Word Count: 6,764
Xanxus kicked his feet and watched as his silhouette was cast across the water that flowed under the little wooden bridge. He hummed idly as a school of fish swam with the current, the raspy, crisp sound of pages turning coming from his side where Daiki leant against his back, reading another book.
"Hey, Daiki," Xanxus called, "Tell me a story."
"A story," the being of copper scoffed, barely looking up from his pages. "What kind of story?"
"I dunno, just tell me one."
"Helpful," Daiki huffed, closing his book before he snapped his teeth as Xanxus rammed his elbow into the other's ribs for his cheek. "Let me think...There was once a mirror made by the devil-"
"No," Xanxus cut off, leaning back to look at the sky, and in doing so made the young Sun double over himself with an annoyed grunt. "Make up a story yourself."
The Sky didn't want to hear the stories Daiki had memorised while reading his books, the ones he had stored in his mind when he ignored the Wrath. He wanted to hear Daiki's stories, a story he created specifically for Xanxus to lose himself to.
"Picky bastard," Daiki sneered, a hand coming up and yanking the Wrath's dark hair. There was a long pause as Daiki leant back as well, levelling the two young boys out.
Xanxus glanced over his shoulder and watched as Daiki's fingers traced the designs of the book cover, vinyl engravings creating a path to follow mindlessly. He frowned, preferring it when those fingers were tracing the lines of his veins.
"Have you ever wondered what happens to you after you die?" Daiki began, and the Sky settled down, ready to listen to the low rumbling voice of his companion.
Xanxus watched the stream roll down the hill as he listened to Daiki spin him a tale about a man, Gabriel, who had been murdered mysteriously and had then been reincarnated. Gabriel had dedicated his new life to finding the one who had murdered him, and the inner mechanisms of his family slowly unravelled, each discovery more disturbing than the last.
When the story ended, the sky had become dark, a light cloud cover creeping across the stars.
"You've got a weird imagination, Daiki," Xanxus commented bluntly as the two boys walked back to the bakery, ignoring the long glances sent their way.
"You're the one who asked," Daiki huffed.
"It's not like reincarnation is actually a thing, anyway," Xanxus paused his walk when he noticed he no longer had a Sun at his side and turned to find his copper friend paused a few metres back. His expression was vacant, the cobalt youth lost in thought as he stared down the street and beyond their plane.
"Daiki," he called. No response. "Daiki!"
Still nothing.
Xanxus grit his teeth and marched up to the Sun, wanting golden eyes to see him. He grabbed the older boy and dug his nails into his shoulders, sneering angrily until Daiki blinked and finally looked at him.
"...Who's to say, Xanxus," he uttered, and the Wrath shivered all over, satisfaction settling in his bones at his name. "That reincarnation doesn't exist?"
"What? You got something to tell me?" the Sky snapped, not wanting to hear some philosophical bullshit and just wanting to hear his name spoken over and over in that voice.
Daiki blinked at him for a long moment, before he sighed and grabbed Xanxus' hand, tugging him along. They walked back to the bakery and curled up in bed together without another word on the topic, but it lingered in the back of both their minds.
Daiki's brow was furrowed as he read through the papers on the apartment complex which took up the lot where the old bakery stood. His eyebrows were pinched together in a tense line, not out of anger or any sort of negative emotion, only out of strain from reading documents continuously from early in the morning to so late at night.
Mao was watching him from their bed, her hands busied by idly knitting Mephistopheles a jacket as the snow began to fall. She breathed in the herbal incense that hung in the room, made to relax her lungs against the cold air to avoid falling into another coughing fit.
The Yakuza Oyabun had moved his work into the bedroom once he returned home from Italy a month ago. He didn't want to be too far from his wife-to-be's side and when he could, he sent Adachi Koga or another figure to fill in meetings so he could keep her warm.
"Daiki-sama," Mao called after a moment, the clock lurching into the 11th hour of the night. "Don't you think it's time for bed?"
"Huh?" Daiki blinked, lifting his head from his hand.
"Time for bed, my Lord," the woman smiled, fond of the indent the man's pen had left in his cheek. Not many got to see this side of Watanabe Daiki; this soft, tired side.
