After the incident at Iwaizumi’s massage parlour, Oikawa spent the rest of the day quietly going out of his mind. Between that and knowing Matsukawa was still stuck in the hospital, Oikawa could barely concentrate at the recording studio. He was sure Musashi noticed, but Shimizu was quick to make him pipe down. It was probably his worst recording session yet. Understandably, Musashi sent him home early, shaking his head and mumbling something under his breath along the lines of, “What am I going to do with him…”
Oikawa couldn’t blame him for being frustrated. Hell, Oikawa was frustrated with himself. He was a professional, dammit. Why was he letting this affect his work? He had been doing this for years, after all. One would think he’d have shored up his walls between his personal life and his career by now.
“Ignore Musashi,” Shimizu said once they were in her car and driving toward Oikawa’s next appointment: therapy with Doctor Kuguri.
“Easier said than done,” Oikawa muttered. He had his arms crossed over his chest as he glared out the passenger side window. “He’s about to terminate the contract altogether. I can feel it.”
“Don’t say that. You’re too valuable and he knows it,” Shimizu assured him. “If he drops you and someone else picks you up, he knows there’s a big chance you’d flourish somewhere else.”
“Why shouldn’t I go somewhere else, then?” Oikawa asked absentmindedly.
“Because there’s also a big chance he could be wrong,” Shimizu said, more quietly this time. Oikawa peeled his eyes away from the passing scenery to stare at her, but she dutifully kept her eyes on the road. “I don’t think a change of management is going to help you right now. A different director won’t change the fact that your friend is in the hospital.”
...As much as Oikawa wanted to argue with her, he knew she had a point. Musashi could be frustrating in and of himself, but it wasn’t as if he were a bad director. He had been working with Oikawa for a long time to get him where he was now. Oikawa was the one fucking it all up.
“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Shimizu continued. “Also, you’re going to have to take the bus home after your appointment. I won’t be available to pick you up.”
“Where are you going?” Oikawa asked with a pout. “You’re always my ride home from the studio.”
“This may come as a shock to you, but I do have a life outside of work.” Shimizu cast him a sideways smile. “I just have some errands to run tonight. You brought your cover, didn’t you?”
Oikawa patted the satchel in his lap.
“Always. I just didn’t think I’d need it because my cute, faithful manager is abandoning me.”
“I’m not abandoning you,” Shimizu said with a roll of her eyes. “You might want to discuss your abandonment issues with Kuguri-sensei during this appointment.”
They had pulled up to the front of the clinic now and Shimizu was quick to shoo him out of her car. Oikawa made a point of taking his time and complaining until he finally stepped out and onto the sidewalk.
“Good luck,” she called after him before pulling away from the curb to go start on her alleged “errands” (which he had decided was code for betrayal).
He was still pouting when he entered the clinic and reached the receptionist. They didn’t spend much time together outside of work, but Oikawa was quite fond of his manager. Most of the time, at least. She could be quite scary when she wanted or needed to be. He still shuddered at the memory of her during that underhanded interview that put his rumoured love life on blast on live television.
Shaking the thought from his mind, he stood up when the receptionist called him back to Doctor Kuguri’s office. Oikawa stepped inside, eyeing his therapist as he took a seat in front of the desk just as before.
“It’s good to see you again, Oikawa-san,” Kuguri greeted, giving Oikawa his full attention. “I’m pleased that you decided to return. I trust you’ve put some more thought into what you’d like to share during this session?”
Oikawa pursed his lips. Truthfully, he hadn’t really thought about his last session since...well, his last session. He had been busy, okay? First the concert, then Midori dropping that gargantuan info bomb on him at lunch, then Matsukawa, then Iwaizumi… It was a never-ending cascade of one thing after another. Surely Kuguri would understand.
“Actually...I haven’t had time,” he said, shifting in his seat without meeting Kuguri’s eyes. “Honestly, my career is the last thing on my mind right now.”
“Oh? Would you care to elaborate on that?”
Oikawa took a deep breath. If he didn’t say something now, then all of this pent-up anxiety and frustration was going to burst out of him at a far less opportune time.
