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lilac-5ky · 8 months

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Roommates from Hell, pt.7 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 7: Stockholm Syndrome

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, y'all! Hope this lengthy chapter compensates for my absence.

You were early.

You knew that, not because you’d been checking the time every two stops—doubting your being on the correct railway line even as the voice in the speakers called out Inokashira Park—but because it was still bright when you got off the train platform.

Normally, you were good with those things—time. Having juggled both school and multiple shifts across Tokyo at some point in your life meant you knew exactly how long it took to get from one district to the other, and under no circumstances did Shibuya to Kichijoji amount to three hours worth of travel time. You could’ve left home half an hour earlier and made it in time, but all sense of normality died the moment you agreed to go out with Toji.

It was 3:37 p.m., and you were indeed early. Two hours and twenty-three minutes early.

You’d gone out with him hundreds of times. As friends, as family—as people who dealt their meals and loneliness evenly, yet never as anything beyond that. You didn’t know what a date entailed—or rather, you pretended not to, because the possibilities made your head spin.

This was just an ordinary hangout, and that was why you’d opted for the unimpressive combination of your overworn jeans and cardigan, in spite of casting every article of clothing out of your closet and onto the floor.

The yellow ribbon in your hair—that was hope.

You were meeting at the park’s east entrance, which coincided with the railway’s west exit. The only thing you’d agreed upon was the time and place. Everything else was entirely up to him.

The tracks ended where the grass blades began, out-of-bloom hydrangeas paving the path toward Inokashira Park’s infamous pond. In the winter, the park looked like a shadow of its former self. Desolate and bleak, as opposed to the final spring you visited with your father.

The fragrance of the freshly bloomed cherry blossoms he’d help you reach atop his shoulders lingered ever so vividly in the air, along with the essence of humidity that clung to your skin after every ride on those enormous swan boats. But with the trees stripped bare and the waters stilled by the cold, your memories had also lost their vibrancy.

You felt no joy reminiscing about the past. It was more like an old wound you scratched open to test the pain, except the blood was all dried up. You’d mourned your father before he’d even passed and before your sister finalized the news a week ago. This was just killing time.

You had two hours to waste and were already considering phoning Toji to reschedule. He didn’t have much to do during the day. If he wasn’t at the diner, then he typically loitered around one gambling den or another. Unless he was caught up in one of those shady businesses that earned him entire briefcases full of cash. To think the day would come when you’d be dating a hitman—

—only you weren’t dating. Because this wasn’t a date.

Your plans were put on hold as an elderly woman shoved about a dozen shopping bags inside the public phone booth you’d been eyeing, and you decided not to wait around for it to be freed.

Two hours isn’t all that horrible.

A class of children returning from a field trip to the park’s aquarium passed you by, some of the kids clutching onto different types of marine life plush toys. You walked away from the procession. You weren’t keen on showing jealousy over the little girl with the cute turtle-shaped backpack, and thus you detoured to a quieter path away from all the jeers and cheers. You checked the time again. One hour and fifty-five minutes left. God.

The park’s visitors dwindled the further you strayed from the main attractions, until it was just you and a man who had his back turned all the while he stared off into the unknown. A man whose broad shoulders and discreet slouch seemed more familiar the longer you studied him, and when his jade eyes fell on yours, you reached an epiphany. This was a date.

“You’re early.” You gasped softly, your lips expelling a white cloud of heat.

His gaze hardened below his arched eyebrows—a mix of unfeigned surprise and borderline annoyance as he processed you from head to toe.

You regretted not going the extra mile. Toji wasn’t dressed to the nines either, but his choppy strands were somewhat combed, and the forest green of his sweater brought out his eyes. Even his usual sweatpants were replaced by a fitting pair of black jeans, and at that point, your palms began to sweat because Toji was an objectively good-looking man, and when he took care of himself, he was a real head-turner, while you were just… you.

“You’re the one who’s late.” He shifted the blame without second thought, tempting you to dig your beeper out of your pocket to prove your innocence, but you spared him the embarrassment. After all, he made no comments about your blushing cheeks or shuffling feet either.

One minute and countless beats of awkward silence later, Toji tugged himself from the wooden spikes that ringed the pond’s perimeter and moved closer, his attention instantly drawn to your ribbon’s loose ends.

“Your hair—”

“Looks weird?” You cut him off.

He shook off his scowl, the rough pads of his fingers making light contact with your skin as he flipped the string over your shoulder. “Nah. Just…” and it was no exaggeration to say you were hanging on his lips up until he grabbed you by the hand and dragged you forward—his calling you cute an uncertain figment of your imagination.

Trapped in a never-ending daze of billboard signs and city lights that faded past the passenger’s window, you miserably failed to make out your whereabouts. It’d been a while since you left Tokyo behind, and your last clue was your entering National Route 127 about an hour ago. You were well into Chiba prefecture—home to Japan’s biggest fishing industry, Disney-themed parks, and, of course, peanuts.

As for where in Chiba exactly, your best bet was connecting the passing exit signs in the hope of them helping paint the bigger picture. Kisarazu to Kimitsu. Kimitsu to Futtsu. Futtsu to Kyonan.

Since that final sign that read “15 kilometers to Minamiboso,” you’d gone off the map, and the closer you came to approaching the sparsely planted minka houses on the mountain side of the highway, the further your destination seemed. You didn’t expect this to be a kidnap in the literal sense, but while Toji hadn’t taken your ability to speak or look away, he still refused to let you in on his plans.

