Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first thing he remembered was the feeling of pain reverberating through his entire body. Blinding white. All-encompassing black. Pounding heartbeat red.

The second thing he remembered was his tongue thick in his mouth — drier than the desert. Dust and sand stretching on for miles in his throat.

“H…” He tried. He hadn’t yet remembered how to speak.

The third thing he remembered was the snap of his eyelids. The feeling of brightness on his corneas. The wonder of sight. It was hard to keep them open, but he had to try.

The fourth thing he remembered was the beauty of nature. Of the forest he found himself in. Tall spindly trees that blocked the sunlight. Moss providing his pained body comfort. Thick fog swirling around.

It didn’t last for long.

“Help me.” The fifth thing he remembered.

The sixth thing he remembered was that the human body was weak. No matter how strong he is or was or may have once been. Pain could only be ignored for so long until it gave up.

He didn’t want to die.

That was the seventh thing he remembered.

A hand on his face. Gentle. He leaned into it, as much as he could manage. The pain he had felt had faded, though it still lingered, still buzzed in the back of his brain. This wasn’t over, whatever it was.

But it was a welcome comfort.

“There, there. Yer okay, sweetheart.” A voice. Japanese. Throaty and sounding like an old shrine bell. Blue-green copper. Melodic, tinged with experience and use.

“Bachan?” Another voice. Younger. Soft but firm. Steady. “Is he awake?”

“Almost.” The grandmother spoke, the word lilting upwards like it was said with a smile. A fingertip brushed over his eyelid — feather soft. “The baku are eatin’ his nightmares. Won’t be long now.”

“Good.” The younger person said, accompanied by departing footprints and the slide of a door. “I’ll prepare some broth.”

His eyes flickered open in time to see a silver-haired man leaving the room. A gasp. The old woman. In an instance, her face shifted from surprised to a Buddha-esque smile — all crescents and round cheeks.

“Hello, honey.” She patted him gently on the chest. When he tried to lean up, she pressed down firmly. “Now, now. Ya still need yer rest. Don’t push yerself too hard.”

Dryness. His eyes flicked to the glass on the low table behind her. “Wa…” He tried.

She nodded, bringing it to his lips. Coolness flowed along his tongue and streamed down his chin. A soothing balm to the dust choking him. Relief.

“Who…” He exhaled, nothing more than a croak. “Who are you?”

There was no pain in her eyes. She didn’t know him either. Two strangers. “My name’s Kita Yumie. Just Yumie-san is okay.”

“Yumie-san.” Barely audible. He reached for the glass once more — arm trembling. She wrapped his fingers around it, carefully supporting his grip as he held it. Water pooled in the hollow of his throat as it dripped from the corners of his lips. 

“What’s yer name, honey?” Yumie-san placed the glass back on the table before brushing the bangs out of his eyes. Wrinkled fingers gently tugged out knots.

“I…” He blinked. Nothing. He rapidly tried searching the recesses of his mind. Nothing. Empty. His eyes flicked around the room — Yumie-san’s face, a calendar on the wall, a curtained window, tatami floor, the sliding door. His body tucked beneath a blanket — at least he thought it was his, he tried to move but couldn’t. Floating. Weightless. That wasn’t him. “I… I don’t know.”

He’s anchored to reality by Yumie-san’s hand cupping his jaw. This was him.

“That’s okay.” Yumie-san smiled, painfully gentle, painfully kind. She ran a thumb along his cheekbone, wetness slicking his skin as she wiped away a tear. When did he start crying? “My grandson told me this might happen. Y’see, some folks who go through trauma have temporary memory loss. It’ll come back to ya.”

“Where am I?”

“Yer just outside Sanda City, Hyogo prefecture, Japan. Specifically in my farmhouse.” She waved her hand around the small, traditional-style room.

“How did I get here?”

“You…” Yumie-san sighed, lowering her head slightly. Instead of continuing, she gently pulled down the blanket covering his upper body. He followed the movement with his gaze, meeting two large bandages — one plastered beneath his collarbone and the other just below his scarred pec. She slowly peeled one away, revealing a puckered wound. “You were shot.”

She removed it completely before pulling off the other one. Identical. “My grandson’s theory is ya tried to kill yerself.” She sighed, the sound of disappointment clear in her voice. A trace of him felt guilty for disappointing this strange woman. Was his own grandmother worried sick about him, wondering where he was? Did he even have a grandmother? “Thank the gods you survived.”

Yumie-san’s face looked terribly pained as she met his eye. “I don’t know what must’ve troubled ya so before, but we’ll get ya the help ya need.”

He tried adjusting his position — to rest his back against the pillows and take better stock of his situation — but was halted once more by the press of Yumie-san’s hand. “Stay still, sweetheart. Yer still healin’.”

“...Sorry.” 

She sighed. “We were out mushroom pickin’ when we heard the gunshots. Shinsuke — oh, my smart boy — is the one who saved ya.”

“Why am I not in the hospital?”

Yumie-san nodded, her eyes trailing over the two gunshot wounds. “Shin-chan is a doctor, y’see. He normally lives in Tokyo with his husband, but he’s been on leave. He didn’t want to bring ya to a hospital, so it’s lucky the shots missed yer organs.”

Something about this didn’t add up.

“But… why? If I died here, then…”

“That doesn’t matter.” The younger voice came from the doorway. The silver-haired man carried a steaming bowl in one hand and a medical kit in the other. “Ya wouldn’t have died. I’m good at what I do.” There was no trace of arrogance in the man’s voice, simply straightforward confidence.

The grandson knelt next to Yumie-san, passing the bowl to her. He opened the medical kit and rummaged around for something. “Bachan, does he remember anything?”

“No.” She sighed, stirring the bowl with a soup spoon and knocking up clouds of miso. “Poor thing doesn’t even know his own name.” She tapped her knuckle against his jaw before spooning some of the broth inside. Warmth spread through his chest immediately followed by a hunger he hadn’t noticed before.

“I see.” The grandson’s unnerving amber eyes stared at him for a long time before slipping back to the medical kit. “Why don’t we call ya ‘Rin?’ At least ‘til yer memory starts comin’ back.”

Rin nodded as the grandson got to work rebandaging the healing bullet holes. He moved slowly and carefully, with tentative touches and gentle cleaning. Rin felt lucky, knowing that if it’d been some normal farm boy he would probably be dead.

Though that begged the question.

Was his life even worth living?

Clearly his past self didn’t think so, or else he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

“And what if it never comes back?”

The grandson paused, his gloved hands resting on Rin’s bare stomach. “This is a safe place. Ya can stay here as long as ya need. We’ll help ya.”

“Why?” Rin couldn't fathom such blind kindness. 

But the grandson said nothing more, working in complete silence until Rin felt his eyes growing heavy and sleep threatened to drag him under.

"你是谁?" Rin whispered, watching his lips form the sounds. "你叫什么名字?"

He sat on the floor of his bedroom, forehead pressed against the long mirror affixed to the sliding closet door. 

“Sino ka? Ano ang pangalan mo?” His own green eyes pierced back but he found nothing in them. No clues, no signs, no sparks of recognition.

“Who? कौन हो तुम!?" Temper rising. Messy brown hair fell in his face as he ground his knuckles into the tatami mat beneath him. “Nama lo siapa?”

Nothing.

"Cum te numești? Wie heißt du?" Rin touched the surface of the mirror, tracing his own jaw, his own lips, up the bridge of his nose. This was him, he supposed.

But who is he?

He slammed his fist on the glass, causing vibrations to echo along the entire surface. "你为什么要这样做?"

No response from his brain. The useless hunk of grey-pink flesh able to bring forth the world’s languages on a silver platter, yet unable to recognize itself.

Again, harder.

“Why?!” Rin shouted, watching his eyes light up in anger, his brows furrow deep lines, his teeth bare beastlike. He raised his fist once more.

"¿Por qué estás…" He faltered, voice dropping back down to a shaky whisper. Fist falling into his lap. “Why are you doing this?”

His anger subsided, all traces of feeling vanishing with it — storm surge washing away out to sea after a hurricane. Suddenly, even the process of sitting up was too much. He let himself slump backwards, back hitting the floor.

Nothing.

No memories, no feelings. An empty husk.

His body was on the road to recovery. His wounds had healed enough that he could be up and moving without risk of opening them back up. Shinsuke had procured a long-term dose of testosterone for him, as he suspected it was long overdue. He helped Yumie-san around the house and joined them on the veranda after dinner — silently listening to their conversations with the hope that something would trigger a memory.

It’ll come back, Yumie-san had insisted over and over.

Yet, it’s been two weeks with not a single blip.

"Quem é você?" A final, whispered plea as he stared at the ceiling.

Who are you?

"...Alright, thank ya for lookin’.” Shinsuke sighed, setting his smartphone down with a clunk. Rin watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration settling in the clench of his jaw. “Sorry. No reports of a missin’ man matchin’ yer description in Kansai or Chūbu. I'm gonna try Tokyo and Chūgoku next.”

“It’s alright, Shinsuke.” Rin leaned back further in the office recliner, resting his book on the arm. It was driving him insane sitting around like this when he could be the one doing the searching. Shinsuke had put through countless phone calls to a number of police offices and agencies, surely he could do that too. “Let me handle it.”

Shinsuke faced him, eyes glinting with something unrecognizable. “I’m responsible for ya. If somethin’ were to happen to ya, that’s on me.”

“I’m thankful for all you and Yumie-san have done for me, but I should be out trying to figure out who I am. I’ll be fine.”

Shinsuke looked like he wanted to argue — lips pulled taught and brows furrowing ever-so-slightly. But he said nothing. He leaned over to grab a notepad from the drawer of his desk and got to work writing something.

“Eh? Shinsuke?” Rin angled his head to try and get a glimpse to no avail.

“Here.” Shinsuke capped his pen, ripped off the top sheet, and passed it to Rin. Written in neat lettering was Yumie’s name, an unfamiliar name in only hiragana, two phone numbers, and two addresses. He reached over to tap the name. “This is my friend, Osamu. He’s good people.”

Rin raised a brow expectantly. If Shinsuke trusted him, he probably was good but why was he telling him this?

“Osamu works at a restaurant. He’ll be up this weekend to pick up a shipment of rice.” Shinsuke’s gaze was super focused. “I want ya to go with him back to Amagasaki.” 

“Why?”

“I have to return to Tokyo for work on Monday. As much as I enjoy my time home, they need me more.” Shinsuke tapped the first address — Sanda City, the farm. “Ya can come back here whenever ya want, but I think bein’ with Osamu’d be good for ya.”

“What makes this dude special?”

Shinsuke smiled gently. “He reminds me a lil of ya. Had a rough life. Still figurin’ out who he is and what his place in the world is. A kindred spirit might just be the thing ya need to remember.”

Rin wasn’t too keen on the idea — how could this stranger possibly help?

But he knew by now that Shinsuke’s suggestions weren’t negotiable.

“Alright.”

“Also…” Shinsuke patted at his chest pocket before withdrawing a small, black object. “I’m sorry for not givin’ this to ya before but… it’s yours.”

“What?” Rin whispered, taking it into his palm. Turning it around, it was about the size of a lipstick tube and seemingly hollow. Something rattled around inside despite its lack of an apparent opening. “Why did you keep this from me?”

“Neither my grandma nor I could get it open. We figured it would frustrate ya too much.” Shinsuke lowered his head, a silent act of apology. “It wouldn’t have been good for yer mental to stare at it for hours tryna figure out what it means. Not healthy.”

Rin spit out a pitiful laugh as he shook it, listening to the rattle. It’s only been a few weeks, but Shinsuke already had him pinned down. “Fair enough. What do you think it is?”

“Could be yer suicide note. Or maybe some sort of emergency identification. Or just some silly childhood memento.”

“Was there… anything else?”

“That was it. Yer pockets were empty. Nothin’ but that and the clothes on yer back.”

“Alright.” Rin tucked it into his pocket before reluctantly returning to his book. The temptation to fiddle with it was high. But there was a worry in the back of his mind. That whatever was within shouldn’t be seen by others.

Not even Shinsuke.

"Everythin' alright?"

Rin blinked, regaining clarity of his surroundings. A seatbelt across his chest. A backpack tucked in the footwell. A greenlined expressway through the windshield. An ash haired man driving a pickup.

"Conked out for a second there, huh?"

"Yeah." Rin felt his eyes settle on the man's — Osamu's — profile as he switched lanes. Thick brows full of the expression missing from his neutral face. A slight bump on the ridge of his nose — either natural or from being broken at some point. Large, slightly downcast eyes that reflected silver in the sunlight. He looked tired himself — red tinged eyebags and a nearly empty venti iced coffee in the cupholder evidence enough.

"Amagasaki ain't far." Osamu tapped his fingers along the wheel to the beat of an unfamiliar tune. "I gotta drop this shit off to boss but we can head back to my place after."

"Okay." Osamu seemed friendly, despite his disinterested expression. But what exactly Shinsuke expected out of their meeting, Rin wasn't so sure. Nor did he know how to act.

"Say." Osamu started, sparing him a small glance. "Was a bit surprised to hear from Kita sayin' he had an assignment for me."

"You make me sound like your fucking homework."

He snorted. "I ain't mean it like that. Me and Kita-san, we've just got a complicated relationship."

"Is that fairly common?" Rin picked at a piece of peeling vinyl in the arm rest, feeling his finger squish into the orangey foam. "Having a complicated relationship with him?"

"Maybe." Osamu sent him a grin. He smiled slightly crooked — showing a little too much teeth on one side. "What'dya say yer name was again?"

Osamu's focus on him was laser sharp, far different than the easygoing, disinterested demeanor he donned before. Rin couldn't help but feel — not uncomfortable but — perceived. Like maybe Osamu really could unlock his secrets.

"Rin." 

"Got a family name, Rin?"

"Just Rin." Osamu's brows raised at that.

"Alright, Just Rin, it's nice to meet ya." Osamu patted him twice on the shoulder — hand lingering slightly too long. "Ya can sleep some more if ya need to. Won't be long now."

The truck fell into a comfortable silence punctuated only by the rumble of the road, the occasional shift of gears, and the tap of fingers on the wheel.

Rin couldn’t stop himself from slipping back under.

Osamu’s place was outside the city center of Amagasaki — he’d sacrificed a quick commute to work for an older townhouse with a cheaper price tag and a bigger footprint. When he first showed off his digs to Rin, he mentioned he normally rented the extra room out to tourists or other visitors. It was apparently divine providence that he had space when Shinsuke called him.

Rin was currently slumped deeply into Osamu's old, squishy soft couch. It was infinitely more comfortable than anything at Yumie-san's house, and he was taking full advantage of it. His newfound roommate was puttering around the kitchen — the man a little too comically big for the space — trying to decide if he should order or make food. Rin didn't care.

He’d been staying with Osamu for just over a week. A mostly boring affair as his roommate was usually at work and Shinsuke had recommended Rin to stay home as much as possible. No unaccompanied adventures. Doctor’s orders. He’d found ways to fill the time as best he could — usually playing games on Osamu’s desktop or reading the mishmashed collection of books he had.

“Okay, okay.” Osamu finally came to some sort of conclusion after sharpening three different knives and opening the cabinet above the sink no fewer than six times. “Why don’t I order a pizza and we can watch a movie?”

Again, Rin didn’t care. He shrugged.

