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Chapter Text

Kurosawa is hired, and meets the office. They seem friendly, but there’s the usual expectation and pressure. The women never leave him alone; no one ever wants to get to know him, they just want his face.

He goes to the meeting with Matsuura and recoils; he’s not entirely drunk, but he’s still not sober, certainly not sober enough. He apologizes, overhears the other men, his bosses, be cruel in the bathroom, and staggers out of the restaurant, head spinning. He comes to half-propped against a pole at the bus station, his briefcase lying against his leg. He can’t help the tears that smear down his cheeks as he thinks, “I’m useless. No one will ever see anything beyond my face.” That night, in bed, he curls into a ball and says, “I might as well just give up. Fine. I’m nothing but my stupid looks.”

Two years later, one of those bosses, Okamoto, is promoted to a different office and the second one has changed companies and Kurosawa finds himself smiling bitterly at yet another company celebration for one of his sales meetings. There’s no one at this table who he cares enough about to put out if they’re on fire.

No, he doesn’t mean that. Fujisaki, from Data Analysis is polite and always seems like she might be kind, on the other side of the formality that being co-workers requires.

He sees another business party come in and watches them. One man in an ill-fitting suit and an unhappy expression sits at the end of the table and Kurosawa rolls his eyes internally. If you didn’t want to go, you should have gone home, he thinks, and then looks around at his own table and knows he’s being hypocritical. He’d rather have gone home, as well.

The other man sends a small smile toward the young woman next to him as she passes him a glass of beer and Kurosawa ignores the jolt in his chest, turning to smile at the Chief. Who cares who some unimportant sad sack at some other company smiles at?

Not Kurosawa. He has places to go and a big sale to pretend to celebrate.

Three years after that, when he’s won Best Salesman four years in a row, they get a new employee, a young salesman fresh out of school, named Rokkaku. It’s a ridiculous name, but the kid is eager and willing, so Kurosawa tries to teach him. Rokkaku absorbs everything Kurosawa says like a sponge and he finds himself amused at work for the first time since he’d been hired.

One afternoon, at a business meeting with people from several offices, Kurosawa sees Okamoto slapping Rokkaku on the back, a broad grin on his face. Kurosawa slides nearer and hears Rokkaku excitedly accepting an invitation to dinner with Okamoto and several salesmen from other offices. Okamoto says something and Kurosawa just catches the name ‘Matsuura’. Ice pours down his back; Rokkaku won’t have any barriers up against someone like her.

He steps forward, hoping his smile doesn’t look like the aggression he’s actually feeling.

“It’s been so long since I had a chance to see President Matsuura,” he says. “If I may join you, I would deeply enjoy the opportunity to spend more time with her.”

Whatever he has to do, whatever happens to him, it doesn’t matter. He’d just like to help at least one person.

Chapter Text

“Adachiiiiii.” Urabe’s voice whines through Adachi’s head and he tries to hold in his sigh. Urabe’s not awful, not the worst boss Adachi has had, but for once, Adachi would like to go home on time every day in a week. Though, what he has to go home to isn’t very exciting, and Urabe knows that.

“Yes, I’ll do it,” Adachi says, holding his hand out. The folder Urabe slaps into it is thick and heavy and Adachi gives up on the thought of eating dinner at home. He drops the folder next to his laptop and stands up. “I’ll be back,” he mutters.

Outside, he trots to the nearest convenience store and chooses a bento which looks passable. At least he’ll eat something.

The work keeps him at his desk until well past the last train and he grumbles his way downstairs, then out to the plaza in front of the office building.

“Where’s the closest internet café?” he mumbles, pulling out his phone and searching. Cold wind slides fingers down the back of his jacket and he wishes he’d thought to bring a scarf. “Five blocks that way,” he says, “then two up.” On the way, he stops into another convenience store and then huddles his way along the empty streets. It’s not the nicest place to spend the night, but it’s better than staying in one of the supply cupboards.

Slowly, over the next three years, Adachi learns how to get ahead of Urabe’s unwillingness to do all of his own work and finds himself with a comfortable routine. He and Tsuge meet once a month at their favorite restaurant, he spends his weekends curled on the bed reading or sketching at his desk, he thinks about taking Tsuge’s advice and getting a cat.

