Today was perfect.
His birthday. Shin-nii's discharge. The sun was out. The wind was good. The taiyaki had been warm. Even Grandpa hadn't nagged him about helmet straps.
And best of all?
The bike.
Shinichiro had handed him the keys that morning, wrapped in a tiny plastic bag and taped to a handwritten note that just said:
"Happy birthday. Try not to crash."
—S.
Mikey had stared at the bike—black, sleek, the kind of thing you only saw in manga—and he'd known immediately her name. "Babu."
Draken had blinked. "...What?"
"The bike's name is Babu," Mikey declared, solemn. "Babu-chan."
"You named your motorcycle," Draken said flatly, "before you started it."
"It has a vibe," Mikey replied, swinging a leg over with the confidence of a man who was absolutely about to violate traffic laws.
.
All morning had been laughter, cake, too much soda, and shouting over each other in the living room. Grandpa. Emma. Shin-nii. His friends were there, too, except for Kazutora and Baji, but well, they were busy.
Not that it mattered, because now they were on the road. Just him, Draken, and the open city.
Zephyr—the name Draken picked for his own—growled beside him, the engine low and proud as they cruised down a side street, slow and lazy.
"This is the best day ever," Mikey shouted over the wind.
"You've said that three times already," Draken called back.
"I'll say it again! It's Babu's birthday too!"
Draken snorted but didn't argue as they pulled off to the side near an empty parking lot to catch their breath, helmets pushed up (his grandfather insisted), sweat at the back of their necks.
Mikey flopped onto a low wall, grinning up at the sky like he'd just invented happiness. "Shin-nii's the best. Giving me that bike? He must've been planning it for weeks."
"You should tell him again," Draken said, sipping from a vending machine juice box. "You know how he is. He'll pretend he doesn't care, but he does."
Mikey kicked his feet. "I will. Let's go to the shop after this."
"He's probably there with the old guys," Draken added. "Benkei, Wakasa…the guys from the Black Dragon first gen."
"Let's go then," Mikey said, nodding.
Draken raised an eyebrow. "You sure we're allowed to crash that kind of hangout?"
Mikey smirked. "Not if we crash it quietly."
Draken groaned. "You mean spy."
"Strategic presence," Mikey corrected, grinning. "Besides, I wanna know what they're talking about. Shin-nii always acts all cool and wise, but I know he gossips."
Draken gave him a long look. "If we get caught, I'm blaming you."
"Of course," Mikey said cheerfully, already getting up.
They parked down the block from S.S. Motors, tucking the bikes out of sight. Mikey knew the back lot like the scar on his elbow—Shin-nii used to let him run around here as a kid. They crept around the back of the shop, crouching low behind a row of stacked tires and a faded vending machine that hadn't worked since 1997.
Mikey peeked around the corner, expecting to see Shinichiro alone—or maybe just laughing with his old Black Dragon buddies.
What he saw instead made him freeze.
Takemichi.
Stepping into the shop beside Shinichiro, carrying a paper bag—probably with sweets, because Shinichiro kept complaining about Mikey stealing his. Shinichiro opened the door for him like they'd done it a dozen times already. They were talking. Casual. Comfortable. Shinichiro was even smiling.
Mikey's brows drew together.
"…Oi," he muttered. "I thought he was avoiding people."
Draken, peering just over his shoulder, gave a low hum. "Yeah. Thought so too."
Then he paused.
"Looks like it was just us."
Mikey's head snapped toward him. "You texted him, too?"
Draken shrugged. "Yes, a couple of days ago. Said he was tired, but okay."
"Then we better hear what they're talking about," Mikey said, determined. Though he hadn't meant to eavesdrop for long, mostly until he grew bored. He thought he'd hear Shinichiro grumble about old man problems. Maybe Wakasa telling a dumb story. Maybe even Takemichi complaining about school.
Not this.
He crouched in place, still as a shadow, eyes wide. Draken beside him had gone silent too. Not out of fear—just shock. There was too much being said, and none of it felt like it was meant for them.
Especially not him.
Mikey's mouth had gone dry somewhere around his brother confessing that the one who attacked him was 'a friend of Mikey's.'
By the time Shinichiro said "That depends on what they say," Mikey's stomach felt like it had been hollowed out and filled with stones.
