Chapter Text
The music store’s familiar smell of resin, old carpet, and wood polish was being overwritten with the sharp sting of cleaning spray since Kyouji had decided to make wiping down half the stuff in the store his cardinal task for the day. Satomi'd taken one step down the stairs and sneezed immediately, then forced open the windows and ate his breakfast of melonpan at the counter, shooting intermittent glares at Kyouji that more than often didn't connect.
“Your parents keep the house in such good shape that I figured the least I could do was try and help the store look that good, too,” Kyouji explained, though Satomi hadn't asked. His voice came from somewhere by the drum stick racks.
Satomi'd had a late start this morning, his dad nudging him awake before he left for some craftsman event he was supposed to be attending. The only consolation was the melonpan he’d left in the kitchen, as Satomi had missed both breakfast and dinner last night. His father claimed that he’d tried to get him up for dinner multiple times, but that each time he’d been swatted away. Satomi had no recollection of this.
All he knew was that yesterday he’d worked on the song until he crawled into bed in his day clothes, and that someone had turned the lights off for him after a lot of noise and complaining. The worst part, however, was the fact that barely any of what he’d done last night was any good. He sat staring at it now, periodically brushing crumbs off of the sheet music as the plastic around the bread crinkled.
As it turned out, writing a hopeful song for the club he had quit was proving to be more annoying than he'd imagined.
“You’re looking at that sheet music like you want to stab it.”
Satomi looked up from drawing a line through half the words on the page. Really, he’d just been rephrasing the same sentence over and over trying to get it to fit the tempo because he couldn't think of anything else. Kyouji was standing and staring, store phone in one hand.
“It’s nothing,” replied Satomi after a moment. He flipped the lyric sheet underneath the rest of the papers and taps his pencil against the desk in melody.
“If you tried playing it you could probably get a better feel for what you’re trying to write.” Added Kyouji. Satomi shoved the rest of the melonpan in his mouth and tossed the wrapper. It’s not like Kyouji knew anything about music, anyways.
“I already know what it sounds like.” He’d listened to the recording of Wada playing until it echoed in his head when his earbuds weren’t in. Gone was the stupid emotional attachment from the first listen. He was officially desensitized. Now he saw the written notes when he closed his eyes. And yet he had only a few usable lines written. He needed to get something substantial down before he saw Wada again.
“One of my—” Kyouji started and then cut himself off. “This… guy that I work with, he’d get so frustrated with his paperwork that sometimes he’d tear up the whole office. Everyone’d have to get out of his way or risk getting a ballpoint pen to the neck.”
Satomi looked up at him.
Kyouji continued, “This one time we thought it’d be funny to hide all his work before he got in—in hindsight it was really stupid—but when he came in he grabbed one of the younger guys and dangled him out the window. Our office is on the 60th floor.”
When Kyouji didn't elaborate on this past a small snort of amusement at his own recollection, Satomi went ahead and ventured, “…And then what?”
“Hm? Oh, we just gave him his shit back.”
Satomi would have been lying if he said he hadn’t been expecting some sort of advice to follow this anecdote, but evidently there was none in sight. Still, this was the only time Kyouji had ever gone into detail about anything regarding his job.
With the bits of information that he could eke out so far, it sounded nothing like the idea Satomi had held of what being a Tokyo salaryman was like. But then, he had only been there a handful of times, and always under the supervision of a school trip or with his parents; he had no real frame of reference. Satomi dimly found himself worrying about what would happen to Kyouji when he went back, but the man seemed the farthest thing from concerned.
Pushing the chair in, Satomi stood and made to grab the broom from the back closet. He can’t remember the last time he had held this thing, but it felt strikingly small in his hands now, so it must have really been a while.
“I’m gonna go sweep in front of the store,” passing Kyouji, he stopped with a hand on the front door. “You can finish up what you started this morning in here, if you want.”
