#benimaru feels

...what? He doesn’t have to ask where they would have heard something like that: just this morning [Y/N] had said something along those lines to Benimaru when he tried to order her back to her sick bed. If only I’d known better. Konro had chuckled, telling his old friend to give up on the protectiveness, for now at least.

Staring down at the twins, the scarred man crosses his arm calmly. “Try again.”

Seconds later, papers float in the air as Hinata and Hikage have changed their minds and are sprinting off to get ready for bed.

...  Reader   ...

Ow. Ooow. Eeek. Ow. Ouch.

Limping past Benimaru’s office, you’re thankful the door is closed as you don’t need him to see how you’re gritting your teeth in pain. Maybe he had a point this morning...ow.

He had caught you leaving your room – your destination being the kitchen where Konro was busy serving breakfast for everyone present at the Special Fire Force Company Seven’s headquarters – and promptly ordered your back to bed, completely ignorant of the fact that you’d spent a full day there already and you were bored out of your mind. Opinions had been...exchanged before he let you do what you wanted for the rest of the day.

And now I’m paying the price. Every body part is screaming in protest at the mere idea of moving, littered with bruises and swells, and you’re fairly sure you’ve pulled a few of the stitches on your thigh. Just a bit more. Down the hall and around the corner, then you can collapse onto the futon and get the weight off your swollen ankle.

“Have I ever told you, you’re stubborn?” Beni’s bored voice stops any progress.

Fuck. “Once or twice,” you grit out, refusing to turn to see him standing there, probably arms crossed and leaning against the doorpost, “I take it as a compliment.”

“Figures.” There’s a huff and then you can feel him right behind you. “[Y/N]...” lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, “please...you don’t have to do everything alone and I know how strong you are. Let me he-...let me be of use.”

Oh, it’s tempting. You remember parts of the trip back from the Nether and how it had felt to be pressed against his warm body, nuzzling against the crook of his neck to inhale the mixed scents of coals, cedar, and light sweat. It had made it bearable whenever unconsciousness shifted and you were brought back to the pain.

Now Benimaru’s arms snake around your waist and under your knees and you realize you’ve said yes without meaning to, allowing him to lift and hold you against him once more. He tries to move carefully, reducing the jostle as much as he can even as he lays you down.

“[Y/N]...the wound...” The frown on his face could be either worry or exasperation as he shows off the blood that’s seeped through your trousers and onto his shirt.

“Sorry?”

Somehow, he accepts not getting a hold of the doctor. “I’ll...I’ll get what we need to rebandage it while you...” He motions to the bloody clothes, a pink tinge rising to the tip of his ears before he hurries out of the room.

It’s easier said than done and you’ve only managed to wriggle your butt out of the pants by the time he returns with cloths, bandages and hot water. Eyeing the lack of progress, Benimaru wordlessly asks for permission to help with the rest (leaving you in underwear and an oversized t-shirt) which he is granted – you’re too exhausted to keep up the hopeless charade of independence, preferring to be cared for. By him, specifically.

The large hands work meticulously, gently shifting off the layers of the soaked bandages while you lie back to watch in wonder. His shock of black hair can’t obscure the frown or the way he pulls his lips tight when the cloth sticks to the wound and you bite back a hiss of pain. He cradles your thigh with a subtle grasp as he begins to dab away the mess and turning the damp cloths continuously lighter shades of pink until everything finally is clean again.

“You’re luckier than you deserve,” Benimaru grumbles, “stitches are holding. It’s just been seeping from underneath.”

Pushing yourself up by the elbows, you can see he’s right and that a new bruise has formed around the wound. Okay...I’ll have to take it easy a few days more. “Fine...maybe you were right.”

“Maybe? Trust me, by the time it’s wrapped up, you’ll know I’m right.”

