[Fan Fic] Blood Sakura
Title: Blood Sakura
Author: blinkbling24
Pairing: Akame, HayaRyu (Sort of)
Genre: MAJOR ANGST
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I obviously don’t own them, because if I did, this fic would be in video instead of just words.
Warning: Fic is unbeta-ed, so please excuse the grammer/spelling mistakes, if any.
Summary: My only love sprung from my only hate; too early unknown and known too late.
A/N: This is written for the akame_ community 2010 one-shot fan fic contest. I apologize if this fic is confusing. I've deliberately left out references to names (you'll know why when you begin reading). Instead, I used pronouns, namely "he", a lot. Sometimes it's obvious who is who, but sometimes it is purposefully vague. I hope it's comprehensible enough. This was a tough fic to write, and took a lot out of me. If the content seems familiar, the fic was inspired by and loosely based on the HK movie, Infernal Affairs. I have to warn you, this is tragic with a capital T and I quote Shakespeare! I hope you guys like it!
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banner credit: akame_ 2010 one-shot fic contest
My only love sprung from my only hate; too early unknown and known too late.
***
Blood. All he could see was blood. It was vivid red, splattered with frightful artistry on his little pure white t-shirt. On the ground, pooling, however, it was a stomach-curling deep red, almost black. The pool kept getting bigger, and his screaming got louder, much louder than the sirens wailing around him. He ran out of his hiding place, dodging every adult hand that tried to grab him away. He ran right up, almost slipping on the thick, disgusting pool, his sneakers making bright red footprints in his wake. He ran first to the man, then to the woman, trying with all his might to hug them both together, staining his entire little being sticky, sickly red. He could not, no matter how hard he tried, he could not hold on to them. People were pulling him away. No! Why? They were his everything.
MUMMY!!!
DADDY!!!!
He screamed until his voice became nothing, just like how he felt inside. But the screaming in his head did not stop. It has never stopped, not once, in the twenty years after he witnessed the shooting, the killing, the death of his parents.
*
He stands straight and tall, feeling the awkward itch of a uniform well and truly starched prickling through his skin. He does not move, not a muscle, all tense and taut, staring straight ahead between the empty flagpoles, at the crest mounted on top of the building that symbolizes his duty, his purpose.
He listens with a keen ear as his peers’ names are called out one by one, a stern, commanding shout. He listens as young men, young men his age, respond with a short and sharp, “Yes, Sir”, stepping forward and raising their right hand in smart salute at the important gentleman before them. He waits his turn, lips in a tight, thin line, betraying no emotion but one of steel determination.
“You are now ready, my child. Your weapon skills are honed to perfection, your knowledge of the force unsurpassable and your physique the envy of all men. Revenge is at your fingertips, you’ve been waiting for this all your life. Come.”
“I kiss your ring in gratitude, godfather.”
“Express your gratitude in the task I have granted you, a task you have so hungrily wanted. Bring them down, my child.”
“With pleasure, godfather.”
“Do you know who you are?”
“I do, godfather.”
“Good. Here, everything has been done. Take your documents and begin your new life. Erase the name Akanishi Jin from your memory. From now on, you are to live and breathe as….”
“Yabuki Hayato!”
“YES, SIR!”
He salutes with the crispest of movements, earning himself a nod from his commanding officer. It is obvious that he is the favourite, the shining star of the new recruits of the Tokyo Metropolitan Special Forces.
*
The thin, pungent smoke spiraling from the joss sticks he is holding stings his eyes, but he keeps them wide open, a mirror of unwavering calm. He listens to the chants of the priest, faintly aware of the throb on his right bandaged shoulder, a tattoo 3 days old, of an elaborate dragon, curling menacingly around.
He watches as the other young men step forward when their names are called, to bow, to pray and to stick their joss sticks into a giant urn. His face is expressionless, but for a slight clench of his jaw to show his determination.
“Are you sure you want to this, captain? You are the most qualified and capable. You’ve been studying them and their methods for years in preparation for this, but I still hesitate to send you out into the field.”
“Why, Commissioner? I am ready.”
“You’re a good man, captain. The price is too high. I don’t want you to lose your soul.”
“We have to take them down, sir.”
“Very well, captain. Remember to report back weekly, regardless of methods. Don’t get yourself killed, you are one of our best.”
“I will take extra precautions, Commissioner.”
“Good. Now, turn in your badge and gun, and forget that you are Kamenashi Kazuya. You are now our enemy……”
“Odagiri Ryu!”
He takes one step forward and performs the ritual. Once he is done, he steps back and looks straight ahead as his new mentor stares each of them down. Some of the men waver, earning stern words from the terrifying individual. He maintains a cool composure, and does not flinch when he is eyed. He sees a crooked smile, and all of a sudden, he is presented with a hand for him to kiss, a gesture to indicate that he is the favourite, the leader of this new batch of sworn brothers in the Sakura Order, the largest and most respected yakuza in Japan.
*
He follows as he is led down a dark and dingy stairway. Everything looks familiar. He recalls his childhood, where he would run through these dark corridors, trying to listen in to the activities beyond the many doors, before the adults pulled him away. His father used to tell him that in due time, he will know everything, and that he will make him proud.
Now is not the time for painful memories. He shakes his head as he focuses on his assignment. He is an undercover cop, and his first assignment - to investigate the underground male prostitution ring run by Japan’s most powerful yakuza. He is not to make an arrest, he is just to observe and study.
No one recognizes him. The years of seclusion and study saw to that. It is to his advantage in any case. He cannot afford any risk. He stands before a wooden door, where he is left alone after a curt bow. He knocks, and without waiting for a reply, he steps in.
*
The door opens and he braces himself. He is following orders. In order to know everything about the organisation, he is to learn firsthand, taking on the jobs of the lowest of the low. He needs to do this for him to rise in rank, because even though he is the favourite, he has to prove his worth. There is no room for resistance or disobedience.
He has expected this and is ready. He recalls his training, his first time, and then the second, and the third, where he was poked and prodded by his fellow colleagues. Through the shame and pain, he heard their heartfelt apologies, as they plunged deep, ripping him inside out. He tells himself that this is what he wants, it is what he is waiting for, a chance for revenge.
*
“Hi, errr……” He shuffles his feet at the door, but it is all an act. It is an act, until he lifts his head to meet his eyes, eyes with curtains so heavy that it shields every single emotion. But, he catches just one, an unfathomable sadness, and it seems like he was looking into a mirror. Coherence and focus leaves him temporarily.
“Are you nervous?” He asks to mask his own. He has to appear confident, like he has done this all his life. He eyes the man at the door, it is like he was looking at himself, the weight of the world on his shoulders, a dark rain cloud hovering overhead.
“It’s my first time,” He replies as he moves forward slowly, pulled by an invisible force. The man sitting on the bed is compelling. He feels him through his eyes, heart torn apart, beyond repair.
“Come here,” he pats the empty space beside him, beckoning. The closer the other man got, the more he feels his impossible brokenness seeping out through his pores.
They are sitting side by side, shoulders brushing.
He pulls down his casual yukata, revealing that he is completely naked underneath. He reaches out to undo the shirt of the other, but a gentle hand stops him.
“Wait.”
“What is it?”
“Your name.”
“It’s….Kazuya.”
No real names.
“Kazuya.” He tries it out, “I’m….Jin.”
No real names.
“Jin,” he whispers as he straddles him, kissing his forehead, his cheek, his chin, the soft skin behind his ear, “Jin,” he breathes, feeling his body respond to this strange, magnetic person.
“Kazuya,” he runs fingers up and down his shoulder, tracing the intricate lines of the dragon, thinking that he is fragile and beautiful, like the slow flutter of sakura petals in spring.
*
Not really realizing it, he waits for him to come. Once a week, that hour they have together is like a reprieve from one life, into a life reminiscent of the past, a life where he is called “Kazuya”. It is something he clings on, because he feels himself losing grip of his purpose, of the reason he is doing what he is doing.
As he feels his body under his, responding with such openness, he realizes that he craves this honesty. In this dirty little room with a squeaky bed, he is “Jin” once again, the boy of the past, before everything was taken away from him.
They lay together, sweaty bodies and tangled limbs, in the warmth of each other’s arms. They have smiles on their faces, smiles that do not come often to either of them.
“Jin?”
“Yes, Kazuya?”
“Nothing, I just like saying your name.”
“I like saying yours too,” even though it is probably a false one, he thinks.
*
The day has come, the day he has been looking forward to, yet dreading at the same time.
He lifts himself off the other, and looks everywhere instead of into his eyes.
“Jin?”
“Hmmm?” He is not blind. He knows it is bad news.
“I’m being transferred tomorrow, I won’t be here anymore,” he tries to keep the regret out of his voice. What he really means is that he will never see him again. He will start a new job, a better job within the organisation, one that he has been waiting for. He is getting closer to his goal, and he is not going to let go. But he will miss this, he will miss him.
He sits up and cups the other’s face in his palms. He leans in and kisses the lips that willingly part for him. He feels disappointed, but relieved as well. He has gathered enough information and there are orders to take this small branch of illegal activity down the next day, and he had been worried, he would have to arrest him.
“I understand,” he whispers, knowing that this is the last time he will ever be with him. As much as he treasures his time with the other, this is his first major task with the force, and he has to do it well, to gain his commander’s trust. He is out for destruction, and nothing is going to stand in his way.
