Chapter Text
He sucks in a deep breath – the gun feels warm in his calloused hand.
Pressing a button for a shorthand contact, he fumbles for a coke-flavored lollipop in his pocket and unwraps the plastic with one hand, waiting. The person picks up after four rings. “Atsumu?”
“Work’s done, Kita-san.” Atsumu glances down at the body. One shot through the temple, clean and precise. He’s dead. “Got the man.”
“Excellent. Can ya identify ‘im?”
The lollipop rolls around on his tongue. “Nah, no clue. Not a familiar face, no tattoo, nothin’. Seems like yer right, though – their methods are unruly. Nobody from the west does shit like this – ya think it’s the east? Karasuno… or Fukurodani?”
“Who knows, we can’t jump to conclusions without solid evidence. Intel has informed me that similar incidents have been occurin’ in the east. Might be someone else entirely. Anyway, good work, Atsumu. Come home and rest.”
“Yessir,” Atsumu tosses the empty gun into the rubbish can beside him and walks away from the scene. It would take the police hours before they notice, with where they were. When he’s out of the alley and onto the main roads, pedestrians milling about thoughtlessly, he spots his brother leaning against his sports car with an alighted cigarette between his lips. Atsumu marches up to him, pulls the damn thing out of his mouth, and chucks it to the concrete.
“The fuck, Tsumu, that was new.”
“That crap kills yer lungs, you dipshit.”
“I need somethin’ to deal with yer idiocy.” Miya Osamu doesn’t reach for a fresh cigarette though, as he climbs into the driver’s seat. Atsumu hops in as well. “How’d it go?”
“Wouldn’t be here if it went to shit, right?” His stomach churns a little at the memory. “They’re fuckin’ nasty, Samu. Thought I’d seen the worst years ago in this industry.”
Osamu snorts, but his expression lacks humor. “We’re not the worst, that’s why. What’d you see?”
“They used the drug to mess her up.” He’s monotonous while he says it, but he feels like hurling. Sympathetic, Osamu swerves to the side and stomps on the brakes. “She killed herself. Was dead when I got there. Guy said somethin’ about losin’ a product. Killed him after that – didn’t want to hear much.”
“Nobody in the west does that,” Osamu’s words mirror Atsumu’s from ten minutes ago, on the phone with Kita. “Shiratorizawa is too traditional, and Nohebi guys can be jerks but they have a conscience. Is it the east?” He pumps the gas again once he can tell Atsumu is calm. The latter shakes his head.
“I dunno. Kita-san doesn’t think- well, he doesn’t know either. But,” But, Atsumu wants it to be someone from the east. He thinks of the familiar faces – Tendou, Ushijima, Daishou. They can’t be behind this. “Fuck. I’m just tired of this crap. If it wasn’t Kita-san’s orders, I would’ve backed off.”
Osamu doesn’t look at him. “Ya think there’s a reason why he’s specifically askin’ you to deal with it? Surely the Kumicho has to know.” Atsumu ponders about that for a couple grueling seconds. Does the Kumicho know that Kita is ordering Atsumu to kill random drug dealers off the streets? It’s Kita – Kita, the most righteous man Atsumu knows, as righteous as one can be while being a yakuza. Eventually, he deactivates his brain.
“Doesn’t matter. I swore my allegiance to Kita-san, not Inarizaki.”
His twin nods at that. That’s right – their loyalty lies with Kita, not the organization. Their membership had nothing to do with it. “By the way, I think they’re sendin’ a couple people up this noon. I don’t know the details, but Rin said we’re expected to team with new guys.”
“New guys? Seriously? We can handle ourselves.” He despises worthless, useless underlings. It’d be a miracle if none of them turned out to be hindrances to their missions. Atsumu had plenty to grapple with, including the side jobs Kita was giving for the past three months. “Where are they from?”
“Branch families. Some from Ohgiminami, a handful from Kamomedai, and one from Itachiyama.”
He groans in exasperation at the names. “Ohgiminami, they’re fuckin’ fragile asses. Kamomedai,” Actually he’s heard some promising things about one of them. Hoshi… something. According to the stories, he was terrifying. Perhaps Atsumu will get to find out. “And Itachiyama? Who the hell are they?”
