"You're just leaving?"
Shinjiro only had one bag slung over his shoulder, which he looked over to meet the conflicted gaze of his only friend. It was clear that Akihiko was of two minds about the situation; as if he wasn't happy with it but accepted that he could do nothing to change it. He'd really matured over the past year.
"Tell your friends it was nice to meet them," he replied simply. With that, he left the dormitory and all of the bad memories it contained behind him.
Friday nights were almost always the busiest, but that wasn't such a bad thing. As long as Shinjiro had something to do with his hands, he was able to shut off his brain until his shift was over. Tatsumi Port Island only seemed to get more crowded over the past few years, which might explain how he was still seeing new faces so often.
You'd think the whole Apathy Syndrome scare would make people think twice, but no one seemed to remember. That's how it goes, isn't it? Some high school kids save the world and everything goes back to normal. No one gave a second look to the homeless teenagers sprawled out over the city unless they got caught stealing a jacket during winter. No one wondered who had to pay to correct the mistakes a bunch of selfish adults made.
They just kept building their skyscrapers higher and higher. Maybe the higher up they were, the less dirty everything below looked. Shinjiro wouldn't know; he'd never been up in any of those buildings and couldn't imagine he'd ever get there.
The kitchen suited him fine, anyway. Line cook wasn't the type of job he ever imagined himself taking, but his life had more or less sorted itself out since everything calmed down. Club Escapade was close by and the manager didn't care that he didn't have a formal education. His constant, insincere smile was hard to look at for too long, but he was a decent person. He said that two years of high school was 'close enough' and didn't ask what put Shinjiro into the hospital when his friends were graduating.
He wasn't proud to admit that he let his mind wander while working with knives or quickly plating hot food, but he'd yet to make any big mistakes so it was probably fine. It was kind of nice to pretend things were normal for a little bit, and that's how work was for him. Aki always said he 'got in his own head' too much, whatever that meant.
Even if he had a point, it was a stupid saying.
"Hey," a casual voice cut-in, interrupting his usual cyclical thought process. Steam from the large industrial sink crept up his forearms, sleeves rolled up to keep them from getting damp. He finished scrubbing the few dishes that had piled up, not bothering to turn and see who was vying for his attention.
"Hey," the voice said again, with a little extra emphasis that didn't concern itself with appearing tactful. They didn't wait for acknowledgement this time. "Your shift ended half an hour ago, Shinjiro-kun. If you really don't have anything better to do than wash dishes here for free, please don't say so. It'll just bum me out."
Shinjiro grimaced as he wiped his hands on a clean dish towel that was hanging nearby, taking a moment to wipe his face as well before turning to his co-worker. She was a perky but very blunt girl with tan skin and hair that was always twisted into a tight bun that never budged an inch during her shifts. He didn't know much about styling hair, but he figured that meant she was very good at it. The low, stubby ponytail he pulled his hair into for work never stayed neat-looking for long.
"I wouldn't have to do this if we weren't short on help lately," he replied flatly, dropping the dish towel over the edge of the sink where it belonged. "Thanks for reminding me to leave, though. Now it's your job to pick some lucky sucker to clean the stove - and I mean the whole thing this time." He almost added that he didn't care whether or not his acting like a sad sack with nowhere to be on a weekend night bummed her out or not, but it wasn't worth it. He learned the hard way in high school that being an asshole was never a good default way to approach people you saw often.
She smiled and kept up her usual friendly chitchat as he grabbed his things and got ready to leave the kitchen. He offered the occasional 'uh huh' or 'hm' (the friendliest gesture he could muster up these days) as he tidied and hung up the white jacket he wore while cooking, eventually slinging a heavy red pea coat over his arm. It pretty similar to his old one, and he was glad Aki didn't see him often enough to notice yet. At some point he grew attached to the burgundy color, so sue him.
"'Night." Shinjiro cut his co-worker off mid-sentence, but she mostly seemed glad that he was finally ready to go home and do nothing all night long. He knew this because she made sure to say so as he slipped out of the kitchen and into the main area of the club.
Like always, his eyes narrowed as soon as all of the multi colored strobe lights came into view; flashing in every direction from their home on the ceiling above the dance floor. The noise didn't take long to get used to, even if he had hated it at first. It wasn't easy to admit, but it was nice to hear so many people having careless fun after everything that happened.
