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mayuuunaise · 6 years

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fic: antiseptic and honey

a/n: what do u know, after 1231829312317 years i finally post it :’))))) lmao. based on @madokasoratsugu‘s fantastic mafia au!! read on: ao3 | under the cut (pls do urselves a favour and just read on ao3 mwa)

one.

It is a few weeks after their first awkward meeting before they’ve set up their routine (Isami remembers rain and angry tears. He doesn’t think such a tiny person could ever be so loud. He doesn’t think even she has thought she could be as angry as she was at that time. He honest to god thinks it’s impressive, considering how a tiny, nervous medic seems to intimidate mafiosi bosses and known hitmen into silence). It is even longer after that before Isami acknowledges that he goes through with the routine simply because he wants to, and not just because of some silly honorable agenda.

Originally, the “routine” has been set up via a collective vote from the heads that make up the Nakiri Alliance. After Yukihira and Tadokoro’s screaming match the night he and his brother arrived in Nakiri’s mansion, Nakiri has decided to monitor (she uses the words “check up” but Isami has been in the business long enough to read between the lines) the civilian doctor. All eyes in the room unanimously turn to him and Isami is honestly a little bit flattered. Who better to pick than mild-mannered, free-spirited Isami? Of course, Isami himself admits he looks relatively harmless, all cheshire grins and gentleman chivalry, but always manages to get the information he needs (the younger Aldini notes that the people in the room casually leave out that his usual means of information gathering involve at least three different forms of torture. Still not worse than Alice, though).

Still, the Aldini don dutifully does as he is told. The problem is, he continues to do it long after Alice has cleared the doctor of any sort of need for a defense protocol. Isami simply doesn’t let the habit die.

Isami pops around the medic wing every so often some time after dinner, or right after his errands some days (whenever he’s presentable and not caked in someone else’s blood; Isami is a gentleman, after all, and Tadokoro should never see a sight so gruesome, even if she is a doctor). He then proceeds to make up some wild excuse or another; the week before last was a paper cut (Isami now knows how difficult it actually is to intentionally get yourself a paper cut). The month before he didn’t even need to fabricate a silly reason: someone had let Yukihira play in the kitchen and he’d managed to get himself food poisoned off of those horrible peanut butter squids the assassin was grilling (for a brief moment of terror, all of the Nakiri household had wondered if Yukihira had managed to steal Arato’s poison collection somehow. Arato has assured everyone that not even the master thief Ibusaki would be able to get his slippery fingers on any of them).

Isami is nothing but a chatterbox, and he has noticed how it help relaxes the young woman. He talks to her about his day (leaving out any vile details, should there be any) and his dogs and Tadokoro laughs in that soft and shy way she does every so often. Isami makes sure, for his sake, Tadokoro’s, and all the mafiosi under Nakiri’s roof, to shift their topic of conversation to Tadokoro and her life before getting caught up in their world. He admits that he tries to steer clear or deflect any and all of her questions about the darker side of the life she now lives. Recently, it’s been proving to be a difficult task when Isami’s just far too tired and faced with the most honest amber eyes he has ever seen. Tadokoro is often even quieter in moments like those, and the mafioso appreciates the gentle silence between them.

The brunette also always makes sure to accompany her back to her room. Tadokoro normally rejects the offer, but recently hasn’t been bothered to do so; Isami takes this as a good sign (of what exactly, he is not entirely sure). He ends the night with chaste kisses on both cheeks. The Italian pretends he doesn’t notice her face flush every time he does so, but gives her a cheeky smirk and bids her good night all the same.

Tonight, after a particularly tenacious back-alley thug has given him enough reason to actually use his fists, the younger Aldini don barges into Tadokoro’s medic wing with bruised knuckles. Tadokoro isn’t even surprised anymore, and only spares a glance at the clock before smiling warmly at him. He pretends not to notice the room brightening. Isami flashes her an easygoing grin before he holds up an ungloved hand, “I think they’re broken,” he chirps out.

Tadokoro looks a little alarmed at the state of his knuckles. Angry red marks slash itself across his olive skin, while blue and purple bruises sit atop the bones. Isami rarely has to use the aftermath of his day’s work as an excuse to see Tadokoro, so he understands her concern. After all, Takumi is the short ranged fighter, not him.

