Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lang Buddha is having a pretty shit day so far and it was barely past 8 o'clock. 

Kneeling behind a trash can as gunshots rang through the street had every average dick and harry looking out their windows to see the absolute spectacle this new gang had started stirring up. He held what felt like a lung to his chest hoping that the long slash of exposed flesh wasn’t going to infect and kill him in a dirty piss alleyway behind their house. He’s been in some– literal– shitty situations but this be the height of shame he could never recover from. People would be forced to leave plastic flowers in front of a hack job cross with his name on it, anniversaries spent with his friends forced to peel stripper panties and cigarette buds off his tombstone or worse yet, worst of all, he’d have died to some blonde fuckwit and his crew of low tier trigger happy yes men. 

Staying undetected is definitely the best move. 

He’s gotten separated from the boys a little bit over an hour ago and knowing vaguely how this crew rolls it isn’t insane to assume they’re probably in their own tight spot right now. 

There had been some talk about a new gang popping up in their area who had a particularly brutal way of going about things; robberies, stabbings and outright ocean dumps have been on the rise since February. 

The plan was for them to meet and ease some of the early tensions before things got out of hand but Lang didn’t account for this very loud and aggressive group to be run by a Wile E. Coyote frenchman that spoke words like he shot bullets, which was very fast and lacking any coherency. That initial meeting didn’t ease tensions in the slightest but when they started demanding for their shit like they had any right to it was when he started getting really pissed. It didn’t take long before they had devolved into full blown screaming matches that, of course, escalated again when his snake of an ex–employee had hovered his hand on his back pocket when Luciano took a step forward. 

All negotiations were thrown out the window and it’s been a mad dash ever since. 

Lang had tatters of his shirt, which he had managed to rip off from the seconds between getting shot and ducking into an alleyway for cover, applying enough pressure so it would be secure enough for him to lean against the building. 

His old bones weren’t as used to bullet wounds as they used to be and that isn’t more apparent now that he had been severely lacking in keeping up the cardio. Some don he was.

He can feel when things were really starting to get dicey when a dangerous amount of blood suddenly gushed out of the lower side of his stomach and spots were starting to appear on the edges of his vision. Optimism was for younger men with better spirits, not bitter old fucks who’ll die just as forgotten as they lived. Perhaps it was a mercy this new crew had rolled in, sure they’ll be mourners but after a couple months? A year? He’s been here long enough to know it’s easy to be forgotten in Los Santos even if there are still people alive to tell your story. His story ended on a low note though, can’t help that. He would kill for a last cigarette.

There is the scuffle of shoes on gravel coming up behind him. 

It’s done. He closes his eyes, hoping that the boys at least remembered that he’d like a closed casket. Knowing his family Gigi will remember and those other bozos are going to be useless for at least a couple days(Any longer then Lang would seriously wonder why he got them in in the first place being so emotional), they’re lucky she joined this circus.

There was someone tugging on his hands that were pressing down on the bloody mess that was his chest. On instinct, uncaring of what consequence this would cause he grabbed the hand and pinned the stranger against him, dragging them down to his level and shoving a knife into the others ribcage. 

“Don’t fucking touch.” Lang barks, figuring that if he was going down he'd go down swinging. 

“You’re injured.” The other person states, a little too matter of factly for someone with a knife digging into them. “I’m–I’m just trying to help.”

Lang snorts. “Right.”

The stranger sighs but, being as close as they are, Lang can feel that this confidence wasn’t a show. There didn’t even seem to be a slight uptick in heart rate or anything, only compliance for what could possibly be his death. Lang has had people piss themselves with worse moves, screaming and snotting all over the place with just a well placed look and a couple threats, but this guy…it wasn’t fear. It was something new and– last day or not– it was something interesting.

He opens his eyes. 

“Oh holy shit.” 

Lang had never been a religious man. No real reason behind it, could be he was too busy or too wretched to think a greater good could save his soul but here, right now, he swore he was looking at an angel.

Black locks swooped over the brightest green eyes he’s ever seen in his life. A sharp jaw that connected to a surprisingly toned body, wearing some kind of uniform alerted Lang that at least it wasn’t anyone actively out to get him but still didn’t help his current problem. There was a flustered quality to his face the longer he stared but he couldn’t help himself, he was a dead man either way at least now he’d have died staring at something miraculous. 

“Sir,” The angel looks nervous, which was a very normal reaction to a man bleeding out behind a garbage bin– not that he was the best judge of normal “I want–I want to help you.”

“Yeah? How’d you like to help me, beautiful?” There is a slight possibility there wasn’t enough air circulating to his brain because the words coming out of his mouth would’ve had to be waterboarded out of him in any normal circumstance. 

“What!? I–I–uh–that’s not–” He trails off into mumblings and various high pitched noises. Was he straight? Shit, flirted a little too close to the sun on that one. 

Shame. 

"How you planning on helping me out, hm? Gotta write down my last will? Give me a blowjob? Clean my fucking feet!? Get on with it before I die pissed and haunt your ass!” Lang snaps, some of his suggestions earning yet another (adorable) round of sputtering before the man finally sobers to the situation. 

“Please,” That annoyingly smooth and deep voice pleads. “I–I know I can help you and…I really doubt you wanna die here so if you–if you wanna avoid that I uh…I need my hands…”

Here is where Lang remembers he had essentially pinned the man under him and– he cranks his neck to check– yep, had the others hands in a bruising grip behind his back. 

“How do I know you don’t have a gun?” He asks with a trained paranoia. 

For some reason, the stranger finds this very amusing.

“Do I look like I have a gun?” He asks, like a smart ass. 

Lang isn’t so easily convinced. “Looks can be deceiving all on their own baby, let alone when it’s attached to a pretty face.”

“Uhh—“ Stranger huffs, and the creeping flush that rides up his neck was a lovely thing to watch, if not incredibly distracting. “They don’t give guns to florists, man.”

Langs brown furrows. “What?”

There’s some shuffling— he reaches into a pocket on the back of what Lang now sees to be an apron— before he produces a card. A business card. 

This day couldn’t get any stranger. “…Comfy Corner huh?”

“Yep.” The stranger hums, craning his neck so he can look at his card as well.”It's uh pretty new…and close.”

“You trying to make a move, huh, pretty boy?” Lang flirts, slowly easing out of his position without jolting his side too much, the pain starting to sink now that the adrenaline was dying. 

“Just–helping out.” He finishes lamely, stumbling back now that his hands were free and looking to his injuries, almost assessing the damage. “Can I touch you?”

“Least…buy me dinner first…” Lang heaves a deep sigh but reluctantly nods as he moves to lean against the building opposite of them a spasm of pure agony jolting through his spine as he bumps part of the garbage can. “You wouldn’t happen to have–”

Before he can even finish his sentence the man quickly went to work as soon as he gave the a–okay. Bandages unfurling from the top pocket in the apron he wore. Now that he was so close it gave Lang the opportunity to look at the man willing to go all out for him like this. 

He wore a deep forest green apron with a logo stitched into the centre, it was against a clean button up white shirt, brown slacks and for whatever odd reason, glow in the dark sneakers. These details will likely be very important in the long run but as the man worked quickly and quietly there was little else to do to distract from the pain. 

Now that he was so close he could see a neon blue cat pin that matched his odd choice in footwear. It didn’t stand out much with the uniform but there were gold initials in the centre that were curious either way. T.C. 

Might be a promise ring type, the kind of uselessly sentimental crap Americans are known for, hell maybe this guy had a highschool sweetheart waiting at home for him. 

Before he can ask that burning question the reality of the situation caught up to him. 

“How’d you know how to do this shit?” Lang grunts, eyeing his quick hands as they wrapped up his ribs with a speed that promised experience. 

“I don’t know, lived here long enough I guess,” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “You pick up a few things.” 

“I don’t recognise you.” Lang is good with faces, maybe not everyone in the city but definitely everyone on this street. It wasn’t due to actual interest but out of necessity, after all it’s better to know all the faces that enter your life then be blindsided by your nobody neighbour.

He raises a shoulder in a ‘what can you do’ motion. “We’ve met before.”

“Bullshit.” The reply is automatic because that’s—impossible. 

He laughs which was—possibly due to the blood loss but—absolutely miraculous to watch. His face crinkles a bit and the slight smile lines fill in the biggest smile in the world. 

Beautiful people being happy always felt a bit like gloating to him, they were already handed every opportunity they could want, why do they get to feel joy on top of that? Now though, here, it’s hard to be too bitter about that kinda happiness, the view was worth it. 

Even if Lang’s half sure the laughter is aimed at him.

“Guess I didn’t make that big of a first impression…” He says as the laughter died down making Lang roll his eyes.

“I don’t think that’s possible, buddy.” Lang notices him tense and sobers from his lusty pining for the time. If he was this skittish he was either lying (which, why? What was he trying to hide?) or they had met and it didn’t end well. “but ok yeah, let’s say we had met before. What kinda things you getting involved in where someone like me would have a meeting with someone like you.”

He flashes a new smile that was noticeably, almost cartoonishly, cheery. 

A coverup. 

Anybody else wearing it he’d say it was a pretty good coverup but he’s already seen the real deal and you can’t replicate that kinda magic. “Well uh–you like flowers?”

“Sure.” Got that from his mother, God rest her soul. 

“Ever buy flowers from me?” That particular question took a bit of reflection. Once again, he wasn’t a big flower guy but he knew the crew had that kind of soft spot for sentimentals. Gigi has definitely gotten flowers for housewarmings and whatever benign social event she's invited to. Tony and Luciano were romantics at heart and Luciano especially frequented flower shops whenever big anniversaries were happening or even when they just felt like giving a loved one flowers. Tony being single nowadays helps lessen the pollen in their house which his allergies thank him for. Had they mentioned this shop specifically? He couldn't remember, new flower shops weren’t high on their list of conversation topics. 

“Do I look like someone who buys flowers?” Lang settles on saying instead. There was a possibility they had bought bouquets on their own time which, on record, has nothing to do with him and mentioning them at all would be ridiculous but this way felt less like outright lying. 

He grins a little too smugly. “I don’t know looks can be deceiving, right?” 

“Hope that's a promise of flowers later you asshole.” Lang pushes his shoulder too hard to be an accident but not hard enough to bruise. “Would’ve been easier leaving me here to die.”

“Speaking of easier…” For the first time since he started doing basic first aid he looked a little concerned. Although Lang would never admit it, there was a spike of fear that ran through his heart, jump–starting another bout of anger.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The paranoia was bleeding in again now that it had been allowed to fester in the quiet. “You wanna see me die, huh!?”

“No, no, no– It’s good now, I got it stabilised and you should be good to just sleep it off but no uh…I meant that we really shouldn’t be hanging out here for too long…” The stranger scans the area one last time, a muted grim expression that slowly turned into determination as the street stays silent and empty. “...I know a place. You could… well, you think you could trust me enough to follow me a little longer?”

Lang, personally, felt the question was ridiculous. “I let you live didn’t I?” 

The laugh—goddamn, when did he get a laugh kink? Why is it so distracting!?— he lets let out shouldn’t sound as good as it does, especially since he was attempting to threaten him and somehow it got perceived as some kind of joke. 

Lang allows himself to be moved as the man—he really should ask for a name if he was gonna be handled like this— tucks him under an arm and, although Lang dwarfed him by a good amount, there is an unexpected strength under those baggy clothes. 

He can’t help but be lookout for their small move to this mysterious second location. Keeping an eye out for any sign of danger or his bois which, given how the scene looked, spelled nothing but death to the florist. 

‘He smells like coffee beans.’ Is a wry thought that really didn’t deserve to be as loud as it was. There was something else with the coffee beans, something subtle— could be a particularly robust cologne or maybe he just naturally smelled like burning firecrackers and a log cabin fire.

The stranger scoots them closer to the building to find that there was a whole built in store that, yep—was just located exactly where those fuckers started shooting at him that day. Florist man probably watched the whole thing through those windows, he seems like the nosy type. 

“You see me get fucked up out there?” He has to ask, a little pissed how pristine of  an angle they had in the middle of such influential crews. 

The other shrugs like it wasn’t a big deal which, it really wasn’t, but Lang can’t help but retroactively be annoyed to have an audience on that embarrassment of a fight(wishing only a little bit that the stranger had watched instead the many other shootouts he’d wiped entire crews of; that would’ve been way more impressive). “Hard not to, they uh–weren’t being very subtle…” 

“That’s cause they’re dumbasses that’s run by an insecure insect that thinks he can suck up on every living thing in the world and people won’t try and swat at him cause he gives the world his dumpster fire of a personality.” Lang hisses through clenched teeth, now no longer from pain but from fury that they had managed to nail him anyhow. 

“Oh God,” Lang hears him say under his breath which dispelled some of his doubts of this guy being some kind of Company long con, no criminal sounded that scandalised (or guiltily amused) by light cursing. “I mean, if you say so…”

He was then settled into a chair and, feeling around his ribs, Lang realises with a start that the blood had finally stopped pouring out. The, now confirmed, civilian watches him a little anxiously. 

“So uh…what do you think?” 

Lang nods as he checked over the work and, although noting the many common mistakes, can tell it was a solid enough job to keep him alive. Just as he was about to comment that he looks up to see what the other man is actually referring to and mentally slapped himself.

The Comfy Corner was not fancy in any stretch of the word, A hole in the wall in the most literal sense. It was rustic, literally leaning into the natural rust of some of their exposed pipes and circuits; the copper counters and light fixtures created an industrial but warm atmosphere. He pictured the florist part well enough with flowers and vines wrapping around almost every inch of their little shack. The small cafe portion was a surprise though with a little station shoved in the back right, leaning into the earthy natural tones with brown countertops and coffee machines. The cafe tables and seats stretched throughout the shop each as humble as the venue but not any less charming.

“Hey, we gonna get the police on us for breaking in or what?” Lang took his time to look at every detail, a little impressed that even with the obvious lack of funds it hardly ruined the atmosphere they were trying to create. A slice of home a flower pot away. “Or are you the owner or something?”

He grins, a real one this time. “...Might be.”

Lang whistles low. “Not bad, not bad at all.”

“It’s a little scuffed but you know we’re trying our best, trying our best…” He nods, trying not to look as proud as he is. “Business might be slow but that’s just the way businesses go, isn’t it? You get rough patches.”

"How new is new?" 

He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. "Oh ahh, about...probably...like- a week in."

Buddha sputters. “Oh hell no, you should not be getting rough patches a week in. Who you got on your marketing anyway? I didn’t see a peep of this advertised anywhere by anyone,” Lang took one last glance around as if manually trying to find the problem. “You’re firing your marketing team by the end of this and if you need any other tips on who to fire just give me a call, I already got a good idea of the next one.”

“Oh God,” He groans, rubbing his eyes tiredly as if this was not the first time he’s heard this complaint. “Any uh–anything specific?”

Lang already had a reason lined up. “I may not have tasted your coffee but I bet it tastes like battery acid and piss, sir. I’m basing this purely on how unclean that station is looking right now, no disrespect intended.”

“Jesus, that’s uh graphic.” He tilts his head. “You don’t think they avoid us cause of uhm–the flowers? Having so many hanging vines can be a bit dank…”

“Huh?” Lang grumbles, hooking a foot over another chair and using it to lean on. “I got eyes, don't I? I like the vine, keep that, it reminds me of the forests in São Paulo but, see I haven’t tasted the coffee so clearly that's the part you gotta fix.”

“That’s…” He hands a mug over, lost in thought. “huh…okay.”

Lang raises a brow. “What?”

“It’s nothing I uh–my sister does the coffee.” He smiles half–heartedly. “I’ve never heard a complaint yet so I don’t know…they usually mention my ah, well the flowers being a lot sometimes…”

“Yeah?” 

The man nods, unable to look him in the eye. “I'm not the best judge on stuff like this, you know how it is. I made this store just cause I liked flowers and a couple people were starting to question my taste after I kept choosing all the dangerous ones which is probably pretty fair-"

“-What happened to those flowers you owe me?” Buddha interrupts suddenly, boring into eyes that refuse to look at him. “You running a business or what?”

“...You still want those?” He asks, wide–eyed and staring at him with an amazement he definitely didn’t deserve. 

“Cause I do, buddy!” Lang couldn’t help but grin when the Stranger absolutely beams back. “I'm no a big flower guy but whatever. Remember I’ve got a sanitation salary so let's not go too crazy out here.”

“I–of course! If you could give me a minute I’ve got– Well I’ve got everything!” To describe the new energy as bouncing off the wall would be a great disservice for the pure glee this man had on sharing with this stranger, who not twenty minutes ago was bleeding out in his shop.

“Then get me the cheapest thing you got!” 

The florist part of the back alleyway medic came with a surprising force as he jumped at the chance to show off all his flowers and their meanings. It was…incredibly enduring but there was one particular bunch that looked the best to him.

“What are those?” Buddha points out the cheerful bright red and orange batch a little bit away from the others, sitting on the counter already wrapped in paper. “Why aren’t they in your line up? They’re beautiful.”

It took a minute for him to understand what flower he had found but when he turned to see the specific branches of interest he let out a sigh. “Mhm, as beautiful as they are deadly.”

Lang blinks. “Deadly in what way?”

“In the mildly toxic way.” He grabs them from the counter, weighing them in his hand. “Peruvian lily, they weren’t selling well so I was making up bundles for a quick sale so at least someone will have them by the time they eventually die out-which is why I'm still here on a sunday- but then I heard all the gunshots and ah–here we are.”

“Well then I definitely want this one!” He exclaims, feeling a kingship with the sad wilting bunch of pedals. “They saved my life, in a way.”

The other man giggles. “Yeah I guess they did, I could name them the alleyway special or something after you.”

“Can I just say I think you're doing a great-Don’t–call it that- you're doing a pretty good job here in the florist section at-least. There's little things that'll fuck you though so you gotta stay on top of them like, I won't go all Gordon Ramsay on your ass but I will say the napkin company your using to supply those green ones went bankrupt later last year, you're gonna need to switch up manufactures or you’ll be out of supply soon and without a proper fill you're gonna go without napkins for a couple weeks.” 

“Wait, really!?” Although a little embarrassed to be advised so crudely he still made a note of it. “That's...kind of insane how you noticed something so small man like-wow. You sure know a lot about this stuff, that’s kind of cool Mr…Oh!”

Lang nods. “Realised you never asked my name huh? Kinda rude you know, stitching me up before knowing who I am, I could be crazy, a known serial killer.”

His face is red. “Well, you’re not a serial killer!”

“Based on what? Our stellar first meeting?” He quips back on impulse, not intending to be such a prick but physically unable to hold himself back from the challenge.

He shakes his head furiously. “Hey, who’s ever had a perfect first meeting!? I think you’re a cool guy and the fact you thought about stabbing me and didn’t? That's a confirmed good guy to me.”

“Good guy,” Lang repeats mockingly but internally found the whole conversation amusing. When was the last time someone called him that, without being very pointedly ironic? Years it feels like, not since his first ex wife, at least. “Anyone ever tell you you’re too trusting?”

The response is automatic. “Every day of my life.”

“You ever think about listening to them Mr…” Lang trails off, allowing the man to finally finish the skipped line of useless social etiquette they had ignored in favour of saving his life. 

“Yuno Sykk.”  He clears his throat a little awkward now and, still a little flushed, holds out a hand. “And uh, no I haven’t.”

“Yuno Sykk…” Lang tests the vowels in his mouth, just as sweet as the man who owned them. There was more underneath that composed and nervous disposition he hid behind. What florist was trained in back alley first aid, the kind of health and safety that was quick and efficient but didn’t utilise calling the ambulance or putting any more attention onto the scene? What man could have a guy like him hold a knife into his stomach and somehow talk his way out of it? Who sees a mobster bleeding out in their alleyway and actively chooses to help them?

Who the fuck is Yuno Sykk? He had no idea but if there is one thing he is sure about in any of this…

Lang grins sharply.  “Lang Buddha, nice to meet ya!"

He can’t wait to find out.

Chapter Text

Lang knows the distinction between appropriate and necessary surveillance and…whatever it is he was doing. 

Despite his, many, faults he does understand the moral concern looking at his actions at face value but what many would fail to comprehend is his interest is idle curiosity, really. 

Purely academic.

So what if he keeps an eye out for The Comfy Corner during his weed pushes (the drop off point was ridiculously close to the building that he could even watch who came in and out from where he stood) if he didn’t watch over the neighbourhood with vigilante surveillance it would be mayhem, pure pandemonium. 

There really was no harm in making mental notes on who stays longer than the necessary minutes it takes to choose a bunch of flowers or order and finish a cup of coffee and commit their faces to memory. It’s an investment for a future prospect some might say but Lang himself would posit he was only being cautious with the information given to him.

Despite ‘Yuno’s’ pleasant and warm presence there were far too many unanswered questions for Lang to allow himself to fully dismiss him as the florist he claims to be. Most pointedly, his lack of reaction to being threatened.

