Archive of Our Own

It starts with the second division. 

Shuji is on his third cigarette of the day when Mitsuya saddles up to him. And fair, as a staff officer, he’s supposed to help out the captains if they need help, either with traitors or things they don’t want to take to the commander. 

But that day really isn’t a good one for him.

“Something you need, Mitsuya?” If Mitsuya notices his sour demeanour, he doesn’t show it. 

“One of the second division members came up to me last night,” Mitsuya begins. “He told me that there’s a guy preying on his little brother. A real creep. Said they’d tried the cops but they didn’t do anything since the guy is apparently a ‘good guy’. But his brother almost got snatched up, would’ve if he didn’t get home in time. So he asked if we could do something.” 

Shuji’s stomach curls and twists. He’s the Kabukicho Reaper, but this is just disgusting.

“And what do you want to do about it?” He asks because it’s his division. 

“I’d be happy to show him a lesson,” Mitsuya states. “I just wondered if anyone wanted to get in on it.” 

Mitsuya isn’t a generally violent or sadistic person, Shuji knows. He’s protective, defensive, and can throw a fist if necessary. Not a pacifist by any means, but he doesn’t typically start a fight himself. Just finishes one if necessary. 

Still, Shuji also knows that Mitsuya has two younger sisters he would raise hell for. 

“You want to sick the older siblings on him?” Shuji asks, lips quirking into a sly smile. No matter what day it is or how tired he feels, his spirits have been lifted at least a little by the idea. 

Mitsuya coughs. “Probably not Sanzu,” he states and, fair enough. The guy might deserve the worst kinds of punishment, but Shuji’s not exactly looking to be complicit or responsible for a murder. And with how protective Sanzu is over Kawaragi, there’s no way there wouldn’t be his katana involved. 

Shuji counts on his hands. “Ran, Yuzuha, you, Smiley, Izana, the commander?” 

Mitsuya shakes his head. “Involving the commander or Izana just runs the risk of the exact same thing as Sanzu.” 

He revises his list. “Ran, Yuzuha, Smiley, you, and me.” 

Mitsuya blinks. 

“You?” 

Shuji’s cigarette, sitting abandoned between his forefinger and middle, gets a final drag before he flicks it to the ground and grinds it into the concrete to put it out. Mitsuya gives him a look but doesn’t comment. 

“Yes,” Shuji says. “Me.” 

Mitsuya pauses again, staring. “You’re an older brother?” 

Shuji grimaces. “Was.” 

Mitsuya’s face, if there was any positive expression, falls. The insinuation is pretty clear but Mitsuya still finds a reason to pry. 

“What happened?” 

Done with the conversation, Shuji turns away. “My brother was a year younger than me. When he was ten, he and his friend were abducted on their way home from school. Never found them.” 

Mitsuya is silent so Shuji continues. 

“Meeting tonight at the shrine, I’ll let everyone know. Ten o’clock.” 

And then he walks away. Ten is a little later than Toman likes to start their meetings aside from the odd special occasion, but he promised his mom that he’d eat dinner with her tonight. Because it’s Hajime’s birthday. He’d be fifteen. 

He lights another cigarette on the way home, even though his mom hates the smell. She told him to stop, only once. He’d run off for three days and returned to see her absolutely distraught, not having slept longer than an hour. 

Often, he finds it hard to feel guilt about his actions. But he certainly did that day. 

He remembers, on days like these, happier times before he started to get into brawls in alleys, before he knew what it felt like to beat a man into a coma, before he knew how to break someone’s arm in twelve places. Before he came home with bruised knuckles and his mom’s troubled and exhausted face welcoming him. 

Back then, when dad was still around and mom only had a part-time job so that she could get out of the house. When Hajime would refuse to hold his hand walking to school only to cling to him when Shuji found a horror movie to secretly watch late at night. Back when Hajime thought he was the smartest and studied harder than anyone else like their father wanted. 

When Shuji would reluctantly drop by the Inui’s to see what was taking Hajime so long, only to find Seishu and Hajime wrapped up in some game on a PlayStation, too distracted to realize what time it was. 

Back when Shuji was a Kokonoi, not a Hanma. Back when his parents were still together and probably in love too. Back when they’d have family dinners and he didn’t stink of cigarettes and alcohol, didn’t have tattoos on his hands or bleached pieces in his hair. Back when he wasn’t bored of existence, tired of living, unable to find real excitement out of things anymore. 

If he confessed these things to his mom, she’d probably march him straight to the nearest clinic and ask about depression, or she’d sit him down and tell him that suicide is not the answer. 

He’s aware. 

Sometimes, only sometimes, he ponders how that day could have gone differently. If he’d walked home with the duo, or if he’d told Hajime to come home the normal way.

But he’s told himself, and told Akane when she started wailing about it being her fault somehow, that no, they weren’t there, because they’d never had to be before. Hajime and Seishu always walked home together, always took different routes so they could spend longer talking or looking for new hidden gems around the neighborhood. Back before he’d lived in Kabukicho and it would have been less advisable for them to wander about the red light district later in the afternoon. 

They’d always been fine, there hadn’t been a reason to assume that day was going to be any different. That’s what he told Akane. That’s what he tells himself every day, wondering if he’ll ever start to believe it. 

He’s still smoking when he arrives at the apartment building and the first thing he does is put it out, stomping on it this time, before carrying himself inside and to the elevator. Living on the eighth floor should be cool, should be fancy, but when your windows face another building, it gets disappointing quick. His mom is happy to see him when he walks in, at the very least. 

Although she’s not exactly pleased to smell him. 

“Take a shower,” she tells him. And that’s fair. This is the fourth day he’s worn the same shirt. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. 

The shrine is darker now, and Shuji is wearing a fresh set of clothes. His mom had almost ripped him a new one when he said he was going out, but he just held up his still bruised knuckles and said he’d be fine. 

Standing with his bike in an empty shrine is a bit boring, though. He almost wants someone to jump out and attack, if only for something to do while waiting. 

No one does, though. Just the rumbling of motorcycles and then two are pulling up. Smiley and Mitsuya. Mitsuya knows why he’s there, face dark, while Smiley clearly does not because there’s no crazed tinge to his smile. 

Next is Ran and Yuzuha, one; a member of the eighth division, the other; a captain of the vice-captainless seventh division. 

Shuji is just a little nervous that someone else might turn up after them, whether that be the commander, Izana, or even Kisaki. And hey, maybe he should have given Kisaki a heads-up. After all, he is the other Staff Officer. 

“What are we doing here?” Yuzuha asks, calmly standing between Ran, who looks absolutely exhausted and grumpy, and Smiley who looks on edge. Or, at least, as far as Shuji can tell. 

“A member of my division,” Mitsuya says. “Brought up problems with a child predator preying on his younger brother.” 

Ran’s eyes turn murderous. The teenager rarely gets angry, far too chilled out yet still sadistic. It’s nothing compared to the way Yuzuha almost lights up with rage. 

“The cops won’t do anything, so he asked for my help. And I…” Mitsuya hesitates. “I wondered if you guys would like to help out.” 

Smiley’s grin gets wider, sharper. 

“Is it agreed?” Shuji asks. It’s so simple. He can see it in their eyes even before they all nod, and he finds that he’s equally as excited. 

If he could go back in time and find the guy who took his brother, he would smash his face into a puddle on the ground. Maybe this’ll feel the same, give him some catharsis. 

“I’ll scout out the house,” Ran hums, twisted cheer in his voice. “And give you a heads up when he’s alone.” 

Shuji nods, glad that someone actually volunteered. 

“I’ll get you the information, Haitani-kun,” Mitsuya says. He’s still trembling with anger. 

Shuji lights a cigarette. 

“You didn’t invite Sanzu,” Yuzuha takes note of. 

“I’m not particularly interested in turning our fifth division captain into a wanted murderer,” Shuji refutes. “The same goes for Izana and the commander.” 

Pursing her lips, Yuzuha gives a stray look at Ran and then sighs. 

“You’re certain we’ll avoid a murder case with the lot of us?” 

Shuji laughs, raising his eyebrows. 

“Better odds,” he simply explains. 

“Sure,” Yuzuha hums. “And why are you here?” 

Shuji’s smirk slips off his face. He doesn’t like explaining himself. He doesn’t want to explain his own position. Even telling Mitsuya was probably a mistake. 

“I was an older brother,” he states instead. 

“Was?” 

“Was,” he repeats. “Tomorrow night, eleven on the dot, we’ll meet here. If you’re bringing a weapon, make sure you have it then.” 

Yuzuha’s gaze doesn’t leave him. 

“You’re looking exceptionally unhappy right now,” Yuzuha notes and Shuji frowns, lighting another cigarette and bringing it to his lips. She stares at him for a few more moments before crossing her arms. 

She’s not the one he expected to end up with when waiting for the rest of the group, nor the one he wanted. She’s too good at getting under your skin, figuring out your secrets. He only invited her because she should be vindicated after all those years of dealing with Taiju the brute, but she’s annoying. 

“Well it’s fucked up. Even for my tastes,” he states. He doesn’t really care what blood covers his hands but he’s got standards, as low as they are. 

“Then I thought you’d be happy,” she says, humming. “Since we’re going to ambush this guy anyway.” 

Shuji flicks some ash from his cigarette and shrugs. 

Yuzuha just gives him a look. 

