Work Text:
Adachi was not the kind of person people noticed.
His face was forgettable in the way most faces were.
His personality didn’t demand attention.
Even his confidence tended to stay out of the room unless absolutely necessary.
He was, in most situations, easy to miss entirely.
Which was probably why nobody ever thought to ask him about languages.
Because if they had—
They would’ve found out that Adachi could speak fluent English.
It had started with a song.
Not intentionally.
Not academically.
Just a melody his mother used to hum absentmindedly around their apartment when he was younger, something soft and foreign drifting through the kitchen while she cooked or folded laundry.
Adachi hadn’t understood the words then.
But he’d been fascinated by them anyway.
The shape of them.
The rhythm.
The way they flowed differently from Japanese—rounder in some places, sharper in others.
He used to repeat them quietly to himself long after the music stopped, sounding them out carefully even when he had no idea what they meant.
Then school introduced English formally.
Most students treated it like a chore.
Adachi didn’t.
Because by then, the language already felt familiar to him. Not understandable yet, but familiar in the way a song could be familiar long before you learned the lyrics.
So he kept listening.
Kept absorbing.
And somewhere along the way, without really noticing when it happened, English stopped sounding foreign at all.
These days, English existed mostly in the background of Adachi’s life.
In songs drifting through his headphones on crowded trains. In articles he read absentmindedly during lunch breaks. In the foreign television dramas he played while cooking dinner alone in the apartment.
It was never something he thought much about.
Kurosawa had known about the dramas for years.
Long before they started dating, he’d once walked into the company cafeteria and found Adachi sitting alone with headphones on, completely absorbed in an old British sci-fi series called Doctor Who. Japanese subtitles stretched across the bottom of the screen while strange aliens screamed at each other in rapid English.
At the time, Kurosawa had just thought it was cute.
Unexpected, maybe, but cute.
After that, he noticed the pattern more often. English shows. English music. Foreign movies playing quietly in the background of Adachi’s apartment.
Kurosawa had always assumed the subtitles were doing most of the work.
Then they started dating.
And slowly, almost without Kurosawa noticing, the science fiction began disappearing.
Not entirely.
Every so often he’d still catch glimpses of flying police booths or impossible timelines flashing across the television late at night. But somewhere along the way, Adachi’s tastes had shifted toward fantasy instead.
These days, the apartment was more likely to be filled with dramatic curses, doomed love stories, and people in elaborate costumes making terrible emotional decisions.
Currently, that meant Once Upon a Time playing loudly from the living room while Adachi cooked dinner in the kitchen.
Kurosawa stepped into the apartment just as someone onscreen started delivering an emotional monologue about destiny.
“I'm home,” he called, slipping off his shoes.
“Welcome back,” Adachi answered automatically.
The television continued in rapid English behind him.
Adachi sighed softly as he stirred something in a pan. “No, don’t trust him. He’s lying again.”
Kurosawa loosened his tie slowly.
“…Again?”
“Mm.”
Another character started yelling.
Adachi frowned. “That’s not even remotely the point of the curse.”
Kurosawa laughed quietly as he stepped further inside. “What’s happening now?”
Adachi answered immediately.
“Oh, so Emma just found out Neal’s alive, but Hook already knew and didn’t tell her because he thought she’d choose Neal over him, which honestly was a terrible decision because now everyone’s upset for completely avoidable reasons.”
A pause.
“And Regina’s about thirty seconds away from committing emotional arson.”
Kurosawa stared at the television.
Then at Adachi.
Then back again.
“…You explain these plots very confidently.”
Adachi shrugged lightly. “I've seen the show before.”
Onscreen, someone launched into another rapid stream of emotional English dialogue.
Without looking away from the stove, Adachi sighed tiredly.
“Oh my god, you don't need to put another curse on the town!”
Kurosawa blinked once.
Slowly.
Because for a moment—it almost sounded like Adachi had responded before the subtitles appeared.
Then again, Adachi had said he’d seen the show before.
So maybe he just remembered the scene.
That made sense.
Probably.
