Chapter Text
Suna was running late. As he always was.
He hastily buttoned up his white collared shirt. He grabbed the first pair of shoes he could find. Then he slammed his foot onto the accelerator, ripping through the streets of Tokyo like he didn’t have a care in the world.
(“My god, Rintarou.” His partner laughed. “You drive like you have a death wish.”
“I don’t.” Suna moved his hand to his partner’s thigh. He gave it a light squeeze, revving his engine as they flew down the highway.“Not with you— I don’t.”)
Suna caught a glimpse of his eyes in the rearview mirror, right as his left shoulder began to ache. He quickly looked away.
With his car still in one piece, Suna peeled into the parking lot of his new agency, then slammed onto the brakes so hard, he nearly gave himself whiplash. His eyes darted to the clock. 8:09 AM.
Already, he could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket.
“What.” Suna snapped.
“Hey, hey. Calm down.” Aran’s voice soothed. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t lost. Inarizaki can be tricky to find on your first day. So I’m just checking in on ya.”
“I’m fine. I just got here.” Suna yanked his keys out of the ignition and opened his car door. Immediately, a gust of wind hit the side of his body— ruffling his choppy hair and his suit jacket. “I’ll be up in a few.”
“A few, huh?” Aran sighed, right as Suna began digging in his pockets for his box of cigarettes. “You gotta quit smokin’ those damn things, Suna. They’re not good for you.”
“I’m willing to bet a lot of the things I do in my life aren’t good for me.”
Suna pinched a cigarette in between his teeth. And once it was lit, once the nicotine hit his lungs, his mind finally stilled. He must’ve let out an audible sigh of relief, seeing as Aran only clicked his tongue in response.
“Get up here when you can.” Aran finished. “Kita-san can’t wait all day, y’know.”
Another cigarette and a quick scroll through Twitter later, Suna mustered up enough courage to actually go inside. He slipped into an elevator and hit the button for the twenty-sixth floor. Then he walked into Inarizaki’s spy agency for the first time.
At first, he was in a small lobby. One with dingy yellow walls, battered leather furniture, and a vacant receptionist’s desk. Aran himself lounged on one of the couches. He didn’t look very different from the last time Suna had seen him. Albeit now, his tightly coiled curls were a bit longer, and he wore a small pair of circular, wire-rimmed glasses.
He stood up when Suna walked inside, a small smile on his face. Still, he didn’t move to hug him, or even to shake his hand. “Hey, buddy. It’s been a while.”
“It has. Uh. Thanks for taking me in, by the way.”
“Don’t thank me. I might be the head spy here, but Kita’s the one who managed to squeeze you onto payroll. So save your thanks for him.” He waved Suna forward. “Come on. He’s eager to see you.”
Suna wished he could say the same. Even just thinking of being in the same room as Kita made his palms sweat, nevertheless having his scrutinizing eyes gazing into his soul. But he’d made the decision to transfer to Inarizaki long ago. And unfortunately, there was no Inarizaki without Kita Shinsuke. So he would have to get used to being around the man again, whether he liked it or not.
Aran led Suna through a maze of cluttered desks and frenzied agents, right until they reached a small office in the corner of the room. All of the shutters were drawn on the windows, but Suna could tell it was Kita’s. Just by the voice that answered after Aran knocked twice.
After a shuffle of papers, and a quiet come in, Suna took a seat right in front of Kita’s desk. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Aran close the door behind him.
“It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen you, Suna.” Kita began, his hands folded neatly on the clean table in between them. He kept a pleasant smile on his face. “Not since Aran and I graduated, I think. Can you believe that?”
Flashes of Suna’s old spy academy ran through his mind. Of cold, dewy dorms and gray London skies. Of battered textbooks, relentless language classes, and pass-or-fail practice missions. Of Aran and Kita, the two smartest upperclassmen, eating lunch with Suna almost every single day.
Taking note of Suna’s silence, Kita continued. “Inarizaki is more than pleased to have you at our agency. I’m more than pleased to have you, for you are both an excellent spy, and an old friend.” He gave a soft smile, a flicker of nostalgia in his eyes. “And… I want you to know that you will be protected. None of EJP’s trouble will be able to follow you here. Not while Aran and I are in charge.”
(Suna’s shoes were on fire. Flames licked up the sides of his pants. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see.
Then, the click of a gun).
“Thank you, Kita-san.” Suna said after a moment. He hoped Kita couldn’t see the way his hands had started to shake in his pockets. He needed another cigarette. Immediately. “I greatly appreciate your hospitality.”
“Any day.” Kita shuffled around his papers one more time, making sure they were all perfectly lined up. “Tell me how you’ve been. Is your shoulder any better?”
“It’s alright. I don’t have full mobility yet, and it still hurts like hell, but that’s to be expected.”
“It is. These sorts of things take time.”
