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Higuchi fidgets with the sleeve of her kimono, folding the silky fabric between pinched fingers and then smoothing it out once more, trying to avoid eye contact with the large wooden doors looming before her. Kouyou is waiting for her inside, but Higuchi hates to let herself be seen in this state—anxious, hesitant, unsure.
There is so much uncertainty these days.
Truthfully, Higuchi never expected to find herself here.
She has known, from the beginning, that Kouyou would be the one to assume control of the mafia if anything were to happen to the previous Boss—regardless of whether or not her leadership was written in his will. There was no question as to who would be most suited for the position in Higuchi’s mind, and were it to have been necessary, she would have gladly slaughtered anyone standing in Kouyou’s way.
But the thought of Dazai Osamu dying was simply unfathomable.
It is one thing to know what will happen in the event of someone’s death, but it is another thing entirely to find yourself face-to-face with the mortality of a man who presented himself as a god. If Dazai can die, no one is safe. Higuchi is not safe, and more importantly, Kouyou is not safe. Higuchi can swear her life to Kouyou—can vow to both kill and die for her—but ultimately, if Kouyou ever decides her time has come, there will be nothing Higuchi can do to save her life.
And if that were to happen…
How would she be able to live, in the aftermath? Higuchi does not know who she is without her devotion.
She takes a deep breath in, then smoothes her kimono down. She’s far more accustomed to pantsuits and the occasional skirt on her days off, but this is what Kouyou wanted her to wear, and who is Higuchi to disobey orders? Kouyou has always placed high value on appearance and aesthetics, and Higuchi can admit she appreciates a visual tie linking them together like this—marking Higuchi as hers.
Through the nerves wracking her body, she lifts a hand and knocks.
The reply is instantaneous—a declaration from Kouyou for her guards to allow Higuchi into the room. The doors open for her, and Higuchi takes only one second longer to steel herself before stepping inside.
The office is large and sprawling, with a glass wall that overlooks the city. Kouyou sits behind an ornate desk, clad in her typical traditional attire rather than the coat and scarf Dazai left behind. She dismisses the guards from the room with a wave of her hand, and as the doors are pulled shut, Higuchi bows.
“You wanted to see me, Boss?”
The title falls clumsily from Higuchi’s tongue—she’s used to more familiarity shared between them. She still remembers, clearly, when Kouyou insisted Higuchi use her given name. With a brush of fingers against her cheek and a silky whisper in her ear. Most of the mafia referred to her with a respectful Ane-san, but Higuchi was permitted closer, because Higuchi proved herself worthy of Kouyou’s trust. She has been a faithful servant from the moment she was first placed under Kouyou’s tutelage.
“Come now, Higuchi-kun,” Kouyou admonishes. “There’s no need for that here.”
Higuchi swallows thickly. She lifts her head, searching for the trap in Kouyou’s words, but she finds no malice. Amusement, perhaps, but not cruelty.
“I only wish to show you the respect you deserve,” Higuchi replies carefully.
Kouyou’s painted lips twitch up into a smile.
Slowly, she rises from her seat. Higuchi remains fixed in place, awaiting an order. She does not know why, exactly, Kouyou summoned her here. This time between leaders is precarious—the entire mafia has their eye on Kouyou, watching her every move, waiting for even the smallest slip-up so they can throw someone else towards the throne instead.
Especially with the previous Boss’ chosen successor having vanished into thin air.
(Higuchi knows—Kouyou did not dispose of Gin. Because Kouyou would not have risked dirtying her own hands; she would have enlisted Higuchi to take care of the problem, and Higuchi would have done it gladly.)
Kouyou closes the distance between them, and Higuchi’s breath hitches as her hands come to adjust the collar of her kimono. She clicks her tongue softly. Higuchi finds her gaze drawn to the blood-red polish on Kouyou’s nails, until her chin is lifted by the gentle touch of Kouyou’s index finger, forcing eye contact.
“Boss—”
“None of that,” Kouyou chides. “I have told you from the beginning; you are my right hand. I do not wish for such unfamiliarity to exist between us.”
Higuchi bows her head. “Of course. My apologies, Kouyou-san.”
“Good,” Kouyou commends. “You are aware the ceremony will take place tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“And you have seen no trace of our dearly departed Gin-chan?”
“No.”
(If Higuchi had to wager a guess, she would suppose Gin does not want the role Dazai picked out for them. Either because they knew the weight of the responsibility after spending so long by Dazai’s side, or because they simply could not stand the thought of being his pawn for any longer.
Regardless, Higuchi doubts they will see Gin back in the presence of the mafia any time soon.)
“Wonderful.” Kouyou steps away from Higuchi then, turning towards the glass panels lining the wall of the office. The sun is beginning to sink towards the horizon, and soon, Higuchi knows the room will be doused in a golden-orange glow. And shortly thereafter, the shadows will creep in, casting everything in a darkness deep enough to truly be fitting of the mafia. “I expect you should deal with any troubles that may arise?”
“Of course.” Whether Gin returns, wishing for the title Dazai left for their name, or any other subordinate dares to try to rise against Kouyou, Higuchi will put a stop to it. “I will act as your gun for as long as you allow me.”
“My gun,” Kouyou repeats, fondness coloring her tone. “I quite like the sound of that.”
Spurred on my the compliment, Higuchi steps forward, into the space at Kouyou’s side. She does not waste time gazing out at the city, instead turning her full attention towards Kouyou. Gaze raking over the folds of her robes, the way her sleeves come together to cover her hands, the faultless skin of her face and neck, the slope of her nose, the silky red hair perfectly pinned in place.
Truly, she is the epitome of beauty.
Higuchi has always felt clumsy and immature in her own body, and that feeling only multiplied when she met Kouyou—always poised and put-together, a display of grace and femininity like nothing Higuchi had ever encountered before. And yet, Kouyou looked at her and saw someone worthwhile. She saw the skills Higuchi does have, and determined they were worth more than any amount of elegance.
I do not need you to be regal beyond reproach, Kouyou had assured her, I only wish for someone who is loyal. Your devotion is all I request.
“Kouyou-san…”
Kouyou hums, turning her gaze towards Higuchi. “Yes, my dear?”
It’s awkward, in the robes that have been draped over her body, but Higuchi lowers herself to the ground. First onto her knees, and then forward in a bow so low her nose nearly brushes the floor. “Anything you want from me, I’ll give you,” she promises. “Anything at all. Just say the word.”
There is a beat of silence. Higuchi knows, many people have said this profession is one she is not suited for. She is too passionate, too anxious, too human. But she also knows there is nowhere else she would rather be.
She may have joined the mafia only to provide for her sister, but now, she cannot imagine herself anywhere else.
She cannot imagine a version of herself that does not exist at Kouyou’s right hand.
“Rise, Higuchi-kun,” Kouyou instructs. Higuchi clambers to her feet, movements messy, and Kouyou smiles in a teasing way but not an unkind one. She reaches for Higuchi’s face, fingers coming to lightly cup her chin. “For the ceremony tomorrow, I would like you in red eyeliner.”
(Red, the same color that lines Kouyou’s eyes and stains her lips. The color of roses, the color of blood. A mark of loyalty, a mark of ownership.)
“Of course,” Higuchi agrees. She takes Kouyou’s hand into hers, pressing her lips to the pad of her index finger. She repeats the action for each of the rest of Kouyou’s fingers, and then kisses the soft skin of the back of her hand.
When she’s finished, she looks up, meeting Kouyou’s eyes.
And if she finds an adoration lingering there that is far too caring and kind to be offered to a simple subordinate, that is no one’s business but Kouyou’s and her own.