Archive of Our Own ^omega

It’s a gorgeous day. 

Shinbashi’s pupils are slit like a cat’s with no affection in them whatsoever. His hair billows in the breeze over his face like a veil; and Oosaki has just now realized that he has a characteristically beautiful high nose, the strap of his eyepatch anchored on the bridge. 

“I’ve been looking into the matter you assigned to me at the start of this year,” Oosaki says. He feels remarkably calm in this moment despite Shinbashi’s unfriendly attitude,”results of the investigation have been inconclusive.”

At the beginning of January when the Fall had just begun to ice over into Winter— as if waiting for the year to end, Shinbashi had propositioned Oosaki to look into Oe An and all of her associates more deeply. He had what he presumed to be a lead in their ongoing efforts to find the client. A young actor who had been under the same talent agency as her. Being on file as having committed suicide a year after her death, the circumstances surrounding his death were dubious.

On this beautiful April morning, there are still remnants of the cherry blossoms blooming. Just like the last time they met, the season is changing. Only this time, the prospect of metamorphosis with a new season, a new year, and a new lead, are eclipsed by an anticlimactic bevy of results.

The wind blows, and the scent of frustration on Shinbashi seems that much more pungent. “I want more advancements next time.” He looks irate, but most of all restless. In this moment Oosaki is reminded of how the corners of his mouth are able to etch a frown so deeply. It’s like a chasm in the center of his face.

He speaks again with a charming air of finality, “Well, then.”

Oosaki’s face twitches minutely while watching him dismiss himself. Like a red herring, there’s a spot on the back of Shinbashi’s suit covered in light brown fur. A cat, Oosaki deduces the pet from Shinbashi’s nature alone. There’s a substantial amount of prejudice there.

And his nose feels itchy.

The morning sky has a collection of large fluffy white clouds. The sunlight peering through them makes the entire daytime troposphere an oppressive white. Oosaki met Shinbashi near his grandmother's grave at Jyomoji. Typically they’d meet at the Shinkiba Detective Agency, or at a cafe overlooking the beach in Kamakura; but Shinbashi called to meet on a Sunday, which is when they were both around this area. Apparently Shinbashi lives nearby, but he was not forthcoming with the details, nor did he invite Oosaki over.

For all of his callousness, Shinbashi is a refined person who Oosaki does not doubt would be an attentive host. It’s precisely why he also does not linger longer than necessary out of respect for others’ time alongside his own. Without wanting to bother with formalities, and all of the liability that comes with treating guests, he’s chosen to keep their meetings impersonal and public like this. Oosaki understands and appreciates that about him as an emissary, but as a person, living that way must be lonely.

He knows this from experience because the part of himself that cannot ever stop being a detective functions in the same vicinity as the open wound in his heart.

Shinbashi met Oosaki at the foot of Jyomoji’s stairs right after he had finished his usual routine of respects. Thus the train ride home has his hands emphatically devoid of white chrysanthemums.

Two days later on a sunny Tuesday at the agency, Shinkiba beckons Oosaki with a wave.

Shinagawa is dusting the area behind the desk, not looking back at them with a greeting of any kind. The young man frequently greets Oosaki with a smile or bow, but right now he seems focused. Oosaki nods at Shinkiba in a sort of half-bow motion,”Shinkiba-San, Good afternoon.”

He smiles at Oosaki with kind eyes,”It’s warming up out there, little by little.” Shinkiba half-leans on the desk, folding his arms,“Can you take a call?”

Dust particles drift behind him, visible white specks where the sunlight filters in through the windows. Oosaki doesn’t have to wonder for too long before Shinkiba clarifies,”Your client called. Yozo Takeshiba-San.”

Oosaki is quiet, but his heart beats. “I understand that you just met with his consociate on the case separately, but it seems he wants to coordinate a meeting with you as well.” He sounds a little apologetic, as if Oosaki’s being worked like a dog and not handsomely paid.

“Where?”

“Arakawa it seems.”

His sweater today is a light linen in a cream color. Even if Shinkiba hadn’t mentioned the recent weather changes, Oosaki would be able to piece together how it’s affecting him from his wardrobe alone. Just last week his pullovers and vests seemed thicker.

“He wanted a call back before 2 pm, I’ll leave the number here.”

Oosaki nods,”Thank you.”

It’s just past noon, and Oosaki is a little late coming in today. As he frequently does, he stepped off of the train on the way here to wait for the next one to kill time. Time feels increasingly fleeting lately with affinity to the client— consistently slipping through Oosaki’s fingers. Above all else, he hasn’t spoken to Takeshiba since the night of the man’s birthday. Oosaki left his business card with Takeshiba and Shinbashi after they had gotten back from Ooejima, but the clandestine meeting with Takeshiba a month later compelled Oosaki to leave his personal number with him as well.

He can still remember the call on the rotary in his shared house. Oosaki thought that it was rude that anyone would have called the house after 7 pm out of respect for the average person who would have been preparing to sleep or already sleeping. Oosaki’s landlady knocked softly on his door at some nondescript time after 9 pm with a call from the man. It was further affirmation that Takeshiba wasn’t the average person.

The sound of Takeshiba’s voice when he calls today is the same color it was at that time. Oosaki can paint every conversation he’s ever had with him.

“Tantei-San.”

“Takeshiba-San.” Oosaki answers him with a feeling like a wall in the back of his throat. In the corner of his eye, Shinagawa steps past his peripheral, wanting to be noticed. He finally bows a greeting to Oosaki, and Oosaki bows back, still holding the phone to his left ear. “Your boss tell ya the details? I wanted to meet if you’re free anytime before the end of the month.”

“Yes, he told me. I can be in Arakawa at any time after 3 pm.” He gives those details while thinking about navigating the Tokaido line. “Any day after tomorrow.”

His voice is inflectionless, but the words push out of him like a sigh. He wants to see Takeshiba again as soon as possible, especially after that phone call at the beginning of last month. Shinkiba might have been right to offer his own form of sympathy. Oosaki hasn’t really had much time to himself to even think about speaking with Takeshiba outside of anything apropos to the case.

