Kazutora should be happy.

Once he's escorted through that metal door, he's free. He has nothing but a plastic bag in tow — some personal items, letters, the latest manga volume that Chifuyu lent him — but his lack of belongings is the perfect symbol, a metaphor of his fresh start. Ready to rebuild his life and begin anew. Sanctioned to walk out that door, a free man, and start over.

What a ton of fucking bullshit.

It's nothing like that. Nothing like the movies. Free from what, exactly? It's anticlimactic. It's scary. As today crept closer on Kazutora's calendar — one he'd kept beside his bed and doodled on with a dull golf pencil — he'd felt more anxiety than relief. And now that he's here, embracing the harsh bite of the cold and staring blankly at the street ahead, he feels unbelievably lost. Inundated with the sudden responsibility of walking through that door and being a normal fucking member of society.

"Go on," the guard grunts dispassionately. Kazutora didn't realize he'd been spacing out. He wonders how long his feet were rooted in place as he contemplated whatever the hell his life would be now.

So he does it. After ten years, he walks out of jail.

Does he feel any different? Should he? He isn't sure. All he feels is cold. It's fucking cold out.

"Hey," a distant voice echoes.

Kazutora is zoning out again.

"Hey," the voice repeats. "Earth to Kazutora."

Kazutora snaps to. His anxieties begin to fade when he sees his friend grinning and revving his Suzuki GSX 250 E.

"It's been a while since you had a bike ride, no?"

Thank god for Matsuno Chifuyu.

Kazutora grins, "I thought you'd have come in the car with how freezing it is."

"Yeah well," Chifuyu chuckles, "can't have you losing all your edge."

Chifuyu is visibly shivering. His breath fogs the air, his teeth clatter, and red, frostbitten ears peek out beneath his black, messy hair.

Kazutora smirks, "Says you."

He climbs onto the back of the bike and smiles as it roars into motion. This is no ordinary motorcycle — he knows exactly who it belongs to. Who it used to belong to. Baji Keisuke. But somehow, Kazutora isn't mournful as the wind whips his face and the bike rumbles beneath him. In a cliche but surprisingly genuine way, it feels like Baji is there. Maybe this is that cheesy feeling of freedom he was supposed to have. He grins. Baji's voice may have faded from memory but the low rumble of the exhaust, the way the engine revs with the turn of Chifuyu's hand, and the rising pitch of its accelerating vrooom sounds familiar as ever.

The bike whirs down as they park beside Chifuyu's apartment complex.

"This is it!" he smiles. Kazutora nods sheepishly. Chifuyu fumbles with his keys — he really should have worn gloves — as they ascend a flight of stairs and make their way inside.

The warmth is inviting, but Kazutora feels out of place. Chifuyu's apartment is cozy, lived-in, and homey. It's far from the barren cell he's grown used to.

"Make yourself comfortable," Chifuyu urges, sensing Kazutora's apprehension. "I'll make us some tea."

Kazutora nods and slinks slowly toward the couch, his eyes wandering and surveying the collection of scattered knickknacks, posters, messily arranged manga volumes, a video game console, and miscellaneous pet toys.

"I was gonna ask the guys to come meet us here and surprise you," Chifuyu chimes. "But I didn't wanna put you through too much or anything."

"Thank you," Kazutora sits as if he's trying not to take up any space. "For not doing that."

They chuckle and Kazutora eases into the comfort.

"We talked about an air mattress, but I got an actual bed you can use. My neighbor was getting rid of it," Chifuyu reports. Kazutora doubts his story.

"So you can keep it! It's in my room but we can pull it out here. I know we talked about it already but really — you can stay as long as you need."

Chifuyu returns with two mugs in hand, offering one to Kazutora. It's blue with a cartoon Shiba Inu throwing a peace sign. Kazutora stifles a smirk. His cold fingers wrap around it, relaxing into the warmth — and unfortunately covering the smiling pup from view. He stares at the steam floating from the top, entranced by the heat and the nutty herbal smell.

Kazutora hesitates, "Uh, Chifuyu. I—"

"Don't worry about it," Chifuyu abruptly cuts him off.

"I just, uh—"

"Seriously," Chifuyu blurts. "Don't say it okay?"

Tears prick the corners of Kazutora's eyes and he hunches over. He wants to thank Chifuyu, wants to repay him, wants to tell him that he'd have nothing without him. He has a place to stay, a job to start at the pet store, a handful of friends that wouldn't have started visiting and writing if it weren't for him. How could words even form a proper thank you? He feels so damn undeserving—

"And before you even think it," Chifuyu mutters, avoiding eye contact and huddling into the corner of the couch, "I'm not doing this for Baji-san. I'm doing this for you."

Kazutora has no choice but to sniffle, snot threatening to drip from his nose. He can't stave off the quiet tears that spill. Chifuyu graciously pretends not to see them and smiles.

"Wanna dye your hair?"

xx

Inupi saunters across the shop.

"Koko just texted me. The bad news: the lithium batteries are on backorder. The good news: we're officially in the green."

