Yobitsugi (Fukuzawa Yukichi x Reader)
yobitsugi- a form of kintsugi using other pieces (such as other pottery) to repair ceramics, resulting in a patchwork-like finish. Literally translates to "call connection" and is meant to symbolize, among other things, that there is renewal after disaster and beauty in joining together.
Tags: fluff, friends to lovers (kinda, the vibe is there), older man/younger reader, gn reader, workplace love, there IS a smut epilogue on my ao3 but i havent decided if ill post that here
Whenever Yosano is out of the office, like today, the hours tend to pass by slowly. It’s a welcome boredom, the reason that you switched from hospitals to in-office. Even after finishing a deep cleaning of the clinic you find yourself with nothing to do but sit down with a cup of tea.
You’ve been employed as a medical assistant at the Armed Detective Agency for about two months, which is plenty of time to have learned that you prefer to stay inside the clinic during free hours. The other employees are nice, especially the secretaries, it’s just that they’re too… energetic for you. But as you spoon the matcha powder into your cup, you’re happy to see the door push open. Although you’d never say it as openly as Yosano, you get a bit excited whenever someone comes in with an injury. After all, you do like your job.
“Hello, sir.” The head of the agency, Fukuzawa, reciprocates your greeting with a wordless tilt of his head. He doesn’t appear injured or distressed. Not that you’d be able to tell.
Every interaction you’ve had with the man has been short and polite. Even on the day of your interview, when you first met him during a brief tour of the office, you were only in each other’s presence for about 5 seconds. During that time, though, your mind was put at ease knowing he would be a good boss. When you looked at him you didn’t see his scowl at first but rather the kindness behind it.
He gives you the same stony look as he enters the room. “Apologies,” he says, “but may I have some tea?”
Hearing his voice speak long enough to finally hear the gravely, low timbre surprises you. “Of course.” You push the cup over to your right, towards where Fukuzawa moves to sit next to you, and you take out another for yourself. The water is already boiling, so you pour his cup before preparing your own.
“…This isn’t one of ours,” he says as he inspects the ceramic cup. It’s black and grey with a thin stream of gold separating the two colors.
“No, it’s mine,” you respond. “I brought it in because it’s my lucky one.”
He traces the line of metal with his thumb, silently appreciating the craftsmanship. “I can see why.” The comment makes your ears flush pink as you finish preparing your tea. When he looks over, you can see a single line of tension melt from his eyes. “Ah. You made it.”
Naturally, the leader of a detective agency would be able to piece that much together. You smile at the unintended compliment. “The two pieces were from different cups, but they both had glazing issues so I tried to salvage them with yobitsugi. It’s been my favorite piece ever since.”
You watch him as you explain your hobby. Fukuzawa has a reputation in the agency for being very stern, and everyone else seems to fear him a little. But the way he holds his gaze steady, not letting a drop of emotion past, gives you more of the impression of a shy, studious person. He still hasn’t said why he came in here, but as he quietly sips his tea you start to understand.
“Should I get you an ibuprofen, too? In addition to the calming tea.”
“What for?” He asks.
“For the headache you must have.” You tap your own temple in demonstration. “Taking care of others is hard work, I know.”
The sides of the cup must still be scorching, but he warms his hands against it anyway. A breathy chuckle passes his lips. “My employees truly are incredibly capable,” he muses.
You open the cabinet of over-the-counter medicines, pulling a single tablet out and placing it on the table. There’s a clamor outside as Fukuzawa wordlessly swallows the pain reliever, taking a long sip before the door unceremoniously bursts open.
“Boss!” It’s Kunikida, his glasses reflecting the solid brightness of the sky in the window. “We just got an update on the case from this morning. Also,” he flings Dazai towards you by his collar, as if he was a kitten straying too far from the litter. “This one got himself injured again.” The mop of shaggy hair and bandages takes the seat Fukuzawa just vacated.
“Thanks, Kunikida,” you start to say at the same time as the silver-haired man. You stop after the first syllable, feeling a bit silly and brushing it off as Kunikida leads the boss down the hallway, voices fading.
Dazai giggles. You sigh theatrically looking at the blood dripping down from his scalp. There’s no point in asking him what happened. “You’ll get it right next time, tiger,” you say while opening a fresh bag of cotton balls.
…...................................................................…
“White tea. An interesting choice.”
You puff your chest as you carefully remove the tea strainers from your cups. Over the past few weeks it’s become routine for you and Fukuzawa to drink tea on non-busy days, and you’ve developed quite a passion for it.
“I just bought this one at the market this weekend, so it’s the first time I’m trying it.” You take in a deep breath of the fragrant aroma. “It smells like being wrapped up in a soft blanket.”
