Work Text:
Masaki wheezed, his lungs burned. The surrounding smokestacks belched plumes in inky black. "If I only had, My rubber cement eraser. Huh?" Masaki looked down at the fist sized eraser that a stranger thrust into his hands. "This must be the economy size."
Masaki grappled to keep hold of the object. “Thank you” He looked up to thank the mystery man who gave him a shield against the ink, but the smog returned with an angry force. The outline of the strangers face was all fuzzy around the edges. Masaki squinted hard trying to shake the blotted soot out of his eyes and for a moment he could see the strangers face.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT TIME IT IS!"
Masaki’s lip twitched. He reached out for the stranger just in time to be bludgeoned over the head by a pillow.
"Sensei!"
Masaki woke with a start, "Wah!" He yelled blinking up at the tall Japanese woman in a black pencil skirt, a matching suit coat and, we-mean-business, stilettos. She glared down at him, the way a tiger would a wounded gazelle.
"Do you have any idea what time it is Sensei?" She spat the last words at him as if he didn't deserve the title. Masaki didn't think it was fair, it was difficult to look scholarly in your wrinkled pajamas.
He sat up crossing his arms, which almost covered the Astro boy t-shirt, "I was just giving my hand a rest."
‘YOU DIRTY PERVERT!” She yelled raising her feathery instrument of death for another blow.
“Matsuyama san. It’s not like that I wasn’t…!” But it was too late, Matsuyama flew into a rage that would make *Cunning's Takeyama blush.
Several minutes and two cold compresses later, Masaki was able to usher Matsuyama into the kitchen for some breakfast and prepared himself for the verbal smack down that always anteceded the physical “beatings” of his editor. “What’s with the do first ask questions later attitude?” Masaki asked, cradling the side of his face.
Matsuyama stood abruptly “That seems to be your life’s theme.”
“So mean~” Masaki whined.” Somehow it didn’t earn the sympathy he was going; she continued as if he had said nothing.
“Your deadline is in two weeks. You better at least have your new character sketches done.”
“I do” Masaki said careful not to make eye contact with his perceptive editor. “Let me just grab it from the studio.” Masaki jogged to his bedroom. “Paper. Paper…Where is it?” He was a freaking artist and he didn’t have any paper in his room? He groaned until he spotted something on his nightstand. “This will have to do,” he grumbled while he grabbed the back of a flyer and sketched quickly.
He raced into the kitchen and thrust the paper into Matsuyama’s hands, panting “Here.”
“Bad Boys G—“
“The other side!”
She turned the flyer, and took a cold hard look at the sketch. After a nerve-racking silence she spoke, “Not bad.” Matsuyama smiled, “For once you came up with an interesting look. The rough line art, gives it a wild and artistic feel. Good work.” She stood put on her coat and walked towards the door. “I want the storyboards in 5 days.” She shouted letting the door click closed behind her.
Masaki sighed and studied the drawing, “Who are you? And how come I was able to draw you so suddenly." He settled into a desk chair. "If only you could tell me your story.”
***
The bag of tracing and inkjet paper swooshed as he walked. Masaki trudged down the street towards his one room apartment. He fished the rough sketch out in his pocket. “I thought taking you for a walk would make you come alive.” He collapsed against a storefront and lowered the crumpled piece of paper with a sigh.
He prepared to leave, but something caused him to glace up, “No way.”
Across the street in the window of the Taiyō café, the man in his drawing sat, drinking a cup of coffee. Masaki crept up to the glass pane, the window was decorated with fluffy red and pink hearts which the month of February alwas tended to induce. Past the mounds of Paper Mache and chalky heart in frosted glasses, sat the figment of his imagination. Who, by the way looked much better in three dimensions.
Several people passed him by on the busy street, but he was only aware of the man in front of him. He held his hand up to the glass, as if admiring a watch you were too afraid to try on lest it be outside of your pay range. So he sat, and watched, and learned the man’s mannerisms all without the mysterious man's knowledge. Masaki committed to memory the sloping lines of his shoulders, the way his hair flew effortlessly as the coffee shop door opened and closed, and how he gently blew on his drink before taking large gulps, all the while unaware of the grin that sat upon his face, reflected in the glass display.
Masaki hoped he would be there the next day when he reluctantly got up. The hand-print on the glass was the only indication that he had ever been sitting there.
***
“One day left before the storyboards are due. This’ll be the last time.” Masaki said and threw on a long black pea coat. He took out his sketchpad when he reached the Taiyō Café. He scanned the shop for the face he grew to know intimately. “He’s not here?” Masaki bowed his head in defeat and was prepared to leave until, he saw him walking down the street, and away from the café!
Masaki maneuvered and bumped his way through the morning traffic of commuters until he was a whispers length away from his familiar friend. Soon the crowds thinned and he found himself heading towards an apartment complex. He hurried to keep up, but his target sped up. He looked in all directions to soak up the new environments that could be used for his story, and abruptly ran into the one he was following.
“Excuse me.” Masaki gave a slight bow.
“Are you following me?”
“Uhhh…”
“What? You mean you are?” The man backed away and his voice escalated, “A stalker?!”
“No, uh, um, I was just following you.” Masaki said putting his hands up in surrender.
The man narrowed his eyes.
The effect was startling, Masaki swallowed. “Ah Angers easily! I can use that great characterization quirk. Ehehe.”
“Who are you? And why are you following me.”
“Aiba Masaki, author and illustrator of Milk & Honey. Maybe you’ve heard of me?” An awkward silence passed between them before he continued. “Oh…well someday you will.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re following me.”
“My editor told me to write a slice of life storyline.”
“Go take a slice out of someone else’s life! I’m busy.”
