Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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“I don’t know who that is.”

The woman’s manicured hand waved them off dismissively, walking away with purpose, the click-clacking of ten-inch heels filling the warm night air.

Murata calls out after her, taking a couple of steps further as he sees her walk down the dark alleyway.

“Miss, you’re not in trouble! We’re looking for further information on identifying the victim of a homicide that happened not too far from here.”

“I already said I don’t know anything.” She retorts, a little sharper, her voice echoing through the building walls.

Masachika snorts.

It was expected that the girls would be quieter than a tomb. Uncooperative. Occasionally veering towards rude.

Sex workers and police? Yeah, that relationship didn’t tend to be the most amicable one.

He can’t reflect on a specific case that had required testimony of prostitutes without it being a hassle to get anything out of them.

They already attempted to speak to five girls, but no success.

Strike-out after strike-out. No one said a word.

That is, until they hit up the last one, a petite woman with long pink hair – most likely a wig. Who they were almost not going to approach since they were going to call it for the night.

Recognition colors her expression as soon as they showed her the picture.

“Wow, that’s gross. Someone wanted him dead, huh?” She snorts, not that bothered by seeing the face of the dead man.

Perhaps she has seen some things before. Perhaps being part of this business makes the girls have thick skin.

“I didn’t see him tonight, but I’ve seen him around occasionally.” She pops her bubble-gum as she talks, curling a finger through her locks.

Murata and Masachika briefly look at each other. She is the first bite they’ve had all night. Unfortunately, she is also a little unbalanced, one of the reasons why they were not initially going to approach her.

It might be the huge heels she has on. It might be that she is under the influence. Her eyes seem a little fuzzy. She doesn’t emit a strong alcohol scent, but perhaps illicit substances are the culprit.

They will need to be cautious to take anything she says at face value.  

As the senior detective, Masachika takes the lead and initiates his questioning.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Last Saturday.”

“What time?”

“Hmm, around 1 A.M., I think.”

“Do you know his name?”

She shakes her head.

“Would you consider him a frequent client around here?”

A small smile at the careful language as she crosses her arms.

“Frequent enough. He never chooses the same one. Doesn’t seem to have a type. He always looks for new meat.”

“…has he ever picked up a male?”

“Who knows. Not many of those walking around so they’re always busy.” She shrugs.

“Really. Around how many have you seen?”

“Maybe three.”

“Any of them with long black hair? Bulkier and tanner than average? Large dragon tattoo on his arm?”

Murata looks at him as he talks, only just now realizing what his superior thinks the presumed link is between his Eternal Paradise case and this one.

He thinks the drug dealer and the sex-worker are one and the same.

“Hmm, no. They’re all skinny pale twinks.”

Both detectives blink repeatedly.

Well then.

That isn’t a word they are quite familiar with, but they get the gist of it.

Another pop of bubble gum before she continues nonchalantly.

“And about that American guy? I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. He had this sick look in his eyes that told me he was trouble.”

Interesting. Mashachika taps at his notepad thoughtfully.

“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about this man.”

“I don’t have anything else to offer, honestly. That’s all I know.”

“You might recall some additional details, Miss. For instance, the last time you saw him. Did he solicit services from someone?”

She contemplates that question, tapping at her chin in an attempt to remember.

“I might have seen him with someone.”

“Would you be able to provide information about who he was with the last time you saw him?”

She sucks on her teeth.

“…It was either the German girl or the Dutch one. They’re both blonde so I get them confused.”

Masachika stills with that information. A foreign prostitute?

“Say more about the two women, please.”

“I barely spoke to them, not much to say.”

“Anything could be helpful. Do you know their names?”

She scoffs. “You’re kidding, right? We all use different names for this sort of work. We have to protect ourselves.”

“I see. How about their appearance? Apart from being blonde, is there anything else that makes them stand out?”

“Not really. They look like regular European women. Long straight hair, light-colored eyes, tall.”

“Tattoos? Unique piercings?”

“No.”

“And how about the person you saw leaving with our victim?”

“I saw her for maybe five seconds. Didn’t get a chance to look at her.”

“Miss, we kindly request you to accompany us at the station to describe the woman you saw, as much as you can remember, so that a forensic artist can sketch out a picture.”

She purses her lips. “Right now?? Do I have to?”

“You would be helping in a murder investigation, Miss. With these sorts of cases, we cannot waste time. Your recollection of these women is extremely important. This doesn’t mean either of them are our suspects, but so far, one of them might point us to the last person that saw the victim alive. Our police force would be in your debt for your assistance.”

Masachika knows that playing ‘bad cop’ with a prostitute never works out. If he threatens to arrest her to force compliance, the likelihood of sabotage significantly increases.

She huffs in displeasure, platform heel tapping.

“I’m dead tired, officer. It’s been a long night. I hardly remember anything, I probably won’t be able to give out a good description anyway.”

Murata gives his superior a subtle tap on his elbow to redirect his attention.

“A word please, Kumeno-sama?”

Masachika sighs but follows a couple of steps to form contact with the junior detective. “What is it, Murata?”

“I think we should let her go. She looks dead on her feet, her attempts to describe anyone right now would not be much help to our forensic artist. What if we have her come tomorrow? As soon as she gets some sleep, she’ll be more awake and will probably remember more details.”

“The most straight-forward explanation is the correct one nine out of ten times. She said a Dutch or German woman was with the victim. If she is a foreigner who just murdered a client in cold blood, then she will definitely attempt to flee. We must move quickly and get a sketch on this woman before she hops on a plane back home.” Masachika gives his rebuttal.

“Detective, we don’t even know if this woman was picked up by our victim tonight, as we are working with a recollection from last Saturday. We also don’t know if that woman is indeed a foreigner. She could just have blonde hair. Lastly, I’m pretty sure this girl is on drugs.” Murata significantly lowers his voice when disclosing the last part, glancing at the pink-haired woman a little farther off.

“It would be to our benefit to re-interview her when she’s bright-eyed and sober. Not only that, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to come with us. We can’t force her to come to the station. To do that, she would need to get arrested, and I doubt you want to do that.” Murata adds.

Masachika sighs. He is right. To arrest her, which he technically could do, on prostitution charges, would compromise her full cooperation.

He gives a curt nod, acknowledging Murata’s point and comes back to the woman, who is still impatiently tapping her foot.

“I understand you are probably eager to go home.” To which she immediately nods, looking at him as if he said the sky was blue, like duh.

“We are very interested in knowing more about your last sighting of the victim and this other woman. Would you be willing to come to the Shinjuku station tomorrow early morning?”

“Yes, of course. I obviously don’t want a murderer to get away.” The girl nods again, sincere.

“I don’t want to be difficult; I’m just really not in my right head right now.”

“You wouldn’t mind providing us with your name and your phone number, would you?”

That has her stepping away slightly, a subtle but noticeable widening of her eyes, hesitant in providing that sort of information.

Murata takes a small cautious step towards her, trying to gain her trust. “We assure you, Miss, we are not trying to get you in trouble or making you a target for this investigation, or any others. We just want to get to the bottom of this specific case.”

After writing up the information about the station, along Masachika’s office and mobile number, he gives her the paper.

She hesitates a little longer but finally takes the paper along the pen the detective offered to write down her information in his notepad.

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Sweltering heat, thick and suffocating, wakes Sekido up.

Solely due to unbearable discomfort, as if he has the heaviest heated blanket wrapped around his body.

What the…

Thick arms around his waist, tight and unyielding.

Black unruly locks of hair covering a scalp that has seen much better days, multiple butterfly bandages right at the edge of his hairline.

Karaku’s face smushed against his chest.

Of course. Sekido remembers now.

Last night’s horror show, a whole nightmare of fucked up events, subsequently becoming worse as the hours dragged on to the early morning.

The American taking his brother hostage and assaulting him.

Karaku murdering the asshole.

Their stupid escape from the godforsaken hotel, where they were most likely captured on CCTV in HD-4K, and they’re probably hours away from being arrested.

Karaku breaking down unexpectedly, clinging to him with an aching vulnerability he has never seen before, not since they were children.

They must have fallen asleep like that. It was so late already. He was exhausted enough to not have a recollection about it.

Sekido tries to shift himself but quickly realizes it will be more difficult than he thought, with his brother’s heavy body pressing him down, rigid and unmoving.

Blood warms his ears when he notices Karaku is nestled between his legs. When the hell did that happen?

Sekido shifts again, significantly more uncomfortable, legs squirming while he presses two firm hands over Karaku’s shoulders, pushing him off.

Or more like trying to, since it seems like his brother is making his very best impression of a damn barnacle, he outright refuses to budge.

“Mn….”

Karaku’s mumbled voice rings out.

“Stop movin’…”

Sekido huffs, frustration increasing with each second. “You’re suffocating me.”

Another muffled groan as muscular arms tighten around him, exactly the opposite of what he wants, and he growls in protest.

“I will hit you if you don’t let go.”

“Noo…”

God, is he really whining at him right now? His patience has run out.

“I’m not your damn teddy bear, get off!”

Sekido sits up, more rigid and forceful, which he regrets when the pain blooms from his abdomen.

