Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A storm was brewing.

Though Asami didn’t tell Akihito much, it was apparent in the way that the number of cigarette butts had increased in Asami’s ashtray, the way he came back to their shared penthouse later and later into the wee hours of the morning, and in the furrow of his lover’s brow when gazing at a fixed point in space.

Akihito knew not to ask too many questions. It was an unspoken rule, a shared contract. In exchange for Asami not meddling in Akihito’s career, Akihito would not pry into the crime lord’s business. All Akihito could do was wait for the storm to settle, and maybe ask about it when it was all over. 

Akihito was patient, but he was not apathetic. The journalist within him was begging, vying for some insider information. He was frequently tempted to give into that aspect of himself in the pursuit of knowledge and beg his lover to inform him about what was going on. 

But Akihito never did anymore- and that was because more than the unknown, he feared becoming a liability. Akihito was well aware that he had a predisposition to danger- he seemed to seek it out unintentionally and had a tendency to dive into things headfirst in the pursuit of a solution to be of use to his lover if he knew what he was up against. And then, Asami would have to come to his rescue every time. So far, they had gotten lucky and made it out of those scenarios unscathed. Akihito was not eager for the day where that would not be the case. 

The less Akihito knew, the better.

}{}{}{

It was a dark, rainy day. Rain fell in sheets, blown in every which direction by the ruthless April gusts. The lukewarm humidity in the air was stifling, and it was a day where one would never feel quite dry. 

Akihito busied himself with the dishes from their shared breakfast while Asami gathered his materials for the day. Their conversation over the meal had been surface level, as the crime lord clearly had other things on his mind. Akihito was tempted to pout, fuss, and complain about Asami’s lack of focus, but there was something about the look in his lover’s eyes that stopped him from doing so. He didn’t want to add on to this man’s list of troubles, even more than he already has. Akihito was limited in terms of what he could do to help support his lover, a truth which only delivered pangs of hurt to his chest. No matter how many times Asami had stressed that Akihito had no shortcomings to make up for, he felt inadequate, unworthy for such protection. 

How many wounds had Asami endured for the sake of protecting Akihito? How many wounds, until Asami would not be around to have it inflicted upon him anymore? Asami always made sure that Akihito was well protected. But who was protecting Asami?

Akihito put the last dish away and shook his head of the thoughts that were brooding like the weather outside. He turned and watched as his lover donned his coat and picked up his briefcase.

“Don’t forget this, idiot. You’ll look like a wet cat.” Akihito handed Asami an umbrella, pushing it into his gloved hand. He did not miss the way his lover’s eyes glinted amusingly at him.

“I refrained from making the same comment days ago when you made that exact mistake, you know.” His gravelly tone took on a softer hitch, lips curled into a rare smirk. His usually sharp eyes however, still seemed tired and dulled. Akihito let out an insulted yell as Asami’s hand reached over to ruffle his lover’s light brown locks. 

When gold met hazel, Asami’s expression hardened. 

“Don’t overdo yourself at work today, Akihito. Stay alert, and vigilant.” That was the closest Asami would get to letting Akihito know what was going on.

Akihito nodded glumly, not having a response. Instead, he took the older man’s hand and pressed a tender kiss to his fingers, his cheeks already feeling inflamed from this rare show of tenderness. 

“Stay safe.” he whispered into his lover’s knuckles, feeling too bashful to properly look in his eyes. 

Had he did, he would have seen how his lover’s eyes softened, a flicker of warmth pooling in melted gold before becoming hardened once more with clear resolve and determination. 

“I promise.” A sincere utterance, full of unsaid apologies and wishes. 

Akihito’s lips were suddenly captured in a searing kiss, a gasp of surprise escaping from the photographer as he was pushed against the front door. Deft fingers held his chin up, and it felt like Akihito’s tongue was going to be pulled out. A large leather encased hand snuck under his top, finger pads caressing sensitive buds. Akihito’s breath stuttered, and he was forced to hold onto Asami’s arm for balance.

He gasped for breath as the crime lord finally pulled away, cheeks redder than before and lower lip glistening with saliva. Asami let out a low chuckle as Akihito sputtered incredulously, guiding him out of the way as he went to open the front door.

“Don’t wait up for me.”

The door closed with a soft click, and Akihito was left standing there with tousled hair and proof of his painful arousal trapped in the confines of his sweatpants. 

“That bastard…” He mutters, baffled by how the smallest affectionate gesture from Akihito was enough to turn Asami into a full blown apex predator.

Akihito headed to the bathroom for completely unrelated reasons.

}{}{}{

Asami was agitated the moment he stepped into the BMW. The ease that his sanctuary with Akihito brought forth was quickly replaced with irritation and stress the moment he left their shared space. 

“Kirishima, report.” Asami’s gruff tone, along with the telltale flick of his lighter indicated to the bespectacled secretary in the passenger's seat that his boss was short on patience this morning. It was a wonder that he hadn’t managed to snap yet, and he knew that it was all thanks to the photographer’s soothing presence that acted as a balm for his rough edges. Unfortunately it didn't seem to persist for long once Asami was away from him.

“Yes, sir. The Hancho- gumi are still doubling down on their position. We’ve offered the necessary paperwork to establish the solid timeline of our shipment, but they are still convinced of our sabotage. They are continuing to demand compensation in the form of our trade routes to Taiwan and South Korea.” Kirishima kept his eyes on the road as Suoh drove through the rain-slicked roads of Shinjuku. He could sense the displeasure emanating from their passenger as smoke curled around the interior of the vehicle.

"Is that so..." Asami pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh, thumb tapping rhythmically on his knee. It was becoming clear that things were only becoming more bothersome.

The Hancho- gumi was a prominent syndicate of the Yakuza in the Kansai region of Japan, holding control over activities in the southwest. As the syndicate expanded and gained more power, Asami met them in the middle and secured an arms deal with them in which the Hancho- gumi would be provided weapons in exchange for financial and territorial benefits. It was a deal which allowed for Asami’s business to continue operating in their territory while the Hancho were able to make sure that Asami was not overstepping his bounds. Of course, the deal was much more beneficial for Asami in the big picture. If he had his foot in any region, it was his regardless of who was policing the area. He would allow the Hancho- gumi the illusion of control so long as they were happy with the bone they were thrown.

However, the last shipment of weapons delivered included a startling percentage of defective models which backfired, broke down, and cost several Hancho their limbs, and lives. It was an unprecedented event, with foul play written all over it. The Hancho- gumi were convinced that Asami was responsible and trying to sabotage their deal and cut corners by decreasing costs through purchasing and sending defective weapons. Of course, this was not true. The shipment had undergone several quality checks before being sent out, and there clearly was a third party involved that was responsible for that error. It was imperative that they figure out who the culprits were, as they were in possession of the original arms that were part of the shipment.

