CARVE OUT YOUR PRIDE FROM DESPAIR!

I'm yakuza, yeah. 'Course I wanna keep playin' the tough guy. But nobody knows me better than I know myself.

it's often said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but that's only partially right. absence grows in the heart and takes its shape, expands and gets heavier with each passing moment, and it hurts. that pain turns to yearning turns to pain, and something has to intervene and break the feedback loop, if only for a moment. presence? well, somehow presence makes it worse. especially that of the man tetsuo knows will retreat back into the unknown as soon as the night is over. a single evening to make up for three years. longer, if he's keeping count, but he can't. it would feel resentful, and he is anything but. there's no one more aware of how long it's been than the man watching time pass him by, unable to get it back.

they've been here before, on ose bridge, framed on either side by brightly lit billboards — but that was a different time. well, perhaps not so different: kiryū was, as it'd soon become a habit, on the run from something far more personal than the past. history repeats; tetsuo fears that if he turns around, he'll be face to face with a window into the past. instead he looks to the river below, then beside him.

" what happens after this? do you know? " comes a gentle question, exchanged between them as though it were precious information. " when i go back to okinawa, am i supposed to keep this from haruka and the others? " he knows the answers to every single one of these questions and so does kiryū; he asks them in an attempt to find even the slightest sliver of light in the dark, well aware that kiryū is no longer his lighthouse. " ... it's that complicated, isn't it. "

kiryū has ever been a man of silence, of actions over words, but this time tetsuo wishes he said more. they've both owed that much. tetsuo clicks his tongue. " i'm sure i can do something, help me help you — "

" i can't help the people i've hurt. " time freezes. finally their eyes meet and tetsuo sees what he's always seen: penance. " i can't change what i did to them. " no longer is this about secrecy or distance or the shackles around kiryū's wrist and neck, forged out of self - sacrifice. this is kiryū's shot in the dark, his hail for a guiding light.

the tension in kiryū's shoulders is at last at its most visible; he clasps his hands together, then balls them into fists tightly enough to draw blood from his palms if he so wished to. tetsuo immediately reaches for one of kiryū's hands, takes it in his firmly enough to pry those fingers open just so. enough blood. you can open your hand.

" no, you can't. " next to him kiryū bows his head; tetsuo, for his part, moves close enough for their shoulders to touch for the first time in three years. " there's no changing what you've done ... but it's about what you do after. what you do to keep yourself from doing it again. i don't know when you'll be free to take charge of that, but that time will come. there's time. "

we do so many terrible things for the people we love. his father's words are a memory that he can't help but swallow like bitter medicine.

for what feels like an imaginary instant, kiryū's hand around his tightens. tetsuo smiles, though the gesture doesn't reach his eyes, and looks ahead. " there's still time. "

or whenever he stops pretending he has anywhere else to be. when guilt turns to distance turns to guilt, and the loop doesn't break on its own. it never has, for all his years of trying to. something has to reach in and stop it, even if just for a night, even if he knows he'll have to start the whole cycle over again come morning. kiryū looks down at his hand laced through tetsuo's, the other man's thumb caressing the crescent moons that kiryū had dug into the meat of his palm a moment ago.

it was risky to pick nagasugai as one of his visiting spots, doubly agreed by hanawa and triply so by reiya. none of them had left this city the same as they came. he's meant to fly under the radar, for all that's been done for him, but it's been so long, and as the head priest reasoned, it's brief enough and kiryū's simply passing through fukuoka— there are only a few people left who'd recognize him if he got too close, people he had no intention of going anywhere near anytime soon, especially if he recognized them first. the taxi crew most of all, or the yamagasa family.

though none of them expected tetsuo to appear.

kiryū would've found some grim humor in it any other time, the way history repeats itself. back when he would've taken tetsuo back to his cramped apartment off the western end of ose bridge boulevard, and any words they had were swallowed up in the heat of taking the other apart, tetsuo meeting the dragon roaring on suzuki's back with his mouth, unburdened by the weight of all their shared years and all their time spent apart.

