fic: Sugar
Aug. 27th, 2024 01:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Sugar
Series: Death Mark
Character/pairing:
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Yashiki likes his coffee sweet.
Word count:
Author's note:
Post Death Mark 2, and contains spoilers for that.
"You ready? We've got groceries to get," Mashita said.
It was always bluntness with him. The "good morning" left for a kiss. A cigarette hung from his chapped lips, even though it wasn't even noon yet. His overcoat was over one arm, his buttons on his shirt perfectly matched. Not a stain in sight.
The shirt must be new. Mashita went through shirts like Yashiki went through bags of sugar. Between the bullet holes, the ectoplasm an whatever else, he always managed to wreck his clothes in ways not even a washer could save.
"You know how it is. I need my coffee before I do anything."
"Mmm. Fine."
Mashita settled down into the chair at the kitchen table. Even after his morning shower he looked slightly mussed. With dark hair that Yashiki loved to run his fingers through and mess up more.
Mashita took a sip of his black coffee. The scent was rich, but held a hint of bitterness as well.
Too much bitterness. Yashiki dropped in the first sugar cube and slowly stirred it. Then, followed many more.
Yashiki's tawny hair had grown a bit long. Enough to put in a ponytail. He'd get to the barbershop one of these days, but after that part of the Departed case, he'd avoided hair-cutting scissors for a while.
His coat was hung on the rack, near the door. He had on a white shirt, unmarred of yet, and a
Mashita watched with growing irritation as Yashiki stirred in sugar cube after sugar cube.
"Are you done yet, or do you want to pour the entire bag of sugar in? And maybe add some candy bars as well? At this rate it'll be evening before you're done with your morning cup of coffee."
Yashiki smiled, in the face of Mashita's harsh words. He'd finally reached the perfect amount of sweetness in his cup.
"Can you even taste any coffee in there?"
"You should try it sometime. Just once," Yashiki said.
"I take it black. Like a slap in the face."
"I prefer waking up-without slaps," Yashiki said.
"Yeah, much better to keep that in the bedroom," Mashita said.
Yashiki was used to it. The comments—it got more than a scoff of a laugh.
Mashita finished his cup and went for one more, while Yashiki savored his. The sweetness of sugar lingered on his tongue long after he'd gone and left the kitchen.
*
Bright colors, white lanes and lanes of food surrounded him. And people, of course. People with their own lives.
It was just Mashita and him, a colorful plastic store basket in hand.
Coffee was placed in the cart. Along with rice, fresh vegetables, a bit of meat. Yashiki already had on the mind what meals would happen.
Simple, surely. A few ready to make meals, for when they came in exhausted after a case.
He felt the chill before he saw him.
A spirit among the living.
It was an elderly man, still stocking things in the afterlife. His head was slightly caved in at the back. He must've fallen from a high place. On his face was a paper mask with a smile painted on. Even with his empty skull sockets, tears still dripped down his bony cheeks.
Above the spirit, the lights flickered. Each step made the lights flicker and brown and dim. Nobody noticed in the store. Time went on as usual around him.
Shelves stocked, the beeping of things checked out, things boughten.
He motioned to Mashita. "There's a spirit there," he said in a low voice.
"Is there? Damn. Some poor sop died on the job and got stuck doing retail the rest of his life. Talk about the worst kind of hell," Mashita said.
Mashita scanned the room.
"At least he doesn't seem too hostile."
"That might change," Yashiki said.
Paper or plastic. Irasshaimase! Have you heard about our daily special....?
The man's voice was droning on and on. The same phrases repeated, until they became nearly imperceptible.
What even could he say in this? Would a 'thank you' suffice? He didn't have any tools. And it wasn't like Mashita could just take out his trusty gun and shoot the poor spirit.
The spirit went back to stocking cans. He made the motion, slowly, with a grimace. Blood dripped down the back of his uniform. Yashiki could see the white of broken skull. Parts of his cheeks were hollowed out and rotted, but still he stacked.
He had on around his wrists, like manacles, the tags of sales. Blood dripped from him with every step. But all the people around him didn't notice the spirit.
(Just like in this man's life, Yashiki thought.)
