Chapter Text
1.
To Shima Kazumi, Ibuki Ai is yet another name on a long list of witnesses and involved personnel in a very convoluted case, at the very beginning. He is nothing but a cog in the machine; a miniscule, unimportant piece in the big scheme of things.
That’s why he pushes for the arrest despite the captain’s reluctance. He knows there’s a chance they’ll miss Etori, but what can they do? If they wallow any longer, the casino will once again vanish into the ether and they’ll have to start from the very beginning again. In their circumstances, it makes sense to shoot off the limbs of the beast and starve it to death, rather than to wait for it to fall asleep to take the kill shot. It’s all logical and perfect, and they do successfully cut off their lifeline. Etori disappears, his million no longer accessible thanks to his million-dollar boy. It is all good and well.
It is all good and well until he gets a phone call.
Ibuki Ai is insignificant; should be insignificant. Should be a nothing, nobody, yet another host that manipulates and gaslights vulnerable yet rich women who are attracted to their looks and youth only like the overwhelming number of them in Kabukichō.
Shima finds him hiding out at an abandoned alley behind an animal shelter, of all places. With his hair dyed back black and his piercings nowhere to be seen, Shima almost doesn’t recognize him despite only having seen him weeks prior. His body shakes minutely, leaking fear from every pore he has, until Shima comes over and gives him a light nudge against his shoulder, then he fixes him with a harrowing, despairing look.
“You said you’d catch him,” Ibuki bites spitefully. “You promised. You promised, Shima-san.”
A phone screen is thrust in his direction.
You betrayed me?
I won’t forgive you.
You will pay for what you have done.
Rationally, Etori should have no resources to chase after Ibuki Ai, with the police still on his tail and his source of money cut off under his feet. Sadly, people—especially the ones in the underworld—aren’t rational. If left to his own, he’d be found dead in weeks, or worse.
Japan does not offer a proper witness protection program.
So Shima, being the person involved in the case, living in a big mansion all by himself with room after room to spare, is making a perfectly rational decision when he decides he will take responsibility for this.
2.
Surprisingly, having Ibuki around isn’t so bad. Shima would almost say he had adopted a stray puppy that comes with cleaning and cooking features. Sure, most of the time he’d be munching on chips on the living room sofa, getting the pieces everywhere as he makes a passing comment at whatever drama he’d decided to binge on the day. But the way how he brightens up when Shima walks in, immediately rushing to his feet to take the briefcase from him and bring him something to eat—Shima can’t find it in himself to dislike it, even when his personal space is being invaded.
“You don’t need to clean every day, Ibuki,” Shima had said once, when he came home to Ibuki dusting off the shelves and mopping the flooring.
“Used to clean a lot back in the day, before I got to talk to the girls,” Ibuki shrugged off Shima’s comment and straightened the mop in his hands. “And I did a lot of part-timers at bars, and people throw up there all the time. This is nothing, it helps pass the time! Plus, I know you don’t like to invite people in here because I’m here now.”
And that day Shima got a glimpse into Ibuki’s past—how he was a runaway from a small town where nobody ever believed in him, how he came up to central Tokyo to work a part-time job, getting noticed eventually for his looks, and becoming a host to continue making a living. It’s all been instinctual, Ibuki said, his eyes glimmery and distant. I don’t regret doing what I did, but if I could have made a different choice, well—then I would have made it.
Shima hadn’t pushed.
And in turn he gets to know more and more about him, in time. And what Shima can say about him is—Ibuki is so, so different compared to him. Even trapped and isolated from the world like this, having seen the absolute worst humanity could ever offer, he never once loses his cheer. Even when Shima’s research into Etori's whereabouts constantly hits dead ends, Ibuki just disregards all of Shima’s apologies with a shrug (”You’re trying your best, Shima-chan.”) and continues with a stride with the biggest smile Shima’s ever seen.
It's not always easy for them, though—there are wide-eyed nights spent together, both of them plagued by their respective nightmares, eventually rising from their beds to drink—Shima with a glass of whiskey, Ibuki with a can of beer. Eventually, Shima would invite Ibuki to sleep alongside him (”Just sleeping,” he warns every time, before Ibuki can be inappropriate about it) and they’d just cling together, falling into a shallow sleep until the morning.
A week turns into a month then a year, and what started as a temporary arrangement turns into something mutually beneficial to them, and Shima finds himself unable to believe that Ibuki hadn’t once been a part of his life.
