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Barou was not a "neat freak".
He didn't have OCD, he didn't enjoy cleaning and he didn't gain any sort of personal fulfillment from the action either. He cleaned because that's what people are supposed to do, and just because his nasty fucking roommate thinks it's weird to wipe down a counter every other day or vacuum a rug every other week doesn't mean it actually is.
He wasn't acting like a maid or a trophy wife, he was just being responsible.
He was so responsible that he devised a schedule—a little note on his phone that reminded him that his room, the kitchen, and the living room was to be cleaned every week and his bathroom (technically his and Chigiri’s bathroom but most of the time Chigiri was god knows where so...Barou’s bathroom) was to be cleaned every Monday and Saturday.
However, everything that required a weekly cleaning he cleaned at the beginning of the week and it wasn’t Monday or Saturday, so Barou was free to sit and enjoy his tidy apartment in complete bliss and complete silence as Chigiri was nowhere to be found. He was able to brew himself a cup of coffee and enjoy his dose of morning reality television in complete comfort, knowing that there were no dirty socks or annoying dust to ruin his experience. It was rather nice—he allowed himself to get consumed in the cushions of his couch and get invested in whatever celebrity drama HBO Max or Hulu had for him.
Until out of the very corner of his eye, he noticed a hair.
A single hair, perfectly woven into the top part of the cushion. It was light; much too light to be Kira or Raichi or any of the other blonde people that Chigiri paraded through their house and Gagamaru hasn't gotten a retouch in decades probably so despite him being kind of blonde it couldn't be his hair either.
(He also has never been to Barou’s apartment but that was neither here nor there)
He held the hair between his forefinger and his thumb, holding it to the light, a deep pit growing in his stomach.
It had to be Nagi’s.
It was without a doubt his, since he was the only person with super light hair that Barou knew, but he could not understand how Nagi’s hair got on his couch in the first place. The last time Nagi visited his apartment was eight weeks ago, which means that Barou has cleaned it eight times since, giving there no good reason for his hair to be stuck on Barou’s couch. Hell, there wasn’t a reason for anyone's hair to be on Barou’s couch except his own—and his roommate he supposed. If Nagi’s eight-week-old hair follicle was there, chilling like it paid rent, there was no imagining what other nauseating things could be co-existing with it as well.
He paused the TV and picked at the strand of hair, walking over and placing it in the sink, frowning as it went down the drain.
I should also run over the couch a few times with the hand vacuum for good measure , Barou thought to himself.
And so he did. He vacuumed the couch, the loveseat, and the chair next to it, humming some radio tune to himself. He vacuumed the floor too (with the floor vacuum. It would be obscene to do it with the hand vac), since he was already vacuuming one thing so might as well start vacuuming another.
It was only the responsible thing to do.
🧼
When Barou was sixteen he was sent to live with his father in America.
It was a purely financial decision, his mother was in between jobs—hardly able to feed herself let alone a 6 foot 2 inch, 190-pound soccer prodigy—so he packed his shit, said his goodbyes, and nodded as his mom assured him that he would be back in Japan in due time. He didn't doubt that he would, things just always seemed to work out for him and now didn't seem like a plausible time for his run of good luck to end, so he kissed her on the cheek and told her that he would bring her back something nice from the states.
His father was nice; as nice as deadbeats go. He had a townhouse on the outskirts of Brooklyn (12-minute drive to the Pier 4, 30 minute ride to Times Square. Barou didn't know it, but compared to most he had it made) and he even offered to buy Barou a whole new wardrobe. Granted, he did not necessarily want a new wardrobe, his clothes were fine enough as is, but he realized that the offer was more about his father pleasing his own conscience than for Barou himself, so he took it—if buying him twenty pairs of Adidas shoes was what would make them good and even, then so be it. He gave Barou his own room, TV and central heating included, he filled his MetroCard every time it ran out, and he gave Barou spending money every time he needed some.
Yeah, they didn't talk that much but Barou did not find it as he needed to talk to him. He was simply a guy who was doing his mother a favor, and yeah the guy was also half of the reason why Barou walks and breathes and whatever but it didn't mean much to him anyway; he was still a stranger. After his mother gets her promotion and moves into a more affordable apartment, Barou would be back to living with her in absolute harmony (which included never hearing from his father again).