back then, there was still a way back to him. these days, kiryū makes sure there isn't, no matter how much he wants there to be. it could cost them both everything. and kiryū only feels shame. fear. grief. and when tetsuo smiles, he's at a loss and unable to smile back.

dialogue prompts from the second season of burden of truth.

don't. don't make this about me.

how is this not about you?

i don't want to put you in a compromising position.

i know not to get in your way.

don't touch any of my stuff.

will you be quiet?

i couldn't sleep my first night, either.

i like to think we'll be different with our kids. i mean, as a generation. i think we'll be better.

you were always my little dreamer.

i can't imagine what you're going through, but i see you.

how do you survive here?

bet you needed a drink after that.

you're gonna resent me.

i will search day and night, but i can't guarantee that i'll find anything.

whatever way you go with this, i am here for you, okay?

we're gonna need as much help as we can get.

i thought with everything going on, you could use a little self-care.

you're my star.

i booked us pedicures.

big words, from such a little lady.

i am beyond tired. i feel like i am stoned.

as if you'd know what being stoned is like.

morning, sweetheart.

you don't have to explain.

you look like yourself again.

people don't change.

i'll come with you. we'll work on the way.

what are you doing here? everything okay?

smoke show! it's good to see you.

sometimes it's better and sometimes it's worse, you know?

never make the best out of anything: be the best, and the rest will follow.

you're not like him. you're nothing like him.

i got you.

get up. have some coffee.

did i make this mess?

are you in trouble with the cops or something?

i saw something i shouldn't have seen.

that's the plot of the godfather. are you messing with me?

i am so, so sorry. i love you.

you're getting soft.

it's nice here. not a bad place to be buried.

you shouldn't be here. you should not be here.

why didn't you tell me?

i guess i was just hoping for it to be anything else.

you're strong, but pretending to be fine with this is crazy.

i need to know you're good and not just pretending to be.

you know, i hadn't cried in years until i came back here.

for most of my life, ____ was my hero. doesn't that make me horrible?

i miss ____. and it sucks.

i know it's a shot in the dark, but it's our only real shot.

i'm sorry i haven't always been the best ______.

you're listening, but you're not understanding.

what the hell is wrong with you?

don't ever let anyone see you cry.

what's up with the secret bunker?

sometimes justice and the law aren't the same thing.

i am sick and tired of your holier-than-thou shtick.

keep toeing the party line. see where it gets you.

the system is rigged, and their rules are rigged.

i don't want to be like you. i don't want to be hard.

i know you think you're one of the good ones. maybe you used to be.

you can't go dark like that.

volunteering for the night shift?

you know i love you, right?

i'll be better. i'll be a better _____.

what are they gonna do to me?

you must be pretty torn up.

i didn't think you liked me much.

this might be the last time i can get here for a while.

nothing is gonna change unless we change it.

there's no 'we'. you're one of them.

you won't forget about me, will you?

i didn't have an easy time when i was your age.

you are a good person. everybody knows that.

i loved looking at the sky when i was a kid.

i'm sick of having no power.

you were scared. you defended yourself.

i said 'no surprises'.

how do i just move on with my life?

i know something about not being able to move on. you just keep trying.

i know what you risked for me.

you're better than you think you are, you know.

i didn't want to leave without saying goodbye.

you know, this is technically illegal.

we both had to grow, and we had to be apart to do that.

you're so young. how do you know so much already?

there's something i never told you. something i never told anyone.

i keep running because i don't think i've ever been loved. so i don't know how to love.

there are people who try to love me, but i won't let them.

did you think about asking me? to stay with you?

you're gonna conquer the world.

