Chapter Text
On his way home that night, he just so happens to glance up.
(He wonders, later, what might have happened if he hadn’t. He wonders what might have changed. If, instead of this, there would instead just be an empty place. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind of something important being missing.)
He glances up, staring for a moment at the sliver of crescent moon visible behind the clouds, and sees something else out of the corner of his eye. The silhouette of a person, standing on the roof of the apartment complex across the street.
Standing on the ledge, to be exact.
“Oh shit,” he says aloud, as the reality of what he’s seeing sinks in, his entire body gone tense as he hesitates. It’s not his problem, he tries to tell himself. He’s just a passerby. It’s not his job to talk people down. Might be nothing, anyhow – just some idiot teenager risking their neck for a thrill.
But even as he thinks it, he’s already started to run.
In the lobby of the apartment building he jabs at the elevator button at least ten times before the ‘Out of Order’ sign finally registers. Cursing under his breath, he sprints for the stairs instead, taking them two at time. There’s a stitch in his side by the time he reaches the eighth floor landing, and by the time he reaches the roof his breath is coming in quick gasps. (Maybe Mari was right about him being out of shape.)
The person is still there, thankfully. Still staring down at the long, long drop. They don’t seem to have heard him, despite the way he’d burst through the door, and he approaches them cautiously from the side until he can see their face. A man, maybe a few years older than him, his expression eerily calm. The streetlights down below reflect in his eyes in a strange, unsettling way.
His foot moves just a little further over the ledge.
“Oi,” Takumi calls, nervousness wound tight in his chest. “Whatever you’re thinking, you should reconsider, alright?”
The man lifts his head with a start, looking over at Takumi in wide-eyed astonishment.
“Ah,” he says, and in his surprise takes a tiny step to the side without meaning to. But it’s enough. Enough to throw him off balance, that is. He tilts precariously over the edge of the building, and Takumi lunges forward to grab him by the hand, pulling him back. They land in an unceremonious heap on the cold cement, and lie there in silence for a time, both of them breathing heavily. As the thudding of his heartbeat returns to a steadier pace, Takumi slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position. The man next to him does the same.
“Thanks,” he says, soft and hesitant. Heartfelt in a way that makes Takumi uncomfortable.
He shrugs. “…If you’d jumped,” he says, “the police probably would’ve been here all morning tomorrow. Might’ve made it hard to get to work. That’s all.”
The man stares at him for a moment. And then, oddly enough, he laughs.
“That’s true,” he says, with an edge of wry amusement to his voice. “I didn’t think about traffic conditions at all. I’ll make sure to pick a less inhabited location next time.”
Takumi narrows his eyes. He can’t tell if this jackass is being serious or not.
“I’m joking, obviously,” he continues, waving a hand as if to dismiss the thought. “I wouldn’t. Not after you came to my rescue like that.”
He shifts, then, and Takumi finally gets a better look at him. There’s something pleasant about his face. Something friendly and instantly likeable (so different from Takumi, who has tried in the past to fix his so-called “resting scowl” with no luck). But beneath his affable smile he seems indescribably tired, too. He has the look of a person who hasn’t slept well in months – barely keeping himself together, pulled so tight that he’s begun to fray around the edges.
Takumi’s starting to regret the callousness of his previous comment.
“Y’know,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. “If you stick around… there’s always a chance things might get better.”
He half-expects the guy to laugh again. He probably would, if some stranger were giving him a trite “don’t be sad” pep talk.
But instead the man sits there in thoughtful silence, seeming to contemplate Takumi’s words.
“Speaking from experience?” he asks.
Takumi is suddenly very glad for how dark it is up on this roof. His face would probably be giving him away in better lighting. He opens his mouth, trying to formulate a reply, but is interrupted as his phone starts to ring. He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden loudness of it, fumbling it out of his pocket and flipping it open without even checking the caller ID. He already knows who it must be.
“Now’s not really the time,” he hisses, cupping a hand over his mouth.
“…Huh? You’re the one who was supposed to be home half an hour ago,” Mari says. “And what do you mean ‘now’s not the time’? There’s still one more delivery to – ”
“What? No! No way. I’ve been doing deliveries all damn day. Tell Keitarou I don’t care how ‘urgent’ it is. It’s ten o’clock at night and I’m done.”
“Actually,” the guy next to him says, squinting at his watch, “it’ll be eleven soon enough.”
“Even worse. Who the hell are these people that their dry cleaning can’t wait til…” He trails off, then, letting the phone fall away from his ear, as he notices the man getting to his feet. “H-hey. Are you…”
“I’m fine now,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice that sounds forced. “Just a lapse in judgment.” He pauses, and seems to be struggling to find the right words, but in the end he merely shakes his head. “Thank you again. For going out of your way.”
Takumi watches him as he walks away – at the way his shoulders are slumped low, like there’s something heavy pressing down on him – and wonders what else he could have said.
Maybe there was nothing. Maybe it’s already too late, and he will open up the newspaper some morning soon to find a sad story and a stranger’s name.
Oh well, Takumi thinks (loudly, to drown out the other thoughts). That’s just how it goes, isn’t it?
