Burden of Blame

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/24215773.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Relationship: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Character: Miya Atsumu, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu, Suna Rintarou, Kita
Shinsuke, Meian Shuugo, Bokuto Koutarou, Hinata Shouyou, Ojiro
Aran, Akaashi Keiji, Ushijima Wakatoshi
Additional Tags: yakuza!au, explicit violence, Gun Violence, Blood and Gore, Graphic
injuries, Minor Character Death, Murder - Lots of it, PTSD, Panic
Attacks, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Slow Burn,
Background Sunaosa, Mentions of Prostitution
Series: Part 1 of Burden of Blame
Stats: Published: 2020-05-16 Completed: 2020-09-11 Chapters: 16/16 Words:
91281

Burden of Blame
by DeathBelle

Summary

Atsumu has a long history of pissing people off, but this time he’s gone too far. Someone
wants him dead, and although he doesn’t know who or why, it becomes clear very quickly
that both he and Osamu are in danger. After a couple of close calls, Kita - the Kumicho of
Inarizaki - decides it’s not safe for the two of them to stay in Hyogo; not until he finds out
who placed the hit and eliminates them.

Atsumu reluctantly finds himself in Tokyo, taken in by a yakuza group that’s nothing like
Inarizaki. The Black Jackals are a different breed, more lethal than he’s used to, and Sakusa
Kiyoomi is the worst of them all. Of course that’s who Atsumu gets stuck with, and he and
Sakusa are in constant competition for who hates each other more.

Tokyo should be a safe haven but between Atsumu’s bloody new assignments, the lingering
threat on his life, and all the days trapped with Sakusa, Atsumu isn’t sure he’ll make it out
of Tokyo alive.

Notes

This will be updated every two weeks until my other WIP fic is completely posted, then it
will be upgraded to every week.

Please check the tags.

 Chapter 1

“I hate this,” said Atsumu, ostensibly to himself, as he stared at the front door of what appeared to
be a bar but was actually a covert gambling den. More than an hour had gone by. His legs were
numb, the brick wall he was leaning against had gotten colder, and watching all these drunk people
stumble out of the bar made him really want a drink. He thought about going inside to order one,
under the guise of getting a closer look at their target.

Somewhere several stories above him, Osamu knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Don’t you dare.” The voice in his ear was clear, not a trace of static. Atsumu hated that, too.

“Fuck off,” mumbled Atsumu, quietly enough that the passing trio of women, who’d obviously
bought out the entire makeup aisle earlier that day, couldn’t hear. “You’re the one who should be
down here. It’s your turn.”

“You lost janken.”

“We shouldn’t have even played ‘cause it’s your turn .”

“Can’t hear you, you’re breakin’ up,” said Osamu, still crystal clear. “Better shut yer mouth and
pay attention.”

“I’m payin’ attention!” snapped Atsumu. A slightly inebriated man turned back to glance at him,
but Atsumu’s glare encouraged him to continue on his way. “Not shit is happenin’. I think the
asshole is blowin’ his money somewhere else.”

“Suna said he’s here every Saturday night.”

“Maybe Suna was wrong.”

“He wasn’t.”

“Yeah, because Suna’s fuckin’ perfect ,” said Atsumu. He rolled his eyes, and although Osamu
couldn’t see it, Atsumu hoped he felt it. “Why don’tcha just do jobs with him instead of me then?”

“Good idea,” said Osamu. “I’ll ask Kita-san about that later.”

“Fuck you, fuckin’ – Wait, shit, there he is.” Atsumu stood straighter, focus going sharp. “He just
walked out. By himself. Dark pants, white shirt, talkin’ on a cellphone. Fancy watch. You see
‘im?”

“I see ‘im.” Osamu’s breath was in his ear, and Atsumu didn’t have to see him to know what he
was doing. “Girl in the short skirt is in the way. Three seconds.”

Atsumu held his breath as he counted down in his head. He watched the man stroll down the
sidewalk, perfectly at ease, gesturing with one hand while he talked. He was animated, alive. But
not for long.

Three …

Two …

Osamu exhaled, long and heavy, and Atsumu subconsciously did the same.
One .

There was a pop, one that Atsumu may have missed if he hadn’t been waiting for it. The new
silencer had been expensive but it was damn well worth it.

There was a splash of blood, vivid scarlet. It sprayed the wall, splattered the ground, caught the
edge of the passing woman’s skirt. The man fell all at once, a sudden slump that proved he was
dead before he hit the ground. There was a tense silence, and a phantom taste of gunpowder on
Atsumu’s tongue.

The woman screamed, everyone on the street turned to see what was wrong, and the resultant
chaos was magnificent.

“You see that pinpoint fuckin’ precision?” asked Osamu, a low blur of motion behind his voice.
“Better than you could’ve done.”

“Shut up. I’m a better shot and you know it.”

“Keep lyin’ to yourself.” There was a loud clack in the background. “Meet you in twenty.”

The speaker clicked as Osamu cut it off, and Atsumu casually plucked it from his ear and stowed it
in his pocket. He kept a close watch on the scene, making note of the men who emerged from the
bar to see what had happened, memorizing the faces of those who seemed the most distressed. He
could use that later. This gambling ring wasn’t sanctioned by Kita and Atsumu had no doubt he’d
be ordered back again, for some violent reason or another, until it shut down.

The police arrived in short order, a dozen of them. They roped off the scene, herded witnesses into
a group away from the victim, and tried to calm the more hysteric among them. The girl with the
bloody skirt was in the worst shape, sobbing so hard that she collapsed and had to be helped up
again.

Atsumu chuckled, low in his chest.

One of the officers spotted him, a carefully honed professional mask slipping into something like
contempt as he stalked over. “Miya.”

Atsumu touched two fingers to his temple in a mock salute. “Officer. Nice night, huh?”

The officer seized Atsumu by the arm and yanked him away from the wall. “Keep your hands
where I can see ‘em.”

Atsumu did so, holding them up at shoulder height and grinning as the officer yanked open
Atsumu’s jacket to pat him down. “Feelin’ a little handsy tonight? Right here on the street too. You
could at least take me back to your place first.”

“Shut the fuck up, Miya. Where’s your brother?”

“I have a big family, you’ve gotta be more specific.”

The officer felt around Atsumu’s belt and sank down to check his ankles as Atsumu grinned down
at him. “You know exactly who I mean.”

“I don’t know any of my brothers’ exact locations,” said Atsumu, as the officer rose again to glare
at him. “They could be anywhere. One of ‘em moved down to Wakayama a couple months ago.
Another’s out in Nara for a while.”
A hand seized the front of Atsumu’s shirt and shoved him back against the wall. His smile
flickered, the first spark of annoyance burning past his amusement. He’d planned to let this
happen, had been prepared to deal with it, but he still didn’t like being pushed around, especially
not by a cop.

“We both know you only have one brother,” said the officer. “Where the fuck is he?”

“Honestly? I can’t say for sure but I think he’s out gettin’ laid. Which is what I intended to do
before I witnessed a murder. You got any other questions or can I get back to that?”

“I know you did this, Miya.”

“Yeah? How’s that? I know I’m buff and all, but I don’t think I can throw a bullet hard enough to
crack open a guy’s skull like that, and you just checked me for a gun. I didn’t do shit. Can I go
now?”

The officer took a half-step back. He looked like he’d rather snap Atsumu’s neck than keep looking
at him.

“You can’t hold me,” said Atsumu with a shrug. “You know you can’t.”

The officer did know. He knew, because they'd had conversations just like this one so many times
that Atsumu had lost count. Atsumu knew how much evidence the police needed to throw him in a
cell, and this officer knew that he knew. Standing on a street corner in the wrong place at the
wrong time wasn't enough for an arrest, and it was common knowledge that taking a Miya in for
questioning was a waste of everyone's time.

“Get out of my fuckin’ face,” said the officer, giving Atsumu a push. “This’ll catch up to you. Both
of you.” He stomped back across the street and pulled aside two of the other officers. There were a
lot of sharp gestures and glances in Atsumu’s direction, and they all dispersed at once.

They were spreading out to look for Osamu. That was fine. They wouldn’t find him.

Atsumu threw a smug wave in the officers’ direction as he wandered off, hands in his pockets, as
casual as anyone could be. He knew one of the officers would follow him, and that was fine, too.
Atsumu stopped a taxi a few blocks away, climbed in, and flipped the officer off out the back
window as they pulled away.

Atsumu hated the police, more than he hated anything, but he’d learned to deal with them. It had
been by trial and error, and he’d seen the inside of a cell more than once in his younger days, often
alongside Osamu. But they’d never stayed long. Kita had made sure of that.

This encounter had been easier than most. Even if they scraped up enough evidence to pin the
murder on Osamu – which they wouldn’t – the officer Atsumu had just talked to couldn’t prove
which Miya he’d pinned up against a wall. He hadn’t asked for a name, or identification, and he
hadn’t even mentioned Osamu’s name when asking about him. No one could say for sure that it
wasn’t Osamu standing by, weaponless and innocent.

The cops should’ve learned by now.

“Let me out here,” said Atsumu, a few minutes later. The driver did, and Atsumu passed him some
money before stepping out on the curb. He strolled down the sidewalk, made sure the police hadn’t
somehow found a way to follow him there, and nonchalantly climbed into the nondescript car
parked at the end of the street.
Osamu glanced at him, one elbow propped on the center console and a cigarette between his lips.
“’Bout time.”

“Got held up,” said Atsumu. He reached under the seat for his gun and shifted forward to tuck it
into the back of his pants. It wasn’t the safest place for it, and he never carried it like that if he
could help it, but being strapped up in a holster would’ve been suspicious when the officer was
patting him down. “Fuckin’ cops.”

Osamu hummed as he started the car. He inhaled, flicked the cigarette out the window, and blew a
plume of smoke through his nose. “Everything go okay?”

“Well yeah, I’m sittin’ here, ain’t I?”

“Un-fuckin’-fortunately.”

“Whatever. You’d miss me.” Atsumu racked the seat back as far as it would go and reclined,
propping a foot on the dash just because he knew Osamu hated it. “Want me to drive?”

“So you can almost kill us again like last time? No thanks.”

“Fuck you. I’m a great driver.” It was a lie, and they both knew it. Atsumu shouldn’t be trusted
behind the wheel of a car for any reason. The chances of dying in transit were equal if not greater
than those of making it to a destination alive.

To be fair, Osamu was only marginally better, which he proved as he whipped the car directly in
front of a moving taxi, cutting it off and getting an angry blare of a horn for his trouble. He popped
a hand out the window to flip them off and kept driving.

The only reason Kita had trusted them with a car was so they’d have a safe place to stow away the
rifle that Osamu had undoubtedly locked in the trunk after the shooting. It was stored in a case that
was somewhat subtle, but if they got into the wrong cab while lugging it around, the police would
have a great reason to arrest them. Atsumu hadn’t been in handcuffs for almost two years. He
didn’t want to ruin the streak.

Atsumu settled back with a sigh and closed his eyes so he didn’t have to witness Osamu’s
questionable driving abilities. “Next time it’s your turn, and we’re not playing janken for it.”

“We’ll see.”

They called Kita on the way home. Atsumu put his phone on speaker and held it between them,
recounting the job with a heavy bias in his own favor. Osamu gave him a look every now and then,
swerving over the center line every time.

“And then the cops said – fuck, ‘Samu, watch the road – they said it’ll catch up to us, all
threatening like. Total bullshit though, they’ve got nothin’. Went without a hitch.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Kita, his voice slow and steady as always. “Thank you both for your
work.”

Atsumu beamed. Osamu gave him a flat look and nearly drove into a parked car.

“We’ll meet tomorrow, to discuss the next steps,” said Kita. There was noise in the background, a
slide of metal against metal that Atsumu couldn’t place. “Get some rest.”

“Will do,” said Atsumu. “See ya tomorrow, Kita-san.”

“’Bye, Kita-san,” said Osamu.

Atsumu ended the call and slouched back in his seat again, still grinning. “He thinks I did a good
job.”

“That’s weird. We must’ve been listenin’ to a different conversation.”

“Fuck you.”

Atsumu had lived in the same apartment for almost five years. He and Osamu had leased it
together, because as often as they got on each other’s nerves, they’d never lived apart and didn’t
see any reason to change that. They did most of their jobs together anyway, so it was a convenience
if nothing else. There were only so many people in the city that wouldn’t ask Atsumu questions if
he came home in the middle of the night with his clothes soaked in someone else’s blood.

That had only happened a few times, but it was nice having a roommate who wouldn’t
immediately call the cops.

They’d lived in that apartment long enough that Atsumu had gotten increasingly comfortable there.
He could navigate it with his eyes closed and knew where every light switch and outlet was
without even looking. It was a safe place for someone who rarely ever felt safe.

So when he woke up in the early hours of the morning, snapped into consciousness with his
heartbeat kicking in his chest like a trapped animal, he was immediately on high alert.

He sat up straight and held his breath to listen.

There was nothing but silence.

Atsumu exhaled through his mouth, quietly, staring through the darkness at absolutely nothing.

He didn’t know what had woken him up. He didn’t think he’d heard anything, and the door to his
room was still shut tight. Osamu hadn’t come inside. He wouldn’t have anyway, not in the middle
of the night. Atsumu glanced sideways at his phone. The screen was dark.

Maybe he was floating on the tattered ends of a nightmare he couldn’t remember. He had those
sometimes, more often than he admitted. But usually he woke with screams echoing in his head
and a splash of blood behind his eyes. This was different. This wasn’t a nightmare, just a feeling.
He slipped a hand underneath his pillow and felt the cool kiss of metal beneath.

Atsumu kept his breaths slow, steady, despite the panicked rush of his heartbeat. He decided to get
up, to check the apartment and put himself at ease so he could go back to sleep.

One of his feet crept off the edge of the mattress, then he was frozen again.

His bedroom doorknob twisted, clicked, and went still.

Atsumu’s heart was in his throat. He tasted a sour tang of panic and swallowed it back. He’d stared
down the barrel of death’s gun so many times that he shouldn’t be afraid of anything anymore.
Most of the time he wasn’t.

But getting into knife fights on the street wasn’t the same as having something unknown creep up
in the dark.

The door moved inward slowly, silently. When it was half-open there was movement, a shadow
shaped like a man. It was too dark for Atsumu to see his face. It could have been anyone. It could
have been Osamu.

Atsumu raised his gun and fired.

There was a flash, a cough muffled by the silencer, a kick of recoil against Atsumu’s palm.

The shadow fell and Atsumu hit the floor, just in time to avoid the spatter of bullets that ripped into
his bed.

The carpet chafed Atsumu’s elbows as he steadied his arms and fired from the floor, taking down
another shadow and then the one behind it. There were more shots from further away, all muted,
probably silent to their oblivious neighbors.

The loudest thing in the apartment was Atsumu’s ragged voice when he shouted “‘Samu!”

Atsumu was on his feet, taking off at a sprint. He deftly avoided the furniture without a second
thought and leapt over the trio of bodies piled in his bedroom doorway.

The front door stood wide open. Someone was silhouetted in the threshold and Atsumu shot them
as he darted by, not pausing. He hurtled over the back of the couch, dashed down the hallway, and
skidded to a stop in front of Osamu’s room just as the light inside flared on, bright enough to make
Atsumu wince.

Osamu blinked at him over the barrel of his handgun. Three bodies were crumpled in front of his
door, too.

“Shit,” said Atsumu, breathless.

“Yeah,” agreed Osamu. “Shit.”

Atsumu lowered his gun. It was warm against his thigh. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Fine.” Atsumu retraced his path back to the front door and stepped over the body there to peer
beyond. The outside hallway was empty. He dragged the dead man inside and shut the door behind
him. He left a smear of blood on the deadbolt as he locked it. Atsumu wedged a foot under the
corpse’s shoulder and flipped it over. He didn’t recognize the face. “Who the fuck are these guys?”
“Don’t know,” said Osamu. He moved toward Atsumu’s room, as if to check the bodies there.

There was someone walking behind him.

Atsumu’s gun was already up, locking onto a perfect headshot, before he recognized them. He
huffed a breath and dropped his arm as Suna gave him a flat look.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” asked Atsumu.

Suna shrugged. He was wearing a t-shirt that looked suspiciously like one of Osamu’s. “Watching
a midnight assassination attempt, apparently. Who’d you piss off this time?”

“This time?” repeated Atsumu, incredulous. “No one’s ever tried to kill us before! Not like this,
anyway. Out on the street, sure, but this…” He glanced at the body by his feet.

If Atsumu hadn’t woken up, he would be a bullet-ridden corpse in his own bed. The thought was
like a shock of cold water to the face.

“I don’t know any of ‘em,” said Osamu, rejoining them. “Nobody we’ve dealt with before.”

“What’d they want, then?” asked Atsumu. He kicked the dead man in the ribs. The body jolted and
went still. A spill of blood was slowly spreading across the floor.

“Pretty sure they wanted to kill you,” said Suna, matter-of-fact.

“No shit. I mean why ?”

“You? There’s hundreds of reasons.” Suna glanced at Osamu. “Both of you? Not sure. Think
they’re another group of yakuza getting brave?”

“This isn’t yakuza work,” said Osamu. “We’re not cowards who pick people off in the middle of
the night.”

“Inarizaki isn’t,” said Suna. “You can’t speak for everyone.”

“We’ve gotta call Kita-san.” Atsumu reached for his phone and realized it wasn’t in his pocket. He
stepped over the body and ignored the squelch of blood under his feet. The cleanup would be a
nightmare.

“Maybe we should get outta here,” said Osamu. “They could be watchin’, to see if these guys
come out alive. What if they send more?”

“Let ‘em,” said Atsumu, as he kicked bodies out of his bedroom doorway. “They can all fuckin’
die here.”

“Sorry for the trouble, Kita-san.”

Atsumu and Osamu dipped into identical bows. Atsumu realized only then that there was dried
blood spattered at the bottoms of his sweatpants. He hoped Kita didn’t notice.

“There's no need to apologize. Come inside.”

Atsumu felt as if he was stepping into a temple as he crossed the threshold of Kita’s house. He’d
been there before, but on rare and select occasion. Never in the middle of the night, in rumpled
pajamas and messy hair.

“Thanks for bringing them, Aran,” said Kita, as Ojirou nodded and returned to the car where Suna
was waiting.

“We could’ve brought ourselves,” said Atsumu. “Didn’t need a bodyguard.”

Osamu elbowed him. “Thanks for the consideration, Kita-san.”

“If someone was bold enough to attack you like that, they might still be watching,” said Kita
calmly. He waved them further inside and led the way through the house. Everything was
staunchly traditional, from the kotatsu they stepped around in the main room to the give of the
tatami underneath Atsumu’s feet as Kita showed them to the guest room. Atsumu was glad he’d
stripped off his bloody socks before Ojirou had escorted them out of their apartment. “The futons
are stacked there, in the corner. Get a couple hours’ rest. Even if you were followed, you’re safe
here.”

He didn’t say that like a threat, but he didn’t have to. Even if someone was stupid enough to break
in to the Miyas’ apartment in the middle of the night, no one with half a brain cell would risk
stepping onto Kita’s property. Everyone knew of Kita Shinsuke, and although he was a well-
respected man of politeness and serenity, he could cut someone to ribbons without batting an eye.

“Thanks, Kita-san,” said Osamu.

“Yeah, thanks,” added Atsumu.

“It’s no trouble. We’ll handle this in the morning.” Kita backed out of the room and slid the door
shut.

Atsumu and Osamu were left standing side by side, exhaling at the same moment.

“Well this sucks,” said Osamu.

“Speak for yourself. I’ve always wanted to sleep in Kita-san’s house.”

Osamu knocked a shoulder into him. “In his bed, you mean.” He went to the futons and flung one
at Atsumu before unfolding his own. “I meant the way we almost died.”

“Oh. Yeah, that does suck.”

“Whataya think?”

“I have no idea. We haven’t even killed that many people lately. Less than usual.”

Osamu made a low sound of agreement. He straightened out his futon and slumped down on it,
stretching out with a sigh. “Grab the light.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, but also rolled out his futon before doing as Osamu said. The room wasn’t
really dark, even without the light. Unlike their apartment, Kita’s house was at the outskirts of the
city, far enough that the glow at the window was from the moon instead of artificial streetlights.
Atsumu hadn’t liked that, at first. He didn’t think it was safe for Kita to live out there by himself,
where someone could break in and attack him the same way they’d broken into the Miyas’
apartment.

But then he’d learned exactly what Kita was capable of, and hadn’t worried over it again.

Silence fell between them. Atsumu stared at the ceiling without a trace of weariness. He tossed a
glance at Osamu and discovered he was doing the same.

“So,” said Atsumu. “You wanna talk about why Suna was sleepin’ in your room?”

“Not really.”

“Was that your shirt he was wearin’?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t notice.”

“I’m your brother, ‘Samu. If you’re sleepin’ with someone else in Inarizaki, I should be the first
person you tell.”

“You’re the last person I’d tell about literally anything.” Osamu rolled over, his back to Atsumu.
“Goodnight.”

“Is this how I’m s’posed to find out you like guys? After all these years of you giving me shit for
it?”

“It was never about you liking men, it’s about your shit taste. I've seen the guys you've dated.”

“And you pick Suna ?”

“ Goodnight .”

Atsumu snorted and rolled onto his side too. He stared at the wall instead of the ceiling. Thinking
about Osamu sneaking around with Suna was a good distraction, but in its absence, his thoughts
drifted a couple of hours into the past when he’d been shooting for his life on his bedroom floor.

Nothing like this had ever happened to them; or to Inarizaki in general. Hyogo essentially belonged
to them. No one questioned that anymore, aside from the occasional police interference.

And the men who’d tried to kill them certainly hadn’t been police.

Atsumu stretched out more comfortably and closed his eyes. He tried not to think about it. It
wouldn’t do any good, not tonight. They’d work it out in the morning. Kita had said so, and Kita
was always right.

Instead, Atsumu focused on the present; the texture of Kita’s futon against his forearm, the soft
glow of moonlight beyond his eyelids, the lull of serenity that came with existing inside Kita’s
space. There was a faint scent of incense, as if it had burned hours ago and the smell had almost
drifted into nothing.

Atsumu didn’t know what had happened earlier that night, and he didn’t know what would happen
tomorrow. But he knew that as long as he was here, he was safe.

Eventually he slept, and it was a small mercy that he didn’t dream.

Atsumu woke up slowly, with none of the urgency that he’d felt just past midnight when a snap of
awareness had saved his life. He sat up, a little groggy, and rubbed at his face. Osamu was still
asleep, his breaths heavy and even. Atsumu thought about kicking him awake, and probably would
have done so at any other time. But he got up quietly and crept out of the room, giving his brother a
little more time to sleep before they had to think about what had happened the night before.

Atsumu hadn’t been in Kita’s house often enough to know where to find him, but a slow,
methodical sound gave him a clue. It sounded familiar, and only when Atsumu followed it down
the hallway did he realize it was the same metal-on-metal sound that he’d overheard on the phone
after their job. He hadn’t known what it was then, but he did now.

Kita sat on his knees in the middle of the floor, the hem of his yukata pooling on the tatami mat.
He held a sword, the blade glinting with each stroke against the whetstone. There was something
soothing about it, a long and slow metallic slide.

Atsumu used knives on occasion, but his weapon of choice was a handgun, like most of Inarizaki.
No one used swords anymore. That was a tradition that had expired years ago, well before Kita’s
time.

But if there was anything Kita loved, it was tradition.

“Good morning, Atsumu.” Kita didn’t look up.

“Mornin’, Kita-san.”

“I hope you rested well.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“You can come in.”

Atsumu hesitated. Even with the invitation it felt wrong to be that far into Kita’s space. Atsumu
had always kept his distance, out of respect.

He slipped into the room quietly and knelt at the edge of the mat. It felt like kneeling in a shrine.

“I have asked around, about yesterday,” said Kita. The sentence was punctuated by a long, smooth
snick . “No one knows anything, or they’re refusing the information. I’m waiting to hear back from
some others, but I doubt they will know anything more. It may take some time.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t guarantee your safety, until I know more,” said Kita. Snick . “I recommend you stay here
for a day or two, while we keep looking.”

There was a rustle of movement behind Atsumu. He didn’t turn, didn’t need to. Osamu joined him,
kneeling an arm’s-length away.

“We’ll have to make a trip back to the apartment,” said Osamu. His voice was thick from sleep, but
he spoke quietly, almost reverently. He must have felt the pious atmosphere the same as Atsumu.
“We didn’t grab anything on the way out. Only our guns.”

Snick . “You don’t need anything. You will be taken care of until we figure things out.”

Atsumu lowered his head. Beside him, Osamu did the same. “Thank you, Kita-san.”

“There’s no need. As your Kumicho, it is my duty.”

“Nah,” said Atsumu. “You’ve got it backwards. It’s our duty to take care of you, Kita-san.”

Kita smiled; not with his mouth, but with a slight softening of his eyes. “I suppose it works both
ways.” He gave the sword one last stroke against the whetstone and sat back, tilting the blade
under the light, judging the sharpness. Apparently satisfied, he rose with an impressive amount of
grace and replaced it on the wall, crossed over an identical sword. “You can give me more details
about the attack over breakfast.”

He left the room. Atsumu rose to do the same, but Osamu shoved him back down and lurched
upright to follow first. Atsumu almost hissed a curse under his breath but held it back. It felt wrong
to say those kinds of things here, in the sanctity of Kita’s home.

That was fine. He would have plenty to say to Osamu when they left.
 Chapter 2

Atsumu expected to be at Kita’s house for one more night, maybe two at most.

Three days later, they still didn’t know who wanted them dead.

“Maybe it was just a burglary gone wrong,” said Osamu for the eighteenth time. He was lying flat
on Kita’s back porch, face shaded by the tall but narrow tree growing in the direct center of the
small yard.

Atsumu sat nearby, the wall digging into his spine, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing. “With
those kinds of guns? Regular street thugs don’t have access to that kind of firepower.”

“What else could it be, then? They weren’t yakuza or we would’ve nailed it down by now. Kita
has connections everywhere.”

“I dunno.” Atsumu had said that at least a hundred times over the past seventy-two hours. He had a
feeling he’d be saying it a lot more. “Maybe we’ll never know. We should go back home. Could be
we’re worried over nothin’.”

“We almost died, ‘Tsumu.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t.”

Osamu sighed and closed his eyes against the shifting glare of the sun. “I hate sayin’ it, but…
Maybe you’re right.”

“’Course I am, I’m always right.”

“Biggest lie you’ve ever told.” Osamu sat upright and pushed his hair out of his face. He was
wearing the same sweats and t-shirt that he’d arrived in, but freshly laundered, thanks to Kita.
“What’re you thinkin’, then? Go back to normal and pretend it didn’t happen?”

“I guess. What else are we supposed to do? Can’t spend forever lookin’ over our shoulders.”

Osamu hummed. “Yeah. They might send someone else after us, though. Wish I knew what you
did wrong.”

“Shut up, I didn’t do shit. It’s obviously somethin’ you did wrong.”

Osamu kicked him in the knee, but without force. “Maybe you hired someone to come after us, to
have an excuse to crash at Kita-san’s house.”

Atsumu kicked him back, harder. “Fuck off.”

Osamu snorted, but grew more serious. “Think he’ll let us leave, without knowing who ordered the
hit?”

“I don’t think he has a choice. Not like we can stay here forever.”

“You both know you’re free to leave whenever you like.” Kita’s voice was low and calm as
always, but still Atsumu jumped like he’d touched a live wire. “I’m not keeping you here against
your will. It’s just a precautionary measure.”
“Kita-san.” Atsumu scrambled to his feet. He wondered how much of that conversation Kita had
heard. Hopefully not all of it. “We were just… talkin’. It’s not that we don’t appreciate bein’ here.
We do.”

“I know, Atsumu. I understand.” Kita stepped onto the porch and rested his hands on the railing.
He was dressed nicely, in a well-cut gray suit. He’d gone out to do some sort of business that he
hadn’t shared with the two of them. “I should have discovered by now who came after you. I
apologize for my failure.”

Atsumu and Osamu spoke at the same time.

“Kita-san, don’t-”

“It’s not your-”

They bit off their words, shared a look that weighed them down.

“You can make your own decision of what to do next,” said Kita. The sun was bright on his face,
but he was unflinching. “I’ll keep looking. If you’d like to stay, you can stay. If you’d like to go, I
won’t stop you.”

“You think you’ll find anything?” said Atsumu, quietly. He thought he knew what the answer was
already, and didn’t particularly want to hear Kita say it, but he had to ask.

“I don’t know.” Kita didn’t use those words very often. “I’ll do my best. That’s all I can promise.”

Osamu was frowning, a mirror image of Atsumu. “That’s all we could ever ask for, Kita-san.”

There was silence, a strain of birdsong from somewhere nearby. Atsumu said, “We’ve gotta go
home. We’ll be careful for a while, but we can’t do this forever. If they wanna take another shot at
us, let ‘em. We’ll handle it.”

Kita’s face did that thing, where he smiled without smiling. “I know you will.”

Kita had sent someone to their apartment to dispose of the bodies, but they’d done nothing about
the bloodstains.

“This is fuckin’ disgusting,” said Atsumu, an hour and a half after they’d started cleaning. “This
part’s worse than gettin’ shot at. I wish I could bring these bastards back so I could kill ‘em all over
again.”

“Then there’d be twice as much blood,” said Osamu. He’d taken a break – again – and was leaning
against the kitchen counter, watching Atsumu scrub dried blood off of the wooden floor in front of
the door. “Seems counterproductive.”

“Shut up, ‘Samu.”

Osamu shrugged and tipped back his soda.

They did the best they could, but it wasn’t perfect. The living room and hallway were fine, but
Atsumu’s bedroom floor was a lost cause. The carpet had soaked up the blood like a sponge. It was
matted and crusty and he would have to rip up the entire floor and put down new carpet. The worst
part was that he’d have to do it himself; it wasn’t as if he could hire someone to come replace it
without getting the police involved.

Osamu went to bed first, as was typical. Atsumu stayed up a little longer, watching tv without
actually watching it. He couldn’t even hear it. He was too busy listening to the hallway beyond the
front door, waiting for a scuffle of footsteps or an attempt to dislodge the new deadbolt they’d
installed two hours ago. His gun was beside him on the couch, loaded and ready. He hoped he
wouldn’t need it.

He was tired, but the idea of sleeping didn’t seem right. Every time he thought about going to bed,
he immediately thought about waking up to the slow twist of the doorknob and a shadow creeping
into his room.

Miya Atsumu wasn’t a coward. He liked to proclaim, often and loudly, that he wasn’t afraid of
anything.

Still, he paced over to the front door to check the deadbolt for the third time, started toward his
room, and stopped before he got there. He tapped the barrel of the gun idly against his thigh,
thinking, conflicted. He branched off the other way, hesitated, and tapped lightly on Osamu’s
bedroom door.

There was a pause before Osamu said, “What?”

Atsumu cracked the door open and peered inside. The light was off, but the glow from the hallway
was enough for him to see Osamu wasn’t in bed. He pushed the open wider and found him on the
floor, lying between the bed and the far wall. “The fuck’re you doin’?”

“Sleepin’, what’s it look like?”

At least a dozen snide comments burst into Atsumu’s head, but he didn’t say any of them. He
turned off the hallway light and stepped into Osamu’s room, closing the door behind him. Osamu
had made a nest of blankets for lack of a futon, and he moved over to make room when Atsumu
approached.

“Got an extra pillow?”

“On the bed. Don’t drool on it.”

“I’m not the one who drools.” Atsumu made himself as comfortable as possible, considering he
was on the floor instead of in his perfectly good bed two rooms away. He lied on his back and
stared up at the dark ceiling of Osamu’s room. “Think they’ll come back tonight?”

“No.” He sounded confident.

Then again, he wasn’t sleeping on the floor for no good reason.

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Atsumu. He snatched at Osamu’s blanket and yanked it over. He tucked
his gun under the pillow, within easy reach, and settled in.

They stayed like that all night, and when Atsumu woke up the next morning without any surprise
bullet wounds, he thought it was the best sleep he’d had in a while.
Their routine returned to normal over the next couple of days. They ran their usual errands for Kita,
which mostly consisted of collecting money, and stopped by the same food stalls as they did every
other day. The only difference was a slight tension in the air, tangible only to the two of them.
Atsumu felt it, but he also saw it in the set of Osamu’s shoulders when they were in their
apartment, in the clench of his jaw when they left. He was more restless than usual, his gaze
constantly darting here and there when they walked down the street. Atsumu wanted to snap at him
to stop, but couldn’t. He knew he was doing the same thing.

He wasn’t scared, not exactly, and he doubted Osamu was, either. It was a new wariness rather
than fear, a reminder that they weren’t invincible. Atsumu didn’t like that reminder. He preferred
to live with the attitude that he would never die, but it was hard to think that way after staring
down death in his pajamas.

He’d won. That was what mattered, at the end of the day. He’d won, and Osamu had won, and if it
ever happened again, they’d win that time, too.

Invincible. Atsumu told himself that and tried to believe it.

“Hey, wanna stop for mochi?” asked Osamu, as they left the loan shark’s business with a brown-
wrapped package that felt very much like a large stack of cash. “Your treat.”

“No way, I bought last time. It’s your turn.”

“Wanna play janken for it?”

“No! It’s your turn , why would I play for it?”

Osamu scuffed to a stop on the corner and turned to him, solemn. He extended a fist. Atsumu
scowled, tried to resist, but couldn’t help himself.

Five minutes later Atsumu was shelling out a handful of yen for a ridiculous selection of mochi,
grumbling about his stingy, cheating brother.

Osamu, his mouth full, didn’t seem to mind the insults.

“Choke on that,” said Atsumu, as they headed toward the car dealership several streets over.

Osamu said something back but it was so garbled from the mochi stuck to his teeth that Atsumu
didn’t understand it. Atsumu rolled his eyes anyway, because the tone was enough to know it had
been something snarky.

“I don’t know what I fucked up in my past life to get stuck with you,” said Atsumu, as the
crosswalk changed and they merged with the crowd. “I must’ve been a real shitty guy.”

Osamu mumbled something else, and Atsumu didn’t have to hear the words. He knew exactly what
he’d said.

“Yeah?” snapped Atsumu. “What’s that say about you, then, getting stuck with me? You must’ve
been scum. Still are, scrub.”

Osamu finally swallowed. “The gods know I’m the only one who can handle your bullshit without
killing you. I’ll be rewarded in my next life for putting up with it.”

Atsumu shoved him. “I hope you’re a pinecone in your next life, asshole.”

“I hope you’re an ant, and when I fall outta my tree I crush you.”

Atsumu tried to shove him again, but Osamu anticipated it. He skipped a step back, dodging, and
gave Atsumu a push forward. He stumbled, caught himself, and turned to spit another insult.

The acid shriveled on his tongue when he caught Osamu’s expression, hooded eyes wide, mouth
slightly open, locked onto something past Atsumu’s shoulder. Atsumu started to turn but didn’t
make it.

Osamu slammed into him, knocking him toward the row of cars parked on the street.

There was a crack of gunfire, right as Atsumu hit the ground. The street exploded into hysteria.
Screams split the air and people scattered like prey. The taste of panic was thick on Atsumu’s
tongue, thick like blood.

Osamu landed beside him in a slump, and the noise pushing through his teeth was pain.

Atsumu was on his feet immediately, crouched low, seizing Osamu and dragging him around the
bumper of the nearest car. He checked over his shoulder and there was another shot, a bullet
hissing by his ear. He caught a blur of two men, both armed, both aiming directly at him.

Atsumu dropped to his knees, reached for his gun with one hand, and shook Osamu with the other.
“’Samu. Hey. Sit up, we’ve gotta shoot our way outta this.”

Osamu made another sound, low in his chest. His eyes flickered open and squeezed closed again.
He clutched his shoulder and blood seeped through his fingers.

Atsumu had watched people get shot, but never Osamu. Never his brother.

He pushed into a crouch, propped his gun on the lip of the car they were using for cover, and fired
off a half dozen shots.

He missed; his hands were shaking too badly.

The shooters returned fire and Atsumu sank back down, hunching over Osamu.

“’Samu. You’re fine.” He had to be fine. There wasn’t an option. “Stop bein’ dramatic and sit up.”

Osamu wheezed and forced out a tight, “Fuck you.”

Atsumu gripped Osamu’s calf and squeezed. “Get your gun out. There’s two of ‘em. They’ll try
and creep in on us from both sides.”

Atsumu rose high enough to peer over the hood and found the shooters were doing exactly that. He
shot twice, to make them retreat, if just for a minute.

Osamu struggled, tried to move, and Atsumu grabbed his elbow to help. Osamu sat back against
the side of the car, still grasping his shoulder, blood soaking his hand and his sleeve. He fumbled
at the flap of his jacket with his other hand, clumsily searching for his gun.
“One’s down.” The voice was unfamiliar, almost unintelligible past the ringing in Atsumu’s ears
and the chaos of the street. “Was it the right one?”

“I don’t know, they look the same.” A different voice. Osamu held his gun close to his chest. He
was shaking so badly it would probably be useless. “We should get both, to be sure. He’ll be pissed
if we get it wrong.”

“Motherfuckers.” Atsumu hissed the word and took a breath to steady the tremor in his own hands.
He couldn’t panic now, as badly as he wanted to, as badly as seeing Osamu weak and bleeding
affected him. He was better than that. He had to keep it together.

Miya Atsumu wasn’t destined to die in a dirty Hyogo street, and Miya Osamu wasn’t destined to
die at all, if his brother had anything to say about it.

Atsumu fired off another warning shot over the hood and sank back down immediately when the
shots were returned. He dropped to his stomach and stretched his arms out in front of him. The
shooters were several yards away; close enough that Atsumu had a good shot at their kneecaps
from beneath the car.

He took a breath, held it, and bit the inside of his cheek to try and quell the shaking of his fingers.
He tasted blood, and that grounded him.

The first shot missed.

The second was dead on.

A man screamed. Atsumu shot again, missed, and his gun clicked dry. He pushed himself up,
yanked the gun out of Osamu’s weak grip, and threw himself across the hood of the car. There
were gunshots, but just one set, and they were delayed by surprise. Atsumu hit the ground, rolled
over his shoulder, popped up to one knee, and fired blindly. The first few bullets went wide, but it
was close enough to make the gunman flinch. Atsumu focused in, and the next shot was perfect.
The man fell as a bullet tore through his throat.

The one with the shattered kneecap had collapsed. He sat halfway up as Atsumu approached,
weakly wielding his gun. Atsumu kicked it out of his hand and shoved the barrel of his own into
the man’s forehead.

“Who the fuck,” snarled Atsumu, finger tight on the trigger, “wants us dead?”

He got only a blank stare in return, eyes full of dread and a gaping mouth.

Atsumu dug the gun in harder. “Tell me or you fuckin’ die.”

The man’s voice was shaky, fragile. “You’ll kill me anyway. The yakuza kills everyone.”

There was a siren in the distance. After a scene like this, the police would be barreling that way,
hoping to catch the culprits red-handed. For once it wasn’t Atsumu who’d started it, but they
wouldn’t care. He’d get arrested all the same, and not even Kita could get him out of this.

He could drag the guy off of the street and find somewhere to hide until the manhunt was over.
They could get the information out of him then, with more time.

But he couldn’t wrangle this man and Osamu at once, so there was really no choice.

Blood burst from the back of the man’s skull to paint the concrete. Atsumu holstered the gun as he
dashed back to the car, skidded around the bumper, and dropped to his knees beside Osamu.

“C’mon, we gotta get outta here before the police show up. Can you walk or do I hafta carry you?”

“Help me up.”

Atsumu seized Osamu under his armpit and hauled him to his feet. He was unsteady, but he stood
on his own. He was still bleeding; his sleeve was red nearly down to the elbow.

“Café down the block,” said Atsumu, crouching to grab his discarded gun. “Kita-san has a deal
with ‘em. They’ll let us hide out until it’s safe.”

Osamu started that way, staggered. Atsumu was there, propping him up, taking part of his weight
as they stumbled down the street. It was empty; everyone had taken cover.

“We’ll call Kita-san when we get inside,” said Atsumu, picking up speed as the sirens wailed
closer. “He’ll send someone over to patch you up. You’re fine.” Atsumu steadied Osamu as he
faltered. He repeated, more for himself than Osamu, “You’re fine.”

It wasn’t a great day for Atsumu.

Getting shot at in the street was one thing. He could’ve dealt with that.

Watching someone dig a bullet out of his brother’s shoulder was something else entirely.

“Almost got it,” said Oomimi, as the tweezers sank another millimeter into Osamu’s open wound.

Osamu shouted, as best he could around the leather belt clenched between his teeth.

Atsumu had never had a weak stomach, but he thought if this went on much longer he might throw
up or pass out or something .

“Ren, please,” he said, squeezing Osamu’s hand so his own wouldn’t be crushed under the force of
his grip.

“I’m doing the best I can. Osamu, stop moving.”

Osamu said something loud and probably profane, the words lost.

“I’d like to see you stop moving when someone’s diggin’ around in your fuckin’ shoulder,”
snapped Atsumu, since Osamu couldn’t. “The fuck’re you-”

“Got it,” said Oomimi, completely calm despite the tension on the air. He slowly retracted the
tweezers, and Atsumu caught a flash of bloody chrome.

Osamu screamed.

Atsumu pressed down on Osamu’s chest, holding him still, as the crumpled bullet emerged with a
fresh gush of blood. Bile rose in Atsumu’s throat.

Osamu sank back, panting, as if all of his strength had been plucked out along with the bullet. He
was paper-pale. Sweat dripped down his face in streams. He spat out the belt, the leather marked
with the deep imprint of his teeth.

“Fuck,” said Osamu, hoarse. “Shit. I wish it’d just killed me.”

“Shut the fuck up, ‘Samu.” Atsumu squeezed his hand one more time before peeling his own
away. It was numb. “You’re fine.”

“Just have to stitch it up,” said Oomimi, digging through the bag he’d carried in. His gloves were
bloody. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch me again,” said Osamu. “Leave it.”

“If I leave it, it’ll only get worse.”

“I don’t care. Leave it.”

“He’s gotta do it, ‘Samu,” said Atsumu, although he, too, wanted nothing more than for this to be
over. He was definitely going to throw up. It was just a question of whether he could wait until this
was done so Osamu wouldn’t know. “It won’t be bad.”

Oomimi pulled out a long, curved needle.

“Fuck this.” Osamu tried to sit up. Atsumu was prepared to hold him down, but he didn’t have to.
Osamu flopped back onto the table weakly, his entire chest damp with sweat. Atsumu wondered
how much blood he’d lost, wondered how much a person could lose. Even Osamu’s lips were pale.

“Hey, Ren?” asked Atsumu. “He’s okay, right? Like… he’s gonna be okay?”

“He should be,” said Oomimi, as he unwound a roll of black thread. “I’m not a doctor, but-”

“Then why the fuck’re you the one Kita sent?” snapped Osamu, his aggression lukewarm.

Oomimi, ever patient, continued, “I’m not a doctor, but I’ve done this often enough to make a good
guess. He’ll be down for a little while, but he should recover just fine. It’ll be a nasty scar, though.
I’m not great at stitches.”

Osamu groaned, low and weak.

“Sorry I couldn’t bring any painkillers.” Oomimi said it for the third time since he’d arrived as he
threaded the curved needle and hovered over the wound. “I’ll try to be quick about it.”

Atsumu pushed the belt back into Osamu’s mouth and he clamped down on it. Osamu’s fingers
twitched, weakly, and Atsumu took his hand again. “It’s almost over,” he said, to both Osamu and
himself. “Almost over.”

Osamu made a low, pained sound and closed his eyes as Oomimi started stitching.
It was hours later when they found themselves back at Kita’s house.

Atsumu couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been this tired, and if it was that bad for
him, he couldn’t imagine how Osamu felt.

They were a mess of dried blood and sweat as they stumbled across Kita’s doorstep, and while he
would have worried about ruining the sanctity of Kita’s personal space at any other time, Atsumu
was too exhausted to give it much thought.

“I laid out a futon for him,” said Kita, as Atsumu propped Osamu against the wall and knelt to
yank his shoes off. “I have some painkillers, if you’d like.”

“It’s a little fuckin’ late for that,” said Osamu wearily. He swayed on his feet as Atsumu curled an
arm around him and guided him toward the back of the house, to the guest room they’d used a few
nights before.

“He’ll take some, thanks, Kita-san,” said Atsumu. “Also he’s sorry for cussin’ at you. He’ll
apologize tomorrow.”

The short walk to the back room lasted a decade. When they arrived, Atsumu tried to help his
brother down to the floor gently, but Osamu simply plopped down and groaned, hunching over his
shoulder. His shirt had been ruined, but Oomimi had bartered a new one from the café owners
who’d sheltered them so they wouldn’t draw attention when they slipped through the backdoor of
the business and got into Ojirou’s waiting car. The buttons were done up clumsily and flashes of
skin showed through; some pale, some patterned with ink.

Osamu tried to lie down, but Atsumu stopped him.

“Wait until Kita-san brings you some pills.”

“I needed them three fuckin’ hours ago. Doesn’t matter now.”

“It does if you wanna sleep tonight,” said Atsumu. “They’ll knock you out for a while. You’ll feel
better in the morning.”

“It fuckin’ hurts, ‘Tsumu.”

“I know it does. It’ll be better tomorrow. By next week we’ll be laughin’ about it.” Atsumu didn’t
think that was true at all, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Kita appeared in the doorway, silent as a shadow. He dropped a pair of pills into Atsumu’s hand,
placed a glass of water on the floor, and disappeared again.

“Here,” said Atsumu, without even checking what he’d been given. It didn’t matter. He trusted
Kita. “Take these.”

Osamu did, and Atsumu helped ease him down onto his back. Atsumu sat beside him for a few
minutes, listening to Osamu’s labored breaths.

He wondered if this was his fault, if they were being targeted because of something he’d done. He
didn’t know what it could be. He ran through a mental list of everyone he’d wronged over the past
couple of months. None of it had been worse than usual, and it had been nothing malicious, just
yakuza business. Osamu had been with him during almost all of it. He couldn’t come up with a
single thing that would have warranted this sort of vindictive response, but it must have been him.
Atsumu was worse than Osamu, had always been. If one of them had pissed someone off enough to
send teams of men to kill them, it must have been Atsumu.

“I’m gonna go talk to Kita-san,” said Atsumu. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll come back.”

Osamu grunted, but said nothing.

Atsumu rose, stepped into the hallway, and slid the door shut. His forehead thumped against it and
he stood there for a minute, lost in the tangled thorns of his own thoughts. All at once he was
moving, rushing down the hallway to the bathroom. He hit the floor so hard he knew his knees
would bruise and finally gave in to the nausea that had rolled in his stomach for the past three
hours.

When his throat was raw and his chest hurt from all the heaving, he wiped his mouth and collapsed
back on the floor. He was drenched in cold sweat and he could feel the dried blood on his skin,
crusted in the hair on his arms. His stomach gave one more weak little lurch, but Atsumu couldn’t
move. He didn’t even have the strength to throw up again.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, face pressed against the cool floor, but eventually Kita
said, “Come into the kitchen. I made some tea.”

Atsumu’s response was hardly more than a groan. When he pried his eyes open, Kita was already
gone.

Atsumu didn’t want tea. He didn’t want anything, except to start the day over again and do it better
this time. If anyone else had asked him to move, he would’ve told them to go fuck themselves.

But since it was Kita, Atsumu peeled himself off of the bathroom floor, washed his face and his
hands in the sink, and went to the kitchen.

He sat on a mat at the low table, cross-legged, and stared at the cup of tea Kita placed in front of
him.

“Thank you, Kita-san,” he said, although he didn’t reach for it.

Kita sat across from him, drinking from his own cup. He looked the same as always. Atsumu
looked and felt like a train wreck.

“I can’t say anything to make this better,” said Kita quietly. “Only that I’ll do everything I can to
find out who’s responsible, and they’ll pay in blood.”

That should have been a comfort. Kita didn’t make promises lightly.

But Atsumu was just so tired .

“What do we do now?” he asked. His throat was still raw. He took a sip of tea, to try and soothe it.
He tasted honey. “Me and ‘Samu, I mean.”

“I have an idea,” said Kita. He turned his cup in his hands. “You won’t like it.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Atsumu didn’t ask. He’d had enough for the day. He thought that could
wait until tomorrow.

There was a knock at the front door. Kita rose to get it, and Atsumu drank more tea. He noticed, in
a detached sort of way, that his hands were shaking.

When Kita returned to the table, he wasn’t alone. Suna was in tow, looking strangely out of place
in Kita’s home.

“Hey,” said Suna. He eyed Atsumu, assessing.

“Hey.”

“Is he okay?”

“Sleepin’.”

Suna glanced down the hallway, toward the guest room, and then back at Atsumu. It was almost as
if he was asking for permission.

Atsumu waved a hand and Suna went, his steps careful and quiet.

Atsumu had called Suna after the incident, when Osamu was stitched up and wiping tears out of his
eyes. Osamu had asked him to. Demanded it, really.

Atsumu wondered when Osamu had started caring about Suna as more than just another Inarizaki
member. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed.

“You should get some rest, too,” said Kita. “You look like you’ve had a hard day.”

“That’s the most polite way anyone’s ever told me I look like shit,” murmured Atsumu. He took
another sip of tea. It sat uncomfortably in his stomach, but he thought he could keep it down.

“I’ll apologize to Osamu properly tomorrow,” said Kita, his impassive mouth slipping into a slight
frown. “I need to apologize to you, too. I didn’t protect you the way a Kumicho should. Forgive
me.”

“Stop it,” said Atsumu, a little sharper than he meant to. “None of this is your fault. I fucked up
somewhere and did somethin’ stupid, made some enemies. I just… don’t remember what I did.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this, Atsumu.”

“No one else around to blame, is there?”

Kita sighed, an almost silent hum of breath. “We’ll figure this out. I’m not sure how, not yet, but
we will.”

Atsumu stared into his cup. It was nearly empty. He started to speak, swallowed. In a low voice, he
said, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if they’d got him. If it hadn’t just been his shoulder.”

“That isn’t what happened,” said Kita. “Thinking about it won’t get you anywhere.”

“But next time-”

“There won’t be a next time.” Kita’s voice was still calm, but it was the same unyielding steel of
his swords. “I won’t let either of you get hurt again.”

He said it like he meant it.

Atsumu wanted to believe him. He wanted to so badly.

He thought of earlier, when he’d told himself he was invincible. That felt like weeks ago, months.

Atsumu was not invincible, and neither was his brother, and he realized it now more than ever.
 Chapter 3

A week went by, and Atsumu spent it staring at the walls of Kita’s house. They seemed closer with
each passing day, as if the rooms were shrinking around him. He knew it was in his head, but that
didn’t stop him from feeling trapped.

Osamu improved. He was up and mobile, one arm strapped into a sling to stop him from irritating
his shoulder wound. It was closing up well, but Oomimi had been right. It would turn into an ugly
scar.

The week felt like forever, but at the same time, it was over in an instant. Atsumu wanted it to end
but also wished it never would, because he knew what would happen when the week was over.
They’d spent hours talking about it. Kita had laid out the plan, making small changes here and
there, and Atsumu had refuted him at every turn. When Kita had said that first night that Atsumu
wouldn’t like his idea, he’d been right. Atsumu didn’t like it. He hated it.

But Kita was insistent, and although Atsumu didn’t want this, he knew he would have to do it. At
the end of the day, he didn’t have a choice. Kita was in charge. He’d humored Atsumu’s
arguments, had spoken to him like an equal instead of a subordinate, but Atsumu knew that if he
downright refused, there would be consequences. Kita didn’t often have to prove his authority,
because Inarizaki always listened to him with reverence. His orders were followed without
hesitation.

Atsumu had never questioned him before, had never felt the need to. Even now, when he wanted to
fight this with his last breath, he knew Kita had his reasons, and they weren’t even bad reasons,
objectively.

But this wasn’t a situation that Atsumu could see objectively.

“What if something happens to him?” he said again, the same as he’d said every time they repeated
this conversation. “Last week, if I hadn’t been there-”

“It’s not comparable,” said Kita. “Neither of you will be in harm’s way.”

“Then it shouldn’t matter if we’re together,” said Atsumu. He knew he sounded like a whining
child, but he couldn’t help it. “If we’re gonna be safe anyway, it shouldn’t matter if we-”

“You’re more recognizable as a pair,” said Kita. “You draw attention when you’re together. We
have to avoid that.”

“But what if he-”

“Atsumu.” Kita’s voice was unwavering. “We’ve talked about this. It’s the safest option for both of
you. It’s all I can do for now, until we can trace back the hit and eliminate whoever made it. You’ll
be safe. Both of you will be safe.”

“We’re safe here,” said Atsumu, his voice small. He was losing the battle and he knew it. “We can
just stay here with you.”

“If they’re desperate to get to you,” said Kita, “staying here won’t stop them. They drew guns in
the middle of the street. Clearly their sense of self-preservation is lacking.”

“Kita-san…”
Kita’s hand was on his shoulder. It would have been comforting at any other time, but now it felt
like a weight driving Atsumu into the ground. “You will be safe, Atsumu. Both of you. You have
my word.”

For a large part of Atsumu’s life, Kita’s word had been the most concrete thing that he’d known.

Now it didn’t feel like nearly enough.

The train was crowded. They’d gotten on early amid a herd of commuters and had stood for a
while before seats freed up. Now they were in the back, Osamu sitting by the window and Atsumu
beside him, staring blankly at the duffel bag between his feet. Ojirou was somewhere nearby,
blending with the crowd. Suna was standing at the end of their aisle, loosely holding onto the
hanging strap overhead. His sharp eyes were everywhere, and they locked onto Osamu every time
he moved.

Atsumu tried not to think about where they were, or where they were going. He tried not to think
about anything at all.

“Hey.”

He glanced at Osamu, who continued to stare out the window. “What?”

“Stop pouting,” said Osamu. “Makes you look twelve years old.”

Atsumu would’ve hit him, if Osamu hadn’t already been injured. “Shut up. I’m not pouting.”

“Sure looks like it.” Osamu turned his head, his eyes heavy and ringed with dark circles that
matched Atsumu’s. “It’s gonna be fine. We’ll be back home in no time.”

“You don’t know that,” scoffed Atsumu. “Kita-san has no idea who’s after us or why. He might
never find out, and what then? We stay away forever? Or go home and wait for someone to kill
us?”

“I’m the one who got shot,” said Osamu, “and if I say it’s gonna be fine, it’s gonna be fine. Don’t
be so damn dramatic.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

Atsumu sank back in his seat and folded his arms. Suna watched them, but didn’t speak. Atsumu
wondered how Suna felt about this plan. He hadn’t asked, and Suna hadn’t offered his opinion.
Osamu probably knew. They’d spent a lot of time together over the past week, huddled in the back
room of Kita’s house, their conversations cutting to silence any time Atsumu walked in.

Atsumu was still surprised that there was something between them. He should have known, and he
wondered how many other secrets Osamu was keeping from him. It didn’t seem fair. Atsumu
always told his brother everything. He wondered if there was a reason Osamu hadn’t trusted him
enough to share this with him.

Atsumu was probably bitter about it, deep down, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. They’d
been on the train for nearly three hours and Atsumu knew his destination was coming up soon.
He’d have plenty of time to be mad at Osamu later, when they were back home.

If they were ever back home.

“You’re doin’ it again,” said Osamu. He jabbed a finger into Atsumu’s arm. “Stop.”

“I can’t fuckin’ stop.” Atsumu slapped Osamu’s hand away. “I don’t know how you can be so
calm about this. Aren’t you pissed? ‘Cause I’m pissed.”

“Kita-san knows what he’s doing.” Suna spoke softly, his words almost lost in the din of the train
car. “He didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course he had a choice!” Atsumu fought the urge to stand up. If he stood up, he would start
yelling. He was almost doing it already. “He could’ve made the choice to keep us around and
protect us instead of shippin’ us across the fuckin’ country!”

“’Tsumu, people are lookin’ at us,” mumbled Osamu.

“I don’t care!” Atsumu made a sound that was half growl and all frustration. He folded over and let
his head hang over his knees, hands buried in his hair. He knew this was hardly more than a
tantrum, and he should’ve grown out of this kind of thing years ago, but he couldn’t help it. He was
mad, and he was worried, and worst of all, he was scared.

If he’d said that, maybe Osamu would understand. But he didn’t, couldn’t admit it to Osamu, could
barely even admit it to himself.

“Kita-san has me going to Osaka, when I get back,” said Suna. He sounded closer, but Atsumu
didn’t raise his head. “He has contacts in different circles there. I’ll ask around, see if anyone
knows about the hit. Aran’s doing the same thing in Kyoto. The others are still focused on Kobe.
We’re doing everything we can.”

“And what happens when you don’t find shit?” said Atsumu.

“Then I’ll stop asking,” said Suna, “and start killing until someone else finds out for me.”

Atsumu looked up at him. Suna’s face was the same as ever, but there was something new about
his eyes, knifeblade-sharp. “Kita-san won’t let you do that,” said Atsumu.

“I don’t remember saying I’ll ask for permission.”

Atsumu had always liked Suna in a passive sort of way. Suddenly he liked him a little bit more.

“You’re just worried you won’t have me around to take your side when you make an ass of
yourself in public,” said Osamu. “You’ll have to be a functional member of society all by yourself.”

“You’ve never taken my side a day in your whole life, ‘Samu.”

An announcement sounded from overhead. The first Tokyo stop was coming up in ten minutes.

Atsumu ignored the nervous lurch in his gut. “Guess that’s me.”

On cue, Ojirou appeared. “We’ll be getting off soon,” he said. “I’ll go on up to the doors. Meet me
there.” He slipped through the crowd and Atsumu wondered what would happen if he just refused
to move.

Ojirou would probably throw Atsumu over his shoulder and carry him out.

“At least I don’t have to stay on this train for another two hours,” said Atsumu, nudging an elbow
into Osamu’s arm. “Sucks for you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d rather ride for two more hours than get dropped off in fuckin’ Tokyo.”

“You’re just jealous I got better digs,” said Atsumu, although he had no idea if that was true. Kita
had told them a little information about who they would be staying with, but Atsumu had a feeling
he was keeping a lot of things to himself. Kita hadn’t lied – he’d never lied in his life, as far as
Atsumu knew – but he wasn’t always forthcoming.

“Whatever,” said Osamu. “Call me tonight so I can hear how much you miss me.”

“Not nearly as much as you’ll miss me.” Atsumu rose with a pit in his stomach. He hefted his bag
over his shoulder and hesitated. He stared down at Osamu’s knees and said, “Take care of yourself,
alright? Don’t go out gettin’ shot again.”