His thirtieth birthday takes him by surprise; he’d noted the date on his calendar, but hadn’t looked at it since he’d turned the page to his birthday month.

Getting the ability to hear what everyone around me is thinking isn’t a good present, he thinks as he cowers in the corner of the over-crowded elevator at work. He doesn’t like knowing who is trying to get into someone else’s pants and he especially doesn’t need the random flashes of images that some people’s minds seem to be filled with.

Two weeks after he turns thirty, he’s in the elevator – even getting to work half an hour earlier than usual hasn’t made the crush any better – and a tall well-dressed stranger is thrown into him by the old and cranky man who always stays at the back even though he’s also always the first one who needs to get out of the elevator.

To Adachi’s surprise, the tall stranger’s mind appears to be entirely caught up with sales figures and rehearsing his introductory speech. After the way the last person he’d been shoved into had been thinking of disturbing things he wanted to do to his boss, this is a relief.

The stranger gets off the elevator three floors before Adachi, and on the way out, he gives an indifferent nod Adachi’s way.

If everyone was as focused as that guy, Adachi thinks, this wouldn’t be so bad.

Then he takes a deep breath and hopes he can keep Urabe from grabbing his shoulder for the whole day.

Chapter Text

Kurosawa tries to ignore his feelings for the first year. They’re both men, Adachi has never indicated any continued interest in getting to know him (and why would he, after that display?), and honestly, Kurosawa’s kind of hoping this turns out to be a passing crush. He’s never really been interested in any of the women he’s dated as much as he is in Adachi, but… well. Things would be easier, that’s all.

The second year he spends watching Adachi and learning everything he can about him. He knows it’s… borderline stalking and he kind of hates himself (even more) about it, but he just wants to know every single thing about the other man. He watches the way his senior gives him extra work at least once a week, and always right when it’s too late for Adachi to get it done during the day. He pays attention to what Adachi eats for lunch; he’s embarrassed about it later, but he waits until he’s alone in the lunch room and digs through the trash until he finds one of the wrappers from the onigiri Adachi almost always brings.

Double mayo tuna. Huh. He can make that.

He practices double mayo tuna, then salmon, then he branches out into other styles of onigiri and wonders if Adachi would like to try anything he makes.

He notices that Adachi doesn’t bring a scarf or gloves to work, no matter how cold it gets, and how cold he obviously is. Adachi always forgets an umbrella in the fall, even though it’s still rainy enough to need one.

The third year, he stares at the note he’s made on his calendar of the Anniversary. He knows it’s humiliating and ridiculous to think of it as an anniversary – Adachi doesn’t even remember it, barely even remembers that Kurosawa exists, even though they’re in the same office for at least eight hours every day – but he can’t help it.

This year, he thinks, this year I’ll do something about it.

He starts by trying to eat lunch with Adachi. It’s an easy and obvious place to start, but Adachi seems to be uncomfortable as soon as Kurosawa asks if he can sit at the same table. He makes an incoherent excuse, shoves the last of his onigiri into his mouth, and leaves the room, at a pace that makes it look like he’s fleeing. Kurosawa taps his chopsticks against the fried tofu in his bento and thinks.

Next time, he waits until Adachi is sitting with Fujisaki, and asks her if he can sit with them. She smiles at him, her expression amused, but she gestures welcomingly at the other side of the table, where he’ll have to sit next to Adachi. Before Adachi can escape again, Fujisaki asks him something about one of the datasets they’re working on and he slowly settles back down. This gives Kurosawa time to ask if it would help for him to bring Adachi some of the older sales records.

Adachi’s startled glance keeps Kurosawa’s heart racing for the rest of the day.

Soon he’s managing to eat with Adachi twice a week. It takes him another month to work up the courage to bring an extra bento and offer it to Adachi, claiming to have made too much dinner the night before. When it turns out that Adachi had overslept that morning and hadn’t had a chance to get his usual onigiri from the stand near his apartment, so he is hesitant but grateful, Kurosawa has to excuse himself to splash his face with ice cold water in the bathroom.

