December 2018.

Hello! It's been a while! This fic is undergoing a bit of a re-edit to make it a little better to read (mostly just thinning out the excess descriptions etc.) And I'm adding in one Appendix tell Kogure's story, fix some of the missing details, and also maybe catch a little glimpse of life eight years after the Epilogue.

Thank you so much for all your support over the years, and I'm so glad so many people have enjoyed this story. Your comments are, as always, greatly appreciated x

- Star

December 2009.

Greetings! The first two chapters of this story were previously released on several websites a number of years ago. After that I left it alone for a long time and have finally taken it up again! There have been many additions and adaptations of the first two chapters so please take a moment to read the new versions.

Comments and criticism are very much desired! I want to make this the best I can and am always prepared to edit chapters – even older ones! - so please go ahead and speak your mind.

Thank you for taking the time to read.

- Star

A Romeo and Juliet Story

Chapter 1

(The quotations in bold throughout the fic are taken from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.)

There was a brief period of time that I recall, when we were very young. We were at an age when we understood death, but didn't quite believe in it. An innocent, open minded, impressionable age when I had never held a gun.

I can remember the moment clearly. I was playing with him on the basketball court. We were rolling a small blue ball along the floor to each other, laughing when it went astray, chasing it when it rolled off the smooth cement into the long grass. Just as any normal children oblivious to the black adult world around them would do.

I can even remember feeling happy until his mother came for him and pulled him away. I sat and watched him go, aware of the sad, puzzled look on his face. When they were some distance away I could still hear the scolding that the woman was giving him.

"Stupid boy!" she had said, "do you not know who you were playing with?"

And then I felt sad.

He had strained his neck round to look back at me, and when he thought his mother wasn't looking he waved goodbye. I waved back, and then Hisashi came with his big-kid friends to take me home for lunch.

I haven't seen that boy since, but I think of him sometimes in my now grown up world of guns, drugs and dirty money. I remember him well because that was the point in my life when I learned of the age-old rivalry, and in time I would also learn to hate, just as my parents taught me.

Two households - both alike in dignity.

The Sendohs - and the Rukawas.

The youngest Rukawa pushed his food around his plate. Eating didn't seem worthwhile. He couldn't even taste the food in his mouth. After forcing himself to chew another half a mouthful he dropped his fork onto the plate with a clatter.

He rose from his chair, the legs scraping against the tiled floor of the grand conservatory noisily as he pushed it backwards.

His mother looked up at him, gold earrings jingling musically with her movements. "Don't leave yet, Kaede," she implored him, lifting her eyebrows as if trying to communicate a secret meaning, "it's nice to have your company while Hisashi is out."

Ignoring her as if she wasn't even there, he turned to walk away from the dining table.

"Dear..." she turned her attention to her husband who hadn't looked up from where he was reading a report, pausing occasionally to take a mouthful of food or to tut and shake his head at the events illustrated to him, "...dear, isn't it nice to have Kaede sit with us? Call him back, dear."

Kaede rolled his eyes unseen as he walked away. She was years too late to be chasing that same old angle. Nothing was going to change.

"Be quiet" Anzai replied shortly as Kaede had expected, "I'm reading."

With a bitter smile at the predictability of the conversation Kaede let himself out of the room, closing the door on his deflated mother with a click.

He walked through the extensive lounge into the lavishly decorated hall where the grand staircase led to the upper floors. A couple of female servants were there chatting idly. When they saw the young man enter the hallway, however, they immediately quietened and bowed low muttering "Good evening, Kaede-sama."

He ignored them both, and ignored the flash of apprehension he knew was in their eyes, and began to ascend the stairs, heading for his room. He was stopped halfway up the staircase by the sound of the main exterior door opening behind him and a voice calling his name.

"Kaede!"

He turned slowly on the spot to see his brother standing in the door frame dressed in full biking leathers. His right hand held a joint, while the other was clutching the fingers of the boy at his side. Kaede ignored the call and bowed instead to his brother's companion, "Sempai."

The corners of Kogure's lips lifted slightly, his cheeks were gently flushed from his recent ride on Hisashi's beloved motorcycle. "Kaede" he returned pleasantly. The only one now who spoke his name with something other than fear or derision. Kaede felt warmed just at the sight of him. For a moment it was as if perhaps things weren't so bad after all.

