#getou

"I can't help it." You exasperate to Mai, twisting on you feet. "There's absolutely nothing binding him to keep his end of the deal, he could easily bail if he wanted to." 

"And I don't think it's fair for you to assume he won't show when it hasn't even passed 4 yet." She looks at her watch to confirm the time, but even her stomach dropped a little when it was 2 minutes to four. "Just calm down. Take an advil." She opens her bag where she religiously carries a stash of pills. You think it comes with the territory of loving to drink. 

You take the two pills from her before she can fully outstretch her arm and then swallow it whole without any water to take it down, but end up grimacing, because the vile taste of plain pills registers on your tongue so you lean over the table to take your water out of your bag. 

"Hate this taste-" You mutter, twisting your cap and chugging a few gulps. 

"(y/n), the speakers." One of the first year projectionist students came over to the edge of the stage. Jabbing a thumb behind him to refer to the speakers he was told to take for a different lecturer. 

"Did you unplug the cables?" You ask him without looking, closing your water and leaving it on the desk to follow him up the stage. He proceeds to explain what he did and where he left everything. You just needed to confirm that everything can be accounted for and then he can bring whoever he plans on helping him transport the giant speaker to the lecture hall. 

"Oh my gosh, dude." You whine, looking at the mess of cables he left on the floor for you to deal with. He gives you a sympathetic look. 

"Sorry. There's a lot of em." 

You sigh, probably more frustrated than you need to be, then give him the go ahead to take it and bring who knows who. You kick the cables to one corner, out of sight out of mind, and just then register the cocaphony of students outside the theatre when the doors to the building open.

You pause mid-sweep to look over and freeze when you see him walking in casually. A complete contrast to the mayhem you had been. You think everyone saw him because what little chatter had been going on inside suddenly siezed. After all, no one knew he was the one coming to audition except for Mai, and you were suprised to see how many other non-cinematography majors he must have attracted on the way here, stuck their heads into the theatre to watch as if they couldn't believe it was him and only stopped when that projectionist kid closes the door behind him.

You find yourself, more than anything, incredibly relieved that he had actually shown up. Making your way over to the edge of the stage as he makes his way to the front of it.

He's clad in a pair of black trousers, a baggy jersey and plain converse, something that shouldn't make him look as attractive as it does. One hand is snug deep inside his pants pocket while the other held your script that's comparatively small and his hair is slicked back lusciously rather than tied up like it usually is with a few rogue locks. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he just came back from freshening up after volleyball practice. And you very much would not like to imagine him reading through your personal script in the locker room while his volleyball teammates questioned what he was doing.

You crouch down to talk to him when he stops in front of the stage. He has to tilt his head back to accomodate your height and his blacker than black, gauged piercings are on perfect display for you. You have to remind yourself that this is strictly professional and his bad boy, nonchalant facade is the last thing you need to be thinking about.

On another land, Mai only now registers that he had come in and chokes on her bottle of water that she had been chugging, lurching for a tissue from your tote bag.

You glance at her to make sure she's okay, but Geto doesn't, only looking at you and with a neutral expression on his face.

"For a second I thought you weren't gonna show." You say after Mai had recovered herself with a sweatdrop.

"You said four." He reminds you easily. You're a little taken aback by the sound of his voice not layered with that frustration like last time, but a softer, smoother kind of cadence that reminds you of someone talking you through it. Jesus. What are you thinking?

"I have a bad habit of thinking of the worst." You gesture to the script in his hand. "How'd you find the script?" He looks at it as he hands it over. Your eyebrows knit together when he does.

"I enjoyed it. You write well."

"Thanks." You take the script from him hesitantly. "You can use the script while you audition, it doesn't have to be off by heart."

"I won't need it. Do I do it here?" He holds onto the edge of the stage, his fingers close to your shoes. You're a little shocked by his confidence and now kind of hope he's not here to just half-ass it so he can say he tried.

"Hm, here's fine. Cecilia!" You finally stand, calling for Cecilia whose been hiding backstage ever since she got in. You hop down the stage from where you stood while Geto opted for walking over to the stairs and made his way.

