Archive of Our Own

Miya Osamu wouldn’t say he had a thrilling life.

He would say that he had a comfortable life. He enjoyed the pattern of waking up at 6AM every morning to unlock the doors to his onigiri shop—the one he’d spent countless years marketing and perfecting until he’d been able to afford to open up his first branch in Hyogo. He enjoyed the idle chatter of customers that reached him behind the register, keeping him in touch with all of his parents’ family friends and his old classmates. He enjoyed the modest apartment he rented right above, filled with basic appliances and photographs of him and his friends dotting the walls. His life was more than adequate for what he wanted from it: a steady job with the business he’d started from the ground up, a humble apartment that suited him just fine, and the company of those who mattered most to him.

The only thing that ever made his life vaguely uncomfortable was the person whining in front of the register.

“Just give me whatever ya have left,” Atsumu said. “I’m starvin’ over here.”

Osamu knew that. Atsumu wouldn’t stop saying it as he waited for Osamu to grab a few of the leftovers from that day’s collection. He arranged a few salmon onigiri on a plate and passed it over the counter.

“Anything else? Or will ya piss off and let me finish stackin’ the chairs so I can lock up?”

Atsumu waved him off, and Osamu took that as affirmation for him to resume the tedious process of locking up. The rest of his employees had already gone home—including Ginjima, one of their oldest and closest friends—so the task of stacking the chairs together and organizing the leftovers was in his hands.

Osamu tried to ignore the smacking of Atsumu’s lips behind him as he lifted the nearest chair.

“So ya wanna hear about this new case I’m workin’ on?” Atsumu asked, his voice muffled as he spoke around the rice.

“Not really,” Osamu admitted. “But I’m sure yer gonna tell me anyway.”

Like clockwork, Atsumu continued talking. It had been like this ever since they were children. Even when Osamu insisted that no one wanted to hear what Atsumu had to say, Atsumu had to speak anyway. His brother thrived on attention in a way he never had. He always had to spit some snarky remark or perform some grand gesture in order for people to give him their full focus, even if they were already looking at him.

“I’m on a special task force now,” Atsumu said, his chest puffing up in not-so-subtle pride. “We’ve been investigatin’ a series of murders across the country. We think it’s some hired assassin or somethin’—or possibly multiple.”

“Are ya allowed to even tell me this?”

It wasn’t like he had anyone to tell, but he was fairly certain Atsumu wasn’t meant to blab about his cases as some sort of gossip to pass the time. Besides that, Osamu knew Atsumu took his work as a federal agent very seriously. Putting his obnoxiousness aside, he could be clever when he wanted to be, and he’d cracked quite a few solutions during his time at his job.

Still, there was a part of him that always worried about his twin—even if he refused to admit it out loud. Atsumu ran head-first into situations without looking to see if there was danger lying ahead. It meant that Osamu had to be the cautious one of the two. The one who snuck Atsumu out of trouble when he wriggled into it. The one that remained practical when Atsumu had his eyes on the stars. The one that worried while Atsumu chased his next thrill.

Osamu loved his brother, and while he couldn’t follow him to the ends of the earth to keep him from tripping over his feet, he could at least keep his head small enough so that he didn’t overflow with confidence.

“Prolly not,” Atsumu said. “But yer not gonna tell anyone, are ya?” He paused to take another bite. “Anyway, so we’re meant to track down this assassin.”

“Or multiple.”

“We’re pretty sure it’s just one.”

“Continue.”

Atsumu stopped eating long enough to wipe his fingers off on a napkin. “This assassin has started gettin’ bolder. Ya know, killin’ out in broad daylight, killin’ with witnesses ‘round. That kinda thing. Kita-san’s started gettin’ worried, so now, Omi-kun and I have been ‘specially assigned to track down this assassin. Not much we can do until they strike again, though. The evidence from the previous murders doesn’t give us much to go off. Even though their fingerprints are all over the scene, they don’t match anyone in the system. They don’t have a pattern or a motive as far as we can see. We don’t know if they’re killin’ for sport or who’s potentially hirin’ them.” Atsumu sighed before taking another large bite. “’S kinda frustrating. It’s definitely exciting. I’ve never been part of a task force like this.”

Osamu let Atsumu’s words sink in. Before, when Atsumu had mentioned the series of murders and the possibility of an assassin, Osamu hadn’t really paid much attention to it—which was probably why Atsumu felt the need to elaborate. He wanted to make sure the gravity of the situation came across. Osamu didn’t feel a thrill of any kind. The dread that filled his stomach was nothing akin to the interest that peaked in his brother’s eyes.

“So basically this seems impossible.” There was a scrape along the tile as Osamu hefted another chair up and onto the table. “You have no leads. No suspicions. Nothin’.”

“Not yet,” Atsumu pointed out, ever the optimist. “But ya know how Kita-san is. He’s patient. He thinks if we bide our time, they’ll slip up.” Atsumu sat up straighter in his seat. “Plus, we’ve got Omi-kun! I’ve never actually worked with him personally before now, but everyone in the agency says he’s brilliant at handlin’ the technological side to the job. He’s got a way with computers. He won’t stop goin’ over the camera footage that we do have, even though it’s practically all useless. I think Omi-kun’s goin’ to find whoever is behind this—even if it kills him.”

Osamu hated it when Atsumu said stuff like that. Like death wasn’t a loaded concept to toss around like that. Osamu felt safe behind the counter, knowing that he wasn’t likely to wind up murdered in his sleep for straying from the path. Atsumu couldn’t say the same. His job demanded that he put himself in danger every day. While Osamu could understand the appeal of getting close to the grittiness of terror, he didn’t like that Atsumu toed the line constantly.

“Mmm,” Osamu hummed, pushing the last of the chairs into a stack by the wall. “Is Kita-san doin’ well?”

“He’s good. I’ll tell him you asked. Or not. Depends if I remember.”

Kita was the closest thing Atsumu had to a boss. He’d actually gone to Inarizaki High School along with the Miya twins, but their paths had never crossed much. When Atsumu had introduced him to the silent and careful agent upon being hired, Osamu let himself breathe a little easier knowing that someone who considered everything with acute precision was watching out for Atsumu. On the other hand, he knew that Kita had the patience of a saint.You had to if you spent most of your time with the rowdier twin. Speaking of, Osamu wished this “Omi-kun” his best regards. He’d need all the luck and patience in the world to handle Atsumu.

“Prick,” Osamu muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I asked if yer finished, idiot.” Osamu walked around the counter to wipe it down one last time with a washcloth. With all of the chairs stacked and the dishes washed, all there was left to do was lock the doors and turn out the lights. “I’m tired, and I wanna go to bed.”

Atsumu finished the last of his onigiri in a few hearty bites before sliding the plate back towards Osamu, who took it with him into the kitchen.

“You have that dinner tomorrow, right?” Atsumu called, his voice a few decibels louder than it needed to be considering they were only separated by a metal door and no one else was around. “To open the new branch in Tokyo?”

Osamu waited until he was back out in the restaurant area to answer. The last thing he wanted was to shout from the kitchen for Atsumu to hear him properly. “Yes. And we’re discussin’ the rental rates. I still have to worry my little head about purchasin’ appliances and supplies. I need to figure out who I’m gonna purchase rice from.” His scowl was involuntary. It was the result of having gone over these considerations many times over, and not making any process on any front. “There’s still a lot to think ‘bout.”

“Sure, but it’s still excitin’ to think about. Onigiri Miya in Tokyo. Whatta sight that’ll be.”

“Do ya mind gettin’ up and walkin’ out the front door so I can close it behind ya?” Osamu grabbed ahold of his keys that he’d stashed behind the counter before circling around. “You’ve been here long enough.”

“Jeez.” Atsumu jumped out of his seat and yanked his jacket on over his shoulders. “Keep talkin’ like that, ‘n I’ll rate Onigiri Miya one star online. The hospitality here reeks.”

“It would be better if you actually came during workin’ hours.”

Osamu ushered Atsumu out, hitting the light switches as they passed. Each bulb flickered off overhead, the restaurant descending into pitch black, and Atsumu waited for Osamu to lock the door behind him. There was a familiar click, and Osamu dropped his keys into his pocket before trailing after Atsumu.

“Yer not nervous, are ya?” Atsumu asked, bumping Osamu with his shoulder.

It reminded Osamu that his arms were bare, lacking any kind of coat to ward off the crisp breeze that had arrived with the sun’s disappearance. It didn’t matter much though. All they had to do was walk around the building to where another set of stairs appeared along the back. That was the entrance to Osamu’s apartment. The minute it took to get there meant that any kind of jacket was pointless and unnecessary—at least to him.

“No,” Osamu said. “Well, a little. I’m worried I’ll have to be charismatic or somethin’. I mean, this guy is the owner of the hotel next door. He just happens to own most of the property on the block. I’m sure he’s met with multiple restaurant owners to weed out who he likes the most. There’s always somethin’ to gain by adding another food service next to a hotel. It draws more people in. If he’s selectin’ based on charm, I don’t think I’ve got a shot.”

“Probably not,” Atsumu agreed. “Yer not exactly Mr. Charming.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost.”

“But ya do make pretty fuckin’ good onigiri, Samu. He’d have to be pretty stupid to turn that down.”

Osamu looked sideways at his twin, walking beside him as he’d always done. Even when they were fifteen or nine or four, Atsumu liked it best when Osamu could keep up. These moments fueled by nothing more than genuine sincerity came once in a blue moon, and that made Osamu treasure them all the more. “Thanks, Tsumu.”

The journey to Tokyo the next afternoon went as smooth as it could. Osamu arrived at the train station with his suitcase fifteen minutes beforehand, and the ride passed in over three hours. He’d checked into the hotel owned by the very person he was meeting for dinner that night, and he’d kept himself busy in the meantime. The nerves had built up steadily with each passing hour, and by the time Osamu made it to the restaurant Kubo-san had made a reservation at, his stomach curled in on itself.

Kubo—the owner of the hotel and the man who held all of Osamu’s hopes and dreams in his hands—stood as Osamu was shown to the table reserved for them. They bowed to each other before taking their seats, their chairs scraping against the floor.

“It’s good to see you, Miya-san,” Kubo said by way of greeting. “We haven’t had much of a chance to meet in person yet, but I hope my interest in renting out the location for your Tokyo branch has come across.”

Osamu sat up straight in his chair. This was the moment he was waiting for. He pushed past the nerves pinching his stomach and said, “Thank you, Kubo-san. It would be a dream to be able to expand to Tokyo. The site you’d provide is an ideal place to move.”

“Do you have everything prepared? Appliances? Employees? Supplies?”

Osamu had been lying awake over those questions every night. “I have some tentative plans, but I haven’t finalized anything because havin’ the building is my priority at the moment. I’m not sure if yer meetin’ with other business owners—”

“Miya-san, rest assured that my interest is only in your work. Any sorts of negotiations I might’ve had have been brushed aside a while ago.” Kubo gave him a reassuring smile. “I wouldn’t have dragged you all the way here if I weren’t ready to discuss numbers.”

Osamu swallowed past the “Really?” building in his throat. He nodded. “Of course.”

The rest of the dinner went on without a hitch. His wagyu was delicious, the ambiance of the restaurant made him feel at ease, and the negotiations moved along better than he’d expected. Honestly, he hadn’t even expected to be offered so much upfront. The monthly rent was costly, as was inevitable for Tokyo, but he could work around it. The location suited him fine, and he was certain that the proximity to Kubo’s grand hotel would bring in many customers. It was like a dream.

Osamu felt like he was walking amongst the clouds. As he excused himself to use the bathroom, any details around him faded into dust. He didn’t notice that the number of people in the restaurant had decreased significantly in the last hour or that no waiter passed him in the hall.

After he finished relieving himself, he stopped in front of the mirror to stare at his reflection. He tugged on a tuft of his dark hair. It had felt easy going back to his natural color after dyeing it for so long, and it made sense: Atsumu still dyed his hair, although he now used a much lighter blonde, so there was no risk of being confused with the other. Well, the risk was minimal. Still, there were moments every now and then that he studied himself closely, trying to imagine what it would be like to revert back to the gray.

Not that it mattered much. Most of the time, he wore his black snapback with his business logo across the front. People rarely saw his hair. That was likely why he’d fussed over it so much before heading to the restaurant. He’d been unable to decide whether he should let it fall across his forehead or sweep it to the side as much as he could.

Even now, the temptation to muss it was strong. Heaving a long sigh, he brushed his fingers across the front again.

He was so fixated on flattening the loose strands that he didn’t hear one of the stall doors swing open behind him. The footsteps that followed were light and assured, and when a stranger appeared at the edge of his vision, Osamu couldn’t help but jolt in place.

“Shit, ya startled me,” he said, letting a hand fall over his heart.

The stranger was a man a few centimeters taller than him, dressed in the same uniform that the rest of the waiters wore, although his shirt had a few more wrinkles etched in. His dark hair almost matched Osamu’s in color, but his was fixed in a middle part that brushed out to the sides, sticking out past his ears. His sleepy eyes flicked over to Osamu, and there was an intense focus in them that unsettled Osamu even after the initial scare. He looked almost bored, but keenly aware of everything that was going on around him all the same.

“Are you okay?” Osamu asked.

The stranger hadn’t broken eye contact with him once, and Osamu started to burn under his stare. There was no denying that this man was objectively attractive, but it was the intensity at which he looked at Osamu that unnerved him the most.

When he finally looked away, Osamu let out a shaky exhale. Osamu heard his footsteps walk over to the bathroom exit, and he returned his attention back to his hair.

“Your hair looks good,” the stranger murmured from his position by the door. “I like it.”

Osamu whipped his head around only to be met with a door swinging shut. Looking back at his reflection, he decided to take the stranger’s advice to heart. He didn’t need to fiddle with it any longer.

He leaned forward to wash his hands one last time.

When Osamu left the bathroom and retraced his steps back to the table, it took him a second too long to recognize the eerie silence that accompanied his footsteps. The absence of a waiter moving past him in the hall felt all the more noticeable now, and a shiver ran down his spine as he reentered the main dining area.

Only to freeze where he stood.

All Osamu could think was there’s so much blood.

His vision was covered in red from the puddles by his feet to the gash in the throat of the nearest waiter, hunched over one of the tables, motionless. Everywhere he looked, there was another body, the stain of blood standing out against the white uniforms, and Osamu pressed a hand to his mouth to keep himself from vomiting then and there. The metallic stench overwhelmed his senses, and he couldn’t fathom how he hadn’t noticed it on the walk here.

Any sense of self-preservation went out the window. It didn’t matter that he could still be in danger. All he could do was stand and stare, keeping his hand over his mouth. It wasn’t until he heard a soft gurgle that he snapped into action.

Osamu followed the sound, his pace quickening when he realized the noise was coming from his table. The same table he’d spent most of the evening sat at. Could he have been one of the bodies if he hadn’t gone to the bathroom at the right time?

Each step he took made his shoes squelch in the individual pools of blood. He resolved then and there to throw these shoes in the garbage the second he got the chance—if he made it out of here alive.

The noise came from a figure lying face-down on the floor, and the urge to vomit grew stronger at the sight of the familiar suit. Plucking his phone out of his pocket, he dialed 119 and kept the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he reached forward to turn Kubo over. He gritted his teeth at the sight of the wound. His throat had been slashed, and it was almost identical to the waiter he’d seen at the entrance. His eyes were filled with panic that didn’t seem to settle at the sight of Osamu hovering above him. He was probably in shock—or halfway to death.

At a loss of what to do, Osamu kept his hands over the wound. The blood oozed out too quickly, coating his fingers and burying itself beneath his nails, and as the operator finally answered the call, Osamu saw the exact moment Kubo stopped breathing.

A day had passed since Kubo’s death. Osamu had made it back to Hyogo, picked up by Atsumu himself. Most of yesterday evening was spent at the restaurant answering questions for the police before being allowed to leave. They’d counted five bodies in total. No one had survived. The restaurant had been suspiciously empty at the moment the crime had taken place. Osamu had been the only witness. He wasn’t sure if him being alive was an error on the part of the person who’d committed five murders, or if he’d been lucky.

Whatever the case was, Atsumu was reluctant to let him out of his sight. It reminded Osamu how grateful he was for the space that adulthood had given them. Even if Osamu knew Atsumu was being well-intentioned, stifling his worry the only way he knew how, his constant gaze set Osamu on edge.

Osamu had only agreed to come with him to the taskforce’s office in the hopes that he’d settle down a bit.

“The police don’t have any leads, Samu,” Atsumu said while sticking the key into the lock of the office. “No matches in fingerprints. Nothin’. Just humor me for now.”

“I am humoring ya,” Osamu said. “This is ridiculous, Tsumu. I can’t be around ya all the time.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’mgoin’ to commit a murder next.”

In retrospect, that was not the best thing to say while entering a taskforce dedicated to hunting down one particularly skilled and—apparently—gory assassin, but only one person was around to witness his blunder. In fact, the entire office space was far more cramped than expected. Three desks were pushed into their individual corners, only large enough for a computer each. A corkboard hung on the far wall, decorated in strings and pushpins that connected pieces of evidence to each other, and a few of the photographs held the same gruesomeness as the scene Osamu stumbled upon last night.

The only other occupant of the office at the moment sat at the far left desk, hunched over in front of his computer screen. He spun in his chair at the sound of their voices. “What are you doing here, Miya?” His eyes narrowed at the sight of Osamu. “And why am I seeing double?”

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu waved. “How are ya? This is my twin brother, Osamu. I toldja about him before.”

“I wasn’t listening.” He lifted a hand in greeting. “I’m Sakusa. Do not refer to me by any of your brother’s ridiculous nicknames.”

It wasn’t until he raised his arm that Osamu realized he wore disposable gloves on both of his hands. Maybe it was to handle the evidence, but if all he was doing right now was scrolling through his computer, that conclusion seemed unlikely. His curls swept to the left, brushing against his lashes. His scowl appeared permanently fixed on his face, but that could’ve been due to the loud presence at Osamu’s side.

“Nice to meetcha,” Osamu said, lifting a hand in response. “Don’t worry. I’m the better twin.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I don’t think I like the idea of you two bein’ friends,” Atsumu said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t hafta be here, ya know,” Osamu said, leaping on the chance before it could disappear. “I could go home.”

“No, you can’t,” Atsumu insisted. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over to the desk in the far right. That had to be his then. “Omi-kun, can I leave Samu here with ya? I’m goin’ to get takeout.”

Sakusa looked Osamu over. “I guess.” He spun back around in his chair. “I’m not paying.”

Atsumu groaned before fishing out his wallet. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, more to Osamu since Sakusa looked like he was already in the process of zoning them out. “Don’tleave.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Osamu marched over to the desk he assumed was Atsumu’s. He dropped down into the chair. “I’ll stay put.”

“Ya better.” Atsumu gave the room one last sweep before disappearing into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

Osamu snatched the opportunity to go through Atsumu’s things. His desk had quite a few personal trinkets including a volleyball keychain, a paperweight of a fox that their mother had bought him, and a colorful stress ball. A few photos were stuck to the edges of his computer, and one in particular stood out: it was him and Atsumu on the opening day of Onigiri Miya. Their beams were matching, their excitement too strong to even pretend to be annoyed with each other.

“He talks about you a lot,” Sakusa mumbled from the other side of the room.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Osamu said, running a finger along the photograph. “He doesn’t really know when to shut up. And sorry. About this. I don’t want to be babysat any more than ya want to babysit me.”

“It’s whatever,” Sakusa said. “I don’t care. I’m waiting on any updates from the police in Tokyo anyway.”

The mention of the case made him straighten. Even if he felt like he could still smell the blood and the sight of Kobe’s eyes losing their focus stuck with him forever, his interest was caught. “Any news?”

“Nothing noteworthy.” Sakusa tapped his fingers against his keyboard. “I went through the security footage. I went over the hospital records. I even looked at the report they had on you based on what you witnessed. Nothing really adds up to anything. All we’ve got is that the assassin likely was after your dinner guest. Kubo-san, right? All of the other casualties happened to be employees.”

That didn’t put his mind at ease. Osamu sunk further into his chair. “Sorry. Wish I could be of more help. The person yer all after was in the same vicinity as me, and I’ve got nothin’.”

“You’re alive,” Sakusa said. “That’s all we ask for.”

A few minutes passed in silence. Osamu played around with Atsumu’s stretch ball, squeezing it until it looked ready to burst. He tried not to distract Sakusa too much. He seemed like the kind of person who liked zero noise and zero distractions while he worked. It was just unfortunate that Osamu didn’t have anything to do.

Sakusa spoke up again. “You mentioned that you spoke with a waiter before leaving the bathroom.”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Sakusa moved closer to his screen, squinting at the brightness. “Was that waiter identified as one of the bodies?”

“I don’t know,” Osamu said, dropping the ball back onto Atsumu’s desk. “I didn’t exactly look at all of ‘em.”

“I have the employee records of all the employees killed. Do you think you can match the waiter you saw in the bathroom with a photo ID?”

