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When Rosho gets to the address that Jyuto gives him, he expects a bar of some kind with outer dining, not—this.
The area the bar is in is more of a park, with open lawns where costumed little children and their parents are taking pictures, metal benches framed by fluorescent outdoor lighting, and a panoramic view of the famous Yokohama skyline, bordered by the bay water and the iconic ferris wheel glinting in his peripheral. And when he says Jyuto's name at the bar to get seated, the staff escorts him to one of the booths on a balcony next to the water, where he can look down at the water through matte-black railings, artfully lit by fairy lights and easily one of the best seats in the house.
He orders a beer and wonders how he's going to match up to this kind of reception when his unlikely friends in Mad Trigger Crew inevitably go down to Osaka and hunt him down to repay the favor.
It had been Jyuto's idea to go out tonight; after Samatoki had suggested that they go out to eat with Rosho whenever they find themselves in Osaka, Jyuto had pointed out that they were in Yokohama now, and wouldn't Rosho like to have the favor repaid in advance?
Rosho had pointed out that that wasn't how favors worked, and Jyuto had laughed and given him an address.
He spots both Jyuto and Samatoki now, entering through the doors and talking to the staff. He has to fight down the urge to get to his feet; instead he raises his glass. Jyuto spots him first, and taps Samatoki’s arm to bring him along.
“The kid get home okay?” Samatoki says, by way of greeting, as he sits down opposite Rosho.
“Yes,” answers Rosho, mildly surprised. “I had to tell his mom what happened, of course, but everything turned out fine, so it’s okay. It helps that she also knew your name, Iruma-san.”
“Glad to be of service,” Jyuto says graciously, still standing. “I’ll get us drinks. The usual, Samatoki?”
“Yeah.” Samatoki doesn’t look as the cop leaves, preoccupied with digging around in his pockets; Rosho shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He’s not sure if he’s more intimidated of the fact that Samatoki is a division leader, or that he sent Jyuto away like a butler, or that they’re alone together.
“You smoke?” Samatoki asks, shaking a pack of cigarettes in his direction.
“No, thank you,” says Rosho. “But please, go ahead.”
Samatoki nods, and lights one. He’s careful to look out over the water, away from Rosho when he exhales. “So, teacher, huh?” he says, looking back at Rosho. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect that from Sasara.”
Rosho blinks; Sasara had mentioned his history with the other division leaders, but never in detail. He guesses Samatoki knew Sasara well enough, at least, to know that he doesn’t seem like the type to casually have a teacher friend. He gets that.
Aside from that, he thinks about how Rei had blatantly written down conman as his occupation in the letter that Sasara had had to send back to Chuuoku to formalize their division’s registration. (It’ll be fine, Rei said placatingly to Rosho, who somehow was the only person who found anything wrong with the situation. They won’t bat an eyelash, I promise you. D’you wanna bet money on it?
Hell no, Rosho said, to both of his teammates’ laughter.
After a few days to no word from Chuuoku, Rosho had had to concede. And to Rei’s credit, all he did was to grin smugly at Rosho when they saw each other next.)
“I wouldn’t either,” Rosho says to Samatoki now. “But no, we know each other from when I did comedy, before.”
It’s technically the truth, but also a deliberate understatement. Anyone who finds out that he and Sasara used to be a duo inevitably asks why they’re no longer a duo, and even though he's internally made peace with that part of his life, it’s still a conversation that Rosho has to emotionally brace himself for. Especially now that those conversations happen in increasing frequency with Sasara right next to him.
He expects the follow-up question: why did you become a teacher? or something along those lines. But Samatoki doesn’t say anything—he just looks thoughtful, which is not a reaction that Rosho has encountered before.
“Don’t think too hard, you’ll hurt your head,” Jyuto says, coming back to the table with two drinks in hand. He puts one down in front of Samatoki and sets the other in front of himself, sitting down. “Sorry for leaving you with him, sensei, I hope he wasn’t too rude.”
"Asshole," Samatoki bites at him, "You were gone for like, thirty seconds."
