gets pouty:

he thought this was going to be a cute couple video for tiktok, that's why he agreed in the first place. he was looking at the camera, smiling, until he suddenly heard the words "current boyfriend".

"current?" he asks, his eyes leaving the camera and looking back at you, a small pout appearing on his face. "what do you mean current? am I not your forever boyfriend? am I not good enough to last forever?"

for a second, you can't help but feel bad, he's just so painfully cute all sad and pouty like this. you initially planned to make this prank last as long as possible, but you can't standing looking at him like this.

"I'm so sorry, baby, it was a prank!" you say after a few pathetic seconds, grabbing his face and pulling him into a soft, comforting kiss.

once you pull away, he's still pouting, but no longer looking at you like a sad, kicked puppy. "don't do that again. I'm your forever boyfriend." he states, and you agree. how could you not?

chifuyu matsuno, takemichi hanagaki, souya "angry" kawata, takuya yamamoto, shinichiro sano, hakkai shiba and your favs!

gets offended/mad:

at first, he didn't want to participate in your stupid little tiktoks, why do people care about what you do in a day? after a bit of conviction, he finally said yes to letting his presence be known in your video.

you start the recording and begin talking, all while he's staring straight into the camera with a death glare, as if trying to intimate your phone itself, or trying to tell the audience he is 110% forced to be here. he's not planning on talking, atleast not a lot. all he does is listen to you while staring the phone down, until he hears it—

"what was that?" he asks, looking at you with an even more intimidating death glare, looking as if he was three seconds away from kicking you straight into the face.

"what was what?"

"what did you call me?"

"my boyfriend..?" you try to play dumb.

"that's not what you said. current boyfriend, really? like I'm some iOS update? you planning on finding another one, is that it?" he starts speaking. you can't really tell if he's serious or just joking, since right now it looks like a little of both.

before he can continue verbally attacking you, you cup his face and pull him into a reassuring kiss, letting your lips linger on his for a few seconds before pulling away, laughing.

"it was a prank, I wanted to see your reaction." you explain and he rolls his eyes, although a small smirk appears on his face.

"are you satisfied with my reaction?" he teases you, and you nod approvingly.

inui seishu, rindou haitani, izana kurokawa, taiju shiba, ken ryuguji, baji keisuke, sanzu haruchiyo and your favs!

lowkey plays along:

when you first ask him to be in your tiktok, he refused, not because he didn't want to be part of it, but because he wants you to beg for it. why? because he can.

after he finally accepts your pleading, you immediately start recording and start the prank.

"so I'm here with my current boyfriend and—" you say, and he lowkey just looks at you from the corner of his eye, a small smirk appearing on his face.

"I'm glad my part-time girlfriend trusts me enough to include me in her tiktoks." he says playfully, purposely empathizing the words "part-time", making you turn your head towards him in a slightly surprised manner.

"you really think you can play with me like that, princess?" he asks, the petname slipping naturally as he leans closer and plants a small kiss on the tip of your nose before quite literally getting up and walking away smugly, leaving you speechless.

wakasa imaushi, kokonoi hajime, nahoya "smiley" kawata, mitsuya takashi, hanma shuji and your favs!

doesn't fucking get it </3:

he didn't even notice when you started recording right next to him, too busy with whatever the heck he was doing to notice you adjusting your phone to fit both of you into the frame. you call out to him and tell him you're recording a tiktok and he gives you a half-assed "uh-huh" obviously not paying attention.

you start the recording and immediately begin talking. "so today, I'm with my current boyfriend and—" "current?" he cuts you off, whatever his previous activity was completed forgotten now.

unlike the previous offended, hurt or smug expressions, you don't see any of those on his face, you see pure and utter confusion, as if he has no idea what you're talking about.

you ended the recording early, taking the time to explain that it was a trend where girlfriends called their partners "current", going into details with it, only for this man to straight up go "what that mean?"

manjiro "mikey" sano, yamagishi kazushi, naoto tachibana (hear me out), ryohei "peh-yan" hayashi, haruki "pah-chin" hayashida and your favs!

inaudible chatters start to buzz through the air as toman members disperse into smaller groups but baji makes a beeline for you.

“hey, captain,” you say with as much mirth as you can muster but he only gives you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“10 years is a long time…” his tone is sullen, so unlike him that you utter your next words without giving it much thought.

“what if i stay?”

it’s only then you realize how selfish it is of you to even consider it an option.

you’re not oblivious to the fact that the gang’s second division captain has a completely different standpoint from the man you’ve grown fond of. you’re also certain that he will always pick loyalty over self-interest.

ultimately, baji is toman’s before he is yours.

“i’m the one doing the waiting so don’t worry about it,” he tells you, though the reassurance sounds more directed at himself.

as your time together gradually runs out, the clearer it becomes in your mind how you two never truly had a chance.

despite his free spirit, baji’s been apprehensive of getting you involved with him because the last thing he needs is word about you going around and in turn, rival gangs using you to get to him. so your feelings stay as is—just feelings.

as you make the most of these last few minutes before you jump back to your present, you can’t find it in yourself to tie him down. not ever but especially not now.

“kei, promise me something.”

“anything.”

“promise me that if you meet someone–”

“it’ll still be you,” he cuts you off. he’s not about to hear you give him away before he’s even had the chance to be yours so he leans closer until there’s barely a millimeter between your lips. then he repeats himself with conviction, “it will still be you.”

before you can protest, baji closes the distance between the two of you in a searing kiss, triggering your 10-year time leap.

one second, it’s as if you’re surrounded by complete darkness then you’re suffering from a splitting headache the next. you suppose that’s a sign your time leap worked.

it takes you some time to regain your lucidity but just as the pain in your head is beginning to subside, you’re brought back to your senses by the shrill ringing from your phone.

still on the edge of your disoriented state, you fail to register the caller id. you simply take the call. “hello?”

“hi. i wanna see you.” your heart jumps at the voice and any sense of confusion in your system leaves your body. “are you home?”

baji.

your breath hitches but you quickly compose yourself before baji can detect any hint of hesitation from you. “uh… yeah, i’m home.”

“alright. see you soon.”

as soon as he hangs up, you pace around your apartment, letting various scenarios play out in your head so you don’t overlook any possible way this can go. sure, you always planned to find baji in this timeline. you just didn’t expect you’d get thrown into this situation immediately. however, you find it odd that baji doesn’t seem fazed at the very least. it’s almost as if no time has passed at all.

you start to doubt if you’ve truly arrived in your timeline but you don’t get to dwell on it any further because the doorbell soon rings throughout your home. when you swing the door open, you’re met with the immediate grin on baji’s face at the sight of you.

“hi there.” he holds up a small bag of takeout, leaning against the doorframe in a posture so lax which is an absolute contradiction to your frantic state. “i got you your favorite.”

“oh. you, uh…” not a single coherent thought is going through your mind right now. you don’t know what to ask. you don’t even know what to say at all. “you didn’t have to.”

“of course i did,” he counters, sauntering over to your dining room to set the tubs of food on the table. you don’t say anything else after that but you must’ve been quiet for a beat too long because baji unexpectedly looks at you with an inquisitive glint in his eye as he begins to examine your tense demeanor. you suppose he still has a knack for reading people. “you okay?”

“mhm,” you reply with a quick nod, a little too immediate for it to be a natural response.

baji doesn’t seem convinced. he walks over to you, putting a hand over your forehead before gently cupping your face to study your expression. “you seemed out of it on the phone. are you sure you’re okay?”

unfortunately for him, his question fails to earn an answer.

but fortunately for you, you finally find an opportunity to ogle and get a closer look at him.

he’s lost the baby fat in his cheeks—his jawline and cheekbones are now a bit more defined, making his face look more sculpted than it already was before. other than that, he still has the same long hair up in a ponytail, the shorter raven locks messily framing his features. same piercing eyes. same swoony smile.

god, was time incredibly kind to him.

“you look…” gorgeous, you want to tell him. instead, you say, “…the same? kind of. i mean, your face is… sharper?”

you want to kick yourself for your inability to think up some adjectives. despite being a decade older, you’re definitely not a year wiser.

it only takes baji a brief moment to catch on before a shit-eating grin is stretching across his face so brazenly that it makes you suspicious.

“kei?”

“so you’re back,” he drawls.

there’s the confirmation you needed—the time leap did work. but why is baji so chill about it?