“Okay, 4 pm, let’s meet at Oku Station and go from there. I wanted to take the detective somewhere specific.”

Oosaki finds himself feeling oddly nostalgic for the boat ride they shared together from Ooejima. It feels like it was years ago. “Is this related to the case?”

Oosaki hears a muffled version of Takeshiba’s voice, like he’s covering the part of the phone you talk into to speak to someone else. He confirms after a few seconds,”Ah sorry…! I’m borrowing my neighbor’s landline. I wanted to stay till 2 so you had some time to call me back, but I don’t wanna bother these nice people, so I’ll be brief.” His voice is one long run-on sentence, undulating in inflection like a cat’s meow,”Yeah, it’s about the case, sorta.”

Oosaki stays silent for his explanation while holding his breath.

“In truth, I kinda just wanted to talk to you, man ta’ man. I know the detective wouldn’t laugh at me, so two hares, one wolf. The 16th good?”

That’s quite the rendition of that idiom, but Oosaki gets it. In any case, he hopes for good weather that day. “Yes, that’s fine. Oku Station, 4 pm on the 16th.”

“See ya then~!”

Takeshiba is the one who hangs up, a smile in his voice before the line dies. Oosaki puts the earpiece of the wooden wall phone back. He finds himself gazing into the reflection of the bell on it, blinking slowly. It’s April 3rd, so that’ll be just under two weeks from now. Should I get a haircut next Wednesday?

Oosaki gets a haircut the subsequent Thursday; as he unwittingly found himself hosting a meeting with Daiba Shizuma that Wednesday.

It’s astonishing how cooperative that man is to meet last minute and even at all, especially considering how Oosaki’s investigation implicates him. He can see the view of the cityscape passing him by outside of the train without his bangs veiling the view. His hair is one of those things he allows to bother him simply because taking care of it is so low on his list of priorities. It’s much like eating, where he has no proper concept of doing anything for himself outside of necessity. The simple privilege of not straining his eyes to see past his hair is like gold in the midst of his asceticism. Seeing Takeshiba today invokes a similar emotion.

Oosaki feels like the train all but spits him out at Oku station. The weather is good today like he’d hoped, and it’s warmed up considerably since the very beginning of April. Clouds above make the afternoon sky overcast, but there wasn’t a forecast for rain of any sort from Kanagawa up to Tokyo. The warm breeze rolling in feels decisively dry as well.

Oosaki turns his wrist into view, gazing at his watch beneath a gloved hand. 4:09 pm.

The next train comes, and he’s surprised at how quickly he spots Takeshiba.

He’s in a recognizable mint green suit with a colorful brooch on the left lapel. It’s a nice addition to his appearance and reflects his personality well. He’s walking from a train car that didn’t pass by Oosaki,“There you are, Tantei-San!”

Up close, Oosaki can see that the brooch is of a tropical bird with a plumage made of stained glass. It glitters at Oosaki, the red head of the bird reflecting the glow of the sun in a similar fashion to Takeshiba’s eyes. “Woah, you got a haircut?” He pats Oosaki’s shoulders with deference, grinning at him.

“Yes. It’s good to see you, Takeshiba-San.”

“No need for all the niceties. More than anything, thanks for meetin’ with me.”

He steps a little in a half-circle with his gaze shifting everywhere,”Hmm~ Hhhmmm~! What do’ya say, should we catch another train together, or take a bus?” Oosaki’s response is indifferent even after the older man insists on relaying the fares for both options. Takeshiba takes the lead thereon with a comment akin to ‘Well it’s on my dime anyway, huh?’

They go from Oku Station to Nippori Station, getting on the Joban line towards Narita. “Where are we going?” Oosaki finally asks, looking down at where Takeshiba’s sitting next to him. They’re so close that Oosaki can smell his aftershave. “Mikawashima.” He’s looking at a couple three rows ahead, the playful glint in his eyes dull. “Sorry, should I have been more descriptive with the place?”

Oosaki’s voice is like a shrug,”It’s fine.”

“ It’s fine?! You aren’t even curious!” His head whips towards Oosaki, and he starts waving his fan in front of him reproachfully. Oosaki’s lips are pressed into a fine line,”...What’s in Mikawashima?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Okay. Oosaki thinks lamely. He remembers holding this man in a judo lock and forcing him to apologize and his soul feels remarkably calm once more.

Leaving the train station, they walk for a little over 10 minutes to a tall brick building with healthy looking trees lining the sidewalk. Arakawa is bustling, but rather quaint compared to places like Kamakura. Mikawashima reminds Oosaki of Hiratsuka just a bit in that aspect. There are a few pedestrians walking around, and Oosaki watches a well-dressed woman in blue hitch a taxi. “We’re here.” Takeshiba says gently.

There are no stained glass windows, but it’s obvious from the saint motifs on the building’s exterior that this is a church. They walk through what seems to be a courtyard into the actual building, and are immediately greeted by a woman with a puritan collared blouse who introduces herself as the church’s receptionist. She bows so deeply that Oosaki stops to do it back. Takeshiba follows suit, smiling at her,”We’re just here for some self-service, is that alright?”

Oosaki’s not familiar enough with Christianity to chime in, but he’s pretty sure coming to church on a weekday to loiter is atypical. To his surprise, the receptionist agrees, gesturing towards the nave with another quick bow.

“Excuse us~!” Takeshiba chirps, sitting in the second pew from the altar. It seems as though it’s only just now sinking in that Oosaki’s been brought to a church. He looks around dumbly, drinking in the interior design choices. The carpet is so red that it’s almost distracting; not only that but the ceiling feels rather low as well. Oosaki watches as Takeshiba claps his hands together, closing his eyes.

