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Saito Sejima is not built to experience happiness.
Well-not normally, at least. He knows there’s something wrong with his brain’s wiring from his father’s hushed phone calls to god knows who- oxytocin and deficiencies and brain functions, the words tossed around carelessly and yet So did not make a single effort to explain to Saito exactly what all of that meant. So he lived in his room, quietly dissecting whatever bugs or small animals he could find in his father’s yard. He especially enjoyed the fish in the pond; though, perhaps, it was more the principle of killing something So seemed to love more than his own son.
He believes, mostly, that he will always be imprisoned. Not physically-though between his suffocating bedroom and what will happen should his crimes be discovered, that is also the case-but mentally. Always thinking of his next kill, unable to focus on anything else in search of the rush of euphoria that he’s never going to be able to find in anything else.
Saito stabs his pocket knife into the tender, paper-thin wing of the dead butterfly on his desk. It’s not anything, but it’s good enough for now. He needs something, anything, to watch the life drain from something’s eyes and get that small burst of happiness that makes him feel giddy and childish. And So isn’t home; it’s likely that he’s off rubbing elbows with the pigs to help cover up what Saito did (hasn’t done for years in any massive capacity, mind you) and going home with some woman less than half his age to try and make something else that he won’t even pretend he gives half a fuck about.
He slips out his bedroom window, landing on the ground below-it’s a two-story, but he’s used to the fall-and sneaks out of the mansion’s courtyard. First step-done.
Saito isn’t really sure where he planned to go from here. Maybe he’ll find a low-level cop to take out; he’ll be doing himself and others a favor there. Or play it safe; a small animal, or something. He wanders until he finds himself in a forest, laden with owls calling in the moonlight and the skittering of creatures. Good enough.
Ahead of him is a cat, and when it spots him through slitted pupils it’s on a mad dash through the trees, and Saito chases enthusiastically. It doesn’t seem to be a pet or anything, which makes this all the more easy given that nobody will be looking for it. But it’s a fast, lithe little bastard and it leads him to a clearing, and as his heart pounds in his ears from pushing himself so hard physically he fails to notice the stone arch the cat runs under, before breaking into what feels like mach speed. Finally, Saito is rewarded when he pounces on the thing, but another presence makes him pause.
There’s a man there, staring down at a large, dark mass near his feet. He appears as almost a shadow, with his dark hair and clothes. Metallic scent slams Saito’s nose as his grip on the cat tightens.
The shadow is a killer.
“Good evening,” Saito says, faux-cordial like his father taught him. The shadow whips around, steely grey eyes fixing on him. He doesn’t seem afraid to be caught with a corpse like most men would, Saito notices. “Lovely night, is it not?”
Shadow raises his gun. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a public…shrine.” he replies, actually having to glance around to figure out where his pursuit had led him. “I do my best praying at night, you know. I suppose the better question would be `what are you doing here?’”
“You couldn’t figure that out yourself?” the man says bluntly, and in that moment Saito decides he likes him. “You weren’t part of the hit, but…I’m not afraid to make some collateral damage.”
Saito grins at him, a little less polite and a little more unhinged. “An assassin, hm? We aren’t so different, I presume. Are you with the Kumakuras?” He knows Rohan has eyes-and guns-everywhere. Saito had briefly considered working with him, but So would have caught on eventually.
His jaw tightens visibly. “What if I am?”
“Nothing, then. I’ll let you go about your merry way.” Saito hums. In a way, he figures they’re both technically getting paid to kill; just, with different…currencies. “Like I said: we’re not so different. To turn you in would be an act of hypocrisy; I’m a killer, not a hypocrite, shadow.”
“How considerate.” Shadow mutters dryly. “Another hitman? I didn’t think anyone was in the business of murdering cats.”
“Hm? Oh, no, this one was for fun. Though, I suppose…maybe it was a sign. It did lead me to you, after all.” His voice takes on a flirtatious lilt unintentionally; good, that’s safe. Gives the impression that he isn’t a completely numb freak. “What can I call you, kind stranger?”
The shadow seems to ruminate on this, his haunted eyes locking with Saito’s dull ones again. He’s intimidating, Saito thinks, but not dangerous. And if he was…well, collateral damage goes both ways.
“Falco.” The man decides. “My name is Falco.”
