Work Text:
The light in Section 6’s office is still on.
It’s a quarter past ten at night, well beyond the point of clocking out for any reasonable person. Yanagi’s stayed busy exceptionally late today, doing field ops with Harumasa and Soukaku while they gather some resonium samples, and this is just a brief stop by the office on her way home. It wouldn’t even have been necessary if she hadn’t left her laptop on her desk in the rush to get out to the pale wasteland.
Either way, she knows the truth the instant she steps out of the elevator at their headquarters: The light is on, Miyabi is still working.
And yet her treacherous mind fumbles for excuses, hope springing eternal. Maybe the Chief left it on by accident when she went home for the evening. Maybe the cleaning Bangboos are in there tidying up, and turned the light on so they could see.
Maybe she’ll win a gold prize in her next scratch-off.
The outer door swishes open smoothly, not so much as a creak. Yanagi steps under the vaulted archway and into the office within, neatly kept and sparsely decorated. Her heart sinks, but not with surprise, as she spots the silhouette upright at Miyabi’s desk. Sitting sideways in her desk chair - there is no world in which the Chief would sit with her back to a door, even after hours - and sifting through a stack of reports, a ream of text held stiffly in one hand as her tired eyes scan down row after row of charts and figures and impenetrable footnotes.
Yes, still working, which should be more of a surprise than it’s been lately. Miyabi abhors this part of the job - a creature of instinct and reflex, she’d rather be out fighting than dealing with bureaucracy and leadership. Trying to get her into personnel meetings is like trying to drag a cat out from under the ottoman for a bath. But these days, she’s at HQ before anybody else when their shift starts, and the last one out the doors at the end of the day. Sometimes she’s not out the doors at all; there have been days where Yanagi’s come in the next morning and found Miyabi slumped at her desk, snoring over a half-written grant proposal, a thin line of drool leaking from the corner of her lips.
She doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Knows how the Chief hates to be embarrassed, hates to let anyone see her in a state of anything other than absolute put-together competence and perfection. Knows, most of all, how special it is that Yanagi’s the one who gets to see her that way most often. Those times pass without comment - only a quiet, fervent gratitude for this thing that’s somehow blossomed between them.
(Also, it would be profoundly hypocritical to say anything. How many times has Yanagi slept on that sofa in the corner of the office?)
Pausing at the door, she takes a moment to look Miyabi over. The other woman hasn’t noticed her yet, absorbed in reams of paperwork about funding allocation and resource requests. Yanagi admires the sleek curve of her boss’s jaw, the way her slender neck cranes as she studies a diagram, the droop of her ears in a futile battle to stay alert.
She really has no off switch, Yanagi thinks with a wistful sort of fondness. Part of her, the consummate professional and self-admitted workaholic, admires her boss’s dedication. That part fights a brutal war against the rest of her, which aches to see Miyabi do this to herself.
“...Yanagi.” Gentle, not unfriendly, but very sudden. “Is everything alright?”
Miyabi’s not looking at her; Yanagi blinks, eyes scanning back and forth behind her glasses, until she spots that…curse eye thing peering at her from its orbit around the Chief’s pointed ears. Ah. Of course.
“Chief.” Her long legs carry her forward before she’s fully aware of it, and she calls out, soft and low. “The op went smoothly, nothing noteworthy to speak of. I’ve already uploaded the summary for the Institute’s review - no action needed on your part. Just stopping here to pick up my laptop in case something happens overnight.”
“Good to hear,” says Miyabi, leaning back against the arm of her chair. She looks up at last when Yanagi approaches - or looks slightly less down, given the elevated dais her desk sits on. “Apologies if I surprised you. I’ve been reviewing the new reports from our Hollow monitoring team.”
“Anything of interest standing out?”
Those perky ears stiffen, stoic in the face of adversity. “...No. Not particularly.”
Yanagi chuckles despite herself and retrieves the laptop from her desk, stowing it away in her bag. She pauses there a long moment, hand on her hip, gazing contemplatively up at the head of the room. Studies Miyabi - really studies her, attacks every detail the way she would an investigation or a department audit.
Her eyes look so tired...
“Have you been here since we left?” Try as she might to keep the concern out of her voice (Miyabi would read it as judgment, after all), Yanagi can’t quite manage. Setting her bag down, she rounds the desk and ascends the steps to join her boss.
Tailless rests in its scabbard on the desk, next to a display of Hoshimi clan scrolls and the cybernetic gauntlet that Miyabi usually wears on her left arm. As she makes her way up onto the dais, Yanagi can see her boss has her shoes off, her legs tucked under her on the chair in a cozy little ball. Stacks upon stacks of reports line the desktop beside her, a signature stamp laying forlornly overturned beside its inkpad.