Kurosawa huffed a quiet laugh under his breath before stepping fully into the kitchen.
Honestly, Adachi getting emotionally invested enough in fantasy dramas to memorize entire conversations felt strangely believable.
Warm light spilled across the apartment. The television continued its rapid English dialogue in the background while dinner simmered softly on the stove.
Without a word, Kurosawa slipped his arms around Adachi’s waist from behind.
Adachi startled faintly on instinct before relaxing almost immediately against him.
“You’re clingy today,” he murmured.
“You’re cute today.”
“That’s suspicious.”
Kurosawa laughed softly and pressed a kiss beneath Adachi’s ear.
Onscreen, someone started delivering another dramatic speech about true love and destiny.
Adachi sighed deeply.
“Oh my god, if one more person in this show tries to sacrifices themselves instead of communicating properly, I’m turning the TV off.”
Kurosawa buried his smile against Adachi’s shoulder.
“You complain about this show every episode.”
“And yet I’m always right.”
“You’re very passionate about emotionally unstable monarchs.”
“They’re all terrible decision makers.”
Another kiss against his neck.
Another dramatic orchestral swell from the television.
And standing there in the middle of their warm apartment, listening to Adachi argue with foreign television characters while stirring dinner relaxed in Kurosawa’s arms—
Kurosawa couldn’t imagine loving him more if he tried.
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Adachi was still half asleep when he reached the building.
The cold air hadn’t fully finished waking him up yet, and his thoughts were moving in slow, disconnected pieces—train, coffee, work, survive the morning.
He stopped in front of the glass entrance, hand already halfway to his key card.
That was when he noticed them.
Two foreign men stood slightly off to the side of the doors, both in dark business suits with matching carry-on luggage resting beside them. One held a phone out between them with Google Translate open while the other rubbed tiredly at his forehead.
The app spoke in broken Japanese.
Neither man looked convinced by it.
“Maybe try shorter sentences?” one suggested.
“I am using shorter sentences.”
The phone chirped something incomprehensible at the security desk inside.
The guard blinked.
The men sighed in unison.
Adachi watched for a few quiet seconds.
Still sleepy.
Still not fully involved in his own morning yet.
Then he caught the word “Toyokawa” between the failed translation attempts.
Ah.
The overseas meeting.
That explained the luggage.
One of the men tried again, slower this time.
“We… have… business… meeting…”
The translation app responded with something that sounded vaguely like:
“We request honorable combat appointment.”
The second man closed his eyes briefly. “Fantastic.”
Adachi exhaled softly through his nose before he could stop himself.
Both men looked up immediately.
There was a tiny pause—the specific kind people had when they were deciding whether or not to risk asking a stranger for help.
Adachi made the decision for them.
“Are you guys here for the Toyokawa meeting?” he asked in easy English.
The reaction was immediate.
“Oh thank god,” one of them breathed.
The other looked genuinely relieved. “You speak English.”
“Only a little,” Adachi replied automatically.
Which was, technically, a lie.
The first man laughed tiredly. “That sounds a lot more than a little.”
Adachi ignored that.
“You’re early,” he explained instead, glancing toward the clock at the security desk. “The sales team probably hasn’t come down yet.”
“You work for Toyokawa?” the second man asked.
“Mm.” Adachi nodded once. “But not with sales. Different department.”
Then, before they could look worried again, he added calmly: “There should be official translators for the meeting itself.”
The tension visibly left both men at once.
“Oh, good.”
“Seriously, thank you. We were starting to think we were in the wrong building.”
Adachi shook his head lightly and stepped toward the security desk.
“They’re here for the Toyokawa meeting,” he explained in Japanese. “The overseas clients.”
Understanding immediately replaced the guard’s confusion.
A quick apology.
Several bows.
Immediate scrambling to notify reception.
Beside him, one of the Americans laughed quietly in relief. “You may have just saved our morning.”
Adachi blinked once at that like the statement genuinely confused him.
“I only translated,” he said simply.
Which, to him, was true.
Then he gave a small nod toward the elevators.
