Comments: This owes a huge amount to Shoiryu's Tatsumi, so I gots to give credit where it's due.
-,--
"You know I never could foresee the future years;
You know I never could see where life was leading me..."
--Queen, "You And I"
As novel as the sudden cold front had been, it was mercifully short-lived, and began to disappear just when everyone was becoming really sick of it; the eternal spring of the afterlife returned slowly, returning to a state of nearly riotous flowering. That brought out a sort of collective relaxation in the Bureau; no one huddled at their desks or bundled up against biting wind. Despite the spike in bizarre crimes that generally came with hanami and the change in seasons on earth, the overall mood among the employees of the Summons Division was one of relief.
There were constant hanami parties on the front lawn.
For the most part, they were little; some of them were no more than dates with an added bonus of looking at trees. Many carried the excuse of a case completed and well done, and some were simply held because it was just so nice outside, and it'd be a waste not to take advantage after that kind of winter, wouldn't it?
And though the novelty wore off after a month or two, there were still occasional front-lawn parties and picnics, and for some reason that seemed encouraging... especially since Tsuzuki and Hisoka were becoming something of a permanent fixture after work, roaming under the flower-heavy branches for hours.
Watari thought it was pretty cute, really. He liked to watch them when Tatsumi was late meeting him for a dinner date, or when he had to kill an extra hour waiting for an experiment to gel (sometimes literally) in the lab. Often he couldn't see their faces, but their body language said everything: they walked close together, shoulders almost touching, and sometimes there would be a single clear moment when one of them leaned on the other. A blur of pale hair would flash against Tsuzuki's shoulder, and their shapes would suddenly be indistinct, one rather than two.
He always turned away from the sight grinning like an idiot.
One particular afternoon broke particularly fine across the lawn, spilling through the windows in a brilliant blaze of white and pink, and something about the light and the way it slanted made him feel restless. He loved the lab, but today he couldn't stay inside; he wanted to go outside and breathe warm air and maybe climb a tree. He felt crazy, and self-contained in his sudden lightheadedness: this impulse didn't involve Tatsumi, and he couldn't quite picture the two of them doing something outrageous.
That thought was blue and very faintly bittersweet, but then again, Tatsumi was Tatsumi and he was himself. There couldn't be anything between them otherwise.
He clocked out after lunch, and slung his jacket over his shoulders as he made his way down the front steps, feeling the fabric billow slightly with a breath of wind--and the thought of how melodramatic he'd look to anyone else, all yellow ponytail and red coat, made him laugh. The air was soft with spring, and 003 flew ahead of him to do wobbly loops and search for mice in the grass; for a moment he considered just sitting down on the steps and watching the sky.
"Hey!"
The voice was too familiar to ignore. Watari turned sharply, and saw Tatsumi making his way down the steps, briefcase in one hand. Something welcome and a little electric moved in his chest; it was brilliant for a moment, and then the world started to revolve again.
"What are you doing away from your desk?" he heard himself asking.
"Following you," Tatsumi replied, and lifted a hand to adjust his glasses. "I thought you were going to stay."
"It's a beautiful day, and... eh, I've racked up more than enough overtime." He made a vague gesture, and then rubbed at the back of his neck, a little sheepishly.
Tatsumi made a noise that was almost a humourless laugh.
"If a certain field agent had your dedication," he said, his tone heavy with irony, "I wouldn't have to keep docking his pay for all the damage he causes."
"Oh, honestly! He's practically on his honeymoon. Don't you know the meaning of being gentle, Seiichiro?"
He knew that remark would probably make him blush, if only very faintly; he knew it would probably earn him a disapproving look, and he wasn't sure he cared. By now the raised eyebrow and the dismissive little noise were more than familiar, and he felt a strange thrill when he saw and heard them.
"I can show no mercy when it comes to money," Tatsumi shot back, but his ears were slightly pink. "You know that."
