fic: Overcoat
Aug. 27th, 2024 01:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Overcoat.
Series: Death Mark
Character/pairing: Yashiki/Mashita
Rating:
Summary: Mashita leaves his coat at Yashiki's like it's a routine.
Word count: 2796
Author's note:
Blame this meta. Got me thinking.
Post Death Mark 2, and contains some spoilers for that.
Yashiki inspected the house, his daily walk, his daily watch. For ghosts, for dust, and more often than not, for missing objects. A dollmaker's tool which had gotten misplaced, and he couldn't tell if it was due to the lingering effects of amnesia, a spirit, or simply the toll the years had taken him.
Or, just that he was in his forties now. So many writings mentioned the faulty forties. Aching bones, tender joints, more injuries, and far more fatigue.
They didn't mention the loss. How this decade stretched out in emptiness, until there was nothing left but the Mark Bearers, and the graves of those who he had lost.
The Mark Bearers, those who came into his life occasionally, often with the accompaniment of a new spirit to be exorcised.
The closest thing he had to--what? Not family, sort of friends. For he wouldn't call up most of them for a jovial chat. Allies, perhaps was the word.
And Mashita, who he had fallen into some sort of partnership with.
We could be good together. Come, join me.
At first, Yashiki had cited need for a break. Only to realize he wasn't good at breaks.
The way Mashita phrased it, the first thought was Mashita was asking him out. Then, surely he meant it simply as working partners. Then, maybe it sounded like both. An accidental double entendre. And Yashiki still didn't know what he meant. Mashita was hard around the edges, to all but him. To him, he was pleasantly prickly, if he could phrase it any which way.
He was still getting his bearings, even now. From the ashes of Masamune, came Yashiki. A man more wry, more damaged, and far more kind than his predecessor.
Then, the Masquerade. Then, the Departed. Now, he was filled with an ache in his bones and a tiredness that wouldn't go away. And he still couldn't rest.
Outside was a gray haze of mist and probable ghosts. Inside wasn't much better, as dust rose up with his arrival.
Cleaning was supposed to be healing, comforting. Especially when a person was unsettled. It wasn't working.
As he went through the living room, he caught sight of an olive green trench coat left over the arm couch. A glance over it showed it was Mashita's. There was a cigarette burn at the hem, and a few bullet holes had been mended.
Things of Mashita had slowly moved in. The ash trays, the coffee he preferred, and this coat. So much that it was not much of a surprise. This coat must be one of many, left in a drunken haze on the times when they'd gotten a few drinks after a big case, and Mashita ended up passed out on the couch.
He always told Mashita to stay. Usually they brought the alcohol home. Easier and less expensive than taking a cab. (And knowing Yashiki, the cab he got would probably be haunted.)
Yashiki caught sight of yellowed paper that peeked out from a couch cushion. He draped the coat over one arm, and took the case file in the other hand.
And of course, the file folders. There'd been a flood in his office, and long after the office was fixed, the files remained. Enough that Yashiki gave him his own room. One Mashita chose--the one closest to Yashiki's own room.
Yashiki would have to call Mashita later about this. Mashita would be livid to find one of his case files was missing. He was meticulous like that.
One room had been designated Mashita's room, though he rarely made it to it. Something which sounded far more lurid and passionate than it was. A few drinks, or just the exhaustion that made one, or both of them, asleep on the few couches in this large room.
'
He'd gotten a new television, to fill the room. Mashita liked to watch the nightly news. Mashita was always telling him, you should watch a drama or something. A movie, a sports game. Something to clear your mind.
Without Mashita there, the television usually remained off, except for the nightly news taken in with dinner. The static sound reminded him of too many ghosts, when on his lonesome.
Yashiki was supposed to be on break. But, just as after the original curse of the Death Mark, when he tried to relax, he only became a restless sentinel, prowling the halls for something. Anything.
For what? Atonement? The sound of ghosts? Perhaps he'd forgotten how to be at rest. Maybe Mary took that with him as well.
