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chimielie · 1 year ago

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what it is

summary: Oikawa x Reader. he makes it out of the friendzone (with some help)

word count: 1.3k

cw: nothing, oikawa in glasses

a/n: i wrote this in under an hour while heavily caffeinated?;!;!4& brain melting

“You’re late,” you say with a grin. Oikawa Tooru pouts at you, his team jacket folded over his arms. He’s already changed out of uniform, you notice; must have exchanged it for a white t-shirt and slacks in the locker room.

“I was swarmed,” he claims as the two of you start to walk together. You roll your eyes and don’t even bother making a jab about his popularity with the girls (and people of all genders, really). At this point, you’ve accepted that deranged fans come with the territory of being friends with the volleyball team captain.

You met Oikawa on the first day of your first year at Aoba Johsai and had been friends ever since. Even though you had no interest in the sport at first, his love for volleyball was infectious. He had even roped you into being the team’s manager. You still weren’t sure how he had pulled that off, but you didn’t mind too much—you’d grown to love the team and the sport too, in your own way.

Despite your closeness, you’d never really understood why he had a fan club, especially as a teenage school athlete. You expected his popularity to grow when (not if) he went professional, but the idea of swooning over some guy you had pre-calculus classes with was totally foreign to you. It was a running joke among your friends that you were immune to Oikawa’s looks and charming magnetism (and, honestly, to all four of the team’s upperclassmen. You could acknowledge how objectively attractive they all were even though none of them seemed to fit your niche).

Sometimes, you caught Oikawa making strange expressions while your friends teased you about not liking him. It felt like you were the only one who noticed these kinds of things, sometimes. You really liked being able to read him so easily: both of you had saved each other under the contact name “Platonic Soulmate” in your phones.

You chalked up the weird faces to your friend’s first-rate ego, and even though you knew that the notion of one person not being desperately in love with him wouldn’t scratch the surface of his self-esteem, you always found yourself taking his hand surreptitiously or leaning your head on his shoulder when you did see him looking mopey. He always perked up, after that, and all would be sunshine again.

Today, everyone else had bailed on you when you suggested a joint ice-cream-and-study-date before next week’s exams. Iwaizumi had claimed that Oikawa was too loud and always distracted him, so he couldn’t seriously try to study together. Matsukawa had to babysit and refused to bring the brats, as he affectionately called his siblings, to get sweets. Hanamaki had just quirked his eyebrows at you and said, “I don’t feel like third wheeling. Thanks, but no thanks.”

You hadn’t really understood what he meant, but you hadn’t questioned it.

Oikawa had almost begged off to do some solo practice, too, but you’d made a fuss about nearing the end of your high school experience and worrying that you would fall out of touch when volleyball became his whole life (even moreso than it was now!), and he’d caved with an overdramatic sigh and a soft look that told you he wasn’t all that mad about your guilt-tripping.

You’re broken from your thoughts when you reach the ice-cream shop, Oikawa jabbering in your ear about some drama you can’t keep up with.

“And then she told me—ah, I can’t read the menu. You know, they were late refilling my contact prescription this month, so I’ve been carrying around my glasses, I hate it. So unflattering.”

You worry your lip as you stare at the flavor chart, barely listening to him talk.

“I’m sure it’s,” you start, turning to him as he slides the case out of his pocket and puts the frames on his face in a smooth motion. “Um.”

The glasses are not unflattering, you think dumbly, staring at him, your sentence hanging unfinished. The glasses perch on his nose perfectly, making you appreciate, for the first time, the shape of his nose and his cheekbones. Had they always been that sharp? And since when had his eyes been so pretty, reflecting the sunlight in so many shades, framed with long eyelashes that would have made you jealous if you weren’t so—

You reach out and lift the glasses off his face slowly, hoping that the old, familiar features that you’d never felt anything but friendship-friendly feelings towards would return. You can still see it, though: the divot of his Cupid’s bow is appealing, now, his smooth skin glowing to you, his surprised expression fucking adorable. You drop the frames back onto his nose.

Very abruptly, whatever immunity you once had to Oikawa’s looks is demolished in one fell swoop.

“I have to go have a midlife crisis,” you say decisively, and march out of the shop.