“You know,” she starts. “You could just… I don’t know… talk? About what’s bothering you. That’s what I was leading into.” 

Shuji rolls his eyes. 

“Boys, seriously,” she huffs. “Mostly I’m saying this so you don’t get all weird and mopey, because that won’t be very intimidating.” 

She has a bat that she’s swinging back and forth. 

“His name was Hajime,” Shuji says finally, running a hand through his hair. “Kokonoi Hajime. Before my dad left.” 

Yuzuha stops swinging her bat. 

“But he’s gone. Got snatched up by someone like this creep, no doubt.” 

She doesn’t meet his gaze. Which is fine by him, he wasn’t trying to look her in the eye anyway. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

He looks down at her. “Like it’s your fault?” 

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” she corrects. He just gives her a shrug as he hears another motorcycle in the distance. It’s 10:50. 

“It’s whatever.” 

To say that the man isn’t expecting them is an understatement. 

In only a wife beater and pyjama pants with hearts on them, the balding and sweaty man stands there, stunned, when he looks at the five of them. Ran and Shuji both tower over the man, who stands barely as tall as Yuzuha, and Ran brandishes his baton with a sadistic smile, twirling his hair in it. 

“Hi, may we come in?” Ran asks, not even waiting before pushing inside. Smiley is next, laughing as he strides in without a care. 

It’s Mitsuya who throws the first punch, hitting the man square in the jaw and dropping him to the ground. Yuzuha then grabs the man by his shirt and drags him inside behind her with her free hand. Mitsuya and Shuji follow, and Mitsuya shuts the door behind him. 

“See,” Ran hums. “This is how it’s going to go.” 

Yuzuha throws the man to the ground and Ran grabs him, pulling his thinning hair. Shuji swears some just come free from that. 

“We’re going to beat the shit out of you. And then you’re going to turn yourself in. Or we’ll come back. Every. Night. Until you’re dead.” 

The man awkwardly chuckles like Ran just said an unfunny joke. Shuji decides to inform him that they’re not joking. 

So Shuji swings, cracking one of the man’s cheekbones. From his left Mitsuya is patiently waiting while Smiley barely holds back until Shuji can get out of the way before starting his barrage of hits. 

“Want to look through this house?” Yuzuha asks him quietly. “See if there’s anything worth stealing?” 

“Mitsuya would be pissed,” Shuji whispers back but he’s not averse to the idea. 

“I’ll go look.” The man has started screaming out profanities and fearful pleading. Ran is pulling his hair and hitting him with his baton. He’ll break bones before they know it. 

This is about sending a message. 

“Awww, is the little man crying?” Ran teases. “Just like all those children, right?” 

Mitsuya stands and Shuji hums in confusion. 

“Might be some proof around here,” Mitsuya says in response. And he wanders off. Shuji decides that Ran and Smiley have things handled, so he checks the kitchen. Bottles of expensive liquor lie in a glass cabinet, while most of the cupboards are stocked full of branded goods and American imports. 

“I wonder what Cinnamon Toast Crunch tastes like,” he says, listening to the crying and begging with only half a mind. “Or maybe…” 

He hears Mitsuya call out something about a lock on a door and continues searching the kitchen without much care. Then he can hear Mitsuya kicking the lock and he ducks his head over to check. 

“Well… that’s not conspicuous at all.” 

“There’s nothing down there!” The man cries out, more begging. “Just my wife’s pets. She keeps them down there!” 

Once Mitusya gets the lock off, he opens the door and enters the darkness beyond. Shuji waits for the verdict. 

“Guys!” Mitsuya yells and Shuji falters. He sounds distressed. “There’re two kids down here! Chained up!” 

Shuji’s world grinds to a halt. 

“What the fuck?!” Yuzuha shouts, returning to the front room without any goods. Shuji echoes the sentiment. 

“You’re not fucking serious.” 

Mitsuya is silent for a moment before he comes racing through the doorway and practically flies across the room, shouting with fury rarely seen from the second division captain. “Pets huh? You sick fuck!” 

Hajime used to like swimming a lot. 

It’s something his mind goes back to every once in a while when he’s feeling particularly put out. Reminds him of his life. 

The fabric around his neck is probably nylon. He knows it because he remembers car rides. He remembers one night, when they were riding back from a late doctor’s appointment that turned into a takeaway run, Hajime leaned down and took a peak at the little tag that was on his seatbelt, catching the words in the brief moments that the street lamps illuminated the interior of the car. 

They’d been made out of nylon. He also remembers one long car ride when they had to take a trip, all the way to Sapporo, and he’d tried to lean against the door to sleep. The seatbelt had cut into his neck, making the position uncomfortable, and he’d whined until Shuji had groaned and pulled him over to sleep on Shuji’s shoulder instead, leaning away from the seatbelt and not into it. 

He’d give anything for that smidge of relief right now. For Shuji to pull the thing from his neck and let him lean on his shoulder again. 

Maybe nylon, as much as it bites, is not as bad as the leather around Seishu’s neck, a metal hook connecting to the chain behind him. At least Hajime isn’t chained from the neck, just from the cuff at his wrist. He tries not to jostle it too much, because last time he’d done that, he’d ended up breaking something inside and letting out the loudest screech he’d ever made. They’d shifted the cuff to the other wrist, wrapped up his arm, and shoved pills down his throat so he’d shut up. 

The bell around his neck jingles as he shuffles a little closer to Seishu, who’s lying on his side, completely exhausted. They’re lucky the chains are long enough that they can get comfortable, or as comfortable as you can get on a thin mat thrown over a concrete floor. Hajime just wishes that the quiet yet audible drip of water from the leaking pipe would shut up. 

At the first place, when they were just little kids, scared and naive, Hajime hadn't known how to count his blessings. They hadn’t worn collars back then, but he remembers the Man grabbing his hair and forcing him to sit. Forcing him onto his knees. He’d ended up crumbling, curling onto his side and tightening into a ball. The Man had almost hit him, belt at the ready, but then the woman, the Man’s wife, had cackled that horrible, brain-splitting sound, and, over the sound of Seishu’s practically inhuman growl, cooed and said how much Hajime reminded her of a little kitten. A cat. 

Hajime used to want a cat. When he was eight, he’d begged his father for a kitten or even a puppy, and his father had sternly told him no. He’d argued against it because Hajime’s mother was allergic and Hajime had grumply claimed that when he got older and had his own house, he’d have as many pets as he wanted. 

The word pet has been forever ruined for him. 

Maybe it’s better, Hajime reminds himself sometimes. The Man had shown them off as a pair, a dog and a cat, and the next of their ‘owners’ had happily treated them as much. The lady that bought them paid good money and had two kids, one a little girl, the other an infant boy. The little girl liked Hajime more, liked his black hair and used to pet him. The only silver lining was that she truly treated both Hajime and Seishu with care. 

Like family pets. 

It was disgusting and dehumanizing, and Hajime used to hiss at her, swing at the lady, and get hit by the lady’s husband in response. Seishu once bit the husband and, in response, got his hair shaved off and was left without food for two days. 

Hajime learned to try and behave after that. Because behaving meant less pain, less hurt, less anger. 

Maybe it’s better to be treated like a pet. If they were just sold as is, as two little boys, who knows how much worse their lives would be. There are more pedophiles out there than those into beastility, so Hajime has been left with his virginity at the very least. Seishu too, he assumes, and Hajime tries to spend every moment he can in Seishu’s presence, just so they can protect each other. Always sold as a duo, always when the adults they were bought by or the kids they were bought for got bored with them. 

They’re getting a bit older, though, and not as cute. So the price being paid is lower and lower. It’s worse, now, because one owner tried to scratch Hajime’s eye out and left scars down his face after Hajime raked his nails down the arm of the woman who’d tried to cradle him in bed, with his head on her lap. He’d refused, and she hadn’t listened, tsking and saying ‘bad Kuro, bad boy Kuro.’

To each other, they’re Hajime and Seishu. To their owners, each and every one of them, they’re Kuro and Shiro. 

The bell around his neck jingles again and he grimaces. It alerts Seishu, who sits up a little, glancing over at Hajime with eyes that have lost some of their humanity. Sometimes, Hajime has to play dirty, just to get Seishu to listen to him. They always treat him harsher, always leave Seishu worse off. Their last owners had physically beaten him until he’d stopped speaking. 

He tries using full sentences when telling Seishu to do things despite the fact that Seishu only ever really hears commands. Hajime asks Seishu to sit down and Seishu hears ‘sit’. Hajime says “Come over here so we can talk” and Seishu hears “Come”. 

He’s obedient. At least, to Hajime. Which makes bile rise in Hajime’s throat. 

“Seishu,” Hajime soothes because Seishu is worried often enough about Hajime’s safety. Through his heavy curtain of hair, that only ever gets a wash weekly by the new woman who’d bought them, Hajime stares over at Seishu, brown eyes meeting soft blue. Seishu’s hair, which’s always shorn by new owners aside from their most recent, is finally growing back into something a bit nicer, a bit softer. 

Seishu rarely even says Hajime’s name anymore, but he can still say it, which is one of the few mercies Hajime gets. 

They’re locked in the basement again because the guy that lives with their new owner is a fan of kids. And not in a good way. But they’re her precious little pets, so they’re locked away when she’s not home and she’s the only one who knows where the key is kept. Still, they’re subjected to the cries of children and so Hajime has learnt very quickly to block out all the sound coming from the rooms above. He’s always just turned his attention to Seishu, because Seishu is all he has. 

