Chapter Text
The morning after what she can only remember as a heavy night of drinking, Yosano wakes up in an unfamiliar room with a weariness that can only come from too much wine. She can tell it’s not her apartment as soon as she rolls over; the bed is far too comfortable, the curtains actually block the light, the street… she can’t even hear the traffic from where she is. And the blankets… the blankets are soft and inviting. It’s not a futon on the floor; it’s a proper bed. She sighs, stretches, and instantly regrets movement as, out of nowhere, pain shoots through her skull and draws a groan out of her.
She has no recollection of how she got here, so she focuses on what she can. Wine. She remembers the wine. Before that…
In an effort to identify where she is, Yosano opens her eyes. She just sees furnishings that are unfamiliar, walls that are unfamiliar…
Ah, she thinks. A hotel. She shuts her eyes and tries to remember again how she got there. The room is cool and dark. Sleep beckons her again. The blankets help, but the need to check her phone overrides her weariness. She reaches out, her bare arms stretching towards the nightstand.
Yosano realizes she’s not wearing anything beneath the blankets and immediately pulls her arm back in. Her fingers are still warm, but she now feels the chill of the unfamiliar, and of the unrecoverable gap in her memory.
Did I… have sex with someone last night? Sitting up but keeping the blankets pulled around her, Yosano scans the room. She sees no signs of another person having been there, no untidy scattering of her clothes and another’s on the floor. For one brief moment, she feels an overwhelming relief, because wouldn’t it be worse for her if she had sex with a stranger and wasn’t even sober enough to remember, let alone consent? At least if she could remember, sh how disoriented she is, she wouldn’t be surprised if last night was full of questionable decisions.
But no… that’s not the case. No one else is there with her, so—
She hears a door unlocking and pulls the blankets up as high as they’ll go, less out of modesty and more out of discomfort. A light by the entryway flicks on, and out of nowhere, the most devastating ghost she has ever seen drifts into view. Her features are crimson from head to toe in different shades: her hair a true red, her lips rouge, her nails a perfectly manicured, red-leaning magenta. Even her eyes are red (Yosano can’t name the shade due to her position and the dim light in the room), so she relies on her clothes to keep the red from being too much.
It turns out the woman is not a ghost at all but a hotel employee carrying a tray of food and tea. Perhaps thinking her a ghost was the product of her grogginess. Or captivation.
Maybe both.
Yosano inhales and swallows, her eyes following this almost unearthly figure as she walks forward without even giving the bed a glance. Wordlessly, the elegant woman sets a tray down on the desk and walks back towards the door without a single word.
“Wait.”
The woman, to her surprise, turns and passes her a steady look, her lips curling into a customer service smile.
“What…” She stops. “Who—”
“Eat first, Yosano Akiko. Then, we’ll talk.”
Suspicious… she knows my name. Yosano throws back the covers and finds, no, thankfully she wasn’t completely naked under the covers. But she was naked enough to realize this stranger saw a majority of her body. And while that’s not exactly problem, this stranger… possesses more allure than Yosano would ever voice. She isn’t sure what she expected when she woke up in the morning, but it certainly wasn’t for such a regal woman to walk across her room, deposit a tray of food, and disappear right back the way she came.
Yosano can’t find her clothes when she rises, so she winds up wrapped in one of the complimentary yukata. She’s so tired that the first time she tries, she wraps it the wrong way. Sighing, she unties it and tries again, this time with a little more success. Her first effort is admittedly more reflective of her current state. The lingering grogginess tells her all she needs to know about last night: she drank. A lot. Vague flashes of a bar in Tokyo fill her head. One bottle of wine, two… she thinks that’s all she had, but she can’t be sure.
Setting that matter aside, she paces to the food on the desk. It’s nothing complex: just some rice, fish, and tea. There’s also some miso soup that she sips while flipping through her phone and trying to recover her wits. The date stares at her: June 10, 2022. She’s grateful that today, she didn’t have to work, more grateful still that Dazai’s birthday is still over a week away so she won’t miss it due to a hangover.
