A/N: Hi everyone! Gosh, I've really missed updating this work! I didn't want to rush it so I'm going to upload the first half of this chapter for now, and then the next part hopefully soon (and then combine the two). I appreciate all your kind comments and hope you enjoy!
P.S. Are you excited about the announcement of Season 4? (:
He hadn't meant to fall asleep.
The thinly carpeted floor beneath him scratched against his jaw as Haida found himself peering up at the ceiling. The sun had started peeking through the blinds of the window, a soft shimmer of flaxen light bounding across towards the partially opened closet in the back of the room.
The slow onset of a subpar hangover had sunk its way into his head, and he groaned, rolling over to shield his sensitive eyes. A throb of pain shot through the side of brow, a prickling of sparks shooting across the back of his vision. Three consecutive buzzes shook on his right side and the drowsy accountant lazily flopped one arm over to pluck his vibrating phone from his deep pocket. Haida realized with a tinge of discomfort that he was still wearing his jacket from the evening, the zipper line tight against his curled abdomen and small patches of sweat forming around his underarms.
He cursed under his breath, ripping the phone from the toasty confines of his coat. One new message. The screen of his device felt greasy under his thumbs, remnants of the previous night's happenings between the sticky bar table and the grubby floors of the karaoke club.
One new message. And four missed ones.
All from Fenneko.
9:36am: 'Hey asshole, wuz the deal with Retsuko answer asap.'
He would have snickered had his brain not felt like it was pounding into the front of his skull, the swelling now evident at the sides of his nose. Making a mental note to reply to his ordinarily intuitive friend—though there was no rush, as he suspected she was sporting a hangover much worse than his own—Haida propped himself up with one elbow, glancing up at the bed that overshadowed him.
Soft breaths filled the tranquil apartment bedroom, the sighs of his coworker deep and soft. He crammed his head up over the edge of the huddled sheets, and for a few seconds, Haida forgot how to breathe.
Retsuko's strawberry-blonde tousled curls were illuminated by the backlight of the sun's rays, a golden halo settling around her frame. Long flashes fluttered over rounded cheeks, plump from the aftermath of the night before. Her face had settled on a lighter cardinal color, like freshly spilled wine over her fair skin. He realized her fever must have broken shortly after she had dozed off.
He felt the sudden urge to envelope her, to take her sleeping form into his arms. And yet he couldn't bring himself to approach her further, the memory of his delicate brush over the curve of her hand unceasing like the rays of sunlight spilling into the room.
Haida's heart hammered against his ribcage as he caught himself at his unabashedness, turning his head away from his coworker as if he were hiding a shameful act, his neck cracking with stiffness in the process.
He had been staring, hadn't he?
'You don't have to apologize for expressing your feelings, you know?' Hadia's voice bounced around his thumping head. He watched the reflections of the mid-morning shadows lace their way across the wall adjacent to the bedside, alluring him to once more catch sight of the young woman who was engulfed in a deep sleep. The soft swell of her cheeks, the glistening of her once dripping lashes...
No, he knew this had to stop.
Initially he had learned to ignore the comments Fenneko had poked at him, and even the occasional jests from Anai and Ookami. The crude terms 'dolt,' 'idiot,' and 'simp' often came to mind, silently dampening his self-esteem. He knew his colleagues meant it all in good fun, but he hadn't missed the way Fenneko's eyes had misted over when he had—quite recklessly, now that he thought about it—announced that he was going to give Inui a chance.
His temples ached just thinking about fighting through the guilt and embarrassment that plagued him over those past few months. Seeing her in the hallways or passing her on the streets was enough to render him stammering a polite hello, and she had all the couth in the world when she graced him with a smile. They remained civil, and yet he knew that he had caused her at least some amount of pain and for that he felt utter remorse.
Yet his social-media astute friend's blunt response to his lamentations at a bar not too long ago still sometimes bubbled in the back of his recollection, like the several shots they had each downed that foggy evening.
'Look Haida, you didn't owe Inui anything. But at the same time you need to know that Retsuko doesn't owe you in the same way.'
And he knew that was true, had known it all along. In fact, he nearly laughed at Fenneko's brief lecture: yeah, he might have crushed hard on their fellow office worker, but never once did he expect anything from her. He slowly turned to take a final glimpse of the sleeping form of her huddled body, the curve of her jaw nestled into one of the plump pillows.
It had taken him over the past few months to really consider their relationship. Retsuko was—in the end—like a total stranger to him. He had physically drawn up a chart on a half torn piece of notebook parchment to properly analyze her pros and cons (earning more mockery from Fenneko). The cons were, for the first time in his eyes, surprising. And completely there.
'Indecisive. Dishonest. Aloof. Lacks confidence.'
But each time Haida would stare back at the list it would only draw out a long sigh from himself: he saw himself in her, a reflection of his own insecurities. He wished he could rouse her from her sleep, shake her awake. He would pick her brain, make her laugh.
Anything.
And she looked so… sad all of the time now? Had she missed him and Fenneko? Did she also have dreams about that night?
Scowling, Haida registered he had been trapped in thought yet again and he stretched his back to the side to ease some of the stiffness from dozing off onto the firm flooring.
He hobbled onto one leg, balancing himself against the side of the mattress of the bed until he felt his other foot find the floor. He glimpsed over at Retsuko's closet, now drawing sight over the sweater arm that was jammed into the side of the door, a sole sock now falling in between the cracks of the doors.
