Fuu stands at the kitchen counter making her breakfast. She pokes at the sunny yolk in the center of her rice, watching the yellow bleed through before dumping soy sauce over the top—all while steadfastly ignoring the broad expanse of bare skin standing beside her. It's an exercise in self-control because all she wants to do is gawk at him.

Mugen is obviously not used to being up this early. She had to yell to wake him up, lobbing pillows at the lump of blankets until he croaked out that he was awake. When he hobbled into the kitchen a few minutes later wearing nothing but baggy sweatpants, she almost choked on her juice.

If her father weren't so militaristic about her schooling, she wouldn't be awake right now either. She's been deemed healthy enough to return post-accident. If she thought he'd listen, she'd try to reason that she only has a few weeks left before she graduates, why go back at all? Can't he pull a few strings so she never has to see those people again? Of course, he would never allow that. He pulled plenty of strings getting her into the school. Not just any school either, but a prestigious one full of the children of parents who also occupy powerful positions in the government—as if that would give them anything in common. It only put her in a pen with people who had built-in excuses to hate her.

So she doesn't blame Mugen's reluctance to be up. They share that.

"You're not just gonna wait around outside all day, right?"

"What, like your dog?" he snorts, "I had a life before you. I got plenty to do."

Just what were his days filled with before he was thrown into the chaos of her life? Late at night, she'll hear the creaking of him walking past her door followed by the sound of his rough voice floating in through her cracked window. She can never catch exactly what he's saying. He's mellowed out toward her considerably since their walk a few nights ago and even with his natural tendency to annoy her, she's still curious about him. He doesn't talk about himself. Doesn't mention friends or family, not even a girlfriend.

She looks away when he catches her staring.

"You're a mechanic right?" she asks, trying to smooth over the moment, "Do you still work on cars?"

He opens the fridge, placing a barrier between them as he rummages around.

"Motorcycles."

She takes a bite of her rice, chewing thoughtfully. Even without knowing much about him, she decides that it fits him—and not just because he doesn't own any clothes that aren't oil-stained. It makes him seem more human. She likes the idea that he fixes broken things. Broken, dangerous things.

"I've never been on one before, is it scary?"

"Maybe for someone like you."

She's distracted, watching the lean muscles of his back ripple beneath satiny, tanned skin. It takes her half a second to realize what he's said.

"Wait, someone like me?"

"Soft." he clarifies, taking a long swig right from the orange juice bottle. She grimaces.

"Uhg, you're not the only one who drinks that you know,—also what do you mean by soft?"

What's wrong with being soft? She wonders, taking another aggressive bite of her food. Lots of nice things are soft. Bunnies, blankets, mochi.

He shrugs, twisting the cap to take another drink. She snatches the bottle from him and shoves it back inside the fridge, making a mental note to ask Shino to replace it. Who knows where his mouth has been. The idea is nauseating.

"Let me guess, you're hard?"

He smirks.

"Not at the moment."

"Oh, that's really nice, pervert."

"I'm not the one askin' a guy if he's hard," he says leaning toward her, his face split into a wicked grin, "But since we're on the subject, trust me, you wouldn't need to ask; you'd know ."

He has no problem stepping into her personal space, radiating heat from all that exposed, bare skin. She tells herself she's only flustered by it because most of the men she's around wear uniforms and suits. Starchy, clean, buttoned-to-the-neck sort of clothes with zero sex appeal. That's the only reason it makes her uncomfortable.

"But I've got nothing you want," she says carefully, "so fortunately I'll never be subjected to that sight."

He leans back.

"Yep. Soft little high schoolers who need saving don't do it for me. Your housekeeper though… now she's got me thinkin' bein' a deadbeat dad wouldn't be so ba– I'm kidding!"

His arms go up, dodging her backpack as she swings it at him.

"Hurry up and walk me to school," she huffs. It's a gift how effortlessly he finds the fastest way to annoy her. "And put on a shirt," she adds, hoping her look of disdain deflates his ego some.

"The way you were ogling me, thought I was doin' you a favor."

She gapes at him as he steals her abandoned bowl of rice, shoveling in a triumphant bite as he walks away with it.

Maybe it's because he's spent the last few weeks in a rich guy's house that's taken care of by someone else, but the disarray of his apartment is more apparent than ever before. He was never great about keeping it up, but this…

The place is a wreck.

When he unlocks the door, the smell of unwashed dishes and old food is a punch to his nostrils. Several trash bags lay by the cluttered genkan with fruit flies buzzing lazily.

