Work Text:
Chie's been watching Naki flutter around Tsukiyama for a couple of days. Like bees to honey, or more like flies to rotten fruit, if she's being honest.
Naki and his white suited friends herd in stray ghouls and Tsukiyama prepares beds for them, makes sure they're awarded a ration of food, exchanges niceties with Naki as if he were a beloved returning home from work, How was your day? What have we here? More than once she's found herself feeling grateful, that this routine keeps his mind off of things—the fall from the tower, for one, the fall from grace, the insurmountable distance still existing between him and his king.
So she almost expects Tsukiyama to be hidden in the room where she's been holed up in for a couple of hours when Naki bursts into it, always loud and lively and filling up the space in a way not unlike Tsukiyama's yet wholly different.
“Hori!” he yells, too loud. “Yer Yamada's friend, ain'tcha?”
She nods.
“S'it true his birthday's next week?”
She goes through dates inside her mind. It must be. They haven't seen the sun in a while and nights blend into an eternal moment of darkness and expectation—tragedy looms overhead and they all pretend it'll all be over soon and in their favor—so she can't be sure, but it must be. Last she remembers of the world above ground was snow falling on roofs, on naked trees, on empty backstreets and their garbage bags.
She nods again without words.
“Ah!” he yells, too loud. “We gotta do somethin'!”
Chie shrugs.
“Whatcha think he'd want?”
Once more she shrugs.
She tries thinking back on a time when she's gotten Tsukiyama a present for his birthday and comes up short. There was only once but it was more like she accompanied him to the store for something he wanted to get for himself. And the other time she prevented him from feasting on the man she introduced—not willingly—to him at an ice cream shop, not so much because she cared like she'd done with Mitsuba but because she didn't appreciate him staking her out for meals. Other than that, there was Sasaki's underwear—not a birthday present—and the photographs of Kaneki. That was another thing she couldn't suggest.
“Ah! No good!”
When Naki makes his way into the room, sulking, arms crossed, legs wide apart, Hinami's first thought is Ayato has managed to upset him once more, lying to his wide-eyed gullibility to pass the time, entertain himself with the misery of others.
Hinami, she imagines he'll ask, s'it true ya can go blind from eatin' a blind guy? Cause a the poison in 'is eyes?
“Hinami!” he yells instead. “S'true! Yamada's birthday's next week. Hori told me.”
“That's great news, Naki.”
It had been bittersweet, when she'd first realized the American Naki had told her about a couple of times was her flower man. It'd made sense, somehow, that Naki, rowdy, sweet, loyal, loud, caring Naki, was friends with Tsukiyama, thought Tsukiyama was cool (used the English word for it). It'd also happened at a time when she knew not what had become of all of them, those she'd lived with in that house, and the knowledge that Naki was somehow familiar with Tsukiyama eased the anxiety of those days.
“We gotta do somethin'!”
“Yes, I think that'd be nice.”
“Whatcha think he'd want.”
“Um, I don't know. Flowers?”
“Nah, he's always bringin' flowers, y'know. We gotta make it a surprise so it can't be obvious. An' I can't ask, argh,” Naki scratched his head. “It's givin' me a headache.”
When he used the word surprise Naki beamed with pride—he'd told her it was a word he'd learned thanks to Yamori—and it served as excellent contrast to his troubled expression.
“You can ask without asking?”
“Hah? Howzzat work?”
“Well, you could um tell him what you've always wanted to get for your birthday and never did, and then ask if he has something like that too?”
“I ain't ever wanted nothin' fer my birthday, though.”
“You can talk about what you like to do.”
“Uh but then I—”
“Then you can ask him of the things he likes, and what he'd want. It's possible that—” Hinami trailed off. No matter the reason, remembering the fact that time stagnated in this place always seemed to bring her pause. “That he isn't aware his birthday's coming up.”
“Oh, yer right! That's good then! Be a real surprise!”
“Tsuchimura!”
The way Naki came into rooms loudly announcing himself almost perfectly paralleled the way he'd come into Shuu's life, a large warning, an irruption, a definite stay Shuu was too afraid to admit he maybe dreaded—perhaps it could be said that he dreaded—its end which inexorably approached. It had to—like so many other things had met their inexorable end—come to a stop at some point and he couldn't say he was prepared, despite all the preparations he had started making—since childhood, since he'd first felt the present absence of a loved one—for a time when he'd be left behind. He knew such preparations mattered nothing because he'd lived them in the flesh not so long ago—Water under the bridge, he'd told Kaneki, and he'd wanted to mean it, but sometimes he also found himself thinking who was it really the one who'd jumped under the bridge, who was it really who had to watch the water flow underneath, follow its course out into the sea. But that was the river. Here now, this is the sea.
