FORGET ME NOT || Tokyo Revengers X Fem! Reader

•°•°{CHAPTER 6 || HOME?}•°•°

TW: blood towards the end, mention of murder(?)

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Manjiro's annoyed.

So very annoyed.

Not only from this god awful meeting but at the thought that he could have been home by now if the middle aged leader from the other gang stopped getting sidetracked and get to the point of the meeting already.

He could have been eating Y/ns home cooked meals right about now but no, the man across from just had to go on and on and on and it was getting to his already thin patience.
He had a feeling that the majority, mostly men from his side, had already caught on to his ever growing agitation and Manjiro wasn't exactly hiding it either, making it known from the constant tapping of his shoes and the occasional click of his tongue.

Manjiro huffed an exasperates sigh, arms crossing against his chest as he leaned on his chair.
Sanzu Haruchiyo straightened from his place behind him, doing a small shuffle so he can catch the attention of the leader from the other side before throwing a nasty glare when he successfully did.

Mikey would have already caught onto the act and sent him a warning stare because of it but Manjiro didn't care enough to do so, more thankful than anything when the man from the other side tensed and gave a nervous laugh, eyes darting away to the side.

'Good', he thought, 'look away', he added, chin tilting upwards in satisfaction.
Izana next to him snorted a laugh, catching a glimpse of his smug face, unfortunately it quickly turned back into an unamused frown when the man started speaking once more, eyes rolling as if he was bored out of his mind, which at the moment he probably was.

Manjiro could swear on his dinner right now that if Izana had rolled his eyes any harder than he did, it probably would have been permanantly stuck up there and he would need some kind of surgery for it.
Manjiro blinked at the random thought, you know what, maybe he should ask Y/n about that, make sure it isn't anything serious to worry about and his older brother doesn't die on him early.

Manjiro doesn't think he can handle another death at the moment.

It might just turn out to be his last breaking point.

He gave another sigh, lids falling shut as he let the words go through one ear and out the other.
His executives better be listening for him, else there'll be actual problems, and they'll be the ones having a rough time.

The blonde haired man slid his eyes open once more, staring emptily at his crossed arms before letting an arm go to fiddle with a stray string of yarn.

Manjiro wonders what his beloved is doing right about now, and he doesn't need to search any of his mens faces nor Izanas to know that they're wondering the same thing.

(Sano Manjiro, on a different week, on the same year and just a couple of months older than he is now, wonders an 'if' situation.

He wonders if things would have turned out difderently had he taken a chance and looked around. Maybe then he could have seen the suspiciously sinister smile gracing one of his executives face.)

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Her nose scrunched up, a hand coming up to muffle the sudden sneeze that came out.
She sniffled, before taking out a wet tissue wipe to clean up her hand.

"Bless you, Miss." A mans voice came from behind her causing her to flinch in her place, swiftly tunring around to see the familiar face of Hanma Shuuji, donning an all black formal suit.

The man is one of the more closer subordinates of Kisaki Tetta, his right hand man if you will.
She wonders briefly why he wasn't with the other executives considering Izana said that they were all required to attend

"Shuuji... what are you doing here? Where's Ren?" She blinked up at his towering figure, standing just shy off 2 meters, her stare darting around for a moment in search of her usual bodygaurd.

"Oh, him? He was one of the casualties from yesterday, remember?" Hanma informed her, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose which he pushed up with a single finger. "I'm just filling in for him."

"What?" She frowned.

How come no one informed her?

"Oh." Hanma sounded out, faux symphathy lining his voice. "Just finding out?" He tilted his head, bicolored hair fluttering at the movement.

She nodded, fingers tightening on her bag strap. For almost as long as the gang itself existed, Ren was always the one assigned to keep her safe.

They weren't neccisarily close per se and they barely knew each other apart from the greetings they have whenever Ren picked or dropped her off but it still hurt a bit to not be given the news.

"Right~" Hanma drawled out, a hand grabbing a hold of her shoulder, pulling her close to his side as he led her to where he supposedly parked his car. "Well, don't be down too badly, you have yours truly as a temporary bodygaurd." He snickered, golden eyes shining with mirth.

She surpressed a grimace at the way he so casually waved off the death of a fellow gang member. She supposes she shouldn't really be surprised at this point, she's been around gangs for as long as she can remember and she really should be used to it by now.

Briefly, a familiar scent of heavy metal filled her nose.

Despite her history, she still can't help but feel that small tinge of disgust and sympathy whenever she sees the destruction that gang disputes causes throughout the city, all the casualties and the deaths of all those innocent civilians never fail to make guilt build up in her stomach, forever twisting and turning and haunting her because she was involve with criminals that caused such horrible meyhems.

It's not like she can help it though, gangs were the only things she's ever known, even from a young age, it is where she grew and came to love the people that she does now.

They were the only family she has left, she can't go back now. Not after everything that happened.

Hanma pushed at her shoulders, opening his car door before gently shoving her inside.

"C'mon, Princess, let's get you home."

(In a stranded alleyway, not far from the duo, Kataoka Ren gasped raggedly, his fingers desperately clinging and pinching and grabbing at the bleeding mess that has become his throat, slit and cut open by a man donning a tattoo, kanjis written neatly in permanent ink into the back of his hand.)