He offers a beer can to Mikey, who sits on the floor beside a Honda.

The top of Mikey's work suit is unbuttoned, revealing a black tank top underneath. His blond hair is swept back with an elastic band, bangs and flyaways framing his grease covered face.

Inupi — the less messy of the two — wears his uniform more neatly, buttoned to the top where his sunflower hair lies gently on his collar. It's the only thing "gentle" about him. He grins with genuine pride at their achievement. After all, Shinichiro's shop meant a lot to him too.

"So congrats, boss."

Mikey smiles cheesily, stretching exaggeratedly and accepting the drink, "Ahhh! Hell yeah!!"

They cheers. S.S Motors, new and improved, finally in the green.

Mikey had no apprehensions about reopening the shop. The trio came together rather naturally — Inupi with his mechanical knowledge and affinity for bikes, Koko with his financial success and understanding, and Mikey — the heart of it all. Not to mention Koko and Inupi made easy tenants of the apartment upstairs.

They'd contemplated renaming the store. Koko suggested rebranding, updates, and renovations but Mikey strictly declined. Besides, it already cost enough to cover the flooring with new PVC — the original tiling having been stained with blood. But they didn't dwell on it. It'd be apt (and ironic) to say they swept it under the rug instead. And Mikey insisted on carrying out Shinichiro's legacy.

Which is why, right now, he'd give anything to celebrate this accomplishment with his brother. Or with Draken, who'd have undoubtedly worked in the shop every day before going home to Emma. Or with Baji, who'd have stopped by as he walked dogs. Or Izana, or... Fuck.

The pain doesn't go away. Loss is a fickle beast. But like a healing injury, Mikey's wounds have begun to close. It turns out happiness and peace can coexist with scars and traumatic memories. One day at a time.

So Mikey honors them. He lives in their memory. He's learning to forgive — himself, more than anyone else — but it hasn't come easy. He can think of one loose end in particular that's been bothering him.

Inupi sprawls out on the floor, leaning back on the free hand that's not nursing his beer. It's technically closing time. Not that that's ever stopped them from working into the night.

"So uh," he cautions, the heels of his work boots rolling on the floor as he wiggles his feet. "Koko tells me that Kazutora's out of jail today."

"Oh is he?" Mikey lilts, putting on his best emotionless poker face. His ignorance is a feint. Of course he knew. He'd practically been counting down the days with an unsettling discomfort and anxiety.

"Guess so," Inupi shrugs.

"Are you gonna finally go see him now?"

Simple, direct, blunt. Classic Inui Seishu. Mikey downs a considerable amount of alcohol in lieu of an immediate response.

Koko and Inupi don't really know Kazutora. But the others, one by one, had begun visiting him over time. Rebuilding their friendships. Sure, Mikey had technically forgiven him all those years ago. But it wasn't exactly genuine. He wanted to forgive him. He still wants to.

"But what am I supposed to do?" he griped one night to Inupi over a konbini buffet on the floor of the shop. "Stroll into jail and casually show my face for the first time in years?"

But now that Kazutora's out it's inevitable. They need to talk.

Mikey stills, his stoic gaze drilling holes into the (brand new) floor. His voice goes low in a sudden contrast to his previous, childish enthusiasm as he mutters, "I'll text Chifuyu or something."

Inupi studies him curiously. "Are you ready for that?"

Mikey ignores the question.

"Cause I don't know if I would be," Inupi adds quietly, salt on his tongue and a snap to his words.

Is he ready? Will he ever be? Mikey fidgets with the can's pull tab, snapping it off and swinging the ring around his finger.

"MMmmmmmmm," he hums. It's the disengaged "I don't know" intonation that you'd expect to hear from a child.

Inupi sighs and reaches for his phone as it buzzes. He stares at the bright screen for a moment, reading a text, then shifts his gaze back to Mikey.

"Actually," he murmurs, "can you not stay late tonight?"

Mikey blinks. "What, you want me out of here so that you and Koko can fuck?"

Inupi pauses momentarily and stares, unphased.

"Yeah."

"You have no shame," Mikey pushes himself up onto his feet. "Tomorrow you can tell the client why their bike isn't ready."

He hands Inupi his half-empty can.

"Fine by me," Inupi replies, totally unbothered.

Mikey tidies up the tools he'd been using, tossing them haphazardly onto a workbench and digging around for his keys.

"See ya, 'Nupi," he smiles as he heads for the door. He wiggles his eyebrows mischievously. "Have fun and don't forget to use—"

"Fucking save it," Inupi snaps with no real venom in his voice. He's used to this.

Mikey laughs and Inupi can hear him as the door swings shut behind him: "Don't get gonorrhea!"

The little shit.

Mikey pulls his phone from his pocket as he crosses the street toward his Babu. He sits on the leather seat but doesn't turn on the engine — he simply stares at his text history with Chifuyu and the blinking blue line that waits for him to type.

"Fuck," he groans to himself.

Finally he drafts his text.

