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Sasara showed up like this often, at both Samatoki’s office or his residence. Every time, he would flash a toothy grin and waltz into the room when invited in, as if he wasn’t bloody and tattered. It happened frequently enough that they had settled into a routine. This time around, when Samatoki opened the door, exasperation evident on his face, Sasara was smiling widely despite his split lip trailing blood down his chin, a slightly skewed nose, and an eye that was swelling up in the beginnings of a nasty shiner. Although Samatoki expressed extreme irritation each time, his minute patience always running thin, he’d be kidding himself if he claimed that he didn’t worry about his idiot best friend in times like this. As he always did, Samatoki stepped to the side and ushered Sasara into the apartment that he shared with his younger sister. Thankfully, she was out with friends at the moment.
“Said something stupid again, didn’t you?” Samatoki sneered, kicking the door shut behind Sasara after he traipsed into the apartment as if he wasn’t gushing blood from his nose, a crimson waterfall that seeped into his mouth and stained his teeth pink. Sasara entered the kitchen and plucked the last piece of paper towel off of the roll, making a futile attempt to wipe away the blood. Each time he wiped, new blood just took its place.
“First of all, I said something funny. Second of all, you’re out of paper towel,” Sasara answered, making his way back into the living room and plopping down on the sofa. He was mindful not to drip blood on the furniture, holding the saturated paper towel to his nose to avoid ruining anything. Samatoki would have his head if he stained anything in his home or office. Samatoki had stalked off in the middle of Sasara talking, heading off to fetch the first aid kit he compiled specifically for these situations with Sasara. The comedian really was a pain in his ass.
Coming back into the living room, Samatoki rolled his eyes. “What you think is funny and what the rest of the world thinks is funny tends to be vastly different, dumbass.”
“Aw, pulling out the pet names,” Sasara cooed, cackling when Samatoki glared daggers at him. The albino man disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, coming back with a warm, wet washcloth to clean Sasara’s face. It was already bloodstained from the many other occasions that mirrored this one. Samatoki sat down on the couch next to Sasara and ordered him to turn and face him. Surprisingly, Sasara did as he was told without making another stupid remark, and he lowered the reddened paper towel from his face.
The bleeding had let up some, more of just a slow trickle at that point. Samatoki shook his head disapprovingly. To be fair, he had no room to talk, considering how many scuffles he had gotten into in his life. Still, Sasara was far more of a respectable man in the eyes of society, so Samatoki expected better of him. It was unfair, but it was true. Before any more blood could make tracks down Sasara’s busted face, Samatoki raised the towel and began to dab away the mess. Some spots where the blood had begun to dry had to be scrubbed, making Sasara wince. Samatoki would maybe feel bad about it if it wasn’t Sasara’s own fault he ended up like that. Instead, he told him to suck it up and continued to clean his face of the claret disaster.
Sasara beamed at him when he set the washcloth down, enough to free another drop of blood from the cut in his lip. His tongue darted out and captured the droplet before Samatoki could yell at him for reversing the progress. “What are we going to do about my nose?” Sasara asked, voice with a slightly nasally tone due to the offset.
“The same thing we always do,” Samatoki replied, not blind to the way his friend tensed up. It was a painful experience, but it was better than having a crooked nose for the rest of his life. His calloused hands came back up to Sasara’s face, and the nervous energy surrounding the comedian was palpable. Without any warning, Samatoki pushed the man’s cartilage back in line, relieved that it didn’t seem like any of the bone structure was broken.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow,” Sasara whined, flinching out of Samatoki’s grasp. His voice already sounded far more regular, bar the slight congestion from the attempted clotting in his nasal passage. Resetting his cartilage made the bleeding pick up again, and Samatoki offered the washcloth to Sasara. Taking it gratefully, he held it to his face to soak up the carnage. The worst of it was over.
“So, what the hell did you even say this time?”
“Uh,” Sasara mumbled, trying to think. His words were muffled behind the washcloth as he spoke. “I can’t really remember, honestly. I don’t remember much after the second guy hit me.”
“You’re hopeless, you know that?”
“Mmm, maybe, yeah,” Sasara agreed, smiling even though Samatoki couldn’t see it. “I do remember them saying that my voice was annoying.”
Samatoki let out a laugh, smirking. “They’re not wrong.”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t disagree,” Sasara tittered, completely in agreement but mildly self-conscious about it. He coped with it the way he coped with everything: humour. “I want to strangle myself sometimes when I talk.”
“Don’t tell me you’re turning into that deranged office worker.”
“Doppo? Hah! You think he gets off on that? You know, like the people that die in their closets with a belt around their necks and their dicks out,” Sasara chattered animatedly like he didn’t just get his face rearranged moments ago.
“I really don’t want to think about his fuckin’ dick, thanks,” Samatoki scowled, having another one of those moments where he wondered why exactly he was friends with the man sitting beside him. They were an odd combination, but for whatever reason, they just worked.
“Hey, he’s pretty attractive.” Sasara shrugged, laughing when Samatoki shot him another look of utter disappointment, distaste, and disgust. Mirth pained Sasara, as he was pretty sure that he had a bruised rib or two, but laughter was the best medicine, according to him. Jakurai would disagree, but what did someone that went to medical school know? The plain white dress shirt he wore was dirty from where he was forced to the ground, one shoe print clear square in the middle of his chest. Crimson stains ran down the front of the button-up where his nose had streamed down a metallic-scented rainstorm. He looked like a walking biohazard.
When Samatoki stood up and left the room, Sasara wondered how long it would be before Samatoki kicked him out and told him to go to his own damn apartment. The length of time varied greatly, completely dependent on Samatoki’s mood. If he was feeling merciful, he would let Sasara crash at his place, knowing that the other man didn’t like to be alone, especially after getting his ass handed to him. Sasara wouldn’t admit to that fact, but they both knew it was true, unspoken as it was.
