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valderaa · 12 hours ago

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the anomalous agate (part three)

*blows out candles* happy birthday to me! here's a gift for some of you <3

here's the ao3 link, and if you prefer tumblr, it's just under the cut

edit: part one | part two | - | part four | epilogue

case 2-x: the anomalous agate (part 3)

The clock had just ticked over to 4PM when Hanzawa Masato entered the shop on Sunday. I shivered at the brisk gust of wind that swept through Jewelry Étranger; Richard simply rose from his seat and said, “Welcome back, Hanzawa-san,” without a flicker of surprise on his face.

That was my fault—I hadn’t been able to keep my mouth shut during the intervening Saturday—but it was still good to see Hanzawa in the flesh.

I’d run into Kaede on Friday, and we’d ended up grabbing lunch together. She’d been accompanied by a friend who eyed me warily before Kaede explained how the two of us knew each other, and I was comforted to know that she had people so dedicated to looking out for her. I had a feeling that wasn’t the only reason for her stare, though—the bruise on my face had darkened into a faded yet obvious purple.

As we began to eat, it was impossible to not notice the attention we’d garnered, and Kaede asked, “Does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t even sting anymore,” I told her. After diligently applying an ice pack for most of the day before, the swelling had decreased and I was pain-free, assuming no one was poking my face. “Mostly it’s just awkward. But you can’t help that.”

At my answer, she relaxed, and we finally got around to making proper introductions. She, like Hanzawa, was a freshman in university, and—possibly like or unlike him—was studying literature. They’d ended up meeting through some mutual friends of theirs in high school, and once they’d found out that they shared the same taste in books and movies, became fast friends.

“Still, he’s pretty guarded,” Kaede said, and I wondered if her casual acknowledgment of that fact was the reason she hadn’t pressed for details on how Hanzawa and I had met. “Like, he knows so many people, but doesn’t really give off that ‘popular’ aura, you know? And he never had a girlfriend in high school—not that anyone knew of, at least.” Then she seemed to catch on to the fact that I felt awkward talking about Hanzawa when he wasn’t around, and quickly changed the subject.

We eventually started to talk about part-time jobs, and when I mentioned that I worked at a jeweler’s store, she whistled in appreciation. “Wow, that’s interesting,” she said, and I began to understand exactly why she and Hanzawa were friends. “What’s your store lighting like?”

I stared at her blankly. “The… lighting?”

“Sorry, I’m way too used to talking to other film buffs!” Kaede explained. “I was just thinking about how jewels are so hard to take photos of. It’s really difficult to capture the sparkle that you see in real-life, right?”

“Pictures definitely don’t do the real thing justice,” I agreed.

“Yeah, and I know that there’s some stuff that jewelers inspect for that requires special types of lighting, so I was wondering if there was any fancy equipment at your shop. But I’m realizing you probably don’t look at that stuff too hard, huh?”

She had the same kind of disappointment on her face as Tanimoto-san when she’d learned I couldn’t perfectly recall what metamorphism was. “I could… ask, maybe?” I offered.

“If it’s no problem!” Kaede accepted. “Lighting’s so interesting to me… it affects how things are viewed so much. Like, the type of makeup that people wear for filming differs from daily wear…” She clapped her hands together in realization. “That would be a great way to deal with your bruise, actually!” At my awkward look, she paused, and sheepishly tacked on, “Well, only if you wanted to, I guess… it’s pretty out there as far as a solution goes.”

“Ah… I kind of already bought some for that purpose,” I clarified. “So it’s a good suggestion—just one that I’ve already taken.”

“No, no, I’m glad you thought of it already!” Kaede exclaimed. “Did you shop at a store in-person? It must have been uncomfortable…”

What was really uncomfortable was maintaining the pretense that I’d thought this solution up on my own instead of being led around by Hanzawa. But judging by the fact that she hadn’t brought him up, I was pretty sure his skill with makeup wasn’t one Hanzawa often advertised.

“A little,” I said, opting for a half-truth. “At the checkout line, I got asked if I was buying the stuff for my girlfriend.”

“I guess it is uncommon to see guys buying makeup…” Kaede said, and then mumbled to herself, “But wouldn’t your bruise…?” Thankfully, she moved on from that line of thought and instead asked, “Did covering the bruise not work, since it’s still pretty obvious…?”

“It doesn’t really matter to me on the day-to-day,” I said. “But I definitely can’t work any public-facing job unless I cover my bruise.”

“Ah, I didn’t think of that!” Kaede gasped. “It’s probably good to use it sparingly, anyways—makeup isn’t that great for your skin, and I’d imagine yours is especially sensitive right now.”

“That’s good to know,” I said. “It’s been healing pretty well so far, so I don’t think I’ll have to use it much. I guess it’s because I just work security, but the television station I work at didn’t even mind—”

“You work at a television station?” Kaede interrupted, eyes gleaming in excitement.

I was surprised I hadn’t thought to bring it up earlier. It was a welcome change of topic, so I nodded.

Once again, she asked me about lighting equipment, to which I could give no answer, and she began to explain the various types of special equipment involved in filming. At a certain point, I had to awkwardly pause her explanation and point to her food, which had been left untouched for the past ten minutes.

“I got way too excited,” she admitted sheepishly when we’d finally parted ways.

“It’s alright,” I said. “I like hearing about that kind of stuff. It makes me think like… there’s just so much in the world that people don’t know.”

“I definitely feel that way, too!” Kaede said. “I mean, I know cameras fairly well, but recently I saw this interview from an audio director and realized just how much work goes into capturing and adding all the sound for films…” She managed to catch herself this time before she launched into another ramble and wished me a good day.

I wondered to myself if everyone had something they were secretly and intensely passionate about, like Kaede and Tanimoto-san. Though I’d developed a new appreciation for things after meeting Richard, I still wouldn’t consider myself a true enthusiast of anything.

It would be nice to be that way, I thought.

Later that day, I found that I’d been added to a group chat consisting of Hanzawa, Kaede, and I, where she delivered the news that the senior we’d made a report against had gotten expelled. Hanzawa replied first, sending a brief but warm congratulations, and I hesitated before doing the same. It felt strange not to acknowledge his existence directly, but I didn’t have anything I really wanted to say to him, either. Emotions were even harder to read through a screen—no matter what I said, I’d probably hit an impenetrable wall.

In the end, I simply set my phone on my nightstand and decided to sleep. I’d have to spend some time applying makeup before heading to work tomorrow, so it was best to tuck in early.

Saturday had passed, and now Hanzawa was here, entering Jewelry Étranger without even a hint of his initial hesitation. Maybe it was just my own increased sense of familiarity, but despite his calm demeanor, he didn’t look as closed off as before.

“You were looking for stud earrings, yes?” Richard asked. “I can bring out a few more, unless there’s anything in particular that caught your eye.”

“The lapis lazuli was quite nice,” Hanzawa replied firmly. “I’d love to see more of that.”

“…Please, take a seat while I fetch them,” Richard replied, a beat too late, and then he was off, an unsteady set to his mouth.

I supposed I’d been able to surprise him, after all.

“Milk tea, right?” I asked, motioning to where I’d set it down on the coffee table.

Hanzawa shrugged out of his jacket—today had brought biting wind along with the encroaching frost of mid-October weather—and laid it on the back of his chair before sitting down. “You thought ahead,” he said appreciatively.

“Well, you said you’d come, so…” I trailed off, not wanting to spotlight our last meeting, but unable to act as if it hadn’t happened.

Maybe Hanzawa was the same, because though he’d been distantly polite to Richard, his tone was warm as he spoke to me. He held his teacup in that same delicate fashion and took a long sip as he assessed my face. Finally, he declared, “You’ve covered it up well.”

My hand strayed towards my cheek before I willed it down. “I was worried I’d messed it up because Richard noticed,” I said, “but none of the other clients seemed to.”

Hanzawa didn’t seem surprised to learn this. “Richard-san’s quite observant; I didn’t think it would fool him.”

And fool him it hadn’t—not even for a second. I’d come into the shop to see that a client had come a few minutes ahead of their morning appointment. At first, I’d interpreted Richard’s look of vexation as an annoyance with my lateness, even though I’d come right on time, so I simply busied myself with making tea. He’d been unusually curt with the client, though not out of the bounds of simple familiarity with a regular, and once they’d left, he’d whirled on me with a sharp look.

I’d frozen in place, pinned by the emotion I couldn’t quite place in his eyes.

“Sit down,” he’d said, and I followed his order mostly out of shock.

“…Richard?” I ventured, and then bit down a yelp of surprise when he suddenly knelt before me.

Way to give a guy zero warning. I knew that Richard disliked the ways in which his beauty isolated him, but it was seriously unfair to see his face so close.

“What happened?”

I wrenched my gaze away from the fine strands of his eyelashes. “What?”

“To your face,” Richard said. Though he spoke quietly, there was a frigid edge to his words. “What happened? Tell me everything.”

“Ah—you mean my bruise?” I’d finally realized, and Richard’s hands shook at my confirmation. “It’s—well, remember Hanzawa?”

After giving him a quick rundown of the events, Richard’s expression softened. He sighed, and as he pinched the bridge of his nose, asked, “Why is it that you can never seem to avoid trouble?”

I shrugged, still a little distracted by how close his face was to mine. “…Is it obvious?” I asked after a beat. Maybe it was stupid, but I really didn’t want to leave.

“You haven’t done a bad job,” Richard assured. “Tomorrow, bring your supplies to work, and I’ll do it for you.”

Now that I thought back on it, Richard had seemed rather shaken when I’d told him what had happened. I’d known that Hanzawa’s visit had bothered him, but I hadn’t expected that Richard would react to news about him with such concern.

I tamped down another instinctive flare of jealousy and agreed with Hanzawa. “Yeah, he’s way too good at noticing things.”

“I wonder if there’s ever a customer that finds it unnerving,” Hanzawa mused. “To be seen so well… it could be frightening.”

“In a way, I think it’s relieving,” I said, thinking about how Richard had applied my makeup with swift prowess this morning. I’d thought I’d done a good job on my own, but when I’d checked his result in the mirror, it was flawless. And he’d been gentle with the entire process, too—I’d felt fussed over in a way that was as embarrassing as it was pleasing. “I really like the way he doesn’t presume anything, so maybe that’s why I think it’s fine. Because I never feel as if I've been judged by him.”

“What a lovely way to feel,” Hanzawa replied, savoring his milk tea with a smile.

Our attention was both redirected to Richard, who had returned with his tamatebako in hand. An odd look was on his face—I wondered if he’d overheard us, but he opened up his tamatebako without comment or force. The earrings on display weren’t limited to just stud earrings, but were likewise simple, sparse designs that highlighted the stone in question. Gold sparked through in different patterns in each stone, and some were entirely without it, the entire rock a deep, even blue.