Osamu thought of the man that had stared at him with his full attention, sleepy eyes and all. He wasn’t sure he’d forget his face for as long as he lived. Amidst all of the haze of yesterday, he was one of the only parts that was clear. “Yeah, I can.”

Sakusa reached for a mask that was folded on the desk in front of him. “Come over here then.”

Osamu waited for Sakusa to wrap the straps of the mask behind both of his ears before coming closer. He leaned over Sakusa’s shoulder to look at the computer. On screen, there was a simple record of one of the employees that had worked there—and had died there. The man smiled back from the screen, but it wasn’t the face Osamu was looking for. “Next.”

Sakusa flicked through all of the other records, but none of the faces matched with the one worn by the stranger that Osamu had seen in the bathroom. “No?” Sakusa asked.

“No.”

“If I get ahold of all of their employee records, do you think you can check through those?”

Osamu nodded before waiting patiently for Sakusa to download the rest of the restaurant’s employee records. A certain sense of dread had filled him with each report he looked through, prickling at him more when the profile was wrong. He didn’t forget the face. He wouldn’t forget that face.

“Here.” Sakusa drew his attention back from his thoughts once more, and once again, Osamu went through each file.

Each face was different, each profile was different, and yet, none of them matched the features of the stranger he’d seen last night. When Sakusa made it to the final record, and Osamu shook his head, something akin to a smirk appeared on Sakusa’s face.

“Osamu-san.”

“I know what yer gonna say, but don’t say it yet.”

Sakusa waited a few seconds, but that was all the consolation he was willing to give. “I think you’ve seen our assassin in person.”

His hands were folded in his lap while his back rested against the cool metal of the chair he’d been given. The room was empty except for a table, the sketch artist sat across from him, and the reflective glass that took up most of one wall. Although Osamu only saw the room mirrored back to him, he knew that Atsumu stood on the other side, watching and listening in as Osamu was directed to describe the assassin in vivid detail.

The sketch artist had briefly introduced himself before settling down to prepare to do the composite sketch by hand. All Osamu could do was wait patiently until he was given the sign to begin describing.

“You may begin.”

Osamu released a quick breath. “His hair was dark brown, parted in the middle and pushed out to the sides,” he began, picturing the stranger in his mind again, the details as clear as day. “He was slim. Somewhere in his twenties. He had very delicate features. His eyes were sorta fox-like. Wide, but alert. His lips are full. He has a long neck. High cheekbones. His skin is… smooth and bright. He had a lost look in his eye that was both direct and also chillin’. He’s totally focused, yet almost entirely inaccessible.”

He could imagine him now staring at Osamu with that familiar intensity, and it almost made him shiver.

The sketch artist cleared his throat, and Osamu shifted in his seat. Even though he’d known that he was still there, his mind had carried him somewhere else for a second.

“So, uh…” The sketch artist started, and Osamu looked down at the sheet of paper, nearly blank. “Was it a square face or more of an oval face?”

Heat bloomed in his cheeks. Clearly, he’d done the entire description wrong. He’d pulled poetics out of his ass rather than focusing on the basic details. Almost everything he’d said in his initial answer was unaccounted for in the final sketch, but it was a close enough match that Osamu was satisfied with the effort.

When he was finally allowed to exit the room, he met Atsumu’s incredulous stare.

“What?” Osamu asked.

“‘His skin is smooth and bright,’” Atsumu mocked, crossing his arms over his chest. “What even?”

“Oh, piss off.” But Osamu ducked his head to avoid the teasing he no doubt deserved. His cheeks hadn’t cooled yet.

Osamu thought that would be the end of it. Yes, he still thought about that night in the restaurant, and yes, there were moments when he thought he could detect the metallic stench of blood in the air. But he’d believed that he could now successfully split off from his brother’s line of work and return back to his usual schedule at his own job. With the negotiations for the Tokyo branch having fallen through in the wake of Kubo-san’s death, Osamu had to reassess his plans for the business moving forward.

Even with Atsumu’s daily text messages checking in, he’d assumed that his involvement in the case from now on would be minimal: the occasional update once they got closer to catching their special assassin. It didn’t matter that Osamu thought about that face for most of his days, or that he had to resist reaching for his phone to hound Atsumu for updates several times while at work. He was done. Finished. There was nothing keeping him tethered to the mysterious assassin any longer.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

But when Atsumu stormed in after the lunch hour rush, his chest heaving as if he’d run to the restaurant by foot, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, Osamu considered that that may not be the case. The relief was evident in Atsumu’s expression when he caught sight of Osamu behind the counter as usual.

“What’s up, Tsumu?” Osamu asked as Atsumu bypassed a few customers hovering by the displays to reach him. He knew better than to crack a joke at his disheveled appearance now.

Atsumu nearly sagged onto the counter. “Ya hafta come with me. Now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” Atsumu slapped his hand down a few times. “There’s been another murder.”

Despite the chill that raced down his spine, Osamu kept still. “Keep yer voice down,” he hissed, sweeping his head to the side to see if anyone was eavesdropping. “Ya can’t just say things like that in front of everyone. Why do I hafta be there?”

Atsumu lifted his head, meeting Osamu’s gaze head-on. “’Cause he used yer name as his alias.”

After that, there was little else needed to convince Osamu to follow Atsumu to the scene of the crime. The restaurant was in good hands, especially with Gin at the head, though he hated being forced to leave during working hours. But he understood Atsumu’s urgency. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t more worried. It felt like Atsumu’s vigilance wasn’t unwarranted now.

Still, when Atsumu brought him through the doors of a sex clinic, he debated whether this was all some elaborate prank.

“Okay, what the fuck,” Osamu said under his breath as Atsumu led him through the waiting room. The receptionist didn’t even ask why they were there, and no one else was around to stop them.

The whole building reminded him of a hospital, every surface clean and pristine with magazines set in the various corners to entertain people stopping by. When Atsumu pushed open the doors to one of the private rooms, the metal table only heightened the strangeness of the situation. Along with the body bag resting on top of it.

“Oh god,” Osamu said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I am sorry about this, Osamu,” Kita said. Osamu hadn’t noticed the other two occupants of the room—excluding the very, very dead body—but Kita stepped around the table to grace him with a gentle smile. “We wouldn’t have called ya down here if we didn’t think that yer life was in some sort of risk.”

It didn’t get easier hearing that. Atsumu had implied it before, but having Kita put it bluntly like that made Osamu scared to go home alone that night. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “So what did happen?”

Sakusa stood at the end of the table, staring down at the body bag. His mask covered the bottom half of his face, and this time, his gloves were most definitely meant to handle the evidence. His intense focus appeared to be back in full force. “Our assassin came here passing himself off as a temp,” he said. “He waited in this room for one of this clinic’s regular clients and started what seemed like the client’s usual procedure. Until he clamped his scrotum past the safe word and increased the gas flow to the client’s mask.”

“The gas?”

“Carbon monoxide,” Sakusa answered. “It’s certainly an efficient way of killing someone.”

“Cool,” Osamu whispered before he could help it. Three sets of eyes slid towards him, and he quickly amended, “I mean, not cool. Terrible and awful. That’s what I meant.”

Kita flattened his lips in disapproval. “At the restaurant, he’d used a knife. Now, he’s used carbon monoxide.”

“There’s no rhyme or reason,” Atsumu said. “He doesn’t have a preferred method. He’ll switch it up. Just to keep it interestin’.”

Osamu turned to Atsumu. “Ya said he used my name?”

Kita was the one to answer. “Yes. He told the front desk that his name was Miya Osamu.”

His stomach sunk beneath the floor. If there had been any hope that he could return back to his routine—to his normal life—Kita’s confirmation had taken that hope and crushed it. “Does this mean he’s comin’ after me?”

“Not necessarily,” Sakusa said. “I think if he wanted you dead, he could’ve killed you at the restaurant.” He took a second to consider the potential options. “I think he’s trying to lure you out.”

There wasn’t much Osamu could do. His presence was more for Atsumu’s peace of mind rather than for any actual help he could offer. He wasn’t a federal agent. He owned an onigiri business. He wasn’t equipped to deal with blood and murder and assassins, even if this one particular assassin had his eye on him. That—at least—made him feel a little less foolish for going on and on about his delicate features.

Atsumu almost hadn’t let him out of his sights that evening. He’d insisted that Osamu spend the night at his place. Osamu appreciated the gesture, but if he stayed over with Atsumu, one of them wouldn’t survive. There would be a murder, and it wouldn’t necessarily be the assassin’s doing. It wasn’t until Sakusa had mentioned that if the assassin knew Osamu’s name, he definitely knew where Osamu worked and that he could attack him at any time that Atsumu had reeled himself in a bit.

This wasn’t much of a consolation, but it meant that if the assassin hadn’t killed him yet, there was little reason to do it tonight. Kita’s watchful gaze had followed Osamu out of the building, and Osamu wondered if Atsumu wasn’t the only one who thought that Osamu shouldn’t be home alone tonight.

When Osamu reached the back of Onigiri Miya, there was only one lamp to illuminate the door that led up to his apartment above the shop. The light flickered downward, a moth fluttering in its path, and Osamu fished his keys out of his pocket before noticing the package that had been left on his doorstep.

He knelt down to inspect it further. It was a brand-new suitcase with a hanger draped over the top, wrapped in plastic. There was a tag on one of the zippers, and when he tilted it towards the light, the name Miya Osamuwas written there in precise kanji.

His heart leapt into his throat. Sakusa had practically confirmed that the assassin knew where he worked. It made sense that he’d connected the apartment above to Osamu too. Did that mean he shouldn’t open it to view its contents? What if it was filled with deadly gas? Should he call Atsumu? Or better yet, Kita?

He felt even more exposed than he had before. He didn’t want to wait outside while waiting for someone to answer his calls. His instincts reached for comfort, and that meant hiding inside. Grunting, he lifted the hanger with one hand and heaved the suitcase up with the other. His fingers shook as he jammed the key into the lock, but the click when it gave brought him instant relief.

The door swung shut behind him, and Osamu fumbled in the dark to reach the top of the steps. This stairwell was only connected to his apartment, and while Osamu really should’ve installed a light at the top so he didn’t have to trip over his own feet every time he came home, that involved effort that he lacked.

It was only when he’d entered his apartment and locked the door shut behind him that he allowed himself the room to breathe. He dragged the suitcase over to his bedroom and dropped it onto his duvet. He set the hanger down beside it, holding off on peeking inside. It made sense to open the suitcase first. It was bigger. Potentially deadlier.

His fingers kept shaking even as he drew the zipper from one side of the suitcase all the way around. When he flipped the top over, there was no deadly gas. No bomb. No vicious animal. Just several wrapped goods.

They almost resembled gifts. It wasn’t until he’d torn the paper off the first individual package that he realized they were gifts. Expensive gifts. He didn’t have to see a price tag to know. The brand names were memorable enough, and the quality of the clothing left inside didn’t come cheap. Osamu raised a thick sweater buried beneath the pile and held it against his front. It…seemed like it would fit. That was the most unnerving part of all of this. Each article of clothing looked as though it were made especially for Osamu. Everything was his size.

There was even an expensive box of cologne tucked into the corner. The name on the front spelled SUNA. As Osamu sprayed a spritz onto his wrists, he thought, That’s what I’ll call him. Suna. Bringing his arms up, he inhaled the light and refreshing scent that Suna thought would suit him best.

He’d become so distracted by the bottle that he missed the note tucked into the box. It looked like a late addition, pressed between the cushion and the cardboard. When Osamu flipped it over, the note read: sorry baby.

*

After the suitcase incident—which he had still not told Atsumu about as it felt weirdly intimate—things became surprisingly silent. Atsumu and Osamu had made plans a while back to hang out with one of their old classmates, Omimi. They rarely ever had the chance to catch up, and since there had been no escalations or breakthroughs on the case, there was no reason to cancel. Atsumu picked up him from the front of Onigiri Miya early Sunday morning, and the two spent most of the drive to Omimi’s bickering. The conversation never landed on anything important, and Atsumu didn’t bring up Suna at all, making Osamu think that he was purposely trying to keep Osamu’s mind off of everything that had happened. It was unnecessary—but appreciated. Osamu thought he was doing a pretty good job coming to terms with everything.

Or maybe he was riding an invisible high after Suna called him baby. It was anyone’s guess.

“We almost there?” he asked, leaning forward as they turned down a familiar street.

“Yeah, yeah. Quit complainin’.” Atsumu turned down the stereo. “The drive wasn’t even that long.”

“I wasn’t complainin’.”

“Ya were too.”

Osamu opened his mouth, but clamped it shut when Atsumu shifted the car into park. It jolted once before holding still, and Osamu looked out his window to see their destination on the right. He undid his seatbelt. “Yer still a terrible driver.”

“Oh, shut yer trap.” Atsumu pushed his door open and waited for Osamu to scramble out of the car before delivering the rest of his sentence. “Next time,you drive, so ya have no reason to complain.”

The two start the trek up to the front door, Atsumu just leading the way. Osamu didn’t mind that. Normally, he got along better with others, Atsumu’s sharp honesty rubbing too many people the wrong way, but he was always respectful when needed. When it came down to it, Atsumu liked hearing himself talk more than Osamu liked talking.

Atsumu raised a hand to knock on the door. “Ya want to text him that we’re here?”

“I guess.” Osamu pulled out his phone, ready to type out a quick text message, but the door opened before he could.

“Omimi-san!” Atsumu greeted Omimi’s mother. Her hair was gathered at the nape of her neck, and there was a certain weariness in her features, as though she’d woken up earlier than she’d wanted to. “We’re here for Ren-kun. We have plans to hang out today. Is he here?”

His mother shook her head, bracing a hand against the doorframe. “No, he isn’t here.” Her eyebrows creased. “He was, but he ran out in a hurry maybe ten minutes before ya two arrived. He didn’t mention you were comin’.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Osamu said for the both of them. His own eyebrows creased. That was out of the ordinary of Omimi. He was the type of person who rarely rushed to do anything. They’d confirmed their plans together last night. There was no reason for him not to expect them. “We didn’t mean to just barge in.”

“It’s no problem,” Atsumu said. He had his phone gripped in his hand. “We’ll call him and find him. I’m sure it might’ve just slipped his mind.”

She gave them both a smile. “Thank you. I’d certainly appreciate it.”

“No worries.”

When they were both back in the car, their unspoken worries came to fruition. Atsumu tapped his foot against the floor. He had yet to put on his seat belt or start the car. His mind was elsewhere, and so was Osamu’s.

“It sounds like somethin’ is wrong,” Atsumu said, voicing what Osamu was thinking. “He knew we were comin’. Why would he just run off like that?”

“We don’t know anythin’,” Osamu said. One of them had to be the voice of reason, and if Kita wasn’t here, then that responsibility fell onto Osamu’s shoulders. “We should just call him and see before jumpin’ to conclusions.”

Osamu did exactly that. But when the ringing continued, he knew that no one would be picking up. He didn’t wait for the voicemail message to begin before hanging up. “Now what?”

“Call Omi-kun.” Atsumu reached behind him for his seat belt and buckled it. Looping his keys around his fingers, he pushed one into the ignition and waited for the car to roar to life. “Tell him to track Omimi’s phone. I have a bad feeling ‘bout this.”

“Is that legal?” Osamu asked, scrolling through his contacts to find Sakusa’s name. They’d exchanged phone numbers yesterday after Sakusa had begrudgingly admitted that they would probably be seeing more of each other from now on.

“Omimi wouldn’t just leave without tellin’ us,” Atsumu said instead of answering the question. “He’s not like that.” He twisted in his seat to see if anyone was driving up the street before reversing to pull out of their parking spot. “I try to trust my instincts when I can, and they’re sayin’ something is wrong.”

Osamu tapped on Sakusa’s contact information and heard the ring start. It barely rung once before Sakusa picked up.

“Hello?” Sakusa asked with his usual deadpan voice. “Osamu-san?”

“Hiya,” Osamu greeted. “Sorry to bother ya, but my brother is insisting that ya track someone’s phone for us.”

“Your brother,” Sakusa said with a pinch of annoyance, “needs to learn what lines shouldn’t be crossed.”

“It’s important, Omi-Omi!” Atsumu called out. “Something is wrong!”

Sakusa sighed. “Is he going off his instincts again?”

“I am so sorry,” Osamu mumbled.

“Fine.” Osamu heard the squeak of a wheel from the other line. That meant Sakusa was at the office. A few clicks of a keyboard followed. “Can I have the phone number?”

Osamu used Atsumu’s phone to read out Omimi’s number. After he’d repeated it once more, Sakusa fell silent. Osamu didn’t know how long the process would take, but he knew better than to ask. Right now, they were driving with no leads and no destination in mind. It was aimless, and only Sakusa could provide them with some sense of direction if Omimi refused to answer their calls.

It was like some unknown force had heard Osamu’s thoughts. Atsumu’s phone buzzed from where it sat in the center console, and Omimi’s name flashed across the screen. Keeping his own phone pressed to his ear in case Sakusa said something, Osamu reached for Atsumu’s phone, batting away Atsumu’s fingers when he tried to grab it himself.

“Yer driving!” Osamu said. Atsumu straightened in his seat, his lips forming a pout. Osamu answered the call. “Omimi? Where are ya? We went to yer house, and yer mother said you ran off.”

Omimi’s voice was low. Each word was a punctuated whisper. “Help. Me.”

Osamu stilled. His thumb missed the button to put the call on speaker twice, and he held it out for Atsumu to listen in on. “Omimi?”

“Help. Me,” Omimi repeated. “I think someone’s tryin’ to kill me.”

Osamu saw the moment Atsumu shifted: the person seated beside him was a federal agent, and at the first mention of danger, he’d become focused. His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Omimi, can ya tell us where you are?”

“I don’t know,” Omimi whispered back. There was a slight rustle as he shifted positions. “I’m in my car, but I’m parked in the middle of a field—I don’t know what to do—he won’t stop—”

“I’ve got it,” Sakusa said into Osamu’s right ear. Osamu had almost forgotten that he was still on the call. “Tell your brother to keep driving. There’s a fence up ahead. I’d say it’s about two minutes away. Your friend is on the other side of that field.” There was a pause. “You can’t exactly drive to where he is. He has to come to you.”

“Stop by the fence two minutes away,” Osamu repeated to Atsumu, who nodded gravely. “We’re almost there, Omimi. Yer gonna have to run for it.”

“What?”

“There’s no way we can pick ya up otherwise. You’ll have to run across the field. Make it to the fence.”

“He’ll kill me. Didja miss the part where I said someone is after me? With a gun?”

“I know,” Osamu said. “That’s why I toldja to run.”

A rickety metal fence on the left side caught Osamu’s eye, but before he could point it out, Atsumu pulled up to it, bringing the car to a dead stop. He clambered out of the car, trying to see if he could spot Omimi in the distance.

“We’re here now,” Osamu said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Ya hafta run, Omimi.”

Osamu climbed out of the car to stand beside Atsumu. He looked out into the distance, but all he could see was a swarm of rice plants. If Omimi truly was on the other side of this stretch of land, they wouldn’t be able to see him until he emerged out the other way. Osamu gripped his phone tighter, holding it out between them. A few pitiful sounds came from the other line, accompanied by the sound of feet crashing through tall grass.

“Omimi, are ya runnin’ or are ya cryin’?”

“Runnin’ and cryin’,” Omimi sobbed.

At least he was moving. Atsumu seemed to share this sentiment—especially as a few gunshots sounded off.

“Keep runnin’,” Atsumu urged. “Samu, get behind the wheel.”

Osamu knew better than to argue now. He hurried back into the car, plopping down where Atsumu had sat before, behind the wheel. The engine was still running. Osamu looked out at the shades of green, hoping to catch sight of Omimi’s face. He’d dropped the phone into the center console with Atsumu’s. Winding his fingers around the wheel, he kept a foot on the pedal, ready to storm off at a moment’s notice.

The invisible force in Osamu’s chest loosened its hold when Omimi burst through the rice plants. Atsumu ran forward to help him up and over the fence, and Osamu kept his gaze fixed towards the field while the two of them leapt into the backseat. His heart pounded like a jackhammer. Even the night at the restaurant felt like child’s play in comparison to the tension building up now.

When the final car door slammed shut, Osamu should’ve driven off right away. But he was still looking out at the field, and that was the exact moment Suna materialized from within the plants. Even with a gun aimed at him, Osamu couldn’t move.

Atsumu kicked the back of his seat. “Drive!”

Osamu crushed the gas pedal beneath his foot, and the car lunged forward. His seatbelt tightened across his front, and he heard the cries from the backseat at the sudden speed. His eyes flicked over to the rearview mirror once, and fear settled onto his shoulders like an old friend.

Suna was undeterred by the fact that they were racing away in a car. He had a target. In fact, his speed by foot was not something to laugh at. He still chased after them, his gun outstretched in front of him, firing off shots that flew too close. His aim wasn’t perfect, but Osamu’s doubted anyone’s would be if they were moving at full speed at the same time.

