Chapter Text
Mochi watched the landscape whirl by as the train careened forward, blur of rich blue and vivid green. He had never seen such saturated color in nature before; dark pines occasionally dotted the lighter green of the grasses, mixed with spurts of a few yellow wildflowers. The train was following the Big River, blue and sparkly, the same color as that rich sky, cloudless and bright.
He exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath. He had done a little bit of travel before, but never to a place quite like this. And it was certainly different than what he was used to; concrete gray, asphalt black and sticky and hot and humid, graffiti were his wildflowers, dotting the brick and stone outside of his mother's teeny apartment in the busy city.
It was going to be a nice shift, being out here, so far from the familiar. A flight and several hours worth of train travel had made him introspective rather than anxious, but maybe that was because he was completely okay with whatever happened next in his life; he was free, he could go anywhere, and very few things tethered him down.
Somewhere on the train ride, mountains began to pop up; on his left side, the side of him pressed against the window, mountains stood stoically several miles behind the Big River. On his right, across the aisle and through someone else's window, he could see more mountains, gradually hugging closer and closer to the tracks.
The village he was heading to was in a valley of sorts, at the base of one particular mountain, which rested, if his map was correct, on the right side of the tracks.
He felt a zing in his hand, and he looked down at his phone.
are you here yet?
Mochi rolled his eyes.
No, Im not you ass. Ill be there in like five mins.
good we are sick of waiting
Fuck off
Five minutes was actually about two, and soon Mochi was throwing his backpack over his shoulder, and grabbing his large duffle bag to meet the cool and fresh air outside.
It was the dead of summer, and he had not thought to unpack his jacket, but it was chilly outside; apparently this climate was going to be much more temperate and cool. He didn't know how he felt about this, but he continued onward, lugging his duffle bag, sunglasses offering him a squint-free view of the platform. Ah. There they were.
"KURAMOCHI! OVER HERE!"
Mochi, in spite of himself, smiled. He hadn't known he missed that obnoxiously loud voice until now, having not heard it in person for at least a year and a half...not since they all attended a former teammates' wedding.
"Sawamura, shut up, I can see and hear you loud and clear!" Mochi sniggered.
"Yeah, and stop waving your hand like an idiot," Miyuki, who stood next to Sawamura, said.
"You guys are so mean," Sawamura wailed, "I haven't seen Kuramochi in ages!"
"Neither have I, but you don't see me being so loud," Miyuki grinned, giving him a playful poke in the cheek. Sawamura slapped his hand away and pouted.
"Good to see your dynamic never changes," Mochi said, rolling his eyes, "I thought living together might have done something to you both...glad to see I was wrong."
As soon as Mochi was within range, Sawamura abandoned all pretense and threw his arms roughly around him. He staggered under the weight, dropped his duffle bag, and awkwardly patted Sawamura's back. He heard Miyuki chuckling.
"Shut up, Miyuki," he said darkly, "Get off of me, moron."
Sawamura pulled away, and Mochi gave him a firm punch in the arm.
"So, assholes," Mochi picked his bag up again and adjusted his backpack, "Where to now?"
"It's not a far walk to our place," Miyuki said, drinking a mug--an actual ceramic mug--of coffee, steam rising from it like ghosts. Mochi stared at it for a moment. Had he carried that all the way here? Didn't he have a travel mug? Goddamn hipster.
"I'll lead the way!" Sawamura declared, chest puffed out, and finger extended into the air. He almost smacked a pregnant woman across the face when he whirled around dramatically and began to march towards the village.
"So, how is it back home?" Miyuki asked, the two of them allowing Sawamura to storm a few paces ahead, babbling excitedly but needlessly.
"Alright. Hot as hell. Wasn't expecting this weather. It was eighty degrees today...and that was a chilly spell."
"Damn."
"What is it here?"
Miyuki pulled out his phone.
"Uh...fifty-eight."
"Geez."
"It doesn't really change all that much. It gets colder in the winter, but in the summer it's usually in the sixties or low seventies here. It's even colder up at the peak where you'll be going tomorrow."
"Great."
"You brought a jacket?"
"Yeah. Actually, can we pull over so I can put it on?"
"Eijun!" Miyuki barked, "Stop a minute."
"Is Kuramochi tired?" Sawamura walked over.
"No, asshole, I just need my jacket," Mochi dug through his bag until he found the bunched up, studded, fake leather he was looking for.
"Pfft, why am I not surprised?" Miyuki smirked.
"Woooaaah, Kuramochi, are you a punk?" Sawamura asked genuinely, wide-eyed.
"Wha--no!" Mochi slapped him in the back of the head. Sawamura squawked and cussed.
Although, to be honest, he kind of was. Back in high school, playing baseball with these two, he was either always in his school uniform or his baseball uniform. They had never really seen too much of his actual style of dress except in those rare moments they would hang out outside of school.
"Speaking of which, tough guy, you might wanna pop in a more appropriate earring for tomorrow, or take it out altogether," Miyuki said, pointing at the silver skull-and-crossbones stud in his left ear.
"I know that!" Mochi said heatedly, "I've had jobs before, dickwad."
Miyuki's shoulders shook as he chuckled. Mochi hoped Miyuki would spill his coffee on the uneven cobblestone street.
"I'll take this bag!" Sawamura said gallantly, tossing Mochi's hefty duffle bag over his shoulder, "You must be tired!"
Mochi was in no position to argue.
The village was beautiful; all old buildings, smushed together, brightly colored shutters and flower boxes and ivy growing up the sides. A few small fences separated teeny lawns and gardens. The architecture was much different than home, and as they passed by town hall, spires tall and elegant against the sky mirroring the cathedral across from it, Mochi tripped on a loose stone in the road and almost tumbled forward.
Miyuki laughed at him.
Miyuki's bakery and café was on the ground floor of a pretty and narrow building with bright blue shutters. A few people sat outside underneath umbrellas, sipping coffee as they walked inside.
"This is nice...I wasn't sure what I was expecting," Mochi said, looking around at the mosaic-tile floor and clean white walls. The place was decorated with a few leafy green plants and paintings of sunflowers. The place was bright, cheerful, comfortable, and small.
"Eijun decorated it," Miyuki admitted, ears going a little red, "He loves sunflowers."
