Chapter Text
Your heightened sense of hearing became your curse.
Every faint rustle and distant knock, the subtle crinkling of a bag in the room next door, the muffled emanation of a television from an unknown source above, and the mechanical whirring of the half-functional air conditioner. You heard it all. Each night, the muffled sounds merged into an intermittent cacophony, playfully inviting you into the clutches of insomnia.
Your heightened sense of hearing sentenced you to night wanderings back and forth on the long unwashed floor of your apartment. You aimlessly examined the half-empty howling refrigerator. You inhaled the stagnant, moist summer air as you stood barefoot on the still-warm floor of the balcony. All of this, an attempt to tire yourself enough to fall asleep only by hitting the pillow with your head.
This night was worse than the others.
On that narrow balcony, you swayed back and forth, looking up at the almost starless (although tinted with a hint of pleasant lavender) sky. Even at night, the air was heavy, damp, and vile, clinging to your skin and leaving a thin layer of sweat in its wake. Even that damned humming air conditioner that you begged to work properly tonight did not help and only made it worse. Such heat could only mean rain and thunder within a day or two.
Your semblance of calm was shattered by the sound of a click, and you instantly turned your head towards the source of the noise. It was caused by the door of the neighboring balcony, separated from yours only by a modest fence (installed, of course, in the name of safety). A blonde-haired head poked out. Obviously, its owner, whom you haven't personally met yet but knew all about, did not notice you right away. He turned his head away from your direction, fixating his gaze on some distant point in the horizon instead.
This night was worse than the others…
… due to the continued sobbing of a child seeping through the walls of the neighboring apartment.
The apartment complex you lived in was an oasis of tranquility, located in the outskirts of the big never-sleeping city. Here, where you could be awoken by a pleasant birdsong. A ‘realm’ inhabited mostly by old people and loving families. Such a place, where everyone knew everybody, creating a web of mutual understanding between the tenants. This place held a special chamber in your heart, a sanctuary of cherished sentiments.
In a nutshell, the rent came at a steal.
Merely a month ago Nanami Kento and his toddler son Yuuji took up residence in the apartment next door to yours, and the somewhat-lovely nosey old ladies did not hesitate to make a fuss about it. You could almost hear the buzz of excitement that this fresh gossip brought to them, a piece of news as delectable as it was juicy. Oh, you knew everything about him, even though your exchanges had been limited to silent glances and modest nods.
One time, it was just the beginning of June, back when the sun's ardor was not nearly as stifling as it would become in the next month. A week or so since Nanami Kento moved in. Seated on a snug terrace connected to the building you lived in, you found solace beneath its shade. This spot, transformed into a hub for the old ladies' candid conversations, not a care in the world about who might be eavesdropping on them. Who would have the guts to barge in anyways?
And at this point, they’ve grown accustomed to your presence enough to not even hush their voices. After all, you had the reputation of a polite ‘good girl’ around there.
A book in your hand, you were rereading the same page over and over again. The words cascaded into your consciousness only to evaporate right after. It all made little to no sense.
‘...he would wake up suddenly when he managed to grasp a memory like a piece in a limitless jigsaw puzzle of the nation that lay before him...’
The letters were flashing before your eyes, as if those were not words, not a sentence, but just incoherent mutterings trapped in textual form.
“My dear, let me tell you about Nanami Kento, who's just settled into our little apartment complex…” The voice belonged to a woman who lived right above you. Your ears pricked up, oh how you hated your hearing.
It would be an audacious deception to claim that your new neighbor didn’t intrigue you in the slightest. He was a mysterious incomprehensible figure, his face printed in a watercolor-nature in your memory – soft, muted, and elusive – restricted by the fact that your vision of him was limited to a few fleeting glimpses from a respectful distance. Although if a painter so happened to want to capture him, they would use extremely sharp lines and angular figures. Tall, broad-shouldered, somewhat attractive, from what you could tell.
