The right side of the bed was empty. Again.

Kei got out of bed with a giant yawn. Of the fourteen days that had passed since the wedding, Yoru had pulled this disappearing act on all but six. Initially, he would restrain himself to the window seat. Now that his legs had healed somewhat, he’d taken to wandering around the house, and Kei had been told on at least seven occasions that he should have his house exorcised  because the neighbors swore they'd seen a ghost in the window.

The Tsunodas' personal spectre was in the kitchen tonight, curled up in a corner on the floor with a mug of hot chocolate in his hands. He smiled apologetically as Kei came and sat down next to him. "Want to talk about it?" Kei asked, nicking a marshmallow.

"No."

"The same nightmare again?"

"...yes. After fifteen years of the same bullshit, you'd think your brain would run out of versions, but Father manages to beat me differently every time he appears in my dreams. Why?"

"Aren’t you afraid he’ll turn up here for real?”

“He’s capable of anything when he’s drunk.” Yoru chuckled bitterly. “If my groom weren’t you, he would have hit me even at my wedding.”

“I can easily fix your situation, you know.”

“You may NOT drown your father-in-law in the Tokyo Bay!”

“Tokyo Bay is too obvious,” Kei said, stealing another marshmallow. “I prefer tossing bodies off of deep sea fishing boats. Makes it impossible to find the body and I help the benthic ecosystem - I’m kidding! What’s with that face?”

“You’re horrible!” Yoru grumbled, pressing his face into his knees.

“I’ve never killed anyone, you know. Look here, let me take a picture.”

Yoru didn’t move. “You shitty Yakuza!”

“Your shitty Yakuza,” Kei teased, pushing his face closer to Yoru’s to tease him with his scent. A third marshmallow disappeared. “Seriously, though, what I meant was that I could have your father put away for a long time.”

“Don’t. That might be the logical thing to do, but Mom still depends on him to pay the bills. Like me, she never finished school, so getting a job will be difficult.”

"Then let's get you therapy."

Yoru shook his head. "It's scary," he admitted. "I don't want to revisit everything I've gone through. I do that enough when I sleep."

"If you sleep. Look, I can protect you from your father. I can protect you from Ito. But I can't protect you from your own mind. C'mon, Yoru. For how long will you live like this?"

“I don’t know any other way. Ever since I can remember, my only thoughts were “avoid dad” and “earn more money.” When I did get a break from that, I was in a different kind of hell because my psychosis made me outright murderous. After all that, if things change for the better, I'm scared of how I'll feel if it all goes away."

"What if it doesn't go away?"

"What if it does? If I go to therapy, they are definitely going to make me talk about my previous psychosis. What if it gets triggered? There's kids in the house!"

"I'm sure the therapist will find a way to work around your psychosis. And you’re not alone this time, are you? I'm here. We'll deal with everything together."

Yoru mulled Kei's words over for several minutes. Kei sat by him patiently, polishing off the remaining two marshmallows as he waited. Finally, Yoru looked up at Kei from underneath his eyelashes - a look Kei would remain weak to for the rest of his life - with utmost vulnerability in his eyes. “Will you come with me?” Yoru asked.

“Gladly. We can get coffee after.”

But Fate, the cruel mistress, had other plans - namely, to give Yoru his first experience of the dark side of Yakuza life.

It was late afternoon of the same day, and everything was peaceful. Kei was out working. Kaede and Ayako had gone to Okinawa with some friends. Akira, having lost a bet with Yui, had been dragged to a birthday party with Junta. The boys in charge of guarding the house were wrestling in the grass. Yoru, as part of his efforts to bond with Kenichi, was trying to teach him subtraction.

And Kenichi, though attentive and willing to learn, was starting to get frustrated at his inability to subtract twenty-five from ninety-one. "It's okay," Yoru said placatingly, gently pushing Kenichi's hand off the page to stop him from drilling a hole into the notebook. "You know, anesan had a hard time with this when he was little too."

"But Mira can do it! Why can't I?"

Yoru bit his lip. The weighty question came straight out of nowhere and left his mind upended. He had expected to encounter a moment such as this one, but he'd also been hoping that the more experienced parent would be present for consultation.

His phone rang with Kei's call at that moment, saving him from answering. “Your timing is exquisite,” he said. “When you get home today-”

“Anesan. It’s Nakamura.”