“Excellent.” Saito replies, but doesn’t give Falco his own name. “I would give you my own alias, but…I don’t have hope that we will meet again.” He grins darkly, finally snapping the neck of the cat in his grip and feeling the joy wash over him. He basks in it; finally, finally! “I shall be on my way, Falco. Do keep this meeting in your memory, hm~? Be seeing you.”
Saito turns to leave, hoping he can navigate back the way he came. He really isn’t in any rush to get back home, but he’s got the feeling that Falco doesn’t like him too much. Nobody does, actually, so he isn’t as hung up on it as a normal person would be to have such a handsome man hold distaste for them. And yet…something pulls him back. The mystery of the shadow-Falco-had been…alluring, maybe. And going home will only bore him.
“On second thought,” Saito calls softly, turning back to Falco, “why don’t you tell me a bit about this poor soul?”
Falco stares, before seeming to relent. Saito figures he’s not the type to brag about his kills; he’s met plenty of hitmen that do, most of them while Saito’s on his knees. But that’s another story.
“He was a Katen. They’ve been fucking around on Kumakura turf lately, so I’ve been taking them out the past few days.” he says, speech low and measured. Saito raises an eyebrow, suddenly curious.
“I thought the Katen family was based in Yokohama? That’s quite a hike for some petty yakuza rivalry.” he points out, hoisting the body up and over his shoulder. When Falco blinks confusedly, he adds “I know a spot.”
He starts walking, and Falco matches his stride as he keeps talking. “They’re ambitious. Their second in command has a pretty solid iron fist-apparently he holds a good amount of grudges all over Tokyo.”
“Strong dedication.” Saito replies. Falco shrugs, as if to say I guess. “How did you come in contact with Rohan?”
“Long story that I don’t feel like relaying to a man I just met.” Falco says bluntly, and okay, fair. “Where, exactly, are you taking me?”
“Relax, Falco. I wouldn’t kill you in the woods; too refined for my tastes. We’re getting rid of the body.” Saito explains. Eventually, they happen upon a pond, deep but small in diameter. “Nobody comes back here except for me when I get bored, so you’re safe to dump him here.”
Hesitantly, Falco nods and takes the corpse off Saito’s shoulder, tying it to a weight (that he just had on him- had he planned to come back here? ) and letting the body sink before washing the blood from his hands and Saito’s jacket, and he notices just how calloused and large Falco’s hands are. Experience. “You know your way around a clean kill.” he purrs, although it’s a genuine observation. Falco doesn’t meet his eyes.
“Not like I’m proud of it.” Falco says carefully. “But I have experience by now.” Exactly as Saito had guessed.
The unspoken question hangs above them; now what? Theoretically, now is when Saito goes back to his monotonous, emotionless life at the mansion with his pathetic excuse of a father getting sleazy with cops on his rich boy land. Falco…well, he has no way of knowing where he’ll go. Probably back home to a family that doesn’t suspect a thing about what he does in the dark. Or maybe he’s a loner, working with Rohan for the extra cash? Maybe…the money isn’t all of it.
Maybe he’s like me.
Saito had never considered that whatever was wrong with him wasn’t just him. Maybe other people had brain-deficiency-bullshit and Falco had just decided to capitalize on it. It was probably farfetched, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do than find out. But he was sure that he wouldn’t get an answer easily, so he tried a different approach.
“Say, bird of prey. Do you have any other… assignments tonight? I’d love to assist.” Saito grins, placing his hand in Falco’s instinctively to feel the roughness, the pure knowledge in his palms. He doesn’t pull back immediately, for whatever reason.
“You should be going.” he says instead. “No matter how murder-happy you are, you’ve got nothing to do with the Kumakuras as far as I know. I don’t want you involved.”
“So harsh…was it not you who claimed you didn’t care about collateral damage?” Saito hums, fingers still twisted with Falco’s. Perhaps he just hasn’t noticed. “What makes me any different now?”
“I thought you were about to turn me in. I said what I had to.” Falco retorts, finally ripping his hand from Saito’s vice grip. “Now go. ”
Maybe this is supposed to be where he feels disappointed. Instead, he’s just filled with a kind of sick determination. “It would be such a shame to end our little relationship so early, though…” he fake-pouts. The tips of Falco’s ears go red at Saito’s word choice, but he gets over it quickly and rolls his eyes.
“Fine, if it shuts you up. I have one more hit tonight, over in Shinjuku. Golden Yokocho; it’s a whole street of bars and restaurants. Lots of drunk and disorderly…and rival yakuza.” Falco explains, glaring at Saito who in contrast is absolutely preening. “After that…you’re going back to wherever you came from.”
