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It’s been four days, and Yamada has a problem.
Four days, and no Sasaki. Four days without their daily song and dance. Four days that Yamada has had to smoke, alone, without Sasaki’s calming presence, not to mention four days that Yamada hasn’t been able to cheer him up with one of her award-winning smiles. And she’s not taking it well.
“Yamada, if you show that face to our customers, I’m going to have to take disciplinary action,” her manager tells her on her mid-shift break. Yamada grits her teeth and grinds another cigarette into her ashtray. She knows she’s being dramatic about this. It’s not like Sasaki and her smoke together every day, but it’s a ritual she has come to expect and depend on, and…
“Are you really that worried about him?”
Yamada jerks her head back to give manager a truly frightening glare. Goto, being made out of steel, does not budge, and hands her a drink from the vending machine.
“…Thanks.”
“No problem.” Goto watches her drink and then repeats herself. “Are you really that worried?”
“…I don’t want to talk about it.” She’s being stubborn and she knows it. Of course she’s worried. Sasaki would work himself to death if it was asked of him, and he’s no spring chicken. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe he’s injured. Maybe his smoking habit has finally caught up to him. The possibilities are endless—and Yamada’s been at it for the last four days, so she would know.
The first day, she could brush it off. The second, she could easily imagine him wrapped up in overtime. The third, she was starting to get irritated, and by today, she’s irate. And it’s all just her own selfishness, but—if Sasaki really was sick, or hurt… who would know?
Maybe that’s what’s gotten her so upset. The fact that she still doesn’t know all that much about him; the fact that she can only offer support when he’s here. When he leaves, he’s gone. Just another wisp of smoke in the wind.
It’s been a hard battle to get to this point, but Yamada is finally starting to admit it: She wants more. Four days without him is four days too many.
Goto has been watching her inner struggle with raised eyebrows but no interruptions, and when Yamada slams her head down on the table and makes to pretend nap for the rest of her break, she leaves with nothing but a truly dangerous string of words:
“You know you can just visit him, right? His address is on his point card, and surely you’ve seen it enough times by now to memorize it.”
Maybe Yamada is just an idiot. She stares at Goto’s back as she leaves. Sasaki’s address comes to mind instantly; Yamada is a restless and unhelpful cashier until the end of her shift.
Which is how she ended up here, in front of Sasaki’s humble doorstep. She brought him some essentials: food, water, cold medicine. Maybe he’s not even sick. Maybe Yamada is an idiot twice over.
She knocks on the door. She’s in her leather jacket—the decision to come as Tayama was simple. No use subjecting Sasaki to high levels of Yamada-induced anxiousness. Today, she’s going to worry over him. What a concept.
There’s nothing but silence on the other side of the door. Yamada knocks again. And knocks again. By the fourth knock, her hands are sweaty, her heartrate just a little elevated. Seriously, what has happened to him? She takes a deep breath to steady herself before the worst-case scenarios rush in, and her hand moves to the doorknob when—
“Mm… Hello?”
Sasaki’s voice filters through the cracked door, and instantly, Yamada’s anxiety disappears. She has to stop herself from smiling. He’s alive.
Not looking well, though. When he steps in the doorway, it’s obvious at least one of Yamada’s fears was correct: he’s sick. His hair is a mess, his face flushed, a blanket thrown around his shoulders, and if she looks closely, he’s having trouble staying upright, like he’s dizzy. She makes an executive decision to invite herself in.
“Move,” she says. Sasaki’s eyes widen.
“T-Tayama? What are you doing—”
“Checking on you. Move.” Yamada tries to open the door, but he shakes his head.
“N-no way. I can’t let you inside. This is—”
“An intervention? Yeah. Why are you up when you’re sick? Get back into bed.” Yamada’s bluntness seems to weather Sasaki down a little, but he’s still standing, dumbfounded, in the doorway, so she gives him a little push—nothing serious.
He almost falls over. Yamada’s heartrate skyrockets, and she lunges forward and grabs him by his shirt before he can lose his balance. He stumbles towards her. His breathing is way, way too strained. She’s gonna kill him.
“Go to bed,” she says. Sasaki nods, his breath hot on her ear. Yamada does not have time to dissect the physical closeness that they are now experiencing, so she ducks under his arm and ignores his shaky protests. Eventually, she can hear him walking across the floor. She drops her bags on the kitchen counter and looks around.
