iv. a working relationship

Giran didn't mix his personal feelings for Satoshi with business.

Granted, the reason he'd given Satoshi this job in the first place had been because of personal feelings – come on, Giran was a sensitive guy; what else was he supposed to have done with a banged up, fourteen-year-old street kid that showed some promise? – but since then, things had stayed pretty professional. He liked the way Satoshi got things done; he didn't question his methods – except for the drug use – and refrained from giving overly specific instructions. Administration, logistics, recruitment: whatever it was, Giran said jump and trusted Satoshi to decide how high. And generally, Satoshi scaled mountains, one way or another.

However, Satoshi had a penchant for trouble. Never anything serious, and never related to work. Just a few cases of identity theft and fraud, here and there; occasionally starting fights in clubs and then flitting out without a scratch. Sometimes he did stupid things to impress boys he had no intention of getting serious with. Once or twice, he'd drank way more than was good for him and had showed up at Giran's door – clothing pulled skew, fidgety and sweating, teary because of some hallucination or headache or another. And always, Giran would welcome him with open arms, and would tell him off for being a little too reckless, and would be there for Satoshi to turn to again and again because he knew that he was all Satoshi had in the world. Also because it never jeopardised his work, which was the important thing.

Things were different this time. As much as Satoshi shrugged it off, Giran could feel it.

Empty coffee mugs and open folders littered the table between them; a blue haze of smoke was thick in the air, chilled with the lack of natural light. Satoshi flicked distractedly between the pages of Dabi's file, brow furrowed and brooding. "It's just that I feel like I know him somehow, that's all," he said, a pout to his lips like a scolded child. "It was nothing personal or anything. I was just interested, okay? Just wanted to see–"

"I don't care. You're not supposed to mess around with clients," Giran said. "Full stop. What you do in your spare time is up to you, but when it comes to business–"

"Dabi's not our client though. And there was no messing around. I was stopping by that shithole for something to eat and he just happened to be there."

"You know that I know that's not how it happened."

"Agree to disagree then. Whatever. It's no biggie, okay?" Satoshi flipped the folder closed petulantly and sank into his seat. "Had I known you'd be this annoyed with me, I wouldn't have said anything."

Giran sighed. "Don't be petty with me. I'm your boss, not your daddy."

"Sorry, sir."

"For real. Stop it."

"Fine. Sorry."

"Now then," Giran said, eager to change the subject. "Back to the Vanguard matter..."

To their mutual surprise, Shigaraki had selected Dabi as the leader for the invasion of UA's training camp. Not that it hadn't seemed the obvious choice, of course – but up until that very moment, Giran had heard less than famous things regarding Shigaraki's feelings towards Dabi, even after having been persuaded to accept him into the League. No matter. Giran had been paid in full for his work (it was simply a bonus to that all had ended well). More than that though, he was pleased that Shigaraki had decided to employ his services once again. There was equipment to be sourced and delivered, transportation to be arranged, information to be buried – all Giran's line of expertise.

It was for this reason that he had called Satoshi to their usual rendezvous point – a diner that served cheap bottomless coffee and exercised particular discretion with regard to its customers. They'd already been halfway through their discussion regarding logistics when Satoshi, ever so casually, mentioned his little meet up with Dabi.

Certainly, Giran wanted to trust that Satoshi had meant nothing by it, wanted to believe that he was really as nonchalant about the matter as he was making himself out to be. But something was off. See, the thing was, Satoshi didn't usually care very much about other people. He was good at acting sociable and at making conversation, nodding at all the right times, asking the right questions. He could conjure delight and fascination as easily as he could light a cigarette. But it was just that – a conjuration, an act. He was much too empty hearted and narrow minded to make much space for others. He liked alcohol. He liked music. He liked his work. He did not like people. Giran had never seen him take a notable interest in others.

But he'd taken an interest in Dabi.

Any idea where he's from?

Think we missed something in the system? Should I look again?

Anyone you know who might have heard of him?

No reason. Just wondering.

It piqued Giran's curiosity too, how little information there was on Dabi – a minimal criminal record, nothing in the database (the education system, the foster system, missing persons, unsolved murders) to match his description. There'd been a death certificate that had grabbed Giran's attention, but he'd been quick to scrap it. All they had to go on was the Dabi that stood before them. Of course, even in their line of work, it was unusual for a person to be so thoroughly anonymous; thus, Giran had considered it reasonable that Satoshi should be curious. Like a child wanting to take apart a clockwork toy. And as was the case with a child, Giran figured the curiosity would also be fleeting. Satoshi's attention span was little more than it had been when he was fourteen. It would all die down in a few days.

Only, it didn't.

It wasn't simply a breach in professionalism for Satoshi to have bought Dabi dinner. Without discretion and careful choice, it endangered the whole operation. It endangered Satoshi himself.

Still, it was early days. His spontaneity seemed to be without consequence for now, which is why Giran made the executive decision to give Satoshi the benefit of the doubt and keep him as the go-between between themselves and the League. With enough exposure, he'd surely lose interest in Dabi, find that there was as little behind that stapled facade as there was of him on paper. Satoshi would retreat back into his safe little world soon enough, Giran assured himself - that little world where Giran would have to remind him to eat breakfast and to make doctor's appointments without having to worry about deals going wrong and boys with death behind their eyes.

(...Only, what if it got worse?)