“You make me sound like some kind of mutt.” Saito protests. “I could be offended.”
Falco raises an eyebrow and his lips quirk up slightly for the first time. “But are you?”
The cat from earlier must still be affecting him, because Saito laughs, and it isn’t forced or anything . “You already know me too well, dear bird of prey. Shall we go?”
-
Golden Yokocho is just as Falco had described it; crowded, bright, and hot with the haze of drunkenness. If Saito cared more, he’d be gripping Falco’s arm so as to not get lost in the bustling movement. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained on the man’s back and fights the urge to murder every drunk adult man who bumps into him but doesn’t move away immediately after. At least that would be justified, not that he cares much for morals.
Falco walks briskly, seemingly having already found his- their -target. Saito doesn’t see anyone who stands out in the colorful mass of bodies, but he doesn’t have the more refined eye of an assassin. However, he suddenly makes a sharp turn into a considerably unassuming building, pulling Saito inside with him and letting the door slam. It’s surprisingly not very busy inside, with naught but two younger-looking women who seem to be glued to each other. It’s strange and their eyes carry an emotion that he doesn’t recognize.
“Falco, honey! It’s been a bit!” A voice calls from behind the counter, Falco nods towards two rickety but not unusable barstools and grins at the woman behind the counter. “The usual?”
“As always,” he replies, not at all the stoic and stormy man that Saito had met at Ikume Shrine. It was almost as if Falco was…comfortable here. “and something for my…associate.”
Saito waves awkwardly, not really knowing why they’re here. “You’re going to drink before work? How unprofessional.”
“Just one. Plus, Marble’s more than just a bar.” Falco explains, just as the bartender slides two glasses to them. Saito’s only had alcohol once-stolen from So’s collection of wine that sits in a cabinet in the mansion. It was…fine. “Mama’s a damn good informant; she’s my eyes and ears.”
The woman-Mama, Saito assumes-smiles warmly at the two men. “You flatter me, honey. I just happen to be in the right places at the right times.” She winks at Saito, who stares blankly for lack of a better idea of how to respond. “One of the quiet ones? I’ll loosen his lips a little, don’t worry.”
Saito, not fond of being spoken about where he can hear, purses his lips and finally addresses her. “I try to limit myself, you know. Everyone always knows too much…” Mama laughs-he’s not sure what’s funny.
“You and Falco really are just two peas in a pod!” she coos, and suddenly the temperature in the room goes up. Odd, given that only my face feels warmer, Saito notes. “I can see why you’re the one he brought back here.”
“We’re just business partners, Mama. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Falco corrects her, his ears red once again. Is he sick? Does this just…happen?
“Our partnership’s quite young, you see. But I hope to make more… transactions in the near future.” Saito rests his chin on his hand, properly riling his companion up. He’s really just recycling whatever awful “flirting” he’d caught on terrible TV shows. It’s not emotionally charged, and he’s not even sure why he’s defaulted to playing this game with Falco. He sums it up to the lack of human contact he’s had throughout his life-nothing but low-level yakuza lackeys who liked him for his mouth, and his father, who wants nothing to do with him. So having someone around who doesn’t think of him as inferior…it’s not nice, because it can’t bring him any joy, but it’s at least not boring.
“Would you cut that out?” Falco snaps, and Saito offers a shrug and a grin in response. “Mama, do you have anything on that guy I was telling you about?”
Mama nods, and then goes on a tangent about some member of the Katen family with Saito only half listening. The rest of his attention is focused on Marble-posters and flags line the walls, the latter in every color known to man. It gives the otherwise-hazy atmosphere of Golden Yokocho in general a pop of color. Almost like a firework in a dull, dark sky.
Saito decides that this place doesn’t bore him at all.
At some point, Falco must have finished talking to Mama, because he starts for the door and Saito hops up to follow, feeling like some kind of lost puppy. “So where’s our little friend?”
“Near another bar further ahead.” Falco mutters. “He’s dangerous, so watch yourself.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, dearest bird of prey. I’ve dealt with a few yakuza in my time.” Typically, this consisted less of killing them and more of giving them a good partner for the night, but sometimes if it was a particularly annoying evening Saito partook in a bit of both. And Falco didn’t need to know about the sex thing, anyways, especially since Saito derived nothing from it and it was moreso just a way to make himself useful.
The rickety sign atop the bar reads Angel and Saito huffs, appreciating the irony. “So, what do we do now? Planning to go rub elbows or do you prefer a lack of foreplay?”