Koza's head pops up from underneath the old quilted blanket he used to use on the couch. She blinks at him sleepily.

"Mugen?"

"Why aren't you in your bed?"

She bites her lip, glancing over at the door to her room.

He sighs, pushing his way past the bags of garbage to get to her door. He opens it. A few of Mukuro's stupid friends are passed out on the floor of her bedroom. Typical of him. When he lived here he wouldn't let that shit slide. Now that he's out of the way, Mukuro's letting the place go to hell.

He slams it, opens the door right next to it, and hits Mukuro's foot. Apparently, he got too fucked up the night before to make it to his bed and passed out on the floor. That explains why he never answered his texts. His body is positioned neatly on his side, a hand tucked under his cheek. Recovery position.

"He's okay." Koza says from behind him, "I just thought I'd be safe. Just in case, you know."

He does. They both know, from experience, how to position someone like that. After waking up and finding out your mom choked to death in her sleep, everything you could have done to prevent it becomes imprinted permanently upon your brain.

He lets the door shut, turning away with a sigh. He's been back 20 minutes but it feels like hours. This place sucks the life from him. Everywhere he looks is a reminder of why he's doing this stupid job. He'll get enough money to get the fuck out of here.

He opens the fridge, surveying the contents with a grim expression. An expired bottle of milk. Empty egg carton. A bottle of juice with its own thriving ecosystem growing inside. The contrast between the girl's fridge and theirs is depressing. The girl's fridge is like a supermarket; complete with their own little servant who restocks it for them. His fingers clench on the door handle. It pisses him off because he told Mukuro not to let shit like this happen.

"You eat?" he asks, turning back to her.

"I had lunch at school."

Yesterday.

He feels like going into Mukuro's room and kicking him flat on his back. Let him choke on his own vomit, the bastard deserves it.

"Get dressed." he says flatly, "we're leavin' in 5 minutes."

She shuffles awkwardly.

"But those guys…"

He strides across the kitchen, back into her bedroom, grabbing the wasted strangers by their collars, and dragging them to their feet. He makes a few colorful threats that finally have them stumbling out the front door.

Koza slips by him with a mumbled thanks, shutting the door softly. He opens Mukuro's door next, squinting around the room until he spots it. He steps over him to grab his wallet, pulling a few bills from it before tossing it back to the ground. If I'm feeding his sister, it'll be on his goddamn dime.

Since when did he become a fucking caretaker? He hates having to be the one responsible for other people. At least with Kasumi's girl, he's getting paid. He has to deal with Mukuro's bullshit for free. Keeping him in line. Keeping his sister fed. If the three weren't bound by something darker and more oppressive than blood, he would have left long ago.

It takes him longer than he anticipated to get ready to leave. He takes out all the garbage, ignoring some of the neighbors giving him dirty looks. He didn't check to see if it was sorted property and today he really doesn't give a shit. Before he left, he opened the cracked back window to let some air in.

"Why didn't you go to school?"

She trails a few steps behind him. They left the apartment and headed to the convenience store nearby to restock the fridge before he leaves again. This isn't how he wanted his day to go. He only came back to the apartment to check on the last bike he worked on, which he only fleetingly saw. It's still there, unclaimed which means it's as good as his.

"They were loud. I couldn't sleep."

She's not in school. She's not eating regularly. All it takes is one phone call to find out she's not being taken care of and the wrong sort of people will come sniffing around their business. None of them can afford that.

"You need to tell him to quit fuckin' around," he says, grabbing junk food at random from the shelves to dump into the handbasket she holds, "He's gonna get us all in trouble."

"Shiren came by to check on me," she mumbles.

"Shouldn't trust him either."

She's like a shadow behind him, tugging at the frayed sleeves of her oversized hoodie. One of his old ones, he notices. He can't help but compare her to Kasumi's kid. They're similar ages. But where the girl always has questions bubbling out of her mouth—always finding an excuse to talk, Koza is quiet. Maybe it's because she knows everything about him already. There's nothing new to say between them.

She steps over an oily rainbow-hued puddle to get to the sidewalk, glancing back at him.

"How much longer are you going to stay there?"

"Till they get the dirt they need," he mutters darkly. However long that takes.

"I miss the way things used to be," she says with a wistful sigh, squeezing against a chain-link fence as a truck rumbles by. "Do you remember? At the ocean?"

Before both his and Mukuro's father dragged them all to the city, they lived in a small seaside town. They were poor there too but it was nicer somehow; being broke in paradise. He spent his days on his uncle's boat, swimming, and fishing. He has blurry memories of him and Mukuro jumping off of rocky cliffs into choppy waves while Koza sat on the beach in the background, sand running through her fingers.

