Miya Atsumu hasn’t been in the guy’s lap thirty seconds, and there is already a hand on his ass.

God, he's already regretting his decision to give him a lap dance just to steal what's actually his.

Carefully schooling his expression, keeping the irritation well beneath the surface, Atsumu batts the asshole’s hand away. He is one of those middle-aged financial types and according to the blonde, definitely too much of a baby to possess the specific item Atsumu wants back so badly.

His gaze flicks to the desired object, then to the man’s throat. Actually, it's quite easy to get it back into his hands. Atsumu could just kill him. Easy.

A knife is warm in the sleeve of his burgundy jacket, a sharp blade pressed against his arm and ready to slit his throat and let him bleed. But this isn't a job he needs to get done – at least not an ‘official’ one, no. Atsumu only commits murder under three circumstances.

One, when it’s a paid hit that he is willing to accept. Two, when he’s in actual immediate danger. Three, when it’s inevitable in order to get him to his real target.

Paid hits usually come from Yakuza and whoever is the executor for those has actually no chance to refuse them. Saying no to Yakuza was a death sentence for an independent contractor but Atsumu is an assassin from Inarizaki and well—they don't let Yakuza tell them what to do.

All the mob does is suggest what mark they would pay for, and anyone who wants to push the limits and force Inarizaki's assassins into a job pays with their lives. These bastards knew that.

But no, this man on whom he is seated isn’t a mark Yakuza wants dead and Atsumu is definitely not in danger nor is it necessary to kill him in order to get this item. Besides, he still needs that asshole alive because that lovely thing hooked to his belt so splendidly does indeed belong to his brother Osamu, and Atsumu can't remember his twin of all people gifting this very knife to anyone but himself.

“’S pretty,” Atsumu says with a nod towards the leather sheath paved to the man’s belt. Two symbols adorn the loop of the brown cover, sewn on a patch and infallibly intended for the twins. A sun and a crescent moon. Atsumu and Osamu.

“Not as pretty as you are,” murmurs the man into his ear and Atsumu wants to puke.

God, he hates him.

Atsumu has been seducing this idiot all evening until he was finally taken to his hotel room. They're somewhere in Miyagi, in Sendai, on the 39th floor of a fancy hotel, and this man is so keen on Atsumu that he can barely restrain himself. Atsumu scowls at the ceiling as that jerk places a defiant hand firmly on his hip, itching to go back down to his ass.

Disgusting.

“Where’d’ya got it from?”

“Who cares?”

The man nibbles at Atsumu's jaw, one finger sneaking under Atsumu's waistband while his other hand gropes back at his ass. It was nerve-wracking and by no means in a good way. Atsumu knows he has the looks and how to move his body just right but that doesn’t mean he grants everyone permission to touch him. Especially not those fuckers who think of themselves as Gods.

The pressure of the knife hidden in his sleeve feels better with every passing second.

“I care,” Atsumu drops his playfulness as he grabs the man’s wrist and shoves his hand away but the man snatches Atsumu’s arm, gripping it tightly, and oh—that was a mistake.

In a heartbeat, Atsumu has him shoved back against the mattress of the king-size bed they are sitting on, fingers tight around the asshole’s throat. He dugs his knee against the man’s crotch, blood boiling beneath his skin while his patience wears thin.

The bastard seizes Atsumu's arm with both hands and tries to yank him away, but he is too feeble. So, he just choked underneath him, eyes gleaming with remorse for having touched Atsumu at all. He couldn't know any better, could he?

Never in his life would he have deliberately touched an assassin against their will, let alone accepted a lap dance from them. But how could he have known what awaited him? There were no assassins in Miyagi–or at least that's what he thought.

It was cute, Atsumu hadn't even pulled out his knife yet and the man was struggling, fearing for his life. He was weak, no threat. Atsumu smirks; he would have Osamu's baby back in his hands in no time.

Easy.

“I really hate to repeat myself, but for ya, honey, I'll do it again.” The grip on that asshole’s throat tightens, Atsumu’s gaze flicks to Osamu’s knife. “Where did ya get it from?”

“Please–”

Atsumu slips one of the knives from his sleeve into his hand and taps the man’s nose with the tip of the blade. His eyes widen in fear and panic.

“It’s a simple question, ya know?”

“I—oh God, please, don’t kill me!”

“I won’t if ya jus’ answer my damn question.”

He’s getting impatient.

Atsumu lost count of how many times he already threatened people to get information that was actually useful for him. It isn’t any different now.

The man in his grip starts crying, begging, sobbing that he doesn't want to be killed, and Atsumu massages his temples with the sharp knife in his hand, annoyed with his victim of whom he has already forgotten his name.

“Please,” the man cries again. “I-I have a family! My wife... m-my children! I can’t—”

“I toldja I won’t kill ya if you tell me where ya got this from.”

Asshole. Says he has a family but was about to fall between the sheets with Atsumu—not that the blonde would have ever let it happen. He isn't Atsumu's type at all.

“I can’t tell you! They would kill me if they found out I stole it from them!”

“From who?” Atsumu snaps and after a moment of hesitation, the man parts his quivering lips.

“From—"

Thump.

A bullet finds the asshole’s head and silences him before he has the chance to voice relevant or important information. He was shot, but not by Atsumu. Fuck.

Atsumu's gaze snaps up to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the head of the king-size bed. He feels his eyes widen as he spots the reflection of a tall person standing behind him, dressed all in black, unsure if it's a foe or a friend. Oh, who is Atsumu trying to fool? No one in this city is his friend.

The gun is still pointing at its target and Atsumu is aware that he can't waste another millisecond wondering what the fuck is going on. It's do or die, and Atsumu isn't ready for the latter.

He jerks his body around and throws the knife from his hand towards the stranger behind him, aiming at the outstretched arm with the pistol. In the movement, Atsumu rips the leather pouch that carries Osamu's knife from the belt of the dead man beneath him, almost destroying the clasp of the cover’s loop and tucking it in the back of his pants.

Osamu would kill him if he ruined the fabric.

Just as Atsumu turns around, he feels gloved fingers sneaking around his wrist. Suede. But before the stranger could take advantage of the situation, Atsumu kicks his chest and pulls himself free from his grip. The man staggers back a few steps and kneels on one leg, grunting a heavy breath at what must have been a sudden attack.

Atsumu pulls another knife from his other sleeve while the man reaches for his chest and presses his slender fingers into his ribcage. To check if something is severely injured? Atsumu wishes it was so. Jet black curls. That's all he's staring down right now.

As Atsumu lunges and rushes toward him, the man's gaze snaps up, causing Atsumu to flinch for a split second, to hesitate for a moment too long. A black mask hides half of his face, making it difficult for Atsumu to read him. All he has are these eyes. These onyx eyes... oh, so cold. Atsumu's movements are fast, but the man is faster.

He stands up, grabs the blade in Atsumu’s hand, and draws the assassin close to him. His knee finds the soft muscle of Atsumu’s stomach and holy shit – that fucking hurt. Pain creeps up to his back, numbing his nerves in a way that is dangerous and causing his eyes to water, nausea more prominent with each inhale. Atsumu is about to double over, a groan leaving his lips, but he is pulled back again, the knife snatched from his hand and thrown away with a clatter.

Bastard.

The masked man wrenches Atsumu’s hands behind his back and presses him into the wall. Atsumu huffs out a laugh as his cheek kisses the cold edges of the wood paneling in the hotel room, and his gaze catches the figure holding him tightly and painfully in place. Atsumu is panting and the need to kill his enemy is bigger than ever.

“Hey, handsome,” he gasps, curling his lips into a sick smirk. “Now what? You gonna kill me?”

“If I wanted you dead, Miya,” the man pulls and twists Atsumu's arm even more, making him hiss and contort his face in torment. “You would have been by the second I walked into this room.”

“Oh? Omi-Omi is generous? My pretty face must’ve reeeeeally charmed ya.”

“The only thing that charms me about your face is putting a bullet between your eyes to shut you up once and for all. That, my dear, is very tempting.”

“If I’m such a hassle to ya, why don’t cha just kill me?”

Sakusa Kiyoomi. Atsumu can hardly wait for the day when he draws his blade through his throat. He presses his weight against Atsumu's body and Atsumu's hiss turns into a low groan as the bastard twists his arm harder.

“Believe me, I wouldn't hesitate for a second to pull the trigger, but unfortunately there are people who need you alive.”

There weren't many people Sakusa Kiyoomi would take orders from, and in fact, there was only one person he would ever obey. The drawbacks of being a member of fucking Yakuza. Atsumu sneers.

“People, you say? People as in Oikawa Tōru?”

“People as in that's none of your fucking business.”

“It is my business if someone wants me dead or alive.”

“Why? So, you can thank them by sucking their dick if they spare your life?”

Atsumu laughs simply because he finds it genuinely amusing.

“Jealous if I would?”

Atsumu offers him a toothy grin and swallows the physical pain Sakusa inflicts on him. He's having too much fun pestering the prickly Yakuza member and he wouldn't mind annoying him further, but today it's Atsumu who's slightly irritated by Sakusa.

Atsumu was this close to finding out how the now dead man obtained Osamu's knife. This close to finding out who he got it from. After so many weeks, this could have been another lead to where his brother might be, but that asshole behind him had to shoot the 'innocent’ man. It’s not like Atsumu would mind, but he needed that damn information.

Hatred isn't even an expression of what Atsumu feels for Sakusa. He loathes him. Even more than that. Atsumu has known him for a few months now and it happens far too often that Sakusa gets in his way. Wherever he meets him, it means trouble. Yakuza means trouble. It's a law of nature.

It's honestly a miracle they haven't killed each other yet. Sakusa is presumably just waiting for the command of his Kumichō Oikawa Tōru, and Atsumu wouldn't dare kill him in a district swarming with his armed members. That would be suicide.

One day, however, he would. Slowly. Torturously.

“Okay. So yer not gonna kill me? That’s great, Omi-kun, ‘cause while we were fighting, I had a splendid idea on how to kill ya!”

“We weren’t fighting. That was your pathetic attempt to escape me and now look how miserably you failed.”

“Sure, whatever ya call it buttercu—ahhhh what the fuck?! Are you stupid?!”

Stabbing pain spreads from his neck into his spine and extends into his back. It creeps down into his legs and begins to worry him whether it was a mistake to have been so careless minutes before. Actually, it’s not even debatable, because being imprudent was clearly a flaw. So, the question here is rather, how bad is the situation Atsumu is currently in?

If he didn't know better, Atsumu would have thought Sakusa had just stabbed him. But if there's one thing he's learned over the past few months in Sendai, it was that the asshole in question never got too close to his victims, let alone touch them. A callous murderer who is disgusted by killing his marks with his own hands. It's almost ridiculous.

Atsumu's eyes are observant, and he knows very well that Sakusa would always prefer a gun to a knife. Safe distance. Far enough away to kill his victim and leave no trace of the crime on himself. God, Atsumu wishes he could kill him, and it would make such a mess that Sakusa would be disgusted by himself.

Atsumu groans as the pain drives into his head and clouds his mind. He feels his muscles go limp and his resistance to Sakusa's grip weaken.

What the fuck did Sakusa do?

“Awww, look at you. You’re just begging for someone to put you in your place,” Sakusa taunts. Fuck him.

One cut. Atsumu only needs one cut, and he could take out that obnoxious bastard. He's not done with him yet, no matter how sick he feels right now.

“Ha, and you think you can handle that? Yer cute, Omi. I could have ya on yer knees in a heartbeat, y’know? It would suit you.”

“You think about that image a lot?”

“Don’t flatter yerself.”

Atsumu grits his teeth. His gaze flicks for a millisecond to the gun in the holster on Sakusa’s belt, then back into his darkened eyes. They’re cold. Icy and murderous.

“It’d shock ya how rarely I actually think of ya.”

“It shocks me that you think at all. Didn't your mother teach you not to lie?”

Atsumu is pissed. He releases a breathless smile but is cut off as Sakusa tightens the grip on his arm and pushes him harder against the wall. A faint hiss escapes from Atsumu's lips. He closes his eyes and contorts his face in pain and dizziness, swallowing his true condition and not letting on how miserable he feels.

Shit, this is not good.

He opens his eyes as he notices Sakusa shifting behind him. Fuck, he can no longer focus his gaze. Everything starts to blur. Whatever Sakusa has injected him with is about to hit the fan and it’s definitely not good.

Atsumu has no idea if this was poison or some kind of narcotic. He has no idea if Sakusa changed his mind and might kill him after all, thus defying his boss. Oikawa Tōru is an asshole, so Atsumu would kind of understand if Sakusa got tired of him.

But fuck, he could only hope that he wouldn't defy Oikawa. Atsumu can't die just yet.

If he is fast enough, he can break free from Sakusa's grip and overpower him. If he is fast enough, he can snatch the gun out of his holster and kill him first. If he is fast enough–

“You want this?”

Sakusa shows him his pistol and taps the muzzle twice against Atsumu’s cheek. He can't see much out of the corner of his eye, but he guesses it's Sakusa’s .22 magnum glock pistol. It’s pitch-black and adorned with roses writhing around the grip. A symbol of love and passion. A sign for Sakusa's bloodlust.

Atsumu was only once close enough to see the branching flowers and leaves. Only once close enough to almost harm Sakusa, but never close enough to touch him. The goon was good, and it pissed Atsumu off. He frowns.

“Children shouldn’t play with guns,” Sakusa says and takes off the safety. Atsumu’s eyes widen at the almost silent click.

Shit.

If he ‘accidentally’ pulls the trigger, he could end Atsumu's life. One twitch, one wrong move, and he is dead. Over and out, and any effort to find Osamu would be ruined. No, his life can't end like this. Not at Sakusa's hands.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Sakusa holds the pistol in front of their faces and twists it to the side so he can admire it while Atsumu just scowls at the metal. Then Sakusa asks mockingly, “Would you even be able to handle a gun?”

“Wouldn’t mind findin’ it out on ya,” Atsumu scoffs and suppresses the urge to vomit. He hasn't felt this bad in a long time. He must be damn careful.

“Don't worry.” Sakusa runs the barrel of the shotgun across Atsumu's cheek, traces it behind his ear, and places the muzzle on the back of his neck. Atsumu hisses as Sakusa points the gun at the same spot where he injected him with something minutes prior. One shot. Dead. “Once again, I am not here because of you.”