The older man’s lips don’t move. His expression in of itself seems calm, the overhead chandeliers hitting the highest points of all of his features and making the top of his head look glossy. It’s relatively chilly in the church, to the point where the sensation of his suit sticking to his back is being extinguished the longer Oosaki sits. Oosaki looks forward to the altar, waiting for Takeshiba to finish. He would say a prayer himself, but he considers himself to be rather agnostic; and praying to a God you don’t believe in feels more sacrilegious than not praying altogether.

After a few seconds, the sterile air is disturbed by the menthol scent of Takeshiba’s aftershave once more. Whenever he shifts even slightly, Oosaki swears he can smell him more distinctly— like a cat rubbing its face against a surface and spreading its pheromones. He blinks down at the man, whose gaze is fixated on the wooden crucifix at the altar. “Do you come to this place often?”

“Huh? Ah… No.” He sounds like he’s still ruminating over something and Oosaki is disturbing him. “I just thought Arakawa’d be a good place to meet.”

Oosaki takes that answer with a slow blink, remembering the last time they met it was near the Sumida river as well. Maybe Takeshiba was familiar with this general area. “Then why a church?” Oosaki asks.

“So frank.”

“Someone mentioned that I should be more curious.”

Takeshiba laughs, and shoves at Oosaki shoulder-to-shoulder like a good natured friend. He has his fan opened, covering his mouth while he giggles into it. “Nahaha—! Tantei-San… You got me there.”

There’s a set of footsteps and shuffling behind them at the entrance, a surround sound system of sorts playing low pipe organ music. Takeshiba looks forward again, dispelling his fan and holding it in his lap. “The truth is, I find it easier to pray in places I’m unfamiliar with.”

Oosaki nods,”I understand. It must be difficult, facing that person.” He’s vague purposefully, giving no quantifiers for who he means. The bubbly restaurant owner Takeshiba had been trying to bare his heart to, the Priest who had heard his sins and still taught him sign language, his daughter. Even the remnants of his own sins and every physical manifestation of them. There was no telling what consumed Takeshiba’s soul at this point in time. The older man thinks on Oosaki’s words, validating the phrasing with a wry smile.

“Usually you’d come to a place of worship to shed yourself of your sins,” his voice is tight, all of his words coming out in one big breath. Like if he doesn’t say them now, he never will,”but when I step into that place, it’s like the weight of them becomes so much heavier.”

“The kind of person I am, Tantei-San,” Takeshiba’s smile softens at the edges with a sort of sardonic platitude,”...You must understand.”

Takeshiba reminds Oosaki in that moment that he is the kind of person who would smile even in tragedy. He answers this man affably,”At Ooejima… I understood many things about myself that I wouldn’t have been able to figure out if I had never gone. Takeshiba-San might be the same.”

Takeshiba hums after a heartbeat of silence, the sound akin to a purr and colored in a wash of grey. “...Amen.”

And thus their conversation lapses naturally, the pipe organ recording playing softly in the background of their encounter. A moment like this reminds Oosaki of their first meeting, when Ariake had left them to their own devices in the onsen. Takeshiba is still naturally comfortable to be around despite a murder attempt, a night of passion, an awkward drunken phone call, and multiple confessionals just like this. Whatever cross Takeshiba is bearing, Oosaki wishes he could help him carry it. Of course, he doesn’t have a name for that feeling, nor does he know where it comes from.

“Then! Should we get something to eat?”

Oosaki waits for Takeshiba to stand before he does as well. He nods just once, exiting the pew first.

In all truth, Oosaki isn’t really hungry. There are many things that have not changed about him since returning from Ooejima. He still does not crave food, nor does he eat that much. Takeshiba gleefully walks with Oosaki around a more populated area, far away from the Mikawashima church, and even further from the train station. There’s more human traffic as well; Oosaki has been shoulder-checked twice now in the span of 25 minutes.

The afternoon sun is setting and purveying the blue-white noon sky a deeper azure. The sun too, which had been a white beam through the clouds only hours ago, glows warm like a flame now. When Oosaki looks up he can see the sky and clouds past power lines and utility poles. The sounds of life and people reminds him of the days he had been trapped on Ooejima, which had not even a bird cutting through the daytime sky. In all ways, Oosaki had been deserted with just 9 other people, including Takeshiba— of which is currently haggling with a yatai owner.

It’s a ramen and street food push-cart amidst a few other vendors. One of them nearby is selling western-looking sweets and has a gaggle of teenagers lingering around it. It is about that season, huh? Oosaki thinks, briefly making eye contact with a young woman in a long pleated skirt. Her eyes travel up Oosaki, as if scaling a wall to see how tall it is. She blushes, simpering at him with a cream puff in hand. He looks away at the crown of Takeshiba’s head before fixating on the brooch at his lapel again.

There’s a red nylon lantern at the cart’s front, with “Ramen” in katakana printed on it. It’s reflecting a colored glow on Takeshiba’s sweat-sheened face and making his brooch twinkle all over his cheeks. The price for a flavored bowl with eggs and nori is ¥162. Soy, salt, miso, and sesame are the broth choices, and meat is an extra 60 yen.

“Go down a peg! Go down a peg! I’ll make it worth your while, and I’ll even get niboshi too, so don’t make a grown man like me beg…!” The cart owner shoots Takeshiba a look with a disturbing level of insouciance. His eyebrow only quirks at the prospect of the man making a bowl of ramen ‘Worth his while.’

For some reason, Oosaki feels hot right at the back of his neck like the Sun is glaring the gift of premonition into his brain stem.

“How about a little show, for a cheap, hot meal for my friend and I?” He pulls out a deck of cards from the breast pocket of his suit coat. Remarkably, they’re still the soiled ones from back then. He makes a show of shuffling them, first with one hand.

“This big guy is my junior.” The cart owner laughs at that, all of the ridges on his round face deep and wrinkly and creasing evermore from raw amusement,”Can’t believe it, huh? But it’s true! And as his elder… I gotta take care of him, ne?”  