His movement forced Karaku’s weight to press further into Sekido’s stomach. Another unfortunate reminder of last night.

He didn’t notice he made a pained noise until he felt Karaku stiffen, and he abruptly raises his body, pushing away from the floor to turn and settle beside Sekido instead. Apparently, that woke him up.

“Shit. Did I hurt you?”

The grogginess still warbles his voice, but a distinct tone of panic is interwoven as Karaku blinks up at him with fuzzy eyes.

“It’s fine.”

The silence after his curt reply is oddly heavy and uncomfortable.

Sekido looks at him, an impulse he couldn’t curb. Longer than he meant to.

Karaku’s face is not normal.

His typical lighthearted expression, the natural smile that seemed permanently etched over his lips, gone. Instead, a somber shadow was passing over his eyes. Looking to the side, off into space, as if somewhere else.  

The lack of sleep has his normally bright green eyes dull and tired. The bandages at the top of his head are already stained pink. They should be replaced by new ones.

Vivid red oxidized to maroon, crusting over his split lip, whereas the cut right at the top of his eyebrow still seemed fresh and bloody.

The steel barbell on his eyebrow hanging on, but just barely. It looks painful. If he leaves it in, it won’t heal as quickly.

“You should take the piercing out.”

It came out as an instinct, with no connection to his brain as Sekido said it.

“Give the wound a chance to close properly.”

He regrets the words as he speaks them. He can already picture the mocking grin on Karaku’s face, ridiculing voice calling him a mother hen.

But surprisingly, Karaku does not do that. Instead, he shakes his head, face oddly flat.

“If I take it out, the piercing hole closes too. It’s got to heal around it.”

That doesn’t sound right.

But whatever, he won’t argue about it.

It’s a long pause.

Obscenely heavy.

The quiet colliding with chaotic streams of conflicting thoughts, churning in a vortex of turmoil.

Karaku is the one who breaks the silence.

“I…”

And then shuts up right after.

Sekido doesn’t notice it, but he tilts his head slightly, expecting him to continue, a slight rise of his eyebrow in confusion when he doesn’t continue talking. Like a puzzled puppy.

In most cases, Karaku would have thought that was funny. Maybe even cute.

But right now, any positive feelings are noticeably absent. Only a weakened feeling of dread.

Nah, that’s not it. Dread isn’t the right word. But what is it? He isn’t sure, but he dislikes how it feels, intensely.

It’s the first time Karaku doesn’t know how to act around his counterpart. After all the bullshit from the past couple of hours.

At first, he was a little too groggy to gather a good grasp of his mind. But everything that happened last night is slowly but surely seeping in his still-foggy brain.

Him being drugged and taken like some helpless victim.  

Some moments of darkness, when he blacked out, but never too long.

What that filthy animal did. A straight pig that deserved to be slaughtered.

Karaku isn’t sure if he wishes he had passed out at that point. To not remember anything about it. But in that case, what would have stopped the American from doing worse?

His consciousness, and hence his fighting, were partly responsible for the delay of the worst of it. Because the worst was yet to come. He would have been brutalized, raped; there is no doubt about that. He knew it in his bones. Maybe even killed.

And like an angel, Sekido was suddenly there, hovering over him, light surrounding his body, never as perfect and beautiful as that single moment, with the sole purpose on rescuing him.

Karaku feels a rising emotion, a rare sensation that simultaneously burns and chills to the bone.

The unpleasant feeling of embarrassment, blaring like an incessant alarm.

He has never prided himself on having the best impulse control, but hell, he didn’t ever think he would…humiliate himself like that.

“I love you.”

Centuries of demon life, and two decades of human life and he has never, ever said those words. To anyone. And Karaku didn’t say it once, he said it twice.

No, three times!

Worse, when Sekido took him back to Gyutaro’s place.

He didn’t like feeling so useless, he couldn’t even bathe himself and his clone had to wash him as if he was a two-year-old.

And the most shameful part.

Karaku’s desperate, sniveling display: eyes leaking big fat tears, heating his face like fire, his sobbing fest more than embarrassing than the shrillest of Hantengu’s wails, crawling all over Sekido to hug him like he was his favorite stuffed animal for comfort.

He hated it enough when he remembered those awful childhood memories. Of a very young Karaku crying, always crying, clinging to Sekido, his twin, for protection.

But at least his kid-self had an excuse to be that big of a crybaby. With a vicious cunt for a mother, who never demonstrated anything other than acid loathing and physical violence towards him, who could reasonably blame a little kid for being afraid?

At his age, fear isn’t an excuse anymore. Nothing should be an excuse. Yet, he had the most godawful, cringy reason for his breakdown.

Pure terror of being hated, of being rejected by Sekido.

…UGH.

So fucking pathetic!!!!

A grown man, acting like that. Disgusting.

He remembers Sekido’s expression, wearing that grimace as if seeing a mentally ill, homeless person roaming around the worst areas of Kabukicho.

He looked at him like something to be pitied.

“I’d die if you feel the same way as I do about that piece of shit.”

“I don’t. I swear.”

Did Sekido really say those things because he meant them? Or just because he wanted him to shut up and stop crying like a loser?

Karaku won’t say anything about it. In fact, he’ll pretend that shit didn’t happen.

No love confessions, no vulnerable breakdowns, nothing to that extent.

Out of sight, out of mind.

He doubts Sekido will bring it up willingly, anyway.

An unthinking hand rubs over his neck, and he winces. He remembers the bruises when he was strangled.

Can his trachea get bruised too? It sure feels like that is possible, it hurts to swallow. But more important things are on his mind, sore throat be damned.

“I’m starving. Let’s raid Gyutaro’s fridge.”

Karaku stands up, too quickly. Before Sekido can open his mouth to emit a syllable, he already left the room.

Sekido blinks repeatedly as the shoji door shuts, more forceful than necessary.

To close the sliding door like that, to further create a physical distance, as if he wanted to escape the same space they shared, it was strange.

Normally, Karaku will do everything possible to reduce the distance between them. Not the opposite.

He deduces Karaku probably feels weird about what happened when he woke up from that nightmare. Maybe embarrassed. Which Sekido kind of understands, as he would have felt similarly.

But now thinking back on it, Sekido can’t help but scoff at the ridiculousness of the entire thing.

That’s what has his mind occupied?

Not the fact that the entire metropolitan police force is after his ass for fucking murder? After both of them?

God, Karaku’s priorities are weird.

Sekido rolls his eyes in exasperation, finally standing up and following his brother to the kitchen.

Karaku is scrounging inside the fridge openly, like he owns the damn place, or he pays grocery bills or something (not the case), taking out random shit and placing them on the counter.

They’re mostly ingredients, but it doesn’t seem like he is taking out anything with a specific aim, to prepare a specific dish.

The ingredients are his meal. Lazy bastard.

“We have to talk.” Sekido sits down on the table, no-nonsense and assertive. Karaku’s back straightens but doesn’t turn around.

“About what?” He sounds a little too lighthearted to sound natural.

And really, Sekido isn’t sure what he was expecting from his stupid brother, but it wasn’t him pretending everything was fine, donning a cheerful mask, the fakest one that could ever exist, especially when he saw his true face just some minutes ago.

“You’re fucking with me, right? There’s no way you’re asking me this question.”

“But I am.”

“Stop messing around. This is serious.”

“Why do you think I’m messing around?”

Sekido growls, and he shoves himself off the seat, storming back into the guest room.

Shit!

Karaku takes whatever food he can hold in his grasp and chases after him. Because he knows Sekido isn’t planning on waiting for him to come back to the room, no chance, he is going to take off.

“Hey, hey! Sekido, calm down, just chill for a second–” He slides the door shut, quieter this time to not wake up Gyutaro and Ume, who might be still sleeping.

“I’m leaving.” Sekido announces, looking around the room to see where the hell he left his car keys.

“Oh, come on, man, can you stop being dramatic?!”

“Fuck you, I'm not being dramatic! You’re taking this way too damn lightly!!” Sekido hisses, anger rushing through his blood vessels.

“You threw your life away in your pigheaded refusal to take any intelligent advice about how to correct the hundreds of ways you were massively fucking up, you threw my life away when you decided to…”

Sekido cuts himself off abruptly, fists tightening as he looks away.

He needs to swallow those words, even if his impulses scream to blow up at Karaku. Especially when they’re not alone. It sounds mostly quiet, but who knows if Ume and Gyutaro are awake or not.

The silence permeates the air again before a scoff ends it.

 “No one told you to show up.”

The severity of Karaku’s tone is surprising, but more than that, offensive.

“You got involved because you wanted to. Matter of fact, I don’t know how the hell you found me, but you can’t blame me for the decisions you made last night.”

Oh, he is really going to try to turn this back on him???

“You were the one who called me, dipshit. I tracked you down with the phone.”

Sekido won't say he had his live location since two days ago. Even though it technically doesn’t matter, since neither of them have their fucking phones anymore. Regardless, it is unnecessary information.

“You’re lucky I showed up when I did, ungrateful asshole.” Sekido snaps. “There was no way you would have escaped if it wasn’t for me.”

“And you would have been strangled to death if it wasn’t for me.”

Sekido snarls at Karaku’s sharp retort, indignant, even though it was most likely true.

