Archive of Our Own

The brown stained wood creaks under the force of Saichi’s thick, black boots. Twenty paces forward before he reaches the open wall at the end of the watch tower. There’s no window panes, just an empty space above a waist level wall to keep them protected while watching over the base. The scenery before him blurs - the pale blue sky, the purple mountains, the dry, browning grass of the earth - altogether make for one massive splattered canvas. For some it’s breathtaking, being up so high immersed in heights unlike those from simply peering out the window of a building. Here, there’s no secure structure surrounding them, only the necessary frame to hold them up and nothing more.

For him, the enchantment is long gone either way, leaving him with nothing more than the dull alertness required for finishing his shift. One last glance, he turns, does twenty more. There’s three more towers down the line. Each of the soldiers inside following a similar path to his own. He doesn’t quite enjoy morning patrol, but it’s a job that has to be done, just like every other position on the lot.

The terrain down below is quiet, aside from the occasional command being thrown at those unloading shipments. When he looks down, he realizes the dead grass being crumpled under the masses of wooden cases deserves better. Crushed for no good reason that’ll benefit it, only the people who find purpose with treating it like a holder. Soon though, it won’t be his worry. He’ll finish his year and go back to a mundane world, fading himself into the muddled canvas of life.

He lifts his head from watching his fellow soldiers. When he overlooks the skyline a second time, it’s too late. The sound erupts, and his vision goes black.

Saichi’s eyes rip themselves open from the black nightmare to the basic view of his beige ceiling. It’s empty, not even an overhead fan filling the untextured roof. It’s completely devoid of the chaos he experiences every time he closes his eyes. His mind is tricking him again, bringing back the cruel images he witnessed that day. Nothing near him is anywhere close to the sounds of that day, but as he runs through his one bed room apartment, knocking over any decoration in his way, he feels a similar anxiety run through him as it did before.

He throws open the bathroom door and slams the toilet lid so hard against the bowl that it bounces back against his forehead. He can barely bother to lift it away while his insides are busy reaching from the deepest crevices of his stomach, expelling themselves into the porcelain bowl full force. The bile burns his throat and nostrils as it does every time. His body convulses, his entire chest heaves along with the motion to let everything out. Though it feels endless, he finally does stop. With his throat clear, he slips his face from the toilet and throws it back to rest against the counter behind him.

There’s pools of sweat dripping down his forehead, despite leaning on the cold floor. The body twitches fade away after some minutes until he eventually has complete control of himself once more. It’s as if his runaway fuel gauge is turning to empty, and while it takes away any drive to start the rest his day, he can’t sit against the counter forever.

Try, despite how hard it seems, he reminds himself at least once a day. Sometimes more. He won’t make any improvement without effort, even if he just gets one thing accomplished, then that’s enough. He can do it.

It doesn’t stop him from sitting a few minutes longer though, before finally flushing down his shame. He peeks through the thin space from where his door didn’t close and finds his clock. It reads 5:14 am. He got about 3 hours of sleep. With a sigh, he starts by looking for the toilet bowl cleaner to disinfect the seat. He’ll get that done first so he can move on to his shower after.

0

Sugimoto Saichi does what every desperate teenage would do to get away. Enlist. Wasn’t his first choice, not his second, and probably not his third. If you gave him the chance now, he’d write essays on why massaging elder folks’ feet at a nursing home is a much more practical, fulfilling career than what he did for his time in the service.

But he can’t go back and stop himself from making the decision. He has nothing to do but accept his actions and move forward. He’s sitting taut in the pool of his own creation, but at least he’s still alive to sit.

As a 19 year old, he doesn't have the financial means to move forward, nor does he have the solid family support to motivate him either. With his last stable relationship with his closest friend holding on by a thread, and seeing his first love move forward without him, the cherry placed on top of a heaping pile of disdain falls over, spilling out of the bowl and creating a mess too big to clean with his own hands.

So he leaves, with the promise of money and an education in return for his time and effort. Little does he know the cost is higher than the gain. Unfortunately, he comes back with an array of concerning issues more complex than trying to figure out where he’s going to apply learned math formulas in the real world.

So he’s lost a few screws over the years, and had a millions useless parts put inside to replace them. During his times, he was a member of a dozen and a half secretive missions. They relied on his instincts and build to get him and his team through, and while say he was useful, every mission took it’s toll.

He’s been out for a year now after serving for eight, and each day is another chance to move along from the so called rut he’s been placed into. While he had hoped to slip seamlessly into an average life, that too, turns out to be more complicated than expected. But, as soon as he gets through one day, he can easily start another. What’s one nightmare towards the hundred he’s already had?

Just one more day.

0

No matter how many times he gargles with mouth wash, the burning sensation and putrid taste refuse to leave his throat. It takes him another two and a half hours to get finish cleaning up and dressed, so that he can make his way down to the local coffee shop at the bottom floor of the next building over. Between staring aimlessly at the tile and trying not to completely relapse into a screaming mess, he’s rather impressed with himself for making it down so fast.

