Work Text:
[I]
In the two-year period of working with Chishiya, Dr. Hayashi had learnt exactly three things about him: he was brilliant, he was insufferable, and he told her absolutely nothing about his personal life. It wasn't the regular “Oh, I don't overshare at work” reticence, nor was it an attempt at maintaining professional boundaries — rather, this man treated information about his personal life like it was an actual controlled substance, handled with care, kept under limited access, and preferably locked behind three doors and a fireproof cabinet.
Which was why the scarf threw her off entirely, because the only item in his possession that could be interpreted as remotely sentimental was a succulent on his desk — and even that had died within a week seemingly out of spite — yet here he was, wearing a hand-knitted grey scarf that wrapped snugly around his neck. More importantly, it was clearly made by someone who liked him, which seemed statistically improbable.
“Nice scarf,” she said casually as they both reached for their respective patient files at the nurses' station, because of course she couldn't resist the rare opportunity to pry. “Someone knitted that for you?”
“Mm.”
“Oh, like… a friend?”
“Partner,” Chishiya corrected flatly, still scanning his charts like this was the most mundane conversation in the world.
Hayashi felt her curiosity spike at that answer, because she had never heard her colleague mention dating anyone all this time. Hell, she had even convinced herself (jokingly) that he was either married to his work or possibly some kind of highly functional android.
But sometimes magic could happen, apparently.
“Oh! Your girlfriend made this for you?” Nurse Sato appeared beside them, clearly having been eavesdropping from the start. “That's so sweet! How long have you two been together?”
“Partner,” Chishiya said while unwinding the scarf and folding it over his arm before putting it away into the safety of his locker. “And we've been dating for a while.”
“A while,” Hayashi repeated slowly, exchanging a look with Sato. “That's… impressively vague.”
“I strive for consistency.” He closed his locker with a soft click and turned back to his charts, clearly considering the conversation over.
Sato, on the other hand, didn't share the same feeling with him regarding this juicy topic. “Does she work nearby? What does she do?”
“They work from home.”
Hayashi perked up at the they comment, though she wasn't sure if it was deliberate or just Chishiya's usual attitude with pronoun. Either way, that certainly didn't deter the nurse from asking for more.
“That's nice!” Sato said, barrelling forward without missing a beat. “More flexible schedule, then. What field?”
“Game development.”
“Oh, like video games?” The nurse clasped her hands together in excitement. “That's so cool! Is she—are they—working on anything we'd know?”
Chishiya finally looked up from his chart then, his expression as calm as ever. “Possibly. I don't interrogate them about their work.” He paused, then added with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, “Unlike some people here, who seems oddly interested in my… personal relationship.”
Hayashi snorted. “You can't drop ‘I have a partner who knits me scarves and makes video games’ and expect us not to have questions.”
“I can, actually.” The man smirked faintly and walked away with his chart, leaving them with nothing more than a trail of cool air hissing in the office room.
“Eh, he's no fun…” Sato huffed under her breath, waiting for him to be out of earshot before leaning in conspiratorially. “Do you think she knows he's like… that?”
“If they made him a scarf, they definitely know,” Hayashi said, shaking her head with a grin. “And they're apparently still around, so either they're a saint or just as weird as he is.”
“My money's on weird,” Sato said sagely. “Normal people don't knit scarves for Dr. Chishiya.”
“Normal people don't date Dr. Chishiya, Sato.”
“… Fair point.”
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
[II]
As a senior doctor in the pediatric wing of Sakurazawa University Hospital, Dr. Matsuda was certain he had learned to read people fairly well whether they were patients, parents, or colleagues who worked closely with him. It was a survival skill in a department where emotions ran high and the stakes were life and death.
Chishiya, however, remained an enigma.
Granted, the man was competent — brilliant, even — but he had all the warmth of a surgical steel table. Matsuda had seen him comfort a crying child exactly once, and it had consisted of handing them a piece of hard candy and saying something to the line of “Crying won't change the outcome, but this might improve it marginally.”
Shockingly, it had worked.
So when he walked into the break room one afternoon and found Chishiya sitting at the table, idly clicking a cat-shaped toy in his hand while reviewing lab results on his tablet, Matsuda had to do a double take to make sure he didn't hallucinate things.
“… What is that?” He asked, setting down his coffee in a tentative manner.
Chishiya didn't look up from the screen. “A clicker.”
“I can see that. Why do you have it?”