“What, what happened!?” she frantically asks. Tadokoro quickly moves from her seat, gesturing him to sit on one of the medic beds as she busies herself into finding their first aid kit. Isami doesn’t need to be told twice, happily making himself comfortable at the foot of the medic bed nearest her desk.

“Hm, I suppose I punched a brick wall,” Isami hums something in the back of his throat, attempting to kick up his legs reminiscent to his more innocent, childhood days (back when his feet wouldn’t reach the floor and mama would laugh at the sight of him). The brunette supposes it’s a half truth: that Himuro thug’s face was about as solid as a cement road. When Tadokoro gives him that half-frown-half-pout look, the Aldini don lets out a chuckle; he recognizes it as the face she makes when she knows he’s not giving her all the details. Isami should feel a little more guilty about it, but half truths slip out more easily than the whole when it comes to him. As with literally anyone else part of the Nakiri family alliance, Isami operates on the principle that Tadokoro doesn’t need to know any more than she already does.

After her fight with Yukihira, Tadokoro has yet to kick up a fuss about needing information. Isami doesn’t know if it’s because she understands that this is the most she’ll ever get, or Tadokoro simply doesn’t want anything more to do with their world. When the young medic sits across from him and gingerly takes his hand to inspect it, Isami hopes it’s the latter (he knows, deep in his heart, that Tadokoro is not that kind of person, not the type to abandon old friends and new acquaintances she’s barely met).

“Good news is, it’s not broken,” the medic comments off-handedly. Her fingers graze over his knuckles so gently he’s sure he has imagined it. The spike in his heart rate says otherwise. “It might be a little fractured, but we’ll have to use the x-ray to check. I’ll ask Jun-san for it tomorrow.” She looks up at him, wide-eyed and professional and Isami is a little taken aback by how attractive she looks right now, a few blue tendrils from her immaculate French braid framing her face. “Would you happen to be free tomorrow afternoon? Hayama-san says they’ll both be back by then,”

“For you, I’d have all the time in the world.”

Tadokoro squirms in her seat, but isn’t uncomfortable by his light flirting. Isami knows because there’s this tiny little smile on her lips that lets him know she finds it funny, at the very least. Isami would never want her to be uncomfortable because of him and has regularly voiced it so, assuring the young medic that he means no harm at all (and the brunette promises he’ll stop the moment he stops seeing that little smile on her lips). Tadokoro sets to work, cautions and medical terms flying off her mouth as one hand rummages through their first aid kit. Her other hand doesn’t let go of his, the warmth of her fingers seeping through his cold palm.

Isami is close enough to smell the mix of antiseptic and honey off of her, an odd combination so uniquely Tadokoro Megumi. He indulges, if only for a moment, and lets the melody of her voice lull him into a space where the smoking guns and territory wars won’t reach.

two.

Takumi has been looking at him weirdly for the past week. Isami recognizes it as a reflection of the same pointed look he sends his brother when he challenges Yukihira for another round of sparring (or, as the younger brother likes to call it, “Weird Violent Foreplay,” not that he’s all too judgmental about his brother’s sexual exploits or kinks for that matter. Arato has shared with him in the strictest confidence of her surprisingly plastered head how much of a body worship-princess kink Nakiri has, after all). There’s something else in there though that he can’t quite explain; it has been far too long for Isami to remember the last time he’s been unable to fully understand his older brother and all the nuances of his upturned, sculpted brow.

Takumi breaks the silence the eve before the both of them venture off for another business trip abroad.

“What was your excuse tonight?” the blonde asks nonchalantly. Takumi doesn’t look at him, and keeps his eyes trained on the brass knuckles over his fingers instead. He’s acting as if he’s inspecting them, but Isami knows his brother like the inner mechanisms of his favourite revolver. Takumi has probably been waiting for him to enter their suite, question hot on his tongue. And yet, his older brother continues to act as if he’s busy packing up essentials for their trip when it’s obvious from the unopened box of his borther’s favourite set of feather dusters that claims otherwise. Isami almost wants to burst out laughing for his brother’s innate inability to act subtle around him. Isami supposes this is why he’s in charge of negotiations and information deals, while Takumi inspires loyalty over their famiglia without question.

