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December 31st, the eve of the biggest holiday in Japan, where everyone rushed to fulfill the traditional celebrations and usher in the new year.
It was also Toji’s birthday. Fitting, wasn’t it? For a forgotten man, who growing up was deemed a waste of space by his family. Why wouldn’t his birthday also be completely glossed over? Year after year, everyone would be working hard on the food and festivities, but not for his sake of course. He’d be lucky if anyone remembered to call him for dinner. When he had enough and left home at 17, no one even bat an eye. He wondered briefly if anyone even noticed, but the answer was obvious.
Currently, he was dragging himself home to his apartment after going out to the conbini. He spent what money he had on booze so there was little leftover for actual dinner, but he managed to grab an onigiri on clearance for the evening. That was fine, he thought. He was used to going without, and the alcohol would hit harder that way.
-
He lived in the flat above yours, in an old, run-down building in a cheap part of town. When he first moved in, he had a lot of anger tantrums that caused the frail building to shake, threatening to collapse, or at the very least break down something important. The same anger issues had cost him many jobs, which in turn led to more tantrums. He officially met you when you became fed up and stomped upstairs to scold him about it. Sure he had felt somewhat bad watching your scrunched up face tell him off, but he was moreso surprised, that someone seemed to even notice him at all.
“What do you mean you didn’t realize someone would notice?” you repeated exasperatedly. “You’re shaking the whole damn building! You’re getting ceiling dust all over my meal! One day you’re gonna collapse the shitty place and I’m gonna get crushed and your ass is gonna land on my sad little corpse and I’m gonna haunt you, you want that?”
A permanent ghost friend? Curse or not, honestly, didn’t sound so bad.
Despite the berating, you would become further acquainted later when another tantrum finally caused one of your hanging potted plants to fall, a broken terracotta shard ricocheting off the ground and slicing your temple as you arrived home from work. The crash and subsequent loud yelp immediately blew fear into Toji’s gut and prompted him to rush to his window and look down. Sure enough, he spotted you with your hand to your bleeding head, wincing and glaring back up at him with eyes speaking a thousand more words of anger than your voice could.
He descended the stairs swiftly and silently approached you. He reached out to your bloodied hand covering your wound and you defensively jerked back. He held his palm up in response to mean no more harm, so you reluctantly let him inspect the cut. It wasn’t deep but not shallow either, painting a good strip of your face red.
“‘M sorry,” he mumbled quietly.
He offered to treat your wound and sweep up the mess. You silently nodded and let him sit you down carefully, suddenly mesmerized at his surprising capacity to be gentle. You point out where in your kitchen he could find a towel and bandage (he didn’t own any), and as he applied pressure to your temple and delicately wiped the blood away, your anger slowly dissipated watching him softly fix his mistakes.
After sticking the bandage on, he began picking up the pieces of your pot, even attempting to brush aside the smaller pieces and dirt with his bare hands. You made a noise in concern and wiggled your finger at your broom nearby and he got up to borrow it. Finally after plopping aside the mound of dirt that still contained your surviving plant, he squat down to your level and apologized again, now for the fact that he couldn’t afford to pay for a replacement. You raised your brow in puzzlement then winced again as it hurt your wound. How broke was this man if he couldn’t cough up 300 yen for another pot? But you waved him off and mumbled for him to forget about it.
He nodded gratefully, instead offering a hand if you ever needed something and promising to quit disturbing you. And yet, as he climbed back up his stairs to his bare bones apartment, there was a form of disturbance already, when you heard the unmistakeable sounds of an empty stomach complaining loudly.
-
You started popping up and offering him food every so often. You had made too much, or the restaurant you worked at had leftovers were your usual excuses. He’d argue for you to just save it for later and you’d simply brush him off saying it wouldn’t taste good later. And though his pride was strong, his hunger was stronger and forced him to give in.
But over time, you would come to feed him almost daily and without real excuses that he couldn’t stand the embarrassment any longer.
“Why are you doing this? I hurt you, I owe you, not the other way around. What’s wrong with you? If it’s pity, I don’t fucking want it,” he growled as he stared angrily at the fresh bowl of rice and roasted mackerel you had barged in with and placed in front of him. His arms twitched, urging him to fling the dishes off the table and watch them shatter like he would have before. But the anger he had for himself for hurting you was far stronger, and he wrestled his instinct to the ground.
You frowned at him, and looked away. And god how he hated himself just as much for lashing out when all you’ve done was care about him. But that was such a foreign concept to him that he didn’t know what to do with himself.
”… You remind me of my younger self,” you answered quietly. “Alone and angry.” He scowled at the description, but pondered about your past. He couldn’t imagine you suffering as much as him, or perhaps he didn’t want to.
You paused, then added, “I guess I’m doing what I wished someone would have done for me.”
Once Toji processed your words, his eyes widened in understanding and he pursed his lips into a pout. He wasn’t capable of answering so he just grumpily shoveled rice into his mouth as usual. Neither of you could make eye contact for a while, but when he finished, he pushed the empty dishes back at you and mumbled his thanks.
-
Eventually, he found himself more comfortable to hang around you instead of sulking alone in his empty apartment, electing to stop by your place first after work most days.
“… My TV’s broken. Can I watch yours for a bit,” he asked quietly at your doorway the first time. You simply hummed a noise of understanding as you handed him the TV remote, not mentioning that you’re positive he never had one in the first place.
Not much later, you’d also end up handing him your spare key, though he tried to refuse it.
“Take it or I’ll just leave the door unlocked permanently.”
“You’d be the biggest dumbass if you did,” he scolded.