For the next hour, he and Kita chatted lightly about their lives. Nothing too deep, nothing too serious. Just pleasant exchanges and stories from the ten years they’d gone without seeing one another. And it was surprisingly nice. A few times, Suna had even let out a light, breathy laugh. He’d nearly forgotten what it felt like.
“I’ve got a lot of work that needs to be done, unfortunately. So I’ll need to end our chat for now.” Kita eventually said. “Take the rest of the day to familiarize yourself with the office. Introduce yourself to your colleagues as well. It’s important to get to know everyone. Although, your future partner is still out on an undercover mission. So you’ll need to wait a week or two before getting to meet O—“
“Partner?” Suna sat up straight, his hands gripping the sides of his chair. His face quickly fell serious. “Kita. I told you that I didn’t want a partner. I only want to do solo jobs.”
Kita frowned, too. “I know. And I’m sorry. But frankly, sending you out on the field by yourself is dangerous. You don’t quite understand how Inarizaki operates yet.“
“I’m a quick learner. I don’t need a partner to babysit me–”
“But you need experience.” Kita cut him off, a sharp look in his eye. “And you need protection, Suna. I’m not willing to send you off on your own yet. I know that’s not what you want to hear.”
“It’s the farthest thing from what I want, Kita.” Suna’s fingernails dig into the armrests. “I don’t want a partner. Not now. Not ever—”
(Suna felt a warm hand on his face, brushing back his bangs from his eyes.
Then, the barrel of a gun was pressed to his forehead.
“Oh, Rintarou.” A voice muttered. “I really, really wish you hadn’t come to the office this morning.”
A gunshot rang out.)
Suna blinked, and he was back down in the parking lot. In his car. With a cigarette that had been lit for so long, it had started to burn the side of his finger.
He quickly snuffed it out, all while his phone started to ring.
“What.” He snapped, hating how small his voice sounded.
“Just calling to make sure you’re okay.” Aran’s voice crackled over the receiver. “You stormed out of here pretty fast.”
“Because I don’t want a partner!” Suna yelled, slamming his fist against the steering wheel several times. “I. Don’t. Want. One. Why doesn’t Kita understand that, after everything I went through?”
“He does understand it, Suna. He does. But he has to keep you safe. The last thing he’d ever want to do is endanger you.” Aran paused. “Kita and I discussed this for months. We’re taking every precaution. Which is why we’re partnering you up with one of our most trusted—“
Suna hung up on Aran mid-sentence. Then he peeled out of the parking lot so violently, his tires left skid marks behind.
For the next two weeks, Suna was nothing but a nuisance.
He showed up late every day. He pushed papers around. He pretended to organize cabinets. And he slacked off in the break room, challenging himself to see how long he could stretch out a single cup of black coffee. Aran caught him in the act multiple times.
“Y’know, Suna, the workday would go by faster if you. Y’know. Did work. ” He shot a sly glance up into Suna’s eyes, and suddenly, Suna felt like he was seventeen again and playing hooky in order to avoid his Korean lessons at the academy. But Suna was stubborn then. And he was stubborn now.
“What work is there for me to do, Aran?” Suna angrily stirred his third cup of coffee. “I’m not allowed to start any solo projects. I can’t start any partner projects, either, since apparently my assigned partner is still off in France eating pastries all day and sitting on his ass.”
“You could practice your shooting.” Aran shrugged. “We’ve got a range down in the basement for our agents.”
“Can’t.” Suna lied. “My shoulder is hurting.”
Aran let out a long sigh. He turned and poured himself a small cup of coffee, drinking it all before facing Suna again. “Here. Why don’t you come help me clean out my office?”
And he did. But about halfway through, he pulled out an old newspaper that had a house fire on the front page. And it didn’t bother him at first. It didn’t. Not until he read the article. Not until he read a witness’s quote about how dense the smoke was.
Before he knew it, he was back in his car again, the stub of a cigarette burning the sides of his fingers.
“You okay?” Aran asked over the phone.
“Yeah.” Suna managed to squeeze out. His chest felt tight. “Yeah. I’m just gonna go home for today, though.”
“I think that’s a good idea. I’ll let Kita know.”
One week later, a stranger walked into the office.
He was tall, albeit being a few inches shorter than Suna. He had dark brown hair with an undercut. Hooded gray eyes. Stubble on his chin. On his shirt, a few stray grains of white rice.
In his pocket, a flask.
Without making eye contact with anyone, the man quickly stomped across the room and into Kita’s office. He slammed the door so loudly, everyone nearby slightly jumped.
And because Suna had been a spy since the meager age of fourteen , he stood up and pretended he was heading to the break room for another one of his coffees. But once he was out of sight, he pressed his ear against one of the walls to Kita’s office.
He didn’t have to strain too hard to hear, however, as the man was already yelling.
“A partner? ” He yelled. It sounded like he threw a heavy stack of papers onto the desk. “A partner ! Kita, I did not just spend two months of my life in fuckin’ France, with dry-ass white rice and mediocre fish, only to come back and find out that I have to work with another agent. I ain’t fuckin’ doin’ it.”