“Someone from upstairs should come get you soon.”
And with that, he finally swiped his key card and headed toward work like the interaction had barely mattered at all.
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By the time Adachi actually sat down at his desk, the interaction outside had already faded mostly from his mind.
Work tended to do that.
Emails stacked up almost immediately. Reports needed reviewing. Someone from accounting stopped by his desk with questions he absolutely did not have the emotional strength for before coffee.
The morning settled into its usual rhythm after that.
Quiet.
Predictable.
Across the office, Kurosawa moved easily between conversations and meetings, somehow already looking fully awake and functional despite the hour.
Adachi stared at him once over the rim of his coffee cup.
Handsomely annoying.
Then went back to work.
At some point later, he noticed the foreign clients again being guided down the hallway by reception staff toward one of the conference rooms.
Adachi barely looked up this time.
They seemed settled now.
That was good enough.
He returned to his spreadsheet.
Which was why the panic blindsided him completely twenty minutes later.
“The translator cancelled?”
The sentence cut across the office sharply enough that several people looked up at once.
Adachi paused mid-typing.
Near the center of the department, one of the managers stood frozen with a phone pressed against his ear and the expression of a man rapidly approaching spiritual collapse.
“They just called,” he said weakly. “Food poisoning.”
A collective silence hit the office.
Then chaos.
“You’re kidding.”
“The meeting already started!”
“Can’t we reschedule?”
“They fly back tomorrow!”
People immediately started talking over each other while another manager hurried toward the conference rooms like panic alone might somehow solve the issue.
Adachi blinked slowly at his monitor.
Ah.
That was unfortunate.
Across the office, Kurosawa had been dragged into the discussion despite visibly wanting no part of it.
“Kurosawa-san,” someone said desperately, “you know English, right?”
The entire department latched onto the idea immediately.
Because of course they did.
Kurosawa was smart.
Reliable.
Good at everything.
Naturally, everyone assumed this extended to foreign languages too.
Kurosawa smiled carefully—the polite, controlled smile he used whenever situations started escaping his control.
“…Very little,” he admitted.
“Perfect!”
That was absolutely not the correct response.
“I only know basic conversation,” Kurosawa tried again quickly. “Simple phrases mostly.”
“We just need someone for now!”
Another coworker nodded frantically. “You studied abroad once, didn’t you?”
“For two weeks.”
“That’s still experience!”
Adachi’s stomach tightened faintly.
Because he knew exactly what Kurosawa meant by “basic conversation.”
Kurosawa could:
- ask for directions
- order simple coffee
- apologize politely
- and survive airports with admirable determination
Business negotiations, however, were an entirely different species.
Especially with native speakers talking at full speed.
Across the room, Kurosawa was still trying to explain this diplomatically while management ignored him with increasing desperation.
Adachi watched him loosen his tie slightly—a small gesture most people wouldn’t notice.
Stress.
Ah.
Now Adachi was starting to feel stressed too.
And the meeting lasted less than twenty minutes before it started unraveling.
From outside the conference room, Adachi could hear the strain in it.
English.
Pause.
Confused Japanese.
Another pause.
Then someone trying again slower, louder, like volume might magically solve a language barrier.
Adachi stared harder at his spreadsheet...
Someone nervously shuffling translated documents while another person tried desperately to keep the conversation moving.
Adachi rubbed a hand lightly over his face...
Then the conference room doors opened.
One of the American clients stepped out first looking openly frustrated now, while the second followed behind him looking more exhausted than angry. Two managers hurried after them immediately, apologizing in rushed broken English.
“We very are sorry,” one manager said quickly. “Please little wait more.”
“We’ve BEEN waiting,” the first American snapped.
His coworker tried quietly, “Hey, calm down—”
“No, because this is getting ridiculous.”
Several employees glanced up nervously from their desks.
Behind them, Kurosawa stepped out of the conference room too, still calm on the surface despite the obvious tension gathering around his eyes.
One manager gestured apologetically toward him.
“Kurosawa-san trying very hard—”
“I know he’s trying,” the frustrated American interrupted sharply. “But he doesn’t understand us.”
