Sorry for the delay! For that, you get two chapters. Hope people are reading this!! Thank you to my lovely reviewer -- I'm glad you're enjoying this for the second time. :D
The legal aid office was one he'd heard about on the news. Or, rather, overheard, while he focused on fixing the breaks on his bike. He couldn't remember much, but he could recall the announcers making a lot of fuss about the mission of the office; namely, defending wrongfully accused and convicted citizens. It was non-profit (which would've made Yosuke groan, if he was in any capacity to think about his tip) and some fuss had been made about a legal counsel they'd hired who was a wrongfully accused man, himself. A dark mood passed over him for a moment, when he realized Souji must have known but simply decided not to mention it. His partner's habit of deciding what was best for Yosuke without consulting him first was a constant argument in their apartment, but the brunette had to admit he was probably right this time. Since they moved to Tokyo, Yosuke was able to shove the darker points of the case to the back of his mind, where they might continue to fester, but at least he didn't have to think about it.
It was an easy job, all told. The commuter traffic had lightened up and Yosuke was able to weave through lanes without much trouble. It was close, too, located only ten minutes away from the courier office. Yosuke wished it was a longer trip. On those far flung deliveries, he got a chance to think, while the relaxing whirr of his tires carried him out of the business district and into quieter parts of the city. On a normal day, he would've used that time to figure out his plans for the weekend or maybe make a list of things he needed to do -- call Chie, bring Souji lunch, remember to mail the bills. But naturally, today, the one day he needed to really think about what he was going to do, Yosuke had been on the road for all of four minutes and he was halfway there. Brilliant.
The aid office was smaller than he expected, considering how much play it had gotten on television. No larger than a good sized convenience store, Yosuke lingered outside the front for a while, scrutinizing it. Namatame worked here? The milquetoast man never struck him as much of a mover and shaker, but while Yosuke never paid much attention to politics, the others had informed him of Namatame's rising political star prior to the murders.
Without warning, a rush of guilt Yosuke couldn't quite explain hit him in the gut. An older woman moved past him, heading into the office while glancing back at him suspiciously. It was that moment when Yosuke realized just how much attention he was garnering like this, loitering outside the legal aid office in an eye catching yellow uniform with a hefty messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Embarrassment was a great motivator, even in the face of fear, and before too long, Yosuke found himself speaking to one of the secretaries in the small lobby.
"Excuse me," he asked, trying his best to sound steady and confident, "Do you know where I can speak with a Taro Namatame?"
The woman was young and pretty, if a little sleepy around the eyes, and took a long time to acknowledge him from where she stared at her computer screen. Briefly, Yosuke wondered if she had heard him at all, before his fears were assuaged by a clipped, "His office is over there, past the cubicles. There's a nameplate."
"Thanks," he smiled, clutching the strap of his bag tightly while he approached the door. Maybe, he thought wildly, maybe it was a different Taro Namatame. He had met at least thirty 'Taro's in his lifetime and surely a few 'Namatame's. There was no reason why this couldn't all just be a crazy coincidence, Yosuke told himself with a deep breath before rapping on the door three times.
There was a muted voice beyond it, saying something close to 'Just one minute' amidst the sounds of papers rustling and the clatter of a keyboard. Yosuke shifted from foot to foot with mounting nerves. The build up was too much for his naturally impatient personality and, just as he raised his fist to knock again, the door opened to reveal an older gentlemen. His head was topped with thinning, salt and pepper hair cropped close to his scalp. His smile was broad, but his eyes still looked sad regardless, giving him the aura of a hopeful puppy. Yosuke's grip on his bag tightened until the tips of his fingers turned white.
He was a little older, a little chubbier, but it was him. The man he'd nearly murdered ten years prior. And all Yosuke could do was stare.
"Yes?" Namatame asked, voice friendly albeit a little confused by Yosuke's behavior, "Can I help you?"
"F-files," the brunette stammered, fishing around in his bag before holding up the manila folders crammed with documents and briefs. As he extended them towards the older man, Yosuke searched his eyes desperately for a spark of recognition. Anything to prove that he wasn't just imagining this. But Namatame merely smiled clapped Yosuke on the back. He practically jumped.
"Thank you, young man, we were worried these would never get here in time," he paused, removing his wallet from his front pocket, "How much do you usually get for this sort of trip?"
"You don't have to give me anything!" Yosuke blurted, instantly wincing at how defensive he sounded.
"Well," Namatame continued, unfazed by the courier's odd behavior, "I think I'd like to anyway. Do you have a family, mister…?"
