Chapter Text
Friday nights at nightclubs had become a constant in Sanemi’s life.
The cloying scent that hung in the air of his usual spot should have been a warning: a reminder that this ritual wasn’t something to take pride in. But Sanemi never cared. Not even a little.
In fact, the familiarity of it all comforted him.
There was something grounding about the way sweat-slicked bodies moved against each other, the pungent mix of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and desperation clinging to every surface. It was chaotic, vulgar, and real. It reminded him that he was still alive.
He couldn’t remember exactly when this routine started, but he knew he liked it.
There was a kind of wild freedom inside clubs; people unmoored, moving to the beat like no one was watching. Inhibitions dissolved under strobe lights. Tattoos were bared with pride, profanity flowed as easily as liquor, and no one bothered pretending to be anything other than exactly what they were. Sanemi reveled in it.
No judgement, no rules.
Of course, he had other routines, too.
His weekdays, except for Friday nights, were spent managing his gym and training clients. His weekends were usually reserved for a part-time job at a friend’s tattoo parlor.
There was a time, back when he was younger, when he dreamed of becoming an artist. People told him he had talent, an eye for detail, a gift in his hands. But he never got the chance to pursue it.
It wasn’t for lack of effort. God knows he tried. But sometimes, talent and perseverance just aren’t enough. Not when you’re poor. Not when your family's future depends on you.
Most of his parents’ savings went toward his siblings' education. Especially Genya, his younger brother, who’d managed to get into one of Japan’s most prestigious medical schools. That had been a huge victory for the family, and Sanemi’s chest had swelled with pride, even if it meant giving up his own dreams.
He had no choice.
With a useless father drinking his life away and a mother barely scraping by with odd jobs, Sanemi did what made sense. Becoming a doctor was a safe, stable path. Art wasn’t. They couldn’t afford to gamble.
Sanemi never went to college. By 20, he’d already cycled through more odd jobs than he could count, doing everything he could to lift some of the weight off his family’s shoulders.
There were nights when he went hungry, telling his mother that he was fine. It was all worth it, he told himself. Genya would graduate, become a doctor, and then things would finally get easier.
Genya never graduated. One day, he simply disappeared.
Five years had passed since then, and Sanemi still had no idea where his brother had gone or where all the money Sanemi gave him had gone either. Turns out, Genya dropped out in his second year and spent two more pretending to study while living in cheap dorms near the university. No one suspected a thing.
The news shattered their family.
They were left drowning in debt, with overdue rent and bills piling up. His mother, already fragile, worked herself past exhaustion to keep them afloat. The heartbreak and physical strain eventually broke her.
Sanemi still remembered the bitter chill of the wind as they lowered her casket into the ground. He could still hear the gut-wrenching sobs of his younger siblings clinging to him, as he tried to be the rock he always had to be.
His father had died years earlier, wasting away in a gutter with a bottle in hand. And now, with five siblings depending on him, Sanemi didn’t know if he could bear losing any of them to the same cruel fate.
So he took on everything. Every burden. Every job. Every late night and early morning.
Everything after that became a blur. Even now, he wasn’t quite sure how he made it through. But somehow, he did.
He paid off every last debt. And for the first time in years, he was able to set aside money—savings, not just survival.
But it hadn’t come without a price.
Years of grueling physical labor had taken their toll. He already bore the scars, both visible and buried deep beneath the surface, from being his father’s outlet for rage and frustration. The relentless strain of work only carved those wounds deeper.
Then came the car accident.
He couldn’t remember the details; how it happened, what caused it. All he knew was that when he woke up in the hospital, some memories were simply... gone.
He never got them back.
He was fortunate, though. He still remembered the important things—his family, his childhood, the struggles that shaped him. But the gaps in his mind remained, stubborn and silent.
He’d suffered both physically and mentally. The mental loss was irreversible, but the physical damage? That, he could do something about.
A doctor warned him: if he didn’t rebuild his strength, his body would give out on him. So, he made a choice.
That was the first time he walked into a gym. He fell in love instantly.