“Monsieur. What is it?”
“What d'ya uh like?!”
Naki spoke like a child, excited, half the conversation unsaid, always with the expectation that the other party would be able to read his mind, understand exactly what he meant with those few words. It was, really, a testament to his propensity towards analyzing and listening to others that Shuu most times did understand him, even if he sometimes was sure they were speaking different languages.
“That's a good question, Monsieur. Let's see, I like Anemones, Camellias, Cherry blossoms, Dahlias, and Freesias. I like lilies of the valley and fringed orchids. I like reading books by human authors who describe what food feels like in their mouths, and those who use far too many adjectives, far too many adverbs. I like our king, I like being by his side, till the end. I like succulent good food, that'd be ideal now, and comfortable hotel rooms. I like the way Sacre Coeur looks at night from Pigalle, and the way Pont Alexander looks early in the morning, in the crisp air of early winter. I like the cherry blossoms on Omotesando and the smell of coffee coming from the places lining the avenue. I like Balmain and van Noten, being stimulated by things or people, mostly people, and I like stemless wine glasses even if they're tacky. What do you like, Monsieur?”
Naki looked like he'd been taking note of the things Shuu listed and got lost on the way from the flowers to the books but kept his listening face on just in case something else came up. Shuu couldn't really blame him.
“Like torturin' people. Oh, I like doin' errands! Ya like that? Big bro would like ask me to do stuff fer 'im an' I'd go an' do 'em. I loved that, was real good at it too. I like doin' errands fer ya too, course, but yers aren't as excitin', they're kinda lame sumtimes, but s'okay, ain't yer fault, really.”
“You like running errands?”
“Yeah, like when ya asked me ta help with the suits or like to get flowers or like wine or stuff like that, I like that kinda stuff.”
“That's great, Monsieur.”
“Argh, shit, nah, that's not. Look, like what d'ya really like? Like, I mean, like, when ya were a lil kid what was like yer dream, y'know, like sumthin' ya never got? Sumthin' ya'd really like, like a surprise thing, somethin' that'd surprise ya.”
“Ah,” again, he felt fortunate for the fact that he understood Naki, what Naki was trying to say, what hid behind Naki's actions. “I understand.”
He'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, on some level, maybe deep down, maybe beneath the water flowing under the bridge on that river, that it was Naki and not him the one to remember—to ask? To think of it. Did he even ever know which day it was?
On the other hand all he could think of was he'd like to amend what he'd said before, tell him Monsieur, I like when you tell me things, like when you said you liked the shape of my back, like a slope, the cervical curve folding into the thoracic one, and the lumbar one, even though you didn't know the names, and you just drew the shape in the air, said your favorite was the cervical, where my neck meets my back, and I like the moments in which we talk, in which we don't talk, in which I feel you near in the way I'd maybe wish I felt someone else near, and I like that you're here, with us, and not somewhere else. I like that since the first time I asked to join your side you've been strangely receptive, always willing to go toe to toe, always stimulating, always—I like that you ask what I like because my birthday is coming soon and you want to surprise me, the way Yamori taught you humans liked, the way he taught you made someone happy.
“As a child, I really just wanted to be with—” My friends? He basically just meant his classmates, most all humans, whom he couldn't even share a cake with, whom he stopped inviting around the time he realized it was too obvious that he couldn't share a cake with, that he didn't wish to pretend he was eating something he couldn't eat, performing for a crowd of people he cared not much for, when he could be feasting on beautiful full thighs, runny make up, maybe running from tears, of joy, of joy. “My friends, just a party, sit around and. Wanted everyone to have fun.” Trite.
“Nah, Yamada, like, not what ya wanna do! Like what d'ya want like a thing!”
What if he says a taste of Kaneki's flesh, will Naki try to kill him, in defense of his king, will he laugh, thinking it a joke, will he clasp his shoulder in his hand and say I don't think you do anymore but you can always taste—
“What do you like, Monsieur?”
“Hah? Nah, m'askin' ya.”
“Yes. But, you want ideas for a gift—”
“Wha! Who toldja?!”
“I'm just guessing. One of your friends needs a gift, and you want ideas from me, the only person you know with any taste.”
“Wha? Na—oh! Oh yeah!”
Too easy. “So what do you like?”
“I toldja.”
“Not doing, you said so yourself.”
“I'ven't watched Drunken Angel in a long time, I'd like ta have it, in DVD?”
“Surely it must be out in BluRay.”
“Uh, I dunno. I'd like ta be able ta watch it whenever I want. Y'ever watched it?”
“Not for a long time now.”