“Why not?” Kita challenged back, his voice calm.
“Because I told you that I ain’t ever doin’ partner work again, ya ass.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. You’ve always done your best work in a pair. It’s the way you were born.”
“People change , Kita—”
“ You don’t, Osamu.” Kita cut him off. Suna could hear something being thrown. “You’re working with a partner until I say you’re done. That’s final.”
“What if I just don’t do it, huh?” The man named Osamu seethed back. “What if I just lie to yer stupid little face about it each and every morning, and you end up gettin’ no work done for this stupid ass little agency—”
“Do you want to go back to France?” Kita whispered. “Because I’ll send you back to France. Go ahead, Osamu. Go pack your bags.”
Silence followed for several moments after that. Suna imagined the two men having a stare off.
“Fine.” Osamu finally muttered. “I’ll do your fuckin’ partner work.”
“Good. Take a seat, now. You’ve already made my office quite the disaster.”
The two men dropped their voices so low, Suna was unable to keep listening. So he quietly yanked himself away from the wall and got his coffee. And once he drank the whole thing at a snail’s pace, he made his way back to his desk.
Only to find that the stranger, Osamu, was sitting on it, his flask held up to his mouth as he took swig after swig. He didn’t stop drinking until Suna was right in front of him.
“You’re on my desk.” Suna frowned.
“Yeah, well, get used to it.” Osamu tucked his flask back into his pocket. He held out a hand. Only then did Suna realize how prominent his eye bags were. “The name’s Miya Osamu. I’ll be yer partner, for the foreseeable future.”
(“I’m Komori. But call me Motoya, please.” The man grinned, small dimples on either side of his mouth.
He took Suna’s hand and shook it. His skin was warm. The warmest thing in EJP’s entire office.)
When Suna didn’t respond, nor shake his hand, Osamu simply just put it back around his flask. He let out an irritated huff. “Name, please. Sometime today.”
“Call me Suna.” His nose wrinkled. “Whiskey, huh?”
“Yep. Good guess.”
“Not a guess. Why at ten in the morning?”
“A little judgemental, are we? Mr. I’ve-smoked-three-cigarettes-already.” Osamu gave a light sniff, narrowing his eyes. “Four, it seems like. You reek of nicotine.”
“If it bothers you so much, then get the fuck off my desk.”
“No, I don’t think I will.” His eyes darted down to Suna’s arms. “Why do yer hands look like that?”
“Third-degree burns.”
“From what? Camping trip gone wrong?”
“No.” Suna snapped. “I’m the transfer agent from EJP.”
Osamu slowly closed his mouth, his face paling. Silence hung in the air.
“Ah. I see.” He awkwardly cleared his throat, tapping a small folder to his left. “Sorry about that. I— Kita gave me our first case. Pour over it tonight, then I’ll pick you up at noon, and we can get started on it. Sound good?”
Suna grabbed the folder without another word, then walked out to his car.
Fifth cigarette of the day— check.
The next day, Osamu pulled up in a slightly beaten Toyota, right outside of Suna’s apartment. Immediately, he began blaring his horn.
Suna only flipped him off from his third-story balcony. Then he proceeded to smoke a cigarette, watch a few minutes of a sitcom, and tidy up his sock drawer. And once he was done, he finally went downstairs and got into Osamu’s car.
The clock read 12:28 PM.
“I thought we agreed to meet at noon.” Osamu grumbled, merging onto the road beside them.
“Yeah.” Suna lazily waved towards the clock. “It is noon.”
“Noon, as in twelve. Not noon, as in twelve-thirty.”
“I don’t care.”
They drove in silence for several minutes. Osamu kept his eyes on the road. Suna kept his eyes on his Instagram feed.
“So. Um. Suna.” Osamu cleared his throat. “Did you look over the case?”
“Yes.” Suna liked a series of memes that he didn’t quite understand. Did that mean he was getting old? “Man who works in the Taiwanese government claims that his wife is a double agent. Wife has potentially been seen in Tokyo, in four different locations. We are to go snoop at those locations. Then we call it a day.”
“Wow. You can say more than a sentence at a time?” Osamu huffed. “Shocking.”
“Look. I don’t want to be here, and neither do you. So let’s just get this over with so Kita will let us work solo.”
“How do you know that I want to work solo? Did you eavesdrop on Kita and I yesterday?”
“No, I did not. You simply yelled so loud, everyone in the damn office heard you.” Suna switched from Instagram, to Twitter, then to the weather app. “Should’ve just gone back to France, Miya.”
“Don’t call me that. I don’t go by Miya. Call me Osamu.”
“Why? You got a sibling in the office or something?”
Osamu pressed his lips into a fine line, his hands clenching the wheel. “Nope.”
“Then Miya it is, partner.”
“Asshole.”