Mochi made a gagging noise, but in reality he thought Sawamura actually did a nice job. And he was surprised Miyuki relinquished decoration control for his business to someone else. But maybe it wasn't that surprising after all; Miyuki was sharp and cold, but when it came to Eijun Sawamura, Miyuki always got disgustingly mushy.
Whatever.
They walked past a pretty girl working on her laptop at a table by the window--she glanced up at Mochi as he passed--and made their way past the counter, where, surrounded by glass casing, sat all the good stuff.
Miyuki may be a major douche, but he sure as hell knew how to bake. The case was filled with buttery croissants and rich chocolate cupcakes, iced to perfection. There were cookies of all kinds and mini cheesecakes and tarts, berries bright and glazed with sugar, sandwiched between fudgy brownies and plump cannoli and creampuffs. On the other side of the case were actual sandwiches, made from bread baked there, with dozens of choices on the filler. Mochi's stomach grumbled.
The great irony, here, was that Miyuki disliked sweets. Or, rather, he disliked sweets in large quantities. He enjoyed eating half a cupcake or a few bites of tiramisu, but otherwise steered clear of too much sugar.
Mochi had no idea how he baked so well all things considered.
"Mochi," Miyuki said, realizing he had stopped following and was staring at the case, "Don't worry I'll let you eat, but let's put your crap away first."
Mochi begrudgingly left the dazzling display, the woman working the register giving him a sympathetic look, and followed his friends to the back, through a narrow door and up a set of tight stairs.
Their apartment was lovely. Literally a textbook dream, and it seemed as though it was by accident; there didn't appear to be rhyme or reason to much of their furniture and decorations, and knowing Miyuki, none of the decorations were his. The kitchen and living room were not separate, the apartment was really all one big room, minus the bathroom and bedroom. Their couch was a fold-out one, already out and made, the place all natural light and wooden floors and cream walls except for the kitchen, which sported a brick wall that reminded Mochi of home.
But what caught his eye was the painting above the couch...a familiar one of bright, neon-esque colors and urban skyline.
"That's mine," Mochi said.
"Yep!" Sawamura beamed, dropping Mochi's duffle bag onto the fold-out bed, "It most certainly is! It's the gift you gave us when we moved away."
Mochi nodded absently, eyes tracing the contours of the whirling shapes until they locked onto his small signature in the corner, 'Mochi'.
He had decided, while studying art in college, to use his high school nickname as his professional name. It was short, it was simple, it was kind of catchy. By the time he graduated, he was using this nickname for himself in general, and it kind of became his persona.
"Of course you put it in such a place of honor; the centerpiece of your living room! Kyahaha!" Mochi barked, his laughter ringing through the air.
"Of course!" Sawamura huffed as though offended, "Why wouldn't we? You are going to be the next...next...Michelangelo!"
Miyuki and Mochi looked at each other...then promptly broke into laughter. Sawamura turned beet red, crossed his arms, turned redder, then looked away.
"I was just trying to give him a compliment..."
"Ha--ha...oh my god," Miyuki rubbed tears from underneath his glasses.
"You...that was the best," Mochi snorted, "I missed this..."
They laughed for a little longer, Sawamura glared, then eventually simmered into chuckles.
"Well, there's where you'll be sleeping," Miyuki said finally, gesturing to the bed, arm limp from the exhaustion of laughing so hard.
"...thanks."
Pause.
"Michelangelo," Miyuki said, corner of his mouth twitching upwards again. Mochi looked at him a moment, then they both started cackling again.
"Okay, I get it, it was dumb to say!" Sawamura shouted.
*
Miyuki ran down to the café to get Mochi a sandwich and a cupcake. Mochi ate, chatted a bit with Sawamura and Miyuki, then settled down on the fold-out bed for a nap as Sawamura needed to grade papers and Miyuki was going to start dinner.
He slept hard, harder than he meant to, a dreamless and drool-worthy sleep. When he was roused by a Sawamura giggle somewhere nearby, he felt warm and comfortable, the heat and pleasant aroma from the kitchen radiating throughout the apartment. He blinked once, twice, then sat up.
Miyuki had an arm around Sawamura's waist and had smeared a bit of what appeared to be garlic butter on his nose. Sawamura was giggling and trying to wipe it off.
Disgusting.
"You know I'm right here, right?" he asked, attempting to sound harsh, but his voice was groggy and soft...apparently he wasn't still fully awake yet.
Both Miyuki and Sawamura jumped, but their following reactions were very different; Sawamura blushed and tried to push Miyuki away, but Miyuki--smirking directly at Mochi--held on even tighter and proceeded to lick, slow and deliberately grotesque, a long line along Sawamura's jaw and cheek. Sawamura squeaked like a mouse, surprisingly demure, and smacked Miyuki in the shoulder.
"You," Mochi said, unfazed, "Are a disgusting human being, Miyuki."
"Thank you!"
"That wasn't a compliment!" Sawamura smacked him again.
"You guys gonna share that?" Mochi said, rising from the bed, and pointing at a half-empty bottle of wine sitting on the counter behind them.
"Fine, fine," Miyuki sighed, releasing his hold on Sawamura, "There's glasses in that cupboard."
The wine was dry, warming his belly, and paired with the toasty kitchen he was sweating a little. He remembered that he was still wearing his leather jacket and stripped it off, his gray tee allowing some air and breath.
"So how's work, guys? You both living the dream?" Mochi asked, sitting at the small kitchen table that was more in the 'living' space than the 'kitchen' space.
"Okay, I guess," Sawamura grabbed his glass of wine and sat down across from Mochi, "The summer school kids are restless, but otherwise good. And I miss coaching baseball for the school; that always keeps me sane, but I have to wait until the next season...our team didn't make it to the tournament this year."
If anyone had told Mochi that Sawamura would have ended up teaching anything in a house of learning in high school, he would have laughed. However, Sawamura did always have a knack for history, especially military history, and had gone to college on a baseball scholarship to pursue it.
"Pfft, yeah, and all of the teenage girls have a crush on him," Miyuki snorted from the stovetop, "Sometimes when I walk to the school to give him his forgotten lunch, I see them gaggling over him."
There was, perhaps, the slightest tone of jealousy in Miyuki's voice, but it was mostly amusement.