Osamu snorted as he plucked the landline off the receiver. He tucked it between his jaw and his shoulder while he dug in a drawer. “Whatcha like? I was thinkin’ lotsa meat. Y’ain’t a vegetarian, right?”

" What? "

Osamu rolled his eyes with a smile. "Are. You. A. Vegetarian?"

"No? Osamu, we had beef ramen last night."

"Oh… right. Any other toppin's ya want?" Osamu flapped a menu back and forth — the laminated surface making a stupid wobbling sound. "World's yer oyster."

"Pineapple."

Osamu set the menu down, patting his hand on it with a grin on his lips. "Nice to see y—" He paused, expression falling slightly. A heartbeat of buffering passed before he continued, "Nice to see ya have no taste. But yer valid. Pineapple on half."

"You're so generous." Rin said, immediately feeling more than a little weird. He'd basically just met the guy and here they were talking like best friends.

"I'm a staunch supporter of freedom of food." Osamu nodded as he punched the number into the landline. "Might not wanna eat it myself, but I'll defend yer right to."

"A culinary superhero, truly."

Osamu flashed him a final grin before switching into Polite Phone Call With A Stranger mode and ordering their meat and pineapple monstrosity. 

Thirty minutes and an exchange of cash for pizza later, the two were arm to arm clutching folded slices over the box to avoid dripping grease on the couch. Osamu put on a western sci-fi movie about giant mecha fighting alien sea monsters. 

Rin didn't have a vast knowledge of the film industry — though maybe he did at one point — to know whether it was good or not. But he did know it was stupidly fun.

"There she is!" Osamu had cheerfully called when the Japanese main actress showed up and practically swooned when she absolutely bodied the guy in a sparring match. "Mako Mori is just so…" He sighed like a lovesick maiden.

"Guessing your type is the quiet but deadly kind?" 

"Love the kinda woman who can kick my ass." Osamu laughed. "Ya should meet my buddy, Kanoka. She's beaten me into the mat more times than I care to count. I think you'd like her."

"Eh? 'The mat?'"

"Oh, yeah. She does jujutsu. I dabble in it occasionally, but usually end up yieldin'." Osamu leaned forward to grab another slice. "She's always cute about it. Absolutely bodies ya and then giggles."

"She seems like a great girl. You're lucky."

Osamu bit at his lip. "No, no… it's not like that. Just friends."

"Right, sorry." Rin took a long sip of his can of cola to try and drown the awkwardness. Perhaps beer would've been better.

Quick to bounce back, Osamu perked up as the two main characters got plugged into their giant robot. "This is one of my favorite scenes."

They watched in silence as Mako chased the rabbit into her deepest, most traumatic memories. Curled up and terrified as a little girl during an attack on her city — sobbing while the guy main character can only watch. 

"I can't imagine how the drift must feel." Osamu spoke as the scene changed to the scientists and the big boss man. "Havin' someone in yer head and seein' yer memories."

Rin stayed silent. Easy for someone with a working memory to say. Someone who remembers the things about himself that he'd rather hide. He didn't have such luxury.

Maybe being in the drift would mean rediscovering what was lost. Or maybe, at very least, falling into the other person's memories and feeling what it's like to still have them.

"But I guess it'd be worth it for the chance to pilot a damn Jaeger."

There was a twinge in the back of Rin's skull — a distinct ache, unlike any pain he can recall. 

Osamu was still speaking, though the world seemed muted. An old silent film. All black and white save for Rin and the thunder in his mind painted in rich technicolor.

What's…

His vision blurred as he tried refocusing on his surroundings. 

In their place, flashes of something. 

A sword mounted above a heavy desk. The steady rise and fall of a heart rate monitor. Two kanji embroidered on a collar. An older man's voice saying a name.

"Suna."

It slipped out of his lips a little too easily. 

"Pardon?" Osamu blinked.

"My name. It's Suna."

It was a month before Osamu let Rin visit his restaurant. The place was several buses and a lengthy stint on the Fukuchiyama Line away from the townhouse. Being stranded at the restaurant for an entire 8 hour shift would’ve been hellish, since he knew Osamu wouldn’t let him wander off on his own.

But today, Osamu was only popping in for a short shift before the whole place closed. His boss was supposedly going on a business trip and made the executive decision to shut down, despite Osamu being perfectly capable of running it on his own.

“Boss is a bit of an eccentric man.” Osamu said with a shrug and a grin when Rin brought it up. “What he says goes.”

What was the oddest about the restaurant was how empty it seemed for the entirety of the handful of hours Rin had been sitting at the bar. An occasional visitor popped in, grabbed a quick donburi, before disappearing back into the afternoon. Rarely were there more than two or three people at the bar and usually it was completely abandoned.

“Doesn’t a dive like this get old?” Rin glanced at the only customer in the restaurant — a middle-aged woman dressed in the standard fare of a department store perfume seller. Probably on her lunch break. “It’s dead in here.”

Osamu shrugged, wiping down the work counter. They’re closing soon. “Sure does. But I like Amagasaki too much to leave. For at least a lil bit longer.”

“There’s gotta be more restaurants in town than a single, empty donburi joint. Any one of those places would be lucky to have you.” Rin fiddled with a bit of peeling wallpaper.

“Hm.” Osamu tucked his rag into the waistband of his apron. “Maybe so, but ah… like I said... eccentric man.”

The conversation died as Osamu got back to work cleaning up the kitchen. After the perfume woman finished and Osamu began clearing off the bar, the boss himself apparated into the kitchen. Where on earth he came from, Rin had absolutely no idea. Maybe his office was tucked somewhere behind the storage rooms?

His arrival was accompanied by a boisterous shout of “‘Samu! Look atcha. Always workin’ so hard!”

Osamu laughed, clearly used to the histrionics of it all. “Keep linin’ my pockets with the big bucks boss, and I’ll keep workin’ hard.”

A pause before the boss had his hands on his hips and his spine curved backwards in a full body guffaw. “Yer a real gem, ‘Samu. Knew I kept ya ‘round for a reason.”

“‘Cause I’m funny?” Osamu grinned. Rin marveled at the way Osamu’s voice thickened and slurred — keeping in pace with the boss’s own speech patterns. “And here I thought it was because ain’t none of yer hires can clean their way outta paper bag.”

Another overblown laugh. 

Rin took in the sight of the boss as the two continued to banter. If he noticed Rin sitting in the corner, then he’d made no obvious sign of it. Not a single glance in his direction.

The boss was slightly shorter than Osamu and much stockier. It was clear the only six pack he has ever possessed was made up of beer. His hair was slicked back and going silver at the temples. A whitened scar cut into his jawline and another took a chunk out of an eyebrow. His knobby fingers were covered in gold rings.

He turned to dramatically gesture something to Osamu, and Rin got a glimpse of something through the man’s sweat stains. Dark and colored skin faintly coming through the translucent patch of dress shirt. A tattoo — mirrored in the other armpit’s encompassing stain. 

When he turned back around, Rin noticed a bulge in the boss’s trousers that was a bit too large and tetris shaped to be a dick.

Osamu made his way around the bar towards Rin as he wiped down the surface. It was only then that the dark eyes of the boss met Rin's. Brows raised in surprise before his lips curled into a fake smile.

"Sorry man, ain't see ya there." The boss's hands lingered around his waist, thumbs hooked through belt loops. "'Fraid we're closed."

"He's with me." Osamu didn't even look up from his cleaning.

"Eh?" The boss's expression morphed into a curled grin. "Ahh, I get it now."

Rin felt his shoulders relax as the boss's hands left his belt loops. When did he tense up like that in the first place?

"This must be yer fella, 'Samu." The boss tilted his chin in Rin's direction — a silent greeting. "I ain't know much 'bout bein' gay—"

"Bisexual, boss." Osamu huffed out a faint laugh.

"—But he seems good lookin'. Good on ya, son."

Rin felt himself smile as Osamu's face went red from embarrassment. He swiftly turned away and went to clean something else.

The boss barked out another boisterous laugh before turning to Rin. "Ya treat my boy right, ya hear?" Rin nodded. He clapped his ringed hands together. "I'm gonna head out. Work t'be done. Y'all lock up when ya go, 'kay?"

"Yes, sir." Osamu gave a half-hearted salute as the boss disappeared back into the storage room.

A moment of silence hung in the air until finally Osamu let out a relieved sigh. “Again, don’t mind him he’s—”

“Yakuza.” Rin glanced at the doorframe of the storage room, half-expecting the boss to pop back out.

“I— well, ain’tcha quick on the draw?” Osamu laughed, leaning against the wall of the restaurant. “I shouldn’t be so surprised, ya noticed how empty this place is right off the bat.”

“Osamu.” Rin narrowed in on Osamu’s gaze, trying to find any semblance of truth or lie in the man’s expression. “Are you?”

A shrug. “Nah, ‘course not. I know and he knows I know but he leaves me outta it. The restaurant’s mostly a front for his money launderin’.” Osamu’s tone was light, careless. “I keep the few legitimate customers we get happy, which keeps the feds off his back. If I snitch, I’m prob’ly dead but that’s just business.”

“You’re fucking insane.” Rin slumped against the bar, pillowing his head on his arms.

“Never said I wasn’t.” A hand met Rin’s back, patting gently. “C’mon, let’s lock up.”

He raised his head to see Osamu’s soft smile. “Why’d you tell me then?”

“Eh, ya know like three people in the world. Even if ya went to the cops, they’d do jack shit. They’re dirty like that. Plus, they’d chuck ya into a psych ward ‘til ya remembered yer name.”

Rin supposed he had a good point. 

Osamu helped haul him up to his feet, pressing his palm to his lower back to push him along towards the front door. After a final cursory sweep of the place, Osamu deemed it satisfactory.

“Now, what’s say you ‘n’ I go get some dinner. Yakiniku sound good?”

He sighed. "Fine."

The information about his roommate settled in the back of his mind — for now, at least. Instead, he let himself focus on the narrow streets and the brush of Osamu's shoulder on his as they walked.

His heart beat erratically — a dry ache settled in the hollow of his throat. He coughed out as the front door opened. "Os—"

"Shit." There was a rustle of bags and the clink of metal cans moments before Osamu rushed forward. "Rin, Rin, Rin." Big hands met his cheeks — one brushing away bangs and the other smacking a little more sense in him with every pat. "I'm here."

This wasn't the first time.

After the revelation of Suna, he'd get hit with the occasional blurred memory. A sudden squall thundering throughout his body — shortness of breath, muscles spasming as he writhed, and that ache . Always that ache.

He hid it from Osamu at first. His roommate was usually at work when the attacks hit.

But it was inevitable.

Osamu cradled his head in the crook of his arm and pressed his torso against his own — rocking them both back and forth.

Today's memory was as vague as the others had been. A cufflink shaped like a crescent moon. Minuscule, but enough to send his brain into overdrive.

"Shh." Fingers brushed through his hair as Osamu pressed him closer to his body. His eyes burned hot and wet as he stained patches into Osamu's black work shirt. "Yer here. Yer alive. I'm here."

"Sam—" Fishbowl brain. Colored gravel. Plastic castles. Goldfish memory. Eyes staring. Water sloshing. "The groceries."

Osamu laughed, running his hand along his ribcage. "Rin, Rin, Rin. Don't think about that."

"The groceries."

Both of Osamu's hands met his face, clutching his cheeks. His eyes were a carpark in the rain. Too dark, too stormy. A sheen of iridescent oil. Flecks of gold — oh — like lines of paint.

"I'm here."

A carpark doesn't speak. What the hell is he thinking?

Rin blinked before inhaling. It's Osamu. "You're here."

"There he is." Osamu brushed his thumbs along his under eyes as the room regained full clarity. His breathing steadied, heart slowed, fists loosened.

"I'm sorry." Rin's head ached as Osamu pulled him into a tight embrace. "I should—"

"No." Osamu's voice sounded pained. "It's okay. Ya should stay with me."

"But Shin—"

"Rin." Osamu met his eye — expression serious. "If ya go back to Granny Kita's house and have an attack like this, yer gonna terrify her."

"But you don't deserve this."

"Maybe not." Osamu tucked a chunk of bang behind his ear, fingers lingering on Rin's temple. "But I knew what I signed up for."

Rin stared into those resolute silver eyes. He didn't know what he was searching for — honesty, deception, purpose, a reason. He pressed his thumb against Osamu's bottom lip — pushing it around and pulling it open before withdrawing. He's real. He's honest. He's here.

"Why? Why are you helping me?"

"Growin' up, I had this good friend. We were practically raised together. Enjoyed the good times and fought through the bad times." Osamu gripped Rin's waist and shoulder, pulling them both up to their feet. "He had his share of demons, and I had mine."

He was carefully deposited on the couch as Osamu went to gather the abandoned groceries. "He went through a real rough patch in our mid-twenties. Whole family died in an accident and he shut down. Did nothin' but sleep and work. I'd visit him some days and just see him starin' off into nothing."

A cold glass of water was pressed into Rin's hands as Osamu settled on the other side of the couch. "About a year after the accident, I thought things were gettin' better. He didn't seem so locked inside his own brain anymore. Though, he still never wanted to talk about how he felt. 

"We were on a trip to Russia for business. Things were seemingly goin’ well and I had planned somethin’ special for our last day. ‘Cause before we came back, I… wanted to…" A bit of Rin's heart ached as he watched Osamu's face fall into his hands, fingers grabbing at his bangs roughly. "I had somethin' important to tell him."

"You loved him." Rin realized, before immediately regretting speaking.

Osamu laughed softly. "Yeah, I did. He was real special.” He lifted his head, exhaling a long breath. “He went missin’ one day. I waited and waited — and god, I waited — but he never came back. After six months, they told me he was dead.”

Rin stayed quiet as Osamu worked through a rough thought — the gears whirling in the crease of his brows and clench of his jaw. “I refuse to let that happen to someone else.”

“I shouldn’t have asked.” Rin rested his hand on Osamu’s knee. “Thanks for telling me.”

Osamu smiled, despite the wet sheen glimmering in his eyes.

Rin held the black tube in his hand as he sat on the balcony of Osamu's townhouse. He leaned against the shitty ancient AC unit, sheltering his skin from the sun with a string of their laundry. He'd tried opening it countless times over the past four months to no avail.

He’d forced himself to shove it towards the back of his mind.

Not to obsess over it for every single moment of Osamu’s shift, just like Shinsuke had warned.

But he was only so strong. The occasional moment of weakness led him to fiddle with the object for hours — halted only by the rumble of Osamu’s truck or the sound of the front door opening.

“Open.” He tried in Japanese before echoing the word in every single language he knew. Useless. Yelling in Chinese or English or Romanian did nothing but confuse any of Osamu’s neighbors who happened to be outside.

“Rin?” Called Osamu’s voice from the genkan downstairs, surprising him. What was he doing home so early? “Where’ya at?”

In his hurry to slip the black tube into a safer place, it fell from his grip and rolled across the balcony. It wedged itself neatly between two planters — just out of reach. He tried scrambling up to get it, but couldn't make it in time.

"There ya are." Osamu poked his head through the open sliding door and lifted a drink bag with two cups of iced coffee within. He blinked in clear confusion as he took in Rin's strange position. His gaze followed the line of his outstretched arm. "What…?"

Rin was fast but Osamu was somehow faster — plucking the black object up without spilling a single drop of coffee. Damn those restaurant reflexes.

"Osamu."