“Don’t plan on it.” Osamu reached up to squeeze Atsumu’s forearm. “Keep your attitude under
control around these new guys. Don’t piss ‘em off the first time you open your dumb mouth.”

“You kiddin’? They’ll love me, why wouldn’t they?” Atsumu slipped out of the aisle and started to
merge toward the center of the car when Osamu spoke up.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu looked back. Osamu watched him with more intensity than was typical for him.

“I’ll see you soon,” said Osamu. “Okay?”

Atsumu nodded and tried to sound confident when he said, “Yeah, of course. Okay. See ya,
‘Samu.” He gave Suna a weak wave before turning and pacing down the main aisle toward the
doors. Ojirou was waiting in the midst of a dozen others who were clearly headed to the same stop.

“Alright?” asked Ojirou.

Atsumu stepped up next to him and adjusted the strap of his bag. “Yeah, fine. I just wanna get this
over with.”

Tokyo was a big place. Atsumu would have known that even without the few childhood trips his
family had taken there, back when he’d still had a family to speak of outside of Osamu. The
buildings were too tall, the crowds were too thick, and there was something unpleasant about the
air that really made him miss Hyogo.

Then again, that might have just been because he didn’t want to be here.
“This looks like the place,” said Ojirou, coming to stop in front of a mochi shop that made Atsumu
think of his brother. He stared at it, skeptical, and started to question him until he realized Ojirou
was looking across the street.

Atsumu turned to stare over at the four-story building, nondescript except for neat rows of
windows and a sign above the door that declared, in bold black letters, “MSBY”. There was
nothing else; no signs, no details, no further indication of what sort of business it was, if it was
even a business at all. The people passing by didn’t spare it a second glance.

Atsumu didn’t have a good feeling about it.

But again, he thought that was probably because he wanted to go home.

“You know anything about them?” asked Atsumu, not moving.

“Never met them personally,” said Ojirou, shrugging. “Heard a lot of stories. I have a cousin who
runs with one of the smaller yakuza groups out here. They always avoid these guys. He said
they’re not somebody to mess with.”

“Why?”

“They’re dangerous, from what I hear. Their Kumicho is selective about who he lets in. He only
wants the best.”

Atsumu didn’t like the sound of that. It wasn’t how Inarizaki operated. If someone wanted in, and
they were loyal to Kita, that was all that mattered. It was about family, about protection.

“How’s Kita-san know them?” asked Atsumu. “He said he’s good friends with the Kumicho here.
Doesn’t seem like his kind of people.”

“I don’t know. He’s never talked about it.”

“Right,” said Atsumu. It wasn’t surprising. Kita didn’t talk about his past. Maybe Oomimi would
know if he was around, but he was still back in Hyogo, exactly where Atsumu wanted to be.
“Okay, well. Thanks for bodyguarding me to Tokyo, Aran.”

Ojirou snorted. “Anytime. Want me to go in with you?”

“Nah, it’s fine. You need to get going, if you’re gonna make it to Kyoto.”

Ojirou didn’t ask how Atsumu knew where he was going. “Watch yourself out here, Atsumu.
Tokyo’s a big place.”

“That’s the point, I think,” said Atsumu with a sigh. “Get lost in the middle of everyone else and
no one will even know I’m here. Either that or Kita-san was finally sick of me and this was the
perfect excuse to send me packin’.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll get you home soon,” said Ojirou, patting Atsumu’s shoulder. “We’re all working on it. You
need anything at all, call me. I’ll be here for you. In approximately three hours.”

Atsumu laughed despite himself. “Thanks, Aran. Have a safe trip back.”
Ojirou retreated back the way they’d come and Atsumu watched him go. He knew he was
procrastinating and continued to do it anyway, until Ojirou was well out of sight and the bag on
Atsumu’s shoulder was getting heavier by the minute. He took a breath that tasted of Tokyo air and
started toward the crosswalk.

The door was heavy. Atsumu shoved it hard and stepped into the MSBY building. When the door
slammed closed behind him, he immediately felt trapped. It was dark inside, dark enough that he
waited on the threshold for his eyes to adjust. He ventured further inside and turned the corner into
an area that was more well-lit, with sunlight slanting through the windows. A rectangular bar took
up the center of the room, with tables scattered around the edges. A small flock of pool tables was
in one corner and a wall of dartboards in the other. Music was playing, something warm and
smooth and turned down so low Atsumu hardly noticed it. There were a few customers seated at
the bar or at a couple of the tables, but their voices were just murmurs. It was eerily quiet for a bar.
Atsumu didn’t like it.

He sidled up to the counter, waited for the bartender to finish pouring a beer, and wondered if
Ojirou had brought him to the wrong place. If so, maybe he could hop the next train to Miyagi and
hide out there with Osamu instead.

“What can I get you?” asked the bartender, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Uh.” Atsumu wasn’t sure how much to say, or if she would have any idea what he was talking
about. He settled for, “I’m here to see Meian-san?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You have an appointment?”

Maybe this was the right place. “Kind of?”

“Sounds like a no.”

“No, I do. Uh… Kita-san sent me. From Hyogo.”

She frowned at him but said, “Have a seat.” She paced to the other side of the bar and picked up a
phone.

Atsumu pointedly did not have a seat.

A minute later she was back. “Head on upstairs. Back out that door to the right.”

Atsumu did as she said and found a steep flight of stairs near the back of the building. A man sat in
a fold-out chair at the foot of them, as if he was guarding something. The man stood as Atsumu
approached, and Atsumu looked up at him – way up, because he must have been nearly a foot
taller than Atsumu.

“You got business here?” asked the man, in a tone that scraped lower than a normal human’s voice
should.

MSBY was clearly serious about their security.

“I’m here to see Meian-san,” said Atsumu. He tried to sound confident. “Kita-san sent me, from
Hyogo.” He felt it was best to say that again, to avoid any potential misunderstandings that could
result in a broken neck.

“Oh.” The man slumped back down in his chair with the force of an avalanche. His face shifted
into something significantly less terrifying. “Top floor.”
Atsumu released a breath. “Cool. Thanks.” He made himself take the first few stairs slowly, so it
wouldn’t seem like he was fleeing. After he climbed the first flight, he picked up the pace. He
passed a door on the next floor up that was unlabeled, and another on the floor after that. If the
lowest level was a bar, he wondered what this other space was used for. He hoped he wouldn’t be
around long enough to find out.

The air was cold, manufactured, as he approached the door on the top floor. It wasn’t marked
either, just plain black-painted metal with a silver handle. The entire ascent had been silent but
there were voices now, distant and muffled. Atsumu tried to tell himself that this would be fine, but
he couldn’t make himself believe it. Instead he murmured, “You don’t have a choice,” and that was
the motivation that got him through the door.

The voices were immediately louder, swelling around him like a wave.

“And then he was like, ‘I told the guy you sent last week I’m not doing it, all of you can fuck right
off.’ And I was kinda mad, right? Because who’s he think he’s talking to? So I squared up and was
like, ‘you’ll do it, or I’ll get rid of you myself and find someone else who’ll do it.’ And then the
asshole swung at me. Can you believe that? He swung . At me .”

There was a scatter of laughter. Atsumu took another creeping step and let go of the door.

That was a mistake. It slammed shut, and the room beyond went quiet. Atsumu braced himself,
stepped around the corner, and found himself in an office that was more of a lounge, with such a
different atmosphere from the bar downstairs that he almost thought he’d ended up in a different
building. The room was bright with sunlight and overhead bulbs, the walls were warm and rich and
dotted with abstract paintings, and there was a semi-circle of sleek leather couches, currently
occupied.

About a dozen men were present, all lazing on the couches and all staring directly at Atsumu.

“Uh.” He glanced around, trying and failing to pick Meian out of the crowd. It was impossible.
Kita had said hardly anything about him, and he especially hadn’t mentioned what he looked like.
“Hey.”

One of them snorted, and another laughed, low and soft.

“Yo, you must be Miya.” One of the men stood and Atsumu was quietly relieved. “Kita said you’d
be around today. Come on in, make yourself at home.” He grinned, wide and friendly, and Atsumu
thought maybe this one wasn’t Meian either. A Kumicho wouldn’t greet him so casually, and
Atsumu had only seen Kita smile approximately three times since they’d known each other.

“Thanks,” said Atsumu, uncertain. He shrugged off his bag and put it aside, but didn’t otherwise
move.

“We’re just having a quick staff meeting, of sorts,” said the man who was maybe-but-maybe-not-
Meian. His hair was pushed back in a nonchalant sort of way that made Atsumu even more unsure.
His suit was dark, and the white shirt underneath had several buttons undone. “Take a seat. Might
as well jump right in, since you’ll be around for a while.”

Atsumu really hoped his stay would be much shorter than “a while”, but he didn’t say that. He
awkwardly approached one of the couches that was occupied only by one man, sitting in the
extreme corner with his chin propped on a gloved fist. He was all in black, nearly camouflaged
against the dark leather couch.
Atsumu was a step away when the man snapped, “Don’t sit here.”

Atsumu scuffed to a stop.

Someone behind him laughed. A different voice said, “C’mon Sakusa, give him a break. He’s
new.”

“I don’t care.” The voice filtered from behind the mask shielding the man’s mouth. His glare was
black ice. “Move away from me.”

Meian – or the man Atsumu assumed was Meian – frowned at him. Before he could say anything,
someone else piped up.

“Come over here new guy, you can sit with us!” There was a shuffle of movement and Atsumu
turned to see the two most noticeable of the men scoot aside to make room. One was a redhead
who looked a little too young and a lot too innocent to be here. The other was white-haired and
large-eyed, with shoulders so wide Atsumu wondered if he had to walk sideways to fit through
doors.

For lack of options, and the increasing pressure of everyone staring at him, Atsumu went. He sank
into the middle of the couch, the leather creaking under him.

“This is Miya,” announced maybe-Meian, gesturing at him. “He’s sticking with us for a while, as a
favor to Kita. Treat him as well as you treat each other. Well, better than you treat each other, for
some of you assholes.” His eyes might have slipped toward Sakusa, the sullen one.

“Thank you for having me,” said Atsumu. He wondered if he should stand up when he talked to
Meian, as a show of respect. A lot of the guys back home did that for Kita. He and Osamu had at
first, until they’d gotten more comfortable around him.

Before he could decide, maybe-Meian said, “It’s no trouble at all, anything for Kita. I still owe
him, even all these years later.”

Atsumu wasn’t sure what he meant by that but he wasn’t about to ask.

“I’m Meian Shugo,” he said, clearing up that part of Atsumu’s confusion. “Good to meet you.
These are all my best men. We get together every now and then to catch up on business.” He
proceeded to rattle off everyone’s names, as if Atsumu was supposed to remember them. Atsumu
did his best, but by the end of the round of introductions, he only caught Bokuto and Hinata, seated
on either side of him, and Sakusa, the rude one.

“Anyway,” said Meian when he’d finished, “where were we? Oh, Bokuto, finish telling us about
the real estate guy.”

Bokuto blinked and sat up straighter, as if just remembering. “Oh! Right. So yeah, the idiot swings
at me, right? And he’s like, this tall-” He made a gesture that did nothing to indicate how tall the
man in question may have been- “and like, I didn’t even plan to hit him hard, you know? Just a
little tap. But I guess I misjudged it. Anyway, point is, he agreed to your deal.”

A couple of the men laughed. Atsumu glanced sideways at Bokuto without turning his head. There
was a smear of blood on the collar of Bokuto’s shirt. He very much doubted the blood belonged to
Bokuto.

“Excellent, good job, Bokuto,” said Meian. Bokuto beamed. “Inunaki, what about you? Give me an
update.”
A man across the room with sandy hair and a pale suit started talking, his demeanor much calmer
than Bokuto’s. Atsumu kind of listened, but he mostly wondered what the hell he was supposed to
be doing here. Kita had made it sound like a safe house type of situation, where he’d be sheltered
until the threat on his life had passed. He hadn’t expected to end up sitting in one of Meian’s
meetings within the first fifteen minutes of arriving; especially not a meeting like this, which was
clearly among his most elite members.

Atsumu tried to remember everything Kita had said about them. Black Jackals. That’s what they
called themselves. Meian and his Black Jackals.

“I don’t care what he told you, stay on his ass,” said Meian. He crossed one ankle over the
opposite knee and sat back. “He’s a lying sack of shit who’ll double cross us the first chance he
gets. I’ve wanted to get rid of him for a good year now. Find me a reason.”

Inunaki dipped his head. “Consider it done.”

At least someone around here had manners.

Meian turned his head. “Hinata.”

The redhead beside Atsumu sat bolt upright so quickly that he briefly left the couch. “Yes!”

“Anything new with you?”

Hinata inhaled, quick and hard. “I made the rounds on the strip today just like you said, and talked
to everyone, and they were all really agreeable and said they’re doing what they said they’d do, and
said to send you their regards and they hope you’re doing well, and this one really nice old lady
gave me flowers to give to you, but I took them home and put them in water so they wouldn’t die
and then forgot about them until… until just now.” He said it all in one breath and then sat back, as
if all of his energy had left him.

Meian laughed, clear and bright. “How about you just keep them for me. My girl will get jealous if
I have flowers from someone else. Even if it’s a nice old lady.”

“Got it!” chirped Hinata. He was smiling, wide and bright.

Atsumu had no idea how Hinata had gotten roped into this. He looked like a college kid, not a
yakuza-in-training. Maybe not even in training, if he was in this meeting with the high-caliber
members.

But Atsumu had learned a long time ago not to judge someone on their appearance. After all, he’d
once thought Oomimi was terrifying, when in reality the worst thing he’d ever done was yank a
bullet out of Osamu’s shoulder.

“Okay, great work, guys,” said Meian, clapping his hands once. “You all have your jobs. I’ll be in
touch and we’ll do this again soon. Yell if you need something. Oh, and watch out for Hirugami
and his merry band of dumbasses. You see them hanging around on our property you give me a
call immediately, got it?”

A rumble of assent circulated through the room. Atsumu almost felt like he should chime in, but
kept his mouth shut.

“Alright, head on out, then. Make good choices.” He said that with a slight grin, leaning back
against the couch as the others started to rise. “Yo, Hino, hang back for a minute. You too Ueda,
and Sakusa.”
The three of them stayed, and mostly everyone else headed toward the door, talking amongst
themselves. Bokuto, on Atsumu’s left, stayed right where he was.

“So, Miya!” His voice was louder than necessary. “You’re from Hyogo? I’ve never been there!
What’s that like? Is there cool stuff out there?”

Atsumu checked to his right. Hinata was still there too, watching with wide eyes, as if he was
equally as invested in the answer.

“Uh… The Port Tower is pretty cool,” he said. “Harborland, too. Probably not as nice as the stuff
you guys have here in Tokyo.”

“Have you been here before?” asked Bokuto, leaning closer in his eagerness. “Tokyo, I mean.
There’s all kinds of things to do! We can show you around, right, Shouyou?”

“Yeah!” said Hinata, bouncing in place. “When I moved here, Bokuto-san showed me all the best
stuff! You have to see the Skytree!”

“Maybe sometime?” said Atsumu, noncommittal, as he glanced at Meian, who was still talking to
one of the other men. He didn’t know if he would be allowed to leave MSBY at all, certainly not
for something as inconsequential as a tourist trip.

“We’ll be around, whenever you want to go!” said Bokuto. He stood and stretched his arms
overhead. His sleeves were so tight around his biceps that Atsumu wondered how the seams didn’t
split. “Except when we’re working and stuff. But hey, maybe you can come with us for that, too!
We have a good time.”

“The best time!” chimed Hinata.

Bokuto laughed and companionably slapped Atsumu on the shoulder. “We’ll swing back by here
for a drink tomorrow. I’ll try to catch you then!”

“Uh, sure,” said Atsumu, because he didn’t know how else to respond to that. He was so far out of
his element that it felt like drowning.

“C’mon, Shouyou, let’s go grab some food.” Bokuto left the room with Hinata bounding along
after him like a particularly bright shadow.

Meian wrapped up his conversation and gestured further into the room, toward an unmarked door.
“You two go wait in my office. I need to talk to you about something confidential. Give me five
minutes.”

The two men he’d asked to wait, whose names Atsumu had already forgotten, disappeared through
the door. Only Atsumu and Meian remained; and Sakusa, who hadn’t moved from his spot
crowded into the furthest corner of the couch.

“I’m guessing by that confused look on your face that I don’t do things quite like Kita, huh?” asked
Meian with a grin.

Atsumu thought about his answer before he gave it. “Not really, but that’s not sayin’ his way is
better than yours. He just approaches things different.”

Meian laughed. “You sound a lot like him. That Kansai accent, I mean. Only he doesn’t have as
much of it.” He straightened his jacket. “Anyway, I’m glad he trusted me with you, Miya. We’ll
take good care of you, right, Sakusa?”
Sakusa didn’t answer. He was pointedly avoiding eye contact with both of them.

Atsumu had only known them for fifteen minutes but he was pretty sure Sakusa would watch him
bleed out on the pavement with nothing more than passive disinterest.

“Kita says you’re good,” said Meian, his attention returning to Atsumu. “One of his best. He hated
to lose you at all, said shit would be harder without you around.”

Atsumu perked up a little. “He said that?”

“In fewer words, but that was the gist. He said I could trust you with anything, and that’s what I’m
going to do. You willing to work for your room and board, Miya?”

“Yeah, of course,” said Atsumu immediately. He didn’t know what kind of work Meian wanted,
but anything was better than sitting behind a locked door, waiting for Kita to call him with an all-
clear. “Anything you need, Meian-san.”

Meian pointed a finger at him. “That’s the kind of attitude I like. You hear that, Sakusa? Take a
note.”

“If you didn’t like the way I do things, I wouldn’t be here,” said Sakusa, inflectionless.

Meian shrugged. “True enough. You got any problems with getting your hands dirty, Miya?”

“Nope. I’ll do what I gotta do.”

“Great. You’re going with Sakusa on his job tomorrow. He could use the help.”

Sakusa didn’t move, but his expression was immediately shuttered. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay then,” said Meian, unfazed, “so you’re telling me after tomorrow’s assignment you plan to
clean up after yourself?”

Sakusa’s jaw went a little tight, but he was otherwise motionless.

“That’s what I thought,” said Meian. “No need to pull someone off of their duties when help is
right here.” He smirked and turned back to Atsumu. “It won’t be pretty, but our kind of work
usually isn’t, right? Just do whatever Sakusa tells you to do. He’s been in the business for a while
and he’s probably the best I’ve got. Don’t tell the others though, they might take it personally.”

Sakusa made a low sound under his breath that sounded like a scoff.

“You protect him,” Meian said to Sakusa. “I’m serious. I made a promise to Kita and I’m not
breaking it. If he gets hurt, you get hurt. If he dies, well… you’re the best I have, but everyone’s
replaceable.”

Sakusa’s face was stone, but he nodded, just barely.

“Great, it’s settled then.” Meian pushed himself off the couch and started toward his office door.
“Hang out here, Miya. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping after I take care of some business.
Sakusa, stop by and get him tomorrow on your way across town.”

Sakusa didn’t answer, but he also didn’t argue.

Meian entered his office and the door smacked shut.

Without him, tension rose like fog. Atsumu looked at the door, at his feet, at his bag against the far
wall. Then he let himself look across the room at Sakusa, who hadn’t moved.

“So, what kinda job are we doin’ tomorrow?” asked Atsumu.

Sakusa sliced a glare at him and Atsumu wished he hadn’t asked. “I’ll be doing a job. You’ll be
cleaning up after me. That’s all.”

His voice was ice, as cold as his eyes. He was black on black on black; his well-pressed suit, his
polished shoes, his leather gloves, the curls of his hair. Even his eyes were pitch against a pale
face.

“So… what time?” asked Atsumu.

“Whenever I get here.”

Atsumu frowned. He hadn’t expected anyone here to be as friendly as Meian, but he hadn’t
expected anyone to be this hostile, either. “That’s not too helpful.”

“Do I sound like I’m trying to be helpful?”

He certainly did not.

Atsumu started to reply, the words already on his tongue, twisting with a tang of sarcasm.

Bang .

Atsumu flinched hard as the crack of a gunshot split the room. He tasted panic and blood and
thought of a dark room, of a turning doorknob, of his brother bleeding in the middle of the street.

“Take a breath, Miya.”

Atsumu blinked, swallowed, and realized he was on his feet. His gun was in his hand, pointing at
the empty room. There was no one there.

Sakusa rose slowly, unbothered. He straightened his sleeves as Atsumu searched the room again,
and one more time, just to be sure.

There was still nothing there and Atsumu lowered the gun slowly, his heartbeat thundering in his
ears.

“Ueda has been stealing from Meian for three months now.” Sakusa gestured at Meian’s office
door, impassive. “That’s what happens to people who steal from him. Don’t.”

Atsumu exhaled as he tucked the gun away again. He shoved his hands in his pockets because he
thought they might be shaking and he didn’t want Sakusa to see. “I don’t steal.”

“You might keep your life, then.” Sakusa paced across the room and paused just before rounding
the corner. Without looking back he said, “Dress nicer tomorrow. I won’t be seen in public with
anyone looking the way you do right now.”

Atsumu glanced down at himself – he’d worn jeans and a zip-up jacket, because he’d wanted
comfort for his three-hour train ride – and when he raised his head again, Sakusa was gone.

Atsumu tried to shake out the kick of adrenaline in his blood and slowly sank back down on the
couch to wait.
He wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow, and even more than when he’d arrived, he really wanted
to go home.
 Chapter 4

Atsumu discovered, after Meian had finished his confidential business – murder, apparently – and
returned to fetch him, that MSBY owned nearly every building on the block. He was escorted to
the one next door just as the sun was setting. The lower floor was a neatly kept tax office, and the
top three were host to a collection of apartments. Atsumu was given a key and a pat on the back
before Meian left him there for the night, outside of apartment 28.

“That number I gave you is my personal cell,” said Meian, waving the phone at him as he walked
away. “Call if you need something. Seriously. Say you will.”

“I’ll call if I need somethin’,” said Atsumu.

Meian offered a winning smile. “Great. Have a good night, Miya. Don’t go out and get into
trouble.”

Atsumu didn’t plan to go out at all, at least not until tomorrow when he returned to MSBY, but
Meian was gone before he could say that. Instead he unlocked his new apartment and went inside.

It was nice enough. Small, compared to the one he shared with Osamu back home, but he didn’t
have any complaints. He locked himself in, double-checked the deadbolt, and stood in the middle
of the cramped living room, a little bit lost.

He’d never lived alone before. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

Tokyo was a big city, but still it was too quiet. There was the distant hum of traffic and an
occasional footstep overhead, but otherwise it was silent, and Atsumu didn’t do well with silence.
He turned on the tv, loudly enough that he could hear it as he showered with the bathroom door
open. The glass shower wall was clear and he wiped steam off of it every thirty seconds to peer
through, paranoia getting the best of him.

It was stupid. He knew that as he did it, as he dried off and dressed and did a complete search of
the apartment to make sure he was alone. There was no danger here. That’s why Kita had sent
him. No one in Tokyo knew who he was. He was safe.

Safe, but also alone, and further from home than he ever wanted to be.

He’d wanted to wait it out and make Osamu call him first so he could joke about Osamu missing
him, but Atsumu was the one who broke. He sat on the edge of the bed, on sheets that smelled
fresh, and turned the tv volume down just enough that he could hear the phone as he dialed
Osamu’s number.

It rang twice, and Atsumu was annoyed that Osamu didn’t immediately answer.

Three times, and he thought Osamu was ignoring him on purpose.

Four times, and a spark of panic burst in his chest, because what if something had happened to
Osamu on the way to Miyagi, or when he’d gotten there, or-

“Miss me already?” asked Osamu as he picked up. “Pathetic.”

Atsumu collapsed back on the bed. “Of course not, scrub. Just seein’ how miserable you are out
there without me.”
“I saw you this afternoon. I’m not hittin’ withdrawals quite yet.”

“Won’t be long,” said Atsumu. He rolled onto his side, so he could see the door. “Coupla days,
maybe, before you realize you can’t live without me.”

“Coupla days before I realize I coulda been livin’ without you all this time,” said Osamu, “and I
was a dumbass for not doin’ it.”

“Suck a dick, ‘Samu.”

“Nah, I’ll save ‘em all for you.”

“Even Suna’s?”

“Fuck off.”

Atsumu snorted an ugly laugh into the phone. “He give you a nice goodbye?”

“Yeah. Wanna hear about it?”

“No. I really, really don’t.”

“Don’t ask, then.”

Atsumu flopped onto his back again. He put the call on speaker and tossed the phone close to his
head. “Really, though. How’s it lookin’ out there?”

Osamu hummed. There was no background noise. He must have been alone, in whatever place
he’d been given to sleep. “Alright. Sawamura-san is cool. He said he and Kita-san go way back.”

“Same with Meian-san,” said Atsumu. “Wonder what that’s about.”

“Dunno. Guess Kita-san has a more excitin’ past than he lets on.”

Atsumu was almost offended at the thought of it, that these strangers knew more about Kita than
they did. They’d worked for him for over a decade. They should have known him by now, but it
was feeling more and more like they didn’t. “Maybe.”

“Everyone’s nice, though,” said Osamu. There was a sound almost like static, and Atsumu pictured
Osamu holding the phone with his shoulder to free up his hands. “They took me out for dinner. Set
me up with a room in this hotel they own. It’s real nice. Big bathtub.” As if to prove it, the sound
of running water started up in the background. “It won’t be so bad, hangin’ out here for a while.”

He made it sound like a vacation. Atsumu wondered why he hadn’t been the one shipped off to the
country to live in quiet luxury.

“How’s Tokyo?” asked Osamu.

Atsumu almost told the truth, but stopped himself. He decided on a censored version instead. “It’s
cool. Meain-san is really chill.” Except for shooting someone in his office one room away. “I met
all his elite guys today. They were nice.” Except for Sakusa, who had probably been fantasizing
about snapping Atsumu’s neck. “I think it’s gonna be smooth sailin’ from here. Just kickin’ back
and waiting for Kita-san to call.” Except he was expected to follow Sakusa around the next day and
take whatever ridiculous orders he gave. But Osamu didn’t need to know about that, not if he was
lounging around watching the world go by.
“They’ve got some good food in Tokyo,” said Osamu. There was more shuffling, a low sigh and a
quiet splash. “When we get back on the train to go home, I’ll be expectin’ samples from all the
best places.”

“What’re you bringin’ me from the country, then?” asked Atsumu. “A bag of cow shit?”

“Since you asked so nice.”

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He stared up at the ceiling, lost in his head and in the drone of
the tv. “How long you think we’ll be stuck here?” he said, more seriously. They’d talked about this
dozens of times while they’d still been in Hyogo, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking again.

“You want me to tell you the truth or say what you wanna hear?”

“What I wanna hear.”

“We’ll be back home tomorrow.”

“Right,” said Atsumu. “Truth?”

Osamu didn’t immediately answer. The sound of running water stopped. “Depends on who wants
us dead. If they’re in Hyogo, I don’t think it’ll take long. Even Kyoto or Osaka won’t be bad, since
the guys are lookin’ around there, too. If they’re anywhere else though, and they sent people out
our way to find us… I don’t know. Could be a while.”

“Great.”

“Could be worse. Least we’re still alive.”

“Yeah.”

“And at least one of us didn’t get shot.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, huh?”

“Nope.”

They faded into silence. The sound of the tv was grating, and Atsumu rolled over to turn it down.
He stared at the screen, eyes unfocused, and said, “I don’t know what I did, ‘Samu. I know I’ve
said that already, but I mean it. I’ve thought about every fuckin’ thing I’ve done and I don’t know
what would’ve made somebody want me dead.”

“Could be me they’re after.”

“You really think that?”

“No. You’re a nightmare. Lots of people probably want you dead.”

“Thanks a lot, ‘Samu.”

There was a low splash of water. “If you did somethin’ that bad, you’d remember. Someone’s out
there with a stupid grudge and a lot of free time. And a lot of guys willin’ to go out and do
whatever they say, apparently. Whatever it is, I don’t blame you for it, ‘Tsumu. Stop apologizin’,
it’s a bad look for you.”

“I didn’t apologize.” Not quite, not explicitly. “Just sayin’.”

“Well stop just sayin’, then. Get some rest, we both know you didn’t sleep last night.”

“Did too.”

“Liar. Go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Fine. Don’t drown in there.”

“I’ll do my best. See ya.”

“Later.”

The call ended, but Atsumu didn’t move. He stared at the tv without seeing it. His mind was
elsewhere, far away from that apartment, far away from Tokyo.

He’d been trying not to wonder if they’d never be safe in Hyogo again. But now, in a strange bed
all by himself with nothing to distract him, he couldn’t help thinking about it.

If the worst should happen, he thought he would run off to Miyagi, too. He sure wasn’t staying in
Tokyo.

Atsumu tried to sleep, just as he’d tried the night before.

Also like the night before, it was largely a failure.

When he got up the next day he was more exhausted than he’d been getting into bed. He rolled
himself upright, laid back down for a while, and finally dragged himself to his feet. He checked the
deadbolt on the front door, although there wasn’t much of a point. He hadn’t slept deeply enough
to miss someone coming in.

It was nine o’clock. He doubted Sakusa would be ready to do whatever he was supposed to do that
early, but there was no way to know for sure, since he seemed incapable of answering a simple
question. Atsumu thought the safest bet was to head on over to MSBY, just in case Sakusa showed
up early.

He didn’t care if he inconvenienced Sakusa, but Meian had asked him to go help, and he didn’t
want to give Meian any reason to be unsatisfied with him; for Kita’s sake, if nothing else. Atsumu
wanted to make him proud.

Atsumu splashed cold water on his face to wake himself up, dumped his duffel bag out on his bed,
and tried to put himself together.

He left the apartment thirty minutes later and was mildly surprised and relieved to find the door to
MSBY unlocked. A burst of cold air hit him as he entered and he spent a few minutes standing idly
in the foyer, wondering what he was supposed to do. It was only when he heard a loud voice,
sparking a bit of familiarity, that he wandered further inside.

The bar wasn’t open yet. The chairs had been upended on the tables to allow for easy cleaning, and
someone was behind the counter emptying a dishwasher full of beer glasses. Atsumu didn’t
recognize them, but he did recognize the only other guy in the room, sitting backward on a chair
with his phone pressed against his ear.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying!” Bokuto gestured wildly, as if the person on the other end of the
line could see him. “It’s crazy! No way, I’m at MSBY right now. Nah, later. I’m waiting for
Shouyou, we’re doing some rounds together today. No, I don’t mean that, I mean rounds . It’s none
of your business. Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you later. Bye!”

Bokuto hung up, fiddled with his phone for a minute, and belatedly noticed Atsumu, still standing
by the door. His face lit up and he said, “Miya! What’re you doing here so early?”

“Waiting for Sakusa, I guess?” Atsumu moved a little closer, hands in his pockets. He eyed the
bartender and wondered how much they knew about the yakuza work going on a few floors
overhead. “Meain-san is sending me out with him today.”

Bokuto winced. “That’s rough, man.”

“Great.” That was the least encouraging thing he’d ever heard.

“It’ll be fine though!” said Bokuto, waving a hand. “He’s not so bad! Well… sometimes he is, but
he’s that way with everyone. So if he’s not friendly, don’t take it personally. He doesn’t like
anybody. Not even Shouyou.” He said that gravely, as if disliking Hinata was unthinkable.

“What kind of job is he doin’ today?” asked Atsumu. If Sakusa wouldn’t tell him, maybe Bokuto
would.

Bokuto hummed and slouched onto the back of the chair, draping his elbows across it. “He works
the east end of downtown most of the time, but Meian-san’s been having him do some special stuff
lately, so I don’t know. Could be anything. He gets sent out on some pretty crazy jobs sometimes.”

Atsumu wondered if their definition of pretty crazy jobs was the same. He had a sinking feeling
that meant something worse here in Tokyo.

“Want a drink?” asked Bokuto, gesturing toward the bar. “To get you through the day?”

“Isn’t it kinda early?”

“It’s never too early for a drink,” said Bokuto. “Especially if you’re about to spend the day with
Sakusa.” He heaved himself out of the chair and headed toward the bar. He was tall, taller than
Atsumu, and built heavy with muscle. Atsumu made a mental note not to make an enemy of him.
“What do you like? Beer? Vodka? Rum?”

Atsumu followed him, for lack of anything better to do, and slid onto a bar stool as Bokuto circled
behind the counter. The bartender, still cleaning up, ignored them. “Whatever you’re havin’, I
guess.”

Bokuto grinned. “Good choice!” He slapped a pair of shot glasses onto the bar and reached
beneath, emerging with an unmarked bottle of clear alcohol. He splashed the glasses full and
thumped the bottle onto the counter. “Let’s toast! To your first day with the Black Jackals. We’ll
take good care of you.”
Atsumu took a glass and clicked it against Bokuto’s before throwing back the shot.

He realized immediately that he’d made a mistake.

He choked, slammed the glass back onto the counter, and tried to cough through the burning in his
throat. Bokuto laughed, and a minute later a hand thumped his back nearly hard enough to send him
into the floor. Atsumu swallowed a few times and finally figured out how to breathe again.

“You should see your face!” said Bokuto. He cackled, and although it was at Atsumu’s expense, it
was still somehow good-natured. “I should’ve been recording that. You alright?”

“Yeah,” said Atsumu, his voice rough. He cleared his throat again and sat up a little straighter.
“Yeah, I’m good. The fuck is that?”

“The best money can buy, that’s what it is. I get it shipped in straight from Poland. Most of the
guys don’t drink it. Shouyou’s not allowed anymore, after the incident.” He said that in an ominous
sort of way before pouring himself another shot. “One more?”

“No. I’m good.”

Bokuto laughed again. “Suit yourself. Want something different? I worked at a bar a long time ago.
I can mix you something up.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” He could already feel that single shot hitting him with a lick of warmth in
his gut. He wasn’t a lightweight, but he’d also never drank anything that potent.

Bokuto tossed back another shot like it was nothing. “Maybe later, after work. You got any plans
tonight?”

Atsumu didn’t have any plans for the rest of his life, at this point. “No.”

“Great! Want to meet up back here at eight? We’ll go get food or something. I’ll show you some
good Tokyo cuisine.”

Atsumu thought of his brother, and how satisfying it would be to brag to him about getting a good
meal in the middle of Tokyo while he was stuck out in the countryside. “Yeah, why not.”

“Awesome! You’ll have to tell me some Hyogo stories. There has to be some exciting stuff
happening out there.”

There wasn’t, not really, not compared to Tokyo. Still, Atsumu said, “Sure.” If nothing else, he
could make up a good story, since Osamu wasn’t around to call him out on it.

“Awesome! I’ve never been out that far west. I’ve been to Yokohama a bunch of times. And
Nagoya last year to pick something up for Meian-san, but only for one day, and that’s as far as-
Hang on a second.” Bokuto answered his phone with a cheerful, “Hey, Omi-san!”

There was a sharp snap of voice from the other end. Atsumu couldn’t hear the words, but the tone
wasn’t pleasant.

“Yeah, I’m here,” said Bokuto. “How’d you know- Okay, okay. Yeah, he’s here too, you want to
talk to him?”

Atsumu looked around the room again, in case he’d missed someone.

“Fine, I’ll tell him. Yeah, I heard you! And hey, don’t give him a rough time today. He’s cool. Be
nice for once and-” Bokuto stopped talking and pulled the phone away from his ear to check the
screen. “He hung up on me again.”

“Who was that?” asked Atsumu, although he had a bad feeling he already knew.

“Sakusa. He’s out front waiting for you. He said to move your ass.”

“Of course he did.” Atsumu wanted to drag his feet out of spite, but again reminded himself that he
wanted to make a good impression. For Kita. “What’d you call him? Omi-san?”

“Oh! Yeah, Shouyou started calling him that a while back. He thought it’d make Sakusa feel
included and maybe he’d like us more but it didn’t work. He kind of hates it. He kind of hates
everything.”

“I got that feeling from him,” said Atsumu. He slid off the barstool and pushed a hand through his
hair. “Any advice?”

“Stay at least an arm’s length away from him at all times,” said Bokuto mechanically, as if he’d
heard the words a hundred times before. “Further, if you can. And don’t touch him. Seriously.
He’ll flip his shit. I touched him on the shoulder one time all friendly-like and I thought he was
really going to kill me for a minute.”

“Sounds like an angry cat,” mumbled Atsumu.

Bokuto burst into laughter, and Atsumu couldn’t help grinning. “Dude! You’re funny. I like you.
Just don’t say the cat thing to Sakusa’s face. I might never see you again.”

“Got it,” said Atsumu. “Thanks for the drink. Never give me another one.”

Bokuto laughed again and waved as Atsumu headed for the front of the building.

The sun was bright when he stepped out on the sidewalk and he raised a hand to shade his eyes,
looking around for Sakusa. A few people walked by, but none of them were familiar. He almost
went back inside to ask Bokuto for more direction, but noticed a car parked at the curb. That
wasn’t anything unusual. There were plenty of cars on that street, both parked and mobile. But this
one had black paint and black wheels and black windows, and Atsumu started toward it without
thinking. He yanked open the passenger door and bent to peer inside. Sakusa was behind the
wheel, looking just as unimpressed and inconvenienced as he had the day before.

“Get in. You’re wasting time.”

“Good mornin’ to you, too,” said Atsumu. He climbed inside and the seat crinkled beneath him. It
was wrapped in plastic. He wondered if Sakusa had done that for him in particular or if it was
always like that.

As soon as Atsumu pulled the door closed they were moving. Sakusa cut off another driver when
he pulled out of the parking spot, but unlike the occasions when Osamu did the same, it was
intentional. He barely spared a glance in the rearview as he sped up and weaved into the next lane
of traffic. He was dressed identically to the way he’d been the day before; all in black, with leather
gloves and a mask covering half of his face. Atsumu thought he looked like the villain in a bad
action movie. He had the personality for it, too.

“So what kinda job are we doin’?” asked Atsumu. He hadn’t gotten an answer the day before, but
since they were on the way there, he thought it would be a good time to get filled in.
Sakusa disagreed. “Your job is to do whatever I tell you to do, like Meian said. That’s all you need
to know.”

Atsumu slouched back against the seat and stared at him. “How’m I supposed to help you if I don’t
know what to do?”

“We’ll be there in twenty minutes. There’s no need to talk before then.”

Atsumu knew he should keep his mouth shut. He really did. He should hold his tongue and do
what he was told, because that’s what Kita would want him to do.

But Kita wasn’t here, and Atsumu had gotten a boost of courage from the mystery liquor, and he
had never been good at keeping quiet.

“And what’ll happen when we get there?” asked Atsumu. He leaned back and kicked a foot up on
the dash, just to see if it would piss Sakusa off. Judging by the tightening of his jaw, it did. “Am I
actually gonna get to do somethin’ or just sit in the car like a kid? I’m good at shit, Omi-kun. You
heard Meian-san. I’m one of Kita-san’s best.”

Sakusa took a breath, so deeply that Atsumu heard it enter his lungs. When he spoke, his voice was
tight but controlled. “Then I hate to imagine what the rest of Kita-san’s men are like, if you’re the
best he can do. Get your fucking foot off of my dash and don’t you ever call me that again.”

Atsumu kicked his other foot up and crossed it over the first. “What, Omi-kun? Isn’t that your
name? Maybe I heard wrong. What is it again?”

Sakusa hit the brakes so hard that Atsumu almost fell into the floorboard. They were in the middle
of the street. A car behind them blared a horn, but Sakusa didn’t flinch. He looked at Atsumu with
narrow eyes and said, through his teeth, “Get your filthy feet off of my fucking dash. Right now.”

The threat behind the words was so sharp that Atsumu thought maybe he should listen. He let his
feet fall with a huff, righting himself and folding his arms as he sat back.

Sakusa’s glare lingered for a few more seconds before he started driving again.

“I can drive, if you need me to,” said Atsumu. “I’m shitty at it, but at least I don’t stop dead in the
middle of the street.”

“Shut the fuck up until we get there.”

“Or what?” said Atsumu. His teeth flashed in a forced grin. “You’ve gotta take me anyway. If you
dump me out on the street and somethin’ happens to me, you’re fucked, too.”

“Don’t pretend you know more about my situation than I do,” said Sakusa. He slid into the next
lane over, cutting off another driver before he took a turn. “If I left you dead in a ditch right now, I
would be fine. Meian would forgive me. When I explain how deliberately annoying you are, he’ll
be supportive.”

“Right,” scoffed Atsumu. “That wasn’t the conversation I heard.”

“You don’t belong here, Miya,” spat Sakusa. “You’re nothing more than a tourist. Don’t talk about
things you don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?” said Atsumu. “How yakuza shit works? Hate to break it to ya, but I
know all about that. So if you’ll just tell me what we’re fuckin’ doin’, I can help.”
“You can help by shutting your fucking mouth.”

“Look, Omi-kun, you don’t have to be such a-”

Sakusa cut the wheel so hard that Atsumu’s head banged against the window. Horns blared as they
crossed two lanes of traffic to slide to a stop at the curb. If Atsumu hadn’t been distracted by how
he could have just died, he may have appreciated Sakusa’s driving skills.

“What the fuck?” complained Atsumu, rubbing the side of his head.

“I told you not to call me that again,” said Sakusa. He turned off the car, and for a moment,
Atsumu thought Sakusa might have parked it to murder him. But Sakusa disengaged his seat belt,
popped the door open, and said, “We’re here. Get out.”

Atsumu didn’t appreciate the commands, but at least he didn’t have to wait in the car. He stepped
out onto the sidewalk and waited as Sakusa circled around to join him. They’d arrived at a dry
cleaner, with handmade signs in the windows and an open door beneath a brightly painted
overhang.

“What, are we pickin’ up Meian-san’s laundry?” asked Atsumu.

Sakusa didn’t acknowledge that. He eyed Atsumu, critically enough that Atsumu wanted to sink
into the ground. “I told you to dress nicer.”

Atsumu looked down at himself. He’d worn the only suit he’d brought with him, the one he
usually wore when he was in town taking care of Kita’s business. It was wine red, so dark that it
was almost black in low light. It was a nice suit. He’d paid a lot of money for it. “What’s wrong
with this?”

“It looks like a dog slept on it,” said Sakusa. “Have you ever ironed anything in your life?”

“Hey, I just got here yesterday,” snapped Atsumu. “You think I packed up an iron to bring with
me?”

“You should have. You look like trash. Come on.” Sakusa stepped away from him, and Atsumu
reluctantly followed.

Atsumu wondered how Osamu was doing in Miyagi. He was probably having a relaxing day at
whatever hotel Karasuno had put him in, eating room service food and floating in a rose water
bath.

When all this was over, Atsumu was taking a real vacation.

Sakusa stepped inside, waited for Atsumu to join him, and yanked the door shut. The bell attached
to the top of it jangled, and Sakusa flipped the cheery “Open” sign over to “Closed”.

There were two men behind the counter. Both of them stood up when Sakusa approached.

“Sakusa-san!” said the shorter one, scrambling around the counter to dip into a bow. “What a
pleasant surprise! How can we help you?”

“Welcome, welcome,” said the taller one, rushing to do the same. “It’s great to see you, Sakusa-
san. We hope you and Meian-san are doing well.”

Atsumu glanced at Sakusa. He expected him to be smug, to enjoy this sort of reverent attention, but
Sakusa seemed more annoyed if anything.

“I need to have a word with both of you,” said Sakusa. “Meian-san sent a message. Is there
somewhere private we can talk?”

The two men exchanged a glance. The shorter one said, “Sure, of course, whatever you need. We
can go in the back room. If you’ll give me just a moment, I should check with-”

“I don’t have time to wait,” said Sakusa. His voice was steel. “Lead the way.”

The men did so, with clear reluctance. The shorter one kept glancing back at Sakusa and then at his
friend. There was something twitchy about his fingers that Atsumu didn’t like.

The back room was small enough that Atsumu had to stand a little closer to Sakusa than he would
have preferred. Sakusa didn’t seem pleased either, but he disregarded Atsumu in favor of their
company.

Atsumu wasn’t sure what they were doing there. He was getting a feeling it was for something
unsavory. That was confirmed when Sakusa slipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a gun.

The men went stiff. One of them looked to the door, quickly. Atsumu took a step to the side,
putting himself in front of it.

“Who else was working with Ueda to steal Meian-san’s money?” said Sakusa. He pointed the gun
at the shorter man. His hand was steady. “You have five seconds.”

The man’s face went white. He looked like a sputtering ghost as he said, “I don’t- I don’t know
what you’re talking about. We would never steal from Meian-san, he’s done so much for us, there
must be a misunderstanding or-”

Bang .

The man fell, and a wisp of smoke spiraled from the barrel of Sakusa’s gun. Sakusa shifted,
slightly, to aim at the taller man instead.

“Your turn,” said Sakusa. His tone was perfectly level, his face unchanging. “Who else was
helping you steal from Meian-san? I’ll be generous and give you ten seconds.”

It took the man half of that time to find his voice. When he did, he spat out names so quickly that
Atsumu only caught half of them. He was still in mild shock from watching Sakusa murder a
civilian.

It wasn’t that Atsumu had never killed anyone. It was part of the job.

But those men had always been yakuza, or something like it. They were dangerous in some way or
another. These men clearly were not.

When the man finished blabbering, Sakusa said, “Is that all?”

“Yes. Sakusa-san, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to let it go this far. Ueda-san made an offer we
couldn’t refuse. We weren’t trying to disrespect Meian-san.”

“Then you shouldn’t have stolen from him.” Sakusa pulled the trigger, and Atsumu winced.

The second man fell, half on top of the first. Blood puddled in the floor, sluggishly spreading
outward. Atsumu gaped at them. “What the fuck?”
“I told you before,” said Sakusa, as he tucked the gun away. “This is what happens when someone
steals from Meian.” From somewhere within his jacket, he whipped out a pair of industrial-sized
garbage bags, rolled up neatly. He tossed them at Atsumu, who didn’t react in time. They slapped
against his chest and fell to the floor. “Bag them up and I’ll call someone to take out the trash.”

Atsumu didn’t move. “What?”

“You heard me. Meian sent you for cleanup duty. Now clean up.” He turned on his heel and
stepped past Atsumu. “I’ll be waiting out front. Don’t take too long.”

Atsumu watched him go, protests lodged in his throat. He turned back toward the bodies, still
warm, still bleeding.

This wasn’t the first time Atsumu had to wrap up a dead man or two, not by a longshot. But that
had been a long time ago, when he’d first gotten started in Inarizaki. He’d graduated from this sort
of work years ago. He was above it now. Kita sent other people to clean up after him, if the
situation demanded it.

But Kita wasn’t here, and if he was, he would’ve told Atsumu to stop whining and do as he was
told.

Atsumu took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and knelt to retrieve the garbage bags. He spared
a bitter thought for Osamu, sitting cozy in Miyagi, and went to work.
 Chapter 5

It felt like a long while later that Atsumu climbed back into Sakusa’s car. He’d put his jacket back
on only to keep his gun covered, but he despised it. He was hot and sweaty and the last two nights
of minimal sleep were really starting to get to him.

“Took long enough,” said Sakusa, when he sank into the driver’s seat. “Anyone else would’ve
wrapped that up an hour ago.”

“Then maybe you should’ve done it your damn self,” said Atsumu.

“I only do the killing,” said Sakusa, as he started the car. “Not the cleanup.”

“Well ain’t you fuckin’ special.” Atsumu picked at the dried blood beneath his fingernails. He’d
worn gloves from the storage closet when he’d handled the bodies, and he’d scrubbed his hands
before they’d left, but somehow it had still gotten through. “Who’s comin’ to pick ‘em up?”

“Does it matter?”

“Just wonderin’ why we don’t load ‘em into the trunk and drop ‘em off somewhere.”

“That’s disgusting. I’m not putting bodies in my car.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “’Course you’re not. Don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“I would have expected one of Kita-san’s men to be less…” Sakusa spared a sideways glance at
him. “Extra.”

“Extra?” repeated Atsumu, sitting up straight. “I’m not extra , you scrub. You’re the one rollin’
around refusin’ to do real work. You can’t always expect someone to clean up after you.”

“Yes, I can,” said Sakusa. “I’m valuable enough that Meian-san makes arrangements.”

“Valuable.” Atsumu said it with a twist of his mouth. “What, for shootin’ people in the head?
Anybody could do that.”

“This may be hard for you to understand,” said Sakusa, weaving around a slow-moving taxi, “but I
couldn’t care less what you think.”

Atsumu huffed. He thought about putting his feet on the dash again, but thought Sakusa might go
three for three and shoot him, too. “You didn’t even hafta kill ‘em. The second one, anyway. He
told you what you wanted.”

“Only because I killed his cousin first.”

“He would’ve told you, too. You’ve just gotta rough people up a little bit sometimes. You don’t
always have to go straight to killin’.”

“I don’t remember asking you to tell me how to do my job.”

“It’s free advice. You’re welcome.”

“The day I take advice from you will be the day I fling myself off of the Rainbow Bridge to my
death,” said Sakusa. “Is there any chance you’ll sit there and keep your mouth shut until we get
back to MSBY?”

“Probably not,” said Atsumu. “It’s not one of my talents.”

“I’m not surprised. You don’t seem to have any of those.”

Atsumu was more annoyed than offended, and on the drive back, did his best to annoy Sakusa in
return.

There wasn’t any parking on the street in front of MSBY, but that didn’t stop Sakusa. He wedged
his car between two others, in a cramped space that was not meant for a car of that size. Atsumu
held his breath, waiting for a jolt of impact, but it never came. When they got out of the car,
Atsumu eyed the bare centimeters of space between the bumper of Sakusa’s car and the one
behind it.

“Okay, that’s actually kinda impressive,” said Atsumu, despite himself.

“Come on,” said Sakusa, breezing past him. “Don’t stand around gawking like an idiot.”

“ You’re an idiot,” snapped Atsumu, aware even as it said it that it wasn’t one of his best
comebacks.

Sakusa didn’t even acknowledge him. He entered MSBY, let the door close in Atsumu’s face, and
didn’t look back when Atsumu growled at him.

They’d been gone for a few hours. The bar had opened since then, and Atsumu glimpsed a few
patrons inside as they passed by. Sakusa led him to the same stairs that Atsumu had climbed the
day before. A different man was stationed there, and like yesterday, he hopped to his feet as they
approached. But he didn’t ask questions, like when Atsumu had been alone. He dipped his head in
a show of respect as they walked past. Sakusa didn’t even look at him.

Atsumu thought about that all the way up the stairs. The men at the dry cleaners had been
particularly deferential to Sakusa, too. Atsumu wondered if everyone actually respected him or if
they were just scared of him. Based on how quick he was to pull a trigger, fear wouldn’t have been
surprising.

Meian was in his office. Sakusa knocked, waited for permission, and then stepped inside. Atsumu
followed, feeling a little out of place. He half-expected that the body from yesterday would still be
in there, or at least a bloody outline of where it had fallen, but Meian’s office was unsettlingly
normal. There were bookshelves, curtains over the windows, and a desk hosting a laptop and a
stack of paperwork. Meian stood with a groan and smiled at the pair of them.

“How’d it go?” he asked, stretching his back until it popped. “All good?”

“They’re dead,” said Sakusa, matter-of-fact, “and I have a list of names. I’ll take care of the rest, if
you’d like.”

Meian clapped his hands together and leaned against the edge of his desk. “Good work. It’s a
shame, really. They’ve worked for me for years now, but what can you do. I’m still disappointed
about Ueda, honestly. After everything I did for him.”

“I told you months ago not to trust him,” said Sakusa flatly.

Atsumu thought it was ironic that Sakusa had criticized him for not knowing when to keep his
mouth shut when Sakusa was making the same mistake to his Kumicho.
Meian sighed. “Yeah, I remember. I’ll always remember because you’ll never let me forget it.”

Atsumu looked between them. He tried to imagine how Kita would react if someone spoke to him
like that. Not this way, for sure.

“How’d Miya do?”

Atsumu stood a little straighter.

Sakusa gave him a dismissive glance. “Adequate. He bagged up the bodies. It’s not hard.”

“If it’s not hard why didn’t you do it yourself?” said Atsumu, regretting the words even as they left
his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say that, not in front of Meian. He went tense, but Meian only
laughed.

“He has a point,” said Meian, grinning. “Don’t put down jobs you’re not willing to do yourself,
Sakusa. How long will it take you to mark off that list?”

Sakusa’s glare flitted away from Atsumu as he considered that. “Give me a week. They’ll know
we’re onto them and they’ll be harder to find.”

“Whatever you need. I hate to do it, but we have to make a point or everyone will start stealing
from me. There have to be consequences.” It sounded as if he was saying that more to himself than
Sakusa. “Do what you have to do. Just be careful about it.”

Sakusa inclined his head.

“And take Miya with you. It’s easier to have him help out.”

Sakusa frowned. “Do I have to?”

“Yes. And remember what I said, about making sure he’s safe.” Meian’s attention flickered to
Atsumu. “What about you, Miya? How was the job?”

Sakusa looked at him, something like a challenge in his eyes. He probably expected Atsumu to
complain about him, to say that Sakusa was terrible company and that he’d rather do literally
anything else than follow him around and clean up his messes.

All of that was true, but what Atsumu said was, “It was fine. No problems. I’m happy to pitch in
however I can.”

Sakusa’s glare went colder.

“Great! You’ll fit right in.” Meian stepped back around his desk and sank into his chair. His jacket
was discarded across the back of it. Twin guns were strapped to either side of his chest. “Trade
numbers before you leave, so you can keep up with each other. You can start back tomorrow. For
now, go get some rest, Miya. You look like you haven’t slept.”

Atsumu winced. “Uh… yeah. Thanks, Meian-san.”

That seemed to be a dismissal, so he left the office. Sakusa stayed behind, only for a minute, before
he emerged, too.

“So, Omi-kun.” Atsumu grinned, as obnoxiously as possible. “Guess you’ve gotta give me your
number, huh?”
Sakusa looked as if he would rather leap out the nearest window. Still, he gave Atsumu the number
with a great deal of reluctance and said, “There won’t be a need for you to use it. I’ll pick you up
here again tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“When I get here.”

“Nah,” said Atsumu. He saved the number as Omi-kun and hoped Sakusa noticed. “How about you
text me when you’re ready to go and I’ll meet you out front. So I’m not sittin’ around downstairs
waitin’ for you all day.”

“I don’t care how long you have to wait.”

“Yeah, but I do. I’ll send ya a text later, so you’ll have my number, too.”

“One text only,” said Sakusa. “I have no interest in talking to you.”

“You’ve made that real clear, thanks, Omi-kun.” Atsumu tucked his phone away. “Guess I’ll see
ya tomorrow, then. I can’t wait, personally. Your sunshine personality is drawin’ me right in.”

“Go fuck yourself, Miya.” He headed toward the stairs and Atsumu followed right on his heels.

They made it out the front door of MSBY before Sakusa said, “If your suit is still in that disgusting
condition tomorrow, I’ll kill you and then myself.”

“It would almost be worth dyin’ just to spare the world your existence,” said Atsumu. “I’ll get it
dry cleaned or somethin’ tonight, to get the wrinkles out.” And to address the bloodstains that now
lived in the cuffs of his pants. “Not at the same place you just killed two people.”

“There’s one two kilometers that way,” said Sakusa, pointing down the street. “Tell them you work
for Meian-san and they’ll do it for free.”

Atsumu stopped on the sidewalk and narrowed his eyes. “I feel like that’s a trap somehow.”

“Good instinct,” said Sakusa, “but not this time. I just want you to get that filth cleaned up.”

“Yeah, okay. So you’re gonna text me in the mornin’, right?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Sounds like a yes to me.”

“Do as Meian said and sleep before then,” said Sakusa. “You look like absolute shit.”

“Thanks a lot. Good to know you care.”

“I don’t.” Sakusa turned away and paced to his car, which was still tightly sandwiched between
two others. Atsumu waited in the shade of MSBY to watch, desperately hoping Sakusa would hit
something and he’d get to laugh about it.

But Sakusa got the car back on the road with the same surprising skill that he’d used to get it into
that spot, and he was gone with a rev of the engine and a blur of black paint.

Atsumu scoffed as he turned away to walk toward his temporary home, hands in his pockets, the
dried blood underneath his fingernails still prickling at him. He thought about calling Osamu to
complain about Sakusa, and about having to clean up dead bodies, and about being away from
home in general. He wanted to, but he also didn’t want Osamu to laugh at him for getting the shitty
end of the deal. He settled for sending Osamu a text that said “I hope your day sucks”, and
followed it up with one to Sakusa that said, “It’s Miya. I’m gonna set up my phone to send you
reminders every hour so you don’t forget to text me in the morning”.

By the time Atsumu had showered and scrubbed away any remnants of blood, he had two replies.
The first was “I hope yours is worse, scrub” and the second was “I will quite literally kill you”.

Atsumu didn’t respond to either. He did as Meian suggested and fell into bed. His suit was a
crumpled pile in the floor and he made a mental note to take it down to the dry cleaners Sakusa had
mentioned and see if he could pick it up early the next morning. They’d probably make
arrangements, if he told them he worked for Meian.

He thought of Kita, and Gin, and Ojirou, and wondered what they were doing. Before he could
even take a guess he was asleep, and this time he slept hard.

It was several hours later when Atsumu returned to MSBY after a quick and successful trip to the
dry cleaners. He’d slept for a while, longer than he’d expected, and felt better than he had in days.
He was lighter as he pushed through the front door and approached the bar. He wondered for only
a moment if he should find a seat and wait for Bokuto before he caught sight of him, holding an
animated conversation with the bartender that involved a lot of hand gestures.

Atsumu only heard a thread of the topic, enough to know it had nothing to do with yakuza
business, before Bokuto noticed him.

“Hey, hey, Miya!” Bokuto waved him over, as if it was possible that Atsumu had failed to notice
him. “You made it! I wasn’t sure if you’d still be alive after a day with Sakusa.”

“It was a near miss,” said Atsumu. He stepped up beside the bar, hands tucked away in his jacket
pockets. “How’s it goin’?”

“Great! This is my friend Akaashi. ‘Kaashi, this is Miya. He’s new. Kind of. I think. It wasn’t
really clear. But he’s cool!”

Akaashi eyed him with passive interest. He wasn’t the same bartender from yesterday, or even that
morning. He said, “Hello, Miya-san. Can I get you a drink?”

Before Atsumu could answer, Bokuto chimed in. “We’re going across the street to get dinner. You
want to come, ‘Kaashi?”

Akaashi pointedly glanced at the counter between them. “I’m a little busy right now, Bokuto-san.”

“Well yeah, but I still thought I should offer. It’s polite.”

“Thank you, but no.”

“Next time you’re not working, then,” said Bokuto, as he hopped off the barstool. “Want me to
bring you something back?”