He messages his counselor as he walks through the glass doors, confirming he’ll be attending their appointment later on. He briefly debates relaying his morning over text, but he doesn’t think himself in any immediate danger, so he settles on waiting for his session to actually start to spill his heart out. She has told him if he’s ever in an emergency to contact her and she’ll find the best way to help him, but he’s never really sure when the line to intervene should be crossed.

Putting his phone away, he slips into the line to order. Thankfully, today it is empty.

“Good morning Sugimoto, what can I get you?” the owner takes his order.

“Ginger tea. And a bowl of oatmeal.”

“Confirm the total on screen and insert your card.”

He does. Saichi can feel a set of eyes burning into his skull as he signs. He must have a sign above him to show he’s a walking danger zone or else he wouldn’t feel a concerned blaze burning against him.

“Thank you and we’ll bring your order to you when it’s ready.”

“Thanks.”

The poor cashier, Tanigaki as he knows, is obviously debating asking if he is alright. Saichi’s learned the names of all of the full time employees, just as they’ve learned his. They’ve built a simple acquaintanceship over the time, as they finally began a conversation for the first time a few months back. He starts frequenting the shop long before, but all seemed to have been wary of the menacing customer, so they never interacted more than when he had ordered.

One slow winter morning, though, a few months after he’s made the coffee shop his go to place, a bold employee actually leaves his station to sit himself at Saichi’s table. He opens his mouth before anyone can stop him.

“Hey.”

Saichi looks up from the paper he wasn’t actually reading. There’s plenty of headlines talking about new technology and upcoming weather reports, but they’re all blurring together into an unreadable jumble of words he couldn’t pick apart without actually trying.

“Hey,” he answers back, looking from his paper to the man in the seat. He finds himself unnerved with the direct eye contact.

“Name’s Shiraishi,” the older man introduces. “Shiraishi Yoshitake.”

He nearly forgets his own manners from the shock. It takes him a moment to politely reach out his hand to shake. The man has a firm grip he notices, with a surprising soft palm compared to his calloused finger tips.

“Sugimoto. Sugimoto Saichi.”

Oddly enough, it brings a small smile to the white haired man’s face. As he takes his hand back, he waits for the man to speak again. He doesn’t know what to say. He knows the barista has taken his order before and delivered trays to his table, but they have never spoken outside of that.

“Nice to meet you, Sugimoto. So what’s your deal?”

“Shiraishi!” someone yells from behind the counter at the same time another employee drops the ceramic plates they were holding. The sounds startle him, but from landing on the counter, the noise muffles and prevents the flatware from breaking. Thank god the sound wasn’t worse.

“What! He’s our regular, shouldn’t we get to know someone who comes in so often?”

The larger man then comes out from behind and shuffles over to their table. Hastily, he slams his palm over Shiraishi’s shaved scalp, dragging him out of the chair, jerking them both down into a respectful bow.

“Excuse him, he has absolutely no manners. I hope you can forgive us for his impoliteness.”

It’s a little off putting, considering he wasn’t bothered by the question in the first place. He’s more surprised by the sudden interaction and the reactions that followed. He realizes, it’s been a very long time since he’s spoken to someone who wasn’t a doctor or therapist trying to get him back to his normal self. If he still existed somewhere to be found, anyway. Here was someone before him that genuinely wanted to talk to him, even if it was just to be nosy. And it seems like the rest of the workers wanted to know just the same, but couldn’t bring themselves to actually ask.

“No, it’s fine,” he reassures to prevent anything from escalating. “I come in here a lot and I’ve never introduced myself. But I am always thankful for your kindness,” he finishes not sure exactly what to say.

Was it stupid? There’s no reason to announce yourself as a customer anyway.

“It’s the least we can do to give you the best service possible. Can I get you something else, on the house?”

“I’m fine, this is more than enough,” he looks down to his single piece of bread and black coffee. “Not much of an appetite,” he explains with a laugh, despite the concerned faces that have formed before him.

“Are you feeling alright?” The man asks.

The subject touches a nerve no matter how much he doesn’t want to overreact. While his story is just another one lost on paper, he doesn’t need to worry those he doesn’t even know on a personal level. He wants to move on, and something so insignificant shouldn’t cause that big a rift.

“It’s-,” he starts and stops. All of a sudden his throat feels dry and he’s gripping his utensils with an unnecessary amount of force. It takes a deep inhale for him to stop himself, startling the two men beside him.

Another employee steps into the little circle they’ve formed, desperate to stop her coworkers from making anything worse. With a glass of water steady in her hand, she places it before Saichi, motioning for him to take a drink. She offers him a wide smile, light and sweet, but clearly tense with the atmosphere.

Unclenching his palm, he takes the glass and finishes it in one swoop. He takes a few more breaths, both men have given him another meter of space while the lady stays by the table.

“Thank you uh.”

“Inkarmat, and no problem. I hope these fools didn’t overwhelm you.”

“It’s not any of you. I’m the one inconveniencing you all.

