life when youre at the mcr concert and you get foundations and sorrows and zero percent and sing and world is ugly and to the end and thank you for the venom and and and so you genuinely just jump for joy
After almost ten years, I was finally able to see live the band that changed it all for me. My Chemical Romance has pretty much molded me into who I am today, both as a person and as an artist.
The band aided me whenever I needed it. When I felt alienated from people around me, they taught me that being different from everybody else doesn't matter all that much. That you never truly needed to fit in with the rest of the crowd. That it was okay to not be okay.
And the best part of it all is that I haven't fulfilled this lifelong dream on my own. I was lucky enough to have my closest friends with me, as well as the rest of the crowd in the concert. For once, I really did feel at home.
This last paragraph goes to all of those people that made me be ashamed of who I was back then. Who I STILL am. All I have left is a very fat middle finger for you all because it never made me stop being who I've always wanted to be. I've made it this far, and it will continue to be that way. Because despite everything, you'll never take me alive.
「ᰔᩚ」 :: baji keisuke! failing to hide his devotion until it's far too late to say it out loud.
tags: baji keisuke, baji keisuke x reader, tokyo revengers, high school sweethearts, slow burn, angst, chifuyu matsuno, tokyo revengers manga/anime spoilers.
the beginning: a lost lunchbox
it was the first year of elementary school, and keisuke baji was already a hurricane in a small, oversized uniform. while other kids were learning to sit still, keisuke was busy wrestling his desk or trying to see if he could fit his entire hand into his pencil case. you, on the other hand, were the quiet observer—the calm center to his constant, chaotic orbit.
when the bell rang for the final time that day, you noticed the neon-blue plastic lunchbox left under his chair. keisuke had already sprinted out the door, yelling something about a stray cat he’d seen near the park. you picked it up, feeling the weight of the metal thermos inside, and began the walk to his house. you knew exactly where he lived—he talked loud enough that the entire neighborhood probably knew his address.
when you arrived, ryoko baji was standing at the front door, looking frazzled as she checked her watch. you didn't hesitate, stepping up to the gate.
"excuse me," you said, your voice steady despite the adrenaline. "baji-kun left this at school. he’s going to be hungry later."
ryoko blinked, looking down at you, then at the lunchbox, and finally, a wide, knowing grin spread across her face. "oh, you must be his classmate! he’d be always forgetting his head if it wasn't attached."
just then, keisuke rounded the corner, hair a complete mess, a grass stain on his knee, and his shirt unbuttoned halfway. he stopped dead when he saw you standing by his mother. his face went from its usual feral intensity to a weird, stunned blankness.
"hai," you said, holding out the lunchbox. "you forgot this."
keisuke snatched it from your hands, his ears turning a bright, burning red. he didn't say "thank you"—that wasn't his style. instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets, looked at the ground, and grumbled, "tch. whatever. why were you following me, anyway?"
he was trying to play it cool, but the way he kept glancing at you from under his bangs—like you were a puzzle he couldn't solve—said everything he refused to vocalize.
growing up with keisuke
throughout elementary and middle school, keisuke never explicitly told anyone you were "his." he didn't have to. if another boy tried to talk to you, keisuke would "accidentally" trip them, bump into them while walking too fast, or just stand close enough to you that the other kid got intimidated and walked away. he’d act like he was just hanging around, but his presence was a constant, protective shield.
studying with baji is less about books and more about managing chaos. he is terrible at sitting still. he’ll start off trying to read, then suddenly he’s pacing your room, shadowboxing in front of your mirror, or trying to convince you that your homework is "lame" and you should go play games instead. you learned early on that the only way to get him to work is to ignore his dramatics. eventually, he settles down, usually by sprawling on your floor, his head resting against your leg while he pretends to look at his notes.
keisuke doesn't do romantic letters or flowers. his version of affection involves bringing you things he thinks are "cool." he’s brought you weird rocks he found, rare pokémon cards, or even half-eaten bags of snacks he decided you’d like. if he gives you a snack that he’s already opened, that’s his version of a love confession. it means he trusts you enough to share his stash.
as you both got older, the dynamic shifted. the loud, rowdy boy finds himself naturally quieting down when he’s around you. in the middle of a high-tension day or a fight, if he spots you, he’ll immediately straighten up. he hates looking like a delinquent in your eyes, even though he knows exactly who he is.
he struggles with the idea of being "soft." he thinks being gentle makes him weak, so he expresses his adoration through acts of defiance—fighting for you, defending you, or making sure that if anyone is going to annoy you, it’s only going to be him. he is the storm, and you are the only thing that can force the storm to slow its winds.
at fifteen, everything is loud, even when it’s supposed to be quiet. you and keisuke are navigating the chaotic friction of high school, a delicate balance where he is a walking disaster and you are the only one holding the leash.
every morning, like clockwork, the sound of a beat-up motorcycle engine—or just his heavy boots hitting the pavement—signals that he’s outside your house. he never texts or calls; he just waits. when you walk out, he’s leaning against a wall, trying to look bored, his school uniform jacket slung over one shoulder. he doesn’t say "good morning."
he just grunts, tosses his bag higher onto his back, and starts walking, expecting you to keep up. he doesn’t walk with you so much as he creates a perimeter around you, his eyes constantly scanning the street, his body language shifting the moment a stranger looks your way.
he’s a mess when it comes to you—he’s clumsy with his words, his temper flares at the slightest disrespect, and he has a habit of biting his lip until it bleeds whenever you accidentally brush against him. he is terrified of his own feelings, seeing them as a weakness he can't afford. he doesn't realize that you’re just as lost, or that your calm demeanor is the only thing keeping his heart from detonating.
you’ve become his unofficial accomplice. when he skips class to deal with gang business, his seat remains empty, and you’re the one who lies to the teachers, covering for him with a perfectly rehearsed excuse. the moment he slides back into his desk, smelling of sweat and asphalt, you’re there to lecture him, your voice low and sharp.
"you’re going to get expelled, baji," you whisper, sliding your notes toward him.
he just smirks, that wild, arrogant look in his eyes that usually intimidates everyone else, but with you, it just drops. he hates that you care, because it makes him feel guilty for the dangerous world he drags into your orbit.
his friends in toman all know about you—how you look, your name, how you’re the only person who can make him actually listen—but he keeps you in a glass case, far away from their world. he refuses to let them meet you. he keeps his two worlds strictly separated because he knows exactly what would happen if the filth of the streets touched you.
the only exception is chifuyu. chifuyu sees you in the halls, sees the way baji-san watches you from the shadows, and he knows better than to ever approach. he knows the look on keisuke’s face when he sees you talking to someone else—a mix of possessiveness and genuine panic. to keisuke, you are the one thing that isn't a weapon, the one thing he isn't allowed to break.
the hallway was buzzing with the chaos of the final bell, but you moved through it with a quiet, efficient grace. as one of the top students in the grade, you usually spent your time navigating between the library and your classrooms, your schedule as structured as your notes.
chifuyu had been pacing outside the classroom, tapping his foot, waiting for baji to emerge so they could handle some business for the gang. but the room was empty, and the desk where baji usually slouched—the one you spent half your time keeping clean—was vacant.
chifuyu turned on his heel, frustrated, only to jump nearly a foot into the air.
you were standing right behind him, your expression unreadable but your eyes sharp. you hadn't made a sound.
"ah—! damn it!" chifuyu stumbled back, his heart hammering against his ribs. he blinked, staring at you. he recognized you immediately—how could he not? baji-san talked about "her" in the abstract, described your habits, and protected your image like a holy relic. seeing you in the flesh, calm and composed, was almost jarring.