When Takeshiba waterfalls the cards from one hand to the other, a few people gather in intrigue. The heat at the back of Oosaki’s neck is almost oppressive now. He watches a far enough distance from Takeshiba to look like a bystander, but close enough to look like his assistant. The older man does a particularly impressive horizontal shuffle from one hand to the other, catching every card seamlessly. He offers them to the man with a flare only bestowed upon natural-born performers.

“You draw a card, and I draw a card. If they’re copies, Voilà! Discount!”

The few onlookers turn to each other and mumble, and the cart owner has no choice but to comply with the commotion now. Two cards, same suit, potentially the same number or court picture as well. The chances of a match are slim unless he manipulated the deck somehow. Oosaki stays quiet, wishing he had just offered to buy the meal instead.

The man behind the yatai stand reaches for an ink-stained card, the backs face-up for ambiguity. He turns the card over and places it back into Takeshiba’s hands. It’s a simple nine club card.

The sun is setting extremely fast.

“Oosaki-Kun,” Takeshiba says, his voice etched with a smile.

His heart drops.

“Check in your collar for my card, won’t ya?”

The warmth in his neck suddenly feels scalding when Oosaki reaches back in his collar and is able to pull out a card. It stuck to his nape like a scab, peeling effortlessly for him to reveal it for all of the onlookers.

It’s facing up, so that there’s no suspense for anyone: a glossy nine club card.

Two men nearby, hit each other with an ‘UWAH—!’ in unison. Everyone’s so amused, even the yatai man. More than anything, Oosaki is relieved.

Oosaki remembers being pat down at Oku station and passively closes the distance between him and this deft culprit. He hands a triumphant Takeshiba his missing card while pondering the ethics of magic. If guile begets glee, was it an advanced form of swindling or the simple spreading of joy?

Takeshiba speaks loudly at Oosaki as the small crowd disperses,“Tantei-San, Tantei-San, don’t look so miffed! Sorry for makin’ you my assistant against your wishes, okay~?”

Oosaki presses the words past his lips,”It’s fine.”

“In any case, the old man’s gonna give us each bowls discounted! What did you want?”

He looks around,”I’ll have the Gyoza.” The feeling of hunger still hasn’t found him, and Oosaki knows that he will not want to finish a bowl of ramen of any sort. “ Gy— Oi, Oosaki-Kuuun~? Earth to the detective~! Don’t you think you’re being a little too modest?” His accent is the thickest when he’s agitated. “A big guy like you should have tonkatsu, with all of the fixings! It’s discounted after all.”

“...I’m fine with just the Gyoza, thank you.”

Takeshiba stops fighting him, even though it’s obvious he wants to keep doing so.

By the time they sit down with their food, the sky is marbling the nearby river with the hues of the setting sun. Takeshiba holds his shoyu ramen, dressed with braised pork, eggs, bamboo shoots and green onions like a king. All of it is under ¥160.

They eat in comfortable silence, Oosaki eating slowly and still finishing first. When a stray cat approaches them looking rather thin, Oosaki is acutely aware of his own existence. He was like this in his adolescence. Hungry and emaciated and wanting a savior. He was probably like this in a past life too.

Takeshiba had watched Oosaki give the cat one of his three pieces of gyoza with a reverent gaze. Even while slurping his noodles now and looking out onto the glittering waterscape, there’s a poignancy being held in his eyes. “Tantei-San, you gotta eat more. That shopkeeper must think I’m a bad guy.”

“I think that he seemed to like you.” Oosaki turns to Takeshiba and watches him put a bamboo shoot past his lips. His protruding canine is a speck of ivory in his mouth.

I am of the belief that Takeshiba-San is a good person, even in the way he is conscious about how people perceive him. Oosaki thinks with his hands folded over his lap.

Takeshiba hums, the corners of his lips turned upwards. Such a small comment seemed to make him happy. He speaks again when he finishes chewing,”I have some SUPER bad luck, y’know?” Oosaki’s sitting at Takeshiba’s right, so he can see the side of his face with no canopy of bangs,”I fell on my face getting on the train earlier, and this thing hurt my chest so bad I think there’s a bruise.” He gestures towards the brooch on his lapel with a small wave. “I didn’t think we’d hit the jackpot on some discounted dinner, that’s just the kind of day I was having.”

Takeshiba picks up the last bite of his chashu in between his chopsticks. It’s cooled significantly since they sat down, but it’s still smoldering with white translucent steam. “Maybe the detective is my good luck charm.”

Oosaki wants to say something to that, but no words come out. He lacks so much tact in these situations, it’s almost laughable. Maybe they’re both clowns, in their respective ways. “…Thank you for the meal.”

“Don’t mind it~!”

He finishes his food with a lot of chews, savoring it like he’ll never taste it again. That part of Takeshiba is attractive to Oosaki; where he appreciates what he has and doesn’t hyperfocus on what he does not. Even when being frequently abandoned by Lady Luck and feeling forlorn about his finances— even when burdened by his sins and tormented with the visage of his past, he still is able to take life on without being discouraged. Maybe it’s his faith keeping him going, or maybe that’s just the kind of person he is.

Takeshiba turns to Oosaki, straightening his back that had been unconsciously slouched.

“I was supposed to be treating you. For your birthday.”

The older man’s eyes squint with a crinkle at the edges,”What did you have in mind….?”

“I initially wanted to buy you dinner, but you’ve gone and taken care of me.”

Takeshiba opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but closes it almost immediately. He’s glossy on his forehead like he’s just now broken out into a full blown cold sweat.

“When you called me last month, you seemed intoxicated, do you remember the nature of our conversation?”

“Haha… Why am I bein’ interrogated all of the sudden?”

Oosaki stares at Takeshiba.

“I… I think I can remember! Give me a second, it was also a minute ago, so it’s all hazy.”

“Healing.” Oosaki says, frankly,”Takeshiba-San used that word.”

He’s silent, color perforating his skin in a wash of pink. “Was it? Ah, well. I’m sorry for asking for something like that from you.” His eyes have a nervous judder to them. Oosaki speaks back calmly,”Were you ever able to solve the issue you were having before?”

