Chapter Text
It takes time, Mizuki thinks of it almost as rebuilding a demolished house, starting with the foundations and working up, making sure the base is strong enough to support everything else. As with building a house, sometimes it is utterly exhausting, sometimes he feels like they’re getting there, the blocks are all laid and then something happens and the mortar crumbles and they’re almost back where they started.
Sly talks about him in therapy now, he’d mentioned it casually but Mizuki knows it’s anything but. It shows Sly is working too, that he’s as invested in this as Mizuki, it shows he cares.
Sly still isn’t great at being affectionate, he’s definitely trying but he sometimes seems like a marionette, being pulled by invisible strings. Mizuki can tell now, when he’s being genuine, when he’s soft because he wants to be and not because he feels he should be.
It’s growth, in the right direction this time.
They spend a lot of time together, Mizuki’s dropped down his bar-tending shifts even more, he’s only doing a couple a week now and his full focus is on tattoos and on Sly. Things are generally going pretty good and though they bicker almost constantly, they have very few actual arguments. They both seem generally happy, contented.
It's good.
But.
Mizuki feels bad for even thinking there's a but, but (again) there is.
They're not having sex.
Which isn't a problem, Mizuki doesn't mind, he just doesn't know why they're not having sex. He thinks maybe Sly is nervous, after all, he's probably not had sex in quite a while, nor has Mizuki. But then Sly was never insecure about his sexual abilities, so he sort of doubts that's the reason. He wonders if Sly is taking his words about going slow very seriously, which is good because when Mizuki said it he meant it, there's no need to rush, they have time now. It's not quite promised time, but it feels pretty close.
It’s only been a few months since Sly’s romantic speech of sorts, Mizuki thinks maybe that’s a normal time frame, they’re getting to know each other again and Sly is still recovering from everything that’s ever happened to him, everything that made him leave and everything that happened when he did.
He thinks it'll happen when it's meant to, when Sly is ready. Besides, there's only been a few throw away comments about being keen, so it's not like there's a real issue surrounding it.
That is, of course, until there is.
The issue becomes more apparent, Mizuki doesn't exactly think he's been trying to convince Sly to have sex, it's more than things have led towards that direction, have naturally swayed towards that outcome. They've never reached it though.
At first it's almost a joke, they're kissing, things are going places, then Sly will laugh and push him back and tell him to cool off, or he'll say it's still too hot, or he'll say he's too full. Normal things, normal excuses. But that’s what they are, excuses, Mizuki can never quite believe them but he’s pretty sure Sly won’t tell him the actual reason even if he asks.
It takes a while to get weird, and though Mizuki has always respectfully backed off when it's suggested he should, Sly seems to be running out of excuses, out of reasons to say they shouldn't. He's ran out of stupid jokes and, 'easy tigers'.
Mizuki’s also starting to get a bit frustrated by it, he’s mature enough that he can hide it well enough and he also knows that Sly doesn’t owe him anything but getting all worked up then let down over and over is beginning to wear on him. He also knows its sort of his own fault, he’s the one who starts it knowing how it will end, he’s the one who kisses Sly knowing full well he’ll end up unsatisfied.
He thinks maybe he should give up for a while, but then Sly comes over with his pretty hair and his smile and all his thoughts of letting it be go out the window because he wants Sly, in his bed and in his arms and in his everywhere.
It’s unfortunate, really, that Sly only seems to get more attractive, more appealing with every day that passes, it’s sort of hard not to touch when he sits there looking so gorgeous, when he’s so soft.
Mizuki is beginning to worry, Sly texted that he’d set off over 45 minutes ago and he is yet to appear, Mizuki knows it’s nowhere near that long a walk and he’s wondering if Sly had just completely changed his mind. Maybe his mood has done a 180 and he’s decided he’d rather be at home, or with Noiz, he wouldn’t mind if he had decided that, he’d just like to know what’s going on so he can amend his own plans accordingly.
He’s stood by the dining table debating whether it’s too clingy to text him when the door opens and Sly appears, visibly panting and literally glistening with sweat.