When you reach Mai whose now recovered from her frantic fits of coughing, she grips your shoulder in disbelief.

"I cannot believe you got Geto Suguru, the Geto Suguru to show up." 

"But you said he would." You look at her increduously.

"Girl, I was just trying to keep your head from imploding, of course I thought he bailed too."

"I freaking knew it!"

As you chatted away with Mai and your third party member made their way to the front table to grade Geto's performance, Cecilia had come out from behind the curtains, purposefully avoiding Geto's line of sight and opting for her script instead despite already knowing every one of her lines and his off by heart.

Geto stands beside her a little annoyed that she doesn't even look his way. "Won't this require you to look at me?" He questions. She doesn't respond. He raises a brow in disbelief, but also can't care enough to get her to answer. He waits patiently for you.

You and the other two get seated and then you look at him waiting patiently atop the stage, nothing about the big view or watchful eyes seem to crack his distinguished brand of confidence. You heart beats just a little bit faster for the prospect of what he might actually do and when you're ready to watch his audition, he starts.

Off the bat you can tell Cece has no intention of looking at him and though that should effect his performance, he doesn't seem to even need her. He speaks as if the words had jumped right off the page, wrapped in a blanket of emotion nobody should be able to convey on their first try. He continues with effortless ease, dips his voice in golden honey at the most gut-wrenching parts, and then leaves you utterly gobsmacked after each sentence.

You finally come back down to earth by the end og it and think to yourself—I must be the only one that thinks this. You look over to your two other partners that are supposed to be of help and most importantly unbiased in this grading, but you might as well have drawn hearts in their eyes because they're just as starstruck as you. Fuck. You needed him. This play absolutely needed him and they all know it.

By the time he's done, Cecilia had barely kept up with him and stormed off the stage like she couldn't stand being beside him anymore, and you're left struggling to figure out what in the world you're going to say to him to make sure he says yes no matter what.

"How was that?" His voice echoes in the silent hall.

You struggle to find the words. "That was...it was..."

"BRILLIANT! YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Mai suddenly jumps right out of her seat and rounds the table so she could jump onto the stage. "Holy shit Geto you are a natural talent, a star born amongst mediocrity, a living, breathing-"

"Angel!" Your third partner chimes in. Mai looks back at her with a hand to Geto's shoulder and a finger gun pointed in her direction.

"Not quite my love, but definitley stunning, you nearly made me cry." She throws a fake tear away.

"So, good then?" He laughs along, not expecting such an uproar, truly, he hadn't done this in awhile.

Mai brags a laugh, pressing her palms together with a curt bow of the head. "You are too humble, I could parade you around like a trophy. (y/n)!" She turns to you, whose still stuck to your seat, perking up at the sudden draw of attention.

"He's your guy, right? He has to be your guy." She gestures to him with an open hand then he's looking at you, waiting for the final verdict, and you can almost pinpoint the imperceptible smile he makes as if waiting to hear the gush of confidence you're going to pour all over him too, but somehow, somehow you don't. You can't, not as the lead director of your own play with so much on the line.

"If he wants to be, he can, but I'm going to be honest with you Geto," He blinks, that smugness dropping when you don't sound as enthralled as your friends do, raising to your feet and rounding the table. "this production, it isn't something you do to pass the time or just for fun. It's serious and a lot of hard work, and you won't be the best right off the bat." You inhale for the second half. "You're good, don't get me wrong, but this play will require more than just good looks and a pretty voice. I need perfection, I need more, and if you think you can handle taking the constructive criticism to get you there and a schedule so packed you'll feel like a first year again, the part is yours. But if you can't... I appreciate you trying out anyway."

You end off with a weary resignation, watching Mai actually drop her jaw in shock from what you were saying. You know she and even Geto himself expected to be a shoe in for the part, honestly at one point you thought he would be too, but while Mai was busy stroking his already inflated ego, you realized that no matter how desperate you were, he needed to fully understand the responsibilty he would be taking on.

Not even Geto Suguru should get a free pass on that.