The head of the Hancho- gumi, Ishikawa Soichiro, dug his heels in the sand and refused every and any explanation offered to him and instead demanded that Asami rectify the situation by giving up their trade routes to Taiwan and South Korea. Clearly he was taking advantage of the confusion and attempting to receive more than what was initially bargained for. His threats included retaliation, and a full-fledged war should Asami not comply with his demands. The Hancho- gumi had influence, Asami would give them that. Dealing with a war consisting of the triad syndicates of Kyoto would be a difficult and painstaking one. 

Even so, Asami was not threatened by the prospect of Ishikawa’s promises for personal retaliation. He was fully confident in his abilities to subdue any conflict started by the Hancho. What was the source of his agitation, however, was Ishikawa’s threats towards Akihito. It had started simple enough, with Ishikawa hinting that he was aware of the photographer’s presence in his life and that a war between the two groups would inevitably pull his lover into the tides. They were merely empty threats that simply served to irritate Asami. However, it was the way in which the threats became targeted and specific that began to alarm him. Detailed descriptions of what Akihito was wearing that day would be ominously sent to him, as well as his usual path to work and the locations of his photography gigs. Clearly, this was no longer the matter of empty threats. His lover was actively being targeted.

That was unforgivable.

Asami did not inform the photographer about these incidents. He knew that once Akihito was made aware of any danger, he would attempt to solve the issue on his own. The last thing he needed was for the photographer to try and hunt down those that were tracking him and get himself hurt. 

No, that couldn’t happen. Instead, Asami increased Akihito’s security, making sure to assign his most competent men to watch over him. He made sure to receive updates about his lover’s whereabouts and information about his perimeters every hour. Every suspicious figure within a certain radius around Akihito would be apprehended and questioned. Asami built an intricate cage around his lover, one which moved and expanded to allow him to spread his wings and maintain the illusion of freedom.

That spark, that insatiable hunger for independence, would be protected at all costs. Asami would protect Akihito from anything that could dull that fire in his gaze. Even if it meant going behind his lover’s back, even if it meant deception.

Asami was not blind to his lover’s frustrations. Akihito did not desire to be shielded. He would argue that he was not made of glass, that he was not a precious object meant to be kept out of the way of all that could damage him. Oh, but he was. If it were up to Asami, he would have locked him away in the highest of towers so that he, only Asami, would be able to bask in the glory that is Akihito’s mere presence. 

Akihito was precious to him, frighteningly so. 

It was because Akihito was precious to him, that Asami did not lock him away. Because by doing that, he would snuff out the fire that burned within his core. Akihito could not be contained and burn brightly at the same time. It was because Akihito was precious to him, that he did not inform him of these new developments. Because the moment the illusion gets broken and the photographer realizes that he is contained, he would either fizzle out or erupt uncontrollably in an effort to burst his own protective bubble. 

Akihito’s life was no longer ordinary. However, he did not need to know that. 

Asami’s gaze flickered outside the window, watching as pedestrians and cars alike moved on through their own lives. Rain pelted the glass and muffled the sounds of traffic around him. How easy would it have been to solve this dispute had he not had the photographer in his life. Threats to his own life were as typical as the threat of a common virus. He would have no qualms about diving headfirst into a turf war if it meant that those insolent enough to defy him would be crushed. Akihito was his Achilles’ heel, and it was not solely Asami who was aware of that fact.

What a precarious thing it is, to love someone so dearly.

}{}{}{

Akihito found himself distracted at work with a rawness in his throat and a chill down his spine. The former was indicative of an oncoming cold that forced him to constantly clear his throat and suck on a lozenge, but the latter accompanied the chilling sensation of being watched as he worked. He shook his head, attempting to explain away the feeling by convincing himself that it was just Asami’s men being more vigilant than usual. It was an explanation that made sense knowing how his lover seemed to imply that things were growing more precarious. 

He instead busied himself with swapping out his lenses and directing the lighting in the large studio while the models took a short break. Something still felt off, and that chilling feeling only increased as the gig went on. It was a disturbing feeling that the photographer couldn’t shake off, that unmistakable sensation of being hunted. He tried to convince himself that should there be any danger lurking, Asami’s men that were tasked to watch him would take care of it. Had they noticed this lurking presence as well? Why had it not gone away?

He cleared his sore throat and shook out his limbs as the models got into their positions once more. The best thing he could do for now was to pretend like everything was normal. There was no merit to causing a scene right here, because he would risk dragging other bystanders into his mess. 

If it were any other gig, Akihito would have cited his growing physical discomfort as an excuse to pass the job on to someone else and take the day to rest. However, due to how last-minute he’d responded to a desperate plea for an experienced photographer, Akihito in good conscience couldn’t let down the project coordinator who was so appreciative and thankful for his presence.

His eyes constantly darted around the studio, to the hallway containing the green room and bathrooms, to the emergency exit, and to the windows located high up in the rafters. There were no signs of any abnormal occurrences. Suzuki, a well-built man of Asami's, stood unobtrusively towards the entrance of the hallway, dutifully keeping an eye on things and by extension, Akihito. Recently two additional guards were assigned to the photographer, but he didn’t see them around. He logically assumed that they were outside making their rounds around the building.

The back of the photographer’s neck bristled every time he lifted the camera up to his eye and obscured the rest of his field of vision. It was wrong, something was definitely wrong.

“And that’s a wrap for Block 1! We’ll take an hour for lunch and start back up for Block 3 first!” The coordinator’s chipper shout shook Akihito out of his stupor, and he blinked dumbly as everyone around him began to pack up their equipment and mingle amongst themselves, slowly starting to vacate the studio. Suzuki disappeared down the hallway, presumably to grab Akihito’s things from one of the back rooms.

The coordinator approached him as he popped out the memory card from his camera. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice, Takaba-san,” he shook his hand gratefully. “I’m excited to see how they turn out. For now I’ll wire you the fixed rate, but I’m sure I can negotiate a bonus for you.” He delivered a cheeky wink with the last statement.

“It’s no problem Maijima-san, really. You run a tight ship here, the organization helps everything run very smoothly.” Akihito smiled at the jovial man politely, hoping that it didn’t appear to be very strained while the back of his head continued to pulse and throb.

Maijima looked at him curiously, his brow wrinkled as he studied him through thick glasses. “Are you not feeling well, Takaba-san? Your complexion seems rather pale… Perhaps you should lie down for a bit, the green rooms have couches you can rest on.”

Akihito’s eyes wandered around the studio, relieved to see that everyone had left for lunch and wasn’t around to see him in his moment of weakness. The last thing he wanted was for people to overhear their conversation and pamper him. He went for another weak smile. “That’s alright, I think I’ll be fine-” He was interrupted by Maijima gently pushing him towards the hallway. 

