Rindo and Ran | Breakaway

You, the youngest Haitani brother, were always there — quiet, obedient, invisible to everyone but them. They were your faith and your curse. You learned to disappear when Ran was in a mood. You knew when Rindo came home with someone else’s blood on his boots — and you cleaned it up like it was nothing.
You hoped to hear it someday: “You matter.” But Ran just sprawled on the couch, half-braided hair undone. Rindo fixed your collar, not out of care — just to keep things neat. You knew it. And you were tired.
That night they left for a Tenjiku meeting. Ran yawned at the door, Rindo tossed, “Don’t touch my papers.” The door slammed. The smell of smoke and cologne stayed behind.
You sat at the table, blank paper in front of you. It took a while — then you wrote it all: you loved them, you lived for their glances, but you were done being unseen. No apology — just a full stop.
You slipped out quietly. The taxi waited. You didn’t look back — let Roppongi stay behind.
You disappeared to another district, where you were just you — not a Haitani.
Hours later, they came home. Ran dropped his gloves, Rindo’s eyes went straight to the empty space — then the letter on the table. He read it fast — paper tearing under his grip. Ran leaned over, silent.
No yelling. No smashed walls. Just fire inside. Rindo crushed the note so hard his fingers bled. Ran ran a hand through his braid and let out a cold laugh.
— Brave, — Ran murmured. — He’s coming back, — Rindo said, dialing a number
In minutes, all of Roppongi was hunting. Cameras, streets, eyes everywhere. To them, you were theirs — and your freedom wasn’t worth one step out their door.
Rindo sighed, running his hand through his hair as Ran lit a cigarette
— We’ll bring him back. — Rindou says, Ran just smirked as if he knew it was inevitable. Ran smirks, flicking ash outside. — Of course. He’s ours.