“Will you stop-y’know what, never mind. And no, I’m not rubbing elbows. How do you think this works?”
“I assumed it was more of a transaction. You do keep calling us business partners, after all.” Saito points out. His coyness is more of a front so that he doesn’t have to admit that he’s actually not sure how the business aspect of being a yakuza hitman works. Falco has to get the money from someone, right?
“Are you serious…” Falco mutters. “No, we get paid after the guy’s confirmed dead. I feel like that should have been obvious, but that’s on me, I guess. Just follow me.”
Falco slides into the considerably small space between Angel and the building to its right, and Saito does the same. It’s cramped, and Falco has the genius idea to stand across from him instead of next to him, so they’re barely inches apart. “I would’ve preferred it if you’d taken me to dinner before this, you know.”
“ Quiet .” Falco hisses, pressing his forefinger to Saito’s mouth for lack of enough room to bend his arm and use his whole hand. It’s not making the situation any better. Fighting the urge to bite his finger just to piss him off, Saito presses his head back against the brick wall in an attempt to put more distance between them. The dull murmur of voices carries through the far end of the alley. “There.” Falco’s voice is barely a whisper, low and gruff.
They both shuffle awkwardly closer to the men to eavesdrop-Saito doesn’t get what they’re talking about, but Falco probably does because his jaw clenches and his eyebrows knit together, angrier than Saito’s seen him in their maybe two hours of companionship. His hand is on his gun, and Saito grins. How exhilarating.
“Don’t move.” Falco says in that same low, even voice. Before Saito can even start to form a witty retort, the gun is fired and one of the men falls limp to the ground.
The other yakuza draws his own gun, and Falco falters for half a second as the first shot barely misses him. Saito can’t watch this-he stumbles out of the alley, ducking as the gun fires again and aiming to dig his long nails into the man’s leg. It succeeds, kind of, and the gun clatters to the ground as he curses and tries to wrench out of Saito’s iron grip. Eventually, he manages a way out-not surprising since Saito isn’t exactly the most physically fit-and lunges towards Falco, snatching back his pistol.
The yakuza slams his would-be assassin to the ground, smiling widely and cruelly as he punches Falco in the face, blood flying from his already crooked nose. As he watches, Saito’s brain goes on autopilot-he grabs Falco’s pistol from his hand, and the yakuza is alerted to his presence, jumping off of Falco and aiming his gun at Saito.
Saito returns the creepy grin, and fires before the man can blink.
It hits him in the chest, opposite from his heart, so he isn’t dead instantly. Saito supposes you can’t win them all, and it’s not like bleeding out takes all that long. As he’s able to investigate closer, he vaguely recognizes the man’s face.
“Ah, hello, you. I don’t recall your name, but I bet you recall my…physique. I do hope the night we spent together was pleasurable.”
The man says nothing, probably because of the dying thing. Saito scoffs, cocks the gun again, and shoots him right in the center of his forehead. “Shame.”
When he turns around, waves of dopamine slamming into him from seeing the light leave the creep’s eyes, Falco is staring. Saito realizes he probably looks a mess; sweat rolling down his face, blood and something squishier that he doesn’t even need to see to identify splattered on his clothes and skin.
“This was my favorite shirt.” He pouts. “And I expect a share of your pay.”
The older man gapes. “Why the hell did you go and do that?”
Saito grins at him, though it’s considerably less of a slasher movie looking thing this time. “I’m more unpredictable than you think, bird of prey.”
“No shit.” Falco huffs out. “I told you not to get involved!”
“Oh, shut up. ”
“Listen, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but-“
“No, you dolt, I meant shut up! ”
Falco doesn’t listen, but Saito can hear footsteps approaching. And so, in a moment of pure, unadulterated stupidity, he drags Falco into the alley, close enough to the street where they won’t be heard, pulling him close and kissing him to get him to shut his fucking mouth. To Saito’s credit, it works, ramblings dying out as his words are swallowed by their lips connecting.
Saito smiles against him, deceptively warm. And then, just to fuck with Falco further, he drags him out to the main street, still plastered up against him and making frankly obscene noises to sell the act of them being an innocent drunken couple and specifically pressing himself into Falco far enough so that the front of his shirt-where all the blood and accompanying pieces of human that he couldn’t get off back there are-is barely visible.
As soon as they get out of Golden Yokocho, Falco shoves Saito away with less force than either of them probably expect. “What were you thinking?!”