Mai sends you a look that says she's going to do damage control, but you knit your brows at her, telling her no, and she rolls her eyes exasperatedly before looking over at Geto to see what he'll say.

You watch his expression stay neutral, his chest rising and falling as he took a breath, then looked around the massive room with contemplation. The spotlights, the velvet curtains, the main stage, then finally back at you. You hold his strong gaze. You bet he can see just how badly you really wanted this to happen. Nothing changes the fact that he's still your best bet, and then, before he could even open his mouth to say the words okay, you and Mai poorly refrained from jumping in joy.

"Oh! this is good! This is so so good, Hanako!" Mai points to the girl beside you, jumping down the stage and already delegating to her the task of calling every member for the rehearsal tomorrow.

As for you, your smile feels painful trying to hold it back from becoming an outright grin as you watched them hurry away. You may have said all those things to him, but at the end of the day you really did want him to take the part, still not fully grasping that your play was genuinely back on again. And because of Geto no less. After getting no sleep last night fully expecting him to either not show or hate the concept entirely, this was not even a maladaptive day dream.

You had to go over and say thank you from the bottom of your heart before you combusted from rising levels of dopamine.

Geto just made his way down the stairs before you intercepted him.

"I can't believe you said yes." You exhaled in disbelief. 

He looks surprised, taking a step and leaning against the edge of the stage to talk. "I didn't expect you to make it sound fun." he admits. You blink in surprise.

"Fun? How did I make it sound fun?"

"It doesn't sound easy. Your friend was very close to making me drop the whole thing."

"Oh." You don't know why you fold your arms. There was just something discerning about his gaze. "Are you one of those 'I like a challenge' type of people?"

"Don't make it sound like a trope." He responds jovially, but you can tell he got really cringed out by it because of how cringey you made it sound. You purse your lips.

"Well, it isn't easy, you've still got your work cut out for you and nobody likes a prodigy." You tease.

He hums like he really is looking forward to the whole thing, a light, frugal smile that catches you totally of guard. "looking forward to it."

There's a silence that follows for a second or two where you're both just looking at each other, then you find yourself itching to say what you had intended to in the first place. "But, um, seriously, thank you for really considering this."

It may have been your overflourishing imagination, but you swear you made his unassuming irises soften a little before he's pushing himself off the stage with a grunt and walking past you. "Your debts not repaid yet Miyazaki. Still owe me that coffee, remember?"

You whip around to watch him walk away in shock. How does he know who that is? "Right now?" You call after.

"I'm free." He hollers back with a slack hand.

You blink at his retreating figure then jog to grab your bag from the chair, putting away your things as you yelled over your shoulder to Cecilia whose still backstage. "Wait for Mai and Hanako, Cece!" 

What you've gotten yourself into giving the part to one of the most prolific students in the school is still a little blurry to you, but in your opinion you've gotten past the toughest hurdle and now nothing can stand in the way of you and finally making it big.

You jog out of the theatre and into the sunlight, the building was a standalone hall seperated from the regular faculties of campus. It really was one of the universities baby's, aside from their sports programs.

Looking to the side you catch him waiting for you beside the door. He looks back and when you're behind him he continues down the relatively busy quad with no hurry, while you slung your tote bag over your shoulder.

You try and not pay attention to the few wondering eyes that seemed to wait for his departure outside, following his movement with less decorum than you'd think. He doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he doesn't bother with it. You honestly thought that the social construct of a popularity heriarchy would've withered away by the time you hit college, but you can recall the things people would say about him in passing. Once you get to know him, you'll never want to leave.

"Have a particular place in mind?" You ask.

He hums a yes, glancing over at you. "You good for a walk?"

Tossing your hair over your opposite shoulder so it doesn't get caught under your strap, you hum through an answer. "why not. Should probably try and get my steps in anyhow."

His steps are naturally longer than yours, so when he's alittle a head of you by the time you reach the stairs, you can't help but notice how he doesn't look down at his feet to see where he's going. Like nothing he does is not already methodically mapped out. Even the way he walks, there's never not a destination in mind. That kind of readiness can make a lot of people feel less than, and now you're wondering how it must have made him feel to be called out on his perfectionism back at the theatre.