3.
It must have been around their first anniversary of living together—though anniversary sounds too intimate, not to mention incredibly inappropriate under Ibuki’s current circumstances, so Shima never dares to voice it—and they crack open a bottle of champagne Ibuki’s procured to celebrate Shima’s promotion. Shima finds it all superfluous until Ibuki gets a glass or two into him, and then he’s overcome with enough honesty that he’s grateful for everything Ibuki has done for him.
“Shiiiiii-ma, haha, the world’s spinning!”
At least Ibuki’s looking worse than him, splayed over the sofa as he is now. He’s grinning and giggling, brown eyes almost golden reflecting the light of the chandelier above him.
“You know, for a guy who’s been a host, you’re a shitty drunk,” Shima says, leaning forward and taking another sip. “I bet you got drunk faster than the girls you had to seduce.”
“Guilty,” Ibuki agrees. “But everyone thought I was cute when I was drunk. I’m charming. Am I?”
Shima thinks Ibuki is charming even when he’s not drunk, so he doesn’t think he can serve as a valid judge of that particular characteristic. So he just snorts and shrugs. “I think both of us should go to sleep before we do something we’ll regret.”
“Like what? Fufu?”
Ibuki’s drunk. So is Shima, to a lesser extent. Alcohol has historically served as a potion of bravery to mankind—he can’t help but prod at where he doesn’t have the guts to when he’s sober.
“Is this what you did, get drunk with people over champagne, let them take you to bed?”
Ibuki inhales, a shadowy doubtful flicker in his eyes, probably considering whether or not he should answer that question. Eventually, he replies with a shrug.
“Not all the time. I did get laid a lot, because that’s part of the job, and some of the girls preferred to put it in me than the other way around, but probably not as much as you’d think. Do you know what rich people want more than anything in the world? A no-strings-attached therapist. And I'm a really good listener!”
So, Ibuki served as a human-shaped therapy dog. It fits his image, laughing along to whatever the client told him about, thoughtlessly clapping along, then forgetting about it as he turns around. If this is how he acted when he was drunk, I bet it helped. Shima wouldn’t be surprised if this was some sort of defense mechanism Ibuki had adopted over the years.
“Then how in the world did you end up with a man like Etori?”
“I only started sleeping with guys when my old boss used to throw me at the rough patrons who kept breaking the girls we gave them. Since they complained about how fragile they were, I think they were pretty happy with me. I was pretty and durable.”
“That's terrible,” Shima frowns.
“That’s actually when I started feeling better. It’s far worse when you come back and you’re the only one not nursing a bruise, and the girls did get a lot better after I started taking over some of their clients. Not all of them, because some guys didn’t like me, though I could seduce most of them, especially when they were high off their ass. Even Etori. He said I was pretty when I'm choking—”
“Okay, please, you don’t need to go into detail on that.”
“Ooh, big bad Shima-chan who can see corpses without blinking scared of a little whoo-fufu-kyakya talk. Who would have known?”
Dead bodies are just a part of police work. But the way how Ibuki casually objectifies himself and talks about himself getting abused like it’s nothing and meaningless churns something in Shima’s stomach around enough to make him sick. He wishes for a change in topic, to anything, anywhere—and his discomfort must be visible on his face, because Ibuki concedes without much teasing. He, however, does have an insane glint in his eyes, which should serve as a warning of its own.
“As an experienced host slash pseudo-therapist, I think Shima-chan should get laid. That’d get the stick out of your ass for good.”
“The what? Where are you learning these words from?”
“Tbutter, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Shima mimics him, and staggers over to the couch just to punch him in the stomach. Ibuki yelps. He feels a little bit better. “I’m not having sex with you. Stop asking.”
“You know, Shima-chan, every time I ask, your response is a few milliseconds slower,” he smiles lazily. “One of these days, I’m hoping you'll give in.”
“You wish,” Shima deflects and stomps away to his room, afraid that what Ibuki is saying is the absolute, honest truth in the deepest part of his heart. And he’s afraid he’ll give in, too.
4.
“I'm home,” Shima murmurs, brushing his hand against the security system on the closing door behind him. Ibuki's there already, leaning with a slanted posture against the wall and leveling him a leer he can only say is prurient. He slaps his hands together, eye scanning Shima from head to toe.
“Welcome back home, Taichō Shima.”
