Archive of Our Own

Two weeks after Bourbon tries and fails to capture Shiho for the Organization, Shuuichi walks into his bedroom to see Bourbon sitting on the windowsill. 

The room he’s been borrowing in the Kudo Mansion is on the third floor. Bourbon must’ve scaled the walls in dim darkness just to pop up in the most aesthetic of ways- the night breeze ruffling his hair, the blue gem at his throat gleaming in the moonlight. 

Bourbon’s taste for the dramatics hasn’t changed, not in the slightest. 

“Akai,” Bourbon says, smile as haughty as it always was. 

Shuuichi has no reason to respond though, not when he’s still fully disguised as Okiya Subaru.  

“What’s red?” he asks, perfectly polite. He slips his phone from his pocket, lifts it in clear warning. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave, Mr. Thief. Before I call the police.”

“You’re not going to call the police, Akai,” Bourbon says, dismissive. He hops down from the windowsill, takes a step closer- Shuuichi’s eyes narrow. 

“I warn you,” says Shuuichi, still in Okiya’s dulcet tones, “I have some familiarity with self-defence.”

“Drop the act, would you?” Bourbon wanders ever-closer, Shuuichi’s body tensing. 

But Bourbon’s body language is relaxed, casual, not up for a fight in the slightest, and Shuuichi admits he lets his guard down because of it. A blink, and Bourbon has slipped into his personal space, arms squeezing around him. 

He has Bourbon in his chest again, and it still feels as painfully right as it always did. 

“I knew you weren’t dead,” Bourbon whispers into an ear, smug but feather-light, and Shuuichi swallows. 

“Mr. Thief…” Shuuichi starts- but then there’s a hand reaching into his turtleneck, ripping off the voice-changing collar there. 

Bourbon dances back a step, the very picture of a cat in a chicken coop. The collar drops to the carpet with a soft thump. 

“You fall for my honey traps too easily,” Bourbon says, amused. 

Shuuichi breathes out a sigh through his nose. Then, reluctant- he rips off his mask, because Bourbon has seen through it already, and there’s not much he can do about that, can he?

It’s not like Bourbon wants him dead, at any rate. 

“How’s Scotch?” he asks. 

“How rude,” says Bourbon. “You’re asking about him instead of me?”

“He’s never blown my cover,” says Shuuichi, and he can’t help the note of irritation that sneaks into his voice. 

“Now, now.” A dismissive hand. “I never said I was planning on blowing your cover. This time.”

“I don’t trust you,” Shuuichi says, voice flat. It’s not even entirely a lie. 

“Even though you love me?”

Shuuichi doesn’t respond to the taunt. If he does, he’ll lose. If he doesn’t, he loses as well- but he’s not in the mood to give Bourbon the satisfaction of a response. 

A laugh, too knowing, and Bourbon is sitting himself on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking. He drags off his bolo tie, tugs down a loosened collar, and Shuuichi’s eyes are admittedly drawn to the revealed expanse of skin.  

But he rips his gaze away, because he’s not falling for a honey trap as blatant as this. 

“What do you want, Bourbon?”

“To kill Gin,” Bourbon says, casual, and Shuuichi’s head swivels back in an instant. Another laugh. “Did I finally catch your attention?”

Three years ago, Bourbon dumped him. 

It’s not something Shuuichi has really dealt with before, being dumped. Not from lack of experience, of course. He’s had quite a few partners in the past- he’s never been one to hold much stock in soulmates, after all. 

And even if he did, too many seem to forget a soulmate could be a friend or family member as easily as a lover. So he’s never seen the point in waiting in a dead relationship for things to change- in the sparse hopes that both mutual love would bloom, and that names would flicker onto their skin as a promise of eternity. 

So he’s always been the one to bring up breaking up, before. 

Bourbon had introduced him to many firsts, he supposes. His first time with a Japanese man, his first time with a partner who regularly cooked, his first time with an unrepentant criminal. 

His first time falling for someone he really shouldn’t have. 

It isn’t as though they called what they had romance, or treated each other as lovers. He broke up with Jodie using the honey trap they had planned for Miyano Akemi as an excuse, but the truth wasn’t anywhere near as pretty. Shuuichi just had some capability for tact, despite popular belief. 

(He wasn’t about to tell her he wanted to break up because of a killer with a handsome smile.)

Their relationship was little more than blowing off steam, at least at first. A convenient partner, one whose life wouldn't be at risk just from Rye taking them to bed. 

And Shuuichi did want some way to relax after months spent drowning his hands in blood. It wasn’t as though he needed to treat Bourbon kindly, not when Bourbon’s eyes would shoot daggers at him even with a tongue down his throat, and that was convenient as well. 

But Bourbon slowly softened around him, and Shuuichi found himself softening as well, despite himself. Bourbon, sitting down with a scowl to play cards with him and Scotch. Bourbon, accepting a peace offering of takeout from a decent restaurant. Bourbon, dragging him back to bed when Shuuichi went to leave for the night. 

“We have a mission tomorrow anyways,” Bourbon would say with a sneer. “You might as well stay.”

Other excuses, just as flimsy as the next, when they didn’t share a mission to use as a convenient scapegoat. 

We might be assigned to one tomorrow, so stay just in case.

You owe me breakfast, so stay until morning. 

And Shuuichi saw through each of those paper-thin excuses as clear as day, but he didn’t call Bourbon out on it. Because it was easier to let Bourbon do the talking for them both, than to admit to what they both wanted out loud. 

The excuses petered away as the months passed, but Shuuichi stopped trying to leave by then. Whenever they shared a bed, Shuuichi stayed, and so did Bourbon. That was what was most convenient, and most comfortable. 

And it was so horrifyingly comfortable, being with Bourbon. That was the worst part, really- not the guilt, but the guilt he couldn’t feel. 

Seeing Bourbon throw their contact a USB key that would cement the death of an entire family. Watching Bourbon shoot an innocent man in cold blood, red splattering his impassive face. Bourbon wasn’t overly bloodthirsty, but he was still impeccably cruel in the pursuit of a mystery. And yet, the disgust that Shuuichi should’ve felt was nowhere to be seen. 

It was too hard to reconcile Bourbon, heartless Organization operative, with Bourbon, the man who kept giving him and Scotch leftovers after accidentally cooking too much. 

That’s the way it was in reality though, wasn’t it?

When Shuuichi chose to dedicate his life to infiltrating the Organization, he expected to kill his heart to fit in among a host of evil murderers. And while that may be exactly what happened, he also learned - bitterly and against his will - that evil had a playful smile, that evil slept far too comfortably on Shuuichi’s shoulder. 

(That he slept far too comfortably on evil’s shoulder as well.)

He told himself he could separate his heart from work. He told himself that one day, he would put Bourbon in jail along with the rest of them, even as he found his mind scrambling for ways to save him. 

Shuuichi was living in a life of denial, and in the end, that’s exactly why Bourbon had gotten the better of him so easily. 

It’s a night Shuuichi remembers crystal clear, even all these years later. In bed, at night, Bourbon’s fingers tracing aimless patterns on Shuuichi’s back as Bourbon talks of nothing important at all. But it’s as unfortunately comfortable as ever spending time like this, Bourbon happy to fill the air and talk as Shuuichi hums and listens. 