“My friend with Hanahaki is in the hospital now and he doesn’t have much time left. I thought I could cure his disease by pretending to have another boyfriend and redirecting his feelings to someone else who actually does love him, but it’s only made things messy and complicated and confusing. At first it was just kind of awkward and then I started to like him and we kept having these weird moments together even though I’m so not into alphas, but now I think maybe I might be, which is just totally messed up because my friend is an alpha and maybe if I’d just realised sooner then I could have reciprocated his feelings, but I still only see him as a friend and I feel awful because I think I might actually feel something for my pretend boyfriend, but—“
“Oikawa-san—“
Kuguri tried to cut him off, likely to make him take a breath or six, but it turned out that it wasn’t necessary. Oikawa’s words were choked off by the scratchiness that had built up in his throat during his monologue, sending him into a fit of coughing. Kuguri was quick to rush over to the water cooler in the corner of his office to fill a small paper cup. Oikawa took it gratefully when it was handed to him, gulping it down. A thin layer of sweat had begun to build on his brow from all of the anxious palpitations in his chest as the realisation set in of everything he had just said.
He couldn’t believe he had just admitted all of that to his therapist. Logically, he knew that Kuguri couldn’t divulge that information to anyone else nor discriminate against him for anything he confessed during these sessions short of a criminal offense. That didn’t assuage the fear bubbling up in his chest, though.
“Oikawa-san…”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just said all of that. You must think I’m crazy—“
“No. Oikawa-san, please look down.”
Brow furrowed, Oikawa dropped his gaze to the floor. Between his feet, there was a splash of dusky orange. He leaned down to pick it up with two fingers so that he could study it more closely, but his breath caught in his throat the moment he felt the soft, silky texture.
This was a flower petal.
“...Doctor…”
His voice sounded far away in his ears, barely a whisper as he stared at the petal in his fingers. He could feel Kuguri staring down at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up.
“...If I’m not mistaken, that looks like amaryllis,” Kuguri stated, adjusting his glasses. “It’s small, still in its early stages. I doubt a full bulb has developed quite yet.”
Oikawa vaguely noted that his therapist had moved back around his desk to sit down, flip open his file, and begin taking notes in earnest. His throat still felt dry even though the scratchiness had gone away. Some part of his brain tricked him into thinking there was something still lodged there, though, some sort of ambiguous lump that didn’t belong.
“At the risk of sounding patronising, I believe you may be onto something regarding those feelings of yours, Oikawa-san. I encourage you to explore those feelings further, no matter your thoughts on social conventions.”
This time, Oikawa finally did look at Kuguri again. His eyes were as wide as saucers, all colour drained from his face.
“Explore them?” he parroted with a breathless laugh. “You’re—… You want me to risk my entire career just so I can explore my feelings? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
“Please try to stay calm, Oikawa-san. I know this must be a shocking revelation for you—“
“Shocking? Shocking?! I just found out I’m terminally fucking ill. I’m more than a little shocked, doctor.”
“And that shock will fade with time. What’s important right now is getting ahead of it,” Kuguri said placatingly. “You have two options.”
That’s right. There were only two ways this could go. There was the obvious route that involved a betrayal so deep that his relationship with Matsukawa may never recover in the short time they had left together—not to mention the threat it posed to his public image and, by extension, his career.
Then there was the surgery.
They would open him up and remove the Hanahaki’s roots. He had a good chance of survival, given that he had caught it early, but at what cost? Was he willing to pay the price of never knowing love again? Hanahaki was a supernatural disease . By removing the root, the spread of the disease was stopped, but the damage was irreversible. Either it went away on its own peacefully, or he was robbed of the ability to love.
“I understand that you’ll need some time to process this,” Kuguri continued in light of Oikawa’s silence. “I suggest you weigh your options carefully and consider what’s truly important to you. The situation you described to me has indeed become...messier. You have my condolences.”
Pointless words. Kuguri barely knew him beyond the files he inherited from Doctor Ono. He didn’t care one way or the other. That was just what he was paid to say.
“Having said that, if you want my opinion on the matter, then I don’t think your efforts have been all for naught,” he said. Oikawa’s eyes flew up to meet his. Kuguri folded his hands in front of himself. “It’s rare, but cases of redirected Hanahaki are not unheard of.”
“...Really?”
“The last record of a successful redirection was from 1976, but the details are vague, much like the others, so the theory has never gained much traction. Most scientists consider it too far-fetched to research thoroughly. After all, that sort of thing would require experimentation, and experimentation would require… Well, let’s just say it would require less than ethical methods.”
Right. That made sense. They couldn’t just force test subjects to fall in love with each other and then document the effectiveness of trying to make them fall in love with someone else. Although, the fact that Kuguri seemed to think there was any merit in the theory at all lifted just a tiny ounce of dread off his chest. Maybe, maybe there was hope for Matsukawa yet.