"i’m sorry, i didn't mean to startle you," you said, your voice soft and polite, a stark contrast to the rough, loud world chifuyu was used to. you offered a slight, apologetic bow. "i’m [reader] i was just looking for keisuke."
chifuyu swallowed, his mind racing. so this is the girl. "uh, yeah. i'm chifuyu. matsuno. i'm... looking for him too."
you sighed, the faint line of irritation creasing your forehead—a look of genuine concern hidden behind a mask of annoyance. "he skipped the last two periods again. it's getting ridiculous."
you looked at chifuyu, your gaze steady and kind, completely devoid of the judgment the other students held for the delinquent boys. "if you see him, tell him i’m annoyed. he’s falling behind, and i’m tired of covering for him when he isn't even here to take notes."
chifuyu stood there, frozen, watching you as you turned to walk away. you didn't demand, you didn't yell; you just spoke with the quiet authority of someone who held a tether on his captain’s heart.
as you walked down the hall, your posture perfect and your books tucked neatly against your chest, everything clicked into place for chifuyu. he watched you disappear around the corner and let out a long, shaky breath.
so that’s why, he thought, a small, knowing smirk touching his lips. that’s why baji-san acts like a caged animal when anyone looks at her wrong.
he finally understood. it wasn't just that baji was protective—it was that baji was terrified. standing in your presence, chifuyu felt the weight of it: the overwhelming, impossible gravity of a boy like baji being completely, hopelessly captivated by a girl who looked at him with enough care to make him want to be a better person—even if he was too stubborn to admit it.
october 31st
the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on, though you didn't have a name for it. you only knew that keisuke was a frayed wire, vibrating with an intensity that bordered on dangerous. he wasn't lashing out at you—in fact, it was the opposite. he had become a gravitational force, constantly orbiting you, silent and watchful.
while chifuyu was nursing the physical and emotional scars of the brutal beating baji had dealt him to secure his spot in valhalla, you were dealing with a different kind of ache. you saw the distance between the two of them; you saw the way baji’s eyes would go blank and cold whenever chifuyu’s name was mentioned. but you stayed in your lane, held back by a sense of foreboding that kept your tongue tied.
then came the morning of october 31st.
the dawn was gray and biting. you were waiting at the usual corner, and when baji finally appeared, he didn't look like the boy who usually mocked your punctuality. he looked haunted. his uniform was rumpled, his hair unkempt, and there was a restless energy in his fingers as he shoved them deep into his pockets.
"you're late," you said, though the sharp edge you usually used to scold him was replaced by a soft, trembling worry. "and you look like hell, keisuke."
he didn't fire back with a snide remark. he didn't tell you to shut up. he just stopped in front of you, his tall, broad frame casting a long shadow over you.
he stood there for a long time, staring at you as if he were trying to memorize the way your hair fell or the exact color of your eyes under the morning light.
"keisuke?" you prompted, reaching out to touch his sleeve, but he flinched—not away from you, but towards you, pressing his forehead against your shoulder for a split second before pulling back. it was a moment of agonizing vulnerability.
"just... keep your head down today," he muttered, his voice gravelly and stripped of its usual bravado. "don't go anywhere after school. just go straight home. promise me."
"why are you acting like this?" you asked, your heart hammering against your ribs. "what is going on with you and chifuyu? i know something is wrong. i know you're hiding something."
he looked at you then, and the raw, desperate hunger in his expression made your breath hitch. he wanted to tell you everything. he wanted to drown in the safety of your presence, to beg you to pull him away from the cliff’s edge. but he was baji keisuke, and he would never let his darkness touch you.
he didn't answer. instead, he reached out—a rare, clumsy motion—and brushed his knuckles against your cheek. his hand was warm, shaking ever so slightly.
"you're really something, you know that?" he whispered, his eyes lingering on you with a terrifying, final intensity. "just stay safe. don't worry about me. just... keep being you."
he turned and walked away before you could grab his sleeve. you watched his retreating back, the weight of his words pressing down on you. you didn't know about valhalla, you didn't know about the betrayal, and you didn't know that he was walking into a fire that would consume him.
you just stood there in the cold morning, feeling the heavy, suffocating silence he left behind—a silence that felt suspiciously like a goodbye.
the day of october 31st dragged on like a slow-motion car crash. in class, everything was technically "normal"—the teacher droned on, students whispered, and the clock ticked—but the air around baji’s empty desk felt vacuum-sealed. he had barely stayed for half the day, drifting in and out with a feverish restlessness that made your skin crawl. he hadn't bothered to look at you, but you felt his eyes on you every time you turned a page, a silent, heavy weight that made your chest ache.
the next morning, the corner where you waited was empty. the silence of the street felt aggressive.
you walked to school alone, your frustration mounting with every step. you were furious at him for his reckless disappearing act, but beneath the anger, a cold, sharp dread was knitting itself into your stomach.
“he’s pushed it too far this time,” you thought, your grip tightening on your bag strap. “i’m going straight to his house after school. i’m telling his mom everything. i’m done with the games.”
the school day felt like an eternity. you spent the hours rehearsing exactly what you were going to say to his mother, planning to drag keisuke out by his ear if you had to.
when the final bell rang, you were the last one left in the classroom. the silence of the empty desks was oppressive.
you were just about to slide your chair in and head for the door when a shadow fell across the threshold.
you looked up, expecting to see a teacher or perhaps a delinquent looking for trouble.
instead, it was chifuyu.
your breath hitched. he looked like he had been through a war. his face was a roadmap of bruises, a thick white bandage wrapped around his head, and his eyes—usually bright and defiant—were raw, bloodshot, and brimming with a grief he was desperately trying to bottle up behind a mask of forced, trembling strength.
he didn't come inside. he stopped at the door, and as he looked at you, his composure shattered just for a second. he leaned forward, bowing deeply, his head nearly touching the floor in an act of profound, crushing respect and regret.
"i am so sorry," he choked out, his voice cracking.
you stood frozen, your books slipping slightly in your arms.
"chifuyu? what... what happened? where is he?"
he didn't answer with words at first. his hands were shaking violently as he pulled a folded, slightly crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. he held it out to you with both hands, his knuckles white.
"he... he wanted you to have this," chifuyu whispered, refusing to meet your eyes. he began to explain, his voice a strained, broken rhythm as he recounted the events of the previous night. he spoke of valhalla, of the fight, of the irreversible choices that were made. every word was a serrated blade, cutting through the reality you had known.
"i couldn't stop him," chifuyu sobbed, the mask of strength finally slipping entirely as tears tracked through the grime on his bruised face. "i tried... i tried so hard, but i couldn't do anything. i failed him, and i failed you. i am so, so sorry."
he apologized again, and again, bowing until he looked like he might collapse under the weight of his own guilt. you didn't hear the rest of his words. your world had stopped. you reached out, your fingers trembling as they brushed the paper—a final, silent message from a boy who had spent his life acting like a storm, only to leave you in the sudden, deafening quiet of his absence.
⊹ mikey who shows up outside your house completely unannounced with a helmet in one hand and a sleepy smile on his face. he never has a plan beyond “wanted to see you,” but the nights always turn into aimless rides, convenience store snacks, and watching the sunrise from somewhere only the two of you know.