He drove quietly, his vision tunneling to the open road while his hand occasionally ironed out the knots of muscle around his neck. His mouth opened solely for his yawns, whose sheer number and frequency would’ve been concerning if Toji wasn’t the one behind the wheel. You trusted he wouldn’t kill you both off. He wasn’t the double-suicide type.

After your seventh unsuccessful attempt at prying out information, you brought out the big guns.

“What’s this?” Toji glanced at the 1000-yen bill you discreetly placed on his lap, his lips twitching into a slight smile. “Little low for ransom, don’tcha think?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just tell me where we’re going and why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” He pocketed the bill. “Wouldn’t be a kidnap if I told ya, would it?”

You leaned against the window, bandages soaking up moisture from where you mindlessly drew figures in the fog. You’d think he’d be less frustrating to deal with now that he’d gotten what he wanted, but he’d instead turned shrewder. He didn’t even let you contact your sister or drop off Kenzo’s waffle cones. The two were left alone at your empty apartment, probably thinking you’d migrated to the North Pole for ice, when in reality you were off playing budget Thelma and Louise.

Maybe he really was trying to kill you—speed toward the next cliff and throw you both into the depths of Tokyo Bay, where you’d spent a comfortable eternity sleeping side by side with the fish.

You were spelling the words Save Me when Toji spoke again, this time on his own accord.

“Someplace we can continue where we left off.” You could hear the smirk rolling off his tongue.

Someplace we can continue where we left off, you mentally repeated. Someplace we can continue where we left off. Someplace we can—oh.

You quickly smudged your cry for help with your shoulder and fell back on your seat, cheeks as red as beets. If he wanted to take things to a love hotel, he should’ve just said so. It wouldn’t have taken much to persuade you to hit one in Roppongi. No need to waste all this gas and worry everyone sick.

Come to think of it, the phone hadn’t rung once since the beginning of your little country escapade—not from a call, and not from a text either. You were positive he hadn’t turned your phone off when he confiscated it, and his was still on him.

That crafty witch. Her lack of concern just about confirmed your suspicions. Your sister wasn’t searching for you because everything was moving according to plan.

“Can I at least make a call?” You batted your eyelashes and smiled at him with your eyes, watching his wariness dissolve instantaneously as his glance shifted to a stare. Men.

“A call, huh?” Relying on his inhumane reflexes, Toji lowered a hand from the wheel to your knee, rubbing his way higher up your thigh.

The part of you that wasn’t used to letting him touch you so freely almost flinched, but ignoring it was starting to become easier. You enjoyed the way his palm cupped your flesh. You liked how supple your skin seemed between his fingers, and you loved how firm his grasp felt—bold and reassuring. It took your mind off your question and his attention off the road as a honk from a passing truck forced you to recoil away from each other.

The unprompted filth that poured between the two rolled-down windows colored both your ears. He was the one in the wrong here. It was his fault that the car zigzagged into the fast lane, and while he wasn’t going to let it spiral out of control, the other driver didn’t necessarily know that.

Once he was done spitting nails, he turned back to you, impatience burning in his eyes to the point where you wouldn’t be surprised if he cut your destination short and pulled over to the nearest rest area for a breather.

“Can’t focus when ya gimme that look.” Toji huffed.

“What look?”

“Like you’re begging me to fuck you on the highway.” He answered with the same ease with which one would talk about the weather.

“Toji!” A red deeper than the one on your ears spread to your face.

He licked his lips together and tipped closer to your seat, audaciously asking, “What?”

You didn’t have a reason good enough to push him away anymore—at least not one that related to how you felt about him. Hiding behind your finger was useless when all your cards were laid out on the table. He counted on you staying still for his lips to brush over yours—a mere tingle of electricity before you remembered you were in a moving vehicle and swatted his face away.

“Eyes on the road.” You whipped out a smile, lest he misunderstand, but it was too late. Toji was already looking at you as if you’d committed an unimaginable sin; a frown riveted to his face even as his focus resumed on the highway.

“Just lost your phone rights.”

“Seriously? Cause I’m watching out for our safety?”

“You heard me.” He grumbled. “Now shut it.”

“Well, forgive me for not being up for a second near-death experience less than 24 hours after the first one.” You said as you fixed your shirt over your knees and coiled closer to the window.

His knuckles grew white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly, a deep exhale flaring his nostrils. Be it out of guilt or regret, he didn’t talk back, but you weren’t willing to call a truce just yet.

“You know, none of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t run off on your own last night. Or if you’d asked me whether I wanted to be stuck in a vehicle with your grumpy ass for hours. Putting up with you at home is enough as it is.”

The blinker flashed as he turned left to the next exit, whose name you didn’t catch until a second sign at the intersection welcomed you to Tomiyama. You weren’t even sure if that was your actual destination or if he pulled off the highway on a whim, and you knew next to nothing about the area other than hearing it mentioned in some politician’s speech about recreation.

The car slowed down behind a navy blue sedan, with Toji drumming his fingers against the wheel while waiting for the lights to turn green. You took the chance to look outside, unable to figure out a damn thing in the dark. There were trees on both sides of the road, but you couldn’t tell what kind of trees. There were more cars parked by the sidewalk, but you couldn’t determine their color, let alone their brand. There was a large body of water up ahead, but you could only make out the faint sway of the riptide under the moonlight, a light breeze teasing the pungent scent of the sea.

