Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ogata and Sugimoto don’t like each other, Saichi thinks.

Their relationship teeters a crooked line, never landing to a certain label nor cancelling another out, leaving their status up in the air without a claim. He wouldn’t call themselves friends, but they’re not strangers. Far from it. Unrelated, more than acquaintances, the only thing for certain is the unspoken but mutually agreed sentiment that they aren’t in a position to give their relationship a meaning of attachment.

He’s not sure they’re even in a place to have a discussion about a further change or confirmation. As they move forward on an unexpected journey, with the other following by in the distance, any topic remotely emotional remains forbidden under a lock and key. The dynamic either stems from their personal matters being inapproachable or simply the fact that they were never meant to be important players in the other’s stories - their time will be short lived, unremarkable, with the massive wall separating them unable to be broken down, never letting themselves be exposed to their bare bones. And he’s not sure which answer he likes better.

Unorthodox meetings in the dark corners of the world struggle to find the light, the inky waves keeping them under without a breath. Soon, the day will come that answer gets revealed, one will leave or they’ll both stay. Until then, they can be undefined “acquaintances”, only known to each other and no one else. The man in question isn’t the first thing in life he’s kept under wraps, and he probably won’t be the last.

They’ve met each other at a strange time in both of their lives. Sugimoto Saichi has lost himself and is looking to find the man he was once more. Life for him has more downs than ups, and even as the needle tilts upwards, it falls back down before creating anything significant. He’s still on for the ride, telling himself he’s waiting for another up, but words differ from actions and dejection plagued with the urge to give up follows close behind.

Ogata, different than he, never really stood a chance.

After being exposed to the cruel air of the world, Ogata takes his hands, grasping, desperate grip pulling life back under the water with him. The memories drown with him, leaving the surface to create the illusion that he has a shred of control. But realistically, he doesn’t have the upper hand. Life won’t die, even by his own hands. He can spit, choke, shoot, kick, and throttle, it’ll be useless. He’s stuck, water filling his lungs. Strangely, it hasn’t consumed him.

So what label would they give to their relationship? Being allowed to see each other at their worst, but never overstepping to the pure parts of their worlds. It’s an unspoken agreement, an unsigned contract they choose to abide by without the leash.

He looks to the man who travels the line with him. Stoic sits his expression, complaints fall from his lips to the air of the world but, even then, he follows. His position switches, occasionally side by side, more often than not right behind. Being on the path with him isn’t a problem, strangely. He’d consider telling that to him, after being threatened maybe. He’s not too keen on blurting out such a sentence.

There are clearer waters ahead, he reminds himself. He thinks he’s already taken the first step to get out of the puddle. Nothing with Ogata of course, that being an unset stepping stone, certain to topple with any weight. He’s fall to the water and unfortunately, there’s no guarantee to whether or not the man will pull him up.

They go on with each other.

0

“Sugimoto.”

“Yes?”

Saichi looks up from his bank statements littering the table. Horrible pieces of paper they are, riddled with unpleasant words of his financial dilemmas. He’s finally gotten a few rather large bills completely paid off, but the expenditures leave his wallet rather empty in the aftermath.

“We should go to the animal shelter.”

The innocent question comes from across the kitchen. Aside from Ogata, there’s another who understands where he’s at in life. In fact, she knew first. The neighbor’s granddaughter, Asirpa, has stopped cutting vegetables for their lunch and looks to Saichi. He used to babysit her when she was younger, but now they are more like family friends, borderline siblings. Her grandmother trusts Saichi wholeheartedly and he intends to give back the same hope she’s provided him by being by their side to help in any way he can.

They grandmother/grandchild duo are some of the last people in his life that think he has any worth. He doesn’t share the sentiment, but when someone looks to him, he’ll be sure to put his best foot forward. He can are for them, if not himself.

“On my next day off we can.”

She smiles to him then goes back to mincing a few green onions. Lately, she’s been the one to fill their conversations. She’s an active child with a wondrous love for life and knowledge. When she was younger she would go through each and every lesson she learned for the day and would reiterate the curriculum for Saichi as he sat studiously pencil in hand. She certainly hasn’t lost her spark, but just being with Saichi as he is lately tends to put her on egg shells.

The miserable path he’s fallen on has a start. Just a few months have passed since both of his parents have passed. His little world is tossed to a box, the universe shaking him and all his pieces inside wrecking what it can just for the fun of it. An accident takes their lives all too soon, leaving 20 year old Saichi on his own to face the world. At first, he feels completely alone without a single person by his side, but Asirpa and her grandmother, Susupo, take the figurative reigns and remind him he’ll never be alone. Living with family money and little more to spend it on than her granddaughter, she helps him with the house, his schooling, and any other basic need in between. Susupo treats him as a son, when she shouldn’t.

Asirpa finishes garnishing their bowls and the two sit together at the high stools of their island counter. He puts the bills away for now, wanting to forget their existence entirely. Even if the young girl knows he’s set on paying for as much as he can on his own, there’s no need to flaunt them to a child who shouldn’t feel the need to bear the burden of others.

“Thank you for the meal,” he offers quietly over the ceramic bowls.

Just one of her many talents, she has an array of recipes mastered and cooks as often as she can for the both of them. He takes his utensils and digs in. Their silence is only broken apart by the slurping of their soup until Asirpa speaks again.

“I want a dog.”

Saichi sucks up a long rice noodle.

“You should get one. I’m sure your grandma wouldn’t mind.”

“Would you help me take care of one?”

“Asking me for help? I didn’t know you thought me so capable.”

Asirpa is the younger sister he doesn’t deserve. Shamefully, she’s the one offering encouraging words laced with care and protection when he being almost decade older can’t always.

“You can drive if we need to go get dog food. Or to the vet for check ups,” she insists.

“Sounds like you’re just using me.”

“But you’d get to see the dog, and you like dogs right?”

He does even if he’s never had one himself.

“When we go to the shelter we can start looking,” she continues, laying the while plan out as if he’s already accepted and made all of the proper preparations.

“Maybe this weekend. Your homework comes first.”

The silence falls again. Saichi resists the urge to stop eating and collapse on the counter. Makeshift family, eating a warm meal, still having a roof over his head, all things he should feel grateful for. And he is but, there’s a gaping hole in his chest, a section scraped out with the dullest of blades. Each passing day pulls another piece, scraping every last bit until hollow. He doesn’t tell her, though, not wanting her to dwell on what’s his problem alone.

He spends the rest of the afternoon helping Asirpa with mundane cleaning tasks around the kitchen. He mindlessly completes the chores, moving like a machine to get everything done. With the dishes clean and put away to their respective drawers, he bids Asirpa goodbye. She asks him to stay over into dinner, but he declines, telling he has a few assignments to complete.

He should feel better, but a sour taste filters down his throat to his stomach. The family does too much for him, way too much, all while he is incapable of returning the favor.

Asirpa, witnessing his mental health decline first hand, is patient, but realistic in understanding he needs to move forward. She doesn’t mince her words. His head is in the gutter, and he’s done nothing to properly pull himself over. His thoughts keep him there, dragging him down for another stream over water to rage over him. With no solid ground he collapses through the floor. Beneath lies an abyss, never ending with nothing to grasp. The chaos is all at his expense.

He takes the short walk over next door. The grass that’s overgrown to the pathway crumples under his shoes as he passes. He enters the door, there’s no one to greet. He stares to the empty halls once filled with pleasant hum of cooked meals, sitcom reruns, and mild scoldings, now holding nothing. Saichi continues to fall, the wind tunneling past his ears, stinging his out, without a second to assess. He collapses into bed, muddled sleep overtaking.

-

A few bangs pull him from his sleep that night. Saichi lifts his eyes, heavy as they were on the tipping point from falling into a deep sleep. He doesn’t want to open them, praying the incessant noise ceases on its own. He turns over and lifts the covers higher. The bangs continue, somehow getting louder with each passing second. Irritably, Saichi throws down the sheets. He scratches at his head and out of impulse he reaches for his phone. The clock shows the time is just after midnight.

He pads out to the living room in his stained pajama shirt, mismatched with flannel pants. The waist is loose, so he ties the string tighter right as he meets the door handle.

He opens the entrance to a familiar face. Immediately, Saichi’s nose wrinkles.

“Do you know what time it is? You reek like booze, go home.”

The man before him looks tired, dark circles permanently etched under his eyes. The entirety of his appearance is umkempt. Unbuttoned shirt, gelled hair falling out of place. Ogata Hyakunosuke, Saichi’s questionable friend, sticks his arm through the opening before he can try to close the door.

“I couldn’t find my way,” he argues before slamming the door back against the wall and pushing past Saichi.

Like muscle memory, he slips out of his shoes and finds the couch to plop himself down onto. Saichi’s too tired to really argue with him, but awake enough to question him a little bit longer.

“Yet you found your way here?”

Ogata says nothing, as expected. He grabs the blanket, flapping the fabric out of its fold to cover himself. He lets his actions speak for him, and they’re saying he’s not about to answer. For knowing him less than a year, he sure has made himself comfortable. The once empty couch becomes a second bed for him. And while Saichi has yet to formally invite him over, he would never kick him to the street.