“No thank you, Bokuto-san.”

“Okay! Call me if you change your mind. C’mon, Miya. Shouyou is already there waiting for us.”
Bokuto started for the door, an eager spring in his step, and Atsumu followed. “It’s such a nice
night!” said Bokuto, as they emerged onto the street. He stretched his arms out to the sides and
took a deep breath of city air.

Atsumu didn’t think there was anything particularly nice about it, but he didn’t say that. “Sure.
Nice night.”

“What’s it like in Hyogo right now?” asked Bokuto. His eyes reflected the city lights in an eerie
sort of way, like a wild animal in the woods.

“Not much different. A little cooler but not a lot.”

“I really want to go there sometime! Are you moving back or staying here?”

“Goin’ back, eventually.” Atsumu wondered how much Meian had told them. Apparently not a lot.

“Maybe you can be my tour guide, then!” said Bokuto, as he approached the street. Atsumu
expected him to go down to the end of the block and wait for the crosswalk.

He didn’t.

Bokuto waited for a break in traffic and darted across, slapdash, a few horns blaring before he
reached the other side. Atsumu stared across the street at him.

Bokuto waved and shouted, “C’mon, Miya! Don’t want to keep Shouyou waiting!”

If Atsumu died from running across the street like a fucking idiot, Kita would be so disappointed.
Still, Atsumu waited for the nearest wave of cars to pass and sprinted across, barely missing the
bumper of a taxi before he was safely on the other side. Bokuto laughed, loud and unbridled, and
Atsumu couldn’t help laughing with him, a little breathlessly.

The restaurant was a few storefronts down. It was packed and noisy and the spicy smells of
different foods were like an assault on Atsumu’s senses. Bokuto wove his way through the crowd
easily, as if he’d been there a hundred times before. They found Hinata in the back, seated at a
table far too big for the three of them. There was a little wooden sign on the tabletop that said
“Reserved”.

“Hi, Bokuto-san!” said Hinata, loudly enough to be heard over the bustle. “Hey, Miya-san!”

Bokuto dropped into the seat beside him with a grin. “Hey, Shouyou! Order anything yet?”

“First round of drinks!” Hinata blinked up at Atsumu. “I didn’t know what you liked, Miya-san, but
Bokuto-san said to order you something strong, so…”

Bokuto’s grin was wide and a little sly. “He likes strong drinks, don’t you, Miya?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and pulled out a chair across from them. “If it’s the same acid you gave me
this mornin’, I’m not drinkin’ it.”

Bokuto and Hinata both laughed, and Atsumu smiled as he sat down.
Atsumu was in a strange place with strange people, but it wasn’t awkward. After he settled in, he
was perfectly comfortable. Bokuto and Hinata were good company. They were certainly better
company than he’d been stuck with for the first half of the day.

“And then the lady at the candy shop gave me free chocolate!” said Hinata, at the tail end of a
long-winded story that seemed to have no clear point. “It was so nice! She didn’t say if it was
supposed to be for Meian-san or not. I haven’t eaten it yet just in case but-”

“Shouyou,” said Bokuto, clearly trying to sound serious despite the untamable grin on his face. “I
think she was flirting with you.”

Hinata’s eyes went wide and Bokuto’s laugh was booming.

Atsumu spent a good portion of the night trying to figure out why Hinata had been in Meian’s
meeting, or how he’d gotten caught up in the yakuza at all. He didn’t seem to have the
temperament for it. He was too easygoing, too friendly. That was a good way to get killed.

Bokuto was hardly better. Atsumu couldn’t picture him doing any messy yakuza work, either.

Until they’d been at the restaurant for a couple of hours, and suddenly Bokuto’s placement in the
Black Jackals made sense.

Hinata had gotten up to grab another round of drinks from the bar, since their server was busy with
another rowdy group of customers. It was the first time that night she hadn’t hovered over their
table every fifteen minutes to check on them. Atsumu had decided that everyone working at that
restaurant must have known they were yakuza. They kept that table reserved specifically for
Bokuto, and everyone who’d spoken to them had done so in a particularly polite way.

“You working tomorrow?” asked Bokuto, leaning over the table to talk to him.

“Yeah, goin’ out with Sakusa again.”

Bokuto made a sour face. “Why? You on Meian-san’s shit list or something?”

“I don’t think so. He needs someone to clean up after Sakusa or somethin’, I dunno. Just doin’ what
I’m told.”

Bokuto nodded wisely. “Yeah, Sakusa doesn’t do shit like that. He has a… a thing.”

Atsumu raised his eyebrows. “A thing?”

“Yeah, a thing. I don’t know what kind of thing, but it’s a thing.”

Atsumu didn’t know if that was nonsense because of all the alcohol Bokuto had guzzled or just
because that’s how Bokuto was in general. “Okay?”

Bokuto frowned. He seemed to be thinking it over, as if trying to come up with a better way to
explain. Before he had the chance, Hinata returned, balancing three drinks.

“Hey guys! They’re out of that beer you like, Miya-san, but instead I got-”

Atsumu didn’t know what he’d gotten, and probably wouldn’t. Someone rammed into Hinata,
sending him stumbling, and one of the drinks hit the floor in a spray of alcohol and a shatter of
glass. Hinata saved the other two, but not without a wet splash across the front of his shirt. Hinata
turned, but the man who’d knocked into him hadn’t even stopped.
“Oh,” said Hinata. “Sorry, Miya-san. I’ll go back and get you another-”

“Hey!” shouted Bokuto. He stood up so fast that his thighs slammed into the table, shoving it
closer to Atsumu. “Hey, you! HEY!”

The man didn’t stop, didn’t even look back.

Bokuto’s face changed. His brows slanted downward, his mouth twisted into a snarl, and his eyes
flashed, bright and lethal, as he stalked past Hinata, who tried to stop him with a stammering, “It’s
okay, Bokuto-san, it was an accident, he didn’t mean to-”

“Hey,” said Bokuto again, as he seized the back of the man’s jacket and whipped him around. “I’m
talking to you.”

The man wrenched out of Bokuto’s grip. He wasn’t small, objectively, but Atsumu thought mostly
anyone would look small beside Bokuto. “What’s your problem?”

Bokuto seized the front of the man’s shirt and slammed him against the nearest wall. The noise
level of the restaurant dropped, the change sudden and unsettling. “You walked into my friend,”
said Bokuto, the words twisting through bared teeth. “You made him drop a drink.”

The man looked like he wanted to argue, but that faded quickly. The defiance drizzled off of his
face, gradually replaced with muted alarm as he took in Bokuto. Maybe he recognized him, or
maybe there’d been a delay before he’d realized just how big Bokuto was. He swallowed and said,
“I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you’re sorry,” growled Bokuto. He yanked the man away from the wall and gave him
a hard push in Hinata’s direction. “Apologize to Shouyou. You’d better mean it.”

“I’m sorry,” the man said again, watching Bokuto instead of Hinata. “I didn’t mean to run into you.
I apologize.”

Hinata said, “It’s okay, you-”

“I said you’d better mean it .” Bokuto’s voice was gritty as he grabbed the man and tossed him to
the floor, as if he weighed nothing. He landed in the spilled drink, right beside Atsumu.

Atsumu pushed his chair back, trying to get some distance. He’d had a few drinks, but he was
sober enough to know that this wasn’t a situation he wanted to get involved in, not by a long shot.

The man raised a shaking hand. It dripped blood; he’d fallen into the broken glass. He scrambled
onto his knees, lowered his head, and said, “I’m sorry. It was my mistake. I apologize. Please
forgive me.”

Hinata was clearly uncomfortable. He’d put the other drinks aside and was idly twisting the front
of his wet shirt. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s fine. It was an accident.”

The restaurant was nearly silent. Atsumu felt the weight of multiple stares, all locked in their
direction.

“Yes. It was an accident. I’m sorry.”

Bokuto crouched down to seize the front of the man’s shirt and yanked him to his feet. “You’re
going to go get another drink for my friend here,” he said, gesturing at Atsumu. “Then you’ll clean
up this fucking mess you made. You understand me?”
The man nodded, frantic, and darted off as soon as Bokuto let go.

Atsumu gripped the edges of his chair, hard enough that his fingers went numb. He wondered if he
should leave before something worse happened. He couldn’t afford to get caught up in a fight. If
Bokuto kept pushing this, if it got worse, if someone called the police-

Bokuto dropped back into his seat with a long sigh. He ran a hand through his hair, shook his head,
and said, “Why do people have to be like that? If you run into somebody you stop and say you’re
sorry. You help them clean up the mess. That’s common courtesy, you know?”

“Yeah,” said Atsumu. Even if he’d disagreed, he wouldn’t have dared say so. “Yeah, that was
pretty fuckin’ rude.”

“And to Shouyou, of all people!” said Bokuto, exasperated. He reached out for Hinata, who was
still standing awkwardly at the end of the table. “Look at him! Who could be rude to Shouyou?”

“I dunno,” said Atsumu. He was very conscious of his own words. “No one.”

“Exactly!” Bokuto tugged at Hinata’s sleeve until he dropped back into a chair. “Fucked up, that’s
what it is. You okay, Shouyou?”

“Yeah, of course,” said Hinata. He fidgeted. “It wasn’t that big of a deal Bokuto-san, you didn’t
have to-”

“No one’s going to disrespect you, you got that?” said Bokuto, the set of his brow stern. “You
deserve better. Nobody’s treating you like that.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s what friends do. Right, Miya?”

“Right,” said Atsumu. “Yeah. Of course.”

Bokuto bared his teeth. Atsumu thought it was supposed to be a grin, but it was a shade too feral.

The noise level of the restaurant started to rise again, slowly, though were still plenty of wary
glances toward their table. Atsumu wondered how many people knew who Bokuto worked for and
how many just thought he was a large, loud bully.

Atsumu might have made a mistake coming out to dinner. He should’ve gotten takeout and sat in
his apartment alone.

The man returned with a fresh drink. Atsumu thought that was brave of him. He would’ve left the
restaurant and never came back.

“Here you go,” he said, sliding it onto the table in front of Atsumu. “I’m sorry I spilled the first
one.”

Atsumu started to tell him it was fine, but Bokuto cut in.

“Don’t just stand around,” snapped Bokuto. “Get that mess cleaned up. Someone could fall and
hurt themselves.”

The way Bokuto had forced him to fall, evident by the blood still dripping from the cut across the
palm of the man’s hand.
Atsumu was highly uncomfortable as the stranger dropped into a crouch and started picking up
pieces of broken glass. Their server came over with a mop, intending to help, but Bokuto told her to
leave it and go. She did so without comment. She didn’t seem as shaken as Atsumu would have
expected. He thought maybe something like this had happened before.

Bokuto squinted at Atsumu’s drink, which he hadn’t touched. “Something wrong with it, Miya?”

The man wielding the mop snapped his head up, panicked.

“No,” said Atsumu. He took an obligatory sip, despite his reluctance. He’d decided drinking more
was a bad idea. “Just slowin’ down. Startin’ to feel it.”

“Lightweight,” said Bokuto. It was harsher than it would have been twenty minutes ago, when he
probably would have said it only to tease.

“We can’t all be made of steel like you, I guess,” said Atsumu.

Bokuto snorted, and the grin tugging at his mouth was almost genuine. “Yeah, well. I drink a lot.
‘Kaashi says too much. He cuts me most nights, when I drink at MSBY.”

Atsumu was amazed that anyone would be brave enough to cut Bokuto off, especially if he was
acting like this.

“Get out,” snapped Bokuto, as soon as the mess was cleared away. “I don’t want to see you here
again, you hear me?”

“Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.” The man bowed low before making a hasty retreat.

Bokuto reached for his drink and threw it back in three long swallows.

If Akaashi was the one who usually cut him off, Atsumu desperately wished that Akaashi had been
there with them.

Bokuto hissed a breath through his teeth as he slammed the glass back down on the table. “People
make me so fucking mad sometimes. Fuck.”

“It’s okay, Bokuto-san,” said Hinata. He still seemed mildly uncomfortable, but he wasn’t
flinching away from Bokuto, the way Atsumu would have done if he’d been sitting that close. “Do
you want to hear a story about when I lived in Sendai? It’s really funny, you’ll laugh, I promise!”

Bokuto’s mouth contorted into something that looked almost painful. It was maybe supposed to be
a smile. “Sure, tell me a story.”

“Sendai?” repeated Atsumu. “Like, Miyagi?”

“Yeah! That’s where I’m from. I moved here a couple years ago.” Hinata tilted his head. “Why,
have you been there?”

“Nah,” said Atsumu, his mind on his brother. “Kinda want to visit, though.”

“You should! It’s a nice place. Anyway,” said Hinata, “so I was with my friend Noya, and we were
supposed to be delivering this shipment out to Ishinomaki, right? Well the boss tried to give us a
car but neither of us could drive, like, at all. So instead we got on this bus, and it’s packed full of
old people, right? And like an hour into the trip-”

Ten minutes later, when Hinata reached the peak of the story, Bokuto was laughing as if nothing
supremely uncomfortable had happened at all.

“So the old lady with the dog took your shit!” Bokuto cackled, leaning back in his chair at an angle
so precarious that Atsumu expected him to tilt into the floor. “How much was in the package? A
lot?”

“So much cocaine,” said Hinata, completely serious.

Bokuto snorted and burst into a fresh round of laughter.

Atsumu had never been more confused in his life.

If the Bokuto situation wasn’t baffling enough, he couldn’t picture Hinata doing any sort of drug
distribution. Which was stupid, considering he must’ve done worse if he worked for Meian, but it
still didn’t make sense. Nothing in this city made sense.

“Hey, uh… I think I’m gonna head out,” said Atsumu. He watched Bokuto carefully as he said it,
to see if he looked mad.

Bokuto blinked at him. “Huh? C’mon, it’s only…” He checked the time and his bottom lip poked
out. “Oh. Guess it is kind of late. I didn’t notice.”

“Gotta get some rest if I hafta deal with Sakusa tomorrow,” said Atsumu, to try and keep the mood
light.

It worked. Bokuto laughed. “Oh yeah! I forgot about that already. Maybe Meian-san will let you
come out with me sometime instead. I’m more fun, I promise!”

Atsumu wasn’t so sure about that. Sure Bokuto was fun, until he completely lost his temper and
turned into something terrifying. “Maybe. I dunno what he’ll have me do, exactly. I’m just kinda
wingin’ it.”

“Why’re you out here, anyway?” asked Bokuto. He finished off the last drink he’d ordered and put
the glass aside. He’d had several more than Atsumu but he was still coherent, his eyes sharply
focused. “From Hyogo, I mean. Some kind of special job, or…?”

Anxiety prickled at the back of Atsumu’s neck. He didn’t want to set Bokuto off, but he also didn’t
think he should tell him. If Meian had kept that information to himself, there was a reason. “I don’t
think I’m s’posed to talk about it,” said Atsumu carefully. “I could get into trouble, I think.”

He expected Bokuto to insist, and wasn’t sure what he would say when he did.

But Bokuto nodded and said, “I get it. It’s cool. But if something goes on, we’ve got you. We take
care of each other. You just tell us.”

“Yeah,” agreed Hinata. His face was a little red from the alcohol, although he’d only had three
drinks over the course of the past couple of hours. “We’re like family. We’re here for you if you
need us, Miya-san.”

Atsumu still wasn’t sure how Hinata had gotten there, or if Bokuto was mentally stable, but he
knew for certain that he didn’t want either of them as enemies. “Thanks, guys. Same here. You
ever need somethin’, I’m there.”

Both of them smiled at him, and Atsumu thought maybe he’d made his first friends in Tokyo.
He hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
 Chapter 6

Atsumu rose at the break of dawn to walk down the street and pick up his dry cleaning. He cursed
Sakusa all the way there and back, and when he returned to his apartment, he fell back into bed and
was asleep again immediately. Unlike the previous night, he hadn’t spent most of the hours lying
awake, wondering if someone would break in and try to murder him. He hadn’t thought about that
a single time. Maybe it was because of the alcohol. Or maybe it was because he’d pushed the
couch in front of the door as a barricade before he’d gone to bed. Either way, he slept great.

He woke up again to a buzzing by his head. He slapped at it, his sleep-heavy brain conjuring up an
image of a large, annoying fly that seemed suspiciously like his brother. But he drifted closer to
consciousness and realized the sound had been his phone.

He felt around until he found it and cracked an eye open to peer at the screen.

There were three texts from Sakusa, all in a row.

Get down here.

I’m not waiting for you all day, Miya.

You have five minutes.

They’d all been sent in a span of three minutes. Atsumu sat up and rubbed at his eyes before
sending back a quick, badly typed: jst woke up b rht ther

Atsumu was on his feet and stripping out of his sweatpants when another text came through.

Four minutes. If you’re not down here I’m leaving without you.

Atsumu wanted to think he was bluffing. Meian had told Sakusa he had to take Atsumu along,
whether he wanted to or not.

But there was also the chance that Sakusa would go without him and tell Meian that it was
Atsumu’s fault, that he’d been late and irresponsible and a waste of space. Atsumu didn’t mind
those insults from Sakusa, but he didn’t want Meian to think he was useless. He couldn’t embarrass
Kita like that.

Atsumu got dressed in record time, scrambling into his freshly cleaned suit and sprinting into the
bathroom to slap some gel on his hands and push it through his hair. He splashed cold water on his
face, brushed his teeth for exactly eight seconds, and struggled to shove the couch away from the
door so he could leave. He was out the door when he remembered his gun and had to turn back to
fetch it from underneath his pillow.

Sakusa sent another text as Atsumu was locking the door.

Thirty seconds.

Atsumu replied, but it was nothing more than a random smash of keys. He ran down the stairs,
pushed through the door at the bottom, and slowed to normal speed as he hit the sidewalk.

He didn’t want Sakusa to know how much he’d rushed.

The black car was parked at the curb and it somehow seemed impatient, although it was doing
nothing more than sitting there. Atsumu thought that it must have been Sakusa’s bad energy
radiating out of it.

He took his time walking over, because Sakusa must have seen him or he would have already
driven away. When the slow stroll brought him to the passenger door, Atsumu peeled it open and
peered inside. “Mornin’, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa’s scowl cut a little deeper. “Get in the fucking car.”

“I had a great night, thanks for askin’,” said Atsumu, as he plopped into the seat. He took his time
reaching for the door, and the instant it closed, the car lurched forward. “How was yours?”

“When Meian told you to get some sleep, he didn’t mean all morning,” said Sakusa. “Don’t keep
me waiting again.”

Atsumu glanced at the time on the dash. “It’s eight-fifteen. That’s not all mornin’. Why’re you
here so early, anyway?”

“Unlike you, I like to get my work done.”

“And what kinda work is that? We killin’ more small business owners today?”

“Maybe. Do you have a problem with that? I’ll drop you back off, gladly.”

“Nope, no problems.” Atsumu sat back and tried to relax. He was still tense from getting dressed in
such a rush. “Whatever Meian-san wants us to do.”

“Unfortunately for me, he’s going to keep you around regardless, as a favor to Kita-san.” Sakusa
paused at a stoplight. Atsumu thought he would’ve ran right through it if there hadn’t already been
a row of cars stopped in front of him. “You don’t have to keep trying to suck his dick.”

“It’s called bein’ polite,” said Atsumu. “Wouldn’t expect you to know that. Clearly you’ve never
heard of it.”

Sakusa sliced a glance at him and refocused on the road as the traffic began to move. “You look
disheveled.”

Atsumu stared at him. “Disheveled?” He’d never heard anyone say that word out loud before.

“Yes, disheveled. Fix it.”

“Disheveled,” Atsumu said again. “Fuckin’ disheveled.” He pulled down the overhead visor and a
pack of alcohol wipes dropped into his lap. Atsumu flipped up the cover of the mirror to look at
himself. His hair wasn’t quite the way he liked it, but a few swipes of his fingers improved it. He
looked less like a zombie than he had the day before, and the dark circles beneath his eyes had
started to recede. There was a smear of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth and he wiped it away
with the back of his hand.

“I think I look great,” said Atsumu, as he flipped the visor back up. He belatedly remembered the
alcohol wipes and stowed them back overhead.

“Visually impaired,” said Sakusa. “I’ll add that to the list of your flaws. It keeps growing.”

“Oh, is that what we’re doin’? I’ll start one for you, then. Let’s see.” He tilted his head back and
pretended to think, then ticked off on his fingers, “Rude, bad attitude, asshole, won’t clean up after
yerself, reckless fuckin’ driver, and rude.”

“You said rude twice.”

“Yeah, well, you’re extra fuckin’ rude.”

“And you’re still disheveled. Fix your shirt.”

Atsumu realized only then that he’d lined the buttons up wrong when he’d put his shirt on. He
huffed and yanked his jacket open. “Why’re you so damn worried about what I look like,
anyway?” He popped his buttons free, working from the top down. “Shouldn’t matter to you.”

“I won’t be seen walking around with trash,” said Sakusa flatly.

“Don’t flatter yerself, you don’t look that great.” Atsumu said it with a healthy dose of snark and
pretended not to realize he was lying. Even he couldn’t deny Sakusa was well put-together; on the
outside, at least. His personality was a festering mess that ruined anything good about his
appearance.

“I’ve already told you I don’t care about your opinion,” said Sakusa. “That hasn’t changed.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes as he yanked at the last button of his shirt. It was still tucked into his pants,
but it hung open from chest to waist. A slice of ink showed, dark against his skin, as he lined the
buttons up again. “Too bad for you, I’m gonna keep givin’ it to ya.”

“Of course you are. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut for five minutes if your life depended on
it.”

“Oh, I could. Just don’t want to.” Atsumu slid a button into place and glanced over. Sakusa looked
away from him, quickly, and refocused on the road. “For real, though. What’re we doin’ today?
Findin’ those people the dry cleaner guy mentioned?”

He hadn’t expected an answer, not really, and was surprised when Sakusa gave him one.

“Yes. We find them and get rid of them.”

“Kill ‘em, you mean.”

Sakusa said nothing.

“You’d think killin’ the ones you did already would be enough,” said Atsumu. “Deterrence, or
whatever.”

“That’s a big word for your vocabulary, Miya.”

“Fuck you.”

“Meian doesn’t forgive thieves.” Sakusa switched lanes. Atsumu wondered if he’d ever heard of a
turn signal. “Everyone knows that. Anyone who’s stupid enough to steal from him deserves what
they get.”

Atsumu finished fixing his shirt, leaving the top two buttons open so he’d have room to breathe. He
pulled his jacket shut again, cloaking the gun underneath.

“How long have you worked for Kita-san?” asked Sakusa.

Atsumu squinted at him. He tried to think of a way that information could be used against him, but
couldn’t come up with a reason not to answer. “Twelve years.”

“You can’t seriously say you’ve never killed anyone for him.”

“’Course I have,” said Atsumu. He folded his arms and frowned out the window. “Lotsa times.”

“Then why are you so irritating about me doing the same thing for Meian?”

“I’m not. It’s just different.”

“Why?”

“’Cause it is,” said Atsumu. “Those guys yesterday didn’t have a chance. They weren’t yakuza.
They just worked at a fuckin’ dry cleaner.”

Sakusa stared out the window, ostensibly passive, but Atsumu felt his irritation. It was something
about the scrunch of his brow. “Those two men had been running prostitutes for the past three
years. Meian allowed it, because they gave him a big cut of the profit. Ueda was in charge of
collecting from them, and making sure the women were being treated well. That was part of the
deal. Meian wouldn’t have let it happen, otherwise.” Sakusa slowed and took a turn at a more
reasonable speed than usual. “A few months ago they started making more money by running the
women harder and forcing them to work more hours with more men. They recruited new girls into
it. Younger ones. Much younger.” Sakusa’s eyes narrowed. Atsumu couldn’t see all of his face
because of the mask, but he imagined a grimace. “Money started rolling in, and they worked out a
deal with Ueda underneath Meian’s deal. Meian got the same amount, and the extra was split
between Ueda and the two of them.”

Atsumu stared blankly at Sakusa before dragging his eyes toward the window instead. He hadn’t
expected any of that, and he certainly hadn’t expected Sakusa to give him any sort of explanation.
He thought of the two men, who he’d felt a little flare of sympathy for when he’d been packing
them into bags.

He regretted that sympathy now. They really had deserved what they’d gotten.

“Why’re you tellin’ me now?” asked Atsumu. “You coulda told me yesterday on the way there.”

“Does Kita-san always explain his reasons for everything,” said Sakusa, “or does he just tell you to
do something and expect you to do it?”

Atsumu chewed at the inside of his mouth and said nothing.

“This is no different,” said Sakusa. “You work for Meian now. Don’t question him, and don’t
question me. I won’t tell you to do anything he wouldn’t.”

Atsumu didn’t really know what to say to that. He wasn’t convinced that he truly did work for
Meian. He didn’t know what the expectations were while he was here, because Kita had never told
him. He was starting to think, more and more, that there were a lot of things Kita hadn’t told him.

“You’re not the boss of me,” mumbled Atsumu, sinking down in his seat.

“Immature,” noted Sakusa. “Another flaw for the list.”

This time their target location wasn’t a dry cleaner. It was a plain-looking office building with a
sign over the door that read “Tender Hands: A Children’s Charity.” Atsumu gave Sakusa a look of
absolute skepticism.

“They’re labeled as one hundred percent nonprofit,” said Sakusa, as he approached the door with
Atsumu a step behind, “but only fifty percent of their earnings go toward the community. They
keep twenty-five, and Meian gets twenty-five. He’s supposed to, at least. They’ve been keeping
much more than their share.”

“And they’re gonna die for it?” asked Atsumu, less harshly than he would have asked the day
before.

“Only the man in charge. His wife is involved also, but Meian is sparing her to keep running the
business. She’ll have one chance to start doing things the right way.”

Atsumu scuffed to a stop before they reached the door. “Wait. Are you about to kill him right in
fronta his wife?”

“You haven’t met them. Do as you’re told and don’t make assumptions.”

Atsumu didn’t think he had much of a choice. He followed along after Sakusa and ducked into the
office building.

A woman was behind the front desk. She blinked up at them, and one of her eyebrows arched,
slowly. She returned to her paperwork and said, “He’s in the bathroom, fussing over his bald spot. I
tried to get him to stop fucking around with our money months ago. Tell Meian-san I said thank
you, and that he won’t have any problems out of me.”

Sakusa inclined his head as he stepped past. Atsumu gawked, and the woman continued calmly
balancing numbers as the two of them entered the back of the building to kill her husband.

He was indeed in the bathroom, as she’d said. They waited outside the door until he opened it,
oblivious, and went stiff with shock when he noticed them.

“Sakusa-san,” he said weakly. His eyes darted from Sakusa to Atsumu and then past them, toward
the front of the office. “What a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting-”

“Back up,” said Sakusa.

The man did so and Sakusa caught the door with his foot, holding it open until Atsumu stepped
inside. It slapped shut behind them. Sakusa stayed right by the entrance, even as the man backed
up until he was against the wall. “There has to be some kind of misunderstanding. I don’t know
what you’ve been told, but-”

“Shut up,” said Sakusa. He glanced at Atsumu. “Miya. Are you as incompetent with a gun as you
are with everything else?”

“Fuck off,” muttered Atsumu. “I’m good at everything.”

“Prove it, then.” Sakusa slipped his hands into his pockets. “Headshot. Meian-san likes efficiency.”

Atsumu’s gut lurched. He waited for Sakusa to take that back, or to make another snide comment,
or something . But he looked completely serious, as always.

The man sputtered, his panic rising. “Wait! Wait, wait, this isn’t… If Ueda-san said something, it’s
not like that. It was…”

Atsumu exhaled, slowly, and reached beneath his jacket. The grip of his gun was familiar,
comforting in a sick sort of way. He raised it at shoulder height and looked to Sakusa one more
time.

Sakusa tilted his head, just barely.

“Please… please, I’ll do anything you say. I have all the money. You can have it. You can have
everything just please-”

Bang.

The shot rang loud in the small bathroom, even with the silencer. Everything was quiet except for
the thump of the body as it fell. It twitched a few times, leg and shoulder and fingers. Then it went
still. Atsumu’s heart pounded in his chest, like the thump of frantic footsteps slapping against
concrete.

Sakusa hummed and took a few steps closer, crouching down to study the body. “Not terrible. Too
far to the left.”

“What?” Atsumu stepped up to peer over Sakusa’s shoulder. Blood drizzled from the hole in the
corpse’s forehead, just above the arch of his left eyebrow. Atsumu felt a touch of nausea, but only
for a moment. It passed quickly and he reholstered his gun, expelling a long breath. “You said
headshot. That’s a perfect headshot.”

“Not perfect,” said Sakusa. “Direct center would be perfect.”

“Guess you shoulda done it yourself then, since you’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

“I should have,” agreed Sakusa, as he rose. He kept a careful distance between himself and the
body and Atsumu. “I wanted to see if you would do it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You just got done tellin’ me to do whatever you say!”

“As squeamish as you were about killing yesterday,” said Sakusa, “I didn’t think you would go
through with it. You surprised me.” He reached inside his jacket and tossed one of those extra-
large garbage bags at Atsumu. This time he was expecting it and caught it in the air. “Try to move
faster this time. This is only our first stop.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” snapped Atsumu.

Sakusa opened the bathroom door with his elbow and left Atsumu alone with the body.

Atsumu sighed and slipped out of his jacket. It was going to be a long day.
Atsumu understood, a few hours later, why Sakusa had been insistent on starting their day so early.
The charity had been the easiest of their tasks, because that man had been the dumbest one on the
list. It seemed everyone else was aware of the danger and were keeping safely away from their
respective businesses.

Three stops later, they’d accomplished nothing else aside from terrorizing a few hapless employees
at the businesses their targets operated. No one had known where said targets were, and Sakusa
must have believed them. Atsumu had a feeling things would have gone a little more violently if
Sakusa had thought someone was withholding information from him.

Sakusa slammed the door on the way out of their most recent failed stop. Atsumu happened to be
behind him and almost got his nose broken.

“Fuckin’ watch it,” said Atsumu, his elbow throbbing where he’d thrown it up to catch the door.
“It’s not my fault everybody’s hidin’ from you.”

Sakusa glanced back at him, his face remarkably impassive. Atsumu wondered if Sakusa was
actually frustrated or if he’d just been trying to make a point. Sakusa hummed and said, “I forgot
you were there.”

That was more offensive than anything Sakusa had said so far.

“You know what?” Atsumu stomped to a dead stop on the sidewalk. “Fuck you, Omi. I’m startin’
to think I did somethin’ really fucked up and this is my punishment. Because spendin’ five damn
minutes with you is the worst thing that could happen to anyone. A whole fuckin’ day is practically
hell. I’ve never met anyone in my life who’s such a huge fuckin’ asshole for no reason.”

“So you’ve said.” Sakusa paused to check his phone and then stared across the street, raising a
hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun. “Why didn’t you tell Meian all of that yesterday?
You wouldn’t be here right now if you had. He doesn’t force anyone to work with me, not even
Kita-san’s castoffs.”

Atsumu couldn’t immediately answer. There were so many things he wanted to say that he wasn’t
sure where to start.

“Come on,” said Sakusa, before Atsumu organized his raging thoughts. He started down the street
toward the crosswalk, hands in his pockets.

Atsumu gritted his teeth and followed. “I’m not a fuckin’ castoff. You heard what Meian-san said.
I’m one of Kita-san’s best. I’m good at what I do.”

“Why did he banish you to Tokyo, then?” said Sakusa, as he waited for the light to change. “It
seems he would keep his most valuable men close.”

Atsumu eyed him. He wondered if Sakusa really didn’t know or if he was just trying to provoke
Atsumu to anger. Either way, it didn’t matter. Atsumu wasn’t about to tell him. “He didn’t have a
choice. It’s not like he was tryin’ to get rid of me.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yeah, it fuckin’ is.” There was a touch more venom in his voice than he’d intended. The light
changed, and Atsumu stormed after Sakusa as they crossed the street. “He likes havin’ me around.
I’m valuable.”

“Valuable.” Sakusa repeated it as if the syllables tasted sour. “Has he ever said that to you directly
or are you only assuming?”

“Fuck you.”

“He hasn’t, then.”

Sakusa approached a nearby restaurant and a fuming Atsumu reluctantly followed.

Atsumu thought of the gun tucked underneath his jacket. Maybe he’d show Sakusa what a perfect
headshot looked like up close, when he put a bullet right between his eyes. Direct center, just the
way he liked.

Sakusa pulled the door open and stepped back, waiting for Atsumu to enter.

“We after the owner of this place, too?” grumbled Atsumu, sulking just beyond the threshold.

“No. The owner is Meian-san’s grandmother.” He stepped up beside the host counter to wait.
“We’re having lunch.”

That baffled Atsumu more than anything else Sakusa had said. He waited for something else,
anything to suggest Sakusa was joking.

But five minutes later they were seated at a table in the furthest corner, at Sakusa’s request.
Atsumu half-looked through a menu and half-glared at Sakusa, who hadn’t touched his own.
Sakusa was settled back in his chair with his arms folded, dark stare roving over the inside of the
restaurant. He’d sat with his back against the wall, and the corner table had allowed Atsumu to do
the same.

“Do you actually eat?” asked Atsumu, slapping his menu back onto the table. “Thought you might
be some kinda vampire or somethin’.”

“If that’s supposed to be a joke, it isn’t funny.”

“Wasn’t tryin’ to be.” Atsumu slouched back in his chair. He considered how different this
restaurant was compared to the one he’d visited with Bokuto and Hinata the night before. That one
had felt more like a bar than an actual restaurant. This one had a traditional sort of feeling. It
reminded Atsumu of Kita’s house, just a little. “But you’ve gotta admit, there’s some similarities.
You’re broody and crabby and pale as shit. Your personality kinda sucks the life out of everybody
around you. And you wear that mask all the time, could be hidin’ vampire teeth under there.”

Sakusa’s stare was utterly unimpressed. “You’re a fucking moron, Miya.”

“Least I’m not a vampire.”

A waitress wandered over with two glasses of water. Something about her seemed familiar, which
didn’t make sense. Atsumu knew he’d never seen her before.

She put the glasses on the table and propped her hands on her hips. “How’s it going, Sakusa?”

Sakusa grunted. “Fine.”

“Killed anybody today?”

“Technically, no. Miya did.”

The waitress looked at Atsumu, and he could only stare back, utterly confused.

“Haven’t seen you before,” she said. “What’d you do wrong to get stuck with Sakusa?”

Atsumu glanced between them. He had the fleeting, ridiculous thought that maybe this was
Sakusa’s girlfriend, but he discarded it immediately. He couldn’t imagine anyone willingly dating
Sakusa. “Uh… Bad luck?”

The waitress laughed. Atsumu belatedly noticed that the hand-scrawled name tag pinned to her
shirt read “Shiko”.

“I don’t believe in luck,” she said, plucking Sakusa’s untouched menu off of the table. “You
clearly did something awful. You want the usual, Sakusa?”

“Yes.”

“What about you, stranger? What can I get you?”

Atsumu had already decided what to order, but it took him an extra minute to remember. When he
did, Shiko nodded and didn’t bother writing it down.

“Got it. Give me fifteen.” She took Atsumu’s menu too and tucked both of them under her arm.
She frowned down at Sakusa and said, “You’re taking care of my brother, right? He’s been weird
lately. He won’t talk about it.”

Sakusa inclined his head, slightly. “He’s just stressed. I’m taking care of it.”

“Good. Look out for him. We all know he won’t look out for himself.” She waved at them with a
sweep of the menus before slipping away.

Atsumu stared after her and then back to Sakusa, expectantly.

“Meian’s older sister,” said Sakusa. “Don’t ask any questions. It isn’t your business.”

Atsumu ignored that completely. “Is that what it looks like when you like somebody? You didn’t
say a single mean thing to her. That was almost polite, Omi-kun.”

“As I said, she’s Meian’s sister. How else would I treat her?”

“Shit, you were nicer to her than you are to Meian-san.”

“She has more common sense than he does.” Sakusa reached for his water, stopped. He pulled his
hand back and picked at the edge of his leather glove, carefully peeling it off and putting it aside.
The other one followed.

Atsumu stared at him.

“What?” snapped Sakusa.

“Nothin’. Just never seen your hands before. Figured you had claws or somethin’.”

“Speaking of common sense,” said Sakusa, reaching into his pocket, “it seems you’ve never had
the luxury.” He withdrew a small bottle of antibacterial hand sanitizer and squeezed some into his
palm.
“I have lotsa common sense. You should meet my brother. He’s the idiot.” Atsumu hoped that
somewhere, two hours away, Osamu felt the sting of that insult.

“I have no intentions to meet any other member of the Miya family. One of you is terrible enough.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Atsumu thrust his hand across the table, palm-up.

Sakusa stared at it.

“Gimme some,” said Atsumu, letting his hand flop at the wrist. “It’s the least you could do, after I
cleaned up a fuckin’ body for you.”

“That was your body,” said Sakusa, “and if you didn’t wash your hands after that then I’ll kill you
myself.”

“’Course I did, but we’ve been to lotsa places since then. Just gimme some.”

Sakusa’s eyes went narrow, but he squeezed some sanitizer into Atsumu’s palm with visible
reluctance. Atsumu sat back and rubbed it in between his fingers, wincing at the sharp smell.

“Damn, Omi. What is that, like, three hundred percent alcohol?”

“You’re the one who wanted it. Don’t complain.”

“’M not.” Atsumu shook his hands out to dry off the excess. Sakusa was still watching him, and
Atsumu gave him a particularly obnoxious grin. “This is nice, Omi-kun. Havin’ dinner together.
Very thoughtful of ya.”

“I will pay you actual money to not speak for the next hour.”

“My silence is a valuable commodity. It can’t be bought.”

“It’s a miracle that Kita-san never killed you to gain that commodity,” said Sakusa. “His patience is
astounding.”

“Kita-san thinks I’m great. He loves... havin’ me around.” He’d almost said loves me , but that was
going too far, even for him. Besides, if Osamu was going to feel anything Atsumu said from
Tokyo, it would’ve been that, and he would have never let Atsumu live it down.

“I have trouble believing that.”

“I don’t care if you believe it or not. It’s still true.”

Sakusa sighed and reached for his water. He pulled it closer to the edge of the table, then reached
up to slip his fingers beneath the loops of his mask. He tugged it from behind his ears, folded it in
quarters, and tucked it into an inside pocket of his jacket. Atsumu realized he’d never seen Sakusa
without the mask.

“Are you staring at me for a reason,” said Sakusa, taking a sip of water, “or are you just trying to
annoy me?”

Atsumu blinked. “Just tryin’ to annoy you.”

Sakusa squinted, but didn’t accuse him of lying. He probably believed that.

Atsumu hoped he believed that, because there was no other good reason to stare at Sakusa. Not a
single one. Even if Sakusa was particularly good-looking, that was overshadowed completely by
his absolute sludge pit of a personality.

“Anyway,” said Atsumu, looking off across the restaurant, “we still trackin’ people down after
lunch?”

“Why, are you too lazy to work past one o’clock?”

“Fuck off, ‘m not lazy. Just askin’ a question.”

“I’m still working,” said Sakusa. “If you’re already tired I’ll gladly drop you back off, just to get
you out of my face.”

“It was just a question!” repeated Atsumu. “I’m not tired. I could go all night.”

“That’s surprising,” said Sakusa, “considering you stayed out so late with Bokuto.”

“How’d you even know that?”

Shiko the waitress returned, balancing their food precariously on one arm. She slid it in front of
them and rapped her knuckles against the edge of the table. “Need anything else, boys?”

“We’re fine,” said Sakusa. He glanced down at his food, which appeared to be tofu swimming in
steaming miso.

“I made that myself,” said Shiko, “so no worries, alright?”

Sakusa inclined his head.

“What about you, stranger? Need anything?”

“Nah,” said Atsumu, still looking at Sakusa. “I’m great. Thanks.”

“If you boys decide to fight, take it outside,” said Shiko before drifting off again. “It’s bad for
business.”

Atsumu wondered if his almost unquenchable urge to punch Sakusa in the face was that obvious.
“Well?” he prompted, when Sakusa didn’t immediately resume their conversation.

“The idiot was texting me all night,” said Sakusa. He turned his bowl one way and then the other,
eyeing it closely. “I repeatedly asked him not to, but much like you, he doesn’t listen.”

From across the room, Shiko called, “I washed the bowl myself, too!”

Sakusa stopped fidgeting with it. Atsumu had questions about that, several of them, but for once he
kept them to himself. This didn’t seem like the time.

“You’re friends with Bokuto?” asked Atsumu, skeptical. “Can’t picture it.”

“No, we’re not friends,” said Sakusa. He dipped a spoon into his soup and sipped at the broth. His
manners were impeccable. Kita would have been impressed with him.

Atsumu slurped up a mouthful of noodles in the exact way that had always earned a frown from
Kita. Sakusa’s scowl was much sharper. “Friends text each other.”

“So do annoying acquaintances,” said Sakusa. He tapped the curve of the spoon against the edge of
his bowl, eyeing Atsumu. “If you want to get back to wherever you came from in one piece,
spending your free time with Bokuto Koutarou isn’t the way to do it.”

Atsumu slurped up another bite more loudly, trying and failing to get another reaction out of
Sakusa. “Why’s that?”

Sakusa considered the question, a few seconds of silence dragging into nearly a minute. Finally, he
said, “He’s volatile. When he gets into trouble, so does everyone around him.”

Atsumu remembered the night before, when Bokuto’s temper sparked out of nowhere. He thought
of Bokuto slamming a stranger against a wall, and throwing them into the floor, and forcing them
to clean up Atsumu’s spilled drink. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sakusa huffed, so low that it was nearly silent. “You’re a shitty liar, Miya. What did he do?”

“At least he’s a nice guy,” said Atsumu, ignoring the question. “He doesn’t treat everyone like
fuckin’ dirt on his shoes like someone I know.” Unless they made Hinata spill a drink; that was a
different story.

“Defend him all you want,” said Sakusa, impassive. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“I’m not defendin’ him. I don’t even know him.”

“If you have even an inkling of self-preservation, you’ll keep it that way.” Sakusa lifted his bowl to
drink from the edge.

“Why do you care, anyway?”

“I don’t,” said Sakusa. “Do what you want. If you get caught up in his messes I won’t have to look
at you anymore, so it’ll be a win for me.”

“Fuck you.”

Sakusa dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and pushed back from the table. “I’ll be right back.” He
grabbed his gloves and pulled them on as he walked away, toward the back of the restaurant.
Atsumu assumed he was going to the bathroom and didn’t spare it a second thought.

He considered spitting in Sakusa’s soup, because that seemed like the kind of thing that would
really piss him off. But that was too far even for Atsumu, so he ate his noodles and minded his
own business.

Five minutes later Sakusa returned. He sat down calmly, slipping off his gloves and putting them
aside. He picked up his spoon and said, “There’s a body in the alley out back. Go out and toss it in
the dumpster. I’ll have Shiko take care of it.”

Atsumu had a bite of food halfway to his mouth. He lowered it slowly, gawking at Sakusa.
“What?”

“You heard me.”

Atsumu blinked. “The fuck? Did you just go out there and kill somebody?”

“The man from the last stop,” said Sakusa. “He eats here often. He used to, at least. I thought we
might find him here.”

Atsumu swiveled in his chair to stare toward the back of the building where Sakusa had
disappeared. Had the man stepped into the back alley for a cigarette and found a bullet instead, or
had Sakusa somehow dragged him out there without Atsumu noticing?

“The longer you stare, the more time someone has to find him. Move your ass, Miya.”

“You’re not jokin’,” said Atsumu.

“I don’t joke.”

Atsumu didn’t need Sakusa to tell him that. He’d discovered it all on his own. He gave the rest of
his noodles a forlorn glance before rising. “Fine. I’ll put the fuckin’ body in the dumpster. You’re
payin’ for my food though, since you ruined it.”

“Just go.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and kicked his chair underneath the table, a bit too forcefully, before
stomping toward the back. Shiko eyed him as he passed by, and something about her expression
suggested she knew exactly what Sakusa had just done, and exactly what Atsumu was about to do.

Atsumu pushed his way through the rear door, let it slam shut behind him, and sighed down at the
body by his feet. He crouched down to eye the hole in its forehead. It was dead center, and Atsumu
cursed under his breath. The dumpster was nearby, so he wouldn’t have to drag it very far, at least.
But the opening was about chest height, and lifting the damn thing would be miserable.

For the second time that day, Atsumu stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

“Fuckin’ Sakusa.”
 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes

This was originally split into two chapters but I thought it was best to combine it into
one so I wouldn't leave you guys hanging at the midway point. So please enjoy this
ridiculously long update, and have a great weekend!

It was a long few days, and Atsumu spent all of them with Sakusa.

He started calling their outings ‘hunting trips’, and continued saying it based on how much it
annoyed Sakusa. That was the way he made most of his decisions when he was with Sakusa,
especially when they were trapped in the car together. Kicking his feet on the dash was dangerous
territory, but if he rolled his window up and down and up and down, repeatedly, Sakusa would
invariably snap at him before locking out his access to the controls. If Atsumu hummed all the way
to their destination, Sakusa’s eye would twitch. On the one occasion Atsumu had tried to bring
food into the car, Sakusa had threatened to shoot him in the street and then run over him for good
measure.

Atsumu should’ve probably been more careful around him. He had no doubt that Sakusa had
actually entertained the idea of killing him.

But Meian had told him to keep Atsumu safe, and if nothing else, Atsumu trusted Sakusa’s loyalty
to his Kumicho.

It was three days after the back alley incident that Atsumu dragged himself up to his room, threw
his suit in the bathroom floor, and stood in the shower with his eyes closed for no less than twenty
minutes. He was hoping the water would wash some of the bloody visions out of his head the same
way it washed the dried flakes of it out of his arm hair, but he wasn’t so lucky.

Killing usually didn’t affect Atsumu, not really. He’d seen it and done it so many times that he’d
become immune.

He’d thought so, anyway. He’d been proven wrong that day.

Atsumu ducked his head under the shower spray, long enough that he gasped for breath when he
emerged. He turned off the stream, stared at the shower tile for far too long, and finally reached out
for a towel to dry himself off. He stepped over his rumpled suit and pretended not to see the spray
of blood across the front of the jacket. Sakusa had said it didn’t matter, that the man who owned
the dry cleaner wouldn’t ask any questions. Still, Atsumu wasn’t ready to have that conversation.
He kicked it into the corner and left the room.

He’d bought a new suit the evening before anyway, so he wouldn’t have to keep cleaning and re-
wearing the same one every day. He would just put it on in the morning and push his problems off
a little bit longer.

Atsumu stood in the middle of his bedroom, and even more than the day he’d moved in, it felt
nothing like home. He really wanted to go back to Hyogo, probably more than he’d ever wanted
anything.
Atsumu sat on the edge of his bed and stared down at his hands. If he’d been confident he could go
to sleep he would’ve passed out immediately, just so he could stop thinking for a while, but he
knew himself too well to consider that. Instead he got dressed again, in jeans and a hooded jacket
instead of a suit. He strapped his gun underneath, nestled against his ribs, although the thought of it
made him want to vomit. Usually he liked the security of it, but usually his brain wasn’t stuck on
loop, replaying the same scene over and over, the same gun squeezed tight in his hand, its barrel
splashed with blood.

Atsumu needed to get himself together. He wasn’t sure he could do that, not sitting there in that
room all by himself.

The next best option was to make himself forget.

He yanked his hood on and went downstairs. When he breathed in the Tokyo air, he again
wondered if it tasted different than home or if it was his imagination. He thought about going to
the restaurant across the street where he’d gone with Bokuto and Hinata, to sit at the bar and get
lost in the bustle, but he was afraid someone would recognize him from the Bokuto Incident.
Instead he took the two dozen steps down the sidewalk and slipped into MSBY.

There was more of a crowd than usual and Atsumu realized, as he approached the bar, that it was
probably Saturday. He’d lost track of his days because they no longer mattered to him. All he cared
about was how many days had passed since he’d gotten there and how many more would pass
before he left.

And, more presently, how long he would have to wait to get a drink.

He slouched into an empty barstool, shutting out the loud music and the louder voices and the jeer
of rowdy patrons at the dartboards. It was easy to ignore. Atsumu had grown up in a tumultuous
household. He’d spent most of his nights listening to screams and fights and arguments that
dragged into the early hours of the morning. Noise didn’t bother him. It was silence that was
foreign and uncomfortable.

Like the silence of Kita’s house; except that silence had been more reverent than consuming. The
silence of his temporary apartment was like the silence of a grave, and the longer Atsumu heard it,
the more he felt like he was being buried alive.

He shook the thought out of his head and instead wondered what Kita was doing. Atsumu hadn’t
heard from him a single time since he’d gotten on the train to Tokyo. He talked to Osamu daily,
and Suna had checked in a couple of times, and even Aran and Oomimi had called to see how he
was doing.

But Kita had said nothing at all.

Atsumu wondered if Kita had been relieved to get rid of him, if maybe this threat on the Miyas’
lives was a convenience. Kita hadn’t called because he was glad Atsumu was gone. He wasn’t
even trying to solve the mystery of their would-be killers. He didn’t want Atsumu back at all.

Atsumu waved down the bartender more insistently. He couldn’t let himself think about that. It
wouldn’t end well.

“Miya-san.”

It took Atsumu a minute too long to recognize Akaashi. He’d only met him once, almost a week
before. Atsumu looked around, expecting to see Bokuto somewhere nearby, but he was explicably
absent.

“Hey. Akaashi, right?”

“Yes. Can I get you something?”

“Yeah, can I get a couple shots of, uh…” Atsumu tried to remember if Bokuto had given it a name
but couldn’t. “Whatever that battery acid bullshit is that Bokuto keeps under the counter. He said
it’s imported from, uh… somewhere far.”

Akaashi’s face didn’t change.

Atsumu tried again. “Look, I don’t know what it’s called. It’s this clear shit, and it feels like it’s
meltin’ your throat on the way down.”

“I know what you’re talking about,” said Akaashi. “What I don’t understand is why anyone aside
from Bokuto-san would ask for it.”

“I need to get drunk like an hour ago.” Atsumu tried to say it with none of the desperation he felt,
but wasn’t sure if he was successful. “Just two shots of that and I’ll chase it with beer. Whatever’s
on tap and cheap, I don’t even care.”

“I have a strong feeling that isn’t a good idea.”

“Yeah, probably not,” agreed Atsumu. “I’m gonna do it anyway.”

Akaashi considered him. He was attractive in a sharp sort of way, and Atsumu thought touching
him would be a lot like squeezing a handful of broken glass. “Bokuto typically reserves his special
stash for himself only, but I believe he would make an exception for you, Miya-san.” Akaashi
paced to the far end of the counter and Atsumu watched him, his fingers drumming against the
edge of the bar in an impatient rhythm. When Akaashi returned, it was with two shots and a glass of
caramel-colored beer.

“Thanks,” said Atsumu, reaching for one of the shots. “You’re the best, man. One of my favorite
people. I’ll give you a great fuckin’ tip. Start me a tab.” He tried not to think about how badly the
drink would burn on the way down. He thought about it anyway, and still wasn’t prepared for the
way it knocked the breath out of him. He slapped the glass onto the bar and hunched over to cough
into his elbow, too fixated on the burn in his throat to be embarrassed.

“Should I be concerned that you might suffocate or can I return to my job?” asked Akaashi.

Atsumu waved him off, eyes watering. He grabbed the second shot in one hand and the beer in the
other and drifted off toward one of the small tables along the far wall, as isolated as he could get in
a crowd that size. He sat with his back to the wall, took a steadying breath, and tossed back the
other shot. It hit him like a punch to the gut, but he breathed through it. A gulp of beer eased the
burn, and as he put the glass back on the table, he already felt the hot tingle of liquor in his veins.

He considered asking Akaashi for one more shot but thought better of it. He wanted to forget
everything that had happened that day, but he also wanted to remember how to get back to his
apartment.

Well, not his apartment. His apartment was a long way from there. He thought he would remember
how to get back to Hyogo no matter how drunk he was. Maybe he could just get trashed and hop
the next train back home. He’d have an excuse. He was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing.
Maybe Kita would let him stay. He’d sleep in Kita’s back room, be a great houseguest, and Kita
would let him stay forever.

But that would only work if Kita liked him, at least a little. Since he hadn’t even bothered to call,
Atsumu had a strong feeling that he didn’t.

He chugged the rest of the beer in a few long swallows and waved the glass around until he caught
Akaashi’s eye. Akaashi made a gesture with his fingers that may have meant okay or fuck off .
Atsumu wasn’t sure, but he hoped it was the former.

He slumped back in his chair and pawed around for his phone. He almost thought he’d left it in the
crumpled suit on the bathroom floor, but found it the third time he checked his pocket. He had
three missed calls from Osamu and one all-caps text that said “CALL ME, DIPSHIT”.

Atsumu should have. Osamu would pick up on even the barest slur in Atsumu’s voice and tell him
to go the fuck home. That was what he needed, probably.

But Osamu would also ask him what was wrong, and he would refuse to let it go until Atsumu told
him, and Atsumu didn’t want to talk about it, especially not to him.

He sent back a text that said “I’M BUSY, FUCKWIT”. He proofread it several times to make sure
the slight fuzziness in his brain hadn’t jumbled the letters.

Akaashi approached with another beer. He placed it on the table in front of Atsumu and collected
the empty glasses. “Miya-san, I feel obligated to ask if you’re okay.”

“Yeah, ‘m great.” Atsumu reached for the drink. “Fantastic. Just fuckin’ peachy. Thanks for
checkin’.” He took a sip, and then a longer one.

Akaashi’s mouth pressed into a flat line. “Is this normal behavior for you or something I should put
a stop to?”

Atsumu tried to remember the last time he’d gotten falling-down-drunk and decided it must have
been on his birthday two years ago. He and Osamu had gotten trashed and woken up on the
sidewalk three streets away from their apartment, wearing clothes they’d never seen before and
carrying bags of fresh pita bread and indigo nail polish.

It was decidedly not typical behavior for him, but Atsumu shrugged and said, “Nah, it’s normal. I
drink all the time, I’m good.”

Sakusa had told him a few days ago that he was a bad liar. Osamu had said it to him hundreds of
times.

But Akaashi accepted that answer and returned to the bar. Atsumu wondered if he’d fooled him or
if Akaashi just didn’t care.

Atsumu finished that beer, and in some unknown amount of time that could have been five or
forty-five minutes, Akaashi brought him another. Akaashi asked him something else. Atsumu
heard him and answered, but by the time Akaashi walked away, he couldn’t remember what either
of them had said.

That was good. A little bit of short-term memory loss was what he’d been searching for.

There was a tap on his shoulder and Atsumu distantly realized he’d laid his head down on the
table. He picked it up again and squinted at the man standing over him. Akaashi was smiling, his
hair was too bright, and his voice had changed into something warmer.
Atsumu blinked and realized it wasn’t Akaashi. “Hinata?”

“Hi, Miya-san. Can I sit down?”

Atsumu blinked again. He didn’t know why Hinata was there. Was he even old enough to drink?
Wait, of course he was. They’d had drinks together with Bokuto a few hours or days or weeks ago.
Time seemed like a strange, stringy sort of thing that didn’t quite make sense, the same way the
numb throbbing in his arm didn’t make sense until he realized his head had been pillowed on it. He
realized there were two more empty shot glasses on the table, but didn’t remember what had been
in them.

“Yeah. Go ‘head,” said Atsumu. It didn’t sound like his voice, but it must have been, because the
words had been in his head before they’d filtered into the room. He blinked and Hinata was sitting
beside him, chair turned to the side to face Atsumu.

“Are you okay, Miya-san?” asked Hinata.

“Great. Super. Super great.”

Hinata frowned. It made him look younger, approximately fourteen. “You don’t seem great. Did
something happen? Do you want to talk about it?”

Atsumu laughed. It was strange, distorted. “No.”

“Nothing happened or you don’t want to talk about it?”

“The second one.”

Hinata frowned a little harder, and he was upgraded to sixteen. “You went out with Sakusa-san
today, right? Was he… Did he do something?”

Atsumu laughed again. This time it sounded even stranger. “You’d think so, huh? But nah, Omi
didn’t do any worse shit than normal. I kinda hate ‘im but then I kinda don’t, ya know?”

Hinata blinked as if he didn’t know. “Oh. Okay. Umm, why are you… like this, then?”

Atsumu didn’t know exactly. He could probably remember if he tried, but he didn’t want to. He
really, really didn’t want to. He knew that much, at least. “Shit happened. Don’t wanna think about
it.”

“Okay…” Hinata trailed off. His lip poked out a little and he looked across the room. Atsumu
didn’t know what he was looking at and didn’t try to follow his stare. Everything was a little
blurry, even Hinata’s face when he turned back. “Meian-san has you staying next door, right? At
the apartments?”

“Yeah.”

“Want me to walk you back? You should probably get some rest, yeah?”

Atsumu blew out a breath and reached for his beer. It was empty. “Fuck. Nah, I need one more.
Just one. Where’s ‘Kaashi?”

Hinata turned his head away again. This time Atsumu squinted past him to see what was so
interesting, but everything started swimming, so he laid his head on his arms instead.

There was a hand on his back, rubbing back and forth between his shoulderblades. “It’s okay,
Miya-san. Whatever it is.”

Atsumu mumbled at him. The words got lost in his sleeve.

“What?” asked Hinata.

Atsumu turned his head to the other side, toward Hinata. “Don’ call me that. Name’s Atsumu.”

Hinata’s hand stalled on Atsumu’s shoulder. “Oh. Sorry, Atsumu-san.”

It was still too formal, but it felt better to hear his name, even in a barely familiar voice.

“Miya-san.”

Atsumu reluctantly raised his head to find Akaashi standing over them. He perked up and reached
for his beer. Instead a glass of water was pushed into his hand. Atsumu frowned at it. “This ain’t
beer.”

“Drink it anyway,” said Akaashi, folding his arms. “You need it.”

“You don’t know what I fuckin’ need,” said Atsumu. He thought about throwing the glass across
the table. Maybe Akaashi would bring him a beer then.

A hazy memory of spilled beer and shattered glass erupted through the fog in his head. Hinata was
there, and he was here, watching Atsumu with wide eyes. Twelve. Thirteen, at most.

Akaashi pulled out a chair and sat across the table. He gave Hinata a look, then said, “Miya-san, I
don’t know you, so I personally don’t mind if you drink yourself into an alcohol-induced coma and
never wake up again. But if you work for Meian-san, I do feel some level of responsibility to not
allow you to die inside this building. If you insist on it, please go somewhere else.”

Atsumu laughed. The sound of it was detached, as if threads were pulling thin and the pieces of his
voice were ripping away. “You ever met Omi? You might get along. You’re both fuckin’
assholes.”

