Work Text:
Kohane personally believes that the positive correlation between an individual’s cumulative wealth and the same individual’s tendency to be completely insane is an aspect of human nature that has yet to be studied to its fullest extent.
An, however, personally believes that the more money you have, the more you should treat your lover, you know? I mean, it’s not like I need it for anything else, so what better way to use it than to spend it on you, Kohane?
It’s normal for two people to have different views on the same subject, although usually, the subject is more like what to have for dinner and not whether or not a helicopter is a suitable one week anniversary gift. For the most part, Kohane considers herself to be open-minded and considerate of how other people see the world—that’s half due to her line of work and half due to who she’s always been as a person. An has an unimaginable amount of luxury at her fingertips. Kohane doesn’t.
But a relationship is all about healthy compromise. They’ve been doing better than fine anyway—sharing contrasting perspectives on their independent finances is nothing compared to how An is the secret successor of one of the most successful conglomerates in the country, or how Kohane is basically a glorified kill-for-hire, or how Kohane kind of almost killed An once. There’s virtually nothing on Earth that could separate them after that.
Disagreement is not the problem. The problem is this: An doesn’t want compromise.
“Come on, Kohane,” An whines into the armrest. She’s in Kohane’s apartment—for what reason, nobody knows, but she always ends up here—lounging across the couch, pillows tucked below and around her. Her thousand dollar shirt is crumpled, and her pyjama pants used to be Kohane’s, although now they clearly aren’t. “It wouldn’t hurt to let me get you gifts sometimes. It would make me happy!”
“You’re happy even when you don’t spend anything,” Kohane replies smoothly from her spot on the carpet. She has a thin stack spread out across the coffee table, most of which are heavily classified. An can see them perfectly; she simply doesn’t care. “An-chan, why don’t you consider… not spending at all?”
Flailing her legs, An rests her cheek on her arm and stares with the kind of feigned petulance Kohane is more than used to. “It’s more fun this way,” she insists. “What about once a week?”
“You could invest in a hobby,” Kohane says. “Embroidery. Knitting. Playing golf.”
“You think I’m a golf person?” The huff she lets out is, as always, faked to perfection. “I’m more into basketball. I was on the team in high school. I think I still have my jersey. Hey, if I found it, would you wear it?”
With every passing second, An slowly rolls herself off of the couch until she falls to the floor with a resounding thump. Kohane would be worried if she didn’t know that An’s head has sustained much larger impacts. The documents in her hands are replaced by a lapful of An, squeezing her head into her lap with drowsy eyes. Her hair is a tangled mess, framing the lopsided smile she offers.
Technically speaking, it’s a very severe breach of conduct for An to be this close to Kohane’s work. Severe enough that if anyone found out about it, they’d likely both be killed on the spot, An for the sake of possessing too much information and Kohane for letting her. When it comes to An, however, their division is a little less technical. Whether that’s thanks to her charming personality or generous funding doesn’t matter.
So all Kohane does is sigh and scoot herself back, giving An more space to curl into herself on her lap. Her blanket spills across Kohane’s thighs as she tugs it upwards, nestling it under her chin. “An-chan, your arm,” Kohane says softly, prodding at the papers trapped under her bicep. “Let me finish reading these, at least.”
“You work too much,” is the complaint she hears in return, but An lets her lift her arm up regardless. “What is it this time? Fraud? Murder?”
“It’s about you.” Kohane flicks her on the forehead, except all it does is make An grin even wider. “And how we’ll reveal the hidden Shiraishi successor if you don’t stop avoiding the topic at hand.”
“So cute that you think of me,” she replies teasingly. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, unfortunately. Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?”
“I’m serious.” She flattens her gaze and crosses her arms. It doesn’t work, if An’s feigned attempt to hide her laughter is anything to go by. “No more buying things for me.”
“Once every two weeks?”
“No.”
“Twice a week?”
“You can’t trick me into that,” Kohane sighs.
“Sorry, sorry.” An isn’t sorry at all, but when she reaches up from her bundle of blankets to pat at Kohane’s cheek, Kohane melts all too easily. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll stop. For a while.”