Hanzawa studied each set with a keen eye. “Blue’s a rather neutral color, but lapis lazuli looks so rich it borders on ostentatious,” he sighed. “Still, it is nice.”

Aren’t you fond of green? I thought to myself. But since I remembered how awkward he’d looked the last time I’d said so, I kept quiet.

“Is there something that drew you to this stone in particular?” Richard asked.

“Like I said, it’s just such an arresting color,” Hanzawa said after a moment. “And… I was thinking a little more about what I wanted.” Maybe he’d realized he’d spoken with a bit too much bite, because he then laughed self consciously and clarified, “I guess I’m looking for something like a statement piece? Though it might seem strange to say as they’re just earrings, and not even in a particularly grand style. But this color…”

He kept drifting towards that point. I could see where he was coming from—with the exception of some sapphires, I’d never seen such a deep blue, and the gold color scattered within lapis lazuli left a vivid impression.

“Statement pieces do tend to be on the grander side,” Richard conceded. “However, I think any piece of jewelry is its own kind of statement.” He paused, eyes flickering towards me, and tentatively added, “I’d like to believe that gems reflect the feelings of their owner.”

“Is that so…” Hanzawa said, and in defiance of Richard’s caution, passed by his statement without further comment. “Tell me more about lapis lazuli?” he asked. “I knew about ultramarine, but I’m sure a stone like this has more history surrounding it.”

Richard relaxed back into his chair. “Historically, lapis lazuli was central in Ancient Egypt. You’ll see it almost anywhere in many artifacts from that time period.”

“All those gold and blue objects, then…?”

“That would be lapis lazuli,” he confirmed. “As you can see, it was prized for its color even back then. The gold part of these objects, though, was actual gold—the flecks you see in lapis lazuli are something else.”

“The gold color comes from… pyrite, right?” Hanzawa recalled.

“You would be correct. Pyrite is commonly called fool’s gold, as well,” Richard explained. “It’s quite different, though—pyrite is far more brittle, and naturally forms a cubic structure, as opposed to the malleable shapes of gold. The color also tends to be lighter and more like brass.”

I vaguely remembered Tanimoto-san saying she liked the cubic structure of pyrite a while ago—I’d really have to find out what that looked like. The cubes certainly weren’t appearing in the lapis lazuli before me, after all.

“So… essentially, the name fool’s gold implies you’d have to be an idiot to be deceived by it,” Hanzawa quipped.

At that, Richard cracked a small smile. “Something like that.”

“I can’t think of an artifact I’ve seen that wasn’t uniform in its blue,” Hanzawa recalled. “Isn’t that hard to source?”

“It makes it a great deal more valuable, yes. Both pyrite and calcite are common components of lapis lazuli that can add noticeable gold or white spots. While pyrite’s inclusion doesn’t often diminish its value, an abundance of calcite in lapis lazuli would.”

“So even something like lapis lazuli isn’t good enough to stand as is?” Hanzawa commented, without derision but with some measure of disappointment.

“To clarify,” Richard said, and it was at this point I realized that he hadn’t had the number of conversations I’d had with both Tanimoto-san and Hanzawa, “you’re speaking of the various ways in which gemstones are modified?”

“Something like that,” Hanzawa allowed, and I wondered just how much the man before me knew about heat treatments and dyeing and cutting and polishing.

“It is true that procedures like heat treatment influence the value of a stone,” Richard said after pondering the subject. “But no stone exists without human involvement. Each is mined or otherwise sourced, then polished and cut, and then fit into various settings. Not every jewel goes through each step of this process, but beyond that, every gemstone and jewel you encounter is prized only because someone has decided to do so.” He took a deep breath. “There is no stone in the world that exists without a human response. So, if there is a stone that is perfect untouched, then it is only because someone thinks it as such.”

Hanzawa was stunned into silence, a rare show of vulnerability cast on his face.

Richard took note and softened his voice. “So lapis lazuli’s value, like many others, arises from circumstance. It was one of the only sources for blue paint, and unlike a blue sapphire, could be carved. For those in Ancient Egypt, its rarity made it a signifier of wealth and status. Cleopatra used its powdered form as eyeshadow. Ra, the god of the sun, was often portrayed as having golden skin and lapis lazuli hair.”

“…There’s a lot of history carried in these, then.”

“Indeed.”

“I can understand why,” Hanzawa said. “In each setting, the stone looks slightly different. Like it has reinvented its image each time.” He inspected one pair of stud earrings where the pyrite gleamed in blue like a sharp crack of lightning before setting them down. “I doubt I’d fit a stone suited to royalty,” he said. He tried to couch his words in a light, self-deprecating tone, but it only worsened their effect. “I apologize.”

“No need,” Richard said, studying Hanzawa intently. “Still, Hanzawa-san… the fact that this stone is sold here means that it cannot be just for royalty, you know?”

“Then… if stones reflect their owner, what kind of people do you think wear lapis lazuli?” Hanzawa asked.

Since he’d just mentioned her, my mind flashed to Cleopatra—she was certainly an image that was out of sorts with Hanzawa. But when I thought of that story regarding her pearl earrings, I felt that Hanzawa had a similar sense of pride and wit. At the very least, he could certainly match the composure of a queen.

“…I think there is not just one type of person suited to a certain kind of stone,” Richard began. “Things are not that… well, set in stone.”

“Still,” Hanzawa pressed, “There must be some kind of consensus. Indulge a simple curiosity… what meaning is lapis lazuli associated with today?”

“…Some claim it is helpful for mitigating insomnia and negative feelings. But as for associations with the stone itself—truth, I suppose.”

Even a fool who thought their pyrite was gold would be able to catch the shift in Hanzawa’s expression. I realized then that even though he’d told me to tell him everything, I’d glossed over most of what I’d talked about with Hanzawa. Richard was brilliant, but he couldn’t actually read minds.

“Of course,” Hanzawa murmured, the strangled expression on his face having settled into an odd, muted reverence. “That’s why it’s so beautiful.”

He didn’t look towards me; he knew I’d known, and he was smart enough to tell that Richard couldn’t. Client privacy was important, but half the reason I’d wanted to speak to Hanzawa was to get rid of that troubled look on Richard’s face, and here I was, mucking everything up and making the situation worse for everyone. I anticipated Hanzawa would become withdrawn and make the quickest, politest exit possible, but what he did instead was worse.

In a single motion, Hanzawa drained his milk tea. “I’m no professional jeweler, but here’s my assessment,” he said, a resolute look on his face. “Lapis lazuli is on the delicate end. It’s flecked with fool’s gold, but not to its detriment—this makes it a stone that is as rich as it is fake. To wear it, someone must be capable of handling it with care, and grand enough to carry the attention its blue deserves.” He paused, sent a mischievous glance my way, and added, “Don’t you think Seigi would suit it well? He’s rather careful.”

As if on autopilot, Richard scoffed and replied, “Careful?”

Hanzawa dipped his head in agreement, though his smile was obvious. “Richard-san, I’ll defer to you opinion on him, as it’s you that knows him so dearly well.”

Richard’s face turned slightly red—I guessed it was a bit disconcerting to respond on instinct rather than thought. In a strained voice, he offered, “Would you at least like to try on some of the earrings?”

Hanzawa stared at Richard, his momentary cheer immediately dulled. Then he smiled again, but it wasn’t friendly. He reached towards the set he’d been drawn to during conversation and tried them on without much fanfare.

Once on his ears, I thought they suited him beautifully—the gold seemed to glow under the lights of the store, and the deep color enhanced the blue tones of his irises. But once Hanzawa inspected his own visage in the mirror, his plastered-on smile flattened into a dim ghost of itself, and he shook his head. “No, I was right,” he said, and removed his earrings before either of us could say a word. “This kind of thing isn’t for me.”

He'd become like steel; that countenance of his made it impossible to ask questions. He wished me well, and then whisked himself away, a sliver of wind wisping into the shop in his wake.

Richard lingered in front of the open tamatebako. That had been the last appointment of the day.

I sighed, unsure how to apologize, and simply said, “I’m sorry—I really thought that if he came to his appointment, it’d be…” And suddenly I realized that the more I understood Hanzawa, the less I was sure I knew.

“No… you were fine,” Richard said. “Wasn’t he comparatively talkative today?” When my frown didn’t lessen, he added, “For what it’s worth, he seemed to have opened up to you.”

“To me?”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t to me,” Richard answered with a raised eyebrow.

“Not much good it did you, though,” I muttered.

Richard sighed and motioned for me to sit next to him. I glumly pulled a chair to his side. “He entered here on a whim, the first time,” he said. “Today, I could tell that he was seriously considering what he wanted. Though I understand your disappointment, it is an honorable decision for someone to decide they aren’t ready for something.”

“You’re right,” I conceded, “but it still doesn’t feel right.”

Richard’s hand hovered by me; I wondered if he was going to poke my bruise, but he simply settled a cool hand on my shoulder. “Rather than push someone into a shaky decision or entice them into a purchase by playing to their desires… it is best when someone makes the choice on their own.”

Come to think of it, he’d called himself thoughtless for selling that amethyst to Takatsuki-san, who’d been moved by the powers it was said to possess. Hanzawa’s case was kind of the inverse situation, but he, too, had been moved—in the opposite direction. And if, like Takatsuki-san, the reason was due to an unresolved state of mind, the purchase of a jewel wouldn’t pacify it.

“…You’re way too good at logical arguments, you know,” I grumbled.

Richard squeezed my shoulder. “It’s just that you think with your heart,” he said. “But that is not a detriment—it is a strength.”

I felt my face growing warm and turned to hide my expression. “I’d better get this makeup off,” I said.

“Unique” was a lovely compliment, but somehow, the simple assurance that I was liked as I was felt twice as magical.

#my writing #kiri.fic #the anomalous agate #harusono #jeweler richard #hanzawa to tashiro #hanzashiro

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valderaa · 13 hours ago

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so. maybe i made a dating sim au playlist to soundtrack shirahama's agonies. feel free to give it a listen—the playlist is put together to be listened to without shuffle on!

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valderaa · 15 hours ago

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the anomalous agate (part two)

now: here's what some of you actually wanted to see yesterday.

a quick rundown for anyone who has no idea what this is: here's ch 1 on tumblr and ao3. I posted an updated version of ch 1 yesterday that flows a bit nicer, and recommend checking that out if you haven't already.

and, while it's even less necessary to do, consider checking this post out, too. the context in which it was written is kind of... irrelevant to this fic, honestly, but it provides a bit of background that I think enhances some of what's going on in this chapter and the next one (that I haven't written yet).

with that out of the way, this chapter is over 7k, so here's the ao3 link if you prefer. (there's also a bit of a longer author's note there at the end) if you'd like to stick to tumblr, follow me under the cut.

edit: part one | - | part three | part four | epilogue

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

Even the usually oblivious Tanimoto-san noticed my listless mood in the following days. It wasn’t unusual for me to worry or speculate about my clients—everyone who stepped into Richard’s store certainly had some kind of interesting quality, but something about Hanzawa tugged oddly at my chest.

