The family business is housed in an imposing tower of glass and steel, among the most distinctive on the Tokyo skyline. Just now, the side facing west reflects the setting sun in all its glory, vivid orange and smoldering red. Reiko glances up at the building, thinking of Satomi’s mother, imagining the spectrum of color Kiyomi might have seen in one sunset alone.
Not for the first time, she wishes she could have met her.
She steps into the lobby, by now as familiar as the living room of her own house, and the pair of secretaries at the gleaming counter greet her with a friendly wave. “Miss Tachibana,” Reiko hears them say, almost in unison. Preoccupied, she smiles back but doesn’t linger.
The cab driver is running a yellow light when Reiko’s phone explodes with noise. She dives into her bag, nerves jangling, and sees the caller’s name.
“Oshiro,” Reiko reads out loud. She glances over at Yoshi, sitting rigidly beside her, but his face in profile is unreadable. He hasn’t said more than three words since they left the house, and he says nothing now — no acknowledgment whatsoever, although the man on the other end of the line is the closest friend he has.
She knows that Yoshi has his own phone right there, held tightly in his fist, the screen probably flooded with notifications of missed calls and unanswered messages. They are impossibly late for the wedding. The ceremony must have been over for at least ten minutes, by now. There is no chance that they will still be able to make it.
Not even 8am, and the piano is going in the living room.
Reiko rushes around, fastening an earring while keeping one eye on the alarm clock that sits on her side of the bed. “Yoshi!” she calls out, having to compete with the piano. “Yoshi, you know we have to be there in an hour--”
No response. But there is singing now, filtering through the half closed bedroom door, and two voices joining in for the chorus. Reiko leans into the hall. She is about to call for Yoshi again when she hears a little girl say something that sounds like, “Rocket Man.” And then she can only lean against the doorframe, unable to keep from smiling, because she knows the game they’re playing. It’s a Sunday morning favorite in this house. Interrupting it feels like a crime.
Before Yoshi’s sequel begins this weekend, there’s an important event that needs to happen first. That’s what this sub-story is for. I actually started writing it from Yoshi’s POV, but Satomi’s voice was too strong and so I scrapped the whole thing in her favor. I figured no one would mind... she is a universal favorite~
do you remember feeling invincible?
when there was trouble,
it was us against the world
can you save me now?
you were my gravity
now my world is shattering.
Notes: YOSHI YOSHI my love after Renharu. Why are you so difficult to write. Please enjoy ~
Neighbors who only meet because I cannot get this stupid jar open, can you help? AU
Reiko stared at the jar.
The jar just sat there.
It was mocking her, she was sure of it. Pasta sauce had never infuriated Reiko as much as it did right now. Half prepared to give up on it and resort to ramen for dinner, she huffed and reached for it again. As much as she would like to be done with it, this was a matter of principle now. Of pride.
Teeth gritted, Reiko tried to open the jar for the thirtieth time this evening. Once again, she failed. The lid refused to budge, stuck there as if glued which she was just about ready to believe it was. It had to be. Reiko was no body builder, but she’d never had a problem opening a jar before.
Beaten by pasta sauce. Someone ought to put that on her headstone; this would be the death of her.
The logical thing would be to ask someone for help, but having only recently moved into the building, the only person Reiko knew here was the elderly Mrs. Koizawa two floors down. As for tenants on her own floor… the only one she was even vaguely familiar with was a silver haired man living across the hall from her.
And frankly, from the few glimpses she had of him, he unsettled her.
Maybe someone else would be able to help…?
Jar in hand, Reiko ventured outside with the intention of knocking on some doors. Not the one across from hers, but—
And of course, the laws of the universe dictated that the very door which flew open at that moment, startling her so badly she pressed herself flat against the wall with the jar held in front of her face like a shield, was the one she wanted to avoid.
Wonderful.
“You okay?”
Reiko carefully lowered the jar. Blue-violet eyes stared at her, the owner standing in front of the door with arms crossed over his chest. “Cat got your tongue there, little miss?”
“I’m fine,” she said too late, flushing. “You just startled me. Is there a reason you feel the need to slam your door open or…?”
“Can’t see how that’s any of your business,” was his terse reply. His eyebrows drew together as he studied her, the expression on his face critical. “You always carry a jar of pasta sauce around?”