“Didn’t seem you were putting up with me last night.” Toji interrupted. “Or when ya sucked my face in the middle of the street.”

“Hey!”

“Not that I hated either.”

He didn’t sound half as mad as he seemed, and for a brief moment, you wondered what you’d started this for. You always gnawed at each other like beasts trapped in a cage, each getting a kick out of pushing the other’s buttons into madness, yet you rarely fought for a reason. It was more so out of habit than spite, because that’s what you did best, and it almost felt intimate—affectionate in a way others could never comprehend.

“Go on.” Toji prompted, definitely amused. “That can’t be all. What else ya got?”

“You ate my ice cream!” You almost laughed at your own absurd statement, biting down the chuckle Toji didn’t bother withholding. “You ate it in front of my face and didn’t offer me a single bite!”

“Poor baby can’t use her hands?” He cooed, curling a finger near your cheek.

You dramatically waved your reasons for being incapacitated. “Can’t even use them. Plus, they itch like hell.”

“Pft, don’t pin that on me.” He scorned. “Curse barely touched you, and you spent the whole night cryin’ like a baby.”

An exasperated sigh puffed in your lungs. “I can’t believe you drew a mustache on my face. You knew I was awake, didn’t you?”

“Did I?” He asked with a knowing smile. “So what? Think I’d pussy outta kissing that cute little face just ‘cause of two extra lines?

“Still got ‘em, by the way.”

You manically scrubbed your lips with the back of your bandaged fist before coming to terms with the spotless reflection in his rearview mirror.

“There’s a special place in hell for people like you.”

The car was again put into motion as Toji switched gears and accelerated—much to your delight—toward the seashore, with no intention of stopping even as the village houses got replaced by palm trees dug in the sand; your final accusation being, “What kind of psychopath drives without music?”

“This is just noise.”

His snide remark had you dropping the stack of cassette tapes back at the discount stand and rushing to his aid.

The store-provided headphones appeared comically small compressing his skull, with the metallic wire bent into a taut arc that promised to snap any minute now. Their wearer seemed displeased, which, honestly, he always did, but this time you could hardly blame him. He was out of his element, and if it weren’t for that sliver of curiosity ushering him into the record store by the station, then he wouldn’t be standing there like an absolute idiot, polluting his ears with… pirate metal?

You managed to withstand about ten seconds of incoherent German slurs and Arrrgh’s before you hastily ejected the tape and shoved it back in its case. An entire music library at your disposal, and he’d possibly come across the single questionable track. Even a sniffer dog would envy his ability to nose anomalies out.

“Must be ‘cause you aren’t used to it.” You glanced around the shelves for a gap. “For all we know, this could be a masterpiece.”

“Yeah, right.” Toji kicked at the rolling step stool. Your heel caught it before it had the chance to crash into the vinyl stand, which led to him scoffing. Again.

He was the one who insisted on this date yet acted the exact opposite of his intentions. All that gloating about his past conquests was plain rubbish. He’d planned nothing for your date—your first date—and was disagreeable toward your every suggestion. The new crepe stall was too flashy for his tastes. The regular sukiyaki place was suddenly too expensive. The attractions at the park were tourist traps. You’d purposely led him down the thrift shop packed-alleyway just so he wouldn’t have a reason to complain, but he exceeded your expectations.

If he was having such a bad time, then why bother asking you out in the first place?

You returned to your corner, rummaging through the rows for something even Toji could potentially appreciate, when it hit you: you had no idea what kind of music he liked. Two years of acquaintance, and you’d never discussed preferences.

“Hey, Mr. Nitpicker.” Your nails clicked against the plastic to draw his attention. “What’s your favorite song?”

He gawked at you as if he’d been presented with a complex quantum physics equation, furrowing his eyebrows and tilting his head from one side to the other like a metronome.

“It’s… that one.” You expected him to point at either a cassette or a vinyl, but his hands remained sheathed in his pockets.

“What one?”

“The one that goes like…” You again expected him to hum to the rhythm of the supposed song, but he didn’t. “Ya know, that one.”

Your eyes darted between the tapes in your grasp and the insistence in his expression. He didn’t sound convincing in the slightest. It was when he lied that he acted most certain.

The only argument working in his favor was the inconceivable notion that a person in the growing age of media and technology could do without a song blasting from their car speakers or one they recorded with all the ambient sounds of a cafe tainting the chorus—because you didn’t know how music was treated in the Zen’in household; how whatever didn’t feature a koto or a shamisen was outright rejected; how it was considered a women’s sport—an activity slightly more refined than idle gossip in the shadows of the shoji doors.

“That’s not very helpful.” You sighed.

“Whatever.” He frowned, reclining against the one wall that was equipped with neither shelves nor framed records.

The conversation was over, and you resumed your hunt for affordable hidden gems in the 80s section. They used the word vintage for songs you’d grown up with, which everyone knew was a code word for old. Your twentieth birthday was months away, and you were already deemed old—correction: vintage. In no time, you’d join the club of people who called those below their age kids and constantly reminisced about the golden days of their youth.

“What’s yours?” Toji caught you off guard with how he’d both peeled off the wall and hunched over you without you taking notice.

You hadn’t even opened your mouth, yet you already felt yourself stuttering. He was intimidating—not in a piss your pants kind of way, but in a way that tinkered with the distribution of fluids in your body. You didn’t want to answer his question. You’d rather he bent a little lower and kissed you, because sharing your second kiss at a record store sounded exhilarating.