He often thinks of his family too. His mom, her cooking that was never five-star quality but always something she tried her best at. His dad, strict but not abusive, firm but never hit him. Shuji, annoying and frustrating but always there for him if he needed. He thinks of Seishu’s family too. Mrs. Inui and her telling them off for staying on Seishu’s gaming console for too long. Or Mr. Inui, who would tell stories of work while drinking at the dinner table. Of Akane, beautiful Akane, that Hajime once wanted to date, wanted to fall in love with. She was older than him, too much older, and as he’s been away, those romantic feelings shrivelled up and died, only the platonic care that she showed him remaining. 

He wonders how they are. If they’ve given up looking for them. A morbid thought, that they’ve probably held proper funerals for the pair of them, picks at his brain. It wouldn’t be far off the truth, because those two sweet, innocent kids are dead. Left behind are two teenagers who are mentally broken and doing literally anything they can to survive. Even if it means demeaning themselves into acting like fucking animals. 

There might be sounds above again, but Hajime drowns them out by humming a soft tune to Seishu. It might be new, from the radio that their owner has and plays sometimes. Hajime likes getting a chance to listen, as sometimes he’ll catch newstalk. He likes it even more when she gives him the freedom to curl up on the couch and watch as she puts the news on and he can actually figure out what day it is, what year it is, what is going on outside the house they’re kept inside. 

On those days, Seishu lies on the ground because that’s what dogs are supposed to do. A cat can laze against the furniture, even if he’d probably be scolded for sitting on the table or countertop, but dogs should lie on the ground or on the mat or on the new dog bed that she bought. Seishu refuses because Hajime knows that Seishu is still thinking like a human would, even if he rarely makes any noises that aren’t grunts or growls. 

More banging. That guy is never usually this loud. Hajime raises the volume of his humming a little higher, trying to keep Seishu calm because he doesn’t want Seishu pulling at his restraints and hurting himself. Again. 

More noises. Something bangs on the door. It shudders and rattles on its hinges and Hajime gulps, his humming coming to a stop and, instead, he grasps Seishu’s shirt, a loose thing that is long-sleeved and an ashy white to match his nickname and hair. It’s both to comfort himself and a way to keep Seishu still so he doesn’t snap his neck by pulling too hard on the chain. 

The door slams open and Hajime’s fingers curl up tighter into the fabric, making his best attempts to breathe in and out. 

That guy likes them younger. Eight or nine. Hajime, as he estimates from the last time he got a look at the date, is fourteen or maybe fifteen. Seishu is definitely fifteen, because the winter has come and gone and they’ve passed into the next year. But still, his first thought when the door swings open is that the guy is sick of grabbing kids off the street and, instead, has turned to them, fuck whatever his wife says. 

He wants to be sick at the thought. 

But, that guy doesn’t step through, hungrily eyeing them both up like prizes he’s just won. The pair of them, helpless from the way they’ve both been restrained. 

Instead, stepping through is a teenager. Again, older than what that guy likes, and rougher. Hair short, although it’s too dark for Hajime to pick out what colour. Light, he thinks. 

Hajime remembers when they were younger and Seishu had shown off that jacket that he so proudly was gifted by one of his older friends. It was black with script embroidered on it. Hajime remembers thinking that it was beautiful, thinking about how much he’d love a jacket like that. Seishu had been more excited that it was from a gang, than that it was such a well-made garment. 

That one was black with silver. This new stranger has a similar style shirt, but black with gold. Not the same, not Black Dragon. But the sentiment lingers. A delinquent. A gang member. 

Oh. 

Those bangs were very loud. 

Maybe there was a break-in. 

Hajime stares, wide-eyed, up at the stranger and he stares down (or at least Hajime assumes, it’s still too dark). Then they break out of the staring contest because the guy stumbles back, covering his mouth in maybe shock, maybe disgust, maybe horror, because he turns back to the entrance. 

“Guys!” He shouts. It dawns on Hajime that there are more than just this stranger that have probably broken in. “There’re two kids down here! Chained up!” 

“What the fuck?!” Another stranger yells back, sounding absolutely disbelieving. “You’re not fucking serious.” 

The stranger leans over the bannister of the stairs to get a better look. He probably sees the collars now, not just the chains, because he scrambles back up the stairs, voice almost cut off as he yells. 

“Pets huh? You sick fuck!” 

Next Hajime hears, because he’s really listening this time, the man of the house let out a cry of alarm before a loud slam. There’s more shouting but Hajime can’t focus on it anymore because he’s currently trying to reign in an agitated Seishu, who has pulled himself up as far as he can and is grasping Hajime’s frame, trying in vain to pull Hajime back behind him. With the way their chains are laid out, it’s not as easy to do. 

“Seishu, stay there,” he snaps, heart beating at a mile a minute. Because something like hope is pushing at him, poking at his brain. The idea that someone might just be there to save them this time. “Just…” 

He hasn’t cried since their third owner. He’d been crying, one day, and the beating he got was worse than any other, worse than the scars down his face, worse than the broken arm that he’s pretty sure never properly healed, worse than the belt or that time that little girl almost strangled him.  

If he cries, it’s silent, slight, and his tears barely leave his eyes. Always in the dark, usually curled into Seishu’s form. Yet, here he is, a few stray tears rolling down his face. He’s hopeful, for the first time in almost half a decade. He instantly scrubs them from his face, but they don’t stop. 

Another figure steps down quieter, calmer, and the sounds of a beating continue upstairs, alongside a collection of different voices speaking or yelling things he can’t make out.

There’s a single light in the basement. The switch is on the far wall, but sometimes the lady will turn it on when she comes home and takes them out of the basement, always petting Hajime on the head and telling him he’s a ‘good boy’ and Seishu clearly does his best not to bite her again as she takes Hajime’s fragile wrist and undoes the cuff. 

The new figure seems to find it, illuminating the basement with a soft and warm light. He’d never found it calming, never felt that glow that it produces, but this… 

The figure turns out to be a girl, probably around his age, with auburn hair. He remembers, back when he was okay, that he’d watched some of those movies from the '70s and '80s with Shuji, curled up with a blanket. Sometimes they were scary and he’d grasp Shuji for comfort and deny it the next day. But sometimes they were action-packed and full of excitement. 

There was one about the Sukeban. He doesn’t remember much of the plot, but there was a delinquent girl who swung a bat really hard. Shuji had joked that he bet a bunch of guys would like that. Hajime hadn’t understood it at the time. It’s horrible that he does now. 

The girl in front of him, however, looks exactly like that sukeban girl. She’s wearing a long skirt, covered in embroidered sentences. And her top, exactly like the teenager from before, has golden writing. 

He can make out Seventh Division Captain and Tokyo Manji Gang. 

She’s quick, making it down the last few steps with a spring in her step and poorly concealed fury on her face. But she takes the path from the stairs to where he and Seishu are with caution. 

“Hey,” she says quietly. From beside him, Seishu begins to growl because she’s a stranger and strangers always bring bad things. At the sound, she steps back, hazel eyes narrowing in on Seishu first before shifting to Hajime. “It’s okay. I… We’re here to help you…” 

She approaches but Hajime allows her, clearly giving her full view of the effort he’s going to to hold Seishu back from attempting to pounce. He’ll probably break his neck if he tries. The girl picks her timing carefully, though, walking over and crouching in front of Hajime, not Seishu. 

“It’s okay,” she repeats. “I’m Shiba Yuzuha. Everything is going to be okay. My friend is calling the police right now.” 

Something about that word gives him relief he’s never felt in his life. He can’t even form the words, because sobs leave his mouth instead. It’s a euphoric feeling, one he’d never be able to comprehend in his past. 

The last time he felt relief, he thinks, was when his mom had that medical scare and went to hospital for a few days. A case of meningitis, apparently. They’d managed to catch it and treat her in the hospital, and she’d taken a few weeks off to rest at home afterwards. When she came home, he’d been so relieved he’d thrown himself into her. Each afternoon, he’d come home early and did his homework at her side, while she curled up on the couch. 

It barely compares to what he feels right now. 

Shiba, who looks fairly sympathetic, reaches out for a moment before pulling back because Seishu is growling again. 

“It’s okay,” she repeats yet again. “How long have you been here? Did that guy touch you?” 

He shakes his head. “He’s… he’s not… allowed to,” he gets out, scrubbing the tears from his eyes. Information, they need information. 

He’s trying to focus on that but his mind keeps repeating to him. Home. Home. Home. 

He’s going to get to go home. To see his mom, his dad, his brother again. 

He could go back to school, he could have full meals again and sit at a dinner table. He could watch movies with his brother again. He could study, go to university, get a degree. A job. He could go on holiday, go to the beach, go to the hot springs, or on a plane overseas. 

Hajime loved swimming. He might be able to go swimming again. 

“I… we’ve been here for f-five months. But… I think… almost… five years…” He tries not to remember the months, tries not to remember the days or weeks he’s spent demeaning himself, pretending, being hit or pet or the multiple times he’s almost been assaulted. 

Shiba looks horrified. For the bruises on her knuckles and the blood staining her bat, she’s still certainly disgusted by their predicament. 