“There was a great deal to catch up on,” Miyabi answers, still not looking up from the document she’s finishing. “I’ve gotten approval for the expedition into Hollow Melinoe, but it’s difficult to draw up any battle plans when the Bringer situation’s been taking up so much of my time.”
Her poker face is tremendous, but that sentence is carrying a ton of weight. Yanagi knows firsthand just how complex ‘the Bringer situation’ really is. Not just the fallout of the Sacrifice and the conspiracy and the damage it’s done to the city. The damage to Miyabi herself - the confinement, the lingering effects of the brutal war she fought against Tailless’s influence - has been kept from the public, but those might be the deepest-running scars of them all.
Concern thins her lips out. “Maybe you should turn in for the evening, Chief. It’s late.”
Another person, one who didn’t know Miyabi as well, might misunderstand the momentary flicker of resentment in those dark eyes. It’s not annoyance toward Yanagi for calling it out, it’s…toward the circumstances, for lack of a better term. At Miyabi herself, in the worst case scenario.
“...I’m fine,” she says at last, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself. “I’ll rest easier once all of this is squared away.”
“It can wait another day,” argues Yanagi. Her heels echo on the marble floor as she crosses over - closer now, steadily looming on Miyabi’s horizons. “Besides, isn’t all this paperwork cutting into your training time?”
A full-body sigh. Miyabi’s shoulders droop, and then her ears follow almost in sync. It’s kind of pathetically adorable.
“This, too, is a form of training.” A beat. “The worst form, but…still necessary. That’s what I keep telling myself.”
God, she hates it here. Visibly, even. Sympathy twists uneasily in Yanagi’s gut; she draws nearer and settles onto the edge of the desk, one foot dangling slightly off the floor. “Fair enough,” she counters, “but doesn’t training become less effective if you do it too much? You have to rest sometime.”
At last, she gets Miyabi’s full attention. The Chief lowers her report a little too hastily, jaw tightening, and meets her gaze at last. “...It was a metaphor, Yanagi. All the details don’t map over one-to-one. Don’t split hairs.”
It stings a little, but Yanagi says nothing, merely offers a small smile. Silence reigns for a long moment, until Miyabi’s cheeks grow hot with embarrassment; she clenches her jaw, lowering her head again.
“Sorry,” she almost whispers. “I-I didn’t…” A frustrated sigh, cut short. “...Sorry.”
Her immediate contrition is endearing, in a sad sort of way. Yanagi nods in response, looking away from her boss. “It’s alright,” she says gently. “Have you eaten yet?”
“I promised myself I’d finish the requisition forms and the grant proposal before I did.”
“And when was that?”
Miyabi slumps in defeat. “Five and a half hours ago. Listen, don’t scold me. We need those personnel for the expedition. This is all depending on me.”
There’s something small about the way she says it that pierces Yanagi down to the roots. When in the course of their acquaintance has Miyabi not been crushed beneath the weight of expectations - whether those of her clan, of HAND, of New Eridu’s people, even of Section 6?
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” she begins, “but you’re taking on more responsibility than you can handle. The rest of the squad’s starting to notice it, too.” Pushing her glasses up her nose, she leans forward to peer down at the other woman. “This isn’t healthy. You have to scale this back before you burn yourself out, or worse.”
“Is that advice in your professional capacity, Deputy Chief?”
“It’s in my capacity as the woman who loves you,” Yanagi replies flatly.
This is the metaphorical slap that finally, belatedly gets through to Miyabi. She stiffens sharply in her chair, lips parting, eyes suddenly alert and fixed on Yanagi; a deep blush floods into her face, almost tomato-red.
“...Yanagi, please don’t say such things,” she practically whispers.
“Because you don’t think I mean them?”
“No!” Miyabi protests, her files forgotten on the desktop for now. “I don’t doubt that at all. But…” One hand flies to her face, kneading a knuckle into the spot between her eyes, trying in vain to alleviate some kind of tension. “...I don’t want the power to disappoint you too, on top of everyone else.”
A somber quiet settles over the office. She glances down at her papers again, but Miyabi’s heart clearly isn’t in it anymore, and her lips pull into a thin, tight line of frustration.
At last, Yanagi rises, resolve drawn across her delicate features, and begins to circle the chair.
“You’ve never once disappointed me in all the time I’ve known you,” she begins, trailing her hand along the desktop, over the back of the chair, letting Miyabi see it coming well in advance. “What we have isn’t something that’s conditional, Miyabi.”