But sharing that tidbit of information wasn’t.

Flustered, you flipped through the cassettes sorted by the letter ‘A’ to find Anri’s Timely!! mixed between the ‘C’s. You were supposed to ask for permission before trying out the non-samples, but the store clerk clearly didn’t mind, or else he would have stopped you four tapes ago.

You searched for the appropriate track and pressed play once the headphones were back on Toji’s head. He kept a serious face all the while Anri begged for her loneliness to stop, the upbeat instrumental contrasting—without concealing—the sobriety of the lyrics. You heard every word loud and clear, mentally repeating them down to the third chorus, where you got lost in the sentiment.

Love is like a small storm. Both friends and lovers get swept up by it.

The song went on about the end of a relationship, while yours hadn’t even begun. You were one step ahead of being friends, yet a lot more steps behind being lovers. You didn’t want to jinx the outcome of your date but couldn’t stop musing over the pain of a breakup. You’d only experienced loneliness in the form of missing—never in the form of losing. If you let yourself be swept up by this emotion, would you wind up hurting more than you did before he stepped into your life?

The music came to an end of its own, and Toji pulled the headphones from his ears, declaring with a victorious grin that this was his favorite song.

“You can’t be serious.” You snatched the Walkman from his hands. “That’s my favorite song!”

“And?” He tapped his foot against the tiled floor. “What’s yours can’t be mine?”

“We aren’t married.” You wished you could press rewind and write over your own words, replacing them with something far less embarrassing.

“Like I’d ever marry someone this bossy.”

You groaned as you traded the tape for one by Takeuchi Mariya. “Fine. When the time comes, you’re free to marry someone without any backbone, but now, we are finding you a song.”

He groaned back while you repeated the same process of skipping to a specific song, gauging his reaction, and then moving forward while he pig-headedly stood by his first choice. You tried more artists—Matsubara Miki, Akimoto Kaoru, Sugiyama Kiyotaka. You thought Hamada Kingo’s midnight cruisin’ would be it, but it wasn’t. The single thread your patience dangled from finally snapped, resulting in your rising to your toes and forcibly holding the headphones down against his head.

“You aren’t allowed to not like this one!”

You formed the words slow enough for him to read your lips over the climax of first chorus, the song feeling nothing sort but an unconventional confession with how you viciously stared into each others eyes.

Every time I wish, to monopolize your love/Every time I wish, that would you be mine/I want all of you.

There was a change in his expression, a flicker or a speck of something that convinced you to step back before the song reached its conclusion. You called a draw in your staredown, both turning to a different direction, and you weren’t sure if Toji was remotely capable of feeling shame, but his cheeks were tinted a subtle pink when your eyes next met.

“Okay.” He conceded. “Keep your stupid song. I like this one better.”

You walked around the shops hand in hand. It was for precaution, so you wouldn’t get caught between the hordes of starving office workers invading the local Konbini in search of nutrients—his words, not yours. Toji didn’t know lunch breaks were a common breadwinner’s luxury, considering most of these people overworked themselves until it was time to go, but you didn’t mention either. His hand felt too warm to let go, and whenever he spoke, heat radiated from his lips.

You wished he’d kiss you.

He’d missed his chance at the record store, but plenty of other opportunities had since turned up: the giant Christmas tree that sprouted in front of Kitaguchi station; at the back row of some B-rated horror movie screening; behind the arcades on Motomachi Street. Even right where you stood, he could trick you into thinking there was a rogue eyelash he meant to pinch from your cheek, only for his lips to land on yours instead.

It was a given that it would happen. It happened in every single Hollywood rom-com, without exception. You just didn’t know when or where.

The cassette tapes rattled like wind chimes in the paper bag you carelessly swung around. You didn’t intend to charge him with a bunch of impulse purchases, but he told you not to sweat it because you’d be buying lunch. It fascinated you how the richest and poorest people you knew met in Toji’s face. He could afford things beyond imagination, yet he never seemed able to afford the essentials. It was easy to write him off as cheap, but you didn’t want to be in love with someone cheap.

You wondered whether he’d ask you to be his girlfriend or if you already were.

You suffered through a much harsher rejection as you returned to the very same crepe stall that Toji previously dismissed with a simple “no,” this time demanding you treat him to an actual meal. You were more upset about not having crepes than you were about bleeding cash on him.

The sun retired prior to your food quest’s conclusion, parting from the sky in a murky shade of blue. It was getting too cold to be outside, and hiding your shivering came at a price. You clung to his arm as if he were a portable heater, but when he asked if you felt cold, you stupidly claimed to be fine. Really stupid.

Soon, the streets were emptied. Every sensible passerby holed up in the cozy izakayas that lined each side of the pavement. You were the last two sociopaths testing their courage at a UFO catcher outside a greasy Thai restaurant. The aroma of drunken noodles stirred something in your stomach that made you forget all about the crepes, and the Yoshi plushie Toji pledged himself to win on your behalf. You shouldn’t have told him he was your favorite. You’d be stuck here until the morning light.

“Didn’t you swear off gambling for the remainder of this year? Thought you were saving your luck for 1995.” You tried to dissuade him, eyes meeting through the hazy glass. He’d tasked you with inspecting the left side of the machine while he took stock of the prizes on the right. “How’s this?” You pointed at a Yoshi near the corner of the prize pit.

