Chapter Text
His head lolls against the doorframe, eyes drooping with a new kind of tiredness.
When he comes knocking on one of their associates’ door for medical aid after a nasty altercation with the police he hadn’t expected a child to be the one to answer the door.
Watches as his eyes flit to the stairway behind him, the hand pressed against his side and then the door is pushed open further. Too big eyes blink up at him. “It’s okay Sano-sama, you can come in!”
Mikey stands bleeding in the rain, drenched to the bone with blood sluggishly escaping down his side. Either his hallucinations have become so realistic he can’t tell what’s real from what isn’t or the blood loss has got to him because he doesn’t remember any of their medics having children. Nor can he think of any reason why a child would be reaching for him to lead him inside.
The boy struggles to set him down in a chair before he’s rushing off stopping in the doorway to send a rushed, “Don’t move— I’m getting the first aid kit!”
Medical aid from a child. Mikey’s eyes slip closed, what a fucking joke.
Still, he picks up the small footsteps of the boy under the rain as he runs off to get it. What a way to go out this is. Between one blink and the next he finds himself being eased onto what might be the kitchen floor with a towel under him to catch his bleeding and the boy hovering nearby. His hands shake but he doesn’t cease sorting through the kit.
“Where’s Hanagaki?” He questions eyeing the way the boy digs out the tools needed. If he doesn’t die from blood loss there’s a large chance it’ll be via botched medical aid.
The boy bites at his lip. Hesitant. His eyes skitter to the front door. “Dad’s not here,” he says quiet and then more determined, a spark in his eye. “I’m Hanagaki Takemichi — I’ll take care of you!”
He didn't know that Hanagaki had a son. “Takemitchy, huh?” he breathes. There’s a snort and the stinging at his side is the only hint that it came from him. It’s been a long time since he’s done that. Well, “I’m in your care then.”
He’s pretty sure some deity or another is laughing its ass off as it looks down on him getting treated by a child .
Getting shot as far as things go in life isn’t the worst Mikey has dealt with. He can think of several worse encounters — attempted stabbing, someone lighting one of his cars on fire, failed drugging attempts — doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a bitch. It’s sheer luck that he made it to Hanagaki’s after going off on his own to cool his head. Though even with his vision swimming in and out he’s dubious on if he’ll end up keeling over in the end.
Takemichi, the boy, sits by his side hands steadier than they were moments before as he breathes in then out. “Do you—” he takes another breath, clenching his hands before he continues. “Do you want something to bite onto? Dad always says that’s better.”
He blinks sluggish. Takemichi is a slight thing. His limbs are small and plump with leftover baby fat and the determined puff of his cheeks make him look like a hamster. The fact his eyes are as large as saucers as they take him in don’t help dissuade the image of an overwhelmed rodent.
The choice, it seems, is taken from him when Takemichi returns with what looks like a child sized rolling pin.
“It’s clean!” Takemichi rushes to assure at his look. “Just…bite down on it.”
“If you kill me,” Mikey starts. “I’ll haunt you.”
Even as Takemichi pales his hands grow steadier as he eases Mikey into laying down fully.
He isn’t nearly as steady as his father — but what is he supposed to expect from a little boy besides no ruptured organs? — and Mikey ends up hissing around the rolling pin between his teeth as Takemichi works, but it’s undeniably better than what he expected, considering his expectation was bleeding out within seconds of the kid’s hands on him.
His hair is matted to his forehead by the time Takemichi drags out the last of the bullet, his vision growing hazy. Mikey breathes harshly through his nose when he catches sight of Takemichi reaching for the bandages.
Moving is going to hurt like a bitch.
Takemichi’s tongue reaches out to swipe at his bottom lip nervous. “I’m better at this,” he says as if that fosters any confidence but well. He’s still alive, for now, isn’t he? “And I have bandages for the cuts on your face.”
Mikey eyes the Cinnamoroll bandaids dubiously. He spits the rolling pin out. “Don’t need them,” he grits as Takemichi slowly eases him up enough to bandage his side. It’s a surprise the kid manages — his arms shake like a leaf struggling to hold onto a branch.