his response snaps her back to reality. she tries to contain her reaction, but she's sure he can sense her agitation. his words ring inside her skull, crawl along her spine.  ❛ hey. ❜ her voice is sharp, but with the right intentions. she understands where his anger is coming from, seeing a fury she can relate to throughout the years before her change in the direction of her life, but that doesn't mean she doesn't worry it will take him somewhere he can't step out of. she's seen it before, so many times, in so many people. so many of them only leave a terrible picture in her head. feeding into them, picturing them in her mind's eye, blood flowing everywhere in the most tender of motions. dripping, dripping, dripping down their wrists and soon, the cup overflows. she will not watch his do the same.  ❛ i've told you before. if you won't control your anger, they will notice something is off. and then it's not up to me anymore. ❜ it's terrible enough she's already lying to them, but she doesn't bring that up. her shame is a wound that needs to remain buried for now. her head shakes.  ❛ i promised i'd be with you throughout the entire way. until we get emi, and everyone else who has lost their life to them, the justice she deserves. the justice they all deserve. don't do that. ❜

he wants to tell her she doesn't understand when, if anyone does, it's shams. wants to tell her that some wounds deserve to stay open when neither of them has ever managed to close theirs. it's all building inside him— clawing and scraping at the back of his throat, gathering behind the bars of his teeth, pressing into the roof of his mouth, battering against its cage and trying to tear free. his jaw locks hard enough to hurt. he's silent for so long that the city fills the space for him. cars. distant laughter. a train somewhere beyond the buildings. he sees emi.

well, not really emi. more like the memory of her. a ghost stitched together from a thousand surviving pieces. he hears her. her laugh, her voice. the way she used to scold him. and suddenly the argument he so desperately wants to have feels rotten in his mouth. the anger cools, snuffed out mid-breath. because he knows emi wouldn't be proud of this. wouldn't look at him now and call this strength. that's what hurts, he thinks. not shams's words but the fact that for one terrible moment, they sound an awful lot like his sister's.

except for the fact that she now has to let go of the very thing that had first gotten her where she is now. to let go of majima, of saejima, of kiryū. and most importantly, of daigo. daigo, who had been the first friend she could remember. it's terrible enough to think about. she's known them for her entire life now, the center of her world, really.

shams was born with a bleeding heart, after all, an empathy unusually developed for her age. always pushing her forward, coaxing her into taking action; this nagging desire to protect. born with an inability to avert her gaze from the suffering of others. quite the quality in the world she was raised in, but she knew the moment she locked eyes with him when they were much younger, that it meant something when she managed a smile, even though deep down she’s alarmed. it's why the two of them had grown so much closer, in the same way flowers who share a stem learn to lean on each other, grow in the same direction: a mess of mingled roots. a natural connection, blooming out of nothing more than a genuine coincidence. and that is why, as she listens to him speak, all she can hear is the imaginary whooshing of the sea. it's only one beach she can picture in her head, really, but it's as if she's being pulled underwater, a heavy weight tugging at her limbs, lungs gasping for air that doesn't exist. pure static, in her ears, a sharp crack of something. like a rib or a train of thought. all she can taste is saltwater.

she knows the dam begins to break. it cracks at the edges, like two giddy children poking a stick into a puddle layered with ice, giggling at their scattered reflections. memories resurfacing, images flashing in her subconscious. shams looks at daigo like she’s lost. something inside of her breaks, disintegrates into a pile of despair.  but she's still smiling at him, the same way she did during their first meeting, so very gentle. so accepting of what he's saying, so all - encompassing of why he says so. just like always.  it's why all she says the next words. ❛ i don't really know what to say. ❜ and it's those words that begin to rot inside her mouth, like wilted flowers, too nauseating. this is wrong, she thinks. everything is all wrong. everything is wrong and i don’t know how to fix it.

❛ will you rest easier with one less mystery on your mind? ❜ @zetsubocho says then, which only causes her to raise her eyebrow at him. she'd laugh if it were any other scenario. the words that spill so very easily from his lips break her. she can’t tell if he's somehow mended the damage with this one question, or only worsened it. she can’t tell where the jagged hole inside her chest ends and begins. she can only tell that it’s extending and extending.

