"I'm just saying," Juuzou huffed, "Lucky Star would be a lot more interesting as an action-horror series."
"You can't just turn a comedy into a drama like that," Akira grumbled. "It'd be like… if you made Death Note into a hentai. It just doesn't work."
"What would we call something like that? Dick Note?"
"Yeah, and 'gods of death love apples' would be replaced with 'gods of death love ass.'"
Akira watched in amusement as Juuzou choked down his drink, holding back laughter. She couldn't resist laughing along at the absurdity of their conversation. Her otaku years weren't something she took pride in, but their friendship was relaxed enough that she could reminisce about them with him. After all, the skeletons in his closet were much worse than her life as a nerd.
The pair of investigators was sitting in a small sushi shop after work. In spite of their original disdain toward each other, they'd become close friends since the battle they were discussing. It was probably a mutual grief that bonded them, or maybe it was the way each had evolved since then. Akira had noticed a profound change in Juuzou. He was no longer the emotionless machine he'd been when he'd joined the CCG – the loss of his father figure had broken the shield of indifference he'd been hiding behind. The young man had grown more sociable, making a clear and desperate effort to become friends with the other investigators. Akira had been one of the few to take him up on the offer, mainly because she was an outcast as well. As if her father's legacy wasn't enough to ostracize her, her grieving process over Amon Koutarou hadn't been pretty. Misery loves company, and as the two of them healed, they'd formed a close bond to the point where they could do things like go out to dinner together and discuss their favorite anime.
"Speaking of death, you're not looking so well lately," he said once he'd calmed down.
"Could we not compare me to a corpse? I'd really appreciate that."
Juuzou rolled his eyes.
"You didn't let me finish. I'm worried about you. Are you sure you're not sick?"
"I'm not sick, just exhausted. I've been having so much trouble sleeping lately." She'd been trying her best to cover the bags under her eyes with makeup, but evidently it hadn't worked. And concealer couldn't hide her lack of energy. Even her speech was getting sluggish. She wondered just how much rest she'd need to get back to normal.
"Bad dreams?" He looked almost hopeful that that was the case, that someone else would share his chronic nightmare problem. Akira felt sorry for him. He'd only vaguely described his past and how that affected his sleep, but she could tell it was something that really weighed on him.
"No, there's construction going on across the street from my apartment. They work at night in hopes that they won't obstruct the daytime traffic. Most of my neighbors are staying with family or friends, but I've got no place to go. All my friends live too far away from work to be convenient. So I'll look like this for at least another week." She gave a rueful smile. "If I look like death now, I'll be decomposing by the time it's quiet again."
"That's stupid. Who does construction work at night?" He twirled a strand of silvery hair through his fingers. "You could always stay with me, if it's bothering you that much."
"What? You're sure?"
"I mean, I have a futon and a small spare room in my apartment. You could just sleep there if you'd like. I really have no problem with it."
Akira weighed her options. On one hand, she had no clue as to the state of Juuzou's living space. If it was anything like his erratic personality, it might be an issue. And do I really want to put up with his bullshit outside of work, 24/7? But on the other hand, if she didn't, she may really be dead of exhaustion by the end of the week.
"If you're willing to have me, I guess I'd stay at least for a night," she conceded.
Juuzou's face lit up, surprising her a bit. He's really that excited to have company? Then again, the poor kid probably doesn't get visitors often.
"Awesome! Wanna come by my place tomorrow after work?"
"S-sure!" Akira laughed. "It's a deal. By the way, are you done with your food? I'll ask for the check so you can pay."
"Wait. Wait. I'm paying?"
"You literally told me I look like death. A little more charm when you go out to dinner with a lady would be a good lesson for you to learn." She smirked. "See you tomorrow."
Butterflies swarmed in Akira's stomach as she drove to the address Juuzou had given her. It's probably run-down and gross. Just like him. She chuckled to herself. Theirs was the type of friendship that thrived on snarkiness and insults. In just the past three days, they'd exchanged sixteen "shut the hell up"s, eight "fuck you"s, and at least two "please get away from me"s. Her calling Juuzou disgusting had been a running joke for weeks now, and half the time she still wasn't sure whether she meant it. Jokes aside, I really hope it's not bad. I'm not tidy myself, but I do hold a certain standard.
Suitcases in hand, she knocked on the door.
"Hey, Akira-chan!" Juuzou threw open the door, looking excited. "Come in, come in!"
Akira faltered slightly as she stepped inside. The place was a lot nicer than she'd expected. A little disorganized, but certainly not cluttered. There was some modern-looking art on the walls, and at least five potted plants on and around the windowsill in the living room. She could see the kitchen, where grocery bags were sitting on the counter. The fridge was covered in drawings held up by cartoon character recalled that he liked to draw, and figured they must be his own sketches. Throughout the entire place, there were neon-colored post-it notes in seemingly random locations – the walls, the coffee table, the couch.
