is this my first fic-let??????? 747 word count last i checked. azuma ohhh azuma....!!!
Azuma has a horrible habit of watching doors. Watching doors open, watching doors close, watching doors when they don't move, wondering when they will. He watches when someone knocks, and opens his door, hands leaning on the handle, and he wills the hinges to move, prays for the door to swing open just a bit more, so that when they leave, it’ll take just that second longer to close it.
He watches when the door opens, and people stand outside of it, talking to him from out in the hall. When people stand in the doorway, one foot planted in his room, asking if he wants oolong or sencha? When people walk in, and close the door behind them. That's something he seems to love watching. A fixation, perhaps. To see whether or not they either: close the door completely by hand, let it swing closed on its own, or let it swing, but stay that strange little crack open, almost brushing against the frame. Sometimes when scrolling on his phone, or reading, or coloring, or stretching, or anything, he’ll stop and start watching the door. He never notices he does this. He'll just sit and watch. Sometimes up to 10 minutes straight, he’ll just. Watch.
Who's coming through next?
Will anyone ever come next?
They’ve all left, haven't they. Everyone moved out. They didn't think to let me know. no one told me. They moved out, and there are no pots or pans left in the kitchen. The fridge isn't plugged in. The rugs have been rolled up and put away, the spots where they laid mark a full shade different from the rest of the flooring. The practice room is locked. It's dusty.
Would it matter if he had the keys?
A set of keys for all the rooms?
The gardens are dead, he muses. Tsumugi must have felt so bad, leaving his gardens. He must have dug up the plants into pots to move them. Move them to. To. To wherever he was moving them to. They left and they didn't tell me. There are no feet running in the halls, on the ceiling above me, pounding on the wood loud enough to make me jump. There are no more backpacks being dropped carelessly on the floors. There's no more rustle and thump of bags of groceries being hauled into the kitchen. The TV isn't on.
The vacuum is in a storage closet. That nice one that Matsukawa had to make a written request to Sakyo for, with the mop attachment and everything. All the dressers are empty. If he went through every room in this building and pulled out every drawer, he’d find nothing but sweet little brown house-spiders. He feels like he can remember it. Everyone, packing outside his room. calling out to collect another load of garbage, for more packing materials, if anyone had a spare laundry bag? He remembers it. It has to be true then, if he can see it so clearly, feel it in the pit of his stomach, making him sweat, making him shiver.
They left, and didn't tell me.
Izumi opens the door without knocking, and steps in. Steps in with both feet. Both feet across the threshold. Socks tracking dust onto his carpet. She is standing in his room. In his room.
“Azuuu, I can't figure out what to wear tonight, and when I asked Tsumugi he just said anything would look nice. I mean, like, I know?? but that doesn't helppp! Ok-ok-ok, ummm, work-casual, or like…classy-casual?”
“Oh, definitely classy-casual, sweetheart. You’ll be making that whole bar swoon.”
A ringing laugh, and a hand on the wall. On his wall, to support her as she leans over in her amusement.
“Aw, hush! You mean we will! Pshh, alright, okay, I got it. You get yourself dressed up, see you at the door in 30, ‘kay?”
And when Izumi leaves, she leaves the door open for a moment, and he can see Juza and Tsuzuru walk past, arms laden with a snack haul, the silvery foil crinkle of a chip bag that Taichi was already calling dibs for. A quick shuffling of feet later, Izumi pops back in, stage-whispers a smiling ‘sorry!’ and closes the door again, turning the handle so it clicks back in almost silently.
Azuma stands. He needs to pick out a shirt to wear.