“Oh, hello. What are you doing with Kei’s phone?”

“I’m sorry, anesan.” Nakamura’s voice shook, and Yoru felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “I should have been more careful. I’m sorry.”

“But what are you - get off me, Kenichi, it isn’t oyassan - what are you talking about?”

“It was Ito’s men. Kei, he...I’m so, so sorry, Yoru...”

“Nakamura Azusa! Where is Kei?!”

“He got shot," Nakamura answered. "They shot him in the chest."

Yoru's first reaction was to laugh, a humorless, deranged sound of hysteria. "No, seriously," he said. "Where's Kei?"

"In surgery. We will not let this pass, Anesan. I promise. By the time I’m done with Ito-”

“Calm down, Nakamura. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just got grazed in the thigh. Don’t worry, anesan -”

“You really have the gall to say that to me?”

“My apologies.”

Yoru rose and pulled Kenichi to his feet behind him. “Stay there and calm yourself down first,” he instructed, waving the boys on the lawn over. “You’re the one taking Kei’s place until he returns. I can’t afford to have you in the room next to his because you bust a vein. Just let me get there.”

Within the next ten minutes, Yoru had delivered the news to the rest of the family, given the group members strict instructions about keeping the incident under wraps, packed a bag for himself and Kei and left the house. In the car, he called a number that had been blighting his phone for years.

“Ito speaking.”

Yoru clenched his fists and steeled himself. “Good evening, Mr. Ito,” he said in the calmest voice he could muster. “Tsunoda Yoru here.”

“Well, well, baby. I'd be happy to hear your voice if it weren't for that last name."

"I'd like to meet with you as soon as possible."

“Already thinking of switching before you become a widow?”

“Spare me the taunting, please. Just tell me when you are available.”

Ito chuckled, though he didn’t sound as sure of himself as earlier. "Fine, I’ll meet with you. How about dinner tomorrow at that nice Korean barbecue place by the football stadium? Come alone.”

“You wish.” Yoru rolled his eyes in annoyance and hung up.

Nakamura was waiting in the middle of the hallway outside the waiting area when Yoru arrived at the hospital. “How is he?” He asked in way of greeting.

“Out of surgery, they said, but still critical."

To Nakamura's astonishment, Yoru showed no sign of distress except for the draining of all color from his face. "Kenichi," said the latter. "Go inside and sit with Uncle Akira. Go on." He nudged the teen rather roughly into the room before turning back to Nakamura. "We won't be doing anything for now."

"Are you kidding me?!" Nakamura cried incredulously. "Our group leader has been shot, and-”

“And things will only go downhill if we indulge in any violence.” Yoru showed Nakamura a news article he’d pulled up on the way to the hospital. “Don’t you think today’s events coincide a little too well with the police crackdown on Yakuza? If our boys try anything, they aren’t the only ones who’ll pay the price: Kei will too.”

“Are you suggesting we let Ito go?”

“If he did order this, we most certainly won’t. But he may not be the one responsible. He was already under increased surveillance, the scumbag since birth that he is, and it seems foolish to attack another group when their watch has doubled.”

Nakamura ran his hands through his hair in frustration and growled incoherently at the walls for a whole minute. Yoru let him. When he stepped out of the hospital, he would be Tsunoda-gumi’s second-in-command, not Kei’s best friend, and he would have no room for anguish then.

“Tell our boys not to make any moves for now,” Yoru told Nakamura once he had settled down enough to listen. “Let’s be smart about this and not make big decisions when we’re upset.”

“...I’ll go get us something to drink.”

“I want to know that you heard me, Nakamura.”

Nakamura was having a hard time accepting the difference between the battered, quivering mess he’d brought home from the hospital and the imposing figure gazing at him now with disturbing equanimity. “Yes, anesan,” he said, grudgingly. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

It wasn’t until Nakamura was out of sight that Yoru released the bone-rattling shudder that he’d been holding off. Then he inhaled deeply, turned and headed straight for the lobby to complete paperwork. If he sat down, he’d have a nervous breakdown.

He was in the middle of rifling through Kei’s wallet for his insurance card (while studiously ignoring the star-shaped bullet hole in the corner) when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Akira. “It’s Mom,” he said. "And I know what you’re trying to pull. Working till you pass out isn’t a good idea.”

“Point noted,” Yoru said, taking the phone from him. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you holding up?"