There was a time, before he opens his eyes and lost all train of thought for a few seconds, where the man felt a knife dig into his body and not even stutter as he gave his reasons why he’d be more useful alive then dead. Lang does believe Yuno Sykk is a civilian that runs a flower shop, and knew the moment he took him to see it that it was real(There was so much love and passion poured into the space and his voice just melted when he talked about the different flowers he had) but civilians can have their pasts as well. 

It didn’t escape his notice just how popular this little shop was with the resident criminal population.

To dismiss him now would be disrespectful and—stupid to put it plainly. Which is why it was appropriate—necessary even!— that he kept an eye out for him and whatever shenanigans his shop fell into. 

“—Lang! Jesus Christ, you’re not even listening to me anymore!” Tony sniffs with a faux wobble in his voice.

“Fuck you want, Tony?” Lang subtly shook his head, focusing on the job

“Nothing…” The pout was evident in his voice. “Just trying to give you an update and it’s like– it’s like you don’t even care.”

“Cause I don’t, Tony.” He raises a brow, eyes still drawn to the quiet alleyway shop across the road. “You’re a broke bitch, this isn’t news buddy.”

“Asshole.” Tony huffs, folding his arms. “You could fucking– atleast look at me when you tear my goddamn heart out of my chest!”

“Busy.” Lang barks, nodding to the skittish customer who could barely look him in the eye as he hands him cash. “Do yourself a favour and raise us some goddamn money before we kick your ass out.” 

“Do it, no balls. I’m a goddamn don motherfucker, I’ll steal half your shit before you even know what happened.” Tony leans back on the brick wall behind them, absently scrolling through his phone. “I’ll be laughing to the bank, just you watch.”

“If that’s what it takes for your poor bitchass to earn money by all means.” Lang nods at yet another customer that quickly leaves the scene, glancing back at the glaring Italian distrustfully. “Tony, what do you want? You’re scaring off my customers and not all of us want to be as dirt poor as you ok? Some of us prefer to have money.” 

“I’m not allowed to hang out with my best friend?” Tony questions, finally putting down his phone. “...Luciano not helping you today?”

“Day off, probably a date night or something…” Lang tries to focus on the conversation but across the road a certain duo had hobbled their way into The Comfy Corner. Benji Ramos and Irwin Dundee are unpredictable on their best days and active instigators on their worst, their closeness to a certain blonde Frenchman definitely doesn’t help their case. They didn’t roll up in big groups or with any visible weapons so the shop should be relatively safe but that won’t stop him from watching. “Have you seen any sign of Jean Paul lately?”

Tony’s eyebrows rise. “Uhh, if I did he would’ve probably killed me by now. Why? What’s going on?”

“Classified.” Lang sneers. 

Which, quite understandably, garners a scoff in response. “Classified what kind of–what the fuck? Classified to who?”

“Classified to people who can afford the paywall.” Lang smirks when Tony pelts him with random car junk that was too small to sell. “You want a loan, huh? It’s 25k after tax, 20k before.”

“Fucking dick…” Tony grumbles, pushing off the wall and walking back to his chopping car. “Good luck doing whatever it is you think you’re doing. If what Luciano is saying is true, you getting your creep on during the job deserves some kinda don demerit. Maybe I’ll even bring it up at Friday's meeting.”

Lang jolts from his lazer focus across the street as if looking away could hide his clear interest. Judging from the expression on his closest friend's face, it wasn’t very successful. “What do you mean by that?” 

Tony laughs. “Yeah, like I said. Good luck, creep.”

As Lang flips him off as Tony barrels down the street it quickly changes to a wave as Yuno sticks his head out the door of his store and cheerfully waves out to him. He maintains it until the florist disappears back inside and he is left to grapple with being found. 

Mortifyingly, this means his careful surveillance was not as under wraps as he had hopes and it is very likely Yuno had watched him stalk him outside his store for the last couple days.

Shit.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

The mad rush usually starts around 8 o’clock.

“—Yuno I get you want to push the flower thing but please can you keep it off my station!? I’m already swamped as it is. I do not need this random crap in the way!” Ray yells out to the floor, her barrister corner has dots of flower bundles held together with string and cardboard. They were placed in a small pile next to the cash register.

He laughs as he makes her way towards her, putting down the small watering can he had. “I just wanted to decorate it a bit and you know it’s good marketing for the bundles—“

Ray groans into her hands, snatching up the small pile and dumping them into his arms. “Keep it out!”

Yuno shoots a quick smile before reluctantly moving the Lillie’s behind his desk, he’ll figure out a spot after the morning shift. 

‘Mad Rush’ was a rather generous description of the time where those in the neighbourhood were on their way to work and stopped by the only local coffee shop in their area. In these rush hours there were little flower purchases that had to be processed or planned(none at all) and Yuno would end up being the designated server for his sister's rapid fire coffee orders that only grew as the hours went by. 

The Comfy Corner started as Yuno’s side project back when he used to work in asset security and did the soul crushing job of dropping off money to banks. It was a tedious and long job but the friendships and money he had acquired upon working there got him enough savings to buy a property outright and set up his very own flower shop. He had always had an active interest in dangerous things and there were so many ways plants and flowers could be dangerous. Some were living predators that stalk their prey and gobble up the insects that flew too close to their mouths. There were poisons and creeping vines, tonics and herbs, pretty flowers and insanely cool ones in equal fashion. Flowers were a comfort that even as a young child Yuno had adored with a firm dedication. 

Only when he opened the store to less than stellar reviews did he ever start really rethinking what it was he was building up in his life. Customers ranged from his friends from old Gruppe6 friends–who knew because it was the only thing he used to talk about in their long shifts delivering money bank to bank– and his family whose support leaned on the more unbearing side. Barely two days in and there was already a creeping fear he’d have to sell before he bankrupted himself. It was a desperate move to add the coffee machine and call it a florist cafe, really the last ditch effort so he wouldn’t have to bury yet another dream. 

Ordering the coffee maker was the easy part, it was operating it that Yuno really struggled with. Try as he might, watching tutorials on youtube was not as useful as the tutorials claimed them to be with many wasted coffee cups and trips to the hospital from his family who graciously tried to help in taste testing. 

He was catching up with his old G6 friend, Elle Queenie (one of his most reliable friendships made on that job, who always visited after her shifts deep in the night when the store had virtually no customers just so they could catch up) brought up his sister Ray Mond. She had seen on Twatter Ray had just renewed her barista course with a friend and Yuno hit himself for not considering it earlier. 

Although they had a somewhat strained relationship after Ray had sought him out all those years ago and they had tried working on…well whatever estranged twins were, things were nice. There was love but also alot of awkwardness just in general and the hope was that with Ray manning the coffee portion then he would have more time on his hands to push his flowers and decorate the space as much as he wanted. Ray was a natural and business slowly started growing back up but what Yuno would likely never tell her (or anyone else who asked, really) is that they might be getting better numbers those numbers weren’t exactly ‘keep a business open’ kind of numbers and by his estimations they’ll be shut down in a year. 

There was hope and it was clear those local to the area were really appreciating the space they could come to destress, Yuno was never one to let things go and the worry continued ticking away in the background of whatever moment he was in. 

“Uno!” An obnoxious familiar voice booms through the store, making Yuno snicker at all of the scandalised reactions around the room. “Uno mate, where’s that little prickly fuck you got? I got this wedding coming up and I want a gift that says ‘fuck you’ but also ‘I’m giving you something that you’ll be miserable with like the dull cunt you’re marrying’ and I figured nothings more perfect for that then those prickly fuckers that cut my fingy yesterday!”

There are  some returning customers at least. Irwin Dundee was his first customer and the first regular ever in his life. They had met in…less than ideal circumstances but his loyalty survived years and he’ll never forget the many valuable lessons he learnt from him. 

“You are actually so goddamn stupid it’s embarrassing to sit next to you.” Benji Ramos groans into his coffee, successfully distracted from staring dreamily off to a direction that was suspiciously close to Yuno’s sister. “You’ve heard of a cactus before, I refuse to believe you’ve never heard of a cactus before.” 

“Nah,” Dundee says smartly. “Don’t got that in Australia.”

“You’ve lived here for decades!” Benji explodes, slapping him over his head. 

He had met Dundee, and later that same day Benji, when the Comfy Corner was a small stall he set up outside the apartments, he had been wearing this giant cardboard sign (that, truthfully, was half the size of his stale) when he walked up to a denim-clad man on a motorcycle. He was cursed out, he gave an apology plant, Dundee kicked his stale over and the rest is history. 

“I gotta tell you guys something!” Yuno says, conspiratorially whispering. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Who would Dundee tell?” Benji asks dryly. “We’re the only friends he’s got.”

“For our long friendship I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.” Dundee growls out which garnered nothing but amused chuckles from the other man and condescending looks. “I mean it!”

“Right,” Benji snorts before turning back to, the now vibrating, Yuno. “What? What is it? You actually got something or are you in one of those trolling modes that give me nothing but headaches?”

“What?” Yuno giggles. “I don’t have a troll–y mode. What would that even look like?”

“It looks like you sending a dozen people into the infirmary because you can’t camp for shit.” Benji answers almost immediately.

“It also looks like you sending me on a wild goose chase for your little G6 buddies and then watching me get arrested by the police.” Dundee adds just as quickly.

“No, no it’s none of– Jesus, that didn’t take you long to come up with examples. What, you practise that?” Yuno says, bewildered by how quick they both jumped on the bandwagon. 

“You’re a very simple man, Yuno.” Benji raises a brow. “Sorry if we can’t tell if we’re gonna hear about something mildly interesting or batshit insane, it’s a 50/50 with you.”

“Well it’s– I think it’s kinda interesting at least.” Yuno grumbles, moving in closer so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I…I stitched up someone recently!”

“Oooh, really?” Benji’s brows disappeared under his hat and Dundee let out a low whistle. “That’s kinda crazy.”

“You’re kidding, I told you it would come in handy! They pay ya? Who was it?” Dundee asks, just beaming with pride.

“Wha–” Yuno stutters, casually looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Of course he didn’t pay me! He was dying!”

Dundee shrugs, reaching for another biscuit they had gotten with their coffees.“Dead men have money.”

“He didn’t die!” Yuno exclaims, which did nothing but egg Dundee on even more. 

“Shame, who was it? He still there?” Benji smacks Dundee on the back of his head again, this time the slap making an audible sound and got Dundee groaning in pain.

“Let him finish the story, idiot!” 

Yuno looks around to make sure no one was watching them before taking the available seat in front of them. “It’s not much of a story…I was pulling an all-nighter and I somehow caught this–guy in this massive fight and uh, I guess I just wanted to help.”

“Sounds like a pretty big story to me,” Benji snorts, folding his arms across his chest. “Which gang?”

Yuno blinks. “What makes you think he’s a part of a gang!?” 

“Bitch–” Benji curses looking more unimpressed than ever. “Who do you think I am? Where do you think we live!? Ain’t no random senior buns worker needing stitches that early in the goddamn morning.”

“Definitely at night though.” Dundee interjects with a jeer. “Their little cash registers aren't the biggest payout but it’s easy money when you’re bored.”

“I don’t know.” Yuno says, unable to look either of them in the eye. “I don’t ask stuff like that…”

“Uh huh,” Benji nods slowly. He taps on the table in front of them with the edge of his finger, clearly battling with what he felt like saying and what he should say. “Yeah well…as long as you’re being smart about it.”

He smiles genuinely. “Eh, I mean probably? Hard to tell what’s smart right now, not gonna lie.”

Benji grumbles but does relax slightly. “Don’t I know that, man.”

“Hmm, some serious shit huh?” Dundee concludes, searching more into Yunos expression.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Dundee.” He laughs, unconvincingly. “You said you wanted uh- a little cactus or something? I got some in store yeah!”

“Yep, would be much appreciated.” Dundee scoots closer even as Yuno stands to leave. “Hey…you remember when I taught you how to stitch up someone? What I told ya that-that one time? Shit what was it? I think it was something like-It doesn’t matter when you use it or on who that it’s all about what you can get out of them…Damn, feels like yesterday I was telling some helmet wearing freak about how to sanitise a needle and now look where we’re at–”

Dundee bursts into exaggerated tears causing a scene with the many tables around them. There were several people asking him to control himself which triggered another response that switched from weepy to violent in an instance.

Meanwhile, as Benji started cursing back to the more vocal customers, Yuno remembered the day Dundee taught him how to stitch up a bullet wound for the first time.

Dundee’s first lesson was complicated, he didn’t like to think about it too much. 

He was always a very harsh man but as he grew to know him he found those harsh edges held a sentimentality that Dundee was greatly self conscious of. Anything that he perceived as weakness or emotionally vulnerable was quickly counteracted with something cruel and mean. Dundee noticed how much he started caring about him and his punishment for that was his life. 

Well, almost. 

The first time Dundee taught him how to stitch up a person it was in an abandoned mine shaft.

It was so cold down there, his breath had come out in shallow clouds as he had tried so hard to keep it together. The echo went down what felt like miles of cavern, the complete lack of lighting making any lingering fear you felt just shimmer in the dark. There was a lot that happened that night, so much more that he had purposely forgotten about and avoided mentioning to…anyone really. 

Sometimes he wonders if that Yuno(that terrified boy who could barely look people in the eye, who was scared and shy and filled with so much wasted potential) would be proud of everything he’s accomplished so far in the last 7 years. Then yet another customer shoves a whole row of flower pots off a ledge for the second time that day, in what was a childhood dream that is somehow now more his sisters then his own and knows what that answer would be. 

Pride would be far from the first emotion he’d feel. 

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

There was no real reason to leave the shop open for as long as it is, they got most of their sales in the early mornings anyhow, but there was always a part of Yuno that worried about someone needing a bouquet or even a cup of coffee in the middle of the night and then find that nothing was open. 

There were only two registered employees that this lax sense of schedule affected and one of them was him, the other his sister, so their hours were in constant fluctuation depending on how much time they were willing to put into it. A lot of the time it’s Ray who’s busy with one thing or another just due to the chaotic nature of her life and as a result Yuno spends all the night shifts by himself, which he is more than okay about.

He likes how peaceful the nights were. 

Queenie makes her rounds again, settling into her usual seat surrounded by the most vines, and was in a good enough mood to even taste test some samples he was working on.

“You hate it.” Yuno notices, frowning ever so slightly when she made a quick face before swallowing the contents of the cup. 

“It’s…” She tries looking for the words. “Definitely unique?”

Yuno grumbles, taking the batch he had just whipped up and pouring the tea leaves out of the kettle and into the trash. Another failed attempt. 

“Still don’t understand why you’re doing this in the first place.” Queenie tries to smile reassuringly when Yuno turned back to her pouting. “You don’t like dealing with the cafe part I thought?”

“I wanted to see if I could.” He sighs, swirling the last cup he had of his newest creation seeing how the colours combated one another inside. 

“Yuno–saying this in the nicest way I can–what in the world did you put in it? I don’t think teas, especially green teas, are supposed to be that…multicoloured. Usually they’re very green or very brown, not much in between.” She tries politely sipping only to awkwardly put the cup down. 

“You know the normal things you put in tea…” He answers, noncommittally. “Not that it matters, it’s bad, I wasted so many ingredients.”

“Ray’s gonna kill you.” Queenie laughs when she catches just how disastrous he had left the makeshift kitchen/coffee corner. “Unless your tea gets to you first that is.”

“Wow–” Yuno sputters in mock outrage as she laughs harder. “I–I can’t believe you just, really kicking a man already down on his luck, huh? That’s– that’s insanely savage, I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

“I can’t believe you’ve done this either, so guess we’re even.” She replies smartly, pressing the cup back into his hands. 

“You’ll see, it’s just the first attempt, it gets easier the longer you stay at it probably…maybe.” He trails off mumbling words of encouragement to himself.

Because they were friends she chose not to tell him that he had just described the definition of insanity, doing something wrong over and over again expecting a different answer, because she was nice like that.

Nibbling on the house sweets that Yuno had also had taken a hand in making, she thinks about how she’ll go about approaching this next topic.

“You’re getting better at baking.” She comments, taking a sizable bite in the gooey chocolatey brownies he had made to accompany the tea. “I like this, you should introduce them to the shop.”

“Nah,” Yuno frowns, swiftly his hands moved from the teapot to the pressed flowers he had been packaging before he had switched focus to his now failed idea. “That’s way too much work. I already have my flourishing business to keep afloat, don’t I?” 

Queenie pats him on the shoulder. “You’ll get it next time buddy.”

“Uh huh.” He fiddles with the stems of the flowers, the only visible display of his frustration. She hedges her bets on whether or not she should even attempt to go about talking about this without him deflecting.

“…I uh, was wondering something, actually.” She says, hesitating.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t even bother looking up, too absorbed in his self pity.

“Are you ah– feeling okay? I’ve noticed you’ve been more and more distracted these last few days…” She reveals, looking at him with genuine concern. “I’d chalk it up to being tired but even your sister told me how absent you’ve been in the mornings which isn’t like you at all, is everything good?”

Of everything he expected to be asked about, it wasn’t that. As mortifying as it was to know that he wasn't anywhere near as subtle as he had thought he was (even Ray Mond who was busy with so many other things had noticed his slip) it was even worse thinking about what kinda cover he could possibly use that would be convincing. 

He could lie and say it was the business and the rushing orders that keep piling up but Queenie has been here since it’s creation, right from when he had first gone house hunting for it up to the point he added Ray Mond. If he even attempted to lie about the business being too much for him she’d likely volunteer to help out which would be the last thing she needed on her already busy schedule. 

“I uh–” Yuno coughs, clearing his throat and subtly nudges the teapot to the edge of the table. “That’s well uh– a good question you see well–”

The pot smashes into pieces and they both jolt a bit at the noice. Queenie scrutinises him as if trying to judge how authentic that push was and judging by the silent laughter she smothers behind her fist, he assumes it wasn’t all that convincing. 

“Jesus!” He yells anyway, just to sell the point. Diving to get the bigger chunks he really hams it up. “Oh God, that came outta nowhere!”

“Pff,” Queenie shakes her head, amused. “Yeaah man, whatever you say.”

Yuno shakes his head and shoots her an overly expressive apologetic look. “I gotta– I’ll go get the broom this is just– this is just super unprofessional of me, I’m so sorry!”

“You’re good.” She snorts, deciding mercilessly to drop the subject for now if he was willing to ruin a perfectly good pot for it. “Don’t worry about it.”

He practically sprints to the back broom closet just to catch his breath and get his story straight. Although not the most subtle of approaches Yuno had successfully pulled her attention away from what would’ve been a painful conversation. 

Rummaging through the hardly used supply closet he gets a series of messages all in quick succession. Taking out his phone he sees it’s a couple people seemingly all at once. Not wanting to deal with what must be another conflict Yuno skips straight to Benji’s message. The first being a general comment on their conversation earlier in the day and somehow noticing as well how distracted he’s been lately. The second message came in the middle of his reply to the first, saying only three words. 

‘It’s fucking pouring.’

Which makes Yuno sigh, it always seems to be raining lately. He glances over Ray’s messages too and apparently they’ll pick him up for another emergency meeting soon. Very soon. 

It’s always one thing or another with his friends and maybe it was a sign he had been slightly inattentive that he truly couldn’t tell what the problem was that they’ve found themselves into this time. 

Truth be told, Yuno has been very distracted lately. 

Nothing in his everyday life is going exactly as he planned when he was building it but, such is life. His family didn’t agree with his life choices but what family does when they have a son so generally unmotivated suddenly develop this singular obsession with owning a business of his own. It wasn’t even how much more expensive living has become that his apartment suddenly costs the same amount a car would for renting and he had to move back in with his parents in a house that he has very much outgrown. 

No, it wasn’t any of that. For whatever reason either an odd fixation on tall men with broad shoulders or his hero complex flaring up, Yuno can’t understand why he’s so obsessed with that moment behind the store where Lang Buddha looked him in the eye and fully...trusted him. 

It wasn’t particularly momentous at the time, the threat of a man bleeding out in front of him keeping him focused through most of the interaction, but it was when he looked up to him and nodded where Yuno was suddenly floored. Lifting him up and slowly moving him back to the store was the easy part, the hard part was managing to hold a conversation with all that divided focused attention narrowed in on him. 

Lang Buddha was a kind of majestic that Yuno had thought only old norse battleships and paintings could accomplish. He was older than him, significantly so, but Mr. Lang was…nice. Insanely nice, actually. When he had first stumbled onto him Yuno almost expected to be robbed himself, the noise brought him over but in taking his own look at the surroundings he zeroed in on the injured party instantly. Only when the cold press of steel poked him in the ribs did he curse his impulsiveness, him not even bothering to check if there were other people around was a rookie mistake. Luckily, Mr. Lang was so understanding he even let him move him and stitch the rest up. Yuno knew then he had met someone pretty cool. 

He tried hard to move on from his silly fixation but still images and snippets of conversation played in his head on repeat. Seemed like every day his mind wandered to strong arms wrapped around his shoulder, impossibly tall figure that was ridiculously short tempered and brown eyes that absolutely melted into liquid gold when the light hit it in such a specific way. 

“I got the broom!” Yuno exclaims triumphantly making his way back to the front of the store, looking at the shards of glass and mentally preparing a speech that will hopefully get her out quick enough where when he gets abruptly picked up by a group of temperamental and very trigger happy people it won’t cause alarm. 

