Takemichi wanted to scream. But he didn’t. Because Mikey looked so happy.
Eyes bright, steps steady, lips curved in a warm, unhinged smile as he stood beside Takemichi and gently pressed the barrel of the gun to his temple.
“Just a little insurance, sweetheart,” he whispered, low enough that only Takemichi heard. “You get cold feet, I get cold hands.”
Takemichi swallowed.
There was no priest. No officiant.
Just Sanzu, grinning like the devil himself, holding an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
“Dearly beloved,” Sanzu began, voice gleeful, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of a man and his most precious possession”
“Sanzu,” Mikey warned, but didn’t lower the gun.
Sanzu coughed. “Sorry. The love of his life.”
Takemichi stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the guests, refusing to acknowledge the tears building at the edges of his vision.
“Vows?” Sanzu offered, amused.
Mikey turned, lowering the gun an inch. “Mine first.”
He took Takemichi’s hand.
“I vow,” he said, voice steady and disturbingly sincere, “to never let you go again. To follow you to any country, any corner of the earth. To kill for you. To die with you. To make you laugh, cry, scream and never, ever, leave you alone again.”
Takemichi’s heart pounded like war drums.
“I vow to build a life with you that no one will understand but us. And if you ever try to run —”
The gun kissed his temple again.
“I’llremind you how much I love you.”
Silence.
Then Mikey smiled brightly. “Your turn.”
Takemichi didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.
He looked at Mikey … the boy he once tried to save. The man who had built an empire of blood and crowned him its reluctant queen.
And he said “I vow to haunt you if you ever shoot me in the head.”
Mikey’s grin widened. “Close enough.”
