The text came just as he was putting away the last wrench of the day. He still had a sling on his arm, but he wanted to at least help the others with whatever he could.
Takemichi - Hey. I wanted to stop by the shop today. Maybe talk for a bit. And… maybe apologize, too. If that's okay.
Shinichiro stared at the message for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Apologize?
The kid wanted to apologize?
He let out a slow breath, sinking down onto the step outside the shop, umbrella resting forgotten against his leg. The rain hadn't really started yet—just a mist in the air, soft enough to ignore, but the kind that made his shirt cling to the back of his neck.
He ran a hand down his face, the sigh he released deeper than it should've been.
Shinichiro should have been the one apologizing.
He had been the one to put that weight on him—on a fourteen-year-old kid just trying to live his life, make his own path. But instead of support, he gave him suspicion. Distance. Polite walls, all because he got spooked by the name Vongola.
He'd thought he was being protective of Mikey. Of Emma. Of the quiet little peace he'd managed to build.
But Takemichi hadn't brought danger. He hadn't brought fire or politics or power.
He'd brought patience.
And… Mikey, who rarely smiled at home anymore. Who drifted through the house some mornings like a ghost in sandals. Who hadn't stopped looking for a fight ever since middle school became a blur of bruises and stifled grief.
But now?
Now Mikey sat on the couch texting with this dumb little grin on his face, holding in laughter like it was some kind of secret.
He didn't say much, but Shinichiro knew that smile.
And it didn't show up for just anyone.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the message from Takemichi still glowing softly in his hand.
He was a good friend to Mikey, and he didn't know why that rattled at him.
No—that was a lie.
He knew exactly why.
It was because there was already a kind of gravity between those two. Unspoken, but visible. Like puzzle pieces that didn't know they belonged to the same box yet. And Shinichiro? He'd spent so long trying to keep those pieces apart. Just in case.
It wasn't about not trusting Takemichi. It wasn't even about protecting Mikey, not anymore.
It was the fear of failing again.
He sighed, the air misting faintly in front of him. The chill clung to his skin, but he didn't shiver.
Ever since their parents died, something in Shinichiro had cracked, too. The weight in his chest tightened—not pain, exactly. Just a quiet ache. The kind that came with responsibility and regret.
After Mikey punched Kazutora and Baji, and they apologized to Shinichiro, he stood trembling as he asked him, "Do you trust me?"
Shinichiro had paused. Just for a second. But it had been long enough.
"Then… will you trust me next time?"
He remembered the look in Mikey's eyes when he asked about it. Not angry. Just tired. Hopeful. That hurt the worst.
And he'd said he would try and he meant it. He really did. Because he had to. Because he loved them—Mikey, Emma, Izana. Every broken piece of their little family.
He wasn't a perfect brother. Wasn't even a good one, most days, but he was still trying to be better and trying to learn that protecting someone and trusting them didn't have to be the opposite things.
And if trying meant swallowing his fear and letting go, just a little, then maybe that was what being a big brother really was.
And he was trying now, wasn't he? Letting Mikey go his own way more. Not hovering. Trusting him with Takemichi. Trusting him to heal on his own terms. Slowly.
After all, he saw it. Every time he came home late and caught a glimpse of Mikey on the couch, phone in hand, light from the screen softening the hard edges of his expression. He wasn't smiling—not really. But his shoulders were looser. His face calmer.
Takemichi.
He knew it was Takemichi, the one he texted.
The kid who saved his life, who saw through every wall Shinichiro tried to put up, and didn't push—just stood there, quietly unmovable, offering honesty like a hand extended in the dark.
Shinichiro sighed, glancing again at the door.
Takemichi should be here by now.
It'd been over an hour since the time Takemichi said he'd drop by. No call. No text.
He wasn't the type to blow people off—especially not when he was the one who'd reached out first. Shinichiro's gut twisted just a little. Not panic, exactly. But a nagging tug.
Something wasn't right.
Wiping his hands on a rag, he stepped outside, glancing up and down the rain-glossed street. The rain was heavier now, beading on the edges of his jacket, settling in his hair. He squinted—
And froze.
Because there, just around the corner from the shop, in the hazy glow of a streetlamp, he saw them.
Izana. And Takemichi. Standing side by side under the gray sky. Talking.
Izana's hand was raised slightly. Fingers curled casually—and flickering with a flame Shinichiro hadn't seen in years. Purple and deep—unnatural—And just a touch of pressure trailing off his skin like static.
It snapped something sharp in Shinichiro's spine.
No. No no no.
He'd seen that kind of flame before. Years ago, in an alley where the pavement cracked under feet that didn't touch the ground. Where illusions bled over the walls and a voice too calm to be sane had told him to forget what he'd seen.