It’s obvious that’s he’s taking care, trying to shuffle your leg as little as possible and such, but the bandage has to stay in place and so he can’t let it be too loose. Sure, after the first layers of foamy material directly on the wound, the shifting pressure isn’t quite as bad...but it’s bad enough. Your nails are digging into your palms, teeth into lip, and tears are pouring down your cheeks even if you aren’t making a sound by the time Benimaru is done and has lifted your ankle up by placing a stack of pillows under the calf and foot.

“I’m sorry,” he hushes you, spreading the covers over you, “I really tried to be careful.”

“Mhmm.” You don’t trust your voice to say anything else, but lift the covers aside for him to join you. “Please?”

Something deep and warm moves in those mix-matched eyes of his as you studies your face. Then he discards everything but his boxers and lies down on his side, facing you. The touch of his fingertips is barely there as he wipes away the tracks of the tears.

“I know...I won’t always be able to prevent you from hurting...but I wish I could, babe,” he whispers.

Of course he can’t. It doesn’t matter though, you decide, as long as he’ll be there to help you afterwards and you tell him as much, words mumbled against his lips before losing yourself in a slow kiss.

You are both out of breath when he breaks away.

“I’m not letting you leave bed tomorrow except for the absolute minimum!” Beni vows.

“I could be convinced if you come and cuddle up with me sometimes.”

“Hm. I smell it.”

Smell? Sniffing the air, you don’t pick up on anything much at first apart from Benimaru, dust; and your own need for a bath.

“Don’t worry, [Y/N], just stay calm.” He must have felt you stirring.

Nothing snappy comes to mind and it doesn’t matter because that’s when you realize that a curl of sulphurous stench is mingling with the air.

“Let me down.”

“You can’t stand on that leg,” he argues as Joker steps closer.

Already fumbling with the sash holding the two of you together, the idea of supporting the weight seems like a horrible idea. “It wasn’t an invitation to a discussion, Beni,” you growl, “I’ll hold you back if you carry me.”

“I’m not leaving you behind!” Stubbornly digging the fingers into your thighs, he’s probably stubborn enough to stick to the word.

Finally free of the restraints, you tug at his hair. “I’m only telling you to put me down for now.”

There are whispers now, low murmuring groans coming from both directions as if carried on the fumes. The lightest dust and ashes are starting to dance on the ground in spiralling patterns that clash and divide in mesmerizing patterns. They could have been fascinating to watch if it wasn’t for the temperature slowly rising.

“Do as she says, Shinmon,” Joker drawls, his eye fixed at a warm glow that has appeared in the distance.

Begrudgingly, the man sets you on the ground, careful to let you gain the balance on your good leg before letting go. It’s obvious on his face: one wrong move and he’ll sweep you off your feet. I’m so gonna use this to my benefit once we’re home. You decide to ignore the nagging sense of doubt and instead focus on the growing lights in either direction of the tunnel.

What at first was nothing more than a glow has now, beyond a doubt, taken shape of several flickering fires moving towards the same cluster of targets. Misshapen bodies cast their stretching shadows beneath the flames, obscuring dozens of shuffling feet as the pace begins to pick up. They know you’re there. They are hungry.

Glancing at the men, the darkness before them is illuminated in red and purple and the air around them is shimmering with heat.

“Let them get close.”

“Guess you’re too exhausted to think clearly, dear,” Joker chuckles but then hesitates as he sees your face, “...okay. Call it.”

...  Joker  ...

Smiling behind the collar, Joker recognizes the worry flashing across the other man’s face. It’s a bold plan and he isn’t sure it’s strictly necessary...but they can’t be sure what else they’ll be facing on their way out, so [Y/N]’s idea of preserving the would-be rescuers’ power for later makes sense.

“Lighten up...or not, actually,” he smiles wickedly at Shinmon, “let’s see what our girl can do, eh?”

The glare he receives from the captain is a logical response.

“[Y/N]...there’s no reason to push yourse-”

“I didn’t survive this shit just to be rescued like some fairy tale maiden.” The threatening purr combined with the half-dried blood makes her seem tantalizingly dangerous. “There’s no one to take out my revenge on, but at least I can clean up the mess I’ve made when I let the lab blow up too.”