And after facing The Departed--and having far heavier casualties than before, he had far more reason to need to have a moment of calm. Yet this serenity couldn't so easily be found. At least, not alone in this old mansion.
(In retrospect, it was almost surprising that the Kujou mansion wasn't more haunted. His predecessors would've had so many exorcisms, so many hungry ghosts to appease. Perhaps their ghosts wandered elsewhere in the end, done in by the curse Mary had left upon them.)
The him before, Masamune, could've had hobbies. Reading a novel in the shade, researching obscure occult phenomena, or even dollmaking on the side.
But, his memory was still foggy. And Masamune's life felt more like a stranger's. So much that he hadn't even taken the name back as he discovered it.
One thing he did know that neither Yashiki or Masamune were good at relaxing, despite Mashita's scolding that he never slept enough.
The rain drummed upon the roof. Almost enough that he didn't hear the insistent knocking. But, the knocking continued, ever louder. Until the person had to be slamming upon the door with gritted teeth.
And, when he opened it, he saw the teeth were indeed gritted. Mashita looked like a soaked cat, with a grimace and his suit so wet it clung to his body.
"Tch, open the fucking door, would you? I'm going to drown out here."
Mashita was soaked to the skin, and looked about as happy as a cat who just got a bath.
Yashiki found himself smiling at the sight of him, drenched, even at the grimace.
"Keep laughing, and I'll pull you out into the rain so you can get wet too," Mashita said.
"I'm just--"
What? Happy to see Mashita?
"--glad for the company."
"I bet you are, old man. You're wasting away. Starving for a bit of human attention."
As so often—just as he'd pinpointed the Departed almost immediately, when Yashiki's tender heart couldn't allow him to be so critical—Mashita cut right to the point. Little escaped his notice.
For all his bluntness, he could figure out facts and clues in seconds.
Yashiki brought him a towel. Mashita took it without a word, not even of thanks. But, Yashiki was used to it.
Mashita had already begun to unbutton his shirt. His chest was scarred, but rather toned as well. For someone his size, he was scrappy. Wiry, with bared fangs and a sharp enough tongue to drive anyone away.
Anyone but Yashiki, that was.
Mashita tried his hair, and made it look even more mussed.
Mashita glowered from beneath the towel.
"Damned downpour out there."
Mashita let out a sigh.
"You should've taken shelter at a motel before venturing out," Yashiki said.
"You sound like a nagging spouse. Of course I was going to update you. The phones are out in some places. Washed out by the stormy season. I figured the Kujou mansion has high enough ground to be okay, but I wanted to be sure."
"Go on, take a shower. I'll get something warm in you."
Mashita smirked at that.
That came out not quite as intended.
"I mean--Coffee or tea?"
"Coffee. Black. Keep your sugar out of it."
"I'll keep it for myself," Yashiki said.
"I'll leave some clothes outside the bathroom door. You left some last time. They're out of the wash now."
Mashita let out a sound, a grunt--and was that a muttered thanks?
"The storm is getting worse. I can hear thunder."
"I'll make it quick."
Thunder sounded in the distance. A slight worry. Yashiki busied himself with other things. He pulled a semblance of a few day old pastries from the fridge. The kitchen always felt a little eerie at this hour. Pots hung from the walls. Others were set aside in the cupboards.
Yashiki brewed a cup of coffee, though it was getting later in the day.
Mashita returned, to Yashiki's relief. His hair was still wet.
"A suit at this hour?"
"I don't have anything else here. You want me to raid your clothes?"
"They wouldn't fit."
Yashiki was a bit taller, with a more broad back than Mashita. Anything of his would hang off of Mashita. And Mashita wouldn't tolerate that.
Note to self, get Mashita some pajamas. Maybe something with cute kitties on it, just to see his response.
Mashita took a seat at the kitchen table.
"The case is done, at least. Missing persons case, except it was just a husband that ran off with his mistress. Tried to make a new life and fake his life. Pathetic, really. It took me longer to get back here than find out his misdeeds."