He looked at the mirror one more time, and that face felt fixated on his. He’d never imagined he’d see Suna again. Even after everything that had happened.

It was perhaps the foolish thing he’d ever done. It was the product of a split-second decision fueled by nothing more than recklessness and intrigue. Osamu hit the brakes, ignoring the shouts of protest behind him, and he watched as Suna slowed his run.

“He’s waitin’ for me,” Osamu murmured, his gaze fixed upon the rearview mirror.

“He’s waitin’ for fuckin’ who?” Atsumu demanded.

“He’s waitin’ for me.” Osamu undid his seatbelt and reached for the handle on the car door. If he didn’t get out now, Suna could disappear—just as he did that night at the restaurant. It was now or never.

If Atsumu had his way, that would likely be never. He kicked the back of Osamu’s seat again. All the while, Omimi kept breaking down in terrible sobs, mumbling “drive, drive, drive” under his breath.

“Yer fuckin’ kiddin’ me, Samu,” Atsumu said. “He’s not here for ya. He’s here to kill Omimi! Or didja forget that he happens to be an assassin?”

There was no point in reasoning with Atsumu. Osamu knew this. There was no way he could twist the situation in which Atsumu would agree with what he was about to do. He also knew that once he realized what Osamu was planning, he would fight tooth and nail to stop him. Suna still stared back at him in the mirror.

“Sorry, Tsumu,” Osamu said quickly, before scrambling out of the car. He slammed the driver’s car door as fast as possible in order to lock the vehicle using the child’s safety lock. Atsumu might’ve been able to stop him had Omimi loosened his grip, but as it was, when the lock clicked, Atsumu and Omimi were stuck inside.

Osamu ignored the relentless pounding against the window. He didn’t have to look inside to imagine the murderous look Atsumu sent his way. That wasn’t his priority right now.

Suna stood several feet away, his arm holding the gun limp at his side. That focused gaze of his followed each one of Osamu’s footsteps, catching onto each crunch of leaves and dirt beneath Osamu’s shoes. He must’ve decided on an acceptable distance to let Osamu reach, because when Osamu took another step, Suna raised his arm again.

It was instinctual to raise his hand in surrender. Osamu knew that Suna could shoot him in the heart and dash off before either Atsumu or Osamu could do anything. He wasn’t running now. There was nothing to make his aim tremble.

Suna held the gun out for a few long moments. Osamu’s other hand crept up to his heart, feeling each treacherous thump beneath the skin. He could die. Suna could kill him here. Sure, he’d dropped off that suitcase full of gifts for Osamu, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He could’ve been toying with Osamu, bored out his mind. It didn’t mean that he held any qualms against killing Osamu.

Osamu watched as Suna brought the gun back, and his heart raced for a very different reason when Suna rested the muzzle of the gun beneath his chin, almost as if he were about to shoot himself.

Osamu couldn’t help it. “No!” he shouted, the word ripping out of his throat, his arm outstretched forward as if he could reach Suna fast enough to stop him.

Suna giggled, the sound reminiscent of a child cackling with glee, and that unnerved Osamu even further. He pulled the muzzle out from under his chin and lifted it to his mouth, pressing his lips against it in an almost-kiss. His smile was as sharp as quicksilver when he raised his arm out again and released a warning shot near Osamu’s feet.

“Shit!” Osamu cried out. He didn’t need more of a reason than that to sprint back to the car, unlocking it and leaping inside in the same breath. He glanced behind him once to see Suna vanish back into the field.

“What the fuck was that?” Atsumu growled once Osamu pulled the door shut.

“Nothin’! I don’t know!” Osamu fumbled with the keys before jamming the right one into the ignition. He lifted his head once to check the rearview mirror, but Suna was long gone.

Omimi didn’t stop crying until Osamu pulled over at a café at the side of the road. The three headed inside, almost as if they were going for their prearranged meal rather than attempting to regroup after being chased down by an assassin. Osamu had ordered three cups of tea at the counter before they settled down at a table in the corner, far from prying ears and eyes. Omimi kept looking out the window, as if Suna would pop out the other side with the gun, yelling “Sike!”

Atsumu looked particularly weary. His shoulders slumped as he cradled the cup in his hands, taking sips gingerly while keeping an eye on Osamu. Besides the initial outburst, he had yet to erupt over Osamu’s recklessness, but whenever he decided to explode, Osamu knew he would bear the brunt of it. Osamu wondered what he was thinking. Was he prioritizing Omimi’s safety or thinking about how best to toss Osamu in a ditch?

“So,” Osamu said, breaking the awkward silence because someone had to, “someone hired an assassin to kill ya.”

“Nice, Samu,” Atsumu mumbled over the steam that rose from his drink.

Osamu shrugged before returning his attention to Omimi. It looked like he’d sunk further into himself, pressing two hands against his face as he shook his head from side to side. Osamu nudged him. Perhaps it was tactless, but a morbid part of him wanted to know why Suna had been tracking him at all.

“I can’t tell ya,” Omimi said after what felt like an eternity. His hands fell to the table, wrapping around his cup like it provided him with some form of comfort. “But I can tell ya that motherfucker has been hired to go after me. He showed up at my house earlier today when I was out. That’s why I left. When my mother told me, I had to run. I didn’t know he would still be watching the house.”

Osamu held back from mentioning that of course Suna would still be watching the house. It made sense that Omimi would return at some point, and so, all Suna had to do was wait it out. The opportunity would come. The detachment with which he considered that fact worried him a tad. It felt like he was becoming too fascinated with Suna in return.

“If ya think he’s still after ya, we can find ya a safehouse,” Atsumu said. He slurped down the last of his tea and set the cup down with a clatter. “That won’t be a problem. I’ll call someone back at the office and let them know. You can stay there until we’re certain it’s safe.”

The look on Omimi’s face made it clear that he was certain he would never be safe as long as Suna lived. But all he did was nod, and Atsumu reached for his phone, no doubt writing out a text message for Sakusa. When he was finished, he rose from his chair.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Atsumu said. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Omimi looked very much like he didn’t feel comfortable with Atsumu leaving them for a second. Osamu couldn’t blame him. Atsumu was a capable federal agent; Osamu was an onigiri man with a penchant for danger. One of these options was clearly better than the other.

“I’ll be back,” Atsumu said, leaving his phone face-down on the table. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“There’s nowhere to go, idiot,” Osamu shot after him.

Omimi didn’t engage him in further conversation, and Osamu didn’t breach any subject either. If Omimi didn’t want to tell them what he’d gotten himself into, that was his problem. There was nothing Osamu could do otherwise. He could comfort him, but after his stint back at the car, he doubted Omimi wanted any sort of comforting from him.

Omimi still frowned into his reflection in the surface of the glass when Atsumu’s phone buzzed from where he’d left it. Osamu snatched it and checked the contact information before answering.

“Miya.”

“I am Miya, but not the one yer lookin’ for,” Osamu said by way of greeting. “What’s up?”

“Oh, hi, Osamu.” Sakusa let out a deep sigh. “Where is your brother?”

“Bathroom.” Osamu swung his head around to see if he could spot Atsumu returning, but there was no luck. “Can I take a message?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sakusa said. A few clicks against a keyboard sounded in the background. “Your brother messaged me about needing a safehouse. I’m forwarding him the address for your friend. I’ve also got some information about our mystery assassin.”

Osamu tried not to let his interest show, but he sat up straighter anyway. “Oh?”

“I’ve got a name: Suna Rintarou.”

“Suna.” The name left his mouth before he could help it. His tongue formed the syllables as if it was the most natural thing in the world. So. Suna had been making a point in the cologne name. He’d wanted Osamu to know who he was.

“Yes,” Sakusa confirmed. “And, well… I’ve also got the guy’s prison record. The reason we haven’t been able to match his fingerprints is because he’s supposed to be dead. He died in a Russian prison years ago.”

“Oh. That’s…”

“Mmhmm,” Sakusa continued as if Osamu hadn’t spoken at all. “Yeah. It means it’s almost a definite that Suna is being hired out—likely by the same company that broke him out of the prison he was in in the first place.”

Osamu didn’t like the sound of that: multiple assassins being hired on a whim across Japan. Kubo could’ve been killed because of a petty rivalry between hotel owners. He didn’t even know what Omimi had done. He and Atsumu had known Omimi since high school, and he’d always been a clean-cut person. How did you even hire someone like that?

“At least we know now,” Sakusa said when Osamu didn’t speak. “Our target is Suna Rintarou.”

It was a relief at the end of the day to climb the familiar staircase up to his apartment. After waiting at that café for an hour, Sakusa sent Atsumu the address of a safehouse where security details were provided to ensure that no one came in or out. After walking through and seeing all of the preventative measures, Osamu couldn’t see Suna sneaking in, as skillful as he was. The two had left Omimi there, cutting off all communication ties until it was declared safe for him to leave. Osamu had tried giving Omimi as reassuring a smile as he could manage, but there was a niggle of fear at the back of his mind that questioned whether this was the last time he would ever see Omimi.

With a long sigh, Osamu flicked on the lights to his apartment. There were only two other rooms besides the main area that was split between the kitchen and the living room, and he walked in the direction of his bedroom. It wasn’t until he was inside that he noticed the hanger resting against the door to his closest. Even after he’d perused the individual gifts inside the suitcase, he had yet to unveil what was inside the hanger.

Well. There was no better time than the present.

Osamu grabbed ahold of the hanger and yanked the plastic covering off. His eyes popped almost comically at the elegant suit revealed underneath. He should’ve known there was a reason it had been separated from the suitcase, but he’d never suspected this. How had Suna bought him a suit without him fitting for it?

Yet, as Osamu pulled off his T-shirt, halfway into the process of trying it on, he knew it would fit. Everything else that he’d tried on had.

It took a few minutes before he was dressed in the pants and jacket, left fiddling with the tie that Suna had added with the ensemble. Sure enough, it was perfect. The cuffs didn’t extend past his wrists, his limbs had room to breathe, and the length worked. It was marvelous. He didn’t actually have an expensive suit like this. He wondered if it was too weird to consider sending Suna a thank you note, even if he had aimed a gun at him earlier that day.

To add to the look, Osamu sprayed the cologne that had come in the suitcase along his neck and wrists. The scent was as refreshing as always, subtle enough that it wasn’t overpowering yet light enough that it still drew you in.

Osamu almost wanted to take a picture of himself dressed like this before he put everything away and tucked it all into his closet—before the reverie snapped out of focus. He walked back out towards his kitchen where he’d left his phone on the counter. He reached for it at the same second he noticed that the door to his apartment was ajar.

And a pair of sleepy eyes stared back.

Osamu froze. Any sense of security that he’d felt within his home vanished, and his heartrate quickened beneath his skin. Suna watched him through the crack in the door, and Osamu’s own gaze didn’t waver in return.

“Don’t run,” Suna whispered.

Those two words broke Osamu out of his trance. It didn’t matter that he’d approached Suna earlier today. That had been on his terms. It mattered now that Suna had sought him out after. Osamu sprinted towards the bathroom, the closest door on the left.

Behind him, he heard Suna cry out, “Osamu, don’t run! I’m not going to hurt you!” But the set of persistent footsteps said differently.

Osamu skidded across the floor as he swung the door to the bathroom shut behind him, grappling for the lock. It clicked just as Suna slammed into the other side, trying to turn the knob himself.

“Osamu, open the door,” Suna ordered. His voice was too calm. Too self-assured. “I’m not going to hurt you. Open the door.”

Panic set in. There was no exit out of this room. There was a window that peeked outside, but no fire escape to climb onto. Even as Osamu pressed against the glass, hoping it would give, the futility of his attempt nearly broke him.

A weapon, he thought. He at least needed something to defend himself with. Suna might’ve been a dangerous killer, but he wasn’t invincible.

“Osamu, I’m coming in.”

“No, no!” Osamu shrieked, the panic all too evident in his voice.

There was a bang as Suna’s foot connected beside the doorknob. Osamu grabbed the closest thing he had. As the door gave way, he swung it out in front of him. A toilet brush. He’d grabbed a toilet brush.

Suna’s eyes went from the brush in Osamu’s grasp to Osamu’s face and back again. He let out a huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh before knocking it aside.

Osamu couldn’t help it. He screamed.

“Stop—stop screaming,” Suna said, his fingers resting against Osamu’s throat. It wasn’t tight enough to be a chokehold. It was merely meant to snap him out of his frenzy, but it only served to frighten him more.

Osamu brought his arm up to wrestle Suna’s away, but any attack he made was fruitless. Suna backed him up into the shower, knocking him down onto the floor without breaking a sweat. If Osamu had the time to process this, he would’ve had some amount of shame. He didn’t regularly work out, but he’d hoped his time spent lugging around bags of rice all day did something for his fitness. Yet, Suna tossed him around like he was a ragdoll.

“Stop!” Suna urged, dropping a knee onto Osamu’s stomach as he continued to scream. “I’m not going to hurt you! You have to stop screaming!”

Osamu did not stop screaming. He didn’t register that the pressure Suna put on his stomach was so light that it had to be deliberate.

Suna reached up to turn the knob on the faucet. Osamu watched as he wrapped his hands around the shower head and aimed it downward at his head. The cold water hit him like a slap, the stream relentless as it ran down his face. Suna was careless with his aim this time, and the force of it was so powerful that Osamu could barely breathe. He coughed, choking on it, and started heaving loud gasps.

Osamu didn’t notice Suna sit up to turn off the faucet until the water flow stopped entirely. Suna leaned forward until his face was centimeters away from Osamu’s, his gaze unwavering. The action would’ve felt intimate at any other time if Osamu hadn’t been coughing like he’d nearly drowned.

“I just want to have dinner with you,” Suna said. “Okay?”

All Osamu could do was nod, the back of his head hitting the acrylic.

“Okay.”

Suna’s knee was still pressed onto his stomach. His face was still too close for what should’ve been acceptable. But Osamu merely turned his head to the side and coughed once more, dribble leaving the corner of his mouth.

“Oh,” Suna said. “Sorry about that.” Suna drew the sleeve of his sweater over his wrist and used it to wipe at the edge of Osamu’s mouth. It was such a simple gesture, yet Osamu felt himself freezing up all the same. “There you go. Now, let’s get you up.”

It was like walking through a dream—or a really terrifying nightmare depending on how one looked at it. His movements had been robotic as he’d taken off the sopping wet suit to put on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that he’d left at the top of his freshly done laundry basket. He felt the weight of Suna’s stare as he joined him in the kitchen, pushing his wet hair out of his face.

Suna hadn’t mentioned his intentions beyond having dinner. And considering his expectant look as he leaned against the kitchen counter—Osamu’s kitchen counter—that request had been genuine.

“I, uh…” Osamu began, watching Suna as he straightened at the sound of his voice. “I don’t really have much to eat. I’ve got some leftover onigiri that I made earlier today.”

“That’s fine,” Suna said. “That sounds delicious. I’ve been wanting to try your food.”

Osamu imagined the shitstorm if Suna had simply decided to walk up to the counter while he was manning Onigiri Miya. He was sure he’d have a heart attack on the spot.

His hands trembled as he arranged several umeboshi onigiri on a plate. As he set down the last one, he pulled the drawer out as carefully as he could, striving not to make any noise that alerted Suna to what he was about to do. His fingers wrapped around a knife, gripping the handle with more force than necessary, and he moved to hide it in the waistband of his sweatpants when Suna spoke up again.

“Be careful with that,” Suna warned. “You don’t want it to slip.”

It was so matter-of-fact that Osamu resisted the urge to spin around and glare at him—the way he would’ve had he been anyone else. But this wasn’t just anyone. He was alone in his apartment with a dangerous killer. And he was serving him onigiri—of all things.

“You can hold it if you want. If it makes you feel safer.”

“Shut up.” Osamu slid the plate over to Suna. He listened to Suna’s advice though. He left the knife on the counter beside him where he’d be able to pick it up at a moment’s notice. He just hoped he’d be quick enough if Suna decided to attack.

Suna picked up the first and took a small bite. His features betrayed nothing as he continued eating, and Osamu resisted the urge to ask him what he thought. It was his natural instinct as a cook: he wanted to know what people thought of what he made and whether it was any good. Even if he didn’t know why Suna’s opinion in particular seemed to matter so much.

“This is good,” Suna murmured, moving onto the next one. “Great, actually. You should be proud.”

“I am.” There was a pause. “Thank you.”

That steady gaze landed on him again, and each time, Osamu resisted the temptation to look away first. The intensity of it was jarring every time. It was like being ensnared in a trap without realizing it.

Osamu waited for Suna to finish off his plate. Although he told himself this was because he was gathering his thoughts and questions, the more realistic side of him admitted that he didn’t want to interrupt Suna’s meal. When Suna reached for a napkin to wipe his fingers off, everything was fair game.

“Why are ya here?” Osamu asked. “Why are ya in my apartment?”

Suna looked up at that. He lifted his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“I said why are you here?” He couldn’t afford to let Suna get the upper hand here. He already had the upper hand, but Osamu didn’t want to let him get any more leverage over him.

Suna fell into silence, and for a second, Osamu thought he was debating his answer. But when Suna’s eyes flitted to his plate, Osamu realized they were shining with unshed tears.

“Because I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Suna said. “You have to help me, Osamu. I don’t want to do this anymore. You have to help me get out of this.”

Everything he said felt genuine. It all added up: the tears, the quiver in his voice. But what didn’t fit in was that predatory smile Suna had shown him earlier that day. That wasn’t a smile crying out for help. “Bullshit,” Osamu said.

“What?”

“Bullshit. Yer an asshole, Rintarou.”

The use of his given name made that smile as sharp as quicksilver return. If Osamu didn’t know any better, he’d say that Suna looked vaguely impressed. “Oh?” Suna wiped any tears he’d managed to summon with his sleeve. “You sound real proud of yourself for that one.”

“It is yer name.”

“Yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it. Everyone just calls me Suna.”

“Everyone?”

“I don’t really talk to many people.”

Suna was here. He was standing in front of him: a real, tangible person. He wasn’t a fleeting thought Osamu had. “Why did you kill Kubo-san?”

This time, Suna didn’t hide his surprise. “The hotel owner?”

“Yes.”

“I was hired to.”

“And the other waiters?”

“They were in the way.” Suna shrugged. “I did my best to empty out the restaurant as best as I could. Sometimes, there are a few stragglers.”

“What about me?”

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t ya kill me?” It was a question he still held now. There was nothing stopping Suna from reaching over the counter and snapping Osamu’s neck. He was certainly capable of it. And Osamu now knew that any effort to escape him would be futile.

“There was no reason to kill you then,” Suna answered. “Admittedly, you caught me off guard at first. I thought you were your brother. I know he’s been assigned to track me down. I got confused. I didn’t know he had a twin.” He shrugged again. “All I had to do was wait for you to leave the table—which you did. Killing you then would’ve made Atsumu more determined to find me. And it didn’t give me any actual gain. I wouldn’t have been paid for killing you.”

Osamu didn’t like the fact that he knew Atsumu’s name. If he recognized Atsumu, he likely knew the names of everyone on Kita’s taskforce. “So this really is all ‘bout being paid?”

“It’s my job. I think I’m pretty good at it.”

You are, Osamu thought. “What about usin’ my name?”

“I just wanted to get your attention.” He said this with a bored expression, but the glint in his eye betrayed the playful manner with which he spoke. “Did it work?”

Ignoring that, Osamu decided on the one question that had bugged him since that night in the restaurant. “Ya knew I saw yer face that night. If ya didn’t hafta kill me then, why didn’t ya kill me after?”

It was almost imperceptible. Suna shrunk into himself, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly, and Osamu wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t paying so much attention. He’d noted every single twitch and movement Suna had made since he’d served him.

“Because I didn’t want to,” Suna said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Why?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Yes, why?”

Suna sighed, dropping his head into his palm as his elbow rested against the counter. “Because I can’t remember the last time someone asked if I was okay.”

Osamu went to ask him what he was talking about before he recalled the brief conversation he and Suna had had the night at the restaurant. It could hardly be called a conversation, but he remembered asking that question. Are you okay?

His stomach twisted in on itself. Every part of him felt warm—as if heat was running through his veins along his body. Each treacherous thump of his heart reminded him of one thing. Suna’s a killer. Suna’s a liar. Suna’s manipulating you.No matter how genuine he sounded, Osamu had to remember that.

“Yer an asshole,” Osamu said. “You can’t just say shit like that.” Without thinking, he reached for the knife.

He was wrong. He had no chance. Suna straightened so quickly it was startling. His hand covered Osamu’s, gripping his wrist until Osamu felt his fingers loosen around the handle.

“Don’t do that,” Suna warned. The two made eye contact, and this time, Osamu knew for sure that Suna was being serious. “Don’t do that.”

