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On a Saturday morning of no extreme importance, Kyouka woke, as she often did, at the first crack of dawn. She beat the birds outside her window by a clean hour and, judging by the snores coming from Atsushi's bedroom, he wouldn't rise for a while yet either. For all intents and purposes, she was alone.
Moments of peace were handled with inexpert clumsiness by Kyouka; like a child holding a pencil for the first time, slippery and awkward and restless, she found herself thwarted by her own inability to entertain herself with activities she suspected others her age would partake in. She didn't have same-aged friends to invite her out to the mall or parks, and the only phone she owned was so outdated that she couldn't play mobile games to pass the time. It didn't bother Kyouka much, her distance from others—despite a severe age gap, the Armed Detective Agency were her friends and the closest she'd had to a family since the passing of her parents. She was not ungrateful for their company.
Kyouka laid back on her borrowed futon, staring at the ceiling. She was wide-awake. Recently she discovered an ability to fall into a deep sleep—feeling as safe as she did with Atsushi close by—but it would be a while yet before the smallest of noise failed to wake her.
Her phone was on the floor beside her. Kyouka sat up to put it around her neck, it's anchoring weight a familiar burden on her chest. She played with the cord and wondered if she wanted to wait here until Atsushi woke up. It would be an objectively boring thing to do, but he would compensate for any impatience she felt, guiltily washing up and ushering her to the nearest cafe where he would splurge on a cheesecake for breakfast.
Her stomach gurgled. Oh. Was she hungry? Already? Was it the thought of a cheesecake? But she couldn’t have that. There was no restaurant open at this time that would sell it. Secondly, Yosano-sensei would be disappointed if she found out Kyouka was indulging in a dessert like cheesecake for breakfast. That isn’t good for your body, Kyouka-chan! Or something like that.
However, Kyouka could not unlatch her mind from the idea of eating now that it occurred to her. She decided she would go out and search for food.
Going out by herself remained a task that made Kyouka’s hands sweat. She was perfectly capable of doing it, but distance from the Agency members made her nervous beyond comparison. What if something happened while she was away? What if they needed her? It was safer to stick close. As she dressed, she spent that time talking herself into it. She wouldn’t be going far; everyone had her phone number and she would answer immediately if she was called; she wasn’t going anywhere dangerous. It was fine. She wasn’t doing anything wrong.
She thought: Actually, won’t Atsushi be proud of me for taking the initiative?
Kyouka pulled on rubber shoes, her decision final. She rolled up her futon silently and left a note behind to let her roommate know the situation. Then she creeped out, footsteps weightless, and locked the door. As soon as she was outside, goosebumps jumped to life on Kyouka’s skin. She wrapped Atsushi’s overlarge coat—tattered and covered in patches—tighter around her body. Briefly she wondered if she should invite Kenji out; he was no doubt awake and was more familiar with Yokohama than she was. In the end, Kyouka scrapped the idea. She wanted to go alone.
On the stairs, she met an Agency member on the stairs who was clearly returning from a late night out. Dazai's expression seemed genuinely surprised to encounter her. His clothes were rumpled and he knuckled sleep out of his eyes, drawing to a wobbly stop when they almost collided. His eyebrows leaped into his hairline. "Kyouka-chan, the sun has barely started to rise. What are you doing?"
"I'm going out."
"At this time? What could be open, a farmer's market?"
"Yes," Kyouka agreed. She’d looked it up on her phone. One of those stalls sold western foods, including pancakes and crêpes. It was her ultimate destination.
Dazai blinked at her. He was holding onto the railing quite tightly, his disposition sickly and tired. If she dared to take a deep enough breath, Kyouka would surely smell the hangover on him like a physical touch. "Where's Atsushi? He'll worry if you aren't there when he wakes up. Go back to bed."
"I should be back before then. Also, Dazai-san, you should take your own advice."
He grimaced. "What do you think I'm trying to do? Ah, seriously, Kyouka-chan… Do you even have money?"
That was a good point. Kyouka held out her hand expectantly. "I do not."