“Ah! Ya gotta watch it! S'like so great, I love it. S'just! Y'know?”
“I'm glad it is. Do you think your friend would like the movie?”
“I dunno. I'd like it.”
“There's your gift then.”
“Wha? Nah, I dunno where ta get it. Gimme another idea.”
“Just give them something that reminds you of them. They'll be happy to know you're thinking of them.”
“Ah, huh, s'a good idea, Yamada. Real good.”
“De rien, Monsieur. Anything else you need?”
“Uh, nah. Thanks, fer yer help.”
“Anythin' ya can find that'll like help.”
“Help what?” Hooguro asks.
“With the uh coration stuff, s'why we're here.”
“Thought we were here lookin' for a gift for the rich guy.”
“I'll charge with that, ya guys look fer coration.”
“What d'you need decorations for, boss?” It's Shousei's turn to wonder.
“The party.”
“Oh, you're throwin' him a party, too.”
“We all are. Argh, y'know ya shoulda told Miza ta help, bet she's good at this stuff.”
“I toldja before we came here, boss, I don't think she'd be so happy ta help.”
Hooguro imagines the rich guy must've felt similarly to him and Shousei, and even Miza, unable to keep himself from seeing just how amazing Naki is, just why so many people choose to follow after him, someone who remembers and cares and always makes sure.
He can't understand what Naki sees in the guy, though. Sure enough, he's strong, Naki told him once he'd fought against him before fighting side to side with the guy and had confirmed it himself so he trusted that judgement. And when he led the White Suits against the clowns Hooguro saw it first hand, and he was good at leading too, he got Naki to cheer for him. But the quiet self restraint he practices when not fighting, the carefully chosen movements, his words, the way he addresses others, especially Naki, almost as if he weren't really there, but elsewhere, always hiding something, is Naki's complete opposite, Naki, who's always present and carrying his heart in his hands, and carelessly exposed. He knows too that Naki's a hit among humans, they look at him as something precious they'd look after if given the chance. With Naki as his wingman picking up humans was always easier, worked out better, and all spoils were his. So, out of all the people to remember the birthday of in the midst of war, for Naki to have chosen that guy makes little sense. But he isn't going to start questioning it now.
“S'this okay, boss?”
Hooguro also knows Shousei, all macho and manly, wouldn't be able to pick something that'd please that guy even if it were pointed out to him.
“S'perfect!”
But he chooses not to say anything.
Naki rubs his hands, sticks them in his pockets, takes them out again to rub them, then sticks them back inside.
He peeks outside, makes sure the coast is clear, then turns back around, guides Hooguro and Shousei hang the coration stuff on the walls. Miza helped him write a sign that reads Happy Birthday and Hori helped him write Yamada's name on another sign—discarded bedsheets—cause he didn't have no idea how to.
Nishiki didn't really help out, on the promise he'd be the one to keep Yamada away from the room, and bring him in when the time came.
Hinami fixed all the flowers she could find—plastic, real, and others—to the tables where they'd set coffee and empty trays, where eyeballs and innards and other snacks were supposed to go, but they couldn't find any, and Nishiki told him it was best not to have any snacks, considering they were short on food anyway, and Ayato added he was an idiot for even doing this, so Naki said he didn't hafta come.
He got Miza and Kurona to help Hinami paint roses on one of the walls but they ran out of paint halfway through and left it like that. Hori showed him pictures of stuff Yamada would like to see painted on the walls but there was no way he could copy all of that with only red paint and Touka laughed at him when he asked for her help.
He told Kaneki about the party the day before, when Kaneki was helping him out with reading—he'd said he had to cut the lesson short, cause he wanted to go finish stuff in the room—and Kaneki asked why he hadn't asked for his help, said he'd have been happy to help, and Naki told him he didn't want to bother him with it, he had other stuff to think about. Kaneki told him he didn't know it was going to be Yamada's birthday, and said he was glad Naki remembered.
At four on the outside Hooguro and Shousei help him round up everyone into the room, and some time after that Nishiki walks in the room with Yamada behind him.
Naki's the only one who yells out Surprise, Yamada! like he told them they had to, but it's fine, cause Yamada looks really shocked, eyes all wide open, and he laughs, makes a gesture with his hands, like a gun or something, saying Merci, Monsieur—that was the first word Naki learned from him, back on the outside, before he even cared about Kaneki or Goat or anything like that. Surprising, that he remembers, really, cause he usually forgets things pretty easily—all but the names of the dead—but stuff like this comes easier.
He rubs his hands, watching Yamada open presents wrapped in old newspapers, trying not to stare at the one from himself.