He can feel the sweat build on his forehead while his body goes cold. His stomach wants to start churning, but there’s nothing in his system to throw up.

“I just got back from my service in Hokkaido,” he manages to say, breathing a sigh of relief that he could speak without losing his composure. Though it’s not quite the same feeling of relief for the three before him. The air stills around them. Daring a look, he sees a line of sad, sympathetic faces.

“Were you where the accident-,” the two simultaneously elbow Shiraishi in the stomach. Swift, but not fast enough to stop him from asking what they were all thinking.

“Yeah.”

No need to elaborate on the matter. They know, as it has been all over the news for the four months since it happened. The story overtakes any and every headline across the country. “Attack or accident! Gun powder supply bursts on base!”

He was honorably discharged the month after. He hadn’t even gotten out of the hospital before the military was thanking him for his service. He doesn’t complain about being able to leave early, but the price was way heavier than he could have imagined. Even if months have passed since the accident and his release, somehow it hasn’t been long enough.

After telling the trio that day, they never bring up the subject again to which he’s grateful. He keeps coming back to the store as normal, but instead he’s able to hold small conversations with them all. Shooting the breeze as they may be, the minimal interactions are appreciated.

Saichi thinks back to that day, how kind all of the employees were. And they still are, they’ve gotten to know him and his orders better, how he likes things served and what to exclude. But of course, there’s still a wall - either from being a customer or just being unwilling to break down the lock that guards an ex soldier’s soul, they still never overstep their boundaries. And Saichi doesn’t ask them to.

Even now, Shiraishi wipes the tables in the back, shifting his eyes back and forth between Tanigaki at the counter and Saichi. How he got the job, Saichi doesn’t know because the man is always looking to slack off rather than do his actual work. But who is he to judge, considering he himself recently found work at a local grocery store when he can barely keep himself together.

They can all probably tell he’s had a rough morning, but aren’t sure whether or not they can or want to bring it up. He gets it, they don’t have to want to either. He receives enough kindness being allowed back into the shop everyday.

Shiraishi is the boldest of the bunch. Tossing his rag over his shoulder, he hums a sweet tune until he’s standing at the next table over within view of where Saichi’s sitting.

“Morning, Sugimoto,” he starts lightly.

“Morning,” he answers, sounding more dejected than intended. He means to put on a front rather than deal with anything right now, but his voice escapes him. It’s what counseling is for later, not here, not now. He should be better at keeping up a mask considering how the time has passed.

“How’s your oat meal? I cut up the fruit today,” he announces proudly.

“It’s great.”

He looks down to the white bowl, and Shiraishi’s eyes follow. He hasn’t touched it at all. The closer he looks, he sees inconsistent cuts of varying sizes for the apples, but he’s not a chef, and has no reason to be picky when it comes to presentation. If he really notices, he chooses not to say anything, instead asking a new question.

“Can I sit with you for a second?”

“Oh, sure?”

Shiraishi takes a seat and immediately leans in close. Using the pointer finger of his left hand, he motions for Saichi to move forward. Despite being taken aback, he does.

“I got something for you.”

He has no idea what it could be or why Shiraishi could be acting so secretive about it. He reaches into the pocket of his uniform, picking at something inside. He hears a small package shake.

Shiraishi encloses whatever it is inside his palm, brings up his hand and slips it into Saichi’s. With a delicacy Saichi didn’t think the man had, Shiraishi finally drops and reveals a little pink packet. Turning it over to find the label, he finds out what it is.

Sugar.

Saichi looks up, eyebrows furrowing over squinted eyes. The barista’s not fazed by the confusion, and is still leaning close. His whispering continues, the smell of a peanut butter bagel coming off of his breath with his words.

“For your oatmeal,” he explains.

All of the seriousness of the moment collapses. He looks down in disbelief thinking for a second he’s just imagined the entire scenario, but no it’s sugar that he was just handed. And when he looks back up, Shiraishi looks very pleased. He’s using his hands to enthusiastically point to Saichi’s bowl.

“Eh, eh, something to sweeten up your morning,” he says louder this time around. “And if that’s not enough,” Shirashi sticks his hand into his right sleeve, digging into the fabric that presumably should not have enough space to store anything inside, and pulls out an abnormally large bottle of honey. “For your ginger tea. Just because your stomach hurts, doesn’t mean your taste buds should suffer.”

There’s a strange feeling in his mind and stomach, different than the pressure of his headache and the pain of acid reflux. He feels his own laughter bubbling up from the hilarity of the scene, until it’s no longer constrained and escaping his mouth unashamedly. It’s so loud it’s even caught the attention of a few customers who are scared by the outburst of the usually quiet customer.

Shiraishi, though, looks just as surprised at his laugh. Not too long after, he starts grinning along.

It’s the first time in awhile he’s laughed. And probably the first time he’s ever laughed in the shop, otherwise Shiraishi wouldn’t have gone wide eyed. He actually has to wipe his eyes by the time he’s stopped; but helpfully, the employee hands him a napkin that has been previously tucked into the front of his apron pocket.