At that point, you spotted his fair-haired head from the height of your balcony a few times, observing how he was leading his son to the car or glanced upon him from the corner of your eye early in the morning in the elevator, a momentary crossing of paths on the way to your professional lives. (This wouldn't drastically change even after a month, save for the occasional nods you exchanged a week in.)
‘...he would wake up suddenly when he managed to grasp a memory like a piece in a limitless jigsaw puzzle of the nation that lay before him...’
You tried to find your focus once again and sighed out, concentrating on the lines before you.
“...He's taken up residence on the second floor, bless his heart, along with his little toddler son. Oh, that sweet child brings warmth to my heart. But as for Mr. Nanami himself, well, he does seem rather...dissatisfied.”
You allowed a faint smirk to slip off your lips. The words of the 'nice lady' echoed in your thoughts. Your mind had already come up with a lewd joke, although even better was the fact that both meanings were quite applicable to the situation. Probably. Dissatisfied…
Come to think about it, he never brought a woman to his place. Maybe he used those love hotels for his ‘amorous escapades’? Such a tactic would be a wise decision for a single parent with a toddler.
‘Read-read-read. Keep your nose in the book.’ You begged yourself.
But set aside all the vulgarity, Nanami Kento had something slightly distant from this world within him. His eyes, though hidden behind the delicate round spectacles, refrained from expressing boundless joy. Instead, they peeked out from beneath furrowed brows, casting cautious strict glances at us strangers. An aura of sternness surrounded him. Perhaps your perception of him as a strict individual was rooted in his constant fashion choices of neat business suits.
‘...he would wake up suddenly when he managed to grasp a memory like a piece in a limitless jigsaw puzzle of the nation that lay before him...’
You read the sentence word by word now.
“Where’s the wife?” This voice belonged to another elderly woman, one that cared much less about formalities.
“Life's been unkind to him, you see. His wife departed, leaving him to shoulder the responsibilities of raising a child all on his own and working those long hours from nine to five. One can't help but wonder what sort of a lady she must've been to put him through such trials,” you were still staring at the pages, but you could almost envision how the lady was articulating artistically, throwing her wrinkly hands into the air.
‘What sort of lady…’ She might have as well called her a ‘whore,’ when the implications that laced the phrase were clear as day. You stretched out in your seat, not closing the book in your hands yet, but not bothering to look at it either. Instead, you turned your head towards the chattering hive.
The elderly women convened around a sturdy wooden table adorned with a charming, saccharine tablecloth. Their banter was an expected thing at that point, breaking the treasured silence of the apartment complex. You had grown accustomed to their lively discussions, just as the other fortunate tenants.
In retrospect, there was a certain sweetness in their ability to derive amusement from the tapestry of their seemingly monotonous lives. And to cut them some slack, they weren't necessarily always gossiping. They would sometimes delve into some old nice recipes, the prices in the local supermarket, or something as trivial as the weather.
There were three of them. One who lived just above you, a solitary, elegantly wrinkled figure draped in an aura of sophistication. She consumed a remarkable amount of cigarettes and liked to put a flare of aristocracy around herself. One who lived on the first floor, an owner of three undeniably adorable yet relentlessly vexatious cats. Her speech mirrored her cats' somewhat-insufferable nature, succinct and to the point. And one who, on the contrary, lived on the top floor and was the eldest of the group. She rarely voiced her opinions.
The Aristocrat, the Cat-Owner, and… well, the Third One.
“Know what? Kids these days don’t appreciate marriage at all. They jump in and out of ‘em. Where’s the dedication?”
“Yes, dear, young people view marriage with such… little regard.”
You looked at the sky, eavesdropping shamelessly. It was no attention-grabber, that the old people liked to shake their heads in disapproval at the youth and their views on divorce and marriage. It was a universal dance, the old critiquing the new as nostalgia held their perceptions hostage. Still, you couldn't help but tense up a bit and scrunch your nose in an almost unnoticeable motion.