Apparently Samatoki was in one of his more compassionate moods despite never wanting to hear another word from Sasara’s mouth, as he came back into the room and set some clothes on the arm of the sofa by Sasara. It was a plain grey t-shirt and a pair of red and black plaid pyjama pants, something comfy and clean to change into. Sasara always loved wearing Samatoki’s clothes since the other man was almost half a foot taller than him, making the clothes slightly baggy and relaxed. Samatoki’s scent always lingered on them, making it almost seem like a hug from his friend. “Change. I’ll throw your stuff in the laundry.”
“Aye, aye, captain!” Sasara saluted him with another goofy grin on his face, not missing the most miniscule upturn of Samatoki’s lips. Despite his tough guy yakuza attitude and the fact that he seemed like a heartless Scrooge, Samatoki really wasn’t a bad guy. His sister and his friends were extremely important to him. He masked concern with anger, truly tenderhearted despite his outwardly tetchy temperament. That was one of the things that drew Sasara to him. The duality was intriguing and always kept him on his toes.
Sasara stood from the couch and began unbuttoning his shirt, much to Samatoki’s chagrin. He pretended not to hear the white-haired man as he yelled at him about how Nemu could see any second and that she didn’t need to see his scrawny ass in any state of undress. Poking the bear was one of Sasara’s favourite games. Samatoki always told him that playing stupid games got you stupid prizes, but it never stopped Sasara. Letting his sullied shirt slip from his shoulders and removing it, Samatoki could see how red his ribs were where he had them kicked in. A watercolour of blues and blacks was sure to effloresce overnight and make him a work of bruised art. As much as he wanted to keep harassing Samatoki by taking his sweet time, Sasara just wanted to get out of his dreggy clothes, so he quickly stepped out of his pants and dressed himself up in the garments Samatoki provided.
Sasara followed after Samatoki like a lost puppy when the other man scooped up his clothes and the soiled washcloth and skulked off to the laundry room. There was already a hamper there with some of Samatoki’s own clothes that needed to be washed, so he just started tossing them in with Sasara’s. Something that fell out of the hamper caught Sasara’s eye, and he snatched it out of the washing machine before it could be buried by everything else. It was a pair of black boxers with little Jolly Rogers all over them, and he could help but guffaw. “This is the most you pair of underwear I have ever seen. Even your underwear has to be badass. Get it? Ass. Ha!”
“Holy fucking shit, shut up, and give me those,” Samatoki cursed, yanking the boxers from Sasara’s hands and whipping them into the washer. Pouring the detergent into the designated spot, Samatoki had to resist the urge to pour the bottle on Sasara for being so ungodly annoying. Sasara was lucky that detergent was expensive. “God, why are you even in here? Go back to the living room, you fucking freak. Leave me and my underwear alone.”
Sasara only laughed more, but he acquiesced and left the laundry room. Samatoki let out a frustrated sigh, regretting letting Sasara hang around any longer than it took to fix him up. As his best friend, Sasara knew all of the best ways to get under his skin, and by god, Sasara did it at any chance he got. Sasara was lucky that Samatoki wasn’t the one beating his ass for the stupid shit he said. Groaning, Samatoki closed the door to the washing machine and fiddled with the settings. Unable to face Sasara’s dumb jokes just yet, Samatoki leaned against the washer and closed his eyes. He’d kill for a cigarette, but he had made a promise to Nemu that he wouldn’t smoke in the apartment. Getting outside to smoke meant walking past Sasara again, unless he crawled out of a window or something. The last thing he wanted to do after the boxers stunt was leave Sasara alone in his house with his possessions. That jokester of a man was as mischievous as a fox, and he’d get into anything and everything unattended. Maybe a toddler was a better comparison than a fox.
Looking at his phone, Samatoki realised that twenty minutes had passed since Sasara spared him by wandering back to the living room. It felt like he had only blinked, but he must’ve dozed off standing up. Being around Sasara either gave him life or sapped him of all of his energy. It was one or the other, with nothing in between. Exhaling heavily, he figured he should go make sure that Sasara hadn’t burnt the kitchen to the ground or choked on his own spit.
When he got to the living room, he was about to warn Sasara that he better not have destroyed anything, but he stopped short, the words dying on the tip of his tongue. On the couch, curled up with a serene expression on his battered face was Sasara. One pillow was beneath his aching head while the other was clutched to his chest, trapped in a bear hug. The loose clothes made him look even smaller than usual. A faint smile graced Samatoki’s usually serious face as he thought about how Sasara was cute when he wasn’t talking. Stepping quietly, Samatoki went to the hall closet and grabbed out one of the fuzzy throw blankets that Nemu had insisted on buying. He made his way back over to Sasara, carefully draping the soft blanket over him to keep him warm.
Stirring, Sasara murmured groggily, “You forgot to do something earlier.”
Yeah, he was definitely cuter when he wasn’t talking. “What?”
“To kiss my booboos better,” Sasara stated matter-of-factly, a sleepy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. If Samatoki rolled his eyes any harder than he did, they would have unscrewed themselves and fallen straight out of his head.
“You’re a fuckin’ pain in my ass,” Samatoki muttered. Contrary to his harsh words, however, he leaned down and placed a delicate kiss on the tip of Sasara’s nose, careful not to hurt him. “Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” Sasara repeated his earlier words as he tugged the blanket up to his chin and snuggled it close. It didn’t take long before he was snoozing once more.
Sasara was a pain in the ass, but he was Samatoki’s pain in the ass.