They always searched for higher bluffs to dive from, trying to see which of them would chicken out first. They were evenly matched until they found one cliff that neither of them wanted to attempt. They leaned over the edge, watching angry, white-tipped waves pummel the rocks below into thin shards. Defeat made his stomach sick and his muscles tingle in un-used anticipation. On the day he found out they were moving to Tokyo, he finally did it. He didn't even psyche himself up for it either; he just climbed that hill and jumped. He remembers the terrifying sensation of plummeting through the air into the churning water, landing centimeters from the razor-sharp rocks. When he broke the surface, it was with a smile on his face. No one saw him do it, and Mukuro flat out didn't believe him afterward, but none of that mattered; He knew he could do it.

But the past is dead. There are no cliffs he can throw himself from to feel something. His adrenaline rushes come from pushing 90 on rain-slicked streets and getting into fights with big guys who think they're tough—though he's getting to do that a little less now. The last time he felt any semblance of excitement was when he threw himself into traffic to save a politician's daughter. The thrill was short-lived. He hears her head crack against the pavement in his mind. Other people are so breakable. Especially her.

Soft.

The thought jars him back to reality.

Anyway; the past is dead and he's glad it is.

"We can't go back," he says, checking his phone for the time. He needs to walk the girl home from school soon. Exchanging one helpless girl for another. He hands over the grocery bags to Koza at the steps leading to the apartment.

"Put your foot down with him." he reminds her, "don't let him get away with this shit again."

He gives her more money, ignoring the sorry's peppered across her vocabulary. She's always sorry.

Defeat is woven into her slumped shoulders as she nods her head; weighed down by more than just grocery bags. He doesn't have any better advice. It feels like the sort of thing you have to figure out on your own anyway. Can't always have someone there picking up the pieces for you. Especially not him. If she had a little more fight in her, maybe this wouldn't keep happening.

"Do you promise to come back?"

He doesn't have an answer for that.

As much as she dreaded coming back to school, she does find it easier to deal with it head-on. It's nothing she didn't expect; plenty of whispers about how the incident changed her. Someone spread a rumor she'd return with severe brain damage and a cane, which seems to be the worst of it. Her teachers watch her closely and she does her best to look like nothing remarkable happened. She's glad she asked Mugen to hang back so she could go in alone. No doubt seeing him would cause a huge disturbance. Throughout the day the topic of her accident eventually falls off. She didn't return hobbling on crutches or surrounded by 30 new bodyguards so people got bored and moved on.

At lunch she sits outside by herself, letting the spring sun warm her skin while she scarfs down the bread she bought for lunch.

She looks over a sheet of paper bearing a list of colleges and preparatory schools. She was supposed to make a decision on what she wants to do after graduation months ago, but she's put it off. The idea of a gap year stresses her out, but not as much as trying to decide which college to attend. Not to mention the amount of studying she'll need to do to prepare for the entrance exams. It'll mean more long evenings spent with Jin sighing painfully when she gets something he thinks is easy wrong. More reading boring books that make her eyes feel like they're going to shrivel up and fall out of her head.

"Kasumi-san!"

She glances up, letting the paper flutter from her hand in surprise.

Shinsuke makes a grab for it and grins when he snatches it from the air.

"Got it!"

Unlike most of their classmates, he's not in this school because of a rich or powerful family member; he's there on scholarship. He's always been kind to her, partnering with her during school festivals when everyone else keeps her at a distance. There's a quiet, boyish quality to him that she's always liked. He never hesitates to smile at her, even if it's not always in his best interest.

He looks over the page that flew from her hands before handing it back.

"Thinking about the future?"

She takes it with a small nod, tucking it back inside her bag.

"I guess. It's a little overwhelming actually. I can never make up my mind. I don't even know what I want to have for dinner!" That's not true; she always has an idea of what she wants to eat but she can't let him know that.

"Well, I don't know if you'd be interested, but the family restaurant I work at is hiring right now," he says, scratching the back of his head, "if you're looking for something different to do after graduation. It's probably a stupid suggestion but—"

"No! That sounds really nice actually!"

Her dad won't be thrilled, but at least she'll be doing something productive. Maybe it's not what he has in mind for her, but she can always go to college later. Tokyo Governor Kasumi's daughter gets a part-time job…in order to appeal to blue-collar workers? He can have his press team spin it however they want.