"Uh…um, Takeda," Yosuke muttered, licking his lips nervously while turning red to the tips of his ears, "And, kinda, not really. Anyway, you really don't have to tip me, sir, I've got another job to get back to and my boss'll kill me if I'm late so, see ya, uhm, enjoy your files!" And with that, he left Namatame in the doorway to his office and rushed back towards the street.
The rest of the day was a blur. Monday was their busiest workday, with all the weekend discussions coming to fruition with mergers and launches and bids, so there was never a shortage of jobs for Yosuke to distract himself with. Still, with each new delivery, Yosuke found himself adjusting his route to pass by Namatame's office. He'd only catch the slightest glance and even that ached, but for all he tried, he couldn't tame the compulsion. The morning passed seamlessly into afternoon, and when the time came for his break, he found himself simply riding around a single block, whizzing by the drab office exterior countless times. He kept hoping that, maybe, he'd catch the man from his past going out for lunch. That, maybe, if he could just talk to him alone the words he'd wanted to say for years would finally come.
He looped around the block thirty more times. He didn't see Namatame even once.
His day ended the way it began; Okamoto yelling for him to shape up into one ear while Souji rattled off a list of things that needed doing in the other. The cacophony of it all left him wondering whether the headache pounding in his ears was more a product of the last five minutes than the rest of his trying day. As he stepped outside and Okamoto's sloshing tongue was replaced completely by Souji's smooth tenor, he realized that wasn't the case and brought two fingers to his temple.
"Are you listening to me?" Souji asked, voice crackling through the spotty reception, "Yosuke?"
"Yeah, sorry," he murmured, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm. They were burning and he couldn't understand why. Probably more allergies.
"What did I just say?"
Yosuke didn't answer, merely heaving a sigh as he pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. The silence hung on the phone for a few moments, but in the end Souji didn't seem keen on embarrassing him further and his tone softened considerably.
"Is everything alright?" Again, no response. "Did something happen at work?"
"Yeah, something," Yosuke answered dismissively, picking at a stray thread on his shirt until the fabric began to pinch, "Look, don't worry about it. Do you need me to pick anything up on the way home?"
"No, I'm ordering in. That's why I called you," if there was a trace of irritation in Souji's voice, Yosuke didn't pick up on it. His partner was good at keeping things above his level, if he needed to, "What do you want?"
"Just pick for me," Yosuke replied with obvious apathy, "I'll be home in twenty minutes."
"Fine," Souji murmured curtly, his mask slipping ever so slightly, "Bye."
Yosuke opened his mouth to apologize, or at least grunt out something resembling one, but Souji was quicker and soon he found himself on the phone with a dial tone. Swearing to himself in frustration, Yosuke switched his phone to silent and shoved it deep into one of the pockets in his coat. At least now he'd have an excuse for not answering when Souji, inevitably, called back to make amends.
After all, being angry with his partner gave him the perfect excuse to take his time getting home. Namely, so he could pay a final visit to a certain office building.
Kicking off the curb, Yosuke set off in the direction of Namatame. The sun was sinking steadily, casting long shadows and plunging the city into that final burst of bright light before evening truly set in. A slight wind wove through the towering buildings and blew his hair into a wild mess, copper strands obscuring his vision at inconvenient times while he navigated around pedestrians and vehicles alike. It was one of the coldest winters he could remember while living in Tokyo. It didn't hold a candle to the harshness of an Inaba winter, but his mind drew the connection all the same. It was fitting. So fitting that it almost angered him; as if someone was setting him up for a laugh.
As he turned the final corner and Namatame's office came into view, Yosuke was displeased to note that while a stream of employees were leaving for the night, the one he sought wasn't among them. He waited for ten minutes, leaning heavily on the handlebars of his bike while scanning the faces of each new departure. A man with an impressive mustache, two pretty women in impeccable suits that looked as if they worked for a more distinguished firm, a young lawyer with a handsome face that held Yosuke's attention a little longer than the others, but no Namatame. Frankly, it was getting frustrating, not to mention freezing.
It was the latter more than former that finally prompted Yosuke to slip inside the warm lobby. The secretary was packing up her things when he approached her, but she smiled all the same as he introduced himself and asked for Namatame. A vast improvement on the girl who had been working the earlier shift, he noted.
"Mr. Namatame is in a conference call at the moment. Would you like me to give him a message?"
Yosuke chewed his lip, wondering how on earth you might phrase this sort of message. Just let him know the guy who tried to murder him way back wants to meet up or, perhaps, I was in the neighborhood and thought, hey! It's been a while since I contacted a recipient of one of my death threats. Neither option gave him a very good chance of not being hauled away by the men in white coats.
"Is it alright if I wait?"