“I wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it wasn’t for you!!!”

Karaku gives him a glare, irritated at his rising voice. “Keep it down. You want everyone to hear you?”

He knows he shouldn’t yell, not when he wants the details of last night to be kept secret, but goddamn, Karaku makes him explode so easily.

Sekido takes a breather, closing his eyes as he inhales and exhales slowly. They need to move on from this blame game.  

“I told Gyutaro and Ume that you were involved in a brawl between you and a couple of other drunkards in front of the nightclub you were at. You need to say the exact same thing; we can’t be telling different stories.”

“Fine. Is that all?”

The dismissiveness is a matchstick to the short fuse of Sekido’s anger, shooting up in a spike of fury.

“No. NO, that is not fucking all. Why are you acting like this? You know that we are in the deepest shit ever. Whatever happens after this point will be astronomically horrible, and you don’t care about any of it!”

“That’s up to me to deal with. You shouldn’t worry about it.”

Is he fucking serious?????

Sekido can hardly believe what he is hearing right now.

“You didn't do anything wrong, this isn't on you. And I know I’m fucked, okay? I shouldn’t have…kept going.”

Karaku pinches the bridge of his nose as he admits what they both know to be true.

“They’ll probably get me. But according to me, you were never there and that’s what I’ll say.”

Karaku is acting like he has it all figured out, like he’s some white knight saving him from the consequences of this mess.

“You think it’s that easy?” Sekido rubs violently at his face, increasingly angrier.

Oblivious to his worsening mood, his brother rummages around the snacks he stole until he decides on a wrapped jelly-filled pastry.

“That I can get away from this, from you, like nothing happened? Cameras obviously captured my face, stupid!”

Karaku unwraps the dessert, not even looking at him while he responds.

“You might be surprised, shady love hotels sometimes pretend to have ‘em on, but they get paid big money to turn them off when someone who has a reputation has enough power to pull it. That foreigner probably covered his tracks.”

“That is not what happened last night, and you know it.”

Karaku shrugs, biting into the pastry. “It could have.”

Sekido can feel his left eye begin to twitch. “It didn’t.”

He chews for what feels like thirty minutes before stating the most stupid of conclusions.

“I guess the only way to know for sure is if they put out a BOLO for two suspects instead of one.”

Then, another bite.

If Sekido’s blood pressure skyrockets any higher, then he’ll most likely have a brain hemorrhage.

“Why are you acting like this is some sort of game?”

“Game?” Karaku’s response, muffled by the mouthful of food in his mouth.

Sekido, in a burst of aggressiveness, smacks the pastry right from his hand.

“HEY!”

“Can you stop stuffing your face while we’re having this conversation?!!!!”

“You don't need to yell. And I’m hungry, I haven’t eaten anything since before nightfall yesterday. I don’t know if you remember, but I was practically poisoned by the metric-ton of drugs that foreigner piece of shit forced me to take. So no, I didn’t get a chance to eat, and I’d rather not pass out.”

“And whose fault is that?” Sekido snarls ferociously.

Karaku’s breath snags in his throat, his jaw clenching. After an uncomfortably long pause, he swallows his bite, eyes colder and flinty.

“…you’re saying it’s my fault I got drugged. That I got kidnapped.”

“Oh my God, Karaku!” Sekido swings his arms up to place hands on the top of his head, looking up as if begging for a merciful deity to smite him where he stands.

“Who are you trying to fool?! I know you!!!! You were probably coked out of your mind before that man was near you, do you think I’m stupid enough to really believe you were acting like some good boy, pure and innocent, who got taken advantage of? You put yourself in that situation, no one else but you and you see how this ended up?! Look at what your decisions led to!”

Karaku scoffs.

“You made dumb decisions too. Because you got involved, who the fuck knows why. You couldn’t have called the police or something, a more normal course of action?”

“I didn’t call them because of you, stupid fucker. I know you still had that gun. I know you are still selling drugs, you lowlife! No police officer would have helped you; they would have treated you as the criminal.”

How interesting that his brother is now quieter than a mouse, not defending his stupid actions anymore. Because he knows he is completely right on this.

“Hell, they would have apologized to that disgusting gaijin for ruining his night and they would have arrested you for drug and firearm possession. I was looking out for you so you wouldn’t rot in prison for a decade, but you’re right! I should have hung up on you and just let the police deal with it. Now my life is destroyed. Again. Because of you.”

Karaku shakes his head, refusing to take in those poisonous words.

“This isn’t all on me. It isn’t.”

Sekido narrows his eyes at him, the vivid red fluorescent with scorn.

“You know it is no one’s fault but yours. It’s always been your fault, and I don’t get what went wrong in your brain to make everyone’s lives a nightmare.”

Karaku sits down on the futon, resting his chin over his raised knee as he looks down to the floor, sighing heavily. A drained look on his face.

As if he was the problem, as if he was the one being difficult.

“What are you saying, Sekido? That you regret saving me?” Dull green eyes look up at him, shaky irises striking worse than a physical blow.  

“That you wished that asshole would’ve finished the job?”

He sounds hurt. Brittle. For an odd reason, it twists something inside him, and Sekido forcefully protests.

“Stop that. I won’t permit you putting words in my mouth. Don’t say something so stupid.”

“So then why? Why are you doing this? What is the fucking point of this?”

Sekido can feel his heartbeat not pounding, but roaring inside his chest, his mind.

How is Karaku getting away with this emotional gaslighting?

Turning it back on him as if he should feel bad for being angry that he is in this fucked situation?

“Because my life is over.”

Sekido mutters, with a finality that almost felt like a premonition, a curse he has hexed upon himself.

The weight of the words is enough to make him settle over his knees, sitting in front of Karaku in defeat. He closes his eyes, silently imploring for a release from this hell.

“You’re right. There is no fucking point.” A sardonic laugh escapes his lips.

“There’s no way we’re getting out of this. No matter how much we coordinate. No matter what we do, if we leave right now and escape so no one ever finds us again.”

And Sekido meant it in a disparaging manner, an example imbued with contempt, but the dullness of his brother's eyes disappeared in an instant, as if he just stumbled upon the answer to all their problems.

Those shimmery emeralds for eyes coming back to life as he fixates his gaze over him, his arms reaching out.

“And if we did?” Karaku breathes out.

“What's stopping us from getting the fuck outta here? Let’s leave all this behind!”

Sekido blankly stares at him, not quite sure he heard right. Because he isn’t serious.

It’s not possible that Karaku is truly and honestly proposing he must leave his entire life behind.

“We can start over, somewhere far away. We'll figure it out, I know we will.”

All Sekido’s academic and career efforts. His family. Gone so that he can presumably partake in a ridiculous runaway plan Karaku is currently concocting in his stupid little brain, thinking it could work.

Sekido sighs painfully, pulling his hair, placing his head over his raised knees.

“God, you’re a fucking joke, you truly live in fantasy land. You got pistol-whipped one too many times and now you’re permanently and clinically retarded.”

“Why is that so stupid of a plan?!” Karaku argues, more passionate.

“Sekido, let’s face it! If we stay here…they’ll catch us. You know they will. And then what?”

“Yeah, and being on the run will make for a great, smooth-sailing life, right? Do you listen to half of the stupid shit you say?”

He snaps, genuinely trying to burst that dumb idea Karaku is thinking of, because it’s out of the question.

“Authorities will look for us even if we go to the most desolate countryside backwater town that exists.”

He won’t run away, to become a fugitive of the law.

“We are absolutely fucked any way you cut it. There’s nothing else to do but wait for this shit to catch up to us.”

Karaku still looks like he wants to argue about it, but there isn't anything he can say to refute his points. Which he grumbles about as he fishes for another snack in silence.

Sekido snorts as he remembers what those men said last night. About someone protecting them. Fat chance.

“Unless that stranger ends up pulling through and manages to actually cover for us.” He huffs out a sarcastic laugh.

Karaku stares at him as if he is speaking a different language. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t hear them?”

“Hear who?”

How could Karaku not remember?! He was still yelling and trying to exit out of the passenger seat like a dumbass.

“Those bastards who almost crashed into us and stole our shit! Don’t tell me you forgot. They literally punched you in the face.”

“Ohhhhhh.” Karaku’s eyes widened as if he had forgotten.  

“Huh. So that did happen. I was kind of hoping it was a bad dream.”

“It wasn’t. Like the worst stroke of luck, it happened. It’s a miracle we didn’t get struck by lightning.”

Karaku suddenly groans, remembering about the guy who took his car keys.

“Aw, they stole my car. Son of a bitch.”

“More importantly, they stole the switchblade and gun.” Sekido lowers his voice.

“They knew who we were. They knew what those objects were used for. And one of them said something about a woman protecting us.”

Karaku scratches his head, a doubtful look on his face, but he momentarily forgot about the wounds on his scalp, and he winces, retracting his fingers.

“Ow. You sure you heard that right? Because that makes no sense. At all.”

“I know what I heard. They said, and I quote, ‘who knows why she is protecting them,’ before taking off with our belongings.”

“It could’ve been referring to anyone.”

“No. They were talking about us, I know they were. They even called us stupid before laughing it up with each other.”