"Then, can I have your number?" he asks and then quickly adds, "Just to send you some information about it, I mean! I won't text you unless it's work-related, I promise."

"Oh, yeah of course!" she says brightly, tucking her hair behind her ear as they dig their phones out. She smiles at him. "And I don't mind if you text me for other stuff."

His face goes red and she suppresses another giddy smile. He's so cute. She's never had any effect on guys before. She brings too much baggage with her. Maybe by working together, they'll grow closer…Her imagination goes into overdrive. One step at a time.

"See you then, Kasumi-san,"

"You—you can call me Fuu, you know!" she blurts out.

He smiles again, his face still pink when he waves at her.

The rest of the day passes easily. She doesn't even care when she answers a question wrong out loud or when she trips and spills her bag in the hall. She just sits and laughs at herself, ignoring the looks she receives. She's busy imagining having a job, a life outside of her home, outside of this school. It sounds so spectacularly normal.

How her new bodyguard will fit into that scenario is something she can worry about later. She pictures him waiting outside the restaurant, his scowling face scaring away customers. She snorts at the thought.

When she opens her locker to pull her shoes out, she notices a folded piece of paper tucked inside one of them. As she unfolds it, the dreamy smile she's worn all afternoon falls flat from her face.

It's a photo of her mother. One of the careless ones snapped after she was murdered. Blank eyes. One cheek pressed against the gritty sidewalk. She should probably be used to seeing it by now. She's seen it dozens of times. Couldn't avoid it even if she tried. She fixates on the trickle of red at the corner of her mother's lips. Her lungs feel like they've deflated; she sucks in quick, silent gasps, biting the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood.

A group of boys approaches her. One of them, Kohei, gives her a sly smile. He's always been especially vindictive toward her. Probably because she refuses to kiss his ass. His father is running against hers. He's made it his personal mission to make her time at school hell. She doesn't doubt that he was the one who spread the rumor about her being brain-damaged.

Maybe he does it to gain favor with an absent father. Maybe his dad spends all of his time in his office or on business trips and he doesn't notice him. He doesn't care that his grades are good or that he's a soccer captain. Maybe he thinks if he hates the right people, he'll earn his father's love back.

Her shoes fall from her hands when he shoves past her. She watches the picture of her mother flutter to the ground, his friends laughing along with him as he makes a point to grind it with his heel.

Just like her, he probably has a dozen justifications for being cruel. She has one more than him though.

She picks up the photo, puts it inside her pocket, and follows after him.

Mugen watches from a distance, laying beneath a tree several yards from the entrance. It's warmer here, away from his old apartment. Away from Koza's haunted eyes. He smokes by himself, letting a warm breeze ruffle his hair. He'll make better use of his time tomorrow.

The bell rings in the distance and students begin spilling from the entrance in their neat uniforms. They trickle out in groups, laughing and unlocking bikes to ride home together. He waits for a long while for her to appear. He imagines she's a social butterfly, surrounded by a gaggle of girls who spend too long talking after school.

He's surprised when he finally spots her leaving.

She's alone and she's pissed. Even from a distance, he sees it in her stance, her fists are white and tense at her side as she walks out to a group of boys standing outside the entrance. She grabs one by the shoulder, forcing him to turn around. So she doesn't save all her fire just for him. He smirks, just settling back to see how this little scenario will play out. Probably rejected her or something.

But then the boy grabs her wrist, wrenching her toward himself. Mugen is on his feet in an instant, striding across the field, discarding his cigarette as he goes. Turns out he doesn't need Shiren and Mukuro to manufacture scenarios in order for him to be a hero, she gets in enough trouble on her own.

It's a shame there are no cameras to catch it this time. He stops dead in his tracks, mouth falling open as one of her little white fists sails right into the kid's nose, sending him to the ground.

It's like she snaps back into her body like a rubber band. Her fist stings and her limbs feel oddly loose like the blood is rushing from them back to her brain. She doesn't even remember following him. Her feet moved without thought. She only remembers seeing red and then the triumph of watching him fall.

None of his friends seem to know what to do. None of them help him to his feet. He touches his face, pulling back trembling fingers wet with blood. It falls in fat red splotches onto his white shirt.

"You fucking bitch." He spits, glaring up at her, outrage coloring his face brick red, "You better believe the next car isn't going to miss—"

"Thought I heard a little commotion over here."

She whips her head to the side, the lazy drawl grabbing her attention at once. Kohei starts to get to his feet, but Mugen kicks him back down effortlessly, pressing a shoe into his sternum. His friends are frozen on the sidelines, wide-eyed and pale.