“Because it makes a clicking sound.” Another click punctuated his sentence.
Matsuda could only stare at him in bewilderment. “And you need that because…?”
“I find it useful.”
“For what?”
“For clicking.” Chishiya finally glanced up, looking somewhat done with his questions. “Was that not clear from context?”
Upon hearing this answer, the senior doctor couldn't help but sigh in mild frustration, because talking to this man was like trying to have a conversation with a particularly smug sphinx. “… Understood. Where did you get it?”
“My partner.”
Of course the mysterious partner would strike again. Matsuda had heard about them through the hospital grapevine — apparently they worked in game development and had made Chishiya a hand-knitted scarf, which was more affection than anyone thought the man capable of inspiring.
“Your girlfriend gave you a cat-shaped toy,” Matsuda said slowly once the thought had passed, trying to reconcile this information with what he knew about his colleague's personality.
“Partner,” Chishiya corrected without looking up, still clicking away. “And yes.”
“Does it… help with stress?”
“Marginally.” Click-click. “Though it's mostly used to annoy people who ask too many questions.”
Matsuda decided to ignore that jab. “It's cute. The mustache and monocle are a nice touch.”
“They thought I'd appreciate the absurdity.” For the briefest moment, something almost resembling fondness flickered across Chishiya's face before it faded away. “They weren't wrong.”
That gentle admission was enough to coax him to sit down then. “How long did it take them to make this?”
“They didn't make it. They won it from a vending machine.” Chishiya looked down at his tablet again, clearly done with the conversation. “Apparently it took forty-seven attempts and approximately three thousand yen.”
“THREE THOUSAND—!” Matsuda nearly choked on his coffee. “For a clicker?”
“For this specific clicker.” Click. “They're nothing if not committed to pointless endeavors.”
“That's…” He paused, looking for the right word to say. “That's actually kind of romantic?”
At that comment, Chishiya scowled, looking like he had just bitten into something sour. “… If you consider stubborn refusal to accept defeat romantic, then sure.”
“I mean, they spent three thousand yen and… what, an hour or two trying to win you a silly cat toy.” Matsuda gestured at the clicker. “That's dedication.”
“That's sunk cost fallacy,” his colleague corrected, still pressing his toy in an almost absent-minded rhythm. “Though I suppose the end result is… acceptable.”
“Just acceptable?”
“I've been using it for three weeks.” Click. “I'd say that qualifies as more than acceptable by my standards.”
Matsuda watched him for a moment, noting the way the other man seemed to soften up slightly when his partner was mentioned. “They sound like someone with a lot of patience.”
“They'd have to be.” Chishiya pocketed his toy and picked up his tablet again, clearly signaling the end of the conversation. “Though I suspect it's less patience and more matching stubbornness.”
“Is that what attracts you? Stubbornness?”
His colleague gave him a flat look in response. “What attracts me is people who know when a conversation has reached its natural conclusion, Matsuda-san.”
“Right, right.” Matsuda held up his hands in surrender, but he couldn't help smiling. “For what it's worth, your girlfriend — ah, sorry, partner — seems like they really care about you.”
“I'm aware.” Chishiya stood then, tucking the tablet under his arm. “Though I question their judgment regularly.”
“That's probably the healthiest thing I've ever heard you say about a relationship.”
“Don't get used to it.” He headed for the door, then paused at the threshold and turned back to look at him. “Oh, and Matsuda-san? If I hear about this from anyone else other than you, I'll make sure you're assigned to every single parent consultation for the next month, including the Yamamoto case.”
Matsuda paled. The Yamamoto parents were notorious for their three-hour consultation sessions that somehow never reached any conclusions, and while he understood that they were just worried about their child, dealing with them could be exhausting at times.
“… You wouldn't.”
“Test me.” Chishiya's smile was perfectly pleasant and absolutely terrifying. “I have excellent documentation skills. I'm sure administration would appreciate my detailed reports on optimal staff allocation.”
“… This conversation never happened.”
“Smart choice.” He then pocketed his hands and walked out, leaving Matsuda to contemplate how someone had willingly chosen to date this menace of a man.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
[III]
Physical therapist Suzuki had seen her fair share of unusual things working in the hospital.
She had seen a child smuggle a entire family of hamsters into the ward. She had seen parents attempt to bribe doctors with everything from homemade pickles to concert tickets. She had even seen Dr. Hayashi accidentally walk into a supply closet and pretend she meant to do that just to check whether or not her colleagues were still awake after the overnight haul.
