Unrest & Homecoming

The silence at home in her Sakura Avenue apartment was deafening. Takumi’s words echoed in the hollow space; in perpetuity. She was a thing to be traded, a contract to be settled. A Servus. Restlessness clawed at her. Pacing the cool floor, the impression of Takumi’s calculated touch and Karasu’s possessive passion warring under her skin. She felt stretched thin, a wire about to snap.

It snapped and at that moment she didn’t want strategy or power play, she didn’t want the dangerous allure of the executive’s world. She wanted him, the rough texture of Karasu’s hands on her, the smell of smoke and sake, the uncomplicated truth of his anger and his love. She wanted the messy, real, gritty reality of him. It was only Thursday, she would have to wake up at dawn to make it back to her place in time for Cillian to pick her up, but her mind was made up. With a decisive movement, she tore off the elegant dress, pulled on a pair of worn, comfortable skinny jeans, a simple black crop top, and her old, trusted leather jacket. She grabbed her burner comm. Sending the message to Karasu, not waiting for a reply.

» Coming. 30 min.

The trip to Chochin was a blur of streetlights and rain. The familiar, grimy streets felt more like home than her apartment. As she turned onto the street that housed the Den, her heart stuttered. There he was.

Leaning against the rain-slicked wall beside the club’s entrance, a blue cigarette dangling from his lips. He wore dark slacks, traditional Japanese wooden geta on his feet and a shirt that was barely buttoned, revealing the stark lines of his tattoos and the hard planes of his chest. He was a king standing watch over his chaotic kingdom.

He saw her the moment she saw him. His reflective blue eyes tracked her approach, missing nothing; the determined set of her shoulders, the vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide. As she drew nearer, the day’s weight crashed down on her. The week-long violation of the SD promotional events, Takumi’s cold threat, the terrifying magnetic pull of both men; it all welled up, making her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Karasu said nothing. He took one final, long drag from his cigarette, dropped it, and crushed it under his heel. Then he simply opened his arms. Rei walked into them, burying her face in the warmth of his neck. He smelled of smoke, night air and him. His arms closed around her, strong and certain, one hand cupping the back of her head. He held her like that for a long moment, a solid anchor in her whirling storm.

Without a word, he turned, keeping an arm firmly around her shoulders, and guided her inside, past the curious glances of the late-night crowd, and up the private stairs to his apartment. He didn’t press her for a report. He didn’t demand details. He poured two cups of green tea from a pot, handed her one, and sat beside her on the couch, his presence a silent bulwark. Finally, Rei spoke, her voice small and tired against the hum of the city. “I’m so tired, Karasu…”, she whispered, “…and I’m scared.”

He remained silent, listening, his hand stroking her hair. “I don’t want to lose you,” she confessed, the words sore and honest, “But he… Takumi’s growing more jealous. He threatened to buy out my contract. Completely.” She felt the muscles in Karasu’s arm tense against her, a ripple of pure fury she knew he was forcibly suppressing. He didn’t erupt, didn’t swear vengeance; instead, he simply pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. “To hell with him”, Karasu said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through her. It wasn’t comforting. It was a simple, terrifying declaration, “Let’s get some sleep, little fox.”

They went through the motions of getting ready for bed and climbing under the covers in quietness. He held her until the tension slowly bled from her body, until her breathing evened out and deepened, until she drifted into an exhausted sleep, curled against the man she loved. As she slept, Karasu stared into the darkness, his eyes burning with a cold, silent promise of war. He watched the rise and fall of Rei’s chest for a long time after she fell asleep. The frantic energy that had vibrated through her when she’d arrived had finally stilled, leaving behind a profound collapse that made her seem younger, smaller. He’d never seen her so fragile, so openly scared. The sight was a cold knife between his ribs.

Carefully he extricated himself from the bed, the sheets sighing as he moved. He padded to the bedroom window, the worn wooden floor creaked precariously beneath his bare feet. Thankfully Rei slept soundly. Lighting a cigarette, he stared out at the perpetual neon glow of Chochin Row below. The Electric Dragon Den’s sign cast a flickering sheen across the wet pavement, his empire of shadows and secrets.

He inhaled the familiar smoke, but it did little to calm the storm inside him. Her words echoed in his head, completely. The possessive fury he’d felt earlier was still there, a burning coal in his chest. But now it was tempered by a terrifying emotion: fear. Not for himself, but for her. For them. The last time she’d left the Den, after he’d roared about ownership like a brute, he’d felt a hollowing panic he hadn’t experienced since he was a boy, disowned and alone in the alleys.

