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Mizuki has spent most of his life knowing he'll one day meet a bad end; malevolent spirits dog his every step as he walks the wicked path fate has set him on, and one day the meager luck he's managed to purchase for himself will run out. He's almost made peace with it; he's scared, yes, but there is also a kind of freedom in knowing some things are just... inevitable.
He hasn't had the time to make peace with the idea that his end will cause others pain, though.
So when he finds himself surrounded by Hashimoto soldiers, both him and his kusarigama exhausted and spent, realizing that this is most likely the end, he doesn't have any defense against the way that the grief and the guilt dig their talons into his insides and twist.
He's leaving the people who care about him behind. People who will, for some reason, mourn his absence.
He can only hope they will not mourn too much, that they will not suffer more than he is actually worth. He hopes his friends will remember him fondly. He hopes Toshiro-ojisan and Kiriko can comfort each other. He hopes... He hopes Hanzo survives; that all the progress he's made, the life he's begun to build up for himself, won't crumble under the weight of another loss. He hopes he'll be happy.
"The fuck are you waiting for?" he asks, sneering at the men - brothers, once - around him. "Come on, kill the traitor, right?"
One of them - stupid hair, stupider suit, stupidest mask; fucking Kenta, of course - raises his gun.
"You in a hurry, hafu? I've been waiting to get to shut you up for good, and I'm trying to savor the moment."
"Aw, finally found out I fucked your girl, huh?"
Kenta's ears go bright fucking red, and Mizuki lets the smirk spread wide across his lips; if he's going to die, at least he's going out ruining this asshole's day one final time.
The gun cocks, and Mizuki lets out a breath, closes his eyes, and tries to relax. Tries to hold the mental image of dinner last night in his head; Kiriko's living room warm and smelling of Indian takeout, all his friends tired and happy, Hanzo next to him on the couch, their shoulders touching, comfortable. This is what he wants his last moment to be; he wants to remember that for the last stretch of his life, short though it was, he got to have everything he ever wanted.
Not everyone gets to be that lucky, right?
Then, a loud noise. But it isn't the gun going off; instead, it's a shout somewhere in the distance.
Then, a roar.
His eyes fly open, and he stares, wide-eyed, at the hazy figures of two massive dragons, their maws open, racing through the air towards him from behind Kenta's back.
Around him, the men start yelling, scared and confused, trying to flee, but it's already too late.
Mizuki is rooted to the spot as the dragons tear through the Hashimoto goons; their teeth leaving clothes and flesh unrent, but the men falling all the same, pale and bloodless, wide eyes unseeing, faces twisted in rictuses of fear.
They leave him be, though, swirling around him close enough that he can feel the electric charge of them pricking at his skin, but they do not touch him at all as they pass him by.
He doesn't see where they go once they pass, even though he kind of desperately wants to know, because in the distance from where they came, he sees Hanzo, lit by the slowly fading glow of his tattoo, and he can't look away from those eyes, shining like motes of ghostfire in the gloom.
The relief is... obliterating. His veins are still singing with adrenaline, but with the fear and grief blotted out by the sensation of being safe, of being protected, it feeds now into exhilaration and a manic joy, and Mizuki has never wanted to get fucked as much as he does in this particular moment.
"You stupid, reckless idiot," Hanzo berates him as he stalks over, tense like a wound spring, eyes shining with reluctantly fading light, and Mizuki, his limbs shaky, steps forward to meet him, drawn like a magnet. "You could have died, do you even reali-"
Mizuki kisses him quiet, hands framing his face. Presses himself up close to Hanzo's body, letting him feel his cock, already hardening, against his stomach, and Hanzo's hands come up to curl in the fabric of his clothes, holding him close.
"I want you," Mizuki breathes into his mouth. "Right now."
"Behave yourself," Hanzo hisses, scandalized and outraged. "You are- I- I am not engaging in... in acts in a filthy alley surrounded by corpses!"
But he's not pushing Mizuki away; if anything, he's holding onto him harder, clutching at him urgently, desperately. The way Mizuki wants to be held, by him, almost always.
"Okay, then let's go somewhere you will engage in fucking me until I can't walk," he murmurs, grinning at the way Hanzo's eye twitches at the words. Slips a hand behind Hanzo's neck, up into the hair falling out of its messy bun, tangling his fingers in it, tight just the way he knows Hanzo likes.
"You are a menace," Hanzo grumbles, and some of the tension in his shoulders releases, and the last vestiges of frantic, terrified light leaves his eyes, and he is just human again. Not a dragon, not a vessel for something vast and dreadful. Just a man. One that Mizuki will now wake up next to for at least another morning, and he feels blessed for it.
"Yeah," Mizuki agrees, easily. Presses a kiss to the corner of Hanzo's mouth. "Your menace, though," he adds, half a statement, half a request.
"...Yes," Hanzo agrees, voice suddenly quiet. His eyes soft as he rests their foreheads together. "You are, aren't you?"