Despite the tension in the air, Osamu took a harsh left in order to exit the highway. He stopped the car right in front of a small onigiri restaurant.
“What are we doing here?” Suna asked. Osamu only opened his door and stepped out. “Hey. This isn’t one of the fucking locations—”
“I’m hungry. And I want lunch.” Osamu leaned in the door frame for a moment, his hand wrapped around the dented metal. “Are you coming? Or are you going to opt for chewing on your cigarettes until they’re mushed up balls instead?”
Suna’s stomach rumbled, and Osamu slammed the door. Ten minutes later, the two of them were seated in the back of the diner, Osamu’s cheeks stuffed with rice. A large plate of onigiri was beneath him.
He gave a small, pleased hum— his eyes shut in delight.
(“Rintarou.” Komori wrapped his hand around Suna’s upper bicep. He squeezed, then yanked Suna down until they were face to face. “Can I have a sip of your coffee?”
His breath was so warm, and his face was so close, Suna couldn’t help but to feel as shivers ran down his spine. Thoughtlessly, he passed his coffee over.
Komori immediately wrapped his lips around the straw. He drank several gulps, then flitted his eyes back up to Suna’s. A wicked smile pulled up the corners of his mouth.
“You pick out good coffee, Rin.” Komori pushed the cup back into his hands, lightly wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. Then he ruffled Suna’s hair. “C’mon, now. This case won’t solve itself.”)
“Suna?” Osamu started, his eyebrows furrowed. “Earth to Suna?”
Suna looked down, only to see that Osamu’s plate full of onigiri was now empty. “How’d you eat that so fast?”
“I didn’t. You’ve been spaced out for a little while, man. You good?”
“Yeah.” Suna finally picked up a piece and bit into it. It had gone cold. “I’m fine.”
For the next week, Suna and Osamu followed the same schedule every day.
They met up outside of Suna’s complex. They bickered on the highway about how late Suna was. They stopped to get Osamu onigiri. Then they traveled to each of the four locations listed in their case. They never found anything of interest, though, which meant that they had to keep doing it until the wife inevitably showed her face again.
But on the eighth day, the routine changed. Instead of waiting in his car, Osamu came right up to Suna’s apartment door and aggressively knocked.
“What?” Suna snapped, opening the door. The clock next to him read 1:02 PM. “I’m almost ready. I just texted you that.”
“Yeah. Forty minutes ago, Suna. We needed to be on the road by noon.” He eyed Suna head-to-toe, taking note of his styled hair and neatly pressed clothes. “You look ready. Come on.”
“I’m. Not. Ready.” Suna went to shut the door, but Osamu stuck his arm in before he could. He elbowed his way into the apartment, immediately noticing that Suna’s kitchen counters were covered in clutter. Bowls, silverware, appliances, even seasonings were all laid out for everyone to see. In the living room— a sitcom was on.
“What the hell are ya doin’?” Osamu looked around.
“Organizing my kitchen.”
Osamu’s mouth tugged downwards as he made eye contact with Suna. “And when didja start organizin’ yer kitchen, Suna?”
“Oh. Um. Probably about twenty minutes ago.”
“And what were ya doin’ before that?”
“Watching TV, I think.”
Osamu was so mad, he didn’t speak a single word to Suna on the highway. Not until they’d reached their first location— the two of them having to forgo their onigiri in order to catch up on time.
Hungry, and pissed, Osamu angrily put his Totoya into park. Then he turned to Suna and looked him right in the eye. “Why?”
“Why what.”
“Why were you doin’ that stuff?” He exasperated, waving his hands in the air. “Why are you always late? Is it always because yer doin’ crap like that? Organizing' yer house? Watchin’ yer fuckin’ television?”
Suna shrugged. “I dunno.”
“You ‘dunno’. You ‘dunno’, huh?” He pushed his car door open. “I think I know. It’s because you’re an asshole, and you’re jus’ tryin’ to piss me the fuck off. And it’s fuckin’ workin’!”
He slammed the door and walked away. Suna waited several minutes to follow him.
They found nothing, just like all of the other days. All until they reached their last location— a large plaza. One filled with a skate park, a large sculpture, and several benches.
The two of them stood at the edge of a rooftop with binoculars pressed to their faces. And then they waited. All until Suna sucked in a breath of air.
“She’s right there.” Suna quietly pointed. “Miya. Look.”
“Oh, shit. Yep. That’s her.”
They quietly activated a few of the microphones they had scattered around the plaza. Then they watched as she walked towards the center. A moment later, she let out a squeal of joy. She held out her arms— right as another woman began sprinting towards her.
The two of them crashed to the ground together. Immediately, their target began to giggle.
“Oh, Ayumi.” She whispered, over and over again. “Ayumi. I am so happy to see you. It was so worth the wait. I—“
She cut off as the other woman, Ayumi, kissed her on the lips. Kissed her on the forehead. Cheek. Nose.
