smokestacks
read on ao3 (1,782 words)
Tashiroâs hair was loose, and blond all the way to the roots. Strands of it, cut unevenly, curled and stuck to his chin, his neck, and his shoulders. And he was smiling. âWow, Hanzawa-sensei,â he chirped. âFancy running into you here.â Hanzawa flicked the ash from his cigarette, and watched the smoldering embers of the end. âPlease, youâre not my student,â he scoffed. âDonât call me that.â
some people may have noticed me complain a lot about writing recently. this fic is the reason. I posted a wip version of this in april of last year, chipped away at it in parts, realized the whole thing didnât work, and then rewrote the thing from the start. all this to say: I put a crazy amount of work into this one, so please enjoy.
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Tonight, he was craving heat. Heâd come out for the cold, because heâd thought heâd wanted it, but he hadnât, not more than heâd needed the snap of fresh air to clear the drunken haze from his mind. After that it was still cold, still miserable, still dull, like the headache festering at his temples. And this was when the desire, bottled up and dusky, began to gleamâhe longed for a crystalline peace, fragile-edged and teetering.
Body leant over the railing of the veranda, his fingers searched into his pockets until heâd unearthed his lighter and a cigarette. The exposed flame sputtered against the windswept night. He clicked emptily though the tediumâcaught sparks, flared heat, snuffed outâuntil the breeze broke into quiet.
Cigarette now lit, he led it to his waiting lips. The nicotine dragged through him, hot and acrid, stealing cacophony into stillness.
The view was distant from the city proper, but even here, the nightglow had sunken its claws into the dark. He let the cigarette dangle between two fingers, and breathed out the smoke. It dissipated as thin fog, and in its place came his frosted breath, tumbling up in the air as he lingered on the sky, lights bleeding in from the buzzing of the buildings below⌠He fumbled for his portable ashtray, pulled it from his pocket, and balanced it on the railing before taking another puff of his cigarette. Inhale, exhale⌠The world dripped slow like tar.
A gust rattled behind himâthe sound cut through to him a few seconds late, so the face that appeared in his periphery was more mirage than truth.
Tashiroâs hair was loose, and blond all the way to the roots. Strands of it, cut unevenly, curled and stuck to his chin, his neck, and his shoulders. And he was smiling.
âWow, Hanzawa-sensei,â he chirped. âFancy running into you here.â
Hanzawa flicked the ash from his cigarette, and watched the smoldering embers of the end. âPlease, youâre not my student,â he scoffed. âDonât call me that.â
Tashiro made a face. âFeels weird to call you Hanzawa-san,â he declared, âso youâll have to settle for senpai.â
Despite himself, Hanzawa laughed. âSettleâŚ?â he began, and then his voice faltered into a noiseless exhale when Tashiro slipped a hand over his.
Perhaps the chill hadnât quite chased away his intoxication. Heâd dreamed of the door as a jagged pass, but it was sliding glass and mesh screen, neither of which were opaque. The territory heâd deemed unassailable had been bridged in a breath. Distances were funny like thatâhard to judge, with walls.
He blew smoke out of his mouth. âIs this an intervention?â he asked.
Tashiro gave him a funny look. When he spoke, his breath wisped white. âI heard smokers have cold fingers. Thought Iâd check if it was true.â
[art by @sunnfish]
Hanzawa clicked his tongue and took another drag; Tashiroâs face remained unchanged. âIâve been outside,â he said. âOf course they're cold.â
âWell, I guess youâve always had cold hands,â Tashiro said. He made this observation as he intertwined their fingers, slotting the warmth of his grip between Hanzawaâs shaking flesh. When their eyes met, his flashed with old memoryâan unfair vise.
He swallowed. âGuess I have.â
Tashiroâs hand didnât squeeze, but the entanglement of their fingers was pressure enough. Pinned together, their breaths intermingled, crisp and clean, scorched and sluggish.
In the distance, the city held straight against the dark, concrete and steel and glass wedged into right angles and stabbed into forgiving ground. The skyline scarred the earth as it always had, and in the dead night its lights glowered through the haze, mocking the faded stars that had long since dipped out of frame.
Ash lay leaden on his tongue. He hadnât the hands to move for it, but the lighter in his pocket weighed of metals and flint and fuel. From his mouth, smoke curled over the horizon, heavy and foreboding. Whether the buildings were dated or stately or had just removed their scaffolding, their curse was well-told: the upswell of growth, the ever-coming march of industry, racing electrically forth, unsleeping and unflinching against the black of night, which waned as the moon into gray and blue smog.
Finally, Hanzawa asked, âWhyâd you follow me out here?â
Tashiro didnât refute the accusation. âI saw you go out a while ago,â he said, âand it looked like the more interesting thing.â
He tamped down a smile. âSeriously?â
âSeriously,â Tashiro said, emphatic. âKuresawa went home because he wanted to be with his fiancĂŠe, Ogasawara-san lost a drinking contest to Miyano so heâs curled up on the floor and trying to recover his pride, Hirano-sanâs moodily watching the TV with Shirahama, whoâs still nervous even though itâs literally his apartment, and Sasaki-san got convinced into drinking so he and Miyano are, wellâŚâ His hand was warm and point-making. As he talked, he gestured with his whole body, words spilling forth with an almost frenetic quality, and still linked to him, Hanzawa was pulled along.
