horror vacui

  your landlord had maybe mentioned a backup generator, but it had to be manually turned on and he was out of town. your brain swirls around other ideas, however, with the storm as dangerous as it was looking, you wouldn’t be able to take the food anywhere. groaning, you stop thinking for a second, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself down. only for your heart to start racing again at the sound of knuckles knocking against your door.

  tilting your head, you stalk over to the door, peering through the small peep hole to see them. out there stands your neighbor, osamu miya, you remember. he helped move some of your stuff up to your apartment, maybe even mentioned being a chef. before you can open the door, he knocks again, hands then resting on his hips.

  unlocking the door, you crack it open, looking out at your seemingly pissed neighbor. “is your power out too?” he questions, features relaxing as he stares back at you.

  “yep- uh yeah, it just went out, not like the air conditioning was doing much anyway i guess,” your shoulders shrug absentmindedly, eyes unable to pry from his grey hues of his. 

  nodding, he reaches a hand up to rub the back of his neck, eyes darting around the hallway. “yeah if you ever want a working air conditioner you’ll have to call the landlord constantly before he does anything about it. not right now… obviously, but you know,” he looks back at you, smiling.

  “he seems like the type,” you nod, opening the door a little wider, “but that is the least of my concerns right now, honestly.”

  “the storm is getting pretty bad, probably need to watch out for any tornado warnings. but that probably won’t be necessary,” thunder rumbles outside, osamu’s eyes peering past you and out your balcony’s windows. 

  looking back as well, your shoulders shrug, “i mean yeah, it looks rough out there, but also i have ice cream in the freezer that will absolutely melt in this heat, and i was really looking forward to it,” you turn back around, resting your forehead against your door. 

  “well why don’t you just eat some of it now, at least then you can enjoy even just a bit of it,” osamu laughs softly, leaning forward as one of his hands presses against your door frame.

  lifting your head, you think for a second that the ice cream would cool you down some as well. looking back at osamu, an idea pops into your head. “i mean, i know we don’t know each other that well but would you want to eat some of the ice cream? i’d rather it be enjoyed than just go to waste,” you open the door wider, raising an eyebrow at him.

  biting his lip, osamu tilts his head at your request, a mischievous glint in his eyes forming. “really? we’re practically strangers.”

  “yeah but you helped move me in, consider it payment,” you stand to the side, offering to let him walk in. 

  “well, i can’t say no to ice cream…” osamu steps into your apartment, looking around at the still wrapped up furniture and the mountains of boxes littering your living room and attached bedroom. 

  shutting the door behind him, you notice his wandering eyes, slight embarrassment bubbling to the surface. “sorry about the mess.. i haven’t had much time to put everything away. but the utensils should at least have a proper home,” you open a few drawers before remembering where you put them.

  “it’s moving mess, barely even qualifies as mess,” he attempts to ease your anxiety, hands resting on his hips again. your eyes graze the way his sleeves hug his biceps, and how his hair dips onto his forehead. 

  nodding, you turn around, heat rushing to your ears. pulling the freezer door open, you grab out a few pints of ice cream. “okay, miya, we have cookie dough, strawberry delight, and pistachio crème,” you set them down on the counter, quick to shut the door to help hopefully keep the rest of the goods frozen. 

  “well, which one do you want?” he leans against your countertop, the counter stools that you bought having still not arrived. 

  sliding a spoon over to him, you shrug before pulling the lids off of the ice cream. “they’re all good, but you’re my guest, you have first pick,” you lean over the countertop, watching as he crosses his arms in front of him.

  tilting his head, a smile makes its way onto his lips, eyes rolling incredulously at your attitude. the way his lips twitch upwards sends your heart racing, electricity seemingly sparking in the air (and you’re not quite sure it’s the storm). picking the spoon up, he stares down at the pints, “fine, i will take the… strawberry delight.”

  “oh thank god you didn’t say the pistachio,” you shove the strawberry over to him, picking up the pistachio for yourself.

  “you are- wow you are ridiculous,” osamu laughs, shoving his spoon into his pint of ice cream. shaking his head lightly, he looks back at you with half lidded eyes, heart practically skipping a beat.

  “what? i had my desired one but you are my guest, i wasn’t going to make you eat something you don’t want to eat,” you laugh in between words, scooping some of the pistachio out with your spoon.

  after eating some of his ice cream, he points the spoon at you, elbow pressed against your countertop. “you should come check out my restaurant at some point, onigiri miya, it would be on the house,” osamu steps around the countertop so he was closer, no longer across from you.

  sliding the ice cream with him, he sets it in front of him, sticking the spoon back into it. “really? well aren’t i lucky?” you take another bite of your ice cream, stepping a foot closer to him, your heart racing, “so how long have you been a chef?”

  “not too long, i was a line cook while going to school and then i climbed the ladder until i saved up enough to open my own restaurant.. with some investors and such,” he leans forward, the space between you slowly closing as your bodies magnetically intertwine.

  “you sound really dedicated, that’s- that’s a good quality to have,” you whisper now that he’s close enough, your voice low as you inch ever so closer. you’d never known yourself to be this way, to connect so quickly with someone, but now that he’s standing in front of you, grey eyes staring into yours, something unlocks itself in you. 

  “well, when i really want something, i try my hardest to get it,” osamu sets his spoon down, hand reaching over to pull you close, lips mere inches from you.

  just as you were about to kiss, a bolt of lightning brightens the room, a loud crack of thunder rattles his spoon on the counter. “holy shit!” you accidentally yell, you hadn’t expected it to be that close, your hand immediately reaching out to grab his forearm.

  “oh wow, that was loud,” osamu keeps his hand steady on your hip, letting out a sigh as you press your forehead against his shoulder, “i didn’t realize the storm had gotten so bad near us.”

