Chapter Text
One of the airport shuttle buses pulls up to the curb. It hasn't stopped raining since this afternoon and the bus stop signs outside terminal 1 look washed out, the plastic crumpling and curling in around the corners as if to protect their number, shaking like leaves in the wind. Smoke stutters from the exhaust. The driver then kills the engine, and the doors at the front and center slide open simultaneously, revealing the interior of the bus. You could smell the mothballs already.
Iishiro takes another drag of his cigarette as he watches the passengers file out of the bus one by one. He checks his phone, sees he has ten more minutes of break time to kill.
Once the bus driver's unloaded the luggage from the compartment, a few passengers make their way to the secluded smoking section where Iishiro's standing. The wheels of their trolleys leave wet lines behind on the concrete. Iishiro pushes the glass door open, smiling politely and nodding at them. He wonders if he'll see them at the security check, if he'll have to search them for metal objects, take the magnetic strips to their fingers, rummage through their hand luggage. The smell of cigarette smoke soon crowds the small corner and Iishiro grinds the stub of his cigarette in the ashtray, makes his escape.
He straightens the collar of his crisp, white shirt and walks through the automatic, double-glass doors with the wet wind pressing into his back.
Bright flashes of light spill over his pale face, from the spotlights and the huge screens advertising Versace and Prada on the opposite wall. The first three check-in counters are overrun. The names and logos of the airline companies blinking on the screens overhead. Iishiro nods at some of the personnel he knows as they are handling suitcases and scanning in passports, and calmly heads on towards the gates.
Iishiro rounds the corner to the security check. Adjusts his com, that big black plastic earpiece that took days of getting used to. The terminal seems to consist entirely of glass, glimmering blue in the lights.
His colleagues are diligently at work, patting down passengers, monitoring the screens, methodically going through rucksacks and trolleys. Iishiro takes the narrow corridor that's sealed off with plastic gates and a sign spelling out 'staff only' to get to his station. Reiichi acknowledges his return with a tilt of the head, barely a nod, and slinks out through the corridor, relieved of duty for now. There are long queues to the scanners. The constant rattling of plastic trays resounds throughout the space, underscored by the staccato beeps of the metal detectors.
While Iishiro spends most of his time on the job at the security check, he does get to do rounds around the terminal. To check on suspicious activity. Or secure unattended luggage.
He likes his job. And his squad, even if they are a rowdy bunch at times.
"Ne, Iishiro-san, someone left a trolley in the men's bathrooms between gates B23 and B24," Haku tells him over the com. "Could you come check it out? It's probably a lost and found, but the cleaning lady says it's been there since her round this morning."
Pressing a hand to his earpiece, Iishiro talks directly into the mic attached to his collar, "I'll be there in three."
He briskly paces over to the escalator, apologizing to the throng of passengers as he bounds down the last few steps, maneuvers through the large tax free shop, and takes a right to the B gates. Smooth jazz music is blaring from the speakers of a coffee shop. People are assembled in front of the screens signaling their gates. When Iishiro's at the junction of the hallways leading to gates B1 through 15 and B16 through 25, someone stumbles into him, hard. Almost sends them both careening into the wall.
"Oh!" Exclaimed somewhere between his shoulder blades. There is movement, hesitant shuffling, loss of weight. "Oh no, no, no..." Iishiro expects a curse here, but when he sees who ran into him, he doesn't think it's coming after all.
He has seen her around once or twice, trailing after her colleague, or behind a desk scanning in boarding passes. And every time he thought her uniform brings out the color of her eyes.
"I am so terribly sorry," she says, hands clasped together, mid-bow, beret almost tumbling down her mop of red hair. Means it too. He starts to rub the back of his head, sheepish and caught off guard. "I was in a hurry and sort of lost, but that's because I got the signs mixed up, I think and-- I should've paid more attention, really, and I'm truly sorry… Shiroma-san." She peeked at the tag pinned on his chest before adding his last name to her sentence.
Quick to assure her, he replies, "No, it's okay. Where.. Ahem, where do you need to go? Maybe I can point you in the right direction."
"Gate B23," she says, looking up at him, the crown of her head barely reaching past his chin. One strand of hair curls defiantly from underneath her beret. "I think I'm on the right track now though--"
Iishiro doesn't mean to cut her off when he offers, "I'm headed there. Come on, I'll walk you..." His pause is deliberate. His dark-rimmed eyes seek out hers.
"Akane Reimi... I'm Akane Reimi, pleased to meet you," she says with another quick bow. Her sunkissed calves are well-toned, soft-looking and Iishiro scrapes his throat, looks away, stares at nothing in particular.