❛ when it comes to you? never. ❜ in other words that remain unspoken: i'll always worry about you. the two of them are different, she realizes, all at once. some part of her always knew. she was born to be happy, in their eyes, at least, kept away from the bloodshed, hands that should be unsullied by the deep red that always dries beneath her fingernails. and she’s glad that it might be true, but not if he's not around. shams falters. these days, that’s all she ever seems to do. ❛ do you really think this will change much? if you're no longer in my life, that is? ❜ it will only make things worse, she thinks. her head shakes, then. she understands where they're all coming from, but now is the worst time they could've possibly picked. while she had a long conversation with majima about it, where she had the chance to say goodbye to him, she won't get the chance to do so with kiryū and saejima. the next words she speaks open a door she knows won't close any time soon, in a quiet voice, a whisper, as if trying to squeeze some sincerity from her own chest, a last attempt at reaching him. ❛ i'm barely holding on as it is. and you want me to accept you disappearing from my life? ❜

daigo finds himself watching the stone beneath their feet. counting steps. anything to keep his thoughts from catching up. it doesn't work. his thoughts move elsewhere, dragged through a dozen different worries at once. shams. the saio triad. the public scrutiny gathering around the war and the clan like storm clouds. meetings he still has to attend. reporters he has no interest in speaking to. men waiting for him to make the wrong decision. all of it pulling him from different directions. all of it looking for an opening— and that's the problem. because they always look for openings. a weakness. a pressure point. someone to use.

his jaw tightens. something cold slides down from the base of his skull, spreading and spreading and settling deep in his chest, until his stomach slowly churns with ice. the feeling has been there for days now. every time he thinks he's outrun it, it catches up. every time he thinks he's made peace with the decision, something pulls him back to it: shams. always shams. she's spent years trying to build something beyond this world. something of her own. he refuses to be the thing that drags her back into its fold.

he understands where she's coming from. he really does. but he doesn't know how else to do this. daigo was never good at making things easier. only carrying them. he stays, he risks her. he leaves, he hurts her. there isn't a version of this where nobody loses something. so he— and majima, and saejima, and kiryū— picked the one where she doesn't bleed for it. even if they do.

maybe that's the cruelest part of this. not making the decision. living with it afterward.

"i've known you for most of my life," he finally breaks the silence. it's hard for his voice to stay level. it buckles anyway under the weight of his words. "do you really think i'd be doing this if i thought there was another way?" his grip tightens. "because if there was, i'd take it." the answer comes immediately. too quickly. like he's repeated it to himself before. like he's needed to. they come to a stop. daigo turns toward her. for a moment, he struggles to compose himself. "you think majima wanted this?" a humorless breath leaves him. almost a laugh. because out of all them, majima struggled the most. even while pretending otherwise. even while acting as if he could laugh it off. they all had seen through it. there was something deeply unnatural about watching a man who had spent years trying to push shams toward a life beyond the underworld become one of the people forced to let her walk it alone. a man who looked, for all the world, like a father being asked to let go of his daughter and finding himself woefully out of his depth. "kiryū? saejima?" there wasn't much either of them could do from behind bars. but he'd spoken to them. he'd heard it in their voices. and he carries that with him now. daigo's head shakes. "none of us did." his eyes drops briefly to their joined hands.

why don’t you sit, and i’ll pour tea?

