Chapter Text
"Oi! Yukine!" Shirota's older brother called out to him the moment he walked in the door, jumping over the back of the couch to head towards him.
Damn. He'd been hoping to at least get a shower before having to deal with whatever shit Nagone was undoubtedly going to dump on him. He'd just gotten back from the class-trip to the mountain, and if he was being honest, he seriously reeked.
"What is it, Nagone?" he asked, barely able to suppress his sigh. "Can we make this quick? I really need a shower."
"Yeah, sure, it ain't urgent or nothin'," Nagone rolled his eyes at his younger brother. "Whatever, we can talk later. I got other shit to do anyway. Come to the base tonight, and don't leave me hanging, little bro."
"Sure." Yukine agreed with a sigh.
As his brother walked away, he noticed the handle of a gun sticking out of the back of Nagone's jeans, and quietly scoffed. Yukine would be the first to admit he was no genius, but even he knew that was a bad idea.
He stopped by his room to drop off his bag and jacket, and then went to the bathroom to wash up.
Tonight, huh? Yukine sighed to himself as he began to undress, and adjust the temperature of the water. I wonder what he wants this time? Probably something sketchy. Or maybe he just wants to get on my ass about 'preparing me for the family business' again, like when he taught me to shoot. He stepped under the stream of steaming water, and reached for the soap.
Yukine was of the opinion that two generations did not constitute a "family business." Although, Yukine would have been of the opinion that twenty generations didn't constitute a family business, if it meant not having to be part of Nagone's gang. Not that his opinion mattered.
His brother was grooming him—or at least trying to groom him—to be the perfect second-in-command—powerful, remorseless, and loyal to a fault. He had been doing so for as long as Yukine could remember. And whether he liked it or not, Yukine had to admit it sort of worked.
He was among the best in his class at fighting, and he found that as he got older, he cared less and less about people getting hurt... which actually scared him when he thought about it. Not to mention, as much as he disliked his brother, they were still brothers, and whenever Nagone needed him, he always helped, if grudgingly. As if he couldn't stop himself, no matter how deep the shit, Yukine had to help his older brother out.
So even though he didn't want to know what his brother wanted to talk to him about, Yukine was sure that he'd go meet up with him at the base anyway. He wondered vaguely if it had always been like that. He knew that Nagone hadn't always wanted to be a crime lord. Apparently, there was a time, when he was young, that Nagone had wanted to be an astronaut. Evidently that hadn't lasted very long, though, because Yukine had no recollection of it.
The scalding water cascaded down his body, rinsing away the last of the soap, then Yukine turned it off and stepped onto the ragged bathmat. He dried his hair and body roughly before wrapping the towel around his waist, and took off toward his room to get dressed.
On the way out of the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, and scowled at the large scar on his abdomen, and the coiled green dragon tattooed on his shoulder. Fuck this family.
Even so, at eight that evening, Yukine found himself at the door of the shitty arcade Nagone and his gang called HQ. He let himself in through the back door, directly into the "employees only" part of the building, knowing no one would stop him. He was the boss' kid brother, after all, and messing with him would result in broken bones at the least. As he neared the boss' office, just past the gambling den, which was empty for the moment, he heard his brother's voice, and stopped short, stepping around the corner and pausing to listen.
"The deal is set," Nagone was saying, or rather, Daimondai, as his gang called him. "We're meeting up with our temporary allies next week, and the job goes down five days after that, so be ready. And don't take any shit from them, yeah?! They're not better than us!" This was met by cheering, and Daimondai dismissed his crew to go about their business.
Deal? Temporary allies? Job? Yukine echoed his brother's words in his head. What in the hell is going on.
"Hey little bro!" Yukine barely managed not to startle at his brother's greeting. "Just the guy I wanted to see. Come this way." He gestured for his brother to follow him to the fairly large, but nevertheless shabby room he called his office. "You're almost eighteen now, right?"
"Three more weeks," Yukine confirmed suspiciously, once the door closed behind him. He turned narrowed eyes toward his brother. "Why? What's going on?"
"You're more than old enough to join up, Yu," Nagone said, opening his arms in an inviting gesture. "Be part of the gang, and not just under its protection."
Reflexively, Yukine's hand reached over to his tattoo. Their late father had had them both branded with it when they were kids, 'for protection.' Every time Yukine saw it, disgust roiled in his stomach.
"You've got the skills," Nagone continued, "I mean, you're a little rough around the edges, but we could use you. Especially for the big project we've got comin' up."