For now, though, he got used to his life in America. He knew more than enough English to get around, and he had his endless stache of money that was his father. Due to him moving in the summer he also had his days completely free and empty so he found himself spending most of his time at the park, absently shooting soccer balls into the goal post, trying his hardest to hit the crossbar. And people would watch him as he did this—the sound of the ball hitting the crossbar made a good amount of noise, as Barou was repeatedly kicking it at around 65 miles per hour, so it was only natural that people started to look at him.
Eventually, after he went to the park and got called a “menace to society” because his hobby was irritating passersby, a boy his age came up to him and asked him if he wanted to play soccer with him and his friends.
“I swear it’ll be more entertaining than the shit you’re doing now,” he said, holding a soccer ball under his arm.
So Barou agreed. He came to the park every day after that and played with the boy, Justin, and his four friends, Amir, Cameron, Tony, and Carlos. The company wasn't bad, where they lacked in football skills they made up for in personality, and Barou eventually found himself hanging out with them even when they weren't playing soccer. He followed them around the city, nodding as Carlos would give him the story about how they all once got banned from every single bodega on 40th Street (he concluded the story with “and that's why you, Barou my good sir, need to go in and buy us some raspberry Arizonas”), and he taught them Japanese curse words (Cameron’s favorite was kutabare , though Amir found that shinjimae sounded cooler). While they were still the worst soccer players that Barou knew (and he made sure that they knew that) they were the best friends that Barou had.
They were the only friends that Barou had, between Brooklyn and Japan.
And one day, while Barou and the peanut gallery were loitering in Pier 4, he made a different kind of friend.
Her name was Angelica—he knew that only because her loud-ass friends would not stop screaming it from across the beach and she was tall with curly brown hair and dark, dark eyes. Her teeth were awfully white and her lips were shiny with gloss.
At first, Barou didn’t pay her or her friends any mind, content on focusing on the sandcastle that Justin and Tony were trying to build, despite the waves inching closer and closer, but then she tapped Barou on his shoulder (with all his friends around—the gall of the girl)
and asked him if she could see his phone. He handed it to her (she was a pretty girl, what reason did he have to distrust her) and she handed it back, her phone number written in his notes app.
“You should call me sometime,” She said to him.
“Why,” Barou asked. It was a genuine question. He knew nothing about this girl and he assumed that she knew nothing about him either so giving him her number seemed like a nonsensical thing to do.
“You’re cute.”
“Oh. Okay.”
At this point, Justin and Tony were now paying attention to the teenage rom-com that was happening before them, whooping and whistling at Barou. Barou shooed them off, sending them a lazy middle finger, before turning to Angelica and apologizing for their behavior. She laughed it off (she had a beautiful laugh) and walked away, blowing a kiss at Barou. Barou watched her as she left, still a bit confused from the interaction, before writing it off as good old American friendliness.
“So are you gonna call her,” Justin whispered, despite her being way out of earshot.
“Am I supposed to?”
“Dude, she's hot,” Amir laughed, “If you don’t wanna call her, tap me in. I can take over for you.”
Barou shook his head, smiling to himself.
“I guess.”
🧼
While Chigiri was not aware of it, Barou did go through a great deal of careful and longing thought before he decided that he should ask if Chigiri would like to live together.
Out of all of the people on their team, he seemed to be the safest pick. Unlike Nikko, he wasn't standoffish and weird (granted Barou himself was standoffish and weird—this is something he fully acknowledges however he realized two weird people living under one roof isn't going to work too well) and he didn’t wake up obnoxiously early like Rin. He wasn't dirty like Raichi or annoying like Bachira and Reo was way too uppity to make a good roommate. Ryuusei was straight-up destructive (though Ryuusei was quite funny—he would never admit it but Barou would laugh at the passive-aggressive insults he would spew at Rin whenever he wasn't within earshot) and Kunigami…Kunigami was great but 2 days into joining the U-20 team he and Barou stupidly made out in a coat closet half drunk out of their minds so asking him would be rather awkward .
Which left Chigiri.
Luckily, Chigiri ended up being a great roommate. He’s not in the apartment much to begin with, he respects Barou’s wishes of keeping everything tidy and he even has good conversation once in a while. He would not call them friends—no one on the team is Barou’s friends. They all were simply his co-workers except for Nagi who was not only his co-worker but his ex-boyfriend as well. Chigiri was well aware of this fact—he was an extra on set to the production that was their incredibly underwhelming breakup which means that he should be the last person trying to set Barou up with people given the fact that he personally knows how badly that ends up.
