Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There were only a few days of warm weather left. The last time he’d watched the city news (it was when the Wi-Fi went out), the forecast had been for very low temperatures the following week. His days came down to playing on the laptop he had bought with the money from when he still worked in an office. Haida turned the machine on. The fan blowing out heated his hand at the air vent; he pulled it away to use the keyboard.

Night was finally taking over, and his eyes almost gave in to sleep. The day, however, couldn’t end there; he still hadn’t done anything. Another achievement: his friend on the other side of the line congratulated him—he had killed the monster. Haida checked the fridge, still in a false euphoria. There was nothing but beer. He grabbed one and fell asleep like that.

He forgot to shower, and a smell of alcohol clung to him. This time, when he woke up, he gave up on turning the laptop on. He went to look at the calendar and scoffed in disdain; he would have to leave. He couldn’t pay the rent this time. To make matters worse, the landlords were his relatives. Checkmate.

He stuffed his rags into a bag and charged his phone one last time before setting off into the unknown. As he walked, he called his old coworker looking for shelter. No one answered. He looked at the phone, unwilling to call his parents. He would never do that; he’d call the devil, the pope, but not his parents. Haida could call his girlfriend, but he didn’t want to seem like a freeloader. Once again, night killed the day. He searched his phone for cheap hotels—out of the question (too expensive). He spent hours brooding over where he could sleep. It had to be cheap; comfort wasn’t necessary. In fact, he felt he ought to sleep in the trash. Tokyo’s lights were alive as always. Standing in front of a road, the twinkling lights of cars cut through the breeze. Several men in suits crossed the streets, coming down from the buildings. He looked at the clock: 7 p.m. If he were still in the office, he would have just gotten off work.

Remembering his boyhood days, when he wandered drunk through the subways with other vagabonds his age, he realized he was doing the same thing now, as an adult. Back then, when he didn’t want to go home and face his parents, he would take refuge in a manga café. This time, he was going there for the same reason. It was as if things could never change.

He rented one of the rooms. When he entered the cubicle, he could barely lie down with his legs stretched out. He sat in the chair and turned the machine on. He pulled the other laptop out of his backpack and turned it on as well. He logged into the same game and spent hours with that glow in his eyes. His eyes burned; he needed coffee.

“I'm going to get a coffee, wait for me there,” he typed with heavy fingers. When he stood up, his back made a sound like a sandwich breaking. In that sharp pain, he turned one last time toward the monitor before leaving. “I’m going to get a coffee too,” the other replied in the chat. “O,” he wrote, forgetting the k.

On the other side of the room, there were countless other cubicles. What stood out in that sea of rooms was the clatter of keys and the smell of cheese. At the back of the manga café, there was a storage area with vending machines. He pressed the button, inserted a coin, waited… nothing.

“Damn it… it stole my damn coin.”

Someone banged on the panel, and as if by magic, everything started working again.

“Thanks.”

“This machine’s defective.”

She placed another cup and repeated the process. He watched her from behind: headphones resting around her neck, a thick hoodie, nothing else too distinctive. She looked like the kind of person who had run away from home to play video games.

He went back to his room. When he shut the door, he had to twist his body to fit inside.

Underground cubicle…

“I’m back, the machine was broken,” he typed while still drinking the coffee. He tasted it and typed in disgust: “It’s a little cold too, must be really old.” He waited a long time for the other to answer. He seemed to be thinking on the other side of the screen. “Which room are you in?” He had finally realized: they had just run into each other. “211,” he wrote, a bit uneasy. “And yours?” Before he could answer, he heard knocks on his door.

“Haida?” She opened the door, looked into his eyes. Confused, he asked:

“So... you were the Shikabane?”

Shikabane was a man’s name. Even her character and her way of speaking had been shaped to seem like one. Weren’t you a 16-year-old boy? Haida thought.

“I set the character as male. Whenever I played with the other gender, guys got too excited.”

“I see”—he didn’t.

“Ah, right…” She dictated, looking suspiciously, and he, still not understanding. “So that’s why you were playing so well.” She glanced toward his room. “Using two monitors is cheating.”

He let out a weak chuckle.

“I’m going back to my room. Let’s keep playing,” she said.

“Yeah.”

Those warm eyes still lingered in his mind. They were blue, not by natural color, but from the phone’s light so close to her face. She had a dying voice, a hoarse voice like the hangover from a cold that had lasted months. He hadn’t noticed the first time, but when he looked again, she was pretty. In spite of everything, those imperfections gave her a special charm.

“118,” she typed belatedly. “Shall we do the quest?” “Let’s,” he replied.

A few more hours passed there, and he fell asleep when he least expected it. He closed his eyes and could almost feel the smell of cheese materializing in his nostrils. The purple carpet under his feet gave a bit more comfort; he had never slept in such an uncomfortable place.

He woke with sharp pains in his back. It was late, maybe already lunchtime. He rubbed his eyes and turned the machine back on. He thought about checking his chat. As usual, his girlfriend had sent him “good luck”. She knew he was unemployed, but not that he was homeless.

He replied “I love you” and rubbed his still swollen eyes. At that hour, the café was livelier. It was rush hour. He felt unhappy that people came in only to leave the same day. He didn’t; he was bankrupt. Not even his lunch could he afford with certainty.

“Want to game?” Shikabane’s message stood out, her gray profile picture. “I can’t,” he replied. Quickly, before she could argue, he added: “I need a job, damn it,” he pleaded. Haida swore she might have an answer; he needed her to.

He stared at the screen for hours, waiting for a divine reply. He had already tried making his résumé, but it was terrible. He needed air—any kind.

“118?” he called at the door, which anyone could open, since it had no lock; all the doors were sliding. She peeked out through the crack. “What’s up, dude?” Haida said, unable to shake the habit of treating her as a guy after so long. “Want to go get some air?”

She didn’t have her phone in front of her face this time; her eyes were really a dark blue, pretty, but swollen. Deep dark circles around it. “Maybe it’s good, I’m hungry.”

“I’d like to help, but I’ll tell you, I can’t even provide for myself,” he said as they walked toward the exit. “No need, I’ll pay for myself,” she said, typing nonstop like a machine gun. “Sorry then,” he said hesitantly.

