@higolmki

Kido live reaction

[kldgo]

MASTERLIST

im kigo! 19.yo 🇨🇳 my blog is (18+)!

+ if you’d like to be tagged in the taglist please specify! there’s nsfw, and sfw works, if you’d like to be tagged in either, send an ask or send a comment. if youd like to be tagged in all sfw works, please send! Or, vice versa! If youd like to be tagged with a specific answer, specify as well!

a hiromi enjoyer, occasionally others

[kldgo]

(AN), No new chapters for TSTRBTM unfortunately, since I’m busy with work. But recently I’ve been missing him so, decided to make a short fluffy series with Princess and Kido but in the Modern AU🥹. Yuki is 21, from a rich family—all prim and proper, studying at a prestigious university and Kido is (basically) an overworked salaryman who’s also her boyfriend. Go get your husband, I guess.

tags, fluff, misunderstandings, jealousy.

taglist, @sensitive-creative-person, @aflowerofevil

YOUR CLASS finished early today. Any other day would have been strange but Friday’s classes were usually over four hours long and the professor had other urgent matters to deal with. For instance, bailing out her nineteen year old son who was currently in jail cell. Flying your bike several feet into the air for some dumb joke he was forced to do, is apparently illegal.

That was how you found yourself dawdling in the hallway of Kido’s company, hands primly folded with a tote bag over your shoulder. You were still in your university clothes: beige sweater over a colored shirtt paired with a similar matching skirt. The company was Kagawa.inc—a corporation spanning across Japan in varying sizes. Something something about logistics, and whatever the other things were. Details weren’t important. Not as crucial as the fact that it was his workplace there you came to, where you often lounged after your late shift at the kindergarten.

You took out your phone and pulled up messages. 'Here'. You sent then promptly pocketed it back. He'll know what it means.

Then, not a minute later, he emerged from the glass doors, in deep discussion with an older woman, but not much older than him. She was beautiful. And he was smiling. Not excessively so, but with a mere gentle curve of his lips. At her. Kido rarely smiled. If he did, you were usually the wellspring of such smiles. His mother or sister might be graced with several. But a colleague was rarely the case.

This case, perhaps, was different.

Kido caught your eyes from across the hallway and nodded, gesturing for the woman to approach you. Your eyebrows raised. Just slightly. You crossed your arms. Now, what was he intending to do? When they neared her expression grew even more adoring, like the flares of an expanding sun, warming your skin. You blinked. What was she...?

"Oh my gosh!" She cooed, smiling earnestly sash grabbed your hand. "You're his-!"

"Neice." He said before you could say a word, "My niece. She's my niece. Distant not blood related neice." He added.

You stilled. His what?

Gina looked even more enthralled, "Are you?" Her tone was giddy, as if she discovered something innovative about the galactic sphere and not familial relations. "Oh my gosh I never knew you had a niece this adorable!" She turned to you, " Sweetheart, how old are you? Did you finish school yet? I simply must know. You see, everyone here knows up to nothing about this man."

You slowly turned towards him, eyes ablaze. He didn't spare a look. Instead, he fixed his gaze onto the shiny nubs of his oxfords. The linoleum floors were murky.They needed cleaning. Indeed, they were. Perhaps he could help. And you would allow it. If it meant using his head as a mop. "Twenty one," You said and Gina did not catch the slight cool undertones from your words. She didn't have to. It wasn't her fault. Anyone who is your family, including an overworked salaryman current staring at his toes from chagrin, would know how to catch it. Gina is simply another hare. You were one, too. Kido was the fruit. And you're going to maul him, " and I'm currently in university," You continued, " I'm interested in Early Childhood education at the moment."

"Is that so?" She said, "My mother is a teacher as well. Absolutely adores that work. Talks about it twenty four seven, I'll tell you. Maybe I can introduce you to her sometimes?"

You felt your chest warm a bit, "Really? I wouldn't want to impose."

"Oh, I don't mind," She patted your shoulder, "She's been raving about how young people are repulsed by pedagogical work. With you, here, that's not always the case."

"It has it's moments," You agreed. "Kids are not so easy to deal with."

"Take it from me, I've got five younger siblings. And! At a farm! Can you imagine how hellish that is?"

"I've got an older brother myself."

"See? You get it!" She chuckled, "And, god, and forgive me for being so forward but the genes in your family is simply divine. Your uncle, though, he needs a little fixing. Not that he's not soothing to look at. You know the," She gestured to her face, "Frowning, needs work."

"I agree." You said, "He needs a wife to smoothen those lines."

"Absolutely," She nodded earnestly, "Everyone here keeps trying to set him up on blind dates.

This was the second time you stilled. Kido, who was stiffly standing behind the women, stiffened even more.

"Is that so?" You said slowly.

Gina, god bless her, grinned, "Yes! We had so many contenders."

"Contenders." You echoed.

Kido closed his eyes.

"One was a lovely red head," She counted one hand, finger up, "works in marketing. Bold, tough attitude. Another was sweet Mary from sales. He was absolutely terrible to her, though, reason why we locked him up in the pantry." She laughed at the memory, "We threatened to lock him there forever if he continued that attitude."

"Nothing changed, I'm guessing." You said mildly.

"It's not like we can transfer his office there," She sighed, "So we make do."

"I see." You said, thinking for a moment. "How did he decline those women?"

Kido opened his mouth but Gina beat him to it, "Busy. You know. The 'sorry, I can't commit since the only thing I'm committed is with my work’ sort of busy."

"Ah..." You nodded, sparing him a glance. His expression was morphed in a way you could not tell if he was about to pounce to the nearest balcony, or he was simply about to get on his knees and pray. "Ah, is that what he said? Not that he was committed to someone else?"

"Not of anyone I could think of," She said thoughtfully, "Why, is there someone?"

“Gina—”

"No," You said primly, "There is no-one."

Kido cleared his throat but Gina cut him off again.

“Oh! Leave a girl be." Gina playfully pushed him away, and he surprisingly went along with he force of her shove. "Enough about that old man's love life."

He was internally in flames.

"Old?" He hoarsed.

"I want to know about yours," Gina's cheeks went pink and she playfully whispered, though Kido could hear it, "Boyfriend?"

"She doesn't-"

"I do have one," You said with a smile, "I have a boyfriend. He's, ah, an athlete at my university. Young. Handsome. Outgoing. He takes me to dinner everynight. Brings me home after, too. Unlike most boyfriend, he's not cold, not frugal with his money and definitely does not lie about things he shouldn't be..." You turned to him, " lying about."

Kido closed his eyes again. He was in a relationship with a woman twenty years his junior, if he had not lied Gina would have never looked at him in the same way again. Even that is a mistake you considered life-threatening.

"Even the small little white lies, you know," She sighed, "But I'm glad you found someone and-"

Kido stepped in. He rarely does whenever there's a conversation, however, this one is different. His life depended on it. He placed a hand on your wrist, squeezing it slightly, "I think that's enough for today," He said lowly. "Yuki has class tommorow."

"I don't."

"She does." He said firmly, "And, Gina I think the boss wants to meet you for your weekly reports."

For a man who decieves so terribly you wondered how Gina believed it. She gasped, clapping her hands, "Absolutely. Forgive me, I'll get going right now," She checked her watch and made a sound," Gosh! I'm running late. Lovely to meet you both!"

She hugged you and waved to Kido goodbye, her heels pattering away as she jogged downstairs. Eventually, when you were both alone he turned to you, jaw tight. "Boyfriend." He said flatly, "Which class is that fool residing in. I would like to meet him."

"You can't."

"And why can't I?" He said coldly, "Does he not exist?"

"Oh, he does. It's just that. I'm your niece and you can't tell me what to do."

"That was a coverup I cannot have you going around telling everyone that you're meddling with a middle aged man," He said lowly, "Your reputation will be affected. What will your parents think?"

"That I'm giving an older man my weekly pocket money.”

“Yuki.” He strained, “Enough.”

"Alright fine," You said, a prim proper smile on your lips, "I will go to class tommorow even if I don't have an, and I will also meet my non-existent boyfriend who is an athlete and is in within the same financial regard as me. So. Won't you bring me home first, uncle?"

He closed his eyes, praying for patience, “Get in the car and we’ll talk about this.”

Before he could reply, you went onto the soles of your Mary Janes and pressed a quick light kiss, barely even noticeable against his mouth, to his lips.

“Of course, uncle. Meet you there.” You gave him one more smile, even more mischievous than the last, and walked down the hall.

You were going to kill him. He did not mind about that fact as much as he thought he would.

[kldgo]

KIGOOOO IMYIMY RARARARA

OMG SO SORRY I DIDNT SEE THIS EARLEIR YOURE MY RARARAA TOO

[kldgo]

How does it feel to have this much swag and be so freakin iconic? I hope you’re having a great day lovie!!

thank you 🥹❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[kldgo]

hii when are you going to continue hiromi's fanfic, hope you are doing well xoxo💕💕

helloooo I’m doing well 😭right now I got so much fics in my hands I’ve decided to finish them one by one instead of hopping here and there to write. So, I’ve decided to finish my High Castle fic first before jumping to Jjk. But dw I’m not dropping them anytime soon 🥹❤️it’ll just take a while

[lexirosewrites]

what they don’t tell you about being a writer is that returning to a long fic you haven’t touched in a while means rereading 50k words first because you don’t actually remember your own fics that well

[i-hate-gcse-english-lit-offical]

Asking the baby's due date ❌❌❌ outdated and boring 😑

Asking 'when will it finish marinating' ✅✅✅ gets weird looks from strangers, suggests the baby may not be a baby

[kldgo]

@aflowerofevil

[kldgo]

Please talk to me about Kido and Gina from Man in the High castle!