They’re both too lonely for that.

Sighing, Saichi turns his back and heads up the stairs to fall asleep once more. The shuffling in his living room and the heavy sound of Ogata’s breath fade out with each step.

-

“Morning.”

Ogata grunts his greeting in response. The man’s already sitting at the table with a cup of freshly brewed coffee made from what can only be Saichi’s ingredients. Even if he didn’t ask, there’s a second mug pulled out and placed next to the machine.

Retrieving a simple creamer from the refrigerator, he walks back to the counter to pour himself a cup.

“You know, if you’re going to come over you should do it earlier.”

Saichi hears the sound of him blowing at his cup to cool, then taking a generous sip.

“You think I’m not serious, but making all that noise that late? Not only are you going to wake me, but the neighbors, too.”

“Were you actually asleep?”

Ogata knows he doesn’t sleep well. Rest comes and goes, but he mostly gets enough to function.

“This time I was.”

Doesn’t really matter whether or not Ogata believes him, the night’s already passed. He feels decently awake after splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth. Sometimes he needs little reminders to finish even the most basic tasks. He checks them off a list, putting in as much effort as he can even if only half done.

“I didn’t mean to end up here.”

“Then why did you?”

He refuses an answer. Instead chugging down the rest of a water bottle Saichi had left on the table the night before. He crumples it.

“Breakfast?” Saichi suggests. Better to redirect the conversation than beat a dead horse.

“Ienaga’s?” Naming their go to breakfast spot, Saichi starts cleaning up rinsing the finished coffee pot.

“Just give me a few minutes to get ready. Your toothbrush is in the second bathroom drawer.”

“My own drawer, huh? Do I look like a child who needs their stuff labeled.”

“No, but who knows. Don’t want to accidentally use it to clean the toilet.”

“Very funny.”

“Who says I was joking?”

Drinking the last of his coffee, Ogata makes his exit first, intentionally bumping his shoulder on the way out with a weak ‘excuse me’ as he goes. Saichi heads back upstairs after he’s dried the coffee pot to get his favorite hat and scarf. Just to spite him, Ogata takes extra long in the bathroom during his shower. Even as Saichi bangs on the door demanding he hurry, Ogata stays in the water even longer. A warm steam trail follows him at, smug knowing he’s running up the water bill.

The drive isn’t very lively, neither is their meal, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary for them two. They run through the motions of a typical day out all while keeping to themselves despite being in the other’s company. Everyone surrounding them engages in lively chatter, smiles get shared, heartfelt laughs ring to the ceiling. Saichi looks to Ogata, whose facial expression remains stoic even after taking a bite of his usual, presumably favorite, order. He has nothing to say. Saichi looks down to his own lukewarm meal, though tasteless on his palette, he takes another bite.

They’re not friends, Saichi thinks, but some company is better than none.

0

Saichi first meets Ogata at his latest low.

Saichi’s life has entered a cycle, the tracks continuing with no end in sight. Once a hopeful, enlightening journey becomes mundane, repetitive. All of his dreams disintegrate to a subpar reality following a series of tragedies. The problem then after is the path itself. There’s no destination, no road maps, only a dense mist covering all that sits before, behind, and to his sides. He gauges on, no answer to his questions.

Three months have passed since his parents died. After mourning comes an unexpected emptiness that rids him of any will or determination to go on like he would have in the past.

He organizes a funeral for them both. People who he hasn’t seen in years show their faces, they send their condolences, and they leave once more. He finds out his parents debts have been through the roof. He shuffles through their finances and property wondering how he’ll make it through when he’s in his final year of schooling without any aid. Can he afford the house, the car, and all minor responsibilities in between?

Susupo and Asirpa step in not long after.

They had offered their assistance early on going as far as paying for the funeral expenses but, being too prideful and unsure, he assures them he’s alright without anything more. They end up paying the majority regardless. His mask crumbles quickly, especially against such a smart witted girl. Asirpa, though still young, has already met tragedy first hand with the loss of her own parents before the age of 7.

He’s a bitter soul, tragedy, having accepted the purpose of carrying individuals through a heart wrenching, soul sucking period unlike any other. He steers on with an unstoppable dexterity. All will face a battle against him at some point in their lives, but whether the meeting be started from something natural or something tragic, only time will tell. Saichi has no idea how she faced him head on and came out on top while stands defeated under the weight of the single boot pressing him to his ground of loss.

Knowing what it’s like, she refutes all of his attempts to deny assistance, instead working to fix what she can herself. They do more for him than he could ever imagine. But it doesn’t save him all. His mind and soul lose their colors with each passing second until he’s a shell of himself. Not a student, not a leader, not a babysitter. It’s hard to see them do so much. It’s not a shame because she’s younger or because Saichi’s a man. He’s upset that he can’t do it all. He can’t do anything.

There are evenings when the reality weighs too heavily. He wastes away thinking there’s no reach. He’s stuck at the bottom of a pit with no exits. The smooth walls leave nothing to grip in his attempts of escape. He reaches, palms sinking into a surface that melts away and carries him back down to the bottom.

Sometimes he paces. Sometimes his showers run too long as he eyes the bleak tile. He tries listening to music, his favorite songs fill the blaring empty house. Beats bounce off the walls into his ears, but he’s too aware that he’s trying to create a distraction. He shuts the damn thing off, ripping the plug from the outlet nearly knocking the machine over and destroying it in a fit of rage.

That’s when he leaves. He grabs a cozy coat, slips on some comfortable shoes and heads to the place he knows has the secret to drowning with a fine line drawn before completely going under.

He takes a seat at the far end of the dingy bar. The clientele is older than he, a place for adults rather than college students. But the atmosphere is more subdued, less blinding lights and bumping speakers, only melodic music a few decades old meant to soothe. It doesn’t quite work for him.

With each drink he has, his neck looses some leverage. Leaning over, soon he’ll be a puddle against the counter.

“You look like shit.”

Saichi whips his head up realizing he’s been spoken to. A man with an even shittier goatee and slicked back hair tells him. He eyes him up and down, nothing special, but something about him looks familiar. Empty eyes, light gone. He could be a mirror, matching the tiredness Saichi feels for days upon end.

Saichi shakes his head. Who is he to analyze another in his state?

“Can I help you?” he asks, voice bitter in response to the dig at him.

The man takes a seat next to him. The fresh smell of cologne lingers from suit, but it only takes Saichi a second to tell its’s fighting the overpowering smell of whiskey coming off him all the same.

“If you don’t pull yourself together the bartender,” he shoots a thumb in the direction of a squirrely man meticulously counting the shot glasses, “will kick you out.”

“I’m holding up just fine but thanks for the concern.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“And did I say I needed your help?”

“No you didn’t, but anyone with half a brain cell left can see you need it.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re faring better. You look just as bad as me. You smell like you’ve drank half the top shelf.”

The closer he leans, the stronger the smell gets. Pungent odors singe his nose. He blinks back his eyes from how they start to water. The cigar smoke swimming throughout the building does nothing to help either.

“As long as I don’t act it, what’s the problem?”

So he’s more self aware than he seems.

“Still sounds like shit to me. I’ll think real hard over here about how I look next time around you want to say something.”

When the bartender rolls back around, the man speaks up.

“2 shots.”

Pulling down an elegantly designed glass bottle, the man reaches for two small shot glasses and places them on the counter. He tips the bottle, clear liquid flows out in a gentle stream from the spout, stopping just shy of the rim.

After being thanked, he walks away. Saichi eyes stare back down to his own drink. The cup melts away, matching the grainy appearance of the tabletop. One of the glasses slides across the counter to Saichi dispersing the colors in his sight. He eyes the liquid, then follows back to where it came. The smart mouthed man pulls the remaining cup towards himself, hands staying planted to the sides. He’s not looking to Saichi, instead he spins the glass with his thumb, the bottom scrapeing the dark stained wood counter.

“Thought you just said I needed to watch myself?” Saichi asks, not waiting for an explanation.

“You looked like you needed it.”

Depressed, lonely, at the bar drowning his sorrows just to be insulted, Saichi’s having a miserable night. To make things worse, he’s receiving mixed signals from another drunkard. He downs the shot. A warmth revives in his body, spreading to his forehead and chest. Catching sight of the man to his left, he sees the smirk, followed by glass tilting back to his lips.

So starts their night together. They drink.

-

Saichi pulls him into a cab, dragging him in by the wrist. The whole night has been a mistake yet he’s tacking another bullet point onto the list. After a few more drinks, the guy’s eyes start looking as glassy as Saichi’s. A few more words are shared here and there, the two actually butting heads more than anything, but from one argument follows a snarky response matched with an irresistibly smug look that sinks into his mind and stays there.

He should be better, have some higher standards than picking up someone who insulted him, but with his mind unwinded, he finds it difficult to put his head on straight. They respect the cab driver not to do anything scandalous or particularly mental scarring, but as Saichi leans his head back against the leather seats he can feel a warm breath against his neck. The guy’s handsy. His palm sneaks over, resting up his thigh, curling his fingers in. The gentle sensation tingles and sends shivers up his spine.