“Do to,” Takemichi argues, mouth twisting in disapproval. For some reason it makes him feel more cowed than it should. “I gotta clean them and cover them so no dirt gets in them!”
Mikey blinks once more as he watches emotions flit across Takemichi’s face — disbelief, confusion, determination, concern — without any attempt to keep them hidden; as if he were made of paper and his emotions are a mess of never-ending brushstrokes on a single canvas, each color bleeding into the next. There’s an odd bite in his chest. He huffs, closing his eyes, letting the boy do as he pleases.
Slowly, the rain's pitter-patter comes to a trickle as Mikey feels slight pressure on his cheek, a fleeting warmth with each press.
Hanagaki’s kid, huh? He sure has no fear considering he seems to know who Mikey is.
“Takemitchy,” he murmurs and hears the way the floor creaks as the boy leans in once more to place the last bandaid on his arm. “Where’s your father?”
He can’t recall any orders to get rid of Hanagaki either now that he’s lying on the man’s floor being tended to by his son. Everyone in Bonten’s hold is his ; pawns to move as he sees fit, generals to mobilize as he desires, commodities to use when he needs and not a moment more — everything needs to be under his control, at his command. He’s too possessive for anything less.
It’s quiet for a moment.
Mikey cracks open an eye and finds himself staring up into a blue as rich as the summer sky. Takemichi is sat at his head, mouth pressed into a tight line. “I don’t know,” he says and it’s honest. “But I know I’m supposed to help you.”
Is that so? His mouth quirks up, not quite a smile, he’s long lost the ability for that. “That makes you mine then, Takemitchy, doesn’t it?”
Perhaps an arbitrary thing for a boy to consider but if his father is out of the picture, then well, his duties fall onto his boy’s shoulders. That’s how these things go after all — when one pawn falls before Mikey is done with them someone new has to take their place sooner or later. Hanagaki’s replacement will just be his son. Considering Takemichi was learning under his father then it isn’t so farfetched to assume that eventually Takemichi would be given to him.
Though, Mikey would hunch that wouldn’t have been for several more years. He’ll have to learn who got to Hanagaki before he did.
Takemichi shuffles at his head and Mikey can hear the drag of air into his lungs. In-out, in-out. His nails drag against the fabric of his pants as he squeezes his hands. “If you think there’s a use for me.”
The only thing that keeps him from laughing is the pain he knows that will follow.
If there’s a use for him?
Takemichi is interesting. That’s enough of a use for now. His work is shoddy at best right now but that can be worked on. Above all though, his fate was sealed the moment his father decided to sacrifice his son to the monster that roamed the underbelly of Japan.
Mikey breathes out. “Enough use in the fact you’re mine now.”
And in turn be drowned into the inky depths of the world he’ll be inhabiting now that Mikey has decided to dig his hold into the marrow of the boy’s bones. It’s been a while since he’s stumbled on anything of interest — a part of him wonders how Takemichi will look when brought to the heart of it all.
Will he pale? Will he run? Or will he thin his mouth until the skin turns white with the pressure and delve further and further until there’s no way to escape the grasping tendrils of Bonten’s clutches? Will concern be written across his face no matter who is in front of him or will he learn what fear and disgust are from being given a first-class view.
“How old are you?” he questions. A simple curiosity. He looks small. And Bonten, despite its functionality, does look after its own.
“I’m eight!” it comes out as if it’s a monumental affair and not something mundane. Mikey’s mouth twitches once more. An elementary school student. What a fucking riot. Then, less ecstatic, “Um, Sano-sama, you’ll be okay if I leave you for a minute, right? I — you’ll be comfier in… warm clothes?”
“Mikey.”
“Huh?”
“Call me that instead.” he says and Takemichi’s head tilts like a little dog unused to a command. The only people that call him “Sano-sama” are worms that have wiggled themselves out of the gutter. “How often have you done this?” he asks after Takemichi nods his assent.
He knows for a fact underlings have been sent to Hanagaki to be patched up — perhaps one of his executives as well, but with how hazy he can be some days his recollection is something to be trusted only on occasion.