"All too well. Honestly, it's like your heart is made out of concrete." And, as if to prove his point, Watari stepped forward and poked him squarely in the chest.
Tatsumi didn't sway or yield his ground, but he did look a little wounded.
"It is not," he protested. "I just wish he would set his priorities in order, is all."
"His priority right now is L-O-V-E. Come on, even you have to have some idea of what that's like."
He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. He knew it must have sounded too much like pressure, like wheedling, trying to draw out some solid assessment of his feelings where silence would have served just as well. It was unbearably awkward, especially because he'd never actually asked anything of Tatsumi--what had happened between them had simply happened, either by mutual and silent decision or by sheer dumb luck.
The apology was just starting to coalesce on his tongue when Tatsumi asked, "Don't you?"
One of the things that frustrated and intrigued Watari most about him was that he never quite made himself readable. There was always something hidden, always a quiet corner of mystery about what he did or said that was open to interpretation. When he didn't want someone to know what he was thinking, he concealed it, and did it well.
For some reason, Watari felt himself smiling.
"Of course I do."
"It's nice, isn't it?" Tatsumi asked lightly, as if he were simply making an inquiry about the weather.
"Nothing like it."
A long moment of quiet passed between them, one that was neither uncertain nor understanding.
"I'll meet you back here after work, then," Tatsumi said at last, half-turning to move back up the steps.
He frowned, and swayed, almost wanting to follow that challenge back into the building. "What's happening after work?"
"You don't remember?"
"Remember what?"
Tatsumi smiled, and despite himself Watari felt that strange slight ripple of warmth move in electric patterns up his spine again.
"Last year... you really don't remember?" he prompted, almost teasingly. Sometimes, Watari thought, he could be uncomfortably like a grade-school teacher, the kind who prodded childish minds through difficult problems until they came out sulky but competent.
"No," he admitted.
In a blur of brown and wicked grinning, Tatsumi turned his back to start up the stairs once more.
"Check the supply closet," he called over his shoulder.
A sound very like laughter trailed after him well after his shadow had disappeared into the cool darkness of the building.
-,--
"You know I never could foresee the future years;
You know I never could see where life was leading me..."
--Queen, "You And I"
As novel as the sudden cold front had been, it was mercifully short-lived, and began to disappear just when everyone was becoming really sick of it; the eternal spring of the afterlife returned slowly, returning to a state of nearly riotous flowering. That brought out a sort of collective relaxation in the Bureau; no one huddled at their desks or bundled up against biting wind. Despite the spike in bizarre crimes that generally came with hanami and the change in seasons on earth, the overall mood among the employees of the Summons Division was one of relief.
There were constant hanami parties on the front lawn.
For the most part, they were little; some of them were no more than dates with an added bonus of looking at trees. Many carried the excuse of a case completed and well done, and some were simply held because it was just so nice outside, and it'd be a waste not to take advantage after that kind of winter, wouldn't it?
And though the novelty wore off after a month or two, there were still occasional front-lawn parties and picnics, and for some reason that seemed encouraging... especially since Tsuzuki and Hisoka were becoming something of a permanent fixture after work, roaming under the flower-heavy branches for hours.
Watari thought it was pretty cute, really. He liked to watch them when Tatsumi was late meeting him for a dinner date, or when he had to kill an extra hour waiting for an experiment to gel (sometimes literally) in the lab. Often he couldn't see their faces, but their body language said everything: they walked close together, shoulders almost touching, and sometimes there would be a single clear moment when one of them leaned on the other. A blur of pale hair would flash against Tsuzuki's shoulder, and their shapes would suddenly be indistinct, one rather than two.
He always turned away from the sight grinning like an idiot.
One particular afternoon broke particularly fine across the lawn, spilling through the windows in a brilliant blaze of white and pink, and something about the light and the way it slanted made him feel restless. He loved the lab, but today he couldn't stay inside; he wanted to go outside and breathe warm air and maybe climb a tree. He felt crazy, and self-contained in his sudden lightheadedness: this impulse didn't involve Tatsumi, and he couldn't quite picture the two of them doing something outrageous.