Kyouji gave a nod, and as Satomi opened the door, the breeze rustled the pages he had left on the counter.
There were a few customers that actually stopped in throughout the rest of the day, meaning Kyouji got face-to-face experience. He was as cheery and overexcited in-person as he had been over the phone, but luckily everyone who came in happened to be regulars, and they enjoyed going through smalltalk with him: Where are you from? How long are you in town? You picked a great store, you know!
Towards the end of the day, with about an hour left before they were properly closed, Kyouji was on bookkeeping, punching a few numbers from the sales and booked lessons today. Satomi knew they wouldn't have any more customers for the day, and decided to go ahead and prod a bit more. He’d told himself he was going to get to the bottom of this guy, after all.
“It’s good that you have experience with that,” Satomi nodded to the spreadsheet in front of them.
“Hm? Oh, yeah. Could do it in my sleep. I’m pretty sure I have, before.” Kyouji laughed. “I actually kind of like the pen and paper stuff more, even though I know the programs they have now are quicker.”
“Is that how you learned it?”
“C’mon, I’m not that old. But one of my first ever jobs, I did use to do it that way, yeah. Technically I wasn’t supposed to be doing it, but the boss barely ever came in, and he used to confuse me for the other guy that worked there.” Kyouji shook his head with a smile. “It was a good time, that job. I mean—it wasn’t, but it was. Y’know?”
“Maybe,” Satomi responded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He learned that Kyouji used to have a job at a karaoke joint in the 90’s, before they even had the tablet system. You had to type in song codes from a huge book into a remote control. Like Satomi, Kyouji was the youngest child. He had at least one sister, but he didn’t talk to her often.
Their day at the store ended like that. In the evening, Kyouji said he was thinking of going to one of the hot springs in town and asked to borrow a bike from the Oka's. Satomi leant him his dad's old one. And watched as Kyouji's back disappeared past the hill. At least he hadn't asked Satomi to tag along.
On Wednesday, a day before his meeting with Wada, Satomi laid by the riverbank with his backpack under his head. He'd gotten a few pages into his math summer homework before surrendering to the softness of the grass. His textbook pages made a pleasant kind of sound in the wind.
A few days of rain had ended up in the humidity breaking a bit. After two straight days of manning the store with Kyouji, Satomi woke up this morning ready to march downstairs, when it came to him that this was their off day.
He was thoughtlessly watching the dragonflies zip around when Nakagawa rode by. She was on the opposite bank, waving. Satomi waved back. It took her a few minutes to ride around to him. She dismounted her bike and took a seat.
"Sleeping on the job, huh?" she said.
"No. Just taking a break."
Taking one look at his calculus textbook, Nakagawa closed it for him, shaking her head. “No more math, please.”
“Did you just get out of cram school?” Satomi sat up.
She nodded once. “You don’t have work today?”
“We’re closed on Mondays.”
“Right.” She shook her pack of gum at him, motioning him to take one. “What’s Kyouji doing, I wonder?”
“I dunno.” Satomi had gotten up late this morning, and hadn’t left his room until after one pm, upon which he’d found the house empty.
“Well, I’m going to head to the store before I go home. You wanna go together?” Nakagawa popped a bubble and motioned to her bike.
They rode back in relative silence. The two of them had met through middle school chorus, and he felt like their relationship hadn't changed much since then. Still, with how suddenly he had quit, Nakagawa hadn’t really had a choice whether or not she wanted to take over as club president. But she had, and Satomi knew she did a better job of it than him, too. He was glad that she was there, then and now.
After they split up at an intersection, Satomi was forced to confront the fact that he had nothing to do for the rest of the day. The sheet music sat heavy in his backpack. He’d gone out to study to avoid it, and now he was back to square one.
The house was about as quiet as he left it, except his mother was laying on the couch now, seemingly asleep with a book over her face.
Or not—as she woke up when Satomi approached her after grabbing a glass of water from the sink.
