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omegawolverine · 4 years ago

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Braid Me a Home

summary:

"Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”

A story about the Sleepy Bois being family, told through braids.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: child neglect, hurt/no comfort, canonical character death, implied/referenced mental health issues (like it’s obvious but there isn’t much detail to it), brief blood mentions (ik this fic sounds kinda angsty as hell but its not? imo its light angst)

a/n: first dream smp fic and im ALREADY projecting? christ. anyways. go easy on me pls this is far from my best work i just havent written a fic in like 5 months (more if you dont count the fucking chat fics) mm also i may have posted this like a week ago on ao3 just to test the waters and its already gotten way more comments and kudos than any fic of mine usually gets this early on so hopefully tumblr enjoys it too :]

—

When Wilbur Soot was born, he came out crying, as most babies do. Covered in vernix and blood, he weighed just barely above the seven-pound mark, gasping out sharp cries that only a parent could truly stand, or worse—love. Though he was the second baby born into the family that day, he was fussed over far more than he would ever be again.

Technoblade, on the other hand, had barely made a sound when he came out, a trail of blood smeared across his forehead, almost as if it was meant to be there. He made small noises that were more akin to confused mumbles, weakly grasping at his father’s hair when he was eventually passed on for the second child to be welcomed into the world.

Only when both boys were held in their father’s grasp did Wilbur quiet down, his soft head leaning into his father’s beard as he stared wide eyed at the boy across from him. Though they looked similar enough, Technoblade’s nose was squished further back into his face, appearing almost snout-like to Philza. Of course Wilbur noted this, wiggling until their father somehow managed to get them pressed right up against each other with minimal damage done. Though Techno never stopped squinting like an annoyed old man at Wilbur, he allowed the other to press a fist against his nose, his eyebrows unfurrowing just the slightest bit at the touch.

From that day on, Philza was the father of two twin boys—a loud boy who cried easily, but always calmed down for his older brother, and a rather monotone one, who’s face seemed to be permanently stuck in a scowl, unless said face was being smushed around by the younger. And things worked like that for a while. Not forever, but...a while.

—

Philza taught Wilbur to braid on a hot Monday afternoon.

It had been a rough day for the boy, though Phil hadn’t a clue why. Maybe he had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed? Or maybe he hadn’t slept enough between bedtime and the time Tommy had started crying again, the youngest boy’s crib being right beside his head and all. Though it might’ve seemed cruel from an outsider’s perspective, Wilbur had been the one to ask for it. Something about Tommy being his little brother and how he needed to teach the boy the ways of the world in the same way Techno had taught him—because apparently that was all Techno’s doing now, not Phil’s.

Regardless, Wilbur had been a bit too snippy for Phil’s liking that day, complaining about every little thing they did until finally, the day was over.

Well, as over as it could be with Techno leaving mid foam sword fight, an annoyed shout of ‘I quit!’ leaving his mouth before he snatched up Tommy’s carrier and brought him inside for god knows what reason.

It had only been around four P.M. by that time—too early for dinner, yet too late for Phil to really demand the boy stay outside and continue to entertain himself with a brother who was clearly not entertained himself.

Details aside, Phil isn’t really sure how they got to braiding. He just knows at some point they did and by the end of their outside time, just before the clock struck six, Wilbur had made two thick, messy braids in his hair. They stuck out awkwardly, looking all too similar to Pippi Longstocking’s iconic hairdo for his comfort, but he’d be damned if he took out the braids his son had so happily rushed inside to show his older brother before demanding to do his hair as well. After all, Wilbur didn’t have long enough hair for braids, but Technoblade sure as hell did. It was only at his shoulder blades back then, brunette curls wrapping around his narrow shoulders and thin arms like thick vines.

Wilbur had always enjoyed brushing it out with his fingers and putting cute, handmade clips or flowers in it at random, decorating the waves for his brother who was more than happy to let the boy do as he pleased. Though he would never admit it, Technoblade liked how it felt when Will played with his hair. He was always careful not to tug too hard, prioritizing the comfort of his other half more than the beauty of his work, as he so often referred to it.

So when Will had presented him with the mess that was his first two braids, he wasn’t hesitant at all to let the boy practice on him. Instead, he walked to the couch with a small smile, removing his glasses gently and getting comfortable before his brother plopped down into the space behind him. Long legs draped over long legs with no warning, thighs pressed together as if they were meant to be like that all along—and they might as well have been, for how often they did this.

Phil had watched them from the doorway in content silence, Tommy sitting behind him in a wooden high chair looking bored, but not making a fuss for once. And as he left that doorway to begin dinner, he listened to their muffled conversation and soft bursts of laughter with a small smile on his lips, for he knew things wouldn’t always be this way. They would have to grow up eventually, and when they did, things would change. Phil could only hope it was for the better.

—

When Tommy turns nine, Wilbur teaches him to braid under circumstances not too different from the ones he had learned under himself.

Well. Not too too different.

Philza and Technoblade had been...busy as of late. In the house for three days, out for a week, in for a week, out for three more, over and over and over again. Wilbur had become more like a father to Tommy in recent months than he should’ve been, his fourteenth birthday fast approaching as their father took Techno out for yet another job, one that Wilbur couldn’t come on because he was too fucking weak to do anything Techno could do, too fucking stupid to learn all the techniques Techno did, lacking all the strength and agility his older sibling possessed, like the useless prick he was-

Right. This is about Tommy.

When Tommy was nine, his hair rested gently against his collarbones in the exact same cut and color as their father wore. If Wilbur was a lesser man, he would’ve hated the kid for it, but it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t see what a selfish git their father truly was yet. All he knew was that their dad was busy a lot and that, for some reason, Techno needed to go with him. Apparently, that was enough for him to keep holding onto the idea that one day, the man would stay longer and maybe, just maybe, show him some of the same care that his older brother did.

If Wilbur was a better man, he would tell Tommy the truth. He would tell him all about the way Philza had called him useless in a fight, forcing him to instead stay home and care for a child while still being one himself. He would mention how Philza had given him no instructions on how to care for a developing child, how he left out key details to parenting on his own as a goddamn thirteen-year-old, yet remembered to tell him things would be better this way because god forbid he does his fucking job as a father for anyone but Technoblade—

Who he missed. He missed Technoblade, his other half, so fucking bad it hurt sometimes—so bad it left him gasping for breath at two A.M., his head pounding in tandem with his uneven heartbeat, lungs burning as his snot and tears soaked into his brother’s cold, cold sheets. And it made him feel fucking pathetic because the truth of the matter was that...Techno had left him behind too. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to hate the older boy, no matter how hard he tried. Couldn’t hate Philza either, if he were to be honest with himself, but it was a lot easier to pretend he did when his father was the one putting them all in this position to begin with.

So, Tommy was nine when he learned how to braid.

Phil had promised him and Techno would be back Tuesday morning.

It was Wednesday afternoon.

Tommy didn’t fucking understand, and as frustrating as it was that the prick decided to take it out on Wilbur, he couldn’t blame him. Who else was he supposed to take this shit out on? Certainly not the man who had yet to return.

Wilbur had started the braid as a way to distract him. It was simple, really—tell him you know something he doesn’t and that he won’t get to know if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and listen.

When he had started tugging the boy’s hair back from his face, his immediate reaction was to jerk away, swatting at the hands that hovered over his shoulders. This only happened once or twice more before he let it happen naturally, his posture stiff as Wilbur ran his fingers through the boy’s hair with practiced ease.

Though it may not have seemed like it, Tommy was significantly more averse to touch than Techno had ever been. The only reason Techno even seemed averse to it was because of his hesitance to initiate, something he and Wilbur had discussed in depth. Rejection was one of the few fears Technoblade truly had and Wilbur held that fact close to his heart, ready to die with it if need be. Tommy, on the other hand? He was very particular about where and when and why someone was touching him, and it had taken Wilbur a long time to get used to that fact. But, he wasn’t about to make his little brother uncomfortable just so he could be happy and, eventually, he learned the ins and outs of how to touch TommyInnit without causing issue.

Pulling a few of the shorter strands towards the front of Tommy’s face loose, Will separated the blonde’s hair into three sections. They were rather small, what with how thin and short his hair was, it just barely being long enough to even have a proper braid in it, but Wilbur knew he could make it work.

“Now, Toms, you gotta listen to me here, because I can’t show you this bit, yeah? Phil and Tech aren’t here, and my hair is too short, so you’ll just have to feel it out for now, but...this is how you braid hair-” Wilbur had said in a soft voice, brushing the pad of his thumb over the boys neck slowly to ease the tension out of his shoulders. The effect was immediate, the boy slouching forward as if he had just noticed he was holding himself so sternly. Smiling softly, Wilbur instructed him on how to weave the strands together, answering questions and pulling lightly at Tommy’s hair so he could feel exactly where everything went. After he was done, Tommy had reached back to feel the bumps in his hair, all his earlier anger seemingly gone as he gave a small smile. And then he tried it himself.

Of course he got a bit of help at first, Wilbur’s larger hands guiding his own with gentle corrections, but after that Tommy worked on it alone, his older brother watching in silence from a patch of grass beside the porch step.

That night, Tommy and Wilbur slept in Techno’s bed, a soft, blue blanket wrapped tightly around them. And if another body woke them up at some point that night, shoving its way into the mess of limbs, their chest pressed right up against the youngest boy’s back, then that was only for them to know.

—

At eleven years old, Tommy takes a pair of scissors to his hair. With flushed cheeks and salty lips, his hands shaking and his eyes foggy, he cuts, cuts, cuts, until he can no longer braid his hair—until he can no longer look like fucking Phil.

Even though Wilbur had once said he hated Tommy’s long hair—hated how similar he and their dad looked—he felt like crying as he ran his fingers through the uneven strands. He didn’t tell his brother this though, instead grabbing his face and planting a wet kiss on his freckled forehead. In a fierce whisper, Wilbur had said, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Tommy. So fucking proud.”

Tommy never forgets the way he felt that day. He doesn’t forget Wilbur’s words either.

—

When Wilbur loses his last life, Technoblade tells Tommy to braid his hair.

It wasn’t a question either, but a demand forced out between gritted teeth, his face red, his nose stuffy and his lashes wet with unshed tears. Still, his words were clear as day.

“Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”

Tommy sniffled, but did as he was told.

Maybe it was because he was too tired to argue with the only person he even had left. Maybe it was because he could tell Technoblade was mad at their father for the first time in his life, and he knew how bad his first time had felt. Or, maybe, it was just because he knew Techno fucking cared. Nobody else seemed to, but he knew Techno did and...that was enough for him.

As long as someone else cared—as long as it was fucking Technoblade—that was enough for him.

Just as Tommy had finished the braid, curling his finger around the light pink tail that tied the whole thing off, Techno yanked it forward. Before he could even register that the hair had left his hand, the older boy had taken an axe to the top of it, letting the rest of his hair fall around his face in uneven curls. Though it was a good ten minutes of work wasted, Tommy couldn’t say a damn thing as he watched Techno pocket the braid, muttering a thank you and heading in the direction of Wilbur’s unofficial grave.

In that moment, he felt relief for the first time in a long while.

—

Wilbur Soot was born covered in vernix and blood, weighing just barely above the seven-pound mark, and he came into the world much like he left it. Everyone had heard his cries—even if they weren’t there, even if they didn’t know him well—they had saw the way he spiraled, desperate and afraid and paranoid, searching for help, but never receiving enough.

And though he was the second child born, he left the world first, returning in a yellow sweater with a small braid tucked behind his ear. He didn’t really know why he had one, but he remembered braiding Techno’s hair and he remembered teaching Tommy how to do his own and he remembered, he remembered, he remembered the braids.

#dream smp #/dsmp #dsmp #sleepy bois inc #sbi #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #ph1lza #fic #fics #fanfic #fanfiction #the dream smp #shit self #dami writez #/rp #dsmp fic

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staycalmandlovekpop · 6 years ago

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Who You Are Pt.2

Scenario: Im Jaebum has a dissociative identity disorder/multiple personality disorder and he meets this girl that he didn’t know was his private therapist.

A/N: It’s been quite a long time since I posted! I’ve never done a series before and it’s not easy to update/write often cause of life and responsibilities (Kudos to all the writers out there that update frequently!) I won’t make any more promises on how fast I can release these chapters, but if you’ll be patient with me I will continue this series over a period of time~.

Read Pt.1 Here

JB’s eyes widened in shock. You were the only woman that rejected and was repulsed by his flirting. He couldn’t believe that you actually believed him (ish) and is willingly kissing him now. Although JB wanted to enjoy this moment of victory longer, he knew that he would have to go back into Jaebum’s consciousness if was gonna score another kiss from you in the future.

As you pulled back from the kiss, you watched as Jaebum’s body went limp and caught him before he fell over.