"They do not!" Sawamura flushed, golden eyes staring defiantly at Miyuki's broad back. His flushed face complimented him somehow, freckles strewn on his skin, making him appear almost childlike despite being in his mid-twenties, angular jaw set and handsome in contrast. Mochi couldn't blame the teenage girls...or Miyuki, for that matter. Sawamura was addicting in a strange way; silly, fierce, hardworking, beautiful. And he had no idea.
"They probably do," Mochi grinned, "They probably work extra hard for your attention."
"Oh my god, gross," Sawamura covered his face, "I am not into teenage girls."
"That's a blessed relief," Mochi grinned, taking a swig of wine.
Mochi knew, deep down, that back in high school he had harbored a bit of a crush on Sawamura himself, a fact he'd take to his grave. It was a crush that was fleeting and soon overshadowed by someone else, a friend Sawamura had from his hometown, a beautiful girl with determined eyes and cutting words.
But he didn't want to think about that right now.
They continued to drink and chat; Miyuki talked about how business at his bakery was booming, how he was able to take more time off now that he could afford a full staff and fellow pastry chef, and how he was coming up with a new and secret recipe for the best icing ever. Mochi nodded and drank more wine, and when the wine was gone, beer was brought out and he drank more. There was a slight tension in the air, both of his friends were careful not to ask too much about how he was doing, and he was grateful for it.
Half-drunk and happy, they sat down to Miyuki's dinner; steak and shrimp with a side of sautéed vegetables and pierogis. Mochi had never had pierogis before, he wasn't sure why, but they were delicious.
"I'm glad you guys are happy and living well here," Mochi said in an uncharacteristic moment of sentimentality, "You seem to really be making a life for yourselves."
"We...we are," Sawamura gave Miyuki a sideways glance. Miyuki gave a small nod.
"....what?" Mochi asked.
"Um...it's just...ah," Sawamura scratched the back of his head. Mochi waited. Silence.
"Eijun!" Miyuki said sharply.
"Oh! Well, you see...ah...I asked Miyuki the other day...well, actually, Miyuki asked me, if we wanna be technical, here...but..."
"What he is trying to say," Miyuki said, "Is that we are engaged."
Oh shit.
"That's some real shit," Mochi said.
"Yes. Yes it is."
"Congratulations," Mochi said, smiling. They sat a second. Then excitement started to truly bubble in his stomach as reality sunk in; two of his closest friends were getting married, "Congratulations! That's actually awesome!"
"Thanks," Miyuki exhaled in relief, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips, "We're really excited."
"WE'VE CHOSEN A DECEMBER WEDDING!" Sawamura shouted. Mochi and Miyuki winced.
"December? Of next year?"
"No," Miyuki said, looking sheepish all of the sudden, "Of this year."
Mochi blinked.
"You literally have six months to plan a wedding."
"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock."
"Damn. Why the rush?"
"We...we're ready," Miyuki smiled down at his beer, a sappy kind of smile, one that made Mochi a little embarrassed, proud, and envious all at the same time.
"IT WILL BE BEAUTIFUL, KURAMOCHI, JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE!" Sawamura continued, "IT WILL BE A FEW DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS!"
"Must you yell?" Mochi snapped. Sawamura ignored him.
"AND MIYUKI WANTS YOU TO BE HIS BEST MAN!"
Mochi froze. Sawamura also froze. Then he winced, slowly turning to Miyuki, who was scowling.
"I was supposed to ask, idiot," he said darkly.
"Sorry! I got excited."
"That's okay," Mochi said, reclining in his seat and purposely resting his feet on the side of the table--he saw Miyuki glare, "I won't accept until you ask."
"Firstly," Miyuki said, "Get your feet off my table. Secondly, there is something we need to clear with you first."
Oh. This piqued Mochi's interest, so he slowly slid his feet off of the table, purposely letting them plop to the ground noisily.
"What is it? Am I not allowed to wear combat boots to your wedding?" Mochi teased. Miyuki and Sawamura looked at each other anxiously, and suddenly Mochi didn't feel so lighthearted.
"Mochi," Miyuki sighed after a minute, "We want you to be our best man, but we also have a maid of honor."
"....okay."
"She's...she's my childhood friend, I've known her for forever," Sawamura said quickly, "But if you're uncomfortable--"
So there it was. Wakana would be the maid of honor.
"--It's fine. Wakana and I are fine. We split on good terms," he said quickly.
Even though I'm still in love with her.
"We know," Sawamura said, glancing nervously at Miyuki, who was now staring at his empty plate very intently, "It's just...well...we want to make sure you are okay with that. That you're comfortable."
"I am," Mochi said firmly, ignoring the throbbing in his chest.
"Okay," Sawamura smiled happily, letting out an exhale, "Okay, good. That's all we wanted to know."
"Yeah," Mochi said, feeling hollow, "Yeah."
*
Miyuki and Sawamura were both gone by the time Mochi rolled out of bed, hungover, the next day at nine in the morning. He was pretty sure his brain was on fire, but no big deal, right?
He showered and freshened up; it was his interview day, the day that would decide whether he stayed out here in the boonies or not.
Mochi had spent the last three years out of college attempting to build a career for himself as an artist. It wasn't going too well; he didn't have the resources to get his name out there, or to make friends with the right people. And that city was so big...he was swallowed up in it, drowning in it, with hundreds of other artists like him, crawling and biting to get their work noticed.
During his first showing, only ten people showed up, all friends.
During his second, he got more, about eighteen, but they were also all friends or friends of friends.
His third had only five.
His fourth? Four.
He wasn't a bad artist; this much, he knew. He had sold several pieces at the showings he had had. He got excellent marks back when he was in school. He had validity. But he just didn't have a way to break that market; a way to befriend the artistic patrons. He had made a grave mistake in college; he had spent his time partying and goofing off instead of building connections. And now he was screwed. Broke and screwed.
He worked in a factory on the outskirts of the city to pay his rent. It was monotonous and miserable. He quit.
Then, his girlfriend of five years broke up with him. Just like that.
It all happened so fast.
Six months passed. He was forced to move back home with his mother, not having a means of income. He drew a little, painted a little, but was uninterested in getting his work back out there. And he started to wonder if he was really that good an artist after all.