“keisuke,” you say more sternly which elicits a deep chuckle from him. “what happened in ten years?”

“you know…” he begins with a cadence that makes you weak in the knees—you have to quickly remind yourself about the bigger matter at hand. “you usually call me babe.”

huh?

with your lack of response, baji takes it as his cue to continue, “do you wanna know what happened after we kissed? or should i just skip to our first date?”

our first-

“what?!” you shriek.

the utter shock in your face makes baji cackle.

“did you really think i was just gonna sit around and do nothing? turns out ten years is more than enough time to win you over,” he begins to explain, occasionally interrupted by his own laughter. “in my defense, i tried to wait. keep my distance and all, but you—” he emphasizes with an accusatory point of his index finger in your direction, “—couldn’t. apparently, you and other you have one thing in common. i’m your type.”

you’ve always deemed baji as the loyal one but right now, you might just give him a run for his money.

“i asked you out?”

“what?” baji sounds offended, almost competitive even, as if the very idea of it was ridiculous. “i asked you out. you just liked me back. what kind of man do you think i am?”

in that instant, you catch a glimpse of the younger baji. considering that the memory of your goodbyes is still clear and fresh in your mind, it almost makes you laugh—perhaps the boy you had to leave behind ten years ago is still somewhere inside the man standing before you now.

and deep down, you know you would’ve asked him out then if the circumstances were any different. for a brief moment, you let yourself wonder if he would’ve been just as offended.

“so… we’re dating?” the words feel weird on your tongue. not that you’re complaining.

“yup.”

“for how long?”

“a little over two years.”

you swear you feel your eyes bulge out of your skull at the revelation. “wow… okay.”

“you don’t look happy,” he teases.

“i am!” your rebuttal comes out a bit too defensively, prompting you to take a sharp inhale and reverting your voice to its neutral inflection. “i am,” you repeat. “it’s just… a lot to process.”

“take your time.”

baji presses a soft kiss on your forehead and that’s when it hits you.

“have we kissed…? since… you know…”

“not on the lips. i had to make up some no-kiss rule just in case—which other you hated, by the way—but now that you mention it…” he steps even closer, forcing you to walk backwards until you’re backed up against the kitchen counter and caged in his arms. “i’m gonna need you to refresh my memories.”

“what if i go back to the past?”

“i’ll kiss you there too,” he speaks with so much certainty it makes your heart flutter.

“then we’d just keep going back and forth,” you joke.

“then so be it.” with his face just merely inches away from yours, his voice dips in volume. just enough for you to still catch his words when he says, “i waited a long time. i think i deserve it.”

you roll your eyes but you don’t bother to fight the smile tugging at your lips. “it’s not waiting if we’re already together… babe.”

So, when it came to protecting Mikey, hesitation wasn't in Haruchiyo's vocabulary. Even as the vice president of the Kanto Manji Gang, commanding men who would have spilled blood for him without question, he had walked into an enemy trap alone.

Fourteen men against one.

It was a calculated sacrifice. A massacre.

Haruchiyo had fought like a demon unleashed, his katana moving with a ferocity that turned the narrow alley into a butcher's den. Flesh tore, blood sprayed, and screams rose like a choir of agony in the night. For every cut he delivered, though, another fist found its mark. A bat slammed into his ribs. A knife grazed his body. Yet he didn't stop. Every movement, every ounce of pain, was fuel for the fire that burned him.

By the time the last man fell, Haruchiyo was barely standing.

Now, sprawled on the street, his breath came in wet, ragged gasps, each one an effort that felt like swallowing glass. The katana he'd fought so fiercely with had slipped from his grasp, its one-sharp edge dulled and stained crimson. A knife wound in his side pulsed with pain, the searing ache radiating outword with each shallow rise and fall of his chest. His blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the filthly street like a grosteque offering.

The world around him began to twist and blur, a kaleidoscope of dim streetlights and distant, faceless silhouettes. People were there; he could hear the hurried shuffle of their feet the murmurs of unease carried on in the wind. But none of them came closer. Their figures remained hazy and indistinct, heads turned away as if acknowledging his existence was an act too heavy to bear.

And maybe it was. He didn't deserve their pity. He didn't want it. What use did a knight have for mercy?

His hand slipped slightly, the strength draining from him faster than he could summon the will to move. A part of him recognised the truth: he was losing too much blood.

It was fine. This was how it was supposed to end, wasn't it?

Haruchiyo had always been a piece on the board, a knight thrown into battle again and again without hesitation. He was meant to break, to shatter, to be discarded when his usefulness ran out. As long as the king stood tall, untouchable, his sacrifice was nothing more than a necessary loss. And so, as the void began to reach for him, he let his mind drift, accepting its cold embrace with the faintest hint of a smile.

Until your voice jolted him awake.

“Are you alright?”

It was soft, hesitant, and so out of place in the blood-soaked reality he lived in that it made his eyes flutter open, despite the overwhelming exhaustion.

At first, he could only make out the shape of you, standing in front of him, your figure illuminated by the dim orange glow of a nearby streetlight. His gaze shifted, struggling to steady, until he caught sight of your school uniform. A pristine, ordinary thing that looked so absurdly out of place amidst the blood-soaked chaos. And then there was your face: wide-eyed and paled with worry, as you stared at him like you couldn't quite believe what you were seeing.

You shouldn't have been there.

Someone like you—a stranger, so normal, so untainted—had no business stopping for him. You should have turned away, just like everyone else. You should have kept walking, left him there to bleed out and vanish, just another nameless casualty swallowed by the night.

And yet, you hadn't.

You were holding out something to him. A handkerchief embroidered with flowers. It looked laughably small in your hands, the kind of thing that belonged neatly folded in a school bag. How could that delicate thing possibly fix the mess he was in?

When he didn’t move, didn’t say anything, uncertainty flickered across your face, and your hand lowered slowly.

“I just called the ambulance,” you said, your voice was steady, but he didn’t miss the way your fingers trembled. “They should be here any minute.”

Your gaze darted to his wound, and he saw the way your lips pressed into a tight line as if you were debating whether you should be doing more.

“I… I can’t stay long,” you added, almost apologetically. “I’ve got an important test to get to. But I didn’t want to just…”

You trailed off, biting your lip as though the words felt inadequate, as though you were ashamed of even thinking of leaving him.

His chest ached at your concern.

It wasn’t pity though. Your voice didn’t carry that patronizing weight. It was genuine. The kind of thing he hadn’t encountered in what felt like a lifetime.

He wanted to tell you to leave.

That your kindness was wasted on him. That people like him didn't deserve help, didn't deserve saving. That the world would be better off if he bled out here, just another piece sacrificed for the king's game.

But the words wouldn't come.

All he could do was lie there, his breathing ragged, his body a leaden weight against the cold asphalt. His eyes, hazy yet piercing, locked onto yours, as if searching for an answer he didn't know how to ask.

Then you knelt in front of him, holding out the handkerchief once more.

The mechanical mistrust ingrained in him since childhood roared to life. His instinct flared violently, screaming at him to shove you away, to guard himself. His hand shot out before he could stop it, knocking yours aside with more force than intended.

You froze mid-motion, your hand lingering in the air, your eyes widening slightly. A moment of silence passed, and he anticipated the usual response: fear, disgust, even hatred.

But your gaze softened instead.

"I'm not going to hurt you," you said gently as though you were speaking to a frightened animal. "I just want to help."

Help.

He stared at you, his chest tight with disbelief. The concept felt alien, as if you'd spoken a language he'd never learned. People didn’t help without wanting something in return. Not in his world. Not in the life he’d been swallowed by since the day Mikey pulled him out of the gutter and gave him a purpose.

Still, your hand came forward again, slower this time, the handkerchief trembling between your fingers.

The soft fabric brushed against his cheek, and he froze. Every muscle in his body locked, the instinct to recoil roaring in his mind, but his body betrayed him, rooted in place. Your touch was gentle, so impossibly careful, it felt like you were afraid of breaking him.

Breaking me? The thought almost made him laugh, if he weren't already choking on exhaustion. But I'm already broken.

His life had been a series of fractures, cracks spreading deeper with every betrayal, every fight, every sacrifice made in Mikey's name.

And yet, your touch, your gaze, your voice, scraped at a forgotten part inside him, a hollow space he'd long since buried beneath rage and violence. A part of him he didn't recognise anymore.

