Chapter Text
Saionji gets swept up into life and the years pass him by without any glances back, but he's used to life treating him as if he were irrelevant. He goes through life doing what he is supposed to do, because his father gets him an office job through connections, and he barely has to work to get by. Long hair isn't appropriate for a grown man, his mother tells him, and he chops it off because he's finished with being an imitation of his goals.
What he won't admit to his parents is that it is terrifying and depressing that you can no longer pick Saionji out of a crowd, the way he stood out in the tiny population of Ohtori.
He's being sent to another location along with his raise, so he packs up his bedroom. He doesn't have a girlfriend right now, but the last one loved to clean and now he has no idea where any of his shit is. It's all so mundane and tedious that he could tear his hair out in frustration. His vision blurs all the cutlery and furniture and electronic devices until he can't do it anymore.
Wandering until he finds a bar isn't the best idea he's ever had, but it works eventually. He needed the fresh air.
It's a small place, smelling of old wood and fresh tea. The floorboards creak under his weight as he pulls aside a curtain to enter, and for a brief moment he wonders if it's a bar at all.
"Welcome," says the woman at the front desk. The place is near empty, but loud folk music sounds out, filling the quiet space. She leads Saionji to a corner booth.
Saionji whips his head around at the sight of long red hair sitting in the booth across the restaurant. It's been so many years, he doesn't know how many, but that silhouette is burned into his memories. Some woman is sitting across from him, with garish long acrylic nails and bleached hair, clearly sucking up to him by the way she postures herself. How the mighty have fallen, Saionji thinks with a sneer. It's a far cry from respectability, but then again, that man never cared, did he.
"Is something wrong?" asks the bar employee. He stares at that man for a few seconds longer, then shakes his head. They haven't spoken in years. Saionji doesn't want to find out how little he's stuck around in that broken mind by approaching. Fried chicken is an indulgence he tends to avoid, but it's been a weird night.
Far too many shots later, Saionji is leaning back with his eyes closed, wondering how much he racked up on the bill, when the shadow of a human passes over him. He startles to attention, reaching for his wallet, but it's not a waitress.
"Good evening," Touga says with a smile. His voice is deeper than it was in high school, with a rumble to it. Saionji makes the absolute dumbest move he could possibly make and blurts out:
"Who are you?!"
The folk music on the speakers finishes a song and leaves them in complete silence.
Touga pipes up with a "You are Saionji Kyouichi, correct?" all while Saionji simply gapes at him, trying to unscramble why he pretended not to recognize Touga. Part of him is wondering how far he can take it, and another part is wondering if Touga has already seen through his lie. It can't be believable that Saionji wouldn't remember the man he revolved his life around for his entire childhood and adolescence.
A very small part of him admits that he's glad Touga remembered his first name.
His mind is mostly yelling ABORT THE SITUATION, though, so he tries to put on a displeased face (it comes easily to him) and snarls, "Don't act so familiar."
If Touga is flustered by Saionji's callousness, he shows no signs of being so. He takes the seat across from Saionji with a casual grace, and doesn't drop that easy smile.
"The name Kiryuu Touga doesn't ring any bells?"
Saionji takes a few seconds to consider the question, as if he's actually forgotten, then shakes his head. A few strands of hair that whip around stay attached to the sweat on his forehead.
"Truly? I'm a little hurt, old friend."
"Who's your old friend?! Like I said, don't act so familiar. As far as I can tell, we're perfect strangers, and I don't want you in my business. I was on my way home. Goodbye."
He stumbles through his sentences as he scrambles to leave an appropriate number of bills on the table for the waitress to pick up later, regardless of whatever tab he racked up, because he can already feel the threads tying together this ridiculous scenario beginning to unravel as he continues speaking. The smell of bullshit in the air is intense and makes him physically scrunch up his nose. If he stays too long in Touga's presence, adjusting to that wavelength, it'll be difficult to pull away again.
"That's a shame, but I can't blame a busy man for his circumstances," Touga's voice rumbles out. Saionji refuses to look at his face, determinedly counting out bills from his wallet. Two thousand, three thousand, four thousand. He spots a hand sliding across the table in the periphery of his vision, and he can't help himself from glancing at it.
"If you ever feel an interest in reconnecting, here's my card. I hope to hear from you soon."
It's crisp, pure white, with plain black text detailing a certain "KIRYUU TOUGA" and his... business? It's not exactly clear what department this is meant to represent, it just looks professional and minimalistic. A phone number sits on the bottom edge. Saionji hesitates, feeling the urge to roll his eyes, but he grabs the card and shoves it in his pocket anyway. There's no harm in taking it. He doesn't have to do anything with it. It'll end up forgotten and thrown into the trash by his door as soon as he gets home.
"We'll see," he replies. Two can play at the 'being a mysterious and annoying bastard' game.
The fact that Touga's reaction thus far manages to sell his nonchalance, as if he doesn't actually care if Saionji contacts him, irritates him further. What a waste of time.
"Goodbye." He stands and makes his way out of the small bar with all the grace of a surfing elephant. It's difficult to restrain himself from looking back at Touga. Is Touga watching him leave? Did Touga leave as soon as Saionji stepped out? The questions burn at his mind but he refuses to give Touga any possible satisfaction from his attention, so his neck stays resolutely untwisted.
The streets are mostly empty, this time of night, and he vaguely remembers there being a curfew. It doesn't matter.
Once he's made his way around several corners, walked several blocks past his apartment, and finds himself in a street that's empty of even lamps to direct people through the night, Saionji plucks the business card from his pocket and examines it again.
"Kiryuu Touga."
Saying the name brings back a familiar vitriolic tone to his tongue, and he can almost see the Chairman's Tower in the horizon, behind the industrial buildings falling apart. As constant as the moon above him on the opposite side of the sky.
One night won't lead to anything. He drops the card into a passing drain, and declares to himself that he won't let himself be drawn back into that man's story.