"You want me to officially join your band of miscreants?" Yukine scowled. "What, so I can be arrested along with the rest of you morons when the police bust your whole operation?"
"Because you're family, Yukine," Nagone corrected, his face sedate, earnest... or so it seemed. "This is dad's legacy, don't you wanna be a part of it? Both Shirota brothers, working together, nothing could bring us down. We're stronger together, always have been."
He's manipulating me, Yukine realized, not for the first time. He'd been more attuned to it in the past year or so, ever since becoming friends with Fumei he'd been learning. Next he's gonna whip out those stupid puppy dog eyes and guilt trip me with something that happened a long time ago.
The real kicker, though? It was working. He knew it was manipulation. He knew he was being played. But even so... Yukine always had trouble saying "no" to his brother. They were family. Blood. Their mom had died when Yukine was still in preschool, so ever since their father's death two years ago, the two of them were all the family they had left.
He couldn't say "no" to Nagone, but... but there was nothing in this woth he wanted less than to join the Midoryu and be beholden to this wretched gang for the rest of his short life, before he died at 39 in a pointless shoot-out like their father had.
"Can I have some time to think it over?" Yukine asked.
He wasn't sure it would make any difference, but maybe if he had some time to clear his head, he could convince himself not to go along with his brother, for once. Maybe he could overcome his god-forsaken loyalty to the worst of bad influences. Or come up with an excuse to put off joining that his brother would accept.
"Sure, brother."
Yukine forced himself not to cringe at the reminder. They were brothers. Close as can be. He couldn't betray Nagone, so... what was he going to do?
"Just don't take too much time, yeah?"
Gritting his teeth, he nodded and backed out of the room, desperately wanting to go home and sleep, and maybe never wake up. He hurried out of the base, past the run-down excuse for a gambling den that some other members of the gang were setting up for business to start soon, then down the street in the rapidly darkening night.
As he changed and went to bed, Yukine's mind was riddled with uncertainty, and his sleep was restless. All his life, he'd done everything in his power to hide his affiliation with his brother's gang, but now that he was being pressed to join.... He just wasn't smart enough to get out of this on his own. It was time to finally go to someone for help. But who? And how?
The answer came to him at around three in the morning, as he tossed and turned, technically asleep, but only growing more exhausted. Nagisa-sensei. He was a teacher. He was smart. Not to mention he was a badass. Plus, he already knew about Nagone. Maybe he could help.
—
After what felt like the longest weekend of his life, spent avoiding his brother as much as he possibly could, Shirota went back to school, bags under his eyes from several nights in a row of poor sleep. He planned to talk to Nagisa sensei after class. But what could he even say? Hey, so you know my brother's a crime lord, and I hate it, but I'm gonna join his gang anyway, so would you mind talking me off this ledge before I become a career criminal because of my misguided loyalties?
Shirota already knew it was a bad idea, he knew it, and yet here he was, planning on getting his teacher to talk him out of it. He was an idiot. How would he even go about asking for something like that? Like, without sounding completely insane?
Eventually, the school day ended, the bell rung, and class 3-5 filed out of the room. Nagisa stayed behind, organizing papers, and waiting for the room to empty so he could lock up. Shirota made his way to the teacher's desk.
"Nagisa-sensei?" That was a good, safe way to start, but how would Shirota follow it up? There's this thing I'm gonna do, and I know it's a bad idea, but if I hear you say it, I might actually listen? No.
"Yes Shirota?" Nagisa smiled amiably, as he looked up, then frowned in concern, upon actually seeing his student. Shirota thought he was hiding his fears pretty well, but somehow Nagisa saw right through his poker face. "Is something wrong?"
"Well, there's this..." really stupid thing I'm gonna do, and I need you to talk me out of it. No. "I mean, it's like this, see my..." brother wants me to join his gang, and I can't say no because we're family, which means we have to stick together. No. Shirota sighed. "Never mind. I'll see you tomorrow Nagisa-sensei."
Dejected, Shirota turned and walked away. How was he supposed to get help if he couldn't even ask for it? When he got home, he thought of dozens more different ways he could ask for Nagisa-sensei's aid, and vetoed every one. How pathetic.
It was about the only thing he couldn't blame his brother for. He'd never been very good at asking for help. Rather than get help, he'd always figure out some way to solve his problems on his own, often resulting in injury. A year ago, though, the thought wouldn't even have crossed his mind to ask for help under these circumstances, so maybe, just maybe, it was something he could change.