“Something helpful!” Saito shoots back. “I got us out of there, did I not?”
“You’re still covered in blood…and brain? Jesus Christ.” Falco pinches the bridge of his nose. “You better be planning on going back for that body.”
“I do!” the blonde chirps, slipping a finger under Falco’s chin and twirling around him giddily. “I wouldn’t want to lose the memento of our wild night out, mon rapace. ” The French slips from Saito’s lips before he can catch it, and Falco gives him that same glare.
“What does that even mean?”
Saito winks. “Bumbling fool. An absolute idiot who doesn’t know how to listen for footsteps so we don’t get caught murdering people.”
(For clarification’s sake, it absolutely did not mean that. But Falco doesn’t need to know, Saito doesn’t need to acknowledge it, and so they drop it.)
The body is quick work, thrown in the same place as before and weighted down with rocks and stones. They’re mostly silent, apart from the occasional hum of content from Saito as things go well. But once the yakuza is well and disposed of…he turns to go, but Falco stops him.
“You can’t go home like that.” he says, Saito raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. The adrenaline of murder is gone, and so was the rush that came from making out with Falco. “Come with me to get paid and shit, and then…I don’t know. Back to my apartment.”
“Charming.” Saito deadpans. “We already sank the body. How do they have any proof we killed him?”
Falco holds up a watch, shining silver in the moonlight. “Evidence. In the event they need more I’ll drag them out here, but given who this guy is I think this’ll be enough.”
Saito takes the watch, running his thumb over its face. “Can I keep it?”
Falco sighs, world-weary. “Fine. Only because you technically got that hit anyways.”
The blonde man smiles before realizing that he…won’t really be able to get it on him with one hand. He trails behind Falco, messing with it for a good ten minutes before the assassin finally just huffs, turns, and takes Saito’s hand in his own warm grip before clasping the watch onto his wrist. “Will you quiet down?”
Saito’s skin burns hot, and for the first time he finds himself tongue-tied. Damned old man.
Eventually, Falco gets them to what Saito vaguely recognizes as the Kumakura office. He hasn’t been inside, but most of his human contact outside his father comes from there. “They have real class in there, you know.”
“Rohan doesn’t.” Falco snorts. “But yeah, it’s not a bad joint. You know them?”
“I’ve had a few acquaintances get involved.” Saito informs him, vague on purpose.
Thankfully, Falco doesn’t pry, instead leading him inside by the arm.
-
“Not bad, Falco.” Rohan Kumakura says. “And…what was your name again?”
Saito blinks. He’s not going to give a yakuza boss his real name, especially if it can be linked back to his father. So, he simply replies “you may call me Talon.”
Rohan nods, sliding a wad of cash to Saito. “And you too, ‘Talon’. Well, you got your cash, fuck off with you. Take the couch if you want, I have women to find.”
“Lovely.” Saito mutters under his breath. “I can’t imagine a single woman who would be interested in him.”
“For maybe the first time tonight, I agree with you..” Falco replies, not quite laughing but with a slightly amused edge to his voice. “And as kind as his offer of the couch was, I can guarantee there’s enough history to that thing to fill a novel.”
Saito makes an eugh sound and nods. “So, is the offer of your apartment still open?”
Falco hangs his head in defeat. “Yeah, let’s go.”
-
The apartment is nothing special. Apparently he lives alone, and it’s extremely bland, as if nobody lives in it. There’s a corkboard with newspaper clippings and notes and even a haphazardly scribbled grocery list. Falco gestures vaguely to the room-there’s seemingly only one apart from the bathroom off to the side. “I’ll get you extra clothes, but I don’t have much period let alone anything that’ll fit you.”
Saito doesn’t respond. His father’s mansion feels empty, but in a different way where there’s always people in it, but it’s still some void separating him from them. Like he doesn’t belong in that world because of whatever the goddamn fuck is wrong with him. But Falco’s place…there’s truly nothing at all. No pictures, no coats strewn over furniture, nothing. It’s almost depressing.
He sits on the couch, trying not to get too much Person on the fabric but probably failing as he listens to the sound of Falco digging through his drawers. “ Mon rapace, ” he calls, voice hoarse, “are you hurt?”
“Why do you care?” Falco retorts bluntly. “If I were, I could take care of myself.”
“Simply making conversation.” Saito lies. “I wouldn’t want it to be dull.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, this place is always dull.”