Mizuki, somewhat stunned by his bedraggled appearance, just stares at him open mouthed, notices his hair is plastered to his head with sweat and cannot for the life of him think of a single thing to say.
“Oh thank fuck it’s cool in here,” he exclaims, wiping a hand over his forehead and leaving a smear of wet sweat down his shirt as he wipes his palm clean, he kicks his shoes off messily and walks with exhausted but determined footsteps towards the fan. When he gets there, much to Mizuki’s amusement, he lifts his shirt up and puts it over the fan so the cold air can hit his chest, sighing in relief and stood there T-posing.
“Hot out?”
Sly’s head snaps over, he looks very irritated, the soothing of the fan seems to have faded and he looks irked, too hot and his face blotchy and red, Mizuki thinks he might even have started to burn. “It’s like walking on the sun.”
Mizuki laughs, but Sly isn’t done, “my trainers were melting,” Mizuki laughs again, “I’m not joking, look at them! They’re fucked!”
Mizuki, curious, does as instructed and picks up a trainer. Sly, shockingly, is right, the sole at the bottom has begun to melt and widen, “Christ,” he breathes, looks out the high windows and can see the sun beaming down but is unable to comprehend it being that hot. He’s never known weather like it and the air con in the bar is obviously working wonders, “want a cold shower?”
He steps away from the fan, still looking bothered and sticky, points a slightly wobbly finger at him, “now you’re talking sense.”
“I’ll get you some clothes.”
“The smallest ones you have, I can’t handle being in long pants.”
“Hot pants it is,” he grins, “think I’ve got some somewhere.” Sly gives him a weak thumbs up and ditches the fan altogether and heads towards the bathroom, already stripping his damp shirt off with a disgusted sort of groan. “Want some company?”
It’s a joke, a poorly timed one that doesn’t quite come out as a joke, but luckily Sly just gives him an amused look and, adopting a wry tone says, “don’t be ridiculous, it’s far too hot for that.” Then, suddenly, petulantly, “I want a drink when I get out, a cold one, with lots of ice.”
“Can do.”
Sly sighs out the word, “sensational,” then the bathroom door shuts behind him.
The clothes are outside the bathroom door when Sly is done but he doesn’t bother putting on anything except the boxers, the shower has cooled him down nicely but he still feels overheated, bothered. He hasn’t washed his hair, the idea of it resting damply on his shoulders is off-putting, he doesn’t need any more moisture on his skin today as far as he is concerned. He’s only dried off roughly, even the action of rubbing the towel across his skin has broken him out into a mild sweat and he’s rapidly realising that this is the sort of weather where you are unable to do anything except stay very, very still.
Mizuki’s somewhere else, the kitchen maybe, so Sly shoves the coffee table to the side, aims the fan at himself, and plops down in front of the sofa so the cold air can hit him, it’s nice, he’s just relaxed, exhaled and shut his eyes when he hears the tinkle of ice on glass and there’s a warm hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve gained weight.”
The voice is friendly, so Sly looks up at him and half-heartedly asks, “you calling me fat?”
Mizuki snorts, sits down next to him, slings an arm over his shoulders, leans his head back against the seat and looks up at the ceiling, “definitely not. This is just the most I’ve seen of you in a while.”
“I guess,” he says, he wonders if he should feel weird about it, looks down at himself and feels mostly neutral, his body looks fine, bigger than it used to be but not so much that it’s of any concern to him. “Granny’s trying to fatten me up, keeps saying I’m too skinny.”
Mizuki hums absently and Sly turns his attention to the drink, on the coffee table just out of his reach, he can see beads of condensation gathering and gently trickling down the surface of the glass and it’s packed with ice. It looks fucking fantastic.
He makes a sort of grabby motion towards it with a hand and Mizuki rolls his eyes but shifts forwards to retrieve it for him, “what am I, your servant?”
