Author's note: Check ao3 for the cute fanart I received for this story since I can't link it here!
Several long seconds pass as Mugen blinks at her. Her voice winds its way through his sluggish brain, causing his jaw to go slack.
"Can you…show me how you like to be touched now?"
His tongue twists in his mouth. How many times has he directed a woman to do exactly what he wants her to? For all the knowledge he lacks in every other area of his life, he at least knows what gets him off. He's something of an expert in that field. She's looking at him with those big, innocent eyes, her cheeks flushed pink and goddamn , it's even hotter because she looks so eager for it.
She presses a hand to his chest, gently pushing him until he's half-leaning back against the pile of pillows and stuffed animals on her too-small bed.
"I never got to, remember?" she says, voice surprisingly coy. "I should return the favor."
Her thighs straddle one of his legs, hands working to pop the button of his pants, tugging at the zipper. He nearly jumps, feeling every brush of her fingers.
"R-right."
He resists the urge to slam his head back. Fuck, he's stuttering now ? He's the experienced one here! Her little smile and mischievous glint in her eye only causes him to swell harder. It's only because he knows she's a virgin that he doesn't flip her over right that second and bury himself inside of her.
She wants him. She likes him . Someone like her.
She scoots back, blush deepening into a darker shade as she eases the flimsy straps of her dress over her shoulders. The color on her face spreads from her cheeks to her collarbone, stopping at the frilly lilac edge of her dress. The warmth of her body seeps into him through the thin fabric. He could tear it from her in seconds if he wanted. Lay her back, feel her legs wrap around his waist, find the center of that addictive heat. He's always loved the heat.
He's done too much thinking lately. It would be nice, just for a little while, to lose himself to her. Feel a little mindless pleasure. A small respite from the constant bullshit.
But she deserves more than 'mindless'.
He stops her hand.
Tomorrow, everything changes. Another one of those weird feelings he's been having lately. Just knowing things like the goddamn prophet he is. If something happens to him—
"Mugen?"
He heaves a sigh, grabbing one of the stuffed animals beside him to cover his face.
"Think we better slow down." he mutters into it.
"What!?"
She straightens up, gawking at him.
"Was it something I did?" she asks, hurriedly tugging the straps back over her arms. "Do I look weird or—"
He rolls his eyes at this, pulling the stuffed dog down far enough to glower at her. He's been trying to get between her legs since they met. He's already been there in fact and right now he knows she's more than willing to-as she put it- return the favor .
He's got the greatest self control known to man.
"Just think I went about this all wrong with you." he mutters. "Shoulda' gone…I dunno, slower . You're…young. What're you, like, 20?"
"18." She says flatly, "and none of that stopped you before. What happened to: I'm not leaving until I hear you screaming my name? "
Oh shit, he did say that, didn't he? Not the first time he's been too horny to think straight. Won't be the last.
"Yeah well, I didn't know you were…" he gestures wildly at her before huffing, "Shit, if I knew it was gonna end up like this I—"
He turns and groans into her pillow. Why is this so hard? It was simpler when he thought her interest in him was fleeting—he was fine with being used, strung along. He's not fine with her thinking that's all he wants her for. No returning favors , no messing around without any thought of what's to come. What even comes next? He doesn't make plans for the future because before now there wasn't any reason to.
He's never had something worth slowing down for. He just doesn't want to fuck this up.
"I'm tired." he says lamely and despite being so keyed up he might explode, there's some truth to those words. Long, sleepless nights have been a constant lately. Not to mention his back is still fucked up from being jammed into Jin's couch cushions the night before.
"Oh. I guess that makes sense."
A small part of him is happy that she's disappointed.
They fall into an awkward silence. Going back to Umanosuke's to sleep isn't an option anymore. He knows if he runs into him before tomorrow he'll end up killing him. If that's the case then maybe four-eyes won't mind him crashing on his couch again.
She clears her throat and clasps her hands together.
"Can I ask one, itty bitty favor though?"
Obviously .
"Depends."
"Will you stay here tonight? We don't have to do anything!" she rushes to add. As though he's going to clutch his fucking pearls at the thought.
"Yeah." he says, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck, "Sounds fine. If you think you can control yourself."