“What about him,” Chigiri asks, sliding his phone towards Barou so he could see the picture on the screen, “Tinder bio says he’s a fan of sports—I think you should go for it.”
Barou rolls his eyes before turning off Chigiri’s phone and handing it back to him. While he appreciated the concern—or well, he didn't as he personally wanted Chigiri to butt out of his personal life however he knew from three years of being his roommate that Hyoma Chigiri never misses a chance to meddle in other people’s dating life—he had no need to date anyone. It would be distracting to him and probably disrespectful to Nagi given the fact that Barou had scabs older than their breakup.
“I think I’m good man.”
“I don’t,” Chigiri says bluntly. “You're so boring without Nagi man. You do nothing—”
“—False ,” Barou interrupts. “I went to the pitch today and ran some practice drills with Ryuusei and Rin.”
“ That is your job! ”
Barou looks at Chigri blankly, the stare meaning to be cold and menacing but instead causing the man to bust out laughing. Barou rolls his eyes as Chigiri continues to cackle, his laughs eventually dying down.
“You're really funny, you know that?”
“I’m really not.”
“Nah you're delightful,” Chigiri teases, “You got a weird kind of charisma. Honestly, you didn't even seem like the type of guy who had long relationships. Hell, you didn't even seem like the type of guy who liked guys .”
Barou shrugs, getting up from the barstool he was sitting on to walk into the kitchen.
“Player of all teams I guess.”
It was weird to talk about dating with Chigiri—Barou was always the tied-down whipped loser while Chigiri would introduce Barou to a new fling biweekly and he would pretend that this one was somehow different and more important than the last. Barou, ever the amazing roommate, would play along and give each person an expiration date as if these men and women Chigiri entertained were not people but rather cartons of milk.
Maybe he's too asocial.
🧼
“You know I’m leaving to go to Japan soon.”
Barou stared out towards the water, watching as the waves crashed against the wood pillars of the pier. It was strangely enticing—either that or he was purposely avoiding Angelica’s eye contact.
She hums noncommittally, stretching out her sea salt taffy before putting it in her mouth. He could see her from his peripheral vision, staring at him as if she could coerce more words out of him with a mere glare.
“So we're done I guess.”
Barou finally looked at her before frowning. He didn't want to end things on a sour note—he liked her a lot but he didn’t want to promote a long distance relationship because he himself didn’t really want one. And she probably didn’t want one either—Angelica was bold and blunt and she would text him things like Pier. Now. I’m hungry :( and he would go because suddenly he was hungry as well. They talked, yeah, but half of the appeal of being with Angelica was being helplessly dragged around and she couldn’t really do that from thousands of miles away. She would get bored of him probably and they’d break up within the month so Barou might as well rip the band-aid off now.
“I mean…wow okay. Yeah you’re leaving so I guess we’re done,” she says quickly, her voice cracking at the end.
“Are you sad ?” Barou asked, dumbfounded.
“Am I sad ,” Angelica repeated, now angry—or at least he thinks so—she seems to be going through emotions quicker than Barou could gauge them. She was falling down the 12-steps program and by the time Barou blinks she will be sitting on her bruised ass on spiritual awakening.
“I—I don’t get you, of course I am sad Shoei! Why wouldn't I be sad! I love you and you’re leaving and we’re breaking up so yes I am sad. ”
“I’m sad too I mean I really like you—”
“You really like me,” Angelica laughed bitterly, “Okay. Whatever. I’m just gonna go I don’t—I just have to go. Have a safe flight.”
She sniffled, wiped her nose with her shirt sleeve, and picked her bag off the sand, turning away without as much as a last glance at what she was leaving behind.
Barou sat for a bit, watching her trek through the sand, walk on the pier, and cross the street.
🧼
When Nagi last left it seemed as if he was leaving under the pretense that he was coming back. He left a plethora of clothes and shoes, toothbrushes, and skincare littered around the apartment, along with snacks for him and him alone in Barou’s cupboard (nasty shit like ketchup chips and gushers—Barou didn’t understand how he ate it but he did and it was disgusting). Nagi took the phrase “mi casa es su casa” very literally; he kept his stuff everywhere and touched everything and it would have irritated Barou if it was anyone else but it was Nagi, the guy he was dating, so he didn't pay his actions any mind. He was in love or whatever.