“Well, that’s rude.”

“They weren’t wrong.” Sekido snaps as he tries to think why some random woman would try to protect them.

And from what she was protecting them, to begin with. Protect them from not getting arrested and imprisoned? Protect them from Karaku’s sociopath boss?

He has no clue. Only one person could even stand a chance at knowing what might be going on.

“That woman, whoever she is, knew about what happened. Was she following us? Did she have people tailing us? Why would she even help us in the first place?”

Karaku hums out thoughtfully, biting into his second snack now that Sekido wasn’t giving him shit for eating. Or at least, he thought.

“Are you serious? Again???”

“What?”

“I asked you a question. Multiple questions!”

Karaku makes a startled noise. “How the fuck should I know?!”

Sekido curbs his very intense urge to smack his brother upside his head for being infuriating and dumb.

“It’s obviously a woman you know, idiot! No stranger is going to help us just because, especially in something like this! You’re screwing her, and she for whatever reason, ended up obsessed with you, God knows why.”

He rolls his eyes, annoyance so palpable, his voice sounds more like a grunt.

Karaku is blinking rapidly, the rapid-fire accusations being hurled at him were taking some time to process.

“Uh...no? I’m not screwing around anymor—”

Sekido makes a noise that is somewhere between an indignant huff and a mocking snort.

“Don’t make me laugh, why else would she try and protect you?! You’re obviously fucking some mob boss bitch or something! Or worse, the wife of a mob boss, which means we’re even MORE in danger than we ever could be if she hadn’t gotten involved!”

“But I’m not.”

The vein right beside his temple is throbbing almost painfully now.

“The fact that you’re denying it is pissing me off.”

“I’m denying it because it’s not true.” Karaku lowers his hands to calm the air.

“Seriously, no twenty-year-old has enough pull to have her own squad or be the boss of a drug ring, that’s a joke. They’re probably all college girls working at their nearest café shop or something. And I don’t fuck old hags either.”

“So, you are whoring around. Figures.” Sekido scoffs.

Karaku raises an eyebrow at that. Then, a slight smirk on the corner of his lips. “I’m not celibate, if that’s what you’re griping about.”

“Pfft. Like I care about what STD-catching activities you’re partaking on the daily.” He scoffs, to which Karaku chuckles, finding his brother’s suddenly pissed attitude rather amusing.

“Never had an STD, big bro. And for your information, I haven’t been hanging out with my regular hook ups. Apart from Ume, of course.”

Sekido’s red eyes glare in displeasure as his brother grins cheekily.

“Don’t. Care. What I do care about is figuring out why some random woman is protecting us.”

“I don’t know.” Karaku emphasizes. “I’m not sleeping with anyone who could fit the head-honcho bill. Hell, there’s not many female ringleaders in any orgs. I know of one, and I’ve never met her.”

Sekido’s lips thin out, frustrated at the lack of answers. He hates it when things don’t make sense.

“Who?”

“I doubt it’s her actual name, but she goes by Lady Ubuyashiki. No first name. She’s the queen pin of the KLR syndicate.”

“What does KLR stand for?”

Karaku pauses. “Kyanos…Lycori Radia? Something like that.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“Fuck if I know. It’s like Greek or Latin.”

Sekido doesn’t think he’s familiar with those names. None of them ring a bell.

Ubuyashiki. That’s not a common surname. But it tells him nothing.

“So, that’s it. You truly have no idea about who this mystery woman could be.”

“Nope.” He shakes his head.

How can that be possible? Technically, Karaku could be lying to him, but what does he gain from that?

His brother hums thoughtfully, as if remembering something interesting.

“A friend of mine works for her. Ubuyashiki. He’s never complains about her, so she can’t be that bad.” Karaku offhandedly says.

“...funny, I was with him before everything went down.”

Sekido stiffens, a sharp pang of suspicion zapping down his spine.

“You were with someone who works for this woman before that foreigner took you?”

Karaku has his moment of realization a little on the late side.

Sekido thinks Enmu had something to do with this.

“Nah, you’re overthinking it. He’s chill. Only cooks. He doesn’t do any violent stuff. He’s too up in his acid dream world to even be good at that sort of gig. I was the one who invited him but he’s more of a raver type, so he dipped early.”

“Bullshit. This entire thing reeks to high heaven.”

“Or just a coincidence.”

“No fucking way this is a coincidence, I refuse to believe that! Karaku, get your head out of your ass for once, and connect the goddamn dots, this is obviously connected!”

A tapping on the screen suddenly interrupts them, and both turn their heads completely frozen in place.

“Yo, is everything good?”

Gyutaro.

Karaku sighs, irritated.

This is Sekido’s fault, by being his typically angry loud self, he probably woke Gyutaro up. Most likely Ume, too.

He clears his throat. “Peachy.”

Gyutaro takes that response as permission to slide open the door, looking at them with bloodshot eyes, wiry arms crossed.

“Y’all were fighting pretty early.”

“We weren’t fighting.” Sekido retorts stiffly.

“Sure as shit sounded like it, when I could hear both of you yelling from my bedroom.” Gyutaro huffs.

He obviously meant Sekido. Karaku was not yelling.

“We’ll shut up from now on.” He mumbles, even looking apologetic to his friend as he grumbles internally to himself.

More like I’ll get Sekido to shut up with his aggressive ass.

Hopefully, Gyutaro didn't overhear what they were talking about.

Supposedly, they were trying to not say anything too directly, as to not incriminate themselves, but Sekido is always agitating himself until he’s yelling like a manic.

“And someone left a huge mess in the kitchen, but that couldn’t be you, right?”

“Ah…” Karaku cringes. He completely forgot about that.

“Yeah. My bad. I’ll clean up.”

Gyutaro scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You do that, man. And seriously, keep it down. It’s too damn early on a Saturday to be woken up by loud-ass voices.”

Sekido blinks.

Too early…?

He doesn’t know what time it is.

Oh shit.

Zohakuten.

The little gremlin isn’t on his own, is he?

Today is Saturday.

Urogi works early morning until mid-afternoon, and Aizetsu should be at home, so Zohakuten can’t be alone.

…that is until he remembers that Aizetsu is newly employed and he has no idea what his schedule is.

Shit!!

“What time is it?” The sudden urgency in Sekido’s normally gruff voice has Karaku turning around to peer at him in curiosity.

Gyutaro grunts. “Around 8 A.M.”

Fuck, Sekido has to leave, because what if Aizetsu isn’t there and the brat is alone? He should contact him.

“Can I borrow your phone?”

The tall scraggly man looks at him strangely but takes out his cellphone for him to use.

If Sekido calls, the brat won’t answer since the incoming call would be from an unrecognizable phone number.

S: Zohakuten.

S: This is Sekido.

S: Are you alone? Is Aizetsu with you?

It seems like Gyutaro is expecting something and Sekido is not sure what, but he doesn’t care about that, not when he doesn’t have a clue whether Zohakuten is home alone right now.

“Uhh, so our phones no longer work, they got smashed ‘cus of that fight.”

Karaku scrambles to give an explanation, as his friend is peering at them suspiciously.

“You know, the one that caused all of this?” He adds, pointing vaguely at his face.

“Uh-huh.” Gyutaro gives him a flat look, doubting his words. “Whatever.”

He leaves, apparently going back to his room.

As soon as he is out of earshot, Sekido is a flurry of movement, until he at last finds his car keys, buried under Karaku’s dirty clothes.

He will believe Karaku didn’t try to hide them on purpose.

“I have to go.”

“Why?”

 “I have no idea if Zohakuten is on his own. Shit, it’s going to be a whole drama that I didn’t come back home.” Sekido mutters.

“You don’t owe them anything. Just say you stayed at some bitch’s house. That simple.” Karaku says, the solution to the problem is straightforward.

“That would be your excuse, wouldn’t it?”

A crooked grin. “You know it.” He stands up from the floor again, stretching out his arms.

“At least have breakfast first. I’ll make something.”

Karaku goes back to the kitchen to clean up the mess he left and to make food. The last thing he needs right now is for his homeboy to get mad at him for being a slob.

But Sekido can’t stick around, not anymore. Zohakuten hasn’t answered. Maybe that means he is still asleep, but he can’t assume that’s the case.

But before he leaves, he has to figure out what to do with that. The pile of clothes stuffed in the deepest part of the lowest cabinet storage space, the ones he was wearing when escaping from the hotel.

The bloody button-down was gone, ripped straight from his body by that masked man. But the inner shirt and the pants were going to be a problem.

He inspected them last night and realized there were tiny dots of red on each article of clothing. Remnants of the foreigner’s blood.

He should trash the articles of clothing.

No, destroy them. But how? What is the best way to get rid of evidence?

Burn them?

Shred them?

God, he doesn’t fucking know.

He should have taken that specialty forensics class that was offered last Spring semester, that could have been knowledge on what not to do, but no, he had to take Corporate Law instead!

Gytuaro’s phone begins vibrating in Sekido’s hand, taking him out of an impending spiral.

It’s a call. Not Zohakuten’s phone number.

Aizetsu’s.

Shit.

The little asshole snitched on him quick.

