Fics like bad people, bad habits, bad blood

In this life, trust does not come cheap. It had not been trust that had brought Keito and Kuro together two years ago; it had been a common goal and—as always in human history—exchanges of money, of precious goods. Neither had it been trust that maintained their silence. It had all been the assurance of mutual destruction: if one told, the other, armed to the teeth with shared conspiracy, had everything in his power to fell them both. Two years ago, that had been the case. To be sure, theirs remains a business relationship: Keito offers Kuro the organ-rich bodies his men pile up, Kuro offers him the drugs that numb everything for a while. But Kuro is unaffiliated with Crimson Moon—no one knows he exists, much less the depth of Keito’s dependence on him. Hasumi lǎo dà and Hasumi-sama ring in his ears each day, heads touching the floor in obsequious bows, missing little fingers, wreaths of cheap cigarette smoke in dim backroom gambling parlors thickening to harsher smoke in the inns the bosses gather in for farces of diplomacy. Hasumi-danna, solely Kuro will drawl, perhaps facetious acknowledgment of why they came into each other’s lives and what continues to bring them together.

Fics like bad people, bad habits, bad blood

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