⊹ mikey who absolutely melts when you play with his hair. he’ll pretend not to care at first, but within minutes his eyes are drifting shut and he’s leaning harder into your touch. if you stop, he doesn’t ask you to continue - he simply nudges your hand with the top of his head until your fingers disappear into his hair again.
⊹ mikey who loves sharing food with you, except “sharing” means taking a bite from your plate before you’ve even touched it. when you complain, he’ll split the last piece of his own snack in half and carefully hand you the bigger portion without saying a word.
⊹ mikey who gets sleepy around you more than anyone else. the second the room gets quiet, he’s finding somewhere to rest against you, eyes half-lidded and completely at peace. if you wake him because you have to leave, he’ll blink at you in confusion and mumble, “can’t you stay five more minutes?”
⊹ mikey who isn’t always great at putting his feelings into words, so he says them through tiny actions instead. he notices when you’re cold before you do and drapes his jacket over your shoulders, saves the last bite of dessert because he knows you’ll like it, and quietly walks on the side closest to traffic every single time.
⊹ mikey who looks at you with complete, uncomplicated trust. after a rough day, he’ll flop onto your couch and stare at the ceiling until you sit beside him, then inch closer until your shoulders touch. he never asks to be comforted outright, but the way he settles against you says more than enough.
⊹ mikey who kisses you like he’s still a little surprised he gets to. most of them are quick pecks before hopping on his bike or after walking you home, but every so often he’ll cup your face with both hands, smile against your lips, and stay there for just a second longer because he doesn’t feel any rush to pull away.
⊹ mikey who remembers tiny things you mentioned months ago without realizing they mattered. you once pointed at a claw machine plushie and called it cute, and weeks later he casually drops it into your lap after somehow winning it on his first try. when you ask why he got it, he just blinks. “because you liked it.”
⊹ mikey who can fall asleep almost anywhere, but insists he sleeps best with you nearby. if you’re watching a movie together, there’s a good chance you’ll look over halfway through and find him dozing off with his head on your shoulder and one hand loosely holding onto your sleeve so you can’t wander off without waking him.
⊹ mikey who gets quietly jealous rather than dramatic. if someone else is making you laugh a little too much, he doesn’t interrupt or start an argument - he simply wanders over, slips into the space beside you, and casually hooks his arm around yours as though that’s where it’s always been. he won’t even look at the other person. he’s only paying attention to whether you lean into him.
⊹ mikey who has an uncanny sense for when you’re nearby in a crowd. toman could be celebrating after a meeting with dozens of people talking over one another, but the moment he hears your voice, his head turns immediately. within seconds he’s weaving through everyone until he’s standing next to you.
⊹ mikey who instinctively reaches for the back of your shirt whenever you’re walking through crowded places. it isn’t because he thinks you’ll get lost - it just reassures him that you’re there. sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until you glance back at him and smile.
⊹ mikey who becomes surprisingly protective when you’re exhausted. if you’re pushing yourself too hard, he’ll gently take whatever you’re carrying out of your hands and tell you to take a break in the same matter-of-fact tone he uses to order food. there’s no teasing in moments like that - just quiet certainty that he’s going to help whether you protest or not.
⊹ mikey who isn’t possessive in words but in habits. your drink somehow ends up in his hand after one sip, he steals bites from your plate without asking, and he automatically saves you a seat wherever he goes. the people around him stop questioning it after a while because if there’s an empty spot next to mikey, everyone already knows who it’s for.
⊹ mikey who kisses you with so much love that makes your chest ache. he’ll pause right before you leave, brush his forehead against yours, and press one soft kiss to your lips before stepping back. then, after a second of thinking, he’ll lean in for another because one never quite feels like enough.
⊹ mikey who acts fearless in front of everyone else but relaxes completely when he’s with you. on nights when the responsibilities of leading toman weigh heavier than he lets on, he rests his head against your shoulder and closes his eyes. he doesn’t ask you to fix anything. he just stays there, comforted by the simple fact that you’re still beside him.
⊹ people assume he’d want somebody loud enough to match his energy but his entire life is noise, meetings, violence, people demanding things from him, chaos everywhere. when he comes home and finds you curled up on the couch reading or scrolling through your phone in complete silence, it genuinely relaxes him.
sometimes he’ll just flop down beside you and put his head in your lap. neither of you say anything for half an hour. he doesn’t need conversation. he just likes being near you. spending quality time with you is the best part of his day.
⊹ everyone in bonten knows you’re his weak spot. everyone knows. the second your name comes up, sanzu changes completely. his expression softens. his voice loses that dangerous edge. he’ll answer your texts in the middle of important conversations and not even try to hide it.
the funniest part is that he thinks he’s subtle but he isn’t. one time somebody joked that you had him wrapped around your finger. the room went completely silent. everyone expected sanzu to get angry. instead he shrugged and said, “yeah, obviously.”
⊹ he gets ridiculously soft when you’re affectionate first. normally sanzu is the clingy one. he’ll throw an arm around your shoulders, pull you into his lap, grab your hand whenever he feels like it. but the rare moments when you initiate affection - he completely malfunctions.
if you quietly take his hand first, he’ll stare at you for a second because he genuinely wasn’t expecting it. if you lean against him while you’re sleepy, he immediately goes quiet. he’ll act normal on the outside but he’s replaying that moment for the next three business days.
⊹ if you’re talking to someone else for too long, he’ll eventually wander over. if you’re sitting across the room, he’ll somehow end up beside you within ten minutes. if everyone’s gathered together, his arm ends up resting against yours before he even realizes he’s moved.
one night you’re sitting with ran and rindou while they’re telling some ridiculous story. you’re actually laughing - a rare enough occurrence. twenty minutes later, sanzu walks into the room, takes one look at the situation, and immediately sits beside you.
ran raises an eyebrow. “we’re having a conversation.”
sanzu glances toward you. “not anymore.” he says as he takes you over to his office.
⊹ there are nights when bonten keeps him out until ridiculous hours. nights where everything goes wrong. nights where he’s exhausted, irritated, and running entirely on caffeine and stubbornness. during those nights he becomes quieter than usual. not angry. just tired. and no matter how late it gets, eventually he texts you.
“awake?”
“you home?”
or sometimes just your name.
the first time it happens, you ask if something’s wrong.
“nothing’s wrong.”
“then why are you texting me at 3 a.m.?”
there’s a long pause. another minute passes. finally his reply appears.
“wanted to hear from you.”
⊹ he develops this habit of pressing a kiss against your forehead whenever he walks past you. sometimes it’s your temple. sometimes your cheek. sometimes the top of your head while you’re focused on something else. half the time he isn’t even paying attention to what he’s doing. it’s become so normal that neither of you notices it anymore until one day kakucho does.
you’re standing in the kitchen talking quietly about something. sanzu walks by, leans down, presses a quick kiss against your hair, and keeps walking without breaking the conversation he’s having on the phone.
kakucho stares.
“…what?” sanzu stares back.
“nothing.”
⊹ after something genuinely dangerous happens, sanzu spends the next few days sticking unusually close to you. he’ll deny it if anyone points it out. claim it’s coincidence. act irritated whenever rindou starts making comments but everyone notices.
especially you. he keeps reaching for you. checking that you’re there. touching your shoulder when he walks past. pulling you beside him on the couch. resting a hand on your back whenever you’re standing nearby. eventually you ask him about it.
“you’ve been acting weird.”
he looks at you for a second.