Oh? That must be an interesting story...for later. Finding an adequate slab of broken concrete, he brushes it off and sits down. In one of the inner pockets of the coat is a pack wrapped in cellophane and he picks a cigarette from it, lighting it with a flick of his fingers. Aaah. The acrid taste fills him for a handful of seconds before it’s blown out through his nostrils together with the last hours’ worth of stress – he could almost chill for a moment if it wasn’t for Benimaru joining him by the boulder, sitting as relaxed as a statue about to crack.

“Has anyone ever told you t-”

“Shut up, Joker.”

The men relapse into silence. It’s not that the man with the hat doesn’t understand Benimaru’s sentiment: the girl’s in horrible condition and is using almost all her strength to stand, it seems. The white-clad ran from her. The image of a dying man clutching a bundle of hastily written notes is still clear in Joker’s mind. Abandoned a comrade together with a demon infernal...he didn’t think they could end it. It’s clear, though, that something did put it to rest, most likely causing the explosion at the same time. Show us what you’ve got, [Y/N).

...  Benimaru ...

Like lit matches, only their heads are burning as they rush forward. At first surging for whomever is nearest until a clear shout orders them to ignore the men.

“I am what you want!”

The way the infernals all zero in on [Y/N] it really looks like she’s right and as they swarm around, pushing closer but never able to touch her, he can barely see her until he stand up on the slab of concrete.

Eye glowing bright yellow even against the infernals’ blaze, she doesn’t flinch as charred fingers scrape against the air, trying to reach her. She stands, immovable, talking calmly as if they could understand her. Maybe they can. Yes, they absolutely can and some must be accepting what she says because they stop and wait without a sound. Wait for what? A few infernals continue their struggle only to be wrapped in the arms of those standing by until finally, none of them are moving more than their dead faces.

There’s a shift in the air as [Y/N] spreads her arms, smoke and heat pushed outwards by an unseen pressure and stilling the flames of the damned.

“I’m sorry,” the woman whispers a second before tugging her fists tightly to the chest and plunging the Nether in darkness once more.

Benimaru can hear the muted sounds of clothing landing in heaps on the ground, the impact softened by dust and ashes, but the room is obscured by dark flakes filling the air to the extend that the glow from Joker’s cigarette nor the captain’s excellent vision can guarantee a view of the woman they came here for.

“Impressive,” the smoking man comments, snapping a fiery playing card out of nowhere to illuminate the space.

No one is listening to the compliment. The captain of Special Fire Force Company Seven is reaching out for the swaying figure of the woman he loves, barely making it over the heap of sooty jumpsuits in time to catch her as she collapses one more time.

“[Y/N]!” he croaks, frantically feeling for a pulse.

A fear that’s still roiling in your guts and clawing its way up your throat until only a fraction of it lands on the beetle that’s waving its antennae towards you. It clicks as if offended (though more likely disgusted) and tries to free the legs one by one to get away.

If it escapes...

Benimaru (and others) have called you stubborn. You’ve learned not to give up because giving up meant allowing yourself to get caught and you weren’t naïve enough to think that the only punishment for that was to see your parents’ faces and sorrow over the little sister you had lost. No. It would’ve meant landing yourself in this exact situation – even if it was nothing but a fearful conspiracy at first.

Now, you know better and realize that the stubbornness has changed.

Now, you twist on the jagged ground, pulling yourself forward by hands and elbows to drag your leg free from a slab of concrete. The dead weight threatens to hold your hostage, squeezing onto your foot with cruel determination. It would be easy to give in to it – to lie down and claim the rest your body is screaming for – but the beetle is moving faster than you are, having spent the time wisely while you fought with gravity, mass, and your own mind.

It can’t be called a scream, the sound that begins deep in your chest and works its way up and out as the strain of muscles constrict around your lungs. You don’t feel the way the nails scrape and break against the sooty floor, just like the muted pop from a strained joint goes ignored save for the tears of relief the moment the ruins let go.