(Nagi once threw out all his silverware. He threw out every single spoon, butter knife, and fork that Barou owned, claiming that it was “ugly” and “dated” and lovingly told Barou he needed to change them. Chigiri agreed, though Chigiri was in no rush to replace everything that Nagi threw out so they were forced to eat with plastic utensils until Barou had a free moment in his busy schedule in which he could go to the outlet and get more silverware. It was annoying, yes, but once he got back to his apartment and had a chance to look at his new cutlery—his new hundred dollar black stainless steel cutlery—he realized that maybe Nagi did him a favor)
Barou didn’t recall leaving many things at Nagi’s place, other than maybe a spare toothbrush and an outfit or two, but Barou also wasn't the type to remember small insignificant things about his past relationship.
Regardless, Nagi came to his apartment eight weeks ago, broke up with Barou two days after that, and now Barou had all this shit cluttering his apartment that technically wasn't his so he couldn't throw it out. It was inconvenient; Barou now had to go out and buy cardboard boxes to make Nagi’s life easier (he could have put his stuff in trash bags but Barou imagined that doing so would make him seem spiteful and bitter, which he wasn't, so to keep the facade of the super cool totally fine ex-boyfriend he had to buy boxes) and then he had to pack his stuff in said boxes as well.
It was all fine though.
Though he was still annoyed about the whole box situation (three moving boxes cost him 565 yen. While it was a very small price to pay, it was still a price and Barou was planning on using that 565 yen on a coffee or something) he dealt with it. He was a good guy; he even washed all of Nagi’s clothes too (which cost him 100 yen at the laundromat but no, Barou was not thinking about something as futile as 100 yen) and neatly folded them before placing them in the boxes and taping it up.
Barou wasn’t petty.
He knew that if he wanted to he could spray his cologne all over Nagi’s clothes, or wash them with the same laundry detergent that he and he alone used (Tide Sport Odor Defense™ with Downy Scent Boosters in the scent lavender) but he had better things to do. He folded the shirts, bagged the shoes, and left it at the front door so he could give them back to him at a later date.
🧼
“Did you clean,” Chigiri asks, looking through Baoru’s closet, “I could have sworn you had more stuff.”
“Nagi’s stuff,” Barou responds lazily, not bothering to look up from his game of Subway Surfers.
Chigiri hums, sliding the hangers back and forth. “Well then we should go shopping, yeah? Let’s fill up the space.”
Barou didn’t feel like having this conversation. He didn't need a distraction (he had a perfect one in front of him—he still had 3 limited edition characters he had yet to unlock, and he was about to break his high score) and he was sure that Chigiri knew that.
“You don’t have to do that,” Barou deadpans, “I’m fine.”
Chigiri lets out a disappointed sigh before walking out of the room, shoulders shrugged.
Still, sometimes Baoru wishes he would put up more of a fight.
🧼
“I want to go to Italy. Or Monaco. It’s our one-year anniversary and I think we should do something special cause—”
“I like Monaco. It’s like France but smaller. But we could go to Italy as well if you’d like,” Barou mumbled, holding the bottle of creamer up to the light and shaking it a bit, “Do you think this is expired? I mean the date says it still should be good for a few days but like it feels expired you know?”
Nagi squinted at Barou before taking the bottle from his hand.
“Do you really like Monaco? I feel like you don’t talk about traveling a lot,” Nagi said, taking a swig out of the creamer bottle, “It’s not expired.”
“Thanks babe. It’s not that I don’t like to travel,” Barou explained, pouring the creamer into his cup of espresso, courtesy of the machine Nagi’s parents gifted them, (or rather Nagi but Nagi hated coffee so it somehow found its way into Barou and Chigiri’s apartment) and taking a sip.
He wondered how coffee in Italy would taste.
“I like traveling but I just did so much of it, you know. So I don’t talk about it but I would love to travel with you.”
“You mean it?”
“On bible.”
🧼
“Hey mom, you called,” Barou yawns, grabbing an iced coffee out the fridge. Coffee seemed to be the only thing he was living off of as of late, much to the dismay of his nutritionist, but it was the only way he stayed awake throughout the day.
“I did, and I tried to leave a voicemail but it said that your mailbox was full!”
“Ma,” Barou chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee, “No one leaves voicemails anymore. Just text me.”
