Chapter Text
Away in the tiny two bedroom apartment somewhere in Dundee, Zenigata arose partially from his slumber at the sound of tired footsteps shuffling around the hallway, if you could even call it a hallway from how small it was.
Ah. Goro Yatagarasu— or Yata as he was affectionately called by all ICPO staff— despite being named for the corbies as they called them in Scotland, was quite the night-owl… at his own detriment, sometimes. Must still be awake. It wouldn't be the first time old Koichi Zenigata saw the lad burn himself out well past the rising dawn on document after document. Nor the last.
Zenigata sat up and grabbed his worn, but fuzzy grey housecoat off the foot of the bed, slung it over his shoulders, before fumbling around in the darkness as he stood up to go find his assistant. He then turned the knob carefully and pushed the creaky wooden door open, making sure not to swing it too far or fast. He'd learned the hard way not to do that after hitting Yata rather forcefully with the door the first couple of times, both times resulting in a bruise on the hip and the rest of the day being squinted at sideways by the latter. "Yata? You awake?" Zenigata called, his gruff old voice surprisingly soft. Waking the other tenants at two in the morning was not on his list of things to do whilst he was in Scotland.
The sound of a keyboard click-clacking away was all that came in response.
Tap tap tap tap tap… tap tap. TAPTAPTAP tap tap tap… tap tap… tap...
"Yata." Koichi repeated, a bit more firmly this time whilst making his way through to the living room area, his socks audibly padding against the carpet. Though he didn't have to be so strict with Goro whilst they were off duty, there was still a sense of younger-elder respect between the two that they firmly upheld. The tapping of the computer in the living room finally stopped, paired with a tiny solid thump, just as Zenigata slowed to a halt at the doorframe and leant on it with his shoulder, one leg folded behind the other and his arms crossed over his chest. An unimpressed bushy eyebrow raised at the sight in front of him, but a tiny smirk cracked across his lips.
Yata was hunched over the computer desk like some form of gremlin with his head on the keyboard rest, his endearingly messy black hair and back of his head illuminated by the blue glow of the monitor as it sat paused on a lengthy Word document for the ICPO. As Zenigata approached, he noted that the younger's body and posture seemed too relaxed for him to be aware of his surroundings… add into the mix that his false-black eyes were barely open, and Zenigata could make the educated guess fairly easily that Yata was falling asleep at the desk.
It garnered a tiny huff of laughter from the old man, and he rolled his eyes in a good-natured fashion before walking around behind the computer chair.
The chair was no more than a beaten down office chair with peeling faux-leather and wonky wheels, so dragging it back carefully was no huge feat. It simply slid back, a little wobbly on its aged metal frame in motion. No longer able to rest his sleepy head on the desk, Yata crumpled into himself instead, grumbling like a puppy at the soothing silent serenity being taken away from him.
"Yata, go to bed." Zenigata ordered, holding the back of the chair.
"But S...Senpai…" Yata whined in reply as he sat himself up again, struggling to stop his eyelids from drooping down. The lull of sleep was tempting him, and he ignored it to try and keep working well past his shift. "Senpai, I haven't- finished… these." A yawn rose from within Yata's chest as he stretched his arms and legs out, then curled back up, staring at the computer screen. It didn't occur to him that he was growing so tired, that his last few paragraphs were total gibberish in a broken mix of Japanese and English, as well as what seemed like some totally new Shakespearean words created from the mind of an exhausted 21 year old.
Zenigata's arms folded again, as he frowned upon the unrested form of his younger coworker and current roommate. "Yata, you're never going to finish'em if you're working yourself to a zombie." As someone with years of sleepless nights under his belt, he certainly didn't want Yata going through the same thing at such a young age. Not even 25… he applauded the lad for getting onto the Interpol team so early on in his career, but he couldn't help but feel he wasn't quite mature enough for some aspects of the job. Especially aspects like overworking himself, and self-care.
"Senpai…" Yata pressed in another whingy, delirious response.
Seemed like he wasn't getting through to him. Only one thing for it.
Without any warning, Zenigata suddenly poised himself, slid his arms under Yata's knees and back, and lifted him up, despite the latter's unceremonious squawk of protest. "That's it, I'm takin' you by force if it means you get some shut-eye." He then started carrying him through to his bedroom.
"Senpai, put me down!" Yata demanded, trying so hard to sound authoritative. It wasn't really any use though, considering he was well and truly trapped in this surprisingly tough but comfy hold. Zenigata shook his head and chuckled under his breath as he swept the door to Yata's untidy little room open with his foot. "You can finish the work once you've rested," the old man reaffirmed.
He settled Yata down carefully on the bed, then as if he were looking after a child and not a man (albeit a man barely out his teens), he pulled the duvet back and let him wriggle himself into a cosier position, before tucking him in. "That's better!" Zenigata commented cheerfully.
He could tell that Yata was glaring daggers at him through the pitch black.
Not for long though, as not even a minute later, the tension in the room ebbed away and Yata's silent breaths turned to tiny, rhythmic snuffles, an almost infant attempt at snoring.
Something about it made Zenigata's heart become warm and fuzzy with pride, as he greeted Yata goodnight with an unseen nod, before turning, creeping out, and closing the door gingerly.