“…Not exactly.”

“And the restaurant hostess…?”

“No luck.” He says it in such a way that’s cute and self-deprecating.

Oosaki nods, holding his gaze,”Then I’d be willing to help you again.”

Takeshiba’s forced smile finally overstays its welcome, his lips falling into a flat line. A particularly large bead of sweat falls from his temple to his jaw while the sun fully sets beyond the horizon.

“Then… Should we get a hotel?”

“I feel so bad,” Takeshiba says it while they walk in past the door of their room. The inn is a large tsurekomi in between a clinic and breakfast diner. He’s holding his shoes with his head down,“I’m a grown man, and yet I can’t seem to figure out any other methods for healing myself that doesn’t involve something so troublesome for you.”

Oosaki, with his shoes already off and situated, takes Takeshiba’s from him. “Ah, thank you!” Oosaki nods, putting the older man’s shoes in a shelf next to his own.

The room is western with a large bed in the middle of it and nightstands framing the headboard. Each are adorned with umbrella shaped Tiffany lamps, and both are turned off in favor of the overhead bulb in a comparatively modest ceiling fixture.

Oosaki sits next to Takeshiba on the edge of the bed, gazing at him. His heart is suddenly beating extremely fast, like he’s been left alone with his crush. The quality of the silence is different too.

Takeshiba breaks it with a shy voice,“Should I be honest…?” Oosaki lets him speak while staring at the top of his styled ink-black hair,”I actually was hoping you’d ask to see me like this again.” His smile has a wobble to it, and his yaeba protrudes in such a way that it makes his top lip rest with a pout like a cat’s. “... I even prepared something.”

Oosaki silently watches as Takeshiba clasps his hands, and with a sudden sleight of hand movement, he reveals a small, almost toothpaste-like tube of surgical lubricant. Takeshiba unveils it with a spontaneous look of triumphance, bashful at the edges and deluged in pink.

“Where were you able to get such a thing?” Oosaki intones.

“I know a guy.”

“Shijoumae-San?”

Takeshiba’s wayward perspiration is a sight to behold live; and triggering it is the equivalent to summoning an actor to cry on cue. ”That’s a good guess~”

It seems like it’s the right one. Oosaki thinks, blinking at Takeshiba. “I want you to do what you did last time. This kind of thing really helps. Do ya think we can?”

He asks for permission with the same voice he used when haggling with the yatai owner. It makes Oosaki feel warm all over,”That’s fine.”

“Then…!” He gestures in such a way that prompts Oosaki to take the lube from him like it’s an offering. He wastes no time taking off his clothes. His suit jacket is the first to go, that incandescent stained-glass brooch still pinned to his lapel. Oosaki reads the room and sets the tube down on the bed to stand and strip as well. Things are moving surprisingly fast— so fast that he can’t believe that this is the same man he watched pray earlier.

Oosaki had strategically removed the clothes on his upper-body first, but Takeshiba was all over the place to the point where he’s holding Oosaki’s forearm while still wearing his dress shirt and a pair of colorful boxers. He looks like a lover with his shirt untucked and unbuttoned. The lack of pants adds to the allure as well. Oosaki can see this person making breakfast in the morning in just this.

Takeshiba had grabbed him to get his attention, but Oosaki thwarted all attempts at intelligent communication with his own useless thoughts.

“You’re makin’ me nervous, what’s that look in your eyes?”

“...Nothing.” Oosaki unclasps his belt, and Takeshiba smiles, eyes fixated on the zipper right below his buckle. “S-Should we start with kissing again…?” He says it with a childish lilt, opting for the word chu . It’s hard to believe such a man turned 34 years old a month ago.

Oosaki nods, only allowing for three seconds to pass before stepping forward to hold Takeshiba’s face. He kisses him like the first time, so fervently that their teeth bump and Oosaki can feel his gums tingle. He thought this the first time he kissed Takeshiba, but the older man tastes surprisingly neutral despite this time and the last time they had eaten food beforehand. Even when sweating all day, the only scent hanging onto Takeshiba is his diluted perfume and the smell of outside air.

Takeshiba wraps his arms around Oosaki’s midsection, pulling him in so that there’s no room left in between them. They both kiss in a way that lacks tact. Where Oosaki’s naivety comes from genuine inexperience, it’s very obvious that Takeshiba is used to being kissed, and not much else. The way that his past influences him till this day makes Oosaki ache for him. Takeshiba is stiff like a board and shaking like a leaf at the same time; but it’s obvious he’s more comfortable with the act than before.

Oosaki pulls away to breathe against his mouth,”No tears this time. That’s good.”

“To be praised for such a thing…” disbelief makes the reply equally airy.

They kiss again, alternating between rubbing their tongues together and pressing lips. Takeshiba scratches Oosaki’s back with blunt nails, gentle and just pressing deep enough into his skin for sensation to blossom. He shudders internally, chasing the other man’s lips when he pulls away for air.

“I-It’s hard against me…~” Takeshiba murmurs. He’s smiling artfully, and sweating so much that he looks like he’s been heavily misted. “Tantei-San, make sure you lend me some of your energy.”

There’s an irritated edge to Oosaki’s voice when he responds,“Takeshiba-San, when we do this, please call me Oosaki.”

“Oosaki-Kun.” The sound of his own name fills Oosaki’s mouth when Takeshiba whispers it. Their noses are rubbing, his emberous eyes shining deep and dark with his pupils blown wide affectionately. Oosaki’s whole being responds to Takeshiba, a feeling like molten lava in the base of his stomach.

Kissing Takeshiba feels decisively natural. Despite all of the reasons why they ended up in this predicament once more, the intimacy shared between them is like that of lovers. Oosaki had let Takeshiba go after a night and day of passion. Not only that, the man had added most of his input regarding the investigation through Shinbashi. The drunken phone call last month had been the first time Oosaki had formally heard from Takeshiba since that fateful October. He forces himself not to feel a way about that fact and fails while laying the older male onto the bed.