“How old are you?” She asks. 

His birthday must be coming up. Or maybe it’s already passed. 

“What day is it?” He asks in response and the expression she makes is worse, if at all possible. She checks her watch, pulling her wrist up to see in the light. 

“It’s the third of April,” she says. “Just went one am.” 

Oh. 

He missed his birthday. 

“I’m fifteen,” Hajime says instead of expressing his distant disappointment. “Seishu’s also fifteen,” he continues with a gesture. 

She gives him a nod. 

“What’s your name?” 

There are more sounds from upstairs. She glances up too, putting her hands up in a placating gesture. 

“They’re looking for keys,” she says. “For that handcuff.” She then reaches over, a poor choice in Hajime’s opinion, to try and take a look at Seishu’s collar. It’s got a padlock on it, which is why, often in times of quiet self-resentment, he curses himself for not taking the time to learn how to lock pick. It would’ve been an interesting hobby to take up as a kid, and would’ve been insanely helpful to them so many times. 

Not that it would’ve led to anything. They’d still have been locked in a basement or a bedroom and if they were found out, they would have both been beaten. Maybe they might’ve broken one of Hajime’s legs so he couldn’t run away. Or welded a metal collar around Seishu’s neck so he might never be able to break through it and he’d be dead before it was ever removed. 

Shiba appears to note the padlock and stands, following the chains to the wall and testing the strength of the hooks and steel. She looks back to her bat but it’s wooden, not metal, so she sighs and returns to Hajime’s side. 

Hajime then recalls that he hadn’t answered her question. 

“He’s Inui Seishu,” Hajime says first and she perks up, listening attentively. More shouting from upstairs. “I’m… I’m Kokonoi Hajime.” 

Her face gets frozen, like when Shuji would hit pause on the VHS and try to beat him first to the dinner table, or first to the kitchen to get dessert. 

Hajime, for some odd reason, wants to laugh at the way her face twists. And then he rewinds, trying to pick apart the reason she looks like she’s swallowed a lemon. Has she… heard of him? Seen the missing posters, maybe? Maybe she remembers his name from the news, although they probably stopped playing those stories years ago. 

“Kokonoi Hajime?” 

She’s seemingly fixated on his name, not Seishu’s. He can’t be certain why. 

Seishu, beside him, is uncharacteristically silent, but Hajime’s grip on his shirt doesn’t falter. 

“Yes?” 

She breathes in slowly, steadily, and stands. 

“Give me a moment. I’m gonna check if they’ve found the key yet. Two keys, right?” She gestures, first to the cuff and then to the collar. 

Hajime nods. As a final thought, she reaches forward. 

“Sorry,” she says gently before feeling along the collar around Hajime’s throat, bell jingling with every movement. She must find the tie, which he hadn’t touched because he’d get in deep trouble if he removed it. And she, with care and gentle movements, undoes the tie and brings it around the front to pull it off, placing it on the ground instead. 

His neck feels like it’s been rubbed raw, but it feels so, so much better. He bites back the urge to cry again. All he gets out is a choked-up thank you before she gives him a tight smile and steps over to the stairs. 

“I’ll be back,” she reassures and, for once, he believes someone. 

She’s up the stairs, two at a time, and Hajime turns back to Seishu, who is placing his hands on Hajime’s neck, clearly noticing the missing item. 

“It’s okay, Seishu,” he tells his friend. “We’re going home.” 

It’s the first time he’s said it out loud. 

He almost crumbles as Seishu blinks, slowly, before his eyes widen as he takes in his words, lets them process, and comes to the right conclusion. In an instant, Hajime finds himself wrapped up in Seishu’s arms, clutched to a warm chest, and he keeps holding back his tears while his arms come up to curl around Seishu’s back in response. He’s happy. 

He’s happy. 

Sniffling, he doesn’t quite bury his face in Seishu’s shoulder but it’s a near thing. 

“You better not be fucking with me, Yuzuha,” a new voice speaks and Hajime pulls out of Seishu’s hold, a feat in itself. The new figure, now making their way down the stairs while Shiba follows quickly behind, is insanely tall, lanky with long legs and long arms and hair that’s spiked up. 

Hajime feels tiny. 

“I’m not, that’s what he said.” 

The unknown figure stops at the base of the stairs, staring over at them. Now that he’s in the light, Hajime can take in his face and body. He’s wearing a similar uniform to Shiba, but with pants. His shoes are massive and his uniform lists that he’s a Staff Officer for the Tokyo Manji Gang. 

Golden eyes gaze down at him with confusion before the stranger steps forward and stops directly in front of Hajime. 

“Hajime?” The stranger asks, crouching and staring with slowly growing shock. 

Hajime gulps again, pulling back just a little bit and nodding. 

“I’m… I’m Kokonoi Hajime,” he introduces softly. The stranger glances over at Seishu and his eyes widen further. 

“It’s…” the stranger takes Hajime’s free hand in both of his, which are both tattooed with the kanji for ‘Sin’ and ‘Punishment’. “It’s me,” he says and Hajime frowns. “It’s Shuji.” 

Hajime meets those golden eyes and he blinks once, twice, three times before his lips quiver and he thinks back. He thinks back to what little he can remember of his brother’s face, the tilt of his eyes, the golden irises, the way his lips pulled back with wide grins. He can’t really recall Shuji’s voice, but he remembers his smile. 

“Smile…” Hajime almost begs. The stranger, despite looking two steps from breaking down, gives Hajime his best grin and Hajime breaks. 

His sobs come out, no longer muffled, and he finds himself wrapped up in arms again, except they’re Shuji’s this time. His fingers let go of Seishu’s shirt just to curl into Shuji’s as he cries and cries and cries. 

Shuji was a good kid, he remembers. He’d never had grades quite like Hajime, but he’d always gone to school, always been very diligent. He’d sneak him candy or cookies at night, stay up late on his gameboy, or forget to tell their mom that he’d be out at sports practice later than usual because of some meet-up, but he’d been a good kid. 

But now Shuji has bits of bleached hair, tattoos on his hands, and a gang uniform. 

He’s so much taller, too. Their dad is tall, and Hajime isn’t certain how tall he is himself, rarely ever standing to full height, but Shuji is in another league. He’s tall, skinny, with bruised knuckles and tattoos and bleached hair and an earring hanging from one ear. 

He’s so different. But that was his smile. Those are his eyes. 

So Hajime clings, because that’s all he can do. He’s going home. He can live. He can breathe. 

Shuji’s legs are going numb, he thinks, knees hurting from the concrete. He doesn’t dare move, though. 

It’s with a mix of awe and horror, that Shuji holds Hajime against his chest, face hidden by a curtain of long, dark hair. And maybe that’s for the better, at this point, because Shuji had seen the scars down Hajime’s face and being forced to look at them any longer would make Shuji contemplate homicide. 

Not that he isn’t already. But, last he checked, Ran was beating the pervert upstairs with his baton and the guy might already be dead if not for the threat of arrest. 

He’ll leave Mitsuya and Yuzuha to come up with an explanation to keep them out of jail. Hajime has gone limp in his arms, exhausted, and Shuji feels the same exhaustion fighting against his adrenaline. To take his mind off it, and keep himself awake, he looks away from his brother (his brother) and over to Seishu. Seishu, who’s just as pale and malnourished as Hajime, but with a collar around his neck to add insult to injury. Blue-green eyes look at him with no recognition, wary with clenched teeth. 

“Seishu,” he calls out and the slight tilt he receives in return is not promising. The leather collar, brown with a metal piece and a padlock keeping it tight around Seishu’s neck, is barbaric. 

Shuji has been beating the shit out of guys twice and half his size for years but the sight makes him sick. His hand trails down Hajime’s arm to find a metal cuff clamped around his wrist, connected to a chain. Oh, of all the times Shuji didn’t have super strength, why now?

“Hajime,” he hums, the name still feeling foreign on his tongue from the time he’s kept it a secret, not daring to speak it aloud. “Seishu… Oh, Akane is going to have a few words, won’t she.” 

Seishu visibly perks up, eyes widening. His hand, nails broken and jagged, catch Hajime’s shirt and he pulls himself forward, arching his back when he can’t go any further without the chain being pulled taut. 

“Yuzuha!” He calls out. She’s back by the stairs again but she stops her assent when she hears him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Find that fucking key,” he responds, one tattooed hand placed on the back of Hajime’s head.

Yuzuha, who looks like she’ll be sick at any moment, hurries up the steps, throwing herself out the door recklessly. It’s only moments later that she and Mitsuya are coming back down. 

“Smiley’s waiting for the cops, and Ran is watching fuckface,” Yuzuha reports with a snort. 

“I found this,” Mitsuya says, holding out a cord necklace with five keys threaded through. Shuji shakes Hajime a little, waking his brother whose eyes widen as he realizes that everything that just happened was real. 

“Hajime, give me your hand,” Shuji says. Reluctantly pulling back, Hajime does as told, new tears streaking down his cheeks. And Shuji takes the keys, trying them one by one until the fourth slots in properly, clicking in place. He turns it, releasing the lock and letting the cuff split in half, clattering to the ground with a dull, metal hum. 

“It’s… gone… finally?” Hajime whispers, flexing his wrist with shaking hands and a wobbling lip. Shuji, very carefully, shifts so he can reach the padlock on Seishu’s collar. It’s as he’s doing so, that he notices the already discarded collar threaded with a bell lying on the ground. Like something from a cat. 