The ride to his place passes in a haze. All at once his seatbelt is gone, his palms are unsticking themselves from the sweaty seats. The driver pulls away leaving the two are left at his porch.

Here, the guy can really get his hands and mouth on him. He pulls at his belt loops, hooking his fingers in like he already knows exactly how to hold on. Saichi’s thrown with the enthusiasm, an eagerness that hasn’t been shown to him.

The insistent touches, throaty exhales, all send him into an oblivion he cannot control. He falls head first into the illusion, his mind writing his current scenario further, not once stopping to think about the consequences. Miraculously, they make it to the front, steps falling in sync and preventing them from tripping over each other. Each sensation of being nipped and kissed melts to a velvety dream, but there’s one thing missing - the perfect tie to the intimacy.

Saichi does something he’s desperate for. He stops right before the front door. The man with him doesn’t mean anything to him yet, he’s already in front of him. He pulls back, ridding himself of the guy’s mouth smothered on the skin below his ear.

Saichi sinks his palms to the man’s shoulders, hesitating only to wet his lips from how dry they feel. He plants a firm kiss on him. He’s pushing too hard, noses bumping, cheeks sinking into each other. The man’s soft lips don’t move against Saichi’s, but he latches onto the warmth for as long as he can.

Hands catching up, they still against Saichi’s waist. He pulls his face back. Feeling the warmth disappear, Saichi’s lips curl in. He keeps his eyes closed. He doesn’t want to see the face before him, disgusted, confused, someone ready to walk away now that he’d shot for an empty intimacy. His heavy eye lids block out any movement, leaving only a black screen with faint moving shadows as the man turns in front of the house lights.

The evening was as good as it was going to be. Saichi waits for the fading footsteps that will leave him on the concrete.

In a second, the warmth comes back. The man presses his lips back, harder this time around now that Saichi’s teeth are wrapped tightly under his mouth holding back tension. He loosens him lips. There’s no fervent burning, nor desperate passion. It’s just a short kiss. After a few seconds, they instinctively pull back.

“Well, are we going to go inside?” he asks out of breath.

Saichi pulls out his keys. He fumbles with the door. The floor knocks as their shoes are ripped of their feet. Leading him to the closest surface, Saichi takes them to the living room.

Saichi falls back to the couch, mind sinking to the black clouds centering in on him. He’s being enveloped in an endless warmth, from the couch and it’s blanket, to the decently bulky body above. Short pecks litter his face down to his neck. He let’s himself, for once, taking all of the sensations in at once to casing his frazzled mind. His eyes follow heavier and heavier.

He’s own stupidity saves him.

Before ever his belt can go Saichi falls asleep on his own couch. The guy hovering above stops, hands releasing the accessory. He drags his legs up and over, doing his best to avoid the man who fell asleep in the middle of foreplay.

He leaves the living room, letting Saichi’s slumber peacefully take him over.

-

In the morning, Saichi wakes up back stiff from his work couch. There’s a putrid taste in his mouth, stomach to his throat feeling like acid. He completely forgot to brush his teeth after a night of drinking.

Yawning, he tries to piece together why he wouldn’t have cleaned up, left himself a glass of water for the morning, or even why he would be sleeping down on the couch of all places. Cracking his back after he stands, he hears one bone pop after another, seamlessly rolling in line. He scratches the front of his stomach exposed from his shirt rising.

He looks to the door and there’s a pair of shoes he doesn’t recognize. He stops and his eyes shift. The door is closed, but unlocked. Whatever he’s pieced together falls apart, scattering across the floor from the force of his angry fists. Gripping to find a solution in the mess, his mind runs through all possible scenarios. He left, but maybe he didn’t. He could have forgotten the locks altogether or someone could have broken in.

Soft footsteps come down the stairs interrupting his thoughts.

Stunned, Saichi loses his balance and falls backwards to the floor near the end of the couch. He scrambles. His footing isn’t perfect, but he gets himself up, taking the remote with his as defense against the strange who looks unamused.

“Who are you?! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Opposite to Saichi’s paranoia, the man’s as cool as can be; he even looks more well sleep than Saichi has in months and he’s just woke up in a stranger’s home. He watches Saichi shift, barely turning his head to follow the frantic movement.

Saichi continues to hold out the device, pointing it forward in an attempt to look menacing. His hand shakes. He receives an unimpressed look, but still stands his ground. There’s a stranger in his home, he’d be a fool to let his guard down further.

“Guess you don’t remember last night,” he says.

Last night? Saichi doesn’t remember. He only had guessed. Drinking he knows for sure, the aftertaste and headache says it all. But where? How long? How many?

“I’m not about to play any games with you just tell me who you are.”

He reaches the bottom of the steps. He has all of his clothing except for his shoes. His shirt is buttoned to the top and tucked into his pants and belt.

“We met last night at the bar. Can’t imagine how I left a good enough impression for you to take me home but that’s what happened,” he explains calmly as if the situation is nothing strange, meanwhile Saichi finds it hard to accept the reality.

He knows he’s been getting worse, but to actually do something so foolish.

“I made the trip over here it was too late for me to leave,” he explains further. The brief responses are pissing him off. “You passed out, my phone died. Figured I would just sleep upstairs in your guest room.”

A new question surfaces, one he’s scared of the answer. But if he’s made one mistake, he can’t go without knowing.

“Did we at least use protection?”

“You fell asleep before we could even get there, big boy. Didn’t lay a finger on you.”

While not the most comforting response, he hopes it’s honest. It puts a pause to his fast paced mind.

“Thank you.”

“That’s not something to thank someone for, but sure.”

One question out of the way ruses another. How much he’s forgotten he’s not sure, but he may as well ask. If he’s lucky, he can piece together the picture.

“How’d we get here?”

“I paid the cab fee, but don’t worry about it. I’ll be going.”

“You don’t have to go?” Saichi says, confusion mixed into every word even to himself. It stops the man in his tracks.

“I’ve sobered up, I’m not sleeping with you.”

“No, no not that.” Saichi rolls his eyes. If he didn’t go through with that last night, he’s certainly not doing it now. “Just, if you want some coffee. As thanks, I can make some. Then pay for your cab home.”

Maybe a meaningless gesture in the eyes of the other man, Saichi still offers. The damage he’s already done to himself seems irreparable, but he still lays down the bandaid. Even the smallest piece to mend the wound.

Saichi cannot decipher the man’s thoughts from behind his eyes. Even refreshed the morning after, the dull color stays, which is something Saichi does remember as he thinks back. His eyes flicker to the door, then to him.

“Just the coffee is fine,” he settles.

He sits his jacket on the couch and follows Saichi to the kitchen. Now that the man’s chosen to stay, Saichi has to back track. Making a mental list in his mind, he first pulls out the coffee bought then goes searching for the other tools. He pulls some beans and the grinder, pours them into the coffee filter, lets the water steep. The guy patiently sits, focusing on the trees visible through the paned sliding door.

“So uh, my name’s Sugimoto,” he starts between searching for clean mugs. “Saichi. And you?”

“Ogata,” he answers.

When no given name follows, Saichi goes back to pulling a mug from the cabinet and rinses them under the tap.

“So we met at the bar last night?”

“Yeah, after I told you you looked like shit.”

Scalding, the man’s words are without being said with a hint of malice. His stomach curdles, finding it strange that this of all people is the guy he brought him. Saichi wants to politely tiptoe over the path, while the guy feels no qualms about being blunt.

“You pick up people that look like shit?”

“You told me I did, too.”

Something about it puts them at an even pace. They’re both fools, with impeccable timing at that. To be there and tread along even as the situation seems inconvenient. Saichi may be falling off the tracks, but he’s not the only one.

“So we both have bad eyes.”

Saichi hands him a freshly brewed cup of coffee after setting down some cream and sugar.

“Mine have seen worse.”

“Is that a compliment?”

The man takes a sip.

“How did we end up here?”

“Who knows. Maybe you have a charm to yourself.”

Something bubbles in his stomach and Saichi immediately wants to blame it on the too hot liquid running down his throat. The rest of the time Saichi makes small talk until the cab pulls up, ending the pair’s strange shared cup of coffee. He walks him to the door unsure of how to bid him goodbye. Pittering behind, his fingers curl into his palms.

“I’ll be going then,” Ogata he now knows, begins their end.

“Well, you stay safe out there.”

“You, too, Sugimoto Saichi.”

Left alone in his home, he watches the man’s back as he walks the path to the gate. The door opens and slams closed a second later. He turns back to his house with nothing left to do than go back to how his day would have been going without the detour. He should be more careful, Saichi tells himself.

0

Nothing romantic happens between the two again. The instance falls off the map, being folded over as if it has never existed. It’s not the end of their story though, Saichi discovers.

Saichi finds himself and Ogata at the bar again on the same night not a week later. He steps through the door, eyes searching for an empty seat at the counter. Only one spot remains, he makes way to take it. The closer he gets, he notices someone familiar.