“Where’d you get money?” he asked curiously. She didn’t seem to ever leave the place—she shouldn’t have a cent. “Some odd jobs online,” she answered, still not looking at him. For the first time, he thought ahead a little, thinking she might be a prostitute. “What kind of jobs?” She sniffed her hoodie. “Sites, model sites,” she dictated. He almost thought she meant adult sites. “Does that pay?” he asked, interested. Her ill-tempered look cut off his enthusiasm. “What do you think?” In fact, if it paid well, she’d already have left. “Why don’t you make a résumé with me? You might get lucky,” he suggested. “Without a house, it’s hard… anyway, not worth it,” she answered.

They climbed all the subway stairs and looked at the outside world with squinting eyes, like bats. Then, they went to the nearest little shop, one that rented laptops. Shikabane looked like an addict who would trade her soul for an hour in front of a screen—and not ironically.

She went straight in and rented a cheap laptop, picking one up as if it were routine. She must come here all the time, he thought. “Why wouldn’t it be worth it?” As he picked up his own laptop, he returned to the subject. She seemed to think for a moment, but with a sigh already rehearsed, she answered as if she had thought about it hundreds of times: “Work at what? I’ll end up a cashier, I’ll just be working to pay the rent.” She finished with disgust, the kind that people try to hide.

“Even so, things could move forward,” he said hopefully, truly believing it. “They wouldn’t,” she said, disillusioned. He went back to working on his résumé. For the address, he put his girlfriend’s apartment. She would never know, nor would the company. Who knows, maybe he could get something in accounting again—of course not. “I killed it, I was using that attack,” she said, pulling a bit of his focus away. He turned to her monitor. That glow in her eyes—he swore he could see her soul being drained, hurting her. The little characters struck each other, and he felt like playing too. “Redundant-water-thunder?” he asked humbly. “Yes,” she confirmed.

A sandwich arrived for him, and a small fruit salad for her. His jagged, hyena-like teeth were no good for eating plums—acidic, soft fruit. Shikabane, meanwhile, nibbled like a rodent. He had seen rodents eat like that before, and watching her made him smile. He remembered the cold teeth of squirrels when they touched skin. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his observation, but probably didn’t think anything of it. Haida went back to his résumé, a silly little smile forming on his lips. Watching opossums eat was funny.

Again, while he was sending his résumé, he still felt the need to touch on the subject. “If you earned minimum wage, even as a cashier, in a few months you could get a… decent place,” he said, afraid to look at her. “I’ll just be covering rent. I’ll be struggling for nothing. I make what I need here,” she said, a little disappointed, nibbling the plum. “This plum’s good, no pit. You can eat it whole, you know?” She tried to change the subject, maybe pathetically, or maybe she really liked the plum. “Yeah, I think I know,” he replied.

More time passed. Haida kept waiting for any Gmail to show up in his inbox. The place started to fill up around lunchtime. He felt hungry again, but held back. Then he went numb in the plastic seat, but her fingers kept typing away, unshaken. “No Gmail, right?” She already knew the answer, but asked anyway. He replied, almost choking out a “no”. “Log in then,” she suggested. “It’s a dead end. If I go in, I won’t get out,” he said, absolutely right, throwing his head back, resigned. “You know better,” she commented. A beep sounded. He came back to life. Finally, he thought, but when he checked the sender—nothing. Just a message saying they didn’t need him anymore, or something like that. He sighed again. Maybe if he I try more times… In any case, he didn’t expect much. Haida thought of Shikabane and tried to adopt her philosophy: “Man, the world’s shit.”

As night started falling, he felt incomplete. It had been a day thrown in the trash, and he felt like trash himself. Meanwhile, Shikabane kept killing little characters on her laptop.

He plugged his own machine into the charger and checked his inbox again. Just those preprogrammed emails. Nobody would bother to reject him in writing. Nobody at all. Most wouldn’t even reply. He already knew that feeling, since months earlier he had tried the same, with the same result. Japan needed workers! He thought about putting himself below minimum wage, working for scraps. He just wanted to get rid of that bitter taste in his mouth. Maybe he could learn how to build websites… He had no idea how, let alone whether Shikabane would help him. If he were almost dying, he’d call on his girlfriend, swallowing his pride. He hated seeing himself as dead weight, even more so to someone he loved.

“I’m going to log in,” he said, tired of waiting for emails. “Finally,” she said, absorbed in the monitor. She didn’t even move aside to eat. He remembered that she didn’t even pull her face away from the screen, not even to rest her eyes in the bathroom. Six hours straight without stopping, like a dead machine. “It’s hard to get a job, right?” She spoke in a teacherly tone, probably with more authority than he had. She had been unemployed for a long time, maybe didn’t even have a work card. “When did you come here?” he threw the question back. She seemed not to like it, falling silent. He mistakenly thought they were friends. “When I lost my job,” she said. It was obvious she had no energy to answer, trying not to reveal how long she had been on the streets. Haida barely noticed that she was deflecting, thinking it was modesty. “What did you work as?… Damn it! I killed another one!” he shouted, startling a guy right in front, who jumped. Shikabane celebrated with a simple “That’s it,” and went back to the game. “Cashier… What did you expect?” she said. “Right… I thought that… forget it,” he said, almost blurting out something dumb. Deep down, he thought she looked like one of the accounting girls from his old job.

He thought she would ask him where he had worked, but nothing. So he spoke up himself: “I worked in an office.” That surprised her internally. “What did you do to get out?” she asked, thinking that in those jobs you only got out with a lawsuit. “Man… a lot of shit,” he said. Hiding money from taxes was something Shikabane wouldn’t care about in the slightest, but he didn’t know that. He went quiet, and so did she.

As he looked at his character in the game, he realized Shikabane was easy company to keep around. He was lucky to have her as company, even if not the best. He thought she must feel something similar. After all, if she was there with him, she probably didn’t have many real-life friends. Maybe ending up in the same manga café had been a lucky find for both of them.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said suddenly, aware of his own smell. He logged out of the game instantly, cutting the problem at the root. She complained a little. “We were almost killing the boss…” she said. Obviously, he could wait, but the game couldn’t. It was online, and they’d lose a lot of XP. He yawned, defeated.