Osamu jerked his arm—more to escape Suna’s vice-like grip than anything else. But Suna used the opportunity to twist and back Osamu up into the refrigerator. When Osamu turned over, Suna watched him with that deadly focus of his. This time, the knife was in his hand, and the point was aimed at the tip of Osamu’s neck between his collarbone. Suna pushed it against the skin, not far enough to draw blood, but far enough for Osamu to get the message.

“It’s worse when I push it through slowly,” Suna said. “Don’t make me.”

One of his arms came up to brace himself against the refrigerator before he sniffed the air. Suna leaned close, and Osamu tilted his head to the side to allow Suna better access to his neck without processing his actions. There was a sharp inhale before Suna drew back, and he wore a smile that could almost be described as—soft.

“Are you wearing it?” Suna asked.

Osamu opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of a door opening downstairs stopped him. “Osamu,” someone called up the stairs. Osamu froze in place. He knew that voice—Ginjima. “I left my jacket here the other day. Can I come up ‘n grab it?”

Osamu put his hand over Suna’s, trying his best to ignore the knife tip pointed at his throat. “Suna. Suna, please. Don’t kill him.”

Whatever smile Osamu had unwittingly coaxed out of Suna faded away, absolute boredom taking its place. Suna reached around Osamu to put the knife on the counter. He stepped away from Osamu just as Gin started to climb the staircase.

“That was delicious, Osamu,” Suna said. “Thank you.”

He strode towards the front door, and Osamu opened his mouth to scream out a warning as Gin faced him.

“I’m sorry,” Suna said to Ginjima. “I was just leaving.”

Osamu didn’t breathe until Suna’s footsteps could be heard outside, the door shut behind him.

The lunch rush at Onigiri Miya was as chaotic as ever. Osamu and Gin scurried between tables, picking up trays and taking orders, all while manning the counter and bagging take-outs. The cooks in the kitchen moved in a frenzy, the kind of order no one understood until you entered it headfirst, and it wasn’t until a few hours passed that there was a brief lull. Osamu hadn’t even had the chance to eat lunch.

He decided to take his break now rather than later when the bell chimed above the front door, signifying someone’s entrance. Adjusting his hat, he resolved that this one would be the last order he’d take before his lunch, but when he looked up, Kita stared back.

“Kita-san,” Osamu said. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

“No, don’t worry, Osamu,” Kita assured him, waving off any worries with a flap of his hand. “I’m just here for lunch. And to talk to you. Can I steal ya for a second?”

“Yeah.” Osamu nodded. Even if he didn’t have the time, he would’ve made the time. Kita was the kind of person that you had to drop all prior obligations for. He didn’t ask for much, but when he did, you knew he needed you. “Yeah, ‘course. Lemme grab ya something first. What wouldja like?”

“I’m craving umeboshi.” Kita gave the glass display a cursory glance. Not that he needed to. He’d been there enough times to know everything Osamu had on the menu.

“Sounds good. Take a seat, and I’ll be right over.”

True to his word, Kita picked out a table for them alongside the front window where passerby peeked in and ogled over the selection of onigiri. The table was just large enough for their two plates, and Osamu pulled his chair back further to avoid knocking into Kita’s knees as he took a seat. He took his hat off and set it aside. (He had to grab an extra before coming to work. Somehow, Suna had stolen his last night without Osamu realizing.)

Osamu waited until Kita started eating to speak. “So what can I do for ya?”

Kita was a careful eater. Not a speck of rice landed on his cheeks as he chewed on his onigiri. Atsumu couldn’t say the same. “I wanted to let ya know that Omimi’s location is still secure. Everythin’ has gone smoothly.”

“That’s good to hear.” Osamu didn’t think anything would’ve happened between yesterday and today anyway. Suna’s attention was preoccupied elsewhere.

“It is,” Kita agreed. “We also might have a lead. We think Suna’s out on the job again, but back in Tokyo this time. I’ve got an old friend that might be able to tell us more about Suna’s history, so we’re all headed to Tokyo. We’re hopin’ we’ll be quick enough to catch him.”

Even though Osamu knew that that was the endgame, the thought of Suna behind bars made his stomach turn. Suddenly, his appetite was gone. “That’s good.”

“I was wonderin’ if you would be interested in taggin’ along.”

Osamu paused halfway to taking a bite to look up. “Huh?”

“Ya don’t have to say yes,” Kita assured him. But there was something about his tone that made Osamu want to. Kita rarely asked for favors. “But I thought it would be nice for you to be there.”

“I’m not an agent.”

“Yer not. Still, Suna seems to be drawn to you. For whatever reason.” Had anyone else made that comment, Osamu would’ve been offended. Coming from Kita, it was matter-of-fact and simple. “You comin’ would put my mind at ease. You would be completely safe, I promise.”

“You want me to be bait.”

“No, not exactly. I just think Suna prolly has a higher probability of being caught if yer with us.”

“Does Atsumu know?” Osamu doubted it. There was no way Atsumu would agree to putting Osamu in the line of fire. If anything, Atsumu wanted Osamu far away in another country in an indestructible building hidden underground.

“No,” Kita admitted. He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I haven’t figured out how I’m gonna tell him. That is, if ya agree. Are ya agreein’, Osamu?”

Kita didn’t have to ask. Osamu would’ve done anything Kita requested of him. There was something about the unshakeable quality of Kita’s character that made people want to follow him—even if he was going to the ends of the earth. And—part of him hoped Kita was right. He hoped Suna would find him.

“Yes. I’ll come with ya to Tokyo.”

To say Atsumu didn’t take him coming along well would be the understatement of the century. Even now, as they stood in the lobby of Kubo-san’s hotel, waiting for Kita to finish checking them in, Atsumu wouldn’t stop staring at Osamu as if he could make him disappear by sheer willpower.

Sakusa stood on the other side of Atsumu, looking less than pleased about the situation. His face was covered in his usual mask, and he’d put on gloves as soon as they entered the building. Something about everyone sharing the same living quarters probably put him on edge. He’d made polite small talk with Osamu on the train though, which was more than Osamu could say for his spitting mirror image.

“Okay,” Kita said, rolling his suitcase back over to them. He dangled a collection of keys in front of them. “We’re all good to go. Atsumu, here’s yer key.” He tossed the first to Atsumu, who stopped glaring at Osamu long enough to catch it one-handed. “Sakusa.” Sakusa held his gloved hand out, and Kita dropped it into his palm. “And Osamu.” The last key was handed off to him, leaving another with Kita.

“Don’t forget we have that dinner tonight with Kurosu-san at six,” Kita reminded them. Osamu wouldn’t forget. He himself was curious about this old friend of Kita’s who supposedly had some connection to Suna. If he had any new information about the assassin, Osamu wanted to know. “We’ll meet down in the lobby at five-thirty.”

Atsumu let out a sigh of resignation as Kita split off from them to make a phone call. He spared Osamu one last glance before giving Sakusa his full attention. “Omi-kun, ya didn’t have to get a separate room. We could’ve shared.”

Sakusa started in the direction of the elevators. All of them had rooms on the fourth floor, and their suitcases were far too heavy to carry up four flights of stairs. “I would rather lick the floor of this lobby.”

“Don’t be like that! Ya don’t have to pretend to despise me all the time.”

“Not sure he’s pretendin’, Tsumu,” Osamu added as they joined the back of a small group converging to wait for the next lift up.

“Shut up, Samu!”

Most of his afternoon was wasted away surfing through all of the television channels as he flopped on his bed. A few times, Atsumu barged in to complain about Sakusa, who’d locked the door to his individual hotel room and had barred Atsumu from entering. Normally, Osamu would’ve told Atsumu to bother someone else about his pitiful lovers’ quarrel—because really, that was what it looked like from Atsumu’s side of things—but he didn’t want to ruin whatever tentative acceptance had formed from his being on this trip. Atsumu was less than pleased, and Osamu didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize his resignation to it.

About an hour before they were due to meet up in the hotel lobby, Osamu had ushered Atsumu out, taking a leaf out of Sakusa’s book and locking the door behind him. Business meetings over dinners were not his area of expertise. Like Atsumu mentioned before, he was not the charming type, able to lure people with casual smiles and coy remarks. He didn’t speak enough to master that particular art. Normally, he wouldn’t even have the wardrobe for it. His day-to-day attire consisted of jeans and his work uniform shirt and hat, and when he arrived back to his apartment, all he did was switch into comfortable sweats.

He could at least thank Suna for this. One of his gifts left in the suitcase delivered to Osamu’s doorsteps had been a crisp gray button-down, tailored to his exact measurements, and when he paired it with black dress pants, he thought it made for an acceptable outfit for tonight’s dinner. After messing with his hair until the front rested across his forehead, he deemed himself presentable.

It wasn’t anything close to his usual style, but he thought it was acceptable.

At least, until Atsumu spent most of the time waiting for Kita’s old friend—Kurosu—to show up gawking at him.

“What?” Osamu finally snapped. His brother’s attention wasn’t unwarranted; he’d never owned something like this casually. But he certainly didn’t appreciate the wide-eyed staring.

“Where the hell didja get that shirt?”

“It was a gift.” It was the truth. Osamu leaned forward in his seat to grab one of the packets of butter to spread across one of the warm slices of bread set in the middle of the table.

Kurosu had arranged to meet them at a Western Italian restaurant ten minutes away from their hotel. It wasn’t a place Osamu would’ve frequented on his own time. The low-hanging lamps above made him even more conscious of his every move, and the music was far too loud for his liking. It felt like the room was stuck in a bubble of heat, making every shift against the cushion of his chair uncomfortable.

The table they’d reserved was in the shape of a circle, everyone having the full ability to look at anyone at any given moment. Kita sat on Osamu’s right, and the seat on his left was occupied by Sakusa—interestingly enough. Atsumu sat on the left of Sakusa, leaving the chair on his left open for Kurosu. There was nothing that could be done about the unfortunate seating arrangement considering it enabled Atsumu to make horrendous faces at Osamu whenever he pleased. It was how Osamu had noticed his overt gawking in the first place.

“Did Mama buy ya that?”

Osamu scowled. He picked up the knife and slid it over one of the sides of the bread. “No.”

“If she did, that’s unfair! It’s rude of her to buy ya somethin’ and not buy me anythin’.”

“I already toldja that the shirt ain’t from her.”

“Well, who else buys you fancy clothes?”

“Miya, shut up,” Sakusa ordered, and for once in his long life, Atsumu fell quiet.

The chorus of their chairs scratching against the floor joined together as they all stood to greet the last addition of their table. After bowing, they all returned to their seats, Kurosu taking the one on Atsumu’s left. On Osamu’s right, Kita had straightened in his chair. If Osamu didn’t know any better, he’d say his smile appeared…gleeful.

“It’s good to see ya again, Shinsuke,” Kurosu said by way of greeting, sparing a smile for Kita alone. Everything about his tone was said so casually that Osamu almost didn’t pick up on the fact that he used Kita’s given name.

“It’s good to see ya too,” Kita said. “How have ya been?”

“I’ve been alright.”

Kita took this opportunity to make introductions as the rest of them had fallen silent, waiting for his lead. “This is Atsumu, Sakusa, and Osamu. Atsumu and Sakusa are on my special taskforce. Osamu is—the owner of a successful food business.”

Osamu didn’t miss how Kurosu’s eyes lingered on him after his introduction. It was so subtle that he would’ve missed it had he not been paying special attention to the newcomer. All Kita had said about him was that he was an old friend who knew about the ins and outs of their particular business—and that he might’ve crossed paths with Suna once.

But there was something about that piece of information that didn’t fit. Suna said he barely talked to anyone.

Even if it was the truth, Osamu wanted any backstory for Suna that he could get. All he knew were the basic facts. He wanted to understand Suna’s shadow too. If Kurosu could give him that, then he would listen for each and every detail.

“Nice to meet ya,” Osamu said, nodding his head.

“Ya haven’t been in Tokyo for a long time, Shinsuke,” Kurosu said. “Ya rarely like leavin’ Hyogo.”

“It’s my home.” Kita spoke with a touch of fondness, one that Osamu resonated with. “I don’t hafta leave a place I love.”

“Yer right ‘bout that. I’ve heard nothing but great things about yer work over the years.” Kurosu directed his gaze towards Atsumu and Sakusa. “How are you two holdin’ up with Kita? Is he as meticulous as ever?”

There was a slight scrunch in Sakusa’s eyebrows. “I’ve never found anything about Kita-san’s behavior as being out of the ordinary.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Sakusa had his own routines that he followed, just as Kita did. If anything, Atsumu was the odd one out. He was the one who did things on a mere whim simply to feel the thrill without any regard for the consequences. Even though he’d mellowed with age, a leopard didn’t change its spots.

“’S good,” Atsumu said, pulling apart a slice of bread. “I like workin’ with Kita-san.”

“They’re both excellent,” Kita said, a touch of pride in his words. “I couldn’t ask for better partners on this case.”

“That’s always good to hear. If the chemistry within a team doesn’t work, nothin’ gets solved.” Osamu felt Kurosu’s gaze sweep over him again, and every instinct in his body whispered that it wasn’t his imagination. But Kurosu’s eyes landed back on Sakusa. “Yer not from Hyogo?”

“No.” Sakusa reached for his napkin and smoothened it over his lap. “I’m from Tokyo originally.”

“Why the move to Hyogo?”

“I was transferred there.”

“Oh, ya didn’t request it?”

Sakusa shrugged, but Osamu knew that he was getting put off by all of the questioning. Although it seemed like idle chatter to anyone else, prying words from Sakusa was like pulling teeth. “No, but I’m not unhappy about the circumstances. The work is the same.”

“Interesting. I—”

“I thought you were here to talk ‘bout the case,” Osamu interrupted. Silence descended over them like a dark cloud, and even as several pairs of eyes swung in his direction, his mark never strayed from Kurosu. “Is that incorrect?”

Part of him already regretted being so outwardly rude—especially in Kita’s presence when he’d always tried to be anything but. Yet, this conversation was spinning in circles, and neither Sakusa nor Atsumu were willing to steer it on its track. Kita was caught in a trance of seeing his old acquaintance, and Osamu felt every sheer reminder that he wasn’t meant to be here with each passing minute. He didn’t want to dance around the dark topics; he wanted to meet them straight-on. It was like that same recklessness from when he’d climbed out of the car to meet Suna halfway was back.

Kurosu leaned forward, his lips forming a smirk. “Yer Osamu, right? Miya Osamu?”

“Yes.”

“Of Onigiri Miya?”

“Yes, that is my business.” Osamu couldn’t figure out Kurosu’s intentions here. What did his business have to do with anything? Or was he still playing his game, focused on Osamu this time, intent on diverting the conversation for as long as possible?

“Admittedly, I’ve never tried yer onigiri,” Kurosu admitted. “Is it any good?”

“I think so. Otherwise I wouldn’t sell it.”

“That makes sense.” Kurosu tilted his head. “Yer not a federal agent yet yer involved in this case. Why is that?”

“Kurosu-san,” Kita warned.

“My bad. I guess my real question is why are ya so interested in whatever I have to say?”

“That’s why we’re here. Isn’t it?”

Kurosu pushed back from the table slightly, and Osamu swore he mouthed oh before he folded his hands in front of him. “Yes, I am here to talk about this case. I have an informant within the industry that has told me that a hit has been put out in Tokyo since yesterday. And—”

“Do ya know who the hit is for?” Atsumu interrupted. He pressed his face closer to Kurosu’s until one sharp look from Sakusa made him reel backwards.

“No,” Kurosu said. “That sort of information is harder to find. All I know is a contract has been signed, and money has been transferred for this one particular kill to be completed. It’s very likely that the assassin is the one you’re tryna find.”

“Suna.” Osamu said his name before anyone else could. It wasn’t meant to clarify. They all knew who Kurosu was referring to. “What can ya tell us ‘bout Suna Rintarou?”

Kurosu flexed his hands once before they fell flat against each other once again. “I knew Suna briefly before he was arrested. Smart kid. Extremely clever. Gives off the impression of being lazy most of the time, but he’s rather ambitious.” Osamu wondered if the use of the present tense was a mistake. “I can’t tell ya much else that ya can’t already find on his prison record.”

“Didja know he was supposed to be dead?” Osamu asked, the words flying off his tongue. Kita’s eyes burned against the side of his head, but Osamu couldn’t help it. With every answered question, another one rose in its place.

“I did hear about that.”

“How didja react? Didja care?”

Kurosu’s eyes narrowed. “’Course I cared. I wasn’t happy when I heard he’d been arrested, and I certainly wasn’t happy to hear that he died inside.”

“When didja find out about his death?”

Kurosu took a moment to think about that. Even if Osamu wanted to press him for a quicker answer, Sakusa’s quick shake of his head ordered him not to. “’Bout three years ago, I’d say.”

“And ya haven’t seen him since he’s escaped? No contact?”

“We weren’t close before he went in,” Kurosu said. “There was no reason for him to contact me when he left. I’m certain that whoever Suna works for would restrict any contact with family or friends after bein’ hired.”

“Does he have any? Family or friends?”

It was blatantly obvious that Osamu was no longer asking questions regarding the case. But he didn’t care. He would take any morsel of information that he could get.

“I’m not sure what happened to his parents,” Kurosu answered. “I doubt they’re still around. He had a little sister when I met him for the first time. Not sure if she’s alive either.”

A little sister. Osamu tried to imagine Suna as an older sibling, teasing and humoring the likes of his little sister. It was such a domestic image to think about that he had to resist the urge to smile. Kurosu didn’t even know if his sister was alive still. But it was a nice layer to add to the mystery that was Suna Rintarou.

“And—”

“Osamu,” Kita cut in. It was the first instance in which he’d verbally halted Osamu’s aggressive interrogation, and Osamu knew there was no arguing against it. His mouth clamped shut for the first time in a while. Atsumu stuck his tongue out at him from across the table. “Give Kurosu-san the chance to breathe. We’ll gladly take any information he has, but we must prioritize what is relevant to the case at the moment.”

It was the closest to a reprimand that Kita had ever gotten to with him. Osamu had seen reproach Atsumu several times, but he’d never been on the receiving end of it. Osamu slumped into his chair, recognizing that his chance for answers was gone. Still, even as he zoned out the rest of the conversation, he felt Kurosu’s stare weighing down on him all the while.

The last thing Osamu expected was to be summoned from his hotel room around eight the next morning. He was used to early hours, considering he was the first to open Onigiri Miya each day and the last to lock it each night. His only problem was that he’d overindulged in the wine over dinner, taking passive-aggressive sips while he listened to Kurosu dance around every topic that didn’t directly mention Suna. When they’d left the restaurant, Osamu felt as if he’d departed with almost the same amount of information he’d arrived with. It wasn’t as if he’d gotten drunk of his frustration, but he was certainly drowsier than usual, his emotions muted as he moped on his bed. A text from Kita urging them all to meet him in his hotel room forced him to sit up and dress rather than waste away.

When Osamu knocked on the door to Kita’s room, it swung open, revealing Atsumu on the other side. “Where have ya been?” he demanded.

“It’s eight in the mornin’, Tsumu.” As if that was all the explanation that was needed.

Osamu slipped past Atsumu and strode further into the living quarters. He stopped in place upon noticing the other member of little group. Kurosu. He sat on the spare couch distributed to each room, and it looked like there were a few scratches along the side of his face. Unlike last night, his attention didn’t immediately flicker towards Osamu. If anything, he looked like his morning had been rough with him.

Kita stood on the other side of him, and he lifted his hand in a wave as he noticed Osamu. “Good. Yer here, Osamu.”

“Sorry for the wait,” Osamu said, ducking his head. Whatever the occasion was, he’d been the last to arrive. Even Atsumu had beaten him here, and that was saying something. Punctuality was not Atsumu’s strong suit.

Speaking of Atsumu, he reentered the room and went to stand next to Sakusa on the other side of Kita’s bed. Osamu noticed that the foot of space between them seemed deliberate, put there for Sakusa’s comfort more than anything else. It was strangely considerate. It wasn’t like Atsumu didn’t respect other’s boundaries, but this particular action was etched in care.

“No worries,” Kita said. “We know who Suna is after.”

Osamu’s eyes bugged. Just last night, there hadn’t been any solid leads. “Who?”

“Me,” Kurosu spoke up, his voice a rough rasp. He tried to sit up straight, but gave up halfway. “Don’t know who wants me dead, but Suna isn’t the type to ask questions. He showed up at my family home this mornin’. He tried gettin’ me to overdose, but I wound up hittin’ him in the face with a log.”

“A log?” Osamu repeated, dumbfounded. Even when Atsumu’s gaze cut to his, warning him not interrupt, Osamu couldn’t help his slack jaw. Out of all the things to use to ward off a dangerous assassin, he wouldn’t pick a log as his first choice. Then again, he’d tried using a toilet brush, so he wasn’t in the position to judge.

“Yes, a log,” Kurosu repeated, looking as if it caused him great pain to admit it twice. “I managed to escape, but he’s determined. He’s kidnapped my daughter as leverage. He’s gonna try and leave the country after, I imagine. From what he implied, his relationship with the company that hires him out ain’t too great at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” Atsumu asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Suna isn’t meant to fail jobs. That isn’t what he’s hired to do. But the last person he was hired to kill is still breathin’.”