“I’m not getting paid enough for this...” You murmured to yourself as you managed to prop him against the wall.

You were about to call GOT7’s manager when you suddenly heard footsteps coming towards your direction. You began to panic. What would other K-pop idols think if they saw you with Jaebum passed out like this? Without thinking straight, you quickly wrapped your arms around Jaebum's waist tightly. "Hey, I heard some commotion back here so I was going to check it out and see if-WHOA" The owner of the shop stopped talking when he saw you and Jaebum "cuddling" by the corner. "Oops haha nevermind. Sorry~. Get back to what you guys were doing~."

You pulled back once the owner and left and sighed. Is it possible for you to get Jaebum out of here without looking suspicious? You dialed GOT7's manager when Jaebum suddenly started to stir awake.

"Hello?"

"Hi, um...So he kind of dissociated into JB and then he passed out again. Is there any way you can come and help me bring him back to the dorm?"

"Okay. I'll be there in 15 minutes." GOT7's manager answered.

"Thanks. I think he's waking up right now, so I'll try to keep him calm for now." As you hung up, Jaebum's eyes fluttered open and his gaze landed on you.

"Um excuse me, but what are you looking at?" He asked in a sassy tone.

"Uhh...Jaebum...?" You said with uncertainty.

"Pfft no. I'm Nora."

Your eyes widened. NORA??!!

"Nora...Nora as in Jaebum's cat??"

Nora brushed her hair behind her ear. "I'll take that as a compliment that you think I'm cute and pretty like a cat."

DID A NEW PERSONALITY JUST FORM? OH BOY. You weren't too excited to get to know more about this one.

As Nora busied herself by taking selcas next to the ice cream shop's decorated walls, you texted the manager.

"Um nevermind...She-” You caught yourself and deleted “she” and replaced it back with “he” to not worry their manager. “He just woke up...We’ll meet you back at the dorms soon."

You turned your attention back to Nora who was busy scrolling through Instagram. “Hey Nora? How old are you?” You asked. Might as well get as much information on the new personality as possible.

“I’m 12...and a half.” She replied, not looking up from her phone.

“Okay...Do you know why Jaebum created you?”

Nora scoffed. “You think that I would tell you our secrets? Think again, old hag.”

Old hag? Technically, she’s physically “older” than you because she’s in the body of an 25-year-old man…

“You know, I’m only-”

“22? Yeah, I know.”

“Yeah! So don’t go calling me a-. Wait...how did you already know? I’ve only told JB my age because he wanted to see if he could make me call him ‘Oppa’ (which failed cause there was no freakin’ way you were going to call him that).”

“Cause we all share Jaebum’s general knowledge, duh~.” Nora said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You figured that you weren’t going to get the answers you wanted if you got up all in her case, so you decided to take advantage of her pride by playing dumb.

“Uh general knowledge...?”

Nora crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Uh yeah, it’s exactly how it sounds. It’s the common knowledge that we all have access to.”

“What? I don’t get it... Then why didn’t Jaebum know who I was when all the other personalities did?”

“O H M Y G O O D N E S S. Aren’t you a nurse? Shouldn’t you know about this?”

“Actually, I’m a first-year psychiatry resident.”

Nora rolled her eyes again. Wow, what a sassy pre-teen…

“Jaebum didn’t know about it because we’ve all been blocking that knowledge from him. We knew he would freak out like this, but we also knew that if he doesn’t get help now it might be too late to work on integrating.”

Integrating, the process of all the personalities combining back into one main personality. You wondered if Jaebum tried or even wanted to try integrating. Though you suppose he should be a part of this process too since it’s a team effort. Was he trying to do it by himself without any psychiatric help? Did he give up? You had so many questions for him, but you were stuck with bratty Nora for the time being. Maybe you guys should just get back to the dorm first and get Jaebum his meds.

You linked your arm around Nora’s and gave it a small pull. “Alright, cmon Nora. Let’s go back home.”

Nora made a face and shook her head. “I don’t want to leave just yet! Just look at all the cute boys here~.”

Your eyes widened at her comment as you looked all around to make sure it wasn’t loud enough for anyone else to hear. “Shhh!! Keep it down! You don’t want to start any rumors.”

“Oooh rumors~? Can you help me start one of me and G-Dragon dating?” Nora said with lit up eyes.

“No! Just come with me!” You whispered loudly, tugging her arm harder.

“I don’t want to!”

The both of you were starting to get some weird looks from the other customers. You had to get Nora out of there FAST.

“Tell you what, I’ll buy you another ice cream if you come with me.”

“How old do you think I am? 5?” Nora scoffed.

“You can get three scoops with unlimited toppings.”

Nora thought for a moment with pursed lips before giving in. “Call~ (Deal).”

After getting Nora her ice cream, you called a cab to take you guys back to GOT7’s dorm. Even though their dorm wasn’t that far away, it was safer than walking on the streets and being caught by the paparazzi. You don’t know Nora too well yet, so you can’t really trust that she would act normally in public. The cab then pulled up a few steps ahead and you guys scurried in. As the cab driver began driving, you noticed that Nora was surprisingly silent. You looked over at her and saw her eating her ice cream while looking outside the window. Man was it a good idea to give her ice cream, keeping her preoccupied and not making the cab driver suspicious by being her sassy self. You noticed that she could pass for Jaebum himself when she's not talking. What kind of person is he? What's going to happen when he comes back?

In no time, you both arrived at the dorm and Nora finished her ice cream. Once you guys were at the front door, you did the secret knock. * knock. knock knock knock. knock. knock knock *

"Hey..." You said awkwardly as GOT7's manager opened the door.

"What happened...?" He asked nervously, letting you two in.

"Uhh soo..."

"Oooh there's a cute little butterfly clip on the floor!" Nora shouted as she ran passed and picked up something from the floor.

You looked down at your feet as you felt something nudge your leg. "Oh Coco~, you're here!!" You picked her up and held her in your arms. The clip must've belonged to her.

"Oh yeah, Youngjae is staying here for the weekend because his brother went out of town." Their manager explained. "Umm...did something actually happen?"

You both turned and watched as Jaebum/Nora clipped the clip onto her hair. You sighed. "It's a long story....You might wanna gather everyone and sit down for this."

"Oh Y/N? Is that you?" Jinyoung asked as he popped his head out from his room.

"Oh hey Jinyoung." You said with a wave.

"Hey! So uhh do you happen to know where my movie script went?"

You facepalmed yourself. Must've been freakin Seo Mijoon again. "Try checking Jaebum's room under the bed."

Jinyoung snapped his fingers and smiled before walking towards Jaebum's room. "Thanks!"

You and the manager sat on the couch as Nora examined herself in the mirror hanging near the T.V.

"So, as I was saying...."

Mark suddenly comes out into the living room, drying his wet hair with a towel. "Hey manager hyung, is Jaebum home?"

Nora turned in the direction of the sound of his voice and literally froze in place once she laid her eyes on him. She watched as Mark shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair in slow motion in her head. When Mark glanced at her, she heard a choir of angels as a nonexistent light shone on him.

" O M G." Was all she was able to say as she stared at him with sparkling eyes.

"Is he okay?" Mark asked, noticing the weird look Nora was giving him.

"Maybe you should go back to your room for now..." You said, getting up to block Nora's path from Mark just in case she was going to jump him.

"Okay..." Mark said as he picked up Coco and went into his room.

"Bye Oppa~!!" Nora shouted after him.

The manager stood up with his hands on his hips. "Okay, now you really have to tell me wtf is going on. Why is Jaebum putting on hair clips and calling people 'oppa'?"

"I've got his medicine!!" Youngjae shouted as he walked out from his room. "Oh hey Y/N!"

"Hey Youngjae~." You walked over to him and took the pill bottle from his hand.

"Thanks~." You said with a smile.

"Alright Nora, time to take your medicine." You said, walking towards her.

"No, I don't want to!!" Nora shouted, backing away from you.

"I got the water!!" Jackson exclaimed as he came running from the kitchen with a water bottle.

You poured out a pill and shoved it toward Nora's face. "Just swallow it!"

Nora shook her head frantically, dodging your attempts to put it in her mouth. "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

While struggling with Nora, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around and see Jackson standing there with a serious look on his face. "Let me handle it."

You slowly handed him the pill and stepped aside.

"I'm sorry Hyung, but this is for your own good." Jackson then took a deep breath before stomping on Nora's foot. As she yelped in pain, he quickly shoved the pill into her mouth. "Quick! Help me get this bottle opened!"

You reached over to the water bottle Jackson was holding and twisted off the cap as fast as you could. Both you and the manager watched in amusement as Jackson proceeded to pour water over her mouth. Nora swallowed the pill along with some of the water, letting out a cough when the bottle was empty.

"3, 2, 1." Jackson counted before Jaebum passed out and fell into Jackson's arms. "We're in the clear now."

As Jackson set Jaebum down on the couch, the manager gathered the rest of the members into the living room. "Well now that there are no more distractions...Y/N, why don't you tell us what happened."

And so you told them about Jaebum hit his back, how you thought JYP came out, how Jaebum got so furious after finding out that JB came out, and how this new personality suddenly appeared.

The manager was distraught and confused. "What?! A new personality? How is that even possible? He's 25-years-old."

"Maybe being halfway to 50 is a big milestone of his life." Yugyeom joked, bursting into laughter along with Bambam.

"In the past, a personality would only form after a traumatizing event. Are you sure that nothing like that happened?" Jinyoung asked.

Traumatizing? Your thoughts go back to the kiss that you gave JB. Seriously?? Was that really THAT traumatizing for him to experience??

"Uhhh not that I can I think of..." You lied, protecting your pride and erasing that horrifying image from your mind.

As you told them more information on Nora's personality, Jaebum began to stir. "Look, he's waking up." Bambam pointed out.

Jaebum rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up. "What happened?" He asked with a groggy voice.

He immediately froze in place when he laid his eyes on you. "Um, guys...Why is there a sasaeng in our house?"

"She's not a sasaeng…” Mark began. “She’s a-”

"She's your private nurse." Their manager flat out said. "Or more like private psychiatrist to be exact."

Jaebum furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "What...? Wait wait wait...You hired a private nurse without my consent? How long has she been monitoring me?"

"It's been 2 weeks. And yes, you need the help." The manager said sternly.

Jaebum’s scoffed, with his mouth agape. "I told you already that I don't need it. I don't need anyone to help me!! I can do this on my own! Did you guys know about this too?" He turned to look at his fellow members who all just awkwardly avoided eye contact. "Wow. Just wow."

You could tell by the sound of Jaebum's voice that he felt betrayed and frustrated.

"Hey, don't blame them...They're just trying to help." You said softly.

"Well, it's unwanted. Also, I don't mean to be rude but...you can leave now. You're no longer needed here." Jaebum said, gesturing you towards the door.

"Hyung...it's way past midnight. Are you really going to send her out alone during this time of day?" Jackson asked.

You sat there staring at Jaebum with hurt eyes in silence. Is this really what the real Jaebum is like?

Jaebum looked over at you and clenched his fist. "Fine. I'll leave instead." He said through gritted teeth. Turning around, Jaebum went out the front door and slammed it behind him.

Jinyoung sighed. "Don't take it personally Y/N. He just needs to cool down. I'll talk to him."

As he got up and followed after Jaebum, Youngjae scooted over to you. "Hey, you okay?"

You let out a sigh. "Maybe I should leave...The contract has already been broken anyway since he found out."

"What? You're just going to give up like that?" Youngjae said with a tad bit of disappointment in his voice.

"Well, you heard him. He doesn't need me. So what's the point of even trying?"

"He DOES need you. He's just too stubborn to see it."

You stood up and threw your hands up in the air. "Why bother to help someone that doesn't want to be helped?"

Youngjae gave you a long and serious look. "But then who will help them? If we choose to ignore people who claim that they don't need help, they who will be there for them? Nobody else is going to ever know how they truly feel and they will end up facing their sufferings alone."

You sat back down and lowered your head. Youngjae was right. You felt guilty for even just thinking those kinds of thoughts.

"I do...I really do want to help him. I just don't know how or if I even can do anything to help. I'm just a first-year psychiatry resident with no real experience...For undergrad, I just managed to pass my classes. I may have the knowledge, but I don't know how to utilize it... "

"Hey now~." Youngjae patted your back. "You're doing the best you can. You're doing a great job. You being here right now and trying to help is already more than enough."

You looked over at Youngjae and smiled. "Thanks."

A few moments later, you heard the front door clicked and Jinyoung came in. You and Youngjae stood up simultaneously.

"Where's Jaebum?" Youngjae asked.

Jinyoung sighed as he thought about the heated conversation he just had with him.

"Hyung, get back here." Jinyoung had called out after him, as he ran to catch up with Jaebum who was walking towards the subway station.