For that fleeting moment, Haruchiyo let you clean the blood off his face. The warmth of your touch soothed the sting of his wounds, both seen and unseen, you presence anchoring him a way he didn't understand and didn't want to question.

Then the panic set in.

"Don’t," he snapped, the word tearing from his throat, as he jerked your hand away again.

Letting someone in, even this much, felt like a crack in his armor, and the vulnerability clawed at him like a living thing.

You sighed in response, your frustration flickering across your face, but there was no genuine anger. “Fine, I’ll stop.”

You tucked the handkerchief away.

Haruchiyo watched silently as you pulled out a notepad from your bag, scribbling something quickly before tearing the page free. You folded it neatly in your hands and held it out to him.

"I really need to get going now," you said, straightening to your full height. Your schoolbag shifted on your shoulder, a reminder of the normal life you'd be returning to—a world so far removed from his.

"But if you need anything, call me. Please. I mean it."

Haruchiyo stared at the paper, but he didn’t take it.

You hesitated for only a second before bending down and slipping it into his hand yourself. Your fingers brushed against his briefly, but the contact was enough to send a jolt through him, one he didn’t know how to process.

He stared down at the paper now crumpled in his hand, the faint imprint of your touch still linegering on his skin. His mind raced, torn between the instinct to throw it away and the inexplicable urge to hold onto it like a lifeline.

You.

Someone who had stepped into his world, this twisted hell he lived in, and hadn't turned away. Someone who didn't treat him like he was nothing more than a lunatic, a dog loyal to its master.

Someone who looked at him and saw a man worth saving.

He didn't understand it. He didn't trust it. But he couldn't bring himself to reject it.

You turned to leave, but paused a few steps away, glancing back over your shoulder with a small, uncertain smile.

"Don’t forget," you said softly, "you can call me, okay?"

And then you were gone, your figure swallowed by the chaos of the city.

Still, he didn’t move. The sounds of the world around him—the distant hum of traffic, the wail of approaching sirens—blurred into static. His heart pounded, erratic and uneven, a thundering rhythm he couldn't control. He couldn't explain it. Why his chest felt tight, why his throat burned, why this small, stupid piece of paper felt heavier than the katana he'd wielded mere hours ago.

For the first time in his life, Haruchiyo Sanzu didn't know what he was supposed to do.

And it terrified him.

Haruchiyo Sanzu couldn’t get you out of his mind.

It was infuriating.

Days had passed since you left him on that bloodstained street with your naive kindness and a flimsy promise tucked into his hand. Days spent staring at white ceilings, surrounded by the antiseptic stench of the hospital Mikey had sponsored. Mikey hadn’t even bothered to visit, and part of Haruchiyo expected that. The boss was angry.

Not that Mikey’s silence stung. It did.

But the truth was, Mikey had done enough. He’d kept the whole ordeal from reaching the police, hidden the mess Haruchiyo had made in his reckless attempt to protect the king. That was Mikey’s way: decisive and clean. Still, the absence of his leader left Haruchiyo restless, trapped in a limbo of recovery and idleness.

And then there was you.

Your voice, your face, the warmth of your touch. They haunted him. Haruchiyo scowled as he pulled the crumpled note from his pocket, smoothing the creases with his thumb. Your number, still smudged with his blood, stared back at him like a challenge.

“Don’t forget, you can call me, okay?”

He hadn’t called you.

Not even once.

He told himself it was for the best. You were a normal girl, innocent, untouched by the filth of his world. It would be irresponsible to drag you into the dark. But no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the selfish, traitorous part of him wanted to see you again.

The knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts, and Haruchiyo shoved the paper back into his pocket just as it creaked open.

Ran Haitani sauntered in like he owned the place, a shit-eating grin on his face, and dark Kanto Manji Gang uniform hanging perfectly off his tall frame. His signature braid dangled over his shoulder, swaying with every step.

“You look like shit, man,” Ran quipped as he stopped at the foot of Haruchiyo’s bed.

Haruchiyo shot him a glare, his lips curling in irritation. “If you’re here to waste my time, get lost.”

Ran didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, as if he owned the place. “Relax. I’m only here as a messenger. Boss sent me.”

At that, Haruchiyo’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening despite the ache it caused. “What does he want?”

“He’s pulling you out of the gang for a while. Says you’re supposed to rest.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Haruchiyo pushed himself upright, ignoring the sharp pain that lanced through his side. “Bullshit. Mikey wouldn’t say that.”

Ran shrugged indifferently. “Believe what you want, but those were his exact words.”

Haruchiyo clenched his jaw, his fists balling in the sheets. “There’s no one who can protect Mikey like I can. He knows that.”

At that, Ran’s smirk faltered, his violet eyes narrowing just slightly. “That’s the problem, Haru-chan. You think you’re the only one who can do shit? Like the rest of us are just for show?”

“Because you are,” Haruchiyo snapped. “None of you understand what Mikey needs. What it takes to keep him safe. You’re all just playing at loyalty.”

The room grew tense, the air thick with unspoken challenges. Ran straightened, his easygoing demeanor shifting into a chilling coldness.

“And you think kissin’ his ass makes you better than us? Newsflash, Mad Dog. Just because we don’t worship him the way you do doesn’t mean we’d hesitate to kill for him.”

Haruchiyo opened his mouth to fire back, but before he could get a word out, Ran’s fist connected with his face.

The punch wasn't hard enough to cause any real damage, but the impact jerked Haruchiyo’s head to the side. The sting was enough to leave him momentarily stunned, his fingers flying to his cheek as his eyes snapped back to Ran, blazing with fury.

“—The fuck?!”

Ran shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face as if he hadn't just signed his death warrant. "I’ve always wanted to do that. Figured now's my best shot since you're, y'know, bedridden."

Haruchiyo’s hands clenched into fists, his entire body vibrating with restrained rage. "You want to die, Haitani?"

"Not today," Ran replied smoothly, raising his hands in mock surrender. But there was no fear in his eyes, only that infuriating glimmer of amusement.

“Anyway, Boss got another job for you.”

Haruchiyo scoffed, his anger momentarily eclipsed by disbelief. "What job?"

"You're going to guard someone."

Haruchiyo frowned. Guard duty? That wasn’t his style. He wasn’t some babysitter.

“Who?”

Ran’s grin widened, and his next words came as casually as a bomb dropping.

“Mikey’s girlfriend.”

Haruchiyo’s body stilled, his mind whirring as the air seemed to shift around him. “What? Mikey’s girlfriend?”

“Surprise, surprise.” Ran chuckled. “Turns out Boss is a ladies’ man. Figures, huh?”

Haruchiyo said nothing. His expression was carefully blank, but his chest tightened with a foreign, unpleasant feeling. Mikey, his king, had a girlfriend? He’d never heard anything about her before.

The thought churned in his gut like acid, his loyalty and jealousy clashing violently. Who the hell was she? What kind of girl could hold a place in Mikey’s heart that wasn’t reserved for the gang; wasn’t reserved for him?

Whoever she was, Haruchiyo doubted she deserved him.

“She’s important,” Ran said, turning to leave. “So don’t screw this up, Haru-chan. If you do… well, I’ll have another reason to smash your face in.”

Haruchiyo didn’t respond, his mind already spinning as the door clicked shut behind Ran. He leaned back against the pillows, his head swimming with questions.

His fingers brushed against the paper in his pocket, its edges worn and stained. The burning question lingered like a curse: Who the hell was she?

And why did he already feel like he was losing something he never even had the chance to claim?

Haruchiyo Sanzu leaned casually against his superbike, its black frame gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. His presence alone drew a crowd, as it always did. Dressed in a loose black turtleneck and fitted jeans, with his pink hair pulled back into a ponytail, he cut a figure both intimidating and impossibly attractive. The all-girls school gate was abuzz with murmurs and giggles as students streamed out, whispering and glancing in his direction.

But Haruchiyo ignored them.

He wasn’t here for them.

Today, he had a job to do. A job he wanted no part of. Guard Mikey’s girlfriend. The words alone made his blood boil. He knew this wasn’t about trust; this was a punishment. Mikey was pulling him away from the gang, away from what Haruchiyo lived for, because he’d disobeyed. Charging headfirst into enemy territory was reckless, and Mikey knew it wasn’t just about protecting him. Haruchiyo enjoyed the fight. The blood. The chaos.

And this? This assignment was meant to tear that from him, to leash him like a misbehaved dog. Worse still, Mikey was entrusting him with someone weak. Someone unworthy of a king.