“Do you– uh, want to take the brownie back with you maybe? You mentioned your moms sweet tooth once why don’t you pack one up for her but–ahh you’ll probably need to wrap it up now so it doesn’t get cold–”

“My mother would probably like it had she not died a decade ago.” Says a voice that he had not at all expected to hear right now but has been replaying in his head for days. “I’ll take whatever you’re offering though, I could eat.”

Yuno falters and comically swirls around to find the familiar now fully recovered man he had saved not two days ago. Turning his phone on silent he quickly and gently manoeuvres Lang away from the broken pieces.

This was…unfortunate timing. 

Chapter Text

His phone vibrates in his jacket pocket but Yuno continues paying it no mind. Taking a quick once over Yuno immediately notices that Queenie was nowhere to be seen. All of her G6 bags were gone and her table tidied up, Mr Lang stands awkwardly next to it, hands kept behind his back and—now that he was fully healed and able to stand up straight—absolutely towering over the rest of the shop.

“When I walked in she just left for whatever reason.” He coughs slightly, looking just as awkward as he sounded. “smiled real weird too.”

Yuno internally groans, he knew he shouldn’t have mentioned ‘a random run in with this super cool guy’ to her during her visits, she always was such a stirrer. “I bet… I uh–wasn't expecting you?”

“In the neighbourhood.” He says, pretending that they didn’t just see each other that morning when he was creeping on him from a distance.“How’s the business so far, baby?”

“Ah well…” Yuno grimaces before reluctantly displaying his brownies. “Impulsively made this I uh— was trying to figure out recipes.”

“Recipes.” Lang repeats, eyeing the crumbly goey confectionaries critically. “Mhm..isn’t this a flower shop? You tryna cut into the weed business too?”

“What?” Yuno looks back down to his designs and spots the sprinkle of greenery he added for colour. “No! Of course not! It’s for the cafe I—Regular brownies I promise.”

“Right, right…” Lang raises an unimpressed brow, squinting at the leftover pieces still in the tin. “So if I took a bite of this, I wouldn’t get high?”

“Mr Lang?!” He says, slightly scandalised. “Why would I get brownies for that? There’s plenty of other ways to get people high!” 

“Wow now you're offering to get me high in other ways, what the fuck?!” Lang shakes his head. “What kinda criminal am I talking to right now? You some kinda deadbeat, huh? You gotta pull out a gun if I don’t eat your fucking weed brownies?” 

“I did not say that I uh—“ Yuno huffs, pulling the tray away. “Well , they weren’t even going into the store anyway, it was just a joke, totally a joke—.”

“Yeah, it must be pretty funny if it got you this late cooking for your little girl–friend.” Lang snorts but there is a slight edge to the tone, something oddly accusatory. “I’m not cockblocking am I?”

“No, no it’s not like that we’re just–good friends, great friends, really.” Yuno feels faintly embarrassed, almost self consciously going to pack up the rest when suddenly his hand is stopped.

“Now you’re not even gonna let me try some? I know the last time you saw me I was dying on your table but you’re really bleeding me dry here buddy.” Lang hums, his fingers casually holding the tray still. “Unless what? You don’t want me to try?”

“Try it.” Yuno says with more confidence than he felt. “...Please.”

Lang grins and flops onto the available chair and eats away to his heart's content. Yuno pretends to wipe off something on the table unconsciously leaning in anticipation for some kind of praise or comment. When a few minutes pass of only appreciative hums and very little talking, he still takes it as a win. 

They sit in a nice kind of silence, neither wanting to break whatever tentative peace they had created amongst each other. 

Yuno was often tired most of the time nowadays, quiet never a thing to cherish or strive for until very recently when noise started becoming so much more…explosive than it used to be. His phone burned a hole in his pocket.

He didn’t know Mr Lang all that well on a technicality, they only really had one interaction discounting the many scenes he’s had in his head, but somehow it felt like he’s known this likely very dangerous man for decades. This peace was rare for him–so much so it was kind of intimidating– but he’s positive it’s even stranger for Lang Buddha. 

Under the snark there is a tension in his actions, his movements, that Yuno can tell he’s also not one to easily relax. He ate the pieces of chocolate treats with such caution it was a wonder he was even getting the mouthfuls in with how seriously he handled it. If Yuno were any other person he might’ve been offended by something like that but it made little difference to him. I mean, he was still eating it at least.

“I’m glad you’re looking better.” Yuno murmurs, truthfully. Despite the surprise of the visit, he was thankful Mr Lang was here at all. for the last few days he's been driving himself crazy with worry  that his injuries got worse and there would be no way of him knowing.

“Could’ve been done for if it wasn’t for you.” Lang grumbles reluctantly, between pieces. “We didn’t talk much that day but…that was some risky shit you pulled back there you know.”

“Oh definitely.” Yuno nods, swiping a large piece for himself while he goes around watering the many cacti decorating the tables. They were plopped on every available surface with customisable felt features you could remove and decorate, he made one of all his friends (the table that Lang was at was the Cacti Dunders).“Live life on the edge though, you know how it is.”

“Could’ve been bad.” Lang comments, something unreadable in his facial expressions and voice.

Yuno laughs, in the process of taking off  his cacti dundee’s denim hat and vest so he can water it without ruining the costume.“Oh it could’ve gone horribly! I’m surprised it worked at all to be honest, I haven’t had to use my scuffed first aid in a while.”

“If you knew all that, why go out at all?!” Lang turns to face him, suspicion an after thought under the pure frustration he saw swimming in his eyes.

The flower restocking was real. Yuno really did need to make the flowers into bundles because they were somehow the lowest sellers in a business that was hardly selling flowers but it wasn’t the whole truth. 

Although he did take his shop incredibly serious there was a reason why he had gotten the business licence and building so quickly and it wasn’t because he was particularly good at his old job. It was a good future investment they rationalised, a good vantage point that was central to multiple gang houses that they knew. Even though it was paid for with his own money and it was Ray's connect that got them to expedite the process; it was treated like company property the second it was purchased. 

That day in particular could’ve been very, very bad if Yuno wasn’t a quick thinker. He was put on watch duty and, despite the result,  no one can tell him he didn’t do that. 

He shrugs. “Felt like it.”

“Felt like it?” Lang repeats with a level of disbelief. “Ahhh okay…could’ve died though, definitely could’ve died.”

“I know.” Yuno says, because despite his placate nature he wasn’t naive. “What do you think about the brownies?”

“The what? Oh.” Lang coughs, looking increasingly awkward. “I think…I think—“

Yuno tilted his head.“You hate it.” 

“No! Jesus, you jump to conclusions, I’m just—it’s—“

Yuno raises a brow, swiftly picking up the plate. “You don’t need to like it, I told you it’s nothing.”

“It’s not the brownie, okay, it’s a very fucking good brownie and you should be proud!” Lang hisses, poking his chest to emphasis. “I’m not a big dessert guy, alright? Ain’t got nothing on you, it’s just not what I’m into.”

It didn’t stop the rushing sting of humiliation but it was nice to know it wasn’t purely his skill that had Mr Lang force the food down with such strain. “Huh…what are you into then?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know...” Lang wags a finger in his face, snagging the last piece from the trey still being balanced in his arms.

Although Yuno was shaking his head disapprovingly, even he couldn’t deny how satisfying it felt seeing the other man eat the last piece, that despite how misshapen and…odd it looked he still deemed it good enough to eat. They say you can tell a-lot about a man from their eating habits or– something, his sister’s magazines didn’t have the most reliable read on men, nor the most accurate. This felt nice though, the casual conversation, which probably had its own portion in the magazine somewhere as well. 

“Can I ask you something, Yuno?” Lang taps his fingers impatiently on the table, as he clears the table of the rest of the dishes. 

“Sure.” Yuno says, swiftly picking up Queenie’s abandoned plate and some of the surrounding glasses that were left out. 

“Why flowers?” Lang asks with not a trace of derision or mockery. “You could do anything and I do love a good passion project but…no offence intended, a flower shop? What’s– what’s the thought process there?”

“Nothing crazy.” He shrugs, dumping the dishes in the sink and scrubbing away. “I just like flowers.” 

“You like arranging them?” Lang frowns in concentration. “Picking ‘em, pruning them?”

“Sure.”

“Spraying ‘em?”

Yuno looks a bit bemused. “Who likes watering plants?” 

“But you do it…”

“Well, flowers tend to die when you don’t.” He points out, as Lang picks up one of the decorated cacti. There is another lull until Yunon breaks it. “I uh…I know what you’re doing. I get it, I really do, but I’m not all that complicated at the end of the day.”

Lang was already shaking his head. “I don’t believe that.”

Yuno laughs, his heart racing a mile a minute. “You don’t think flowers die if you don’t water them? They usually dry out man–”

“-I don’t believe you when you say you’re not complicated.” Lang raises a brow, toying with a cacti with purple felt hair and little paper horns. “I think people don’t expect you to be complicated and you–you play into it.”

“Play into it huh?” Yuno says calmly, significantly less warmth in his eyes, a calculative glint entering. “You seem real confident about that.”

“Oh I’m very confident.” Despite the tension, Lang grins smugly. “I think it works in your favour so you don’t bother correcting them when they ignore little…coincidences you fall into.”

“Coincidences.” Yuno repeats, shaking his head good–natured, something that looked so natural Lang was only half sure it was a plot to have him lower his guard. “You think I’ve got some kinda agenda, Mr Lang?”

“I think everyones got some kinda agenda…” Lang admits, frankly. “I sure as fuck got an agenda, got a thousand agendas going on all at once sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Something in his unreadable gaze softens. “That’s…gotta be pretty hard to juggle.”

“I’m running a circus of fools, Yuno.” Lang sighs, internally obsessing over his small confrontation being met head to head with his own soft interrogation, his blood spiking. “Your little plants here would probably be just as useful as half my guys.”

“Hmm,” Yuno smiles brightly. “I can get you four for an affordable price, I’ll even give you a sizable discount if you want, just cause you’re so nice.”

Lang nods in approval. “You’re a fucking shark, I like it– ruthless.”

Yuno sputters. “I– don’t mean to be.”

“I don’t believe that either.” Lang throws one last cheeky smile as he moves to stand. “Which I also like.”

“You don’t want one?” Yuno spoke up before the words even fully register in his mind, something fighting the world where Mr Lang leaves right now with nothing. “I was joking before, I can get you one for free. Honestly, they’re pretty easy to make…”

Lang’s eyebrows raise even higher but makes no moves to stop, already pushing in his chair. “I’m not even surprised about that–I bet you're good at some crazy random shit too, like juggling or math or something. You think you could tell me how many hydrogens are in plants?” 

“I–” Yuno blinks. “That's not math.”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you just called me a dumbass but you wouldn’t go ahead and do something like that would ya, Yuno?” Lang teases, taking one last look to the devil shaped cacti and back to Yuno, something warm shimmering underneath. “...You can believe me or not but I really didn’t come here to interrogate you, it came out naturally.”

Yuno shrugs and the rest of the unconscious tension drains away. “I mean…yeah you’re a pretty paranoid guy, I can believe that.”

“Everyones a goddamn critic…” Lang says with no real heat. Yuno decides to walk him back to the exit, both unwilling to acknowledge how slow their pace had suddenly gotten. “Well…figured it would do you some good to see I didn’t immediately die when I got picked up so…you’re welcome.”

Yuno nods, opening the door for him and leaning on the frame. “Thanks, but I mean– I saw you were okay this morning on your weed run. I’m just happy I got to talk to you again, last time wasn’t the most ideal time to socialise and I don’t know, I think you’re really cool.”

Lang twitches violently, a plethora of emotions playing out on his face and he really shouldn’t find it as cute as it was. 

It took him a whole minute to break from his disbelief. 

“...I’m sorry?”

Yuno tilts his head. “You…weren’t trying to keep those quiet, were you? You set up directly in front of my store man, I saw every drop off.”

“You watched me working all day, what the hell!?” Lang exclaims, a verified hypocrite. “That’s some stalker shit you know? Could get your ass arrested for that.”

“I–” Yuno stutters, feeling off–footed. “I didn’t mean to! You were just–you were just right there and–and–”

Lang puts a finger on his mouth, successfully silencing him. “Hey, we all have urges, I forgive you. Next time though, when you feel the need to creep on me give a heads up so I can put on an actual show for you, yeah? I’ve got some real sexy outfits that’ll make those drop offs real entertaining.”

It was satisfying seeing Yuno change into a very pretty shade of red after being so thoroughly surprised himself throughout the whole conversation, it felt good to have a hand up. 

“Jesus–why–what would–I–I didn’t mean–” He can barely get out a sentence, his words stumbling out in some part shocked squeaks and other stuttering yelps. “You’re…You’re insane I didn’t–” 

“It’s normal to be embarrassed, I have that effect.” Lang grins and squeezes his shoulder as he goes, the telltale shape of one of his cacti tucked under in his pants. “I’ll see you around, pretty boy.”

Yuno stands dumbfounded watching his latest fixation walk out the door and out into the dark. He sits on the steps leading up to the store, his more approachable and aesthetic flowers in plots lining the entry, and broke out into a loud giggling fit. This bubbly light feeling felt a hair away from being some kind of flu but Yuno doesn’t think he’d ever want it to be cured. 

Yuno has never been good with feelings. In his childhood it just wasn’t something people talked about. Kids didn’t ask him which girl he liked in gym class or make up rumours of him kissing people behind the lockers, he was just…Yuno. Nobody looked at him like that and he didn’t look at anyone else in return, it was fine with him. He’d spent his entire life fine with it but suddenly now it—

There was the violent screech of rubber hitting concrete, shouting voices that got louder and all the more urgent the closer they got. 

Yuno swallows and dares to take a peek at his phone. 

Damn.

“Yuno!” Benji screams out the car window, the blacked out car abruptly screeching to a halt in front of him. There was an instant tension to his face that spelled trouble. “It’s real shit man, I don’t– I dunno if we’re gonna recover from this–”

“Did someone die?” The first and most important question you ask in dire situations, especially in a group like his. Privately, only in his mind, did he hope that it wasn’t Ray, anyone but Ray.

Thankfully, Benji shakes his head. “I can’t–listen, we just gotta go now you’ll see this shit show straight up. Trust me, you’re gonna wanna wish you were dead.”

“Benji.” Yuno states seriously, more serious than he’s ever been before. “Ray?”

Benji grabs him by the shoulder and looks over his sunglasses so he knows it’s genuine. “Only way Raymond Romanov is going down is when his harem trample him to death– which, speaking of, he’s waiting on us.”

Wordlessly Yuno hops in the back and steadies himself for what is inevitably going to be an absolute dumpster fire. 

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

Truthfully, tensions have been high for a while now, half the group refuses to talk to the other, meetings always ending in screaming matches that felt seconds away from serious physical long lasting consequences. They were chaotic when they formed all those months ago and it has only gotten worse now that they set out to the wide open and unforgiving world of Los Santos. When it was neighbourhood gangs and casual weed drops they ruled over their street with an iron fist, now they had gotten the attention of actual gangs and no one was equipped for that. Yuno already had to talk them out of killing twelve of his friends, some criminals, most just people that annoyed them.

When he expected fire, he didn’t expect literal fire. Quite wisely, he was assuming the fire that Benji was raving about was of the more metaphorical kind. 

This was not the case. 

“He took everything!” OTT screams, over and over again as he smashes empty crates with a wrench. “That motherfucker took everything– that fucking snake just just absolutely fucked us!”

There was a flash of white and suddenly he was staring up into the concerned and grim face of his brother in all but blood, Raymond Romanov. 

He glares accusatively at Benji. “I told you not to bring him here.”

Benji puffs up, offended. “He’s not a fucking toddler, he was gonna notice we were down one man and half our shit you absolute moron–”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t going to find out, it wasn’t necessary for him to have to see OTT’s fucking meltdown!” Ray yells, throwing glances at the ever growing fire pit OTT had created in their front garden. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”

“Ray,” Yuno stresses, watching papers and journals, computer parts and random materials charred black and licked with flames, the ash a climbing path to heaven. “Come on man, what’s going on?”

“It’s Jean Paul.” Ray answers because as reluctant as he was to bring him into this mess in the first place, he could never deny Yuno anything. “He is…no longer with The Company.”

“What–” flashes of conversations, him, Marty, JP, talking on a skate ramp. “What happened?”

“You need a fucking play by play, shit for brains!?” OTT grabs him by his shoulders, his eyes a kind of furious Yuno had never seen on him. “Our CE fucking O fucked us! He fucked us and you were nowhere to be fucking found! Why’d it take you so goddamn long to get here, huh!?”

“Back off of Yuno–”

OTT rears back from Ray’s attempt to strong arm him and tightens his grip on Yuno. “Uh huh, Romanov I think that’s a valid fucking question– where were you Yuno!? How is it that on what was supposed to be your goddamn watch Jean Paul managed to sneak around our house and steal half of all of our shit!? Where the hell were you?!”

“Half–” Yuno barely gets out, stun-locked. “Half of everything ?”

“Is this guy– are you fucking slow?! Jesus Christ, I knew we weren’t working with the brightest fucking bulbs but I figured we’d still have members who can keep the fuck up–”

“He just got here, brother–” Ray physically jabs himself between them, peeling Yuno away from the furious man. “Of course he’s confused, this wasn’t–we knew it would happen but this is just…it would make anyone speechless!”

“We knew it would happen!?” OTT redirects his ire to the russian, Yuno scrambling to get away from him as he picks up an inflamed journal. “You didn’t wanna mention this in any of our meetings, Ray!? What fucking else were people hiding!? What happened to being Family–”

“Family?” Ray scoffs, loud enough to be heard in the many small fires surrounding them. “How delusional are you– family!? You’re starting to sound like Mickey.”

“Then what the fuck did I join, Ray!?” OTT grabs him by his shirt, the book in his other hand. “What was any of this–this crap if it was just going to blow up in our face– He took half the computers! The hard drives, our intel, our equipment, how the hell are we gonna recover from this!?”

Ray tilts his head mockingly. “Well it sure won’t be from throwing a hissy fit outside our goddamn home, I can guarantee you that—“

“You wanna go, you stupid Motherfucker!?” OTT rounds onto him, throws the burning books into the side of Ray’s face. Only giving him a half a second of reaction, Ray strikes back with his first, blood and bruising peppering them both, Mickey stood in between attempting to act as a third party. 

“Jesus Christ,” Benji curses under his breath standing side by side with Yuno, both just watching the argument escalate and escalate neither willing to back down. “Well…that’s that then. Figured we’d have a couple good months in the new place before that fucker took everything, guy couldn’t even last a week.”

Yuno is quiet as the smoke and debris carved through the night sky, there were distant sounds of animals reacting to the mayhem they created, he’s sure their neighbours were seconds away from calling the police and then cop escalation would probably get his friends bringing out the guns and and and-

and Yuno was so incredibly…tired.

“Mr X took everything? Really?”

Benji sighs, snuffing out a small flame under his boot. “No one could’ve expected it.”

Yuno thinks of skateparks, of promises that guarantee them going straight to the top, of a man he was so deathly afraid of and yet so unequivocally drawn to that the world would sometimes fade into blurs and half tones. Maybe that was his failure, to be drawn into something you could never fully see. 

Marty knew then what Yuno knows now. There was no loving something like that, he was a magic trick really, a fun illusion you enjoy for the moment and move on with your life not something you commit your life to solving. Did the others know what they were getting involved with? Was it only him and Marty that knew what was brewing and if so, should he have done more to stop it? If everyone saw the boat sinking, why did no one look for life vests?

Benji turns to observe him for a second, a cigarette balancing in between his two fingers. “You good, Yuno?”

“Could you uh…drop me off somewhere?” Yuno says dully, taking one last look back to the bloody brawl that only looked to be escalating more and more the longer they stayed there and came to a decision. “I think I uh…well, I’m not sure how much help I'll be right now.”

“What–no, Yuno, it doesn’t matter what you’re bringing in, okay? We really couldn’t give much of a fuck about that right now, it’s about you, okay? You sure you’re good with…all this?”

Yuno shrugs, not knowing what else there was to say. “...I just wanna go home.”

Benji nods still looking conflicted but eventually complies, gesturing for his car and discreetly leaving as the rest of The Company continue to fight through flame and accusations. 

Home was a bit vague of a direction for him, they technically had one home and it was being the host of a campfire right now. Luckily Benji knew Yuno outside of his criminal personae and knew exactly what home not only looked like but had been a frequent guest...in the past.

As they cruise into the driveway, Benji kills the light and gives Yuno another long look as he stumbles out. 

“Thanks man.” Yuno practically whispers, looking like he aged five years in the last couple hours.

Benji tries to offer his attempt at a reassuring smile. “Stay safe out there, baby.”

Yuno’s return smile registered flat. “I should really be telling you that.”

“Don’t I fucking know it, I’ll probably catch my ass on fire.” Benji laughs but Yuno does not join him.

The front porch light flickers on, a face peers out from the window, a face that quickly ducks when he turns to look back at the house. That’ll be Raia.