Osamu squints at him in disbelief. “And this why yer the stupid one, Tsumu.” ‘Fuck you, Samu.’ “They’re a distant branch family from sixty years ago, situated in the north. They’re low in numbers, but Kita-san noted that they do neat work, so must be true. Only one of ‘em is comin’, though.”
“Must be confident or somethin’.” A yawn, “Wake me up when we’re there. Stayed up all night to kill that bastard.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He drifts off.
Miya Osamu, you motherfucker.
Osamu did not wake him up.
Instead, he left Atsumu sweating in the car, a pitiful miniature electric fan hanging by the window, as if that’d suffice. At least they’re in the Inarizaki parking lot, so no sunlight is present to ruin his skin. He will murder Osamu, though (he will not, but he will scream about it in his ear). “Shit,” His shoulder aches from pushing it against the seat too long. He blearily turns on his phone again, and there’s a message from Aran.
‘We have meeting at 4. It’s important, so get your ass here on time.’
Four? The time – 4:28.
Screw it, he will obliterate Miya Osamu and make sure he’s thrown to hell, not heaven. Definitely not heaven.
Feet on fire, he sprints to the main building. Nobody’s in the lobby, which is expected, but has literally nobody thought of searching for him? They’re all shits, Jesus. He marches through the corridors, knocking his shoes off when he reaches the tatami floors. A bunch of loafers are scattered across the carpet. Adjusting his tie and hoping it’s not too obvious that he woke up three minutes ago, he drags open the bamboo door.
“-he’s typically not punctual anyway, so- oh, there he is.”
There are ton of people sitting cross-legged in the room, Kumicho Kurosu in his usual spot. Attention is on him, and Atsumu doesn’t like it. He can see Osamu biting back a laugh in the corner and suppresses the urge to shout his brother’s name in front of at least fifty strangers. “Atsumu, yer late. Though that’s old news.” His Kumicho reprimands, but he’s not angry.
“Sorry, was distracted.” Atsumu drops to the nearest vacant area by the entrance. Osamu is beside Suna. That absolute snake.
“Anyway, as I was saying…” Kurosu goes on, wherever he was. “This force is a threat to the west. We don’t want the dogs to be involved – these are yakuza matters, not the police. They’re crawling into yakuza territory. We’re going to investigate, and we’ll do it in pairs. They move individually – as a pair, you’d have a higher chance of certain victory. Kill ‘em once you get somethin’. Kill ‘em if you get nothin’. That’s how Inarizaki moves.”
A mumble of acknowledgement echoes.
“Report to Kita or Ojiro once you have info. It’s the emotionless one and the non-Japanese lookin’ one, my left and right.” Kita doesn’t even stir, and Aran offers a friendly smile. Atsumu knows that he’s anything but friendly once you incur his wrath. “Dismissed. Inarizaki and Itachiyama, stay.”
People file out of the room one by one. Itachiyama – Atsumu perks up. The branch that only sent one dude. Where was he? Before that, actually, “Samu, ya fuckin’ motherfucker, piece of shit, why didn’t cha wake me up, I wouldn’t have been fuckin’ late if you had the common sense to give yer brother a call for once –“
“I already told ya we had a conference this afternoon, yer fault for not takin’ care of yer sleep schedule. Also, wipe the drool on yer chin, it’s disgusting.” Atsumu furiously rubs his chin. Curse his brother, there’s no way their gene pool is identical. He props himself next to Osamu anyway, ignoring the red bruise on his brother’s neck that is – a hickey, yes. He stares at Suna, who stares back, then smirks. God, I did not have to know. Either Osamu doesn’t care or isn’t aware yet. “So that’s the guy from Itachiyama. He looks like he wants to die.”
Atsumu follows Osamu’s gaze, and he’s accurate – dread and disdain radiate from the man’s hunched form. He’s wearing the sharpest suit Atsumu has seen in a while, all black – black leather gloves, black button-down, black tie, black slacks, and a black surgical mask. Two moles that vertically line up on his forehead and his jaded eyes is all Atsumu can see. Ah, this one’s a creep. A definite creep.
“Sakusa, ya actually hafta sit with us, just sayin’.” Kurosu chuckles, amused. Sakusa, so that’s his name. Sakusa, obviously reluctant, inches closer by a foot. He’s still considerably distanced. “Well, that’s fine – we’re keepin’ ya behind ‘cause Atsumu was late, anyway.”