He’s still in his dress shirt with a look pinned in between nervousness and enthusiasm. Takeshiba talks a lot, but specifically now he just watches Oosaki discard the rest of his clothes and mount him wordlessly. Oosaki is the one who has to break the silence,”Do you think it would be better for you if I used my mouth?”

Takeshiba smiles with no teeth showing,”Hm? Ah, Oosaki-Kun doesn’t need to do all that—”

“I want to.”

Takeshiba shuts his mouth again, still smiling. He sweats profusely again. “I… I haven’t showered.”

“I would prefer to do such a thing clean too,” Honestly, he would make the same objection if their positions were switched. Though this is one of those times Oosaki’s ineptitude at conveying eagerness bothers him. “But Takeshiba-San is already odorless.”

Before he can really object to that, Oosaki’s pulling the hem of his boxers down. His half-on dress shirt lies in such a way that Oosaki can see his hip bones. He wastes no time pulling the undergarments up and off of Takeshiba’s body, the smooth undersides of his thighs pale and milky like silken tofu. It’s almost laughable how the fat in his body is distributed, but he’s still every bit of beautiful in his own way.

Oosaki drapes himself over Takeshiba again, slotting in between his opened legs and rubbing up his clothed waist.

Takeshiba looks at Oosaki through his eyelashes,“...Oosaki-Kun.”

“Yes,” He answers knowingly, dropping his face to kiss Takeshiba again.

At this angle, Oosaki’s bangs press against Takeshiba’s forehead, the sweat there making his hair wet. Oosaki licks into his mouth while unbuttoning his shirt, relishing in the sound Takeshiba makes against his tongue. He’s half hard against Takeshiba’s inner thigh, the pads of his gloved thumbs rubbing against the older male’s nipples. They do this thing where they keep their lips attached, just brushing; and neither of them can bring themselves to fully close their eyes. “Say, can you hear my heartbeat..?”

Oosaki pulls away with all of his weight on his knees. He shifts down, hands still holding Takeshiba like a stack of papers while he presses his ear against the center of Takeshiba’s chest, listening. His heartbeat was loud enough to be heard even before Oosaki fully laid his face against him, but up close his heart is like a taiko drum. The sound is incubated in his torso and echoes in Oosaki’s brain. It’s calming.

Oosaki isn’t aware of the maternal nature of their position until Takeshiba starts petting his head. “You should take off your gloves, Oosaki-Kun.”

He hesitates, letting himself listen to Takeshiba’s still-ardent pulse. This act in of itself is Takeshiba flaying himself open and raw; maybe Oosaki could try to match him in vulnerability. He sits up and does what he’s told, ever the obedient junior and dutiful helper. Oosaki still hasn’t unlearned the part of himself that believes he is a monster deserving of death-inducing repentance, but he will be a benevolent monster in this moment with someone so fragile.

Their frayed edges slot together perfectly, woven into one piece like a scrap fabric quilt.

Takeshiba looks at him with lidded eyes that beg Oosaki, Touch me.

The amount of gentle touches Oosaki bestows upon Takeshiba rivals that of an affectionate pet owner. He makes a show of sucking his nipples just how he likes, biting at one point just to mélange his pain and pleasure senses. 

“Ahhhhh…! I can’t take it~ I really can’t take it.” 

Oosaki looks up at Takeshiba through his bangs with a dense quality to his gaze that’s almost like a touch of its own. Being so close to his breast, Oosaki can hear the thunderous leap of his heartbeat.

Murderous eyes that make one fear for their life , Takeshiba had said something like that before.

Oosaki notices a bruise at the top of the other man’s left pec and kisses it. That has to be where he had fallen on his brooch. Such a clumsy person didn’t deserve to be burdened by Oosaki’s feelings of selfish greed; as it would be just one of many things he had unwittingly fallen into.

Oosaki kisses lower, and lower, down past his sternum before licking inside of his belly button. Takeshiba full body shivers, eyes fluttering closed as if that was the final straw.

“It’s no good, really, who taught you such a thing—!”

Once again, Oosaki refrains from admitting that Takeshiba is his first and last in many areas, this being one of them. He hums noncommittally, pressing his thumbs into the lines of the older man’s pelvis and forcing his hips into stillness. “I’m going to proceed with oral sex now.”

“So frank.” Takeshiba parrots his earlier retort. “I can’t imagine doin’ this for someone like me, so please, don’t force yourself.”

Oosaki dislikes it when Takeshiba talks about himself that way. He doesn’t give him another opportunity to do so, opting to take Takeshiba’s penis into his mouth. It requires the same amount of skill to do with no hands as eating food being served from another person’s chopsticks. The act of oral in of itself feels very perfunctory. Maybe it’s because Takeshiba is still flaccid, but Oosaki feels a pang in the back of his brain. A feeling of inadequacy that even this may not be enough— that he’s generally not enough for Takeshiba on all affronts.

Oosaki focuses on keeping all of the muscles in his face attuned to this action, finding out in less than two minutes that the required muscles themselves are quite complex. His jaw aches after only five minutes, an excruciating level of self consciousness making him hyper-aware of every way Takeshiba responds. He’s frighteningly stationary, and arousal still hasn’t pumped blood anywhere it needs to be. It looks like it’s all centered in his face— a trail of red all the way down to his shoulders like a thermometer.

“Ah… Tantei-San, it’s no good. I-I’m scared…”

As if hit with a sudden paroxysmal blow, the wetness gathering in Takeshiba’s tear ducts spill over. Large teardrops mix with his clammy skin and make his flushed face almost lacquerous. He throws a forearm over his face, shuddering and crying with short breaths like he’s in plain panic.

Oosaki lifts his face to resume his position above Takeshiba again. “Takeshiba-San.”

“I’m sorry…” his voice trembles, tinny and puerile,”I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” there’s a hiccup in between the words, tears pouring out in waves.