But then Bourbon jerks back, falling silent halfway through a sentence, and Shuuichi remembers his brows furrowing, shifting to look behind him-

Only to feel the bed shift as Bourbon slips his way off of it. 

“Let’s end this nonsense,” Bourbon says, picking his shirt off the floor, and it would be an understatement to say Shuuichi is confused. 

“What?”

Bourbon won’t look his way. All he can see is Bourbon’s back in the dim light from the window, and Shuuichi doesn’t know what’s wrong. 

“I’m rather bored of you,” says Bourbon, sliding his arms into his shirt. He buttons it up with a brisk efficiency. “I’ve been bored for a while, in all honesty, and your skill in bed is mediocre at best.” He finally glances back, face impassive. “I’ve had enough. Goodbye, Rye.”

“What are you saying?” demands Shuuichi, too incredulous to be offended. 

This is ridiculously sudden, ridiculously out of nowhere. Something is clearly up. He’s always known Bourbon was an excellent liar, and that’s why he doesn’t trust a single word coming out of Bourbon’s mouth right now. 

“You can’t tell when you’re getting dumped?” bites out Bourbon. 

Bourbon is an excellent liar, yes, and his poker face rivals even Shuuichi’s own when he wants it to. But Shuuichi has known Bourbon for almost two years now. He’s seen past that poker face countless times, if usually in bed or in the throes of rage. 

So he can tell, despite how much Bourbon hides it- there’s the slightest thread of panic in his voice. 

“Bourbon,” Shuuichi says, shifting up in bed. “Let’s talk.”

“Let’s not,” counters Bourbon. 

Then he’s slipping himself into pants and heading to the door, and well- Shuuichi is still wearing nothing. He doesn’t know what got Bourbon in such a mood, but he doesn’t think it’s important enough he needs to race out into a hotel hallway buck naked. 

So he lets Bourbon go. They could always talk later, he thinks. 

He’s wrong about that.

One week later, Shuuichi’s cover is destroyed when Bourbon tells Gin his real name and occupation.

Anything they had together should’ve been crushed to pieces after that. The flimsy excuses he made for their relationship, for falling for Bourbon- all of them were meaningless in the face of Bourbon dumping him for being an FBI agent. 

Because that must’ve been what it was. Bourbon found out who he was, and decided to end things after one last night together. 

So that should’ve been the end of it. A mistake in his past he would work to recover from. A mistake in Bourbon’s past he would never admit to as well, if he didn’t want to be suspected as a spy just like Shuuichi. 

It should’ve been the end of it. 

Shuuichi sighs, deep and long-suffering, and Bourbon chuckles into his back in response. Every bed in the Kudo Mansion is giant and plush, big enough for both of them to sleep without bumping into each other. 

Bourbon still decided to nestle right up against his back.  

“Stop pretending you regret it every time you sleep with me,” he says. “If you really did, you’d stop doing it.”

And Shuuichi has to hold back a grimace, because Bourbon has hit the nail on the head. He really should stop. 

But he’s not stupid enough to delude himself into thinking he will. 

“Why are you here?” he just asks in the end. 

“I told you,” Bourbon says, voice mild. A kiss, light, against his shoulder. “To kill Gin.”

Shuuichi shifts his head the slightest bit, shoots Bourbon a glare through the corner of his eye, and Bourbon laughs. 

“Because I want to,” Bourbon clarifies. He’s still nuzzled up against Shuuichi’s shoulder, breath light against his skin. “Because he’s paranoid and bloodthirsty, and I don’t intend to let him kill Scotch because of it.”

“Scotch?” 

Bourbon hums, hand flitting at Shuuichi’s waist. 

“Three years ago,” he says, “Gin was certain there was a spy among our little trio. He thought it was Scotch- I gave him proof that it was you, and he got off our backs.”

“You sold me out for Scotch?” Shuuichi asks, and he means it as a matter-of-fact statement. But perhaps he doesn’t quite succeed, because Bourbon laughs again, amused. 

“Are you jealous, Akai?” Another kiss, higher up his neck. “Scotch is as good as family to me. So yes, I sold you out for him, for me. You could run back to America easily enough, and it’s not like I didn’t give you a head start.”

(Bourbon did. A tap on a shoulder, a whisper in an ear- “I know who you are, Akai Shuuichi. You ought to run, don’t you think?”

And Shuuichi hadn’t been stupid enough not to, even as much as it rankled.)

“But,” Bourbon continues, “That wasn’t good enough for Gin, it seems. He sees NOCs around every damn corner, and he has his eyes on Scotch again.” He shrugs, the mattress shifting under him. “Kir may have survived his suspicions by pretending to kill you, but we can’t exactly use that method twice. It would be rather difficult to pull the wool over his eyes a second time.”

What a telling train of thought. He shouldn’t tease, shouldn’t mock, not when it’s his own life at risk- but Shuuichi has always enjoyed pulling out Bourbon’s indignant anger. 

“You wouldn’t need to do that if Scotch actually killed me,” Shuuichi points out, voice mild. 

“…Shut up,” Bourbon grumbles. “Then help me kill Gin if you don’t want us to kill you.” 

“You would kill me?” Shuuichi asks, perfectly neutral. “Even though you love me?”

“Shut up,” Bourbon says again, kneeing him in the thigh. It doesn’t hurt, not with the way they’re lying down. “You don’t know that.”

“You could try denying it.”

“Perhaps when you do, Akai Shuuichi,” Bourbon says sweetly, and Shuuichi refuses to answer. 

Instead, he tugs himself around in bed so he’s facing Bourbon, and Bourbon promptly scowls- he doesn’t like Shuuichi facing him in bed since their break-up, doesn’t like being kissed either. 

We’ve never been lovers, Bourbon insists, and he’s not wrong in that at least. 

“I’m not here to kill people,” Shuuichi tells him, even as the words taste like ash in his mouth. He’s killed plenty already, both as an FBI sniper and an Organization one.  

(What’s one more to add to the list?)

“Then get him arrested. I don’t care, so long as he’s out of the way.”

Shuuichi examines Bourbon’s face, examines his carefully impassive expression. 

“You could do this yourself,” Shuuichi points out. 

They’ve gotten precious little information on the Organization since Rye was revealed as a spy, but he’s met with Bourbon enough since then. He knows Bourbon is making a name for himself, has made a name for himself- that he used whatever blackmail he had on Vermouth and the clout of revealing Rye as a spy to propel himself up the Organization’s ranks. 

Someone like that shouldn’t need the FBI’s help to take down Gin. 

“I could,” Bourbon agrees. “Surviving afterwards is the issue.” His hand reaches up, trails through Shuuichi’s hair in almost a caress. “You’re as convenient a scapegoat as ever, Akai. Why would anyone suspect my hand when my beloathed Akai Shuuichi’s FBI is responsible for Gin’s fall?”

“So I’m loathed now, am I?”

“Naturally.”

Shuuichi laughs. He can’t help it, and he also can’t help the way he slips in to press a kiss against Bourbon’s lips, even as Bourbon makes a noise of complaint. 

He missed Bourbon. He shouldn’t have, but he did. 

(That could be the motto for his entire relationship with Bourbon, in all honesty.)

“I assume you have a plan?” asks Shuuichi, leaning back. 

No matter Bourbon’s motives, there’s little reason to turn down a free opportunity to take down one of the Organization's top members. 