“Thank you, I needed that.”

“Hey, no problem, man. You look like you’re having a rough morning. Is something wrong?”

He feels himself deflate, smile not disappearing but going somber with each passing second. A flicker of worry passes over the other’s face realizing he may have said something wrong, but he shouldn’t feel bad considering the question came out of concern.

“The usual nightmare,” Saichi tries to brush it off, making it sound as manageable as possible, “but it’s nothing my counseling session later won’t help.”

For today at least, he doesn’t say. He’s working so hard for only temporary relief. Though an accepted reality of his situation, it’s a depressing one. He doesn’t feel ashamed either, admitting he needs the help. There’s really nothing to hide when they’re aware of what happened in his final days of service.

“I didn’t mean to bring up something bad.”

“Don’t worry about it. I made it through my morning after all.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I don’t need anything. But thanks for the honey.”

“Any time.”

Shiraishi does eventually go back to work. The table feels a little lonelier when he goes. But he finishes his oatmeal and tea, they’re much sweeter than when he first got them, but not in a bad way. Instead, they’re palatable and go down easy, which is something he can’t say happens often.

0

Shiraishi surprises him the next morning, having a bowl of oatmeal and another hot tea already on a tray before he’s even ordered.

“Made fresh for you this morning,” he announces.

He’s definitely confused, but happy? that he’s gone out of his way to prepare an order for him beforehand. Saichi looks over to Inkarmat who is filling the espresso machine to brew a new cup. She shrugs. Nothing much to do there then he supposes. He thanks Shiraishi for his efforts after slipping a few bills on the counter.

He takes his normal seat in the far left corner, Shiraishi following behind with the food. Saichi scoots his chair in as the tray is set down. He picks up his spoon, actually having an appetite after an unappetizing dinner. Shiraishi seems casual, but is hovering eagerly.

“How’d your meeting go yesterday?” he jumps the gun and asks before Saichi can pick apart his demeanor.

“Oh,” he mouths at the unexpected question. He wishes he could give a better answer for the man, who seems hopeful that it went well. “It went alright. It’s normal to keep thinking about what happened,” he says in between bites.

He would not have expected the forwardness of the question so early in the morning, not that Shiraishi has practiced any tact before. More that it’s strange he was ready to question him up front rather than tiptoe around him like they usually do.

“Great, well not great, but it’s nothing weird. Now that you’ve talked about it maybe it won’t happen for awhile.”

Saichi doesn’t want to tell him how unlikely that is, especially considering he had a different nightmare the night before. He’s getting better, even if it doesn’t feel like it. Non-Linear, though upsetting at times, is still on track progress with his long term goals. He’s out, and as long as he keeps attending his meeting and avoids loud spaces, things will turn in his favor.

With a few final parting words, Shiraishi leaves him be. Something about the day makes it the best oatmeal he’s had.

0

“What are you doing later tonight,” Shirashi asks out of the blue.

A few weeks have passed since the memory of sugar and honey. In the time, he and Shiraishi have fallen on a path close to what he thinks a normal friendship is like. Against the orders of Tanigaki and Inkarmat, Shiraishi has started sitting with Saichi during his breakfast. The man loves to brag about his efforts behind the counter, telling Sugimoto all about his helpful contributions in the kitchen. Though he doesn’t say it out loud, the man’s tactile knife work could use some polishing. But with a smile on his face, there’s no reason to crush his dreams.

Shiraishi even starts conversations on topics outside of his work. He talks about his day, and his family, and the annoying neighbors above and below. It’s fun to hear about someone’s daily life. Even if they’re complaints or retellings of problems Shiraishi has caused himself, it’s entertaining to hear about anything different than the days he lives himself - that are consistently drenched in dread.

They haven’t crossed the line of speaking about Saichi’s days, there have been a few slips here and there where Saichi goes stiff, but Shiraishi picks up on the switch and reverts the topic to something he can go on about by himself.

“I have a shift at the grocery mart, but will be done around 8.”

“You and me should go get dinner,” he suggests. “Just the two of us.”

They haven’t met outside of the coffee shop, even if Saichi has contemplated the thought before. Himself from a year ago could barely imagine such a thing - a change of scenery, with someone he enjoys spending time with. It could be fun, but he second guesses himself before his imagination runs too far.

He hasn’t gone out much, for very good reasons.

“Shirashi,” he starts, unsure of how to say anything in a way that doesn’t make him sound pathetic nor completely ruin the man’s wishful plans. “It’d be better to not go anywhere loud.”

He knows the suggestion isn’t ridiculous, but still he keeps his attention on his coffee rather than looking up. After a pause, the barista speaks again.

“You know, I know this great sukiyaki place. That’s quiet too, the owners are older so there aren’t little kids running around. I think you’d like it.”

Just like that, he easily adapts to Saichi’s request.

“Then let’s go.”

They agree to meet in front of the coffee shop, since the restaurant is in walking distance. Saichi’s shift passes with no issue other than tiring him out. Lifting and unpacking boxes, then stocking as much of the store as he can all in one evening is a lot, even for someone who previously trained for hours a day. And when he goes in the next day, he’ll finish all of the palettes he couldn’t get to before.