Oosaki is exceptionally bad at comforting others, so all he can do is watch. His palms start to burn with a phantom pain. That day too, he had been a bystander, unable to save the person closest to him. Am I always going to be the cause of such suffering?

Oosaki touches his wrist, pulling the older man’s arm from his face. Takeshiba turns away, sobbing into the pillow and trying to gather himself. “Takeshiba-San,” Oosaki calls, ”Takeshiba-San.”

The last chant of Takeshiba’s name seems to sober him. He looks like he’s awoke from a nightmare, his eyes shot with a look akin to a deer in headlights.

“What are you feeling right now?”

“… Tante— “ Oosaki watches him come back in real time,”Oosaki-Kun…”

Oosaki leans forward, pressing their foreheads together,”Do you want to stop…?”

Takeshiba’s slowing his own breathing,”No.”

“A…anything but that… I want to be cured.” He’s still shaking, but his eyes are finally clear again,”I just, felt the way I felt back then. Nyaha…ha…”

Before Oosaki can ask, Takeshiba clarifies,”I used to be scared of being ‘eaten’ , isn’t it silly to feel that way as an old man…?” He breaks out into a pitiful laugh, his long dark eyelashes still holding the dewy remnants of his tears.

“No,” Oosaki says plainly. In a way, Takeshiba had been eaten by a monster. That part of his youth that was stolen due to the perversions of his family at that time, and the ensuing effects of his retaliation against them. Something too powerful to be dismissed as sin has Takeshiba in its clutches. Oosaki can’t begin to conceptualize overwriting that. Not today or tomorrow.

“Let’s continue in a way that’s more comfortable for you.”

Takeshiba agrees, and gathers himself enough to grab the lube and prepare himself. He does it in a similar fashion as he had the last time they had sex, holding himself in such a way that almost feels exhibitionistic. Oosaki rests on his haunches, his gaze drawn to the spot that sucks Takeshiba’s fingers in voraciously. When he looks up, Takeshiba’s looking at him, unadorned and shameless. His nose is the same agitated cherry color as the corners of his tear-inflamed eyes. Such a person is the most beautiful when smiling, but Oosaki can’t help the wave of arousal washing over him at the display of helplessness. He feels base, like more of an animal than a man.

“Are you feeling good…?” Oosaki is amazed at how he gets the words out when his throat feels so narrow.

Takeshiba scissors his fingers, parting the flesh of his backside with his freehand as if to say ‘Am I doing good?’

“Nevermind that…” Takeshiba says quietly,"Is this too hard to watch…? Y-You can put it in already… if you want…”

Oosaki swallows with a sudden claustrophobia in his neck. That narrow feeling in his airways doesn’t leave him. It’s hard to breathe, hard to get oxygen to his brain. 

“It’s fine.” He says dumbly.

Takeshiba smiles in a way that makes his canines show, his eyebrows pulled up in an expression akin to pleading. Oosaki gracelessly finds the lubricant again, smearing a healthy amount onto himself. He’s been coaxed into full hardness just from kissing and watching this man alone.

Takeshiba pulls his fingers out to make room for Oosaki, resting them at the border of his entrance in a V shape. At that Oosaki feels dizzy, holding Takeshiba’s gaze while pressing the head of his cock inside.

“Haah, you’re big~” Takeshiba wraps his arms around Oosaki’s neck before closing his eyes. “Please be gentle.”

His voice is like a satisfied sigh, his expression outwardly comfortable even when Oosaki bottoms out. He suddenly feels irritated again at the prospect of being a pawn and nothing more. There’s a sadistic brain eating worm feasting on the part responsible for cognitive thought.

He tests the waters with a few languid thrusts, Takeshiba’s voice staccatoing every shove in. In the least perverse way possible, Oosaki missed him. Takeshiba looks like he can feel Oosaki in a way that is deeper and more profound than this; his expression in of itself conveys some sense of fullness that is not literal or sentient. Oosaki is a wave, crashing into him —   a brined tide kissing Takeshiba’s shore.

“Ah, harder…”

Oosaki huffs through his nose in a way that’s almost beast-like, dropping his hips with enough impact that it makes Takeshiba’s insides vibrate. He lets out a sound from the back of his throat that rubs against his palate on the way out. Oosaki dips his upper body down, resting his forearms on the bed to fully fuck into Takeshiba beneath him.

“Gentle…” Oosaki says, derisive. He kisses Takeshiba again, undulating his hips with an intensity that seemed almost cruel.

Takeshiba is folded like he’s made to be closed, like an ironing board— undoubtedly, not like a 30 year old man. He breathes uncomfortably against Oosaki’s mouth, voice strained,”Oosaki-Kun… Oosaki-Kun…”

Oosaki lets him speak ‘It’s cramped’ , quietly, and shifts, allowing Takeshiba to readjust so that his legs can wrap around Oosaki’s waist. Both sets of limbs are hooked around Oosaki now, the older man holding him in an intimate full-bodied hug. Oosaki makes it a point to fuck him harder, all of his senses synthesizing into one amorous bundle of nerves.

Takeshiba whines in a way that’s chacconous, every upward hitch of his breath angles itself towards Oosaki. It reverberates in his brain as one long song played by a violin. Takeshiba says something nondescript and Kinki that Oosaki’s never heard before in all of his life.

Understanding does not find him in these moments. Even when he can see Takeshiba clearly, sharper than ever before with his features twisted in raw need, it’s hard to decipher what it is he’s looking at and how it makes him feel. Takeshiba’s body is its own magic trick, separate from his mind, that functions separately like an illusion act. Oosaki may as well have been fucking a house of cards.

“Oosaki-Kun…” Takeshiba breathes out a hot puff of air like an animal,”Oosaki… -Kun… ” His voice hiccups, and falters. It brings Oosaki back to him,”Takeshiba-San.”

Oosaki tastes the words before he says them, savors them alongside the phantom feeling of Takeshiba’s tongue in his mouth,”I’m happy.”