During the seventh month, he took his motorcycle and what remained of his savings, and went on a road trip. Within a month he was broke and back home again. He wallowed for another few months before he heard from Sawamura.
"My friend, Haruichi, has a job opening at his estate. I mentioned you. He's interested in an interview. I know you said you were looking for a job!" he had said, voice screeching over the phone.
In truth, Mochi was not looking for a job. He was depressed, he was tired, he was sad...but he wouldn't ever admit it. So he sent in his resume, sold his beloved motorcycle for some quick cash, and packed his bags.
And now he was here.
For a 'train operator' gig.
He had no idea how trains worked.
Anyways, Mochi was glad to be out of that city. It was stifling. He needed air. He needed change. Maybe he didn't need to be an artist; maybe he just needed to survive.
Mochi put on a white button-down shirt and black slacks. Both were a little wrinkled from his bag, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He didn't even know where Miyuki and Sawamura kept their iron.
He didn't have a tie, either. Fuck.
He crept into their bedroom, quiet as a mouse, even though Sawamura was running errands, and Miyuki was downstairs working. He opened the closet door and found a hanger of ties; he didn't know whose was whose, nor did he care. He took a green one and put it on, the soft silk sliding in his fingers, then threw on his leather jacket, put a plain silver post in his ear, and made his way downstairs to the sweet-smelling bakery below.
"Morning, sunshine," Miyuki sneered from the cappuccino machine behind the counter, "You look nice. Nervous?"
"No," Mochi lied, "Gimme some free coffee."
Miyuki rolled his eyes.
"Give me a minute," he said, finishing up the frothy drink he was making, then handed it to a customer. He wiped his hands on his apron, then got Mochi a coffee (Mochi was half-expecting Miyuki to tell him no, so he was pleasantly surprised).
"Hey, can you handle things on your own a sec? I need to help out this idiot over here," Miyuki said to the girl behind the register. She nodded.
"I am not an idiot," Mochi said, pouring some milk into his coffee, "I'm a charming gentleman and you are an asinine barista."
Miyuki snorted.
"Yeah, you are super charming. Definitely someone parents want their children to bring home. Does your messy half-pompadour-half-almost-a-fauxhawk scare everyone away? Or is it your ripped jeans and leather?"
Mochi grinned. Miyuki was a dick, but this banter was almost comforting in a way. He had missed Miyuki greatly...which was weird, considering he never would have even thought they would have become friends in the first place.
"So," Miyuki went on, leaning onto the counter, "You know where you're going?"
"I think so, I have a map, here," Mochi said, yanking a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, "But if you want to give me a brief rundown, that might help."
Miyuki straightened up and gave Mochi a description of how to get to the base of the mountain.
"And remember," he said, "You want to find the wooden booth that says 'Kominato' on it...if you find the other booth, you'll just end up at the public cog train, and that won't take you up to the peak."
"...right. Okay. Thanks."
"...is that Sawamura's tie?"
"Bye!"
Mochi, while walking out in the sunshine, aviators on and juggling his coffee and the map, wondered vaguely if he would ever fit in here. This place was so beautiful and quiet, and though he had seen plenty of hot young people around, he worried about making friends.
He almost got lost at one point, but asked someone for help; they told him that yes, he was going the right way. He almost spilled coffee on his white shirt after tripping on a loose cobblestone.
The mountain loomed above, white rock and green pine, and when he finally spotted the wooden booth (a few hundred feet from the public booth), he exhaled in relief; he had left early, but his slow walking (to make sure he didn't miss a turn) had eaten up a lot of time; he had only five minutes to spare.
"Hi," Mochi said, walking up to the booth, which was large, much larger than he was expecting. It was a squat structure, unpainted save for the 'Kominato' sign above. The roof was shallow and shingled, and large windows surrounded three sides of the small building. The window to the front slid open and a blond operator blinked at him. Behind the operator, the room was about the size of a large office; there were a few rows of filing cabinets lining the back wall, and a clock hanging on the unwindowed wall to the left. The operator was sitting in a swively chair, a book open in front of him.
"Can I help you?"
The operator's voice sounded lethargic and unfriendly.
"Um...yeah, I'm Youichi Kuramochi. I'm here for an inter--"
"--Oh. So you're the guy," he said, unsmiling, "Hold on, let me get things set up here."
Mochi wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead; it was a warmer day, his phone said it was about seventy degrees, but he was too lazy to take off his jacket, especially with the coffee in his hand. He watched as the operator played with a few knobs.
"Okay," he said, soulless green eyes on Mochi's, "The train is ready. Come on around to the side."
Mochi walked to the left, where a few stairs attached to the side of the booth rose to a small platform. The operator, leaving his booth through the door beneath the platform, joined Mochi in climbing the stairs.
This cog train was only one car. The operator wrenched open the shiny green door for Mochi and waited. Mochi leaned forward and peered inside the cabin. It was kind of classy-looking, all wood-paneled with red upholstery. Jesus, this is nice, how rich is this guy? He sat.
"Keep your feet off of the upholstery," the operator said rudely. Mochi glared at him.
"Where do I go when the train stops?"
"Someone will be there to see you at the end."
"Oh."
The operator disappeared, and Mochi waited. Then the train lurched upwards, click-claketing, as the cogs turned below, carrying itself upwards.
And then Mochi looked out the window.
God, it was breathtaking.
All green, everywhere. And as the train climbed higher, Mochi saw everything: cows grazing, the backdrop the wide blue Big River and crystal sky and mountains. Then the train entered a pine forest, lush and shady, the smell of it rich and fresh, even through the confines of the train's walls and windows. As the train went higher still, the scene opened up again, big bright sun, and now, through the windows and above the forest, Mochi could see everything for miles.
"Woah," he said, breath fogging the window.
The train kept going, and soon trees gave way to craggy white rock and green grass and wildflowers. Mochi was enjoying the view, but starting to get anxious; he hadn't expected the train ride to take so long...he had gotten there with five minutes to spare, but the train ride had so far been about twenty minutes.
He tried to smush his face against the window to attempt to see what lay ahead, but it didn't really work. He sighed, then slumped back against the seat. His face had left smudges on the window. He left them there.
The train slowed. He perked back up again, as a booth almost identical to the one below slid into view on the right side; unlike the other, it was level with the platform. The train halted, and Mochi froze, a little confused. Should he...should he open the door? Was it safe? It wouldn't start moving again, would it?