Dazai closed his eyes, pained. "Take that hand back right now. Doesn't Atsushi leave his wallet lying around, just grab what you need from it. He won't hold it against you."
"He's asleep."
"Yes, yes, it would be the perfect crime!"
"He's asleep," Kyouka repeated. Meaning: I will not be waking him up.
Dazai held out for longer than she expected considering the state he was in. Then he winced, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead, evidently suffering the consequence of getting blackout drunk and/or whatever Dazai got up to without Kunikida's strict moderation. He roughly rooted around the inside pocket of his beige coat—curiously, she thought she heard the sound of a zipper—before pulling out a dark leather wallet. Expectedly it was in perfect condition, she couldn't imagine he was forced to use it much with how often he begged for money. He flicked it open, revealing at least five bank cards inside that she could see and absolutely no cash. Dazai handed her one of the cards.
With no guilt, Kyouka took it from him. The name on it was 'Ōba Yōzō'. From the expression on his face, she determined that Dazai would take no questions regarding why he owned a card that was not under his own name. "Thank you," she said politely.
"Anything you spend will be reimbursed by Atsushi," He told her flatly.
"I will use it well."
"Ah, Kyouka-chan, really? Are you going through your rebellious phase, is that what this is? I'm poor, go easy on me."
Kyouka squeezed past him to go down the stairs. He reeked of day-old alcohol and sweat. "Sleep well, Dazai-san."
She left him behind in the middle of an aggrieved sigh.
It was her first time going to a farmer’s market.
In time it would be packed to the brim with citizens, but for now the showing was modest and manageable. Kyouka was happy with her decision to come before the sun had even risen. She walked slowly through the streets, moving out of the way of people driving rickshaws or wheeling wagons full of produce to their stalls. Most vendors seemed friendly, calling out to regular customers with familiarity, bargaining loudly with potential buyers over the price of their wares. Kyouka ignored them all. She didn’t know how to cook, and as much as she valued the experience of simply being here, she was only after one thing.
The pancake stall was in the process of setting up when Kyouka eventually found it. A foreigner ran it, his blonde hair pushed back by a white bandana. He hovered a hand over a hotplate to test its temperature and smiled at her. “Wandered away from your parents, eh? I won’t be a moment, girl. Everything needs to heat up.”
“Do you accept cards?” Kyouka was mindful to ask. In answer, the man held up an eftpos machine, which was in the process of logging in.
Kyouka killed some time hanging around nearby stalls. Someone was selling homemade Yokohama souvenirs, which she wasn’t very fascinated by, while another woman was hanging up clothes and scribbling prices down on paper, clipping them to the collars of the sweaters she knitted. Kyouka poked her nose into the proceedings. “Interested?” The knitter asked excitedly. “Made ‘em myself from the wool of my own alpacas! I drove out from Miyagase to sell these! Only the best for my customers!”
“How much do they cost?”
The vendor told her. Kyouka rubbed the material between her fingers. Kenji would like one. God knew that Atsushi desperately needed a coat of quality make. “I’ll come back and buy a few,” she decided. The boys would appreciate the gift, she thought. In the meantime, she had crêpes to buy.
The Western man laughed at her when she pointed at what she wanted. It was a picture from his menu of a crêpe filled with whipped cream, sliced strawberry and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. “Your parents will not thank me for the sugar rush you’ll get!”
Her parents wouldn’t thank him at all. They were quite dead. “It’s just the one,” She hedged. “Please?”
“Hey, hey, you’re a paying customer! I won’t turn you away! Just make sure you don’t drive your parents up the wall, eh? And don’t let them know where you bought it!”
“Sure,” Kyouka agreed to his terms. They were easy enough to fulfill. She watched with rapt eyes as he spread the batter on the hotplate, flipping it expertly and rolling it into a cute pink cone carton once it was done. His wrist moved quickly and expertly, slathering it in sugary goodness. He went so far as to drizzle chocolate syrup over it, which was not on the menu for this particular crêpe, because he thought she was a “nice young girl”.