You leave the gates behind and enter the busy streets of the city. Imperceptibly he takes the side closest to the road and starts to slow his speed down so you can be side by side. You've read enough books to appreciate the subtle gesture.

A relatively short walk later, you don't know what you expected to see when he said he had a coffee place in mind, but you're sure a random coffee stand on the side of the road was last on the list.

"Here?" You mumble just shy from the cart so the person behind wouldn't hear. He chuckles softly, turning to face you when you reach.

"Best in the city." He says so confidently.

"If you say so..."

You were not much of a fan for coffee anyway so you wouldn't know the high end to the low. You simply stand in front of the vendor and order exactly what Geto had wanted, two of them, because he claims it's very good.

After Geto and the kind man exchange their familiarities, he must come often for the vendor to refer to him by his first name, you pay with cash and bow your head to thank him before turning around with the steaming cup and blowing off the top to settle the heat, standing just a ways beside the cart next to Geto.

You hold yours with both your hands and alternate between your fingers to not get burnt, but Geto seems unbothered by the heat and holds it firmly with one. It's so tiny in his palm, and that was the large. The other casually tucked inside his pocket as he leans back on hips, legs slightly parted. You can't help but think how he's got that mysterious, I can fix him vibe down.

He takes a decent sip without blowing on it first and you watch to see if he says it's as good as he claims, but then you notice something else entirely, the way his adams apple bobs when he swallows. Thick and merciless, not to mention a razor sharp jawline and flawless skin that makes you wonder if he has a skin care routine. Arguably the prettiest man you've ever seen, then you find yourself swallowing uncharacteristically when he uses his thumb to swipe off the excess coffee on his lip then sucks it clean with his mouth innocently. What the fuck.

Feigning indifference, you force your eyes to look away when he finishes it off. Looking elsewhere you notice the two or three pairs of other eyes smitting at the gorgeous man beside you, now you felt guilty for looking at him the same way, subconciously pulling your bag a little closer to your body. How does he ignore everyone so easily.

"You're not gonna try it?" His sudden voice startles you.

"o-oh, yeah, when it's a little cooler." 

He tosses the cup into a nearby bin without walking over to it and you find yourself asking if he wanted another.

He just shakes his head, situating both his hands back into his pockets. "One a day, otherwise I'd get addicted."

Your lips purse in curiosity, glancing down at the still steaming cup in your hands. Is it really that good? 

Geto watched from beside you, alittle amused with how you have to prep yourself before going in for a taste. You blew against the brown liquid, licked your lips in anticipation, then took the tiniest sip before your entire face scrunched up in disgust. 

"Oh god,"

"No?" He laughs.

"Hell no, it's so bitter, how do you drink that?" You hold your tongue out, trying to stay away from the taste, but it's seeped into your palette and became your saliva's partner.

"Usually with no sugar. I asked him to use a single shot for you."

"You mean to tell me this isn't pure coffee?" You hold it up for exaggerative effect.

"I think you'd collapse if it had to be." He holds his hand out to you, feminine at first glance, but you notice the callouses at the fingertips then the veins that's hidden beneath the hem of his sleeves.

You hand him the cup without hesitation. Your fingers briefly connecting before he takes it entirely.

your face is still pulled from the aftertaste of bitter coffee beans when you look at him down the rest of it for you with not so much as even a grimace.

"Why do you like it like that so much? I've heard of people having it with a lot of creamer." 

He tosses the cup away for you and you only now notice that the bin was atleast a metre away from him. He had incredible accuracy, no surprise. 

"Used to have it a lot in high school." he answers. "Now I just enjoy the flavour." 

You cross your arms over your chest, continuing to walk along side him when he goes, but stiffen when his hand suddenly finds your shoulder and gently guides you to the furthest side of the road. You don't comment on it, frankly you try your hardest not to think about it.

"So it's an acquired taste." You sigh. "I've never had the need for it. Not yet at least." 