“Hey! What—where are you going? You’re not even middle-aged?” Oikawa calls after you, and you try steadfastly to ignore him, but every sense seems to have been awakened to your friend. Your face flushes, and you start walking faster, nearing the pace of a jog even though your limbs are stiff.

You finally pull over in a quieter, slightly more secluded spot between two buildings. You lean against the wall, closing your eyes, trying to remind yourself to take deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Oikawa says, and you curse his long, athlete legs for having followed you so swiftly. “What’s wrong?”

You open your eyes. He’s still wearing the fucking glasses. Rest in peace, you think to yourself, surely my heart is going to give up soon, at the rate it’s going. Your lips part, but you can’t seem to get the words out. His worried gaze studies you until he finds something—exactly whatever you didn’t want him to see. A slow smile unfurls over his face, and you narrow your eyes. Ugh, how dare his smugness be attractive too, now?

“I should wear the glasses more often, huh?” He says, and you shake your head no frantically.

“Please don’t,” you say. “It’s, like, it doesn’t even matter anymore, anyway, I can’t unsee it now.”

“Unsee what?” He cocks his head, and he’s getting closer, and there’s nowhere to back away from him because you’re up against a wall—

“You’re hot!” You wail. “I saw it and I’m never gonna stop thinking it now, it doesn’t even matter what you wear, I’m doomed! This is the worst thing ever, ‘Kawa, how’m I supposed to go on… I can’t be your friend and a part of your fan club. I don’t think I can even be a part of your fan club ‘cause I don’t just think you’re hot, I think I have a crush on you—oh, my God, I have a c—”

Your increasingly frantic rambling is cut off by Oikawa sealing his lips to yours. The kiss is quick and sweet, and when he pulls away he still looks so, so handsome, and so concerned.

“Please breathe,” he says, and you nod, gaping at him in shock. “I like you too, okay? Please stop having a crisis.

“Okay,” you exhale, bracing your hands on his shoulders. “Okay. I’m still freaking out, though. I think the only way to stop it is to keep kissing me.”

Oikawa heaves a big, overdramatic sigh, and leans in, his glasses bumping your face; giving in to you, just like he always does.

#WAS this inspired by the time i saw my bf in glasses and literally went to my friend’s dorm and screamed for sixteen seconds (he timed it)#well i’m not telling. that’s a secret.#oikawa: i like you #reader (visions of oikawa in that godawful plaid outfit swimming thru their head): i think even that’s hot now. i have to get a lobotomy #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tōru x reader #oikawa fluff #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu!! x reader fluff #hq x reader fluff #oikawa x reader fluff #hq!! fluff #the word fluff doesnt look real anymore

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aranarumei · 1 year ago

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the anomalous agate (part 1)

edit: there's an updated version of this here

so. a few days ago i floated the idea of a crossover of hanzawa to tashiro and the case files of jeweler richard to the illustrious @dirtbra1n, and after talking about it i. could not stop thinking about it. here is that. you will notice above it says part 1, and that is because I spiralled a bit out of control. this is so long (4.3k) that I thought it merited me posting it on ao3 as well, if you'd prefer to read it there. there's also some notes about the fic contained there, none of which I feel like repeating, except i do have to credit the line of dialogue where seigi asks hanzawa why he has so many piercings to @dirtbra1n. that's entirely their genius.

without further ado, under the cut:

case 2-x: the anomalous agate (part 1)

The longer I worked for the shop, the fewer days arrived when there were no appointments scheduled for the day. As always, Richard seemed unfazed by the lack of customers. I supposed it made sense—this was a shop that only existed on the weekends, after all. He had hired me, but had the two of us not met by chance, it was likely he wouldn’t have hired anyone at all.

Perhaps the reason my employer seemed so content was the fact that he was currently cutting into a delicate slice of tiramisu crepe cake. He ate with almost ethereal grace, and as I somehow hadn’t thought to grab a slice for myself, my mind wandered to the circumstances that had led me to the purchase.

The week before, I had been making Richard’s royal milk tea as usual—I felt somewhat confident in my skills at this point, but there really was no matching a master—and asked him if there was a reason we didn’t serve coffee to customers. It was a common feature of many cafés, after all, and though this place was no longer a café, we still offered things like tea and snacks to customers.