But she had never, in all her years, expected to see Dr. Chishiya standing in the hallway near the staff lounge to answer a personal phone call — much less appear… happy about it.
“Yes?” His tone sounded gentler when he talked on the phone. “No, I'm not busy. What's wrong?”
Suzuki wasn't trying to eavesdrop. She just happened to be organizing equipment in the therapy room, where the corridor outside had excellent acoustics and her colleague chose that exact place to answer the phone. None of this was her fault, or so she told herself.
She carefully set down a resistance band, moving slowly to avoid making noise.
“Did you check the blue folder on my desk?” Chishiya's voice drifted through the doorway, still maintaining that unusual softness. “… No, the other desk. The one you claimed as yours two months ago despite having a perfectly functional workspace in the living room.”
A pause.
“Because you said, and I quote, ‘the lighting is better for my monitor setup,’ which we both know was an excuse to sit closer to the kitchen.” Another pause, and Suzuki could hear the amusement lingering in his voice. “Yes, I'm calling you out. What are you going to do about it?”
She risked a glance through the doorway and found Chishiya was leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, completely relaxed in a way she had never seen before. The calm, distant look on his face had been replaced with something almost… fond, which was a strangely pleasant thing to see.
“The spare key should be in the ceramic bowl,” he continued. “The one shaped like a cat. I don't know why we own it either — you brought it home one day and refused to explain.”
He then shifted his weight, adjusting what seemed to be a very nice watch on his wrist. That was new. Suzuki had never seen him wear anything besides the standard-issue hospital watch before.
“… No, I can't leave early today. There's a consultation at four.” He paused, listening. “I know you wanted to try that new ramen place. We can go tomorrow instead.”
The way he said it — patient, accommodating, completely unlike his usual efficiently dismissive self — made Suzuki wonder what kind of person could inspire this much consideration from someone as notoriously self-contained as Dr. Chishiya.
“Ryō, it's fine. I'm not disappointed.” Another pause. “Yes, I'm sure. Stop overthinking.”
Ryō. So his partner had a name now, even if it was clearly a nickname.
“Did you take your medication this morning?” Chishiya asked, voice sterner now — though the fondness in it was still there, not fading away despite how the man was lecturing his partner through the phone speaker. “That's what I thought. Go take it now. I'll wait.”
Suzuki heard the faint sound of movement through the phone, followed by running water, then the sound of her colleague chuckling.
“That's much better,” Chishiya said after a moment. “No, I'm not going to stop asking. Someone has to make sure you maintain basic functionality.”
The watch on his wrist caught the light again as the man raised his hand to check the time. It was definitely new — sleek silver with a black face, minimalist design. It was an expensive gift, yes, but not too extravagant nor flashy, just like Chishiya himself.
Whoever gave this gift to him clearly knew him well.
“I should go,” he said, though he made no immediate move to end the call. “My break ends in five minutes and I'd rather not give Matsuda more ammunition for his ongoing theory that I'm secretly human.”
More rustling, then Chishiya's expression soften further when there was a muffled laugh on the other end of the call. “Yes, that was the point. You're insufferable when you're proud of yourself.”
Suzuki found herself smiling despite her better judgment. This was such a contrast from the icy colleague she knew — the one who had once told a resident that “adequate” was the highest compliment they would receive from him and to not expect verbal encouragement as a substitute for competence.
It was… welcoming too, if she was honest with herself.
“I know,” Chishiya hummed. “Hmm, love you too. See you later.”
That made Suzuki nearly dropped the resistance band in her hands, but she quickly caught herself just on time before people could catch her eavesdropping on her colleague's phone call. It would not be good—
“Suzuki-san.”
Speak of the devil…
“Oh! Chishiya-sensei.” She chuckled sheepishly, turning to find Chishiya standing in the doorway with a composed expression on his face. “I was just… organizing in here.”
“I can see that.” His gaze flickered to the therapy balls, which she realized she had been arranging by color rather than size. “It's a very… interesting system.”
“I was… um… trying something new.”
“Mm.” He walked past her to retrieve a patient file from the desk nearby. “How innovative. I'm sure everyone will appreciate your effort in keeping this place tidy and organized while I was busy having a personal call.”
Suzuki felt her face burn up at his comment. “I wasn't—I didn't mean to—”
“The acoustics in this corridor are excellent, so I get it,” Chishiya said mildly, not looking up from the file. “I don't blame you.”