“That’s hardly gambling.” Toji slapped the glass with both his hands and forehead, reviewing your choice. “Nah, won’t do. ‘Tis too far from the center. Switch with me.”

You traded sides, with Toji focusing on the Yoshis while you focused on him. He seemed to know what he was doing, but he wasn’t fooling you. He’d lose, pin it on either the rigged machine or the maintenance guy, and then he’d have you drag the Thai manager out.

On second thought, maybe if he caused a big enough scene, you’d be compensated with a plate of warm food.

A smile of utter triumph emerged across his lips once he got his sights on a target. You still had your doubts, especially with how tightly the machine was packed, but refrained from voicing them. He wouldn’t listen anyway.

“Got any coins?”

You handed him your wallet, and his eyes almost widened as he shook it around like a maraca. “You work a side-gig at the mint or something? What’s with all these coins?”

“Many drops make an ocean.” You moved to the side for a better view. “Spend ‘em all, and you’ll be buying your own lunch.”

He pulled out a mere 100-yen coin and dropped your wallet on top of the machine. “Don’t need more.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve heard those words before?” Your sneer wasn’t enough to shatter his confidence.

“Ya say that cause you weren’t there in ‘87.”

“Why—what happened in ‘87? And where exactly is there?”

“Won three of these with a single draw.” Toji not-so-subtly bragged, at last taking hold of the joystick.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Anyone can win if they bribe a kid to loosen the thing for them.

“Better be if ya want me winning that damn turtle of yours.”

“Yoshi is a dinosaur…” Unsurprisingly, that earned you a glare.

You gestured a zipper over your mouth and gave him an encouraging thumbs-up as he slotted the coin in. The 15-second countdown began, with Toji maneuvering the claw over the plushie by the 10-second mark and Yoshi flying over the hole five seconds later. You watched with bated breath up until the claw unlatched from Yoshi’s nose and propelled him down the machine’s entrails, a series of metallic thuds promising Toji’s irrefutable success.

“You won?” Your gasp turned into a genuine shriek of excitement. “Holy shit, you actually won! Shit, I mean—wow, you’re good at this!”

He snorted, kneeling to retrieve the prize. “You sound surprised.”

“Well, I am.” You admitted. “Never seen you win before.”

“Don’t be. It’s annoying.” He pretended to bash your skull with the plushie, only to softly dab it at your wincing, hands raised in defense. Cute. “Have your big-head. He looks like you.”

A tight-lipped smile curved itself in place of his lips, the rest of his features also softening while he took in yours. Looking like a green dinosaur had its perks. You didn’t feel as cold anymore. All you felt was the tenderness with which he cupped your cheek like the most precious treasure—and he did treasure you. First with his eyes, and then with his fingers, though he treasured you the most when he was kissing you on your open mouth, your impatience dissolving into a wish come true.

“In my next life, I’ll buy myself a house here.”

Your toes sank deeper into the sand, struggling to remain hidden as the sea foam tickled away their concealment. Shards of the moon sparkled like stardust in the ocean, every ripple mirroring another star fallen from the night sky. If magic existed in this world, this was proof of it.

In the end, you were glad Toji brought you out there. Tokyo was smothered by water to the point where you feared it might swallow you whole, but things were different in the countryside. No skyscrapers blocked your view of the quaint horizon. No traffic sounds filtered the sound of the waves crashing to the shore. No exhaust fumes tainted the salty air that filled your lungs.

Even for a moment, you broke free from the shackles of everyday life and stepped into a picturesque world straight from a postcard. Your life could end then and there, and you’d jump to the next one without any regrets.

“What keeps you from doin’ that in this life?” Toji asked, seated a little further from where you stood. You didn’t understand why he’d chosen the beach when he wouldn’t dare dip his feet in the water, let alone feel the crunch of sand. His slippers would get dirty, one way or another.

“Money, for starters. Work, too. Life, maybe.” You mused.

“Bullshit. You can make money anywhere.” He retorted. “And anyone can do your job. Not like serving brick patties takes special skill.”

“Think I can do your job, then?”

“No fucking way.” You chuckled at his honesty. “You’d stab your leg right in front of your fucking target.”

“Right?” You glanced down at your fingers. He’d peeled off the bandages so you wouldn’t get them soggy, but you didn’t need them anymore. Your cuts would heal on their own as long as you didn’t get salt in them. “Then, you think we should only do what we are meant to do?”

“I think we should do whatever the fuck we want.”

“That’s easy to say…”

“Even easier to do. Now get your ass over here.”

You turned around, beaming with a smile he’d find irritating a minute later. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Then suit yourself.”

His apathy lasted until he sprung from his seat and scurried over to you, his arms seizing your waist before you could run away. Your back was pulled flush against his chest, with your ribs silently crying over the ridiculous strength of his biceps. You’d been subjected to more squeezing this weekend than your body could handle.

“That’s how ya do it.” Toji breathed in your hair, his chin comfortably propped on the crook of your shoulder. You were immobilized, but your heart still raced for escape, your cheeks shimmering a rosy pink.

“Actually, you wanted me to come to you, which means you just proved yourself wrong. Meanwhile, I wanted you to come here, which means I—ugh, put me down!”

Water splashed everywhere as Toji hoisted you high above the ground and carried you across the sand plains, your feet pedaling an invisible wheel until you were dropped off like a sack of potatoes. Non-organic at that. Organics received greater care and respect.