There is hardly any discussions on them and I just adore them.

HELLOOOOOO

OMG YESS LETS TALK ABOJT MY HUSBANDDDDD 😭 it’s insane how there’s no fics about them yet. But I jsut adore how sweet and gentle he is with Gina. Whenever he smiles he’s just :] cutie pie. Absolutely adorable when he’s jealous, too.

I have a love and hate relationship with him, sometimes I want to strangle him and sometimes I want to kiss his stupid face. There’s always some bullshit he’s up to in the next episode which makes me wonder why he’s even my favorite character. Like, “oh my god, don’t tell me he’s going to—yep, he’s doing that. We’re doing that right now.”

The show is a bit flawed on keeping up with the character arcs, so I wished they did more with Gina, instead of making her appear like I don’t know three to five second per episode or sometimes none at all. 😭 like come on if you’re going to give him a lover at least?????? Make it count????

And then there’s the last season. Which didn’t mention her. AT ALL. I’m not usually a fan of the cheating trope so I sort of wish Kido wasn’t married when he saw Gina. Half of the reason why I want to strangle him. He can never handle that baddie Gina. But I like to think he visited her home time time to time when he stayed in San Fran to work in the yakuza (missing opportunity to see dada yakuza Kido, I’m such a thirst for him can you tell)

I’m not really a canon x canon writer (I write self inserts) but gosh I’d love to write for them one day becuase they’re way too cute. I also need to see him more jealous. That’s like my drug.

[dataglitch]

I LIVE!!! I've been busy so here's some of the photocards done for TFCON LA! <3 Getting more stuff done soon, need to catch up on things uwu

[kldgo]

THE SUN THAT RISES BEYOND THE MOON

+ Episode Ten, “Palms.”

TAKESHI.KIDO / ROYAL.BLOOD.READER

SUMMARY, “A princess with fire in her heart, and an inspector with none. Paths are crossed—guns, glory and sad endings.”

# Political Drama / Slow-Burn / Enemies-To-Lovers /Mr. Sunshine AU / No Happy Ending

CONTENT WARNINGS, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Enemies to Lovers, Redemption, Older Man/Younger Woman, Canon Divergent, Mr sunshine inspired, Kido is Kido (menacing asshole) Mild Gore, Mentions of Death, descriptions of death, Kido-centric, Love Triangles

AT THE COTTAGE several minutes before, Yukiko fluttered around as you yanked on the sleeves of the kimono. The garment was a lovely shade of peach, flaring under the sunlight—delicate and soft embroidered with burgundy roses. Kotomichi hung behind by the doorway, silent, with his hands calmly clasped in front. His expression was, as usual, perpetually placid. It was ambiguous to decipher if he was pleased, or otherwise so, by the announcement.

“Denka, please!” Yukiko cried, “You are injured, you cannot walk, you musn’t—”

“Prepare the car, Kotomichi,” You said in front of the mirror, tying on the obi with sharp angry movements, “Whatever you must say now, forgo the thought as I have no interest in providing an audience.”

“You must not say anything brash, Denka.” Kotomichi said calmly, “You may be angry at the situation—but remember, Princess. Whatever you say will be used against you.”

You bent down, tightened the bandage around your wound so tight, you winced at the stabbing pain. You watched the blood of the wound slowly bloomed across the bandage, “Then let it.”

.

THE WOMEN IN-WAITING knew better than to obscure your entrance with pleasantries. They parted aside as you slid the doors open roughly and stormed inside. Right away there were the presence of three men you registered: your father, who calmly raised his head to the commotion; the Nazi official who shot up to his feet and the Chief Inspector, whose hands went to his holster. Your eyes landed on him. Takeshi Kido.

What were you suppose to think? That a man considered so honorable with his standing would betray the expression you dreaded. Contrition. Within the minute you stepped inside, his brows furrowed, eyes widened, his lips parted as if he had so much and yet so little he wanted to convey. Why? Why did he have the build of a man who approached a sloping phantasm?

Unless, he—

‘Then pretend he is otherwise for the sake of my sanity.’ Is that what your father had meant? To think of him otherwise?

Your hands curled into a tight fist.

“Who is that man that you wish me to wed, father?” You said coldly, your eyes on kido.“You,” Her voice trembled, “You want me to marry the Inspector?”

You had said it so violently Kido was visibly struck.

“You are mistaken, Princess,” Smith spoke up, “I am the man you are to be wedded with.”

Kido whipped his head towards smith. John did not return his look, and neither yours. He kept his gaze low on your ivory silk socks. He wondered if your soles ever felt the callous grip of the soil.

You did not realize your father could stoop this low.

You slowly regarded him, bewildered by the declaration.

How dare your father do this to you? The first thought scorched itself across your chest like the low, collecting tides of waves against a cliff. How dare you find out the marriage through a breathless maid? Then, it kindled into the coiling licks of a flame.

And, he watched. Kido watched. The words formulated in his mind were unintelligible. All he could maintain was his gaze, watching as hot tears rolled down both cheeks, watching as the soft features on your faces shifted into something more distraught. A daughter left alone to dawdle within a field of wilting flowers.

Your fists trembled by your sides. More tears followed.

Kido was a man undeterred by the sight of prisoners beaten, even held dying young men in his arms—whose last breaths were unheard by his ears. And yet, he was still a man resilience did not mean the absence of substance. Fumi, his older sister told him once— that a man who imposed such a suffering over a woman is a man of the lowest standing.

Kido swallowed.

“Then by god and any celestial beings above that could hear my prayers—I should not have,” You said quietly, a harsh whisper.

John did not flinch. Smith was not often easily rustled. His fingers, perhaps, it did.

“Chief inspector,” Eventually Tagomi spoke, his voice calm, “Inform the princess that we will convene in the next room.”

Kido turned to the minister, hesitant, “Your highness, she is—“

“Now, Chief inspector,” He said firmly, refusing to back down, eyes boring into yours, “If my daughter wishes to storm into a room, foregoing the manners of a Royal—then you, as the head of the Kempeitai should remind her of basic courtesy. After all, you will oversee her person, starting from today.”

Kido looked between the two warily. You only stared ahead, your posture rigid, refusing to hold anyone’s gaze. He was a man uncomfortably thrusted into family politics against his will. He gathered himself and bowed, “Denka, his royal highness wishes to—”

Kido was not able to finish a word when you swept past, the sleeve of your kimono brushing his suit jacket. His hands flexed, lifting up for just a fraction of a second—and then you were gone, through the adjacent room behind them.

“This would not take long, gentleman,” Tagomi slowly stood up and followed. The ladies in waiting shut the door, leaving the two men alone.

Kido was left staring ahead. And then, for a minute more he stood, until he blinked, remembering his place. He went towards the zabuton and folded his legs, settling down.

"So you are engaged." Kido began, staring at the painting ahead his hands on his knees.

Smith was still staring at the ground where your feet laid, replaying the words in his mind. The silk socks were still at the forefront of his thoughts. Smooth, the little voice remarked. The surface was smooth.

Smith spoke, “A recent development, yes. Are you going to congratulate me, chief inspector? I expect my handshake.”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Kido said, “You are, for now, a temporary concession.”

“Temporary,” Smith mused, turning around to regard the back of Kido’s head, “And yours is permanent, I assume?”

“Until the circumstances are clear, yes. “

Smith hung his head, fighting back a small smile. The situation was not particularly amusing, but John could not help the feeling of incredulity to grip his throat. Here is a Chief Inspector who will go beyond the ends of the earth for his empire. The same man who, perhaps out of petty, had agreed to an arrangement he could have declined. John rubbed his chin while he walked towards the dining table.

“Seems like you did plenty back there,” Smith said, gesturing to the door, “For her to think otherwise.”

“The princess is at liberty to express her opinions.”

His eyebrows shot up, “Does she, now.”

Kido regarded him coldly, “And I would like to remind you, even as her bethrothed, maintaining prolonged contact with the princess is an offense to the Royal Family. You will do well to remember that.”

John did not say anything. He smiled, “Of course.”

“That allowance is a temporary concession,” Kido said and straightened his back, “Along with the rest of the arrangement.”

Kido wondered—wondered how much you must resent him so to assume he was your betrothed. To despise a man like him beyond the horizons of earth that he was the first to emerge upon at every inconvenience. The chip of flint kindling the hearth. And wonder, did he. Unbidden, with his person beside yours, kneeling before your father’s graces. His palm upturned, and your own yet to be on his.

The image quickly went as it came.

taglist, @sensitive-creative-person, @aflowerofevil

[coelarcamth]

Leader

[axyr1d1s]

In Love there is Fear and Bravery

(Medieval!ACD.Sherlock.Holmes × noblewoman!reader)

Summary: The daughter of one of the most influential men in the kingdom runs away before she can be forced into an arranged marriage. What will happen when she meets a knight who offers her a way out of this prison?

Chapter 2: First impressions are not set in stone

The imposing towers that guarded the city walls were surely the first thing any traveller would see on their way to the capital. Perhaps that had been the intention of whoever had built them, centuries ago. Impress your allies, intimidate your foes, prove your worth to your inhabitants. Even if you had been to the capital quite a few times over the years , the sheer grandness of the fortifications never failed to amaze you every single time.

"Looking quite awed there, my Lady. I suppose Father Dearest's estate does not have walls as impressive as these?"