If he had the courage to kill the boss, he’d lose twenty minutes of his life, maybe more. He felt like Shikabane was sucking him down like the whirlpool of a toilet. If he spent more time with her, he’d end up becoming a zombie of online games.

While putting his things back in his backpack, he turned his attention to her and asked, “Aren’t you coming?” He felt she should take a break; she had been there for a long time. Actually, he genuinely worried about her health. “When I’m done here.” She probably meant the twelve-hour rental. He thought about insisting, but bit his tongue. He didn’t feel he had the right to act like her father. After all, he didn’t even really know her. Or rather, he thought he didn’t need to know her.

He went to the register and paid his bill with some coins on the card. He looked to the back of the room and saw her still going strong. When he went to check his balance, he got scared, feeling his heart skip a beat. The idea of living with his girlfriend returned to his mind, or maybe… asking her for some money. But it passed like lightning. When he thought about actually doing it, he felt nauseated with himself. He didn’t want to take advantage of her; he felt like a parasite. She lived in a small apartment and didn’t earn much at the office. They had been together almost a year, and he liked the relationship that way. He didn’t want to be a burden and ruin her life.

He arrived at a sentō, a public bath, a little away from where he was. He put his backpack in a locker and undressed. He went to the bathing area with a white towel given at the reception. Sitting on one of the small stools, he grabbed the handheld shower and let the water run over his back. The warm water gave him a few more seconds of life. He removed the towel and used it to wash his chest.

He looked in the mirror one last time, feeling unhappy. He regained his strength and stood up with the wet towel around his waist. He went to his locker and got dressed. His clothes weren’t in the best condition; he should have taken them to a laundromat, but then he would be naked. He only had problems.

He returned home. Before that, he had to pay in advance the daily fee to the Manga-Café owner.

“Isn’t there anything I can do?” he asked, but it was obvious there wasn’t. They were in a place where almost everyone was unemployed; there wouldn’t be work. “No, Haida, I’m sorry,” said the owner. “Maybe there’s a guy here who works construction, maybe he needs an assistant, maybe.” He said it because Haida was pleading. He remembered once or twice seeing that guy leaving with a construction helmet and just inferred. The “maybe” was meaningless.

“What’s his room?” he asked without even thinking; he needed it. “I couldn’t tell you. He gets up early, around six in the morning. Wake up at that time and talk to him. That’s all I can tell you.” He wouldn’t remember any room; he would just hand out a number at first and wouldn’t even give a name. You just paid and went in; there was no need to know.

“You’re saving my life, thanks, really,” said Haida. 

Chapter Text

He woke up at six. Going to see the so-called guy. Haida was hoping for a job—at least one that paid enough for him to survive. He couldn’t rely on Retsuko. That would be humiliating for Haida, and rude to her. He simply couldn’t. She was too good to be displeased by his uselessness. Go out, get a job, you miserable hyena. With that in mind, he found the man by the coffee machine. The only tall guy, akbash-like, in public service clothes. They talked. “Ok. Since you’re up for anything, wait for me at the train station at thirty. But we’re gonna be working hard. Think you can handle that?” “Yup, of course!” Dokachin showed up as arranged. Haida only got that job because, somewhere in the conversation, it turned out: “Haida’s Shikabane’s friend. And since she’s my friend too, I can do you a favor—even though she isn’t here to vouch for either of us.” They got on the train and rode in silence to work. What a bad day it was—the scorching sun, the weight of rocks and gravel, the pain, the pain! Haida cursed Japan’s so-called development, cursed the old residences being demolished to make way for new, “better” ones. He begged heaven for strength, but all he got was back pain. The day was horrible, and the salary didn’t make up for it. He went home sweating, aching in places he didn’t even know existed, and just collapsed in his damn net-café chair. That chair felt comfortable for the first time in his life. He slept without even turning on the computer or his phone. So fucking tired. The next day, the alarm almost didn’t wake him. Desperate; even worse than before; he dragged himself to work with Dokachin. “Hm, you look tired. Just don’t pass out, alright? I think you shouldn’t take overtime today.” “I… I need money.” “Yeah, everyone needs it.” Dokachin was friendlier than yesterday, and it made Haida feel a little more at ease. He was a nice guy. 

At lunchtime, Haida opened his cellphone. Notifications spread out before him; at the top, several messages from Retsuko. At first, she had sent him: “How was your day?”, “Since you’re not answering me, I wish you a good night. You must be tired. Good night.” After that, the next morning, she had sent: “Good morning,” and then asked why he hadn’t answered her. Then again, this time with more than one “?”: “Are you okay??” Oh damn lord. He’d been so worried about “not shaming Retsuko with my uselessness” that he had completely forgotten about her. The next person who had messaged him was Shikabane. Just. A. Single. One: “Wanna game?” The zombie-neet skunk only thought about gaming and dragging Haida into trash. Nevertheless, he replied to Retsuko, apologized, said he was “too busy with his new job”—that half-truth—and went back to work. On the second day, Haida was better. He carried the weight with resilience and almost—almost—thought it was a good job. His mind was so focused on hauling heavy bricks that financial insecurity, his constant enemy lurking behind every move, seemed to vanish.

Coming “home” a little earlier, Haida went to talk with the net-café landlord. He had earned 20,000 yen from two days of hard, exhausting work. But the daily rate of the manga-café, day and night, was 6,000 yen total. He’d spent over 4,000 yen on bentos and cheap, processed, carcinogenic food. Another 2,000 yen to wash himself and run his clothes through the machines. 1,000 yen for transportation. Almost all of it, gone! Gone! How could he build a life like this? How many years would he have to stay in the manga-café before saving enough for an apartment? Many, many, many years. Far more than he could count with fingers, toes, and teeth. Damn Japan, damn life. I need to save, save! Haida thought hard about it. But no matter what, how could he save? Maybe, if he lived outside during the day and only paid for the night shift… Or if he slept outside entirely, he could spare that 6,000 yen. 