Sakusa taps his gloved finger on the barrel. Every bullet he ever fired was dead on target. He never missed his mark and Atsumu is lucky he supposedly wasn't on his list today. Atsumu knows that.

He has watched Sakusa Kiyoomi long enough to know how to regain control of this situation. Atsumu is at least as skilled as Sakusa – he would even claim to be more talented. But today he can't do much.

It wouldn't be the first time Atsumu eliminated a member of Yakuza, only this time he didn't have a contract to do so. On top of that, they're in Miyagi – Oikawa's territory. And since this masked bastard belongs to his troupe, it would be suicide to kill him.

Fulfilling a sanctioned hit was one thing – the person who called in the hit would be blamed and punished if anyone felt compelled. The hitman was doing his job after all. But killing a sort of a made man without a contract put the blame squarely on Atsumu’s head.

No, killing Sakusa has to be postponed.

“Are you scared, Miya?”

Sakusa leans toward him and even though Atsumu can't see his miserable face, he knows he's grinning wickedly underneath his mask. He notices the way the corners of his eyes crease into a nasty smile, and he catches the derisive tone lacing his voice.

Honestly, Atsumu can’t wait for the day when someone would tell him Sakusa is going to be his next mark.

Atsumu glares at Sakusa, knowing full well that he wants to elicit something in Atsumu that will permit him to kill him as well. But he holds his gaze like Sakusa couldn’t have intimidated him if he’d wanted to. No fear whatsoever. Just icy indifference. Atsumu looks him straight in the eye, cool and collected, and silently dares him to make him blink.

“What do ya want?” He asks calmly.

Sakusa tilts the pistol and draws the barrel down Atsumu's spine, stopping when he reaches the knife stuck in the back of Atsumu's cargo pants. Sakusa stuffs his gun back into the holster strapped to his belt and snatches the leather sheath, along with the knife, from Atsumu's grasp. Atsumu grunts and stirs to wrestle back and stop Sakusa from taking Osamu's knife away from him, but Sakusa almost easily holds him back in place.

Atsumu is running out of strength.

“I want the knife back,” Sakusa smirks. “Maybe get a lap dance from you too.”

Atsumu snorts, “Yakuza are the last rats I’d be dancin’ for.”

“Hmmm…” Sakusa growls, lips close to Atsumu’s ear but kept away by the mask he is wearing. Atsumu shudders. “Too bad.”

It does unholy things to his stomach, causing heat to ignite inside him that he hates and wants to suppress. Atsumu feels blood rushing to his cheeks and ears, and he wishes he could stop it from tinting his skin into a soft crimson red.

Atsumu doesn't know what Sakusa Kiyoomi really looks like. His skin is constantly hidden in those damn expensive suits or underneath his battle gear. Hands covered with black leather. Half of his face is unknown beneath the black mask. Only dark eyes are visible, embellished with twin moles above his right eyebrow.

Is his whole body this pale? Is his skin graced with even more moles? Is his touch soft? Is his whole face as beautiful as what he already dares to show to those around him?

Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and shakes the thoughts from his head. He is his enemy, so he shouldn't care. And yet, he would probably grant Sakusa permission to touch him like he didn't allow the asshole before if they weren't at each other's throats.

Or maybe not. Sakusa is still an asshole too.

Atsumu takes a deep breath, but his world is spinning the moment he opens his eyes again. The only thing holding him in place is Sakusa's grip. Atsumu's legs are shaking, his gaze is unable to focus.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit, this isn't good at all.

Sakusa drops Atsumu's arm, grabs him by the collar, spins around, and hurls him off the wall onto the floor behind them. Atsumu trips and falls. He tries to catch the impact with his hands, but he can't balance his body. Instead, he falls in front of Sakusa's stupid polished oxford shoes and stares up at him with a glare.

One enemy. Two. Three. Atsumu's gaze betrays him.

Sakusa checks the leather sheath in his hand and gently pulls out the knife. He examines the curved blade from both sides and then turns back to Atsumu.

“It is a beautiful knife. Truly a powerful weapon.”

“And above all, 's not yours.”

“I will return it to its rightful owner, don't you worry, Miya.”

“I am its rightful owner,” Atsumu lies because actually it’s Osamu. Sakusa sneers.

“Don't you think that's a little too much for you to handle? You might hurt yourself.”

“Awww, Omi!! Didn’t know ya were taking so much care of me.” Atsumu smirks and feels the poison kick in.

Sakusa crouches down before him, probably grinning at least as sickly as Atsumu. He holds the knife loosely in his grip, barely dangling the blade above the floor. Sakusa considers Atsumu wordlessly for a moment before abruptly grabbing his chin, pulling Atsumu's face toward him, and placing the blade against his skin.

Sakusa’s eyes are dark and cold and Atsumu shudders at the murderous gaze he shoots him. Adrenaline drives Atsumu to focus his gaze, but his eyelids grow heavier, and his heartbeat slackens.

Sakusa traces the tip along Atsumu’s cheekbone and cuts his skin slightly, so a thin line of blood runs down his face. Atsumu hisses at the sharp cut Sakusa causes, but he can't help but grin. Atsumu knows he's not going to die. As screwed up as Sakusa is, he's a man of his word and if Oikawa apparently instructed him not to kill Atsumu, then he wouldn't. At least that's what Atsumu hopes.

“Wanna ruin that pretty face of mine? There’re plenty of different ways to do that, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says smugly, a hint of playfulness lacing his voice. Kiyoomi snorts and pushes Atsumu away by his chin. Atsumu grunts and contorts his face as he slams the back of his head on the floor. Nausea now very prominent again.

Sakusa stands up and Atsumu wants to mirror his move, but his muscles refuse, and his vision grows weaker. His body is limp and tired and all he can think about is how to cut that fucking bastard's throat the next time they see each other and let him bleed.

Sakusa stares down at him and huffs a laugh.

“I bet there are.”

Fuck you, Sakusa Kiyoomi. Fuck you, you fucking obnoxious fucker. Fuck you in every single way.

Atsumu has come to a point in his life where he needs a stronger word than ‘fuck’. He curses himself for being naïve enough to enter Sendai without any genuinely dangerous weapons. He curses himself for being careless. For Sakusa taking the only chance Atsumu ever gave him to get himself knocked down.

Atsumu curses himself and Sakusa in every possible way.

“For now,” that bastard says as he walks to the door. He peers over his shoulder and watches Atsumu lying motionless on the floor. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his slacks, and Osamu's knife is back in the leather sheath now attached to Sakusa's belt. The realization that Atsumu has lost the only lead to his brother he has had in months tears a hole in his gut.

Sakusa’s face is indifferent as he continues talking.

“Sweet dreams? Ah, or even better… dream of me, Miya.”

The door falls shut, and Atsumu’s vision turns black.

The light filtering in is too bright when Atsumu's eyes flutter open. He passed out all night and apparently didn't wake up until the earth rotated once almost completely on its axis. The orange-red light seeping into the room indicates a warm sunset, and Atsumu hopes it is indeed just one day he has missed and not more.

A sharp pain creeps from the back of his neck up into his head and spreads like an unstoppable fire, kindled in a forest that has grown too dry. His entire body aches and Atsumu wishes Sakusa had just killed him instead of letting him suffer right now.

He can’t even put his finger on what hurts the most. Probably his neck? His arm is also upfront – damn it, everything hurts. As if not enough, a penetrating feeling of nausea returns along with the headache.

Fuckin’ kill me…

Atsumu groans and rolls onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut and running a hand through his disheveled hair, gripping it tightly. He blinks groggily and gulps in a miserable attempt to get rid of the dryness in his throat but failed. He places his palms on the floor and tries to sit upright, but is quickly, too quickly, caught up by the feeling of nausea.

He lifts his head and notices Sakusa is gone. 

Atsumu scans the deserted room as much as his sore muscles and shitty vision would allow, but there is no sign of the guy. It should put Atsumu's mind at ease that he's alone, but the fact that he didn't even notice Sakusa when he entered this hotel room to shoot the now dead asshole on the bed worries him.

He didn't hear anything and that was unlikely. Not a click of the door, not a sound, not even footsteps fading into the night. 

They got ninjas joining Yakuza in this town or somethin’? Atsumu thinks before nausea kicks in. Fuck—

His mind acts on its own, forcing his body to get up instantly and rush to the bathroom. He rips the toilet lid open, bends over the bowl, and throws up. His legs tremble and he feels his body getting weaker and weaker. Ugh.

Atsumu flushes the toilet, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and slides onto the floor beside it, one arm resting on the toilet seat for support. He feels like trash. His hands are sweaty, his body is freezing, and his mind is still foggy.

He knows for a fact that Sakusa must have injected him with a narcotic, Rohypnol most likely, and he could bet everything he got that Sakusa intentionally set the dose higher than needed just to make Atsumu feel so fucked up right now. Because maybe, just maybe, Atsumu pulled the same move on a job Sakusa did when they both had the same mark and Atsumu wanted to beat him to it.

Atsumu takes a moment to get his body working again and breathes deeply. He closes his eyes as he recalls the infuriating events of last night, and curses softly under his breath as he realizes that Sakusa has taken from him what he could not afford to lose again. Osamu's knife.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” he groans and scrubs a hand over his face.

Atsumu totters on wobbly legs to the sink and rinses his mouth, then washes his hands and face. He checks himself in the mirror in front of him and realizes how worn out he looks, the small cut on his cheek already healed, though. Sendai is starting to get to him. Sakusa starts to push him to his limits.

The blanched light of the bathroom makes his bottle blond hair almost white and ignites the color of his intense eyes in golden fire. His tanned complexion appears paler than usual which could either be due to the light or Atsumu's nausea.

He touches his sturdy chest and feels his necklace beneath the black turtleneck shirt he’s wearing. A necklace that would always remind him of his brother. A piece of jewelry that Atsumu would never take off.

He exhales deeply.

I want the knife back, Atsumu recalls and figures the dead man stole it from one of Oikawa’s Yakuza members. Not Sakusa, though, no. Unfortunately, no one could get to this jerk. But someone else must have been stupid enough to lose the weapon, and Sakusa has been here to ‘return’ it to Oikawa.

Atsumu sighs and props his palms on the sink while staring deeply into the eyes of his reflection. The last thing he wants to do is mess with Yakuza. But what if they have what belongs to him (or rather Osamu)? Well, to hell with all the unspoken and unofficial rules. It's about his brother and Atsumu has vowed to give everything to find him. Come what may.

If Yakuza think they can just take anything away from him, they are wrong. Atsumu doesn't care how strong and mighty they think they are, they would soon face the wrath of Miya Atsumu. God, it was time to take them all down.

Atsumu must know how Oikawa got the knife. This means a short trip to the crappiest Kumichō in the whole wide world is inevitable. Great. Good thing he was alone in Sendai and barely carried any weapons... Atsumu definitely stands a good chance. Yep.

But whatever Oikawa knew would certainly bring Atsumu to his brother. So, he has to figure out how to get to the goon, and here's the thing: Atsumu doesn't exactly plan, he just acts as it strikes. He wouldn't mind blowing up Oikawa's headquarters, but that would get him nowhere. No, this one might actually need some planning.

Atsumu needs to meet what is probably the highest guarded man in entire Miyagi without getting himself killed. And heck, if Osamu was here, or Suna, or anyone from Inarizaki, then maybe the odds wouldn't be so bad. But all alone? In a place where he really had no business being? It's almost like suicide.

Atsumu's grip on the sink tightens but instantly loosens as he realizes that not everyone in Sendai is on Oikawa's side, though. His eyes are wide open as he takes in his reflection one last time. Yeah, Atsumu has an idea. A good one.

He presses his lips together and points his index finger at his reflection, nodding his head and shaking his hand in a sly motion. A smile emerges on his lips.

"Miya Atsumu, yer an unfathomable genius," he praises himself and grins broadly.

He taps his palms once each in quick succession euphorically on the edge of the sink before hopping out of the bathroom. The smile fades instantly, however, when he sees the dead man on the bed. The sheets beneath him are soaked in a dark red. Atsumu’s nausea returns.

He shuts his eyes as he steadies himself in the doorway and takes a deep breath. Nope, he's going to keep whatever wants out of his stomach inside.

Atsumu gulps and opens his eyes. He stares at the man for a moment and frowns. Would he have killed him if he told him that he stole the knife from Oikawa? Probably not. He wasn't relevant to Atsumu.

Now he almost feels a little bad for trapping the man and practically handing him over to Sakusa. To that moron, of all people. Fuck him. Atsumu will kill him sooner or later.

He heads for the door and picks up his knives which he threw at Sakusa. Too bad, they don't have a single drop of blood on their blades. Sakusa must have dodged them pretty well and that thought alone annoys Atsumu to no end.

Next to the door on top of the dresser, Atsumu finds a jar containing various lollipops. He fishes one out, unwraps it, and pops it in his mouth while stuffing the wrapper in the pocket of his burgundy jacket. The taste of cherry and coke displaces the evidence of the things that left his body because of his narcotic overdose and resulting nausea.

Atsumu opens the door and sneaks into the corridor of the hotel. He already feels sorry for whoever would find the dead man in this room. The sight is anything but pretty, but that's not his problem anymore. He has more important things to do.

Atsumu sneaks out over the fire escape to the backyard. He makes sure no one sees him and is relieved when he manages to leave the hotel unnoticed. Atsumu heads for his accommodation where he has been staying for the past few months and pulls his phone out of his pocket as he walks down the street.

In the dusk, the screen illuminates his face from below and Atsumu’s stomach churns at the several unread messages that pop up once he unlocked his screen. He frowns and swallows thickly. Among countless missed calls, it was this one person whose message made him feel so uncomfortable.

Atsumu has already left his what’s close to being a ‘Kumichō’ on read for two weeks, but now it seems like he really couldn't ignore him anymore. He opens the chat and reads the few meaningful lines that Kita has written to him.

Kita-san (10/20/2022, 11:37 pm):

>> Hello Atsumu, how are things in Miyagi? I hope you’re okay.

Kita-san (today, 5:28 pm):

>> Call me immediately.

He sighs and removes the lollipop from his mouth, covers it back in the wrapper, and stuffs it back into his pocket.

Of course, Kita cannot be called a Kumichō. That would be an insult, so to speak. Assassins in Inarizaki have no one to boss them around – they are free in everything they do. But Kita counts as someone who is truly respected by everyone in Inarizaki, heck in all of Hyōgō even. Someone who has prestige, whose opinion certainly matters.