His power was in the shadows, in the carefully leveraged weaknesses of individuals who thought themselves untouchable. But Takumi Kuroda operated on a different plane. His power wasn’t leveraged; it was absolute. He could buy entire city blocks on a whim. A single girl’s contract was an insignificant expense. Karasu could fight him with tricks and blackmail, but Kuroda could bury him under an avalanche of Fund Units and corporate lawyers. He could make Rei disappear into the sterile bowels of Kuroda Global forever, and there would be nothing Karasu could do initially; his Spider webs worked slowly, like poison.

The truth was a bitter pill. To win, he would have to bide his time. He would have to build his vengeance in the dark, piece by treacherous piece. That meant Rei would have to stay in the lion’s den, at the mercy of that exec asshole, for longer than either of them wanted.

The thought of it made Karasu’s blood run cold, his hands clench into fists. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that. Not tonight, when she looked so delicate, the fierce light in her black eyes dimmed by dread. Save for the city’s ambient glow, the room fall into near-darkness as he stubbed out his cigarette. He couldn’t stand the distance, the thought of her waking alone. He moved back to the bed and slid in beside her.

The moment his body heat touched her back, she stirred. A soft, sleepy sound escaped her lips. She didn’t startle; her body seemed to recognize his even in slumber. She rolled over, her ruby hair a splash on the pillow, her eyes blinking open. They were still heavy with sleep, but they found his in the dim light.

“Karasu?” she whispered, her voice thick. “I’m here,” he murmured, his own voice rough. She didn’t say anything else, simply shifted closer, molding her body against his, her head finding its familiar place in the hollow of his shoulder. Her hand came to rest on his chest, over the dragon tattoo that coiled over his heart. Her touch was light, a question.

He answered by lowering his head and capturing her lips in a kiss. It was unlike any kiss they had shared before. There was no frantic hunger, no possessive fury. It was slow and tender. His hands didn’t grab or demand; they traced her ribs with a reverence that felt frail to him. Rei responded in kind, mollifying into a yielding warmth. Her tongue brushed his lower lip, then deepening the kiss slowly, like tide returning to shore.

Rei’s hands slid up his chest, fingers curling lightly around the nape of his neck. He moved then, not to dominate, but to cradle. His arm slid beneath her, lifting her just enough to shift their weight, so she lay fully on top of him, her leg slipping around his hips. His other hand traced the curve of her spine, down to the small of her back, then to the small of her waist, each touch worshipful, as though memorizing the architecture of her body. When his mouth moved, it was to press his lips to the pulse at her throat, to listen, to feel the thrum of her life beneath his mouth.

She sighed, a sound so soft it might have been the wind through Chochin’s alleyways. Her fingers found his hair, tugging gently, a request. He shifted, moving on top, entering her slowly, as if afraid she might dissolve into mist. She welcomed him with a quiet moan, her nails scoring lightly over his shoulders; not in pain, but in proof. I’m here. I’m yours.

They moved together without rhythm, without pattern; just a slow, shuddering dance. There was no performance, no strategy, no audience; only the rain drumming against the window, the distant thump of bass from the Den below, and the sound of their breathing, uneven at first, then syncing, then slowing, until it became one breath.

When she came, it was with her forehead pressed to his collarbone, her teeth biting his skin just hard enough to leave a mark. He followed soon after, his release a silent explosion, his body tensing, then collapsing, his mouth finding hers again in the aftermath; not to kiss, but to breathe her in. He held her as the tremors faded, as their limbs went heavy and the last of the tension subsided.

It was a reaffirmation of something that existed outside the games of power and ownership, in the precious space between two people. It was simply them, finding solace in the most fundamental truth they shared. It was less about taking and more about sharing, a mutual shelter from the storm raging outside.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, breath slowly returning to normal. Rei curled against him, her leg thrown over his, her face buried in his neck. He could feel the steady, strong beat of her heart against his side. Outside, the neon glow of the Electric Dragon Den pulsed like a dying star over the wet streets.

“Hold me,” she whispered into his skin. Karasu tightened his arms around her, pressing a kiss into her hair. He didn’t speak, but for the first time that night, the cold knot of fear in his stomach began to loosen, replaced by an unwavering resolve. He would play the long game, would be patient and in due course burn Takumi Kuroda’s world to the ground; not just for the insult, but for the woman sleeping trustingly in his arms.