Osamu seemed transfixed by the object — rolling it around in his palm. His eyes were laser focused, lips parted open slightly.

"Osamu, please. That's mine. It's from before."

Hesitation. Eyes averted. Guilt blooming under the skin. 

Saying nothing, he gave the black object back and retreated into the apartment.

"Osamu!" Rin called after him. He'd slumped himself into the ratty old recliner in front of the television — coffees abandoned on the side table. Fingers picked at Osamu's cuticles loudly. Nerves. "It's okay."

Rin folded his arms on the back of the recliner and rested his chin on the top of Osamu's head. Using his lower body, he rocked the seat to and fro. "You're overreacting."

Silence.

"Talk to me, asshole." Rin flicked him on the ear. When he was met with even more silence, he bent his torso, knees, and the chair as far back as they could stretch.

Then — release.

Osamu's half-launched out of the recliner, body slumping over his knees. A laugh. Victory. "Ya suck." 

Rin gripped Osamu's wrists, pulling him to his feet. It's not lost on him how cute he looks — the furrow of brows, the grumpy grey of his eyes, the downward tilt of his lips. "Made you laugh, though."

Osamu sighed before giving a half-smile. "Aight, ya got me." His hands went boneless as he tried escaping Rin's grip. 

"I don't know what it is." Rin loosened his grip slightly, giving Osamu an out. "Shinsuke gave it to me before he left. He said it was mine, but I don't know what it is…"

"It's prob'ly important." Osamu slipped further until his palms were flush to Rin's — lingering for a heartbeat before pulling back completely. "Whatever's in that tube… it's who ya are. Or at least a clue."

Osamu pressed a hand to his shoulder blade, gently pushing Rin towards the couch. "It's less than useless if I can't get it open."

"I… don't think ya gotta rush it." Osamu's fingers wrapped around Rin's hand — curling his fist closed around the tube. "But Suna, I know ya can do it."

"Don't. I don't want to be called that." Rin slumped to the side, forehead resting on Osamu's shoulder. "I know I said Suna's my name but it—"

"Voice recognized: Welcome, Suna." Osamu's eyes grew wide as the tube tucked inside their joined hands began to pulse.

"I toldja!" A spark of joy shone in Osamu's expression, eyes crinkling as he smiled. Genuine, warm. He let go of his grip on Rin's fingers. "Look."

A segment of the black tube had come loose — letting the object open. Magnetic. Whatever he had done to activate it had released the strong magnetic pull.

"Well?" Osamu withdrew his hands, folding them in his lap. "What's inside?"

Rin nodded before tapping out the contents of the tube into his open palm. Three pieces of paper curled around a small, needle-shaped object. Despite his hunger to read the papers, he first raised the object. A steady red light blinked at regular intervals.

“C...can I?” Osamu’s eyes were wide — in confusion or surprise, Rin wasn’t sure. He passed it over, watching as Osamu held it in front of his face. “It looks like some kinda chip. Like that thing Jason Bourne had in his hip. You’ve seen The Bourne Identity, right?”

“Osamu.” Rin rolled his eyes as Osamu handed it back over. “I haven’t seen The Bourne Identity. You’ve shown me every single movie I’ve ever seen.”

“...Right.” Osamu scratched the back of his neck. “Next movie night, ‘kay?”

Rin bumped his knee against Osamu’s before moving on to the papers.

The first was a newspaper clipping softened around the folded edges. It was dated to 4 years ago — according to Shinsuke’s age estimation for Rin, he would’ve been in his early to mid-twenties.

“CEO of Raijin Motor Company Murdered.” Rin read the headline before his eyes trailed to a photo of three people — a dark-haired man in a business suit, a pretty woman with fancy jewelry, and a young woman with a bright smile that didn’t match her neutral-faced parents.

“That’s yer family, ain’t it?” Osamu leaned into his space to look at the photo. He tapped the young woman once with his pointer finger. “She looks like ya.”

"Suna Airi." Rin read from the photo's caption. "Suna Ryosuke and Suna Tsubaki."

"Even without the name." He could feel Osamu's gaze on him, but didn't dare meet his eye. "Same nose. Same eyes. Same dark hair."

"All three of them." Rin muttered as he read about the grisly incident. "They're all dead. The article mentioned no suspect because their mansion was completely wiped clean of fingerprints."

"Damn."

"The Suna family is sadly all too familiar with tragedy. Last year, Suna Ryosuke's brother drowned while on vacation. The family's eldest daughter — her name is blacked out with marker — has been missing for nearly 10 years." Rin set the newspaper down, having read enough. "That was me."

Osamu nodded, though he remained silent.

Rin sighed before reaching for the other large piece of paper — some sort of official looking stationary. The kanji of his family name in the center of a fox silhouette, bordered by gold flowers. 

"Young Mistress… the name is blacked out again."

"Ya really said 'don't ya dare deadname me.'" Osamu snorted. "I respect it.”

"We are concerned with your recent transgressions. They are not actions befitting a young woman such as yourself." Rin had to stop himself from gagging. "Unless you turn a significant leaf, the elders will have no choice but to turn that leaf for you. Enough of this foolish behavior before you bring shame upon this family. What a fucking joke."

"Was that yer dad?" Rin's gaze flicked to the end of the note. Unsigned.

"Maybe, I don't know. Whoever it was had some fucking audacity. Pretending we live in feudal times." Rin rolled it back up. "Like I was their pretty little princess who wanted to play samurai."

Finally, the last slip of paper. It looked like scrap — ripped from a homework page of some kind — with scribbled script on the back. He brushed his fingers along two kanji at the top, carefully tracing the strokes. Home, they read.

“What’s this?” Osamu asked.

Rin trailed his eyes over the script. "It's an address. Nagoya."

Osamu nodded. "Makes sense."

"My sister wrote this. Airi." Rin realized. His memory hadn't lit up in a surge of pain or a flash of clarity, but somehow he knew all the same. "We have to go here, Osamu."

"Rin…" Osamu fiddled with his fingers, a nervous look painting his face. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Rin grinned, reaching forward to ruffle Osamu's grey locks. "Don't be a coward. It'll be fine."

"I just wanna know. What do ya expect to be there?" Osamu averted his eyes. A slight hollow formed in his cheek as Osamu gnawed on the inside.

"Something. Anything. A clue, a hint. A message from her. Maybe she knew who I was."

"She's dead, Rin." Osamu said, tone blunt. "Things can change in four years. This place might not even exist anymore."

Rin brushed his hand along Osamu's — curling his fingers around their fidgeting partners. It was then Osamu met his eye — grey swirling like a hurricane.

"I know. But I have to try." Rin squeezed Osamu's hand, a grin playing at the corner of his lips. This was gonna be a low blow but if it worked, it worked. "If you don't wanna come with, I'll just go by myself. No big deal."

He bit back the urge to laugh as Osamu fought through several stages of grief knowing he's lost. "Fine, we'll go this weekend. I'll try to get off work."

Rin curled up the last strip of paper and slid it back into the tube before sealing it back up again. He glanced up at Osamu — thick brows pushed together. "What?"

“It’s nothin’.” Osamu smiled. “Just glad yer gettin’ closer to the truth.”

After a two and a half hour drive, Osamu's truck rolled into a parking garage in downtown Nagoya. He seemed uncomfortable the entire time they were driving but Rin figured it was just expressway nerves. 

The address had brought them to an over twenty story condominium building — outfitted with shiny glass and steel accents. As they approached the front door, a man in a suit opened it for them.

"Damn." Osamu muttered as they entered the marble lobby. "Makes my place look like a hovel."

"Your house is cute." Rin snickered, pressing a palm to Osamu's back to push him along.

"Welcome." The woman at the concierge desk said, not looking up from her computer. "Name on file?"

"Er… Su—"

Rin was cut off by the woman clapping her hands together and squealing. "Itokazu-san! It's so good to see you!" 

Itokazu? 

"Yeah." Rin forced out an uncomfortable laugh. "It's good to be home."

"You were in Singapore for so long! I hope business went well."

"Never better." Rin glanced back at Osamu. A single thick brow rose. Just play along. "Say, how long do you think it's been?"

She tapped a manicured finger against her chin. "Maybe a year and a half or maybe two. Goodness, you look so different!"

"For the better, I hope." Rin shot her a grin, and she giggled.

"Of course, of course, Itokazu-san!" Next to him, Osamu's shoulders visibly tensed as the woman rose to her feet. "Let me get you a key card."

"That'd be wonderful." Rin provided before turning to whisper into Osamu's ear. "Relax. No need to be so twitchy."

As the woman returned to the desk, her eyes widened at their close proximity. "Now… wait just a second." A flash of movement from Osamu — a hand connecting to his hip. "Oh my goodness. You must be Itokazu-san's husband!"

Osamu's hand dropped.

"Right." Rin said with a grin, taking the dropped hand in his own. "Excuse him. He's a little jet lagged."

"He looks just like I pictured him. You painted a good description." She slid the card across the desk. A sheepish flare of pink had settled on her cheeks. "I'll let you get going. Welcome home!" With a bow, she gestured towards a security door.

Once in the privacy of the elevator, Rin felt his stable grasp on reality slip. "Who the hell is Itokazu?"

Warm hands met his shoulders.

"Ya gotta remember, Rin." Osamu's voice was solid. Grounding. "Yer family was like stupid rich. It makes sense ya'd have a fake identity."

"How much of what she said was true, though?" Rin reached into his pocket to fish out the black tube. "Maybe this is my old life and Itokazu is who I am now."

"With an international business and a husband? Successful son of a bitch." Osamu leaned against the wall of the elevator, flashing a cheeky grin. "Not nearly as successful as whoever yer damn husband is, though. Baggin' you."

"Idiot." Rin snorted as the door to the 23rd floor slid open.

"I think if this is yer new life, it's a good one."

"But that begs the question…" Rin sighed as they turned a corner down the hallway. "Why would I try to kill myself?"

"Ya can have a good life and still be at war with yerself." They stopped before another security door — engraved with the numbers on the slip of scrap paper. "But… ya left yer family as a kid and they were later killed. That kinda shit leaves damage. Traumatizes ya."

"Fair enough."

"Are ya ready?" A brush of fingers against his wrist before Osamu slotted their hands together. Support. He needed it.

"As I'll ever be." Rin tapped the key card against the scanner and pulled Osamu through the door.

To say the condominium was nice was an egregious understatement. The entire place was washed in the late morning sunlight streaming through the massive windows. Despite not being inhabited in at least a year and a half, the place seemed clean and well taken care of. 

Though it was fully furnished, the personal touches were minimal. A handful of books on the mostly empty bookshelf, a photo frame on a side table.

"Ooh." Osamu half-heartedly tugged him towards the open-plan kitchen before Rin let him slip through his fingers. "I can't believe you've been holdin' out on me like this. Black marble?"

Rin smiled as he watched Osamu flutter around the kitchen — opening cabinets and peaking into drawers. "Of course you would be entranced by the kitchen."

"It's just so pretty." Osamu sighed dreamily. "It's a shame ya probably never cooked in it."

Oh.

"I wonder how much of this place I actually used." Rin trailed his hand along the back of the large couch — far nicer but infinitely more uncomfortable looking than the one in Osamu's place. "It looks more like a model home than anything else."

He picked up the photo frame from the side table. The picture within was old — two children standing in front of a massive statue of Buddha. The taller one — clearly himself based on the faint smile and the short hair — threw up a peace sign. The shorter one — Airi — had a massive, brace-filled smile. They were in elementary school, or maybe Rin was a middle schooler by then. 

Happier times. Maybe. If he'd ever had such a thing.

"Airi called this place home on the note." Rin placed the photo back down before moving towards the bookcase. "She must've been here, too. At some point, at least."

"Family safe house, then?" Osamu poked his head into the fridge before wrenching open the freezer. "Maybe one just for you and yer sister?"

The books were less than insightful — mostly just a handful of mysteries and a couple of fantasy novels. 

"A safe house?" Rin flipped through one of the novels, finding a stray takeout menu marking one of the pages. "I get we were rich, but a safe house?"

Osamu said nothing, resuming his exploration. 

Rin found two bedrooms — both beds without bedding and any personal belongings — before coming across some sort of office.

"Osamu?" He called as he entered. A tall locker-like safe stood in the corner. "There's something here."

There was a sharp slam from the kitchen followed by a quiet whoops, sorry from Osamu. 

On the desk was a dated computer, a stack of paperwork, and a few more photos. Rin and his sister at varying ages. As kids with bruised knees, missing teeth, and a clear bucket full of tadpoles. As young teens — before he disappeared — in their school uniforms. He couldn't help but laugh at himself in it. He was standing with one leg raised like Captain Morgan — showing off the bike shorts under his uniform skirt — and baring his teeth in a sinister grin. Airi was giggling, trying and failing to hide her mouth with her fist.

The last photo was puzzling. They looked much older. Late teens or early twenties. Airi was nearly as tall as he was, hair pulled back into a messy bun and wearing an oversized hoodie. On the table in front of them was a birthday cake. Two candle numbers: 25 and 23. Rin was waving at the camera, bearing an unfamiliar smile.

"What'dya—" Osamu entered the room as Rin brushed his thumb over his photographed self.

It was his own face. His own smile. How could it be unfamiliar?

"Rin?" His voice was soft. "What's this?"

When was this taken?

Did…

"She knew about me." Rin whispered. "After I disappeared."

Warmth enveloped his chest as Osamu pressed against his back, wrapping his arms tight. His chin rested on Rin's shoulder, eyes focused on the photo.

“We were still close… when she died.”

"I'm sorry." Osamu laid his hand flat on Rin's chest, surely feeling the thunderous beat of his heart. His lungs ached as his throat went dry. 

A telltale throb of pain in the back of his mind.

I'll miss you, big brother. 

You too, Ai-chan. 

A sniffled laugh. Always with the Ai-chan! I'm not thirteen anymore.

You'll always be Ai-chan to me. 

"Hey, hey. Let's get some rest for now." Osamu gripped his shoulders, pulling him away from the office. 

"The safe."

"Is not goin' anywhere." Osamu tugged at him. "We can look later."

A silent surrender.

Warm arms wrapped around him as his eyes fluttered closed and his teeth clenched shut. A broad hand on his back and a soothing murmur of lips in his hair.

Rin woke in a daze, head still aching and his body too warm. Something touched his face — a palm resting on his cheek. Another on his upper arm, curled around his shoulders and pressing him close. His own hands were tucked near his face in a warm little burrow.

Heavy eyes dragged open to come face to face with the solidly asleep Osamu. His mouth hung slightly open, exhaling soft breaths and the occasional throaty snore. There was an air of content about him, expression fully at peace. Occasionally, his fingers would twitch and shift, brushing along Rin’s skin. 

He’d been on edge lately. It was good he was finally getting some rest. 

“Osamu.” Rin whispered.

He grinned as the only response was a single snorting snore and a nose twitch. Carefully slipping out of Osamu’s hold, Rin adjusted their position, so he could press his chest against the broad plane of Osamu’s back. As he draped his arm over Osamu’s waist, fingers entwined with his own.

For just a little bit longer, Rin could let himself forget the gravity of their circumstances. That instead of laying on an unmade bed in a barren safe house full of secrets, they were curled up in Osamu’s bed on a Sunday morning. They’d get up when they were well and truly ready to crawl out of their comfortable burrito. Make omurice in the tiny kitchen and sit on the counter laughing between clinks of chopsticks.