Jaebum just kept on walking without looking back. "Just go back home Jinyoung. I've already made my point. You can't change my mind."

"Why can't we just sit down and talk about this? Hm?" Jinyoung finally caught up and went in front of him to block his path.

"There's nothing to talk about. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don't need her or anyone's help! I can and will overcome this on my own."

"It doesn't hurt to try!! Maybe she's different than the past therapists you've seen?"

Jaebum put his hands on his hips and shook his head, chuckling to himself without any humor in it. "Different? Haha. You make me laugh. She's the cause of why this new personality formed isn't she?"

Jinyoung stared at him in shock. They haven't told Jaebum about Nora yet or about what happened.

"Yeah, that's right. I can feel it. I can hear and feel that there's another personality that has taken a vacancy inside my mind. And all this happened right after this girl showed up. Coincidence? I don't think so."

As Jaebum walked passed Jinyoung, Jinyoung clenched his fist in anger. How could Jaebum say such things about someone who was just trying to help him?

"Quit being so temperamental and stubborn!!" He shouted, making Jaebum freeze in his tracks and turn around.

Having Jaebum's full attention, Jinyoung continued. "H-how about us?! We're sick and tired okay?!?!" Jinyoung took a breath as he started to choke up. "We're sick and tired....of watching you suffer and not knowing how to help you...But she knows how."

Jaebum just stood there in silence, astonished at Jinyoung's outburst and seeing tears welling up in his eyes.

"Please, Hyung...The six of us really care about you and want the best for you..."

Jaebum let out a deep breath and turned away. "I'm...I'm just going to spend the night in my studio." He then walked away towards the subway station, leaving Jinyoung standing there in defeat.

And that was how Jinyoung ended up returning to the dorm alone. Maybe one night outside will give Jaebum some time to clear his mind and think about it.

"Where did he go?" You asked.

Jinyoung looked over at you. You looked worried. Worried that Jaebum went and did something stupid and that everything was all your fault. He gave a little small reassuring smile before saying, "It's okay. He's just going to spend the night in his music studio."

You and Youngjae looked at each other and smiled in relief.

Jackson then popped his head out from one of the rooms. "Hey Y/N, you can sleep in my old bedroom. I can sleep on the couch tonight."

Your eyes widened and you shook your head. "Oh no, no. It's okay, I don't mind sleeping on the couch. You guys are the ones that need a good night's rest. You guys are K-pop idols with packed schedules every day!"

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

You smiled."Yes. It's totally fine~. Thank you guys for letting me stay."

Mark then came out with a pillow and a few blankets, followed by their manager. "It's no problem. We'll discuss more about what we're going to do with Jaebum tomorrow." The manager said as he helped Mark set up your "bed" on the couch.

You thanked them once again and said your goodnight's to each member before laying on the couch. You would wash up, but you just felt so drained after all the craziness that happened today. What an emotional roller-coaster. You tossed and turned to the other side and sighed. Will you be able to say the right words to Jaebum to convince him to let you continue being his therapist? You got up, took out your laptop from your bag, placed it on the coffee table next to you, and started looking through all the notes you took on each personality. Will you ever get the chance to meet each one of them again? While scrolling, you stopped at Jaebum’s name and stared at the little information you had on who he (the main personality) was. You knew that there had to be more to him than what you saw tonight. Although you thought you would stay up all night thinking about it, you eventually drifted to sleep after staring at your screen blankly.

Meanwhile, Jaebum was trying to get some sleep himself on the couch inside his music studio. But he couldn't help but think about what Jinyoung said to him. "We're sick and tired of watching you suffer and not knowing how to help you....but she knows how."

Honestly, Jaebum had his own reasons of why he has been so stubborn like this. But maybe it was time for him to consider other people's feelings too. The next morning, Jaebum carefully entered the dorm quietly to not wake anyone up. After closing the door ever so gently, he began tiptoeing around until he spotted you sleeping on the couch. The hurt expression you gave him last night when he told you to leave flashed through his mind, making him feel guilty for his immature actions. Jaebum then noticed your opened laptop on the coffee table. He turned the laptop towards him and began to read through all your notes. He was shocked and amazed at how much information you were able to gather on each personality in the span of two weeks. Based on the descriptions you wrote, it seemed like you were able to read each of them well. Jaebum looked over at you and sighed. He could really see how much effort you put into this. Pushing the laptop back towards your direction, he softly knocks on the manager's bedroom door.

The door swung opened and there stood a sleepy manager. "Yes?" He answered groggily, with his eyes slowly widening at the realization that Jaebum has come home. "J-Jaebum you're back."

Jaebum nodded before saying, "I'll do it. Let's keep Y/N as my private nurse."

Part 2 END (A/N: Five stars for you if you caught on to a GOT7 reference ;) )

#jb #got7 #got7 jb #jb scenarios #jb fanfic #got7 scenarios #youngjae #choi youngjae #Im Jaebum #jinyoung #park jinyoung #jackson #jackson wang #mark #mark tuan #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfiction #who you are

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kenta-rin · 2 years ago

Text

Ch 5-6

[I DID NOT WRITE THIS, just uploading for posterity]

Tips For Expanding Your Business On An International Scale

013

Chapter 5

Notes:

hey it's me again. couple of notes here: first of all please drive safe and distracted driving is bad dont eat and drive. second of all theres a line here thats like, "jesses a disgusting american who loves fast food" and i just wanted to say, i love americans some of my best friends are american, and i love fast food some of my best friends are fast food, the only person im calling disgusting here is jesse mccree. i will never shame u for being american or eating fast food, i will only shame mccree. for existing. ok, next up last time we talked there was one fanart for this fic drawn by the wonderful nance well now there's... 6. unbelievable. i am so incredibly grateful & overwhelemd & humbled by the fact that MULTIPLE human beings on earth read my fic and were like, hey, that's good, i'm gonna draw that. thank you all so much... and thank you to everyone who's left kudos! and left comments! you're all so good, kind, wonderful, i dont deserve u... links to art in end notes

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

For the first time in almost a week, it’s not a voice calling his name that wakes Jesse.

He jolts up from his pillow, hand instinctively closing around the handle of the gun that’s still holstered at his hip. He’d fallen asleep without taking off his gear and he already regrets it. He feels grimy.

He hears the noise that woke him again: a knock on the door. The room is dark, but that doesn’t mean much; the love hotel (Jesse wants to cringe just thinking those words) has electronic blinds that are tightly shuttered. He glances at the clock.

It’s just after nine PM, and someone is knocking on the door of the hotel room no one is supposed to know he’s in.

“It’s me,” a voice calls through the door.

Jesse raises his eyebrows in disbelief. On the one hand, the way the voice is muffled makes its owner ambiguous. On the other hand, there’s only one person Jesse can think of who’d think he’d open the door to that kind of message.

He opens the door. It’s Genji. Of course it’s Genji. Jesse lets him in.

“Do you think it’s smart to come here? You don’t think your dad’s gonna be suspicious?”

Genji shrugs. “My father never knows where I am.” He has a bag slung over one of his shoulders. He dumps it on the bed as Jesse locks the door. “I brought you a phone so you can call your gang.”

Jesse practically snatches it out of Genji’s hands. “Give me a minute,” Jesse tells him, and then he retreats to a corner of the room and starts dialling. Genji settles himself down on top of the bed, crossing his legs and rifling through whatever else he brought. He looks like he’s settling in for a long stay. Jesse resolves to ignore him, for now.

The call to New Mexico rings for a distressing amount of time. He hopes they’re not blocking him because it’s an unknown number. It’s more likely that no one feels like picking up the phone, but Jesse’s trying to give his fellow Deadlock Gang members the benefit of the doubt in believing they won’t leave him to die in a foreign country out of sheer laziness.

Finally, someone answers. “Oh, thank God,” Jesse breathes. “It’s McCree.”

“McCree?” The voice asks, incredulous. “You’re still alive? Shit, boy, you must be tougher than we all thought!”

Jesse grits his teeth, trying not to read too much into that. “Yeah. Look, I need -”

“Hang on a sec, lemme get you on speaker. Boys, McCree’s still alive!”

When the call goes to speaker Jesse has to hold the phone away from his ear. The cacophony on the other side is ungodly. He can make out a few distinct shouts of “Atta boy!” and other sundry encouragements, but mostly it seems to just be wordless yelling.

“I won’t be alive for long if you don’t get me a goddamn shuttle back to America!” He shouts back down the line. He’s not even sure anyone hears him.

The noise dies down after a minute.

“He won’t be alive for long if we don’t rescue him,” someone says, to a chorus of hoots and hollers. Jesse clenches his fist around his phone because first of all, he’d just said that and they would have heard it if they’d been listening, and second of all, he wouldn’t need rescuing at all if they hadn’t sent him on a suicide mission.

“When can you get a plane out here?” Jesse asks, knowing he’s in no position to argue semantics.

“We’ve been making calls,” someone answers, and Jesse’s almost relieved to know that at least one person is taking this seriously. “The Hanamura airport’s pretty much impossible to get into without Shimada’s permission. You need to get outta that city, Jesse.”

Jesse leans his forehead against the wall nearest him. That is so, so much easier said than done. He glances over at Genji, who’s flopped back onto the bed and is playing with his own phone.

“If I gotta, I gotta,” he sighs.

“If you get to a big city like Osaka or Tokyo you can catch the next flight to the States, then we can arrange pick-up from there.”

Jesse’s starting to wonder what the point of having a gang is. They’ve basically told him to take care of himself throughout this whole crisis. He breathes a deep sigh.

“Got it,” he says. His annoyance shines through the short syllables, but he doesn’t give anyone a chance to reply. “I’ll contact you soon.” He ends the call.

When he turns back to face the room again, Genji bounces up from his reclining position. “God, that took forever,” he says cheerfully. Genji seems to find an inordinate amount of joy in Jesse’s life-threatening peril.

“I need to get to a city with an airport your dad doesn’t control. As soon as possible.” Jesse rubs at his eyes, feeling tired and cranky. When he looks at Genji again, Jesse sees a smile on his face that he doesn’t particularly like.

“So, what you are saying is,” Genji begins, his grin taking up half his face, “We need to go on a roadtrip.”

“No,” Jesse answers quickly, feeling dread filling him up. “No, God, I just meant - I need a way to get there, I didn’t mean that we should go together -” Genji continues to grin at Jesse relentlessly. “Oh God, please, my life is in danger, you should be taking this seriously!”

“I am taking this seriously,” Genji says, and he schools his face into a mockery of sternness for about five seconds before he’s smiling again. “You cannot drive yourself because you do not know the way. I can drive!”

“If you can drive then why’s Yuri always carting you around?”

“Because I like Yuri, and Yuri likes to be useful. I can totally drive. I’m good at it. I have a car!”

Jesse considers this. The son of the man who’s trying to kill him (and the brother of the man who betrayed him, but he’s trying not to think about that) is offering him a ride out of the city so that he can flee the country. Genji has a car, which is what Jesse really needs right now. He’s probablynot a great driver, because he’s eighteen, and Jesse’s skeptical about him “knowing the way,” because the Shimada family would probably fly in a plane to the grocery store (if they ever went to the grocery store, which they wouldn’t, because they could just send other people to the grocery store for them).

There’s always GPS, though. And cars mostly drive themselves, these days. Put ‘em on the road and watch ‘em hover placidly to their destination. As long as no one tries to blow ‘em up.

For a moment Jesse wonders if having Genji in the car with him would deter Shimada from blowing it up. He honestly can’t decide.

“How long will it take?” He finally asks.

Genji beams, knowing that Jesse has resigned himself to the roadtrip. “Probably only two or three hours. We will have to go slow. Be stealthy.”

Jesse thinks of that circuitous route Genji took him on through the gardens to get to the beach party. He can already feel a headache coming on.

“Genji, if I die because of you I’m gonna be pissed,” Jesse tells him, rubbing his forehead wearily.

Genji makes a face at him. “If you are going to be like that maybe I will just leave you here.”

Jesse exhales loudly through his nose. “Fine. I’ll behave. Where’s your goddamn car?”

“In the parking lot,” Genji tells him.

“Of this hotel?” Jesse asks, his eyebrows raising (and his blood pressure too, probably).

“Yes, but don’t worry,” Genji answers, apparently anticipating Jesse’s loss of temper, “it has an undercover mode.”

“An undercover mode,” Jesse repeats flatly.

“Yes. Normally it has these green flame decals,” Genji explains.

“Jesus Christ.”

“No, they are really cool!” The slang is a little stiff in Genji’s mouth. Jesse feels like he should be pausing for a laugh track. “But when I need to hide from my dad I can make the flames black so they cannot be seen.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Genji says, gathering his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “We should leave here anyway. It is better to travel at night when you’re on the run.”