He hums in response, but doesn't say anything after. A man of few words you're starting to notice, yet there's this inexplainable feeling about wanting to know more about him.

Like why he hides that chain you got a glimpse of when you rudely watched him finish his drink, or why he wanted gauged ear piercings of all the choices in the world. It's a little hindering, to be honest. Saying just enough to feel answered but never quenched.

You make your way back to campus, a menial and comfortable silence developing between the both of you. Glancing over at one random man yelling through his phone, Geto's in your line of sight and you notice he seemed more relaxed amidst the city. The wind is blowing his thick hair up and away from his face, shoulders slack and less stiff.

You find yourself enjoying the silent walk too, embracing the lively atmosphere and crowded side-walks. You haven't done much of anything else since preparing for your play so it's been lovely.

"Can I ask you something?" You ask after awhile. He hums a yes without looking over.

"I get why you joined, but I don't get what made you show up?"

He takes his time to answer. No rush in his words. "I had the time. Needed some extra credit. Seemed like the logical thing to do."

His answer sounds like it should be enough, but it's not. "Oh, but there are tons of other ways to get credit. Certainly not as long as it would take for you to do this."

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?" He questions, amused, looking over at you suddenly. 

You sigh, "No, I mean it's just...unusual, that's all. In hindsight you really didn't have to if it's just extra credit you're lobbying for."

He's silent for another second, looking ahead as he thought. "Well, at first I was convinced that you were trying to confess to me."

You let out a little gasp. "Confess? Why the hell would you think that?"

He shrugs, "I don't know, you were acting shy, prepared something for me, that's usually how it goes."

He then playfully pinched his finger and thumb together, smiling cheekily. "You also had this cute little envelope in your hand when you approached me, I thought it was a love letter."

Your cheeks bloomed pink at the sudden accusation. That entire time you were racking your brain on how to convince him, he just thought you were trying to confess your feelings? and in the middle of campus with every soul around? How audacious of him, that's so embarrassing...

"That was not a love letter," You hurriedly correct. "It was my admissions slip for booking out the theatre on opening night."

He laughs, not judgmental at all. "I figured when you showed me that bible you call a script."

You calmed down a little, albeit a bit sheepish after he had explained. At least he knew where you were coming from, but that still didn't explain what convinced him to show up in the first place.

"I read your script that night," He continues, looking ahead again. For some reason you're eager to hear what he has to say about it. "I was genuinely impressed. Your dialogue, the notes, you put a lot of work into it. Honestly at that point I was impressed by your determination to not give up than anything else."

You blink at the crowded sidewalk, not expecting him to be so candid about the whole thing. A leaf had gotten stuck to your shoulder so you picked it off and flicked it back into the air where the wind takes it. "It feels like I haven't thanked you at all now that I know why."

He chuckles softly. Stepping just a little closer to you so someone clearly not paying attention to where they were going doesn't bump into him. His jersey brushes against your bare arm and the faint fragrance of him consumes you before he settles back.

"You have thanked me already. Twice."

"Yeah, well, coffee doesn't seem incredibly adequate, nor do the words, but I suppose there's nothing else I can give you until the opening night so..." You both stop at the campus gates and face eachother. You have to look up from how tall he is, then you zero in on his eyes that looked just like the colour of the coffee he had wanted when the sun hit it just right. Like two swirling black holes about to engulf everything in it's path until there's nothing but darkness left. Oh to have his deceptively pretty brown eyes and a mind full of thoughts. 

"Coffee again?" You finally say. "It'll be my treat."

He blinks in surprise, then the corner of his lips quirked and you only realized after you had said it, what your offer sounded like.

"wait, I don't actually mean-"

"A date?" He cuts you off teasingly.

He treats the prospect so casually, meanwhile your heart is racing at just the idea of a date with him. You went out for an obligated cup of coffee today, but unsurprisingly he managed to make it feel addicting without even trying.

God, you have been incredibly deprived of human connection that the most bare minimum has you imagining what he must be like on a real date and also wierdly envious of whoever will get to claim that experience.

"No, not a date." You correct him promptly. "Just a frugal attempt at paying back an unpayable debt." 