Fukuzawa waits for you before taking a sip. Tilting your cups at the same time, you study the strong angles of his face for his reaction.
“Probably could steep it for even less time, huh?” You say.
“I think it tastes fine,” he responds calmly. “But I trust your skills to keep improving.”
Together you sit in silence. You’ve never been much of a small talker, but luckily your boss also prefers quiet over mindless conversation.
You’ve known since your first day that your position in the Agency isn’t actually necessary. Yosano is more than capable of handling the small clinic by herself; however with the recent increase of employees an assistant was required by law. Despite this, you’ve never felt like an outsider- or worse, a burden. You were right: Fukusawa is a good boss.
A text message lights up your phone. Seeing that it’s from Yosano, you quickly open it up to respond.
“Is everything alright?” Fukuzawa asks.
You can’t help but smile at her message. “Yes, she’s just asking if I’ve taken my lunch break yet. She gets mad when I don’t take care of myself.”
“Have you?”
“This is my lunch break,” you respond. “After our tea I was planning to grab something from the convenience store.”
He blinks at you as you take another sip. “You never go to the cafe downstairs with the others, but eat at the convenience store instead?”
“Well…” you laugh, trying to distract from your rising blush. It’s embarrassing to have social anxiety as a full grown adult. “I really hate ordering at restaurants, so I tend to avoid them.”
“I see.” He says matter-of-factly. Quiet returns, and you assume the conversation is over. Your attention turns to the traffic outside the window.
“Would it help if I ordered for you?”
“Huh?” You refocus on the man’s slate blue eyes. He has his hands tucked into his sleeves, the tea cup empty.
“It’s unfair that you’re the only one in the office who doesn’t get to go out. If you’d like, I’ll keep your secret and order for you.” He speaks as if declaring an oath; it’s so earnest it’s almost silly.
“Ah, there’s no need to keep it a secret. I’m sure Rampo knows anyway. But if you’re offering… I do really love the sweet rolls we sometimes get from there.”
He stands up. “Then let’s go,” he says.
“O-okay,” you stutter, not entirely expecting him to follow-through on the idea and certainly not expecting it to be right now. Maybe now you understand why the others whisper about the “doting boss” behind his back. Before you can think about it, you follow him to the first floor.
Quickly, as soon as your sandwich set and his rice cake arrive at the table, you pull out a couple of bills from your purse. Your goal is to make sure you’re able to pay for the both of you before your boss can even offer.
Fukuzawa lets out one explosive, bark-like laugh. Immediately he clears his throat. “Excuse me,” he apologizes.
“Don’t laugh at me!” You can’t help but giggle too, and there’s a grin on your face. “I just think you’ve done enough bringing me here when you’re so busy. I don’t care about courtesy, I’m paying.”
It’s one of the rare moments, you’ve learned, that the older man smiles. He doesn’t do it melancholically, the wistful upturn or a lip that one might expect from someone so solemn. No, his smile is goofy. Ridiculous, almost, in the way it pulls apart his face, and you wonder if that’s the real reason he prefers to remain neutral.
“Very well.”
When you walk into the clinic the next day, the first thing you see is a rice cake sitting on the desk. A small note to the side reads: “refund”.
…...................................................................…
“YOSANO!!”
You scream as the door to the clinic slams open, the door breaking from its hinges. The machine gun in the assailant’s hands is aimed directly at the doctor. If you had time to remember you’d know that a gun would never truly hurt your gifted coworker. But even the time-stopping effects of adrenaline aren’t enough to let you think. As you instinctively duck and grab at Yosano’s leg, trying to pull her to safety, she leaps into an offensive stance in front of you.
In that split second of time, between your yell and the trigger being pulled, the barrel of the gun falls cleanly to the floor. At the same time you realize Fukuzawa has appeared next to the criminal with his sword already drawn. Your heart doesn’t beat- it doesn’t have the chance to before silver dances through the air and ends the altercation.
“What happened? Is everyone alright?” You ask as Yosano happily begins stepping on the unconscious stranger’s neck.
“This must be one of those thugs we’ve been chasing down,” she says over her shoulder.
Fukuzawa readjusts his haori, which had slipped from his shoulder. “Yes. Everyone else is busy surrounding their hideout, which allowed this man to slip in.”
You’ve fully stood up, brushing your own clothes straight and preparing to help Yosano with the “surgery” she’s undoubtedly about to perform. Fukuzawa looks at you, though, and places a firm grip around your wrist.
Finally, you realize you’re shaking. His hand, comfortably warm and calloused, holds you steady as your fingers wobble like jelly. You try to take in a deep breath but stutter. He wordlessly leads you out of the room, past the broken door and dragging you all the way to his office.