The Section Chief straightens slightly at the use of her given name, a rare informality in this room. Her back goes straight against the chair’s arm, which works fine for Yanagi’s purposes, because a moment later she finishes circling around behind Miyabi. Her fingers graze along the other woman’s sleeve, steadily up her arm to the curve of her shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
“Something I should’ve done weeks ago,” Yanagi replies, her other hand settling onto the opposite shoulder. She feels Miyabi tense up under her fingers - not that it makes much difference, her muscles feel like oakwood. “Ugh, you’re so tense. I can’t believe I’ve neglected you for this long.”
“It’s not like I make it easy for you to– mm!” The Thiren jerks in place as if stabbed. The reality’s not far off; Yanagi’s thumbs have settled where the shoulders meet the neck and dug down into her traps, gliding down the length of the muscles in torturously slow strokes. “Ahh- ahh, I hate this. You’re a monster. As your superior officer, I’m ordering you to–” The sentence dies in a full-body wince and a pathetic whine as Yanagi digs into her aching shoulder muscles once more.
“Request denied, ma’am,” Yanagi says playfully, continuing downward and exploring the grooves behind Miyabi’s shoulder blades. “Just try to relax.”
“I can’t relax when your thumbs are buried in my soul, Yanagi.”
“Try anyway. It'll get better as we go.”
Marveling over the rock-hard tension, she leans her body weight into each stroke, pushing in deep, suppressing a faint smile at all the shifting and wriggling. Miyabi’s the most stoic person she knows, able to bear up under the kind of agony or strain that would shatter someone weaker, and yet here she is squirming like a child having a splinter dug out. It's cute, even if she’d never voice that out of consideration for the Chief’s dignity.
“We're worried about you,” she continues, working in steady repetitive circles, trying to loosen the long muscles that line Miyabi’s spine. The kimono top is thick and unyielding, difficult to be felt through, but Yanagi’s hands - much like the rest of her - are stronger than they look. “Not just me, either. The whole squad’s been asking if I know what's going on with you.”
“S-seriously?” the other woman replies through clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut. Her breath catches in her throat as Yanagi digs into a sore spot and drags it sloooowly upward. “They’re going to you behind my back?”
“Mmhmm. The other day, Soukaku wanted to know why you’re taking half as long for lunch lately.”
“...Soukaku noticed enough to ask you?” The dismay in Miyabi’s voice is audible.
“Well, food was involved,” Yanagi concedes. “But yes, it's obvious enough at this point that everyone's noticed.”
The stress in those muscles is unbelievable. Right at the junction of Miyabi’s neck, she finds a muscle that twangs when she kneads over it, like plucking a harp string made of meat. The young swordswoman breathes out sharply through her nose, but offers no resistance. Her head hangs forward - perhaps stretching the neck muscles, perhaps something deeper and more painful.
“Sometimes,” she admits, “I think you should be in charge of Section 6.”
Yanagi’s hands still on her shoulders for a moment, an instant of hesitation that betrays her. Just as quickly, she’s back in motion, gliding her way up and down the back of Miyabi’s neck, working the soreness out of that persistent knot.
“Why do you think that?” A remarkably measured response, considering the context.
“They put me in charge of the unit because I’m a Void Hunter, but my only qualifications are on the battlefield. I can’t keep up with all this bureaucracy. I can’t even talk to people normally.” The cringe is tangible through the steadily-loosening muscles of Miyabi’s neck and shoulders. “I’m always giving orders, making… proclamations. People look at me strangely, if they’re not looking at me with blind awe. You’re the functional one, the one who keeps the team running.”
It’s a complicated thing to hear.
There is…admittedly a very small part of Yanagi, perhaps, that secretly is quite satisfied to hear some of this. Not much, of course. But it is nice to be acknowledged. To know that somebody sees the value she brings to the unit, that if some freak Hollow accident should someday take her that her absence will be felt. An acid slick of reassurance on Yanagi’s heart.
And yet that heart aches all the more to hear Miyabi say these things about herself.
“I can’t say it’s not gratifying to know you value me,” she admits, trading vulnerability for vulnerability, “but I also think you underestimate what you bring to Section 6, Chief. You inspire people in a way that none of us can - including the squad. Even me.” A beat. “Especially me.”
Miyabi thrums in disagreement as her head leans gently back against Yanagi’s stomach, enjoying the feeling of those skilled hands rubbing at the back of her neck. The tendons feel like they’re wound tighter than a Bangboo’s servos, but Yanagi can feel them gradually giving way under her onslaught.