“Ah, touche. Still…I don’t believe I’m quite ready to stop our momentum from tonight.” The blonde man purrs, smirking even though Falco can’t see him. “No more assassinating, though. My shirt is still soaked through.”
“Shut it.” Falco snaps, tossing a lump of clothing at Saito. It lands on him, and he peels it off so it doesn’t also get blood all over it. “Change in the bathroom if you want.”
Saito obeys, closing the door behind him and sighing as he leans on the oddly pristine sink and stares at himself in the mirror. His face is flushed, probably from walking and sweating and nothing else at all, his hair is stuck to his forehead, and there’s blood on his face. He wipes it off with his hand and rinses it in the sink before splashing cold water onto his face to try and dispel the heat. After his body temperature is considerably normal, he finally changes out of his bloodied clothes. Falco’s spares hang off him comedically; the sleeves stretch far past his wrists. If he had the capacity to, he’d find it hilarious, probably.
After another moment, he pushes the door open and stands awkwardly while Falco stares at him again. Something about his grey eyes, boring into Saito for what felt like all night…
He shifts uncomfortably. “Well, I appreciate this-“
“You’re leaving?” Falco asks, and there’s a note to his voice that leaves Saito bewildered, because it almost seems sad. “With my clothes?”
“I assumed you’d want me gone.” Saito says, looking at the older man blankly. “We aren’t friends.”
“In my defense, you’ve been what I think is flirting with me all damn night, and you didn’t even acknowledge that kiss. So clearly you’ve got a weird idea of what not being friends is.”
Saito is silent, and he considers bolting. Instead, he sighs, and takes his seat on the couch next to Falco back. “You’ll pardon a man for not being great with people considering I hadn’t spoken to any other than my father for months before tonight.”
Falco doesn’t make eye contact. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” Saito says, trying to keep his voice light. “I probably seem quite two-faced from your point of view.”
“Maybe, but I’d be one hell of a hypocrite if I held it against you.” Falco snorts. “We’ve all got our baggage and shit in this business, and if you’re thinking of joining m-it, you’d fit in well.”
Saito raises an eyebrow. He really hadn’t considered becoming an assassin, but it would probably be a decent deal. The only thing keeping him from doing it, really, is…
“My father would have my head, I’m afraid.” If So were to realize his son was an assassin, if it were tracked back to him…Saito shudders.
“Have his first.”
“Hm?”
“Get rid of him. You don’t seem the type to feel remorse for this, so if your dad sucks…”
He can’t tell Falco why that’s not an option. Were So to die, the public would go into an uproar. “I’d have nowhere to stay if my father died. I’m sure he didn’t leave me our estate.” Saito says instead, which also isn’t wrong,
“Worst comes to worst…I wouldn’t mind a roommate, I think.” Falco mutters. “Or you can couch-surf at the Kumakura’s.”
Saito weighs his options-if he kills So and gets away with it, the first person who hasn’t talked down to him and treated him like he’s nothing is offering him a place to stay. If he doesn’t, he goes back to his mundane life and never sees Falco ever again.
It’s not really a hard choice, laid out like that.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind me staying with you?” Saito asks, leaning back on his palms. Falco nods hesitantly.
“I’m barely here anyway, between my job and my…other job, and you’d be paying rent.” he says bluntly. “Plus, I’ve had worse roommates.”
“Then…soon. I’ll take down my father soon, and Falco and the Talon will become a true partnership.” the blonde proclaims, feeling his chest puff out just a bit.
“Oh, yeah. What was that about, anyway?” Falco asks him. Saito averts his gaze.
“If you’re the falcon…I can be your talons-your claws. I did protect you, after all.”
The elder man groans. “ One time, yeah.”
Saito smirks again. “I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”
They remain in somewhat comfortable silence, the ticking of an old clock the only indication time is actually passing. Saito’s still in disbelief that in one night he’s gone from living in his prison cell of a bedroom to having some kind of odd partnership-business-roommates arrangement with the man he met at the shrine. Maybe he’ll finally stop being bored.
Something washes over him. Something that makes Falco the center of the world right now…and something dangerous that wants him to spill everything about himself to the older man. Before he realizes what he’s saying, he spits it out.
“My name is Saito Sejima.”
Instead of…well, any more realistic response, Falco just smiles-it’s a sad thing that might not technically be a smile, but whatever-and replies quietly.
“Late introductions, huh? Well…nice to meet you, Saito Sejima.”
And Saito, despite himself, smiles.