Jesse can’t argue with that, and he’s eager to get the hell out of this town anyway, so he grabs the suitcase he never bothered unpacking and follows Genji out of the hotel room. He wishes he’d been able to shower before committing to a couple of hours in a car, but he can shower all he wants once he’s safe in New Mexico. Relatively safe. Also, he probably can’t shower all he wants, because the gang pays their water bills sporadically and there’s no guarantee he’ll come home at a time when they haven’t been cut off.

Genji’s car looks just as generic as the next one parked in the lot, plain black with tinted windows.

“You know, people can still track the license plates and the registration number,” Jesse points out, but his heart’s not really in it.

Genji actually laughs in reply. “My father runs a criminal empire. The license plate is holographic and changes at random. There is no registration number.”

Jesse sighs and allows Genji to win this one, at least. He climbs into the car without further complaint. Genji settles himself behind the wheel, but he doesn’t start driving.

He’s not smiling, for once. There’s something hesitant, almost worried in his expression. Jesse tries not to presume the worst, but it’s a challenge.

“So,” Genji begins, fingers fidgeting.

“What,” Jesse prompts, not even a question; it’s nothing more than an exhausted gust of breath.

“Hanzo did not show up at the hotel room?” Genji asks, trying his best to seem casual.

“No.” Jesse has had more bad feelings in the past few days than he wants to count, but this is one of the worst. “Why would he?” His voice is almost as tight as the fingers clenched on his thighs.

“Well.” Genji seems to be very interested in the bright neon of the love hotel sign judging by the way he’s staring out the window and refusing to look at Jesse. “After Yuri and I brought you here, we went back home. And of course everyone was looking for you. They had no idea where you could have gone. My father locked himself in his office and said no one should talk to him unless they had found you.”

Genji’s started speaking faster and faster with each sentence. “Nobody was paying any attention to me, so I thought I had gotten away with it. But then Hanzo cornered me on my way to my room. And he said he knew what I’d done. And I thought he was going to kill me or something,” Genji laughs nervously, “but instead he just asked where you were? And I was not going to tell him. But he said that he could not leave things the way they were. He said that… You... “ Genji blushes. Jesse’s fingers are like claws digging into his thighs.

“I have never heard my brother speak the way he spoke about you,” Genji says. “I have never seen a look on his face like the one I saw.”

Jesse closes his eyes. “You told him where I was.”

There’s a very long, telling moment of silence.

“But he did not come to the hotel room after all,” Genji concludes. Jesse’s not sure if Genji means that to be tragic or reassuring.

Hanzo probably didn’t come to the hotel room because he went straight to his daddy with that information. They’re probably gathering a small army to come and shoot Jesse at this very moment.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Jesse says, peering out the window and expecting men with guns to appear at any moment.

“Right.” Genji stills sounds nervous. He jams his finger against the ignition and the car purrs to life. Then he very, very slowly reverses the car.

“What are you doing,” Jesse asks flatly. He wonders if Genji missed the memo on the whole urgency thing.

“I do not want to hit any cars,” Genji explains. He’s sitting very stiffly in his seat, neck craning over his shoulder, taking it one inch at a time. Genji’s only eighteen. He’s probably had his license for a few months at most.

Jesse resigns himself to being shot to death in a love hotel parking lot.

Then Genji finally shifts the car from reverse to drive, and he slams the accelerator.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Jesse yells, scrabbling for a place to hold on to. He’s really fucking glad he’d decided to wear his seatbelt.

“I thought you wanted to go fast!” Genji yells back, but he sounds just as frantic and alarmed as Jesse.

He swings the car into traffic and the automatic sensors adjust the speed, a chiding Japanese voice saying something that Jesse’s pretty sure means ‘stop endangering people’s lives.’ Genji snaps something back, but the car doesn’t answer.

Genji starts messing with the GPS. “Where’s the nearest airport?” Jesse asks.

“Oh,” Genji says distractedly, fiddling with something. “It’s not too far, but I was thinking… First, we should go through a drive through.” He’s grinning again.

Jesse wants to smack him for not taking this seriously (again), but he actually hasn’t eaten since breakfast. He’s starving.

“Let’s get out of Hanamura first,” he compromises. “Then we can go wherever you want.”

Genji mulls that over for a moment, then starts tapping at the GPS screen. Jesse wants to tell him to keep his eyes on the road, but he’s pretty sure that would actually make things worse. The car is a much better driver than Genji is.

“Okay,” Genji says finally, leaning back in his seat. After a moment he startles and puts his hand on the steering wheel, like he’d forgotten he was driving it all. It’s pretty much just for show, and the car’s only going in a straight line so far, but once they need to turn Genji’s input will be required.

Jesse is honestly dreading that time.

“What should we talk about?” Genji asks brightly, eyes darting here and there at the scenery they drive by. Jesse wonders if Genji actually has a driver’s license. Maybe his father had one forged for him.

“We shouldn’t talk about anything,” Jesse says, leaning his head against the window. He’s ready and willing to pass this drive asleep. Then again, if he leaves Genji unsupervised he’ll probably never wake up.

“No, no,” Genji shakes his head emphatically. “We have to bond. That’s what road trips are for.”

Jesse is too afraid to ask about which movie, exactly, Genji learned his road trip knowledge from. What if it’s the 2002 classic starring Britney Spears, Crossroads? Not that Jesse’s ever seen the movie, of course. Only he can’t stop picturing these horrifying mental images of him and Genji doing karaoke to Joan Jett in denim short-shorts.

“Usually road trips are longer than two hours,” Jesse informs Genji grumpily.

“That can be arranged,” Genji says with a smirk that fills Jesse with regret.

“No! Genji, no, I’m serious, I could die. Your dad wants to kill me. Please help me get out of the country.”

Genji pouts a little. “I’m not going to let my father kill you. Have a little faith in me.”

Jesse stares at the eighteen year old World’s Worst Driver in the seat next to him. He’s torn between being touched that Genji’s offering to protect him and exasperated that he thinks he can.

They lapse into silence for the half hour it takes to leave Hanamura, which they do without incident, though somehow that doesn’t do much to relieve Jesse’s paranoia. Genji only breaks the silence when he points through the windshield at a big lit-up sign down the road.

“Fast food?” He asks, sounding way too hopeful.

Jesse’s tempted to put up a fuss on principle, but first of all he’s really hungry and second of all he’s a disgusting American who loves fast food.

“What do they have?” he asks.

“McDonald’s has the same menu all over the world, does it not?”

“Oh, you’re not going to take me somewhere uniquely Japanese? What kind of enriching cultural experience is this?”

“I enriched your culture yesterday, with ramen,” Genji scolds. “Besides, I can’t eat with chopsticks while I’m driving.”

“You shouldn’t eat with your hands while driving, either,” Jesse points out, but they pull into the drive through and get burgers anyway.

“How far is it to the airport from here?” Jesse asks with his mouth full.

“An hour and a half,” Genji replies, one hand on the wheel and the other shoving a handful of fries into his face.

“Is that the direct route, or the ‘stealthy’ route?” Jesse asks sardonically.

“Stealthy.” Genji grins so wide Jesse can see potatoes mashed in his teeth.

“You’re disgusting,” he says, wiping his fingers on his pants.

They continue to eat in silence until Genji finishes his burger and throws his ketchup-stained wrapper at Jesse’s head, which leads to a rant peppered with some of Jesse’s most creative curses. This, in turn, leads to Genji requesting that Jesse teach him more American swear words, which passes a long time because Jesse knows a lot. When he’s done, he asks Genji to teach him some Japanese swear words, and before they know it they’re in the city.

“I know you want to leave as soon as possible,” Genji begins to say, his attention fixed on the bumper of the car in front of them. Even now, when it’s around midnight, the traffic is incredibly dense. “But it might be a better idea to check into a hotel for tonight, buy a plane ticket online, and get to the airport tomorrow.”

“How do you figure?” Jesse asks. He’s in a surprisingly good mood considering he’s been stuck in a vehicle in dirty clothes for so long, but Genji’s putting him on edge again.

“What is your plan for when you get to the airport? Run up to the desk and start demanding a ticket for the next flight to America?” Genji chews on his lip. “That might raise some suspicion. And suspicion is not what you want right now. You are supposed to be lying low.”

Jesse rubs at his beard thoughtfully. “Alright. I guess you’re right about that,” he concedes. He’s not sure he’s gonna be able to sleep tonight, too worried about Shimada somehow tracking him down.

But in all honesty, for all the grief Jesse’s given him Genji’s gotten him out of Hanamura and fairly well-hidden here in this city. He probably shouldn’t have doubted Genji as much as he did in the first place, considering Genji’s had years of experience hiding from his father.

“I know a hotel around here,” Genji says.

“A love hotel.” Jesse says flatly. He can tell by the way Genji’s failing to suppress a grin.

“It is even better than the last one,” Genji says with a wide smile.

Better is, of course, a subjective concept. This love hotel has a baffling mermaid theme. It’s so lit up with neon that Jesse feels like it’ll act like a beacon drawing Shimada’s eye. The brilliance of it is that it does the exact opposite. Hide in plain sight. No one would suspect a man undercover to sequester himself in the brightest building on the block. Especially if that building has a giant sexy mermaid on its roof.

Genji, thank God and all the angels and saints, books them two separate rooms. Jesse has grown very, very fond of Genji over the past few days. That does not mean he wants their road trip to become a sleepover.

Genji follows Jesse into his room anyway, and Jesse would be embarrassed at the implication if there was anyone around to witness it, but the hotel hallways are deserted. Jesse is very glad there seems to be sturdy soundproofing insulation in the walls.

Flopping onto Jesse’s bed without compunction, Genji digs into his shoulder bag and pulls out a tiny laptop.

“So, flights to America,” he says conversationally. Jesse busies himself with peeling off his outer clothing.

“What’s the earliest I can catch?” He asks.

Genji clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “I mean, taking security into account, you’ll need to get there a few hours early… There’s one for New York City at 5 AM.”

“Yanks,” Jesse admonishes idly, his spurs rattling as he pulls off his boots. Genji laughs.

“You can fly directly to Santa Fe at eleven,” Genji says. Jesse mulls it over.

“Guess that’d be for the best,” he says slowly. He wonders if he’ll drive himself insane with paranoia between now and then. After the nap he took earlier he’s going to be wide awake, thinking every sound he hears is Shimada Clan thugs out to get him.

“Alright, I have purchased your ticket. Give me the phone I gave you, I’ll download the boarding pass to it.”

Jesse thinks, for possibly the hundredth time tonight, that Genji is going to get him shot. “You bought me my ticket to Santa Fe. With your credit card. That your dad is definitely tracking.” Jesse sucks on his teeth, trying to keep his temper. “When he sees that purchase he’s gonna kill you too, not just me.”

Genji shakes his head. “No, I did not. You think I’m a fool.” He snatches Jesse’s phone out of his hands impatiently. “I bought the ticket with my personal account. My father does not know it exists. The money is… my own.”

Jesse only raises his eyebrows in response. He wonders if Genji steals his father’s product and deals to his friends on the side.

“Don’t mock me for this,” Genji says, his eyes lowered shyly, and Jesse wonders what could possibly embarrass Genji Shimada, frequenter of love hotels. “I have a part-time job.”

The answer is so normal Jesse almost laughs, but he stops himself before he injures Genji’s pride. Where Jesse grew up, eighteen year olds whodidn’t have part-time jobs were the ones who got mocked. Got called lazy. Got called deadbeats. Got called “Jesse McCree, when are you ever going to get your life together and stop running around with that gang? You’re making your mother sick with worry!”

Genji continues, hurrying to explain himself, “I was spending a lot of time at the arcade, and one day I saw they had a help wanted sign, so I talked to the owner about it. I knew my father would never approve…” Genji gets a little bit of a glint in his eye. “Maybe that’s why I applied in the first place.”

This time, Jesse can’t stop himself from laughing. “My God, what a rebel,” he says. “Standing up to your mean ol’ dad by becoming a respectable citizen.”

Genji starts to laugh too. “I told you not to mock me,” he chides, faking a pout.

In a moment of brotherly affection, Jesse jumps onto the gross love hotel bed and squishes Genji. “I’ll mock you all I want,” he says, and tickles Genji’s ribs ruthlessly.

Genji starts crying almost immediately. “Stop! Stop!” He’s gasping out laughter, but he manages to tell Jesse: “You smell really bad! You’re so sweaty!”

Jesse rolls off the bed, offended. “I wouldn’t be so sweaty if you hadn’t almost killed me via automobile incident so many times.”

“I am a very good driver!” Genji protests, voice muffled because he’s busy wiping tears off his face. “You need to shower.”

“Well if you’d get out of my room, maybe I could,” Jesse points out, raising an eyebrow.

For a moment Genji glares at him from the bed, then he sighs and gets to his feet. “Fine,” he says. “I guess I will see you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Jesse calls, just as Genji gets to the door. Jesse shuffles a little in place. “Thank you, Genji. Thank you for doing this for me.”

