze of his eyes when he stares at the glass in front of him, trying and failing to pull back the smile. 

Rindou’s lips curve into a grin and the tint on his cheeks only grows tenfold. ‘She’s good. You and your girl should come when you get time.’ 

‘And the baby?’ 

‘Also great. Still a little soon to be buying baby things though.’

Rindou smiles sheepishly, his leg bouncing with excitement and Ran basks in the wonderment of Rindou’s happiness, returning the easy smiles, his heart settling back in his chest. Perhaps it’s because they’re older now, no longer so naive and arrogant and flighty, consumed by distaste for the world around them, but they no longer find themselves retorting with quips wrapped in jealousy, with anger or bitterness. Things are easy between them and when they glance at each other in that unspoken way that siblings often do, it is always with love and brotherhood, memories of running through alleyways laughing as the rain comes down in droves.

As Rindou babbles about his wife and the baby soon to come, Ran’s mind drifts. He thinks of you, of your belly swelling with his child, of your quick smiles, the lazy Sunday mornings under the covers, him tracing patterns on the sliver of skin under your collarbones, his thumb brushing over the hollow in your throat. He thinks of all he stands to lose if he can’t fix his own mistakes.

Haitani Ran knows he is not a good person, he doesn’t expect to be called one. He knows he has the ability to be callous, pretentious, even downright selfish and he knows that the less than savoury aspects of who he is flare to the surface at the worst of times, that he bites at you, makes you cry. Domineering and cruel and unrelenting. 

But he also knows another indisputable fact. That he loves you, that he’d walk barefoot in the desert, the hot sand licking at his heels just for a glimpse of you in a mirage, that he, the unredeemable, is redeemed by the two people who love him the most despite his severity. 

And you, you love him too. You know you’ve forgiven him already, that the sharp and jagged edges of his cutting words have softened now and all you want is to bury your head on the smooth planes of his chest, your hand on his stomach as it flexes underneath you. You wonder if you can keep going like that, arguing and making up, the constant back and forth, torn between love and anger. For him, you would bear it all, the full force of his will. 

‘Ran?’ Rindou’s voice tears him from his thoughts and he shakes his head as the alcohol begins to loosen its grip on him.

‘Hm? Sorry, what did you say?’ 

‘I said, shall we go? I’ll drive you home.’ Rindou is already shrugging his jacket back on, leaning back to down the rest of his ice water. He looks at Ran expectantly, his clear violet eyes flashing under the sickly artificial lights.

‘Yeah…yeah let’s go.’ Ran stands and as he slips into Rindou’s car, he thinks again of your hair against his chin, your lips on his, needy and tender all at once, the way your teeth graze against his tattoo and his stomach jumps with the sensation it sends across his skin. He thinks of his hand tilting your chin up, kissing the sharp point of your lips, your pout that only makes him laugh fondly.

And as Rindou drives, he finds for the first time tonight that he is less scared and anxious about returning home, that instead he can only count the seconds till he can press his mouth to your neck, hear your giggle as you swat at him. 

You are his, and he is yours, and that is the way he likes it. 

a/n: happy birthday to my darling <3