"Oh," he breathed, looking to the clock and then removed his glasses to rub his eyes. "I guess so, yeah."
Mephisto yawned from the man's lap, curled up there for the past hour and sleeping cosily. The pup sniffled as Daiki pet and scratched him into awakeness, nudging the creature off so he could stand.
Mao hummed and set aside her knitting in a box by their futon, before tugging the cover down to give the Lord and their pup access to the warmth. She cooed as she was embraced and held tight, her back pressed to his chest to keep her warm.
"How's the building going?" she asked, reaching back and touching the man's face, trying to caress the tension out of his brow. "Nearly done?"
"Nearly done," Daiki assured, "Just doing checks to makes sure all the taps work and the lights turn on. Then we're going to start moving people in."
"Mm," Mao hummed, "What you're doing, Daiki-sama, it's good. Those people, they'll have a safe home they can afford."
"Yeah," came the soft reply, and the woman threaded her fingers into cobalt hair. "Thank God I have all those people behind me, I have no idea what I'm doing."
"Yes you do," she hushed, rolling over and settling down on his chest, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. "You studied the market and the processes well, you know what you're doing. Those people are just a safety net at this point."
"Yeah, sure," Daiki scoffed, but only closed his eyes as Mao reached out and began to lightly touch at his temples, slowly relaxing him. "Okay, come on. We both need to sleep, I shouldn't have kept you up this long."
Mao pouted a bit but lowered herself again and enjoyed being held tight, hearing the snuffles of Mephistopheles who pressed close to the Oyabun's back to hide from another Winter night.
"I hope to love you soon," Mao whispered against his shoulder, a soft utterance they had fallen into in the dark corners of their underground world. "But I like you now."
"I hope to love you soon too, my firefly," Daiki responded, "But I like you now."
The woman smiled and let a hand come and tilt her head back from her chin. They gazed at each other, gold to obsidian. Then Daiki smiled and ducked his head to give her a light kiss.
"Goodnight, my firefly."
"Goodnight, Daiki-sama."
The front entrance of the Watanabe realm was littered with the groaning or unconscious bodies of young thugs. People were gathered, older brothers and other roles spilling out the doors to eye the man who stood in the middle of it all.
Daiki thinned his lips and crossed his arms, still in his pyjamas and more than a little grumpy about being called forth at two o'clock in the morning, with only two hours of sleep under his belt so far. A glorified nap, at best.
And all because Lussuria was darkening his doorway, with seven, bright pink leopard print suitcases and his latest feather lined coat.
"Why are you here?" Daiki asked, Italian rolling off his tongue and getting sideways glances.
"Oh, Daiki," Lussuria cooed, purposely stepping on a body as he crossed the distance. "I got a break, and I just had to come and see you! It's not every day you can spend New Years in Japan with your favourite brother!"
There was a ripple at the European callousness of a simple 'Daiki' to the Watanabe Oyabun, Adachi Koga toyed with his blade behind his Lord.
Daiki blinked, "You pissed off Squalo didn't you?"
"You hid with us, let me hide with you," Lussuria murmured quickly, proving Daiki had hit the nail on the head.
"Yeah sure," Daiki scoffed, a tired laugh falling out of him as he rubbed his face. Then he turned to the men around him and said in Japanese "He's no enemy of ours. Just a bit of a dumbass."
There was a slow disengagement, with people trickling off back to their rooms. There was still an air of distrust as they dragged off the groaning men to get treated, but they obeyed nonetheless.
"Koga-kun," Daiki uttered, and the swordsman stepped forward. "Can you select Lussuria-san a room for the night?"
"Of course," Koga nodded, his pale hair still loose and messy from his rush to come to the gate's defence. "I will prepare a room."
"Thank you~!" Lussuria sung, waving flirtatiously until the man walked away. "Sorry for waking you up so late in the night."
"It's okay," Daiki yawned before Goto shuffled out with two other men and began dragging in Lussuria's luggage. "Let's get out of the cold, come on."
The Varia Sun looked around and sticky beaked into every door they passed, acting like an over-excited and inquisitive child. He bounced around and chatted with his tired brother Flame, holding a rather one-sided conversation and shoving his phone into the younger's face to show him the latest selfies from the private jet bathroom.