As he thought about it, he reached a conclusion: he couldn’t sleep outside. That would be like admitting defeat. And if he tried lowering rent by moving to another place—say, a cheaper manga-café—it would only be farther from his current job, and therefore useless. The net-café had three types of rooms. The first, the most affordable, was just a chair in a row of chairs with a computer; no privacy at all: 1,500 yen for a half-day shift. The second, the one he was using, cost about 3,000 yen per half-day shift. The third type was for couples—friends or not—and cost around 4,500 yen. It was a larger, more comfortable cubicle, with the only drawback being that you had to share that small space with another being. If Haida could find someone to share a room with, he’d save 750 yen (splitting the cost). Not much, but necessary. The problem was: who could he share a room with? He didn’t know anyone there, with only a few exceptions—and the idea of bunking with some potential killer or weirdo was enough to tie his stomach in knots. He thought about Shikabane: but she was female. Wouldn’t she think he was hitting on her and give him a disgusted face? He imagined she doing exactly this and discarded the idea. The other option was Dokachin. He’d only met him two days ago, but maybe… Oh, so he already shares a room?… With no better option, Haida circled back to Shikabane. The chances of that zombie ending up hating him were huge. “I swap my gender in games to avoid harassment”—that’s the kind of skunk she was. How could someone like that accept something like this? In truth, Haida already knew her answer: “No way, you fucking perv.” And then he’d lose a “friend”—or whatever that was.

Anyway. That night, while they were gaming, Haida typed—midway through an NPC quest: “Ho. That’s too tight to live, right?” Shikabane, who was playing a tank, replied: “yes”, “I saw you leaving with Dokachin yesterday”, “think you’re gonna figure it out?” Haida was astonished she already knew. But whatever. “I’m trying”, “But it’s horrible, I can’t stand my back”, “Wanna share a room? I’m out of money.” He waited, hoping for a gentle “no” instead of a death sentence. Shikabane typed. Three dots hovered on the screen, then: “do you snore?” He laughed. He’d been bracing for something much harsher. “Nobody ever told me if I do”. Soon after, Shikabane sent: “how much would it be for both of us?” Haida hit the keyboard: “2,250 yen”. “So you mean the couple room for 4,500 yen?”, “yes, I think it could work”, “If you don’t snore or take too much space”. “I don’t snore, I swear.” They finished the quest. “So tomorrow we’re taking the room? I think we should pay together at the entrance,” Haida typed. “ok,” she answered, and they kept playing for another long, unproductive hour.

The next day, Haida woke up early and worked with Dokachin—who he was already sharing jokes with—then ate his lunch: a cup of noodles at the net-café reception. Shikabane emerged from inside like a cave-woman finally stumbling into light after too long in the dark. She complained about his possible snoring, but looking at her, Haida realized she wouldn’t sleep anyway—her dark circles were growing deeper day by day. The skunk approached him, headset around her neck, same old coat. Haida spoke first: “Hey, dude. So we’re splitting in half, right?” She nodded. Probably she wasn’t doing well financially either. They paid. Shikabane used digital coin, so he couldn’t tell if she had plenty or little. Whatever. Why was he even trying to find out? He couldn’t build up his ego by comparing himself to people poorer than him.

“So it’s like an alliance, no?” Shikabane said, sliding open the door. “Yes, ho ho. Like in the game,” Haida tried to spin it positively. “Which side do you want?” They looked into the room together. About two meters by two meters. Two computers, mattresses, the smell of old clothes and sweetness mixed in. “Eh…” Haida tried, “Which… which side do you feel like?” He glanced at her weirdly, but she wasn’t paying attention, absorbed in her phone. She looked at him briefly, almost as if saying, why does it matter? Then she simply took off her shoes and went to the right. “Then left is mine…” he whispered to himself. He tossed his backpack down. “I am… going to work with Dokachin again. See you at night,” he said, leaving without even stepping properly into the room he had just paid for. He expected Shikabane wouldn’t answer, but she actually did, flatly, with a no-looking-back tone: “see you.”

At the station, Retsuko called him. What does she want? he thought. The guilt of lying to her had already been gnawing at him, and now, seeing her name and hearing the ringtone, he felt nervous. What if she finds out I’m a failure, living in a damn net-café…? Gulping down the bitterness, he answered: “Retsky… dear…” He tried to sound cool. Luckily, she didn’t let him finish. “Haida, where are you now…? Are you okay?” Fuck! She found out? He swallowed hard. “I-I… I’m going to work right now. I’m awesome, okay, Retsuko? No need to worry about me!” He waited. “Work, hm? That’s good! I’m happy you’re making it out.” “Thanks, Retsuko!” “You were… at your home before?” Strange question, he thought. But he didn’t dwell on it. “Y-Yes, I was… As I was saying, I’m going to work now. Demolition. Pretty hard, you know? But—whoa—I’m making money at least.” Retsuko chuckled on the other end. It wasn’t really a chuckle, but Haida didn’t notice. “Well… I don’t want to bother you. Work hard, okay? I wish you luck.” “I will. Love you.” “Love you…”

***

“He is betraying me!!” she shouted, though her tone was mostly sad. Fenneko was surprised too, but tried to calm Retsuko down. “Heyyy… perhaps he just found a cheaper place and is ashamed to tell you…” Retsuko looked up, trying to believe it. “Do you really think that…? But why would lying to me make it better…?” She couldn’t understand. His apartment wasn’t his anymore. Where was he? Probably at a girl’s house, her mind supplied. “Well, Haida is an idiot,” Fenneko said reassuringly, “but not dumb enough to betray you. He’s at a cheaper place, for sure—living like a worm struggling to survive.” That comment disgusted Retsuko.

“So… should we try to find him?” she asked innocently. The white fox, on the other hand,  started laughing evilly. “Hahehaheha… It’s tragic you didn’t ask better questions… However, I think we could. I have Haida’s nickname from the game. Maybe I can join as a guest and try to make him talk… Hmmm; he said something about a demolition job, right? We could visit those places too… (if it’s not also a lie)… ah, forget it. We’ll be just fine with the first option.” “Do you really think you can find him?… Or I could simply call him again and say he’s lying… maybe that would be better…” “Hey, no! You can’t do that. If you want the truth, we need to catch him like a fish hitting a hook. Yeah. And rub it in his face after. Hahehahehahe.” Retsuko looked down, unsure. Telling Haida he was lying felt a bit creepy. (Not as creepy as actual stalking, which was much worse.) Retsuko didn’t want to dig up the worst. If it came to that, she’d just ignore him forever and forget it. But… she needed to be sure. Haida can’t possibly be betraying me, right…?

