Chapter Text
Night shift.
A man with broad shoulders and shocking green eyes flipped listlessly through another stack of personnel files, barely glancing at them for the tenth time, then taking out a notebook, writing meticulously. He pulled restlessly at his lab coat, so focused on his work he didn’t notice someone coming up behind him.
With a soft clink, another cup of endless coffee was placed in front of him in the windowless lab that truly blurred any sense of what time it was. The droning hum of the machines buzzed around, different rhythms, different frequencies, all drilling into his head like a bot-fly maggot. Christ, this was boring, but if he stuck it out long enough, soon enough, he’d be running this place. That is if the higher-ups got over their stupid hang-ups about abilities.
“It says it’s a fresh pot, but I’m not sure I believe it,” said the tech standing behind his shoulder.
Another cynic, the only person he might call a friend in this godforsaken place. The other man pushed up his glasses and took a sip of his own cup of the brew, raising it in a bit of a toast. He didn’t raise it back, but he did test its quality: truly disgusting.
“Good god,” the tech said, making a face. “D’you think we could convince the lab head to scout out someone with an ability that would improve the bean juice here, Huxley?”
Aldous Huxley snorted into his mug.
“What a fucking useless ability that would be otherwise,” he muttered. “I’m sure they’d be glad to exchange it for something else.”
“Like what?” the tech asked.
He wasn’t subtle, that he wanted a clue in on what Huxley was working on. But he was feeling in a generous mood.
“Maybe,” he started, standing up, “they’d swap it for an ability to bend metal like a blacksmith.”
The tech leaned curiously over his shoulder and peered into the room in front of them. It was divided from them by a large one-way mirror and contained inside was a young boy. He was dressed in a matching set of grey sweats and sitting on the floor, a pile of mis-formed metal ingots beside him among one or two with recognizable shapes. One looked like a toy dinosaur made of iron, spines along its back even and shiny.
“Oh, is that what you’ve got there, Hux?” the man said quietly. “That’s far more interesting than what I’ve got on my plate. How in the world do you find these kids?”
Huxley shrugged. His source was his own, at least until he trusted Kindred was on the same page as he was, in regards to ability-users. Both of them had abilities themselves, not exactly making them popular, but though he resented the public outcry against ability-users, there was some of that sentiment he agreed with. He already knew that Kindred deemed some abilities were very dangerous and needed to be kept under surveillance — a very government approach, if he was honest, but it was that government interference that gave them these jobs to begin with. They were lucky to be paid for something that utilized their abilities.
Most importantly, though, Huxley still had not yet determined his friend’s loyalty to him.
“You have your own sources, don’t you, Phil?” Huxley said matter-of-factly.
Kindred laughed.
“If you call the gossip from the other labs a source. Late-night whiskey and budget holdings loosening tongues. And the occasional flash forward.” Kindred was almost twenty, and yet he still didn’t quite understand his own precognitive ability. Part of the reason he was at the lab was to make sense of these visions of the future he had. “Speaking of which . . .”
Kindred looked around the deserted hall conspiratorially. It was probably quite late, or quite early, and there wasn’t anyone else nearby.
“I did hear something you might find interesting,” he said, his voice low. “Lab 17, the one by the river, it’s gone.”
“Gone?” Huxley raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, gone? Defunded?”
Kindred shook his head.
“Like it exploded,” he continued. “I heard from one of the workers that they’d been keeping an ability-user — a child — who has god-like powers. So powerful Interpol tried to abduct him, but taking him out of containment led to a disaster.”
Huxley’s ears pricked up. It was an interesting rumor, because it meant that some of the labs might be harboring ability-users he wanted. The god-like power might be one, if it could be controlled, but it sounded like this child was already a target. Still, some interest must have shown on his face because Kindred continued.
“That’s not all,” he said, eager for Huxley’s attention and approval. “There’s also rumors that lab had been collecting god-like abilities, including one approximating each of the four guardian spirits. Or something like them, at least. And that night,” he added dramatically, “one of them escaped.”
Huxley raised an eyebrow. A child, someone who didn’t yet have autonomy but who had incredible powers . . . something like that could definitely be useful.
“Which one?” he asked mildly.
“Byakko,” Kindred replied. “That’s the tiger.”
“Tiger, huh?” he muttered to himself, watching the ability-user behind the glass transform a piece of metal into what appeared to be a long knife. “Well, if he comes our way, we’ll see what we can do with that.”