Richard had stared at me like he was waiting for me to figure something out on my own, and after wracking my brain for possibilities, I tried, “We have barley tea and green tea, so it can’t be because you think anything except for royal milk tea won’t do…”

I received a deep sigh for my efforts. Richard arched an eyebrow. “Do you know how much is involved in the process of making coffee?” he asked.

As the coffee I most regularly consumed came from a can, there wasn’t a single response I could give.

That night, I searched up the process of manufacturing and brewing coffee, and quickly found myself beginning to develop a headache. Not only were there many places where coffee beans were grown, the different ways in which coffee was then brewed and what it was paired with felt almost limitless. Searching for espresso machines brought prices well over 15,000 yen, and it was at that point that I began to understand what Richard had conveyed in a single sentence.

Instant coffee could be made without any sense of technique or equipment, but the kind of coffee that set one’s mind at ease was probably the kind that only a real café was capable of. Or a coffee enthusiast, and I was neither. I tried to conjure the image of being offered canned or instant coffee at Jewelry Étranger, and immediately wrinkled my nose. Coffee at a café was meant to pleasant; I had no desire to remind myself of what it felt like to work late night after late night as a security guard. While I felt coffee had a warm, comforting scent, I knew all too well that it was also a bitter necessity. I was thankful that the caffeine had kept me awake, but it only worsened the quality of my sleep.

Still, though I had given up the idea of introducing coffee to our drink selection, I must not have completely forgotten about it, because the next time I stepped into a bakery, their offering of a tiramisu crepe cake caught my immediate attention.

I’d had tiramisu only once during a birthday in junior high. Birthdays when I was younger were a melancholy affair—they were small, intimate celebrations that reminded me of the insignificance of my life. It was the same feeling as lighting a candle in pure dark—loneliness shined more under small points of light. But my mother had always remembered to buy a cake year after year, no matter the circumstances. While she had already developed a taste for coffee, I still considered it something that was a bitter, awful drink that adults actually enjoyed. But after some firm persuasion from my mother, I reluctantly dug in.

Add enough sugar and it can turn bitter into sweet. I knew that now, but as a child I had been given an experience akin to magic. Even now, I could still recall the light and sweet taste accompanied by the delicate hints of coffee and chocolate.

Remembering it now, it was hard to explain why I hadn’t had one in such a long time, but I hadn’t developed the habit of searching out cafés, bakeries, and sweet shops until I started working at Jewelry Étranger. Food tasted better as of late.

This bakery in particular was a favorite of mine—it felt like every time I entered, there was still some sweet I had yet to try. And encounters like these, where it felt like little parts of my life were slotting together in serendipitous fashions, were becoming far more common. It was obvious in the way I’d found out about Tanimoto-san’s love for rocks and minerals, as well as her friend Shinkai’s dance company, or Hase-san visiting at the exact time I happened to be in the back, but when I told Richard this, he simply brushed it off.

“The more knowledge and experience you acquire, the more the world reveals itself to you,” he said. “Department stores have existed before you began working here, but only once you took an interest in diamonds did you notice the kinds of jewels they sold. The girl you wish was your girlfriend had an interest in minerals long before you began to. That was not fate—it was the fact that the more you learned, the more you could find commonalities or points of connection in the world around you.” He paused. “You, in particular… I would guess that you run into so many coincidences because you’re unable to turn your back.”

He was correct. The more people that visited Richard’s store, the more that I came to knew about the world. I had liked Tanimoto-san before I had met Richard, and she had loved rocks and minerals for far longer. But because I had been able to meet with Richard—and that was an encounter that could have only been fate—I’d gained awareness of a part of the world that had always existed, just not in my eyes. The more I learned about jewels, the more I treasured various things.

So that Saturday, I entered the bakery again, bought a slice, and arrived at Jewelry Étranger with an offering.

“…I still won’t give you a raise, you know,” Richard said.

As always, he looked beautiful. I had the feeling that he’d be annoyed if I told him the purchase was due to a bottomless kind of gratitude.

“I know.” At this point, I wondered if I needed to directly tell him how he paid far more than what I earned as a security guard. But I’d already turned down a job offer to stay here, so he must have known that I felt as if the work I was doing here was infinitely more valuable.