Genji looks thoughtful for a moment, then he grins. “It was fun,” he says, and then he leaves.

Jesse wanders into the shower grumbling to himself about how helping him evade certain death shouldn’t be fun.

He spends a half-hour under the spray of hot water, and he would spend more, just to pass the time until his flight, except that he’s used to taking five minute showers and he actually finds it boring to be confined in that little space with nothing to distract him but his own thoughts. He tries singing a little, but the acoustics make him sound really loud, and he gets paranoid about people walking by in the hallway somehow being able to hear him even through the soundproofing.

Jesse’d dragged his whole suitcase into the bathroom earlier instead of digging out his shaving kit, so he takes his time brushing his teeth, towelling off, pulling on a fresh pair of boxers, and generally dicking around.

When he finally unlocks the bathroom door and gets back in his room he’s managed to kill… about an hour. He still has about seven hours until he needs to get to the airport. He wonders if the hotel TV will let him watch anything other than porn.

It’s because he’s staring at the blank TV screen that he sees the silent figure move in behind him, raising a hand.

Jesse drops to a crouch, narrowly avoiding the arm that’s reaching out to incapacitate him, and twists his body to tackle his assailant to the ground. Jesse’s still wearing nothing but his boxers, doesn’t have a gun on him, doesn’t have a gun anywhere within his reach, which is fucking stupid. He should never have let his guard down.

The attacker slips out of Jesse’s clumsy grip like an eel, landing in a graceful crouch, while Jesse’s momentum leaves him much less gracefully on his hands and knees.

In the light spilling from the bathroom Jesse can make out his attacker’s face.

It’s Hanzo.

Jesse’s heart stops for a moment. Then, when Hanzo starts moving, it kicks into overdrive, adrenaline flooding Jesse’s system. He springs to his feet, determined not to let Hanzo get the jump on him.

Hanzo has trained in various martial arts and with various weapons his whole life. Jesse’s the quickest draw he knows and a damn good shot, but his only hand-to-hand training is in bar fights.

He has two advantages, as far as he can see: the first is that Hanzo’s not using a weapon, and the second is that he seems to be aiming to incapacitate Jesse, not to kill him. If Jesse had a moment to ponder the situation he’d definitely wonder about that, but as it is - Hanzo strikes like a snake and all Jesse can do is recoil, trying to avoid being hit.

The room isn’t big enough for Jesse to keep fighting like that, but at the same time, that might be an advantage for him. The love hotel isn’t a dojo; there’s furniture, there’s close walls. Back Hanzo into a corner and maybe Jesse can use his superior weight and height to pin him down, but…

He can’t concentrate on strategy when Hanzo’s flying at him with all the fury and grace of an enraged cat. For lack of better options, Jesse puts his dukes up.

The fight is - messy. Jesse jabs a punch at Hanzo just as a warning, trying to make Hanzo keep his distance, but Hanzo latches onto his arms and pulls Jesse in. They end up grappling each other around the shoulders, legs spread wide for balance.

Hanzo kicks one of Jesse’s legs out from under him, but the momentum of their fall leaves Jesse on top, using his weight to keep Hanzo’s arms down. They’re both already panting.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jesse gasps out, searching Hanzo’s face. He can’t see anything in his expression but anger.

Hanzo slides a leg between Jesse’s and flips them in a move that almost seems effortless. All of the air in Jesse’s lungs hisses out of him as his back slams into the floor. He stares up at Hanzo, mouth hanging open.

“My father told me to kill you,” Hanzo growls. He lets go of Jesse’s wrists to slip his hands around his throat, but Jesse gets an elbow in his stomach before he can apply enough pressure. It takes three successive punches before Hanzo finally groans and rolls off him, giving Jesse room to back up, crawl to his feet again.

“You think if you kill me, your dad’s gonna magically start loving you?” Jesse spits, and - he probably shouldn’t have. Hanzo leaps at him, snarling. It’s a sloppy move, and Jesse sidesteps, using the force of the motion to push Hanzo up against the wall. “He’s never going to love you,” Jesse hisses into Hanzo’s ear, bending one arm against his back painfully.

“You do not know that!” Hanzo roars, thrashing. But Jesse’s bigger than Hanzo, even if he’s not necessarily stronger, and physics are on his side here. Hanzo tries his trick again, looking to loop his ankle around Jesse’s leg, but Jesse’s caught on to that play, has built up a counter.

Hanzo goes abruptly limp, but Jesse doesn’t fall for it. He increases the pressure rather than giving into his instinct to relax his grip. They stand there, nothing between them but their harsh breathing.

It reminds Jesse, in a sudden, aching moment of clarity, of the two of them wrestling in the water at the artificial beach.

He resists the urge to lean his head forward onto Hanzo’s shoulder, wary of being headbutted, but he does allow himself to say, “God, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

He’s a sappy goddamn fool.

“I guess there are a lot of things you do not want to do with me,” Hanzo growls.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Jesse asks him, but instead of answering Hanzo starts struggling again.

He jerks so violently in Jesse’s grip that he wrenches one of Jesse’s arms. Jesse draws back without thinking about it, trying to distance himself from the source of the pain. Hanzo reverses their positions for a second time, pinning Jesse’s hands to the wall on either side of his head.

Jesse expects this to be the moment where Hanzo finally closes his hands around Jesse’s windpipe and fulfills his duty to his father.

Instead, Hanzo stares at Jesse, and his expression is less violent hate and more… lost.

“I hate you,” he whispers. There’s not enough conviction behind it for Jesse to believe him.

“You’re not the one who should be angry here. You made me believe you… wanted me,” Jesse snaps back. “Just to get me to sign a contract. Your daddy asked you to be his little whore and you did it!”

Hanzo releases one of Jesse’s wrists to slap him across the face.

Somewhere beyond the shock of the sting Jesse realizes that he could use his free hand to knock Hanzo down, to incapacitate him, to buy himself time to go get Genji for backup, or to flee the hotel altogether.

He doesn’t. He’s still agonizingly, magnetically drawn to Hanzo. Even now, when he should hate him for betraying him, he can’t look away.

“How dare you,” Hanzo says, low and dangerous, the hand that slapped Jesse splaying across his collarbone and pushing him back against the wall. “I did nothing for my father. You came into my home… You spent three days doing nothing but flirting with me… You sent me,” Hanzo’s cheeks flush red, and he grits his teeth angrily against it, “a picture of your penis. And then… you left.”

“Your father threatened to kill me,” Jesse points out, anger surging in him. He’s not sure how Hanzo thinks he’s going to paint Jesse as the bad guy, here. Jesse’s done falling for Hanzo’s tricks.

“My father is Genji’s father too, but I have seen that you do not hate him,” Hanzo spits.

“When Genji heard your dad wanted me dead, he didn’t try to convince me to stay by fucking me,” Jesse throws back with equal venom.

“You think I had some kind of evil plot! You think I was laying a trap, that all along I was doing what my father wanted me to!” Hanzo’s shouting now, right up in Jesse’s face. “I did not know, Jesse! I had no idea that you would be so offended by my father’s crimes! I thought you had done your research!”

For a moment, Jesse is cowed. Naïve. People keep telling him that.

Hanzo’s eyes drop, for just a split second, to Jesse’s lips. “When I came to your room,” his voice is so much quieter, slower. “I thought that you and I would…”

He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. Jesse’s the one who sent the texts.

“So your excuse is that you didn’t mean to hurt me, you’re just a bad person,” Jesse growls.

Hanzo lifts his chin defiantly, meets Jesse’s gaze sharply. “You did not think so before.”

“Human trafficking is wrong,” Jesse says flatly, amazed that he needs to point this out.

“I have no control over that,” Hanzo answers defensively.

“You will, someday. You gonna do something about it?”

There’s a brief pause.

“I don’t know.” Hanzo looks lost when he says it, his gaze lowered, fixated on his hand against Jesse’s bare chest.

He looks young, suddenly. He’s twenty-one. He’s the son of a crime lord. He doesn’t leave the compound that often. ”He’s never going to love you.”

”You don’t know that."

Jesse starts to feel it: that ache again. The one that’s becoming familiar. And its ol’ pal. Virgin.

“Hanzo,” Jesse says, all of the anger drained out of him. Hanzo’s father sent him here to kill Jesse, and he hasn’t. He never even tried, not really. He could have killed Jesse when he was singing in the shower, or when he was carefully manicuring his beard, or when Hanzo snuck up behind him. He hadn’t even had a weapon.

“When you texted me,” Jesse begins to ask, hesitant. He’s not sure he wants to know the truth, not sure if he can trust the answer Hanzo gives him. “Were you lying?”

He can tell by the colour rising in Hanzo’s face that he understands exactly what Jesse’s asking. “No.” His voice is soft.

Jesse raises a hand, threading the ends of Hanzo’s hair through his fingers gently. “Your father told you to get to know me,” he says, because he knows that for sure.

“My father told me to give you a tour of the gardens the first day you were here,” Hanzo replies.

“That’s it?” Jesse asks. “What did you tell him? Does he know about the beach? About the messages?” His voice remains soft, but he needs to know.

“I told him about the beach, because he wanted to know why I came home so late. I told him I was getting to know you for the sake of our alliance.” Hanzo tilts his head to one side, eyes dropping down to Jesse’s lips again. “I was lying, then. Not to you, to him.”

Jesse lets out a short breath, trying to keep his head. He’s been in this exact same position with Hanzo before, admiring the sweep of his eyelashes.

“I didn’t tell him about the messages,” Hanzo whispers. Their little secret.

“How did he know, then? About us?”

Hanzo’s eyes drop to the floor. His face twists into something ugly, a scowl. “He suspects that I’m fucking every man who stays on the compound.”

Jesse’s heart stings, sudden and painful. “You’re not,” he says, and it’s a statement, but there’s a question in there, too. A request for confirmation.

“You were the first one I wanted to,” Hanzo breathes.

A virgin.

Jesse kisses him, finally. After days that have felt like weeks, stretched thin and taut with longing, Jesse dips his head and presses his lips against Hanzo’s.

Jesse goes gentle, slow, as he runs his tongue across the seam of Hanzo’s lips, but Hanzo makes a noise in his throat, opens his mouth, presses forward. Brings the hand that was pressed to Jesse’s chest up to cradle Jesse’s jaw, urging him closer.

Hanzo is needy, demanding. Jesse can feel himself starting to sweat.

Hanzo licks his way into Jesse’s mouth, sends shivers through Jesse’s core, presses him back against the wall with his insistence. Jesse’s legs fall open all on their own and Hanzo fits himself neatly in between. There’s nothing shy in the way he presses their hips together, and Jesse can feel Hanzo’s dick through his pants.

Jesse drops his head back, gasping for air. Hanzo nuzzles at his exposed jaw, his neck.

“I want to see,” Hanzo murmurs against Jesse’s skin. His fingers are hovering at the hem of Jesse’s boxers.

Jesse’s stomach drops. “You already saw,” he teases, trying to pretend Hanzo isn’t fucking destroying him.

Hanzo presses his face a little more firmly into Jesse’s neck, tilts his head a little so his lips brush against Jesse’s ear when he says, “I want to touch.”

Jesse moans helplessly. “You’re gonna kill me,” he says. Hanzo’s fingers are still flirting around his waistline, but Jesse pushes them away gently.

Hanzo looks up at him, wide-eyed and stung. Jess realizes there’s a parallel here, between this moment and a very unpleasant one they’d had before.

“Hush, darlin’,” Jesse whispers, though Hanzo hasn’t said a thing. “It ain’t fair - me in my undies, and you all dressed up…” He trails off, plucking at the collar of Hanzo’s yukata - less formal than the ones he wore on the compound, and cut shorter down his thighs, with pants underneath. All black. Assassin’s clothes.

Jesse smiles idiotically against the crown of Hanzo’s head. Hanzo’s daddy thinks he’s killing Jesse right now. God, but he is, in the best possible way.

Hanzo makes quick work of his clothes, dropping his shirt, unbuttoning his pants.

“Where’s the fire?” Jesse teases, eyes taking in every inch of skin that gets bared.

Hanzo makes an exasperated face at him, but instead of answering he pushes Jesse firmly back against the wall and kisses him again, and again, and again.

Jesse considers himself thoroughly chastised.

His hands drift to Hanzo’s hips, then slide back. This time he’s the one whose fingers are dipping just past the elastic of Hanzo’s underwear. Hanzo breaks off from his aggressive kissing; Jesse can feel a shiver run through him.

The first person to touch him there. Jesse feels unaccountably emotional for a moment. He distracts himself by slipping his hands down, grabbing two handfuls of Hanzo’s bare ass. Hanzo lets out a little startled noise, ducking his head to hide the way he turns red.