Shiraishi seems over the moon, talking about all of his favorite dishes. He describes all of the flavors with a deep passion like he’s being paid to promote the shop with his dying breath.

They pull up to the corner shop, that looks freshly painted yellow, mismatched with an outdated sign that looks like it should have been replaced already. As they peek through the doors, Saichi hesitates, noticing a sizable group of people inside.

He looks to Shiraishi who is already second guessing putting his hand on the door handle to enter. But Saichi doesn’t want to ruin his first night out.

“We can go somewhere else,” Shiraishi blurts out.

The panic is obvious, and a guilt settles in the pit of his stomach.

“No, it’s fine. I agreed to come, right? I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t want to.”

“Are you sure?”

To show just how sure he is, Saichi takes the lead and holds open the door for him. Accepting his decision, Shiraishi steps inside first.

“Shiraishi Yoshitake, you shit, where have you been?”

The owner, presumably, calls out to the barista with an obnoxious, but warm welcome, which he returns the same.

“I’ve been busy old man, but decided to take some time out of my busy day so you can make me and my buddy dinner.”

He waves Sugimoto over, who nods his head and thanks the owner.

“So polite, you sure you’re friends with Shiraishi here?”

“Are you saying I’m a disrespectful person, Hijikata? I only dish out what I’m given.”

Shiraishi continues laughing along with the older man, and a few more people sitting at the bar who have noticed his presence. The conversation is so normal, without a second thought in their minds. They can toss around lines back and forth like there’s no tomorrow. He wants to be envious, but then again, isn’t he here with Shiraishi? Who wanted to take him out? Who wants to talk everyday at the coffee shop?

A warm thought fills his stomach, battling with the restlessness that threatens to bubble over. This normal everyday he wants, isn’t too far off. He just wishes it was easier to grab the reigns while they’re before him.

“Sugimoto, this way?”

Taken from his daze, he sees Shiraishi reaching out a hand towards him. Saichi takes it.

“Sorry, was thinking about somethin’”.

“You still feeling alright? We can still go?”

“No, it was nothing bad. Let’s go sit down, yeah? This way?”

Shiraishi leads him deeper into the restaurant. They pass through a thin path between a long line of filled chairs. The restaurant has to be popular, otherwise it wouldn’t be filled to the brim. The clientele was older as he said, but they are lively without a sign of dying down.

“You don’t have to force yourself, Sugimoto,” Shiraishi whispers to him before they reach the short set of stairs.

“It’ll be fine, they’re just some old folks getting dinner like us.”

Shiraishi offers him a gentle squeeze, and it’s almost enough to relax him. The back room is much less crowded than the main room due to the size, but is still filled aside from the one empty table they’re sat at.

It’s strange, to be out in such a crowd. The last crowd he remembers after all was groups of medical workers and firefighters rushing on scene to help everyone injured. He remembers their panicked faces rushing over him, pulling him from the rubble to avoid causing anymore injury.

As much as he doesn’t want to, the memory dulls his evening. The voices are different, it’s a lively crowd enjoying each other’s company and not screams of agony fighting with sound of fire alarms. Even if he knows that, all of the voices form layers to create one deafening noise in his ears.

“What’s your favorite thing to order again?” He asks, hoping Shiraishi will go onto another endless, but enjoyable rant of what he prefers. He feels bad to want the other to fill the conversation in himself, but he needs a second before he can participate.

Shiraishi starts, excited for an opening. He starts pointing out the best choice of broth for which meats and vegetables. He recommends the biggest size because it’s the best deal for the money. He settles on ordering the same thing rather than try to decide himself.

Shiraishi holds most of the conversations throughout the evening, he feels less bad when their bowls are brought out because there they don’t have to speak. The food, as expected, is delicious. From the fragrant miso broth to the gently cooked meat, his stomach is filled completely. He only wishes it could leave a better taste on his tongue that’s stinging from the animated atmosphere.

Shiraishi insists on covering the bill himself, despite Saichi’s protests.

“You can get it next time.”

“Alright,” he agrees, silently beaming with the thought of going out again.

It takes them a few minutes to leave as the owner Hijikata and his assistant Ushiyama get in a few more teasing jabs at his friend. Feeling a little lost after dinner, he lets Shiraishi lead them out onto the street in the direction of Saichi’s apartment.

Do they keep hanging out? Was Shirashi bothered with how quiet he was? Saichi can’t even think of anything else to fill the space. Shiraishi next to him though, hums when he’s not talking, giving the late night it’s own soundtrack.

He’s over thinking, he knows, but he doesn’t know if he’s doing things right. By the time he’s ready to ask Shiraishi how the rest of his day was, they’ve reached the coffee shop.

“That was fun.”

Saichi feels awful, like he’s ruined the evening and now here is Shiraishi putting on a good front to pretend things went okay.

“It was. Really,” he tries to confirm, but it sounds nervous running off his tongue.