Takemichi’s reply comes as he’s retreating down the hallway and for all of a moment, until the tugging at his side has him hissing, Mikey attempts to follow. “Only a few times… there are a lot of bullies.”
Bullies . Mikey wants to snort. As if he’s not going to meet the modern monsters of the world.
His eyes slip closed as he hears the rustle of Takemichi digging through a closet. Hears a soft omph and the soft patter of a clothes hanger hitting wood. The soft pad of feet on the floor. That bite in his chest returns — harsher, insistent.
His penthouse is a large empty thing. It could do with a bit of new noise.
“Mikey-kun,” He cracks open an eye and finds Takemichi kneeled at his side. Maybe it’s the exhaustion finally catching up to him but Takemichi is a bit like a doll. Unruly black hair that fluffs up this way and that and eyes large and round as his head tilts in his confusion. Soft. Fragile. “I got you something warm.”
Something warm turns out to be an adult pair of joggers and an oversized shirt that is more slid over his head and body than anything else. Mikey is content with not slipping his arms through the holes.
That’s when his mind drifts out with the weight of it all coming crashing down upon the space of his shoulders. His eyelashes flutter at the press of a cold cloth against his skin. His fingers twitch down by his side when he feels something grasp at them.
“Don’t worry,” Takemichi says. “I won’t leave you alone.” Mikey can imagine him puffing up like a little bird behind his eyelids. “I know how to swing a bat real hard if I gotta — I’ll look after you!”
There’s not much a bat will accomplish against any of the people that would be stupid enough to try and come after him, and yet a spark of heat fills his chest at the declaration anyway. Hanagaki’s kid is a reckless thing — it… reminds him of a different time.
Mikey breathes long and deep. His fingers curl around a hand much smaller than his own.
Interesting things are so rare nowadays.
He’s in and out as time passes. The rain has long ended as night melts into early morning and still Mikey finds fingers tangled with his own. Once, during a moment of clarity in the night as Mikey woke he spotted the slackness to Takemichi’s shoulders, his head pillowed by his knees and cheek squished.
No tenseness to his body at all — as if there isn’t a threat in the room with him.
It’s an oddly… nice thing. Foolish, really, when it comes down to it because if he felt like Mikey could stretch an arm out and snap his neck but — the lack of wariness is. New.
The next time he wakes it’s to an empty hand and Takemichi peering at him over a bowl of porridge.
“Good morning,” he says, eyes crinkling. Mikey stares. He isn’t dead. What a surprise. “I made you porridge,” Takemichi continues as he sits himself at Mikey’s side once more. “And brought you some water.”
Takemichi’s cheeks bunch with his grin. There should be some shame in being doted on by a little boy shouldn’t there? But then Mikey hasn’t felt shame for much has he?
His lip quirks. Blasé as anything: “Takemitchy I’m injured. You have to feed me.”
Takemichi’s eyes narrow, his cheeks puffing. “... Only because I said I’d help take care of you.”
And he is an attentive little thing, almost like a little wife. A hand under the spoon to keep anything from spilling and hitting Mikey or his clothes. He takes the time to cool it so it’s not too hot. Reminds Mikey to drink in between spoonfuls.
When he’s up and resting an arm over his knee to watch Takemichi putter about in the kitchen cleaning the bowl and whatever leftover dishes from before he’s hit with a thought. “Takemitchy,” he calls.
The boy tilts his head hopping down from his stool. “Yes, Mikey-kun?”
The house itself is a bit messy. A few spare clothes here and there, but overall it isn’t as terrible as Mikey would expect from a kid currently living alone. That — and he seems to be able to cook.
A strand of white hair falls into his eyes and before Mikey can tuck it back behind his own ear Takemichi is doing it for him, small fingers carefully tucking it. There’s a noise in his ears. His heartbeat, Mikey thinks, and his mouth opens, words escaping with syrup warmth. “You’re mine now,” he repeats and Takemichi nods, a hesitant thing. He leans the slightest bit forward, nose to nose. “I’ll need someone to look after me for a few more days. I want you to come with me.”
At the heart of it, it isn’t truly a request; Mikey wants Takemichi to come with him so the boy will — it’s just a matter of if he wants to make this easy or not.
