Tonariatte
by Mirune Keishiko
Yet another long day at the office, and plenty of work yet to finish at home and bring in the next morning. And though it wasn't as if he particularly cared about the petty office politics, he found it tiring nonetheless to have to keep ignoring it. Aoshi shut the door behind him and took a near-physical satisfaction in slamming the bolt home.
It was past midnight. From the apartment next door he could hear the faint strains of soft music.
She'd moved in a couple of months ago, the Takani woman as it said on her mailbox; apparently a student at the medical school several blocks away. She lived with only a bobtailed cat for company.
And most nights, deep into the wee hours of morning, she played quiet, lilting Japanese music.
The first time he'd heard it, Aoshi found himself holding his breath. He hadn't heard his native tongue in many years.
The night was cool and still. He didn't mind working late, if only because the noisy, thoughtless world finally slept. He set out his work on the table on the balcony that he had moved right next to the partition between apartments. He had to use an extension cord to bring his desk lamp that far outside, but he didn't care. Glancing over to the other side, he saw that the window was open but the curtains were shut, and through the flimsy white cloth came the bright glow of a desk lamp just like his.
Sitting down to his papers, he thought he heard the faint rustle of pages turning.
And soon he fell asleep to the sound of plaintive violins, and a sweet voice singing in a language he thought he had long ago left behind; and for the first time in a long while, his dreams delighted him.
Hours later, he jolted awake to find the sun creeping across his desk and a thick, unfamiliar blanket thrown around him, chair and all. A note was laid across the keyboard of his neglected laptop, in crisp Japanese script: Please forgive me for my presumptuousness. But as a doctor, I couldn't let you catch your death of cold. Megumi.
As he reread the message, he heard, from the other apartment, a woman fondly say goodbye to her cat.
Shinomori Aoshi wasn't unused to hardship. A night outside would have done him little harm. But he found himself lingering in the borrowed blanket's cocoon of warmth—a sign of weakness he would have scorned any other time. The fabric smelled faintly of roses.
He folded it carefully, noting the frayed areas a woman's hand had neatly darned. He wondered if she would like some tea, or perhaps some plum buns. After all, pleasant dreams were great favors, and favors had to be repaid.
owari
A/N. I'm beginning to think I'm physically incapable of writing anywhere near just a hundred words. T.T
The title is shameless fangirl Japanese, I confess. I know a lot of people rather reasonably hate that sort of thing, and I generally do too, but "being side by side" just reminds me of pop songs by the Corrs. sweatdrop At any rate, I hope you enjoyed reading.
This fic is supposed to have the theme or love quote "I never knew I had a dream until that dream was you," but I don't know if I've translated that too well. For some reason the image of Aoshi, continually irritated by a noisy, stupid world, taking unexpected comfort in overhearing sweet, quiet music played by someone else, came to me while I was studying and I didn't want to fuss over the resulting ficlet too long before finally putting it up. The man is begging for some soothing and pampering, the poor boy.
Anyhoo. Please review! And hey, that rhymes...! (I really need to go to bed now...)