Archive of Our Own ^beta

To those that know him in the daytime, Makoto is a gentle giant. He’s known for helping old ladies across the road and helping cats out of trees, smiling all the while without a single complaint. It’s no wonder he’s planning on becoming a firefighter- a boy like him is built for helping the vulnerable, using his strength to protect the weak. His hard muscles from years of trying to keep up with Haru in the pool and height that allows him to tower over most people are far from threatening on him- his wide-eyed green stare is proof of that from miles away. To them, he is kind Makoto, quiet Makoto, sweet Makoto that wouldn’t hurt a fly. In the day, his life is simple- he goes to university, or to work, and is polite and friendly to everyone he comes across, no matter what they’re like. People giggle, and, where they think he can’t hear them, an adjective repeats itself timelessly through conversations: princelike. When the sun is out, Makoto mimics it, robing himself in the personality of a charming prince, gentle and graceful.

The night, however, is a different story. At the first touch of moonlight upon the ground, Makoto throws off his princely airs and sneaks from his house like smoke, heading to a decrepit bar on the bad side of town. He gives a nod to Sousuke once he’s inside, who pauses his work at the bar to unhook a set of keys from the wall, leading Makoto out the back of the bar and down the basement steps to his kingdom. Here, kindly Prince Makoto is dead; in his place is a man known to the others only as Tachibana, the king of the underground boxing ring in a crown of blood. From here, he loses the hours of the night in the music of fists hitting flesh and the breaking of skin, harmonising with the yells of all the others involved, some participating in the violence, others simply watching, revelling in the joy of bloodlust.

There are few that can beat him. Here, he doesn’t have to restrain his strength and handle others with a delicate touch- he uses all of the strength and bulk that he possesses, destroying anyone that gets in his way. There is no call for him to be polite or kind to others- he makes no attempt to hide his wrath, taking apart his opponents and leaving them in pieces on the ground. His fellow fighters respect him in a way that the people he sees in the day don’t. Those that know him as Makoto care only for the kindness he can show them and what he can offer them, but the people he fights with appreciate his raw strength and the way he uses it, not the things they can gain from it. They accept their place as his subjects, and he rules over them with iron and blood.

There are, of course, always newcomers that wish to challenge him. He can taste a difference in the air the moment he enters the basement on those nights, even before the cocky bastard of the evening strolls up to him, chin raised and sneer stretching their maw wide. Most of them like to monologue before the fight starts, talking of their own strength and how little of it they’ll need to use against him. Makoto, however, remains silent, studying them and noting the chinks in their armour they so easily display. He is merciless when the start of the fight is called, charging at his opponent and crushing them in a single blow, knocking them to the floor with a hit to wherever they are weakest. That first fight is usually enough for them to learn their place.

It is for this reason Makoto feels no concern when Sousuke first mentions a new man to him on their short trip to the basement, tells him that his childhood friend has moved recently and joined their little group. Makoto is only worried about having to explain to Sousuke that he beat the crap out of his friend.

However, when he makes his way down the steps to the basement he immediately knows something is different. It’s not silent- a group of 40 people packed into one tiny, sweaty, bloody room could never hope to achieve silence. The people still buzz, but it’s quieter than usual, different. He isn’t greeted with the usual cheer that goes up when he enters- just nods and fearful looks. He pauses when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, searching for the new face that must have caused the sudden lack of commotion in the room. It’s not hard to find- a grinning man stands over the body of someone twice his height, pulling his hair into a ponytail. He leans down and extends a hand, helping his battered opponent to their feet and sending them back into the crowd. “Right.” He says, straightening and turning towards the other members of the club. “Who’s next?”

Makoto raises a hand, even though he knows the man can’t see him. “Me.”

The man turns, surprised, and then breaks into a broad smile. “You’re Tachibana, right?”

Makoto gives him a curt nod, stepping forward into the makeshift ring. The man extends his hand to him, and it takes Makoto a moment before he realises he should shake it.

“I’m Rin. Nice to meet you, the others have told me a lot about you.”

Makoto grunts, pulling his hand back from Rin’s, trying his best to ignore how warm and pleasant it was to hold it despite the bruises and cuts that line his fingers. He nods at tonight’s makeshift referee, and she calls for the fight to start. Makoto can feel the energy of the crowd covering him like spattering blood. Most nights that he fights, they know they’re in for an entertaining battle, despite knowing the outcome. However, this fight is different. Rin is different. He’s strong in a way that none of the others are. Makoto can feel it even without having fought him yet- the reaction of the people around him tells him everything he needs to know.

“You know the rules?” He asks Rin, and he nods.