His phone buzzed in his hand, breaking him from his brooding thoughts. He glanced at the screen before answering lazily, holding the phone to his ear.

“Is that you with the bike? I’m right in front of you!”

The feminine voice rang through the line, soft, sweet, familiar. Haruchiyo frowned, his gaze lifting instinctively to search the dispersing crowd.

And then he saw you.

You were waving a hand above your head, your phone still pressed to your ear as you caught his eye. Your face lit up when you spotted him, a bright, cheerful smile gracing your lips as you walked toward him.

His breath caught in his throat.

You.

The girl who had stopped for him. The girl who’d knelt beside him on that blood-soaked street, her voice soft and kind, her hands unshaking as she wiped his face. The girl who had called an ambulance and disappeared, leaving him with nothing but a crumpled note and a memory that had been haunting him ever since.

What the hell is going on?

Haruchiyo stiffened, his hand tightening around his phone as he stared at you approaching. He felt the ground shift beneath him, felt a sharp and painful twist in his chest. The warmth he’d felt in that moment you saved him—the unspoken gratitude he refused to admit—curdled into a dark and bitter emotion.

“Hey,” you said as you stopped in front of him, lowering your phone. “You’re Sanzu, right? Mikey’s friend?”

He stared at you, his teal eyes wide in disbelief. “You…” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “Who the hell are you?”

You blinked, clearly confused by the question.

“I’m Mikey’s girlfriend,” you replied, the words light and cheerful, so matter-of-fact that you might as well have driven a knife through his chest.

Haruchiyo’s stomach dropped. The blood drained from his face, leaving him cold.

Mikey’s girlfriend.

The truth hit him with all the subtlety of a freight train. His mind reeled, a thousand thoughts crashing into one another. You’re Mikey’s? The girl who had stopped for him, the girl who had shown him kindness he didn’t deserve, you were Mikey’s.

A hot, suffocating mix of anger and jealousy roared to life in his chest. It confused him, rattled him to his core. Jealous of Mikey? Jealous of you? He couldn’t tell anymore, but the fury was there, blinding and undeniable.

“Y-you’re Sanzu, right?” you asked again, your voice hesitant now as you took in his silence.

He ignored your question entirely. Turning away sharply, Haruchiyo pulled a helmet off his bike and tossed it at you without warning. You barely caught it, stumbling back as it hit your hands clumsily.

“Get on,” he ordered coldly, already swinging his leg over the bike and settling onto the seat.

“Oh… alright,” you said softly, your tone unsure, as if you’d finally realized he wasn’t the friendly face you’d expected.

Haruchiyo felt your weight shift behind him as you climbed on, the awkward shuffle of your movements pressing against his back. He didn’t give you a moment to settle. He twisted the throttle, and the bike roared to life, lurching forward so suddenly you were forced to cling to him.

Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping you upright. He could feel your body against his, your warmth seeping into him, and it only made the ache inside him worse.

The ride was silent.

Haruchiyo’s mind was anything but.

The cold wind whipped past him, but he barely felt it. All he could think about was you. The girl who’d saved him. The girl who’d smiled at him, looked at him like he wasn’t just a weapon, wasn’t just Mikey’s loyal dog. That brief moment of kindness had lingered inside him, burning like a flame he couldn’t snuff out.

And now you belonged to Mikey.

Of course you did. Mikey got everything. Every ounce of respect, every shred of loyalty, every good thing this world had to offer. And Haruchiyo? He was just the knight on the board, meant to protect the king. Nothing more.

But the worst part—the part that clawed at him like a splinter lodged deep in his chest—was the fact that you didn’t remember him.

To you, he was just Sanzu Haruchiyo. Mikey’s friend. A stranger on a bike.

Not the broken, bleeding boy you’d knelt beside.

Not the one you’d saved.

As the city blurred past him, Haruchiyo tightened his grip on the throttle, pushing the bike faster, as if speed could drown out the storm raging in his head.

But no matter how hard he tried, the bitterness wouldn’t go away.

You were Mikey’s.

And Haruchiyo Sanzu hated it.

Haruchiyo Sanzu leaned against the wall, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression blank. Or at least, he hoped it was blank. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to catch the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Can’t believe Mikey’s letting some chick walk all over him like that,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You froze mid-step, your head tilting slightly as his words registered.

“The bitch got him wrapped around her little finger. It’s pathetic.”

The words were entirely uncalled for, but Haruchiyo couldn’t stop them from spilling out. He told himself it was necessary as a reminder to himself, to you, that you were unworthy of Mikey.

And for a moment, he thought he’d feel better for saying it.

But then he saw the look on your face.

It was so fleeting that anyone else might have missed it, but Haruchiyo caught it. The flicker of hurt in your eyes was like a dagger straight to his chest.

His heart clenched, his stomach twisting painfully. Guilt began creeping in slowly, wrapping around his throat like a noose. He wanted to say something, to take the words back, to apologize, but his pride slammed the door shut before he could.

Instead, he turned away, ignoring your gaze as he stalked off, every step heavier than the last. His heart thudded against his ribs as he tried to ignore the pang of regret gnawing at him. He didn’t know where he was going, but anywhere was better than standing there, looking at the pain he’d caused.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Haruchiyo didn’t know how to deal with this; how to deal with you. You weren’t supposed to matter. You weren’t supposed to be anything more than an assignment Mikey had handed him, one he’d reluctantly accepted out of duty.

You’d been targeted lately by bullies, opportunists, people who thought messing with Mikey’s girl was a shortcut to provoking him. Mikey had ordered Haruchiyo to guard you, along with a few other trusted gang members, and Haruchiyo had obeyed without question.

But obedience didn’t mean he had to like it.

Your presence made him feel unsteady, like the ground beneath his feet was shifting constantly. He’d tried to shake it off, to focus on the task at hand, but being alone with you was unbearable.

So instead, he dragged you around the others, tossing his so-called responsibility to them under the guise of laziness. Kakucho, Ran, Mochizuki. Hell, anyone else could do it. As long as he didn’t have to be alone with you.

But no matter where you were, his eyes always found their way back to you.

Ran’s voice broke through his thoughts. “What’s with the face?”

“What face?” Haruchiyo replied flatly, not bothering to look at Ran. His eyes were glued to you, watching as you chatted awkwardly with Kakucho.

“That face,” Ran drawled, a teasing lilt in his tone. “You look like you’re about to stab her. Or Kakucho. Maybe both.”

Haruchiyo didn’t respond. His grip tightened in his pockets as he watched you giggle at something Kakucho said. The sound of your laugh was like a dagger twisting in his chest.

You were Mikey’s girl. You should only be laughing like that around Mikey. Or… him.

Before he could spiral further into his thoughts, the distant, throaty growl of Mikey’s Street Hawk sliced through the air like a warning bell. The familiar sound carried weight that silenced the room in an instant. Every head turned toward the door.

Haruchiyo’s spine straightened instinctively, his eyes flicking toward the door as the door swung open to reveal Mikey, calm and collected as always.

And then you moved.

Haruchiyo watched as your face lit up the second you saw Mikey. That radiant smile—blinding, unfiltered, genuine—was a sight he hadn’t seen you give to anyone else all day.

“Mikey!” Your voice was filled with warmth, the kind Haruchiyo hadn’t realized he craved until it wasn’t directed at him.

Before anyone could process it, you were already rushing toward Mikey, throwing your arms around him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Haruchiyo’s stomach churned, the knot of emotions in his chest tightening until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Mikey’s hand rested lightly on your back in return, his expression unreadable. But Haruchiyo knew Mikey. He knew how rare it was for Mikey to show affection so openly.

The casual intimacy between you and Mikey clawed at him, a sensation so raw and uncomfortable that he had to bite the inside of his cheek just to keep himself in check.

He didn’t even realize how hard he was staring until Ran’s voice slid into his ear again.

“Careful. You’re staring holes into them. People might start thinking you’ve got a thing for her.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Haruchiyo snapped.

Ran smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Relax, Haru-chan. She’s just doing what girlfriends do. It’s not like you’ve got a shot anyway.”

The words hit their mark, and Haruchiyo snapped his glare toward Ran, his sharp eyes practically daring him to say more. But Ran, ever the provocateur, just chuckled and walked off, leaving Haruchiyo stewing in his own fury.