***

Haida was looking better. He’d bathed and watched his clothes tumbling in the washing machine. It’d be shameful if Shikabane said I stink… he thought, even though she was the one always wearing the same coat. Well, he was trying to be bearable at least. Afterward, he went back to his new, small, not-so-homie home. It was already late at night. He was so tired he thought he’d just collapse against the mattress and fall straight asleep. With a little hesitation, he slid the door open. He would’ve knocked for once, but Shikabane always had her headset on—she wouldn’t hear it anyway. There she was: focused on her game, killing monsters in some MMO. She didn’t look back, but acknowledged Haida’s presence as soon as he entered. “Hard day?” she asked, still playing. “That was good for once, I guess,” he said, keeping a safe distance between them. Her side of the room was clearly occupied. A purple blanket lay tangled in the corner, her backpack—probably used as a pillow—tossed nearby. Once seated on the mattress, Haida realized how much nicer it would be to sleep here. Sleeping in chairs had been horrible. Finally, he could stretch out his whole body—though he didn’t, worried Shikabane would think he was weird. “So, wanna game?” she asked, “I think the devs opened another hunting spot. I was saving it for us.” In that game, it was common to hunt in pairs. Go alone and you’d probably get swarmed and die. Shikabane was the type of skunk to have plenty of online colleagues, so Haida should’ve felt pleased she’d been “saving it for them.” But maybe it was just because Haida had spent a lot of money on the game and had the best skills.

“Ah, sure…” Even though he should rest for the next day—screw it. The game was fun. They entered the new spot. There were a bunch of new players there. While Haida was more of a light-warrior type, new players could choose whatever they wanted. Shikabane was totally tank-type; together, she and Haida made a good duo. They’d probably need a ranger-type to feel safer in skirmishes, but recruiting was boring. Nevertheless, another player seemed very interested in joining their team. This guy was also a tank-type, so Shikabane wasn’t too keen on letting him party up. Haida, on the other hand, said, “the more help, the better”, so Shikabane agreed and they formed a team. “That guy… ‘neko3462’… it’d be much nicer if he was an archer. I’m already the tank… two tanks and a warrior? We’ll be screwed if a lich or harpy shows up,” muttered Shikabane to Haida, in real life. Haida replied: “Well… he looked a little lonely. New players always want to team up. For now, it’s better than just us two.” Shikabane couldn’t disagree. Still… strange. This guy, “neko3462,” had only logged into the game that morning. While he could have teamed up with anyone on his starter island, he chose to join them here… Wasn’t it like he was looking for them? Shikabane couldn’t know for sure; and without proof, saying it would just sound like paranoia. Anyway, it’s probably just a weirdo who likes latching onto people online. Nothing to feel uneasy about…, she thought. While gaming, the hours passed quickly. It was already one a.m. “Ohhhh… damn it. I need to wake up at six. I just ruined my life. Damn Internet!” Haida rubbed his heavy eyes. He logged out. They’d hunted plenty already, so Shikabane didn’t complain. She was tired too.

Haida fell back onto the mattress, using his backpack as a pillow. He didn’t have a blanket, but he was wearing pants and a long T-shirt (and besides, the temperature of the net-café—despite the cold air conditioners—wasn’t so bad). Shikabane was still playing. “Good night, dude,” Haida said politely, closing his eyes. He heard her response: “Sleep is really important… Good night.” “You aren’t tired?” he asked, more rhetorical than real. But Shikabane answered, weakly: “I’m used to sleeping in the morning and playing the rest of the day…” Haida muttered: “Well, since that’s your way… Rest well in the morning, then.” “Thanks.” After that, Haida turned around, searching for a better position. He pushed himself against the corner, afraid of crossing into Shikabane’s side at night: he would never forgive himself. It felt so good to be able to stretch. His feet even reached under the table where their computers were. Well, Haida was tall—it probably wasn’t the same for small mammal species like Shikabane. She’ll really be playing until she passes out? he thought. Anyway, with that, he shut his eyes tight and fell asleep.

He was woken by his alarm. Quickly, he rushed to turn it off, worried it would bother the other net-café users—and Shikabane. Oh, but she was asleep. The blanket was wrapped around her like she was building a nest. Her backpack was tucked inside it too, probably being hugged. Haida wanted to joke about it, but he needed to get moving. He stood up carefully, avoiding sudden movements, and slid out quietly. He had a locker at the back of the net-café; that’s where he kept his brush and other necessities. After freshening up, he headed to work with peace of mind. His back wasn’t hurting as badly as the other days.

***

“As I was saying—” “—It’s a damn girl!” “—it’s probably a male. The name and skin are of a male player…” “But couldn’t it be a girl playing as a male character?” “Yeah, it could… But it’s Haida we’re talking about. Apparently they’ve been playing together for a long time. He hasn’t said anything to you?” Retsuko shook her head. “Well, in the worst case, ‘Shikabane’ is a girl, and they’re sleeping together right now.” “That isn’t helping me!” “Just in case!” Fenneko said defensively. Retsuko paused to think. Reaching a conclusion, she said, avoiding eye contact, “Hm… can’t you… ask more about them?” “I could. But… tsk, tsk. That guy ‘Shikabane’ seems to dislike me. Did I do something wrong? Whatever. I don’t think he or Haida would answer my DMs now. We need to construct more.” “I’m just hoping he isn’t with a girl… Really? Can’t you just type, ‘hey, what are your real genders,’ or something like that?” Fenneko laughed. “I guess they’d kick me off the team instead.” “Oh, so I think I’ll enter the game too—wouldn’t that help?” “Hhhm. No. Retsuko, trust me, I’ll find out! I just need more time to build trust. Once we’re party friends, I can… invite them to meet. Then we catch them.” “It’ll take time… Ah. I’ll send Haida a message. Perhaps if I invite him home, he’ll tell me what’s happening.” Fenneko nodded. “We can do this your way. Still… we can really catch him in the act if it’s… well—a girl. Maybe three or four days would be enough…” “Ahhgg… I’ll wait. If it’s a girl, he’ll pay me, pay!!” “Hahehahehaheha.”