Akaashi didn’t acknowledge that, with such finesse that Atsumu wondered if he’d said it at all.

“Hinata-kun,” said Akaashi, “I called Bokuto-san again and he’s still caught up at the job. Should I
try someone else?”

“No, it's fine. I’ve got him.” Hinata tapped the glass of water. “Here, Atsumu-san. Just drink a little
bit. You’ll feel better.” Seventeen.

Atsumu didn’t move. “How old’re you?”

Hinata’s head tilted. “Twenty-seven.”

Atsumu just stared at him. There was no possible way he was twenty-seven.

“Atsumu-san.” Hinata nudged the glass against Atsumu’s knuckles. “Please?”

Atsumu looked across the table for Akaashi, because if Hinata was twenty-seven then Akaashi
must have been somewhere around forty-five. Maybe Atsumu was too, and he’d just forgotten.
Maybe fifteen years had passed since he’d sat down in that chair and he hadn’t noticed.

Akaashi was gone, so he couldn’t find out.

He took the water from Hinata, the movement automatic. He raised it to his mouth, and although
he knew what it was, he was still disappointed when it hit his tongue and it wasn’t beer.

“Your phone is ringing, Atsumu-san.”

Atsumu patted his pocket to try and find it, but realized it was lying on the table in front of him.
Osamu’s face was on the screen, his mouth half-open and his hair all over his face. He’d been
asleep when Atsumu had taken the picture. It wasn’t as ugly as the one Osamu had of him, but it
was close.

Hinata looked at the phone, then at Atsumu, and then back again. “Umm… are you going to
answer it?”

Atsumu rested his head on the table again. “No. He’ll give me shit for drinkin’. Text him
somethin’. Say I’m busy.”

“Okay.”

A few minutes passed, maybe. Atsumu wasn’t sure. He started drifting.

“He wants to know if you’re drunk,” said Hinata.

“Tell ‘im no.”

“But you are.”

“Am fuckin’ not. Tell ‘im no.”

Another few minutes. An hour. Six days.

“He wants you to call him,” said Hinata. “He doesn’t believe me.”

“Tell ‘im to go fuck himself.”

“I’m not saying that, Atsumu-san.”

“Gimme the fuckin’ phone then, I’ll tell ‘im myself.” Atsumu snatched it from Hinata, then tried
again when he missed. He blinked at the screen a few times, typed in an explicitly worded
suggestion that Osamu should mind his own business, and slapped the phone face down on the
table. “Hey, Hinata. Go and get me another beer.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Please?”

Hinata hesitated, but said, “I can’t, Atsumu-san. I can get you some more water, if you want.”

“Water’s fuckin’ stupid.”

“It’s good for you.”

There was more empty time. The crowd at the dartboards had left since Atsumu had sat down. It
was quieter without them, but still noisy enough to be comfortable.

“Are you ready to go home, Atsumu-san?” asked Hinata. “I’ll walk with you.”
“Home,” repeated Atsumu. The word was slurred and bitter. “This ain’t my fuckin’ home. This city
is shit. Kita only sent me here ‘cause I’m shit, too. He thought I’d fit right the fuck in.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’re great, Atsumu-san.”

“You don’t know the first thing ‘bout me.” Atsumu raised his head. It felt like concrete, both in
weight and density. “The fuck’re you doin’ here, anyway. With Meian. You’re too…” Atsumu
struggled to find the right word, couldn’t. “Not like yakuza.”

Hinata blinked. He did not look twenty-seven. “I’ve been in since I was thirteen. Back home in
Miyagi most of the time, then here last year. I’m good at it. Meian-san wouldn’t let me stay if I
wasn’t.”

Atsumu had so many questions, but he couldn’t piece together any of them. He tried to do the
math, to count how many years Hinata had been yakuza, and couldn’t quite do it. He thought it
was longer than him, though, which made everything even more confusing.

Thirteen. Hinata had been thirteen .

Atsumu had thought he and Osamu had been too young, but thirteen .

“Here, drink some more,” said Hinata, pushing the water into Atsumu’s hand again.

Atsumu did. He spilled some down his chin and wiped it away with his sleeve.

“Let me walk you back to your apartment,” said Hinata. He stood without waiting for an answer
and pushed his chair neatly underneath the table. “Come on, it’s really late. The bar will close
soon.”

Atsumu raised his head. There were still people around, but less of them. Someone was still behind
the counter serving drinks, but they were too blurry for Atsumu to be sure if it was Akaashi.

“I don’t like it there,” said Atsumu. “’s too quiet.”

“We can turn on some music or something. It’ll be fine, Atsumu-san.”

That wasn’t what Atsumu meant. Before he could try to explain, Hinata hauled him out of his chair
with a surprising amount of strength. Hinata grabbed onto Atsumu’s shoulders to steady him,
which was fortunate. Atsumu would have been on the floor if he hadn’t.

“Come on, this way,” said Hinata. He tugged one of Atsumu’s arms over his own shoulders and
started walking, and Atsumu was given no choice but to stumble along beside him.

From somewhere nearby Akaashi said, “Do you have him?”

“Yeah, we’re good!” said Hinata, his voice normal, as if he wasn’t shrinking under at least half of
Atsumu’s weight. “Thanks, Akaashi-san!”

Atsumu tried to find Akaashi, but they were out on the sidewalk, and he was nowhere in sight.
There wasn’t much traffic. Atsumu didn’t immediately know why.

They made it to the front of the apartment building before he had the presence of mind to ask,
“What time’s it?”

“A little after two,” said Hinata.

“Fuck.” Atsumu tried to remember what time he’d gotten to the bar and couldn’t. “He’s gonna be
so fuckin’ mad.”

“Who is?”

“Fuckin’ Omi.”

Hinata said something, but Atsumu didn’t quite catch it. His focus was entirely devoted to raising
his feet high enough to climb the stairs.

They made it to the top, not without a lot of stumbling on Atsumu’s part and a lot of lifting from
Hinata. Atsumu wondered how he would’ve made it up without Hinata’s help. He probably
would’ve just laid at the bottom of the stairs and waited for morning.

Atsumu blinked, slowly, and he was in his apartment, being helped onto the couch. Hinata stood
upright as Atsumu slouched to one side.

“You’ll have to get up and lock the door behind me,” said Hinata. “Can you do that?”

“Yeah, sure.” It came out as a sticky mumble.

Hinata paused. “Should I stay with you, to make sure you’re okay? I don’t mind.”

“Nah, ‘s fine. ‘M fine.”

“Umm… okay, then. Do you want me to turn on some music, so it won’t be too quiet?”

Atsumu grunted.

Hinata was still talking. Atsumu vaguely heard him, but he couldn’t make sense of the words
anymore. Atsumu slumped over a little further, until his head was on the arm of the couch. His legs
were doing something crooked and uncomfortable but he didn’t try and move them.

He wanted to say something else, but he was unconscious before he could decide what that
something else was. His last thought was that when he woke up, he hoped it was at home.

Atsumu had made some very bad decisions in his life. Not all of them involved alcohol, but at least
half of them did.

He woke up cold and stiff, and his first conscious thought was that this must be what a corpse felt
like. He curled up in a ball to try and stave off the pain, but his head throbbed and his stomach
churned and he stretched back out again. It didn’t make anything better.

Something nudged his shoulder. He realized it wasn’t the first time, and it must be what had woken
him up. He tried to ignore it, but the push came again, harder.

“Fuck off, ‘Samu,” he said. His voice was scratchy, hoarse.

“At this point I shouldn’t be surprised,” said a voice above him. “Should I suffocate you with a
bath towel and put you out of your misery?”

That wasn’t Osamu.

Atsumu raised his head and squinted through bleary eyes. The bathroom light was bright enough to
make his skull throb, but the worst of it was blocked out by Sakusa, standing over him with folded
arms and a scowl that was obvious even behind his mask.

“Fuck.” Atsumu laid down again. “The fuck’re you doin’?”

“I was preparing to report your death. I now see that you’re alive, but it’s still on the table.”

Atsumu got an arm beneath himself and pushed upright. The room dipped to one side and then the
other, like it was on the crest of a tidal wave. His stomach flipped and he swallowed, hard. His
mouth tasted like vomit. “Why’re you in my apartment?”

Sakusa took a couple of steps back, as if staying too close to Atsumu was hazardous. “You ignored
all my texts. I came up to see if you’d been murdered in your bed and the door was unlocked.
Clearly you’re not murdered. Get up and get ready, we have work to do.”

“Right,” said Atsumu. He’d forgotten about work. He’d forgotten about mostly everything. He
didn’t even know when he’d moved to the bathroom. His last fuzzy memory was of the couch.

That’s what he’d been aiming for, though. He’d forgotten what had happened the day before, if
only for a little while.

It came rushing back now, and it brought a fresh swell of nausea with it. Atsumu scrambled for the
toilet and made it just in time to heave into the bowl. His throat was already raw. It hurt, badly. He
coughed, sputtered, and staggered upright to rinse his mouth out in the sink. Sakusa was gone.
Atsumu thought maybe he’d hallucinated that entire conversation.

Atsumu didn’t look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to see the horror of his own face. He
gripped the doorway for stability as he stepped out of the bathroom and found that Sakusa really
was there. He’d retreated to the front door and stood with his arms tightly folded across his chest,
his brow scrunched in something that may have been disgust. It was hard to tell for sure with his
mouth covered.

“Please tell me you’re hungover and not actually sick,” said Sakusa.

“I’m not sick.” Atsumu pushed his hair away from his forehead. It was wet with cold sweat.
“Gimme a few minutes to clean up and I’ll be fine. Just sit down or somethin’.”

Sakusa didn’t move. Atsumu hadn’t really expected him to.

Atsumu withdrew into the bathroom and pulled the door shut. He stood there for a minute, trying
to decide if he was going to vomit again. The urge passed, and he cranked the hot water up and
stepped into the shower. He hoped it would make him feel better, but when he got out several
minutes later, he still felt like shit. He brushed his teeth to get rid of the sour taste in his mouth,
gave up on convincing his hair to cooperate, and hitched a towel around his hips as he left the
steam of the bathroom. Sakusa was still standing at the door, arms still folded, making a point not
to touch anything.

“I toldja I’m not sick,” said Atsumu. His voice was a little stronger this time, although his headache
was worse. “Sittin’ on the couch won’t kill ya.”
“I have a strong suspicion it might.”

“Fine, whatever.”

“Hurry up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Atsumu’s towel slipped and he yanked it up higher as he entered the bedroom. He
felt Sakusa looking at him when his back was turned and he kicked the door shut. The slam of it
made him wince.

Atsumu wanted nothing more than to flop into his bed and sleep until he felt functional again.
Since that clearly wasn’t an option, he flung his towel aside and got dressed in his new suit. On
any other day he would have appreciated how well it fit him, but just then he was too miserable to
care. He double-checked the buttons of his shirt to make sure they were lined up right, so Sakusa
wouldn’t call him disheveled again. When he was satisfied, he went back into the bathroom to
fetch his gun and holster. He wrestled his way into it, aware of Sakusa judging him through the
bathroom doorway.

“Did you even sleep last night?” asked Sakusa. “You look like shit.”

“I was asleep when you broke in, wasn’t I?” Atsumu tried to say it with venom, but fell flat.

“You were passed out on the bathroom floor. That hardly counts as sleep.”

“Then no, I probably didn’t sleep. I don’t remember, okay?” He shoved his gun in place and tried
to keep his mind from wandering back to yesterday. “I’m ready. Let’s go.” He paced back to the
bedroom, grabbed his jacket, and pulled it on as he approached the front door. Right before
following Sakusa into the hallway he realized he’d left his phone on the bathroom sink and went
back for it. He locked the apartment door, and as they descended the stairs, Atsumu vaguely
remembered Hinata helping him climb them several hours before. He wasn’t sure how many hours
until he checked his phone and saw it was just before nine o’clock. Either Sakusa was running late,
or he’d spent more time than Atsumu would have expected waiting for him.

Atsumu didn’t have a chance to ask about that because he was distracted by the horde of unread
messages on his phone.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, as he approached Sakusa’s car.

“If you puke in my car I will snap your neck,” said Sakusa. “I’m not joking.”

“I won’t. I’m fine. Take a fuckin’ breath.”

Sakusa glared at him before yanking open the door and sinking into the driver’s seat. Atsumu
mimicked him on the other side, already typing back a message to Osamu. He scrolled up and read
the conversation from the night before, courtesy of Hinata.

Hi! Atsumu-san says he’s busy and he can’t talk right now, sorry .

The fuck he is. It’s after midnight, he’s not busy. Is he drunk?

He says no.

I didn’t ask what he said. Is he drunk?

No?
I don’t know who you are but you give him this phone and tell him to call me right fucking now.

That had been the end of Hinata’s intervention, and Atsumu was slightly annoyed that he hadn’t
lied better. He couldn’t be too annoyed though, because he wasn’t sure he would have even made it
back to the apartment if Hinata hadn’t lended him a shoulder.

The next message had been from Atsumu himself. He couldn’t remember what he’d been trying to
say, and it wasn’t clear from the disarray of letters, either.

The rest of the messages from Osamu had been very clear though, and despite Atsumu’s reluctance
and his extreme awareness of Sakusa’s proximity, he dialed Osamu’s number and pressed his
phone against his ear.

Sakusa eyed him, but started the car without comment.

Osamu picked up after the first ring. “I should’ve eaten you in the womb, you absolute fucking
idiot .”

Atsumu winced and turned the volume down. The way Sakusa glanced over suggested he’d heard
that insult quite clearly.

“Stop yellin’, geez,” said Atsumu. “It’s not like you haven’t heard from me. I told you like six
hours ago I was fine.”

“No, you told me six hours ago you were…” Osamu made a garbled sound that was surprisingly
reminiscent of the keyboard smash Atsumu had sent him in lieu of something legible. “Which
means you were drunk off your ass in the middle of Tokyo with some fuckin’ stranger textin’ me
from your phone. The fuck were you thinkin’?”

Atsumu slumped back in the seat. “I had a rough day.”

“No shit,” snapped Osamu. “If you’re tryin’ to get yourself killed, you shoulda just stayed in
Hyogo. Woulda been easier than goin’ all the way to Tokyo to get hit by a car or some shit while
you’re blackout drunk.”

Osamu didn’t lose his temper very often, and Atsumu hated when it happened. Atsumu was the
loud and dramatic one. He didn’t like when Osamu borrowed that role.

Also, anytime Osamu yelled at him, it was usually because he deserved it.

“I’m fine, alright?” said Atsumu. “It’s done and I’m fine. I’m not gonna do it again. One time
thing. Move on.”

“As if I believe a single word outta your lyin’ mouth,” said Osamu. “Who were you even with,
callin’ you Atsumu-san ?”

“One of Meian-san’s guys,” said Atsumu. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If they’re out gettin’ you drunk and fuckin’ around, I’m gonna worry about it.”

“They’re not. He wasn’t even drinkin’. It was just me. Let it fuckin’ go, ‘Samu.”

“If you get yourself killed up there I’m gonna kick your sorry ass, you hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear ya. Everyone in a square fuckin’ kilometer can hear ya.” Atsumu tossed a glance at
Sakusa; his eyes were on the road, but his attention was clearly on Atsumu’s conversation. “Look, I
gotta go. I’m workin’.”

“ Workin ’?” repeated Osamu, too sharply.

Atsumu realized too late that he shouldn’t have said that. “Not like… real work. Just ridin’ around
with one of the guys. Makin’ rounds, you know? Not doin’ anything important.”

Sakusa switched lanes and raised a brow at Atsumu, who waved him off with a flap of his hand.

“You shouldn’t be out at all. We’re s’posed to be somewhere safe, that’s the whole point. Does
Kita-san know you’re rollin’ around with them?”

“Probably not,” said Atsumu, his voice snapping harder than he’d expected, “considerin’ he hasn’t
even called to see if I’m still alive.” There was a brief silence. Atsumu pinched the bridge of his
nose and took a breath. “’Samu, I really do hafta go. I’ll call you later, but only if you’re not gonna
yell at me.”

“I’m not makin’ any promises,” said Osamu. “Take care of yourself, scrub. And answer your
fuckin’ phone when I call.”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Bye.”

Atsumu lowered the phone with a huff and tilted his head back against the seat. He closed his eyes
and pretended he couldn’t feel Sakusa looking at him.

He made it almost two minutes before saying, “Omi, pull over for a minute.”

“We’ll be there soon.”

“No, seriously. Pull over.”

“Miya-”

“You want me to throw up in your car?”

Sakusa swung across the lanes of traffic, nearly plowing into three different vehicles, and came to a
jolting stop in a no-park zone. “Get out,” he said. “Hurry up and get out.”

Atsumu didn’t respond to that. He threw the door open and stumbled out, one hand planted on the
back door of the car, hunched over as nausea clawed its way up his throat. He dry heaved once,
twice, before the urge passed and left him gasping for air. He spat a string of saliva onto the
sidewalk and straightened, ignoring the stares of passersby as he got back into the car.

Sakusa’s gloved hands were tight on the wheel, his jaw clenched as Atsumu plopped back into his
seat and pulled the door closed. “Are you sure you’re not sick?”

“What’re you, a germaphobe or some shit?” said Atsumu. “Yeah, I’m sure. I think it’s just the
fuckin’ headache makin’ me nauseous.”

Sakusa leaned closer and Atsumu flattened himself against the door, convinced he was about to get
slapped or otherwise assaulted. Sakusa scoffed at him and popped open the glove compartment. He
plucked out a pill bottle and twisted off the cap. “Here.”

Atsumu held out his hand, baffled, as Sakusa tapped a couple of white pills into his palm. He
swallowed them dry, wincing at the bitter taste as Sakusa replaced the bottle and shoved the glove
compartment shut again. Before he did, Atsumu caught a glimpse of some of the other items
inside; bottles of hand sanitizer like the one Sakusa kept in his pocket, a pack of face masks, a few
other pill bottles, hand soap.

Maybe Atsumu’s guess of germaphobe hadn’t been too far off.

“Thanks,” mumbled Atsumu, as Sakusa started driving again.

“Anything to keep you from making a mess in this car,” said Sakusa. He took the next turn slowly,
as if afraid a sudden jerk of motion would trigger Atsumu’s gag reflex. “I’ll drop you back off at
your apartment if you’re too sick to work.”

“I just said ten fuckin’ times I’m not sick. Drop it.” It felt too much like the conversation he’d just
had with Osamu.

Maybe Sakusa was thinking the same thing. A few minutes later, he said, “That was your brother.”

It wasn’t a question, but still Atsumu said, “Yeah.”

Sakusa was quiet again. He slowed at a changing stoplight and said, “Hinata said you weren’t
doing too well last night.”

“What?”

“Hinata,” repeated Sakusa. “He called late and asked what he should do with you. He was
concerned, and Bokuto was tied up at a job.”

Atsumu felt betrayed. Of all the possible people that Hinata could have called, he had to pick
Sakusa. “Why’d he call you?”

“Because we’ve been working together, I assume,” said Sakusa. He drifted into the left lane and
parallel parked in a vacant spot. He put the car in park but made no move to get out. “He told me
the things you were babbling on about while you were drunk. He said something had really gotten
to you yesterday. My only conclusion was that you were upset about having to kill a woman.”

Atsumu’s stomach lurched; not because Sakusa was right, but because that reminded him of what
was actually bothering him.

He hadn’t been eager to kill a woman, not even the angry, vicious one that he’d shot yesterday
when he and Sakusa had tracked down a pair of their targets. She’d been fierce, aggressive, and if
Atsumu had been alone, she might’ve killed him.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that she hadn’t been alone, either.

“But that didn’t seem right. Not really.” Sakusa’s hands slipped off the steering wheel to settle in
his lap. He watched Atsumu, so closely that it was uncomfortable. “I couldn’t imagine that you’d
be disturbed enough by that to go out and drink yourself into oblivion.”

“It wasn’t the first time I’ve killed a woman. It doesn’t matter.” It didn’t happen often, but it
wasn’t a novelty, either. Atsumu was all about equal opportunity when it came to killing. If
someone deserved it, they deserved it; regardless of their gender. “Can we get this over with?
We’re lookin’ for the real estate guy again today, right?”

Sakusa ignored that. “I didn’t understand,” he said, “but I think I do now.”

“Why do you even care?” spat Atsumu. “You don’t give a fuck about me, so don’t go pretendin’
you do. Let’s just get this job done so I can go…” He almost said home , but stopped himself. “…
Back to the apartment.”

“It was her sister, wasn’t it?” said Sakusa. “You watched her watch her sister die. That’s what got
to you.”

Atsumu sucked in a breath. It hurt. He turned away from Sakusa to stare out the window, because
he couldn’t stop the wince pulling at his face.

He’d known before they’d gone into the building that the women were sisters. They ran their
business together, kidnapped the children of rich families for ransom money together, and stole
about a million yen from Meian together. Atsumu had known, but he hadn’t realized exactly what
that meant until Sakusa had killed one of them.

He’d watched the other one break. She’d looked at her sister’s body on the floor and it had ripped
her to shreds. Atsumu had seen it in her face, in her eyes, in the bloody furrows she’d carved into
her cheeks as she’d screamed. He could still hear that scream, echoing around in the back of his
head like a phantom. It was despair, shrill and gut-wrenching. She’d snapped then, and had rushed
them like a wild animal, with fury and fire and no concern for her own life.

Atsumu had shot her before Sakusa could. It was a mercy for all of them, including her.

There hadn’t been a single moment since then that he’d stopped imagining Osamu dying in front of
him like that.

Not until he’d gotten too drunk to think about anything at all.

“Are you twins?” asked Sakusa. His voice was inflectionless, as usual. “I heard what he said, about
eating you in the womb. I wish he’d done it.”

“Don’t fuckin’ talk about it,” said Atsumu, still looking out the window. Pain snapped at his finger
and he realized he’d been picking at his nails. He folded his hands together tightly. “You don’t
know me.”

“I’m right, then,” said Sakusa, although he didn’t sound pleased by it. “You got drunk last night
because you couldn’t stop thinking about your brother dying.”

“I said don’t talk about it!” Atsumu’s voice was too loud in the enclosed car.

“Is he in the business, too?” asked Sakusa. “Back in Hyogo?”

Atsumu slapped the dash so hard that his hand stung. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth, Sakusa.”

Sakusa did, but only to collect his thoughts. Despite the tension rolling off of Atsumu like desert
heat, Sakusa said, “It seems like more than that. Did he almost die recently? You must have been
there when it happened.”

Atsumu lunged across the car to seize a handful of Sakusa’s shirt and snarled into Sakusa’s face.
“Don’t you say one more fuckin’ word about my brother. I’m not playin’ around. Just fuckin’
don’t.”

Sakusa’s eyes went cold. “Let go of me. Now.”

Atsumu’s grip went tighter. Their stares were dagger-sharp; Atsumu’s fire and Sakusa’s ice.
Slowly, Atsumu peeled his hand away and sat back down. Sakusa straightened the front of his
shirt, his stare unwavering.

It felt as if an eternity drifted by before Sakusa looked away. He pushed open the door and stepped
out of the car. Atsumu didn’t want to follow. He was too angry. He thought he might do something
he regretted. But he didn’t have much of a choice, so he carefully climbed out and stuffed his fists
into his pockets where they wouldn’t fly toward Sakusa’s face.

He waited for Sakusa to head toward the row of buildings that lined the street, but he didn’t move
from where he stood beside the car. He watched the passing traffic, briefly, before looking at
Atsumu again. The shards of black ice in his eyes were a little less sharp.

“I don’t know the situation,” said Sakusa, his voice level, “but I don’t need to know. Kita-san sent
you here. Maybe he sent your brother somewhere else, or maybe he’s still back in Hyogo. It
doesn’t matter. Whatever Kita-san did was for the best. He made the right choice for both of you.
You can still worry, but you can’t let it overpower you like this. If you lose control every time you
think about it, you’re the one who’s going to get killed, and your brother will be the one left
mourning you.”

Atsumu gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt. He wanted to scream, so loudly that everyone within a
city block could hear. He wanted to grab Sakusa again, to shake him until he shattered, until the
heat in Atsumu’s throat and at the backs of his eyes went cold.

He swallowed, hard. “Was it, though?”

Sakusa continued to watch him, unbearably calm. “What?”

“The right choice,” said Atsumu through his teeth. He scowled at the concrete beneath his feet.
“Did Kita-san make the right choice? Was it really for the best? Because ‘Samu is two hours away
and if somethin’ happens to him, I can’t do shit about it.”

The weight of Sakusa’s stare was heavy. “Do you trust your Kumicho?”

Atsumu huffed a breath. “Yeah. Maybe. I thought I did, until now. Until he sent us away.”

A moment passed. There was a blare of a horn nearby, a chatter of pigeons, the shrill laugh of a
young girl across the street.

“I don’t always agree with Meian,” said Sakusa. “Sometimes I think his decisions are made with
the logic of a preschooler. Sometimes he’s wrong, and I have to pick up the pieces.” Sakusa
slipped his hands into his pockets. “But he would never make a decision that would put any of us in
danger. A Kumicho’s men are his family. You and your brother are Kita-san’s family. Even if you
don’t agree with him, this was his best strategy to keep both of you safe. He considered all of the
options and this was the one least likely to end badly. You’re both as safe as you could possibly
be.”

Atsumu said nothing. He bit his lip so hard that it hurt.

“Like I said, if you spend all your time worrying about it, you’re making things more dangerous
for yourself. Judging from the way your brother tore into your ass on the phone, I would guess he
agrees.”

“Don’t talk about him,” said Atsumu, but this time there wasn’t an ember of heat in his voice.

“You need to get yourself together, Miya. No one can fault you for being upset, but you’re too
dramatic about it. Don’t obsess over what you can’t change. Let it happen, do what you can to keep
yourself alive, and trust your brother to do the same. That’s all you can do.”

“I fuckin’ hate you.”

“That’s fine. It doesn’t make anything I just said less true.”

He was right, and that made Atsumu hate him even more.

Except he didn’t, not really. He was aware, underneath his frustration and worry and scorn, that
Sakusa was trying to help him. He was also aware, to his own chagrin, that Sakusa was right.

Atsumu sighed until his lungs were empty, then sucked in a breath to fill them again. He pushed
his hands through his hair, gripped it until it stung, and let them fall away again. “Yeah,” he said.
He almost felt nauseous again, but he thought it was an emotional reaction rather than a physical
one. “Yeah. I guess… I guess you’re not completely wrong.”

“Can’t admit when someone is right,” observed Sakusa. “Another flaw for the list. Right below
‘can’t hold his liquor’.”

“You’re an asshole,” said Atsumu. “We doin’ this or what?”

“Depends. Can you watch someone die without puking on my shoes?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and started forward, although he wasn’t sure where they were going. He
skipped a step and waited for Sakusa to catch up so he could lead the way. “That’s the only thing
you’re actually worried about. You’re just sayin’ all that shit so I don’t get drunk again because
you can’t stand the thought of me throwin’ up.”

“Obviously.”

Atsumu snorted. “Jerk.”

Sakusa pulled open a door, and without even checking to see where they were, Atsumu stepped
inside. He hesitated as he passed by, his shoulder almost brushing Sakusa’s.

“Hey,” said Atsumu, quietly. “Thanks, Omi.”

“Thank me by making up the time we lost because of you.” It should have been sharp, but Sakusa
spoke just as quietly as Atsumu.

There were several times that day that Atsumu thought of the sisters they’d killed the day before. It
was impossible not to think about them.

But he did it without the suffocating knot of anxiety in his chest, because Sakusa was right.

Atsumu had to take care of himself, and trust Osamu to do the same.
 Chapter 8

“What was that you said to Meian-san?” asked Atsumu, as they got into the car and Sakusa
slammed the door. “Wasn’t it somethin’ like I’ll finish the list in a week ? How long ago was that,
Omi? I’m thinkin’ it was about a week.”

“Shut up,” snapped Sakusa, as he yanked his seatbelt across his chest. “We’ll finish it today. I
always finish my jobs.”

Atsumu hummed, skeptical, and checked the time. It was six-thirty. They’d been chasing down one
man, the last one on the list, since eight o’ clock that morning. “It’s not lookin’ too good for ya,
huh?”

“You’re in this too.” Sakusa twisted the key too hard as he started the car. It growled as the engine
caught. “Don’t get comfortable. If we don’t find him, it’s your failure, too.”

“The hell it is. I don’t know anything about Tokyo. How am I supposed to help?”

“Stop wearing on my nerves so I can think. That’s a start.”

“C’mon, you’re a big bad killer, Omi,” said Atsumu, stretching out and kicking his feet as far
under the dash as they would go. “You should have nerves of steel.”

“I did, until I got stuck with you.”

Atsumu snorted a laugh. Sakusa didn’t seem to think it was funny.

They’d driven back and forth all day, from one side of the city to the other, chasing leads that
turned into ghosts. It was the real estate agent, the same one they’d tried to track down a few days
before. Atsumu had thought someone like that wouldn’t be hard to find, considering the other
slimy bastards they’d cornered.

“If his wife hadn’t disappeared with him, we could’ve gotten him easily,” said Sakusa, pulling
directly in front of another vehicle as he merged onto the road. A horn blared behind them and
Atsumu didn’t even flinch. He’d gotten used to Sakusa’s lethally entitled driving habits.

“Think they left the city?” said Atsumu.

“It’s hard to say. If they did, someone should know about it. No one just disappears.” Sakusa
turned into a gas station parking lot without slowing. Atsumu almost bashed his skull against the
window.

Atsumu huffed, but he’d made so many comments about Sakusa’s terrible driving that dropping
another one seemed redundant. Instead he said, “Didja consider that maybe if you hadn’t killed
fifteen people this week that one of them might’ve known where to find him?”

“We,” corrected Sakusa. He leaned forward to slip his wallet out of his back pocket. “We killed
them.”

“Whatever.”

Sakusa pressed his credit card into Atsumu’s hand. He did it without making any physical contact
at all, even though he was wearing gloves. “Fill up the tank.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you’re physically incapable of pumpin’ your own gas. My mistake.”

“You’ll shoot someone when I tell you to, but this is where you draw the line,” said Sakusa dryly.
“Interesting.”

“Hey, fuck you,” said Atsumu. “That’s about business. This is just you bein’ lazy.” Still, he shoved
the car door open and climbed out. He leaned back inside to say, “I’m memorizin’ this card
number so I can steal your identity. You seem like you have good credit. I’m gonna buy all kinds
of shit.”

“You clearly know nothing about stealing an identity, Miya. Which isn’t surprising, since you
know nothing about literally everything else.”

Atsumu flipped him off before slamming the car door shut. He swiped the card, eyed the string of
numbers on the front, and immediately gave up on remembering any of them. He tapped the corner
of it against Sakusa’s window until he rolled it down and yanked the card out of Atsumu’s hand.

Atsumu leaned against the side of the car as the numbers ticked upward on the fuel pump, partly
because the slouch was comfortable, and partly because he thought it would annoy Sakusa. He
drummed his fingers against the window for the latter reason and laughed when Sakusa scowled at
him.

A car pulled up at the pump next to them. It was black like Sakusa’s, but the windows weren’t as
dark. Atsumu could see inside, and found two glowers staring right back. He checked over his
shoulder to see if they were looking at someone else, but no one was around. One of the strangers
got out of the car, took a step in their direction, and Atsumu stood out of his slump as a warning
fired in the back of his brain.

He didn’t know the man. He’d never met him a single time in his entire life. But he knew yakuza
when he saw them, and he had a feeling this one didn’t belong to the Black Jackals.

Atsumu knocked on Sakusa’s window, urgently, as the stranger approached. Sakusa snapped at
him to stop, his voice muffled inside the car. Atsumu did it again, and this time Sakusa slung the
door open. He started to speak, followed the intensity of Atsumu’s stare, and climbed out of the car
instead. The door slammed shut just as the stranger drew even with them. He was tall, broad, and
had a face of hard stone. He wore a gray suit, and Atsumu knew without proof that there was at
least one gun hidden somewhere underneath that jacket. Atsumu pulled in his arm to feel the
weight of his own gun at his ribs, a quiet reassurance.

“Sakusa,” said the man, his voice a rolling bass. His attention slipped to Atsumu and he added, “I
don’t know you.”

“What are you doing here, Ushijima?” Sakusa spoke the same way as usual, his tone passive,
indifferent. If Atsumu hadn’t been stuck in a car with him for the past week, he wouldn’t have
noticed the tightness at the corners of Sakusa’s eyes, betraying his tension.

“The same as you, I assume,” said the man, Ushijima.

The fuel pump kicked off with a snap and Atsumu jumped. He fumbled with the nozzle, keeping
his eyes on Ushijima, and clumsily replaced the gas cap before slapping the hatch shut. The pump
spit out a receipt and Atsumu blindly snatched at it.

“I’ll rephrase,” said Sakusa, still perfectly calm. “What are you doing at one of Meian’s
businesses? You know this street is ours.”
Ushijima inclined his head. “We ran low on gas while running errands. This was the first station
that we passed. We will not linger.”

Sakusa exhaled, and the tightness at his eyes smoothed away. He glanced at Atsumu, briefly, and
lowered his voice. “You’re getting reckless, Wakatoshi. All of you. Meian knows you’ve been
running deals on his streets. He’ll have to do something about it soon, if it doesn’t stop.”

One side of Ushijima’s mouth turned down, just slightly. “I am only doing as I am told. Nothing
more.”

“Doing what you’re told could get you killed someday. I’ve said it before.”

“I remember.”

Atsumu looked between them. He was still on edge, but he was also confused. He’d never seen an
interaction with so much civility and animosity all at once.

Sakusa sliced a glance at him. “Get in the car.”

Atsumu didn’t move.

“I’m surprised to see you with a partner,” said Ushijima, studying Atsumu. “Especially a stranger.
New blood, I assume.”

“Not exactly. I said get in the car.”

“No,” said Atsumu. “Not until you do.”

“I will take my leave,” said Ushijima, moving a step back. “I simply did not wish for you to get the
wrong impression. We will be gone presently, once we refuel. If you must report this to Meian-san
then I understand, but I would prefer that you do not. I wish to cause no unnecessary tension.”

Sakusa didn’t answer. Atsumu thought he wouldn’t say anything at all, that the conversation was
over. Just as Ushijima turned to walk away, Sakusa said, “Hey, Wakatoshi.”

He turned back, face carved from granite.

“I won’t mention this,” said Sakusa, “if you can tell me where to find someone.”

“I can’t believe Sakusa Kiyoomi is actually a shady bastard.”

Sakusa didn’t look away from the road to acknowledge that.

They’d been driving for about an hour; aimlessly at first, and then with purpose when Sakusa had
received a text. Presumably from Ushijima, presumably containing the address where they would
find their rogue real estate agent.

“Like, seriously. Of all the people,” said Atsumu, gesturing as he spoke. “Bokuto? Yeah, sure,
maybe he’s done some questionable shit. Hinata? He seems pure as a fuckin’ angel, but he’s gotta
have some dirty gritty history. But you ? Sakusa, who has to be perfect at every wakin’ moment, is
out there workin’ with the bad guys? No fuckin’ way.”

“I can do this job myself, if you’d rather walk home,” said Sakusa flatly.

“Are you really gonna keep that a secret from Meian-san?”

“It’s not a secret.” The edge of Sakusa’s voice was hard, steely. “There’s nothing to tell him.
Ushijima wasn’t doing anything malicious.”

“Or so he said. I remember what Meian-san said, in that secret meeting when I first got here. He
said if anybody sees the Adlers to call him right then.” Meian hadn’t said that verbatim, and
Atsumu hadn’t even known they were called Adlers until Sakusa had dropped the word a few days
ago, but it was close enough. “That’s who Ushijima is, right? One of the Adlers? Works for
Hirugami or whoever?”

Sakusa didn’t answer.

“So shouldn’t you be callin’ Meian-san right about now?”

“Ushijima wasn’t doing business on our property,” said Sakusa. He turned off on a side road. There
were no street lights; the alley was pitch. “There’s nothing to report.”

“He could’ve been lyin’, ya know.”

“Ushijima doesn’t lie.”

“How would you know that?”

Sakusa braked, a little too hard, and jerked the car into park. He settled back in his seat, hands
slipping away from the steering wheel. He kept his face forward as he asked, “Are you planning to
tell him, then?”

“What?”

“Meian. Are you going to tell him?”

“About the Ushijima bullshit?” said Atsumu. The thought hadn’t really crossed his mind. He
hadn’t considered that he could be equally responsible for reporting the Adlers sighting. It would
be the proper thing to do, really. Meian was his boss now. His orders were absolute.

Sakusa was watching him now, his expression blank, face washed out by shadows.

“Nah.” Atsumu shrugged. “If you’re not tellin’ him, I’m not tellin’ him.”

“Why?”

“What, you think I’m gonna go behind your back or somethin’?” said Atsumu. He huffed a laugh.
“Yeah, right. I’m not like that, Omi-kun. We’re in this together. And hey, we found our guy, right?
As far as I’m concerned, it worked out.”

Sakusa studied him. Atsumu felt it more than he saw it.

“Come on, then,” said Sakusa. He opened his car door, carefully. The inside light didn’t come on;
he must have disabled it. “Let’s finish this.”
“That was real dramatic, Omi,” whispered Atsumu, as he emerged from his side of the car and
quietly nudged the door shut. “I liked it.”

Sakusa gestured for him to follow, and Atsumu did. They branched down an adjacent alley paved
with old, cracked asphalt. Spurts of grass poked through, catching at Atsumu’s feet as he walked.

“But really,” said Atsumu, keeping his voice low, “why d’you trust Ushijima? If he’s one of them,
I mean.”

He didn’t expect Sakusa to answer, because even Atsumu knew it was none of his business.

But Sakusa said, quietly, “We used to work together.”

Atsumu tried to see Sakusa’s face in the darkness but couldn’t. “Is that an innuendo?”

“No, you idiot. We worked with the Adlers back when Meian and Hirugami were on good terms.
We’ve done jobs together.”

“So you didn’t fuck him?”

Sakusa turned on him, fast and sharp. “What’s wrong with you?” he hissed.

“It was just a question!”

“Why would you even ask that?”

“I was just wondering!” Atsumu said, his whisper getting louder. “There was tension!”

“Of course there was tension. If he’d been there to take business from Meian I would’ve probably
been sent to kill him. He knows that.”

“Would you kill him?” said Atsumu. “If Meian-san told you to? Even though you used to work
together?”

“Of course I would. It’s my job.”

“You’re a scary guy, Omi-kun.”

“Shut up and let’s go.”

Sakusa stormed off and Atsumu followed, a little uneasy. He shouldn’t have been surprised. A
week with Sakusa was long enough for him to know that Sakusa didn’t let his feelings interfere
with his work. He wasn’t even sure Sakusa had any feelings.

He wondered if Sakusa would kill him too, if Meian told him to.

He didn’t wonder for long. He knew the answer.

“The one on the corner,” said Sakusa. He stopped at the end of the alley and nodded across the
street, toward a neat row of townhouses. “They’re staying with his wife’s godfather. That’s why I
couldn’t find them. No blood relation.”

“How’d Ushijima do it, then?”

“This is a neutral part of town, but it’s closer to the Adlers’ property than ours. He knows more
people around here.”
“Think that’s why the real estate guy ran off here?” asked Atsumu. “He thought he’d be safer.”

“Probably. It wasn’t a bad plan. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t work.” Sakusa unbuttoned the
front of his jacket, letting it hang open as he started across the vacant street. Atsumu did the same,
his knuckles brushing against the grip of his gun before he let his hand fall away.

This wasn’t a busy part of town. A few streetlamps dotted the sidewalk, but mostly it was dark.
Sakusa blended into the shadows as he approached the townhouse, keeping to the edges as he crept
up to the front window. The curtains were split by an inch-wide gap, and Sakusa leaned close to
peer inside. Atsumu stepped up beside him, keeping an eye on the empty street.

“He’s here,” said Sakusa, quietly. “I’d recognize that nose anywhere.”

Atsumu heard voices from inside, mixed with loud flashes of a tv. “How many people?”

“At least five,” said Sakusa. He tucked some hair out of his face with a gloved hand. “Wife,
godfather, two kids.”

“Kids?” repeated Atsumu. A pit opened in his stomach. “He has kids?”

“He already had kids when he chose to steal from Meian,” said Sakusa. “He knew what he was
doing.” Sakusa reached into his jacket.

“Hey. Wait.” Atsumu reached for him and Sakusa sidestepped away. “You’re not gonna kill him
here, right? Not in front of them.”

“It’s the easiest way.”

“They’re kids, Omi.”

“They’ll learn from their father’s mistakes,” said Sakusa, as he took a step toward the front door.

Atsumu grabbed Sakusa’s arm.

He immediately realized he shouldn't have.

Sakusa whirled, his gun whipping through the air. Atsumu stumbled back, just quickly enough to
dodge a broken nose. Sakusa’s eyes flashed dangerously, even in the dark. “Don’t fucking touch
me.”

“Okay, okay!” Atsumu held up his hands. “Just listen to me! There has to be a different way to do
this. You’re gonna fuck those kids up.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah, well I do. C’mon, Omi. How would you’ve felt if someone killed your dad in fronta you
when you were a kid?”

Sakusa’s face was completely blank.

Atsumu sucked in a breath. “Seriously? That’s fucked up, Omi. I didn’t think-”

“Will you shut your goddamn mouth?” snapped Sakusa. “We don’t have time for this. My father is
in perfect health, not that it’s any of your business.” He took a single step back. “If you want to do
this your own way, go ahead. If you fuck it up, I won’t hesitate to tell Meian it was your fault.”
“Fine!” Atsumu turned toward the townhouse, but stopped dead. A woman was watching them
through the curtains, eyes wide with fear, a phone pressed against the side of her face. Her eyes
were stuck on Sakusa’s gun.

Atsumu had a bad feeling he knew who she was calling.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said.

Something slammed, loudly. Sakusa took off running toward the back of the building and Atsumu
immediately followed, his shoes slapping against the pavement.

There was a blur at the end of the alley behind the townhouses. It was so dark that Atsumu barely
made out the shape of a man, pausing to look back at them, before hopping over a low fence and
disappearing on the other side.

“We can’t lose him,” said Sakusa, sprinting ahead. “He’ll be impossible to find after this.”

Atsumu spurred his pace faster, catching up to him. “We won’t, we’ve got ‘im.”

They reached the fence and Atsumu leapt over it without slowing. It gave way to another narrow
alley behind an identical row of townhouses. Their target was ahead, a little closer.

Atsumu barreled ahead and dipped a hand into his jacket for his gun.

It wasn’t a long chase – five minutes, maybe – but Atsumu was panting by the time they caught
up. They cornered the target behind a block of apartments, penned in by two narrow walls and a
high chain-link fence. The man stopped, but when he turned and caught sight of Sakusa and
Atsumu closing in, he was in motion again. He threw himself at the fence and started climbing,
slow and clumsy.

“Do it,” said Sakusa, surprisingly composed despite the mad dash. “Before he gets over.”

Atsumu would’ve said something sarcastic, if he’d had the breath to spare. But he didn’t, so he
skidded to a stop and took aim. He remembered what Sakusa had said, about a perfect headshot,
and took even better aim.

The shot was quiet, courtesy of the quality silencer on Atsumu’s handgun. The slap of the man
hitting the ground from ten feet in the air was louder.

Atsumu hunched over and gasped for air, his lungs burning for it. Sakusa walked ahead and
Atsumu dragged after him.

Sakusa crouched to eye the body with a sort of clinical detachment. Atsumu dropped down beside
him, one of his knees bashing into the concrete.

“That was terrible,” said Atsumu between huffs of breath. “I need to work on my cardio.”

“You’re all but useless, Miya,” said Sakusa, as he rose again. “But that wasn’t a bad shot.”

Atsumu grinned as he stood. “Look at you, gettin’ all sentimental on me. I’m flattered, Omi.”

“Don’t be. It was barely a compliment.” Sakusa put his gun away. “We need to get him bagged up
and moved out of here before-”

A siren blared in the distance. Sakusa’s words drifted into nothing and Atsumu’s heart sank into
his gut.
“Oh, fuck.”

Sakusa turned toward the end of the alley. There was no one there. Yet. “Three minutes. Maybe
less.”

“Shit. We’ve gotta-”

“They’ll set up a perimeter,” said Sakusa, still unbelievably calm. He tugged at the edge of his
mask, adjusting it beneath his chin. A deep furrow cut into his brow. “We won’t make it back to
the car without getting caught.”

“We need to get outta here, Omi-kun. Now.” Atsumu took a few long strides, but turned back when
he realized Sakusa hadn’t moved. “Let’s go.”

“You’re not listening, which is no surprise,” said Sakusa. “If we both go, they’ll keep looking for
us. We’ll both get caught. One of us has to distract them.”

Breathing was difficult, more than it had been when he was sprinting. “What do you mean, distract
them?”

“It’s one of us or both of us,” said Sakusa.

Atsumu didn’t like the sound of that. “We need to run.”

“It won’t do any good. They’ll catch us because of one stupid fucking mistake.” Sakusa yanked his
jacket off and flung it at Atsumu, who caught it on instinct. “I hate this,” spat Sakusa, as he tore at
the straps of his holster. “I hate the police. They think they’re so fucking clever when they’re all
just useless idiots.” He ripped the buckles free and shrugged the holster off of his shoulders. He
shoved that at Atsumu too, and he had no choice but to take it. Sakusa grabbed his jacket back and
pulled it on. “Get moving, Miya. Over the fence. Go.”

Atsumu stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me. Over the fence. Take a detour and don’t go near the townhouse. Get back to the
car and get the fuck out of here.”

The car keys came flying at Atsumu next and he caught them right before they would’ve hit him in
the face. “Omi, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’re you plannin’ to do?”

“If they have a suspect right in front of them, they won’t keep looking. Go on. I’ll deal with them.”
Sakusa straightened his jacket, hands lingering as if he missed the shape of the gun underneath.
“They won’t hold me.”

“The fuck do you mean they won’t hold you?” said Atsumu, his voice rising. “We just killed
someone! You’ll go to prison!”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Clearly you don’t!”

“Miya.” Sakusa turned on him, his eyes chips of onyx. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to
risk getting thrown in jail?”

Atsumu couldn’t catch his breath, even though he was standing still. He felt cornered, trapped,
although there wasn’t an officer in sight. “No.”
“Okay then. Trust me and get the fuck out of here.” He turned away from Atsumu and started
walking toward the end of the alley, hands at his sides. “Call Meian, but only when you’re back at
the car. Drive it to MSBY and I’ll pick it up later. If you wreck it then you might as well call the
cops and turn yourself in. It’ll be less painful than the way I kill you.”

“Omi?”

“ What ?”

Atsumu swallowed, hard. “I’m a really bad driver.”

“Just go, Miya.”

Atsumu didn’t think he had a choice. He draped Sakusa’s holster around his neck and dug his
fingers into the chain link. The sirens were louder, piercing, and then cut into silence all at once.

That wasn’t good. It meant they were here.

Atsumu scrambled up the fence as quickly as he could. When he was near the top he almost fell,
because his hand slipped in something wet. He realized, with a sick twist in his gut, that it was
blood. He hiked a leg over the top of the fence, swung himself onto the other side, and peered
through at Sakusa, who stood calmly in the mouth of the alley. It wasn’t as dark anymore. There
was a flash of blue lights, gradually getting brighter.

Atsumu loosened his grip and slid down, huffing as he hit the ground. He took one last look at
Sakusa, bathed in blue lights, before he turned and ran.

Atsumu had suffered through a lot of long nights since he’d gotten to Tokyo, but this one was the
worst.

He made it back to the car, but not without effort. He got lost several times, and almost emerged
directly onto a main street where someone would definitely call the police to report a feral man
running around with a gun hanging off of his shoulders. But he made it, and the only thing more
stressful than the retreat was driving Sakusa’s shiny, perfect car.

He called Meian as he drove, balancing the phone in one hand and steering with the other. He
didn’t know the speed limit. He didn’t know how traffic laws worked in Tokyo, or how to get back
to MSBY. He almost couldn’t even figure out how to turn the headlights on.

“I’ll take care of it,” said Meian, as Atsumu crept to the slowest possible stop at a traffic light.
“Just get back here safe, alright? You need me to send someone to get you?”

“No,” said Atsumu. His hands were shaking but he pretended they weren’t. “I’m good.”

It was a lie. He wasn’t good. Nothing about him was good.

But Meian believed him, and Atsumu dropped the phone somewhere in the floorboard when the
call was over.
It was an hour and a half before Atsumu parked the car on the street outside of MSBY. It was a
miracle he’d found it at all. He’d resorted to driving aimlessly, looking for anything that might
trigger a memory. He’d finally caught sight of the restaurant he and Sakusa had gone to the week
before, the one owned by Meian’s family. That was somewhere on the right side of the city, and
Atsumu had eventually found his way.

It was even more of a miracle that there were three empty spots in a row, so Atsumu could pull the
car in instead of trying to parallel park. It was still crooked when he got out and stumbled toward
the apartment building, but he wasn’t worried about that. It was in one piece, with no new dents or
scratches. Sakusa would be pleased.

If Sakusa wasn’t currently sitting in a jail cell somewhere because of Atsumu.

He paused halfway up the stairs and forced that thought out of his own head. No, it wasn’t because
of Atsumu. He hadn’t gotten them into that situation. It had been bad luck for both of them.

Except if Atsumu hadn’t stopped Sakusa from barging inside that townhouse to gun the man down
before someone could call the police, maybe they wouldn’t have been in that situation at all.

Atsumu regretted it, but he also didn’t. Killing people was one thing, and he’d made significant
adjustments to his moral code to allow himself to be okay with it. It was part of the business. It was
a necessity, at times.

But traumatizing innocent children wasn’t something he could live with. Not with a clear
conscience. Not after the things he’d seen when he was a kid, things that he’d never forget and
never recover from.

He wanted to call Osamu. He wanted to so badly that his phone was already in his hand, thumb
hovering over his brother’s picture, before he realized he couldn’t.

What would he even say? He couldn’t tell Osamu what he’d been doing. Atsumu was supposed to
be in Tokyo for his own safety, not to shoot people in the streets and run from the police. Osamu
would be furious, and with good reason. Atsumu would have felt the same way if their situations
had been reversed, if it was Osamu out doing jobs that could cost his life or his freedom.

Atsumu tucked his phone away and climbed the rest of the stairs to his apartment. He draped
Sakusa’s holster across the back of the couch, the gun glinting dangerously in the filtered light. It
was nicer than Atsumu’s. Atsumu didn’t know much about guns aside from how to kill someone
with one, but he knew enough to guess the quality from just a glance. The holster was better too,
probably real leather from a specialty shop. Everything was black. Atsumu thought everything
Sakusa owned was probably black. It suited him, although it would’ve been too dramatic for
anyone else.

Atsumu sank onto the couch and leaned his head back. He closed his eyes and breathed, slow and
deep, but it did nothing to calm the nervous kick of his pulse.

If Sakusa went to prison for this, Atsumu didn’t know what he would do. Maybe Meian would
blame him. Maybe Atsumu would end up dead in Tokyo after all; his life as payment for Sakusa’s
lost freedom.

It was only a passing thought. Atsumu wasn’t truly worried about that. He was more worried about
Sakusa, because despite his questionable decision-making when it came to murder, he didn’t
deserve to sit in prison for the rest of his life.
Atsumu wondered if maybe he should go to the police station. He wasn’t sure what he would do
there, but anything seemed better than just sitting around waiting.

But Meian had told him to stay at the apartment, and Sakusa had said he would come by to pick up
the car.

Atsumu weighed the keys in his hand and tossed them onto the end table.

If Sakusa didn’t come back, Atsumu would wreck the car into the nearest fire hydrant out of pure
spite.
 Chapter 9

Atsumu didn’t fall asleep. He didn’t think so, anyway, until a banging at the door woke him up.

He jerked upright, reaching for his gun on impulse. His daze lingered for a solid minute before he
remembered where he was. Everything came back in a rush of flashing lights and footsteps
pounding on concrete and he pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled across the room and grappled
with the door, exhaustion making him clumsy.

When he finally yanked it open, Sakusa was standing on the other side.

Atsumu didn’t realize how much worry he’d stockpiled until it dissolved and left him weightless.
He could have collapsed in relief. Instead he leaned against the doorframe and said, as
nonchalantly as he could manage, “Omi-kun, I wasn’t expectin’ to see you again. It’s too bad. I
was plannin’ to keep your fancy car all for myself.”

“You park like shit,” said Sakusa.

“If you think that’s the worst part of my driving, I’ve got news for ya.” Atsumu stepped back to let
Sakusa in. “You’re lucky it didn’t lose any parts. The scratch on the back bumper isn’t too bad, I’ll
get it fixed before – Hey, I’m kiddin’! Don’t look at me like that, geez.”

Sakusa’s glare faded only slightly as he stepped inside. His arms were folded tightly across his
chest, and Atsumu belatedly realized he wasn’t dressed in the same suit he’d been in several hours
before. He wasn’t in a suit at all.

Sakusa Kiyoomi, uptight asshole and seasoned killer, was wearing honest-to-god sweatpants.

Atsumu stared at him, long enough that Sakusa turned back to see why he was still hovering in the
doorway. Atsumu shook himself and said, “The keys are on the table there. Gun’s on the back of
the couch.” Sakusa moved to retrieve them and Atsumu stared some more.

He was having a really difficult time accepting that Sakusa even owned a pair of sweatpants. He
hadn’t thought about what sort of clothing options Sakusa had for when he wasn’t working, but if
he’d considered it, he probably would’ve guessed that he had a more casual suit for his leisure
time.

Sakusa stripped off his jacket – a zip-up hoodie, which was equally as baffling – and shrugged on
the holster. As he buckled it, chin tucked toward his chest, Atsumu noticed Sakusa’s hair was
damp. He must have showered and changed before coming to pick up his car.

“Hey, Omi?”

“What?”

“You gonna tell me how the fuck you’re not in jail right now?”

Sakusa cinched the holster tight and pulled his jacket back on. He wasn’t wearing his mask.
Atsumu had been so distracted by the sweatpants that he hadn’t noticed. The strings of it stuck out
of his pocket, as if he’d taken it off right before entering the apartment. “Meian came down to the
police station and picked me up.”

Atsumu just stared at him. That wasn’t nearly enough of an explanation.

Sakusa sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. He wasn’t wearing gloves, either. His thin, pale
fingers disappeared into the void of his hair and emerged to hang at his side. “Meian has the Tokyo
police in his back pocket. He has deals worked out with most of the captains. They get financial
compensation for looking the other way when we get caught doing something illegal.” He folded
his arms again. “I don’t know how much Meian had to pay them to get me out of this. I probably
don’t want to know.”

Atsumu processed that. Back in Hyogo, Inarizaki had a very different relationship with the police.
Nothing about it was civil. If an officer got a chance to throw a single one of them in jail for even
the thinnest reason, they took it. Atsumu had been arrested and roughed up more times than he
could count, but it had always been for minor offenses; drunk in public when he hadn’t really been
drunk, barfighting when he hadn’t been the one who’d started it, littering when Osamu tossed a
cigarette butt on the sidewalk. He’d never been taken in for anything serious or he would likely
still be sitting in a cell somewhere.

“Is Meian-san mad?” asked Atsumu.

“Of course not. I don’t get arrested often. I’m not Bokuto.” Sakusa shifted and his sleeve pulled
back, just a little. The skin around his wrist was red and raw. Atsumu wouldn’t have noticed if he
hadn’t been staring so hard at Sakusa’s hands.

“Oh,” said Atsumu, quietly. “You got, like… arrested , arrested.”

“They caught me at the scene of a murder,” said Sakusa. “What did you think would happen?”

Atsumu had thought a lot of things. None of them had been good, but none of them had been as
real as seeing Sakusa’s wrists chafed from the bite of handcuffs. “You should’ve run. We both
should’ve.”

Sakusa shook his head. “They would’ve caught us both. The only way to get out of this was to give
them an arrest. That’s what I did. The officers who took me in will never know what happened, or
why I got out. Their captain will tell them it was a misunderstanding or something. I don’t know
how they keep their asses covered. It doesn’t matter.”

“Did they hurt you?” asked Atsumu. He thought of the last time he’d been arrested, when he’d
walked out of the station with a busted lip and a couple of bruised ribs. To be fair, that was
probably because he hadn’t stopped running his mouth since the second they dragged him inside.

Sakusa scoffed. “No. They didn’t even want to cuff me. They were scared.” The corner of his
mouth twitched, just a little. Atsumu wondered how often it did that behind Sakusa’s masks. “They
barely touched me, which was hardly a comfort when I had to wait in one of those godforsaken
holding cells. They’re cesspools.”

Atsumu thought about Sakusa’s gloves. He thought about the hand sanitizer in Sakusa’s pocket,
and the hand soap in the glove compartment, and the plastic wrap on the seats of his car. He
thought about Sakusa studying his food with microscopic precision before he ate it, and the way
he’d snapped when Atsumu had grabbed his arm. Don’t fucking touch me.

Atsumu wondered how hard it must be for Sakusa to live like that.

“Meian wants to meet with you tomorrow,” said Sakusa, pulling Atsumu out of his thoughts.
“Around noon, in his office.”

Atsumu’s blood ran cold. “Shit. What about?”

“That’s his business, not mine.”

“Fuck.” Atsumu pushed his hands through his hair. It was tangled and it hurt. “Is it because I
stopped you from going into the townhouse? That’s what it is, right? This shit was my fault. Fuck.
What’s he gonna do? How bad is it?”

Sakusa watched him with narrow speculation. “For someone who pretends to be unshakably
confident, you’re actually a complete fucking mess, aren’t you?”

“Fuck you, Omi. At least tell me if he’s kickin’ me out of the city. I need a backup plan.”

Sakusa considered that. He reached beneath his jacket to adjust his holster strap and said, “He’s
going to apologize.”

That wasn’t what Atsumu had expected. “What?”

“He feels responsible for getting you caught up in this situation,” said Sakusa. He zipped up his
jacket and stuffed his hands in the pockets. “He promised Kita-san you’d be safe and he feels like
he made a bad choice, sending you off with me. He’s going to give you the chance to opt out of
work and let you sit on your ass all day until Kita-san calls you back home.”

That should have been good news. The uncomfortable feeling in Atsumu’s gut said otherwise.
“Oh.”

“He’ll give you a choice,” said Sakusa. “He always does. If you want to keep working, he’ll let
you. He just needs to absolve his personal guilt somehow. Hearing you say you’re willing to take
the risk will make him feel better.”

“You think I should keep working, then.”

“I think you should do whatever you want. It doesn’t affect me.” Sakusa took a few steps toward
the door but stopped before he reached it. “He’ll offer to pair you up with someone else instead.
Bokuto, probably.”

“Why?”