“thought I lost you.”
the words leave his mouth before he can stop them because sanzu almost never admits things like that. after a moment, he sighs and pulls you closer against his side.
sneaky link! rindou, who doesn't really know what the fuck he's doing, but okay, this is... convenient. something he should be into, right? he can fit you in after bjj practice and before the gang meeting. he doesn't even have to introduce you to ran– not that ran was ever interested in meeting you, anyway. rindou's used to adapting to things, given how unpredictable ran's moods can be, so it shouldn't be too long to get used to this kind of relationship. probably.
sneaky link! rindou, who'll try to hide behind that façade he always does. when you show up to one of the haitani brothers' famous roppongi parties, he'll greet your friends but ignore you completely fucking asshole without so much as batting an eye, but he'll sneak a peek at you in between his dj sets while you're distracted because goddamn, you look good. almost just as good as you did this morning, underneath him.
sneaky link! rindou, who thinks he's nonchalant, but he's just too obvious. he's never been good at repressing his feelings for long. one way or another, it'll come up (and then it's time to deny, deny, deny). the moment he sees another guy getting too close to you, he's clenching his jaw and throwing drinks back. maybe it wasn't so casual after all.
sneaky link! rindou, who nine or maybe fourteen drinks in, is a stumbling mess, stuttering something about 'i have feelings for you' and making quite an embarrassment of himself in front of everyone.
sneaky link! rindou, who's not so good at being sneaky after all.
ran who tells him to shut up and wrap the party up
Shion, ever the walking disaster that he is, has a crush on the bartender. You!
(260 words)
Location: The Haitanis' nightclub
Shion, who agrees to meet Rindou at the Haitanis' club. He spends twenty minutes ironing a suit that still somehow comes out wrinkled.
Shion, who doesn't know the difference between scotch and bourbon. He's a 'cheap beer and sake' kind of guy.
Shion, who grins like an idiot when you, the bartender, smile at him and ask for his drink order.
Shion, who leans his elbow on the polished mahogany bar— and slips.
Shion, who orders the most expensive drink, because that's what sophisticated people do, and subsequently hates it. He pretends to enjoy it while trying not to gag.
Shion, who then panics when the bill arrives.
Shion, who comes back two nights later. Then three nights after that. Then again the following weekend.
Shion, who has all but bathed in designer knock-off cologne that he bought from some guy in an alley. He has the entire end of the bar to himself.
Shion, who orders a scotch only because he heard Rindou talk about it one time. He discovers he hates it.
Shion, who swears you're flirting with him.
Shion, who doesn't believe Rindou when he explains that bartenders are supposed to be friendly. It's their job.
Shion, who has absolutely no idea why Ran keeps greeting him with, "Your bartender's working tonight." The brothers have already started placing bets.
Shion, who notices you're the one who stays behind to clean up after everyone else leaves.
Shion, who offers to carry the heavy boxes from the storage room.
Shion, who buys flowers.
Shion, who keeps them at home because handing them to you suddenly seems terrifying.
Summary: You’ll just keep him around until graduation and then pull off a clean break. After all, a notorious delinquent doesn’t exactly belong on your resume forever.
Warnings: Threats of violence, graphic depictions of violence, power imbalance, forced relationship, forced kissing.
Author's Notes: N/A
You are dating Ran Haitani.
The sentence sounds absurd, no matter how many times you think it. Yet, it’s the exact rumor currently keeping the back row of the classroom occupied, growing a little more exaggerated with every passing week. Did you hear? She’s dating Ran Haitani.
People stare, of course. You can’t exactly blame them. Everyone in the district knows what he is, even if they only dare to say it when his back is turned.
Some say he belongs to some famous gangs. Others swear he used to run half the city with his younger brother before he was even old enough to drive. Though you aren’t entirely sure of the specifics. Ran doesn’t volunteer the details of his evenings, and you have never been inclined to press him for them. Whenever you ask where he disappeared all weekend, he smiles and says, "Out."
When you ask with who, he answers, "People."
Maybe ignorance really is bliss.
To be fair, Ran was the one who pursued you first. Around Roppongi, he and his younger brother, Rindo, are known as the most stylish delinquents you could ever encounter. You still remember the afternoon he showed up outside the school gates, leaning against a polished motorcycle. He had these ridiculous, heavy earrings that caught the sun every time he tilted his head, looking completely out of place against the drab brick of the building.
Amidst a sea of a hundred identical school uniforms, Ran stood out entirely. When he walked straight through the crowd and stopped in front of you, you actually looked behind yourself to make sure, as the bewildered stares of your peers prickled against your back.
You have been making questionable decisions ever since.
It's not as though dating him is miserable.
Ran remembers your favorite snacks. He waits outside after class when it rains. He complains whenever you refuse to let him carry your bag, then carries it anyway. But he is far from an ideal, textbook boyfriend. He is still a reckless teenager with a life full of secrets. He completely forgot your three-month anniversary, showing up three days late without a single clue until you brought it up. Sometimes he just vanishes entirely for days at a time, leaving your texts on read. When he finally resurfaces, he acts like no time has passed at all, casually returning with a random little trinket that he completely refuses to explain,
Dangerous people, you've learned, don't have to be cruel to be dangerous.
There are rumors, too—darker ones that don't quite fit the glossy magazine image of him. You know he spent time in juvenile detention when he was younger. Though you don't know the reason why—you just assume he got into a bad street fight. Rebellious teenagers do things like that all the time, right?
_
During attempts at sneaking out, your hands shake so badly that you nearly drop your phone while trying to text him. You ease your bedroom window open and discover, to your horror, that Ran has somehow already climbed halfway up the tree beside your house.
"Are you insane?" you whisper.
"A little," he winks, entirely unbothered by the height.
The latch on your window has been loose for years. Your father keeps saying he'll fix it whenever he has time. Apparently, Ran has noticed, he pushes it open the rest of the way and motions for you to climb through.
"There is no way that this is safe," you hiss.
Ran lets out a low chuckle. "Look on the bright side. It’ll be funny if you fall."
"You are the worst boyfriend imaginable," you glare at him, swinging one leg over the windowsill anyway.
The moment you look down, the dark ground suddenly looks miles further away than it did from the safety of your room. The cold night air bites at your bare ankles. You hesitate, your fingers locking onto the window frame in a sudden wave of panic.
Ran tilts his head, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as he looks up at you. "Don't tell me you're backing out now? You trust me, don't you?"
"...Yeah."
The answer leaves your mouth before your brain can even voice a protest.
You let go. For one terrifying second, as the wind rushes past your ears, you are certain you've made the worst decision of your life.
Then a pair of arms catches you around the waist before your feet ever reach the ground. Ran steadies you, waits until you're balanced.
"Told you," he flashes a wicked grin and taps his fingers against your hip.
Your heart is pounding hard enough to qualify as a medical emergency.
He parked his motorcycle a few blocks away, fully aware of how loud the engine is and determined not to wake your parents. He takes your hand, pulling you along the quiet sidewalk.
When you reach the bike, you notice he already has your helmet resting on the seat. He bought it weeks ago after deciding that borrowing one from Rindo was "gross." You meet Rindo from time to time when they hang out, and even the younger brother is nice to you, occasionally tossing a playful, teasing comment your way.
You scoop the helmet up, then notice he isn't moving to grab his own.
"Aren't you wearing one?" you ask, crossing your arms and planting your feet.
Ran just chuckles, tossing his long braids over his shoulder as he swings a leg over the motorcycle. "Don't have one."
"You absolutely have one."
"I absolutely left it somewhere," he says, flashing an innocent smile that convinces exactly nobody.
"So I'm not getting on until you wear one."