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. But of course. Good things never last for too long. Holmes had been so silent until now, and you had wrongly, it seems, assumed he was finally leaving you alone. Turns out he had just been waiting for the next opportunity to strike.

When faced with people such as the knight here, your internal monologue would normally be something along the lines of: "God, lend me strength..." , but you figured out any deity's help , no matter how obscure, would be welcome when dealing with your travelling companion. Anyone who would hear out your plea was encouraged to come and help. Reluctantly, you decide to acknowledge Holmes' presence. Otherwise, he'd continue his jesting until you finally gave him attention. Such a pity his coat of arms had a hawk, honestly. In terms of personality, he was much closer to a cat.

To be more precise, Holmes reminded you of this cat that would always lurk around your castle's kitchens. The furry bastard was not impartial to using every weapon in his arsenal to get the attention of the humans around him. What were the feline's methods, one might ask? Knocking over baskets of fruits when he considered he had been neglected, jumping onto tables while the cooks prepared a meal, even swiping some meat off platters , and then fleeing the scene like a common thief. If Holmes had been born a cat, you definitely could see him do such actions.

You look down at the knight. The best part of being on his horse now, and him walking by your side, was that you could have him look up at you, instead of the other way round.

"No, sir knight. I have not. Not everyone has the privilege of travelling the lands whenever we please, you see. Some of us mere mortals grow up in one area and spend their whole lives there. Oh, I know... Truly, a shame to have such a fate..." , you lament falsely, even adding a sniffle at the end to really sell the act. As your father's falconer used to say, "The Devil is a hard-working one, but I am even more hard-working than he is, milord". This phrase had become your motto for the past few hours you spent in Sherlock Holmes' company. He had made fun of you enough by shamelessly exploiting your gullibility back in the woods. Now was the time to fight back.

The knight acknowledged your reply with a simple hum. This lack of reaction, of course, enraged you even more.  "Shame, indeed, my Lady. But who knows? You are still young. Nobody may know what the future has in store for them, can they now? Perhaps you will be able to travel to far lands, some day."

"That would certainly be lovely." , you admit, with a nod. "I am sure it would be quite the experience."

"It is, I can assure you of that. Though...if you ever do end up seeing the world, pray never forget your humble knight. I would appreciate a souvenir from your travels."

"We shall see about that." , you reply, biting your lip, to try not to start laughing. You would not give him the satisfaction. His ego was already absurdly inflated, no need to have one more person add on to that. That was your problem, actually. He was annoying, certainly, he was also arrogant, but he genuinely was funny, as much as you hated to admit it. He had a wit to his words and a comedic timing that was unparalleled in jokes. If his mockery was directed at someone else , and not yourself, you'd be in stitches by now.

"Halt!" , a voice suddenly shouts at the two of you as you reach the city gates. A stern-looking guard stepped forward, glaring at you from under his helmet's visor. When he saw you were accompanied by a knight, he gripped his halberd a bit tighter. "State your names and say why you're here. His Majesty's orders."

"Tut, tut. Come now, Henry. Don't you recognise an old friend?" , Holmes asks calmly, not at all phased by the guard's firm tone. Any normal person would probably freeze on the spot, and actually follow the orders given to them by the soldier. Not him, no. Holmes had actually stepped forward. You give him a desperate look. He could act bold around guards all he wanted when alone, but now, you'd rather have him comply, so you two wouldn't end up in prison.

The guard — Henry, apparently — narrows his eyes at the knight, wondering who on Earth was this man and where did he know his name from. He then sees the shield bearing his coat of arms, hanging off the horse's saddle, and finally seems to realise something about the man's identity. He barks out a loud, surprised laugh. "I'll be damned! That you, Holmes?! Almost didn't recognise you with your helmet on."

"In the flesh. Finally back home."

"Well, at least lift your visor up when you get near the city gates, man! I was this close to dragging you to the bailiff when you stepped forward!" , Henry exclaimed, earning a laugh from the knight.

"Yes, apologies for that, I take full blame for the helmet. You know the woods around here have been getting less safe as of late. Couldn't risk an arrow in the head."

While Holmes was busy chatting about with this Henry fellow, you were giving him a side-eyed glare. An arrow in the head. There were archers in the forest, and he did not bother to offeryou  any sort of armour?! Or at least warn you?! What a twat.

Henry chuckled and nodded. "True enough. We've had to increase the number of men on patrol for the night watch. Less time for taverns these days, I fear... say, who's the lass?"

"Oh, her?" , Holmes asks, pointing at you. "Watson's wife got a new maid. Some cousin of hers , whose family died of the plague. I made sure she arrived here unharmed." He delivered the story smoothly, without any hesitation. The details had been practised on the way here, so that even in the unlikely event that you'd be pulled aside for questioning, your stories would match.

"Ahh. I see. Mary's always been a kind one. Going to Watson, then? Send the man my greetings. And tell him I'm still waiting for that wine he promised me!"

"Will do, Henry. Take care."  , Holmes confirmed, tipping his visor at Henry as a sort of goodbye. Far more dignified than waving while wearing plate armour. And less noisy, too.

Henry respectfully tipped his visor at you two as you passed by him and entered the city.

The first thing your mind registered once inside the capital's walls was the the sheer dynamism of everything surrounding you. It was a true ambush on all of your sensory faculties, from every direction. It was nothing like life in a country manor, that much was obvious, and you could not help but take in everything going on around.

Nobles glancing in disdain at the common folk, from their high horses , as they passed through the crowds, their hired swords not far behind. Children running around, playing a game of tag, while dodging carts and horses, ignoring the exasperated yells of adults. The noise of a commotion at the tavern round the corner, where someone had clearly lost too much at dice. A woman passing by the tavern with her son quickly covered the little one's ears and picked up the pace, hoping to shield the boy from the very crude words the gamblers were throwing at each other. He'd have time to learn the wonderful intricacies of curses when he was older. Let him live in blissful innocence for a few more years.

It was no wonder the city had come to life. At this hour, the market was still ongoing. The bustling main square had stalls everywhere. Merchants were selling their wares , their shouts echoing from every direction.

"Bread and pies, come get them, right out of the oven!"

"Fresh vegetables, people!"

"Fish, caught this morning!"

"Need your blade sharpened? Let the apprentice of the best swordsmith in the kingdom help with that!"

"You won't find better ale anywhere else!"

"Pots for sale, twice fired! Sturdy pots, for sale!"

You passed by a stand selling some particularly appealing pastries. Apple pies, cheesecakes, breadrolls, all lined up on the table. They looked delicious, and reminded you of the snacks you used to steal before supper , back at your father's castle... but you had no coins on you, and you doubted Holmes would actually get you something. He had the air of a pinch-purse. The kind of man who would ask: "Why waste money on food from the market when we can wait until we reach Watson's home, and eat for free?".

As it would turn out, appearances deceived. Because after you two passed by the stall, the knight stopped for a moment, before steering the horse to the edge of the square, away from the crowds. He said nothing about why he was suddenly stopping, he just gave you the reins of his horse.

"Keep an eye on her for a bit, will you?" , Holmes asks.

Before you can open your mouth to protest, and remind him that you were a lady , not a stable boy (even if you were currently pretending to be a commoner, you still had your dignity!) , he had left you. Absolutely rude. Such a scoundrel of a man. He probably thought that if he flashed you his arrogant smile when he returned, you'd forgive him. Oh, no, you would not. Damn him. Damn his constant bantering. And damn his stupid , cocky smile. And those shrewd grey eyes , damn that glint they sometimes got as well when he spoke, if we're at it. Who did he think he was? Perhaps other ladies were not immune to his charms, and he had gotten used to this power. Well, his luck will be running out on this lady, you had decided!

Holmes returns to your side a few minutes later, holding what appeared to be two pastries. Why did he get two? You raise an eyebrow at him.

"What is the meaning of this?" , you ask him, not trying to get your hopes up. He seemed like the type of man who was petty enough to get two portions, only to then eat them both in front of you.

"Well, what does it look like? Two cheesecakes. Fresh from the ovens, too, the baker assured me! Don't they look delicious, my Lady?" , he replies cheerfully. "We passed by that stall a few minutes ago. And I considered that the fairest lady in this market, no, the fairest lady in this whole city, would deserve the finest dessert there is." With a theatrical bow, he offers you one of the cakes, holding it on his palm as if he was handing you some precious scroll.

You take the cheesecake from him. "Thank you, sir knight. You are most kind."

"No need to thank me, my Lady. What sort of sorry knight would I be if I didn't feed thee after such a long journey?"

You raise an eyebrow, too busy eating the dessert to give him a response. He was being very nice, all of a sudden. Was he planning something, and this was just a way of letting your guard down?

"Are you attempting to butter me up for something, sir knight?" , you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Yes and no."

"That is not a very concrete answer."

"You're a bright woman, you'll figure out what I mean. Eventually, I suppose." , Holmes responded with an ominous smile. He then gave you a knowing look. "Are you still hungry , my Lady?"

"What makes you think that?" , you say, as if you hadn't been eyeing the cake in his hand ever since you finished yours.

"I really don't know , my Lady... you do seem awfully entranced by my cheesecake. In fact, you have been staring at it for so long that I feel envious."

"You feel envious of a cake? Why?"

"It almost feels as if you're too busy paying attention to it, instead of your humble knight. And here I was, thinking my fair lady enjoyed my company, when it was my cheesecake she was actually after!" , Holmes complains in a tone that was half-joking.