Yoru tried not to think of the ache in his legs. "I'm fine.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through something like this so early on. It shouldn’t have to...” Ayako’s voice broke.

“You don’t have to be the strong one anymore, Mom. That’s my job now.”

On any other day, Ayako would have vehemently protested such a statement, but today she couldn’t be more thankful for it. She held it together for only one more second before she began to cry uncontrollably. “What have I done?” She cried. “Every time I look, I only regret putting the group before my child!”

“Wait, Mom, today isn’t your fault. Our group took over another. It’s an unstable time. That’s what happened!”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I had a chance to stop Kei from even entering this profession, Yoru. I could have stopped all of this from ever happening. But I only stood by and watched as he threw his future away.”

“You were the one who told me that people like you and me must sometimes make decisions much crueler than our husbands ever will. You simply did what was best at the moment.”

Through her tears, Ayako managed a weak laugh. “I consider myself a failure at life in general,” said she, “but you’re one of the things I got right.”

“That’s high praise.”

“And well deserved. And don't you worry, alright?"

Yoru wished people would stop saying that. “Once I’m done here, I’ll go talk to the doctor so I have something concrete to tell you," he responded.

“Keep me posted. Kaede and I will be on the next flight back.”

Yoru signed off, completed his paperwork and returned to find that no visitors were allowed into Kei’s room for the time being. Yoru understood why, but relaying the news to Kenichi was much harder.

“But I would never hurt oyassan,” Kenichi said, his eyes pooling with tears.

“We all know that. It’s not because they’re afraid someone will hurt oyassan,” Yoru explained. “It’s because the doctors and nurses are very busy looking after him, and we shouldn’t get in their way.”

“But...I can sit in the corner! I can stay very quiet. I’m a good boy!”

“You are a very good boy. That’s why you’re going to listen to your anesan, right? You and I are going to sit and wait here until the doctor says we can see oyassan, aren’t we?”

Kenichi pouted, but nodded obediently. “I’m scared, anesan,” he admitted glumly. “I don’t want oyassan to go where everybody cries.”

“Huh?”

“Some of my brothers go out, but they don’t come back. Then oyassan takes me to this room. Everybody wears black clothes and cries. Oyassan always takes flowers, but I don’t like them.”

Yoru almost threw up. He’d been trying his best not to think about that possibility, and here this child had already summoned the courage to vocalize everybody’s worst fears. Kenichi wrapped his arms around Yoru’s waist, pressed his face into his abdomen and began to cry; Yoru simply stood there, his head swimming, until Akira nudged him. “There, there, oyassan is going to be fine,” he said with a jump, stroking Kenichi’s hair. “He hasn’t gone anywhere yet, has he?”

“Why won’t oyassan come home? Did Kenichi do something? Mom and Dad told me to wait but they never came. Oyassan didn’t come either! Kenichi doesn’t want to stay on the road!”

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Yoru cooed, his heart breaking. “Oyassan is simply late. He won’t leave you. You’re not going to stay outside: you’ll stay at your home, with oyassan and me.”

While patting Kenichi to console him, Yoru looked over at Akira, who hadn’t said a word so far. He was sitting with his head in his hands, eyes squeezed shut, his nails digging into his skin. “No, it shouldn’t have been you in his place,” Yoru said. “You can trace everything happening to Kei back to yourself. Kei got sprayed by a skunk while working. Do you wish you were the one sprayed instead?”

Akira looked up at him in disbelief for a moment before managing a dry snicker. “No,” he answered. “Especially not if it comes with marrying you as a package deal.”

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don't envy Yui either."

A proper laugh escaped Akira's throat at Yoru's fake affronted expression. Heart much lighter despite the circumstances, he rose and gently pulled Kenichi away. "Well - Ken and I are going to dinner," he announced. "I'll leave you to Nakamura. Should I take Ken home after eating?"

"No, drop him off here. He'll throw a tantrum if we take him home without seeing Kei.”

After no small amount of coaxing, Kenichi finally left with Akira. Nakamura and he ate in the hospital cafeteria, following which Yoru coaxed the former into going home ("You were shot too, I don't care if the only thing it damaged was your leg hair!"). Escorting Nakamura out of the hospital sapped the last of his strength, and he hobbled as he made his way to a quiet space at the end of a corridor.

And finally, finally, he allowed himself to fall apart.