“I had a good reason for that.” Argues Atsumu, not that he’s going to throw his brother under the bus when he was clearly having a nice time with Suna. Does he want to know what kind of relationship they have? “Wait, what do I hafta to do with this?”
“Well, yer the only one without a pair in Inarizaki.”
Atsumu gapes. He snaps to Osamu, who shrugs innocently, sticking close to Suna. “Samu, ya fuckin’ traitor.”
“It was Kita-san’s idea, not mine. I’ll clarify that.”
He swivels to Kita, and the man’s brow quirks slightly, as if daring Atsumu to utter the same words he had to his twin. He grits his teeth and clenches his knees with both hands. “Fine. Only ‘cause it’s Kita-san.”
“Anyway,” Kurosu moves on, “Sakusa, this is Miya Atsumu. He’s… well, he’s not our most pleasant, but he’s one of our finest. He’ll be difficult to work with, but you’ll get work done.” Miya takes a huge step towards Sakusa and grins crookedly.
“Miya Atsumu.” His extends his hand. Sakusa blinks at it. His hand hovers in the air. Does this lad not know the concept of a handshake or what?
“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” Grunts Sakusa. He still hasn’t shaken Atsumu’s hand. Someone sniggers from his back, and Atsumu doesn’t need to turn around to recognize that it’s Osamu. Well, fine. He started with the whole being an asshole thing, now I have an excuse. He relents and lets his hand drop.
“Sakusa will be staying with us until we catch the rats. He’s Itachiyama’s best, so consider yerself in luck, Atsumu. Show ‘im around town tomorrow.”
Itachiyama’s best? Yeah, right. “Great. Lookin’ forward to it.”
They’re dismissed, but Kita gestures at Atsumu and guides him to his office. Which is perfect, because Atsumu has a gigaton and much more to say. He starts with, “I hate ‘im, Kita-san, what did I do to piss ya off?”
Kita’s lips curve short of a smile, but that’s what Kita’s smile looks like. The shateigashira grabs a pistol from his wall instead and polishes it with a handkerchief as he speaks. “Take a seat, Atsumu. Ya haven’t done anything. You’ve been doin’ good, I always told you that.” Atsumu is on the verge of demanding ‘then why,’ but he’s more patient than that. Kita has taught him to be more patient. “It’s irrational – but I do not have a good feeling about this.”
“This?”
“Everything. The increased distribution of that unidentified drug, this organization – something’s off. There is an association I’m missin’.” Kita places the pistol on his desk. “Don’t ya see it, Atsumu? Ya and I’ve been ‘round here for the last twenty years, although not in Inarizaki. We spent at least ten each in Inarizaki. If there’s a hidden organization distributin’ shady drugs and sellin’ people, we would’ve known. We didn’t, though, and they’re only showin’ now.”
Atsumu allows a second for the information to sink in. “So,” His tongue grazes his canine tooth. “Yer thinkin’ there’s someone among us.”
“Not restricted to Inarizaki, but among the branch families, there are more than sufficient possibilities. They are branch families ‘cause they are weaker, but not all of ‘em are placated with that.” Kita is dispassionate as always. “If they want to create a ruckus, this is their chance – where we willingly invite ‘em into our den. Most of ‘em are probably harmless. Hoshiumi and Sakusa, however…” Hoshiumi, that must be the one Atsumu has heard of from Kamomedai. “They’re dangerous. It’s natural that each family would send their finest, which is why they’re formidable threats. Aran has an eye on Hoshiumi. And for Sakusa…”
He melts into the chair a little. “That’s why ya paired me with ‘im. Ya wanted me to keep him in place.”
“It doesn’t mean that he is an enemy. I just want you to be watchful and report if there is anything to report.”
“Gotcha, gotcha.”
“The organization is probably the same group with the drugs. I’ll tell ya once I gather more information. For the meantime, watch Sakusa.”
“Yessir,” He rises from the chair. Before he departs from the office, he tilts his head at Kita. “Kita-san, I have a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Why is it me, not Osamu?”
It could’ve been Osamu. He knew why Kita wasn’t permitting them to complete these jobs together – they’d stand out. Together, the Miya twins could not be discreet, since that was simply how they were. But Osamu was the, well, the one who was less of a disaster than Atsumu. Not that Atsumu would ever admit that aloud. He was also the one who was more suited for killing.
