Asunder

As many around me recalled, Hikigaya Hachiman during his high school life had once made the declaration denouncing every single human being, living or dead, who worked and cherished friendship. I have now withdrawn that bold claim.

I certainly had the opportunity to save myself from tumbling down this path, however. The genuine thing I always wanted, but never spoken out to anyone, was blatantly simple and possibly even disgusting to quite a few. I wanted to confess to Yukinoshita Yukino. Since the first day we met. She was cold, beautiful, intelligent, and had every reason to feature in every single session of my raging sexual fantasies. My superego did an exceptional job suppressing the id. As a result, the fantasies were gift-wrapped and cocooned inside a believable shell of lies, including putting her name all caps in my "Forbes List Of Most Hated People" (which I later renamed to "favorite waifu list"). Our relationship quickly grew intimate as I peeked more into her private life and feelings. Yukino was another loner, just like myself, desperately wanting company but prevented by shyness and embarrassment.

So I became her companion. I was unaware of this transition in how we saw each other. An extra cup of tea at the end of our daily meetup after Yui left, a light pull on my sleeve in public transit, a bag of cookies at the aquarium, the extended handshakes that ended with our fingers mingled together. I cherished all these moments we spent together, and I was painfully aware of what they suggested.

Then at the Mexican standoff after our three people aquarium "date", I tossed all the affection she had for me into the recycle bin. One can't sell the cow and still drink its milk. I chose the worst of all options, leaving them equally damaged instead of at least staying true to my emotions. I sobbed throughout the lengthy bus ride to home. Yuigahama's attachment was coincidental and one-way, while the warmth I found on Yukino felt addictive and intoxicating.

Later in that evening, when the phone call from Yukino's mother came, the only word I managed to muster was "sorry".

Yukino hated Hayama for his petty arrogance and inaction. Judging by the tones of her wail, I have become Hayama Hayato, Junior.

A harsh cacophony of falling objects woke me from my second dream of the night. My mouth dry and evil-tasting. How frustrating... Not even the bitterest of espresso could save me now. No, I might have passed out again because of the damn coffee. Yesterday I tried to use cold water to replace coffee beans-continued high dosage of caffeine really did start taking a toll on my heart. The attempt changed nothing though, as the migraine from coffee withdrawal forced me to gulp down more concentrated bitterness out of desperation.

Rubbing my red, partially swollen eyelids, I absentmindedly opened them and glanced at the bottom-right corner of the monitor. Well, that certainly explained why nobody would have bothered waking me at this hour. The only living soul still running this pointless late night marathon. I've become the living legend. My superior played no role in this after-hour endeavour - in fact, my overly sympathetic superior had repeatedly attempted to convince me to get a life beside working. Although there really was little reason for him to care for my well-being, a subordinate dying at workplace would have yielded him more trouble than missing a simple deadline. In fact, I always had a life and I still do, albeit being a monotonous one. My sister called me "succumbing to a terminal-phase crippling depression" and somehow I found my efforts futile to deny such outrageous ridicule.

Judging by the direction of the noise, though, it couldn't have been anyone other than Zaimokuza. The fat corporate slave, also known as a self-proclaimed light novel writer who never managed to get even a page of his garbage harem stories published and always munched on a piece of pizza like a stereotypical yankee.

Having expended my last bit of stamina, I decided to call it a night.

The metropolitan office at night always gave me this surreal sentiment of coziness. Sometimes I found myself mindlessly staring at the white and red strings of traffic passing through the dark streets decorated by distant dots of street lights. Usually in this trance my mind would drift to them again. How was Yukino's life in the United States? Was Miura and Hayama's married life satisfying? Had Hiratsuka sensei found herself a husband? The list of unanswered curiosities would go on, until suddenly the stiff smile and cold tears gliding across my face drag me back to reality. An anonymous feeling always came as an aftertaste to this dreamy state of obscure sorrow, almost like a sudden epiphany. One Saturday I spent five hours scanning through the National Language Dictionary attempting to define it in some rational means but failed.

Opening my frosted glass office door, I casually paced through one of the semi-lit corridors separating the honeycomb like rows of office cells. Almost intuitively I found a grim-looking Zaimokuza sighing while squeezing out of a cell proven to be way too small to accommodate for his over-sized body. Not much of a slick operative, eh?

"Yo, Hachiman, stilll staying up this late?" Zaimokuza threw out a light-hearted greeting, somewhat uncommon for a man of "passion" like him.

"I... got used to that, eventually."

"You know boss wouldn't really complain if you left at five in the evening, though. Always finishing your part early and then take over boss' personal shit, the old man's getting lazier day by day. Anyways, wanna grab a can of MAX at the convenience store downstairs?"