He runs his hand awkwardly through the waxed hair, feeling rattled by the predatory gaze. The motion forces some of the mussed hair to fall out of its place, and he lets Ibuki revel in his looks for a bit longer. Someone has to enjoy it, considering Shima himself feels awkward with his hair completely pulled back like this, and Kikyou-san just squinted at him and said he looks too much like a politician.
“I watched the stream. Everyone said you were very sexy. ‘Whoever his wife is, they must be very lucky’, they said.” Ibuki says, emulating a high-pitched voice later on.
What kind of voice even is that? “I didn’t get here by looking sexy, you know.”
Ibuki ignores him and gives him a sly grin. “They think I'm very lucky.”
“You’re not my wife,” Shima states the obvious.
“I certainly feel like you’re my husband and I’m the lonely housewife—being left all by myself because you’re so busy with work. If I'm all by myself, who’ll eat all my melon bread with me?”
“Maybe don’t order ten batches of melon bread at once.”
That's what he says, but he does feel a little guilty at Ibuki’s sulking form; establishing a fourth division of MIU, convincing the team that he had chosen is absolutely necessary, yes, even Kikyou Yuzuru—especially Kikyou, and no, she isn’t a cold-blooded murderer that some of you think she is—alongside Jinba Kouhei, then dealing with the bureaucratic bullshit that comes with that, the power play, and preparing for that presentation had utterly consumed his time that he hadn’t been able to come home even on weekends.
“I’m off for the next forty-eight hours. I may get intermittent phone calls in between, but other than that, I do not have a single event penned in.” Shima shrugs off his jacket, and shrugs. “If you want to, we can do anything you want, Ibuki.”
Ibuki rushes over to take his bag and his jacket, looking positively glowing at Shima’s suggestion.
“Anything?” Ibuki asks breathlessly, grabbing at Shima’s hand. “You promised! You said everything.”
The day, despite Ibuki’s excitement, goes on like every other day. Shima spends the entire day attached to Ibuki Ai, with him looming over his shoulder as he eats, his head lying heavy against Shima’s shoulder as Shima flicks through a book, and finally curled on his lap as they watch a cop buddy movie together. Watching Ibuki doze off to a light sleep, his breath steady and expression without any consternation, makes Shima only more determined to capture Etori and set Ibuki free.
5.
Despite Shima obsessively chasing after all and every trail that branches from it, Aoike Toko's case doesn’t lead to any new clues on Etori. Kikyou-san was right—it was pretty obvious she was an isolated case, someone who they rescued then strayed from the path, feeling abandoned and lost to the world. But it is still nauseating to hear about her death, to read her Tbutter tweets on the report and see the extent of the despair that had swallowed her whole.
I will never be free.
The sentence tears at his heart.
The thought of leaving Ibuki alone now feels wrong, so he delegates what he can to the future and towards those who can help, then rushes home. The mansion is unchanged, exactly how he had left it in the morning, but he is frantic until he sees Ibuki’s upbeat smile, then he is consumed by the utter need to crush that man in a hug.
“Shima-Shima Shima Shiiima-chan—woah, what’s wrong? Bad day at work?”
Still holding him tightly, Shima stares into Ibuki’s clueless eyes, then shakes his head. Ibuki doesn’t need to know about this; how he and the system he serves has failed another like how he had failed Ibuki, betraying the trust that he put on him.
“I’m sorry,” is all he can say.
“Huh? For what?” He can feel Ibuki becoming more awkward every passing second.
“When you gave me that tip on Etori, you gave it on the condition that we’d arrest him. I couldn’t. I failed you, and now you’re…”
“Woah, something really did happen at work, huh. There there, Shima Shima. It’s not your fault. You can’t control everything that happens in life and all crime that occurs in Tokyo; you understand?”
That’s the thing—all of this is Shima’s fault. Deep inside Shima knew, he knew if they failed the arrest, it’d ruin Ibuki’s life. At the time, he thought he was making a perfectly rational decision, protecting the public and its interests over the insignificant life of some Kabukicho host that would or wouldn’t be destroyed by all this.
“But if I had considered everything—”
Ibuki firmly shakes his head. “Hey. You were doing your job, Shima. If you let Etori go on with his tyranny any longer, some of the girls working there would have been found as corpses. And… And he could have been bored of me, and I could be dead too. At least I’m alive.”
Ibuki leans on Shima’s shoulder, rubbing his cheek against the fabric there. Being taller than he is, Ibuki needs to fold his knees, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“And you know, you saved me.”