The discussion topic and the word choices felt almost disrespectful to the new neighbor.
“Oh, it is truly heart-wrenching, my dear. How could a woman turn away from her child?” Oh, she just wouldn’t drop the topic, “I’ve heard that Nanami has taken on the full responsibility of caring for their little one. Since they’ve arrived, there hasn't been a single visit from her. One must wonder where her maternal instincts have gone.”
Your lips sealed themselves, a conscious decision to withhold your perspective from their discourse. You knew that it would be viewed more as childish disobedience and silly arguing. This was a conversation that wasn't meant for you, an opportunity to play the role of the gracious and understanding young girl they presumed you to be.
“That Nanami guy must be a hero,” the Cat-Owner hummed thoughtfully and rubbed her chin.
“Oh, indeed he is a heroic figure, bearing the weight of being a single father. The challenges he must face, one can only imagine…” The Aristocrat took a drag from her cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke as if to underscore her proclamation. The nods from her companions affirmed her sentiment.
You felt a certain pang of annoyance. It would be better if you just stood up and left. Which you did. But you couldn’t refrain yourself from a deep dissatisfied exhale, which you regretted right after, feeling like some sort of teenager with anger issues.
“What is it, dear, are we disturbing you from your reading?” the raspy smoky voice tugged at your ears.
The old ladies, in all their multifaceted niceness, could also be rather perceptive. And persistent.
“No-no. That’s not it,” you made a subtle aggressive movement of tilting your chin to the side.
Partially, yes, they did disturb your reading session, but your lack of concentration was mostly your fault.
“Then what is it?” that was the Cat-Owner, crossing her arms on top of her chest, “Come on, girl, don’t hold back.”
Internally, you were debating if sharing your whole-hearted concerns was a wise move. Three sets of anticipating eyes were glued to you, awaiting your answer, clearly observing your irritation. Should you blame it on the heat?
“I don’t think your judgment is fair is all,” you decided to hold on to the last bits of composure you still had, but they waited for you to elaborate, “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that, you know,” you turned fully towards them, “How come you know he didn’t beat her or anything?” The words flowed from your lips, an articulation of thoughts too long suppressed.
In all truth, the unraveling of the relationship between the two individuals remained a mystery to you, of course. A secret held at arm's length, its significance to your personal life was minimal, though you'd be dishonest to deny a spark of curiosity. The possibilities were as vast as the cosmos — adultery, clashing personalities, an initial lack of connection, or even a tragic tapestry of eternal love thwarted by parental disapproval. An oh-so-tragic "they loved each other eternally, but her parents were against it" scenario – that wasn't the essence of your frustration.
“Oh, well, darling, isn’t that rather a severe accusation?” The Aristocrat's gaze swept you up and down, voice filled with condescension that you could practically taste. It was as if she regarded you as a naive child in need of correction.
“Oh, stop it, Nanami seems like a decent man,” The Cat-Owner barged in, her tone laced with frustration.
“I’m not… accusing anyone of anything. But there could always be more layers to the story. Don’t you at least think that could be possible?” you continued your speech.
“Well, in my days, people would resolve those kinds of issues instead of running away from them,” the Cat-Owner interrupted you, but you chose to ignore her comment.
“... and the thing is. If she was the one who decided to take care of the child, you would hardly sing her any praises too. That’s expected. Women do stuff like that all the time. I’m not implying that what she did was right, but I don’t think it’s fair to judge her in such… absolute terms.”
Nobody likes to be scolded; that was no question. You knew you wouldn’t be able to prove anything to those women. Not wanting to push the argument further, you retreated, finally walking away from the scene just like you planned to do a few minutes ago.
It was a shame; the weather was really nice.
As you stepped away, their collective gaze felt like lasers boring into your back, their now-hushed conversation following you. 'What's the matter with the girl?' 'Oh dear, I haven't a clue. She's always been so well-mannered...'
The gossip never stopped nevertheless.