Hey, Chifuyu...

xx

A seahorse? No, a dragon? Maybe... maybe a man bent over a counter... and he has a tail. Or a whip. Kinky.

A tableau of images, cloud-created mimicry of Mikey's nervous energy, spreads across the sky. It's surprisingly blue for this time of year, despite the harrowing chill that's got Mikey bundled up with a thick tan jacket and a woolen burgundy scarf.

He lies on cold steps, tapping his foot mindlessly and breaking the silence with the drumming of his high tops on the concrete. Kazutora isn't late.

Mikey's just early.

Musashi Temple at 3:30 tomorrow?

Kazutora says he'll be there.

Thanks.

Mikey sighs and watches his breath fog the air. He digs into the plastic bag beside him and unwraps one of the konbini rice balls he'd purchased — pickled plum — while licking his lips eagerly. Rice sticks to his cheeks as he messily chomps with icy fingers and a pensive gaze to his cloud. Which is now shaped like Godzilla, by the way.

He hears footsteps. But in typical Mikey fashion, he opts not to tear his eyes away from his food. It makes Kazutora's 'hello' a bit easier, however awkward.

Kazutora approaches Mikey like he's an unpredictable wild animal. Cautiously.

"Hi," he stammers. It's a hello that sounds like an offer. Or a suggestion. An apology, even.

Mikey turns his head, prepared to face his old friend.

Kazutora's hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his khaki-colored flannel. A black turtleneck peeks beneath his collar and wavy hair lies at his shoulders. It's almost entirely black, save for the freshly dyed blond strands that frame his face. He looks older. Mature. Is this really the same Kazutora?

"Hey," Mikey blurts, a little stunned.

It's quiet.

Kazutora would feel sentimental if he wasn't so nauseous. Mikey is lazing on the steps at Musashi Temple with food stuck to his face — it's like they've gone back in time.

Mikey taps the stairs with his foot — a "come sit" sort of gesture — and reaches over for his konbini bag. Kazutora catches the plastic package as it's tossed to him. Melon pan. The strawberry flavor.

"Strawberry," he grins. "This was my favorite—"

"Favorite flavor. I remember," Mikey interjects, matter-of-fact. "When's the last time you had one of these?"

Kazutora tries his best to swallow the smile that threatens to show. Mikey remembered his favorite flavor. After all these years.

"It's been a long time."

"They don't have these in prison, huh?" Mikey deadpans. Whether or not he's joking is unclear. Kazutora laughs nervously anyways.

And just like that, it's quiet again. He bites into the puffy bread and practically moans. It's somehow better than he'd remembered. Crunchy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, and strawberry sweet. They eat in silence until Kazutora finally mumbles around his mouthful of food.

"Do you remember the time we got caught stealing these?"

He almost misses the way Mikey cracks a smile. It feels like a victory.

"And Kenchin had to sweet talk the clerk for us? Yeah. I remember," Mikey snickers, swinging his legs around to sit up on the steps. "But the old man asked about our parents—"

"I forgot about that!"

"—and we ran out and drove off. Pockets shoved full of bread."

They laugh, too wrapped up in the memory to remember their awkward and precarious reality.

"Draken was so mad!" Kazutora snickers.

Mikey rips open a package for himself and cackles, "He was so mad. But then it turns out he'd shoved some in his pockets too."

"That's right!" Kazutora howls. "God, I can't believe he's really..."

His mouth betrays his brain and he trails off. It's like a bomb drop. Suddenly solemn.

"I know," Mikey mumbles, eyes wandering to the ground. "I know."

Kazutora takes a deep, steadying breath.

"Uh, Mikey... I just wanna say—"

"I forgive you," Mikey blurts. He turns to face him — to really face him for the first time. "Seriously. I forgive you, Kazutora."

Kazutora looks away. He already cried the other day and he's not sure he wants to set a personal record of twice in one weekend.

"I'll never stop feeling guilty," he whispers with a scary intensity in his eyes. "I want you to know that. I'll wake up with it every day. And I— I won't stop being sorry."

"I won't stop forgiving you then, I guess," Mikey shrugs.

Kazutora's lips form a thin line and his grip tightens on the plastic wrapper. He's displeased.

Truthfully, he didn't expect Mikey to be like this. Sure, Mikey had technically forgiven him all those years ago. But something about this feels different. Mikey has really grown. (Granted — emotionally, more than physically) and Kazutora isn't sure he deserves the treatment he's been given. And yet, he sighs and throws his head back, wiping the expression of distaste from his face. He's not here for self-introspection or self-deprecation. He reminds himself: this isn't about you. You're here for Mikey's sake.

"I'm doing my best. I'm trying to be a better person every day," he mutters. "I don't know if I deserve forgiveness or friendship from you. But I hope I will one day. Maybe in the future."

Mikey frowns.

"You're still mine, Kazutora," he snaps, but then softens considerably. "You're my friend whether you want to be or not. Am I your friend too?"

Kazutora's lip quivers. It looks like he'll be setting that personal record after all.

"Of course," his voice cracks.