“Kazuya,” he murmurs.
“Yes, Jin?” he feels himself being lowered.
“Shall we? One last time.”
*
Not a day goes by when he does not think of him. It has been three years since they were last together, and yet the memory stays fresh, as fresh as those that disturb him in his sleep. Through the blood and gore in his dreams, there is something beautiful, and he yearns for it.
*
Yabuki Hayato. He hears of him when he reports weekly to his commanding officer. He hears of how impressive he is, being able to crack all his cases, how Yabuki is able to get wind of the yakuza deals even before he could report back to base. But his purpose in this operation is far greater than tipping the force off on petty drug deals. He is after the big fish, the Godfather, the one responsible for the misery he feels every single fucking day of his life.
He prepares himself for the deal that was happening that night. He binds a gun to his body, and he checks the magazines of the one he puts in his holster. He lifts up the leg of his expensive black wool pants and straps a sheathed knife to his calf. He knows that the Special Forces will send their best to deal with them, and this Yabuki Hayato will be there. Despite himself, he wants to see who this man is. Who is this man who seems to be his equal in everything that is to do with being a cop?
There is a tinge of envy within him. He wishes that he is somewhere where the lines are black and white, instead of the grey he is perpetually living in. The pretty police psychiatrist he was seeing in preparation had warned him that his mental psyche will be affected, going so deep undercover. She had said that there will come a time when he will experience an identity crisis, of not knowing who he is. Everyday, he fights against it, he remembers with all his might even if it hurts, who he is, what his purpose is. But it is getting harder, locked in this dark world he had sacrificed himself to be in. He sees, he supervises the worst possible, inhumane activities, and he does not flinch, does not bat an eye. It is like his heart has frozen over.
What of his heart anyway? Ever since he made his decision, there was no room for heart. It is just him, his smarts, and his wits about him. He needs to do this, for peace of mind, for revenge.
A call comes through from a private number. He picks it up but says nothing. He only listens to the gruff voice at the end, giving him the specifics of the operation. Do not to kill any officers, but if he must, he can injure them, and if he can help it, let Yabuki Hayato off lightly. He was valuable to the force, as much as he was.
*
Who is this Odagiri Ryu?
He burns the non-descript letter after reading it and watches the ash crumble into the metal ash tray. The contents are typical, telling of 2 operations, both real, but one was insignificant enough for him to feed the police force with, for him to swoop in and arrest. The other, always led by one Odagiri Ryu, is where the organisation’s real money is, and he is not to interfere.
He takes out a file from his rucksack and flips it open. It is a profile. Odagiri Ryu, it says. The man has no criminal records, and hence, there is no picture, nor fingerprints. The profile is a citizen’s record. Born in Kanagawa in 1986 and went to school in his home prefecture. Moved to Tokyo when he entered university, but there is nothing else. No first job, no family details.
When did Odagiri Ryu enter the organisation? He does not remember anyone by that name the time he was there, but then, he had distanced himself away from everyone in preparation for this. Is Odagiri Ryu one of the promising young men Godfather plucks from the streets? At only 24, he is younger than most of the men Godfather puts in charge of operations. How is he so special?
His cell phone rings. It is the commanding officer, his boss. There has been a tip off, and the tip-off is for the location of the bigger deal by the docks. The commander orders him to take some men to stop it, to arrest the number one there. Maybe the number one can tell us what we need to know, says his officer.
The deal is top secret, but has been leaked. How? There must be a mole. He takes out his other, unregistered cell phone. He warns the Godfather. He is surprised how calm Godfather’s right hand man sounds. Swoop in, he says, arrest who you want, but keep Odagiri Ryu out of jail.
*
It is like waiting for a pin to drop. Even though there is activity around him, it seems muted somehow. He just stands there, observing the transaction, anticipating. He is tense, but he is sure everyone thinks that it is because of this big deal. His minion brings him a part of the stash. He slits it open and feels the soft powder with his pinky. He brings his powdered pinky to his mouth, and spreads some over his teeth. He closes his eyes and savours it. Good stuff. Unadulterated, powerful. He nods and his minion reaches for a black suitcase, full of cash. The goods and cash exchange hands. He steps up to shake hands with the boss on the other side. It was then, that he feels it. They are here.
He swings the black, unmarked car out from where he was hiding between the cargo containers. The tyres squeal as he drives towards the jetty. He sees a group of men in black suits and he puts the radio mouthpiece to his mouth, giving orders to surround the enemy. He screeches to a halt, his car the closest to where the black suits are standing. He observes through the tinted windscreen as the suits get into formation, backs to each other, reaching for their guns in the holsters hidden by their jackets. He gets out and positions himself with his gun, using his car door as a shield. He hears, rather than sees, his colleagues, if he could call them that, do the same.
He makes the first shot, hitting an officer in the shoulder, sending the man recoiling backwards as he drops his gun. Yamaguchi-san from Squadron B he believes. Yamaguchi-san whom he entered the force with, Yamaguchi-san who thinks that he got expelled from the force for inaptitude. He sees fingers cover the wound but the blood still oozes through. He shifts his eyes and aims at another, but he hears one of his men scream in pain.
He fires a shot at a suit he knows as Sato-kun, a gangly kid that has grown into a gangly man. Sato-kun who believes that he died in a shoot-out with another triad several years ago. He injures him in the leg and gestures to one of his men to run from the back and arrest him. He stands up to take fire again, looking for a suit he recognizes, and looking for the one that he does not.
The sound of gun shots is ringing through the night air as both parties engage. He ducks and rolls, changing his magazine with expert hands when he runs out of shots. His men are taken down one by one, but they seem equally matched. He checks that the coast around him is clear. He stands and points his gun at the closest enemy.
Everything freezes. Those eyes.
Kazuya.
Odagiri Ryu.
Jin.
Yabuki Hayato.
A heartbeat gets trapped.
*
The cold of the handcuffs is comforting on his skin. It keeps him focused, reminds him of his purpose. He sits next to one of his men in the backseat of the car, now with sirens blasting through the dark streets. The man beside him is tense, he can feel the fear radiating from his body. It is fortunate that his minions know very little about the organisation. It is kept that way for security. There is only very few that the Godfather trusts. The man that he had let cuff him is driving. He catches his eye in the rearview mirror, and smirks when the man looks away after a moment, the smirk covering the bitterness within him. He is not friends with fate. Fate deals him a shitty hand all the time.
Yet another thing in his life destroyed, he sighs with acceptance as he keeps his eyes on the road ahead, trying to ignore the heat pulsating from the back seat. Everything he holds dear, and he means everything, shatters at his feet. It is like he has the reverse Midas touch, where instead of gold, everything he touches dies. It makes him steel himself, an affirmation that this is the life he is meant to live, a life void of colour and sunshine. His partner in the passenger seat radios the station, stating their ETA. He makes the mistake of glancing into the rearview mirror. Those eyes stir something within him, something that he masks with an unreadable expression.
He is led through the station, through the rows of desks piled high with case files. This would have been his life if he had followed in his father’s footsteps, a stellar detective bringing down the scum of society. But it was the very scum that had shot his father, and left him a damaged orphan. He is determined to wash the scum away, good and clean. He lowers his head even though he knows no one will know who he is. He is nothing but a ghost now. Cold, unfeeling. But, the hand leading him into the interrogation room is warm, a sensation he rarely feels. So warm.
He sits opposite the person he has not seen for over three years. He takes in every line and curve of his face, of his upper body. So beautiful. He wants to reach out to gently touch the enticing skin where his neck meets his jaw. He knows that it will be soft and warm. He does not. Instead, he shifts so that he stares squarely into unwavering eyes, eyes that do not reveal anything. He could have released him earlier but he wanted to at least talk to him, to hear his voice.
“Odagiri Ryu, is it?” He pretends to flip through some papers in the file he has with him.
A lie.
“That is my name, and you are Inspector Yabuki Hayato I presume,” he replies calmly.
He lied.
“You should be scared. When you are convicted, you will be in prison for a long long time,” he sneers, trying to provoke a reaction.
He remains steady, never giving anything away, “My lawyer is on the way.”
He knows that the lawyer will be here soon. And he knows that he will let this man walk out of the station scot free, with no crime pegged to him. This man was an ally. Why is it, then, that he seems like the enemy, and something so much more?
He sits very still and studies him. He is as handsome as he remembers, with the unruly head of hair, licks sticking out in random directions. He remembers the feel of that hair between his fingers. He remembers the silent moans of heat, of arousal. All those times, he was undercover, investigating, and he had let him in a little. He should hate him, like how he hates the scum that killed his father, but he was on his side, the side of justice. There is no other emotion within him, except a heavy sadness that weighs him down.
What is that? There is a flicker within those chestnut browns. He squints to look closer but is shut out again.
He notices him trying to read him. Not so easy, he says in his head. It has never been easy.
“Odagiri-sama?”
He lifts his head.
“The paperwork has been done. We can leave now.”
He raises his cuffed wrists in request.
He unlocks them, letting his fingers graze those slim wrists, to skirt those strong hands.
There is a pause where the world stops. It is only them.
He lets him go, watching as he walks away, half wishing that he will turn back for a glance, but he does not. He continues walking until he rounds a corner, out of sight.
He cannot turn back, because if he does, he may not be able to keep the cover around him, and it is something he cannot afford to let happen. Not now, not ever, until everything is over.