The secretary wrinkled her nose in confusion, but the brief lapse of her Customer Service Face was quickly replaced by an even brighter smile, "Certainly, but I can't saw how long he'll be."
"That's alright," Yosuke nodded with a wane smile of his own, "I've got nowhere else to be."
His phone buzzed forcefully within the contents of his coat, almost as if in retaliation. Yosuke ignored it and took a seat until it stopped.
In the next hour or so, his phone never seemed to stop jumping in his pocket. The secretary had long since been replaced by a pudding faced security guard who seemed to think skinny twinks hanging around an office lobby after dark weren't to be trusted (which Yosuke couldn't really blame him for, but he still wished the dark looks would stop). At some point, he didn't really remember when, the calls had changed to texts. Those, at least, he could read. Although he didn't actually go through the effort to check them until nearly forty minutes into his wait.
From: Souji Seta
Time: 17:48
i guess youre riding right now and cant get your phone. i ordered you a pepper steak from that Chinese place and some dumplings. that O.K.?
From: Souji Seta
Time: 18:10
you said 20m but its been nearly twice that. can you answer your phone plz?
From: Souji Seta
Time: 18:30
the food is here. where are you? :(
From: Souji Seta
Time: 19:03
Hello, my name is Souji Seta. The man whom this phone belongs to is named Yosuke Hanamura. If something has happened, please call me at this number. I'm his cousin and I'm not on his emergency contacts, but I'm the only family he has here. Thank you.
Yosuke turned off his phone, scowling as the LCD screen faded to black. With a violent shove back into his pocket, Yosuke glared at his shoes, incensed for reasons he couldn't really understand. Or maybe didn't want to.
"Sorry for holding you up, Eichi," a voice intoned, timid but no less warm, "Call went long."
Yosuke looked up towards the voice, more out of instinct than curiosity. The combined effect of Souji's texts and the monotony of waiting on one place for what seemed like an endless stretch of time had made Yosuke forget just why he was here.
One look at Namatame patting the guard on the back, eyes crinkled with a tired smile, was all it took to bring him right back to his anxiety.
"Excuse me!" he called out, louder than he intended, just as Namatame placed one hand on the revolving door, "Excuse me, Taro Namatame?"
The older man turned, his brow instantly furrowing once he saw Yosuke. Fear briefly crossed his face as he recalled his face. He remembered him as the odd courier from early that day, not the angry teenager with murder on his mind, but when a shaky smile stretched across thin lips, Yosuke couldn't help feeling a little sick all the same.
"…Takeda, right?" he asked, hovering awkwardly with one foot in the revolving door. Yosuke took a step closer, shaking his head wordlessly. His mouth felt too dry to speak.
"No? I guess I heard you wrong, then," Namatame laughed -- a short, cautious laugh that one might use to ward off grabby drunks or the homeless. Maybe the man thought he was a little of both. "Did you change your mind about that tip?"
Yosuke ducked his head for a moment, taking a deep breath as he tried to force out at least one word. It took him nearly a minute for, "No," to escape his lips.
"Oh?" Namatame asked, glancing over at the security guard, who had was giving Yosuke an even darker look than before, "Did…did you want more?"
As if on cue, the security guard started moving towards Yosuke. Darting away from the hulking man as evasively as he could, the brunette pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt and swallowed hard.
"My name's not Takeda, it's Yosuke Hanamura. I need to talk to you."
In an instant, Namatame's face seemed to flip through more expressions than Yosuke could count. Recognition, fear, relief, confusion, pain, and something else he couldn't quite place. Despite the age added onto his face, Yosuke could still pick out familiar ticks that made his flesh tingle and burn. The crease between his brows when he was confused, the way his eyes would widen when frightened, the look of utter helplessness he wore when unsure of how to feel. It was almost too much to bear.
"It's alright, Eichi," Namatame mumbled, holding a hand up to the security guard while still staring at Yosuke, "We know each other."
With a grunt, the guard retreated, still giving Yosuke scathing glances over his shoulder every so often. Namatame merely stared, holding a hand out to touch the younger man's face before drawing it away in embarrassment. Yosuke blushed deeply, but he wasn't quite sure why.
"You've really grown up."
"Tell that to my parents."
There was an awkward laugh shared between them, neither looking particularly comfortable.
"So, um," Yosuke faltered, taking a moment to swallow and smooth down the short hairs on the back of his neck, "Um, do you want to go for coffee or something? I know it's late, but-"
"I'd love to, Hanamura-kun." Namatame was wearing an expression so subtle, Yosuke wasn't sure to feel comforted or on edge. He ended up somewhere in the middle, but summoned a genuine smile all the same.
"Perfect."
Let me know if you enjoyed it!!