They weren’t.

But as sleep threatened to reclaim him, Rin didn’t much care.

What Rin failed to realize was how truly difficult it was to open up a safe without a combination.

In the heisty action movies he and Osamu had watched, there was always some special tool or super genius hacker or a controlled explosion or just a big beefy dude who could somehow wrench the door open. Now, Osamu had nice arms from hauling about big bags of rice and boxes of ingredients, but those were just everyday muscles. Not break open safe muscles.

He tried every combination of numbers he could think of. The condominium's room number. Osamu's birthday. 6969. The date on the newspaper clipping. 1234. Osamu's pin number for the ATM which he not only noticed but memorized somehow. 

"I'm back!" Osamu called from the entryway. After they both slept through the night, they'd waken up ravenously hungry. Satiation had been achieved by a couple of protein bars Osamu had in his truck, but they needed a proper meal as well.

"Welcome home." Rin punched in a final combination before climbing to his feet, brushing the dust off his ass, and heading to the kitchen.

"I love this city, Rin." Osamu sighed as he produced a number of plastic takeaway containers. "Free breakfast with a cup of coffee? Now that's speakin' my language."

Rin huffed out a laugh. "What did you find?"

"Didn't know if ya liked ogura or not, so I got us both English muffins with ham and egg." Osamu slid him a container with the sandwich as well as a cup of yogurt and a cup of fresh fruit. "Hope that's alright."

"Yeah, 'course."

There'd been a slight air of awkwardness since they woke up that morning — drowsy from too much sleep and tangled up in each other. Mumbles of his name from Osamu had set his cheeks aflame as his companion nestled in closer. But once they were both fully awake, Osamu kept his distance.

Rin didn't feel like overthinking it. Osamu's a nice guy after all. Probably thinks he's taking advantage of Rin.

Rin doesn't think he is, but what does he know? Not a whole lot.

"Ya get the safe open?" Osamu said, muffled around the toasted crunch of an English muffin. 

"Nah, I tried everything I could think of but no luck." Rin swirled the yogurt around with his spoon, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat. Maybe he wasn't hungry after all. 

Osamu's brows rose as he munched on his sandwich. "Rin, ya gotta eat."

"Not hungry."

An eye roll. "Yes, ya are. You'll feel better if ya eat. Promise." A smile. "Why are ya so anxious?"

Osamu watched the entire movement of Rin scooping up a bit of yogurt and spooning it into his own mouth. It was a struggle to swallow, but he managed.

"The safe."

"Don't worry 'bout that. I have a brilliant idea."

"Uh huh." Rin took a tentative bite of his English muffin, swiftly realizing how satisfying the crunch of toast and the burst of runny egg yolk was. Maybe eating wasn’t so bad after all. He wasn’t about to admit that to Osamu, who looked terribly smug about the whole situation.

After they both finished — bellies full and all anxious lumps vanished — they returned to the office. Osamu had silently gestured towards the desk chair, not so subtly telling Rin to let the expert handle it.

He’d obeyed. But not before an over dramatic eye roll.

“Hm.” Osamu ran his palm along the top of the locker safe before coasting down the sides. Hoing and humming and experimentally tapping his fingers against the metal. Every once in a while, he’d glance back with the tiniest of smiles. It was all terribly charming, unfortunately.

Finally, after all his useless peacocking, he did something. One more tiny smile before quickly tapping in four numbers. There was a positive-sounding jingle and a hiss as the safe unlocked.

“...What the hell?” Rin got to his feet in an instant, a surge of red in his vision. He gripped at Osamu’s collar, practically shoving him into the wall. He’s met with his companion’s smarmy smile — clearly pleased with himself. “How the hell did you do that in one fucking guess?”

Osamu laughed, eyes curving into wrinkled crescents. “I’ve played Resident Evil before.”

A silent pause.

"Video game. Zombies and monsters. Um… puzzles. Y'know."

He pointed at the photo on the desk — Rin and Airi's birthday party.

"In RE, usually, the clue to the puzzle is nearby."

25. 23.

Rin loosened his grip — dropping Osamu's collar in the process. The red faded. How utterly fucking stupid. 

Osamu gestured towards the safe, sidestepping away to give Rin the space he needed. "After you."

He nodded. Fingers wrapped around the handle tentatively, thumb brushing the stainless steel.

"I'm here." Osamu whispered, a gentle touch to his shoulder.

Pull.

Rin's eyes widened as the contents of the safe revealed themselves. There were several compartments and shelves on the top and sides filled with paperwork and items. But the main feature of the safe was a larger compartment that took up almost the entire length.

"Holy shit."

Inside was a row of rifles, butts to the floor and the barrels slotted into a special holder. Some looked like the assault rifles he's seen Osamu's video game characters use. Others looked more high tech with special gadgets equipped.

One caught his eye — matte black with a streamlined body. Perched above its magazine was a massive scope. A sniper rifle.

"Damn, Rin." Osamu's voice came from his right, looking through the pockets in the door — holding a number of handguns. "Yer packin' heat."

Rin unclipped the sniper from its holder, feeling its oddly familiar heft in his arms. He raised it horizontally, tucking the stock beneath his armpit and raising the scope to his eye. Along the bottom of the magazine — where his hand rested — the brushed metal was slightly worn down.

Not only was the rifle his. But he's used it. A lot.

Rin wasn't sure how he felt. There was no telltale buzz in his skull, no anxiety boiling in his chest. 

This image in his head of himself as a respectable businessman — gallivanting abroad, spending birthdays with his sister, struggling with the demons of her death — seemed to vanish. Nothing was left in its wake, just a scrapbook of blurry photos plastered in it out of order.

As he lowered the rifle, he noticed Osamu watching him. He was resting against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The normally downcast expression his eyes wore were droopier, a tiny frown played at his lips. Despite his earlier smugness and cheeky comments, he seemed upset.

"Everything okay, Osamu?" Rin set the rifle down, leaning it against the side of the safe.

"I ain't so sure about all this." 

Rin grinned, lips curling over teeth. “I’m way cooler than I thought I was.”

“Rin—”

“Let’s see what else’s in here.”

“Maybe we should stop for now.” Osamu sounded nervous. “Don’t wanna stress out yer brain.”

“No.” A flicker of anger. He was mere moments from finding out who he was. How dare Osamu try to stop him now? “I’m fine.”

“But—”

“I said no!” A click of teeth as he snapped.

Warmth bled into his shoulder as Osamu’s palm met it. He tried batting it away, but noticed the solemn expression on Osamu’s face. Lips pulled taught and brows relaxed. A silent go ahead, I’m here.

Rin exhaled, the guilt thick. “Sorry. I know you’re just tryna help.”

With Osamu’s help, they got to work emptying the shelves and drawers. The paperwork was mostly documents bearing Itokazu’s name and invoices for his business that may or may not be real. A bright red Japanese passport — again, for Itokazu-san, though the picture was clearly himself. Itokazu Kotarou. Born on January 25th, 29 years ago. The corners of his mouth twitched in pride as he saw the M beneath ‘Sex.’ Well played, Itokazu-san. Well played.

Osamu plucked out a business card for a hotel in Singapore, flipping it over several times before passing it over to Rin. “Maybe worth a call. Ya mighta stayed here.”

He nodded, setting it to the side. The next drawer was full of newspaper clippings not dissimilar to the one in the black tube. Reported murders of businessmen and assassinations of political figures. Plus several articles about several successful public missions by an organization called the UTFJ.

“It’s the United Task Force of Japan.” Osamu provided when asked, not looking up from his clipping. “The UTF is an international peacekeepin’ force. Stoppin’ wars and protectin’ people, all that sorta high and mighty jazz.”

“You don’t sound too convinced.”

“Ya gotta remember who fills my pockets.” Osamu laughed bitterly. “They’ve been on boss’s dick for years ‘cause they know he’s yakuza but haven’t gotten any solid dirt on him yet. It’s a waste of manpower ‘n’ money is what it is.”

Osamu scooted along the floor to rest against the wall, tilting his head back. “I know they do some good work here — their medical research division especially — but I can’t help but think there’s somethin' off about the UTFJ.”

“Like a conspiracy?” Rin joined him.

Osamu nodded, exhaling out a long sigh. Rin nudged him with his arm, a silent invitation to let him rest his head on his shoulder. “I ain’t alone in my opinions but like their dealin’s with boss, it's impossible to find any dirt on ‘em.”

“I wonder…” Rin settled his head on Osamu’s — silver hair soft against his cheek. “Maybe I was researching this agency. Trying to connect their successes to their failures. Those assassinations and murders. Cover ups, maybe?”

“I dunno, maybe. Yer too clever for yer own good, I think.” Osamu’s voice was soft, tinged with sleep. A gentle press of fingers brushed against his own before slotting them together. Broad strokes of a thumb stroked his skin. A yawn.

“Stay awake, Osamu. We still have more to look through.” He nudged him. It was no use — in the corner of his vision, Osamu’s blinks grew painfully slower. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

A sleepy snort. “Don't let yer husband hear that." Osamu nestled deeper, shifting his head like a cat trying to get comfortable. "Just five minutes, 'kay?"

"Five minutes, then back to work." Rin said, slipping his arm around Osamu. Sleep overtook his companion quickly — exhaling out soft breaths and limbs going slightly boneless.

The past few days have been stressful on them both, he realized. Osamu's nerves were because he cared. Wanted to make sure he wasn't going too fast, he was processing everything properly, he was taking breaks. Osamu was a chef, not his therapist and yet he's had to fill that role. You can only support someone so much before it begins to harm you.

"I'm sorry, Osamu." He whispered under the safety of a low snore. "I shouldn't have snapped at you." 

Far more than five minutes passed, with even Rin dozing off a little. With how long he and Osamu slept last night, you'd think they wouldn't need the nap. 

Rin woke up to the sound of Osamu's voice in the hallway, muffled by the thick wooden door. Ignoring the crick in his neck and the soreness in his legs, he got to his feet.

"I get it." Osamu sounded annoyed, like his teeth were clenched together. "But am I not allowed to take a damn weekend for myself?"

Rin sighed, leaning against the door.

"No, yer not listenin' to me. I'm allowed to take a break. I'll be back in Amagasaki by Monday."

A bit more grumbling and bitching from Osamu before a final, "Alright, bye."

Rin slid away, eager to hide his eavesdropping. He slipped into the desk chair as Osamu opened the door.

Osamu met his eye, the knot between his brows softening in an instant. "Oh, did I wake ya?"

"Yeah." Rin shrugged. "Don't mind. Everything alright?"

Osamu's shoulders slumped as he crossed the room. "Yeah, just my boss. Wanted to know what the hell I was doin' in Nagoya."

"Damn. That strict?"

"Well, ya know how it is." Osamu leaned on the back of the desk chair, cheek pressing against the top of Rin's head. "Some folks feel the need to control yer whole life."

Rin recalled the note tucked in the black tube. His family threatening him unless he bent himself to abide by their rules, their standards. Fuck that. 

“You could leave.” Rin shifted his head back until Osamu’s face brushed against his forehead. From this angle, he could see his eyes were closed. “I bet the yakuza wouldn’t be too happy about it, but here you’d have a cool sniper to protect you.”

Osamu chuckled, a tiny smile growing on his lips. “Ya prob’ly don’t even remember how to shoot the damn thing.”

“I’d learn.” Rin blindly reached back, prodding at Osamu’s folded arms before managing to encircle his hand around his wrist. “Just for you.”

“Give a guy some warnin’ before ya make him swoon like that.” Osamu was properly grinning now. “Ladies, if he ain’t willin’ to learn military tactics for ya, he ain’t worth it.” 

Rin let go, spinning the desk chair around. Osamu stumbled slightly from losing his resting place, hands gripping the arms to keep his balance. “Am I?” Rin cracked a smile as Osamu’s ears reddened at their sudden proximity. “Worth it, that is?”

Something broke in Osamu. He surged forward — practically sitting in Rin’s lap — to hug him. Arms solid as they pulled him close. One hand trailing into the base of Rin’s hair, tangling and tugging gently. A quiet voice as he responded, lips brushing against his neck with every syllable. “Yes, you’ve always been.”

Warmth in his chest bloomed. 

“Osamu.” He loosened his own grip, tapping on Osamu’s back to get him to pull back. 

Silver eyes shimmered with the faintest trace of tears — not yet pooling. Lips parted, exhaling soft breaths. As Rin cupped his cheek, he leaned into it. Eyes drifted closed, brows furrowing.

“I want to kiss you.” Rin admitted, running his thumb along Osamu’s upper lip. There was a faint twinge of a smile at the corners of Osamu’s mouth as he huffed out a breathy laugh.

“Take me outta my misery.” Osamu whispered before pressing a tiny kiss to the pad of Rin’s thumb.

Rin ran his fingers through Osamu’s shaved nape, feeling the soft prickle against his skin before pulling him closer. A shiver ran through Rin’s spine as their lips met, parted, then again. Hurried but slow. Clumsy, yet careful. Unfamiliar and familiar. All at once.

Osamu was heavy in his lap, but he didn’t much care. The pressure on his thighs was comfortable, and the position gave him easy access to the soft skin along Osamu’s hip bone.

They parted ever-so-slightly, giving Rin a clear view of the dreamy, hazy look in Osamu’s eyes. 

“I think I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” Rin whispered, lips brushing against Osamu’s.

Osamu pressed a single, darting kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Ya have no idea.”

“Thank you for helping me.” Rin ran his fingers through Osamu’s hair, pushing the grey locks out of his forehead. “I’m glad it was you, ‘Samu.”

Osamu blinked, slightly startled. The sleepy look vanished in an instant, sudden clarity sharpening his gaze. Irises frantically searched Rin’s face, narrowing. “Rin?”

“Are you okay?”

Osamu’s hands found his shoulders, gripping hard. His breathing had grown heavy, with short, clipped exhales. “Yeah.” He looked away. “I’m fine. We should…” Osamu crawled out of Rin’s lap, rising to his feet. “Get back to work.”

“Wait.” Rin followed. “If I went too far, I’m sorry. Really.”

Osamu sighed. “No, it’s… I wanted to do that.” Rin watched as he walked back to the safe, settling cross-legged on the floor once more. “It ain’t yer fault.”

He was unconvinced, knowing how anxious Osamu has been since they left Amagasaki. Maybe it wasn’t directly his fault, but it was still because of him. 

"Really." Osamu said, pulling another drawer out of the safe. "It's fine. Join me."

Rin obliged, sitting a respectable distance from Osamu. Even if he said it's fine, he doesn't want to encroach on whatever this is. Osamu slid the drawer between them.

On top were more news clippings. All of them were dated before two years ago — matching the concierge's guess that it's been that long since he was last here. Near the bottom of the stack was dated five years ago and told about the tragic boating accident that befell his uncle. The same incident mentioned in his family's article.

He was reportedly on vacation in the Philippines, sailing around the Cebu Strait. During a storm, he went missing from the yacht's captain cabin. Despite interviewing the entire staff and guests, no one saw what happened. 

"Osamu, take a look at this." He passed the article over.

Osamu swiftly skimmed it, nibbling at his lower lip. "Definitely strange. Why were they sailin' in the storm? Shore ain't that far away 'round there."

"I think he was killed." Rin said.

"Hm. Makes sense." Osamu passed it back. "The open window seems suspicious, too."