“Right.” She paused, then couldn't help herself and asked anyways. “That watch is new, isn't it?”
Chishiya glanced at his wrist, and for a moment, something flickered across his face — not quite a smile, but close enough to surprise her. “It's a birthday gift I received three weeks ago.”
“From your girlfriend?”
“Partner,” he corrected automatically, then added with the faintest hint of amusement. “They have atrocious taste in restaurants but impeccable taste in timepieces. I'm still deciding which quality is more important.”
“That's… very sweet?” Suzuki commented carefully.
“It's practical. I needed a new watch.” He closed the file and tucked it under his arm. “Though they did have it engraved, which was unnecessarily sentimental.”
“What does it say?”
Chishiya shot her a look at that, but after a moment, he turned his wrist slightly for her to see. Suzuki leaned in and caught sight of tiny characters engraved on the back of the watch face: Don't forget to come home.
It made something warm blooming in her chest. “That's actually really sweet.”
“It's a reminder disguised as sentiment,” Chishiya said dryly. “They know I lose track of time during long shifts.”
“Still sweet.”
“If you say so.” He headed for the door, then paused. “Suzuki-san, I trust this conversation will remain between us?”
“Of course,” Suzuki said quickly, though she was already mentally composing how she would phrase this story for Hayashi later. (In her defense, technically she would only be telling one other person, which still counted as keeping it between them. Mostly.) “Your secret's safe with me, Chishiya-sensei.”
“Good.” Chishiya hummed. “And Suzuki-san, you might want to actually use a system that makes sense next time. Color-coding therapy balls is creative, but counterproductive when someone needs a specific weight during an emergency.”
Suzuki was ready to dig a hole for herself on the ground right then. “… Ah, yes, I'll fix that.”
“I'm sure you will.” He smirked in response and left, his footsteps slowly fading down the corridor.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
[IV]
Administrative coordinator Omura prided herself on knowing everything that happened in Sakurazawa University Hospital.
She knew which doctors were sleeping together (three couples, possibly four if the rumours about the anaesthesiologists were true,) knew which nurses were job hunting (two in paediatrics, one in cardiology,) and certainly knew who had accidentally set off the fire alarm last month by microwaving fish in the staff lounge (she would take that secret to her grave, though, because Dr. Saitō did apologize profusely and brought her expensive pastries for a week).
What she didn't know — and this bothered her more than she cared to admit — was anything substantial about Dr. Chishiya's personal life.
The man was a ghost. He showed up, did his job with terrifying competence, and left. He didn't gossip. He didn't complain. He barely even made small talk. In her entire career of working in the hospital administration, she had never met anyone so determinedly private.
Which was why she nearly fell out of her chair when Dr. Chishiya walked into her office holding what appeared to be a romantic vacation brochure.
“Omura-san,” he greeted with his usual flat tone, setting a vacation request form on her desk. “I need to submit this for next month.”
As usual, she picked up the form, scanning through it to get an idea of what this time-off request was about — two weeks, to Okinawa, and departure dates…
“This is rather last minute,” she said carefully, looking up at him. “You're requesting time off in three weeks.”
“I'm aware of how calendars work.”
Omura bit back a sigh. “Dr. Chishiya, vacation requests should be submitted at least six weeks in advance, especially for extended periods.”
“I'm also aware of that.” He tapped the brochure. “However, my partner found a significant discount on accommodations that expires in 72 hours, so I'm submitting this now to make sure they could book it soon.”
“Your partner,” Omura repeated, because of course the mysterious partner would be involved in this request. She had heard whispers about this person before — the scarf, the clicker, the watch — but this was the first time she had heard Chishiya mentioned them himself.
“Yes. They've been researching beach resorts for approximately two months.” He said calmly, looking like it was merely a patient's treatment plan that they were talking about. “I've agreed to humor them.”
“Humor them,” she echoed, because the mental image of Dr. Chishiya willingly spending two weeks on a beach vacation with another human being was so bizzare her brain was genuinely struggling to process it. “You're going to… relax? On a beach?”
“That's typically what one does at a beach resort, yes.”
“I just…” She gestured vaguely at him, at his perfectly pressed white coat and his general aura of someone who had never relaxed a day in his life. “You don't strike me as a beach person.”
“I'm not.” Chishiya pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward her. “But my partner had sent me this at 2 AM with approximately fifteen exclamation points, so I'm operating under the assumption that this is important to them.”