It sounds too much like a parent talking to their teenage kid that Rosho has to stifle a laugh. “Not at all,” he says. Samatoki huffs, reaching for his drink. “He was just asking about me being a teacher.”
Jyuto hums. “Now that I think about it, that’s why you’re good with kids, huh?”
“I’m alright,” Rosho demurs. “I teach high schoolers, so I deal more with slightly older kids.”
“Still kids, though.” Jyuto takes a drink. “Swear they all look the same to me.”
“Try saying that to Ikebukuro,” Samatoki drawls.
“I will not,” Jyuto says haughtily. “You think they went trick-or-treating, Samatoki?”
“Dunno,” Samatoki shrugs. “The youngest, maybe.”
Rosho diplomatically doesn’t say that the Buster Bros are probably too old to still go trick-or-treating, and takes a drink to hide his smile at their easy, comfortable banter. A breeze comes in from the water, humid and cool; it reminds him of being next to the Dotonbori river, but it feels different somehow. Probably something about the bay being a much larger body of water.
He's starting to feel the buzz of alcohol in his veins; he finds himself smiling at the decorative lighting all around them, amused by their orange tint—for Halloween, of course. It reminds him of home, his own division. Sasara’s suit.
Halloween. Sasara—
Rosho pulls out his phone before he can really think about it; Jyuto and Samatoki, in the middle of a conversation he wasn’t paying attention to, both glance at him. “Sorry,” Rosho mutters. “I just remembered it’s Sasara’s birthday.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jyuto says, as Samatoki turns his head to exhale smoke away from their table. “At least you remembered.”
Rosho sends out the text (a simple Happy birthday, Sasara 🎂. It’ll have to do for now, while Rosho still has company) and puts his phone facedown on the table. He makes a mental note to only reply three times; he doesn’t want to be rude, even though both Samatoki and Jyuto seem unfazed. “I guess so. He doesn’t really give me a choice. He’ll be annoying about it forever if I forget about it.”
A few years ago, he would have remembered much earlier to greet Sasara on his birthday. Of course, a few years ago, he would’ve been attached to Sasara all day regardless, working on new material, managing bookings, playing shows. Sasara would drop hints and snide comments, gauding Rosho into greeting him a happy birthday, that Rosho would good-naturedly ignore until he inevitably caved and let Sasara drag him into a cafe to order cream sodas like his life depended on it.
“How is he, then?” Samatoki says, shaking his cigarette over an ashtray. “Sasara?”
Sasara hadn’t mentioned anything specific about his time in Tokyo, and Rosho hadn’t thought to ask; it was none of his business, after all. But now, he kind of wishes he had—Samatoki clearly knew him well, and a small part of Rosho is curious about what kind of person Sasara had been, in the intervening years.
(Rosho catches glimpses of that unknown version of Sasara, from time to time. He sees it in the tragus piercings that he’s sometimes still surprised Sasara has, the way Sasara knows so naturally how to intimidate opponents, the way he deals with Rei—like he knows how to play a criminal’s game; almost like he’s been one himself.
He sees it in the way Sasara holds himself, confident and brash, more headstrong and prouder than when he’d left Osaka. Rosho knows that Sasara could hold his own in a physical fight even before, but now, he knows in his gut that Sasara, the Sasara that came back from Ikebukuro, is dangerous.)
“Thriving,” Rosho says to Samatoki, who looks oddly attentive, and Jyuto, who looks politely interested. “He’s getting a lot of new material for his shows through all the territory battles, and a lot of programs are booking him because he’s the division leader.”
“Figures,” says Samatoki, cigarette at his lips. “He was never the type to sit still.”
“That sounds like a lot,” Jyuto says. “He must be busy.”
Rosho’s phone buzzes. “He could be busier,” he says idly. Sure enough, it’s Sasara, thanking him for the greeting, along with the usual cascade of emoji. While Rosho looks, another message arrives, this time a photo—it’s a blurry picture of Sasara, walking along a road, with a mountain of black fur that must be Rei behind him.
missing you ‼️✨🥺👐✨
Rosho feels suddenly, embarrassingly warm in the cold night. He can only hope it’s dim enough for the two others not to notice. Sure, Sasara is dangerous, but he's also been treating Rosho with increasing affection lately, which is a completely different kind of dangerous.