He sighs dramatically, slouching over the handlebars. "You've become really bossy lately. You know it messes up my hair—"
"Ran."
You don't budge, holding his gaze until he groans. Reaching into the side compartment, he pulls out the hidden second helmet and straps it on over his braids.
"So you did bring one," you say.
"I was hoping you'd forget."
"You've known me for six months."
Ran clicks his visor down, his eyes curving into a crinkle. "I keep hoping."
Once you climb on behind him, the quiet night shatters. Ran guns the engine and races through the empty streets, the city opens around the two of you in streaks of red brake lights and glowing convenience stores, late-night restaurants spilling laughter onto the sidewalks, apartment windows shining like stars stacked on top of one another. He purposely drives a little too fast, taking the sharp turns that force you to squeeze your arms tightly around his waist, burying your face into his back.
"Ran! Slow down!" you yell over the wind.
"I am!" Ran laughs, the vibration of his chest rumbling right against your hands as he speeds up just a fraction more to tease you.
"You absolutely are not!"
The wild ride ends when he pulls up to a massive arcade in a bustling, sleepless district of Tokyo. Inside, the atmosphere is loud and entirely washed in brilliant, flashing neon lights.
Ran is an incredibly attentive date. Before you can even suggest a game, he buys a ridiculous, heavy cup full of tokens and hands it over to you. He says if you both don't use them all then you’ll lose trying.
You spend the next hour doing exactly that.
You lose spectacularly at basketball.
You somehow finish last against a group of twelve-year-olds in a racing simulator.
Later, you challenge him to a racing game, sitting side-by-side in the plastic arcade seats. You end up losing terribly, your virtual car crashing into a wall on the final lap. Ran throws his head back and laughs, completely delighted by your frustration, before dropping another token into your slot to let you try again when you glares at him.
Then he wanders over to a claw machine.
"Pick one," he says, tilting his head toward the colorful prizes inside.
You glance at the tangled heap of plushies. "Don't bother. They're rigged."
"So?" Ran scoffs softly, already dropping a token into the slot. On his very first try, the claw grabs a ridiculously oversized lavender rabbit and drop it into the chute.
"There you go." He retrieves it and places it into your arms like a trophy. "That was almost too easy."
"You cheated," you say.
"I didn't, some of us just have actual talent," he says, nudging your shoulder as the arcade lights dance across his grin.
You hug the rabbit a little tighter and decide not to answer. Of course, you aren’t entirely stupid. You know this little arrangement carries a certain degree of risk. Your family would harbor a collective stroke if they ever saw him, and your noisier relatives would spend the next three major holidays dissecting the disaster of you associating with someone so clearly tied to gang affiliations.
Even your cousins, who think getting a tattoo behind your ear counts as rebellion, would suddenly discover the value of family tradition.
Gang members don't settle down.
Gang members don't have futures.
Gang members bring trouble to your doorstep.
Perhaps that's why you've never told them.
You will keep him around until graduation. Let him serve as the thrilling backdrop to your final year of youth, and then you'll thank Ran for the memories, wish him well, and quietly disappear into a future with internships and office jobs and respectable people. After all, a notorious delinquent doesn’t exactly belong on your resume forever.
Around midnight, the heavy crowd inside the arcade finally starts thinning out. You and Ran step back out into the cool night air and head toward the parking lot. You yawn as you follow Ran toward the rows of metal bicycles, the lavender rabbit tucked beneath one arm. Your throat feels completely parched from the heat of the machines and talking over the loud music.
"I'm freezing," you mention, shifting the plush prize in your arms, "and I'm getting so thirsty."
He glances sideways at you. "Want a drink?"
"If they have melon soda."
"They better," he says, already scanning the aisle for the vending machines.
The vending machines inside the arcade greet the two of you with rows of empty shelves. Everything worthwhile has already been bought by students and couples lingering long after curfew.
"Wait by the bike," Ran says, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. "There's another set of machines just around the corner. I'll be right back."
You nod and keep walking toward his motorcycle. He doesn't seem worried. Why would he be?
You're standing under bright lights in a public parking lot attached to a busy entertainment district. Security cameras and people are wandering in and out, nothing bad happens in places like this.
At least, that's what you tell yourself.
You lean against a railing and absentmindedly squeeze the stuffed rabbit's oversized ears.
The lot empties little by little, leaving vast stretches of dark asphalt between the flickering streetlamps. That's when you notice a group of three or four guys has been loitering near the edge of the lot. They wear mismatched streetwear and look thoroughly disheveled.
Sensing an easy target, they move in.
"Hey there," the guy in the front says, a nasty grin spreading across his face. "You're out pretty late."
"I'm waiting for someone," you say, offering a polite smile that doesn't reach your eyes.
"Yeah?"
The tallest one glances around the parking lot.
"Looks like you're alone."
Hearing that, you take a cautious step backward, your stomach does a sharp, ugly flip.
Almost instantly, the shadows shift. Another guy steps sideways, his laughter cutting through the quiet air. They quickly fan out, blocking your path to the motorcycle and cutting off your route back to the bright entrance of the arcade.
"Come on, we're just talking," another say. "That's a pretty nice bike you're leaning on. Your boyfriend leave you behind?"
Your fingers tighten around the plush rabbit. You tell yourself to stay calm, they're probably just trying to scare you.
A force suddenly hits one of them from behind.
There is a loud—hollow crack of metal meeting a skull. The guy doesn't even have time to scream; his eyes roll back, and his body collapses instantly onto the asphalt, completely unconscious and limp.
The remaining three guys gasp, spinning around in panic. Standing in the dim light of the streetlamp is Ran.
His eyes are half-lidded, yet his expression completely blank as he looks at the group. In his right hand, he holds a silver telescoping baton that glints under the neon light.
His gaze drifts from the unconscious boy to the others, then to you. "You okay?"
Your voice refuses to cooperate, but you nod anyway.
Only then does he look back at the remaining boys. Recognition spreads across the leader, his face goes entirely pale.
"M-Haitani..." the leader stammers, his confidence evaporating into pure terror. "We didn't know—"
"They’re with me," Ran interrupts, tossing the drink bottle lightly in the air and catching it.
The guys start backing up, raising their hands in frantic apology, desperately trying to defuse the situation. But it is already too late.
Before the leader can even turn to run, Ran moves with terrifying speed. The heavy metal baton strikes the man's collarbone with a horrific, splintering sound. The man drops to the asphalt, screaming, but Ran doesn't stop. He swings again, the metal cracking against ribs and jaws.
The other two try to run, but Ran already catches one by the collar, dragging him backward and slamming his head repeatedly into the brick wall of the arcade until the man slides down, leaving a smeared trail on the masonry. The final thug falls to his knees, sobbing and covering his face, but Ran simply stands over him, methodically bringing the baton down again, and again, and again.
You stand frozen by the motorcycle, while Ran keeps striking long after the man stops moving, long after the whimpering dies down. The brutal reality of the violence knocks the breath straight out of you.
As the groans of the barely conscious men echo across the empty parking lot, you stare at blood and teeth spray across the concrete, utterly terrified of the person you've been dating.
The sound of metal striking bone finally stops.
Ran stands over the bodies, breathing easily as if he had just finished a light workout. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he collapses the bloody baton back into its compact size and slips it away. When he turns around to look at you, his eyes instantly soften, the terrifying vacancy disappearing as he spots the plush prize lying in the dirt.