Hinami got him dried flowers inside a book—Naki can't read what's on the cover so he has no idea what it is—and he kind of feels bad, cause he told her flowers weren't good enough, but in the end it makes sense cause it's what reminds her of him, so it makes sense.
Hori's present is a bundle of photographs of Yamada and other people. In one of those, it's just Yamada with his eyes closed, hands on his chin, and Naki behind him yelling something. Naki likes that picture too.
Nishiki's present is newspaper wrapped in newspaper wrapped in newspaper wrapped in newspaper, onto which Congratulations, moron is written.
Yamada laughs and thanks them all before he gets to Naki's present, I see from your face this is from you, Monsieur, he says, and Naki says, I dunno! Could be, ya gotta open it.
Shuu unwraps the newspaper carefully, as if it were silk, as if it were crêpe paper, and it might be.
Inside there's a small glass bottle with a makeshift cork—it's been washed, cleaned, and refilled with sand and water.
“Merci, Monsieur,” he says, delicately. “But what is it?”
Naki watches Yamada open the gift and when he takes out the bottle it looks even better than it did when he wrapped it. He asks what it is, but it's fine. Naki forgets lots of stuff too. S'like from the beach, reminds me of ya. Cause in Rue Island, we were by the sea, and ya came ta help. Reminds me that ya always got my back, everyone's back.
“Ah,” Shuu says. “That's beautiful, Monsieur,” and he turns away, picks up a cup of coffee for stability, to have something to do, have something in his hands that isn't just the bottle, the fact that Naki remembers, the fact that he cares.
“Are you alright?” Chie asks him. He gestures dramatically, as he always does, runs a hand through his hair.
“Certainement, mon amie,” he says. “Magnifique. Thank you for this wonderful, fantastic party.”
“Was all him,” she shrugs.
“I know, obviously. But I know you helped.”
“Are you sure you're alright?” She watches his trembling hands, still gripping the bottle, knuckles white.
“Of course!”
Hinami is the last to leave.
She hugs Tsukiyama tightly and wonders if the hiccup in his chest might actually be a sob.
Back in the day, it would've been hard for her to imagine him crying, but she's seen so much now. Too much.
“Thank you, petite Hinami. Je suis très hereux, aujourd'hui.”
“I'm happy you're alive,” she whispers, hoping he won't hear. Maybe he doesn't—he gives no indication—and he leaves him behind, in the room where only him and Naki remain.
Naki tells him he doesn't need to help clean up, cause it's his birthday, and he was the one who made all this anyway, so he'll clean it up himself, but Yamada stays anyway, bottle in his hand, saying thank you again, Thank you for this day, Monsieur, and other stuff in French that Naki can't know what they mean, so he just nods and says Sure, Yamada. For a second, nah, it's gotta be more, Yamada just stands, behind Naki while he takes down the corations from the walls. When Naki turns to ask Whatcha want, Yamada? he just smiles, hands Naki an N velop he got out of who knows where—made it appear like a magician, maybe? He bets Yamada knows some magic tricks—and Naki brushes his hands in his pants before receiving it.
“What's this?” Naki asks after cleaning his hands. “Where'd ya get it?”
“A colleague of my father's helped bring it in.”
“He a magician too?”
“N-no, he's just a—Aren't you going to open it, Monsieur?”
“Eh, sure.” Naki fumbles with his hands, tears open the cardboard envelope. He extracts the DVD inside without any caution, until he realizes what it is, recognizing the faces of the actors before he can recognize the kanji on the cover—if he even can.
I couldn't find Drunken Angel, Yamada tells him once Naki realizes the DVD is Sympathy for the Underdog, his third, maybe fourth, maybe second, favorite movie. Nah, Yamada, I love this movie, s'my third, maybe fourth, maybe second favorite, s'really good. Y'ever watched it? Yamada says he hasn't, but he's heard it's good. We can watch it together, Naki tells him, ya need ta watch it, s'really good. And Yamada smiles and says he'd love to watch it, they can watch it together like Naki said they could, and he says he's happy Naki likes it. So Naki asks him Why d'ya get me this? S'yer birthday, is it like a costume in France, in America?
“A custom, Monsieur. Your birthday was a month ago, non ?”
“Hey how'd ya know?”
“I have my ways.” He tried bribing Hooguro before remembering he didn't really have any money anymore, and then he just begged to be told. “Happy birthday to you too, Monsieur.”
Naki breaks out into a soft, quiet cry, kneeling down on the floor, holding the DVD close to his forehead as if it were a Bible, a sacred text.
Shuu watches him for a moment before he kneels too, pats him gently on the back, and whispers “What's wrong, Monsieur?”
Nothing's wrong, Naki tells him. M'just happy.