Still, the younger of the two refuses to indulge his brother so easily.

“What do you mean?” Isami pulls up a suitcase from under the bed, awaiting his brother’s response.

Takumi raises a brow, the corners of his lips quirking just a tiny bit to accept his younger brother’s challenge. “Did you go see the medic again tonight?”

“What if I did?”

“Whatever for?”

“Why is it your business?” Isami’s lips quirk in the slightest bit upwards. Takumi would never win against him in a game of questions like these. This is, after all, what Isami has trained with and worked for all his life. He brings up a gloved hand and traces the patch of gauze just a few centimeters shy of his left eye. That bastard Tohru sure got him good with that one, almost lodged right into his eye socket if Hayama hadn’t pulled him back just in time. “Besides, can’t you see how wounded I am?”

Takumi reaches out, gripping the taller brother’s chin with a firm grasp. He tilts Isami’s head to the side, sharp blue eyes zeroing in on the knife wound hidden beneath the carefully placed bandages. “I suppose the medic did a fair enough job. I don’t want my baby brother ruining his pretty face.” Takumi raises an eyebrow slyly before drawling out. “Heard that’s quite unpopular with the ladies.”

“So you think I’m pretty, brother?” Isami gasps, both hands now holding his cheeks in mock surprise and delight. Takumi finally rolls his eyes, signaling an end to their game.

“Alice has cleared Tadokoro-san weeks ago.” Takumi has never really cared much for tact. His patience has clearly run thin, as with anything else. When Isami is about to fully laugh, he meets his brother’s icy gaze and pauses, smile halfway on his face. “Your job is done, Isami.”

“No one is telling me to stop,” the younger of the two counters back, removing his brother’s hold on his chin with a quick swipe of the back of his arm. He drops the pretense as easily as he drops his clothes into his open suitcase. His own blue eyes level with his brother; he doesn’t quite grasp why, but something inside is itching for him to argue. “I don’t understand why exactly this is relevant.” Isami turns his back on Takumi before his brother can say anything else. He tries to seem busy packing for a business trip he has forgotten the details of. “I’m not compromising my work because of it. And-”

“She’s a civilian, Isami,” Takumi cuts him off. Isami is mildly surprised he hasn’t noticed his brother approach. The height difference between the twins is irrelevant; Takumi still looks imposing despite reaching only the tip of his younger brother’s tall nose. “Enough goofing off: the sooner you stop playing pretend, the easier it’ll be.”

Isami hears the unspoken warning behind his brother’s words: She’s not supposed to be here; quit normalizing this kind of life for her.

The younger Aldini almost cracks a smile at his brother’s roundabout way of showing concern. Still, Isami strikes back.

“I’m not pretending,” he comments softly. The edge in his voice is gone and for a moment, they stand in silence in a way that only brothers would, he reckons.

“To be associated with an Aldini don won’t always guarantee her safety,” Takumi warns, his voice just as quiet as the brunette’s. Isami is well aware of that fact. After their most recent betrayal, the Aldini family certainly does not have the most plentiful of allies. Associating with the Nakiri family has been the first step to recovering their status and prestige (and overall do-not-fuck-with-us vibe of warning at the mere mention of their names, he supposes).

“Well,” Isami hums back. His hands automatically pick up one of his personal favourites: a sleek black gloc with the Aldini family crest engraved on the handle. “The public doesn’t really need to know.”

Takumi finally cracks a grin before he comments flippantly, “Here’s to hoping she doesn’t need to know either.”

Isami feels his chest constrict at the implications Takumi’s words hold. With his brother’s back facing the younger Aldini, Isami’s cheshire grin goes a little stiff. The grip on his gun tightens, the leather of his gloves stretching almost uncomfortably over his knuckles.

“Let them try.”

three.

Isami soon discovers that adept doctor she may be, gambling goddess, Tadokoro is not.