Kita is only five years older than Atsumu and is one of the few who knows the most brutal sides of being an assassin. He has probably seen more shit than anyone else in Inarizaki, but no one would ever dare ask Kita what he has actually been through. There are only a few selected people who know about it. Atsumu is none of them, but he has heard enough.

No one in their right mind would voluntarily mess with Kita.

By now, he worked as an independent contractor. Kita is the go-between for a motley crew of thugs and contract killers (some who work together, some lone wolves like Atsumu) who would carry out some of Yakuza’s dirty work if they’re in the mood to.

Call me immediately.

It could be anything. Maybe Kita had important news for Atsumu. Or maybe Inarizaki is on fire right now and they need his help.

Oh, who is Atsumu kidding? They were better off without him.

The reason Atsumu has avoided Kita for so long is that he fucked up. When he left Inarizaki, he promised him he wouldn't come back until he found his brother. But with every message he exchanges with Kita, he is reminded of how badly he screws up. That he is failing to track down Osamu. That he's a no-good.

It's Atsumu's fault that Osamu has been missing for almost two years already, and that's why it's his job to bring him back. Two years in which so much has happened. Too much.

How is Atsumu supposed to tell Kita that he had a hint about Osamu and then lost it to fucking Yakuza? How is Atsumu supposed to tell Kita that he fails at everything he tries to accomplish here in Sendai? How can Atsumu bring himself to call him when all he will hear is disappointment?

Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. His steps slow down until they come to a stop. He looks up at the evening sky and sighs.

Kita is his friend. And yet it feels strange to know that he needs to talk to him.

“Atsumu-san?”

Atsumu whips his head around and meets big observant brown eyes, holding a light that would never fail to make Atsumu smile. In front of him stands a man slightly shorter than him. Atsumu's gaze catches unruly orange hair, which he would recognize even with miles between them. Atsumu tilts his head and smiles genuinely.

“Shōyō-kun.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you that.”

“Ummm...” he points behind him and chuckles. “On the way to work. Night shift is calling.”

“Right. I forgot,” Atsumu’s smile grows wider.

Hinata Shōyō is probably one of the few people Atsumu can actually call his friend. He works as a temporary worker in a small convenience store near Atsumu's accommodation and has helped Atsumu find his way around Sendai when he first came to this city.

Hinata is pretty cool, someone Atsumu likes to hang out with. He is cheerful and energetic and definitely someone with whom it's easy to chat about the most mundane things. Atsumu likes his company and always feels at ease around Hinata. He is one of the few people he gets along with in a city full of assholes that Atsumu would like to kill all together.

Atsumu raises his brow as he notices Hinata frowning at him. He follows his skeptical stare and gasps as it lands on his white sneakers, having caught a few tiny splatters of blood.

“No fuckin’ way!”

There are two things for which Atsumu would set the world on fire. First, Osamu. His brother is sacred to him, even if he would never admit it out loud. Second, his white sneakers. No one has the right to stain them, and blood would be shed on whoever dared to do so.

This time? Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi.

Oh, Atsumu would make sure his death will be slow and agonizing.

“A-Atsumu-san, are you okay?” Hinata asks, slightly disturbed.

“Oh, don’t worry! This blood isn’t mine!” Atsumu assures, realizing the moment Hinata’s eyes widen that this doesn’t exactly make things better. “I umm… I mean don’t worry? It’s nothing?”

“Is that a question?!”

“No!”

“Atsumu-san, this is blood—”

“Not mine! Uhhh…” Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and rubs the back of his neck. He cracks one eye open and peers at Hinata almost apologetically. “I promise, it’s nothing, Shō…”

Hinata gulps and nods. His eyes are wide open as he hands Atsumu a tissue. By the look Atsumu catches from Hinata as he takes it, the assassin immediately realizes Hinata is smart enough not to ask any more questions. Of course, he is. The store he works in is in Oikawa's district. Atsumu doesn't want to know how many times Hinata has had to turn a blind eye because some fucking Kumichō thinks he owns the whole city.

“Are you in trouble?” Hinata murmurs, his gaze averted from Atsumu.

Atsumu's head snaps up, his golden eyes immediately searching for brown ones. Atsumu is about to wipe the blood off his sneakers but halts his movements when Hinata catches him thinking about something Atsumu hasn't contemplated in a long time. Is he currently in trouble? Is he about to get himself into some?

Shit, Atsumu is alone in a city teeming with Yakuza. And if that's not dangerous enough, he's plotting to get his hands on their fucking Kumichō.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Hinata asks worriedly when there is no answer from Atsumu.

Atsumu shakes his head. “No... no, Shō, everything's okay.”

The last thing Atsumu wants is to drag innocent people into his shit. Hinata was a good guy and Atsumu would make sure no one would harm him.

“Okay,” Hinata releases a long almost shaky breath and turns around. “I really have to go now... are you sure everything is alright?”

Atsumu nods. “I'm good Shōyō, thanks.”

He offers him a weak smile, which Hinata returns just as weakly. Atsumu stands up and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The two stare at each other in silence for a moment before Hinata nods goodbye and steps away from him. Just as he is about to leave, however, Atsumu stops him.

“Hey, Shō!” Hinata turns and faces Atsumu questioningly. “By any chance… d’ya know where I can find Oikawa Tōru?”

Atsumu catches Hinata's frown and the way his body tenses doesn't bode well. Shit, he must have hit a nerve here. The assassin immediately regrets his question when he notices how nervously the man in front of him gulps.

“You don’t find him, Atsumu-san…” Hinata starts, keeping his voice loud enough for Atsumu to hear. “Oikawa-san will find you instead.”

Atsumu frowns and nods. He decides not to inquire further, the question must have already caused Hinata enough stress. His reaction was proof that he must have already dealt with Oikawa before, and Atsumu concludes it was far from being pleasurable. He wouldn't have expected anything else either. Yakuza never means anything good.

Atsumu is on his way to his apartment and could swear he feels eyes on him since the conversation with Hinata, watching every move he makes. He observes his surroundings, but spots nothing unusual, deciding to shake the instinct off.

Maybe it's still the uneasy feeling that Sakusa managed to sneak up behind him, leaving a warning to his perceptions to be more careful. Maybe he was overreacting. But maybe he should take that warning to heart and be more cautious. Sendai was full of shit. The last thing Atsumu needed was a knife or a bullet in his back just for being careless for even one second.

And that's exactly what gets him so messed up. Being constantly on guard, not being able to rest for a minute. No idea how long Atsumu would be able to keep this up.

But what immediately restores his peace of mind is the golden retriever that jumps towards him when Atsumu opens the garden gate to the house where his apartment is located. A smile finds his lips and his hands are immediately in the soft and ruffled fur, tousling it until the dog lies down on its back before him and lets him scratch its belly. So much for vulnerability.

“Emi, come back!”

The dog jumps up and speeds with his tongue hanging out to a man with sandy-colored hair that's parted unevenly into two sides. He's stepped out the front door onto the porch and is nuzzling his golden retriever when the dog has obeyed him and rushed back to his side.

Atsumu chuckles as he puts his hands back in his pockets and watches the two in front of him. He slowly saunters toward them, his grin widening as he does so.

“Emi is a traitor, Shirabu.”

“A guard dog who is truly miserable at her job,” Shirabu Kenjirō replies with a smile on his face as he showers his dog Emi with unconditional love. Atsumu scratches Emi's head before pushing past Shirabu.

“Is everything okay, Atsumu?”

“Huh?” Atsumu peers at Shirabu over his shoulder.

“I haven't seen you since the morning before yesterday. Is everything okay?”

Shirabu Kenjirō owns various apartments in a Yakuza independent district in Sendai and is definitely a savior to Atsumu. He rents the apartment directly above his own and, by being at home all the time, ensures that no one can sneak into Atsumu's place.

The fact that Shirabu's fiancé is a high-ranked police officer is a mixed blessing as well. Atsumu truly doesn't have to worry about his safety, but on the other hand, he also has to be damn careful not to let them be suspicious of him. Because all they know, or think they know, is that Atsumu is a reporter investigating a secret case that he's not allowed to share details about.

Atsumu has always been a good actor.

So, it's no wonder why Shirabu is worried when Atsumu disappears for several days without letting him know. And Atsumu appreciates it. Really. There aren't many people he can trust here in Miyagi. Shirabu and his fiancé, however, are among them.

“Everything is fine, don't worry,” Atsumu bares his teeth and sees Shirabu's shoulders relax. Good. “Say, is Semi home already?”

Shirabu nods to his apartment door. “Just got home. He's not really in a good mood though...”

“What happened?”

Shirabu shrugs, “He didn't really want to talk about it, just mumbled something about how much Oikawa and Sawamura piss him off.”

“Oikawa Tōru?”

“I guess so...”

Atsumu whips his head around as the door to Semi and Shirabu's apartment opens. Semi steps out with a rather irritated look on his face, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

“Please don't mention this name.”

“I warned you, Atsumu,” Shirabu chuckles as his fiancé joined in their conversation. Semi Eita’s grumpy appearance evaporates when Shirabu kisses him on the cheek and their golden retriever Emi nudges her nose against his leg. Of course, he can't resist his sweethearts.

“I will leave you two alone now. Come in, Emi!”

Semi smiles lovingly at Shirabu and squeezes his arm lightly as he walks past. Whatever this is between the two of them, Atsumu wishes that this kind of bliss would hit him someday too. Unconditional love. Indispensable trust. A dream come true.

“Did you want to talk to me?” Semi asks him with one eyebrow raised. He was in a much better mood now.

“What's going on with Sawamura and Oikawa? Are they in cahoots?”

Semi scoffs and detaches himself from the door frame. “If I had proof, I would have locked those two behind bars long ago. Daichi is hiding something, I'm sure of it.”

“What makes you think that?” Now Atsumu was the one crossing his arms and steadying his stance. He glances questioningly at Semi with a furrowed brow.

Sawamura Daichi is the senior police officer of the Sendai police station and thus Semi's boss. Semi has suspected for several weeks now that Daichi is covering for Oikawa's crimes and therefore he will never be able to catch the Kumichō as long as Daichi is able to get in his way.

“I arrested one of Oikawa's henchmen yesterday. He was carrying a gun and beat a man bloody until we tore him away.” Semi huffs out a laugh, staring at the ground in front of him while frowning. “This man showed no remorse.”

“How do you know it was one of Oikawa's guys?”

“Is this another one of your reporter questions?”

Atsumu grins mischievously, “Maybe.”

Semi sighs and shakes his head with a smile. Atsumu has gained so much trust that Semi would tell him anything. He thinks he can vent to Atsumu and probably hopes that the blonde can actually do something about the mafia in Sendai. Oh, if only Semi knew that Atsumu's charm is always tied to his own advantage.

“When I handcuffed him and explained his rights, he just sneered at me and said that 'Iwaizumi will sort things out'.” Atsumu frowns and Semi continues, answering Atsumu's unspoken question. “Iwaizumi is Oikawa's right-hand man. The man he trusts the most.”

Atsumu's eyes widen. Jackpot. Getting to Iwaizumi shouldn't be that difficult. Then he would lead Atsumu to Oikawa.

“It didn't take long for Sawamura to get a call that was visibly getting on his nerves. But a few hours later, the henchman was walking around freely again, and it all seemed as if nothing had ever happened.”

“Iwaizumi ransomed him?”

“Sawamura called it 'a mix-up' and that this case was a misunderstanding. If you ask me? Yes, Iwaizumi or Oikawa ransomed him.” A pout crept onto Semi's lips; his brow furrowed in frustration. “I don't know how deep Sawamura's in their shit… but if this keeps going on, Oikawa's soon going to have his hands all over Sendai.”

“You wanna stop him.”

“That's my duty.”

“How?”

Semi scoffs, “Can't you ask me something simpler?”

Atsumu knew Semi was after Oikawa. The good thing about this cop is that he detests Oikawa's Yakuza at least as much as Atsumu does. So, if he can help him to get closer to the goon, it would bring Atsumu to his target as well.

“Lemme get that right: all ya need is evidence against Sawamura so ya can operate freely and proceed against Oikawa?”

“All I need? You make it sound like it's a piece of cake.”

Atsumu puckers his mouth into a snort and stifles a mischievous grin. Semi had no idea who he was facing, after all. It is indeed easy for Atsumu to dig up the deepest secrets of a police chief. Knowing that Sawamura is all to get Atsumu to Oikawa makes the search for his brother much easier. Oh, this is very simple.

Atsumu licks his lips, eyes inflamed with hunger and anticipation for the upcoming hunt.

Game’s on.

As Atsumu walks the stairs up to his apartment, the feeling of being watched intensifies. His steps are slow, quiet, and soundless, and his mind is more vigilant than before. Semi may be downstairs, but Atsumu is almost certain that something is wrong here, that somebody is present.

He perceives his surroundings but cannot find anything remarkable. His chest moves up and down in languid controlled patterns, Atsumu makes sure he's been absolutely silent.

He sneaks outside through a window in the hallway and climbs up the facade of the house onto the roof. If someone was in his apartment, it would be suicide to walk in through the door.

On the roof, Atsumu crouches down and pulls out a knife that was attached to his ankle. It was sharper than the other two in his sleeve and larger – hard to dodge. Atsumu scans the area one more time but spots nothing.

What is going on here?

He sneaks to the window of his bathroom and carefully lowers himself from the roof as his feet reach the windowsill. He hugs the wall and breaks open the window without a peep, pushes it up, and climbs into his apartment.

To be honest, Atsumu still feels like shit. He’s nauseous and his mind is still covered in a veil. He would love to just abandon Sendai and leave this dirty city with all its rotten inhabitants behind him. But no, he was currently about to get himself into even deeper shit.

And just when he thinks things can't get any worse, Atsumu catches a tall, slender person with dark brown hair that is swept outwards and eyes of the corresponding color. He is wearing a black suit plaid with delicate white lines and a white turtleneck sweater underneath, tucked into the slacks of his suit and held in place by a black 'Louis Vuitton' belt with the initials gleaming in gold.

Atsumu straightens up from his slouching position as the two make eye contact but tightens his grip around the knife in his hand. There was no need for the man to voice it, Atsumu knew immediately who he was.

Oikawa Tōru.

Oikawa grinned, revealing teeth that were flawless aside from the misfortune of being in this man’s head. He sits crossed-legged on Atsumu's bed and plays with a gun in his lap, staring at Atsumu like some good boy who has been eagerly waiting for him to return home.

“Y’know there’s a police officer downstairs, ready to take ya out and arrest ya?”