For himself, on the other hand…? Well, he had time to figure that out. It would be at least a few years before the Hanahaki became inoperable. Part of him wondered, briefly, how the Hanahaki took so many lives when it had so much time to fester, but then he remembered the consequences of ripping it out by force. He understood, now, how many would consider such an outcome a fate worse than death. Not to mention that some people still believed in all that “soulmate” hullabaloo.
He had read about it online here and there. A particular article came to mind now that had mentioned something along the lines of how cruel it would be to forsake your soulmate by removing your capacity for love, for if your soulmate found you and you could not love them back, you would both die regardless.
He could understand it a little better now that he had been put in that position. He may not believe in something as foolish as soulmates, but he could only imagine the kind of moral quandary someone would face if they did believe in it. To those people, getting the surgery to save their own life meant the same thing as taking someone else’s, or at the very least forcing them to do the same.
“Oikawa-san…”
He looked up when Kuguri began to speak again, his voice quiet so as not to startle his patient.
“May I ask you something? ...What is it that you’re so afraid of? You said acting on these feelings could threaten your career, but is it not just as likely that your career could spare you the backlash?”
Oikawa’s brows drew together.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re a celebrity. The whole country loves you—and then some. Is it possible that your fame could be the key to your acceptance? If your fans saw you embracing this part of yourself publicly, don’t you think that could have a positive influence on society at large?”
What was Kuguri asking him to do? Come out publicly? Announce to the whole world that he was sick because he fell in love with an alpha? Wouldn’t that just send the exact wrong message?
“Maybe we should start simpler. Outside of your own experiences, what are your feelings toward the idea of homocasteism as a general concept?”
That was an easy question, at least.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he answered without pause. “I think people make a big fuss over nothing. I mean, a long time ago, society felt the same way about homosexuality. I don’t know why this has to be any different. Our ranks are called secondary genders, anyway, so it’s basically the same thing. I just think people are scared of blurring the lines between the ‘traditional hierarchy’. You know, the thought that alphas should be on top and omegas should be on the bottom. It’s bullshit.”
“So you seem to have a positive opinion on the concept as a whole,” Kuguri surmised. “You feel that everyone should be free to love who they love regardless of gender or caste.”
“Yes, obviously.”
“So why is it so hard for you to advocate for that?” he asked. Oikawa swallowed. “If it’s something you truly believe in, don’t you have an obligation to use your platform to raise awareness of it?”
“I…”
He knew where Kuguri was going with this, but it still made him uncomfortable.
“I just… What if I flop?” he said. “What if I try to do that and the world shoves me back down to the bottom of the barrel where I can’t be heard? If I lose my music, I don’t—I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“And you still don’t think returning to volleyball is an option for you?”
Ah, so that was his angle. All this just to circle back around to his conflicting emotions about his career.
“What makes you think any coach would want me on their team if I come out with this?”
“What makes you think coming out with it would blacklist you from other prospects?” Kuguri leaned forward over his desk, looking at him intensely. “You have a great opportunity here, Oikawa-san. You can take the leap and chase these new feelings you have, cure your Hanahaki, and make the world a better place while you’re at it. You could be the one to jump-start a new, more accepting era. You could be the sole reason that the next generation grows up in a healthier environment free of judgement and prejudice. It’s up to you to make that call.”
“Why do you care so much about this?” Oikawa asked abruptly, his expression taught. “You’re my therapist—you’re supposed to be impartial so you can help me do what’s best for me, not what’s best for the rest of the world. I can’t tell if you’re an alpha, beta, or omega and I know you have that weird set of sub-vocals. You used it on me last time. What are you?”
Pursing his lips, Kuguri sat back in his chair, tucking his hands into himself as he regarded Oikawa coolly. A few beats of silence passed before he finally responded.
“Have you heard of the term ‘sigma’ before, Oikawa-san?” he asked. Oikawa’s brows furrowed.
“...Yeah, in obscure horror movies and those fake scary video compilations online. Why?”
Kuguri offered a tight-lipped smile.
“A few decades ago, sigmas were considered a hoax. Nobody believed they were real,” he said. “Then, there were several reports that came about claiming that one in every three hundred people who received early vaccines during the COVID pandemic never presented, so they were dubbed sigmas. Those reports were debunked after further research into the cause that turned out to be nothing more than Kallman syndrome in an absurdly small sample size. In the process of conducting that research, however, discoveries were made in patients with Kallman syndrome. They all possessed a common genome that was inactive and thus served no purpose in their DNA, but, when activated, began to behave very similarly to alphan genes.
