Work Text:
You brush off the junk that clung to the front of your shirt. What you could anyways, whatever black liquid that impurity exploded into in its 'death' did its job in saturating and ruining the front of your white button up.
The moment you pass the house's doorway, you toss your dirty crowbar to the side, dark viscous liquid painting the floor where it lands. Taking a much needed breather on the house's porch, you let your shoes scuff to a stop on water warped floorboards. And not much later, the guy with the sunglasses exits. He lingers in the doorway before shutting it behind him.
Tanaka takes the chance to study his supposed coworker, who was now wiping the stain from their hands with the amount of success you would expect. He's intrigued to say the least. You'd shown up all proper, shirt only half tucked neatly into your slacks. Reminded him of all the faceless, suit wearing, suit not-wearing people that came and went in his work. The same kind of insincerity he's used to staring at.
It didn’t take much besides him waving his little partner around before you got to caving things in. The sound of its remarkably human scream when crowbar met impurity was still rattling inside his head.
He couldn't help a scathing grin.
A little withheld, clearly experienced, but takes action—better than he assumed.
If there was one thing he couldn't stand it's the kind of person who goes on and on. Never knew when to leave things unsaid. Anything good in life had you quietly piecing things together, with agonizing focus. Well, at least in his experience.
He wonders just how much of you was cut from the cloth of a 'proper' company hire. Not being another of those one-size-fits-all was a low bar to clear.
"Smoke?"
A low cheery voice beside you. You eye the offer, then his face, what little isn't concealed behind bulky frames. He's holding a box of cigarettes with one already tapped out. Despite your otherwise neat appearance you weren't one to deny a vice. You decide on a grateful nod and pluck it from its home. You inch closer for a light. His hands cup around it. Withdraw just as quick.
Your lips pinch the cigarette. The bitter cold out here wasn't entirely impressive, but you'd take it over inside. The burn of your lungs and the muted haze in your head was something out of the miserable weather. Nothing but a light rain falling, barely enough to audibly hit the roof, but it was enough to qualify as miserable.
Cloudy. A cold and wet shirt. Probably going to storm, and you were probably lucky enough to get caught in it. Had to write your report before you're past due protocol. Not a single connection to what they're looking for this time. Like usual.
“Inconsiderate little bastards aren't they?” Sunglasses jests, breaking the silence you hoped would stay, finger pointing at your soaked chest.
You look up from your feet, steadily blowing out a stream of smoke. There was something mildly interesting about his expression, or everything around him was just terribly boring.
“Guess so,” you reply.
Embarrassing yourself further was an amicable nightmare. Your day started with telling what you thought was a civilian to screw off, this place isn’t public property, only to realize he was indeed your coworker when a bright phone with bright messages was shoved in your face. With glee too.
Just out of an idle shift of your eyes you make eye contact with his hamster. You find yourself staring at it. It starts to groom its white fur hastily as it stares back. You would feel judged if you didn't know better. Just a little rodent. Or the answer you got when you asked about it earlier,
"Ah-ha! That's my partner. Reaal sharp senses."
Partner. Why were they both here anyways? Not like you needed much for this case. Is this all you amounted to? Better to not think about it, you know you would never get answers from them anyways. Only a massive headache.
Your last hit almost agrees with your tastebuds, considering you're savoring it your last hit. You put out your hand. Tanaka leans in from where he was slouched against the railing to accept. It's an awkward exchange, and you have to will yourself to ignore it. The guy seems like a total klutz anyways. Just focus on the nicotine.
"What, not a smoker?" He brings it to his lips without a second thought. "Or is it my brand?" Tanaka’s voice drawls at the latter. He doesn't seem offended though. If you squint hard enough you see his eyes upturned in amusement, a smile fighting its way around the cig.
You pause. Your head dips, the collar of your shirt brushing your chin. Bottom-shelf smoke curls upwards as you exhale. His cigarettes are pretty shitty.
Wasn't it obvious?
"Bein' polite."
The silence after makes you wonder if you can trust those are the words that came out of your mouth. He stares with some vague expression. An ahhh escapes his mouth, his shoulders shake silently, then he bursts into laughter.
“You got me there! Dah-ha-ha!”
What's his issue? Why's he acting like it's such a crazy concept? Somehow, you were starting to feel like the weird one. Your lips purse at this, foot turning circles into the porch.
"Since you don't seem to care for manners,” you scoff, “just give me the damn thing."
His uncomfortably long laugh wavers and straightens his posture along with it. It didn't help that your expression was laughably serious.
"Okaay,” he muses, almost with approval this time. An aberrant grin still plastered on his face. “So you do have a spine past all the bullshit.”
He's met with a baffled stare, not exactly the compliment he was hoping for.
Maybe you wouldn't feel so rubbed if you could actually see his face behind those shades. Actually—the fact you're wishing to see Sunglasses without his sunglasses at all was a problem in itself.
“I’ll remember. Manners.” he notes, raising his fingers pointedly, the cigarette loosely pinched between them for your taking, and your face said acceptance enough to him.
Tanaka brings it to your lips, but he doesn't pull away, even when you close your mouth on it. You look up through your brows only to see a focused face, not anything like you expected. Until now you hadn't considered the intimacy of the gesture. So now you find yourself hyperaware of your own reflection in his shades, your eyes locked onto his, lips loose around the filter. How you must've looked while he stared at you between his fingers.