“I love you, Hoshi.” Ayumi whispered. She kissed her again on the lips. “Endlessly.”
Suna slowly looked over to Osamu, who was still staring at the couple. A moment later, he lowered his binoculars, then pressed his earpiece.
“Kita? Hey. It’s me.” Osamu said. “Yeah. Look. Case is off. They’re just lesbians.” He let out a long sigh, running his hand down his face. “Yes, again.”
One week later, Aran sat on the edge of Suna’s desk. Then he slid a plane ticket in front of him.
“What’s this?” Suna muttered, slowly picking it up.
“You’re headed to Buenos Aires, Argentina.” Aran lightly swung his feet as he talked. “An undercover agent from Aoba Johsai needs help. Seijoh doesn’t have anyone available, so they contacted Kita for help. We’re gonna send you and Osamu to check it out. You up for it?”
“Yeah. I suppose.” Suna put the ticket down. “But why can’t you come with me instead?”
Aran gave a huff, a half-smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth. “Because I’ve got, like, ten cases of my own right now. You think I just sit around here and twiddle my thumbs all day?”
“No, I just—” Suna frowned. “I’d rather leave the country with a friend. Not some random ass coworker who I don’t get along with.”
“Well… maybe this trip to Argentina will help that.” Aran lightly tapped Suna’s chair with his shoe. “Plenty of time on the airplane to chat. Time to actually get to know one another. It’ll be just fine.” He gave a smile. “Fun, even. It’ll do you some good to get out of Japan for a bit.”
Suna gave a light nod, watching as Aran walked back to his office. Then his eyes went right back to his ticket.
(“Ah. Where are we headed again?” Komori asked, reclining his seat on the plane. He looked over to Suna, a fond smile on his face.
“Cairo, ‘Toya.” Suna answered. “Then Istanbul. Then Mumbai.”
“Wow.” Komori’s grin grew even wider. Impulsively, Suna reached over and brushed one of his dimples with his thumb. “What are you most excited for?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Spending time with a certain someone, I suppose.”)
“Suna. Suna.”
“What?” Suna snapped, tearing his gaze away from his ticket. He looked up— only to see Osamu sitting where Aran had just been. “What the fuck do you want?”
“You see this?” Osamu held up his own ticket. An alias was printed in the center of it, reading Yamada Omaru. Suna’s own ticket read Yamada Ren. How creative. But that wasn’t what Osamu was pointing to.
No— his finger was placed right on the time.
“Tell me you know how airplanes work, Suna.” Osamu said, loudly tapping the ticket several times. It made Suna’s blood boil. “Tell me you know that you have to be at the gate at this time, right? Or, maybe even a little bit before. Because if you aren’t there on time, then the airplane is going to leave you. And if that happens, then Yamada-san is going to have to spend his vacation in Buenos Aires alone. Without his loving, sweet, timely husband, the other Yamada-san—”
Suna pushed Osamu backwards off of his desk. He fell right into a potted plant— dirt spilling all over his face and onto the floor.
On the morning of his flight, Suna woke up extra early. He showered, dressed, brushed his hair, and even watched two episodes of his favorite reality show. All before Osamu even texted him a you better be up.
Two hours before his flight, Suna locked the door to his apartment. Ten minutes later, he was at the airport.
But an hour and a half later, Suna still hadn’t left his car.
“Where are you, honey?” Osamu hissed through the phone, likely through gritted teeth. “I’m on the plane. And my husband? Isn’t. Here. Yet.”
“I’m coming.” Suna said.
“You are, huh? Well you better be here soon, dear—”
Suna ended the call. Then he stared at his clock for exactly two more minutes, his body so still, it was as if he was frozen.
Then he started sprinting. Before he knew it, he was at his gate, a panting and sweaty mess.
“Buenos Aires?” He breathed, finally looking up at the gate attendant. “Please tell me it’s still here.”
The attendant wordlessly pointed behind her— right as a plane took off from the runway and soared into the sky. But before he could even start to freak out, she spoke.
“We’ve got another flight headed to Buenos Aires in a few hours.” She said. “I think we’ve got a few free seats. So we’ll likely be able to get you on it.”
“Okay.” Suna let out a breath. “Okay.”
Twenty-nine hours later, Suna met up with Osamu on the side of a closed rooftop pool. He threw his suitcase down, then his phone, then collapsed onto the beach chair to Osamu’s left.
Slowly, Osamu pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. He was bundled in a coat and a scarf, Argentina’s winter still going strong in the middle of August. “Good to see you, Ren .”
“Good to see you, Omaru.” Suna closed his eyes, shivering. “What the hell are you doing by the pool? It’s freezing.”
“I can’t enjoy this beautiful pool-side view of the city? Just because it’s winter? ” He muttered. “Besides. I needed some fresh air. That flight was too long. Too stuffy.”
Suns numbly reached for a cigarette and lighter. He lit it and inhaled, all while remaining on his side. “You can say that again.”