  “neither did i, i was just really enjoying our conversation. and- and the ice cream of course, can’t go wrong with pistachio,” your head leans back, fingers not wanting to let go of his arm.

  staring back at him, you can feel the electricity bubbling around you. how his skin feels like static when you touch him, exciting and new. the way his thumb rubs your hip, right where the hem of your shirt is sends shivers up your spine. “can i kiss you?” the words come out of your mouth faster than you can anticipate, but not as fast as he can pull you closer.

  his lips lock with yours, hands reaching up to caress your face. he tastes like strawberry, the ice cream having left a delicious taste on his lips. pulling away, you stare into his eyes, hands having migrated to his hips. “strawberry tastes pretty good too.”

  “well, pistachio seems to be up my alley more.”

gen taglist: @nnnyxie @sippn-the-tae @silkloom @megapteraurelia @dazqa @sodaneko @solzscribblez @bluemailhiot @hyunteru @kameyyy @oleander-cup @pomiomi @altyx @xotetsu @ntskbby @sunaskeenbean

All that’s to say, you’re not exactly feeling bright and bubbly at the moment and the sarcasm isn’t helping.

When the doors—predictably—still don’t budge after more grunting and huffing, you finally surrender. It’s probably for the best, anyway. It could be dangerous—you never know when the elevator might start back up.

With a resigned sigh, you slump against the wall opposite him, sliding down against the cool metal surface until you’re sitting in a heap on the ground. You keep your gaze trained on the floor, tracing the diamond-patterned inlay with your eyes, refusing to look up at the I told you so smirk hiding behind his hand.

It was a bit exciting at first. An unexpected blip in your day to tell your friends and coworkers about then inevitably forget by the weekend. Not to mention, the man you’re trapped in here with is good-looking. Tall, lean, muscular, with a full head of blonde hair and black-rimmed glasses framing honey brown eyes. You’ve seen him in passing around the museum and always imagined him as quiet and kind, a gentle giant type.

Obviously, you were way off.

The minutes really drag when there’s nothing to do.

There’s no cell reception this far underground. Glasses barely responded to your earlier attempts at conversation. You’ve sat and waited, stood back up, sat down again. Pushing the floor buttons does nothing, walking around the car for the hundredth time has lost its appeal.

A loud gurgle cleaves through the silence—your stomach—as if you need another reminder that lunch was hours ago. You should be sitting at your desk, fighting drowsiness, still a little over-full from your meal. Not slouched here, fantasizing about the ten-don place around the corner.

At least the air conditioning is still running. The faint sheen of sweat on your forehead has dried now that you’ve stopped exerting yourself.

“Here.”

Two packets are tossed into your lap. He tears open a third, head tipping back against the wall as he tucks an almond between his lips, accentuating the long line of his neck and the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

You almost roll your eyes (of course this man eats plain, unsalted almonds), but not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you tear in to the first pack with a quiet thanks.

It slowly makes you feel better, enough to make another attempt at conversation.

“What are those?” You point at him, and then at your own wrists. The details are hard to make out from across the elevator, but some kind of cufflinks glint on his wrists.

He brightens. “They’re Tambatitanis.”

At your blank look, he elaborates, “have you heard of Brachiosaurus? Brachiosaurus are sauropods like Tambatitanis.”

If you squint, you can make out the golden skeleton of some long-necked, long-tailed creature. “So it’s a….dinosaur?”

“Yes, it’s a dinosaur.”

“Oh. Cool! So you like dinosaurs then?”

The sigh that he lets out sounds long-suffering. “Yes, I do.” He doesn’t elaborate further, and you fall back into an awkward silence.

Finally, the emergency speaker crackles to life, causing you both to jolt upright.

“Maintenance has arrived. Everyone please stand back from the door. We’re going to turn the power off. We should have you out in a few minutes.”

True to their word, after a small lurch and some metallic groaning, the two of you tumble out. You gulp down the musty basement air as if you’ve been trapped for much longer than a few hours.

By the time you look up, he’s already disappeared into the stairwell, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

Thankfully, your manager is sympathetic enough to give you the rest of the afternoon and the next day off to recover. (You don’t end up doing much, but you’re happy for the opportunity to catch up on your shows, try a new cafe, and loosen up the knots in your muscles with a long, hot bath.)

Your mood is so good that you’re unfazed by your manager’s request to report to her office upon your return. You turn left, away from your cubicle and toward Ota-san’s office at the end of the hall. Muted conversation seeps out, the murmurs becoming more coherent the closer you get until you’re standing in front of the door, left slightly ajar.

Inside, you hear a man’s voice. “…could include fieldwork footage to get students excited about the paleontology summer camp.”

“That’s a great idea, Tsukishima-hakase! I’ll be sure to let our media tech know,” Ota responds.

You give a perfunctory knock before pushing open the door.

“Ah- here she is now.”

You greet Ota-san with a polite bow, and she beams back warmly, gesturing toward the other person in the room.

“Welcome back. This is Dr. Tsukishima Kei, curator of paleontology.”

The man stands up, turning as she introduces you, and you both stiffen in surprise. He’s in a completely different outfit, but the same dinosaur cufflinks gleam at his wrists and the same disapproving frown cuts across his face. For the sake of professionalism, you reach out to shake his hand, which he accepts with reluctance.

You’re not quite seated before Ota launches right in.

“As you know, the museum’s 150th anniversary is coming up…promotional videos with each department…highlight reel for the exhibit, maybe a ‘day in the life’ type video following our curators around…and then for children’s day, we were thinking…”

The details for the project barely register as you sit next to Tsukishima, already feeling the tension again in your neck and shoulders.