"Do not be ridiculous." , you protest quickly. Who did he think he was, to tease about your sweet tooth? "You have a lot of nerve, speaking to a lady like this."

"Ah, I see you are furrowing your brows again, your usual sign of annoyance. Have I struck a nerve, my Lady? You truly were staring at that cake with a look of intense longing..."

"Oh, you'd want me to look at you as though you were a tasty dessert? Not at the cake? Is that it, sir knight?" , you ask , amused. It takes you exactly one second after you've said the words to realise how flirty your comment had sounded. No. No, that had not been your intention. Oh, great. Now he shall think you fancy him and were just playing hard to get, when the truth was the opposite.

The knight smiled, his grey eyes crinkling at the corners. "I wouldn't mind that one bit, to be truthful with you, my Lady." He then offered you his portion , as if to spare you from further embarrassment by continuing the flirting. He had a bit of decency left in him , after all.

You take it from his outstretched palm, your fingers brushing against his gloved hands once more. You feel yourself warm up at the contact, that same odd feeling you got in the forest when he helped you on his horse. Even through his gloves, you still got the flutter, as if you were touching his bare hand. Whatever it was that caused the reaction, you would not dwell on it now.

A part of you had a small suspicion as to what you were feeling, and you were not willing to address the obvious now. It did feel awfully similar to what those maidens experienced in the tales you read as a young girl. Those stories of grand romances, dashing knights and swooning ladies. Love. Could you even call it that, in your case? You met Holmes earlier today. Was that even enough time for love to take root? Probably not, real life rarely worked like fiction, you told yourself. 

You take another bite of the cake, frowning a bit at the mere idea of feeling that way for Sherlock Holmes, the wandering knight who had gotten on your nerves more times than you could count. No, it couldn't be love. You were probably just starved for physical contact. Yes, that was it. Holmes was the first man outside of your family you had met, and your lonely mind was latching on to this little human connection you two had developed. When you'd reach Watson's house , you would probably feel the exact same way for him. It was nothing to worry yourself over. Besides...Holmes? Really? He was far too annoying for you to fall in love with. You would not stand for such a turn of events to happen. After you spent hours glaring daggers at him, falling in love now would be a deliciously ironic twist of fate.

You wipe some crumbs off your lips, still lost in thought. Love dilemmas aside, you had far bigger worries now than the flutters in your stomach when Holmes touched your arm, such as the fact that your father and that lord he planned to marry you to were probably searching for you at this very moment. And if they found you, well, it was all over. Your father would never let you out of his sight until the wedding. It had happened to other noblewomen too, you knew from the gossip you'd hear from servants. They'd have guards by their door and windows, could only leave their rooms escorted... and then, after the wedding, you'd trade one gilded cage for the other. You had never met Lord Roylott, so perhaps he wasn't a brute who'd treat you cruelly. But even a kind man would keep a careful eye on his wife, if she had a history of running away.

"Finished your cake already, my Lady?" , Holmes asks, when he notices you had indeed eaten it all.

You nod quietly. "Yes. All done."

The quiet , thoughtful tone immediately made the knight realise you had been deep in thought until now. And by the looks of it, they were not the pleasant kind of thoughts. "Is anything the matter, your Ladyship?" , he asks , his tone much softer than before.

"Nothing, really." , you brush him off with a wave of your hand. "I was simply thinking of what might happen if my father finds me."

Holmes nodded, understanding where the sudden serious tone came from. "It is unlikely he'll find you here in the capital. Too many people to properly hunt you down. But even if he does find you somehow, I am willing to try and fight for your freedom."

You look at his face. He didn't seem to be sarcastic in this moment. No, he had meant the whole fighting part. "Fight for me? Why?" , you ask, puzzled by the gesture. He barely knew you, after all. Who in their right mind would do such a thing? You, for example, would not risk your life for a stranger you stumbled upon in the woods earlier that day.

"Aside from the obvious answer, with the whole "It is a knight's duty to help the vulnerable" speech, I genuinely believe you, my Lady, deserve to choose the course of your life on your own, without anyone nudging you towards one path or the other. And if you ran away on the eve of your engagement, I doubt you truly wanted to spend the rest of your life in an arranged marriage."

You shake your head. "No, indeed, that is not the life I want. I do want to find love, eventually, like any person would, but not a love forced upon me by my father." You pause and look up at him. "Perhaps, if I had met Lord Roylott in other circumstances, we could have been happy. But the idea of having no choice in who to love scares me. I do not want to follow in my poor mother's footsteps."

Holmes hummed, not interrupting to ask for more details, even if it was obvious he was dying to find out more about your background, now that you mentioned your mother. He had a vague idea what you were implying by that statement, though. Your mother had probably been one of the many ladies forced by their families into marriages they never wanted. A very common sight in your world, but nonetheless, a tragic one.

"You shall not end up like your mother. That much I can tell you, my Lady. You're actively resisting against your predetermined fate, through the mere fact that you're here with me now, and not in your castle chapel." , he assures you, his tone as soothing as he could manage.

As a response, you simply nod at his words. His reassurances had calmed you down a bit. He was correct, in a way. Unlike your mother, you had actually chosen to run away, that was already a huge difference in itself.

Holmes watched your face for a few more moments, until he was certain you were actually calm now. Once satisfied, he cleared his throat, and gestured towards an alley on the left. "Right then. We're almost at Watson's house." The moment of vulnerability between you was over. 

Sure enough, not long after, you arrive at a townhouse, at the far end of one of the many alleys that snaked around the capital's square. It was a well-kept, clean building, the white paint on its walls clearly new. Some strong-smelling herbs were hanging from the windowsills in pots. All in all, the house of a person who clearly did not like living in squalor.

Holmes stepped forward, and knocked three times. The massive door opened a bit later, revealing a broad-shouldered , robust man, wearing a clean brown tunic. He had fair hair, an impressive moustache, and kind, blue eyes. This had to be Watson, the friend he told you about on the way here.

"Holmes! You're back!" , the man exclaimed, pulling the knight into a tight hug, ignoring the armour his friend was wearing that made embraces a bit uncomfortable. He then turned to you, realising Holmes had come here with someone. Being too well-mannered to outright ask "And who is she?" , Watson waits patiently for Holmes to elaborate.

"I had a very interesting development on my way back home. May we come in?" , is all he says in response.

Watson steps aside, letting you two enter, even if he was aching with curiosity to hear everything on the spot.

[siffrin-enthusiast-deactivated2]

which mutual am i? ask game

[kermitthebomber-offical]

Im curious @astracaedes @zeta-finnish @fanboy-official and im too lazy to tag more bu astracaedes has a tag list

[astracaedes]

can i say all of the above

@skepticalvoidhedgehog @catastrophiccblues @dramatic1nlyf @the-one-and-only-piper-offical @friendlyghostsandmonsters @lightsabersandbluecookies @autisimyfoxerronii @shogun-midnight @thedogbard @ayane-chan-loves-water @jello-the-frog @skeletal-spire-man @irvnwithsciss0rs @mjthesilly @ninahufflepuff @kingkit7734 @evyyy77 @youngjusticerulez @roseisgoat @jel-e-ton-officalz @algae122 @obsess-over-ink-on-dead-trees @towel-offical @do-not-u-dare @mushroompie @gaster-wd @caffeine-hopes-and-dreams @do-not-u-dare @themosteclecticwitch @instant-yuri-machine @marshmallow-dust @la-femmerouge @paper-stars-still-glow @kermitthebomber-offical @no-one-offical @null-the-void-monarch-offical @zeta-finnish

[catastrophiccblues]

Oooh probably breeze and lilac?

and bits of everything else lol

what about mee?

@thedogbard @obsessivebookwormalert @the-one-and-only-piper-offical @kingkit7734 @skeletal-spire-man @lightsabersandbluecookies @caffeine-hopes-and-dreams

[makeitfast9052]

orchid mindaro lilac and merlot

@obsessivebookwormalert @lightsabersandbluecookies @kingkit7734 @printer-reads-505 @potterwitch4 @thedogbard and you prev

[thedogbard]

you're mindaro, breeze, lilac and merlot

[makeitfast9052]

ok i (read: we) need therapy and i should take care of myself i agree but ?? what did i do to deserve breeze?? and lilac??? im not that cool what

[thedogbard]

I'm not at all cool either so it's fine😭

[makeitfast9052]

you. think youre not cool

huh

what

@catastrophiccblues @obsessivebookwormalert @kingkit7734 back me up

[kingkit7734]

U r cool

[thedogbard]

EXCUSE ME? I THOROUGHLY DISAGREE AND DON'T ENDORSE THIS IN ANY WAY😭

[forbiddenmonumentinfiltrator]

this is so so so zeno, no one can tell me otherwise.

[kldgo]

@aflowerofevil

[kldgo]

discord is banned in my country?????? Is that why I can’t access it!??? ARE YOU KIDDINGG ME

[kldgo]

THE SUN THAT RISES BEYOND THE MOON

+ Episode Nine, “Black Bird."

TAKESHI.KIDO / ROYAL.BLOOD.READER

SUMMARY, “A princess with fire in her heart, and an inspector with none. Paths are crossed—guns, glory and sad endings.”

# Political Drama / Slow-Burn / Enemies-To-Lovers /Mr. Sunshine AU / No Happy Ending

CONTENT WARNINGS, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Enemies to Lovers, Redemption, Older Man/Younger Woman, Canon Divergent, Mr sunshine inspired, Kido is Kido (menacing asshole) Mild Gore, Mentions of Death, descriptions of death, Kido-centric, Love Triangles

JOHN SMITH sat in the backseat of the black motorcar. As the wheels glided over the road, he sat with an ankle crossed over his knee.