Yukihira guffaws before hacking up a lung. Though Tadokoro’s face is flushed red in embarrassment, she still manages to reprimand the red haired young man about opening stitches should he continue with his rambunctious behaviour. Takumi shakes his head, though in equally bad shape, the older Aldini prides himself on being more mature by simply smirking smugly at the way Tadokoro berates the freelance assassin (what a child, Isami thinks).

“But it’s funny!” Yukihira whines, readjusting his position on the medic bed. He’s been out like a light for three days, Isami doesn’t blame him for finding everything amusing. He suspects the painkillers Jun has been injecting the assassin with is also partially to blame. He has the aching suspicion that the assassin might be sneaking more than what’s prescribed, but he has no proof for it. “You can’t lie at all, Tadokoro. You’re horrible at this.”

“I hate to say it,” Takumi clicks his tongue in distaste, as if he practically forces himself to spit out his next words. “But Yukihira is right, Tadokoro-san. You really are quite bad at this.”

Tadokoro, in turn, puffs out her cheeks and pouts, unable to argue otherwise. It’s so cute, Isami is actually tempted to join in on the teasing. The grin Yukihira shoots his brother might be enough to change his mind, however, as the blonde goes on another irritated tirade about actually agreeing with the red head over anything. He disregards his brother and Yukihira’s banter-flirting to gather up the playing cards scattered on their bed sheets.

They have been playing since Yukihira has stirred and complained of dry throats and crippling boredom. Isami recalls hearing the former freelancer bemoan his current situation, not because of actual pain but more the dull ache that comes with being unable to even move and it’s just so, so, so boring Isami. How can something so good for your body be so boring?

Isami tells him not to let Jun or Tadokoro hear any of his whining, and cuts him off just in time for a pop of blue hair to enter his vision, scurrying about with notes on Yukihira’s vitals and checking his bandages and bruises. The brunette manages to entertain the red head enough to not openly complain against the one person who would voluntarily treat the young man’s wounds by quickly producing a deck of cards from somewhere in his coat pocket. Takumi, from the adjacent bed and possibly equally bored (or even more so, considering he has been awake and practically chained to the bed for two days), demands Isami push his closer to Yukihira’s in order to play with them.

“Perhaps, poker is simply not her strong suit,” Isami hums out. Being the only one who could actually move his torso well enough (Takumi has dislocated his shoulder again along with a stab near his pancreas. Yukihira, meanwhile, has three bruised ribs and has his right leg strung up on a cast. Isami’s far too careful for injuries like those, but still has his right bicep wrapped up in gauze from a grazed bullet), the brunette has automatically decreed himself the dealer. He shuffles the playing cards with practiced ease, flipping and showering and catching from one hand to the other. “Do you consider yourself lucky, Tadokoro-chan?”

“Having had Yukihira as a patient for the past near decade? Doubtful,” Takumi drawls out, earning another halfhearted glare from said red head.

“He wasn’t even talking to you!”

Isami tunes them out easily enough, having had practice from the abundance of missions Nakiri has been putting them in as of late. He chooses instead to tilt his head towards Tadokoro, finding her fair features far easier on the eyes compared to the two idiots in matching hospital beds. Tadokoro herself looks troubled, fidgeting with her hands as if she’s trying to physically control the urge to not give a damn about the two flirts in the room (there are three, exactly, if you count him as well. But he’s playing nice. Tadokoro-chan doesn’t need the extra trouble).

He shuffles the cards once more, “Have you ever played Black Jack, Tadokoro-chan?”

Isami figures out easily enough that Tadokoro really is absolutely hopeless in gambling, which is oddly attractive to him. She brightens easily when she has good cards, grimaces with a pout when she has bad combinations. Isami would laugh at how easy it is to even just guess if she needs any extra cards or not; just a little sleight of hand and a little probability calculations has him drawing exactly the cards she needs.

Yukihira has told him time and time again how incredibly impressed he is with the combination of Isami’s (un)natural luck, astounding poker face, and quick thinking. Isami shrugs that perhaps he’s simply honed it all from years in the underground mafia business (he doesn’t tell Tadokoro this, however. His heart couldn’t take seeing her horrified expression at the thought). Yukihira repeats this sentiment now, with a deliberate glance towards the unsuspecting blue haired medic who wins another round of black jack that has her giggling in such a tiny, soft voice it makes even Takumi’s ice cold heart melt. Isami laughs and shuffles the deck again, beaming back at Tadokoro as he does so when she tells him that Isami’s luck must have rubbed on her today (Yukihira laughs, has the gall to actually laugh. Takumi stares at the two of them with an impressive frown on his face).