Kindred nodded and walked back to his own work as Huxley sat down at his desk. After a moment, he picked up his phone and made a call.
[Sixteen years later]
Night shift.
Morning in Yokohama was often just an extension of the night, or at least it was for three young men in particular. Daybreak meant it was time to start the workday, to continue casework or start on paperwork, to check up on business dealings or solve murders or frame people for murder. To make time for romance, there was only as much night as they could get.
The rare date among the Triad had been planned for a month but it was far less meticulous than it had been in the past as they began to casually fall and fit into the small nooks of each-others’ lives. Atsushi accompanying Chuuya out on grocery runs, Chuuya taking time to read the same book as Dazai so they could discuss it, Dazai heading home after work with Atsushi and Kyouka to watch a movie.
Tonight in the cold they had gone to view the botanic garden’s winter light display, walking along the dark paths and clasping gloved hands. Atsushi had treated them all to the pricey hot chocolate as Chuuya shivered and Dazai tried to get away with groping them as much as possible. Afterwards, they piled into a late-night hot pot for a ten-pm dinner where Chuuya flexed his means by getting them a private table, before they retired to Chuuya’s apartment.
Dazai also had a place in downtown Yokohama now within walking distance of Uzumaki and the ADA offices. He didn’t actually live there most of the time, but there were talks among the three of them to keep it as a home base for the Triad, neutral ground, somewhere they could be together without imposing or with too much reminder of their separate day lives. It certainly wasn’t ready yet, and since they all had work tomorrow, Chuuya’s place was the most convenient. It also had everything they needed for a long night.
Chuuya was the object of their affection this evening, his body chilled from the night air and already desperate to be warmed up even before he took off his clothes. No sooner had he removed them than two pairs of arms fell around his bare waist, one from in front of him and one from behind. His skin tingled with the kisses laid on his neck, his back, chest, and lips, basking in their touch, and all three of them tumbled into bed.
Often they liked it when Chuuya removed his collar, but he was implored to keep it on, and they hooked their fingers under it, tugging him back and forth, pulling him down. They leaned over him, Atsushi at his head and Dazai at his legs, and they pressed their lips to his in turn. First Dazai’s mouth was on his, and then Atsushi cupped his jaw to pull him into a kiss before Dazai stole his breath once again. When he motioned for a break, they leaned across him towards one another, Atsushi hungrily sucking on Dazai’s lower lip, Dazai’s tongue insatiable. Their hands folded together sweetly, clasping each-other, before Dazai seized Atsushi’s wrist and pulled their joint hands to run down Chuuya’s torso. Chuuya groaned as they double-teamed him, stroking his dick, getting him hard, as if he needed the extra help when they were so fucking beautiful.
Atsushi slid his hands to inside Chuuya’s thighs and clasped them, pulling them apart, opening him. Dazai took the cue and kissed up those spread legs, stopping a moment to nip at Atsushi’s hand before he pressed a slick finger effortlessly into Chuuya. Chuuya made that same whimpering sound he always did, abashed by how much he liked this, liked someone else taking the lead, and both of his boyfriends laid him down, taking charge of his senses and body.
Dazai had lately been trying some new shit with his long and hungry fingers. He plunged his two middle ones into Chuuya’s core as his thumb kneaded externally at a spot under Chuuya’s dick, the sensitive skin by his testicles, and it was fucking driving him wild. Atsushi, meanwhile, was all lips and tongue today. His chocolate-scented breath was hot on Chuuya’s neck, chest, face, planting teasing kisses around his mouth but not giving in, not letting their tongues mingle and touch until Chuuya was almost begging.
Light washed over him and he felt alive and wanted, and good, a descriptor he was sure he had long left in the past. Each and every time they slept together, he was reminded of this small goodness within himself, that he had two partners who loved him and saw the light in him and embraced his darkness.
But something disrupted his haze of pleasure like a screaming alarm clock shaking him from a beautiful dream. He shifted as an uncomfortable, persistent buzzing shook the mattress.
Chuuya groped around the bed, thinking someone — Dazai, obviously — had brought some new toy and was fucking around with them by leaving it on. But his hand dug under the pillow and fell on his phone. Someone was calling?
Chuuya made a noise of distress, almost like a child, leaning into Dazai’s hand, moaning into Atsushi’s mouth. He knew it was unbecoming, but he also knew that in a minute he was going to have to answer that damn phone and be composed, take command, take control. He wanted to lose it while he still could.