And so, Nanami's head emerged through the fairly narrow-opened balcony door, pivoting away from you. A soft, warm light from a lamp inside his apartment caressed his scalp, casting a gentle halo around him. Yet, he eventually stepped outside, gradually melding with the embrace of the night, a soft footfall marking his quiet approach. The door didn't make another click; you suppose he deliberately left it open.
He ended up closer to you than usual, though he remained blissfully unaware of your presence. Absurd words got stuck in your throat.
Nanami Kento was clearly an intriguing figure. But a figure of rigidity, even now as his shoulders drooped under a heavy burden, the sleeves of his workaday shirt were rolled to his elbows, strands of hair clung to his forehead in the aftermath of sweat. His chest rose and fell slowly. He leaned against the wall and slowly descended until he was sitting on the floor. All of this seemed like an illicit, profoundly intimate scene. And you felt as though you were spying on him through thick curtains, even though you were on the territory of your shared modest balcony, separated only by this flimsy little fence. Still, you couldn't tear your eyes away either, anticipating the moment when your presence would become obvious to him.
And so, it happened. Nanami turned his head, and your gazes instantly met. The previously natural silence now hung in the air. His facial expression shifted ever so slightly: a subtle furrowing of brows, a deviation from the customary nod he usually gave you in your brief, wordless greetings.
The nightclothes you wore, a simple ensemble comprising shorts and a shirt, suddenly felt all too revealing and inappropriate. The fabric clung to your skin, leaving an unwelcome sensation of dampness tracing the length of your spine. You blinked a few times slowly, too exhausted to reveal your surprise, to which you were weirdly thankful. The silent stare-down lingered between you, both of your faces emotionless, until Nanami eventually turned away. He didn’t do it in an act of shame, or so it seemed, as he looked up to the sky and his hand swept across his brow, wiping away the sweat that had gathered.
Perhaps you were on the same level of exposure at that point.
It was not in your nature to strike up a conversation with strangers or people you barely knew just for the fun of it. Especially when the fatigue was this overwhelming. The most rational course of action would be to retreat to the comforts of your bed and finally allow yourself to rest, especially since the child's cries were no longer an issue. But then again, was there any harm in taking this chance to at least introduce yourself to the neighbor you'd shared walls with for the better part of a month? You probably wouldn’t have a second chance like this.
You had a certain knowledge of him already.
“Rough day?” you finally broke the silence, still not averting your gaze. Perhaps it was not the best conversation starter, but his weariness was the most obvious thing you perceived about him.
“Mhm,” he hummed after a measured silence, as if he was considering his answer, “I suppose.”
What a loquacious guy.
“Is your son doing alright? I heard him crying,” you tried to stay polite.
“I apologize for the disturbance,” came his immediate, almost robotic reply, tinted with a trace of annoyance that you couldn't quite overlook.
The sensation set off a discord within you. Shifting your weight from one leg to the other, you involuntarily pressed your lips together, a defensive reflex.
“He had a nightmare, nothing to worry about,” he continued, releasing a weary exhale.
Perhaps Nanami was simply drained from his long work hours, the trials of tending to his crying child, the contemplation of financial matters, and all the other tribulations that accompanied single parenthood. You allowed a silence to linger between you as you analyzed his response.
“A nightmare? Hm, well, I see,” you slowly nodded your head after a few seconds and were about to turn away and grant him solitude when his voice intruded once again.
“A nightmare. Or do you believe I also subject my son to a beating every now and then?” Nanami cast you a side glance, his head still pressed against the wall.
What?
The impulse to utter a shocked ‘excuse me?’ nearly overcame you, but you quickly understood what he was referring to. The memory of that one June afternoon returned to you – a moment when you hadn't realized your windows overlooked the terrace, enabling him to overhear every word from the second floor. You highly doubted that he would participate in gossip himself, so he must have overheard the whole conversation, including your… outrage.
Just… perfect. Maybe a late-night tête-à-tête wasn't such a brilliant idea after all.