The gym became his sanctuary—a place to forget, to release, to rebuild.
Eventually, he opened his own. Becoming a personal fitness trainer wasn’t what he’d originally envisioned for his life, but the business took off.
For the first time in a long time, Sanemi finally felt like he was catching a break.
Sanemi was pulled from his thoughts when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He quickly fished it out and glanced at the caller ID—it was his younger sister, Teiko.
He answered immediately, weaving his way toward the balcony to escape the thudding bass that shook the walls of the club.
“Yeah?” he asked, voice laced with concern.
It was how he always answered his siblings’ calls, an old habit from back when he used to leave them alone at home. He’d never quite shaken it.
“Nemi, are you back there again?”
Sanemi sighed. He knew exactly what she meant, but he asked anyway. “Back where, Teiko?”
“I know you,” she murmured, disappointment softening her voice. “I can hear the music. You’re at that club again, aren’t you?”
“Teiko.” He breathed out in exasperation. “We talked about this-”
“You’re never going to get married if you keep this up.”
There it was.
That one line was her usual refrain on Friday nights.
Sanemi knew she meant well. She only wanted what was best for him. But settling down had never been on his list of priorities.
He’d spent the entirety of his youth working, shouldering responsibility, making sacrifices. The idea of entering another lifelong commitment, another thing he had to carry, didn’t appeal to him. Maybe it never would.
For now, the fleeting comfort of one-night stands was enough.
“I’ll get married when I meet the right person.”
“That’s what you always say.” Teiko clicked her tongue, clearly unimpressed. “But how are you supposed to find the right person if you’re not even trying?”
Sanemi didn’t respond. She wasn’t wrong, he knew that. But it wasn’t something he could explain. Not really.
“I mean it,” she continued. “We’re not going to be around forever. Who’s going to take care of you when we’re gone? When we’re married with our own families?”
“Ah, Teiko,” Sanemi said with a tired chuckle. “With that smartass mouth of yours, I’ll get married before any of you brats do.”
“Please,” she shot back. Then, after a beat, her voice softened. “You know… if Genya were here—”
That did it.
There weren’t many things that made Sanemi lose his temper. He’d worked shady part-time jobs for dangerous people. He’d been on the receiving end of countless verbal and physical assaults. He always kept his cool.
But mentioning Genya?
That was his breaking point.
“Enough, Teiko!” he snapped, then quickly lowered his voice when he noticed a few people glancing in his direction. He turned his back to them and continued in a harsh whisper, words tumbling out, unfiltered.
“I’m sorry, alright? I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to be with anyone. I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility, and do you know why? Because I’m tired. I’m exhausted , Teiko. All the time. All I want is to be left alone. I don’t get attached. I don’t feel anything anymore!”
A heavy silence followed. For a moment, all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.
Then came the sound of soft sobs through the phone.
His stomach twisted.
“Sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How long?” his sister’s voice came through, trembling. “How long have you been hiding this from me?”
“It’s not like that,” he said, stumbling over the words. “I just… I’ve had a long day. That’s all. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
“Aniki—”
Sanemi’s guilt twisted deeper. Teiko never called him that. She knew it reminded him of Genya.
“It’s late,” he cut in gently. “You should get some rest. Do you want me to come over and keep you company?”
He had recently bought an apartment in Tokyo, close to his gym. He’d offered, more than once, for his siblings to move in with him, but they always refused saying that they had burdened him enough.
“I’m fine, Nii-san,” she said, though the strain in her voice was obvious.
Sanemi didn’t push. They were one and the same, unwilling to talk when the wounds were still raw.
“You take care, yeah? I love you.”
He took a deep breath.
“I love you too.”
---
After the long, draining phone call with his sister, Sanemi found himself on the rooftop of the nightclub, brooding quietly with a bottle of beer clutched in one hand.
The rooftop was usually a quiet spot, tucked away from the chaos below. Occasionally, couples wandered up, looking for a private corner, but most left once they realized the space was already taken.
This time, someone didn’t.