There are few things Kakucho is bothered by. He can’t say he’s become quite numb to his life and the very present he lives in but where once his actions caused a twinge of shame — anger, regret, confusion — and even fear at what it is he could do when given proper motivation, now it has dulled to a once in a while thought. Something to ponder about with a drink, or two, or three as the night becomes long and he needs something to nurse and drive thoughts away.
Now, the only thing he is truly bothered by is being assigned to drag Mikey out of the cave he calls his penthouse.
(Respect is a finicky thing Kakucho has learned. It’s different from loyalty. Fanaticism. Some days his respect for Sano Manjiro is just a step below what respect and belief he held in Izana and burns just as heavily in his chest for what he will do in their name. Under their command.
Other days he looks upon a man broken until pieces of him have fallen free and wonders if there is enough gold dust and lacquer to put him back together in a way that resembles the original picture.
He does not respect Sano Manjiro on these days; only feels pity.
He has felt pity for a very long time now. Kakucho has become an expert at keeping that hidden lest his head be the next that rolls.)
He knocks once in hopes that Mikey will answer the door on his own so that Kakucho won’t have to resort to using his own key and then dealing with the menace that rests inside.
A moment passes. Then two.
His sigh is heavy as he digs a card out of his pocket and moves to swipe it against the lock —
“Kaku-chan! What’re you doing here?”
His hand is frozen in the air as he cranes his neck downward. Dressed in an oversized sweater and little blue shorts peeking beneath the hem is the little boy Kakucho would entertain when he was younger as his subordinates were treated in another room. Or at least, he kept the boy entertained and unaware up until his father decided it was high time to learn.
And when that time came Kakucho made sure his subordinates kept their mouths sealed.
There is not much Kakucho is bothered by; involving children — young children — in even the outer circles of the criminal underbelly is something he still staunchly tries to uphold.
A hand waves up at him, Takemichi standing on his tiptoes to raise it high enough to get his attention. “Kaku-chan!” he calls again and the muscles in Kakucho’s hands tense with the urge to pick him up and take him very far away. Back to his home. Takemichi makes a noise of excitement. “Are you the person Mikey-kun said would be joining us? I made breakfast!”
And then tiny fingers are curling into the fabric of his suit and pulling him in the door closing with a faint click behind him.
“Takemichi,” he says and it sounds distant even to his own ears. Takemichi, obedient as ever, falls still looking up at him curiously. His fingers still haven’t uncurled from Kakucho’s cuff. “Why are you here?”
It would be naïve to think that Takemichi doesn’t know something about his work. He’s too curious for his own good, and that’s not even going into pondering what it is his father shared with him when he decided to teach Takemichi how to patch up others.
Takemichi looks up at him through his lashes, fingers tightening on his cuff briefly. “... helping Mikey-kun,” he murmurs a glint in his eye that has Kakucho grimacing internally. Stubborn kid. “Dad said I’m supposed to look after any members of Bonten that show up.”
There is a terrible urge to massage away the oncoming headache between his eyes. Instead, Kakucho inhales, deep and long as those words toss around his head on a spin cycle. His voice pitched low he asks, “How long have you been here?”
Takemichi hesitates, his eyes flicking to the kitchen. “Just a couple days.”
It’s near the middle of the week. Kakucho clicks his tongue. “You’re skipping school.”
Takemichi’s glare is as inoffensive as a little kitten drowned in the rain. “I’m being helpful!”
“Then I’m here to relieve you of your duties. You’re meant to be in school — there’s enough time for me to get you there in time for second period before I return to take over.”
Kakucho doesn’t really have the patience, nor time, to stress the importance of not going with strangers because they claim they need help regardless of his father’s orders. The fact it’s Sano he’s helping is just a promise that Kakucho is going to be drowning his disbelief with alcohol later on in the week.
“No,” Takemichi bites out, ducking out of the way of the hand that reaches to grab a hold of his jacket hood. He puffs up like an angry chick pointing toward the kitchen. “I have to stay Kaku-chan, I just got him to start eating vegetables! And all my stuff is already here,” he adds in a huff unaware of the absolute panic he’s induced in the older man. “Mikey-kun needs me to look after him. I’m not leaving.”