"Oh gee, I'll try ." She snaps, wrinkling her nose at him as she pushes herself from the bed. "I'm going to take a quick shower. Your fly is down, by the way."
"Whose fault is that?" he calls out at her as she sticks her tongue out at him over her shoulder. "Goddamn tease." he mutters but grins when the door shuts behind her.
He likes arguing with her. He likes laying on her too-small bed in her shitty little, messy apartment. He likes cooking for her and watching her stuff her face. He's definitely lost his mind.
He hears the hiss of her shower kick on. This amount of self-restraint is new for him. He tries not to think about the fact that the only thing standing between him and her naked, soapy body is a flimsy plywood door. He's not even sure what they'll do if he stays the night. The longer he stays the more his own flimsy resolve will be tested.
She returns several minutes later, rubbing a towel on her damp hair, a cloud of puffy, sweet smelling steam following her. He hears her digging around her fridge, coming back with arms laden with beer and snacks.
He cocks an eyebrow at her choice of pajamas: an old, oversized T-shirt with the faded image of the Kiyomizu-dera temple and a pair of fluffy pink sleep-pants. Noticing his stare she shrugs somewhat self consciously, dumping her haul on the bed before him.
"I don't own anything sexy and since you're not in the mood anyway I figured this was the safest bet."
Not in the mood.
He snorts at this. Little does she know that it doesn't matter what she wears. He'd be more than fine with throwing her down in a paper sack. At least it'd be easier to tear it off…As it is, her ratty old shirt is thin, and he swears he can almost see the outline of her— nope , not a good place for his mind to wander right now.
She settles across from him, sitting cross-legged, handing him a can of asahi.
He takes it, shaking his head.
"Didn't you just get off work? You wanna play twenty questions too?"
"Talking with you isn't like work." she says, cracking open a can, sipping at the foam bubbling out. "It's like a sleepover!"
He snorts again and she shoots him an offended look.
"Hey I never got to have many of those!"
He can't say he has either. Unless you count the night before at Jin's which he definitely doesn't.
They end up talking for hours. About everything. He lets her do most of it, sitting back, taking quiet sips, eating the snacks she brought, listening to her ramble. It's nice.
She tells an animated story about how she got the shirt she's wearing. The night before the class trip to visit the temple, she came down with the flu. She cried about it the whole night. As soon as she got better her mother pulled her from school and took her there herself so that she wouldn't feel left out. She grew up poor, so it was a big deal. They stayed at a cheap ryokan and ate convenience store food. It was the only trip they ever got to go on together.
"I didn't even know she was sick." Fuu says, smoothing a wrinkle from the bedsheets in front of her. "She just seemed a little…tired. By the time she went in to get seen, there was nothing they could do. She got chemotherapy, but it wasn't enough. It just made her feel worse. The doctors told me it wouldn't be long–like that would comfort me." she pauses, swallowing. "She wasn't a burden, but she never stopped apologizing to me. She said I should have been spending my nights having sleepovers or sneaking out to see a boy instead of taking care of her."
"Is that what you wanted?"
She half shrugs, eyes kept down, her lips not quite rising.
"Maybe, but I wanted my mom more."
He imagines loving someone and having to watch them die. Completely helpless to stop it. The idea makes him feel oddly sick with a cold familiarity.
She lets out a breath, shaking her head.
"And then there's my dad. I wouldn't wish what I went through on anyone except for him. Does that make me a bad person?"
He shakes his head.
"Nah." he says, still shaking off the dread. He doesn't know what else to say. He doesn't have parents to mourn. Not really.
"I guess it could be worse." she says softly, glancing up at him.
He's not so sure about that. He never knew his parents. They could be anyone. It would be easy for him to make them into something. Someone to blame, to hate, to miss. A lot of the kids he grew up with did that and he tells her so.
"What about you? Have you ever wondered what they were like?"
He shrugs a shoulder. It's his turn to fidget and avoid her gaze. His eyes fall on the tiny altar near the entrance where a kind looking woman stares out at him from behind the glass of a framed photo. He can see Fuu there, just fleeting pieces of her peeking out. Warm eyes. Dark hair. Sad smile. He looks away.
"No point in wondering. They're either dead or better off dead. One of the two."