“They conducted numerous studies on this genome and successfully replicated its activated behaviour in canines, which allowed scientists to witness its effects in a pack structure. Canines with the activated genome were neither alpha, beta, nor omega, and yet they were capable of commanding the whole pack. Consequently, this genome was dubbed the Sigma Gene, so I guess you could say that those bogus reports that started all this research were actually somewhat correct.”
Oikawa sat before him, slack-jawed and unblinking. That was…a lot to take in all at once.
“So...so you’re a—“
“Sigma, yes,” Kuguri responded. “I’m not part of the ‘traditional hierarchy’, as you put it. That’s why you don’t detect a scent on me. I don’t experience ruts or heats and I’m not affected by alphan sub-vocals. I’m also incapable of siring alphas, betas, or omegas. All of my offspring would be the same as I am, if I were able to produce one at all.”
“And you can control alphas? With that—that voice?”
“That’s correct,” Kuguri said. “That’s part of what drew me to this profession in the first place. I am capable of ensuring that my patients don’t harm themselves or others. If I fear that someone is at risk of doing something harmful, I can simply tell them not to, no matter their caste. I’ve been fortunate enough to help a lot of people this way.”
“But… But what does any of that have to do with me coming out to the public?” Oikawa asked.
“You said it yourself. You’ve only heard of sigmas through obscure media. Public awareness is slim to none outside of the fictional idea people have crafted for themselves based on myth and rumour. Just like how homocasteism is only whispered about at best or blatantly condemned at worst. Could you even imagine if two sigmas mated each other and went public with their relationship?”
Kuguri chuckled, but Oikawa could only cringe at the mere thought of the world’s reaction to something like that. If society hated the thought of two alphas bonding and “depriving” each other of the opportunity to procreate, then a relationship between two sigmas would probably ignite a whole riot.
“I know that the world isn’t ready to accept something like that, yet. I can only hope to see it become something that people tolerate in my lifetime. The only way that’s going to happen is if someone sets the ball in motion.”
He smiled again at Oikawa, this time softer and more vulnerable.
“I’m not saying that has to be you, but I do think you could be an incredible influence. It’s selfish, yes, but believe it or not, I do think this would be in your own best interest, as well. You are uniquely situated by virtue of your position to make a change in the world that nobody can refute. You have an opportunity not only to seize your own happiness, but to open the doors for others to find theirs, as well. I only hope that you’ll consider it.”
Well, he certainly had a lot to consider.
“I...I’ll think about it, I guess,” he said quietly, looking down at the floor where he’d found the amaryllis petal.
“Thank you, Oikawa-san. I also want you to know that whatever decision you come to, I’ll help you through it. If you decide you’re not comfortable going public, then that’s your right. It’s not my intention to make you feel pressured. I simply want you to know that going against the status quo isn’t always a bad thing.”
Instead of responding, Oikawa simply nodded.
“Our time is up now. I’ll see you next Monday, I hope?”
“Sure. Next Monday.”
It was only once he stepped outside of the clinic that Oikawa remembered he had to take the bus home. Cursing under his breath, he dug out his cover from his bag—the usual hat, sun glasses, and scarf he kept on hand to avoid being recognized when he was out and about—and started walking toward the nearest bus stop. He didn’t really feel like going home yet, though. As much as he would love to melt into Mao- M ao’s fluffy winter coat, the thought of sitting in his empty apartment right now kind of made him want to puke.
He thought about visiting Matsukawa again. The doctors said they were going to hold him for at least another day for observation, so he should still be at the hospital, right? Oikawa checked the time on his phone. It was a little late, but he should be able to make it in time before visiting hours ended.
When the bus finally came, he stepped inside and found an open seat near the front. It would be a thirty minute route to reach the hospital, so he made himself comfortable to scroll through his phone during the ride. The bus made its stops here and there, people boarding and getting off, so it was only natural that someone should sit next to him at some point. He tucked in his chin and leaned more toward the window in an effort to avoid being noticed. However, it wasn’t long before the vaguely familiar scent of sunflower seeds wafted to his nose. Was that...an undertone of coconut?
“Fancy runnin’ into ya here.”
Oikawa stiffened when he recognized the voice. Carefully, he peeked over the rim of his sunglasses. The man sitting next to him wore a newsie cap over his dyed-blond faux-hawk, an easy smile on his lips and half-lidded eyes that drifted over to meet Oikawa’s. Leave it to Oikawa’s luck to find himself trapped on a bus seat with Miya fucking Atsumu.
“Heard ya hung out with Alisa the other day,” he said, the blank look in his eyes somehow managing to be intimidating. “She talks ‘bout ya a lot.”
“Oh,” was all Oikawa could get out before he had to clear his throat. He felt another itch coming on. “All good things I hope.”