âHe and Miyano areâŚ?â Hanzawa prompted, when Tashiro came to a sudden stop.
Tashiro furrowed his brows. âIâm not supposed to say itâŚ?â he mumbled, but then tilted his head at Hanzawa, and asked, âYouâre good at keeping secrets, right?â
Hanzawa offered a miniscule nod. Tashiroâs grip went loose as he considered it.
âDating,â he said, âThat was what I thought, but I guess itâs just the⌠feeling of it? Kuresawa says not to say anything, and heâs the one with a wife, so he must know better than⌠I mean, what does it even mean, to date someoneâŚ?â
He did not tense. âI see,â Hanzawa said, though he wasnât even looking in his direction.
A breath glanced by his ear. âDid you get another piercing, by the way?â Tashiro asked. âYour earsâthey look a little differentâŚâ
âAtâsome point, yes.â Now he had tensed.
âI canât place it,â Tashiro sighed. He was silent for a moment, and then muttered, âNeed to clear my head, I donât want to be too drunk tomorrowâŚâ
âNight shift?â Hanzawa asked, turning to him.
Tashiro beamed. There was a glassy, unclear tint to his gaze. âOf course you knew that,â he said. âMust be pretty different than your 9 to 5, huh?â
Hanzawa demurred, âTeaching isnât such a predictable schedule, what with grading and extracurricularsâŚâ
âSo youâre still working yourself to the bone,â Tashiro said. He worried his lip. âNot that I realized it, then.â
A deep, trembling chill was burrowing under his skin; his fingers twitched. He puffed on his cigarette, the warmth of it brittle and souring.
âSeems like youâre working pretty hard, too,â he said. âIf youâre working weekends.â
Tashiro smiled sheepishly and scratched at the back of his neck. âAh, well⌠at a certain point⌠there are just some things that are hard to run from.â
Wind bit at his cheeks and set his body back to rights. Hanzawa took a deep breath, and freed his hand. It was the only part of him that still glowed with heat. âBack then,â he said, âyou always wanted to leave.â
Tashiroâs smile flickered. He said, âYou didnât let me.â
He watched the fire die as he stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray, and pocketed it. âIt was the previous presidentâs decision.â
âWhich you upheld.â
His hand felt for his lighter. âNot well enough. I couldnât make you captain.â
âNot your fault,â Tashiro countered. âI didnât think Iâd be a good fit. I just didnât care about it the same wayâŚâ
Cool metal, hard edges. The thing pressed against his palm like the night. âDo you regret it?â
Tashiroâs answer was instantaneous: âNo.â He repeated it firmly. âNo, I donât regret it. I spent a long time trying to quit, so I kept challenging you, and going to the bathhouse⌠and I wanted to quit, but IâI liked all of that. And I know I ran away when you wanted to make me captain. But I liked that, too.â His face had gone scarlet, but his lips were twitching up as he recollected the past.
âIt would have been great if you were captain,â Hanzawa admitted.
ââŚMaybe youâre right,â Tashiro said. âI wonder ifâŚâ His gaze went half-lidded, drawing attention to his lowered lashes, long and undyed, the black shadow of them on his face a plain kind of beautiful. Again he had trailed off.
Rather than prompt him, Hanzawa went quiet, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth. It was dulled by the aftertaste of tobacco.
âAfter you graduated, it was like you disappeared,â Tashiro said. âBut then you ended up working with Miyano. Only I didnât see you much, still. And then now, we have all these people from the same high school, in the same building again⌠itâs kind of amazing, isnât it?â
âItâs quite a serendipitous series of events,â Hanzawa agreed
Tashiro steadied himself on the railing. He stared at him. âYou know,â he said, very slowly, very clearly, in the way that drunk people tried to not slur their words, careful to the extreme, âI missed you, too.â
His face was still red. Everything of him burned. Tashiroâs eyes were aglow, brightened like every dying firefly had found respite in the ring of his irises. Heat cascaded through Hanzawaâs body, tasting of thrill and triumph.
ââŚItâs too late to talk about that,â he lied, and stepped away from the railing. But he hesitated by the door. ââŚIf you wanted to talk again, though, you could come by mine.â His piece said, he ducked back inside and didnât look back.
The interior was just as Tashiro had described. Sasaki was flushed and curled up against Miyanoâs shoulder, who startled and pinked at Hanzawaâs reappearance. Hirano and Shirahama too engrossed in the TV to take notice, white-knuckled on the couch as they watched Kagiura drive through the paint. He stepped over Ogasawara, who was slumbering on the floor, and once heâd crossed the room halfway, the balcony door slid open.
âWait!â Tashiro cried out. âYour placeâI donât even know where that is!â
âIf you want to know, youâll have to catch me!â he crowed, and bolted for the front door.
And the rest of everythingâit blurred by. An electric hum arced through him.
Tashiro skidded through the front door, which was just a wooden thing with hinges and knobs that had swung open and allowed chase. Gasping for breath, he called after him: âYou haveâseriouslyâbad habits!â
As he skipped down the stairs, footsteps thundered after him; Tashiro had broken out into a run.
Hanzawa bit down a grin. He walked faster.