“Because you almost got arrested last night,” said Sakusa.

“Yeah, so? Wasn’t your fault. It was me, if anything.” Atsumu huffed a laugh and said, “I don’t
think I would’ve been any better off with Bokuto. He would’ve flipped his shit. We’d both be
dead.”

“I doubt that. He might’ve gunned down the entire police force, but you would’ve made it out
alive.”

“I don’t wanna take that chance,” said Atsumu.

Sakusa eyed him, only briefly, before taking the last two steps to the door. He opened it with his
elbow and said, “I’m taking the day off. You should, too. If Meian decides to leave you with me,
I’ll pick you up tomorrow. I have some blackmail business to take care of.”

Atsumu knew he would be better off accepting Meian’s offer and staying in that apartment until he
could go home. He should at least ask to work with someone other than Sakusa, someone who was
less rude and less blunt and less abrasive.
But Atsumu said, “What time?”

“Whenever I get here.”

Atsumu laughed under his breath as Sakusa stepped into the hallway. The door shut behind him
with a snap and Atsumu went to twist the lock. He was still in his suit from the night before, and he
stripped it off on his way to bed. He fell into the sheets and realized only then how tired he was.
He set an alarm for eleven, so he’d have enough time to put himself together before meeting with
Meian.

He wondered if he would change his mind before then, about choosing safety over freedom. It was
clearly the smartest thing to do. It’s what Kita would want him to do, and Osamu, too. But Atsumu
hated sitting still. He’d never been good at it.

Besides, he didn’t mind this kind of work. He liked Meian, and he liked the Black Jackals, and he
didn’t mind helping out.

And he was starting to think he didn’t mind being stuck with Sakusa, either.

“Three days,” said Atsumu, skeptical. “You haven’t left that room for three whole days. Please tell
me you’re jokin’.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow. He didn’t look like he was joking.

“I would die,” said Atsumu. He rolled onto his stomach, grabbed a pillow, and folded his arms
over it to stare down at his phone. “I’d literally just combust or something.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t,” said Osamu. His voice was clear through the phone speaker, but his face
went a little blurry as he moved. “We couldn’t be that lucky.”

“Fuck you.” Atsumu grinned as he said it. “You’ll get outta shape. When we get back home you’ll
be draggin’ along behind me.”

“If I do, it’ll be on purpose so I can stand back and watch you make a fuckin’ fool of yourself.”

Atsumu couldn’t even be mad. He laughed and settled in more comfortably. “You’re a jerk.
How’re the Miyagi guys treatin’ ya? Okay?”

“Yeah, they’re cool. Sawamura-san comes by a lot to check in. He’s a nice guy. The Black Jackals
still doin’ ya good?”

Atsumu thought of his meeting with Meian the week before, when he’d apologized just like Sakusa
had said he would. He’d also offered to let Atsumu sit nice and cozy in his borrowed apartment
until he was cleared to return to Hyogo.

Atsumu had turned him down. Of course he had. He’d also turned down Meian’s offer to send him
out with someone else, because if Atsumu was going to be out in the open on the Tokyo streets, he
thought Sakusa was his safest bet. It didn’t matter that he’d been in real danger of getting arrested a
week ago. He was convinced that if he’d been with anyone else, the fallout would have been a
nightmare.

Sakusa was a jerk most of the time, but he was competent. No one could deny that.

“Yeah,” said Atsumu, refocusing on his brother’s blurry face. “Yeah, they are. Meian-san does shit
a lot different than Kita-san, but he’s cool. I like him.” He paused and added, his tone shifting,
“Have you talked to Kita-san?”

It had been three weeks since they’d been exiled from Hyogo. Atsumu still hadn’t heard a single
word from Kita. He’d been getting updates, but only because Aran sent him texts every few days
letting him know how things were going. It hadn’t been good news, so far. It hadn’t been any news
at all.

“Nah,” said Osamu. “Haven’t heard from him.”

The tension in Atsumu’s chest eased, just a little. At least it wasn’t just him. “Oh. Do you think
maybe he just… forgot about us?”

Osamu rolled his eyes. Atsumu had a strong feeling that he would have received a sharp slap to the
back of the head if he’d been two hours closer. “Don’t be a dumbass. Oh wait, I forgot, you can’t
help it.”

“Shut up, ‘Samu. Seriously, he hasn’t even called. All that fuss about gettin’ us out and he doesn’t
even check to see if we’re okay.”

“Sawamura-san says Kita-san calls him every day to ask about me,” said Osamu. He scratched at
his hair. It was getting darker; clearly he hadn’t dyed it since he’d left Hyogo. “I’m sure he calls
Meian-san too, even if he hasn’t said anything about it.”

“Or maybe he likes you more than me,” grumbled Atsumu. “Wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“You’re right. It wouldn’t be.”

Atsumu scowled and hoped Osamu could feel the heat of it through the phone.

If he could, he effectively ignored it. “You still been ridin’ around or whatever?” said Osamu.

“Yeah. I’m not lazy like you. I’ve gotta be out doin’ somethin’.”

“What kinda somethin’?”

“Just routine shit.” Atsumu shrugged. “Nothin’ dangerous.”

“You’re a shitty liar, ‘Tsumu.”

“I’m not lyin’!”

“Yeah, you are,” said Osamu. “I’ve looked at your stupid face long enough to know when you’re
lyin’.”

“I said I’m not-”

“Just don’t do anything reckless, alright?” said Osamu, cutting him short. He frowned, his bottom
lip sticking out just a little. “I know you’re not smart enough to stay in and keep your head down,
so if you’re gonna be out, at least be smart about it.”
Atsumu sighed. He hated his brother sometimes, mostly when he was right. “Yeah, yeah. I’m bein’
careful. I’m never out doin’ anything alone, anyway. I’m always out with Omi. Nobody’s gonna
mess with him.”

Osamu’s nose scrunched. “Omi?”

“Yeah. He’s the fuckin’ worst. You’d hate ‘im.”

“Why’re you smilin’ while you say that?”

“Just imaginin’ how rude he’d be to ya,” said Atsumu, his grin tilting higher. “It’d be hilarious. I
hope you meet ‘im someday and I hope I’m there to see it.”

“I’m just glad there’s someone around to make you miserable when I can’t,” said Osamu. There
was a rustle as he reached for the phone and an echo as he tapped at the screen. “Hey, I’ve gotta
go.”

“Go?” repeated Atsumu. “Go where? You’re literally just gonna hang up and sit around in that
room by yourself.”

“Nah, I’m gonna hang up and go sit in my fancy ass bathtub.”

“You can talk to me while you do that, dipshit.”

“No, I can’t. I’ll be busy talkin’ to Suna.”

Atsumu’s lip curled. “That’s disgustin’. Please tell me you’re not gonna have bathtub phone sex.”

“I’m not gonna have bathtub phone sex,” said Osamu, deadpan.

“You’re a lyin’ rat bastard. I hope your dick gets chafed.”

“Somebody’s jealous.”

“No fuckin’ way. I have no interest in any kind of sex with Suna. Especially not in a fuckin’ hotel
bathtub, you freak.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Please don’t.”

Osamu chuckled, so low it was almost silent. “I’ll talk to ya tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupider
than usual.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell Suna I said hi. Before you get all kinky, I mean.”

Osamu waved and cut the call. Atsumu tipped his phone over and rolled onto his back with a sigh.

At least there was one upside to being trapped in Tokyo. If he was back home, he would probably
have to listen to Osamu and Suna fucking on the other side of their apartment.

He wondered, not for the first time, how long Osamu and Suna had been hooking up. It couldn’t
have been very long. Atsumu would have known if it had been going on for a while.

Except maybe he wouldn’t have. It was impossible to know how many nights Suna had slept over
and slipped out before Atsumu had even known he was there. If they hadn’t been almost killed in
their beds, maybe he still wouldn’t know.

He tried to scrape up some bitterness about it, but failed. He’d always liked Suna. If Osamu was
going to commit to someone for more than his usual two weeks, at least he’d made a good choice.

Although Atsumu was still appalled that Osamu had never mentioned that he liked men.

Atsumu sat up with a huff and grabbed his phone. He checked his hair in the bathroom mirror,
grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch, and yanked it on over his holster. It would probably
be safe to leave the gun behind, considering he was only going next door to meet Bokuto and
Hinata, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He’d carried a gun every day for over a decade. It
wasn’t easy to quit.

When Bokuto had invited Atsumu out again he’d almost declined, because he didn’t want a repeat
of last time. But they were only going to MSBY, and Atsumu thought no one would get on
Bokuto’s bad side there. It was the Black Jackals’ home base.

And besides, Akaashi would probably be there. If anyone could bring Bokuto’s temper down from
a catastrophic peak, it was Akaashi.

When Atsumu arrived he looked toward the bar immediately, and was quietly relieved when he
saw that Akaashi was the bartender on duty. If he’d had any lingering concerns, they were gone.
The night would go just fine.

“Miya! Over here, hey!” Bokuto waved his arms over his head to attract Atsumu’s attention, as if
he could have missed him. Hinata was already there, sitting across the table from Bokuto, twisting
around in his seat to wave at Atsumu.

Atsumu joined them and dropped into the chair beside Hinata, who had a half-full beer on the table
in front of him. “Hey, guys. How’s it goin’?”

“Great!” said Bokuto. He spoke at the same volume in this semi-quiet bar as he had in the bustling
restaurant across the street. Atsumu thought it was the only volume he had; it didn’t appear to be
adjustable. “We’re great, right, Shouyou? We’ve been out doing rounds together all day.”

“Yeah, it was fun!” said Hinata. He was as bright as ever, his hair and his smile and his
personality. Atsumu distantly remembered Hinata saying that he’d started with the yakuza when he
was thirteen. He couldn’t imagine how Hinata had turned out so cheerful after an upbringing like
that.

“You should come with us sometime,” said Bokuto. “We’re way more fun than Sakusa. We stop
for snacks and stuff.”

“And we got all kinds of money for Meian-san today!” chimed Hinata. “Everyone was really eager
to pay us.”

Atsumu thought that was because he and Sakusa had killed about a dozen people over the past
couple of weeks. That had probably sent a pretty clear message to all of Meian’s associates that he
wasn’t in the mood to mess around. “Good for you guys. You drinkin’ that battery acid again,
Bokuto?”

Bokuto raised his glass with a grin. “Yup! Want some?”

“I’d rather die, but thanks.”

Bokuto burst into laughter, loud and rolling but somehow not obnoxious the way it should have
been. “‘Kaashi said you were drinking it pretty heavy that one night when you got trashed. Not that
I mind, you can have some whenever you want. I don’t let most people have any, but I’ll share with
my friends.”

Atsumu was conflicted. He appreciated the sentiment, and despite the incident at the restaurant, he
really did like Bokuto. Still, he had a lingering suspicion that getting too close to him was a bad
idea. That may have been partially because of what Sakusa had told him.

Before Atsumu could respond, Akaashi wandered over with a fresh shot that he left on the table in
front of Bokuto. His eyes slid to Atsumu in a way that was almost unsettling. “Please tell me you
don’t intend to drink yourself to the brink of unconsciousness tonight, Miya-san.”

Atsumu forced a smile through the sting of that memory. “Nah, I think I’ll skip the hangover this
time. Just a beer.”

“Thank you. I’m not emotionally prepared to suffer through that again.”

“You want to hang out with us?” said Bokuto, brightening. He patted the back of the chair beside
him. “I’ll buy you a drink too!”

“I’m busy working, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi said it in a rehearsed sort of way, as if he’d repeated it
many times.

“Right, right. Maybe later?”

“Maybe.” He returned to the bar and Bokuto watched him go.

“Have you been feeling okay since then, Atsumu-san?” asked Hinata, although he’d already
checked in on Atsumu the day after he’d helped him home. “You weren’t doing too well that
night.”

“The hangover was a bitch, but I’m good,” said Atsumu. He didn’t think that was what Hinata was
asking, not exactly, but it was as much as he was willing to talk about. “The worst part was the
next mornin’. I almost puked in Omi’s car.”

Bokuto laughed again. He did a lot of that, and it was borderline contagious. Atsumu found himself
smiling for no good reason. Bokuto said, “Obviously you didn’t or you’d be dead. Are you still
stuck with him?”

“Yeah, but I don’t mind it,” said Atsumu. “Omi’s not so bad.” Akaashi returned with Atsumu’s
beer, and Atsumu thanked him before taking a frothy sip off of the top. He realized Bokuto and
Hinata were both staring at him. “What?”

The two of them exchanged a look, as if mutually questioning his sanity. Atsumu shrugged it off
and didn’t think too much about it.

The evening went well; much better than the first time Atsumu had gone out with them. Bokuto
started getting louder than usual after his fourth round of shots, but when Akaashi came over and
calmly asked him to quiet down, he dropped to a normal speaking volume. Hinata remained as
bright as ever, no matter how many drinks he had. He was bottled sunshine, even as his face
started getting more and more flushed as the night wore on. Akaashi even sat with them for a few
minutes on his break, although he drank nothing stronger than water.

Atsumu liked them. Even though he’d been determined to hate everything about Tokyo, he
couldn’t hate the Black Jackals. They might have their flaws - Bokuto’s incident at the restaurant
in particular - but overall they were decent guys. They were a lot different from Inarizaki, but in
many ways they were the same, too.

When the time crept precariously close to midnight, Atsumu said, “I think I’m gonna head back
and get some sleep.” He’d had four beers and was feeling pleasantly fuzzy, but not in a way that
would lead to a bout of self-hatred in the morning. “Me ‘n Omi are goin’ out tomorrow. Gotta be
up and ready on time.”

Bokuto blinked big golden eyes at him. “Does he treat you okay?” he asked, remarkably composed
despite the sheer volume of alcohol he’d consumed. His tolerance was inhuman. “Like, he’s not
mean to you or anything? ‘Cause if he is-”

“Nah, he’s fine,” said Atsumu. “We’re good. We get along alright now.”

“Meian-san had me go out with him a few times, to learn from him,” said Hinata. His stare was a
little glassy and there was a slight sway to his shoulders even as he was sitting still, although he’d
had less than half as many drinks as Bokuto. “He’s good at his job but he was always, uh… Not
very nice. Which was fine, I’m not complaining, it’s just-”

“It’s okay to complain, Shouyou,” said Bokuto, throwing back another shot. “Sakusa’s a dick.”

Atsumu snorted. No one could deny that. “Yeah, he kinda is, but it’s just because he’s real
particular about shit. He’s not so bad once you get used to him. He doesn’t piss me off so much
anymore.”

Bokuto and Hinata looked at each other again. One of Bokuto’s eyebrows rose in an impossibly
high curve.

Akaashi, who’d returned to his shift about an hour before, came back over to collect their empty
glasses. “Anything else?”

“One more for me and Shouyou,” said Bokuto, gesturing unnecessarily to Hinata. “Miya’s ducking
out on us. Laaaaame.” The insult was softened by a grin.

“I’ll pass, Akaashi-san,” said Hinata. “I think I should stop.”

“Not you too!”

“Sorry, Bokuto-san,” said Hinata. “I’m just… kind of drunk.”

Bokuto laughed, loudly enough that Akaashi’s jaw shifted as he grinded his teeth together. “Fine,
we’ll all stop. What time is your shift over, ‘Kaash?”

“One.” Akaashi’s tone was as flat as usual.

“Perfect!” said Bokuto brightly. “I’ll walk Shouyou home and then I’ll come back and wait for
you, okay?”

“Do what you’d like, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi shifted all of their glasses into one hand and grabbed
another pair from a nearby table before returning to the bar.

Atsumu stared after him, turning that conversation over in his head. He didn’t know why Bokuto
would be waiting for Akaashi. Maybe he intended to walk him home, too.
Or maybe he was going home with him, which was even more baffling. Atsumu wouldn’t have
suspected that. They were too different, their personalities falling on completely opposite ends of
the spectrum. It shouldn’t have worked, as casual acquaintances or friends or something more.
They shouldn’t have liked each other at all.

It made him think of Sakusa, because Atsumu shouldn’t like him at all, either.

He wondered if Sakusa still hated him the same way he had in the beginning, or if he’d learned to
like Atsumu a little bit, too. Atsumu didn’t think he’d ever know for sure, because he knew Sakusa
would never tell him.

He thought if nothing else, Sakusa at least hated him a little less than when they’d first met. It was
a small victory, but Atsumu would take it.

“We’ll do this again, yeah?” asked Bokuto, as Atsumu got up to leave. “It’s cool having you
around, Miya. Most of the guys are too uptight to have a good time. They don’t know how to pull
the sticks out of their asses.”

Hinata laughed, bright and pure and a little boozy.

“Yeah, of course.” Agreeing was easy. There was none of the uncertainty he’d had after the last
time, no reservations at all. Maybe Bokuto had some issues, but that was okay. So did everyone
else, including Atsumu. “Lemme know when. Not like I’m doin’ much of anything else when I’m
not workin’.” He glanced at Hinata, who was swaying in place. “You gonna be alright, Hinata?”

Hinata flashed him a grin and a thumbs-up. “I’m great!”

Bokuto laughed, a little softer than before.

“See ya soon, then,” said Atsumu. He left to a chorus of goodbyes from Bokuto and Hinata, and
paused to wave at Akaashi behind the bar. He received only a slight incline of Akaashi’s head in
return, but he hadn’t expected anything more. He left MSBY and made the short trip over to his
building. The hike up the stairs was familiar by now. He’d arrived in Tokyo a little more than three
weeks ago, and while he wasn’t exactly comfortable there, it wasn’t as foreign as it had been in the
beginning. There were still the same traffic sounds from beyond his closed bedroom window, but
he didn’t hear them anymore. It was just background noise.

Atsumu didn’t like Tokyo, but he didn’t hate it with the same vehemence that he did three weeks
ago. He might have enjoyed the city, if he wasn’t there on orders he hadn’t wanted to follow. But
since he was, he was obligated to dislike it on general principle.

Atsumu took a quick shower so he wouldn’t have to in the morning - well, in a few hours, since it
was already morning - and scrubbed at his hair with a towel as he did his usual check of the
apartment. He looked in all of the places a full-grown man could fit - wardrobe, kitchen cabinets,
even the refrigerator, just to be safe - and shoved the couch into a makeshift barricade at the front
door. He wasn’t afraid, not exactly, but it made him feel better. He checked his phone as he
plugged it in and found a text from Osamu that had been sent about an hour before.

It was great. You should try bathtub sex when you meet someone who can put up with your shitty
personality. So never, I guess.

Atsumu didn’t dignify that with a response. He tossed his phone onto his bed and followed it
down, plopping onto his pillows with a huff. It was impossible to remember for sure, but he
thought his first words had probably been an insult spat at his brother, and Osamu had countered
with something equally nasty but probably more clever. They’d been insulting each other for as
long as they could speak.

This was no different, and Atsumu pretended it didn’t sting, just a little.

It was true, and that was the reason it hurt. He and Osamu had both struggled with relationships
since they were teenagers. Neither of them could keep one for more than a month at a time. For
Osamu, it was because he never got invested and broke things off before they got too serious. For
Atsumu, it was because everyone grew disillusioned with his bullshit once they got to know him.

It didn’t matter, though. It wasn’t as if Atsumu had ever gotten attached. He always expected
things to end, so he never got past a surface-level connection before he gave up and waited for
things to go up in flames.

Maybe that was part of his problem, too. He’d never really tried.

He should’ve had a couple more drinks at MSBY, so he could have passed out without having to
think about this.

Atsumu rolled his eyes at his own hopelessness and rolled over, yanking the sheets up to his chest.
He could worry about his personal life when he got back to Hyogo. Right now he didn’t even have
a personal life, not really. He closed his eyes and thought of home, and thought of his brother lying
in his hotel room in Miyagi, and thought of Suna having phone sex with him a couple of hours ago.

Atsumu pressed his face into his pillow in an attempt to suffocate the thought. It wasn’t an image
he wanted in his head.

He thought of home again and his mind strayed toward Kita, probably sleeping soundly in his little
house in Hyogo. But that wasn’t a comforting thought either, not like it would have been a month
ago. Now he just wondered if Kita hated him, if he was quietly happy to be rid of Atsumu for a
while. Maybe Kita was dragging his feet investigating the attacks because he wanted more time
without Atsumu.

Atsumu rolled over again, so hard that the headboard rattled against the wall. He pulled the sheets
up higher, over his head, and his hot breath in the enclosed space warmed his face.

He thought about work tomorrow, about riding around in a shiny car doing whatever random jobs
were on Sakusa’s agenda. He thought of bickering in the car, and getting snapped at for breathing
the wrong way. He thought of Sakusa standing in an alley lit by blue lights, unarmed and
vulnerable, taking a metaphorical fall so Atsumu didn't have to.

Somehow that was the thought, among all the others, that calmed him down and allowed him to
sleep.
 Chapter 10

“Ya know, I’m a nice guy,” said Atsumu, grinning in a sharp way that suggested otherwise. “Real
nice. Nicer than my friend here, but I think you already know how not nice he can be.”

The man’s beady eyes darted over Atsumu’s shoulder toward Sakusa, who waited by the door, and
back to Atsumu again. He was paunchy and balding, wrapped up in an apron as if he was actually
operating the butcher shop that the storefront proclaimed. Atsumu would have believed the
charade, if Sakusa hadn’t already told him what really went on in the back room.

“So this is what I’m gonna do,” said Atsumu. He leaned on the glass counter, casual, his grin as
cutting as the shiny meat cleaver an arm’s reach away. “I’m gonna count to ten, real slow. When
I’m finished, I want all of Meian-san’s money to be right here.” He patted the counter between
them. “Not half of it. Not most of it. All the money, got it? This is the only chance you’re gettin’,
and it’s more than you’d get with anybody else. Consider yourself lucky. One.”

The man scrambled away, faster than Atsumu would have expected for someone of his size.
Atsumu glanced back at Sakusa, who hadn’t moved.

“Keep doin’ you, Omi,” he said. “Great effort. Just don’t overdo it.”

Sakusa flashed a middle finger at Atsumu before neatly refolding his arms.

Atsumu snorted and turned back just as the faux-butcher slapped a large amount of money on the
counter. Atsumu scooped it up and said, “Ten. Pleasure doin’ business with ya.”

“Tell Meian-san I’m sorry for the late payment,” said the man, smoothing back the remaining few
hairs on his head. “It won’t happen again. It was a rough month.”

Atsumu flipped through the bills. “Doesn’t look too rough to me. Don’t make us come out here
again, got it?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ve got it. Thank you, Miya-san. Sakusa-san.”

Atsumu blinked. He didn’t know how this man knew his name. He hadn’t introduced himself.
Walking around with Sakusa was enough to convince anyone that he was on Meian’s payroll, even
without a proper introduction.

“Let’s go,” said Sakusa, already halfway out the door.

Atsumu followed and passed the money to Sakusa as they stepped outside. They climbed into the
car and Atsumu adjusted his seat back as Sakusa counted. “Is it all there or am I gonna have to go
back and rough him up a little bit?”

“It’s here.” Sakusa folded the bills and tucked them into an inner pocket of his jacket. “He’s almost
worthless, but not quite stupid enough to short us.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” said Atsumu. He stretched out and folded his arms behind his
head, grinning at Sakusa. “For doin’ all the work while you just stood around.”

“As if that counts as actual work,” said Sakusa. He took his gloves off and placed them in the
center console. “You talked. You do that at all hours of the day anyway, might as well do it for a
reason.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just admit you’re usin’ me so you can slack off.” Atsumu watched Sakusa drench his
hands in sanitizer and stretched out his own. Sakusa splashed some into Atsumu’s palm.

“I’ve never slacked off a day in my life, Miya.”

“Sure you haven’t. Hey, how’d that guy know who I am, anyway? I’ve never seen him before.”

Sakusa pulled his gloves back on and started the car. “You’ve worked for Meian for nearly a
month now. Word gets around.”

Atsumu stared out the window as they slipped into the stream of traffic. He hadn’t considered that
people in Tokyo might start recognizing him. He’d assumed he’d have complete anonymity in a
city that big, even if he was hanging around with the Black Jackals. He wasn’t one of them, not
really. No one should have noticed him.

But he had done a lot of jobs with Sakusa, even aside from the string of killings. They’d collected a
lot of money the same way they’d just done at the butcher shop, among other things. They’d
threatened some of Meian’s less-friendly acquaintances with incriminating blackmail, delivered do-
or-die messages to those who weren’t ready and willing to follow orders, and just the other day
they’d beaten up a couple of men who’d been going out of their way to avoid Meian’s demands for
information. Well, technically Atsumu had done that while Sakusa watched. Sakusa hadn’t been
thrilled about the entire ordeal, and Atsumu was more than happy to get into a scuffle or two when
occasion demanded it.

When he framed it like that, Atsumu realized he’d been a lot more involved in Tokyo’s yakuza
business than he’d thought.

“Is that a problem?” asked Sakusa, after a few minutes of Atsumu swimming in his own thoughts.
“That they know you?”

“No. Well, not exactly. It could be, I guess, depending.” Atsumu didn’t think it would matter. He
was so far from home that no one here would realize he was the same guy from Hyogo with a hit
hanging over his head. He hoped not, anyway. “I’m not worried about it. They didn’t get me the
first time. Or the second. I don’t think they’ll do any better now.”

Sakusa eyed him, long enough that he started slipping toward the center line before he returned his
attention to the road. “Someone’s trying to kill you, then. That’s why you were sent here.”

Atsumu hadn’t mentioned it, and Sakusa had never asked. He guessed it was supposed to be a
secret or Meian would have told everyone himself. But it didn’t feel wrong to tell Sakusa, although
Atsumu wouldn’t have talked about it to anyone else. “Yeah. Kita-san’s tryin’ to figure out who’s
doing it. Guess he’s not havin’ much luck, since I’m still here.”

“Could be anyone,” said Sakusa. “I might kill you myself and save them the trouble.”

Atsumu snorted. “I’d like to see you try. I could take ya.”

Sakusa’s eyes went narrow. “Please tell me you don’t really believe that.”

“’Course I do. You’re tough and all, but I’m tougher. City boys like you can’t keep up with guys
like me.”

Sakusa’s scowl was withering.

Atsumu tapped his nails against the car door and amended, “It’d be a close fight, at least. But I’ve
got an advantage.”

Sakusa didn’t ask, but there was a question in the twitch of his brow.

“All I’d have to do is touch your face with my dirty fuckin’ hands,” said Atsumu, waving one of
them in Sakusa’s direction. “You’d keel over on the spot.”

“As if you’d even get close enough,” said Sakusa, leaning marginally closer to his car door and
away from Atsumu. “You’d have a bullet in your head before you could blink.”

“Dead center?” asked Atsumu with a grin.

“Obviously.”

Atsumu laughed. Sakusa didn’t. He didn’t even smile, but Atsumu still thought he was amused, at
least a little. “What a way to go. Killed off by Sakusa Kiyoomi, the biggest asshole in Tokyo.”

Sakusa’s mask twitched as his mouth twisted. He started to say something – probably an insult,
and a sharper one than Atsumu’s, as was typical – but his phone rang and cut him short. He slipped
it out of his pocket and answered the call without looking away from the road. “We got your
money.”

Atsumu lounged back in his seat. He had a fleeting urge to kick his feet up on the dash but he
fought it back. He hadn’t done it again since the first day he’d been in that car, and he didn’t have
enough of a death wish to do it now.

The car slowed. The low buzz of Meian’s voice was barely audible. Atsumu couldn’t pick out any
words.

“When?” asked Sakusa. He came to a stop at an intersection. Atsumu glanced up at the stoplight
and back at Sakusa, confused. Traffic continued to flow around them and a car horn sounded
nearby.

Atsumu craned his neck to glare at the taxi driver behind them and nearly slammed his head into
the window when Sakusa whipped the car into a U-turn. Atsumu grabbed the door to steady
himself and scowled at Sakusa, who expertly ignored him.

“We’re on the outskirts of the city. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes,” said Sakusa. His voice was
perfectly calm; the opposite of his driving. “Should I bring Miya?”

There was another murmur from Meian.

“Okay,” said Sakusa. He ended the call, and although nothing about his face had changed, Atsumu
felt his tension.

“What’s wrong?”

Sakusa’s grip went tighter on the wheel, just barely. “Do you remember Hino? You met him when
you first got here.”

Atsumu tried to remember, but most of the faces from that initial meeting had been blurred beyond
recognition in his memory. “Sounds familiar, but not really.”

“He’s dead,” said Sakusa. There was no inflection in his voice at all, but still Atsumu felt the
hardness of the words. “He was gunned down in the street twenty minutes ago.”
Atsumu’s chest felt tight. He didn’t belong to the Black Jackals, and he didn’t even know Hino, but
still he felt the loss. It wasn’t the anguish he would have felt back home if it had been someone
from Inarizaki, but the echo of pain in his chest was still there. Maybe it was empathy, because
Sakusa was feeling something; he must have been, even if he didn’t show it. “What happened?”

Sakusa didn’t give him details. He couldn’t have gotten many himself, as short as the phone call
had been. But he gave one word, and it was enough.

“Adlers.”

The mood in the meeting room was nothing like it had been that first day, when Atsumu had
wandered in lost and clueless and a little uneasy. The atmosphere was somber, edged with tension
that was reflected in everyone’s eyes. Even Hinata was different, his sunny disposition clouded
over.

Considering it had been hardly more than an hour since Hino had been killed, everyone had gotten
there quickly.

Sakusa led the way through the room and Atsumu followed a few steps behind. Bokuto nodded at
him, uncharacteristically somber, and Atsumu nodded back. The silence was heavy, weighing on
Atsumu’s shoulders as he sat beside Sakusa on one of the couches. He settled back to try and blend
into the background, because he knew he didn’t belong there, not really. This wasn’t his loss to
mourn. But Meian had taken care of him, and if he wanted Atsumu there, he was damn sure going
to be there.

Atsumu belatedly realized everyone was looking at him and had a moment of muted panic. Maybe
Meian hadn’t wanted him there after all. Maybe Sakusa had misunderstood when he’d asked if he
should bring Atsumu along.

But no one said anything, and Atsumu realized a minute later that they were staring because he
was sitting next to Sakusa.

Hinata’s mouth was slightly open, the hard cut across his brow easing as he glanced between
Sakusa and Atsumu. Bokuto’s eyebrows crept upward, head tilting slightly to one side.

Atsumu remembered the first day he’d been there, when he’d tried to sit beside Sakusa and had
gotten his head bitten off for his trouble. He slid a discreet glance sideways, where Sakusa sat with
an elbow propped on the arm of the couch. He didn’t seem to care that Atsumu was sitting with
him. Maybe he didn’t want to make a scene during such a grave meeting, or maybe he didn’t mind
Atsumu so much anymore.

A couple more men filtered in and quietly took their seats. Meian was the last to join them and
Atsumu wondered if there was a camera somewhere, if Meian had been watching and waiting until
everyone had arrived.

He stepped out of his office and everyone stood. Atsumu did the same, a little delayed. Meian
paced to the end of the room, to the couch against the wall that had been left vacant for him. He
sat, and the rest of them did the same. Sakusa was directly to Meian’s right, and Atsumu wondered
if that was symbolic or a coincidence.

Meian had been calm every time Atsumu had seen him, laid back in a way that didn’t seem
befitting of a leader; but he was different now, more deadly. Atsumu saw it in the tightness of his
eyes, the sharp downward cut of his mouth, the flatness of an empty-space stare. Suddenly Atsumu
understood how Meian had gained power, how he’d become the leader of an elite group like the
Jackals.

Meian was a little scary.

“You all know why we’re here,” said Meian. His voice was the sharp glass of a car crash. “I won’t
waste my time saying how much Hino meant to me. He already knew, and that’s what matters.
You all know, and you know that if something happens to you, I’ll avenge your death before I
mourn.”

Across the room, Bokuto lowered his head. His hands were clasped between his knees, fingers
twisted tightly together.

“It was one of the Adlers.” Meian’s face was stone. “That’s all I know for sure. Have any of you
seen them on our property? Any of them?”

The room was silent. Atsumu thought of the gas station, of Sakusa and Ushijima’s conversation.
He slipped a glance sideways to find Sakusa already looking at him, expressionless. The thought of
speaking up didn’t cross Atsumu’s mind.

“I don’t know why this happened,” said Meian, “but it doesn’t matter. What matters is what we’re
going to do about it.” He sat forward, elbows draped on his knees, and eyed all of them in a slow
arc. “I’ll demand an audience with Hirugami tomorrow. He’ll give me an apology, and he’ll give
me blood. If he refuses, we’ll take it ourselves.”

Hinata was sitting completely straight, eyes drilling into Meian. Something about his expression
was unnerving. He looked almost eager.

“Sakusa,” said Meian.

Sakusa didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. He was listening; all of them were.

“I’ll need you with me.” Meian straightened out of his slump, the lines of his face like granite.

Sakusa inclined his head.

“I’ll need a few more of you,” said Meian, “for reassurance, and to send a message. We’ll be in
Adlers’ territory. I won’t lie and say it’s not risky. If Hirugami refuses to cooperate, I’ll make him,
however I have to. Things could get messy. Who’ll volunteer to go?”

Hinata’s hand shot up like a firework. It would have been comical in any other situation, but the
weight of the room and the severity of his expression only made things feel more serious.

“I’ll go, too,” said Bokuto, voice lower than usual. He reached out to squeeze Hinata’s shoulder, as
if they were a package deal.

“Thanks, both of you,” said Meian. “One more.”

Atsumu glanced around the room. The other men did the same. They would all go, any of them, if
Meian asked directly. But the way he’d said it left a bitter taste in the back of Atsumu’s mouth, a
taste that said they might not all come back in one piece if the Adlers weren’t amenable to their
request. No one in this room wanted to die.

Atsumu didn’t want to die, especially not for someone he’d never met, especially not in Tokyo.

He looked at Sakusa, who hadn’t been given the choice.

Atsumu raised a hand to shoulder height. “I’ll go,” he said, “if you’ll have me. I know I don’t
belong here, not really, but-”

“You belong here,” said Meian. “You belong here just as much as anyone. You’ve proven that.
Thank you, Miya.”

There was a swell of emotion in Atsumu’s chest. It was almost pride but not quite, and it was
barbed with regret.

If he got himself killed for this, Osamu would be pissed .

“We’ll go at noon tomorrow,” said Meian. “Meet up here. Bring an extra gun, just in case, and pray
you won’t have to use it. You’re dismissed.” He stood, and everyone else sprang to their feet, too.
Meian marched back to his office and shut the door behind him.

The men filtered out one by one, cloaked in somberness. Atsumu started to walk out too, but
someone caught his arm and pulled him back.

It took him far too long to realize it was Sakusa, because it didn’t make sense that Sakusa would
touch him.

“What are you doing?” hissed Sakusa, his voice low. He snatched his hand back and shoved it into
his pocket. He was wearing his gloves. Atsumu didn’t think he would’ve touched him if he wasn’t.
“Weren’t you listening? If Hirugami doesn’t cooperate, all of us could fucking die.”

“Yeah, I heard him,” said Atsumu. He whispered, because it felt wrong to speak more loudly.
Bokuto and Hinata slowly made their way to the door, murmuring between themselves, watching
Sakusa and Atsumu with a failed attempt at subtlety. “He needs decent guys to have his back. It’s
the least I can do.”

“The least you can do is stay inside and keep your head down,” said Sakusa. “Not skip around in
the streets and beg someone to kill you.”

Atsumu’s gut twisted unpleasantly. That sounded like something Osamu would say. “You really
think we’re gonna die there?”

“Of course not. We’re not incompetent.”

“Then there’s no problem,” said Atsumu. He stepped away and half-expected Sakusa to stop him
again, but he didn’t. “I’m not scared.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot, Miya.”

“Nah, I just know we’re better than them,” said Atsumu. “If it comes down to a gunfight, no one’s
gonna beat us. You and me could take ‘em all down, Omi.”

Sakusa exhaled, heavy, and followed him to the door. “If you get yourself killed, I’ll tell Kita-san it
was by your own stupidity.”

“That’s fine,” said Atsumu, as he started down the stairs. “He’ll believe you.”

When Atsumu climbed into Sakusa’s car the next day, it was different than usual. He didn’t make
any teasing comments, and Sakusa didn’t snap at him to hurry up. It may have been because Hinata
was there, sitting in the middle of the back seat with bright eyes and tense shoulders, but Atsumu
thought it was something else, too.

“Hey, Hinata,” said Atsumu as he pulled the door shut. He darted a look at Sakusa, who seemed
more stiff than usual. “Hey, Omi.”

“Hi, Atsumu-san.” Hinata’s voice was steady, if less animated than usual.

Sakusa said nothing. He stared out the front window, and Atsumu didn’t know what he was
waiting for until Meian exited MSBY, flanked by Bokuto. They approached the sturdy black SUV
parked in front of Sakusa’s car. Bokuto nodded at them, jaw set, as he hopped into the driver’s
seat. Once Meian was in the vehicle it crept forward, and Sakusa followed.

“Bokuto can drive?” asked Atsumu, skeptical. “That seems like an accident waiting to happen.”

“He’s actually a good driver,” said Hinata from the backseat, still subdued. “Unless he gets
distracted. Which… happens, sometimes.”

“Never get into a car with him,” said Sakusa. He huffed an impatient breath, probably because
Bokuto was driving significantly below the speed limit whereas Sakusa preferred to shatter it.
“He’s a danger to society.”

“Why’s Meian-san ridin’ with him, then?” asked Atsumu.

“Because I refuse to drive that garbage bin on wheels. Meian hasn’t had it detailed in months, and
he eats with the manners of a wild hog. Much like someone else I know.”

“You talkin’ about me?” asked Atsumu. “I feel like you’re talkin’ about me.”

“Yes,” said Sakusa, “I’m talking about you.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and sat back.

“Here, Atsumu-san,” said Hinata. He leaned forward and slipped an arm between the front seats to
offer a handgun, grip-first.

“Thanks,” said Atsumu. It was heavy in his hand, heavier than his own. “I’ll give it back as soon as
this is over.”

“It’s fine. I have extras.”

Atsumu wasn’t sure what to say to that. He could barely picture Hinata toting around a single gun,
much less an armory.

“Should I even ask?” said Sakusa.

“Meian-san said to bring an extra gun.” Atsumu shifted forward, the seatbelt cutting into his
shoulder, and delicately tucked the handgun into the back of his pants. He tugged his jacket down
to cover it. “I’ve only got one.”

“Didn’t you think of packing a spare when you left Hyogo?”

“No, I mean I’ve only got one. That’s it. I don’t have a whole fuckin’ collection. Nobody needs
more than one.” Atsumu squinted at him. “How many do you got?”

Sakusa tapped a finger against the steering wheel. “Several.”

That sounded like a lot.

“Bokuto-san’s strapped up with the compact AR,” said Hinata. “Just in case.”

“Just in case,” repeated Atsumu. That wasn’t something he wanted to hear. Maybe he shouldn’t
have volunteered for this after all.

“Great,” said Sakusa, creeping closely enough that Atsumu wouldn’t have been surprised if their
front bumper nudged the SUV. “That means we’ll all die then, if it comes down to a firefight.”

“Bokuto-san is a great shot,” said Hinata.

“It’s not his shooting I’m worried about,” said Sakusa. “You know how he is. If he goes feral,
we’re all dead.”

Atsumu expected Hinata to argue, but he simply sat back and frowned down at his knees. That
must have meant Sakusa was right.

Atsumu wondered where Meian had found these people.

“Miya.”

Atsumu turned his head. Sakusa wasn’t looking at him.

“Don’t run your mouth while we’re in there,” said Sakusa, steering around a sharp turn. “At all.
Not a single word. We can’t risk provoking them, and every word that comes out of your mouth is
designed to piss someone off.”

“Fuck you too, Omi.”

“I’m serious,” said Sakusa. He braked to a smooth stop. Atsumu realized, with a nervous lurch of
his gut, that they had arrived. Sakusa cut a glance toward him, his eyes dark, a crease between his
brows. “Don’t talk. Don’t do anything unless you have to shoot someone, and only do that if one of
us does it first.”

Atsumu caught his bottom lip between his teeth and chewed at it as he waited for Sakusa to say
something else. He didn’t, and Atsumu asked, “You think we’re gonna have to? Shoot somebody, I
mean?”

Hinata watched them quietly from the backseat.

Sakusa didn’t immediately answer. He considered that and finally said, “Yes. One way or another,
someone will die here, but I don’t think it will be us.” His stare lingered, as black as his hair, as
black as his suit, and he repeated, “Don’t say a word.”

Atsumu wanted to argue, to break the tension if nothing else, but he agreed with a low, “Yeah,
okay.”

“Come on.” Sakusa got out of the car. Atsumu started to do the same, but Hinata’s hand darted
forward to grab his shoulder.

“Atsumu-san?” said Hinata. “There’s nothing to worry about, really. Even if they make us fight,
we’ll win. We did last time. That’s why the Adlers are kind of mad at us right now. We got in a
fight and we beat them and they don’t like us being better than them.” He smiled, and the curve of
it was lethal. “But we are better than them. We’ll prove it again, if we need to. So don’t worry,
okay?”

“Sure,” said Atsumu, although that made him more anxious, if anything.

Hinata beamed at him, the sunshine peeking through before the hard edge returned to his
expression. They both got out of the car and approached Meian and Bokuto, who waited on the
sidewalk with Sakusa. They’d parked in front of a multi-story office building. Atsumu had never
seen it before; he and Sakusa must have stayed away from this part of the city. The company was
called Schweiden, but Atsumu didn’t realize until they were inside that it was a stock exchange.

Meian stepped up to the front desk, Sakusa a half-step behind. Bokuto and Hinata followed at a
short distance and Atsumu did the same.

Meian said something to the receptionist, so quietly that Atsumu couldn’t make out the words. It
must have been impactful. She fumbled the phone, dialed with a shaky hand, and stammered
something indecipherable into the receiver. Atsumu didn’t know what was being said, but he had a
few guesses, and none of them were good.

A few tense minutes drizzled by before Meian started for the elevator. The five of them crowded
inside, and Sakusa pressed the button for the top floor with his elbow.

“Bokuto, stay near the elevator so we’ll know if he tries to send anyone else up,” said Meian.
“Don’t do anything unless you have to, but if you have to, don’t hesitate.”

Bokuto nodded and thumped a fist against his chest. There was something solid and sturdy beneath
his jacket and Atsumu had a suspicion that he knew what it was.

“The rest of you stick close,” said Meian, as the doors dinged open. They stepped into a hallway
that stretched as far as Atsumu could see, with doors dotted on either side. Meian strode forward,
as if he’d been there many times before. Atsumu followed and checked over his shoulder when
they were midway down the hall. Bokuto had taken up his post by the elevator, one hand pressed
against the front of his jacket, completely alert.

Atsumu thought Bokuto would win if it came down to a fight, but he didn’t want to find out.

The hall stretched on, and eventually they reached a tall, solid door at the end.

“Hinata. Miya.” Meian glanced at the pair of them. “The two of you stay out here by the door. If I
need you, you’ll know it.”

Hinata nodded, solemn, and so did Atsumu.

“Let’s go, Sakusa.” Meian entered the room without knocking. Sakusa slipped in behind him and
Atsumu caught a glimpse of a large, elaborate office before the door slapped shut.

Atsumu stood to one side of the door and Hinata at the other. The hallway was perfectly silent, but
Atsumu strained his hearing to catch a murmur of voices from beyond the office door. One of them
was Meian. The other was a stranger.

“What d’you think’s gonna happen?” whispered Atsumu.

Hinata’s eyes were bright. He kept touching his ribs, as if making sure his gun was still there.
“Hirugami-san might tell Meian-san what he wants to know, and he might give up whoever killed
Hino-san. If he does, we’ll leave. If he doesn’t, there’ll be a fight.”

Atsumu thought maybe Hinata would prefer a fight. His eyes kept darting toward the door and to
the hallway and back again, impatient, as if he desperately wanted something to happen.

Atsumu had been unsure at first why Hinata was yakuza, but he was starting to see it now.
Underneath the bright spark of his personality and his sunshine smile, there was something
bloodthirsty. He and Bokuto were the same, in that respect.

The voices beyond the door grew louder, just slightly. It was such a small difference that Atsumu
wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been listening so hard.

Someone else spoke more quietly, steady as windless water.

Atsumu chewed at his lip and tried not to worry about Sakusa. There was no need. If anyone was
perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, it was him. It was everyone else who should be
worried.

They stood by the door for a while, long enough that Atsumu started getting a little dizzy until he
realized he was standing so stiffly that his knees were locked out. He bent them, one at a time, and
unclenched his jaw. It was so tight that it ached.

There were voices again, but this time from a different direction. Atsumu snapped his head up to
stare down the stretch of hallway. Bokuto was still stationed there, but he was so distant that
Atsumu could see nothing about his expression. Two other men had joined him, and after a few
words were exchanged, they started toward the office. They were over halfway there before
Atsumu recognized one of them.

“Ushijima,” he said, more to himself than Hinata, who was practically vibrating.

The man with Ushijima was almost the same height but not nearly as broad. He was twitchy,
nervous, and he came to a dead stop when he caught sight of Atsumu and Hinata.

“Keep walking.” Ushijima’s voice was a low rumble. “Hirugami-san asked for you.”

“Why are they here?” The man said it through clenched teeth, as if that would stop Atsumu and
Hinata from overhearing. “They’re part of them .”

“I will not tell you again,” said Ushijima. “Do not keep Hirugami-san waiting.”

The man teetered, debated, and took a reluctant step forward. It was only when he drew closer to
the door that he balked completely.

Ushijima didn’t seem surprised. He planted a hand in the middle of the man’s back and shoved him
into the door. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and Ushijima reached around him to turn
the knob. The door swung inward and the man tumbled inside.

Ushijima hesitated on the threshold and looked between Hinata and Atsumu. “My apologies,” he
said. “This should not have happened.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him,
carefully.

Hinata exhaled and seemed to deflate. “They’re doing what Meian-san asked. Guess they’re scared
to fight us again.”

“You disappointed?” asked Atsumu, before he could stop himself.

“Of course not,” said Hinata. He touched his ribs again. “They’d be stupid not to listen.”

“But you wanna fight them.”

Hinata’s face scrunched. “No.” He blinked, and his scowl eased. “Well. Kind of. Some of them are
asking for it.”

Atsumu didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant. Someone else approached from the direction of
the elevator, in the telltale tailored suit of the yakuza.

Hinata went stiff and pulled himself up to his full height. It wasn’t much beside Atsumu, or beside
this stranger, either.

“Kageyama,” spat Hinata, his eyes going narrow. “What’re you doing here?”

Kageyama was undaunted by Hinata’s venom. “I work here. You know that.”

Hinata’s glare only went sharper. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what you asked.”

“Yeah, but I mean what are you-”

“Hey,” hissed Atsumu. “Stop.”

Hinata went quiet, but his glower remained. Beyond the office door, a voice rose more loudly. It
wasn’t Meian or Sakusa, but it still put Atsumu on edge.

Kageyama stepped past them without a word and entered the office. As the door opened, Atsumu
made sense of the wailing voice within.

“-for it to go like that, I was provoked! The Jackal bastard came at me and-”

The door snapped shut again and took the coherency of the words with it.

“Didn’t Sakusa say not to start anything?” asked Atsumu, although the advice had been directed
only at him.

“I wasn’t! I was just asking a question.”

Atsumu thought there was much more to it than that, but he didn’t push. He kept quiet and leaned
closer to the door, trying to make sense of what was happening behind it.

The loud voice stopped, and a quieter one replaced it. Meian’s voice was next, only a few syllables,
and it was impossible for Atsumu to know what he’d said.

But he thought it had been Sakusa .

A wail rose again and there was a thud as if someone had fallen.

A gunshot cracked, loudly.

Atsumu forgot how to breathe.

He reached for the door automatically, but Hinata caught his arm.

“Not until Meian-san asks for us,” said Hinata. “This isn’t our place.”

Atsumu withdrew and shoved his hand into his pocket instead. He waited with extreme impatience
for several minutes that felt like hours. Finally the door opened and Meian emerged. Sakusa
followed closely behind, and Atsumu exhaled.

“Let’s go,” said Meian.

They did, retracing their path down the hallway toward Bokuto, who didn’t look away from the
office door until they were all loaded back into the elevator. The descent was silent. Meian was no
less stern, but he didn’t seem as grim. Sakusa was the same as ever, his face blank.

No one spoke until they exited the building into an afternoon that was brighter than it had been
when they’d arrived. Atsumu squinted against the glare reflecting from the windows of passing
cars.

“Hinata, ride back with us,” said Meian, as he started toward the SUV. “I need to talk to you about
a job. Sakusa, take the day. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Hinata skipped after him and tossed a wave at Atsumu before climbing into the SUV. Bokuto
looked back at Schweiden one last time before getting into the driver’s seat. They drove away, and
still Atsumu and Sakusa stood on the sidewalk, watching. Atsumu didn’t know what they were
waiting for.

“You didn’t die on your suicide mission,” said Sakusa. “Are you disappointed?”

“I didn’t wanna die. I just thought I should be here, too.”

Sakusa huffed a breath through his nose and got into his car. Atsumu followed. Sakusa started the
engine, but didn’t pull away from the curb. He rested his hands on the steering wheel and stared at
them.

Atsumu waited for almost a full minute before saying, “What’s wrong? Don’t know what to do
with yourself when you’re not workin’?”

Sakusa gave him a sharp glance but no words.

Atsumu settled back in his seat, more relaxed than he’d been since yesterday’s meeting. He’d
expected things to go badly. Judging from the way Meian had talked about it, he’d expected the
same.

“Hey, Omi.”

“What.”
“Wanna get a drink?”

There was a pause. Atsumu thought Sakusa would say no, in a very impolite way.

He was surprised when Sakusa asked, “Where?”

Atsumu turned away from his scrutiny of Schweiden to look at Sakusa instead. “Anywhere ya
want.”

Sakusa seemed to think that over. Slowly, he shifted gears and merged into traffic. Atsumu
watched him, unblinking.

“Hey, Omi?”

Sakusa grunted.

“Does it ever bother you?” asked Atsumu, his voice low. “Killin’ so many people?”

Sakusa was quiet for so long that Atsumu thought he wouldn’t answer. They turned down a side
street, paused at a stoplight, and idled there, waiting.

Sakusa said, “Not anymore.”

 Chapter 11

It became routine, although Atsumu wasn’t sure how it happened. At least once every week,
usually twice, he and Sakusa went to a ritzy bar that was apparently the only place in downtown
Tokyo that met Sakusa’s standards of cleanliness. It was expensive, and Atsumu had always
preferred cheap liquor to the fancy kind, but he didn’t mind. Meian had started paying Atsumu for
his work, and since he was living rent-free for now, he didn’t have anything better to spend his
money on.

On the third consecutive week of this, Atsumu ordered a drink that he’d never heard of but seemed
to contain some variation of whiskey.

Sakusa always ordered top shelf gin – no ice, no tonic, no anything – and only drank one, no matter
how long they were there. Atsumu didn’t know if he was being a responsible driver or if he didn’t
care for alcohol.

Atsumu usually had two, sometimes three, but stopped before he got anywhere near the threshold
of drunk. It wasn’t fun to be drunk with someone who wasn’t.

He also thought Sakusa would refuse to get drinks with him again if he got drunk and sloppy.
Which wasn’t a big deal, really. Atsumu could have gone out with Bokuto and Hinata instead and
probably had a better time. He got dinner with the two of them regularly, at least a couple of nights
each week.

But there was something thrilling about hanging out with Sakusa, because Atsumu had a feeling
Sakusa didn’t go out with anyone else.

“That guy was the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met,” said Atsumu, after his drink arrived and he’d
sampled the first taste. It wasn’t his favorite but it was good. It tasted expensive, like everything
else he’d ever ordered here. “And I’ve met a lot of dumbasses, so that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

“I consider you an expert on that,” said Sakusa, “since you’re such a dumbass yourself.”

Atsumu snorted into his drink and put it aside. “I’m not as bad as that idiot. You’ve gotta admit
that.”

Sakusa’s mouth quirked to one side as he inspected his glass of gin. His mask and gloves had been
discarded. Atsumu had seen him without them several times now, but he still had a hard time
looking away. “I’ll give you that. You’re not on his level yet.”

“Yet,” repeated Atsumu with a roll of his eyes. “C’mon, Omi, I’ll never be that bad. I’ve made a
few dumb decisions in my life but that don’t mean I’m stupid.”

“I’d take that more seriously if you talked less like you were born in a cornfield.”

Atsumu laughed. He would’ve been offended by that when they’d first met, but he didn’t think
Sakusa meant all of his insults seriously, not anymore. “You ever even been outta the city? There’s
a whole world out there that’s not Tokyo. You should see it sometime.”

“I’d rather not. Tokyo is hell enough.”

Atsumu shrugged and took another sip of his drink. The second taste was better. “Suit yourself.”
His phone chimed and he flipped it face-up on the table to check the message. He tapped back a
reply with one finger, trying to shove as much sarcasm as possible into the text.

“Your brother?” asked Sakusa.

Atsumu sent the message and blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“Your brother,” repeated Sakusa. He took his first drink, a small one, and eyed Atsumu over the
rim of the glass. “You only smile like that when you’re talking to him.”

Atsumu wiped the back of his hand across his face, as if rubbing the smile away. He hadn’t known
he’d been making any particular expression at all. “I wasn’t smilin’.”

Sakusa’s mouth pinched. “Fine.”

Atsumu scowled at him, but it was forced. His phone chimed again, and he glanced down at
Osamu’s response.

I’ll call you, but it’ll be later. Got a bathtub date with Suna.

Atsumu’s nose scrunched. “Gross.” He typed back a message, put his phone down, and glanced up
to find Sakusa watching him.

Atsumu realized this time that he really had been smiling, despite his disgust.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” said Atsumu, reaching for his drink again. “What, I’m not allowed
to miss my brother?”

“Is he less annoying than you?” asked Sakusa. “Maybe I’ll ask Meian if he’ll trade you out.”

“He’s way worse than I am,” said Atsumu. “Loud and obnoxious, never shuts up. Hideous dye job.
You’d hate ‘im.”

“I don’t believe any of that. You literally just described yourself.”

Atsumu shrugged. He tried not to grin but couldn’t help it. “Fine. His hair’s not that bad. It’s never
been as good as mine, though.”

“That’s not a very high standard.”

“Fuck you. You should’ve seen me back before I dropped outta high school. I was a hot mess.
Mostly hot, but also kind of a mess.”

Sakusa studied him with that unreadable stare. “You dropped out?”

Atsumu immediately wished he could take that back. He hadn’t meant to say it. “Well yeah, me
and ‘Samu quit to work for Kita-san. We already owed him, and we weren’t doin’ so well in
school, anyway. Kita-san wasn’t the boss back then, but he mostly ran things for the guy who was.
He took care of us when our parents got killed. Paid our rent and shit. He was pissed when we
dropped out, but we made it up to him. We did good work even back then. Never needed school.”
Atsumu drained the rest of his drink and regretted it. That was one down already. He needed to
pace himself better to make them last. “You probably graduated and went to a fancy university
somewhere, right? You’re smart and distinguished and shit.”

Sakusa didn’t answer. Atsumu thought that meant he was right.

“How’d you get into this, anyway?” asked Atsumu, waving a hand in an empty gesture. “Was it a
family thing?”

“No.”

“Didja owe somebody money and need a quick way to pay ‘em off?”

“No.”

Atsumu frowned. “Why, then?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Well, yeah. Everybody’s got a reason. Kids don’t grow up sayin’ ‘I wanna be in the yakuza,
mom’.”

“Why do you even care?”

Atsumu moved his empty glass to the edge of the table. He folded his arms and leaned his weight
onto them, his head tilted slightly. “Just askin’. You don’t hafta tell me.”

Sakusa’s neutral expression dipped into something resembling a scowl. He glanced toward the bar,
and Atsumu thought the conversation was over.

Atsumu tried to catch their server’s eye, but she was busy a few tables over. He wondered if he
should get a different drink, but decided against it. The whisky concoction wasn’t so bad. It had a
kick to it, one that made his veins run warm.

Sakusa said, “I should have been an investigator. Tokyo Police. They offered me the job when I
was fresh out of school and I took it.”

Atsumu sat up straight, slowly, as if afraid a sudden movement would spook Sakusa into silence.
He waited, quietly.

The crease between Sakusa’s brows dug deeper. “I was perfect for it. I had the education and the
skills and I was the best shot they’d ever seen. They sent me to the training academy with a class
of fifty other rookies and I…” He trailed off, the words fracturing into nothing. He paused, and
continued, “I left after the first night. They wouldn’t accommodate me.”

He didn’t explain further, but he didn’t need to. Atsumu had spent enough time with Sakusa to
understand.

Sakusa had been thrown in a dirty room with several other people, forced to share a communal
bathroom, and served food of unknown origin off of a cafeteria line. They likely restricted which
personal items were allowed, which would have meant no masks or gloves or sanitizer. There had
probably been hand-to-hand training that required grappling on the floor with someone covered in
sweat and filth. Sergeants would have been yelling in Sakusa’s face, probably spitting on him in
the process. It didn’t sound like a pleasant environment even to Atsumu. For Sakusa, it must have
been hell.

“Oh,” said Atsumu.

“Since that didn’t work out, I found an opportunity elsewhere, with someone who let me do things
my own way,” said Sakusa. “Meian understood. He tried to, at least. He agreed to let me do jobs
however I wanted, as long as they got done. It was a fair deal. He paid more, too.”
“You didn’t feel bad about it?” asked Atsumu. He was almost afraid to ask any questions. He was
already baffled that Sakusa had told him this much. “Going from police to yakuza just like that?”

“My career choice was never about morality,” said Sakusa. “I didn’t want the job to try and make
the world a better place, or whatever cheap reasons most of them come up with. The decision was
calculated. It was job security that catered to my skill set. I’m not concerned with ethics, or doing
the right thing, or any of that bullshit.” Sakusa finished his gin, more quickly than he ever had, and
lined his empty glass up next to Atsumu’s. “I want to get paid. If that means killing people when
Meian tells me to, I don’t mind. Just as long as I don’t have to clean up afterward.”

Atsumu thought about that until the server returned. He ordered another drink, and to his surprise,
so did Sakusa.

“Did you tell him all that, when you started working for him?” asked Atsumu. “About the police
stuff?”

“I told him everything. He was amused.” Sakusa’s mouth curved upward, just barely, before
returning to its neutral line. “He thought I was an undercover officer with a terrible cover story. He
walked me down the street, handed me a gun, and told me to shoot the next person that walked by,
as a test.” Sakusa studied his neatly trimmed fingernails. “I passed, and he didn’t question me
again.”