His throat feels tight, but it must be coincidence.
He still can’t believe he managed to get this job.
It’s not as if his résumé is particularly impressive – a college dropout with a few short-term minimum wage gigs, plus one job that would look good if it weren’t for the… problematic circumstances of his abrupt firing. There must’ve been something about him that the higher-ups found promising, though he can’t for the life of him imagine what.
Either way he’s amazed just to be here, and he’s not even in the building before the doubts start setting in. Shit, what if this is some kind of mistake? he asks himself, stepping into the elevator and tugging at his collar, which suddenly feels far too tight. They meant to hire someone else but instead called me? No, that doesn’t make any sense –
“Hold the door, will you,” someone says, and he does as asked automatically, still lost in thought as the person who spoke slips inside. It’s only once the elevator has started moving that he glances over at them and –
He freezes.
The man, seeming to sense Takumi’s gaze on him, looks at over him and immediately does the same, eyes widening as they stare at each other.
It had been dark last night, but not dark enough that he wouldn’t know that face. Or that voice, he thinks, his mind finally playing catch-up.
“You,” they say, almost in unison, though Takumi’s ends up sounding more accusatory than anything.
For a long time neither of them says anything else.
“You… work here?” the guy says slowly.
Takumi hesitates before nodding.
The elevator glides to a halt, the doors sliding open with a quiet ding. Roof Guy looks back and forth between Takumi and the open doorway.
“On… this floor?” he asks, pointing as if it weren’t obvious.
Takumi nods once more. At this point he isn’t even surprised when they both get off. Or when they both seem to be headed in the exact same direction. Or when someone lifts a hand and grins and says “oh, Chief, looks like you already found the new recruit.”
Which is how he finds himself being introduced to his new boss. “Kiba Yuuji, Branch Manager,” says the nametag clipped to his shirt pocket, and Takumi reads it again and again, repeating the words in his head. Kiba Yuuji. So Roof Guy has a name. They stand across from each other in awkward silence, both of them at a loss, until Kiba – “Chief” just doesn’t seem right – drags a hand across his face tiredly. When he looks up again he’s smiling, in a way that’s so hollow and fake it makes Takumi’s skin crawl. He can’t help but avert his eyes.
“How are your qualifications?” Kiba asks, his tone conversational. (So this is it, then, Takumi thinks. We’re pretending nothing’s wrong.)
“… They’re alright.”
Kiba is in the midst of rummaging through a stack of papers on the desk nearby. He pulls out a manila folder – Takumi catches his own name written on the tab – and thumbs through it. If he sees something there that concerns him he doesn’t let on.
“Honestly,” he says, still scanning Takumi’s file, “the job is a lot easier than they made it sound in the interview. Mostly data entry, though you are required to draw up a report every fiscal quarter, and – well. Nishida will give you the complete details. He should be here soon. You should get him to give you a tour, too.”
He’s right – Nishida sprints into the room within the next few minutes, glasses askew and a bit red in the face, apologizing profusely for not being there before him. Even gives Takumi his business card, which he accepts with a bemused nod, biting back the obvious “but we work at the same place now, don’t we?”
“I’ll leave you with him, then,” Kiba says, and holds out his hand to shake. “Good to have you, Inui-kun. I look forward to working together.”
It’s the same, Takumi thinks, as he presses his palm against Kiba’s.
The same warmth he’d felt last night, as he pulled this man back from the ledge.
“What if,” he says, and frowns thoughtfully into his soup for a moment before continuing. “What if you knew someone’s secret, and they knew that you knew, but they were pretending that you didn’t, and also maybe pretending that they didn’t have a secret at all? What would you do?”
Mari and Keitarou both turn and stare at him blankly from across the table, the seconds ticking by, until finally Mari says:
“… That was way too hard to follow.”
Keitarou nods in agreement. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it sounds like you’re overthinking things again, Takkun.”
“He does that a lot, doesn’t he?”
“He really does.”
“What… I do not!” Takumi protests, but they aren’t even listening to him anymore. They’ve started chattering away about some movie they both want to see, and he slumps down in his seat with an irritated huff. When was the last time he “overthought” anything? Never, that’s when.
(He vows to do something spontaneous and poorly-planned sometime in the near future, just to show them.)
He doesn’t see Kiba much the next day. Not until the late afternoon, when he leans over the cubicle wall to hand Takumi a piece of paper with an address written on it.
“It’s the place we picked out for the welcoming party,” he says. “It’s only a couple blocks away. You can probably just follow one of us there, but just in case, y’know?”
Takumi blinks up at him. “… Is it required?”
Kiba seems taken aback for a moment before laughing softly. “Well it is your welcoming party. I suppose I can’t force you, but… It’d be nice if you were there. Everyone would really like to get to know you a little better.”
He gives him a hopeful look.
Takumi wars with himself for a time, weighing the pros and cons, before finally sighing in defeat.
