Work Text:
Yokozawa-san,
Please meet me in my office at 14:00 today. My apologies for the late notice. You are not responsible for any other tasks you have during that time.
Cordially,
Isaka Ryuuichirou
Senior Managing Director
Marukawa Publishing
For once in the past week, Yokozawa presses his back into his chair, letting a long-held sigh of relief leave his lips. I’m getting fired.
Finally.
It’s been four days since the pictures were leaked and Yokozawa was considering just quitting if they weren’t going to go through with firing him themselves. The pictures wouldn’t be fire- or quit-worthy if Kirishima-san were a woman or if it were a few decades in the future but that isn’t the case. The added element that Kirishima presented himself as a married man (which he metaphorically was, but…) didn’t necessarily help their case.
So, he was getting fired. Great! At least now he wouldn’t have to put up with weird stares from every direction and mysteriously canceled deals and people who can’t get their numbers straight. He would start over somewhere new once publishers started hiring again. Or, you know what, fuck publishers. There had to be some other business hiring salesmen…
And then comes the issue: if Yokozawa was getting fired, Kirishima would be getting fired too. If they’re lucky, they might get a package when they leave that’ll last until spring. Then they’d have no choice but to live under one roof, probably make their daughter switch schools, and run tag sales to get by.
That is if they’re still together by the end of all this. They haven’t communicated in a way that isn’t screaming over the phone or aggressive eye contact avoidance when they run into each other at work. Yokozawa wonders if when he said that he was “done,” Kirishima took it literally.
Still, Yokozawa opens his phone to text Kirishima after digesting the message for a while:
> Did you just get that email too?
It takes a few minutes of Yokozawa pretending to work to get a response.
> Yup. 2 o’clock. Looking forward to getting fired.
Yokozawa breaks his week-long grimace with that message. Once they get fired, maybe it’ll work out.
> I was about to say the same thing.
Yokozawa sits before his depressing salad on lunch break, not necessarily hungry but aware that if he doesn’t eat now he’ll regret it later. He has an hour and a half before he has to go to Isaka’s office. A dreadfully long hour and a half. Yokozawa was eating more of his cuticles than he was his salad.
Since Monday, lunch has been especially depressing. Yokozawa would typically just eat by himself, but he didn’t feel ostracized up until that day. Now he could feel every pair of eyes boring into his back, he could hear every small whisper shit-talking him in one way or another. And all it took were a few pictures of Yokozawa and Kirishima on a date. Stupid.
Yokozawa can feel a shift in the room after he shoves a forkful of kale in his mouth. He doesn’t bother looking up. Somebody probably made a particularly funny homophobic quip in his direction that Yokozawa had learned to block out. Maybe it was a threat instead. Maybe—
“There you are,” the familiar voice of Kirishima Zen makes Yokozawa’s ears suddenly attentive. At the top of his vision, Yokozawa sees Kirishima place a wrapped sandwich down and sit across the table from him.
Yokozawa slowly lifts his head to see Kirishima’s grinning mug, along with tens of faces staring directly at them. “What the hell are you doing here,” he deadpans.
“I wanted to eat lunch with you! It’s our last day after all,” he loses the smile but looks on with caring eyes. “I thought you usually eat at your desk?”
Yokozawa flicks his eyes around the room at all the unapologetic stares from his coworkers. He used to be able to scare them away with just this but… Has he softened or have they become less afraid of him?
Kirishima’s presence made a point though. There wasn’t any point in caring about what his coworkers think anymore. They would be leaving the company at two today. “No point in trying to do work. It’s kinda shitty that they’re wanting us to keep working ‘til they give us the boot.”
“True. I’m looking forward to not working with Ijuuin-sensei anymore,” Kirishima laughs, unwrapping his lunch.
“And I’m looking forward to never arguing over prices with you again,” Yokozawa smiles weakly, taking another bite of his shitty, unfilling salad. He pauses for a moment, chewing. And suddenly, it hits. “...Fuck. What are we supposed to do?”
“Worst comes to worst we can stay at my parents’ place. For now, it’s probably best to let the leases run out and see if we can get other jobs before our savings are gone,” he sighs, “At least we’ll have unemployment.”
Yokozawa chews on his lip, “I can’t live at your parent’s place.”
“Well, it’s not like you’ll be able to afford your apartment without a paycheck. Besides… I want you to be near me.”
“Don’t start that shit.”
“Takafumi, it’s not shit. I love you. I don’t want us to fall apart because of this,” he scratches the back of his neck, “And I’m sorry for not being there for you the past few days. Forgot to say that.”
“...Me too…” He’s glad not to hear Kirishima take that as an opportunity to make fun of him. Yokozawa leans his face into his hand, “...What about Hiyori?”
“Do you mind being her tutor? We’re gonna have to take her out of cram school.”
“How much am I gonna get paid?” Yokozawa jokes before a wave of dread comes over him again. He grinds his teeth into his lip. Just barely above a whisper he says, “We’ve really fucked this up, haven’t we?”