Since we’d had this kind of exchange quite a few times before, Richard tried the tiramisu crepe cake without much fuss. It was obvious he was enjoying it—perhaps his face hadn’t cracked out into a smile or anything of the sort, but there was a serene look on his face when he was enjoying sweets.

As he ate, a question popped to mind: “Say, Richard, have you had real tiramisu in Italy before?”

Richard paused between bites. “Do you mean to ask if I’ve had authentic tiramisu?”

“Well, you just seem as if you’ve been everywhere in the world…”

Rather than tell me if he’d spent time in Italy or not, Richard began to speak about the conflicted meaning of the word ‘authentic.’

“Tiramisu is Italian in origin, but the exact nature of how it was first produced is still up for debate. Tiramisu as we recognize it today certainly does not come in the nature of a crepe cake, but—” He paused to take another bite. “Grab yourself a fork, would you?”

I stared at him blankly as he deliberately placed his fork down on his plate. The last few bites of the crepe cake remained untouched, and only when he tilted his head in confusion did I rush to the kitchen in realization.

When I returned, Richard continued speaking without commenting on my lack of wits. “Something being authentic indeed means it is the real thing—a genuine article. Authenticity is also related to truth—in art, the style of realism is grounded in an attempt to depict life authentically. Without alterations or embellishments. For gemstones this is a fairly simple thing to classify—jewels are mined from specific places, so we designate that which is naturally-occurring as authentic. This runs in opposition as to imitation jewels, which are made from a different material, and approximate the look of a jewel without matching its innate qualities. The question of authenticity also is relevant when looking at heat treatment—pigeon blood rubies that haven’t undergone heat treatment are more valuable, because they have acquired the color naturally, yes?”

I nodded in agreement, reminded of Tanimoto-san’s opinion on heat treatment. She probably prized the authenticity of a gem—the one-of-a-kind nature each jewel had. I understood her feelings, but I also thought there was some kind of wonder in the process of polishing and cutting and heat treatment—each step gave a jewel a special kind of shine. But beauty was the kind of thing where opinions differed often.

“You’ve forgotten to actually put your fork to use,” Richard said, and I startled out of my daze to hurriedly take a bite. Well, no one would disagree about his beauty.

As expected, the tiramisu crepe cake was both light and sweet. The texture of crepes was certainly different than what I’d eaten as a child, but both carried that sense of pure delicacy—each layer felt like cotton-candied air. Though it didn’t smell like coffee, there was indeed the warm, rich undertone of what I’d come to understand as coffee’s flavor. If I could spend a birthday just like this… it would be a treasure of a memory.

Richard’s lips curled. “How is it?”

I made sure to properly swallow before I replied. “It’s delicious,” I marveled. “I don’t know why I’d forgotten the taste.”

“When you make rice at home, would you consider that rice real or authentic?” Richard asked. When I nodded, still chewing on my final bite of cake, he then asked, “Why?”

Maybe I would buy tiramisu on the way home. Or gift some to Hiromi—I could only assume that my birthday all those years ago was the last time she’d had tiramisu, too. “Well, because it’s rice,” I said. “I bought the rice grains, didn’t I? They were grown naturally. And then I cooked them.”

“If you acquired the exact ingredients required for tiramisu, and followed the same exact process as the original—though there are debates at to what the original is—would you still say that was authentic?”

I frowned. “I… suppose I would? Since everything is exact.” Was there a loophole I was missing?

“Perhaps,” Richard said. “Because it is hard to pinpoint its specific origins, what tiramisu qualifies as authentic can be hard to judge. Though the base components and methods are the same, the exact specifics differ—some may consider any tiramisu that follows the general process to be authentic, while others may not. In the case of champagne, unless what you think of champagne is made in the Champagne region of France, it cannot legally be called by that name. Even if the sparkling wine that is created is similar in taste, or uses the same process and ingredients, if the grapes are not sourced from that region, it will not be champagne.”

“Even though it’s possible to make an equivalent product?”

“You could, indeed, make a very close match,” Richard said. “But it would legally not be authentic. Can you think of a reason why someone might want a name of a food protected?”

When phrased like that, the answer arrived to me immediately. “Brand protection,” I said. “Because the idea of champagne is precious, if other winemakers started selling something labelled as champagne, it would lose some of its prestige. By controlling what can be called champagne, they retain control over the production and image of champagne.”

