Chapter Text
The car’s indicator ticked steadily, a pitiless metronome counting down seconds. The entrance to her building was just around the corner to her left, close enough to reach, yet she was wise enough not to look, for she’d meet Giyuu’s halted figure. The twenty-minute trip had disappeared without notice, their easy excuse being that Sanemi was long asleep in the back seat, a bit of drool pooling from the corner of his lip.
To Shinobu’s displeasure, she had entirely lost control. Not that she’d ever had it in the first place, maybe it was a safety thought, but right now, she was at a loss for words. Ready-to-talk Shinobu. Aloof Shinobu. HR Shinobu that just always knew what to say in awkward situations.
Naked from defensiveness, she simply existed: in a ticking car, her best friend passed out, and her coworker, star accountant Giyuu Tomioka once again unreadable and unpredictable at the same time.
Her lips part and unpart in no-good attempts at forming a coherent sentence, and she side-eyes the man’s hands, gripping the steering wheel as if anchoring himself.
“Tomioka-san, I…”
Bravery was gained, or maybe absent-mindedness would be more suitable, yet she’s interrupted.
“Are you alright carrying him upstairs by yourself?”
Freshly challenged, she cocks a brow, averting her gaze to her thighs as a small blush warms her cheeks.
“You feel like carrying people back to my apartment, again?”
A brief husk of what feels like laughter is merely his answer, and she wishes she could witness his face right now; perhaps it is mundane as ever, she comforts herself.
“Listen, um, thank you so much. Again. It feels like I’m meddling in your… routine very often.” She turns her head toward him, yet her assertiveness stops there, her gaze lingering toward his arms instead. “You’ve driven me home like millions of times and you’ve been nothing but helpful. So, I feel very…”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s everything. I mean, I… I just, you know. Thank you, Tomioka-san. Really.”
Nothing is said after that, yet it’s fine. She reassures herself he’s not really expansive, and she half-smiles at the thought.
Yet she’s surprised by the sudden sensation of cold digits politely touching her arm, and before she can recalibrate, she finds their faces inches apart.
“You can call me Giyuu.”
Wide-eyed, beaming with pure shock, he leans further before a raspy voice interrupts, sending them back to their seats in a flash.
“Nobu, are we there yet?! I’m so goddamn sleepy.”
The streetlights in front of them flicker, half-illuminating her building number, her breath hitching at Sanemi’s jumpscare. The fresh adrenaline gives her the necessary energy to conduct her escape plan, and she flicks the belt off, opening the door to reach her ghost of a friend.
“Yes, we just arrived! Please be kind enough to thank Tomioka-san for his taxi driver services.”
Unbuckling Sanemi’s belt, she practically drags him outside, struggling, as the man was built practically like a grudge and weighed like one too.
Giyuu steps outside too, intending to provide help, yet she looks like she’s… handling it? Nevertheless, he chooses to witness the comedic scene, pocketing his hands in half-shame as Sanemi growls that he’d prefer a slow death to thanking his “professional opponent,” as he called him.
Meddling with her keys, she pops the suitable one upwards, her other arm entirely supporting Sanemi, and she turns to take in raven, velvet hair being lightly swept by the morning breeze, his blue orbs hiding mystery and… some kindness. Maybe she was daydreaming, but he felt so soft and humane.
“G-Good night, Tomioka-san. See you on Monday!”
Her voice is so loud a dog erupts in even louder barks as the pair struggle to enter the accommodation.
Giyuu swallows hard, chastising himself for being so… assertive this evening. He settles into withdrawing to his ticking car, the noise overwhelming and stiff as he shuts the world behind the door.
“Good night, Shinobu Kocho.”
Tokyo, 16:02 p.m. — Sanemi Shinazugawa
The droning hush of rain scraping against the balcony door wakes him. The saddened light of the sky creeps between half-lidded eyes, the day, or maybe noon, draped in a dull overcast. A sharp pain is quick to pierce the back of his head and he hisses, his first instinct prompting him to grab his phone to check the time.
16:02 looks back at him, the digits doubling as his eyesight struggles to adapt, his throat simultaneously drying second by second. He must have had a nightmare, the evidence being his fast-racing heart and utter confusion.
“Fuck.”
Rubbing the crust clinging stubbornly to the corners of his eyes, his nose finally catches up; a rich, savory scent lingers beneath the ache; broth, slow-cooked and deliberate, nothing like the instant garbage he lives off. It takes him a second or two to realize he isn’t home, yet he’s quickly relieved to recognize the architecture. He’s in Shinobu and Mitsuri’s house.