He leans back, a soft smile fleeting across his lips as if he enjoyed messing with you there before the faintest shrug of his shoulders come. "Sure." He answers.

"Sure?" You take a steadying breath. "Cool. Whenever you feel like it after rehearsals, just lemme know." 

Just then a random person you wouldn't know calls Geto by his first name. His head turns, giving you a perfect glimpse of his immaculate side profile, then he raises a slack hand to acknowledge the call before looking back at you and offering another smile.

"I'll hold you to that. See you tomorrow?" 

You nod again. "Yeah, see you then." 

"Oh. Wait." Before he goes he takes his phone out. A sleek, black Samsung with not a single crack or smudge on the screen. And you watch him curiously navigate the device with one hand before he passes it to you, already on the keypad.

"Your number. Will make it easier to communicate with each other." 

You stare at it for a second or more, then tentatively take the pristine phone out of his hand, not in model but condition, and without saying a word, you typed out your phone number for his very own use. The casual exchange leaving you feeling more sheepish than you'd care to admit, but you figured it just came with his territory.

Just two days ago he was nothing more than one of those guys who played volleyball and you'd seen him maybe once or twice when you'd attend some of the Todai games, well, seeing is a bit of an exaggeration considering you were helms deep in the packed stands, but you can still distinctly recall leaving those matches with a sore throat and a pair of red, stinging palms from just how much you cheered for them to win those games and also screamed every time Geto would do one of his godly jump serves that always had the opposing team in shambles. 

But, that was it. Your debatable proximities were merely...coincidental. He lived in his chaotic world of sports and you lived in your theatrical one. Now you've managed to bump him all the way up your social ladder where you'll see him on a regular basis, and now he has your phone number saved where he'd be able to see your statuses and profile pictures.

A man like that you're sure has a ton of spectators, but funnily enough you peeked at the amount of contacts he had and it was much lower than you would have expected for someone so popular. Only 34. And now 35 after you clicked save.

"Here." You hand it back to him. You thought that would be the end of the exchange but then he calls the number and your embarrassingly niche ring tone erupts from your back pocket. 

You hurriedly take it out to stop the sound. You had never in your life cared about what people thought of your ringtone, that is before you heard him chuckle over the noise. 

"Save my number too." he says.

And with that he takes a step back and turns on his heel, unhurriedly making his way to the people that were waiting for him further down. 

You still stand there with a blank mind. Mechanically saving his number and typing the name Geto into your phone. Only after you've saved it and walked right across campus to your own car does it finally register to you that you've just made an irreversible deal with one of the most well known students in the entire university. 

3,2,1 action.

✧You're all caught up!

Tags -

You glance at the clock above the waiting room. The micro needle ticking past the hourly mark. They’ll be here any minute. You roll your chair back to open the drawer beside you and take out the standard form that they’d have to fill out. 

Just then the little bell above the double doors chimes its high pitched tune. You barely looked up at first—another parent, another kid, the usual.

It wasn’t the usual this time, though. You’re caught off guard by the tall, attractive young man with jet black hair and groomed attire walking in with two small girls on either side.

He didn’t come straight to the desk. First, he crouched to say something quiet to the girls, his kids probably, though they don’t look at all similar. One of them clutched his sleeve, the other clutched his hand, then both looked at the waiting chairs warily and made their way without him. Only then did he approach, your heartbeat suddenly palpable. You don't meet a lot of attractive people, his steps unhurried as he settled on the other side of your desk.

“Appointment for the Yamamotos,” his voice comes out silk smooth. Like he practiced that before he came in here, but you're sure he just comes off that prepared. He kept his gaze on you just long enough to acknowledge your presence, then shifted it back toward the girls. Twins you’re starting to think the longer they get more comfortable around the children's area.

You slid the clipboard with the necessary paperwork across, offering him the same practiced smile that’s been done a hundred times before. “First time here?”

“Yes.” He responds with not so much as an inch of room for conversation.