Yuno scratches the side of his arm, an impulsive gesture.“You think it’ll ever stop raining, Benji?”

Yuno suspects the rest of his family is also still awake, mulling around doing their own late night activities or actively snooping, as per the norm around here. 

The cicadas chirp wistfully in the garden, a choir of sounds emitting from every corner of their very active front yard and Benji sighs. “Honestly bro, I wouldn’t know what to do if it did stop. I don’t know…maybe we’re kinda fucked up but…sometimes I wonder if we don’t thrive a bit in the rain.”

“...What if you don’t?” Yuno murmurs under his breath, so quietly he couldn’t be sure if that was directed at anyone in particular or if he was thinking out loud. 

One did though, someone was always listening. Benji pats him on the shoulder. “Then you’ll learn.”

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

Yuno’s foster family are currently in their…growing pains. 

The family was expanding with another kid or two currently in the mix of discussions (several family meetings worth of context for that one). Fiona wanted to wait it out, care for their current children and see where life takes them but Carlo was a little more casual about stuff like that and figured why wait? 

It devolved pretty quickly into a fight with the house divided right down the middle of alliances. Gloryon, naturally, took their mothers side because even though he was always too busy to catch up on the specifics of arguments, he’d always be a mama's boy. Raia also rather predictably took their fathers side, leaving Yuno in the middle as their tie breaker. 

Which was the nature of tension in the room the next day when breakfast came to pass. He sluggishly rose from his bed and shuffled his way into the main living room where his family already gathered. 

Gloryon was on his phone, like he always is, talking to his many artsy and avant garde friends who he plays d&d with every week. They were currently negotiating costs with a group house so Gloryon’s been busy pretty much every time he sees him. 

Fiona was angry and tired from the fight the night after but still she stood at the kitchen counter and served scrambled runny and somehow also burnt eggs onto a serving plate. Her phone vibrates on the counter intermittently and (taking a once over the room to see his father was nowhere to be seen) it wasn’t hard to tell who it was. Yuno shoots her an apologetic look as he sits beside his sister who is pawing at the steaming plate of food just out of her reach.

Raia pokes impatiently at his sides, Yuno pretends he doesn’t feel it. 

“Move,” she whines, jabbing even harder. “You’re in the way.”

“Raia, stop poking your brother.” Fiona sighs, laying the last pancake onto the stack of thoroughly cooked pancakes and slumping onto the counter top, exhausted. “Did you two see your father last night?”

“He slept in the car,” Raia said with a frown. “I thought breakfast was a neutral zone.”

“It is a neutral zone okay, I was just curious–not hungry, Yuno?” Fiona frowns as her youngest son opted for the cereal, piling up his bowl only half way. “You want me to make you a bagel?”

“I’m good.” He smiles half–heartedly. “Benji and I got some take out on the way home last night, I guess I’m not all that hungry.”

“Benji, huh?” Fiona looks conflicted, as if fighting herself from causing trouble and opening yet another argument. “Hm…okay.”

He sighs, eating as quickly as he could without choking. “We're good now, everything is fine.”

“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “What’s this I hear about a fire down in Grove street, that wouldn’t be your boys then?”

“Ah, no?” He says, coughing on some of his cereal and determinedly avoiding his mothers gaze.

“Yuno–” Fiona bites her tongue, seeing how defensive he’s already getting. “...Never mind. Breakfast is neutral, right? Let’s keep it neutral.” 

Raia gasps excitedly, rising up from her stool with exuberance. “Is Yuno in trouble?”

“Wha—“ Yuno sputters, looking between his sister and mother in disbelief. “I didn’t even do anything! If anything Raia should be in trouble!”

“Uh, no? I actually didn’t do anything!?” Raia stands in her outrage. “Yuno should be in trouble because stepping out of the house smelling like that should be considered a crime–”

“-Raia should be in trouble because pretty sure I wasn’t the one who crashed the family car–”

“No one is in trouble!” Fiona groans, eating her own plate, grimacing at the large chunks of shell in the eggs. “Gloryon! Food!”

“What is it?” He asks, curiously checking in on their table. “Ooh, do I get a bagel?”

“The fact you even have to ask?” A sudden voice says, behind them. “Nice Fiona, our kids don’t even know if they’re allowed to eat in the house anymore!”

Carlo was just as grumpy and tired as Fiona, a horrible case of bed head and dark circles under his eyes, he came out from the garage. Beside him, Raia mouths ‘told you’ before quickly returning back to her breakfast when Carlo turns around. 

“Oh now you're thinking about our kids?” Fiona hisses, angrily putting down knives and forks into the sink. “You’re such a bastard, where was this energy last night talking about two or three more? You’re such an insane hypocrite—“

Carlo laughs in disbelief. “Me?! That’s fucking rich coming from—“

“Neutral, neutral!” Raia scrambles to get in between them, looking upset. “Guys, come on you promised!”

“Gloryon!” Fiona yells, making her children jump. “Hurry up, we’re gonna be late.”

“Mum,” he whines but does comply, finally snapping his phone shut and bringing his bagel with him. “I’ve got a ca-“

Fiona shot another no nonsense look. “Last offer!” shoving the remaining pieces of his bagel down he obediently trails behind her. “You’re not coming with us, Yuno?”

“Yuno and Raia are taking my car, I’m closer to his little cafe anyhow.” Carlo gloats, laughing obnoxiously in between them at the kitchen counter. 

“Flower shop,” Raia mutters a correction, yawning but still grabbing her gear.

“You don’t even know what business your kid founded, father of the fucking year over here.” Fiona scoffs but turns heel with a bemused Gloryon follows behind. “Get fucked, asshole.”

“Yeah whatever.” Carlo angrily stomps away in his own dramatic childish fashion. 

“Pshh,” Raia whispers at his side, looking worriedly between their mother going one way and their father going the other. “Don’t mention the shop with dad, he doesn’t like it.”

“Doesn’t like it?” Yuno blinks in complete confusion. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Raia admits a little conflicted herself. “I think he still feels weird about not being able to help out much with it, it's more a you and mum thing, he talks about it sometimes.”

“I invite him though.” Yuno frowns, looking back at their father who was moodily staring out the window watching Fiona reverse out of the driveway. “He’s always busy.”

Raia shrugs. “I don’t know, parents are weird.”

“They are weird.” He nods.

With a grin, Raia wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him into a crushing hug. “Still kinda surreal having them though, didn’t think I’d ever have parents again…kinda cool having brothers too.”

Yuno smiles and tentatively returns the embrace, watching his dad pull his back out waving to their neighbours. “Yeah…kinda cool.”

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

Another day goes by and even with his sister absolutely in her element and the shop looking more and more full as the hours tick by, Yuno still can’t stop thinking about The Company and what this current problem means about the future. Their co–founder and CEO up and left with no warning and the other founders are scrambling to make sense of it. Already Yuno can feel the tension underneath their conversations, there's some competition for the fight of a new top dog, Benji isn’t seriously gunning for it but Ray was always the more ambitious of the group. Ray was and always will be a brother to him but Yuno knows his faults like they were his own and being in charge of so many assets will only ever cause mayhem, OTT and Ray’s fight yesterday was all the proof you needed. 

Yuno was a logical guy to an almost cruel degree. He knew perfectly how to remove emotional complications out of any situation and treat everything with the same level headed need to fix. There were so many embedded problems in his group that even without the ticking time bomb that was JP it was still primed and ready to explode, too many egos in a kitchen makes for a bad meal.

“Yuno!” Someone was waving their hands in front of his face. “Yuno?”

He ignores them, they evidently are offended by this.

“Yuno, I know you’re not ignoring me right n–” They stumble onto him and, somehow, bump a whole row of daisies he had left out for the new DIY egg carton holders they were trying to integrate for a greener direction. “Oh God! Shit!”

“Eli–” Yuno sighs, forcefully broken out of his musings as dirt and wilted flowers sprawl in front of the counter, he throws an apologetic look to some customers who got dirt on their shoes and shoots Eli an annoyed look. “Was that necessary?”

“I didn’t mean–” There is a loud cough in the corner of the store that, if Yuno didn’t know any better, sounded suspiciously like Dundee. Eli stops and almost reboots, raising his chin out obnoxiously. “I–I mean yes, yes it was! Yuno, I want a job here–”

“No.” 

He deflates again. 

“Why not!?” Eli whines, absently bumping into another plant that this time Yuno luckily catches. “You can’t use what just happened as an example! I’m clumsy, it's normal!”

“Normal for an average job, sure.” Yuno raises a very pointed brow and encourages him to look around. “But for a place that literally has breakable materials holding very finicky and uh…dangerous stuff probably the last job to go for, I think Snr Buns is hiring again?” 

“Yuno, come on,” He says, honest to god pouting. “You got some insane plants! I saw the one in the window eating a rat the other day!”

“Bumbus yeah, he’s very temperamental and I mean…kinda improves the neighbourhood, right?” Yuno says brightly. “I mean cleaner streets are gonna make more and more people come here to live and boom! More customers.”

“I’ll be a delivery guy then!” Eli jumps forward with even more persistence. “Drop off coffee or something, come on Yuno! You can trust me!” 

“Sure…” Yuno stresses the word to a comical degree garnering the exact reaction he wanted with Eli chuckling and talking more about the gruesome sight he witnessed yesterday. 

He liked Eli alot, he’s been a good friend of his for the last couple months and there was little he could say that Eli wouldn’t immediately do but sometimes he picked and prodded at things without meaning to at times that he really shouldn’t have. Not his fault, of course, but still he had quite the pension of horrible timing.

The business was on its last leg (somehow selling mostly dangerous and bizarre flowers was not the most lucrative of business plans) and to put it plainly he couldn’t afford extra staff, he didn’t even pay himself what with Ray bringing in most of the revenue, why wouldn’t she deserve a wage? That little reminder of his own incompetence did nothing to lessen the sting of the day and it’s already moving parts of events. 

When night came and a sheepish Queenie walked through the door, Yuno couldn’t wait to complain. Although he kept some details vague she was always the best ear to listen to his woes ready with sympathetic if not frank and no nonsense advice which he always appreciated. 

Tonight, on the other hand, there was something different. She had started with apologising for leaving the other night so abruptly and the reason was exactly what he had predicted, an awful attempt at ‘wingmaning’. 

“See how well that ended up.” Yuno grumbles, surprisingly frank. “He hates me Queenie, he hates me.”

“Uh huh,” She smiles wide and curly and a touch too mischievous. “So…this probably isn’t for you then?”

With an obnoxious wave she sets down a card with a note scribbled on the front and folded oddly. Ignoring her smug grin he takes the card cautiously, opening it to several crushed and somewhat bent out of shape flowers. Small and light it was a bright splash of colour to what is a single photo glued inside. 

Yuno draws back his head and laughs. “What the–who told him to do this?” He can’t help how fond his voice sounds, not when for the first time in a while there was something to be happy about. 

He couldn’t know for sure if Mr Lang knew what he was saying with the flower he chose, Yuno wouldn’t be surprised if it was just the only available flower he knew and could access, but the one he chose was strangely appropriate. Perfect, one might say.

Queenie snuck a quick look only to sputter. “Is that a weed? Did he seriously just give you weeds!?”

Yuno shook his head but couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “Dandelions.”

“That still counts Yuno wow so–” Queenie looks parts bemused and some part mystified. “So you give him incredible brownies and he gives you literal weeds?”

Yuno considers this. “Uh…yeah, I guess so…I dunno, the message is kinda…good, it’s kind of exactly what I needed right now…” 

“You wanna share with the class?” Queenie huffs, nullified that her matchmaking attempts yielded nothing. Yuno must take pity on her because instead of deflecting as he often does he moves in closer and reaches out to show what was written when—

“Mr Yuno!!” A familiar voice bellows from the back entrance, down the alleyway. “Mr Yu now, now, now! It’s important! Hurry the fuck up!”

No .

No, it can’t be.

“Mr Yu!” The voice screams, sounding far too happy, far too giddy given the current events. “We aren’t gonna wait all day~”

Shell–shocked and in a complete haze Yuno runs outside, flinging his fly screen open and out to see the one and only Jean Paul, The Company’s ex founder and CEO, the man who took half of everything they worked so hard to earn, the man who the week before leaving their friends asked to run away with him. 

He has a mask on, his crime mask. Yuno was overcome with a genuine horror for what that might entail. Jean Paul swaggers up the steps and locks him into a half hug and drags him to the car boot that is wide open. 

Yuno’s heart drops. 

“I caught him, Mr Yu~” JP all but sings, bouncing on the balls of his feet, standing in front of him like a proud cat that brought in a bloodied corpse of a mouse. “I caught our ah–golden goose!”

Lang Buddha slumps in the back of Jean Paul’s hatchback bloodied, bruised and very unconscious. 

Chapter Text

The first thought Lang has upon waking up is ‘oh god, he drowned himself with alcohol poisoning. Is this hell?’ The second, more pressing thought, was Jean Paul cannot be the man to finally do him in. 

The first physical thing Lang registers upon waking is the rushing downpour of water he was being driven into and the coarse fabric wrapped around his mouth. Consciousness was a fluid state at first, in and out he woke up to excruciating pain and dim flickering lights above before it would become too much to bear and he’d go under again. 

Finally the pattern broke and the next time he woke up it was to air being breathed into his body and consciousness kickstarting up- the retained memories are of him gulping large breaths, coughing and spluttering for air. His hands are bound but there is enough of a gap in the latch where he can still drop to his knees without twisting his arm. 

As soon as his shabby old knees scrap the concrete floor Lang finds out instantly that his wounds were untreated for the entirety of his capture—the several bullet grazes still leaking blood near his upper thigh and shoulder— as the minute his leg touched the ground it was like being lit on fire, as biting pain coursed through his body. With great patience and even better pain tolerance he eventually drags himself across the floor to the more secluded and hidden parts of the room, where unkempt furniture and storage boxes that stacked all the way to the ceiling reside. He props himself up against a support beam and overlooks the small, stuffy room. 

The floors and walls were wood panelling, likely matching some kinda exterior design that he couldn’t pinpoint the style of house it would match, no, that would make his job too easy. Large furniture pieces covered in linen sheets littered the opposite side of the room but his chains made so he couldn’t move to inspect what specifically they were. 

He had a little more help with the room, deducing rather quickly that It was someone's storage room, likely a basement, that had several side rooms, open concept, and a staircase going up. 

In between the side with the furniture was a computer desk and a pc setup that looked out of place in the dingy basement . The handcuffs that kept his hands together are tethered to a chain that bolts in the middle of the floor, impossible to take off without some seriously heavy machinery.

In the corner there was a small garden patch, not dissimilar to the garden farm they had in their own home for weed, only this one could’ve seen better days. Husks for roots, withered, dry soil, exposed brick and, for whatever reason, three wilted sunflowers with three wooden pegs dug in front of each flower,  nothing on them except the letters R, B and Y etched into each peg. 

He can’t make much sense of that one or why it was down here to begin with but there were far more pressing matters, such as, the encroaching footsteps down the staircase as each step squeaks and whines the ragged stairs down.

“So, Mista Lang.” A painfully familiar voice gloats. “Oh how the mighty have fallen...”

Lang breathes out once more, steadying his heart through the pain. Jean Paul hadn’t changed much since the last time he was hunted down by him. Same piss yellow hair, same smug droopy face, the only substantial difference was strangely metaphysical. It was like he felt wrong, if that even made sense. More teetering off the edge off a cliff than usual.

Lang, with great difficulty, sits up. “...You’re still fucking inarticulate I see, I think that was my name you just said but it could’ve also easily been you giving me your senior buns order, It’s impossible to tell with you.”

“Oh all very funny, truly a—a class act!” Lang spits in his face, Jean Paul steps back in disgust and as he is distracted Lang extends a leg out and Jean Paul falls into a heap on the ground. A silver case flings out of JP’s front pocket, the brand and inscription edged in the side telling Lang everything he needed to know about its contents. That small unassuming box that JP had seemingly missed completely flinging away from him was a pocket knife. 

“You’re an embarrassment,” Lang scoffs, only needing to tilt slightly for the man, who was in the process of reeling forward in fury, then awkwardly misses the mark hitting the support beam instead. “with horrible aim.”

Roaring Jean Paul jumps again towards him, now grabbing at something in his back pocket, “Embarrassment, what–what a novel concept!” 

Lang sobers as the other man pulls out a gun. “Not so funny now huh?”

“You’ve lost your mind.” And maybe, Lang thinks looking around at all the new equipment brought into the dingy sad basement, perhaps even more than that. 

Seeing his reaction as a twisted kind of win, Jean Paul with a sickening grin grinds the barrel of the gun into the side of his temple so hard parts of the poorly constructed gun flake off onto his face. Lang doesn’t react, refuses to give him a reaction he could use against him. This steadfast resolve would, in any other scenario, be the most ideal course of action to unstable people but Jean Paul rarely did make much sense.

There is the sound before the hit registers like the way storms can be heard before they are seen, so loud it was still rattling around his brain long after it ended. Then the small wisp of smoke in the air, those clued him in on what had happened in those quick seconds of action. 

“What’s wrong, Mista Lang?” Jean Paul snickers, kicking his ribs just cause he can. “You got so–so silent all of a sudden.”

His body was numb as the bullet ricocheted off the support beam behind him, having gone clean through. Reaching across his stomach Lang can only see red as the excruciating pain starts creeping in, it was a matter of time before he was going under again. 

Yet even in his state he could still register that all attention had gone away from him, Jean Paul arguing with someone too far for him to concern himself with, and quickly reached over for the forgotten knife. It took some manoeuvring but with the welcome distraction it was easy enough to kick the blade under him just before the frenchman turned back around. 

“You’re still alive?” He asks with far too much glee at the prospect. “Well, you always were made from tougher stuff weren’t you Mista Lang?”

“F–Fuck–” Lang wheezes, unable to finish the sentence as black spots start invading his vision. 

“If I had known all it took to take you down was a couple warning shots I would’ve capped your wrinkly ass days ago!” Jean Paul says smugly, kicking him in the ribs for extra measure. “Night, night Mista Lang! Might as well take a rest now, we ain’t going anywhere any time soon…”

As Lang was pulled into unconsciousness there was the faintest pressure of something warm pressed into his chest and the soft murmur of a voice he can barely hear. 

“What has he done to you…” He can just make out, the faint whisper lulling him into a sense of security. “This is…hurt…I…don’t…sorry…” and then, there was only black. 

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

This time Lang Buddha woke to darkness, which he rather quickly decided was a sizable improvement to drowning. Judging from the fact he didn’t wake up to prissy angels telling him he didn’t deserve to be there or devils poking his ass means there is a high probability that he is still alive. Which is quite the good thing, being alive, if not an unexpected one. His hands hover over the somewhat treated wounds, the bandages already loose and falling off his body but still, somehow, it was better than nothing.

Now if only he could take off the blindfold, then they really could start cooking. After many failed attempts trying to wedge it off Lang sat back, utterly defeated. Seconds away from a full blown meltdown it was the smallest creak of a floorboard that made Lang switch gears instantly. 

He waits and—there, another squeak of the floorboard, he wasn’t alone. 

Lang takes a big handful of his chain and lashes vaguely where he heard the movement, as the floorboards squawk somewhere else so follows his chain. It was fruitless but he needed to burn off some of that all encompassing anger for having let his guard down in the first place. Every time the chain whipped down against the floor felt some of that guilt and shame ease but every attempt also just made him more and more tired and sluggish; not helping his case his bandages have now fully opened due to his excessive movement. 

“Fuck…” Lang groans, drips of sweat pooling down his face. He listens out for footsteps and turns to that general area. “Do you…not have…anything better…to do?”

Suddenly, his blindfold is untied and before it even falls to the ground, he lunges once again only barely missing the other person who scrambles back. 

“You think that was smart?” Lang glowers like a rabid dog on a short leash, bucking against his chains that make a truly ominous clunking sound of metal hitting cement, the noise echoing through the room. “Come on, take this shit off and we can go at it man to man.” 

The stranger shakes his head stiffly and with what looks like great reluctance, he turns and marches down to the computer setup, ignoring him. 

“Not a talker huh? Your daddy not gonna be happy if he caught you chatting it up with the prisoner, that’s fine.” he calls out to the man who flinches when he is called for but otherwise doesn’t move. “You got food? I’m starving.”

All things considered Lang has seen weirder criminals. He himself had his own style back in the day that got women calling the police on him and men calling him all sorts of names, that was the nature of being a criminal. Standing out. It didn’t surprise him that Jean Paul had assembled some equally odd dressed lackeys. A sleek white motorbike helmet with a matching white and black fit, he looked like a futuristic DJ or a CEO for a particularly funky startup. 

He hasn’t done much, after sitting down at the desk and typing away, though as Lang stretches his neck out he catches what the man was working on. 

“Anyone tell you you’ve got a juicy ass?” Just like he anticipated, the comment made the man jump and the familiar red flashing fail screen blinked back. “Damn, that a big boy hack you failed? Real goddamn shame that, hey don’t take it too personal, not everyone can hack.”