“Nonsense! Come, we can’t have you pushing yourself and passing out in the middle of the shoot. You’ll feel better once you nap for a bit.”

He felt awkward being pushed in this way, but his aching temples and joints convinced him to begrudgingly agree with Maijima’s tempting offer of getting some rest as he let himself be guided to the back room.

Distantly, he wondered why the other two of Asami’s men had not reappeared after seeing everyone leaving the studio.

The door to the green room opened and there stood Suzuki, Akihito’s backpack in hand.

“Ah, Takaba-san, I have your-”

The sound of a silenced gunshot cut Suzuki off as his brain matter splattered on the wall behind him. With a sickening thud, the guard collapsed like a marionette with its strings severed with his fingers still tightly grasping the straps of Akihito’s bag. The meshed material slowly soaked up the blood pooling around the guard, dying the fabric a deep shade of crimson.

Akihito stood there, wide-eyed with the world slowly tipping beneath his feet as he struggled to comprehend what he had just witnessed. He could not utter a word, paralyzed in shock before something cold and hard dug into his back. His chest stuttered upon the realization that the man that stood behind him was no longer a friend, but foe. Maijima’s breath against his neck caused his skin to prickle as he chuckled into the stunned photographer’s ear. The pistol with the silencer attached continued to dig painfully into Akihito’s spine, but he could barely feel it from the numbness that was threatening to spread over his soul.

“I suppose I don’t need to tell you to stay still,” Maijima’s voice had taken on a drastically different quality, and it caused Akihito to shiver while he was rooted in place. The photographer couldn’t seem to pry his eyes away from the body of his guard which was growing colder and colder. 

How far was all of this orchestrated? His thoughts flew back to the urgent job listing, the description of which suited Akihito’s specific skills, the efficiency of the shoot, the rapid clearing of the studio… The syringe being held in front of him with an arm secured around his chest.

Maijima’s voice continued to reverberate in his ear. “Oh, poor thing. You look even worse for wear. I told you, a nap will help you feel better.” 

Akihito’s eyes widened further as he was finally able to tear his eyes away from Suzuki, watching as Maijima prepared a needle while holding on to him. 

He was paralyzed as the needle began to ascend towards his neck.

Do something.

Run.

Don’t just stand there.

Do something.

Do something.

Asami!

It was the realization that Akihito was facing another capture, another threat towards his lover that freed his body from the shackles of shock. Spinning on his heels, he yanked an arm free from Maijima’s grip and swung his elbow towards his assailant as hard as he could. It was an anticipated move, seeing as how his blow was deflected, but enough to temporarily stun Maijima, who dropped the syringe. Akihito lunged at him, prepared to plow through him to get to the exit.

It was a valiant effort, but one that fell short as Maijima quickly regained his composure and pistol whipped the side of Akihito’s head, splitting his temple and causing him to crash into the coffee table behind him. Akihito's vision was tinted with red as blood flowed freely from the cut into his eye while he tried to regain his footing before inevitably falling back to the floor. His vision swam from the severe blow to his head. He could vaguely make out Maijima’s form as he bent down to pick something up before approaching him.

“Don’t take it too personally… Just stick along for the ride, if you’re going to hold any grudges just direct it at that lover of yours…” 

A hand tightly gripped Akihito’s hair and his head was yanked back with a sharp tug. 

A sharp prick at the side of his neck and the grinning face of Maijima was the last thing the photographer registered before the world faded to black.

Chapter Text

The metallic scent of blood stung Asami’s nose the moment he walked into the green room. Dunhill dangling from his lips, golden eyes observed the scene before him.

It was clearly the work of several professionals. The kills were clean. The two additional men that Asami had assigned to Akihito were found outside the building, shot point blank through the head before they even knew what happened. Judging by Suzuki’s position and the bag in his hand, it had been an instantaneous death. Asami stood before the guard’s body, the blood that had pooled around him had dried into a tacky brown substance. 

“Get the scene cleared out and notify their families. Provide them with any information they request but maintain discretion for the manner of death. Inform them that they passed in their line of duty. Double their life insurance payout and incorporate it into their wills accordingly.” Asami knelt down next to Suzuki and took off his leather glove, gently closing the guard’s eyes which were wide open and glassy, frozen in shock.

Kirishima stood a few paces behind him and adjusted his glasses. “Yes, sir.” The tension in the room was razor sharp and it had felt as though the temperature was steadily dropping the longer Asami remained there. Kirishima watched his boss stand and take in his surroundings with cool detachment. Smoke curled around his head, masking the dangerous glint in his golden eyes. Akihito must have witnessed the death of his guard.

 It was as though Asami could piece together a conceptual play by play of what had transpired in this room mere hours ago. Suzuki, most likely with Akihito in the same room. The guard was shot dead with no opportunity to reach for his weapon. A struggle occurred between the photographer and his assailant. The coffee table was splintered and broken, droplets of blood splattered on the floor and dripped onto the wooden pieces. As spirited as his lover was, he would be no match to a trained professional. The empty syringe on the floor next to the broken table concluded their struggle. After that, there were no traces of Akihito or his assailant.

Asami stared at the broken table for a considerable amount of time as his men carried out his orders and moved Suzuki’s body, bringing it out with the other two guards. Kirishima stood diligently alongside his boss. Suoh focused his attention on collecting evidence, ordering that the discarded syringe be sent into the lab to test its contents. If they could trace the drug’s origins they could potentially identify the seller, and subsequently the buyer.

There was a deep disturbance that rattled Asami to his core despite his composed exterior. It went beyond learning that Akihito was apprehended by unknown assailants. Nothing about this situation was meant to be clear in the first place, but there was an element of uncertainty that unsettled Asami. There were no demands, there was no group claiming responsibility for Akihito’s capture. Had there not been evidence of a struggle, it would appear as though Akihito was spirited away without any trace. Ishikawa’s threats towards Akihito were motivated by a desire to get Asami to do his bidding. The moment the photographer fell into Ishikawa’s hands there should have been some form of demand, some form of communication that would allow for any transactions to take place. Instead, Asami was met with silence.

The only reason Asami was aware of Akihito’s capture was due to the lack of communication from Suzuki and the two guards assigned with his lover. Like clockwork, they were meant to provide Kirishima with a status update every hour. Once another hour had passed and there was still zero communication from Akihito’s end, additional men were sent in to investigate. Upon which, the scene at the studio was discovered.

Asami had no doubt that if Ishikawa were behind this, Akihito would be back in his possession at this very moment. As influential as he was, there was no way the leader of the Hancho- gumi would be able to pull off such a stunt and conceal it as well. No, it was not Ishikawa. Asami suspected it was the work of the same third party that had sabotaged his arms trade with the Hancho.