Oikawa chuckles, “And you think I came here alone?”

Of course, he didn’t. Atsumu already felt the presence when he chatted with Shōyō. Eyes that watch him. Hands that were ready to pull the trigger. A body that was ready to move. They are here. Very close. He didn't know who it was, but he knew this one was a threat.

Oikawa, on the other hand, seems harmless. But this impression might be deceptive.

“Miya Atsumu,” Oikawa chuckled devilishly. “Sit down.”

“I prefer standin’.”

“That wasn't a question.”

“What? Ya think I’m yer bitch?”

“I could make you be exactly that.”

Atsumu snorts. He knew Oikawa was one of the biggest jerks here, but it still amazed the assassin to seeing him being so full of his shit.

Oikawa draws a silver case and a lighter from his jacket. He pulls out a cigarette, sticks it between his lips, and flips open the lighter. He takes a drag or two until the smoke swirls through his lungs and then holds out the case to Atsumu, offering him one as well.

“What d’ya want?”

Golden fire meets endless gasoline. It's a dangerous game, too easy to get hurt. One that can quickly turn deadly.

Their eyes are locked as Oikawa puts the case, as well as the lighter, back into his jacket and slowly rises from the bed. He leaves the pistol on top of Atsumu's mattress and approaches the assassin with slow, wary steps.

He tilts his head to the side as he stands in front of Atsumu to blow the smoke from his lungs, brown eyes steadily locked with gold ones. Oikawa is taller than him, and yet Atsumu is not one bit intimidated. He is cautious, and observant, keeping an eye on the Kumichō's every move.

“Shiratorizawa? Seriously Atsu-chan? You could have chosen any part of Sendai to stay in, and you chose Shiratorizawa?”

“I heard they don't like you.”

“What a lie,” Oikawa sneers. “Everyone loves me.”

“Sure, darlin’.”

The person who is keeping an eye on Atsumu must be somewhere behind him. If he cuts Oikawa's throat, he is sure to be a dead man as well.

Fucking Yakuza...

Oikawa reaches behind his back and pulls something out from under his jacket. Atsumu's eyes widen in surprise as he hands him a brown leather sheath with a patch sewn on it, showing a sun and a crescent moon. Atsumu's gaze falls to the knife in Oikawa's hand for a split second before sinking back into his big brown eyes. Atsumu frowns.

“It belongs to someone you're looking for, doesn't it?” Oikawa drags on his cigarette and gestures with the item in his hand, “Take it.”

Atsumu swallows thickly and shifts his gaze back to Osamu's knife. He reaches for it hesitantly, hand clasping the soft leather tightly, convinced he will never let it go. Is it a trap? Atsumu has no idea. He knows very well that someone is standing right behind him pointing a gun at him, and yet he trusts Oikawa not to harm him.

Honestly, when did Atsumu become so stupid?

“You’re looking for your brother, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t seem to be any of yer business.”

“Osamu,” Oikawa smirks sickly. “Wasn’t that his name?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen, and the grip on his knives tightens.

How can Oikawa be so many steps ahead of him? How could he know that Atsumu would come looking for him? How could he know that Atsumu would be after this very knife in his hands? How did he know that Atsumu would be here? And most important of all, how could he know about Osamu?

Atsumu's plan to help Semi catch Sawamura is now obsolete. Oikawa stands before him in body and soul, and Atsumu still has no idea how dangerous this current situation actually is. He can't see through Oikawa. He doesn't even understand why he just handed him Osamu's blade when fucking Sakusa Kiyoomi knocked him out hours before and snatched that very knife from him.

Maybe Oikawa has answers to all the questions floating in Atsumu's head. He needs to know about Osamu's disappearance. He needs to know where his brother is and how to rescue him. And above all, Atsumu needs to know if—

“He’s alive, Atsumu.”

Atsumu's gaze snaps up to Oikawa. His body tenses.

What?

“Where did ya get it from?” The words unconsciously leave his lips.

‘Samu is alive…

“Chibi-chan found it and gave it to me a while ago. Some bastard stole it along with some other stuff and thought he could bootleg shit… weapons, drugs, gold… in the middle of Sendai! Do you believe that?! The audacity!”

Oikawa slumps down on Atsumu's bed and flails his arms as he speaks. Atsumu's eyes are still wide open, his body not twitching a bit. Atsumu gulps.

‘Samu…

“The knife isn't all I have, Atsumu.” Oikawa stubs out the cigarette on Atsumu's nightstand and throws the stub on the floor. This bastard has no manners. “Apparently your brother left some more things in Sendai.”

‘Samu, are you here?

“What d’ya want?”

Atsumu repeats, his expression is serious. He has no clue what Oikawa is planning.

“Power. Fortitude… evidence,” Oikawa's eyes are dark, menacing. “Just like you, I need to find Miya Osamu.”

“Why?”

“Because he's the key to me regaining Seijoh from the asshole that expanded in Tokyo,” Oikawa explains with a pissed-off look on his face.

Said asshole from Tokyo is Ushijima Wakatoshi and he is, along with Oikawa, one of the three big Kumichōs that took the largest territories in Japan. Atsumu has never seen his face. However, he has heard a lot about him.

Atsumu doesn't know much about the internal conflicts of the three big Yakuza. When someone orders him to eliminate a certain asshole, he doesn't care which group they belong to, because one less member means one more ease for Japan. However, what he has noticed is that the frontiers between them aren't as peaceful as they used to be a while ago.

There’d been an uptick in violence among the three big Yakuza over the last few months. From all three sides, men were sending up smoke signals to each other in blood and gunpowder. There is a war brewing. A big one. Atsumu knows that.

From what he could gather about Oikawa and his members, he knew that Seijoh was Oikawa's home. Losing that territory to a rival, an enemy, must have been like a slap in the face. So, if Oikawa has to find Osamu in order to obtain evidence to regain his territory, then Atsumu could take advantage of that. He would no longer fight alone.

But it's fucking Yakuza and he truly had no reason to get involved in their disputes.

“Join me, and we’re going to find him.”

Atsumu knows it's wrong. But he is tired, exhausted, and desperate. He has been looking for his brother for almost two years now and the progress he makes on his own is small. Much too small.

He knows it’s a deal with the devil, but Atsumu spent his entire life in hell so what difference would it make? It shouldn't be a problem to abandon them once he has his brother back. Maybe this is his only chance.

So, you're seriously gonna let Yakuza help you?

The voice inside his head is small, but he is sure it belongs to Osamu. He won't be amused to find out what Atsumu is getting himself into just now. No one from Inarizaki will be. But for Atsumu, this is the only chance.

“Tell me what ya know.”

Atsumu extinguishes his inner conflict and surrenders to his heart, which cries out to cling to any opportunity to bring his twin back home. His current option? Oikawa Tōru.

I will save you, ‘Samu.

Dawn comes quickly after an almost sleepless night. Atsumu lies wide awake in his bed and stares at the ceiling, letting his conversation with Oikawa run through his mind. He fiddles with his necklace and plays with the crescent moon talisman in his fingers.

Atsumu received the piece of jewelry from his deceased mother when he and Osamu were born. The golden charm is the counterpart to the necklace that belongs to Osamu and represents the twins’ bond. Whenever Atsumu craves Osamu’s proximity, he reaches for his necklace. A connection that enables him to feel his brother’s presence by doing so.

Atsumu sighs in frustration. He has a mission and that is to find Osamu.

If he’s honest, Oikawa’s help is exactly what he needs. Left alone, he has reached his limits, and Oikawa offers him opportunities he can only dream of. After all, Atsumu is in Sendai of all places, so wouldn't it be foolish to refuse his help?

Oikawa is sly and Atsumu has absolutely no reason to trust him. But he can't get anywhere on his own, so what can he do? Miyagi is Oikawa's territory. Of course, he has much more possibilities than Atsumu alone, but why would that goon want to help him just like that?

With Yakuza, nothing happens without ulterior motives.

The deal Oikawa proposed is simple. Atsumu helps him out until they find Osamu. In return, Oikawa provides him with all the resources, information, and men he has. A win-win situation, if he was naïve enough.

Oh, Oikawa is a charmer and of course, he buttered Atsumu up. He knows full well Atsumu isn't that dense and wouldn’t fall for his scheming, and yet Atsumu can't find the slightest clue as to what Oikawa's true aim is.

'Inarizaki's assassins are powerful,' he said, and, 'I have no intentions of messing with you. I know what you are capable of, Atsumu.'

So, is it truly just a short-term alliance?

Apparently, Oikawa wants to help him without any ulterior motives and would therefore ensure his safety. All Atsumu must do in return is play a Yakuza member for a certain time and if he’s honest, he has made worse deals before.

'I'll be waiting for you at our headquarters tomorrow at 8 am. My security men have been informed and will let you join us on the top floor,' Oikawa grinned determinedly. 'If you don't show up, I don't know how much longer I can tolerate you here in Sendai, Atsu-chan.'

A threat. A legitimate one.

Atsumu huffs and brushes his hair out of his face. For a while, he lies motionless in his bed, staring at the nothingness above him. His arm is positioned across his forehead while his other hand vigorously squeezes the charm of his necklace.

“Fuck this,” he mutters as he kicks the covers off him and jumps up.

Shirabu and Semi's golden retriever is already waiting excitedly as Atsumu sneaks down the stairs in his neon blue and black tracksuit. It's still way too early in the morning, and he doesn't want to wake up his landlords. Atsumu grabs the leash to go for a walk with Emi, jogging his morning lap as if he was living the life of a normal citizen and not that of an assassin.

Sharp blades are hidden in his sleeve. Just in case.

Atsumu gasps and puffs, giving his body the rest. He barely got a wink of sleep tonight, and the after-effects of the narcotic Sakusa injected are still palpable. Not as bad as they were yesterday, nevertheless he can't exactly say he feels good. Would he even be allowed to feel so if his brother is still missing?

He's alive, Atsumu.

He runs faster than he has ever done before in his life.

Atsumu and Oikawa share a common goal. Osamu.

By the time Atsumu returns, Semi has already left for work, and Shirabu is embroiled in a heated discussion on his phone. He waves to Atsumu, standing at the window inside their house while the blonde enters Shirabu's property with their dog. Atsumu returns the greeting with a sympathetic look. He's happy to take at least some of the work off Shirabu's hands by borrowing their dog for his purposes.

Atsumu ruffles Emi's fur as he unleashes her and gives her a gentle pat on the side of her butt before she runs happily through the garden. For a moment, his lips twist into a gentle smile. Osamu loved dogs; he would certainly adore Emi.

Atsumu jumps up the stairs and enters his apartment. He takes off his sweaty clothes and heads straight for the shower, turning the water so hot that it burns his skin and getting himself cleaned up. He hisses as he turns the shower to ice cold and the sudden change in temperature leaves a pleasant ache on his skin.

As long as he feels something, he is alive.

Atsumu hops out of the shower and gets dressed. He slips on a tight white shirt and drops his golden necklace over it for everyone to see. Attached to his ankle, hidden under his green cargo pants, are three different knives that he is oh-so itching to use. Before sneaking into his burgundy jacket, Atsumu puts on his black leather holster vest, storing more weapons ready to use.

He checks himself in the mirror and fixes his damp wavy hair, then he steps into his bedroom. Atsumu walks to his bed, his gaze falls directly on the brown leather sheath on the mattress. He swallows. Thickly.

With slightly shaky fingers, Atsumu pulls the knife from its sheath and examines the beautifully curved blade. It is a clip-point blade, with the back concaved to make the tip thinner and sharper. Absolutely perfect for piercing and puncturing. Made for Osamu.

As if that wasn't enough, serrations after the clip make using the knife even more painful. It features a very fine inverse belly on the upper side of the spine that has a bevel and adds to the slicing versatility. Even if Atsumu hates to admit it, Sakusa was right.

It is truly a beautiful weapon.

He slips the knife back into its sheath and secures it to his belt. Atsumu’s fingers graze the soft patch sewn onto the leather and skim over the outline of the sun and crescent moon. He takes a deep breath and furrows his brow.

He will save Osamu, no matter what.

Atsumu feels completely out of place as he stands in front of two huge skyscrapers. The windows of the buildings are shaded black and literally scream for Yakuza to linger around. Oikawa doesn't exactly care about keeping his head low.

Entering the lobby, he suddenly finds himself feeling so small. The people walking in and out of the building somehow make him wonder if his outfit actually suits this place he's in and then he shakes his head. That’s not important right now (and besides, Atsumu knows he looks flawless).

The receptionist fires Atsumu a scrutinizing and almost disdainful look as he walks past her to get to the elevator. He decides he won't be unnerved by her and then lets it happen anyway.

Two tall and broad guys standing firmly in front of the elevator make Atsumu's heart drop to his stomach, but don't seem to stop him from warily sneaking into it. He breathes a sigh of relief as the doors close and the elevator starts to take him to the top floor.

Entering the lion's den... What a stupid bunny you are, ‘Tsumu.

After what seems like an eternity, a 'Ping!' snaps Atsumu out of his thoughts, and the elevator doors open. A narrow hallway with black marble floor is revealed before him, illuminated by the faint daylight shining through a set of floor-to-ceiling windows on the right, offering a view over the dreary city of Sendai.

Two black doors dare Atsumu to find out what’s hidden behind them. One is at the end of the hallway, the other a few steps to his left. Atsumu hears voices, distant and muffled, that get louder the closer he walks toward the double door to his left. He tilts his head and listens, trying to pick out what the people behind it are talking about, but he can't figure it out.

His gaze flits from the corner of his eye to the other door and he wonders if he should find out what’s behind it. He pushes the thought aside, though. That's not for now.

As Atsumu opens the door and enters the vast room beyond, the voices die down and several pairs of eyes fix on him. He feels like a lamb thrown to the lions. Hopeless and vulnerable.

He scans the room and measures his chances of eliminating the 20... 30 people around him, everyone wearing guns very prominently. Two goons to his right look like they’re an easy match, the white-haired man in the back though could be a problem and—

Is that Hinata?!

“Atsumu.” Oikawa pushes himself from his desk and walks over to the assassin, a sly smile emerging on his face. “I was expecting you.”

Oikawa throws his arm around Atsumu's shoulder, feigning to be his good old friend and not his foe, utterly convinced the assassin wouldn't kill him. Atsumu's body tenses, his breathing is shallow. Oikawa is playing on his good nature and this bastard knows exactly Atsumu won't kill him as long as...

As long as he is here.