Stretching his ribs is a drag, sore muscles protesting, yet he manages to sit up from the stiff couch, shrugging off the soft blanket, his spare hand scratching the back of his sticky head.
Yup. Definitely a nightmare. His usual claustrophobic ones, in which he’s trapped in tiny, empty rooms, often scolded by unknown entities. Chilling.
Thankfully, whatever is simmering on the stove feels undeservedly kind and keeps his mind off it.
Dragging his steps toward the source, there’s Shinobu; her hair wrapped in a fresh, floral towel, silky emerald pajamas clinging softly, her usual bracelet chiming with her kind movements.
Two cats start rubbing their heads against his bare ankles with excitement, and he smiles momentarily before he catches the woman’s attention.
“Ugh. Morning.”
“Evening,” Shinobu scolds, sharp with kindness as she always is, tapping the wooden ladle twice against the stovetop.
He silences every protest by swallowing, plopping himself onto the wooden chair at the small table beside her, digging his face into his palms in a shameful gesture. The frustration knotted in his stomach unravels further as his friend softly takes his chin to lift it, giving him a much-needed spoonful of broth.
As if engulfing a magic potion, his internal organs thank her immediately as the warmth settles inside him, and he hums, a knowing smile unfolding across her features.
“You hungry?”
“Like hell. This tastes divine.”
Necessary preparations are made, and Shinobu places a spacious bowl of hot ramen in front of him. Chicken broth, extra garlic and ginger warming the steam, noodles soft without being mushy. A halved egg rests on top, scallions scattered like an afterthought, everything deliberate in its restraint. Just like he adores it.
Snatching the chopsticks provided, he’s ready to dig in, before Shinobu kicks his foot under the table.
“Ow!”
“Pray first.”
Sanemi despises tradition, yet with Shinobu Kocho’s control-freak precision, he guesses he’s practically forced to settle. Smacking his hands together, chopsticks sandwiched between them, they both bow their heads in respect of the delicious ramen.
“Thanks for the meal.”
Comfortable silence settles between them, Sanemi devouring the noodles, two hot mugs of tea steaming nearby, before they’re interrupted by a million bleeping noises. Utilizing his confined ounces of energy, Sanemi groans before snatching the phone—surprisingly still in his pocket—squinting at the notifications.
His heart drops.
“Are you okay?”
“Man, last night—”
“Call me when you wake up”
“Please tell me you’re alive”
Tengen Uzui — 6 missed calls
Yesterday’s shenanigans strike him like lightning to the tallest tree in the forest. The event. The unnecessary shots he took with his inferior at work. Known faces everywhere. Kanae. Kanae with Kyojuro. More drinking. Then—
“Sweetie.”
His spiraling keeps him from noticing Shinobu standing beside him now, her fingers finding his head to soothe, her spare hand covering the bleeping device.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to answer just yet—”
“What does fuckass Uzui even want?” he snaps. “Calling me fifty times in a row.”
“He’s probably worried about you, sweetie. Don’t get mad at him.”
A cold blade of panic slashes through him, suddenly hyper-aware of how embarrassing yesterday was. His head jerks away, hiding the stubborn tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He’d die before letting anyone, especially Shinobu, see him cry.
Men don’t cry.
His father’s torturous voice echoes in his head.
“Fuck—” Digging his head further into his palms, as if he could crush his skull, he sniffs, betraying just how upset he is. Shinobu’s brows furrow, her stance softening as she wraps both arms around him.
“Fuck, I’m so fucking stupid, Shinobu. I’m tired of ruining my dad’s fuckass company. I embarrassed myself in front of potential future employers—future clients. I’m expecting nothing less than my father hiring assassins to murder me in my sleep after this shit.”
“Hey, hey, sweetheart. Breathe with me for a second.”
“What good will that do? Might as well take a shit at the main entrance of the company. See where that gets me.”
Shinobu doesn’t reply right away. They’ve known each other since childhood, since Sanemi pulled her ponytail and got his ass beat by her and Kanae. She knows better than to push.
Absent-mindedly, she lets out a breathy laugh.
Confusion rattles across Sanemi’s tear-wet face. He straightens, shoulders squaring defensively, cocking a brow at her.
“Are you for real? You’re not making fun of me right now, Nobu-chan.”