He tore his gaze away from you, but it was too late. The image of your arms wrapped around Mikey was already burned into his mind.

The jealousy bubbling in his chest was scorching, suffocating. And the worst part was, he couldn’t tell who he was jealous of.

Was it Mikey? Mikey, who had everything Haruchiyo had ever wanted: respect, loyalty, and now, you?

Or was it you? You, with your radiant smile, your soft laugh, your ability to draw out a side of Mikey that Haruchiyo hadn’t seen in years.

The lines blurred until all Haruchiyo could feel was a searing hatred for the way you made him feel.

Hatred, because he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Hatred, because he couldn’t stop looking at you.

And hatred, because no matter how much he told himself you didn’t belong in their world, a selfish part of him wanted you to stay.

Haruchiyo Sanzu knew exactly what he wanted.

He was a man of sharp edges, carved by desire and driven by instinct. When he reached for something, he never hesitated. Women were no exception. Most of them fell for his dangerous charm, entranced by his striking pink hair and the unshakable confidence he exuded. But you? You were different.

Because you weren't just unreachable.

You were Mikey's.

That fact alone made every lingering thought about you unbearable. Every smile you gave to Mikey, every laugh that lit up your face, each one was a taunt, a reminder of the invisible line Haruchiyo couldn't cross.

And yet, you haunted him.

Haruchiyo had tried to convince himself that his infatuation with you would fade, that the strange ache in his chest every time he saw you with Mikey would eventually dull. He sought distractions, found fleeting thrills, and buried himself in the chaos of the gang’s world. For a while, he believed he had it under control.

The ache didn’t lessen, but he’d learned to hide it. He’d trained himself to stop flinching when you smiled at Mikey, to ignore the way his stomach twisted when you laughed, to dismiss the pang of jealousy that gnawed at him when he saw the way you looked at Mikey.

Then, one day, it all unraveled.

You came to him, tears streaming down your face, your voice trembling as you pleaded for his help.

“Mikey—he’s surrounded! There are too many of them. Please, you have to save him!”

Your words hit him like a knife to the chest, but it wasn’t just the message that cut him. It was the sight of you with your tear-streaked cheeks, your swollen red eyes, the desperation in your voice.

“The fuck are you doing here? You tryna get yourself killed?!” His voice cracked like a whip, making you flinch.

His knuckles whitened around the hilt of his katana, the metal trembling with the force of his grip. Rage rolled off him in waves, but beneath it bled a deeper emotion, fear, desperate to be disguised.

He hissed through his teeth, voice dropping low. “Just… get the fuck out of here before you end up a corpse at my feet.”

Your tearful gaze wavered, lips parting as if to speak, but Haruchiyo had already turned away, jaw locked tight as though he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer.

You don’t belong here, he thought bitterly, his jaw clenching as he strode forward. Why the hell are you even involved in this mess?

He knew the answer: because of Mikey.

It was always Mikey.

The realization only stoked the fire inside him, the bitter lump in his throat making it harder to breathe.

By the time he found the enemies, Haruchiyo was already seeing red. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop to consider his actions. The first swing of his katana was precise and brutal, and the rest followed in a blur of blood and chaos.

His mind was blank, his body moving on instinct. He didn’t even register Mikey’s presence amidst the fight; didn’t notice his boss standing off to the side, silent and watchful.

All Haruchiyo cared about was eliminating every single threat.

When the last body hit the ground, Haruchiyo Sanzu stood amidst the carnage, chest heaving, blood dripping from his katana. He didn’t know whose blood it was anymore—his or theirs—but it didn’t matter. The red painted across his skin and clothes told the same story: violence and rage.

He turned to you.

You were still standing there, frozen, your hands trembling at your sides. Your wide eyes met his, but they weren’t filled with relief or gratitude.

They were filled with fear.

Haruchiyo’s stomach twisted painfully, but it wasn’t the trembling in your figure that drew him closer. It was the smear of blood on your cheek, stark against your pale skin, that compelled him forward.

Without thinking, he stepped toward you, his boots crunching against the blood-soaked pavement. His hand rose unsteadily to wipe the blood from your face.

You flinched.

The sharpness of your movement cut hit him like a freight train, forcing him to stop mid-reach. His breath hitched, the sting of rejection settling deep in his chest.

What the hell was he doing? Trying to wipe your cheek like he was someone who could comfort you? Like he was someone who deserved to touch you?

His hand didn’t retreat. Instead, it lowered, wrapping gently around your throat.

There was no pressure, no intent to hurt. Just his palm resting against your skin, feeling the rapid pulse beneath it. The warmth of your neck spread through him, grounding him in a way he didn’t understand.

For a moment, he let himself believe a lie.

That your quickened heartbeat wasn’t from fear but from something else. That it matched his own racing pulse, fueled by the same feelings coursing through him.

“Sanzu… Have we met before?”

The question jolted him.

He blinked, his grip loosening slightly as he stared at you.

“You were that boy,” you continued, realization dawning in your wide eyes. “The one I saw bleeding on the street.”

A bitter sneer twisted his lips, baring his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “What about it?”

Your words faltered, dying in your throat as his fingers flexed against your neck. His gaze bore into yours, searching, desperate to find something other than fear in your eyes.

But it wasn’t there.

The crunch of footsteps behind him made Haruchiyo freeze.

Your eyes snapped past him, locking onto the source of the sound. Relief washed over your features, softening the fear that had been etched there moments ago.

Mikey.

Haruchiyo didn’t need to turn around to confirm it. He could feel Mikey’s presence, like a weight pressing down on his shoulders.

Your gaze darted back to him, uncertain, as if you weren’t sure whether to plead for him to release you or to run.

Haruchiyo almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

“Run,” he muttered.

And you did.

You swatted his hand away, stepping back before turning on your heel and running straight to Mikey.

“Mikey!” Your voice cracked with emotion as you clung to his arm. “Are you okay?”

Haruchiyo didn’t move. His hand hung limply at his side as he stared at the empty space where you’d stood just seconds ago. The warmth of your skin lingered against his palm, but it did nothing to quell the cold sinking into his chest.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he took a moment to recompose himself.

When he finally turned, his gaze met Mikey’s.

You were holding onto Mikey’s arm, your tear-streaked face pressed against his shoulder. Your sobs were quieter now, but the sight of you leaning on someone else, stung in a way Haruchiyo didn’t have the words to describe.

The weight of his guilt, his jealousy, his unspoken feelings pressed down on him, and Haruchiyo couldn’t breathe.

He dropped to his knees in front of Mikey, bowing his head low.

“Boss,” he murmured.

Mikey’s dark eyes flicked to Haruchiyo, unreadable as always. “Akashi.”

Haruchiyo Sanzu had spent years pretending he didn’t feel anything for you.

But he wasn’t stupid.

He knew what it was. This thing clawing at his chest every time you smiled at Mikey. He knew it when you clung to Mikey’s sleeve back in school, when you cried into his arms, when you looked at him—Haruchiyo—as though he was just a shadow standing in Mikey’s light. That hollow weight in his chest wasn’t hate. It was hunger.

Obsession.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That it would pass. That you’d go away or Mikey would grow tired of you. That he would grow tired of you.

But you didn’t. Mikey didn’t. And Haruchiyo never did.

He tried to drown it out. He tried. Even now, years later, with Bonten inked into his skin and blood on his hands, he was still haunted. Haunted by the shape of your mouth, by the way your voice rose when you were angry, by the way you existed without even trying, and drove him fucking insane while doing it.

The nightclub owned by the Haitani brothers became his escape.

Most nights, he’d end up in that dim, smoke-filled private room on the third floor, neon lights flashing like a heartbeat through the glass. Music pounding against the walls. Lines of white spread out neatly across the glass table, a lighter flicking on and off between his fingers. There were always women around—girls who giggled too loud and touched him too much—but they were nothing.

They weren’t you.

They didn’t sneer the way you did when you were pissed. They didn’t challenge him, didn’t call him a lunatic like it was a curse and a promise all at once.

They didn’t burn.

And so, Haruchiyo stopped pretending. He sent the girls away. He drowned himself in pills, crushed and bitter on his tongue, chased with whiskey that burned like guilt. The drugs numbed the rage but not the ache. Not the way your name still hovered in the back of his throat like smoke he couldn’t cough up.

Most nights, the Bonten executives left him alone. Too many bad nights. Too many broken bottles. Too many holes in the walls and bruises blooming across people’s faces when they touched him wrong.