“If you like,” Sly opines calmly, takes the first sip and feels bliss as his dry mouth is finally soothed, he feels like his headache is already fading, watches the condensation drip from the glass onto his bare stomach. “It’s still too hot for you to be this close to me.”
Mizuki isn’t sure if he’s being joking or if he’s using the temperature as a way to get space because he wants it, he figures he’ll assume it’s a joke for now and see how it goes, “I can’t even say hi?”
“You already did.”
Mizuki aims an unimpressed eyebrow at him and Sly tuts but relents and lets Mizuki kiss him hello anyway.
It’s weird, that they do this now, that they kiss hello and goodbye, that sometimes Mizuki kisses him just because he wants to, that sometimes Sly does the same. He finds it oddly reassuring, somehow, to know that any affection will be returned, mirrored. He wonders if maybe he’s still not sure what’s going on with them, what’s going on with him, finds it soothes his anxieties a little when Mizuki is so easily willing to touch him. It’s odd too, that he just lets himself be soft, that he lets himself flop against his shoulder or be held, he used to hate it, it used to make him feel so trapped, so without oxygen.
Sometimes when Mizuki holds him now, he feels like he can finally breathe again, like he’s been holding his breath for every second before Mizuki touched him but with his embrace he comes up for air.
Sometimes it’s kind of a lot.
“And?”
“Still very hot,” Mizuki confirms with a shrug, laughs as Sly flops down onto the couch dramatically, groaning like some kind of soap star, “not as hot, but it’s still pretty bad.”
“Fucking hell.”
“You know you could just stay over?”
Sly emerges from his pillow, says, “could I?”
Mizuki gives him a look, feels it’s a stupid question, says, “yeah? I mean I’ve got a fan in the bedroom so it doesn’t get too hot, probably be better than your place.”
Sly just looks at him, there’s something faintly worried in his expression, so Mizuki, not sure what’s caused it, raises his arms in surrender, “promise I won’t get handsy.”
It’s only half a joke, Sly’s face sort of twitches when he says it and Mizuki realises with a faint sense of dread that he’s right about why Sly was unsure about staying over, he’s worried about the subtext of that. It makes Mizuki feel a bit sick actually, he begins to wonder if he’s done something wrong, either now or in the past, something that has made Sly feel uncomfortable.
His words work though, Sly shrugs, agrees to stay, frowns up at Mizuki when he stays stood over him looking weird, reaches out to poke at his fingers and asks, “you okay?”
Mizuki comes back into the now, into the place where Sly will touch him of his own volition, into the place where they are fine, where everything is okay.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sly doesn’t look too sure, but seems faintly appeased when Mizuki sits down at his side and touches his face, sort of nudges into the hand. This touch, he seems to not mind, so Mizuki kisses him to test a theory he’s working on.
Sly allows this too, he’s fine with Mizuki’s hands on his sides, under his shirt.
He only objects when Mizuki’s hands slide under the waistband of the shorts he’d eventually put on, “what happened to not getting handsy?”
The hands withdraw, Sly feels their absence and feels relief and disappointment mingle together in a weird cacophony in his brain, Mizuki smiles but there’s something off in his face even as he grins, teases, “that was nothing.”
Sly seems okay for the rest of the night, they brush their teeth side by side at the sink and Mizuki only mildly chastises him for spraying toothpaste onto the mirror, he earns a stuck out tongue. He gets a cloth and cleans it though.
Progress.
That would have been an argument once.
Mizuki leaves him be, goes to turn on the fan in his bedroom and slides open his long windows so some vaguely cool air can get it, turns down the thin sheets and strips down to his boxers, plugs in his coil to charge. Gets into bed.
When Sly joins him not much later they have a brief argument about the fan and where it should be positioned, Mizuki has it at the end of the bed so both of them feel the effects, but Sly thinks it should be at one corner and should be aimed higher so it doesn’t just blow cool air at their feet. Mizuki gives up, rolls out of bed and performs the requested alterations, gets back under the sheet that is actually just an empty duvet cover and reluctantly admits that Sly was right, it’s a lot cooler now, he can feel a breeze over his arms and chest.