“Aw, come on,” Jesse mutters, his voice hoarse. “Look at me, darlin’.”

Hanzo does; he raises his chin in that defiant way Jesse’s come to know so well, and it feels like his heart is swelling in his chest.

“Gorgeous,” Jesse whispers, one hand abandoning its post to tuck a stray piece of hair back behind Hanzo’s ear. Hanzo makes a quiet noise of protest, but the way he looks up at Jesse, lit only by the stream of light that’s falling in from the bathroom, hair messy from their fight, eyelashes long, cheekbones high and sloping, bare skin all the way down his torso -

It’s undeniable. Hanzo is so fucking gorgeous. Jesse kisses him again, because he can, and the fact that he can makes his heart surge in his chest, so he does it twice.

And then Jesse turns his head a little, rubbing his nose against Hanzo’s temple, and tells him, soft and sweet, “Baby, I’m gonna make you come.”

Hanzo breathes in sharply; his hand, resting on Jesse’s shoulder, tightens its grip.

Jesse allows the hand tucked in the back of Hanzo’s boxer to wander to the front, dragging teasingly across Hanzo’s skin. Hanzo squirms, and Jesse wonders if Hanzo’s ticklish, smiles at the thought. He pulls his head back, wanting to see Hanzo’s face as he finally closes his hand around Hanzo’s dick.

Hanzo gasps like the breath’s been punched out of him. Jesse can’t help the smirk that tilts the corners of his lips up. He takes a moment to pull Hanzo’s boxers down, and they both look down at Hanzo’s dick. Jesse wraps his hand around it again, makes a show of pumping up and down while they both watch.

“Feel good?” Jesse drawls, into the intense silence of the room.

Hanzo looks up at him. His eyes are half-lidded with pleasure, his mouth wet and open like he’s shocked at how it feels. Jesse’d thought he’d been keeping his cool up til then, but with Hanzo staring at him like that - his dick twitches in his boxers and he closes his eyes, swallowing a deep, almost pained noise.

“Look at me,” Hanzo pants at him, echoing his words from earlier. A hapless smile spreads across Jesse’s face as he obeys, utterly fucking besotted.

And then Hanzo really takes initiative: he slides his hands down Jesse’s waist, pushes his boxers down his thighs. He looks, and Jesse momentarily forgets that he’s supposed to be giving a handjob. That sharp gaze is fixed on him, and it’s not the first time Hanzo’s seen his dick, but even that is making it harder to breathe.

Just having Hanzo’s eyes on him makes Jesse’s dick pulse. Jesse moans a little, half from embarrassment and half from being so fucking turned on.

He lets Hanzo study his dick for a few minutes before he starts making impatient little noises. Hanzo raises an eyebrow at him, drawing out another sappy grin. It dies an abrupt death when Hanzo puts his hand on Jesse’s dick.

His grip is tentative, feeling the shape of it, thumb gliding delicately over the head, smearing the precome gathered there. It feels so fucking good Jesse wants to cry.

“God,” he whispers, and he’d be happy to let Hanzo touch him soft and gentle like that all day, only he wants to come, and he wants to come with Hanzo. He wants them to come together.

He loops the hand that’s not still weakly grasping Hanzo’s dick around Hanzo’s back and pulls him forward a few steps. He presses their erections together, opening his hand to encompass both of them.

Hanzo makes a muted noise at the sensation, his unoccupied hand tightening once again on Jesse’s shoulder. His other hand moves over to Jesse’s hip, giving Jesse more room to spread his fingers. Jesse latches his mouth onto Hanzo’s throat, kisses softly, sucks at the skin.

He starts to stroke the two of them, his owns eyes fluttering shut at how good it feels. He wishes he could watch Hanzo’s face while he does this, but the noises are already too much. Hanzo’s breath is stuttering, both of his hands clenching convulsively on Jesse’s skin. Jesse lifts his mouth to breathe against Hanzo’s ear.

“You sound so good,” he whispers. Hanzo lets out a groan. Jesse’s not sure if it’s from the barely-there stimulation against his ear, or because Jesse’s picking up the pace with his hand, adjusting his grip to be a little firmer, a little tighter.

“I -” Hanzo gasps, trying to speak, but he can’t seem to catch his breath. Jesse releases his grip on the both of them, and Hanzo’s eyes fall open, looking for an answer.

Jesse closes his hand again around just Hanzo. He drags his thumb torturously across the sensitive area under the head. Hanzo’s mouth drops open. Jesse moves his hand up and down, slow and tight.

Hanzo’s hips buck. Jesse’s about to open his mouth, tease him a little more, but - Hanzo’s already coming, hot and wet on Jesse’s stomach.

Jesse’s dick pulses in sympathy, heat burning through him at the sight of it; Hanzo’s grimacing like he’s in pain, teeth grit and utterly silent. Jesse keeps stroking him through, keeps stroking him until Hanzo groans, pushes his hands away, drops forward bonelessly onto Jesse’s shoulder.

“You okay, darlin’?” Jesse asks, low and teasing. Hanzo makes a weak noise against Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse kisses his temple.

With Hanzo still leaning against him like that, Jesse grasps his own dick, starts to touch himself.

“Hanzo,” he murmurs. Hanzo turns his head on Jesse’s shoulder, an acknowledgement. “When I was texting you,” he begins, voice slow and thick as molasses, “Where were you?”

Hanzo buries his face back into Jesse’s neck. “Osaka,” he whispers.

“With your dad?”

“Yes.”

“You touched yourself?” Jesse prompts, hand already speeding up, stomach already tense with excitement.

“Yes,” Hanzo breathes, and Jesse’s getting ready to ask another question, to play twenty questions, but Hanzo continues, “I read your messages under the table at the restaurant we were eating lunch at. When you sent the picture I went to the washroom.”

Jesse closes his eyes, his hand fast and tight, his tongue wetting his dry lips, his stomach clenching.

“I locked the door,” Hanzo tells him, step-by-step, “I touched myself. I thought of this. I looked at the picture and I wanted to touch you.”

Jesse groans as he comes, loud and long. He grips himself tight, riding the waves of his orgasm, and Hanzo kisses his neck.

He feels exhausted afterwards, like he hasn’t slept in years.

He manhandles Hanzo over to the bed, pushes him in under the covers.

For a moment there’s a look of doubt on Hanzo’s face, like he knows he’s supposed to be saying that he shouldn’t stay - but he doesn’t say it. Jesses climbs in after him, spoons up behind him. He thinks that he should have set an alarm. He has a plane to catch.

He can’t think about that. Not with Hanzo’s breath already deepening, warm in his arms. Not with sleep blacking out his peripheral vision, filling his sight with nothing but Hanzo, his inky black hair spreading across the sheets, achingly beautiful.

Notes:

warmsierramist@twitter (takes place in the Darkest Timeline where hanzos dad has seen mccree's dick pic... bone-chilling... i love it, i love it, i love this art) almadraws@twitter (godddd.... sometimes the only way to cope with an awful, heartbreaking scene in a fic is to lovingly draw it out in beautiful detail i guess lmfao THIS IS PAINFUL TO LOOK AT and i love it.) almadraws@twitter (MULTIPLE!!! CAN U BELIEVE.... genjis shirt is so good, and, this picture is good, i LOVE genji saying lmao out loud, fucking same) rokudo@twitter (this piece of art, is beautiful, and i love it, but i keep picturing hanzo saying "oh jesse, if only somebody loved you" which actually, would be better dialogue than whatever i wrote in my fic, didnt frozen win an oscar, ive never even seen that movie) badookie@tumblr (beach party mccree and hanzo....... im so emotional about the painstaking accuracy of their outfits tbh and ALSO it wasnt like expressly written but actually yes you were supposed to be visualizing genji wearing a naruto forehead protector in the beach party scene, so if you weren't please go back and re-read, thanks. I LOVE THIS ARt....)

Tips for Expanding Your Business On An International Scale

013

Chapter 6: these violent delights have violent ends Summary:

first 2200-ish words are porn sorry :^) then there's some plot.

Notes:

thank you for reading

the best way to contact me is twitter.com/broyaji. if you'd prefer to contact me anonymously my personal blog is banken-man.tumblr.com

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Jesse wakes all wrapped up around Hanzo.

Despite getting off enthusiastically the night before, his dick is hard and throbbing against Hanzo’s hip. Hanzo’s still asleep, as far as Jesse can tell.

He strokes one hand down Hanzo’s bare arm, nuzzles his face a little deeper against Hanzo’s warm shoulder.

“Your beard feels unpleasant,” Hanzo says. Jesse can’t help the way he smiles at that.

With one hand on Hanzo’s shoulder Jesse rolls Hanzo onto his back, straddles his hips. Looks down at him. He’s caught up all over again in admiring all of Hanzo’s sharp, angular features. He lifts a hand to trace over the line of Hanzo’s cheekbone, then the thick cut of his eyebrow. Hanzo’s face reddens under the attention.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Jesse purrs, voice deepened by the clinging grasp of sleep and his accent syrup-thick. Hanzo seems to become aware of Jesse’s hardness in that moment. He pushes his hips up experimentally, just a hint of pressure.

It makes Jesse gasp, his own hips arching into the friction. He brings his mouth down to Hanzo’s ear, kissing the shell of it, his breaths coming heavy.

“Are you going to fuck me?” Hanzo asks, soft and shy. Jesse can feel the way the words make his face heat where his nose makes contact with Hanzo’s skin. The way Hanzo’s voice drops, gets quieter like his mouth doesn’t fit quite right around the expletive makes his heart clench. He wants to ask, Who taught you a word like that?

It was probably Genji.

“Baby, I’m gonna make love to you,” Jesse promises, breathy and fucking romantic. He continues kissing behind Hanzo’s ear, moves his lips down to his jaw, his neck. His hand is on Hanzo’s thigh, conveniently bared by the cut of Hanzo’s boxers. The sensations make Hanzo gasp, his eyes already losing focus. He’s so good; he’s so fucking good, and Jesse could never deserve this.

“Please do not say that,” Hanzo murmurs, trying to kill the mood even as his legs are falling open under Jesse’s caresses.

“Which part?” Jesse asks, teasing. “You don’t like me calling you baby?” He runs his fingers lightly over Hanzo’s chest. “Or you don’t like making love?” He kisses Hanzo’s collarbones through a grin.

“Both,” Hanzo replies, his tone flat, at first, and then breaking when Jesse bites gently at his skin.

“Okay,” Jesse allows, easy. He leans back, gazing down at Hanzo from above. “I’m gonna make you feel good, though,” he says, like it’s a warning. Then, as he strokes a thumb over one of Hanzo’s nipples he whispers, “Darlin’.” His other hand finally stops teasing, closes around Hanzo’s dick, strokes once, twice, and he whispers, “Honey.” He leans down and presses his lips against Hanzo’s, and against his lips he whispers, “Sweetheart.”

Hanzo is so immediately responsive to the stimulation Jesse gives him. He takes deep, shuddering breaths, he shifts his hips, he arches his back.

Jesse hates to leave him, but he rolls out of bed anyway.

“Where are you going?” Hanzo asks, eyes snapping open as he sits bolt upright.

“Don’t you worry,” Jesse mutters. He’s on his knees digging through his suitcase. It takes him a long, frustrating minute to find his bottle of lube. He stumbles back over to the bed, rifles through the drawer of the side table. It’s a love hotel: there are condoms of every size provided. For a whimsical - perhaps foolish - moment, he toys with grabbing the largest.

He picks out the appropriate size, instead. Safe sex is no joke.

When he fits himself back into the vee of Hanzo’s legs, he finds that he’s ruined the mood a little with his practicality. He smiles ruefully, ducks his head a little. Resumes his lazy kisses. Hanzo remains recalcitrant against him for almost a minute, but all Jesse has to do is slide his hand back up Hanzo’s thigh before his legs are yielding open again. He’s so easy it sends shocks of pleasure down Jesse’s spine.

Maybe after last night he’s not exactly a virgin anymore. But when Jesse closes his hand around Hanzo’s dick again and hears that wounded little gasp, feels the tension in his spine, Jesse’s brain starts chanting it all over again. A virgin, and now, something new: Mine.

Jesse probably couldn’t stop kissing Hanzo if he tried. He has an agenda, knows at some point he’ll have to draw back, take stock of the situation, move on, but right now he’s in this haze of contentment, chest full of this glowing heat that occasionally sparks when Hanzo does something clever with his tongue - God, he’s a quick learner - or rubs his thigh - probably by accident - against Jesse’s groin.

He lifts his head, tries to steady his breathing. It sounds easy in theory, but when he pulls away Hanzo makes a soft, disappointed noise and opens his eyes little, gazing blearily up at Jesse through his eyelashes. Jesse groans, but he forces himself to sit back.