Satomi removed the library book and turned the cover over. Another mystery novel. “Don’t put this on your face. You don’t know who took it out before you.”
“You’re right,” his mother sat up with a groan. She motioned for his water glass and he passed it to her. “ I only ever see old ladies borrowing these though. They're not gross. Hang on, am I old?”
“I dunno.” Satomi took a seat next to her on the couch.
“You’re supposed to insist ‘no, you’re not old! You don’t look a day over thirty!’”
“Well, I didn’t really know you when you were thirty. Isn’t that just disingenuous?” He took the glass back. His stretched her arms over her head.
“Big words," she exhaled. "You know Masami doesn’t talk back to me.”
“Then you should call him. I think he’s out of class right now.”
“Listen, could you go over to the snack bar and get the stuff from Ichijo-san?” She asked. “I was supposed to go but I’m tired from running around all morning.”
“I just got back from studying,” Satomi replied.
“Who cares? It's still light out. Plus you’re young. And your back doesn’t hurt.”
“How do you know my back doesn’t hurt,” He said, but he was already standing up.
“The same way I know that you want to eat okra salad tonight.”
Satomi did, in fact, want to eat okra salad tonight. “Fine. But next time you can ask Kyouji to do it.”
His mother settled back down, finding her place between the pages once more. “What Kyouji does on his days off is his own business. Ichijo-san knows your face already, if anyone else went she’d talk their ear off with questions. Save time this way"
Satomi had the thought that old lady and Kyouji would actually be a good fit in that regard, but instead he grabbed a bottle of tea from the fridge, stuck it in his backpack, and set out again.
Ichijo-san's snack bar was about fifteen minutes by bike. The path was between rice fields and small houses, and it was one of the few places in the neighborhood that was open later into the night. Usually kids weren't allowed into a place primarily based around serving alcohol, but if Ichijo-san knew you, like she did Satomi, she’d give you a soda and let you hang around to do a few rounds of karaoke on the old machine there. In middle school he used to go with his chorus friends sometimes, but nowadays all Satomi stopped by for was picking up the excess of her garden vegetables, as she didn’t get much business during the week.
He expected the dark inside of the place when he stepped in; what he didn’t expect was to see Kyouji standing there when his eyes adjusted to it.
“Whoa, hey! Look who it is!”
No mistaking it, that was Kyouji.
Satomi stared. The idea that Kyouji of all people could be here, in a tiny closed snack bar of all places... his mind was still trying to understand how this has happened when Ichijo-san stepped out from behind some boxes.
“Ah! Satomi-kun!” She looked surprised. “Did your mother not get my text?”
“Text?” echoed Satomi.
“I told her there’d be no reason to send you over since I’ve got Kyouji-kun here already.”
“Oh, I see.”
But why was Kyouji here??
“…Do you work here, too?” asked Satomi to Kyouji, slowly.
“Huh? Oh, no, no.” Kyouji glanced at Ichijo-san and laughd. “I was walking around a few days ago, trying to familiarize myself with the town, when I stumbled upon Ichijo-san's store. She was bringing some boxes up and I offered to help.”
“I’ve put him to work since.” Nodded the older woman, obviously proud. “Since my husband left, you know, I’ve been redecorating. Kyouji-san is helping me set up. All he asked for in return is free karaoke, can you believe it? I couldn’t.”
Right. Karaoke.
“Did you ride your bike here?” Kyouji asked Satomi as he opened a box full of plates.
“Yes.”
“Sit down, Satomi-kun.” Ichijo-san moved something off of one of the bar chairs and motioned him over. “What do you want to drink? I have orange juice.”
And that’s how Satomi found himself for the next hour, sitting at the counter while he watched Kyouji and Ichijo-san work. At first, it was mostly unpacking things, as Satomi had come in halfway the process—but after his third or so refill of juice they’re debating over where is best to hang picture frames, considering whether or not to toss old mementos Ichijou-san's husband had left.