"Tch, I know how to deal with this one."
When the people cleared from the aisle, Mashita moved in.
"Hey, you. Worker. I'm the new boss here. And you need to take time off. This is an order."
The ghost let out a dreadful moan. Bills....can't. Must....work. Must...keep working. It hurts. Back hurts. Knees hurts. Have to keep working.
"Paid time off. It's the new rule laid down by the Diet and Prime Minister. You gotta take vacations occasional or get penalized. Now get out of here and do whatever you want. I don't want to see your ass in here for at least a week. Maybe two."
The ghost let out a sigh of relief. And finally a soft smile.
I can finally...see my grandchild.
The lights flickered back on. It was like nothing had happened.
Around them, people gathered up groceries. Groceries were rung up. Time continued on.
*
The kitchen was in disarray. Bags everywhere. The black and white tile was obscured completely from this angle. The pots and pans all hid away, the rice cooker left on the marble counters.Yashiki sneezed from the dust from the cupboard.
He'd have to clean in there one day. One day when there wasn't spirits, when there wasn't someone in need of help.
(A forgone conclusion if there ever was one. That day surely wouldn't come, with the amount of spirits that he faced day by day.)
Yashiki placed the coffee on the table.
"After all that, I could use another cup."
He let out a sigh.
"I didn't think I'd find a spirit right at the nearest grocery store," Yashiki said.
"You should expect it by now. You're a magnet for that kind of stuff," Mashita said.
"True."
"I'll make it. You keep up with what you're doing. I don't know where half that stuff goes. You know I survive on take out when I'm not here," Mashita said.
They split the task. Rice was put in containers, bread in the fridge, coffee by the coffee maker.
And it was domestic, as odd as domesticity could be ever applied to someone as prickly as Mashita.
"I'm surprised you didn't find a ghost in there. We can't even go damn grocery shopping without running into ghosts," Mashita said.
"At least this one was easy," Yashiki said.
"This is what you get, being with me, you know," Yashiki said softly.
He looked down at the bag of coffee.
"Curses and ghosts, about every day. That'll be my life until I die."
"Tch. It keeps things interesting. I'd get bored otherwise. You think some old ghost is going to scare me away?"
Yashiki laughed softly. "Not much scares you away."
"Not even your coffee drinking habits," Mashita said.
Yashiki left to put something in the pantry and finish the rest, only to return to find the coffee already brewed and ready for him. He took a seat at the kitchen table. He took a sip and found it....sweet. He looked to Mashita, as if there might be some prank. Bitter coffee, or some kind of trick.
"This is... sweet?"
Mashita rolled his eyes.
"Of course it is. That's how you like it. It's no prank. You know me well enough to know that I'm not the sort."
With a shrug, Yashiki took another sip and found it...perfectly sweet and smooth. For all his complaining, Mashita must've watched closely to see just how many sugar cubes Yashiki had put in that coffee.
It was as sweet as a dessert. Sweet enough for him, even.
"Are you telling me that you deigned to put sugar in my coffee?"
"You're drinking it, not me," Mashita said. "If you want to ruin perfectly good coffee, that's on you."
"Besides...."
Mashita leaned in across the kitchen table for a soft, lingering kiss.
"It isn't all bad, all that sweetness. You'll be sorry when you rot your teeth and have to get dentures, though, old man."
"You like sweet things after all."
"I like you, and you're a damned bleeding heart. Does that count?"
"It counts enough for me," Yashiki said.
Mashita opened up the paper. There was another string of disappearances in H city. They never got much of a break. It was almost a surprise not to hear a knock that moment--for that was so often how his life changed. A knock, a stranger, and a new case.
"I know the brass. They want to keep this quiet and have it solved. It has the stink of spirits on it."
"I know what you mean. The details in the paper were very...familiar."
Mashita got up, and patted Yashiki on the shoulder.
"I'll make sure that old van of yours has oil in it. Finish your coffee. It might be the last rest you get for a while. That grocery ghost won't be the last spirit."
"I fear it won't," Yashiki said.
And he took another sip. He'd need it, for later. Be it nights spent with Mashita, or hunting down spirits, or both. They blended into each other.