“I know right? So keep me safe, neighbor,” you chuckled.
You tend to lounge in front of the TV, with Toji beside you sprawled just as lazily and eating your store of snacks. When you became drowsy, you wouldn’t bother kicking him out, just simply succumbed to slumber. In the morning, you’d find yourself alone again, TV switched off, door locked and a blanket thrown over you.
-
Many months after the broken pot incident, Toji had been zoning out in your direction when you absent-mindedly pulled back your hair and he finally noticed the mark. The small scar on your temple that had formed since. He sat up abruptly, frowning at the sudden revelation. You turned your head at his movement and felt him pressing his fingers to the outline. Old guilt washed through his gut as he remembered his past blunder, which was now permanently lining your skin.
Before he could say anything, you simply grinned and brushed your thumb on the scar on his own lips. He froze at the intimate touch and retracted his hand instinctively.
“We match,” you say. “Like little friendship tattoos.”
Toji was appalled; both the etchings you spoke of were memories of shitty times in his life. How could you possibly take them so lightly?
You stared back ahead at the TV, sorting through your own memories. “Funny how things come about y’know? If it takes a little cut or two to be your friend, I’d take it again any day,” you said softly.
He frowned in bewilderment, huffing at your usual candor and slumping back all flustered.
“You’re always saying ridiculous things like that,” he grumbled, unconsciously rubbing his scar.
You exhaled a light laugh. “It’s what I do best, I’m sure.”
-
Toji stomps through the year-end snow towards home, your lit windows shining the way. As he gets closer, your figure is seen in the kitchen working hard. You catch the motion of him approaching and you wave him over. He knows that means to come in for dinner.
Without protest, he lets himself into your place and slumps down at the floor table. He sets his bag down, the clinking of his sake bottles perking your ears. You gather that he was about to have another pity party had you not called him in.
You pull on your oven mitts and move the well-stocked nabemono to the already set table as he yanks his winter coat off. You motion to his bag and he wordlessly pulls out a bottle for you. You pour him his drink and yourself one.
“Itadakimasu,” you say before eating, the sound of your TV serving as background noise.
Once the pot was emptied of dinner, you pull out and slide a thin, rectangle box across the table at Toji.
“What’s this,” he frowns. You chuckle, always finding his grumpy face amusing.
“Birthday present.”
He stares at the box then up at you, dumbfounded.
“Saw your ID card a while ago,” you explain nonchalantly as you start cleaning up the table.
Toji carefully lifts the lid and finds a pair of large knit gloves, ones you had complained that he wouldn’t buy himself. “Don’t need ‘em,” he had grumbled, despite his hands being ice-cold to the touch even when shoved into his pockets.
He absentmindedly pulls one on as you open the fridge and pull out two cake slices, one chocolate one strawberry.
“Couldn’t afford a whole cake after those, sorry,” you smile sheepishly, setting them on the table. “Which one do you want?”
Wordlessly still, he slowly points to the chocolate slice with his mouth slightly agape in his daze. You place it in front of him and stick a single candle in the middle.
“Ah, forgot the lighter,” you say and abruptly get up again.
You turn and rummage through a kitchen drawer. While you search, Toji finds himself standing as well and stepping towards you. Still unable to find his words, he ultimately decides to let his body speak for him. You see him approach and you give him a puzzled look, which twists into shock when he wraps his thick arms around you. He squeezes tightly, and you do your best to reciprocate around his bulky torso, pressing your cheek into him.
“… Thank you,” Toji finally manages to get out quietly, still clutching you in his arms and willing himself not to shed any tears. But you can feel the tremble in his arms anyways, and now it’s your turn to lose your words as you’re overwhelmed by the embrace.
“T-Toji,” you finally get out. He pulls away enough to face you, his face soft as the day he cleaned up your wound.
“Kiss me,” you dared to whisper, hands clutching the sleeves of his sweater.
Toji inhales sharply in anxiety, frozen in shock and denial by your request.
“You… want me to what?”
”Kiss me,” you repeat, with a little more determination in your voice.
“… First you wanna be my friend, now you want this loser to kiss you?” he slowly crafted his reply, fingers pressed firmly into your shoulders to ground himself.
“Mm,” you insist, eyes unwavering.
His heart thumps hard, the way it always did when you smiled at him, hell, just the way you would even look at him, the way you didn’t need him to be anything but him. But damn it, you were too pretty, too sweet for this. He never understood why you just keep stubbornly choosing him.
“… You know you deserve so much better than me, right?”
“… I don’t care for whatever that means,” you frown. “I don’t want anyone else. But you... I just know… all my life, I was waiting for you.”
He jerks his gaze away in an effort to maintain the last of his composure. He doesn’t think he can handle much more emotion beating him up inside today.
Gathering what courage he could muster, the same courage he used to leave his family in search of something better, he reaches up and cups your cheeks. You can feel yourself melting into him, pupils blown wide and absolutely drunk on his touch.
“You’re sure?” he mutters a last confirmation, eyes darting back and forth from your eyes to your lips.
“Toji,” you whine, now tugging his sweater impatiently.
Fuck.
Without further hesitation, he pulls your face in close and presses his lips to yours. He breathes you in, rubbing the softness of one mitten-covered hand and the roughness of a bare one into your cheeks and holding on tight. You grasp onto him just as tightly, briefly releasing your locked lips just to press into him again for more.
When he releases you, both of you in a heart-pounding, euphoric haze, his lips curl up into a rare smile.
You grin at him and press a quick smooch to his cheek.
“Happy birthday, Toji,” you say before ushering him back to the table to enjoy his cake, on the first birthday he would ever remember smiling on.