It buzzed again, sending irritating vibrations through the bed, then the double-pulse which meant someone had left a voicemail. And then the cycle began again.
Chuuya shook his head and Atsushi let up, instead leaning his head on his shoulder, waiting for instruction. Chuuya reached under the pillow for the infernal device and saw that he had three missed calls from Kouyou. And it was she who was calling him again now. He swallowed, wondering what kind of day he was in for.
“I gotta take this,” he said bluntly, breathless. “At least be quiet.”
He gasped as Dazai withdrew his fingers from his ass and he sat up, trying to ignore his still-throbbing insides as he slid open the lock and put the phone to his ear. In a daze, he watched silently as his older partner instead straddled his lap, a hand between them, his other hand pressed flat against his own lips.
I’ll be quiet, Chuuya. Will you?
“Hello?”
It was more formal than he usually was, but it was all he could manage without the shake in his voice. Atsushi had given Dazai a look of distaste but quickly followed his lead in continuing their activities, trailing a line of kisses along Chuuya’s shoulders, pressing against him from behind.
“Chuuya.” Kouyou’s voice was curt and short, impatient. No doubt she’d guessed what he was up to instead of answering his phone and wasn’t amused. “We’ve got a problem. How soon can you get back?”
“Depends. How big is the problem?”
God, Atsushi was hard, he could feel it against his lower back. It wasn’t fair to leave him hanging. Chuuya quietly twisted to kiss him and pulled him forward, beckoning him beside him rather than behind him and laying a hand between Atsushi’s legs.
“The whole sector’s up in arms,” Kouyou sighed. “Someone broke into the file containment.”
Chuuya’s heart picked up speed from the news, and then again as Dazai held their erections together. A nondescript noise escaped his lips, disguised, he hoped, as concern and annoyance, but was probably from Dazai’s hand stroking them long and firm. Chuuya pressed his lips together, shutting his eyes as that fog of pleasure descended upon him.
“Broke — into?” Chuuya choked. “Broke into or stole something?”
Dazai’s eyes flickered up at him with interest, but he didn’t stop stroking. Chuuya shuddered and put his phone on his shoulder, taking a moment to pull Atsushi closer, getting a good grip on Atsushi’s cock with his free hand.
“We’re checking over the footage now,” Kouyou replied, and her voice was getting far away as Dazai’s hand pulled on them, slowly, over and over. That warmth of Dazai’s dick, just as hard as he was, trembling just as he was, it was bliss taking him away from his very present troubles. “But it looks like something was stolen. It’s imperative we find out what as soon as possible.”
“Right,” he said offhand. She probably didn’t need to tell him that, but his brain wasn’t working so he appreciated the extra exposition. “Why do I — don’t we got a whole team for that?”
She groaned in annoyance in one ear as Atsushi groaned in pleasure in the other. Atsushi quickly caught himself and pressed his mouth to Chuuya’s shoulder, his teeth digging in more the harder Chuuya stroked.
“We have a security team, dummy,” she sighed. “It’s only the executives who know what’s in there. Not exactly a large team.”
A part of his addled brain was looping in Dazai with executives, excited for a moment to take him along to work, then remembering it was, in all practicality, just himself and Kouyou who would be able to help Mori here. Slim pickings. Non-executive Dazai in front of him was currently picking up speed, his slick palm sliding up their cocks, the heat and friction and touch becoming too much. He had to wrap up.
“Alright. I’m— ”
Coming.
“—on my way.”
He hung up and threw the phone aside, just as Dazai’s fingers hooked under that sweet spot, pressing just right, just as Atsushi’s lips sucked on his sensitive neck, and he cried out, throwing his head back, gripping Atsushi’s leg.
Dazai kissed him, his shoulders heaving in satisfaction, still holding their now soft and sticky dicks.
“Shit,” Chuuya swore. His vision returned slowly as his blood flowed back to his head, and he ran a hand through his tangled hair. “I hafta go.”
He shot an apologetic look at Atsushi, who was still hard, still aroused, his breath still short. It really wasn’t fair, to leave him in the lurch, or to deny himself that look of ecstasy on Atsushi’s beautiful face, and it would probably only take a few minutes . . .
“Go, Chuu,” Dazai pressed. He shifted on the bed and swiftly pushed Atsushi down, clambering on top of him. “We’ll be just fine without you.”
Chuuya hesitated for just a moment, then leaned down to give Atsushi a kiss goodbye.