That has Shima snapping his head up to stare at Ibuki incredulously.
“When I went to the police at first, nobody believed in me. About the stalking, the threats, not even when I showed them the bruises climbing up my arm. I was just another criminal to them; why would anything I say be significant to them? They thought—they thought I was making everything up. Nobody believed in me.” Ibuki takes in a staggering breath. “Nobody, before you. You were the only one who’d listen.”
“But—”
Shima tries to cut him off, but Ibuki, relentlessly determined, pushes on. His two hands on his shoulder, he presses down on them gently as he declares,
“You saved me, Shima. You, and you alone. Don’t you ever ever forget that. I won’t let you! I’ll remind you every time you forget.”
And what can Shima possibly say to all that?
“Ibuki…”
Thank you? I'm grateful? I don’t deserve that? I don’t deserve you? Whatever he may have eventually decided on, he doesn’t have the chance to say it, because Ibuki claps and deems the conversation finished.
“Now, no more of that kinda talk! I put on hot water in the bathtub; go soak in that. I heard depression washes off because it’s not water resistant,” Ibuki hums, sliding Shima’s work jacket off him and folding it in his arms. “We can have dinner together afterward.”
“I’ll free you, I promise,” Shima barely croaks out as he’s being pushed towards the bathroom. He pretends he doesn’t hear what Ibuki murmurs in reply as Shima steps away and closes the door behind him.
I don’t mind being trapped, if it keeps me with you.
6.
“Kya! Hamu-chan is super kyu-rute kyu-rute! The kyu-rute of the highest caliber!”
“Still on about that, huh,” Shima drawls, flicking through a report and drinking the tea Ibuki prepared for him. Though he’s going on about something utterly ridiculous, it’s nice to see Ibuki so upbeat and excited for once. Ibuki is much more of a social animal than he is—needs human contact far more than he does—and Shima had always felt guilty he couldn’t provide enough. The dinner party was good that it gave him a chance to introduce Ibuki properly to the two people he knows he can trust to have his back. Even if Ibuki won’t shut up about it.
He makes a sly grin, waving his phone screen. “I think she likes me too—she gave me her number.”
“Well, don’t bother her too much, I need her to do her job at the MIU. She’s one of my better detectives.”
“Oh, Shima-chan’s sign of approval?”
“I can’t hardly not give her that when Kikyou-san is looking like…”
He still remembers the harrowing face Kikyou had made that day of her husband’s death, and following that, her number one suspect’s death. Despair that had sunk so deep in her heart that she accepted the insane demotion and the jabs everyone gave her without even putting up as much as a fight. The sight of it drove Shima insane—insane enough to climb up the ladder that he never could care sufficiently for, having wanted to stay in the field as long as he could—but he had always thought the truth was lost to the influx of time already. He hadn’t expected Hano Mugi to prove him otherwise.
But she had. Her partner, her stubborn and fearless partner who dared to walk into Shima’s office and demand the report because Kikyou-san is her aibōu and she needs to know her better to have her back in the field, had somehow given her closure Shima couldn’t in the seven years of knowing her in pieces.
Ibuki snorts, waking Shima from the short reverie he’s fallen into. “Thought you’d be at least a little bit jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Me, texting Hamu-chan, talking with somebody other than you…”
“I think it’s good for you,” Shima says genuinely. “They’re good people that I trust, and you need more human contact than whatever you’re watching for the day.”
“I have enough of that kinda human contact, Shima-chan. I talk to enough people! Like the Delivery Tarou guy, and the people who like to watch the kittens near the mansion. On the other hand, the other kind of human contact, I wouldn’t say no if you’re offering…”
Shima swats away the hand that tries to make its way inside his shirt, utterly nonplussed by the inane suggestion. “Absolutely not!”
Ibuki dares to pout. “C’mon. I swear I’m good—ow, ow ow, Shima-chan, it’s not very nice to step on someone’s foot when they’re talking!”
It’s not nice to proposition someone who’s trying to deal with their feelings for you, Shima wants to say, but Shima really would rather fall into the deep waters than confess to Ibuki Ai, ever. Mostly because he’d squeal and be insufferable for the next few hours.
One would think that’s enough of a hint, but being the idiot he is, Ibuki Ai takes the seat across him and continues running his mouth like an unstoppable motor is tied to it. “I like having sex. I’m very good at it, too! I can prove it.”