“Told you so,” he opines like he’s some sort of ancient wisdom with the knowledge of the universe, shifts around a bit then rolls onto his side, facing away from Mizuki, worms himself into a comfy position.
“Good night to you too,” Mizuki snorts, he’s only joking anyway, he’s pretty tired himself and it’s late enough that it’s finally dark outside, early hours of the morning maybe, he’s not entirely sure. He always seems to lose track of time when Sly is around.
“I’m not moving.”
Mizuki should really have expected that, rolls his eyes in the darkness and huffs as if greatly inconvenienced, is faintly amused when Sly rolls onto his back despite his own complaints, looks up at Mizuki hovering over him, caging him in his arms. There’s something faintly nervous about him, he bites his lip as Mizuki watches him, worries the skin there between his teeth, anxious.
He looks like he feels trapped, so Mizuki backs off, plants his elbows onto the mattress next to him, creates some space between them, watches Sly’s body loosen, relaxed, relieved. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” it’s not totally believable, but Mizuki will take it, “are you? You’re being weird.”
Mizuki watches him in the dark, Sly is projecting, “I’m fine, just tired.”
“So go to sleep,” Mizuki wants to say no, he wants to tell Sly to talk to him, he wants to know what's wrong. But he leaves it be, smiles and presses in to kiss him, the room is warm but Sly is warmer under his hands, Mizuki feels tightly wound, he wants to crowd over him and press him down into the sheets. He wants to feel his skin, warm and soft and desirable. He wants to strip him bare and kiss him everywhere.
But he doesn’t, the kiss isn’t brief but it isn’t long either, when he backs off Sly exhales, looks like he wants to chase him but doesn’t bother, sinks back down onto the pillow and just watches him. He looks faintly wary.
It’s making Mizuki feel sick, so he returns to his own side of the bed and gently adjusts Sly’s hair so he can’t accidentally roll onto it in the night and wake him up, kisses the top of his shoulder gently. Sly makes a little noise, contented, rolls back over.
He shuts his eyes.
He goes to sleep.
Sly is angry when he gets back from therapy, he's going every other week now since he's been doing so well, he also doesn't usually come over right after. Mizuki thinks he understands why.
Mizuki's just emerging from the gym when Sly arrives, smiles at the sight of him then feels it falter as Sly hesitates in the doorway before coming inside, seemingly uncertain suddenly about even being there.
"Hey," he smiles, he can tell something is wrong but he's still happy to see him, especially with his hair tied up into a bun on top of his head, it suits him, Mizuki has a vague idea in the back of his mind that he'd like to tug on it to see what noise he would make, to watch his throat as his head is forced back. He's moved closer, to say hello properly, to kiss him, maybe to play with the wispy hairs at the top of his neck.
Sly shrinks back, frowns, flits his gaze from his face to his body, clad only in shorts and with a thin sheen of sweat covering it, then looks elsewhere altogether, swallows.
Mizuki is taken aback, he'd only reached out with a hand but Sly has moved away so his back is pressed against the door. He's been avoiding certain touches, yes, but innocent ones like these are usually allowed.
"I can't say hello now?" His tone is light, teasing, but Sly bristles, his temper flares.
"No, you can't," he's annoyed, irritated but he stays stuck to the door studiously avoiding looking anywhere near Mizuki who has done nothing wrong. "I'd rather you didn't talk at all."
That seems petty, Mizuki rolls his eyes, flings his sweat towel over his shoulder and crosses his arms, "then what's the point in you being here?"
Sly looks at him then, opens his mouth then shuts it again. Looks upset.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
He laughs, it's not a nice sound, it's sort of hysterical, a short inappropriate burst of humour, he peels himself off the door but won't get any closer, regarding Mizuki like one might a wild animal. "No," he breathes, shakes his head, smiling. Then again, firmer, "no."