The office went painfully quiet.
Kurosawa’s expression didn’t change.
Which honestly made it worse.
The calmer American sighed tiredly and rubbed his forehead. “Look, there was another Toyokawa employee earlier. There was a guy downstairs.”
The managers blinked. “Another employee?”
The calm American clarified. “Dark hair. He helped us this morning.”
Kurosawa frowned slightly.
Helped them?
“He was a quiet guy,” the calmer American continued impatiently, already scanning the office. “Short, blue suit.”
That narrowed absolutely nothing down.
Several employees looked up nervously as the group moved farther into the office.
Meanwhile, near the back of the department, Adachi had already made the executive decision to avoid all eye contact and continue pretending spreadsheets were more important than human interaction.
Unfortunately, that plan died instantly the second he tried to escape with his coffee.
The angry American immediately pointed across the office.
“There!”
Every head turned.
Straight toward Adachi.
He froze instantly.
One manager looked genuinely confused. “…Adachi-kun?”
“That’s the guy we told you about,” the American said, irritation rising all over again. “He spoke fluent English with us outside.”
The managers hesitated immediately.
Not outright disbelief.
Just uncertainty.
Because it was Adachi.
Quiet, forgettable Adachi from another department.
One manager laughed nervously. “Ah… perhaps simple English?”
The angry American stared at him in complete disbelief.
“No,” he said flatly. “Fluent English.”
The second manager stepped in carefully. “Adachi-kun no involved with this business.”
Again: not intentionally cruel.
Just dismissive.
Instinctive.
Like Adachi simply did not look important enough to solve this problem.
The American threw a hand out toward Adachi in frustration.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about!”
Several employees physically flinched.
“You have someone here who clearly knows what he’s doing and nobody’s even listening to him!”
“We handling situation,” the manager insisted nervously.
“No, you’re not.”
The tension in the office sharpened instantly.
The calmer American tried again quietly, “Hey man—”
But the first was already turning back toward the conference room, frustrated gaze landing directly on Kurosawa.
“With all due respect, your guy in there barely understands what we’re saying.”
That hit harder.
Because Kurosawa had been trying.
And Adachi saw the exact second Kurosawa’s smile tightened faintly at the edges.
Enough.
Before he could think better of it—Adachi stepped forward.
“Please do not speak about him that way.”
The English cut cleanly through the office.
Perfectly fluent.
Everyone froze.
The angry American immediately pointed toward Adachi without missing a beat. “See?! THIS is what I’ve been trying to tell you!”
Nobody in the office seemed capable of breathing.
Not even the managers anymore.
Because Adachi wasn’t speaking hesitant English.
Or textbook English.
Or carefully memorized phrases.
He sounded natural.
Comfortable.
Effortless.
Adachi swallowed once, visibly tense beneath the sudden attention, but continued anyway.
“He was trying to help you,” Adachi said calmly in smooth English. “It is not his fault the translator could not come today.”
The calmer American physically sagged in relief.
“Oh my god, thank you.”
Then both of them started talking at once.
“Look, we’re not trying to be assholes here—”
“We just genuinely cannot figure out what’s happening in there anymore.”
The calmer one gestured toward the conference room. “The translated documents are awful. And Google translate has absolutely given up.”
One manager looked horrified immediately.
The American continued before he could apologize again.
“I mean really bad. Half the wording changes the actual meaning.”
Adachi blinked slightly. “...That bad?”
“Yes,” the angry one said immediately. “One section made it sound like your company wanted permanent ownership instead of temporary regional licensing. And we don't want that.”
The calmer American sighed. “And every time we try to explain that they can't have permanency, everyone gets stuck translating the translation instead of the actual issue.”
Adachi visibly understood the problem immediately.
“…Ah,” he said softly.
The angry American pointed at him again. “See? He gets it!”
“He understood faster in thirty seconds than we’ve managed in twenty minutes.”
One of the managers looked like he might actually collapse from stress.