Kyouka’s heart was about to beat out of her chest. The man held out her breakfast with careful hands. She accepted it reverently. It was so warm. Kyouka took a bite immediately, closing her eyes and savouring the amazing taste.
The man chuckled and accepted the card for payment. “Like it, do you?”
“I will come back here,” Kyouka swore. The crêpe was nearly as good as the first one Atsushi had ever bought her. “As soon as possible.”
He grinned and said, “I’ll keep an eye out for you then! I’ll do even better next time!”
Kyouka almost dared him to. Instead she bowed and walked away, taking pleased bites out of her crêpe every few steps. She took a chance to wander. So far she hadn’t seen anyone selling farmed goods, so that was where she went next. The smell of cheese was the first thing to hit her, following that was the sound of a grill. Some vendors liked to cook their own produce to show off how tasty it was. To her right, eggplant and asparagus was spitting on a small, portable hotplate. Further down, a butcher hammered his knife through chicken bone, separating and packaging it for sale.
It was easy to get lost in the bustle of a large, moving crowd. With her age and appearance, Kyouka often used these kinds of situations as a cover; she was able to slip in-between bodies to lose pursuers, or tail targets at a close distance. All it took was the brush of a poisoned needle against someone in here, easily ignored in the bustle of a crowd, and that was the end of a life. Kyouka usually hated being reminded of her past and avoided areas of high foot traffic specifically for that reason—but the market was not the same.
Yes, there were a lot of people, but there was still a lot of space between everyone. Kyouka was dodging out of the way of adults only because she was walking too slow, so she had no choice but to step aside for citizens who were rushing to get around. The sounds didn’t overstimulate her, as much as she’d worried it might. It was harmonious noise, collective noise, and simple for her to tune out.
She should definitely come again. Had Atsushi been here before? She didn’t think so. He could make the experience even better. He was more curious than Kyouka, she could try more things if he was leading the excursion. Kyouka tried not to feel like she was casing the area for a later mission. It was just looking around. What was wrong with that?
Down the street, a group of mothers started whispering among themselves. Kyouka started eavesdropping without thinking much of it. “Oh my, isn’t she a sight for sore eyes?”
“So young and pretty!”
“Is she shopping for her family? She looks so well-behaved… like a young mistress!”
It sounded like they were gushing about a stranger. Kyouka looked up out of curiosity, wondering if she could spot the alleged ‘young mistress’, and much to her disconcernation, locked eyes with the revered young woman instantly.
Her fingers clenched around the cone carton in her hand, crushing her precious breakfast into mush. "Senpai," Kyouka said, her tone flattened by an iron. This couldn’t be happening.
Akutagawa Gin met her eyes with an implacable stare. In one hand she held three fabric bags full of fresh produce from the vendors around them, and in the other was a cup of unsweetened milk tea. The pearls rattled as Gin took a long sip from her drink. The duo held eye contact until Gin concluded her task with a noisy smack of her lips.
"Izumi," Gin greeted sweetly, her voice barely able to be heard over the sounds of the early crowd. "Since when did you start shopping here?"
Since this morning, thought Kyouka in deep despair. "I don't, really."
"Ah."
"I…" Cold air burned through Kyouka's lungs. "I should leave."
"You don't have to," Gin told her. A grumbling older man attempted to roughly push his way past her; without batting an eye, Gin avoided the contact by elegantly rolling her shoulder, then retaliated swiftly. The shopping bags masked the movement of her knee, but whatever she had done sent the man nearly tripping into a nearby cart.
If Atsushi was here, he would check on the man. But it was just Kyouka, so she pulled back her elbow and rested her hand on her tantō—concealed, of course, where it was at her back by the drape of her kimono. Gin was wearing a light blue slip of a dress better suited for warmer months and a grey cardigan, accessorising with a very small handbag: she would be hard-pressed for easy access to any of her concealed weapons in such an outfit, and on top of that, her hands were full. Kyouka would be armed and ready to defend in the time it took those shopping bags to hit the floor.