“I love you,” Atsushi said, his voice clearer than he was expecting.
Chuuya repeated the sentiment and hastily cleaned himself off, not even bothering with his more complicated suits, instead throwing on a two-piece with a red shirt and black tie.
“Lock up when you’re done,” he said hastily. “And if I find you’ve been going through my shit, I’m breaking up with you.”
* * *
Twice the usual number of guards were posted at the entrance and he both swiped his ID and had it inspected before he was let past the first checkpoint. At the second, he was picked up by a trio of subordinates who dropped him by the third, and past those gates he found waiting for him a black-haired man draped in a coat that nearly blended into the shadows.
“Hey,” Chuuya said casually and nodded, and Akutagawa joined him as he journeyed up the long hallway towards the elevators.
Akutagawa wasn’t generally part of any investigation team, but Chuuya assumed he was poised at the ready to go after whoever they found was the culprit. As they entered the elevator and stood side-by-side, Chuuya considered arguing against Akutagawa’s involvement — it would be better to take someone in alive. Also not the man’s specialty. But he was glad for the company and thought maybe Akutagawa was here as his friend, for moral support.
“Can you believe this shit?” Chuuya started. “I can’t take a fucking break, can I? Why ain’t the security team doing their goddamn jobs?”
“From what I hear, a few of the personnel were injured,” Akutagawa replied curtly. “Of course, I’m not supposed to know all of this. I’m sure you’ll hear the real story once you speak with the higher-ups.”
Chuuya wrinkled his nose, both understanding why intel was always on lockdown but becoming frustrated with how the hierarchy sometimes operated. Often it left a lot of people each with spotty information which lead to slowdowns and misunderstandings all around. He wondered if that would be the case today.
“It’s fine, we don’t gotta be secretive about every damn thing,” Chuuya sighed, looking at his subordinate meaningfully. “I’m not worried with you, Ryuu, your mouth’s tighter than a flea’s asshole.”
Akutagawa’s lack of eyebrows furrowed for a moment, expressing thanks, and then shifted as his eyes flickered to Chuuya’s neck. Wordlessly, he took Chuuya’s collar and straightened it, pulling it up to cover more of his skin.
“A bruise was showing,” he said offhand, and Chuuya flushed. “From some fight with a tiger, no doubt.”
“Jesus. Thanks.”
He wasn’t sure what else to say after that, but the ride wasn’t much longer and they soon stepped out into a floor that was already chaotic. Everywhere, mafiosi of every level were running down halls, huddled in small groups, brandishing weapons. But waiting for them directly at the elevator bank was a woman in a sharp suit with brown hair and thick glasses.
Since her work to help save his vacation, Chuuya had promoted Mary Oliver to his executive assistant. She managed his day-to-day and compressed information down to digestible reports. Her duty also included keeping his vague calendar for the Triad, and that delegation allowed for less energy monitoring his time and more for giving gifts, more spontaneous texts. It freed up his mind to focus on just letting his boyfriends know he loved them.
Fiancés, he reminded himself, nearly blushing. He hadn’t told anyone yet, though the rings hugged his finger under his gloves, beating against his skin.
“Nakahara-sama,” Mary said in greeting. “Akutagawa-sama.” She inclined her head. “Kouyou-san is waiting for you in the file room.”
Akutagawa peeled off as they stepped down the hall at a brisk pace.
“Brief me,” Chuuya said, trying not to get frustrated at the scene around him.
“Someone entered the Mafia tower and the executive file room earlier today,” Mary explained. “We only knew when the alarm was triggered on their way out. Once we were informed, surveillance could see that a line of cameras from the North entrance to the executive wing had a temporary outage, including the one in the file room. The room also showed signs of disturbance. There was a conflict as the culprit fled and one of the guards near the North entrance was shot. The other one is detained for questioning, since it’s clear they allowed access to the intruders in the first place.”
“Huh.” A temporary camera outage spoke of that retired detective, Tamaya. But something like that would be far too obvious if it really was the ADA’s doing. “Temporary outage? Power surge?”
“More like a blip,” Mary corrected. “Very subtle, whatever happened was no different than when the cameras stutter from an internet kbps dip. We only noticed because we were looking for it.”
That sounded like whoever broke in knew where the cameras were and were able to avoid most of them, or at least avoid them at the right time. He’d also assumed the security cameras were hard wired into the building, but it sounded like the feed was streamed. What was someone from the outside doing with that kind of information?