“I’d love to lie in bed with you all day,” he murmurs, opening the foil condom packet. Hanzo gaze sharpens as he watches, and he shifts against the sheets. Jesse thinks he must be nervous. He rolls the condom onto Hanzo’s dick wondering if sex has ever made him feel so ridiculously tender before. “But I gotta leave, so we better get this show on the road.”

And the thing about that is - it must have been the wrong thing to say, because Hanzo goes absolutely still under him. It’s possible that he even stops breathing.

“You’re going?” Hanzo asks, voice a hoarse whisper.

Jesse hadn’t been thinking much about it, but the sadness of it hits him right then. “I gotta,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind Hanzo’s ear. With a bitter smile, he reminds Hanzo, “Your daddy’s still out to kill me.”

Hanzo frowns this awful, fierce, thoughtful frown that turns his eyebrows into angry slants. Then he surges up out of the bed, catches his arms around Jesse’s shoulders, and pulls him down for one of the most intense kisses Jesse’s ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

It goes on, and then it goes on a little longer, and then Jesse realizes they’re in danger of falling into that same hazy trance as before, so he pulls back again and flicks open the cap of the lube. Hanzo’s attention zeroes in on it immediately.

“I thought that you would be the one to -” He can’t quite seem to finish the thought, cheeks reddening a little.

Jesse can’t quite figure out what the best answer would be. We don’t have enough time is too callous, would kill the mood all over. I wanted your first time to be as pleasant as possible would probably scare Hanzo off fingering, which definitely isn’t what he wants.

I really like taking it up the ass would just make him sound slutty. Which he is, but. Well.

Jesse elects not to answer, instead shifting back onto his knees and spreading his legs. It’s probably a good thing Hanzo can’t see what he’s doing from this angle, because he’s definitely rushing it and that’s not the ideal way to teach by example.

It feels good anyway, and Jesse’s mouth drops open as he works his fingers in. Hanzo’s eyes smoulder darkly as they dart from the slackness of his jaw to the movement of his arm.

“Does it hurt?” Hanzo asks, voice rough. He’s started stroking himself a little.

Jesse clenches his jaw against a whine, has to close his eyes. “God, no,” he breathes. Having Hanzo watch him makes the stretch so much better, makes the elusivity of that angle irrelevant, because he feels like he could come just from this, just from having those eyes fixed on him.

He’s getting a little carried away. He eases his fingers out, opens his eyes, blinks a few times. “It hurts when you’re not used to it,” he amends. “If you don’t know what you’re doing. You have to be careful.” Hanzo’s a virgin. Jesse shouldn’t lead him astray.

Hanzo’s half lidded eyes tell him he’s not really listening anyway, isn’t viewing this as a learning opportunity. His hand has unconsciously started moving a little faster on his dick. Jesse feels very pleased with himself.

“You ready, baby?” He asks, solicitous. He remembers that he promised he wouldn’t call Hanzo baby. Hanzo doesn’t seem like he’s even noticed. He’s nodding, planting his feet against the sheets. The pace of his breathing has picked up. Jesse can see it in the rise and fall of his chest.

Once again, that feeling that he could never deserve this, that overwhelming tenderness. Jesse closes his eyes against it. He settles himself carefully over Hanzo’s hips. He positions Hanzo’s dick. When he finally eases the head of it in, his eyes snap open.

The look on Hanzo’s face is - lost. Astonished. Anguished. When Jesse eases himself further down, Hanzo throws his head to his side, eyes shut tight. Jesse’s insides are clenching around Hanzo, and he knows it’s probably bordering on overwhelming, but he can’t stop himself. It’s been so long since he’s been properly fucked. And God, he’s going to - he’s not going to waste this opportunity.

He sinks himself down fully and lets out this full-throated moan at the exact same time as Hanzo keens like he’s in pain. And then, when Jesse’s not expecting it - Hanzo’s been so placid, so docile, lying there and being so good - Hanzo suddenly fucks his hip up wild and desperate. He impales Jesse so deep that Jesse curls forward gasping for air, shocks of pleasure shooting through him like electricity.

“Christ, Hanzo,” he pants, and Hanzo looks at him, wide-eyed, just as stunned, and then he does it again.

Over and over, Hanzo bucks, using his feet on the bed for leverage, hands twisting in the sheets, and what can Jesse do but ride him, take it, yell every time the angle hits that spot, that spot he can’t reach with his fingers, God, this is everything he’d hoped it would be, virgin, virgin, virgin,but in all things Hanzo is proud, shockingly strong, indomitable.

Jesse’s starting to wonder if that tender feeling that keeps filling him up is some kind of close relative to love, which he’s sure would horrify him if he could fucking think, but he can’t, so instead he bends his body into some awkward, unsatisfying angle because God help him, he just wants to kiss Hanzo.

It doesn’t last, though, not this time, because Jesse misses the way he felt so full before, so he sits himself back up, and when Hanzo slots back into place, warm, full, deep, fitting perfectly into him, Jesse throws back his head in pleasure.

“Jesse,” Hanzo groans.

It hits Jesse like a lightning bolt, it makes him clench and shudder and convulse on Hanzo’s dick, it makes precum spill out of him. He never knew hearing his own name could elicit pleasure like that, but it does, and he wants to hear it again, wants to hear Hanzo desperate, blatant in his wanting, wants to know that it’s because of him.

“Jesse,” Hanzo starts to chant, just his name over and over. His hips are starting to stutter and Jesse knows he must be close, and he doesn’t want this to end but it has to, and when it does it’s gonna be fucking glorious.

So he takes himself in hand and jerks off quickly, only has to stroke himself a few times, the feeling of it a counterpoint to Hanzo’s jack rabbiting hips, the flex and grind of them as he keeps trying to push himself deeper, and Jesse can’t stand how good it feels.

He comes, body rigid, crying out ridiculously loudly, and thank God they’re in a love hotel, actually, with its soundproof walls, because Jesse’s coming like he’s in a porno, throwing his head back and bouncing his hips and shouting Hanzo’s name.

Jesse looks down and sees Hanzo’s eyes fixed on him, a look of awe on his face. There’s a muscle in his jaw twitching and his fists are knotting the sheets and that’s when Jesse realizes Hanzo’s coming too, his hips pressed flush to Jesse’s ass and making tiny movements, not much more than muscle spasms. He’s buried deep, so deep, and it makes Jesse start groaning all over again.

In the aftermath he finds himself wondering: is it sad that it was Hanzo’s first time, and this is still the best sex he’s ever had?

Hanzo’s a quick learner, though. The concession must be made.

Jesse pulls himself off of Hanzo in one move and flops backwards onto the bed. He thinks he would be happy to never move again.

Apparently Hanzo doesn’t feel the same way. He sits up, back alarmingly straight considering the rigorous exercise they’ve just been through. He pulls off the condom and then, to Jesse’s horror, he gets out of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Jesse asks. He wishes he sounded less forlorn. He’s never considered himself the clingy type, but he’s barely even been allowed three minutes of afterglow.

“I am going to shower,” Hanzo says. He shuts the bathroom door behind him. Jesse feels - stunned. First of all, Hanzo’s not the one who’s asshole is still wet with lube. Very rude. Very bad sex etiquette.

Maybe Jesse’s fucked up somehow. That would be pretty par for the course. He’s just not sure… He’d thought he’d done pretty well. He’d been pretty satisfied with his performance.

He’s lying there agonizing about it when there’s a knock on the door. Jesse glances at the clock on the bedside table. It’s half past eight. He’s also not wearing any pants, or underwear, and, actually, now that he’s taking stock of the situation his ass is still gross and sticky. He closes his eyes and breathes a deep, anguished sigh.

“Room service!” Calls the person at the door. There are several problems with that. One of them is that Jesse hasn’t ordered any room service. One of them is that the person behind the door has somehow intuited that he speaks English. Yet another is that he’s fairly sure that love hotels don’t have room service.

Jesse gingerly gets out of bed and pulls on the boxers he’d discarded earlier. On the bright side of things, he’s not walking with a limp.

He puts on the most deprecating look he can muster as he pulls the door open. Genji’s modelling some truly radical bedhead and still wearing the clothes he wore in the car yesterday.

“Just wake up?” Jesse asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m eighteen,” Genji explains, waving an arm. “I never wake up before noon unless my life depends on it.” That comment would probably be a little funnier if it hadn’t been for the fact that Genji’s father would kill them both if he found them.

Genji cocks his head to one side suddenly. “There’s someone in your shower,” he says, uncertain. As if he’s not sure Jesse’s aware.

Jesse shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Your brother followed us here.” It seems weird that Genji has no idea. Last night feels like it was years ago. He can’t believe he was grappling with Hanzo in this hotel room less than twelve hours ago.

Genji’s eyes fall, unfortunately, onto the mussed bed sheets. He makes a weird face like he can’t decide what kind of expression he wants to use. Jesse can feel his face going red. There’s no way he’s going to be able to deny what happened here.

“Okay,” Genji says. He carefully averts his eyes, staring blankly at the door Jesse is still holding open. “Well. We should. Get ready. And head out to the airport. I was thinking around nine. See you then.”

And Genji leaves. Jesse feels even worse than he did before. He’s somehow fucked up and made Hanzo mad (is he mad? Or is it some other emotion? Jesse can’t tell) and now he’s alienated Genji too. At least he can be certain what he did wrong in Genji’s books.

It had sort of seemed yesterday like Genji wanted Jesse and Hanzo to… Get along? Make up? He’d given Hanzo the address of the last hotel, after all.

Then again, getting along didn’t necessarily mean fucking each others’ brains out. Which Jesse can’t even be happy about, because Hanzo’s still locked in the bathroom, and God, how long has he been in there, anyway? Jesse’s ass is starting to dry and the lube is getting uncomfortable and with each second that passes he’s starting to feel closer to a temper tantrum.

When Hanzo finally emerges from behind the closed door, a cloud of steam wafting all around him, he's dressed again - in the same clothes as last night, but you couldn't tell that by looking at him. His hair is drawn back into a sleek ponytail. He looks put-together and sharp-angled; his jaw is tightly clenched.

In short, he's the very picture of restraint. No evidence of what they'd done earlier remains. No sign shows that he's the same man Jesse had under him on the mattress, the one Jesse kissed and kissed and felt tenderly for.

Jesse can't stand to look at him. He pushes past into the bathroom.

His normal five minute shower routine gets stretched into ten as he tries to clean up the mess Hanzo made. He grimaces at himself in the mirror afterwards, brushes his teeth fiercely. He dresses in plain clothes that won't attract attention at the airport, won't get him stopped by security. A white button-up shirt, blue jeans. Yes, he wears cowboy boots with them, but they don't have spurs.

He’ll look like any other American tourist, probably. He shoves all of his belongings back into his suitcase and exits the bathroom.

Hanzo has made the bed. He's probably ashamed, Jesse thinks. He doesn't want anyway to know what happened here. Not even the maids at a love hotel.

Jesse’s chest clenches. This is all he amounts to: another shameful secret for the Shimada clan to hide.

God. He's not gonna let that happen.

“What, are you mad at me?” Jesse snaps, because Hanzo’s standing there by the bed not looking at him.

Hanzo actually winces, as if the words have hurt him. But he doesn't make any reply.

Jesse’s fists clench. He crosses the room in a couple of strides, buries a few fingers in the front of Hanzo’s shirt so he’s forced to look Jesse in the face.

“What do you want from me?” He asks. He’d thought he was angry. The way his voice comes out is just sad.

Hanzo, despite the proximity of their faces, drops his eyes to Jesse’s chin to avoid making eye contact. He's quiet for so long Jesse thinks he's trying to get away with not answering.

Then he says, “It was supposed to change things,” and his voice is so soft. Fragile. This is a confession Jesse has forced out of Hanzo with a fist gripping his shirt.

“What do you mean?” Jesse asks. His voice has gone rough. Hanzo’s eyelashes are drooping. Shame, like always. Frustration. Tears are shining in Hanzo’s eyes. Hadn't Jesse predicted, days and days ago, that Hanzo would be the type to cry out of frustration?

“When I had sex with you,” Hanzo looks up into Jesse’s eyes, suddenly fierce and sharp and edged with anger. “It was supposed to change things. You wanted me to. You wanted me to give you my virginity, so I did. But it didn't change anything.”

Jesse - doesn't know what to say. He doesn't understand. “What was it supposed to change?”

Hanzo pulls out of Jesse’s grip so he can turn away. Jesse can see that he's the one with clenched fists this time.

“You're leaving,” Hanzo says.

“Yeah,” Jesse agrees readily. It had never been up for debate. “As long as your daddy’s around to try and kill me, I can't stay.”

“You're leaving me,” Hanzo clarifies. He half turns his head, glares at Jesse out of the corner of his eye.

Jesse doesn't have any quick draw answer to that. He can't say that he'll come back, he can't say that they'll see each other again someday. Even if they were true he couldn't say them, because they don't fix anything.