Gin blinked slowly. President Fukuzawa once told her that cats did that to show they trusted you. Claws disregarded, Kyouka's senpai was not a cat, and if she wanted to appear unthreatened then it meant she probably wasn't.
"I won't attack,"
"I don't believe you."
"You never listened well," Gin sounded nostalgic. "Paul was so patient, I never saw him really stressed until you came to him. I'm grocery shopping, Izumi. You are not my concern."
Kyouka bit her lip. She felt conflicted. In truth, it was unlikely that the other assassin was lying. It would also be reckless to engage in combat and endanger civilians if Gin refused to antagonise her first. Kyouka knew that, but she kept imagining how this would go if Yosano-sensei was here, or Kenji or Kunikida or Atsushi—she didn't think they would simply walk away from a criminal out in the open like this.
Her heart firmed. She couldn't leave Gin unchaperoned. As hard as her hands wanted to shake, urging her small body into either fighting or fleeing, Kyouka made up her mind on an alternative option, one that was neither cowardly or aggressive. "I'll go with you," she said.
Gin seemed put out by this.
"To make sure you aren't up to anything."
"Then," She huffed, tossing her hair. The mothers watching erupted into another round of admiring whispers, "Come here, Izumi."
"I will watch you from a distance."
Gin had never been someone easily moved to laughter. Her smiles, also rare, were small and often insincere. With her sweet voice and her beautiful features, her coldness could ambush people, her knives an even nastier shock. Kyouka knew her better than that. When Gin's eyes shadowed over, a ripple of unease went down Kyouka's neck, but she was definitely not surprised by Gin's sudden turn.
"Where has your courage gone? Do you think you can make a difference, a whole kilometer away? Get over here."
"Why?"
"You can hold my bags. Make yourself useful."
Kyouka wasn't sure she wanted to do that. "And free your hands?"
Gin lifted her half-empty cup of milk tea. "They'll be free soon anyway."
Kyouka considered those words before pinching her lips together. She approached warily, her surroundings so far away from her they were in another dimension; the civilians and the vendors faded away until all she could see was Gin, as gorgeous and trustworthy as an unsheathed sword, waiting patiently for Kyouka to come within striking distance.
She drew level with her senior, who let the moment of their closeness settle before holding out her arm. Kyouka accepted a fabric bag of fresh vegetables, its weight digging into the grooves of her palm. "Don't let them bruise," said Gin. Now that the girls stood toe-to-toe, her voice became even quieter—hardly stronger than a whisper. "Brother is fussy about bruised food."
The casual reminder that Gin was the younger sister to one of Kyouka's key tormentors was not done to ease the atmosphere at all.
"Carry on," Kyouka said firmly. Her crêpe was destroyed in her grip. She would have to throw it away. The idea almost drove her to tears. "I will ensure you don't endanger anyone."
Gin's grey eyes lit up in amusement. "We can watch each other, then."
Kyouka did her best not to let that affect her, only somewhat succeeding. She nodded at the road and urged, "Please continue, senpai. I will be here."
Sometimes, during those days they shared in the Port Mafia's basement under Paul's tutelage, Kyouka found herself laid out on a cold floor, miserable and broken, staring at a dark corner and wondering if she could cry.
Surely it was still possible, there was no human being in this world who was unable to shed a tear, but for her, Kouyou had come in so swiftly, painting such a gruesome picture of guilt and accountability that Kyouka was left questioning whether she had the right to mourn the loss of her mom. While a daughter could be permitted to grieve, an assassin was forbidden from it. That was what her mother became: Kyouka's first murder, as accidental as it was.
It hurt so much. Kouyou told her to embrace the darkness, to accept her ability to cause pain, take it into her until it could not be separated from her soul. Feeling hurt—dealing hurt—should be so familiar to Kyouka that whenever she dealt with pain, it was like coming home; only then could she be spared from the reality of her cruelty and what kind of mark it left on the world.