And across the office—Kurosawa stared at his boyfriend in complete and utter disbelief as years of tiny moments suddenly began rearranging themselves in his head.
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The office was still silent when Adachi finally sighed softly and set his coffee down.
Not dramatically.
Just with the quiet resignation of a man accepting his fate.
Then he looked toward the Americans again.
“…Could you explain the issue from the beginning?” he asked in fluent English. “I am not part of this department, so I’m missing context.”
The shift was immediate.
Not just because he spoke English.
But because suddenly the entire conversation started moving smoothly for the first time all morning.
The Americans straightened almost visibly in relief.
“Yes, absolutely, thank you,” the calmer one said quickly.
Meanwhile, several managers were still staring at Adachi like he’d spontaneously started glowing.
The angry American immediately grabbed the translated documents from the conference room table and handed them over.
“Here. These are the main problem.”
Adachi accepted them carefully.
Then paused.
His eyes moved across the English text once.
Twice.
A small crease formed between his brows.
“…I think,” Adachi said slowly, “I need the original Japanese versions.”
The Americans blinked.
“The translation is that bad?”
Adachi looked up politely.
“…Some of these sentences are technically English,” he admitted carefully.
A strangled sound escaped one of the coworkers nearby.
The calmer American barked out a startled laugh while the angry one muttered, “THANK you.”
One manager looked moments from passing out entirely.
Adachi accepted the Japanese documents next.
And then—something shifted.
It wasn’t loud.
Wasn’t dramatic.
But suddenly Adachi looked completely different.
Still soft-spoken.
Still polite.
Yet somehow entirely in control.
Because this—
This was familiar territory.
He scanned the Japanese documents quickly, comparing them against the translated versions while the Americans continued explaining the misunderstanding.
“The main issue is the regional licensing section,” the calm one explained. “Your translation makes it sound permanent, like I said earlier.”
Adachi nodded once immediately.
Then turned toward the managers.
“They believe the wording implies full ownership transfer rather than temporary regional distribution rights,” he translated smoothly into Japanese.
The managers visibly jolted slightly, hearing flawless business Japanese and flawless English coming from the same quiet employee they barely noticed most days.
One manager hurried to respond.
“No, no, that is a misunderstanding. We mean only temporary contract.”
Adachi nodded once.
Then turned back effortlessly.
“They’re saying the intention was always temporary licensing,” he explained in English. “The wording became overly literal during translation.”
The Americans relaxed immediately.
“YES. Okay, good, that makes way more sense.”
And suddenly the entire room began revolving around Adachi.
Questions came from one side.
Answers flowed through him to the other.
Rapid English.
Polite Japanese.
Then back again.
No hesitation.
No awkward pauses.
Adachi moved between both languages so naturally it almost stopped sounding impressive and started sounding unreal.
At one point, the angry American pointed at a paragraph and groaned, “What the hell is this supposed to mean?”
Adachi read the English version.
Paused.
Read the Japanese version.
Then looked toward the managers with complete seriousness.
“…What did this mean?”
Several employees choked trying not to laugh.
Even Kurosawa covered his mouth briefly.
One manager looked deeply ashamed. “It's supposed to explain the 6-month clause... ”
“…Ah,” Adachi said softly.
That explained everything.
And somehow that tiny, deeply tired little “ah” almost broke the tension in the room completely.
Within minutes, the atmosphere transformed entirely.
The Americans relaxed.
The managers stopped panicking.
Actual progress started happening.
And through all of it—Kurosawa stayed completely silent.
Just watching.
Watching Adachi stand calmly in the middle of the room, translating complicated business terminology without stumbling once.
Watching managers defer to him instinctively now.
Watching the Americans trust him almost immediately.
Watching his quiet, easily-overlooked boyfriend suddenly become the single most competent person in the building.
And honestly?
Kurosawa felt himself fall a little in love with him all over again.
𖹭.ᐟ OMGMYBOYFRIENDSPEAKSENGLISHOMGMYBOYFRIENDSPEAKSENGLISH 𖹭.ᐟ
By the end of the meeting, the atmosphere had softened completely.
