Work Text:
“Hey! Nakayama! I don't see you go out for smoke breaks much anymore. Finally found someone to quit for?” A coworker yelled a few cubicles down. Nakayama ignored him. He didn’t need anyone here.
...
He had been walking. Walking down the busy sidewalk, lighting up his cigarette. It was his break, and he wasn't hungry just yet, so he thought of taking a smoke to clear his head. He found an empty pillar marking the end of some store, and leaned against it. One puff, and he leaned his head back. With slumped shoulders, he looked at the bare concrete that made for an overhang above these shops. Above those shops? What would Nakayama know, probably another “unique and affordable” overpriced apartment complex.
As he was contemplating what to do when he returned to the office and how to avoid the eyes that bore into him, he returned to earth with a tap on his shoulder. Lolling his head to the side, he needed to look up to meet the eyes of the man. Stark yellow eyes that wore a sour expression, mullet like hair that felt soft to card through. Damn, he cursed internally, eyeing the nearest guy and looking pathetic isn’t making you any less single, he scolded himself.
"Excuse me” A smooth, low voice came from him.
”I’ll have to politely ask you to stop smoking. It’s prohibited.” He continued with a small smile. It came off as embarrassed… or shy.
With a sigh, Nakayama unceremoniously drops the joint, turning to face him fully, while still leaning on the pillar. The man half-whispers a thank you with a slight smile that makes dropping that joint a bit more worth it. Only a bit.
"What else can possibly help?” Nakayama asks. It’s a rhetorical question, one meant to be answered with a scoff and-
“Books.”
Books. Yeah. Books.
It was always that simple.
It was never that simple.
Nakayama lets his face fall at the man, an irritated eyebrow curling up. “Books…?” The mysterious man only smiles, turning around and walking away.
He knows he’s supposed to follow, but he has half a mind to return to work. As the thought simmers bitterly, he realizes he was standing against what he assumes is the man's workplace. His next thought is to follow him. Stupidly, he does, and in the next minute the busy sidewalk, and the city that accompanies it, fell to a small whisper that follows after the bell of the opaque door of the bookstore.
Nakayama, truthfully, looks out of place. He looks around curiously- not fully stepping in from the threshold and yet- still tense from not being able to finish the smoke. The man, wearing a comfortable navy sweater and pants, looks perfectly in place as he leans on the counter, beckoning him in with his eyes.
“Shirafuji, you?” Stunned, “I’m Nakayama” he gave up his name.
Usually, he wouldn’t be so willing, but the colors his eyes scanned over were much more forgiving than the stale outside. The harsh sun seemed warmer, the gray filter on everything outside changed to orange. It wasn’t even sunset. Through it all, Shirafuji’s name reverberated in his mind. Finally deciding to step in properly, he comes to the counter as Shirafuji walks away.
A moment of contemplation later, he emerges from the labyrinth of bookshelves (it was closer to a maze) with a white covered book.
“The main character struggles with addiction. I’ve been told it isn’t perfect, but it helps with the urges. I wouldn’t personally know.” Nakayama stares dumbly at the book.
"How much is it?”
“Free, if it’s returned in good shape. I’ll let you borrow it for two weeks. Want it?” He smiles. The first thought in Nakayama’s mind tells him this is a marketing tactic. The second wants to take the book and thank Shirafuji for his help.
He smiles back at the man, and sighs as he picks up the book by its spine to inspect it while the clerk types something into his computer. The weight is different to the cigarette. While much heavier, the scent of wood it emits while he closely inspects it feels much like a breath of fresh air, rather than the burning tobacco of the joint. He quite likes it.
More than the joint? Not much.
“The smell of fresh books to me is better than any offering of substances. Call me boring, but I’m a lot happier than they are.” He chuckles. Nakayama wants to hear it again.
"Will you take the book?” Weirdly, he feels like he’s stepping into a new world. He might just be. Does he like it? Not much.
“Yes, I’ll take the book. Thank you.”
Not much yet.
...
When he returned to the office, he placed the book on his desk. He returned to work, not paying it a mind, even if it lingered in the back of his head. When it was noticed he returned with a book, he could feel people’s whispers, not just hear them.
The book sat haunting him, a symbol of defiance to a normal routine. He couldn’t focus anymore, editing on autopilot as he thought of a life without cigarettes, maybe including that Shirafuji guy.