Osamu pushed his sunglasses back down, then looked away. “Y’know, Ren. You’ve accidentally had your location shared with me ever since we finally exchanged numbers a few days ago. Which means I watched as your location arrived at the Tokyo airport two hours before our flight.” His lip twitched. “But then you just sat there. For those entire two hours. Do you mind telling me what the fuck you were doing?”
“Praying.” Suna lied. “You see, I’m deathly afraid of airplanes. Humans were never meant to soar, my dear.”
A waiter came over and brought some sort of alcoholic drink. Osamu drank half of it before responding.
“You have lost it.” He took another sip, smacking his lips. “My dear.”
If Suna had lost his mind, then Oikawa never even had his in the first place.
They met him at his own apartment. The whole thing looked as if a tornado had run through it. Most of the furniture was broken, alongside a sink overflowing with dishes and a table covered in blueprints and hastily scribbled notes. Oikawa himself looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in multiple days— deep bags under his eyes and hair that was pushed and pulled in every direction possible.
“Sorry for the mess.” He croaked, shutting the door behind Osamu and Suna. “Go ahead and have a seat at the table. Look at my notes. Set my apartment on fire. I don’t care what you do. I’ll make us tea.”
He stumbled into the kitchen and slammed a kettle onto the stove. Ten minutes later, he brought out three mugs of plain boiling water out to the table. Without moving to grab tea bags, Oikawa simply sat down across from Suna and put his head into his hands.
Osamu took a sip of the hot water, frowned, then set it back down. “Alright, Agent Oikawa. Tell us what happened.”
“You’re asking what happened?” Oikawa picked his head up. “You don’t know?”
“No?” Osamu asked back. “You told our agency nothing. Only that you needed help.”
“Jesus Christ. I fucked that up. What a miracle you two came, anyways.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Look. Last week, the organization I infiltrated found out that I was a spy. But instead of taking their anger out on me, they kidnapped my partner instead. Right from my own fucking apartment.” He paused, his eyes scanning all of his broken furniture. Of the bullet holes in the wall. “They told me I can have him back. But only if I spill all of Aoba Johsai’s intel. And I’m about to. If you two hadn’t showed up, I would’ve started spewing all of my goddamn secrets.”
“Let’s not do that.” Osamu shook his head. “Let’s keep a calm—“
“No, you have to understand.” Oikawa stared at both of them with such a cold, merciless look, Suna felt a shudder go down his spine. “My partner is more than just a coworker to me. He’s my best friend. My world. My goddamn other half—”
An unidentifiable emotion flashed through Osamu’s eyes. Suna had no idea what it was.
“—need to get him back, no matter what.” Oikawa continued. “If that means spilling all of my agency’s secrets, fine. If that means spilling all of Japan’s secrets, fine. Hell. I will put a gun to my own fucking head if that means Hajime can live.”
(“Rintarou!” Komori’s panicked screech could be heard from under the ocean. Right off the coast of Mumbai. “Rintarou, please—”
A moment later, Suna finally broke the surface, gasping for air. Then a warm hand was tugging him up onto a small boat. And for several minutes, Suna coughed, choked, and spit up water. All while Komori hugged him like he was the last person on Earth.
“Oh my god.” Komori’s chest shook. He had one hand on the back of Suna’s head, the other snaked around his hips. He planted a kiss on Suna’s neck. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
“I’m—” Suna rasped, hugging Komori back. He couldn’t believe he’d been seconds from drowning. “I’m okay.”
“I was about to jump into that damn ocean myself.” Komori pulled back, placing his forehead against Suna’s. Tears were in his eyes. “You’re never leaving my side again. You hear me?”)
“I’m going for a smoke break.” Suna abruptly announced, cutting Osamu off mid-sentence. He stood up, fishing for a cigarette in his pockets.
“Are you kidding me?” Osamu looked up from the blueprint he was studying. Oikawa was frantically typing on his laptop. “We’re in the middle of planning.”
“And I need nicotine.” Suna turned towards the balcony. “Carry on without me.”
He did, however, leave the door cracked by less than an inch. Just in case he wanted to eavesdrop. Seven minutes later, at the tail end of Suna’s first cigarette, it proved useful.
“Osamu. What’s the deal with your partner?” Oikawa asked, his voice low.
“Whaddya mean.”
“He, like, spaced out. The entire time we were talking.” Oikawa vaguely motioned to the wall behind him. “He just stared at that blank spot. Right there. Not moving. Hardly breathing, or blinking.”
Suna expected Osamu to say something along the lines of he’s just a bit spacey or that’s just what my partner likes to do. But he didn’t. Suna wished he had.
“He’s a newbie at Inarizaki.” Osamu responded. “Transferred from EJP.”
Suna couldn’t see Oikawa’s eyes widen. But he heard the hitch in his breath.
“Oh. Shit. EJP? He’s the sole survivor?” Oikawa whispered. Osamu gave a short nod. “So. I suppose it’s not a good idea to use any explosives tonight, then?”