Kakucho feels his brow twitch. Stubborn little brat. Though it’s not like he’s surprised — he remembers this same little spitfire forcing Kakucho to stay the night to make sure he wouldn’t do something silly like getting into a brawl and tearing your stitches like a dummy alongside also making sure Kakucho wasn’t alone when he developed a fever.
“Kakucho.”
A slow drawl of his name has his body acting accordingly. Shoulders smoothing, spine straightening to an impossible degree, chin lifting — a dog coming to heel.
“He wants you to eat with him,” Takemichi tells him no-nonsense as he eyes Kakucho’s hand like it might make another grab for him before he decides it’s better to lead him in anyway.
No, no he doesn’t, Kakucho wants to refute, that is the very last thing he wants at this moment.
In fact, he’s quite certain that what Mikey really wants at this moment is to stare him down with dead eyes until his very will caves to his whims with no fight left. Might even want Kakucho to leave at this very moment if he’s being honest.
The sight in the dining room is not at all what he expects. For one, there’s actual food on the table. As in, food that’s been made and isn’t simply takeout or desert. Secondly, Takemichi’s stool is tucked against the wall out of the way and on the table are some of his plates. On the counter are some of his bento boxes.
Mikey in particular is eating. He’s a wisp of a man lithe and slim from years of poor nutrition and health. Kakucho finds himself staring when Takemichi sits him down in a chair. He’s eating something besides junk food or takeout.
Granted, it looks like an egg sandwich with vegetables mixed into the egg but — it’s an oddly surreal sight.
Mikey looks at him with lidded eyes, egg on toast held in hand. “Go on,” he says. “Takemitchy made enough for you. No need for it to go to waste.”
Kakucho is still reeling from the fact that Mikey had any food in his fridge. Beside him still unseated Takemichi’s eyes narrow. “You promise you’ll eat everything even while you talk to Kaku-chan?”
There are several things Kakucho expects in response to Takemichi’s hardheadedness — a glare directed at him or maybe a blatant ignorance of the question — but he doesn’t expect Mikey to pat a hand against Takemichi’s hair as if placating him. “I will. Now, why don’t you finish putting your things away.”
Takemichi directs a dubious look at him as if he isn’t fully convinced that Mikey will do as asked, which has Kakucho coughing into his drink to hide his laughter, before the boy ultimately decides he’ll trust Mikey’s word for now and heads deeper into the apartment.
It’s silent aside from the sound of Mikey eating as Kakucho is careful to keep his gaze from wandering.
Eventually Mikey rests his chin on his palm, plate clean of food, as he puts his full attention on Kakucho. “Speak.”
“Takemichi is a child,” Kakucho says, spine straight and tone made of steel. “He belongs with his peers.” Not playing nursemaid to a grown man. “Among other things.”
Mikey doesn’t so much as blink. “You’ll be in charge of him. Tomorrow he’ll return to school and after that you'll bring him back here.” He leans back in his chair, rolling his neck. “I intend to keep him.”
Kakucho breathes in through his nose, willing the annoyance-induced headache away. “All due respect he should be with his family — you can’t randomly pick up a child.”
“Can’t I?” Mikey says and while the words are tinged with something light his eyes send a ripple of cold sweat down Kakucho’s spine for how they resemble an abyss. “His father’s whereabouts are unknown. I’m keeping him. Or do you have something to say against your new order.”
He grits his teeth. “No, there are none.”
At least if he’s the one in charge of Takemichi there’s a chance he can keep the kid unaware of some of the more violent escapades of the organization. Though, he can’t say that becoming a designated babysitter is a wonderful addition either, not with what he knows about Takemichi.
The kid doesn’t understand the meaning of minding his own business.
“Then you’re dismissed. I expect no further disagreement on the matter.” Then softer, “You know how I am with my things.”
The breath he takes in is forcibly slow. An active attempt to keep himself from tensing. From clenching his hands so hard the leather of his gloves crinkles. “Of course. I will see myself out.”
Becoming a glorified babysitter is not something Kakcho ever expected he’d become, but in this instance he’ll treat it as seriously as all his other work.