"Brother of a CEO who was later murdered himself. Both died in mysterious ways. It seems too much of a coincidence."

"What are ya thinkin', Rin?"

"This UTFJ." He lifted the stack of news clippings that accumulated on the floor. "They were hunting my family."

"I… think I might know why." Osamu dug in his pocket for his phone.

"Eh? What is it?"

Osamu flipped open his phone and tapped something into the search bar. He pulled up an article before passing it over.

Father of Former Raijin CEO Killed In Raid; Ties to Crime Family Suspected

It was dated to just a year ago, long after Rin's immediate family and uncle died. The subheadline mentioned the Raijin Motor Company and the Suna-gumi, a notorious crime family.

"What in the world is this?" Rin scrolled through the article, eyes grazing over words — hired killings, youngest daughter, drug running, beheaded — and not quite processing any of them. A buzz at the back of his mind deafened his thoughts.

"Was all over the news when it happened." Osamu's hand met his knee, grounding. "More shit came out in the wake where they basically confirmed it."

Too many thoughts fluttered around trying to connect the pieces. The sword above the desk — his grandfather's office. The kanji in a collar — a reminder that he was to carry the weight of the family on his back as the eldest.

"Not only was he involved, but he was the damn kumicho."

"Then…"

"Yer yakuza." Osamu brushed a strand of hair out of Rin's eyes, tucking it behind his ear. He needed the contact as the pain pooled in his skull. "Or, well… ya were."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't fully make the connection 'til now. But to be fair, even if I had, can ya blame me?" Osamu huffed. "Oh, yer family was murdered. Also, by the way, yer a yakuza prince."

Rin considered this, realizing how much sense it made. He hadn't exactly had a great track record for reactions so far.

He went to place the clipping back in the drawer when his fingers knocked against the metal. A tiny echo.

"Eh?" Rin tapped it with his knuckles, realizing it was shallower than the others.

"Ah. Classic action movie trope. False bottom." Osamu leaned over. "See if there's any kind of way to crack it open."

As Rin prodded around the inside of the drawer, Osamu poked his head into the pockets in the safe wall. Though Rin found nothing obvious to open it, Osamu discovered something… interesting. 

"Look at this knife!" Osamu wielded a tactical knife with unbridled glee. "Need one a these for my kitchen."

"Alright, alright. Hand it over." Osamu reluctantly passed it — handle first. "You can have it back later."

Careful not to cut himself, he wedged the knife between the false bottom and the side of the drawer. With a little wiggling, it was knocked open. He slid out the knife — passing it back to the still entirely too excited Osamu — and removed the false bottom.

On the top was a folded note, written in the same handwriting as the address. Airi's handwriting.

Things are doing better around here. Mom and Dad are gone all the time, so it's just me, Granny, and the rest of the staff. I can almost pretend we're a normal family, albeit a weird one. Grandfather wants me to get more involved in the family business, but Granny is insistent I finish school and go to university first. 

Get in touch whenever you receive this, okay? I know you're busy with your fancy new job, but I miss you a lot, big brother.

It was unsigned and undated, but it must've been at least ten years old.

Several more letters were beneath it, telling him about her life in the vaguest way. He supposed if anyone intercepted the letters, revealing sensitive details about the true nature of their family would've been dangerous for them both.

Uncle is going on vacation to the Philippines next month. I'm a bit jealous. I've wanted to go back to Cebu City for ages. Remember when we went together as kids? I don't think I'll ever forget Mom's shriek after she fell asleep sunbathing and woke up the color of ikura.

I'll see you at home in January. Make the bed this time, idiot.

She was feeding him information. Covertly telling him the positioning of their family. Somehow whoever killed his uncle managed to get ahold of that information.

It was nice talking to you on the phone last week, big brother. We need to do that more often.

I have some exciting news! Granny and I are going to Hangzhou in a couple months to tour Zheda. She said we can stay there for a few weeks to enjoy the city. I'll try and bring back some souvenirs for you. If I end up going there for grad school, you and your boyfriend (I don't believe for one second that he isn't! You're not slick, big bro!) should come visit!

Rin sighed. She really was just a normal girl trying to live a normal life, despite the money and the deeply rooted crime surrounding her. 

There was a final one in the compartment, and Rin already noticed something was wrong. The paper was slightly crinkled like it had been wet at one point and as he opened it up, he realized some of the ink had bled.

We had to cancel the trip to Hangzhou. Grandfather got angry at me and Granny for planning to leave like that. I think he knows I want out and that we've been stalling for time. Being in the mansion with Mom and Dad is torturous. They've been talking about firing Granny and my heart can't bear the thought.

I miss you so much, big brother. Every day I dream about leaving like you did. I hope one day I can find the courage to try. I know we can be together again someday.

"Rin?" Osamu pulled him into a hug as a sob got caught in his throat. His cheeks were hot, tears trailing across skin. "Shh, let it out. It's good for ya."

“Sh-She was…” Rin felt his heart racing, lungs struggling to keep up. “This was her last letter.”

Osamu said nothing, just gently swayed them back and forth.

“She… she was the mole. Leaking information to help bring the family down.” Rin’s hand trembled as he dropped the letter, burying his face into Osamu’s neck. “Only to be killed herself.”

He felt anger boil in his system, but he couldn’t lash out at Osamu. Not again. He doesn’t deserve this. “She should be lauded as a fucking hero.” He gripped the back of Osamu’s shirt tightly. “Or just given the chance to be a normal person.”

“She should.” Osamu echoed. The fingers running through his hair were slow, methodical, soothing. “It’s a good thing she’s got her big bro fightin’ for her.”

He was right. It was time to get back to searching. For himself. For Airi.

As they parted, Osamu pressed the softest of kisses to Rin’s forehead with a whisper: “We’ll get ‘em.”

A cup of coffee and a quick konbini dinner later, they were back to work. Rin was astounded at how much shit could be shoved into a single gun safe. The pockets in the door were filled with various combat paraphernalia — smaller guns, knives, ammo, some clothing. 

The assorted shelves were mostly a mess of paperwork with very little actual personal effects. Everything was either unnamed, bearing his Itokazu alias, or just bearing Suna and nothing more.

They were about to give up on their search when Rin noticed a manila folder shoved deep into the top shelf of the safe.

“Shit.” He whispered as he tried straightening the crumpled cover. A logo in red — the letters UTFJ forming a circle. A stamped mark declaring the inside confidential. A word in dark ink.

JAEGER

"This was the trigger." Rin traced the letters, recalling the night he and Osamu watched Pacific Rim. "I wondered why I suddenly remembered my last name."

Osamu stayed quiet beside him, sipping at his coffee. 

"The UTFJ knew about me." Rin flipped open the file. "Probably tracking me the same way I was tracking them."

Immediately was a photo of himself in front of a lined background. Significantly younger with a crooked, split-lipped grin and a mess of fluffy brown hair. 

"Look at that lil sonova bitch." Osamu was smiling. "Ya were cute, wonder what happened."

"You're probably the first and only person to call this little bastard cute." 

"Maybe so." Osamu nudged him in the shoulder. "Yer not so bad lookin' now. Think I prefer ya this way."

"I'd certainly hope so." Rin teased. 

He flipped over the photo, noting his family name and a date on the back. Nearly fifteen years ago.

Following it was a document. His heart settled in his throat as he skimmed it. A good portion of it was redacted — including any mention of his name, his family's identity, and any other individual involved. But it was easy to get the gist of it.

Rin was in a large city in Japan — its name too was redacted — as a teenager, jumping from place to place and surviving on stolen konbini snacks. The UTFJ had issued a BOLO order to their agents once his family had officially announced his disappearance. An agent nabbed him in an unidentified konbini that sounded suspiciously like a 7-Eleven and brought him into headquarters.

He was questioned, though was supposedly antagonistic and insubordinate against his interrogator. Rin snorted — no wonder his mugshot self looked like a little smug spitfire.

The amusement quickly slipped away as he continued reading.

The mission has been declared a success. After significant encouragement, the suspect has agreed to join the United Task Force of Japan. He will first undergo a medical examination and when cleared, will receive a cursory combat evaluation.

Suspect will continue to be held in the UTFJ cells until further notice. He is volatile and aggressive, so it is advised for all agents to keep their distance.

"What?" Rin couldn't believe what he was reading. “I joined the UTFJ?”

Osamu had taken the lid off his coffee and was loudly munching on an ice cube. “They prob’ly threatened ya. Told ya yer choices were either rottin’ in prison or joinin’ them.” The ice clattered around as he tilted another cube into his mouth. “Prob’ly were takin’ advantage of how young ya were. I doubt they had any evidence to get ya tried as an adult, especially for what… petty theft? But they can certainly make it sound like they do. Ya were scared.”

Rin pondered that for a long time, before his brain dove into dangerous territory.

"Hey… Osamu?" His eyes lingered on the drawer full of his sister's letters. "Do you think I killed her?"

"Rin…" Osamu let out a full body sigh. "Ya can't let yerself think like that. She was prob'ly feedin' ya information, which ya passed on. Her bein' there when they sent a strike team was an accident. Ya got the last letter too late. It ain't yer fault."

"How are you so sure?"

"I ain't." Osamu tucked a chunk of bang behind Rin's ear. "I'm just makin' a guess. I just don't think you'd willin'ly hurt her. It's easy to tell ya loved her."

Osamu was probably right. Still, something about it all unnerved him.

Rin flipped the document over, revealing the copy of a medical report below. The same UTFJ branding. The same word ‘JAEGER’ in dark ink.

A name.

Finally.

His eyes traced the kanji of his family name — the kanji embroidered in a collar, the kanji within a fox’s head. Tsuno. Na. 

His given name was more difficult. The last two characters were easy. Tarou. Eldest son. He’d adopted a similar name in his Itosaku persona. The first character wasn’t terribly common.

“What character is this?” Rin pointed at it.

“Eh, is it a secondary school kanji?” Osamu leaned over to look. “Ya might not’ve even learned ‘em if ya left too ear—”

“Osamu?”

“Yer not gonna like this.” Osamu whispered. "It's Rin."

Ehhhh?! A boy? Why do you wanna be a boy? They're so gross!

I don't want to be a boy. I am a boy.

But… big bro Shiro is always so stinky, and he pushed me into the dirt once! I hate boys!

Ai-chan, you don't hate boys, you just hate Shiro-kun. You love me, right?

Yeah, 'course. You're my favorite big… brother?

I'm your only big brother.

Yeah! That's why you're my favorite. Are you gonna tell Mom and Dad?

Not yet. Only Granny. So keep it our lil secret for now.

Yessir. But what about your name? Are you gonna change it?

Oh, I was thinking… Rintarou.

Osamu was saying something else — lips moving, eyebrows furrowed, a hand on his knee — but Rin couldn't hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. 

His eyes flicked to the bottom of the report. Another name — printed in kanji, romaji, signed in ink, and stamped with a seal.

Kita Shinsuke.

Rin stared at the endless cars and trees rushing past them on the expressway, unable to focus on much more.

Osamu had put on some tunes for them but Rin wasn't listening. Probably were for his own nerves and not for Rin's benefit.

Rin's aware of the situation enough to realize that. But it's hard to look too deep inside his own head right now lest he be blinded by red.

They'd left that morning. 

It had taken heavy persuasion to convince Rin not to leave immediately upon seeing Shinsuke's name.

"Rin, yer actin' in anger. Ya might do somethin' ya regret. Let's sleep first.  

But Osamu was right. After a night's sleep — as restless as it had been — his anger had tempered slightly, from a burning white blaze to a red simmer.

The lady at the concierge desk chirped cheerful nothingness at them as they exited the condo — commenting that she hopes he enjoys his golf trip. With his golf case that absolutely did not have any golf clubs in it. A polite smile and a wave from Itokazu-san and his assumed husband.

“So…” Osamu’s fingers drummed along the wheel, not quite to the beat of the song thrumming on the radio. “What exactly do ya intend to do when we get to Tokyo?”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Uh huh.” Osamu glanced at the rear view mirror and the rifle-filled golf case shoved behind their seats reflected within. “And how do ya intend to talk to him? He’ll be inside the agency hospital. Walkin’ in there with a chip on yer shoulder and a gun in yer hand ain’t exactly hospital ‘propriate.”

“I’m his patient.” The cab was engulfed in a sudden orange-tinged gloom as they entered a tunnel — the row of lights appearing to flicker as they sped past. “I think I’m due a routine check-up.”

"Right." Osamu drawled out, dragging the sounds much further than he needed to. "That was all very cinematic. Good timin' with the tunnel. Quite dramatic." He waved a hand in Rin's direction. "I have a question for ya, though."

"Yeah?"

"Kita-san saved ya, correct?" Rin nodded. "He was well in his ability to drag you off to the UTFJ headquarters, but he didn't. Now, I've known Kita-san for almost my whole damn life and he doesn't do things half-assed or for no reason."

"And?"

"I don't think yer gonna like what is in store for ya there. I think he was tryna protect you from somethin'."

"I'm not gonna let that stop me." Rin said. Osamu shot him a half-smile, nervous but unsurprised. "I never asked… how do you know Shinsuke?"

"He went to my elementary school. We weren't exactly friends but I knew about him and he knew about me. He left after he finished fourth grade to go to Tokyo for high school. He skipped five fuckin' grades." Osamu shook his head in clear disbelief. "I was hardly even surprised when I found out he'd not only graduated high school — but also college and med school — before he was fifteen. Joined the UTFJ a year after that. It was all over the news."

They emerged from the tunnel once more, finally giving Rin a shot of a sign. They were somewhere near Shizuoka, still a few hours from their destination.

"When I came to Tokyo with my brother, he reached out to us. Hyogo boys gotta stick together, of course."

"You said that you and Shinsuke had a complicated relationship. What the hell does that mean?"

"Didn't think you'd remember that." Osamu huffed out a laugh. "Kita-san has uncomfortably high expectations for me. He thinks I shouldn't be rottin' my time away workin' for folks who don't get me. I made the mistake of tellin' him my dream once and he's been pushin' for me to chase it. Life ain't that easy."

"Not everyone can be a prodigy like him, I guess." Rin sighed. "What dream is that?"

"Yer gonna think it's stupid." Osamu ran his thumbs along the center of the wheel, shoulders sinking ever so slightly. "I want my own restaurant someday. But I'd need money or a loan and I ain't got the first clue about runnin' a business since I never went to college… I mean, fuck, I never even finished high school and—"

"That's not stupid." 

Osamu perked up faster than a called dog, eyebrows raising high. "Ya think?"

"I saw you at work." He reached across the center console to rest his hand on Osamu's thigh. A smile grew on Osamu's lips, though he didn't look away from the road. "You know what you're doing."

Osamu's hand fidgeted on the wheel — hesitation — before dropping it, wrapping it around Rin's own.

"Thanks, Rin."

It was almost too easy for Rin to forget his anger when around Osamu. Like none of that shit mattered if they were together.

Maybe it didn't. Matter.

But he'd come too far. He needed answers.

When he imagined an agency headquarters, Rin certainly didn't picture the sprawling compound built on the shoreline of Tokyo. The public access to the facility was clearly the medical research center and hospital — all glass with white accents and a covered entrance for ambulance unloadings. 

Several buildings were connected to the hospital by way of skywalks. They were considerably more nondescript — like business offices or apartment complexes. There was an assortment of outbuildings as well, though the only one with an obvious purpose was a hangar.