Mizuki sighs, rubs his eyes, feels his body starting to get cold as the endorphins wear off, as his muscles start to cool down and relax, it's easiest to agree so that's what he does, "okay, just, do whatever you want. I need a shower."
The evening passes quietly, they mostly exist separately, Mizuki sits down on the couch and watches Sly curl into himself at his side, tilts his head so he can see his face, squished up between his knees. Sly scowls, turns to face the opposite direction.
So he gives up, on trying to make Sly talk, on being anywhere near him, sets himself up at the dining table and decides he might as well get some work done since Sly isn't talking, since neither of them are. He gets the rotas done for the rest of the month, puts holiday requests into his diary, answers some tattoo queries that are sitting in his inbox, sends estimates of prices and time frames and appointments for consultations if they're needed.
He makes food that Sly doesn't so much as touch, fights the urge to snap in annoyance as he stares at the plate proffered to him and does nothing. He manages to hold his temper, manages not to yell, but the plate hits the coffee table very hard.
Sly goes to bed without speaking and the living room feels a lot nicer without him in it. Mizuki feels bad for thinking that, locks his tablet and puts all his books away, flops onto the sofa to watch something. He's not exactly thrilled about the idea of going to bed with Sly who is obviously pissed about something.
Somebody told Mizuki once that you should never go to sleep on an argument, problem is, he's not sure if that even applies because they haven't argued, Sly is quiet, moody, Mizuki is irritated, but they haven't actually fought.
He can't sleep anyway, the room is a decent temperature but his brain won't shut up, he thinks about what he might have done to cause this, about what's going on with Sly in general. He wishes he knew. He sighs again, aware of his sleeping company and rolls onto his back, stares at the ceiling, wondering what's gone wrong, wondering when things will be easy. He thinks there is an acid rain falling over them, slowly dissolving the mortar. He shuts his eyes, tries earnestly to sleep.
"I'm sorry," the room is quiet other than the whirl of the fan so Mizuki hears him clear enough even with his weak, fragile voice.
Mizuki wants to be annoyed, he wants to demand that Sly explain himself, that he just fucking talk to him, but he doesn't, he can't be. He can tell Sly is struggling with something and he knows that turning it into an argument will only make him less likely to talk. So he exhales gustily and rolls over, meets his lowered eyes, he doesn't try to reach out and touch.
"I'm just in a shitty mood," Mizuki hums faintly, he's not sure that's the entirety of the problem, but it's a start, so he stays quiet and let's him talk. "Therapy fucking sucked."
"What did you talk about?"
Sly eyes flick up, meet Mizuki's and skitter away again. They look guilty, even in the dim light.
"Oh," he breathes, thinks, ouch. "Have I done something?"
"Of course you haven't."
"Have you?"
Sly looks momentarily annoyed, huffs as if the question is a great inconvenience, "no."
"Then what's wrong?"
Sly meets his eyes then, at the imploring tone in his voice, sags into his pillow, thinks.
He knows what's wrong, he's the only one that does, but he can't say it aloud, he feels suddenly, so ashamed.
He's startled to realise his eyes are wet, that his chest feels tight, that he feels suddenly, very much like he might crumble apart. He shuts his eyes, he feels guilt, thick in his throat, trying to choke him. He is keeping a secret and it is tearing him apart.
Mizuki reaches for him, and though Sly wants to move away, wants to push him back, wants to be somewhere else altogether, he let's his hands reach his skin, exhales shakily as he feels Mizuki's broad, warm palms on his back. Sometimes Mizuki holds him so tightly he feels like he cannot break. Tonight Mizuki holds him and he breaks in spite of it.
He manages not to cry, Mizuki pulls him closer, into his body so he drapes across his chest, his face hidden in the crook of his shoulder, wraps arms around him and holds him still. His palms seem to burn Sly's skin, he feels so cold everywhere Mizuki doesn't touch him.
"It's okay," Mizuki murmurs, cards a hand slowly through his hair over and over, soothing. "You don't have to tell me."
"I will eventually."