The man stands abruptly and it takes every bone in his body not to jolt back when he walks over to him, quietly—always quietly—and drops something to the ground in front of him. The tinfoil wrapped object smelled incredible, roasted duck and lemon pepper, almost too good to be true. 

“You tryna poison me!?” Lang rants but the man continues to ignore him. “Hey!”

The door shuts behind him quietly and Lang is left in the dark, alone. Even though the tin-foiled meal was within arms reach and its tantalising smell beckoning him closer, Lang doesn't budge. 

Only when he’s sure the man won’t come barging in again does he reluctantly gobble the food down in one. Feeling a lot better in result, he wonders if abstractly the hunger was worsening his condition in some way, like his body protested the lack of nutritions it needed to replace all the brain cells he lost getting water boarded.  

As time went on, Lang grew used to seeing the strange helmeted man in the corner, not watching or even typing anything anymore on that shitty computer but…standing guard for a couple hours before leaving just as quietly as he joined. 

It’s suspicious, it’s concerning, but if he still drops off parts of an actual meal every visit and doesn’t say a word the whole time then maybe it was something he could get used to. 

As in his nature there were already ten plans bouncing around his brain on a means of escape but with limited supplies and an even shallower pool of allies he’ll need to come up with a miracle if he’s hoping to see daylight again. 

When the strange man left for the day Lang took stock of what specifically was where and what exactly was laid out. Despite the dusty and crowded space there were sprinkles of newer stuff too, real high tech gear even his crew hadn’t had the means to acquire yet. Now this tidbit of information could gleam alot about them. Either they were more dysfunctional and anti–progress as him or—and that’s a very big or—this was a brand new setup moved down here for desperate measures. Meaning that his capture wasn’t calculated or all that thought through all the way  but a spur of the moment action to prove something. He was a lesson for other criminal maybe, a warning sign for smaller gangs not to get too complacent.

The Company had some clear holes and although he had only seen a maximum of two people in the entirety of the kidnapping he has to assume they had others in the house on standby; it was now or never and Lang wanted out . 

The next time the Helmet man came back down Lang was ready. Taking out his smuggled knife he waits with a quiet agility his ageing body allows him, Lang sprung behind, grabbing his throat and slashing down on whatever he was holding. 

The tray of food clatters to the ground and the man gasps as the knife sliced right down through his hand, blood sprouts quickly from the cut but still Lang's hand is a death rip over his neck.

“I’m gonna say this once,” Lang starts, breathing heavily from all the energy it took to rush forward as quickly as he did with all his injuries. ”and only once so you better listen carefully. I want the key for these chains and then I want you to walk me to the closest phone.”

“I…don’t…gotta…meeting.” was the masked man muffled reply, not quite eligible with the helmet and the death grip.

Lang applies more pressure. “What was that?”

“Gotta…stop meeting…like this,” was the confusing and huffy response. What the hell does that mean?

“I don’t know you.” Lang says with absolute certainty. “I know hackers, I know them all. You move too confident for a new crim and you look too natural in front of a computer for a lackey so what the fuck is your deal, Helmet?”

“I don’t have a key.” There’s a small blimp of light on the helmet, something blue before it vanishes and it’s apparent, as he opens his mouth to speak, that he put on a voice changer. 

Lang doesn’t like what that implies.

Slashing another cut into the man’s hand, he then moves the knife up to his throat. “That light mean you’re recording? You doing it right now? Straight to you’re fucking ring leader?! You here to rat me out,  Helmet?! Huh?!”

Helmet stays diligently silent. 

“Answer me!” Lang screams, inching the knife closer and closer till it knicks his skin even in the rest position. 

“No.” The modulated voice was thin, clearly the cuts affecting him more than he let on. “They don’t give me keys, I’m just…I’m not trusted with ‘em.”

“You a runt, Helmet?” Lang jeers, flashing through backup plans in his mind. “Big daddy Paul not giving you many responsibilities?”

“Yes.” He answers like he was pulling teeth, whether that was from the physical pain or reluctance to answer the question Lang couldn’t tell. “He doesn’t…I don’t—have the keys.”

“Well,” Lang feels rabid now, like a caged dog cornered in an alleyway. “Well—guess he won’t miss one extra lapdog right?”

“He won’t.” Helmet says in the most flippant indifferent way that he absolutely despises. “If you kill me…he won’t care.”

“Confident of that?”

He laughs. “You…you don’t know Mr X very well do you?”

“Strong words for the fucker who’s got a knife to their throat.” Lang hisses, feeling more and more sure that even if killing the man wouldn’t fix anything it would still make him feel better.

“I can get better food.”

“I don’t want food.” Lang feels the walls coming in around him, what was there left to do? He trusted his crew but every house in the block had the same basic layout and even before being taken they had no idea where ‘The Company’ headquarters was. “I want to leave .”

“I can’t–” Helmet takes a breath, seemingly choosing a different angle he could work on him. Fat luck of that, there were few angles Lang had on a good day let alone when he was kidnapped. “I can’t let you go but I…I could offer something else.”

“Tempting but I don’t want my dick sucked from some creepy ass motherfucker in a bike helmet, I want keys .”

“That’s not what I–” The modulated voice stops short. “You…you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t end it for you here, Helmet?” Lang replies coloured with all his desperation to escape slipping past his intimidating tone. The walls were starting to look normal, the stagnant air feeling like through every inhale it was infecting his lungs and poisoning his body–he needed to leave . He has to leave—

“You could.” The simple answer could've been a bluff, a very stupid bluff but a bluff nonetheless. “I…I couldn’t stop you but that won’t change the fact Mr X he won’t care. He’ll just drag another guy down here, a guy that’s probably not as…forgiving.”

“Now I know you’re not tryna stiff me—“

He struggles against Lang's hold on him. “I’m not! I swear I’m not! It’s just, it’s the truth.”

There is a suffocating silence as the door above the stairs dramatically swings open. “What–what is taking so long!? We got trouble here—who—who the fuck did you tell!? Why the hell are—I can do whatever the fuck I want, I was the only good thing of this shitty group!”  JP calls down from upstairs, partly getting distracted half way with more voices that were now screaming and yelling their heads off. 

Suddenly, for one second Lang takes to look up Helmet, with an unexpected burst of strength, breaks his hold and flips their positions so he can move past him. Blinking in bewilderment, Lang sits up to see the other man looking up towards the door leading to the main house and turning back to him, holding a finger up to his helmet. A pretty universal sign to stay quiet as the screaming voices progress into broken glass and the telltale sound of furniture flinging from one side of the room to the other. 

“I’ll be back.” Helmet says gravelly, hesitantly leaving a smoked chicken bun in tinfoil at the edge of Lang’s chain reach. “Keep your strength up.”

“What are you getting out of this?” Lang ignores the food now, not so close to the finish line. “What is–why do this? Why risk everything?”

He huffs out a laugh, one of his hands quickly and absently wrapping the other that still had the somewhat deep cuts. “You know you’re a charismatic man, maybe you convinced me.”

“That’s so—you are so full of shit, I know people okay, people—people don’t just…give favours for free.” Lang counters. “I know you, sir, you have some kinda bottom line.”

His helmet tilts to one side. “Sure about that?”

“What do you want for a one way ticket out?” Lang felt wrong even willing to negotiate with these psychos but it was the principle of the matter. “You don’t have clout but I know you got some access or why would you be down here to begin with?”

“I don’t need anything from you…sir.” Helmet says, a touch nervous. Outwardly nervous but not actively backing away from him. Interesting. 

“No?” Lang purrs, pushing down the part screaming that he was better than this, the even smaller part that said it was okay if he just pictured someone else. Someone roughly the same size, with messy brown hair and green eyes, not the blue he could just see under the helmet. “There’s gotta be something you want…”

“Sure there is.”

“So…” Clearly, this seduction attempt would need more prompting, not being subtle at all he pops a couple top buttons. “What can I do for ya?”

“I–” Helmet looks well and truly floored based on his now increased workload of fidgeting. “I…need you to trust me.”

“Why should I?”

There is an explosion that ripples down to the ground level, more screaming and yelling with Lang’s head absolutely spinning from the noise, the ringing in his ears don’t settle enough for him to catch the first part of the other man's sentence. “-to leave!”

“What–” Lang felt bile bubble up as the upstairs absolutely rattled with the sound of gunfire, the noises and rapid fire decisions fucking with his head he very well could throwup. “What the fuck–is–is happening?”

“I didn’t think they would be here so–” Helmet grips his arm and very distantly—far away from his body—Lang recognises that it was with the same hand he slashed to smiterings. “I gave us…I gave you time so just–”

“Stop, stop–” Lang shakes his head, the splitting headache rising tenfold from the lack of clarification. “Tell me quickly! Tell me now–”

Helmet scrambles to his side, now uncaring about how bad an idea it was getting so close. Lang looked dumbfounded as his thin fingers started expertly picking the locks with a pin and needle. “I–I didn’t give you the biggest window so you gotta move fast—why, why are you just sitting there!?”

“What do you mean give me time ?” Lang stresses, refusing to move forward even as the yelling got louder and louder upstairs, Jean Paul's voice the most recognisable. “What’s that mean!?”

“Mr Lang–”

“No!” He snaps, his hands break free just enough for him to grip the other man's shoulder. “No! No, I want this answer–your little snake ass has managed to–to worm your way outta answers for days! I want–I deserve at least this one!”

The door is flung open and the nature of the arguments can be heard far more clearly. Jean Paul, Lang could recognise, OTT he knew, Benji Ramos and God forbid even Raymond fucking Romanov had joined the party.

“What is you’re fucking problem!? Setting shit off here—“

Their voices struck like lightning and Benji Ramos' voice alone could rival storm clouds. 

“—I don’t give a fuck about reputation it was never– it wasn’t reputation, it was the principle—“

“—You took everything you manipulative, power hungry, selfish—“

“—waste now, so stop causing you’re little Jean Paul hissy fit and talk to us man to man like the way you fucking were supposed to do as our goddamn CEO—“

“—take him?! OTT you know, I could understand him but why in the world would you wanna take Y—“

Lang is dragged forward up from his spot, Helmet urging him to walk up the stairs quietly while they are distracted. 

“This is your only shot, man.” He whispers, urgent and desperate. “Your crew just—I couldn’t get to em, this is the only way you’ll get out but you gotta act quick.”

“Why help me?” Lang wishes he could wrestle that shitty helmet to the ground, just to see eye to eye the strange freak willing to go guns blazing for someone like him. “What is your deal, why, why—“

The masked man honest to god giggles. “We’re wasting time.”

“So I’ll waste a few more, answer the question man I don’t—“ Lang shakes his head. “I just don’t get it.”

He shrugs minutely, his helmet trained to the stairs and following the rising argument but his hand—that bloody, sweaty, thin hand— is warm there on his upper arm. “I dunno…felt like it.”

“You…felt like it.” Lang repeats in disbelief. “I’m calling bullshit.”

“Maybe, yeah, probably.” He nods then finally turns face to face, or in his case mask to face. “Everyone’s got something, right? An uh…an agenda?”

Raymond Romanov was starting to kick in doors now, looking for something. 

“Come with me.” Lang says suddenly, the banging of a door before it is second away from being taken off its hinges going off in the background. “I’ve got a good crew filled with good people which is so more than what you could say for The Company.”

“This isn't The Company anymore, Jean Paul he— it’s complicated.”

“It’s not important.” He brushed aside the new information.”Run away with me.”

“Mr Lang,” Helmet utters so fondly it made Lang feel odd hearing such a tone from a near stranger.  “I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

He raises a brow. “Doesn’t matter in the long run, right? Answer doesn’t change.”

Lang laughs. “Makes all the difference in the world, actually but sure whatever floats your boat. You just lucked out on the biggest opportunity in the world, I hope you know that.” Lang has one last considerate look back before winking and waiting for Raymond Romanov to come trifling down the corridor and slam open a door before slipping up the stairs and out the door.

“Oh trust me,” Yuno smiles bittersweetly at his retreating figure. “I know it.”

“Yuno!? Yuno!?” Raymond’s frantic voice echoes down the hall before the basement door is unceremoniously broken down into splinters. “Yuno!”

“R–Ray!?” Yuno made sure to make his voice shake to sell it. “Oh God, Ray!”

“Yuno, What the hell happened–Jesus Christ, that bastard did he keep you down here!?” Ray gapes at the state of the basement as Yuno runs into his arms. “What the fuck.”

“Ray, it–it was horrible I–” He shows him his injured hand. “It went so badly so quickly…where is–is Mr X still around?”

“No, no don’t worry Habibi that fucker won’t even think about talking to you without atleast three of us there every step of the way. There was a bit of a…messy reunion and let's just say some of Jean Paul’s lackeys are still pretty ride or die. Mickey thinks JP left as soon as the explosive went off.”

“Y–Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah, the interns are very good at their jobs but when they are against you–very annoying!” Ray exclaims, looking troubled. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Yuno…I think…I think things will be very different from now on. OTT he’s not coping with everything to be honest, he’s been panicky and weird and Mickey must’ve caught a bit of that ‘top dog’ stink cause he’s no help anymore either. I jus don’t know what we’re doing anymore Yuno I don’ think anyone does and…I think that’ll really fuck us over.”

“Okay…okay. Well, I guess we can’t…really do anything about that huh? That’s just…” Yuno sighs and leans against Ray’s shoulder, looking down at the spot where Lang would sleep. “That’s just how it goes I guess.”

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

When Benji caught sight of how badly his injuries got after being ‘kidnapped’ he went absolutely berserk. Every possible problem he could have had, he had, according to Benji. The lack of self confidence when X asked him for one more joyride within hours of him stealing half his gang's stuff and dipping in the night, the way he got dragged into his mess so quickly, how he cut off contact for almost a week with zero explanation, the list went on. 

They got his hand treated, the mild malnutrition and the odd scrapes and bruises from sleeping on the cold ground were noted but not too bad. Thankfully the boys had enough sense not to involve his family and Ray Mond, knowing they definitely wouldn’t have been chill or normal about any of it.

Naturally, like he was drawn to it, Yuno eventually made his way back to his shop, having spent so many days needing to keep a low profile and cutting off all contact, it was nice to see the place still up and running. 

He slipped in quietly in the back, the lights off and the cafe shut early due to Ray being out of town again. Yuno was alone with his thoughts and memories of the horrific things he had to see in that basement that–no, he doesn’t want to think about that now.

Going to his cactus plants that sat quite proudly in the last where he had left them in, even here, it seems he can’t escape thoughts of Lang Buddha. He wonders what his favourite flower is, he wonders if he had asked it then–both trapped, both hopeless— would he have given a straight answer? Maybe he would’ve scoffed, told him to never come back and that he was being a creep just sitting there watching him all day. That one, that one wouldn’t even be necessarily wrong, X didn’t want to start a job and waste the few coins he had left and Yuno hadn’t made any substantial progress in finding and getting into contact with  Lang’s crew through their setup so why in the world did he keep going back and stare blankly at an empty screen praying that the man was chained too far way to notice. 

‘Come with me,’ Yuno repeated the phrase in his head, turning it around and dissecting it from every angle as he went to work, preening the plants and watering the smaller ones ‘Come with me.’ He thought so loudly it broadcasted through the clouds to the moon itself, his grin as he thinks those words, instinctual. ‘Come with me .’

Chapter Text

It was another beautiful morning that ushers in the panic of the morning day rush as Ray Mond moves to get the orders out, her mind still whirling with the news that had been dumped on her lap by her increasingly enigmatic twin just several days prior. 

“That another flat white?” She confirms to the customer who only mumbles a curse and nods grumpily, the only answer she’ll really get from the crowd this early. “Wait for the name when it’s called out, Hazel, won’t be too long.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t know her brother got into trouble a lot, when they were younger–stupider—than they are now they couldn’t turn a corner without someone making issues out of nothing. For her, it was a matter of pride, of principle, her right as a criminal to challenge these pathetic ego posturing and give it back to them ten fold, usually with a bullet between their eyes. 

Yuno didn’t operate like that, but that didn’t stop people dragging him into their bullshit anyway. He was a bit like a magnet to those kinds of things, although Ray sought out challengers, Yuno seemed to be a glue trap for em. Constantly sticking insects and bugs into his trap, hurting both him and them in the process.

He always seemed to be able to handle it though, whichever way it played out, she had never seen her brother all that affected by the result, keeping things to his chest even his emotions, well—that was his thing. She made her own horrible mistakes and choices that got her where she is now, ruined a couple lives in the process, even her own for a bit there but it must’ve been hereditary cause Yuno…Yuno made his own choices— much bigger, deadlier choices that ripped the world in half and sent them all scrambling and that kind of power was—bad, it was dangerous.

Now though, it had gotten so, so much worse.

A couple of days ago Ray had gotten a phone call in the dead of night, something she would have ordinarily ignored or answered just to yell at whoever was dumb enough to call at such an ungodly hour but when she saw who it was all her irritation melted away. She had a bit of a fraught relationship with her twin, some her own making, some his, but still the love and fondness had hardly died the older they got, only grew.

“Yuno?” She answered, balancing her phone in one hand and the other to cover a yawn. “What’s up? It’s kinda shitty to call this late you kno–”

“Ray.” Was the clipped reply, before static silence, something cold and serious in his tone. Ray sat up in her bed, now fully awake. “Ray…can I ask you a favour?”

“What do you mean a favour?” She had to ask, was forced to ask really, because she had promised many things in her years and knows what these late night phone promises lead to so as she prepares herself to be asked to bury a body there is a muffling sound of someone talking a distance away. 

No, not talking. 

Screaming. 

“I–I need help, Ray.” He sounded exhausted and so unlike the brother she knew there really was only one thing she could say. 

“What do you need?” 

He was going to be gone for a couple days, he went on to say, and he needs her to look after the shop in the meantime. Yuno refused to share the reason, but Ray knew it was something pretty major for him to go out of his way like this. As the talk continues he breaches the real main roadblock that she would have to undergo. 

“No.” She had said immediately. “Hell no.” 

He sighed, seemingly expecting this reaction. “Ray–”

“No, you don’t get it, Yuno–” She struggled even forming her own thoughts around it. “Me and your family we just don’t…we don’t click like that. If I tell em you’ll be out of commission for a week they’ll turn on my ass and it’ll be a whole thing.”

“It won’t be! Look, I just—” There was more silence and then the rushing sound of him on the run, despite him no longer talking through the phone Ray could hear bits and pieces of ‘Oh God, what has he done to you? This is…gonna hurt ...I'm so, so sorry Mr La–’ there was a static silence for a few minutes before he returned to the phone. “Please, Please I’ve got…I’m a little over my head here, Ray. I need you.”

And then the line was dead.

The phone calls that followed—after the appropriate amount of swearing and screaming at her phone— were just as awkward as she had expected with more than one family member suspicious and on edge after. But she always said she’d do anything for her brother, shame on her Yuno managed to cash it in one of these times. 

“Excuse me,” She is brought back to reality as a random man attempts to paste on what was an incredibly false and cheesy smile to hide the blatant once over he did over her body, something Ray clocks immediately. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful smile?”

“Yeah,” Ray picks up a cup and her sharpie. “What would you like?”

“Well,” He coughs, clearly—embarrassingly— drawing his courage to stammer out. “Uh yes so, would you like to– are you perhaps free after your shift or–”

“Yeah I’m free, where do you want to take me huh?” An unfamiliar voice jeers from the entry, meeting unimpressed and humiliated gazes with his own wide, vicious grin. 

The man was heavily bandaged, a cane in one hand where most of his weight seemed to be leaning onto for support. He was on the taller side with pure white hair, and sharp mean eyes. The older type was common in the early mornings, usually creeps or weirdos that lived nearby that liked to harass her and her brother cause no one else was willing to talk to them but he didn’t seem to be a pervert and didn’t seem all that crazy so she let the man continue talking.

“What’s wrong?” He lifts a brow, his stance casual and hardly friendly. “Not the target audience?” 

“I…uh…” The man, seemingly losing nerve. “Wasn’t talking to you.”

“Nah? Damn, that’s gonna sting! Now order your goddamn drink or get the fuck out of the way.” Thoroughly chastised, the stranger tugs his tail between his legs and leaves unceremoniously out the door. 

“Wow,” Ray comments, somewhat impressed. “Thanks, I dunno what you’re expecting from that save but it’s appreciated anyway.”

“Lang Buddha.” He answers shortly but still a glimmer of satisfaction flashed across his eyes as the pathetic man trips on the way out. “Don’t mention it. Now, you mind getting my order?”

“Of course, and consider this one on me.” She replies, hands still going through the motions but now extra chipper now that an impossible thorn on her side was finally removed. 

The older man seems distracted but that’s pretty per the norm for people who live in the area. He looks somewhat like he wants to say something and, given that it didn’t look to be another shitty pickup attempt, she had to admit to being just a little bit curious what that could be. 

Just as she poured in the milk, she finally got her answer. 

“Where’s the owner, usually?” He says finally, a bit sharp and a bit awkward. “Is he back there somewhere?”

“Oh no, the owner had personal business to deal with and will be away until further notice.” She replies the same way she’d been replying to everyone who’s been asking which, far more people then she knew possible and from the most usual of places. 

