Jyuumonji had been on the verge of bursting a blood vessel for the better part of the afternoon. He'd barely been managing to keep his temper under control since breakfast, when he'd unceremoniously shoved a piece of toast into his mouth and promptly choked as the oyabun announced that they were moving. It wasn't as though Jyuumonji had had any personal qualms about moving—rather, he was just flabbergasted at the proposal. The man was suggesting that an entire throng of yakuza should simply get up and move into one of the most famous high-security districts in Japan!

This wasn't going to go down well.

Once Jyuumonji had finished coughing, he had gulped down the rest of his orange juice and shouted quite hoarsely, "HAAAAAAHHH!?" His brethren, unable to pass up the opportunity, had responded similarly, and the three of them had fixed the boss with disbelieving stares as he chuckled heartily. "What the hell are we doing that for?"

"Oh, I have my reasons…" The man had replied in the notoriously-shady fashion of a true yakuza head, dismissing the inquiry and gesturing for the food to be cleared away. The trio had been unable to wring a proper answer from him since, but apparently they were the only ones interested in getting a reply, since the members of the other two divisions had just gone along with the oyabun's far-fetched plan and had helped gather furniture.

"I can't believe this," Jyuumonji grumbled under his breath as he heaved a poorly-sealed cardboard box over his shoulder. "We should be extorting shit, not hauling it." He and his two fellow kyodai (and the whole damn yakuza too, if those were indeed motorcycles strewn across their new front lawn) had been roped into toiling under the boiling sun, which certainly wasn't an enjoyable way to spend the morning. He groused some more, mood worsening as he set down the box inside the house and rolled his shoulders to get the sudden kink out of his back.

Spotting something unusual from the corner of his eye, Jyuumonji craned his neck to get a clearer look. It was a boy—a scrawny, brown-haired one—who was trying to drag a small side table along behind him but was failing miserably. Jyuumonji turned to Toganou, his brother of sorts, who had his nose buried in some serial manga as he lounged on the only piece of furniture he'd bothered to move. "Hey, Toganou. Is that punk trying to take something?"

Toganou didn't so much as spare the scene a glance, saying instead, "What kind of idiot tries to steal from yakuza?" Despite being draped over the back of the sofa and sighing rather laboriously, Kuroki managed to snort at the sentiment before going back to reading over Toganou's shoulder. Jyuumonji had to admit that the two had a point—even if the kid didn't know that they were yakuza, the abundance of foul-tempered, battle-scarred men should have tipped him off that filching was a bad idea.

"Go see what he's up to if you're that curious." Kuroki muttered disinterestedly, and Jyuumonji groaned accordingly and ran a hand through his sweat-dampened blond hair.

"Yeah, yeah. Stop nagging, will ya?" Absentmindedly swiping the back of his hand across his cheek to feel the slightly-raised edges of an old slash wound—it was his one nervous habit—before pushing up his sleeves, Jyuumonji rolled his eyes. At the very least he hoped that grilling the punk would give him an excuse to slack off. And anyway, he'd been itching for a good fight lately…

--

After having spent a few hours helping his (admittedly frightening) new neighbors move in, Sena was about ready to collapse. His legs were all wobbly from scurrying to and fro as fast as possible, his arms had decided to rebel and lay limp at his sides, and the only thing feeling worse than his throbbing back was his jaw—which had been clenched out of the reasonable but overwhelming fear of being crushed by the enormous boxes he'd had to carry.

Making his way back towards the yard after moving a particularly stubborn end table, Sena flopped onto the grass and reasoned that a break was in order. A nice, long break… preferably in the shade with some fantastic lemonade and a couple of painkillers, but Sena would take what he could get.

The angry-looking delinquent trudging his way derailed his plans for a moment. He tried to repress a shudder and desperately hoped that this was just another guy coming to pick up an armoire; the irritated expression on his face could probably convince the armoire to move itself into the house, in Sena's opinion.

Unfortunately, the boy stopped in front of him, continuing to glower down and moving to flex his fingers rather impatiently. Sena tried his best not to appear intimidated and politely stood up and greeted him with a bow. "G-Good day…" he trailed off at the look of utter revulsion the other had given him.

"Quit bowing, you." Even his voice was rough! "Who do you think you are, anyway?"

Quietly hoping that bowing wasn't an offensive act in whatever part of the world the stranger came from, Sena stuttered out an apology and frantically tried to recall what his new neighbor had told him before he'd started hefting boxes around. He'd been a strange fellow, riding up on a motorcycle and skidding to a halt in front of the house just as Sena had been about to knock. He'd dismounted, smoothing his greenish hair back and rooting Sena to the spot with a glare.

Barely noticing the hoard of other motorcyclists pulling up to the curb, Sena had managed to introduce himself and get through the typical formalities before the man had laughed and slapped him on the back. "The name's Habashira Rui, and these suckers are my brothers." When he'd gestured towards the swarm of tough guys behind him, Sena had remarked faintly that he had a lot of brothers. Habashira had laughed like he'd just told the funniest joke ever and smacked him on the back again.

"Welcome to the neighborhood indeed!" he'd said, before leaning in and grinning rather psychotically, an unnaturally long tongue darting out so briefly that Sena doubted seeing it. "Wanna help out?" Never having been one to say no to lending a hand, Sena had consented, and moments later had found himself nesting a box identical to the ones carried by the thug-like men surrounding him.

Then Habashira had added, "Before I forget, if anyone asks you what you're doing… say you're working for Zokugaku of HahGakuGuts. That should cover you."

"HahGakuGuts?" Sena had asked before he could stop himself.

Habashira had nodded dismissively. "Yeah. There are three divisions in our family: the Hah Hah Brothers, Zokugaku, and Yuuhi Guts. People got tired of saying all that so now it's just HahGakuGuts. We're from the Zokugaku branch, you see," he'd said, pointing to a pin on his shirt that looked like a cross between a skull and some sort of lizard's head.

Catching Sena's fascinated stare and apparently mistaking it for something else entirely, Habashira had muttered conspiratorially: "We may have the most men, but don't go picking fights with the other divisions just because they're smaller. If the members of Yuuhi Guts think you're worth it, you'll never get rid of them! It's like they only joined the family to get fired up about doing battle, I swear… And anyhow, you just don't want to mess with the Hah Hah Brothers. There's only three of them, but I think even one might a bit much for a shrimp like you."

Sena had wanted to tell him right then and there that he had no intention of picking any fights, but Habashira had wandered off before he had gotten the chance.

Snapping back into the present the instant the stranger's hand lunged towards him, Sena sidestepped deftly and squeaked out, "I'm with—I'm w-working for Zokugaku!" As an afterthought, he managed to force out, "Of HahGakuGuts!" This made the other boy pause and fix him with an incredulous stare.

"Hah?"

"I, um, well, it's like this…" Sena began, before trailing off at the deadpan look on the delinquent's face. He hurried on. "My name is Kobayakawa Sena. I'm your n-neighbor, so I came over to help out with, ah, you know…"

Feeling the back of his neck tingle as a heated flush spread across it, Sena sheepishly reached up and covered it self-consciously. He'd thoroughly embarrassed himself already. Hoping to salvage the situation and somehow dispel the awkward atmosphere, he abruptly concluded his fumbled introduction. "Welcome to the neighborhood!"