The thud of your palm slamming down doesn’t conceal the satisfying crunch of an exoskeleton being crushed. Shards of concrete dig into your skin and you’ve never welcomed them as much as now.

“Got you, fucker,” you swear, voice hoarse but seething with a new sensation: revenge.

One down. Time to find the rest.

...  Joker  ...

There’s no reason to talk. Not yet, at least. All the men can do for now is to search through the rubble methodically, each covering a half of the space ahead of them while pretending that the odds aren’t stacked against them. He must have realized. But even the lanky man doesn’t have it in him to give up yet, wishing instead to extend the blind hope for just a bit longer. She’s stronger than we give her credit for, but...

“[Y/N]!” Benimaru’s deep voice fills the darkness, briefly fooling his friend in need to think the search is over. “[Y/N]! [Y/N]!” the captain yells, a crackle of desperation breaking through.

Dust and small debris falls from the ceiling as if startled by the sound. It’s a miracle the place hasn’t caved in already and Joker’s about to shut up the normally quiet man when he hears it. Or...? No...it must’ve been an echo.

But then it’s there again: something more akin to a cough has come from the farthest side of the new cavern.

“-maru?”

As if they had planned it, the men each let lose a roaring blaze, licking against the uneven surface above and cast deep, jagged shadows that dance in the white-hot air. Dust is fanned by the invisible wave, split into streams as obstacles loom in the path only to be caught against nothing a few feet from a mess of a woman.

Arm raised as if holding a shield, [Y/N] is leaning against the remains of a wall. Apparently she’s just clambered over it, but how she has managed is a mystery. She’s barely standing! Swaying dangerously, blood seeping from the nose and countless cuts and scrapes, not even the dirt and bruises can hide the fact that the usual lustre of her skin is gone. The only parts of the woman that seems somewhat alive are her eyes glow with a deep crimson a few seconds longer before that too disappears with a blink.

Not a blink.

Benimaru moves faster than Joker can think, suddenly skidding to a halt right before the supposed damsel in distress, catching her effortlessly as her legs give out and she tumbles towards the ground.

...  Benimaru  ...

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

It’s impossible to tell if [Y/N] has heard him, her body limp against the captain’s. There’s no time to worry about decency as Benimaru quickly inspects her for serious injuries – a task that’s all too easy, though, as the once-faded-now-flambéed jumpsuit has been torn to the extend that it barely can hold on to her frame. Finding nothing too obvious (health wise), Benimaru shrugs off the dark-blue kimono shirt to wrap around her.

“We’re gonna get you out of here.”

A slow groan precedes the answer. “Wh- not yet...” [Y/N] can barely keep her eyes open. “Imma k-ki-ick their...asses.”

It’s Joker’s startled laugh that breaks the silence, earning him a confused frown from the dazed woman until he explains. “There’s no one left here.”

“He’s right, [Y/N],” Benimaru agrees, suddenly reconsidering what might have caused all the destruction, “so let’s get you fit for fight before round two.” His entire world consists of this woman as she looks up at him with a tiny smile, asking if they’re going home. “Haï. Home to Konro and the twins. Home to Asakusa.”

“Just give...give me five minutes to rest,” she demands, eliciting a new laugh, “then I’ll be on my feet.”

Not with that leg, you won’t. “Will you let me carry you until you’re okay to walk?” It’s the closest he can get to arguing with her stubbornness right now. “It’d be good to get out of here before the whole thing collapses.”

The chagrin is obvious in her face although it’s softened by fatigue. “Fine.”

With a bit of help from Joker, [Y/N] gets settled for a piggyback ride, her chin resting on her would-have-been rescuer’s shoulder with a content sigh.

Now, you can’t move at all even if the giggling puppeteers has relinquished control of your limbs. Strapped down tightly with chains and manacles, it’s impossible to do more than wiggle your toes. Well...you can move your eyes but you’re not sure you dare to.