Kita hums. “Say, Atsumu. Who would ya die for?”
He doesn’t even blink. “Osamu. And you, but Osamu comes first.”
“That’s why.”
“What?”
“Not many people can answer that immediately.” Kita smiles. “It says somethin’ about the person.”
Atsumu doesn’t really understand, but he leaves anyway. If that’s what Kita says, then it must be valid.
He distinctly remembers when Kita gave him the first man. No name, no specific description – he’ll be there with drugs, in business. Kill ‘im. And Atsumu did. He retrieved the drug, and Kita sampled it and shipped it to some acquaintance he had in Shiratorizawa. The drug came back unidentified – it was nothing they had in their dataset or lab. It was recently developed, and while the physical effects weren’t as visible, the mental consequences seemed dire. Atsumu winces when he recalls the woman who screeched at Atsumu at his fourth, maybe fifth, job, begging him to kill her. He didn’t, but she did it anyway, snatching the gun from him and shooting herself in the chest multiple times before collapsing to the ground, dead.
It couldn’t be Inarizaki. It can’t be, Atsumu groans. There’s nobody that fucked up here. He knew them for ten years. Oomimi had a scary face but he had a pet squirrel at home named Mochi. Ginjima was hotheaded but Atsumu saw him climb a tree to retrieve a balloon for kids in the playground. Suna was, well – Osamu liked him, so that meant something. He saw Kosaku feed the neighborhood cats two days ago. Riseki was always nervous, but he wasn’t bad. Akagi was one of the most cheerful yakuza Atsumu met. So, by his sound logic, it can’t be Inarizaki.
And yet – and yet.
Drugs are outlawed in Inarizaki anyway, Atsumu tries to assure himself. Sure, he swore his allegiance to Kita the day he joined the foxes. His loyalty was not with the family. That didn’t mean he was heartless; ten years is a long ass time.
“Yer thinkin’,” Osamu comments dryly, standing outside Kita’s office. “Don’t waste yer brain cells, Tsumu, ya only have like three to begin with.”
“Fuck you, Samu.” Pause. “Didja forget to call me ‘cause ya were fuckin’ Sunarin this afternoon?”
His brother rolls his eyes. “I didn’t forget. The second part is true, though.”
“Makes it even worse, you asshole. Wait for the day till ya mess up yer sleep schedule and I lock you alone in the car with a tiny ass fan.”
“Didja miss the fuckin’ part? Gotta find someone to get laid first, Tsumu.” Osamu sneers, “What about the Sakusa that didn’t shake yer hand? Maybe he’s willing to shake yer dick, Tsumu, ya never know. The world’s a messed up place.”
“Again, fuck you, Samu.”
When he slips out of the main building, parting ways with Osamu, there is none other than Sakusa Kiyoomi himself, still wearing his mask, on his phone as he loitered around in the parking lot. It’s an odd sight, how he walks in circles as he types with his thumb. Suddenly, he lifts his chin, and their eyes lock together. Atsumu’s primal instinct is to wave, because he waves at everyone and anyone, but then he remembers how Sakusa rejected his handshake and decides against it. He’s a petty person, and he doesn’t care that he is.
He breaks the staring first and goes straight for his car parked at the edge – but he doesn’t make much progress as Sakusa blocks his path. “Hey, Sakusa-kun.” Three seconds. Five seconds. Seven seconds, “Ya need somethin’? I gotta watch my favorite soap opera; I’d appreciate it if ya move.”
“What’s your number?”
Atsumu goes static, but it’s momentary. “Is this how ya flirt? Push-and-pull, that kinda shit?”
Sakusa’s face goes flat, although he can only see half of it. He doesn’t respond; instead, he takes out a notepad from his pocket and a pen from the other. He scribbles briefly and rips out the page, handing it to Atsumu. There’s a number written on it, the digits angled almost robotically that Atsumu would’ve believed it if someone told him that this was printed. “That’s my number. I’ll text you.” He then stalks away, just like that.
“Anyone ever tell ya that yer a real jerk, Sakusa-kun?”
Sakusa flicks at him. “They’re usually dead before they can.”
“Usually,” Atsumu leers, “gotcha.”
The man is out of the parking lot in his sleek Audi within seconds. Atsumu saves the number, tears the paper into pieces, dramatically hurls them to the ground, and clucks his tongue as he scowls at his palm.
What a jerk.