Most would think that going outside in public would draw attention to them as Bonten executives. On one hand, some people would be right — individuals that have found themselves involved with the underbelly of Japan will know them. Intimately at times if they’re useful — but more often than not, many people are unaware of who they are. Something of which Kakucho is very aware is only due to Kokonoi covering their trail in everything that they do.
They have underlings to deal with most operations. Often he and the executives below him are only sent as reinforcements, or when needed, as examples. Larger deals that require etiquette are more often handled by him or Kokonoi than anyone else in their entourage.
Knowing that there's a slim chance of encountering anyone who knows who he is doesn’t mean Kakucho feels comfortable standing outside of the gate of the elementary school alongside several other guardians as he waits for Takemichi to exit.
His spine is straight and his hands are clasped at the small of his back as he waits. Further away down the road is a car, Mikey waiting for them both to settle in.
It’s been a few weeks now of this…routine. Early in the morning, Kakucho makes his way from either headquarters, his own apartment, or god forbid whatever resting place of the poor sap he’s put six feet under is located to pick up Takemichi from the penthouse. Something, which on occasion, has nearly given him a hernia.
(There’s nothing like trying to hide a bloodstain on your coat by turning it inside out because you don’t have the time to return to your apartment to change, so you’re stuck with just dealing with the feeling of slowly crusting blood and viscera on your back and previously clean shirt.
Or attempting to hide the split on your knuckles under your gloves and wincing whenever you move wrong. Kakucho is intimately familiar with hiding said injuries because this is his life now.
And currently being stared down by a child.
It’s week two of this arraignment and Takemichi’s stare is unnerving as a hawk when he wants it to be. There’s a bead of sweat trailing down the knobs of his spine as Kakucho attempts to herd him out the door so he’s not late to school.
Kakucho hadn’t won the argument on allowing Takemichi to walk to school alone, but he had won in dissuading Mikey from having the boy driven there every morning; the last thing he needs is attention.
“Kaku-chan,” Takemichi’s mouth is twisted downward. When Kakucho doesn’t so much as twitch he holds his hand out, expectant. “Hands. You’ve always been terrible at hiding things, you know.”
Terribly, more than it has any right to, the scolding has him wilting. Even worse, when Kakucho slides his gloves off for Takemichi to inspect he perks up with a pleased, “See? That wasn’t so hard.” It would have been the worst blow to his ego if not for Takemichi adding, “It won’t take me long to fix you up! I know the antiseptic hurts but you have to be brave okay, Kaku-chan?” as he came back with the first aid kit.)
Once they’re out of the apartment Kakucho walks him to school as Takemichi talks his ears off about what he hopes they get to do in class today or gives Kakucho a miniature heart attack when he talks about his escapades. (“I stood up to some bullies today, Kaku-chan! They were picking on a cat and stopped them!”)
To say that Takemichi is a handful is an understatement. Now, Kakucho remembers what he was like as a little boy — getting into fights and losing. Getting into fights and eventually winning. — but he’s sure he wasn’t as much of a handful as Takemichi is.
And then in the afternoon Kakucho rushes out of whatever prior engagement he might have had to hightail it to Takemichi’s elementary school so he can talk about his day and maybe ask Kakucho for help in what to make for dinner.
Which, Kakucho has several thoughts on Mikey having a child cook for him. So more often than not he sticks around the penthouse helping with dinner and Takemichi’s homework until he’s forced to leave.
It’s… surprisingly domestic some days. Enjoyable even if Kakucho wants to give his traitorous heart any acknowledgement.
Today, though, things will be different. They won’t be heading to the penthouse when Takemichi runs up to him excited to ramble about his day as Kakucho occasionally prompts him to continue with questions. No, instead Mikey considers it time that Takemichi is introduced to the rest of the executives. His words exactly: “He’ll be joining me from now on as I see fit. It’s high time everyone learns he’ll be taking care of them on occasion.”
And Kakucho isn’t sure how he feels about that. (He doesn’t agree with it. Takemichi is a child. He shouldn’t be tending to the wounds of a cabal of criminals let alone be interacting with them.)