For some time now, he was pensive with a cigarette dangled loosely between his fingers. Beat after beat, his days were saturated plenty with public appearances, flicking his signature across paperwork, and his much needed presence in a holding cell, overseeing interrogators crack a metal pole against prisoner’s spine. It was not often he had a moment like this. A moment where he could just sit and simply think.

He had the windows rolled down, to allow the plume to leave so it wouldn’t shroud the interior, not to bother his driver’s nostrils. Paul’s, he recalled, were quite sensitive.

The wind billowed, raking through the well kept strands of his hair, against his face as he rested his head against the ledge. The country air was a peaceful reprieve from the smother of the bustling cities. He felt the tight knot behind his eyes loosen when he traced the gentle rolls of green hills undulating across the horizon with his gaze.

As the rows of trees passed by, he was reminded—fervently— of his life back in the farm. Back home, when John was just seventeen. How the muscles roping his arms ached every morning, dawn until dusk: hauling logs into trucks, and then unloading the batches, and then settling them onto a crate before his father. His father, who stood—soaked to the bone with sweat, murky shirt plastered to his back—under the dim orange light of the barn would turn around with a weary smile, an axe in one hand.

“One day,” He’d grunt. The axe plummeted down, cleaving the log into two. “We’ll find a nice place in the city, yeah?”

John nodded absently. The words eluded his ears; he was eager to get the chore done. Winter was approaching. Mother needed more logs for the fireplace and the Reeds Family a few blocks down promised him a good sum for several.

“Why does it matter if its nice?” John muttered, rocking on his heels, “A place is enough.”

“Don’t be such a bore, Johnny,” His father laughed and then coughed— then coughed some more, bending over, napkin pressed to his mouth. When he pulled it away, John noticed dark red blots against the white fabric, which his father quickly tucked away into his pocket.

Is it because of the empty glass bottles John noticed in the dumpster? The ones that smelled? He did not ask. He did not say.

“You need to aim big,” He cleared his throat, raising the axe, “When you aim big you reach far. And when you aim far, far enough that you can’t look behind to see where you’ve started— it means you’ve made it big.”

Little John thought about his father’s words and the person in question, especially. He looked up until his eyes reached his father’s neck, to the tie knotted around his collar. Then to the ground, to the oxfords shaping his father’s feet. Ridiculous, how a lumberer is dressed in a salaryman’s clothes—in the same tie and the same shoes he used to wear when he was a banker. Now he wore the same, sending batches of woods to neighbour’s houses.

“Have you made it big, dad?” John asked.

The axe came down. The log cleaved into two.

“If I didn’t,” He grinned, “Would I have you?”

Then why did he leave?

It was one morning. Fifth of May, when he came into the barn. The sky was still an early mellow blue—no clouds, no sun, no stars in sight. The part of day where everyone was still stuck in bed, snoring. And it was this day, pushing the wooden doors with his palms that he first noticed the soles of his father’s shoes. They were several feet into the air, pointed downwards. The same pair of shoes, John realized, with the same gleam.

“Sir, the estate is approaching,” Paul said.

Smith snapped out of his reverie and closed his eyes for a moment. When the shoes dissipated, along with the rest of his memories, he caught his driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror and nodded, “Slow, Paul. I want to take in the scenery.”

Paul nodded, “Of course, sir.”

Smith flicked the cigarette out of the window. It fell to the grass, crushed and litless. I don’t think I can see what’s behind me, anymore, he thought, rolling the windows up. How could he? He stood at a junction on the road, the path behind him stretched too far beyond the barn, beyond the rope, beyond the boy who carried logs to his father every evening.

.

THE MOTORCAR pulled up by the bend. The pathway had cherry blossom trees lined up on each side, shadowing the car from the sun as they drove up towards the entrance. Beyond the cloak of pink petals, the rooftop of the mansion emerged, large and representative of traditional Japanese architecture.

The land initially belonged to an American aristocrat and given to the royal family after the war as a gift of appeasement from the Reich. They figured the royals did not need much buttering—rich pompous fools simply connected by blood. They were wrong.

When the car was parallel to the entrance, Paul killed the engine. A royal soldier came forth and opened the door. As John stepped out, cap in his hands, a red carpet was laid on the pavement, trailing up the stairs.

The Tagomi estate was no doubt resplendent to the eyes. Beautiful indeed, unlike the apartment he was holed up in New York—luxurious, absolutely, but not anything like this. With gardens that stretched over miles, curling with blooms the color of poppies and lavender.

He had not carried out background checks on the princess. Even when it was customary for a soldier his rank to do so. Surprises were often unwelcomed, and when unwelcomed they brought danger. However, for this, he decided, the process should be lenient.

A petal drifted somewhere from above, meandering towards the ground. Smith opened his palms, and it landed softly against his skin.

“Sir,” The soldier said, “His Royal Highness is expecting you.”

He stared at the petal longer before replying, “What do you think of her?”

The soldier blinked, “Her, sir?”

“The princess?” His eyes swiveled up, amused, “You’re the front guards, you must’ve met her.”

The soldier looked down, abashed, his neck flushed red, “It would be blasphemous of me to say, sir.”

“Did you?” He asked.

The young man nodded, just barely. Then said, so quietly, “Yes, sir.”

And among his musings, a singular thought struck him. ‘What would she be like?’. His fiancée. The woman he would come to hold in his arms, and perhaps arise with her face next to his own on his bed. This spurred on a childish sort of curiosity.

“Is she…pretty?” He asked, his own voice hushed.

The young soldier widened his eyes, extremely shocked. Quick and discreet, he glanced around to ensure there were no eavesdroppers then he lowered his voice, “You mustn’t ask that, obergruppenführer.”

“Why not?” Smith was curious, what is with all this discretion? “She is the symbol of your empire. Surely, her appearance is a focus.”

“It is a rule we cannot speak about her beauty, her father forbids so,” He explained, “He does not wish for any man to speak of her so crassly, even by a family member. It is execution by death if you are heard speaking that way to, or about her.”

“Calling her beautiful,” He said incredulously.

“It is best you do not speak,” The red flushed darker, and he said quietly, “But I would know, she is very kind.”

“Kind. Is that all she is?”

“Men tend to often not think when they are around her.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I speak from experience, sir.”

There were not many photos of the princess around, regulations regarding her pictures were strict. She was young, the only daughter, and unmarried. In a sense he figured it would be not so respectful. Improper, even, if he did proceed as he usually did. A bachelor laying his sights upon a woman who is yet to be his wife.

“Is there…” He trailed off, “Is there any man she’s met recently?”

“Her access to male acquaintances is limited. However,” The young soldier thought, “As of late she recently visited the Chief Inspector.”

At that he grew irritated, “What for?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. Confidential matters.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. That inspector. Always so ahead of him. In the investigation, in gathering crucial intel—and now, meeting his fiancée ahead of him.

His mother once told him, if he was curious, he could deduce the character of a person by the groom of their living space. Here, every inch, every place his eyes were graced upon, he could not help wonder— Was she as gentle as the leaves that rustled from the trees; eyes as bright as the sun that melted through the cracks of the bushes; tender as the petal that landed on his outstretched palm?

If she were, then she would not last long. Petals may bud from flowers during spring, but during winter—they shrivel, they become cold, and they die. He found, from experience, beautiful things seldom last.

In this case, the princess does too.

Smith turned his palm over and the petal falls. .

THE WOODEN corridors were long, almost labyrinth-like, expected of a house this large. The servants themselves were always occupied—dressed in traditional garments, dusting here and there, trimming the grass outside, moving furniture. Wherever they were, they ensured not to block his path, quickly scurrying across the floors when his boots approached.

Always so punctual.

There were barely any pictures of the family. Everywhere he looked—on the surface of cabinets, on the walls where a framed picture would have to be—there was none. Or, were they taken off? Yanked out of the bolts, and tucked away elsewhere. In a plastic compartment or a crate. The rectangular shaped dust on several walls were telling.

The Minister’s wife and son passed during the war—perhaps that was the case. The deaths might have taken a toll on the family, slipped into the cracks and cleaved the fragments into a ravine wide enough for any remains of their souls to plummet through. After all, a mother and a brother, how could one move forward from that?

Unless she was as cold as they say.

Little Snow.

After passing several shoji doors, the soldier stopped by one. Standing before were two women in a white kimono with red flowers blooming across the sleeves. Their heads were downcast, constantly bowed.

One greeted him and said, “His Royal Highness is waiting inside.”

“Of course,” He was about to step in when the soldier behind him cleared his throat.

“Your shoes, obergruppenführer.” He said quietly.

John glanced down and noted everyone was wearing socks.

“Forgive me, that must’ve slipped my mind,” A little aware of himself, self-conscious, he bent onto one knee, pulling out the lace.

And only after did he respectfully set the boots aside it struck him that he should have taken them right outside. He caught eyes of the sweeper, with her head poking out one of the shoji walls. He gave her an abashed smile. She sighed, turned around and left.

The women slid the doors aside. He went inside the room, alighted by the light through the open window. Trade Minister Tagomi was across the room, cushioned on the zabuton before a low wooden tea table. This had to be the dining room, he assumed taking notice of the cutlery cabinet stretching across the far end of the room.

The shoji walls, Tagomi sat before, were of a painting, streaks of brushes denoting mountains and clouds with temples atop.

“Your Royal Highness,” John bowed, reverently, “It is my pleasure to be invited to your estate.”