He manages to work this into getting to bring lunch for Adachi both days he meets him for lunch.

Then, he gets stuck. Sure, they’re – sort of – work friends now. But how to move things further? Every time Kurosawa thinks about saying something like, ‘So, would you like to get dinner after work?’, his throat closes up.

He makes a big sale, to a new-to-them company, and the Chief invites everyone in the office to a big celebration. Kurosawa is forced to sit in the center of the table, of course, but he can at least watch Adachi, sitting at the end. Honestly, it looks like Adachi and Fujisaki are having a nicer time than he is; they’re chatting quietly and haven’t had more than one glass of beer each. Kurosawa tries to hide his envy.

After the Chief leaves, the group turns to party games and Kurosawa watches as Adachi turtles up. Urabe makes a joke about how anyone who hasn’t dated should drink a large glass of beer without stopping and, before the responses can get to him, Adachi lunges away from the table toward the bathroom.

Carefully, Kurosawa follows him, hoping he doesn’t look like some kind of predator. But in the bathroom, Adachi’s just leaning against one of the walls, looking adorably nervous and unhappy.

“That was a bit rude of him,” Kurosawa says, washing his hands in the sink, to look like he has something to do in the bathroom and hasn’t just followed another man into it, like a creep.

“I hate games like this,” Adachi says, voice barely loud enough to hear. “I wish Urabe would give up on them. On me.”

Kurosawa glances over his shoulder. “Would you like to leave?” At Adachi’s nod, he continues, “I’ll say that you’re not feeling well, get our bags, and meet you at the door?”

Outside, they walk toward the train station, Kurosawa’s hands itching to wrap the extra scarf he’s been carrying for nearly a year around Adachi’s neck.

“Sorry about that,” Adachi says. “I know it’s pathetic, a man my age never dating.”

Kurosawa feels something rush through him, some surge of desperate insanity. “Have you really never dated anyone? Because anyone who gets to date you would be the luckiest person in the world.”

Adachi’s eyes widen and Kurosawa steps forward, careful to not crowd too close. “If you’d be willing, I’d love to be your first date.”

Adachi’s eyes, still so wide, shimmering in the streetlights, fall to the ground. Kurosawa bends slightly, trying to catch them again.

“I guess…” Adachi runs his fingers up through the hair on the back of his head. “If.. if you mean it, then.” He flicks a glance up at Kurosawa, then away toward the taxis gliding past. “Then sure. I’ll go on a date with you.”

Kurosawa manages to keep his expression calm, but inside, he’s practically incoherent.

“I promise I’ll make it perfect,” he says, reaching out to touch Adachi on the shoulder. “Anything you want.”

Chapter Text

Adachi watches Kurosawa for the weeks after … whatever that was at the bus stop. It looks like it hadn’t mattered to Kurosawa, and honestly, why would it? He’s the rising star of the sales department, and Adachi’s just a nobody in the data analysis department.

But it had felt like they’d made a connection, and Adachi wants to see if maybe. Maybe he can make a second friend.

He tries discussing it with Tsuge, but he is distracted by his current book, and by the cat he’s just adopted from the small park near his apartment. The cat is cute, Adachi admits, and it is funny to see the way Tsuge goes from stoic and rigid to gushing and excited as he describes Udon’s most recent fight with one of her toy mice.

It takes nearly another year of quiet observation – Kurosawa hates Valentine’s Day, and doesn’t seem much happier on White Day, he doesn’t like sugar in his coffee and always has a bento lunch he brings from home, he never wears anything less than perfectly pressed and stylish clothes, even when they’re invited out as a company on a weekend retreat to an onsen, he’s polite and friendly to everyone, but he’s never as open or vulnerable as he was that night – until Adachi is brave enough to ask if he can sit with Kurosawa at lunch.

Kurosawa looks startled, but not unhappy, and has several friendly questions about what Adachi does at work. He doesn’t seem to follow the actual processes Adachi uses, but he doesn’t glaze over the way Tsuge does, or the way anyone outside the data analysis department does. He looks… interested. And has actual thoughtful questions.