Asami turned on his heels and marched out of the studio towards his vehicle. Kirishima and Suoh followed close behind. Clearly, the enemy was several steps ahead. Despite Asami’s efforts to increase Akihito’s security, they had managed to infiltrate his lover’s occupational circle. His fingers crushed the cigarette in his hand and he dropped it to the ground before snuffing it out underneath his leather loafers. He entered the vehicle as Suoh and Kirishima respectively joined him in the driver’s and passenger seat.

“To Sion.” Asami’s knuckles were white as he clenched his fists, barely containing his rage. He swore up and down and to the extent of heaven and hell that those who had any part in orchestrating Akihito’s abduction would be flayed from limb to limb. For every cut or bruise inflicted on his lover, Asami would pay it back ten fold. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed. Even considering the possibility of his lover being in the hands of unknown adversaries for a single second longer made Asami’s stomach turn with unbridled anger. 

A ping from the tablet in Kirishima’s hands and his secretary’s subsequent gasp snapped Asami out of his spiral. “Asami-sama,” Kirishima turned and passed the tablet to him.

The photograph that had been sent to Asami from an unregistered email account nearly made him crack the screen from how tightly he gripped the tablet.

“So is this how they’re going to play it?”

}{}{}{

Akihito woke to a pulsing headache and he wasn’t sure if he should attribute it to his illness, the wound on his temple, or the drug that was used to knock him out. He laid there with his eyes closed in agony for several minutes as he waited for his stomach to stop churning.

He remembered everything that had led up to this point in time. Guilt and anguish throbbed in his chest at the vivid memory of witnessing Suzuki’s last moments. He hoped and prayed that the two guards accompanying him did not meet the same fate, but there was a gnawing feeling that what he feared was in fact true. 

He took his time getting his bearings. He tried not to move around since he definitely heard voices around him and didn’t want to risk them knowing that he was awake just yet. He didn’t know what his captors had planned for him.

He was lying on something, it felt firm and rough like an exposed mattress. His hands were tightly bound behind his back as well as his feet with coarse rope that dug harshly into his skin. It was painfully tight and he could feel his hands and feet throbbing from the lack of proper circulation. His temple throbbed from where he was struck by Maijima.

Akihito furrowed his brow when listening to the sounds around him. Upon closer listening, the voices sounded strange. He was clearly in some type of room, but the voices didn’t seem to be in there with them. There was a strange metallic effect to their voices even though they sounded muffled.

Akihito braced himself before opening his eyes. He blinked in confusion before realizing that whatever room he was kept in most likely had the lights turned off, leaving him trapped in darkness. A sliver of light came in through a long slit in the wall about twenty feet away from where he laid. His eyes gradually became adjusted to the dim lighting and he was able to make out some more features. There wasn’t much in the room, apart from the mattress he was laid on and a few metal folding chairs. A lone lightbulb hung from the ceiling. Akihito’s eyes traveled to the walls which gave him the first hint to his location. The walls were metal and ribbed. The room he was in was a long rectangle shape. Shipping container. A warehouse, then?

The room swayed beneath him and Akihito fought the nausea swirling in his chest and stomach, closing his eyes as he waited for the feeling to pass. He must have gotten hit pretty hard. Maybe he had a concussion.

He opened his eyes once more, hearing sounds of creaking and groaning that were incredibly unusual for a warehouse. His eyes went back up to the lightbulb and they widened upon seeing the lightbulb swaying. It wasn’t from a concussion, the container itself was swaying.

A ship.

Moments after Akihito had his revelation the doors to the shipping container opened with an ear-piercing screech, causing Akihito to flinch from where he laid. He laid on his side facing the doors and watched as they opened to reveal several men.

Akihito had to squint as light suddenly flooded his senses. One of them had flicked on the light in the container. He heard footsteps approaching him and by the time he opened his eyes back up, they were standing in front of him. He saw four men directly in front of him with a few lingered around the doorway and more were probably outside on the ship. The men standing a few paces back appeared to be the typical thug-type with brightly colored dress shirts, gold chains, scars and tattoos littering their skin. 

The man standing closest to Akihito was well-dressed, in an expensive gray pinstripe suit. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back carefully and his black eyes glinted as he stared down at his captive. Akihito would think he was a normal businessman if it weren’t for the elaborate tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves and collar of his shirt. Yakuza.

“I apologize for the discomfort you must be feeling, Takaba Akihito. It appears as though Maijima increased the dosage without permission,” The man in front of him spoke smoothly, but his expression was stone cold. It was distinctly ironic that the man responsible for Akihito’s captivity was apologizing for discomfort. Akihito kept his expression schooled but his heart was pounding. What had he been brought into? He knew that Asami had many adversaries. What did he want, and what was he willing to do for it?

“I do hope you understand that this is nothing personal against you. No, I’m interested in Ryuichi.” The man cocks his head to the side, a sinister smile on his lips.

Akihito’s blood ran cold. Maijima had said something similar. What were they planning on doing? 

“I don’t care about your formalities, what the fuck do you want from me?” Akihito snarled, trying to hide his apprehension. 

One of the thugs stepped forward and wrenched Akihito up into a sitting position with a hand twisted into his shirt and backhanded him. Akihito saw stars as his head was whipped to the side, the tang of blood indicating that his teeth must have cut into his lip. 

“You’ll address Onizuka-sama with respect,” the thug snarled as he let go of his shirt, letting Akihito drop back down to the mattress. He glared up at the men as the thug moved back. The suited man’s hand carded through Akihito’s hair before tugging on it sharply, lifting his torso up. Akihito’s bound wrists scrabbled on the mattress trying to support his weight as the man held him there.

“I’ve delayed my introduction enough. I suppose Ryuichi has never mentioned an Onizuka Daiki, has he?” Onizuka’s eyes had a dangerous flare to them as he stared Akihito down. A chill went down his spine. Onizuka Daiki… He’s definitely heard of him before, just not from Asami. Akihito could barely shake his head with Onizuka’s grip on his head but it was clear he didn’t have to.

 “Of course he hasn’t, you know why? Because I’m a… disgrace , as he puts it. You see, I’m like you in the sense that I had the misfortune of being involved with Ryuichi.” Onizuka chuckled at the confused expression on Akihito’s face. “No, I was not Ryuichi’s sex doll.” Akihito tried not to flinch at the crude name Onizuka called him by. “We were… business partners. I suppose that would be the term for it. I helped Ryuichi build his empire. I helped establish Sion. I was the very reason why Ryuichi became as powerful as he is.” Onizuka’s grip was unrelenting, and Akihito winced with every second. He finally released his hand and Akihito fell back onto the mattress in a heap. 