“Good for you,” Richard said, and I bit down a smile. “Authenticity holds a different value for many people and many things. All that aside… this tiramisu crepe cake remains delicious.”

“It is,” I agreed, and then began to make him tea.

The rest of the day passed by in peace. Richard read from his collection of books, blond hair glittering under the sharp sun. I busied myself by cleaning the kitchen and running out to complete a few errands. The movement was helpful; the chill of autumn had settled in, and I had made the mistake of dressing far more lightly than Richard. His choice of wear likely made it easy for him to sit still, but I thought that even if he was wearing his suit in a blizzard or a tropical summer, he would seem as even-keeled as ever. That was the beauty of jewels—they were something that was gorgeous from all angles.

Around a half hour before closing time, the intercom buzzed.

Richard set down his book, and I went to let in our surprise customer.

Accompanied by a brush of cold wind, a young man stepped into the store. He had a slim frame, but despite being dressed as lightly as I was, showed no signs of being sensitive to the cold. His hair was slightly long in the front, bangs barely cropped above his eyes, but it was trimmed evenly. He was dressed casually yet neatly in a simple powder-blue sweater, gray slacks, and loafers.

The door closed behind him, and he glanced around the room once before asking, “This is a jeweler’s store, correct?”

“You’d be right,” I said, guiding him to sit in one of the red armchairs.

His hesitant expression curved into a full-faced smile. As he sat down, the awkward lines of his body began to bleed away, and he relaxed into the chair with an air of steady self-assurance. His pose remained polite, though—he kept his hands carefully folded over his lap, and his ankles were loosely crossed.

“Would you like something to drink?” I asked. Originally, I had wanted to give him something to soothe his nerves, but it looked like that was unneeded.

“Ah… that milk tea would be nice, if you don’t mind,” the man said, gesturing to Richard’s teacup.

Richard returned from the bookshelf, taking over the process of greeting out newest, customer, and I headed back to the kitchen. Both men spoke in measured tones, so even though they spoke at a medium volume, their voices carried well enough.

“…Richard Ranasinghe de Vulpian? Is it alright to call you Richard-san, then?” He spoke the name slowly, but he pronounced Richard’s full name without fumbling.

“Just Richard is fine, too.”

“Nice to meet you too, Richard-san. I’m Hanzawa Masato. If I’m not incorrect, you sell jewelry at this place?”

“Indeed we do. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

I returned to see Hanzawa-san wearing a thoughtful expression on his face. His gaze flickered towards me as I reentered the room. “I was hoping to look at stud earrings… is there anything else I should specify? I would prefer if it wasn’t prohibitively expensive…”

“Are there any kinds of stones you’re interested in looking at? Or a particular occasion or style this is meant for?”

When I drew close enough, Hanzawa-san turned to face me and accepted my tea, eyes still curved in a pleasant smile. “It’s something like a birthday gift, I suppose. As for stones… I’m not too knowledgeable regarding them.” He paused to contemplate.

Choosing a gift was always a complicated thing, in my opinion. For a gift, the trouble never ended at the purchase—it was always at the gifting that the issues arose. Would they understand the gift with the same meaning that I had in mind when I picked it? I thought about my grandmother and mother choosing my name. Was I the type of person they’d had in mind? I could only hope that was the case.

“I guess… something neutral would be best? The kind of earring fit for daily work wear.”

“Are you interested in looking at birthstones?”

Hanzawa-san sipped his tea, eyes fluttering shut in thought. “Not particularly.”

I had spent enough time to catch the traces of concern on Richard’s face, but not enough time to understand his worries. “It will take some time for me to bring my selections out. Please enjoy your tea while you wait,” he said, and then he was off, a determined crease to his brows.

Though I didn’t know exactly what was troubling him, I could learn. Surely Richard wouldn’t mind if I made some small talk?

“Might you also be a university student, Hanzawa-san?”

Hanzawa-san waved dismissively. “It’s only my first year, so I think I’m younger than you. I know I’m a customer, but there’s no need to be formal. Your name is…?”

“Nakata Seigi,” I said. “I’m in my second year.”