If he were still undercover, his superiors would likely have preferred to use Gin as bait to get at the highest echelons of the Organization. They would probably refuse a plan like this. But he’s not, and if Bourbon will only provide his help to take down Gin, then that’s what they’ll do. 

“Of course,” says Bourbon, voice prim. “But I don’t intend to explain it twice. Call over your FBI buddies tomorrow, Akai. We’ll need them too.”

“They don’t know I’m alive, you realize,” Shuuichi says. 

“I’m aware,” says Bourbon. “But no one in the Organization suspects your survival but me, Akai. There’s little need to be excessively cautious anymore.” A scoff, disbelieving. “I can’t believe you let even your family believe you dead.”

“I knew you would never believe I was dead,” Shuuichi says, voice mild. “And I knew you were capable enough to track down the truth.”

“Hmph. Naturally.” Bourbon’s expression is haughty, but the hand lightly caressing Akai’s hair squeezes abruptly. “I watched the video of your death hundreds of times, Akai. Looking for the trick. I knew there had to be one.”

And Shuuichi can hear the slight tightness to his voice, can feel the way Bourbon leans a little closer into him, remembers how Bourbon had clung to him so uncharacteristically earlier tonight, but-

“I won’t apologize,” Shuuichi says, blunt. Not with what Bourbon is, what Shuuichi is. 

“I never expected one, you bastard.”

Bourbon’s face presses into Shuuichi’s shoulder, and Shuuichi doesn’t comment. 

He can do that much for Bourbon. 

(Even with what they both are.)

Shuuichi could get in contact with the FBI himself. James, at least, knows he’s alive, so they do have a secure line of communication for emergencies. 

But there’s a safer way to get in touch with them, and at any rate, Conan needs to know about the latest developments. So the next morning, while Bourbon is still sleeping soundly by his side - or at least pretending to - Shuuichi sends off a quick text to the boy. 

Then he slips out of bed, tucks the blankets back up against Bourbon’s chin, and heads to the bathroom to restore his Okiya Subaru disguise. 

When he returns to the bedroom some time later, Bourbon is fully dressed and leaning against a wall, tapping away at his phone. 

“I’m busy, unlike you,” says Bourbon, not looking up from his phone. “So I have things to do today. I’ll come back tonight- figure things out on your side by then.”

Alright, Shuuichi means to say, or perhaps, alternatively- Don’t order me around. 

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is- “Would you like to stay for breakfast?”

“You really enjoy getting into character, huh?” Bourbon gives him a sour look. “No, I would not like to stay for breakfast, Okiya-san. I value my tastebuds too much for that.”

“I’m capable of cooking now,” Shuuichi says mildly. “As you said- I’ve had the time. I can cook simple things.”

Bourbon still looks doubtful, but he slips his phone into a pocket, scowls. 

“If you serve me a single burnt grain of rice,” he threatens, “I’m walking out the door.”

“Duly noted.”

A bowl of rice, miso soup. Rolled egg omelette and wieners. A small salad. Unsurprisingly, Bourbon looks unimpressed at his offering, and looks just as unimpressed as he tucks in. 

“It’s not inedible,” he says, “But I suppose for you, that’s an achievement.”

“You’re welcome,” says Shuuichi, voice flat, and Bourbon rolls his eyes in response. 

“Thank you,” Bourbon says sardonically, and takes another bite of a wiener. 

Bourbon doesn’t talk much for once, but Shuuichi is still half-lost in thought. He doesn’t mind. They’re almost done with breakfast when the doorbell rings, and Bourbon’s eyes narrow. 

“Someone you know?” he demands.  

It’s likely Conan, though Shuuichi can’t say for sure. “Probably.”

“I’ll be making myself scarce then,” Bourbon says, putting his chopsticks in a neat row on a bowl. “Be ready tonight.”

“Could I get a more exact time?” Shuuichi asks.

“No,” says Bourbon, making his way to the window. He yanks it open with a clatter. “Goodbye.”

He doesn’t bother to shut the window before he leaves, but Shuuichi expected that, really. 

The doorbell has rung two more times in quick succession by the time Shuuichi makes it to the door, and when Shuuichi opens it at last- Conan is standing there, face white. 

“Subaru-san,” he says, sounding horribly relieved. “I saw Amuro-san’s car on the way here.” 

“You should come in,” Shuuichi says, and steps back from the door.

“We need to check the house for wiretaps,” Shuuichi says first thing. Because while he might trust that Bourbon doesn’t want him dead, he doesn’t particularly trust the man in any other fashion. 

Conan slams his mouth shut and nods, looking grim. 

For obvious reasons, Shuuichi checks his bedroom alone, and it’s not too hard to get them to split up naturally besides- Conan wants to take the Kudo bedrooms alone as well. 

When he throws back the blankets and runs the scanner over the bed, he frowns. 

There’s a small, dark smudge on the sheets. Leaning in to look closer, it’s concealer, brown- definitely Bourbon’s. It’s not odd for Bourbon to wear makeup to cover up a bruise or the rare blemish, but something about it bothers him. 

He would ask Conan for a second opinion, but alas, he would prefer Conan remain unaware that Bourbon stayed the night. So Shuuichi simply slots the odd smudge in the back of his mind, and continues his search for wiretaps. 

They don’t find anything in the end, which is both a relief and a mild surprise. Perhaps Bourbon assumed they would check and didn’t bother. Or perhaps it’s a way to lure them into a false sense of security. They would need to check again tonight. 

“What happened, Akai-san?” Conan asks, once they’re settled back down in the study’s plush lounge chairs. “You said you wanted me to bring Jodie-sensei and Camel-san over. Is it because of Amuro-san? He was here?”

“Mm. Bourbon would like to cooperate with us.”

And perhaps understandably, Conan looks downright terrified. 

“He figured it out?” he asks, urgent. Shuuichi doesn’t need to ask what. 

“I always knew he would,” Shuuichi answers simply, and he can’t quite help the smile that plays at his lips. 

Conan’s terror settles into something more gauging, more assessing. He frowns. 

“Haibara said you two hated each other,” he says. 

“Not for a long while, boy,” says Shuuichi. Though he’s heard Bourbon played up that angle after Shuuichi left. 

“…Can we trust him?” 

“No.” It’s an easy answer. “But he’s more loyal to his own interests than the Organization’s.”

“And you’re one of his interests?” Conan asks, doubtful. 

“He doesn’t want me dead,” Shuuichi answers. “And he’s always disliked collateral damage, at any rate. If he does have me killed, it won’t affect you or my family.”

Despite his best efforts, Conan doesn’t look particularly comforted. 

“Bourbon is offering to give us Gin,” Shuuichi tries next. “I think that’s worth a bit of risk, no?” 

And at last, Conan perks up with more interest than concern.

It’s a school day, so they plan for Jodie and Camel to come along with the children to the Agasa Residence after school, where Conan could then direct them next door. James could find his own way to the Kudo Mansion- it would be less suspicious than coming in a group of three. 

Shuuichi doesn’t take off his disguise while he waits for Jodie, for Camel. Putting it on is a pain, so he tends to avoid taking it off whenever possible. But he does turn off his voice-changing collar, and when Conan walks into the lounge with his FBI colleagues- 

“Yo,” Shuuichi says. 

-it’s enough to make Jodie’s eyes go round with recognition. 