Part of her is also grateful that she can’t remember everything from last night. She’s sure that if she did, she would be mortified beyond all reason.
She works her way around all the food on the tray, nibbling this or trying to nibble that and realizing maybe salted fish isn’t the best idea for a hangover. Fortunately, the more rice she eats, the more that touch of nausea plaguing her subsides. She’s almost done when there’s a gentle knock at the door.
“Please pardon the intrusion,” calls the voice from before.
A moment later, the woman and her red features appear again, still clad in her fancy traditional garb with mainly blacks, whites, and pinks, though there is a touch of red in the spider lilies at the bottom of her attire. The stranger’s dignity is a stark contrast to Yosano’s own state; even without the hangover, she’s positive she couldn’t manage it.
“I thought you might also like some water,” she explains, handing Yosano a still sealed bottle. “It didn’t occur to me until after I left the food, so I came back with it. I hope you didn’t struggle to eat breakfast, though I wouldn’t be surprised given last night.”
Yosano stares at the woman and eventually takes the bottle. “Who are you?”
“My name?” The woman laughs behind her sleeve. “My sincere apologies. Where are my manners? My name is Ozaki Kouyou. I’m the owner of the Golden Demon Inn. You’re in one of our rooms.” She bows slightly. “You’re very fortunate.”
“In what sense?” Yosano asks. “I wake up more naked than not in a strange bed, you march in here like you own the place to deliver me food I didn’t ask for, and you’re telling me I should be grateful?”
“My, my, you’re quite lively this morning.” Kouyou’s hands emerge from her sleeves. They wind up being as graceful as the rest of her. “Would you be terribly offended if I sat down with you for a little while? Just to explain things to you. You seem a little disoriented.”
Yosano has no reason to reject the request, so she nods, and the stranger joins her at the low table in the room.
“For the record, I do own the place, as I said earlier.” Smiling, she murmurs, “You must still be a little out of it, Yosano-sensei.”
That’s the second time Kouyou has addressed her by name, this time with her job title. “How do you know who I am?”
“You were wearing your nametag when I found you,” Kouyou states.
Yosano tries to recall exactly when or where that was, but the only thing she can remember with any clarity is glass after glass of red wine. She shakes her head and takes another sip of her tea. It’s good tea. Jasmine. Very floral. For some reason, it reminds her of something.
“You don’t remember anything about last night, do you?”
“I don’t, no.” She sends Kouyou a look, hoping she gets the cue to fill in the gaps. When Kouyou remains silent, Yosano says, “Perhaps you remember more of it than I do.”
With a calm smile, Kouyou says, “I see. You’re asking me. In contexts like this, I can better provide what you need if the question is a little more obvious.”
“Fine,” she retorts, rolling her eyes. “If you’re willing to share—”
“Of course.” Kouyou bows her head slightly. “You were at a wine bar near Shinjuku Station. I was walking by on my way there when I passed you.”
“Ah,” Yosano says, catching Kouyou’s faint smile.
“You were worse than drunk. Completely inebriated. The summer heat probably didn’t help.” She shakes her head. “I saw a few businessmen murmuring about how beautiful you were.”
Her suspicion starts to drain away as she swallows. “They didn’t say that.”
“They did,” she said. “I won’t describe to you their exact words, with the exception of one sentence: they said a drunk woman who couldn’t remember was the most beautiful one of all.”
Yosano’s nausea comes back. She’s surprised the cup in her hands doesn’t shatter when she grips it tighter.
“So I grabbed your arm and spun some story about a house call that needed your immediate attention. I was inspired by your Keio Hospital coat.”
Shit. That nametag and the coat could cause me a lot of trouble. After swallowing, Yosano ventures another question. “After that?”
“I took you here.” Kouyou shrugs. “I wasn’t sure what else to do with you, but I didn’t feel right letting you leave alone in your state, especially with men of less than savory character around. Fortunately, you took most of it with minimal resistance. Although you did try to punch me at one point.”
