Shouta can’t hide the small smile that crosses his face as he steps off the subway platform into the station proper. It would take a stronger man than him to remain expressionless in the face of Hizashi Yamada, grinning at him and waving like a loon.
“Aizawa!” Yamada says, hurrying over to him. “You’re right on time!”
“So are you,” Shouta says, appreciatively. There’s a lot to appreciate about Yamada, though his punctuality certainly isn’t the least of it. Currently, Shouta’s admiring the line of his shoulders beneath his leather jacket.
“I hope you’re hungry!” Yamada says, linking their arms as they walk out of the station together. Shouta stiffens at first, startled by the unexpected display of affection, mild as it is, but after a moment he decides to roll with it. Yamada seems pleased with the arrangement, and Shouta finds that he doesn’t mind the closeness.
They make small talk as Yamada leads them through the neighborhood. Shouta keeps an eye on their surroundings - it’s not the kind of place he’d want to walk alone at night, and he wonders how well Yamada knows the area, if there was a reason he’d wanted to meet up at the station and travel together.
“Here we are!” Yamada says, coming to a stop outside a shabby building, the first floor of which is a yakitori restaurant. At least it’s clean, Shouta thinks to himself as Yamada holds the door for him like a gentleman.
The man behind the register flicks his eyes disinterestedly in their direction. “You brought a friend today, Yamada?” He asks, eyes on his newspaper. “My wife will be excited.”
“Nooo,” Yamada groans in the way people do when they really mean yes. “Don’t tell her! She’ll scare him off.”
“You did it to yourself,” the man shrugs. “Does your friend need a menu?”
Shouta doesn’t hear Yamada’s answer, too busy looking at the photos on the wall behind the register, casual snapshots that must be the owners’ children and grandchildren. There’s a picture of Yamada there too, smiling at the camera and pointing at a magazine with his own image on the cover. It’s not a very good photo - the lighting is poor, Yamada’s smile is too wide and foolish, and he’s not quite centered in the frame, but Shouta likes it. There’s nothing studied or inauthentic about it; Yamada’s giddiness is nearly tangible.
He only breaks his gaze when Yamada beckons him away from the counter. “You must come here often,” Shouta says, nodding towards the pictures. He hopes he doesn’t sound as surprised as he is.
But Yamada just grins, leading Shouta over to a booth in the corner. “Not as much now as I used to. I live upstairs.”
“You live upstairs?” Shouta can’t help repeating, wondering if he’d misheard. Yamada hasn’t been in the Industry all that long, sure, but he’s a big enough name now to own a flashy penthouse in a nice part of town. Not an apartment above a cheap restaurant in a neighborhood that had seen better days.
“I got the place when I moved to the city a few years ago. The rent was low but I could still barely swing it.” He shoves a worn menu in Shouta’s direction. “Everything’s good, but the tsukune’s unbeatable.”
Before Shouta can answer, a girl appears at the end of their table. “Is this your boyfriend, Yamada?” She asks, curiously. “And do you want your usual?”
“No!” Yamada flushes prettily across the bridge of his nose. Shouta feels a sudden flare of longing for his camera. “I mean - yes I want my usual, but no he’s not my boyfriend! And you are being super uncool right now!”
“How would you know? You’ve never been cool,” she smirks at him, then turns away from his sulky pout towards Shouta. “Do you know what you want?”
Shouta doesn’t bother trying to keep the smile off his face. “Whatever he’s having, I’m not picky.”
“Clearly,” she rolls her eyes, turning back to Yamada and ignoring his outraged gasp. “Grandma’s gonna kill you for not telling her you were bringing someone.”
Yamada slides down into the booth, then brightens, like he’s thought of something. He looks at the girl, saying a few words Shouta doesn’t understand. They sound like English.
The girl scowls, then says a few words back in the same language, much more slowly. Yamada’s small smile widens.
“You need work,” he says smugly. It’s a cute look on him.
“Maybe if my tutor were around more,” the girl says as she turns away, towards the door Shouta presumes leads to the kitchen.
“Hey! I’m here every day! You’re the one who never - aaand she’s gone,” he sighs, dropping an elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. “University entrance exams are coming up. She’ll be singing a different tune then.”
“You tutor her?” Shouta asks, because he’s curious. He hadn’t heard that Yamada spoke English, let alone well enough to teach it.
Yamada smiles. “Yeah! She’s pretty good actually. Back when I first moved here, I couldn’t afford much besides rent. Sometimes I barely had enough for dinner. The Hasegawas - they run this place - would let me hang around even when I didn’t order much. Hanako - she’s their granddaughter - would be hanging out too, studying. And I didn’t have much else to do, so I’d help.”
“That was nice of you,” Shouta says.
Yamada just shrugs. “Nah, she’s a good kid. And Mrs. Hasegawa started sending me home with some of the leftover food when the place closed, so it was a good deal for me too!”
Shouta doesn’t know what to say to that, and before he can figure it out, Yamada changes the subject, asking him about his work that day at the studio. His answers are short at first, clipped and impersonal, but soon enough Yamada gets him telling stories about all his most difficult clients.