They’re sparse with the explanation, Conan and Shuuichi both. James knows all of it anyway, and there’s no reason to get into the nitty-gritty details. That’s not what’s important today, anyway. 

And Jodie realizes that too, it seems. Because while she still looks overjoyed to see him alive, happy enough to forgive him for the months-long deception- there’s also suspicion, confusion in her eyes. 

“Why tell us now?” she asks. 

“Bourbon tracked me down,” answers Shuuichi, and all three agents sitting across him stiffen in their own ways. 

“How long do we have to hide you?” James asks, sharp. 

But Shuuichi shakes his head. “He’d like to cooperate.”

He briefs them on what Bourbon told him the night before, though he neglects to mention where exactly they had their chat. About Scotch, about Gin, and about Bourbon’s suggestion. 

“And you took him at his word?” Jodie demands, incredulous. Camel looks equally doubtful next to her. “His whole story is ridiculous!”

“Gin isn’t popular,” says Shuuichi. “He has even codenamed operatives killed without a second thought. It’s unsurprising that Bourbon wants him dead too.”

“Even so…” Jodie trails off, brow furrowing. 

“I must agree with Jodie-kun,” James says, face severe. “This is the man who blew your cover once. We can’t trust he won’t do it again.”

And Conan, who had been happy enough to sit next to Shuuichi sipping at a glass of orange juice, whips his face to Shuuichi. “Amuro-san was the one who blew your cover?!”

Jodie shoots James a glare. “This is news to me too.” 

“Information on the Organization is distributed on a need-to-know basis,” counters James. 

“We should’ve been told when Kir called us up about Bourbon!”

“You were still grieving over Akai-kun’s death,” James points out. “I was avoiding any mention of him.”

Now Camel is looking a little frustrated as well, and Jodie opens her mouth again. But before the conversation can derail- a clear voice cuts through the air. 

“My, my. I see you kept more than just your death from the FBI, Akai.”

A familiar voice, a familiar tone. And looking up at the doorway, there stands a familiar man. 

“You’re early,” Shuuichi says, a little irritated despite himself. It’s barely evening, let alone night. 

Bourbon smiles a haughty smile as he walks in, sits himself down on the sofa on Shuuichi’s other side, their legs brushing. The atmosphere in the room has tensed, but Bourbon acts as carefree as ever, crossing his legs and leaning back in his seat. 

“Hello,” he says, easy. “I’m Amuro Tooru.”

“Bourbon…” Camel almost growls, eyeing Bourbon with an oddly intense gaze, but Bourbon just laughs. 

“There’s no need to be so on guard,” Bourbon drawls. “Didn’t Akai say? I’d like to cooperate.”

“When you’ve almost killed him?” demands Jodie. 

“When I almost killed him?” echoes Bourbon. He taps a finger against his cheek, the very picture of innocence. “I must say, that’s not ringing a bell.”

“You blew his cover,” James points out. “A death sentence in your Organization. What guarantee do we have that you won’t again?”

“That was Akai’s fault,” Bourbon says, waving a carefree hand. “For leaving his name somewhere so terribly easy to find. And at any rate, I gave him a day’s head start. If he hadn’t managed to escape with all that express notice, it would’ve been his idiocy that killed him, not me.” 

James blinks, taken off-guard- he shoots a look at Shuuichi, and Shuuichi nods in response, short and curt. 

“See?” Bourbon smiles, a self-satisfied look. “Are you feeling more willing to cooperate now?”

“We don’t cooperate with criminals,” Jodie insists. 

“Oh? But the only criminals in this room are you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” demands Jodie, incredulous again. 

“Overstaying your visa,” Bourbon says, holding up a finger. “Working on a tourist visa.” Another finger. “Illegal use of firearms.” A third. “Illegal use of wiretaps.” A fourth finger goes up, and his voice goes icy. “You’re not meant to be in this country, FBI. I could have you arrested in the blink of an eye. But as for myself-” A picture perfect smile spreads across Bourbon’s face. “-I’m Amuro Tooru, café part-timer and private eye. I live a perfectly aboveboard life.”

“You-” Jodie’s voice goes high from Bourbon’s utter audacity, and Shuuichi would probably understand if he wasn’t used to it. 

“You’ve made your point, Bourbon,” says Shuuichi. “What do you want?”

“Ideally, we’d let Gin kill at least two to four of your agents first, since you’re insisting on not killing him,” muses Bourbon. “But I suppose you wouldn’t agree to such a plan.”

“No,” James says, voice measured. “We wouldn’t.”

“So I have an alternative.” 

Bourbon reaches into a pocket, carelessly throws out a set of photos onto the coffee table. Shuuichi leans in to look- they’re all photos of Gin and Vodka. Most are blurry security cam footage, but they’re still recognizable enough. 

“These-” says Bourbon, “-are photos of Gin at the locations of known bombings in the last year.” He reaches out to tap at a photo. “At this location, Gin screwed up. A strand of his hair survived the explosion, and the police have it in evidence. If he were brought in as a suspect, any decent prosecutor could slap him with prison for life.”

“This looks like police camera footage,” says Conan, brow furrowed. He gives Bourbon an odd look. “I’m surprised you had access to it, Amuro-san!”

“Yes,” Jodie says, eyes narrowing. “Hacking is a crime.”

“I happened upon the footage online,” Bourbon says easily. “Complete coincidence.”

A blatant lie, but it’s not as though they can prove otherwise. Shuuichi lets it pass.  

“This is certainly helpful,” says James, peering at one photo. “But it’s useless if we can’t bring the man in.”

“That’s simple enough.” Bourbon waves a hand, dismissive, then says- “Beika District 4, Block 6. Nonaka. August 7, 3 PM.”

Camel pales a pasty white. “How did you-”

“Haido District 2, Block 5. Haido City Hall. August 9, 10 AM,” continues Bourbon, and now Jodie is looking vaguely queasy. His smile is endlessly smug. “Shall I continue?”

“How did you decipher our messages?” James demands. 

“Decipher? You can’t call something so pathetic a cipher,” Bourbon says, scathing. “As proof, hm-” he glances over at Conan with a smile, “-how about you show one of your messages to Conan-kun here? I’m sure he’ll read it just as easily.”

They hesitate a moment, glancing between each other- but in the end, Jodie takes out her phone, bringing a message up on the screen. 

“Here it is, Conan-kun,” she says. “What do you think?”

Conan’s hand goes to his chin, and he hums, contemplative- but not thirty seconds pass before he says, “Beika District 3, Block 1. Sumiyoshi Park. August 12, 7 PM.”

Visible horror shoots through all three of Shuuichi’s colleagues. 

“Are you actively using this cipher?” Shuuichi demands, voice sharp. 

“Not anymore,” James says grimly. 

“No,” says Bourbon, “You should.”

And there’s a moment of confusion in the air around them, but Shuuichi understands Bourbon’s meaning in an instant. 

“You want to lure them into a reverse trap,” Shuuichi muses. “Hm. It’s not a bad plan.”

“I would estimate they’re still about two months out from breaking your encryption and deciphering your code,” says Bourbon, “But I can help them finish that quicker.”

“They?” Conan asks suddenly. He smiles, strangely brightly. “Do you mean the Organization, Amuro-san?” 