A former Mafia member? Except we kill most of those . . .
But not all of them, and Chuuya couldn’t help but touch his ring finger as he thought of Dazai. Unless it was life-or-death, though, there were lines Dazai wouldn’t cross . . . and also the man likely had memorized everything in that file storage he wanted back when he had authorized access. Still, Chuuya couldn’t quite shake his unease as he finally headed over to talk to Kouyou.
The file room was behind a single metal door. There was a keycard access panel that looked untouched. But he didn’t need to swipe his card at the moment because the door was open, and he stepped inside to greet the other executive. A tall woman with long red hair and dressed in her usual formal kimono was standing to the side of the room, holding a large clipboard and writing furiously.
“Ah, Chuuya,” Kouyou said in greeting, not looking up. “Finally. How was your time off?”
“None of your business,” Chuuya said as politely as possible, and she smirked. Once she had learned about his scandalous sex life, she’d taken him out to lunch in order to gently pry. He eventually conceded on a detail or two just to keep her happy but kept to strictly nonsexual activities. “So, did you find what’s missing?”
“Almost done with the inventory,” she replied, sighing. “We’ll burn this when we’re done. There was disturbance around row C but we can’t be sure that wasn’t a distraction. You can go check it out if you want. Look for clues or whatever, if those detectives have rubbed off on you in a different way.”
He snorted, trying to keep his mood light before it inevitably got sour. Block C was a row of boxes and binders and enormous file folders, the same as the rest of them, but in the middle there were a few papers strewn about as though someone had grabbed something quickly and run. Something prickled at the back of his neck as he approached the folders, a wave of deja vu swirling in his head. He had been here before — he had been here recently, in dire circumstances, a little over a year ago. This was the row where he had taken out the file on Philip Kindred Dick.
He’d put it back, of course. But if something else was missing here, then someone else was interested in one of the labs.
His eyes scanned over the rows and shelves, bit by bit. He hadn’t read all of these, but he remembered the basic order. By lab, by date, some of them by name but mostly not. And there, towards the top of the row, Lab 243 was missing a year. Fourteen years ago.
“I’ve got it,” Chuuya announced, trudging back to Kouyou. He reported back what he had found, and she understood that she didn’t need to question him on his surety.
“It feels as though we’ve had a lot coming back to us about those infernal labs lately,” Kouyou sighed. “Half the Spiders started their life in one, have you talked to them about that yet?”
The Spiders was what they were now calling Chuuya’s ancillary team, one cobbled together from the dredges of an old rival gang. He had recently killed the gang’s leader, Aldous Huxley, because on top of being a major asshole who tried to take over Yokohama’s underground, Huxley was also Dazai’s abusive ex-boyfriend.
“Er, maybe,” he said honestly, though he couldn’t think about that right now. He was mostly thinking about how it could easily have been one of them that stole the files. And how likely. But that would have made it his responsibility, and he needed to get more evidence before jumping to that unfortunate conclusion. “Mary said there was some glitch with the footage?”
“Something like that.”
Kouyou tucked away the notes she was scribbling and locked up the door behind them as they swept back out into the hall and into the surveillance corridor.
Inside the security room was more chaos. Half the screens that were supposed to show the Mafia Tower hallways were blank or full of snow as the techs tried to analyze them, and a few people in surveillance uniform were standing around the console looking stressed. Kouyou sighed and walked over, Chuuya trailing her as she began yelling at everyone within shouting distance. She sat herself down at the console and began moving faders and pressing buttons, bringing up the footage from earlier today.
“So no footage of this scumbag?” Chuuya said, folding his arms. “Not even a shoe or the back of a shirt?”
Kouyou shrugged. “Even during their escape, the chaos meant we only caught an arm, and they were dressed entirely in black. There’s nothing to suggest it’s been doctored, either. One of the Spiders has got ability detection, it’s been pretty useful . . . all that to say, it’s real or it’s a digital disturbance. Or . . . Someone got in there without being detected by the cameras.”
Something about the words ability detection scraped at Chuuya’s memory, but he filed it away for now, focusing on the more imminent threat.
“Or,” Kouyou said reflectively, “it could have been someone fast.”
Was it just him, or did she give him a furtive look at those words? He wasn’t sure why, because who did he know who could be that fast aside from himself . . .
His stomach turned over a second as he realized a possibility, before he pushed the thought away. No way.