Before you stands the dis-proportioned figure of Dr. Giovanni. The tall hat’s brim and his collar are cradling darkness behind the freaky mask – you can’t see his face, but you’re sure his smiling.

“Isn’t this better, hmm?” His voice crackles despite minimal intonation, “waiting...on the precipice to your destiny!”

“Mmrmmmglllm!” Shut the fuck up!

He gets the gist even with the gag impeding your speech. “Now, my dear, there’s no need to be so angry. I’m merely going to help you seize the power waiting for you. Wait and see.”

Giovanni strides over and opens a door and in comes yet another person dressed in white with a red cross. This one is big and muscly and his face is hidden behind a shroud but to be honest you’re paying more attention to what he’s dragging along: a girl, maybe ten years old, is trotting behind (her upper arm is engulfed by the man’s fist). Dressed in the same type of clothes as you and barefoot...that’s where the likeness ends because she’s dirty, skinny, her hair is a mop of matted strands managing to shield most of the face but not hiding the dried-up streaks from tears and snot.

“There’s good.” You’re only vaguely aware that Giovanni had gone to the lab and come back before hearing his order.

The muscle man parks the child in the appointed spot in front of you and then steps behind you. Out of sight. You want the girl to run, to show some sign of desire to get out of this hellhole...but her eyes are unseeing and she simply stands with a hanging head.

“[Y/N],” Giovanni’s voice crackles with delight, “let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

...  Benimaru  ...

“No,” Benimaru easily shuts down the conversation, “you’re not coming with me.”

He knows Konro wants to protest – his oldest friend might even go behind his back somehow in an effort to be of help – but there’s no doubt in the captain’s heart. No one else. Information is scant about the Netherworld and the White-Clad who seem to cherish the relics of a burned world, so going there won’t be a stroll in the park. While Benimaru is confident in his own powers (sometimes looking for a challenge, actually), he doesn’t know what waits underground and can’t guarantee the safety of others.

Pausing at the heavy cloth marking the entrance/exit of the fire station, Benimaru looks back briefly at his friend. “Keep Asakusa safe.”

...

The only person who might be willing to share any information of use is Joker. Of course, he’s not the kind of guy that’s easily found when he doesn’t want to be, but somehow it makes sense to see the slender figure waiting in the dark. Only the pulsing glow of his cigarette is occasionally enough to illuminate the man’s maniacal grin as Benimaru jumps off the matoï.

“You remembered, good,” Joker greets him.

Remembered what? Scratching his head, the captain walks over to the wall of metal and concrete that’s blocking the way below ground. Judging by partially overgrown grooves along the edges, it must be supposed to open outwards, but there’s no handle or lock and there are patches of rust wherever water has had a chance to linger.

“Netherworld...nether means below, so I figured this was an easy place to start,” he shrugs and bangs on the gate.

There’s a faint sound of echoing from the other side but, naturally, nothing else happens.

“Huh...” smoke accompanies Joker’s words, “no one’s home?”

“Now what?” he drawls and your subconscious projects lewd images into your mind – most scenarios where he is pulling your hair for “slightly other” reasons.

Your own hand is small around his wrist but the grip is strong and he doesn’t fight as hard against you as a real attack would which means you can pull him along into a tumble that lands you splayed over him on the ground. The hard panes of his muscles cushions your back a bit while the air is knocked out of him. The only problem now is that he somehow has the wits to change the grip, locking your arms by the elbows – the tangle of limbs is angling you awkwardly and pressing you chest out and shoulders back. A slight tilt of the head brings his bored expression into view.

I can grind into his groin, catching him by surprise and -

“Waka! WAKA!” Mamoru and a few of the other men burst out into the sunlit back yard.

Fists clenched, chests heaving, and eyes filled with nervousness, it’s obvious even to you that something’s wrong. Benimaru must have realized to, because he releases you and pulls you to your feet as he urges the men for an explanation.

“Civilian cops -” Mamoru doesn’t get further for the others.