In a fit of frustration, maybe from the lack of a proper smoke break, he gets up and nearly throws the book in a drawer, shocking some whispers out of neighbors. He falls back into his seat, tired, leaning his head into his hands and sighing. There is a heavy weight on his shoulders, and he can’t place why.
If this is what it feels like to go less than 24 hours without a cigarette, then he’ll die early than feel this… everything. He puts his head down for a moment to sigh before continuing work. The whispers have calmed, at least.
...
He intended to return the book. It’s been two days, and he intended to return the book. But when he returned to the dull street, lighter sparking in hand to light the cigarette in his pocket, book in the other hand, he found Shirafuji inside, leaning against the counter, reading a book. He pockets the lighter, hoping to have a proper talk with the purple haired man.
Nakayama gingerly walks inside, and Shirafuji looks up before relaxing. Nakayama doesn’t feel like smoking anymore. Nakayama suddently feels nervous.
"Hello again, Shirafuji-san.” Shirafuji, while keeping eye contact, placed a bookmark on his page and places it down to focus on the man.
“Nakayama-san…! How’s the book?” At that, he tensed and looked away. Shirafuji got the hint. “Not even going to try it?” Nakayama shrugs, unsure of what to tell him.
Shirafuji turns the corner of the register, book in hand and approaches him, and when Nakayama looks up, he’s being lead to a beanbag. “Don’t give up on something you have yet to experience, come, we can sit together if you’d like.”
Nakayama brightened. Reading a book shouldn’t be hard with Shirafuji. “Sure, let’s sit together.”
The bean bag was comfortable. Shirafuji was sitting in the bag next to him. Suddenly, the break passes quietly. A customer comes in and buys a book, making Nakayama mourn the calming presence he had next to him. Oddly, he thinks as he realizes how he felt about Shirafuji leaving, I want him back. Unlike around his coworkers, where he can’t relax when their listening ears are always on and tuned into what the popular employee says and does.
When he returns, Nakayama relaxes again, returning to the book. The protagonist had been an alcoholic for most of his life. Started the bad habit when he was peer pressured at 13, he tried to stop at 17, but fell back into his habits at 19. Currently, he’s going through a divorce and figuring out how to be sober again. He has the help of his rehab group, whom he takes a break from work with to go out sometimes, and he goes to a therapist by himself.
Nakayama found his frequent monologues describing his withdrawal understandable. He, too, has bursts of anger without a cigarette. He, too, can’t sleep without having one. He, too, can’t get through the day without a smoke break.
The problem didn’t solve itself quickly, the protagonist found himself sometimes bursting out at his friends, some who responded similarly, others who responded with calm. They settled those in the rehab sessions. Over the course of time, Nakayama found himself going back almost everyday to continue reading. He'd always smoke on his way, and Shirafuji would always have him put it out before he came in.
Some days were easier, Nakayama would come without a cigarette, a little more emotional than usual without his smoke, and Nakayama would insist to himself that Shirafuji’s smile of pride only made it a little worth it (it made it very worth it).
He’d try most weeks to go without smoking, yet wasn’t always successful. Some days were harder, instead of reading, he’d angrily pace outside while smoking. Shirafuji understood, and often stood outside with him, listening to Nakayama vent.
"It’s just-! I don’t fucking get it! Why am I the only one working?!” He took a puff. “Got a problem? Nakayama can help! Can’t do overtime to finish your work? Nakayama can help! Don’t know how to kiss your boss's ass for some vacation?! Oh, look! Nakayama can fucking help with that too!” He nearly yelled as he stopped in front of Shirafuji, taking a long drag and blowing it away from the librarian.
“All I do- All I do! is help everyone. I can’t exactly tell them to fuck off either, because then they’d be like— ‘Ooh, did you not have your smoke break yet? I’ll come ask later’ or ‘Ouch no need to be so rude, Nakayama-kun, we’re all coworkers here’ like—“ He groans in frustration, throwing the cigarette onto the ground, stomping it dead.
He sighs deeply, and Shirafuji motions him inside. He falls onto the familiar bean bag, resting his head in his hands, propped up on his knees. Shirafuji comes back with tea.
“Two days, Shirafuji. I was doing well, not having smoked for forty-eight hours.” He admits, defeated.
"The first three days are the hardest, Nakayama-kun, and you’re doing so well towards that goal.” Shirafuji comforts, pulling his beanbag closer and resting a hand on his shoulder. Nakayama falls into him, the first real contact since they met, and Shirafuji lets him rest.