It was her teacher, Paul Verlaine, who offered another choice. He did not do it on purpose, but it was something Kyouka learned through his example. An existence where death was the ultimate purpose of someone's life—this reality was unbearable to live in. Paul knew it too. He hated being an Executive. He moved through the world like a phantom, his eyes pale like a living ghost. Nothing moved him, neither grief nor guilt able to keep him up at night. If she was similarly doomed to remain in this life, if she was to stay alive, she needed to be the same.
Gin was her senior. She joined several years prior to Kyouka and was homeless before she was old enough to understand what that meant. She was perfect for Port Mafia life, born harder, tempered earlier. By Paul's account, Gin took to his teachings like a duck to water: she learned on the streets that her life was a drain to society, that she may never leave a mark on the world and if she did, it was unlikely to be a positive one. Assassination hardly left a mental scar behind—there was, frankly, just no room left in Gin's brain for it.
They trained together. Kyouka didn't have enough pride in what she did to feel envious of Gin's talent. Instead, she craved Gin's brief, shining moments of kindness.
Paul was not kind. At best, he was as patient as a snake lying in wait. Kyouka didn't expect warmth from a cold-blooded creature such as her teacher. In contrast to his apathy, Kouyou's actions were aggressive and pointedly directed. Despite the maternal tone she would fall into, Kouyou was as nurturing as a wire skeleton, and Kyouka understood that.
But Gin…
Gin, who showed up late to training because she was held up at the chemist waiting on her brother's prescription—
—who fussed over the proper brewing of her expensive tea leaves, sometimes letting Kyouka drink the leftovers and prompting for her opinion on them—
—who, once, just once, sat with Kyouka after a shared-assassination, waiting and waiting for Kyouka to come back into her own body so they could leave the scene of the crime, her expression unhurried and unashamed—
Gin balanced her violence with her compassion. She'd done it, and she could show Kyouka how to do it too. If she cared. If Kyouka could only make her care… then maybe there was a chance for her in the Mafia, after all?
If Kouyou could be wrong about this, then what else might she be wrong about?
Kyouka soon found herself loaded with bags. Gin was thrilled at having a helper and splurged on additional items she normally wouldn't bother with, as she couldn't handle the weight alone. "Brother can't come with me, especially in colder months, he gets too sick, and I can't come late because all the good stuff is gone by six a.m.," She explained, turning a pear around in her hand. She wrinkled her nose at a dark patch and returned it to its box. "I guess some good has come from running into you, Izumi."
"Senpai is talkative today," the younger girl noted.
"Seeing you makes me nostalgic. Also, I had a good mission last night," Gin's mouth twitched sardonically. "You know how it is."
Kyouka's stomach churned. "No, I don't."
"I suppose. It was hard for you to get over, right? You would have been so good at it." Kyouka hummed placidly, wanting the conversation to be over. Her senior just continued, "I wanted to make you my lieutenant, but you were assigned under my brother. I think you would have done better under me. You never would have defected, at least."
She sincerely could not imagine anything worse.
The thing was, as an assassin, Kyouka would have thrived as a member of Gin's Black Lizard squad. They had the exact same training and were experienced with working together. Demon Snow would find herself employed perfectly in every mission. Kyouka could see it clearly in her mind, and she was suddenly grateful that her superior officer was the Hellhound of the Port Mafia.
And she couldn't believe she'd just thought that.
"How is detective work?"
"Good."
"Just good?"
"It isn't just anything, senpai. It's good work."
"Work doesn't have to be good or bad. You have a partner, don't you? The weretiger?"
"His name is Nakajima Atsushi."
"I've never heard it," Gin shrugged. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke didn't seem to know it either. "Is he talented? Brother doesn't like him."
"Akutagawa and Atsushi hate each other." Kyouka felt that it was important to make it clear. "Atsushi doesn't respect people who are cruel for the sake of it."
That didn't appear to phase Gin in the slightest. She never cared what kind of reputation her older brother created for himself. Her hands weren't exactly clean and Akutagawa, oddly, did not tolerate foul behaviour aimed at his sister. There was no resentment between the siblings. "I see. What about Dazai-san?"
