Chapter Text
Today, like every other day for the past year, he wakes in Kuroiwa’s bed. Alone, of course. It’s 10:00, and Kuroiwa’s already been at work for a few hours — his ‘real’ job, with a payroll.
Ayabe only works nights now, so they tend to miss each other. Not that Kuroiwa doesn’t work a lot of nights, too. But no matter how busy Kuroiwa gets, he always finds time to check on him. Even if only for a few moments. Even if Ayabe is asleep, waking to only the faintest traces of his presence in the morning.
It had annoyed him at first. Did Kuroiwa really think he’d run? They both know he wouldn’t get far, not with all the ways he has to track him. A bugged phone, the security cameras inside and outside the house. Hell, Kuroiwa could get access to every street camera in the city if he wanted.
No, if anyone’s in danger of breaking the deal, it’s Kuroiwa. Ayabe knows exactly how trivial it would be for him to hide his body.
As always, he takes his time getting up. No need to rush through the morning routine anymore. How many years had he spent skipping breakfast, smoking a cigarette out the window and leaving to catch the train at the last possible second? In some ways, he envies his past self, but not in that regard.
He uses the time to check his phone, scrolling through the latest news for a few minutes. Nothing too interesting today. Nothing splashy.
It’s around 11:00 when he finally sits up, grabbing his eyepatch off of the nightstand. As Kuroiwa loves to point out, there’s no real reason to wear it when he’s at home. But even with all the time that’s passed, Ayabe has never gotten used to glimpsing the void of his left eye socket in the mirror. As a compromise, he wears a looser medical version around the house instead of the firm, protective one Kuroiwa had prepared for him before Ayabe ever had an inkling of his plans.
Ayabe’s off work today, not that he’s ever on that much. He mostly covers weeknights when it’s not too busy, or when someone’s out. Even so, he still has a surprising amount of regulars. He may not be the best bartender, but he’s always been a good talker, and he trades in enough gossip to almost satisfy him.
Another murder in Kamurocho. Never changes. Yep, crazy how there seem to be more after the Tojo Clan disbanded. The chief inspector should really get on that, don’t you think? What do they even pay him for?
Light stuff like that. And who’s getting promoted where, and who’s likely to be re-elected next year, and who’s cheating with whose wife. It’s all much less stressful than his old job, that’s for sure.
The eye thing adds allure, too, he’s found. They’re always dying to know what happened; he sees it in all their faces. There is something satisfying about having a secret, even if, had he led a luckier life, he never would’ve had to keep it at all.
The bolder patrons ask outright, and he entertains himself by making up new stories each time. Birth defect, car accident — shark attack, though he doubts the guy actually bought it. But he still thinks they’d find that more likely than the truth.
The wages are just enough to buy his beer, his cigarettes, little things that interest him here and there. Kuroiwa tends to scoff when he talks about it — he doesn’t consider it a real job, even though he’d suggested it himself when Ayabe had complained of the monotony of his new life. But he hasn’t made him quit yet, either, and Ayabe isn’t about to squander one of the few chances he has to live a life away from him.
Still, days like today are tough. When he’d been a detective, he’d never had a second to rest. Now, it’s a question of how to fill the time.
First, he picks up groceries, though that only takes about an hour there and back. Then, he makes himself lunch. That’s made to last about an hour, too, and then it’s almost time to start prepping for an early dinner.
He’s a mediocre cook at best, but it’s one of the few things Kuroiwa has never given him any grief over. He just eats what Ayabe leaves for him without comment. But he’d been that way before, too. No matter where they went out to eat, he’d never seemed to enjoy it, but he’d never complained, either.
Ayabe’s just plating his own meal when he hears the front door open. It’s early, enough for Ayabe to feel an echo of the discomfort that used to be a constant in Kuroiwa’s presence. Kuroiwa mostly ignores him, though, barely grunts a response when he welcomes him back. He looks tired, distracted as he enters the room, making a direct line to sit at the dinette table.
“Another busy week, huh?” Ayabe had never paid much attention to the bags under his eyes when he’d worked for him, but maybe they’d always been there.
Kuroiwa doesn’t respond, absorbed in typing out a response to something on his phone. Work phone, this time, not the burner. He doesn’t have a personal cell, probably because Ayabe is the closest thing he has to a friend.
He at least puts the phone down once Ayabe serves him, starting on his plate in the usual mechanical way. Eating together like this is pretty rare, like once or twice a month, maybe. That’s another thing Ayabe’s not completely sure about. Why he’d bother to make time for something like this at all.
Ayabe makes a few more attempts at small talk, but as usual it devolves into talking to himself. The trivialities of his day. This week’s work schedule. Something he saw on TV. Nearly pointless, but necessary to avoid that unbearable silence.
Plate empty, Kuroiwa stands, interrupting an anecdote Ayabe was telling about one of the patrons at the bar. Ready to rush back to one or both of his jobs, full of affairs that are now too secret for Ayabe’s ears.
Ayabe trails behind, walking him to the door, even though it always makes him feel a little like a lonely housewife, or maybe more like a dog. It’s just that ignoring Kuroiwa when he’s home is not an option.
“Don’t go out tonight,” Kuroiwa tells him as he’s putting on his shoes, possibly the first complete sentence he’s uttered all evening. Ayabe huffs out a laugh.
“Where would I go?”
Kuroiwa’s eyes narrow, the old, familiar glare, and then he’s gone.