*
They cross paths many times after that.
It was as though they are destined to meet.
Each time they shoot their guns at each other, they get closer and closer to their goals. One step closer to taking everything down, to getting what they want, what they are living for.
But as they move forward, it gets more difficult to ignore everything else. It gets difficult to just have that singular focus and mindset when every instance where they meet confuses them.
The tension is real and distracting. They are pushing and pulling, a tug of war. Each meeting, each game is more dangerous than the last.
*
He stands in the shadows, one hand in his trouser pocket, one hand holding a cigarette. His gaze does not leave the black car parked just a little away from the main building, the building where the Sakura Order operated from. In the penthouse of that building was the residence of the Godfather, someone he has yet to see, someone he has to get to. The Godfather is his prize, a very heavily guarded prize, and he is doing all he can to get past the guards and the security system. It is not time yet. The time will come.
He pulls out another cigarette from the packet and lights it, letting the fresh smoke curl and mix with the stale smoke in the car. He being there is just a matter of formality. He knows the plans of the organisation. He knows why they have been so quiet of late. It is a big job, one that guarantees the personal hand of the Commissioner, a man that he has not yet had the dubious honour of meeting, but he wants to very much. The time will come when he will finally fulfill what he has set out to do.
A knock on the car window.
He rolls it down and feigns indifference at the person outside.
“Inspector Yabuki, fancy seeing you here.”
“Odagiri, working late?”
The snide reply is stuck in his throat. Instead, he smiles and blows smoke into his face.
Annoyed, he waves the smoke away, only to replace it with his own.
“Care for a walk, Yabuki?”
“What?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not armed. Not anywhere you can see, anyway.”
He opens the car door and steps out. The air is crisp and fresh, a vast different from the dankness he has been breathing in for the past couple of hours. He trails behind as the other leads the way.
There is a little park with a man-made lake not far off. They do not speak, they just walk, one slightly on front of the other. They stop at the edge of the lake and admire the reflection of the night lights in the still waters.
“You’re never going to find anything on us,” he breaks the silence.
“I won’t be so sure if I were you, Odagiri,” he turns and examines his profile. The night light seems to be giving off a mysterious gleam. It is enchanting.
Chuckling, he faces the man next to him. He sees him smile in return, and there it is. That lightness that he had kept locked up in that little underground room, never to surface again, except that it does, right this very moment. “I am sure about a lot of things, Yabuki,” there is an uncharacteristic tease in his voice.
“Really? Like what?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“For instance, I know for a fact that there’s a 100 yen-sized scar on your left hand near your thumb,” As he says this, he turns to look beyond the lake once again, placing his hands deep into his pants pockets.
That scar throbs instinctively, as though recalling a time where gentle lips were pressed on them. “I’ll give you that,” his voice is low as he moves to stand a little closer to his companion.
“I also know that if your collarbones are touched a certain way, they become another form of ticklish,” he does not move, but it is an effort to keep his voice steady.
“I’ll give you that, also,” his shoulders are now grazing the other man’s, his words blowing gently in his ear.
“And here’s another thing I’m sure of.”
“What’s that?” he feels it in the pit of his stomach.
“I’m sure that if I turn and face you right now…..”
His breath hitches as he sees the beauty before him clearly in the moonlight. “Yes?” he whispers as his knuckle reaches out to stroke the soft skin just below the cheekbones.
He closes his eyes, feeling the long-lost gentleness. “You will say……” He inches closer until lips almost touch.
“I will say?” His voice almost leaves him as he gently brushes against those lips.
“Let’s go to a hotel.”
“You are sure about a lot of things.”
*
The dragon seems so much a part of the skin now, he muses as he traces the lines out of habit, unlike before, when it seemed a little out of place. He likes the irony, that the skin still feels the same, soft, even though it has been scarred. “Your name. Ryu. Is that why you got this?” he asks as he buries his lips in short, dark hair.
He does not reply. Instead, he turns while still in an embrace. He tucks his head under the chin of the man who already had him twice, and the night was still young. He runs his hands up and down the smooth expanse of his back and laughs quietly, “This would count as cavorting with the enemy.”
Except that they are not, they are on the same side.
“We’re both undercover agents right now, discovering the weaknesses of the enemy,” he kisses him deeply, feeling him press closer in his arms.
Those words send a shiver through him, separate from the shiver caused by a firm hand gripping him. Is this really a weakness? He is not really the enemy, he reasons, as he surrenders to the sensations. It makes him feel safe, something he has not felt for years. He moans as he feels him in him, this man, who knows who he is, who he really is.
Kazuya.
The warmth that engulfs him makes his heart lurch. He is not my enemy, he tells himself, as he pushes to feel more of that warmth, warmth so similar to the warmth that was taken away from him. The legs wrapped around him keep him secure, instead of drifting in the wilderness. He rides wave after wave, each one bringing him closer to the feeling of home, in the arms of a person who knows who he really is.
Jin.
*
He is finally worthy. He presses the button for the penthouse, and stares at the numbers slowly flash in increasing order. The steel doors open up into an elaborate living quarters. He steps out and scans the room. A well-built elderly gentleman is standing with his back facing him, looking out the impressive floor to ceiling windows are the little people down below. He approaches with practiced caution and stops at a respectful distance behind the old man.
“Odagiri Ryu. I’ve heard good things about you,” the old man does not turn around.
“You’re too kind, Godfather,” he bows, controlling his emotions. Now is not the time.
“Come,” the old man turns and beckons him.
He walks up and kisses the heavy gold ring.
“You’ve done well, my son. Your work and loyalty to us have contributed to 80% of our total revenue this year.”
“I am glad that I pleased you, Godfather,” he straightens up to look the old man in the eye. At last, he thinks, the man with his parents’ blood on his hands. The old man is nothing like he thought he would be. There is no hint of a bloodthirsty criminal, instead, he seems like a harmless old gentleman. But, he knows better than to believe everything that he sees, his own life is pure testament of that.
“You’re a handsome young man, no wonder…..” the old man trails off.
He is puzzled, but he just stands and waits.
“I hear that this next deal requires my presence,” the old man continues with a gleam in his eye.
“I’m sorry, Godfather, I tried to refuse the other party’s request,” he lowers his gaze.
“It’s fine. A big deal like this requires my attention. Besides, Mr Russo is an old friend, and he’s flying in all the way from Europe.” the old man lays a wrinkly hand on his shoulder, “it’ll just be you and me, my son.”
“Yes, Godfather,” he tries hard not the shrug that hand off.
*
“The big deal is happening, Commissioner. The Godfather will be there personally for the transaction.”
“Well done, captain. This is our chance.”
“Will Yabuki Hayato be in charge of this operation?”
“Do you have a problem with him, captain?”
“No, none at all.”
“Don’t lose focus, captain. You’ve sacrificed too much, and worked too hard to let this slip through your fingers.”
“I won’t, Commissioner. I’ve been waiting for this all my life.”
*
“You must have done something right, Yabuki. The Commissioner wants to see you,” his section chief says flippantly as he walks by.
He pauses in the midst of his paperwork. That was fast, he thinks to himself. He only submitted his report a couple of hours ago, stating that his investigations have led him to believe that there was a big arms deal happening soon. This deal will be a good opportunity for him to get the Commissioner out in the open, where he can have his chance, where he would be backed up by his own people.
“Yabuki?”
He snaps out of his thoughts.
“I think the Commissioner means now.”
He arrives in front of the Commissioner’s office and is waved in absentmindedly by his secretary with a cursory, “The Commissioner is expecting you,” when he announces who he is. He knocks and hears a gruff, “Come in.”
He stands at attention in front of a giant mahogany desk and waits as an elderly man seated behind it goes through some files. The old man finally looks up and acknowledges him with a keen eye.
“So, you’re Yabuki Hayato,” the old man remarks with strength in his voice.
“Pleased to finally meet you, sir,” it is hard not to stare down the man who fired the gun that kill his parents.
“You’ve been an exceptional police officer, Yabuki. The force is lucky to have you,” the old man smiles and he looks nothing like how he had imagined him to be. All his life, he had likened him to a demon, but, he just looks so ordinary.
“I’m only doing my job, sir,” he bows deep, clenching his jaw.
“And your job has led us to this important breakthrough. We’ve been trying to pin down the Sakura Order for ages. Well done,” there was a fatherly tone in the Commissioner’s voice that he does not appreciate.
“Thank you, sir,” he stops and thinks before he continues, “Sir, there’s something….”
“What is it, Yabuki?”
“This is just a suggestion, sir, but it would be good if you could lead the operation. “
“Oh?”
“It would lend confidence to the team, sir. This is a big case, and we would appreciate some leadership,” he looks up to meet the old man in the eyes.
The old man thinks for a moment, “Very well, inspector, I will lead this operation. There is an old friend I would like to meet.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Nothing that you should concern yourself with. Get your men ready.”
“Yes, sir!” He salutes and turns to leave the room.
“Yabuki?”
“Yes, sir?” he faces the old man again.
“I’ll be riding with you.”
*
“It is done, Godfather. The Commissioner is leading the operation.”
“Well done, my son. This is our chance.”
“Is Odagiri Ryu going to be present at this transaction?”
“He will be my right hand man. Is there a problem?”
“No, Godfather.”
“Don’t waver, my son, not when this is what you’ve been waiting for.”
