Scintillating - SemiShira ✔︎

Chapter 11

The engines came to a relieving halt, Kenjirou gripping onto Eita's hand tightly as he got out of the unsurprisingly private plane in the Yakuza's unsurprisingly private jet hanger. Damn, he just managed to get away from the Cartel and now he was surrounded by Yakuza members and having random people run scanners over him and get fingerprints and spit samples. He felt invaded by all the random tools being pushed into him and not to mention his damn bicep was still in pure agony. But hey, it was the Yakuza and they had no mercy.

"Eita!" Kenjirou whined upon feeling a needle jab his finger for a blood sample, switching to Spanish because frankly, it was easier to say what he wanted without being understood. "What the fuck are they doing?! Am I a rat or something?! I went through way too many years of dissecting rats to now be treated as one!"

"We're testing you and keeping your records for just in case. You'll be let free after. And before you get too comfortable, we understand what you're saying," the woman now checking his shoulder stated. "Spanish and English are spoken in many areas and it's helpful when dealing with the Columbians."

"Well that's reassuring," Kenjirou mumbled. How the hell was he supposed to communicate and trash talk if these literal bad guys were watching over him? So as he felt cotton swabs dab into his cut with sterilizer, he came to a realization.

"Hey, what if I wanna seduce Eita? We all know Spanish is the language of seduction, so what better way?"

"Not a chance," the woman replied sternly. "Keep your affairs away and Semi out too."

"Actually, Yumi, I wouldn't mind at all. He can start from now."

"Disgusting."

"You're literally lesbian."

With the fact that Eita was one of their handiest men, it was without surprise that Kenjirou was given the stink eye and told that he could do, 'Whatever the fuck you wanna do just don't fuck in the open,' and left to then venture into the Japanese streets, hand interlaced tightly with Eita's one as they were escorted and then made to walk around for a bit to get used to the place before arriving in front of a much too exquisite house.

"How hasn't the government questioned this place?" Kenjirou asked, hesitantly poking the door he almost wanted to bet was gold.

"I'm hot," Eita stated with a shrug. "But ignoring all that, welcome home. You're living with me."

Home.

Home with Eita.

That's where he was.

"Eita," Kenjirou whispered, following the ash blond who had snickered at him poking the doorknob and entering right behind.

"What? Oh gross! Are you getting emotional on me?! Come on, Kenji! I'm not good at this! I've never been with someone capable of expressing emotions!"

"Shut up and hug me! Or kiss me! I need to be distracted!" Kenjirou whined, hating the fact that after losing three of the closest people in his family and nearly losing his arm, he had a tendency to cry easier. What kind of Doctor was he if he cried so much?

But his silent, main, plea for comfort was taken seriously by Eita who was more than willing to comfort him with his choice weapon.

Lips.

Strong yet gentle lips pressed on Kenjirou's own well-cared and flavoured ones. A subtle Jojoba flavour coated his lips, glossy and easy to get lost in as Eita raised his hands to grip on to the back of Kenjirou's head. His fingers threaded through hair and as their lips moved together in harmony, Kenjirou tentatively raised the hand with the butchered arm to grasp onto the front of Eita's black T-shirt and the other onto his back. He could physically feel himself weaken, knees shaking as Eita pressed into him.

Never had he kissed anyone besides Eita and never had they taken it as far as then. Needless to say, Kenjirou was inexperienced but the minimal movement and the struggling actions being returned didn't seem to faze Eita as he took the uncertainty of action as his sign to delve as he pleased. Spit cumulated against their lips not making it disgusting but instead just right to move without friction.

The Jojoba flavour was delightful and as they stood there gasping between kisses, Eita couldn't help but to run his tongue over Kenjirou's soft lips to get any lasting flavour. Boy did Kenjirou feel tired mentally and physically but intoxication from the kiss chased that away almost completely. He adored the fingers running through his copper hair and the fingers that were moving downwards against his spine. He could stay with their lips together forever but all good things must come to an end and therefore, Eita pulled back to release their seal, noses still touching as he displayed a goofy smile

"I never believed in marriage but I wanna marry you," Eita stated happily, leaning to press one more kiss against Kenjirou's mouth before fully pulling away. "And as much as I would love to kiss the life out of you here in my genkan, I can feel you about to collapse in exhaustion and jet lag so let's get to bed! We'll deal with your official things tomorrow."

So be said.

The two were inseparable for the time being. Eita was showing Kenjirou around, Kenjirou was lost as hell although he did remember some places considering he grew up near the area. He wasn't fully lost but after being away for ten years, it sure was different.

They'd go out, deal with matters, snuggle at home, cook together─ occasionally, since they weren't the best of cooks, per se─ and wake up in hickeys. That part was entirely Shirabu Kenjirou's fault for waking up suddenly and being unable to focus on going to sleep with Eita's bare chest staring at him so openly.

Yeah, no, he was a man of little strength and Eita was a man with not only a mouth-watering body but also incredibly deep sleeping capabilities so it was a safe game to cover him in hickeys while he slept. But the action was returned. It was a 'secret' but really, Eita started it out of revenge but when the time came, he was more than excited to hear the little whimpers and sighs that exited Kenjirou when he did it. It was such delightful times but the immediate things were coming to an end and now it was time to sort out his parents' death.

The world was a fucked up place with fucked up people and even though Kenjirou knew full well that Tsutomu's will had stated his guilt and that the 'Japanese government' had already called him to deal with the paperwork, a part of him hoped it was a sick joke that his parents made so they could berate him to smile and laugh more one last time. It was silly but it was a core line repeated in his memory that they had instilled in him from a young age. He could've gone his entire life not knowing what being an orphan felt like. Logically, he wasn't an orphan considering he was an adult who paid his bills and sustained himself but an orphan was someone who didn't have parents and he was now living at a rather young age with none. He could stay in Eita's bed forever, ignoring the fact that he would start working within a week, ignoring basic hygiene, and ignoring the documents he didn't want to see. 

His angled hair lay strewn across his head as he lay on the floor of Eita's basement, staring blankly at the ceiling while Eita weighed, packed, and labelled drug packages, hands gloved and hair held back in a protective hair net─ no risks. Kenjirou really should've been somewhere else instead of witnessing criminal activities but he liked being in Eita's presence even if he couldn't get too close due to evidence potentially getting on. Besides, Eita liked working in shorts and nothing else. How could he ignore such an honour?

"I think we should get my parents' death papers out of the way," Kenjirou finally sighed, gaining a lift of the head and a nod from Eita. "Get it out of the way and begin life without murders."

"We'll go tomorrow. Just let me finish the last three kilos and we can go to bed," Eita said tiredly, a small smile lingering on the sides of his eyes as the mask he wore protected his gleam from shining through.

So as Kenjirou continuously shifted gaze from the ceiling and Eita's focused form, hand idly stroking his scabbed and stiff arm, he realized that he was deeply in love with a criminal and he had not a single ounce of regret, fear, or worry.