Chapter Text

That was just another day. He was lying there, staring up at the net-café’s ceiling, chilling. Curiously, the ceiling was high, while the space he occupied felt suffocatingly tight. He wished he could fly and live above: but his species had no feathers. All he had was that tiny cubicle; and damn Shikabane, who, by the way, was also staring at the ceiling. Haida had been the first to do it, but she followed soon after. That was new for him. Normally, she’d be glued to her cellphone or PC, but not now. The two of them were stuck. Haida felt nervous. Normally he wouldn’t, because there was no need to talk—he’d be scrolling or out working, and she’d be gaming or whatever. But now they were doing nothing. He had to say something, otherwise the silence would turn weird: just the two of them, staring at the damn ceiling. Haida risked it: “Shikabane…?” “Hm?” she murmured back, without moving her face. “How… how are you doing?” Really? Was that the best he could do? No matter how he thought about it, he couldn’t come up with anything else. Ask about her work?—he’d tried once, and she’d gotten bored easily. Her family?—that would only push her further away. “How are you” was the safest option to break the silence, at least in his perspective. Shikabane replied quickly, in that same tired tone as always: “I’m doing fine… And you?” She asked out of politeness. Even so, Haida couldn’t waste the chance. “Really so… haha. You know? I realized we’re going to be next to each other for a long time,” Haida said, not really answering her rhetorical question. Shikabane slowly turned her face toward the hyena. “So you finally realized it, huh? Some say the manga-café is like an entity that devours people’s will.” Haida nodded, glancing at her just once before returning to the ceiling. “I think… I’ll never save enough to rent an apartment. Unless I get a better job… it’s impossible. Until then, we’ll have to keep splitting a room, right? Hehe…” Trying to laugh, Haida realized he should stop: no matter what, that skunk never laughed in her life: it seemed. 

He wanted to make her smirk at the very least, but that also seemed impossible. A monotone voice came to him: “I’d like it… sharing makes things cheaper. Not that I want you to be imprisoned with me. If you have a better place to go, please do.” That didn’t sound like a passive-aggressive remark—it sounded sad and depressing. Haida felt pity. He did, in fact, have a place to go if things ever went drastically wrong; but her? He didn’t think so. Perhaps she was trying to offend him, but Haida wasn’t taking it that way. The hyena said: “I can’t go. It would be shameful.” Indeed, he could have mentioned that he could go to his girlfriend’s house or to his parents’, but wouldn’t that sound arrogant to her? After a while, she said: “Even so… it would be better than here, right? Are you making someone worry about you?” Perhaps she was referring to his parents, but Haida, now, because of the question, revealed: “My girlfriend… Retsuko. I didn’t tell her I was here…” he said, looking inward. “Ah! Sorry… It wasn’t my intention to imply that living here is shameful. It isn’t, of course. I was just… If she finds out about me… she could think I’m a useless piece of trash. I don’t want that, y’know? She’s an amazing person. She’s… really awesome.” Probably he was boring Shikabane by talking about his girlfriend like some teenager falling in love, but he needed to explain the extent of his disgrace. His companion, not offended, said: “No need to worry. Living here is indeed shameful.” Before Haida could defend Shikabane from Shikabane, she went on: “I feel pity for your girlfriend. You should return to her.” What? Haida couldn’t possibly understand why. Pity because she was with Haida, who was a liar? Well, now Shikabane probably thought badly of him. Haida, wanting to save his dignity, almost said: “E-Eh… pity?” He heard a “humhum,” and then she grabbed her cellphone before saying: “She’ll lose you to the net-café turmoil.” Haida laughed. “Oh, so that was a joke? Really, I didn’t expect that from you.”

She wasn’t joking—but anyway. Haida yawned and rubbed his eyes. He’d be sleeping soon. Before that, sensing he’d managed to get a little closer to her, he tried to joke back: “Hey, Shikabane…” “Hm?” she replied again. He was about to ask if it was common for skunks to bury themselves in blankets in the mornings, but instantly it struck him as… racist, to some extent. Even so, now that he had called for her, he needed to finish it somehow. Calling someone and stopping mid-sentence would only be weirder. “Well… in the mornings… you—” he studied her face, searching for displeasure—“well, haha. You bury yourself in the blankets like it’s a tent. Is it… is it normal?” That last question was just sarcasmo. No laugh came. If she stayed quiet, it would be humiliating for him. However, she replied: “I… I do that? Hm… It’s not like you don’t do weird things too. Did you notice how much you move at night?” He went speechless. The worst nightmare scenario popped into his head. She kept going: “You kick things… drool… Yesterday, you even tried to steal my blanket. You should buy one if you’re cold.” And she was typing without pause, as if she wasn’t condemning him to a year of shame and regret. Haida felt his cheeks heat up. “Th-that was an accident, o-ok? I-I… I swear in the name of God I wasn’t trying anything… Just… sorry about that, o-ok?” “You were drooling. I got it.” Thanks to that, at least, he was just an idiot—not a molester. Feeling ashamed, he stopped talking to her for a long while. Yet, unable to forget his mistake, he repeated: “Really, sorry about that.” “Ok.” “R-right… wanna play? I think I need this to work as an amnesia antidote.” “Sure. They launched a new weapon. It’s like a mace. Very cool. Indeed.” “I see…”