Sekido almost doesn’t want to answer but he doesn’t know what work schedule his other twin has. He can’t afford to dismiss the call.

God, this is going to be a pain in the ass.

“Aize-”

“What the fuck, Sekido?”

Aizetsu’s voice, sharp and angry rings through his eardrums via the phone speaker.

“Where the hell are you?”

He should have thought about what to say. Something concrete. Still, Aizetsu had no right to be speaking to him like if he’s an unruly kid.

“Watch it, asshole. Don’t talk to me like that.”

“I’ll talk to you however I want! I’ve been calling you for hours, WHERE are you?!”

“I stayed at…Ume’s house.” Sekido forces himself to say. He hates doing this again, even though it isn’t technically a lie.

“Ume??? Are you serious?”

Aizetsu’s sardonic laughter is making his blood boil.

“I know you’re with Karaku.”

Anger rises like a volcanic eruption; he wants to punch something, and hard.                                    

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Sekido barks. “I’m with Ume, dick.”

“In her house, maybe. But he is living there, too. Or am I wrong?”

“What the fuck does that have to do with me, huh?! What does it matter to you?!”

“How could you be so irresponsible?”

Who does Aizetsu think he is, to be scolding him like that? As if he wasn’t a huge hypocrite, falling through so many times when he had to pick Zohakuten up from school because he was being a depressed useless shithead?!

“Oh, fuck off, I don’t have to listen to this bullshit–”

“I’m working now too, did you forget? I got a shift at noon, and you were M.I.A for the whole morning. And for what, to get laid? You couldn't at least tell us anything?!”

Sekido wants to pull his hair out. Teeth gnashing and gritting against each other.

“You have a lot of goddamn nerve, chewing me out like if I forced you to miss work, like if there isn’t plenty of time left. I’ll be there in less than twenty minutes.”

“I had no idea if I would even hear from you at all! You weren’t answering my calls, you were totally gone from the planet for the whole night and morning. Why are you using another phone anyway?”

“It broke, alright?”

Fuck.

It was exactly the wrong thing to say, Sekido realizes it right after as he face-palms at his own idiocy.

If Aizetsu was calling him in the morning, then that means that his phone was turned on. No way could the phone be broken if the calls were going through and ringing until they got sent to voicemail.

But saying it got stolen? That sounded equally suspicious. Why would he be anywhere dangerous enough to be mugged, if he was with Ume all night? Both options were shit.

“Oh my God, Sekido, you’re lying through your goddamn teeth! I know it’s because you’re with him, you always become this stupid reckless teenager whenever you’re with Karaku, and I truly don’t understand why.”

“I’m not with him!!! How many times do I have to tell you for it to get through your thick fucking skull?!!!” Sekido snarls.

“Urogi was right about you all along. And I was defending you like an idiot when you’re just as messed up in the head as Karaku is!”

That stung.

His stomach roils. More like burns. So Urogi still thinks that he’s willingly in this mess.

“Sekidoooo…”

Ume’s sweet-sounding voice suddenly croons right beside his ear, startling him into wide-eyed surprise as he whips his head to look at her.

“Why did you leave?” She adds, softer than a murmur, breath warming his neck.

“Come back to bed.”

What the...?

“Oh.” Ume gives a little gasp, taking a few steps back, marking a distance.

“Sorry, are you on the phone with your brother?”

Words filled with fake concern. Blue eyes glittering in mischief.

It clicks.

Ume is helping him.

She must have heard the back-and-forth argument and lent herself to his half-lie.

For a second, he is at a loss for words.

It’s also dead silent on the other end too.

“Give me a second.” Sekido eventually replies, addressing her.

He feels incredibly awkward about it, even when Ume beams at him, happy he continued with the scenario.

Click.

Aizetsu hung up.

Good. That condescending prick was about to make him explode.

Ume approaches again, looking very pleased with herself.

Sekido looks up at her, sucking on his teeth. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“Wow, what a great ‘thank you.’” She giggles.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

He says nothing in response, hoping that she’ll drop it, or better, that she leaves entirely. Which was hoping for too much.

The perfume scent grows twice as strong, as she closes in like a cat playing with a mouse.

“What was that about?” She hums. “Why was your brother grilling you so bad?”

“He has to work soon, and he didn’t know where I was.” Sekido mutters. “My little brother is ten, he can’t be left alone. Still, he was being a giant douchebag about it.”

“Hmm. Okay, it makes sense. But what I don’t understand is why you lied.”

Ume’s eyes sharpen in focus as she directs her line of sight into his own. As if searching for something within them.

“Why not just tell him you were helping out Karaku? I think he’d understand that you were rescuing him from being beaten to death.”

“…”

He can feel his body tense up, adrenaline suddenly making his heart race.

“Karaku fucked things up with our brothers when he left. They practically excommunicated him, and they rather me not have any contact with him either.”

“Is that so?” She looks quite intrigued about that, almost as if she was surprised by his answer.

“And since when do you care about what others think? Aren’t you supposed to be the eldest?”

Sekido gives her a deep scowl.

"Don’t act like you know me, Ume.”

She crosses her arms, pursing her lips, cocking a thin brow. Sassy.

“You made me part of your lie, and I helped you sell it. The least you can do is be nice about it.”

And infuriatingly, she has a point. Dammit.

“I’d…rather not have more arguments about it. That’s all.” The discomfort about where the conversation is heading is growing.

Is this what Sekido’s life will be like, forever?

Always being questioned, always being interrogated?

“Heh. Karaku must have done something really bad for that to be your brother’s reaction.” Ume chortles.

“I could hear his yells from the phone as I was passing by.”

Fucking Aizetsu.

“He can be a real jackass.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” She smiles again, finally making her way out.

Before completely leaving, however, she pauses.

“If you ever need me to be part of your lie again, just let me know. I can help you make them not lies anymore.”

Playful.

To his relief, she left without waiting for a response from him.

Damn. That was bold.

Sekido exhales deeply. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath.

That entire interaction was a lot. He feels drained.

At first, he thought there still might be things to hash out with Karaku, but honestly, he just wants to get the hell out of here.

What would he really accomplish, anyway? It’s all completely useless.

And if there’s an unknown stranger who is trying to cover their tracks, then maybe they have a little more time than he initially thought.

To think things through.

To coordinate and plan.

What would happen if the manhunt began.

What to do if either of them (or both) get arrested.

Sekido avoids making eye-contact with Karaku, who is probably eating a normal meal in the kitchen.

He walks with purpose, exiting the Shabana residence without saying goodbye.

He doesn’t know exactly if he was already expecting the entire street to be flooded by police cars, or screaming to put his hands behind his back and they have the entire house surrounded, but he scans the perimeter regardless.

But no.

None of that.

No police cars surrounding the house. Guns brandished.

If CCTV had their faces, if whoever was in the homicide case has viewed video tapes on that night, then it probably should be that quick.

They should have known who they were already, tried to trace them to their legal residence, but Aizetsu said nothing about law enforcement in their house.

Detectives demanding to speak to any of the Kibutsuji brothers.

Are the videos inaccessible then, like his brother has suggested?

Did the American pay someone off?

No matter the case, he'll take the small miracles whenever they present themselves.

“SEKIDO.”

A slam of the front door, and the simmering annoyance and exasperation bubbles up inside Sekido again.

God, he should’ve known Karaku would follow him.

“What the hell was that.”

Strangely, Karaku’s tone is hostile.

Sekido ignores him as he makes his way towards his car, focusing on leaving this godforsaken place.

He won’t ask what he’s talking about, he doesn’t care about any of that. He’s sick of being here.

“Why was Aizetsu up your ass like that?”

Karaku isn’t asking.

He is fishing, searching for something specific; unwilling to give up until he finds it.

“And why are you going over there like some pathetic dog with its tail between its legs? What are you, scared of him?”

Oh, hell no, Sekido wasn’t going to let him talk shit like that.

He swiftly turns right back around, blood-red eyes blazing in fury.

“Scared? Do you have worms in your head?! I’m Zohakuten’s guardian, you imbecile. I can’t be taking off whenever just because some dumb motherfucker is actively ruining his life, and I’m forced to pick up the pieces!”

The cast stone is completely ignored, Karaku bulldozing through heatedly.

“Why does he give a shit?! He thinks he owns you, or…”

Karaku cut his tirade off suddenly.

Seconds pass before a loud cackle burst out, off-kilter and unnerving.

“You know what’s funny about our past life? Demon Aizetsu wanted you too.”

Sekido’s stomach drops, plunging in what feels like an unending abyss, the unsettling proclamation striking him like sharp daggers with acid tips.

“I wasn’t the only one. Only I had you and he didn’t. He was jealous of me, the miserable loser.”

Karaku sneers, each syllable dripping with contempt.

“And I bet he still has that demon in there, biding his time now that I’m gone.”

The echo of the past hits Sekido suddenly. Disturbing his soul enough to make him recoil.

No.

Sekido doesn’t want to hear this. It can’t be like his dream, of where Karaku’s jealousy was visceral, his loud thoughts about how he knew what Aizetsu wanted flooding his mind through their link.

“Stop it. Right fucking now.” Sekido’s voice is lower than a growl.