It was a man—or at least Sanemi thought so. He wasn’t entirely sure. The stranger’s features were delicate, almost ethereal. Too pretty to ignore. He stood near the edge, framed by the glow of the city lights, still and silent.
Sanemi scowled. He wasn’t in the mood for company.
“Excuse me. This area’s occupied,” he said sharply, voice cutting through the quiet.
The stranger turned to look at him, eyes curious but unreadable.
Sanemi didn't like the way he looked at him. Those eyes were striking—a deep, vivid blue that didn’t seem real. They were beautiful, but something about them felt wrong. Empty. Like staring into deep water with no bottom in sight.
“I know,” the man replied calmly.
That only irritated him more. Sanemi narrowed his eyes. Was this guy messing with him?
“Look,” Sanemi started again, annoyance creeping into his voice, “I don’t know if you’re new here or just being difficult, but it’s kind of common sense to give people space when they’re already here.”
“I’m dying,” the man said, cutting him off.
His tone was neutral, almost bored, as if he were commenting on the weather.
Sanemi stared at him, caught off guard. He looked for any sign of sarcasm, some hint that this was a joke, but there was nothing. The man’s expression remained calm, almost serene.
“I don’t have much time left. And I’m alone.”
He said it plainly, without a hint of fear or sadness. That kind of acceptance unsettled Sanemi. He had spent his whole life fighting to survive, sacrificing his dreams, grinding himself down for the sake of others. The idea of calmly accepting death felt foreign.
He had no idea how to respond. He didn’t know if the man wanted comfort, conversation, or simply someone to hear him out. Sanemi had never been good at handling emotions—especially someone else’s.
So he settled for a noncommittal grunt. “Huh.”
The man finally turned to face him fully. His gaze was unwavering, those unnaturally blue eyes reflecting a stillness that Sanemi couldn’t understand.
“Can I ask you something?” the man said.
Sanemi raised an eyebrow. “You already are.”
But the man didn’t seem to hear the sarcasm, or he ignored it altogether.
“Would you like to spend my final moments with me?”
---
“Let me just wrap my head around this, because I’m not entirely sure I heard you right.” Sanemi scratched his head, clearly baffled. “So, you want the two of us to spend the rest of your life... together?”
“Yep.” The man popped the 'p' for emphasis, utterly casual.
Sanemi scoffed. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Spending time with a stranger is just like being alone—except more awkward. Might as well get a dog or something.”
“Getting a dog is a commitment,” the stranger replied, gaze steady. “I don’t want attachments when I leave this earth.”
“What about—”
“—You?” he finished. “No offense, but you already said it yourself. You don’t get attached. Out of everyone I could ask, you’re the least likely to end up heartbroken over a dying stranger.”
Sanemi winced. So he’d heard the call. Heard him be a total dick to his sister. Great.
“Wouldn’t it be better to just... adopt a dog and give it to me after you...” Sanemi trailed off, suddenly unsure how to finish the sentence.
“You can say it,” the man said, his stare blank. “Die. After I die.”
“Sorry,” Sanemi muttered. “I don’t normally talk about death with people. Doesn’t seem like a great conversation starter.”
“Now’s as good a time as any to get used to it,” came the calm reply.
Sanemi frowned. This guy had guts. Maybe too much. “Bold of you to assume I’d even consider it.”
“I’ve been told I’m persistent when I want something.”
He wasn’t wrong. Still, the proposal was insane. “So far, I know two things about you,” Sanemi said, raising two fingers. “You’re persistent, and you ask strangers the weirdest shit. Not exactly comforting. For all I know, you could be an axe murderer. Or worse.”
“What could possibly be worse than an axe murderer?” the man asked, genuinely curious.
My brother, Sanemi thought, but bit his tongue.
“I could name a few,” he said instead, shrugging. “But that’s beside the point. If you are gonna kill me, I’d at least like to know your name first.”
The man hesitated for a moment, then extended a hand.
“Tomioka Giyuu.”
Pretty. That was Sanemi’s first thought. The name suited him. The kind of name you only associate with one face—and now, for Sanemi, it would always be this one. Bold. Distant. Strangely alluring.