"Maybe, but right now you don't have to." Sly's still annoyed, still prickly, but under Mizuki's hands he relaxes, releases his anger, he let's Mizuki lift his face up so he can see him, so he can really look at him.
He thinks of telling him, of just blurting it out and going from there but his tongue feels stuck in place, trapped inside his mouth.
He can't say it, but he can ask something else.
"Are we okay?"
His voice is so small, so uncertain, Mizuki softens more when he hears it, rubs a hand up and down his back, smiles, thumbs tenderly across his cheek, "of course we are."
Sly feels, again, the weight of someone's love.
Kins been at Tio’s place for a while, he'd stayed after the storm, over a month give or take a couple of nights where he couldn’t be bothered with the walk back to Tio's. It's been nice, Tio's really liked having him there all the time, so when he'd started to make noise about going back to his own place to get the plumbing fixed he'd been almost tempted to tell him not to bother. The words had been on the tip of his tongue, cancel your lease, go get your stuff and stay here. He hadn't said it though, as much as he loves Kin being with him all the time, and surprisingly he does love it almost all of the time, he knows it's probably a bad idea to have him move in when their relationship is still new.
So he helps him pack the few things that have migrated over, kisses him goodbye, and watches him leave without objecting. It had sort of stung, actually, watching him leave, even with the knowledge that he'd been seeing him the next day. His apartment seems very empty without his gangling limbs, without his voice.
Things go back to normal, and it's actually a bit depressing.
The restaurant has reopened and while Kin isn't exactly thrilled about it, he's at least glad he's getting the income from it, he'd still been paying rent while his place was unlivable and while he's saved on food and other things, he's still been stretched pretty thin. His manager, of course, still hates the mere sight of him, but Kin decides he doesn't give a shit, he is happy, things are going well and she can quite frankly, burn in hell. He greets her with a sunny good morning on his first day back and when she frowns at him like he's called her some kind of slur, he just keeps smiling and heads into the locker room to put his apron on.
Things continue on like that, his manager throws around little insults and jabs and Kin completely ignores her, he doesn't give a shit what she thinks of him, he works hard to take care of his mother, of himself. If she can't see that, it's her loss. Besides, he has people now who bolster his belief that she is wrong, for the first time in a long time, her jabs do not sting, they barely even land, she tells him he looks a mess and he knows she is wrong because Tio says he looks nice in his shirt. She tells him he's going too slowly and his co-workers say completely different.
He goes in one day, expecting more of the same, and is surprised to see she is nowhere to be found, asks the line cook quietly where she is, the man, busy peeling potatoes shrugs and says she's called in sick.
Kin has never known her to do that, she is in every day before they open and leaves after they close, she orders all the stock and cashes up the till and supervises the cleaning and the running of the whole place.
She isn't back the next day either, or the next.
There isn't a supervisor, she's so tightly wound that she's never bothered to assign any duties to anybody else, Kin secretly thinks she is too cheap to issue a payrise for the promotion.
They muddle through without her, the cooks have to work together to place the order and things are missed, burger buns go unordered and they are off the menu for a week, it's not a big deal, but she will go crazy when she comes back and finds out.
It's a Friday, and they are dead, without their manager they actually get to just hang out and talk, a girl is vaguely sweeping the floor without much effort and the rest of them cluster around the till, wondering what they are meant to do.
"Somebody needs to make next week's rota," the girl sweeping says, she's nice enough but she's quiet and is the managers favourite, it's not a surprise that she is the only one actually working.
Nobody volunteers. They all sort of look at each other and then avoid each others gazes, nobody wants to do extra work they are not being paid for, nobody really knows the others schedules.
"We could just do the same as this week again?"
"I've got two days booked off."
"I've got an appointment."
"I'm not doing four closes again."
The hubbub grows, people are frowning, unhappy, the talking turns into bickering, the wait staff argue over the opening and closing shifts, the line cooks haven't even started placing the order for the next week.
Kin doesn't join in, his shifts at the bar are always the same and so are his shifts at the restaurant, unless he calls in sick he does the same every single week so he is the only one unaffected. This also means he's the only one who offers to help.