The name inches to the end of his tongue. He remembers the face, his dim eyes, the down turned mouth. He hasn’t drank since the evening, something about the night tilted his axis, a brief glimpse of clarity from the morning after. He’s been reckless, ups and downs in a never ending ride. Each loops rattles the metal device, throwing his stomach in turmoil. He should step off, but he has moments of weakness. The cart stops at the bottom, someone steps on. Ogata.

He takes the seat next to the man first.

“Nice to see you again,” Saichi starts.

The man grunts an affirmation, eyes lingering only a second before turning to the bartender.

“You’re looking better tonight.”

“You as well,” Saichi notes.

While perhaps Saichi has no room to criticize, especially that first night, he can picture disheveled appearance, masked by an unwavering placidity to avoid coming off high strung. He remembers the smell and its attempt to cover. Now though, there’s only the crisp cologne.

“Still won’t take you home.”

“Funny considering you went home with me last time.”

“Lapse in judgement,” Ogata justifies. They were both in fact a too few many in.

“One time thing then? How far are you in tonight?”

“Why? Hoping to get lucky?”

“Hoping to avoid another mess.”

“First one,” he answers, shaking his glass. The ice clinks against the sides. “Care to join me, Sugimoto Saichi?”

“I would. Ogata?” he drags out his surname.

“Hyakunosuke.”

He does. And they drink.

0

Every time they both find themselves in the bar, they’re naturally drawn to each other. Saichi will find a bar stool a few slots away, acknowledge Ogata, then wait for his response.

By the end of the night they’ll have had a mismatched conversation. Some topics ruse new responses, other are dead ends cutting the dialogue and leaving them to fill the space with another sip. No matter how much to two push and pull, something always brings them back.

Even better now, he has a distraction to go out to. His home for the worse, has yet to change. Life inside remains stagnant, filtered with empty reminders of what once was. When it’s too much, he can turn away into the cradling temptation of the bar where Ogata sinks to as well.

He thinks the routine is something he could get used to.

0

He hasn’t had someone in his life for awhile. He has his found family, yes, but they’re not people he’s willing to unload it all on. To them, he wants to show his best side and pretend all is getting better. Outside of them, he has next to none. Mistakes happen and in his misery he cuts a lot of people off. Others lose touch without meaning to. Either way, the numbers dwindle to zero, and he can’t remember how he spent his time before.

Now, the two file in plastered after a long night of endless alcohol filled glasses. The house becomes their go to. They saunter in, Ogata finds a space on the couch and Saichi leaves to his room. In the morning, Ogata leaves. Saichi unworried, knows where he can find him again for another evening to eventually forget.

Their relationship takes a turn when Ogata shows up at his house again. He doesn’t leave right away, but he stays. Saichi stares at him across the kitchen table as he helps himself to a warm cup of freshly brewed coffee. Without the dim lights of the bar and tipsy loose lips, Saichi isn’t sure what to say to him. It doesn’t stop Ogata, he stays, even through Saichi’s silence.

He certainly doesn’t remember the time like it is now. Once again the box surrounding his world is being tipped by the holder. Though less violent, inside he stumbles needing to get used to the new layout conjured from the mayhem.

He’s always on his toes. Ogata throws away a burnt cup of noodles he let catch fire from placing the packaging to close to the flame. Saichi’s hacking up a lung, made worse by his previous shouting and aggravating search for a fire extinguisher. Ogata’s eyes widen, but his expressive gives little more even from his own error. Just like Saichi, he tries to solve the problem himself. It leaves the two running in circles, not on the same page. The flame quickly dies, never growing large and putting the house and men at risk.

Ogata who’s not outwardly apologetic cleans the kitchen while Saichi puts their foam covered clothes to wash. They’re a couple of fools, with a specialty instinct to handle the physical problems before them, that were also caused by them.

The nights have gone from Saichi’s tears having been the only space filler to endless curses thrown between the pair for whatever they have decided to argue over for the evening. A spark reignites in his life, the fuel being a new type of frustration. Whether or not its better or worse than before, they put it past them.

0

They drink. Again.

0

Ogata is a miserable son of a bitch.

His best friends are the denial and avoidance of his own memories, and endless top shelf bottles paid for by the life insurance money left to him.

Unlike Saichi whose tragedy has barely hit, Ogata has been living in the aftermath of his own for as long as he can remember. When Saichi hears his story, he doesn’t blame the man for not “moving on.” The flimsy concept is more difficult in practice than said in a few empty words. The effects live with the person there to witness, clutching on, sinking teeth in like a leech. As the memories drag, they steal the life force with it. Rosy cheeks turn pale, eager admiration falls with fatigue, leaving the body bare without protection.

Saichi has witnessed first hand some of his lower evenings. Drunk, angry, in denial. With no place to relieve his frustrations, he let’s Saichi drag him out of the bar and into the back of a cab. The drivers sense the tension. Maybe like him, they’ll get used to it.

Their relationship, though, isn’t so one-sided, with Saichi solely taking care of a dejected man. Ogata returns the favor the same, the only difference being Saichi’s meltdowns tend to be more emotional. And at the end, they’re all just as ugly.

Some people learn how to move on. Some people don’t.

He tells Saichi his problems once, never again, and he expects them to also never be brought up. The mouth runs unfiltered in the early hours.

On the balcony under the cloud covered moon, Saichi sits on the single foldable chair. He’s wrapped in a blanket, warming his body but letting his nose go cold. If you flicked him, he wouldn’t be able to feel it. Ogata stands leaning against the railing fitted in his own plush coat. Stars peek through the last clouds lingering from the cold day, just enough to provide a gentle glow.

Ogata spits down to the lawn after a drag of his cigarette. It’s a filthy habit, but Saichi doesn’t blame him for picking something like that up. It’s not as if he has any better methods to cope.

“My parents were never together, but my mom always wanted to be,” Ogata starts. Saichi spends the nightly gently coaxing him for more information. He never demands, leaving the impression that the responses are there for him to speak if he so wishes. “I was fine being raised by just her and my grandparents. She used to give me everything she could, but then it all stopped.”

He’s never spoken so many sentences at once. At least not in front of Saichi. If this were a normal step in a friendship, Saichi would think it happily, but looking through the window exposes a dark, sinister place. There’s no light in his eyes from reminiscing, no special memory to carry with him. The love has dried and shriveled, only a replica. There’s no feeling, just a mask. He speaks like he’s reiterating the words a textbook, bland, unremarkable. Saichi’s heart aches at the tone, how he’s built up a wall to cover any feelings.

“She stopped taking care of me at some point. Her own misery overtook our lives. Guess our house wasn’t enough, but she was sick, and when the doctors found out what it was, it was too late. She spiraled down and never recovered.”

If he looks closely enough, Saichi isn’t sure if he’s seeing genuine pain flicker across Ogata’s eyes, or just a hope that he does, wanting to believe Ogata hasn’t lost the ability to feel. He could be projecting the emotion onto him, trying to make Ogata his equal once more.

“At some point I was upset, so I told her I didn’t want to see her ever again. She told me to leave her be.”

Ogata takes another drag of his cigarette. Saichi’s heart drops.

“She passed away about two weeks after I said that. The court moved me in with my dad. And his wife and son,” he tacks on after a breath. “He didn’t want me around I could tell. Didn’t matter though, I wasn’t with them all long. They all died in a car accident. I would have been in it too had I not refused to go with them and instead saying I wanted to be with my grandparents from my mom.”

Saichi can barely fathom how he’s so monotone. He has retold something more tragic than his own, yet he says it like a script. What better way to get move forward than to pretend it’s solely a thing of the past.

“And it’s just been you all this time?”

He nods. No parents, no siblings, no other relatives to be heard from. Though he doesn’t pry, Saichi guesses his school and work life stands the same.

“Your grandparents?”

“Passed away within a year of each other when I was in high school.”

“I’m sorry,” is all he can say.

Ogata, visually apathetic, shrugs.

“No need to shed a tear for me.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

“No one does, but life picked me I guess.”

Silence settles over. It’s really not fair, any of it. Life though difficult should never be tainted with such tragedies. For what reason is there? To build character? To make one stronger? Life in itself is a challenge enough, yet the world surrounding decides it hasn’t had enough.

“Life picked me too,” Saichi says just above a whisper.

He inhales. The built well of composure comes crashing down. His face swells, under eyes going heavy. The first few sobs he can hide, but with the lull in wind, Ogata pauses and looks down to where Saichi’s sitting.

“You’re a man, you shouldn’t be crying like that.”

After all that’s happened, what does it matter if he looks pathetic? He’s in his own home, engulfed with the lingering of bitter sweet thought and memories. Life didn’t spare him, so what if he crumbles?

“Did you cry?” Saichi chokes. He swallows his gasps, hoping to steady his voice. “When it happened?”

Ogata’s fingers still. Mouth curling in like he’s tasted something repulsive. Maybe he shouldn’t be asking, with the way he’s seen Ogata act before, anything could happen. Testing the limits of what can be handled knowing something will burn, Saichi’s a masochist or a fool. That line blurs together for him more often than he wishes.