❛ oh, my hero. ❜ she dramatically places her hand on top of the left side of her chest and smiles. ❛ i could really use some tea. ❜ truthfully, she was grateful for the simplicity of this routine. brewing tea was something she knew like the back of her hand, but watching her do it was easy and peaceful like breathing. fujiko strained the herbs as she poured it into a ceramic cup and placed it in front of her. despite this, she feels herself tilt her head to the side and go further into her thoughts. and she knows the other notices. maybe it was the fact she knew she had barely touched her tea as she set it down, an act that is unusual of her. whatever it was, she feels her stare and lets out a breath. ❛ i'm just thinking. about that trip i wanted to take. ❜ the one she dreaded the most. she shakes her head, then. ❛ i had hoped i wouldn't have to drag anyone in this, but i do hope to keep it a secret. just for a while. ❜ and at that, she gets ready for what she expects to be a conversation she'd rather avoid all together: the tendency to carry everything by herself, refusing to let others take some of the weight that is clearly too heavy for her.

shams has never been very good at asking for help, not because she doesn't want to, but rather, because she doesn't know if she is fully able to. it's noticeable in the way she asks about someone else's background when they try to ask for hers, smoothly redirecting the conversation. how she'd stiffen briefly when someone opened the door for her. to the naked eye, that’s good behavior. standard politeness.  give and get.  but she knows better. because as much as she was trying to hide it, cover it up with a smile and a laugh, her expressions back then hide a different meaning. as if they were only the subtleties of discomfort. as if all she can do is give and give, and if she were to ask for anything in return, she would be haunted by the ghost of the fear she used to carry when she was in the mafia. she doesn't like it when the spotlight stays on her for too long because of this, and she doesn't like accepting help without giving something back. she knew which part of her past had caused this, but it is true that it isn't helping anyone when she acts this way. and it is why she can't seem to explain, because that is another scar that needed to open.

she's been too busy with her work here and its uptick in activity following the mole case, as well as repairing the damage from the addc's goons, to visit as often as she should. naomi and the rest of the afterglow crew offered to take over the reins, and she appreciated the gesture. the community she's built here offered their help too, eager to bring things back to normal. but she's the owner. she shouldn't pass off that responsbility, even temporarily, when it was hers in the first place.

but that is where most of her troubles lie. yagami.

she remembers the day at the addc like it was yesterday: her, higashi, and kaito exchanging blows with the police before eventually making them see reason and coming to an agreement. catching up with yagami and sugiura. worrying over and tending to sugiura's gunshot wound. the bodies of kuroiwa and shono falling limp and growing cold. blood. so much blood. then checking up on yagami after hearing from sugiura what happened on the bridge and the explosion. watching him be fine one minute and then the next— sapped of all his earlier strength and fortitude, slipping and fading out in her arms. it happened so quickly. even now, she remembers the weight of him. even now, she feels the layers of old and fresh blood on her hands, caked into her clothes and beneath her nails. she's not sure whose is whose. immediate unease and rising panic still lingers in her gut, pulse thundering in her ears—

the door opens with a chime. in her daze, her head snaps up to see @echosdeath. upon eye contact, she watches as she beelines her way straight over to the bar. fujiko lets out a slow, shaky breath, smoothing her expression and falling back into nonchalance, ignoring whatever the boys were saying as she says a quick goodbye and hangs up.

it's simple to pretend. it's got her this far, hasn't it? tuck your problems under the rug, pick them up another day. she's gotten very good at it over the years— maybe that's why she recognizes it so easily when she sees it in other people. shams retreats into her own head, staring aimlessly into the cooling tea set before her. and when fujiko looks at her, she knows the difference between strength and fear wearing strength's clothes. she knows what it looks like when someone has spent so long carrying everything alone that they no longer know what to do when someone offers to help. just like the others they keep in their company, too.

fujiko's patient, though, leaning forward with her elbows on the counter, palms propping her jaw. her curled fingers gently press into her cheeks. she stares at shams for a second longer than necessary before she speaks, voice lighter than the thoughts still stuck behind her eyes.