Somehow I found his offer impossible to decline. MAX coffee, I hadn't had one of those in years. Compared to something as strong as espresso, MAX coffee's greasily sweet taste not only failed to keep myself awake during the long hauls, but also brought back some bitter nostalgia. I never wanted to see them. Nevertheless, a part of my body always craved for it like a drug addict in forced detoxification attempting to steal a last sip of cocaine.

The fifty-stories-long elevator ride was surprisingly fast and strangely comforting, unlike the overpopulated cage I had to squeeze into at eight in the morning. Once the door out of the lobby opened, however, chilly winter air poured in. Giving the two of us, clad only in a thin shell of suit and tie, a bad sneeze and a long trail of snot.

"Still not smoking?"

Zaimozuka lit up cigarette offered me one as usual, and once again I declined his kindness with some untimely formal phrases.

It could've been my overworked vision becoming hazy lately, but Zaimokuza's ungloved hands, still raw from the winter chill, were apparently shaking. His eyes, dimly illuminated by the breathing fire at the tip of the cigarette, looked wet.

"Man... Hachiman... You know, I'm.. I'm quitting. The job, I mean. I've had enough of this slavery non-sense, getting barely enough money to fill my mouth with fucking pizza each day. I just... can't stand this anymore. I know how normal it is to... Maybe for you, to cope with this amount of pressure. But I've never been you. Never had your handsome face, never had your two lovely girlfriends plus a harem of four, never even dreamt of your intelligence. " Zaimokuza stabbed the cigarette into his mouth, taking in a deep breath saturated with white smoke.

"You've known me since high school, always the loser in every aspect one could possibly imagine, and probably should've killed myself according to Yukinoshita's standards. I wanted to be an artist, haha. A light novel writer! Jacking off to my characters and my deep dark fantasies! 'Disgusting!', she said. But imagine who gave me a chance when I was born? Was I given an option to live without this obesed, diabetic shell of a body? Never hated her, though. Nobody gets to choose what he or she receives at birth. Yukinoshita was born a snow princess, and you were born a handsome genius. I know who I am, and I'm perfectly aware of what I can do."His voice shaking.

I found myself turning away, facing him with my back. Not wanting to remember the crying face of a once-cheerful comrade.

The last time I met him in person before working at Marconi was still in high school. When I saw that almost chipmunk-like silhouette feasting behind a monitor, I immediately recognized him. Although not as cheerful as before, I still hoped that he could at least somewhat have retained a part of his old self. Today the image I planted so firmly in my head shattered. He had grown into a different entity. Seasoned by the straining workplace saltiness and a mouthful of cold pizza.

"For a year, I've been doing Excel. You got here in autumn, and soon enough got yourself a manager's position. I'm not jealous of you or anything, but maybe my life is just worth a pile of Excel tables. Anyhow, I never, ever had a chance to choose the direction of my life. But now I want something different. I need to choose something that's at least acceptable. For so many years I've been refusing to accept myself, and commit to that one decision that'll shape my life in a way I want. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to quit my job, and keep writing that damn story until one day it gets published. I have faith in myself, at least I know that this is something I am capable of. "Finishing his cigarette with a final inhalation, Zaimokuza tossed the still-burning cigarette butt on the frozen ground and squashed it with the sole of his shoe.

"I sometimes wondered why you work here, though. 16 hours a day and enjoying it like a masochist." He sighed.

"I work here... only to forget a decision I made in the past." I tried to brush it off.

"Still couldn't get over it huh? Abusing your body and psyche to forget that toxic woman? Your headache, it's getting worse now isn't it?"Damn it. This guy always figured out what exactly was on my mind.

"Hey-"

I tried to argue with him, defending the already flawed lie with deceitful language manipulations and some bonus plot holes.

"Don't be too scared of your old scars, Hachiman. People have to make choices sometimes in their lives, and frequently they make mistakes, or even need to let go of something important. Lost things always get mourned, but once you've committed something, you can't go back to the last save like a galgame and then choose the route for the all-happy ending. Don't be too hard on yourself."

He muttered, footsteps sounding more distant with each passing second.

"What about Coffee?"

"Maybe next time."

It was the last time I saw Zaimokuza.

Phew! Finally got the prologue done! Please understand that this is my first attempt to write a fanfic, so my writing could be largely immature. Please excuse the bad English of an astrophysics student...

Since this is about 8man's "adult" story, a sizable portion of it will be "adult" themed as well. I probably need to change the rating from T to M eventually.

Please tell me what you like and dislike in the comment, so that I can improve my future chapters! ^_^