"You left your coat. But, I'm sure you have others," Yashiki said. Yashiki paused a moment before continuing.
"I washed it. And you forgot your case file. It's in the couch where you slept."
"Passed out again. I'm working too many hours. You couldn't even carry me to bed?" Mashita said.
Mashita smirked.
"Right, you're too old. You'd hurt your back."
"More afraid you'd wake up in a drunken stupor, think I'm trying to rob you and take a swing at me."
"Even drunk I wouldn't scratch you up. I might growl at you, but I'd never hurt you."
"You do that even when you're sober," Yashiki said.
"It's just how I am," Mashita said.
He smirked. "You don't complain too much."
"I leave the complaining to you. You're so good at it."
That got a chuckle out of him.
"Let me guess. You're wandering like a ghost, unable to rest for a minute. Are you sleeping at least?"
"Some."
"You're such a bleeding heart. You treat yourself like shit. Take a sleeping pill at least. You won't help anyone if you're so tired you can barely move."
The rain continued on. The coming evening was quite gloomy so far. The haze made it so he could scarcely see out the windows.
"I finished that case. I was just looking it over before I had a nightcap. I hadn't drank anything the whole case. Figured I'd wait to celebrate with you. All too sips you can take before you decide that's enough."
Mashita laughed.
"Then again, I'm not able to drink what I used to. I guess I'm getting old, just like you. Look at us, growing old together. You're winning this race, old man," Mashita said.
Yashiki let out a sigh. "And every case seems to steal years away."
"You're about one ghost-wife away from getting gray hairs," Mashita said.
Mashita opened up the case file and looked it over.
"You didn't look?"
"At the case? It's your private business."
"What's mine is yours."
Mashita closed the case file.
"This one's finished. I'll tell you about it sometime. You want to get a drink?"
"In this weather? I wouldn't want to be on the roads."
"Tch. I drove it. I could survive."
"You should've been more careful."
"I was coming back for my coat. Obviously. Besides--Amazingly enough, they make drink you can buy and bring home. I was surprised, too," Mashita said.
"Sure. Only a small amount. I don't want to be hungover tomorrow."
Yashiki rarely got drunk. A little buzzed to take the edge off, but nothing enough to make him potentially lose his senses if he was attacked. Even a small slip up could mean certain death.
Mashita poured out some sake into a glass. A smaller amount for Yashiki, who wasn't quite as good at holding his liquor.
"I dusted. And wished I was working, even though I was tired."
"Aw, you did miss me. And here I thought I'd come back to my things thrown out because I was gone so long."
"It'd take more than that to make me throw you out," Yashiki said.
"Considering that I left my case files and coat all over, it'd have to be something really big. Like not putting enough sugar in your coffee."
A snort, a laugh.
"I'd probably find it in me to forgive you."
The glass was empty for a moment on marble counter tops. Then, amber liquid filled it up. The kitchen was so much less empty, so much less haunted with Mashita there. Even the ghosts didn't dare disturb the two of them.
There was thunder outside. A low roll that turned into a sudden and sharp crack. More rain poured down. The lights dimmed for a moment, in a brown out. For once, it wasn't spirits.
At least, it probably wasn't.
Mashita's sleeves were rolled up. His dark pants slightly creased. Yashiki could smell the scent of the soap he'd used. Something like cedar, and the ever present scent of cigarettes.
"News time. I'll finish my cup in the living room."
He walked there, drink in hand.
A routine, for two of them. Yashiki soon joined him. The living room smelled of cigarettes, as Mashita lit up on, and drank and smoke through the news of the local series of murders in the nearby town.
He'd never liked the scent of cigarettes before. That was one thing he definitely remembered from the time he was Masamune.
But, Yashiki had grown fond of the scent. And found himself glad for the return. It smelled like Mashita again.
The house wasn't empty, save for regrets and ghosts any longer.