“…I mean Gin and his posse,” Bourbon corrects, smiling just as brightly at Conan. He glances back at Shuuichi, smile fading. “I don’t believe it’s a bad deal for you, FBI. If you’re lucky, you’ll even be able to capture more than just Gin.”

“I don’t like that we’re getting help from the Organization,” mumbles Camel. 

“Neither do I,” Jodie says, grimacing. “But our cipher… it would’ve been a fatal mistake, to keep using it.”

“Perhaps it’s not a bad deal.” James hums, peering at the photos again. “But it’s one that would leave your Organization standing. Am I wrong, Bourbon?”

“I’m unsure what you mean.”

“Losing Gin wouldn’t cripple the Organization,” James says, “On the contrary- he’s the biggest connection to your Organization’s top that we know of. Cutting him off from them may destroy our chances of tracking them down.”

And Bourbon’s face goes icy blank. 

“I’m handing you the opportunity to steal credit for taking down a major Organization operative,” says Bourbon, “And you’d like to refuse on the off-chance that leaving him at large will help you bring in bigger prey? I see that in any countr-”

He cuts himself off, taking a short breath as he stands up. 

“It’s your choice, FBI,” says Bourbon, voice colder than a winter night. “Though I do hope you won’t disappoint me.”

“…You!” Camel says abruptly, jerking up from the sofa. “You were in America last year! With Akai-san! You said that then too!” 

Ah. Shuuichi carefully averts his gaze from Camel’s accusing look, from Jodie’s questioning frown, from James’ concerned gaze. 

This may be a slight problem.

He first saw Bourbon again almost a year after his cover was blown, over two years ago now. It was in America, in a nondescript coffee shop by Shuuichi’s apartment. It’s a nice enough place - if as expensive as anything in New York - and he doesn’t mind sitting at a corner table with his laptop, parsing through files. 

It was there one evening, out of the blue- someone sat himself down in the seat across from him. 

Shuuichi remembers, in all honesty, that he half-recognized Bourbon before he even saw his face. The navy blue dress shirt, the lines of his body, his too-familiar hands- it all brought anticipation in his throat long before Shuuichi looked up and met Bourbon’s gaze. 

“Bourbon,” he remembers saying, voice quiet but level. 

But perhaps not level enough, because Bourbon just scowls and demands, in harsh Japanese- “Why do you still love me?”

“…I don’t,” Shuuichi says, even if it’s a lie. 

Because even a year later, even with all of his plans for infiltration broken into pieces by the man who sits in front of him, he still dreams of Bourbon far too much. He still misses him, enough to even miss his time in the Organization despite all the bile it brought to his throat. 

It’s not something he’ll ever admit though, and it’s not something Bourbon should be able to notice. Shuuichi has never been the most expressive even when he wants to be. 

“You do,” Bourbon still says, irritable but oddly certain. Suspiciously certain. 

“You’re talking-” Shuuichi says, voice mild, “-as though you have my name.”

A name on one’s skin, proof of love that was still lasting, so long as the words were bright against skin. Proof of a lifelong connection, eternity. Shuuichi has always dismissed that fanciful concept, and perhaps that's why he’s never considered it. Perhaps also unconscious denial- because Bourbon is a criminal, and a murderer, and not someone he should be connected to in such a way. 

(Not someone he could be connected to in such a way.)

But he’s not someone he should’ve fallen for either, and yet he had. 

A scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. Have you seen my name anywhere?”

“It isn’t as though I’ve looked,” Shuuichi replies. 

“Even a child knows a mark isn’t something you look for,” Bourbon says, derisive. “They’re meant to be found.”

And Shuuichi has to admit that’s true enough. A mark appears where it could be easily seen- the chest, the wrist, rarely a leg or arm. It would be rather pointless if it didn’t. 

(He ignores the touch of disappointment that settles in his stomach. This is better, at any rate.)

“I’m a detective, Akai.” A dismissive hand. “I can deduce your idiotic feelings from your expression alone.”

“That sounds like projection to me, Bourbon.”

“In what world!” snaps Bourbon. There’s a touch of red to his face now, and Shuuichi wishes desperately that it wasn’t still cute. 

“You know I would arrest you if I could,” Shuuichi says. Alas, he lacks any kind of evidence, and perhaps jurisdiction as well, when most of Bourbon’s crimes have been in Japan. “And that your Organization would kill you if they knew we met.”

And yet, Bourbon had decided to come see him anyway. Shuuichi raises an eyebrow, and knows it was enough to convey his meaning when Bourbon scowls. 

“I was curious,” he admits, abrupt. “Who Akai Shuuichi was, who Rye wasn’t.”

“And have you satisfied that curiosity?”

Bourbon’s look is gauging. “Perhaps. You’re more of a family man than I expected, Akai.”

“Oh?”

“You joined the Organization for them, didn’t you?” Bourbon asks. “Your cousins.”

And Shuuichi blinks, utterly confused. “My what?”

“Miyano Akemi and Miyano Shiho,” Bourbon continues, and Shuuichi’s confusion just rises. “Their mother Elena is your mother’s sister. Did you think I wouldn’t be able to find that much out?”

“Miyano Akemi is my cousin?” demands Shuuichi, half-horrified now. 

“Did you… not know?” Bourbon looks a little incredulous. “Was it for your father then? It seems he disappeared under suspicious circumstances.”

“For him, yes,” Shuuichi admits easily enough, mostly because he’s still rattled. 

Was Bourbon lying? There’s little reason for him to, no motive at all. And it’s something Shuuichi can trivially verify himself- there’s ways for him to contact his mother, though he prefers not to. 

He thinks of everything he knows about Sherry, of her life growing up in the Organization, of what she’s being used for. 

“Bourbon-” he starts, but Bourbon shakes his head. 

“Whatever it was you were about to say,” he says, “I refuse. I’m not in a position where I can afford to care for others, Akai.”

“Then why did you let me escape?”

Because that was what Bourbon had done, for all intents and purposes. He may not know when Bourbon had revealed to the Organization who Shuuichi was- but it must’ve been hours after his warning, at the very least. 

“…It was a mistake to give you a day,” says Bourbon. His fists clench on the table. “I can’t afford you, Akai. I don’t care for you anymore, at any rate. Did you forget what I told you?”

“I remember your transparent lies, yes,” Shuuichi says mildly. 

Bourbon’s eyes flash with that ever-beautiful rage of his, and Shuuichi finds himself as helplessly transfixed as he always was. 

“I can’t love you,” Bourbon snaps. 

Can’t, not don’t. He must know what he’s saying, and yet he’s saying it anyway. 

Shuuichi closes his laptop with a soft click. 

“My apartment is nearby,” he says, feeling oddly impulsive. 

“I know,” Bourbon says brusquely. His eyes glare as though to ask, so?

“Stay the night,” Shuuichi finds himself saying, even knowing that he would regret it. That he should regret it. 

Bourbon laughs, high and incredulous. “Have you forgotten what we are?” 

Shuuichi meets his eyes, shakes his head. But his gaze is steady and still. 

A click of a tongue. 

“You’re a terrible cop,” sneers Bourbon, then- “I’ll be gone before morning.”

“Okay,” Shuuichi says, mild. “Let’s go.”

(Later that night, when Shuuichi goes in for a kiss, Bourbon blocks him with a hand. 

“We’ve never been lovers,” he says, voice cold as he pushes Shuuichi back against the wall. “Take what you want and go.”

