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Yayoi was sadly used to her home being used as a second base for her husband’s work. She’d asked him not to bring it home too much, but she found sometimes it couldn’t be helped.
Today was such a day. She knew as she walked up to the door of their apartment, spotting Shimano lurking outside with a cigarette between his fingers. He smirked down at her (because he never smiled, it was always a smirk) before bowing his head.
“Good afternoon, ma'am.”
“Shimano-san,” she replied, quick and curt, returning the gesture as she hurried inside, not wanting to spend any unnecessary time with the brute. Being the boss’ wife granted her certain privileges though, and even men like Shimano showed her respect.
There was a sort of calm chaos inside her home as she clicked the door shut behind her. Kazama hurried past towards the kitchen, palms slick with blood, though gave her a quick ‘hello’ as he did so. Kashiwagi lay out on the tatami, half dazed with more blood smearing his face, a fresh red slice cutting through his cheek and over his nose as he pressed his palm down to avoid more blood dripping onto the floor.
Sohei observed it all from the furthest wall, pinching the bridge of his nose with that irritated frown he so enjoyed wearing. His eyes darted up at the sound of the door and he managed a short smile, barely, as he walked up to her.
“Sorry,” he said, which could be rare, “The fucking Koreans…here was closer than the office.”
“Surely a hospital would have been better.” She glanced down at Kashiwagi, his eyes scrunched up, lips pulled thin. “It looks bad.”
“I’m fine ma'am,” Kashiwagi said, gritting his teeth as Kazama returned with a wad of cotton and a bowl of water, “I’ll live. Apologies for your floor.”
“It’s fine, it’ll wash out…”
Sohei grunted, barely hiding the small roll of his eyes behind his sunglasses, then turned to frown at Yayoi again.
“Where have you been?”
Yayoi swallowed. She hadn’t expected him to be home when she returned, hoping for a much longer preparation time for what she had to say.
“I…I was at the doctor, Sohei.”
“Oh. Was something wrong?”
“In a way. You know I’ve been feeling awfully ill these past few days, in the morning?”
He nodded. He held back her hair and rubbed her back, though seemed oddly detached from the whole thing.
“Well I had…my suspicions on what it could be.”
Yayoi swallowed again and went into her handbag, taking out a box and the plastic instrument that was inside it. “I took this yesterday and went to the doctor to check today.”
Sohei stared at the small part of the instrument she pointed at, at the plus sign there. It took another few seconds, until he lifted his glasses up, mouth open wide before he stared at her.
“You’re…?!”
She gave a nod, smiling softly. “The doctor says about three to four weeks.”
Sohei gasped, hands wrapping around her waist as he pulled her in for a kiss, dipping her slightly in the process. She shut her eyes, used to the vague force he always pressed against her, that had around since they were courting, like he never figured out the exact pressure a kiss should be.
He pulled away, arm still wrapped around her middle as she was pulled close to his side, and he turned his focus to the other two in the room.
“Oi! I’m gonna be a dad!”
Kazama looked up from where he was straddling Kashiwagi’s legs and smiled.
“Congratulations sir.” Of course he would be interested in the news, with that orphanage he owned.
Yayoi smiled through the congratulations, though a little seed of doubt planted itself in her gut, likely around where her future child was starting to grow…
Yayoi supposed she had always been a bit drawn to men who were, in some capacity, dangerous. She blamed it on a boring life growing up in the suburbs, where the boys were dull creatures with dull or no ambition. It’s what initially drew her to Sohei, the mystery of the ink she could see peeking through the open collar of his shirt on warmer days, the lust for violence that glinted in his eye the time she’d caught him in a fight. She hated she found it attractive, but there was something about the contrast between that and his ability to be tender with her that made her fall.
The same thing happened with Sera. His danger was different to Sohei’s though. It was loud and rebellious, eager to be heard as he led protests and clashed with police. He was awfully handsome too, much closer to Yayoi’s own age than Sohei was.
Kazama had introduced them originally. Yayoi had been out in Kamurocho and ran into the two at a cafe. They ended up talking and found enough in common that their occasional meet ups became more and more frequent. Eventually Sera invited her back to his small bachelor apartment for tea and it all got a little strange.
She wasn’t sure which of them leaned in for the kiss first, but it was Sera who pulled away, cheeks flushed red.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Yayoi sighed, nodding as she rested her hands on her lap. She felt her own cheeks blushing. “No, we…we shouldn’t.”
