Chapter Text
If there’s one thing that has comforted him since he got his job, it’s being undermined. He knows that’s strange, knows it makes him some sort of masochist, but some part of him appreciates when he’s doubted. Perhaps it’s because of the Higashikata legacy preceding him: those who were on the force, or at least, who lived in Morioh at least ten years ago, know about his grandfather. Know how he died suddenly in front of Josuke, knows what a saving grace he was upon the town. Josuke’s always felt that, sometimes, he gets special treatment because of that.
(No one knows about how he stopped Yoshikage Kira from murdering everyone and bending the universe to his will, but they don’t need to.)
He felt the same when he went to school in S-City to become a cop in the first place, his name being called on a roster and the recognition passing on his instructor’s face before his grandfather was brought up, again. They were, apparently, old friends or something. Josuke tried to ignore the glares his fellow trainees gave. There’s really no describing how much of a relief it was to get yelled at for being garbage at a drill.
So, yeah, maybe Josuke was a glutton for punishment.
He thinks time spent with Rohan has only encouraged it. Ever since Okuyasu and Koichi moved to different cities to go to school, and the three of them fell into less and less contact, Rohan’s been Josuke’s main companion. Rohan still pretends to hate him, but it’s better than being alone. The verbal abuse is somewhat of a comfort, something familiar when Josuke is constantly bombarded by new and interesting (and sometimes upsetting) things. When Koichi moved back (but moved in with Yukako, and Josuke felt considerable disappointment at not being able to move in with him like bachelors, or something), things felt a little more normal. But they still hadn’t seen Okuyasu in ages. He was working out in Tokyo now, or something. They got e-mails every now and then, but mobile bills were expensive for Okuyasu, apparently. His apartment didn’t have a landline, either.
(Yukako and Rohan both suggested it was because Josuke is insufferable, and Okuyasu was getting away while he still could. Josuke pretends it didn’t hurt.)
It’s one afternoon while he’s investigating some graffiti drawn on Tonio’s restaurant when Josuke realizes all of this, of course.
“Higashikata,” Tonio calls from inside, glowering at him from a window. “You’d better not be slacking as usual.”
Josuke glares back at him (and thusly realizes he’s definitely some sort of masochist, because it makes his work effort double), but knows Tonio appreciates it. The graffiti is large and messy, scrawling “TONIO TRUSSARDI IS A WITCH,” with all the elegance of a child learning to write. Josuke believes it was some neighbourhood kid wowed by Pearl Jam’s stand abilities, and decided to assume the obvious (?), that Tonio was a witch, or… Something.
“Hey, Tonio,” Josuke murmurs, and the man glides back to the window elegantly. “Why’d ya never tell me you went to Hogwarts? Could’ve smuggled me in as an elf, or something. I’m pretty enough!”
Tonio looks unamused, and Josuke thinks he doesn’t understand the reference, before he responds, dryly. “You’re too tall to be a house elf. You’re mixing up Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings, again.”
He can practically hear Yukako cackling.
“Anyway,” Tonio continues. “I don’t know if it counts towards your investigation, but some new café opened, and I suppose we’re competing for business—of course, no one cooks like Tonio,” he adds, haughtily, “—but perhaps that was a motive towards this?”
Oh, jeez. Why did Tonio not tell him earlier?
“Yeah, it… Is, actually. Thanks, Tonio!” Josuke waves as he’s sprinting down the street. Tonio grumpily yells the name of the café after him, before slamming the window.
Just another day in Morioh, Josuke thinks.
Most officers in Morioh choose to ride their bikes, others the cruisers, but Josuke has always walked. For one, it keeps him in shape, two, he gets to chat with people, and thirdly, it was his primary method of transport his entire life. Why stop now? As he walks, badge gleaming in the sunlight and professional-looking aviators shielding his eyes, Josuke tips his hat at a woman and her baby.
She smiles, and flushes a little.
Josuke wonders why he’s still single.
It’s not like he’s actively pursued any relationships—he’s always felt a little awkward around girls, anyway, though he did kiss a few at some parties over the years—but he’s aware they think he’s handsome, and now that he has an honorable career, as his mother put it, he’d assumed the ladies would be lining up outside the door of the Higashikata residence. He sees a two teens holding hands, irony at it’s best, and he lightly tells them not to get into any trouble when the girl greets him brightly.
“Oh, we won’t, Officer Higashikata,” she sings, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
“Glad to hear it, Kabayama-san,” he replies, tipping his hat. She’s one of Koichi’s favourite students—bright and witty, apparently. She giggles furiously, causing her male companion to pout before glaring daggers at Josuke. Is he only attractive to teenage girls? That’s depressing.
Really depressing.
A voice in his mind reminds him that, no, there was someone else, but he chooses to ignore it in favour of strolling towards the new café Tonio had warned him about. It’s bright and cheery, built… Actually not far from Josuke’s home. How had he not seen it before? Quietly, he flips a notepad out of his pocket, scrawling down the name without thinking about it. He quickly annotates his notes, (possible motivation for ruining Tonio’s rep.) before entering the café.
A cheery bell greets him, immediately followed by the scent of coffee, dark and rich. The place smells a little musty, like old books, and as Josuke’s gaze lands on a bookshelf he soon realizes why. There’s an elderly couple sitting by the window, sipping tea, and Josuke takes his hat off to greet them quietly. They chat a little (about his mother, what a nice young man Josuke has grown up to be, et cetera), before Josuke excuses himself to continue working. Approaching the counter, he sees no one, but there is a little service bell.
He dings it with a little too much enthusiasm.
(Can you blame me, he defends himself to no one in particular. It’s fun.)
“I’ll be right there,” a voice yells from the back. It’s low, gruff and a little husky—not really befitting of a vandal. More like a thief. More like…
No.
Yes?
Josuke’s gaze snaps up from the counter when the voice gains a body, carting a large bag of coffee beans with it. The smell proceeds the person, the scent of coffee shocking him awake before the realization does.
He’d recognize those scars anywhere. He’d recognize that shock of white hair anywhere. He’s ashamed he didn’t recognize the voice, sooner. Josuke’s stunned into silence, jaw open like he’s catching flies. Lucky for him, his brain still works, and manages to get out a single word.
“Okuyasu?”