“Ah…” Yosano stares into her tea, debating whether she’s more humiliated that she tried to punch someone for trying to help her or for being drunk in public while wearing her uniform. “I apologize for anything I said or did last night. I…” She isn’t really sure what she’s apologizing for, let alone why. This person is a complete stranger. She’ll probably never see Kouyou again after this. Yet here she is, groggy and trying to repair her image in this stranger’s eyes. Shaking her head, she murmurs, “I don’t remember how much I had.”
“Well, best not have that much again. You might not be so lucky next time.” Kouyou folds her hands, then clears her throat and continues. “Once you were here, I made sure you were comfortable. I stayed with you overnight, mostly to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself in your sleep. Your state was truly concerning.” She lowers her head. “If I overstepped any boundaries, I’m truly sorry, but when I see someone struggling like that, I tend to help them first and worry about apologizing later.”
“Why would you need to apologize?”
“You kept saying something about a patient dying. I couldn’t really understand much of it, considering the state you were in.” Kouyou smiles. “You probably clung to me for twenty minutes and just sobbed.”
“Damn it.” Yosano curses under her breath for letting herself cry about that again. It’s bad enough she did in front of Kunikida and Ranpo about a month ago. She bows her head lower. “I apologize.”
“Please. I have a younger brother with a slew of shitty exes. I don’t think you need to apologize for crying at all. Whatever it was, it must have been really distressing.”
That’s an understatement, but not one she’s willing to discuss with this woman named Ozaki Kouyou.
“After you recovered from crying, you started laughing out of nowhere and taking off your clothes…”
Yosano slams her head down on the table and curses against the wood, this time louder, and listens as Kouyou just continues.
“I couldn’t stop you, so I just sort of let you do as you wish. I apologize if I in any way offended your modesty.”
“No,” she growls. “Just… fuck.” She throws Kouyou a glare across the table. “It wasn’t supposed to get that bad. I normally—”
“You normally drink like that?”
Yosano shuts her mouth and glances away. “I was going to say I normally stop at a reasonable amount, that yesterday was an exception, not a commonality.” It’s partly true, at least, but she has no idea why she felt the need to lie. Annoyed, she passes Kouyou a glare. “I don’t owe you an answer for my personal habits, good or bad. I don’t even know you. You don’t know me beyond pulling me off the street.”
“I know your name,” Kouyou states. She smiles. “I know you’re twenty-seven years old and live in Yokohama. Your birthday is in April. I can also tell from the fact I had to carry you up here that you lied about your weight on your driver’s license.”
Yosano chokes and tries to say something, even knowing anything she says will probably make it worse.
“I know you work at Keio Hospital, that you’re their newest emergency room doctor. I know that two weeks ago, a patient who threw himself in front of a train was brought to that hospital, that you struggled to save him for three hours while he bled out and eventually succumbed to the injuries he inflicted on himself.”
Yosano stares at her.
“I know last night, you were drunk out of your mind and sobbing about that same patient. So, I’m inclined to ask if that has a story.”
“No,” she states. Coldly. Because she wants this woman to leave Dazai out of it. Maybe she has a brother, but she wouldn’t understand Dazai’s inclinations towards self-harm, never mind that aside from one incident last October, they have as far as she knows abated now that he’s dating someone seriously.
Kouyou accepts her answer with a simple nod. “Perhaps I made you uncomfortable with all of those details just now. Know that I looked up the bare minimum. Although I did find your Facebook page since you live in Yokohama. I know some people down there.”
Yosano stares at Kouyou.
“Truly, if I pried too much, I apologize. I simply want to know the kind of person that I bring into a room. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable if I agreed to forget last night entirely and never mention it to anyone.”
Yosano stares at her half-eaten food and reaches for the miso soup again, trying to decide how annoying Kouyou’s constant formalities are. It’s already too cool for her tastes, but she raises the bowl and sips anyway. As she lowers it, she carefully considers what to say next.
“What happened to that patient bothers you. I happen to know someone who has struggled with the idea of dying. They’re better now, but… they weren’t always.” Kouyou’s smile fades. “It must have been devastating.”