Atsumu couldn’t imagine friendly, easygoing Meian doing that, but he didn’t doubt it for a second.
He believed Sakusa, and he could picture his part in the story quite clearly. “Damn. That’s a hell of
a test. I might’ve failed, back when I first started.”

“Good thing you were with Kita-san, then,” said Sakusa. “I hear he has a less bloodthirsty
temperament these days.”

Atsumu frowned. “These days?”

“He was rough when he used to work with Meian, from what I’ve heard,” said Sakusa. The server
returned with their drinks and Sakusa accepted his with a nod. He swiveled the glass around in a
circle, eyeing the rim before taking a sip. “He did some dirty work out in Miyagi with Karasuno,
too.”

Atsumu’s heart leapt into his throat. Miyagi, where Osamu was. Karasuno, who were housing him.

“That’s all secondhand information,” said Sakusa. He brushed his hair away from his face, where
it had fallen onto his forehead. “I’ve never met him. He was in town last year to arrange some sort
of deal with Meian but I wasn’t involved.”

Atsumu stared at him. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

He’d never heard a single story about Kita working with or for any other yakuza groups. Kita had
never talked about Tokyo, or Miyagi, or given any indication that he’d ever lived anywhere outside
of Hyogo Prefecture. Atsumu tried to remember the year before, if Kita had mentioned visiting
Tokyo. The only time Kita had left the city had been to check on his aging parents in Nagoya. That
was the story he’d told them, anyway. Atsumu realized now that he must have lied. Maybe his
parents didn’t even live in Nagoya. Maybe he didn’t have parents at all.

“I didn’t know that,” said Atsumu. He tilted his drink from side to side, watching it splash against
the edges of the glass. “Any of it.”

“There’s probably a reason for that,” said Sakusa. “Pretend I didn’t tell you.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Atsumu. He took a drink. This one was sweeter. He didn’t know if it had been
mixed differently or if he’d gotten used to the bitterness. “Why did you?”

“What?”

“Why’d you tell me?”

Sakusa considered that, his face neutral. He said, “Because you won’t run your mouth about it. As
much as you like to talk, you know when to shut up about important shit.”

“Like in the meeting with Meian-san,” said Atsumu. “You thought I was gonna sell you out about
talkin’ to Ushijima.”

“I didn’t think you would,” said Sakusa, “but it was a relief to know I was right.”

“No worries, Omi,” said Atsumu. He took a small drink, hesitated, and drained the rest of it in one
long gulp. It burned on the way down, and that was somehow comforting. “I’ve got ya.”

Sakusa eyed him, but said nothing.

Atsumu had one more drink and was a little disappointed that Sakusa stopped after his second. He
was hoping he’d get an exclusive look at drunk Sakusa. He wondered if Sakusa had ever even
gotten drunk, and somehow doubted it. Letting himself lose control didn’t seem like something
Sakusa would enjoy.

It was late when they left the bar, but Atsumu didn’t mind, and Sakusa didn’t seem to, either.
Heavy traffic had forced them to park two blocks down and they started for the car. Atsumu
wasn’t in the proximity of drunk, but he floated along on a pleasant buzz that left him with a vague
smile. He liked spending these evenings with Sakusa, which was ridiculous, considering how
much he’d hated him when they first met. It was even more surprising because the feeling had
obviously been mutual. Sakusa could hardly stand him.

But he didn’t seem bothered now, walking alongside Atsumu with his hands re-gloved and his face
re-masked. He was at ease, seemingly unaffected by the double dose of alcohol. He wasn’t even
scowling. His forehead was smooth, eyes clear and calm.

Atsumu looked at him longer than he should have, long enough that he nearly walked into
someone on the sidewalk.

“Sorry,” he murmured, quickly dodging to the side. His arm brushed Sakusa’s. Atsumu went tense,
waiting for Sakusa to snap at him, but he didn’t. Sakusa eased a little further over, to give Atsumu
space, but he didn’t seem annoyed. He didn’t even spare an angry glance in Atsumu’s direction.

Atsumu’s stomach gave a strange little lurch. He wondered what Sakusa would do if Atsumu
reached out to him intentionally, if he touched Sakusa’s shoulder, or his arm, or his hand. He
would probably be furious and snap at him to get away: Don’t fucking touch me .

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if Atsumu touched him now, if it was through his
sleeve or his glove. Maybe he liked Atsumu – or at least didn’t hate him – enough to allow it.

Atsumu thought about it. He thought about the sharp curve of Sakusa’s jaw when he wasn’t
wearing his mask. He thought about the flickers of expression he’d caught in the black wells of
Sakusa’s eyes, ranging from annoyance to fury to amusement. He thought of the day Sakusa had
been in Atsumu’s apartment in sweatpants and a t-shirt, with damp hair and no mask and bare
hands. He wanted to see Sakusa like that again. He wondered if he ever would.
He also wondered what Sakusa would say, if Atsumu asked him to come back to his place. He
wondered if Sakusa would say yes, or if he would be disgusted, or if Sakusa would ever speak to
him again.

He wondered if it was worth the risk in exchange for the small, microscopic chance that Sakusa
might say yes.

Atsumu’s pulse kicked a little faster. He shouldn’t ask. He knew he shouldn’t. He didn’t even
know what kind of person was Sakusa’s type, or if he was already committed to someone else.
He’d never talked about it, but that didn’t mean much. Sakusa’s retelling of his entry into the
yakuza was the most he’d ever talked about himself. He could have a wife and three kids for all
Atsumu knew.

He could, but Atsumu had a feeling he didn’t.

He also had a feeling that Sakusa liked him, just a little bit, just maybe.

Atsumu wondered if it was enough.

He started to speak, trapped the words in his throat, and swallowed them back again. He imagined
how awkward work would be the next day if Sakusa shot him down. Maybe there wouldn’t even
be any more work. Sakusa might tell Meian that he refused to ever set foot in the same room as
Atsumu, and he’d be stuck in his apartment for the rest of his stay in Tokyo.

It was possible, but Atsumu didn’t think Sakusa would do that, not really.

The car was a short distance ahead. The black sheen of it reflected the street lights. Atsumu licked
his lips and said, “Hey, Omi?”

“Hmm?”

Sakusa hadn’t demanded that Atsumu stop using that nickname for at least three weeks. That was
another hint that he didn’t despise Atsumu as much as he had in the beginning.

“You don’t hate me, right?” asked Atsumu. That seemed to be a reasonable place to start.

“Of course I do.”

Atsumu turned those words over in his head. He didn’t believe them. “I don’t hate you either, you
know.”

Sakusa glanced at him, his dark eyes even darker in the shadows between streetlights.

“I thought I did, at first,” said Atsumu. He tried to chain his voice, to keep himself from rambling,
but more words spilled out of him. “I thought you were the most annoyin’ bastard I’d ever met,
when I got here. But you’re not anymore. I don’t hate you.”

Sakusa took a few steps in silence. “Do you have a point?”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ to it.”

Sakusa exhaled; quietly, but loud enough for Atsumu to hear. He drew to a stop beside his car, one
hand dipping into his pocket for his keys. “Get to it faster.”

Atsumu inhaled, so deeply that his lungs were full to bursting. He thought about the best way to
ask. Should he be subtle? Sakusa was smart; he would know what Atsumu meant even if he didn’t
outright say it. Maybe that was the best way. If Sakusa was revolted, Atsumu could play it off and
pretend Sakusa had misunderstood. It would save him some pride, at least.

He swallowed, licked his lips again, and said, “Omi, I…”

One of Sakusa’s eyebrows twitched, impatient.

Fuck this. Atsumu had never been subtle in his life. He just needed to say it.

He pulled in the breath that would shape the words, but a voice from somewhere nearby dragged at
the edge of his thoughts, fraying them. He tuned into it automatically and heard, “ -him, it's Miya.
We have to do it now. ”

The pleasant warmth of Atsumu’s blood, courtesy of the whiskey, faded into a cold kiss of dread.

Another voice joined the first. “ What about the other one? He’s one of Meian’s, we shouldn’t-”

“If he’s dead, he can’t talk.”

Atsumu’s chest froze over. Each rapidfire beat of his heart was like a spike of ice.

“Miya?” asked Sakusa. “What-”

“Get down,” said Atsumu. It was a whisper, and then a shout. “Get down !” Atsumu whirled
around, alarm bells screaming like sirens in his head. He threw an arm to the side and knocked
Sakusa a step back, his other hand already diving beneath his jacket for his gun. He yanked it free
and blinked past a phantom vision of blood on a sunny street in Hyogo, Osamu crumpled on
concrete, the taste of panic in his mouth.

Atsumu was fast. His gun was out and level, finger curled on the trigger, ready.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

Gunfire shredded the street. Atsumu ducked, firing blindly.

He missed, but they didn’t.

Hot, sharp pain sliced into him. It was a faint buzz, at first. Atsumu ignored it and focused on the
street, on the men shooting at him, on the gun in his own hand.

Then the pain surged all at once, like a punch of fire between his ribs. He hunched over, tried to
keep shooting, and the gun slipped out of his hand. It clattered to the sidewalk at the same time
Atsumu fell. He slammed into concrete, and it would have knocked the breath out of him if he
hadn’t already lost the ability to breathe. He clutched at his side, trying to find the source of the
pain, to claw it out and toss it away. His hand slipped in hot blood. He tried to look, but everything
was dark; darker than it had been a minute before.

“Miya!” Sakusa’s voice was somewhere above him; maybe right in front of his face, maybe up in
the clouds. Everything was loud. Atsumu thought someone was still shooting, but he didn’t know
for sure. People were screaming.

Atsumu curled in on himself. It didn’t help. He was hotter than he’d been in his entire life, like he
was on the verge of combustion. His side screamed in pain, and he thought if he could see it, there
would be a fist-sized hole where his flesh used to be.

He remembered dragging Osamu behind a car after he’d been shot. Atsumu had told him to stop
being dramatic.

Atsumu regretted that, more than he’d ever regretted anything.

“Miya!” It was Sakusa again, maybe closer, maybe further away. Atsumu reached out for him, but
only felt empty air.

Atsumu tried to speak, but the words were like blades in his throat. He coughed, gagged, tasted
blood. He couldn’t see anything at all. He thought his eyes were open but he wasn’t sure. He
wasn’t sure of anything, except that he was dying. He was certain of that.

He was dying on a dirty street in Tokyo, hours away from home, hours away from Osamu.

“Fuck.” He spat the word, and spat blood with it. He grasped at his side, blood spilling between his
fingers, dripping onto concrete. He’d never hurt so badly in his life. It was bone-deep, scalding
down to his core. He was shaking, teeth clacking together, cheek scraping against the sidewalk.

“Miya.” Sakusa was close now. Atsumu was almost sure. “Let me see how bad it is. Miya .”

“Call ‘Samu.” Atsumu forced the words through his teeth. They hurt. Everything hurt. “You’ve
gotta call ‘im. Please.”

“Move your hand. I need to see.”

Atsumu only curled into a tighter ball. He didn’t let go. He was afraid he would unravel into
bloody pieces if he did.

“ Miya .”

There was a hand on top of Atsumu’s, prying it away. He tried to speak, to scream, anything , but
couldn’t make a sound.

Sakusa’s breath was almost as loud as his voice. “Shit.”

“Call ‘Samu.” Atsumu didn’t know he was talking. His voice came from nowhere. “Please call
‘im, Omi. Tell ‘im I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare pass out,” snapped Sakusa. “Don’t you fucking dare. Miya. Miya .”

Sakusa said something else, in a rough voice of stone against stone.

Atsumu didn’t know what it was. He didn’t know anything at all.

He hoped Osamu wouldn’t be too mad at him for dying like this.

Atsumu realized he wasn’t dead.

He was in such agony that he wished he was.

He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t. There were voices in the background, some strange, some
familiar. He couldn’t focus on any of them. He tried to sit up and the crush of pain in his side
knocked him right back out again.

Everything was white; the walls, the ceiling, the pain that spread through Atsumu’s veins.

Everything was white except for Sakusa’s eyes, and Atsumu focused on them until he couldn’t see
anything at all.

“-for at least a couple of days, for observation. If an infection sets in-”

“It won’t. He has to leave. We don’t have a choice.”

Atsumu tried to say Sakusa’s name, but he couldn’t speak.

He was moving, and it hurt. He tried to say so, but only managed a low, dry croak.

“You’re okay. We’re almost there, I promise.”

It wasn’t Sakusa. Atsumu knew the voice, should have recognized it, but he couldn’t. He wondered
why he wasn’t dead yet. He wondered where Sakusa was. He wondered if Osamu was mad at him.

There was a low curse and Atsumu jolted, pain lancing through him like a blade. He gritted his
teeth and clenched his fists and everything faded again.

Everything was gray; the walls, the ceiling, the bedsheets bundled up to Atsumu’s shoulders. He
blinked a few times. His eyelids were almost too heavy to lift. He opened his mouth and his lips
stuck together. He tried to speak, couldn’t. He drew in a breath that rasped in his throat and a surge
of pain cut him in half.

“Look at me.”

Atsumu’s eyes closed and half-opened. He turned his head and found Sakusa staring down at him.
His jacket was missing and his sleeves were pushed up, shirt buttoned sloppily. His gun was still
strapped at his ribs.

“Are you awake this time?” said Sakusa. His face was red. Atsumu had the absurd thought that he
was blushing. His stare drifted, and he realized Sakusa’s arms were red too, up to his elbows. Red
and angry, like the skin had been scrubbed raw.

Sakusa took a step closer. “Miya.”

Atsumu blinked. His eyes didn’t open again this time.

Pain woke him again, hot and bladed. He tried to pull away from it, to separate himself, but it only
made it worse.

“Stop.” Sakusa. “I’m cleaning it so you don’t get an infection and die.”

“Hurts.” The single word was dry and cracked like desert sand.

“I know. I’ll be finished in a minute.”

“’Samu?”

Another starburst of pain.

Sakusa said, “I talked to him. I knew you were lying when you said he was the annoying one. He’s
perfectly normal compared to you.”

“Is… he okay?” The words felt like broken glass in Atsumu’s throat.

“He’s fine, other than having an idiot brother like you.” Sakusa huffed and sat back. Atsumu’s eyes
were closed, but he felt it. “If you would wake up for more than five minutes at a time, you could
talk to him.”

“’m awake.”

“Not for long. You’re already going. You’re on too many painkillers.” There was another spike of
pain. Something touched Atsumu’s hair, his forehead. “Go to sleep, Miya. Try again tomorrow.”

Atsumu did, because he didn't have a choice.

 Chapter 12

Atsumu’s mouth tasted like metal.

He didn’t move for a while, until he stitched his scattered thoughts back together. When he
remembered what had happened, he raised his head and blinked blearily at the ceiling. It came into
focus slowly, with the haziness of a mirage. Atsumu knew he’d been hurt, badly, but now he felt
nothing. He thought the pain was gone, until he tried to sit up and it hit him in a hot, angry rush.

“ Fuck .”

“’Tsumu? You okay?”

The name triggered something in Atsumu’s chest, made it feel tight to the point of collapse. He
gritted his teeth and blinked against the glare of the overhead light, looking for his brother, already
lifting a hand to reach for him.

Big golden eyes stared back.

“...Bokuto?”

“Hey, you recognize me this time!” Bokuto’s voice was too loud, but not nearly as loud as normal.
He was clearly trying to keep it down. “How’re you feeling? You okay? Need anything?”

Atsumu looked down at himself without raising his head. He was buried beneath a layer of
bedsheets. They were blue. He distinctly remembered gray. He slowly pushed them down to his
waist, dragged his hand to his side, and let it land there. A thick bandage was taped over the left
side of his stomach, right below his ribs. He pressed on it, just a little, and immediately stopped.

Atsumu looked past Bokuto, at the gray room beyond. It was unfamiliar. “Where’s Omi?”

“He’s asleep. Want me to go wake him up?”

“No, it’s… Where’s my phone?”

Bokuto looked around the room and then patted his own pockets. “Oh, uh… I don’t know. Sakusa
probably has it. He was using it earlier, talking to someone.”

“Where are we?”

Bokuto perked up. “This is Meian-san’s place! Well, kind of. He doesn’t live here, but it’s
technically his. We’re on the north side of downtown. It’s almost a penthouse but not really. It’s a
good view though! You’ll love it. When you can, uh… get up and look, I guess.”

“Am I dead?”

“Nope! Why, do you feel like you’re dead? You need water or something?”

“No.” Atsumu’s throat was bone dry, but he didn’t want Bokuto to leave the room, not yet. “How
bad is it?”

“The gunshot?” asked Bokuto. “It’s not great, but it could’ve been worse. Didn’t hit anything
important. You’ve got some little bullet pieces they couldn’t get out, but they’ll be alright. It’s kind
of cool if you think about it. Except airport security will suck from now on, because of the metal
detectors.” Bokuto’s eyes darted down to Atsumu’s bandaged side and then back to his face.
“You’re all stitched up. Getting you to stop bleeding was the hardest part. Sakusa had blood all
over him when I showed up. I thought he was the one who was going to die. You should’ve seen
him.”

Atsumu tried to think about that, but it was too much. He struggled to get a hand underneath
himself and couldn’t. “Help me sit up.”

“You sure? It’s probably going to hurt.”

“Just help me.”

Bokuto did, and as soon as Atsumu was upright, he regretted it. He collapsed back against the
headboard, his skull thumping painfully. He barely felt it. He couldn’t feel anything except the
jagged teeth tearing into his side.

“It might be time for you to get more meds,” said Bokuto thoughtfully. He eyed Atsumu with a tilt
of his head. “But then you’ll probably forget again and I’ll have to tell you this stuff all over next
time you wake up.”

Atsumu almost asked how many times they’d been through this, but he didn’t want to know.

“I need my phone,” he said. “Will you go look for it?”

“It’s here.” Sakusa’s voice reached them a second before he appeared in the doorway. Atsumu’s
phone was in his hand.

He was wearing sweatpants and his hair was a mess. Somehow that made Atsumu feel better.

“Omi.”

“Did we wake you up?” asked Bokuto, his eyes going big. “I was trying to be quiet!”

Sakusa ignored the question as he stepped closer. “Go get him some water. He’ll ruin his throat
trying to talk like that.”

Bokuto darted out of the room.

Sakusa stood at the edge of Atsumu’s bed, his arms folded. His t-shirt was a little too big. It was
the most disheveled Atsumu had ever seen him. “Are you coherent this time?”

“Yeah,” said Atsumu. He licked his dry lips. It didn’t help. “Wish I wasn’t.”

“Get him more pain meds, too,” said Sakusa, raising his voice. There was a wordless sound of
confirmation from Bokuto.

“Don’t want it,” rasped Atsumu. “Not if it’s gonna put me out again.”

“You’d rather be in pain?”

“I’d rather be awake. I need to talk to ‘Samu.” He sifted through the fog of his thoughts and added,
“and Kita-san, I think.”

“I’ve talked to your brother. Meian has talked to Kita-san.”

“Give me the phone, Omi.”

“You can have it if you’re still awake in an hour,” said Sakusa.

Bokuto returned with a glass of water and a rattling bottle of pills. He passed them to Sakusa, who
pressed the water into Atsumu’s hand. He tapped out a pair of pills and offered them, but Atsumu
didn’t move.

“Fine,” said Sakusa. He dropped one of the pills back into the bottle. “At least half.”

Atsumu would’ve refused that too, if a lightning strike of pain hadn’t jabbed him in the ribs. He
winced and carefully held out a hand. His fingers were shaking. He tried to stop them but couldn’t.

He swallowed the pill and nearly choked on the water as he rinsed it down. He coughed and
thought his ribcage was caving in.

“My phone.”

“One hour.”

“Fine.”

Atsumu was out again in ten minutes.

Atsumu didn’t know how many times he woke up and fell asleep and woke up again. Time was
blurred and warped. He didn’t even know how long it had been since he’d been shot. He could
have asked, of course, because there was always someone around when he woke up. Usually it was
Sakusa, sometimes Bokuto or Hinata. Once it was Meian, and Atsumu had pretended to fall asleep
again because he hadn’t known what to say.

But Atsumu didn’t want to know how long it had been. He was afraid it would be longer than he
was expecting, and he thought he might panic.

“It’s been an hour, Omi-kun!” he called. His voice cracked, but his throat didn’t hurt when he
spoke. He was still in pain but it was muted; likely from the pill Sakusa had pushed into his hand
when he’d woken up an hour before. His mind was clearer than it had been since he could
remember. That still wasn’t as clear as before, when he’d been in one piece, but it was progress.
“Bring my fuckin’ phone in here!”

Sakusa appeared in the doorway, expression neutral. “I thought your near-death experience might
calm you down. Maybe I’m the one who’s an idiot.”

Atsumu extended an impatient hand. His fingers shook and he pretended not to notice.

Sakusa pulled the phone out of his pocket and dropped it into Atsumu’s palm.

Atsumu yanked it close, so quickly that he pulled at his stitches. He winced and moved more
slowly as he tapped at the screen. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen. Shout for me if you feel like you’re dying. Meian’s already mad. If you die
while I’m babysitting you, he’ll skin me alive.”

Atsumu’s thumb was hovering over the call button beside Osamu’s name before he realized what
Sakusa had said. He hesitated, thought over the words, and looked up just as Sakusa was leaving
the room. “Omi.”

Sakusa turned back.

Atsumu lowered his hands to rest against his thighs. Somewhere in the back of his head he heard
Meian’s voice, speaking to Sakusa the first time they’d met:

If he gets hurt, you get hurt. If he dies, well… you’re the best I have, but everyone’s replaceable.

Atsumu swallowed thickly. “Is he really mad at you? Meian-san?”

Sakusa’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. “He’s not happy.”

“But he knows it’s not your fault, right? There was nothin’ you could’ve done.”

“Objectively, yes, he knows.” Sakusa folded his arms. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt that fit
him loosely. The collar cut into a v that showed his collarbones. “He also knows we were out
drinking and my reaction time may have been impaired, which was very much my fault. He trusted
me to take care of you and I didn’t.”

“He’s not gonna… hurt you or anything,” said Atsumu, slowly. For a moment the pit in his gut was
so deep that he forgot he was in pain. “Right?”

Sakusa considered him, his stare weighty. “He thinks I’ve been punished enough. Call your
brother. You’ve spent days whining about talking to him.”

He left the room, and Atsumu’s breath caught.

Days. It had been days .

Atsumu stared after Sakusa, dread bubbling in his chest. He braced himself, raised the phone, and
made the call.

Osamu picked up on the first ring. “How is he?”

“Alive, by some fuckin’ miracle,” said Atsumu, his voice grating like gravel. “They can’t kill me
that easy.”

Osamu’s exhale was loud, a static burst in Atsumu’s ear. “’Tsumu.”

“Were ya worried about me, ‘Samu?” asked Atsumu. He smiled, just a little. It felt strange on his
cracked lips. “Think you were gonna lose the best thing about your life? I wouldn’t wanna live
without me, either.”

“You complete fuckin’ asshole,” said Osamu, wearily. “I got shot so you had to go and do it, too.
You were always copyin’ me when we were kids. I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

“You okay?”

“I guess, considerin’,” said Atsumu. He looked toward the door. It was still open but he couldn’t
see Sakusa beyond, only a slice of gray-paneled kitchen cabinets. “Hey, listen. I’m real sorry about
bein’ so rough with you when you got shot. And for lettin’ Oomimi tear that fuckin’ bullet outta ya
without any painkillers.”
“So it takes you almost dyin’ to grow some empathy,” said Osamu. “Good to know.”

“I’m tryin’ to be nice here.”

“I know. It’s fuckin’ weird. Maybe you really are dyin’.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“You better not. Sakusa promised you wouldn’t.”

Atsumu glanced at the empty doorway again. “You been talkin’ to him?”

“Yeah, he called me after it happened, when you were gettin’ stitched up at the hospital.” There
was a beat of silence with no background noise at all. Osamu must have been locked away in his
quiet hotel room. “He said you told him to, before you passed out. I was halfway to fuckin’ Tokyo
when Kita-san called me and told me to get my ass back to Miyagi. I don’t know if he’s trackin’
my phone or if he just guessed what I’d be doin’ when he heard what happened. I told him to go
fuck ‘imself, that I was goin’ anyway.”

Atsumu tried to imagine Osamu saying that to Kita and absolutely couldn’t. “Shit.”

“It wasn’t the best thing to say, probably,” said Osamu. “I’ll apologize to him when I get over it,
but I haven’t yet. We argued, and he said… he said some shit I’m not gonna repeat. I got off the
train and came back to fuckin’ Miyagi.” There was another pause and he said, more softly, “I’d be
there if I could, ‘Tsumu. You know that, yeah?”

Atsumu closed his eyes against the swell of affection he felt for his brother. They lived their lives
to piss each other off, but Atsumu didn’t know where he would’ve ended up without Osamu. Dead
probably, many years before; either killed by someone else or himself.

“Yeah, I know,” said Atsumu. “It’s cool. All you’d do is sit around and tell me how shitty I look
anyway.”

“You mean the same way you did to me? You’re damn right I would.”

Atsumu laughed, but only once. It hurt. “You okay out there?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Gettin’ kinda antsy. Kita-san is sendin’ everybody out lookin’ for who’s after us.
He was lookin’ before too, but I think he’s pissed off now.”

That didn’t comfort Atsumu in the way it should have. “Kita used to work with the Jackals out here
in Tokyo, didja know? He was here last year to meet with Meian-san. He worked with Karasuno a
while back, too.”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“He never said nothin’ about it. Not a word. Why didn’t he tell us?”

“I dunno, ‘Tsumu. Maybe ‘cause it’s not our business?”

Atsumu huffed; loudly, to make sure Osamu heard. “I still think he shoulda said somethin’.”

“I think you’ve got bigger things to worry about right now,” said Osamu. “Like how you almost
fuckin’ died last week.”

Last week .
Atsumu cringed. “It’s been a week?”

“Fuckin’… yeah, it’s been a week. I’ve spent a whole week wonderin’ if you were really still alive
or if Sakusa was bullshittin’ me.”

“If I was dead, he woulda just toldja,” said Atsumu. He settled back against the spread of pillows
propped between him and the headboard. “He doesn’t fuck around.”

“Well I didn’t know that. He coulda been lyin’ the whole time for all I knew. I made him video
chat with me a coupla times so I could see your stupid face.”

“Watchin’ me sleep is kinda creepy, ‘Samu.”

“Fuck you. I was worried.”

Atsumu sighed. He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. Gray. “Sorry.”

“Shut up. Kita-san promised he’ll take care of this fast. Soon as it’s done, I’ll be there to kick your
ass for scarin’ me.”

Atsumu laughed, even through the pain. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you later, alright? Get some sleep.
You sound kinda rough.”

“Asshole,” said Osamu, almost fondly. “If I don’t hear from you every day I’m comin’ down there
anyway, no matter what Kita-san says.”

“I’m fine, ‘Samu. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

Atsumu ended the call and cradled the phone in his hands. The battery was almost fully charged.
Sakusa must have been keeping it plugged in for him. Atsumu tapped over to his call history. It
was all Osamu, at least once a day every day. Some were incoming, but most were outgoing.
Sakusa had been calling him, just like Atsumu had asked.

He looked at the doorway again. It was still empty.

Atsumu should have called Kita. He had a lot to say to him, and even if he hadn’t, it was his
responsibility to check in with his Kumicho. He scrolled through his contacts and found Kita’s
name.

He stared at it, almost selected it, but scrolled further down instead.

He tapped a different name and held his breath as he waited.

It took a few rings for someone to pick up. When they did, the voice was wary. “Hello?”

“Meian-san.” Atsumu cleared his throat. “It’s Atsumu. Miya.”

“Miya?” There was a rustle, a murmur of Meian’s voice as he spoke to someone in the background.
“Shit, it is you. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. You were out like a fucking light last time I
was there. You doing better?”

“Yeah, I feel better,” said Atsumu. It was mostly the truth. “I need to apologize. ‘M sorry for the
trouble.”
“Are you apologizing to me for getting shot?”

Atsumu’s face scrunched. He was glad Meian couldn’t see him. “I guess so?”

Meian laughed, low and rich. “You’re something else, Miya. I’m the one who owes you an
apology. I’ll give it to you in person, next time I see you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” said Atsumu. “Really. It was a bad situation, nothin’ could’ve been
done. We were… I was drinkin’, and I shouldn’t’ve been. Everything’s been goin’ so good here I
wasn’t thinkin’ anything bad might happen.” Atsumu didn’t think the situation would have gone
differently if he’d been stone-cold sober, but he didn’t say that. It wasn’t the point he needed to
make. “Omi… Sakusa wasn’t drunk. He was fine. He was lookin’ out for me like he always does.
They came outta nowhere, there was no way for us to know. If he hadn’t been there I really woulda
been dead. Don’t blame him for anything. It’s all on me.”

Meian considered that. There were overlapping voices in the background. Atsumu wondered if
he’d interrupted something, but it must not have been that important, if Meian was taking the time
to talk to him.

“Does Sakusa know you’re calling me?” asked Meian.

Atsumu glanced at the doorway again. “No.”

“That’s what I thought. You’re a good guy, Miya. So is Sakusa. I don’t blame him for anything. I
only blame myself for letting you work when you should’ve been under my protection. After that
police bullshit a while back I should’ve known better.”

“That’s not on you,” said Atsumu. “You offered to let me sit out. I’m the one who wanted-”

“Just let me have my regrets, Miya,” said Meian, cutting him short. “I’m glad you’re alright, and
I’ll make sure you stay that way. You won’t leave that apartment until I tell you to, you hear me?”

Atsumu wasn’t in much of a state to leave, anyway. “Yeah, I hear ya.”

“I’ll be out there to check on you sometime soon,” said Meian. “Just relax and recover. You’re safe
there, I can promise that for sure. That’s the safest place this side of the city.”

“Okay,” said Atsumu. “Thanks, Meian-san.”

“You don’t have anything to thank me for. You need something, you call me. Say it.”

Atsumu smiled, just a little. He remembered a very similar conversation from a while back, when
he’d first gotten to Tokyo. “If I need somethin’, I’ll call.”

“Good. ‘Bye, Miya.”

Atsumu slouched back, gritted his teeth against a stab of pain, and let his phone fall out of his hand
onto the dark sheets. He stared at it in a vague sort of way. He thought again of calling Kita, but
dismissed the idea as soon as it crossed his mind. He was suddenly so exhausted he wasn’t sure if
he could hold a full conversation even if he wanted to, and he definitely didn’t want to.

“You’re an idiot, Miya.”

Atsumu blinked and rolled his head the other way, where Sakusa had crept back into the room. He
was frowning, arms folded, his clothes wrinkled in a way that was very unlike him. Atsumu
wondered if Sakusa had been home lately or if he’d been staying here, waiting to see if Atsumu
was going to die. It was probably in his best interest to keep an eye on him because if Atsumu died,
Meian wouldn’t be pleased.

“I’ve heard that a few times,” said Atsumu. He pawed for his phone, found it, and pushed it toward
the edge of the bed.

Sakusa moved closer and took it. “Why did you call him?”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“I was just makin’ sure he didn’t think this was your fault,” said Atsumu. His eyelids were heavy.
He fought against them. “’Cause it’s not. I don’t want you gettin’ in trouble ‘cause of me.”

“I can worry about myself. I don’t need you to do it for me.”

“Yeah, well, I can worry ‘bout both of us.”

Sakusa watched him, his eyes dark, expression unreadable.

“I know I’ve been sleepin’ for a week,” said Atsumu, trying not to think too hard about that, “but
I’m fuckin’ tired again. I’m gonna take a nap. Just a little one.”

“Sure you are.” Sakusa tucked Atsumu’s phone into his own pocket as he moved toward the door.
He turned off the lights, but it didn’t make much of a difference. The windows were bright with
evening sunlight. Atsumu didn’t care; he was about to be asleep regardless. He felt it creeping on,
like a thick fog rolling in from the water.

“Hey, Omi?” Atsumu’s eyes were closed, and Sakusa didn’t answer, but he thought he was still
there in the doorway. “Thanks. For everything.”

If there was a response, Atsumu was asleep before he heard it.

“I know you’re takin’ care of me, but I think you only agreed because you like hurtin’ me.”

Sakusa dabbed at the row of stitches with a cloth drenched in something that burned like hellfire.
“I’m being gentle. I could make it a lot worse, if you’d prefer.”

Atsumu hissed through his teeth as Sakusa applied more pressure. “Shit. Okay, okay. Nevermind.”

Sakusa flicked a glance up at him and sat back to toss the cloth aside.

They’d done this every day since Atsumu had regained awareness of his surroundings. He assumed
it had happened every day before that too, he just couldn’t remember. He thought the injury was
getting better. The stitches looked less disgusting, and the gash they were holding together
appeared less swollen. It still hurt, but the pain didn’t shoot as deep anymore. He could walk
around the room now, and Sakusa made him do it a few times a day. He claimed it would reduce
the risk of a blood clot, but Atsumu thought maybe Sakusa just liked to watch him suffer.
“You could do it yourself now,” said Sakusa. He dipped gloved fingers into a jar of petroleum jelly
and carefully spread it across the wound. “I just don’t trust you to do it right.”

“You have so much confidence in me. Thanks a lot, Omi.”

Sakusa didn’t answer. He peeled the glove off and reached for a square of gauze.

Atsumu watched him. Not his hands, as they pressed a bandage over the wound to keep it clean.
Atsumu watched his face; the slight furrow of his brow, the downward curve of his mouth, the
flicker of his lashes as his gaze slipped here and there.

Atsumu spent a lot of time watching Sakusa. He liked to think it was because there wasn’t much
else to do, but he knew he would have done it anyway, no matter where they were or what was
happening.

He’d discovered that Sakusa was, in fact, living at the apartment, which had at least two other
bedrooms that Atsumu had seen. Atsumu hadn’t asked, but he had a strong feeling Meian had
ordered Sakusa to stay there with Atsumu, as some sort of punishment for letting him get injured.
Atsumu had told Sakusa a couple of times that he would be okay on his own, that Sakusa could
leave if he wanted to. Sakusa had ignored him.

“Why are you staring at me?” asked Sakusa without looking at him. He smoothed the last piece of
medical tape into place.

“I’m not.”

Sakusa glanced up to catch Atsumu’s eyes. “Yes, you are. You always do.”

Atsumu shrugged one shoulder. “Do I? Didn’t notice.”

Sakusa’s eyes went a little narrow, but he didn’t respond. He organized the supplies back into the
first aid kit and checked the bandage one more time, his fingertips lingering around the edges.
“Does it feel okay?”

“Yeah, feels fine. Thanks, Omi.”

Sakusa withdrew his hand and Atsumu started on the buttons of his shirt.

“At least it didn’t get me on my right side, huh?” said Atsumu. He paused to poke at his uninjured
ribs. “Would’ve fucked up my tattoos. I’d’ve been pissed.”

Sakusa’s eyes followed Atsumu’s hand, as if he was only now noticing the ink, although he’d seen
it every single day. He’d never mentioned it before. “Is that really your priority?”

“Nah, just sayin’. It was a bitch gettin’ them done, I’d hate to ruin it.” He slipped another button in,
but Sakusa reached out and caught the edge of his shirt, stopping him from going further.

“How badly did it hurt?” asked Sakusa. He eyed the swirls of ink, black and red and gray, like curls
of wind through a scatter of maple leaves.

Atsumu had to remind himself to breathe. “Not… too bad. We got ‘em done traditionally so it was
worse than a normal tattoo probably, but it was okay.”

“You and Osamu?”

“Yeah. We did it together. He got his left side done instead. Different design, too.”
Sakusa released Atsumu’s shirt and sat back. Atsumu buttoned it up to his collarbones, more
clumsy than he’d been a moment before.

“The kitsune suits you,” said Sakusa. “Smug and mischievous. And annoying. Especially
annoying.”

Atsumu grinned. “You flatter me, Omi-Omi.”

Sakusa stood and gathered up the first aid kit. He wrapped the old bandages and his used gloves
into a ball and tucked them into a bag to throw away.

“Do you have any?” asked Atsumu.

“Tattoos?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you really think I would get a tattoo, Miya?”

Atsumu shrugged. “Nah, but maybe it’s a Black Jackals thing and you had to. I dunno.”

“Most of the others have them. Bokuto talks about his frequently. I’ll never get them.” Sakusa
lifted the kitchen chair he’d dragged in beside Atsumu’s bed and carried it toward the door. “Meian
has never forced me to do anything I don’t want to do.”

“He’s got you here takin’ care of me,” said Atsumu. “Sounds like forcin’ you into somethin’.”

Sakusa didn’t look back at him. “I offered.”

Atsumu stared after him, even when Sakusa disappeared around the corner.

Three weeks after the shooting, Atsumu was convinced that he was completely healed. He spent
most of his time out of bed, even if he was just on the couch instead. He paced a lot, from one end
of the apartment to the other and back until Sakusa snapped at him to stop. He talked to Osamu
often, asking about updates from home, because Atsumu was still avoiding a direct phone call to
Kita.

Kita had called to check on him. Atsumu had panicked and thrown his phone at Sakusa, begging
him to tell Kita that Atsumu was sleeping. Sakusa had done it, but not without calling him a
coward.

Atsumu was perfectly fine. His side didn’t even hurt most of the time, unless he moved too fast or
twisted without thinking. He was great. Better than ever. It was almost as if nothing had ever
happened.

Until he woke up in the middle of the night with a scream trapped in his throat and realized that
maybe he wasn’t okay after all.

He nearly choked as he gasped for breath, flailing underneath the sheets that suddenly felt like they
were suffocating him. He kicked them off with a sharp slice of pain and sat up panting. He was
drenched in sweat and shivering so hard that he feared he was having a seizure. He looked around
the room blindly. It was so dark he could see nothing. He thought of a shadow creeping into his
room, standing over him with a gun. He thought of Osamu bleeding on the street. He thought of the
cage of pain that had seized around his ribcage, squeezing the life out of him in hot bursts of blood.

Atsumu couldn’t breathe. He had to get out of this room. The walls were too close. He couldn’t see
them, but he felt them. They were close and getting closer and someone was watching him from
the dark and he couldn’t breathe .

He crawled to the edge of the bed and threw himself to his feet. He forgot about his injury, about
the pain sleeping just below the surface. It woke with a vengeance, snapping at him from the
inside, making him gasp and stumble. He clutched at his side, lost his balance, and hit the floor in a
heap of pain and sweat and shaking limbs.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think of the slow twist of the doorknob, of a shadow in his
doorway, of gunshots snapping in the quiet of his bedroom. But suddenly it was all he could think
about, the memory consuming, black and twisted and sinking curved claws into his spine.

Light flashed somewhere beyond his eyelids. Atsumu curled further into himself, squeezing his
eyes shut harder. He thought of headlights flashing by as he’d bled out on the sidewalk, of hot
blood slipping between his fingers. Pain surged in his side, half real and half phantom, and he
gasped at the strength of it.

“Miya?”

Atsumu flinched. He remembered hearing that name in that voice, raised above the sound of
gunfire, close then far then close again.

“Miya.”

Atsumu thought of the last time he’d been lying like that, curled up in a ball of pain, his life
flowing into the street. He could have died there. Maybe he should have died there.

“What’s wrong? Miya.” A hand was on his shoulder, gentle but startling enough that Atsumu
flinched away.

“Stop,” he said. His voice was cracked, wet. The touch disappeared. Atsumu was relieved and
distressed all at once. He wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t stand the thought of it. His breaths
were too fast and too loud and he could barely talk through them. “Don’t call me that. Just… just
stop.”

Everything was still except for the tremors that shook Atsumu from shoulders to ankles. He was
alone. He’d imagined the voice entirely. Or maybe it wasn’t the voice he thought it was, maybe it
was a shadow with a gun, maybe-

“Hey.” The hand was back, curling around his bicep, careful but firm. “You’re okay. Mi-…
Atsumu. You’re okay.”

Atsumu buried his hands into his own hair and pulled until it hurt. He sucked a breath through his
teeth that stung all the way down to his ribs. Something caught in his chest, hard and painful. “I
can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can. You’re breathing right now.”

“Omi…”
“Sit up. Here, I’ve got you.”

Strong hands were on Atsumu’s shoulders, peeling him off of the floor. He would have collapsed
again, but the hands were still there, holding him steady, turning him so his back was against the
edge of the bed. He leaned against it, clutched at the front of his shirt, and tried to breathe.

“Slow breaths.” Sakusa’s voice was close, low and dry. “You’re okay. Look at me.”

Atsumu shook his head. He couldn’t. He was afraid if he opened his eyes he wouldn’t be at the
penthouse. He’d be back in his room at home in the dark, or lying in the street, or watching his
brother bleed.

“Atsumu.” There were hands on his shoulders, then his hair, then his face, cupping either side of
his jaw. They were cool enough to make Atsumu shiver again. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I
promise.”

“Omi.” Atsumu choked on the name, pulled in a slow, deep breath. “What’s happening?”

“You’re having a panic attack,” said Sakusa. “You’re fine. It’ll pass. Just breathe.”

Atsumu tried. It was harder than it had ever been. He squeezed his grip tighter into his shirt, so
tight that it hurt.

“Breathe. Everything’s okay.”

Atsumu felt like nothing was okay, not even close. But he listened to Sakusa’s voice, tried to
breathe like he was told, and felt the rapidfire kick of his pulse gradually begin to slow. The knot in
his chest unraveled, little by little. Sakusa’s hands were still there. He realized, as his awareness
sharpened, that the fingers on his face were bare; skin against skin.

He opened his eyes and Sakusa was right in front of him, sitting on his knees between Atsumu’s
splayed legs. He was close, really close, probably because Atsumu’s deathgrip was in the front of
Sakusa’s shirt instead of his own. He released his fists slowly, one finger at a time, and his hands
fell to his sides like dead weight.

He expected Sakusa to back up, but he didn’t.

Sakusa had clearly been woken out of a dead sleep. His hair was in disarray, his shirt was askew
from Atsumu’s grasping hands, and he wasn’t wearing a mask. He curled his fingers at the edge of
Atsumu’s jaw and held Atsumu’s face between his palms. It was gentler than Atsumu would have
expected, gentler than he thought Sakusa could be.

Sakusa watched him, dark eyes even darker in the shade of the room. The door was open and light
from the kitchen spilled in.

They really were in Meian’s apartment; not in Atsumu’s place in Hyogo, or out on the street. They
were here. Everything was fine.

Sakusa’s thumbs smoothed over Atsumu’s cheeks, spreading moisture. Atsumu realized, in a
detached sort of way, that his face was wet.

“Are you with me?” asked Sakusa, quietly.

Atsumu swallowed. He took a breath again, just to make sure that he could. “Yeah.” His voice was
a rasp. “Yeah. I’m with you.”
Sakusa’s hands fell away. Atsumu wanted them back.

Sakusa sat back on his heels but didn’t go any further. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”

Atsumu hadn’t even thought about that. He touched his side, cautiously. It didn’t sting any worse
than usual. “I don’t think so.”

“What happened?” asked Sakusa. His voice was still so quiet. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“I… I don’t know.” Atsumu didn’t remember what had happened or what had started it. He didn’t
want to remember because he was afraid it would happen again. “I just woke up like… like this.”

Sakusa studied him for a minute longer before standing.

Panic flared in Atsumu’s chest; more muted than before, but undeniably present. Sakusa was going
to walk away and shut the door and Atsumu would be trapped in here again, blind in the dark, and
the walls would close in and take his breath and-

Sakusa extended a hand. Atsumu didn’t know what to do with it at first. When he realized, he
reached for it and held his ribs with his free hand as Sakusa pulled him to his feet.

“Come on,” said Sakusa. He started for the door and Atsumu followed, wordlessly.

They paused in the kitchen and Sakusa washed his hands in the sink. Atsumu said, “Did you think I
was dyin’ or somethin’? I didn’t think you’d ever touch anybody on purpose.”

Sakusa slid a glance at him. He didn’t immediately answer. He seemed to be thinking about his
response, a crease cutting between his brows. “You haven’t left this apartment in three weeks. I
don’t have to worry about where you’ve been or what you’ve touched. And I know you shower
often, I’ve been here, too.”

“I always shower,” said Atsumu, “even when I’m home.”

Sakusa didn’t respond, but Atsumu didn’t expect him to. It had been a stupid thing to say.

“I’m guessing you’re finished sleeping for the night?” asked Sakusa.

Atsumu considered going back into his room, alone in the dark. His chest felt tight. “Yeah.”

“So am I. I wasn’t sleeping anyway.” It sounded like a lie. “Come on.”

They went into the living room, where Meian had spared no expense on the plush furnishings or
the inordinately large flat screen television. Sakusa turned the lights low, but with the flash of the
tv, the darkness was bearable. They sat on the couch and Sakusa watched something that Atsumu
didn’t recognize while Atsumu watched Sakusa.

He thought about what Sakusa had said before, about offering to stay here and take care of
Atsumu. Atsumu had assumed it was out of a sense of obligation or guilt, since he’d been there
when Atsumu was shot. He was trying to make amends, to keep from getting into deeper trouble
with Meian.

Atsumu still thought that, but now he wondered if maybe Sakusa cared about him too, at least a
little. He still felt Sakusa’s hands on his face, cool and gentle and nothing like Atsumu could have
imagined.

And he had imagined it, although the circumstances in his hypothetical thoughts had been much
different.

“You can sleep if you want,” said Sakusa, not looking over. “I’ll stay awake.”

“Nah. ‘M not sleepy.”

Sakusa shrugged one shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

Atsumu watched the glow of the tv screen dance on the planes of Sakusa’s face. He wondered
what it would be like to hold Sakusa’s face the way Sakusa had held his. Not to comfort him, but
just because he wanted to.

Atsumu woke when morning sunlight bled through the windows. He was exhausted and his body
hurt, a bone-deep ache that had nothing to do with his healing wound. He slowly realized he was
on the couch, and that his head was pillowed on something hard and warm. He sat up and found
that he’d been sleeping on Sakusa’s shoulder.

Sakusa was asleep, and that was likely the only reason he’d been allowed to do it.

Atsumu had never seen Sakusa sleep.

He looked the same, if a little more peaceful. The lines of his face were smooth, a curl of dark hair
falling onto a pale forehead. He breathed deeply but quietly, his head tilted back against the couch,
mouth slightly open.

Atsumu wanted to reach out and touch him, but didn’t want to wake him up. Instead he carefully
settled back against Sakusa’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and fell back into a dreamless sleep.
 Chapter 13

Atsumu woke up confused, but not scared. The tv was still on, a low murmur in the background.
He was warm, but alone. He sat up slowly and patted the cushion beside him, looking for Sakusa
and failing to find him. There was a waft of warm food on the air and a distant clink of a pan.
Atsumu opened his eyes slowly, blearily. He raised his arms to stretch and a blanket fell off of his
shoulders.

He stood up, a little unsteady, and held an arm against his side as he went into the kitchen. Sakusa
was there, in front of the cooktop with his arms folded, a spatula held loosely in his hand.

“Mornin’, Omi,” said Atsumu. His voice was a little rough and he went to the sink for some water.
It was a cold shock as it hit his throat and he was suddenly more awake.

“It’s about time,” said Sakusa, inflectionless. “It’s almost noon.”

“Yeah, well, I’m guessin’ you slept pretty long too if you’re just now makin’ breakfast.”

Sakusa didn’t answer, and Atsumu knew he was right. He stepped up beside Sakusa and pretended
to look at the food while actually looking at Sakusa’s face.

There was silence aside from the occasional pop of the cooktop. It was comfortable, except for the
faintest edge of unease that itched beneath Atsumu’s skin.

“Sorry about last night,” he said, averting his stare.

Sakusa tapped the spatula against the side of a pan and carefully placed it on the counter. “You’re
apologizing for having trauma after your near-death experience?”

“I… guess so?”

Sakusa’s mouth pulled down on one side. He hadn’t worn a mask since they’d been here. Atsumu
liked seeing his face.

“Honestly I expected it sooner,” said Sakusa. He leaned back against the counter to eye Atsumu. “I
thought you were handling things a little too well.”

Atsumu frowned. “What, you think I can’t handle myself?”

“I think no one can get shot and almost die without being affected. Obviously it’s going to fuck
with you.”

“Last night wasn’t a big deal,” said Atsumu. “It was just a bad dream or somethin’, I dunno. I’m
fine now. It won’t happen again.”

“It probably will.”

“Fuck you.”

Sakusa shrugged and turned back to the cooktop. “I won’t try and help you next time, then. Suffer
alone, if that’s what you want.”

Atsumu’s frown pulled lower. He watched Sakusa flip eggs without really seeing it. He weighed
his words on his tongue before he said them, and when he spoke, it was quietly. “That’s not what I
want.”

“Okay.”

That was all Sakusa said, and it wasn’t enough.

“Why’re you helpin’ me like this?” asked Atsumu. “If Meian-san’s not makin’ you, what’s the
point? You could be out workin’ or whatever. I’m not gonna die if I get left alone for a day or
two.”

“I was with you when you got shot,” said Sakusa, adjusting the cooktop temperature, “so I’ll be
with you while you heal. It’s the least I can do, since I let it happen.”

“It wasn’t your fuckin’ fault. You know that.”

“Regardless.”

Atsumu huffed a breath and placed a hand flat on the counter. He stared at it, then looked up at
Sakusa again. “That’s the only reason, then? So if you’d been with anybody else… Bokuto, or
Hinata, or literally anybody… you’d do the same for them?”

Sakusa’s face remained completely neutral. He stared down at the cooktop, and his voice was as
low as Atsumu’s when he said, “No. I don’t think I would.”

Atsumu’s chest felt tight, but not in a panicked sort of way, like it had been last night. He curled his
fingers into a loose fist and let it fall away from the counter. “Why?”

Sakusa didn’t say anything. That was an answer in itself.

Atsumu went to the sink again. He ran the water hot and scalded his hands in the stream of it. He
scrubbed his palms and his knuckles and between his fingers, longer than was necessary, with so
much soap that suds bubbled in the drain when he cut off the water. He dried his hands and
approached Sakusa again, who watched him with the same empty expression.

Atsumu raised a hand and let it hover in the air between them. He said, “Can I?”

Sakusa studied Atsumu’s hand, skin flushed red from the hot water. He looked back at Atsumu’s
face and said, “Why?”

“’Cause I want to.”

“You can’t always have what you want, Atsumu.”

The sound of his name, his given name, in Sakusa’s voice made Atsumu feel something. It was a
rush in his stomach, like he’d stepped off of a high-rise balcony, like he was falling.

“Nah,” he said, and he hoped his voice didn’t sound as weird as it felt. “Not always, but maybe
right now.”

Sakusa’s mouth tilted to one side, just barely. Atsumu stretched a little closer, and Sakusa didn’t
flinch away. Atsumu’s fingertips hovered over Sakusa’s cheek, a breath away, lingering. Sakusa
didn’t move, so Atsumu did.

Sakusa’s face was cool to the touch, smooth as Atsumu grazed his fingers along his cheekbone and
then his jawline. He cupped a hand against the side of Sakusa’s face, in the same way Sakusa had
done to him the night before. Dark curls tickled the back of Atsumu’s knuckles.
Sakusa’s expression didn’t change. It remained blank, his eyes dark and steady, until Atsumu
pulled away. He reached for Sakusa’s hand instead, pressing a thumb against his palm, slipping his
fingers between Sakusa’s, briefly, before letting go. Sakusa let him, his hand limp in Atsumu’s.

Atsumu wanted to kiss him, so badly that the need for it raged in his blood. He looked at Sakusa’s
mouth, the natural downturn of his lips, and wanted to taste it.

“Why?” asked Sakusa again.

Atsumu curled his fingers into his own palm, chasing the ghost sensation of Sakusa’s hand on his.
He turned away, slightly. His face was red, it must have been. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you?”

Atsumu chewed at the inside of his mouth. He didn’t know what to say, or how much was too
much. He should tell Sakusa the truth, but the rejection would be crippling. He wasn’t sure he
could handle it, but he needed to say something. Anything. He wished his face wasn’t so hot,
wished Sakusa would stop looking at him like that so he could think.

“Atsumu.” Sakusa was yakuza; a merciless killer and the worst sort of criminal. It should have
been impossible for him to speak so softly, in a way that made Atsumu feel like he might melt
away to nothing.

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu shot back. He hoped it would throw Sakusa off, but it didn’t.

“What did you want to say to me,” said Sakusa, “when we left the bar, before you got hurt.”

Atsumu had to wade through a spasm of pain and a flash of scarlet blood to get to that memory. It
was distant, as if it had been years in the past rather than three weeks.

I was gonna say I wanted you to fuck me until I forgot my name, but now I think I’d rather hold you
instead, just lay beside you and hold you and touch your handsome fuckin’ face, and ain’t that
somethin’, Omi.

“Uh,” said Atsumu.

The doorbell rang, and it was salvation and a curse all at once. Atsumu closed his eyes and
exhaled, half-relieved, half-annoyed.

Sakusa turned back to the food as if nothing had happened, as if he couldn’t feel the tension leaking
from Atsumu’s pores and soaking into the room like a toxin. “It’s for you.”

“What?”

“The door,” said Sakusa. He turned the cooktop off and picked up one of the pans. “It’s for you.”

Atsumu was confused, but he slipped out of the room and down the hallway toward the front door.
It was also the only door, because Meian hadn’t lied when he’d said Atsumu was safe there. It was
the most secure apartment Atsumu had ever seen. A code was required to gain entry along with a
key, and there were cameras mounted outside the door, monitoring anyone who came close.
Bokuto had told Atsumu a few days ago that this was Meian’s “love shack”, where he brought his
hookups of the night or week or month, depending on how long he wanted to keep them. Atsumu
still didn’t know if Bokuto had been joking.

There was a peephole in the door. Atsumu squinted through it with no idea who he would see on
the other side.

He stepped back, shook his head, and looked again.

“What the fuck,” he said, his voice low. He scrabbled with the locks and yanked the door open to
gape at Suna, who stood on the doormat as if he belonged there. “What the fuck ,” repeated
Atsumu, more loudly.

“Good to see you, too,” said Suna drily.

Suna was a constant source of sass that Atsumu had wanted to throttle on multiple occasions, but
now he’d never been happier to see anyone. He grabbed the front of Suna’s jacket and yanked him
into a hug that sent a spiral of pain deep into Atsumu’s side. Atsumu gritted his teeth and ignored
it. He squeezed an arm around Suna’s back and laughed in a bemused sort of way.

“What’re you doin’ here?” asked Atsumu, backing away. He moved aside to let Suna in and locked
the door behind him.

“I came by to see if you were actually okay or if you were pretending,” said Suna. He raised his
phone and snapped a picture of Atsumu. “Osamu thinks you would insist you’re fine while you
were getting lowered into your grave.”

“Fuck him,” said Atsumu, “and fuck you, too. C’mon in, it’s probably okay if you’re here. I dunno
for sure.”

“Sakusa said it’s fine,” said Suna. He kicked off his shoes and followed Atsumu into the
apartment.

“You’ve been talkin’ to Omi?”

Suna hummed an affirmative. His phone chimed and he checked it with a slight smile. He’d
probably sent that picture to Osamu and had gotten something ridiculous in response. “Not me,
personally. Osamu has. Like I said, he knows you would lie about being okay. He checks in with
Sakusa to make sure.”

“You’re all bastards, goin’ behind my back like that.” Atsumu tried to sound offended, but he was
so thrilled to see Suna, to have someone there from home, that he wasn’t convincing. He slapped a
hand against Suna’s shoulder and steered him into the kitchen. “Somebody left a stray on the
doorstep, Omi. I felt bad for it so I dragged it in, hope that’s okay.”

“As long as it’s housetrained,” said Sakusa. He was dividing the food between three plates.
“Cleaning up after you is bad enough.”

Suna snorted.

“Hey, I clean up after myself just fine,” said Atsumu. “And why didn’t you tell me Suna was
comin’?”

“He wanted it to be a surprise,” said Sakusa. He offered two plates to Atsumu. “I’ll eat in here, so
the two of you can have some privacy.”

“Don’t be stupid, Omi. Bring your ass in here with us.”

They ate in the dining room. Atsumu had never lived in a place with a dining room, not even when
he’d stayed in Kita’s house. He thought it was excessive when the kitchen was plenty big enough
for a table, but if Meian wanted to waste his money on extra space, Atsumu wouldn’t complain.

“What’s happenin’ back home?” asked Atsumu, when his plate was almost empty. “Everybody
okay?”

“They’re fine,” said Suna. “Gin picked a fight and got his nose broken. It’s a little crooked now,
but he’s self-conscious about it, so you have to lie and say you can’t tell a difference. Akagi found
out he’s about to be a dad. He’s horrified.”

Atsumu laughed. “What’s he gonna do?”

“Take care of the kid, I guess,” said Suna. “What else would he do?”

“Pay off the mother and pretend he never met her,” said Sakusa. He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t
look at me like that. You asked.”

“You say that with a little too much confidence,” said Atsumu. “How many times has that
happened to you? Are there a bunch of little Omis runnin’ around Tokyo?”

Sakusa’s face soured. “No. Some people should not reproduce and I happen to be one of them.”

Atsumu grinned. “That’s too bad. You’d make some cute babies, Omi-kun.”

Suna seemed unimpressed by the entire conversation. “Anyway. Aran and Oomimi were here in
Tokyo for the past couple of weeks, after the shooting.” He glanced down at Atsumu’s side, as if
trying to see the injury through his shirt. “They couldn’t find anything. I talked Kita-san into letting
me come instead. I think I’ll have better luck.”

“Why’s that?”

Suna tapped his chopsticks against his plate. “I think I have a lead. Or at least a direction to look
in.”

“Yeah?” Atsumu scooted forward in his chair. His ribs gave a weak throb. “What’d you find out?”

Suna’s expression clouded, then went blank. “I won’t say anything until I know for sure. I could be
wrong.”

“C’mon, Sunarin, give me somethin’. A hint, even.”

“No.” Suna nudged his plate away from himself. “Thank you for the meal, Sakusa.”

“It was no problem.”

“I should go. I wasn’t even supposed to come see you. No one should know I’m here.”

“Fuckin’… Suna, wait.” Atsumu pushed himself out of his chair too quickly. He winced at the pull
of pain and reached for Suna, only to find that he’d stopped.

Sakusa stood and quietly collected the dishes. He slipped out of the room and left them alone.

“There’s somethin’ shady about it,” said Atsumu, “if you won’t tell me anything.”

Suna didn’t deny it.

“What is it?” said Atsumu. They’d gone so long with nothing that he was desperate for even the
smallest piece of information. “What’d I do? Who’d I piss off?”

“If I find out for sure I’ll tell you.”

“But-”

“I won’t say anything, Atsumu. It doesn’t matter how many times you ask. Not until I know.”

Atsumu considered him. He’d always gotten along with Suna as well as he could get along with
anyone. They’d had their disagreements over the years, but overall, he trusted Suna. He respected
him. Objectively, he knew that if Suna wasn’t telling him, there was a good reason for it.