Instead of parking in the massive lot associated with the hospital, he made Osamu park several blocks away. After Osamu's urging, he'd opted to leave the rifle in the truck. He didn’t need to get arrested before he even stepped in the door.

His brain flickered as they walked through the harbor streets. Eyes analyzing their surroundings — perfect windows to perch a rifle, exploitable weaknesses in a barbed fence, the intentions in the eyes of every person they passed. Despite the blank space in his mind, some muscle memories are hard to unlearn.

Somehow the firm but gentle grip of Osamu’s fingers on his wrist kept him from drifting too far.

A different kind of deja vu washed over him as they crossed the threshold of the automatic door and entered the emergency room lobby — the deja vu of humane mundanity. White linoleum floors that squeaked under the nurses’ shoes. Generic couches holding scattered patients with overblown concepts of their own symptoms. Televisions mounted on beigey walls transmitting muted Disney movies with delayed subtitles.

With the glaring exception of the pair of security guards at the entrance and others posted at varying doors and corners of the waiting room. Rin’s skin crawled as they patted the two of them down — looking for god knows what.

After being waved off, Rin abandoned Osamu in the corner with an ancient magazine and a Boss vending machine to keep him company. 

“Be good.” Osamu flashed him an uneasy smile.

“No guarantees.” Rin ruffled his companion’s grey hair. “But I’ll try my best.”

“Guess that’s all I can ask for.” Osamu playfully pushed at Rin’s lower back, knocking him in the direction of the desk. “Go.”

He approached the nurse seated at the front desk, who immediately raised a brow as he approached. Already traces of apprehension bit at him — did she recognize him?

"Emergency or routine check?" She asked, leaning over to grab some paperwork.

"I'm here to see Dr. Kita."

The nurse set the paperwork down, turning to her computer instead. "Name on file?"

"Suna." His fingers found purchase at the edge of the counter, knuckles flaring white.

She typed something in before looking his way. "There's no one listed by that name, I'm sorry. If you'd like a meeting, we can arrange one but Dr. Ojiro has a very long waiting list. He is a very busy—"

As if summoned by the divine, the door into the hospital slid open to reveal Shinsuke dressed in his white coat. 

"Thank ya, Arao-san. It's quite alright, I was expectin' Suna-sama here." Shinsuke said with a head bow.

"Oh, very well sensei. Apologies, Suna-sama." She waved Rin along.

"It's good to see ya, Rin." Shinsuke began as they walked through the corridors of the hospital. "Yer lookin' well. Osamu took good care of ya?"

Rin focused on the numbered signs of the examination rooms they passed, anything to try and keep his brain grounded. "Yes."

"Ah, I see yer angry." Shinsuke had his hands tucked in the pockets of his coat, though his posture hardly faltered. "I must say I'm a little surprised it took ya this long to get here. Usually spontaneous recovery occurs sooner."

"It didn't." 132. 133. 134. "My memory didn't return."

"Oh, well. I see." Shinsuke came to a halt in front of the elevator, tapping the up button. "I suppose ya must have questions, then. Let's get to my office first."

“How’d you know I was here?” Rin asked as they stepped inside. A man as supposedly busy as Shinsuke was didn’t have the time to be hovering in the hallway waiting for him to show up.

“There’s a GPS tracker in Osamu’s truck.” Shinsuke said, voice steady. As if he noticed the flinch Rin’s brain just experienced, he continued. “I didn’t put it there, if that’s yer question. I prefer to stay out of the strike team’s missions if I can avoid it. I just want to do my research.”

“Mission? What do they want with Osamu?” 

“Information.” The elevator reached the top floor of the hospital, dinging as the door slid open. “I don’t know if he’s told ya, but the owner of his restaurant is yakuza.”

“I’m aware.”

Shinsuke nodded before gesturing for Rin to follow him. “The agency hoped to find some sort of concrete evidence by way of Osamu’s location. A hidden warehouse or meetin’ place of the family he works for. But after a year of watchin’ Osamu drivin’ from work to home to work to home again, they gave up on him. I’ve kept an eye on it ever since. Wanted to make sure my friend is safe, y’know?”

“But… you must’ve…” Been the one to tell them.

“Yeah. I was at a meetin’ where the strike team leaders were discussin’ how to take down that family. I knew Osamu’d been workin’ at the restaurant for awhile, so I suggested they track him.” Shinsuke tapped in a password at the door before a blue laser scanned his eye. “I knew they wouldn’t find anything.”

“What?”

Shinsuke smiled as the door opened. “Come into my office. Less ears.”

Rin went in ahead, eyes taking a quick stock of his surroundings. Despite how fancy the rest of the hospital was, Shinsuke's office was simple and traditional. A computer, a picture frame, and a neat stack of paperwork sat on his desk while his shelves were filled with books, journals, and file holders. On the right wall was another security door and a window to the room within. A personal examination room.

"Before we go any further. Rintarou." Shinsuke planted his hands on his hips. "No guns in my office."

"Whatever do you mean?" Rin grinned. "I got checked at the door, just like everyone else."

"Ya forget I know ya." Shinsuke opened his palm, wiggling his fingers. "Memories or not, yer still you. Ya always hide a gun in the crotch of yer pants 'cause folks expect there to be a bulge there even if ya don't normally have one."

Rin huffed out a laugh. That's exactly why he put it there. He quickly pulled it out, handing it over.

"Good boy. Now." Shinsuke tucked it into the top drawer of his desk. "Since yer bein' so well-behaved, I guess I have the luxury of this question. We are free to have a polite chat here at my desk, or in my examination room. I'd like to look at yer injuries. Yer choice."

"Alright sensei , do your job." Rin followed Shinsuke into the examination room, perching on the edge of the table. Shinsuke tapped twice on his shoulder, signalling for him to peel off his shirt. 

"No scarring, good." Gloved hands gently prodded at the two faint indents on his chest while Shinsuke hummed. "Part of my research, when I was younger, was reduction of scar tissue. It was hard replicatin' that in Granny's house."

Shinsuke huffed out a laugh as he analyzed the indent below his chest scar. "I was the one who did yer surgery way back when. When I told ya I could give ya a scar-free look, ya adamantly refused. It was a matter of pride, a battle won." Shinsuke stepped back, pulling his gloves off. "Ya always were so willful, even as a yakuza street rat. I admired that 'bout ya. Well, I guess admire, rather."

"Shinsuke."

"Right, yer not here to listen to me prattle. Yer here for answers." Shinsuke gestured, beckoning him back into the office.

"What's this about tracking Osamu for no reason?"

Shinsuke settled into his desk chair, folding his arms over his chest. "A purposeful waste of resources and time. A scam mission for a scam agency."

"Eh?" 

"I've been the head of medical research in this organization for over ten years. I've seen considerably more of the behind the scenes than the average agent." Shinsuke sighed. "I stay because I can do more good here than anywhere else, but I can't condone the UTFJ's actions. Especially not after what they did to you."

"Tell me." Rin gripped the arm of his chair as he leaned forward.

"I'm curious how much ya know."

Shinsuke's gaze was unnervingly steady as Rin recounted his discoveries — his family’s death, his sister’s letters, the file in his condo.

"After ya joined, you were a strike team agent. Mostly working reconnaissance missions with a steady team of three other agents." Shinsuke's eyes settled on the photo on his desk. "My husband was yer commanding officer. I know this seems biased, but he always tried to keep the four of ya safe and out of the nonsense of the rest of the agency."

Rin leaned forward, feeling brazen enough to pluck the photo off the desk. It was of Shinsuke and another man — both in matching formal uniforms emblazoned with a number of pins and ribbons. Hands around waists, smiles angled at one another instead of the camera.

"Though I s'pose tried is the operative word." Shinsuke raised a brow, a silent put that back. He obliged. "They nabbed Gin first. He lost a portion of his leg on a mission — tragic, but nothin’ my staff and I can’t handle. We’d just scheduled his first appointment with a cybernetic surgeon when the higher-ups gave him an ultimatum: a so-called promotion for his sacrifice to a pencil pusher or forced retirement.”

Rin closed his eyes, trying to imagine who Gin was. Trying to chase any scrap of memory that arose at the mention of his former teammate.

“Gin worked in the office for just over a year before he quit. He was proud, just like you’ve always been. He thought the agency was fightin’ for what was right and he wanted to carry on that fight. With a new prosthetic and some physical therapy, Gin could’ve returned to the field. He never got the opportunity."

"Where'd he end up?"

Shinsuke smiled, something akin to pride. "He's in Osaka now, workin' as a personal trainer and livin' with his gym teacher boyfriend. I'm no physical therapist, but it's easy to see how far he's come. I'm really proud of him."

Though he couldn't remember this teammate, a pool of bonfire warmth gathered in Rin's chest. This was likely his close companion, his friend, someone he'd been on countless missions with. It was… nice to hear he was doing well.

"Good for him."

Shinsuke pivoted in his chair slightly before reaching into a desk drawer. "I prepped this when I saw ya were comin'." He curved his lips in a tiny smirk as he slid a manila folder across the desk. "I don't just keep this in here, for the record."

"...Shinsuke was that meant to be a pun?"

"Perhaps."

Rin pulled the folder into his lap. It was similar to the one found in his condo with the same UTFJ logo and JAEGER written on the cover.

"Suna Rintarou. Operative 2510. Codename: Jaeger." Shinsuke stated. As Rin ran his thumb over the cover, he could feel the steady gaze boring into his skin. "It's German for 'hunter.' Aran — my husband — chose it for ya after seein' yer skills with a sniper rifle."

Jae, status.

It's Jaeger, Apollo. 

Ugh. Fine. Jaeger, Status.

I'm clear, but looks like Vesper is at risk of ligma.

What’s—

Vesper, don’t you dare finish that question.

His team. Or, at least two of them. The memory fluttered away before he could grab hold of it.

“Ya were a valued member of the team and the agency. Especially, since ya fed them information about yer family. Of course, things after—” 

His sister was killed. Rin knew what he was getting at. 

“Things changed. You changed.”

Shinsuke gestured his head, pointing his chin towards the folder. Rin opened it, coming face to face with another picture of himself. He was older, wearing a uniform and a reluctant smile for the camera. 

Stamped in bold red letters across the bottom of the photo.

"Terminated."

A breath caught in his throat. 

"Ya were workin' a mission abroad at a weapons factory. It was meant to be reconnaissance only, but somethin' went wrong. Ya started gettin’ more and more reckless on missions. Like ya no longer cared." Shinsuke kept a steady eye on him. Knowing the pain echoing in his brain. It was too much to process — like he was being told the plot of one of Osamu's action movies and not his life. "Yer partner was on the other side of the factory when yer comm cut off moments before an explosion."

"Fuck."

"The official report was they were never able to recover yer body. Ya were deep in hostile territory and it was assumed you'd succumbed in the explosion."

"You don't come back from something like that." Rin pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, trying desperately to halt the pressure building.

"No, ya don't." Shinsuke got to his feet, strode to the shelves behind him, and dug in a cabinet drawer. "Here, this'll help."

Two red pills in his palm. 

Rin met his eye, narrowing them in distrust.

"It's ibuprofen. If I was tryin' to hurt ya, I would've done it already." Shinsuke set them on the desk before disappearing into the examination room. He reemerged moments later with a paper cup of water. "Like injected ya with strychnine instead of yer testosterone. Or maybe, scalpel straight to the heart — it can be difficult to get around the sternum but if ya know yer anatomy it's a breeze."

Shinsuke laughed as Rin slid the pills into his palm.

"I still have yer gun, too. Just cause I'm a doctor doesn't mean I don't know how to use it." A smile.

"You have a real way with words, Shin-chan." Rin grumbled, knocking back the pills and water. They were slow going down his esophagus — dragging through the suffocating dryness. 

"That's what they tell me, Rin-kun." Shinsuke returned to his seat. "Now, where were we?"

"I died."

“Right, thank ya. The tricky part of the situation is, no, ya didn’t. Clearly yer sittin’ in my office, despite it bein’ over two years since yer so-called termination.”

A wave of anxiety built in Rin’s stomach at Shinsuke’s tone. “You know what happened, don’t you?”

A sigh, eyes closed. “Yes, I’m afraid I do. As I mentioned earlier, I’m considerably more behind the scenes than the average agent. The United Task Force funds worldwide public research in countless fields, UN supported peacekeeping missions and special operations. On paper, everything this agency does is sanctioned by the international community. An agent can’t wipe his ass in a Portuguese bathroom without the UN needin’ to be informed first. However, things get a bit darker than that below the surface. Many UTF branches, including our own, operate top-secret black ops divisions that carry out the agency’s dirty work.” Shinsuke eyed the clock on the wall before sliding his gaze back to Rin.

“I’m not gonna sugar coat things for ya, Rin. The entire mission in the factory was a set-up in order to detain ya. Everythin’ from the location, the so-called terrorist you were investigatin’, the pre-planned positioning on opposite ends of the factory, to the cut comms and the explosion. All of that was meant to happen.” Shinsuke slid the drawer of his desk open, pulling out the gun. Instincts of danger flared in every cell of Rin’s body but were quickly quelled by the doctor placing it on the desk.

“Yer unconscious body was recovered by a team of black ops agents and brought to me for analysis and clearance. That was the last I saw of ya.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure yer resentin' me for my involvement, and I think that's well-founded. There's no way of knowin' what woulda happened had I rejected yer clearance."

Rin let the words wash over him, a feeling of numbness rising in the absence of pain.

“From there, you were brought to the black ops facility — not even I’m aware of where it is — and likely reprogrammed. Cuttin’ out the weaknesses — yer reckless behavior, yer willfulness, everythin’ that made ya Suna — and leavin’ just a perfect killer behind.”

“Why? Why would they do this?”

“Assassins are hard to find. Good assassins even harder. Ya were the best sniper in the agency... the higher ups were prob’ly gettin’ twitchy watchin’ ya run recon and scoutin’ missions. After the agency took out yer family, you were officially a nobody. No one to miss ya or come knockin' lookin' for information. And once ya started gettin' sloppy and aggressive, they knew they could fake yer death easily."

Something clicked in Rin's mind. Realization. Horror.

"Fuck me." Rin's knuckles went white as he gripped the arms of the chair. "They killed her on purpose. Because she was fucking baggage."

Shinsuke's eyes were cast downward, a sigh slipping through his teeth. "I can't say for sure. But it seems very possible."

"After… after my what… reprogramming? What happened to me?"

"Ya fell off my radar. Ya were in another facility runnin' top-secret covert missions, the details of which are above my pay grade. But as far as I know, ya were successful. At least, ya were up until the failed mission in the forest."

Rin blinked. He hadn't attempted suicide. It was a mission?

"When I heard ya were runnin' a mission near my home, I knew I had to try to intercept ya. But I never expected ya to get taken down like that." Shinsuke's tone seemed to be changing, though Rin couldn't quite identify what it meant. "I'd hoped ya'd come to and could be deprogrammed and eased back into society as a normal person again."

"Normal?"

"No one deserves to be a brainwashed killer." Shinsuke's eyes settled on the gun he'd placed there earlier. "But it seems like yer programmin' was undone by the mental trauma. Yer probably gonna slowly remember aspects of yer life before yer capture but I suspect anything after is gone forever."

His life as an assassin. Gone.

"I can live with that." 

