Work Text:
For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Satomi wished he'd lied and said he had work. He probably would've if it weren't for Maruyama's huge pleading eyes, and more importantly, the civil law notes he'd graciously shared earlier.
At least Satomi owed him no more, especially after getting ditched for this really cool senior he sooo needed to talk to. It was a marvel Maruyama could even recognize anyone in this dimly lit bar, but Satomi had long stopped questioning his abilities.
Now he was stuck here, squished among classmates yelling at each other over drinks they were certainly not old enough to drink. He could feel a headache coming from the suffocating smell of stale sweat and the loud beat of one terrible song after another. As he checked his phone to see it was already past midnight, he had to try even harder to hold back a grimace. At least they were in Kamata.
In the distance he could see the vague outline of Maruyama gesturing wildly with a drink in hand, showing no sign that he was wrapping up. Taking that as his cue, Satomi wished a good night to the guy next to him—they were taking Law 201 together… probably—and made a beeline to the exit, bag clutched to his chest.
Stepping outside provided instant relief. The street was mostly empty apart from a few stragglers and small groups of smokers. He took a deep breath and rubbed at his forehead, waiting a beat for his ears to get used to the quiet.
It soon proved pointless when a muffled scream cut through the silence, startling him enough to get him falling back into the wall. A slight girl banged open the door of a club further ahead, screaming again when a guy in a jersey easily caught up to her.
Satomi shrunk back behind an electric box and looked around to see if anyone would do… something. The two guys smoking outside the bar next to them didn't seem particularly surprised, or even interested.
While he was squinting at the jersey guy—he seemed familiar?—someone else came out the door, slowly approaching the struggling woman.
Frozen in place, all he could hear for a second was the buzzing of his own ears.
"…mi-chan."
In the corner of his vision, Satomi could see that the girl had stopped struggling against Jersey's hold. Still, she was no less loud, yelling in a painfully scratchy voice that she was "not going back as long as that man was there."
The new guy's expression was unreadable, more so than usual, to the point he looked like an entirely different person. Maybe it wasn't even him, but a random thug with a similar face. It was pretty dark, and the shadows—
"You know that's not an option, Tomomi-chan."
Satomi closed his eyes, defeated. That was Kyouji's voice without a doubt, crystal clear in the quiet. They were going to meet for lunch tomorrow. Figured he'd be here for work.
"I said I'm not going in!" the girl—Tomomi-chan—yelled back, nearly elbowing Jersey in the stomach as she started struggling again.
Kyouji stared at her with raised eyebrows for a moment before grabbing her face, faster than Satomi's eyes could follow. She fell quiet mid-sentence and shrunk back into Jersey's hold. The way her chest was heaving, Satomi could almost hear her ragged breathing from all the way there.
"Look, let's not waste each other's time. You don't get to pick and choose here, and that man has to leave this place happy as a clam." Kyouji leaned further, towering over her. He was so tall. "Things won't be pretty for any of you otherwise. You get me?"
If the girl replied Satomi couldn't hear it, but Kyouji nodded in response after a few seconds. The moment he let go, she almost collapsed, Jersey's hands on her arms the only thing keeping her upright.
"Take her up to the office and tell 'em to get her cleaned up," said Kyouji to Jersey, voice flat. "I'm taking a smoke break. You got ten minutes."
He didn't bother looking at the girl again, stepping out from the light of the club into the shadows.
Satomi crept further to the side, trying to make himself less visible behind the electric box. To his luck, Kyouji didn't even glance his way. He took out a box of cigarettes and shook it up in a practiced motion, then paused with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, staring blankly at something. Satomi tried to follow his gaze, but there was nothing: only a dark building behind an empty sidewalk.
When he looked back, Kyouji was already leaning against the wall, blowing smoke to the side. Now right behind the streetlight, his expression was no longer visible in the shadows, and hidden further behind the bright smoke rising up into the light.
His head was tilted up, movements almost sluggish as he brought the cigarette up to his mouth again and again. It was as if he was behind a veil of water, separating him from the rest of the world and distorting his image.
The illusion was shattered when another guy—this one in a suit—came out to call for Kyouji.
"Aniki, he's really angry…" he was saying, wringing his hands.
Kyouji stood motionless for a split second before dropping his cigarette and putting it out with the heel of his shoes. When he stepped back into the light, his expression was a stark contrast to the unfamiliar coldness from before.
His smile somewhat resembled the scary smiles he kept throwing Satomi's way when they first met. Had it looked that fake then? Satomi wanted to look closer, gripped with this unbearable urge to find out what was different and how. Like one of those puzzles, thought a part of him deliriously, while the other fought to keep him still. Find 7 differences between Narita Kyouji At Work and Narita Kyouji At… whatever.
He didn't have to fight for long, anyway. Kyouji turned away and followed the other guy inside, and the door shut behind them.
After a second's hesitation Satomi bolted in the opposite direction. He didn't stop walking until he got to the station square, until the sounds of life reached him through muffled ears. He made for the closest tree and sat on the railing, leaning forward against the bag on his lap. His legs were tingling as if they were about to give out under him at any second.
That girl couldn't have been much older than him and she was definitely shorter by a good measure; she'd looked so tiny with Kyouji leaning over her. Satomi didn't have to wonder about how that felt—it wasn't something he could easily forget.
But when Kyouji had crowded against him to get a hold of his chin, he had been smiling. His fingers were warm, almost scorching.
He shifted a little, unable to find a comfortable position, and got up when that failed. He didn't know where to put his hands and feet, or what to do with his bag. His shirt was sticking to him in all the uncomfortable places. He needed to be home.
It was a few hours later as he was lying on his futon in the dark, pillow still damp from his wet hair, that he got a notification from Narita.
You mind if we meet at 13:00 instead, Satomi-kun 😄❓ (03:27)
He stared at Kyouji's solid black profile picture, wondering what business came up that he had to postpone. He started typing "why?" and deleted it immediately, feeling his ears heat up.
He couldn't stop thinking of Kyouji's expression as he looked down at that girl—the set of his eyebrows uninterested, eyes almost dull under. The way he spoke, his mouth must not have moved enough to reveal the laugh lines at the corners. It was not a face Satomi knew.
He'd never gotten to see what Kyouji looked like when he hit that guy in the head; only his jacket and the back of his hand, before he had turned to Satomi with an almost gentle expression. Maybe he'd worn that on purpose, too, like the way he plastered that fake smile on his face to appease some important guy or another. Except Satomi was just some powerless kid who was dumb enough to walk into yakuza territory.
But it was different. He could probably find more than seven differences with ease, even with the hazy blur over his old memories and the harsh shadows on the street earlier. He'd never shown Satomi any of the faces he'd worn tonight.
that's fine
(03:41) see you later
His feet got tangled in his duvet when he tried to turn and he struggled for a good minute before managing to kick it off. Flushed with the effort, he reached back for his phone. Just as he changed his last alarm, he got a reply in the form of a cartoon cat saying "Yay!" with its paws raised.
"Yay," he mouthed in disbelief, even though he knew he should've long gotten used to it. In his mind's eye were Kyouji's hands, forcing that girl's screaming mouth shut and sending him cute stickers a few hours later.
When neither the sticker nor that image failed to disappear on their own, he tapped out of their conversation, fingers more forceful than necessary. He settled properly on his side, pulling the covers up to his chin.
At least he could sleep until noon.