“... That’s not any of your business.”
He snorted at her response. “See? It’s not hard of a concept to wrap your head around.”
God. Reiko had probably asked for that, but it didn’t mean it aggravated her any less. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she did a half-turn. “Whatever. Sorry for disturbing you.” She didn’t need this right now, not when the jar was giving her enough grief.
“Wait.”
Reiko froze.
“Let me see that.”
She spun to see the man holding out a hand. “Excuse me?”
“The sauce. You want it opened, right?”
This was a surprising turn of events. Reiko really didn’t know how to react to his offer; it came out of left field. “Um, yeah, but why are you offering?”
“Because you look kind of lost and tragic? Seriously, what is with that expression? You’re killing me here.”
Wait, what? “I’m sorry my face bothers you,” she bit out, unsure why he’d care in the first place. “Do you make a habit of trying to play knight in shining armour for every damsel in distress?”
He looked offended. “Me? A knight? You’ve got to be kidding.” Sighing, shook his hand impatiently. “Well? Are you going to give it to me or not?”
Reiko wasn’t a damsel either, but really did need this jar opened. “Fine!” She shoved it into his hands and waited, foot tapping the ground.
“Fine!”
She watched the man’s expression slowly morph into one of confusion as the lid stayed stuck on tight despite his best attempts to dislodge it. Soon, it gave way to determination as he applied more force, but nope. It stayed firmly on. “This—what is this? Ridiculous,” he spluttered. “How can anyone—this is stupid!”
His distress made her giggle. She understood the feeling far too well. At the sound of her laughter, he stopped wrestling with the offending item and stared at her. “Excuse me? Did you just laugh at me?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes. No? Yes.”
He glowered at her.
“Yes,” Reiko repeated. “Sorry. But watching you struggle with that jar is hilarious.”
“Struggle? I’ll have you know I have this perfectly under control…!” He tried twisting the lid again. Objectively, Reiko had to admit he was handsome even with that part puzzled, part annoyed expression on his face—though she wasn’t sure why she was noticing this.
Bad Reiko.
“It’s fine if you can’t get it open. I wasn’t expecting much anyway.” The last part slipped out; she didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful. “I mean, I don’t need it that badly,” she backtracked.
“Isn’t this your dinner?”
“I can have ramen.”
“Ramen,” he echoed, scandalized. “Nuh uh. Not happening. You’ll have to come to dinner with me. I’m not letting you eat that crap.”
“Um, what?” Was that a dinner invitation?
“Dinner.” He tucked the jar under his arm and bent down to peer at her face. “Hope you like pizza.”
“How is pizza any better than ramen?” she wondered out loud. “And—hey, I don’t even know your name!”
Sticking a hand out, he said, “Ueda Yoshi. And pizza is better than everything.”
“Tachibana Reiko. I’m confused.”
“At?”
“You. Me. This. Everything.”
“Don’t make it more complicated than it has to be.” Yoshi ran a hand through his disheveled hair and began walking towards the elevators. “C’mon, little miss. We better go before your stomach starts growling.”
How did she get here? How did she go from struggling with a bottle—still tucked under Yoshi’s arm—to getting acquainted with her frightening neighbour (who wasn’t very scary at all), to going for dinner with him? How could this have happened?
“Ueda! At least put the jar away.”
He pivoted and returned to her. Reiko watched in bafflement as he flicked the top off the pasta sauce with ease and passed it over to her. It was open. Just like that, it was open.
Gaping at him, she choked out, “But why…?”
“Well?” he asked, his expression unreadable.
She gazed down at the sauce, then back at Ueda Yoshi and the promise of pizza… and maybe something else. Don’t make it more complicated than it has to be. Well geez, hadn’t he done the same thing?
Reiko made a snap decision. She darted back into her apartment and remerged a few seconds later, keys in hand. “Don’t try and pay for me. It’s not a date.”
The corners of Yoshi’s mouth twitched. “Absolutely not a date,” he agreed. “Wouldn’t want it to be.”
“Neither would I. You look like trouble.” And yet she was here, entering the elevator with him, the sudden butterflies in her stomach having nothing to do with nervousness and everything to do with their close proximity.
His hand brushed against hers. “I think you might like trouble,” he said quietly, amused.