On the contrary, a surge of self-protective energy surged forth, compelling you to stand up for yourself. You didn’t make any accusations that day, only provided a new perspective to make a point, even if your wording was unfortunate and carried an unintended severity.
Your eyes blinked a few times, your thoughts swirling in an attempt to navigate a response. Should you apologize, feign ignorance, or simply laugh it off? It was too hard to think at that point. His tone, oddly enough, remained emotionless, his words carrying a slight breathiness that could be attributed to the heat. Amusingly, his choice of words struck you as somewhat comical. You chuckled.
“I… apologize for my choice of words that day and if I offended you,” the sincerity you intended was lost in the way the words tumbled out, he likely misread it as irony, “That wasn’t my initial goal, you know. Frankly, I do not care for the reasons for your… unfortunate divorce.”
He eventually swiveled his gaze back to you, his brows furrowing, his expression a riddle you struggled to decipher. Fatigue etched across his features only seemed to sharpen his angular face, accentuating a sense of… dissatisfaction. You guessed you were only digging yourself further with your nonchalant attitude towards the issue, and your hopes to have a friendly-like relationship with your attractive neighbor were shattered. Not that you held a particularly high regard for his demeanor in the first place.
After another silent moment, which he seemed to enjoy, he spoke up.
“Are you married?” he asked.
What an odd question given the context. Perhaps he wasn't as invested in delving into your personal life as you were in his. Yet, you did live alone, an undeniable fact given your close proximity. Moreover, there was no wedding ring gracing your finger.
“Isn’t it obvious?” you sighed out, confused. You expected him to back down, but he kept looking at you, anticipating, “No.”
“Planning to marry anytime soon?” The question that followed was equally unconventional, his tone indicating that he had some point to make.
Had this not been Nanami Kento, sitting on the floor in his 'I'm-so-exhausted-I-might-fall-over' state, a man who just subjected you to an indirect scolding for your ill-chosen words a few weeks prior, you might have interpreted this as an attempt to flirt. Or kidnap you. Alright, maybe you shouldn’t cross the second option out just yet.
“No,” you repeated again, mimicking your previous response, “Why? Want to warn me about how shitty marriage is?” you stared back at him, a smirk playing across your lips, as though you had just delivered a tremendously clever and amusingly intellectual remark. In truth, you were drained and hardly in the mood for such interactions.
Nanami was obviously not impressed, a visible irritation etching across his features. And yet, this seemed to erase his focus on whatever line of inquiry he had begun.
“No, of course not,” he snapped back rather sternly, “You think that marriages are bad at such a young age already?”
You couldn't help but recall the Old Nosey Trio, those purveyors of marital wisdom, who had often offered unsolicited advice on finding a suitable husband. That was still in spring, of course, way before your little outburst. But this was worse. Nanami wasn't significantly older than you, or at least that was your assumption, and his use of such terms and condescension held a more cutting edge.
“You don’t think they are bad?” you redirected his question.
It wasn’t hard to understand the implication of your words. From a man whose wife had left, making him a single father, whose very presence seemed laden with a stoic kind of weariness, advocating for marriage wasn't something you anticipated.
“The fact that my marriage fell apart doesn’t mean that all the others will fail as well,” he was slightly taken aback, probably not expecting you to turn his words back at him, “So no, I do not think that way.”
What an odd man he was.
“That’s not what I was implying,” that was a lie, partially that was exactly what you were implying. But why were you bothering to explain yourself to him?
“Look,” you continued, “I don’t think all marriages are doomed to fail, of course, but if you’re interested in my personal opinion, then I believe that marriage is an outdated concept and nothing more than a deal.”
“Elaborate,” he breathed out dryly.
You could sense the tension between you, he seemed to disapprove of your approach to the issue. Although you did not expect him to pay any kind of attention to what you had to say, you found yourself intrigued, wondering where this exchange might lead.