Sanemi took the hand, shaking it firmly. His fingers were cold, damp with sweat. Maybe he was more nervous than he let on.
“Shinazugawa Sanemi,” he replied. “Nice to know the name of my potential axe murderer.”
“I told you, I’m not an axe murderer,” Tomioka said. “So, what do you think about my offer?”
Sanemi nearly spat out his beer. “You really are persistent. Can you at least let a guy sleep on it?”
“I don’t exactly have the luxury of time,” Tomioka said.
Sanemi choked a little at the reminder. He looked away, embarrassment prickling at his neck. “Right. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Tomioka’s voice was light, unconcerned. “I’ve made peace with it.”
“How?” The question slipped out before Sanemi could stop himself. Tomioka looked at him, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his expression. “I mean... it’s not exactly something you just accept overnight.”
“It wasn’t easy.” Tomioka kept his gaze on Sanemi’s face, which made him a little self-conscious. “But one day, you wake up and it hurts a little less than the day before. Then you do it again. And again.”
Sanemi frowned. “Don’t you hate it? Don’t you hate not having anyone to blame?”
“It’s the ‘not having anyone’ part that I hate.”
There was a silence between them. Sanemi couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t come out sounding selfish or small.
“Funny how life works out, huh?” Tomioka offered him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve got more money than I know what to do with, but even that can’t save me. Can’t even delay it.”
Sanemi blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—what?”
Tomioka tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“You’re rich?”
“Of course I am,” Tomioka snorted. “Did you think I’d ask someone something like this with no strings attached?”
Sanemi nearly choked on his drink. “You do realize what the phrase ‘no strings attached' usually means, right?”
Tomioka blinked at him. “I meant financially. Monetary strings.”
“That really doesn’t make your proposition sound any better, you know.”
“I think you know what I mean,” Tomioka said flatly.
“Do I really?”
Tomioka looked genuinely unnerved by Sanemi’s teasing. He lifted a hand to scratch at his long, inky black hair, which was tied loosely at the nape of his neck, but the movement faltered. His hand dropped back to his side, then folded into the crook of his opposite arm.
Sanemi’s gaze dropped.
The sweater Tomioka wore was oversized, hanging off his frame like it didn’t belong to him. Most people wouldn’t notice anything beneath all that fabric. But Sanemi had trained too many bodies for too many years not to recognize what he was looking at.
The wrists were too thin. The way his fingers trembled slightly—too familiar.
Tomioka was wasting away.
How long had he been fighting this?
Sanemi’s brow furrowed, instinct tightening in his chest before he could stop it. Tomioka caught the look.
“So,” he said, forcing lightness into his voice, “what do you think about my offer?”
Sanemi looked up. For the first time, Tomioka's eyes—those piercing, unreadable eyes—were wide with something fragile. Not fear exactly, but something close. Something raw. He was silently pleading with Sanemi not to say what they both now understood.
And when Sanemi didn’t answer right away, Tomioka turned his head, self-conscious and guarded again.
So Sanemi bent down, grabbed an empty beer bottle someone had rudely left behind, and handed it to him.
Tomioka raised a brow as Sanemi lifted his own bottle in a quiet toast. “Here’s to your persistence,” Sanemi said, tone dry. “A genuine force of nature making tragic victims of us all.”
Tomioka’s gaze brightened with amusement, but there was still hesitation behind it. “You’re agreeing?”
Sanemi almost laughed.
Sanemi was the one who was unsure about this arrangement, but Tomioka sounded like it was him who needed reassurance?
Instead of pointing out the irony, Sanemi shrugged and replied, “I’m getting paid, aren’t I?”
If he hadn’t been so caught in his own thoughts, maybe he would’ve noticed how Tomioka’s face shifted—just for a moment. The smile faltered, then returned like it had never left.
“Yes,” Tomioka said quietly. “You are getting paid.”
I am.
I don’t fucking know why... but I am.
Sanemi’s eyes curved, smile softening. “Cheers to that.”
Their bottles clinked together with a soft knock, and settled in the comfortable silence that lingered between them.