"Shiroma Iishiro," he responds not missing a beat and nods towards the left hallway, leading towards gates B16 through 25. "If you would follow me please."
She easily falls into step with him, the clicking of her kitten heels a pleasant constant throughout the white noises of the airport: the dragging of trolleys, the announcements through the speakers, the light laughter of stewardesses as they stride past. And she doesn't stop chatting either. About how this is her third week here, about the airline and her colleagues, about how she likes the iced peach tea of the coffee shop near gate A35 best.
"That's the way to the bathroom," Iishiro interjects, reaching for her shoulder, but shying away from actually touching her. Reimi jerks away from the wall, stares at the sign on the door and then back at him, and blinks owlishly.
He swallows, a dry hollow-sounding crunch between his ears, and explains, "Gate B23 is on the right.”
Her laugh is shrilly, clearly embarrassed, cheeks flushed red, as she apologizes for being such a hassle. Haku pipes up over the com again, asking his position.
"I'm escorting a Japan Airlines stewardess to her gate. I'll be there soon," Iishiro replies, watching Reimi watching him. Her eyes are big and expressive. He pointedly ignores Haku's barrage of questions.
Reimi shyly pulls at the sleeve of her uniform jacket, smiling up at him. Two pilots hurry by them, with their coats folded over their arms, badges and ties dangling around their necks, pins glittering brightly. He returns the smile and motions for them to get going as well.
There's a small convenience store near gate B22. Funky pop blasting through the speakers. Late seventies or early eighties judging from the sound of the bassline. A woman is dawdling in front of the magazines, leafing through an issue of Vogue while two children are getting their greedy fingers all over the snacks. Iishiro presumes they are hers.
"I really appreciate you doing this for me, Shiroma-san," she says when they're at her gate.
Kuala Lumpur flashes over the desk in bright red letters, in a loop, next to the logo of Japan airlines. The sign for priority line and non-priority line stands abandoned near the trashcan. A few passengers are already seated on the benches in the boarding area. He should get back to the men's bathroom. Investigate that lost luggage. If Haku tattled to Shiba and Futaro about what he's been doing, he isn't going to have a second of peace until his shift ends.
There's a splattering of light freckles over the bridge of her nose, and Iishiro wonders why he had to go and notice that, fixate on that.
Reimi raises her eyebrows at him. His silence probably weirds her out, he thinks and tugs self-consciously on his collar, nearly snatching the wire of his mic loose. Iishiro prides himself on how neutral his voice sounds when he says, "Just doing my job, Akane-san. Looking after the people at this airport."
Two passengers stand up and shuffle over to the desk, clutching their hand baggage and waiting for Reimi to get to business.
"Well, maybe so," she begins, pressing a finger to her chin as if mulling something over in her head, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "But I still appreciate it a lot. Maybe I can return the favor somehow, someday." Her gaze flicks to his face, searching out his eyes, even if his right one's hidden beneath his fringe.
"Someday," Iishiro echoes with a small, polite smile. No match for her bubbly demeanor and that splash of cute freckles over the bridge of her nose.
With a nod, he tracks back to the men's bathroom. The convenience store is empty except for the cashier, rearranging the small aisle of snacks on his haunches. Floor to apex windows cover the entire hallway. The sky is still overcast outside, but at least it's stopped raining and white, washed-out sunlight shines through from between the clouds in columns. Iishiro tries not to make comparisons with his pale skin, his pale hair. It doesn't work.
When Iishiro was fifteen, his hair turned snow white overnight. None of the doctors or psychologists his parents forced him to visit could explain why. Stress, maybe. Problems with his immune system, maybe. Marie-Antoinette's Syndrome was the unofficial diagnosis. He remembers the way the doctor pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as if in pain. Doesn't really know why that particular image stuck.
He takes a sharp left and wanders into the bathrooms. Picks at the wire of his mic. Wonders if his colleagues are hearing static.
As it turns out, the abandoned trolley was safe. Wedged between the toilet and the wall of the bathroom stall. There was no name tag attached to the handle, but someone had scribbled their name on the side in blue magic marker, in romanji. Hikaru Sato, it read childishly. Iishiro brings the trolley to lost and found and reports the incident to his colleagues.
There's some prodding from Shiba, Haku and Futaro when he gets back to the security check. He pats down a passenger, ignoring the subtle way his ears are burning when Futaro asks him if Reimi's cute. The grin on Futaro's mouth nearly split his face in two halves, like an overripe plum.
She is cute though, his answer goes unsaid.