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It's getting worrisome, the way they've found themselves surrounded by some of the worst Yotsuya has to offer. Ryusei isn't sure how or when it happened, but it's undeniable the fact that danger walks closer to them by the minute.
He twists the knife in his hands, experimenting with a few tricks he's learnt from an especially nasty older boy Kojirō tolerates better than the rest. He stares at it, his reflection almost like a mirror’s.
Kojirō will like it. He will love it, actually. And it’ll serve him well―maybe too well, knowing him. He will give Ryusei that smile he finds lights his heart up, makes it race, and just to imagine his best friend’s joy lifts the corners of his lips.
It's not Kojirō's birthday anytime soon, but with their young gang gaining numbers, he supposes a gift is justified. And it's Kojirō, anyway. Ryusei isn't opposed to giving him small presents spontaneously, even if a pocketknife isn’t exactly cheap.
It’s just―
He worries. About what Kojirō can delve into, will get into the moment his focus isn’t on Ryusei, what with the companies they’re starting to keep.
“You’re early,” a voice startles him from behind, and he quickly hides the knife. “That’s unusual.”
When he turns around, there he is, with a smile on his face, inquisitive eyes watching his every move. If he weren't so used to it, he'd think of it unsettling.
"I couldn't sleep." He says it as nonchalantly as possible, even when honesty surges from him without a second thought.
Kojirō makes a mocking cooing sound. "Don't tell me you're nervous? That's not like you."
In a short while, the first official reunion of Yotsuya Kaidan will take place. And, rather than nervous, it’s anticipation that fills his veins.
(He ignores the dread, deep buried beneath the excitement and satisfaction he shows to Kojirō. They both can hold their ground, even if Ryusei’s the one who’s fought for longer. Kojirō will be fine.)
(Nothing will happen as long as we're together.)
"Why would I be?" He snorts, derisive. Dismissive of those who've decided to follow them just because they're stronger than the rest.
"That's right," Kojirō affirms, passing an arm around his shoulders, forcing Ryusei towards his chest. "No one can defeat us here. I'll kill them before they even try."
The arm that sneaks around Kojirō's waist is as involuntary as his honesty.
"I'm not bailing you out of jail."
His friend hums, amused. "You would help me hide the bodies."
And, the worst is—if it was for Kojirō, Ryusei would probably do it. No one should be able to hurt him. No one is allowed to.
At the same time, he doesn't want Kojirō to hurt anybody like that. Much less kill somebody.
But if the choice is between Kojirō dying or anyone else, Ryusei knows exactly who he wants to keep living.
(Even if it hurts, and his heart aches at the thought. Even if it means he's not as good as his mother thinks he is.)
He closes his eyes, leaning towards him, letting Kojirō deal with a bit of dead weight.
Ryusei chuckles as he feels him tumble a bit, liking the way he's taller, bigger than him.
"Stop, you oaf." Kojirō grumbles, only making Ryusei laugh harder. Elbowing him, sharp, is the only way he's found to stop his childhood friend in his moments of idiocy.
"Ruthless," Ryusei complains, mostly joking.
Kojirō laughs along, a too-sweet sound coming from a guy that Ryusei's seen break bones before. "You should learn how to pick your opponents. That’s why you have me here, so I can guide us.”
“You’ve pulled us into more fights in a year than I have our whole life combined,” he snorts, before leaning onto him again, this time with all of his weight.
Against all of his expectations, Kojirō manages to uphold him for about ten seconds. He laughs, uncontrollably, as they fall to the ground, the scream from his friend one he’ll remember until the ends of time.
After a few seconds, he hears Kojirō’s laughter along with his, and his heart beats loud, way too loud, when he turns back to watch him and his world stops, mesmerized by the sight.
When Kojirō laughs like this, free and loud, there's no sound that can match it.
Seeing Kojirō happy is what he adores the most. Making him happy, sometimes, he thinks it's what he was born for.
“Ryusei, get off already,” the blond wheezes, poking at his sides—making use of one of his weaknesses—to incite him to obey him.
He does, because he hates how Kojirō knows all of his weak points, but he hates tickles a lot more. He sits up, the smile still not leaving his face, watching as his friend tries to regain control of what sounds leave his mouth.
And they stay there, on the ground, just staring at each other with dumb smiles on their faces. Like a couple of kids, breathless from the fun of it all.
"How grand of a show from the leaders of Yotsuya Kaidan," Kojirō comments between laughter that still escapes his lips.
Ryusei snorts, and stands up, offering his hand, lifting him up in a calculated bit of strength once Kojirō accepts it.
And he thinks, before they get ahead towards where the meeting will take place, it has to be now. The knife doubles its weight as the thought crosses his mind, but it’s for the better. It has to be. He knows Kojirō won't restrain himself from using it, but it's better than him being defenceless against someone who is willing to use one against him.
"Hey, Ko." The affectionate nickname, more usual in their childhood than it is now, comes out in a serious tone. He grabs the pocketknife, and gives it to him, puts it right in his hand. "Here."
Kojirō does, and stares at it, dumbfounded, before smiling. He opens it, twisting it to his content, feeling how it weighs in his hand. "Ryusei." He calls him in the sing-song which his name always leaves his mouth with. "We're definitely destined, you know?"
And, without a warning, he throws something at him. Ryusei catches it, of course, but it's because he's got good reflexes.
He looks at it, curious for a second, but just by a glance he knows what it is.
The same exact pocketknife. Same design, same length, same width.
They got each other matching pocketknives to congratulate—and defend against—the birth of the Yotsuya Kaidan.
Ryusei laughs at the thought, half incredulous, the rest of him basking in the fondness that invades his body.
"You know what it means, right?" Kojirō asks, tilting his head, twirling his brand-new knife. "With this, half of you is mine, and half of me is yours."
When has it ever not been that way?
Ryusei wonders where he gets these kinds of ideas, sometimes. But even though it's cheesy and it seems childish, he won't deny Kojirō what is already his.
"So I can't leave?" The question is out of his mouth before he registers it.
"I'll chase you down if you do," Kojirō's reply is also automatic, his smile gaining a sinister tint to it, eyes narrowing menacingly.
Ryusei thinks he shouldn't smile at the words he's heard. But he does it anyway.
(He ignores the part of him that shivers at them.)
"It's a promise, then."
Even if the place they end up is in hell.
"Glad you understand."
Even then, Ryusei wouldn't be able to leave Kojirō alone.
And he knows Kojirō wouldn't let go of him, either.
(It's easier to give in.)
He stares at the knife in his hand, and guards it in his pocket.
Like the promise, like their friendship, like Kojirō, its weight is lead.
Ryusei can't help but love it, too.