“Is he okay?” There was something in the tone, something subtle but soft, a genuine concern that made her soften to the old grumpy man. He was odd and—not one to keep his nose out of other people's business but he seemed to care about her brother, and maybe that was enough for her. 

“He’s…okay enough.” She answers as truthfully as she can. “I don’t know where he’s been recently but I think his business should be done by now.”

Nodding, he seems to believe her a show of trust she appreciates and goes to sit in the corner by the Foxgloves and through the day (far longer than most people tend to spend at coffee shops let alone a florist) as the hours tick down his dissatisfaction at not seeing Yuno grows to a degree where it starts spilling onto the other tables. 

“Jesus, can you get the old man in the corner to calm down? He’s driving most of your customers away.” April huffs as she is on her way to picking up her own coffee midday, both girls watching as the grouchy man snaps at yet another random passerby that lingered far too close to his corner table. “Doesn’t he have a life? What is he doing here?”

“I think he’s waiting for a date.” She replies quickly, only half joking. 

“A date? God, someone better tell her she can do better before she sits down.” April says as she takes her leave, Ray just shaking her head in amusement. 

Suddenly, there is a chime in the back door reserved for staff and seemingly like a balloon all the tension just deflates out of her at once. It’s about goddamn time. Although their backroom wasn’t nearly as big as the front, it still had significant space to keep storage and a makeshift breakroom.

It doesn’t take long for her to find her brother at the back, putting on his apron, and promptly hit him over the head with a spoon. 

“You’re lucky I missed you…” Ray says, forcefully dragging her brother into an embrace. “Bastard.”

“I missed you too, Ray.” He murmurs softly, tentatively returning the gesture. “Things went well with the store then? No trouble?”

“Trouble?”

As they part it isn’t hard to spot the bandages and the clear exhaustion around his frame. Despite her ‘retirement’ from that sort of life it wasn’t hard for her to categorise all the potential wounds he was hiding poorly. 

“Yuno…” She says in a tone that promises pain. “What the heck is this!?”

“It’s nothing.” He replies, shortly. 

“Nothing?” Ray repeats in disbelief. “ Did your brain get scrambled that week away or am I hallucinating the bandages? have you even gone to see a doctor yet!?” 

“No!” He jumps to say. “No, no doctors. I’m fine, I promise.”

“No offence, Yuno but we have very definitions of fine.” She sighs, slapping the tops of his hands every time he tries to interrupt her assessment. “This got anything to do with…you know who?”

“I…didn’t know you knew about the split.” 

She raises a brow. “I don’t live under a rock, of course my guys know. Told me the second it happened, they’re paranoid now cause that just means twice the enemies.”

“Trust me, it’s not Chang Gang that’ll be on his hit list.” Yuno clenches his eyes shut and rolls his head back. “...I don’t…know what I’m doing anymore, Ray.”

“Yeah well…” She makes a tight knot. “Join the club.”

“Thought you left the gang life?”

“I did.” 

“So…” 

Ray pauses as the question washes over her, the question she's been avoiding since it was decided and even now it was hard to articulate her complicated relationship with crime. “I don’t…know, bad habits I guess. Surely you get what I mean by that, huh, Mr plant shop owner?”

“Yeah, yeah.” A hint of a smile bleeds through. “You make a point.”

“When did you get in?” She finally asks, barely able to hold herself back from asking the question she’s been wondering about for days. 

“Last night,” He says shortly. “Checked up on everything in the store then fell into bed. Still feeling a little weak and woke up late today or I would’ve come sooner—”

She waves the concern away. “All that matters is you’re here now. I’ve gotten everyone and their mother asking how you’ve been and where you are, so now you can go and make up some super sad story about family trouble, and I won’t have to make increasingly embarrassing cover stories for you anymore.”

He looks thankful. “You’re the best twin a guy could ask for, you know that?”

Ray smiles cheekily. “And don’t forget it! Start at that grumpy old guy first when you make the rounds. He helped me out a bit this morning and he was asking about you.”

At the mention of the man Yuno looked stunned, quickly turning to see with his own eyes that Lang Buddha was indeed in his store again. There was a flash of many different emotions that Ray couldn’t make heads or tails of before one unmistakable one raised to the ranks, nervousness. Interesting.

“Don’t recognise the guy, personally, feel like it’d be impossible to forget a guy who looked like buff santa.”

“Yeah he–uh, came during a night shift, super nice.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Ray wasn’t even sure her brother knew truly what he just said but she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “He filled your stockings huh? Went down your chimney? Good for you, I wondered when you were gonna start putting yourself out there!”

Yuno sputters, turning an interesting shade of pink. “UH!? What–what does that even mean ?”

“Get your butt on the floor! I’ve got things covered from here. “ She says, not answering rather pointedly. Grinning, she pushes him out the counter with a thump on the back and a thumbs up. 

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

It wasn’t that Yuno didn’t think he’d ever run into Mr Lang again, he just didn’t expect it to be so soon. 

To say the last week was a waking nightmare would be a complete understatement. Watching a man he admired—he once had the pleasure to call friend—savagely torture someone with uncaring cruelty and sadistic glee made him question everything he ever knew of the man. The fact that the victim being tortured was Mr Lang made things so much worse and so much more personal it drove Yuno a bit crazy even thinking back on that time. 

Yuno has always been known as a pretty passive guy, not one to stand down on an opinion or create problems out of nothing but this was…different. As was stated previously, it felt personal this time in a way it never has before. They hadn’t known eachother long in the grand scheme of things but Yuno liked him. He liked who he was and—in the far corners of his mind willing to admit this— liked the way he looked. Like a renaissance painting or a noir book, hidden depths that were for smarter men than him but still Yuno was willing to categorise and make as many notes he could in those pages. And if there was injustice done to this man well, he was willing to get his hands dirty and do something about it.

So when Jean Paul started going crazy on Mr Lang any chance he could Yuno felt something in him snap and, quite literally for the first time ever, stood up to JP by bopping him straight on the nose. It took JP by surprise just as much as it took Yuno by surprise, unaware he even had that kinda strength. The action may have ushered in some of its own drawbacks—his shove for a punch, and a kick and another punch and punch and—but something solidified when he realised the inner power that seemed to murmur in the background of his mind growing stronger the longer he lived in that injustice. 

There were so many plans that went wrong in regards to Mr Lang’s escape. Not that there was an option for him to stay indefinitely or, heaven forbid, die. As soon as Yuno laid his eyes on the unconscious form in the back of Jean Paul’s car he was already making plans on how he’d go about getting him out. 

Yuno had to beg to let JP let him in on it, saying some very out of character and horrible things that, had it been anyone else who knew him, would be very suspicious but the blond had a pension to see what he wanted to see and that trait let Yuno get away with a lot of the things he did.  

Everytime he tried to keep his head down and find through some miracle the IP address of Mr Lang’s crew it would bring another excruciating hour of seeing his…friend(crush? Was that too immature at his age? Muse too cliche?) bloody, bruised and unconscious which he loathed above everything. It took time for him to grapple with the fact that Mr lang’s group either hid themselves too well or simply haven’t set up their systems yet which, this late in the game, doesn’t bode well for their future business. All in all all those leads dried up and somehow several days in, he had hit another dead end. 

After reaching this realisation there really was no reason to go down and stare blankly at his computer screen but still, Yuno went down anyway, a part of him forcing himself to look at what was done to Mr Lang and use it as motivation; the sight only really making him feel even shittier than he already did.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

A recurring nightmare that week had been waking up to Jean Paul gleefully informing him of the death and getting Yuno to bury the body and despite the situation dealt with, as of right now, it has yet to fade. 

Getting stabbed in his hand was a low point for everyone, he thinks. Most definitely him, JP laid into him for getting close enough to be overpowered and had dispensed his punishment swiftly, but also for Mr Lang for needing to go through such means in the first place. The only consolation had been it was the day he managed to make it up for him. 

It took nearly five days before Yuno found his hands on a phone—his phone, despite the blonds ‘trust’, was also taken as soon as he stepped into the car, believing he would go tattling to the company first chance he had— and had managed to ping Ray to the location of JP’s new safe house. 

They went their separate ways, even with Lang throwing out a sporadic invitation to join him which made Yuno feel a great swell of emotions. 

As it stands they have gone through a lot in the short time they’ve known each other, he has quite literally bled for this man but that didn’t take away all the bad that still lay waiting, dormant for someone to poke around and find. 

“Yuno?” Ray presses her hand to his forehead, blinking him back to the present where his twin looking very concerned. “Need to lay down? I can tell people to hold off?”

“No, no I'm good just...” 'scared' his mind fills in for him. "-tired. I'll be okay."

“That old guy is in your corner, by your favourite plant.” She points him out, handing him something. “Go give him his drink?” 

‘Don’t be a coward now, ’ He swallows, thickly. ‘Mr Lang doesn’t deserve it.’

Taking a fortifying breath he grabs a tray and the coffee and marches over stiffly, uncertain of the reception he’ll be given once he’s finally in front of him. 

He stops just before reaching the table, his feet unwilling to move another inch, his fear swirling up again after seeing the state of his injuries in the light of day. A reminder of all the things he failed to do. Surely he could keep his head down, put down the cup and walk away? Maybe if he turned back now Mr Lang wouldn’t even notice he was there at all and they could go on with their own lives, never to see eachother again?

“You gonna pass me my drink, pretty boy?” Lang pipes up across the room, the pull of a smile hiding behind his unimpressed look. “ Haven’t got all day, you know? I’ve got a goddamn life sitting around and doing jack shit and you—you’re making that a bit hard to get to.”

“Sounds serious.” He banters back instinctually, smoothly passing the cup and accompanying biscuit quietly. “I...I’m glad you could pencil in a coffee.”

“I don’t give a rat's ass about coffee, I came here to see you, if I’m honest.” Lang replies bluntly, still taking the order. “ Can’t casually order a  box of dandelions–” “I don’t sell those.” “-without looking insane so here we are.”

“...It’s good to see you here, atleast.” Yuno attempts to smile but based on the look the older man gives him, it wasn’t very convincing. 

“Yeah, you miss me?” He says, causing a snort from the florist. 

“You could say that.” The tension bleeds out of Yuno like an avalanche down a mountain, as they fit right back into the groove of what they were before life interrupted them, feeling like maybe things would be okay again.

It was prickly for ‘Helmet’ as he had so generously been called, because they were on warring sides and, well, one of his boys quite literally kidnapped and tortured him. But for Yuno, the nice Yuno, the good, boring, uncomplicated Yuno—The only Yuno people will ever like—he was unassuming and kind. A friendly face in a sea of monsters.  

If he maintains this charade, be the person Mr Lang needs him to be, to vent without judgement or shame, perhaps they’ll both be able to move on from the whole mess(and maybe, just maybe, he’ll even be able to forgive himself). 

“I uh–I see you are just as clumsy as me?” Yuno grins, eyeing the empty seat next to him before awkwardly pulling himself into it.

“I’m sorry?” 

Yuno points to the bandages around his hand, rather sheepishly, careful to hide the other with a far bigger network of bandages. He coughs.“Planting accident.”

Behind him Yuno could hear Ray scoff, yes it wasn’t his best work, and the thinnest excuse but hey, it held up for most of his friends. And here, just as he had predicted, the man nods in serious understanding, either relating to his own plant like injuries or humouring him knowing it’s a touchy subject. Either way, it quite noticeably made Ray groan into her hands behind them. ‘can’t get away with this–’ ‘ they deserve each other— ’ His sister was odd sometimes, but who was he to judge?

“And you?” He tries to sound unassuming, casual, like he was nonplussed by whatever answer he was given, but it comes out more concerned than anything else. 

“I let my guard down.” Lang says stiffly, perhaps even reliving the encounter that earned him the cane. As much as Yuno wanted to drop the charade and inquire about his wellbeing he knew it would only bring upon more questions than he was in any position to answer right now. “It won’t happen again.”

“I can believe that, yeah,” Yuno smiles despite himself, relieved that Mr Lang hadn’t let the time he was a prisoner crush him as it did Yuno. “So, aside from the dandelions, what brings you here? Really?”

“Running away from home.” He answers with such serious gravity that Yuno didn’t even bother hiding his giggling. 

“Aren’t you uh–a little too old for that?” Yuno felt like pointing out, not quite understanding the logic behind the words. “Could just find another house to rent, man.”

“And let them win!?” Lang scoffs. “Fat chance of that, I’d rather die.”

“Jesus.” Yuno murmurs, only a little put off by the strangeness of the situation, but still adapting rather well to the silly man. “Got plenty of plants in my shop that could help you with that if you wanted.”

“Oh that’s right, I forgot about your penchant for killer flowers, real—shit, what’s that musical?”

Yuno’s eyebrows raise. “Musical—what?”

He clicks his fingers, his face screwed up in concentration trying desperately to crack the code. “That one musical, it’s got those singing ladies, that weird ass dentist, you know the one!”

Yuno slowly blinks at him, wondering what about him possibly alluded to knowing anything about musicals. He wonders vaguely if it’s the sweaters, he’ll have to keep a wrap on those. 

“Little Shop of Horrors.”

Yuno turns to his twin who can only look at them with open bewilderment. “What was that, Ray?”

She sighs, walking over to the stressed man and slapping him on the back of the head. “Little shop of horrors, is what you’re thinking of which—yes I fully agree with.”

Yuno raises a brow. “I’m sorry?”

“It's the psycho vibes.” Ray says, with a smile. “Or maybe he’s comparing you to the murderous plant which you are welcome to be offended by.”

“Yeah what you’ve got going on here.” Lang gestures to the room at large. “That's some Little Shop of horror shit.” 

Yuno refuses to feel self conscious about that, he’s spent a lifetime building it up and having to stare down people who laughed at his face he wasn’t gonna lose his cool just because it’s someone he admires. 

“Yeah well, I like it.” Hoping his voice sounded as even and calm as it did in his head. Based on the startled and panicky expression that sprouted on Mr Lang’s face he might’ve missed the mark on that too. 

“I didn’t mean–” Lang sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck man, I’m sorry about…being weird it’s been a weird time, don’t know what to do with myself.”

Ray is quick to notice she’s overstepping and goes back to the coffee station, leaving them alone. Yuno eyes the other man's injuries with a critical and experienced eye. “Is it your…”

“No, no it’s my…friends.” He says carefully, Yuno mentally fills in ‘gang’. “Because of me being a dumbass they’ve got it in their heads I’m gonna turn around and do it again so they’ve been extra mother henning. Haven’t been able to breathe for days.” 

“I don’t see any of your friends now?” Yuno says, not quite realising yet that he shouldn’t know who Mr Lang’s friends are or what they look like, but luckily it seems to have gone over the older man's head as well. 

“You wouldn’t, no.” He grins roguishly. “They think I’m in physical therapy right now, doing check-ups. I paid off the front desk so if any of them think to check they’ll hear it has to take a little longer and that I’ll be out in a few hours.”

Yuno shook his head, pushing down the urge to laugh. “Genius.”

Looking quite proud of himself, Lang nods. “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be? I’m Lang fucking Buddha!”

Something whirling around in his brain made Yuno’s mind spin. It wouldn’t help Mr Lang to be out and skipping his appointments but even worse the injured man running around without anyone knowing his location and him ending up hurt again, so…“Well, in that case, you’ve got a lot of time on your hands, right?”

Lang’s brow raises, wondering where he was going with this. “Right…”

“And you plan on spending most of that time—what, here I take it?”

Land nods, with a healthy level of suspicion. “What you gonna kick me out if I stay past an hour?”  

“What? No, no It’s just—I happen to be behind on…everything actually so—I uh was wondering…” Yuno lets a mischievous, beaming smile just crack along his face and asks. “ever made a bouquet before?”

Chapter Text

The early morning is a surprise and, really, he won’t go and tell Yuno he doubts people would be chomping at the bit to get some pretty weeds so fucking early because what did he know about flower shops? Exactly, besides it wasn't a wholly unwelcome one given the state of his home right now.

When he had returned from his capture he had arrived to pure pandemonium. He swore if he wasn’t gravely injured they would have inflicted bodily harm with how careless he was, getting taken so easily and not alerting them until it was too late. It was a regret, to be sure, but as always one to roll with the punches he didn’t stress too much on hypotheticals. He was in, relative, good health, back home and with even more intel they can use to their advantage of the state of affairs in The Company. A net positive he would like to think. Sadly, it seems, he was the only one to think so.

“No.”

Luciano sighs, having expected the pushback, but his gaze did not waver. “We ain’t asking, Lang.”

“That’s great.” He nods, bed–ridden despite being able to fully articulate his limbs. “No.”

“It’s just so you get time to rest. We were driving ourselves crazy trying to find ya and, well, you know some of the others, they don’t wanna see you disappear again.” There was a wariness in his eyes, no doubt anticipating his reaction, but underneath that there was a deep–seated exhaustion that caved through the truth of his words. “It’s not long term.”

“I was being kidnapped. I didn't have a goddamn choice in that.” He scowls darkly, despite his position, his glare felt defensive to Luciano in a way that put a chill up his spine. 

“We aren’t blaming ya—”

“Sure fucking sounds like it!” He explodes and it wasn’t nearly as sharp as he had intended to be and if that didn’t just highlight the very issue they were talking about. “I don’t need no bodyguard I don’t even–I don’t even understand why we’re even discussing this, Luciano, this is not happening. End of story.”

“Ah, see we figured you’d be like that.” There was Tony just as smart assed as he remembers. “That's why they called me in.”

“Where the fuck you’ve been, huh? Thought you abandoned ship.” Lang tries to get some of his bitterness out of his voice but he was not successful.

“I didn’t abandon anything you drama queen.” Tony huffs and folds his arms tightly over his chest. “We gotta figure this out, Lang, you shouldn’t have been that easy to nab.”

“I told you what I know.”

“Nah, you told us what you remember but there are still a whole bunch of gaps that you just—aren’t remembering suddenly. Like how you escaped your cuffs in the basement.”

“I’m just that good.”

Luciano hides a grin and Tony sighs, not believing it for a second. “Come on, man, you gotta work with us.”

“Am I getting interrogated? Should I be calling up our lawyer?”

Tony scoffs. “Cause not.”

“No? Great, we’re done then. I’m going to go take a dump and when I come back you can tell me how we somehow got three different gangs up our ass on our own goddamn turf in the one week I was gone.” 

Luciano, Harry and Tony shared a collective look, all varying degrees of disappointed by the turn of events but not the slightest surprised. 

“Told ya,” Harry pipes up, settling down on the couch for what will be a very accusatory and angry meeting. “You know how he gets.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Luciano sighs, dropping into his own seat. “What a pain…” 

"That's our pain, boys." Tony commiserates, the most experienced with dealing with the others mood swings. "Not too late to jump ship to The Lost."

Back to the present, Lang swallowed a yawn and walks inside, a mist hitting him upon the first step. The entire room was being gently misted with water, all the strange and unusual plants Yuno had acquired and collected preening up at the haze, like a giant collective sigh of relief. The main speakers were playing something quieter than their usual pop dribble and Lang would bet he was listening to Yuno’s own mix he played as he opened up. Something with a lot of instrumental, heavy piano, very dramatic and made sense for what he knew of the man. 

He spots the florist in the corner soothing what was a very prickly and sharp plant, the mouth of the thing opening and shutting in a frequency Lang found disturbing and vaguely threatening. More than content to just watch the man from a distance, he let his presence remain undiscovered to give himself time to observe. 

He had gotten thinner since he last saw him, not much of a difference really but there was a thinness around his eyes and a weariness in his smile that spoke of fatigue. Could be plenty of reasons behind it, perfectly reasonable and sane reasons, but he couldn’t help but speculate and obsess over what it could mean. From what he had gleaned from Yuno’s sister he had been out of commission for a while, a long enough time for return customers to ask around for him. Then there was the whole mystery around those injuries, ‘planting injury’ aside there was a clear story that Yuno was attempting to cover up to his family and friends but for what means Lang couldn’t know. There were far too many unknown variables. 

Lang watched as the other man fed the monstrous plant a cube of red meat and shuddered at the graphic way it chomped down on it, God this store was bizarre. 

“Mr Lang!” Yuno startles, finally spotting him lingering in the doorway. Once it registers who it was though, the largest smile Lang has ever seen—and does not deserve—sprouts on his face. “You’re here so early! I uh—didn’t even put out the supplies for you to work on!” 

“You’re good, baby.” He says, because he meant it, if it meant a single second less around that monster, Lang could live with pulling a fast one. “I’ll even help you, if you want.”

“Yeah? That would be great.” Yuno smiles warmly and all the suspicion Lang had worked himself up into having was swept away with it. “You’re a natural assistant already!”

Was it weak to trust a civilian this quickly no matter how harmless he appeared? Of course it was but paranoid overlord he might be he was still a man who likes pretty things. Pretty smiles, pretty flowers, pretty boys. 

They work silently together, side by side, their tasks at laying out the stems and Yuno’s more conventional flowers in bundles to wrap. Lang was getting sucked into the pattern of it, a calm washing over him with every bunch he tied off and put aside. The work was monotonous, unexciting but dependable. 

He had always liked that about Civilians. 