“Omimi,” Kita acknowledged.

“Yeah, him. The company Suna works for won’t be forgivin’ of mistakes like that. If he doesn’t do this right, they’ll likely send someone after Suna next.”

Osamu clenched his hands into fists at his sides. Regardless of all the trouble Suna had caused, he didn’t want him in danger.

“Why would they do that?” Sakusa asked, the first time he’d instigated any sort of interaction between him and Kurosu. Before, their conversations had been limited to Kurosu asking the questions and Sakusa answering them. “Why would they risk so much to break someone out and then turn their back on him?”

Kurosu glanced over at Osamu. “Ya remember how the restaurant looked that night, don’t ya?”

Of course Osamu did. If he closed his eyes hard enough, he felt like he could see pools of blood against the darkness. “Yes.”

“Suna has always had a flair for the dramatics,” Kurosu said. “That goes into his work as well. That kill on Kubo-san could’ve been done with a bit of poison. But no. He had to go all in. He’s not exactly the most careful killer. He’s good at it, yes. But I imagine his attraction to chaos is backfirin’ on him now.”

Considering Kurosu had told them yesterday that he knew very little of Suna after his escape, all of this information made Osamu uneasy. He’d guessed that Kurosu knew Suna more than he’d let on. But what was the nature of their relationship? Why would Suna be hired to kill Kurosu? He wanted Kita or anyone else to call Kurosu out on it, but he supposed it would be rude to subject someone who’d barely escaped death to an intense interrogation shortly after.

“What’s our next move then?” Atsumu dropped his arms to his sides. “He’s on a countdown.”

“He’ll need identification,” Kurosu said. “He has a passport and other ID that he’ll need to get outta the country in a secure location.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I can give ya the address. I imagine he’s headin’ there as soon as he can.”

“I’ll go,” Sakusa offered. “We don’t have time to waste. If he’s headed there, we need to cut him off.”

“Ya do realize he’s a cold-blooded killer, right?” Atsumu asked. “Ya can’t just go alone.”

The scowl from Sakusa implied that yes, he did realize the danger Suna possessed, and yes, he did prefer going alone.

“I do agree with Atsumu on this,” Kita said. “The two of ya can go together.”

Atsumu pumped his fists in the air, looking as if he’d won the lottery and not a car ride with the person most likely to throttle him for breathing too loud. Sakusa rolled his eyes, but said nothing else.

“I’m gonna call the local authorities ‘n have ‘em keep an eye out,” Kita said, pulling out his phone. “For now, Kurosu-san is gonna stay here. As long as the security is tight—which it will be once I pull some strings—Suna won’t be able to get in or out.”

Osamu was well aware of his own disadvantages here. This was exactly why the dinner last night had made him feel like an outsider. He wasn’t able to defend himself nor did he have the power to track Suna down himself. His stomach pinched in on itself at the thought of everyone out there risking their lives while he remained within his comfortable room.

“Anythin’ I can do?” Osamu asked anyway.

“Keep an eye on Kurosu-san, will ya?” Kita squeezed Osamu’s shoulder as he passed. “He’ll be safe here, and I’ll be just downstairs, but I’d rather have someone stick with him.”

That was simple enough. If he was lucky, Kurosu would be willing to answer more of his questions about Suna. The kinds that Osamu now undoubtedly knew he could answer. “Alright.”

“Is everything clear?” Kita swept his gaze around the room, dropping his hand. “If anythin’ goes wrong, notify me immediately. This might be our last chance to catch him before he’s out of our hands.”

The agents all filed out of the room at once, Kita leading the way with his phone pressed to his ear. Atsumu spared a final look at Osamu before following Sakusa out, and when the door shut behind him, it was with a note of finality.

Osamu sighed before turning towards Kurosu. “So—”

But Kurosu was already standing. He plucked his phone off of the windowsill and dropped it into his pocket. “You heard what Shinsuke said, didn’t ya?”

“About what?”

“Once security tightens, Suna won’t be able to get in or out of this building. Meaning I won’t be able to leave either. And he’s got my daughter. I’m not just gonna stay put.”

“What?” Flabbergasted, Osamu went to hold his hands up, as if he were reassuring a wild animal to stay still. “Kita-san just said ya have to stay here. Atsumu and Sakusa will get yer daughter back.”

“They won’t hafta,” Kurosu said. “Suna doesn’t really want Kimi.” That had to be his daughter’s name. “He wants me. He’ll find me, and she’ll be with him.” His eyes flitted to Osamu’s outstretched hands, and a ghost of a smirk appeared across his lips. “As I said last night, yer not an agent. Yer not gonna be able to stop me.”

He had a point. Kurosu might’ve been a few decades older than Osamu, but Osamu wasn’t much of a fighter. “Yer not wrong about that.”

Kurosu’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are ya still blockin’ my way?”

“’Cause Kita-san told me to keep an eye on ya,” Osamu said. “And I might not be able to stop ya, but ya can’t stop me from taggin’ along.”

Osamu was wrong. This was the last thing he’d expected from this morning.

He sat in the passenger’s seat of Kurosu’s car, hordes of passerby flocking past, horns blaring in a great symphony, bright lights flashing through every window. But even with all of the scenery whizzing past, his attention was focused solely on the man behind the wheel, hunched forward as he grumbled and complained about Tokyo’s traffic. Actually, Osamu was sure some of the grumbling was reserved for him. He kept playing with the latch on the glove compartment, and each time, the vein on Kurosu’s forehead popped.

“Will ya stop that?” Kurosu demanded.

Osamu flicked the latch too hard this time, and it fell open, revealing a handgun surrounded by a thick wad of documents. “Oh?”

“That’s why I didn’t wantja messin’ around in here.” His arm extended to shut the glove compartment, but before he could, Osamu snatched the documents out. “Hey, put those back.”

Osamu had caught a glimpse of dark blue between the other papers, and he carefully rifled through them until he found what he was looking for. The Japanese passport fell onto his lap, and he heard Kurosu’s irritated huff as he unfolded the cover. As he flipped through, most of the pages were blank, but the identity of the person it belonged to was unmistakable. He sworn that he would never forget that face.

“Ya didn’t mention to Kita-san that ya already had Suna’s passport,” Osamu said, pushing the rest of the documents back into the glove compartment. He was careful to not touch the handgun at all costs. He didn’t know if it had any bullets or if it was just for show. “He would’ve liked to know that. Or was sendin’ Sakusa and Atsumu to that address just a way of divertin’ their attention?”

“It was not,” Kurosu said. He shut the glove compartment with a decisive snap. “Suna doesn’t know that I’ve taken his passport. He’ll still go there lookin’ for it.”

“So yer not entirely sure if he will come after ya? Grabbin’ the passport is yer backup plan, since he needs it?”

“It’s insurance,” Kurosu said instead. “Like I said before, it’s hard to predict what he’s gonna do. I’m takin’ every precaution I can.”

“Mmhmm,” Osamu hummed. He set the passport down in the center console between them. At least now he knew that Suna was definitely coming after them. This wasn’t like before where the probability was high. It was now a guarantee. “So you were lyin’ about not knowin’ him after he escaped prison then?”

Kurosu took his eyes off the road once to slide a snide look at Osamu. “Yer incredibly nosy, ya know that? Not sure how Shinsuke found himself in yer company.”

Okay. That jab hurt. But at least he’d never lied about his position here. “Like ya keep remindin’ me, I’m not an agent. Kita-san isn’t ‘round me all the time.” He jerked his head at Kurosu. “Are ya ever gonna tell me how yer connected to Suna?”

The car slowed to a stop at a traffic light, and Kurosu rested his forehead against the wheel for a brief moment. “I’m not sure what he sees in ya. I really don’t.”

“Kita-san?”

“No, Suna. Obviously.”

“Oh.” Osamu sat up straight. “So yer in touch with him?”

“Yeah, the fucker tried to kill me.” Kurosu pointed at the scratches along his face as if Osamu had forgotten.

“That isn’t it. Ya know him beyond that.”

“Ya don’t have the evidence to prove that,” Kurosu said. He leaned forward as the light changed, and the car hummed as it sped forward again. “All yer workin’ with is a hunch. But since yer here, ya might as well amuse me. Tell me what yer thinkin’. How am I connected to Suna Rintarou?”

“I think all of the company talk ya spouted yesterday is correct,” Osamu said. “I think it makes sense that they’d be peeved with Suna for not killin’ Omimi, and they’re prolly fed up with him. But I think it isn’t as abstract as yer makin’ it out to be.”

“How so?”

“I think ya know for a fact that they’re peeved with him ‘cause yer part of the organization.”

The car swerved as Kurosu swept into the left lane over, but without the warning, Osamu slammed into the door. There was a sharp pain in his right side, though it faded quickly. When he lifted his head, Kurosu’s attention was on him.

“That’s a big freakin’ accusation to make, Osamu,” Kurosu said, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. It teetered very much on a warning, and Osamu wondered if this was how Atsumu felt when he walked too close to the edge. “And ya don’t have any basis.”

“Maybe not,” Osamu said. His voice stayed steady unlike the erratic beats of his own heart. “But it makes sense why ya have a hit out on ya. The company isn’t just gettin’ rid of Suna. They’re gettin’ rid of ya. Are ya Suna’s keeper or somethin’? Are ya the messenger? The middleman between Suna and whoever really pays him?”

Kurosu returned his gaze to the street ahead of him. “Ya really should be more careful, Osamu. Yer gettin’ in far too deep.”

“So I’m right?”

“No, I’m warnin’ ya to stop puttin’ yer nose where it doesn’t belong.”

That was as close to a confirmation as Osamu was going to get. Maybe his guess was far-off. But he didn’t think so. It took a special kind of person to escape Suna. No one would know his methods better than the person who sent him out. And the method of murder had seemed strange. It didn’t make sense that Suna would order someone to overdose rather than simply slitting their throat. Suna would only do that—if he had some morsel of regret.

Osamu didn’t get the chance to ponder it more. Kurosu’s phone started to ring from where it sat in one of the cupholders, and before Kurosu could seize it, Osamu lunged for it. Sure enough, Suna’s name flashed across the screen.

“Ya don’t know him, huh?” Osamu waved the phone around, just far enough that Kurosu couldn’t yank it out of his grasp.

Kurosu growled. “Give me the phone.”

Instead of answering, Osamu accepted the call himself. “Hello?”

For a few seconds, all Osamu could hear was labored breathing. Then, that sharp voice that teetered between boredom and calculation broke through. “Osamu?”

Osamu wished that he hadn’t picked up the phone. He could feel a flush dusting across his neck. “Uh, yeah. Hi.”

“Is Kurosu there?”

“Yeah, he’s here.” Osamu glanced over once, only to find Kurosu already staring back.

“He has my passport,” Suna said. It wasn’t a question, even if Suna had meant it to be one. It was an absolute truth. “I want it.”

“Tell him I want Kimi back,” Kurosu ordered.

“I heard that,” Suna said before Osamu could relay the message. “He can meet up with me, and if I’m feeling generous, I’ll give him back his daughter.”

Osamu plucked a pen out of the center console. There was no paper in sight. He’d have to write on his skin. “Do ya have an address?”

“Yeah, here.” Suna read out the address to Osamu, repeated it once.

“Got it,” Osamu said, capping the pen. “We’ll be there.”

A beat passed. “Okay. See you soon, Osamu.”

“Bye.” Osamu hung up and dropped the phone back into the center console. “Ya wanted to find Suna, and now, ya know where to find him.” Osamu raised his arm. “Do ya know where this is?”

“Yeah.” Kurosu didn’t have to look at his arm for longer than a second before the destination was clear. “I know where that is. It ain’t far.”

The location Suna had ordered them to come to was a restaurant out of the buzz of Tokyo’s central point. It almost gave Osamu déjà vu thinking back to that night that felt like an eternity ago, and he didn’t complain when Kurosu cleared the path, making his way inside with purposeful strides that Osamu himself struggled to keep up with. A waitress murmured her greetings, but she didn’t get to say anything more as Kurosu swept past her. Osamu mumbled his apologies as he passed, but there was a skip in his step as he recognized the person seated at the bar.

There was a short girl in the chair beside him, leaning forward as she ate her meal. Suna looked halfway finished with his gyudon, but he twisted at the sound of hurried footsteps. When he caught sight of Kurosu, he leapt out of his seat and pulled a gun out from his jacket, pressing it against Kimi’s head.

To her credit, Kimi didn’t look frightened. She appeared as if this were a minor inconvenience that stopped her from finishing her lunch. As Suna kept an arm braced around her neck, she kept still.

That couldn’t be said for the rest of the restaurant. As soon as Suna had drawn out the gun, screams had risen to the ceiling in a loud chorus, and nearly everyone had ducked beside their tables, arms cradling their heads in case Suna turned the gun on them.

“That’s right, everyone!” Suna called out, his gaze landing purposely on a few of the bolder customers who had yet to sink to the floor. “A child could die.”

“Damn you,” Kimi muttered.

“Shut up, kid,” Suna said into the crown of her head. “I’m getting desperate.”

Osamu felt his fingers wrap around the handgun he’d tucked into his waistband before leaving Kurosu’s car. Drawing it out, he raised it toward Suna. “Rintarou!”

That small action was enough to divert Suna’s attention, and Osamu found himself staring down the barrel as Suna adjusted his aim towards him. “Ah.” He dipped his head as he looked Osamu up and down. His casualness even in the bubble of danger never ceased to surprise him. “It suits you.”

“What do ya want, Suna?” Osamu asked.

Suna angled the gun towards Kurosu. “Him.”

“You can take me, Suna.” Kurosu swept his arms wide in a gesture that was meant to be placating. “Ya just have to let my daughter go.”

Suna tapped the side of Kimi’s head with the hand that wasn’t holding the gun. “She is really annoying.”

“I know.”

“Hey!” Kimi cried out.

“I like her,” Suna said, dropping his chin onto the top of Kimi’s head. “She’s annoying, but I do like her a lot.”

“I do too,” Kurosu said with a fond smile meant for his daughter alone. His arms dropped to his sides.

With his free hand, Osamu took out the passport that he’d tucked into his jacket. “I have yer passport, Suna. Ya just have to let her go.”

“Throw it,” Suna ordered.

“I will once—”

But Suna returned the gun back to Kimi’s temple, and Osamu’s heartrate quickened. “Okay!” he said, his voice rising a few decibels higher than he wanted. “I’ll throw it.”

“You don’t even know what you’re doing with that gun, Osamu.”

Suna had a point there. With a snarl, he said, “I know. I’m gonna set it down.”

Once the gun hit the floor with a clack, Osamu clutched the passport with both hands.

“Throw it,” Suna repeated.

Osamu tossed it—and wanted to evaporate into thin air with shame. He’d been too caught off guard, too startled, that the passport landed halfway between both of them. It was the most pitiful attempt at a throw anyone had ever done. Kimi could’ve done better. Suna held no small amount of amusement as he turned a sweet smile onto a young man knelt on the floor.

“Excuse me,” Suna said, his voice lilting and high. “Can you please pass that along?”

The man shuffled across the floor and pushed the passport the rest of the way. Suna caught it beneath his shoe. “Thank you, Osamu.”

Kurosu had kept silent for most of that awkward exchange. But with Suna’s focus returned to him, he spread his hands wide. “Rintarou,” he pleaded, “don’t break my heart.”

“Don’t break mine,” Suna hissed. Those sleepy eyes—layered in acute focus and concentration—slid to Osamu for a brief moment. “You either.”

Osamu’s heart pounded for a new reason entirely. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, his hands feeling empty without the weight of the passport held between them. Every second that Suna focused on him felt too fleeting. Not long enough.

“What do ya want, Rintarou?” Kurosu asked.

“I want to do my job,” Suna said, extending his arm forward again. “Then I want to go home and have a bath. I’m exhausted.”

“Fine.” There was a note of resignation in his tone that hadn’t been there before. His hands fell to his sides. “You can do yer job. But she is not yer job.”

Suna tilted his head to the side. “I know. You’re a good person, Kurosu-san,” Suna murmured. There was a flash of regret in his eyes. “But I have to do my job. You understand that, right?”

The finality in his voice didn’t register until his grip tightened around the gun.

“Suna, don’t!” Osamu cried out.

But the warning came too late. Suna’s aim was perfect. Two shots rang out, and Kurosu crumpled to the ground beside Osamu. Kimi slammed her elbow into Suna’s stomach the moment the first shot happened, and she dashed across the room to where her father had fallen to the floor. The screams were deafening, and Osamu gritted his teeth to remind himself to focus.

He lunged for the gun at the same instant Suna stormed forward to finish Kurosu off. But for once in his life, Osamu was quicker. He flew in front of Kurosu, holding the gun out in front of him. Suna kept his own steady, his arm never wavering once even as he slowed before Osamu. Osamu couldn’t say the same. His fingers shook so badly that he worried he would fire a shot without meaning to.

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could process them. “Come with me,” he said to Suna. It was like the rest of the restaurant had faded into the background. There was no blood on the ground, no screaming customers, no body fighting to remain alive a few steps behind him. This was between him and Suna, and even as fear raced down his spine while staring down the barrel once more, Osamu’s focus was all on Suna. “Just you and me. Please.”

Suna said nothing. He didn’t lower his gun. In the distance, Osamu registered the blare of sirens. They were running out of time. Atsumu was right. Suna had a countdown.

“Please,” Osamu said.

Osamu knew he’d lost him the second Suna turned to run.

Numbness crept beneath his bones as he climbed back into the front seat of Kurosu’s car. Everything that had happened between Suna’s disappearance and the arrival of the emergency services was a dull haze in his mind. The paramedics on scene had confirmed that Kurosu was still breathing despite the fact that he’d been shot twice. It was imperative that they make it to the hospital as quickly as possible before he bled out. Kimi had been allowed to climb into the ambulance with him, and Osamu had been left with the keys to his car.

Osamu dropped his head against the steering wheel. There had been so much blood. He’d almost vomited at the sight of it, the metallic scent triggering the worst kinds of memories, but he’d held onto Kurosu the whole time, pressing his hands against the wounds to keep him from losing more blood. The paramedics had ushered him back once they’d charged inside, but the pandemonium of the whole ordeal had yet to pass.

If he shifted the right way, the shape of the handgun pressed against his right side. He tried not to think about it, but he couldn’t help it: he was left with a car and a gun that didn’t belong to him in a city he barely recognized.

An insistent buzz made him lift his head, and he noticed his phone lighting up from where it lay in the center console. He picked it up, trying not to grimace at the blood stuck beneath his fingernails. His stomach sunk at the sight of several missed calls and unanswered text messages. He’d been told to stay put—ordered to watch Kurosu. And he’d failed. Kurosu was on his way to the hospital, and Suna was halfway out of the country, his passport in hand. Osamu had been out of his element.

He didn’t even want to picture Kita’s disappointment when he’d realized both Osamu and Kurosu had left. He didn’t want to hear Atsumu’s edged barbs at the fact that he hadn’t been able to follow a simple instruction. If he was being honest, he wished he could hurl his phone out the window and pretend nothing was wrong.

But beneath all of their anger and frustration would be concern. They would worry where he’d disappeared to, and that was all that kept Osamu from completely shutting his phone off.

One-handed, Osamu tapped his passcode in and prepared to read the first message from Kita. But his phone started its insistent buzz once more, and this time, it was because of an incoming call. Sakusa’s name flashed across the screen, and Osamu tapped the accept button before raising the phone to his ear.

Osamu cleared his throat. “Hello?”

“Osamu-san,” Sakusa said. “Kita-san said you aren’t at the hotel, and neither is Kurosu. He’s been trying to contact you.”

“I just looked at my phone.” It was the truth. It was a pathetic version of the truth, but it wasn’t wrong. “I was about to reply. Sorry.”

“Where are you?”

Osamu raised his arm to read out the address that Suna had recited for him. “I came with Kurosu-san. He wasn’t willin’ to stay at the hotel while his daughter was in danger, and I thought it’d be better if I went with him. It was foolish of me. I know.”

There was muffled grumbling in the background in a voice that sounded like Atsumu’s, but it faded as Sakusa walked further away from him. A door shut on the other line, and then Sakusa asked, “What happened?”

Osamu debated which version of the story to tell: the one Kurosu insisted on last night where he had had no contact with Suna after his escape from prison—even though that was obviously a lie—or the one where it was clear that Kurosu and Suna were connected somehow. In the end, he picked the shorter version. “Suna found us. Kurosu’s daughter is fine, but Kurosu-san was shot twice. He’s bein’ taken to the hospital as we speak.”

Sakusa let out a low hiss. “That’s not good,” he said. “This is why he shouldn’t have left. Suna must’ve beaten us to the address because we didn’t cross paths once. We would’ve been able to get the jump on him if Kurosu had stayed put.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology was pitiful, but Osamu couldn’t formulate a better one at the moment.