His older brother grumbles a little when he takes the risk and yet receives another face card that sends him over the required number (not Isami’s fault, this time. He swears the only cards he adjusts are for the pretty medic who has been the butt of gambling jokes one too many times today).

Yukihira levels him a cross between a glare and a smug grin. “Cheater,” his lips read out. Isami doesn’t even try to deny it, shrugging his good arm as he hands the medic another one of the smaller cards to hit closer to 21. Tadokoro’s reaction is immediate, shoulder perking up and a bright smile on her lips. Isami decides it’s more than enough of a trade off, he’s a goddamn winner already.

four.

He doesn’t remember nor does he realize when or how her name shifts from Tadokoro-chan to Megumi in his head. Suddenly it seems as if it’s simply the most natural thing in the world to do. When he accidentally says it out loud one day to thank her as she stitches up his palm (a paper cut, he explains to her. Papers sure are sharp these days, leaving an inch deep wound on his hand), Megumi’s cheeks dust pink, but otherwise says nothing about it. She’s more preoccupied by his obvious lie and continues to reprimand him for worrying her (he tries hard not to dwell on this little bit of information). He rolls with it, not thinking too much of it. Isami figures if that irritating young man from the bar called Isshiki could call her by her first name, then so should he, right? She calls him Isami even when Takumi isn’t around, anyway. Isn’t that what friends do?

The first to take notice is Alice (as usual, that nosy gossip he somehow affectionately calls his friend). And Alice, being Alice, does not let it slide.

“Say that again,” she demands with all the pompous air of a spoiled princess. She twirls her wine glass with one hand absent-mindedly, wide ruby red eyes trained on him with a gleeful little grin painted on her dainty face. Isami knows he can’t weasel his way out of this one, not with Alice.

Still, Isami is nothing if not a trier.

“Say what again?” he asks coyly.

The frown Alice sends him is comically cute enough for him to break out into a grin. Isami imagines if the wine glass had not been hers, pilfered from her cousin’s collection undoubtedly, Alice would have thrown it to his head already with pinpoint accuracy.

“You said her name!” she points out accusingly, leaning forward in her seat across him. Isami has the slightest urge to lean back. He brushes the thought from his head and mimics her position instead.

“Whose name?” he presses on. Alice is having none of it.

“Muu-! Isami-kun is a meanie who doesn’t tell me anything anymore!” the platinum blonde complains. Her small fists bang a rhythm on the table top. “Who taught you to act this way, huh? I bet it was Takumi-kun, wasn’t it?” Alice’s temper tantrum only encourages him to laugh, which definitely does not slow down the half Scandinavian beauty. If anything, it only sends her into a more childish fit.

“My dear, you have taught me everything I know, don’t you remember?” All technically true, in his defense. This little comment causes Alice to pause, the tears wavering in the corner of her eyes look almost comical as she trains bright red eyes at him. A normal man would flinch under her heavy gaze, but Isami has never really considered himself to be normal.

“True enough,” Alice almost sounds proud. “But I never taught you to lie.” She huffs out, putting her tongue out to childishly blow a raspberry at him.

“There’s nothing to tell, anyway,” Isami cuts her off with a half truth before she sends a knife to his head. He’d very much like to keep his current hair style, thank you (and his head, for that matter). “Don’t friends call each other by their names?”

Alice scoffs, finally leaning back into her plush chair. “You don’t have friends. Your categories include those you kill when need be, and then there are those Takumi-kun says you can’t kill. An easy life to follow, if I do say so myself; none of that gray area bullshit.”

“I’m offended,” Isami mocks, a gloved hand to his chest. “Who are you then, if I didn’t have any friends?”

“Your mistress,” Alice readily croons, almost silver bangs falling to hide her pretty eyes. The coy smile on her painted lips let him know she’s not completely serious. They share a momentary pause in banter as they sip their wine casually, each appraising the other in a silent battle of who will give in first.