He was too much when he was high, they said.

But alone, that’s when the worst came.

The drugs hit fast, coating his mind in a blissful, detached haze. Everything slowed down. Everything softened.

Except you.

You were always there. In the corner of his eye. In the phantom weight on his lap. In the echo of your voice curled around his name like a noose.

And fuck, it wasn’t fair.

Why did it have to be you?

Why was it only you?

He sank deeper into the couch, one hand running down his face, the other sliding beneath the waistband of his pants. He didn’t even hesitate anymore. Didn’t bother closing his eyes, didn’t need to. Your face was already there, so vivid it made his chest hurt.

His breath stuttered as his fingers wrapped around his length. He was already half-hard just thinking about your voice, sharp and angry, soft and breathless. He imagined you straddling him, fists in his shirt, cursing him through gritted teeth while your body told a different story. He imagined the way you’d glare at him when he made you beg.

Haruchiyo’s hips bucked into his palm.

A sharp breath. A curse. His grip tightened.

He shouldn’t be doing this. Mikey would fucking kill him if he knew. If he ever knew what Haruchiyo thought when he looked at you; what he did when he thought about you.

But he couldn’t stop.

He wanted you too much.

He stroked faster, chased the edge like a man starved, his mind spinning, your name the only coherent thing in the chaos. You, sneering. You, crying. You, moaning. You, screaming his name like it meant something.

The orgasm hit hard, like a wave crashing over him, dragging him under. His breath hitched. He groaned, slumped further into the couch as the aftershocks rolled through his trembling frame.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Just his heartbeat, pounding like a war drum in his ears.

And then—

Disgust.

It crept up slowly. Sour and shameful. He stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth like it could somehow take the moment back.

He felt sick.

Not because of the drugs. Not because of the high.

But because you didn’t deserve this.

Because he didn’t deserve you.

And maybe that was the worst part. That even now, after everything, he still wanted you. Still craved you. Still wanted to be close, even if it meant seeing you in someone else’s arms.

Haruchiyo Sanzu didn’t believe in love.

But if he did… it would look like this.

Like obsession. Like hunger. Like madness in his veins.

And your name in his mouth.

Haruchiyo Sanzu rubbed a hand down his face, dragging the heel of his palm across his mouth like it could erase the memory of what he’d just done. His other hand trembled faintly, twitching with the remnants of the high, though whether it was the drugs or you, he couldn’t tell anymore.

Suddenly, a shrill, high-pitched ringtone shattered the silence, stabbing through the haze in his skull.

His head snapped toward the phone vibrating violently on the table.

That phone. Only one reason it ever rang.

Work. Mikey.

He scrambled, wiping his hand on the nearest towel and snatching the phone up with a speed that nearly sent the table crashing.

The screen flashed: “King.”

He took one shaky breath and answered.

“Yo, Mikey.”

His voice was too casual. Too light. He forced it through his teeth anyway, trying to slap the familiar crooked grin into his tone. Trying to sound like he hadn’t just been stroking himself raw to the image of his boss’s girl.

There was a long pause on the other end. Then, finally, that cold, detached voice: “Come to my office, Akashi.”

Mikey’s voice was never loud. He didn’t need to be. The silence after his words was always enough to fill the room.

Haruchiyo’s mouth curved into something halfway between a smirk and a grimace.

“‘Course I’m comin’, Mikey.”

He hung up before his voice could crack.

The ride to Bonten was a blur of neon lights and roaring engines. His superbike carved through Tokyo’s streets like a blade, wind tearing through his open jacket, smoke still clinging to his clothes. The night air helped clear the static from his head and sobered the crawl of chemicals in his bloodstream. But it didn’t stop your name from echoing in the corners of his mind.

By the time he pulled into the underground lot, his hands were steady again.

Mostly.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime as he stepped into the heart of the beast.

Bonten headquarters was too silent. At this hour, only ghosts and executives moved through its marble halls. But tonight, the usual stillness had a different weight.

Haruchiyo’s boots clicked down the marble corridor until something caught his eye. Mikey’s office door, left ajar.

That never happened.

A muscle in Haruchiyo’s jaw ticked as he pushed it open.

Mikey sat slouched behind his desk, paperwork scattered around him. His silver hair was mussed, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves shoved up. He looked… frayed. Not weak, but not the untouchable king Haruchiyo bled for either.

Haruchiyo smirked faintly, out of habit more than anything. “Boss?”

Mikey didn’t look up right away. When he did, his voice came flat and detached, like he was announcing the weather.

“I’m getting married.”

The words cut clean through the air.

And Haruchiyo knew instantly.

Married. To someone else. Not you.

It was instinct. He could tell from the absence of warmth in Mikey’s voice. Because Mikey wouldn’t sound like that if it were you. If it were you, the words would’ve carried something. Anything.

Haruchiyo’s chest caved in around the realization, bitter heat flooding his veins.

His brain, trained on bloodshed and chaos, refused to accept what it had just heard. He should’ve felt triumphant. Hell, maybe even smug. Mikey letting go of you meant you were free now. No longer wrapped around the king’s neck like a noose. No longer the soft spot that Haruchiyo resented you for.

But the image that bloomed in his mind wasn’t one of relief.

It was you, shattered. Eyes glassy. Lips trembling. Voice cracking around a scream you wouldn’t know how to let out.

Because you loved Mikey. You loved him in that all-consuming, sacrificial way. Haruchiyo had always thought it was stupid. Weak. But now the image of your heartbreak wouldn’t stop clawing at the inside of his skull.

His jaw clenched until it ached.

“The fuck you sayin’, Mikey?” Haruchiyo’s voice came out hoarse, barely restrained.

Mikey didn’t even flinch a muscle. “I’m getting married next week.”

Same flat tone. Same dead-eyed delivery. Like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t detonating every part of Haruchiyo that still felt.

Haruchiyo’s hands trembled. He wasn’t even high anymore, and still his control was already slipping.

He took a step forward.

“What about her?” he hissed. “You just gonna toss her aside like trash?”

Mikey didn’t answer. His eyes remained empty and unreadable.

The silence sliced through Haruchiyo like a wire pulled taut. He shouldn’t care this much or be this angry. Mikey was his king. His god. If Mikey decided to marry some no-name woman to fulfill some ancient wish, it wasn’t Haruchiyo’s place to say a goddamn thing.

But you—

You would be ruined.

And Haruchiyo couldn’t stop seeing it.

“It’s what Shin wanted,” Mikey said at last, gaze drifting away. “It’s the least I could do to honor him.”

The words sounded noble. But they felt like betrayal.

Haruchiyo’s eyes flared wide, fury swallowing any logic left in him. He slammed his hand against the desk hard enough to make the papers scatter.

“And what about her, Mikey?” he growled again, louder now. “What the fuck about her?!”

Mikey’s eyes snapped back to his, a flicker of irritation flashing in that black void of a stare.

“You don’t question me, Akashi. I’m the boss here,” he said coldly.

Haruchiyo froze, just for a beat. The cold weight of his boss’s tone pressed down on him. But it wasn’t enough. Not when his gut was on fire, not when the image of your broken face was clawing at him.

“Then maybe you should fuckin’ act like one,” he spat, venom dripping from every word. “Not some coward hiding behind his dead brother’s ghost!”

That did it. Mikey moved. Fast.

A blur of movement, fist crashing into Haruchiyo’s face with a sickening crunch. His head snapped sideways, blood exploding from his nose as he staggered back, nearly knocking over a chair. The taste hit instantly, metallic, warm and humiliating.

But he didn’t fight back. He looked up instead, with split lip and racing pulse, and saw something that made his breath hitch.

Mikey’s expression had finally cracked.

He looked like a mess, heartbreak bleeding through his carefully built mask. The edges of his mouth trembled. His brows pinched. And in his those empty, abyssal eyes, was the unmistakable glint of pain.

Haruchiyo faltered.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

Mikey wasn’t letting you go because he wanted to. He was burying you. Just like he buried Shin. Draken. Emma. Baji. And every piece of himself he couldn’t carry anymore.

The weight in the room was unbearable. Grief hung in the air like smog.

Slowly, Haruchiyo stood straight.

He looked at Mikey. At the man he worshipped. The man who had ripped him from the jaws of death and made him a monster.

Then, in one fluid motion, Haruchiyo dropped to his knees. “Please… don’t do this to her.” His voice was low. Strained. Like it had been ripped straight from his lungs.