"You have to accept it then. My forgiveness."

Kazutora stills, stunned by the fury in Mikey's gaze.

"Because that's what friends do. And you're my friend. You belong to me, right?"

It sounds like a threat.

Kazutora nods with watery eyes and chuckles, "Okay Mikey."

Mikey's rough exterior fades and he smiles, reaching into the bag for another snack. Dorayaki, this time.

"Then it's settled," he grins.

Kazutora sniffles as Mikey chomps into his pastry.

"Speaking of Draken..." Kazutora starts cautiously, testing the waters. "Uh, I wanna go to... and Baji too—"

"Yeah," Mikey breathes, voice low and hushed. He'd either expected or hoped that Kazutora would ask. "Wanna go now?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

The pair rise, discarding their trash into the plastic bag. But as they walk to their bikes Kazutora halts in his tracks.

"And can I—"

He stops and scoffs at himself, "Nevermind."

Mikey eyes him suspiciously.

"What?"

It's another threat.

Kazutora slows down again and shuffles nervously. He can't look Mikey in the eyes when he whispers, "I want to pay my respects. So uh, can I go to... his?"

Mikey pauses. He's surprised. Stunned even. It dawns on him — he's truly moved and amazed at how much Kazutora has grown. He's proud. Kazutora is his, after all.

Mikey blinks, a surge of emotions hidden beneath the surface.

"Yeah, let's go."

xx

A few weeks pass. Life is pretty good.

Business is doing exceedingly well at S.S Motors. Mikey finally worked up the conviction to tune up Zephyr — even giving it a fresh paint job, making sure it's dragon emblem stands out with renewed shine. With the influx of cash, Inupi finally fixed up his bike with new customizations. And at the pet store, Kazutora finally got that shy cat to sit on his lap.

Chifuyu has begun looking for a new apartment. Kazutora would be a good roommate and it feels a bit unfair to see him sleeping on the living room floor without a bedroom to call his own. The pair had even gone out for drinks with Mitsuya and Hakkai a few days after they'd delivered Kazutora's custom-made pet shop apron.

The adjustment toward a normal life has begun to lose it's intimidation for Kazutora. He has friends. Plans marked on a tiger themed calendar. A job. A growing manga collection. And he has a healing friendship with Mikey — it's been a little awkward, but it's getting better.

They're doing what they can. One day at a time.

Kazutora gives himself a final look over in Chifuyu's floor length mirror. He's not exactly sure who he's trying to impress, but he swipes a hand through his hair and adjusts his collar. Chifuyu leans against the door frame with his hands in his pockets.

"You almost ready there, Cinderella?"

Kazutora scoffs and playfully punches his arm as he walks past.

"I'll kick your ass, shithead."

Chifuyu laughs.

It's Friday night and the whole friend group is meeting up at a bar in Roppongi. It's quite the party scene — something Kazutora hasn't yet experienced in his adult life. Music pounds in the stuffy, dimly lit atmosphere. Pah-chin and Peyan are arguing loudly about god knows what, Hakkai is already sitting on Mitsuya's lap, and Inupi's got his tongue shoved remarkably far down Koko's throat. They've been here for twenty minutes. Twenty-five max.

"I can see why you're the designated driver," Kazutora laughs.

Chifuyu and he are halfway through their first drink, perched on bar stools in the corner and observing the chaos.

"Someone's gotta look after these idiots," Chifuyu smirks. "Which— like— don't feel like you've gotta drink slowly with me or anything. You should have fun too."

Kazutora shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.

"Where's Mikey and Takemichi?"

"Together probably," Chifuyu speculates. "They usually come to this kind of thing together."

"Are they— uh, you know—"

"No," Chifuyu snorts. "God no. He's engaged, remember?"

Right. Tachibana Hinata. Kazutora's not sure why but it feels like a relief. He doesn't dwell on it.

"She doesn't come with him?"

"Not to this stuff. Her and Yuzuha usually have a girls night or whatever."

Chifuyu nods toward the door.

"Speak of the devil."

Mikey stumbles in laughing with an arm swung around Takemichi, ruffling his hair. He's already been drinking. Takemichi, one the other hand, slumps over embarrassedly.

"HEY GUYS!" Mikey exclaims, voice booming over some poppy, jazzy 90s song. Wanna Kiss by Hitomi Tohyama.

"Takemichy—" he wheezes, "Takemichy's mouth is cashing checks that his ass can't pay for."

A variety of "hey"s and little waves are thrown in their direction before the group's previous activities are resumed.

"What's up now?" Chifuyu snorts.

"He said— he said he was gonna dress 'cool' tonight."

"Shut up!!"

"Mitsuya! Where's Mitsuya?" Mikey cackles, his head thrown back and arms clutching his sides. "I gotta show him Takemichy's jacket that looks like— like couch fabric... from the fuckin' 1920s."

Takemichi buries his face in his hands. Chifuyu and Kazutora stifle their giggles — to be frank, Mikey is right. And the way he chuckles about it is cutely childish and quite honestly infectious. At least for anyone who's had a drink or two.