He steps toward you, lifting a plastic convenience store bag. "Hey. I got your drink, and—"
You take a violent step backward, your entire body shaking. Your breath hitches, your chest heaving as you stare at his fingers—fingers that are dusted with a light spray of someone else's blood.
Ran freezes. His hand hovers in the empty air between you as he registers the horror in your expression. For a split second, a flash of something unreadable cuts through his usual calm, but he forces his face back into a reassuring expression. He takes a slow step back, giving you space.
"Woah, easy. Look at me," he says, his voice incredibly soft, dropping down to that low, soothing tone he uses when he's teasing you. "It's just me. It's Ran. I'm not going to hurt you. I would never, ever hurt you. You know that, right?"
You can barely nod. Your jaw is locked tight, your knees shaking so violently you feel like you might collapse into the dirt alongside the discarded plush prize. Ran notices the terror locking up your joints. He doesn't push it. Instead, he carefully picks up the fallen stuffed animal, dusts it off with a clean corner of his jacket, and gently sets it on the seat of the bike.
It takes a long time for your breathing to slow down. You let him guide you back onto the motorcycle, though you hold onto his jacket with stiff, trembling fingers this time, keeping your eyes strictly averted from the dark stains on the pavement.
The ride away from the arcade is a total blur. He drives slowly this time—painfully so—and neither of you says a word. You don't even realize you're trembling until you notice the vibration in your own hands.
Ran notices first. At the next red light, he reaches back as though to squeeze your arm.
You flinch.
His hand stops dead in midair. Then, he withdraws it without a sound, his fingers slipping back onto the handlebars just as the traffic light changes to green.
Eventually, the motorcycle pulls into a tiny neighborhood park squeezed between apartment buildings. Ran leads you to a wooden bench, silently handing you the cold bottle of your favorite drink along with a small plastic cup of ice cream. It's ridiculous. He's treating you like a kid who just fell off a bicycle, completely ignoring the fact that he just fractured three men's skulls a block away.
You don't drink it. You just stare at the melting ice cream, the plastic spoon heavy in your hand, entirely unable to swallow a single bite. Neither of you talks for a long time, until Ran suddenly reaches toward you again. This time, slowly. Giving you every opportunity to pull away.
When you don't, he wraps both arms around you and draws you against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck, holding you as if you might vanish if he lets go.
"Ran?" you whisper against his shoulder, your voice small.
"I'm sorry..." he murmurs, his grip tightening.
You blink against the dark fabric of his jacket, confused by the sudden vulnerability.
"I'm sorry for leaving you all alone. For letting those idiots get close to you..." His voice cracks slightly, filled with a terrifyingly genuine guilt. "I'm sorry."
He holds you tighter, his chest rising and falling against yours. "Next time, call my name out loud. I promise I'll come to you right away."
Looking at him now, the monster from the parking lot feels like a distant, bad dream. You want to believe this version of him. You want to believe that the danger is something he can just switch off when he’s with you.
Slowly, you reach your hands up, cradling the back of Ran's head, letting your fingers slide through his neat braids as you lean heavily against him.
"I'm sorry, too," you whisper.
Ran pulls back just an inch, looking down at you with a curious expression. "For what?"
You consider the question.
For dragging him into your life. For making him worry. For being afraid of him. For wishing you had never seen what happened in that parking lot. For knowing that nothing feels quite the same anymore—
Instead, you mumble, "I don't know."
Ran blinks, the gravity of the moment instantly evaporating. His lips twitch into an annoyed pout. He even makes a ridiculous, exasperated face, entirely ruining the tragic romance of the mood.
"...Seriously?"
"It sounded better in my head," you shrug.
Ran scoffs, rolling his eyes as he lets go of you just enough to lean back against the bench. "Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you're making jokes? You are completely heartless."
"You're the one who made it weird," you tease back weakly.
Ran huffs, but the easy, lazy smile quickly slides back onto his face. He reaches over, playfully flicking your forehead. "Yeah, yeah. Eat your ice cream before it turns into soup, brat."
For the next ten minutes, the terrifying edge of the night completely melts away. You tease him about his dramatic apology, and he shoots back with his usual mocking banter. It works, too. Ran is so effortlessly charming when he wants to be that you actually find yourself laughing until the knot in your stomach completely unties itself. To anyone passing by, they’d just see a couple of normal, stupid teenagers flirting in the middle of the night.
It’s an incredibly nice illusion; you almost convince yourself that you can just ride this out. But then you look at his eyes. Even while he's laughing at you, the violet is completely cold. You know that if those guys walked into this park right now, Ran would do it all over again without blinking.
You really need to break up with him.
_
You pace back and forth across your bedroom floor, staring down at your phone until the screen blurs. Your heart thumps against your ribs. You have been fighting with yourself for the past hour, rewriting the same text message a dozen times before you finally find the courage to hit send.
The message is painfully short.
Are you busy?
You stare at the screen afterward, immediately regretting it.
Maybe this is a terrible idea, asking him to hang out one last time before ending things is unnecessarily cruel, instead of just ripping the bandage straight off.
Your thumb hovers over the message, wondering if deleting it would somehow erase the fact that you sent it.
Your phone vibrates.
No. Want to go somewhere?
You blink, the reply came so quickly that it feels automated.
You type back before you can overthink it.
Sure.
You figure you have at least an hour to prepare yourself while you wait for a reply mentally. But less than ten minutes later, the distinct rumble of a motorcycle engine vibrates right outside your house.
You scramble down the stairs, and when you open the front door, Ran is already idling at the curb. He's in his gang uniform, leaning back against the seat with one hand on the handlebar.
"Ran? Wow, you got here fast." You jog over to him, nervously adjusting the strap of your bag. "I didn't mean to drag you out so abruptly. You weren't busy, right?"
Ran shifts his head, giving you a lazy smile through the open visor of his helmet. "For you? Never. I have all the time in the world."
Right on cue, his phone starts buzzing furiously inside his jacket.
Ran sighs, a faint flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he pulls the device out. Instead of putting it to his ear, he hits the speaker button. Instantly, Rindo’s voice completely explodes through the line, so loud and angry it cuts right through the rumble of the motorcycle engine.
"Ran, you absolute idiot! Where the hell did you go?!" Rindo yells, sounding completely out of breath and incredibly stressed.
"I'm outside," Ran says, calmly moving the phone an inch farther from his ear.
"I know you're outside! We're in the middle of a meeting, you can't just leave!"
You open your mouth to tell Ran he needs to go back to Roppongi, but Ran doesn't look remotely guilty.
He stares straight ahead at the road, presses the power button on the side of the phone, and holds it down until the screen goes completely black. He slides the dead phone back into his pocket, turns his head back to look at you, and gives you a reassuring nod.
"...Anyway, what do you want to do today?" he says.
"...That's it?" You stare at him. "You just hung up on your brother."
"He'll get over it," Ran waves a hand dismissively.
He swings one leg over the motorcycle and offers you the spare helmet. "So? Where are we going?"
"I haven't decided." You take the helmet, forcing an awkward laugh as you climb onto the back of the bike.
"Good, we've got all day."
As you wrap your arms around his waist, you squeeze your eyes shut. You need to make this afternoon completely perfect. If you can just keep him in a great mood, keep things fun, and let him down easy, everything will go smoothly. It has to.
You do not notice the way Ran glances back over his shoulder, studying your expression for a heartbeat longer than usual.
He doesn't say anything.
You pull him toward the high-end streetwear district, a bustling maze of sleek glass storefronts and trendy boutiques. Since your ultimate goal is to soften him up before the final blow, you throw yourself into the role of the attentive girlfriend.