Hajime’s neck is red and irritated. 

It’s worse than perverted. It’s sickening, disgusting, and an indication of the depths of depravity humanity can go along with. He turns his nose up at the offending object and goes back to freeing Seishu. Who isn’t making it easy for him, pulling away and beginning to thrash when Shuji grasps his shoulder. 

“Seishu,” Hajime urges softly, still crying, face still half hidden by his thick and unwashed locks. As he shuffles over, tucking his face into the other side of Seishu’s neck, he starts to hum. 

Back when they were all kids, Hajime and Seishu were close. They’d walk together, play games together, share lunches and toys and even clothes. But they’d begun to form a divide, with Hajime’s crush on Akane and Seishu’s new budding friendships with the ex-Black Dragons. 

Their families had been close for a long time, from the time that Seishu and Hajime started grade school. Little Hajime and little Seishu in their light blue shirts and yellow hats, Shuji can just imagine it. 

He’s not that much older than Hajime, but he’d looked at those pictures so much that it’s hard to consider Hajime any older. Yet, here he is, a teenager, fifteen and knowing exactly how to calm Seishu. They’d clearly pulled this routine before, and Shuji doesn’t want to think about it. Instead, he tries keys, fumbling a little but managing it on the third try. He pulls down on the padlock to pull the hook out and twists it to unthread it from the two metal pieces holding the collar closed. One of the metal pieces is attached to the chain, so Shuji is careful when he tugs the end of the collar back through the buckle and pulls it away. 

Purple bruises and red marks where the leather has torn and abused skin stick out against the pale complexion. Seishu pulls away the second he feels the thing leave his neck, raising his hands to feel across the scars and indents. And that’s when he, too, starts to cry. It’s more jumbled and inhuman than Hajime, keening and whining, but Shuji can see relief in his eyes. 

Mitsuya is watching him with confusion. 

“This is…”

“My brother,” Shuji says calmly. “Hajime.” 

The sudden realization in Mitusya’s eyes has Shuji sharing one of his rare, genuine smiles. 

“Let’s go,” Yuzuha interrupts. “The cops will be here any second and the ambulance. We need to figure out what we’re going to tell them.” 

Shuji would love to tell them that they’d just come to fuck up a pedo and found worse things in his basement, but it’s not that simple. 

They did break in and beat a man half to death. That’s very illegal. 

Mitsuya looks away. “Smiley found some more fucked up shit in the guy’s room. Pictures. Maybe that’ll buy our way out of a cell for the night. That and this,” he gestures. “Catching this guy, though… boy am I happy I listened to Morishita-kun when he told me about his brother.” 

Shuji is shaky as he agrees. “I’m glad you told me…” 

He settles Hajime back down for a moment, his brother’s arms going up to reach out but Shuji simply stands before hefting Hajime up, one arm under his knees and the other around his shoulders. He’s as light as a feather and Shuji barely feels a strain as he takes a step. The more difficult job will be Seishu, who is staring, bewildered, still running his fingers across his bare throat. 

“Seishu,” Hajime calls suddenly. “Come on. Follow,” he commands. And like a dog, Seishu responds, standing. His legs are weak and he is unstable but he follows as Shuji carries Hajime back to the stairs. Shuji’s head is full of questions. How long have they been here? What other places were they at? How were they treated? What actually happened that day?

Has Hajime even seen the sun, seen the outside world since he disappeared five years ago?

He can’t ask them, keeping his mouth shut as he follows Mitsuya up the stairs. He holds the door open as Shuji steps through and Seishu, who has been gripping the banister for dear life, follows him out. Yuzuha brings up the rear and they step out into a hallway, retracing their steps to the main sitting room. 

There, tied up and bloody, is the man who did all of this. And standing over him, splattered with some of that blood and grinning like a cat who just got the cream, is Ran. 

“Sick son a bitch,” Ran hums and it’s almost funny coming from him. 

“Ran,” Shuji says and Ran stops. 

“Hanma-san!” He cheers, delighted. “Do you want to step in?” 

“Hanma?” Hajime whispers like he’s confused. Shuji doesn’t answer, placing Hajime down on one of the luscious couches and letting Seishu stay at his side while he steps over to the guy and Ran. 

And he swings, rebreaking the man’s nose for probably the fourth time. It’ll be a wonder if the surgeons can even put it back together. 

“If the police weren’t on their way, if I was certain I could get away with it,” Shuji starts. “And mom and Kisaki and Draken and the commander wouldn’t be upset with me.” He grins; a wicked one that promises pain and suffering. “Then I would kill you.” 

“You…” The man tries pathetically. Shuji finds another bone that’s not broken, a disgustingly fat finger that’s yet to match the rest, and snaps it, inciting a weak cry as the man’s voice starts leaving him. 

“Where did you get them?” 

“My wife!” The man refutes. “She got them! They’re hers!” 

“My brother doesn’t belong to anyone you bitch,” Shuji responds, flicking him in the forehead. From the x marks that Ran left, there are bruises and the flick must be agonizing. “Where did she find them?” 

“I don’t know!” The man begs. “I promise I don’t know! She just… she just brought them home one day! Wouldn’t let me near them.” 

“So you haven’t touched them?” Shuji pries. 

“I’ve barely gotten a glimpse at them,” the man says as if it’ll clear him of his crimes. “You’ve got to believe me!” 

Shuji knocks out one of his teeth and then rears up for another swing when he hears sirens. 

“About fucking time,” Yuzuha hisses, grumpy. “Should we try contacting the commander?”

“Mikey is probably asleep,” Mitsuya says, shaking his head. Shuji lets the man go, wiping the blood from his hands on his pants that he can toss in Kisaki’s washing machine later. “Draken might be awake but I am not going to be the one to explain this to Takemitchy.” 

“I can call Kisaki,” Shuji finally states, walking back over to his brother. Hajime is watching them with wide eyes like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. It makes two of them because Shuji is still expecting to blink and Hajime to evaporate into thin air. He ignores the feeling and hums. “Mitsuya, you call Draken. I’ll call Kisaki and my mom. And Akane, she’ll want to know. It might be late, but she’ll kick my ass if I don’t.” 

“Akane,” Seishu repeats. He’s sitting in front of Hajime, legs stretched out in front of him as his back is against the arm of the couch. “Akane…” 

Looking at Seishu and hearing his broken voice call for his sister is painful. 

“All that stuff we found,” Smiley starts, stepping back into the room, “I left it where it was, but I’ll direct those cops to it once they come in.” 

Shuji can hear doors slamming shut so he squeezes on the couch beside Hajime, wrapping his long limbs around his brother. 

Hajime is so small in his grasp and Shuji knows he’s tall, but he’d never thought about it. Because Shuji used to be maybe an inch taller than Hajime. They’d go back and forth as they grew, some months Hajime would have an edge over him, and others Shuji would gloat. 

Maybe it’s the poor diet, the lack of sunlight and adequate sleep, or just genetics but Hajime is much shorter than him. He’s not tiny, not like Akane’s 5’3, but he doesn’t tower over everyone else like Shuji. 

“Shuji,” Hajime whispers, like he still can’t believe it. There’s a knock on the door and Ran happily answers, meeting the officers head-on. 

“Come in, officers!” Ran says with an arm spread wide. “My friend can show you all the evidence of the fucked up shit this guy did, and obviously the kids we found in the basement.” He then points to the bloodied man on the ground. “And that’s him. We were concerned citizens, you see. And so we came over to make sure everything was okay and found him all beaten.” 

The female officer who is listening to Ran’s story gives him a sceptical look but then one of the men who followed Smiley confirms the photos from the bedroom and she sighs. 

“I’ll pretend to believe your concerned citizen act,” she states, glancing at their uniforms. “And the kids?” 

Shuji waves, gesturing to Hajime and Seishu. Seishu, in response to her approach, pulls back, knees to his chest and a snarl escaping his lips while Hajime’s eyes are wide and his hands go out to catch Seishu’s shirt and Shuji’s uniform. 

The officer stops, even as paramedics step inside the house and a few beeline towards the injured man, where a few officers also huddle. 

“It’s okay,” she says but Seishu keeps growling. 

“Seishu,” Hajime urges. “Stop.” 

And he does. Although Seishu regards her with suspicion. So she turns to Shuji. 

“Explain the situation, quick as you can,” she snaps. Two paramedics have broken through the line and are heading their way, both cautious in their approach. 

“We found them in the basement with collars on, chained up,” Shuji explains even as his stomach twists and he grimaces. “Found the keys, asked a few questions, and brought them upstairs.” He then waves Yuzuha over. “Yu, show one of these officers where these two were being held.” 

She looks irritated at the nickname but Shuji is very much trying to be a leader and not get any of their members locked away, which means withholding key information like full names. Still, she goes along with it, leading another officer into the basement. 

The officer frowns, clearly not getting what she wants, but the pair of daring paramedics push past her and one, a man, crouches in front of Seishu, not touching him but taking in any visible injuries as he gets close. 

“Names?” The officer asks even as Hajime’s breath becomes labored with panic. Too many people, too much noise. The other paramedic stops in front of him as he twists his fingers further into Shuji’s top. 