“It’s fine,” Sakusa said, surprising Osamu. Sakusa always seemed like the type of person who wanted his job done as efficiently as possible, detesting any little distractions or disturbances in his path. Kurosu and Osamu’s little escapade made the lives of these agents harder. Suna now had nothing tying him to Japan anymore. Within hours, he could be on an international flight, lost to the skies beyond their reach. “You couldn’t stop Kurosu-san on your own. Kita-san shouldn’t have trusted him as much as he did.”

“I’m still sorry,” Osamu said. “Suna’s gone. Kurosu’s been shot. He might not survive the night. Kita-san’s prolly really disappointed with me. And Atsumu…”

“Your brother is more worried than anything else. He doesn’t like the thought of you out there alone when we don’t know where Suna is.”

“Right.” Osamu rubbed at his temple. “I’ll meet everyone back at the hotel then. I’ve got Kurosu-san’s car.”

“Alright. Your brother and I are on our way back now.”

“Mmhmm.” Osamu dropped his arm only for his hand to brush against another phone left in the center console. An idea formed in his brain like the flash of a lightbulb. He wasn’t sure if it was possible, but he had to try. If this was his last chance, he’d make it count. “Hey, Sakusa?”

“Yeah?”

“If I give ya a phone number, do ya think you can track it for me? Like, right away?”

Sakusa scoffed. “You claim you’re the better twin, but you and your brother are the exact same.” Osamu formed a half-hearted protest, only stopping once Sakusa continued, “But fine. I’ll do it. Just this once.”

The address Sakusa sent him was for an apartment complex nearby. It stood a few stories high, a few balconies peeking around its edges, and Osamu hovered around the front door for someone to leave the building. He didn’t exactly have a key he could use, and it was likely that whatever hunch he had would lead to nowhere, but he didn’t feel right returning to the hotel just yet.

Osamu waited with bated breath as an older man exited, and he strode forward, holding the door open with a polite smile before slipping inside. The ridiculousness of the situation hit him with full force as he stepped onto the elevator, pressing the button for the seventh floor. He might’ve been working on a hunch, but he’d still researched what he could. Someone had died after inhaling a poisonous substance on the seventh floor of this building a month ago, and it had been ruled as an accident. But considering Sakusa had also tracked Suna’s phone to this building, Osamu was willing to consider that it probably wasn’tan accident.

The lift up to the seventh floor lasted a few seconds. His heartrate quickened with each floor he passed, and when he stepped out, the hall was vacant. A few doormats brushed against his shoes as he walked further down. There were only ten apartments on this floor, and the body had been discovered in front of the tenth one.

Osamu couldn’t help but tense up as he stopped in front of the door with a ten scrawled across it. He rapped his knuckles against the wood, and for a second, his heart stopped as it creaked open on its own. Edging his fingers between the gap, Osamu pushed it open the rest of the way before shutting it behind him.

The front entrance was illuminated in darkness, and Osamu stayed quiet for a few seconds to listen for any other sounds in the apartment. But only silence spoke back. Suna wasn’t here. If this was his apartment. For a brief moment, Osamu had an image of himself being arrested for trespassing in a random person’s home, but he quickly banished that thought.

He wandered further into the apartment, taking slow steps to avoid stubbing his toes. The apartment welcomed the open space. There was only one room separated off from the rest, and it had to be the bathroom. Besides that, there was a couch parked in the middle with an open-plan kitchen on its left. If Osamu continued through to the right, there was a king-sized bed taking up most of the space. The sheets were smooth as silk, and the duvet looked expensive as shit.

There was no doubt in his mind now that this was Suna’s apartment. It looked like it had been tailored just for him. Another bottle of the cologne he’d gifted Osamu stood on top of his dresser. His refrigerator was full of basic condiments and bottles upon bottles of expensive wine. The Onigiri Miya hat that Suna had robbed him of hung from a peg above the fridge. But beyond that, there were no photographs on the walls. Nothing to hint at the person who’d lived here. If Osamu hadn’t been looking so carefully, he might’ve missed the details that screamed Suna.

Osamu marched over to Suna’s closet and became instantly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of clothing shoved inside. Clearly, Suna was paid well if he was living in an expensive apartment in Tokyo. Most of his income went to his wardrobe. Osamu hummed as he rifled through each hanger, but halfway through his perusing, irritation washed over him.

This was ridiculous. Suna wasn’t here. Everyone would be back at the hotel waiting for him with disappointment evident in their eyes. He could give them Suna’s address, but Suna would be long gone by then. He’d poked his nose in the wrong places, digging his grave a little deeper, and he had no idea why. For someone that couldn’t even grace him with a proper conversation? For someone who clearly thought that toying with Osamu was a fun game that kept him from becoming too bored? For someone who hadn’t realized the kind of havoc he’d wrecked on Osamu’s life?

With a snarl, Osamu tore the nearest article of clothing off its hanger. His feral side emerged as he ripped everything in his reach from its perfectly placed position. The pile of clothes on the floor grew until there was hardly anything left in the spacious closet.

But he hadn’t worked out his anger yet. He stormed back to the fridge, picked out the nearest bottle of wine, undid the cork, and drank from the spout one-handed. Most of the alcohol landed on the floor instead of his mouth, but he couldn’t care less. He almost wanted to smash the glass into pieces just to get his point across.

See? He wanted to scream at Suna. Ya just came into my life, ruined everythin’, made me all confused, and walked away like it was nothin’.

Osamu yanked out all of the drawers in Suna’s kitchen for the sake of it. Each clatter of the metal utensils inside gave him a deep sense of satisfaction, even if it looked absurd to any outsider. Osamu didn’t like to admit it, but he knew—deep down—he was as much of an idiot as Atsumu was. The difference was that Atsumu expressed that idiocy outwardly; Osamu kept his cradled close to his chest until it erupted beyond his control.

He’d just grabbed a knife to chop the bar of soap in Suna’s bathroom into tiny chunks when the front door slammed shut.

Any semblance of calm he’d achieved in destroying Suna’s apartment dwindled away. Instead, his heart leaped into his throat, and he pushed the knife into his pocket with shaky hands. The gun Kurosu had left with him was still tucked into his jacket.

At the sound of tentative footsteps from the hall, Osamu held the gun out in front of him and emerged from the bathroom.

Suna stood in the middle of the space, scratching at the nape of his neck. His head swung side to side as he assessed his apartment, and Osamu realized the extent of the damage he’d done. Every piece of clothing Suna owned was crumpled on the floor. A half-drunk bottle of wine waited on the counter. Every drawer in the kitchen was pulled out. Each light had been turned on without regard for the electricity bill. It was a complete mess.

But the most bizarre aspect of this situation was Suna himself. It was rare that he ever looked caught off guard. Yet somehow, Osamu had brought that out in him. He looked so normal stood there even amongst the chaos. Like he could be anyone—and not a deadly assassin.

“Did you have a party or something?” Suna asked.

Osamu scoffed. Even as his arms trembled, he kept the gun trained on Suna. “I have lost a job opportunity ‘cause of ya,” he said. “I have nearly lost one of my closest friends ‘cause of ya. Do ya realize how much ya have screwed ‘round with my life?”

Suna shrugged. “Maybe. But you got some really nice clothes out of it. So.” He tilted his head. “What are you going to do with that?”

Osamu tightened his grip. “I’m gonna kill ya.” It felt like a lie even as he said it, and his hesitation wasn’t lost on Suna.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“No, you’re not.” That smile as sharp as knives returned. This look made him uneasy. It wasn’t like the one he had when he’d noticed Osamu wearing his cologne. That had been softer. This was the smile of predator who knew he had the advantage here. “You like me too much.”

Osamu’s eyes narrowed. He motioned with his gun over to the stool Suna kept by his dresser. “I’m gonna tell ya somethin’. Sit down.”

To his utmost surprise, Suna complied. He plopped down on the edge of the stool and waited for Osamu to continue speaking. When he lifted his head, the look on his face was almost expectant.

All at once, the exhaustion from the day’s events pushed down on his shoulders. He let his arms fall, still clutching the gun in his right hand. He went to sit across from Suna on his bed. He faltered for a second before dropping the gun beside him. It was still in close enough reach that he should be able to beat Suna to it. And if he wanted them to have a genuine conversation, he needed Suna to trust him. Suna wouldn’t do that with the barrel aimed at him the entire time.

There was no one around now. It was like it’d been in Osamu’s apartment—no one around but the two of them. But this time, it was on Osamu’s terms. He was the intruder. He wasn’t frightened this time around because for now, he had the upper hand. Suna might steal it from him soon, but as long as the power was in his court, he knew that he had Suna’s full attention. There was no one to interrupt.

No masks. No tricks.

Osamu wanted Suna’s complete honesty for once in his life.

He dug his hands into his hair, tightening his hold for a moment before releasing the fistfuls of dark tangles. He lifted his chin. “I think about ya all the time,” he admitted, and the confession felt like letting out a breath he’d been holding for years. “I think about what yer wearing. I think about what yer doin’ and who yer doin’ it with.” He pushed past the lump in his throat. “I think about what friends ya have. I think about what ya eat before you work. I think about what kinda shampoo you use.” His neck burned. “I think about yer eyes, and yer mouth, and what ya feel when ya kill someone. I just…wanna know everything.”

Suna leaned forward, his hands folded together. There was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. His smile looked closer to the one he’d worn in Osamu’s kitchen. “I think about you too,” he said. “I mean, I masturbate about you a lot.”

If Osamu thought his neck burned before, that was nothing compared to the flush that overtook his entire body. “Okay, that’s…”

“Too much?”

“No,” Osamu said. “I just wasn’t expectin’ that.”

Suna let out a huff that crept suspiciously close to a laugh. He glanced over at the clothes littering his bedroom floor. “So you decided to ruin my apartment because you like me so much?”

Osamu’s shoulders sagged. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“It’s quite endearing, actually.”

He clapped his hands together once. “Alright. Whaddya want? Seriously. Don’t be a dick, Suna.”

Suna pulled back in mock offense. “Normal stuff, Osamu. A nice life. A cool apartment. A fun job.” He faltered. For the first time since Osamu had met him, Suna faltered. “Someone to watch movies with.”

The last statement felt like a confession more than anything else. It cut deep with Osamu. Until now, he’d always considered himself content with his business and his family and his friends. He’d never thought of asking for more because he’d been so lucky to begin with. But hearing Suna express his actual desires had him reevaluating. Was it so bad to want more? Having someone to watch movies with felt rudimentary, but it sounded…nice. Peaceful.

He’d never imagined someone sharing the space above Onigiri Miya with him. Now, he couldn’t help but picture Suna there, his legs dangling over Osamu’s couch with that faint smile of his.

“Ugh.” Osamu fell backwards onto the bed, his body sinking into the covers. His head caressed the pillow as he leaned back, and his eyelids fluttered shut. “I’m tired.”

He heard Suna stand. He felt Suna’s hand graze his leg as he picked up the gun Osamu had left on the bed. Osamu forced himself to stay still. Trust me, he begged.

“Aren’t ya tired, Suna?”

“A little,” Suna agreed.

The bed sunk with the added weight as Suna sat down beside him. Osamu’s breath hitched as he sensed Suna fall back onto the covers with him. He knew Suna was still holding the gun. He just had to trust that if Suna wanted him dead, he would’ve done it a long time ago.

Still, Osamu had to ask. “Are ya gonna kill me, Rintarou?”

“No,” Suna murmured. There was a distant clatter as Suna set the gun down on the floor beside the bed.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

For some unknown reason, Osamu trusted him. He peeked out of one eye. His vision was almost bombarded with Suna’s hair until Suna faced him. His eyes reminded Osamu of sea glass, clear and captivating all at once.

“Can you stay for a little, Osamu?” Suna asked.

Osamu thought of everyone waiting for him back at the hotel, worried beyond their minds. He thought of the dozens of text messages and missed calls waiting for him. “Yeah.”

Suna tucked one of the longer strands of hair away from Osamu’s forehead. “I like your hair.”

“I used to dye it gray,” Osamu murmured. His hand edged towards his pocket. “So that people could tell us apart.”

“That makes sense.” Suna leaned forward, and Osamu felt his self-control waning. He hadn’t lied when he told Suna he couldn’t stop thinking about him. Suna had remained a permanent fixture in his mind since that night at the restaurant, a mystery that Osamu could never answer. But he was here now, and Osamu was struck with the realization that he wanted to know what it was like to kiss Suna.

Suna’s a killer. Suna’s a liar. Suna’s manipulating you. That voice in the back of his head sounded more and more like Atsumu.

He couldn’t do this.

As Suna leaned forward, he froze. Suna looked down between their bodies where Osamu had drawn out the knife he’d hidden in his pocket and pressed it against Suna’s stomach. Suna swallowed, the simple motion of his neck captivating as he met Osamu’s gaze.

“That’s rude,” he said, his bored drawl returned in full force. Osamu questioned whether it was to hide his fear.

“Yeah.”

“You can’t.”

There was something about the way Suna said it: it came off as a challenge. He truly believed that Osamu didn’t possess the courage to dig the knife in and break the skin. He still thought that he had the upper hand. That voice that whispered of Suna’s subtle manipulations sung in his ear.

It was spite that drove Osamu to push the knife in. Suna’s scream as Osamu buried the knife to the handle was the worst sound he’d ever heard. It tore at his insides, silencing the voice in Osamu’s head.

Osamu used his weight to turn Suna over until he was practically straddling him. His knees braced themselves around Suna’s hips, and Suna’s hands came to wrap around his as he kept a firm grip around the knife. His scream had morphed into a ragged gasp. Osamu’s own chest heaved with laborious panting.

Suna looked down at his stomach. His blood covered both of their hands, and Suna was in no condition to try and fight Osamu off. But the look of betrayal that he gave Osamu was almost enough to make Osamu wish he hadn’t done this.

“I really liked you,” Suna gasped. Osamu’s eyes widened. “It hurts! Osamu, you’re hurting me!” His voice cracked, and all of Osamu’s resolve shattered.

Suna must’ve seen the exact moment regret crossed his face because he started whimpering, “Don’t pull it.”

But in the haze, all Osamu could think was, I’m hurting him. He yanked the knife out.

Suna screamed again. “What did I just say?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Osamu panted. He threw the knife across the room and pressed his hands to the wound, trying to stifle the bleeding. Suna’s hands rested beneath him, but his anger was unmistakable. He would never forgive him for this. Osamu had lost him forever. “I’ll fix this—I will—hold yer hand there, Suna—”

Osamu scrambled out of the bed and into the kitchen. He needed some sort of towel or cloth. Anything to stop the bleeding as much as possible. His bloody fingerprints were left all over Suna’s kitchen as he searched for a towel, and the sharp gasps from the bedroom only heightened his panic.

He finally found a towel in the cupboard beneath the sink, and he moved to return to the bedroom when a bullet whizzed past him. Osamu screamed before ducking behind the counter. The shot had been too far off, but Osamu didn’t know if the bullet had been meant as a warning or if Suna couldn’t aim while bleeding half to death.

“I’m tryna help ya, Suna!” Osamu shouted. A few seconds passed without another shot fired. It was now or never. “I’m comin’ out!”

But when he ran back into the bedroom, all that had been left behind were bloody handprints and an empty space where Suna had been.

Two days had passed since Osamu had last seen Suna. When he’d returned to the hotel, Kita had been the only one to greet him, and whatever disappointment Osamu had expected was nowhere to be found as he told Osamu that they believed they had a lead on where Suna had gone. The next hour had been tinged with anxiety as he waited for Atsumu and Sakusa. He should’ve known that Sakusa would find the request suspicious. He should’ve expected them to investigate further. All he’d done before leaving Suna’s apartment was grab the weapon, encrusted with blood. His heart had hammered too quickly for him to consider disposing of the sheets or disinfecting the apartment with bleach to clean away any fingerprints he’d left behind. His panic had overcome all of his reason, and he’d stormed out of the apartment building as swiftly as possible.

Somehow, nothing had come to fruition. Atsumu and Sakusa had discovered Suna’s apartment, but it had been cleared out by the time they’d arrived. Someone—or multiple people—had breezed through and scrubbed every square inch from head to toe, disposed of every single item Suna had owned, and left it vacant. Kita believed that the company that had hired Suna out had to be behind it: they’d cut all ties completely, and now, Suna was on his own.

Even though experts were on the scene two days later, scouring for any fingerprints or strands of hair that had been missed to confirm the ownership of the apartment, Osamu doubted they’d find anything. The company had to be thorough. You weren’t involved in the process of hiring out assassins if you weren’t used to cleaning up a crime. Even if they hadn’t been prepared for the sheer amount of blood splattered over the furniture, they’d been prepared to make it look like Suna had never existed at all.

There was no trace of him. As he sat on his couch back at his apartment in Hyogo, his laptop warm in his lap, he knew that any search for Suna would prove futile. That is, if he was still alive.

Osamu hadn’t let himself consider that Suna was dead. He couldn’t. He wanted to believe that Suna was alive and breathing. He didn’t want to kill him. He wanted evidence that his heart still beat.

He had been silent the entire ride back to Hyogo. He had been silent the next two days at work as he struggled to handle the backlog of orders that had piled up in his absence. He was silent now in the empty space of his apartment with no one around to watch and listen. He was silent even as he stared at his hands.

They were clean. He’d made sure of that. He’d scrubbed out the blood in Suna’s sink as best as he could before rubbing his skin raw when he arrived home. They had remained red for hours afterwards even as he’d picked beneath his fingernails and tried to control his sobs. But if he squinted hard enough, they looked as though they were coated in Suna’s blood again, and it made his stomach sink every time.

Osamu dropped his hands back into his lap, resisting the urge to stare at them again. He’d caught himself doing so multiple times during his work day, and he had to stop. The average person didn’t gawk at their knuckles without a reason.

That had been the difficult part: acting like everything was normal. To his credit, Sakusa hadn’t told Kita or Atsumu who he’d acquired the address from, although Osamu felt his stare between his shoulder blades for hours. Sakusa hadn’t pried. Thankfully, Atsumu had been more frustrated at the fact that they’d nearly cornered Suna and failed to focus on Osamu disobeying orders. But if Osamu continued acting like this, Atsumu would figure it out. No matter how much Osamu teased him for being daft, he had his clever moments.

Osamu dragged his fingers down his mousepad as he sifted through the most recent news articles. It was nearly impossible to narrow down cases about stab wound victims, and the articles never mentioned names or any sort of identity. He wasn’t even sure whether Suna would’ve gone to a hospital—or whether he would’ve taken a chance elsewhere.

Or if he had died before he made it there.

Osamu gritted his teeth. These niggling thoughts kept pestering him without fail, and he wished they would cease. He didn’t want to be responsible for Suna’s death. He wished he could take it back. Take it all back. If he could go back in time, he would’ve stayed lying in Suna’s bed with him for hours. It would’ve been better than this nightmare he’d concocted for himself.

His phone vibrated from where it sat atop the nearest cushion, and Osamu flipped the screen over to spot Tsumubefore answering. “Hello?”

“Samu!” Atsumu called from the other end. “What are ya up to?”

“Why?”

“Just wonderin’,” Atsumu said. Osamu could imagine his pout without having to see it. “I’m bored.”

“I can tell. What are ya doin’?” Atsumu called him often out of boredom. It wasn’t a rare occurrence. Actually, the distraction was welcomed this time. It gave him something to do other than wallow in his own misery.

“I’m at the office with Omi-kun.” Atsumu paused to chew on something. He must’ve ordered food in to stay there longer. Whether it was to keep Sakusa company or whether he was actually being productive, Osamu couldn’t guess. “We’re waitin’ to see if we get any updates from Tokyo.”

Osamu kept his voice measured as he asked, “Any news?”

“Nope. No fingerprints. No DNA. Nothin’. So far. I keep sayin’ there’s a chance something might pop up, but I think Omi-kun disagrees with me.”

“I think that the company would be thorough. They’re not gonna mess up. I imagine they have a whole team focused on clean-up for these kinds of things.”

“Yer prolly right,” Atsumu said. “I dunno.” He lowered his voice. “Omi-kun’s bein’ weird about it.”

A jolt rushed down Osamu’s spine. He knew exactly why Sakusa was being weird about it. It was only a matter of time before Sakusa accused him of something. He wasn’t the kind of person to hold back because of a tentative acquaintance. He did his job. He saw things through to completion. Osamu’s incompetence stood in the way of that completion.

“Really?” Osamu drew circles on his knee to distract himself. He needed to do something to prevent himself from freaking out. “How?”

“I dunno,” Atsumu said. He stopped again to stuff more food in his mouth, and his words became garbled as he spoke. “I think he suspects somethin’. Or maybe he has an idea. He’s been real quiet lately.”

“Isn’t he always?”

“He’s been more quiet than usual, I mean. Besides, I think he’s been openin’ up to me more in the last week. He holds longer conversations than he used to. But he’s clammed up since Tokyo. I don’t know. He might just be upset that we were so close and failed.”