Still, he catches Takemichi under the arms when he launches himself at him with the same fervor he does every other day. “Kaku-chan!” Then a slow blink as he stares upward. “Higher?” he requests.
With a raised brow Kakucho lifts him. The boy’s arm reaches towards his head. “You had a leaf in your hair,” Takemichi says, presenting it to him when Kakucho sets him back on his feet. “Now we can walk home.”
He clears his throat to get Takemichi’s attention so he’ll stop attempting to pull him down the street. “Not yet.” Kakucho gestures to the car down the street. “We’re going somewhere different today. Mikey has some people he’d like you to meet.” The words taste like ash on his tongue.
Takemichi’s head tilts as he looks. “Important people?” he questions and Kakucho wants to say maniacs, really. Someone that commits tax fraud regularly, as well, but mainly maniacs he doesn’t of course, but it’s a very close thing.
It wouldn’t be a lie after all. He’s sure the sanest individual in Bonten aside from himself is Takeomi and possibly Ran and neither of them are all there. Aside from them Kakucho would suggest Takemichi keep as much distance as he can unless he wants to contract rabies (Sanzu), experience a person’s last breath in real-time (Rindou), or possibly suffer from secondhand smoke (Hanma.)
Instead, he says through gritted teeth, and all of his self-control to not insult his fellow executives, “People like me.” he says. “You may have to help them on occasion.”
Takemichi’s mouth forms a little ‘o’ as he trails after him hands wrapped firmly around his fingers. “Are they nice like you, Kaku-chan?”
Not at all he doesn’t say. “As long as you listen and be good. If anyone gives you trouble, come tell me.” Because Kakucho hasn’t quite figured out what Mikey would do if Takemichi complained to him about any of the executives doing anything.
(Sanzu is the only one he really thinks will give Takemichi a hassle. Kakucho can respect his loyalty, his tenacity but his temper and slippery-slope in reality with his… predilection for some of their goods less so.
Though, perhaps the mad dog will surprise him.)
Takemichi swings their hands, nodding to himself. “I’ll take good care of them. You know I got Mikey-kun to eat more?” his tone is excited as Kakucho leads him to the car. “He’s sleeping better, too. I’m really proud of him!”
Kakucho feels a headache. The last person Takemichi should be worrying over is a wanted murderer but it’s terribly on brand for him.
“Well,” Takemichi pauses, as Kakucho is reaching for the door. “He only sleeps well if I’m in the room with him. His room is really dark, Kaku-chan, did you know that? I don’t think he can see very well because sometimes he grabs me before we go to bed.”
His hand clenches around the handle so hard his gloves squeak. Kakuchi inhales deeply. Lets it out slow. “He grabs you?” his voice is deceptively soft.
“Yeah! Kinda like a teddy.”
He breathes in again, not as harsh. Lets it out a little less shaky. Tugs open the door. “Perhaps you should suggest he sleep with a pillow? For now though, in you go.”
Leaning against the door Mikey’s gaze slides their way his lip twitching upward when Takemichi physically brightens up at the sight of him. His legs swing back and forth as he Kakucho buckles him after it seems like his charge has simply forgotten it in his excitement.
“Kaku-chan said I’m meeting people today. Are they as cool as you Mikey-kun?”
Kakucho’s brow does not at all twitch at how Mikey preens at the words. There’s very little space in the back seat with the three of them — especially with the way Mikey splays his legs with little regard for them. Every swing of Takemichi’s legs is a brush against his own.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mikey’s hand move to settle heavy on Takemichi’s leg and then further up to his thigh. His fingers flex once before they — rest around the curve of it, hand large enough to nearly encircle it. A thumb rubs idly at the edge of Takemichi’s shorts; a brand if Kakuch has ever seen one.
“Not at all,” Mikey says, a finger coming to join his thumb to tug at a loose string of Takemichi’s shorts as if out of habit. Twits and unravel, twist and unravel. “But they have their uses. It’s just time they learned about you is all, you’ll be on your best behavior won’t you?”
Takemichi huffs, offended. “I’m always good!”