“I will carry this out till the end, Godfather. I owe it to myself.”
*
Another hotel room, another tryst. Between the sheets is where the star-crossed lovers hide, a Montague and a Capulet. They come together, again and again, craving more, falling deeper, as each believe that at the end of it all, they will be together. They are one and the same.
They lay tangled in each other’s arms, the smell of them lingering. Gentle hands caressing hot sticky skin, lips seeking desperate for the other pair, as though starved with a hunger only the other could satisfy.
“Odagiri….” he begins only to be met with gentle fingers to his lips.
He leans in to softly kiss him before whispering, “It’s Kazuya, remember?”
He feels like he understands completely, and yet, he does not, at the same time.
“Kazuya.”
“Yes, Jin?”
Will he forever live in the past? Why is it that the past is the only thing that brings him comfort, that warms him? The present is nothing but darkness, with nowhere to look, nowhere to turn. Is there even a future for him, for them? He wants to believe so, he wants there to be a light at the end of the long, long tunnel he has been travelling through most of his life.
“Do you ever think of the future?”
“I do,” he answers, barely audibly.
“What do you see?” it is as though he needs to know.
“I can’t tell,” he squints, “it’s right in front of me, but I can’t see it, not yet.”
“But soon?” there needs to be some hope.
He smiles and mumbles, “yes, very soon,” as he snuggles his nose in his lover’s chest, taking in his scent, his everything. “But,” he continues as he feels his lover tense as his hands travel down, “for now, right here is where I want to be….”
“Hmmm…” he hums, following his lover’s lead, “you’re right, tomorrow can wait.”
*
The day is finally here. He gets out of bed after a sleepless night. Today is where everything ends, he thinks, as he lets his rain shower beat down onto his shoulders, like little needle pricks, letting him know that he is not numb to it all. There has never been anything else he wanted to do but wait for this day to come, and now, he thinks, what is going to happen after? Can he still make a life for himself, be with the person he wants to be with? He has never held any hope about the future, convinced that he does not need a future, his life is in the past. And now, he is afraid to hope. What happens when people like him hopes?
*
His cufflinks glint in the mid-day sun. He strides with confidence at the Godfather’s side. He feels weighted with two semi-automatic pistols tucked safely in their holsters flanking the sides of his torso, under his black jacket. He opens the car door and waits respectfully as the old man steps in. He bends in right after, bringing his aviators up to shield his eyes from the noon glare. He is ready, he has waited his whole life for this. The car moves off, and two more follow behind it.
He rounds up his back-up officers with the ease of an expert. He draws up the plans, dirtying his fingers with magic marker as he draws and scrawls on the whiteboard. His semi-automatics, two of them, are peeking out from their holsters under his opened army green collared shirt. He pulls his shoulder-length, unruly hair into a tight ponytail, riding high on his head. He looks up and meets the eye of the Commissioner. He gives him a slight nod, and meets the Commissioner halfway. They walk out, shoulder to shoulder, to the unmarked car waiting in the station’s parking lot. He is ready, he has waited his whole life for this. The car moves off, and two more follow behind.
*
The false pleasantries have been exchanged, the goods have been checked, the money is in the process of changing hands. Cold hard cash, resting neatly in five black briefcases. He hears the clicks of the clasps being open and shut again. He hears the grunts of approval and greed of the foreign men in front of him. He sees the Godfather stretch out his arm for a handshake. And then, it happens.
A troop of special agents storm up the fire escape onto the roof. They hold angry looking rifles, pointed at their foreign guests, men in similar black suits. He moves to block the Godfather with his own body, taking a pistol from the left holster and pointing it forward, both hands clasping it tight. He has two other minions with him, and he senses them doing the same.
He watches as the foreign men raise their arms in surrender, and he watches as the special agents cuff them. He is keenly aware that there is a rifle pointing at him, ready to shoot if he makes any sudden movement.
“Get them out of here.”
It is the voice of the Commissioner. The Commissioner comes into sight with two other officers by his side. The officers have their guns held in position, ready for fire. The Commissioner’s gun is in his hand, by his side. The special agents do as they are told, yanking the foreign mafia members roughly.
“You too,” the Commissioner addresses the agent pointing the rifle at him, and the agent backs down, and joins his comrades down the fire escape.
He observes the Commissioner’s bodyguards shuffle and point their guns to the back of him, and he presumes that his henchmen have done the same, a mirror image of one another. He pistol is still being held steadily in his hand. He points it towards the Commissioner.
“Ryu,” he stiffens when he hears the Godfather’s voice. A wrinkly hand is on his gun, lowering it down. He resists slightly, but gives in. He looks briefly to his side and sees that the Godfather too has his gun out, but is holding it relaxed by his side, just like the Commissioner. The four other gunmen seem to relax as well, but are still guarded and ready to shoot at any moment.
“Hello, old friend, it has been a while,” the Commissioner addresses the Godfather.
Something moves. He emerges from between the water tanks on the roof.
He catches the Commissioner’s eye and gives a swift nod, indicating that the enemy had all been rounded up and led into the armoured police vehicles. He takes position next to the Commissioner and pulls his pistol out. “Yabuki,” he frowns when he hears the Commissioner’s voice. His lowers his gun, but his body is taut, ready to spring into action.
“It’s been 20 years at least,” the Godfather replies smugly, stepping forward a little.
The two elderly gentlemen smile at each other, as though having a conversation only they themselves can hear.
He half looks at the other across him, holding a stance exactly like the stance he was in. He remembers him relaxed, in his arms, making sounds so melodious to his ears, and he thinks, soon, very soon.
*
Everything happens so quickly. He hears a curt command out of nowhere.
Jin!
Kazuya!
NOW!
He acts on instincts and spins around, pulling his other gun out of its holster and takes out the two insignificant men behind him. He watches the men crumble to the ground, and turns. He sees the two old men point their guns at each other, and he stretches his arm, pointing his pistol at the old man of his choice. Before he realizes what he was doing, what was going on, his other arm stretches out, and points the barrel across, to the young man standing not more than 50 metres in front of him.
*
“Odagiri! You!” The old man he is pointing one of his guns to sputters.
“My name is Kamenashi Kazuya, Godfather,” he says in a flat voice, void of emotion.
“Kamenashi…..” memories pool in the old man’s eyes.
Kazuya. He almost staggers backwards, except that he cannot afford to. He is here just for this.
“And my name is Akanishi Jin, Commissioner, ” he rams the barrel into the old man’s head.
“Akanishi…so the past has caught up with me,” the old man winces.
Jin. He understands everything perfectly. The man in front of him is his exact mirror. They are the exact same person.
Thunder rumbles in the distance and the grey clouds are rolling in. The first drop of rain is met with the laughter of the two elderly gentlemen. They lower and toss their guns to the front simultaneously.
“The irony,” says the Godfather.
“Indeed, if I didn’t kill Akanishi, he would be Godfather instead of you, old friend,” the Commissioner laughed so hard he buckled and fell to his knees.
“And Kamenashi would be Commissioner….” The Godfather closes his eyes and enjoys the rainfall on his face.
Anger wells up in his eyes. He shakes as his gun follows the old man’s every move. He hates the man so much. He has taken everything away from him, everything that he had ever loved in his life. His chest constricts with a pain he has never felt before. They are not, and never will be, on the same side. He looks at the young man in front of him through the rain curtain, and sees the same anger and pain, and he snaps. With a loud cry, he clicks his pistol and pulls the trigger. The shot rings out, and he hears a dull slump, two figures collapse towards each other, blood spilling out and mixing with the rain on the ground.
And then, it is just the two of them.
*
The rain stops. It is just a passing thunderstorm. The clouds part for the sun.
They stand still, the barrels of their guns reflect the sunshine as they point them at each other.
Jin thinks that it is the perfect spring day. The sakuras will bloom soon. He is glad he is sharing this day with Kazuya.
“It’s a really nice day today, Kazuya.”
“It is, Jin.”
Kazuya smiles and he sees Jin returning his smile. He had always thought that Jin was his light at the end of the tunnel, but now, he is not sure anymore. But, Jin is still a light, a very bright one that warms him even more than the sun.
Jin puts one foot forward, and Kazuya does the same. They walk towards each other, not once lowering their guns. They are close now, so close that their guns press on each other’s chest, right above the heart.
Kazuya leans his forehead on Jin’s and sighs. Just a little while more, he thinks, just let his heart finish singing this song.
Bringing their lips together, Jin savours the sweetness, the nectar that is Kazuya. Kazuya that he always thought of as beautiful, not of this world. Jin knows now that he is not of this world either. He will go wherever Kazuya goes.
They kiss like it is their first kiss, and like it is their last. They pour who they really are into the kiss, saying everything by not saying anything at all.
Panting against each other, there is a pause. Kazuya brings his hand up to cup Jin’s face. Jin nuzzles in, eyes closed.
“Jin,” Kazuya whispers through a gentle smile.
“Yes, Kazuya?” Jin says softly, kissing the tip of his nose.
“Do you think there is love in hell?” Kazuya leans in and presses his chest harder into the gun.
Jin does the same, “Why don’t I meet you there and we’ll find out?”
They wrap their arms around each other and they lock lips, passionate, wanton.
The trigger is pulled. It is immediate.
They fall, embracing each other, lips still pressed together.
And then, it is silent.