But that didn’t stop Atsumu from wanting to know.

“But when you do find out,” said Atsumu, “you’ll tell me. You’ll come back here or call me or
somethin’.”

“Yes.”

“Immediately.”

“I’ll tell Osamu first, for obvious reasons,” said Suna, “but you’ll be the next to know.”

He didn’t say anything about reporting to Kita first. That should have been a red flag, but Atsumu
didn’t think about that, not until later.

“Okay,” said Atsumu. It was good enough, it had to be. “When you do know, when you’re goin’ to
take care of ‘em…” Because they would take care of them. Whoever was trying to kill them would
pay for it, one way or another. “…I wanna go with you. Promise you’ll take me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yeah, you can. I’m basically better now. I can hardly feel it anymore.”

“You just flinched when you stood up. You’re not subtle.”

“This is my fight and you know it,” said Atsumu. He folded his arms and tried to look stern. “Me
and ‘Samu are the ones who should take care of ‘em. And he shouldn’t leave Miyagi until it’s safe,
so it’ll hafta be me.”

“I’m not so sure it is your fight, Atsumu.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suna sighed. “I have to go. I’ll start investigating around the city tomorrow. It should be today, but
I’m catching a train to Miyagi to spend the night there. Then I’ll come back and figure this out. It’ll
be finished in a week.”

Atsumu tried not to think about exactly what – or who – Suna would be doing in Miyagi. It wasn’t
a visual that he wanted in his head. “You sure about that? Kita-san’s been lookin’ for months now
and he’s found nothin’.”

“He wasn’t looking in the right places,” said Suna. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, but
didn’t check it. Maybe he just felt more comfortable with it in his hand. “A week. If I’m right about
who it might be, it’ll be over by then. You can both go home.”
Atsumu glanced toward the open door of the kitchen. He couldn’t see Sakusa, but he knew he was
there. “Yeah. Home.” He pushed a hand through his hair and said, “When you see ‘Samu, lemme
know if he’s really okay, too. He’d lie about it just like me.”

“I know,” said Suna. “That’s why I’m going to check on him.” He touched Atsumu’s shoulder,
briefly, before turning toward the door. “Take care of yourself, Atsumu.”

“Call me when you know somethin’,” said Atsumu, following him down the hallway. “And don’t
you fuckin’ dare go and do anything without me.”

“If I think we can do it together and both make it out in one piece, I’ll take you. That’s the most I
can promise.” Suna slipped into his shoes and worked at the locks on the door.

“Fine.” It wasn’t the answer Atsumu wanted, but it would have to be good enough. “Be careful out
there. And take good care of ‘Samu when you go see ‘im. And no, I don’t mean like that.”

One of Suna’s eyebrows quirked upward along with the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry about
that. I’ll take great care of him.”

Atsumu pretended to gag and Suna laughed, quick and low. He waved as he stepped through and
dodged around Bokuto, who’d stopped just outside the door with his arms full of groceries. He
watched Suna go with big golden eyes, and when he swiveled to look at Atsumu, he was stunned.

“Wow,” said Bokuto. “Who was that?”

“Don’t even think about it,” said Atsumu. “My brother’ll kill ya.”

Atsumu received several texts from Suna later that day, reassurances that Osamu was in fact fine, if
a little heavier than he’d been when they’d left Hyogo. A couple of pictures were sent; one of
Osamu juggling a large bag of takeout while counting out money to pay the delivery guy, one of
Osamu stuffing his mouth full of food, and one of Suna and Osamu crowded together, both of them
smiling in their own subtle ways.

Atsumu remembered when he’d been angry about Osamu keeping their relationship a secret. He
tried to be mad now, but couldn’t muster it. Both of them were clearly happy, and Atsumu wasn’t
quite petty enough to begrudge them that.

But he would still complain about it when he saw them again, because he couldn’t let them off that
easy.

After those pictures, Atsumu didn’t hear from Suna again. He could have guessed why, but didn’t
want to think too much about it.

The next few days were quiet. Atsumu guessed Suna was back in Tokyo investigating whatever
secret lead he had. Osamu still checked in often, and Atsumu was getting tired of repeating that he
was okay. Kita called again and Atsumu ignored it, because Sakusa hadn’t been completely wrong
when he’d said Atsumu was a coward.
Kita left a voicemail and it took Atsumu an hour and a half to work up the nerve to listen to it.

Atsumu, it’s Kita. I hope you’re well. Meian says he’s spoken to you and you’re doin’ better. I trust
you’re being well taken care of. This will be handled soon. I’m doin’ everything I can. Please be
patient for a little longer. Stay inside and take care.

Atsumu listened to the message several times, with Sakusa watching him from across the room,
quietly judging him. Finally Atsumu played it on speaker, so Sakusa could judge him more loudly.

“It sounds like he’s readin’ it off a script or somethin’, right?” said Atsumu, frowning at his phone.
“Like someone’s tellin’ him what to say. Does that sound like somebody who actually cares about
me?”

“Yes, it does,” said Sakusa. He was reading a book, something that he’d had Hinata pick up for
him after multiple complaints about Meian’s lacking bookshelves.

“He didn’t even ask me to call ‘im back,” said Atsumu. “He doesn’t really wanna talk to me,
probably. He was just callin’ because he feels obligated.”

“You’re the one who’s been ignoring him,” said Sakusa, flipping a page. “He’s not stupid like you.
He knows you’re avoiding him so he’s not pushing.”

“You’re s’posed to be on my side here, Omi.”

“It doesn’t matter which side I’m on. I won’t lie to make you feel better.”

“You’re a dick.”

Sakusa continued reading, completely unbothered, and Atsumu listened to the message one more
time.

He thought about calling Kita back. It was obviously the right thing to do. Kita was his Kumicho.
Atsumu had worked for him for over a decade. They’d been through a lot together, and Kita had
always taken care of him, even when Atsumu was a dumb teenager who couldn’t take care of
himself. There’d never been a time when Atsumu hadn’t wanted to talk to Kita.

He wondered what had changed. Maybe he was subconsciously blaming Kita for what had
happened. Maybe he was bitter because he’d gotten hurt after Kita had promised him everything
would be okay.

Atsumu mulled over that, but he didn’t think that was Kita’s fault. He was still passively
disgruntled that Kita had sent him and Osamu away, but he didn’t think it was that, either.

“If you’re going to keep pouting, do it in a different room,” said Sakusa, turning another page. “It’s
distracting.”

“Fuck you, Omi-Omi.”

Atsumu slept on the couch for the first few nights after his panic attack, but when he went to bed
three nights after Suna’s visit, he decided he was being ridiculous. He was a grown man in a safe,
secure apartment. There was nothing to be afraid of.

He crawled into bed and went to sleep after only an hour of insomnia.

He lasted until midnight, and when he woke up with tears on his face and a bloody mental snapshot
of Osamu lying dead in a Miyagi street, he went back to the couch again. He slept easier with the tv
running low in the background and the screen flickering beyond his eyelids.

Sakusa didn’t mention it. If he thought Atsumu was weak, or cowardly, or childish, he didn’t say
so.

Atsumu thought, frequently, of Sakusa sitting on the floor with him, holding Atsumu’s face in his
hands. When Atsumu wasn’t dreaming of guns and blood, he dreamed of Sakusa.

Falling back into a normal sleeping routine would be hell, when Atsumu returned to his regular
life.

He peeled himself off of the couch and squinted against the bright noon sunlight streaming through
the windows. The tv was still on, and so was the blanket tucked around Atsumu’s shoulders.
Atsumu usually kicked it off in the middle of the night, which meant he’d either slept more calmly
than usual or Sakusa had replaced it sometime that morning. He folded up the blanket and draped it
across the back of the couch, because Sakusa didn’t like when it was left in a crumpled ball.

Atsumu scratched at his messy hair as he made his way into the kitchen. It was empty, but there
was a lingering smell of food. A covered dish was on the counter, and Atsumu guessed Sakusa
must have gotten tired of waiting for him to wake up. Atsumu drank some tap water out of the sink,
wiped his mouth on the shoulder of his t-shirt, and went looking for Sakusa.

It wasn’t hard to find him. It was a big apartment, but not big enough to lose someone in.

Atsumu followed the sound of running water to the small bathroom near the back room where
Sakusa slept. The door was halfway open. Atsumu started to call out with some shortened variation
of Sakusa’s name, but he caught sight of Sakusa inside the bathroom and went still.

Sakusa was standing in front of the wide mirror, bare except for his underwear, his hair still wet
from a recent shower. Atsumu had already known Sakusa was pale but it was more apparent now,
his skin porcelain from the back of his neck, across his broad shoulders, down the slope of his back
to his waist.

Atsumu eased one foot back. He should return to the kitchen and have the breakfast Sakusa had
left for him. He shouldn’t be seeing Sakusa like this, not when Sakusa was naturally so private, not
when he always tried to keep a careful distance from the world around him.

Atsumu’s gaze dipped lower, lingering, and lower still, to the smoothness of Sakusa’s impossibly
long legs. There was a bandage around Sakusa’s left calf. Atsumu frowned, raised his eyes again,
and realized what Sakusa was doing. He’d been too distracted to notice.

The first aid kit, the same one Sakusa used for Atsumu, was spread out on the counter. Sakusa
stretched a roll of gauze in his hands and struggled to wrap it around his left bicep.

Atsumu couldn’t see the injury from that angle. It might have been something minor, not worth
mentioning, but Atsumu couldn’t swallow the taste of panic on the back of his tongue.

“Hey, Omi?” He rapped on the doorframe. “You alright?”

Sakusa glanced up and caught sight of him in the mirror. Atsumu expected him to be angry or
embarrassed or something , but Sakusa was as calm as ever. “I’m fine.”

“You hurt?”

“No. It’s nothing.”

“Can I come in?”

Sakusa hesitated. He refocused on the roll of gauze and said, “I don’t care.”

Atsumu nudged the door open further and stepped through. He approached cautiously, because he
expected Sakusa to change his mind and kick him out. Sakusa yanked the messy wrap off of his
arm and smoothed it out on the counter, uncurling the edges so he could try again. Atsumu crept
closer. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been this.

“Omi, what the fuck ?”

The wound was closed; still raised and pink, but mostly healed. It wasn’t a new injury, but it
wasn’t old, either.

Atsumu would have guessed it was exactly three and a half weeks old, the same as his own.

“It isn’t serious,” said Sakusa, flicking a glance at his arm before dismissing it. He reached for the
gauze again but Atsumu yanked it out of his hand.

“Not serious?” repeated Atsumu, appalled. He reached for Sakusa’s arm, faltered, and let his hand
fall away again. “Not serious ? When did you… how did you…?” He pointed down at Sakusa’s
leg. “What about that?”

“Also not serious.”

“You got shot , Omi!” Atsumu’s voice was a little too high-pitched, but he couldn’t help it. He’d
been lying around nursing his own injury all this time, letting Sakusa take care of him, with no idea
Sakusa was hurt, too. “Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“There’s nothing to say about it. It’s not important.” He held out a hand, waiting for Atsumu to
give the gauze back.

A thousand words crowded into Atsumu’s mouth, demanding to be said. The only thing he could
push out, despite already knowing the answer, was, “When?”

Sakusa folded his arms. “The same time as you, obviously. When else have I been in a gunfight?”

“But you weren’t… I didn’t… Didn’t know.” Atsumu felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. He’d
been curled up in a ball worried about himself, unaware that Sakusa had gotten hurt because of
Atsumu, that he could have died because of him.

“Of course you didn’t know. I didn’t want you to know, and this is why.” Sakusa snatched the
gauze away from him and clumsily looped it around his bicep. “You wear guilt like a crown, Miya.
Every time you talk about your brother, I see it. Even when your friend Suna was here you felt
guilty for dragging him away from home because you’re dumb enough to think everything is
always your fault.”

The words stung. Partly because of the way Sakusa said them, but mostly because they were true,
even if Atsumu hadn’t realized it before then.

“But…” Atsumu watched him, a little bit blank. He felt vaguely like he’d been slapped. “But it was
. If you hadn’t been out with me-”

“Shut up.” Sakusa yanked at the edges of the bandage and it went even more lopsided.

Atsumu reached out and curled his fingers around Sakusa’s wrist. He did it without thinking and
realized only when he felt the cool skin against his palm. He looked up at Sakusa, breath caught in
his throat.

Sakusa said nothing. He didn’t pull away.

“Let me do it,” said Atsumu, quietly.

He expected Sakusa to argue, but he simply let go and turned toward the mirror. Atsumu slipped
the gauze away, straightened it out, and carefully wrapped it around Sakusa’s arm. His fingertips
brushed against Sakusa’s skin, gently. Sakusa didn’t flinch.

Atsumu looped it one more time, secured the end, and rubbed a thumb along the edge before
letting go. “That okay?”

Sakusa drew his forearm to his chest and let it fall again, testing it. “It’s fine.”

“How’ve you been doin’ this without help?” asked Atsumu, as Sakusa reached for the shirt folded
on the counter.

“I’m not incompetent.”

“I know that. Everybody knows that. I still could’ve helped you, the same as you were helpin’ me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Sakusa pushed his arms through the sleeves and yanked the shirt over his head.
He adjusted it over his bicep carefully. Atsumu tried to remember if Sakusa had favored that arm at
all, or if he’d limped even slightly on his leg. Atsumu hadn’t noticed. He didn’t know if he was
dumbly unobservant or if Sakusa was good at hiding it.

Sakusa shook out a pair of sweatpants and stepped into them, leaning against the counter for
support when his weight shifted to his left leg.

“Omi.”

“If you apologize I’ll hit you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sakusa glared at him. His hand flexed into a fist and went limp again. “Stop it.”
“Yeah, you don’t want my apologies, I know,” said Atsumu. He pushed a hand through his sleep-
knotted hair. “But seriously, Omi. I had no idea. If I’d thought there was even a fuckin’ chance
anybody would find me here I wouldn’t’ve been roamin’ around on the streets like that. I ‘specially
wouldn’t’ve been draggin’ you around to bars and shit. You don’t even like goin’ out. Nothin’
would’ve happened if I’d just left you alone and-”

“That,” snapped Sakusa. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you would find a way to
blame yourself.”

“It’s not findin’ a way to blame myself if it’s actually my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Sakusa’s voice was edged with poison. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. If I
hadn’t wanted to be there, I wouldn’t have gone.”

“You probably just went to shut me up, because I was always hasslin’ you about goin’ out and
doin’ somethin’ and-”

Sakusa moved, quickly, and Atsumu winced, waiting for impact. Sakusa seized a grip in the front
of Atsumu’s shirt and yanked him a step closer, his mouth curling into a snarl. “Shut the fuck up.
You’re such an idiot. I’ve never met anyone as stupid as you are.”

Atsumu looked down at the fist balled in his shirt and then back up to Sakusa, who was suddenly
very close. “Shit. Are you really gonna hit me?”

“You’re so dense I don’t know how you’ve survived this long,” snapped Sakusa. “I went out to the
bar with you because I wanted to. I’m here making sure you don’t neglect your wound and get an
infection and die because I want to. I don’t make a habit of doing anything I don’t want to do,
Miya.”

“But I just-”

“And I have been waiting,” said Sakusa, his voice harsh through his teeth, “for you to do
something about whatever stupid feelings you think you have for me, and I’m getting impatient.”

Atsumu gaped at him. His mind went completely blank, nothing more than a white noise echo.
“What?”

“You heard me.”

“But I never-”

“You’re not subtle.”

Heat bloomed in Atsumu’s face, so fast it was dizzying. He tried to move away but Sakusa’s grip
was like iron in the front of his shirt. “Fuck you,” said Atsumu, more weakly than he would have
liked.

“Are you going to do something about it or not?” said Sakusa.

Atsumu licked his lips. Sakusa hadn’t been this close to him since the night they’d been on
Atsumu's bedroom floor. Back then he hadn’t noticed how Sakusa’s eyes were a little less dark up
close - hints of warm ochre cutting through the void - or how a loose tangle of curls fell perfectly
across Sakusa’s temple, even when his hair was still shower-damp.

“I know you don’t like bein’ touched,” mumbled Atsumu. “I didn’t think you’d want me in your
space.”

“Do I seem bothered?”

“Well no, but you-”

“I don’t let anyone else this close.” Sakusa tightened his grip, drew Atsumu a half-step nearer. “It’s
an invitation. Take it or not.”

Atsumu’s face burned even warmer. He reached out, hesitant, and rested a hand on Sakusa’s
shoulder. It was sturdy, strong. Sakusa didn’t flinch away. Atsumu inched closer, face tilted up
toward Sakusa’s, until he felt warm breath against his lips.

Maybe Sakusa could feel Atsumu’s breath too, but probably not. Atsumu didn’t think he was
breathing.

“Omi, are you sure-”

One of Sakusa’s hands caught at the back of Atsumu’s neck and pulled him into a bruising kiss. It
stung, but Atsumu didn’t wince away. He pressed into it, caught Sakusa’s bottom lip between his
own, and pulled a little before pushing close again. Sakusa kissed him back, his mouth warm and
his fingers cold where they wound into the back of Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu’s heart leapt into his
throat when Sakusa pushed him against the wall and kissed him harder.

Atsumu didn’t know what he was allowed to do. He was careful at first, hands hovering near
Sakusa without actually touching him. But Sakusa’s tongue slipped into his mouth and Atsumu
forgot to be careful. He forgot everything.

He grabbed the back of Sakusa’s shirt with one hand and threaded the other into Sakusa’s hair,
pulling just a little, earning a hiss that he felt on his tongue. Sakusa crowded closer into him, his
chest bumping against Atsumu’s, a thigh slipping between Atsumu’s legs. Sakusa’s head tilted as
he licked further into Atsumu’s mouth, the hand at Atsumu’s hip tight to the point of painful.

Sakusa pressed his thigh upward and Atsumu moaned, low and raspy and impossible to muffle
while he was kissing Sakusa with an open mouth. Sakusa pulled back and squeezed Atsumu’s jaw,
almost hard enough to hurt.

Atsumu changed his mind about Sakusa’s eyes. They were darker now, burning like black coals as
he looked at Atsumu. He wrenched Atsumu’s face to the side and kissed his neck, his teeth digging
in, and Atsumu groaned as he grinded down against Sakusa’s thigh. He rolled his head to the side,
letting Sakusa take what he wanted, and his fuzzy stare slid toward the open door.

Hinata was frozen in the doorway, pale and gawking, his eyes so wide that they were in danger of
falling out of his head.

Atsumu went stiff, and Sakusa must have noticed, because his mouth peeled away from Atsumu’s
throat. He followed Atsumu’s stare, his breath harsh in Atsumu’s ear.

Hinata blinked once, slowly. “I’ll just… umm. Go. I was just coming by to say hi and drop off
some snacks anyway, so I don’t need to stay, it’s fine, I only, uh… yeah. Okay, bye.” He whirled
and darted down the hallway.

Atsumu thumped his head against the wall with a low curse. “He’s gonna tell everybody, ain’t he?”

“Unless you talk him out of it.”

“Fuck.” Atsumu pried himself away from the wall and started for the door. He adjusted himself in
his pants and hoped Sakusa didn’t notice, although it didn’t matter. Sakusa had been pressed so
closely against him that he likely already knew. Atsumu raised his voice and called, “Shouyou,
wait! Hang on a minute!”

From somewhere probably near the kitchen, Hinata shouted, “I didn’t see anything!”

Atsumu liked Hinata. He’d liked him ever since they’d met. This was the first time he’d felt
anything less than fondness toward him, because right now he kind of wanted to kill him.

Atsumu looked over his shoulder at Sakusa. “We’re not done here.”

Sakusa dragged a thumb across his bottom lip. “Aren’t we?”

Atsumu kind of wanted to kill Sakusa too, but in a different way.

He stomped into the hallway and wished that he had just shut the fucking bathroom door behind
him.
 Chapter 14
Chapter Notes

I think you're all expecting this already, but just as an extra warning, this is the part
where it gets explicit.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was a while later when Atsumu felt he’d successfully talked Hinata down from running outside
and yelling to everyone he passed on the street that he’d walked in on Atsumu and Sakusa making
out. It was more difficult than expected because Hinata refused to acknowledge that he’d seen
anything at all.

Atsumu hoped they hadn’t traumatized the kid, and then realized how dumb that was, considering
the things Hinata must have seen during his tenure with the yakuza.

When Hinata finally left with a shaky promise that he wouldn’t say anything to anyone, Atsumu
shut the front door and turned to stalk back into the apartment to find Sakusa. Hinata wouldn’t
interrupt this time. He wasn’t sure Hinata would ever come back again.

He made it to the kitchen before there was a knock at the door, and he thought maybe he’d been
wrong.

“It’s Meian,” said Sakusa, as he turned the corner into the room. His hair was dry and he was
wearing a nicer shirt than before, although he hadn’t changed out of his sweatpants. He yanked
open a cabinet to set out three cups, and Atsumu realized he was making tea.

Atsumu exhaled, long and slow. “Seriously?”

From the front hallway, Meian called, “Hey, it’s me!”

Atsumu wanted to lie down on the floor. “For fuck’s sake.” He paused and said, “You don’t think
Hinata told him, right?”

“I don’t think he’s had time.”

“There you are,” said Meian, appearing in the doorway. He was large enough that he nearly filled
it. “How’re you feeling, Miya? Haven’t talked to you in a few days.”

“I’m good. Great.” Atsumu forced a grin. “Never better.”

“Good to hear.” Meian slapped Atsumu on the shoulder in a friendly sort of way, gentler than he
probably would have been if Atsumu hadn’t recently been shot. “What about you, Sakusa? You
alright?”

“I’m fine, but you know that already. I spoke with you yesterday.”

“Well hey, things could’ve changed by now. What’re you making? Is that tencha?”

“I wouldn’t make you anything different.”

“That’s why I like you.”

They ended up at the dining room table. Atsumu took a small sip of his tea every now and then but
he didn’t care for the flavor, and he was too caught up in his own head to enjoy anything at all. He
wondered if Meian could tell by looking at the pair of them that they’d kissed. They were sitting
beside each other, and there was a bit of distance between them, but still Atsumu was hyperaware
of Sakusa; sitting in his slightly slumped posture, elbows on the table as he listened to Meian talk
about something Atsumu should have been paying attention to.

“I talked to Kita-san this morning,” said Meian. It was the first thing that had registered in
Atsumu’s brain for at least ten minutes. “He wanted an update. He checks on you all the time.”

“Yeah?” asked Atsumu, a little distantly.

“Yeah. I’ve apologized to him for this whole shitshow, the same as I apologized to you. I don’t
think it was enough. He acts like everything’s fine, but I think if I saw him in person he’d tear me a
new one.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” said Atsumu. He picked up his cup again, just to have something to do with
his hands. “He’s fine. I’m all in one piece. He knows I do stupid shit anyway, he’s not gonna blame
you.”

Sakusa gave him a look, so sharp that Atsumu felt it.

“He says it won’t be long before he pins down who ordered the hit,” said Meian. He took a slurp of
tea and clacked his empty cup against the table. “I’d hate to be whoever that is. They’ll wish they
were dead up until the minute they are.”

Atsumu tried to imagine Kita swooping in to handle this himself, but couldn’t. He didn’t doubt
Kita’s abilities. Kita was deadly with a blade, and not bad with a gun, either. But he didn’t do his
own dirty work. That’s what the Miya brothers were for.

Atsumu had never minded. Dirty work was his specialty.

“He said he doesn’t know why they’re after you,” said Meian. “Do you really not know, or is it
something shady that you didn’t want to tell him about? You can tell me, I’ve done all kinds of
shady shit.”

Atsumu snorted. “Nah, I really don’t know. I’ve fucked up a lot, but nothin’ right before this
happened, and nothin’ bad enough that somebody should wanna kill me for it.”

“Who knows,” said Meain, pushing his chair back from the table. “People get grudges over some
crazy shit sometimes.” He stood and straightened his jacket. He was dressed so nicely that Atsumu
felt homeless in comparison, sitting in that fancy dining room in borrowed sweatpants. “You’re
safe here though, as long as you need to stay. You know that. I like you, Miya. I’d hate to see your
brains get sprayed out in an alley somewhere.”

Atsumu’s stomach twisted, like someone was wringing it out to dry. “Right. Thanks.”

“Walk me to the door, Sakusa?”

Sakusa stood and pointedly pushed his cup toward Atsumu before following Meian out of the
room.

Atsumu sighed and cleared off the table. He carried the cups into the kitchen and rinsed them in
the sink, cranking the water up high to drown out any chance of overhearing Meian and Sakusa’s
conversation. The front door banged shut as he dried his hands, and a moment later Sakusa returned
to the kitchen.

“He say anything about me?” asked Atsumu.

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Like he was lyin’ and he’s actually sick of lettin’ me stay in this apartment.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what he said.” Sakusa’s voice was flat, the same as his stare as he leaned
against the counter. He rolled his eyes, so quickly that Atsumu barely caught it. “He wants me out
working again. He said it’s been long enough, and he’s right. I’ll start my rounds again on
Monday.”

“Oh.” Atsumu shouldn’t have been surprised, but somewhere over the past few weeks he’d
forgotten Sakusa had job duties that he was neglecting to babysit Atsumu. “Right. Then am I…?”

“You’ll stay here, obviously. You’re in a secure apartment with a lot of guns.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What, then?”

Atsumu grinned. “We’ve been workin’ together for months now. How’re you gonna live without
me, Omi?”

Sakusa’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll survive.”

Atsumu chuckled, but it faded quickly. He eyed Sakusa - blatantly, because it seemed his subtle
stares over the past few weeks hadn’t been subtle at all - and said, “Any other surprise visitors
today?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Slowly, Atsumu stepped away from the sink and approached Sakusa. “You sure about that?”

Sakusa didn’t answer. He watched Atsumu draw closer, and held up a hand when he was a little
more than a step away. “Stop.”

Atsumu did. “Why?”

“Shower first,” said Sakusa, folding his arms with a frown. “You were sweating during that entire
meeting with Meian. What, you think he can read your mind?”

“I thought Hinata might’ve caught him outside the apartment or texted him or something, I dunno,”
said Atsumu. He stepped back with a huff. “Are you just fuckin’ around or are you serious?”

“I’m serious. Go shower.”

“Fine, but only if you go with me.” Atsumu said it as a challenge. He didn’t think Sakusa would
actually agree.

But twenty minutes later Atsumu was naked and panting against the tiled shower wall with
Sakusa’s mouth on his throat.
“Omi, fuck .” He reached for Sakusa’s hip and his nails dug in. Sakusa gave him a particularly
sharp pinch of teeth in return. “I’m clean. I’m real fuckin’ clean, let’s get outta here and-”

Sakusa’s hand dipped low and Atsumu’s voice fractured into a moan.

“You’re awfully impatient for someone who was afraid to kiss me this morning,” said Sakusa. He
gave Atsumu’s cock a long, slow stroke before backing away and turning off the water.

“I wasn’t afraid,” said Atsumu. He caught the towel that Sakusa flung just before it hit him in the
face. “I was tryin’ to be considerate, you fuckin’ jerk.”

Sakusa stepped out of the shower and Atsumu watched the water cut long, gleaming trails along
the planes of his body. He wanted to trace them with his tongue. Sakusa grabbed his own towel
and dried himself off, unbothered by the way Atsumu stared at him. “You looked afraid to me,”
said Sakusa. “Afraid and blushing like a virgin. You’re not, right?”

“What the fuck , ‘course I’m not!” Atsumu scrubbed his wet hair with the towel and stomped out
of the shower.

Sakusa’s mouth tipped dangerously close to a smirk and Atsumu realized he’d been joking. “I’m
just trying to imagine what kind of person would willingly have sex with you. It isn’t a long list.”

“Yeah, well looks like you’re on it,” said Atsumu. “What’s that say about you?”

“I never claimed to have good taste.” Sakusa draped his towel around his shoulders, to catch the
drip of his hair, and left the room. Atsumu stumbled after him, praying to every god he’d ever
heard of that no one else was in that apartment.

Sakusa went to his own room, which was smaller and neater than Atsumu’s. Atsumu trailed in
behind him and kicked the door closed, clicking the lock into place with a huff. They wouldn’t get
interrupted again. Atsumu didn’t think he could survive it.

With a flick of his wrists, Sakusa unfolded the spare blanket at the foot of the mattress and fanned
it over the bed. He smoothed out the wrinkles, pushed wet hair off of his forehead, and said, “Lie
down.”

Atsumu almost thought this was some sort of joke. It must have been, because there was no way
that Sakusa Kiyoomi, of all the people in Tokyo, wanted to sleep with him.

But Sakusa didn’t seem like he was joking. He seemed impatient the same way Atsumu was, his
eyes dark when they flashed over his shoulder to see why Atsumu wasn’t moving.

Atsumu crossed the room in three long strides and crawled onto the bed. He leaned back on his
elbows shamelessly, knees slightly apart, and got slapped in the chest when Sakusa threw
something at him. He plucked it off of the sheets where it had fallen. Lube. It wasn’t unexpected,
but a little thrill buzzed in Atsumu’s gut, all the way down to his cock.

Sakusa pressed a knee into the edge of the bed and climbed up, moving to sit cross-legged at the
foot of it, eyes on Atsumu.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” said Atsumu.

“Get yourself ready for me.”

Atsumu’s fist tightened around the bottle. “Why? You just gonna sit there and watch?”
“Yes,” said Sakusa, unembarrassed. “Does that bother you?”

It would have, if something about Sakusa’s gaze hadn’t been as hungry as Atsumu felt.

“Nah,” said Atsumu. “Doesn’t bother me. Who wouldn’t wanna watch, just look at me.”

One of Sakusa’s eyebrows rose, just slightly.

Atsumu flicked open the lid and poured lube over his fingers. “What if I wanted to fuck you
instead, Omi-Omi?” He tried to keep his voice casual, despite the sporadic drum of his heartbeat.
“Wouldja let me?”

“Another time, maybe,” said Sakusa. He curled a hand around Atsumu’s ankle and spread his legs
wider. “Not today.”

Atsumu had expected a flat refusal, not the promise of another future fling. His dick twitched and
he gritted his teeth as he reached around his thigh with a lube-slick hand. He pushed a finger into
himself, firmly but slowly, and didn’t look away from Sakusa despite the flush rising on his face
and his chest.

Light fingertips traveled up Atsumu’s calf, over his knee, and tickled at the inside of his thigh.
Sakusa’s stare was tangible, flitting between Atsumu’s hand and his face and back again. Sakusa
touched the tip of Atsumu’s cock and dragged his finger along the length, scraping his nail against
it, just barely. Atsumu’s hips jolted and his finger sank deeper.

“This what you’re into?” asked Atsumu. He squeezed a second finger in alongside the first. The
stretch wasn’t bad, probably because he was so damn desperate. “Watchin’?”

“Maybe.” Sakusa raked his nails against Atsumu’s inner thigh. Atsumu hissed a breath through his
teeth. “It doesn’t seem like you mind.”

“You know me,” said Atsumu. He worked his fingers in and out, the squelch of lube mixing with
the heaviness of his breaths. “I like attention.”

“I’ve noticed.” Sakusa put his hands on the insides of Atsumu’s knees and pushed them further
apart.

“Never thought I’d get this kinda attention from you.” Atsumu pressed at his rim with a third
finger, working it inside himself and slowly shoving it deep. He arched back with a groan, his cock
throbbing, Sakusa’s grip going tight at his knees.

“Consider yourself lucky.”

Atsumu fucked himself with his fingers and raised his head to hold Sakusa’s gaze. “Believe me, I
do.”

Sakusa’s eyes were black velvet, a midnight ocean. Atsumu wanted to drown in them.

Atsumu moved his wrist slowly, dragging his fingers out, huffing as he pushed them back in.
“Who’s gettin’ impatient now, Omi?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I see it all over your face. You wanna fuck me real bad, huh?”

“Less, the more you talk,” said Sakusa, even as he pushed onto his knees and moved closer
between Atsumu’s legs. He smoothed a hand along the inside of Atsumu’s thigh, his thumb
nudging at Atsumu’s balls in a way that made his breath catch.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” said Atsumu. “You like it when I talk. Want me to talk dirty for
ya, Omi?”

Sakusa caught Atsumu’s wrist and dragged his fingers out. He pinned Atsumu’s arm to one side
and shifted closer, his dick nudging against Atsumu’s thigh. He was hard, just as hard as Atsumu.
“You talk more when you’re nervous,” said Sakusa. He sat back on his heels and ripped open a
condom, eyeing Atsumu as he rolled it on. Atsumu’s hands twitched with the urge to touch him.
“Are you nervous, Atsumu?”

Atsumu swallowed. He didn’t know why hearing his name in Sakusa’s voice affected him so
strongly. Everyone had always called him by his given name; it was nothing new. Maybe it was
different because Sakusa had only called him Miya until a couple of weeks ago.

Or maybe just because it was Sakusa, and everything Sakusa did had an effect on him.

“‘Course I’m not nervous,” said Atsumu. His tone was almost normal. “What’s there to be nervous
about? It’s just sex.”

Sakusa eyed him, his expression unchanging. He squeezed Atsumu’s inner thigh and pried it open,
making more room for himself to shift close. Sakusa pressed a hand against Atsumu’s chest,
fingers cool against inked skin. “Then why are you blushing so much?”

“Fuck you, Omi.”

Sakusa’s mouth tilted upward, only for a second. He gripped the base of his cock and lined it up
against Atsumu, the head pushing in, just barely. “If you call me by that stupid nickname again, I’ll
stop.”

“Whataya want me to call you, then?” asked Atsumu, as a hand hooked underneath his thigh and
pushed his leg back.

Sakusa’s hips nudged forward. “My name.”

“Okay,” said Atsumu, his voice tight. “Yeah, okay. Kiyoomi. I’ll- Fuck! ” He dug one hand into
the sheets and reached for Sakusa with the other, clawing at a wide shoulder, gasping out a breath
as Sakusa thrust into him.

“Something wrong?” asked Sakusa. He loomed over Atsumu, one hand still spreading his legs, the
other planted against the sheets by Atsumu’s ribs. His mouth quirked into a slight smirk. “Can’t
take it?”

Atsumu wanted to snap at him, but seeing Sakusa like that – nude and almost grinning and
gorgeous – left him speechless. Instead he curled a hand around the back of Sakusa’s neck and
pulled him in, raising his head to meet Sakusa’s open mouth. The kiss was an exchange of breath
and a curl of tongues, deep and sloppy and exhilarating. Sakusa swayed back, sliding out of
Atsumu, and pushed forward again, dragging a moan from Atsumu’s throat that Sakusa licked right
out of his mouth.

“Go faster,” said Atsumu, breathing the words against Sakusa’s lips. “Harder. C’mon, make me
feel it.”

“You’re recovering from a gunshot wound,” said Sakusa, slightly breathless.

“I don’t fuckin’ care. If it hurts, it hurts. Just do it, I need – oh fuck , just like that, shit …”

It did hurt, a little buzz of pain itching along Atsumu’s ribs. It wasn’t nearly bad enough for him to
want to stop.

Sakusa rocked into him with hard snaps of his hips. He bit Atsumu’s lip until it stung, ducked his
head to mouth at the line of Atsumu’s throat. Atsumu let his head fall back, basking in each little
nip of Sakusa’s teeth, each slide of his mouth, each thrust of his cock. It was better than he’d
thought it would be. It was better than anything .

Sakusa struck deep and Atsumu gritted his teeth, muffling the moan bubbling in his throat. There
was a low growl at his ear and Sakusa glared with dark eyes and a curl of his lip. He pressed two
fingers against Atsumu’s lips, pushing inside his mouth, hooking fingertips behind Atsumu’s
bottom teeth.

“This is the one time I want to hear you,” he said, his voice scraping deep. “As loud as you are
every minute of your life, don’t you fucking dare stay quiet now.” He thrust in hard and Atsumu’s
moan was low and rolling, unrestrained, vaguely shaped like Kiyoomi . He licked at Sakusa’s
fingers, coaxed them further into his mouth so he could suck on them. Sakusa exhaled a hot breath
in his ear and closed his teeth on the curve of it.

“Touch yourself,” murmured Sakusa, his lips moving against Atsumu’s ear. “I want to watch.”

Atsumu bit Sakusa’s fingers on reflex and they were yanked free. Atsumu tried to apologize but all
that came out of his mouth was a long, dragging, “ Fuck .” He reached between them and curled a
hand around his own cock, his hips jolting up against his hand even as Sakusa kept fucking into
him.

Atsumu jerked himself quickly, because that seemed to be the only pace he had control of. He
fisted his dick and looked up at Sakusa’s dark eyes and parted lips. “I’m close,” he said, his voice
hardly more than a rasp. “I’m real fuckin’ close.”

“I thought so,” said Sakusa. “You look like you’re about to fall apart.”

Atsumu bit his lip to stifle a groan.

Sakusa touched a thumb to Atsumu’s bottom lip and freed it from his teeth. “I said I want to hear
you.”

Atsumu nipped at Sakusa’s thumb. “You’re a fuckin’ asshole,” he said, even as his hand flew faster
over his cock.

Sakusa thrust in deep and stayed there, one elbow braced against the bed to hold himself over
Atsumu. If his injuries were hurting him, he didn’t show it. He said, “You should be nicer to me
when I’m fucking you.”

Atsumu bucked his hips up, but Sakusa didn’t move. “I’m bein’ plenty nice. You think I let just
anybody fuck me? You said I’m lucky, but so are you.”

Sakusa stared down at him, curls falling over his forehead, his eyes so dark that if Atsumu got lost
in them, he would never find his way out. Sakusa rolled his hips and Atsumu gasped. “Maybe,”
said Sakusa, quietly.

Atsumu couldn’t think about that. Sakusa angled his hips and thrust into him, hard and deep, and
Atsumu couldn’t think about anything at all. He gave himself one more quick stroke and came,
rocking back against Sakusa’s cock, an obscene moan rolling out of his mouth until Sakusa leaned
in to swallow it. Atsumu pumped himself until he was dry and trembling, gasping against Sakusa’s
lips, whining as the solid heat of Sakusa’s cock pulled out of him.

Sakusa sat up on his knees. He was still hard. “You’re filthy.”

“Fuck you.” Atsumu was panting, and he felt like lying there until he caught his breath, but he sat
up and gripped Sakusa’s shoulders to shove him onto his back. He settled onto his stomach
between Sakusa’s thighs, his hands shaking just a little as he peeled the condom off of Sakusa’s
dick. “You’re about to be just the fuckin’ same.” He licked his way up the length of Sakusa’s cock
before taking it between his lips and sinking down on it, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked,
flicking his eyes up to catch a glimpse of Sakusa’s open mouth and blown-out eyes. A hand fisted
in Atsumu’s hair and he sucked in earnest, slurping his way to the top and back down again in a
way that was absolutely obscene. He took it deep, nearly to the back of his throat, and Sakusa’s
hips twitched up toward his mouth.

Atsumu pulled off to grin at him. “You like that, Omi-Omi-kun? You’re not gonna stop now no
matter what I call ya. You’re too far fuckin’ gone.”

Sakusa’s grip went tighter in Atsumu’s hair. He yanked Atsumu’s head down and thrust up into his
mouth, and Atsumu grinned around his cock before going back to work. He took his time, savoring
every hitch of Sakusa’s breath, every twitch of his thighs.

“Atsumu.” Sakusa’s voice was low, his breathing loud. He tugged on Atsumu’s hair.

A little thrill zipped down Atsumu’s spine at the sound of his name, but he ignored the warning.
He took Sakusa’s cock as deep as it would go, pressed a palm against his balls, and moaned as
Sakusa came down his throat. Sakusa was quieter than Atsumu had been. The exhale that escaped
him was low, throaty, but Atsumu heard it.

When Sakusa’s cock gave a last weak pulse, Atsumu pressed his lips tight and pulled off slowly,
sucking all the way to the tip. He sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his stare
meeting Sakusa’s and not wavering.

“I’m not gonna lie,” said Atsumu. “That was the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever done.”

Sakusa took a moment to catch his breath. He settled back on his elbows and eyed the splash of
come across Atsumu’s stomach. He pushed his hair off of his forehead and said, “Take another
shower. You’re disgusting.”

“You should stop talkin’ dirty before I get hard again,” said Atsumu, a grin creeping across his
face.

“Get off of my bed.”

“Fine, but you’re gonna hafta shower with me. You’re gross, too. Got my spit all over ya.”

Sakusa pushed Atsumu aside and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. He got to his feet and
marched toward the bedroom door. When he was halfway down the hall he called, “Are you
coming or not?”

Atsumu smiled as he rolled off of the bed to follow.

Atsumu didn’t sleep on the couch that night. He didn’t sleep in his own bed, either. He curled up
beside Sakusa, a little stiff because he was afraid to get too close; at least until Sakusa yanked him
over and pressed his back against Atsumu’s chest. He relaxed after that, one arm draped across
Sakusa’s waist, nosing close to breathe in the clean smell of dark curls. He was more surprised that
Sakusa was letting him sleep here than he’d been about Sakusa fucking him.

“Hey, Omi?”

“Hmm?”

“We cuddlin’ right now?”

“I’ll kick you out of this bed.”

Atsumu didn’t believe him. He smiled and nestled closer and slept better than he had in months.

On Sunday they fucked on the couch, after Sakusa insisted on laying a blanket down for easy
cleanup. Atsumu was hyperaware that Meian or Hinata or Bokuto or anyone, really, could walk in
on them without warning. That turned him on even more, and this time it was Sakusa with a pepper
of bite marks across his shoulders. He pretended to be mad, but Atsumu knew he really wasn’t. He
was proven right when they showered and returned to the couch.

Sakusa sat down first. Atsumu plopped down right beside him, close enough that their thighs
touched. When Sakusa didn’t tell him to move, Atsumu smiled to himself and leaned into his
shoulder.

“So you gotta go back to work tomorrow,” said Atsumu a while later, when the drone of the tv had
faded into a bland buzz in his ears. He was too focused on Sakusa to pay attention to it.

“I don’t have to,” said Sakusa. “Meian asked if I would and I agreed.”

“That really matters to you, huh?” said Atsumu. “Workin’ for somebody who doesn’t just tell ya
what to do all the time.”

“It matters because he doesn’t have to tell me.” Sakusa shifted, but not away. “I respect him
enough to do what needs to be done. He respects me enough to trust that I’ll do it. There’s no need
for him to order me around.”

Atsumu hummed. He stared at Sakusa’s hand, lying relaxed on top of his thigh. He wanted to reach
for it, to slip their fingers together and feel the weight of Sakusa’s palm against his own. But he
didn’t know if Sakusa would think that was too sappy, and he didn’t want the embarrassment of
Sakusa pulling away from him, so he kept his hands to himself.
“He does shit a lot different than we do back home,” said Atsumu, inching impossibly closer. “Not
in a bad way, though.”

“Guess you’ll have to get used to working for Kita-san again soon,” said Sakusa, “if he figures out
who’s trying to kill you and puts a stop to it.”

Atsumu remembered when he’d first gotten to Tokyo and had wanted nothing more than to turn
around and go right back home. He still missed Hyogo, and he really missed Ojiro and Oomimi and
the rest of the guys, and he especially missed his brother. But it wasn’t a gaping hole in his chest
anymore, like it had been in the beginning. It had faded to more of an ache, much like the ache that
remained in his ribs; present but easily ignored.

He thought when he left Tokyo, he just might miss it, too.

“What’ll you do without me?” said Atsumu. He looked at Sakusa’s hand again. “Sit in a corner
and cry?”

“I think not,” scoffed Sakusa.

“Will ya miss me?”

“No.”

“You’re a liar, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes and said nothing. His fingers twitched, just slightly, and Atsumu reached for
his hand before he could second guess himself. Their fingers fit together easily and Sakusa didn’t
comment, didn’t pull away.

Atsumu leaned into him and tried to watch the tv, but it was hard with so many thoughts clanging
around in his head. He slid a glance at Sakusa and wondered what he was thinking about. It was
impossible to tell. His face was neutral, as usual.

“Hey, Omi.”

“What.”

“Kiss me.”

“We just fucked. Take a break.”

Atsumu snorted and sat up straighter, pulling a leg beneath himself to face Sakusa. “Nah, not like
that. I just wanna kiss you.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

Sakusa eyed him with a touch of suspicion. It faded, gradually, and he reached for Atsumu’s face.
His fingers were always cool, which may have explained why he habitually wore long sleeves.
Atsumu had thought it was to keep as much of his skin covered as possible, but maybe it was
multi-purpose.

Sakusa held the side of Atsumu’s face and pulled him in, gentler than either of them had been a
couple of hours before. His breath fanned across Atsumu’s lips, as warm as his hands were cold,
and he hesitated for a few skipping heartbeats before kissing him. Atsumu leaned into him, melted
 against Sakusa’s mouth, and raised a hand to rest lightly on the side of Sakusa’s neck.

It felt like a privilege just to touch Sakusa, one that he didn’t take for granted.

Atsumu touched his tongue against Sakusa’s bottom lip, pulled it between his own, and tugged.
Sakusa exhaled, hot against Atsumu’s face, and threaded a hand into his hair to pull him closer.

Atsumu thought about swinging a leg over to sit in Sakusa’s lap. Maybe Sakusa would shove him
to the floor, but Atsumu didn’t think so. He wondered if Sakusa would agree to sit in his lap,
imagined the weight of him settling across Atsumu’s thighs.

He wanted anything from Sakusa. Anything. Everything.

Atsumu’s phone rang. He chose to pretend it didn’t exist.

Sakusa chose differently. His mouth pressed in, lingered, before he sat back, his fingers drifting
along Atsumu’s jaw before falling away. He clasped his hands together in his lap. Atsumu
wondered if he was fighting an urge to go and wash them.

Atsumu patted at his pockets for his phone, his face a little warm, and finally whipped it out to see
it was Suna calling.

His happy, heady feelings drizzled down a mental gutter. Dread settled in their place.

Suna never called. He texted plenty, but he didn’t call.

Atsumu sat on the edge of the couch as he answered, tension drawing his shoulders tight. “Yeah?”

“Are you still staying at the same place?”

Atsumu licked his lips. He wished Sakusa’s mouth was still on them, wished Suna hadn’t called at
all. “Yeah, why?”

There was a pause, a background rush of traffic. Suna said, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. I know
who ordered the hit.”

Chapter End Notes

Thank you Aja for reading over this chapter!

Me: Yeah I toned down the smut to make it softer

Aja: Kate what part of that was soft?

 Chapter 15

Atsumu paced for twenty minutes while he waited for Suna. He would have continued for longer,
but Sakusa snapped at him to stop from across the room. Atsumu dropped back onto the couch
beside Sakusa with a huff, fidgeting with his hands instead.

“Why are you nervous?” asked Sakusa. “This is what you’ve been waiting for since you got here.”

“I know that,” said Atsumu, more sharply than he intended. “It’s just… I don’t know. It’s good he
figured it out, but… I kinda don’t wanna know, you know?”

“That makes no sense.”

Atsumu raked a hand through his hair and leaned over his knees, resting his elbows on them,
staring blankly at the floor between his feet. “I don’t know, Omi. I’ve just got a bad feelin’ about
it.”

A hand smoothed over his shoulder to rest at the back of his neck. It was heavy, comforting.
Atsumu relaxed, just a little.

Someone knocked at the door and Atsumu went rigid again. He shot to his feet and crossed the
room with a growing sense of unease. When he yanked the door open, Suna was waiting on the
other side. The last time, Atsumu had been elated to see him. Now all he felt was dread.

Suna was wearing a suit; black jacket, black tie, crisp white undershirt.

He was dressed for work.

Dressed to kill.

Atsumu stepped back to let him in and said nothing as Suna removed his shoes and started down
the hallway.

“Dining room?” asked Suna.

“Sure.” That seemed like a good place to get bad news. “Omi?”

“This is a conversation I’d rather have in private,” said Suna.

Atsumu shoved his hands in his pockets. “We are in private. Omi is private.”

Suna sliced a glance at him. His eyes were sharp, cutting. “You don’t know what I’m about to tell
you, Atsumu. I don’t want anyone else to hear it.”

“Fine,” said Atsumu, spitting the word, “but I’m just gonna tell him about it later, anyway.”

“That’s your choice.” Suna turned and stalked into the dining room.

Atsumu peered through the doorway at Sakusa, who hadn’t moved from the couch. He didn’t say
anything, but he didn’t have to. Atsumu gave him a look that was mostly a grimace before
following Suna into the dining room. Slowly, Atsumu pulled out the chair across from him to sit
down. The table seemed bigger than before, as if there was more distance between them.

“Hit me with it,” said Atsumu. He braced his elbows on the tabletop and slouched over them.
“Who’d I piss off? What do I hafta do to fix it?”

Suna studied him. It was only for a few seconds, but Atsumu’s impatience grew until he thought he
would combust. He fidgeted in his chair, his skin itching with unease.

“You didn’t piss off anyone,” said Suna. “It wasn’t you. You didn’t start this.”

Atsumu replayed those words in his head. They didn’t make sense. He must have been so high-
strung that he hadn’t heard right. “Whataya mean?”

“They weren’t after you.” Suna’s gaze skated sideways, away from Atsumu. Suna was always
confident and collected, but for the first time since Atsumu had known him, Suna seemed a tiny bit
anxious. He drew a breath, stared at the wall over Atsumu’s shoulder, and said, “They wanted
Osamu. They don’t know the difference, so they tried to kill you both back in Hyogo. Word got out
that there was a Miya working in Tokyo, and they didn’t know which one, so they decided to take
a chance on it. If they’d known for sure it was you instead of him, they wouldn’t have wasted their
time.”

That was a lot of information, and none of it made sense. Atsumu hadn’t considered for even a
second, at least not seriously, that Osamu might be the target instead of him. Osamu kept his head
down, did what he was told, and stayed out of trouble. He wasn’t a walking disaster like Atsumu.

“I don’t get it,” said Atsumu.

“You’re not the target.”

“Yeah, I get that part,” said Atsumu. He pushed a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He
wished Sakusa was sitting beside him. Maybe he could explain this in a way that Atsumu would
understand, because Suna certainly wasn’t making sense. “But why… what did ‘Samu do?”

Suna closed his eyes, as if he couldn’t stand to look at Atsumu. “Nothing.”

“The fuck’s that s’posed to mean? You just said-”

“He didn’t do anything.” Suna looked at him again. There was something open about his face, a
vulnerability Atsumu had never seen from him. “They’re after him because of me. I messed up,
Atsumu.”

Atsumu sat back in his chair, shock burning like a low flame in his chest. Suna didn’t make
mistakes. And if he did, he wouldn’t have admitted it to Atsumu, of all people. Atsumu wanted to
ask questions, lots of them, but he could only stare.

Suna scrubbed the heels of his hands over his face. “I didn’t know it would put him in danger. If I
had, I wouldn’t have done it. Any of it. I knew there was a risk, but I thought it was just for me. I
never thought anyone would go after him.”

“Stop talkin’ in circles,” said Atsumu, “and get to the fuckin’ point.”

He didn’t say it with any particular sharpness, but Suna drew back. He took a deep breath, held it
far too long, and expelled it in a long burst. When he looked at Atsumu again, he seemed to be
more himself.

“I’ve been working outside jobs behind Kita’s back for the past three years,” said Suna. His voice
was steady, normal, despite the nervous twist of his fingers.
Atsumu blinked. “Three years,” he repeated. “Three years ?”

“Not with the yakuza, of course,” said Suna, as if that made things any better. “Not with any rival
syndicates. Mostly for rich businessmen who have more money than morals and want an easy way
to get rid of their competition.”

“Killin’ people,” said Atsumu, taking the meaning from the words. “You’ve been killin’ people for
money for three fuckin’ years without tellin’ Kita-san.”

“Yes.”

Atsumu just stared at him. He’d known Suna for over ten years, since they were teenagers. Suna
had always been dedicated to Inarizaki, the same as the Miyas. He’d always done what Kita had
told him to do, had always been loyal. Atsumu had thought so, at least. “ Why ?”

“Do you want the real reason or the one that makes all of this sound less terrible?”

“Just fuckin’ tell me, Suna.”

Suna’s jaw twitched, as if he was chewing at the inside of his mouth. “I did it for the money, kind
of. There was a lot of it. I wanted to buy a house on the edge of the city. A nice one. I thought
maybe Osamu could come live with me, if he wanted.” He shook his head. “It sounds like a good
excuse, but mostly I did it because I was bored. Inarizaki gets exciting jobs once a month, maybe?
The rest of the time we just walk around and make sure no one forgets we run the prefecture. It’s
the same thing every day. The monotony was killing me.”

“So you decided to kill people instead.”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck, Suna?” Atsumu wanted to slap him. “Does ‘Samu know about this?”

Suna looked away again. He didn’t answer.

That could have meant anything. It wasn’t a clear answer at all.

Still, Atsumu knew. He felt it in his bones. Maybe it was because he’d gotten so skilled at reading
Sakusa’s silences, or maybe because he knew Osamu so well.

Atsumu curled his fingers against his palms, nails scratching against the table, and hoped he was
wrong as he said, “He does know. He knew before now, before any of this happened.”

“I won’t say anything about him,” said Suna. He was still looking at the wall, at the doorway,
anywhere that wasn’t Atsumu. “You’ll have to ask him yourself, I won’t-”

Atsumu slapped a hand against the table. The impact was so loud that it startled them both. Atsumu
said through his teeth, “Well ‘Samu’s not fuckin’ here for me to ask, is he? He’s holed up in
Miyagi somewhere ‘cause of somethin’ you did, so you’re the one who’s gonna tell me. How
long’s he known about it?”

“Atsumu-”

“You’ll fuckin’ tell me or I’ll call Kita-san right now,” snapped Atsumu. It was a lie. He wouldn’t
go running to Kita just yet, not when he still wasn’t sure what was happening, but Suna seemed to
believe him.
Suna winced, a subtle tightening of his face. Atsumu had never seen him like this before. Suna was
always impassive, unshakable. This had gotten to him badly, and Atsumu was making it worse.

There was still no answer, and impatience heated Atsumu’s blood to a boil. “ Suna .”

“He’s known for about a year.” Suna stared down at the table, a deep crease cutting across his
brow.

Atsumu hoped he’d heard that wrong. “A year ?”

“It was an accident that he found out. I didn’t want him to know, because I didn’t want him to go
down with me, if Kita-san found out.” Suna got his phone out, put it on the table without looking at
it, picked it up again and held it in his lap. “I told him back then he could tell Kita-san. It was the
right thing to do. It was his responsibility, but he… wouldn’t.”

Atsumu wished Osamu was here; not because he didn’t believe Suna, but because he wanted to
hear this directly from his brother. Atsumu couldn’t believe they’d been so stupid , not after years
of everyone saying Atsumu was the idiot. “Of fuckin’ course he wouldn’t. A year. What, were you
guys fuckin’ back then, too?”

Suna looked down at the blank screen of his phone.

“What the fuck.” Atsumu said it breathlessly. He’d been joking, or so he’d thought. “A year.
You’ve been hookin’ up for a year, and you’ve been out killin’ people you didn’t have any
business killin’, and here we fuckin’ are.”

Suna still didn’t say anything.

“Keep goin’,” said Atsumu. He shoved the table toward Suna, to draw his attention. “What else?”

“I think Osamu should-”

“You know he’ll tell me the truth. He’s honest, if nothin’ else.” Other than keeping these
devastating secrets from Atsumu for a solid year. “Keep goin’.”

There was silence, a long stretch of it. Suna spoke more quietly when he said, “I tried to keep him
separate from it, and I did, for a while. But occasionally I get a big job, multiple targets, and he-”

“Stop. I changed my mind.” Atsumu thumped his elbows on the table and propped his forehead in
his hands, eyes closed. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

He didn’t want to, but he didn’t need to. He knew what Suna was getting to.

Suna had been out killing people for money, and sometimes when it was too much for him to
handle alone, Osamu was out killing people with him.

Atsumu felt like he’d never met either of them before, not really. He could have come to terms
with Suna, but Osamu …

“This isn’t his fault,” said Suna. “None of it. Especially not the hit. No one is coming after him
because of something he did. I… I did a job I shouldn’t have. He wasn’t involved. He didn’t even
know who hired me. I don’t tell him unless I have to.”

“Or unless you need him to go be a fuckin’ hitman with you,” said Atsumu. He curled his fingers in
the front of his hair and pulled, hard enough to hurt. The pain was grounding. “Why’d they come
after him, then?”

Suna hesitated. Maybe he was collecting his thoughts. Atsumu didn’t look at him, couldn’t.

“I do jobs in other cities most of the time. I keep away from Hyogo, for obvious reasons.” Suna
paused, continued, “I came to Tokyo six months ago to do a job for the CEO of a financial group.
Someone was stealing all of his business, and he wanted her dead, so I killed her.”

He said it casually, like it had been nothing to him.

“I went back home after the job and didn’t think about it again. I got paid. I thought everything was
fine. I didn’t know the target’s husband ran the biggest banking branch in Tokyo, or that he was a
vindictive bastard who would come after the person who killed her instead of the person who
ordered the hit.”

“But he didn’t,” said Atsumu. He let his hands fall away and raised his head, slowly. He thought he
might be having a fever dream, that maybe he was hallucinating this entire conversation. He hoped
he was. “He didn’t come after you.”

“No, he didn’t.” Suna pulled at the knot of his tie, as if it was choking him. “He sent someone to
Hyogo to watch me, to figure out who I was and what I did. It must have been someone good. I
never noticed them. They could have killed me and been done with it. I… I wish they had. But I
killed his wife, so he decided to pay me back the same way. He found out about me and Osamu,
and he hired a group of men to go to Hyogo and kill him.”

Atsumu stood up. He felt that if he stayed still any longer he would crawl out of his own skin. He
paced to the wall, stared at it, and then returned to the table. He thought of shadows breaking into
their apartment, of Osamu getting shot on the street, of bleeding out with Sakusa standing over him
shouting Miya . It was Suna’s fault, all of it. Not Atsumu’s, like he’d thought for the past three
months. He hadn’t done this.

Maybe that should have made him feel better, but it didn’t. It felt worse.

Atsumu braced his hands on the edge of the table and said, “When did you find out?”

“I got confirmation two hours ago,” said Suna. “When it first happened I had no idea, or I would’ve
done something sooner. I assumed… I mean, we all thought it was something you’d done. You
piss off everyone you meet, so it made sense. I didn’t even suspect it could be this until they
attacked you here. Tokyo was a red flag. I started looking into it, but Kita-san wouldn’t let me
come out here, since he’d already sent Aran. I had to wait.”

Atsumu wanted to hit something. He also thought he might throw up. He tried not to do either.
“Okay,” he said. It was all he could come up with. There was no right way to respond to all that. It
was too much, and Suna’s words swam in his head like sharks. Atsumu plopped back into his chair
and he felt boneless, empty, like the void in his chest would swallow him whole.