“- they’re everywhere -”

“We heard it’s the same in Sumida and Taito!”

The panicked voice glide into the background and you grab the oversized clothes you had discarded before the sparring, pulling on socks and shoes without bothering to wipe the sand off your feet.

“Other places too, but the worst thing is -”

Mamoru finally manages to overpower his team mates, “- everywhere Company Three is conveniently there too.”

Shinmon’s voice calms your galloping heart though the words are lost on you – they are not meant for you anyways, but the men who set out to track and delay the unwanted search units in their progress as according to the Worst Case Scenario Plan.

“[Y/N].” Like conjured out of nowhere, Benimaru stands before you, his hot hands wrapping tenderly but sternly around your upper arms. “Keep your head clear. You know what to do?”

You could drown in the calm fire of his mix-match eyes. “Yes.”

“Don’t come out until I come for you...” It almost seems like he wants to say something more, his gaze flicking across your face, but his mouth closes and he turns you with a slight push to get you moving.

And move you do.

For once, you don’t bother about removing your shoes as you speed inside, feet beating a scrambling tattoo as you rush down the hallways and into the men’s bathroom (keeping you gaze fixed on the window and ranting apologies to the startled guy who is unaware of anything going on outside). It’s a stretch for you to get up and through the half-sized window, only pausing to check if the little back street is clear.

As you spill out onto the ground ungracefully, a little thought in the back of you head says you’ll be bruised from this. Thankfully, adrenaline is coursing through your veins and forces the body to move on its own.

Over the wall into the neighbour’s garden.

Spot the little outhouse in the north-west corner...and onto the roof while keeping low.

The thoughts have warped into Benimaru’s voice instead of your own, keeping the objective clear just like he would have wanted. Dirty hands reach for the second floor window in the next house, sliding the loose glass pane sideways without the slightest tremble. Are those my hands? They must be, because they do as you want, reaching in and unlocking the window.

It’s a storage room, you realize after entering and closing the unorthodox entry. Technically, some bored-looking wise ass had revealed that days ago but it only really becomes relevant enough to understand now as you clock the futon in the corner. Under there, there’s a couple of altered floorboards to create a hiding space.

Pushing up the cover, you glare at the cramped spot, a hand sliding across your stomach that has gotten softer thanks to Konro’s amazing cooking granting you regular meals. It’ll be tight. Very tight.

...   Benimaru   ...

Cops. Benimaru can’t recall the last time they had set foot in Asakusa – the district has been more or less self-governing for as long as anyone can remember and institutions like police and firefighters had been a part of the neighbourhood watch roles. Still is, but a fraction of them (the ones best at handling combustions) had been selected by Konro and formed the Seventh’s Special Fire Force. The people of Asakasu protect their own...but it had still taken too long to round up the unwelcome “visitors” and even longer to find the sleazy bastard from Company Three who had managed to sneak into the headquarters.

It had taken all of Benimaru’s willpower to keep from reducing the man to ashes. The taste of blood seeped into his mouth, while Doctor Giovanni spoke of the so-called righteous need to study and use (abuse) the young woman. Fiery rage simmered beneath the captain’s skin at the outsider’s obvious lack of compassion, the refusal to see [Y/N] as a human with rights.

Thankfully, Konro had been able to think. His voice could cut stone as he calmly stated what the accepted channels for cross-jurisdiction work were and in particular how they had been violated during this “unauthorized operation”.

That’s when they were handed the official documentation overruling anyone in Asakusa. I could take them on and win. But Konro took the option away by accepting the order from the higher-ups and telling Company Seven to stand aside.

...

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Konro grated out.

No. The twins had been fast, grabbing the few belongings that could betray [Y/N]’s existence and stashing them in the storage together with other goodwill things.

“The intel was...incomplete,” Giovanni conceded, goosebump-inducing sweetness slathered onto every word. “I’m thankful for your help. It’s a relief to know we can trust our colleagues across all of Tokyo to be true to the law and the interest of the nation. Imagine if someone had indeed kept vital information Haijima and the Holy Sol...”

