Daisen

Rain pounded the loft's panoramic window. Inside, the air smelled of expensive tobacco and coffee.

Daisen sat in his chair, his legs crossed. His gray suit was impeccable. He was reading a report, but the fingers of his left hand were nervously tapping the armrest.

Heian wasn't sitting. He was circling the chair like a shark. He held a cardboard cup in his hand, squeezed so tightly that it shrank. A drop of latte fell onto the parquet floor.

“You dripped,” said Daisen, without looking up from the paper.

"So what?" Heian stopped right behind the back of the chair. "Are you going to remove it, or should I order your men?"

Daisen slowly placed his pen on the table. He turned just enough to face Heian, but not all the way—one shoulder exposed, the other covered.

"You're especially noisy today," Daisen said quietly. His gaze slid over her black T-shirt, lingered on her collarbones, and then rose higher. "Are you bored? Or do you want attention?"

Heian grinned and leaned forward sharply, bracing himself with his hands on the armrests. Their faces were quite close.

"I want you to understand your place," he hissed. His breath was hot, smelling of mint and coffee. "You think just because you're paying means you're in charge?"

Daisen didn't pull away. He didn't even blink. His hand slowly touched Heian's wrist. His fingers were cold.

"Your place is where I say," Daisen replied in a velvety voice. His thumb lazily ran over his wrist, where his pulse beat fast and hard. "Now clean up this puddle."

Heian flinched as if he'd been burned, but he didn't push the hand away.

Daisen removed his hand. Slowly. Demonstratively.

• Puddle, Heian.

Heian straightened up, his face stony. He looked at his wrist—there were traces of someone else's fingers there.

“You’re a manipulator,” he said, turning away.

"You're predictable." Daisen picked up his pen again. "Go to work. And buy yourself some fucking decent coffee."

Heian left, slamming the door. But not before he paused to gaze at Daisen's reflection in the glass.

The yakuza watched him go. Not with relief. But with a heavy, strange attentiveness. He rubbed the armrest where Heian's hand had just lain.