Kakucho closes his eyes. Slowly he tensed and untensed the muscles in his hands, in his arms until he didn't feel as large of a desire to fist fight his boss. He breathes in. Opens his eyes. Mikey has his chin resting in the fluff of Takemichi’s hair, eyes droopy with the way he’s leaning almost all of his weight on the boy. His hand is still curled loosely around Takemichi’s thigh, almost tugging him into his side.
It seems he’ll be spending even more time around the penthouse when he can. Or accompanying him around headquarters.
“That’s what I like about you,” Mikey murmurs, almost sleepy sounding. “Don’t go far from me when we arrive.”
Kakucho doesn’t consider himself to be the most violent of their little group. But sometimes. Sometimes Kakucho is convinced the only way to survive the insanity that is his life and control the heathens he works with is through violence. Or as it turns out, let a little boy take a look at them, hum to himself consideringly and then announce with the confidence of someone that doesn’t care that they’ve walked into a lion’s den, “You guys are really messy… how’re you gonna look cool if your outfits are filthy?”
There’s a cough. Koko, he thinks which in Kakucho’s opinion is fitting because out of them all, Koko remains the cleanest.
(Though, that’s only currently. From the few times he and Koko had gone drinking together it seems he was far less clean when it came to his life as part of the Black Dragons. Granted, what Kakucho knows of that period is limited in scope and for the most part Koko was their money specialist first and foremost with violence coming into the picture when needed be.
Another individual, his partner if Kakucho is remembering correctly, being the real muscle between the two of them.)
And not even a moment after calling the executives of Bonten filthy — which in the moment Kakucho can’t argue. Sanzu’s vest is practically unsalvageable with the way there’s blood crusted from the bottom all the way up to his neck. Clearly just back from a mission — Takemichi grabbed the nearest basket he could find and trotted up to the filthiest members in the room (Sanzu and the Haitani brothers. They look as if they’d just returned from an unsanitary butchery) with Kakucho trailing behind him like a particularly threatening shadow.
Takemichi looks up at Sanzu who eyes him like he’s a particularly disgusting piece of gum that’s gotten stuck in the grooves of his shoe. “Shirt, please?” he asks and then almost like an afterthought he steps closer getting into Sanzu’s space. “You didn’t get hurt did you? That looks like a lot of blood — you don’t hide things like Kaku-chan do you?”
Out of the corner of his eye he can see Sanzu’s lip curling into a snarl, his fingers flexing around the handle of his katana. “What the fuck is this?” The only reason he hasn’t taken Takemichi’s head from his shoulder is that far more languid behind them Mikey hasn’t given the order.
“Sanzu.” no different from his usual tone but it has Sanzu loosening up his hand falling away from his katana. The sound of sandals scuffing the floor before Mikey’s fingers are slinking through the black of Takemichi’s hair. “This is Takemichy. He’ll be learning under a few of our doctors — I expect you to look after him.”
Sanzu breathes gaze flickering from Mikey to Takemichi before he bows. “Of course, boss.” Loyal to a fault. Kakucho lets himself slump just a little at the removal of one possible threat. Sanzu’s tone is simultaneously incredulous and judgmental. “Why does the runt want my vest?”
“To clean it,” Takemichi huffs. “It looks gross. At least if it was white you could use a laundry pen.”
Kakucho barely catches himself laughing in disbelief. Takemichi, talking about cleanliness when Kakucho remembers the disaster zone that is his room any time he needs his subordinates patched up. Though… it’s possible from having to take care of Mikey he’s picked up a new understanding.
Sanzu looks considering as his eyes narrow in thought. Slowly he hands the vest over.
“A little maid,” Ran says, voice lilting as he prowls closer, Rindou not far behind. Kakucho drags Takemichi back by his collar so blood doesn’t get on his clothes when Ran bends closer. “How adorable. At least you have manners.”
Takemichi nods, self-assured in the way only a child can be. “Well clearly someone has to look after you guys!” And then when passed more garments he turns back to Kakucho. “Laundry room? And then the kitchen — they all look like they avoid real food.”
Kakucho sighs but leads him along. This is by far the oddest scenario that could have occurred but it’s also better than any of the ones Kakucho thought would occur.
He’ll take what he can get.