yakuza boss sae itoshi who shows up at your house one night, the navy blue of his dress shirt stained black with blood.
“I had nowhere else to go,” he says before he slumps against you, the weight of his body nearly driving yours to the floor.
you drag him to your bathroom and lean him against the tub. his skin is pale, dark shadows like bruises under his eyes.
“what happened?”
“it doesn’t concern you.” his tone is flat as always, impossible for you to read.
patch yourself up then. it’s on the tip of your tongue, but his position stops your retort.
“whatever.”
his wound is shallow enough that performing the stitches yourself won’t be difficult. you find the first aid kit and get to work, trying your best not to think about who is in your home.
he’s the reason your mother cried herself to sleep for a year straight, the reason you have a bowl of incense ashes instead of an older brother.
(at the funeral, he told you your brother was a good man who died bravely. it just made you hate him more.)
despite that, you can still remember the first time you met him, how the heaviness of his gaze turned you inside out, made you want something you’ve never been able to name.
you’ve never been this close to him. he gives off more warmth than you would expect.
“tell me if I hurt you,” you hear yourself say.
“I will.”
his eyes never stray from you, even though you avoid them at all costs. it’s unbearable being caught under his gaze, like a bug pinned and wriggling on a board.
“stop looking at me.”
“why?” he sounds genuinely surprised.
“I don’t like it.”
(it’s not entirely a lie. you want him to stop looking because he always sees too much, and you’re ashamed enough as it is.)
you don’t ask him why he came to you. you don’t ask him why he didn’t call his first lieutenant or why he makes no means to leave when you’ve finished patching him up.
“thank you,” he says softly.
when you look up at him, he’s barely able to keep his head up.
“if you’re gone by the morning, you can have the futon.”
(you fall asleep quickly, even though sae can tell you tried hard to stay awake. he shouldn’t check on you, but the impulse has remained after all these years.
he shouldn’t have come here. he should have called shidou or rin, but he’d wanted you—even if it meant your anger, your hatred.
you’re no masochist, boss, shidou said to him once.
he isn’t, not usually. he doesn’t know why he can’t leave you alone, why he keeps track of your job and your friends, why he diverts danger that comes your way.
your brother died protecting him. it’s a transgression you’ll never forgive.
and yet -
he still takes his time staring at your sleeping form, memorizing the way your chest rises and falls with every breath.)