“O–Oh my god,” she manages between shocks of laughter. “I’m sorry—‘shitting at the main entrance of the company’? Sadly, I pictured that.”
Sanemi’s lip betrays him, cracking into a half-smile. They both erupt into laughter, the tension dissolving.
The city darkens around them, winter having shortened the day in half. Sanemi’s gaze drifts to Shinobu, now placing dishes in the sink.
“Just so you know, you’re doing the dishes,” Shinobu says, not turning, instead pouring food into her cats’ bowls.
Sanemi hums in response—no protest, no fight. With a full stomach, he can think more rationally. His gaze lingers on the kittens eating before Kanae pushes back into his thoughts: the way she looped her arm around Kyojuro, how perfectly she fit there.
Could a woman like that ever fit with his internal chaos?
When he threw up, she looked at him with pity. He hated that.
Looking back at Shinobu petting the cats as they eat, he bites his lip, torn.
“There’s a girl.”
The words slip out automatically. Shinobu freezes for a fraction of a second before resuming her movements. Sanemi notices.
“Hmm? Is there?”
“Yes.”
“Do I know her?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you going to tell me who it is?”
“I shouldn’t like her. It’s forbidden.”
Shinobu shifts, sitting on the counter, eyeing him deliberately. Taking a sip of her green tea, she hums in thought.
“Is she currently in jail?”
“Please take this seriously,” he snaps. “You’re getting on my nerves.”
“I just… I don’t want to fuck this up. Whatever this is. I don’t even know what I want from it. I just know that every time I think about her, I feel like I’m already doing something wrong.”
Shinobu is quiet, perhaps relating more than she lets on.
“All I know is, feelings don’t come with moral alignment,” she says after a moment. “They just exist. What you do with them is the part that matters.”
He frowns. “That’s it?”
“That’s all there ever is.”
He nods slowly, staring into his uninteresting tea. “You’re no help.”
“At your service.”
Keys jingle.
They both freeze.
Pink, messy hair and yesterday’s clothes; killer combo.
Every step he takes seems to sink a little, as if the ground itself were growing less certain.
“Oh. Um. Hey, guys!”
Guilt even shows in the way she kicks off her shoes; she’s practically drenched in it. The hum of the refrigerator suddenly feels too loud, and Shinobu has to mentally restrain herself from giving her friend a mouthful. Instead, her motherly instinct kicks in for the twentieth time today:
“Care to explain where you were?”
Sanemi catches up to the tension, shrinking in his seat in a desperate attempt to vanish.
“So—sorry about that. I had to drive Obanai home, he was super drunk at some point.” Her forehead glistens with fresh sweat as she shifts her attention to Sanemi, desperate to change the subject. “What is Sanemi doing here?”
“Rehabilitation,” Shinobu answers, her tongue cutting like a sharp knife.
Sanemi cocks a brow. “The fuck?”
Mitsuri hums in forced understatement and rushes toward the stove.
“Oh! It smells delicious! Are there any leftovers? I’ll be quick to shower and then—”
“Mitsuri.” Shinobu’s voice hardens. “At any point last night, was Obanai drunk? Lying isn’t charming, you know.”
The pressure collapses her in seconds, eyes wide, breath shallow.
“I–Iguro-san and I slept together!” she blurts, tears spilling down her flushed cheeks as she clenches her fists in a futile attempt to hold herself together.
“I knew it!” Shinobu declares, too far.
“WHAT?” Sanemi shouts, and that’s Mitsuri’s last straw.
“I–I don’t know how it ended up like this! I was devastated at the fundraiser and Obanai comforted me, and one thing led to another and we—” She falters, face burning hotter. “We made out!”
Shinobu moves immediately, hands settling on Mitsuri’s shoulders.
“Mitsuri, that’s fine. Please, breathe. It’s not that deep, it’s fine,” she says gently. “Go take a bath, and we’ll talk after, alright?”
Mitsuri slumps into her, nodding as she wipes her face with her coat sleeve.
“Make sure the water runs hot,” Shinobu adds softly. “A big bowl of ramen will be waiting for you, okay? No need for tears.”
Sanemi stares down at the table, mildly stunned, as Mitsuri disappears into the bathroom.
Shinobu exhales and retreats briefly into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her for a sliver of privacy. She reaches for her charging phone, hoping for a momentary reprieve.
Scrolling through notifications, her thumb stops.
Giyuu Tomioka started following you.