“Ryuichi would have been nothing without my contributions. He had absolutely no problem taking my money that I earned to build up his empire, one by one. We were a team, him and I. And a damn good one at that. But do you know what caused Ryuichi to sever our ties? What caused him to cast me out of the empire he created with my help?” Onizuka’s face morphed into a cruel sneer, spitting each word like poison. “He didn’t agree with where my money was coming from. Could you imagine that? The self-proclaimed lord of the underworld gets squeamish about human and organ trafficking. Money was money. Ryuichi had no qualms accepting it when he didn’t know where it was coming from. But all of a sudden, he turns up his nose and takes a moral high ground.”

Akihito’s heart dropped to his stomach in realization. Onizuka Daiki. Of course he’s heard of him before, Akihito chased a few leads about him himself. Onizuka was a very prominent figure in East Asia’s underworld- and that went beyond drug and weapon smuggling. He was one of the biggest purveyors of human trafficking with an extensive network that spanned the entire region. He was one of the few that was solely responsible for an extensive number of missing persons cases in East Asia. He dealt in organ trafficking as well, finding a lucrative business in debt trapping unsuspecting people in dire situations before offering to reduce their debt in exchange for parts of their bodies. His repertoire was so nauseating and extensive that even Akihito decided against pursuing him. He was so elusive and his activities were buried underneath so many false flags that there was just no good way to expose his dealings without getting caught.

He had no idea Onizuka and Asami had a history. The shock must have shown on Akihito’s face because Onizuka looked at him and laughed. “Ryuichi did a damn good job of erasing me from his life, for sure. Pulled the rug right out from under my feet one day, and he left me free falling. You know what he called me, Takaba? A disgrace .” The man’s eyes were like lightless voids, pure black with no light reflecting onto them as he stared down at Akihito. “Imagine that. Ironic, huh?”

Onizuka’s Italian shoe pressed against Akihito’s chest, forcing him on his back as he leaned his weight into him. He grimaced at the painful pressure on his chest and looked up as Onizuka continued to talk.

“I found out years later that Ryuichi found himself a lover .” Onizuka’s sneer was crude and condescending. “Not a fucktoy, they called him his lover . I decided to take a gander myself, and lo and behold, there you are by his side. ‘King of the underworld’, and he’s having the time of his life out in the light, isn’t he? Settling down with a pretty little thing like you.” The tip of Onizuka’s shoe traveled down Akihito’s torso and caught on the bottom of his shirt. He teased the hem, hooking on the fabric and pulling it up to expose Akihito’s stomach. Akihito suppressed a shudder as Onizuka’s leering gaze traveled up his skin.

“Ryuichi is soft. He can’t handle the realities of the world he tries to lead. That makes him unfit, and yet he stole that position from me, after gaining everything from the very thing he claims to despise. I clawed my way back to the top. It’s time for a change in management. And that’s where you come in, dear Takaba.” Onizuka removed his foot, opting to squat down in front of Akihito, who shuffled nervously on the mattress.

“You’re the key. See, Ryuichi has always been… stable. Unshaken. Unafraid. That is, when things concerned his own safety. He never cared about threats aimed at him, because he had the absolute confidence that he could get himself out of any possible situation. That is, until you came into the picture.”

Onizuka’s gold rings glinted as he reached out towards Akihito and he gripped his chin to force him to meet his eyes. He stunk of Cuban cigars and sake.

“Threats against you are effective . They get him scared, they get him paranoid. He soothes those fears by increasing your security, by committing himself to action in order to keep you safe. That’s what keeps him stable. So I thought to myself; What would Ryuichi do if there was no way to soothe that anxiety? No action to take, no plan to form. Knowing you were out there, unsafe, and yet he had no ability to do anything about it.” Akihito couldn’t suppress his shudder this time. The look in Onizuka’s eyes was deranged and he felt like a deer caught in headlights. 

“So what, you’re gonna kill me? Dig out my organs and sell them? Put my eyeballs in a jar?” Akihito’s voice quivered despite his best efforts but his eyes were blazing. “You’re diluted if you think Asami’s just gonna sit around and do nothing.”

Onizuka grinned at him and without any warning landed a brutal kick to Akihito’s abdomen, causing him to curl up into himself and gag, coughing up bile. “Oh no, Takaba. You’re mistaken if you think things will end for you so easily. You’re the key, remember? I intend on letting you live for a long, long time… So long as Ryuichi’s feelings for you remain.” Akihito had just managed to catch his breath before another kick landed on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. As Akihito gasped and spasmed before him Onizuka leaned down and tore his shirt down the middle which exposed his rapidly bruising torso. “Though I won’t say that you won’t be in pain through it. I’ll need to give Ryuichi some… motivation to refresh his grief.”

Akihito wasn’t even able to catch his breath yet as a flash of light momentarily blinded him. Through the pain hazing his mind he was able to make out the sound of a camera. A photograph. Onizuka had just taken a photograph of him. “What are you…” Akihito managed to choke out before succumbing to another round of coughing as Onizuka handed off Akihito’s very own Canon EOS R6 to one of his men.

“Something to watch Ryuichi squirm,” Onizuka answered sadistically as the thug promptly left with the camera. “He’ll receive my… gifts frequently. Don’t you worry, the files are encrypted and the email is unregistered. We’ll even send them using a different server so that he won’t be able to ping our location. Don’t want our fun to be interrupted now, do we?” Onizuka’s heavy hand settled on Akihito’s bare stomach, running up and down along his hips. Akihito shivered and attempted to move away, earning another slap to the face. 

“Settle down,” Onizuka growled. “You’re not going anywhere. We’re in the middle of the goddamn Pacific on my cargo ship. You’re a lucky doll, the ship is devoid of any passengers aside from you. I plan on giving you plenty of attention during your indefinite stay.” 

Akihito spit out blood from a fresh cut in his cheek and glared up at Onizuka. “You’re a fucking lunatic.” 

Onizuka’s breath was heavy as he straddled over Akihito’s bound form and his hands went to unbuckle Akihito’s jeans. “That makes me better suited to take Ryuichi’s place, doesn’t it?” He growled, undoing his own belt while he stared down into defiant hazel eyes.

}{}{}{

“Asami-sama, Intelligence was able to approximate a location from where the image was sent, but we have reason to believe that they used a proxy server. The location indicated is a barren field without a single building in sight. We will send out a team to investigate, but It’s safe to assume that Takaba-kun is being kept elsewhere.” Suoh’s voice was impassive and detached- an excellent mask of professionalism as he stood in his boss’s office.