Omura looked at the photo. It was a sunset over clear blue water, palm trees swaying in the breeze, and what looked like a very nice beachfront bungalow. Someone had edited little hearts and stars around the image, along with the text “SHUN LOOK HOW PRETTY!!!” in aggressively cheerful font.
It was… incredibly cute, actually.
“Your partner seems enthusiastic,” she offered diplomatically.
“They have the emotional regulation of a golden retriever,” Chishiya said flatly, pocketing his phone. “It's exhausting and inexplicably endearing in equal measure.”
Omura blinked. That was possibly the most personal thing she had ever heard him say, and she wasn't quite sure what to do with the information. “I see… So how long have you two been together?”
“Long enough that I've learned to pick my battles.” He tapped the form again, looking a bit more impatient now — which was rare, because this man and “impatience” didn't go together. “Is this approvable or not?”
She hummed, looked at the staffing schedule on her computer, and frowned slightly. “… It's going to be tight. Matsuda-san is already scheduled for a conference that week, and—”
“Hayashi-san can cover my cases. She's been angling for more complex patients anyway.” Chishiya's tone suggested this was a foregone conclusion. “I've already discussed it with her.”
“You discussed it with her before submitting the request form?”
“I believe in efficient time management, Omura-san.”
Of course he did. Omura pulled up the schedule, mentally rearranging shifts. “What about your on-call rotation?”
“I'll trade with Kimura-san. They owe me for covering their shift during their daughter's recital last month.”
“And if there's an emergency with one of your long-term patients?”
“Then Hayashi-san will handle it, and I'll be available for remote consultation if absolutely necessary.” He paused. “Though I'd prefer not to do that since it's the point of having time-off away from work.”
Hearing that comment, Omura paused briefly, studying her colleague for a moment. In all the years she had worked here, Dr. Chishiya had never taken more than three consecutive days off (and even then, it was with a lot of convincing from the management team themselves). He worked through holidays, picked up extra shifts, and generally acted like someone who had no life outside these walls, so the fact that he was now requesting two weeks off to go to Okinawa with his partner — who sent him enthusiastic messages at 2 AM about pretty sunsets — felt like witnessing a small miracle.
“Hmm, if that's the case…” She found herself smiling despite her better judgment. “I think we can make this work.”
“Excellent.” Chishiya nodded, seemingly pleased with how the conversation was going. “Anything else you need?”
“Aside from a few signatures from department heads, no.” Omura made a note on the form. “Your partner must be very persuasive for you to request time-off like this.”
“Persistent is more accurate.” He sighed, tucking the brochure under his arm. “They've been leaving post-it notes around the apartment with various beach-related facts. Did you know that Okinawa has over 160 islands?”
“I did not.”
“Neither did I, until I found that information stuck to my coffee maker at six in the morning.” His tone was perfectly flat, but Omura swore she could hear the faintest hint of fondness hidden underneath. “Along with a hand-drawn map and a list of restaurants we ‘absolutely must try.’”
“They sound lovely.”
“They're something,” Chishiya said, which wasn't exactly a confirmation but also wasn't a denial either. “Thank you for accommodating the short notice, Omura-san.”
“Of course. Enjoy your vacation, Chishiya-san.”
“I'll try my best,” he responded dryly.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
[+1]
Arisu had been inside exactly three hospitals in his life: once when he broke his arm falling off a swing set at age seven, once when his mother was fighting an illness he was too young to understand, and once when he had woken up after the Borderlands with no memory of how he had gotten there.
He could confidently say he hated all of them equally.
But Chishiya had been texting him this morning about forgetting his access card and apparently couldn't get into the secure medication storage without it, and sure, Arisu could have just told him to borrow someone else's card like a normal person, but his boyfriend had added “I suppose I'll just have to explain to the pharmacy why I can't access the locked cabinet” with such theatrical martyrdom that made him cave eventually.
Which was how he found himself standing in the lobby of Sakurazawa University Hospital, holding Chishiya's ID card and wondering why hospitals always smelled exactly the same regardless of which one you were in.
“Um, excuse me…” Arisu approached the reception desk with a small, almost sheepish smile, holding up the ID card as if it was a hall pass to protect his life. “I need to deliver this to Dr. Chishiya? He's in pediatrics, I think?”
“Of course! Let me call up to the department.” The lady at the desk responded cheerfully, her hand reaching for the phone. “Are you his family?”