He clicks the pen you passed over and flips it right side in his hand before filling the form out, gel pen gliding in neat, precise strokes. You can’t help but notice how he doesn’t seem to pause to think of what to write, or scratch anything out from a mistake. Makes you wonder what his life is like to be so put together like this. Not even a speck of lint on what looks to be a brand new hooded cardigan, cuffed at the wrists and zipped to his chest.

Most people usually fuss over those things, even in short frustrated breaths or a twitch in the nose, a dip in the eyebrows or at least take a seat to concentrate better. You almost wanted to watch him finish, just to see if he’d fumble a little—but the phone rang, pulling your attention away. By the time you finished the call and jotted down the necessary details, he’s already seated between his kids, the clipboard and pen neatly laid on top waiting for you to take. 

Having no one to talk to and completing most of your work by midday, you’re often left scrutinizing people's mannerisms and habits just out of boredom or sometimes to test if you’re learning anything from your degree. You’ve maxed out most of the things that make the day go faster, making it hard to not look twice when the newcomer does something mundane.

So far you’ve picked up that every so often, one of his kids would lean against him and he’ll adjust almost imperceptibly. Not many parents will do that. His attention has not once strayed from the two beside him. You’ve lost count of how many parents have pulled their phone out or grabbed one of the magazines on the table so they didn't have to entertain their kids. You’re not judging them, but it makes you think that he’s probably not as burnt out as most parents are. Maybe he’s not even their parent but recently obtained custody. Would explain why he looks so young as the caregiver.

The soft scrape of shoes against the tile announces the psychiatrist. Miss Saiki steps out from behind the frosted glass doors, clipboard in hand, scanning the waiting room with the practiced calm that makes her seem larger than the small clinic space allows. “Yamamotos?” she calls easily.

The man only then stands up with his two girls who are more reserved than before, hiding behind his shadow as he greets Miss Saiki. No handshake, you notice. You don’t intend on prying so openly so you keep your head down and focus on the screen.

Miss Saiki gestures for the small family to follow her into her office as she usually does. It’s to get the kids a little more comfortable with her while somebody they trust is around before she tackles the session. 

“(y/n).” You look over where she stands. “My three thirty appointment cancelled. Next week Tuesday. Same time.” She mentions a quick change before she disappears behind her office doors. By the time it's closed you’ve already jotted down the change on the computer notes and then rolled back in your chair to take the binder out of the shelf behind you to make a physical copy.

You take the man's paperwork off the clipboard next to file away, but stop just shy of the folder. No. You shouldn’t. You’ve never pried that far before and you don’t intend on doing it today.

You briskly pack the information away and see a few emails have popped up since sorting out the paperwork. You get through a few of them before you hear Miss Saiki's door open and close again. Despite how much you wanted to look over, you keep your eyes trained on the screen and only notice the man when he takes a seat in the waiting room again. Girls no longer present.

A minutes or two passes. You shift around in your seat uncomfortably, sitting on top of your hand for some extra warmth. Without the girls' hushed whispers, the silence is a little deafening. Doesn’t help that he’s also kind of intimidating just sitting there. Not indulging in one single item to pass the time. The clicking on your keyboard and the hum of the air conditioner helps to fill the space at least and though you’re used to the silence of a quiet reception, his presence is oddly fixating. 

You take a breath, leaning over to take something from the drawer and impulsively glance at him with the movement. He’s sitting with his legs crossed, arms folded and head hanging low with his eyes closed. Your initial thought is that he’s taking a nap, but the subtle, rhythmic movement of his finger against his bicep makes it obvious that he’s patiently just waiting for the time to pass.

With that you continue with your own job indiscreetly. You managed to complete everything again in under 30 minutes and now gnaw at your bottom lip, staring at the time in the bottom right corner of your screen. Still a whole thirty minutes left before his kids come out. 

Part of you debates if you should just break the awkward silence and say something, maybe he's just got one of those face, even a cursory nod beyond the mechanical greeting you’ve already given. You wonder if he realizes how distracting it is when someone doesn’t move a muscle yet you can feel their presence anyway.