That's a lie. The truth is, he's always fallen short when trying to conjure them up. He blames his shitty imagination. He tried building them from scraps of himself. Maybe he got his temper from his mom, his eyes from his dad. It's no use and he knows that. He could spend his whole life tearing himself apart, searching for the exact pieces that made him worth abandoning.
He doesn't even realize that he's zoning out until he feels her touch on his wrists. She tries closing her fingers around them, matching her fingers to the faded blue rings, not even coming close to touching. She holds them out like he's manacled before her. He remembers the last time he was handcuffed. How unsure he felt then, like there was no way out. Sometimes it feels like they're still there. Somehow her grip feels more secure than any metal. It feels like she's holding him there, grounded. Secure.
"Is there a special meaning behind these?"
"They're not tattoos."
She tilts her head in question.
"They're birthmarks."
She drags a wrist closer to her face to inspect it, eyes widening.
"No way! They're so perfect though?"
Something else he inherited from those faceless strangers? He's not sure. Something about them feels like they're entirely his own. Who knows, maybe he just sprang up from the dirt one day.
They end up lying neatly parallel beside each other, staring up at the ceiling, talking until the sky behind her curtains begins to lighten. Even her furry little flying rat eventually pokes his head out from the cabinet to curl up in his jacket on the floor next to the discarded beer cans and empty snack wrappers. It's marginally easier to resist touching her this way, though every now and then he notices her inching closer. He ignores the voice in his head that tells him that every brush of her against him will be the last.
He fights against his heavy lids. It's calm and peaceful. He hasn't felt this good or normal in his entire life.
"It's really lucky that you were my first customer." she says after a while, her speech slurred. "Imagine if I didn't take this stupid job. We never would have met."
"I met you before that, ya' know."
"Hmm?"
Her voice is light, drifting away from him, somewhere between sleep and waking. Just out of reach.
"You were a waitress."
She gives another sleepy mumble.
It feels like so long ago when he ducked into her shop and saw her standing there in her pink kimono—no, apron . Two images present themselves in his memory: like a double exposed photo, blurry and hazy around the edges. He can almost see the outline of her looking at him with interest as he walks in, even as he scowls at her in a way that usually leaves other people on guard. Her eyes never held the same judgment for him.
He frowns. The trouble is, this isn't what happened at all.
"You gave me dumplings. There was this big group of loud guys in there, but you chased em' out with a broom down the street. Didn't even need my help."
He turns his head to look at her. Her lips are parted, her breathing deep and even. Her hair has long dried wavy and wild over her pillow, one hand between them still curled around his wrist, like he'll try to escape.
"Guess I'll just keep waitin' on you to need me."
"I hate leaving you, but I know you'll be in good hands soon enough."
Fuu wasn't sure what her mom meant by this. What other hands would there be besides her own? The same hands that prepared her food, smoothed bandaids over her scraped knees, that carried her as a child, were now so frail and thin, cold to the touch. Those were the hands she was losing.
She wasn't sure how she did it, how she managed to watch her mother deteriorate daily without breaking down over and over. She thought maybe she had done enough breaking down privately, letting herself experience small doses of despair. Taking breaks when preparing soup in the kitchen to fall into a crouch, one hand gripping the counter, body shaking with sobs until the microwave dinged and it was time to bring her dinner. Those were the moments of freefall. When she stepped back into her mom's room, she put on a smile again.
"How do you know I'll be in good hands?
She never got to hear the answer.
The muffled sound of a phone ringing wakes her up. She turns, blindly reaching for it, but finds herself trapped in a tangle of long arms wrapped around her. Mugen's eyes are closed, but she has a feeling he's awake. She stifles a laugh. There's that same strange sense that, though she has never, not once I'm her life, shared the amount of intimacy she has with him. It's safe, like home.
She feels the vibration of the phone going off from somewhere beneath them.
"Mugen, I think it's your phone–." she gasps as he pulls her closer. His brows contract, eyes still closed.
"Ignore it."
She tries wriggling away, but he slides a hand beneath her.
"Mugen."
"Jus' lookin' for the phone." he says, voice raspy from sleep, "Don't get your hopes up."
Even still, she feels a definite squeeze before he pulls it up and flips it open.