They were survivors, whether they knew it or not, and his eyes would casually scan the crowd for regulars as he went for the exit. It wouldn't kill him to catch someone's eye and give a nod, if only to say 'hey I see you there'. These kind of kids might get in less trouble if someone was around to at least acknowledge that they exist once in awhile. It might not have been enough to help someone like him turn out better, but hopefully these kids didn't have the problems he did back then.
Back then. Shit, this is why he just wanted to cook and do dishes all day.
Under the dark t-shirt he had on, an ache radiated from the place he'd been shot a few years prior. The wound had healed better than the doctors ever expected, but this still happened from time to time. He would remember his brief encounters with that quiet, scrawny blue haired kid, then waking up to hear that he'd gone and died to save the world like some kind of teenage messiah.
Not that he didn't appreciate the sentiment and whatnot, but maybe all that massive bloodloss managed to fuck his head up a little during his prolonged stay in the hospital. A nagging feeling came from some uncomfortable spot inside his skull, demanding his attention if he didn't try hard enough to ignore it.
Shinjiro would have died if not for the watch in his coat pocket.
The doctors nearly created a national holiday out of this fact, but it never made sense. Sure, he'd seen the broken remains of the watch with his own eyes, but it shouldn't have happened that way.
The watch had been missing for months, after all. He was starkly aware of that, considering it was one of the only nice things he'd ever owned. It wasn't in his coat that night. He hadn't put it there, and there was no way in hell anyone else slipped it in without him noticing.
But it was there that night and saved his life, even if he was still out of commission for the more dramatic events of the remaining year. Still, he remembered very little about what actually happened. Meeting Ken Amada, those Strega bastards arriving on the scene, the sting of cool October wind burning his bloodied flesh, and…
Telling her not to cry.
His room always seemed unusually cold, but an oppressive chill took over the entire space the night that she stubbornly demanded to meet him there. Maybe it was selfish to wish she had slept in his arms that night instead of returning to her own room, sharing the unique warmth that radiated from every inch of her skin with him.
But she had class the next morning, and he figured that he would probably be dead soon anyway.
A popular EDM song started to play, and the resounding cheer of approval from the crowd nearly knocked Shinjiro off of his feet. His chest wasn't hurting anymore, but someone did manage to grab his attention from the crowd.
A slender girl wearing a big smile and a curled ponytail was dancing with a group of friends, all of them laughing and swaying to the bass-heavy music. Despite the gel colors on the lights tinting every figure on the dance floor from head to toe, Shinjiro knew she had shiny auburn hair and piercing red eyes.
It had to be her.
But… was it? He would know this girl at age 16 from a mile away, but is this how she would look four or five years later? Shinjiro wondered how he could even begin to find out for sure, but the crowd had started jumping to the beat of the song's breakdown. All the girl had to do was jump once before the silver necklace she was wearing flew away from her skin, and the metal was illuminated in at least three different neon colors shining down on her.
The necklace charm was made up of the letters XXII, and now he knew for sure.
Letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, Shinjiro turned sharply and hurried over to the bar. This was crazy, but just staring at her was going to get him in trouble. He needed his job, and he needed to make sure he didn't freak this girl out if she really was… well, whoever she was supposed to be.
The first thing he had to do was get some water, though. After spending hours in a hot kitchen, this was the kind of shock his system really didn't need right now. The bartender, another nice enough guy he was familiar with, promptly took his order after a quick argument about mixing up something stronger as a Happy Hour treat.
When the ice water finally arrived in front of him, there were two lemon wedges hanging off the edge of the condensation coated glass. Maybe as an attempt to meet him in the middle, somewhere between plain tap water and an honest to god cocktail. Either way, it was a welcome sight.
"Oh, 'scuse me! Can I also get a water?" A petite body had slid into the gap next to Shinjiro, and the girl from the dancefloor was standing on her tip toes beside him. "Um, sir! Wait, no..!" She leaned forward, hand outstretched as she called out futilely toward the bartender's back. Her timing was bad, and he was already at the other side of the bar speaking to another customer.
Though she was nearly a head shorter than him, he saw her painted lips purse in disappointment. Her cheeks and neck were flushed and damp with sweat, as though she'd been dancing all night while he was slaving away in the kitchen.
Just one wall and a few yards between them all night.