To complicate matters, I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only one feeling that way. Richard had spent Sunday carrying on as usual, but every once in a while, he’d drift into his thoughts and his brows would furrow like something was bothering him. This wasn’t a trait unique to Hanzawa’s presence, but this was possibly the first time I’d seen Richard look genuinely unsettled instead of troubled.

It wasn’t an expression I liked seeing on his face.

“Seigi-kun, you seem deep in thought,” Tanimoto-san said. “Something on your mind?”

Class had ended. I flipped aimlessly through the pages of the book on gemstones I’d borrowed from Richard before tucking it into my bag. Somehow, I didn’t quite feel as if I could meet her eyes. “You mentioned there were many gems that did heat treatment, right?” I asked as we began to shuffle out of the classroom.

She responded with less cheer than usual, and I felt dejected to be the cause. “Oh, yes… not just corundum,” she said. “Beryl and quartz, too. That encompasses a large quantity of jewels which are just named as different forms of these materials, really… heat treatment is used often to change their color. Apart from deepening the red of a ruby, there’s aquamarine—a type of beryl—which is most commonly green-blue. Heat treatment tends to enhance the blue color and really give it that expected ‘aqua’ color. One of the most dramatic transformations, to me, is amethyst—it can turn a deep orange when it’s treated with heat.”

“Ah—I saw that last weekend,” I said. “It’s meant to mimic citrines, right?”

“Citrines tend to be a paler yellow, actually,” Tanimoto-san said. “But they’re rare—especially ones with a deep orange color. That’s why heat-treatment of amethysts is so common.” She sighed, gaze drifting off in space as we headed to her next class. “When we think of the term ‘citrus,’ the first thing that comes to mind is often an orange, despite the variety of citrus fruits in other colors. Sometimes I wonder if that’s the reason people mistake amethysts for citrine so easily.”

“It fits with their preconceived notions, huh?” I said, earning an approving nod from Tanimoto-san. “I still remember what you said before—about wanting to appreciate the stones as they were without heat treatment. I thought that was a really beautiful idea.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you think so, Seigi-kun,” she said. We came to a halt in front of her next classroom, but she didn’t go inside just yet. “But we’d talked about this already… is there something else you wanted to ask me?”

I swallowed around an uncomfortable bit of air. We were early for her class—it wasn’t a particularly long walk from classroom to classroom, but I liked spending time with her—but she usually went directly inside. It’s so nice of her to take time out of her day to worry about me, I thought. But again, I knew that I must have been really out of sorts for her to notice.

“It was just mentioned in passing,” I said at her prompting, “But… well, a client was discussing agate, and I heard that some of them were dyed. Is that a common process?”

Her expression immediately soured. For a minute I thought I’d stepped on some kind of conversational landmine, but though she looked unhappy, she spoke without malice. “It’s—not uncommon, no. Agate is porous, so it absorbs dye well, as do any stones like it.” I could see her turning over her words with care. “But… while heat treatment is an irreversible process, dyeing tends to be less effective. The color can fade over time, especially under sunlight, and it may not stain evenly. And depending on what dye is used, it can be removed with solvents like acetone… so it’s a process that’s much less certain.”

“So, they’re kind of fragile,” I observed, “even if they’re made to look nicer.”

“Well, they certainly look pretty—the bright colors can enhance how distinct the banding is, so you could argue the dye only enhances the best features of agate and other types of chalcedony, but…”

“…But?”

“Dyeing stones is really common for selling fakes,” she said. “And well—I just think that’s inexcusable, to conceal the truth like that. Even though dyed stones can be detected, that’s usually only after they’re sold, right? And this often happens with online purchases, so… I can’t help but feel resentful.” She frowned. “And every time I’ve traveled to see something related to rocks, the gift shop always carried those tumbled and dyed stones! It’s hard to find anything else…”

“That must be tough,” I said, though it was hard to suppress a smile at the thought of Tanimoto-san scowling in the middle of a gift shop. She usually seemed so magnanimous, and it was nice to see that she had her weak points, too.

She pouted. “I know it’s a petty reason, okay!” she said. A touch more melancholy, she added, “But every time I see them, I want to stand up and yell at everyone that rocks and minerals are more interesting than that, because it feels like these polished stones and other kinds of jewels are the only kind of beauty that people care about. For all kinds of rocks and minerals… I don’t think they possess a beauty that is just skin-deep. But when you limit the conversation to just rocks, because they look so different, the interests just don’t overlap…” She glanced up at me, seemed to realize that the type of person she was talking about was right next to her, and hurried to clarify. “Ah—I didn’t mean that as a strike against you though, Seigi-kun.”

“No, I totally understand,” I quickly reassured her. “I mean, in an ideal world, that’s how we want to think of other people, too, right? Without judging based on the outside alone. And I think anyone would want to share their interest with more people. So, if what you like is rarer, or unappreciated, it feels sad, right?”

“Right,” Tanimoto-san said. She smiled. “…I really am glad we get to talk about gemstones. I always feel like I end up hearing something interesting.”

Not for the first time, I thought that Tanimoto-san was some kind of angel. I truly didn’t have any questions about rocks to reciprocate with, except— “There’s a few rocks that do count as gemstones, right?” I asked. “Like lapis lazuli.”

“You remembered!” Tanimoto-san exclaimed. “Lapis lazuli’s a particularly special rock, you know,” she said, a gleam in her eyes. “Historically, it was used to make this very expensive blue paint…”

“Ah—ultramarine, right?”

“Exactly!” Tanimoto-san said, clapping her hands in excitement. “Seems like you’re already an expert on it, Seigi-kun.”

“I just heard it in passing,” I explained sheepishly. “That customer from before—he and my boss talked about ultramarine for a bit.” I paused to recollect the various times I’d spotted the stone in Jewelry Étranger. “Though, the stone looks so unbelievable to me on its own that it feels strange to think it would ever be used for paint…”

“It is one of the beauties of metamorphism,” Tanimoto-san agreed. Or at least, I was assuming she was.

“Sorry, but… what exactly is metamorphism again?” I asked. “I feel like I’ve heard the term before, and I just don’t remember.”

Despite the various expressions I’d put on her face today and in all the other conversations we’d had, this was the first time I’d ever seen Tanimoto-san look truly dumbfounded. It took me a while to even realize that was the expression on her face, until she cleared her throat and said, “I guess you said yourself you didn’t know much about rocks, but… well, I thought this was common knowledge, and maybe it… isn’t?” Worriedly, like she’d just learned she was privy to a secret for which she hadn’t voluntarily been made a confidant, she asked, “I mean, everyone knows that the three common classifications of rocks are sedimentary, igneous, and metamorphic, right?”

“…That rings a bell?” I said unconvincingly.

Her eyes flickered towards the classroom—she had only a few minutes before her next class started, so I imagined she would head inside, but instead she squared her shoulders, formed a distinctly “Golgo” look on her face, and said, “Well—metamorphic rocks are basically a type of rock that’s actually a combination of other rocks and minerals. So that’s how lapis lazuli has that beautiful gold coloring—it comes from the pyrite that’s part of the rock. The main blue comes from lazurite, but there’s many more mineral components that are mixed in with an average lapis lazuli.”

“And metamorphism is how these rocks form?”

“Right,” Tanimoto-san said. “Basically, they’re put under a lot of heat and pressure, and because of that, the composition of the rock ends up changing—so, for lapis lazuli, all these separate things fuse—or the crystal structure shifts, which is a kind of complicated thing to explain… But by the end, the new rock is distinct when compared to the simple sum of its parts. Something like marble or slate… you wouldn’t call simply a combination of other things, right?”

“I would never have known unless you told me… that’s amazing,” I marveled. “In a way… it’s kind of nature’s own heat treatment, huh?”

“That’s true,” Tanimoto-san said. “Just one without any motivation.”

This was something that had always fascinated me regarding jewels. Of course, it was untrue that they existed without human involvement. But before any human had laid eyes upon it, lapis lazuli had always been that brilliant combination of blue and gold. That, to me, was something like a miracle.

“You must have had an interesting customer this week, right?” Tanimoto-san guessed.

I shook myself out of my thoughts. “What?”

“Well, Seigi-kun, you’re always curious,” she said, “So maybe it’s nothing. But this time you look like you really want to say something to someone.” She tapped the space between her brows. “Don’t let it give you wrinkles, though!”

With that, she hurried into class, taking her seat just a few seconds before the professor began her lecture. I was left standing dumbly in the hallway, stuck with my swirling thoughts. Though I’d glossed over it at first, I supposed I was of the same mind as Tanimoto-san; dyeing stones felt more like concealment than enhancement. And then I remembered what I likely wasn’t meant to hear—surely that dyed agate is prettier—and reached up to my forehead.

Sure enough, I was frowning. I wanted to pull out my phone and text Richard something along the lines of This is your fault, but that would be truly nonsensical, and really, what I wanted wasn’t to assign something like blame. But since I couldn’t just run to him, I decided to follow Tanimoto-san’s advice and smooth out my expression.

———

“Ah… Nakata-san?”

Richard had said that most serendipitous encounters were just a natural consequence of learning more about the world, but I was pretty sure this situation was the exclusive work of strange fortune. Though I doubted this surprise encounter would go as badly as the last one had, the sharp sense of déjà vu kept me wary.

Still, I inhaled a breath of crisp morning air, and replied, “It’s alright to call me Seigi.”

I was looking up at the face of Hanzawa Masato, who truthfully had been the furthest thing from my mind in the past few days. That space in my brain had been usurped and summarily overwhelmed by the tedium of classes and assignments. If I had to learn how to draw another kind of economic model using another set of conditions and parameters, my head was going to burst. In fact, my head ached at the thought alone.

Now that we were face to face again, though, the rigamarole of university had all but disappeared from my mind, and I watched his face contort into an expression halfway between awkwardness and concern. The awkwardness was a given—I hadn’t expected to run into him either. Half the reason for his concern was a girl from my university who I’d just learned was called Kaede. And the other half of his concern—a quarter of his total expression—was in response to seeing me, who’d just been shoved into the side of a building.

Maybe that was the reason my head ached. It was certainly the reason I was sitting down and staring up at him.

“Are you okay?” Kaede fretted. She had sunk into a worried crouch in front of me, hands hovering around my head like she could divine the nature of my injuries.