“Likewise,” Tagomi, with his expression gentle, gestured to the zabuton on the other side of the table, “Please, have a seat. The ride must be long, Obergruppenführer.”

“Smith is fine,” He assured.

“If you insist.”

John slowly lowered himself onto the zabuton, wincing at the tight stretch of his pants as he—attempted to and even if he succeeded, he was still miserable by the results—crossed his legs. It was military regalia, suitable for appearance and standing on hour’s ends not for kneeling. The fabric drew taut across his back and he sat rigidly, adjusting in his seat before smiling.

There was an empty zabuton beside him.

For the princess.

“Her highness is not yet here, I assume?” He asked, a grasp for small talk, just anything.

Tagomi regarded him silently for a moment, “She is currently away on an…errand,” He reached for the teapot and poured it into the cup, “But do not worry; she will return in a few hours. My daughter does not dawdle.”

“Of course,” Smith said mildly, “She is a kindergarten teacher, is she not?”

“She is.”

“And the founder,” John went on, “An impressive achievement for a young woman her age. Not many can do the same.”

“Because they simply do not have the means to.” Tagomi said, still with that same gentle smile, “My daughter acknowledges her privilege, and is willing to use it for the greater good.”

John laughed, rubbing his sweat-stricken palms over his thighs, “Very inspirational, indeed. It is a noble feat, I would have to say—to teach, to educate children.”

“She teaches history,” He pushes the teacup to Smith.

“Does she?” He smiled, “My mother was a teacher too.”

Tagomi smiles, “Happy coincidences, are they not?”

“They are,” Smith said, “And she was a good woman. Just as your daughter is. Fulfilling her role seeing to the children.”

“Is that so?” Tagomi said, “Then you should understand why, as a father of a daughter who is five and twenty, I would hesitate to accept a marriage offered by a man who is beyond his youthful years and neither representative of the Aryan ideal.”

One could wonder why the Führer kept him.

Smith bit the flesh inside his cheek. It is very peculiar—the Minister does not look as delighted as a father would, upon the discovery that a high ranking Nazi official as he is willing to wed his daughter. The name, the title, the luxury that comes with it, any other parent would weep with their hands grasping his own, their head bowed, on their knees.

That is not the case for the Trade Minister, it seemed.

“That is what I’m here for, isn’t it, your highness?” He smiled, tightly, “To ensure this marriage proceeds smoothly.”

“No,” Tagomi shook his head, “we are here for different reasons.”

“Reasons which I—”

“I would implore you to understand the motives of a man who’s life depends on his only daughter’s survival.”

John opens his mouth, suddenly interrupted by the shoji doors sliding open.

“Your highness, you have summoned me?” The voice—a familiar voice—spoke.

Tagomi raised his head and regarded the newcomer expectantly. John Smith frowned—who could have interrupted them?— and turned around. The man stood a few feet away, beside the entrance. And the man, this very man, is the same who stood before him hours ago, whose eyes lay cold behind clear glass lenses.

Smith’s eyes widen, baffled, “Chief Inspector?”

Just how is that man always everywhere?

Kido was just as baffled. What was a Nazi doing here? Both men locked eyes, a tense wordless staredown commenced with slurs of conjectures unspooled to justify either appearances in the dining room of a Japanese Royal.

Tagomi glanced between both men and said, “It seems introductions are unnecessary. You both have met already, yes?”

“So it seems,” Kido said coldly.

“Happy coincidences,” Smith smiled.

Kido assumed the Obergruppenführer ventured to gain an upper hand in the investigation, by presumably extorting the Minister for information. Smith returned the steeled gaze with his own carefully curated hypothesis: the Inspector was here to relay the crucial information he withheld.

“Settle down,” Tagomi said firmly, “Both of you.”

“We were just reconvening unexpectedly,” Smith turned around, “As old friends do, right Inspector?”

“I am not your friend,” Kido settled on the zabuton beside Smith. When he realized it was several inches close to Smith’s, he pushed it more several inches away and settled.

“He’ll get used to me,” Smith mused.

“I will not.”

Kido was willing to use the gun in his holster, whenever necessary.

“The reasons for your summons here today,” Tagomi began, “is regarding the case of my daughter.”

Daughter? The princess? The hands on Kido’s thighs curled into a fist. Kido looked further perplexed and glanced to Smith who appeared unrepentant. Which he was. For the first time, he was ahead of Kido in a matter.

“Why is this man here?” Kido asked in hushed Japanese, “Bringing the princess here while this—”

“He is her fiancé, Chief Inspector.”

The words were uttered so conversationally that Kido almost cricked his neck, whipping his head to Smith. ‘This foreigner? You’re making her marry a foreigner?’ His expressions, furrowed and exasperated, seemed to say. The Princess is representative of the Japanese empire—if she were to marry, a Japanese man of Japanese nationality should—

But he kept those thoughts to himself despite his expressions not doing so. Smith is unworthy of being so close to the princess. What is the minister thinking wedding her to a German Nazi? Was he ignorant enough to think she, with a fire so potent, would be so willing?

“I don’t have time to dawdle.” Tagomi said, “I am an old man and I am not growing younger. Kido. Chief Inspector. You are a man of your word and your loyalty to the empire is never questioned. And for that reason you are appointed as the princess’s close escort if need be.”

Kido looked as though he was on the verge of opposing Tagomi’s request when he held up a hand.

“She does not travel often,” He said, “but when she does, Kido. You will be there.”

Kido appeared visibly baffled. He has his job—not to mention, currently chock-full of matters he’s not even close to resolving yet—and he’s not a babysitter. “Sir, the matter I am currently investigating is my utmost priority—”

“I am aware,” He said, “It is for that reason I implore you to balance your time. I implore you—listen to me, as a father who only has one daughter, one rock left in his life. Watch after the princess during the period of the engagement—only after the investigation is over, Smith you may marry her.”

Smith frowned, a protest rising up to his throat. Be near her, while he’s not permitted to even touch his fiancée? “Sir—”

The shoji doors slammed open. And all three men raised their heads, with all differing responses. Kido reached for his gun. John scrambled up. And Tagomi, a father, watched wearily as his daughter—clad in a formal kimono, stormed in. She was angry. Incredibly, and very much so. Her posture was taut, with those hands—he is yet to hold— curled into tight fists. Her lips, soft and capable of gentle smiles and laughter, were pressed so thinly it was almost a fox’s disdainful snarl.

Petals may bud from flowers during spring, but during winter—they shrivel, they become cold, and they die. He found, from experience, beautiful things seldom last.

Smith was wrong.

He was so wrong about many things—and he found that this was the first occasion he wished he were. The woman standing before him is neither soft as the flowers that danced in the breeze. Neither gentle as the grass curling under the sun’s embrace.

She was simply a young woman.

And he had never, in his life, wanted her regard.

Then again, he was a man behind the times. He was a man who always fell, one step backward while Kido took the step ahead.

“Who is that man that you wish me to wed, father?” She said coldly. Smith watched his fiancée lock her gaze with another man. “You,” Her voice trembled, “You want me to marry the Inspector?”

Smith did not know how the inspector reacted. He was not looking at the inspector. He was looking at her. Even then he wondered how the inspector felt that he was her first notice, her ire, and her first assumption in the room between the two men—that he was hers to be wedded. And then, he wondered if this was better. With a voice so cold, so disdainful, how could anyone look forth and raise one’s hand, declaring his affiance? Was it better for her to be so wrong, or so right that it felt enlightening with her ire expressed to him?

“You are mistaken, Princess,” Smith said quietly, “I am the man you are to be wedded with.”

And, it was only then that fire turned towards him.

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[kldgo]

MIDNIGHT BLUES

+ Episode Four, “Stuff A Pea In A Pod.”

HIGURUMA.HIROMI / READER / SUGURU.GETO

MIDNIGHT BLUES

SUMMARY, “HIROMI HIGURUMA, a senior neurosurgeon at Tokyo Medical Hospital with an outstanding track record, applies for the head director position to join the medical reformation committee, facing competition from SUGURU GETO, a senior cardiovascular surgeon. Meanwhile, YOU, an emergency room nurse and Suguru's friend, remain unaware of the hospital's political landscape. A unique bond develops between you and Higuruma following a late-night encounter at a mart.”

AUTHOR'S NOTES, I find myself finding comfort and ease writing this series, but fear not the plot thickens after this chapter!

CONTENT WARNINGS, Hiromi Higuruma/Reader Getou Suguru/Reader, Hospital Medical Au, Hospital Politics, Marure Themes, Drama, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, More Hiromi Centric, Descriptions of gore, Fluff, Angst, Age Gap, Reader is 25, Hiromi 36, Getou 34, Reader is referred to as Nurse

Hours Earlier...

SHOKO IERI stood in front of two glass doors, closed shut, with one gloved hand clasped around a neon pink highlighter. Her face reflected off the veneer sheen. Saw herself clearly in the impression: brown eyes lined by purplish-grey sullen lids, perpetually amalgamated into ennui. Her lower face was covered by a mask. The rest were the usual, black scrubs topped on with a white coat. Her crocs were, and she would have to admit it was a bit unusual, shuffling from one foot to the other.

On the upper corner, right beside the doors, ‘Cardiovascular Department’ gleamed across the brass tag in golden hues.

Behind her, the hospital passed by. And, in front of her—through those glass doors— was the reception. Miwa sat behind the desk, typing away at the computer while also occupied chatting with Momo. The glass door opened with a whoosh. Cold air rushed out. Shoko glanced up, the fingers around the highlighter tensing. And, there, standing before her—

—is Utahime Iori.