Ran is entirely in his element—he loves fashion, and it shows. You spend the next hour steering him from one window display to another, nodding eagerly as he critiques the latest seasonal drops and points out pieces he thinks would look good on you.
"You'd look cute in that knit," he muses, leaning his shoulder against a pristine glass pane, his violet eyes tracking your reflection. "Maybe we should go inside and buy it."
"No, no, just looking today!" you say quickly, forcing a bright, airy laugh that feels a little too loud in your own ears.
You are working hard to keep this mood flawless. Normally, you’d roll your eyes at his arrogance, but today you find yourself smiling until your cheeks literally ache, hold his hand whenever he offers it, and make sure to laugh at every single one of his comments, even the ones that aren't funny.
But underneath the performance, your nerves are completely frayed. Your stomach is knotted in a tight, agonizing ball, and your skin feels hyper-sensitive. Every time your fingers brush against his, they are trembling slightly. Whenever he looks away, your smile instantly drops, your eyes darting nervously to your phone to check the time.
Finally, you decide you can't stretch the afternoon out any longer. The designated hour has arrived.
You stop on the sidewalk, smoothing down your clothes and looking up at him with the most casual expression you can muster.
"Hey, I'm kind of hungry," you suggest, gesturing down the street. "There's a really cute, crowded bakery just around the block. Let's get a coffee."
"A bakery?" Ran repeats, his eyes narrowing just a fraction in an unreadable expression before his easygoing grin slips back into place. He reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with a touch so gentle it makes your heart stop. "Sounds perfect. Lead the way."
The air smells warmly of sweet vanilla and fresh pastry, a sharp contrast to the cold knot of dread tying itself in your stomach. The space is completely packed with chattering couples, students studying, and families buying bread. You picked this spot on purpose. It is public, and it is crowded—a built-in safety net. There is a zero percent chance Ran would ever try to do anything reckless with fifty witnesses staring directly at him.
You rehearse the speech in your head over and over until the words lose all meaning. I'm grateful for everything, let's end things while both still happy.
You discard every version. They all sound fake.
Ran sits across from you in the booth, casually swirling an iced coffee with his straw. He reaches across the table and steals half your pastry.
"That was mine."
Somehow, despite everything, you still glare at him.
"I know," he shrugs, popping the piece into his mouth without a shred of regret.
You almost laugh. But then you remember exactly why you are sitting here, and the laughter dies completely before it can even reach your mouth.
"Graduation is next week," you started, your voice slightly tight as you tried to ease into the conversation. "Have you actually thought about what comes next? You’ll eventually have to get a real job, you know. Settle down after high school. You can't just run around the streets forever and blowing off your brother's gang meetings."
Ran didn't look annoyed by the suggestion. Instead, he looked genuinely, deeply amused by the entire concept.
"A real job?" he murmured, wiping the sugar from his fingers and tilting his head. "And miss out on all the thrill? Please. The straight and narrow is far too boring for me."
Hearing those words, the final thread of your hope snapped. It was the ultimate confirmation that it wasn't a rebellious trend he was going to outgrow or leave behind for university.
The knot in your stomach tightened until it physically hurt. You couldn't stretch this out for another minute.
"I think..."
Taking a deep breath, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of your seat, you finally say the words.
"I think we should break up."
The noise of the bakery continues around you.
Ran doesn’t look angry at that. Instead, that smile just stretches across his lips, completely calm. He sets his coffee down with a soft click against the wood.
"A breakup?" Ran repeats. He glances around the loud bakery, taking in the close proximity of the families at the next table, before fixing his eyes back on you. "Well, it’s a bit too noisy to talk about something that serious here, don't you think? Let’s go somewhere a little more private. There’s a quiet alley right around the corner. It's just a small walk."
Panic floods your chest like ice water. Your breath hitches. You chose this place precisely to avoid being alone with him.
"Ran, no, let's just—we can talk right here," you say, your voice cracking slightly as you try to force a casual laugh. "It's fine, we don't need to go anywhere—"
"You’ve been acting weird the entire day, you know?" Ran cuts you off softly.
As you look at him, you catch a look in his eyes that you have never seen before. The playful warmth he always reserves for you is utterly gone. His violet eyes are completely flat, dead, and freezing cold—the exact same dead expression he had right before he shattered a man's jaw with his baton.
"Did you really think I didn't notice that?" he asks, his chuckle quiet and entirely devoid of warmth. "Get up, we're taking that walk."
He slides his chair back, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floor. He stands up, his tall frame instantly blocking out the warm bakery lights, casting a long shadow over your table.
Before you can even protest, he tosses a few bills onto the table to cover the drinks and waits for you. Your legs feel like lead as you stand up and follow him out the door.
The walk down the sidewalk is excruciating. Ran steps at a leisurely pace, his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets, looking for all the world like a boyfriend enjoying an afternoon stroll.
"Ran, wait," you stammer, scrambling to keep up with his long strides, your voice rising in a panicked rush. "I-I was just kidding, okay? It was a joke. I just wanted to see your reaction! You know how I am. I didn't mean it, I swear. Let's just go back inside and get some cake, alright? Ran?"
You keep rambling, throwing out every excuse you can think of. Ran doesn't interrupt you. He just keeps walking, occasionally humming in mock understanding, letting you dig yourself deeper and deeper into your own terror.
Finally, he turns a sharp corner, guiding you out of the afternoon sun and into the dim, narrow shadows of a brick alleyway.
Ran stops walking and you nearly walk into him. For several seconds, neither of you moves.
Then he turns around, looking down at you. "Tell me something... why did you think my brother and I went to juvenile detention?"
The question catches you off guard, you nod uncertainly.
"I... I heard you got into a bad street fight. With a rival gang."
Ran lets out a chuckle that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. He looks upward for a moment, studying the slice of gray sky between the buildings.
Then he speaks again.
"I killed someone."
The sentence lands so softly that your brain refuses to process it.
You stare at him, waiting for the punchline, for the grin and him to say he got you. But none comes.
"When we were younger," he continues, closing the distance between you, "there was a fight between gangs, my brother and I caught the leader of the rival faction."
He reaches out, his thumb gently, almost tenderly, tracing the line of your jaw.
"It got out of hand. And I beat him so badly his skull fractured under my hands."
The alleyway goes completely silent.
Your breath hitches as you instinctively try to twist your face out of his hand, your palms coming up to push at his chest.
"I didn't want you to find out like this," he sighs quietly. His voice is so calm that it almost tricks you into forgetting what he just admitted.
Your thoughts become tangled. You don't know whether to apologize, to cry, or to run. To pretend none of this happened.
Instead, you whisper, "I think I should go home."
Ran’s gentle demeanor drops in a second. His grip on your jaw instantly tightens, squeezing your jawline hard enough to bruise, completely locking your head in place.
With his other hand, he reaches into his pocket. There is a sharp clack, and the silver telescoping baton extends. He slowly presses the cold, heavy metal cylinder directly against your collarbone, right over the racing pulse at the base of your neck.
"Let’s make one thing perfectly clear, then," Ran murmurs, his violet eyes wide and unblinking. "I love this pretty face of yours too much. It would be a terrible shame to see it bruised up... or worse. Do you understand me?"
He leans in closer, the suffocating scent of his cologne filling your nose as his gaze locks onto your trembling lips. The cold tip of the metal baton presses deeper into your collarbone.