I pressed a hand to my cheek, which was stinging, but didn’t feel scraped, and hauled myself upright. Any dizziness I’d felt had faded, and though one of my arms felt numb, I’d gotten worse injuries doing karate. “I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just a surface-level injury. Probably looks worse than it is. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine—not a scratch!” she reported, standing up to demonstrate her lack of injury. “I had no idea he would do that, though. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be,” I cut in before she could self-flagellate. “It’s not your fault at all.”

Were I feeling charitable, I’d point out that I didn’t think the guy in question had even meant to push me into a wall—he’d just meant to push me and bolt. But he was also the kind of asshole that cornered people against the side of a building, so I wasn’t going to defend him in the slightest.

“What happened?” Hanzawa asked.

I felt a little ill-at-ease seeing the sheer expressiveness on his face. Of course, it made sense that he’d be so frazzled, considering what had just happened to his friend, but it was uncomfortable to see his lack of composure. Like this, he looked like an ordinary, unremarkable teenager.

Kaede wrung her hands, stumbling through her words. “I—you know that senior who was bothering me? Well, he cornered me, and we started arguing, and then”—she gestured in my direction—“he hit him and ran away.”

“I heard shouting, so I came over here,” I added when Hanzawa looked to me for further explanation.

It was really as simple as that. After exiting a horrendously early class, I’d heard arguing near the shadowed side of the building. And once I’d seen Kaede telling the other guy to leave her alone, I’d intervened without hesitation. He’d started aggressively posturing at me before shoving me to the side and running away.

The sharp spike of adrenaline I’d felt at the time was now wearing off, and my injuries began to twinge. I took a deep breath, and in an effort not to dash after the guy, I suggested, “We should make a report or something.”

“Oh, right,” Kaede said, fishing out her phone. “There’s like… campus administration or something, right? Let me find out wherever it’s located.” She paused in thought. “Wait… do you two know each other?”

“We just met by coincidence once,” I said, figuring that Hanzawa would value his privacy.

It was enough of an answer for Kaede, who just laughed and said, “Masato-kun knows, like, everyone, so it’s not really a surprise!”

I was relieved to see that she didn’t seem too shaken by everything.

Soon enough, we were pointed the way of campus authorities, and I learned the full story while Kaede made her report. Apparently, this guy had been bothering her for a while after they’d met at a mixer—he’d seen her waiting to meet up with Hanzawa, and then blown up at her when she declined to spend time with him. Since he already had quite a few conduct violations on his record, the administration assured us that they’d act quickly.

Their urgency might have also been prompted by the blatant injury on my face. Every time someone turned to face me, they would reflexively wince at the circle of reddened skin on my cheek. I’d seen it in a mirror while getting my injuries checked out—I was officially deemed concussion-free, which was a relief—and had flinched at my own reflection in surprise.

Amidst the commotion, Hanzawa stayed level-headed, guiding Kaede through the motions of making a report. Even though he wasn’t a student at my university—a fact which was strangely relieving to confirm—it was like he’d gone through this process before. I thought he’d escort Kaede home, too, but once everything had been squared away, she called some of her university friends to pick her up. They arrived with a slew of inventive insults that seemed to cheer Kaede up in an instant. She thanked me again as we swapped numbers, and then she waved us goodbye as she was whisked away by her friends.

“You’re not going with her?” I asked.

“Her other friends will be much better at taking her mind off things,” he said. “Besides, they all go to your university, so they can accompany her during classes.” He turned to face me as he spoke, and though he didn’t wince, his gaze lingered on my cheek.

“I’m alright,” I said. “I even got an ice pack when we were making the report.”

“Still…” Hanzawa said. Hesitantly, he asked, “Could I treat you to lunch? Or a coffee?”

The sun was high in the sky. On one hand, I wasn’t particularly hungry, but coffee sounded nice, and I didn’t have classes until later this evening. On the other hand, Hanzawa looked like he was already regretting the offer.

But Tanimoto-san was right; I had a few things I wanted to say to him. And despite his hesitation, it looked like Hanzawa felt the same.

“Sure,” I said. “You can pick the place.”

———

Hanzawa’s coffee order was a little more complicated than mine. Hearing him rattle off his order made me realize that Richard was right to only offer tea at his shop. The café he’d picked out was like many of the other cafés I’d been to—peaceful, atmospheric, and a neutral ground for conversations. Once we’d taken our seats, we each waited in a brittle kind of silence.

Hanzawa began to fiddle with his phone, and I took it as a clear indication he wasn’t ready to talk. My coffee arrived first, so I savored it while gazing through one of the café windows. Outside, the weather had snapped into a bitter frost, as it seemed wont to do whenever I wasn’t looking. I shivered a little—even inside the temperature-regulated café, I’d dressed a little lightly for the cold—and let the coffee’s steam curl against my skin. Though I couldn’t call myself a connoisseur, I’d begun to appreciate coffee for more than its caffeine.

It was just one more thing I’d learned how to treasure since I’d met Richard. Thinking of him, I reflexively touched my face. We weren’t anywhere near Ginza, but I could imagine the shop’s entrance in front of me as I stared out the window.

“Is there something you’re worried about?”

I started, noting that Hanzawa’s coffee had appeared between his hands. He held the cup strangely, his fingers curled around the sides without any pressure; I worried that it might slip from his fingers if he tried to lift it. Still, the pose seemed so natural for him that I wondered if he’d held the tea at Jewelry Étranger the same way, and I just hadn’t noticed. Like that time, any initial hesitation of his had melted away into a self-assured grace.

“I was just thinking…” I replied, tapping my reddened skin, “it’s going to bruise.”

“Ah,” Hanzawa said. His eyes darted around the room—he could probably sense the curious looks I’d gotten, too, but that wasn’t my main concern. “You’re worried about your weekend work, I assume?”

“No, it’s—actually, yeah, I am,” I said, cutting off my instinctive denial. First Tanimoto-san, and now Hanzawa… I wondered if my face was just becoming easier to read.

“I doubt a bruised face is good for customer service,” he added, clarifying exactly where my thoughts had headed.

I explained, “I’d rather not scare the customers, and it’s something I’ve done even without my face like this, so…”

“That would be troubling,” Hanzawa said. “I’d apologize for the situation, but…”

“There’s no need for apologies,” I stressed. “You and Kaede already thanked me, and there’s no need to apologize for someone else’s mistakes.”

Still holding the cup as if it were air, Hanzawa slowly sipped his coffee. My attention was drawn to his fingers, which were exceptionally long, and neatly trimmed at the nails. “I’m glad you think so, Seigi—it’s alright to call you that, yes?” When I nodded, he set his cup down and made a confession: “I’m not entirely without ulterior motives, though—it’s not every day you meet someone with your job, you know? I like hearing from interesting people, so this is just me indulging in my curiosity, really. What was the application process like?”

“Ah… I didn’t quite apply,” I answered. Maybe I’d just developed a streak of cynicism, but I didn’t believe that he had invited me to coffee out of pure curiosity. I briefly imagined someone taking my place—making tea, talking with Richard, and learning about our clients—and felt a wave a jealousy so strong that I added, “I don’t really think he’s looking to hire anyone new…”

Hanzawa laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m just asking out of curiosity. I’m not looking for a job right now.”

“Ah,” I said, and drank some of my coffee to cover my embarrassment. “Anyways, even when we first met, I don’t think he was looking to hire anyone.”

“Is that so?” Hanzawa asked, a clear prompt for me elaborate.

I had no desire to do so. Instead, I was distracted by the thought of Hanzawa as an employee of Jewelry Étranger. He seemed like he would excel at any job related to customer service, particularly when it came to making conversation. Even now, though I was conscious of the fact that he was leading the conversation, it didn’t bother me. But he wouldn’t know what sweets Richard liked best, or how to watch his expressions to figure out if he was enjoying them. And he wouldn’t know how to brew royal milk tea—not that I’d known that, either…

“I approached him about a family heirloom of mine, and he offered me a job afterwards,” I finally summed up.

Thankfully, Hanzawa didn’t pry any further. “I can see why,” he said. “Something about you must have been unique enough to convince him, right?”

“…You think so?” I asked, ducking my head. It was amazing how one word—unique—was enough to dispel my worries. Saying I had a talent for recognizing beauty—that already made me feel like the most special person in the world. The implication that Richard recognizing that had been a testament to my uniqueness was unbelievably flustering. Rather than think about it for too long, I downed my coffee.

“I just thought that if he wasn’t looking to hire someone,” Hanzawa said, “it means that you must have been important enough to ask for, anyways. The atmosphere at your store would make one think you two had been friends for years.”

I felt warmer than usual. “I just… guess we aligned somehow,” I murmured, feeling a need to deflect the compliment. As much as I privately liked to think of our meeting as “fate,” hearing it from a veritable stranger was something else. “Richard is—he’s almost too incredible, I think. I’m lucky to work there.”

Hanzawa considered my statement carefully, and then asked, “Is it—and I could be overstepping, here, but—is it kind of a… scary feeling?”

“No, you’re right,” I said, feeling a euphoric rush of shared understanding. “It’s—I’m happy, of course. It’s impossible not to be. But it almost makes everything else pale in comparison—”

“And you begin to wonder where you’d be without it,” Hanzawa concluded, perfectly reading my mind.

I sighed. “I mean… it’s not like this will be my job forever, you know? But still, compared to going to university, whenever it’s the weekend, I feel like I’m ten times as real. Like I exist as… I don’t know, more than I am.”

“As in… you’re able to express yourself more?” Hanzawa asked.

I shook my head. “No, it’s like… I’m a more impressive person, even though nothing about me changes,” I said. “It feels like my actions have more meaning. And my world keeps expanding, each time.” When he didn’t respond, still wrapping his head around my words, I added, “…It might be a bit strange to blabber on and on about my job satisfaction. But I really think that being able to work where I do is a miracle of some kind.”

“I see what you mean,” he finally replied as he sipped his coffee. “In a way, Richard-san’s store feels like… a place that’s too good to be true, it could be said?”

“That’s exactly it!” I exclaimed. “And then once you meet Richard, it’s like… he’s a fairy prince or something that’s descended on the mortal world…”

Hanzawa fell into a sudden coughing fit.

I scrambled out of my seat, but he weakly waved me off, and so I stood over the table, watching him regain control of his throat. “Are you alright?”

He took a few deep breaths. “I’m fine,” he said, though he looked obviously embarrassed as he met my eyes. “I was just—taken off guard, I guess. You must really respect Richard-san. Have you… told him this?”

With a new understanding as to why Kaede had so uselessly hovered around me, I slipped back into my own seat. “Well, of course,” I said slowly, wondering what I wasn’t getting. “I needed to express my gratitude to him.”