Last night had seemed like a dream to the young accountant, as he heaved his aching limbs towards the entrance of the apartment that was not his. He felt his stomach give an unpleasant grumble, his middle just as tender as his forehead. The only contents that had made their way into his stomach the past twelve hours were two pints of beers.
Haida smiled halfway at the sight of the dishes that had once been laying around the previous night, saturated in crumbs of leftovers and cold, day-old soapy water. Without thinking, he had scrubbed the rest of the pile clean, stacking them to dry at the edge of the sink. He almost wanted to chuckle at the sights of her scattered tableware and crudely stuffed laundry in the back closet; he never would have guessed she was messier with her own personal belongings, as she was constantly well-equipped at work.
And yet her disheveled apartment, with empty crushed beer cans stacked in the recycling bin and the unwashed clothes that lay scattered around her room, made his stomach churn. This wasn't just the clutter of everyday life, trying to sweep crumbs under a rug or delay a week's worth of vacuuming; it was a symbol—albeit a messy one—of apathy.
Haida felt a heat creep into his face even the thought of the past twelve hours he had spent at his coworkers apartment. She had slid from the Uber door like a rag-doll, hobbling to grip the railing of her apartment stairwell. An ache had sprouted in his chest and the impulse to sweep his arms under her legs surprised himself. He couldn't imagine doing something as wildly inappropriate as that, let alone struggling to keep one of her petite arms wrapped over his shoulder, stooping down to reach her level.
A vague scent of nectarines wafted through the crisp air, and he realized she was wearing… perfume? Body spray? It wasn't overpowering but the modest fragrance was enough to cause a shiver to billow through his spine before he hoisted her up the now dripping stairs, taking each platform as slowly as possible so that Retsuko wouldn't slip.
Cheeks burning dangerously, he had done his best to focus on untangling the apartment keys from her purse, his numb fingers fumbling with the cold metal and twisting the door open to reveal the small apartment in all its disorderly glory.
And that was where he had stayed the night, after gingerly laying a drained Retsuko on her bed, taking care to fetch her an ice pack and extra pillows.
Returning to present day, as the sun's light streamed even more into the complex, the lanky accountant sighed, zipping his jacket up and slipping on his pair of work loafers. He knew he couldn't stay any longer. It would be deemed improper, especially since he had meant to leave hours earlier. Taking one last glimpse towards the open bedroom door down the hallway, he slipped out of the front door, the brisk morning air chilling his lungs. It was Saturday morning, and yet, he observed, the whole world seemed to have gone quiet. Traffic was minimal from the next street over and the only sound that could be heard were occasional peeps from the birds sitting atop of the lamppost.
Fishing his phone from his pocket, he texted Fenneko the simplest response he could think of, both his head and swollen nose pulsing.
'She's okay, just feeling under weather. Dropped her off at home.'
Haida kicked a few pebbles that awaited him at the bottom of the stairwell. He wondered if he should mention anything to his drinking buddy that Retsuko had told him the night before. He scoffed, crushing a few more small rocks under his feet as the croaking voice of the distraught woman filled his already jumbled head.
'I—I just don't like myself.'
The declaration had made him want to scream. She had always appeared to be so level-headed to him, so even-tempered. How could she not like herself? For years he had watched her, the way she giggled over a single glass of whisky or went out of her way to stop any task she was in the middle of to help assist a coworker with a project, no matter how mundane it was.
And though he had only spent a brief period of time recognizing he had placed her on a pedestal, there was no denying his admiration for her. He was awkward and envied her courage, even when he recognized her hesitation. And only weeks earlier he had yelled in her face (he so badly wanted to believe it was signing, but he was a horrible singer despite his musical inclinations).
He felt like such an ass.
Catching the lump in his throat, Haida became aware of the motion he had repeated the night before: the brushing of his fingers over the scar of his palm.
He hissed, yanking his hands into his pockets. Not only was the blemished skin a vestige of one of the most dreaded moments in his life but also a reminder of what would never be.
Retsuko didn't remember him, standing over the perpetrator with his fist firmly latched over their wrist. She didn't remember the way he had cried out for her, clutching her unconscious body against his chest. He had never been particularly athletic or even considered himself strong; but that night had brought out something like no other, his instincts powered by nothing but the remains at the bottom of his coffee cup and the chilling downtown air.
'But it was something else.' A voice deep within him seethed.
'You wanted to earn recognition.'
Haida stopped in his tracks, peering out over the long lanes of concrete. A sour feeling filled his stomach as he watched a skein soar high over the suburban landscape, facing south in preparation for another winter. Why would he have such intrusive notions about this now? He would never think of using that against her. It wasn't about leverage.
It was about protecting her.
Running a hand through his hair, oily from the carpet in which it had been smashed against, Haida lumbered across the sidewalk away from the apartment complex towards the station. Long legs unawaringly attempted to step over the browning grass growing through the cracks in the fractured cement.
He wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his bed, to escape from the thoughts that clouded his head. Yet he knew more than likely he'd be met with more broken sleep, as even naps became something he could no longer pursue as an adult. It would probably take at least an hour by train to reach his own building, which hit him as soon as he reached the stairway, descending into the dank undergrounds of the metro.
Over sixty minutes of trying not to think about the girl who was sleeping peacefully, surrounded by a halo of morning light and resting with pink tinted cheeks. Who was unaware that the one person who had potentially saved her life was someone she had rejected just under a year ago.
Sixty more minutes of enduring the bustle of public transportation, the smell of cold, wet metal, and the other voice that—though it was not his own—was still continuing to plague him.
'Why did you assume that saving her would make her yours?'
Coward.