“Uh…” Arisu hesitated, because how exactly did one explain I'm his boyfriend but he's been so aggressively private about his personal life that his coworkers probably think he's dating a sentient Excel spreadsheet? “I'm his… partner?”
“Oh!” Her eyes lit up with something that looked awfully like joy, which was somehow more alarming than if she had just said no instead. “Oh my god, you're the partner! The one who made the scarf!”
“I… Um… Yes?” He answered cautiously, because he had indeed made Chishiya a scarf last winter, though he had severely underestimated how difficult knitting actually was and the end result had been less “cozy winter accessory” and more “textile crime scene.” His boyfriend had worn it anyway, the bastard, probably just to make him feel guilty about the lumpy stitching.
“And not to mention the clicker or the watch as well.” The receptionist was practically vibrating with excitement now. “Everyone's been so curious! Dr. Chishiya never talks about you!”
“That sounds like him,” Arisu muttered.
“Please, let me get someone to escort you up! I'm sure everyone would love to meet you!” She was already picking up the phone again. “Dr. Hayashi? Yes, hi! Dr. Chishiya's partner is here in the lobby with his ID card. Could you…? Oh perfect! Yes, I'll send them right up!”
Arisu barely had time to process the phrase “everyone would love to meet you” before a doctor with kind eyes and an extremely knowing smile appeared in the lobby.
“You must be Chishiya-san's partner!” The doctor — Hayashi, her name tag read — extended her hand with an enthusiasm that was usually reserved for meeting minor celebrities. “I'm Dr. Hayashi. It's so nice to meet you!”
Arisu shook her hand, feeling distinctly like he had wandered into an alternate dimension where he was somehow famous. “Uh, nice to meet you too? I'm just here to drop off Chishiya's ID card…”
“Ah yes, I'll walk you up to pediatrics!” Dr. Hayashi gestured excitedly toward the elevator, and Arisu wondered if this was how zoo animals felt when people crowded around their enclosures. “I have to say, we've all been dying to know more about you. Chishiya-san is so private about his personal life.”
“Yeah, he's… like that,” Arisu said weakly, following her into the elevator while quickly shooting his boyfriend that said your coworkers are terrifying and i haven't even met most of them yet.
The response came almost immediately after he sent off that text.
Shun: You're the one who agreed to hand-deliver my ID card instead of using a courier service.
Ryō: you said you NEEDED it asap
Shun: I said I'd have to explain why I couldn't access the medication cabinet. That's not the same thing.
Ryō: I HATE YOU
Shun: No you don't.
Shun: You're just easily manipulated by guilt.
Ryō: i'm turning around right now
Shun: No you're not.
Shun: You're already in the elevator, aren't you?
Arisu looked up at the floor numbers ticking by and felt a deep sense of betrayal at how well Chishiya knew him.
“So!” Dr. Hayashi's cheerful voice pulled him back to reality. “You work in game development, right? That must be exciting!”
“Oh, uh, yeah. I work from home mostly.” He pocketed his phone then, trying to ignore how the elevator seemed to be moving impossibly slowly. “It's pretty flexible, which is nice.”
“And you knit! That's such a lovely hobby.”
“I… wouldn't call it knitting so much as ‘aggressively tangling yarn until it vaguely resembles clothing,’” Arisu admitted, because there was no point in pretending he had actual skills when Chishiya had definitely complained about the scarf's structural integrity at least three times. “The scarf I made him is kind of a disaster, honestly.”
“But he wears it nonetheless!” The lady giggled like she just discovered something profoundly helpful for her medical research. “He wore it constantly for two months, and he always handled it with care. We were very impressed about that.”
… Huh, so that was his boyfriend's actual feeling about his scarf then. Got it.
Before he could respond to that comment, the elevator dinged, signalling that they had reached their destination, and Arisu walked into what could only be described as an ambush waiting for him on the other side of the doors.
There were at least three people waiting in the hallway, all trying (and failing) to look like they just happened to be there for completely legitimate work-related reasons. A nurse was pretending to examine a clipboard, another doctor was very intently studying a poster about hand hygiene that had clearly been on that wall for years, and he could see this one physical therapist trying to pull off the world's most unconvincing act of “just simply passing through.”
“Oh,” he said weakly, resisting the urge to turn around and flee from the scene. “Hi…?”
“THAT'S A MAN,” the nurse — Sato, based on her nametag — blurted out loudly, pointing at him like he was an exotic species that had just materialized in their break room. “CHISHIYA-SAN'S PARTNER IS A MAN!”