“Don’t infect our other brothers with your perversions. Not everyone is sick like you.”

Karaku stares blankly at him, the jade of his irises darker than black diamond. Shiny and beady like a predator.

The air holds more than heaviness, a dread that presses down hard enough to break ribs.

“…you already suspected it, didn’t you? You knew.”

No!

Why is he–?!

Sekido’s eyes widen, mouth opening uselessly, not a word forms, even though his mind yells and screeches. 

“You’re turning red.”

Sekido’s vocal cords work at last, indignant and louder than he expected.

“Because you piss me the hell off with your stupidity!”

It has to be that, no other option, it must be an inferno of wrath making his face feel hotter than the deepest pit of Hell.

“No, no, no,” Karaku shakes his head furiously.

“I know how you look when you’re angry. You don’t get red like that. You remembered something. He do something to you?”

Is Karaku really doing this out here? In front of his friend’s house like no one could eavesdrop to the gross shit he was saying?

The possibility of someone listening to this word vomit makes him nauseous. And each word that comes out of his stupid brother’s mouth keeps getting worse.

“Did you do something?”

The brazen audacity of Karaku to raise his voice at him, how dare he–

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Sekido viciously spits out, repulsed.

“You lost your goddamn mind for you to be accusing me of–”

Karaku interrupts again. “That piece of shit is acting like he has some claim over you, and there has to be a reason.”

So confident in his ludicrous assertions, claiming such nauseating things, Sekido wishes he could hit him enough for common reality-based sense to get knocked back into him.

But clearly, there is no knocking sense into his delusional brother, as he was hit repeatedly throughout the night, and he is still spouting his mental illness out in the open. Embarrassing.

“Do you have no shame?!!” Sekido fixes him with the most poisonous of glares.

“Hollering like a schizoid in public for everyone to hear you lose your mind??”

Karaku crowds his space abruptly, the speed at which he moved forward was unnatural. Too fast for someone who is injured.

“What did you do to make him feel like he has that right? Huh????? You’re giving him signals that you’re open for business?”

What?! Open for business?!

Sekido’s eyes widen even more in pure disbelief, mouth agape, heart inverting inside out.

“You’re INSANE!”

“Are you fucking him?”

Karaku demands sharply.

This cannot be happening. Sekido feels like he’s going to be sick.

The wrongness of Karaku’s horrifying accusations is choking him, like he can’t breathe.

His appalled silence unwillingly serves as confirmation of Karaku’s revolting thoughts, and he lunges, holding him by his shoulders, pulling him forward.

“I just left the goddamn house, you–!”

Jade eyes are no longer dark marbles: they crackle and sizzle, about to shatter in rage. In betrayal.

“When did you become such a WHORE?”

“Fuck you!!!!!”

Sekido shoves him so hard, Karaku stumbles backwards, in danger of cracking his head open right over the Zen garden rocks beside the front door, but he rights himself before he falls.

Sekido charges at him once more, palms violently pushing his shoulders to shove him even harder. See if maybe the second time is the charm and he can get rid of him for good.

“Shut up, just shut the fuck up, you’re disgusting, I’ve had enough of your jealous paranoid bullshit!!!! Only your sick mind could conjure up such depravity!”

Karaku, unwilling to back down, snaps back, equally as angry.

“You’re fucking hiding something! I know you better than you know yourself. You think I’m stupid, but I’m not!!!”

“I’m not hiding SHIT! He’s our brother, Karaku–”

To which Karaku starts to laugh uproariously.

“Like that has stopped you before!”

“Go fuck yourself!!!" Sekido roars, heart threaten to burst out of his chest.

"You need to be institutionalized until you die, stop being so psychotic for once in your goddamn life and leave me the fuck ALONE!”

Sekido is wrenching his car door open, sitting down violently, hands shaking as he turns on his vehicle, looking forward.

Wait.

Is that…Karaku’s car?

Over in the corner?

He glances back to see if his brother noticed.

It seems like he did – his line of sight towards the car.

They make eye contact for less than a second, and Sekido exits out of his car hurriedly, approaching the vehicle, peering into the darkened windows.

Two cellphones are on the passenger seat, stacked neatly on each other as if the two simply forgot to bring them in after a night of heavy drinking.

“The hell?” He can hear Karaku’s bewildered voice as he approaches from behind.

Sekido yanks the door open, takes his phone, slams the heavy metal shut and leaves before Karaku can do anything to stop him.

Flooring the accelerator, car taking off as if he is being chased in pursuit, the loud motor polluting the mostly-silent atmosphere.

He’s gone.

All that is left are Karaku’s screaming thoughts battling it out inside his head.

Sekido will never reach out to him again.

His fit of jealousy made sure of that.

When he heard Aizetsu’s level of entitlement when tearing Sekido a new one, worse than a controlling lover.

How quickly Sekido was moving, no he was hauling ass to get home right that instant!

It exploded out of him, because he knows that meant something.

But he also knows, logically, he jumped to massive conclusions, when no evidence existed to imply anything remotely close to that.

Sekido wouldn’t do that. Demon Sekido never gave the sorrow clone a chance, after all.

Something happening in modern-day life is not just unlikely, but impossible.

But…

Karaku can't forget about that incident.

Two days before their collective demise as demons.

It has stayed within him since.  

It was obvious to everyone, just how extreme Sekido’s anger got when Karaku would take off to live the fullest life of debauchery possible once they finished their Upper Moon duties.

Karaku had a long list of regular ‘teahouses’ to frequent, a quite diverse roster of favorite companions.

He even had an established presence in the elite clubs scattered around the busiest cities, with specific ones tailored for the demons and Lord Kibutsuji’s underbelly business enterprises. Humans loyal to the His power (and money) intermingling about with disguised demons.

Sometimes Sekido joined him, but most of the time, it pissed him off to almost nuclear levels, the extent to which Karaku enjoyed those escapades.

He never did anything to stop him though, especially when the clubs occasionally had Karaku resolve some legitimate issues serving their Master’s best interest.

When the four were split, Urogi came fairly often too.

But many times, it was just him going stag.

Having the time of his life.

The last time was him going on his own.

Apparently, Urogi had been keeping his eye on a female human, a Kakushi who frequently took up runs completely on her own, and much later in the night than other female corps members. He wanted to see if this night he got lucky and he could eat her.

Karaku didn’t get the appeal, she looked like a normal plain Kakushi girl but didn’t rain on his joy counterpart’s parade.

And so, off he went.

It was amusing for Karaku to provoke his seething counterpart whenever he could.

That night, he accomplished making him particularly enraged, he felt Sekido’s fury loud and strong through their mind link whenever he would tap in, exponentially increasing like a bomb about to go off.

It was the first time that he missed the established dawn curfew.

He was just having too much fun and time escaped him. Therefore, he got ‘stuck’ in the dark smoky rooms of his favorite club for a full day after.

But was it really that big a deal? The club was never closed. Always someone willing to offer good food, pleasures, and vices. Only when the sun was out in the sky, demons and demonesses were the sole patrons who had nothing else to do but play.

Karaku was back next nightfall.

And he noticed something off.

The first thing that gave it away was Aizetsu’s absence.

Sekido absorbed him at some point…which was odd.

Unless someone pissed him off badly, insulted or disrespected him – like the first time Aizetsu was coddling him and was crushed into his palm – Sekido doesn’t tend to absorb his clones until it’s necessary.

The absorption occurred during a mental blackout that Karaku could not access. In the first night,  around the time he missed the curfew.

That was the second fact that signaled something was glaringly off.

The odd blackout of Sekido’s mind. It was on purpose.

Not just for a few minutes either, it stretched on for a good number of hours.

It left a really bad taste on his tongue.

Karaku asked him about it, but Sekido did not say a single word.

Not even a ‘tch, he was getting on my nerves.’

Sekido didn’t give explanations just because, but he never turned down the opportunity to shit on his clones and go off in rants about them whenever they angered him.

Urogi had no clue what happened either, as he was scouting that entire night but was unsuccessful at finding the Kakushi girl he was excited about. When he came back, only Sekido was present. Urogi had been blocked out too.

Karaku could not access Aizetsu’s thoughts either.

Even after they were all absorbed together for the main body to attend their Master’s summons that very night, the first Upper Moon meeting in who knows how long, he couldn’t access any information.

The entire thing was fucking weird.

And he never got the chance to figure it out, not when they died right after.

“It makes me so angry…being lumped in with you Karaku!”

Sekido’s reaction to him after they got split right when they confronted the Kamado siblings and the others, it stuck with him.

The words weren’t even that bad, in comparison to all the other colorful swears and insults his clone hurled at him before throughout the years.

And yet, it sounded different.

It sounded honest.

As if he truly hated nothing else but to be mixed in with him, being together, being one in Hantengu’s mind.

Truthfully, it surprised Karaku at first. Just for a moment.

But he kept up his good mood, his easygoing nature though, even if he couldn’t laugh about it. Still with the large grin on his lips as he looked up to him, aiming to sound nonchalant. Amused.

“Is that so? Well, aren’t you glad we’ve separated then?”

Karaku doesn’t have proof.

But he speculates (more like fears) that somehow…Aizetsu had wormed his way in.