“You can pick the place next time around, too.”

He doesn’t remember the last time he went to a restaurant that wasn’t the coffee shop. He’s not sure he has any to recommend.

“Yeah..”

Shiraishi waves him off soon after they arrive. His figure waves wide with both hands even as he grows smaller in the distance. His own smile fades the second his evening companion falls out of view.

Breathing deep to himself, he takes out his keys preparing himself to take the walk up to his floor.

The door creeks open slowly, bringing in the light of the hallway to his sparsely decorated living room.

It’s clean at least.

He slips off his shoes, settling them at the end of the gekkan and let’s himself slump over to lay against the wall. The floor, though new as the building was renovated, hurts his spine, but he can’t bring himself to make it to his bed. He falls asleep by his shoes.

0

Saichi wakes up earlier than he hopes, just like most days. He’s nervous to step down into the coffee shop, but he thinks it stranger to fall off his routine.

“Good morning, Sugimoto,” Shirashi calls from the register while the bell rings, alerting them of his entrance.

“Morning,” Saichi returns, a lot quieter when he reaches the front.

“What can I get you started?”

He orders a plain black coffee and one of the breads sitting fresh in the display. He’s unconsciously ordered something matching his bitter mood.

If only he wasn’t acting so strange. Shiraishi isn’t, so why is he? Perhaps he’s just better at keeping up the act.

‘Don’t make Sugimoto uncomfortable.’

It’s the same way everyone else acts around him.

Shirashi brings out his food and beverage not too long later. He keeps his footsteps light, but Saichi sees him coming. Setting the tray down, it slips the slightest bit from his fingers, one end clattering against the table before he can catch it again. Out of impulse, Saichi’s hand shoots out to steady the coffee before it spills from the rim.

Shiraishi pulls back his fingers back like they’ve been burned. He’s leaning over muttering until the words starts to come out clear.

“Sorry about that Sugimoto, I’m clumsy this morning.”

“It’s fine. Nothing spilled.”

“Yeah..”

Shiraishi glances back to the counter, turning his feet as he stares. Saichi waits for his foot steps to start and fade, but he doesn’t go.

“Did I do something wrong? You can let me know, I can take it.”

“You didn’t?” He questions. Shirashi isn’t at fault at all, it’s him. Saichi is surprised he feels like he’s at fault.

“It was a bad place to take you last night, it was a mistake. Hijikata's place is usually a lot quieter. The old bat isn’t on his last gears by all means, but his customers sure are.”

“Shirashi, you didn’t do anything wrong, really. I thought I did.”

“But what would you have done wrong?”

“Ruined your night.”

Shiraishi looks flabbergasted, a word Saichi never thought he’d use to describe something.

“And here I thought I ruined yours,” Shiraishi chuckles, but Saichi can hear the uneasiness.

“I had fun. I was just overwhelmed and tried not to be. I could barely say a thing all night.”

“Well, you can’t help it, right? That’s why I should have been more understanding.”

“I really messed up, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, and as you just said I didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing but a misunderstanding. We’re okay. Anyway, what are we bein’ this sappy for so early in the morning?”

They are pretty foolish, aren’t they? A 28 year old and a thirty something year old, profusely apologizing to each other over something simple. It sounds silly, but the heavy weight in his chest disappears.

“Hold out your hands,” Shiraishi says after taking the seat in front of him.

Saichi pulls up his hands from where they were resting on his thighs to wipe away the sweat; he cups them, expecting something to be handed over.

Shiraishi makes it a show, wiggling his fingers, showing the front of empty palms before tilting his head back to pull a paper bag out of the neck hole of his bib apron. He hands the bag over.

“Look inside.”

“A bagel?”

“Something better than that pumpernickel you just ordered.”

“Are you a magician?”

“Was. Just for a few months. Didn’t work out. Ah wait, but how could I forget.”

Lifting his ankle to rest above his knee, Shiraishi slips his pointer finger and thumb into the high rise ankle of his brogue shoes. Revealing what he pulls out like a dealer exposing a card. He hands Saichi two packets - one jam and one peanut butter.

“To put on your bread.”

“Thanks,” he exhales with a laugh. It’s a ridiculous little trick, but entertaining. How he learned to hide packaged food without opening it or making a sound, he’s rather impressed. His nose twitches. “This was in your shoe?”

“I’d wash your hands after holding that, Sugimoto,” Tanigaki, who has been quiet throughout their entire exchange, tosses in.

“Tanigaki,” Shirashi slams his hand to his chest, “Are you trying to imply something here? In front of a customer!”

“You can use the sink in the back before the smell sticks.”

“My feet do not smell!”

Shiraishi jumps out of his seat and runs for the counter shouting insults to the owner who promptly ignores him to wash a blender. Saichi is still smiling, comfortable knowing they’re not on bad terms.

A second later he takes up the offer to wash his hands.

0

He’s having a bad morning. Worse than his last few. Saichi has woken up on three separate occasions over the night from differing nightmares all related to his time in the military. On his fourth, the bile has built up in his throat to a point that he can’t ignore. He wakes up, chest heaving, body drenching in sweat.