And now Izana, who stood outside his shop like a ghost for weeks but never came inside—had it in his hands. And Takemichi was just standing there, so calm, so close, like it was nothing.
Shinichiro moved without thinking.
"Izana!"
The name tore out of his mouth before he could catch it, his voice cracking like glass.
Both heads turned. Takemichi looked surprised while Izana's face went still. He whispered something to Takemichi, took his phone and returned it to the boy soon after. He then glared at Shinichiro and left.
And Shinichiro was scared. Not just for himself, but for Izana. For whatever it was that had wrapped around the boy's soul and hardened him into someone who wore that kind of glare.
"...What just happened?" he heard Takemichi mutter as soon as Shinichiro was close.
And he could only run a hand down his face, sighing long and low. "That… was complicated."
Takemichi looked down at whatever Izana left there, before softly saying, "Yeah, I kinda got that."
"Yeah," he said softly. "I kinda got that."
"I—" Shinichiro swallowed. "Takemichi—what were you—are you okay?"
Takemichi blinked. "Yeah? We were just—uh, talking about bikes. I didn't know who he was at first, but I liked talking to him. To Izana. Is he your brother, then?"
"Yes, he is. Izana is… complicated."
Takemichi didn't argue, he just looked out into the rain.
And for a second, Shinichiro wished—for the first time in a long time—that he could go back to the beginning.
Where none of this was complicated at all.
.
The rain had lightened to a steady mist, the kind that clung to Takemichi's poncho like fog. After he watched Izana disappear into the haze, the imprint of Mist-Cloud Flames still flickering faintly in his mind, he stood in place.
Beside him, Shinichiro was silent, his knuckles pale around the umbrella he hadn't even opened.
Takemichi turned to him fully, and the first thing he noticed was the tension in Shinichiro's shoulders. The second was the way his eyes were locked on nothing—like he was trying to see through the walls of the world.
"Shinichiro-san?" Takemichi asked, voice gentle. "Are you… okay?"
Shinichiro blinked, like pulling himself out of a dream, then looked at Takemichi. His eyes were sharp with concern. But there was something deeper underneath. Something old and tired.
"Since when," he asked quietly, "could my brother do that?"
Takemichi hesitated, the rain tapping softly against the street. He held onto his poncho a little tighter.
"I don't know," he said truthfully. "This is the first time I met him."
Shinichiro's jaw tightened.
Takemichi shifted, voice steadying. "He's already been in contact with the underworld, though. That wasn't because of me."
Shinichiro winced. "I wasn't blaming—"
"I know," Takemichi said quickly. "But I need to say it. I've… been blamed before. Just for what I am. So… I know how it sounds."
That seemed to hit Shinichiro harder than expected. His shoulders sagged.
"I should be the one apologizing," Shinichiro said finally, a dry, bitter twist to his voice. "You got dragged into the middle of my family's mess. Again. I accepted you visiting me because I thought… I don't even know. That maybe I could explain myself. But now…"
He trailed off, raising a hand to his temple like the weight of everything was finally catching up.
Takemichi stepped forward, just enough to be close but not crowding him.
"You don't need to explain it all right now," he said. "It's okay."
Shinichiro looked at him, surprised by the softness in his tone. Then he exhaled—slow and unsteady.
"I don't feel great," he admitted.
Takemichi nodded. "Then rest. We can talk another time."
Shinichiro managed a faint smile, tired but grateful.
Takemichi gave a small wave and stepped back. He looked up. The rain kissed his cheeks as he walked, and he let it.
He didn't feel angry, just sad.
Sad for Shinichiro. For Izana. For a family splintered in ways he was only beginning to understand.
And maybe… just maybe… a little scared of what it meant that Izana had flames like that.
But he also thought of the way Izana had listened to him. The way he'd offered advice about bikes. The flicker of dry humor in his words.
Takemichi didn't know what role he was playing in this story.
But maybe, just maybe…he could help.
Even just by being there.
So, as Takemichi stepped onto the familiar street leading toward his train, he pulled out his phone, the rain making his fingers a little clumsy against the screen. Still, he typed out the message with a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Takemichi - I think I just met your other brother. He was standing in front of Shinichiro-san's shop.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself.
The reply came back almost immediately.
The Great Mikey - where are you
Takemichi blinked. His fingers hovered over the screen before tapping quickly.
Takemichi - On my way home now.
There was a brief pause. Then another message lit up the screen.
The Great Mikey - c u there
Takemichi stopped walking for a moment, staring at the words. The simplicity of them. The weight behind them. No joking tone, no emoji, no dramatics.
He let out a slow breath and picked up his pace.
.
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Also, if you want to support me and read chapters ahead, go to my p@treon: JorieDS