"Thank you! Oh, my cute little baby brother," Lussuria cooed, squishing their cheeks together. His room was all set up, and he had finally calmed down about the novelty of the futon. Now, Daiki was just trying to get him to go to sleep so he could get back to his own bed. "Your big sister is so happy you're looking after her~!"
"Okay, goodnight," Daiki repeated for the fourth time, hanging a bit limply in the elder's arms.
"Aw, don't you want to spend some time with me? We can swipe through tinder together?" the Varia Officer pouted.
"Goodnight."
"Okay, goodnight Daiki," Lussuria relinquished, sitting down on his futon and playing with his phone idly before pulling up a picture and zooming in on the woman with pitch hair depicted beside a man of copper. "Now, time to meet the in-laws."
. . .
"I'm trying so hard to hate her, what the fuck?"
Daiki snorted into his cup as he sat beside Lussuria on the back veranda, the two of them watching the young Watanabe women play in the snow behind the border of sakura trees.
"I told you, Mao isn't the villainess you paint her to be," he murmured, steam rising up from his drink and brushing his cheeks.
For the whole two days Lussuria had been haunting the Watanabe's halls, the flamboyant man had been doing all but everything in his power to find flaws and forgeries in Mao's presentation, nitpicking and scoffing at the woman's every move. However, Lussuria had yet been able to provoke her; to expose her ugly side to his darling younger brother.
Every single infliction, every single sideways glance, every single underhanded comment and mutter. It was all met by a sheepish and understanding smile, like the woman accepted that there was a history she didn't know but was intruding on. It made it so hard to hate her.
Daiki quirked his lips at Lussuria's moping, his hand falling to pet at Mephisto who curled in his lap and rumbled happily. There was more meat on his bones now and the pup could walk with less than a limp during his daily exercise. He didn't become a shivering mess as often either, now that he could actually create some of his own body heat. Nonetheless, Mephistopheles still cuddled up to the Oyabun every chance he got, his white fur wrapped in the crochet jacket made by Mao.
"It's not so bad here, sister," Daiki sighed, scratching the pup's belly. "I am respected here, I am cared for here. My family is here."
"I thought we were your family," Lussuria uttered.
"You are, just another part."
The Varia Sun thinned his lips like he wasn't convinced, making his brother Flame sigh. Lussuria stubbornly pouted as Daiki slid over and wrapped an arm around him.
"You keep trying to villainise this part of my life, sister," he murmured, watching Honda duck under a snowball thrown by Sora, which smacked into Naomi's face.
"They took you from us, Daiki," Lussuria grumbled.
"Is that what you think?" Daiki didn't believe him.
"...No," the Varia admitted, a breath of steam rising from his lips and disappearing into the air. "I'm just...We're worried about all this." There was a pause before Lussuria finally said it, "You're trying to forget us."
The rogue Sun took a sip of his drink and stared out into the frozen afternoon, feeling a warmth drape itself against his back and nestle a cold nose to his nape.
"Mao-sama," Daiki laughed, slipping into Japanese cleanly as he turned to see the woman cozying up to him. "The air's too cold for you to be out here."
Lussuria bit his tongue as he watched the two interact, something ugly rising within his chest as the frail woman was cradled to Daiki's chest and wrapped up in the blanket that hung from the Sun's shoulders. He hated how softly Daiki treated her, how he cuddled her close and kissed her brow, the rogue's Flames rising to warm the air for sensitive lungs.
Lussuria hated that Daiki did love her, just in a different way.
"Mao's asking if you're enjoying the winter here," Daiki translated, making Lussuria blink into awareness.
The Varia man looked to the woman who sat nestled against his younger brother's side. She peered up at him with the same effort-filled smile, showing that, like every other time, she was trying to connect to him. She was trying to get along because he was valued by Daiki, so she wanted to value him too.
"...Yes," the Sun nodded, a gentle smile coming to his face as he spoke in the oriental tongue. The Varia had been learning it since Daiki fled. "The Winter sky is very beautiful here."
Lussuria was loyal to his Sky. But not every story had a villain. He just hoped this one wasn't a tragedy.