"Aw shit."
"What is it?"
He sits up with a yawn, bleary eyes holding the phone close to his face to read it before snapping it shut.
"Gotta head out soon. Didn't think I'd sleep this late."
The old clock on her bedside table reads 2:43. She's never slept this late. Or that good , to be honest. Now she's kicking herself for mentioning the stupid phone.
"Stay home from work tonight." He says as he gets dressed, pulling his jacket on, tossing a very disgruntled Momo out of it with an indignant squeak.
"Why?"
"I got a lot to do tonight. Don't wanna worry about you runnin' around gettin' into trouble if I'm too busy to come save your ass."
"I'm not trouble." She says hotly.
He rolls his eyes, smirking.
"You're with me now girly. Just shows you got shit judgment."
"Am I?" She asks breathlessly, a flutter of delight lighting her up. " With you?"
He scratches the scruff on his chin watching her for a moment.
"Yeah. Guess so."
She lobs a pillow at his face.
"Real romantic you jerk."
He shrugs, taking a moment to stand and stretch.
"That's alright. You can stay mad at me. I got these to keep me company."
He produces a pair of her panties from his pocket, dangling them in the air. She gasps.
"You pervert! Give those back!"
He grins, stuffing them in his back pocket, dodging her easily as she tries to reach around him.
"No way. What if I get lonely?" he teases.
"Then just come back to me!"
Her face burns and she takes a step back, mumbling about him not going out and being reckless. He clears his throat.
"Give me your phone."
She grabs it from the counter and hands it to him. He types something in it before handing it back.
"My numbers' in there. If something ever happens, I'm the first person you call."
"Alright." she mumbles softly.
He stares at her for a moment before pulling her to him into a crushing embrace.
"I mean it." he says fiercely, "No more suffering in silence bullshit. That's over. You turn to me from now on."
Her throat tightens, but she nods.
"Mugen…"
She pulls back, standing up on tip-toes to press her lips to his, hands tugging on his jacket to pull herself closer. It's a fast, burning kiss, igniting a fire in the center of her chest, one that's always existed for him. Her mom was right, maybe she's finally in hands she can rely on.
"Don't know how long this 'going slow' thing is gonna last." he admits as she pulls away and he tugs her hips against him again. She smiles, pulling him down for another.
"I'm okay with that."
After he leaves, she feels like she might just float through the rest of the day. Through the rest of her life . She texts Yuuka to let her know she won't be in tonight. As she does she scrolls through her contacts, laughing when she sees the newest one.
My Hero
She wonders if it's too soon to text him.
She spends the day cleaning her apartment, a chore she usually hates, but now she does it cheerfully, humming tunelessly. She tosses dishes into the sink, gathering up trash. What if he wants to spend the night again? She hasn't gone to do laundry in a while… She wonders if she'll have time to go out and run a few errands before then.
She gets dressed, pulling on a pair of pink corduroy overalls over a simple white shirt. It's nice to wear something that isn't skin tight, designed to titillate drunk business men.
She's just putting her hair up when she hears a knock at the door.
Later on she'll remember this moment. She'll remember the little details that she was too distracted to notice at the time. Like how it was less of a knock and more of a bang . How Momo, who had previously ventured out, skittered back into hiding. She was too wrapped up in silly daydreams about Mugen, thinking that maybe it was him again. Even though later she'll laugh at herself for thinking he'd ever knock. She forgot about everything that existed outside of her happy little bubble.
It's only when the door slams again, wood splintering at the hinges, that her smile falls and she remembers.
Mugen tugs sharply at his collar. He looks like a clown and worse than that he feels suffocated .
He very grudgingly took Jin's instructions to shower, shave and attempt to tame his hair. He's given up on that last feat because no amount of combing it flat makes him look like an upstanding member of society. It's only when Jin handed over the neatly folded suit that he became mutinous, putting it on with all the disdain of a child being forced to eat their vegetables. He stares into the bathroom mirror where a surly stranger glares back at him.
"You're supposed to look like an affluent customer." Jin explains, though by the skeptical tone of his voice even he can see that Mugen would probably be better suited putting a dress on and pretending to be a hostess rather than a wealthy patron.