Hanzawa stared up at the ceiling like he’d received some kind of divine revelation. “And he reacted… well?” he ventured.

I suddenly remembered the many, many times Richard had scolded me for speaking without considering the implications, and I grimaced. “I’m not great with words, so I’ve definitely put my foot in my mouth a few times, but… sincerity is worth the embarrassment, I think,” I said, refraining from adding that I liked to think it was at least part of the reason he’d hired me. “And, though he’s annoyingly mysterious sometimes, he’s sincere to me, too.”

“How nice…” It was impossible not to hear the wistful edge in Hanzawa’s voice. He seemed to hear it too, because he added, “Well, I do wish you two the best,” with a knowing smile.

It wasn’t hard to pick up on the distance in his voice. Despite talking about Richard and the shop, Hanzawa hadn’t once mentioned his own visit or his upcoming appointment.

Before I could prod him about it, Hanzawa cleared his throat and asked, “You’ve finished your coffee?”

I looked down at my cup, which had been empty for quite a while. “Yeah,” I said, bracing for a quick goodbye.

A strange look passed over Hanzawa’s face as he drained his cup, and he set it down on the table with a soft clink. His gaze moved sideways—I followed his line of sight, but it led nowhere. “If—if the bruising is a problem,” Hanzawa haltingly began, “I could… I might have a solution.”

The words looked painful for him to say. “You’re already treating me to coffee,” I assured. “There’s no need to do me another favor.”

He shook his head, firmer. “This… as I said, this was kind of a selfish request, anyways. If you’re willing, I’d be happy to help.”

I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to hear him talk. Maybe, if I gathered enough courage, I’d even be able to ask him about dyed stones. “Well… what did you have in mind?”

———

Much like the first time I’d visited the jewelry section of a department store, I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. This time, it wasn’t at the sight of diamonds as far as the eye could see, but of the bright lights, glossy photos, and shelves upon shelves of products I wasn’t sure how to name. I half-recognized some of the brand names scattered around the store, but otherwise felt wholly out of my depth.

Were it not for the presence of a guide, I’d have never come here. But Hanzawa was shifting his feet next to me, a skittish look in his eyes like he was convinced I’d back out at any moment. That was the same way he’d broached the subject, too, saying, “Well… you could probably cover that bruise with makeup,” in a tone so soft I’d barely heard him.

“How?” I’d asked, pouncing on the option a little too eagerly.

Hanzawa drummed his fingers against his empty cup. “It’s pretty easy,” he said. “I could teach you, but we’d have to buy some products, because we don’t have the same skin tone.” He mulled over his next words.

“There’s a department store near here,” I offered.

At that, he seemed to relax. “My older sister is really into makeup and costuming,” he said with a light laugh, “so I ended up being forced into knowing a few things myself.”

Things moved quickly after that. He paid for my coffee, and I followed him to the nearest department store before he could have too many second thoughts. It wasn’t like I didn’t understand his hesitation—we were still practically strangers, and this was an offer that required considerable involvement on his part. Still, more than anything, I didn’t want to skip work. And as little as I knew Hanzawa, he seemed like the kind of person who would never suggest something that wasn’t an actual solution.

“You’ll have to lead the way,” I finally prompted.

Hanzawa paused and corrected his posture. “Right,” he said, picked up a basket near the entrance, and then struck a path through the various displays, waving off staff with a polite, inscrutable smile.

For all he’d been hesitant, Hanzawa navigated the store with a brilliant kind of confidence. Apart from the two of us, there were barely any men in the store, but Hanzawa didn’t look out of place in the slightest. Soon enough we were left to wander around unapproached.

Finally, we came to a stop in front of a display that carried a variety of tubes in a variety of skin tones. Hanzawa leaned forward to inspect them, and I caught sight of the barely visible piercing holes in his ears.

“You’re not wearing earrings,” I observed.

He answered me without turning his head. “I suppose it’s a leftover habit from high school,” he said thoughtfully. “I didn’t wear them in class, because—well, it’s a bit of a delinquent look, and I was the president of the disciplinary club.”

That explained why he’d been so composed when helping Kaede earlier. I wonder if he’d acquired that sense of reliability from his time in the club, or if had been the reason he’d joined. “What… am I supposed to get, here?” I asked, pointing at the display.

“To cover your bruise, we’ll need concealer, foundation, and a setting spray, probably? So right now, we’re looking for foundations that match your skin tone. What color do you usually bruise?”

“…Purple, I guess?”

“Then we’ll get a yellow color corrector to offset it,” Hanzawa said, plucking a foundation from the shelf. He held it up to the light—the color was kind of close to my skin, I supposed, but there were a lot that looked just like it.

“How are you supposed to figure out the right color?” I asked.

“Oh—you can sample it,” Hanzawa said, and he motioned for me to hold my hand out. We swatched various foundations on the back of my hand as Hanzawa explained to me the basic methodology for covering a bruise. The color corrector would negate the purple hues of my bruise, concealer would properly cover it up with my actual skin tone, and foundation would provide a smooth cover that blended with the rest of my face. The setting spray was just to make sure everything held for the entire time I was working. “You’ll probably want makeup brushes, too,” Hanzawa said as he explained how to apply everything. “We can buy some, or I could maybe lend you mine…”

I could see him trying to work out how to lend me makeup brushes in a way that wouldn’t require an additional meeting. “No, I’ll get one of my own,” I said.

“You sure?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s kind of weird to say this, but… somehow, I feel like this may not be the last time I need something like this?”

Satisfied with the last foundation we’d tried, Hanzawa showed me how to remove all the makeup on my hand before leading me to another display. There he found a standard set of makeup brushes and gingerly placed it into his basket. “Well, I suppose you do lead quite an exciting life,” he commented.

“This is the first time I’ve gotten injured,” I said. “But there are a lot of interesting people at Richard’s shop, so I guess I do end up having interesting experiences.” I paused. Like this, actually, I didn’t say, and instead asked, “You mentioned your older sister taught you this?”

“It’s not really that I was taught,” Hanzawa clarified. “It was more like… a natural consequence of existing around her? I ended up knowing a lot of the terminology, and I’d get dragged to places like these, too. At that point, you have to at least learn the basics.”

I’d never had a sibling before, so I wondered if it was natural for everyone to pick up skills from their family like this. With my mother, we’d always maintained a certain sense of distance, and with my stepfather overseas, the only one who could maybe qualify as family was Richard. Who I had, indeed, learned a lot from. “And you learned more on your own, afterwards?”

“Well, at my high school, our cultural festival holds a cross-dressing competition each year—it was an all-boys school, hence the tradition—and I ended up learning a bit more because of that. One of my classmates actually attends cosmetology school, now, which is where I learned how to do this.” He gestured in the direction of my reddened cheek.

I reached up on instinct, suddenly conscious of the fact that I was walking around with such an obvious injury. I’d attributed the stares of passerby to the fact that I looked out of place in a makeup store, but this was probably the real reason.

Hanzawa studied my face, and his tone gentled. “It’s been a valuable skill to me,” he murmured. “Makeup gives us the ability to beautify.”

Hand still pressed against my cheek, I confessed, “I’d never really thought of it that way, before. Though I don’t really know anything, really. But I’d always thought of it as… having something to hide, I guess.” I felt like a fool as soon as the words left my mouth.

“Well,” Hanzawa said, still low and quiet, “I suppose we are aiming to hide that bruise of yours. But there is value even in concealment, I think.” A wry smile graced his mouth. “Speaking of.”

We’d lingered for too long in one place, and so we moved to collect a bottle of setting spray and a pale-yellow color corrector before stopping to search through a row of concealers. As we compared various shades on my hand, I recalled the conversation I’d had with Richard about tiramisu.

“…Don’t people also value the truth, though?” I asked.

The shade Hanzawa had tested was far darker than it had looked in the tube. He paused over my hand, and without lifting his head, said, “Perhaps I’m being cynical… but I think most people only value the truth when it is beautiful.” He paused to dab a different concealer on my hand. “I don’t think you’re wrong—people do value authenticity. That’s exactly why so many makeup advertisements discuss how to achieve a natural look, or how to enhance your natural features by smoothing out ‘imperfections’… we’ve defined a kind of beauty that is meant to emulate reality, but that doesn’t mean it is reality.”

Though I couldn’t see his expression, I could hear the raw sincerity in his voice. Something clicked into place, and I realized that for Hanzawa, enhancement was the same as concealment.

“The kinds of beauty we recognize are usually just skin-deep, huh…” I said, echoing the conversation I’d had with Tanimoto-san.

“And everyone prefers to be beautiful,” Hanzawa said.

Yamamoto-san, too, had thought that beauty was a great advantage. “Doesn’t beauty come with its own disadvantages, though?” I asked. At Hanzawa’s curious look, I paraphrased how Richard had described his own experiences. “Like, if you’re so beautiful that people think you’re unapproachable, isn’t that hard?”

“I suppose so,” Hanzawa said. “You’re talking about a kind of… unreal beauty, right? Like your boss.”

“Ah… was it obvious?”

Hanzawa smiled. “A little.” He hummed for a bit in thought, and then said, “In either direction, I think there’s a fear of… standing out, or looking odd. That’s why we’re here. Though I suppose there might be some people who have enough pride to eschew standards.”

The shade he’d just tried was a perfect match. “When you put it that way… there’s definitely times I don’t want to say everything about myself,” I conceded, remembering how I’d felt when confronted by Mami-san’s deep, uncomfortable sense of shame. “Having that kind of pride is… an ideal, but just that.” As much as Richard liked to ask if I had ever decided to think before I spoke, I, too, had things I found hard to say.

“That’s everything, I think,” Hanzawa said, adding the concealer to the basket. “I’ve got makeup wipes with me, so you can just have them. Since we’re here, though, do you mind if I make a quick detour?”

“Go ahead,” I said, and Hanzawa drifted through the store at a leisurely pace, inspecting different products. I took the time to observe the various advertisements pasted around the store, noting that Hanzawa’s description hadn’t been incorrect. Then I observed the array of colors scattered around the store as Hanzawa inspected different kinds of eyeshadow. “I guess blue is rare here, too.”

“Hm?”

“I was just reminded of ultramarine,” I said, pointing towards the overwhelming set of pinks and reds in a collection of lipsticks. “It was prized not just because the stone was precious, but because blue was a rare pigment color, right?”

“…Lapis lazuli sure was a precious stone,” Hanzawa replied. “In addition to blue’s rarity, I’d think it would be hard to collect pieces without significant gold spots. When ground into pigment, those colors would muddy the blue. If one needed to source pure blue lapis lazuli for ultramarine, that would only further increase its rarity and value.”