“Mm, that’s…” Goosebumps spring up along Miyabi’s neck and forearms as the Deputy Chief’s thumbs settle into the hollows under her skull, deep in the suboccipitals - a tingling pressure that makes her whole body shiver and her ears flop in opposite directions, halfway down her scalp. “Damn you, I can’t argue when you’re…ah…that feels so good…”
“Yes, that’s what I was banking on,” Yanagi replies, a teasing lilt in her voice, and lets the other woman languish in bliss for the moment. “As I was saying: more than that, you’ve overlooked so many of your leadership qualities. Think about when you exchanged yourself for Perlman. What if our places had been switched, and it was me going with Bringer? Do you know what you would’ve done?”
“It wouldn’t have–”
“I know it wouldn’t have been me, it had to be you. But for our purposes, let’s say it was me.”
There’s no hesitation. “I would have dispatched Asaba to follow him, then contacted our Proxy associates to …mmf… to organize an impromptu raid before the scheduled speech.” Even weathering the storm of tension release, Miyabi’s response is almost automatic, calculated practically without thought. “With luck and good execution, Bringer would never have made it to his event. Cut down in the street, more likely than not, before he had a chance to take that Sacrifice serum.”
Yanagi shakes her head with a smile. She withdraws one hand to brush a lock of pink hair behind her ear, then returns it to Miyabi’s scalp. Careful not to mess up the Chief’s carefully-styled tresses, her fingers find the bases of Miyabi’s ears and begin to soothe them in light, gentle circles.
The fur is soft and impossibly fine, crushed velvet against her skin, and the muted noise of glee that Miyabi makes is even better. She leans wholly against Yanagi now, her weight resting as much against the other woman as the chair back, letting her entire body relax, tension trickling from her posture like sawdust from a sliced training dummy.
“Well, do you know my reaction when you were arrested?” Yanagi asks, a rueful note in her voice. “I panicked. I didn’t know what to do at first.”
“That’s hard to envision.”
“It wasn’t anything outwardly dramatic, but I was at a loss for ideas,” she admits, continuing to carefully knead around the edges of Miyabi’s ears between thumb and forefinger. “All I could think of were visions of him killing you, or turning you into a monster, or…” A single shake of her head. “I couldn’t focus. Asaba and Soukaku had to talk me back down to earth.”
To this, Miyabi says nothing. Her eyes are closed, her breathing steady as she practically melts back against Yanagi.
“Now contrast that to how you snapped off a plan just now, like a reflex - and while I was distracting you, at that. The truth is…you’re the decisive one on the squad. The one who knows the right call to make without having to think about it.” Yanagi boops the tip of an ear with her finger. “If I were running Section 6, we’d be stuck in analysis paralysis forever. And we certainly wouldn’t have made the progress we have in Hollow Zero. Give yourself more credit.”
It’s quiet as she finishes, index fingers ghosting up and down the silky fur, a steady hypnotic rhythm. Miyabi seems wholly transformed; her chest rises and falls in slow breaths, pulse easy and unhurried against the other woman’s touch.
At last, her eyes open: faint umber, placid, perhaps a touch shy.
“There’s wisdom in your words,” she murmurs. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”
“I do,” says Yanagi, gradually slowing her petting to a comfortable stop. “You’re tired, hungry, and overstimulated. Fortunately, that’s easily treatable: get out of here and be kinder to yourself.”
She feels an unexpected brush of warmth against her arm; Miyabi’s reached a hand up to take hers. Yanagi accepts it eagerly, her other hand still idle against those twitching fox ears.
“I suppose I’ve truly reached rock bottom,” sighs Miyabi, though it’s tinged with a sort of resigned amusement, “when you’re lecturing me about working too much.”
“Perhaps,” the Deputy Chief agrees fondly. “But I’ll let you in on a secret, Chief: it helps me to help you.” She squeezes the hand within hers. “When I can make your life easier, that brings me a certain…satisfaction, I suppose. A feeling of belonging. It’s comforting, in a way.”
The fox Thiren leans back in her chair, turning her gaze skyward until (after a moment of adjusting on Yanagi’s part) their eyes meet, upside-down.
“Do you really mean that?” she asks. “I feel like I lean so much on you…”
“That’s by design,” Yanagi replies, ever-patient, stroking Miyabi’s hair as they hold hands. “I encourage you to lean on me. I’m encouraging it even more right now.” She studies the smooth contours of the other woman’s face, the deep expressive eyes, briefly lost and wandering in admiration. “As much as I'd love to fight every battle for you, Chief, I know there are some that only you can fight - and it wouldn’t be fair to you if I tried. But for the rest…all I can hope for is that you’ll let me shoulder some of the weight for you.”