“Stand up.”

He does. He meets Ogata at the railing, fitting himself in the space beside him. There’s a lingering warmth on the wooden bar where Ogata once had his hands, he rests his hands down to steady himself. Ogata smacks his back, hard enough the area where his hand met the thin fabric covering his body still stings as he pats him.

“You smoke?”

Saichi shakes his head.

“Here.”

Ogata lets him take a drag of his cigarette, placing the rolled paper between his lips. He’s never smoked before. As Saichi sucks in the tip of the cigarette glows orange. The smoke filters through his mouth, pungent, spreading across his taste buds like acid. The little wrapped paper packs a punch, burning down his throat and stinging his mouth. The aftertaste is vile, he doesn’t see the appeal, but he supposes that’s exactly why someone would crave it.

“Happiness isn’t meant for everyone,” the guy continues in spite of every accusation assuming he would have ceased.

Saichi releases his breathe, greyed smoke floating to the atmosphere.

“Shouldn’t it be?” He coughs.

“You’d think so.”

Does life really spare no one? What scale exists to decide what one deserves? And if they’ll be able to handle it? Saichi wonders what he did to deserve it.

0

Saichi’s being escorted out of the bar before the clock even strikes 11. Saichi is short by no means, but the security guard towers over him with a good few inches, single hand gripping his bicep to drag him out. He’s like a rag doll at the mercy of an overly excited child. While he’s not thrown, the man releases his arm so quickly Saichi loses his balance, tripping over his own shoes before he finds his footing. He uses a street sign to hold himself up.

The owner sighs as he watches him go down. He’s seen Saichi a lot, enough that he recognizes him as a regular. He’s cut him off before, but never made him leave.

“Look, you’re not a bad kid, but tonight you need to get out of here. Go home with your family.”

The bartender has already called a cab for him, but the owner heads back inside before it arrives, leaving Saichi as the sole bystander on the sidewalk to wait for his ride.

He had been spending his night as usual, falling blissfully to a subdued state with the alcohol consumption, but when the drinks weren’t arriving fast enough, his anger started to rise. He slams his fist on the counter demanding their attention and that’s when security pulls up behind and leads him out.

Saichi kicks the door, bouncing back from how the steel reverberated through his foot. His act of defiance only makes him look foolish. He’s a child throwing a tantrum, and all the adults have averted their eyes for the tension to simmer out. He spits, stuffing his hands in his pockets and starts walking away before a car can come for him.

The night nips at his cheeks, stealing the red and turning his skin pale. The anger fuzzies his mind, mixed with the already dulled state, he’s managing in a dangerous state. He makes it to the corner before realizing there’s another person there.

“You look like shit.”

Startled, he whips back to find the source of the insult. It’s Ogata. He’s arrived a little too late, Saichi’s party already being over for the evening.

“I think we’ve had this conversation before.”

“You think you’d take the hint and look a little better.”

Saichi eyes him. He looks better tonight. He hates it, he can’t even through the insult back in his face. Saichi expects them to be on the same level, the ground zero crash site of misery.

He turns and continues walking.

“Someone’s not in the mood tonight.”

“Just one of those nights, I guess.”

He doesn’t really want to have this or any real conversation. Stuck to the ground, he braces himself for the next explosion. If he doesn’t control himself, he’ll sink below the sea line. Ogata, capable of maintaining an appearance of self possession, will watch from above. Though hypothetical, an imaginative scenario of Saichi’s overreaction, he can feel his blood boiling.

“Where are you headed?”

“Home, where else? I don’t need the company,” he adds before their conversation can go any further.

“You sure look like you need something.”

“To be home.”

His big, empty home where echoes bounce off the still walls. His residence that no longer houses a home, but a single man doing nothing more than surviving. His fuel gauge is tipping over. He can’t turn it back himself.

“What are you doing?” Saichi asks. Expecting Ogata to leave, Saichi’s surprised to find he’s met his pace. The man brings up his cupped hand to light a cigarette.

“Can’t I stroll on the sidewalk?”

“You can, but it’s not worth it. I’m going home, you go have a good night.”

“Can’t have a good night if I’m sitting there wondering what’s got you ticked out.”

“Don’t worry about me.”They’re not friends after all, there’s no need for Ogata to show concern or for Saichi to vent his pain and misery.

“Who said I was worried?”

“Even better, it’s not a big deal.”

“If it’s not a big deal why don’t you tell me what it is.”

Whether or not he’s asking because he cares or simply because he feels obligated, Ogata is insistent. His demanding rubs Saichi the wrong way. He shouldn’t have to share.

“Because it’s none of your business.”

“Something’s bothering you.”

“Yeah, well that’s life, isn’t it? Can’t always be grand.”

“I know that better than anyone. But even a kid has the mind to say what they’re thinking when they need to.”

“So you’re saying I’m worse than a child right now? Is that it?”

“I’m saying tell me what’s wrong,” Ogata grits between his teeth.

“Why should I? I said it’s nothing so why don’t you drop it. Why don’t you go bench warm the bar stool. I’m going home and I don’t need you to come with me.”

Ogata’s doesn’t take that, though.

“Gonna go home and be alone like that on purpose?” He taunts. “Just gonna let things sit and get worse?” It’s a pathetic lure, reeling Saichi in aggressively knowing he’s undoubtedly someone who will react with anger.

“For tonight, yeah.”

“Gonna regret that. I’m asking so why don’t you just say it? Quit making this harder than it needs to be it’s pathetic.”

Amidst all the pressure, Ogata breaks the glass himself. With no bearings holding him back, nothing stops Saichi from snapping.

“Listen, can you just leave?” Against the quiet street, Saichi’s voice carries across the line of buildings. “You think I can’t take a hint, what about you? How clearly do I have to say it for you to get that another damn person in this world wants you to piss off and leave them alone.”

The sentence leaves his tongue before he can even process what he’s said, and when he does, he swallows. Ogata falters, having understood the words faster than he. He stops walking, Saichi turns back, and the two stare at each other. Even if his vision swims, eyes watery from the alcohol clouding his mind and the newly formed sense of regret, he can see it. Ogata’s jaw clenches, snapping the cigarette between his teeth in half.

If there’s any good time to sober up, it’s now.

His blood runs cold. There is absolutely no reason for him to say what he did - especially using something Ogata told him in confidence. Ogata spits the tobacco to the floor, crushing it under his shoe. He takes good measure, twisting his heel destroying the last ember.

Preparing for the worst as Ogata grips the front of his shirt, Saichi is shoved to the nearest wall. He wheezes, all of his breath escaping his lungs. The protruding textures of the cement rip into his back, all painful, but not worse than he expects to come. A smack, a punch, he deserves it all and everything worse. Ogata should tear him apart.

The man’s fist presses hard against Saichi’s sternum. His knuckles thrust like daggers, sinking to his skin down to the bone. The man coughs, cigarette smoking leaking out his mouth to burn Saichi’s eyes. It stings, but he deserves it, doesn’t he? If Ogata had gone around and said that about his family, Saichi would have ripped him a new one, verbally and physically.

“Then I’ll leave you alone, Sugimoto Saichi,” Ogata whispers against his mouth.

The grip on his shirt releases. His fingers shoot back, forcing the fabric away. His shirt sits looser, but that’s all. The stinging passes, he’s no longer crowded in. Saichi opens his eyes, releasing his breath.

Ogata’s already turned his back, walking in the direction of the bar Saichi was just thrown out of. He’s leaving him to himself, just as Saichi asked. But of course Saichi didn’t mean it. He tries to call him, but all attempts are in vain as Ogata refuses to turn his back.

Is it worth it to run after him? Would doing that only make the situation worse? Saichi sinks to his knees, letting his indecision be the answer.

He got off too easy.

0

“Who is that guy?”

Asirpa and Saichi are in the middle of peeling potatoes when she pops the question. They have been sitting more silent than usual. Saichi’s mind has gone blank after replaying his words over and over even two weeks later. Ogata whose expression never changes, bared a blatant change. For someone who has already supposedly lost the world, Saichi saw another piece die in his eyes.

The image stays embedded into his mind. The video replays, Saichi watching like an onlooker to a movie. But Saichi doesn’t sit in the theater seats, tuckered tightly with a bucket of popcorn and sweet treats in his hands. There is no illuminated screen, flashing brightly in intervals to a room with a silent audience anticipating the next scene.

Saichi is the character off screen who has just betrayed another’s trust. In a story of man versus man, Saichi is the villain. And he’s just taken the knife to his fellow actor.

“What?”

“You know,” she says matter of factly when no, he truly does not know, “the guy who always comes over at night.”

He stops peeling. She shouldn’t know about Ogata. He can safely say that’s who she is talking about as he hasn’t brought anyone over in months. He comes during the darkest moments, when the sun has dipped starting a new dawn for the other side of the Earth. For her to know, especially when he’s never mentioned his name. His gut shrivels.

“Why do you know that?”

“My window faces your door.”