Atsumu swallows thickly the moment he spots Sakusa Kiyoomi standing next to Oikawa's desk. He has no doubt those curls, and half-masked face belong to the very person he'd most like to kill first. He examines Sakusa from top to bottom while Oikawa slowly leads him through the room. Unconsciously, he takes one step after another, his mind too distracted, his gaze transfixed.

Sakusa is slim and ripped, his shoulders broad but his waist so small. Leaning casually against one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, he holds his black jacket folded neatly over his forearm, the contours of his muscles standing out thanks to the tight anthracite turtleneck shirt he’s wearing.

His head is tipped to the side, his gaze fixed on the city below. The dull daylight leaves the exposed part of his face even paler but doesn’t quite pick out the color of those intense dark and cold eyes. Or maybe it’s just because Atsumu can’t focus his own enough to tell if they were brown, or black, or whatever. He doesn’t care, he reminds himself.

His slender fingers are hidden in the pockets of his slacks. Merely a section of his suede gloves peeks out from between the silky fabric of his pants and the tight-fitting sleeves of his shirt, ensuring that every inch of his skin is covered. Not even to his colleagues does Sakusa reveal his true appearance. Not even here can Atsumu satisfy the insatiable thirst of his curiosity. What a shame.

Atsumu would sooner or later tear off his idiotic mask to run his blade across his face. Would watch as Sakusa's blood embellished his own body. Would picture him on his knees and lose himself in those dark eyes that would peer up at him glazed over, no longer able to withhold any tears. Eyes as dark as the night. Eyes so intense and captivating. Eyes that should be fixed solely on him.

“—ain't that right, Atsu-chan?”

Atsumu whips his head to the side and only noticed now that he’s seated between Hinata and the white-haired guy he spotted earlier. When the fuck did he sit down? And why the fuck is he even here?! Only now does Atsumu realize that Oikawa has been talking about him (to him?) the whole time. Shit – how much did he actually miss?

“Don't worry, Oikawa-san!” Hinata turns to Atsumu with a broad grin on his face. “We're gonna have some fun!”

“Sure,” Atsumu replies with a faint smile, having no idea what those two were just discussing. He will have to deal with Hinata later, though.

As Oikawa continues talking, his gaze drifts back to Sakusa. He, too, stares at Atsumu with a look of disdain. Atsumu props his elbows on his knees and folds his hands in front of his face. His eyes burn into Sakusa's eternal night, the blades in his sleeves keen to be used any second.

Atsumu honestly doesn't care what the Kumichō is talking about. All his senses warn him about right now is the man in black in front of him, whose desire to kill was at least as strong as his own. He just needs to get close enough to him, then—

“You're dismissed. Kiyoomi, you stay. Oh, and Chibi-chan,” Oikawa crosses his arms in front of his chest and grins slyly. “Make sure Atsu-chan gets the best of us.”

Hinata salutes him, “Will do!”

Then the voices in the room get louder and the crowd gradually leaves Oikawa's office. Atsumu didn't take his eyes off Sakusa for a second, and neither did the latter. So, while Sakusa gracefully slips on his suit jacket, Atsumu walks toward him with tentative steps. Weary and careful, like two big cats about to attack each other any minute. A tiger and a panther, incompatible with each other.

“Miya,” Sakusa says once Atsumu is only a few steps away and slows to a halt. He adjusts his collar before the skin at the corners of his eyes creases into a sick smile and the look he shoots the blonde is nothing but contemptuous. “Already woken up from your beauty sleep?”

“Sure, I've had a thousand different dreams ‘bout how I'm gonna kill ya. Spoiler! Every one of ‘em had a happy ending with you bein’ dead.”

“Awww, so you did dream about me.”

It’s only one quick step forward, pulling out the blade and stab.

“Only the best dreams, Omi-kun.” Atsumu's hooded eyes shift to Sakusa's jugular while his hands slip into the pockets of his pants. The temptation is too great. Atsumu has never been so close to him as he is now, never so close to actually being able to hurt him. To kill him.

He lets the blades of his knives slide down slowly but doesn't let on what he's doing. All he gets from Sakusa, however, is a scornful laugh. He lowers his voice and speaks just loud enough for only Atsumu to hear, “Go on, Miya, show them your knives. I’d be happy to see the others shooting at least 40 bullets through that empty skull of yours.”

Atsumu stops his movements, a sly smirk creeping onto his face.

“Dunno whatcha mean. I came here unarmed, darlin’.” Atsumu flashes a grin as if Osamu's knife isn't visibly attached to his belt.

Sakusa snorts, “Sure.”

Atsumu isn’t a rookie, and this is one of the easiest tricks. The fact that Sakusa saw through him means nothing. He's just lucky Atsumu isn't actually carrying his favorite weapon because Atsumu knows Sakusa has no chance if he would actually get serious.

“Can't wait to work with ya, Omi-kun.”

“You will never work with me, Miya.”

“Never say never,” Atsumu winks. “You’d have a lot of fun with me.”

Sakusa's gaze falls on Atsumu's throat. Atsumu gulps. “Sure,” the asshole says.

“Hey Atsumu-san, let's go!” Hinata rips them out whatever that is between them and waves him over. Ah, so apparently, he's teamed up with the kid.

Atsumu nods, his gaze still locked on Sakusa's dark eyes. “Alright, Shōyō.”

“Break a leg.” Sakusa's face is indifferent.

“Thanks, Omi-Omi.”

“No, I mean it. Break a leg and die.”

Atsumu snorts, “I ain't gonna make it that easy for ya, darlin’.”

He smirks, slowly walking away from him and joining Hinata. Atsumu doesn't care if Sakusa can attack him from behind – he wouldn't do it anyway. Not as long as Oikawa needs him. Before I die, you die, Atsumu muses, following Hinata deep in thought. That is until they arrive at the kid's car.

They get in and Atsumu lifts a brow, turning to Hinata.

“So, Yakuza, huh?”

Hinata chuckles sheepishly as he starts the engine and drives the car.

“I’m sorry Atsumu-san, Oikawa-san told me I can't tell you yet.”

“Sure he did…” Atsumu muttered under his breath.

He stares at Hinata, wondering how someone like him could end up joining Yakuza. The boy doesn't seem at all like someone who handles weapons and fights on a daily basis. He's too docile for that... too innocent.

“And here I thought ya were just’a humble worker intimidated by Oikawa's gang.”

“I'm a good actor, right?!” Hinata announces proudly, his eyes twinkling and his grin stretching from one ear to the other. He gushes with enthusiasm.

“Why, though? You don't seem like the kind of guy who'd mess around.”

Hinata giggles again, “Aren't the ones who seem to be harmless actually the worst?”

Atsumu raises both eyebrows and huffs a laugh, looking at the fellow ginger. Oikawa has been harmless so far. Hinata didn't even strike him as a Yakuza member. Was that a threat? A hint?

“How long?” Atsumu asks.

Hinata lifts a questioning brow in response as he turns to Atsumu for a second, then returns his gaze to the street in front of him. Atsumu decides to elaborate on his question.

“How long have ya been watchin’ me?”

Atsumu isn't stupid. It makes sense why Oikawa sent Hinata after him. The kid is easy to befriend and would be one of the last people Atsumu would suspect of belonging to Oikawa. Hinata was one of the first and only people from Sendai Atsumu allowed to enter his life, and now the assassin wonders how many steps Oikawa is actually ahead of him.

Did all this just happen when Hinata met him? An (un)lucky twist of fate? Or was Oikawa already awaiting him in Sendai and set Hinata on him? That would be the worst-case scenario for Atsumu because it would mean Oikawa knew a lot more than he openly admits. That he knew about things that not even Atsumu could grasp until now.

Hinata stops the car and kills the engine. His gaze is fixed on the firm grip of fingers clutching the steering wheel, and a deep frown has settled on his forehead. Hinata gulps before turning to Atsumu with a now more relaxed expression.

“A while,” he replies. “When I saw you for the very first time, though, I didn't know who you were if that's what you're asking.”

Oh?

Aside from the fact that Atsumu can't see through Oikawa, can't read Sakusa because of his mask, and would never have thought Hinata was a member of the mob, Atsumu is a master at reading people. He knows Hinata is telling the truth.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Huh?” Atsumu’s head snaps up.

“I mean I lied to you… I understand if you’re upset…” Hinata avoids Atsumu’s gaze and frowns. Either this kid is one hell of an actor, or he's genuinely sorry. Atsumu opts for the latter.

“Nahhh, ya didn't lie to me, Shō. You jus’ didn't tell me everything ‘bout yerself. Neither did I, right?” Atsumu smiles and so does Hinata. He nods, “Right.”

“Although I do blame you a little ya didn’t tell me Oikawa was already waitin’ for me when I asked ya ‘bout him. You knew, didn't ya?”

Hinata winces and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“You caught me off guard there. When Sakusa-san stopped by, I wanted to make sure that you were alright. Iwaizumi-san was watching us the whole time, that's why I was so nervous and didn't want to say or do anything wrong.”

Atsumu's eyes widen for a split second. So, Iwaizumi was the one observing him, huh?

“He wasn't at the meeting today, was he?”

“Iwaizumi?”

“Yeah.”

Hinata shakes his head. “He was in Yamagata overnight for a mission. I guess that's why Oikawa kept Sakusa in. Iwaizumi will probably be at the headquarters any minute to report.”

“And they're Oikawa’s watchdogs or what?”

Hinata shrugs his shoulders. “They're by far the best among us. I wouldn't mess with them for no reason.”

As for Iwaizumi, Atsumu can't say much. Sakusa, however, Atsumu has already seen fight. He knows how talented the goon is and Atsumu knows Sakusa is definitely not an easy opponent. Manageable, yes, but not to be taken lightly.

“Oikawa shouldn't be underestimated, Atsumu-san,” Hinata says, getting out of the car. Atsumu follows his lead. The fellow ginger puts his arms on top of the vehicle and leans over. “I wouldn't say they're his guardians. They are just very close to him… He kinda trusts them blindly.”

Atsumu frowns, “And he doesn't do that to the rest of you?”

Hinata chuckles but shakes his head. “No, it's not like that. We're just very... chaotic sometimes.”

Atsumu smiles. Of course. It reminds him too much of himself, Osamu, and their best friend Suna. How many times did they prowl around, getting into some mischief that Kita definitely didn't instruct them to do? There's a reason why Kita doesn't share everything with them, and that's okay.

It's good he has a selected number of close confidants. They all know how much they mean to Kita anyway because it was at least as much the other way around. No one in Inarizaki would ever doubt him, they will all trust him blindly, so it had to be the same with Hinata, his colleagues, and Oikawa.

“I understand,” Atsumu offers him a gentle smile that grows more with each passing second. “I would've been amazed if Omi would ever decide to have some fun with ya guys. That jerk has a stick up his ass.”

“Omi?” Hinata laughed.

“Ah, Sakusa.”

“Haha! That nickname could have been from Bokuto-san!!”

“Bokuto?”

“Yeah, the one with white hair? Owl-ish eyes? He’s fun!!”

Atsumu laughs. He doubts that anyone from Yakuza is fun – well except Hinata maybe. But yes, he remembers him. He was one of the few he spotted right when he entered the conference room. Atsumu ended up sitting between him and Hinata.

“I will introduce you to each other tonight once we are done with this mission here!”

Speaking of…

“Where are we even?” Atsumu checks his surroundings and realizes they are in front of the small convenience store where Hinata works as a 'temporary worker', near Shiratorizawa's district. “What are we gonna do?”

“Oikawa said the most talented person I could learn from was you.” Hinata grins broadly and tosses Atsumu a pair of spyglasses, which he catches without further effort. “Care to show me some of your tricks?”

Atsumu can't help but laugh. “Gotcha.”

Working with Hinata was sheer fun.

Although the two of them spent the whole day just watching various people, it didn't get boring for even one second. After all, Atsumu's first instincts don't fool him. Hinata is genuinely a good person, someone with whom he can easily spend the whole day and night.

Atsumu hasn't talked so profusely and carefree with a person in a long time but with Hinata, it's easy. It's like they've always been friends. As if they've known each other forever. As if Hinata wasn't one of his foes, but rather an actual friend.

Hinata revealed to him that he joined Yakuza because of a long-lost love, but when Atsumu wanted to elaborate, he dodged the topic. It was like untouched land, Atsumu understood that immediately. It's none of his business and he accepts that, after all, Hinata didn't bother to ask him further about the reason he joined Oikawa in the first place.

“Common interests,” was all Atsumu could come up with because telling anyone about Osamu would be too risky. The less they knew, the better. After all, he's still dealing with Yakuza. They would be the last ones he should trust.

So, after a pretty uneventful day, Hinata dragged him to a bar, where apparently more of his colleagues were hanging out. To be honest, Atsumu should feel more uncomfortable than he actually does, but trusting his instincts hasn't been so wrong so far (hopefully).

They reach the counter where a man with white hair – Bokuto (?) – and another man with short spiky brown hair are sitting. His face is unknown to Atsumu, but his aura is not.

“Iwaizumi-san, Bokuto-san!”

Ah, so that's Iwaizumi.

They both turn around as Hinata calls for their names and meet a wide grin from their ginger lad, putting a smile on their lips as well.

“Hey hey hey!! Shōyō!!” the Owl-guy exclaims. Bokuto, Atsumu reminds himself.

“You remember Atsumu?” Hinata points his thumb behind him at said man, who draws one of his hands from his jacket pocket and lifts it to greet the two men. His lips tighten into a thin smile.

“Of course, I do!! Glad to have you with us Atsumu!! Bokuto Kōtarō‘s the name!”

“The pleasure is all mine.” And it wasn't at all but lying was somehow the easier option next to an argument in a bar full of Yakuza members, all of whom Atsumu despised. After all, he shouldn't get on Oikawa's bad side just yet at least.

“Bokuto-san is in charge of crazy missions,” Hinata grins. “I don't think there's anything this guy wouldn't do.”

Bokuto laughs profusely, “Make something explode and I'm your man.”

“If you want everyone to know you're around maybe. That doesn't apply to the vast majority of our missions though, Bo,” the other man interjects before sipping his beer. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

He extends his hand and Atsumu hesitates for a second on whether to shake it or not. In the end, he does but is wary.

“Miya Atsumu.”

“I know,” he grins. “Oikawa couldn't stop talking about you.”

“Only good things, I hope.”

“Absolutely,” Iwaizumi replies as he rolls up his sleeves, revealing snake tattoos on his skin writhing around his arm.