"your secret's safe with me, of course." there's a small, teasing tilt to her mouth that follows. "though you're lucky higashi left a bit ago. otherwise he would've given you an earful." she glances past shams as naomi passes with an arrangement of desserts for one of their regulars. she eyes the one in the middle, then moves to scribble something down without breaking stride. "and unlike me, i'm not gonna do that," she adds, sliding the note over when naomi circles back— a large parfait, in case shams wants some. "nor am i going to make you do anything. god knows i don't exactly practice what i preach."

feeling her stare boring holes into him, he closes his eyes. it doesn't help, but he continues rubbing the sore spot. "you know, most people would've apologized by now." another pause. "...or cared." and another. he peeks one eye open. she's still boring holes into him. he wilts. and she called him insane. if anyone was, it's her. with all the solemnity of a man receiving a death sentence— well. perhaps not the best comparison. no... that feels excessive, even by his standards. with a groan befitting a man condemned to hard labor, he finally lets his hand fall away from his forehead.

she lets out a sigh. there's a look on the other's face, one she knows too well, but she can already feel her mind drifting. anyone who loves her is bound to have expectations. they’ll expect her to smile, want her to bare all that she is. they’ll expect her to give all that she is, and they’ll get angry when what she is is lacking.  she believes this without question. relationships are built on give and take.  if she isn't willing to give, they’ll call her greedy. if she isn't willing to take, they’ll call her heartless. if she tells them she can’t do either, that she doesn't want to, they’ll call her what she is, which is splintered, rendered out of use.  it's not enough to pretend to enjoy it— not enough to half - heartedly give and never receive. she recalls the contempt of a ruined relationship: when she's left with overripe fruit and no way to savor them, no way to do anything but let them splatter on the ground. love, to her, is like that. it's what she's always believed, but when she sits here now, as she has a hundred times before, she imagines a world where he wouldn't expect so from her. yagami is kind, after all, a bright star shining across the water.

she extends her free hand to flick shams on the forehead. “before you keep overthinkin’ yerself into knots, though— no, i’m not sayin’ he doesn’t understand what he’s doin’. he’s annoyingly aware. like... painfully aware.” the pads of her fingers then drift to her glass, drawing lazy circles along the rim. “just selective. about what he lets himself act on. same habit— or well, problem— you’ve got. different flavor. you both do this thing where you decide what the other person can handle. and then act like you’re bein’ considerate by not testin’ it. not givin’ ‘em a chance to prove you wrong.” a sigh. “exhaustin’.” absently, she wonders what majima would think of this conversation if he were here. not that she would let him, much less the other two, have a say in anything, batshit crazy and ultimately unhelpful as they all are, but she knows the one-eyed fool’d have a heart attack all the same. or a conniption. possibly both. most likely take the next train over and hunt yagami for sport. see if he’s worthy of the girl he sees as his own blood. she can already picture it, like in 2005 with kiryū; the edges of her glossy mouth twitch as she contains herself.

she glances at her phone beside her. maybe she shouldn’t divulge what’s transpiring next time they talk. “but truth is, darlin’...” chizuru takes another handful of kaki-pi. mid-chew, “yer both so used t’bein the one holdin’ things together that neither of ya knows what t’do when somebody looks at you and decides they wanna stay anyway. and god, ya’ll make it everybody else’s problem without even meanin’ to.” another crunch of kaki-pi. “he does that other thing you do, too. acts like if he keeps enough of himself tucked away, then nobody’ll end up disappointed when they finally realize he’s just a person.” she snorts, tilting her head opposite of her closed fist as it unfurls to vaguely gesture. “real funny mindset for somebody who also spends half his life seein’ through everybody else.” then, a small shrug. “and then there’s you, practically writin’ rejection speeches for other people before they even open their mouths.” she clicks her tongue. “he’s not lookin’ at you like somebody he’s still decidin’ whether he can handle. you were already there. like, it was never up for debate.” a pause. her shoulders loosen as she leans back into her seat. “i’m not sayin’ this whole thing’s simple. people like you two don’t do simple. frankly, if life handed either of ya somethin’ easy, you’d probably stare at it suspiciously for however long before decidin’ it’s a trap.” another snort. “but yer askin’ the wrong questions.”