Eh, fuck it. Mochi shoved open the heavy door with his feet, leaving marks on the door, just as the booth door across from him opened.
"Mister Kuramochi?" said a small voice. Mochi stepped out, and met a short--very short--man, with thick bangs covering half of his eyes, and a light flush on his cheeks.
"Um...yeah. You can just call me Kuramochi. Or Mochi," he said, holding what remained of his coffee, now cold. And he was cold too. It was definitely chilly up here.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Haruichi Kominato," the young man extended a hand, and Mochi took it. Despite the soft demeanor of the man, Haruichi had a firm grip. Mochi was not expecting his employer to look like this.
"Nice to meet you."
"Was the ride pleasant?"
"Yeah...sorry I'm late, I didn't think the train ride would take so long."
"Not a problem; I have the day off," Haruichi smiled, pink flush still on his cheeks, "Shall I show you around? We can do the interview in the parlor."
Parlor? Did people still have those?
"Um, sure."
"Well, let's start at the booth, shall we?" Haruichi stepped aside, and Mochi walked in.
It was exactly like the booth below; a control panel on a countertop, filing cabinets, swivel chair. There was a small wood stove in the corner. The view through the windows was gorgeous. They were at the peak of a mountain, after all.
"Should all go well, this is where you will work. Koushuu, the base operator below, will continue to work down there."
"Oh. Cool," Mochi said stupidly. Haruichi smiled again, then gestured for Mochi to follow.
They left the booth, and past the train sat a huge mansion, brown stone, perched right at the base of the actual highest point of the mountain; the peak housed a small observation deck. The house was grand, covered in windows and detailed stonework, but was otherwise simple. There was no landscaping or foliage; just a stone path that led to the front door, the grass surrounding it a duller green than even just a few hundred feet below. Perhaps because of the altitude?
"Brief history," Haruichi said, hands in his pockets. It was very windy up here, "Our family came here a very long time ago. They bought a third of the mountain, the top third, and have lived here for generations."
Mochi blinked. Who the fuck just 'bought a mountain'?
"The lower chunk is mostly a national park, but there are a few farms."
Mochi started feeling genuinely cold in the wind. He should have brought a scarf.
"Here we go," Haruichi said, taking a few steps to the large front doors, "Inside."
It was like walking onto a movie set. Mochi had no idea people even still lived like this. Rich red walls and mahogany floors; crystal everywhere in chandeliers, glasses, decorations...Mochi gaped, but Haruichi continued to walk, and so he stumbled along after, feeling like he was somehow removed from himself, watching himself walk around a house that looked like it belonged in the past.
Thank god it had electricity. He half-expected candles and shit. Isn't that what old-fashioned people used?
Haruichi took his jacket, hung it up, and showed him around, grand room after grand room. Haruichi also introduced him to one of the maids (one of the maids...which meant there were more) and to the cook.
"So, you have, like...um...servants?" Mochi asked.
Haruichi exhaled.
"They are employees. We have three maids to keep up a house this size, and a cook. My brother's personal assistant acts kind of as a butler when they are home. We pay very well."
"Oh."
Mochi felt like he was drowning a little.
"Have a seat," Haruichi gestured to an elegant couch, curved and royal blue. Mochi plopped onto it.
"So...what do you guys do, exactly?" he asked, not sure if it was rude to ask or not.
"I'll be happy to tell you; first, are you finished with that?"
Mochi looked at him in confusion for a minute before realizing he was still holding his cold, half-empty coffee. He nodded, then set the cup into Haruichi's outstretched hand. Haruichi pulled out his phone, typed a moment, then sat, cup in hand.
"Um, if you want me to hold onto that, I can--"
"No need. Someone's coming to get it. Let's get started, but first I'll answer your question. Do you like tea?"
Mochi was having trouble following Haruichi's surprisingly rapid-fire sentences.
"I...uh...what?"
"Tea," Haruichi cocked his head to the side, "I was going to have tea made for us, but if you already drank your coffee..."
"Oh!" Mochi threw his hands in the air, "No need, no need, don't worry about me, I'm fine."
Mochi felt very uncomfortable in this big fancy house on this fancy couch. Fancy tea would just make him more self-conscious.
"Very well," Haruichi said, handing the cup to a maid who came in, "To answer your question, we own a toy company, Kominato Bros."
Mochi forgot himself and actually smacked a palm to his forehead. Of course. It was the largest toy company in the world.
"It used to just be 'Kominato Toys', but my brother changed it when he took charge," Haruichi went on, looking vaguely amused as Mochi's face drained of color.
How the fuck was idiot 'Mura friends with one of the richest toy manufacturers in the world?
"I'm surprised you didn't know," Haruichi said. He didn't sound insulted; rather, he appeared amused. Mochi groaned.
"Sorry, I...ah, didn't quite put two and two together."
"It's fine; shall we go on?"
"Yeah, definitely."
"Okay, so, according to your resume," Haruichi said, pulling his phone back out of his pocket and scrolling, "You graduated three years ago with a degree in Art. You did a lot of freelance work, and then some work operating machinery at a factory. Why come here for this job?"
"I...needed a change of pace. And this seemed like a good opportunity to get out of the city."
"Why this job specifically?"
I need money, and Sawamura knows you so I have an in.
"Well," Mochi scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, "I was looking for a job, something to supplement my artwork, and Sawamura said you had an opening."
"I see."
"But," Mochi said quickly, "I, uh, have always been fascinated with cog trains and stuff."
Lies, of course.
"Well," Haruichi leaned back, "Your references are good, and Sawamura has told me a lot about you. I think you can start immediately."
Mochi's jaw dropped. Already? The interview was over? How was that even an interview?
"I wanted to meet you first, my brother and I like to personally meet our estate employees, but you seem sharp and reliable."
Mochi nodded stupidly, his neck cracking.
"I...yeah, thanks!"
"You can start tomorrow, if you like. Koushuu has your work schedule and everything; on your way home you can stop in the booth down there and he can give you the details and rundown of how things work around here. Any questions?"
"Yeah, actually," Mochi ran his fingers through his hair, relieved that he hadn't sold his motorcycle in vain, "Sawamura mentioned housing...?"