“I was right, then,” Hanzawa said. He’d passed over both Richard and my name without comment. I’d expected him to sound as restrained as he had with Richard, but he spoke freely. “Would I be right in saying you seem more interested in jewels as compared to jewelry?” At my confusion, he gestured to my neck, ears, and hands, which were bare of any accessories. “You don’t seem to wear any, so I’d wondered…”

“I suppose it’s the jewel itself that interests me,” I admitted. “Is it the opposite thing for you?”

“Most likely,” Hanzawa said. “It’s what I have experience in, anyways.”

At my once-again befuddled expression, Hanzawa brushed back his hair, and I caught sight of six piercing holes in his left ear.

“I see…” I replied, a little stunned. Even when his hair wasn’t brushed back, it was easy to see a few of his piercing holes.

Richard had probably noticed them from the moment he’d walked in.

Now that I thought about it clearly, a birthday gift could be presented to oneself, couldn’t it? Just like Yamamoto-san trying to buy herself a garnet.

I’d seen guys in my college with piercings, but none who bought any with jewels like the ones in Richard’s store. It was a kind of flashy choice for someone who looked so mild-mannered, but so were piercings in general.

In the same way that I’d only noticed the tiramisu in that bakery after asking Richard about coffee, I realized the reason for his concern. If it was a present for himself, the uncertainty in his answers could prove troublesome.

“If I could ask…” I prompted, as Richard returned with his tamatebako.

Richard set down his tamatebako with a harder than usual thud. He still looked concerned, but there was a different note to it.

“Sure.”

“Is there a reason a guy as young as you has so many piercings?”

Richard opened up his tamatebako with a sharp click.

Hanzawa kept smiling up at me. He took a long sip of his tea, and then directed his attention towards what Richard had selected.

I leaned over to take a look. As I did, Richard shot a pointed glare towards me. What? I mouthed back, but he ignored me.

The stones Richard had picked were split between gemstones with faceted cuts and cabochons. The studs themselves were made of a simple silver backing, with the stone fitted on top in a rounded or squared shape. The exception to this was the studs fitted with lapis lazuli, which were backed with gold. While I recognized the diamond and amethyst, there were a few colored stones in faceted cuts that I wasn’t certain how to identify. But the ones that caught my attention were the larger stud earrings, which were fitted with polished stones that didn’t sparkle but had bands of red, terracotta, and peach striped across its surface. Others had the same banding pattern but in soft grays and whites.

“These are beautiful,” Hanzawa said, smile dropping into a look of deep consideration. He leaned forward to study each one. “Of course, diamonds are a classic choice,” he sighed to himself.

“The clear color of a diamond is indeed well-suited to various shades of any outfit you might choose.”

“I see,” Hanzawa mused. He gestured to the rest of the jewels. “I recognize the amethyst. And the… lapis lazuli, yes? Seeing it in person, it certainly is a vivid kind of blue,” he said. “But I’m a little unfamiliar with the rest of these gems. Would you mind explaining them?”

“Of course,” Richard said. “The green stone you see here is peridot. The yellow, orange, and brown stones you see here are citrine. Like amethyst, it is a type of quartz. This”—he pointed to a deep yellow-orange stone— “is heat-treated amethyst, which looks similar to citrine, with minor differences. The banded stones are agate. They are a mix of quartz and moganite—both have an equivalent chemical composition, but different crystal structures.”

I hadn’t heard of moganite until now—unless I was mishearing morganite, but Richard had such wonderful pronunciation I thought that was impossible. Despite all of the information, all Hanzawa did was nod in understanding.

“Peridot,” Hanzawa repeated to himself. “I don’t think I’ve seen any before.”

The stone he was looking at was a sparkling kind of lime green. “It’s like the color of spring,” I said.

Hanzawa bowed his head, suddenly bashful. “Yes. It’s… well, it’s a color I’m fond of,” he admitted.

“Would you like to see more?”

He shook his head. “…No, it’s not really… well-suited for me.” After a moment of contemplation, he pointed to the lapis lazuli. “How does this one get its gold flecks?”

“Lapis lazuli is composed of several different minerals, and a common addition happens to be pyrite, which is responsible for that gold color. As you mentioned, it is a very vivid blue, which is why, historically, it was ground to create ultramarine. Before a synthetic alternative was created, it was an extremely expensive and prized paint.”