“Wait, are you majoring in economics?” I blurted out, a little bewildered by the clarity of his explanation.

Distracted from his inspection of an eyeshadow palette, Hanzawa turned to squint at me, bemused. “No, I’m not,” he said. “Are you?”

“I am, yeah.” I floundered, wondering how to explain that for just a moment, Hanzawa had reminded me of Richard. Maybe he was training to be a diplomat—that would explain why even when he spoke casually, every word felt measured. He was certainly better at speaking than me, who couldn’t figure out how to casually ask him what he was actually majoring in.

At my lost expression, Hanzawa laughed and went back to searching through eyeshadows. “…You actually remind me of someone I know.”

“How so?”

“A few things, I think,” Hanzawa said. “You’re both… open to many new experiences.” Though the fondness in his voice was palpable, it was deeply careful, like he was letting me know the shades of some terrible secret.

“You don’t find them exciting?”

“And equally likely to be hurtful,” he rebutted, though not aggressively.

Hanzawa took my answering silence as agreement—which it partially was—and continued looking around the store. Conscious of the time we’d spent wandering, he explained, “The color I’m looking for is uncommon. Eyeshadows have more variety than lipsticks do, but the majority stay within the range of pinks to browns.”

“Even though it’s not a problem to make blue pigment anymore, it’s still a matter of supply and demand, isn’t it?” I surmised. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone wear blue lipstick.”

“The kind of people that do are amazing to me,” Hanzawa said. “Whether it’s simply a matter of liking it or wanting to be deviant from the norm—I think there’s a great strength in accepting oneself as anomalous.”

Finally, he picked out a sparkly lime green eyeshadow, and after holding the color up to the light, tucked it into his basket. It was no wonder he’d spent so much time searching—while accompanying him, I hadn’t seen a single product that looked like it.

“You really are fond of that color,” I noted.

Hanzawa froze for a moment. “It’s for—the cultural festival, actually,” he explained. “I’m helping them out.”

“Oh, I do something like that too—it’s with the karate class I used to attend back in middle school, though,” I shared. “You must be close with your juniors?”

As we entered the checkout line, Hanzawa said, “I think it’s something like a leftover sense of responsibility. That guy… we used to be in the same club.”

Before I could ask him what that guy meant, our attention was redirected to the cashier in front of us. She looked surprised to see two men in front of her, but quickly began scanning the items before her. “Picking up products for your girlfriends?” she asked with a smile, clearly hoping to ease our nerves.

Hanzawa stepped forward, partially obscuring my view. “It’s for my older sister, actually,” he replied, the same smile mirrored on his face. “I just hope I’ve gotten it right!”

Caught up in his mild, inconsequential lie, I stood there, hands hung limply at my side, as I realized that apart from her initial shock, she hadn’t once glanced at my cheek. To be accurate, Hanzawa hadn’t let her. This was probably what he’d meant by the value of concealment. It was like when Richard had pretended not to speak Japanese at that department store. While it wasn’t the truth, it was the option that limited any unwanted misunderstandings.

…Was it really because of his older sister that he’d learned how to do makeup? Or was that just the easiest explanation?

We exited the store with our purchases, and I handed over the eyeshadow to Hanzawa. He slipped it into his messenger bag, and in return, produced a pack of makeup wipes for me to take. “If you forget what to do, there’s a bunch of tutorials online,” Hanzawa reassured, gesturing to my bag of makeup.

“Thanks for the help,” I said. “I had a nice time, too—I feel like I got to hear from an interesting person, as well.”

“Don’t think too much of it—I was really just rambling,” he said dismissively before offering me a tight smile. “I do hope work goes well for you this weekend.”

“…You’ll know, won’t you?” I asked, summoning a bit of courage. “Since you’ll be there.”

“Ah,” Hanzawa said, and stilled before giving his confirmation. “…Yes, I will.”

With that promise exacted from him, we naturally said our goodbyes and parted at a nearby street. The early morning chill had faded somewhat under the sun, and as I made my way back to campus, I thought about the many ways Richard’s face might change upon seeing Hanzawa arrive at his appointment. He wouldn’t give me a raise, but I’d get something out of it, nonetheless.

#my writing #kiri.fic #the anomalous agate #harusono #jeweler richard #hanzawa to tashiro #hanzashiro

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valderaa · 16 hours ago

Text

the anomalous agate (part one) *updated

hey guys. some of you probably wanted to see "two" written there! that'll take a little more time.

for those of you who don't know what the title's about at all, this is my crossover fic for the case files of jeweler richard and sasaki to miyano. specifically, this asks the question of "what if hanzawa masato visited jewelry étranger?"

i wrote the original version of this chapter in like, four days, and this is me doing an actual editing pass. it's not required to read it, as I don't actually add any new information, but I would recommend it. this fic is also posted on ao3, so you can read the updated chapter there, as well

edit: - | part two | part three | part four | epilogue

without further ado, I'll leave the fic 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. 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 be pleasant; I had no desire to remind myself of what it felt like to work night shift after night shift as a security guard. Any comfort the scent had brought was overwhelmed by its bitter necessity. The caffeine might have kept me awake, but it had 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 bitter mellows into sweet. I knew that now, but as a child I had been given an experience akin to magic. Even years after the fact, 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, either. Food simply 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-san’s dance company, or, in a more negative light, Hase-san visiting at the exact time I happened to be in the back of the shop, 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 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 always 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. As we recognize it today, it certainly does not come in the nature of a crepe cake, but—” He paused again. “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 tiramisu 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.

I couldn’t imagine anyone disagreeing about Richard’s beauty. “You’ve forgotten to actually put your fork to use,” he said, and I startled out of my daze to hurriedly take a bite.

As expected, the tiramisu crepe cake was both light and sweet. The texture of crepes was certainly different from 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 shop. 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.

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

“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 our newest customer, and I headed back to the kitchen. Both men spoke in clear 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.

“Yes, that’s alright. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Richard-san. I’m Hanzawa Masato. Apart from gemstones, do you also 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… and I’d prefer if they weren’t prohibitively expensive, I suppose. Is there anything else I should specify?”

“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 in contemplation.

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 with Richard to catch the traces of concern on his face, but not enough to understand the reason. “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 end the conversation there, staying as restrained as he had with Richard, but he spoke to me 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. Now that I knew what to look for, it was easy to spot a few of his piercing holes even when his hair wasn’t brushed back.

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. Guys with piercings weren’t all that uncommon in my university, too, but none of them seemed like the type to buy jewels in Richard’s store. Then again, Hanzawa looked so mild-mannered that the existence of his piercings alone was a surprise, so I took this fact in stride.

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

“If I could ask…” I prompted as Richard returned to the table.

Richard set down his tamatebako with a harder than usual thud. He was still frowning, though maybe more obviously than before.

“Sure.”

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

Before I could get a response, I jumped at the sharp click that sounded at my side. Richard had opened up his tamatebako.

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 exceptions to this were 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 I could 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 fading into a look of deep consideration. He leaned forward to study each one. “Diamonds are a classic choice,” he mused.

“You mentioned that you might prefer a neutral color,” Richard explained, “The clear color of a diamond is well-suited to that purpose. They might be a little above your price point, but if you enjoy the look of them, there are various alternatives you can seek out.”

“I see,” Hanzawa said. 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 commented. “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, and the stones in yellow and orange shades here are citrine. Like amethyst, it is a type of quartz. This”—he pointed to a deep orange stone— “is heat-treated amethyst, which looks quite similar. 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 the overload of information, all Hanzawa did was nod in understanding. “Peridot,” he repeated to himself, a curious look in his eyes. “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.

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

“Spring is a wonderful descriptor,” Richard said. “Peridot tends to come in lighter shades than most emeralds, and it far more affordable. Would you like to see more?”

Hanzawa shook his head. “…No, it’s not really… well-suited for me.” After considering the other stones before him, he pointed to the lapis lazuli. “What does this get its gold flecks from?”

“Lapis lazuli is composed of several different minerals, and a common one happens to be pyrite, which is what creates that gold color. As you mentioned, the blue of lapis lazuli is quite vivid, 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. Richard’s clients often spoke of things I wasn’t knowledgeable about, but this was the first time it had happened with someone so close to my age—though it wasn’t like people my age often visited this shop in the first place.

“You would be correct. Blue pigments were otherwise hard to come by, so his work is well-known for his use of ultramarine.” 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 from above. Even face to face, his bangs and lashes expertly obscured his eyes without actually hiding them.

“…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 them?”

“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. “And it’s near closing, anyways,” he added.

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

“…Right,” Hanzawa said, eyes still fixed on the sets of 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 shop, leaving another gust of crisp air in his wake.

Hanzawa had been right—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, ignoring the faint irritation in his voice.

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

A vague portrait sprang to mind. “He was the artist?” I confirmed, and then went to wash the teacups.

When I returned, Richard hadn’t moved from his seat. Rather than close it and return to his room of jewels, he was staring at his open tamatebako.

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

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

“Is it harder because he’s young?” I asked, unsure what Richard thought Hanzawa was like. I didn’t even have enough information to describe Hanzawa as like anything. “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 prodded him for an explanation, 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.

#my writing #kiri.fic #the anomalous agate #harusono #jeweler richard #hanzawa to tashiro #hanzashiro

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valderaa · 18 hours ago

Note

🗣 for the wip ask game? :)

🗣: Share your favorite dialogue exchange.

“Is there something you’re worried about?” I started, noting that Hanzawa’s coffee had appeared between his hands. He held the cup strangely, his fingers curled around the sides without any pressure. I worried that it might slip from his fingers if he tried to lift it. “I was just thinking…” I replied, tapping my reddened skin, “it’s going to bruise.” “Ah,” Hanzawa said, and offered no other words for a moment as he scanned my face with a blank expression. Then he sighed. “Are you worried about your weekend work?” “What—oh, you’re right,” I said, surprised he had realized. “I doubt a bruised face is good for customer service,” Hanzawa said, in agreement with the thoughts I hadn’t yet voiced. “I’d rather not scare the customers, and it’s something I’ve done even without my face like this, so…” “That would be troubling,” Hanzawa said. “I can’t say I’m too sorry about it, since…” “There’s no need for apologies,” I cut in. “You and Kaede have thanked me enough.”

i was like hmm what wip should i send and then when i opened this one i'd realized it was all bullet points and had to fix that like. immediately. sorry this answer comes so late! I'll probably edit this dialogue again but! I am excited abt writing this particular section of anomalous agate pt 2 bc its really like. a sort of turning point?

send me an ask! | ask game

#ask #my writing #kiri.wip #the anomalous agate

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valderaa · 19 hours ago

Note

hi kiri ❤️ for that ask game I love you!

❤️: Share one of your favorite lines.

