Chapter Text
Clink.
The chime of glasses touching rang throughout the air, signalizing yet another round of drinks was being shared. He couldn’t remember how many shots he had downed, but Masato did know he was feeling their affect building. He sat silently, in juxtaposition to the incoherent noise billowing from his coworkers, pretending to sip a glass of wine he had ordered several hours ago when the group had first arrived. Masato was never one for drinking, especially in public, but tonight he had been roped into joining his peers at a bar half-an-hour away from the office for a TGIF celebration. Usually he would refuse these numerous invitations, claiming he had “made other plans” or “relatives were in town.” He sometimes went as far as faking illnesses to avoid the after work sorties. This time, however, his coworkers had found and asked him before he could find the time to formulate a plan of retreat. So here he sat wallowing in undeserved self-pity, free albeit profuse drinks, and rancorously loud conversation.
He sighed. Having only been inebriated once before and despising the feeling, Masato had sworn to never allow himself to succumb to alcohol and lose his carful control again. Yet, here he was. Originally he had intended to finish his wine quickly and leave, having technically shared a drink with his colleagues, but as rounds of shots were ordered and passed around cries of “Don’t be rude, Hijirikawa!” and “It’s just a shot, you can stay for that at least!” kept him from completing his plan. A round of shots turned into two and two to three. Before he realized it, Masato had lost count.
Maybe he was destined to be a lightweight. Maybe his introverted nature was giving the atmosphere and alcohol more power over him than he had anticipated. Whatever the cause he could barely see let alone think straight. Deciding to put his shaky foot down and force his leave, Masato unsteadily got to his feet. He swayed and blinked rapidly as blood rushed to his head.
Feeling faint and determined to not let anyone know how far gone he actually was, he stiffened and spat, “I’m going home!” to the group of almost equally intoxicated party. A loud, nonsensical bundle of slurred replies rang after him as he unsteadily made his way to the bar’s entrance. Or in his case, exit.
A lazy roll of thunder roared in the rain threatening sky, but Masato neither cared nor considered rain, his only thought was of home. His small apartment was a 15 minute walk from his office, a route he traveled so frequently he was positive he could navigate it blindfolded. As he stumbled along his path, turning here and crossing there, he felt oddly unfamiliar with the buildings surrounding him. He glanced at his watch. If I left the office at…what time did I leave..?
An uneven sidewalk disrupted his thoughts and movements. I went to a bar...where was it again? He had been unfamiliar with the preferred establishment because it was a considerable distance from both his home and office. He had asked why this was the superior choice, to which his peers had rumbled answers through costs per beverage. Somewhere in the back of his muddled mind he recognized his predicament; he was undeniably lost. Deciding to continue walking, that is, shambling forward, Masato pushed on until he felt a sudden prick of cold wetness. Then two. Ah… He thought. It’s raining.
His steps turned serpentine as he searched for an available awning to take refuge under. He spotted a building with a large window and old wooden canopy and staggered to its inviting dryness.
As he reached the window, he realized his wooden savior was indeed old and in its age, had been riddled with holes, allowing the rain to seep through. With a defeated sigh he resigned himself to fate and let his tired body rest against the polished glass window. Slowly, as it had always been there, the soothing sound of smooth jazz drifted from deep inside Masato’s support.
Laboriously, Masato shifted his body to peer inside the shop. His head continued the movement and lolled carelessly as he tried to find the source of the pleasantly warm jazz melody. Inside, illuminated dimly by light leached from an adjacent room, seated nearly inconspicuously amongst tables and chairs stacked for the evening, was a man playing a saxophone.
Masato gazed intently at the musician. His bewitching song and, although obscured by dark shadows the faint light couldn’t chase away, captivating appearance were enough for Masato to, if he had been in a better state of mind, doubt his vision. As it stood, this siren of land entranced him and no force on earth other than death itself could move him. Death, or the unconsciousness he could feel himself slipping into. As Masato forced his descending eyelids to remain open and focused, the ethereal being’s music ceased and sharp azure eyes met his.
Clearly annoyed at the voyeuristic actions of a strange man outside his work, the divine entity let his heavenly instrument fall to his chest. Masato, a pout rising to his lips at the loss of the sweet refrain, spoke angrily through the glass to the equally, if not exceedingly, livid man rapidly approaching.
“Keep playing!” He demanded. Before him the, now closer he could clearly see blond, man stopped, temporarily confused by the silent, at least from his perspective, demand. He shook his head and resumed his march to the door. If Masato wasn’t already supporting himself against the now foggy and smudged window, he would have easily lost his balance as the furious man threw open the door. Ah…Masato mused. He really does exist. That’s nice. The other man was shouting at him, but Masato couldn’t understand. He felt like he was floating. As his vison blurred and eventual darkness enveloped him, Masato felt himself fall.