(We’re not dating, he’d repeated, frustrated, when Sasara stepped away to take a call. Rei just raised his eyebrows. We’re not. He’s just like that. I wouldn’t lie to you about this, Rei. Rosho caught the irony only after the words leave his mouth; he quickly snapped it shut. Rei grinned and said, yeah, okay, I believe that. One part of that, at least.)
I’ll be back tomorrow, dummy, Rosho replies, then puts his phone back down. He picks up his drink, taking a big sip to hide whatever expression his face is making.
“He doing alright without you?” Samatoki says, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.
“I think he dragged Rei—our other teammate—out to drink,” replies Rosho, choosing to interpret Samatoki’s apparent amusement as anything other than teasing. Drunkenness, he reasons to himself, ignoring that Samatoki is only on his first glass. “All the better. Those two drink way too much. I swear Sasara used to be more of a lightweight—”
Samatoki snorts. “Yeah, he—might’ve gotten that from his time in Tokyo.”
Rosho looks at him. “That makes sense,” he muses, unsure how to proceed. Samatoki looks subdued, but not uncomfortable. “I don’t really know much about his time in Tokyo,” he admits, hoping that’s enough of an explanation.
“He hasn’t said much, huh?” Samatoki says, the picture of casualness.
Rosho shakes his head. “No.”
Samatoki picks up his drink, meditative. “I don’t know much about his time in Osaka, either,” he says, so quietly that Rosho almost doesn’t hear it.
Samatoki downs the rest of his drink. Jyuto reaches for their glasses, both empty. Samatoki opens his mouth as if to say something, but Jyuto forestalls him with a shake of his head and a smile.
Rosho looks away; it feels like the least he can do. When Jyuto’s footsteps have faded, he looks back at Samatoki, now looking out towards the water pensively.
“I’m glad he’s doing well,” Samatoki says, after a pause. “That’s all. I’d tell you to say happy birthday from me, but we didn’t really… part on good terms.”
Rosho tenses up. “I’m sorry,” he says reflexively. “I didn’t—” Samatoki shakes his head roughly, a single jerk to the side. Don’t mind. “I hope you get the chance to tell him yourself, someday,” Rosho says instead, meaning every word.
Samatoki looks sideways at him without turning his head, striking red eyes narrowed to slits. Rosho meets his eyes unflinchingly. The corner of Samatoki’s lips turns up; Rosho feels like he’s just gained some sliver of respect.
“I hope so too,” Samatoki says quietly.
On the table, Rosho’s phone vibrates; he makes a valiant effort to ignore it, but Samatoki glances down at it, almost pointedly.
“Answer it,” Samatoki says, raising his cigarette back to his lips. Rosho can’t tell if he’s trying to hide a smile. “He’ll annoy you more if you don’t.”
Rosho winces. “Yeah,” he says, picking up his phone.
see you then ‼️✨🙆 i’ll see you right ❓🥺 celebrate my birthday with meeee ✨🍰🎉✨
Jyuto returns to the table with their drinks as he’s typing out a reply (I will. Don’t drink too much tonight). He murmurs a thanks to Jyuto as he gives him his drink, and receives a mild smile in return.
The bottom of the picture Sasara sent last, the blurry one with Rei, is still visible on his screen. Rosho looks up from his phone, and says to Samatoki without thinking, “We should take a picture.”
Samatoki freezes with his drink half-raised. Rosho scrambles to cover for himself, but in a panicked split-second, he settles on the first defense that comes to mind: “It’ll be funny?”
Samatoki blinks once, then twice. Rosho immediately regrets everything, and is about to walk it back, when Jyuto says, “I’ll take it, if you want.”
Jyuto is watching both of them with his elbow on the table and his cheek leaning on his hand, looking amused. Samatoki breaks out of his surprise to look at him, then crushes the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray.
“Yeah, okay,” he tells Rosho, and then: “I can see how you were his manzai partner.”