That thought was blue and very faintly bittersweet, but then again, Tatsumi was Tatsumi and he was himself. There couldn't be anything between them otherwise.
He clocked out after lunch, and slung his jacket over his shoulders as he made his way down the front steps, feeling the fabric billow slightly with a breath of wind--and the thought of how melodramatic he'd look to anyone else, all yellow ponytail and red coat, made him laugh. The air was soft with spring, and 003 flew ahead of him to do wobbly loops and search for mice in the grass; for a moment he considered just sitting down on the steps and watching the sky.
"Hey!"
The voice was too familiar to ignore. Watari turned sharply, and saw Tatsumi making his way down the steps, briefcase in one hand. Something welcome and a little electric moved in his chest; it was brilliant for a moment, and then the world started to revolve again.
"What are you doing away from your desk?" he heard himself asking.
"Following you," Tatsumi replied, and lifted a hand to adjust his glasses. "I thought you were going to stay."
"It's a beautiful day, and... eh, I've racked up more than enough overtime." He made a vague gesture, and then rubbed at the back of his neck, a little sheepishly.
Tatsumi made a noise that was almost a humourless laugh.
"If a certain field agent had your dedication," he said, his tone heavy with irony, "I wouldn't have to keep docking his pay for all the damage he causes."
"Oh, honestly! He's practically on his honeymoon. Don't you know the meaning of being gentle, Seiichiro?"
He knew that remark would probably make him blush, if only very faintly; he knew it would probably earn him a disapproving look, and he wasn't sure he cared. By now the raised eyebrow and the dismissive little noise were more than familiar, and he felt a strange thrill when he saw and heard them.
"I can show no mercy when it comes to money," Tatsumi shot back, but his ears were slightly pink. "You know that."
"All too well. Honestly, it's like your heart is made out of concrete." And, as if to prove his point, Watari stepped forward and poked him squarely in the chest.
Tatsumi didn't sway or yield his ground, but he did look a little wounded.
"It is not," he protested. "I just wish he would set his priorities in order, is all."
"His priority right now is L-O-V-E. Come on, even you have to have some idea of what that's like."
He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. He knew it must have sounded too much like pressure, like wheedling, trying to draw out some solid assessment of his feelings where silence would have served just as well. It was unbearably awkward, especially because he'd never actually asked anything of Tatsumi--what had happened between them had simply happened, either by mutual and silent decision or by sheer dumb luck.
The apology was just starting to coalesce on his tongue when Tatsumi asked, "Don't you?"
One of the things that frustrated and intrigued Watari most about him was that he never quite made himself readable. There was always something hidden, always a quiet corner of mystery about what he did or said that was open to interpretation. When he didn't want someone to know what he was thinking, he concealed it, and did it well.
For some reason, Watari felt himself smiling.
"Of course I do."
"It's nice, isn't it?" Tatsumi asked lightly, as if he were simply making an inquiry about the weather.
"Nothing like it."
A long moment of quiet passed between them, one that was neither uncertain nor understanding.
"I'll meet you back here after work, then," Tatsumi said at last, half-turning to move back up the steps.
He frowned, and swayed, almost wanting to follow that challenge back into the building. "What's happening after work?"
"You don't remember?"
"Remember what?"
Tatsumi smiled, and despite himself Watari felt that strange slight ripple of warmth move in electric patterns up his spine again.
"Last year... you really don't remember?" he prompted, almost teasingly. Sometimes, Watari thought, he could be uncomfortably like a grade-school teacher, the kind who prodded childish minds through difficult problems until they came out sulky but competent.
"No," he admitted.
In a blur of brown and wicked grinning, Tatsumi turned his back to start up the stairs once more.
"Check the supply closet," he called over his shoulder.
A sound very like laughter trailed after him well after his shadow had disappeared into the cool darkness of the building.