“Just text you,” his mother says, scoffing, “Why don’t you just answer your phone?”
“I’m a footballer I have shit to do,” he says, cringing to himself once the words leave his mouth, “ Stuff to do. I have stuff to do.”
She laughs and Barou thanks the lord he’s twenty-three now so they could have moments like this without him getting a lecture about using profanity in front of his mother.
“Anyways, how’s things going? We haven’t heard from you in a while.”
Barou cringed. When was the last time he went home?
Two months ago, when Nagi went with me to see Yui’s play, an idle part of his brain filled in.
“Everything is fine. Coach is trying to get in as much practice as he can before the season ends.”
“What about that boy that you’re seeing, Seishiro? How’s he doing,” she asked, not waiting for Barou’s response, “You know, Shoei, not trying to rush you but after two years it might be in your best interest to think about—”
“We broke up,” Barou says quietly before his mother could finish.
The phone line went silent and Barou prepares himself for the wave of apologies that were bound to come. He didn't get what the big deal was; yeah, being dumped was kind of a blow to his ego (up until this point, Barou has never gotten dumped before. It was weird, but he imagined that it wasn't a feeling that he would have to get too used to) but other than that, life went on good as normal. His day-to-day schedule didn't change much, aside from him gaining a lot of free time, and his mental health did not waver either.
Despite what everybody expected, Barou was doing fine without Nagi.
Some would even say he was doing better .
But there is no way for his mother to know that from 200 miles away (especially since Barou has not bothered to call her or his father for that matter) so he couldn't really hold it against her.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” his mother finally says, “I really liked him.”
“It’s whatever.”
Another silence fell and Barou wished that he had more coffee in his fridge.
“I think me and your sisters are gonna take a trip down to see you.”
“Mama I’m fine, you don't have to—”
“Shoei,” his mother sighed, “You shouldn't be alone in a time like this—”
“I'm not alone,” Barou protests, “I have Chigiri.”
“I'll see you in a few days. Be good.”
Barou groans. The pity express was on its way to Yokohama
Choo Choo
🧼
“Nagi do you want to talk about it or are you just going to sit there glaring at me with your arms crossed,” Barou muttered, flicking on his left indicator. He could see Nagi out of his peripheral vision, angrily swiping through his Instagram feed.
“Talk about what? We don’t need to talk, why would we talk, ” Nagi mocked.
He’s mad at me. Barou couldn’t imagine why (or maybe he could—at dinner, his dad brought up his old friend Justin; apparently he got picked up in the MLS draft and now he’s playing for Atlanta United. This would have been great news to drop during dinner if it wasn't for the awkward little fact of Barou forgetting to tell Nagi that he lived in Brooklyn for a year and change) but Nagi was fuming and squeezing the shit out of their leftovers.
“You’re being dramatic, don’t you think?”
“You’re a liar,” Nagi spat, “That’s worse than being mean.”
“I didn’t lie,” Barou sighed, changing lanes, “I didn’t really think my family life matters so much to you but if it does—”
“You lived in America and you didn’t tell me! All the times I’ve said I’ve wanted to visit America and see Lady Liberty and the Grand Canyon and Disneyland and you literally lived there do you understand how fucked that is? You intimately know American football players that’s like really fucked up.”
“I have never even been to those places,” Barou exclaimed, “And it wasn’t even interesting which is why I didn’t say anything. It’s just the past, who really cares? And I wasn’t intimate with anyone so again who cares—”
“I do! I care, can’t you see that! I feel like you know so much about me and I know nothing about you. I feel like you don’t want to open up to anyone—does Chigiri know you used to live in America?”
“Yeah,” Barou said dumbly.
“Wow. Just wow.”
🧼
“Nagi really needs to pick up his clothes,” Chigiri groans, kicking at the cardboard box that was becoming an eyesore in their living room, “Have you texted him?”
“No,” Barou says dumbly, “Why would I text him, he dumped me?”
“For good reason,” Chigiri says tartly, “But you shouldn't be holding his shit hostage. If you want I could ask Reo to text his new boyfriend and—”
“That’s not necessary,” Barou says, holding his hand up, “I gotta get outside anyways. I’ll drop it off if it really means that much to you.”
“Wow. Mentioning Nagi’s new boyfriend is all it takes for you to get up. How fun.”