"Oh, you have no idea how much I adore you," he continues, his voice dropping into a soft, reverent whisper that makes your skin crawl. "I think about you constantly. I look at you and I just want to keep you safe in my pockets forever. I would destroy anything—or anyone—that tries to take you away from me. Even you."
He pulls back just enough to look into your panicked, tear-stained face, his thumb softly wiping away a stray tear. "So, let's try this again. You love me, right? And we're going to stay together for a very, very long time."
Your eyes sting. You don't know whether you're about to cry or simply stop breathing.
Finally, barely above a whisper, you answer.
"...I love you."
Slowly, the crushing pressure on your jaw eases. You hadn't even realized how tightly your own fingers had closed around his until now. Ran collapses the baton with a smooth flick of his wrist and tucks it away.
Before you can pull away, he cups your face once more. He leans down and presses his lips to yours in a deep kiss.
When he pulls back, his fingers return to being uncannily gentle, smoothing over the red marks his grip just left on your skin, entirely uncaring of the pain he caused. He even reaches down to fix the collar of your shirt, patting it flat.
"There you go," he says, his voice returning to that lazy, cheerful purr. "You shouldn't make up silly jokes like that anymore. It makes me think I'm not taking good enough care of you."
He steps back, clearing your path out of the shadows, and extends his hand to you. "Now, let's go finish our date."
Your entire body is trembling. Your jaw throbs, and the phantom sensation of cold metal still lingers against your throat.
Swallowing down the bitter taste of tears, you slowly raise your shaking hand and place it in his.
Ran’s fingers immediately close around yours, locking your hand in a tight grip. He pulls you along as he casually strolls back out into the morning light.
In an instant, you are back on the bustling main street. The sun is shining warmly, the cheerful bell of the bakery is ringing in the distance, and normal high school students are laughing on the sidewalks.
Ran looks down at you, swinging your joined hands playfully between you as you walk. "So, what do you want to do next?"
You force your lips to curve upward. You swallow the terror in your throat and force a small, compliant smile, nodding along to his words.
That night, you find yourself sitting cross-legged on the soft carpet of your bedroom. You’ve just closed the window, letting the cool night air drift away. Suddenly, your phone vibrates on the wooden nightstand, breaking the stillness and pulling your attention to the screen.
genre: gn!reader who wears a skirt. a little suggestive at the end.
a/n: inspired by this puzzreve gacha card which i failed to get despite spending sm FUCKING diamonds on it FuCK
rindou, who is more insecure than you think and was caught off guard when you were interested in him and not his older brother, who's much more popular with suitors. "ran's not here," he says absentmindedly when you show up at their apartment, waving you off only to be pleasantly surprised when you tell him that you're there to actually visit him.
rindou, who is actually easily flustered because he's not used to being in the spotlight, having grown accustomed to being in his brother's shadow. "uh, sure," he coughs awkwardly, "i'm just working on a mix right now"– and his fingers are fumbling just slightly on the knobs as he feels your eyes focus on him, but as soon as he gets back into the groove of things, you can tell just how much he enjoys being in his own element apart from his brother.
rindou, who flashes you a cheeky little grin in between song transitions and beckons you to come behind the dj booth so he can explain to you the functions on the controller, and who lets you mess around with the knobs and cheers you on as you experiment. "yeah, that's it, you're getting the hang of it!"
rindou, whose face flushes when he feels you get a little too close to him, then before you know it, his lips are on yours. he's guiding you to the sofa, hands on your hips, and you're both toppling over as he rucks up your skirt. it's a little clumsy, rindou even tripping on an empty beer can on the way there (lol). then suddenly, the door swings open and it's ran, apparently just waking up now despite it being mid-day.
"uhm, same time tomorrow?" rindou asks sheepishly, helping you back up and fixing your skirt.
wait - wait - wait - - - waitt . . . . because your actually cooking rn , Even the proximity & ages too !! 🤯;;; Make it completely plausible with the timeline of Makoto's ( Mikey's father ) cheating ass.
An awful lot of familiar looking faces living within distance of one another totally not suspicious....
You know when I first saw Umekazu's character design for Tokyo Revenger's Unlimited - Excuse me I know nothing about his lore - ( and 😶 is still clueless )
I thought he looked very cookie cutter, plain / Mary sue for a male protagonist , in my brain the default settings for Ken Wakui's character design is Shinichiro, but now within the context of this theory you threw out there I can totally see him being the extension of the Sano families never ending half sibling drama / gang drama. He's a Shin ver 2.0
[ Does Umekazu have a last name ?? Or is that his last name / alias ?? I tried searching on the Tokyo Revengers fan wiki but found nothing ( I assume he has more info in game unfortunately I don't play it so I'm unable to check for info ) ]
Regarding the case of Takuya Yamamoto of the Mid mizo crew I'd actually make an argument that two other members are Mikey's half sibling's instead , ( imo but both could work considering Makoto ) That being Kazushi Yamagishi ,
personally I find his character more fitting for Mikey's half sibling since both are quite boyish / childish demeanor wise early on , both are interested in the Bōsōzoku gang culture scene - however it is expressed differently. Mikey being a whole gang leader-while Kazushi being-kind of a delinquent , but not really , he's more of a gangster wotaku ( harmless otaku ) The opposite of Mikey, more Geeky / Nerdy just with gang culture, he's also way more enthusiastic friendship wise. Less reserved compared to Takuya . Takuya is a bit too mild with his friendship between Takemitchi, he's not completely nonchalant but I got the impression he doesn't particularly care about local gang delinquent culture, he's just going along with what school boy's think is cool, i.e. his friends which is to be expected.
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While Takuya shares some visual feature's to Mikey ( hair / hairstyle ) I think his face shape is too slim, plus in the future timeline he gets even more slim -almost lanky but not really- so I can't really see much Mikey or Makoto resemblance since both are more stocky with wider faces.
I think future Kazushi's facial hair resembles Makoto somewhat although he grows quite tall in the future and his eyes become very different, face shape gets longer but stays wide, although I admit his features are much more softer / rounder than Mikey's in the manga. That's about it similarities wise.
Since the Tokyo Revengers ending didn't go down the Takemichi is actually Mikey's father reincarnated crack Theory I won't be digging into that theory again.
However consider this — Takemichi is actually Mikey's half sibling which is why he resembles Makoto andd- Would also possibly explain why we don't see his parent's get involved EVER. Considering all the gang violence Takemichi's subjected to you'd expect some level of explanation, intervention a slither of dialogue but ultimately nothing comes up.
Not saying that Takemichi's mother is divorced but more so suggesting... Did she conceive a child with her affair and stay in the marriage?
Perhaps the affair causing tension in the Hanagaki household causing an absent father then later this unravels in Takemichi's adulthood.
It would explain why Takemichi is bumming about in adulthood and never mentions his parents once , ( bitter family situation? Being a child of an affair 😬😬😬??? I meaaannn- could be? -could not be?? Who knows 🤷 )
Sorry to all the Takemai shippers out there for the unholy theory. ( I am also a Takemai enjoyer 💀 )
Anime bingo card never escaping the surprise incest . . .
Side Note: I'll never get over canon Mikey dialogue saying he's reminded of Makoto in Takemichi like;;;; That is too cursed for your gay ass dynamic. Pack it up...
Kind of reminds me of those news stories where a couple gets together, they take a DNA ancestry test only to discover they are long lost siblings or half siblings, I could totally see that with Takemichi more so had he been a gal and not a guy. idk something... something.... fuel for nightmare blunt rotation yaoi scenario ig... I need jesus after thinking about this tbh
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