Asami crushed his nth cigarette in the ashtray which was overflowing with butts and ash. He nodded his approval and reached for his tumbler as Suoh left the room. He wasn’t sure how much he’s had to drink at this point. He felt no buzz, no effect of warmth coiling in his stomach like drinking his favorite scotch usually had. He couldn’t get that image out of his head after staring at it obsessively for hours. The photograph of his lover beaten and bruised with his face contorted in pain as he laid bound on a filthy mattress. There was nothing in the photograph that clued into his location. Had there been anything, even a single tree or building in the background, they would have been able to narrow down Akihito’s whereabouts. There was none of that sort.

Instead, the blood glistening on his photographer’s lips only served to taunt him. Bruises on his stomach and chest that Asami was unable to ice. Disheveled hair that Asami was unable to smooth down. Raw, chafed wrists that Asami was unable to rub and soothe. Pain in his brow that Asami was unable to kiss away.

Akihito…

The thought of his lover being trapped and beaten bloody made him go blind with rage. Asami had to be physically restrained when he was informed that there were no leads to his location in the photograph. He was ready to return to the studio and sniff out his photographer’s scent like a bloodhound, if he had to.

Kirishima had shoved him into his plush desk chair and pushed a sloshing glass of whiskey into his palm. That’s where Asami sat for hours to come. His nerves were shot to hell and Asami felt like he was living a fever dream. He chuckled mirthlessly to himself at the thought. If he was like this before a full 24 hours was up after his lover’s disappearance, he was sure he would go mad before long. His men seemed to think the same, seeing how they treaded on eggshells around him.

Asami closed his eyes as he lit up another Dunhill. Thoughts of his lover circled in his mind. The former delinquent turned criminal photographer. The surprisingly resourceful nature survivalist, former boy scout. He chuckled at the memory of Akihito trapping and harpooning fish like it was nothing when they were stranded on that island… Asami would give everything to be back there with his lover. Back where they weren’t constantly looking over each others’ shoulder, where he had Akihito at his side, at all times.

He sighed and rubbed at his temple. His office felt all too quiet despite the hustle and bustle of his men just outside the door. 

“I’ll have to give them credit,” Asami growled to himself lowly. “They knew exactly what would get to me.”

}{}{}{

Akihito laid on the mattress in darkness. Onizuka had left the container, leaving him with bruised hips and a throbbing ache in his lower back. His face was decorated with several new bruises and cuts from Onizuka’s rings- a physical manifestation of Akihito’s defiance and fighting spirit. His jeans had been carelessly pulled back up which left him with a small thread of dignity intact. He was pretty sure his wrists and ankles were bleeding from how much they hurt. He had tugged and pulled at them countless times and the rough and coarse rope dug ruthlessly into his skin. It was absolutely nothing like the soft silks and cotton ropes that Asami would use on him.

Akihito’s throat tightened at the thought of his lover. His heart throbbed painfully at the thought of what Asami must be going through due to his disappearance. Tears threatened to escape his eyes and Akihito willed them to stay. He refused to succumb to helplessness. He refused to be used as a pawn to hurt his lover. If he broke down now, he would be admitting defeat and surrendering himself to this new life. Akihito refused.

Instead, Akihito closed his eyes and devised .

Chapter Text

Day 5

Asami was running on fumes, and it was a miracle that he hadn’t crashed yet. 

It had been five days, twelve hours, and thirty six minutes since Akihito was abducted. Asami had barely slept, neglected eating, and smoked through countless packs of Dunhills to remove the tremors from his hands. 

His temper was short but he did his best to keep it under wraps. The last thing they needed was for Asami to snap. It was agonizing to know that his lover was suffering and yet he was powerless. He had all the money and resources in the world but so little could be done about finding Akihito’s whereabouts. 

Several more photographs were sent to Asami. One for each day. Each photograph consisted of the same thing; his lover tied up and framed torso up, in a dark room on the floor or on a filthy mattress. Dark bruises marred his skin and new cuts and gashes would appear each day. His shirt was torn and eventually was discarded in the more recent photographs. Akihito looked like hell. And Asami could do nothing about it.

The origin of the photographs were investigated but only to yield no results. The files were all encrypted and their point of origin was untraceable. The only thing for sure about the photographs was that they were taken with Akihito’s Canon EOS R6. It was clear that he was being mocked.

Despite it all, Asami had a vague idea of the culprit behind the photographer’s disappearance. 

Day 2

On the second day after Akihito was taken, Asami met with Ishikawa- although it was more like he stormed his residence in the dead of night with Suoh. Clearly Ishikawa had been plotting something against Akihito prior to all of this, but he had not been the one to execute this plan. Asami let Ishikawa off the hook for his conspiracy but took the man’s two thumbs with him that night.

Ishikawa was off the list of suspects then. 

Day 3

It was a particularly rough night of the third day after Akihito went missing. Asami had nothing but alcohol and nicotine in his system the entire day and he was in his home office attempting to work through his fatigue and intoxication. A distant memory flickered in his mind about the last time he had been this intoxicated, and Asami spent quite a long time ruminating about that one occasion and tried to remember where that memory came from.

Then he was reminded of Onizuka Daiki. 

—------

It was over a decade ago, back when he considered Onizuka as an investment partner of some sorts. They had just closed a deal that would secure Sion’s position in international trade and were celebrating over drinks in Onizuka’s office. It was one of the few times Asami had stepped foot there because most of the time they convened in Sion.

Onizuka kept throwing back more drinks, and Asami was inclined to join him for the sake of being a good drinking partner. After all, it was important to maintain a good standing with someone as fickle as Onizuka. Soon, they were both rather inebriated. Asami was the most intoxicated he’s been since his teenage years, and Onizuka was practically wasted. 

They had been chatting amicably for a while about various topics before Onizuka started going off on a tangent about his sexual preferences and how he never seemed to be able to keep a partner. Asami, who had been giving him input in the beginning, opted to sit back and let the inebriated man ramble as his depictions became increasingly explicit. Frankly, Asami would prefer not to hear about whatever sadistic fantasies plagued his partner’s sex life. He was aware that Onizuka had raunchier tastes, but to hear them in graphic detail was more than what he wanted to learn about him. They were business partners, but strictly that. Asami had no interest in becoming friendly. 

It was when Onizuka cackled something about “sampling the merchandise” that Asami froze.

Asami asked what he had meant and Onizuka’s sloppy grin stretched into something grotesque before he staggered over to his computer. Asami stood, watching as Onizuka rammed his knee into the edge of the desk and drunkenly cursed, before collapsing into his seat. Asami had sobered up at this point and was feeling a gnawing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. He stood behind Onizuka as the man struggled to boot up his computer.

Asami kept his expression schooled and voice calm as he asked Onizuka what he had meant, once more. Onizuka slurred something about showing Asami his “keepsakes” and opened a secure file on his computer.

