Familiar Strangers

There was a tag installed on the glass door, written "Morikita Daichi—Deputy Manager"

Inside, the room was a study in minimalist elegance. Pale gray walls and sleek glass framed a space that felt cool and impersonal. Sharp-edged shelves lined with reference books and neat ledgers, a spotless black desk with a glowing single monitor, and a low, modern couch upholstered in charcoal fabric by the tall window. Beyond the glass, the cityscape sprawled in the dusky evening light, office towers blinking their first lights of the night. The only sound inside was the quiet, insistent ticking of a silver wall clock, each second echoing too loud in the otherwise still room.

Behind the desk, Daichi looked up upon hearing light knocks on his door. His brow furrowed slightly, a faint crease between his eyes. His almond-shaped gaze, partially hidden behind round glasses, flicked toward the door.

He didn't seem thrilled, but still his finger reached out to tap the unlock button.

The door slid open with a soft click.

Hasegawa stepped in and shut the door behind him with a grin, moving with the relaxed air of someone who was used to breaking tension by force of personality. 

"You really are an actress's son. Sixteen years, huh… senpai?"

Daichi leaned back in his chair, arms crossing lightly. His voice was calm, dry. "Fifteen years and six months. I was hoping to make it all the way to death without ever seeing you again."

"Oh, come on. If we'd waited another year, would you have faked dementia?"

"I'd rather get hit by a truck and lose all my memories than pretend I'm an old man," Daichi shot back, deadpan. "What the hell do you want?"

Hasegawa let out a chuckle, sauntering over to the couch and tossing his work bag onto it. He sat down heavily, legs stretched out, hands lacing behind his head. His hazel eyes shone with amusement as they studied the familiar, aloof figure in front of him.

"Is seeing me again really that traumatic? You talk like we're exes with unresolved issues."

"Tch, exes...," Daichi muttered, eyes flicking back to the glowing screen. The faint light reflected off his glasses. "Just realized the world really is small. Apparently, not small enough for me to outrun you."

"Oh? So you were running from me?"

"No," Daichi said flatly. "Just that it won't be a good thing if people find out we know each other. I'm here to work. Not make friends."

Hasegawa leaned back, fingers laced behind his head as his grin widened slightly. "Ah... Office drama, got it. The old men here love to gossip more than they love Excel."

A faint hum of acknowledgment came from Daichi. The silence between them settled like a familiar coat, unexpectedly easy despite the years apart.

Hasegawa tilted his head back, his thoughts drifting.

Sora never knew…

To everyone at the office, Hasegawa was the charming, carefree man—always smiling, always lighthearted, always deflecting. A man who, outwardly, had no time or interest in commitment.

Sora had once asked why. But he'd told her it was better that way. To keep personal matters and work separate. That people would talk. That it would only complicate things.

Solid reasons.

But none of them were the truth.

The soft click of a pen drew him back to the moment.

Daichi stood, the wheels of his chair rolling slightly across the smooth floor. He reached for a slim glass pot on the side table.

"You want coffee?"

Hasegawa blinked, straightening slightly. "No need. I'm here to invite you for a drink. You know, as colleagues who don't know each other at all."

Daichi raised a brow, pausing mid-reach. "I was planning to review the inter-department workflow documents. The delivery and clearance timelines are different from what I'm used to."

"Senpai," Hasegawa said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "let me give you the most important briefing. In this company, the real monsters aren't on the spreadsheets. They're the grumpy old men who thirst for power and attention."

Daichi gave him a long, flat look, lips pressed in a thin line.

Hasegawa smirked. "If you come for a drink with me, I'll introduce you to the biggest troublemakers. That way, you won't be blindsided when they start pulling their weight around you."

For a moment, Daichi was still. His fingers brushed lightly over the coffee pot's handle, then fell away. There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes—something old, something unreadable.

"Just drinks," Hasegawa added, his voice softer now, teasing but careful. "We'll play strangers. I won't call you 'senpai'. I'll pretend I've never been hit on the head with your bento box in high school."

Daichi exhaled, a long, low sigh that seemed to empty the air around him. His shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Fine," he said at last. "But we're strangers. You so much as slip up, I'm walking out."

Hasegawa grinned, his teeth flashing as he pushed himself up from the couch. "Deal. Strangers. With matching trauma."

Daichi shook his head slowly, lips tugging—just slightly—at the corners, the ghost of a smile threatening to break through.