Yashiki settled on the couch. Not too close, not enough to touch. Mashita's legs were slightly spread as he drank. The television droned on, the thunder continuned in a low rumble. Mashita's drunken explanation could go on hours.
He hoped so.
Yashiki sank into the couch, a relaxation settled on him. The discomfort he couldn't name or figure out finally gone.
*
The rain cleaned out the air but left the path muddy.
No note. Yashiki woke up to an empty house again.
Mashita forgot his coat again. A daily occurrence, it seemed. Mashita left on cases. A voice mail on the answering machine, where Mashita sounded like he wanted to punch someone. There'd be clipped words, and about how he'd come visit soon. And he'd talk about the case later.
He'd come to 'get his coat' and then forget to get it. It'd never failed.
"Getting forgetful in your old age" is what Mashita would've said, if the roles were reversed.
Yashiki kept it hung up, pressed so it wouldn't be wrinkled.
Sometimes while he was folding, taking care of this--he caught the scent of cigarettes that not even a wash could take away. The scent of Mashita which couldn't be washed out of this coat, or his life.
Yashiki pressed his face to the coat, to breathe in the smell he found he missed so much. Then--a frown.
He really was acting like some wife whose husband went off to war.
Mashita really had intertwined his life in with Yashiki's. Like the stray cat who ran into the house, and refused to leave the minute it got inside.
A respite like this wouldn't last long. Soon, there'd be more than Mashita knocking on his doors. Another spirit to be soothed, and sent to the afterlife. And what a comfort it was--to get back to work, with Mashita by his side.
He listened to the voice mail once more.
I'll be home soon. Don't get your panties in a twist. I'm just getting files. We'll go out for dinner when I get back. Remember to eat. Don't make me call you and chew you out. See you soon.
Their friendship had gradually started to drift into a sort of domestic territory. Something not entirely shocking, something not unwarranted and unwanted. And Yashiki had a feeling, if he told this to Mashita, he'd get a response of no fucking shit, Yashiki. About damn time you noticed.
And that brought a smile to his face, for the first time since Mashita left.
Series: Death Mark
Character/pairing: Yashiki/Mashita
Rating:
Summary: Mashita leaves his coat at Yashiki's like it's a routine.
Word count: 2796
Author's note:
Blame this meta. Got me thinking.
Post Death Mark 2, and contains some spoilers for that.
Yashiki inspected the house, his daily walk, his daily watch. For ghosts, for dust, and more often than not, for missing objects. A dollmaker's tool which had gotten misplaced, and he couldn't tell if it was due to the lingering effects of amnesia, a spirit, or simply the toll the years had taken him.
Or, just that he was in his forties now. So many writings mentioned the faulty forties. Aching bones, tender joints, more injuries, and far more fatigue.
They didn't mention the loss. How this decade stretched out in emptiness, until there was nothing left but the Mark Bearers, and the graves of those who he had lost.
The Mark Bearers, those who came into his life occasionally, often with the accompaniment of a new spirit to be exorcised.
The closest thing he had to--what? Not family, sort of friends. For he wouldn't call up most of them for a jovial chat. Allies, perhaps was the word.
And Mashita, who he had fallen into some sort of partnership with.
We could be good together. Come, join me.
At first, Yashiki had cited need for a break. Only to realize he wasn't good at breaks.
The way Mashita phrased it, the first thought was Mashita was asking him out. Then, surely he meant it simply as working partners. Then, maybe it sounded like both. An accidental double entendre. And Yashiki still didn't know what he meant. Mashita was hard around the edges, to all but him. To him, he was pleasantly prickly, if he could phrase it any which way.
He was still getting his bearings, even now. From the ashes of Masamune, came Yashiki. A man more wry, more damaged, and far more kind than his predecessor.
Then, the Masquerade. Then, the Departed. Now, he was filled with an ache in his bones and a tiredness that wouldn't go away. And he still couldn't rest.
Outside was a gray haze of mist and probable ghosts. Inside wasn't much better, as dust rose up with his arrival.
