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Akiko is so out of her comfort zone.
It’s utterly ridiculous, too. Her office is meant to be her domain — medicine is her forte, sharp scalpels and stinging antiseptic smell included. They’re an innate solace at this point in her life, so deeply ingrained into her personality that it would feel like amputating a limb to scoop her out of the environment she thrives in.
With Ozaki Kouyou in the room, though, it feels less like her territory and more like a field of landmines.
“Good afternoon,” the bane of Akiko’s existence says smoothly, as though she isn’t bleeding out from an abdominal bullet wound at the entrance to Akiko’s office. Beside her is the red-haired runt that always riles Dazai up, supporting the bulk of her weight without any apparent struggle. She looks impeccable as always, excluding the blossom of red tarnishing her beautiful kimono.
Akiko’s only used her ability on Kouyou twice before, and suffice to say, she regrets both instances terribly. The woman is too fucking attractive for her own good, and Akiko is starting to suspect that she is well-aware of this discerning fact.
“We’ll pay whatever you want,” Nakahara says as he guides Kouyou onto the closest cot. Akiko hasn’t even agreed yet, the presumptuous brat. Maybe she’ll charge him a few near-death experiences for the emotional agony she’s about to experience.
On top of an exorbitant monetary fee, of course.
Akiko sighs loudly. “You’re bad for business,” she says, for lack of anything better to say. It’s a testament to how out-of-sorts she is that she can’t even muster her usual excitement at having a new patient to toy with.
Only the most beautiful woman in Yokohama could make her dread any sort of sadism. Fucking Port Mafia.
“Out,” she commands Nakahara sharply. He’s just idling about, looking far too concerned. It’s stifling.
Nakahara frowns. “Ane-san—”
“You heard the doctor,” Kouyou responds, settling into the hospital bed like she owns it. It’s unfortunate that years of practice and an accurate sense of intuition are telling her that the woman’s already bled far too much to need any of Akiko's particular brand of assistance at this point. She could stand to be humbled by a bit (or a lot) of torturous pain.
The mafia brat scowls but does as told, ducking out of Akiko’s office with an indignant mutter. He’s not her problem, though, which is lamentable. He could stand to be knocked down a peg or two, as well. Akiko hopes he runs into Dazai on his way out.
With their third party gone, Akiko turns her full attention to the woman before her. She instantly regrets it.
Kouyou is deftly cutting through her obi, a thin stiletto drawn from beneath the folds of her expensive kimono. It’s a waste to ruin such extravagant fabric, but Akiko supposes if anyone could afford whatever clothing they’d like, it’d be a mafia member. It’s already beyond salvation, anyway, with a torn hole and blood soaking deep into the fibers.
“Pretty thoughtless of you to catch a bullet like this.”
“The life of an Executive is not without its risks,” Kouyou says. In what has to be a calculated move, she opens the folds of her kimono, exposing the skin of her abdomen. A soft hiss pushes past her lips as she does so, and such an innocuous sound of pain has no business sounding as sultry as it does.
Akiko resolutely does not respond to the noise. She snaps a pair of gloves on, trying to find comfort in the familiar noise and routine of it as she grabs a packet of sterilized scalpels.
It’s a formality that they both know is unnecessary. Kouyou’s already close to dying from blood loss, and there’s nothing holding Akiko back from simply healing her.
They both know this, but Kouyou still turns those sharp, perceptive eyes onto Akiko and asks, “Do you think the bullet’s salvageable? I’d like to get confirmation of the brand to solidify who sold weapons to a clan willing to betray me.”
Those words would be a beacon to Akiko, in any other circumstance. Having permission to dig around someone’s thoracic cavity for a stray bullet would be a veritable field day, but all that the thought dredges up now is a thin veil of dread.
“Not a problem,” Akiko’s traitorous brain says without her permission, and then she’s pressing gentle fingers to the wound and preparing to make an incision. Beneath her speculation, Kouyou huffs a surprised breath, which turns into something far too close to a god-damned moan, which is exactly why Akiko had tried to be delicate, but at this point she’d much rather hear a genuine yelp of pain than the breathy bullshit coming out of Kouyou’s throat right now —
These — noises sound more appropriate in a bedroom than a doctor’s office.
Akiko sets to fishing the bullet out, trying her damndest to ignore the laviscious noises that Kouyou is absolutely making on purpose. She’s torn between being as rough as possible (which will only result in more of the sensuous noises that no sane human being would make if they were in genuinely excruciating pain, but there's no fucking way to fake a bullet wound that would fool even Akiko) and finishing the procedure as quickly as possible so that she can save this stupid, infuriating woman’s life and send her quickly on her way, but —
That sounds an awful lot like she’s trying to find an excuse not to torture a patient on their way to their deathbed, which is entirely out of character and would positively destroy her reputation if word got out.
Kouyou's just going to have to suffer (in the painful way, or in the sexually-repressed way, since apparently she gets off on this crap) for as long as it takes to retrieve the bullet. It isn't until a weak grip on her wrist jolts Akiko out of the impromptu surgery that she remembers she's working on a bit of a deadline. Kouyou really has lost a significant amount of blood, and the pathetic grasp around her gloved forearm is a decent reminder. She's not usually one for getting lost in her thoughts, but she can bemoan Kouyou's infuriating existence after the woman's out of imminent danger.
Akiko's certainly not about to actually lose a patient that's salvageable, even if they're technically an enemy.
The moment Akiko digs the bullet out, Kouyou’s tensed spine goes slack, and she lets out an unabashed moan that’s loud enough that Akiko just knows Ranpo’s going to give her shit later.
“Mm, doctor,” Kouyou says, a slim finger trailing down the side of Akiko’s face despite her weakened (and surely agonized or otherwise… aroused) state. “If this were the prelude to true death, I can’t say I’d regret my final view.”
Akiko activates her Ability just then, overly thankful as Kouyou falls unconscious because it means there’s nobody to call her out on the glaring blush that’s risen high on her cheeks.