“Sato-san!” the physical therapist — Suzuki — hissed, elbowing her colleague hard enough that the woman yelped softly. “You can't just—”
“I KNOW, I KNOW, BUT—” Sato gestured wildly at Arisu, and he was seriously reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this moment. “HE ALWAYS SAID PARTNER, YES, BUT WE ASSUMED—”
“You assumed,” the male doctor — Matsuda — corrected his colleague mildly, though he looked just as surprised as she did. “Some of us were keeping an open mind.”
“You literally bet five thousand yen that his partner was a girlfriend,” Hayashi added with a sigh.
“That was before I considered all the variables,” Matsuda defended himself.
Arisu stood there, clutching Chishiya's ID card like a shield, and wondered if it was possible to die from secondhand embarrassment. “Um. I'm just here to drop off—”
“YOU ALSO WON THE CLICKER FROM A VENDING MACHINE TOO,” Sato interrupted again, apparently unable to process information at a normal volume. “FOR THREE THOUSAND YEN, RIGHT?”
“… Forty-seven attempts, yes.” Arisu confirmed, because at this point there was no use denying it. “Though in my defense, the machine was definitely rigged.”
“That's so romantic,” Suzuki sighed dreamily, clasping her hands together, while Matsuda spoke up at the exact same time with a “That's a sunk cost fallacy” comment.
Arisu couldn't help but let out a small laugh despite how absurd this whole thing was. “Chishiya said the same thing as well.”
“Of course he did,” Hayashi muttered quietly, though she was smiling in amusement nonetheless. “That sounds exactly like him.”
“And you knitted him a scarf!” Sato added once she fully recovered from her initial shock and was now fully committed to the interrogation. “Even though you're a man!”
“… I think men can knit,” he commented cautiously, wondering if he had accidentally time-traveled to an era where that was somehow controversial. “It's not… a gendered activity, is it?”
“No, no, not that!” The nurse waved her hands in a frantic motion to make sure he didn't misunderstand her. “I meant— because he kept saying ‘they’ and ‘partner’ and never gave us a definite answer when we said girlfriend—”
“That… also sounds like him, unfortunately…” Arisu sighed, because of course Chishiya had let his coworkers operate under whatever assumptions they wanted rather than simply clarifying that his partner was a man. It was exactly the kind of passively chaotic thing his boyfriend would find amusing.
“Alright, now with Sato-san calming down a bit, do you mind telling us how you two met?” Suzuki asked, leaning in with genuine curiosity. “Was it romantic?”
“Uh…” He hesitated, trying to figure out how to explain the whole we were both in a death game and he was kind of an asshole but also saved my life multiple times and then we kept running into each other after we got back and eventually started sleeping together which turned into actual feelings situation without sounding completely unhinged. “We met through our mutual friends. It was pretty casual at first.”
“Mutual friends,” Hayashi repeated slowly, and Arisu got the distinct impression she was filing this away for future interrogation purposes. “That's… vague.”
“I strive for consistency,” he retorted on auto-pilot, then immediately winced because he had just quoted Chishiya without meaning to. The bastard's speech patterns were apparently very contagious. “Um, anyways, I think I need to give him this card before he starts sending me passive-aggressive texts—”
“Too late for that,” Chishiya's voice came from behind him, and Arisu turned to find his boyfriend standing there with his arms crossed and an expression that somehow managed to be both amused and exasperated. “I started those approximately five minutes ago.”
“I haven't gotten any texts in five minutes,” he argued, pulling out his phone to check.
“I was composing them mentally. It's the thought that counts.” The older man stepped forward, plucked the ID card from his hand with the efficiency of someone disarming a bomb, and clipped it onto his white coat. “Thank you for the delivery. You can leave now.”
“Wow,” Arisu commented sarcastically, because his boyfriend's rudeness never failed to be astounding. “That's so romantic. Really feeling the love here.”
“You'll survive.” Chishiya smirked and turned to his coworkers then, who were all watching this interaction like it was the most entertaining thing to happen all week. “Don't you all have jobs to do?”
“We're on break,” Sato said immediately.
“All of you simultaneously?” His tone was flatter now. “How convenient.”
“Very convenient,” Matsuda agreed, not even bothering to hide his smile. “We were just getting to know your boyfriend.”