“I might need to watch out,” Yuno’s mouth quirks up. “You’re quick.”

“Maybe your sister needs to watch out—” Lang grunts, feeling satisfied with his colour blocking and design for each bundle. “I’ll be coming for her ass, you see how quick I got this? Pretty amazing huh?” 

Yuno nods, mercilessly choosing to overlook his showboating. “We’ll be done in no time! Really I should’ve left it for Ray Mond while I was gone but I like doing it. To be honest, out of all the flowers here, these bunch they’re—uh, they’re my favourite.”

Lang frowns at this, staring at the unremarkable bunch with doubt. They were all thin, not very long or, frankly, all that pretty to look at. If he had passed by them in the store or on the street he wouldn’t even think twice, they looked like the flowers that grow on top of weeds. 

“The dollar bunch.”Yuno caught the tail end of his ruminations if his rueful laughter had anything to say about it. “They’re a good deal, affordable for me, affordable for others and I don’t know…”

He grabs one of the bundles Lang had rolled out, a dim sort of smile tucked onto his face as his fingers deftly tie the ends with ribbon. “Anyone can have ‘em. If you wanna do something nice for uh—someone you care for it’s small but it’s something, right?”

Lang shakes his head.“I don’t understand you sometimes.”

If Lang didn’t know any better, he’d almost think Yuno was pouting at that comment. “It’s cheap! I’m telling you it’s good business.”

“It’s horrible business, the materials you need to wrap 'em up, the product you could sell at base price—none of that justifies the price you sell for.” He points out, but still diligently wrapping them as he was told to do. 

“Yeah, well, It’s my business.” Yuno huffs and there wasn’t much Lang could say to dispute that; even though a part of him wondered what compelled him to argue in the first place. 

A couple people came and went as they worked side by side, most there for the other section of the store but a few came by to talk to Yuno directly. As Lang was moved from the dollar bunch and set to water the smaller, more delicate batch that couldn’t stand the harshness of the retic that was set over most of the bigger—read dangerous— ones and just sat back to watch again. It seems though it wasn't in his job description, he couldn't hold himself back from just watching his new friend do what he did best.  

Although the florist was intelligent in his own right it was obvious he didn’t have the best instincts if he didn’t notice that a majority of his clientele that came to talk to him didn’t give a single fuck about flowers. Lang sat behind the desk measuring out string and cutting end pieces stupefied that a guy could be that oblivious to that kind of attention. His joke flirting was just that, a joke, but there was always a nugget of truth in most things he said and that included Yuno in all his strange and beautiful glory. 

Yuno was a good looking guy, you can’t deny that. Sure he wore baggier clothes than most, he’d look rather well in fitted suits or dress shirts but that's neither here nor there, and his hair was like a messy, fluffy mop but it didn’t seem to mind much for most of his visitors that interrupted him throughout the day. Most of them men, like these guys, who barely spared the coffee girl a glance making a beeline to his section.  

“Hey Yuno,” The taller one looks vaguely familiar, with a light voice, english accent. “It’s good to see you back, we missed you!”

“I wasn’t gone all that long,” Yuno chuckles nervously, looking back at him every once and a while which Lang thought was unnecessary-he was very good at cutting rope- but still rewarded with a wave. “How’s it been for you two?”

“Bored.” The smaller, more irritating one answered for them, a whine in his voice that really grated on Lang’s nerves. His hand skirting over Yuno’s shoulder made the dislike grow. “It’s not the same without your smile lighting up our day.” 

Lang was a grown man who knew how to keep his emotions in check and when to keep his, completely unwarranted, irritation at bay. He just wishes he could get at least some acknowledgement from someone how well he was keeping that anger inside and not, say, biting off that hand that went far lower than he deemed necessary. 

It looks like his glaring daggers didn’t go unnoticed with the tall one—a man he knew Lang realised with a jolt, his former business partner—giving him a look that only serves to piss him off more. 

“Uh huh.” Yuno laughs and they continue the conversation, moving past the comment like it was a regular occurrence, something that made Lang feel only a little moody. “I imagine you’re always looking for brighter days, heard you got rejected at the casino, Eli.”

“God dammit!” Like he was skewered in the heart ‘Eli’ writhes pathetically on his amused friend. “How’d you hear about that!? You were gone!”

“Better question would be how wouldn’t I hear about that, everyones talking about how you set the place on fire and tried to mop up the flames. It was impressive how bad it was.”

“Yunoo, you’re the worst!” The smaller one whines again and Lang decides to tune out now before his hearing starts going.

Finishing up his large stake of string and ribbon and putting them under the desk with the other smaller scale equipment, Max came closer, smart enough not to just interrupt him or ask stupid questions that he wouldn’t answer, instead sitting with him, a warm mug in his hands.

“They aren’t happy about the disappearance.” The older man states, cheerful in the patient way he is. “wanted me to come check, see if you're still alive and what not.”

“They noticed?” He says in response, a little pissed at the confrontation but also genuinely surprised they had caught him out so quickly.

Max laughs. “They’re your men, of course they noticed.”

“They gonna drag me back now? Kick in the doors, smash the windows?” Lang sighs, dragging a hand over his face. 

“Oh I’m sure they would be doing all that by now if that was something they felt was necessary.” He replies nonplussed, taking a sip of his tea. “They’ll come eventually but I do think you already knew that.”

“You're still taking orders even now, Max? What? Wine not as popular nowadays so you gotta play guard dog?” Lang regards his old business partner critically. “You should apply yourself more, you got a good head for business, what a waste of talent.”

“Ah, I suppose I am wasting my talents on your group, hm? I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Max replies sunnily, nodding to him respectfully before dragging away the smaller, pathetic, one by the collar. “Come along Eli, I think we’ve taken up enough of Yuno’s time.”

“I’m not a dog you ass—Oi! Hey!” Eli squirms in his deceptively strong grasp. “I’ll send you the resume again tomorrow, Yuno! The other ten must’ve gotten lost in the mail!”

Yuno waves him out. “They didn’t!”

“Good to see you again, Yuno, as always you are a delight we hardly deserve!” Max chirps, waving back with one hand and dragging Eli with the other. “And to you as well Mr Buddha, this has been…illuminating.”

Lang waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, try to keep that mutt of yours on a leash; he looks like a biter.”

With a sigh Max drags away a bucking and thrashing Eli who only got more riled up with Lang’s comment attempting to free himself from Max and making threatening grabbing motions to the older, and wholly unimpressed, man. Yuno hums to himself in a way Lang is starting to realise is muffled amusement.

Making flower bouquets was relaxing, Lang decided. Along the same lines though, once you get over the actual art of it, making flower bouquets was incredibly, endlessly, embarrassing. Which, a hard thing to do, embarrass Lang Buddha, a man who’s stared down countless humiliating moments and one upped them tenfold. Yet somehow this strange, bizarre, odd florist convinced him to do it. That’s what he gets for supporting small businesses he supposes.

“Ignore them.” Yuno attempts to encourage as the heckling in the store grows louder. “They couldn’t do half as good a job as you, guarantee it.”

“Thank you, Yuno, I was real worried about that- ” Lang glares frostily at the chortling men in the corner who have done nothing but make a mess and be general jackasses to those still in the store. “Oi you two!”

“Yeah?” The more confrontation one replies. No one Lang recognises—bulky, a shock of red hair and $5 glasses with the price tag still on. The real point of interest though was the black half sleeve that ran down both their arms, poorly made and clearly self inflicted but still an identifier, they were CG runts. 

“We good?” Lang raises his brows in warning and challenge all at once. “You getting real loud and saying a whole lot of nothing so I wanted to just clarify right here and now that you’re not a bunch of fuckers I gotta straighten out so, once again, we good here?”

They turn to each other considerably, and nod, more to themselves but also vaguely to him. Thinking that that would be the best he would get, Lang turned back to selecting his blooms when—

“See, he's doing it for his gay little boyfriend, look at the sight of that—” The louder one says again, jeering and narrowing his eyes at Yuno who was fixing up some broken pots.

“What a fucking fa—” He didn’t even get to finish their sentence before a fist made contact with his face and did not stop till emergency services were called.

Lang cradles his jaw triumphantly as the EMS load the two men into the back of the ambulance, screaming as they hold their bloody noses and swollen eyes, tears mixing with blood.

“He’s a psycho!” They wail, unknowingly painting an even bigger target on his back as Lang and the EMS exchange meaningful looks. “Can’t you hear me!? He’s a psycho bastard—”

“Should I start counting this as everyday behaviour for you?” Yuno says with a casual softness it makes Lang’s heart fizzle out for a beat. “I won’t lie, this will be affecting your employee performance review.”

“Don’t I know it, same thing tomorrow?” He looks meaningfully at the other man, daring him to say no. 

Yuno gets quiet, contemplative, in a way Lang hadn’t seen him look before. Yuno watches the two crooks wail and yell before turning to him. “What is your life like, I wonder, if spending your days working in a stuffy flower store is preferable?”

“You make it hard not to be.” He says simply, his lips curl into a half smile. “I’m expecting a bonus for bodyguarding by the way. I’ll invoice a bill.”

“You’re incredible.” Yuno shakes his head, hiding his own smile but stops him as he attempts to hobble away, always determined to have the last word. 

Lang looks confused before the florist leans in close, they weren’t close enough to have it be considered strange but he could see the red flush of his skin and just how damn green his eyes are that made him feel like it was a touch too close. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting having him move so close but the flowers suddenly pushed into his chest was definitely not it. 

“The bonus.” Yuno says brightly, tucking one of the dollar bunch flowers into his top pocket. “I hope this will be a one off, as you already said it’s already a gamble having dollar flowers as it is but all these bonuses beating up my customers, well, that’ll be an even worse business move!”

Lang’s laughter echoed down the street and as he drove home, ready to face what will be a whirlpool of chaos and accusation, he can’t help but think about how close they had stood when those flowers were tucked into his pocket, how nice he smelt—mint almost but something richer, warmer, autumn maybe, tin— and how if he leaned in just a little closer he could’ve kissed him right there in the front of the store. 

Childish thoughts—hormonal and so damn green it made him feel like a teenager but he couldn’t help the rush of warmth that filled his chest when he left, replaying the day in his head like a good movie. 

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

It feels like he’s lying, this little routine. 

“Do you have a favourite flower or is it all the same to you?” Lang says, as he cut cubes of meat for the more ravenous plants at their disposal. “Is it like having a favourite kid?”

“What?” Yuno laughs, taken back. “Do you have a favourite kid?” 

The older man scoffs. “Sure, what parent doesn’t?” 

Cheating in a game the other man doesn’t even know exists. Worming through his defences and talking to him like he were just some silly florist who knows just a little too much about patching wounds. It’s terrifying if Yuno was honest with himself. 

The possibility he’ll be found out is suffocating and so, so possible because he knows this man now, knows how paranoid he can be and how if he knew just what Yuno did as a side job all this laughter and happiness would disappear in a blink of an eye. 

“My—roommates, you know they’re a total mess.” Lang says as he swept, his injuries healing at a remarkable rate and giving him more energy to stand up and move again. “Absolutely helpless without me, I’m like the beating heart that is the tiger lion of our entire operation.”

“I imagine.” Yuno nods, absently, subtly watching him.

“Hard not to, I gotta keep a tight ship all the time or my men they’ll go overboard and drown in the turbulent seas of their bad decisions.” 

“I can get that.” He doesn’t but he’ll give him this atleast. “I like to think the things I do are important to my roommates too but they ah—sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.”

“If they thank you for doing your job you’ve got another problem on your hands, I’m not one to be all precious to my–my roommates. We got jobs to do and we do it, easy as that.”

There were gaps in his story, of course, gaps in his routine that most people wouldn’t notice in passing but with the frequency of Lang’s visits—every morning without fail— he was bound to find the flaws in the schedule. There were times that were completely blacked out, where Yuno had long stretches of unaccounted for down time. This was for going back to the base, checking the computers and their uses, maybe a bank if they felt the need for it, business meetings, etc. All things he’s had to cancel this week because of how suspicious those disappearances would look to his paranoid shadow. 

“My roommate,” Yuno brings up as he picked flowers to press, a new venture he’s planning on exploring, possibly advertising them as bookmarks or writing pads. “One of them I think—really dislikes me.”

“What did you do?” Lang was on the pressing portion, setting the machine out and the flowers carefully underneath it. 

“Nothing I know of.”

“You sure? Sometimes it’s little things, I know Tony, he's got this real irritating way of eating toast that makes it sound like a balloon trapped in a dishwasher.” 

“Huh,” Yuno furrows his brows in thought. “Should I avoid toast?” 

Lang nods, sagely. “Better safe than sorry.”

As time went on their frigid almost constantly tension filled and polite pleasantries had thawed with every new conversation. They talked to each other, really talked to each other about their thoughts of the day and their problems. It eased the tension in his heart, the camaraderie and ease in which they talked, felt a bit like having a friend who really knew what it was like to have ‘roommates’ and being allowed to talk through some of his more conflicting feelings did wonders for his mood.

“I don’t think that’s controlling,” Yuno tries to defend, throwing his hat in a race he had no stakes in. “I think it’s about caring, maybe. They care about your safety and don’t want to lose you again. That’s pretty understandable don’t you think?” 

“I’m a grown ass man.” He grumbles back. “I could fire their ungrateful asses.”

Yuno made a noise of disagreement. “You won’t though, right? So you should probably sit down and talk it out, maybe.”

“Talking doesn’t solve problems!” Lang shouts then, disturbing their older customers. “Action solves problems!”

“Talking is action,” Yuno points out with a smile. “It’ll be easy! Just get Gigi to facilitate most of it and you’ll be done in no time.”

He was already shaking his head. “You can’t account for—”

“Arush will get it, you’ve known each other for decades of course he’ll get it.” 

It was clear that when Mr Lang said ‘Roommate’ he really meant ‘my subordinate, or ‘my team’. Every day was a new complaint about his health and hospital management and his crew that were ‘more unbearable then usual’ always trailing behind him keeping him away from stairs and sharp inclines. 

Yuno found it fun, a little. The way they talked felt normal, like Ray really was his brother that he could say to someone ‘yeah my brother is dating a cop and none of our friends are talking to him about it anymore’ or when Lang said something along the lines of ‘new responsibilities’ that although a great honour, made him feel so tired . That his whole life was made to rise to the occasion and create an empire when he could barely care enough to get up from bed in the morning. 

“You get up now, that's an improvement.” Yuno feels the need to say, because he had looked so sad and it wasn’t fair . “You get out of bed and you keep trying, no one can take that away from you.”

He didn’t react much to that one, the conversation trailing out a little after that, but he knew it reached him because before he left that day Mr Lang suddenly drew him into a bone–crushing embrace. Wide–eyed, Yuno barely had time to react before the older man had pushed off him and hobbled away. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate your help around here, I gotta ask…” Yuno approach’s, because this was important for him to know and it was an appropriate amount of time later. “Why do you come back every day? I was only really half joking when I offered the position—truthfully I figured you’d show up for a couple hours and go do something crazy and I wouldn’t see you again. What keeps you coming back?” 

It took almost a week of their quiet, fantastic routine before Lang told him about the injuries he got and how he went about getting them. All things he knew, of course, but still quite fascinating to see it from the others eyes. 

“I was stupid.” Lang admits lowly, just as the last customer had left and they were tidying up. “I always think that I can—do things, take on things that are beyond me cause I’ve done it before but I’m not young anymore. I’m old and pissed at everything and tired .”

Yuno took his hand then, side by side on the steps of his shop. 

“You know I don’t have…a normal life–you knew the day I met ya, I’m a dangerous man, Yuno. I run with dangerous people, people who have hurt other people and so it’s natural to assume that my enemies are equally as willing to hurt me right back. I got taken right outside my house and kept in a basement for who knows how long.” There was a look in his eyes, like he was reliving the stages leading up to it. 

“I was down there for a while, too long really and I didn’t even get out with my own means I was pathetic just waiting to be rescued and it wasn’t even my—my roommates doing the rescuing.” 

“What happened?” Yuno mutters, unable to stop himself. 

He smiles ruefully. “Every second I was in there I kept thinking about every wrong move I made, every misstep and mistake just kept rolling around my head day in and day out but the only real solid thing I could think about at night that could get me some sleep was this goddamn bizarre as all hell shop.”

“Wait, what?” Yuno could scarcely believe the words coming out of his mouth but there they were, unperturbed even with his interruption. 

“I don’t know what it is about this place, I just—I thought about the flowers you got, about those weird plants in the corner that have mouths and need meat–”

“-Venus Flytraps.” Yuno answers automatically. 

Lang laughs. “Yeah, those, and I wondered how the fuck you got clearance for some of these bastards and I wondered why you don’t have the customers you deserve and I just kept wondering and wondering and It got me through it.” 

He squeezes Yuno’s hand that was already interlocked with his and looked up to him, earnestly. “You don’t think you do a lot here just– selling flowers and making coffees but you know, for me, I wouldn’t have ya any other way. You’re a good guy, Yuno, and it’s refreshing as hell to talk to you and maybe, I don’t know, maybe I think if I spend enough time around you some of that goodness might even run off onto me.”

“Are you…” Yuno shakes himself out of whatever daze the other put him under, forcing the words to come out before he lost the nerve. “Saturday are you…doing anything? There’s this—thing happening I wanted to know if you wanted to…go with me?”

“Thing?” Lang raises a brow, mildly intrigued. “You wanna take me out, huh?”

“It’s a family barbecue.” He blurts out with very little grace. “I don’t usually go but my family aren’t…all that happy with me cause of—uh my injuries and well…leaving for a bit so it’s mandatory.”

“Ah, got it.” He nods with understanding and something mischievous. “You need a partner in crime? Want me to be your little plus one?”

“I’d be really happy if you came with me but—no pressure.” He tackled that last bit on after perhaps realising how strong he was coming on. “It’s nothing serious it’s just some fun, you don’t have to if you don’t wanna, I can tell my parents to lay off—”

“Wow, hey I haven’t even gotten the invite and not two seconds you already wanna take it back. I see how it is.” Lang huffs good-naturedly. “I’ll be there, don’t have an aneurysm if I go around your family talking about how sexy you are it’s only right they know what they got.” 

“Ah–sure whatever you say, Mr Lang.” Yuno accepts, more than a little scandalised but not willing to argue over it.  

He leaves with a promise to return in the next two days. He had an actual hospital meeting that hopefully will get him out of doing physical therapy and get him back out there, but Yuno could only look at his hand that still burned with the touch that was left on it. 

Yuno know’s it in himself that he doesn’t deserve this. Good fortune, it never lastes long with him. Whether he ruins it or the universe remembers he exists and ruins it for him, limited damage that but makes it hard to predict when it’ll happen.

This was a good thing so that just means it’ll be a matter of time before it dies like it always does and he’ll be left alone cradling what's left of the pieces. He was a curse and it’ll be a matter of time before Mr Lang sees that and deals with him accordingly. 

The build up is the worst part, usually, but this time it felt…it felt like the only part. He was content with that. 

On Mr Lang’s off day Yuno got many unusual visitors. People that came and went quickly and not quietly, they were sporadic and eccentric but well meaninged and approachable that if Yuno didn’t already have an extensive background check on who these particular individuals were he would have treated them as regular customers. 

But, of course, he knows better. 

Tony came in first, it was rather short lived. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” Tony says gruffly, maybe to disguise his voice—a voice he’s heard before, in between the sounds of gunshots and screaming—or perhaps to seem more intimidating than he was. “I’m ah—I’m looking for…”

It was clear the man hadn’t done his research as well as he could have, looking between the small coffee stall and the exotic plants in complete bafflement. 

“We’ve got some dollar flowers if you were looking for something cheap but effective!” He smiles brightly, finding his confusion amusing. “Or if you wanted a coffee—”

“What do you—do here? Exactly?” His accents already starting to slip, the italian twang fighting to break out and ruin his espionage. “Like, do you—make shit or—what is this? How do you know—why would…”

It was also abundantly clear he was trying to figure out what compelled his leader into coming into such an unassuming place to begin with. Yuno figured they would’ve had people watching over the shop or even just watching over Lang individually, that was just the kind of operation they ran. One that cared about each other. 

“We sell plants!” He humours, knowing that what he’s trying to find will not be here. “Would you like to buy one? Or over there my twin sister–that's her there, Ray Mond, maybe you’ve heard of her? She sells coffee.”

“Right…” The accent has come in ten fold now, likely realising how unnecessary the cover was, looking disgruntled. “I think I’ll…think about it—gimme a second.”

And he was out the door before Yuno could even say ‘sounds good’. 

The second to come in came a little after lunch and into the worst rush hour Yuno’s experienced yet. Orders were being bellowed from across the store, his own section suddenly flooded with plant enthusiasts that apparently had a convention happening a town over and had heard of his more exotic species, it was a mad dash for the entire time the second spy came to visit. 

Only when the lines thinned out did Yuno bother sparing the newcomer a cursory onceover, which boy was that a mistake of the century. 

He knew enough about the operations through his gang's informants and with Mr Lang’s many complaints that Gigi Gambino was trouble. 