"Yes," Haruichi nodded, "Should you get the all-clear, there is a small cabin by the booth--we passed it on the way up here--that can be yours free of charge. It is entirely self-sufficient however; there is electricity and plumbing, but no heat. There's a woodstove, and you have to get your own wood."
"That's fine!" Mochi said quickly, not really thinking it through.
"Good. I will show you the cabin on the way back to the booth. You can stay there starting tomorrow. And once your trial is over, you may stay there for as long as you work here."
Wait...trial? Didn't he have the job?
"What do you mean, 'trial'?" Mochi asked curtly.
"I didn't tell you?" Haruichi flushed red, now, "I'm so sorry, I must have forgot to mention it in my emails! For the next few days you will work and be paid, but be on a 'trial' if you will. My brother is the one who owns the estate; the final decision as to whether you stay rests with him. He'll be back from a business trip in a few days. We would have waited to hire until he was back, but it is hard to run this train with only one person operating it."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Oh."
"Don't worry!" Haruichi exclaimed, "Ryousuke will like you very much! I know his type. You're definitely someone he'd hire. All you have to do is work hard and you'll be fine."
Mochi couldn't shake the feeling that for all of Haruichi's embarrassed reassurances, his negligence in informing Mochi of a trial was intentional.
Haruichi showed Mochi the cabin, which was more of a shed in Mochi's opinion, but it would do. Then he shook Mochi's hand, and sent him on his way. Haruichi called Koushuu and had him remotely start the train once Mochi was in and secure.
It had been a weird fucking day.
*
"YOU LITTLE SHIT-FACED DICKWAD!" Mochi yelled as Sawamura squawked.
He had Sawamura in a twisted wrestling hold, something he hadn't done in years, and Miyuki looked on nonchalantly, sipping a cup of water.
"Ugh--I didn't--ouch!--I didn't think to mention it!" Sawamura grunted, "Let go of me! Kazuya, help your fiancé!"
Miyuki grinned wickedly, then took another casual sip of water.
"How on earth did you forget to mention I'd be working with the owners of one of the largest toy companies in the world?!"
"I dunno. He's just Haruichi to me."
Mochi released Sawamura, and gave him a kick in the ass for good measure. Sawamura rubbed his behind, then plopped on the couch to pout.
"So, you said his brother has to take a look at you?" Miyuki asked.
"Yeah...apparently his brother is the one that actually owns the estate."
Sawamura had an evil look on his face at that, and both Miyuki and Mochi noticed it right away.
"What's that look for?"
"Nothing," Sawamura said smugly, "Just that you might die."
Miyuki and Mochi looked at each other.
"I might...what now?"
"Not literally, but Ryosuke is...much different than his brother. Well, in some ways. Basically, he's scary. Evil. Terrifying," he said.
"Oh, please," Mochi rolled his eyes, "If you're trying to scare me, it won't work."
"I'm trying to warn you," Sawamura said, crossing his arms.
"Well...whatever, I just have to do a decent job, that's all," Mochi shrugged.
"Try not to act, you know, like you," Miyuki said.
"Gee, thanks."
Pause.
"Guys?" Mochi asked.
"Huh?"
"Thanks for letting me crash here."
"Wow, that's awfully decent of you..."
"KURAMOCHI, ARE YOU FEELING UNDER THE WEATHER?!"
*
Koushuu had not given the details to Mochi on his way home the previous day, saying simply--and bossily--that it would make much more sense to do everything on his first day. So now Mochi had to get into work even earlier.
At seven thirty in the morning, Mochi quietly folded up the couch-bed. He had gotten up at seven and showered and dressed in the same clothes he wore the previous day (he wasn't sure what he was supposed to wear...it didn't appear Koushuu had a uniform), then walked downstairs to the bakery and bought a coffee (Miyuki had Sundays off, so was still sleeping along with Sawamura).
It was cold, rainy, and dark. Mochi nuzzled his nose into his scarf, shoved his free hand into his jacket pocket, and walked briskly through the slick streets. He didn't have an umbrella, and as he walked he worried about rainwater soaking into his backpack in the soggy chill; that backpack had most of his toiletries and belongings; he was too lazy to drag both bags to the base of the mountain in one go, so when he got the all-clear he figured he'd go back and get his rucksack from the apartment.
Shivering and wet, he glared at Koushuu through the glass as he took his time getting up from his seat and opening the locked door.
"Good morning," Koushuu said. It sounded almost mocking.
"Well it is morning, I guess," Mochi said darkly, holding his warm coffee to him like a lifeline, "I'm surprised you wanted me to get here earlier when you could have just talked to me yesterday and slept in."
He really was trying to not be accusatory--he really was!--but Mochi had never been the best with...tact.
"I like mornings," Koushuu said, sitting back down in his seat.
Of course you do.
"Yeah, well, so, I'm here," Mochi set his coffee down on the counter and wiggled out of his soaking wet leather jacket.
"Let's start. Have a seat."
Mochi sat.
"I'll act as your manager," Koushuu said, pulling out a folder, "So I'll be in charge of your schedule. If you need days off, you need to ask me about it."
Mochi didn't like the idea of this little smartass being in charge.
"Okay."
"Let's start with the basics; there is no uniform or strict dress code; just wear clothing that doesn't have obscenities on it, and you'll be fine...and no holes," he added, giving Mochi a once-over, "The exception to this is on days where there is an event at the estate; you'll have to dress in business attire...what you're wearing now is fine for that."
Mochi, coffee in hand, had wandered over to the woodstove and sat on the floor in front of it, the heat pressing against his body.
"As far as your schedule, you will work Mondays through Fridays from nine until five. However, on certain days, one or both of us have to stay later or work at night. You get paid extra for this."
"What about weekends?" Mochi asked, frowning. How did the Kominatos get up and down the mountain then?
"I work weekends," Koushuu said, "Which is why you will be alone on Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Aw, cool, no weekends!" Mochi said happily, taking a celebratory swig of coffee. Some of it dribbled on his chin. Koushuu watched him in disgust.
"Unless there is an event," Koushuu added.
"Yeah, yeah."
"Tuesday, you'll have to stay late," Koushuu said, leaning over and handing Mochi his schedule.
"What's happening that day?"
"Mister Kominato will be coming back from his trip that evening."