With the hive mind they have, it was obvious Aizetsu could access Karaku’s thoughts if he didn’t block him out, which he mostly never did.

Those mental walls were an extra effort, so bothersome. Not to mention how futile it was to input that work if Sekido wasn’t doing the same.

Therefore, Aizetsu had every single memory that belonged to them despite Urogi and him not emerging that often.

That was dangerous.

Aizetsu wasn’t only a demon of sadness and pity.

No, the sorrow manifestation was extremely manipulative.

Karaku noticed the minute he met him, how he analyzed everything to its last meticulous detail. Logged in all information, to see what was at his convenience.

Now looking back on it, he realizes demon Aizetsu recorded and categorized every single friction between Sekido and him.

Every blow-up elicited by Karaku’s admittedly inconsiderate decisions.

A comprehensive ledger of slights and resentments growing.

And what had he done with that information? That was the mystery he never figured out.

Aitzetsu didn’t do direct confrontation.

His approach was death by a thousand cuts.

Carefully placed barbs, consistent, with enough malice that Karaku understood was his way to undermine him, like a steady stream of water eroding stone.

Might that have led to a culmination of something when Karaku didn’t come back?

Karaku shakes his head, fiercely enough to feel a headache coming on. He doesn’t want to think about it. If he couldn’t get answers as a demon, it’s less likely he would do so now.

He doesn’t want to imagine how badly he possibly messed up his progress, all because he couldn’t shut his damn trap.

Just how long did Karaku manage to not say anything about demon Aizetsu? And in one second of him losing control, he ruined it.

Sekido will linger on it.

He is an overthinker. That’s what the jerk does. An expert in rumination. He might provoke his own memories to flood back into his brain, even if he doesn’t want them.

But Karaku can’t think about that right now. He shouldn’t. Bigger worries.

They have their phones back.

He has his car back.

It’s suspicious. It feels like a trap.

Because, who does that sort of thing? Take his car from the ATOM parking lot and place it right in front of Shabana residence for him to find?

Everything inside the vehicle looks normal.

He presses the ignite button. The motor turns on, which means the keys are here.

He looks around every nook and cranny possible and finally finds them: the car keys stuffed inside his glove box.

He remembers what Sekido asserted, of a mysterious woman protecting them.

Who else could it be but her?

If it is her, she’d probably place a tracking device in his car. But after inspecting it thoroughly, he finds nothing.

Karaku looks down at his phone. Cellphones get bugged easily, that would probably be a better way to always track him, not just when he is moving about in the car.

Should he get rid of it?

He doesn’t know what to do.

One thing is for sure, though.

He really has to stop acting so stupid and impulsive. It tends to backfire on him whenever he does.

“Oh look, you’re done with your dramatic blow up.”

Ume calls out at him from inside the house, cheerful and light.

Karaku stiffens.

…shit.

Was she there the whole time, listening in? How much did she catch? Was Gyutaro listening too?

“Where’s Gyutaro?”

Ume opens the door wider as he turns to face her, body leaning over the door frame.

“Fell back asleep once the two of you were finally quiet. But Gyutaro wants to have a real serious talk with you soon. So, buckle up for that.” She warns.

At least he didn’t hear any of what happened.

But Karaku winces at hearing the next portion. He got that same vibe after how Gyutaro looked at him, side-eyeing him in a not-happy way.

Not looking forward to that conversation.

Karaku should bounce for a moment, he has his car right there. To get his bearings, just not be here.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Ume’s finger wags.

“I have some questions that I really need some answers to. If you leave, I’ll tell Gyutaro about everything I just heard.”

He wants to curse her out, tell her he doesn’t give a shit about how much she thinks she knows, but that would be a big fat lie.

He knew that her previous threat of tattling about Karaku sleeping with her wasn’t a serious one. It was easy for him to smile at her and purr at her that if she did, he’d let her brother know about her naughty actions on her webpage. All in all, there was no way she’d divulge it.

But this? He could say the same thing again, but Karaku can’t risk it.

He doesn’t know exactly what his friend's reaction would be to whatever Ume heard, but he genuinely does not want to find out.

And Ume knows about his predicament. It’s why she’s looking like that, as if she checkmated him.

She exits the house and closes the door shut with her back.

Time seems to sit still.

Each second feels like a minute.

“So…explain to me what’s going on between you and Sekido.”

Karaku looks away, trying for a bored expression.

“Dunno what you mean.”

“Is it just you who is obsessed with him?” Ume continues, nonchalant as ever.

“Or is it mutual?”

His chest contracts on itself.

She heard more than enough.

Karaku swallows harshly, knowing it’s going to be a bitch to explain this away.

“I don’t know what you heard, but you misconstrued parts of it. It probably sounded bad, but I swear it’s not what it sou–”

“Why did you drag Sekido out of my house that other night, acting like a man possessed? Why did you threaten me to stay away from him? Why were you accusing him of messing around with your other brother?”

She presses on as if he said nothing, gaze fixed on him, almost unblinkingly.

Karaku's mouth opens and closes repeatedly, and he knows he should say something, but it’s taking him too long to think of anything.

“You really had me thinking it was because you liked me, Karaku. At first.” Ume tilts her head.

“But then I got to thinking… I feel like that isn’t quite right. Because you’re too jealous. And it’s always towards him, not me. Your brother.”

“That’s not true. You’re off your rocker.” Karaku scoffs, despite hearing just how weak his rebuttals sounded.

“Please. You radiate it so much, it’s suffocating. It’s almost pathetic how insecure you are. He keeps rejecting you and you can’t accept it.”

This prompted him to react significantly angrier. Impulsively, as he usually does.

“Shut up. You’re a stupid bitch who doesn’t know shit.” His voice carried more than a hint of warning, but a threat of violence.

Ume's eyes glimmer with a devious delight.

“That’s nasty, Karaku. I knew you were a pervert, but I didn’t think you’d be that fucked up.”

“Get bent, cunt.” He spits, no other words come to mind, fists tight and aggressive, aching to break something. Aching to break her.

“Because, really? Your own twin? Damn, that’s some messed up shit. Narcissist much?”

Why the hell is she giggling as if this is fun for her?

“Or maybe Sekido is just as bad as you.”

A silent pause, heavier than ever, fills the thick air. It’s summertime, but Karaku’s sweating feels like it has nothing to do with the weather.

“You were kicked out of your house because you were supposedly fighting over a girl or something. That’s what Gyutaro told me. I knew that it was a crock of shit as soon as I heard it. I didn’t come close to figuring out the true reason.”

Ume hums thoughtfully, as her mind whirrs quickly.

“But hearing how Aizetsu was reaming Sekido about being with you, and you being a total freak about their argument, then that means…”

Ume gasps dramatically, snapping her fingers as if she cracked the entire thing open.

“Oh shit. You both got caught, didn’t you?”

“NO.”

Her mouth drops open as if Karaku enthusiastically confirmed it instead of viciously denying it.

“It’s…all making sense now.”

Ume gets closer. Too close, leaning forward with an expression of interest.

Of morbid curiosity.

“Did you get caught fucking?”

Karaku almost chokes on his breath from the extremely blunt question, and he is about to fiercely protest that she is crazy, but she interrupts him.

“Oh my GOD, you did!” She laughs loudly.

“Wow, I suspected something weird was going on, but I still can’t believe it. Like...that’s so gross!!”

“What went wrong in your life for you to make up that ridiculous story? Get the fuck out of my way, or I swear I’ll forget you’re Gyutaro’s sister.” Karaku’s upper lip curls up, a growling dog about to bite and tear into flesh.

“But I want details! This is too good.” Ume jumps up, as if she’s just learned the hottest gossip from her closest girlfriend and she wants to hear the full tea.

“How did it start? You totally made the first move, didn’t you?” She asks, a little too excited to know more.

“Is it just a sex thing? Ha! Who am I kidding, you’re totally down bad for him, it’s hilarious!”

Karaku splutters angrily, offended, but having no luck in saying anything to defend himself, despite his clear attempts to protest it.

“Since when have you been trying? I bet it took you forever to get him to crack, but kudos on succeeding. That's the most surprising thing about this, honestly.”

Is she congratulating him?

What.

The.

Fuck.

Ume pouts as a thought enters her mind, significantly more deflated.

“Oh, I’ll be bummed if he was rearranging my guts thinking of you. That would suck.”

And yet, her so-called sadness about being taken advantage of seems dishonest. Almost facetious.

“Did you do that, hmm?”

She places a hand on her waist, hip jutting out.

“Were you with me to make him jealous or something? Did it work?”

By how quickly she shakes off that wobbly look in her gaze, it’s clear she wasn’t that upset about it.

Karaku isn’t trying to answer the barrage of questions, but likewise, she isn’t pushing him to answer one, not when she continues to speak, eyes darkening.

“That’s so sick. Who knew I was part of a threesome?” She bites her bottom lip, as if enticed by it.

“Not me, apparently.”

“You were not part of any of it, don’t piss me off.” Karaku finally sneers.

It’s useless to deny it. It’s obviously too late for that.

“But I was! Even if you didn’t like it, I was. I just had no idea. Not cool, if you ask me. I’d rather be on the know with these sorts of things. But it’s okay, I’ll get over it.” She says simply. Nonchalantly.