But later still that night, when they’re both a little more tired and Shuuichi draws Bourbon’s back into his chest-

Bourbon doesn’t refuse him then.)

It wasn’t as though they saw each other often over the years. Shuuichi was stuck working in America, and while the Organization may span international borders, its operations have been focused on Japan in recent years. Bourbon likely doesn’t leave the country very much. 

But Bourbon still found him from time to time, and Shuuichi still found himself sharing his bed, despite his cursory attempts to regret it, to reject Bourbon. 

“I’ve done quite well for myself, you know,” Bourbon would say. “Gin hates me by name now.”

He wouldn’t explain the dirty details of what he did to move up in the Organization, and Shuuichi wouldn’t ask, even knowing that he should. 

It wasn’t as though the quiet nights he spent with Bourbon were fully a betrayal of his moral code. Bourbon would let slip useful tidbits from time to time. 

Vermouth is coming to kill you, you know, one rainy night in an alley. And much later, in a café- that time Camel interrupted them- Miyano Akemi is dead. Her sister is on the run. 

Enough information for Shuuichi to defend the time he spent with him, at least to himself. 

It’s a little more difficult to defend against others. 

“Akai’s lack of communication skills isn’t my problem,” Bourbon says dismissively. He raises a hand into the air as he makes his way to the door. “Have fun explaining yourself, Akai. I’ll be back in-” he hums, “-three days, let’s say. Make your decision by then.”

“Amuro-san, wait!” Conan calls out. All eyes go to him, including Bourbon himself. 

“What is it?” Bourbon asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“You made sure your name wasn’t easy to find,” Conan says inexplicably. “Right?”

And Bourbon smiles, bright and sunny. 

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says, “You know both my names, Conan-kun.” 

Then he turns back around to slip out the door, and no one else moves to stop him this time. He’s already made it clear enough they have no leverage they could use to take him in, at any rate. 

“Now then, Akai-kun,” says James, raising an eyebrow. “I think we’d all like an explanation.”

Shuuichi puts his hand to his chin. “I'm rather more curious about what the b-”

“-Akai-kun.”

It’s true that he’s curious about Conan’s question, but Shuuichi can admit he should resolve this small problem first. 

It isn’t as though he hadn’t been forwarding Bourbon’s rare tidbits of information to the FBI. He just neglected to fully explain the source of his information. 

“Bourbon was my Organization contact,” admits Shuuichi. 

Jodie blinks, nonplussed. “The one who told you about the Miyanos?” 

“Why didn’t you tell us he was such a high-ranking operative?” James demands right after. 

“…You didn’t want to risk being asked to lead him into a trap,” Conan says. He smiles up at Shuuichi, disturbingly bright, disturbingly knowing. “Right, Akai-san?”

This boy is as keenly observant as ever. 

“Yes,” says Shuuichi. In truth, because he was compromised. It isn’t as though he isn’t self-aware. But thankfully, Bourbon has now provided him with an easy enough excuse to claim instead. “Bourbon was cooperative. I thought that we would gain more if we left him be.”

“Perhaps you were right,” says James, “But that wasn’t your call to make.” His face is severe. “We’ll discuss consequences once you’re back as an active agent, Akai-kun.”

“Understood,” Shuuichi says, face impassive. 

It’s unlikely he would be able to return until the Organization was dealt with, and by then he doubts he would see the need to stay with the FBI. And in any case, he could survive a demotion or a paycut. 

Perhaps he should feel guilty, but this is far from the worst thing he’s done in the end. 

“What should we do about Bourbon’s plan, James-san?” Camel asks. 

“We’ll have to discuss things with everyone first,” says James. “They’ll need to know our cipher is compromised at the very least.”

“Don’t mention Bourbon,” Shuuichi says. “The fewer people who know, the safer.”

“For Bourbon, you mean,” Jodie notes, her gaze scrutinizing. 

“Yes,” Shuuichi says, and stays as impassive as ever. 

“You’re close with him,” Jodie observes next, and Shuuichi doesn’t even blink an eye. 

“We worked together in the Organization,” he says simply. 

And while Jodie doesn’t look entirely satisfied with that answer, she doesn’t push either. Perhaps she realizes Shuuichi wouldn’t talk. 

“Let’s take our time and think over what we should do,” she says instead, changing the subject. She gathers the photos of Gin still strewn on the table in a neat pile, tucking it into a pocket. “Shuu.”

“Mm?”

“I’m still so glad you’re alive,” she says, and gives him a helpless smile. She stands up, her gaze shifting to Camel. “We should go now though. If we hurry, we’ll be able to make it back to the children before they leave. Get up, Camel.”

“Ah- yes, Jodie-san!”

“I suppose I’ll take my leave as well,” muses James. “Tell us if Bourbon makes another appearance, Akai-kun.”

“Of course,” says Shuuichi. It might not even be a lie. 

“Are you coming, Conan-kun?” Jodie asks next, but Conan shakes his head. 

“I wanna talk with Akai-san a little more!” he says cheerily. 

So Shuuichi is left with Conan again in the end, and he raises an eyebrow at the boy as soon as they’re alone. 

“What’s up, boy?”

“Akai-san,” says Conan, “You know Amuro-san’s real name, don’t you?” His voice is still and certain as he continues- “Because he’s your soulmate.”

And Shuuichi can do nothing but stare.

The thing is this: Shuuichi has already mourned and accepted that he and Bourbon weren’t soulmates, that night after the coffee shop two years ago. 

Because there were no marks on their skin, despite the love they likely still shared.

Because Shuuichi was an FBI agent, and Bourbon was a criminal. 

(Because there was always only one way their story was ever going to end.)

So if the world decided to give them no guarantees, to suggest that one day they would part- then Shuuichi would grasp all the harder while he still could, even knowing he shouldn’t. 

But now Conan sits next to him, gaze serious, inexplicably certain that Bourbon is Shuuichi’s soulmate. 

“Bourbon is not my soulmate,” Shuuichi says, firm. 

“Amuro-san said you left your name somewhere easy to find,” Conan points out. “There’s nothing easier to find than most marks.”

“I have no mark, boy,” says Shuuichi. “We aren’t connected in that way.”

That should be the end of it, but Conan looks no less convinced. 

“Are you sure, Akai-san?” he asks. “It could be hidden. Under your hair, maybe.”

“Marks don’t appear in such spots.”

“They can,” Conan corrects. “It’s just rare, since most people don’t want their names to be hidden. Maybe from others, but not from someone they care for.” His gaze meets Akai’s, steady. “But what if you’re hiding who you are?”

Shuuichi regrets, suddenly, that he never bothered to look too deeply into the mechanics of soulmate marks. That he let Bourbon’s leading insults convince him so easily into dropping the subject. 

“Are you speaking from experience?” Shuuichi asks, mildly curious. 

The look Conan gives him is exceedingly exasperated. “That doesn’t matter right now.”

“I suppose so,” says Shuuichi, smile slight. 

He thinks about Bourbon finding his name, about his constant certainty that Shuuichi still cared for him. He thinks about Bourbon’s hatred of facing him in bed since their parting, thinks about that small smudge of concealer. 

Bourbon works closely with Vermouth. It wouldn’t be difficult for him to cover a name on skin in a way indistinguishable to the naked eye. 