“Y-you’re married,” Sera added, gesturing his hand at her wedding ring that she toyed with slowly.
“Not that Sohei seems to remember…”
She winced, disappointed the words slipped off her tongue. Sera just frowned and reached forward, holding her chin softly.
“What do you mean?”
“I-I shouldn’t talk about this…”
“Yayoi…”
She sighed, closing her eyes. “Sohei thinks I don’t know, but I do. He sleeps around with other women quite a lot. I’ve caught them, running out of his office.”
“Are you…sure?” Sera asked slowly, clearly uncomfortable to pry further, “Couldn’t they be there for one of the others?”
Yayoi shook her head, hesitating as she thought of the things told to her in a paranoid confidence by Kashiwagi. “There’s…reasons I know for certain. But I know his type, and he’s awfully bad at hiding being guilty.”
She smiled thinking of the flowers that would appear in her hands or the outings to nice restaurants he would pay for. She appreciated the gesture but never found herself able to bring up what she knew. She never understood why. She could maybe understand why her husband did it, why the concept was appealing to her now, with the pretty activist in front of her.
They’d married young, and to be married at all could be unusual for yakuza. Sohei was one of few men in a full-time relationship out of his peers, many of whom would saunter the number of women they had slept with like it was their winnings on the lottery. She knew not many girls ever gave him much of a second look - he wasn’t the most conventionally handsome man, after all - so he was likely jealous. And if you could pay for it…Sohei was into it.
Sera had crept in closer again, hand gingerly resting on the side of her arm. Yayoi stared up at him and moved his hand, allowing him to cup her breast. He blushed more.
“Are you certain you want to do this?”
“Why can’t I have some fun fooling around too?”
It was a flurry of movement next. Yayoi tore back Sera’s smart shirt, hands slowly tracing down his strong back with its un-inked skin. Sera carefully pulled her blouse over her head, letting it fall to her side gently.
Everything about his lovemaking was careful and gentle in fact. He brushed light kisses over her lips, fingers stroking her hair delicately. He kept talking, asking if she was okay and it what he was doing was fine. And it was, everything was perfect.
Yayoi cringed after each gasp of pleasure because Sohei wasn’t this fast, wasn’t this good. It was a different style, one that took her into consideration, and she hated that she knew things wouldn’t be the same. She thought that’s just how all men were, given her only experience before was just Sohei, but Sera held her like he meant it.
Her orgasm felt deserved, after a nicely paced build up.
They lay beside each other afterwards, naked and panting. Sera reached out and pushed a strand of hair from Yayoi’s face, smiling slightly, before kissing her forehead. It was light and dreamy, realising perhaps this is what love should be.
She understood Sohei’s guilt now.
She didn’t see him until the next evening, work having forced him to stay overnight in his office. He walked in to find her leaning on her palms, wearing a silk gown he’d bought her once, upper arms subtly pushing her chest forward. He gulped, instantly rushing to tear off his clothes and press against her.
The spark was different here. Maybe she’d been a bit too angry whilst having sex with Sera, because it wasn’t like Sohei was awful at it. Just…different, easily excited. There was some charm to the roughness of his edges, how his facial hair brushed against her stomach and her inner thighs, how his fingers pressed hard against her hips. On top of that, she’d never had to fake anything with him, he got the job done, albeit in a rushed fashion.
Once they were finished, she curled up against his chest, fingers tracing the tattooed lotus flowers covering his skin, over his breast and up to his shoulders.
“What was the occasion?” Sohei asked, taking a slow drag from a cigarette.
Yayoi smiled, tucking her head under his chin as she wrapped her arms around his broad frame. “No real reason. I know things have been rough lately, so I thought…you deserved a small treat.”
He huffed out a laugh at this.
No suspicions at all.
*
Everything felt different when she first held Daigo in her arms. He was so small and pink, squirming under the blanket.
Yayoi had been…not disappointed to find out she was having a son. Maybe fearful. Ever so slightly, silently hoping she would have a daughter, for not entirely selfish reasons.
When, during a scan, the doctor turned and asked if they wanted to know the sex of the baby, they both glanced at each other and nodded. It didn’t matter to them either way, though it would make choosing a name a lot easier.
Sohei’s eyes lit up when the doctor revealed their child would be a boy.