“I’m fine,” you say, but your voice is strained like you're about to cry. As soon as you speak, tears and snot start running down your face.
“I-I’ve worked in ER, like trauma centers,” the words keep spilling out in an attempt to distract from your state, “I’ve seen way worse. I don’t know why I’m… I just wasn’t prepared. I’m sorry, don’t worry.”
You’ve grabbed a tissue from his desk, hastily cleaning yourself up. “Don’t apologize for being human,” he says as he politely looks away. “It happens to everyone here.”
“Even you?”
“Yes.”
“Even Dazai?”
He stares directly into your eyes. You remember the way his back muscles strained as he effortlessly knocked the man out, like a lightning strike of violent energy. That must’ve been what he looks like angry.
“Do you like cats?” He asks.
“Hm? Oh, yeah.”
Without changing expression, he moves to unlock a drawer in his desk. He then lifts up that drawer to reveal a secret compartment, where he pulls out a small but thick photo album.
He passes it over to you. It’s full of various pictures of cats, many cut from magazines and postcards but also some that were clearly taken by hand. “You may look at that until you feel better,” he says before leaving the room.
…...................................................................…
“The boss is in love with you.”
You whip your head over to Ranpo’s desk. It’s hard to tell how serious he’s being with his face stuffed full of chips.
“And the moon is made of cheese?” You respond dryly.
He smiles. “Could be, dunno. But I wanted to tell you as soon as he figured it out himself. He’ll never make the first move.”
It’s the end of the day, and you’re stopped by the door to the agency. At least he chose a time where no one else is around to talk about this. Your shoes creak on the wood floor as you walk closer to him.
“I don't think I believe you,” you say.
“Why not?” He frowns, crumbs falling onto his jacket. “I’d never play around with the old man’s love life. I care a lot about him, you know.”
You squeeze the handles of your purse. “But I’m way too young for him. And an employee.”
“That’s why he’d die for you before asking you out.” He hands you an empty wrapper, which you dutifully throw into the nearby trash can. “Listen. How often do you think he smiles?”
You pause for a moment to think. “Maybe just once or twice a day?”
“Really? Because before you were hired, I wasn’t sure if he was even capable.”
Your heart starts racing as what he’s saying starts to sink in. “I’ll… see you tomorrow.” He cheerfully waves goodbye as you rush out the door.
“Hey, Yosano,” you lean back in your chair, pausing from your inventory count. “How often do you think the boss smiles?”
She looks up from polishing her weapon. “How often? Maybe once, before it kills him.”
“Huh,” you say. You put your head back down, checking more boxes. “We’re out of bandages again.”
…...................................................................…
It’s winter in Yokohama, and although it rarely snows here you’re still frozen to the bone as you clock in. Everyone tends to be late on cold days- except you, your past jobs drilled it into your head to always be early no matter what. So you rush over to the thermostat, hoping to get the heat working as soon as possible, only to discover it’s already on. But the front door was locked when you got here, and there’s definitely no one else in the office.
That’s weird, did someone show up before you only to leave again? It’s possible that Kunikida would’ve, but you can’t imagine why. Feeling slightly unnerved by the mystery, you decide to do a more thorough check.
Opening the door to the boss’s office, you can see the hazy pink fog of sunrise warming the strands of Fukuzawa’s hair. He’s slumped over his desk, face just barely peeking out from his sleeves. The soft, steady cadence of his breathing draws you closer.
You look down at the mess of paperwork in front of him. Most of it seems to be completed, suggesting he had stayed up late working on it. You frown. It must be the end of the year rush.
In a perfect world, you could stare at Fukuzawa’s face like this all the time. He’s not only handsome, his features pull you in, as if they were instructions you needed to memorize by heart. Carefully you take out your phone and snap a picture. It’s a little creepy, but you figure it might be fun to use as decoration for the New Year’s party.
Just as you’re crossing your fingers and leaving, you hear a hint of grogginess in his voice, “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He brushes his bangs out of his eyes, not seeming to notice that his yukata is more open than usual. “You must be getting old,” you tease.
“I must be.”
You give up fighting back your blush and choose to turn around instead. “You haven’t had breakfast, right? I can get you tea and snacks from the break room.”
“No need. I’ll get it myself.”
He strides past you, touching your shoulder on the way. It feels like he’s stabbed you, the sensation nearly shattering your heart right then and there.
“Yukichi.” He immediately stops, not turning around. “I’ve, um, never gone out to drink with a man before. I want to, but it’s embarrassing to ask him to order.”
There’s a small moment of silence as he tilts his head towards you, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Would you like for me to take you?”
“Yes, please. Whenever you’re free, that is.”
He looks away again quickly, but you know you saw his smile begin to form. “This Friday, then.”