"Don't take it personally, Takemichi," Chifuyu smiles and pats his shoulder. "Mikey-kun is a mean drunk."

"No I'm not," Mikey snaps, crossing his arms.

"Are too."

"Shut up Takemichyyy."

"Okay."

Mikey bursts into another fit of laughter at the sight of Takemichi's dejected sigh. "I'm just teasing you. But hey— Kazutora is dressed nice, Takemichy. You should take some tips from him," he grins. "I'm getting a drink."

The group knocks back shot after shot (Chifuyu and Takemichi knock back soda after soda. At least a couple people have to be responsible) and Kazutora feels his confidence rising. The feeling is foreign and strange and fun— he's having fun. He's afraid to say it — or even think it — but things are feeling normal. Happy, even.

He hears about Pah's fiancée and business, he laughs about with old memories with Mitsuya, and he has a very polite conversation with Koko and Inupi, whom he doesn't know very well. Inupi is usually pretty distant and cold toward him, but tonight they're hitting it off rather nicely. Kazutora isn't sure just how much time has passed since they arrived at the disco-lit, neon sign-filled lounge that's boasting fifty beers on tap. He's too preoccupied by the sensation of alcohol in his veins and the high-spirited confidence that has swept him off his feet.

Kazutora and Takemichi are talking about business at the pet shop when the latter's phone rings. Takemichi wipes his eyes (having teared up for the sake of Kazutora's recent successes) and checks the caller ID.

"It's Hina, I should answer," he stands, setting down his drink.

Kazutora nods.

"I can't wait for you to meet her!" Takemichi calls as he heads frantically for the door, accepting the call and screaming repeated "hello?"s as he runs for the patio.

Amused, Kazutora swivels on his stool to face the counter. Rows of glasses and bottles reflect the flashing LED lights and the music drums on like white noise. He's just tipsy enough for it to be entrancing. But what's the harm in a little more to drink? With a small wave and a nod, the bartender comes over to take his order.

"Make that two shots," a voice comes from behind.

Mikey plops down in Takemichi's now abandoned seat and unashamedly steals the rest of his beverage.

"Is this soda?" he scoffs, scrunching his face like he'd drunk something sour.

Kazutora grins, "Well, he is your designated driver, isn't he?"

"Oh yeah."

Kazutora reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a package of red bean dorayaki. Mikey's favorite.

"Here," he states plainly, wiping the smile from his face and looking away as he tosses it to Mikey. He tries to look like he doesn't care too much. But when Mikey doesn't respond, Kazutora finally breaks and spares a glance at him.

Mikey is glaring. His dark eyes suck in Kazutora's gaze like a black hole — enticing, scary, and dangerous. He's angry.

"Are you serious?" Mikey seethes, leaning forward with an intense but quiet hiss. "Bringing this to a bar? Do you think I'm a kid? Are you trying to mock me?"

Kazutora blinks, stunned. How did he fuck this up when things were going so well?

Mikey bursts into laughter.

"Pffffft your FACE!"

"You ARE a mean drunk," Kazutora scowls, equally irritated and relieved.

Mikey rips open the packaging and shoves half the pastry into his mouth.

"anky ou."

"You're welcome, asshole."

"Seriously," Mikey swallows, "how did you survive prison without these? No— wait. How did you survive prison without getting drunk?"

Kazutora chuckles and sighs, drumming his fingers on the bar. "Just had to own up to my actions instead I guess."

Mikey hums pensively as the pair accept their shot glasses.

"Soooo," he coaxes. "Are you having fun?"

"Yeah, actually," Kazutora smiles. "Well, I mean... I guess I'm just not used to this kind of stuff. But yeah. And I'm actually— I don't know. Happy."

The corners of Mikey's lips raise into a soft, tiny smile and the room seems to stop spinning. It's like they've instantly gone sober.

"Some days it's like that for me. Some days it's not. But what is a 'happy life' in the grand scheme of things anyways?" he contemplates. "You can only focus on one day at a time. That's all you can do... At least that's what I tell myself."

Kazutora ignores the wilt in his chest. "Does it work?"

"Sometimes."

There's a comfortable pause. Even the pounding music seems to have quieted a little. They hesitate to take their shots. The moment feels too sincere.

"For the record," Kazutora starts, eyes focused on the way he's swirling his drink. "For the record, I'm really, really happy to have you in my life again."

Mikey tenses as something inside him snaps. There's a pang in his chest, then a heavy breath, and then a series of loud, pounding heartbeats. He's not sure what exactly awakens within him, but he's suddenly hyper aware of Kazutora's long fingers, the beauty mark beneath his sandy eyes, the tiger tattoo trailing beneath his collar and teasing him to imagine what's underneath... The room spins and his mouth is dry. He can't think, can't consider anything besides one Earth-shattering, horrifying, and shocking observation: Kazutora... is hot.

Mikey doesn't think twice. Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe it's the touch starvation. But Mikey wants him. And Mikey takes what Mikey wants.