“Oh, yeah. She jus’ can’t shut up ‘bout ya. It’s kinda fuckin’ annoyin’,” Atsumu said with a hollow laugh in his voice. “Yanno, she mentioned somethin’ ‘bout doin’ a practice together. Ya wouldn’t happen t’know nothin’ ‘bout that, would ya?”
God, what was this? An interrogation? Was he trying to get Oikawa to back off or something? Fat chance. He straightened up in his seat before answering.
“Actually, we did talk about that at the studio,” he said matter-of-factly. “Alisa said it might be fun if I joined your band practice one day to get an idea of what a group performance would feel like. She also said it might not hurt if I was there to give you all a few professional pointers.”
The low chuckle that vibrated out from Atsumu’s chest was on the verge of threatening. Oikawa tensed up when Atsumu lifted his arm up and over the back of the bus seat to brace behind his shoulders, bringing their faces just a little closer together.
“Ya think we need pointers from a sham like you?” he asked, the hint of a growl in the back of his throat. Oikawa clenched his jaw. “Please. Ya can’t even keep yer social media in check. Don’t ya got a PR team or nothin’? Yer a serious clown an’ ya got some major balls t’act like yer better than us.”
“I never said I was—“
“Ya didn’t have to. It’s written all over yer face,” Atsumu snapped. “But hey, what do I know? I’m jus’ a rookie, right? Maybe ya can teach me a thing or two, huh, pretty boy?”
Pretty boy? Are we in high school?
“Get your arm off me before I take it off for you,” he said, his voice low and clear as he glared out of the corner of his eye. Atsumu whistled lowly and obediently retreated his arm, though the shit-eating smirk on his face was hardly that of an intimidated alpha.
“Cool yer jets, hotshot. I can smell yer rut from here.”
That gave Oikawa pause. Rut? His? Now? That didn’t make any sense. He wasn’t due for his next rut until January. If there were any truth to Atsumu’s snide comment, then he was half a month early. Why? Ruts didn’t just change up cycle for no reason. They were supposed to be quarterly, just like everyone else’s, unless—
Unless something triggered it early. Normally the only thing that could do that was an omega’s heat, but other, intensely sexually-charged situations could result in the same thing. Situations not unlike the one he’d found himself in with Iwaizumi earlier today. This wasn’t good. He would have to take time off work and cancel his performances and stay locked up in his home when that was the last thing he wanted to do right now.
The bus rolled to a halt at the next stop, which just so happened to be Oikawa’s. He stood up, more or less shoving Atsumu out of his way so he could hurry off the bus.
“Hey, watch it! Fuckin’ prick…”
He heard Atsumu curse him under his breath as he practically jumped out the doors and made a beeline for the hospital entrance. It might not have been such a good idea to visit Matsukawa now when his rut was starting, but he was already here and he damn well did not want to spend another moment squashed in to the wall of a bus by Miya Atsumu.
When he entered the hospital, he checked in at the front desk and then made his way up to Matsukawa’s room, but this time he took the stairs. He needed the extra time to organize his thoughts before he got there. First and foremost, he had to be sure to keep his temper in check now that he knew his rut was starting. He didn’t want to blow up on his dying best friend. Secondly...he had to figure out what he wanted to say.
The last time he had come to see Matsukawa, the rest of their friends had been there to serve as a thick barrier between them. He’d been able to sit to the side and watch with nostalgic fondness as Kunimi and Hanamaki glared daggers at each other and clumsily danced around their lingering animosity, while Kindaichi and Yahaba tried to get them to play nice and Matsukawa’s eyes finally lit up at their antics. Kyotani was the only one absent, but he had his own reasons. It was hard enough for him to be in hospitals, let alone stuck in a room with someone on death’s door. Even so, it had felt like replaying an old memory from before the world started imploding on itself.
This time, he was alone, and he found himself standing in front of Matsukawa’s door long before he had sorted through the cacophony of noises in his head. Before he even had the chance to knock, though, the door opened to reveal Matsukawa on the other side, sitting in a wheelchair with Hanamaki standing behind him.
“Oh. Hey.”
Hanamaki blinked at him owlishly. Oikawa swallowed the new lump in his throat.
“Hey…”
He stepped back, allowing Hanamaki to roll Matsukawa out of the room and into the hallway. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Matsukawa’s eyes.
“They’re discharging him now… I’m taking him home, finally,” Hanamaki explained.