A boy meant an heir to the family name, and an heir to the Dojima Family business, someone to raise into be the next great patriarch.
Yayoi had hoped for a girl simply so she could keep her child at least slightly further away from the underworld.
But in that moment, drained from childbirth, it was the last thought on her mind.
“Tiny, isn’t he,” Sohei mumbled, reaching out a finger that he gently stroked over Daigo’s head.
“He is a month early,” Yayoi said, adjusting herself to sit up better, “That’s probably why.”
The doubt was still there. Daigo’s conception lined up too perfectly with her encounters with both Sera and Sohei, both within one day of the other.
It gnawed away at her, until she forced herself to share her woes with someone she trusted, a year after Daigo’s birth.
Kashiwagi never gave the appearance of a man who was good with children, but he patiently bounced Daigo on his knee as they went out for lunch, allowing the baby to pull at his tie or grab his nose.
“Gonna be a little troublemaker when you grow up, aren’t you?” he chuckled, ruffling the wisps of black hair already growing on his head.
Daigo babbled in response, flapping his pudgy hands about. Yayoi gave a small smile, then sighed. She had to confront the matter at hand.
“Osamu…can I share something with you?”
Kashiwagi paused, tilting his head at Yayoi. The scar across his face was still rather pink, but healed, though now gave him a slightly more intimidating appearance than before. She knew him better than that though.
Yayoi stared at her glass, fingernails tapping rhythmically against them.
“You…you can’t tell anyone. Do you understand?”
“Of course I do.” Kashiwagi angled himself so he could keep on arm around Daigo and reach one hand over to take hers with a small squeeze. “You…you’ve never shared what I told you about myself and Kazama-aniki. I will keep that same honour.”
She couldn’t help laughing slightly at the severity of his tone, but none the less, she leaned in close across the table, keeping her voice hushed.
“I’m…not so sure that Sohei is Daigo’s real father.”
Kashiwagi’s eyes went wide. “Wh-what? Yayoi, are you…”
He flared up, brows furrowing. “Did someone…?!”
Yayoi gave a sharp shake of her head. “Goodness, no! I know who it could be, and it was consensual.”
He calmed at this, nodding slowly. “Right. I see. Uh…if you don’t mind me asking…who?”
She swallowed. “Sera.”
“That young guy Kazama-ankiki knows? Who got arrested last month?”
“Mm. Him. I slept with him and Sohei within the span of a day, it lines up with what the doctors told me at the time.”
Kashiwagi glanced down at Daigo, brows knitting together into a frown. “I mean…it’s hard to tell at this stage.”
“I know.” Yayoi held her head in her hands. “I’m ashamed, I’ll admit but-”
“Yayoi, you don’t…” Kashiwagi squirmed slightly, eyes darting around the room. “You don’t have to justify it. I’m…all too familiar with what people consider unlawful relationships. And…if these words are never leaving this room, I don’t feel that bad about speaking ill of my boss. Your husband cheats just as much, hell, he cheats more. You’ve told me, and I’ve seen it myself.”
“I know, I know.”
She reached over, taking Daigo back in her own arms, cradling him close. “I suppose time will tell. I’m sure he is Sohei’s boy but…”
She sighed. “Maybe it’s best regardless if he believes it too.”
Her and Sera continued to be some kind of thing. After his release from jail, he would visit Yayoi at their new home in the suburbs, and things would…occur whilst her husband was at work. It wasn’t like Sohei had stopped, so frankly, why should she?
“That boy of ours can sure run his mouth.”
Yayoi paused, frowning down at the sink before glancing over her shoulder. A few rooms away, she could hear the TV playing cartoons, knowing their now nine-year-old son was safe from whatever this discussion would be.
“I suppose he can,” she said slowly, continuing to wash the dishes.
Sohei kept his voice low, the edge he normally reserved for disobedient underlings there. “Mm, yeah. He was telling me how, when he got home from school today, Sera-san was here.”
Yayoi nodded, carefully placing a plate on the counter. “Mm.”
Sohei’s arms wrapped around her waist, planting his head in her shoulder. Her breath hitched at the pressure that squeezed around her hips.
“I don’t care what you’re doing, but not in the fucking house,” he growled, lips pulled back into a sneer, “Not with Daigo around.”
