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“Kasuga,” Kiryu said gravely, looking around Ichiban’s apartment with an unreadable expression. “This place… is a disgrace.”
Ichiban looked up from his spot on his threadbare couch, which sagged so hard in the middle it looked like it was actively trying to swallow him. “Huh? What’s wrong with it?”
Kiryu sighed, rubbing his temple. “Everything. The furniture is falling apart, there’s a pile of pizza boxes in the corner taller than me, and your table is literally a cardboard box with a blanket over it.”
Ichiban scoffed. “Hey, that’s a sturdy box. It’s from my PS5—real high-quality stuff.”
Kiryu ignored him. “You need new furniture. And for someone of your… financial status,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “IKEA is your best bet.”
Ichiban blinked. “IKEA?”
“It’s cheap, it’s durable, and it has everything you need.”
“Wait, isn’t that the place with the meatballs?” Nanba piped up from the corner, scratching his head. He had been listening the whole time, mainly because he had nothing better to do.
Kiryu nodded. “Yes. And I strongly suggest you go today before this apartment collapses in on itself.”
Ichiban frowned. “I dunno… assembling that stuff looks like a pain in the ass.”
Kiryu grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “Do it. I can’t in good conscience let a man I respect live like this.”
Ichiban swallowed hard. “A-Alright, fine! Jesus.”
Nanba stood up, stretching. “Well, if we’re going, I’m tagging along. I wanna try those meatballs.”
Kiryu nodded solemnly. “Good. Do not get lost.”
—
IKEA, 2:00 PM
Nanba got lost immediately.
Ichiban had just stopped to admire a moderately-priced coffee table when he turned around and realized the former nurse had vanished into the endless maze of furniture displays.
“Nanba? Oi, Nanba!” Ichiban called, walking past a bedroom setup, a fake kitchen, and a perfectly arranged Scandinavian living room that made him feel insecure about his life choices.
Nothing.
Where the hell did he—
Suddenly, Ichiban heard a voice from somewhere deep in the store.
“ICHIBAN! I’M TRAPPED IN A SHOWROOM BEDROOM!”
Ichiban spun around. “What?!”
“I TOOK A WRONG TURN WHILE I WAS LOOKING FOR THE FOOD COURT AND NOW EVERYTHING LOOKS THE SAME! IT’S ALL FAKE DOORS AND FAKE WINDOWS! I’M LIKE A FUCKIN’ RAT IN A SWEDISH MAZE!”
Ichiban followed the sound of the voice, pushing past dazed customers until he finally found Nanba sitting on a bed display, looking disoriented and possibly on the verge of tears.
“Oh, there you are,” Ichiban said. “What are you, a kid at a mall? How the hell did you get lost?”
Nanba scowled. “How was I supposed to know they designed this place like a goddamn labyrinth? Everything’s so neatly arranged and organized, I got overwhelmed!”
Ichiban groaned. “C’mon, let’s just get our shit and go.”
—
What should have been a quick shopping trip turned into a full-blown domestic dispute in the shelving section.
“Ichiban, we do not need a giant bookshelf! You don’t even read!”
“Hey! That’s not true! I read… manga!”
“That doesn’t count! What are you even gonna put on it? Back issues of Shonen Jump and empty beer cans?”
“Maybe! And why the hell do you care, huh? You don’t even live with me!”
Nanba crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, I gotta visit sometimes, don’t I? And I’d rather not sit in a damn pigsty when I do!”
Ichiban scoffed. “Oh, now you care about cleanliness? That’s rich, coming from a guy who spent years living under a bridge.”
Nanba’s eye twitched. “Listen, asshole, I may have been homeless, but even I have standards!”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Like NOT sleeping on a fuckin’ bean bag chair every night like some overgrown toddler!”
Ichiban gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. “You take that back!”
“I won’t! That bean bag is a crime against lumbar support!”
By now, an audience had formed—various IKEA customers and employees watching as the two grown men bickered like an old married couple.
An employee cautiously approached. “Uh… sir? Is everything okay?”
“No!” Nanba shouted, pointing at Ichiban. “This dumbass wants to buy a six-foot-tall bookshelf for no reason!”
Ichiban whirled on the employee. “Oh yeah? Well, this jackass thinks we don’t need a coffee table!”
The employee blinked. “Uh… are you two… together?”
Ichiban and Nanba froze, looking at each other.
“Ew,” Nanba muttered.
“Gross,” Ichiban grumbled.
The employee nodded. “Got it. Dysfunctional roommates.”
Ichiban sighed, rubbing his temples. “Y’know what? Screw it. I’m getting the bookshelf. If I have to deal with your nagging, I might as well store my manga in style.”
Nanba groaned. “Fine. But I’m getting the coffee table, since someone clearly has no concept of interior design.”
“Deal.”
—
Back at Ichiban’s Apartment
They sat on the floor, staring at the IKEA furniture pieces strewn across the room.
Ichiban scratched his head. “So, uh… you know how to read Swedish?”
Nanba held up the manual, eyes narrowing at the suspiciously cheerful stick-figure man in the instructions. “This is gonna be a long night.”