***

It was a little disgusting. He could drip a drop of the boxed pasta if he wasn’t careful enough. Of course, the mattress in their room wasn’t washed often; so, if Haida dirtied it, it would be stained for a long time. What a shame. Not to mention the sweat from their own bodies, which had already, imperceptibly, tainted the place—even though they both bathed (at least, Haida expected Shikabane to have been bathing as regularly as he did)—they still needed to be careful not to make this an even worse place to sleep. Because of that, it was common for Haida to eat outside the room. It was common for him to take a bath before sleeping there. (He hadn’t seen Shikabane doing the same, but that was only because he usually saw her at night and sometimes in the morning.) Nevertheless, that day he was hungry and tired of eating at the entrance, so he carried his stuff inside. Shikabane didn’t show an annoyed face, so it was alright. Speaking of which, Haida was curious if Shikabane was eating properly, so he asked: “Dude, what do you usually eat? We haven’t gone outside together—you’re still going to that place?” That was just him trying the classic “let’s talk about nothing.” It went well, because the skunk, still working, replied in her usual indifferent tone: “Hum… not often, really. I eat the same stuff you’re eating right now. Then, I use the cup to put my toothbrush inside. I have to change the cup, since it’s biodegradable…” Haida swallowed a chuckle. “Why not just buy a toothbrush holder?” Shikabane didn’t answer. Haida thought: what a stingy skunk… “Anyway,” Haida went on, “what are you doing? Still working with Excel?” That was obvious, since he was leaning against the back wall and Shikabane in the front. Maybe it was rude to spy; but then again, it was a damn tight room. “Yeah,” she said, clicking. “Wanna hand with that? You could automate the process.” That was Haida’s area of expertise, so he wanted to help. He didn’t even realize it might sound intrusive to tell someone how to properly work.

“I need to do this by hand, unfortunately. Some big shot messed it up. They offer a lot of those ‘do it for me now I’m fucked’ jobs online, y’know? So desperate…” “Ah, I get it. Accounting stuff, right? Tell me: errors when scanning old documents into the datacenter? Haha. Probably the case. I’d be desperate too if something went wrong and I had a tight deadline.” Shikabane murmured: “Yeah…” Then, just when Haida thought the conversation had ended, she continued: “Speaking of which… what exactly did you do… in your last job?” “Well… I was trying to mislead investors. It went pretty bad in the end.” “Interesting…” “Haha. So you think that’s cool?…” “And how did it go wrong? Let me guess… you hid it poorly?” “In fact, I wasn’t doing it alone. My boss… he’s the one who gave me the idea. When they found out, he had no choice but to fire me so he wouldn’t ruin himself. I accepted being his scapegoat.” “Who found out?” Haha. Shikabane was really interested in his failure. Haida thought it was good they were finally talking about something other than games and the manga-café. Deep down, though, it was a subject best kept secret. But Shikabane wasn’t the type to go around shouting about this. Knowing that, Haida said, ashamed of himself: “Huh. can you believe it was my coworkers?” He said it lightly, like it was an inside joke. After all, they were his dear friends. They did it to save him. However, when Haida said this, Shikabane shot him a disgusted look. The side of her face he could see showed an expanded pupil—like she was finally displaying another emotion besides oblivion. Perhaps… frustration, at him? “It’s because of that I don’t trust coworkers,” she said, annoyed, before turning back to her work. Haida gulped. That wasn’t what he expected. They were his friends! He needed to fix it: “They were trying to help me… After all, what I did was pretty dumb to begin with. I was lucky it was Retsuko who told me, and not some police investigator.”

Before Haida could predict it, Shikabane muttered, still bothered: “So your girlfriend’s such a pain in the ass, isn’t she?” What was she trying to imply? Haida couldn’t just let her talk about Retsuko like that. Still, it was his fault for explaining things poorly. “What? No, no—you got me wrong. What I meant was that thanks to her, it didn’t turn into something enormous. If it wasn’t for her—” “—You’d probably still be working in accounting? Such a pain in the ass for me.” “Hey!” Shikabane sighed, “I’m not trying to pit you against her… I’m just saying I wouldn’t trust someone like that. I. Just me. If she told once, wouldn’t she do it again for no reason at all?” This time, it was Haida who sighed. “Ugh, you’re misunderstanding again. I was committing a crime. I was blind. I would’ve fallen sooner or later. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be in prison. Isn’t that way worse than just being fired?” “Still…”, she said, “it’s still sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Maybe you’d be caught. Maybe not.” “So you’re saying… if that were your friend, you wouldn’t do anything? Really?” “Yep. Everyone has their own choices and consequences. I wouldn’t stick my nose in and mess with someone else’s life.” Haida felt resentful at the whole exchange. He’d meant to defend Retsuko, but now it felt like he’d lost the debate. Retsuko hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d saved him. That was better, no question. But he couldn’t get Shikabane to see it, and now she probably thought poorly of her. How could he fix that? For the first time, annoyed with the skunk, Haida decided to just let it go and scrolled through his phone instead.  

***

That guy… neko3462… he’s really strange. That’s what Shikabane was thinking that night while playing with Haida. It was their fifth night sharing the cubicle. At first, she’d assumed the guy was just some needy random looking for company. Probably an old one. But… from time to time, he asked subtle questions about them. Shikabane, who had spent her entire life online, was hyper-aware of revealing personal data—different from Haida, a “normal” individual. To her, even something as simple as asking, “So, have you been friends in the game for a long time?” already felt intrusive. Haida said yes. Haida was telling him things Shikabane would never reveal. It made her grind her jaw tight. Who is this guy…? Worst-case scenarios flooded her mind: Some creep, trying to dig into us just to post somewhere. Some weirdo who thinks we’re teens or something. Disgusting. Utterly disgusting. He’s probably jerking off while playing. I want to throw up. Paranoid, the skunk put up a wall against the stranger. Still, she hadn’t told Haida her concerns. He’d probably think she was being crazy: and maybe she was. So instead, she kept quiet and focused on figuring out what the hell “neko3462” was trying to do. First thing she noticed: he only ever played WHEN they were playing. Too much of a shit to ignore. Shikabane clenched her fists tight. She glanced at Haida, who was playing absentmindedly, and thought: How can you not see this…? Or am I just freaking out over nothing…? She sighed and kept playing. Then she noticed something else: he was trying to probe about their location. “Wow, it’s raining a lot here. How about you two?” Die, creep. Shikabane knew exactly how easy it was to triangulate someone’s location through those tiny, innocent-sounding details. She kept silent. But Haida, of course, answered: “Haha. Isn’t here.” That made her want to rip her own furry ears off.

