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Matsuo doesn’t like it when people call him, he finds it to disturb his peace.
Of course, in this day and age it’s futile to do anything without a phone, so he owns one. However, he doesn’t see the appeal of having one nowadays.
A prime example being The Agency needing him constantly, bombarding his phone with call after call. It’s one thing to interrupt his routine, but having to hear that obnoxious ringing echoing in his home every 3.5 minutes? Unforgivable.
(And yes, he tried changing his ringtone, but he wasn’t exactly spoiled for choice. Half of them were the same thing but a different pitch! Matsuo settled for Windchimes, but even he’s starting to get tired of that ear-grating melodious rhythm)
Sometimes The Agency would ask —or rather demanded— him to be on the field, Matsuo would have to hold back the growl in his throat when they made this request. The Agency cannot possibly be that small. Don’t they have connections to the military? Why ask someone who didn’t even work for them? All these questions unfolded in his mind, and yet the only response he had on his tongue was:
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
To be fair, their reason for asking Matsuo for aid wasn’t wrong; saving the world was a reasonable desire. But the sheer amount of work they gave him for someone who wasn’t employed to them was absurd.
And he noticed a pattern with their requests, always wanting some form of carnage when asking for his help.
“Matsuo, we need you to create an explosive powerful enough to take out the electrical grid of Northern Bangkok. By Friday.”
“Asset Mori. We need you on the field now. Particularly in apprehending some squad members of our latest enemy…”
“Mori, this is The Director. I hope you remember our arrangement. You give us your expertise, and we let you be a free man. You’re going to Poland to help with some weapons making.”
It felt strange, really. He wanted to pretend he was doing something productive —philanthropic— in his time after Cleve. Yet it seemed everything stayed the same; just a different side of the coin.
Matsuo tried bringing up these concerns, but at most the work load was reduced, not changed. Usually, he was met with an agent higher up the food chain who “dully noted” his worries. It was only thanks to Gary that Matsuo was now doing some more pacifist charity along with being an agent, sorry, asset. Opening up the centre was a long process, with a strange amount of documents, but he would be eternally grateful for having Agent Gary’s support by his side.
For a long time, Matsuo’s only contact was The Agency. His family are just starting to reach out to him since they disowned him after his capture by Ms Nowhere. They understand now that he wasn’t in control when he…
He couldn’t help but chide himself internally, he still can’t even speak about what he did. All the carnage he did, the blood he shed now coated his hands. What a coward his mind would jeer, You don’t feel guilty, you enjoyed what you did. The blood you spilled, the bodies that piled up.
You loved every part of it.
Matsuo shuddered when these thoughts burst out, trying to shove them back in with the skeletons in his closet. His mind was a rocking boat between the taunts of his past and the feelings of the present. He’s been struggling with this battle for a while now, but the last time he spoke up about this raging war in his head his friends(?) looked at him like he was insane.
Maybe they were right. Only a maniac would do all the things he did (does it even matter that he was mind controlled? his guilt does not and will never purify him).
And here he was, lounging about in his meditation centre like he didn’t burn holes into innocents all those years ago.
Matsuo bit his tongue, not too hard for blood to start oozing out thankfully, but it stung enough for his mind to quieten down. He needed to focus, let those thoughts go. They don’t define him. Matsuo attempted to center himself around the infinite nothingness in this world, the soothing idea of being empty. For a second, he was back home in his grandfather’s wisteria field as he told tales of grandeur to see his grandson’s eyes sparkle.
He’s not sure if he was still alive. His family really, really didn’t speak to him much, besides some text messages from his sister every now and then.
Then he heard those blasted Windchimes erupt from his pocket.
Matsuo let out a heavy sigh, eyebrows knitted together. What could The Agency possibly need now? He swore he just came back from a mission with the Spy Racers in Bulgaria, he was too tired for anything else. He took his phone out of his pocket and–
Oh.
Matsuo’s face softened, reading the words ‘Shashi’ on the screen. He pressed the answer button on instinct.
“Hello Shashi.” Matsuo’s voice was soft, much more than his usual tone. “How have you been?”
“Been doing okay. Just came back from my own thing in Fiji. I wanted to see how you were doing.” Shashi sounded warm as usual, almost hushed.
“I’ve been doing okay. Just meditating.”
“Really? Sorry, I must be interrupting then. Should I call you back?”
Matsuo felt strangely frantic; he didn’t want Shashi to leave just yet.
“No no, it’s fine. You can speak to me now.”
He heard a soft chuckle from the other man, making his stomach do a knot and cheeks flush slightly. Did he sound too panicked?
“Don’t worry, I won’t trouble you for too long. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to that new restaurant that opened up near the Toretto Garage? Kyoto Falls I think? I heard it’s pretty good and, uh…” Shashi chuckles again, and that warm feeling within Matsuo returns.
“I don’t really like eating alone, and I like your company. It’s a Japanese place too, so I think you’ll like it.”
The words I like your company were now permanently engraved in his mind. Matsuo realised he didn’t respond to Shashi’s question when he said:
“If you don’t want to, it’s alright. I know you just came back from Bulgaria with the Spy Racers. I understand if you need rest or–”
“I’ll come.” Matsuo said, the embarrassment of cutting Shashi off slapped him in the face straight after. “Oh –uh– sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. My mind was just… occupied.” It was more of a white lie; his mind was busy… but with Shashi.
“That’s great.” Shashi said. Matsuo imagined Shashi smiling and the knot in his stomach only tightened. “Do you want me to pick you up?”
“No, I’ll be fine. It’s near the Toretto Garage you said?”
“Yeah, it’s around the corner near Salchicas. Come at around 6 o’clock.”
Matsuo gave a “mhm” in reply, the gears turning in his mind. They clicked into place when he noticed a pattern.
“Shashi, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
Matsuo paused, trying to find the words to not sound rude. “You seem to like calling me instead of texting me. Why so?” Matsuo added a “Not that it’s a problem, of course. I’m just curious.”
There was quiet, Matsuo bit his tongue again. Did he make him uncomfortable?
“To be truthful… I just like hearing your voice. It’s… soothing, you know?”
If Matsuo wasn’t flustered before, he certainly was now.
“…Thank you.” He murmured, a smile now gracing his lips.
“See you there, Matsuo.”
And Shashi hung up.
The centre wasn’t open today, so Matsuo has more time to meditate in private. He decided to check the new settings on his phone one more time, the phrase just in case a constant mantra.
Settings. Then Focus. Now Do Not Disturb. Matsuo’s face relaxed. Everything’s in check. All of his contacts have been placed on Do Not Disturb, so he can finally mediate without any issues.
Except for one person.