His life wasn't lonely any longer, and it certainly wasn't boring.
Series: Death Mark
Character/pairing:
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Yashiki likes his coffee sweet.
Word count:
Author's note:
Post Death Mark 2, and contains spoilers for that.
"You ready? We've got groceries to get," Mashita said.
It was always bluntness with him. The "good morning" left for a kiss. A cigarette hung from his chapped lips, even though it wasn't even noon yet. His overcoat was over one arm, his buttons on his shirt perfectly matched. Not a stain in sight.
The shirt must be new. Mashita went through shirts like Yashiki went through bags of sugar. Between the bullet holes, the ectoplasm an whatever else, he always managed to wreck his clothes in ways not even a washer could save.
"You know how it is. I need my coffee before I do anything."
"Mmm. Fine."
Mashita settled down into the chair at the kitchen table. Even after his morning shower he looked slightly mussed. With dark hair that Yashiki loved to run his fingers through and mess up more.
Mashita took a sip of his black coffee. The scent was rich, but held a hint of bitterness as well.
Too much bitterness. Yashiki dropped in the first sugar cube and slowly stirred it. Then, followed many more.
Yashiki's tawny hair had grown a bit long. Enough to put in a ponytail. He'd get to the barbershop one of these days, but after that part of the Departed case, he'd avoided hair-cutting scissors for a while.
His coat was hung on the rack, near the door. He had on a white shirt, unmarred of yet, and a
Mashita watched with growing irritation as Yashiki stirred in sugar cube after sugar cube.
"Are you done yet, or do you want to pour the entire bag of sugar in? And maybe add some candy bars as well? At this rate it'll be evening before you're done with your morning cup of coffee."
Yashiki smiled, in the face of Mashita's harsh words. He'd finally reached the perfect amount of sweetness in his cup.
"Can you even taste any coffee in there?"
"You should try it sometime. Just once," Yashiki said.
"I take it black. Like a slap in the face."
"I prefer waking up-without slaps," Yashiki said.
"Yeah, much better to keep that in the bedroom," Mashita said.
Yashiki was used to it. The comments—it got more than a scoff of a laugh.
Mashita finished his cup and went for one more, while Yashiki savored his. The sweetness of sugar lingered on his tongue long after he'd gone and left the kitchen.
*
Bright colors, white lanes and lanes of food surrounded him. And people, of course. People with their own lives.
It was just Mashita and him, a colorful plastic store basket in hand.
Coffee was placed in the cart. Along with rice, fresh vegetables, a bit of meat. Yashiki already had on the mind what meals would happen.
Simple, surely. A few ready to make meals, for when they came in exhausted after a case.
He felt the chill before he saw him.
A spirit among the living.
It was an elderly man, still stocking things in the afterlife. His head was slightly caved in at the back. He must've fallen from a high place. On his face was a paper mask with a smile painted on. Even with his empty skull sockets, tears still dripped down his bony cheeks.
Above the spirit, the lights flickered. Each step made the lights flicker and brown and dim. Nobody noticed in the store. Time went on as usual around him.
Shelves stocked, the beeping of things checked out, things boughten.
He motioned to Mashita. "There's a spirit there," he said in a low voice.
"Is there? Damn. Some poor sop died on the job and got stuck doing retail the rest of his life. Talk about the worst kind of hell," Mashita said.
Mashita scanned the room.
"At least he doesn't seem too hostile."
"That might change," Yashiki said.
Paper or plastic. Irasshaimase! Have you heard about our daily special....?
The man's voice was droning on and on. The same phrases repeated, until they became nearly imperceptible.
What even could he say in this? Would a 'thank you' suffice? He didn't have any tools. And it wasn't like Mashita could just take out his trusty gun and shoot the poor spirit.
The spirit went back to stocking cans. He made the motion, slowly, with a grimace. Blood dripped down the back of his uniform. Yashiki could see the white of broken skull. Parts of his cheeks were hollowed out and rotted, but still he stacked.
He had on around his wrists, like manacles, the tags of sales. Blood dripped from him with every step. But all the people around him didn't notice the spirit.
(Just like in this man's life, Yashiki thought.)
"Tch, I know how to deal with this one."