What had started as strained confusion and near-argument had settled into something smooth, productive, almost relaxed.
Well.
As relaxed as international business negotiations could be.
Adachi stood near the center of the conference room with the contract documents spread neatly across the table, calmly relaying the final details between both sides.
“The revised percentages are acceptable on our end,” one of the Americans said.
Adachi nodded once before translating smoothly into Japanese.
One of the managers answered almost immediately this time, far calmer now that everyone actually understood each other.
Adachi listened.
Then switched back effortlessly.
“They agree to the revision as long as the six-month review clause remains included.”
The Americans exchanged a quick look.
Then nodded.
“Done.”
And just like that—hours of stress dissolved in under thirty minutes.
The entire room visibly relaxed.
One manager nearly slumped into his chair from relief.
Another muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer of gratitude.
The angry American dragged both hands down his face before exhaling hard.
“Oh my god,” he said. “Finally.”
His calmer coworker laughed tiredly. “I can’t believe you people had this guy hiding upstairs the entire time.”
Several managers looked deeply embarrassed by that statement as Adachi translated. And Adachi immediately looked uncomfortable too.
“It was only coincidence,” he mumbled automatically.
“No,” the American said firmly, pointing right at him. “You saved this meeting.”
And unfortunately for Adachi—he sounded completely sincere.
The meeting wrapped up quickly after that.
Documents were reorganized.
Final notes exchanged.
Business cards politely traded.
And through all of it, the Americans continued gravitating toward Adachi naturally now, asking small clarification questions directly instead of waiting for anyone else.
By the time everyone began walking toward the elevators, both Americans looked significantly more alive than they had the hour earlier.
“Seriously,” the calmer one said as the elevator doors opened, “thank you.”
The angry one pointed at him again. “You need a raise.”
Adachi physically recoiled from the attention.
“That’s not necessary—”
“No, I’m serious,” the American insisted. “You handled this entire disaster basically by yourself.”
One of the managers laughed nervously beside them. “We are extremely grateful for Adachi-kun today.”
“Yeah,” the American replied immediately. “You should be.”
The elevator doors slid open.
The Americans stepped inside, still thanking Adachi while bowing awkwardly in that distinctly foreign way that was trying very hard to match Japanese etiquette.
“We’ll see you next quarter?”
Adachi blinked once.
“…Maybe?”
The calmer American grinned. “Good. We’re requesting you next time.”
The doors closed before Adachi could emotionally recover from that statement.
Silence lingered in the hallway for exactly two seconds.
Then everyone turned toward him at once.
Adachi nearly walked directly back into the elevator.
“Adachi-kun!”
“That was incredible!”
“You speak English THAT well?!”
“Why did nobody know this?!”
Managers surrounded him almost immediately now, the same people who barely noticed him most days suddenly staring at him with open amazement.
One manager grabbed both of Adachi’s hands dramatically.
“You saved us.”
Another looked genuinely emotional. “The negotiation could have collapsed completely!”
Coworkers started gathering too now, openly fascinated.
“Since when could you speak English?”
“You sounded like a native speaker!”
“Wait, so when you watch those shows—”
Adachi looked increasingly overwhelmed with every passing second.
“I-it’s not really that impressive—”
Several people protested instantly.
“It absolutely is!”
“Adachi-kun, why would you hide this?!”
Meanwhile, near the back of the crowd, smiling—Kurosawa stayed quiet.
Just watching.
Watching Adachi become the center of attention for once instead of fading quietly into the background.
Watching people finally look at him properly.
And maybe the best part was this: Adachi wasn’t even trying to impress anyone.
He’d stepped in because Kurosawa was struggling.
Because the meeting was collapsing.
Because people were getting frustrated.
That was all.
And somehow that made Kurosawa feel absurdly fond all over again.
Across the hallway, Adachi looked completely overwhelmed by the praise now, face visibly red while multiple coworkers continued bombarding him with questions.
Kurosawa smiled softly to himself.
Good.
Finally.
Someone else was noticing how amazing Adachi really was.
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