It’s not as bad as he imagined it might be. The restaurant is fairly quiet – one of those old, run-down sort of places that Takumi has always gravitated towards, with a grumpy-looking woman behind the counter who seems like she’s been there for forty years. And his coworkers don’t require much conversation out of him, thankfully, accepting his one-word answers and allowing him to just sit and listen to their banter. At least until the end of the night, when some of them have had a beer too many, and the guy across from him – Tokumoto, that’s it – starts getting a little pushier.
“So where’d you work before this?” he asks.
“… Smart Brain.”
Tokumoto’s eyes widen. “What, seriously? That’s, like… a gigantic company. I mean they’re big time. No way I’d quit if I had that kinda gig. What happened, man? You get fired?”
Takumi’s grip tightens around his mug. They’ve all turned to look at him now, and he stares down at the tabletop, wishing he were anywhere else but here. He can hear himself breathing and it’s far too loud, and suddenly there’s that familiar voice, too, echoing in his head.
Useless. Why can’t you do anything right? You really think you’re good enough to be near her? You’ll only drag her down with you when you fail –
“How about you go get us one last round, Tokumoto?” Kiba’s voice says, and Takumi snaps back to reality with a jolt.
“Huh? Why me?” Tokumoto says.
“Because you haven’t moved from that spot all night,” Kiba laughs, nudging him with his elbow encouragingly. “Some exercise will be good for you.”
Grumbling unintelligible complaints but not about to refuse an order from the Chief, Tokumoto gets to his feet and wanders over to the counter.
“Oh, Inukai, what ever happened with your sister’s wedding?” Kiba asks, turning to the guy next to him with a smile. “Is it still on for April?”
Inukai groans and immediately launches into a story about being dragged along to shop for bridesmaid dresses. By the time Tokumoto returns, balancing two beers in each hand, the subject of Smart Brain seems to have been forgotten completely.
“Thanks,” he says later, as he trails several steps behind Kiba. The others all went their separate ways outside the restaurant. They’re the only two headed in this direction – the only two on the entire street, actually, but he supposes it is past eleven on a Tuesday.
“Hmm?” Kiba stops and turns back to look at him, tilting his head to the side. “For what?”
“You know.” Takumi shifts awkwardly, wishing he had something to do with his hands, and instead settles for jamming them in his pockets. “For distracting them.”
“Oh. Well it’s not like I could just leave you to fend for yourself,” Kiba says. “I’m your boss. It’s my job to look out for you.” He pauses, then, smile faltering, a sudden weariness about the way he’s carrying himself. “And… we all have those things, right? Things we’d rather not talk about.”
… Is he asking me not to bring it up? Takumi wonders. He’s not sure how long he can manage it. Keeping silent, that is. Not when this man looks sad enough to try the same thing again.
“Right,” he says softly, and when they part at the next intersection he stands there for a time, watching Kiba’s retreating figure as he walks away, and wonders if he’s ever seen anything lonelier.
A week in and he’s just about gotten the hang of the job. Kiba was right – it’s simple, for the most part, though luckily in a calming way rather than a mindnumbing one. (Honestly, at this point he’d even take mindnumbing without complaint. Anything is preferable to running deliveries day in and day out in that rickety old van, forcing a smile and fending off attempts at small talk as he hands people their laundry.)
He’s in the middle of piecing together his first report when he hears a quiet murmur of voices coming from across the room. “Rina’s here,” someone says as they pass by, and he peers over his cubicle wall to find a group of people gathered near the elevators. One of them moves aside, and he gets a glimpse of a smiling woman with long hair pulled back, holding a baby in her arms.
He watches as Kiba comes up to greet her. As they exchange pleasantries. As she offers him the baby to hold, and he lifts his hands as if to say “no, no, I couldn’t” before finally giving in.
It’s the first time that Takumi has seen him look genuinely happy. His expression is soft as he looks down at this tiny squirming thing in his arms. The kid is clearly past the age where you have to be quite so delicate and careful, and yet his hand cradling the back of their head is so gentle it almost hurts to see.
Of course the baby starts crying soon enough, and he rushes to give them back to their mother. But he’s still smiling as he turns away.
As he catches Takumi staring.
Takumi averts his eyes in a hurry, pretending to be engrossed by something on his computer screen. The back of his neck is suddenly very warm.
“Mihara Rina,” Kiba’s voice says a moment later, from where he’s once again leaning over the cubicle wall. “She worked here before you. You’re her replacement, I guess you could say.”
Takumi makes a quiet noise of assent to prove that he’s listening.
“It’s nice to see, don’t you think? A new family.”
There’s something in his voice that catches Takumi’s attention. He turns to find Kiba staring out across the office, watching the mother and child with a wistful expression. A quiet, resigned kind of longing.
Takumi swallows hard as he studies Kiba’s face.
The moment ends as quick as it came, Kiba shaking his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts, giving Takumi one last small smile as he walks away. But still the tight feeling in Takumi’s chest refuses to fade.
“What’s with you?” Mari asks later, waving a hand in front of his face as she leans in to frown at him. “You’ve been spacing out ever since you got home.”
He blinks at her, startled, and realizes he’s been trying to iron a shirt with the iron still unplugged.
We all have those things, right? Things we’d rather not talk about.
“…‘S nothing,” he mutters. “Just thinking.”