"Where's dad?" Hisashi demanded, ushering Kogure inside the hallway and kicking the door closed behind him with his foot even as one of the maids came forward to assist him. Kogure handed over his jacket to the woman gratefully, bending down to remove his shoes as well. Hisashi paid her no attention whatsoever.

"Conservatory" Kaede replied simply.

"Cool. Listen. I ran into a bit of trouble on the way back. Some fucking Sendoh punks pushing over the boundary at Kujin. I'll take Tetsuo and some of the boys to sort them out later." He sent his younger brother a smooth provoking smirk, "How about you come along?"

"Can't," was Kaede's simple reply.

"Can't" Hisashi repeated mockingly, "Why? Scared?"

Kaede took a breath, trying to resist the temptation to snap a retort. Thankfully he didn't have to because another voice spoke up with a deep rumble from the other side of the hallway.

"He can't because he's working tonight."

All three boys looked towards the door that led to an office where an older man had just appeared. He was tall. Taller than any of them; strong but greying slightly with age. The square-rimmed glasses on his nose gave him an intellectual look. He bowed to Hisashi politely.

Hisashi only scowled back at him and tsked in irritation. He spared his brother a final unfriendly glare before marching off in the direction of the conservatory, Kogure in tow.

Kaede waited for the door to slam behind him before turning his attention back to the man. "Akagi-san?" he queried. "There's a job tonight?"

The large man nodded at him seriously. "I will be able to give you the full details in a few hours. Please stay in the house in the meantime."

Kaede stared at him for a moment longer before narrowing his eyes and turning on his heel for the final time and making his way upstairs without a word. Akagi watched him go silently.

Upon reaching his bedroom, Kaede couldn't help slamming the door. He stood still, breathing hard, leaning back on the wood and closing his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. No good would come from acting like a troubled teenager, he reprimanded himself.

He opened his eyes and looked around him at his bedroom. It hadn't been redecorated for a long time and still carried the hallmarks of Kaede's younger, more innocent years; the optimistic blue colour, the patterned curtains. It didn't really suit him now, in his sixteenth year, the dangerous, withdrawn young man he had become.

His eyes moved over the many quaint trophies on a couple of shelves, his bed messy and unmade against one wall, the faded basketball posters plastered over the paintwork. Over on his desk lay an empty gun holster. One gun was even now at his waist, the second hidden under his pillow where he might reach it easily during the night.

On his left hand side there was a French window, full sized, leading outside to a balcony. The view looked out over the rear gardens of the mansion. At this time of year the cherry blossoms were in bloom and pink petals were scattered delicately over the lush grass. On Kaede's right, opposite the windows hung a large canvas bearing the Rukawa family crest. Across the bottom was stamped the family name Rukawa, and under that another with the family motto: Victory with Ease. There was an identical one in each bedroom as though his father believed it should be the last thing you saw before going to sleep and the first thing you saw upon waking in the morning. It was the eternal stamp– name, heritage, blood. The whole room, the whole house and all the people in it were claimed and possessed by that one name – Rukawa.

With a sigh Kaede drifted towards his bed, intending to lie down and rest.

He paused however when he noticed a discrete wire running half hidden along the top of the skirting board to disappear behind his desk. His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. He dropped to his hands and knees, pulling the wire off the wall as he crawled, and finally snapped the small microphone he found on the end.

He dropped the mutilated bug onto his desk before flopping onto the bed, one hand against his forehead as he gazed at the ceiling blankly.

Bloody Sendohs he thought absent-mindedly, automatically - as he had been taught to do.

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene.

Yokohama. The second largest city in Japan, and the capital of Kanagawa prefecture.

A famous port city, Yokohama was filled with lights and life enjoyed both by the residents and the millions of visitors who came to experience the city every year. The city was fresh, modern and inviting. The streets were clean and tidy, the economy was not only stable but booming. Towering skyscrapers decorated the waterfront and a deluge of luxury shopping centres enticed visitors to part with their money.

And yet beneath the appearance of stability and wealth there was something gnawing away at the roots of the city like a virus. Organised crime.