“I could say the same for you.” Yayoi’s breath was shaky, but her voice kept level. The next item to wash was a large kitchen knife, and she made a show of that being exactly what it was, the light glinting on its edge as she wiped down its sides.
She felt Sohei gulp.
“What do you mean?”
“You bring your…colleagues back here, to discuss business. You allow Daigo to spend time in your office, during work hours. It was practically day-care for him. He’s a damn child and he knows what you are already, knows what that means for him.” She paused, raising the knife to inspect if it was clean enough. “You’re not the only one he runs his mouth to, you know. I asked him where he got that new action figure, and he told me you bought it. When I asked him why, he went quiet and said he wasn’t allowed to say.”
Her hand dropped to her side, still holding the knife. She pressed the hilt against Sohei’s thigh, knuckles turning white.
“You have no shame.”
The grip on her waist tightened, Sohei whispering in her ear in such a way, she could hear the smirk.
“And neither do you.”
The knife hilt pressed harder. In the flare of anger, she wanted to turn, plunge the blade end deep into his stomach, twisting and watching the light flicker from his eyes. Instead, she took one sharp breath and slammed the knife on the counter.
“M-Mommy?”
The two jumped, pulling away as Daigo appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Ahh…how-how long have you been there son?” Sohei asked, the sinister edge of his voice gone as quickly as it had appeared, smiling uneasily.
“I…”
Daigo tugged at his pyjama sleeve, biting his bottom lip.
“I just got here.” He turned his attention to his mother. “Can I have something to drink before bed?”
“Of course darling, come on.”
That night, Yayoi and Sohei faced opposite walls in bed. The hushed argument hadn’t reached a satisfying conclusion, like their other arguments tended do. Worse still, they knew Daigo must have been present for some of it, no matter how quiet they tried to be. They both stewed in the guilt of it. They tried their best to not let on that maybe things weren’t the happiest with them all the time but sometimes…
They were both forced out of their thoughts by a weak knock on the bedroom door, Daigo pushing it open and peeking around the frame, sniffling loudly.
“I…had a nightmare.”
Yayoi sighed gently, patting the space in between them on the bed. “Come here.”
He sniffed again and crawled into the gap, already wiggling his way under the covers. The three settled, Yayoi tucking one arm under Daigo’s head and stroking his hair softly.
“What was it about?”
He pulled an awfully pensive look for a young child, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Getting a bit old for this, aren’t you Daigo?” Sohei asked, patting his shoulder, “You’re nearly ten.”
“…maybe.”
He sniffed again and huddled closer to Yayoi, in a way that pulled from Sohei’s touch.
Sohei blinked and sighed, retracting his hand back to his chest. “Okay then kid.”
That was the first time he felt something was maybe off.
*
He wasn’t completely stupid.
Daigo knew both his parents were having affairs since he was young. He didn’t know the exact word 'affair’ back then, but once he did, it just confirmed all his suspicions and left him a mild cynic of love ever since.
He was used to his home being filled with powerful men who gave him short polite smiles, or occasional leers as he grew up, ones that made him shy away and rush to his room, back pressed against the door. He couldn’t say anything because they were his father’s guests. He just made sure to give those who stared at him like that a wide berth when he was invited to sit in on these impromptu meetings.
Sera was different.
He was always there when his father wasn’t, at least when he was younger, before that incident in 1988, that led to Sera being named Third Chairman of the Tojo Clan, that left his father angrier and more stressed than he’d ever been before.
It led to the first time he hit Daigo, twelve years old and wanting to spend time with his father who’d been distant that past week, too busy for him. He’d cried, nursing his cheek, and his father seemed to realise too late what he’d done, but the damage was already there. The first cracks in their relationship appeared.
But Sera would always be sat in their kitchen, nursing a cup of tea and he’d smile genuinely, in a way that was comforting and how maybe a father should smile at his son. He’d pet Daigo’s head and ask him about school and occasionally slip him a comic or bag of candy he’d brought just for him. He’d leave soon after, and he noticed even then how his mother would seem so upbeat and relaxed.
And they continued, Sera’s visits, for years.
Daigo never said a word. Why would he? He barely gave a shit. He never said a word about all the girls he knew his father slept with. The ones who would hurry from his office with sheepish looks on their faces when they saw him or the ones would sidle up to him at parties he was forced to attend, cooing about how much of a handsome young man he was, how much he looked like his father, the bolder ones openly wondering where the resemblance ended as their hands traced down.