What Asami saw on that screen was something that compiled the worst of humanity in every facet. Photographs and even videos of various men, women, even children- the contents of it were extremely explicit and brutal. Asami took a step back while Onizuka continued to babble about his endeavors, and even how they were making him a profit through distributing their content. The material ranged from photographs of individuals in compromising situations to snuff films. The individuals depicted in the horrific media were his “merchandise”- people that he trafficked, and was continuing to traffic.

Asami was nauseated to the core, and it had little to do with the amount of alcohol he had consumed prior. That was the first time he had ever been confronted with who Onizuka truly was.

Asami Ryuichi was no saint. He played a direct part in ruining the lives of countless individuals, and he had bloodsoaked hands. He was well aware of the realities of operating in the underworld, and had no plans to change.

But even those among his circles and his adversaries in the underworld operated by a code of conduct. Keeping their operations away from human trafficking, especially of children, was one of them. It was an abhorrent tactic to make money, and absolutely taboo.

Asami simply left the man babbling at his computer, and grabbed his coat. When Onizuka stumbled after him asking where he was going, Asami turned and fixed him with a deathly glare.

“You will never be associated with me or the Sion enterprise, so long as you continue being a disgrace to mankind.”

Leaving the man to stand there and drunkenly process his words, Asami left the building.

That was the last time Asami had seen the man.

The next day Asami had sent a team of men to apprehend Onizuka and seize his operations, but his entire building had been cleared out with zero trace of him. It was as though he had never existed in the first place. 

Looking back, it would not have been surprising if Onizuka had the backing of major syndicates or government officials. Who knew who his clients were, and how much blackmail material he had possessed.

From then on Asami never saw or heard from Onizuka in any capacity. He knew Onizuka was out there, expanding his connections in the underworld, but their paths never even became close enough to cross. They existed on two separate poles. Onizuka Daiki slowly faded into obscurity as Asami’s attention fixated elsewhere on his empire.

—------

Day 3

Asami set his tumbler back down on his desk. He looked at the photographs of Akihito once more and was struck with the same sick feeling he had felt on that pivotal day. It was a horrific realization, that these photographs had Onizuka’s pawprints all over them.

He knew that one day, their paths would inevitably cross once more. Asami had been determined that should they ever come face to face, he would finish what he had started.

Never did he imagine it playing out like this.

Asami was consumed with guilt and anguish at the thought of his lover being trapped with a former adversary like Onizuka. Asami had never told Akihito about him. He never told Akihito about anything that was happening, past and present. 

Akihito was trapped with somebody who had so much cruelty and hatred towards him, and he wouldn’t even know why. Akihito had zero information to exchange for his safety, and he was truly just swept up in Asami and Onizuka’s ongoing feud.

After his realization, Asami had every available resource trained on Onizuka’s activities and his potential whereabouts. The man had a rap sheet that could wrap around the globe, and yet crucial details would conveniently be left out. Evidence of larger players in the game, no doubt. Asami didn’t focus on that for now. No, as long as he could grasp Onizuka’s tail, everything else took a backseat.

Day 5

It was here on the fifth night after Akihito’s disappearance that Asami sat in his office, with no progress in sight. It was unfathomable to think that someone like Onizuka, who had drunkenly spilled his deepest and darkest of secrets, was able to conceal his location so well. Clearly it was not just Asami who had grown since then.

The racing thoughts continued to plague his mind. Various what ifs followed Asami around constantly, and he was filled with intense regret for having hidden so much of himself and the circumstances surrounding him from Akihito.

The threats directed towards Akihito, Asami had assumed they were from Ishikawa and figured that he could handle someone of his caliber. He had wanted to keep Akihito safe by keeping him in the dark so that he wouldn’t go searching for answers. 

But his lover was reckless, yes- but he was no fool. 

Had he been forthcoming about those threats, talked to Akihito one on one about the precautions that Asami would be making, and that Akihito could make, would this have turned out differently? Would things have turned out the same?

There was no denying that Onizuka must have had this planned out to the nines. Everything fit together for the perfect crime. If Asami and Akihito had taken more precautions, Onizuka might have simply adjusted his plans accordingly.

How could Asami know, how could either of them know?

It was like a pit in Asami’s chest.

Akihito knew so little, was aware that he knew so little, and yet he trusted Asami wholeheartedly.

And Asami was the one to let him down.

He glanced at the splayed pictures of his lover once more. There must be something, anything, to clue into his location.

}{}{}{

Day 6

Akihito felt like he had lost all sense of time, space, and direction. Pain blurred his senses and began infecting his perceptions. Minutes would stretch on like hours and every second brought on new horrors. He felt like he was beginning to hallucinate the hands on his body, the fists that would collide with his flesh, and the vile words that would be spat at him.

He was so incredibly weak. His entire body was battered and bruised by the hands of both Onizuka and his lackeys, who would almost recreationally take part in his beatings and assault. One particularly bad encounter consisted of one of the thugs brandishing his hunting knife, and had subsequently left Akihito with shallow cuts all over his body which stubbornly refused to scab over. All of his wounds refused to heal and they sat weeping and raw. He was sure the ropes binding his wrists were soaked with his blood now.

Inadequate nutrition played a big part in his wounds being slow to heal. He was barely fed and when he was, it usually only consisted of things like tough bread and watery soup. It was undesirable but Akihito would have properly eaten it had Onizuka not insisted on feeding it to him like he was some dog. They clearly only kept him fed and hydrated enough to survive. Occasionally they would drag him to the other side of the container and dump buckets of cold water onto him to “clean” him. Akihito would swallow mouthfuls of water as often as he could.

It was a brutal cycle, a situation that would bring forth despair, hopelessness, and unwilling acceptance to anyone subjected to it.

But the flare, the resistance, the hope in the prisoner’s eyes never faded.

It was something that brought up confusion and frustration within Onizuka. His sadistic fantasies revolved around breaking the human spirit and watching as the light gradually faded from their eyes.

But not Akihito.

No matter how many times Onizuka pressed his lips against Akihito’s ear and whispered about how he was alone, his situation hopeless, and that he would take good care of him while his hands roamed his body, Akihito never lost that spark within him. Even when Onizuka’s grunts filled the stale air and Akihito laid there counting the minutes, his eyes blazed with fierce determination.

Onizuka took it as a challenge, but Akihito was ready for a fight.

There was one thing that was consistent during Akihito’s captivity, and it was what helped him differentiate the days he spent locked away.

Onizuka’s photographs.

It was like clockwork. Akihito would be forcibly woken up from whatever fitful sleep he managed to slip under, slapped around by Onizuka’s lackeys, left alone for hours to fully take in the pain, before Onizuka enters. His subsequent assault would always be followed by a single flash of the camera. It was the photograph that was being sent to Asami.