"Kinda' sounded like a threat to me." he continues conversationally, leaning over him, "You're not threatening my girl, are you?"

Her anxiety over Mugen stomping this idiot into the sidewalk like a cockroach, skitters from her mind. The phrase my girl flutters delicately on the inside of her chest.

Kohei shakes his head emphatically.

"No! No-I was kidding! It was a joke!"

"A joke huh?" he leans down closer, "How hard do you think I'd have to press down before we'd hear your ribs start to crack?"

He squirms as Mugen's shoe grinds into his chest, smearing dirt and blood into his crisp uniform. He really could crush him like a bug if he wanted to. Does she want him to? Her voice is weak.

"Mugen, wait—"

As soon as his name leaves her lips he pulls back with a grin.

" I'm kiddin'! See, I like a good joke too."

Kohei coughs and climbs unsteady to his feet, clutching at his aching chest before he's jerked forward by the collar of his shirt.

"Next time you got one for her," Mugen snarls in his face, "you tell it to me first."

He nods, already backing away as he's released. He scrambles for his bag, he and his friends throw another terrified look at the two before sprinting off together, the sound of their shoes slapping pavement echoing in the distance.

She can't remember the last time anyone defended her like that. If anyone ever has. The best she could hope for was a sympathetic look. The apologetic kind that says, I know this isn't fair but I don't care enough to get involved. Tears unexpectedly sting her eyes and her shoulders sag in relief. She shouldn't get so emotional over it—it's his job. That's the kind of defense money buys, but he looked so terrifyingly, genuinely angry on her behalf, that she can't help but feel moved.

"You…you didn't have to do all that."

He gives a careless shrug, squinting at Kohei running away in the distance.

"What a pussy. Thought since you wanna look normal I shouldn't mention the bodyguard thing."

"That's a good idea." she agrees weakly.

It's probably best for everyone to believe she has a big mean boyfriend. Kohei will definitely spread the word tomorrow that she's dating someone psychotic. Good. Maybe that will make her remaining weeks in school more bearable. She thinks fleetingly of Shinsuke and wonders how he'll react. She'll explain it to him later; he'll understand. That gives her a little comfort. Mugen's voice cuts through her thoughts.

"So don't get all excited 'cause I called you my girl."

"I would never!" she says vehemently, swiping her running eyes with the heel of her hand, "I should warn you not to get any ideas."

He scoffs.

"Not fuckin' likely."'

Unexpectedly, he takes a hold of her hand and she winces. He holds it at eye level, his grasp softening as his fingers probe hers.

"You closed your fingers around your thumb, didn't you?"

He presses a tender spot near the knuckle of her thumb and she winces again, nodding. He shakes his head.

"Stupid."

She pulls her hand from his, cradling it against her thumping chest.

"Sorry, I'm not as well-versed in hand-to-hand combat as you. I'm in high school."

"Knowin' how to defend yourself is a basic life skill. Especially for a chick."

He looks her over, sharp eyes snapping from her dirty socks to her tear-stained face.

"Especially you." he murmurs, "What the hell did he do to piss you off so bad?"

The photo of her mother burns from inside her pocket. She shakes her head.

"Nothing."

"When a woman says nothing it's always bullshit,"

By the way his expression darkens, he must think it's something worse than it is. Is there anything worse than someone throwing a picture of your dead mom in your face with the sole purpose of hurting you? She doesn't know, but she does know he's probably thinking it's something else.

"That guy has always been a jerk to me," she explains, thinking about how good it felt to watch him receive even a small taste of what he's given her, "I just…I had to. I couldn't let him get away with it anymore."

It's quiet between them for a few seconds, just the sound of traffic in the distance, and wind through the trees. Whatever he thinks of her reasoning, he doesn't say.

Unexpectedly, he turns and leaves her standing there. She watches him disappear into the entrance of the school. She wonders if she should follow him, gnawing her bottom lip until he reappears a few seconds later holding her shoes in his hand. She blinks in surprise. He drops them before her, kicking one that falls over right side up so that she can slide them on.

She slips a foot inside, briefly balancing on one leg and swaying. He reaches out a hand to steady her at the same time she instinctively reaches for him. He's solid; grounded. Their eyes meet for a beat and she's reminded again that he called her my girl. In a weird way, for just a moment, she was.

"Um, thank you."

He drops his hand from hers.

"Just doin' my job."

"I know."

She lets the light from the setting sun obscure his form as he leads the way back home, wondering if someday she'll ever feel that cherished without money crossing hands.