“So you and ‘Samu have been doing these fuckin’ side jobs, you pissed off the wrong person, and
now me an’ him are the ones payin’ for it,” said Atsumu. “Is that everything?”

“That mostly sums it up.”

Atsumu wished his brother was there. He’d punch Osamu in his stupid fucking face. He thought
about doing the same to Suna. It might make both of them feel better, as guilty as Suna looked.
“What happens now?”
“I know where the guy lives,” said Suna. “I’ll convince him to call off the hit. I’m going there
now. I only stopped here first because I promised I’d tell you, and it seemed like something I
should say in person.”

That was an understatement. This was the sort of news that should be delivered in a calm, gentle
way, maybe with some warm tea and a shot of Bokuto’s special stomach-melting alcohol.

Atsumu wanted to yank Suna out of that chair and bash his head against the wall, but he gritted his
teeth and said, “I’m goin’ with you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. If something happens-”

“Shut the fuck up,” snapped Atsumu. “You have no place tellin’ me what’s a good idea, after what
you did.”

Suna looked up at him, his stare level, his face smoothing into something that seemed more like
himself. “Okay.”

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go. Just be quiet about it, Omi will stop me if he-”

“If he what?” said Sakusa from the doorway.

Atsumu didn’t look back at him. “Shit.”

“You think I’ll let you go off with him,” said Sakusa, his hard stare drilling into Suna, “after he
almost got you killed three times already?”

“I’m pissed too,” said Atsumu, and it was an extreme understatement, “but I’m not gonna sit this
out. I’m goin’, Omi. You can’t stop me.”

“I can, actually,” said Sakusa, “but I won’t. Give me ten minutes to change. Your suit is in my
room, Atsumu. Bokuto brought it over in case you needed it, and you’re certainly not going
anywhere dressed like that .” He stormed out of the room and Atsumu and Suna both stared after
him.

“I think he might kill me,” said Suna, eerily calm, “when this is over. He looks like he wants to.”

“That’s just the way his face is,” said Atsumu, although he thought maybe Suna was right. Sakusa
was angry, but not as angry as Atsumu. “I’m the one you should be worried about. I should kill you
in that chair right now, Sunarin. Wait here, and don’t you fuckin’ dare leave without me.”

Suna nodded, and Atsumu went after Sakusa. He was in his room, tearing through the clothes in his
wardrobe, his jaw set.

“Omi.”

Sakusa ignored him. He yanked out a suit, Atsumu’s dark red one, and threw it at him.

Atsumu caught it, tossed it onto Sakusa's bed, and stepped up behind him. “Omi.”

“What.”

“You don’t hafta go.”

Sakusa turned on him, his glare lethal. “You think I trust him with you? I heard everything he said.
This is his fault. He almost got you killed, Atsumu. Your brother, too.”
“I know. Trust me, I fuckin’ know.” Atsumu wanted to call Osamu, just in case Suna had lied
about him being involved. That would make all of this more palatable, knowing his brother had
been in the dark, that he was nothing more than a victim, too.

But Suna wouldn’t have lied, not about that. Atsumu was furious with him, but he didn’t think so
lowly of Suna that he would believe he’d throw blame on Osamu for no reason.

Osamu was part of this, too. Even if the hit hadn’t been his fault, not directly, this was still his
mess.

“What do you plan to do about it?” asked Sakusa.

Atsumu didn’t want to think about that, not right now, not when the answer might be something he
would regret. “We’re gonna go kill the bastard who ordered this. After that, I dunno. We’ll see
what happens.”

“I’ll do it,” said Sakusa, his voice level, “if you’d rather not.”

He didn’t explicitly state what he was offering to do, but Atsumu knew. He knew, and in a dark,
twisted sort of way, he was grateful.

“It’s fine, Omi.” The heat of his voice faded, just a little. He touched Sakusa’s arm, just because he
could, just because he knew Sakusa wouldn’t pull away. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You were right about your brother,” said Sakusa. “He’s dumber than you are.”

Atsumu barked a laugh, and it surprised him. He’d thought he was too furious to laugh. “That’s the
most romantic shit anyone’s ever said to me, Omi. If we didn’t have someone to kill, I’d fuck you
within an inch of your life.”

“And that was the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” said Sakusa. His face was still stone, but it
seemed less sharp, as if his own fury was beginning to settle. “Get dressed. If you get hurt tonight
trying to help Suna clean up his mess, you’ll be the one who’s killed. I’ll do it myself.”

“Promise?” asked Atsumu. “If I’ve gotta go one way or another, I’d rather you do it.”

Sakusa gave him a gentle push toward the bed and the suit he’d discarded there. “Go.”

Atsumu huffed a long, heavy breath and did as he said.

He wondered how many people would die tonight. At least one. Maybe two.

He thought of Osamu and wondered how much he knew about this. Suna probably hadn’t told him
that he was coming by to see Atsumu. If he had, Osamu would have been calling, both to demand
that Atsumu stay inside and to explain why he’d been sneaking around with Suna behind Atsumu’s
back for the past year; why he’d been killing people with Suna behind Atsumu’s back.

Atsumu tried to think of all the times Osamu had spent a night away from the apartment. There
hadn’t been many of them, maybe once or twice a month for reasons that had seemed legitimate at
the time.

He wondered how many of those had been nights at Suna’s place or nights out committing murder.
He wondered how many times Osamu had sneaked out after Atsumu was asleep, how many times
Atsumu hadn’t noticed he was gone.
He and Osamu had killed people together, too. That wasn’t the problem. The two of them had
killed plenty of people since they’d joined Inarizaki, so many that Atsumu had lost count. But all
of those times had been on Kita’s orders. They’d been doing their job.

It was with a sick lurch of his stomach that Atsumu thought of Kita.

There would be consequences for this. Someone would pay, and the price would be steep.

The businessman in question was named Wakabayashi Takashi. He owned the biggest banking
branch in Tokyo and lived in a penthouse apartment that matched his extravagant salary. It was on
the thirty-eighth floor. Atsumu knew that with a great degree of certainty, because they had to take
the stairs.

“I hate this,” he said, as he panted his way up to the thirtieth. “I hate this and I hate you, Sunarin.”

“The elevator is too risky,” said Suna for the third time. “We need to avoid as many cameras as
possible.”

“That doesn’t make me hate you any fuckin’ less.”

Sakusa, climbing the stairs alongside Atsumu, wasn’t even winded. Atsumu hated him too, except
he didn’t.

“Fuckin’ finally,” said Atsumu, as they reached the top. He pressed an elbow in against his ribs to
try and mute the pain. He hoped Sakusa didn’t notice, but he wouldn’t bet on it. Sakusa noticed
everything.

Suna gestured for them to stay back. He pulled on a mask and dark sunglasses and eased into the
hallway slowly. There was a camera mounted on either end, with the penthouse entryway directly
between them. Suna went to one camera and then the other, pushing up on his toes and cutting the
cords with a snap of small wirecutters. When it was done, he went to the door and pressed a piece
of black tape over the small lens above the keypad. He stripped his face bare and dug his fingers
into the edges of the panel, prying it open. Atsumu crept close and peered over his shoulder as
Suna poked at the wires inside.

“It’s a decent security system,” said Suna. He dug a small metal tool out of his pocket. “Give me
five minutes.”

Five minutes wasn’t long at most times, but in a situation like this, it dragged on forever. Atsumu
went to stand beside Sakusa, close enough that their shoulders touched.

“Do you trust him to get this done?” asked Sakusa. He didn’t bother keeping his voice down.

“Yeah,” said Atsumu. Suna had made some questionable life decisions, but he’d never messed up a
job. Atsumu could be confident of that, at least. “He’ll do it right.” He checked his phone. Osamu
had called during their trek up the stairwell. That conversation needed to happen, but it would have
to wait.
It was a little over three minutes when Suna took a step back and said, “It’s down.” He dropped to
one knee in front of the door and dug in his pocket again. He started working on the lock, his hands
steady, eyes focused. He tripped it in thirty seconds flat and eased the door open, leaning halfway
through to scan the inside. When he withdrew, he whispered, “I know the layout. I’ve seen the
blueprints. Follow me, quietly.”

He slipped through and Atsumu would have followed, but Sakusa caught his arm.

“What if he’s setting us up?” hissed Sakusa, his voice low. “Maybe he’s the one who wants you
dead and he made up the rest of that story as a cover.”

“He’s not. I’ve known him forever.”

“You didn’t know he was working behind Kita-san’s back. What else don’t you know?”

Sakusa had a point. Atsumu couldn’t deny that. He shouldn’t trust Suna, and he didn’t trust him the
way he would have yesterday, but his concerns weren’t the same as Sakusa’s. “‘Samu trusts him,”
said Atsumu, as if that was more solid than Sakusa’s logic. That should have been faulty too,
considering Osamu had been keeping the same secrets, but still Atsumu stepped forward. “I don’t
like it, but if ‘Samu trusts him, I’ve gotta trust him, too. I’m goin’.”

Sakusa sighed, so quietly that Atsumu barely heard, and followed after him.

The three of them crept through the quiet penthouse. It was dark, and Atsumu relied on the
shadowed outline of Suna’s back to guide him.

He thought of lying in bed, of a slowly turning doorknob, of a shadow with a gun.

That had been Suna’s fault. Everything had been Suna’s fault.

Atsumu gritted his teeth and kept going.

It was well after midnight. Suna’s path should have led them to the master bedroom, but they
didn’t get that far. There was a light on underneath a nondescript door. Atsumu didn’t know what
was behind it, but Suna must have. He stopped and looked back at Atsumu in the dark. Suna
reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun. Atsumu felt Sakusa go tense behind him, but Suna
only nodded toward the door and reached for the handle. It gave under his hand and he eased the
door open slowly. Atsumu scrambled for his gun too, inching closer to Suna as he peered inside.

“You should be in bed, Yuuto,” came a voice from within. “Did you have a bad dream again?”

Suna pushed the door open and stepped into the room, gun-first. Atsumu was on his heels and
Sakusa followed behind, kicking the door shut behind them.

It was a study, lined with bookshelves and dotted with potted plants. A man sat behind a desk with
reading glasses perched on his nose and a scatter of loose papers spread in front of him. He took in
the three of them with a slow sweep of his eyes before settling on Suna. “You.”

Suna watched him over the barrel of his gun. “Yes.”

“I didn’t think it would take you this long,” said Wakabayashi. He took his glasses off and set them
aside, rubbing at an eye with his knuckles. “To be fair, it shouldn’t have taken me so long, either.
The men I hired were clearly incompetent. I should have done better.” He glanced at Atsumu. “I’d
heard you were in critical condition. I’d hoped that the injuries would kill you and this would end.”
“You were shit outta luck anyway,” said Atsumu. He gripped his gun tightly, held against his
thigh. “I’m the wrong fuckin’ one.”

Wakabayashi frowned. “Oh. It’s inconvenient that the two of you look so much alike.”

“Call it off,” said Suna. “Now.”

“Why would I?” asked Wakabayashi. “I have a very strong feeling this will end the same way for
me, whether I cooperate or not.”

To Atsumu’s surprise, Suna lowered his gun. Suna’s glare was no less lethal as he said, “Maybe,
but it could end differently for your son. Yuuto, you said. He started preschool last month, didn’t
he?”

“You already killed his mother,” said Wakabayashi. “Might as well wipe out the whole family.”

“Okay,” said Suna. “Atsumu, stay here.” He started for the door. Atsumu was too shocked to stop
him.

Maybe he knew Suna even less than he’d thought, if he was really willing to kill a child.

“Wait.” Wakabayashi plucked his cellphone off of the desk. “Leave him be. You will, won’t you?
If I cancel it.”

Suna paused with one hand on the door. “Yes, I will.”

“I never trust the yakuza.” Wakabayashi said it bitterly. Still, he made a call and pressed the phone
against his ear.

They waited in uncomfortable silence. Atsumu dragged his stare away to look at Sakusa, who
hadn’t moved since they’d entered the room. He wished Sakusa hadn’t come; not because Atsumu
didn’t want him there, but because if something went wrong, Sakusa didn’t deserve to get caught
up in it. This wasn’t his fight.

“It’s me,” said Wakabayashi, when someone picked up. “Contact all of your men immediately and
tell them to call off the hunt for Miya. It’s over.”

More heavy silence. Atsumu could only hear his own breath, too loud in the quiet room.

“No. End it. The money is off the table. If they kill him they get nothing except a visit from a very
unpleasant hitman.” He glanced up at Suna. “No, I’m not being threatened. The debt has been
paid. Make it quick, and tell me when it’s done.”

He put the phone down again and folded his hands on the desk.

Atsumu said, “That easy, huh?”

“Yes,” said Wakabayashi. “That easy.”

“I know one of the hired men,” said Suna. He took his phone out, gun still steady in the other hand.
“He’ll tell me if it’s really canceled.”

Wakabayashi made a sound of quiet interest. “How did you manage that?”

“A bribe. A big one. I lost most of the money I made off of your wife, if it makes you feel any
better.”
“It doesn’t. Nothing would. Not even killing your partner, wherever he’s hiding.”

“Why did you bother, then?” asked Suna.

“She would have done the same for me,” said Wakabayashi. “Love makes us do strange things,
don’t you agree?”

Atsumu was unsure if he’d ever been so uncomfortable in his life.

Suna’s phone must have vibrated. He glanced down at it, sharply. “It’s really done. They called it
off.”

Wakabayashi inclined his head.

Suna tucked his phone away. “Atsumu. Do you want to do it, or should I?”

Atsumu didn’t want to. He really, really didn’t.

“I have the best silencer,” said Sakusa, “and we don’t want to wake the child.” He stepped in front
of Atsumu and took aim.

“Lock this door when you leave,” said Wakabayashi. He didn’t flinch away. “I don’t want my son
to find me. His nanny sleeps just down the hall. She’ll take care of him.”

Atsumu had killed people, many of them, and none had been so calm staring down the barrel of a
gun. He wanted to reach out and stop Sakusa, because this felt wrong. Wakabayashi hadn’t started
this. It had been whatever envious businessman that hired Suna. It had been Suna, for accepting the
job. Wakabayashi had just been avenging his wife. Atsumu couldn’t even blame him for that.

But if they didn’t kill him, he would put out the hit for Osamu again. Atsumu knew that without
being told. Wakabayashi had given up on everything else. He had nothing to lose.

The gunshot was quiet. It burst in the direct center of Wakabayashi’s forehead. He tilted to one
side, wavered, and fell. The sound of him hitting the floor was louder than the shot that had killed
him.

Sakusa tucked his gun away. “Let’s go.”

Suna led the way. Atsumu followed behind and twisted the lock on the door before he pulled it
shut. He could do that much, at least. He didn’t want to fuck up an innocent child the same way
he’d been fucked up.

They followed Suna out of the penthouse and down the stairs. Atsumu didn’t complain this time.
He kept quiet except for his gasps of breath as he clutched at his ribs. He was nauseous, but not
from the physical exhaustion.

When they stepped outside the air was cleansing, cool against Atsumu’s sweaty forehead. He took
a few steps back and stared up at the top of the building, where the penthouse was. It was too high
for him to see it, but he pictured it clearly.

Sakusa touched Atsumu’s arm, drawing his attention back down. He didn’t say anything, but he
didn’t have to. He tilted his head at Suna, and there was a fatal question in his eyes.

Atsumu considered, longer than he should have. He almost nodded, almost painted the street with
blood.
But he thought of Osamu, and even if he could keep it from him, even if he could cover up his own
involvement, Atsumu didn’t think he could live with himself, knowing he’d done this to his
brother.

“No,” he said, quiet enough that only Sakusa could hear.

Sakusa’s hand slipped off of Atsumu’s arm. He was wearing his gloves and his mask, for the first
time since Atsumu had been shot. It reminded Atsumu of the Sakusa he’d first met, and for a
fleeting second, Atsumu was certain that Sakusa would kill Suna anyway.

But Sakusa turned to Suna and said, in a voice of ice, “You’ll find your own way. We’re done.”

Suna nodded, and the breath that slipped through his lips may have been relief. He hadn’t expected
to survive the night. “Okay.”

Sakusa started down the street. They’d parked a fair distance away, to keep his car away from the
scene of the crime. Atsumu moved to follow, but Suna said, “Atsumu.”

Sakusa kept walking. Atsumu turned, his hands in his pockets and the weight of too much death on
his shoulders.

“Osamu will get on a train to Tokyo in the morning,” said Suna. “I’ll meet up with him and we’ll
go back to Hyogo together. Kita-san doesn’t know anything about this yet, but I’ll tell him. I just
want to do it in person.”

Atsumu wished he’d kept walking. He said, “What’re you gonna tell him about ‘Samu?”

“Nothing.” Suna said it like he meant it, and Atsumu believed him. “I’ll say he wasn’t involved,
that he didn’t know anything about any of it. I won’t even tell Kita-san that I saw you here. I’ll take
the blame, and I’ll accept the consequences. When he calls you, act surprised.”

“Yeah,” said Atsumu. He should have been relieved, but the pit that had opened in his stomach
several hours ago only sank deeper. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” said Suna. His mouth pulled down on one side, his stare flashing toward the ground
instead of at Atsumu. “Really. If I could take it back, I would.”

“I don’t even care about what happened to me,” said Atsumu, his voice dipping lower. “You know
that, right? I wouldn’t even be mad if it wasn’t for ‘Samu.”

“I know.”

“You don’t deserve him. Not after this. Not after you dragged him into this shit.”

He wanted Suna to argue, but he didn’t. He simply said, “I know.”

Atsumu thought about hitting him. It would be cathartic, if nothing else. But he didn’t want Osamu
to show up in Tokyo to find Suna’s face bruised up, courtesy of his brother. “I’ll see ya, Suna.”
Atsumu turned to go after Sakusa. “You take care of ‘Samu when he gets here in the mornin’. This
city’s too big for him.”

It took Atsumu too long to catch up with Sakusa. He couldn’t go as fast as he liked with the ache
scratching in his ribs. When he did, he fell into step beside him and they walked to the car in
silence. The ride back to Meian’s place was quiet, too. Sakusa had taken a risk by letting Atsumu
go with Suna, and by going himself. He hadn’t called Meian to tell him, and Atsumu didn’t think
he would ever mention it. It was directly against Meian’s orders for Atsumu to stay inside. Even
Sakusa, who mostly did things his own way, couldn’t justify going against that.

Atsumu watched the city lights blur by, his eyes unfocused.

He thought about what would happen tomorrow, when Suna showed up in Hyogo and confessed
all his dirty secrets to Kita. It wouldn’t be pleasant. Kita’s bonds with his men were built on
respect. No one stole from him, or went against his orders, or did anything without his permission.
Atsumu had never known anyone to step out of line far enough to merit a formal response from
Kita.

Suna hadn’t just stepped out of line. He’d erased the line completely and drawn his own, miles
away from the first. Atsumu couldn’t be sure that Suna would live to see another day.

And Osamu had been right there beside him.

Atsumu closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat of Sakusa’s car.

Suna had said he wouldn’t mention anything about Osamu to Kita, and Atsumu believed him. If he
hadn’t, he wouldn’t have let Suna walk away.

Suna would keep his word, but Atsumu didn’t know how much that would matter. Suna wouldn’t
have to tell Kita, because Osamu would open his stupid mouth and tell on himself.

As soon as the thought crossed Atsumu’s mind, he knew he was right. Osamu wouldn’t stand back
and let Suna shoulder all the blame. He would take some for himself, because if Atsumu could say
one good thing about his brother, it was that he had honor. Even if the hit wasn’t his fault, he
would admit that he’d been caught up in Suna’s side jobs. He would take responsibility.

Kita would have to deal with both of them, and Atsumu couldn’t guess how bad it would be.

Suna should atone for his mistakes. He’d caused all of this.

But Osamu…

Atsumu wouldn’t let his brother take the fall for this. He couldn’t.

“We’re here,” said Sakusa, his voice cutting through the uneasy sludge of Atsumu’s thoughts.

Atsumu sat up slowly, as if waking from a daze. He reached for the car door, but his hand fell
limply away. “Omi.”

Sakusa waited. He hadn’t moved, either.

“I need to get back home,” said Atsumu. “Tonight, before Suna does.”

Sakusa studied him. It was dark, and his eyes were even darker. A moment slipped by, then
another, and he said, “You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you?”

Atsumu laughed, humorless. “Yeah, probably.”

Sakusa got out of the car. Atsumu did the same. He felt as if his limbs had doubled in weight.

“Stay here tonight,” said Sakusa, watching Atsumu over the hood of the car. “You can catch an
early train in the morning and still make it back first.”
“Why?” said Atsumu. He smiled, but it felt weak. “You wanna keep me around a little longer?”

“Yes,” said Sakusa, surprising him. “I do.”

Atsumu pushed the car door shut. As they stepped into the elevator he reached for Sakusa’s hand,
and Sakusa didn’t stop him.
 Chapter 16
Chapter Notes

It is finished. Well, not completely finished. A sunaosa oneshot will be posted next
week with a little more insight into their relationship.

Everyone has been so supportive throughout this fic and it means a lot, I appreciate all
of you.

Atsumu laid in Sakusa’s bed after a fresh fuck and a fresh shower, staring up at the gray ceiling.
For the past hour he’d only thought about Sakusa. It had been impossible to think of anything else,
when Sakusa had let Atsumu strip him bare, and open him up, and fuck him in a way that was too
slow and too careful. Atsumu had dragged it out, soaking in each of Sakusa’s harsh breaths, each
murmur of Atsumu’s name, each bite of Sakusa’s teeth against his neck.

Atsumu thought maybe he could love Sakusa, under different circumstances, if he wasn’t about to
leave and never see him again. If he was honest with himself he might love him already, but honest
wasn’t something he wanted to be, not about this.

Sakusa breathed steadily beside him. In the quiet of the room, Atsumu’s thoughts drifted and
returned home to Hyogo, to Kita, who was probably sleeping, too. He thought of Osamu in Miyagi,
probably packing his bags because he’d be too restless to sleep, too worried about morning.
Atsumu couldn’t even guess what Suna was doing, because he didn’t know Suna, not anymore.

Atsumu got out of bed gently, so he wouldn’t disturb Sakusa, and slipped out of the room. He
didn’t have anything to pack, because most of his things were still at the apartment Meian had
given him. He thought of going back there to pick up his stuff, but decided against it. There wasn’t
anything that couldn’t be replaced, and he didn’t want to prolong this more than he needed to. He
changed into a pair of jeans that didn’t fit quite right because they were Bokuto’s, grabbed a jacket
that he’d found a couple of weeks ago in one of Meian’s wardrobes, and went back to Sakusa’s
room. When he nudged the door open to peer in, Sakusa was still curled up on his side, facing
away from him. He looked asleep, but Atsumu didn’t believe it. He thought Sakusa was awake,
listening to him shuffle around. Sakusa was pretending, because maybe he didn’t want to say
goodbye just as much as Atsumu didn’t want to.

Atsumu closed the door, swallowed the hot swell of emotions in his throat, and left the apartment.

It was nearly four a.m. The streets were empty and Atsumu walked alone as he made his slow way
to the train station. He had to backtrack after a couple of wrong turns, but he mostly knew where he
was going. He and Sakusa had driven around Tokyo enough for him to figure it out.

The next train didn’t leave until five-thirty. Atsumu sat in the station and stared down at his ticket
while he waited. It was a lot cheaper than the one he’d bought to get there, probably because of the
early hour. Kita had paid for the first one though, so it didn’t much matter.

Osamu would be in Tokyo in a few hours. Atsumu could have waited. He hadn’t seen him in
months.
A voice overhead announced his train, and Atsumu rose to board.

It was a long ride back to Hyogo. Atsumu sat in the back of an almost-empty car and stared out the
window. He dozed a couple of times, but shook himself back awake. His exhaustion begged him to
sleep, at least for an hour or two, but Atsumu refused. He was afraid he’d sleep through his stop.
But more than that, he was afraid his anxiety would trigger an episode the minute he was
unconscious. Without Sakusa there to calm him down, he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

He realized that the next time he slept, Sakusa wouldn’t be there.

He stared out the window again and tried not to think about it. He had bigger problems waiting for
him.

It was nearly four hours after boarding the first train that Atsumu set foot on Hyogo soil again.
He’d had to switch about three hours in and catch another one to bring him directly there. Atsumu
had expected a wave of relief from returning home, but there was only the same bone-deep dread
he’d carried in Tokyo. He climbed into one of the taxis waiting outside the station, gave them
Kita’s address, and sat on his hands so he wouldn’t pick his nails into a bleeding mess.

It was a few minutes before ten o’clock when he rapped on Kita’s front door. His heart was lodged
in his throat, the beat of it deafening. He shoved his hands into the pockets of Meian’s jacket. His
fingertips touched something cold, and he realized there was a litter of bullets in the pocket. He
would have laughed, if he hadn’t been so debilitatingly nervous.

Kita opened the door. He didn’t immediately speak, and Atsumu couldn’t find any words, either.
They looked at each other, Kita calm, Atsumu an anxious wreck, until Kita stepped aside and
waved him in.

The house was exactly like Atsumu remembered, but it didn’t give him the same comfort as
before. He remembered when he and Osamu had stayed there, and how safe he’d felt the moment
they’d stepped inside.

He didn’t feel that now. Instead of safe, the twist in his gut was nerves and vulnerability.

Atsumu sat at the low table in Kita’s kitchen, cross-legged, and stared at the wooden grain of it as
Kita made tea. Neither of them spoke. Atsumu slipped out his phone and glanced at the screen.
He’d left it on silent, but that hadn’t stopped the flood of messages from Osamu.

Where the fuck are you?

I’ve been trying to call. Answer.

I talked to Sakusa. He said you left in the middle of the night. The fuck?

I’m in Tokyo. Call me.

Don’t do what I think you’re doing Tsumu.

Kita placed a pair of matching cups on the table and Atsumu put his phone away.

“You’re not in Tokyo,” said Kita. They were the first words that Atsumu had heard him speak in a
very long time.

“Nah.”
“Explain.”

Atsumu took a deep breath and held the cup of hot tea between his palms. He remembered Sakusa
making tea for Meian. He wished Sakusa was there with him.

“I’m not in danger anymore,” said Atsumu. His voice was dry, cracked. He cleared his throat and
continued. “’Samu isn’t, either. The hit got cleared up last night. We’re safe now.”

Kita said nothing, but the steadiness of his stare prompted Atsumu to continue.

“Have you heard from anybody else?” asked Atsumu. “’Samu, or Suna?”

“No.”

Atsumu nodded. At least he’d made it in time, before they could give Kita a different story. He
took a sip of tea – to be polite, not because he wanted to – and said, “I fucked up, Kita-san. I fucked
up real bad.”

Atsumu told him a story, nearly the same story Suna had told Atsumu the night before. Except this
time it was Atsumu who’d been doing side jobs for extra money, who’d been sneaking around
without Kita’s knowledge. Atsumu was the one who’d killed Wakabayashi’s wife, and
Wakabayashi had sent men after him in retaliation.

Suna’s name didn’t come up a single time, and neither did Osamu’s.

Atsumu said he went to Wakabayashi’s penthouse by himself, that he forced him to cancel the hit
and then killed him at his desk. He was the only one involved. No one else knew anything about it,
not Suna, especially not Osamu.

When he was finished he lifted his tea again, pressed it against his mouth, but put it down without
drinking. His stomach was twisted into knots. He kept his eyes on the table because he was afraid
to look at Kita.

“I’m sorry,” said Atsumu, “for the trouble. I’m sorry I was sneakin’ around like that. I shoulda
been satisfied with what I had but I got greedy. It’s the worst thing I coulda done, and ‘Samu
could’ve gotten killed ‘cause of me. I’ll take whatever punishment you give me without
complainin’.”

Suna should have been the one sitting there, saying the same thing, throwing himself at Kita’s
mercy. He should have been, but Atsumu didn’t know what would happen to Osamu if Suna took
responsibility, and he wasn’t willing to risk it. Right now Osamu was in Tokyo, probably outraged
that Atsumu was ignoring him, but he was safe. That was what mattered. He wasn’t here, trying to
protect Suna by taking the fall for mistakes that weren’t entirely his own.

Atsumu could do this for Osamu, after all Osamu had done for him.

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Kita.

“’Cause you deserve to know,” said Atsumu. “You’ve been tryin’ to find out why they wanted us
dead all this time and it was me all along. Not surprisin’, right?”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Kita. “Why are you lying to me?”

Atsumu blinked up at him. Kita’s stare was a little harder than usual, but otherwise his face hadn’t
changed. “Huh?”
“You’re lying,” said Kita with calm certainty as he put his cup aside. “I know you are. I just don’t
know why.”

“I don’t know what you-”

“Atsumu.”

Atsumu pressed his mouth closed.

“I believe the story,” said Kita, “but it wasn’t you. You’re covering for someone else. Who, and
why?”

“I’m not lyin’. I really did-”

“I had hoped that you respected me enough not to lie to me, Atsumu. Not like this.”

The words were like a kick to the gut. Atsumu winced and said, “I’m sorry, Kita-san.” He chewed
at his lip and stared down at the table. “Okay. I won’t lie, but I won’t tell you the truth, either. Not
all of it. The hit’s canceled. Everything’s over. I’m here to take responsibility. Nothin’ else is
important.”

He expected harsh words in return, but all Kita said was, “Would you like more tea?”

Atsumu shook his head. Kita rose and refilled his own cup. When he returned, he sank down to his
knees and sat on his heels, blowing a careful breath over the steam of his tea.

“I can imagine you doing this to protect Osamu,” said Kita quietly, “but I can’t picture him making
these mistakes. Unless...”

“Kita-san.” Atsumu placed his hands flat on the table, the movement slow. “Please. I’m takin’
responsibility, okay? It was my fault. Blame me. Punish me. Whatever you’ve gotta do. Just stop
askin’, because I’m not gonna answer.”

“You understand I can’t let this go,” said Kita evenly. “If someone needs extra money they can
ask. I would have given it. Working for someone else, especially that kind of work, is
unacceptable. Putting someone else in danger because of that work is worse. If I pretend it didn’t
happen, it weakens my authority. I have to retaliate, and I have to make a point. You understand
that.”

“Yeah. I understand.”

“I don’t appreciate being put in this position, Atsumu.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Kita sighed. He took another sip of tea and put it aside. “Are you really willing to take the
consequences for someone else, Atsumu? Die for them, even?”

Atsumu’s chest was tight. He wasn’t sure if he would die for Suna. It would take a lot of thinking
before he could answer that. But he would die for Osamu any day. “Yeah, I am.”

Kita stood. “Come with me.”

Atsumu pushed himself to his feet and followed. They passed the spare room that he and Osamu
had stayed in after the attack at their apartment. They passed the small bathroom that Atsumu had
collapsed in after vomiting until he couldn’t breathe after Osamu had been shot. Kita entered the
next doorway, the spare room where Atsumu had once watched him sharpening a sword. Those
swords were crossed on the wall, and Atsumu’s breath left him.

“Kneel,” said Kita.

Atsumu could run. He’d taken responsibility and gotten the blame away from Suna and Osamu.
He’d done his part. He could run, and find somewhere to live quietly, and try to forget any of this
had ever happened.

But Atsumu would rather die than be remembered as a coward.

He paced to the center of the room and dropped to his knees in the middle of the floor. He lowered
his head, hair falling into his eyes, and stared at the tatami mat underneath him. He grazed it with
his fingers. It was smooth to the touch, well-maintained like everything else in Kita’s house. That
was the way Kita liked things, and it was the opposite of what Atsumu was.

“I’m proud of you, Atsumu.”

Atsumu whipped his head up. Kita stood over him, his hands folded behind his back. “What?”

“You’ve grown a lot since we first met,” said Kita. “I’m proud of the person you’ve become.”

Atsumu’s throat was tight. He clenched his jaw and said nothing.

He remembered all the suspicious thoughts he’d had about Kita when he’d been in Tokyo, and
how he’d been angry that Kita hadn’t told them about his time with the Black Jackals or Karasuno.
He wasn’t angry anymore. He didn’t remember why he’d been in the first place. None of that
seemed important anymore.

“I care a great deal for you,” said Kita. “I always have. I care about everyone here, but you and
Osamu are more like family than anyone else. You mean a lot to me.”

Atsumu squeezed his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. His eyes were hot.

“That makes it even more difficult for me to do this.” Kita slowly sank down to his knees in front
of Atsumu, putting them on the same level. He touched Atsumu’s shoulders, stared directly at him,
through him. “This is your last chance, Atsumu. You can tell me the truth, and I’ll pretend we
never had this conversation. I don’t like what I need to do, and you’ll like it even less.”

Atsumu shook his head. It was all he could do. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“Someone went behind my back,” said Kita quietly. “They did work for someone who isn’t me.
They killed for someone who isn’t me. I can’t keep that person around, Atsumu. There have to be
consequences, and I can’t have anyone thinking I’ve taken this lightly. This is your last chance to
change your mind.”

Atsumu wanted to take it back. He wanted to take back everything he’d said since he stepped
through Kita’s front door. He wanted things to go back to the way they were, when he and Osamu
worked together every day, and met up with the rest of Inarizaki for drinks and laughs, and when
Kita looked at him with that subtle smile that never touched his mouth, the one that danced in his
eyes like moonlight.

He wasn’t looking at Atsumu like that right now. Atsumu thought he never would again, because
Atsumu couldn’t give Kita what he wanted. He wouldn’t give up Suna because he would die
before he gave up Osamu, and somehow those two things had become the same.
“I can’t, Kita-san,” said Atsumu. The words were tight. “I… can’t. I’m sorry.”

Kita’s hands felt heavier on his shoulders. It was the weight of responsibility, of blame, of
consequence.

“Atsumu.” Kita was probably looking at him. Atsumu didn’t know. His eyes were closed. Kita’s
voice was level but quiet as he continued. “You’re not welcome here anymore. Not in my house, or
in my city. When you step out the front door, it’ll be the last time you see Hyogo. You’ll go
directly to the train station and you won’t come back.”

Atsumu took a breath. It was wet, just like his face.

Kita wasn’t taking his life, but he was taking something almost as valuable. Atsumu’s home, the
only one he’d ever known, the only one he’d ever wanted.

“Go to Tokyo,” said Kita. “Talk to Meian. I’ll tell him what happened the same way you told me.
Meian said you did well for him. Maybe he’ll let you stay, or maybe he won’t. That’ll be his
decision.”

Atsumu didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

Kita touched the side of his face. “Atsumu.”

Atsumu raised his head. He blinked through a wet blur to focus on Kita’s face.

“I’m sorry,” said Kita.

Atsumu swallowed thickly. His voice cracked as he said, “So am I.”

“If I thought you’d really done this,” said Kita, “I would kill you instead.”

Atsumu nodded. Somewhere in the tumult of his emotions, that gave him some relief. If Suna had
come back and told Kita what he’d done, he would have died. When Osamu inevitably stood up for
him, took some of the blame, he might have died, too.

It was worth it. This hurt, but it was worth it.

“If someone else…” Atsumu sniffed and cleared his throat. “If someone else tells you a different
story… If they say they did it instead…”

“This decision is final. Your story is the truth now, whether I believe it or not.” Kita held Atsumu’s
face in his hands, touched their foreheads together. “But if this happens again, I’ll have no choice. I
don’t want to kill them. That’s the only reason I’m letting you do this, Atsumu.” He paused,
exhaled slowly. He’d never gotten this close before. A few months ago Atsumu would have been
ecstatic, but now he just felt hollow. More quietly, Kita said, “And because I owe you, both of you.
I didn’t protect you like I always promised. I let you get hurt.”

Atsumu’s voice broke as he said, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t.” Kita released Atsumu’s face and sat back on his heels. “But I should have ended it
sooner, before it got this far. I tried and I failed. I hope this makes up for it. I hope you can forgive
me.”

Atsumu blinked a few times. He still couldn’t look directly at Kita. He thought if he did,
something inside of him would break. Instead he stared at the pair of wet smudges on the tatami
mat below him. “You’ll take care of ‘Samu, right?” he said weakly. “Since… since I won’t be
around. You’ve gotta take care of him.”

“With my last breath,” said Kita. “The same way I would have always taken care of you.”

A sob slipped from the vice of Atsumu’s throat. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and
said, “I’m sorry. I really am. Kita-san, I-”

Kita’s arms were around his shoulders, pulling him in. Atsumu clutched at his back and closed his
eyes.

“Is it worth it?” asked Kita.

Atsumu thought of Osamu. They were fifteen, freshly orphaned, with no one in the world but each
other. Eighteen, sitting in a jail cell waiting for Kita to bail them out after a messy street brawl.
Twenty-two, splashed with blood and snapping insults at each other as they hefted a body into the
trunk of a car. Twenty-five, matching each other shot for shot on their birthday until they both
passed out on Ojirou’s living room floor. Twenty-eight, and Osamu was bleeding on the street
while Atsumu tried to protect him.

“Yeah,” said Atsumu. He said it with certainty. Osamu had made some mistakes, but it didn’t
matter. They’d always been there for each other, and that would never change. “It’s worth it.”

Kita knew Osamu was involved, he must have. Atsumu wasn’t altruistic enough to risk himself for
anyone else. Kita must have known, and he must have known Suna was responsible, too. But
maybe this was Kita’s last gift to Atsumu, letting him take the fall without digging deeper into the
truth. Kita cared about Osamu too, nearly as much as Atsumu did. He wouldn’t want to see him
hurt, wouldn’t want to be the one who hurt him.

“You’ll have to take care of yourself now,” said Kita as he pulled back, “and you’d better do it
right.”

“I will,” said Atsumu. He wiped at his eyes again and took a deep breath to pull himself together.
“I will. I promise.”

It was the last promise he would ever make to Kita, and he planned to keep it.

The train ride back to Tokyo was both better and worse than the one to Hyogo. Better, because the
worst was over and Atsumu didn’t have to worry about facing Kita. Worse, because Osamu called
him repeatedly for thirty solid minutes until Atsumu finally gave in and picked up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” said Osamu by way of greeting. He was so loud that the
woman sitting beside Atsumu threw a startled glance in his direction.

“Mornin’ to you too.” Atsumu’s voice was still a little thick. He hoped Osamu didn’t notice.

“Kita-san called.”
“…Oh.”

“Oh,” repeated Osamu. He was furious; Atsumu couldn’t remember a time he’d heard his brother
so angry. “Fuckin’ oh . The hell were you thinkin’? Why’d you tell him you did it, you fuckin’
moron .”

“Don’t even start with me,” snapped Atsumu. He was torn between anger and sorrow, and anger
hurt less. “After what you did? Runnin’ around with Suna…” He almost said killin’ people , but
became very aware that the woman was still staring at him. “...doin’ side work without even tellin’
me. What the hell, ‘Samu?”

“I fucked up, alright?” said Osamu, still enraged. “I fucked up, but I was gonna take care of it. Me
and Suna were gonna go back and make it right.”

That confirmed all the suspicions that Atsumu had about Osamu taking responsibility for Suna’s
mistake. He would’ve been right there beside him, confessing sins that would’ve led to a bleak,
bloody conclusion.

“Well I made it right for ya,” said Atsumu, some of the anger fading out of his voice. He was too
tired to hold onto it, more tired than he’d realized until that moment. “You’re fuckin’ welcome.”

“‘Tsumu-”

“It was the only way to do it,” said Atsumu, cutting him short. “If Suna’d come back and admitted
everything, Kita-san would’ve killed him.” And you , thought Atsumu, although he didn’t say it.
Osamu wouldn’t care about that part as much. “This was the best way.”

“Best for who?” demanded Osamu. “He said you’re not allowed back in the prefecture. Not ever .
How’s that best?”

“’Cause at least I’m alive,” said Atsumu. “All of us are.”

Osamu’s breathing was heavy, angry. Atsumu waited for him to start yelling again, but he didn’t.

“It wasn’t your problem to fix,” said Osamu. His voice was calmer, so quiet that Atsumu barely
heard it over the ambience of the train. “It was ours.”

Atsumu exhaled, and all the rage he’d built up for Osamu the night before left him in a rush. “Your
problems are my problems, ‘Samu. Kita-san knew I was lyin’, so he went easy on me. It would’ve
been worse for you. Both of you.”

“You can’t go home, ‘Tsumu.” Osamu’s voice dipped even quieter. “You can’t go home.”

Atsumu squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah.”

“What are we s’posed to do?” Osamu’s voice sounded almost as broken as Atsumu felt. “This
can’t… I’ll talk to Kita-san. Even if he doesn’t want you workin’ for him, you should still stay.
You can live at the apartment and do somethin’ else and-”

“That’s not how it works, ‘Samu,” said Atsumu. “You know it’s not.”

“I’ll tell him the truth,” said Osamu. “I’ll tell ‘im what really happened and-”

“And nothin’ will change,” said Atsumu. “I made sure of that already. My story is the fuckin’
gospel. Don’t matter what you say. He won’t punish anybody else and he won’t take this back.”
“Why are you so fuckin’ stupid?” Osamu’s voice was a little shaky, the same way that Atsumu felt.
“Why’d you have to go and do this?”

“‘Samu-”

“Fuck. Fuck . I’m sorry, ‘Tsumu. This is my fault. All of it. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I
didn’t-”

“It’s not your fault,” said Atsumu. He wanted to say It’s Suna’s , but he didn’t. It was true, but it
wouldn’t help. “It’s really not. Look, I’ve gotta go. I’m on the train and people are lookin’ at me.”

“Where are you?”

“On my way back to Tokyo.” Atsumu stood and carefully made his way to the opposite end of the
car, because the woman was still staring and it was starting to make him self-conscious. “I’m
gonna see if Meian-san will let me stay. If not, I guess I’ll come up with somethin’ else. Don’t
worry about it.”

“’Tsumu-”

“I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.” Atsumu hung up, made sure his phone was still on silent so he
could ignore it, and tucked it away. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and tried to think of
nothing more than the low roar of the train beneath him.

It was several hours later when Atsumu arrived back in Tokyo. He remembered stepping off at the
same station months ago. It had been after a reluctant goodbye to his brother, and Ojirou had been
beside him.

Now he was alone, more alone than he’d ever been.

He considered waving down a taxi, but thought saving his money would be the better choice. He
might need it. He didn’t know where he’d have to stay tonight. Instead he walked – slowly, to keep
from irritating the pain in his side that he’d revived the night before. He took inventory of himself
as he went. He had his wallet, a handful of cash, and his gun. If he went back to the apartment
Meian had given him and picked up his stuff, he’d have a couple changes of clothes, at least.

Atsumu wondered where he would go if Meian told him to fuck off. Maybe Sakusa would give
him a couch to sleep on, at least for a night or two, or maybe he wouldn’t want to get involved.
Atsumu decided he wouldn’t ask. He didn’t want Sakusa to get caught up in his problems. He’d
done enough for Atsumu, more than he ever should have.

It was a long walk to MSBY. When Atsumu finally got there, it was with a sickening blend of
nostalgia and dread. He pushed through the heavy front door and started toward the stairs in the
back corner. He wondered if the guard of the hour would let him through or toss him back out on
the street.

“’Tsumu.”
Atsumu stopped dead. He didn’t want to turn around, because he didn’t want the disappointment.
That voice couldn’t be who he thought it was. It was probably Bokuto, because he’d picked up that
nickname for Atsumu, too.

But it didn’t sound like Bokuto.

Atsumu turned back and there was an impact that throbbed in his ribs. He seized the back of
Osamu’s shirt and held him, hard enough that it was probably painful. He buried his face in
Osamu’s shoulder and commanded himself not to cry. He’d already made a fool of himself in front
of Kita. He couldn’t do it again now.

When Atsumu raised his head it was Suna that he saw, standing a safe distance away. Suna wasn’t
looking directly at the pair of them. His shoulders were hunched more than usual, hands stuffed
into his pockets.

Atsumu pried himself out of Osamu’s embrace but didn’t go far. He kept a handful of Osamu’s
sleeve to ground himself, to be sure he was really there. “The fuck’re you doin’ here?”

“You said you were comin’ to talk to Meian-san.” Osamu nodded at the wide opening that led to
the bar, where several customers stared at them. Akaashi was behind the counter, doing the same.
Bokuto was sitting on a barstool, swinging his feet and beaming at them. He probably thought this
was a happy family reunion. Atsumu wished it was. “We found out this is his place, so we waited
to try and catch you here.”

Atsumu yanked Osamu in and hugged him again. He should’ve been mad, at least a little, but he
was so overwhelmingly relieved to see his brother that he could barely even remember that Osamu
had done anything wrong. “I missed your stupid face.”

“That’s just sayin’ your face is stupid too, idiot.” Osamu thumped him on the back and put a step of
space between them. “And it is stupid. You’re fuckin’ stupid, for doin’ what you did.”

“No stupider than what you’ve been doin’.” Atsumu glanced over Osamu’s shoulder at Suna, who
still wasn’t looking at them.

Osamu flinched. “‘Tsumu-”

“Don’t ‘ Tsumu me, idiot.”

Osamu grabbed a handful of Atsumu’s shirt and yanked him in again. He buried his face in
Atsumu’s shoulder and said, “‘M sorry. I shoulda told you.”

“You shouldn’t have done that shit in the first place.” Atsumu thumped Osamu’s back. “You’re
s’posed to be the smart one. Did you really look at Suna’s pretty face and lose the little bit of
common sense you ever had?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Sure it wasn’t. You didn’t even trust me enough to tell me you were datin’ him, ‘course you didn’t
tell me about the rest of it.”

Osamu pulled back and held Atsumu an arm’s length away. His face twisted, like he was in pain. “I
trust you. I trust you more than anybody.”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“‘Tsumu-”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Atsumu. He didn’t know when he’d see Osamu again; he didn’t want the
conversation to go like this, bouncing blame back and forth until it knocked one of them down.
“It’s done. Over.” He tried to step back, but Osamu’s hands were still hooked in the front of his
shirt.

“What’re we s’posed to do now, then?” asked Osamu. “What’m I s’posed to do?”

“Same shit you’ve always done.” Atsumu shrugged, as if this was a normal talk, as if he wasn’t in
danger of being emotionally gutted by this conversation. “You’ve said for years you should get a
new partner so you don’t hafta deal with me anymore.” He pointed at Suna, who winced away
from the attention. “There’s ya a new partner. Don’t cry when he’s not as good as me.”

“I was always jokin’. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Atsumu patted Osamu’s shoulder and peeled away from his grip. He beckoned
Suna over, and after an awkward hesitation, Suna drew closer. “Suna will take care of ya since I
won’t be around.” His stare sharpened. “Right, Suna?”

Suna’s frown was deep, matched by the crunch of his brow. “Atsumu, you shouldn’t have done
that. I told you I would take responsibility. You didn’t-”

“I said ,” snapped Atsumu, “you’re gonna take care of him, right?” Maybe Suna was the reason
they’d gotten into this mess, but maybe that meant he could help get them out of it, too. Osamu, at
least; Atsumu was already too far gone. There was no way to get him out, not anymore.

Suna had fucked up, but if Atsumu had learned anything during Suna’s confession, it was that he
really, deeply cared for Osamu.

“Yeah,” said Suna. He frowned as he tilted his head toward Osamu. “Yeah, of course I’ll take care
of him.”

“You’d fuckin’ better. If anything happens to him I’ll break Kita’s orders, go back to Hyogo, and
kill ya myself. You believe me?”

Osamu jabbed an elbow at him. “‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu didn’t look away from Suna.

“Yeah,” said Suna, his voice low. “I believe you.”

“Good.” Atsumu nudged Osamu. “Sunarin’s gonna buy you a house, didja know? A nice one like
Kita-san’s, he told me so himself.”

Osamu blinked at him and then at Suna. The twist of Suna’s expression suggested he’d never
mentioned that to Osamu.

“You guys’ll be fine,” said Atsumu. “So long as you watch out for each other and don’t run off and
start killin’ people behind Kita’s back again.”

“I’m done,” said Suna, before Osamu could respond. “I’m done with all of it. I shouldn’t have been
in it at all.”

“No shit.” Atsumu almost reached out to pat him on the back, but was afraid that the residual anger
itching beneath his skin would turn into a punch instead. He took a step back, away from them, and
said, “I’ve gotta go upstairs and find Meian-san.”

“Atsumu.” Suna’s hand was halfway raised, as if reaching to stop him, but he let it fall again. “I’m
sorry. I really am. For everything. I’ll make it up to you.”

“I already said, you take care of ‘Samu. That’ll make us even.”

“Stop talkin’ like we’re never gonna see each other again,” said Osamu, shoving him. “We’ll figure
out a way to fix this.” Before Atsumu could correct him, Osamu continued, “and if we can’t, we’ll
work it out. If you think I won’t ride out here to Tokyo to annoy the shit outta you every chance I
get, you’re dumber than you look. And you look pretty fuckin’ dumb.”

Atsumu smiled. It was a little strained, but it was real. “Yeah, yeah. If I even get to stay in Tokyo.”
He glanced at the stairs in the far corner. The security guard was watching them with mild interest.
“I dunno.”

“Go find out, then,” said Osamu. He took a step back, closer to Suna, and folded his arms. “We’ll
be waitin’ down here. The loud guy in there says he’s your friend. He seems alright.”

Atsumu glanced through the bar doorway again. Bokuto waved at him, wildly. Atsumu raised a
hand back. “Yeah, he’s cool. Just don’t piss him off.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Nothin’. You don’t hafta wait, you know. You could be halfway home by now.”

“We’ll wait.” This time it was Suna who said it.

Atsumu nodded and turned toward the stairs. Osamu and Suna could have left, and it would have
been smarter for them to get a head start toward home, but Atsumu was glad they were sticking
around. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to his brother yet, not after he’d just gotten him back for
the first time in months, not when he might never see him again.

No. They would see each other again. They had to. Atsumu didn’t think he could live without
Osamu.

He went toward the stairs and the security guard stood, but only to nod as Atsumu passed by.

At least Meian hadn’t banned Atsumu from the property. That was a good sign, because Kita must
have called him by now. He said he would.

Atsumu climbed four steep flights of stairs and found himself in the meeting room where he’d first
met Meian and Sakusa and all the other Black Jackals. It was empty and quiet. He knocked on
Meian’s office door, only half-expecting him to be there.

“Come on in.”

Atsumu took a bracing breath to calm his nerves before going inside.

“Hey, Miya.” Meian had been typing something. He pushed his laptop aside and gestured at the
pair of chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat. I thought you might show up soon.”

Atsumu sat, one of his knees bouncing uncontrollably. “Have you talked to Kita-san?”

“About you running around shooting people for an extra paycheck? Yeah, we discussed it.”
Atsumu’s heart sank. That phrasing wasn’t promising. “Yeah. That. He toldja I’m not allowed back
in Hyogo anymore, right?”

“It was mentioned.” Meian raised a brow at him. He knew what Atsumu wanted to ask, he must
have, but he waited patiently.

“I wanted to see…” Atsumu hesitated. His knee bounced faster. “I wanna ask if I can stay here and
work for you, like I’ve been doin’. Well, like I was doin’ before I got shot. If you don’t want me
here I get it, considerin’ what I did to Kita-san. I really don’t expect you to let me. It seems kinda
fucked up to ask, now that I’m doin’ it. I just-”

“I asked Kita if you really did it,” said Meian. Atsumu was relieved that he’d spoken. He felt that
he was on the verge of rambling, and when Atsumu started rambling, he had a hard time stopping.
“He said that’s the story, and wouldn’t tell me anything else. But it doesn’t seem like you, Miya.
I’ve only known you for a few months, but the whole story doesn’t sound like something you
would do.”

Atsumu chewed at his lip. “I took responsibility for it.”

“Doesn’t mean you did it.” Meian leaned his elbows on his desk. “Kita wouldn’t give me a straight
answer, either. He’s never told a lie in his life, but that doesn’t mean he always gives the whole
truth.”

Atsumu didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to make things worse.

“Kita always said you did good work for him, when he first sent you here,” said Meian. He
reclined back in his chair, relaxed. Atsumu wished he could be more like that, instead of so high-
strung his muscles ached. Meian shrugged and continued, “He didn’t even have anything bad to
say about you when he called earlier. Except for the story about you killing people on the side, but
that’s a whole different thing, in my opinion. And I know firsthand you do good work. I’ve seen it
myself, and Sakusa has always said you’re reliable.”

Atsumu’s heart flipped over in his chest at the mention of Sakusa.

“Aside from all that,” said Meian, “I have a strong feeling that if Kita thought you really fucked
him over like that, you wouldn’t be walking around Tokyo alive right now.”

Atsumu didn’t say anything. There wasn’t a safe way to respond to that.

“That’s what I thought.” Meian grinned. “Of course you’re welcome here, Miya. The Black
Jackals would be lucky to have you. You’re already one of us. Have been since you got here. I’ll
put you on the payroll officially.”

Atsumu was so relieved he thought he might collapse right out of that chair. He’d been gripping the
armrests so tightly that his fingers were numb. “Thank you, Meian-san.”

“We’ll talk some things over tomorrow,” said Meian. “Iron out some details. Swing by around
noon, alright?”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Keep the apartment I gave you for now, until you find something better. Or for good if you want.
Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll have to charge you rent if you stay, but I’ll give you a discount.”

Atsumu didn’t care if Meian demanded his entire paycheck. He was just thrilled to have a place to
sleep and a job to work. “Yeah, of course. Thank you, Meian-san.”

“No problem. Get on out of here, I have some stuff to finish up. I’ll see you tomorrow, but call if
you need me before then.”

“Okay. I will. Thanks.”

Atsumu felt strangely light as he left Meian’s office. Loss was still there like a gaping wound,
carved with a reminder that he would never see Hyogo again. But he had a new place to belong,
and maybe it would feel like home someday. Life wasn’t over for him, not yet.

He pushed his hands through his hair and took a moment to collect himself. Even if he felt like a
complete mess, he didn’t want to look like one when he went back downstairs to face his brother.
He needed to seem confident, put together, so Osamu wouldn’t worry about him. He rubbed the
heels of his hands over his eyes and flattened the wrinkles out of his coat. He remembered too late
that he’d borrowed it from Meian’s apartment without asking. He hoped Meian hadn’t noticed.

“You’re this dramatic even when you think you’re alone. That’s kind of pathetic.”

Atsumu whipped his head up, startled.

Sakusa was sitting in his usual place on one of the couches, an ankle crossed over the opposite
knee, an elbow propped on the armrest.

“Omi.” The name tasted like relief. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Bokuto called and said someone who looks suspiciously like you was hanging out at the bar,”
said Sakusa. He pushed himself to his feet and walked over. “I guessed you wouldn’t be far behind,
especially not after the story Suna told me when he called an hour ago.”

Atsumu sighed. “He already toldja, huh?”

“That you took a metaphorical bullet for him? Yes. I already knew it’s what you planned to do.
You’re not subtle. I’ve told you before.”

“I had to do it,” said Atsumu. “For ‘Samu, not for Suna.”

“You didn’t consider Kita might kill you when you showed up to take the fall for them?”

“‘Course I did, but it didn’t happen that way.” Atsumu shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, as if the
only life he’d ever known hadn’t crumbled to dust at his feet. “I’m all in one piece and they can go
home and live their lives. Happy endin’ for everybody.”

“Except for you,” said Sakusa, a crease dipping between his brows. “You’ve wanted to go home
since the first day you showed up in Tokyo. How’s that a happy ending?”

“Look, I’m tryin’ to be positive here, okay?” said Atsumu. He thumped Sakusa’s chest, lightly,
and was pleased when Sakusa didn’t recoil. Atsumu had been quietly worried that all the progress
they’d made at Meian’s apartment might have vanished overnight, once they rejoined the outside
world. “And it’s definitely a happy endin’ for you. You get to see me all the time now. Meian-san
will probably have us workin’ together, since we’re so fuckin’ efficient. You can act happy about
it. I won’t tell anybody.”

Sakusa huffed a breath through his nose. He was wearing his mask, which wasn’t surprising, but
Atsumu had gotten used to him without it. He liked seeing Sakusa’s face.
“You smilin’ under there?” asked Atsumu. He hooked a finger in the edge of the mask and tugged
it down to Sakusa’s chin. Sakusa scowled, but didn’t slap him away.

Atsumu leaned in to kiss him, quick and dry, before stepping back with a grin that came easy,
easier than he’d expected. “Come downstairs with me and meet my brother. You’ve gotta be a dick
to him the same way you were when we first met, though. It’s only fair. And he kinda fuckin’
deserves it.”

“I’ll do what I can,” said Sakusa, “although I have a feeling he’s significantly less annoying than
you are. If a little more stupid, considering the circumstances.” His arm brushed against Atsumu’s
as they walked to the stairs. “I can’t stay long. I have work to do. A lot of things happened while
we were locked in at Meian’s place.”

“Need some help?” asked Atsumu, looking back at him over his shoulder. “Some very handsome
help?”

Sakusa snapped his mask back over his nose. “Yes, but I’ll settle for you.”

“Don’t lie, we both know you’re into me,” said Atsumu. Talking to Sakusa was easy. Falling back
into the routine here would be easy. His chest still ached, and he thought it would for a while, but it
would get better.

“Take the day to spend with your brother,” said Sakusa, as they approached the ground floor. “You
can start back tomorrow. I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

“What time?” Atsumu already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear Sakusa say it.

“Whenever I get there.”

Atsumu laughed. He reached for Sakusa’s sleeve and tugged him toward the bar, where he could
hear Bokuto’s booming voice even in the lobby.

The last few months had been hard, by far the hardest of Atsumu’s life. Learning to live in Tokyo
permanently instead of as a temporary stop wouldn’t be easy either, and knowing that he would be
apart from Osamu was torture.

But Osamu would come visit, and Atsumu would adjust, and at least he wasn’t alone.

“He looks exactly like you,” said Sakusa, as they paused in the doorway. “Two identical Miyas in
the same place. That’s horrifying.”

Atsumu grinned and led Sakusa toward Osamu, who was at a table with Suna and a typically loud
Bokuto. Akaashi stood nearby, listening to Bokuto’s story with a stack of empty glasses in his
hand.

Things hadn’t worked out perfectly, but that was fine. Atsumu never expected perfection. He
didn’t think he was the kind of person who deserved it.

But he’d gotten a life he could settle into, one that had the potential to make him happy. His
brother was holding Suna’s hand underneath the table, trying and failing to be subtle, and there was
an almost-smile on his face when he glanced up to find Atsumu walking over.

They had a lot of things to work through, but they would figure it out. The Miya brothers had never
met a problem they couldn’t solve. They were both alive and safe, and maybe they couldn’t spend
all of their time together anymore, but neither of them were alone.
 They would both be just fine, and that was all Atsumu could really ask for.

Works inspired by this one

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!