But was he actually anything like his father?
Daigo was broad but certainly slender compared to Sohei. His face was longer and his features gentle, more like his mother in that aspect. The most similar feature between the two was their frown, the way their bottom lip jutted out slightly as they did so. Maybe the similar temper was there too. Perhaps he’d inherited the sour attitude that prevented him from making friends.
After Sohei’s death, Yayoi became a bit more brazen with her relationship with the Third Chairman, perhaps as a comfort or way to cope. He stayed over now, and Daigo couldn’t pretend he didn’t hear them in the room across the hall, his stomach churning at the thought.
Sure, he was a cynic about his father, and about his parents’ relationship in general, but it still made him feel ill.
Sera tried to connect once or twice. Sat down with him as he watched TV, that same patient smile as always. But Daigo was angry and dealing with things in his own way, which was badly, so he usually ignored him or gave short one-word answers that killed any conversation dead.
Sera stopped trying once Daigo finally broke and told him to go fuck himself.
Now though, Daigo stood in a quiet meeting room of Tojo Clan HQ, staring up at a wall of portraits lined up there. Present and previous patriarchs and chairmen, dressed to the nines in traditional garb.
Namely, he glared at his own photograph, taken a month prior at his inauguration as Sixth Chairman.
He hated it. He was glad he hadn’t been asked to smile, at the very least, but he looked far too severe. He’d decided on slicking his hair back that very morning, feeling it to be far more formal than his older messier style, and it had seemed to have stuck since. He missed covering his forehead though, the portrait emphasising how far back his hairline was, even at thirty.
The worst feeling, the one that made his gut churn a little at the thought, was the clothes. There hadn’t exactly been much time to get a custom-made kimono in his size. There was, however, enough time to get his father’s old one adjusted to fit his thinner and taller (though not by much) frame.
It felt wrong wearing his father’s hand-me-downs. He looked and felt like a fool as it was, the feeling of being a boy playing dress-up all the worse.
But it would suffice. There were much worse photographs of him out there.
His eyes traced along the older portraits, images of men who had long since passed away. His own photo was placed directly below and in between his father’s and that of the Third Chairman’s.
He paused, stepping closer to observe the photographs. He frowned.
“Hm.”
He…never noticed before how much he and Sera shared a similar face shape. He even sported a goatee that bared a striking resemblance.
His eyes darted to look at his father’s photo then down at his.
There wasn’t much resemblance there. He did take after his mother more, that much was for certain, but he thought he and his father shared something physical in common beyond a pout.
He remembered all the times Sera was at their house, the relationship he and Yayoi had together. For a brief moment, his face reflected over Sera’s in the photograph and his stomach flipped at he thought-
“Chairman?”
Daigo jumped, hand going to his chest as he turned to look at the puzzled Kashiwagi.
“Ah! Kashiwagi-san. Apologies.”
The older man smiled, bowing his head as he walked into the room. He seemed slightly hesitant as he stared over at one couch for a beat too long but turned his focus back instantly.
“I’ve been searching for you for the past ten minutes. What are you doing in here sir?”
It still felt weird to have Kashiwagi show him such respect, a man he had grown up with being a friend of his mother’s and calling 'Uncle Osamu’ on occasion.
Daigo sighed, gesturing his head in the direction of the door, outside of which and down a few corridors he knew were several of the men who now worked for him, likely still mingling after the meeting they’d just had.
“I…I needed some peace, that’s all. It was all a little overwhelming. I’ll get used to it eventually though.”
“First time is always scary.”
Kashiwagi gave a warm smile, a hand placed in Daigo’s shoulder as he observed the portraits himself.
“Damn good photographer we hire, huh?”
He trailed off, noticing Daigo’s frown. “Is everything alright chairman?”
“Do you think I look much like my father, Kashiwagi-san?”
He allowed the pause, giving Kashiwagi time to think. It was when it went on a minute too long that Daigo looked over at his subordinate, who’s face had gone a tad pale, causing his scar to stick out more.
“Uh. Why would you ask that?”
Daigo blinked. He got his read on the situation, and there was no use in bothering Kashiwagi any more with this doubt. He clearly knew some information but something told him it was for the best he didn’t share it.
“No real reason. It doesn’t matter, forget I ever asked.”
Perhaps he should have this conversation with his mother later…