Daiki smiled as he watched his elder sister entertain his young cousins with embellished, dramatic tales of swordsmen and smoking guns. His paperwork was sitting in a pile under his hand, forgotten for the moment as he gave his eyes a rest and just observed the world around him.
"Oyabun-sama," came from the doorway and Daiki looked over as Adachi Koga approached, a small file in hand.
"Oh goodie, more work," Daiki sighed but took the file and opened it. Then he paused and sat up, attention resurfacing from beneath his lazy exterior. "Koga-kun, what is this?"
"There is a possible threat existing in our eastern territory, Namimori, my Lord, that the 14th Oyabun never addressed. It has been lying dormant, but with your recent activity in Namimori, I believe it best to broach the subject once more," Koga explained, and Daiki thinned his lips as he turned the pages and reach each one carefully.
"...Call Goto-san, we'll go now," Daiki decided and got to his feet.
"Of course," the swordsman nodded and left to summon the chauffeur.
The rogue Sun sighed and rubbed his nape as he picked up the file and flipped back fo the front page. It hadn't been updated in a while, he knew, but the young man would recognise that name anywhere.
Daiki did always wonder when Yamamoto Tsuyoshi was going to become an issue.
. . .
Yamamoto Tsuyoshi was enjoying the 11am lull by getting off his feet in one of the booths, a nice cup of tea beside him.
When the door slid open, Tsuyoshi withheld the desire to groan, but stood and put on a customer service smile.
"Hello, welcome to TakeSushi!"
Before him were two young men. The one with pale hair had an impassive expression, eyes scanning about the place as if searching for threats and hidden compartments. The darker one was smiling politely, observing the chef with a kind of gaze that made his straighten his back and square his shoulders.
"Hello Yamamoto Tsuyoshi," the dark man started, extending a hand out to him. "I am Watanabe Daiki."
Watanabe. Fuck.
Tsuyoshi smiled thinly and took his hand, not wanting to irk the Yakuza. He had hoped the Clan had forgotten about him since no one had come to monitor him for the past years, but apparently, his hope was misplaced.
"Nice place you've got here," Watanabe hummed, stepping around the silent Yamamoto, and taking in the shop, plastic recreations of dishes lining the counter's display area. Then the Watanabe man glanced over his shoulder and lightly added, "And a large loan to get you started."
Tsuyoshi grit his teeth. He was paying it back. Every cent of his original loan had gone back to the Watanabe, and the interest was still being paid, this shouldn't still be an issue!
"I heard there was an inheritance," Tsuyoshi commented slowly, looking at this new man, never seeing him attached to the Watanabe name before.
"Yep," Watanabe said offhandedly, glancing off to the side for a moment, something catching his attention. "New Oyabun and everything. We're getting a new extension on the grounds too."
There was a long pause in the shop, the pale man by the door yet to add any comment, as still and threatening as a gargoyle. Then the Oyabun - he had to be, Tsuyoshi realised, the Oyabun was here - turned around and approached the Rainy chef, striking golden eyes meeting his.
"Look," he started and Tsuyoshi was unsure of his tone. "You've got a good thing going on here and you've paid back the original debt along with, currently, 67% of the interest. You aren't causing us any grief and you're hardly the worst thing dwelling in our borders so..." Watanabe nodded to the pale man. "Koga-kun, strike Yamamoto-san's name off our list of debtors. Our business is resolved."
"Understood," Koga uttered, inclining his head.
Tsuyoshi tried to hide how he was reeling, the debt that hung over his head spontaneously wiped. He looked between the two and though he wanted to jump and accept it, suspicion till settled in his stomach.
"Why would you do this?" the man asked, narrowing his eyes. "What's the catch?"
"Well, aren't you the one to look a prized horse in the mouth," Watanabe hummed but smiled and crouched down, reaching under the chair of a booth. Tsuyoshi's heart stopped as the man stood again, a scuffed-up baseball in his hand with the name Yamamoto Takeshi scribbled across it. "It looks like you've got enough on your plate as it is. There's no reason for more unnecessary stress."
For a moment, a split second, Tsuyoshi tried to remember where Takeshi was in the house. He was in his room, upstairs; no one else had gone up. Takeshi was safe, and the chef took a breath to calm down.