“What the fuck? No. No explosives.”
“Damn.”
Two hours later, Suna was crawling through a vent. In an old, decrepit warehouse.
“Take a left up ahead.” Osamu’s voice crackled through his earpiece. The connection wasn’t bad, as Osamu was less than a mile away in a van decked head-to-toe in the finest of spy equipment. But it wasn’t great either. “Crawl straight until you hit a wall. Then you should be right above the storage facility that they’re keeping Agent Iwaizumi in.”
“Can you go any faster?” Oikawa’s voice was next. “You’re moving impossibly slow. I would’ve been to Hajime by now.”
Suna clamped his mouth shut, both for the sake of his own dignity and for the sake of the mission. But thankfully, Osamu had his back. It sounded as if Oikawa had been lightly smacked.
Five minutes of crawling commenced. All until Oikawa gave a light gasp.
“Osamu. Are you seeing these heat signatures?” Oikawa muttered.
“No? Where at?” The sound of a chair rolling. The click of a keyboard. “That doesn’t make any sense. The vent we picked out doesn’t run above any rooms big enough for people to fit in. Unless the heat is from—”
“Bombs.” Oikawa realized. “The heat signatures are from bombs. Agent Suna, you need to—”
The vent around him exploded. He managed to cover his face with his arms, right as waves of searing heat, debris, and flames blew against his skin.
Then he fell to the ground, pieces of metal and insulation landing on top of him.
(“Toya!” Suna screamed at the top of his lungs, right as another explosion knocked him onto his stomach. He could feel flames eating away at his calves. Melting the skin on his palms.
He had to get to Komori. So a moment later, he pushed himself back onto his feet.
He stumbled further into the agency. Stumbled past burning desks. Past spilled cups of coffees and half-eaten breakfast sandwiches— all tell-tale signs of a workday that had just begun.
He made it to his boss’s office, the only door that was shut in the room. Right as another wave of heat singed his back.)
“Agent Suna!” Osamu’s voice was much louder. As if he were in the room with him, and no longer confined to his ear piece. “ Suna!”
A moment later, Suna felt a large piece of metal shift. Then a pair of hands were on him. On his legs— pulling him out from underneath the wreckage of the vent. Then on his neck, making sure he was still breathing. “Suna. Come on. We gotta go. We gotta get you out of here.”
Heat was all around them. Smoke was in the air. Suna couldn’t breathe.
Osamu’s hand moved to his left shoulder. It brushed over his old gunshot wound.
(“I said, Rintarou, that I wish you hadn’t fucking shown up!” A voice screamed over the roar of the fire, right as Suna hit the ground. In his shoulder, a horrific burst of pain. “You are late to this office every goddamn day. Every. Day.” The voice reloaded his gun. “Why’d you have to show up early? Today? Of all days—”
His voice cracked, and Suna finally looked up. Only to see messy brown hair. Small dimples.
Warm hands, pushing back Suna’s bangs.
Another gunshot rang out.)
“Get off of me!” Suna screamed, trying to kick Osamu off of him. But the bastard was already lifting him up from the rubble. “Get off. Get off. Get off—“
“We need to go, Suna.” Osamu ordered, struggling to keep him in his arms. Another explosion shook the floor they were standing on, and his arms only tightened around Suna’s waist. “Come on. We just gotta go. We just gotta get out of the fire—”
(Bullet in his shoulder. Burns on his calves. Flames eating at his palms.
Komori’s hands on his face, the gun in his hand.)
Something inside of Suna snapped. He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a knife, then stabbed it right into the meat of Osamu’s thigh. With a pained scream, he finally let go of Suna.
To which Suna ran off into the night, Osamu screaming his name the whole way.
Five hours later, Suna walked into Oikawa’s apartment. He lingered in the entrance for a moment, eavesdropping.
“I’m so sorry.” Oikawa’s voice was muffled. Soaked with misery. “I should’ve gotten to you faster. I should’ve never fucked up in the first place.”
“Like I’ve told you a hundred times, shut the fuck up already.”
Suna peered around the corner. On a small cot in the living room lay a man with a sunken face and bandages on his arms and legs. Suna recognized him as Agent Iwaizumi, albeit much paler and weaker than in his profile.
On his knees next to him sat Oikawa, his face pressed to Iwaizumi’s chest. Their hands were tightly interlocked.
Then his eyes flitted up to Suna’s.
“Hey, EJP.” Oikawa greeted. Iwaizumi’s eyes went straight to Suna’s marred hands. As if he’d read EJP’s case file and wanted to verify the information for himself. “Are you alright? That heat was intense.”
“Fine.” Suna answered. “Where’s Miya?”
As if on cue, Osamu swore from the bathroom.
“Stitching himself up.” Oikawa said, lazily moving his other hand up to Iwaizumi’s torso. “He’s not very happy about that knife, y’know. You got him pretty good.”