A deeper worry settles in him stomach. The thought of her witnessing Ogata stumbling through raises concern, but what else could she have possibly seen.

“He’s no one.”

“A friend?”

Saichi doesn’t have the heart to tell her that the “friendship” is long over. Another tie has been cut by his own blade, no mercy, left for dead. He contemplates mending it, but what good is a broken mirror, the crushed reflection never capable of holding the full picture. Even in the best scenario, bringing the mirror back to the wall, the decoration will never be rid of the damage done.

“Something like that. We’ve hung out a little is all.”

“Where’d you meet,” she presses on.

“The, uh, grocery store.”

He hasn’t admitted to Asirpa nor her grandmother about his minor drinking problem. And he’d like to keep it that way. His studies haven’t collapsed, he’s keeping minimal hours at his job, he still has the house, all the time in between is to be kept under wraps.

“And?

“And what?”

“Tell me what he’s like.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“It’s nice that you’re hanging out with friends again. I need to make sure he’s worthy of spending time with you.”

He doesn’t have to tell her for her to know he lost them all before. She could gradually see they stopped coming around. The front of his home once filled with laughter of teammates and friends passing through falls abandoned - until the person he least expects steps up the drive way. Ogata unfazed by the dying grass and unswept walkway stomps to the door and welcomes himself in before Saichi can say otherwise.

“He comes over whenever he wants,” Saichi blurts knowing he’s inconsiderate of the hours he parades himself through the door. The couch his second bed. “He’s.”

What words can he use to describe Ogata, ones that will make him mildly redeemable Saichi asks himself. But nothing comes to mind. He can only think if the bad parts of what he’s seen. His every action aggravates the man, angry until steam leaves his ears. He’s a mess, incapable of doing better.

“All he does is sleep on the couch. I’m pretty sure all of the cushions are flat now. He doesn’t cook, in fact he’s ungrateful when it comes to food. Once he asked if I had any and was disgusted that all I have was cup noodles,” Saichi whines.

Asirpa sends him a glare in the middle of his rant. Realizing his mistake, he backtracks knowing she’ll go after him for not putting any effort into his eating healthily on a schedule.

“I just hadn’t gone to the grocery store! I promise I’m eating,” he fibs hoping she won’t read too deep into it. “He took the noodles anyway, but then he burned them,” Sugimoto spouts.

His complaints are enough to make Asirpa crack a smile.

“I’m glad.”

“That he almost set my house on fire?”

“That you have someone to hang out with,” she insists as she taps her elbow to Saichi’s. “Someone close to your age.”

“Yeah, well. It’s nothing big. We’re barely around each other.”

The remark brings a frown to her face. She must be so hopeful while his story only brings disappointment. She pulls a new batch of vegetables to be cut.

“You know,” she starts again, “being ashamed of the person you’re with is no way to love them.”

Losing his handle on the food, the pieces tumble down to the table. For her to say such a sentence, he gawks at her conclusion. Whatever the two of them have going on together it’s nothing remotely romantic. And it’s certainly not love.

“It’s not like that. We’re not together,” he spits out. “We’re barely friends. He’s going through some stuff and well. I get it. That’s all.”

“You can bring him over you know.”

“Listen Asirpa, I barely know him I don’t trust him especially not enough to bring him around you. And you don’t need to be around people with problems like that.”

Not that Saichi is any better, but Ogata isn’t the type of person she should be around. He spends his days - doing who knows what? It hits Saichi that he doesn’t even know. When night falls - the two are either wasting away at the bar or sinking to the springs of Saichi’s couch.

He has his problems - that anyone would feel sympathetic towards - but the way it’s harmed him is something she shouldn’t see.

“Is that why you don’t come around anymore?” She prompts under her breath, stern but quiet.

The question drops like a bomb, silencing the room and everything surrounding with the severity of its attack.

“What are you talking about?”

She sets down her knife and sweet potato she holds down.

“Don’t look so confused. That’s it, isn’t it? You think you can’t come around you think you’re a problem so you’re trying to cut yourself off from us.”

He’s ashamed to admit he hasn’t been around. He used to see the family most days, but now, he can barely haul himself through the door while looking presentable. While it’s easy to pretend on his side that he can go unnoticed, the whole he leaves in their household is too wide to forget.

“Asirpa, please.”

“No, Sugimoto. I don’t get it. We want to help you and all you do is refuse it all! The money means nothing to us, it’s fine helping you because you’re our family. So why do you keep running away?”

“It’s not that simple,” he argues back. For their conversation to trip down as it has, Saichi feels his own frustration building. But he’s not mad at her, could never be. “It’s not your responsibility. You’re a kid you should just let me handle my problems myself okay.”

“Why are you going to let yourself try and handle it all when you can’t. Pretending you can take care of yourself when you barely eat or clean.”
“That’s not true.”

“Would you let me into your house right now if I asked?”

His stomach sinks knowing the state.

“I - I live alone, I’m a guy in college of course it’s not clean.”

“How long are you going to lie to my face?”

She seldom gets mad at him. The two are as close as siblings can be - before Saichi chooses to hide his problems. He cover, as he thought, doesn’t hold what he thought it did. She’s furious, but he’s keeping his reality covered for her sake. What would she think if she saw his true day to day? The mess, the lack of food, barely being able to get up without his heart feeling like it’s been thrown from his chest, each days stands difficult, he goes on, but with no improvements.

“You’d don’t get it!” he shouts finally, not wanting to entertain the conversation further.

As Saichi looks over to Asirpa, he sees an expression he hasn’t seen before directed to him. Stunned silent, mouth agape to his blow up.

“Oh, I don’t get it?”

Her faces wrinkles, brow furrowing above eyes threatening to spill tears.

“Asirpa,” he revels his voice back quietly, “that’s not what I meant.”

The damage is done. She slams the dishes down, breaking the ceramic on the counter. It drops everything in front of her to the floor. As she storms out, a trail of vegetables follows her out. Saichi taken aback, stares down to the broken pieces.

It must be a talent, to say all the wrong things to the right people. Another relationship wounded by his own hands. The blood trail of his victims leak down through his fingers, staining his body as it drops.

Saichi picks up the spilled food, then collects all of the little pieces scattered across the counter and floor. A chipped corner slices his fingers. Saichi stares at the floor of the stair case, reaching his hand out to pull himself of the railing. His fingers curl back and he lets himself out of the back door.

0

Saichi holes himself up for the next few days.

He makes a few calls and luckily gets some sick days off of work and class. They know he’s still mourning even though he verbally denies it. It’s a good enough excuse as any.

He’s on his last legs of food, hasn’t showered in four or five days. The tv working overtime hasn’t been turned off, blasting in his ears and burning his eyes. His eyes are stained red with how little they’ve closed from not sleeping. He rips open another bag of chips and downs the crunchy snack with half a can of cola.

His messy appearance has only taken a turn for the worse. He’s at the point where his only functions are sleeping and eating. He stands up to go to the bathroom and piss after feeling his bladder go full. Snack wrappers crunch under his feet, plastic edges scraping him enough to sting. He walks to the hall not caring about the litter.

A knock hits the door. Blinking, he remembers that there are other people in the world - all who have nothing to do with him. Life continues on around even as his stable car stops on the tracks. He wonders if Asirpa would believe he’s out if he doesn’t open the door.

The lock clicks, turning flat and moving forward as the door pushes open. Mind failing to process the action, Saichi stills, letting whoever it be behind door walk in. His grip tightens, fingernails pressing indents into his palms. There’s no time to run and hide.

“Smells like shit in here.”

The last person he expects walks through the door. The man tosses the spare key back into the planter.

“Ogata?”

They haven’t seen each other in a few weeks since Saichi lashed out at him. He regrets the outburst, but had felt himself in no position worthy of apologizing, thinking Ogata wouldn’t even find their relationship worth saving. What good have they been for each other than time fillers? Or even worse, enablers.

Ogata shuts the door, eyes searching to find his figure in the background of the home. Piercing eyes travel the entirety of his silhouette and back up. Judgement wafts off, not the slightest attempt to cover as he take in Saichi’s appearance.

“I thought it was the trash that smelled but it’s you.”

The insult sours his already horrible mood. Ogata’s hands are made of knives, causing wounds even with the gentlest touch.

“Look, I’m not in the mood. Can you go home?”

“Haven’t seen you at the bar in awhile,” Ogata comments while running his hand over the front table. The dust sticks to his fingers, leaving a clean line where he touches.

Ogata walks to the open entry of the living room. Surveying the scene, Saichi realizes how bad the place has gotten. Trash litters the floor in a trail from where he pulled it out of the kitchen. The line goes to where he’s planted himself for the past few days. Dust sits on all of the shelves. The crumbs on his shirt match the ones on the couch and table.

He has the mind to be embarrassed, but not enough to get the broom. He’ll clean it later, more importantly after he empties his bladder.

“Can you get out?” He tries not to scream, yelling will only make things worse. They’ll only repeat the other night.

“Not gonna invite me to sit down?”

“Does it look like there’s anywhere to sit?” He doesn’t even want to turn his head back to the filth Ogata faces. “Go home and I’ll have it clean in a few days.”