It was the existence of those photographs that ignited Akihito’s fire.

Onizuka’s major flaw was that his sadistic tendencies would not allow him to leave Asami alone after stealing Akihito away from him. He had to boast about his actions and wreak as much havoc as possible. It was a guarantee that those photographs would be sent to his lover.

So Akihito was ready. He anticipated when Onizuka would pick up the camera, and made sure he was ready for it by temporarily ignoring the blinding pain and debilitating humiliation. With this photograph, he finally finished sending out his only shot at escaping.

He just hoped Asami would catch on.

He knew his lover would.

}{}{}{

Day 6

It was the sixth day after Akihito’s abduction that Asami confirmed a noticeable pattern in the photographs.

Every time Kirishima walked into the office with a grim expression on his usually stoic face, Asami knew that another photograph had been sent his way. Clearly it was not just Asami who was affected by seeing the photographer in such a compromising position. 

Kirishima set the printed out photograph on the desk in front of him. His lips were pressed in a fine line, and there was no need for him to mention anything else. There was no new information about his whereabouts.

Asami’s eyes flickered to the photograph.

It was yet another picture of Akihito, cut and bruised, with his body turned at an angle where he was lying on his front with his head turned and eyes peeking around his shoulder. His hips were twisted somewhat to the side. His wrists were in clear view, and Asami’s rage was multiplied tenfold by how bloodied his hands and the ropes binding his wrists were, indicative of how much his restraints had dug into him.

“...I must say, every time I think I have Takaba-kun figured out, it appears as though my conclusions are only underestimating him,” Kirishima says as he adjusts his glasses. “That look in his eyes is not of somebody who has been a prisoner for six days.”

Asami had to agree with his friend there. He stared at his lover’s face. There was something about that look, something about that expression on his face, that was ringing some bells in his head. He felt like he was missing something critical every time he gazed into those eyes. 

Akihito’s bright hazel eyes bore into the camera with a fierce intensity. The same could be said for the more recent photographs. On the surface it appeared as though he was merely glaring at Onizuka through the camera, but Asami felt as though there was something more, something crucial. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Akihito was staring right at him. The look in his eyes was accusatory. Was his lover conveying his frustration with Asami’s incompetence? Was he cursing Asami for being the only person that could get him out of that situation, yet who was unable to do so?

No, Asami shook his head. Akihito, even if he was clouded by anguish, would never view someone in that way.

Asami reached for the envelope that contained the other five photographs that had been sent, and he arranged them in the order in which they had been sent. He set the sixth photograph with the others.

He stood from his chair and placed his hands on the desk, leaning over it as he stared at the photographs. Kirishima raised a brow, but stood there silently and let Asami focus. There was a change in the crime lord’s expression. It was the look he got when he had someone cornered- when he was close to an epiphany. 

Golden eyes ran across the six photographs. He knew them like the back of his hand due to how obsessively he stared at them, but he made an effort to forget everything he thought he knew about them. There was something there. That look in his lover’s eyes in the latest picture essentially confirmed it.

Akihito was speaking to him, and it was Asami’s duty to figure out what his lover was trying to convey.

He took note of any standout details.

The immediate difference he noticed was the difference between the first two photographs in the others. Akihito looked caught off guard in the first two, with his expression caught up in pain and surprise. His eyes were closed in both, and turned away from the camera- and most likely, the man behind it.

The other four photographs, however, were all of him staring down the lens. Some of them included a full view of Akihito’s face and while he was grimacing in pain, he had that determined expression that Asami knew well. It was one of rebellion and a fighting spirit. That look in his eyes was the most intense in the most recent one.

Asami picked up the sixth photograph, and studied it intensely. There was something here. 

His eyes flickered back towards his lover’s wrists. He fought the grimace as he was confronted with the bloody sight once more, before honing in on his lover’s hand. There was something odd and unnatural about it, and it was not due to an injury. 

Akihito’s hand formed something like a peace sign turned upside down, with his thumb sticking between his middle and index finger. It was an unnatural pose, especially considering how his other hand was in a normal, resting position. The back of Asami’s neck prickled, and he had a feeling deep in his stomach that he should know what Akihito was doing.

The island. The island… Akihito…

Asami furrowed his brow, his intense gaze never straying from that hand.

The island… Fish… Survival…

Asami mimicked the odd gesture himself, earning another raised brow from Kirishima.

Survival… Boy Scouts…?

Asami’s eyes flickered to Kirishima.

“Are you aware of what this hand signal means?” He asked. If anything, Kirishima could potentially get the ball rolling for him.

Kirishima makes an odd expression but he studies Asami’s hand anyways. 

After a while, Kirishima’s eyes widened slightly. “That is the letter ‘P’ in American Sign Language.”

It was as though Asami was struck by lightning.

—---

“You seem pretty apt at wilderness survival. Weren’t you a delinquent?”

“I used to be in the Boy Scouts and learned how to fish!”

“Who knew child’s play would come in handy.”

“It’s not child’s play, it was a proper education!”

“Education, hm? I suppose it did come in handy this time. Though it doesn’t seem very applicable to everyday life.”

“Not all of it, but a lot of stuff we learned is pretty handy! I can teach you something, want to learn how to talk without using your voice?”

 Akihito put his hand up and wriggled his fingers with a grin.

—---

ASL. Akihito learned ASL while he was in the Boy Scouts.

Kirishima observed the realization in his boss’s face, and stalked to the side of the table where Asami stood to get a good look at the photographs.

Days 1 and 2 offered no view of Akihito’s hands.

Day 3. A clenched fist with his thumb positioned on top of the tucked fingers. S.

Day 4. A closed hand with his pointer and index finger pressed together and pointed out. H.

Day 5. A closed fist with a pinky pointing straight out. I.

And day 6, with the upside down peace sign and the thumb sticking between the two fingers. P.

S - H - I - P .

Asami’s eyes widened at the same time Kirishima’s did. Their eyes met, and it was a millisecond of nonverbal communication that confirmed everything. Kirishima immediately sprang into action, seemingly pulling his phone out of thin air and barking orders before his boss had to even lift a finger.

Asami’s fists curled tightly as they sat on the desk. His entire body seemed to be buzzing as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He felt reinvigorated, as though his dysfunctional life as of these past six days were way back in the past.

“Akihito…”

They had it. They had him. The endless expanse of ocean was not at all daunting to the crime lord. That one lead, that one clue, was all they needed to track down Akihito’s whereabouts. 

Despite the intense landslide of emotions that Asami was experiencing, he let his lips curl into a fond smile, even for a fleeting moment. He let the feeling wash over him.

The one to save Akihito was not Asami, but Akihito himself. 

Pride.