She hadn’t moved yet, her eyes fixed on a clipboard in her hand, stopping with the assumption the person blocking her way would eventually move. There, Shoko got her fill. Enough to finally retrace the features that her mind often danced to in sleepless nights. The scar on her face. Those eyes. Those soft, tousled bangs that blew gently from the hush of the AC. Eventually, when Utahime realized the person wasn’t going to leave, she glanced up.

Their eyes met.

Her expression was always pinched, in the sort of way that suggested she's always perplexed why some things are the way they were. Such as her current dilemma, the senior nurse of ER, blocking the way. Her cheeks were flushed— either from the cold, her presence, or her usual temper— she doesn’t know.

“You.” Her voice was edged, “You’re going to start a line.”

Shoko doesn’t waver. “I know.”

“You know?” She said, incredulously. “How long will you keep coming here?”

“Until you tell me to leave.”

“Then I’m telling you to leave.”

“I’ll listen to you when you mean it.”

“Then listen to me because I do.”

The last word landed like a vase swept off a tabletop. Shoko simply bore the aftereffects of the shatter, feeling every sting each fragment drew across her skin. Through the glass doors, the interior bustled: an old woman in a patient gown was wheeled from the opened door of a consulting room—where, the door cracked open a little, to show a young and a similarly aged man, arguing. Their arms, gesturing wildly. Their shouts were muffled as the doors clicked shut. Brothers. Sisters. Family problems where eventual financial stability highlighted those qualms.

“I won’t keep you long, then,” Her voice became quiet, “I just thought I’d return this,” her hands unfurled and the pink highlighter laid on her palms. "It's been with me for a while, now.”

At the sight of it, Utahime paused, closing her mouth. She looked down to the object in her hands. It was rectangularly shaped with the corners rounded off smoothly. The cap was scuffed with marks, and smeared with pink paint. A cat sticker, faded and peeling was stuck to the end.

“It could be with you longer." Utahime said.

“It can’t,” She reasoned, “It’s been too long with me.”

“Then let it be.”

She was here. Not for any reason a passing bystander would have imagined she'd have. After all, you'd be some sort of oddball. The Hospital—since funded by the Zenins —grew to the land size of Olympus. Emergency was a good mile from Cardio. You'd have to wade through meandering corridors that looped end on ends. Juniors like Yuji often got lost navigating the interior, and would sometimes be cut off by other department corridors, and hence, walking into wrong rooms. Sometimes, it would lead you to ones with red-stained floors and beds with tangled blankets, the monitors beeping.

Shoko’s eyes drifted from her hand, that gripped the edges of her clipboard tightly to her eyes. She said quietly, “Don’t all objects have owners?”

Utahime hesitated for a moment. Even when the heartbeat had leveled they continued to pulse. Shoko hadn't quite forgotten those eyes. Brown, soft and so wide.

"What owner does it have,” Utahime said, “if I already gave it away?” Then, she walked passed Shoko leaving her to stand between the two doors that struggled to shut.

.

SHOKO’s TYPE of restaurant was the snug, mellow kind—some dainty, niche French bistro holed up in an obscure alleyway nobody knew the first letters of. The bulb hung from a coiled copper hook, casting a dim orange glow over their table. The sky was dark, littered with tiny freckles of stars and you both took a spot near the window as the jazz band crooned on. The low chatter of the restaurant drifted by. Forks poked porcelain plates, while wine glasses were held up in toasts—and then clicked.

A scarf was wrapped snugly around your neck. You were prone to cold chills even when the air conditioner wasn’t all that extreme—hence, the arm warmers at the Hospital too keep your peace. Your off-work clothes helped, as well, all sweaters and skirts—comfortable, snug and soft.

“Why do you smoke so much?” You asked, chin cradled by your hands.

Shoko sat before you, slumped against her seat, nose pointed to the ceiling. In her hand was a pink highlighter she mindlessly turned over and over.

“Beats me,” She sounded as she always did, exausted, teetering over the edge of divulging you something— and then, eventually not.

You frowned, one fingernail worrying the scratches on the tabletop, “You always say that.”

“What else should I be saying then?”

“Something, maybe,” You said, “Something that could help?”

You had a sixth sense for those sort of things, noting her unusual mood at the atm when she slung her arm around you. She didn’t say much when she picked you up. You didn’t spoke much either as she drove.

You couldn’t tell her your dilemma. After the entire endeavor with the head of neurosurgeon Higuruma, the blackmail and card and all, you had forgot—point blank—that Shoko hadn’t liked involving with the Zenins that much. Not that you knew entirely of Higuruma’s campaign, you’d like to very much stay out of it, but you were sure you spotted Noaya and the Neurosurgeon being all handsy in one department you walked passed. Not in the, well, usual handsy sense.

“Nothing helps.” She said eventually.

You frowned. “You don’t mean that. Even nothing means something.”

“I do, and maybe you should start realizing that meanings don’t have much value when people are forced to confide.” Her eyes flickered to yours. She paused for a moment, searching your eyes — making you squirm— then she said, almost knowingly, “If I’m not wrong, you’re very chatty today.”

“Psh, what?” You drew yourself up defensive, “I’m always chatty, what do you mean?”

“Sure you are,” She smiled, lopsidedly, “You’re unusually asking a lot of questions. Probing. Prodding. Something good happened? Something, maybe, having to do with a certain card?

Your cheeks flushed with heat. I may or may have not blackmailed our boss’s boss into buying me food whenever I need it.“Depends.”

She opened her hands, “You’re being vague.”

“You didn’t answer my question, first.” You shot back.

“My question is different from yours.”

“How is it even—uhnnf!”

A blur of black coat plummeted into the vacant seat beside you like a rocket, sending you flat to the other plush end of the couch with a wheeze. A

“I’m so, so sorry I’m late!” Shimizu cried, quickly taking off her gloves and settling in, unbothered to give you space, “I got to the bus late today, and I took another one instead and it took the wrong route to the apartment. I forgot you had the keys to our place so I had to run all the way here, sweating with my panties wedged up my ass—”

“Do you mind?” You rasped, still smooshed.

She turned, looked down at your crumpled form, and then back up, “You’ll be fine,” She said cheerfully, flapping one hand. Not fine, hello?

Shoko said calmly, “Good evening to you too, Mizu.”

“Enough with the pleasantries!” She beamed, “I’ve got all the potty gossips today so listen in.”

So much for paying dinner.

Speaking of which…

.

DINNER WAS fun. Especially when you turned your head towards the bathroom was and not at the prices on the laminated menu of dishes the other two settled on. Two thousand yen. Carbonara. You crumbled. Several thousand more. Wagyu. You melted, spooling to the ground. And another more for drinks. You were oil, by that point. Suddenly, the numbers blurred and you’re a lot more calmer, realizing that even money—like one’s life, in a way—does not exceed permanence. You were smiling to the ceiling, reminiscing what it was like to be a garden gnome with a treasure trove under the soil and a house in the flower beds. Then, reality came back when Mizu chortled on one thick expensive slab of Wagyu steak.

“Aghck! Water!” She reached for a cup with her hand flapping.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the glass, “It’s one hundred yen.”

“You’ll end up as a fifty thousand yen hospital bill if you don’t give me that cup.”

Shoko had three glasses of wine with her Carbonara. By that point, you completely annulled the thought of even thinking about the receipt. She stood her ground well, unlike Mizu who passed out after three sips of her sake. And then was resurrected by another round of Wagyu. You didn’t drink any (weren’t allowed by your parents) so you stuck to a Mojito. And even then you kept nervously asking if there were actually any alcohol in it, since anything ends with -ito, made you anxious.

Mizu had looked at you blandly, “Cheapskate.”

“It’s not because of that!”

The Arcade came after in shrouds of sweet popcorn, clamors of 8-bit whirls and coins clinking slots. Across the area, purple to yellow to blue strobe lights reflected off the glass panes from the machines. Above, the solar system was in full display as round plastic globes from the ceiling. Kids yelled and laughed about, slamming buttons and jerking joysticks. In one corner, two girls were cheerfully gunning down zombies on the screen, cackling with the intensity a child has no business having towards fictional characters. You paled a bit at the name, ‘Bloodfest Delight!’ In thick bold red letters.

And obviously, Shimizu wanted to have a go.

"Get your hands off me!" You cried as you were dragged-gosh, Mizu really is a handful of muscles despite her stature - towards the guns, "I'm not-i'm not going to jail for this!"

She looked at you incredulously,"They're not real guns, you idiot!"

"You're tainting my image!"

Shoko hadn’t joined, watching you shriek at every appearance of a monster across the screen, ducking and hiding behind the console while Shimizu stood her ground, yanking the trigger absolutely unrepentant. While leaning against the wall, Shoko caught sight of a plushie machine. Hooked over one of the rods was a human-like fox, with wide brown eyes, and bangs over its forehead. She hesitated for a moment, then walked over. .

WITH THE plushie tucked into her pocket - it was a small handful-size enough to - she watched as you emerged , distraught, staggering towards the toddler section, hand reaching for anything cutesy and pastel for the touch. You almost reached for a bunny plushie when Shimizu wrung you to Karaoke, comprising of banshee-screeching your lungs out with Mizu to old campy Japanese songs. Shoko had a business call that lasted the entire session.

“Must be a long call, you had!” You said to her, emerging from the room, a little breathless and a little dumb yourself.

Dumb number two, nudged your ribs to chastise. “She’s the head, don’t prod.”