“The storeroom . . . could someone have managed to get something out without going into the room?” Chuuya muttered, pressing forward. “Daz told me once about some kid who could walk through walls and bring things with him . . . pretty sure he’s dead, though.”
“‘Daz’?” Kouyou said pointedly, but didn’t give Chuuya a moment to feel his humiliation. “No, we have the logs from the door and it was definitely opened.”
“So someone copied one of our access card codes,” Chuuya supplied.
“Also no,” Kouyou said again, “because the log doesn’t have a number at all for access between yesterday and this morning. Which means someone rigged up something on their own—”
“Or picked the lock,” Chuuya finished. The door was normally accessed through an electronic key, but had a physical lock override for emergencies as a safety mechanism. He turned to a subordinate beside him. “Get me a casting of the keyhole. Should be able to determine the tools they used from there. If it was a typical lockpicking kit we’re SOL but . . . in the meantime,” he sighed, cracking his knuckles above his head, “I should see to about this guard, huh?”
Kouyou stood up, towering a head over him, even without heels. An intimidating and beautiful woman.
“That’s what I was waiting on you for,” she said. “We’ll make him talk, one way or another.”
* * *
They picked up Akutagawa before the three of them went down into the Mafia holding cells. There were several levels of what could be considered an interrogation room here, but they were let into a more traditional one, a closed room with a table and several chairs. In one of them sat a man in a black suit and tie, the unofficial uniform of a Mafia grunt. He looked a bit unruffled, but he was not yet bound, only two guards were set on either side of him. Both of them stepped back as Chuuya, Kouyou, and Akutagawa strolled inside.
This person was in their employ, so they were going to start easy. Akutagawa would hang back as the real serious interrogator; but Chuuya and Kouyou would try their hand at being diplomatic first. In the way they could be.
“So,” Chuuya started, holding his hands together politely, “you’re the guard who let these intruders through.” The man said nothing, looking at his knees. “Your companion was shot, sounds like, under intensive care.” He tilted his head, looking down at the guard. “Let’s not make him out to be the lucky one. Tell me what he looked like and we can all go about our day, eh? Don’ make me ask you twice.”
It was easy sometimes to be intimidating despite his height; but this time, it had almost no effect. The man continued to look at his knees, his lips pursed.
Chuuya gritted his teeth and nimbly lifted a knee, hands in his pockets, pressing the toe of his oxford under the man’s chin and lifting his face up towards him.
“I said,” he muttered, “I ain’t gonna ask you twice. You’re making me a liar.”
There was warranted fear in his eyes. His lips trembled, and then he said the most annoying words Chuuya could think of.
“I can’t. I can’t tell you.”
Chuuya put his foot down and made a gesture of frustration. What the hell was this guy’s problem?
“I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to be a hero for,” Chuuya started, “because there ain’t no heroes in the Mafia.”
With both hands, he grabbed the man’s shirt and lifted him straight into the air, making a show that he wasn’t even using his ability, just his pure strength.
“Listen to me,” Chuuya growled, his voice low and dangerous as he twisted the man’s collar, “I don’t even know your name. To me, to the boss, you’re expendable. If the intruder had slit your throat I wouldn’t even have blinked.” He watched as the man’s eyes widened in terror. “Is this what your life culminates to?” He continued in a whisper. “Dying as a guard for the Port Mafia, killed before you could even do your job?”
“I — no—” the man stammered, clutching Chuuya’s wrist. “I don’t — I don’t want to die.”
“So you weren’t prepared to lay down your life,” Chuuya mocked. “And so you just let them pass? Some guard you are. You ain’t fit to be fodder here, let alone here at our entry. Ryuu, take him down to the—”
“No!” The man gasped suddenly. Finally ready to talk. Chuuya sighed. “I am prepared to — but there wasn’t — there wasn’t any violence.” He turned red and Chuuya understood what he was going to say just before he admitted it. “It was blackmail.”
Christ.
“Even less fit to be a guard,” Kouyou said venomously, sweeping her hair back. “Allowing your reputation to get in the way.”
“I got this, Ane-san,” Chuuya said hastily. He put the guard back down but didn’t yet release his collar. “What do you mean there wasn’t any violence? Didn’t your partner get shot?”
“Yes, but . . . it was an accident.” He swallowed, and Chuuya sensed there was something else going on here. “As they left, Yamazaki tried to shoot after them . . . one of them deflected it and it hit him in the neck. And then the guards came running from the other checkpoints and all hell broke loose. There was gunfire everywhere.”