Hanzawa smiled down at the stones. “I’ve heard of ultramarine. Isn't it what provides the blue shades in many of Johannes Vermeer’s works?”

I made a note to ask Richard who Johannes Vermeer was later.

“That’s correct.” After a pause, Richard added, “If you are looking for something neutral, blue tends to be a color that pairs well with others.”

“Oh, that’s—I’ll keep it in mind,” Hanzawa said. Haltingly, he asked, “Is jewelry made of lapis lazuli—is it quite common?”

“Compared to the rest of these stones, it’s a bit of a more delicate material,” Richard allowed, “so it has to be carefully looked after. But historically, lapis lazuli has been used in all kinds of jewelry.”

“…Is that so.”

Silence dragged on between them. Hanzawa seemed unbothered by it, though it was hard to see much of his expression, with both his bangs and lashes obscuring his eyes.

“…This agate. I feel like I’ve seen stones with this banding before.”

“Banding is characteristic but not exclusive to agate,” Richard said. “It has been used for carvings as well as jewelry and remains popular today. Each piece of agate has differences in how exactly the banding occurs, so one could say that each piece is truly unique.”

“Unique…” A ghost of uncertainty appeared on Hanzawa’s face, but it was gone in a flash. “Does it come in any other colors?”

“Oftentimes agate will be dyed into various colors, but there are some other colors present in naturally occurring agates. Would you like to see some blue lace agate?”

“Surely that dyed agate is prettier, huh?” Hanzawa murmured, so low I barely heard him. Apropos of nothing, he then straightened up, looking flustered. “Sorry,” he said. “I think—I think I’m a little in over my head.” He drank the last of his tea in disconcerting silence.

“If you’d like to come back, we take appointments,” I said.

“…Right,” Hanzawa said, eyes still fixed on the earrings before him. He set his teacup down on the table. “What would be a good time?”

“Sunday, 4PM?” Richard suggested, and Hanzawa agreed.

With that settled, Hanzawa thanked me for the tea, bid a polite goodbye to us both, and exited the store, leaving another gust of crisp air in his wake.

As it was now closing time, I went to collect the now empty teacups, only to find Richard looking up at me expectantly.

“What?” I asked.

He sighed. “Nothing that concerns you, I suppose.”

“By the way, who’s Johannes Vermeer?” I asked.

“Have you ever seen Girl with a Pearl Earring?” Richard asked.

“He was the artist?” I confirmed, and then went to wash the teacups.

When I returned, Richard was staring at his open tamatebako.

I took a seat next to him. “Thinking about our customer?”

“…Jewels reflect the inner feelings of a person,” Richard said after a long silence. “I wonder how to convey that truth to a person like him.”

“It was strange to see someone so young here,” I agreed. “Well, Hajime-kun was much younger, but his circumstances were different.”

“You’re quite young yourself,” Richard commented dryly. “Aren’t you two the same age?”

“If we went to the same university, I’d be his senpai,” I said. “Still. It’s rare. I thought he’d be more nervous.”

“…I don’t think he wasn’t nervous,” Richard said, but when I asked him what he meant, he didn’t elaborate.

“Well,” I said, wondering how I could clear those worry lines from his face, “we’ll see him next week.”

“Maybe,” Richard said, and this, I didn’t need him to explain.

If Hanzawa Masato came in next week at the appointed time, or if he had disappeared out that door for forever, it was impossible to know.

#hanzawa to tashiro #the case files of jeweler richard #hanzawa masato #my writing #hanzashiro #nakata seigi #richard ranasinghe de vulpian #kiri.txt #lotsa things going on with hanzawa here.#this went thru a very painful edit where i was like. how much of hanzawa do we get to know.#and i decided to cut back on it. bc it felt more in character that way.#anyways im really excited #itll take me way longer to write the next couple of parts but i Will write them hopefully #ever since i wrote that propaganda post for the tashiro outfit poll ive been thinking abt the Themes of a hanzawa to tashiro #that takes place in tashiros third year #anyways. hope yall enjoy.#also if u like hanzawa to tashiro youll LOVE case files of jeweler richard.#did my best to sort of make this feel like the novels but its also definitely my style.#harusono

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