When the people cleared from the aisle, Mashita moved in.
"Hey, you. Worker. I'm the new boss here. And you need to take time off. This is an order."
The ghost let out a dreadful moan. Bills....can't. Must....work. Must...keep working. It hurts. Back hurts. Knees hurts. Have to keep working.
"Paid time off. It's the new rule laid down by the Diet and Prime Minister. You gotta take vacations occasional or get penalized. Now get out of here and do whatever you want. I don't want to see your ass in here for at least a week. Maybe two."
The ghost let out a sigh of relief. And finally a soft smile.
I can finally...see my grandchild.
The lights flickered back on. It was like nothing had happened.
Around them, people gathered up groceries. Groceries were rung up. Time continued on.
*
The kitchen was in disarray. Bags everywhere. The black and white tile was obscured completely from this angle. The pots and pans all hid away, the rice cooker left on the marble counters.Yashiki sneezed from the dust from the cupboard.
He'd have to clean in there one day. One day when there wasn't spirits, when there wasn't someone in need of help.
(A forgone conclusion if there ever was one. That day surely wouldn't come, with the amount of spirits that he faced day by day.)
Yashiki placed the coffee on the table.
"After all that, I could use another cup."
He let out a sigh.
"I didn't think I'd find a spirit right at the nearest grocery store," Yashiki said.
"You should expect it by now. You're a magnet for that kind of stuff," Mashita said.
"True."
"I'll make it. You keep up with what you're doing. I don't know where half that stuff goes. You know I survive on take out when I'm not here," Mashita said.
They split the task. Rice was put in containers, bread in the fridge, coffee by the coffee maker.
And it was domestic, as odd as domesticity could be ever applied to someone as prickly as Mashita.
"I'm surprised you didn't find a ghost in there. We can't even go damn grocery shopping without running into ghosts," Mashita said.
"At least this one was easy," Yashiki said.
"This is what you get, being with me, you know," Yashiki said softly.
He looked down at the bag of coffee.
"Curses and ghosts, about every day. That'll be my life until I die."
"Tch. It keeps things interesting. I'd get bored otherwise. You think some old ghost is going to scare me away?"
Yashiki laughed softly. "Not much scares you away."
"Not even your coffee drinking habits," Mashita said.
Yashiki left to put something in the pantry and finish the rest, only to return to find the coffee already brewed and ready for him. He took a seat at the kitchen table. He took a sip and found it....sweet. He looked to Mashita, as if there might be some prank. Bitter coffee, or some kind of trick.
"This is... sweet?"
Mashita rolled his eyes.
"Of course it is. That's how you like it. It's no prank. You know me well enough to know that I'm not the sort."
With a shrug, Yashiki took another sip and found it...perfectly sweet and smooth. For all his complaining, Mashita must've watched closely to see just how many sugar cubes Yashiki had put in that coffee.
It was as sweet as a dessert. Sweet enough for him, even.
"Are you telling me that you deigned to put sugar in my coffee?"
"You're drinking it, not me," Mashita said. "If you want to ruin perfectly good coffee, that's on you."
"Besides...."
Mashita leaned in across the kitchen table for a soft, lingering kiss.
"It isn't all bad, all that sweetness. You'll be sorry when you rot your teeth and have to get dentures, though, old man."
"You like sweet things after all."
"I like you, and you're a damned bleeding heart. Does that count?"
"It counts enough for me," Yashiki said.
Mashita opened up the paper. There was another string of disappearances in H city. They never got much of a break. It was almost a surprise not to hear a knock that moment--for that was so often how his life changed. A knock, a stranger, and a new case.
"I know the brass. They want to keep this quiet and have it solved. It has the stink of spirits on it."
"I know what you mean. The details in the paper were very...familiar."
Mashita got up, and patted Yashiki on the shoulder.
"I'll make sure that old van of yours has oil in it. Finish your coffee. It might be the last rest you get for a while. That grocery ghost won't be the last spirit."
"I fear it won't," Yashiki said.
And he took another sip. He'd need it, for later. Be it nights spent with Mashita, or hunting down spirits, or both. They blended into each other.
His life wasn't lonely any longer, and it certainly wasn't boring.