Barou rolled his eyes before sticking his tongue at Chigiri. He was over Nagi—he didn’t need a ‘city boy’ phase or a therapist to figure it out. He was healed; to be honest, he was never even broken to begin with. Nagi was merely a chapter in Barou’s life (specifically chapter 23: Barou’s 3rd Relationship, though he does make a cameo in chapter 24: Reasons Why Chigiri is a Lying Two-Faced Bitch Who Cannot Be Trusted) and now that he was past that point, Barou made no plans to revisit it.
He also didn’t need his mother commenting on the state of his cluttered apartment—because yes, a box is clutter—so he dragged the box out the door and into the elevator. Chigiri warns him about rain but he couldn't be bothered to find his umbrella, Barou muttering something about how he is only going to be walking up to his front door anyways.
When he reaches his car Barou is wet and the box is wet and his keys almost slip out of his hands when he unlocks his car, nearly turning an ugly day into a hideous one.
One last step, Barou thinks.
🧼
Barou's clothes did not smell like Nagi.
They smelt like a mixture of laundry detergent and ivory soap, and even though Nagi was the only person Barou knew who smelt like ivory soap it still didn't mean that his clothes smelled like Nagi.
They just smelled like soap. The same soap that Nagi used.
And Barou wasn't against his clothes faintly smelling like ivory soap (he had way more pressing concerns like his next meal and figuring out what his sister wanted for her birthday since she was apparently too old to give hints) but he would rather they not.
It was a personal preference more than anything; he liked the smell of his own laundry detergent more than Nagi’s. He didn’t ever mean for his clothes to smell like Nagi—it was just a side effect to their relationship though saying “side effect” sounds negative, like diarrhea or something and everything ended smoothly. Amicable. Positive.
Barou watched as they tumbled in the washing machine, the faint ivory being replaced with fresh linen.
🧼
He’s sitting in a parked car outside of Nagi’s apartment and the gas is running and Barou is thinking about how many trees he’s probably killing and what he is going to have for dinner once he gets home. He presses the button to turn off the ignition and gets out of the car, holding the damp cardboard box that is one sneeze away from disintegrating, and each step towards his door feels like some sort of countdown, feels like zero hour.
He never noticed how strange Nagi’s apartment door looked from the outside. It looked like a door, for all intents and purposes, but it was brown and wooden and had a strange sort of auburn varnish to it.
It was a really nice door. Sturdy and reliable.
The box doesn't get any dryer and the night doesn't get any longer and Barou is pressing the intercom to Nagi’s apartment. B459. The number is slightly worn and Barou tries his hardest not to think too deeply about it.
It feels like an eternity and a half before he hears Nagi’s voice, calm and collected and completely nonchalant, “ Hello? ”
Barou was aware that this was it. It all began to dawn on him, realization hitting him like a bullet aimed straight at his gut. The pain splintered; spreading through his body and soul before reaching his heart. What the fuck am I doing? He was perfectly comfortable in his delusion before but that was then and this is now and he can hear Nagi’s voice, perfect and dry like a symphony to his deaf soul and they’re twelve stories apart but suddenly Nagi is right there, within arms reach kind-of-sort-of, and all Barou has to do is try.
He wants to try again. He wants Nagi. He wants Nagi’s soap and his dumb jokes and his company and he doesn't want to drive home alone, he wanted Nagi.
“ Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I have your clothes if you want them.”
“Oh, Barou,” Nagi says, a hint of surprise in his voice, “Uh, I’ll buzz you in just let me find my shoes.”
The intercom clicks and someone walks out the door, Barou’s breath hitches for a second before realizing it is just somebody leaving. They look at Barou and the box and hold the door for him, Barou thankful that he didn’t have to sit in the rain any longer.
This really is it.
He’s standing in the lobby and somehow it’s colder in there than it is outside and Barou just wants to curl up into a ball and die. What is he going to say to him; what could he say to him?
For the first time in his life, Barou wanted to fight for someone to stay; he just didn’t know how.
Barou glances at the elevator, seeing no sign of Nagi, before walking up to the front desk lady.
“Hey, I have a package for someone and they’re coming down and I gotta go. Can I leave this with you, it’s just some clothes and stuff?”
The front desk lady looks up at him, blinking a few times before motioning wordlessly at the end of the desk. Barou thanks her before placing the box down, taking a few deep breaths and leaving the same way he came in, forcing his head forward.
He wanted to fight but he just didn't know how. So he didn’t.