Work Text:
Sen Takatsuki.
A global phenomenon, according to statistics. Once-in-a-lifetime talent, according to reviews. Pleasant company, according to her coworkers.
All things that Haise Sasaki rejects.
It’s not that he’s childish or stupid; he’s well aware of her writing style and her books. Maybe too aware of it, from a certain point of view. When you’re a reader as avid as he is— he decorates his room at the Chateau head to toe with shelves full of the things— it’s nearly impossible to not encounter the heavy-hitting name that is Sen Takatsuki.
He just doesn’t like her books.
That’s all.
He has nothing against her as a person.
In fact, he’s willing to bet she’s a very lovely person.
The genre of the book doesn’t always reflect the personality of the author, after all. Sometimes, people just really liked and excelled at horror and blood and guts and all that junk.
That sort of stuff just isn’t for him.
And that’s even accounting for his job as a ghoul investigator.
That said.
She’s her own person.
She makes her own choices.
And for one reason or another, she has chosen to say hi.
—
It's less that they meet up, and more that she finds him. ‘Coincidence’ is just the most common pretense, but each time she uses it, he believes her less.
That said, Haise feels like he could consciously try to avoid her and she would still track him down. It’s just a fact from his ever-reliable gut feeling. After all, she’s found him in coffee shops, walking the streets, and even alleyways where he thought he saw something suspicious (why she’d gone down there just to talk to him was beyond him). So now, whenever she sticks up her hand and shouts his name, he resigns himself to yet another lengthy conversation with someone he can’t even consider a friend.
Today’s setting is a grocery store.
“Haise! Well, well, well!”
If there’s one thing he’s learned lately, it’s that Sen Takatsuki marches to the beat of her own drum, and it just so happens that said drum is completely out of tune with his own, because he needs to get these groceries back to the Chateau in time for dinner, and his latest investigation, unfortunately, kept him longer than he was expecting.
But neither can he leave this new— what was she, an acquaintance? There wasn’t another word to describe their relationship, he supposed— this new ‘acquaintance’ hanging, no matter how badly he might want to avoid her.
He doesn’t want to be rude.
“Ms. Takatsuki,” he says, hands full of bags.
“Shopping for the day, are we? Let’s see…”
It doesn’t matter how much he tries to shift the bag away from her— it’s like she’s teleporting around his defenses, poking her nose directly where it doesn’t belong.
“Aw, cooking again? Boo, doesn’t that get tedious?”
“No, not at all…”
His response, of course, doesn’t actually matter; she always ignores him.
“I mean, think about it— it’s just food. No matter what you do to it, you’re just gonna get hungry again, so there’s no need to be particular about any of it. And don’t give me any of that ‘nutritional’ bullshit; it’s all gonna go away and rot along with your body when your time comes, and maybe sooner than you think. And you decide you’re gonna cook on top of all of that nonsense! You’ll never get anything done! You’re really just taking that sad, silly life of yours and throwing it away like it’s garbage! Well, maybe it is if you’re doing something like this, haha!”
Putting aside the apparent tumultuous lifestyle of a novelist, did she always have to sneak in a few insults? Some days, it felt like she was targeting him on purpose, like there was some sick joke she was telling that he wasn’t in on. Honestly, what part of him had called her lovely once upon a time? He’d love to talk to them.
“Boiling water takes forever, then you have to dice these veggies and crush the garlic. Plus: it’s a huge mess to clean up! That’s why I don’t; too much of a hassle. I guess the eggs wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’ll concede on that point, and only that point. I like me a fresh egg. Salt, pepper, and rice— a true classic!”
They’d been talking and walking— well, Takatsuki had been talking, Haise was mostly walking— along the way. He doesn’t want to show her the exact address of the Chateau, but fortunately, there’s a train ride between here and there. He’d lose her then. Hopefully.
He just has to ride this out.
Haha, good one. ‘Train.’ ‘Ride.’
“You, uh— For someone who hates cooking, you seem to know your way around some of these, Ms. Takatsuki,” he points out, hoping to pivot the subject to her.
“I’m an author, unfortunately. It’s an occupational hazard. You’ve read my works, haven’t you?”
Unsuccessful.
“Not… really…” His chin itches at the statement.
“Better get that fire extinguisher, ‘cause someone’s a big, fat liar!” She cackled. “Watch, you know this line—”
“I really wouldn’t—”
“‘Before I knew it, nine thorns leapt from my thoracic cavity. My diaphragm—’”
“My diaphragm trembled as if it were about to cry.’”
He finishes it without thinking, much to her delight and his dismay.
“And done and done! See, you can use that brain of yours!” She giggles and dances before him, twirling around with little care for passersby.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was watching a young girl instead of a grown woman. But that wasn’t really important, and he doesn’t really care for that comparison. People always say he has a bit of a babyface, and he doesn’t want to be a hypocrite.
“Ah, I loved writing The Black Goat’s Egg,” Takatsuki falls into pace with him again. “Such a landmark in my career, and after a bad case of writer’s block too!”
And that’s when it occurs to Haise.
He’s never read that one.