“. . . Deflected?” Chuuya said almost to himself. So, definitely someone with an ability, but there were all sorts that could deflect a bullet.
“That’s enough. We’re already losing time,” Kouyou insisted. “You’ve got five more minutes, Chuuya, before I resort to violence.”
He bit his lip. If she was going bad cop . . . bad Mafioso, whatever . . . he’d better switch to being the lenient one. Not his strong suit, but Ane-san was pissed, both at him and their situation, and wasn’t feeling reasonable. Lucky he was just with two people who brought out his sweet side.
“Look,” he started. “Just tell me what they looked like. You saw them leave. You saw them come in. Believe me when I tell ya we don’t give a rat’s ass about the blackmail — whatever harm or terrible thing you’ve done, you’re in the goddamn Mafia. We’ve seen worse. We’ve done worse.” He finally let the man go, taking off his hat for a moment to comb back his hair. “I get it. I’ve done some shady shit, I mean, look at me. My boyfriend is a Mafia traitor. My partner’s a detective. I guarantee I’ve heard it all.” Something stirred behind the guard’s eyes, but he still said nothing. “Hey. I don’t know your name. But you help us catch these scum, that can change, alright? You help the Mafia, we’ll help you.”
The guard bit his lip, still stubbornly refusing to talk. But there was something flickering in his eyes that said he wanted to cooperate. Only . . .
“It’s not the blackmail,” Chuuya intuited, tilting his head. “Something happened. You owe them.”
“I . . .”
Now the guard was truly acting pathetic, twisting his fingers, eyes darting around. But Chuuya seemed to be reaching him, finally, because he did something odd. He rolled his fingers under his shirt and pulled it up to reveal what looked like a years-old scar, of what was once a bruised bullet wound.
“I got shot, in the disarray,” he said quietly. “And I should have been left for dead. They should have left me for dead. But they turned around and — healed me.”
“Sorry?” Chuuya blurted.
Healing? Healing? Not patched up, not First Aid but healing. An ability. Who the fuck had a healing ability except . . .
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts before they spiraled into a panic. There were more and more people with abilities in this damn city. He didn’t know anything.
“They — he saved my life,” the guard said. “And so . . . yeah, I do owe him.”
Kouyou groaned aloud behind him.
“Useless,” she muttered, meaning the guard, but Chuuya felt her annoyance with him, too. But he thought he’d gotten some good information at least. “Throw him in the dungeon. Verlaine’ll have to clear some time in his busy schedule for a more severe interrogation.”
“Hang on, we’ve got one last pull,” Chuuya said. He put his hands on his hips, lip twitching. They could use abilities, too. “You susceptible to blackmail, eh? Lucky for us, the Mafia’s got our own little blackmailer . . . and she’ll pull something out of you whether you want her to or not.”
It hit him before he called for her, that there was something off about all of this. He’d said it himself — this guy was a nobody, an anonymous guard, a pawn in the Mafia chess game. He wasn’t supposed to be susceptible to blackmail because no one was supposed to know anything about him. How had someone known what guard would be at what door and research them enough to . . .
He shook his head, no time to be seen standing around thinking. He wasn’t Dazai. Instead, he put his hand to his earpiece, paging his assistant.
“Mary? Get Sayaka Murata down here.”
Unexpectedly, the guard’s expression changed again, his pallor becoming pale. Sayaka’s ability had been a fairly well-kept secret, her power to immediately create an image of someone’s memory quickly becoming a trump card for them. Chuuya had been trying to train her in a leadership position among the Spiders as well, which was a little more annoying than teaching her to use her own power — well, someone else’s power she stole, but that was a different matter. And yet, this guard seemed terrified of her, even just by name.
“No — stop,” he said quickly. Weirder, this was getting weirder, and Chuuya didn’t like where this was going at all. “I’ll tell you. Just don’t . . . not her.”
Chuuya’s eyes flickered to Kouyou’s as she stepped forward beside him, her arms folded, waiting like a patient mother for her naughty son’s confession.
“There were two of them, wearing black hooded sweaters,” the guard said meekly. “One of them, the one who helped me . . . he was average height, but had white hair and weird eyes.”
Chuuya sucked in a breath to keep himself from screaming. He didn’t even dare look at Kouyou, he didn’t need to hear how much this sounded like Atsushi, that Atsushi had a motive and a means but as far as he knew, there had been no opportunity. Hadn’t he or Dazai seen him nearly every day the entire week? The entire last two weeks?