Shinsuke slid the gun across the table, eyes serious. "Rintarou. I'm sorry, but you need to leave."

"What?" Rin clambered to his feet, snatching the gun. He felt his heart rate skyrocket as he pointed it at Shinsuke.

"Yer status as a black ops assassin is strictly top-secret." Shinsuke pushed the barrel of the handgun down with a pair of fingers. "However, the rest of the agency will see a dirty agent infiltratin' headquarters. It won't be long 'til they realize he's in my office."

Rin tracked the doctor with the gun as he strode towards the examination room. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Follow yer instincts. The brain is fickle, but the body never forgets. It knows what to do." Shinsuke opened the sliding door before tossing Rin something. He fumbled with the gun, nearly dropping it as he caught the object.

A key card.

"Ya overpowered me in a struggle and stole that off my unconscious body." Shinsuke lowered his chin as he spoke. "I have security clearance level 4, so it should get ya into most parts of the facility. The entire underground is level 5, so don't bother."

Rin nodded, watching Shinsuke draw a bottle out of one of the cabinets and prep a fresh syringe. "What are—"

"Drug induced unconsciousness. Not my cup of tea, but desperate times. Luckily the average agent won't think to check the sharps bin." Shinsuke flicked the tip of the syringe. "I'd better get goin' if I were you, Rintarou. Don't go back down through the hospital. Go left when ya leave, follow the hallway and you'll reach the agent barracks over the skywalk. It'll be easier to blend in there."

Rin sighed, shoving the key card into his front pocket. "Bye, Shinsuke. Thank you."

Shinsuke gave him a final sad smile. "I really am sorry, Rin. For everything. And I'm sorry this comes too late."

Shit. Mondá. God fucking… caralho! 𨳒! Ёбаный рот!

Rin’s internal monologue was an incredibly succinct and articulate stream of every swear word he knew. Which he discovered — as he traversed the corridors of the UTFJ barracks — was a quite extensive vocabulary.

Despite Shinsuke’s advice about trusting his instincts, Rin had no clue what he was doing. He was a fucking amnesiac NEET up until now.

Still, traces of familiarity rang through his brain. The weight of his gun in his waistband. The sound of his sneakers clattering against the floor. The faint thrum of music and voices coming from the rooms. 

These must be the dorms. Not every agent was hunting his ass it seemed. Thank fuck for that.

He passed a girl — no older than college aged and dressed the part — leaning against the wall on her phone. She waved at him politely.

Suna-kun! I heard you were leaving for the weekend? Where are you going?

Ah… uh... nowhere special.

You're always so secretive! You can tell me, y'know?

Really. I’m just seeing a friend.

Oh… Oh! I see! Going on a date with—

Shh! Not so loud! We’re just friends, promise.

Hehe, I knew it! Enjoy, Suna-kun!

A faceless friend. An unknown agent. If she was still alive, she’d be older than that girl. 

If she was alive.

A shiver.

As Rin slipped out of the girl’s sightline, he broke into a run. He needed to get out of here. Fast.

Perhaps it had been a waste of his time to come here. He’d learned much from Shinsuke, but not enough. He wasn’t sure what would happen should he be caught, but he wasn’t eager to discover it.

Thunderous steps down a set of stairs. Through swinging doors leading to a rec room — television, a kitchen, couches. 

“Shit.” He quickly scanned the massive room for another exit. 

You can cook?

Eh, not very well.

C’mon, don’t be lame. Lemme try.

Fine. But if it tastes like shit, don’t come cryin’ to me.

What the hell? This is amazing!

Ya really think so?

Now, why would I lie to you?

Ya lie to me all the damn time, Rin.

Someone close. Soft touches. Fingers brushing bangs out of his eyes. A thumb wiping rice off a lower lip. Hands gliding together for comfort. 

There were mentions of someone here and there. Itokazu’s husband. The boy his sister teased him about. Whoever the girl from his memory was talking about.

Was it all the same person? Was this him?

He's knocked out of his raging thoughts by a voice. Familiar, yet strange. Lilted in an accent.

"Well now. Look what the cat dragged in."

His eyes met a sign. Training room.

Fuckin' hell. I yield! I yield!

How many is this now? When will you admit I'm better than you?

Fuck off, Suna. Yer a cheater.

"When I heard there was a rogue agent — tall, brown hair, green eyes — I never imagined it to be our dear friend Sunarin."

Rin turned, coming face to face with a blonde man. Familiar slightly downturned eyes. Though where a neutral frown was expected, a smirk took its place instead.

"Osamu?"

The smirk shifted into anger, eyes flaring with hate. Brown eyes. Not grey.

"Ya pull this fuckin' shit…" The stranger rushed forward, gripping Rin by the shirt before he had the chance to react. Nails dug into his skin. "And ya have the audacity to call me his name?"

"I don't—"

He was cut off by the stranger slamming him against a column.

"He was fuckin' destroyed." Despite the man's anger, his eyes were watery. "Blamed himself for not keepin' ya safe. We lost you, and I thought we'd lose him too."

Rin struggled in the stranger's grip as he tried to get free. In return, the stranger swung — pain blooming across his jawline as it connected.

"All for fuckin' nothing." Rin needed to get free immediately. He took quick stock of the situation. Aggravated assailant. Overemotional. Distracted by his rage. "Ya fuckin' betrayed us. Him."

An opening.

Rin kneed the stranger in the crotch — earning a low groan and a chance to break free.

"Still a cheater, ain'tcha?"

Can't cheat if there's no rules.

"No rules. I remember that."

"Oh, fuck off." The stranger swung again but this time Rin was ready to dodge.

"What I don't remember is your name." Rin kicked the man's shin. "Or what the hell you're talking about."

He wasn't so lucky with the next swing. A fake out with the right only for him to get nailed with the left. "Ya fall for that one every time, Rin-kun. I thought ya were clever. Then again, this bullshit act yer pullin' is pretty fuckin' stupid."

"You're Apollo." Wetness. Rin smeared at his lip, finding a trail of blood on the back of his hand. "That much I remember."

"It's Atsumu, dickhead." 

"Why do you look like Osamu?" Rin shoved Atsumu back, putting space between them. In the moment Atsumu was recovering, he pulled out his gun. 

Atsumu rolled his eyes. "We're fuckin' twins. Ya know this."

"Why are you here? You're an agent? Did Shinsuke recruit you?" Osamu never told him his brother worked for the UTFJ. He never talked much about Atsumu. No wonder he knew so much.

"Hardly, I've been here longer than Kita-san." Atsumu had his hands raised in pacification, eyes focused on Rin's gun. "Both of us've been. Me and Samu."

Rin's eyes widened. Connecting the dots.

"Didja forget while ya were out there playin' bad guy? We grew up here. This place is our family. It was yers, too."

He felt lightheaded, an ache blooming in his skull. Breath tight in his chest. He can't have an attack now.

"Why are—" Rin's arm faltered. Impossible to keep steady.

Atsumu scoffed — a split second — before lunging forward. The gun is knocked away, sliding across the floor of the training room. Forearm pressed suffocatingly close to his throat. The bulk of Atsumu's lower body held down his hips.

"I win, Sunarin." Atsumu smirked. "Yer outta practice."

"Maybe so." Rin choked out. "But I'm still better than you."

Taunting him was the key. Make Atsumu overemotional again and he'll crumble.

"You train every day just to be half of the agent I once was." Rin grinned. It was fun, almost. He might've been a shit agent for all he knew, but it worked on Atsumu.

"Bullshit. Sparrin' ain't mean anythin'. I was always better than ya in a real fight." Atsumu tightened his press against Rin's windpipe. Consequently loosening his weight on Rin's body.

"Sure. But..." It was little more than a gasp. Rin pushed up his hips, wrapped an arm around Atsumu's back, and rolled them both over. "I've always been smarter than you."

The momentum knocked them apart, both scrambling to their feet. Despite the blows and the taste of iron on his tongue, Rin felt fine.

"Why're ya here, Sunarin?" Atsumu bared his teeth.

"I needed answers." Rin’s eyes flicked towards the gun.

Both dashed. An elbow to Rin’s ribs. Rin’s fist meeting sternum. Breathing heavy from their respective blows. Hands clamoring for the same target.

“And?” Atsumu kicked him away, sending him into a stack of exercise mats. Looking down the barrel of his gun. “Didja get ‘em?”

Rin tried to move, halted by Atsumu’s finger curling over the trigger. “If anything, I have more questions.”

“Pity.” As Atsumu stepped closer, an idea bubbled up in Rin’s mind. “Maybe they’ll feel bad for ya and tell ya everythin’ ya wanna know while yer rottin’ in a cell.”

“Where’s Osamu?” Step one: get Atsumu distracted again. 

Atsumu’s brows furrowed in anger. “He’s in Amagasaki.”

“Really? What’s he doing there?” Step two: lower Atsumu’s guard by probing for information.

“Mission. Solo and undercover. Ain’t my paygrade to know what he’s doin’.”

“Oh?” Step three: fuck with Atsumu’s head. “But I’m pretty sure he’s here in Tokyo. In fact, I saw him in the hospital.”

“What?” Atsumu lowered the gun slightly.

Step four: disarm.

Rin tossed one of the exercise mats at Atsumu. The gun discharged — a shot embedding in the rubber training room flooring — as he startled. A roll before he barreled into Atsumu’s legs, bringing him to the ground. 

A jab to the ribs. A sharp whack of his fist against Atsumu’s. A knee to the groin. A groan from Atsumu’s mouth. 

Atsumu’s fingers were still rock solid on the gun, no matter how hard Rin had him pinned down. “Let fucking go, Atsumu.”

“Why’s Samu here?” Atsumu panted, legs writhing like a fish out of water beneath Rin’s body. Desperate to get free, to find purchase. 

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” Rin tried prying Atsumu’s fingers off one by one. He might be smarter, but there was no denying Atsumu was still stronger. "I think you bastards have a lot to talk about."

Fuck this.

Rin bit into the meat of Atsumu's thumb and dug his nails deeper into his wrist. A yelp. Fingers falling taut as Atsumu let go. In an instant, Rin snatched the gun — firing off a round into the floor next to Atsumu's head.

"I'm leaving." Rin said, watching Atsumu's expression shift into wide-eyed fear. "Don't follow."

"Ya won't get away with this. The agency's gonna bring ya down." Atsumu clenched his teeth. 

"Get away with what?" Rin raised an arm. "I've done nothing wrong."

Atsumu opened his mouth to say something more, but Rin had had enough. He brought down his arm — hard — smashing his elbow into his former teammate's face. He was out. Blood streamed from his nose, intermingling with sweat.

"Fuck." Rin exhaled, getting to his feet. A final cursory glance at the unconscious Atsumu. A sigh. "Later, jackboot."

Something about bashing Atsumu's nose in sparked some semblance of a memory about the winding corridors. An exit.

Sneakin' out again? 

Jesus Christ, dude. How are you always here?

Yer predictable. So where ya goin'?

My favorite band's got a concert in the city tonight.

And ya didn't invite me?

It'll be suspicious if both of us are gone. 

Who cares? C'mon, Rin. Lemme come.

Slow me down and I'll leave you behind.

A grin. An inside joke. A pair of almost adults. A disused balcony.

He was led by his feet — instinct, muscle memory, he wasn’t so sure anymore what — to a door emblazoned with the UTFJ logo. With a single tap of Shinsuke’s key card, it slid open to reveal a darkened room filled with computers. Circular desks with partitions more reminiscent of a PC cafe or a school than one in a paramilitary organization. Everything was powered down except for a few racks of servers glittering blue and a handful of monitor lights blinking.

Rin figured at one point it would’ve been a popular computer lab for agents and recruits to wind down playing FPS games and watching videos. But the technology seemed outdated, very outdated.

He wasn't here for the computers, though. His exit was nearby.

"Sneakin' out again?"

He heard the voice as he rounded the corner into an area with tables, chairs, and a dusty coffee counter. Familiar, more so than Rin wanted it to be.

Osamu was perched on the counter, legs swinging casually like he was at his buddy's house and not in a barracks. He looked identical to when they'd arrived at the hospital earlier — the same raglan shirt, track pants, and faded converse.

The only exception was the holster strapped across Osamu's chest and a handgun tucked inside.

“Y’know, Osamu.” Rin met grey eyes and raised brows. “About a week ago, I might’ve found the idea of you with a gun sexy.”

“Never too late. I’m guessin’ the cat’s outta the bag?” Osamu cracked a tiny grin. His eyes trailed down, settling on Rin’s waistband. “In all honesty, I’m surprised ya haven’t shot me yet.”

“I want to.” 

Osamu’s smile grew. “See, yer talkin’ about me bein’ sexy, but that? That was unfair.”

Rin felt his eyes twitch as he leveled a stare in Osamu’s direction. “Osamu.”

“Kita-san snitched on me, huh?” A clatter as Osamu smacked the rubber toes of his shoes together.

“No.” Osamu’s face fell in an instant. “It was your brother.”

“Shit.” Osamu’s knuckles went white as he gripped the edge of the counter harder. “I was hopin’ he’d be out on a mission by now."

"He'll be fine, for the record." Rin watched the tension in Osamu's body lift. He ran his finger along the bridge of his nose, mirroring the bump in Osamu's. "I think you're even more identical now."

"Good. That vain bastard could stand t'be knocked down a few pegs." Osamu brushed his bangs out of his eyes, ghost of a smile once more. "He's the one who broke mine in the first place."

Osamu slid off the counter, heels skipping as he met the floor. Rin let him take a half-step closer before his gun was in his hand. 

"Ah." Osamu raised his hands in surrender. "There it is. I guess we're doin' this, huh?"

"Why are you here?" Rin hovered his finger over the trigger.

Osamu shifted — pausing suddenly as Rin adjusted the gun. "Can I move?" A level look triggered Osamu to shove a hand into his track pants pocket. He withdrew out a familiar black tube, wiggling it between his fingers. "Heard there was a BOLO out on a tall, brown-haired dude runnin' 'round the facility. Figured I'd try to nab him before any other idiot did." 

"You fucking lied to me." Rin hissed through his teeth. 

"I'm gonna put it away now, 'kay?" Osamu maintained eye contact as he slid his ID tube back in his pocket. "And yeah, fine. I lied to ya. Mostly by omission."

"Why?" He stepped closer as Osamu raised his hand once more.

"Kita-san wanted me to." A sigh. "But even so, what was I supposed to tell ya? Hey, my name's Osamu, I'm an undercover agent investigatin' a yakuza family, also I've known ya since we were fifteen? "

A memory. Recent. Lips on his own. The desperation exhaling from Osamu's throat. Anxiety building in the creases of lips and the furrow of brows.

Rin was getting distracted.

He needed to leave, and Osamu was in his way.

He took a step sideways towards the balcony door — gaze firmly focused on Osamu. 

"I'm leaving, Osamu. Let me go."

"No can do, Rintarou."

It happened in an instant — too fast for Rin to fully process.

Osamu lowered his arms, grabbing at the gun and pushing Rin's arm away. A shot rang out as his finger instinctually pulled the trigger.

Instead of embedding into Osamu's chest, glass shattered. A coffee machine. 

Pain rang out in Rintarou's thumb as Osamu pressed tight, forcing his grip to go slack.

"I'll be takin' this now, thank you." Osamu muttered as Rin involuntarily relinquished the gun.

"Shit." Rin panted as Osamu mirrored their earlier position.