“Happy now?”

Choking on a miniature sandstorm, you fought to get your tangled hair off your mouth, inevitably tasting some of the very coarse grains you coughed out.

“How can I be happy when I’ll be shitting sand for days to come?”

“You’re just bein’ dramatic.” He brushed the hair from your face, giving your head a rough pat.

“And you’re being an asshole.” You sighed, recalling your words. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Wouldn’t matter if ya did.” Toji hurled one of the few pebbles at the sea, watching it detonate in a firework of water. “Heard worse.”

“But I really didn’t. You used to be more of an asshole; now you’re just a little bit. A tiny bit, really.” You smiled softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I’m glad we are here. And whatever your reasons for moving in were, I’m glad you did. I love our life.”

A wry smile appeared on his lips. “Better remember that next time you nag me about the dishes.”

“Water alone doesn’t remove grease. You need soap to—” You paused at his groan. “It’s fine. So what if there’s melted cheese stuck at the bottom of the pan and I can taste last week’s dinner in my glass? You are trying your best!”

“I got a job.” He cut in.

An unpleasant taste had you grimacing into his elbow. It’d been a while since you’d last cleaned up after his mess in the hall, but the foul smell of metal was unforgettable. Blood—and although it seldom belonged to him, you weren’t any more comfortable with the idea that the day would come when somebody else would scrub Toji’s blood off their clothes.

“When are you leaving?” You asked in a quiet voice.

“Not that kinda job.” Toji thought a title made a story, not details. He reached for another pebble to throw, but his hand turned out empty. Then he continued. “A shitty 9-to-5 job like all others.”

“Doing what?”

“Office stuff—how the hell should I know? Ask Kong; he’s the one who arranged it.”

“Shiu?” He shrugged rather than nodded. “But why? I never asked you to.”

“You think I’d get a job simply ‘cause you asked?” Right. That’d make no sense. “Can only off so many sorcerer brats per month to make ends meet. Rest of the year I’m left hingin’ on capital control.”

“So it is about me.”

You were dragged down against his body as Toji laid you both on the sand, his one hand draping over your shoulder while you rested your cheek on his chest. His heartbeat resonated like the sound of the ocean in your ear. Soothing and slow. A sound only you had the fortune to enjoy.

“Is that where you went last night?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled, combing through your hair to distract you from the palm that shamelessly climbed down your butt. “Interview.”

You felt his fingers burrowing into your shorts, his touch innocent as far as groping was concerned. “Does this mean I’ll get to see you in a suit?”

“Like hell you are.”

“But you’re gonna have to start wearing one if you wanna make a good first impression. At least a button-up and a tie.”

“Like I care about impressions,” he said, adding a beat later that he didn’t even have one.

“When do you start? We can go shopping on Thursday, I have the day off; we could hit that store in—what are you doing?” You questioned his flipping his phone open and typing something on the screen.

“Quitting.”

“Don’t you dare!” You slapped the lid with such force that the phone bounced away from his hands and wedged into the sand.

Dusting the sand off, he packed it back in his pocket, his arms falling at his sides with no intention of resuming their activities. “I’ll just do it later.”

Silence stretched thin as the two of you gazed at the sky, long enough for you to forget you weren’t astral bodies yourselves until your own mindless admission went through.

“In my next life, I want to be a turtle. They carry their houses on their backs and don’t have to deal with rent or taxes.”

“What a sly way to say ya want me off your back.” Toji quipped.

“Something tells me you’d still find a way to stick around. You are like gum in hair. I’d need to shave my head to get rid of you.”

“Turtles don’t have hair, stupid.”

“Shh, don’t ruin my analogy.” You protested. “And why do you always call me stupid?” Your chin rolled on his chest. “I went to college. I’m at least smarter than you.”

He let out a snort. “Goin’ to college doesn’t make you any smarter. It proves you’re a nerd.”

“But you’re also pretty,” he added once you were about to sit up, the smirk you mistook for a smile forcing you to drop your guard. “Pretty stupid.”

“That’s it—you’re not coming back alive!”

Planting both knees on each side of his torso, you attempted to smack the smugness out of him, only for your wrists to be pulled forward and your head violently brought down to his level—every thought of retaliation stripped away by the proximity of his lips.

“Scary.”

What was scary was how easily you were tricked into kissing him; your feud nothing more than a pretext for Toji to lure your tongue inside his mouth. Your hands slipped from his grip to his cheeks, gently thumbing at his scar, while his palms wandered behind your back and settled on your butt, making you feel just how hard the press of your thighs had gotten him.

To someone who only knew affection in the form of sex, kissing was merely the prelude to fucking your brains out in the sand—and when you started grinding your hips against his crotch, he was convinced he’d finally catch a break.

“T-Toji,” you breathed out, following the expanse of his arms down to where his fingers fumbled with the waistband of your shorts. “We are not doing this here.”

Your warning didn’t seem half as compelling as the little moans that spilled from your agape lips, the friction between your bodies clouding your judgment. “Toji…” You tried again, slotting your fingers in between his knuckles. “Don’t want sand in my vagina.”

“I’ll suck it out.”

It took a third Toji to kill his aspiration of having the entire city of Chikura learn your names. His frown grew in an instant—an improvement to all the previous scowls he’d worn, maybe because he’d gotten further than every previous attempt and had the confidence that success lurked right around the corner.