“Kokonoi Hajime and Inui Seishu,” Shuji answers because Hajime is now burying his face into Shuji’s side. “Hajime’s my brother. Who has been missing for almost five years, mind you.” 

The officer gives them both a once-over, looking more uncomfortable. 

“Can we just go now? I’m sure my mother could give you more information at the hospital,” Shuji states. Yuzuha returns and the officer behind her looks ill. “Or ask that asshole, I’m sure he’s got more information about this whole thing than us.” 

The female officer purses her lips but the paramedics nod at him. 

“Can you stand?” The male paramedic asks and Seishu stares. 

“Stand,” Hajime says and Seishu does. It makes everyone in close proximity flinch. “I can…” 

“C’mon,” Shuji hums, unwrapping his brother and hauling him up gently. Hajime takes a few steps before stumbling and yelping. It only takes a second for Shuji to tug Hajime’s sock down to reveal a swollen and bruised left ankle. So Shuji does as he did before, pulling him into his arms and carrying him to the door, leading past the neatly trimmed grass and hedges and to the ambulance with the flashing lights. Seishu is on their trail, almost a step behind him, and as the paramedic throws the back doors open and hops up, Shuji reluctantly passes Hajime to the paramedic so he can get up himself. 

“I’m going home,” Hajime says softly. The paramedic laughs softly, compassion in his eyes. 

“Not quite yet, bud. We’ll get you checked out at the hospital first.” 

“I’ll call Mom,” Shuji says and Hajime looks like he’s going to cry again, settled on the bed as the paramedic assesses his ankle, the scars on his face, and the bruises on his neck. Seishu settles beside Shuji, eyes carefully watching Hajime’s form. “And Akane.” 

“Akane?” Seishu asks softly. “Shin… Waka…Benkei…” He’s whining now, shaking and burying his face in his hands. “Akane…” 

Shuji winces, eyes flickering to his brother for a second before he slips his phone out, dialling his mom. 

Akane jolts as an alarm blares out at her. Which is strange because she swore she turned it off. Squeezing her eyes shut and yawning, she looks over at her alarm clock, which is actually sitting there innocently. 

Instead, the cause of the sound is her mobile phone, lying abandoned on her bedside table, blaring out a familiar ringtone. 

“The fuck?” 

Jeez, what does it take to get some peace and quiet sometimes? She takes a glance at the time and it’s about half past twelve, which is lovely, isn’t it? 

Groaning, she checks it anyway because it’ll be just her luck and end up being an emergency. Shuji’s name stares her in the face and she wants to ignore it. He’s such an ass, this is just like him. 

But what if it’s important

Damn her brain! She wants to ignore him but her conscience doesn’t allow her. Hajime’s birthday was a few days ago, maybe he woke up and wanted to talk about that, wants to talk to someone who isn't his mother. Someone who actually knew Hajime. 

She has work in the morning. Not all of them are still in high school. 

“Fuck it,” she huffs, pressing the button to accept the call with a groan. “Hello? What the hell do you want, Shuji?” 

He’s just a pain in the ass-

“Akane,” he whispers, voice hoarse, and it has her cutting off the train of thought. “It’s… Can you come to Tokyo General?” 

Shuji joined that gang a few years ago. Before, she remembers him as the class clown kind of kid, who used to pick Hajime up and Hajime would loudly protest and whine. But he’d ask her for help with his homework because he had to get it in. He wasn’t a top scorer, not like Hajime. But he was a good kid, got grades in the 70s and 80s pretty regularly, went to school and went home, participated in sports, and helped wash up when he stayed over. 

Akane remembers the first time she saw him smoking. He’d been thirteen, and his father had just filed for divorce. She’d gone to pick him up since she had her car license and was willing to take him home or maybe to the movies or for ice cream. Something to get his mind off everything. 

She found him hanging out with a few guys who were closer to her age than his, a cigarette between his fingers and smoke lazily escaping his mouth. She’d stormed over, the boys giving her snide looks but staying out of the way. Shuji had asked her what she thought she was doing. 

She’d dragged him out of there. And then she bought two taiyaki and they sat by the riverside while eating them. He didn’t say a word. 

The month after his father got a transfer out of Tokyo and packed up his things for Fukuoka, she’d found out he’d hooked up with some guys and gotten tattoos on his hands. One kanji for each one, Sin and Punishment. She told him off for it, he’d just shrugged and lit another smoke.

Still, Akane had looked up online, spending a few hours at the library trying to find out how to take care of freshly done tattoos, and then given Shuji the spiel about keeping them clean and bought some cream to help with the healing process. 

Weeks later, she’d taught him how to wrap his hands up after he went home covered in bruises, with his knuckles the worst offenders. 

He’d joined a gang. She’d had scares before, of him bruised and beaten. 

“What happened this time?” She asks, already shuffling out of bed. “How bad?” 

“I’m not hurt,” Shuji says. “It’s… It’s them.”
 
She pauses from reaching into her chest of draws for some clothes, trying to comprehend Shuji’s cryptic words. 

“What? What are you talking about?” 

“We found them,” he states. “We found Hajime and Seishu.” 

She blinks. She didn’t hear that correctly. 

“What are you playing at?” 

“Akane,” Shuji huffs. “You think I’d lie. It’s… It’s them. They’re alive.” 

Akane thinks. She thinks and processes and thinks and thinks and thinks-

“Akane.” 

That wasn’t Shuji. 

“Hello?” She whispers, standing in the middle of her apartment in her underwear and a loose nightgown. “Hello?” 

“Akane,” the voice comes out, choked up and strange. “Akane. Akane. Akane.” 

“It’s okay,” Shuji’s voice follows up but she gets the distinct feeling he’s not talking to her. “It’ll be okay. It’s Akane, yes.” 

A realization hits her. 

“Seishu?” She whispers, a few tears pricking at her eyes. Is it really her baby brother? Is it…

“Akane,” the voice breathes again. “Akane. Want.” 

Her lips wobble. She feels her legs shake and she sinks to the floor, covering her mouth to stifle any sobs. 

“Akane,” Shuji’s voice comes back. “Can you get to the hospital on your own?” 

She sniffs, gathering herself. 

“Yes,” she states firmly. “I’ll call you if I can’t find you.” 

“Okay,” he responds. She can almost hear the smile in his voice. She hangs up before she can break down any further. Despite this, she’s shaking when she stares at her phone. Her brother just spoke to her. He’s alive. He’s alive and speaking and remembers her and wants her. 

Akane wonders whether it would be quicker to call her parents or if the hospital will call them first. And she wonders if she should give Shinichiro a call. 

It’s late, though. 

“Okay, okay, Akane,” she says, hyping herself up. “Everything is going to be okay. Just gotta get dressed, drive to the hospital, and you’ll get to see Seishu again.” 

She wants to cry all over again. 

Hajime is exhausted, his eyes are puffy and he’s trying not to doze off. One of the paramedics had wrapped up his ankle and he’s waiting for another doctor to come in. The room they’ve been put in has a big window and a smooth floor. The sheets are clean and white, not scratchy but not that fluffy either. 

Hajime has his leg propped up on a pillow, a blanket pulled over it, more pillows supporting his back. He hasn’t felt such comfort in so long. 

Shuji is near the door, the phone pressed to his ear, and Hajime can’t hear what he’s saying or who he’s talking to, so he turns his attention to Seishu. 

Seishu, who hasn’t let anyone touch him. Who is still dirty with his injuries exposed. His eyes are hooded, like he’s also fighting sleep, and his feet are bare. With his hand, the one that doesn’t always ache, he reaches out and takes one of Seishu’s. The blond blinks, relaxing when he realizes it’s Hajime who’s touching him. No one else. 

“It’s okay, Seishu,” he whispers. “We’re safe now…” 

Shuji is there. His mom is on the way. Akane is on the way. 

They’ll be okay. 

Shuji comes back, sitting in the visitor chair at Hajime’s bedside. His smile is dim. 

“Mom’s on her way. I couldn’t… I couldn’t get a hold of dad,” Shuji says and Hajime frowns. “He’s probably just asleep. I’ll try later.” 

Hajime drops his gaze, focusing on the hand that’s intertwined with Seishu’s instead of on Shuji’s face. He still has to ask. “What happened…? You’re Hanma now…” 

“Mom and dad got a divorce,” Shuji explains. It’s blunt and hard to take, but Hajime has been through hell for almost half a decade so it’s just one more thing on top of everything else. 

Hajime's head drops anyway.

The whole time, when his mind had shuffled back to his family, he’d had an image of them. When he was maybe thirteen, they’d ended up with a small family, one young son and two parents that both drank more than they should. They’d always sat at the table for dinner, the mom laughing, the dad ruffling his son’s hair, and Hajime had been left, watching from his spot peeking over the couch, wondering how such good parents could turn around and keep children as pets. 

But, every time he’d watched them, his mind had gone back to his parents. His father would never ruffle his hair like that, but he’d always praise Hajime when he did well on a test. His parents would share chaste kisses when his father left for work in the morning, as much as he and Shuji would pretend to gag and be grossed out by the affection. 

His mom would always cook dinner for them, and the lady in that house did too. She’d even offer up Seishu some scraps from her plate, placing the plate on the ground so he could eat. And the boy, who’d every so often catch Hajime’s hair in his hands and pet him as if he wasn’t quite sure how to interact, loved to watch movies on the television, even when his parents went to bed. Like Shuji. 