She fidgeted in place for a moment, and sense finally took hold of Shinjiro as she turned to push sideways through the crowd to hail down the elusive bartender.
"W-Wait. Uh… Miss," he sputtered, reaching out to grab her shoulder but thinking better of it. The hovering hand moved back to his glass of water, gesturing toward it as he gave a somewhat stiff shrug. She had been watching when it was placed in front of him, so it was clear that he hadn't even touched it yet. "You need it more than me."
It took the girl a few seconds before she realized what Shinjiro was offering, and she seemed to consider whether or not it was okay to just accept a drink from a stranger, alcoholic or not. Her skepticism made him strangely proud.
"You're sure?" Even as the query floated between them, she shifted closer to the bar and stretched her slender fingers out toward the glass. He noticed at the same time that her nails were painted an immaculate shade of white and that her thirst was clearly outweighing her suspicion of him.
He nodded. "Yeah, go ahead. You'll get yourself sick if you overdo it without staying hydrated." Shinjiro glanced away as he spoke, running a hand through the front of his hair before realizing that he was still wearing it in a stupid little ponytail. He tried to casually pull out the elastic and put it in his pocket, but she was already way too invested in drinking the water to notice his utter lack of subtlety.
She only paused to give a hurried but sincere thanks, and he soon found himself awkwardly drumming his fingers against the wood of the bar. It probably wasn't safe for his heart to be beating so hard and so fast, but he wasn't sure what to do about it.
She didn't seem to recognize him, which made things tricky. Did he really look so different? Healthier and a little less like he doesn't give a shit about his appearance, maybe, but they had been through so much together. He couldn't stop himself from watching her profile, and it made his vision blur for the briefest moment.
He remembered watching her cry, his bloodstained hand cradled up against her cheek. He remembered holding her on the roof of the school, watching her eyes close and thinking she was about to take an innocent, well-deserved nap.
"You're Minako, right?" The words came out before he had a chance to stop himself, but things came back into focus and he knew he had to say something. The girl turned toward him again, either not noticing or unbothered by the anxiety in his expression. She had taken one of the lemon wedges and started chewing on the flesh.
"Ha!" She shot back, beaming up at him without any obvious cares in the world. Like she wasn't supposed to be cold and dead in the ground somewhere instead of hot and alive at a shitty club in the city. "I knew you looked familiar! Sorry, do we go to school together, maybe? This happens to me all the time!"
Shinjiro wasn't convinced that he understood what was going on, even a little bit.
He remembered this girl so vividly that she had to be real, but how could she be when Minato Arisato had sacrificed himself to save everyone? These two people both flooded sections of his memory in large and small parts, and yet they never co-existed in a single one. That seemed to be the only clue the universe would allow him at the moment; just barely enough to take a wild guess.
It was her, but it wasn't all of her.
"We, uh, went to the same high school," he offered, briefly pausing to chew the inside of his cheek while his meager deductive skills attempted to keep him clued in on other important facts. This many years later, she had to be going to college somewhere nearby. "Shinjiro Aragaki."
Minako let out a surprised gasp, as if something very important just occurred to her as well. Could he jog her memory the way she'd done it to him? The way she simply clasped her hands together and unconsciously leaned closer to him made it hard to tell.
"Oh, wow! Aragaki-senpai! This so great! How long has it been, I wonder..?" She seemed to earnestly think about it for a moment, then give up in exchange for more excited chattering. "I haven't seen you or Akihiko-senpai or Mitsuru-sempai or Yukari-chan or… well, everyone in such a long time! I'm so relieved that you look well..."
"Uh, yeah…" He never knew how to deal with all the well-wishing and sympathy, no matter who it came from. Right now, he was more concerned with keeping her talking. "I was an idiot kid and had it coming to me, I guess." He paused, one hand retreating to the pocket of his loose jeans. "But I'm fine now. No use cryin' over it anymore, right?"
He was very careful to gauge her reaction this time, and the various colored lights splashing across her face couldn't hide the stiffness in it. Minako looked like she was going to continue in the same upbeat tone, but the words didn't quite make it out of her mouth. Her head dipped down slightly before rising again, and she wasn't able to fully meet his gaze.
"...Do you want to go get some coffee?" She eventually managed, setting aside her empty glass of water and chewed up lemon wedges. "I think we have a lot to talk about."