“People keep telling me that I should keep stuff the same, in honor of his memory, you know?” She explained at one point, her hand in a bowl of mixed nuts. “But I always hated the way he decorated the place, and now he isn’t around anymore to nag me about changing it.” Satomi was still unclear if the guy had died or just left town.
“It’s your store, you do what you like,” Kyouji agreed. “I mean, I dunno if I’d be alright with it, if I were the one who was gone, but...”
“Yes, though I bet you also wouldn’t annoy your wife about her taste in wall decor.”
Satomi popped a peanut into his mouth, his eyes going back and forth between the two of them in turn.
“Can’t say. Never had one.”
“With a face that handsome?” Ichijo-san's eyes met Satomi’s. It felt like the characters of a show he was watching had suddenly acknowledged his existence. “You think he’s handsome, don’t you Satomi?”
No, not really, I can't imagine him with a wife and kids thought Satomi. Not wanting to say this or lie, he settled on giving the most minuscule nod he could manage.
“Dunno why I’m asking you.” Ichijo-san said, thankfully abandoning this line of questioning. Satomi went back to eating his peanuts.
So, Kyouji had never been married. This was hardly surprising, someone with a family life could hardly pick up and move to Wakayama to work a summer job in a failing music store. There must be plenty of bachelors like Kyouji in Tokyo. Satomi's uncle on his dad's side was one of them, and his mom was always complaining about how he was married to his work, no life outside of it. Was that how Kyouji usually was, too? A boring apartment, a boring commute, a boring office. Probably. So why did it bother Satomi that he couldn't imagine Kyouji living that?
Because you've convinced yourself that there must be something more. But there isn't. He's just some guy. Totally unremarkable. He's good at spreadsheets and helping old ladies. That's all.
"Oh, it's fine, it's fine. I don't know. I have to think on it some more," Ichijou-san's voice cut in. She was cupping her palm in her cheek. "Come on down from there."
Kyouji got off the stool he was balancing on. "I thought it looked good with the deer antlers above it." He was holding an old framed film poster. Satomi had never heard of the movie.
"I'll give you a call once I decide. You put your number into my phone, right?"
"Sure did." Kyouji used a towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. There were faint sweat stains at his chest and armpits, but still he was in a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled down. Satomi wondered if Nakagawa had been right, and the suit was glued to his body.
"You know that's the first time in forty years I've gotten a man's number successfully," Ichijou-san joked. Kyouji winked. Satomi looked towards the door.
Ichijou-san seemed to remember Satomi was there then and his reason for coming. She apologized, disappearing out the back door to grab the vegetables. Kyouji surveyed the bar.
"Nice place. I'll have to come here when it's actually open sometime."
"Mmn," said Satomi in response.
"That karaoke machine is ancient, even I don't remember using something like that. But she says it still works."
"It does," Satomi nodded. He dragged a finger down the condensation of his glass. The ice in it made a hollow sound. "Or, it did."
"No way, you've sung on it? Luckkyyy. I'd kill to hear that."
Ichijou-san returned then, two heavy-looking bags in her hands. "Here you go, boys. Satomi-kun, you still like okra?"
"Yes, thank you." Satomi smiled. "My mom's excited about cooking this tonight."
"And I know I'm excited to eat it," Kyouji laughed.
They said their goodbyes and set out.
Satomi placed the vegetable bags in the basket of his bike. Since Kyouji had walked, and as much as he insisted Satomi go ahead on his bike, Satomi told him it was fine if they walked back together. They were going to the same place, after all.
"People are so friendly out in the country," said Kyouji after a few moments with only the sound of Satomi's bike wheel slowly turning as he walked it. "You really miss that kind of connection when you're toiling away in the big city."
"I always thought that the city seemed more lively. More chances to meet people."
"Well, sure, but it kind of cancels itself out. So many people all around that no one sees each other anymore. Everyone's in a hurry, too."