They don't fix this, they don't fix anything. This is big and broken. This thing between Hanzo and Jesse - or maybe he's being too self-involved. Maybe it’s Hanzo himself. All that misery and loneliness and self-loathing. Jesse’s leaving it all behind.

“I wish I wasn't,” he says. That doesn't fix anything either.

Still, the corner of Hanzo’s mouth pulls up a little bit. It's not really a smile.

There's a knock on the door. Jesse opens it. Genji takes a good, hard look at Hanzo - who looks spotless, not a hair out of place, dressed to kill in his black clothes - and says nothing. The three of them leave the love hotel in total silence.

In the parking lot, Shimada is waiting for them, with twenty armed guards.

He smiles.

Genji looks at Hanzo. Jesse thinks, What was he doing in the bathroom all that time?

When they were in bed together, there was a moment. Jesse’d said, I’d love to lie in bed with you all day, but I’ve gotta leave. Hanzo had gone still. Stopped moving. And after that, he’d changed. He’d gotten more aggressive. He’d been - distracting.

Jesse is a fucking fool, and he’s been reminded of it constantly the last few days. He keeps falling for these little tricks. It’s gonna be the death of him. Shimada’s standing there with a gun - well, Shimada doesn't have a gun. But his henchmen does.

Ha ha. Jesse’s starting to get a little loopy. Caught up on the details.

Hanzo shifts slightly where he's standing, a few steps ahead of Jesse. He's put himself in the line of fire. On purpose.

Jesse’s eyes catch on Hanzo’s ponytail.

He wants to laugh. A fool.

Hanzo spent that time in the bathroom blow drying his hair.

Now he's putting himself at risk of being shot by his own father to save Jesse’s ungrateful, undeserving ass.

That tender feeling? Fuck it, it’s love. One week is enough. One week is enough to know that Jesse McCree would blow up a country to get back to Hanzo, because it doesn't fix anything but it matters anyway, because it has the chance to make Hanzo smile.

That's so goddamn sappy. That's the most romantic thing Jesse’s ever thought in his life. Shit, it’s love, isn't it?

He pushes Hanzo out of the line of fire and puts his hands up.

Shimada beams, evidently pleased with his obedience. He makes a gesture at Hanzo.

Hanzo’s fists clench again, and by now Jesse knows that means he’s feeling defiant.

“Just do it,” Jesse mutters to him. Hanzo glares.

Genji picks up the slack, folding Jesse’s arms behind his back and making it look really realistic. Which is to say - “Ow, Genji, that hurts.”

“Shut up, prisoner,” Genji breathes, and then marches Jesse over to his father.

“What pleasant surprise,” Shimada says. He doesn’t sound very pleased at all.

The knowledge that he needs to act fast presses persistently and uselessly at the back of Jesse’s mind. He doesn’t have a gun on him. Of course he doesn’t. He’d been on his way to the airport. As far as he can tell, Hanzo isn’t armed either. Jesse’d gotten pretty closely acquainted with that outfit last night, and there were definitely no swords or guns hidden under the fabric.

Genji… Genji’s wearing jeans with little patches sewed on. Jesse recognizes Hello Kitty on the back pocket. There’s also a blonde-haired, blue-eyed anime kid who looks familiar. Little headband across his forehead. Jesse can’t remember what he’s called.

Anyway. Jesse can tell Genji would be worse than useless in a fight. He’d be distracting.

Jesse stands before Shimada, mind racing. He’s slightly bent over from the way Genji’s holding on to him. The grunt beside Shimada begins to raise his gun, aiming for Jesse’s head.

Genji relaxes his grip on Jesse’s arm. Jesse honestly can’t tell if he did it on purpose or not. It doesn’t matter; it’s enough. He breaks his arms free and grabs the gun. One hard tug and the gun comes into Jesse’s possession. One pivot and the gun is pressed tight against Shimada’s temple.

Shimada’s bodyguards all freeze, weapons half-raised.

“If you move, I’ll shoot,” Jesse says. His voice is completely level. This is not his first hostage situation. Beneath the hand gripping Shimada’s shoulder tightly, he can feel the way Shimada’s breaths are short and shallow. The man isn’t immune to fear after all.

Genji’s car is still in the parking lot. Jesse makes eye contact with Genji for a second, twitches his head toward it. Genji hesitates. Jesse has no idea what goes through his mind in that moment. He’s staring at the gun pressed to his father’s head.

Before Jesse can really start to worry about it, Genji climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

Jesse’s eyes meet Hanzo’s. “Get in the car,” he orders, adjusting his grip on the gun. Hanzo’s eyes, like Genji’s, seem drawn to the point where the muzzle meets Shimada’s greying hair. Hanzo climbs into the passenger seat.

“Time for a family road trip,” Jesse mutters to Shimada. He forces him to turn so that Jesse can keep the bodyguards in his sight while they walk backwards toward the car.

For a moment after the door shuts the four of them sit in silence. It’s like they’re all waiting for a cue. Jesse’s mind is racing. He doesn’t know when the thugs outside are going to start shooting, but he feels like, inevitably, they will.

“It sure would solve a lot of my problems if I blew your brains out,” he tells Shimada conversationally.

In the front seat, Hanzo and Genji both go tense.

He doesn’t understand it. Despite everything, they’re both terrified of their father dying.

“Drive, Genji. I got a plane to catch.” Jesse keeps the gun pressed to Shimada’s head, ready for the first sign that things are going south.

The car lurches into motion. Apparently, stress isn’t good for Genji’s already erratic, dangerous driving.

“Christ, Genji, I’m holding a loaded gun back here,” Jesse gripes. Genji replies with a wordless noise of distress. Right, Jesse probably should have handled that one a bit better.

The car proceeds more or less smoothly out of the parking lot from there, merges into traffic on the street. Jesse tries to carefully divide his attention between keeping the gun trained on Shimada and watching out the back window for signs that the armed guards are following. There’s no doubt in Jesse’s mind that they’ll follow; they’re too loyal, too well-trained to give up on their leader. The question is still how Jesse’s going to get out of this alive.

It occurs to him as the vehicle slows for gridlock traffic. “Hanzo,” he calls. Hanzo turns to face him, brow pinched with anxiety. “Come back here,” he orders.

Once again, Jesse is met with that tense moment of hesitation where he doesn’t know if his order will be followed. The thing about Genji or Hanzo disobeying him is that he won’t shoot them if they do. Shimada rebelling against him is no problem. In fact, it might actually be a relief.

But if Genji stops driving the car, or Hanzo refuses to crawl into the back with him… Then he’s stuck. No back-up plan. Probably doomed to die in Hanamura, the way the Deadlock Gang expects him to.

Hanzo undoes his seatbelt and gingerly moves between the two front seats.

Shimada strikes like a snake, hands grappling at Jesse’s wrist for the gun.

The car erupts into incoherent yelling. Traffic has started moving again, so Genji has to keep his eyes on the road. There’s a loaded, cocked gun being wrestled over in the back seat. Shimada has a grip on Jesse like a pitbull and won’t let go. Hanzo crouches there, frozen with indecision until a stray limb catches him in the face, and he reels back for a moment before launching forward to join the fray properly.

It ends when Jesse gets an elbow in Shimada’s stomach, bending him over double in the seat. Hanzo has the gun. Jesse’s panting. One of them is bleeding, but it’s not clear who.

Hanzo makes eye contact with Jesse over his father’s head. Jesse doesn’t look at the gun. He refuses to look at the gun. If Hanzo’s about to shoot him, he doesn’t want to know.

They stop at a traffic light. Jesse pushes the door beside him open. He seizes Shimada, who’s still clutching at his stomach and wheezing, gets a hand around his collar, and throws him out the door of the car. The man stumbles a few times, completely taken by surprise, and then he trips and falls.

In a few minutes, his henchmen will find him there. They’ll get him back into one of their cars and continue to chase Jesse to the airport. The chances of Jesse making it out of here are still close to zero.

Hanzo practically crawls into Jesse’s lap, staring at his father on the side of the road with his mouth half-open. He turns his head, meets Jesse’s eyes again.

Something like understanding passes between them - it’s only like understanding, because it leaves Jesse totally confused about what’s been understood. It doesn’t matter much, really, because the next thing he knows, Hanzo’s leaning forward a little, pressing their lips together.

Earlier that morning, Jesse’d thought he’d never been kissed so intensely by anyone as he’d been kissed by Hanzo. Now he’s thinking he’s never been kissed so softly.

Maybe that tender feeling is mutual.

Hanzo jumps out of the car. He grabs his father by the arm and drags him off the road, into an alley and out of sight. As he disappears, Jesse sees him pull a phone out of his father’s pocket.

Jesse suddenly realizes what he was supposed to understand from that look. Hanzo’s buying him time.

He pulls the car door closed. Genji starts driving again. There’s a weight in Jesse’s lap. When he inspects it, he finds the gun. Just in case.

Jesse touches his lips like he's trying to feel the impression Hanzo left there. He’ll probably do it again, a week from now, thousands of miles away. He'll probably keep doing it. For months, maybe. Keep trying to remember what it felt like.

He’s going to live through this. He’s going to survive Hanamura. Genji weaves through traffic with the help of his GPS, but he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on the road. Jesse keeps looking out the back window, but he doesn’t see anything suspicious at all. No cars following them. No gunfire. Nothing.

That doesn’t mean he can relax. Even when they pull onto the winding drive that leads to the airport, he doesn’t relax. He sits forward in his seat, puts his hand on Genji’s headrest.

“Thank you,” he says. It’s not nearly adequate. Genji’s knuckles are white with the way his hands are clenched upon the steering wheel.

Jesse sighs softly as he pulls away. They stop in the drop-off lane. Before he can shuffle out of the car, leaving the gun behind on the seat, Genji grabs his shoulder.

“It was nice meeting you, Jesse McCree,” Genji says, managing a smile. It’s not the same carefree smile Jesse’d seen at that beach rave party - God, that feels like years ago. But it’s a smile Jesse is glad to return.

“If I’m ever back in Hanamura, I’ll look you up,” he says. Genji laughs.

Jesse gets out of the car. At least half of him expects someone to shoot him dead right there. Nothing happens at all. Genji drives away under the stern instruction of a traffic attendant. Jesse enters the airport and wanders his way toward the departures area.

He approaches the security lineup with no luggage, just the phone Genji gave him in his hand. It has his boarding pass and fake passport information loaded onto it. One of the sleeves of his shirt is stained red with blood. A quick catalogue of his body tells him he's not bleeding, so it must be from somebody else. He has no idea who.

The security officer at the checkpoint takes one look at him and summons someone else - someone who speaks English, he discovers.

Jesse speaks slowly and tries to stomp out his accent to better be understood as he explains: “I took one of them shuttle buses to get here, and I fell asleep on the way.” So far, so good. Nothing too suspicious. Innocuous.

“When the bus stopped I slammed my face into the window and gave myself a nosebleed. I had to use my sleeve to stop the bleeding,” he holds up his arm demonstratively. The security guard grimaces.

“I was so distracted that by the time I realized I didn't have my luggage, the bus was already gone. I can't afford to pay the exchange fee for my ticket, so I need to get on my flight now. Guess I’ll probably never see my suitcase again.”

If I was her, I wouldn't let me through, Jesse thinks glumly to himself.

But he must look as pathetic and hangdog as he feels. The security officer grimaces again - sympathetically, this time - and waves him through.

“You have to do something about that shirt,” she warns him. “They won't let you on the plane if you're covered in blood.”

That seems like a sound general rule. Jesse thanks the officer profusely as he passes to the other side - to safety. Maybe. They won't let Shimada through with weapons, right?

The paranoia doesn't leave him. It probably won't for a long time. Jesse buys a ridiculously expensive shirt with some kind of cute anime character on it from a kiosk aimed at tourists. Genji would get a kick out of it. They should have exchanged numbers. Jesse could have sent him a picture.

In the airport bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror in that special airport bathroom lighting that makes everything look grey, washed out and tired, Jesse gets hit by a crushing wave of sadness. He's trying not to think about - anything. About the words - it was supposed to change things. About other words. Virgin. Mine.

Neither of those words are true now.

Jesse puts the t-shirt on. He throws his old shirt on the garbage. He thumbs the phone on and checks the contacts list. There’s only one name in the address book: Genji.

Jesse takes a picture of himself and that silly anime shirt in the bathroom mirror and sends it.

Forty-five minutes later, he boards his flight. Thirty minutes after that, the plane takes off.

Jesse closes his eyes. One week in Hanamura. He's still alive, but irrevocably changed.

Notes:

thesis: the way the fluorescent lights take everything from you - standing alone in the airport bathroom, nothing left but this lousy t-shirt; to be reshaped by love is a form of violence.

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