Suna ignored Oikawa and headed for the bathroom down the hall. He stepped inside, only to find Osamu sitting on the lid of the toilet, a suturing kit and a bottle of whiskey next to him. Alongside several bloody rags.
His body language read nothing but extremely pissed, and it only got worse as Suna did nothing but stare at him in silence.
“I just want to know why.” Osamu eventually began, voice low, nostrils flaring. “Why’d you stab me? We’re supposed to be partners, agent. We’re supposed to trust each other. Stabbing me in the thigh while I’m trying to help you doesn’t scream trust , does it?”
“I don’t like being touched.” Suna answered. His gaze fell down to his toasted shoes. “If I tell you to get off of me, then get off.”
“The room was filling with smoke, Suna, and you weren’t fucking moving. You were zoned out. As you always fuckin’ are—“
“I don’t care.”
“You are impossible! ” Osamu slammed his fist on the sink, finally meeting Suna’s gaze. “Get out of here. Go back to Japan. I’ll wrap up the mission myself. I’m done with you.”
“But Kita—“
“Tell Kita he can kiss my ass.” Osamu finished. Suna opened his mouth again, but couldn’t get a single word out. “Leave!”
“What?” Aran asked, leaning back in his office chair. He now had a butterfly stitch on his eyebrow, a small bruise forming around it. “He told Kita to do what?”
“To kiss his ass.”
“My god.” Aran shook his head. “Don’t repeat that to Kita. Unless you want to see Osamu sent straight back to France.”
But Suna did. Suna wanted nothing more than for that to happen. So he stood up and marched straight to Kita’s office. Then he repeated Osamu’s exact statement.
For a long, quiet moment, Kita just lightly scratched his chin, his eyes glued to his desk in front of him.
“Hm.” Kita mumbled. “He really said that, huh?”
“Yes.” France. France. France. France—
“Interesting. And what prompted him to say this?”
“He told me to leave the mission early. Which is why I’m back today.” Suna answered. “Then I tried to argue with him. I told him that you wouldn’t want us to split up.”
“Ah. And what made him want to split up in the first place?”
Suna stared at the floor for several quiet moments. He gulped so loudly, he was sure Kita heard it. “I stabbed him in the thigh. With a pocket knife.”
Kita’s eyes widened by the slightest amount. So slight— most people wouldn’t have caught it, but London had trained Suna well in mannerisms. Specifically Kita’s mannerisms, and the intricacies it took to dissect them.
But Kita didn’t ask why. Nor did he lecture Suna. Nor did he fire him. He only took a deep breath in, a deep breath out, then looked up.
“So, I take it that you haven’t been honest with Osamu, have you?” Kita gently asked. “Honest about what happened between you and your old partner?”
“No.” Suna muttered.
“I believe that might be a good starting point, Suna.” He held up a hand. “I know that you might be apprehensive to do so. But I can assure you that Osamu will understand. More than any of us can, really.” He paused. “Tell him by the end of this week, won’t you?”
There was no arguing with Kita, so Suna just hung his head.
Four days later, Suna picked up Osamu from the airport.
“You’re late.” Osamu grumbled, throwing his suitcase and backpack into the backseat. Then he limped his way to the front and slid in.
“Only by twenty minutes.” Suna peeled out of the pick-up zone. “Where are Iwaizumi and Oikawa? I thought they were flying back with you.”
“They were. They’re headed to Sendai, though, so we just parted ways.”
“Ah.”
They drove in silence for several minutes, a pop song quietly playing on the radio. But instead of heading to the agency, Suna pulled off at a familiar exit, then parked the car right in front of the onigiri place they frequented.
He squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, all while Osamu looked over at him with an eyebrow quirked. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry.” Suna blurted out before he could stop himself. “I’m sorry for stabbing you. You didn’t deserve it. You were just trying to help me.”
“It’s okay. It really is. Once I calmed down, I—”
“I don’t trust people, okay?” Suna forced out, looking everywhere but Osamu’s eyes. “I just don’t. Not after what happened to me at EJP. I only trust Aran. And sometimes Kita. No one else. So if we continue to be partners, you have to be okay with that.”
Osamu stared at him for a moment, then quietly nodded. “Yeah. That’s okay. We can make it work.” He fished in his pocket for a moment. Suna thought he might’ve been looking for his flask, but instead, he pulled out a small knife. Suna’s knife. “Here. At first I was so pissed, I was just going to leave this behind. But then I noticed that there’s a pair of initials carved into the bottom. And I wondered if this knife had significance to you or somethin’. So here you go.”
Suna picked it up and shoved it into his pocket, knowing full well that the initials read KM. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Osamu looked back out the window. Right into a neon, flashing light in the shape of an onigiri. “So. Are we just here to talk? Or can we get some grub? I’m fuckin’ starvin’.”
Suna pulled his keys out of the ignition. All while Osamu gave a quiet smirk.