"This shit is uncomfortable." he says, tugging again at the tight cuffs restricting his wrists. "How do you wear this crap everyday?"
"Most of the country's workforce manages it." Jin points out. "You'll last one night."
"Not the ones who actually work." Mugen grumbles, tugging the navy tie down his neck once more. No one who does actual labor could wear this shit .
He takes the silver wrist watch Jin hands out, his expression slightly mollified.
"Now this ain't bad."
"It belonged to my father."
"He mind you loaning' it out?" Mugen asks, securing the heavy watch with a click before turning it around on his wrist. He's never worn one before. The silver is polished and shiny, with delicate moving parts visible through a tiny window on its face. Miniscule gears turn as the minute hand ticks with precision.
"He's dead, so no, I don't think he'll mind."
"Oh."
"I was raised by a family friend before I gained my independence." he offers to Mugen's silence.
There's no emotion in his voice, which he appreciates, rather a practiced, distanced way that says he's long past getting blubbery over it. "That watch was among the belongings left to me. It's the only thing of value I own. I thought it might help you look the part a little better."
He doesn't know what to say to that. He just sort of assumed someone with a fancy job like his automatically had everything else going for them. Taking a look at his apartment he notices little things he didn't before; notably that while everything is taken care of better than he would have, it's all second hand. Even this suit, nicer and in better condition than anything he owns, is definitely worn and well used.
The watch feels even heavier on his wrist.
He thinks of the three of them. All abandoned in their own way. All leading different lives but somehow ending up tangled up with one another.
"I'll try not to lose it." he says, not acknowledging Jin's murmured thanks, because he knows the suit he's being loaned is probably not lasting the night unscathed.
They leave Jin's apartment as evening falls and head to the station. Jin goes over the plan once more.
They'll show up with the wad of cash he just withdrew. An obscene amount that even a place like that will have no choice but to overlook the obvious: Mugen does not belong. No amount of aftershave and fancy suits can entirely mask him, nor make him look like he's had money for a while. Jin would be better suited, but since he's been blacklisted from the club, Mugen will have to do. Jin's job is to loiter around outside, breaking into the back when Mugen gives the signal.
"You'll need to request Shino specifically, don't let them make a suggestion for you. They'll expect a hefty downpayment and you may have to wait a while."
"I got it, I got it." he says, shrugging a shoulder away and shaking off Jin's fussing. It's making him antsy. He'll get the girl, sneak her out to Jin. If her husband is there, Mugen will leave him to Jin to take care of. If not, it'll be enough to get her away from there safely.
Umanosuke will be there at some point, this is a given. Mugen has accompanied him plenty of times, having to wait around outside while he got drunk and fucked some random hostess.
"Will he expect this of you?" Jin asks.
He hasn't put much thought into it. The rotten bastard has always dangled Mugen's past over his head. Never overtly threatening, just vague little remarks here and there reminding him of who he is. What he's done. He's only a murderer because he wasn't willing to put his head down and walk away. Rotting in prison is preferable to being a coward, but he was young then; he was scared and alone. He's neither of those things now.
He thinks of Fuu, how she was willing to hide it all in order to protect him, how she's being punished over a debt that doesn't even belong to her. The least deserving person to have to deal with Umanosuke's bullshit.
He hopes he doesn't expect it. He hopes the last thing he sees in his greasy eye is fear. He hopes he chokes on it.
"The thing with guys like that, " Mugen explains as the train begins to slow, "deep down they know someday it could all fall down on them. After a while though they stop expecting anyone to do anything about it. So nothin' scares a piece of shit more than someone stronger than them demanding a little accountability."
The two exit the train along with a throng of other passengers that stream around them. He feels a world away from them, existing like a ghost. Maybe it's the suit making him a little less conspicuous for once. He checks his watch and rolls his shoulder, still trying to get the constrictive clothes to feel more comfortable. They stop for a moment on the platform.
"What you're saying is, if he didn't want to be betrayed, he shouldn't have messed with our women."
" Exactly ."
Jin nods, pausing to admire the blood red clouds staining the sky behind the towering skyline. He takes a breath, turning to frown at Mugen.
"You and I are on the same page then. I only hope you don't go off and do anything reckless. At least, not by yourself.
Mugen grins.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