"So, what do you think?"
"It's, um, it's really nice. Better than I expected, honestly." She laughed quietly, knowing he wouldn't be offended. "You actually bother trying to keep it clean. I just throw my clothes and stuff everywhere and don't bother to pick them up half the time."
"That's okay, I just shove everything in my closet. Your room is the one at the end of the hall. I was just about to make dinner." He disappeared into the kitchen, cutting off the conversation. Shrugging, Akira went to put away her bags.
The room was more of a large closet, but she didn't mind. There was a small window with a potted cactus. On the doorframe was a pink sticky note with the dates the cactus should be watered scrawled in messy handwriting. She set her bags down on the futon and sighed, trying to calm her pounding heart. She could put up an assertive façade at work, but it took effort to relax around friends. I've gotten to a point where I can relax around Juuzou if we're at work or a restaurant or something. But for some reason I freak out going to people's houses. I don't like this anxiety bullshit. I'm 27 years old, and I still have trouble with any phone calls that aren't for work. Collecting herself, she went to see what was for dinner.
Juuzou was standing at the stove, wearing a green-and-white checked apron.
"Are you making soup or something?"
"Nope, ramen."
"Mm, I've been craving some good ramen lately. What recipe are you – wait, what's that?" She pointed to a small orange package on the counter.
"…The ramen package?"
"That's not ramen, that's a slow, sodium-induced death."
He stopped stirring the pot and pouted at her.
"What's your problem?"
"Look, I've been trying to eat healthier lately. Do you have anything else?"
"Go through the cupboard there and find something." She could tell he was irked, and was briefly concerned about how close he was to the kitchen knives. If he were the way he'd been when he joined the CCG, she'd have reason to be worried. But he'd become better at not acting on violent impulses, so she let the thought go. And if he's pissed off, oh well. I'm not jeopardizing my diet because of this.
"Thanks, I'm sorry to be a bother, but I just…" She trailed off when she opened the cabinet. It was filled with snack foods, all containing high sugar, salt, fat, or some combination of the three. "Damn, do you own anything that doesn't go in the microwave?"
"Yeah, potato chips."
"Shut up, you know what I meant."
He walked over, still holding the wooden spoon he'd be stirring with.
"It's not my fault I never learned how to cook!" he cried, gesticulating wildly. Drops of hot water flew off the spoon.
"Stop talking with your hands, you're flinging water everywhere!"
"Goddammit." He put his hands on his hips, grinning. "You come into my house," he said in between laughs, "take up my spare room-"
"That you weren't even using!"
"You know – well – you know-" he stuttered.
"Alright, alright, whatever." Akira waved her hands in dismissal. "I'll eat your shitty fake ramen."
"No, you don't have to. But you're responsible for buying anything else you want to eat."
"Well, now I'm in the mood for real ramen. Is the noodle shop down the road any good?"
Juuzou shrugged.
"Dunno. I've never had any type of ramen that wasn't pre-made."
Akira gawked at that. I mean, it would make sense, given his past, but still…
"You poor, deprived child."
"I'm not a child, I'm 19!"
"And I'm 27. You're still a kid to me. Come on, squirt, we're getting ramen."
Five hours later, Akira lay on the futon with a full stomach. She was ready to drift off, but the air vent in the ceiling kept blowing cold air onto her face. I wish I could have brought my cat with me, she would have kept me warm. But it had been decided that the feline would be too disoriented in a temporary home, so she'd been left with a week's supply of food and water. It's so damn cold in here. Her lips were starting to go numb, and eventually she threw off the covers and stumbled out into the hall.
The lights were still on, for some reason, and she squinted against the harsh glare. Pouting, she knocked on Juuzou's door. There was a quiet groan from inside that sounded like "come in".
"Wassup?" Juuzou mumbled. His shaggy hair was ruffled and tangled around his head, and his eyes were red and puffy. Akira tried not to stare at the red stitches running down his shirtless chest as he sat up in his bed.
"Are you even wearing clothes?"
"Yeah, shorts, calm down. What's happening?"
"So, um, I hate to complain, but there's an air vent in my room and it's blowing freezing air on me. Do you mind if I move the futon somewhere else?"
"I dunno where you would move it," he yawned. "Other than in here. There's not room anywhere else."
"Would it be a problem if I moved it in here?" I don't want to intrude on his personal space, since he's doing me a favor by letting me stay here. But if I can't sleep, what's the point?
"Nah, it's fine. I'll help you."
Together, they dragged to futon into the bedroom and set it in the corner. Akira thanked her friend profusely, which was met with a tired wave of his hand as he crawled back into bed.
"Good night," she said as she got under the covers and rolled over to face the wall.
"Mm."
After a few minutes, she turned over, glancing over at Juuzou's sleeping form. It was hard to tell that there was even a body under the quilt, he was so small. The polka-dot blanket rose and fell with his breathing, and it was the calmness of watching this that eventually led her to sleep.