"So," Watanabe continued, startling him out of his thoughts, still tossing that ball in his hand. "With your debt wiped and your newfound financial freedom, you promise not to cause me any grief?"
"...Of course," Tsuyoshi agreed.
"Wonderful," he smiled, and then he reached towards Adachi who handed him a folder. "Then I have no more use for this."
The Watanabe Oyabun stood there for a moment, before his sharp, golden eyes snapped to the doorway separating TakeSushi from the rest of the house. Tsuyoshi felt his heart sink and his muscles tense-
Then Watanabe looked to his watched and turned on his heel, signalling for his companion to be on their way.
"Congratulations, Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, you are now a ghost to the Yakuza," he said, lingering in the doorway for a moment. Then he looked over his shoulder and gave a warning smile. "Try not to be dug up."
Tsuyoshi let out a breath as the door clicked shut and slumped against the sushi bar, still trying to catch up with the situation. The folder weighed heavy in his hand and he felt a bubbling fear as to what was inside, Takeshi's ball sitting still on a booth's table where the Oyabun had put it down.
"Who was that?"
"Takeshi-kun," Tsuyoshi gasped, standing up straight and snapping around to see his son, no older than twelve, peering through the doorway. "When did you come down?"
"Who was that, tou-san?" Takeshi repeated, eyes locked on the empty entryway of TakeSushi.
The swordsman stilled when he saw the focus his son had, something ringing true of his late wife. He felt dread settle in his bones, before he pushed it down, thinking himself silly and too paranoid.
"That was Watanabe Daiki," he answered slowly, observing his son carefully as he articulated the words. "We were just close up some old business."
"Is he going to come back?"
"...No."
Only then did Takeshi peel his eyes from the door and face his father, a certain gleam in his eye that spoke of disappointment. He frowned and shifted his weight on his feet.
"Oh."
There was a long pause.
"Why don't you go play a game on your PlayStation? I'll call you when lunch is ready," Tsuyoshi smiled, trying to distract the boy.
His son gazed at him for a moment, before the Yamamoto-flip switched inside him and he grinned, happily agreeing to the proposal as he ran up the stairs. The old Rain clutched his folder, hearing the paper crinkle in his hand.
He just needed to behave, and his son would never meet Watanabe Daiki again.
Lussuria huffed as he dropped his hand luggage onto the airport floor beside him, the bright pink blinding under fluorescent lights. He sniffed and reapplied his perfume, making Daiki grimace slightly.
"Good luck with Squalo, sister," Daiki coughed out, feeling the rough texture of the air he had breathed in. "Tell everyone I said hello."
"Will do," the older Sun cooed, eyeing up the men who came and carried away his luggage, a flush appearing from behind his sunglasses as he fanned himself. "I need to come to Japan more, so many handsome men!"
Daiki scoffed and rolled his eyes before he yelped as his sister grabbed him up in a spine-popping hug. The rogue Sun blinked before he sighed and wrapped Lussuria in his arms too, enjoying his tropical scent and trying to ignore how he'd miss it when they were gone.
"Come visit us soon, my cute little brother," Lussuria urged, still holding on.
"I'll try," he hummed, leaning into the embrace.
They stayed like that for a little while, finding stability in their brother Flames. Daiki had been separated from his Family for too long, Lussuria could feel that. Yes, he had Clouds sheltering him, but his Sun ached to cast his elements in warmth.
"Daiki," Lussuria began, drawing back to look at the young Sun. "We, the Varia...we've got something planned and I really think you should be there for it."
Daiki blinked before he sighed and stepped back, both of them feeling their skin become cold as sunshine wavered back into sombre flashes.
"I'm needed here, sister. I'll do what I can for you and our family, but there is only so much aid I can give."
The Varia sun frowned, gazing down at the other with brimming disappointment. Then he shook his head and smiled, giving the young man a squeeze on both his shoulders.
"I need to go now. Promise you'll come see everyone soon?"
"I promise," Daiki smiled as well, both of them brushing their disappointment under the rug. "Be safe, sister."
"You too, cutie."