“You can fucking kill me. You can burn the world if you want. But don’t hurt her, Mikey.”

The room was silent. Not even the lights buzzed now. Only the soft rustle of scattered papers. The heavy sound of two broken men breathing in a room that had no god left.

Mikey didn’t speak.

And for the first time since he was a boy, Haruchiyo Sanzu didn’t know if the man he knelt before was still a king…

…or just another corpse waiting to rot.

Haruchiyo Sanzu’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The pills rattled against his palm before he shoved them into his mouth, swallowing them dry. His throat burned, his chest ached, and the familiar static began to crawl at the edges of his vision. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

The Haitani nightclub pulsed like a living beast. Heat, sweat, perfume, alcohol, the roar of bass so heavy it felt like it was cracking his skull in half. Girls draped themselves over men like ornaments, and one had slithered her way beside him now, giggling, her nails grazing his thigh in a way that should’ve distracted him.

But nothing could tear his gaze away from you.

Not when you were in the back room.

Not when Mikey was there with you.

Not when he watched the moment your face shattered.

The scene carved itself into him like glass. Mikey’s calm and empty voice, telling you he was getting married to someone else.

He saw the disbelief in your eyes dissolve into something worse. Betrayal. The way your body folded in on itself as though trying to contain the pain, the way your tears spilled before you could catch them. Mikey gathered you against him, wrapping you in those arms you once believed could hold up the whole world. He kissed the crown of your head like it was mercy.

Haruchiyo felt his stomach heave.

But it wasn’t jealousy. Not this time.

It was hollow. It was ruin.

He’d begged Mikey earlier. Like a fool, he’d begged.

Don’t leave her behind. Don’t abandon her. Even if you’re marrying someone else, don’t you dare let her stand alone in this fucked up world.

The words still burned his throat. He hated himself for it. It was pathetic and weak. It wasn’t loyalty to Mikey anymore, but a was weakness for you. All these years he’d told himself he was protecting you from this world, keeping you alive, keeping you safe. But now? Now he couldn’t bear the thought of you gone. Of you not here, within reach, even if it meant watching you cry in another man’s arms.

The girl beside him shifted, pressing closer, her perfume suffocating. She murmured something sweet and meaningless, her hand on his leg, tugging for his attention. And for once, Haruchiyo let her. His arm came around her shoulder, pulling her flush against his side. The gesture was too intimate for him, who never touched women like this unless it was transactional. Her breath caught in surprise, flustered.

But his eyes never left you.

Not when he tilted her chin and pressed his mouth against hers.

The kiss was hollow, mechanical, his lips moving against hers, his tongue tasting nothing but the bitterness of his own obsession. And when his gaze slid past her face and found yours—

That was when it hit.

You were staring. Through the tears clouding your vision, through the brokenness twisting your features, you were staring at him. The corner of your mouth trembled. Then your glare cut sharp, searing through him like fire before you turned away, burying your face into Mikey’s shoulder.

Haruchiyo almost smiled against the woman’s mouth.

It was pathetic. Twisted. Ugly. But it was something.

If all he could take from you was your hate, your disgust, your rage, he’d take it. He’d hoard it. He’d carve it into his chest like scripture. Because even when it hurt like hell, it meant he still existed in your world.

Even if it was only as a shadow.

He pulled away from the woman, his pupils blown wide, the pills buzzing in his bloodstream, and he whispered into her hair like it was meant for you:

“I love you.”

And he did. In his own ruinous way, he loved you. Loved you even when every gift you’d ever placed in his hands was pain. Loved you enough to bleed himself dry just to watch you smile at another man.

That was the curse. That was the obsession.

That was Haruchiyo Sanzu.

< special part ends >

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since high school your mother had been pointing out your terrible taste for men. for her, most of your previous partners were bunch of childish boys who treated you wrong. but when you told her 5 years ago that you’re getting married to kisaki tetta it almost gave her heart attack. let’s be clear - in the beginning of your relationship with kisaki he was a really good boyfriend. took you out for dates to fancy restaurants, rich vacations together, giving you whatever you needed. but your mother as well as people around you noticed you’ve changed because of kisaki. throughout years, you completely cut off social contact with your friends because he told you to do so and you blindly followed every word he said. you started isolating more and more from everyone being too dependent on your partner. and after marriage it was only worse. kisaki tetta was messing up with your head taking advantage of your love to him. he treated you like a subordinate animal rather than a human just because he liked to have so much control over you. you became his prisoner.

for the couple of months you noticed some changes with him as well. he became colder than usual, completely ignoring the fact that you’re alive. he also became more aggressive towards you. kisaki’s hobby was purposefully starting arguments where he would humiliate you and let out his frustration on you. he had no shame to tell you that you look ugly in something, or you’re too fat just to get out a reaction out of you. whenever you tried to talk to him either he’d avoid you or start raising his voice constantly while talking to eventually start yelling to scare you off so he’d have a moment of peace. once you spilled tea over his shirt, he nearly hit you. he managed to stop himself after raising his hand but from that day you developed a feeling of fear towards your husband. for kisaki you were only an object that would serve him. he didn’t care that his lack of love was hurting you. he only cared about your body though – every argument with him was just an excuse to lure you to the bed. it was the same all the time. kisaki would tell you the worst things imaginable, just to later find you crying for hours and start saying the same meaningless words.

”i didn’t mean that, i would never think of you this way. forgive me?” which sounded more like an order than apology. ”stop crying. let me make it up to you, right?” and always before you had the time to say something his hand was already in your pants tugging at the lace of your panties. and each encounter was the same, he didn’t care for your cries and pleas and just used you to get off. kisaki never listened. once you build up enough of courage in yourself that you managed to threaten him that you’d leave him. how stupid you were. you cannot escape kisaki tetta. you remember how he laughed in your face and the way his eyes darkened. you remember how he purposefully pressed your face against the pillows as he pounded you. you hated it. you couldn’t wash off the feeling. you’ve never felt so grossed out before after he pulled out and you felt liquids streaming down your thighs. you will never forget how happy you were to find out you weren’t pregnant after that. giving birth to a child into this cruel world – the world where kisaki existed was a vision that was haunting your nightmares.

it was enough that kisaki took away your dignity.

your life became a routine to you. waking up, making breakfast, cleaning the house, making dinner, sleep. occasionally taken to his meetings just to show you off like a doll. the meetings were actually something that intrigued you. many things about them were different. for example how kisaki was suddenly turning into a loving and caring husband for his wife, how gently he spoke to you around all those men. your task there was to sit and be pretty or make a drink for him or one of his subordinates if tetta asked you to. of course, you always sat there silently because kisaki forbade you to speak to anyone besides him there. but you were always a great observer and your curious eyes were always wandering to one man. you only knew him from all of the guys there.

shuji hanma – your husband’s right hand as well as the only friend of his you ever heard of and personally met a few times. you knew all guys there were no good, some of them probably as bad as kisaki but something about hanma make you intrigued. you haven’t felt that for years. and you knew he felt the same because you often found him uninterested in anything besides you. both of you were in tragic situation, and needed to be careful around kisaki’s eyes. but when your husband wasn’t looking and you were serving drinks you were bold to brush hanma’s hand after placing his drink on the table. you had no shame to tease him with your stilettos under the table, gently kicking or brushing against his legs. you always tried to look best on the meetings. not to give kisaki a satisfaction but you did it for hanma. just from the look of his eyes you managed to already know so much about him. he liked short pencil skirts paired with a white shirt that has the first 3 buttons undone. hanma also liked fitted long or short dresses – depends on his mood. if it was longer one, he liked the elegant dark red on you. if it was the shorter dress, he liked the colour black. though he always appreciated every of your outfit with a smirk. you couldn’t get him out of your mind. throughout you entire marriage you haven’t felt so fascinated with kisaki than you’ve been now with hanma. he started appearing in your dreams. you were frequently catching yourself thinking how he’d look on top of you, how he would be, how he would treat you. you lost all the shame after you started getting off to just a thought of him. while having sex with kisaki you were imagining that it was hanma touching you. it was hard for you not to moan his name but you knew you had to be strong otherwise kisaki would literally kill you. shuji hanma was consuming your mind and you knew that you will soon go crazy if you don’t fuck him. how were you about to do it? you had no idea. it seemed like something impossible, like a distant dream of a horny teenager. until you found yourself in a car with him.

it was one late night just right after the meeting was finished. kisaki ordered hanma to drop you home since he had some work to do. he trusted his friend that nothing would happen, right? the car drive was silent. everything was covered in a deadly silence until you both arrived at your apartment.