Somewhere in the distance, a Sakura tree springs forth its very first bud.
Author: blinkbling24
Pairing: Akame, HayaRyu (Sort of)
Genre: MAJOR ANGST
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I obviously don’t own them, because if I did, this fic would be in video instead of just words.
Warning: Fic is unbeta-ed, so please excuse the grammer/spelling mistakes, if any.
Summary: My only love sprung from my only hate; too early unknown and known too late.
A/N: This is written for the akame_ community 2010 one-shot fan fic contest. I apologize if this fic is confusing. I've deliberately left out references to names (you'll know why when you begin reading). Instead, I used pronouns, namely "he", a lot. Sometimes it's obvious who is who, but sometimes it is purposefully vague. I hope it's comprehensible enough. This was a tough fic to write, and took a lot out of me. If the content seems familiar, the fic was inspired by and loosely based on the HK movie, Infernal Affairs. I have to warn you, this is tragic with a capital T and I quote Shakespeare! I hope you guys like it!
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banner credit: akame_ 2010 one-shot fic contest
My only love sprung from my only hate; too early unknown and known too late.
***
Blood. All he could see was blood. It was vivid red, splattered with frightful artistry on his little pure white t-shirt. On the ground, pooling, however, it was a stomach-curling deep red, almost black. The pool kept getting bigger, and his screaming got louder, much louder than the sirens wailing around him. He ran out of his hiding place, dodging every adult hand that tried to grab him away. He ran right up, almost slipping on the thick, disgusting pool, his sneakers making bright red footprints in his wake. He ran first to the man, then to the woman, trying with all his might to hug them both together, staining his entire little being sticky, sickly red. He could not, no matter how hard he tried, he could not hold on to them. People were pulling him away. No! Why? They were his everything.
MUMMY!!!
DADDY!!!!
He screamed until his voice became nothing, just like how he felt inside. But the screaming in his head did not stop. It has never stopped, not once, in the twenty years after he witnessed the shooting, the killing, the death of his parents.
*
He stands straight and tall, feeling the awkward itch of a uniform well and truly starched prickling through his skin. He does not move, not a muscle, all tense and taut, staring straight ahead between the empty flagpoles, at the crest mounted on top of the building that symbolizes his duty, his purpose.
He listens with a keen ear as his peers’ names are called out one by one, a stern, commanding shout. He listens as young men, young men his age, respond with a short and sharp, “Yes, Sir”, stepping forward and raising their right hand in smart salute at the important gentleman before them. He waits his turn, lips in a tight, thin line, betraying no emotion but one of steel determination.
“You are now ready, my child. Your weapon skills are honed to perfection, your knowledge of the force unsurpassable and your physique the envy of all men. Revenge is at your fingertips, you’ve been waiting for this all your life. Come.”
“I kiss your ring in gratitude, godfather.”
“Express your gratitude in the task I have granted you, a task you have so hungrily wanted. Bring them down, my child.”
“With pleasure, godfather.”
“Do you know who you are?”
“I do, godfather.”
“Good. Here, everything has been done. Take your documents and begin your new life. Erase the name Akanishi Jin from your memory. From now on, you are to live and breathe as….”
“Yabuki Hayato!”
“YES, SIR!”
He salutes with the crispest of movements, earning himself a nod from his commanding officer. It is obvious that he is the favourite, the shining star of the new recruits of the Tokyo Metropolitan Special Forces.
*
The thin, pungent smoke spiraling from the joss sticks he is holding stings his eyes, but he keeps them wide open, a mirror of unwavering calm. He listens to the chants of the priest, faintly aware of the throb on his right bandaged shoulder, a tattoo 3 days old, of an elaborate dragon, curling menacingly around.
He watches as the other young men step forward when their names are called, to bow, to pray and to stick their joss sticks into a giant urn. His face is expressionless, but for a slight clench of his jaw to show his determination.
“Are you sure you want to this, captain? You are the most qualified and capable. You’ve been studying them and their methods for years in preparation for this, but I still hesitate to send you out into the field.”
“Why, Commissioner? I am ready.”
“You’re a good man, captain. The price is too high. I don’t want you to lose your soul.”
“We have to take them down, sir.”
“Very well, captain. Remember to report back weekly, regardless of methods. Don’t get yourself killed, you are one of our best.”
“I will take extra precautions, Commissioner.”
“Good. Now, turn in your badge and gun, and forget that you are Kamenashi Kazuya. You are now our enemy……”
“Odagiri Ryu!”
He takes one step forward and performs the ritual. Once he is done, he steps back and looks straight ahead as his new mentor stares each of them down. Some of the men waver, earning stern words from the terrifying individual. He maintains a cool composure, and does not flinch when he is eyed. He sees a crooked smile, and all of a sudden, he is presented with a hand for him to kiss, a gesture to indicate that he is the favourite, the leader of this new batch of sworn brothers in the Sakura Order, the largest and most respected yakuza in Japan.
*
He follows as he is led down a dark and dingy stairway. Everything looks familiar. He recalls his childhood, where he would run through these dark corridors, trying to listen in to the activities beyond the many doors, before the adults pulled him away. His father used to tell him that in due time, he will know everything, and that he will make him proud.
Now is not the time for painful memories. He shakes his head as he focuses on his assignment. He is an undercover cop, and his first assignment - to investigate the underground male prostitution ring run by Japan’s most powerful yakuza. He is not to make an arrest, he is just to observe and study.
No one recognizes him. The years of seclusion and study saw to that. It is to his advantage in any case. He cannot afford any risk. He stands before a wooden door, where he is left alone after a curt bow. He knocks, and without waiting for a reply, he steps in.
*
The door opens and he braces himself. He is following orders. In order to know everything about the organisation, he is to learn firsthand, taking on the jobs of the lowest of the low. He needs to do this for him to rise in rank, because even though he is the favourite, he has to prove his worth. There is no room for resistance or disobedience.
He has expected this and is ready. He recalls his training, his first time, and then the second, and the third, where he was poked and prodded by his fellow colleagues. Through the shame and pain, he heard their heartfelt apologies, as they plunged deep, ripping him inside out. He tells himself that this is what he wants, it is what he is waiting for, a chance for revenge.
*
“Hi, errr……” He shuffles his feet at the door, but it is all an act. It is an act, until he lifts his head to meet his eyes, eyes with curtains so heavy that it shields every single emotion. But, he catches just one, an unfathomable sadness, and it seems like he was looking into a mirror. Coherence and focus leaves him temporarily.
“Are you nervous?” He asks to mask his own. He has to appear confident, like he has done this all his life. He eyes the man at the door, it is like he was looking at himself, the weight of the world on his shoulders, a dark rain cloud hovering overhead.
“It’s my first time,” He replies as he moves forward slowly, pulled by an invisible force. The man sitting on the bed is compelling. He feels him through his eyes, heart torn apart, beyond repair.
“Come here,” he pats the empty space beside him, beckoning. The closer the other man got, the more he feels his impossible brokenness seeping out through his pores.
They are sitting side by side, shoulders brushing.
He pulls down his casual yukata, revealing that he is completely naked underneath. He reaches out to undo the shirt of the other, but a gentle hand stops him.
“Wait.”
“What is it?”
“Your name.”
“It’s….Kazuya.”
No real names.
“Kazuya.” He tries it out, “I’m….Jin.”
No real names.
“Jin,” he whispers as he straddles him, kissing his forehead, his cheek, his chin, the soft skin behind his ear, “Jin,” he breathes, feeling his body respond to this strange, magnetic person.
“Kazuya,” he runs fingers up and down his shoulder, tracing the intricate lines of the dragon, thinking that he is fragile and beautiful, like the slow flutter of sakura petals in spring.
*
Not really realizing it, he waits for him to come. Once a week, that hour they have together is like a reprieve from one life, into a life reminiscent of the past, a life where he is called “Kazuya”. It is something he clings on, because he feels himself losing grip of his purpose, of the reason he is doing what he is doing.
As he feels his body under his, responding with such openness, he realizes that he craves this honesty. In this dirty little room with a squeaky bed, he is “Jin” once again, the boy of the past, before everything was taken away from him.
They lay together, sweaty bodies and tangled limbs, in the warmth of each other’s arms. They have smiles on their faces, smiles that do not come often to either of them.
“Jin?”
“Yes, Kazuya?”
“Nothing, I just like saying your name.”
“I like saying yours too,” even though it is probably a false one, he thinks.
*
The day has come, the day he has been looking forward to, yet dreading at the same time.
He lifts himself off the other, and looks everywhere instead of into his eyes.
“Jin?”
“Hmmm?” He is not blind. He knows it is bad news.
“I’m being transferred tomorrow, I won’t be here anymore,” he tries to keep the regret out of his voice. What he really means is that he will never see him again. He will start a new job, a better job within the organisation, one that he has been waiting for. He is getting closer to his goal, and he is not going to let go. But he will miss this, he will miss him.
He sits up and cups the other’s face in his palms. He leans in and kisses the lips that willingly part for him. He feels disappointed, but relieved as well. He has gathered enough information and there are orders to take this small branch of illegal activity down the next day, and he had been worried, he would have to arrest him.
“I understand,” he whispers, knowing that this is the last time he will ever be with him. As much as he treasures his time with the other, this is his first major task with the force, and he has to do it well, to gain his commander’s trust. He is out for destruction, and nothing is going to stand in his way.