“Mmm, It’s a legal document, you know,” you began, feeling a yawn creeping up on you as you leaned slightly against the fence. Perhaps you should have excused yourself and sought out sleep, “A legal document that can trap people in some dead or abusive relationship. Plus, marriage can bring unrealistic expectations and push people into roles they might not want.”
“It’s not just about a paper,” Nanami turned away once again and closed his eyes as he spoke, “Indeed, marriage offers… legal protection. But it’s also a statement of commitment,” the last words came out a bit more breathy.
Did his wife cheat on him? You refrained from asking, surprisingly sensing the boundaries of the conversation.
“Perhaps,” you responded, your gaze dropping to the dimly lit terrace below, now vacant and cloaked in darkness, “But I wouldn’t want to get married myself.”
“You don’t know that yet,” he countered.
“And you do?” you shot back, your attention returning to him, your tone edged with a degree of frustration, “I really value my private space,” you furrowed your brows.
“That much is evident,” although he was rather tired and kept his voice unreadably calm, you could sense some notes of smugness in his voice. Why did he present it as though valuing one's personal space was somehow a flaw?
Your lips twisted into a grimace. The presumptuousness of people—particularly those you barely knew—asserting they understood you better than you understood yourself was a pet peeve. Living amidst the elderly residents of your complex had accustomed you to such intrusions, prompting you to dismiss such judgments. However, with Nanami... was he in his thirties or his sixties?
“Huh,” you said, rather unimpressed, “Well, that’s no surprise. You look like you could stalk somebody,” a baseless assertion, but turnabout is fair play.
In response, he offered a silent, sidelong glance—part bashful, part disgruntled. He didn't seem furious, just undeniably annoyed. The discontent along with the glistening sweat on his face only accentuated his utter exhaustion. He stayed that way for a minute, and you took it as a signal of the end of your ‘lovely neighbor chatter.’
“And they said you were polite,” he muttered, his hand lifting to once again wipe his forehead.
“I think ‘they’ said a lot more about you,” your voice was quiet as well.
The silence befell between you again. Despite the tension and the relentless summer air, the night itself was not unpleasant. Turning your head forward, you looked at nothing in particular and everything surrounding your little heaven-like apartment complex at the same time. In the almost starless sky, three barely noticeable dots still shone, as if they were accidentally placed there with some kind of glittery marker. The hue of the sky gradually transformed from a gentle lavender to the familiar blue, as if reluctant to relinquish the tranquility of the night, a phenomenon all too common during the summertime. And you almost felt a much-needed breeze hit your skin.
Nanami exhaled loudly.
“It was never my intention to offend you or cause you any discomfort. Please accept my apology,” his voice was quiet. You found yourself struggling to discern if his words were intended as mere politeness or carried genuine remorse. Perhaps both, perhaps neither.
You bit down on your inner cheek, your gaze still fixed on the scenery before you, mulling over whether or not to respond.
“And I assure you that I’ve never mistreated my wife. Nor do I mistreat my son,” he persisted after a brief pause.
“I never assumed that you did,” you sighed out, rhythmically tapping the fence in front of you, “That was just bad wording. Just... forget about it. It wasn’t personal.”
Gradually, a sense of calm settled over you, easing the tension within your weary body. His words did evoke a trace of guilt, even if you hadn't harbored any malicious intent in that moment. You hadn't expected your impulsive emotional comment to resonate so deeply with him. You weren’t sure what time it was at this point, but you were pretty sure that it wouldn’t be long until the birdsong.
Your fingers tapped against the fence a few more times before you turned your attention back to Nanami, only to find him looking at you intently. You couldn’t read what his gaze meant, but at least his brows weren’t furrowed anymore in a sign of irritation. Perhaps there was no emotion, perhaps it was just exhaustion.
“Well, goodnight, neighbor.”
You didn’t give him the chance to say anything in response, simply making your way into your apartment. Your balcony door clicked twice.
An odd, odd man. That’s for sure.