Klavier blinks, clearly stunned. “…There are certainly many secret passages in the Borscht Bowl Club, huh?” he said. “I’d known, but…” “I don’t think she needs a secret passage to do that,” Apollo says. He assesses Klavier’s expression—still a little unsettled, it seems—and then abruptly realizes that Klavier also has reason to be squeamish. Apollo wonders what to do with this information, if there’s even anything that can be done. It’s not like he can just say, this was Mr. Gavin’s first murder, but not his first crime, so maybe don’t be so sentimental?

well i just think that last line is funny. to me. anyways hiii dirtbrain <3 love you too! for these ask games i feel really awkward resting on my. unpublished laurels so to speak so i always try to write at least like, a new sentence or two for the WIP i drag things from. hadn't touched this one in a while so this was good motivation!

send me an ask! | ask game

#ask #my writing #kiri.wip #cross-examination

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valderaa · 21 hours ago

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“But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world.”

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

hey hanzashiro enjoyers is this anything to you...

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valderaa · 22 hours ago

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day negative fourteen.

read on ao3 (983 words)

hiii everyone. i've been really thinking about it lately so here is a sort of. fun(?) prelude for the sasamiya dating sim au.

In the end, everything is built with a switch. You have two choices. On and off. That’s all there is to it.

I don’t get it. Could you explain that a little more?

You’re talking about binary code, right?

…Hana-san, you’re quite strange.

Shirahama’s hands pause on the buttons of his controller. First, he yawns—it’s quite late, and this is probably going to be the last bit of progress he makes in this game. Hana’s sprite is staring back at him. She’s usually ducking her head or fidgeting, the glare of her glasses obscuring her eyes, but right now she has her hands folded politely in front of her, shoulders set straight.

It’s a pretty sight. Shirahama’s been trying to get into Hana’s route for a while—there’s a lot of characters he was interested in learning more about, but after he’d gone through a tumultuous relationship with the secret daughter of a prime minister, he’d wanted to pick a character that seemed a little more mundane. She’s the shy and nerdy type of character who’s beautiful once her glasses are removed, which Shirahama would be fairly ambivalent about were it not for the fact that whoever did the art for the game had gone all out on the expressiveness of her eyes. When he’d first seen her sprite switch from a dull, downcast look into eyes that glowed and glittered in purple tones, it was like magic. He’d avoided everyone else in the game since then.

As for how to respond…

Calling her strange is definitely the wrong play. Shirahama’s not that stupid. The correct answer is probably to say the line about binary code. Hana’s pretty good with computers, and in the last time they’d chatted, she’d showed him something she’d programmed. He’s about to select the second option when he finds himself hesitating.

It’s just that… the second option sounds so confident. What if it’s faking out people who try to sound smart without knowing anything? Shirahama honestly doesn’t get what Hana’s talking about, and if he wasn’t playing a game, he’d probably just ask. Didn’t people like it when you asked about things they liked? What was wrong with that?

I don’t get it. Could you explain that a little more?

Oh… you don’t get it.

Hana’s sprite reverts into her gloomy self.

It’s just… I thought someone would finally get me, you know? But it’s still really nice of you to ask… it’s just something about coding or whatever. It probably won’t make that much sense to you. I’m sorry, ˹Shirahama˼.

His eyes are stinging. Maybe sleep deprivation is the reason for Shirahama’s stupid choices.

Making sure to not save his progress, he exits out of the game, turns the lights off in his room, and flops down on his bed. If he replays that section of the game tomorrow, he’ll just pick the right answer. That’s the entire point of dating sims. Picking the right answer. Being the right person. No room for anything else.

His gaze drifts to the vague shadow where he knows his bag is. There’s a copy of Boys Life Romance! tucked deep in the bottom, separated from its original game cover. For such a peppy title with such a garish looking cover, some of the routes are pretty depressing.

It’s also a game that’s way harder than the one he just quit out of. If he’d tried to assume what Hanzawa-senpai meant to say whenever he drifted into a strange monologue, he’d get dropped from his route immediately. Now that was a character like a real magic trick—every once in a while, he’d say things so perceptively it felt like he was piercing Shirahama through the screen. His favorite route, though, had probably been Kagiura—sweet, jealous, and possessive, but never in a way that felt troubling. Really good at basketball, too. That was probably what Shirahama liked best in any character in a dating sim. Passion. Interest. One thing, and now you had a character with a life outside being romanced but also the kind of intensity that could turn you head over heels in an instant.

Miyano had said he’d never really played visual novels before, but he had talked about reading BL manga, yesterday. He’d also been blushing like crazy. It was kind of cute, seeing him get so worked up. To spare his embarrassment, it would probably be best to hand it off to him some time before he left to catch the train, or something. Find a secluded enough stairwell and recommend it in a way that didn’t come off as too awkward… well, it would be a little awkward. But Miyano was the kind of person that you wanted to talk to even if it felt a little strange.

He’d probably like it, anyways. Shirahama kind of wonders if his ears will turn red when he finds out just what kind of visual novel Shirahama’s lending him.

That image in mind, he drifts off to sleep.

Maybe it's nerves, but he dreams of nothing and wakes up with enough time to play the correct option on Hana’s route.

Yes! If we treat ‘on’ as ‘one’ and ‘off’ as ‘zero’, we get binary code. And when we read certain patterns of ones and zeroes, we can make larger numbers and letters… and everything cascades into more complex code until we get to what a modern-day programmer uses. It’s amazing that something so versatile is born out of something so simple, don’t you think? I’m so glad I can talk about this with you, ˹Shirahama˼!

Hana’s eyes are sparkling. Shirahama heads to school with some extra cheer in his steps.

—

Two weeks later, Miyano Yoshikazu wakes up in a bed he doesn’t know. It’s a good thing he’s in the nurse’s office, because he feels immediately, deeply sick.

He’s not the only one.

#my writing #kiri.fic #day negative fourteen #die over ?#dating sim au #harusono #shiramiya

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valderaa · 1 day ago

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the stranger in the hall

read on ao3 (1,084 words)

hey @dirtbra1n I’ve been thinking abt ur dating sim au recently so I wrote smthing. under the cut as usual

shirahama’s gotten used to looking around while he walks. by now, it’s a comfortable rhythm—he glanced through windows, into shadows and dilapidated corners, catches passing expressions on the faces of strangers.

he’s not obvious enough for the people he’s watching to notice—or, well, more accurately, he’s not important enough for them to care—but he’s pretty sure tashiro has figured out why he seems zoned out lately. recently it seems like he’s been looking out for something, too, and it’s pulled shirahama’s attention back to the point that they end up hazily conversing whenever they’re walking together. recently it’s been about the injustice of sports clubs.

it’s a delicate balance. shirahama can’t ask if tashiro’s started having feelings—he can just hope against all odds. miyano seems to like him well enough, a fact which sometimes makes shirahama vindictively think, tashiro’s my friend, and then stew in misery.

he’d been his friend back when shirahama had played his character route, too. it was a nice route in hindsight—barely romantic and with a large focus on just learning about the ensemble cast. tashiro had been a comforting, reassuring presence amongst a cast of strange characters.

shirahama wasn’t a faceless protagonist anymore—he was a might-as-well-be-faceless side character, which wasn’t better or worse—but his relationship with tashiro had stayed.

he’s on his lonesome today, though. judging by how deserted the hallways are, he’s definitely late for class, but since he can’t remember a single thing about exams in the game, he figures he’s safe.

well, hirano talked about exams constantly. they’d had so many study dates used as blatant excuses to flirt instead of doing math. but shirahama hadn’t even cared much when he was… well. he didn’t know if he was still alive or not.

the other reason why the hallways are so deserted is that there’s an Event, and the moment shirahama recognizes this possibility is also when he sees a hunched over figure leaning against the hallway wall, face obscured. shirahama’s gotten so used to these kinds of situations happening that the first thing he checks for is the sound of miyano’s footsteps approaching.

…why does he know that?

the halls are silent. in a split second, shirahama watches the guy in front of him go almost deathly still, before his knees buckle and—

there’s a strangled voice pressed against his chest. shirahama leaps back on instinct, and the person who’d almost taken a dive two seconds ago squints at him with unfocused emotion. finally he slowly lowers himself into a sitting position on the floor and offers shirahama a wan smile. “you also late for class?”

he looks around even though he already know there’s no one in sight, and then plops down next to him. “you okay?” he asks, wondering if it’s something he’s allowed to ask. the guy may not have noticed him until now, but shirahama had spent a solid minute watching him sway around without moving.

“yeah,” the stranger breathes. “I’ve just got a weak stomach.”

“ah.”

they sit in silence for a bit. shirahama watches as the stranger tangles his fingers together in awkward patterns. he’s never seen him before, but that’s not unusual. “what’s your name?” he asks.

“you can call me ichinose. you?”

“…shirahama.” it’s been a while since he’s introduced himself to others. tashiro had already known his name, and most other people hadn’t been around him long enough to find out.

“…you should probably head to class, you know,” ichinose says. “I’ll be fine here.”

“oh, um, it’s fine,” shirahama says, unsure how to clarify that he’d just been zoning out instead of looking after him. “I’m not too excited to go, anyways…”

ichinose frowns. “well, as long as it’s not an exam I guess it’s okay,” he says. “I always end up getting really sick on those days and it’s—“ he shakes his head. “it’s not a big deal. I hope whatever’s bothering you… stops doing that, I guess.”

“random question,” shirahama says. “do you know… there’s this first year. some guy named… miyano?” the name rests oddly in his mouth. he wonders if he’s been able to say it correctly this time—without feeling.

“who?”

“random question. don’t worry about it.” his shoulders relax just a bit. “it’s… I don’t know. it’s like it’s not one thing that bothers me. it’s a bunch of really small things that feel weird to say out loud, because all of them are really just… one thing.”

ichinose snorts. “here I thought I was being vague.”

despite himself, shirahama smiles. “like I said, it’s weird to say out loud.”

he’d have to explain the reason why he’s learned to recognize footsteps. the strange kind of sickness he’d felt when running into ichinose. knowing the limits of what could and could happen to him. it was never a simple thing.

the glassy tone to ichinose’s gaze has abruptly sharpened. when he turns his head to look at shirahama it’s piercing, and he stares at him like he’s seen a ghost. his lips part in surprise. “you like someone.”

he gets chills so violent it feels like his back could snap. “what?”

ichinose has turned his gaze to the floor. “well,” he says, “since I’m graduating this year and I really doubt we’ll run into each other after that… like recognizes like, or whatever.”

nice, shirahama thinks, the game never had any love interests that are third years when you’re a first year. then he feels mortified. “and it’s a…” he trails off.