“If you’re going to clean anything, make it be yourself. You have a stench cloud following you.”

“Ogata.”

“Do I need to get the hose and spray you down myself.”

“I’ll go take a shower when you leave.”

Settling down his car keys, Ogata reaches for the soda can Saichi had been drinking from the table. He shakes the can side to side, decently heavy from having barely been opened. The fizzy liquid swishes inside. He turns the can in his hands. Saichi watches, wary of his next move.

Ogata lifts his eyes back up waiting for just the right moment to make his move. He throws the liquid inside at Saichi. The stream hits his eyes, the carbonation burning against his sight, then dripping down face and neck. He grabs at his eyes. The beverage trickles down to his shirt, likely staining the white fabric.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

Ogata crushes the can, dropping the aluminum to the floor where it blends with the other trash. Even without his sight, Saichi knows the layout of his house. He maneuvers around the couch to go after him, prepared to fight back from the unprompted attack, but he slips from his to a blanket that has fallen.

Saichi slams to the floor, a hair’s length away from the other’s feet. Ogata watches silently above, though Saichi knows he has no reason to be so high and mighty. Frustrated tears form, already watering from the burning pop. He wants to sink to the floor, completely collapse under the wood and hide from the shame.

Ogata grabs him by the back of shirt, yanking him up and supporting his body by slipping his shoulder under his arm. But he doesn’t want his help. Saichi squirms, grabbing at any part of Ogata he can reach to push him away. Ogata fights him back, making absolutely sure Saichi doesn’t make them loose their balance. Using cheap tactics, he shoves his finger up Ogata’s nose. The man smacks his arm out of the way palm going square under Saichi’s chin to shove his head away. They release each other.

Saichi springs forward ready to put his hands on him, but Ogata lowers himself, plunging back up to head butt Saichi in the nose. It’s enough to make him bleed as the cartilage is squished. His falls to the wall after the final push, stinging down his hips. He kneels over, clutching at his stomach. Ogata drags him up once more, but doesn’t let him find his footing. He leads him through the house not caring what they run into.

He’s mad, so angry he can’t even believe he’s letting Ogata guide him. He’s a miserable man with stupid facial hair and a stupid fuck boy hair cut. He’s the worst man Saichi could have ever encountered. Fate should have brought him someone understanding, someone who would have stood side by side to help walk Saichi through the path of recovery. Or someone he wouldn’t ruin by dragging them down to the pits of hell with him.

Instead, what does he have?

Ogata takes him to the bathroom. He reaches for his shirt, but Saichi slaps his arms away. He can pull his clothing for himself. He hooks his thumbs in his waist band, ready to admit he needs the shower but hesitates once more.

“You can go, or are you going to embarrass me even more.”

“You do that yourself I’m just a witness this time.”

“Show’s over.”

“Are you actually going to shower if I leave?”

Saichi turns the knob of the overhead shower, letting the icy water hit him even while half dressed. Satisfied, Ogata turns leaving the bathroom but doesn’t close the door behind him.

Saichi sticks his head under the water, tears mixing in down the drain. Choking down his hiccups, he stands still. Pathetic, him, this life, and all else between. The wielded axe took its shot at him, and instead of fighting back, he’s went down in an instant. Even as he curls himself in on the ground defensive, the blow never cease. One after the other they come. At some point the weapon drops, but he keeps himself under, having accepted the loss.

But how can that be the end?

Saichi’s still alive despite the terrors. The battle continues until his last legs collapse. He can stand. He can limp back to his opponent, desperate, as he still has the chance to persevere. He has until his last dying breath. With all of the chances life has given him, it’s unthinkable for him to stay on the ground.

He spends almost an hour in the shower, wasting water but he couldn’t have cut the time if he had tried. Saichi walks out of the bathroom. With the house silent, Saichi prays Ogata left. Though he loathes to admit it, the shower has made him feel more awake, and less grimy.

He walks back to the living room, ready to face the disaster he’s brewed himself over the past few days, but it’s clean. The blankets have been folded. The scattered clothes are gone, and when he listens closely enough the sound of the washer down the hall is on and running. The trash has been picked up. The spot where the soda splashed has been mopped.

Saichi stares at the scene, a stillness filling his body and replacing what was once anxious and angry.

He finds Ogata smoking in his kitchen, back sliding door barely open to let the fumes filter out. They couldn’t smell worse than the room itself. The man turns back.

“All clean I hope,” Ogata says first.

“I am now.”

He takes a drag and blows the smoke through the crack.

“What are you doing here?” Saichi asks.

“Like I said, I hadn’t seen you in awhile.”

“Didn’t think you’d want to see me again considering.”

“My mother died after I told her off. Your little meltdown at the bar could never be worse.”

His chest goes heavy, a black tar pit filling his stomach, but instead of everything sinking down the viscous substance overflows, fill his chest and throat.

“Ogata, you know that’s not your fault, right?”

Ogata shakes his head, dismissing Saichi’s attempt to console.

“I didn’t come over here for you to lecture me on my feelings or on what did and didn’t happen. I knew she was going to die regardless. Whether or not I sped it up.”

He shrugs, letting the sentence fizzle out. The running washing machine stops, laundry ready to be moved to the dryer. Saichi lets the issue go, for now.

“Why did you actually?”

“To make sure your weren’t balled up from your own misery or dead.”

“I’m fine, you can go. And thank you for cleaning up.”

Ogata smashes his cigarette into the nearest bowl before pulling out a chair and sitting down.

“Let’s hear it.”

Saichi blanches. The sight of Ogata splayed out on his dining set pretending to play therapist looks laughable. While he may have calmed down, the thought of addressing what’s happened refuels the stress.

“Don’t look so stupid what’s got you like this. Are you still on what happened that night at the bar or is this something else wrong.”

“What are we gonna talk about? You’re gonna mend my heart? Is this a joke.”

“Fat load of bs for someone who just cleaned your apartment.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Yeah well who would have if I didn’t? Would have pulled yourself together to do it?”

Saichi’s tired. Of it all. The pain, the misery, feeling like he’s not enough, and the constant berating to top it all off. He knows he’s not doing alright, but facing the reality leaves a line of hurdles he cannot fathom jumping over.

Saichi crumbles to a million pieces. He tells him. He’s mentioned his neighbors before in passing, never vividly, thinking their names and identities weren’t safe to voice. But he tells him, how much they’ve done to help him, all that they give and more. He starts with his family, the accident, and all other exposition there after.

His long list ends with how he’s disappointed Asirpa. Ogata listens intently, Saichi assumes, as he doesn’t utter a word. His eyes occasionally flicker over his body, watching each and every move as Saichi emphasizes with his hands. He speaks until his throat goes dry.

“You know,” Ogata starts when Saichi reaches and end to his story, “you should take the help when it’s offered to you. It’s hard to find someone whose gonna love you. And it sounds like you have people you do.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“So what?” Ogata brushes off his concern.

“What do you mean so what?”

“What’s with the holing up and hiding out for a week. Why be miserable instead of fixing things. No calls, no texts after your little blow up to me. Not that I’d answer your cheap hook up calls.”

“I’d have to have your number saved to do that.”

Ogata stares, unamused.

“Then no calls to the girl or her grandma? You’re here wallowing in your own snot pool instead of doing something. So what I’m saying is why are you sitting here alone and sad when you have people right there by your side when you need it?”

“I just can’t do that to them.”

“Do what? Did they say they were being inconvenienced?”

“Well, no.”

“So you’re putting words in their mouths.”

“Come on who wouldn’t pretend they’re okay in front of someone struggling? Would you actually them what’s wrong?”

“So? You do the exact same thing they’re doing.”

“It’s not fair to them.”

“No one said it was fair, but they’re willing to put up with it so why are you complaining?”

“Shouldn’t I be better?”

“Are you getting better by sitting in your own piss on that couch?”

His words are vulgar, demeaning, but Saichi hates that he’s making his points. Too many battles he’s fought by himself, and this one he cannot win. Not alone.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t think you could be so soft,” he deflects turning the embarrassment back to Ogata.

He glares, but offers no rebuttal. Moving the moment along, Ogata stands slapping the back of his shoulder twice as his own way of what Saichi assumes is offering comfort.

Ogata helps him finish cleaning the house, making the place habitable once again. The hours pass until the space is no longer piled under dust. Opening the curtains as a final touch to let the sunlight through the room, the two finish. He watches Ogata leave from behind. This time with a promise to be back, a plan that has never been made beforehand.

0

Saichi makes the appointment.

He goes to a doctor for a general health check and then attends a first session for his long awaited counseling. He picks at the stitching of his seat between sentences. The man asks Saichi simple question that can somehow only lead to complicated answers.

Ogata drives Saichi home that day. He says nothing to him in the passenger seat focusing only on the road.

The trip before and after passes like a dream. Out of body, he goes in trying to make excuses and find words to fit the situation. If only he could bring the reality to a better light, but that’s not how it is. He has to be honest and pulling truth from his mouth proves difficult.