Oosaki doesn’t like involving his hands in any sort of act of intimacy. Even now it seems sacrilegious to touch Takeshiba so effusively. And yet, he finds himself frantically petting the older man, carding his hair between the webbing of his indurated fingers. With each elbow hooked beneath Takeshiba’s sweaty armpits and his bangs brushed back, Oosaki can see that much more of his face. Takeshiba levels a look that makes Oosaki feel his heart beat in the base of his cock. He all but lays down, crushing Takeshiba underneath and sheathing himself deep enough to fill the pit of his stomach.

The man’s breath comes out hot against Oosaki’s right shoulder. There’s a sound in it like a moan with an uncomfortable edge.

So many seconds pass where Oosaki forgets to move, forgets to breathe. Takeshiba wraps his arms around Oosaki, rubbing his shoulder blades aimlessly. “I don’t want to move,” Oosaki says it against the sheets. He turns his face, mouth against the crown of Takeshiba’s head. His hair in his nose smells slightly earthy and addictive. “I want to stay inside of you, and keep you here.”

Unbeknownst to himself or the better parts of his brain, his true feelings came out. Oosaki, who had yearned for that person with the visage of a baker, whose soft smile illuminated a future of friendship— to be denied so frankly, his heart still aches in a way that is tangible and wholly new to him. He doesn’t want to lose Takeshiba too, he knows that now.

The one who showed him that he could find pleasure in the smiles of others, the one who looked through Oosaki while somehow managing to touch his soul. Someone who he’d put himself in the place of God to forgive the transgressions of over and over again. If his suffering could be even halved, Oosaki would triple his own to bear that cross.

“…Oosaki-Kun…. is surprisingly earnest.” Takeshiba’s voice is quiet, but it’s followed after however many seconds of awestruck silence. It makes the words feel loud. 

Oosaki hasn’t moved his face from the spot in Takeshiba’s hair. “Stay with me.”

Takeshiba moans when Oosaki rocks into him again. The heel of one of his feet is resting against Oosaki’s lower back, his whole body flexing; molding itself to fit Oosaki inside. Oosaki is one large flag, a pole in Takeshiba’s earth, penetrating, claiming.

“Stay with me.”

Takeshiba digs his nails into Oosaki’s shoulderblades, weeping,”I…”

Not being able to find the words to convey it, he cums with his whole body seizing. It’s a powerful orgasm that comes without Oosaki having to imbue him with any of his “essence” .

Even Takeshiba-San is capable of doing such a thing because of me. A feeling of pride proceeds the wash of cold pleasure that numbs Oosaki down to his fingertips. He cums almost immediately after Takeshiba, a feral grunt low and warm in the sheets. “It’s Hot…” Takeshiba says, voice raw.

He swivels his hips, breathing out short sounds of contentment while milking Oosaki for all that he’s worth. “All of it… thank you…”

He’s so close to Oosaki’s ear when he speaks, it hits him with blunt force in the pit of his stomach. Oosaki cums even more and feels miserable like he’ll never stop. Takeshiba is a true incubus, draining every inch of his life force.

This time is a lot different than before. It’s extremely convenient that Takeshiba does not wet himself, moreso for additional fees than any potential cleanup. More than that, Oosaki feels completely drained from this one round alone. He’ll be able to regain his energy after a few minutes, but the bottomless pit of vigor he had during their first time seems to now be a stout well.

He lifts himself up off of Takeshiba, unaware of what face he meets such a simple smile with.

“...Oosaki-Kun~‪‪❤︎‬”

His heart feels calm again, the corners of his lips lifting. Like breaking the thick ice of the Arctic, Oosaki warms over, offering the smallest of smiles in return.

“Takeshiba-San.”

21:36; March 3rd, 1956 —

“Tantei-San.” His voice is stern, with static at the edges. He’s being channeled from miles away, only God knows where.

“Is this… Takeshiba-San?” Oosaki speaks back to that voice, chasing it.

It answers, loudly, “Bingo!”

“…You sound intoxicated.”

“Do I seem like that bad of an adult?”

“…” Silence.

“Nahahah… I am drunk.”

“…” Oosaki had known that much already.

“It’s my birthday, y’know? I was gonna send the detective an invite, but I didn’t want to be a clingy old man.”

Little did he know, there’s a part of Takeshiba Oosaki’s been holding onto since the night they spent together. The ‘Clingy’ one was him. “…If you sent an invite, I would have honored it with at least a response.”

“Would you come see me?”

Yes. “…”

“Ah. Sorry for saying something so cringy. You probably don’t wanna hear that from another man on the phone—“

As if manually pulling them both back down to Earth, Oosaki says calmly,“Happy Birthday.”

“……… Oosaki-Kun.” After a beat of silence, his voice sounds surprisingly sober. There’s a period at the end of Oosaki’s name— it makes his hair stand on end.

“…”

“Another round of “Healing”. Do’ya think you could do it?”

“…” Stunned, Oosaki can only think to shift his weight from his right foot to his left.

“…For me…?”

The words come out quickly,“I’ll think about it.” 

“Haah… As I thought, the detective is a truly nice person. Your response time was good just now, too. That part of you makes me feel less anxious.”

“…Are you celebrating with anyone?”

“Nah.”

“I’ll have to treat you next time.” 

“ Ooh, Tantei-San! Yes, please take care of me!”

Takeshiba’s voice belts through the phone so loud that Oosaki can hear it even when he pulls his face away. Moreover, it seems as though there was a misunderstanding in what Oosaki meant when he said he’d ‘treat’ him.

“…Don’t disturb anyone.” He can only imagine what kind of ruckus Takeshiba’s causing for anyone nearby.

“Nyahah… just you. I always find myself in your care, thank you.”

Oosaki has a sudden urge to paint where Takeshiba is right now based on the background noise he can hear. He keeps his voice low,“Happy birthday, Takeshiba-San.”

“T-Thanks.”