Kyouka paused. What she said would definitely make it back to Akutagawa, so she should watch her words. But she didn't see the point in censorship when Dazai didn't tell her much in the first place. "He's hungover and asleep right now," Kyouka answered bluntly.
Gin raised her eyebrows. "Dazai-san is hungover?"
"He gets drunk as often as possible."
"He must be drinking bars out of business." She didn't sound upset about it. That was weird too, Kyouka suddenly recalled. From what she understood, Gin and Dazai had an easy-going relationship. Anyone knew that Dazai could easily outsmart her, but if it came down to an unavoidable fight, Gin would no doubt use the opportunity to vent her frustrations against the man—he could not beat her in a straightforward fight. Apparently, Dazai respected that. "Paul is fine."
"I don't remember asking."
"For your information," Gin sighed, gamely pressing on, "he doesn't hold your defection against you."
Kyouka felt her tantō at her back. "He doesn't get to have an opinion on it."
"Well, sure. It didn't surprise me though."
Ah…
She should really be over this by now.
"It didn't?" Kyouka blunted her tone as much as she could.
The older girl sent her a curious look. She seemed to be considering something deeply. Rather suddenly, she asked, "Do you remember Tajōmaru?"
What wouldn’t she give to forget it? A traditional house, the large forest down the road where they found him. A compromised informant who they happened to catch in the middle of another crime. Kyouka remembered the sounds; first the sobs, the muffled screams, the grunts and moans. It was Gin's kill. She went straight through his back with utter disinterest for the woman under their victim or the witness tied to the tree; she'd left them for Kyouka to finish.
Gin was lost to her thoughts. She didn't sound bothered as she lingered on memories that sickened Kyouka to merely be reminded of. She said, "You couldn't kill anyone. It annoyed me. I did everything that night, while you threw up and went catatonic. So I dragged you to the victim's house, put you in the shower, fully-clothed, and turned it on. It took me an hour to erase our trace."
"I know."
"I never told anyone,"
"I know. I knew." Kyouka waited weeks for a punishment that never came. "I wasn't sure how to thank you."
No. Not true. Kyouka wasn't sure if she should have. Gin had looked after her out of a sense of duty and she'd been so furious afterwards, flattening her during training as if to prove that she still could.
"Ever since then…" Gin clicked her tongue, looking at Kyouka from the corner of her eye. "You cleaned up your act. Didn’t choke on another mission, the way I hear it. Still, I wasn’t fooled. Your defection wasn't the suicide note I was expecting, but I never expected you to stay."
Kyouka’s next breath trembled out of her. It felt like a heavy weight sat on her chest. Of course, Kyouka could never have thrived in the Port Mafia. It was jarring to hear that Gin had noticed. Why didn’t you say anything to me, Kyouka wanted to ask. If you understood how bad it was, why wouldn’t you—
Her voice squeezed out through her pinhole throat. “I… I see.”
Her piece said, Gin looked forward. Grey eyes and pale skin. Her senpai really was made of ice. There was an aura of contentment on her, even now. Quietly, they stopped to buy a carton of red bean paste from a vendor who was very familiar with Gin.
The grandmother cooed as soon as she saw Kyouka's senpai, mistaking them for sisters. She asked after Gin's older brother, seeming to anticipate that it was too cold for him to be out. Kyouka experienced the conversation as if she was out of her own body. Sakae-san, as she was named, even dared to reach out and pat the top of Gin's head, saying: "Aiya, such a good girl! Such a good sister! Gin-chan, you will make a gorgeous housewife someday! What a lucky man he will be!"
Gin smiled demurely and said nothing, her shoulders up around her ears, paying for the paste without acknowledging those final words. She walked away like she was trying to shake a tail. The enthusiastic interaction with Sakae evidently drained her as well; her talking tapered off until they were silently wandering the market, Gin pausing occasionally to observe a fresh bit of produce.