The rogue Sun watched as Lussuria's private jet lifted off the runway, a kind of sad smile playing on his lips. He did want to go back to Italy and visit everyone, maybe finally convince his mother to return to Japan where he could safely watch her...but, as he had said, he was needed here.
He watched the plane fly a bit further before he turned and headed back to the car. It was only on the way back, when the low rumble of the tunnel was filling his ears, did Daiki begin to feel something was wrong.
"Goto-san," Daiki began, leaning forward as he grasped the driver's chair. "Get back to the Compound. Now."
"Yes, Oyabun-sama."
The Sun leant back in his seat and crossed his arms, expression severe as the tunnel lights slashed across his complexion.
He hoped he was wrong.
. . .
Mao sat quietly in the futon she shared with her husband-to-be, alone for the nth time that day. She knew she had become rather greedy for attention, becoming used to having Daiki close to her as her sickness rose. It felt nice, being 'loved' so thoroughly for the first time in her life.
Nonetheless, as she sat alone in their room, gas lamps illuminating the space, she grew bored.
Mao didn't know how long Daiki would be away this time, and he'd already been gone for at least four hours. She sighed and slowly untucked herself from their sheets, deciding that she shouldn't waste her time away and instead try to keep up with her exercises.
The woman breathed deeply as she made her way to her feet, legs weak beneath her. Usually, Daiki would be at her side during her walks, a hand on her back and the other in her own, supporting her until she regained her strength and balance. She shook her head and parted her feet more to spread her weight, taking careful steps across the room until she leant heavily against the opposing wall.
She was getting better, that she knew. Her walks were taking less energy, and she was less dizzy every day. Mao estimated, perhaps, four more days before she was back on her feet and well, able to walk in the gardens with Daiki again like she used to.
Mao paused before she let out a huffed laugh, noticing how often the name 'Daiki' surfaced in her mind. When she was growing up, she never thought she'd marry into such a stable, if not blissful, life. This relationship was far better than she had even dared to hope for; it made her warm in the heart.
But it also made her scared.
Her friends whispered to her about their own husbands, a fate worse than death awaiting some when they returned to their homes. They warned her to hold him, to keep him close, to ensure her safety. If she lost Watanabe Daiki, the world would become a much colder place.
Mao gasped as her foot didn't rise properly and she stumbled, fumbling against the wall until she finally grasped a ledge and caught herself. The woman coughed roughly, the sudden breath irritating her throat. Eventually, it calmed down and Mao looked to what she had caught herself on.
The spare room.
Daiki's spare room, to be more precise. The room her husband-to-be would disappear into for hours on end, not so much as a sound escaping. It was locked tight at all hours of the day and never once could Mao open the door. As much as it embarrassed her to admit it, she had tried to open it, be it through prying, pulling or even 'surprising' the door with a sudden passing yank.
She tried to respect Daiki's privacy, curiosity wasn't something Mao was very well versed in controlling. She discovered too many things about her own household through nosing around.
"One more time," she breathed to herself, holding the door's middle panel tight. "One more time, and then no more."
Mao pulled at the door. There was a soft click, and then it moved.
Dread mixed with excitement at that moment. She got it open! ...She had got it open.
She grasped the door tighter, her nails sank into the wood. It was probably nothing anyway, maybe a 'man cave' with a couch and television. Perhaps his stash of pornography? Mao didn't see much of Daiki's stuff floating around their room, so it was likely all hidden away in here.
Just a glance.
Mao pushed the door aside and stepped into the room, her eyes screwed shut in anticipation and fear. Instantly, a scent hit her nose. Woodsmoke, alcohol and some kind of cologne she had smelt attached to Daiki's collar when he had come back from Italy.
She opened her eyes, one at a time. The room wasn't large, but it wasn't small either. It matched the rest of the compound, wooden panel walls and tatami mat floors. But it was lined, wall to wall with cases of fine alcohol, boxes holding finely folded items of clothing and bookshelves brimming with Italian titles.
There was a small table set in the room, accompanied by two chairs. One was well worn, and the other looked brand new. Mao stepped closer and discovered a thick layer of dust on the seat; never used. On the centre of the table was a tray with crystal cups and a bottle of scotch, half-drunk thought. Sitting just beside that, was a dry vase, with a single, red, preserved flower leaning against the interior.
