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When Kinoe escapes the organisation that has trapped him in a vicious cycle of assassinations and death, he leaves everything behind.
He leaves his name, he cuts and dyes his hair brown. He burns all his old clothes, gives himself a new name - Tenzou - and washes his face and hands until wrinkles form at the fingertips.
He doesn’t want to go back there with the all the unsmiling faces, the indifferent words, the blood on his hands, the restraints and the drugs that have left his memory unreliable and messy.
(so you can’t tell anyone a voice tells him so you can’t get help, you can’t escape)
It works for a while. The pretty lady at the bakery smiles at him, the old man selling newspapers gives him sympathetic glances as Tenzou can’t help but jump at loud noises, and stutter his way through normal conversations that he’s never made.
The young man with one eye at the coffee shop helped him pick out a coffee when he found himself clueless.
But one night, when someone - one of Danzou’s men - breaks into Tenzou’s apartment and slices through his shoulder right before Tenzou snaps his neck, he realises his dream, this little world he’s managed to create for himself is nothing but a lie. This little world where nothing hurts and people are nice is nothing but a taste of the life he’s always wanted but can never have.
Danzou will always find him.
So, one winters night when the bridge is empty and the water is cold, Tenzou climbs over the railing and looks down.
His little paradise couldn’t have lasted. The kindness of the girl in the bakery, the man selling newspapers and the boy in the coffee shop was not meant for him. It was meant for someone who wasn’t a murderer, someone who wasn’t putting their lives at risk by just talking to them.
And Tenzou can’t keep going like this, jumping at shadows, waiting for Danzou to come for him, dreaming of all the death, the images of all the people he’s killed - from little babies to elderly people all on the orders of a man who doesn’t care -forcing their way into his consciousness every time he closes his eyes, the phantom pain of the endless ‘training’ sessions, the restraints, and his own screams ricocheting in his skull every day, all day.
Tenzou is tired. So, so tired.
He watches the blood from his shoulder drip down and watches the long fall into the cold water.
He can’t keep living like this.
So he lets go.
A hand, soft and warm catches his own cold one and pulls, he’s pulled over the railing and he could resist, he could rip free from the grip with ease, but as he looks at the person’s face and gazes into the lone eye of the boy at the coffee store, all he can do is start crying.
This boy, this stupid, stupid boy, trying so hard to save him when he needs to die. This stupid, stupid boy, who thinks he can save someone like him.
The boy holds him, his arms wrapped around Tenzou tightly even when he tries to pull out of the boy’s hold, even when the tears turn to sobs and the sobs turn into strangled apologies because he has dragged this stupid, stupid boy into the dumpster fire that is Tenzou’s life.
The boy runs his hands through Tenzou’s hair and ignores how he jerks away from the touch because people don’t touch him. People have never touched Tenzou to be nice.
“It’s okay,” the boy says, even though it’s not. “You can cry. I know how it feels.”
Tenzou doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but in the arms of this stupid boy, Tenzou has never felt safer.
(Shisui is an ex-mafia member and has spent the last few years trying to get as much distance between him and his mafia family after he tried to leave and consequently lost his eye as a result.
Tenzou is an ex-assassin, trying to find footing in an unfamiliar world while he tries to re-discover who he is.
They’re not really okay, but together, they make it all hurt a little less.)