“Yokozawa…”
“I’m sorry.” He hides his face in his shoulder.
“I swear if you cry—”
“I’m not crying!” he whisper-yells, definitely crying.
“Hey,” Kirishima reaches forward, taking his lover’s hand in his own.
“We’re at work.”
“Well, not for long,” he tilts his head, trying to cheer his lover up, “Who the hell cares anymore, right?”
“...Okay.”
They eat lunch silently and people stare on. They ignore them. Their hands stay together, locked.
After lunch, two o’clock comes surprisingly quickly. At this point, Yokozawa was ready to get his pink slip and go.
With one last breath, Yokozawa steps into the director’s lobby.
Kirishima is sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting area. He waves at Yokozawa, which must have taken quite some effort looking at his depressed expression.
Yokozawa weakly smiles back. He heads over to the secretary’s desk. Do you have an appointment; yes, at two; Yokozawa-san, I presume?; yes, that’s me; please have a seat, the director will be with you shortly; thank you. Yokozawa takes the seat right next to the gloomy wreck that is Kirishima Zen with a huff. “Well.”
“Yup.”
Like a sixth sense, they look at each other and burst into laughter.
“We’re getting fired!” Kirishima jokes, leaning his head on Yokozawa’s shoulder.
Yokozawa joins him there. “We’re getting fired.”
“We should open a corner store!
“I was thinking a hot dog stand.”
“Or a traveling circus! You can be the clown!!”
“And you can be the one on the target board…”
“Is that a threat?”
In a matter of moments, Isaka opens the doors to his office to bid some higher-up adieu. He lets out a long sigh after that, either dreading what’s to come, glad that what just happened is over, or both. “Come in!” he says, already walking back into his office.
Yokozawa and Kirishima give each other reassuring looks before walking into the office themselves. Yokozawa closes the door behind himself and the air immediately grows thick and tense. He swallows.
“Have a seat!” Isaka does himself, resting behind the largest, scariest desk either of them will ever see in their lives.
Yokozawa and Kirishima do so in matching expensive chairs, facing their boss like he were god doling out punishments and they were the damned.
Isaka sighs again, tapping pages into stacks. “So—” He’s interrupted by a patterned knock on the door. “Yes?”
The secretary sticks his head through the door, “Would you like me to make tea, director?”
“Ah, don’t worry about it! We’ll be done shortly.”
“Of course.” He closes the door silently.
Yokozawa and Kirishima hang their heads. Fuck.
“Oh! That’s my lover. We’ve been together for ten years.”
...Sorry?
Isaka (Marukawa bigwig, most intimidating emailer in the world, and exceeding flamboyant homosexual?) waves his hands about, “Hey, don’t glare at me like that! Look, what I’m saying is that I’m on your side of this whole thing.”
If it were socially acceptable, Yokozawa would say “What the fuck?” right now. It isn’t.
“But I’m sure you know why you’re here today.”
Back on track. They raise their heads, nod. Prepare for impact.
“Well, I had a conversation with those women who were following you around and spread those pictures and they’ve agreed to send you two a written apology. They will also be taking a leave for two weeks effective immediately,” he cracks his knuckles, “Unless you would like to extend it. I’ll also leave it up to you whether you would like to press harassment charges. If so, I have contacts with good lawyers. I can cover charges if need be.”
Sorry????????
Isaka pouts, “Stop looking at me like that!! You’re giving me the creeps…” He shivers dramatically.
Kirishima has the balls to open his mouth, “Is that all?”
“Ah, yes. Sorry for taking so much time out of your day. I’m sure both of your schedules are very busy.”
“So—” Yokozawa starts, “We’re not fired?” and Kirishima finishes.
Isaka tilts his head, perplexed. “No..? Why would I fire my best editor and salesman?”
Yokozawa flicks his eyes over at Kirishima before commenting, “Your email was a bit…”
A lightbulb goes off in Isaka’s head; he shakes his head. “Sorry, my secretary wrote that. I swear, he’s like a walking dread machine. I’ll scold him.”
“O-Okay…”
“I’ll let you get back to work then.”
And with that, they were off scot-free. Still in a daze, Yokozawa and Kirishima walk out of the waiting area.
“We’re… not fired…” Kirishima’s arms hang.
“Yeah…” Yokozawa sighs, “I guess…”
“We’re not fired…” he repeats, “Ugh…”
They step into the empty elevator limply. After the doors close, they meet each other’s eyes.
Kirishima’s the first to grin a stupid, cheesy grin. He wraps his arms around Yokozawa’s waist, loudly smooching him on the cheek. “Fuck! Let’s eat at a steakhouse after work! Let’s go drinking! I’m gonna have two bottles of sake!”
Yokozawa hides his smile with a grimace, smacking his lover’s hands away, “We’re at work, idiot!”
That only makes him grab on tighter, “I know, right!?”