“No eye gouging.” He replies, and Makoto swings at his head.

Usually, he’s too fast for his opponent to dodge, but Rin ducks under his arm and comes back to his full height, making a short jab at Makoto’s ribs. He connects, and Makoto flails briefly, losing air. He recovers and throws a hook, and hears the satisfying smack of his fist connecting with Rin’s jaw. The impact makes him fall, as expected, but he rolls across the ground and pulls himself into a crouch, grinning at Makoto. For a moment, they do nothing but stare at each other. Makoto counts the space between hits with his pulse. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats.

Rin springs from his position and lands on Makoto, knocking him to the ground. He straddles him, plants a palm on his chest and hits him relentlessly with his other hand, pulling punch after punch. Makoto grabs him by the hips and turns, and they roll across the ground, forcing the cheering onlookers to jump out of the way. They fight dirty, Makoto getting his fingers in Rin’s hair and pulling as Rin growls and digs his nails into Makoto’s skin, carving lines into his back and chest. Rin headbutts him, and Makoto roars as he feels his lip split and blood leak from his nose. He eventually manages to get on top of Rin, pulling him to his feet and hitting him squarely in the chest with a cross. Rin staggers backwards, clutching his chest, and Makoto takes the opportunity to deck him again, feeling hard muscle turn blue with bruises under his fist. He’s so lost in his own strength that he doesn’t even notice Rin flashing him a coy smile and swinging out a kick, knocking his legs out from under him.

As Makoto falls, through his shock he sees Rin throwing back his head and cheering.

The king is dead. He thinks, coming closer to the ground. The roar of the crowd is golden in his fuzzy mind as his head hits the concrete floor of the basement and rebounds.

Long live the king. And then he blacks out.

When he finally raises his sandpaper eyelids he finds himself lying on the couch in the back room of the bar with a metal cylinder pressed against the back of his head. He finds the strength to sit up and ignores the way his head spins in favour of retrieving and studying the item, which he finds to be a beer can.

“Evening, sunshine.” He hears, and looks across the room to find Rin sitting on the desk, wrapping a bandage around his slender ribs.

“Why was there a can of beer on my head?” He asks, noticing with pride that there’s already a bruise on Rin’s cheek where he hit him.

“Sousuke didn’t have any ice packs, and all the ice we put under your head kept melting. Looks like your blood runs hot. The beer was the best we could do. Is it still cold, by the way?”

Makoto holds the can in both hands. “Lukewarm.”

“Shame. I would have drunk it. How are you feeling?”

Makoto blinks slowly and decides to answer honestly. “Like I went through a trash compacter.”

Rin snorts. “Sorry about that. Was I too hard on you?”

Makoto doesn’t take the bait. “You followed the rules. It was a good fight.”

It might just be the concussion, but Makoto swears that Rin’s cheeks go red. “Thanks. You want me to bandage your busted knuckles?”

Makoto tongues at his split lip. “I’m more worried about my face at the moment. And besides, I’ve been fighting for a while now. I can look after my own injuries.”

Rin rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a baby. I didn’t even break your nose this time. Anyway, Sousuke says you do a shitty enough job looking after yourself when your fights go well. You’re bound to fuck it up after taking a big enough hit to get knocked out. Come on.”

Makoto frowns, but he lets Rin take his hand and bandage his knuckles for him. “My lip hurts a lot more than my hand does.”

“You want me to kiss it better?” Rin asks, and Makoto is very glad that he’s so concentrated on Makoto’s hand that he doesn’t notice him freeze when he says it.

“There. All done.” Rin says, and Makoto holds his hand up, turning it in the dim light. Rin is very good with bandages- far better than Makoto is.

“Thanks.” He says shortly, dropping his hand and turning away from Rin. They sit in silence on the couch for a while longer.

“So. Do you have a first name, or are you just Tachibana?” Rin asks, standing and grabbing his shirt from the desk, slipping it over his head and hiding his, admittedly pretty great, chest from Makoto’s view.

“I have a first name.” Makoto replies, studying the ragged carpet. He takes a deep breath in through his sore nose. “It’s Makoto.” He says, and, surprisingly, does not immediately regret the action.

“Makoto Tachibana.” Rin muses, studying him. “Well then.” He says, grabbing Makoto’s arm and pulling him up, “I’m Rin Matsuoka. Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Agreed. What time is it?”

“About 1 AM. Why?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go get dinner somewhere. But it’s morning, so. Breakfast?”

Rin smiles and slides his hand down Makoto’s arm until their fingers are interlocked. “Breakfast is just fine.”