He speaks over the growing annoyance of the group, surprised when they actually go quiet and he is the centre of attention, "everyone needs to write down what they can do, if there's an early or a late that suits you more, write it down. Then we can figure it out."
The girl stops sweeping, "that's a good idea. We can use the whiteboard in the office."
"Fantastic," Kin vaguely waves at her, "different pen colours for wait staff and cooks."
It was only an idea, but they all latch onto it, they all actually do it, and when Kin heads into the office they're usually barred from entering later, almost every slot on the organised timetable is filled. There are, of course, some gaps. Nobody wants the Friday or Saturday late, the line cooks of which there are three, all seem able to do different days and times, none of which overlap. Kin stares at it, wonders what he's gotten himself into, sinks into his managers chair and grabs pen and paper from her desk. Gets to work.
He has to do a bit of negotiating, a bit of reasoning to get them fully staffed every day, but he manages it after a bit of convincing and promises he's not entirely sure he can keep regarding the next week along. He keeps reminding people that their manager could be back by then, but they accept his empty promises anyway.
He feels pretty good about it, he's at least relieved that the place will keep running smoothly without any supervision and his co-workers are very glad that somebody has shouldered that responsibility.
Kin’s head pops up from the rota he’s been intensely staring at while he eats his lunch at the bar, he frowns, “who’s dead?”
Not exactly a normal question, nor a sensitively worded one, but hearing the staff mumbling amongst themselves about somebody being dead without much discernible emotion is weird, unnerving. Kin feels a bit anxious suddenly, thinks of Tio and his life-long secret and his eventual confession.
“Managers husband,” the newest hire, and the rudest, Hikari, answers shortly, frowns at him and goes back to gossiping at girl who’s trying in vain to count up the money in the till and isn’t even entertaining her.
“She was married?”
She looks up again, gives him a stare he doesn’t appreciate and says, “obviously?” Her voice is scoffing, Kin feels unfairly irked and rolls his eyes but ignores her, watches her pick at long, pointed nails adorned with charms and wonders why she was even hired in the first place.
“What happened to him?”
Her voice is faintly softer as she responds, she’s fiddling with her hair and her eyes are on the floor, “cancer.”
They hear nothing else of it, the managers absence is suddenly explained and he feels almost bad for her, it’s not exactly easy to sympathise with a woman who has made his life a living hell, but he still does. He wonders, absently as he locks up and heads home, if maybe she’d acted the way she did because she couldn’t cope with the situation as it was, because she’d needed to let her anger out on someone.
Kin is almost glad it wasn’t her husband she directed it at.
Almost.
When Kin arrives at work a week or so later, a note has been taped to the door saying they’re shut, Kin stares at it uncomprehendingly for so long that other staff arrive, Hikari is thrilled, immediately says she’s going home and promptly does exactly that. Kin wants to yell at her to get the hell back, but there’s no point, the sign wasn’t there last night when he locked up and the other assembled staff don’t know anything about it. The bistro tables and chairs are still out given the nice weather and they all just sort of plop themselves at them, at a loss of what they’re actually meant to do. They don’t even know who put up the sign, it could easily be a prank by some kid and they’re all falling for it magnificently.
Kin doesn’t think so.
Various people start leaving about an hour in, nobody is keen to open the restaurant with the mystery sign up and to be honest, they’re all more than happy to just not work for a bit, to get the chance to talk. Tadashi as it turns out has tattoos all over his arms and when he rolls his sleeves up in the warm air there is a burst of surprise from all assembled, he seems stunned they didn’t know and eventually pulls his shirt off to reveal he is covered on every inch his clothes conceal.
Manager didn’t like them, he says, shrugs, casual, so he’d kept them hidden.
Poppy, who was born in England and somehow ended up on the island due to her parents mistakes, laughs and announces with glee that she is a raging lesbian in a polygamous relationship with two girls. Kin stares at her, open mouthed.