They arrive to the door. He forgot his keys.

Ogata stares down to his hands and flips the welcome mat to expose the spare key.

“So that’s how you got in that day,” Saichi says, remembering its existence only now.

“You forgot about your own key?”

“I usually don’t have to think about it when I have mine.”

Ogata unlocks the door and tosses the key back to the ground.

“You can hold onto that if you want,” Saichi suggest out of the blue.

“Better here. Wouldn’t want it to go missing when you need it.”

Saichi nods. He heads insides ready to sleep the rest of the evening and collect his thoughts.

0

After a few sessions, they prescribe him anti depressants.

0

Ogata just sits with him some days.

He feels groggy, different than not getting sleep. He can be so well rested, yet wake up with his mind at half capacity. He’s tired, life feeling like it’s shut down other than the bare minimum. He wakes up, completes basic hygiene, only makes it to class and work when absolutely necessary, but the higher ups who know his situation are lenient.

Mostly, he walks through life with a leaden stroll. He travels the same path, with new eyes. Straightforward it goes on for miles, the fog clears steadily.

0

It’s been a few weeks on the medication and he thinks he’s finally getting used to it. The pace of life has slowed, but the change in frequency allows Saichi to find his footing. He manages to keep the house a little bit cleaner, his school work stays at a barely passing pace, and Ogata visits every single day.

He cooks, cleans, and somehow still manages to bicker with Saichi in between it all. They build a routine, mostly with Ogata completing the household chores while Saichi sits to the side and takes everything in.

They find themselves both on the couch, Ogata not heading home and Saichi not ready to pack it up to bed. It’s in the early hours of the morning that he hears the tv again. He doesn’t know the movie or show, whatever it is. He’s blinking away, eyes heavy and ears barely comprehending the dialogue on screen.

The scene wrapped in glitters and comfort makes his heart clench as he makes sense of it. Two parents sat on both sides of their young child’s bed, the mother singing a sweet tune as slumber overtakes the kid. The atmosphere glows, a magical unlike any other filtering over the family.

Ogata twitches next to him. Saichi peeks over and finds him already asleep to the mother’s lullaby. Saichi closes his eyes, the two fall asleep curled up to each other under the throw blanket.

0

Saichi brings Ogata to meet Asirpa.

He came over the week before, a fresh baked store bought dessert in hand alongside some take out to officially apologize for the way they ended things the last time he saw her. Asirpa seemed more than ready to speak to him sooner, but he couldn’t face her only partially present. His only line of communication had been sending Ogata over with baskets of groceries. The man would roll his eyes, telling Saichi to take them over himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

After over a month of work, he’s built up the courage to speak to her directly. He apologizes to her, for not being around and hiding away. She punches him in the shoulder and starts crying in front of him. Something gets him, because he starts crying too.

She says she’s forgive him, his worry dispelling in an instant, but then she says she still wants to meet his friend.

Ogata shows up by his side, not in a cheap suit or ratty pajamas, but in a normal day outfit. Clean black shirt over fitted jeans and topped with a dark blue sports jacket for the slight chill fits him from head to toe.

He brings over some juice boxes and candy as a gift.

“She’s fourteen not five.”

Ogata’s eyes turn away. He scratches at his face. Saichi finds it endearing that he’s embarrassed. He rings the door bell, and the two are graciously welcomed in for lunch.

Asirpa tells Ogata how she made the entirety of the meal.

“And do you cook?” Asirpa asks. Saichi chokes on a meatball, coughing as he thinks back to his past complaints.

“Of course I learned to cook. Who do you think feeds Sugimoto?” Ogata says, making him sound incompetent.

“Don’t try to insult me when you’re no master chef,” Saichi argues back. “Asirpa here knows about the burnt noodles.”

Asirpa’s grandmother silently enjoying their company as she fixes them both another plate. The two laugh along as they squabble. Saichi’s chest blossoms. His not quite friend and family sharing a home cooked meal is the nicest moment he’s had in awhile.

-

Asirpa pulls Ogata off to the side while Saichi helps Susupo to the couch to rest.

“Sugimoto tells me you’re not a very good guy.” Ogata stares down, muted against the girl who will take any deadly conversation by the reigns. “But, he’d say the same thing about himself and I know that’s not true. He’s like my big brother, so he won’t let me take care of him.”

Silent as usual, he listens to her speech.

“I’m trusting you to do it.”

“Alright.”

He scratches the back of his head, moving his eyes away from the intense stare. Asirpa satisfied, leads him back to the living room.

-

Ogata walks Saichi back to his own home just past the fence dividing the properties. Ogata says nothing more for the meeting, only bidding the two goodbye at the door.

Saichi reaches the doorstep, patting his pockets only to find them empty. He kicks up the mat.

“I’ll take that key,” Ogata blurts.

Saichi drops the key, the metal clattering to the floor.

“What?”

Ogata is turned away, facing the street inside of Saichi or his home.

“Just in case I need to get inside. For emergencies.”

Saichi swipes up the key, twiddling it in his hand. He takes a step to the right, trying to creep into Ogata’s line of sight.

“And can I, too?”

“Can you what?”

“Have a key. To your place.”

“We’re never there.”

“That’s not the point. You can get to me, shouldn’t I be able to get to you?”

Saichi waits for the answer, hoping for a confirmation. His heart beats in his ears, so loudly he worries he won’t even be able to hear the man’s next words.

“Okay.”

The beating stops.

“Okay? Really?”

“But don’t come over unannounced.”

“Something I shouldn’t see?”

“I have some of my own cleaning to do.”

“Well, I can help you with that, too,” Saichi laughs. “You helped me after all.”

Ogata opening up breathes a new chapter. Saichi’s ready to read.

0

Sugimoto want a kiss. He thinks.

It could be the medication clouding his mind making it so every times he looks at the snide man he wants to get close. He’s already gotten one before, but that’s been long forgotten. It’s a feeling, the warmth, having all blown away in the breeze, carried away as a passing memory.

This time around, he wants it to mean something.

But he doubts the other will let him. They’re not dating and well, he’s not sure he wants to be. The label, the commitment all seem a little lost on him. Unless that’s what he’s been trying to convince himself, considering they have never been on friendly terms with each other. As pawns they take a single step towards each other, but the moves have to fight the great distance of the board before meeting side by side.

Try as much as he does, the other won’t bite with aggression. His defense still stands. With how he’s withered, the questions reigns if he’ll be strong enough to bypass the steal cover. He needs an in, and perhaps he has it with how seemingly close they have gotten. Saichi knows what it’s like to be alone, and if they’re anything alike, no one truly wants to be by themselves.

Maybe the need for a confirmation is pointless, because don’t they spend their time together? Are they not two that have found each other at their worst and are slowly started to change their worlds. He’s disappointed he couldn’t see the world a better way before, especially when his found family worked so hard to show him something beautiful. Perhaps it was just a mutual understanding, but either way, it got him to rethink his position and put a better foot forward.

Their story hasn’t been defined with words but by actions. He’s ready to face Ogata on the pull, letting him know they can walk together.

0

Ogata over once again sits himself on the couch, the piece glued to him like an extra attachment. The days have passed steadily, their routine etched in stone. Saichi, finally bring himself to start a conversation, plants himself on the couch next to Ogata.

“Can we talk?” He starts. Immediately he scolds himself for using a line that only raises concerns to who it’s directed at.

“About?”

“Well, I wanted to talk about us?” He says like a question, unsure of his own words as they spill out.

Ogata’s blank eyes never leave Saichi’s face, their burn creating holes. Saichi, not shying away, holds the gaze, searching through every speck to uncover his thoughts. Under the mask hides hesitation.

“Do you even like me? And before you say anything, I mean it genuinely. Or are we just. Together? Because we have no one else?”

Ogata stares. Saichi wishing for once his expression would give way and provide some sort of insight to what his mind thinks.

“Are you an idiot?”

He scoffs, disappointed in the reaction. But, what should he have expected?

“I should have figured you wouldn’t take this seriously. Get out of my face.”

Saichi stands from the couch fully prepared to leave the room. Though, he’s embarrassed for having tried to start such a conversation. Maybe they weren’t meant to have it, Saichi’s conclusion finally releasing to the air.

Ogata stands just as quickly, reaching out to grasp Saichi’s bicep before he can get too far.

“I’m saying you’re an idiot because why else would I be here? You think anyone would willingly come over and listen to some recurring drunk cry for no reason.”

Saichi’s stares him up and down, his grip holding tight against the fabric.

“I do it,” Saichi explains. If he can do that for Ogata, why wouldn’t another?

“Is that a confession?”

Saichi can hear his heart beat in his eyes. The incessant resounding filling his mind, made worse by a heat creeping up the back of his neck. They sit back the couch. Saichi’s back goes stiff, a perfect vertical line and his grips his knees. Ogata’s stares blankly forward, neither speaking the next line.

Saichi inhales. He can do it. He starts the next line, clearing the fog and choosing where his path will take him next.

Ogata Hyakunosuke has a really shitty attitude. Everything about him sucks. But, side by side, he thinks it not so bad.