He retrieved his hands and pieced them behind his head, hooded green eyes having yet to rid themselves of the lust behind them. “Then stop grinding on my dick already.”

You parted from him with a peck he almost denied and sat up on your heels.

“What do you want to be reborn as, Toji?” You tried to change subjects.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“One life is enough to suffer through.” He shrugged.

“And you call me dramatic,” you mumbled. “Then you don’t believe in reincarnation? I thought the Zen’ins were all pious.”

He rolled on his side, staring at the parked vehicles. Yours was not the only car around, but you hadn’t seen a pedestrian since you’d stopped for gas in the previous town. People in the country had an actual bedtime, as opposed to those in Tokyo.

“They serve religion when it serves ‘em back. Not me. Don’t believe in any of that.”

“Why not?” You pressed.

“Cause I don’t wanna be reborn as a damn turtle.”

You took a moment to process what he’d just said, blinking between “He can’t possibly mean…?” and “No way he just said that” at least a dozen times before you scooted closer, nudging him to flip toward you with a hand on his shoulder.

“Ya think turtles fuck a lot?” Toji broke the temporary silence.

“I… haven’t had the chance to ask one,” his sigh prompting you to add, “They do have a lot of babies though, so maybe?”

“Yeah… maybe.”

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, your eyes inadvertently drawn to the bulge in his pants. You felt less self-conscious about the damp patch in your underwear and the continuous pulsing between your thighs, both of which begged you to reconsider your answer. A few rounds of the most glorious sex you’d ever have were worth weeks of excruciating pain and gynecologist visits.

“I want my shirt back,” Toji suddenly said.

You peered away from all the dirty thoughts and shifted your gaze to his shirt on your body. “Now? You want me to take it off right now?”

His lack of response served as confirmation.

“But I’m not wearing anything underneath,” as if that could possibly dissuade him.

“Nobody’s looking.” He gestured toward the houses that surrounded the coastline, none of them with a light shining through their windows. “And I certainly don’t mind.”

The obvious choice was to dismiss his request as a corny joke and keep your arms pinned over your chest for the rest of the night. But with your mind so far gone and your heart (read: pussy) assuming office, you were pulling the shirt over your head before you could fully mull things over.

You shaped the cloth into a rough ball of fabric that you tossed at him, your adrenaline peaking to new heights as the realization of your breasts dangling in plain sight settled in. Toji didn’t even try to hide his gawking at them, his eyes blown with surprise. He’d underestimated your guts, and you’d overestimated whatever half-baked confidence carried you this far.

“I—I’ll just return it when we get home.” You hurriedly picked up the shirt from where it’d landed on his lap, trying your best to cover yourself up. “It n-needs a good washing too—my, look at all this—”

You halted as Toji caught your hands and slowly tugged them off your breasts, the shirt falling in an empty pool between your bodies. “Can’t believe you hid these from me.” He whispered, absolutely mesmerized by what was quickly becoming his favorite sight in the world.

His touch posed a question that a reluctant nod answered, your face burning hot and your heart thrumming loudly as Toji’s fingers made their way from your stomach to your chest, goosebumps erupting across every inch of velvet skin they traced. His palms stopped short of their destination while he sized up your reaction, half-expecting you to run off into the ocean and butterfly-stroke back home, but you remained uncharacteristically docile, bearing the intensity of his eyes for the sake of being touched.

Without any further delay, his fingers wrapped around your breasts and squeezed at them, feeling out the weight of the supple flesh in his palms before coming to a conclusion. This was worth the wait.

“You’re so pretty.” His thumbs rubbed your nipples in clockwork order, light pinches perking them up. “So damn pretty.”

“Not pretty stupid or anything?” Your smiles turned joint amidst a soft kiss.

“Nah, I’m the stupid one. You’re plain beautiful.”

“Don’t beat yourself over it.” Your breathing grew heavier as he began to kiss the corners of your mouth. “It’s the extra college years.”

“Fucking nerd. Come ‘ere.”

Toji pushed you to the ground and climbed on top, his knee parting your thighs while his hands kept true to their goal of kneading your breasts, playing with your sensitive peaks to draw the sweetest sounds from your throat.

“Y-You agreed to take things slow, remember? Only kissing.” You tugged at a tuft of hair, not minding that your actions contradicted your words—head tilted back and limbs closing around his waist as you rubbed your heat against his clothed cock.

“Relax.” He nibbled at your earlobe, his lips straying lower and lower with every word he mumbled across your skin. “Promise I won’t fuck any sand into your pussy. I’ll wait till ya beg me to fill it up with somethin’ else.”

A sly idea manifested as an equally sly smirk as Toji unlatched himself from your jaw to stare into your eyes. “How ‘bout this?”

He followed his question with a trail of kisses that led down your neck, searching for permission once his breath inched closer to your nipple, his tongue teasing its perimeter.

“This qualifies as kissing, right?”

“Is this seat taken?”

You lacked the willpower to lift your head from the untouched bowl of chao that lay before the vacant chair—the final chair left on the table aside from yours, all previous ones given away to those with an actual use for them.

The image spoke for itself. A girl who kept twisting her neck in the direction of the door, expecting someone who wouldn’t come, all the while dismissing the waiter’s discreet attempts to free the table. You got stood up, but instead of feeling anger, you only felt worry. Almost an hour had passed since Toji shoved you into this Vietnamese joint on the outskirts of Musashino and promised he’d be back after checking on something—and while Toji definitely was the type to leave without notice, he wasn’t the type to leave free food waiting.