“Partner,” Chishiya corrected automatically, then seemed to realize what he had just done and closed his eyes briefly with a sigh. “… Boyfriend. Fine. Yes. This is Arisu Ryōhei, my boyfriend. There. Mystery solved. You can all return to work now.”
“ARISU RYŌHEI?” Sato's voice somehow got even louder. “LIKE THE GAME DEVELOPER WHO WORKED ON THAT PUZZLE GAME THAT WON ALL THOSE AWARDS LAST YEAR?”
Arisu blinked, clearly surprised. “You know about that?”
“MY SON LOVES THAT GAME! HE PLAYS IT ALL THE TIME!” The nurse was practically vibrating with excitement. “You made that?”
“I… yes?” Arisu glanced at his boyfriend, who looked very much done with this situation. “It was a team effort, but I did most of the core mechanics and puzzle design.”
“That's so cool! Can I get your autograph? My son would—”
“Sato-san,” Chishiya interrupted calmly. “Don't you have a patient in room 304 who needs their vitals checked?”
“That can wait five minutes—”
“It really can't.” He turned to Matsuda next. “And don't you have a consultation in ten minutes?”
“Fifteen, actually, so I have time to—”
“SEVEN MINUTES,” Arisu suddenly said, pulling up his phone and turning the screen toward Chishiya. “You sent me three texts seven minutes ago with medical jargons in them. You liar.”
“… I was rounding down to protect your feelings for a bit longer.”
“You were NOT.”
“This is amazing,” Sato whispered to Suzuki. “They bicker like an old married couple.”
“WE'RE NOT MARRIED,” both of them quipped back at the exact same time, which only made the ladies smile wider.
“Yet,” Matsuda added helpfully.
“… Not helping,” Arisu muttered, feeling his face heat up while his boyfriend just pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something about admission fees for this circus.
“Oh please, you love the attention,” Hayashi teased. “You've been showing off everything your boyfriend makes you for months.”
“I did not show off—”
“The scarf,” Sato counted on her fingers. “The clicker. The watch. The keychain with a comically-drawn cat on it—”
“That cat is cute,” Chishiya responded flatly, which somehow made it even funnier that he was defending it.
Arisu stared at him, bewildered. “… You said the cat looked like it'd been in a traffic accident.”
“It does. That's why it's endearing.” His boyfriend shrugged. “The asymmetry suggests character development.”
“That's the most ridiculous thing you've ever told me.”
“You haven't been paying attention then.”
Suzuki laughed, clearly delighted by this entire exchange. “Alright, we should probably let you two have some privacy. But Arisu-san—” She turned to him with a warm smile. “It was really lovely to meet you. You're welcome here anytime.”
“Thank you,” He responded sheepishly. “And sorry for the confusion about the… whole gender thing.”
“That was entirely Chishiya-san's fault,” Matsuda said cheerfully. “He could have clarified at any point.”
“Where's the fun in that?” Chishiya asked, already turning to head back down the hallway. “Ryō, are you coming or are you going to stand there and let them interrogate you further?”
“I— Wait, you want me to stay?”
His boyfriend paused, glancing back over his shoulder with an expression that was almost fond. “You came all this way, so might as well make it worth your time. I have a break in twenty minutes.”
“Is that your way of inviting me for lunch?”
“It's my way of stating a fact. Whether you choose to interpret that as an invitation is your prerogative.”
Despite everything, Arisu couldn't help but smile anyway. “You're the worst.”
“And yet you still stay.” Chishiya's smirk was infuriatingly smug. “One might even call it a pattern.”
“One might also call it Stockholm Syndrome.”
“Only if I had kidnapped you first, which wasn't true since you willingly pursued me.”
“I have made so many questionable decisions in my life,” Arisu sighed, but he was already following Chishiya down the hallway, very aware of the knowing looks being exchanged behind them.
“Yes,” his boyfriend agreed mildly. “Dating me was definitely in the top three.”
“What were the other two?”
“The forty-seven attempts you'd made because you wanted to get Mr. Noir for me, and that time you tried to assemble an IKEA shelf without instructions.”
“The instructions were in Swedish!”
“They were picture-based, Ryō.”
Behind them, Arisu could hear Sato whisper-shouting “They're SO CUTE” with way too much enthusiasm, and he decided that maybe hospitals weren't entirely terrible after all.
(And if Chishiya texted him later on to inform him about how Suzuki managed to sneak a photo or two of them together… well, that would be a future him's problem to solve.)