It took Mochi a solid five seconds to realize that he was referring to Ryousuke and not Haruichi.
"Oh."
"For communication between the two of us," Koushuu went on, "We use these," he pointed at a walkie-talkie, "There's one just like it up there."
Mochi nodded, and watched as Koushuu showed him how to turn the walkie-talkie on, but his mind was really on how cozy he felt by the fire and how he did not want to sit in the cold train car for twenty minutes while it reached the top. Oh, well. At least he'd be dry.
"This is how we coordinate when someone is taking the train," Koushuu said, setting the walkie-talkie down, "And before I show you the controls and everything, I guess I should give you this."
Mochi almost dropped his coffee as Koushuu tossed him a key on a lanyard.
"The door to these booths lock automatically as they close; keep that lanyard around your neck at all times, like I do."
Mochi rolled his eyes, took another drink, and draped the lanyard around his neck.
Koushuu then showed Mochi the controls on his board, and the next forty-five minutes were dedicated to Mochi actually having to pay close attention. Then Koushuu had Mochi practice; they sent the train up and down remotely, but it was a little scary controlling something so large and expensive without being able to see it.
"Don't worry," Koushuu said blandly, "It's easier with two people, because you don't have to rely on that dinging to let you know to slow down the train; you can actually see it."
Mochi nodded nervously. Maybe he shouldn't have drank that coffee.
"But otherwise, your job is mostly just sitting there. For hours," Koushuu said.
Oh, thank god, that's what I was hoping for! An easy job, no worries...that's what I wanted, Mochi thought, sighing.
Koushuu sent him up, and on the cold ride, listening to the clack of the train and the patter of the rain, Mochi allowed his mind to wander...to his art, to high school baseball, to where his life had led him, to brown hair and strong personality, her eyes big and brown and fiesty...
"Nope," he said to himself, voice sounding odd in the empty train. He wasn't going to think about her now. Not now.
When he reached the top, he knew his first task would be to figure out how to light a woodstove without asphyxiating himself. If it had been cold down there, it was downright freezing up here, the wild wind blowing rain viciously into the windows.
There were a few logs stacked. He poked at them with his foot.
"Hey. Hey, Koushuu," Mochi said, picking up his walkie-talkie, "Koushuu! Hey."
"I can hear you. What do you want?"
"How do I use the woodstove?"
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah, man, I am."
"Where did you say you were from?"
Mochi pursed his lips and took a deep breath. Calm. He was not going to swear at his coworker, especially when he was his supervisor.
"I am not from around here," he said, hand shaking around the walkie-talkie.
"Google it."
Mochi fumed, used all of his willpower not to tell Koushuu to fuck off. Instead, he slowly set down the walkie-talkie, sat down in the swivel chair, and proceeded to freeze his ass off.
At least I'm protected from the wind, he thought angrily, And all my coffee is gone; I wish I had more.
His willpower lasted for an hour or so. There was nothing he needed to do, really. He was okay with a job that was ninety-nine percent sitting and staring off into the void, but it was frigid and he was bored. So he grabbed his phone and answered a few texts...one of which was from his mom.
Then he Googled how to light a goddamn woodstove.
*
The next two days were just as cold and rainy as the first day. He had moved into the cabin temporarily, and now that he knew how to work the stoves, he was no longer freezing to death. The cabin was small, all one room, with a teeny kitchen and a narrow bed, with just enough room for a small circular table and two mismatched chairs.
There was a narrow, closet sized bathroom. Mochi had to virtually step over the toilet to get to the shower.
Definitely not his first choice in living space, but it was free, so who was he to argue? Besides, the place was so tiny, the woodstove actually made it rather toasty.
He had seen snippets of Haruichi in passing with his clients (apparently the brothers worked predominantly from the house). He'd usually thank Mochi when Mochi tripped out of the booth to open the door for everyone, but otherwise Mochi's hours were lonely and long.
Once or twice he had tried to chat a bit with Koushuu via walkie-talkie, but Koushuu had literally told him to "leave him alone" and to "stop bothering him unless it was important". The only time Koushuu spoke to him was to teach him basic maintenance and fixes for the train; they had actual maintenance personnel from the public train stop by once a month to do the complex stuff, but basic maintenance was part of Mochi's job. He didn't mind. In his boredom, he had read through a huge chunk of the manual for the sake of something to do.
There was an occasion when a few people stopped by with groceries; a specific food delivery that happened every week, and Mochi got to help them carry it to the kitchen of the house, which was an exciting adventure in an otherwise dull day.
So Mochi found ways to entertain himself; he drew, mostly, which was odd, considering he hadn't drawn so much in ages. Pages and pages of paper he dug out from around the booth were covered in his drawings, swirling pencil, as gray as the sky outside.
Mochi also napped. He knew he wasn't supposed to, but he did anyway. Once, he even called his mother on the phone to chat.
It was hard being so isolated for eight hours every day. And tonight was the night he had to stay longer, so he wouldn't even be able to go down and crash at Miyuki and Sawamura's place for company.
He propped his boots up on the counter, leaned back in his chair, and in the yellowish light of the dirty fluorescent above, he drew on a piece of old printer paper, using the train's maintenance manual as a surface.
He was drawing a set of eyes, cat eyes, a cool image he had had in his head for a few hours now. They were just eyes, nothing else, that intriguing blend of both slanted and globular that was distinctly catlike. He was just finishing up when his phone began vibrating violently against the counter. He jumped. Who was calling him at nine at night? He wheeled himself over and looked. Unknown number. Huh.
"Hello?"
"Hello," the voice was mellow, soothing in a way, "Is this Mister Kuramochi?"
"Uh...yeah? Who is this?"
"I am Ryousuke Kominato. I'm calling you to let you know that I'm here and in the train. You may start."
"O-oh!"
"Do not be alarmed," the voice almost...purred, "I think it's simply more practical to call you myself then call up at the house for them to relay information. After all, when you live in a place like this, communication is key, don't you think?"
Mochi couldn't help but shake the feeling that this was some sort of test. And that voice...soft, soothing, but almost...threatening, somehow. How could a voice be both soothing and threatening?
"Ah...yeah, definitely," he said, his voice cracking slightly.
"Good. Feel free to start now."
"Oh, right!"
"Thank you."