Atsumu's gaze travels up their coils until the art vanishes into the crook of Iwaizumi's arm beneath his sleeve, though that doesn't stop Atsumu from taking a closer look at Iwaizumi's beefy upper arms. If Atsumu was in Oikawa's place, he would probably want to keep Iwaizumi around as well.

“So, you're assigned to Chibi-chan, huh?” Bokuto asks.

“Seems like it,” Atsumu smiles weakly and shrugs his shoulders.

“A veritable master of analysis,” Bokuto explains like a proud mother.

“That's true,” Iwaizumi agrees. “You made a good catch with Hinata.”

Hinata's face blushes slightly, and a wide grin appears on his lips, leaving Atsumu smiling a bit as well. The interaction was nice, kind of familiar, almost like being at home in Inarizaki with Atsumu’s friends. Everyone makes it so easy for him to feel at ease – a trap?

“He may not look like it, but this kid is really something!” Bokuto ruffles Hinata’s hair, both of them are laughing.

“Don’t spoil him too much Bokuto!” A man with light gray hair and a mole under his left hazel-brown eye reaches the three and a half Yakuza members and, flashing a grin, puts his arm around Hinata's shoulders, pulling him into a quarter hug. “He's about to get as cocky as you are!”

“Ha!” Laughs Bokuto, “You're confusing cockiness with confidence, Suga!”

The man chuckles, “Whatever you say, Bo.”

Atsumu watches the guys in front of him and doesn't quite know how to feel. They are nice, seemingly wanting to make a move on him, but honestly, that's the last thing Atsumu wants.

His priority is to save Osamu. The sooner he gets to him, the quicker he'll get rid of fucking Yakuza and won't have to deal with any of this. But then it's situations like this where he realizes how lonely he's been the last two years and how good it is to have at least a few people around with whom he actually gets along.

He counted Shōyō as one of his friends when he didn't know whose side he was actually on. Does any of this really change their situation that much?

“Sugawara Kōshi, but please, call me Suga,” the as-yet-unknown man snatches Atsumu from his thoughts and offers his hand. He stares at it for a while before deciding to shake it.

“Miya—"

“—Atsumu. So, you're the miracle boy Oikawa was raving about, huh?” Atsumu raises both eyebrows, but Sugawara just smiles at him kindly.

“It's nice to finally meet you! Make yourself at home.” Atsumu doubts that will ever be the case, but he thanks him anyway and nods.

“Suga is the bartender and owner of this bar,” Iwaizumi explains and smirks. “And a real pain in the ass who doesn’t know when to shut up,” Oikawa chimes in and drags an arm around Atsumu's shoulders to pull him close. Atsumu’s head snaps up to him, but Oikawa just winks, “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Kawa!” Sugawara laughs as he moves behind the bar to grab a towel. Oikawa can't help but chuckle too, his gaze once again fixed on Atsumu's golden eyes.

“Hope you had a fantastic day, Atsu-chan.” Oikawa flashes him a smile and God, Atsumu hates that goofy grin. Oikawa was definitely not a person he would ever trust and the whole charade of them getting along so well makes Atsumu feel like throwing up.

“Sure, darlin’,” Atsumu replies with a faking smile. Oikawa's arms slide off Atsumu's body and the Kumichō chooses to invade Iwaizumi's personal space instead. He situates himself between his spread legs and puts a hand on his shoulder. With the other, he reaches for Iwaizumi's beer and brings it to his mouth. Atsumu watches every little movement, ever vigilant.

He still can't see through Oikawa at all. Atsumu has no idea if the moment would come when the Kumichō would actually jab a knife into his back, or if he truly just offers him his help without any ulterior motives.

All of this, the kindness, the amicable treatment, and the shady delight of Atsumu joining their gang, just confuses the assassin to no end. Why are they all pretending to like Atsumu? And why does Atsumu actually start to fall for it? Are two years of loneliness in fact causing him to be that desperate?

“Atsumu, don’t let Oikawa mess with you. This guy is a pain in the ass too, you know?” Suga explains with a broad grin stretched on his face while he starts polishing a glass. Oikawa snorts, setting Iwaizumi's beer back down on the counter, “What do you mean, Suga? I am super sweet.”

“Figured,” Atsumu snorts and causes everyone around him to laugh, except for Oikawa. “Hey!” The Kumichō pouts. Atsumu earns a peppy smack on the back from Bokuto who can’t help but laugh wholeheartedly.

“I like this kid!” He shouts, infecting everyone around him with his cheerfulness. Even Atsumu can't help but smile.

It's okay. He can let it happen. He just has to trust his instincts.

“Atsumu knows how to talk back,” Iwaizumi smirks, putting a cigarette between his lips. “Do you know what you've gotten yourself into, Kawa?”

“Oh, shut up,” the Kumichō hisses and snaps the cigarette out of Iwaizumi’s mouth to put it between his lips and lights it. Iwaizumi scowls at him. “You're all traitors,” Oikawa whines after taking two deep drags and blowing the smoke to the side. Iwaizumi raises his brow in irritation, Sugawara and Atsumu chuckle lightly. Atsumu wonders if Oikawa is deliberately pissing his right-hand man off like this. Presumably, he is.

“Anyway,” Oikawa starts and turns back to Hinata. “Is there any news from Shiratorizawa?”

Hinata shakes his head. “Atsumu-san and I have been watching all suspects, but there was nothing suspicious. Are you sure Ushijima-san wants to get Shiratorizawa under his control?”

Oikawa nods, taking another deep drag. “It's his home and there are too many people considering him a saint.”

“So, yer gonna do what exactly? Get it under yer belt before he does?” Atsumu asks with spite in his voice. That's exactly what he hates. Assholes who think some unrelated territory belongs to them. As much as Atsumu knows, Shiartorizawa has always been independent and that's how it should stay, no matter what any wannabe bosses might command.

Maybe it's the urge to protect Shirabu and Semi, but Atsumu was wrong in his assessment.

“You misunderstand Oikawa,” Iwaizumi interjects calmly, gently pulling the cigarette out of Oikawa's hand to take a drag himself. Then Bokuto joins in and flashes a smile. “Shiratorizawa is probably the last territory ‘Kawa would want to get his hands on,” he laughs and leaves Atsumu frowning, his gaze snapping to Oikawa. They stare at each other in silence for a moment, then Oikawa parts his lips.

“Things have been getting a little out of hand lately. Since Ushiwaka got Seijoh, we've all agreed to honor a cease-fire.” Oikawa gulps and frowns. “That also includes not being allowed to expand our current territory.”

Atsumu doesn't dare to ask why Oikawa lost Seijoh, but he can see how much the Kumichō is bothered by it. This may be the first time that Atsumu can truly decipher Oikawa. His grief and anger at losing something that was his are still utterly present, that's obvious.

“What happens when he does? Does it really matter whether you Yakuza people follow the rules or not?”

Oikawa laughs mockingly, “It's a done deal. Whoever breaks the contract makes himself vulnerable.” Whoever breaks the contract may be killed without consequences. Atsumu understands.

“So, Ushijima tries it in another way?”

“It is not necessarily against the rules if the people of Shiratorizawa want to join him voluntarily. If they specifically wish to join his territory, then that's okay.”

Atsumu scoffs. Everyone in Yakuza is and always will be lousy rats. So Ushijima 'convinces' them to do that.

“A few of Ushijima’s people started meeting in a high-rise building. Atsumu-san and I will keep an eye on them,” Hinata explains.

“Okay,” Oikawa nods and exhales. “Be careful, but strike when you need to. No solo efforts, though, got it? And make sure no one is ever left alone. This one might get tricky.”

“Yessir!” Hinata salutes and Atsumu nods. You can say what you want about Oikawa Tōru, but you have to give him credit for caring so much about his men. It is important to him that none of them are ever put in serious danger.

“By the way… Hinata, have you exchanged numbers with Atsumu yet?” Oikawa asks.

“Oh shoot! No, I haven't gotten to that yet!” Hinata's eyes are wide as he grips his hair with both hands. He fumbles his phone out of his jacket pocket and then holds out his palm to Atsumu. Hinata grins, “Care to share?”

Ugh – Atsumu really shouldn't. Really. He should have gotten a fake phone and a fake number because it's clear he wouldn't get around this. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but still.

Atsumu narrows his eyes as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. How could he ever turn down this sunshine in front of him? Fuck Hinata Shōyō. And fuck Oikawa for knowing exactly how to charm Atsumu.

“Uhhh, I think you should call 'Sunarin' back?” Hinata says, looking at Atsumu's screen in confusion and wanting to return the phone. But Atsumu scoffs and waves him off. “Nah, it's not that important.”

“'Tsumu, if you don't answer your fucking phone soon, I'll make sure Kita-'” Hinata can't even finish reading the sentence aloud before Atsumu snatched the phone out of his hand, panicking. Atsumu's eyes are wide open, his pulse is skyrocketing, and his heart is racing. Fuck.

Kita.

Kita-san (today, 10:23 am):

>> Atsumu what's going on?

Kita-san (today, 01:18 pm):

>> I am worried. Do you want me to send Suna?

Kita-san (today, 8:51 pm):

>> I will send Suna.

Atsumu's eyes scan the multiple messages, and he scolds himself for not just calling Kita back the moment he received his first one. Honestly, it just made everything much worse now. The guilt eating him up is best to swallow him from the earth forever. Atsumu writes back with slightly shaky fingers and sweaty palms.

Kita-san (today, 9:14 pm):

>> Sorry Kita can't talk right now. I'm on to something that can lead me to Samu.

>> DON'T send Rin.

After sending Suna a simple 'can't talk now', he hands Hinata his phone and exhales deeply. Since Atsumu started looking for Osamu, he's only been back to Inarizaki once, and that was exactly a year ago. It doesn't feel like home. Not when Osamu isn't there.

“Tsumu, huh?” Bokuto grins broadly. Atsumu stares at him in confusion, then has to chuckle a little too.

“It's a nickname my friends from Hyogo gave me.” A nickname my brother gave me, he almost said, but no one was supposed to know he even had any siblings. He trusts Oikawa didn't tell them. At least no one has confronted him about his real reasons for joining Yakuza.

“You people from Hyogo are really funny with your nicknames,” Hinata laughs into Atsumu's phone. “Bokuto-san, you should hear what Atsumu-san calls Sakusa-san! Omi!”

Bokuto bursts out laughing, and Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and Sugawara can't help cracking a smile as well. Probably more so because they're laughing at Bokuto. That guy is fun. Atsumu has to admit he, too, thinks this crazy guy is pretty amusing.

“Omi-Omi loves it when I call ‘im like that,” Atsumu chuckles. Bokuto is already crying. “Tsum-Tsum and Omi-Omi. Now those are scary names for people like us!” And Atsumu must admit Bokuto has a point. He laughs.

“Here,” Hinata beams and returns Atsumu’s phone. “I've saved all our numbers for you, plus Omi-san.”

Atsumu likes him. Really. Hinata is such a good boy.

“But you'd better call him only in case of emergency,” Iwaizumi explains. “And don’t text him at all. Unless you wanna get killed,” Oikawa adds. Atsumu stares at him, a provocative grin looming on his lips, and Oikawa can't help but be infected. “I told him not to, but I can only do so much.”

“Noted,” Atsumu smirks and mentally puts it on the list to make Sakusa's life insufferable. “Anything else I should avoid?” Atsumu peers up and smiles sheepishly, hands and phone tucked back into his pockets.

“Ah— yes. You shouldn’t touch him,” Bokuto says with a stern face.

“Unless you want a bullet through your head,” Oikawa chimed in, throwing his arms around Atsumu’s and Bokuto’s shoulders. Atsumu chuckles and turns around. “What? Is Mister Perfect afraid of getting hurt?”

“Sakusa just really hates to be touched. So better keep an arm-length distance, then you’re safe,” Iwaizumi explains and finishes his drink.

“Is he highly sensitive or somethin’?”

“Kinda?” Sugawara explains, continuing to polish the glass. “Let's just say he isn't all that covered up because he's ugly.”

The flame burning within Atsumu's stomach out of his curiosity has found new fuel, and at the same time, the assassin is somewhat envious of being the only one present who has yet to see Sakusa's true appearance. If that ever happens at all.

“Yeah, Omi-san is kinda a neat freak! He gets like uhhh—really really upset if something’s dirty or dusty and it’s in the same room as he is! Or if he touches anything he is not familiar with! Then you shouldn't be offended if he disinfects it first.”

“Sometimes he still washes his hands ten times afterward,” laughs Bokuto.

Mysophobia. Atsumu doesn't say it out loud. He wouldn't be so sure if he hadn't already witnessed this disease.

Sounds familiar, doesn't it, ma’?

The agonizing expression of having to get too close to his victim, the gloves, the mask, the talent of not having a single drop of blood on him... no wonder Sakusa is so damn good at what he does. He needs to be. And now Atsumu wonders how the hell Sakusa ever joined Yakuza in the first place.

And then he remembers what an asshole he is and doesn't wonder anymore.

“But enough of that,” Sugawara decides and puts a glass of the finest whiskey on top of the counter for Atsumu and Hinata each. “You've been here far too long with nothing to drink in your hands.”

Sugawara smiles. Atsumu does too. Atsumu decides he likes Sugawara as well.

“Come on Suga, where's the tequila!” Atsumu's eyes sparkle while Bokuto is already hanging over the counter, fishing for the bottle. “I'll get the lemons!” Hinata shouts and hops to Sugawara behind the bar. Atsumu laughs. He never doubted he liked Hinata, and Bokuto seems to be pretty cool, too.

“It's on me,” Iwaizumi smirks. “After all, we have to give our rookie a proper welcome, don’t we?”

Oikawa chuckles. “Ready for the real fun, Atsu-chan?”

Atsumu smirks. Maybe Iwaizumi and Oikawa are okay, too.

Maybe.

Three weeks into Yakuza shit and Atsumu is starting to get pissed. Like, really pissed.

Hinata was an angel. Really. Atsumu couldn't have asked for a better partner and they vibed outrageously! Every damn mission was so much fun for Atsumu… but he loses sight of his real goal. His real objective, the reason why he's here in the first place. The reason why Atsumu didn't lose his final straw to live. Osamu.

And it annoys Atsumu. It bugs him so incredibly, because yes, by now he's pretty much allowed to do anything in Sendai, and fuck, he has so many opportunities he could never have dreamed of, and still, he doesn't get a fucking step further.