You finally glanced at the young man, who patiently awaited your answer. He was more or less your age, stemming from a group of guys in baseball jerseys, all with a beer jug in hand. College athletes. The kind of people you both envied and avoided.

“You can have it.” You replied at the same time he asked whether you wanted to join their table.

He probably wasn’t a bad guy, and he wasn’t so hard on the eye either. At least that was your impression until he stated his reason for inviting you: because you were cute. There was room only for one sordid womanizer in your life.

Muttering an apology in a hushed tone, you pushed past him and walked outside, the cold wind inviting every hair on your body to stand in ovation. With your hands desperately trying to generate some degree of heat over your forearms, you dashed to the closest phone booth and shut the door behind you. You emptied a few coins in your palm and picked up the receiver, holding it to your ear while you dialed his beeper’s number and pressed 2.

“Hey, it’s me. I just left the restaurant and wanted to say, Hah! Your loss, loser. You really missed out. Don’t even think of asking me to pay for lunch again. That ship has sailed—you blew your chance.” A pause. One long enough for the voice in the speaker to ask you to deposit more coins to continue recording.

“That’s not all. What I wanted to say is, I—um, had fun today. I’m not mad that you went away—well, not that mad, anyway. I understand. There are things you can’t go into detail over, and—yeah, I guess that’s it.” You shook your bags near the phone. “Thank you for the Yoshi and the tapes. You should come over whenever you have time to listen to them together. Promise I’ll spare you the boring trivia.

“Actually, the trivia isn’t boring; you are the one who doesn’t appreciate it, and—damn, I’m ranting again. Just gimme a call, okay? Let me know you’re alive. I probably shouldn’t say this, but I really like your voice. If something bad were to happen, I’d miss hearing it. Maybe if my voice was as nice, you’d listen to me more, but I’m not complaining. I really like it, and I really like you.”

Your cheeks felt hot as you awkwardly chuckled. “You can’t laugh, okay? Don’t you dare laugh, ‘cause I know you like me too. I hope you do. Whatever. You’ll never hear me say this to your face, but I really like you a lot, Toji. Everything about you. I love every single thing about you. Thanks for being my friend and family.

“I’m running out of coins, so I’ll end this here. Talk to you soon. Take care.”

You placed the earphone back in its place and opened the door, banking on the negative fives to cool down your body’s elevated temperature. You managed three steps before the phone started to ring. Without second thought, you threw yourself back into the booth, apologizing as you realized the voice on the other line didn’t belong to the one you thought it would.

You were ready to hang up when the stranger’s words made your heart plummet in your chest. He wasn’t the owner of the beeper, but the device had temporarily fallen into his hands. He claimed to have found it in a manhole four kilometers away from Takaido station, and while there were a lot of gaps in his story, you agreed to meet up at a cafe a few blocks from your current location.

Meeting with a man whose face you didn’t know was risky, but the streets were filling up, and someone had to retrieve the beeper in Toji’s stead. It’d be fine.

“Alright, I’ll see you in ten to fifteen minutes, Mister Kong.”

Your footprints chased closely after you on the way to the car, two separate trails merging every few meters when Toji would lean down to press a kiss on your lips. His kisses tasted salty after that many hours on the beach, though you wouldn’t have it any other way. You wanted to cherish those moments before they crumpled and you woke up back on your couch with the memories of a dream you’d never truly lived.

In this dream, where a tomorrow had yet to dawn, he suggested that you one day return with a towel to finish what you’d started. You talked about trying out the local specialties and staying at a nearby ryokan—because in that dream, your shift didn’t start for five hours and you could afford to break the bank.

Your last stop occurred in front of the passenger seat’s door as you dusted the sand off your clothes. He wasn’t thrilled with your covering his artwork—little pink love bites and light purple bruises lacing your collarbones and breasts—but he let you wear his shirt indefinitely this time.

“Good?” You performed a small twirl, hoping that you’d gotten all the sand off your back.

Toji gestured for you to turn around again, his palm smoothing out the fabric until it landed a muted thwack on your butt. “Now ya good.” He grinned, walking over to his seat.

You held off getting in the car, stealing a final glance at the tranquil landscape before it faded away. You said goodbye to the sand, the pebbles, and the waves, leaving the trees for last, when the outline of something crawling among some rocks attracted your attention.

The creature in discussion had eight long limbs and a seemingly liquid head it dragged behind it, bits of seaweed sticking out of its coral complexion.

“Is that a curse?” You pointed at the horizon, forcing Toji to peek outside the window.

“That’s an octopus. Probably hitchhiked on the riptide.” He fixed the right-side mirror and closed the door. “Not everything’s a curse, dummy. Ya might not see another in your life—best forget it ever happened.”

He was right. You’d lived twenty seven years without a curse making a move. There was no reason to believe they’d suddenly start swarming you as if you were dipped in honey.

Once you were both inside the car, he twisted the key in the ignition, only for the engine to sputter and then immediately die. You knew the bare minimum about cars, so you assumed he knew what he was doing when he stepped outside and popped the hood to take a look at the machinery. You even thought the kick he gave the front wheel was part of some ritual to fix the failure, until he opened your door for you and, with an irritated smile, declared you weren’t going to believe this.

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