“It’s cruel for you to accuse me as someone so heartless, Alice,” Isami counters with a cheshire grin of his own. “I’d like to think that my brother and I aren’t quite the socially inept workaholics you think we are.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about charisma,” she tuts, followed by a merry little giggle. “You Aldini brothers have plenty of that, don’t get me wrong.” The blonde winks and takes her wine glass, placing it close to her lips before she continues. “I’m talking about your ruthlessness getting in the way of your ‘friendships.’”

Isami’s glass stills in his hand, and his lips form a thin line.

“You know,” she urges on, her syllables practically a drawl as they leave her tongue. The red on her lips look more sinister than they should be. Isami doesn’t move, but his blue eyes are ice cold as they level with her own ruby ones. “I wonder if she knows about the Aldinis and their reputation with those who cross the line?”

She leans in; her eyes are hooded and Isami can practically see the winged tips of her eyeliner. They look sharp enough to cut.

“Does Megumi even know what you’re truly capable of, Isami-kun?” Alice mocks. The only reason he hasn’t put a bullet in her head is because she’s Alice. Takumi would be thoroughly disappointed in him if he did. The blonde tilts her head to the side, “Takumi-kun might be the one always bruised and bloodied, but whose kill count is higher? Who, exactly, brought down the Katagiri empire?”

Isami mirrors the title of her head, and compliments it with a thin, catlike smile. “I want to punch a hole in your skull with a screwdriver.”

Alice laughs in response and the tension is gone. Isami takes a sip of his wine and pretends to look intimidating before he cracks and laughs along with her.

“Oh, you have it bad,” Alice comments off handedly, lips kissing the rim of her wine glass before she tips back the remnants of the alcohol. Isami hums and does the same. He pretends not to hear her and shifts the topic to one Alice readily bites into: her cousin’s disastrous love life. Isami tries to forget

five.

Isami’s heart hammers in his chest at the news. Hayama has informed him via text of her condition, the only one considerate enough to remember that he might at all be affected by the situation at hand. He drops his phone into the deep recesses of their sedan in his shock before telling their driver to pull over and get out. Takumi’s eyebrows are raised in question, Isami is out of the lounge of the backseat and dragging their Nakiri-designated driver out of the front as quick as possible.

“Isami, what the hell are you-” Takumi barely has the time to construct a sentence before his younger brother practically floors it and makes a sharp twist back to the Nakiri mansion. They have an incredibly important mission to accomplish, a message to send to Eizan and his petty little band of traffickers at Nakiri’s demands (as well as his and his brother’s). Nothing is as important for him than to get back there as soon as possible.

He can hear Takumi telling him to stop, to calm down, what the fuck is going on, brother, talk to me. He puts more weight into the clutch and shifts another gear higher. When the blonde quiets down in the backseat, Isami takes the time to glance momentarily at the rear-view mirror. Takumi’s fair features pale considerably, his grip on Isami’s fallen phone impossibly tight that a small voice in the back of his head fears it might crack.

No, there are things he fears more right now. Takumi’s voice is but a whisper when he tells him to hurry.

“Where is he?” Isami’s voice is low and quiet as he stalks the halls of Nakiri’s giant mansion. The maids who have the unfortunate luck of being in the vicinity tense before scurrying along in fear. They don’t know who he’s talking about but they aren’t paid enough to know (nor do they want to, he’ll later think). His feet take him to the common room, Takumi hot on his heels but silent. When the twins start hearing hushed but angry voices from one of the lounges they use for informal meetings, their direction shifts with their steps more hurried.

Isami slams the door open, startling the residents inside. Nakiri starts to step towards the two, but Arato holds her back. It doesn’t matter to Isami when his cold blue eyes zero in on one person only.

“You were supposed to protect her!” His fist connects with Kurokiba’s cheekbone before the brunette can even think twice about what he’s doing. Kurokiba hits his favourite wine collection and sends about half of the bottles crashing down, staining Nakiri’s carpets a deep burgundy in its wake. In his periphery, he can see Alice move to take her daggers, but Takumi quickly steps in the way of her rage. That doesn’t really register in his head. None of the noise and the panic and the tension does.

