Chapter Text
a slow morning identical to the day before.
three long, dragged out minutes until nakayama can leave his desk for lunch. the office radio is playing the same song for the third time in the past hour, his knees ache to be in any other position, likely from the same position he’s stuck in; in his stuffy office cubicle, editing another novel when he hears somebody clambering in.
“hino, are you seriously late again?”
the person at the door nods helplessly, readjusting his tie while rushing to take a seat at his desk. nakayama sighs wearily. was this seriously the guy that took away the client he wanted?
the moment the clock hits twelve, nakayama rolls right out of his chair without even saying goodbye, and heads straight to buying lunch.
he finishes his meal without running into any more problems, served by the same waitress who usually left him alone, much to his relief. he rolls his eyes when he sees hino enter not too long after, and then exits the café as soon as he can.
half an hour till his break was over. though it was not that nakayama is bored, he just hasn’t found anything exciting in his life lately to fixate on. it’s been several weekdays now of sitting in the same chair, editing magazines and novels from the same few authors while his younger coworker gets the one client he was interested in working for.
with time to spare, nakayama found no harm in wandering aimlessly. pebbles give way beneath his feet as he strolls past his gloomy office building and into the alleyway beyond.
the heat lies low in the narrow space, a pleasant contrast against the humid air. an electric fan hums somewhere, and quiet chatter sounds from the shops along the alley. nakayama pauses in front of a store he didn’t recall seeing before.
it was an antiquarian shop selling ceramic cutlery in wicker baskets, with posters including books centuries old hung behind its glass windows that stood before him. the sunlight was white and almost blinding against its panels, stamping a headache into his skull. huffing to himself, nakayama ducks beneath its entrance for cover.
the shop itself was small, tucked away in the minimal place an alleyway provided, but that clearly hadn't stopped the owner from making the most of their space, shown by the amount of books it seemed to carry. reluctant, nakayama was certain that he'd be leaving as soon as he stepped through the door. this was only to cool himself off, and he’d get right back to working after.
when he steps through the door, he’s greeted by the powerful smell of old books. scrunching up his nose, he looks to the left to be greeted by several bookcases that lined the interior’s entrance alone, forming a maze-like interior inside. small, neat handwritten signs categorised the genres and alphabetical order ranged from shelf to shelf, pointing out which direction to venture further depending on the type of book required. such a meticulous layout could have felt overwhelming, but the soft, warm lighting from various antique lamps above still provided a welcoming atmosphere.
to the left, a small sign read ‘antiques’. collector’s coins and porcelain figures decorated its sides, followed by display cases containing any antique nakayama could think of, all organised with the same care given to the old books.
a warm glow envelops the shop which makes use of the natural light from a few well-placed large windows. scattered ladders and step stools are sprinkled throughout the store with even more antiques arranged from floor to ceiling, with tiny descriptions for each antique in the now familiar neat handwriting.
in the distance, the sound of shuffling from a far corner in the left draws his attention, as a figure softly exhales an ‘oh’.
“welcome! are you looking for anything in particular?” the figure calls after a beat, his voice low and smooth, and nakayama almost jumps out of his skin. something about the way his sentence is drawn-out makes nakayama narrow his eyes with mild caution. “most visitors only come in to satisfy their curiosities.”
as expected, the clerk at the counter is smiling with a hand rested comfortably on his chin, with the sort of smile that entailed mischief. his purple hair was tied into a low ponytail, with hair that falling over his eyes and around his face. he wore a dark green apron over his clothes, what nakayama presumed to be the uniform of the store.
“uh huh,” nakayama looks around, searching for a better answer than the actual reason for coming in to cool off. even at the counter there are more books crowding the space, varying in size but weathered by time all the same. the shop seemed to have more books than it knows what to do with, tall and dusty wooden shelves crammed full of them, towering stacks in cardboard boxes on the floor, with another box stacked on top with old editions of tattered magazines.
it’s cooler in here, he’ll give him credit for that, yet he looks at this store clerk with his strangely alluring eyes and realises he doesn’t feel like his body temperature has decreased at all.