But it disgusted Hajime to think of them being anything like his own family. So he’d always forcefully created an image of his family as they might be after so long. His mom, now a working woman with a nice day job, maybe going back to college and getting a degree. His dad, now standing over the stove every so often, making an effort to get to know them. Shuji, knuckling down in Hajime’s absence, grades soaring. 

He hadn’t imagined what the truth really was. His parents divorced, no longer in love or together against the world. His brother, a delinquent with bruised knuckles and smelling of cigarettes. 

And maybe he should be grateful that his brother turned out this way. If not, he would probably still be stuck in that basement. But it's so off-putting. His image of his family, held for about two whole years, which had overtaken his older image of his family from when he’d been taken, is shattering. 

Before he even realizes it, he’s scrubbing his face of tears. He feels Shuji’s long arms wrap around him again and he buries his face into the crook of his neck, one hand still interlocked with Seishu. Akane is coming, and soon Seishu won’t be alone, but Hajime needs him to be okay before he can truly sink into the comfort his brother, and hopefully soon his mother, offers. 

And he’s right. About ten minutes later, the door opens and a nurse is stepping inside, followed by a young woman in a loose sweater and jeans. Soft, blond hair tickles her ears, cut even shorter than before and styled completely differently. 

Akane looks grown up. She looks like a proper adult now, not just a teenage girl excited to hang out with her friends and worried about grades. She glances at Hajime, eyes glimmering with unshed tears, before she finds Seishu. 

“Seishu,” she breathes out softly, more of a gasp than anything. Her footsteps are quiet, gentle, as she slowly crosses the room. And she stops at Seishu’s bedside, hesitating. “Hey, Seishu. It’s Akane.” 

Seishu is blinking, grip tight in Hajime’s hand, and he stares for a while at Akane, trying to recognise her. When he finally does, his breath begins to hitch. His hand slips out of Hajime’s as he buries his face in his hands, trying to hide his pain. Hajime wants to reach out again. 

But before he can, Akane is sliding onto the bed, wrapping her arms around him, and pulling his head to her chest, rocking them back and forth as Seishu sobs and keens. She runs a hand through his hair and hums softly, glancing up and looking over at Hajime and Shuji with a few tears rolling down her cheeks. 

Seishu continues on for a while, and it sparks new tears in Hajime’s eyes, forcing him to bury his face in his brother’s shoulder again. By the time the doctor has arrived and two nurses follow, Seishu is asleep in his sister’s arms and Hajime is clinging to his brother still, head drooping again and again. 

He wants his mom.

Akane sits beside Shuji as they keep their eyes on the closed door. 

“It’s almost six,” she says softly. She’s exhausted, but Shuji looks worse. He hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep, while she’d gotten about four hours worth. Being an adult means she’s ended up with the habit of getting to bed early. No more late nights watching anime or reading doujinshis. She cheats sometimes, but that’s for Monday nights when she hasn’t had work nor does she need to get up for work the next day.

“Do you have to go to work?” Shuji asks even though he knows that she wouldn’t. 

“No,” she says. “But you have school.”

“Not going,” he states, shrugging. “I ditch often enough anyway.” 

She huffs. 

“Now you should be setting a good example,” Akane tells him, nodding towards the door. “Hajime needs you to be a good role model.”

“That ship has sailed,” Hajime replies, leaning back even further. He looks strange, his lanky body not built for the tiny hospital chairs they’ve chosen. “He watched me beat a man’s face in.” 

Akane frowns. She hasn’t pushed for information. But she’d been horrified when she walked in. 

She’d know it wouldn’t be good. But the scars on Hajime’s face, the bruises around Seishu’s neck… The way he barely speaks anymore. It’s haunting. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” She asks finally. “I just… I just want to know.” 

“I don’t know if you want to know, actually,” Shuji says, shaking his head. She gives him a hard look and he relents. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

He goes on to explain the state in which he and his friends found the pair in. He doubles back to explain why Toman had decided to raid the place anyway, sighing all the while. Finally, he explains his thoughts on the timeline with all the information he’s been given. 

Akane wants to be sick. She feels faint. When she voices this, he sighs. 

“I told you,” he says. 

Her parents are in with her brother. Hajime’s mother too, who’d turned up in tears, practically racing through the halls. She’d given Shuji a brief hug before, gingerly, sitting beside her youngest and cupping his cheeks, getting a closer look. She’d kissed the top of his head and held him close. 

Akane’s parents had been apprehensive. And maybe that’s because her mom had already given up and her dad had tried to convince himself that death was a better alternative to whatever could happen to Seishu. But they’d walked in there all the same, seen Hajime, seen Ms Hanma, seen Shuji, and seen her. 

That was after she’d sat with Seishu and held him as the nurses were finally able to bandage up his injuries and clean some of the dirt from his face and hair. He needs a bath and new clothes, but he’d looked better after that. And then he’d fallen asleep. 

Her mom had broken down crying, and her dad just looked horrified. 

Now she knows why. He could tell that the injuries told a story of pain and suffering. Seishu’s behavior already did. 

By the time she gets hungry and quickly hurries off to the vending machine to grab some snacks for both her and Shuji, it’s almost eight-thirty. And it’s there that she has the realization. There’s two other people who need to know the news. So she hurries back to Shuji. 

“I need to go,” she says. He frowns. 

“What?” 

“Shinichiro-kun and Wakasa-kun,” she states. “If I’m quick, I can make it before Shinichiro-kun opens his store. He’ll want to come in as soon as he hears the news.”

Shuji listens and then snorts. 

“Yeah… I better call some people too. The commander might be out of bed now, so I’ll check with Mitsuya, see what the common story is.” 

She nods. They’re on the same page, thank goodness. 

The hospital is a maze but she makes it out eventually. The car park is worse and trying to dodge around the moving traffic is headache-inducing, but she makes it all the way to S.S Motors intact. 

It’s eight fifty-five by the time she does. The shutters are still down, but she can hear movement inside when she walks over to the side door. 

“Shinichiro-kun,” she calls out. Wakasa has probably already opened up the gym, but if Benkei is there as well, it should be fine for him to duck out. “It’s Akane.” 

And like a light, Shinichiro is there. He’s smiling, but it falls when he takes in her haggard appearance and exhaustion tense body. 

“Hey, Akane-chan,” he says in greeting, trying to break the tension. “Something wrong? You’re not usually out this early on a Monday.” 

“I’m fine,” she says softly. “But you might not want to open up today.” 

A frown. “Why?” Shinichiro ends up leaning on the doorway, already in his coveralls, a gloved hand at his hip. 

“It’s…” She can barely say it. She hasn’t had to say it yet. “It’s Seishu.” 

That has Shinichiro standing up straight. 

“What about Seishu?” He asks, dread and hope fighting for dominance in his eyes. 

“They found him,” she says. Shinchiro goes pale. 

“Oh god.” 

“Alive,” she quickly amends. “He’s alive.” 

“Alive…” Shinichiro whispers like he suddenly doesn’t understand the word. “Alive… alive… alive…” His brows furrow. And then his eyes widen. “Seishu’s alive?!” 

Akane lets out a wet laugh, giving Shinchiro a wobbly smile. Seishu’s state probably hasn’t occurred to him yet, because he’s suddenly bouncing up and down, racing back into the store to pack up what he’d begun to work on and pulling off his coveralls. He wants to see Seishu, that’s more than obvious. 

But Akane isn’t quite sure he’s ready to see that yet. 

“We’re going, right?” He says, posting up a sign on the door that states ‘family emergency’. Seeing as Shinichiro was like a second father to Seishu, it’s fitting. 

“I’m gonna pick up Wakasa on the way,” she tells him as a stopgate. Wakasa will realize. There’s no doubt in her mind about that. But she wonders if Shinchiro will before Wakasa brings it up. 

The gym isn’t too far away from Shinichiro’s shop, but Akane is still nervous when they get there, biting her lip as she slides out of her seat and walks ahead. Shinchiro is following, smile a little more toned down than before. 

So he hasn’t come to the realization yet, has he? 

Wakasa, as per usual, is monitoring a sparing match between Benkei and Senju, a lollipop in his mouth. His expression is tight, the beginnings of a scowl turning his lips down. She’s not sure what’s wrong, but she’s hoping that she’s not about to add fuel to the fire. 

“Wakasa-kun,” she calls out, brushing down her crinkled jeans to soothe her nerves. “Can we talk?” 

Wakasa slowly tilts his head towards her, eyebrows rising as he takes in her exhausted state and Shinichiro’s wired one. 

“Sure?” Wakasa says, uncertain but still guiding them down the back to his office. There might not be that many people around yet, but it’s still a conversation best had in private. Especially if Shinichiro is about to become a teary-eyed mess. “Akane, Shin? What’s this about?” 

“They found Seishu,” Shinichiro states. Wakasa jerks back like he’s been slapped. There’s a dark look in his eyes. 

“Seishu and Hajime were both found last night,” Akane explains. “Shuji called me… I went down to the hospital. I don’t know what visitation looks like right now, but I could probably convince them to let you guys in. Since you were close with Seishu…” 

“He’s alive?” Wakasa asks but, unlike Shinichiro, his voice is subdued. She nods and he sinks into his chair deeper. 

“Can you believe it, Wakasa?” Shinichiro asks, smiling. Wakasa covers his face with his hands. 