All he sees is red.

“She’s innocent!” Kurokiba doesn’t defend himself, letting the Italian’s knuckles paint bruises and cuts on his mouth and jaw. In the back of his head, Isami wonders if this is what his brother feels on the battlefield. Wonders if all that adrenaline and anger rushes to his brain as fast as it does to him. Isami has never wanted to hurt someone so bad, not even that rat Mimasaka. “She-wasn’t-supposed-” each syllable is accompanied by a fist. “-to-get-hurt!”

“Hey, calm down, buddy.” Yukihira’s grip is stronger than it looks as he quickly hooks his arms underneath Isami’s, effectively restraining the mafioso don’s movements. Not that it really does much considering he could always kick Kurokiba in the face just as easily (he does, and Alice’s aide falls back on his back, making no motion to stand up).

“I fucking trusted you, Kurokiba!” Isami lashes out, ignoring Yukihira’s continuously tightening hold of his extremities. The dark haired man sprawled in front of him twitches the slightest bit, and it’s all the signal Isami needs to tap into his fury once more. He hears a guttural scream and barely processes that it comes from him until Yukihira shouts his name again in order to placate him. He doesn’t understand why Yukihira is so calm, when he has known Megumi the longest, should care about her the most. Shouldn’t he be the one beating Kurokiba to a pulp for failing to protect her from a fucking gun shot?

“Let me go!” Isami seethes out, attempting to reach for the revolver stowed away in the deep recesses of his dark coat.

“Isami.”

There’s a chill in the air he hasn’t felt since he was just a boy. Takumi’s cold voice sends everyone to a halt. Isami can feel his heart pounding behind his ears, but pauses in his movements all the same. It’s the tone his brother uses during meetings with his chiefs of staff, the one that makes sure to remind everyone just how capable the young mafiaso really is.

“Yukihira, let go of him.” Takumi’s words are leveled and firm. Yukihira glances at his hold on the younger Italian, his eyes flitting from the seething brunette to Kurokiba’s shallow breathing. He hesitates for a moment, and it’s enough for Takumi to raise his voice once more. “I said, fucking let go of my brother, Yukihira.”

Yukihira drops his hold almost immediately after, and Isami goes down with it. His legs are shaking, knees giving out on him now that the adrenaline’s slowly seeping out of his body. Deep breaths, he reminds himself, in and out, in and out.

Takumi seizes his elbow harshly, dragging him into a standing position. Isami wobbles a little on his feet and can’t help the scoff from leaving his mouth. Way to remind them all that in spite of his significant height difference from his brother, he’s still the younger one. Isami doesn’t know if the vice grip on his arm is meant to reassure him that it will be fine, he’s there to be his anchor, or to threaten him, not another word Isami, we’ll talk about this later. Knowing his brother, it’s most likely both.

Isami doesn’t struggle, but refuses to mimic Takumi’s move to bow his head towards Alice in apology. Her bright red eyes are trained on him alone and even then he refuses to even meet her head on. He understands her rage, really he does, but he can’t find it in him to actually care. Not when the sheer amount of anger he feels at the moment feels ready to burst.

“I ought to kill your brother right now, Aldini,” she seethes, stepping protectively in front of Kurokiba’s weak body.

“I assure you, proper punishment will be dealt with later.” Isami doesn’t know how Takumi manages to sound so calm. Everything feels so numb that he doesn’t even realize that Takumi has been dragging him out the room far enough that they’ve reached the guest wing where they’ve been staying.

The blonde turns on his heels and looks ready to lash out, but stops himself short. Isami knows it must be something about the way he must be at the moment that leaves Takumi looking broken and lost. They must be thinking the same thing, his fear reflected in identical cerulean orbs.

He remembers Mama.

Takumi is by his side in a heartbeat, holding him close as he muffles his shouts and sobs into Takumi’s shoulder.

He tries to tell himself it’s because the events are so familiar, that he’s afraid to lose another person the same way. Doesn’t want to think of the alternative because that means he’ll only be putting Megumi in more danger than she already is.

one.