Yosano stares at her food again. She already cried about this sober to Kunikida and Ranpo. She can’t cry about it sober to a complete stranger now. But even though she tells herself that, her eyes burn and start to water.
“Would you like a moment alone?”
“No.”
“Then.” Kouyou rises. “I’ll get you a tissue. Please wait a moment.”
“Don’t bother.” She wipes her eyes on the hotel yukata. Then, she composes herself. If my colleagues saw me like this, they would eat me alive. With a slow breath, she drops her arm and calmly picks up her tea. She studies its surface, perfectly still, while her heart slams in her chest, nursing the pain in this truth Kouyou seems to know despite the fact that they don’t know each other. Yosano isn’t in a healthy state of mind. She’s done this before, and she’ll likely do it again, all just to get through after three grueling hours of trying—and failing—to save one life. Not because she had any particular attachment to the patient. Because it hits a little too close to home. To Dazai, who last year on October 26 could have wound up exactly like him.
The mere thought makes her feel sick.
“I get the impression this is difficult for you,” Kouyou states. “If you’d like, I’m happy to provide whatever you need for the morning. I’m not planning on charging you for the room. You’re not a customer, after all. You’re just a person who needed help when I happened to be there.”
Yosano swallows and feels her eyes stinging again.
“Your clothes are in our laundry. They should almost be dry. I’ll bring them to you.”
“Thank you.” She feels in her hair for the butterfly clip she normally wears. Finding it absent, she tosses Kouyou a panicked look.
“The hair ornament?”
Yosano glances at Kouyou to find her smiling again.
“Quite beautiful, if you ask me. I put it in the nightstand drawer so you wouldn’t accidentally knock it off when you woke up.”
A strong sense of relief overcomes her, and she sighs.
“Yosano…”
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “That you had to see me like this. That I caused you any trouble. That you had to take care of me.” She glances up to find Kouyou studying her.
“I don’t see you as weak for this, you know. Although… I believe the people in your life would appreciate it if you didn’t get quite as drunk as you did last night. I, too, would feel better knowing that you won’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to lay down to sleep tonight thinking that I pulled you off a crowded street where anything could have happened for nothing.” She shifts to her feet again. “Thank you for permitting me to clarify the situation, Yosano-sensei. If you need anything else—”
“I just need to know how to repay you.”
“There’s no repayment necessary beyond you taking better care of yourself.”
Yosano stares at her. “I’ll… try.”
“Good.” Kouyou turns her steps to the desk and spends a moment there, scrawling something on one of the notepads. After regarding it, she sets the paper down without taking a single sheet.
Once alone, Yosano finishes her breakfast. Another employee brings her clothes, along with apologies that Kouyou was needed at the front desk. When she’s alone again, she sighs and rises, throwing the yukata off of her shoulders and onto the bed. Her clothes, freshly dried, hang in the closet. She slips the nylons on first, then the skirt. Her white shirt and black tie come next. She’ll carry the coat.
Her purse is also in the closet. She fishes through it and at least applies a little bit of lipstick in the bathroom mirror. She can tell she looks tired, but passersby likely wouldn’t notice.
All that’s left is the hair clip, which she finds in the nightstand drawer just where Kouyou mentioned it was. Slipping it into the left side of her hair, she rounds the room to make sure she’s not missing anything else.
The notepad on the desk catches her eyes, its hastily scrawled black lines pulling her in like spider’s threads.
It’s a cell phone number, but it’s not hers.
Yosano walks all the way to the door and puts her shoes on before kicking them off again and darting back to the desk. The whole notepad disappears into her purse.
Downstairs, at the front desk, she asks for the owner. Kouyou emerges, sighing with relief. “Ah, you’re leaving—”
“You forgot something.” She slides the notepad across the desk without a word, studies Kouyou as she looks down at it, then glances back up at her. Then, she turns around, pulling her bag a little further up as her shoes click across the floor, the sheet of paper with Kouyou’s number on it tucked into the innermost pocket of her purse.
Yosano has no idea what possessed her to leave the pad of paper, the top sheet of which contained her own number, behind, but she doesn’t expect anything to come of it.