"What..." Mao murmured, bringing a hand to her mouth as she looked around, confused. Was this all stuff Daiki had brought from his childhood in Italy? It would make sense, she supposed.
Then, something caught her eye. A dark burgundy leather book sat slightly dislodged on the shelf, its spine slightly discoloured from regular handling.
Mao perked up when she realised it was a photo album, an excitement taking her at the thought of seeing her husband-to-be as a chubby-cheeked child under the Italian sun. She smiled softly and made her way across the room, grabbing the back of the unused chair to keep her balance as she slowly slid the album out of its place.
Mao gave a small noise at its weight before she pulled out the chair and put down the album. She was about to sit, before she paused, something in her stomach saying 'don't'. She looked to the layer of dust, nearly disturbed, and pushed it back in, before moving to the used chair.
The woman sighed, just now realising how tired her legs had become from wandering around. She frowned and massaged the tops of her thighs for a moment, before she turned back to the album and, with an enthusiastic huff, she cracked it open.
A boy she didn't recognise glared at her from within the book, eyes of vermillion burning her through. His face was scrunched in a scowl as he was captured, strewn across a throne line chair before a flaming hearth, some kind of uniform cladding him along with a half-unbuttoned dress shirt. Whoever must have taken this picture had obviously been toeing a fine line.
The next photo contained the same boy, but he seemed to be engaged in a rather one-sided argument with another youth of silver hair who was yelling animatedly. They both wore the same uniform and despite the hostility, Mao thought they seemed quite close.
More photos introduced an increasing number of people, a small boy with blond hair and an unabashed grin, a large man with an intense face, a hooded infant and several appearances of the familiar flamboyance of Lussuria. Mao was beginning to understand what she had stumbled across, she thought.
Then Daiki entered the pictures.
A young Daiki of no more than 17 or 18 appeared before her, and Mao felt her heart lurch. There was a fire in those eyes.
The first picture of Daiki had him laid across a lavish couch of mahogany and gold. He was dressed in something scandalously small, perspiration visible on his skin where his nightclothes didn't cover. In his lap was a thick textbook but his eyes were cast to the red-eyed youth who sat at the foot of his couch. They were locked in an optical exchange that Mao couldn't call anything but 'intimate'.
The next picture was taken from far away, but also contained the men of red and cobalt. They were laid in the shade of a tree, Daiki resting on the other's chest who had wrapped his arms around the young Oyabun tight.
The next showed the two sitting beside each other in a library, working on individual projects but still huddled close.
Each photo showed them close and intimate, Mao continued to turn pages. Even when it looked like they were ready to fight one another, such as the picture where the two were right up in each other's faces with snarls displayed, there was an undying affection which curled behind their eyes.
Mao turned another page and then drew back, a flush hitting her cheeks and a sense of shame rising. The amount of skin visible and the hastily discarded clothes littering the borders made what had happened prior unquestionable. Those two boys were wrapped around each other under a single thin sheet which clung to the outline of their sleeping bodies, the red-eyed boy's face firmly tucked into Daiki's exposed chest, marks riding up and down their shoulders and throats.
The picture next in the sequence was much the same, however, the red-eyed boy was glaring up at her from his position of comfort. His arms were tightened around Daiki in a possessive hold and sneered at the photographer as if saying 'this is mine, and mine alone'.
Mao flipped the page quickly, unable to handle the satisfied enmity in that man's eyes, feeling as if they were directly focused upon here. The next photos didn't aid her much more as each image which lined the pages depicted the two in different stages of a kiss. They were shown all over their world, in the gardens, in their bed, on Daiki's couch, at the table. They held each other and indulged in their company always within arm's reach.
Mao thinned her lips and reached out, tracing the faces of the two boys a piece of her patchwork understanding falling into place. This is what had left Daiki so lost when she had first met him, high floating and out of reach for years. Only recently had Mao been able to even glancingly grasp Daiki, draw him down to her plane and have golden eyes see her.
She understood now, when he looked through her those times, when he played with the very tips of her hair and when he closed his eyes as he held her, he was seeing red.
"What do you think you're doing!?"