“Kazuya,” he murmurs.
“Yes, Jin?” he feels himself being lowered.
“Shall we? One last time.”
*
Not a day goes by when he does not think of him. It has been three years since they were last together, and yet the memory stays fresh, as fresh as those that disturb him in his sleep. Through the blood and gore in his dreams, there is something beautiful, and he yearns for it.
*
Yabuki Hayato. He hears of him when he reports weekly to his commanding officer. He hears of how impressive he is, being able to crack all his cases, how Yabuki is able to get wind of the yakuza deals even before he could report back to base. But his purpose in this operation is far greater than tipping the force off on petty drug deals. He is after the big fish, the Godfather, the one responsible for the misery he feels every single fucking day of his life.
He prepares himself for the deal that was happening that night. He binds a gun to his body, and he checks the magazines of the one he puts in his holster. He lifts up the leg of his expensive black wool pants and straps a sheathed knife to his calf. He knows that the Special Forces will send their best to deal with them, and this Yabuki Hayato will be there. Despite himself, he wants to see who this man is. Who is this man who seems to be his equal in everything that is to do with being a cop?
There is a tinge of envy within him. He wishes that he is somewhere where the lines are black and white, instead of the grey he is perpetually living in. The pretty police psychiatrist he was seeing in preparation had warned him that his mental psyche will be affected, going so deep undercover. She had said that there will come a time when he will experience an identity crisis, of not knowing who he is. Everyday, he fights against it, he remembers with all his might even if it hurts, who he is, what his purpose is. But it is getting harder, locked in this dark world he had sacrificed himself to be in. He sees, he supervises the worst possible, inhumane activities, and he does not flinch, does not bat an eye. It is like his heart has frozen over.
What of his heart anyway? Ever since he made his decision, there was no room for heart. It is just him, his smarts, and his wits about him. He needs to do this, for peace of mind, for revenge.
A call comes through from a private number. He picks it up but says nothing. He only listens to the gruff voice at the end, giving him the specifics of the operation. Do not to kill any officers, but if he must, he can injure them, and if he can help it, let Yabuki Hayato off lightly. He was valuable to the force, as much as he was.
*
Who is this Odagiri Ryu?
He burns the non-descript letter after reading it and watches the ash crumble into the metal ash tray. The contents are typical, telling of 2 operations, both real, but one was insignificant enough for him to feed the police force with, for him to swoop in and arrest. The other, always led by one Odagiri Ryu, is where the organisation’s real money is, and he is not to interfere.
He takes out a file from his rucksack and flips it open. It is a profile. Odagiri Ryu, it says. The man has no criminal records, and hence, there is no picture, nor fingerprints. The profile is a citizen’s record. Born in Kanagawa in 1986 and went to school in his home prefecture. Moved to Tokyo when he entered university, but there is nothing else. No first job, no family details.
When did Odagiri Ryu enter the organisation? He does not remember anyone by that name the time he was there, but then, he had distanced himself away from everyone in preparation for this. Is Odagiri Ryu one of the promising young men Godfather plucks from the streets? At only 24, he is younger than most of the men Godfather puts in charge of operations. How is he so special?
His cell phone rings. It is the commanding officer, his boss. There has been a tip off, and the tip-off is for the location of the bigger deal by the docks. The commander orders him to take some men to stop it, to arrest the number one there. Maybe the number one can tell us what we need to know, says his officer.
The deal is top secret, but has been leaked. How? There must be a mole. He takes out his other, unregistered cell phone. He warns the Godfather. He is surprised how calm Godfather’s right hand man sounds. Swoop in, he says, arrest who you want, but keep Odagiri Ryu out of jail.
*
It is like waiting for a pin to drop. Even though there is activity around him, it seems muted somehow. He just stands there, observing the transaction, anticipating. He is tense, but he is sure everyone thinks that it is because of this big deal. His minion brings him a part of the stash. He slits it open and feels the soft powder with his pinky. He brings his powdered pinky to his mouth, and spreads some over his teeth. He closes his eyes and savours it. Good stuff. Unadulterated, powerful. He nods and his minion reaches for a black suitcase, full of cash. The goods and cash exchange hands. He steps up to shake hands with the boss on the other side. It was then, that he feels it. They are here.
He swings the black, unmarked car out from where he was hiding between the cargo containers. The tyres squeal as he drives towards the jetty. He sees a group of men in black suits and he puts the radio mouthpiece to his mouth, giving orders to surround the enemy. He screeches to a halt, his car the closest to where the black suits are standing. He observes through the tinted windscreen as the suits get into formation, backs to each other, reaching for their guns in the holsters hidden by their jackets. He gets out and positions himself with his gun, using his car door as a shield. He hears, rather than sees, his colleagues, if he could call them that, do the same.
He makes the first shot, hitting an officer in the shoulder, sending the man recoiling backwards as he drops his gun. Yamaguchi-san from Squadron B he believes. Yamaguchi-san whom he entered the force with, Yamaguchi-san who thinks that he got expelled from the force for inaptitude. He sees fingers cover the wound but the blood still oozes through. He shifts his eyes and aims at another, but he hears one of his men scream in pain.
He fires a shot at a suit he knows as Sato-kun, a gangly kid that has grown into a gangly man. Sato-kun who believes that he died in a shoot-out with another triad several years ago. He injures him in the leg and gestures to one of his men to run from the back and arrest him. He stands up to take fire again, looking for a suit he recognizes, and looking for the one that he does not.
The sound of gun shots is ringing through the night air as both parties engage. He ducks and rolls, changing his magazine with expert hands when he runs out of shots. His men are taken down one by one, but they seem equally matched. He checks that the coast around him is clear. He stands and points his gun at the closest enemy.
Everything freezes. Those eyes.
Kazuya.
Odagiri Ryu.
Jin.
Yabuki Hayato.
A heartbeat gets trapped.
*
The cold of the handcuffs is comforting on his skin. It keeps him focused, reminds him of his purpose. He sits next to one of his men in the backseat of the car, now with sirens blasting through the dark streets. The man beside him is tense, he can feel the fear radiating from his body. It is fortunate that his minions know very little about the organisation. It is kept that way for security. There is only very few that the Godfather trusts. The man that he had let cuff him is driving. He catches his eye in the rearview mirror, and smirks when the man looks away after a moment, the smirk covering the bitterness within him. He is not friends with fate. Fate deals him a shitty hand all the time.
Yet another thing in his life destroyed, he sighs with acceptance as he keeps his eyes on the road ahead, trying to ignore the heat pulsating from the back seat. Everything he holds dear, and he means everything, shatters at his feet. It is like he has the reverse Midas touch, where instead of gold, everything he touches dies. It makes him steel himself, an affirmation that this is the life he is meant to live, a life void of colour and sunshine. His partner in the passenger seat radios the station, stating their ETA. He makes the mistake of glancing into the rearview mirror. Those eyes stir something within him, something that he masks with an unreadable expression.
He is led through the station, through the rows of desks piled high with case files. This would have been his life if he had followed in his father’s footsteps, a stellar detective bringing down the scum of society. But it was the very scum that had shot his father, and left him a damaged orphan. He is determined to wash the scum away, good and clean. He lowers his head even though he knows no one will know who he is. He is nothing but a ghost now. Cold, unfeeling. But, the hand leading him into the interrogation room is warm, a sensation he rarely feels. So warm.
He sits opposite the person he has not seen for over three years. He takes in every line and curve of his face, of his upper body. So beautiful. He wants to reach out to gently touch the enticing skin where his neck meets his jaw. He knows that it will be soft and warm. He does not. Instead, he shifts so that he stares squarely into unwavering eyes, eyes that do not reveal anything. He could have released him earlier but he wanted to at least talk to him, to hear his voice.
“Odagiri Ryu, is it?” He pretends to flip through some papers in the file he has with him.
A lie.
“That is my name, and you are Inspector Yabuki Hayato I presume,” he replies calmly.
He lied.
“You should be scared. When you are convicted, you will be in prison for a long long time,” he sneers, trying to provoke a reaction.
He remains steady, never giving anything away, “My lawyer is on the way.”
He knows that the lawyer will be here soon. And he knows that he will let this man walk out of the station scot free, with no crime pegged to him. This man was an ally. Why is it, then, that he seems like the enemy, and something so much more?
He sits very still and studies him. He is as handsome as he remembers, with the unruly head of hair, licks sticking out in random directions. He remembers the feel of that hair between his fingers. He remembers the silent moans of heat, of arousal. All those times, he was undercover, investigating, and he had let him in a little. He should hate him, like how he hates the scum that killed his father, but he was on his side, the side of justice. There is no other emotion within him, except a heavy sadness that weighs him down.
What is that? There is a flicker within those chestnut browns. He squints to look closer but is shut out again.
He notices him trying to read him. Not so easy, he says in his head. It has never been easy.
“Odagiri-sama?”
He lifts his head.
“The paperwork has been done. We can leave now.”
He raises his cuffed wrists in request.
He unlocks them, letting his fingers graze those slim wrists, to skirt those strong hands.
There is a pause where the world stops. It is only them.
He lets him go, watching as he walks away, half wishing that he will turn back for a glance, but he does not. He continues walking until he rounds a corner, out of sight.
He cannot turn back, because if he does, he may not be able to keep the cover around him, and it is something he cannot afford to let happen. Not now, not ever, until everything is over.