“How bad, Akane?” 

Shinichiro falters. 

“It’s…” Akane looks away. How can she even tell them what Shuji told her? What she saw? What they’ll see. “It’s not good.” 

“What do you mean, Akane-chan?” Shinichiro asks, paling. “You said he was alive.” 

“Shin,” Wakasa sighs. “Just because he’s alive doesn’t mean he’s okay. He was kidnapped and held captive for five years. Who knows what his captors could have done to him in that time.” 

Akane looks at her feet. 

“I… I don’t know everything,” she prefaces. “Seishu… he doesn’t really speak anymore…” Scrubbing her face quickly, she continues. “He remembers my name and Hajime’s and yours, but he doesn’t really say much else. And it takes him time to understand that you’re… that you’re even talking to him.” 

“What happened?” 

“Hajime said… said they weren’t ever assaulted sexually, which is a relief. But they were hurt. Hajime’s face… And they…” She can barely get it out. “They wore collars. Like animals. Kept as pets. Sold on the black market.” 

Shinichiro looks like he’s going to be sick and Wakasa simply hangs his head like he’d assumed as much. 

“Who found them?” Wakasa finally enquires. Akane breathes out slowly, grateful for the change in direction. It might stop Shinichiro from throwing up. 

“Shuji and a few of the Toman members. They went to beat up a child predator,” she says. And, to be honest, she’d rather Shuji not be involved in any kind of violence. But in this case, it saved her brother so she’s secretly relieved. “Neither of your brothers were there, Shinichiro. Or they would have said something.” 

“Manjiro was asleep when I left,” Shinichiro says awkwardly. “And Izana only said he’d be meeting up with Kakucho later today.” 

“Shuji said they hadn’t told the leaders.” 

“Sounds like Hanma to me,” Wakasa snarks, trying to clear the air. “Okay. I’ll let Benkei know and we can be off.” 

No asking. No questioning. Wakasa heard that she could possibly get them visitation and noticed Shinichiro clearly wasn’t at his bike shop and figured she was taking them. 

Shinichiro, far more sobered, follows Akane calmly. Wakasa drops by the ring and speaks with Benkei, a serious look on his face. Benkei’s expression matches a second later and he nods, Senju bouncing up and down with questions. She’ll either get them from Benkei or have to wait for the next Toman meeting. 

“Akane…” Shinichiro whispers to her as Wakasa catches up. “How… how bad does he really look?” 

Akane thinks. 

“It’s… it’s not something I can easily describe. But he’ll… he’ll be okay now.” 

“He’s free, Shin,” Wakasa adds, wrapping an arm around Shinichiro’s waist. “And we’re here.” 

Shinichiro tries to give them a smile. 

“Yeah.” 

Wakasa might have put on a brave face but he’s fucking terrified when Akane finally finds a park in the busy hospital. She gets out first and Shinichiro, still a smidge pale and anxious, follows next. 

From Akane’s loose description, his brain is trying to come up with more and more horrible images of Seishu, suffering and disfigured. It brings back the nightmares he would occasionally have whenever Seishu’s birthday would come around. Nightmares about what conditions Seishu might be suffering through if he were alive. It’s why he’d always wake up and tell himself that he doesn’t want that. 

He always wanted Seishu back, but he didn’t want Seishu to suffer. So he told himself that Seishu was gone. 

It’s a cold and haunting walk through the halls. But he does finally spot Shuji standing in by a door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He looks just as exhausted as Akane, with dark lines under his eyes. Akane speeds up when she sees him, stepping right up to him. 

“Any change?” 

“Not really,” Shuji says. “I talked to Draken on the phone. Mitsuya told him everything so it’s fine. He wasn’t particularly happy, though. I’m sure Mikey will have a go at us later.” 

“Maybe,” Shinichiro notes, coming closer. “I’ll talk to him.” 

Shuji glances over at Shinichiro first and then Wakasa. 

“Whatever.” 

“Are my parents still in there?” 

Shuji shakes his head. 

“Your dad went to sign some paperwork with the cops. Your mom had to get to work.” 

“And your mom?” 

Shuji sighs. “Same as your dad. Mine hasn’t turned up and hasn’t answered my calls. Could still be too early.” 

“I thought you’d be in with them then,” Akane says. 

“Hajime’s asleep,” Shuji explains. “And I was waiting for you.” 

Wakasa doesn’t care for all this chit-chat. He’s getting more and more antsy as he stands there. He needs to see Seishu so his brain will stop conjuring up new images, each worse than the last. 

“Can we just go in already?” Wakasa asks, scowling. Akane nods, taking the handle and holding the door open for them. 

Inside, as Wakasa timidly steps over the threshold, is a very simple hospital room with two beds. Plain, pale blue walls and vinyl floors give the room a certain feeling that makes Wakasa uncomfortable. Both beds have white sheets, white pillows, and wheels attached to the bottom to make them easy to manoeuvre. 

In one bed, fast asleep but still hooked up to a few machines, is a dark-haired teenager. Said dark hair is long and messy, but pulled back to reveal a nasty scar down the teenager’s face. Claw-like marks marr the left side of his face, crossing over his eye and down his cheek. An ankle is wrapped up and propped up with a pillow, and so is his right arm. Wearing standard hospital scrubs, Wakasa comes to the realization that he’s looking at Hanma Hajime, or as he was known before, Kokonoi Hajime. 

His eyes trail across even as Akane enters. She quickly crosses the room to the other bed, where another figure is curled up on his side, hugging a pillow to his chest. 

“Seishu, I bought some friends,” Akane says softly. “I’m certain you’ll be happy to see them.” 

Wakasa gets a look at Seishu. 

His hair is longer, wispy and still that soft blond it was half a decade ago. A bruise darkens the skin of his neck, a shape not compliant with general strangle marks and bandages covering large swaths of it. Hands wrapped up in bandages, Seishu looks pale and his face is gaunt. He hasn’t been eating enough, he hasn’t been getting enough sunlight. He looks weak and sickly. 

The horror has been interfering with what Wakasa really should have been thinking about. 

He survived. Whatever he went through, he’s there and he’s alive and both of them have a chance at life again. No matter how much help and support Seishu might need. Wakasa will be there for him, as will Akane, Shinichiro and his parents. 

“Akane,” the deeper and more masculine voice replies and five years is a long time. Seishu clambers up a bit, sitting only to lean forward into his sister, hiding his face. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Akane says patiently. “Do you remember these two?” 

A questioning grunt is her answer and she beckons them over. 

Shinichiro is stiff, and Wakasa can see the beginnings of tears in his eyes, but he decides not to mention it. 

“Hey,” Wakasa tries, coming closer. “It’s me, Seishu. It’s Wakasa.” 

Seishu is silent. He moves his head so he can get a better look, frowning. 

“Seishu,” Shinichiro simply says, lips trembling as he clearly tries not to burst into sobs. “It’s Shinichiro. We’re here.” 

You’re here. Wakasa wants to say. 

Seishu blinks again and again. 

“Shinichiro.” 

Shinichiro nods, confidence boosted. 

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s us. We came.” 

Seishu licks his lips like he doesn’t quite know how to respond. He mouths a few words but all he manages to get out is their names. “Wakasa. Shinichiro.” 

Tears begin to streak down his face as, finally, he recognises them. His arms go out as his breaths hitch and Wakasa hurries over, wrapping the teenager up as he starts to cry. 

“Seishu,” Wakasa whispers, also shaking. Shinichiro envelopes both of them, running a hand through Seishu’s hair as Wakasa feels Shinichiro’s tears wet his shirt just as much as Seishu’s do.  

“Wakasa, Shinichiro, came.” 

It sounds like Seishu is struggling to speak and Wakasa’s heart breaks. Most of his words are mumbles, and it would make sense since Seishu is crying. But it’s not the blubbering of someone upset. It’s more like Seishu can’t form the words no matter how hard he tries. Shinichiro’s breath hitches and it’s clear he feels the same. So Wakasa rocks Seishu back and forth because that’s the best comfort he can think of. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Akane sit at Hajime’s bedside and Hanma stands. 

“I’m going out for a smoke,” he tells Akane, waving to them. “Look after Hajime for me.” 

“Okay,” she says gently. 

Extracting himself from the hug, Wakasa goes to Akane while Shinichiro just keeps holding Seishu, murmuring words of support and love as Seishu’s hands dig into his shirt. 

“What are you going to do now, Wakasa?” Akane asks, tilting her head. 

Wakasa looks away, sighing. 

“We’ll stay. For the day, at least. I’m sure Shin can manage one day away from his shop.” 

Akane gives him a smile. 

“That’s good,” she says. “I’m staying too. I don’t want to be away from him for too long.” 

Wakasa looks at the projection of genuine joy on her face and buries his own in his hands. 

“Any idea what the courts are going to say?” Wakasa asks before answering his own question. “It’s going to be a mess, right?” 

“I don’t even want to think about it. The police haven’t taken their statements yet, and we’re going to probably get a therapist and caseworker for both of them, just to assess what to do. Hajime… I think he wants to go back to school.” 

Wakasa gulps. 

“Seishu always admired Shinichiro when he worked on bikes,” Wakasa tells her. “I wonder if he’d be interested after all this is over.” 

Akane grasps his hands, making him look at her. 

“I’m sure he’d love that, Wakasa.”