You inhale deeply, using the mouse to navigate to the search engine icon. The internet opens up and you use the keyboard to go into instagram. Nothing a bit of doom scrolling can't fix. You just hope you don't see any spoilers for the infinity castle movie you'll be seeing this weekend. You’re about to scroll mindlessly when an intrusive thought flashes in your mind.

Does he have instagram?

You glance at the digital clock again and see not even two minutes have passed since you last looked at it. Work days go by even slower in the afternoon and you took your break early today so you don’t even have that to stave you off. You figured there’s nothing really harmful about it. This is the new word of mouth anyway and it’d be by some miracle if you even found it considering his name and surname has got to be one of the most common in Japan. Recalling his form where you had only noticed the name written in perfect semi-cursive at the top. You know about 5 other Sato’s and even more Yamamoto’s.

With that you type his name and surname in the search bar and as you expected a long list of profile’s with the exact name came up. You exhale sadly. Some insta stalking would have made the next hour fly by.

Impulsively you grab the gel pen he had used to sign his forms and started to doodle odd caricutures.

You wonder what he does for a living. Glancing at him, he still has his head down, though he switched his legs around. From what you could see he’s pretty muscular. That cardigan is crazy taut against his biceps, but he’s very tall too so he’s probably lean. I don't know, maybe corporate. With attire like that he’s gotta be paid handsomely. Unlike you making just enough to save a little each month if something doesn’t break.

You noticed that he has gauged ear piercings too. Not a very common fashion choice, especially amongst young adults which you expect he is. He must have come from a very traditional household. Grew up around shrines and parents that religiously follow a sacred routine. You lost that trait a long time ago since your parents were not very traditional in the first place. All these things you’re picking up on, you wonder if any of it is true. It would be fun to ask him about it and see if you’re right, but he’s clearly distancing himself for a reason. 

The phone rings and you jump a little from the sudden noise. You answer it briskly, a little off put by the sound of your voice after not hearing it for a little while. There’s a delivery delay for the consumables you had ordered. It’ll only be here by next week when they receive their stock. You make a note of it on a yellow sticky note and jab it on the wall of your desk so you don’t forget and mistakenly end up querying them about the delivery next week.

Your now warm hand that's developed pins and needles from being underneath your thighs this whole time finds the stiff spot on your neck again, massaging it when the office door of Miss Saiki opens. Finally. The twins reemerge from the office, happier now, racing to the man that’s already on his feet before they reach. Him and your boss chat respectably between themselves. Your eyes go a little wide hearing him speak after a whole hour of silence and he’s somehow 10x more attractive. 

Through all this quiet analyzing, it only now strikes you that a man like that doesn’t walk out of here alone. Features sharp enough to stop someone mid-sentence and a demeanor so grating you had to stalk him, he has to have someone waiting for him at home who gets the version of him you can only imagine.

Him and Miss Saiki part ways and he takes each girl’s hand and starts for the exit. You drop your gaze to the computer screen, pretending to be busy, until he stops. Oh right, payment.

Without a word his hand reaches into a small leather wallet and sets a neat stack of bills on the surface. Cash. Of course.

You take the bills and count it briskly. If he plans on coming for another session you’ll suggest to him the monthly payment plan.You scribble down the receipt slip, tear it off, and hand it across and his eyes flick up just long enough to meet yours.

“When is the next session?” he asks. You find your breath caught when he looks at you directly. Intense is all you can think, and you know you take a second too long to glance at your screen for an answer. Scrolling down to the column that’s already marked with his name. The dates blur for a second before you catch the right one. “Next week, same day same time. You can call the number on your receipt if you need to reschedule.” you say, voice steadier than you feel. 

The girls tug at his arms, restless most likely and eager to go. You watch him only nod in response, and with that his head is already turning to leave. You should look back at your screen. You should already be moving on to the next mundane task. But your eyes stay on him for a little longer. Long enough to notice the way he angles his shoulders when he turns, making sure the girls pass through the door first and when he sets off down the pavement where a few heads look back to catch a glimpse of what you had just seen.

You let out a long, dreamy breath of air, falling back in your seat and twisting left and right. I need something to eat.