The person herself tucked her phone, looking over at you both, “Want to go gambling?”

Both heads turned to her, “Where?”

“At the arcade.”

“Again?”

And so you both found yourself at the adults section, nervously biting your nails as Mizu watched the screen. The symbols kept spinning, and spinning and spinning. And, eventually, when it aligned—when it fell into place, and you both leaned over to peer closely at the screen—it was three different objects.

“Jackpot?” You asked, uncertain.

“No jackpot.” Mizu said.

“Mm.” Shoko said, smoking from the back, “Try again.”

You tried one machine, tongue poking out as you yanked the reel. The waiting begins. The spin, the spin and, and—first object, stop; the second one, stop; the third, stop—all miss. No jackpot, again. Shoko had to drag Mizu by the scruff to stop her from gambling every last yen in her wallet. Which found you all now at the parking lot, with Mizu thrown over Shoko’s shoulder, drunk.

“Thanks for dinner, Shoko.” You said, delirious despite not really drinking any.

She stared. “You paid, though.”

“Oh,” You scratched you cheek, then frowned when you registered what she meant, “…Oh.” Ojisan’s card. You closed your eyes. You’re not going to check the balance for the fear of crumbling to your knees at the sight of it, "Right. Of course," You looked up, making sure your eyes were as doleful as possible, "I have not been known to pay my own dinner these past few years. But today is a change. You should thank me, both of you for sacrificing my life's spending."

Mizu muttered, "Sure thing, sugar baby."

"It's not your money anyway," Shoko jerked a thumb over, “It's late we should get going."

They're still coherent after all that? I could barely think.

"My car isn’t small," Shoko went on, "There is space. I had to clear my cabinet the other day, and there were boxes in the back.”

You peered over to see the back of her Honda were stuffed chock-full of boxes and bundled paperworks. Through the windows, it was all what you could see: more boxes, more paper, more boxes and more papers. Only the passenger and the driver's seat were empty.

“So,” You blinked, “Where will I sit?”

“With the boxes,” She said, “You’re small. You can fit inside.”

"If you had said I was as small as a cute garden gnome, I would have agreed."

"But you're not.”

"Cute?" You prodded.

"Both."

“It’s fine,” You waved her off, “I can walk. My flat isn’t far from here.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Get in the car or I’ll strap you to the ceiling.”

Gosh, everyone is so violent today.

Behind you, a car honked, startling utter living the daylights out of you. Shimizu slept on, her lips parted to drool. She simply whined at the commotion and nuzzled deeper into Shoko's neck. At the damp sensation, her eyes twitched a little. A sleek grey sedan pulled up. The headlights flickered off and on several times, purposely blasting against Shoko's face, stark white. The window then rolled down, and your cheeks warmed a little at the mystery man.

Suguru Geto - in a grey sweatshirt with his hair down - leaned out, an arm over the ledge. A smile curve his lips, “Evening ladies. To what do I owe you the pleasure of?”

Shoko didn't waste a beat, “Getting out of my sight.”

"Ah," Geto laid a hand on his chest, “Disheartening,” Then he looked over at you, eyes softening a little, “Nurse?”

“Going to my flat,” You said, shuffling on your foot.

“Now that’s a response I was looking for,” He grinned, “Granted,” With a click, the passenger door was unlocked, “Come in passenger princess, I’ll get you straight home.”

You ducked your head down, hiding your lower face into your scarf. His eyes, they were so gentle and yet so moving. Your eyes was sparkling, "Really?"

"Yes, really," He tilted his head, "Now, get in before the Head nurse of the ER decides my skull is looking a little tasty."

"Goodbye, Shoko-san!" You said, then rounded the car to the passenger seat, scrambling to pull the seatbelt over.

“How did you even find us?” Shoko kept her gaze leveled with his.

“I was passing by.”He said mildly.

“You were absolutely not passing by.”

“I was, I can show you my GPS—”

The seatbelt went into the slot with a click. "I'm ready!" You said brightly.

They both turned to you. You were snugly ensconced into the seat. you hands dimly folded on your lap as you smiled up at them with the most sunniest, guileless expression on your face. That sort of wavered Shoko's resolve.

"Fine," She palmed her face, "I'll get Mizu home. And you'll get her straight home as well, Suguru." "You'll expect nowhere less." He promised.

You waved vigorously, “Bye, Shoko!”

.

HE, IN FACT, did not take you straight home right away. You had been dozing off against the window, warm and snug in your sweater - and it was cold, too, made it all the more tempting to snooze - when he pulled the sedan up by a mart. The car's engine chuttered off, and he pulled the key. You slowly roused at the commotion, rubbing your eyes at the bright light flaring in from the window.

"Sorry," He said, "Didn't mean to wake you up.”

"Mh? Where are we?" You peered up to him, soft and drowsy.

"A quick detour," He smiled, "Figured we should get some ice cream before heading home. I'll head quickly down — you don't have to come if you're tired."

"I don't mind." You brought yourself up, "But won't she know?" Shoko always does. There's no point in hiding anything from her. What's peculiar is that she's quite adept at hiding hers.

“Can’t hurt to be a few minutes late, right?” He offered, the ever so-reasonable one.

"Guess so," You leaned back against the seat, yawning. "Don't take too long, 'cause I'll pass out in a mo."

"Of course," His body turned halfway to the door, "Any particular flavor you like?"

You opened your mouth, and suddenly you recalled sensation of the night air against your face. That night, this morning. The cold ledge of the pavement under your legs. The hard plastic chair of the mart, and his card that landed on the table. What flavor do you like? You wondered what he's doing now, extorting from other junior nurses, maybe?

A small smile graced your lips, "The crackly lemon thing."

"I'll get that too," He unlocked the door and turned back tapping the corner of his mouth, "Oh, and.” His voice became a little amused, “You've got a little something."

Something? You glanced to the rearview mirror, still drowsy. A hot wave of chagrin scalded your neck. A glistening sheen of drool had trickled down the corner of your lip. That's not a little something?! With your heart pounding in your chest - oh god, why, why ,why - in front of him of all people?! Your hands fluttered useless to your face wiping every saliva you probably had slobbered over your face during your nap. "Oh! Gosh, I’m—!”

“Hey,” He reached out, and his fingers—cold and so soft—closed around your wrist. You stilled, your heart still pounding, unable to meet his eyes. You will for the floor to suddenly crack and plummet.

"It happens,” He said, “Don't be embarrassed.”

You couldn't look at him, kept your eyes down where his shadow fell across your lap. You were much too embarrassed, with your cheeks boiling to the point of hissing like a kettle.

"Nurse," He mused, "It's alright."

The shadow moved across your lap, it enlarged as he leaned down, slowly. Bit by bit. Inch by inch, as if you were a fawn he had no intention of distressing. The scent of his heeded your nose, holding up to the same stature as his cadence. Gentle, light, fragrant. His hands rose and reached for your face, tilting it up. His palms were cold under your warm cheeks, thumb pressing gently against the corner of your mouth.

"Don't beat yourself over for being human," He said, his dark eyes glowing a warm honey brown by the flare of the light from the mart. His own earnestly searched yours. For a moment, you held your breath. And when his thumb swiped off the drool from your lips, your heart — you felt it beating against his palm.

.

HIGURUMA HAD taken a quick detour to his apartment, eager to purchase the usual spoils before heading home. At GoGo Mart, he was dressed in his off-work clothes, a beige cardigan with a black coat over. His mind was elsewhere as he browsed the shelf, long exhausted dealing with Noaya's antics from this morning. Especially his false declarations of 'having something against Prince Charming' when he, in fact, did not. Only several vague documents detailing about his practice prior coming to TMH, which he was sure was forged by the Zen'in's.

He had respectfully declined the notion for a smear campaign. If he had to do everything in his power to bring a seemingly good man down to the levels of the underground, where will that leave him? The one standing at the hilltop, preaching for reform when deceit was all that was weaponized? He would do things his way, whether Noaya had liked it or not.

His eyes finally landed on the carton. Strawberry Milk. Shimizu also reminded him to introduce himself to the man, at some point. Much to her both, surprise and irritation, he hadn't known what this Prince apparently looked like. Was he as handsome as they say? Probably not. Adoration tends to breed exaggeration beyond reality which he was sure was the case.

Then, he reached up. When his hand curled around the carton, unbidden, the memory of your own reached up to clutch it, territorial of the milk you’d wanted. The corner of his lips quirked up.

That girl.

There was one way to measure the Prince's influence. If the Junior Nurse was easily swayed by money, he was sure you'd be easily swayed by his looks too. He shifted the carton to his other hand, and with his free one pulled out his phone. He checked his balance, keeping track of what you’d bought. It was his card after all, and he was curious about where you went. He raised his eyebrows. Already, he could tell you weren’t the frugal type.

He tapped the screen, pulling up his contacts. He stilled when he remembered he hadn't asked for your number. So, walking with the milk in one hand, he browsed the roster list he kept in his phone. When he reached your ID, and your name beside it. He punched the numbers in, holding the phone to his ear.

He looked up.

And paused.

Through the window, there, the sedan was positioned in a way the driver's seat faced the mart, and your body in the passenger seat was dwarfed by another shadow. The shadow of a man, the profile of one, leaning down towards you. He caught just the right side of your eye, wide and soft looking up into the depths of another. Higuruma watched, and he watched for a moment longer, the phone in his ear, the Strawberry Carton milk cold in his hands, as the man’s head blocked your own completely.

Next On Episode Five, “ — ”

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