His eyes flickered around their surroundings for something, anything. Some kind of makeshift weapon. Nothing. He'll have to disarm Osamu then.

"I've always liked guns." Osamu said, tilting the weapon to get a better look at the side. "Hate what they do, but they're quite cool lookin'."

Osamu's gaze focused once more on Rin, gun sturdy in his grip.

"Just get on with it." Rin groaned.

Osamu's finger came to a rest on the trigger. A second or two of what Rin assumed was hesitation before movement.

The gun's magazine was slid out into Osamu's hand and tossed to the side — clattering against the plastic of a trash can. A shot — embedding itself into the ceiling — before the gun too was thrown the other way.

"Better to even the score." A grin.

It took Rin a moment to let the situation sink in fully. Osamu still had his own handgun in its holster but for all intents and purposes, he was unarmed. If Rin can attack fast enough, Osamu won't have time to withdraw it.

Now.

Rin rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Osamu's waist and slamming him into the counter. 

"Man." Osamu coughed out, a smile tingeing his voice. "That's been a fantasy of mine for years."

Rin felt his face go hot at the idea of Osamu pressed against the counter. Caged in by Rin's arms, big grey eyes looking up, lips parted open.

Focus.

Rin exhaled before swinging — lashing out with both arms. Each one parried — Osamu's elbows blocking the hits, guiding Rin's arms away. Though it was easy to find openings on his overemotional brother, Osamu was steadfast and even stronger.

"You've already fought Tsumu, so I'll save ya the lecture."

Rin huffed. "Yeah, sorry for being out of practice when I've been doing nothing but watching movies for months. Really, Osamu, Pacific Rim?"

He caught Osamu in the chest with an elbow, making him splutter out a laugh. "Hey now. I thought it was a great idea. Damn good movie and it got ya yer last name back, ain’t it?” 

"I don't want it." Rin’s eyes settled on the gun in Osamu’s holster. “I want to be no one again.” He needed that gun. Immediately.

Exhale. A heartbeat. Forward.

A mistake. He’d telegraphed his intent too much. Sharp pain radiated throughout his arm as Osamu bent his wrist back — fingers tantalizingly close to Osamu’s chest and the handgun. His hand was jerked upwards, bringing his line of sight level with Osamu’s gaze. “My eyes are up here.” 

With a twist of his torso, Rin freed himself from the lock — half-spinning Osamu around in the process. “Sorry, didn’t mean to oogle.” Rin hissed as he brought his elbow down hard into Osamu’s shoulder, sending the agent to the floor.

"Yer so fuckin' sharp." Osamu groaned as he tried to sit up, shielding his eyes with an arm. "Those elbows encrusted with fuckin' diamond dust or some shit?"

"Osamu." Rin pinned him down — legs caging in his torso and hands pressing Osamu's arms into the floor. "I'm gonna need you to shut the hell up."

Osamu panted below him — chest rising and falling with every loud exhale. Rin felt it, too. This was exhausting. It needed to end. He pulled back his fist, ready to end it. Knock Osamu unconscious, take the gun.

"When Kita called me…" Osamu's lips parted, breathing out a whisper. Rin paused, startled by the change in tone. Grey eyes frantically tracked back and forth. "And told me it was you… I couldn't believe it."

"Huh?"

"Vladivostok. Yer lucky ya don't remember." His eyes clenched shut, mouth curving into a pained grimace. "It was the week of yer birthday."

"I don't understand." Rin tightened his grip on Osamu's arms.

"God… fuck." Osamu turned his head, cheek falling against the floor. "Yer comm died and I heard ya scream from the other side of the factory. That mornin' was the last time I saw ya."

We were on a trip to Russia for business.

"I hoped, I prayed. I ain't believe in the gods, but I begged every last one of 'em." A silvery tear trickled down Osamu's cheek, moments before he choked out a sob.

He went missin’ one day.

"Begged ya survived. But ya never came outta there. They couldn't even recover yer body after the explosion. That's what…"

After six months, they told me he was dead.

Osamu's eyes snapped open — brows furrowing in anger. "That's what they told me."

Hesitation. Rin released his hold on Osamu's arms, unable to think about anything but the sheen of tears on Osamu's cheeks.

"You were my partner." Rin whispered. "My friend."

"I still am, Rin."

You loved him.

“You loved me.”

Despite no longer being pinned, Osamu’s arms remained above his head — fingers curling. He smiled through the tears, through the slowing exhales. One that’s warm, soft, sad. Grey eyes drifted downwards, heavy lids resting low.

Yeah, I did. He was real special.

“I still do.”

Fingers slid against a palm, slotting together. A pair of exhaled breaths. A thumb resting above a chin. Lean in.

Lips the lingering flavor of the iced coffee Osamu drank during their drive. The salt of their sweat and tears. The iron of jostled teeth, bit cheeks, and split lips from one too many punches.

Their entwined hands squeezed tight as their lips parted further — ready to oblige. 

When they broke apart — panting from a different kind of exertion — Rin realized he was no longer in control of the situation.

"Guessing that's not because you're happy to see me." Rin groaned at the pressure against his chest.

"I am happy to see ya… but…" Osamu grinned, squeezing Rin's hand as he pressed the silencer of his gun over his heart. "Shoulda held both my hands."

"So greedy." Rin raised his free hand in surrender. If they weren't so close, he could've disarmed Osamu with little to no danger to himself but he's not stupid enough to try it now.

Osamu gestured with the gun. "Off."

Rin slid off Osamu's torso, slowly mirroring Osamu's positioning as they both rose to their feet. The gun slid upward, hovering above his forehead.

"Osamu, if they capture me… my fate is gonna be worse than death." Rin kept his gaze steady with Osamu's own. He knew his friend wasn't without empathy.

Osamu said nothing. The narrowing of his grey eyes was invitation enough to keep going.

"They'll fuck with my brain again. Force me to be their mindless puppet."

"What the hell are ya talkin' about?" Osamu's brows furrowed — the way they always did when he was thinking a little too hard.

"Shinsuke never told you?" Rin exhaled. "I was an assassin for the UTFJ. Brainwashed into compliance."

Osamu's expression shifted into fear, horror. A small wave of relief washed over Rin. Despite Osamu's concerns about the agency, they weren't built on first-hand knowledge. He was just another pawn in the game — unaware of the grand secrets of the agency.

"Rin, I—"

"I'd rather you just kill me." Rin took a half-step, pressing his forehead against the barrel of the silencer. He let his eyes fall closed. "I can’t do this again.”

A warm palm cupped his jaw — a brush of a thumb along his cheekbone.

“It’ll be okay. If it’s you.” Rin leaned into the touch. “Don’t let them have me. Please.” His voice cracked as he choked out a sob.

“Samu!” The barrel shifted slightly as the shout rang through the computer room. Osamu’s hand on his jaw dropped.

“Tsumu.” Osamu’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. “I’m sorry, Rin.” 

“Holy shit!” Rin opened his eyes to see Atsumu standing at the entrance to the coffee bar nook — slightly winded from his run. Crusted near-black blood flaked off his face and stained his blonde hair. “Ya got the bastard. Well fuckin’ done, Samu.”

Osamu’s gaze was unreadable as it flicked from Rin’s face to Atsumu. “Ya got a lil somethin’ on yer face.” He gestured with his free hand, circling a finger around his own face. “Like, everywhere.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Atsumu rolled his eyes. “C’mon, let’s bag ‘im. Wrap this shit up.”

“Don’t ya know what they’re doin’, Tsumu?” Osamu’s eyes drifted back to Rin — brows furrowing. “Kita-san and Aran-kun told me somethin’ was wrong, but I ain’t fully believe ‘em. Not ‘til now.”

“The hell are ya talkin’ about, Samu? Let’s go. We ain’t got all day.” Atsumu made arrows with his thumbs, gesturing behind him. “The sooner we lock this rat up, the sooner we can go get ramen.”

“Yer right.” Osamu said, never taking his eyes off of Rin’s. As steady as the finger hovering over the trigger. As silver as the bullet a hair's breadth away from embedding in Rin’s skull. As pained as the ache in Rin’s chest. “It’s time to go.”

Rin let his eyes slip closed once more. 

A gunshot.

He felt no pain. No nothing. The buzz of his heart in his chest. Ringing in his ears from the bang.

Is this what heaven felt like? Nothingness? Or was he in limbo? Waiting for his judgement? Or had he already been judged? Sent to the abyssal plain of hell?

He opened his eyes.

Before him was no ghastly waiting room or a flaming hellscape or the pearly gates. Just Osamu, skin splotchy, arms shaking, cheeks stained with tears, shoulder pulled back, hand clutching his handgun behind him, eyes reddened but resolute. Firmly meeting Rin’s.

“We need to leave.” Osamu whispered. “Now. Please.”

Atsumu was crumpled on the floor, keening a horrific sound. Blood pooled between his fingers as he clutched his thigh. 

Rin opened his mouth but nothing came out. Nothing was in his head. Just the sound of Atsumu, the horrified eyes of Osamu.

“He’s—” Your brother. “How—” Could you do this to him?

Osamu grabbed his arm, pulling him along towards the balcony.

Atsumu lifted his head, teeth clenched together and face scrunched in distress. “Yer pickin’ him? Over yer family? Over me?”

They stopped as Osamu came to a halt — the jerk sending shockwaves into Rin’s pulled shoulder. “I’m not pickin’ him.” He turned back — eyes looking through Rin like he was a ghost — to face his brother. “I’m pickin’ myself.”

“Fuck you! Piece of shit! Samu!"

“One day you’ll understand.” Osamu choked out a sob before tugging Rin along once more. “Goodbye Tsumu.”

Rin fanned at his face with a sales flyer as he traversed the crowd of people milling about the sidewalk. Entirely too many sandals and sneakers clattered against the mitsudomoe tiles. On a disgustingly muggy summer day like this, he had to wonder why most of these people weren’t inside, sitting in front of an AC unit.

All he knew was he couldn’t wait to be free from this sticky hell.

He hoisted his tote bag up higher — adjusting the haphazard and heavy collection of snacks he’d pilfered from the oriental market. There was only one person in this world he’d run errands like this for and — unfortunately — said person in the world currently had a craving for seaweed chips and green grape Pororo juice. 

A bell jingled as Rin finally crossed the threshold into freedom. Fans blared cool air in all four corners of the long, narrow restaurant — causing pages and signs and napkins to flap back and forth.

“Aproveite a comida, dona!” A familiar voice called, accompanied by the clink of a plate on the bar.

Osamu stood behind the counter, a warm smile on his face and hands on his hips in satisfaction. This was Rin’s favorite Osamu. Happy. Proud. The Osamu who chased his dream as far as it took him. Took them.

“Ah. Obrigado, menino.” The old woman at the counter said — pressing her hands together in a silent grace before digging into her plate of temaki. She seemed familiar enough to Rin that he recognized her as a regular, but not enough to remember her name.

Once thoroughly convinced of the granny’s satisfaction, Osamu turned — perking up at the sight of Rin in the doorway.

“Honey, I’m home.” Rin called as he stepped further into the restaurant. 

“Welcome home.” Osamu’s smile shifted into something softer as Rin handed over the bag of snacks. “Oh, this is awesome. Thanks, darlin’.”

“Anytime.” Rin leaned over the bar, a half-grin on his lips. “But don’t forget my payment.”

Osamu laughed, pulling his cheeks in for a chaste kiss — well aware of the elderly woman munching on her lunch.

The woman sighed, setting down her temaki long enough to take a sip of her ice water. “Vocês são tão fofos.” 

Osamu giggled as he chatted to her in Portuguese. Well and truly giggled. 

Rin wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. Just pretending to be senhores Itokazu and not properly married to this idiot was driving him insane. Though, he wasn’t too sure of the logistics of officially becoming Miya Rintarou when Suna Rintarou was dead. And also never really existed in the first place legally.

Such is life.

He settled into his favorite seat at the bar, leaning his head against the wall. The television flickered green, white, and black as halftime highlights from the Corinthians game played. He was content to mindlessly watch the rhythmic passing and missed shots as Osamu chatted with his customer — but the news shifted to something else.

Breaking news. Important enough to interrupt soccer. A reporter in a sharp suit and perfectly coiffed hair had her elbows folded on the desk before her, holding a piece of paper.

We are receiving reports that the United Task Force has been disbanded and will cease operations immediately.

A panning shot of the UTF main headquarters in Switzerland stretched across the screen.

"Osamu. You'll want to see this." Rin said, feeling a little guilty interrupting the boisterous conversation.

"Eh?" Osamu blinked at him confused, before following his gaze to the television.

The disbandment comes as a result of several months of trials in the International Court of Justice in The Hague, the Netherlands.

A video showed three men leaving the court, surrounded by reporters and interviewers shoving microphones in their faces.

In the corner of his eye, Rin could see a smile forming on Osamu's lips.

The man on the right walked without a limp — as bold and proud as he once was. Rin didn't doubt Osamu's self-proclaimed ability as a good shot, but it was still nice to see he hadn't nicked his twin's femoral artery in the process.

The initial complaint to the ICJ was brought up by three whistleblowers within the Japanese branch of the UTF. 

Doctor Ojiro Shinsuke was head of medical research for the branch's state of the art hospital.

Commander Ojiro Aran was the leader of the branch's reconnaissance division responsible for internationally approved missions.

Agent Miya Atsumu was a reconnaissance field agent working under Commander Ojiro.

The three of them were shown up close, standing at attention in their formal UTF uniforms. An older man hung medals over their necks as the gathered crowd clapped.

Their reports included extensive infringement on the sovereignty of countless countries and unapproved missions taking place on foreign soil. Darker reports indicate many of these covert missions involved assassination, coercion, torture, kidnapping, trafficking, and other grievous crimes against humanity.

Atsumu was cornered by several reporters, finally giving in to an interview. 

"No, I was not personally involved in the black ops division." Atsumu stated in his best English, clearly nervous. "Aran-k— Commander Ojiro asked for my assistance in investigating the division after I agreed to help him with a secret mission."

"Agent Miya, the trials for this case have lasted months — some of the longest in UN history. What is your motivation to keep going?"

"Besides doing what's right?"

Osamu snorted before whispering out a tiny "aho."

"I didn't know it at the time, but I lost my brother and closest friend to the black ops division. Their disappearance haunts me to this day." Atsumu smiled, soft and terribly sad. "If I had the chance to see them one more time, I'd tell my brother that I finally understand." 

"Thank you for your service to the world, Agent Miya. And thank you for your time."

Atsumu bowed his head, hand coming to rest on his chest and the medal hanging over it. The camera cut back to the reporter — but not before Rin noticed the sheen of tears in his old friend's eyes.

"Hey, Osamu?" Rin called out, breaking his boyfriend's focus on the television. He reached out his hand, resting it on the bar between them.

"Hm?" Osamu was crying, despite his neutral facial expression. Trying desperately to keep it together but failing. Osamu met his hand, linking their fingers together.

"I think..." Rin couldn't help but smile as he felt the emotions prick at his own eyes. "I think maybe it's time."

Time to reach out. Time to reconnect. Make their survival clear to their friends — no, their family — after three long years on the lam. Without the risk of the agency hunting them down. Safety. For the first time in maybe ever.

Osamu squeezed his hand tight before turning his gaze back to the television where Shinsuke was being interviewed extensively.

"Yeah, I think yer right."