"You're mine, right Kazutora?"

Kazutora stills, sparing him an expressionless glance. He watches carefully as Mikey effortlessly downs his whiskey, his blond hair tossing back with the tilt of his head. Mikey slams the empty glass and stands, leaning against the counter with his forearm.

"You'll let me kiss you, right?"

Kazutora's jaw drops.

"Mikey. You're drunk."

"Not as drunk as you think I am."

It's not something Kazutora had ever considered. Not Mikey, of all people. So why is his heart hammering in his chest?

This is just one big mistake. He's drunk. They're both drunk. That's all there is to it.

"Mikey..." Kazutora hesitates, shifting uncomfortably.

"Please," Mikey murmurs. He's close enough for his whisper to be heard over the incessant background noise, the tickle of his breath dancing over Kazutora's lips. "Please, Tora. You belong to me, don't you?"

Tora. That's a new nickname.

Kazutora swallows nervously and eyes the shot glass beside him. Yeah. The whiskey sounds pretty good right now.

He downs it quickly and reaches for Mikey before he can change his mind.

"Okay."

Mikey's forefingers curl around Kazutora's belt loops as the pair draw together. It's a simple and short kiss, lasting just long enough for Kazutora's fingers to lace around the back of Mikey's neck.

As they retreat, Kazutora pulls his hands away like he's been shocked with electricity. He holds his breath and freezes as Mikey eyes him with an indecipherable expression. His gut is twisting and turning, horrified that he's fucked up—

"Make out with me," Mikey demands.

It's astonishingly difficult to say no to the whims of Sano Manjiro.

Entire minutes pass as they explore each other's mouths. It's slow — excruciatingly slow — and almost entirely tongue. Messy. Drool covers their chins.

It's been a long time since Kazutora has kissed like this. Since he's been kissed like this. But with Mikey, it feels so right. Natural. Like riding a bike. He doesn't have the time or sobriety to face his newly awakened feelings head-on. He can only submit himself to the warm tongue tracing his lips and the way his heart threatens to leap out of his mouth.

The back of Mikey's neck is hot and sticky — the bar is humid and packed with people — and his body heat is palpable as he continues to press himself closer. Kazutora gives an inviting tug to Mikey's shirt and the latter stumbles his way onto Kazutora's lap.

Mikey presses kisses to his chin and cheeks before using his free hand — the other wraps around Kazutora's shoulder for balance — to pry open Kazutora's jaw. Warm and wet tongues tangle for what feels like hours, days, weeks, months, years. But still not long enough.

Their heads roll in sync, noses bumping, lips wrapping around each other, teeth drawing together for the occasional bite— it's so good. So right.

Across the bar, Mitsuya sighs.

"All I'm saying is if you gain weight when I'm still making your dress, then that's not my fuckin' fault."

"Taka-chan complains about work when he drinks."

"That's not all I do."

Hakkai and Chifuyu share a knowing look and snicker as Mitsuya continues to grumble.

"Well what about you then? You don't get shitty customers at the pet shop?"

Chifuyu rests his chin on his fist and looks at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"Well, there was one time a few months ago. We didn't have the obscure brand of air-fried, ultra premium, organic yada yada cat food..."

Mitsuya stops listening entirely. Hakkai catches him zoning out, frozen in place like he's seen a ghost.

"Uhhh, Taka-chan?"

Mitsuya blinks.

"Holy fucking shit," he stammers.

Holy fucking shit indeed. Mikey and Kazutora are locked in a vigorous match of tongue wrestling.

"Oh my god," Chifuyu sputters, almost choking on his drink. "Oh my fucking god."

Hakkai slaps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stifle a howl. "Mark that off on the 'shit I never expected to see tonight' bingo card."

People are staring. The bartender looks like he's about to douse them with ice water. The stool they're on is wobbling with utterly malicious intent.

"I think it's time to take them home now," Chifuyu gawks.

As the shock subsides, Mitsuya and Hakkai burst into outrageous laughter.

"I mean," Mitsuya snorts, "I heard they were patching things up but I didn't know that included tongue sucking."

"No way in hell I'm gonna go stop them," Hakkai sneers with a smug grin plastered wide across his face. "That's on you, Matsuno. Good luck with that."

Chifuyu rolls his eyes. "Can you two at least go find Takemichi?"

The pair snicker and toss a facetious salute.

"Aye aye, captain."

It's 12:30 AM by the time Chifuyu helps Kazutora up the apartment stairwell.

He doesn't seem very drunk, but he's stumbling up the steps like it's Mount goddamn Everest. He also hasn't stopped talking the entire time home. But it's nice. Chifuyu is glad, in fact. Kazutora seems to be breaking out of his shell. And yet — having seen what he's seen — Chifuyu is nervous on his behalf. So fucking nervous.

Another twenty minutes later and Kazutora is sitting up in bed, a glass of water dangling between his legs. The pair are laughing about the moment Pah-chin spilled his drink into Peyan's lap when Chifuyu notices the genuine smile on Kazutora's face.

