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Yosano meets him at a bar.
She knows who he is and she knows he is Mafia, but none of that matters. He reminds her of a ghost from the past and she solves the haunting by downing the contents of the glass in front of her.
She doesn’t make it a habit of drinking by herself but, on that night, she sits alone at the bar. She doesn’t watch him, but her eyes had lingered long enough already. He detaches himself from the group he had walked in with and drops himself on the stool next to hers.
He has his back to the bar. She looks at him, but he doesn’t look at her.
He’s Mafia and she is not. Maybe that matters a little.
“We could go to your place,” he says boldly as he assumes a conversation that never happened.
Yosano stands up, fixes her clothes, and takes two steps away. He doesn’t follow and she realizes she’ll need to extend an invitation.
“Aren’t you coming?”
That’s enough for him to get up and follow her outside. She realizes she doesn’t really know his name. She knows he’s Black Lizard and she knows he is Mafia and that had been enough up until the moment he follows her into a taxi and puts a hand on her knee.
She ignores his hand and gives the driver her address. He laughs but she misses the joke.
He leans in and whispers by her ear:
“It’s Tachihara.”
The name reminds her of an unpleasant past. For a moment, she’s back in that room on that ship. She turns her head a little and smiles at him.
“I know,” she lies, and he laughs again.
“Yosano-sensei, isn’t it?” he says with a smile still playing on his lips.
She watches his smile for a little too long. She looks away. She refuses to give in.
“Yosano,” she corrects. “I’m not your doctor.”
“Could be sexy,”
“It is not.”
He shrugs, not really interested enough in all that to try to convince her. She pays for the ride and gets out. She walks to her apartment, and he follows close behind. They get in, she locks the door, and they don’t even make their way to the bedroom.
They fuck against the entrance door.
And then again on her bed.
And one last time against the wall of the hallway to the living room.
Tachihara leaves around 4am while she is still showering. It doesn’t hurt her feelings. She locks the door, fixes her shoes so they sit neatly by the entrance and she makes instant ramen.
She thinks they should have exchanged numbers but he is Mafia and she is not, so it’s better this way.
“He reminds you of me, doesn’t he?” that voice from the past asks her as she brings her food to the couch. “It’s better to not have that sort of reminder around.”
She doesn’t answer the ghost because the ghost is just a twisted version of someone she cared about.
“Did you fuck him to prove to yourself you could get past that memory?”
She eats in silence and refuses to be haunted. It isn’t easy, but it’s muscle memory by now.
Tachihara meets her at a bar.
He knows who she is and she knows who she was before the Agency. It matters way too much, and she reminds him of a ghost from the past that he still holds in his heart.
He is out with subordinates and colleagues, all Mafia and unaware of who she is. She is drinking alone, and he wonders if she has the habit of doing so. Her eyes linger on him or on the ghost of his brother; he couldn’t know.
He grins and jokes and says he’ll be busy for the night, so they should lose his number for now. He walks to her and sits next to her. He has his back to the bar; he doesn’t intend on staying.
She looks at him and he avoids her eyes, worried that she will see the truth in him before the moment to reveal it.
He isn’t Mafia but no one here knows that much. That’s how it should be. To her, he is Mafia and she is not and that’s all there is to know.
“We could go to your place,” he suggests, so bold he has trouble keeping his face neutral.
She gets up, fixes her clothes, and starts to walk away.
“Shit,” he says under his breath. He fucked it up.
She pauses, looks back, and says:
“Aren’t you coming?”
Tachihara gets up, waves at the old man when he looks in his direction, and follows her out into the night. There is a taxi by the end of the block and they walk in silence to that car. She gets in, he gets in and he puts a hand on her knee, testing the boundaries.
The invitation promises sex but he’s the grieving brother and she’s the angel of death.
She ignores his hand and gives the driver her address. He laughs, a little awkward. She has no idea who he is.
He leans in and whispers by her ear:
“It’s Tachihara.”
He expects the name to remind her of the past. It doesn’t.
“I know,” she says, and he laughs at his own foolishness.
“Yosano-sensei, isn’t it?” he teases.
She watches him for a moment. It’s unnerving.
“Yosano,” she corrects. “I’m not your doctor.”
“Could be sexy,”
“It is not.”
He shrugs; he doesn’t care about that anyway.
They arrive and she pays for the ride. He doesn’t offer to pay for it. He gets out and takes in the two floors building. She lives down the hallway and he follows her in. She locks the door, and he kisses her, pressing her against the door.
They fuck against the entrance door.
And then again on her bed.
And one last time against the wall of the hallway leading to the living room.
It’s hot and messy and good.
He leaves around 4am while Yosano is still showering. He feels a little guilty, sneaking out like that. He feels a lot of guilt, fucking around with this person.
He thinks it could be fun to meet again, but it’s better if they don’t.
“Is this your revenge?” a voice that is not his brother’s asks him. He ignores it. “Did you fuck her to prove to yourself you can live on your own?”
He walks away from her building. He walks in silence, trying to ignore the haunting. It’s hard and feeling guilty is muscle memory by now.