Miyabi’s gaze softens, a side of her that few get the chance to see. Her eyes are bright now, her diminutive frame pliant and soft against Yanagi, like a sturdy pillow.
“Yanagi…” Her eyes narrow at the corners, a dead giveaway of her smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
And this, too, feels just the tiniest bit more thrilling to hear than it has any right to be. But Yanagi’s past the point of feeling guilty about that. Maybe it helps that Miyabi’s the Section Chief - that her word is law - making it easy to respect her agency.
Maybe that’s just a useful excuse Yanagi tells herself. But either way, they’ve settled into a comfortable equilibrium, a happy stability. And in a world that’s barely a decade out from the destruction of global civilization, stability is worth its weight in gold.
“You’ll never have to worry about that,” she promises, then lowers her lips to Miyabi’s.
Maybe this was a cooler idea in theory than in practice - leaning over the back of the chair for an upside-down kiss sounds rather more romantic and less awkward than it actually is - but Yanagi’s graceful enough to manage anyway. Her rose-pink hair falls around Miyabi’s face like curtains as they kiss, hands settling on the other woman’s temples, fingers threading in her dark tresses. Miyabi shifts delightedly beneath her, thrumming contentedly into her mouth, and lets the Deputy Chief lead their dance.
Yanagi’s not sure how long it goes on - probably just a few seconds, but an eternity may as well have passed by the time she pulls up again. She strokes a thumb over Miyabi’s cheek, noting the heat that’s gathered there; her pretty face is deep red with self-conscious excitement, but far from being embarrassed, she’s smirking up at Yanagi.
“Was this what you were looking for all along?” Miyabi whispers, ears perking to attention.
“Not at all,” Yanagi admits, “but you have to admit it worked out nicely.”
“Mm.”
“And you do seem like you're feeling better.”
“You’ve worked wonders, but I'm not quite at a hundred percent yet.” Deep red eyes glimmer with sly affection. “Perhaps, since thoroughness is one of your best qualities…?”
Yanagi laughs softly. Without another word, she shifts around the chair to meet Miyabi head-on this time. The second kiss is easier, smoother than the first - she doesn't have to deal with the logistics of the weird position, and Miyabi pushes herself up in her seat, rising to meet her halfway.
They take their time with it, breath mingling, heavy-lidded eyes occasionally finding each other as they shift and move. Miyabi’s lips are soft, almost silken, against hers, and the tentative way she kisses, almost like she’s asking for permission - so different from how she acts on the battlefield - sends butterflies dancing in Yanagi’s stomach. She drinks in the faint aroma of Miyabi’s conditioner, the sensation of her face cupped in gentle palms, most of all the heady warmth that seems to swell in her chest until it feels like it might burst.
When at last they separate, her breathing is labored slightly, glasses askew, cheeks pink to match the Chief’s.
“There we are,” she breathes. “Now, I know I'm in no position to give you orders, but it's time to accept one anyway: clock out.”
Miyabi can’t seem to tear her eyes away. She swallows once, a reflexive gulp, and manages a nod. “On one condition. Come with me.”
It's not the answer Yanagi expected; she blinks, straightening her glasses. “What?”
“I know you well enough,” the Chief persists, unfolding her legs and standing up from the desk; although this does basically nothing to bring her closer to eye level with Yanagi, it’s quite successful at invading her space. “You haven’t eaten either, have you?”
“I absolutely have.”
Miyabi holds her ground. She rises onto her tiptoes, gaze boring into Yanagi. "What was it?”
The tension holds for a split second and then collapses like a punctured balloon as Yanagi sighs.
“...A protein bar,” she concedes. “Half of one, really.”
“That’s what I thought,” says Miyabi, perhaps just the slightest hint of smugness leaking through. “Fine. We’re going out for conveyor belt sushi, and then you’re staying over. Soukaku can raid the refrigerator for one night.”
“Knowing Soukaku, she probably already has.”
“Exactly. Besides, if I’m going to take time for myself, I want it to be time that matters.” One delicate hand rises, lingering between them, palm upturned. “The moments with you are the ones that matter the most to me. So…” A hopeful smile. “Will you come with me?”
At times, Yanagi finds herself awestruck reflecting on how fortunate she’s somehow been, here at the end of the world. Even with the old capital in ruins, with the Hollows and the Exaltists and the apocalypse perpetually knocking on New Eridu’s door, she can still let herself be happy to have found somewhere she belongs.
It’s a precious gift that they share, she thinks. In a world like this, simply enduring is their act of rebellion - keeping on, in spite of everything.
“Of course,” she says, and takes Miyabi’s hand. “I’ll go with you anywhere, Chief - anytime.”
end