Benimaru nearly cracked his teeth at that, but managed to keep a stoic facade despite the inner rage.

“Yes, where would we be without the government?” Konro reiterated rhetorically. “Humanity would be vulnerable, and we’re here to protect the people, after all.”

The words hung for a moment heavy in the room until the sound of departing vehicles rumbled by the building. Police is leaving.

“...indeed. Yes.” A few fingers touched the brim of the hat, tipping it lightly in salute. “At least today was...fruitful.”

What? The two men in charge of Company Seven didn’t dare move until the door had closed behind Giovanni. [Y/N]. I have to...she has to...if she’s not -

Right now, Konro is climbing the rungs to the wooden tower overlooking Asakusa in search of the reluctant captain. From up high, the district lays sprawled out like a patchwork of earthy and oceanic hues interspersed by trees. Most homes are marked by tendrils of smoke from the kitchens which undoubtedly carries the scent of the upcoming meal.

“You’re spending an awful lot of time up here the last few days,” Konro comments knowingly as he sits down, “almost like you’re trying to avoid something...or someone...”

“Hm.”

A tit lands on the railing, eyed the men suspiciously before puffing up its red body to clean the feathers. Watching it, Konro knows better than to push his friend – everything is thought through carefully before he speaks.

“Say,” Beni breaks the silence after a dozen minutes, “do you remember the little infernal saying anything?”

Talk? “The one [Y/N] was hugging that day? It’d be the first I heard about it.”

“Thought so.”

Whatever the reason behind it, it’ll be revealed in due time.

Since their first encounter with the girl, Konro has entertained himself by noticing the effects she has on the  normally stoic guy – she gets under his skin in a way no one else is capable of and the lad is surprisingly often distracted – and has been pleased to note that there’s been no relief since [Y/N] returned.  

On the railing, the tit ruffles its feathers into place, glares one last time at the men, and takes off over the rooftops below. Everything seems peaceful...which Konro knows is likely a deceptive feeling considering the existence of a pair of twins.

...   Reader   ...

They’re always nearby, the twins. Without bothering with hiding themselves, the girls trail you whenever possible to satiate their curiosity. Maybe Shinmon’s too. It’s the idea that he has put them up to it that makes you want to shoo them away or find something to do where they can’t hover nearby, whispering. One of the reasons you don’t shoo them away is the knowledge that you need this safe haven so you better behave.

Still: going down the hallways, there is always a distinct pitter-patter of little feet which echoes painfully in your heart. The giggles floating around the corners tickles memories you’d much rather stay asleep, tucked away and numb except when sleep holds you hostage at night until you wake from the pain in your soul.

Maybe...maybe if one day I stopped running and hiding...maybe I wouldn’t have to remember anymore.

The thought is not entirely new to you. It’s invaded your mind at the darkest of times when you went hungry and tired after, again and again, having had to abandon a place you’d called home for a while, but now it holds a different meaning because maybe...maybe I can make new memories?

The four steady inhabitants of the firehouse make up a makeshift family – the core of Company Seven – and at least one of them makes you feel safe for the first time since you whispered goodbye to your dads, knowing they wouldn’t hear it.

...  Benimaru  ...

He could ask the twins what [Y/N] uses the days on when she’s not engaged with some chore or hanging out with Konro. He could. But there’s such a thing as pride and it’s making sure Benimaru keeps his distance even if the image of her face is nearly constantly on his mind, the stubborn pull of the corner of her mouth as bothersome as it’s admirable.

At least he has gotten more to go on after the document had been circulated to all the districts’ companies. A touching article about a broken family’s search for their long-lost daughter, a hope that they will not have to accept that both children are gone forever. Clearly, the thing is fabricated with a different thought behind it and the fathers are likely oblivious to this, preferring instead to believe that the government actually have their backs in their scramble to reconnect with [Y/N].