Sasaki’s apartment is sparsely decorated, the sort of place only used for sleeping and eating. It’s dark and empty and foreboding. Yamada closes her eyes. This is stupid. Why is she here? Isn’t she just being a nuisance? Isn’t she being way too selfish?
Isn’t there anybody else to take care of him, or is this stupidly kind man suffering all alone?
“Pardon the mess,” Sasaki says. She jumps.
“Why aren’t you in bed?” She snaps, more harshly than she meant to, making him flinch. “I’m not interested in an old man’s apartment. Just get your butt into bed before I make you.”
“But still, for you to be here…” He’s wringing his hands like it’s his fault. Yamada has to take a few deep breaths to steady herself. If she’s not careful, her true thoughts might come out. She already feels like crying. He’s here alone. Acting like he doesn’t even matter.
He matters to her. If she could say that, would things be different?
“Don’t get it twisted,” she says instead. “I’m just making sure my smoking partner doesn’t die on me. You’ve ditched me for four days already.”
“Has it already been that long?” When Yamada huffs and crosses her arms, Sasaki stutters. “I mean, I didn’t expect anyone to notice…”
Is he serious right now? Really, really serious?
“People do notice,” she says. “I notice. And think about… Nishizono. Or your coworkers. Don’t you have people relying on you? Wouldn’t they be worried?”
“And you?”
Sasaki’s voice is just deep because of the fever. There’s no way he’s prodding at a time like this. Yamada can feel herself cracking; she wants way more than she can have. She wants to be honest.
“Huh?”
“Ah, oh, sorry.” He backtracks hastily, and she can breathe again. “I meant… don’t you have people relying on you? Is it really okay for you to visit me when you should be working?”
“I got off early today,” she says, just so Sasaki will relax and go to bed.
“I… see. Then… thank you, Tayama.”
“Don’t mention it,” she mumbles, turning away so he doesn’t see her red face. When he recedes, she busies herself with her bags until her hands stop shaking.
“I brought water and medicine,” she says. Sasaki is sitting up when she gets into the living room, and he takes the water gratefully. “Mind if I smoke?”
“Not at all.” Sasaki takes his medicine dutifully. He’s still pretty red, and Yamada taps a hand against his forehead. He chokes on his water.
“T-Tayama!? What are you—?”
“Just checking your temperature.” Yep, he’s burning up. “You’re running a pretty bad fever. How long?”
“How long… well, I suppose for the past few days…”
It’s been that long? Yamada wants to wring his neck. Going that long without proper medical care… just who does he think he is?
“And nobody’s come to check on you? Not even your coworkers?”
“Hm? I’ve been going to work, though?”
“You what?”
Suddenly, the room feels ice-cold, or maybe it’s just the freezing anger in Yamada’s belly. Sasaki has the decency to look nervous. Yamada presses her lips to her cigarette and breathes in until she can visualize his office building burning to the ground.
“Who goes to work when they’re sick?” she asks, voice trembling. Hopefully Sasaki ascribes that to anger and not worry. He shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.
“I’ve been leaving early… it’s just that, there are a lot of projects depending on me right now, and my boss is stingy with sick leave, so…”
“What a sucky place to work.” How is he still alive? Yamada is thinking bloody murder. She’s holding on to her worry so tightly, it might explode in her face. If Sasaki saw how much she cared, would he be turned off? Would their friendship be over?
“Ha! Yeah…” He doesn’t seem to notice her trembling hands or the stinging wetness building up behind her eyes. She swallows hard. “The worst part, though, is not being able to smoke. It’s all I can think about.”
“Nicotine addiction hit you hard?”
Sasaki hums, eyes closed. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, and there’s a weariness to his shoulders that is begging Yamada to pull him in close and not let go. She’s gotta get out of here, or she’ll stay forever.
“I guess you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.” He’s fading fast, voice soft and thin as he settles into bed. “I really enjoy… smoking with you.”
“Idiot,” Yamada whispers. “Just rely on me more.”
But there’s no answer. He’s asleep.
She stays with him until she finishes her cigarette, counting each breath, making peace with the space between them. Once she’s done, she brushes the hair out of his face and presses a kiss to his forehead. And then she’s gone.