Shuuichi thinks about their last night together, all those years ago. He thinks about Bourbon’s fingers tapping on his back, and Bourbon’s sudden change in attitude. 

“Boy,” he says, “Where’s the largest mirror in this house?”

There’s a floor to ceiling mirror in the Kudo family bedroom, and so that’s where they go. Shuuichi closes the curtains and flicks on the lights, then slips off his pink turtleneck to examine his bare back. 

He doesn’t see anything, not at first. But then he looks over his left shoulder instead of the right, and there it is, barely visible. Three small white characters high on his back, slightly off-centre. 

It was really there, all along. Shuuichi almost wants to laugh. If he had just bothered to check- if he had slept with anyone but Bourbon, or gone to the beach, or a swimming pool, perhaps- 

But he hadn’t, just like Bourbon had clearly wanted, had hoped for. 

Shuuichi narrows his eyes. The last character is zero, he recognizes that easily enough- and the first two, when put together…

“Furuya Rei,” reads Conan. “I think.” 

It’s not a name Shuuichi recognizes, and so there’s only one person it could be. 

(Only one person who he cares for deeply - who cares for him just as deeply in return - that could be hiding their name.)

Conan fetches his phone from a pocket, starts texting. “I’ll ask my d- Yuusaku-ojisan to look into it. It’s a unique name, and Amuro-san is pretty memorable. If he went through the police academy, someone must remember.”

“…You think Bourbon is a spy?” Shuuichi asks. He slips his turtleneck back on, tugging arms through sleeves. 

It’s not a suspicion Shuuichi has ever allowed himself to consider. He knows he’s compromised when it comes to Bourbon, and so he knows he can’t trust himself not to see connections where there were none. 

But it’s Conan who’s suspecting Bourbon- Conan, a detective as sharp as - if not sharper - than Bourbon himself. Conan wouldn’t have Shuuichi’s same biases, and yet he’s still assessed Bourbon as on their side. 

“Nothing Amuro-san did today made sense,” says Conan, “But everything would fall together if he was an undercover Public Safety officer.” His phone slips back into his pocket, and his hand promptly goes to his chin. “How angry he was about the FBI’s illegal operations… his easy access to confidential police information… the way he talked about the Black Organization as if he wasn’t part of it… and this new name he kept hidden.”

Tentative hope unfurls in Shuuichi’s chest, quiet and still. 

“I’ll look into it on my end as well,” he says, “If Bourbon is a spy…”

It changes everything, turns all of his assumptions these past six years on their head. Death or prison were the only endings that awaited Bourbon if they succeeded in their goal of taking down the Organization. 

But the same might not go for the mysterious Furuya Rei. 

Raising his hopes is dangerous, not when he has no guarantees, not yet. But this is something he’s desperately wanted for years. 

The small smile on his face truly can’t be helped, not at all.

There are ways for Shuuichi to look into this, even without reaching out to old contacts and revealing himself as alive. But in the end, he decides to go for the simplest route. 

Social engineering. 

It’s what Bourbon had decided to do with Okiya Subaru, after all. Shuuichi doubts Bourbon had every piece of irrefutable evidence in hand when he went to visit Okiya Subaru that night. It had likely been his plan to gauge Okiya’s reaction, to decide with absolute certainty whether he was Akai Shuuichi from how he reacted to Bourbon’s actions. 

(Shuuichi probably failed the moment he melted into Bourbon’s hold.)

Turnabout would be fair play. 

Shuuichi is aware that Bourbon has been working at Café Poirot, and he’s looked into Bourbon’s schedule before. It’s trivial to find, really. Bourbon has amassed a small fanbase as Amuro Tooru, and one of his fans has a blog dedicated to tracking his shifts. 

And while Bourbon does tend to keep an irregular schedule, there’s still a couple timeslots he works consistently. If Shuuichi visits in the evening the day after tomorrow, he should have a fairly high chance of a “heart-throbbing Amu-poo encounter”- as the blog amusingly put it. 

So Shuuichi steps into Poirot as Okiya a half-hour before closing, bell ringing as he steps through the door. 

“Welcome!” Bourbon says with a shining smile. There’s no cracks in it, but Shuuichi didn’t expect there to be. “Would you prefer a counter or booth seat?”

“Counter, please,” Shuuichi says easily. 

He orders a black coffee and gets one with cream and sugar instead - Bourbon’s only visible display of displeasure - and sips at it, watching Bourbon wash dishes behind the counter. Shuuichi doesn’t say anything, not yet- there’s still other customers in the café, though no coworkers at least. 

A customer pays and leaves. Bourbon finishes washing the dishes, and shifts to wiping down the tables. Another customer leaves, the bell ringing behind her. Five minutes before closing, the only people in the café are him and Bourbon. 

Bourbon goes to the door, flips its sign from open to closed. 

“What do you want, Akai?” he finally says, not turning around. An admission that it was safe to speak freely- he would’ve called him Okiya if it wasn’t.

“I wanted to talk,” says Shuuichi. He taps at his collar, disabling its functionality. “Furuya-kun.”

An annoyed huff. Bourbon flips around, walks back, slams himself down in the seat next to Shuuichi with a scowl. 

“I can’t imagine you finally noticed on your own after over three years,” grumbles Bourbon- grumbles Furuya Rei. 

“No,” admits Shuuichi. “It was a mistake to mention my name was easy to find in front of the boy, Furuya-kun.”

“Yes, I realized that,” Furuya grouches. His arms cross, his eyes glare. “So? How much do you know?”

“I know you’re a NOC.”

“I’m sorry?” Furuya says. His voice is pure, polite confusion. 

Shuuichi refuses to buy into it so easily. 

“You’re a memorable man,” he says mildly. “Do you really think no one remembered you in the police academy?”

“What I think-” says Furuya, casual, “-is that it’s been a day or two, at best, since you uncovered my name. It took even me days to track down Akai Shuuichi’s life.” An eyebrow raises, accusing. “I think you don’t know a thing. Am I wrong?”

“You graduated at the top of your cohort,” continues Shuuichi, because that’s an easy enough assumption given Furuya’s skills- then takes a risk, because Furuya seems obstinate enough to keep quiet otherwise- “With Scotch.”

And Furuya freezes. 

“Who told you about him?” he demands, low, urgent. 

“I wonder?”

“This is serious, Akai,” Furuya snaps, slamming a fist on the counter. “His position is already unstable. He can’t afford any kind of scruni-”

“-You did.”

Furuya deflates in the blink of an eye. “You-” his hand reaches up, pinches his nose. “You played me.”

Shuuichi can’t help but smile. 

“You called Scotch family. It was a reasonable assumption you knew him as Furuya Rei,” he says. “And as you’re the same age, I inferred you would’ve attended the academy at the same time.”

A click of a tongue. 

“I did graduate at the top of my cohort, you know,” says Furuya, irritated. 

“I’d expect no less from you,” Shuuichi just says. 

“I was the top of my classes in university and high school too,” Furuya continues. “I ascended through the ranks of the NPA at an unprecedented speed.”

“Alright?” 

“I could beat anyone in a fight, in solving a case,” Furuya grumbles. “I was flawless, if I do say so myself.” A bitter glare. “And then I met you.” 

“No one can be flawless, Furuya-kun,” Shuuichi says, gaze softening. “If I helped you figure that out, then I’m glad.”