He sighs. "You had a good time tonight, huh."

"Yeah. I did," Kazutora beams. "And did I tell you Mikey and I kissed?"

"I literally had to peel him off you, you drunk bastard."

"He tastes good," Kazutora grins, setting his glass aside and flopping down onto his back. His hands fold behind his head and Chifuyu catches an unusual glimmer in his shining eyes.

"Like... like whiskey and sugar. But not too sweet. Like... a good melon pan. Yeah. Like a good melon pan. And his lips are nice. And he started making these little noises—"

"Ooookay Kazutora, that's enough."

The pair chuckle and then Kazutora's voice goes low and hushed. Sober. Reverent, even.

"I liked it. I really, really liked it. I'm... Right now, I'm... Happy," he smiles. "Yeah. Actually. For the first time in a long time... I'm happy."

Chifuyu smirks — he's never seen Kazutora like this before. He stands and heads for his bedroom, fingers hovering above the light switch as he turns and cracks a smile.

"Get some sleep, crazy little kitten shit."

xx

No, no, no, no, no. That was a nightmare. That didn't happen.

Mikey pulls the covers over his face. The sunlight peeking through the blinds threatens his foggy, hungover brain.

How the fuck could you let that happen?

He's nauseous. So fucking nauseous. He pulls his knees to his chest, rolls over to the side, and closes his eyes as he fights to regulate his breathing.

You've forgiven him. You're friends now. It's not that big of a deal.

He repeats the assurances to himself in an attempt to subdue his increasing desire to throw up. And yet, his brain won't stop screaming at him — hurling insults alongside the throbs of a horrible headache.

You made out with the guy that killed your brother. You made out with the guy that killed your brother. You made out with the guy that killed your brother.

What would Shinichiro think? Covered in blood, dead on the floor while Mikey makes out with his killer? What would he think if he knew his life would be cut short — he'd never get married, start a family, see Mikey succeed Black Dragon with Izana, or go to Draken and Emma's wedding. He'd lose it all in the blink of an eye, only for his brother — the person closest to him — to shove his tongue down the throat of his murderer.

Mikey rushes to the bathroom and vomits.

How dare you. You're disgusting. You couldn't prevent his death— no, you couldn't prevent any of their deaths. And look at you now. You should be dead instead of them.

The toilet flushes and a despondent Mikey slugs back into the bedroom. His phone buzzes.

Kazutora, 10:38 AM.

Morning. You get home safe last night? Need some hangover taiyaki? :)

Mikey groans and resists the urge to hurl his phone across the room. He really needs Kazutora to not be so nice to him right now.

He starts to type.

No, I'm—

Delete delete delete. He can't talk to him. He wants to go back to bed. Even if he has to swallow the entire damn bottle of nighttime antihistamines. His head reels, reopened wounds cutting down to his core.

You're fucking disgusting. You betrayed your dead brother. And you might as well have killed him with your own two hands.

xx

Kazutora bites his nail.

"He read it and he started to type. But now he's ignoring me."

Chifuyu's stomach slowly sinks. It turns out he had reason to be nervous last night after all.

Kazutora closes his eyes and leans his head back against the couch. The full cup of coffee in his lap has long gone cold, threatening to spill it's tepid liquid onto the woolen blanket he's gripping a little too tightly. He tosses his phone aside.

"I think I fucked up," he whispers, voice wavering.

Chifuyu sighs, "Don't jump straight to conclusions—"

"I definitely fucked up."

Kazutora moves his mug to the side table and buries his face beneath the blanket.

"Things were going so well and I messed up. I mean— I should have known. God, I'm so fucking stupid. Fuck."

Kazutora suddenly slams down the blanket, fresh air whipping his face.

"Wait, what if he's not okay?"

Chifuyu doubts it. Takemichi is usually pretty responsible when dealing with a drunk Sano Manjiro. Regardless, he digs his phone from his pocket and types a quick 'did you get home safe' text to Mikey, holding his breath when he sees those three little dots immediately pop up on the screen.

Mikey-kun, 11:02 AM.

Yeah.

Kazutora scrambles across the couch to grab Chifuyu's phone and see the response. He silently flops back down, slams a pillow over his face, and once again buries himself beneath the blanket.

"At least he's not dead," he mutters, muffled by his cushion fortress.

"He's hungover," Chifuyu consoles. "Just give him some time."

Kazutora groans. "I just have a really bad feeling about this."

"I'll get some food and we can watch TV all day. Just don't freak out or anything, okay? Not yet. Seriously. I'm sure it's fine."

Truthfully, Chifuyu is not sure that it's fine. But Kazutora doesn't need to know that — especially after how happy he looked last night.

And so Kazutora lets it go. He can wait a day to hear back from Mikey. No problem. Totally fine. They just made out like wild animals, that's all. No big deal. He'll probably hear from Mikey tomorrow.

Or not.

Day two of no response and Kazutora can't help but send a carefully crafted text. There's a good chance Mikey just forgot to reply to his first, after all.