“I told Sekido he can make me part of his excuses if he wants to. But with this twist of events, I changed my mind. I’ll expect something in return.”

…

Wait.

Is she…?

“What…are you saying?”

Ume shrugs. “Maybe we can work something out.”

Silencing Karaku to a standstill.

“I can be Sekido’s girlfriend. I’ll even present him nice and proper to Gyutaro and everything. He can come over to visit me all he wants.”

The grin on her face is eviler than the demonic version of herself, long ago. Daki herself would be impressed.

“I like being courted so he’ll have to spin it and make it realistic. But in exchange, you get him here. Mostly to yourself.”

Karaku’s cognitive abilities are still at the extreme end of slow, taking an abnormal amount of time to respond as he processes what he just heard.

But finally, he does, crossing his arms, glaring at her with a disdainful expression.

“Mostly?”

“Uh, yeah. You seriously expect me to get a boyfriend and not get any boyfriend privileges?”

Her smile sparkles, nice and innocent, her perfect picture of beauty a stark contrast to the devil’s contract she offers him.

“You’ll just have to share him sometimes.”

Karaku blinks.

Repeatedly.

Attempting to make his brain work.

At last, the bursts of conflicting emotions temporarily blindsiding him settle down to one singular one.

Possessiveness.

“No. Not fucking happening.”

“Aw, why not?” Ume pouts.  

“You obviously can’t go to your old house. It’s apparent to me that Sekido is ashamed of it. Of you.”

The growling is coming directly from his throat now, a rumble of deep anger.

“So, if not here, then where?”

“I already said no, bitch. Step the fuck back.”

Even though it’s a threat Karaku sincerely means, as in he won’t hesitate to keep her away, one way or another, Ume doesn’t give a damn. Her lighthearted grin indicates how humorous this is for her, and it really grates on his nerves.

“Damn, you’re such a tight ass! Possessive much?” Ume giggles sordidly.

“Fine, fine, no sex, but what if you let me watch sometimes? I’m so curious to see who’s the dominant one.”

Black pupils expand over sky-blue irises, dilating.

“It’s wrong but…sort of hot. Maybe you can take turns and switch around! God, it would be such good content for my page.”

Like Ume is salivating over it, but sighs wistfully after, shaking her head as if to rein herself in.

“But don’t worry. I solemnly swear I wouldn’t record you. It feels special that it’s something only I know of.”

Karaku has never felt closer to the scandalized sensation of someone clutching their pearls in response to someone’s freak side, much less a woman’s.

A burst of laughter overtakes him, loud and incredulous. “You’re fucking twisted.”

“At least I’m not in love with my own brother.” Ume shoots back, easy and smooth.

“….”

Got him there.

“How about you think about it a little more before you shoot it down? It’s a deal of the century.”

She wags her eyebrows, biting her lip again.

Again, Karaku laughs sardonically. Narrowing eyes, contemplating her rotten core.

“You say it as if you’re doing me a huge favor. This is you wanting to get your rocks off.”

“So? I wouldn’t be the only one. And no matter my motivations, it’s still a favor, sweetheart. A favor that is in your best interest.”

She chuckles, opening the door to enter again, seemingly done with the conversation.

“By the way…If we do this? I want the jewelry back. Sekido gave them to me, you know.”

That gets him snarling like a rabid dog again.

“No chance in hell. I gave those to him, and I'll rip your arms and ears off if I see you wearing them.”

She grins cheekily.

“But I liked them so much! Not to mention, it would be a very nice present for his girlfriend.”

Then, she waves long sharp acrylics at him in farewell before shutting the door again.

.

.

.

Muzan moves around the glass jar in her slender hand.

Swiveling it left and right, eyes fixated on the blood staining on the glass below.

The fingernails, long and purple stained in the same vermillion color, move only slightly in her soft swivels.

She smirks at her collection.

Ten in total.

It wasn’t normally how she did things, to be hands-on whenever she needed someone tortured.

But this was a very special circumstance. And Dōma was asking for it, for far longer than she should have permitted.

The nail-pulling tool, a metal contraption that required each individual finger to be inserted, did its job by a quick slam of a lever, the force of it separating the nail from the nailbed. Thus, making it easier for the torturer.

Muzan used pliers instead.

She wanted the process to be as slow as possible.

Taking multiple pauses and ‘breaks’, gradually tearing out each piece of painted keratin from each finger, Dōma’s whining simultaneously irritating and satisfying.

Not smiling anymore like the arrogant bastard, is he?

She’ll let him lick his wounds for a bit.

It’s only the beginning. A taste of what is coming.

What Dōma did, how his actions affected her offspring, inevitably throwing a large wrench in her long-term goal…it whet her appetite for vengeance.

The nail pulling was child’s play and she aimed to make him ever regret challenging her authority again.

Becoming too big for his britches: blatantly disobeying her when Michikatsu ordered him to stand down from messing with her blood.

Although, after what Muzan read on Karaku’s phone  (after bugging and encrypting them for full access) she almost wished that she had demanded to capture them instead of strategically wiping their cellular history.

So she could beat each of her sons until they were black and blue.

Disgusting. Abhorrent. Revolting.

What they’ve done, it merits death.

Snuffing out their lives seemed more appropriate.

A mother has that right, doesn’t she? The strictest condemnation of their actions, to save the reputation of the Kibutsuji family name. An honor killing.

The rage Muzan felt after reading such filth, it was indescribable.

She should have hit Karaku twice as much.

She should have extended her punishment equally to Sekido, because he is clearly much more weak-minded than expected. Even with his pitiful attempts for distance, to correct the previous wrongdoings, to wash it all away, his weakness remains.

It’s insane that she gave birth to such deviant beings; they can’t possibly carry any gene of hers. But alas, they were (unfortunately) hers, she saw each of their faces as newborns, as soon as they were out of her. She wanted to kill them then too. 

They were identical to their father: in appearance, the multitude of his mental illnesses. No chance her genetics ever played a role in their creation.

Muzan has no idea what ever compelled her to be with Urami. Being young and stupid? Unbridled sexual attraction?

Such a pitiful, weak excuse.

She’d chalk it up to temporary psychosis, but even that doesn’t explain why she let him impregnate her a full ten years later after the first pregnancy. It was horrific. What did she ever do to be punished so horribly by having a whole litter? To have him as her children’s father?

Her demonic self was only doing what he thought was right.

Muzan doesn’t remember most of it. A vague film barrier made it difficult for her to fully delve into the memories.

But from those fleeting memories, when she was the Demon King, she is inclined to agree with his ideas.

Of the natural order that is power. Or filth deserving to be snuffed out. Weaknesses extricated in the most painful way possible.

Muzan places the glass jar on her right, on the small wooden table, fingernails softly tapping on the tin lid.

“How has he been doing so far?” She murmurs, looking up at her mole.

The one who was responsible of bring Dōma to him without arousing suspicion in the iridescent-eyed man.

Managi bows to his Lady.

“His whining and fake apologies have gone down significantly. I think he might be feeling some true regret by now.”

She dismisses the eccentric man with a flick of her wrist.

She vaguely remembers him too. Gyokko, she thinks. As she does Dōma. Once her most loyal and fearsome soldiers.

She has no memory of Urami as an Upper Moon. But she understood that he, along with her sons, were part of one. Urami’s father, Hantengu, the main body who carried all versions within him; he is the only one she remembers.

And Michikatsu…

Muzan takes him in as the man comes in, eyes ever so dark and serious as always. Bowing briefly and holding her gaze afterward.

The minute she met him, she felt a magnetic pull towards him, a familiarity that echoed in a similar, albeit less potent way as it did with her disgraced husband. She didn’t remember right away, but it came to her slowly.

He was most powerful one, with his six-blooded eyes, strong and fearless. Characteristics he demonstrates to this day. Only in this lifetime has she gotten to know him intimately.

Muzan likes the animalistic unraveled side of him, much more than the wound-up, controlled demon he knew as the King. Sometimes, that ferality reminds her of Urami.

She dislikes those intrusive thoughts when they come through.

Urami is in prison and will rot there until the day he dies. It is good he is gone from her life.

He was a liability.

A weakness.

“Have you made contact with the main cooker?” She finally speaks, her sharp voice almost echoing in her study.

“Yes, I have. Tamio claims to have no knowledge about your son’s whereabouts after he left the nightclub. But he is cooperative if you require anything else of him.”

“Good. His cooperation will avoid him getting his kneecaps shattered. Send someone for that boy, I need to speak to him.”

Michikatsu nods, eyes roaming over her face. The flickering burgundy color informing her of his true thoughts.

Muzan keeps her expression perfectly neutral.

“You know what your next tasks are.”

Michikatsu takes his leave.

Kocho’s homicide case remains his priority. Detective Masachika has another detective, a junior one from another prefecture, investigating this case, which was unusual and not following protocol.

They must have already submitted their reports from the night.

Possible leads.

Suspects.

Their movements after they evaluated the murder scene.

The sergeant owes him many reports already, and he would hate for the man to think that he can get away with not fulfilling his end of the bargain.

.

.

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