”thanks.” you said with a smile as you were getting out of the car. ”maybe you’d like to come in for a drink?” those words left you almost automatically. but you finally had the chance and you weren’t scared to try. the worst that can happen is just that he would say ”no”.

”i would love to.” you only saw the way he was smirking and you lead him to the apartment. you barely closed the door and took off your heels, your face curved in a grimace because you had them painfully long on your feet. you held onto the wall because your legs were wobbly a little. and your mind didn’t even register the moment hanma picked you up in his arms, and carried you around like you weighed nothing. you wrapped your arms around his neck, and looked at him amazed. he gently placed you on the couch.

”im bold to assume there’s something more than drinks to this, right?” he asked while sitting next to you, taking your legs and placing them on his lap. hanma started massaging the points that were the most hurtful. ”i’m not hiding that i’m attracted to you.” you weren’t fucking around. you came so far already, you felt like you’ve been finally free to speak out loud about your emotions without any consequences.

”kisaki won’t like that.” he shook his head with a click of a tongue. ”have you forgot about your loving husband?” hanma let out a laugh.

”if i still thought of him as my husband, i wouldn’t invite you here on the first place. that’s just a facade of a good husband created by a twisted man.” you replied, with a irritated tone. shuji could say that talking about your husband was making you more and more angry.

”is my friend really that bad? damn, i always knew he’s not the type to be good with ladies.” he laughed again, this sound echoing in your head and you probably won’t forget the sound of it. he shifted a little closer and took your hand in his. he brought your knuckles to his lips, placing a kiss on them. he reached for your wedding ring, taking it off and put it safely on the coffee table. ”may i take care of you then, miss?” he smirked playfully and it was enough to rile you up. you almost jumped into his lap. you were tasting his lips, devouring the feeling like it was your life source. the world stopped for you for a moment. you forgot about your ”husband” – at least the theoretical name you called a man that you hated with passion. you were completely losing it over a guy that should take his place. he helped you take off your dress, your bra to make you only sit there with your panties on – it wasn’t embarrassing though. it was exciting to make another man look at your body and make you feel appreciated. he kissed everywhere he could, your jawline, neck, collarbone, everywhere he could. what a torture that he couldn’t leave any mark on your skin. you helped him undress too – caressing your hands everywhere around his torso, exploring his bare chest, kneading his muscles. hanma was slowly getting impatient. he got bored of harassing your perfect tits and nipples, he wanted the real fun to begin. ”lay down.” he commanded. his tone was low but you didn’t feel scared like with kisaki. you obediently got off of his lap and made yourself comfortable on the couch. you could hear the click of his belt but he wasn’t doing anything yet. shuji was between your legs now. what a beautiful sight you dreamed off so many times. he took a while for himself admiring the view as well. you looked so sexy under him. he hooked up with many women in his life, but only you made his eyes linger this way. hanma didn’t want to keep you waiting – you already been tortured by your husband, why would he do the same to you? with a swift motion he took off your panties, shoving them into his pocket with a grin. gently spreading your thighs further he was mesmerised.

”i can’t fucking believe this bastard gets this whenever he wants. should be mine baby, you know that?” he said while leaning down to place a kiss on your clit. ”hanma!” you let out a squeak trying to buck your hips to feel it again.

”for you it’s shuji, sweetheart. got it?” he liked seeing you like that already. he knew it wouldn’t take long enough to completely fuck your brains out. after all he barely did anything and you were dripping! ”how come you’re so wet already, hmm? does always some talking and kisses get you like that?” your mouth opened to answer but the only thing that left was another moan because he teased you with a sloppy lick against your slit. you weren’t able to think straight, you only focused on the pleasure. meanwhile hanma was eating you out like it was his last meal. his two skilled fingers slid inside of you, perfectly curling against every spot making you go crazy. you tug at his hair, what made him go feral between your legs. he kissed, licked, sucked done literally everything known to mankind with your pussy. his face was completely covered with your sweet juices but he didn’t care. he was desperate to see you cumming like that. and hanma didn’t have to wait for long, because after a few more pumps of his fingers your pussy clenched around his fingers and you found your sweet release. you felt like on cloud nine, and it was barely the beginning. it was such a new experience for you because kisaki never cared about your pleasure and satisfaction. you don’t even remember the last time when you made yourself come but there was hanma currently sliding out his fingers licking them clean, with soaked chin grinning like crazy.

”it was so beautiful sweetheart, this pussy already loves me, right?” he was so dazed and desperate to fuck you. ”never had anything better in my mouth than it. you gotta be good and give me another one, but this time around my dick?” he immediately started unzipping his pants, tossing them around somewhere and slid down his boxers. his dick was enormously big. way thicker and longer than your husband’s.

”shuji i don’t think it’s gonna fit…” you looked at him a little worried. but he only rubbed his tip against your folds to smear your wetness around his length.

”shh pretty girl, it’s gonna fit. relax, would you?” he had enough of waiting and playing nice and sweet. he slowly pushed his cock inside of you, literally ripping your pussy. you cried out, and he gave you time to adjust. as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hanma leaned in and kissed your tears off whispering sweet things in your ear. when you gave him the permission he started moving. at first slowly, knowing that it might bring you discomfort but then he picked up the pace. your mind went blank, the vision was blurry. you became a moaning mess within seconds. you kept moaning his name repeating it like a mantra while scratching his back and arching your body. meanwhile shuji got completely lost in the feeling. your walls were squeezing him just right around his cock, he started believing that your pussy was made just for him. at this moment he realised his actions. he fucking his bestfriends wife. kisaki’s wife was under him, taking his dick deep inside and he never been more proud of anything like from this. he started pounding faster, wanting to fuck you to the point when your brain won’t stop thinking about anything but him – which wasn’t a necessary because you already did!

both of you were getting close. shuji felt how painfully you’ve been clenching around him and he could swear that could make him cum instantly. he brought his thumb to your clit moving in circles on your sensitive bud listening to you talking nonsense as he fucked you.

”shuji..! im…” you tried to form a sentence but you weren’t really able to do so because in that moment your brain wasn’t functioning right and you only cried and moaned. ”im gonna cum… please…” you cried out begging but in reality you didn’t even know what you were begging for.

”me too.. fuck.. if you keep squeezing me like this i will too…” hanma groaned into your ear. he wasn’t really the vocal type but around you he was making so much sounds that it was unlike to him. he grabbed one of your hands pinning it down to the couch as it would help him somehow but his mind was getting so lost in pleasure as well. you begged him not to pull out. the thought of filling your tight pussy with his cum made him go even more crazier. as if he got a sudden boost of energy he pounded mercilessly, the sounds of slamming his hips against your skin was filling the whole apartment. ”you want to make me a daddy? me? you chose me over that stupid fucker? fuck him. that pussy belongs to me now.” he muttered while he kept thrusting in the same pace. he made you cum so hard around him, he felt you milking his cock dry. you squeezed him to the point that he came as well with a loud groan, emptying his load inside of you filling you to the brim. he didn’t pull out for a while. he needed a minute. he rested his head against your chest, both of you panting. he wrapped his arm around your waist while his second hand kept gripping yours but he loosed a little, and you brought your hand back into his hair, scratching his head gently. after he had his minute to calm down, he leaned in to kiss your lips. both of you slowly made out for a hot minute after he leaned away to catch a breath. he pulled out, admiring the sight of his cum mixed with your juices dripping down your pussy. then shuji moved his eyes to you – even more breathtaking sight than your intimate parts. your cheeks flushed, tear stains under your eyes as well as mascara and lipstick messily smeared on your face. your long beautiful locks blown in every direction as well as your body making you look like an aphrodite or even better. he couldn’t stay for longer. he had to get his things together. sadly he was ready to leave you there unsafe in the claws of tetta. he put back his clothes trying to make his suit look as neatly as it was possible. you were observing him curiosly, still naked on the couch with head propped up against your hand. he knelt in front of you, and grabbed the wedding ring from the table. he gently took your hand and before sliding the ring on your finger, he kissed your knuckles again.

”i should come there more often. when i do next time, you’ll have prettier ring, my dear.” and with those words he left you completely alone in the apartment.