“That might be it.” Atsumu had given him an out unknowingly, and Osamu would use it to his fullest advantage. “He may just be disappointed. Ya don’t know if Suna is still in the country.”

“Maybe. I think it’s more than that, though.”

“Where is Sakusa?”

“He went to the bathroom,” Atsumu answered. “He says his eyes hurt from lookin’ at the screen too long. I bought him dinner, so we’ll probably hang out ‘round here for another few hours in case something happens.”

Osamu hoped nothing happened. He hoped there were no updates or breakthroughs in the case. He couldn’t have anything tying him to Suna. Not anymore. He wished that they’d have a quiet evening filled with boredom. And he hoped that Sakusa didn’t bring up the address with him one-on-one.

Osamu could pretend everything was fine so long as no one asked him directly about it. If Sakusa or Kita tried, Osamu didn’t know if he’d be able to lie to them. The truth would spill out.

“Mmm,” Osamu hummed. “Let me know if somethin’ does come up.”

“Sure. What are ya gonna do with the rest of yer evening?”

“Nothin’. I’m gonna go to sleep and wake up early for work tomorrow like I always do.”

“So borin’, Samu,” Atsumu cooed. He paused briefly to eat another bite. “I guess I’ll leave ya to it then.”

“Don’t bother Sakusa. He doesn’t get paid enough to deal with yer bullshit.”

Atsumu scoffed, and Osamu winced as it sounded as though Atsumu had spit crumbs at the same time. “I am a delight,” Atsumu protested. “Omi-kun adores me.”

The sound of a door opening crackled through the line, and a new voice cut in, almost too far for the phone to pick up his words, “No, I don’t.” That was definitely Sakusa. It was unmistakeable.

“Omi-Omi!” Atsumu cried out. “You gotta like me a little bit by now, right? We’ve been workin’ together for weeks! I’m growin’ on ya, admit it.”

“Like a rash, maybe,” Sakusa replied.

That comment made even Osamu laugh. “I’ll leave ya two be then,” he said. Perhaps he was rushing his goodbye, but the longer he spoke in front of Sakusa, the more nervous he felt. He couldn’t be sure if Sakusa would be upfront and demand answers in front of his brother. That was the last thing he wanted. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

“Night, old man,” Atsumu said.

“Night.”

Osamu hung up the call, relief washing over him as he turned his phone face-down onto the cushion. He wished he could lie in his bed and go to sleep as he’d suggested. But he knew if he tried, he’d be awake for hours, listening to the echo of his heart and wondering of the whereabouts of a certain assassin.

Osamu thought of his lunch breaks as his sacred time. Sometimes, he’d take a plate of onigiri and take a seat in the corner while he looked out the window. Sometimes, he’d go for a walk along the street, reveling in the sunshine and fresh air after being stuck indoors behind the counter. It was his time—his time to unwind after the stress of the lunch rush and prepare himself for the next few hours that stood between closing hours.

If there was one thing Osamu didn’t want on his lunch break, it was his annoying mirror image plopping down across from him, his phone outstretched.

“What?” Osamu demanded without a proper greeting. “Can’t ya see I’m busy?”

“Yer on yer break!” Atsumu complained. He pushed his phone towards Osamu a few more times, but when Osamu didn’t take it, he set it face-up and slid it forward. “This won’t even take long. I just thought you would be curious. Ya did say to update ya if somethin’ came up.”

Osamu stiffened. He lowered his arm from where it had been halfway towards his mouth and placed his onigiri back on his plate. “Somethin’ came up?”

“Just listen!” Atsumu insisted. He tapped the play button on what appeared to be a voice memo, and Osamu dipped his head closer to the device to hear it better. The lunch rush might’ve passed, but there were still enough customers around that it was impossible to hear without putting the speaker next to his ear.

 For a few seconds, all Osamu could pick up on was a loud crackle before a muffled voice broke through the static. It was so familiar that Osamu’s breath hitched.

“I need you to put me through to Miya Atsumu,” Suna said. He was breathing quite heavily, and there was an underlying panic to his words as he spoke. But he was alive. He was alive, and Osamu couldn’t mask the relief that washed over him.

“I’m sorry,” the machine said in response. “I didn’t catch that. Could you repeat the name of the line you’re trying to get ahold of?”

“Miya Atsumu,” Suna repeated, enunciating the name clearer than he had before. “I need to speak to Miya Atsumu.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not getting that. Could you repeat the name of the line you’re trying to get ahold of?”

Suna’s voice was louder now, as if he’d gotten closer to the phone to ensure that there was no miscommunication. “I need to speak to Miya Atsumu. I need him to get me in touch with Miya Osamu. Please.”

“I’m sorry—”

Before the machine could finish, Suna’s self-restraint snapped. “I need Miya Osamu, you piece of shit!” Suna screeched before the line went dead. The voice memo cut off with a beep, signaling the end of the recorded message.

Osamu lifted his head to find himself at the receiving end of Atsumu’s curious stare. “So,” Osamu said with a slight laugh to diffuse the tension, “he hasn’t left Japan?”

“Nope.” Atsumu snatched his phone back. “It seems like he hasn’t. He could still be on his way out. The phone call was made from a house not too far from here—like two hours away by car. Omi-kun and I went over to check it out once the voicemail was transferred over to us, but by the time we got there, Suna was long gone. He killed the owner of the house.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu curled his lips as he recalled the gruesome details. “We found the guy near the front door with his throat stabbed out. Suna had stuck a toilet brush in his mouth.”

Osamu’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the toilet brush. It could easily be a coincidence, but Suna rarely operated by chance. Everything he did was deliberate and calculated. Osamu already knew that he was looking for him. The voicemail had proven that much. It wasn’t far-fetched for Osamu to assume that Suna was sending him another message beyond the voicemail. Osamu just hoped that he wouldn’t wind up in the same position as the homeowner: throat gouged through, blinking up at the ceiling through lifeless eyes.

“We’re pretty sure the guy lived alone,” Atsumu continued. “Omi-kun thinks that Suna might’ve just been crashin’ at his place temporarily as some sort of pit-stop.” His nose wrinkled. “The guy seemed like a bit of a freak though.”

“Who? Suna?”

“No, the man he killed. His house was filled with these terrifying dolls, and he had, like, twenty locks on his doors. His windows didn’t even open.” Atsumu shuddered. “Bein’ in there was like bein’ stuck in some weird nightmare you have as a kid. Omi-kun refused to investigate beyond the entrance way. It freaked him out too. We left the rest to the officers on the scene.”

Osamu wasn’t sure if that constituted being a freak, but he wasn’t there to experience it himself. Judging by the real panic in Suna’s voice, that house likely wasn’t the only creepy thing there. It had to be real desperation that drove Suna to attempt to contact Atsumu through his company line.

“Sounds terrifyin’,” Osamu said mildly.

“Mmhmm. Didja realize Suna knows my name? I didn’t realize he did. Do ya think he knows everyone on the task force by name?”

Yes, Osamu thought. Suna had some covert way of happening upon information. Osamu didn’t question his methods. If there was some relevant detail out there for Suna to find, he would find it. “I’d say that’s a safe assumption.”

Atsumu blew out a puff of air. “I mean we already knew he knew yer name,” he said. “This is awfully inconvenient.” He braced his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his fist. “Why do ya think he wanted to contact ya?”

Osamu had to remind himself—that according to Atsumu—he and Suna had only encountered each other three times. The encounter at Osamu’s apartment and then the later encounter at Suna’s never happened. Atsumu wasn’t even aware of the suitcase hidden in Osamu’s closet upstairs, left on his doorstep full of expensive gifts that had only come from one person. To Atsumu, it looked like a one-way obsession.

“I think he was prolly scared,” Osamu said, deciding on each of his words carefully. “I think he was prolly desperate. He knew you would track the call to the house he was in. He was probably in genuine fear for his life.” Not to mention that he had to be weakened due to his stab wound. Killing that man must have taken a lot out of him.

“Thought so,” Atsumu said. “He did sound scared.”

“What’s yer next step then?” Osamu picked up his onigiri again and resumed his meal.

“Not sure. Omi-kun says he could still be on his way out of the country. Kita-san thinks he might be on his way here.”

Osamu held back from agreeing with Kita. There was only one destination Suna had in mind, and there was only one person he was looking for. The realization made it harder for him to swallow his food like nothing was wrong.

“I’m sure he’ll show up again at some point.” Atsumu straightened. “He always seems to.”

Atsumu didn’t realize the depth of the truth to that statement.

The television hummed at a low volume, the screen illuminating the spot where Osamu lay sprawled out on the couch. Work had been particularly exhausting that day as he’d had to complete a large order for an event that had completely slipped his mind. He’d returned upstairs to shower, relishing in the warm water that ran down his skin, and he’d thrown himself onto the sofa, drifting off almost instantly.

When his eyelids fluttered open, the movie he’d been watching had ended, the credits rolling across the screen. A layer of drowsiness hung over him still as he sat up and shrugged the blanket he’d covered himself with off his shoulders. It had to be just past ten. It wasn’t nearly late enough to be the dead of night, but his muscles were stiff enough that he’d dozed off for at least an hour.

The muddle of fleeting thoughts faded as he blinked into further awareness, and he realized what had stirred him from his pleasant dreams to begin with.

Someone knocked at his door.

Osamu yawned while he shuffled over to answer it—and he froze. He went to swing it shut, but his reaction time was too delayed. Too slow. Suna jammed his foot between the crack and pushed the door open the rest of the way with his forearm.

“Osamu,” he said, “if anyone should be scared here, it should be me.”

“Don’t,” Osamu pleaded, backing away. “Suna, please.”

A furrow appeared between Suna’s eyebrows. He blew out a puff of air. “I’m not here to hurt you, Osamu.” He twisted around to shut the door behind him. “I’m just here to talk.”

Suna looked as though nothing had happened. As though what had happened in his apartment had been some illusion and he’d emerged unscathed. His clothes—though they were picked to his usual expensive tastes—were selected for comfort. His oversized sweater almost made him look younger. More innocent. Especially when he pulled the sleeves over his wrists like that. His hair was brushed to the sides, parted down the middle like usual, and his eyes held their same intensity as always. Osamu wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a dream. There was only one way to determine the truth.

His focus honed in on Suna’s stomach. He knew the general location of where the wound ought to be. He remembered teasing the knife against the spot before pushing it through the skin. He remembered the blood that had oozed out, coating both of their hands. He remembered the regret that had shaken him to the core, overriding all of his other senses.

Suna followed the line of his gaze. “Mmm.”

“I thought ya were at some random house two hours from here,” Osamu said. “At least, that’s where ya were yesterday.”

Suna wrinkled his nose at the reminder. “Yeah, don’t remind me. That place was creepy as shit.” He shuddered exactly how Atsumu had yesterday. “The guy was even worse. All I did was ask him for a place to spend the night so that I wouldn’t be tracked down, and then he wouldn’t let me leave. It was like he felt personally responsible for me. He became super controlling in an instant. Wouldn’t leave me alone.” He sighed. “I took the one chance he left to try and call your brother because I figured that would at least give me enough of a distraction to run. That just made him angrier though.”

“So ya killed him?” Osamu already knew this, but hearing it from Suna’s mouth was a different story altogether.

“Yeah. I don’t like killing without having a reason to. But he gave me a reason, I guess.” Suna reached for the hem of his shirt. “Osamu, I don’t mind answering your questions, but can I shower first? I feel gross.”

“Yeah, sure.” The words flew out of his mouth before he’d really processed them. He hadn’t even confirmed whether he was in actual danger. But when Suna looked at him like that, all tired and exhausted, and knowing that he was partly the reason—he found himself giving in. He waved Suna forward. “The bathroom’s this way. I’ll getcha a towel. You can use my shampoo and soap if ya don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

For the next twenty minutes, Osamu tried to occupy himself with meaningless tasks. He responded back to work emails that he hadn’t had the chance to look at; he accepted more orders for events; he played around with Onigiri Miya’s social media. This was all necessary to keep himself from freaking out over the other person in his apartment. The very real assassin in his apartment. The one he’d stabbed a week ago, and who likely had some sick thirst for revenge. Yet Osamu had let him through the door anyway. He’d showed him his bathroom and offered him his shampoo. He might as well show Suna his collection of kitchen knives while he was at it—considering he seemed to have no regards for his personal safety.

But Suna had offered to answer his questions. If that meant anything like the conversation they’d had at Suna’s apartment—you know, before the stabbing—then Osamu would take what he could get. Because Atsumu was under the wrong impression: this was very much a two-way street.

When the rush of water ceased, Osamu hovered closer to his bathroom only to discover that the door was already open. Steam billowed out into the open air, and his mirror was fogged up. But Osamu couldn’t stop staring.

Suna only had a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair flat against the sides of his face, his skin a light shade of red as if he’d scrubbed his skin raw. But none of that was what had caught Osamu’s attention.

The wound was obvious. It had been attended to as it had been stitched up, and all that remained was a red scar. It rested on the lower right side of Suna’s stomach, just above where the towel hung on his hips, and Osamu couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.

He’d done that. He’d taken that knife and pushed it through the skin. That scar was because of him.

“Do you want to touch it?”

Osamu’s head snapped up. “What?”

Suna’s hair had been towel-dried, spreading out in messy tangles outward. He hung the hand towel back on the rung where he’d retrieved it from. “I asked if you want to touch it. Feel free to say no if you think it’s weird.”

It was weird, but Osamu still wanted to. He took a step closer. “Can I?”

Suna’s voice was breathy as he said, “Yeah.”

As he neared, Osamu’s own breaths became uneven. The steam brushed along his exposed skin, making him feel as though he was walking beneath the sun. He lifted his arm, extending it slowly in case Suna changed his mind. However, all Suna did was stay still, and Osamu’s fingers grazed along the scar he’d created. It was raised in uneven bumps and ridges over the rest of his smooth skin.

“I’m sorry,” Osamu whispered. “I wish I could take it back.”

“Hm.” Suna looked down at where Osamu’s hand rested against his stomach. “I don’t. You did that because I underestimated you. It means I know you better now.” He lifted his head. “I know you’re not going to hurt me again.”

“No,” Osamu said because it was the truth. He dropped his hand as it was becoming difficult to breathe being this close to Suna. “I won’t. But are you gonna hurt me?”

Suna’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. But Osamu paid such close attention to everything Suna did—wanting to capture all of the little details and store them in his memory where they would never be tampered with—that he noticed everything. “It’s like I said the first time I came here: I’m not going to hurt you, Osamu.”

“Okay.” Osamu believed him. He shouldn’t, but he’d had enough of listening to that careful voice. For once, he wanted to let himself remain close to the danger. “Okay. So what’s the plan?”

“The plan?”

“Are ya leavin’ Japan? That’s what the passport was for, wasn’t it? Weren’t ya fired?”

“Oh.” Suna’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I’ve been fired. Which sucks. I’ve never had a proper job, and it’s kind of hard getting one when you’re a wanted criminal. But I don’t really want to leave Japan either.”

“Oh.” Osamu tried to control the hope that swelled up inside him, but it was a near impossible feat. “So what do ya want to do?”

Suna dropped his head onto Osamu’s shoulder, and Osamu jolted with shock. It was such a unexpected move—such an intimate move—that he’d been surprised. “Can I stay with you?” Suna asked. “Not…I won’t be a bother. I won’t do anything that makes it obvious you’re harboring a criminal. I just…I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

Osamu brought his other hand up, curling it into Suna’s wet locks. “Yeah, Rintarou,” he said. “You can stay here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. As long as ya need.”

Suna was the furthest thing from a bother. He kept to himself, lounging across the guest futon and sleeping even as Osamu went downstairs to open up Onigiri Miya. Osamu had gone up during his lunch break with onigiri to find Suna watching a volleyball game on his television. It was such a conflicting sight to see a terrifying criminal mutter obscenities at a bunch of overpaid athletes in front of a screen, but it amused Osamu to no end. He found himself wishing the rest of the day would pass quicker so that he could head upstairs and join Suna.

They hadn’t had much of chance to talk last night. Both of them had been too groggy to have a proper conversation. But today was different. Today, Osamu felt a new surge of energy rush through him. He was focused.

When he pulled the door shut on Onigiri Miya at the end of the evening, it was with relief. He stopped by one of the other restaurants nearby and grabbed two orders of curry for him and Suna. He arrived back in his apartment to find Suna spread over the cushions, Osamu’s blanket wrapped around him.

“I have dinner,” Osamu said, holding up the plastic bag as evidence. “Ya hungry?”

Suna perked up immediately. He sat up, the blanket pooling at his waist. “Yes, please,” he said. “What did you get?”

“Curry.” He set the bag on the counter and drew out two identical plastic tins. “Not sure if ya would’ve preferred somethin’ else, but I can always show ya where I keep the takeout menus so you can decide for next time.”

Osamu hadn’t registered that he’d suggested a next time until he brought over Suna’s order to find him watching him. “What?” Osamu asked. “Do ya not like curry?”

“I like curry,” Suna said, taking the tin from him. “Though I like you more.”

Osamu scowled even as his cheeks warmed. “What’s that s’pposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He almost sang the word as he reached forward for a pair of chopsticks. “Nothing at all. How was work?”

“It was good.” Honestly, Osamu could barely remember a single thing he’d done today. His mind had been upstairs, occupied elsewhere. Even Gin had called him out on his absentmindedness which meant it was really noticeable. “It was the same as usual.”

“Do you think I could stop by in person sometime? Or would someone notice?”

It was a fair question. Gin had seen Suna once already. There was always the risk of Atsumu or Kita stopping by. Otherwise, he would say yes because he knew that Suna could hurry upstairs after. But as it stood, it was quite the risk to take.

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Suna waved him off. “I told you that I wouldn’t be a bother. I don’t want to take that risk.”

“I just don’t want Kita-san or Tsumu to walk in.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Suna repeated. He picked up a clump of rice. “This is better than what I’d hoped for.”

Warmth pooled within Osamu’s stomach. He disappeared back into the kitchen to grab his order before settling down beside Suna on the couch. There was space that had been left just for him, and he pulled apart his chopsticks before picking apart the shrimp tempura. “And what did ya hope for?”

“Honestly? I hoped that you wouldn’t turn me away. I hoped that I’d get longer than an hour with you.”

This time, Osamu’s cheeks burned. If Suna looked over, he would notice how Osamu’s neck and cheeks were all painted the same shade of red. “Oh.”

“Are you still scared of me?”

“No.” Osamu couldn’t quite explain it, but any fear that he’d had of Suna had vanished between last night and today. It was almost as if Suna’s confession that he’d never hurt Osamu had wormed its way beneath his ribs until he had to believe it. That voice that had whispered of Suna’s manipulations was quieter than it had ever been. His head was silent except for the nagging question of what it would be like to move closer—to sit so close that their arms brushed against each other and their thighs touched. “I’m not scared of ya.”

A ghost of a smile appeared across Suna’s lips. “I’m glad.”

“Are ya? Scared of me, I mean?” He paused long enough to pick at his own rice, but lifted his head at the sharp intake of breath from Suna.

Suna had turned sideways to face Osamu, his meal momentarily forgotten in his lap. “You could’ve killed me.”

His stomach dropped at the reminder. He knew that. He’d known that the second the knife had been pushed through. It was all that he’d thought about for the days that had followed, wondering if Suna’s death was on his hands or whether Suna had survived. Wondering whether he’d ever get the chance to see him—and apologize. He still thought about it, even though Suna sat in front of him, breathing and alive and whole.

“I know.”

“I could’ve died.”

“I know.” His grip tightened around his tin. “I think about that all the time.” Without thinking, he brought his hand up to Suna’s cheek. It took Suna a second to settle into the touch, and when he did, it was with a content sigh. Osamu had been right: his skin was smooth. “Do you think about it?”

Suna’s eyes fluttered shut for the briefest of moments. “All the time.”

The rest of their meal passed with idle conversation and the silent acknowledgement of enjoying each other’s presence. Suna got up to toss their tins into the trash and returned to find Osamu resting his elbow on the frame of the couch, watching him with a sweet smile. Osamu couldn’t help it. He’d only ever seen Suna in the spare moments before and after a murder. He’d never had the chance to enjoy him like this—all calm and cozy and content.

“So what are ya gonna do now? Ya said ya want a proper job?”

Suna shrugged before throwing himself onto the cushions again. Osamu tried not to hone in on the fact that they were closer than they had been before. If he stretched his leg out, their knees would brush.

“Maybe,” Suna said. “Just to keep me occupied. I have enough money saved to last me a few lifetimes though.”

“A few lifetimes, huh? With yer expensive closet?”

“Hey.” Suna bopped his nose. “I make enough money to be able to spend a little extra on what I wear. I like my clothes. I thought you liked what I bought you.”

“I do! Tsumu was really jealous of the button-down ya gave me. He kept eyeing it all throughout our dinner.”