She’s playing with Floppy and Bagel when it hits Isami like a freight train. Straight to the gut, knocking the metaphorical wind out of his system as his eyes gradually start widening in shock. There’s nothing particularly special about the day, just another ordinary walk with his dogs and the woman he almost broke a decade’s worth of an alliance for (no big deal).

Jun has already warned her (and him, by extension) that she isn’t supposed to do anything tedious yet. Megumi obviously doesn’t think too much about the shoulder wound to avoid going on walks with some of the most hyperactive dogs she knows. Isami can practically see the look of disapproval the older doctor will be sending his way when the blue haired young woman comes shuffling inside the medic bay in need of new bandages from playing with animals.

Megumi laughs again when Floppy practically hounds on the young nurse to lick sloppy kisses on her face once more that he thinks, oh. He wants to kiss her too.

“Megumi-san,” he calls out to her with no real reason other than he wants her to look his way. Alice is right, Isami thinks, he really does have it bad. He doesn’t actually know what he wants to say next, but when she does look up at him, pretty amber eyes warm and soft in the way the light dances against it—

“May I kiss you?”

He can’t help the way the words roll of his tongue so easily. Megumi pauses, eyes widening and mouth dropping open the tiniest bit in a rush of breath. Her cheeks flush the prettiest red he has ever seen and it takes Isami another moment to actually register what he has said and another, very crucial, second to think of a way to salvage their moment.

“…is, is what Bagel would say!” He immediately holds up the unassuming beagle up to Megumi’s eye level, effectively blocking his view of her adorably shy face. Fuck, he does have it very, very bad and lets out a less-than-chill chuckle as he continues his excuse. “I mean — you’ve been playing with Floppy for a while, I’m sure Bagel’s getting jealous.”

The beagle in question seems to tilt her head to the side, staring curiously at the female before reaching out to tentatively lick her nose. Megumi takes another second before slowly letting out a nervous giggle, higher pitched and essentially slower than usual. Isami’s shoulders visibly deflate in relief when Megumi takes the dog from his hands and holds her up as high as her wounded shoulder will allow her.

“Oh, Bagel,” she coos and brings Bagel closer to her face to leave a soft, small peck on the top of her head, in between her ears. The beagle lets out a ruff in response. Floppy seems to think this conversation needs to include him, because the basset hound whines and bumps his head against Megumi’s calf in order to drive attention back to him. Isami can’t help the grin forming on his face at the sight of her, a little frantic as she tries to show affection to two very demanding dogs.

It all feels so domestic, now that Isami has the guts to think about it seriously. Searching for her to treat small things, accompanying her to her room at night, walking the dogs with her on sunny afternoons. Just the simple feeling of needing to be close to her. Isami feels all the guilt and the heaviness melt away at the sight of Megumi sighing contentedly as she reaches down to scratch Floppy on the back of his ears to try to placate him. He wonders, briefly, if this might be what it would look like should he leave it all behind. He wonders what it would be like for her to run away with him and his dogs and never look back. He wonders if it would be worth it.

Megumi laughs again and smiles at him, her bright eyes crinkling at the sides, and he forgets, momentarily, who he is and where they are and how different their worlds are. Isami’s chest warms.

Yeah, she would be worth it.

“Me too,” he finally, softly says again. When Megumi turns to blink back at him, wide-eyed and innocent and just so fucking beautiful is when he loses it. He sighs and leans in to rest his forehead against hers. Megumi’s face reddens considerably at the movement, but she doesn’t move from her spot next to him. She stammers with nonsensical words and nerves, but doesn’t budge from her spot. Their lips are dangerously close, and Isami can practically taste the cherry-flavoured lip gloss she’s wearing. “I’m a little jealous of them too, Megumi-san.”

“I, uhm, Isami—”

He steals a kiss and drops all pretenses.

#shokugeki no soma #megumi tadokoro #isami aldini #isamegu #mafia cooking kids #takumi aldini #yukihira souma #alice nakiri #mentions of #soutaku #and #hisaeri #pry these ships from my cold unfeeling hands #mayu writes #i hoPE U LIKE IT MEL MWA!! GOOD LUCK ON FINALS IN A FEW!!!!

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