Don’t be stupid.
Of course it wasn’t him. Chuuya didn’t have the heart to doubt him, not his beautiful and sweet tiger. Dazai, he would have no problem believing pulling this off, even though with the way Dazai had been weirdly kind to him the last six months he would have been slightly surprised. But not Atsushi.
But that didn’t change the fact that it really looked like it was him, and Chuuya had to do something about it. It was someone fucking with him, someone trying to blame his tiger for this. Why? Simply to cover their own tracks, or to sow chaos between the Mafia and the ADA? Or were they actually targeting the ADA, attempting to ruin their reputation? Or . . . was it someone trying once again to break up the Triad?
“If asked to identify these individuals from a photograph or lineup, would you be able to?” Kouyou asked practically.
“Yeah — yeah,” the guard said confidently. “He was pretty memorable.”
“Good. I hope you understand that we’ll have to keep you on ice until we can produce that. Akutagawa-san,” she said, sweeping a long-fingered hand towards him, “take him to the dungeon. The nice dungeon,” she added sweetly.
There was a physical obstruction in the air, oppressive like high humidity, like a thick cloud. All three of the mafiosi could feel it but none of them acknowledged it. It pressed down on them as Akutagawa grabbed the now submissive guard and did as he was told, taking him out of the interrogation room and back into the cells.
Chuuya and Kouyou stayed silent, still, until a full minute after the door shut behind Akutagawa and the echoes of footsteps ceased from down the hall. Then, slowly, Chuuya turned to face his mentor.
“You have 24 hours to find me a different explanation,” Kouyou said bluntly. “This isn’t a threat, Chuuya. This is me covering for you because this looks really bad for you, and you deserve to have a boyfriend without these sorts of . . . complications.”
“Fiancé,” Chuuya blurted.
Kouyou stopped, staring at him for a moment. He should have told her. Was she angry?
She stepped towards him, arms outstretched, and then gently took his hand. Carefully, she peeled his glove off and looked at the glittering rings. Her eyes went wide, and he guessed what she was thinking. Exactly to Chuuya’s taste.
“Gold, pearl, and emerald,” she said quietly. “Beautiful jewels. They’re lovely, Chuu. It makes me feel so old that the impertinent teenager I trained is engaged.”
She let him go, and he shoved his glove back on sheepishly.
“I’m so mad at you for tying yourself to that wretched Dazai,” she said simply. “But . . . congratulations about Atsushi. But now it’s even more pressing you use these 24 hours to find what you need.” She sighed, closing her eyes. “I like him, too. And I also owe him.” She grimaced. “Doesn’t that sound familiar?”
“Got it,” Chuuya managed. “Thank you, Ane-san. I won’t . . . thank you.”
He swept out the door and down the hallway, taking the quickest route back to his office, not wanting to waste another second.
Inside was blessedly silent from the erratic chaos of the rest of the tower, almost ringing in his ears as he tried to figure out what to do next.
Well. First he needed to tell Atsushi about all this.
Chuuya flipped open his burner phone, unsure how to share the bad news. But he had to warn him that the Mafia were about to come after him, that someone had framed him for this. His first thread of inquiry was if it was an inside job, if it was one of the Spiders who had yet to come around, doing their own digging without permission. He’d have to talk to Sayaka, who was now officially in charge of them but who still struggled with her own confidence . . . a lot like his wayward tiger.
But he stopped, a cold sweat on the back of his neck as he stared down at his hands. His leather gloves covered his hands, kept his fingerprints off things he touched, kept his engagement rings concealed and private. But beneath them, wrapped around his wrist more like a manacle than a bracelet, was a piece of silver metal. A conductor, meant to keep his power at bay. He had also recently learned it could be used to determine whether or not someone had an ability.
We have an ability-detector, it’s very useful.
And that had set off his alarms. Could one of the Spiders also have this as an ability? Or did they just have . . .
Shit. First things first, take care of Atsushi.
He swallowed and sent a quick message meant to prepare him.
Bad news, tiger. Brace yourself.
As he tried to compose his words, trying to be both blunt and gentle, a message came in from Atsushi. And then another.
And Chuuya’s entire body went cold, his heart numb. The phone clattered to the floor as his fingers lost the will to hold it.
I’m sorry, Atsushi wrote. Please don’t break up with me.