This time, that weirdo was playing with them again. Shikabane had tried more than once to bring someone else into the party, but Haida just said he “felt bad kicking the guy out like that”, so she swallowed her frustration. The party reached a hunting zone. After grinding XP for a while, they moved on to another place to trade. This island was clear of monsters, so, as usual, they used the downtime to chat. Out of nowhere, after a long stretch of meaningless talk, Neko said: “Hey, guys, I’m traveling for work. What do you think about meeting up in real life? ;P” Haida typed quickly, chuckling: “Really? Out of nowhere?” Shikabane, however, froze with her hand on the mouse, staring at the monitor without blinking. Haida noticed and felt a little uneasy. Her back was sweating. What the hell… she thought. That guy… did we ever tell him where we live? She tried to brush it off, but the thought stuck. He figured it out somehow, and now… shit! He knows the city I live in! That fucking creep knows! She tried to steady herself: Okay… Tokyo’s a big city. Maybe he just guessed… But the way he’s saying it; it’s like he knows. Like he knows we live near each other. Her fingers tangled under the desk. If I went with Haida… if it were in public… maybe it would be secure. But… no. No, I can’t risk it. He’s definitely a creep. What if he follows us back to the net café? Even with Haida there… That’d be safer… But what if Haida leaves, and this psycho knows where I live? I’d have to find another damn place… No. No. Go fuck yourself, neko3462. With that, she turned her hoodie-covered face toward Haida and muttered: “Block him.”

“…Hah…?” said Haida, looking like he was about to crash into a car. With that dumb, confused face of his, Shikabane realized he hadn’t understood a single thing. She tried to explain, hoping she wouldn’t sound like some paranoid skunk. “We never told him where we live. We never told him we’re in the same place. This guy’s trouble. And now he wants to meet us…? Better shut it down right now. I already blocked him. Oh… and I’ll need to change my account. Please do the same.” Haida just stared at her with that same “what the fuck” expression. He couldn’t get a word out. He never thought Shikabane would be so… unreasonable. None of it made sense. To him, Neko was just a random guy he was having fun gaming with. What the hell had Shikabane been thinking all this time? She suddenly seemed a little crazy. “And what if… he just guessed we play from the same place? Couldn’t he? And… what? Whatever. Do you really think it’s that dangerous?” Shikabane muttered as she started wiping her data: “He couldn’t guess something like that.” “But what if he just… didn’t mean it that way? He never implied he knew we were gaming in the same place.” “If that were the case, he would’ve typed, ‘Where do you two live? Let’s go out?’ But he didn’t. He just said he wanted to go out with us. Like I said—creep. Please delete your account or make a new one to play with me. …No. You don’t need to play with me if you don’t want to. Forget I said anything.” What the hell… Haida thought again. She was ruthless, restless, wound up about the whole thing. Like a completely different Shikabane; cornered against a wall, thrashing, desperate to claw her way out of the situation.

But then… he felt pity again. What had happened to her before, that she would be so defensive and completely covered in spikes? Haida felt like he needed to fix things again… that Shikabane needed him, for once. “Hey…? I’ll create a new account too. Such a waste, I paid so much for that character… Well, it’s necessary, right? Such a creep…” He suddenly agreed with her and tried to ease her mood. Despite thinking she was being too paranoid, it was probably justified by her past—one he didn’t need to know about. For that reason, as her friend—even if she didn’t think of him that way—he chose to pretend she was completely logical and right, in a way that would put her at ease. It worked very well. After a while, she was laughing. “Hihihi…” (a very weird laugh) “sorry… I think I got too far, no? Hihihi… But… huh. We need a ranger anyway.” Haida felt his cheeks heating up. It was like reaching a secret goal of his. “Yeah, haha. Totally. We need a ranger anyway. Well, what if I create a new account as a ranger? That’d be nice, no? Hehe.” “Oh… but I feel bad about your special skills being lost.” “Yes… that is a waste. Couldn’t I transfer them somehow?” Shikabane thought for a while. “Huh… maybe. Could I try?” With that, she moved to Haida’s side and started using his PC. With this new proximity, Haida realized they had never been this close before. And he realized skunks had a really annoying tail—it was almost as long as her torso. If it wasn’t her head, it would have blocked his view of the monitor as well. It was a little awkward to let himself think about things like this, but… they were close, they lived in the same place; of course such thoughts would come sooner or later. He felt curious if she had trouble with her tail before, but that was too personal to ask—especially if it was Shikabane. 

In the end, she sighed and told him that it wasn’t possible. Well, they had made such progress that it was negotiable. Shikabane is a friend now…? He wanted to know.

***

That was another day of work for Retsuko. Feeling her eyes tired, she stood up from her chair to make some black tea. The employee’s break room was dark. Some bastard had forgotten to turn the light on. She stood on tiptoes to fix it… “Ahh!” 

Fenneko was there. Her white fennec fox friend froze in the corner, face defeated, mumbling, her eyes staring at nothing, blank. Huh? Retsuko approached hesitantly. “Fenneko… what happened?” she asked, concerned. “I lost.” Huh!? Retsuko couldn’t make sense of it. “What are you talking about, you crazy?” Fenneko repeated, even more blank than before: “I lost. She won.” This nonsense was testing Retsuko’s patience. Why couldn’t that fox just say what the hell happened already? “She who? Who won? Speak, you crazy!” Retsuko leaned toward her indignantly. But Fenneko just walked away to the table. She was probably feeling ill. When Retsuko was about to tell her to sit and take a cup of water, the fox turned and shouted: “Shikabane! I lost because of this guy! He made up Haida’s mind!” !?? “Whaaaat? Tell me about this!” But Fenneko kept rambling about “I lost this,” “I lost that,” and Retsuko almost shook her bones out of frustration. “Tell me about this! Is this damn creep a guy or girl!? What the hell happened!?” The fox finally let it all out like a machine: “My plan of infiltration went wrong. That bastard found out or whatever, and now they kicked me off the party and changed accounts. I lost them. I lost Haida to damn Shikabane of whatever sex they might be. Haida’s such an idiot to realize anything on his own… and then that slut Shikabane blocked me first. Am I weird? No… he’s the fucking creep one!” Retsuko let her go. “Ok…” She suddenly felt calm. She breathed in and out. “If Haida wants it that way… it’s better to call him and ask about this. I’ll call him today after work… thank you, Fenneko.”