The growl made Mao go cold, her heart freezing in her chest and her breath catch in her throat. Her hands shook as they lingered on the boy of vermillion, something heavy pressing against her throat that made her choke.
Mao could barely give a yelp as she was grabbed and torn from the chair, her weak legs unable to keep up and leaving her to be all but dragged out of the spare room and into their bedroom. She struggled to find her feet and grasped at Daiki's arm, but her fingers kept slipping on his brass arm guards, unable to touch the man himself.
"Daiki-sama, wait, I-" she tried, but that phantom hand on her throat tightened and stopped the air from passing her pale lips.
The Lord's teeth were bared dangerously, a kind of anger in his eyes that chilled Mao to the core and made her fear.
The woman gave a noise as she was shoved onto the cold futon, her shoulder aching from the rough handling and a bruise no doubt forming from Daiki's grip. She shuddered as the spare room's door slammed shut, a resounding bang making her flinch.
Mao kept her eyes down and held herself tight as a silence fell over the room, Daiki's back still turned to her as he leant against the door, both hands spread over the wood.
"...I'm sorry," she whispered as he began to cross the room, footsteps making the woodwork groan. "I'm sorry, I didn't know I'd find that in that room. I won't tell anyone, I promise so-"
Cold hands came and grabbed her face, forcing her to look up and face the golden eyes that bore down at her. He was livid, she could tell, but there was a guilt in his eyes as he used his thumb to wipe away her tears of terror.
"Take a breath, Mao-sama," he urged, kneeling down across from her, crowding her against the futon.
Mao shuddered and gulped down air, finally able to breathe as the ghostly hand disappeared from her throat. He kept touching her face, brushing her hair away and drying her tears as they fell, fussing over her in a way that was both calming and terrifying.
"I'm sorry I scared you," he hushed now that she wasn't deathly pale, though her hands still shook against his chest, ready to push him away should he take a turn. "I'm so sorry, firefly."
She had been dragged. The memory of being so powerless still made her limbs tingle and her heart patter like a hummingbird. She sobbed and instantly found arms wrapped around her, pressing her against a warm chest with soft apologies spilt into her ears.
"I'm so sorry, my firefly, I'm so sorry. I won't hurt you," Daiki breathed, squeezing the woman against him as she trembled all over. "I'm sorry, please don't be scared of me. I'll do whatever you want, just please don't be scared."
Anything she wanted. He would give her anything.
Mao sniffled and pressed her face into Daiki's chest, inhaling caramel and smoke. Safety, that smell meant safety to her.
"Hold on to him, Mao-chan," her friends had warned her. "Or you will suffer."
Mao lifted her head and stared up at the man who cupped her cheek with his hand, concern in his gaze as he scanned her face. He grazed his knuckles along the apple of her cheek before his hand slipped down to her arm, still throbbing in pain, and began to sooth his palm across her skin. A warmth spread through her skin and she made a soft noise as the ache began to fade, watching how the crease in Daiki's brow smoothed out slightly at the sound.
"Marry me."
Mao fisted at Daiki shirt as she uttered these words; her one request. He would give her anything, and this was the one thing she wanted. Safety.
"Happily, my firefly," Daiki sighed sweetly before he lowered his head and pressed a kiss onto her lips.
. . .
That night, when Mao's back was tucked into Daiki's chest, his arm around her waist and his breath in her nape, she closed her eyes and tried to forget the feeling of tatami mats dragging across her shins and the cold rage in golden eyes. She took a breath and chose to instead think about the feeling of her husband-to-be's heart against her shoulder blades and the way he kissed her cheek when he noticed her distress, cradling her tight.
"I'm so sorry," he apologised again, voice coming from out of the darkness.
"I'm sorry too..." she shouldn't have invaded his privacy. She should have controlled herself better.
Daiki was quick to hush his bedmate and carded his fingers through her hair, clearing the strands from her face. The sound of blankets shifting sounded and Daiki sat up behind Mao, the woman rolling over to gaze up at a vague outline of her spouse.
"Mao-sama," he breathed, reaching for the gaslight and dousing them in a gentle, honey light. "I think it's time I told you a story."
"A story?" she blinked.
"About a boy destined to rule...and a boy frozen in ice."