“um. yeah,” ichinose says, picking the dirt out of his fingernails. “it’s not really a—even if he wasn’t… it’s kind of a hopeless effort, you know? but I still…”

a tightness abruptly seizes shirahama’s throat. “yeah,” he manages to get out. “I know.”

#my writing #kiri.fic #the stranger in the hall #die over ?#dating sim au #harusono #shiramiya #shiranose

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valderaa · 1 day ago

Note

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

(meant to send this before and completely forgot, hey kiri<33)

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

Nestled against the long bones of his finger, the warmth emanating from his coffee stung oddly against his skin. Hanzawa didn’t tap the cup in any rhythm—he simply let his hands curl dead around it, watching thin wisps of steam rise under the cover of his lashes. Sat across from him was Nakata Seigi, a careless hand splayed on his cheek. His skin was still red and irritated, but he was oddly quiet as he gazed through a nearby window. Hanzawa had the sudden thought that whether he took a minute or ten before he spoke, Seigi would stay without interruption. He wasn’t eager to test that assumption. “Is there something you’re worried about?” he asked. Seigi blinked, seeming to come back to himself, and turned to face Hanzawa. He frowned, looking sheepish as he tapped his face. “I was just thinking… it’s going to bruise,” he said.

heyyy malt <3 the really funny thing abt this one is that it's happened in my outline but i actually haven't written the actual happening yet in the proper pov... (that's why answering this took so long lmao) but this helped!

(ask game post | my ask box)

#ask #my writing #kiri.wip #the anomalous agate

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valderaa · 2 days ago

Note

hi kiri reminded myself about the askbox thing so I didn’t forget. NEXT for it love you

NEXT — the next line. meaning i will finish the sentence I’m on and write a new one, which you’ll get.

(ask game post | my ask box)

#ask #my writing #kiri.wip #the anomalous agate

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valderaa · 2 days ago

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sasaki to hirano (?)

read on ao3 (707 words)

the pros and cons of being awake at two am are twofold. the pro is that you get ideas. the con is that you get ideas. I also really am not being strict abt canon accuracy to timeline my bad. anyways despite me hyping it up it’s actually quite a short scene where I just wanted to mess around with some things. still ironing out how I’d like to mess with them. as always, under the cut:

The pros and cons of being awake at 2AM are twofold. The con, of course, is that when Hirano kicks at the back of his ankles, nails digging slightly into the skin, Sasaki flinches at the chill and pops back into wakefulness, ever-increasingly aware of how tired he’s going to be in the morning. The pro is that everyone else is asleep enough to the point that Sasaki can shuffle around to his side and hiss, “Stop kicking me,” at Hirano, who shuts his eyes tighter in irritation before opening them in a squinted glare. In that look, Sasaki sees the optimism of someone who actually believes he’ll get to sleep any time soon. Sasaki had given up the moment he’d seen the slightly-larger-than-average futon that had been set out for the two of them because somewhere, somehow, had miscounted the correct number.

He hadn’t decided who to blame for this yet, so he was circling through the names of every first-year he knew. Currently, that honor goes to Kogasahara. Hirano had said he’d had nothing to blame but himself, considering it was Sasaki who’d been out past curfew and Hirano who’d chased him down, so everyone else got to pick out their single-sized bedding, but Sasaki was ignoring that.

“Go to sleep,” Hirano grumbles. “Sasaki…”

There’s a really annoying tone to the way he stretches out his name. “Do you really think I can sleep like this?” he asks, and gently taps Hirano’s ankles to make a point.

Predictably, Hirano yelps at the contact. “Your feet are way too cold!”

“Yeah,” Sasaki says. “Now you know how I feel.” It's not even a fair comparison, because Hirano’s ankles are so bony that even tapping them feels unpleasant. “If you weren’t trying to be a perfect honor student and drag me in, you wouldn’t be stuck here.”

“You think I look like an honor student?”

“Of course,” Sasaki says, not really thinking.

Hirano bursts into a fit of giggles, and it’s then when Sasaki remembers Hirano’s vivid sunflower-colored hair. It's strange how easily he’d forgotten about it, but in the dark of the room he can catch only the shape of Hirano’s features, not the color.

He doesn't laugh but he does crack a smile. “Okay—well—okay, I get your point.”

Hirano keeps laughing for a while longer, eyes scrunched in small joy, and then he flops down, flat on his back. his knuckle grazes against Sasaki's arm before he pulls it back. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.”

“What?”

“Just—“ Hirano falls quiet. “I don’t know.”

Sasaki couldn’t make out his expression. He wondered how Hirano had seen his. Even when he’d stayed out past curfew for a bit of impulse stargazing, Hirano had woken up and managed to find him. He’d had been annoyed about being dragged back until Hirano had paused in the middle of chewing him out to marvel at the stars.

“It’s not something you see every day,” he’d said, not even sparing Sasaki a glance.

Sasaki had looked up. The stars were stars. “They do look nice.”

Under the low light of the lanterns outside, Hirano’s eyes sparkled.

Sasaki wonders, now, if Hirano is making that same face.

“Sasaki?” Hirano asks. “You asleep?”

“You’re a funny guy, Hirano,” Sasaki says. “How can I sleep when you’re kicking my ankles?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Hirano huffs, and the conversation peters out from there.

It’s not that Sasaki’s afraid of or unused to large crowds, but he tends to spend most of his time hanging out alone or around Ogasawara, who isn’t touchy by nature and is also wrapped up in his girlfriend nowadays. Eimi’s nice, but the three of them have known each other for so long that Sasaki almost registers them as a non-presence.

He’s almost sure it’s that which makes him so conscious of the soft rise and fall of Hirano’s breathing, slowly evening out in the still dark. His feet drift over and nudge at Sasaki's ankles again. They’re still bitterly cold.

There's a moment where Sasaki considers shaking him awake again, but it’s not long before he, too, slips into the world of dreams.

#my writing #kiri.fic #a delinquent and a stargazer #harusono #sasaki to miyano #sasahira

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valderaa · 2 days ago

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help! my classmate’s asking for relationship advice, but I’m aromantic!?

read on ao3 (814 words)

I drafted a little hirano & hanzawa conversation after the latest hirano to kagiura (basically. wow I think if they had a conversation like how miyano and hirano had one I think hanzawa would internally lose it) and. and then I got hit by two trucks the first being the case files of jeweler richard and the second being I started playing dgs again. so I decided to just go ahead and post this bc I will probably just leave it to die on my computer otherwise. so this is probably a little rougher prose than I usually go for lol. under the cut as usual.

there’s an awkward silence that stretches between two people who are the last to leave a room, which is why hanzawa is about to begin loudly packing his things when hirano turns to him and clears his throat.

almost immediately hanzawa stills; hirano is famously reticent, so he anticipates anything coming out of his mouth to be already midway to a disaster. unfortunately his pencil had been the first thing he’d tucked away. though openly taking notes in front of anyone while they were speaking was probably a bad move.

hirano’s gaze flickers back to the window, and he moves a few steps towards it with increasing casualness. “you’ve dated before, right?” he asks hanzawa.

hanzawa hums. “do you think I have?” he asks.

“you just seem—“ hirano shakes his head, frustrated. “I was just thinking… people get flustered and their heart races whenever they’re around the person they like, right?”

ah. so it was going to be one of these types of questions.

“those are common descriptions, sure.”

hirano levels him with a flat look. “you sure lose all your worldly senpai charm when miyano’s not around, huh?”

miyano was the type of person to have stars in his eyes. hirano was… also the type of person to have stars in his eyes, even if he went about it differently. it was, strangely enough, hanzawa’s favorite thing about both of them.

“it’s my secret,” hanzawa says. thankfully, miyano hasn’t really asked him for advice of this kind yet.

hirano laughs. “sure,” he says. “will one of these secrets tell me what you’re thinking?”

briefly, hanzawa considers the optics of being truthful. he immediately feels bad for weighing his options like this, but feeling bad doesn’t make him want to be honest, so he keeps considering. hirano’s the kind of guy who doesn’t really even unintentionally gossip.

on a thought that’s a bit too bitter… right now hirano is staring out at the sky like he’s looking at a completely different scene. he’s entirely too absorbed in himself to really consider hanzawa as part of the equation.

that evens his guilt by just a smidgen. he supposes these kind of thoughts are what makes him the most self-absorbed out of any of them.

“well,” hanzawa says, casting his gaze down to the wood grain of the table, “I just don’t think liking, in the way you speak of it… I don’t think it’s all that important.”

almost immediately hirano whirls around to face him. “that’s not true!” he says, looks at himself in shock, and abruptly turns around again.

hanzawa has a terrible eye for these things. this is why he notices hirano’s ears turning a deep pink. feeling his own cheeks heat, he quickly averts his eyes—in sympathy or mortification or jealousy, he isn’t sure.

“so,” hanzawa says, staring at the ceiling. “clearly you feel some way. about feelings.”

hirano grits his teeth. “I… I don’t know,” he says. “it’s just… the thought of disrespecting or ignoring those feelings… it’s like… I can’t look away.”

well, hanzawa likes kagiura, too. he’s a good kid. but there’s an odd feeling in his chest that rises when it comes to meddling between them. so he settles on saying, “some people say that when you like someone, you can’t help but follow them with your gaze.”

“but what do you think?” hirano asks.

hanzawa sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. if he makes it sound enough like a joke he can probably give an answer. “well, hirano, you do rank higher than me on exams. is it so surprising I wouldn’t necessarily have an answer for this one?”

“I know that,” hirano says. “I’m not asking for an answer, I’m just... what would you think? if it was you.”

“if it was me, I’d ignore them until they moved on.”

“…and if they never move on?” hirano asks, like he was seriously contemplating a future where love lasted forever.

“then I’ll ignore it forever,” hanzawa says. “if I can’t like them back, what’s the point?”

“but the other person won’t ever get a response,” hirano says, frowning deeply. “forever and ever.”

“in every situation… I think there’s a choice of inaction, and one of action,” hanzawa says. “I suspect you will always be the latter.“

“it’s my choice, in the end,” hirano says. “isn’t it.” he’s still a faint shade of pink. “for what it’s worth… thanks.”

hanzawa smiles, brittle in his bones. he cannot wait for this conversation to be forgotten. “as always, a pleasure.”

if he ever gets asked this again, he’s really going to have to come up with a better answer.

#my writing #kiri.fic #help! my classmate’s asking for relationship advice but I’m aromantic!?#harusono #hirano to kagiura

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valderaa · 2 days 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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?”

“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?”

“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?

“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?”

“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.

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.

“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?”

“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?”

“…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.”

“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?”

“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.

#my writing #kiri.fic #the anomalous agate #harusono #jeweler richard #hanzawa to tashiro #hanzashiro

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