Cleaning was supposed to be healing, comforting. Especially when a person was unsettled. It wasn't working.
As he went through the living room, he caught sight of an olive green trench coat left over the arm couch. A glance over it showed it was Mashita's. There was a cigarette burn at the hem, and a few bullet holes had been mended.
Things of Mashita had slowly moved in. The ash trays, the coffee he preferred, and this coat. So much that it was not much of a surprise. This coat must be one of many, left in a drunken haze on the times when they'd gotten a few drinks after a big case, and Mashita ended up passed out on the couch.
He always told Mashita to stay. Usually they brought the alcohol home. Easier and less expensive than taking a cab. (And knowing Yashiki, the cab he got would probably be haunted.)
Yashiki caught sight of yellowed paper that peeked out from a couch cushion. He draped the coat over one arm, and took the case file in the other hand.
And of course, the file folders. There'd been a flood in his office, and long after the office was fixed, the files remained. Enough that Yashiki gave him his own room. One Mashita chose--the one closest to Yashiki's own room.
Yashiki would have to call Mashita later about this. Mashita would be livid to find one of his case files was missing. He was meticulous like that.
One room had been designated Mashita's room, though he rarely made it to it. Something which sounded far more lurid and passionate than it was. A few drinks, or just the exhaustion that made one, or both of them, asleep on the few couches in this large room.
'
He'd gotten a new television, to fill the room. Mashita liked to watch the nightly news. Mashita was always telling him, you should watch a drama or something. A movie, a sports game. Something to clear your mind.
Without Mashita there, the television usually remained off, except for the nightly news taken in with dinner. The static sound reminded him of too many ghosts, when on his lonesome.
Yashiki was supposed to be on break. But, just as after the original curse of the Death Mark, when he tried to relax, he only became a restless sentinel, prowling the halls for something. Anything.
For what? Atonement? The sound of ghosts? Perhaps he'd forgotten how to be at rest. Maybe Mary took that with him as well.
And after facing The Departed--and having far heavier casualties than before, he had far more reason to need to have a moment of calm. Yet this serenity couldn't so easily be found. At least, not alone in this old mansion.
(In retrospect, it was almost surprising that the Kujou mansion wasn't more haunted. His predecessors would've had so many exorcisms, so many hungry ghosts to appease. Perhaps their ghosts wandered elsewhere in the end, done in by the curse Mary had left upon them.)
The him before, Masamune, could've had hobbies. Reading a novel in the shade, researching obscure occult phenomena, or even dollmaking on the side.
But, his memory was still foggy. And Masamune's life felt more like a stranger's. So much that he hadn't even taken the name back as he discovered it.
One thing he did know that neither Yashiki or Masamune were good at relaxing, despite Mashita's scolding that he never slept enough.
The rain drummed upon the roof. Almost enough that he didn't hear the insistent knocking. But, the knocking continued, ever louder. Until the person had to be slamming upon the door with gritted teeth.
And, when he opened it, he saw the teeth were indeed gritted. Mashita looked like a soaked cat, with a grimace and his suit so wet it clung to his body.
"Tch, open the fucking door, would you? I'm going to drown out here."
Mashita was soaked to the skin, and looked about as happy as a cat who just got a bath.
Yashiki found himself smiling at the sight of him, drenched, even at the grimace.
"Keep laughing, and I'll pull you out into the rain so you can get wet too," Mashita said.
"I'm just--"
What? Happy to see Mashita?
"--glad for the company."
"I bet you are, old man. You're wasting away. Starving for a bit of human attention."
As so often—just as he'd pinpointed the Departed almost immediately, when Yashiki's tender heart couldn't allow him to be so critical—Mashita cut right to the point. Little escaped his notice.
For all his bluntness, he could figure out facts and clues in seconds.
Yashiki brought him a towel. Mashita took it without a word, not even of thanks. But, Yashiki was used to it.