Hey, just saw some kid push a grown ass man into a pile of trash bags. Sounds familiar, huh? LOL. I still haven't forgotten about that day... How are you doing?

No response. Left on read.

On day three, Kazutora overworks himself at the store to keep his mind off things.

On day four, Chifuyu stops Kazutora from driving over to S.S Motors.

On day five, Kazutora snaps.

Mikey, will you please talk to me? Listen, last weekend was a mistake, but can we just talk about it? Or just pretend it didn't happen and move on? Just stop fucking ignoring me.

As soon as the text sends, regret sinks in and Kazutora feels his stomach drop.

Fuck, I'm sorry. Ignore that. You deserve to just ignore me. I get it. I'll stop spamming you now.

Sorry.

Left on read. Again. Fuck, he's going to cry in the pet shop's back room. So much for his lunch break.

On day six, Mikey realizes he's in some deep fucking shit.

As grease and sweat washes down the shower drain, Mikey finds his mind wandering to some... less than holy places. To say that it's been a long week would be an understatement. It's been an absolute torment. For six long, gruesome days he's been wracked with guilt, distracted at work, and barely eating.

That dark emptiness and self-hatred burns inside his chest like a long lost friend and Mikey wants so badly to avoid it. He begs the universe to just let him be happy for fucks sake — until he remembers what caused him to spiral in the first place and he changes his mind. You deserve to feel like shit.

God, he wishes Draken were here to tell him what to do. It's been almost ten years and Mikey still feels so lost without him. It's probably your fault he's dead too, and for the sake of happiness you've been training yourself to deny it.

Mikey slams his head against the shower wall and relishes in the dull ache. He wants more of that pain. It feels rectifying.

He's got to get a grip. He knows better than to let his thoughts wander down this path. Maybe he'll relax if he just rubs out one, drinks a beer, and goes to bed early.

Water slowly trickles from the faucet as Mikey turns the shower off. He ruffles his hair with the towel and pauses to eye himself in the mirror. His blond strands look longer when they're wet, wavy and messy, and his sculpted muscles look well-defined beneath the droplets of water clinging to his skin. And yet, for all the signs of healthy wellbeing, dark circles line his eyes as if he hasn't slept in weeks. Mikey sighs.

He grabs his phone, a large t-shirt, boxers, a beer from the fridge, and a packet of tissues. His head hits the pillow, the lamp on his nightstand flickers to life, and he scrolls through a long feed of porn like he's browsing the daily news. He's bored and remarkably uninterested until one video in particular catches his eye.

Is that a tiger tattoo? No fucking way.

It's on the man's pectoral muscle instead of the neck, but it still looks shockingly similar to—

No. Absolutely not watching that.

Unfortunately, Mikey's dick orders his finger to click on the link before his brain can tell it not to.

He spits into his palm and strokes himself lazily as he watches the tiger-tattooed man get sucked off by some blonde. He's got black hair too. Of course. If Mikey just squints...

Mikey times the roll of his wrist with the woman's bobbing head, his hand twisting gently and his fingers occasionally drawing up to gather and swirl around his tip. He bites his lip when the man's hips stutter and he promptly loses himself to the sight of the man's heaving chest, tiger tattoo rising and falling with his grunts and moans.

He's in too deep. Mikey tosses his phone to the side and uses his free hand to slowly roll and massage his balls, closing his eyes and falling prey to the vision of a tiger tattoo.

Fuck. He'll be angry with himself later. But for now, he can't concentrate on anything besides the fantasy of Kazutora wrapping his hands around him instead.

Yes, Kazutora.

They would make out lazily and sloppily just like they did at the bar. They'd undress slowly, clothes strewn haphazardly across the room as they would collapse together on the bed. Kazutora would bite Mikey's lip and glare at him with those sandy gold eyes before snaking a hand down to Mikey's cock, pressed hard against his.

They'd moan into each other's mouths until Kazutora would break the kiss and shuffle his way down the bed. He'd leave a trail of kisses down Mikey's chest and then take him entirely down his throat, all in one go. When Mikey feels Kazutora gag around his cock he would arch his back, thread his fingers through the long black hair below him, and hold Kazutora in place until tears are streaming past that pretty little beauty mark.

Mikey speeds up the pace of his strokes, his toes curling in the sheets and eyes scrunched shut, lost in his mouthwatering fantasy. He wonders how Kazutora's lips would feel on the warmth of his skin, how his fingers would feel tracing the outline of his muscles, and how his voice must sound when he's on the brink of ecstasy.

"Your cock feels s-so good, Mikey... Fuck I belong to you, Mikey— j-just you, I'm your dirty fucking slut just for youuu."

Shit.

Mikey's hips shake and he comes all over himself without even having realized he was close. So much for the fucking tissues. And now there's cum on the sheets. Great.

Mikey groans and throws his head back. He's in deep shit now.

He wipes the cum off his hand and grabs his phone — suddenly repulsed by the cheesy blowjob porn on the open tab — and opens his long neglected text history with Kazutora.

Okay. Yeah, let's talk.