“Hi there.” He broaches the conversation only a little reluctantly, it wouldn’t help her to be suspicious of their first meeting.

“Howdy,” She replies smoothly, lining up like she were but another customer even though Yuno knows she is anything but. “Could I get a latte? Largest cup ya got, full cream, thanks.”

“Sure.” He wrote it down and that was that. 

A touch anticlimactic to what he had built up in his head right up until he saw what she was doing in the corner with her drink. 

She was watching. 

People watching was a normal enough practice, Yuno would be lying if he said it wasn’t a pastime he frequented often himself— but there was a sharpness to her eyes that promised she was picking up every minute detail and expression tucking it away into her head to use later. No, Gigi wasn’t one to go on the offence and come out swinging like Mr Lang or Tony, the way she fought was subtle, behind the scenes. There was no doubt in his mind Gigi had figured him out the second she was in front of him taking her order. 

Even now she observed him observing her, an amused glint in her eye giving away the game. She knew that he figured her out, Yuno’s sure she knows, but instead of any accusations as he had expected, instead of the interrogation he prepared himself for, she merely thanked him for the coffee and went on her way, seemingly content with whatever it is she found. 

Tony comes again, just after Gigi the timing lined up so well Yuno is pretty sure the other man waited for her to leave before making his way back to the counter for another shot, this time with a disguise.

“Ah, hello again!” Yuno greets once more, amused by how frustrated he got from being caught despite the ‘disguise’ being all of a new suit and a moustache. Clearly, he wasn’t the espionage type. “Were you thinking of ordering something this time?”

“I don’t—” He coughs, sounding higher. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, this is—my first time here!”

“Yeah, okay.” Yuno smiles, nonplussed. 

“I was wondering…Lad—” His attempts at an Irish accent were appreciated in effort alone, even if the end result made several of his customers blanch in his direction. “If there were…a backroom around here…” 

Yuno forces himself not to react. “Backroom?”

The Italian looks vaguely annoyed. “Yes, yes—laddie, I’ve heard…you’ve got quite the…arsonal if you catch my drift.”

“Right.” Yuno tilts his head. “Where did you hear that?”

“Around.”

They stared at each other, the prolonged silence bordering awkward. 

“No sorry, this is all the store.” Yuno points out to the clearly one room sized area, the only ‘backroom’ that would even constitute is the changing lockers and even that was just a side room that opened to the outside. “No backroom.”

“Huh.” The Italian accent slips back on, like it was always there. “Well, shit.”

“Is there something you were hoping to purchase Mr…” He trails off, hoping to get at least a little leeway out of this. It would be nice to tell Mr Lang when he came back that he had a nice run in with his gang members.

“Frankie.” He says shortly, and then with a fumbled afterthought. “Corleone.”  

By the look of his face it seems even he caught on with how bad of a cover that was. Yuno maintains his best smile and absolutely beams back. “Well, it was lovely to meet you Mr Corleone, I’m not sure if the Comfy Corner would be able to accommodate whatever it is you are looking for but I’ll help as much as I can.”

“No, no,” Tony huffed, his moustache falling off before their eyes but still it didn't seem to faze the man. “I got the answer I wanted, I think.”

“Alright.” Yuno nods and quickly took out a familiar bundle of dollar flowers, pressing them into Tony’s hands. “If you wouldn’t mind then, Mr Corleone, could you possibly give this to Mr Lang next time you see him? I know he likes them.” 

Tony stares at him absolutely stunned before breaking out into loud, unfiltered laughter and Yuno allows a victorious smile flash on his face. 

“So, you knew me right out the bat, huh?” Tony shakes his head, mirthfully.

Yuno spares a cursory glance around the room, making sure the rest of the room wasn’t listening in, before leaning in close. “He talks alot about his roommates, I made an educated guess.”

“Hell of a guess,” Tony grumbles but took the loss for what it was. With another cheeky grin back the man walked right back out. “I’ll see you around kid, you’re driving our boss up the wall, if my livelihood didn’t depend on his geriatric ass I’d tell ya to keep at it!”

“You got it, Mr Corleone!” And the Italian laughs right down the street. 

The next day had Lang coming in a new man. Now able to stand up straight and proud he towered over the tables in the cafe and frightened the plants who weren’t used to faces in their high perch. It occurs to Yuno it is one of the rare times he gets to see the man without the distraction of torture of bloodshed and he has to say, it is a nice look on him. 

“How’d it go Mr Lang?” Yuno was half surprised to see him back now that he was back on his feet, his jobs were probably waiting for him back at his home, piled high if the state of things were anything like he told him they were like. 

“Was there any doubt? Right as rain, baby.” Lang grins, wolfishly, his eyes no longer brought down with shadows or showing visible exhaustion like they have been. It was good to see him in high spirits again. “I came here to grace you with my presence one last time before I gotta get back to business, you got any large pots you need moving? Any flowers holding you hostage?” 

Yuno laughs and although the large pots that were brought in recently were perfectly fine where they were he got Lang to move them anyway, just to let the man show off. 

“You know I’ve been working here long enough I wanted to ask ya, do you just avoid making coffees cause you’re shit at it or you don’t wanna show up your sister and take over her business?” 

Yuno blinks, looking up from his work. “The coffee side is also my business. Ray’s just better at it, so she does it.”

“You don’t like making coffee?” Lang drags him over to the other side, pushing the small cactus away he drops Yuno in front of the coffee machine, a sight Yuno is familiar with working in theory but not in practice. 

“Sure I do,” Yuno smiles as the machine makes a series of incorrect sounds before steaming spurts out and hits him in the face. “Ow–I’m just bad at making them.”

Lang makes an unsatisfied noise, shaking his head. “Make me something.”

“You got hearing problems today? I’m not good–”

“No, No I heard you. I frankly don’t give a fuck, I want coffee.”

“Why not make it yourself?” Yuno points out. “You could make plenty good coffee too, right? Didn’t you used to say you worked in a restaurant?” 

Lang scoffs. “I don’t want my coffee, I’ve had my own coffee for decades. I want to see yours. Make me some, I’ll never bring it up again, I just wanna try it,” 

Yuno sighs heavily but reluctantly gets back behind the machine and starts on his order. “If you say so.”

When Lang takes a sip, Yuno was already bracing himself for the instant sputtering that so many others have done before him. The awkward after where he has to pretend to believe that maybe the coffee was out of date or the machine was busted and he goes back home humiliated for thinking he could ever do anything other then what he’s good at. 

Only, it doesn’t come. Lang continues to drink it.

“...You like it?”

Lang looks at him strangely. “Coffees, coffee man. If I didn’t like it you’d know about it.”

“Oh.” Yuno controls himself, playing his surprise off like it wasn’t the groundbreaking revelation it was. “Did that…satisfy your curiosity?” 

The older man nods slowly, taking another long sip—that was just, mystifying to the hacker, purely mystifying—and offering him a small quirk of his lip. “We gotta find something you’re not good at! I’m starting to think you’re some kinda genius at everything.”

No ones finished a cup of his coffee. Not even his family had made it a whole cup, usually it would be the first two cursory sips and Yuno would have to turn away as they dumped it down the drain. These actions often led to their drain getting clogged so their Mother had him promise not to attempt coffee on weekdays. 

Despite the happiness he feels, it seems that fate has caught up on him as, not even a minute to be able to bask in the moment, there was the ring of the doorbell and— 

“Habibi, I am glad to see you are healing nicely!”

Raymond Romanov. “Who knew planting could be so deadly, huh?” He says with a knowing wink.

Ray was a frequent visitor to the cafe, When he had the time. So while Mr Lang was here undercover, Yuno made sure that Ray and the rest of the guys didn’t have a single second to spare. Somehow, he must’ve missed today. Whatever the case, this was not good.

Yuno is hyper aware of everything happening around him. The way Ray takes one look at the coffee in Mr Lang’s hand—thankfully, completely overlooking the owner, never having met the man face to face like this—and watches as his face brightens. “Oh! I do love your attempts, Yuno, give me a cup too while you’re at it! It has been some time since we have tried last and I have chosen to be optimistic!”

Ray has never been the most socially aware guy around but Yuno finds it kind of fascinating how he can’t feel the frigid coldness that Mr Lang levels his way. 

He can see the gears turning in Mr Lang’s head, the closeness they have with each other, the familiarity and pure fondness that oozes out of Ray everytime he talks to him, it wasn’t hard to miss. Mr Lang’s expression shutters away and like a flash it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. 

“Baby, you don’t mind making me a cappuccino to go, do you? I just wanted to do a little check in and see my favourite person before I have to get back to work.” Ray asks chipperly, his usual exuberance and kisses him on the side of his head. 

And this for whatever reason seems to infuriate Mr Lang as he stands, abruptly, making moves to leave. Yuno isn’t a hundred percent sure but he knows at least on some level Mr Lang is working out that him and Ray know each other far more than a florist knows a customer. Does he recognise Ray? Is that why he’s reacting like that!?

His heart in his throat, feeling beyond terrified that Mr Lang has realised his plot and who he was after all these weeks attempting to hide and here is where it might all fall apart. It can’t end like this, not now, not like this. 

“Mr Lang,” He forces his voice to be steady because it would help no one to be all over the place right now. “...Are you still…able to come Saturday?”

This tentative attempt seems to snap him out of whatever angry haze had gripped him as his expression softens minutely. “The barbecue, right?”

“Yep.” Yuno fiddles with the edges of his apron, a nasty habit he’s attempted to curve for years but still manifests in the oddest places. “It’s okay if you don’t—”

“I promised, didn’t I?” He says, looking annoyed. “Is…he going to be there?” 

Ray blinks, pointing to himself. “Oh, no I am almost positive Fiona would murder me on the spot if I tried.”

“What a sight that would be,” Lang mutters, not loud enough for the silver haired man to hear. “Well, I’ve overstayed my welcome, I think I’ll go back to my roommates now, knowing them, they’re probably minutes away from burning the house down right now .”

“R–Right,” Yuno forces his heartbeat to slow, if Lang was still willing to joke around then perhaps not all was lost. “I’ll uh—see you Saturday!”

Lang suppresses another smile before stepping into Yuno’s personal space, something he’s made quite the habit of doing in their short acquaintance and carefully removing the bunch of dollar flowers from Yuno’s apron, the ones he had been working on for most of the day and that happen to be all brown and chestnut coloured wild flowers, and tucking them into his own pocket. 

“My bonus,” Lang whispers into his ear, his brown eyes dark and strangely smug. “It’s been a pleasure, boss.”

Then with one last withering glare to the oblivious Russian, Lang stalks away barely giving a glance back to the twin stares following him. 

“Well,” Ray settles down into his seat, still a little cold with the reception he was given. “You’ve got some odd friends, Habibi.”

Luciano and Arush visits the exact moment Ray sprinted away talking about needing to save Kit from something or another, all with earned casualness and calm. They walked in when the store was empty, the yellow of the setting sun illuminated them as they came forward flipping the open sign to close. 

Yuno couldn’t see their face in the glare nor did he see the fist as it came, suddenly, hurtling towards him. He had to steal every instinct within himself not to move or dodge the attack, knowing that that sort of thing was exactly what they came to weed out. 

This did little to lessen the impact though, Yuno cradles his jaw weakly as another arm pushes and pins him to the wall in front of them. He glances up to black sunglasses and a slack, emotionless face. Pain blooms where he was struck but determinedly he meets the gaze head on. 

“You’re a hard guy to pin down, Yuno Sykk.” Arush is talking now, all the gang leader Yuno’s heard about finally on full display. “Try as we might, we just…can’t get a good read on you.”

“Is…that so?” Yuno speaks, breathing deeply even as the palm of the hand digs further into his chest. “Well…I…like flowers…that’s probably…the first thing.”

“Cute,” Luciano barks and is definitely trying to be intimidating, an effort that might have just worked if Mr Lang hadn’t spent the last couple days talking about how loudly he snored or that he loved pasta so much he once dressed up as a giant tomato to advertise for an italian business that lasted all of a month. “We think you’ve become a bit of a distraction, Mr Sykk and we were hoping you’d be able to…clear a few things up for us. Do you think you’d be able to do that?”

“Fire away.” Really he shouldn’t be so candid but the day had been absolutely ridiculous it was hard not to be.

Neither men liked his answer but still they soldier on. “What does he do here?”

“You gotta…” He gestures to the weight bearing down on him, it eases. “Thanks. To answer the question, not much. Stuff I don’t wanna do, for starters, stuff I have to do and stuff I’m allowed to do and no one stops me.”

“That last one sounds mighty interesting.” And there was the pressure again. “Care to elaborate?”

“Do…we…have to have the…same…conversation?” Yuno takes a large gulp of air, and pointedly stares at the man holding him down before the older man reluctantly backs away. 

“I run a flower shop, sirs.” Yuno gestures to prove the point. “There's not much else to do.” 

Luciano is the more expressive of the two, perhaps down to his experience with the backwater gang types, Yuno could tell he knew how to hit like the best of them but his approach was all clean style, no hard edges. He was almost half tempted to blow his cover now and ask how he saw ‘The Company’ who were all ragged sharp points and very little form. It was clear his answers didn’t line up with this image they made of him and this unpredictability made them antsy. 

“There’s plenty to do, we just wanna know if Lang is shafting us and keeping you under his employ for some side gig he doesn’t want to tell us about.” The other one pipes up and it is here where Yuno realises this deep seeded paranoia wasn’t just a Mr Lang thing, his whole codependent gang had it too. Fascinating. “I’m not a bad guy, I don’t wanna go around threatening nice people like yourself, Mr Sykk, but with how Buddha is it’s hard to keep up with all the things he doesn’t want us to know, you know?” 

“Of course.” He says because he does understand that to a degree. Hell, he would understand the best out of anyone with the recent betrayal with JP and The Company. Keeping your gang close wasn’t just for show, for camaraderie, no it was necessary if you didn’t want to wake up with a knife in your back or half your supplies stolen. They were undoubtedly worried for Mr Lang’s wellbeing, that was very apparent, but there was a slither of panic too, that Lang had another operation he wasn’t cutting them in for and it’ll be another Jean Paul all over again. He had to give them that. “Still just a flower shop though.” 

There was half a beat where they wouldn’t believe him, half a second that they would push and push and he’d be just a blood splatter on the wall of his own shop. Become a cautionary tale for having your cake and eating it too, getting the guy and the criminal life. 

Then, their radio goes off and without their eyes leaving his they answer. 

“Yeah?” Luciano speaks lowly into the old radio, the crackle of the other sound loud and distinctly Lang sounding. “No yeah, whatever we’re there.” 

Luciano gestures to Arush and then out to the car. “Didn’t you hear me motherfucker? I said we’re already there we had to pull over for gas, stop bitching at me!”

Arush sighs, holstering what Yuno now sees is a gun, tucking it into his back pocket. He walks over, sizing him up. The stories, truly, don’t hold a candle to the real deal. Oh he’s heard of Speedy, hard not to with a reputation like that, all stories shared with friends old and current only uttered under copious amounts of alcohol. It takes a lot to get Benji to talk about his old gang, his old life but when he starts there’s no stopping till he is black out or vomits and forgets his train of thought. 

Yuno knows enough of the man that this little interaction was just a warning, little information gathering, but a warning all the same. He knows this because, based on the stories he was told, it’s kind of a miracle he’s not a bloody mark on the wall right now. 

“We’ll see you again, Mr Sykk.” Arush nods, tightly, dragging behind him Luciano who was arguing with his radio. The door opens and shuts and the bells ring above it. 

“There’s no doubt about that.” He utters to the empty room. 

Chapter Text

It is a quiet yuno that greets his family rather somberly at the door. His sister shoots him a look and Carlo’s is trying to grab him by the shoulder but by the time his hand raises up, Yuno’s already halfway up the staircase, foreigning a headache. 

The confrontation has been running through his head the whole trip home. Despite the rather dower ending, he rather liked the check-ins that Mr Lang’s crew gave him. They are definitely as colourful and eccentric as described but the care and charm they had all but made up for the mess that came with them.

No, the confrontation itself wasn’t what was swimming through his mind now, but more the promise of return and what that might lead to in the future. 

He’s not unaffiliated anymore and whatever mess is chasing after him will, inevitably, garner the attention of his own group and then what will happen? Another pointless shootout? More backstabbing and pointing fingers and death!?

Then there was that whole thing with Mr Lang and…what the heck was he thinking there!? He’s supposed to be keeping his distance, making sure that Mr Lang doesn’t see just how similar he was to a certain helmet wearing criminal he met recently. 

Offering a job was for selfish reasons, he can admit that, but the dinner? His family doesn’t even accept plus ones to their family days—not after a particularly disastrous day when Carlo brought a woman to specifically make Fiona jealous—so what compelled him to open his mouth and ask?

Stupidity. 

“Stop that.” Yuno is jolted from his sombre thoughts by a well placed flick of his forehead.

Dinner was just as chaotic as usual, their parents sharing a frosty exchange and the two youngest huddled in the corner.

He rubs at the spot, bemused. “Ow?”

“You’re thinking too loud.” She tilts her head, reaching to do it again which he weakly thrashes to avoid. “Stop.”

“Stop thinking?” He gives up, letting his little sister flick him again. “I thought that was your job?”

“Oh you’re so funny today wow.” She scoffs but doesn’t seem to be reaching a third time, so Yuno counts it as his win. 

“Kids, no fighting at the dinner table unless you got a referee.” Their father orders, peeking up from his phone, as a vague attempt to be responsible. 

“Why can’t you be the referee then?” Raia whines, poking at her food mulishly.

“Because dad just had a bitch of a day and really doesn’t want to explain to your mother why there’s blood on the dinner table.”

Raia rolls her eyes. “It happened one time—“

“One time is enough, you little gremlin!” As Carlo steals a carrot from the plate of his most rambunctious of kids, he turns to Yuno. “What’s your deal then? Your sister’s been telling me you’re getting all emo?”

“Emo? Huh?” Despite shovelling more food into his mouth, it seems Carlos was more than willing to wait him out. 

“Carlo!” Fiona hisses, stepping into the room. “Don’t call our son emo!”

“What? I’m just asking a question!”

Fiona scowls and folds her arms disapprovingly. “He doesn’t want to answer that at dinner!”

This, of course, Carlo can’t leave alone. “Are you serious? I can’t even ask my own kid a question now?!”

“You always try and make something out of nothing—“

”Times like these I’d rather be eating at Gloryon’s house...” Raia rolls her eyes, grabbing a bread roll from Yuno’s plate. With the lack of resistance she turns to her brother, confused. “You okay, dude?”

“I’m bringing someone!” Yuno blurts, unintentionally cutting through the noise of the room. “To uh—to family day. Just thought you should know.”

”What?” Raia gasps, dramatically. “You have friends?”

“Bringing someone to—what’s that supposed to mean?” Carlo asks with furrowed brows. “You bringing your girlfriend or something, Yuno? I thought we had a rule! Family day is for family—“

”Yeah, we remember why we got that rule now don’t—“

”—You wanna start!? You really wanna go into all that here in front of my daughter and s—“

His sister, far too used to their parents' theatrics to be fazed by them, scoots closer. There is genuine curiosity that manages to quell some of the anxiety still raging in his head.

”You bringing someone special, Yuno?” She asks, a small tilt to her head. 

Although he was the one to bring the situation up to begin with, he can’t help but shove another heaping of food in his mouth to avoid answering. 

Annoyingly, Raia’s known him long enough to read between those lines. 

“Oooh,” She giggles, far too knowing eyes piercing him. “My bad, no, you’re bringing a special someone, right? Can’t wait to tell them that one time when you were drunk and climbed on the roof to—“

”That’s really not necessary.” Yuno cuts off, covering her mouth. “Really.”

“What’s the point in bringing someone to a family day if not to connect with the family, huh?” She argues, turning to their parents. “Right mum and dad? Yuno wants us to meet someone! Surely we’d want them to be involved in all the activities?”

”What activities?” Carlo questions, earning him a hit on the head.

”Is that true, son?” Fiona doesn’t look against the idea but Yuno knows that has plenty of time to change. 

”It’s not a big deal.” He says, perhaps a touch too stiffly.

”How isn’t it? You never want us to meet any of your little gang—“

”He’s not—“ He quickly interrupts, not needing the miscommunication to cost him his secret. “He’s got nothing to do with…them. We met on the job, I…I helped him with something and we became friends.”

”Awww.” Fiona sighs, dreamily. “Now that’s some slow burn romance, you don’t get that anymore.”

”Gross, what did you help him with?” Raia asks with a laugh. “His penis?”

”None of that kinda fucking language young lady!” Their father snaps, but still in a jovial enough mood to pat Yuno on the head. ”Always knew you’d be a charmer if you just tidied your hair up a bit. Granted, I thought you’d be a lady killer but a guy killer ain’t too bad either!”

“Did we ever give you the talk, Yuno?” Fiona raises, looking genuinely concerned. “You don’t need a refresher do you? I think I still have the visual aids in the basement…”

And just like that, Yuno finishes his food quickly, signalling to his sister that he was fine, before all but sprinting back to his room. 

Surely nothing can go wrong with something as normal as a barbecue, right? I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?