Before they leave, Kurosawa even asks if Adachi would be willing to help him – he apparently likes to cook, but most recipes make more food than he can eat, as a single man. He offers to bring a bento for Adachi like the ones he brings for himself. Adachi gapes; this is more than he’d hoped for.

Maybe they can be friends, though what Adachi can do for him in exchange keeps him up until nearly daybreak.

Three months later, at the end of year party, Adachi finds Kurosawa on the balcony of the large dining room the company has reserved. Kurosawa is leaning against the balustrade and watching the hazy sky. Somehow, he doesn’t look happy, though his expression lightens when Adachi steps forward.

“Do you have any plans for the new year,” Adachi asks, feeling very bold.

Kurosawa’s mouth twists, and he looks away again, over the city. “Nothing I’m sure of,” he replies. “There are things I want, but…” He shrugs and crosses his arms over his body so his hands rest on his own shoulders. Then he heaves a sigh and turns to Adachi. “Do you?”

Adachi grasps his courage with every single part of himself. “I’d like to get to know …” He gasps in a breath. How do normal people do this? “I’d like to get to know you better.” He immediately buries his chin in his crossed arms on the balustrade.

Beside him, Kurosawa sucks in a sharp breath and Adachi cringes, knowing that this is the end of even their small friendship. But then a large warm hand catches his shoulder and he’s carefully spun to face Kurosawa. Kurosawa, whose expression is shifting between shock and something else.

Something that maybe looks like joy.

Chapter Text

Oh no, Kurosawa thinks as he’s shoved further back in the elevator, feeling elbows, toes… and is that someone’s hand? on his body. Clearly I’m going to get a lot fitter. I can’t do this every day. It’s the stairs for me.

Knowing that the old and grumpy man who insists on standing at the back of the elevator even though he’s always the first to get off is thinking soft and gushing thoughts about his canaries is one thing. Knowing that the three women who work together on the fourth floor want to do… that to their mail-boy is less nice. Kurosawa closes his eyes, wishing that made the intrusive thoughts stop.

He staggers off the elevator on the tenth floor, tugs his clothes back to straight and follows Adachi through the door and into the office. For a moment, he’s tempted to reach out and touch Adachi, to see what he’s thinking, but that’s invasive and rude and, no matter that it’s been three years and the man hasn’t even looked at him once since that awful – and amazing – night at the bus stop, Kurosawa won’t do that to him.

He presses his lips together for a quick moment, then walks carefully through the desks, trying to touch as few people as possible. He really doesn’t want to know what everyone is thinking.

By lunch time, he’s flinched from Rokkaku at least eight times, caught Adachi’s twitch every time Rokkaku’s enthused about something, and his head is pounding. He carefully pulls his bento from his bag and slides back through the office, escaping to the corridor and taking what feels like the first real breath since he woke up that morning.

“Busy day?” Adachi mumbles, as he passes him on the way to the lunch room.

Kurosawa snorts, and catches the quick flash of Adachi’s eyes. “Not really,” he says, tucking his arms closer to himself. “Rokkaku’s just, um. Excitable.”

Adachi’s expression twists into humor, but he doesn’t say anything, just heads for the table in the corner. Kurosawa follows him, then asks if he can sit down. He wishes he’d headed there first; then he could have the side of the table with its back to the wall.

Adachi’s eyebrows rise, but he shrugs. “Sure,” he mutters. “Suit yourself.”

They eat in silence which Kurosawa tries to think of ways to break. Then Adachi stands up and Kurosawa’s heart sinks. He gets so little time with Adachi.

“I’m going to get a cup of coffee, do you want one? No sugar, right, but milk?”

Kurosawa nods, elation rising in his chest. Adachi knows how he takes his coffee?

When Adachi comes back, he leans slightly against Kurosawa’s shoulder to set the cup down in front of him and … and he’s thinking, If I think of something else I can get, maybe he’ll stay at the table with me. He won’t want any of the cakes. Maybe seaweed chips? No, that’s stupid.

Kurosawa blinks hard, then lifts his face. “When I finish eating, why don’t I go get us something to finish off the meal? Since you got me the coffee.”

Adachi smiles at him, soft and gentle, and Kurosawa hopes that maybe, if he’s really lucky, he won’t have this awful curse by the time next Monday rolls around.