“You’re shitting me,” Yamada asks, after hearing about a particularly irritating model. “So she wanted mixed nuts - a specific brand of mixed nuts - but with no cashews? She wanted you to pick the cashews out?”
Shouta shrugs. “I mean, I don’t thinks she cared who picked them out, as long as she never tasted, saw, or smelled them. Took for-fucking-ever.”
Yamada’s jaw drops. “Holy shit! You actually did it?!”
“Had to.” Shouta takes a sip of his beer. “Until I get an assistant, and can shove the grunt work at them.”
“I pity them already,” Yamada grins.
When they’ve both finished eating, and the conversation reaches a natural lull, Shouta leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can I ask you something?”
“I’m an open book,” Yamada smiles, gazing at him flirtatiously through his eyelashes. It takes Shouta a moment to remember what he was going to say.
“Why did you bring me here?”
Yamada straightens, his mood shifting mercurially. “Don’t you like it?” He asks. The words are casual, but Shouta gets the sense that a lot hangs on his answer.
“I do,” he says. “But it seems very... personal. This place clearly means a lot to you. More than most people would show a first date.”
“Ah,” Yamada smiles slightly, shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, I suppose it does, but-” he runs a hand through his hair, like he’s a little embarrassed. “If you were just going out with me because of my job, you would have hated this place, and it would have been really obvious.”
Shouta is saved from responding by Hanako bursting out of the kitchen and half-running over to their table. “Grandma’s gonna be done in the back soon,” she says, handing Yamada a paper bag. “I packed you up some stuff to go. If you hurry, you can make it back to your place before she comes looking for you.”
“I owe you,” Yamada says, vaulting out of the booth before opening his wallet and shoving some bills at her. Shouta follows more slowly, just to give him a hard time.
“Don’t you want me to meet all your friends?” He asks as Yamada herds him to a side door. “Isn’t that why you brought me here?”
Yamada cringes. “Aizawa! She’s gonna talk your ear off! Be nice to me or I’ll let her!”
“Does she tell embarrassing stories about you? Maybe I’m interested,” Shouta says, though he follows Yamada into a hallway and up a barely-lit flight of stairs. Like the restaurant, the rest of the building is clean, but poorly maintained. Good tenants, bad landlord, Shouta thinks to himself as the steps creak under his weight.
Yamada’s apartment is no better. The one window is cracked, and the floor is uneven in places. Most of the furniture is old and beat-up, but a few pieces are nicer, clearly new additions. If Shouta had to guess who lived here, he would have said a poor student who suddenly came into a bit of extra cash, not one of those most famous models in the country.
They settle in front the the kotatsu to continue their conversation. It’s easy to fall back into it - Yamada is personable, and an important part of Shouta’s job is coaxing people to open up to him, to reveal things they’re used to keeping hidden.
“You wanna know a secret,” Yamada asks after a while, leaning in conspiratorially and smiling in a way that makes Shouta want to agree to things without thinking. Even knowing this, he nods. “I own the building.”
“You own-” Shouta glances around at the shabby walls, the cracks in the ceiling. “You own this building?”
“The Hasegawas were always so worried about the rent going up,” Yamada says lightly, like he’s talking about the weather. “I used to hear them talking about it, when I was waiting around to see if there was any leftover food. So when I started doing well with the modeling, I bought the place and hired a property manager to offer them a ten-year lease.”
There’s a strange feeling in Shouta’s chest. He can’t identify it, but it makes him want to slide closer to Yamada. “And they don’t know?”
Yamada grins wider. “Nope,” he says, eyes bright and pleased. “Though they might suspect when the repairs start.”
Shouta thinks back to that first day with Yamada, how annoyed he’d been at him before they even met. He’d nearly made such an ass of himself, assuming Yamada was the kind of person who’s throw a tantrum over mixed nuts or which brand of bottled water he was given, and Shouta half-wants to apologize for it.
But he’s never been the kind of man who dwells on the past. It’s much more rational to focus on the future. “Are you still accepting applications?” Shouta says, inching his hand closer to Yamada’s and linking their pinkies together.
“Uh - applications?” Yamada stutters. He’s blushing again. Shouta makes a mental note to bring his camera next time.
“For a personal photographer.” Shouta smirks, enjoying the way the flush spreads down Yamada’s neck. He wonders how low it goes. “I’m very interested in the position.”
Yamada’s eyes darken. He licks his lips. “I can think of several positions you might be interested in. Maybe we could discuss them over another dinner?”
“Or breakfast,” Shouta shrugs. “Like I said earlier, I’m not picky.”
Yamada’s grin is sharp around the edges now. He leans very close, lips nearly brushing Shouta’s ear as he whispers. “How do you feel about cold yakitori? It’s all I have in the apartment.”
Shouta turns his head sharply, quick enough to catch Yamada’s lips in a brief kiss. “It’s a date.”
Also, the fact Sir Pentious did not appear at the Pearly Gates with St. Peter, but instead manifested right in front of Sera, who ruled out the possibility that a soul can be redeemed? That HAS to be someone in the Higher Order who knows Charlie's right and is throwing the proof directly & irrefutably in Sera's face to try getting her on the same page. It has to be, right?