He starts frantically turning his head to see where he’s at the second his eyes open. He’s in his own apartment, alone, on his bed. He’s not at the base, not at the sleeping quarters, not up in the watch tower…

Realizing where he’s at has saved him a few times before, but this time around it’s too late. Even knowing where he’s at, the memory is etched into his mind. The loud boom, the cloud of smoke lifting into the air and shooting directly at them in the tower. It doesn’t stop, not until the entire area is covered in thick, grey smoke. Not until the screams of his comrades are swallowed into chokes. And not until the watch tower comes crashing down with him and a brother in arms inside.

Saichi hurls himself off his bed, clambering to crawl himself over the bathroom where the door is already open. His body fluids are already leaving him in a wet, messy trail, despite trying to keep him mouth closed.

He eventually makes it to the toilet, still puking, his stomach finding a new pocket to empty itself each time his finishes spitting one out. He can’t even see the mess he’s making, tears spilling from his eyes, blocking his vision, but he’s knows it’s all over his bed running in a continuous line to where he’s now heaving.

It’s just another bad morning. He’s had plenty before. And he’ll have plenty more after. He just needs to let it all out and he can shower and head down stairs to start his day at the coffee shop.

If only it would stop.

-

The coffee shop is bustling with customers mid the second rush of the day. The first begins at 6 when they open, as everyone has to get in their morning coffee before work. It runs for nearly two hours until it finally dies down. Shiraishi knows they’re getting into the late morning just by the noise level, because by this time Sugimoto would have already been here and finished his coffee while it was still quiet and empty.

Looking around the store, he finds Sugimoto’s usual table filled, but not by the man with a unique set of facial scars. He glances back to the clock to confirm the hour, and it’s almost 11, more than an hour past when the ex military man would usually arrive and leave.

“Has Sugimoto shown up?” He asks Tanigaki, who’s in the middle of trying to handle the rush, not at all helped by Shirashi who has only made 2 coffees in the past 10 minutes.

“No,” Tanigaki answers between orders, “but I suppose it’s still early.”

“It’s already 10:40,” he counters. “He should have been here.”

Instead of brainstorming a possible reason with him, Tanigaki goes back to fulfilling orders. He doesn’t even bother to ask Shirashi to help, leaving everyone else on staff to fill his shoes; they’re used to it at least.

Another 10 minutes pass, and Shiraishi is still wiping the same spot on the counter when the crowd momentarily thins.

Tanigaki sighs loud enough for him to stop his work.

“He lives in the building right next door, right?”

Shirashi’s ears perk up.

“Sugimoto? Yeah.”

“Why don’t you take your 10 and go check on him.”

Shirashi is tossing off his apron and throwing it over the counter before Tanigaki can say anything more. He runs up to the entrance only to be stopped by the doorman, who thankfully recognizes him from the other night. Explaining he’s heading up to Sugimoto’s place, the man hesitantly lets him through. The elevator door cannot open fast enough, it feels like time is purposely slowing itself down during his ride up. He’s faster on his feet, not caring if he’s running down the hallway and disturbing the other tenants to reach the apartment.

-

A vigorous set knock comes at his door. Then some more. And Saichi can’t will himself to get up to get it. If it’s the landlord, scary as she may be, she can wait until later for him. It wouldn’t be a good idea to face her right now anyhow, with Saichi face first in the toilet, shaking as the last bits of vomit escape his mouth.

The knocking stops, but the loud noises don’t. He hears his name being called, muffled through the door and further covered by the loud ringing in his ears.

The door slams open, and there before him is Shiraishi Yoshitake, his new acquaintance from the coffee shop down below in the building next to where he lives. The man brave enough to be his friend is now seeing him at his worst, drenched in a mix of sweat, vomit, and tears. His bedhead has dampened to the point it looks oily. His shirt has been soaking in his fluids, probably stained and not worth saving at this point.

He can’t find a word to say.

“Sugimoto..” his name falls miserably from Shiraishi’s mouth.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost, and maybe that’s it. Saichi’s worst nightmare has come through, he’s passed on without redemption. It’s the first time in awhile, he truly feels like there’s no chance of recovery. Without any strength to pick himself up, he lays against the toilet, going slack and admitting defeat.

He barely registers it as Shiraishi drags him into the shower, stripping him of his vile pajamas and tossing them haphazardly near the sink.

He starts kneeling to get to a closer eye level, he has the loose shower handle rinsing away the fluids clinging to his face and neck. Something in him snaps. Saichi reaches forward, startling the man who drops the water spout, and drags Shiraishi’s shoulder into his face. He knows he’s not pathetic, that’s what his counselor has told him over and over again when he turns into a sobbing mess.

He’s not a bad person. He’s not a failure. He’s not broken beyond repair.

He’s just someone who needs a little extra help to get back on track because of something gruesome that’s happened to him.