Mashita had already begun to unbutton his shirt. His chest was scarred, but rather toned as well. For someone his size, he was scrappy. Wiry, with bared fangs and a sharp enough tongue to drive anyone away.
Anyone but Yashiki, that was.
Mashita tried his hair, and made it look even more mussed.
Mashita glowered from beneath the towel.
"Damned downpour out there."
Mashita let out a sigh.
"You should've taken shelter at a motel before venturing out," Yashiki said.
"You sound like a nagging spouse. Of course I was going to update you. The phones are out in some places. Washed out by the stormy season. I figured the Kujou mansion has high enough ground to be okay, but I wanted to be sure."
"Go on, take a shower. I'll get something warm in you."
Mashita smirked at that.
That came out not quite as intended.
"I mean--Coffee or tea?"
"Coffee. Black. Keep your sugar out of it."
"I'll keep it for myself," Yashiki said.
"I'll leave some clothes outside the bathroom door. You left some last time. They're out of the wash now."
Mashita let out a sound, a grunt--and was that a muttered thanks?
"The storm is getting worse. I can hear thunder."
"I'll make it quick."
Thunder sounded in the distance. A slight worry. Yashiki busied himself with other things. He pulled a semblance of a few day old pastries from the fridge. The kitchen always felt a little eerie at this hour. Pots hung from the walls. Others were set aside in the cupboards.
Yashiki brewed a cup of coffee, though it was getting later in the day.
Mashita returned, to Yashiki's relief. His hair was still wet.
"A suit at this hour?"
"I don't have anything else here. You want me to raid your clothes?"
"They wouldn't fit."
Yashiki was a bit taller, with a more broad back than Mashita. Anything of his would hang off of Mashita. And Mashita wouldn't tolerate that.
Note to self, get Mashita some pajamas. Maybe something with cute kitties on it, just to see his response.
Mashita took a seat at the kitchen table.
"The case is done, at least. Missing persons case, except it was just a husband that ran off with his mistress. Tried to make a new life and fake his life. Pathetic, really. It took me longer to get back here than find out his misdeeds."
"You left your coat. But, I'm sure you have others," Yashiki said. Yashiki paused a moment before continuing.
"I washed it. And you forgot your case file. It's in the couch where you slept."
"Passed out again. I'm working too many hours. You couldn't even carry me to bed?" Mashita said.
Mashita smirked.
"Right, you're too old. You'd hurt your back."
"More afraid you'd wake up in a drunken stupor, think I'm trying to rob you and take a swing at me."
"Even drunk I wouldn't scratch you up. I might growl at you, but I'd never hurt you."
"You do that even when you're sober," Yashiki said.
"It's just how I am," Mashita said.
He smirked. "You don't complain too much."
"I leave the complaining to you. You're so good at it."
That got a chuckle out of him.
"Let me guess. You're wandering like a ghost, unable to rest for a minute. Are you sleeping at least?"
"Some."
"You're such a bleeding heart. You treat yourself like shit. Take a sleeping pill at least. You won't help anyone if you're so tired you can barely move."
The rain continued on. The coming evening was quite gloomy so far. The haze made it so he could scarcely see out the windows.
"I finished that case. I was just looking it over before I had a nightcap. I hadn't drank anything the whole case. Figured I'd wait to celebrate with you. All too sips you can take before you decide that's enough."
Mashita laughed.
"Then again, I'm not able to drink what I used to. I guess I'm getting old, just like you. Look at us, growing old together. You're winning this race, old man," Mashita said.
Yashiki let out a sigh. "And every case seems to steal years away."
"You're about one ghost-wife away from getting gray hairs," Mashita said.
Mashita opened up the case file and looked it over.
"You didn't look?"
"At the case? It's your private business."
"What's mine is yours."
Mashita closed the case file.
"This one's finished. I'll tell you about it sometime. You want to get a drink?"
"In this weather? I wouldn't want to be on the roads."
"Tch. I drove it. I could survive."
"You should've been more careful."