You forcibly cough which finally gets him to let go. The way he tenses up would've gotten past you if it wasn't for his terrible posture from before.
Tanaka pats his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. For himself this time. An outlet for his hands and mouth.
Back to breathing in your own, you can't help but watch, and can't help but notice that something or someone answered your earlier temptation as Tanaka’s sunglasses slide down his nose. A sliver of ordinary, brown eyes show underneath. You don't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't that. Having a job all about the tiny odd details tends to make it odd that something's not amiss. The splotchy purple mark that crawls up his neck probably just adds to your assumptions too. Impurity, you guess. Irregular. It's filed away for later, just a work habit of yours.
Tanaka nudges his shades back in place with a hum, no mind to the overcast weather. You look away casually before he notices your staring.
The quiet doesn't stick for long. His voice starts trapped in his palms, the lathy light of fire illuminating the gaps between his fingers.
"Perfect weather for cup o’ ramen." His voice becomes clearer once the lit cigarette moves away from his mouth. "Cause that's what I'm doing after." He eyes you closely for what he follows up with.
“Y’see, I’m thinking, how come someone like you is doing something like this?”
Your lips press together. Someone like...? Trying to give yourself a reason to prolong your answer you take another drag.
“You’re being nosy.” Your foot grinds into the porch harder. “They have their leashes. You would know, wouldn’t you?”
They definitely had something on this guy.
“Sorry,” Tanaka says with something close to a laugh, “maybe have something in common then.”
Evasive. Speaks for itself.
You can't tell if he wants to prod you again, or if he got what he wanted. Trying to be subtle and look does nothing if you can’t make out his now flat expression. Guess he wasn’t hired for nothing, he was sharp, his questions were obvious but still…You knew enough to know when someone was casing you.
During this time of the year, without all those incessant cicadas to sound you discomfort, only the increasing patter of rain broke the silence. One of your arms wrap tight around your waist while the other holds your cigarette close, like you're hoping it will clear the cold nipping at your face. It doesn't. Not as long as the rain continued to pick up like this. At least the smoke did something other than just irritate your senses, cover up the rancid smell. It was stagnant like oil, metallic like blood left to bake in a slaughterhouse. Whatever it was, you couldn't wait to wash it off.
Somewhere past the bend where the treeline overtook a once-used path was your car, and past that was a small town belonging to the Gunma prefecture, and even farther, a highway. Still a long ways to go from where you came.
A sharp pain ruins your daze. You flinch, instantly releasing your stub. It burnt down the filter, and burned your finger with it. You click your tongue, making up your mind.
"I'm out of here. Thanks." Even if formalities were likely lost on him you find yourself muttering it.
The cigarette butt skips into a mucky puddle with a generous nudge. Crowbar in hand you make it a point to leave quickly and quietly. Only a courtesy nod towards a blonde head turned away from you. Why you stayed this long in the first place is beyond you.
Tanaka lets out a muffled noise. You stop, turning around in confusion, already down the steps and out of the porch's shelter. He holds up a finger, successfully getting you to wait, not happily though, the rain having turned comfortless. Your hair clings to your face in clumps. The dark liquid on your shirt bleeding with the water.
Cigarette clenched in his teeth to grab the pen that hangs from his shirt, Tanaka scribbles on his hand, the ink refusing to flow like it had been used for decoration rather than practicality. He approaches when it finally works. Smoke stamped out on a wooden beam.
"I'm impressed honestly." He pauses, scratching something on the crumpled cigarette. "Got to get good contacts where you can. Especially when we both work for that—company." He grits out the last word.
Tanaka leans in a little too close for comfort when he passes it.
Close enough to smell his musk and the tobacco that smothered it.
Close enough for the frame of his glasses to slide down again, ordinary eyes just barely concealed.
Close enough for the collar of his shirt to pull taut against his skin, rain turning the white material transparent, just so, so you can see more of the dark mark that chokes the expanse of his neck.
You turn it in your fingers.
Numbers are written messily...more like a phone number. You look up at the nerve of him. He just grins, not unkindly, bleached tips wetly flattened against his head.
"Think it over—if there's anything that calls for it. I’d think I'm capable enough," he says, gesturing at the hamster cage resting on the porch.
You still have a dumbfounded look on your face. It's choked down with a little embarrassment towards yourself. It's just a phone number for work. You can just toss it when you get home.
Despite this, you still smooth out the cigarette, soon to be stashed in your pocket, against your thigh. He watches with an unintelligible expression, hidden behind misted sunglasses. Your lips part–
"Tanaka." he interrupts.
Your eyebrows furrow, instantly discouraged. "Not what I was saying—Fine. Thanks." You can't help your eyes darting over his form one more time. Just studying, a work habit, that's your excuse. When did he start to be more tolerable? A twisting, warm feeling settles in your gut despite your efforts to ignore it.
Tanaka scratches the back of his neck absently, which gets you to remember to say your name back.
You pivot immediately, shoes leaving a slick circle in the mud, no way you're sticking around in this dump any longer.
“Later.” His rough voice calls out behind you. You raise a hand, waving Tanaka off out of good manners.
Not until you distance yourself at that bend in the road do you look back. Tanaka is squatting, facing the hamster cage. His lips moving in time with inaudible words.
You palm your face with a sigh, cold skin soothing the rawness of the burn. Folding into yourself to escape the downpour, you leave that scummy house behind.