His brother—his Shin-nii—knew who hurt him. He knew they were Mikey's friends and he hadn't told him. Not even a hint or a flicker of suspicion. Not even a chance to defend them—or to demand answers himself.
Mikey didn't feel betrayed, exactly.
He felt… empty.
Like someone had scooped out something he didn't even realize he'd been clutching. He hadn't known how much he'd been waiting to hear the truth. Or to be trusted with it.
You didn't think I could handle it, he realized, not even angry. Just… numb. You didn't trust me with the ugly parts.
Takemichi's voice cut through the haze again—measured, calm, cutting in its honesty.
"I think Mikey deserves to know."
Mikey's chest clenched as he stared through the corner of the glass, watching Shinichiro hesitate. Watching Takemichi speak up for him—even while, all week, he barely responded to texts.
Mikey's jaw clenched.
Draken finally whispered, "You okay?"
Mikey didn't answer at first. He just watched Takemichi talk about this Vongola like it was both burden and pride. About how he didn't want someone else's battlefield. About growing up with snipers and assassins and cursed hitmen. And still, somehow, Takemichi had trusted him—even while Shinichiro hadn't.
Draken leaned closer. "Hey. You're really quiet."
"…He's been ignoring me," Mikey said, voice too even.
"Huh?"
"Takemichi. I thought he was ignoring everyone. But he's here."
Draken blinked, confused. "Uh. Yeah."
Mikey stared straight ahead, jaw tight. "So it really was just us."
Draken opened his mouth. Closed it. "Mikey…"
"I'm not mad," Mikey muttered, which was how everyone knew he kind of was. "I just don't get it."
Mikey's fingers hovered over his phone, eyes still locked on the small crack in the door where he could just make out Takemichi's profile. He scrolled through old messages. Most of them were unanswered. One or two got replies that were short. Polite. But nothing real.
His thumb moved before he could think about it.
Mikey - Still mad at me or something?
The sound of Takemichi's phone pinging from inside the shop was instant. Mikey saw him flinch slightly, reach into his pocket.
"Oh," Takemichi said, tone mild. "It's Mikey."
Shinichiro's voice followed a beat later. "He texts you a lot?"
Mikey pressed closer to the wall as Takemichi gave a soft little hum. "He did the day after the hospital visit. I tried to be polite. Short."
Mikey's hands curled into fists.
"To keep some distance," Takemichi continued, voice quieter now. "Like you asked."
Shinichiro didn't answer right away. Then—soft, regretful: "...Sorry."
Takemichi waved it off, though they couldn't see the way Mikey flinched outside.
"It's okay," he said with a small, crooked smile. "I'm used to it. This always happens when people find out who I am."
His voice wasn't bitter. Just tired, like someone saying gravity pulls things down.
"In Italy, it was the same. They'd get close… and then they'd realize I was Vongola. Or worse—they'd find out through someone else, and suddenly I was a symbol. A warning. A name." Takemichi rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought it might be different here. But maybe not."
Shinichiro's voice was quiet. "You're still just a kid, Takemichi."
Takemichi laughed, low and wry. "No, I'm not."
Outside, Mikey's chest felt like it had locked up, like all the air had been punched out of him. He'd thought Takemichi was ignoring him because of him. Because he was annoying. Because he made stupid jokes. Because maybe he talked too much or got too close too fast.
But no.
It was because his own brother told Takemichi to keep his distance. Because Shin-nii had decided—for both of them—that Mikey couldn't be trusted to know the truth. Or worse: that he couldn't be trusted to choose his own friends.
Mikey's fists clenched tighter around his phone, the screen dimming in his palm.
He wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or punch something.
Or both.
Draken finally said, low and careful, "Mikey—"
"I don't like this," Mikey whispered.
Draken blinked. "What?"
"This," Mikey hissed. "This thing where Shin-nii decides what's best for me and Takemichi goes along with it because he thinks I'm too dumb or too weak to handle it. I don't like it."
Draken said nothing. He didn't have to, because they both knew this wasn't just about trust anymore. It was about being cut out of something that mattered. Something that should have been his to know, to decide.
And he wasn't about to let that go.
Not quietly.
.
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