Oikawa keeps baiting him with single pieces of information, some of which actually lead to something and that's probably the only reason why Atsumu hasn't blown up the entire headquarters yet, but the assassin was hoping for more. Much more. Because this is just not enough.

The weeks he spent with Hinata and partly with Bokuto were fantastic. Really. They make Atsumu feel good. Like they’re close friends. So much so that Atsumu forgets that in truth they aren't. Even Oikawa has somehow grown close to Atsumu? And he would like to beat himself up for that notion. A fucking Kumichō? What the hell is wrong with him? Someone like that could never be a good friend of his.

Yeah, the last three weeks have kind of thrown Atsumu off emotionally. He likes the people he works with. Hinata is incredibly talented, which made every mission all the better. Bokuto has such an enjoyable and heartwarming manner that he instantly started to grow on Atsumu. The evenings they spent at Sugawara's bar after each mission were balm for his soul. And fuck, even Oikawa was someone Atsumu could somehow just let go with? It bugs him. Deep down, Atsumu doesn't want any of that.

Or does he?

Three weeks into Yakuza shit and Atsumu is getting impatient, maybe even desperate. It's another crappy day in late December and Hinata and Atsumu are on a really damn important and tricky mission.

After following and observing Ushijima's people for the past few weeks, they've gotten close to their hideout and are gathering the final information to actually proceed against them without incurring any consequences for Oikawa's crew.

While Hinata sneaks into the building, Atsumu remains in the stolen car and observes the situation from the outside, letting Hinata know as soon as he spots any conspicuities. That's how it's been most of the time lately, simply for the fact that Hinata knows more about Yakuza crap and Atsumu would otherwise just blow up the entire building because he honestly doesn't give a shit about all this stuff with mutual truces or rules.

He's an assassin after all, not a Yakuza member.

So, elbow pressed beneath the slightly opened window, he rests his head on his hand and drums the steering wheel with his fingers. This is the boring part. Waiting. There are only so many times he can play out his plans in his mind before he wants to fucking go.

Around two in the morning, right on schedule, some drunk henchmen come stumbling out of the hideout and stagger to where they’ve parked. Noted. This is normal. Atsumu and Hinata have been keeping an eye on those goons for weeks and know their daily routine inside out. Two just left? That means five more men are still inside. Hinata must already be hiding near them.

“Hey Shō,” Atsumu speaks through a small microphone attached to his collar. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” Hinata whispers back, “I'm on it.” His voice is quiet in the headset in Atsumu's ear.

“Cool,” replies Atsumu, still drumming the steering wheel and observing his surroundings. “Cool, cool, cooooool...” he says and puckers his lips. Then, he frowns.

“Hey Atsumu-san,” Hinata laughs, “Let's grab a beer later?”

“Sure,” he answers absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on the reflection in the side mirror. He watches himself, then his gaze falls on his necklace. Atsumu clenches his jaw.

“Cool. Hey, you'll let me know if anyone shows up, right? I'm heading in further now.”

“Of course, Shō. I’ve got yer back.”

“Nice.” Atsumu practically hears Hinata beaming before he is surrounded by silence again. About good 15 minutes pass in which Atsumu just waits and watches and waits and waits and waits. He seriously wonders how this is going to get him to Osamu.

Fuck, Atsumu needs something or he's going insane. Of course, it's fun with Hinata, there's no question about that, but that's not what he's here for. Osamu is waiting for him somewhere for 2 fucking years and all his brother is doing is helping some Yakuza guys? Atsumu has no idea what Osamu's situation is, how desperate he might be, he doesn't have the slightest clue where he could be, how he is, if he's actually still alive—

“—ya Osamu. Apparently, Inarizaki’s infamous Miya twins really do exist. Isn’t that…”

The voice was muffled as soon as the two men talking walked past Atsumu. He whipped his head around at lightning speed because what the fuck were those two pedestrians just talking about? Osamu? Is he here?

Atsumu frowns and watches the two men in his side mirror. They walk away from him down the street and disappear into the darkness of the night.

Whatever they were talking about involved Osamu, his brother, and Atsumu would be a damn fool not to follow them right now. Atsumu reminds himself why he's here: for his twin, not for Yakuza.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, and when he's sure no one would hear him, he opens the car door and gets out. Shit, he knows he shouldn't leave Hinata alone but he has to follow them. Maybe this is the lead to Osamu's location, and he cannot afford not to go after it.

So, he looks around one last time and checks his surroundings. The coast is clear. Hinata is not in danger, so following them shouldn’t be a problem, right? Atsumu sneaks up behind the two men and tries to catch more of their conversation.

“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of them!”

“For how long did you say they vanish into thin air? Two years? Then how would I even know them if I just got into this shit last year.”

“Everybody knows them! Apparently, they’re going separate ways ‘cause they’ve been fighting.”

Atsumu swallows thickly. He had never regretted an argument as much as the last one he had with Osamu. Whoever that was in front of him talking about his brother knows more than he should and Atsumu is sure he can lead him to his twin.

“And Osamu is supposed to be in Sendai?”

He might be confusing him with Atsumu. The assassin carries only a spark of hope.

“They’re both supposed to be here! Creepy, isn’t it? What are they doing here?”

Atsumu gulps again. What? His eyes are wide open, a lump forms in his throat, and his senses go numb. Osamu is here? In Sendai?!

And now his thoughts start to spin.

For how long? How long had Atsumu been so close to his brother and yet so far away? How long did they keep missing each other? Was Osamu in truth perhaps looking for him all this time? Can Osamu forgive him? Shit, can Atsumu even find him? Atsumu has to find him.

‘Samu…

It was then that Atsumu tried to face the two men but was interrupted before he even had the chance to. It was then that both the two men and Atsumu turned around in utter shock. It was then that Atsumu knew he really, really fucked up.

The crossfire coming from the building Hinata is in was anything but planned. The following explosion only made things worse. No, Atsumu is actually quite sure that the only weapon Hinata was carrying was his goddamn pistol.

“No,” Atsumu whispers horrified. All he can do is watch the building burn, giant flames reflecting in his golden eyes, wide open. His heart slips into the pit of his stomach and his trembling hands find their way to his microphone. He turns it on, and his stomach drops.

“Hey, Shōyō?” Atsumu wants to throw up. “Hey, this isn’t funny, okay? C’mon, Shō…” His pulse races, his heart flutters. “Shōyō.” He gulps.

There are two things in Miya Atsumu’s life that he has vowed never to do again. One is to ever lose consciousness again – which he already failed miserably. Two is to abandon his friends.

The fact that Atsumu isn’t good at keeping the things he has vowed to do is a tender point. That he would be that bad at it, however, surprised even himself. When bullets start ringing out from the direction of the explosion, Atsumu knows he has once again screwed up. “Fuck,” he mutters and starts to run off.

He pulls out Osamu’s knife and sprints for dear life. By the time Atsumu reaches the building, his senses are sharpened and his body’s already working on autopilot. “Hey—” someone calls out but falls silent just as Atsumu slits his throat. The man clutches the injury and gasps for air, immediately dropping to the ground.

One out.

It's the most painless way. A quick slit on the jugular and his victim bleeds out, goes unconscious within seconds, and is dead within minutes.

Smoke, dust, and crumbling walls make it difficult for him to see. It’s even hotter on the higher floors, single flames blocking his way. This sucks, Atsumu thinks and fights his way to wherever Hinata is. Reaching the third floor, he stumbles upon two more men already waiting for him with wicked smirks on their faces.

“Miya Atsumu,” one of them says. “What took you so long?”

“If ya were expecting me so eagerly, you could’ve just approached me. That would’ve saved us both some time before I kill you.”

“Kill us, he says!” Laughs the same bastard mockingly, his buddy already flashing a blade from his sleeve, which of course doesn't go unnoticed by Atsumu. They fight with knives? Oh, that's mere child's play. “You can ask your little friend how well that worked out for him.”

“Where is he?” Atsumu snarls.

“Dead for sure.” Atsumu's grip on Osamu's knife tightens. “I'd be surprised if he survived that, considering all the C4 we used.”

“Cool,” replies Atsumu. “That means yer useless to me then?”

The men look at him in confusion. Before they can realize what's happening, Atsumu throws a blade hidden in his sleeve at the asshole, who was also about to pull out a knife and cuts his hand. He cries out in pain and grabs his wrist, staring in panic at the blade stuck neatly in the middle of his hand.

Before the bastard who was talking to Atsumu can pull his gun out of his pants from behind, Atsumu kicks him in the knee causing him to slump to the floor and then kicks him in his face. He ends up on his stomach so Atsumu jumps on his back and rams the blade of Osamu's knife into his kidney, pushing the serrations in so deep that they inflict maximum damage. This bastard will bleed into his stomach, quickly and without any mess.

As his screams choke to a whimper of pain, Atsumu returns his attention to the other, kicking him in his lower back and sending him stumbling against the wall. Trying to brace himself with his uninjured hand, Atsumu snatches it and drags his arm behind his back, grabbing the handle of the knife stuck in his other hand and ramming it into the wall, trapping the asshole. Osamu's blade finds the goon's neck.

“Listen,” Atsumu begins. “I'mma reeeeeeally impatient person. But I'm also very very merciful, so 'm gonna give ya two options: either ya tell me right now where my little ginger friend is and yer death will be quick and painless, or,” Atsumu presses the blade harder against his neck causing some blood to trickle down. “Or this is about to get very, very uncomfortable for you. You decide.”

“Go to hell, shithead.”

“Errr!” Atsumu makes the sound of a wrong buzzer. “Wrong answer, buddy!”

He jabs Osamu's knife into his back and drags the blade along his spine. The goon cries out in pain while blood rushes down his body and his legs start to go limp. Before Atsumu lets go of him, he wipes the blade clean on the idiot's clothes and puts it back in the sheath.

“What a waste,” Atsumu grumbles and takes a step back.

“You're not getting out of here alive,” gasps the first one Atsumu knocked down. Atsumu crouches in front of him, making the man hiss as he pulls him up by his hair to get a look at his face. Then Atsumu's eyes darken as bloodlust and revenge swirl in them.

“More people are heading this way, you don't stand a chance.”

“The more the merrier, right?” Atsumu smirks sickly and tosses the goon's head to the side, making him groan in pain. The assassin stands up and lets the man before him bleed. He steps over his motionless body and makes his way to the next floor.

Two more down.

Reaching the top, he spots another bastard dragging Hinata by the legs across the floor. Atsumu sneaks up behind him and rams the back of Osamu's knife into his neck. The impact is hard enough to cause him to pass out instantaneously.

As Atsumu’s gaze flickers from the goon before him through the messy room to check if there are any more enemies, he finds more bodies littered on the floor and frowns, wondering if all of this was Hinata's doing. Most likely, it was.

Once Atsumu has made sure they are alone, he rushes to his partner and checks on his condition. Only when he bends down to him does he realize that his friend is conscious. Well, sort of. Hinata's chest heaves with exertion, his body is covered in ash, dirt, and scattered wounds, and Atsumu is pretty sure the way Hinata's right arm is twisted that it's broken. Atsumu is also sure there are more injuries on his body.

“Fuck,” he hisses, hands tentatively moving to Hinata's head to check if he's bleeding from there as well, and yup, he is.

“—sumu?” Hinata slurs, his eyes slowly opening and falling shut, and his gaze is anything but focused. Hinata may be awake, but he's certainly no longer conscious.

“Shōyō, hey,” Atsumu coos. “I'm here, okay? Let's get out of here.”

“...mi. Call... mi”

“Who? Who do ya want me to call?”

“O...” Hinata contorts his face in pain and hisses.

“Hey, easy. I'll get ya out of here.”

“Omi...” Hinata tries again and Atsumu's blood runs cold. He swallows while staring at his face and knitting his eyebrows together. Why the hell should he call Sakusa?

“It's okay Shōyō, we can handle this on our own, okay? “

“N-No...” he interrupts Atsumu. “Call... nghh..—”

Atsumu swallows thickly and runs a hand through his hair while watching Hinata writhe in pain. “Fuck, shit, okay. Hang in there, will ya? We're gonna get out of here.” He realizes that Shōyō wouldn't let up, and Atsumu is the last person who will deny him his request.

Of course, Hinata must also think they can never be real friends, so all he asks for is a reliable colleague. After all, if Atsumu was in Hinata's place, he wouldn't trust himself either. So Atsumu has no choice but to call the bastard he loathes the most. Sakusa.

If Bokuto wasn't in Nagoya and Oikawa wasn't in Kobe and Atsumu wasn't so damn terrified of Iwaizumi he definitely would have called one of them instead, but no, it had to be Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi.

“Fuck my life,” the assassin mumbles, pressing the phone against his ear. Atsumu stays alert and continues to capture his surroundings while waiting for Sakusa to finally answer his fucking phone. After swatting him away twice, the idiot decides to answer the call on the third try.

“What do you want, Miya?”

“Locate my phone and get over here right now. Shōyō got hit by an explosion and fuck—” Atsumu looks at his pal and swallows thickly. “I have no idea if he's gonna make it.”

There's about half an eternity of silence before Sakusa inhales sharply. “I'm there in five minutes,” and the click indicates he's already hung up.

Atsumu stuffs his phone back into his pants pocket and gently lifts Hinata to give him a piggyback ride. Hinata groans in pain with every little movement and shit, Atsumu feels sick to his stomach watching his friend in such misery.

It's your fault, he reminds himself. You put him in this situation. Just like you did with Osamu.

Atsumu shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He shakes his head and pushes the thought aside. No, there's no time for that right now.

The flames in the building grow bigger and Atsumu tries to hurry to get himself and Hinata out of the dangerous place as fast as he can. The more smoke they breathe in, the worse their chances are. Hinata is not allowed to fall asleep under any circumstances because that could mean his death.

When Atsumu notices more people sneaking into the building from downstairs, he hides in a corridor next door. Fuck, now he understands why Hinata asked for help. Atsumu can't do much with him on his back.

“Hey Shō,” he whispers, his senses sharpened. “You have to be quiet now, okay? Or we're really gonna have a fucking problem.”

Hinata groans softly as Atsumu urges them both into the darkness, and just at that wrong moment, they draw attention to themselves.

“They're over there!” He hears a man shout and the next thing that follows is a dull sound and the thud of a body hitting the ground. Fuck, Atsumu exhales shakily and guides his fingertips to the handle of Osamu's knife. His body tenses and his heart goes crazy with adrenaline. Atsumu clutches the handle tightly. He sets Hinata down carefully to be ready to fight, trying not to hurt him further.