This time, it’s Kohane’s turn to bargain. “Two months.”
“Just one.”
Kohane squints. “You promise?”
“I promise.” The look An gives her is far too confident for her liking. “Have I ever lied to you before?”
Given their past, the obvious answer is yes, about a thousand times minimum. But the answer Kohane thinks is right now is an uncertain maybe, because ironically, An’s strongest trait is being able to tell the truth without telling it at all. It happens between the grit of her teeth and her misplaced words, and these days, it often happens right in front of Kohane.
The only appropriate way to respond to a non-question is not to respond at all. “One month,” she agrees, gently combing through An’s hair with her fingers. “No gifts, An-chan.”
“No gifts,” An repeats. She hums as Kohane’s nails graze past her scalp, silently asking for a gentle head scratch as if she were a giant puppy. “Nothing given to you at all.”
The first thing Kohane does when she walks into the office is check for flowers.
There are no flowers anywhere, so the next thing she does is check for chocolate. And then for gift wrapped cars. And then for glints of fine jewelry. And then for any hidden marching bands that may be waiting for her further entrance, because she would really not like to relive that day.
Touya, as always, is sitting in the far corner of the office with no lights on save for a single flickering desk lamp and the glow of his computer setup. “Good morning, Aoyagi-kun,” she says to him, even though it’s half past three and not many things are good at half past three. “I’m going to roll the curtains up.”
He doesn’t do so much as glance at her, even as she deliberately passes by him to drop a thin file in front of him. “Go ahead,” he replies, hands deftly moving from his keyboard to his trackpad to his mysterious cabinet of potentially incriminating information. “But sunrise isn’t until seven today. Is there a point?”
“I like the view.” She glazes over the cubicles of her coworkers, all almost as empty as her own, which is mostly because she barely has any coworkers in the first place. “There’s a nice peek of the ocean.”
Although in all honesty, she’d like any view so long as it was actually outside. When their division was moved from the underground office to a floor in the upper half of a building, it was her and Minori who were the most excited. Proper ventilation. Seeing the sun. It’s a bit more of a hassle to keep low, because the rest of the building is occupied by a very regular, very normal company, but that’s what their fake company cards are for. Touya is a file clerk. Kohane is Human Resources.
Her desk, closer to the other side of the room, is decorated with a never-used laptop and a single framed picture of her and An. And apparently, a folded piece of paper wedged under it. “Aoyagi-kun,” she says, warily pulling it out, “do you know what this is?”
As always, he doesn’t even move. “Do you mean the paper?” he asks, furiously typing—when she takes a look at his screen, she sees the familiar interface of Online Multiplayer Mahjong. “That’s from Shiraishi. She dropped it off earlier.”
An-chan, please. Kohane feels like crying. Not at the office. Not again. The paper unfolds to reveal a single line:
|
Look out the window |
The sudden chill that crawls up her spine is both uncomfortable and largely unwelcome. She turns on her heel in one static twist, facing the thick curtains draped over the window, perhaps the only thing left she has to save her. With an inhale, she prepares herself for the worst. A billboard. A drone with a bouquet. She tugs at the curtains.
What she sees is none of these. What she sees is a plane cutting across the dark sky with a banner behind it. What she sees on the banner are three glowing words: Let’s Get Lunch.
Touya, who still does not stop violently playing Mahjong, decides now is the perfect time to finally tear his eyes away from the screen. “Oh,” he says blankly. “That’s what it was.”
“How—” Kohane stares. She doesn’t know what to think. “How was—how long has it been flying there?”
“A few hours now,” he responds, returning to his game. “You should go. Quiet day today.”
I can tell, she wants to say, eyeing his deck. He’s a single five away from winning. She doesn’t, though, because as much as they ignore it he’s still her senior in both their real jobs (he joined the agency about a year before she did) and their fake jobs (nobody really listens to HR). Instead, she sits down in her office chair and smooths out her office belongings and readjusts her office photo of the two of them together.
She takes her phone out from her pocket.