“Oh.” Oikawa’s brain felt like it was trying to churn through molasses. “But I thought— What about—“
“They gave me some meds to take with me,” Matsukawa said, doing his best to look at Oikawa despite how he avoided Matsukawa’s eyes. “They’ll make it easier to breathe until…”
Until the end.
Oikawa looked at Hanamaki, who quickly averted his gaze in turn because he must have known what Oikawa was thinking in that moment. Why haven’t you told him yet? Have you even tried?
“Look, we should get going so we can beat the traffic,” Hanamaki said without looking up again. “Sorry you came all the way out here.”
“I was just...stopping by on my way home, anyway, so…”
“Oh, okay. Good. We’ll...talk to you later?”
“...Sure.”
“Tooru,” Matsukawa spoke up before Hanamaki could rush him off. Oikawa reluctantly met his gaze since he as being addressed directly. “I’ll call you.”
His throat was closing up now, so all he could do was nod and force a half-smile as he watched the two of them disappear into an elevator down the hall. Oikawa stood in the middle of the hallway for a few moments longer, just trying to process everything. They had released Matsukawa knowing he was going to die? Didn’t they have resources to help keep him alive for longer if he stayed here? Did he ask to leave? Did Hanamaki convince him to?
If they agreed to discharge him, that meant the doctors knew there was nothing else they could do. Hanamaki was their only chance at saving Matsukawa’s life now.
══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══
“She’s late.”
Miwa paced back and forth across the small balcony attached to her temporary hotel room. It overlooked the hospital across the block with a direct line of sight into Yachi’s room. Miwa was able to get her hands on a few pieces of equipment thanks to Sawamura’s connection to Sugawara—she didn’t even have to leave the hotel to hear every word uttered in that hospital room and the telescope was high-grade.
“I’m sure she’ll be here,” Midori assured her, appearing in the balcony doorway. She tugged her black cardigan tighter around her shoulders when a chilly breeze wafted in. “You should wait inside. You’ll catch a cold out here.”
“I can’t sit still right now,” Miwa said, glancing down at her phone again. Still no update.
“Who’s supposed to be meeting you here, anyway?” Midori asked, lips pursed. Miwa shook her head.
“You don’t need to know that. The less you know, the better,” she said. “You already shouldn’t be here. If she runs off because of you—”
“So I’ll hide in the bathroom, or something.” Midori sighed, moving to take a seat on the lonely little stool on the balcony. “I wanted to be here for you. You shouldn’t be doing all this alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Miwa snapped. Midori rolled her eyes.
“Your Yakuza buddies don’t count. I’m talking about moral support here. Besides, I care about keeping Yachi safe, too. And if she really wants to go back with you after her procedure...that’s her choice.”
Miwa paused to look over at Midori then. She couldn’t deny that Midori had been nothing but supportive ever since they ironed out the creases left over from their rocky past. It was probably her way of making up for lost time. She was always doing that—giving more of herself than she needed to for the sake of someone else. Some things never changed.
Finally, there was a knock at the door of their hotel room. Miwa and Midori exchanged on last glance before Midori obediently slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind herself while Miwa went to greet their guest. She opened the door to a short young woman with long, straight black hair and rectangular glasses perched atop a petite nose. She had big, dark eyes with a sharp intensity to them and a single beauty mark just below the left side of her lips. She immediately reminded Miwa of Sugawara. She wondered if those two were related somehow.
“Are we going to do this in the doorway or are you going to let me inside?” the woman asked. Miwa shook her head back into focus and stepped aside to let her in.
“You’re Shimizu?”
“Who else would I be? Let’s not waste time with pointless questions.”
She placed a sleek, black briefcase on the small table in the middle of the room, popping open the clasps to reveal what appeared to be a high-end tablet and cellphone sitting on top of several files. She took out the tablet and tapped through a few folders on the screen until she opened the document she was looking for.
“According to Yachi’s file, she’s already completed phase one of the procedure,” she said, speed-reading through the information judging by the way her eyes flitted across the screen. “Her psychological evaluation determined that she was stable enough for the standard method, which means the bond will likely be broken by mid-February since they’re fast-tracking her appointments. She has her lawyer to thank for that.”
Her lawyer—that was Midori. She was still representing Yachi pro bono and doing one hell of a job getting the medical board’s attention on her case. Miwa was grateful for that.
“She’s in the process of phase two right now. She’s started getting daily injections of oxytocin antagonists that are supposed to inhibit the bond’s physiological reactions. Her doctor suspects she might also suffer from a depressive personality disorder, though, and is keeping her under close observation in case intervention is necessary to move her to a different method. Basically they’re worried that inhibiting her oxytocin levels will trigger a depressive state. If she begins to show signs of withdrawal and apathy that don’t align with her PTSD symptoms, they’ll take her off the injections and start her on severance therapy instead, which is a longer, less effective process.”