“Oh, shut up.” Furuya jabs two fingers into Shuuichi’s forehead, hard. “Wipe that damn expression from your face. This is exactly why I never told you who I was.”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“You were already insufferable when you knew we were enemies,” Furuya says, fingers pressing in harder- Shuuichi doesn’t budge an inch. “I knew you’d reach new, idiotic heights of lovelorn nonsense once you knew we weren’t.” 

“Am I not supposed to be happy that I can have a future with the man I love?” asks Shuuichi, amused. 

“A future?” Furuya scoffs. “Nothing’s changed, Akai. Either of us could die tomorrow, and it wouldn’t even be a surprise.”

“I know,” says Shuuichi, a touch more subdued. “But, still-” He grabs Furuya’s hand, drags it down and traces a thumb over its back, soft- and while Furuya scowls, he allows it. “-I’m glad to have a chance.”

Furuya clicks his tongue again, his gaze flicking to the counter. 

“None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t fallen for me,” he mutters. 

“I think the blame for that is fifty-fifty, Furuya-kun,” Shuuichi says with a chuckle. Quite literally. 

“I dumped you for no reason, then blew your cover,” Furuya says, irritation filling his voice. “And after all that, we spent a year apart. I was a criminal to start off with too- you should’ve moved on in days. Weeks. Why did you still love me a year later?” 

“You know, I’d imagine most people would appreciate their lover’s loyalty,” Shuuichi says, squeezing Furuya’s hand, soft. 

“Most people wouldn’t be killed the moment anyone saw the name on their heart,” snaps Furuya, which is admittedly fair. 

“You could’ve moved on from me yourself,” Shuuichi points out. 

“I went to see you to do just that,” grumbles Furuya, and Shuuichi raises an eyebrow. 

“So you slept with me? Rather counterproductive.”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear that from you.”

And that’s fair enough as well, Shuuichi supposes. 

“I couldn’t care less about being soulmates either,” continues Furuya. “Compatibility combined with our own pathetic desires, that’s all it is.”

“Alright,” Shuuichi says easily. 

Furuya eyes him with a suspicious gaze. “That’s it?”

“I’ve never put much stock in the concept either, Furuya-kun,” Shuuichi says. He brings Furuya’s hand to his mouth, presses a light kiss there- Furuya just looks exasperated, but he expected that. Shuuichi still smiles. “Though the promises of eternity have a nice ring to them, I admit.”

“What’s eternity to two men who might die by forty?” Furuya demands, scathing. 

“It’s what we make of it, don’t you think?”

Furuya makes a disgusted noise. “I knew you’d be insufferable about this.”

“You don’t mind it,” says Shuuichi, a teasing edge to his voice. 

“I suppose,” Furuya grumbles, then- “But I’d rather have it from Akai Shuuichi than Okiya Subaru.”

“Take me somewhere secure,” Shuuichi says mildly, “And I'd be happy to give you just that.”

“…This,” says Furuya, reaching up to tap at Shuuichi’s cheek, the mask that covers it. “Can you put it back on anywhere once you take it off?”

“As long as I’m careful how I remove it,” Shuuichi replies. 

“Good,” says Furuya, leaning in to brush against an ear. “Then come home with me, Akai.”

And Shuuichi’s chest warms. 

“With pleasure.”

Shuuichi runs a finger over the words that mark Furuya’s chest, a small circle slightly off-centre. Shuuichi Akai, mahogany letters in English text. 

Furuya had cleaned the spot of latex skin and concealer hours ago, while Shuuichi was carefully removing his Okiya disguise. But Shuuichi admits he’s still not quite used to it- the sight of his own name on top of Furuya’s heart. 

As though he’s claimed it for himself. 

“Are you quite satisfied?” Furuya demands from the futon, glaring up at Shuuichi. 

Shuuichi just smiles, and leans down to peck a kiss against the mark in response. 

“Enough already,” grumbles Furuya, and his arms whip up and around to drag Shuuichi back down, to trip him into his chest. 

This isn’t half-bad either either, being pressed into Furuya’s warm chest. Shuuichi settles down against Furuya’s heart, to listen to its beat. 

“Honestly,” complains Furuya- but presses a kiss against Shuuichi’s hair, so he clearly isn’t half as annoyed as he’s pretending to be. 

They stay just like this for a small while, quiet. Eventually though, Furuya’s fingers flit over Shuuichi’s back, and he sighs. 

“Akai,” he says. “Have the FBI come to a decision yet?” 

Shuuichi shakes his head, and sees Furuya grimace in response. 

“Your superiors don’t want Gin to be arrested,” Shuuichi observes. 

“…No,” admits Furuya. “Scotch moves as part of Gin’s hit squad these days, even with Gin’s suspicions. They’re hoping he’ll catch a glimpse of the Organization’s top if they leave things be.” He clicks his tongue. “Ridiculous. Gin watches him so closely, he hasn’t been able to give any kind of report in months. And they think Gin will let him anywhere near even Rum?”

“I see.” Shuuichi hums, then- “I’ll help either way, Furuya-kun.”

“Even if that Agent Black tells you not to?” Furuya asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Of course.”

He’s always liked Scotch. The man was friendly and easy to get along with, even as an Organization operative. Doubly so now that he knows Scotch was a spy like him all along. 

Shuuichi won’t let him die so easily. He would’ve done the same even if he was still in the Organization, even if it risked his cover. 

“…Thank you,” says Furuya, quiet, and Shuuichi just hums again in response. 

Furuya’s fingers trace over Shuuichi’s back once more- slow, light. They seem to circle over one spot in particular, and- ah. Shuuichi chuckles into Furuya’s chest. 

“Oh, shut up,” grumbles Furuya. 

“Do you like having your name on my heart?” Shuuichi asks, innocent, and Furuya stills under him. 

“I-” Furuya’s voice is strangled. 

“Mm?”

“It really is over your heart,” Furuya says, voice disgusted. “I never noticed.”

“It’s a good spot.”

“Of course you would say that,” says Furuya, derisive. “Who marks their soulmate’s heart with their name, you possessive bas- ah.”

“Feel free to be as possessive as you’d like with me, Furuya-kun,” Shuuichi says mildly, and expects it when Furuya bats at his head with a light hand. 

“I won’t apologize, you know,” Furuya says abruptly. 

“For what?”

“For my mark.” Furuya presses a thumb down on it, on Shuuichi’s back. “Marks are symbolism- I’ve always considered myself zero, transparent, nothing, so my mark is almost clear as well, barely noticeable. I know it looks like a mark of fading love. But I won’t apologize for it.”

Fading love? The thought hadn’t even crossed Shuuichi’s mind. 

“Why should you?” Shuuichi says easily. “I’m glad to keep it for myself.”

An annoyed huff. “Don’t tell me you really are possessive.”

“Perhaps a little,” Shuuichi admits. He shifts up, presses a quick kiss to the edge of Furuya’s lips. 

Furuya stares up at him - silent, face conflicted - but Shuuichi just smiles down at him. 

“At any rate,” he says, sincere, “I’ve never needed a mark to know that you love me.”

And heat flushes up Furuya’s neck, a beautiful shade of red. 

“Good,” he says with a huff. “My love doesn’t lose to yours, Akai Shuuichi. Keep that in mind.”

Shuuichi’s smile widens, as easy as day.

“Always,” he promises.