Masaki scribbled in his notepad “Lame comebacks.”
“What?”
“I know you’re not busy.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been following you for a few days now—”
“Days?!”
“—And you do the same thing every day. Coffee at eight, some typing on your laptop until four, and then you stop by the bookstore. Your life is a lot more boring than I’d hoped, but I think I can still use the easily angered unobservant bits.”
The other man crossed his arms, “And you expect me to believe this?”
“Oh how silly of me here’s my business card, I just had them printed.”
“…Why does it have my face on it?!”
“Because you’re the star of my first solo project. Your likeness anyway.”
The other man paced back and forth “I still can’t be sure.”
Masaki sighed, “Look I’ll take you to the studio if that will prove it to you.”
“How do I know you won’t just lead me to some dungeon basement?”
Masaki laughed, “It’s in a public place silly and come to think of it I still don’t know your name?”
“I’ll tell you after I believe what you are saying is actually true.”
***
“Sorry you had to sit through Matsuyama yelling at me.” Masaki said as they walked out of the Pengu publishing company building.
“S’ok, I believe you now.”
“You look a little dazed.” They stopped in front of the café in time for Masaki to poke the other man in the forehead.
“It’s not every day you find out your life's been turned into a manga”
A breathy giggle erupted from Masaki, “I guess not.”
“It’s Sho by the way.”
“Huh?”
“My name. It’s Sakurai Sho.”
***
Masaki pulled out Sho’s chair for him. It was so much different being with him and sitting inside the café for a change.
“So tell me everything about you.”
“Yeah that question is not scary.” Sho said chuckling into his morning cup of coffee with two sugars and cream.
“It would be creepier if I said I know everything about you.”
“That’s true, but I don’t understand why you didn’t just come up to me in the first place.”
“And say what excuse me I want to write a story and use your face.”
“That’s better than thinking you’re being stalked.”
“I’m not even a really handsome guy either, just a normal salary man who works remotely.”
“No, You’re beautiful.”
“No I’m not you and even if I was, I’m a guy, you should be saying manly or handsome or sophisticated.”
“But that doesn’t describe what you are. You’re beautiful and have great features.” Masaki let his gaze drop down at the sideways profile of the man in the suit to the little curve that jutted out on his backside near the bottom of the chair.
“Just where are you looking?!” Sho raised his arm.
“S-Stop don’t hit me! I’m warning you, I’m trained in self defense.”
“You have a black belt?”
“No, I have an editor.”
***
“Sasuka Hiro?”
“I disguised your name pretty well didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” Sho said taking a sip of the home brewed coffee. After the first volume was completed, it was easier for Sho to come over to Aiba’s apartment and recap his week. "So what got into this month’s story?"
“Maybe it would be better iff you skimmed through it” Aiba said handing him the thick monthly issue and then refilled their Code Gease mugs.
"....BAD AT SPORTS?! Why did you put that in there and the maid outfit was supposed to stay just between us! "
“The disclaimer clearly states its fiction and any relation to real people are purely coincidental.” Aiba said with a smug smile. “Now tell me about your week.”
***
The sound of carolers warmed cold December streets. Two full weeks passed and there wasn’t a single call from Masaki. He wasn’t answering Sho’s texts either. Sho wondered if Matsuyama lost it what if Masaki was lying on the ground or suffering from a concussion. But Matsuyama only ever hit him with pillows. He won’t mind if I just stop by, Sho assured himself, any excuse to put his mind at rest.
“Masaki I brought the My neighbor Totoro DVD. It’s the special limited edition.” No response. Sho knocked again, louder. “Masaki please open the door.”
“Oh” Masaki gave a cheerful salute, but wouldn’t meet Sho’s eyes. “I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather lately so we’ll meet next week ok.”
“Sick? Is it serious?” Sho reached for Masaki’s forehead but the man swiftly retreated behind the door.
“No…I-I’m Fine.” Masaki clutched the door as his voice cracked.
“Are you, Crying?”
“Of course not just go away!” Tears were streaming down Masaki’s face in paired lines.
Sho threw the DVD aside, “What the hell happened! Just tell me!” he yelled pushing Masaki further into the apartment; Masaki stumbled and fell to his knees. “What is it!” Sho yelled down at him. Tell Me!”
Masaki took a few shallow breathes, and fisted the cold floor to compose himself. “They discontinued it” He said with a croak, too embarrassed to look Sho in the face.
"They..what?"
"The manga" Masaki rasped still on the ground looking straight ahead at the closed door.
“I’m so sorry.” Sho got to his knees and hugged him.
“You shouldn’t be sorry.” Masaki said unable to stop the steady trail that stained Sho’s shoulder that felt like it was molded to hold his face just right. "It's not your fault."
“It was based on my boring life.”
“Beautiful life.” Aiba corrected sobbing into his friends shoulder.
***
“Rise and Shine!” Matsuyama shook him from a lovely dream something about Sho trying to draw Totoro and failing spectacularly.
“Nnn so early.” Masaki covered his face with a pillow and dodged the first blow in the ensuing attack. “Hey I’m getting better at this,” He chirped before getting smacked in the face.
“Right. Now get to work on your new story. The Deadline is in a week, February 14th. The new agency is eager to see your pitch about a mangaka who finds someone who looks just like the character he drew, how he dealt with the bizarre situation and struggles he faced trying to make it in the seedy and cold underbelly of the manga world... And ultimately how the artist and the real life character fell in love.”
“Aren’t you exaggerating a bit too much? That last part isn’t true” Masaki mumbled so only Matsuyama could hear, “he doesn’t like me like that.”
“Oh really? But he’s been staring at you from the doorway this entire time.”