“Dammit,” Miwa hissed, running a hand through her hair. “This is already taking too long and it might take even longer? Sugawara’s not gonna like that.”
“Sugawara-san doesn’t have to like it. He just has to deal with it,” Shimizu said, setting aside her tablet to look through the paper files in her briefcase instead. “Even if she can’t continue with the injections, that will just make it easier to move her. We can get her transferred to a different hospital outside of Inagawa territory and we’ll be able to protect her better. The only obstacle is…”
“Gettin’ Ukai’s buy-in,” Miwa finished. She bit out a harsh sigh between her teeth. “He’ll never do it. He barely wanted to give me three of his guys for this op. If we run into more complications, he’s just gonna call the whole thing off, Yachi be damned.”
“I can talk to Ukai. That’s not the problem I was referring to,” Shimizu said. She laid out some papers on the table, one of which had a photo clipped to the corner featuring Hanamaki Takahiro. Shimizu pointed at his face. “This is the obstacle.”
“The kid from the trial?” Miwa furrowed her brows. “What’s he got to do with this? He got Yachi out of trouble ‘cause he was in the right place at the right time. He’s nobody. Let the Inagawa have him.”
Shimizu pursed her lips.
“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple. While observing Yachi during her appointments, I’ve heard her talk about him a lot. She feels indebted to him.” Shimizu pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “She won’t agree to be transferred if we can’t also guarantee his safety. That is something I may not be able to talk Ukai into doing.”
Miwa gaped at her.
“Are you kiddin’ me? That kid is nothing—he’s just some guy! Let Midori figure out how to protect him. He’s not our problem.”
“But he will be if we try to move Yachi,” Shimizu interrupted. “Sawamura-san and Azumane-san may be sympathetic to her situation, but we both know Sugawara-san couldn’t care either way and his opinion is the one Ukai values the most, next to mine. If Sugawara-san doesn’t think it’s worth the trouble, then neither will he. Besides, those two will back up whatever he says, anyway.”
“Unbelievable.”
Miwa threw her hands up in the air, beginning to pace around the room again. She knew Yachi could be a handful, but this? This was just plain stupid. After what she’d been through, she should know how to prioritize her own survival over someone else’s. Why should she care what happened to Hanamaki Takahiro? He probably didn’t want anything to do with this whole mess and regretted getting involved in the first place.
A shy, muffled knock caught them both off guard. Shimizu looked at the door to the room, but Miwa’s eyes flew over to the door to the bathroom that had cracked open to reveal Midori’s head. When Shimizu caught sight of her, she jumped to her feet, scrambling to gather the contents of her briefcase.
“Shimizu, wait! She’s not dangerous—“
“She’s an outsider and you’re an idiot for bringing her here,” Shimizu snapped.
“Wait, please don’t go yet,” Midori pleaded, stepping out of the bathroom and holding up her hands. “I promise I’m not here to divulge your gang secrets or what have you. I’m here to help.”
“Civilians can’t help with this. You’re a lawyer. Yachi’s lawyer. You’ve practically incriminated yourself just by being here. If anyone finds out—“
“Nobody’s gonna find out,” Miwa said, placing a firm hand on Shimizu’s shoulder to physically stop her from leaving the room. “Just sit down and hear her out.”
Shimizu looked tense as her eyes darted between Miwa and Midori, but eventually, albeit reluctantly, she sat down again, clutching the briefcase to her chest.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out,” Midori began, carefully taking a seat in the chair across the table from Shimizu. “I just wanted to be here for Miwa and maybe offer an alternative plan?”
“...What plan?” Shimizu asked, scooting forward ever so slightly. Miwa could tell Midori had caught her attention.
“We don’t have to transfer Yachi out of the hospital to keep her safe,” Midori said. “She could stay right here in the city. In plain sight.”
Shimizu narrowed her eyes.
“...Like a walking target?”
“Exactly. Except she won’t be free game for the Inagawa to come and take her as long as we keep an eye on her. I have friends in law enforcement who could set up a proper sting and I know they’d be willing to cut a deal with you if it meant putting away some Inagawa-kai members. They’re a bigger problem in Tokyo than your group is.”
Shimizu was silent for a moment, her eyes drifting up toward Miwa, who had crossed her arms and levelled a scowl on some nondescript spot on the wall.
“And you’re okay with this? Putting Yachi in the line of fire like that?”
Miwa clicked her tongue.