"I was coming back for my coat. Obviously. Besides--Amazingly enough, they make drink you can buy and bring home. I was surprised, too," Mashita said.
"Sure. Only a small amount. I don't want to be hungover tomorrow."
Yashiki rarely got drunk. A little buzzed to take the edge off, but nothing enough to make him potentially lose his senses if he was attacked. Even a small slip up could mean certain death.
Mashita poured out some sake into a glass. A smaller amount for Yashiki, who wasn't quite as good at holding his liquor.
"I dusted. And wished I was working, even though I was tired."
"Aw, you did miss me. And here I thought I'd come back to my things thrown out because I was gone so long."
"It'd take more than that to make me throw you out," Yashiki said.
"Considering that I left my case files and coat all over, it'd have to be something really big. Like not putting enough sugar in your coffee."
A snort, a laugh.
"I'd probably find it in me to forgive you."
The glass was empty for a moment on marble counter tops. Then, amber liquid filled it up. The kitchen was so much less empty, so much less haunted with Mashita there. Even the ghosts didn't dare disturb the two of them.
There was thunder outside. A low roll that turned into a sudden and sharp crack. More rain poured down. The lights dimmed for a moment, in a brown out. For once, it wasn't spirits.
At least, it probably wasn't.
Mashita's sleeves were rolled up. His dark pants slightly creased. Yashiki could smell the scent of the soap he'd used. Something like cedar, and the ever present scent of cigarettes.
"News time. I'll finish my cup in the living room."
He walked there, drink in hand.
A routine, for two of them. Yashiki soon joined him. The living room smelled of cigarettes, as Mashita lit up on, and drank and smoke through the news of the local series of murders in the nearby town.
He'd never liked the scent of cigarettes before. That was one thing he definitely remembered from the time he was Masamune.
But, Yashiki had grown fond of the scent. And found himself glad for the return. It smelled like Mashita again.
The house wasn't empty, save for regrets and ghosts any longer.
Yashiki settled on the couch. Not too close, not enough to touch. Mashita's legs were slightly spread as he drank. The television droned on, the thunder continuned in a low rumble. Mashita's drunken explanation could go on hours.
He hoped so.
Yashiki sank into the couch, a relaxation settled on him. The discomfort he couldn't name or figure out finally gone.
*
The rain cleaned out the air but left the path muddy.
No note. Yashiki woke up to an empty house again.
Mashita forgot his coat again. A daily occurrence, it seemed. Mashita left on cases. A voice mail on the answering machine, where Mashita sounded like he wanted to punch someone. There'd be clipped words, and about how he'd come visit soon. And he'd talk about the case later.
He'd come to 'get his coat' and then forget to get it. It'd never failed.
"Getting forgetful in your old age" is what Mashita would've said, if the roles were reversed.
Yashiki kept it hung up, pressed so it wouldn't be wrinkled.
Sometimes while he was folding, taking care of this--he caught the scent of cigarettes that not even a wash could take away. The scent of Mashita which couldn't be washed out of this coat, or his life.
Yashiki pressed his face to the coat, to breathe in the smell he found he missed so much. Then--a frown.
He really was acting like some wife whose husband went off to war.
Mashita really had intertwined his life in with Yashiki's. Like the stray cat who ran into the house, and refused to leave the minute it got inside.
A respite like this wouldn't last long. Soon, there'd be more than Mashita knocking on his doors. Another spirit to be soothed, and sent to the afterlife. And what a comfort it was--to get back to work, with Mashita by his side.
He listened to the voice mail once more.
I'll be home soon. Don't get your panties in a twist. I'm just getting files. We'll go out for dinner when I get back. Remember to eat. Don't make me call you and chew you out. See you soon.
Their friendship had gradually started to drift into a sort of domestic territory. Something not entirely shocking, something not unwarranted and unwanted. And Yashiki had a feeling, if he told this to Mashita, he'd get a response of no fucking shit, Yashiki. About damn time you noticed.
And that brought a smile to his face, for the first time since Mashita left.