By the time someone approaches him, Atsumu gets ready to attack. It's dark, all he can rely on are his ears. Hearing the rubbing of pebbles against the ground, Atsumu lunges and prepares to stab his enemy, but his wrist is caught in the motion and his arm is twisted in such a way that Atsumu immediately drops Osamu's knife in the pain the stranger inflicts on him. He feels gloves around his skin.

"Omi," he spits out.

“Put your fucking knife away, Miya, and let's get out of here.” He pushes Atsumu away from him. “Now!” He demands explicitly, already making his way back downstairs. Atsumu frowns and blinks once or twice. Of course, Sakusa wouldn't carry Hinata, dirty and covered in blood like that. No, Atsumu has the honor.

He grabs the kid and follows Sakusa, hot on his tail. On the way down, they step over countless dead bodies of which Atsumu is sure he didn't kill them all. He ignores the fact that only one particular man in here could have done it and God, Atsumu can't even express how annoyed he is by this idiot's presence. After all, calling him is what Hinata wanted.

After killing a few more men on their way out, they hurry to Sakusa's car. Atsumu whistles when he spots the impeccable black Audi R8 and wonders if Sakusa is even capable of driving such a sports car.

“Put him in the passenger seat,” the jerk orders as he hurries to the driver's seat. Atsumu rolls his eyes, it's not like he wasn't going to put Hinata in there anyway, bastard.

Atsumu laughs as he opens the door and gets an infuriated glare from Sakusa. The passenger seat is covered with foil, presumably, so Hinata doesn't bleed all over it.

Just as Atsumu was about to make a stupid mocking comment, Hinata coughs up blood. Fuck. Atsumu's eyes widen as the kid gets paler and paler. For a moment, he forgot how serious the situation really is. For a moment, Sakusa has once again drawn all his attention to him.

“Shit... Shit, Hinata hang in there.”

Atsumu buckles him in and turns to Sakusa, who was looking at Hinata with a deeply disgusted frown. “You're going to clean this,” he says ominously, and if Atsumu wasn't so fucking worried about Hinata right now, he would have snapped back. But right now it's about saving a life. The life of a friend.

“If ya don't get ‘im to the hospital in one piece, I will kill you, Omi.”

“Whose fault is this in the first place?” Sakusa bites back. Their gazes hold nothing but the mere desire to kill each other.

“Drive!” Atsumu spits out and slams the door shut. It doesn't even take a second for Sakusa to buzz off. Atsumu runs his hands through his hair and watches the fucking sports car disappear into the darkness. The only thing he can do now is hope.

Hope that Hinata survives.

It’s in the middle of the night when Atsumu ends up in Sugawara’s bar, waiting for any sign about Hinata and considering drinking himself to death while doing so. There is only the blonde left and a few scattered deadbeats, whose lives Atsumu couldn't care less about.

Almost two hours passed since the incident and the assassin is already well buzzed. Over and over again, he relives the nightmare from earlier in his mind. What if he had paid better attention? Would Hinata still have been unharmed? What if he hadn't followed the two who were talking about Osamu? Could Atsumu have prevented everything then? Would Hinata's life even be in danger now?

Fuck.

They're both supposed to be here. In the bar. Safe.

How would Osamu react if he found out that Atsumu had once again abandoned someone important to him? How would Osamu react if he found out that Atsumu was temporarily allied with Yakuza? Would Osamu even listen to him? Forgive him?

Atsumu releases a deep sigh and clasps his hands to stop them from shaking. This is fucking hell.

He is frustrated with the whole damn thing, so he needed a strong drink – or more than just one. Settled on a stool, elbow on top of the counter, Atsumu swirls the last bit of whiskey in his glass and tries not to let the feelings of guilt he has for letting Hinata down consume him. Instead, he has had the glorious idea of drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

He's on his fourth whiskey and it’s still not enough. Suga leaves him with a refilled glass and gives him a look but what does Atsumu even care? He knocks it back just as quickly as he had the other three. It’s a good one, he knows he’ll owe Suga tons for it but right now he's just thankful he's staying silent and not bugging Atsumu with any questions.

The liquid burns only slightly as it’s going down his throat and the numb feeling lingers long after Atsumu has swallowed it. He lifts his head in a silent request for another glass of whiskey and Sugawara just stares at him when he doesn't refuse. He might be Atsumu’s savior.

Fifth one.

Down.

Sixth one.

Gone.

Seventh—

“Hey mister self-pity, enough is enough.” Sugawara snatches the glass away from Atsumu but the latter frowns and looks at his bartender, half angry, half confused. Atsumu blames himself. He blames himself that Hinata has to fight for his life because of him. That Osamu disappeared because of him. Guilt eats him up, hence Atsumu needs more alcohol to forget about all of this. Refusal is not an option.

He detaches the brown leather sheath from his belt and places Osamu's knife on top of the counter. Atsumu's hand lingers on it when he takes a deep breath. He tilts his head up and he meets Sugawara's concerned gaze. He may be well on his way to drunk but he’s still seeing clearly.

“Suga, yer cool ‘n all, ‘kay?” He slurs. “But if ya don’t pour me some more fuckin’ whiskey I won’t hesitate to stab this pretty knife in yer throat and get it myself.”

His look is probably meant to be threatening, but Sugawara doesn't pull a face. Instead, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives Atsumu a reproachful look. “And we have rules in here, Atsumu. You get violent, you get kicked out.”

“And who's gonna stop me?” Atsumu huffs. “You?”

“I will.” Iwaizumi steps next to the assassin and peers down at him, his expression stern.

Sugawara's bar is like a sacred place. There is always someone from Oikawa's mob prowling around to protect the bartender and his place. In return, they are allowed to do whatever they want – except use their weapons or get violent. After all, the bar is not supposed to attract any cops.

Iwaizumi having to show up tonight was just what Atsumu needed. After all, he can match anyone, but the bulky guy wasn't exactly someone Atsumu would want to mess with. And actually, he isn't even supposed to be here, but Atsumu knows why he is anyway. He huffs. “Oh, lemme guess. Omi-Omi called ya!”

“Shut up, Miya,” the asshole in question answers. Atsumu turns around and spots a ridiculously handsome man in black slacks, shirt, and mask, covering most parts of his skin. Atsumu shakes his head and laughs. “What a shit show,” he mumbles as he faces his empty glass again. Sakusa's bullshit presence is the last thing he needs on this fucked up day.

“Excuse me?” Sakusa arched his eyebrows and settles on a barstool at the other end. Iwaizumi remains standing between them and accepts a beer that he never ordered but received anyway.

“Piss off,” Atsumu growls, low and threatening.

“How is Hinata?” Sugawara asks worriedly as he serves Sakusa a whiskey.

Seriously?

“He is still undergoing surgery. Akaashi's colleague sent us away and said he would contact us. It will probably take some time, his injuries were severe.”

“Shit...” Sugawara frowns.

A lump gets stuck in Atsumu's throat, tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and his cheeks flush. If Hinata dies because of him, he will never forgive himself. If he dies, it will be his fault. Entirely his own.

Atsumu gulps. How much does he wish to undo what happened? How much does he wish he had taken better care of Hinata? Fuck, why did he let him out of his sight?

Atsumu clutches his empty glass to suppress the shaking of his hands and scrunches his eyes shut. His leg is nervously bobbing up and down, his head completely dazed.

I know what you're capable of.

Did Oikawa assign him to Hinata so he could watch him? Of course, he did. And Atsumu has failed again. He's a good-for-nothing. A failure who can't even find his brother. How is he supposed to take care of Hinata, the sunshine who has made his whole life so much better in the last three weeks?

“Does Oikawa know?” Sugawara's voice is quiet. Iwaizumi nods. “Yes,” he breathes and runs his hand through his hair. “He's on his way.” Atsumu opens his eyes.

“I'm sorry, Iwaizumi.” His voice is soft.

Iwaizumi rests his hand on Atsumu's shoulder and glances at him sympathetically. Atsumu's eyes are red-rimmed, but he doesn't dare to shed a single tear. Not as long as Hinata lives. Not as long as he fights.

“It's okay, Atsumu. He'll make it, Shōyō is strong.”

Atsumu doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve to be forgiven. He doesn't deserve pity. He doesn't deserve these kind-hearted people around here. What is this? Why doesn't anyone blame him?

Sakusa scoffs.

“You've got a lot of nerve asking for forgiveness after the shit you pulled, Miya.”

Six pairs of eyes land on Sakusa, one of them holding a small blazing fire so eager to get out of control. Atsumu blinks, takes a second to understand what's happening, then frowns. Seems like not all of them are as kind-hearted as he thought.

“The shit I pulled?” Atsumu stands up and walks toward Sakusa. “If you had answered yer fucking phone earlier, Hinata might have had an even better chance.”

Sakusa laughs mockingly and turns to Atsumu, his elbow still resting on the counter, the whiskey glass firmly in his grip. “Whose fault is it in the first place that it's come to this? Shouldn't you have been keeping an eye on him?”

Atsumu clenches his jaw, his fists were balled up in the pockets of his jacket, pulsing and pumping like he is barely containing life in them. They want to make a connection with Sakusa’s face, he hits Atsumu where it hurts. But the assassin can't exactly say it feels bad.

He's sick of hypocrisy because yes, he screwed the fuck up, and no, no one should forgive him just because he's a fucking assassin from Inarizaki who claims to have so much up his sleeve. Yet the truth is quite different.

“If Hinata dies, it's your fault.”

It hurts. But it's true.

“Only you are fucking responsible so don't start putting any blame on me.”

Fuck, Hinata... I didn't mean to.

Atsumu rams his nails into the flesh of his palm to suppress the shaking. When is he going to stop ruining everything? When will he stop putting the people around him in danger? When can he finally be trusted?

“I don't understand why Oikawa thinks so highly of you. Everything I see from you is pathetic,” Sakusa says with venom in his voice and gets a glare from Iwaizumi. “Kiyo, that's enough.”

Atsumu holds Sakusa's gaze.

If he can't even take care of Hinata on such a puny mission, how will he ever be able to take care of Osamu? Atsumu stares at the floor.

How will he ever be able to find Osamu?

“If all assassins from Inarizaki are as miserable as you are, I'm not even surprised why your partner went missing.”

Atsumu's head snaps up.

“What?”

“I said, your partner probably deserved to get lost.”

There are many things in life that Atsumu endures. Someone insulting his brother is none of them.

Atsumu lunges at Sakusa grabs him by the collar and snarls in his face, “You don't know anything about me or the people from my hometown so shut the fuck up.”

Sakusa knits his brows together, his eyes are perilously cold. “Hands off. Now.”

Atsumu grips even tighter and pulls the taller man down from the chair toward him. A sick smile etches onto his face. “Or what?”

Seeing Sakusa tense up like this is a dream come true.

His gloved fingers seize Atsumu's wrist so tightly it cuts off his blood circulation. Atsumu grins at the pain.

“Let. Go.”

Perhaps Atsumu should never have gone to the bar tonight. Maybe Atsumu should never have joined Yakuza in general. He is not ready for what he provokes, his body is tired and exhausted. But he's sick of all this and pushing Sakusa's boundaries is just what he needs right now.

Atsumu's fingers don't even have a chance to find Sakusa's neck. One solid knee to the gut and Atsumu is stumbling backward, tearing tables and chairs with him as he falls, spitting up some blood.

Hugging his arms over his middle, gasping for air, he slides his hand beneath the leg of his pants and pulls out a knife. Not the right choice, in the grand scheme, but the only one he can see if he wants Sakusa to bleed as well.

“That all you got?” He gasps, scrambling to his feet around the searing pain in his stomach. Sakusa is staring at him with wild eyes. Atsumu can’t help but smirk, he is getting some much-needed aggression out, some latent self-destructive tendency had completely taken control and he likes it, loves it even.

But he can fight oh so well with his stomach boiling and the taste of blood in his mouth. As his vision starts to blur, because of the alcohol or because of the punch, Atsumu's grip tightens around the knife in his palm and his eyes drop to Sakusa's throat.

He licks his lips and lunges, but before he has a chance to do any serious damage, Sakusa grabs his wrist and twists the metal out of his hand. A minor loss for what Atsumu had actually planned.

In the motion, Atsumu sneaks his fingers around the grip of Sakusa's pistol but it takes only a heartbeat before Atsumu gets an elbow smashed into his ribs, another heartbeat, and gloved fingers wrap around his throat and press him against the wall.

Atsumu laughs seeing Sakusa boiling with rage, and he wonders what would have happened if he actually had been serious. The grip on Atsumu’s throat tightens, constricting the air in his lungs, and leaving a burning sensation crawling up his chest. Sakusa presses him against the wall, gun pointing at his head.  

“Touch me and you’ll burn.” His eyes are as cold as ice and as dark as the night. Sakusa Kiyoomi is nobody who bears any feelings whatsoever. He presses the muzzle against Atsumu’s forehead, finger hooked in the trigger, only barely hesitating to pull it. But Atsumu's eyes hold no fear, no. Instead, he smirks impishly and presses himself deeper into Sakusa's grip.

Shoot, he silently dares, and Sakusa would be foolish not to see it in Atsumu's eyes.

Before Sugawara has a chance to say anything, Iwaizumi steps in between and puts his hand on the barrel of Sakusa's pistol. “Enough,” he says, keeping firm eye contact with the bastard.

“I'll honestly kick you all out, you idiots,” Sugawara complains. “Daichi’s already covering up a shit ton for you, he can't do much with dead bodies.”

Sakusa narrows his eyes and tightens his grip on Atsumu's throat, but all the latter does is smirk, as if enjoying it.

“Kiyoomi.” Iwaizumi's voice is threatening.

Oikawa needs him, otherwise, Atsumu would be dead already. He knows that much.

“Assassins are all the same,” Kiyoomi huffs and releases his grip, his hand holding the pistol slowly lowering. “Only ever thinking of their own interests.”

He puts the pistol back into the holster and turns around. He doesn't seem to care that Atsumu could stab him from behind. Perhaps he suspects he wouldn't. Instead, Sakusa downs his whiskey in one go and heads toward the bar's exit. Before he leaves, he halts and turns to Atsumu.

“Miya.” His dark eyes pierce into Atsumu's soul. “When the time comes, I'll be the one to shoot you.”

And then, without another word, he leaves the bar.

A dare.

Game's on, Omi.