“Of course I’m not okay with it. It’s dangerous. ...But it’s also probably our only shot at ending this,” she said, sighing. “Say we take her out of Tokyo. What then? What’s stoppin’ the Inagawa from crossin’ into our territory to get her back? They already did it once. And besides, that Hanamaki kid is here, too. They want him dead as much as they want Yachi back. If she stays here, we double our odds. We put a tail on Hanamaki in case they come for him.”
Shimizu adjusted her glasses again.
“It’s not a bad idea. Ukai is more likely to go for something with a better chance of success and gain for the Kyokuto-kai.” She looked back at Midori. “What kind of deal are your police friends willing to accept?”
“I don’t know yet, but I can set up a meeting,” Midori said eagerly. “Think about something you want that would be within reason for the TMPD to grant you. I’m sure we can all come to some sort of agreement.”
“Fine,” Shimizu said, standing up again, more calmly this time. “I’ll relay your offer to our shateigashira. We’ll have to communicate through Miwa for now. I don’t think my colleagues will be as willing to deal with an outsider directly as I am.”
“Thank you.” Midori stood up to bow slightly. “This means a lot to me. I won’t let you down.”
“Let’s see to that.” Shimizu turned toward Miwa and nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Yeah, see ya.”
And with that, she left. Midori let out a breath it seemed like she’d been holding the entire time and smiled.
“I think that went well!”
“You’re an idiot for comin’ out like that,” Miwa said, shaking her head as she crossed the room to flop down onto the couch. “She could’ve been carryin’, ya know. Could’ve got yourself shot.”
She didn’t miss the subtle bob of Midori’s throat before she could think of a response.
“Well, all’s well that ends well, right? The point is that we have a deal.”
“There’s no deal yet,” Miwa pointed out. “First we have to convince Ukai.”
“Right. Who is that, exactly?” Midori asked as she carefully sat down again.
“Like Shimizu said, he’s out shateigashira. He’s basically in charge of us.”
“Oh. So you and Shimizu work together under him?”
“Not exactly. Shimizu’s a rung above me—she’s a kyodai,” Miwa explained. “I’m still just a foot soldier. Me and Yachi. She’s not quite ‘official’ just yet, though. She got snatched before she finished her initiation.”
“So Yachi’s going into the Yakuza, too? She’s not just staying with you?”
“Well, yeah. It’s not like the kid had anywhere else to go. When I picked her up off the street, she didn’t like that I was the one doin’ all the work for us both. She wanted to be part of it.”
Midori looked down, contemplative, as if she had mixed feelings about that realisation. Miwa figured she would. She knew Midori didn’t exactly approve of the lifestyle she’d made for herself, but that wasn’t really her call. Knowing her, she’d try to talk Yachi out of it, though.
“Hey,” Miwa said, nodding to get Midori’s attention back on her. “Ya know, if we’re gonna use her as bait, we’re gonna have to make her more accessible. The Inagawa-kai aren’t gonna storm the hospital. She’ll have to come out and stay with me in between her appointments.”
“...You’re right that she can’t stay at the hospital, but do you think it’s such a good idea for her to stay with you?” Midori asked. “I doubt they’ll want to go head-to-head with a rival gang member.”
Shit. She kind of had a point there. Miwa pursed her lips and looked away.
“We’ll figure somethin’ out.”
“She can stay with me.”
Miwa rolled her eyes. Figures.
“No shot.”
“And why not?” Midori straightened her back and got that look in her eye that always came up when she knew she was going to win an argument. “I’m not Yakuza, I’m not the law—I would just be a civilian taking care of her until she gets back on her feet. It’s perfect.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Everything around you is dangerous.”
Yet another good point, but that one cut a little deeper than the last. Miwa clenched her jaw.
“I can keep her safe and sound. I bet she’d love Takeru. Maybe being around people with normal lives will give her a breath of fresh air. Maybe she won’t feel like she has to be on edge all the time.”
"She does need to be—"
“And maybe that’s the problem.”
Damn. Three for three. Miwa suddenly recalled how easily Midori flew through her law school degree. She’d always had a knack for cutting straight to the point and leaving no room for debate. She was always so sure of herself; she never wavered once she set her mind on something. That was one of the many things that had drawn Miwa to her in the first place, in spite of the goody-two-shoes Golden Girl persona she used to wear like a second layer of skin.
If Miwa trusted anyone outside of the Kyokuto with Yachi’s safety, she had to admit that it was Oikawa Midori.
Who knew? Maybe she was right. Maybe what Yachi needed really was a breath of fresh air.