Satomi chewed his inner lip. "You don't have friends in the city that you hang out with?"
"Sure I do, but all anyone ever wants to talk about is work, I swear. You'll understand when you start working. Civil servant, right?"
"Uh, yeah. Probably." Satomi picked at the handlebar of his bike with his thumb. "I was thinking of doing law, actually."
"Whoa! Look at you. That's were the big bucks are, you know." Kyouji laughed, his voice loud in the quiet of the neighborhood. Most people were still at work. "Good for you."
It was something he'd started thinking about recently. There was no real reason other than he'd found the government portions of his history classes to be the easiest part, and written an essay for a scholarship contest at the encouragement of his teacher. That kind of stuff just worked with his brain. Also, he couldn't deny that doing something unrelated to music at all was tempting. Moving to the city, focusing on other people's problems. In a small apartment, like Kyouji.
"It's not a big deal," Satomi said. "I might not end up doing it. I'm not sure yet."
"It's good to have an idea. When I was your age all I thought about was if I could get away with buying dirty mags without getting ID'ed." Kyouji pointed to a convenience store down the way. "Is it cool if we stop in?"
"…For dirty mags?" Satomi asked slowly.
"N-no, no!" That loud laugh again. "I just figured we could get an ice cream or something."
"Oh," Satomi felt himself color. Stupid. "Sure."
The air conditioning in the store did wonders. Kyouji seemed to know exactly what he wanted, making a beeline for one of those expensive foreign ice creams in the tiny cups. Satomi got the cantaloupe popsicle again. When it came to paying, Kyouji insisted on buying Satomi's too.
"Think of it as an investment," he said as they stood in the shade of the store's awning. "For when I get into trouble. You can bail me out, Mr. Lawyer."
The popsicle broke off in his mouth, a bigger bite than he'd meant to take. From the corner of his eye, Satomi caught Kyouji smiling as the syrup trailed down his chin.
His mom had the windows open that night as they watched a movie on the living room TV. It was some romcom from a few years ago that Satomi had seen in theaters.
Kyouji was sitting in the chair his dad usually took, and his dad was sitting next to Satomi. His mom sat on the floor, claiming it was better for her back, as his father gave her a shoulder massage.
The lyrics were getting close to being something he could hand over to Wada. This wasn't meant to be the final product or anything, but Satomi still wanted to make it presentable. Maybe he was doing too much. He thought about Kyouji's coworker who'd gotten dangled out the window.
"You know, they're having an old film festival at the theater over here, for the summer." Satomi's mom said. She always talked through movies.
"No kidding. I think I saw that when I was biking by the other day," replied Kyouji. He was eating grapes from a bowl. Satomi's dad had insisted on him finishing the last of them. Sitting in that big armchair, he looked like a lazy king.
"You big on movies, Kyouji?" Satomi's dad asked as he pressed his thumb into his wife's shoulder.
"Sure. Had this girlfriend once who was huuuge on Kurosawa. She made me watch all of those with her. Throne of Blood, Yojimbo. Good stuff."
His mother brightened. "Satomi's into movies, too." She turned to him, encouraging.
"Oh?" Kyouji grinned. "What kinda stuff do you like?"
Satomi shrugged. "Whatever, really. As long as it's interesting."
"You two should go together!" His mother decided. "I bet that would be so fun."
Kyouji passed the bowl of grapes to her. "And give Oka-san a chance to clean my room, right?"
"Well…" she laughed.
Satomi turned back to the lyrics on the page, willing them to form into something. He tapped his pencil against the paper, sounding out the rhythm. But the soundtrack from the movie was swelling, overpowering. He didn't feel like retreating to his room.
He sighed. Taking out his phone, Satomi searched up the film festival schedule for the nearby theater. For all Kyouji talked, he had an annoying habit of never saying his own preferences. Another thing to puzzle out.