Rosho jolts, mentally backtracking through everything he said. “I didn’t say—”
“You didn’t.” Samatoki leans back in his chair. “Wasn’t hard to figure out, though. Come on, let’s take this picture.”
Rosho doesn’t need to be told twice; he switches his phone over to the camera app and hands it to Jyuto, who’s smirking indulgently in a way that makes Rosho feel like he's missing something.
Samatoki glances at him, then leans forward to rest his elbow on the table between them; it's small enough that if Rosho mirrors him, their elbows will touch, so he does, stopping just short of actually touching him. For some reason, Jyuto is outright stifling laughter when he takes the picture, enough that Rosho wonders if the picture will be blurry, and Samatoki gets pissed enough to snap, "What's so fuckin' hilarious, bunny? You're being rude to our guest."
Jyuto laughs like he can't help it, even in the face of his division leader's anger. "Sorry, sorry. It's—you wouldn't understand." Which is all well and good, to Rosho anyway, at least until Jyuto passes him back his phone and says, "Maybe when I meet this infamous Sasara-san, I can ask him about it."
Samatoki grumbles at Jyuto while Rosho stares, uncomprehending. He looks down at his phone—on the screen is a thankfully not-blurry picture of him and Samatoki, with the water and edge of the ferris wheel visible in the background. Jyuto had taken the shot while Samatoki was talking; he looks pissed off, mouth open in the middle of a reprimand. Rosho himself looks how he'd felt in the moment—bemused but relaxed, cheeks flush from the alcohol.
He doesn't get why Jyuto would find it funny, and even less why he would want to talk to Sasara about it.
“Do me a favor and only show him that picture after we’ve talked,” Samatoki tells Rosho, apparently done arguing with Jyuto. It's a reasonable request, until he adds with a smirk, “I don’t wanna make your boyfriend jealous.”
Rosho feels his face burn. “He’s not—!”
“Ah.” Samatoki shifts in his seat, shoulders hunching, throwing a glance at Jyuto. Rosho would notice his discomfort if he wasn't so busy burning a hole into the table with his eyes. “Just—hold on to that for now, yeah?”
"I will," Rosho mumbles, ignoring Samatoki's look as he puts down his phone again.
Jyuto takes one more picture of the three of them together, and sends it to their third division member, a man named Rio. Rosho recovers enough to tentatively ask about him, and the conversation turns to other, lighter topics after that. Sasara replies late, with a picture of a nearly empty bottle of sake at an izakaya, miraculously less blurry than the other picture (too late ‼️😤🍶).
Rosho makes it back to his relatives’ place a little before midnight, mentally going back over his schedule for tomorrow. He’ll make it home in time for dinner, probably. Bone-tired from the train ride, he won’t notice the light spilling out from his front door when he goes to unlock it, and open the door to Sasara grinning up at him, making awful jokes about trains and tiredness and god knows what else—
Despite what Rei and Samatoki seem to think, Rosho is perfectly content with where he is with Sasara. Content to stand next to him as he faces down the other division leaders with Rei on Sasara’s other side, content to open the door to his apartment with a one in three chance of seeing Sasara there, content with the way he and Sasara can still turn every conversation into a manzai routine, the chemistry and rhythm so ingrained into both of them that they fall into it as naturally as breathing.
(All the while dealing with Sasara’s embarrassing shows of blatant affection, telling himself it’s how it’s always been between them, even as Rei smirks at him from behind Sasara, visibly holding back a million snide comments—)
But, learning what he has tonight, Rosho finds himself wanting for one thing, entirely for Sasara’s benefit: that when Rosho meets up with Samatoki and Jyuto at his favorite restaurant in downtown Osaka, Sasara will be sitting next to him to shout an unnecessarily loud greeting, and Samatoki will yell at him to shut up, and then Rosho and Samatoki will spend the entirety of dinner telling embarrassing stories about Sasara while ignoring his protests.
Then maybe Jyuto can ask Sasara whatever it was that made him laugh while taking their picture.
He falls asleep that night to half-formed dreams of a bunny and a cat playing together.