*
They cross paths many times after that.
It was as though they are destined to meet.
Each time they shoot their guns at each other, they get closer and closer to their goals. One step closer to taking everything down, to getting what they want, what they are living for.
But as they move forward, it gets more difficult to ignore everything else. It gets difficult to just have that singular focus and mindset when every instance where they meet confuses them.
The tension is real and distracting. They are pushing and pulling, a tug of war. Each meeting, each game is more dangerous than the last.
*
He stands in the shadows, one hand in his trouser pocket, one hand holding a cigarette. His gaze does not leave the black car parked just a little away from the main building, the building where the Sakura Order operated from. In the penthouse of that building was the residence of the Godfather, someone he has yet to see, someone he has to get to. The Godfather is his prize, a very heavily guarded prize, and he is doing all he can to get past the guards and the security system. It is not time yet. The time will come.
He pulls out another cigarette from the packet and lights it, letting the fresh smoke curl and mix with the stale smoke in the car. He being there is just a matter of formality. He knows the plans of the organisation. He knows why they have been so quiet of late. It is a big job, one that guarantees the personal hand of the Commissioner, a man that he has not yet had the dubious honour of meeting, but he wants to very much. The time will come when he will finally fulfill what he has set out to do.
A knock on the car window.
He rolls it down and feigns indifference at the person outside.
“Inspector Yabuki, fancy seeing you here.”
“Odagiri, working late?”
The snide reply is stuck in his throat. Instead, he smiles and blows smoke into his face.
Annoyed, he waves the smoke away, only to replace it with his own.
“Care for a walk, Yabuki?”
“What?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not armed. Not anywhere you can see, anyway.”
He opens the car door and steps out. The air is crisp and fresh, a vast different from the dankness he has been breathing in for the past couple of hours. He trails behind as the other leads the way.
There is a little park with a man-made lake not far off. They do not speak, they just walk, one slightly on front of the other. They stop at the edge of the lake and admire the reflection of the night lights in the still waters.
“You’re never going to find anything on us,” he breaks the silence.
“I won’t be so sure if I were you, Odagiri,” he turns and examines his profile. The night light seems to be giving off a mysterious gleam. It is enchanting.
Chuckling, he faces the man next to him. He sees him smile in return, and there it is. That lightness that he had kept locked up in that little underground room, never to surface again, except that it does, right this very moment. “I am sure about a lot of things, Yabuki,” there is an uncharacteristic tease in his voice.
“Really? Like what?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“For instance, I know for a fact that there’s a 100 yen-sized scar on your left hand near your thumb,” As he says this, he turns to look beyond the lake once again, placing his hands deep into his pants pockets.
That scar throbs instinctively, as though recalling a time where gentle lips were pressed on them. “I’ll give you that,” his voice is low as he moves to stand a little closer to his companion.
“I also know that if your collarbones are touched a certain way, they become another form of ticklish,” he does not move, but it is an effort to keep his voice steady.
“I’ll give you that, also,” his shoulders are now grazing the other man’s, his words blowing gently in his ear.
“And here’s another thing I’m sure of.”
“What’s that?” he feels it in the pit of his stomach.
“I’m sure that if I turn and face you right now…..”
His breath hitches as he sees the beauty before him clearly in the moonlight. “Yes?” he whispers as his knuckle reaches out to stroke the soft skin just below the cheekbones.
He closes his eyes, feeling the long-lost gentleness. “You will say……” He inches closer until lips almost touch.
“I will say?” His voice almost leaves him as he gently brushes against those lips.
“Let’s go to a hotel.”
“You are sure about a lot of things.”
*
The dragon seems so much a part of the skin now, he muses as he traces the lines out of habit, unlike before, when it seemed a little out of place. He likes the irony, that the skin still feels the same, soft, even though it has been scarred. “Your name. Ryu. Is that why you got this?” he asks as he buries his lips in short, dark hair.
He does not reply. Instead, he turns while still in an embrace. He tucks his head under the chin of the man who already had him twice, and the night was still young. He runs his hands up and down the smooth expanse of his back and laughs quietly, “This would count as cavorting with the enemy.”
Except that they are not, they are on the same side.
“We’re both undercover agents right now, discovering the weaknesses of the enemy,” he kisses him deeply, feeling him press closer in his arms.
Those words send a shiver through him, separate from the shiver caused by a firm hand gripping him. Is this really a weakness? He is not really the enemy, he reasons, as he surrenders to the sensations. It makes him feel safe, something he has not felt for years. He moans as he feels him in him, this man, who knows who he is, who he really is.
Kazuya.
The warmth that engulfs him makes his heart lurch. He is not my enemy, he tells himself, as he pushes to feel more of that warmth, warmth so similar to the warmth that was taken away from him. The legs wrapped around him keep him secure, instead of drifting in the wilderness. He rides wave after wave, each one bringing him closer to the feeling of home, in the arms of a person who knows who he really is.
Jin.
*
He is finally worthy. He presses the button for the penthouse, and stares at the numbers slowly flash in increasing order. The steel doors open up into an elaborate living quarters. He steps out and scans the room. A well-built elderly gentleman is standing with his back facing him, looking out the impressive floor to ceiling windows are the little people down below. He approaches with practiced caution and stops at a respectful distance behind the old man.
“Odagiri Ryu. I’ve heard good things about you,” the old man does not turn around.
“You’re too kind, Godfather,” he bows, controlling his emotions. Now is not the time.
“Come,” the old man turns and beckons him.
He walks up and kisses the heavy gold ring.
“You’ve done well, my son. Your work and loyalty to us have contributed to 80% of our total revenue this year.”
“I am glad that I pleased you, Godfather,” he straightens up to look the old man in the eye. At last, he thinks, the man with his parents’ blood on his hands. The old man is nothing like he thought he would be. There is no hint of a bloodthirsty criminal, instead, he seems like a harmless old gentleman. But, he knows better than to believe everything that he sees, his own life is pure testament of that.
“You’re a handsome young man, no wonder…..” the old man trails off.
He is puzzled, but he just stands and waits.
“I hear that this next deal requires my presence,” the old man continues with a gleam in his eye.
“I’m sorry, Godfather, I tried to refuse the other party’s request,” he lowers his gaze.
“It’s fine. A big deal like this requires my attention. Besides, Mr Russo is an old friend, and he’s flying in all the way from Europe.” the old man lays a wrinkly hand on his shoulder, “it’ll just be you and me, my son.”
“Yes, Godfather,” he tries hard not the shrug that hand off.
*
“The big deal is happening, Commissioner. The Godfather will be there personally for the transaction.”
“Well done, captain. This is our chance.”
“Will Yabuki Hayato be in charge of this operation?”
“Do you have a problem with him, captain?”
“No, none at all.”
“Don’t lose focus, captain. You’ve sacrificed too much, and worked too hard to let this slip through your fingers.”
“I won’t, Commissioner. I’ve been waiting for this all my life.”
*
“You must have done something right, Yabuki. The Commissioner wants to see you,” his section chief says flippantly as he walks by.
He pauses in the midst of his paperwork. That was fast, he thinks to himself. He only submitted his report a couple of hours ago, stating that his investigations have led him to believe that there was a big arms deal happening soon. This deal will be a good opportunity for him to get the Commissioner out in the open, where he can have his chance, where he would be backed up by his own people.
“Yabuki?”
He snaps out of his thoughts.
“I think the Commissioner means now.”
He arrives in front of the Commissioner’s office and is waved in absentmindedly by his secretary with a cursory, “The Commissioner is expecting you,” when he announces who he is. He knocks and hears a gruff, “Come in.”
He stands at attention in front of a giant mahogany desk and waits as an elderly man seated behind it goes through some files. The old man finally looks up and acknowledges him with a keen eye.
“So, you’re Yabuki Hayato,” the old man remarks with strength in his voice.
“Pleased to finally meet you, sir,” it is hard not to stare down the man who fired the gun that kill his parents.
“You’ve been an exceptional police officer, Yabuki. The force is lucky to have you,” the old man smiles and he looks nothing like how he had imagined him to be. All his life, he had likened him to a demon, but, he just looks so ordinary.
“I’m only doing my job, sir,” he bows deep, clenching his jaw.
“And your job has led us to this important breakthrough. We’ve been trying to pin down the Sakura Order for ages. Well done,” there was a fatherly tone in the Commissioner’s voice that he does not appreciate.
“Thank you, sir,” he stops and thinks before he continues, “Sir, there’s something….”
“What is it, Yabuki?”
“This is just a suggestion, sir, but it would be good if you could lead the operation. “
“Oh?”
“It would lend confidence to the team, sir. This is a big case, and we would appreciate some leadership,” he looks up to meet the old man in the eyes.
The old man thinks for a moment, “Very well, inspector, I will lead this operation. There is an old friend I would like to meet.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Nothing that you should concern yourself with. Get your men ready.”
“Yes, sir!” He salutes and turns to leave the room.
“Yabuki?”
“Yes, sir?” he faces the old man again.
“I’ll be riding with you.”
*
“It is done, Godfather. The Commissioner is leading the operation.”
“Well done, my son. This is our chance.”
“Is Odagiri Ryu going to be present at this transaction?”
“He will be my right hand man. Is there a problem?”
“No, Godfather.”
“Don’t waver, my son, not when this is what you’ve been waiting for.”