“i work for the company taisho fifteen,” he admits without a good excuse.
“so you must be an editor then,” the clerk nods in acknowledgment. “i take it you’re searching for reference material?”
he looks to the side with an awkward nod, trying his best to end the conversation without seeming impolite. why was this clerk still talking to him?
however, when the clerk is still amiably waiting for a response, nakayama is forced to look him in the eye again. “uh, i wasn’t really looking for anything in particular, actually.”
the clerk studied nakayama with such an intensity it made him feel like he could see right through him and perhaps read his thoughts. then, he continues to hold his gaze for a split second, before his expression turns into something more of surprise rather than judgement. “a book editor that doesn’t have anything of interest when visiting a bookstore?”
“i’m a magazine editor, thank you,” he corrects him, beginning to grow more annoyed by the second. the clerk breaks into a smile again, turning around to reach for a magazine off of the shelf behind him. he’s looking at it fondly, a thumb rifling through the pages until he stops on the last. there’s something in his expression that nakayama can’t exactly decipher. he stares at the page for a moment longer before he scribbles something down on a sticky note and pastes it into the magazine.
and before nakayama knows it, there’s a magazine in his hands has been packaged in a paper bag, that looked equally as time-worn as the store, topped off with a shop bookmark.
a magazine from before he was even alive, nakayama stares at the barely visible publishing date, unimpressed, with the letters in the title spaced out as if the author’s unsure of them. no matter the case, it absolutely did not look like anything he would be remotely interested in.
“this is personal copy of the magazine, so give it a try,” the clerk beams as nakayama’s eyes widen, his own twinkling with amusement before he slips back into professionalism. “but, on the condition that you’ll be back to let me know what you think.”
“is this some sort of ridiculous ploy to get returning customers?”
he hums. “but you’re not paying for this magazine, no?”
nakayama wordlessly takes the paper bag off of the counter without any further argument.
“and before you leave,” the clerk helpfully chimes in again, abundantly satisfied with his own customer service; although perhaps more than the customer himself, “may i ask for your name?”
and frankly, to nakayama, this entire situation was ridiculous. “nakayama.”
“nakayama,” the clerk repeats, his smile growing. it’s like standing in front of the sun first thing in the morning. “and i’ll hope to see you soon?”
“sure,” he replies a little too quickly for his liking. “..i guess so.”
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nakayama doesn’t get why he even bothers taking the magazine out of the carefully wrapped packaging, when all he’d wanted to do in the first place was stand under the air-conditioned confines of the antique bookstore. he had never even shown the clerk the slightest interest in buying a book, though he was secretly interested in what magazine he was recommended nonetheless.
except, that’s not what happens because the page behind the cover is literally littered with annotations on sticky notes.
nakayama gapes, looking at the myriad of blue and black ink. and as he takes a quick skim throughout the rest of the book, it is cluttered with even more of the similar lilac notes, tidy handwriting accompanying on each note with the occasional doodle. various little sentences about what he assumed to be the clerk’s thoughts about the columns, some to express interest and some, most importantly, to add on to the discussion. the writer’s words have a proficient air about them and nakayama is surprised to find that he didn’t hate its contents.
the next page looks almost identical to the first, the pages annotated with great detail, pointing out the nuances within the texts, the subtleties that make the writing more descriptive than it originally must have been. all of it only on sticky notes, to preserve the fragility of the weathered magazine.
he takes his time reading, taking in each page with ease, and digests the sentence that the scrawled ink with the same amount of apt attention. he manages to read it with the remaining time left of his lunch break, pouring over its contents with piqued interest. it was similar to the type of columns he edited, and he had to give credit where it was due — the clerk had actually given him a good suggestion.
once he reaches the final page, he sees a smudge of blue, under his thumb. gently, he peers at it, trying to make out the characters. the first part of his name is smudged beyond recognition, but he can read the first name clearly.
— ‘shirafuji’, it reads.
so that was the bookstore clerk’s name, nakayama makes a mental note. with a recommendation that he could actually enjoy, perhaps he wasn’t so bad.