Ryousuke hung up. Mochi stared at the phone a second before dropping it on top of his cat eyes, and went to the controls to set the train in motion.
Thank god most of this crap is automatic, Mochi thought, frazzled, I don't know why I'm so anxious, I've been operating it pretty decently the past few days just fine.
He quickly tidied up the booth as the train made its ascent; every few seconds he'd check out into the pitch blackness to see if the train had appeared. It hadn't. Since there were no mirrors around, Mochi tried to check his teeth and hair on his phone's camera.
Fuck, did I remember to put deodorant on today?
He was falling apart. He had to make a good impression if he wanted to keep this job.
It was anguish waiting. But finally bright lights appeared in the darkness outside. Mochi tracked it, hyperaware of every motion his body made, and finally set the train to a stop....quite smoothly in fact, Mochi thought smugly.
He pushed open the booth door, and brisk damp oxygen filled his lungs. It had stopped raining, but the night was cold and the air was fresh.
He pulled open the door.
"Thank you," this voice was different, and a large, bulky person stepped from the train. Mochi squinted. The man was scowling down at him in return.
"Um...Mister...Komina--" Mochi started.
"--if you'd get out of my way, Masuko, I'd be able to leave the train."
There it was, that soft voice. Masuko jerked a little, then stepped aside.
Ryousuke Kominato was tiny, even shorter than his brother, sharply dressed in a wool jacket and leather gloves, his eyes narrow slits.
Okay, Sawamura was right, this tiny, tiny man was terrifying. Mochi had no fucking clue why.
"Mister Kuramochi?" he said, taking off his glove and extending an elegant and pale hand.
Mochi nodded, and shook. Ryousuke's grip was different from his brother's; firm, but sharp too, and fleeting and fast.
"I'm Ryousuke Kominato. This is Masuko, my personal assistant."
Mochi awkwardly waved. His hand didn't feel attached to his body.
"Uh...hi."
There was a pause. Ryousuke's eyebrow lifted just slightly, but his smirk remained.
"Masuko, go inside and rest after our trip. I need to interview our train operator."
Mochi quickly busied himself with closing the train door.
"Ryousuke, you've been on the go since five this morning, you can always talk to him tomorrow--"
"--no, I'll talk to him now. Thank you. Good night," and without a passing glance, Ryousuke walked past both Mochi, who was dumbfounded, and Masuko, who looked embarrassed.
"Um...good night, then," Masuko said, adjusting his hat, and heading for the house. Ryousuke waited by the booth door. Mochi hurried to unlock it.
"It's pretty warm in here," Ryousuke noted, walking in, and making himself at home on the swivel chair, "Have a seat," he said, tossing his gloves down on top of Mochi's drawings.
There was nowhere to sit, and Mochi felt a little irritated despite his anxiety. He couldn't sit on the counter without it being awkward, so he reluctantly lowered himself onto the floor, no doubt Ryousuke's plan, not too far from the woodstove, which was burning out. He tried not to look like a smartass while he sat, but it was hard.
"So, I've read your resume," Ryousuke began, "I just wanted to meet you."
Apparently 'interview' meant 'meet and greet' in Kominato language. But Mochi wasn't going to argue; he hoped that this would be as brief and easy as it had been with Haruichi.
"You graduated with a degree in...art..." Ryousuke trailed away, as his eyes traveled to where he had set down his gloves. He reached out, wrists elegant, and picked up a few of Mochi's drawings, including the cat eyes. In graceful and slow motions, he flipped through them, pausing at each one. Mochi felt his face heat up.
"I just doodled a bit to pass the time," he said quickly, "Definitely not my best work, obviously."
"I'm surprised," Ryousuke was frowning now, "I am definitely surprised."
"About what?" Mochi stared at his delicate features, and when Ryousuke turned to glance at a drawing on the floor a few feet away, Mochi noticed how nice his boss's profile was.
Which was probably a weird thing to notice.
"I am surprised that a college graduate with skill in their field would be working a menial job in such an isolated place," Ryousuke set the pile on his lap, cocking his head to the side, soft hands folded onto his lap.
Everything about this man was soft and dangerous. Mochi's heart rattled a little.
"Uh...well," Mochi scratched the back of his head awkwardly, "I just...needed to get away for awhile. I needed to get...inspiration," he was lying now, but he obviously couldn't tell the truth, he wanted to impress this man with his work ethic.
Ryousuke did not looked fooled. His eyebrow, cocked again, set shivers down Mochi's spine.
"Oh?"
"Y-yeah."
"Then why here?"
"Sawamura knew Haruichi, so I heard about the job and it sounded easy so--" Mochi suddenly stopped himself. Fuck. He fucked up.
Ryousuke's face did not change.
"Easy?"
"Not...like...'easy' easy, but ya know...good work that would allow me to...ah," Mochi's brain frantically sought a way to salvage the situation, "Work hard and save money and--"
"--Save money for what? Are you planning on not staying long with us?"
Fuck.
"N-no, not at all! I don't even have any plans beyond this at all!" Mochi said, making things worse, "I just mean...I don't plan on leaving."
"No plans at all?" Ryousuke's smirk looked lighter now for some reason, a little less intense, "How interesting."
Mochi swallowed. He had insulted the job, made himself look like a loser with no potential, and embarrassed himself all in a few seconds.
Excellent. He should just leap off of the peak right now and end it all.
Mochi stared at the floor. He could feel Ryousuke's gaze on him. They sat, and the fire crackled.
"Well, Mister Kuramochi--"
"--You can call me Kuramochi or Mochi, if you prefer."
"Ah, Kuramochi, then. Kuramochi, I think you'll do."
Mochi shot his head up to see Ryousuke stand and slide his gloves back on.
"So...I'm good?" he asked, voice stronger, as he jumped to his feet, "I have the job?"
"Yes," Ryousuke walked to the doors, "You have the job."
"YES!" Mochi yelled, forgetting himself, and then quickly apologized. Ryousuke smiled.
"Well, I will see you later, then. Enjoy your evening," he said, opening the door, and as cold air seeped into the room, he paused, "And Kuramochi?"
"Yeah?"
"I do hope this place gives you your inspiration. You have skill."
Mochi gaped as the door slid closed. He took a deep breath, then ran a hand through his hair.