Their manager hates gay people, Kin himself is proof of that. Turns out Poppy had seen how he’d been treated and decided it was best to keep her mouth firmly shut at work.
It’s a bit depressing, actually, how little they know about each other despite the fact they’ve been working together for months if not years.
As much as they all feel vague sympathy for their manager, it’s also been really nice not having her there breathing down their necks and ruling the place with an iron fist, the environment has been peaceful, slightly chaotic, but still peaceful.
They’ve fallen quiet, most have gone home or to do other things, but three of them remain, more than happy to waste a few hours chatting and people watching, wasting time.
Kentarou, the gruff line cook spots something, narrows his eyes, says, “look.”
So they do, there is a group of people snaking their way towards them, all in black, Kin can just make out the coffin some of them carry on their shoulders. The manager is coming to them, as is her husband. The restaurant being closed makes some sort of sense and they fall silent and watch them get closer, stand in a sort of awkward display of respect and then baulk when the procession stops and their manager peels herself free.
An uncomfortable silence falls, they mutter vague sympathies and she just watches them absently, there’s a far away look behind her eyes, like she’s not really sure of where she is and what's happening. Grief is a strange thing.
“You can, uh, all go home. Paid holiday, rest of the week,” her smile is thin, weak, her voice is soft and small, Kin can tell she is hurting even with her brave face. The others are more than happy to take the offer, Kentarou claps his shoulder before he heads off, giving the paused group a respectful nod before peeling off in the opposite direction. Kin thinks he is trying to avoid them.
Kin wonders how it feels, losing the other half of yourself, watching them slowly waste away and knowing there is nothing you can do to help. He thinks of Tio, so early still but with so much feeling. His chest is tight at the mere idea.
“Hikari told us what happened,” he begins, uncertain, he intends to carry on, to try to sympathise, maybe to use some sort of generic phrase people use for things like this, but she speaks first.
“Hikari is my niece,”, Kin blinks, stunned , “she’s,” she raises her eyes heavenward but doesn’t say whatever it is she’s thinking. That makes a change. “You know, but she made a good spy.”
Kin thinks he should say something, but there is a funeral procession waiting and he feels their heavy eyes on him, so he just says, “huh?”
She looks at him and sort of falters, sinks back into herself and looks uncertain, “I’m not going to make excuses, for the way I’ve treated you, there’s no point. But I, hope I can make amends, somehow. Hikari tells me you’ve been running the place.”
“I mean, I guess.”
“I’ve been thinking, it’s time for me to retire, I’ve been in this game a long time and I, I’m tired,” her eyes get very faintly wet then, there is a slight glisten of moisture and she sniffs and composes herself. “I’ll keep the business, of course, it’s been in my family a long time, I just, I need somebody to run it.”
Kin fights the urge to look behind him, to see who on earth she is talking to, “I understand if you don’t want to, but, Hikari says you’re the best, so,” she holds out a hand, palm up towards the blue sky, a ring of keys lie in her hands and Kin’s eyes go from them to her.
He thinks it’s best not to mention that he already has a key.
“You’ll make a better manager than I ever did.”
It’s weird, the lack of thinking Kin does before he reaches out and takes the keys from her hand, before he accepts this new, massive responsibility.
He thinks maybe he’ll panic about it later.
“I’ll do my best.” His voice sounds hollow, flat, and she pats his hand absently as she steps back, to regain the small flock of mourners, Kin can just make out Hikari in the back, looking less preened than usual in all black. “I’m, sorry for your loss.”
“Me too,” her tone is soft, devastated, she gives him one last weak smile and heads back into the fold of mourners, somebody puts an arm around her shoulders and Kin sees her for what she really is, an old lady, lonely, afraid.
He stands there until they all round the corner and disappear from his sight, looks down at the keys in his palm, exhales a shaking breath and wants suddenly, desperately, to see his mother.
The day stretches before him, empty and full of promise, and, with a disbelieving smile and a puff of air, he spins on his heel and heads towards the hospital.