“I will carry this out till the end, Godfather. I owe it to myself.”
*
Another hotel room, another tryst. Between the sheets is where the star-crossed lovers hide, a Montague and a Capulet. They come together, again and again, craving more, falling deeper, as each believe that at the end of it all, they will be together. They are one and the same.
They lay tangled in each other’s arms, the smell of them lingering. Gentle hands caressing hot sticky skin, lips seeking desperate for the other pair, as though starved with a hunger only the other could satisfy.
“Odagiri….” he begins only to be met with gentle fingers to his lips.
He leans in to softly kiss him before whispering, “It’s Kazuya, remember?”
He feels like he understands completely, and yet, he does not, at the same time.
“Kazuya.”
“Yes, Jin?”
Will he forever live in the past? Why is it that the past is the only thing that brings him comfort, that warms him? The present is nothing but darkness, with nowhere to look, nowhere to turn. Is there even a future for him, for them? He wants to believe so, he wants there to be a light at the end of the long, long tunnel he has been travelling through most of his life.
“Do you ever think of the future?”
“I do,” he answers, barely audibly.
“What do you see?” it is as though he needs to know.
“I can’t tell,” he squints, “it’s right in front of me, but I can’t see it, not yet.”
“But soon?” there needs to be some hope.
He smiles and mumbles, “yes, very soon,” as he snuggles his nose in his lover’s chest, taking in his scent, his everything. “But,” he continues as he feels his lover tense as his hands travel down, “for now, right here is where I want to be….”
“Hmmm…” he hums, following his lover’s lead, “you’re right, tomorrow can wait.”
*
The day is finally here. He gets out of bed after a sleepless night. Today is where everything ends, he thinks, as he lets his rain shower beat down onto his shoulders, like little needle pricks, letting him know that he is not numb to it all. There has never been anything else he wanted to do but wait for this day to come, and now, he thinks, what is going to happen after? Can he still make a life for himself, be with the person he wants to be with? He has never held any hope about the future, convinced that he does not need a future, his life is in the past. And now, he is afraid to hope. What happens when people like him hopes?
*
His cufflinks glint in the mid-day sun. He strides with confidence at the Godfather’s side. He feels weighted with two semi-automatic pistols tucked safely in their holsters flanking the sides of his torso, under his black jacket. He opens the car door and waits respectfully as the old man steps in. He bends in right after, bringing his aviators up to shield his eyes from the noon glare. He is ready, he has waited his whole life for this. The car moves off, and two more follow behind it.
He rounds up his back-up officers with the ease of an expert. He draws up the plans, dirtying his fingers with magic marker as he draws and scrawls on the whiteboard. His semi-automatics, two of them, are peeking out from their holsters under his opened army green collared shirt. He pulls his shoulder-length, unruly hair into a tight ponytail, riding high on his head. He looks up and meets the eye of the Commissioner. He gives him a slight nod, and meets the Commissioner halfway. They walk out, shoulder to shoulder, to the unmarked car waiting in the station’s parking lot. He is ready, he has waited his whole life for this. The car moves off, and two more follow behind.
*
The false pleasantries have been exchanged, the goods have been checked, the money is in the process of changing hands. Cold hard cash, resting neatly in five black briefcases. He hears the clicks of the clasps being open and shut again. He hears the grunts of approval and greed of the foreign men in front of him. He sees the Godfather stretch out his arm for a handshake. And then, it happens.
A troop of special agents storm up the fire escape onto the roof. They hold angry looking rifles, pointed at their foreign guests, men in similar black suits. He moves to block the Godfather with his own body, taking a pistol from the left holster and pointing it forward, both hands clasping it tight. He has two other minions with him, and he senses them doing the same.
He watches as the foreign men raise their arms in surrender, and he watches as the special agents cuff them. He is keenly aware that there is a rifle pointing at him, ready to shoot if he makes any sudden movement.
“Get them out of here.”
It is the voice of the Commissioner. The Commissioner comes into sight with two other officers by his side. The officers have their guns held in position, ready for fire. The Commissioner’s gun is in his hand, by his side. The special agents do as they are told, yanking the foreign mafia members roughly.
“You too,” the Commissioner addresses the agent pointing the rifle at him, and the agent backs down, and joins his comrades down the fire escape.
He observes the Commissioner’s bodyguards shuffle and point their guns to the back of him, and he presumes that his henchmen have done the same, a mirror image of one another. He pistol is still being held steadily in his hand. He points it towards the Commissioner.
“Ryu,” he stiffens when he hears the Godfather’s voice. A wrinkly hand is on his gun, lowering it down. He resists slightly, but gives in. He looks briefly to his side and sees that the Godfather too has his gun out, but is holding it relaxed by his side, just like the Commissioner. The four other gunmen seem to relax as well, but are still guarded and ready to shoot at any moment.
“Hello, old friend, it has been a while,” the Commissioner addresses the Godfather.
Something moves. He emerges from between the water tanks on the roof.
He catches the Commissioner’s eye and gives a swift nod, indicating that the enemy had all been rounded up and led into the armoured police vehicles. He takes position next to the Commissioner and pulls his pistol out. “Yabuki,” he frowns when he hears the Commissioner’s voice. His lowers his gun, but his body is taut, ready to spring into action.
“It’s been 20 years at least,” the Godfather replies smugly, stepping forward a little.
The two elderly gentlemen smile at each other, as though having a conversation only they themselves can hear.
He half looks at the other across him, holding a stance exactly like the stance he was in. He remembers him relaxed, in his arms, making sounds so melodious to his ears, and he thinks, soon, very soon.
*
Everything happens so quickly. He hears a curt command out of nowhere.
Jin!
Kazuya!
NOW!
He acts on instincts and spins around, pulling his other gun out of its holster and takes out the two insignificant men behind him. He watches the men crumble to the ground, and turns. He sees the two old men point their guns at each other, and he stretches his arm, pointing his pistol at the old man of his choice. Before he realizes what he was doing, what was going on, his other arm stretches out, and points the barrel across, to the young man standing not more than 50 metres in front of him.
*
“Odagiri! You!” The old man he is pointing one of his guns to sputters.
“My name is Kamenashi Kazuya, Godfather,” he says in a flat voice, void of emotion.
“Kamenashi…..” memories pool in the old man’s eyes.
Kazuya. He almost staggers backwards, except that he cannot afford to. He is here just for this.
“And my name is Akanishi Jin, Commissioner, ” he rams the barrel into the old man’s head.
“Akanishi…so the past has caught up with me,” the old man winces.
Jin. He understands everything perfectly. The man in front of him is his exact mirror. They are the exact same person.
Thunder rumbles in the distance and the grey clouds are rolling in. The first drop of rain is met with the laughter of the two elderly gentlemen. They lower and toss their guns to the front simultaneously.
“The irony,” says the Godfather.
“Indeed, if I didn’t kill Akanishi, he would be Godfather instead of you, old friend,” the Commissioner laughed so hard he buckled and fell to his knees.
“And Kamenashi would be Commissioner….” The Godfather closes his eyes and enjoys the rainfall on his face.
Anger wells up in his eyes. He shakes as his gun follows the old man’s every move. He hates the man so much. He has taken everything away from him, everything that he had ever loved in his life. His chest constricts with a pain he has never felt before. They are not, and never will be, on the same side. He looks at the young man in front of him through the rain curtain, and sees the same anger and pain, and he snaps. With a loud cry, he clicks his pistol and pulls the trigger. The shot rings out, and he hears a dull slump, two figures collapse towards each other, blood spilling out and mixing with the rain on the ground.
And then, it is just the two of them.
*
The rain stops. It is just a passing thunderstorm. The clouds part for the sun.
They stand still, the barrels of their guns reflect the sunshine as they point them at each other.
Jin thinks that it is the perfect spring day. The sakuras will bloom soon. He is glad he is sharing this day with Kazuya.
“It’s a really nice day today, Kazuya.”
“It is, Jin.”
Kazuya smiles and he sees Jin returning his smile. He had always thought that Jin was his light at the end of the tunnel, but now, he is not sure anymore. But, Jin is still a light, a very bright one that warms him even more than the sun.
Jin puts one foot forward, and Kazuya does the same. They walk towards each other, not once lowering their guns. They are close now, so close that their guns press on each other’s chest, right above the heart.
Kazuya leans his forehead on Jin’s and sighs. Just a little while more, he thinks, just let his heart finish singing this song.
Bringing their lips together, Jin savours the sweetness, the nectar that is Kazuya. Kazuya that he always thought of as beautiful, not of this world. Jin knows now that he is not of this world either. He will go wherever Kazuya goes.
They kiss like it is their first kiss, and like it is their last. They pour who they really are into the kiss, saying everything by not saying anything at all.
Panting against each other, there is a pause. Kazuya brings his hand up to cup Jin’s face. Jin nuzzles in, eyes closed.
“Jin,” Kazuya whispers through a gentle smile.
“Yes, Kazuya?” Jin says softly, kissing the tip of his nose.
“Do you think there is love in hell?” Kazuya leans in and presses his chest harder into the gun.
Jin does the same, “Why don’t I meet you there and we’ll find out?”
They wrap their arms around each other and they lock lips, passionate, wanton.
The trigger is pulled. It is immediate.
They fall, embracing each other, lips still pressed together.
And then, it is silent.
Somewhere in the distance, a Sakura tree springs forth its very first bud.