Kyouka still felt like she’d been boxed around the ears, so she wasn’t sure what prompted her to say it. A vague memory of a conversation that might not have happened, maybe? The urge to display her heart on the table, to say: I guess I didn’t mean anything to you, but to me, senpai was important. I paid attention to you, you know? Gin was looking at a cart selling huge bags of puffed rice with a blank face. Nothing about her seemed upset. But Kyouka still offered her next words like a comfort. "Senpai would make a handsome househusband too."
Gin's head snapped towards her. "What?"
Kyouka didn't repeat herself.
Her cheeks red, Gin pressed her again, "Househusband? Who's a househusband?"
"Senpai has strong potential as a home-maker. That is my opinion."
"I—I don't have the time for any of that," The assassin huffed, seeming a bit flustered. "I'm busy. I kill people. Who wants to marry a criminal?” Kyouka hummed, feeling that such a thing was not inaccurate to say. Gin made a thick noise from her chest, turning away hastily. “Yes, right. Gosh. Izumi, you sure are bolder."
Kyouka honestly replied, “I’m cared about now. It makes me confident.”
Gin stared fiercely at a box of mangoes, trying to light it on fire with her eyes. “Good for you,” she was a beat away from sarcastic. Close, but not quite. Kyouka stared at her profile as best as she could; Gin covered her face with her hair, clearly still recovering from her earlier words. A bitter pride grew in Kyouka’s chest. It was a one-sided relationship, but that Kyouka knew to say such a thing to make Gin feel better made her want to stand tall. Perhaps Kyouka had always been capable of kindness. She’d noticed this about Gin, after all, even if she hadn’t been allowed to do anything with it back then. Well, she was allowed now. While a relationship with her senpai would no longer serve Kyouka the way she used to need it to, she wanted to pursue it anyway, to prove to herself that she could.
Facing her mangoes intensely, Gin held out her arm. “Give me the bags, Izumi.”
“You don’t have any free hands.”
“Put them on my shoulder. I’ll carry them.”
Kyouka, weirdly, became possessive over the bags she was holding. She almost rejected Gin on the spot until she realised that Gin would need to carry them eventually, as Kyouka would definitely not be walking her senpai home. She relinquished the bags carefully, helping to arrange it so Gin’s load was evenly balanced across both her hands and shoulders. Gin’s back bowed slightly as she adjusted to the sudden weight, her eyebrows pinching together. “I went overboard today,” She groaned softly. “Alright. Where do you want to go? I’m done shopping.”
Kyouka blinked. “Where do I want to go?”
Gin nodded slowly, like Kyouka was being deliberately dense.
“I didn’t finish my crêpe,” She said the first thing that came to mind. She also needed to buy a sweater for her Kenji and Atsushi. She’d promised to come back. “I want to get another one.”
“It’ll be my shout,” Gin offered. She hadn’t looked at Kyouka yet. “Then we’ll part ways. Agreed?”
Kyouka crossed her arms. She gave it some thought. “Or,” she muttered, pushing her tongue against the back of her teeth, rolling the idea around in her mouth, “it’s getting to that time in the morning. The mall is opening soon. Senpai, I have Dazai-san’s card. Should we…”
“Yes,” Gin interrupted savagely, her eyes alight with malice. She looked ready to throw Kyouka into the air in celebration of her brain. “Yes, yes. Izumi, we are absolutely doing that. Crêpe first, then I’ll drop off my stuff and we will go straight to Queen’s Square mall. Oh, good job."
The praise fell gently into Kyouka's waiting palms. The former assassin withheld her smile as she accepted the gift of Gin's attention. Gin's approval was not a lifeline that Kyouka desperately swam for, that light in a macabre tunnel that Kyouka felt that she might really die without. She had friends and family and Gin didn't fit into that—they probably wouldn't run into each other again for months—but it wasn't about fitting her old senpai into her new life. She was doing it because the luxury of being able to choose to was something Kyouka had more or less killed herself for, and she wanted that rush of strength when, at the end of the day, she could bid goodbye to Gin without anything holding her back.