“Hah. I’m glad. I’ll buy you more fancy clothes then. Suits and sweaters and robes. If you ever decide to not strut around like a walking advertisement for Onigiri Miya, I might get to see you in these clothes. If I’m lucky.”

“Hey.” Osamu pouted. “I do wear other clothes. Ya just haven’t seen me in ‘em.”

Suna let out a low chuckle.

“So no job then? Yer just gonna laze around here while I work my ass off downstairs to pay the bills? That’s the plan?”

“Pretty much.” Suna flashed him a quick smile. It was so unlike the previous ones. Those had been written in cunning and cleverness. This smile was filled with innocent mischief, the kind that came from enjoying pushing Osamu’s buttons. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Osamu made an exaggerated sigh. “I guess not.”

“Good.”

His eyes crinkled, and Osamu thought about how much he liked Suna like this. Even at his apartment, he hadn’t been as carefree as he was now. It was as though Osamu had broken down his barriers unknowingly, and there was nothing left to hide between them. Osamu had seen Suna’s monster countless times, and Suna had seen Osamu’s in return. They had nothing to fear from each other any longer.

Again, he wished he’d let Suna kiss him back at his apartment. He wished he hadn’t panicked over his own feelings. He hoped Suna would try to kiss him again.

“Suna?”

“Mmhmm,” Suna hummed as he dragged a finger through the front of Osamu’s hair. “Yes?”

“Are ya ever gonna try and kiss me again? I won’t stop ya this time, I promise.”

Osamu felt Suna’s hand still from where it had slid between his tangles. Suna sat so closely that Osamu heard the way his breath caught. He swallowed before saying, “Yeah?”

Osamu pushed his head into Suna’s hand. “Yeah. I can wait…if yer not ready yet. I don’t want ya to rush if it’s too soon—”

But before he could finish his thought, Suna’s other hand came to rest on his cheek, angling Osamu’s face towards him. Osamu caught a flash of his intense gaze before Suna’s mouth was on his.

It had caught him by surprise, and he heard himself make a noise in response. But beyond that, his stomach twisted in on itself as his toes curled. This was real. Suna was real, and he was kissing him. Everything about it was gentle, as if he wanted to ensure he didn’t scare Osamu off. It was the most tender thing Suna had done by far, and Osamu forgot that these were the hands of a killer as he sunk into Suna, meeting his mouth with equal force.

He tasted like the dinner he’d just eaten. It was so normal, yet Osamu’s heartrate quickened anyway. It was like he was on the edge of danger, teetering into that great divide, and giving in to Suna was the easy fall from the top. He had caught him before he landed.

That thought alone made Osamu kiss him back harder until Suna tipped backwards, his shoulders hitting the armrest. He pulled back long enough to watch Osamu with a look of surprise before drawing Osamu down to meet him once more.

Osamu couldn’t tell how long they stayed like that, pulling back every so often to draw breath before moving in again, maintaining the slow and easy pace they’d started with. His body flushed from head to toe as he nipped along Suna’s lower lip, and his mouth tingled as Suna slipped his tongue along Osamu’s bottom teeth.

Being with Suna was the easiest thing Osamu had ever done.

Nothing about Suna terrified him anymore, and frankly, Osamu had no idea how he could have ever frightened him at all. Maybe he was in far too deep to recognize the warning signs now, but there was something about the Suna that hung around Osamu’s apartment wearing his oversized sweaters with ruffled bedhead that made Osamu’s heart warm.

Even in the whispers of night, as Osamu brushed his lips along Suna’s exposed skin, relishing in the soft gasps he emitted the more Osamu mapped out his body, there were no words to describe his level of adoration for Suna Rintarou.

When they’d finally separated, Osamu had been the one to retrieve a washcloth in the bathroom. Suna had watched him in what could only be described as quiet awe as Osamu wiped them both down, his breath catching as he dragged the cloth along Suna’s fingertips. He had been wrong. That look that Suna had given him then had been the most vulnerable he’d ever seen him. Even with what they’d done beforehand, that had felt like the most intimate thing of all.

He flopped back beneath the covers and reached over to curl a hand into Suna’s hair. The content hum Suna let out made his heart soar.

“Rin,” Osamu murmured, his eyelids fluttering shut. He felt more than saw Suna roll over to face him on the bed. His body curled with the additional warmth as Suna snuggled in closer. “Ya do realize somethin’.”

Suna nuzzled into the crook of Osamu’s neck. His nose blew air onto Osamu’s collarbone. “Huh? What do I realize?”

“Yer gonna get bored of me,” Osamu said. His exhaustion was already carrying him away, pulling him deeper into the throes of sleep. But he had to say it. The intrusive thought had buried its way into Osamu’s mind once he realized he wanted Suna around forever. It reminded him that he might only ever have this. Right now. “Yer gonna get bored of me, and yer gonna leave.”

Suna pulled back. “Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth. Yer made for excitement. No matter how bored of the world you look, you’re always gonna to go off and chase the nearest thrill. You might wanna stay here for now, but I’m not gonna be exciting forever. One day, yer gonna wake up and realize that, and I’m gonna lose ya.”

No matter how much he braced himself for that day, it would sting. Nothing could prepare him for the weight of that loss, when he turned over in bed to find an empty space where Suna had once lay. It would destroy him. He thought of what Suna had once said. He wanted someone to watch movies with.

Osamu wanted that too, and now he knew he wanted that with Suna.

“Osamu,” Suna murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of Osamu’s mouth. “You are by far the most exciting thing in my life.”

Returning to Atsumu’s office with the knowledge that he was harboring the very criminal everyone inside was working to track down was a sickening experience. But when he’d gotten a call from Atsumu two weeks after Suna had started sharing his apartment, he couldn’t very well turn it down. Atsumu was first and foremost his family. No matter how much he irritated him, Osamu did love him—although it would take a great deal for him to admit that out loud word for word.

That was why he brought a peace offering: umeboshi onigiri because—don’tcha know, Samu, it’s Omi-kun’s favorite! Osamu set the plastic bag filled with his delivery onto Sakusa’s desk, even if the resident was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the space looked surprisingly empty. It hadn’t always been like this. The first time, Osamu had been struck with how many trinkets and files cluttered the room. It was like the bulk of that disorder had been tidied away. Even the corkboard that had all of Suna’s kills pinned upon it had less photographs and strings connecting them.

The only person there to greet him with Atsumu, who lit up at the sight of the Onigiri Miya logo on the side of the plastic.

“Ooh!” Atsumu rushed over to peer inside at its contents as soon as Osamu released his grip on the bag. “Whatcha bring?”

“Umeboshi.” Osamu took off his cap and dropped it onto Atsumu’s desk. “Ya said Sakusa liked it.”

“I like it too.” He extended a hand to open the plastic tin on top, and Osamu slapped it away. “Hey!”

“Can ya at least wait for the guy to show up so ya can split it between ya?”

Atsumu pouted. “Fine. Lemme getcha a chair.”

Osamu waited a few minutes for Atsumu to grab a foldable chair from the hall closet. When he returned, Osamu had split up half of the first tin between him and Atsumu. He figured that was fair enough. That left a whole tin for Sakusa and Kita if they ever showed up.

Once they were both settled in their seats, huddled around Atsumu’s desk, they started in on the onigiri. With no one else around to witness it, they went through their individual shares at a neck-breaking speed, rice sticking at the corners of their mouths. It wasn’t until the very last had been finished that Osamu found the courage to confront the elephant in the room.

“It’s a lot…emptier than it was the first time I was here,” Osamu commented, gesturing around the room. He grabbed a napkin to clean his fingers. “Is somethin’ happening?”

“No. I mean, not really. It’s just been two weeks since anythin’ has happened. Our department is thinkin’ of droppin’ the Suna case altogether.”

Even as his heart pounded in his chest, Osamu forced himself not to noticeably perk up. “Yeah?”

“I mean, droppin’ it prolly isn’t the right phrase. Obviously, if somethin’ happens, we’ll be ready to investigate again. But he’s been pretty consistent over the past few weeks, and now, it’s all silent. He might’ve actually left Japan by now. The company doesn’t want us to waste our time.”

That was better news than Osamu had expected. If Kita’s taskforce were ordered to stop tracking Suna altogether, the guilt that nestled between his ribs wouldn’t feel so potent anymore. He already struggled to keep from making noticeable reactions whenever Suna’s name was brought up. He hated keeping secrets from Atsumu—at least on this level. He didn’t mind lying to him if he’d broken one of Atsumu’s things or didn’t feel like bringing him lunch on a particular day. But a secret this large made him feel as if a cliff were crumbling beneath him.

Osamu tossed his napkin in the wastebin beneath Atsumu’s desk. It was filled to the brim with crumpled balls of paper and wrinkled bags of chips. “What does Kita-san and Sakusa think ‘bout that?”

“I don’t think Kita-san really minds,” Atsumu said. “Ya know how he is. He does things properly when he’s told to. I doubt he has any real attachment to this particular case. And uh, Omi-kun…I guess he’s a bit bummed ‘bout it. I mean, it’s not like he can actively go against our department, but I think he believes Suna will mess up again sometime soon. He thinks he hasn’t left the country.”

Damn Sakusa, Osamu thought. That man really was too intuitive for his own good. “What do ya think? Are ya glad to work on other cases?”

Atsumu nodded. “Yeah, I think this will be good. We think there might be another assassin worth investigatin’. I’m hopin’ we’ll get to work on that.”

“Really? Another one?”

“Omi-kun thinks that this one is bein’ hired by the same company that hired Suna. Ya know, to replace Suna.”

“Ah.” Suna would not be pleased about that.

“Plus, I think Aran-kun might be joining our taskforce soon. That’ll be fun!” Atsumu beamed. “And I still get to work with Omi-Omi. I’m glad.”

Osamu jerked his chin in the direction of Sakusa’s desk. “Speaking of Sakusa, where is he? I selected umeboshi ‘cause ya wouldn’t stop goin’ on and on ‘bout how it’s his favorite.”

Atsumu picked up his phone to double-check his messages. “He told me he’d be by in a half hour. He should be here in another ten minutes or so.”

Osamu leaned forward to peek at Atsumu’s screen, and his suspicions were confirmed when Atsumu drew his phone backwards, out of Osamu’s reach. “So,” Atsumu started.

Atsumu’s eyes narrowed as he set his phone on the windowsill, too far for Osamu to lunge for even if he caught Atsumu by surprise. “So.”

“You and Sakusa, huh?”

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Mmm,” Osamu hummed. Atsumu could be foolish at times, but he wasn’t enough of an idiot to not understand the underlying meaning to Osamu’s mockery. “Nothin’. How long have ya liked him for?”

Atsumu’s lip curled. “What on earth are ya talkin’ about?”

Osamu splayed his hands over his heart, putting on his best impression of Atsumu’s whine, the one he’d listened to for an hour last night while Suna had snickered, pressing his hand against his mouth to keep Atsumu from overhearing him. “Oh, Samu,” Osamu sung, “didja know Omi-kun loves umeboshi onigiri? Can ya make him some the next time ya stop by? Oh, Samu, Omi-kun didn’t put on his mask all day today. Have ya noticed how pretty he is? Oh, Samu—”

“Alright,” Atsumu hissed, his arm swinging in an attempt to force Osamu to stop. His nails grazed along Osamu’s mouth. “I get it. No need to drag me for it.”

Osamu held a fist to his face before inspecting it to see if Atsumu had drawn any blood. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like he’d pierced the skin. “Are ya a fuckin’ animal? Behave yerself.”

“Yer the one that was mockin’ me!”

“’Cause it’s the truth. I’m just pointin’ out that yer too much of a chicken to do anythin’ about it.”

“That’s rich comin’ from ya.”

There was something significant about that sentence, as if Atsumu knew something Osamu didn’t. It was enough for Osamu to pause and take a longer look at his brother. Despite the scrunch between his brows—that lingering evidence of annoyance over Osamu’s teasing—he didn’t look out of the ordinary. But Osamu had grown accustomed to picking out Atsumu’s double meanings over the years: that instinct hadn’t failed him yet.

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Atsumu said vaguely, snapping the cover to his tin back on, not meeting Osamu’s gaze. “I’m not as stupid as ya think I am. I pick things up too.”

“Stop dancin’ around the question, and answer, loser.”

“I’m sayin’—that it might not be such a bad thing that we’re not trackin’ down Suna anymore.” His eyes flitted up for a second, and a shiver ran down Osamu’s spine. “I’m sayin’ that ya don’t have to hide it from me anymore.”

“Hide what?” Osamu whispered, as if he didn’t know exactly what Atsumu was referring to.

When Atsumu looked up again, his look was flat. “I’m not spellin’ it out for ya, loser.” He paused. “Ya might have terrible taste in love interests, but that doesn’t make me love ya any less, ya know?”

Like that, all of the nerves rushed out of Osamu as if he were a deflated balloon. His shoulders sagged, and affection for his twin brother blossomed inside him instead. Atsumu suspected. And he’d remained quiet about it anyway.

“Thank you,” Osamu said sincerely.

Atsumu grunted.

“Sakusa toldja, didn’t he?”

“He did not!” Atsumu cried out in indignation. Osamu’s expression remained deadpan, and Atsumu amended, “Well, he might’ve hinted at it, but I came to the conclusion myself—”

“Whatever, idiot.”

*

The bell rang over the door of Onigiri Miya in the middle of the afternoon, signaling someone’s entrance into the shop, and Osamu glanced up to see Atsumu waving at him from the front. Sakusa stood at his side, his mask covering the bottom half of his face. He nodded when Osamu’s gaze flitted to him, but otherwise said nothing. Osamu tried to contain his own surprise. Sakusa had never come into his restaurant before no matter how many times Atsumu had tried convincing him to. Perhaps this wasn’t as much of a lost cause as he’d originally thought.

After finishing up the last of the orders for the remaining people on the line, Osamu announced he was taking his lunch break and left Gin in charge. He took a collection of umeboshi onigiri because he hadn’t forgotten—don’tcha know, Samu, it’s Omi-kun’s favorite! With a plate in hand, he brought it over to Atsumu and Sakusa to where they sat at one of the low tables, settled upon the cushions.

“Nice to see ya here, Sakusa,” Osamu said by way of greeting. He put the plate down in the center of the table.

“Yeah, well,” Sakusa said, shrugging, “your brother kept saying that I had to come at some point. And the onigiri you left yesterday were pretty good, so I figured he was right about that. At least.”

As usual, Atsumu reached out first, but Osamu beat him to it, slapping his hand away.

“Can ya wait?” Osamu demanded. “Lemme get drinks first, ya fiend.” Even when Atsumu’s bottom lip jutted out, Osamu ignored him. “What wouldja like to drink, Sakusa?”

“I’ll have a water.”

“Alright, I’ll get three waters.” Osamu went over to the counter and waited for the second Gin was free to pester him for three glasses. When he finally returned, three icy glasses of water in tow, Atsumu was practically drooling in hunger. “Wow. That’s pathetic.”

“I’m hungry!” Atsumu whined. But he carried Sakusa’s glass over to his side of the table before reaching for his own. Again, Osamu was struck by Atsumu’s considerate actions that almost went unnoticed. If he wasn’t so used to being on the receiving end of his brother’s jabs, he might not be so good at picking up on his niceties.

However, even Sakusa’s brows lifted when his glass was placed in front of him. “Thanks, Miya.”

“No problem,” Atsumu said, as if it was nothing. “Can I eat now?”

“If ya remember that we’re all sharing.”

Osamu put aside a few rice balls before Atsumu could completely devour them all. Sakusa chewed slowly, but Osamu noticed that this appeared to be how he showed his appreciation. It was a stark contrast from Atsumu, who’d always gobbled anything Osamu pushed in front of him within minutes. Sakusa took his time, savoring every bite.

Osamu had to put his foot down when Atsumu’s arm extended toward the pile he’d separated from the rest. “No,” he said, slapping Atsumu’s hand.

“Ow,” Atsumu muttered, cradling his hand. “Why?”

“They’re not for ya.”

“Then who are they for?”

On cue, the bell above the door chimed, and an involuntary smile spread across Osamu’s face when he recognized the person heading towards them. It was strangely satisfying to watch Atsumu and Sakusa’s jaws drop as a shadow fell over the table.

“Is this seat taken?” Suna asked.

“Nope,” Osamu said. He patted the cushion beside him. “I was savin’ it for ya.”

“Thank you.” Suna beamed before crossing his legs beneath him. He started in on the first onigiri, relishing it in small bites. He did a miraculous job pointedly ignoring how Atsumu and Sakusa both gaped at him, acting as if Osamu were the only other person at the table. “This is great, Osamu.”

Osamu matched his beam in turn. “Glad ya like it.”

“Okay,” Atsumu muttered, dropping his head down on the table. “I know I said ya didn’t have to hide it, but I didn’t expect this to be so weird.”

For the first time since Sakusa and Atsumu had met, Sakusa agreed with him. “It is strange.”

“I have so many questions,” Atsumu said, repositioning his head so that his cheek lay against the wood. “So many.”

“And I’ll answer ‘em later,” Osamu said, a clear warning in his tone. I’m letting ya meet Suna now, but if ya embarrass me, I will kill ya.

To his credit, Sakusa did a stand-up job at pretending everything was normal. He reached for his mask and readjusted it over his face, pulling the straps behind his ears. “Nice to formally meet you, I guess,” he mumbled.

Suna looked at both of them for the first time as if he had just noticed their presence. “Thanks.” He swung his gaze over to Atsumu. “It’s nice to meet you too, worse twin.”

Atsumu peeled his face from the table long enough to cry out, “Hey!”

Suna took another bite and swallowed before commenting, “I heard you liked the button-down I bought Osamu. You have a good eye.”

“What?” Atsumu looked between the two of them. “Suna bought ya that? But that was”—he started counted off on his fingers before giving up—“a long fuckin’ time ago!”

Sakusa’s brows were scrunched. “That is a longer timespan than I expected too. Hm.”

“I saw Osamu fives times before I got here, including the first time we met and the time he stabbed me in my apartment.”

Two sets of eyes slid towards him, and Osamu had to resist the urge to cover his face in shame. “You…” Atsumu started, pointing a finger at Osamu. “You… stabbed him?”

Instead of answering, Osamu glared at Suna. “Rin.”

Suna shrugged. “Sorry,” he said, as if he was considering in the moment that he might’ve incriminated Osamu more than he should’ve. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“Huh,” Sakusa said. He frowned. “So that was Suna’s apartment in Tokyo? You went there—and stabbed him?”

Osamu blew out a puff of air. “Yeah.”

“I guess that adds up. You were acting weird after.”

“’Cause I knew you were onto me!”

“Yeah,” Sakusa said. “Even that.” Sakusa returned his attention to Suna. Unlike Atsumu, he didn’t have any difficulty meeting Suna’s intense gaze head-on. “So you’re not actually working for the same company that hired you anymore?”

“Nope.” Suna took another bite. “Got fired. Unfortunately.”

“Kurosu-san survived, you know. You didn’t wind up killing him.”

Suna scowled. Osamu hadn’t known that. It was terrible of him, but he hadn’t been able to think about anyone other than Suna after that day.

“It’s probably a good thing they fired me then,” Suna muttered. “Since I suck at my job.”

“I disagree,” Atsumu said in a low voice.

That made Suna scrutinize him further. “You know,” Suna said, picking off a grain of rice that stuck to his mouth, “you and Osamu are identical, but I’m not attracted to you at all.”

Atsumu sat up straight for the first time since Suna had arrived. “Huh?”

Someone made a noise to Atsumu’s right, and it took them all a second to realize it had been Sakusa. Sakusa had deliberately turned to the side in order to mask the loud snort he’d made at Suna’s comment—and Atsumu’s horror that had followed.

“Omi-kun, don’t laugh!” Atsumu cried out. “Ya have to defend me here! Who’s the better-lookin’ twin? Me or Samu?”

Sakusa’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not answering that question.”

Sakusa had made a mistake. He should’ve said Osamu if he had wanted to get Atsumu off his case. But his refusal to answer gave Atsumu renewed hope, and there was a spark in Atsumu’s eye as he cooed, “Oh, Omi-kun, I know ya think I’m the better-lookin’ one. That makes me feel a lot better.”

Sakusa scoffed. “Whatever.” But Osamu saw the flush his skin had taken on even when he turned away again.

As they sat there, wasting away the rest of Osamu’s lunch break, he let himself consider that this could actually work. It was the best lunch break he’d had in a long time.

Later that evening, Osamu and Suna rested on the couch while a movie played on the television. Neither of them paid much attention to it as Suna’s eyes fluttered shut while Osamu played with his hair. He loved doing that. He loved that he could do it all the time now. All he had to do was beckon Suna closer before running his fingers through the dark tangles. It was the calmest he ever felt.

“Are ya sure?” Osamu murmured, his head dipping close to Suna’s.

“Yes,” Suna answered without having to hear the rest of the question. Are ya sure this is what ya want?

Osamu pressed a kiss to Suna’s forehead.

“I’m sure,” Suna said. “Very sure.”