The Sendoh and Rukawa families had been operating underground in Yokohama's black markets for many generations, and their hold over the district was absolute. Corruption was abound, and beneath the calm surface of the city there were deadly currents. Gun crime and drug dealing. Murder and money. In the back alleys, behind the upmarket façade, blood often stained the streets.

To the south of the city was a jut of land which extended out like a finger into the Bay of Tokyo. It was called the Miura Peninsula, a popular retreat from the city that boasted miles of quiet sandy beaches. How extraordinary the great difference in atmosphere only a short half-hour drive to the south could achieve. The lights and noise of the city would simply fade behind to be replaced with the lulling quiet of the ocean's peace.

It was there that Sendoh Akira dug his hands into the sand, enjoying the strange feeling of grainy resistance and withdrew them again. He threw his gaze out over the swirling sea waves, gazing towards the horizon, mourning the inky blackness of the approaching night.

Anyone who saw him might have believed that he was a statue for he stayed so still, just gazing quietly forwards amongst his so many futile wishes. Beside him, half buried in the sand a gun sat unassumingly, almost with innocence, but well within his reach.

Though he hardly seemed much in all his current silent melancholy, this unassuming boy was the eldest of two sons of the Sendoh house – the sole heir to the Sendoh drug empire – and reputed as one of the most talented businessmen in the black market.

The sound of the waves was disturbed by the noise of a motorcycle roaring up to the edge of the beach. Akira turned his head and watched a figure hop angrily off the machine, yank off his helmet with a vengeance and come charging across the sand in wrath.

"That bastard! Look!" The fireball of fury brandished a jacket wildly in front of his brother's face "Akira - look! Look here!"

Akira obediently look a look at the gaping bullet hole punctured in the hem of the flapping jacket and sighed.

"I would say you've been lucky Hanamichi. It might have gone through your head."

The younger brother stopped ranting and glared at Akira for a second before collapsing next to him on the sand sulking.

"It was my favourite jacket…" he couldn't help but whine stubbornly.

Akira laughed quietly at his brother's childishness. "Who did you run into? Some Rukawas?"

There was a heavy sigh. "Yeah, Hisashi."

"Oh right," Akira nodded sympathetically a few times, before querying, "Which one's he again?"

"Akira!" Hanamichi protested, not bothering to hide his appalled tone.

"What?" Akira replied. "How am I supposed to remember?"

"Know thine enemies," Hanamichi quoted at him severely. Akira rolled his eyes.

The truth was that Akira had never met the Rukawa sons - either of them. They had nothing to do with him. The two families had very limited contact with each other now. They mainly attempted to out-perform each other in business, competing for the best positions, trading contraband and illegal substances, holding out their respective territories. There was no opportunity for the two sides to negotiate face to face; those days were long gone, lost back in time in the many years of rivalry they had endured. It was an ancient feud. Street fights were common enough among the younger generation whenever Rukawas and Sendohs inadvertently met, but Akira had never involved himself in such situations. Hanamichi however had quite a taste for confrontation.

"He's is the eldest of the two Rukawa sons," Hanamichi explained, recalling his encounter with Hisashi just an hour before. Nothing serious had occurred. The Rukawas had been passing through on their way somewhere else and hadn't seemed interested in responding with much vigour to Hanamichi's provocation. A few rounds fired, nothing more. Still Hanamichi had moved his group back deeper into Sendoh territory before Hisashi would have a chance to return.

"Oh right - is he the one they say is talented with a gun?"

"No - that's the other one, my age. Kitsune."

Sendoh snorted softly, amused at the nickname. "Kitsune?"

"He has weird kitsune eyes." Hanamichi elaborated. "And he has foxes engraved on the barrel of his gun. He's a bit weird."

"Weird, huh?" Akira picked up a nearby pebble and threw it into the sea idly. "What's his name?"

"Huh?"

"What's the name of this kitsune?"

"Oh uh…" Hanamichi hesitated, "…I can't remember," he admitted, with a great deal of embarrassment.

Akira laughed loudly on the deserted stretch of beach - "Know thine enemies huh?" he grinned. "Practise what you preach is more like it."

He pounced on his unsuspecting brother, initiating a friendly wrestling match in the sand. All kitsunes forgotten.

~tbc

Versions updated; Dec 2009, May 2011, Dec 2018