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“Wait, Noriaki! Don’t hurt him!”
Three pairs of eyes—Kakyoin, Dio, and their guest’s—snapped to attention as a young woman burst through the door draped in golds and greens.
“Sherry?”
“Jean-Pierre!”
A crack of violence across the man’s cheek silenced the room again, and Kakyoin held his breath as Dio fisted his hands into Jean-Pierre’s collar to keep him upright. “Well, Kakyoin-kun. Seems they do know each other.” His voice dripped with poisonous amusement, though it was hard to tell who was meant to be his next victim. But the question itself was clear.
What are you going to do about it?
Kakyoin huffed out a breath. The truth was, it wasn’t as if he’d asked for his little ‘gift’ to begin with. When he’d found the two in his room a week ago—conspicuously clothed, a cute foreign girl and the boss who had picked her up from who knew where—he’d done the same. A sigh.
Sherry Polnareff was to be a gift for Kakyoin’s promotion to underboss. She spoke barely a lick of Japanese, but they each knew enough English to come to some sort of arrangement. She would stay at their safehouse for now, until he could find some opportunity to move her to an apartment. When she’d asked about calling someone, he hadn’t even considered that they would somehow come find her.
Some part of him felt betrayed that she would call for help. But another just felt… empty. That dull ache in his chest, hidden by his scars and ink.
“I’ll handle it.”
He caught the man’s opposite lapel and Dio retreated with a scoff. There was no pleasing him in situations like this. The boss both wanted to deal the killing blow and watch his underlings ‘reach their potential,’ yet he pouted any time someone else tried to take charge.
Kakyoin smoothed the leather of his glove over the man’s forehead, pushing a lock of hair out of his face as he finally took a moment to appraise their intruder.
A strong jaw, a crooked nose with a rivulet of blood trailing down to the bow of his lip. There was a dusting of freckles along his cheeks, same as Sherry’s. Though his eyes were hidden by thick lashes, focused wholly on whatever scene could be found behind him. He notched his knuckle below the stranger’s chin.
“Hey. Look at me.”
He did. Blue eyes, tear-strained and angry. Why wouldn’t they be? His sister had been spirited away by the Yakuza, and her brother was on the wrong end of a knife.
“Jean-Pierre, yeah?”
The man spat in response, saliva and blood barely missing Noriaki’s shoe. His mouth twitched, and so did the blade. Somewhere behind him he heard a chuckle.
“Can you…” What were the words in English? “Play nice? Things go better that way. For you and her.”
That seemed to register. Polnareff swallowed, and slowly nodded his head along the edge of the knife. Kakyoin watched with interest as a bead of red trickled down to the column of the man’s neck. Pretty, almost.
In fact, most of him was pretty. Handsome, in a different way than Dio was. Or maybe he just had a thing for foreigners. He grimaced at the thought.
“What do you do to her?” Polnareff’s voice was shaky; small, though whether it was from anger or an attempt at secrecy, Kakyoin couldn’t quite tell. He leaned closer, took a knee to bring them almost to the same level. “You. She say your name. She is my sister, No-ri-ah-ki.”
Anger. Definitely anger. Kakyoin felt his lip curl into a grimace.
“We do not do anything. We’re… friends.”
“Friends, bah!” He wretched backwards from Kakyoin’s hold, but that only made him tighten his grip. They met back in the middle. “Ta gueule, putain de connard! You little snake, if you touch her— touched her—I will fucking kill you!”
“Ah, I know that one.” Kakyoin twisted his hold and suddenly Polnareff fell to his side, his hands struggling against his restraints as the younger man dug his knee into the older’s chest. He bared his teeth and let his breath ghost across the shell of Polnareff’s ear. “But she said not to hurt you. And I care what she thinks.”
Noriaki withdrew, letting the words twist and contort Jean-Pierre’s face. Shock, worry, frustration. He was so expressive. Even without words, he felt like he could understand him.
A good quality for a pet, he thought.
“Jean-Pierre.”
The man sneered at his name, and Kakyoin didn’t bother hiding his smirk. It could be fun to make him heel. He took one fractured heart earring between his fingers, stroking the dull edge, and met Polnareff’s eyes.
He slid the post through his ear, then the other, and tucked them into his pocket. “You’ll stay here with her, then.” Kakyoin had already removed his own earrings before Polnareff had a chance to raise an argument. It was easy enough to replace the hearts with his pair of cherries. “Dio-sama, I’m keeping him.”