“Normal people don’t just have sex because they ‘like it,’” Shima drawls.
“Normal people don’t have a yakuza guy searching for them that’s trying to kill them, and aren’t roommates with Captain Shima Kazumi. I’m special like that.”
Shima rolls his eyes, turning away. Ibuki makes a sound, jumping from the spot, and rushes over to demand his attention.
“Fine, I’ll stop doing that. But you have to tell me about your girlfriend, Shima-chan.”
He wonders where that came from for one brief moment, then remembers the conversation he and Kikyou had today. Shima wants to smash his head against the nearest wall. Of course that idiot caught onto that. “You live with me—you I don’t have one. I’m busy with work.”
“Ugh, so boring. Then your type?”
Incandescent and illuminating, always smiling and working hard despite the catastrophic results, versatile enough to adapt to any situation. Buoyant and lightening the mood of the room, but not ignorant to sink it, being observant enough to catch tiny little ticks most others wouldn’t notice. Clingy in bed and at night, curling up to him like a dog. But there’s no way he can say all that to Ibuki. There is just no fucking way.
“None of your business,” Shima replies a bit too late. Ibuki’s gleeful in a way that Shima doesn’t like, wiggling his eyebrows and nudging him lightly with his elbow.
“I saw how you were looking at Kikyou-san earlier today. Shiiiima-chan—”
“That’s extremely inappropriate. She’s my subordinate. It’d be power harassment.”
“She won’t be your subordinate forever, you know. And feelings are feelings—you can’t keep them bottled up forever.”
Looking at Ibuki, he swallows, feeling his stomach churn. He does wonder how long he can keep this hidden from Ibuki, this ridiculous, inappropriate emotion that stirs within him.
“To answer your question, I did have feelings for her.”
“Hah! I knew it! You like her!”
“Past tense, Ibuki Ai—I said I did. It was a long, long time ago when we were in the same department. When she was above me in rank.”
“Huh, Kikyou-san used to be Shima-chan’s boss?”
“She’s older than me, and she's capable. She’d been my senior when I joined First Department; taught me the basics.”
Ibuki’s eyes sparkle. “First Department? Like all those detective TV dramas? You were a part of that, Shima?”
“A long, long time ago.”
“It must’ve been so romantic! How come you don’t have anything for her anymore?”
“You can only be rejected so many times before you know you don’t have a chance.”
To be honest with himself, though, that’s not true—his feelings for Kikyou had only properly subsided after meeting Ibuki. He wonders just when he’d come so far, his feelings for Kikyou now seeming like a lifetime ago, consumed by something much more destructive and all-encompassing. The idiot responsible for all of the moral dilemmas plaguing Shima lately looks up from his spot, gleefully trying to wring more detail out of him, wiggling his finger and reaching for him, but he shuts him down with a glare. Pouting, Ibuki shrugs and thumbs his phone.
“Well, at least you don’t have anything towards Hamu-chan. I call dibs on her.”
Shima thinks Ibuki’ll have better chances seducing a completely heterosexual man over Hano Mugi, if the look she and Kikyou are giving each other is any indication, but he doesn’t bother clarifying—Ibuki will learn in his own time; he’s very observant, to the point Shima’s detective instincts are saying Etori didn’t keep Ibuki around just for his fair features.
So he just shrugs. “I can’t get a grasp of what your type is.”
“I like my men in a suit and my girls kyu-rute kyu-rute. And you’re not giving me a chance!”
“When it comes to relationships, I’m conservative. As in, I like being in one first, before taking off my pants.”
Ibuki gives an exaggerated, exasperated sigh. “Fine then, Shima Kazumi, will you be my boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Oof, you didn’t even consider that for a second. Come on, I know you like me!” Ibuki pouts, pushing his face into Shima’s private space, pulling his body close enough that their arms are knocking against each other. “What do I need to do to make you admit you like me?”
If something came out of his unrequited love for Kikyou, it’s the lesson that some relationships simply cannot be due to the circumstances. Some love isn’t meant to be reciprocated, and even if it is, it cannot happen because of a myriad of reasons—because it hasn’t been so long since her husband passed away, he only has you to rely on, et cetera. He isn’t a good person, and he certainly will never forgive himself if he ever becomes Ibuki’s undoing.
So Shima only smiles bitterly, giving his shoulder a fond pat.
“Go to sleep, Ibuki. I'll see you in the morning."