And god does he want to feel like it’s normal, and that he’s not like a child overreacting from having a nightmare. It’s a little hard to escape the feeling, but Shirashi is soon holding him just as tight, rubbing his back with the hand that’s not being ultimately held hostage by Saichi’s vice grip.

He’s letting him hold on even if he’s naked down to the bone, sobbing against the cold tile of the shower. Even if the water from the shower handle is still on, with the pressure having made itself flip over and is now spraying the two of them.

He’s holding on tight, and Shiraishi is letting him.

It takes nearly a full hour for the tears, heaving, and hiccups to stop. Shirashi helps him properly rinse his body for the second time. The warm water falls over him and makes his eyes heavy. Shiraishi gently coaxes him into moving when he needs to, but other than that the man washes his back without complaint.

When he’s dry, he leads him to the bedroom and luckily has enough stability to dress himself. It’s quiet, aside from pulling his clothing out of a drawer. He’s thinking of some way to face the man, but what is there to say at all?

When he comes back to the couch, Shirashi is waiting, phone in hand, contact open and ready to dial his counselor.

Appreciative, he takes the phone and waits to hear an answer. She does, and Shirashi decides to give him some space by tidying up the mess he made when he dragged Saichi into the shower.

A half hour later, he hangs up the phone, thanking his counselor for talking to him. Since he’s managed to calm himself, Saichi decides he doesn’t need to haul himself to his counselor’s office. He’ll see her the day after.

It’s quiet when the bearded man eventually walks back in. His clothes are soaked, thankfully not dripping, but damp enough to see the water clinging.

“Let me get you some new clothes.”

Saichi brings out a sweatshirt and joggers for the other to change into and he does without any arguing. He tosses Shiraishi’s clothing into his laundry, that will be washed the second he’s free. But it can wait another minute.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he breaks the ice.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I broke in.”

The two go silent again, the only noise in the room from the traffic passing down below and the clock ticking in the kitchen.

“I’m fine now, really. If you want to go. It was just another rough morning.”

“I was worried when you didn’t come down this morning,” Shiraishi interrupts.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course I’m worried, aren’t we friends?”

“We are.”

“Friends help friends as much as they can.”

He feels tears welling up behind his eyes once more. Shiraishi notices immediately and pulls him down to the couch where they sit together. His body is soft and comfortable to lay on. He lets Sugimoto fall against him without complaint. It’s comforting, having the other rub at his back. It’s too nice, something he doesn’t think he deserves, but wouldn’t give it up even if someone else tried to rip him away.

Saichi soon falls asleep, head laid against Shiraishi’s shoulder. Though he’s sitting up in what should be an uncomfortable position, he gets the best sleep he’s had in awhile.

0

Shiraishi sits at his table with him the next morning. He thinks back to the small note he left for him when he woke up. Shiraishi tells him he has to go to get ready for work but looks forward to seeing him when he comes down. Somehow Saichi being covered with vomit, snot, and tears didn’t scare the other away, but rather brought someone into his life that wants to make sure Saichi is okay.

“I cut the apples again today,” Shirashi says proudly.

They’re misshapen, probably a disappointment to all patisseries who use fruits to complete their creations, but Saichi has no reason to complain.

“If you want, I could always have coffee ready for you in the morning,” Shiraishi suggests, but it’s strange, because doesn’t he already do that? “Or, we could go get coffee somewhere else together. Did I tell you how much the coffee here sucks?” He jokes, but Saichi can feels the apprehension leaking from his body as he speaks.

Shiraishi’s suggesting something more than a simple coffee outing.

And when he realizes what it is, Saichi’s at a loss for words. He’s never done this before. Never really had the chance to. He took the opportunity away from himself to have any sort of relationship, and with how the past year has gone, he didn’t expect the opportunity to ever come again.

“You want to get coffee with me?”

“Yeah.”

Shiraishi isn’t looking him in the eyes. He’s scratching at his cheeks, staring out the window.

“Why would you want to?”

He doesn’t need to cut any corners, he obviously has his issues. And he can’t imagine they’re something anyone would want to deal with.

“Well, because I like it. You. And I know you might think I don’t, but I really do.”

“I have to tell you. It’s hard to deal with,” he says honestly, even if Shiraishi already caught a glimpse first hand.

Despite saying as little as possible, he’s hoping the other understands. He’s not unwilling to try, but the burden is there regardless.

“I know, I know. And it doesn’t have to be a whole fine dining experience. It could just be the coffee. Until you’re ready?” His voice hesitates a little more with each passing word. “I’m rushing you, aren’t I? This was the worst time to ask wasn’t it?”

“I want to,” Saichi interrupts before they can get off track. “Get coffee with you. But if it’s ever too much you can step away.”

“I want to help you, because I like you, and you deserve someone by your side. And I want to be your friend. And get coffee. Three in one. Like my shampoo.”

His heart is doing that thing again, but it’s not painful. It’s light, and warms the entirety of his chest and ears.

“Maybe if you’re free sometime this week, I can pick out a restaurant like I promised?”

“It’s a deal.”