haul: (THE SPECIALIST.)
YAMAZAKI SOUSUKE / 山崎 宗介 ([personal profile] haul) wrote in [community profile] fares2015-03-03 06:32 pm

*hackneyed sitcom laugh track!*

[ after no less than two weeks of makeshift study sessions bordering on some form of passive-aggression, his appointments with nagisa hazuki came to an abrupt (but no less anticlimactic) end. it'd been a cut-and-dry affair for the most part, culminating in summarily indolent afternoons where he'd tap a pen against the homework packet and detachedly text either of the mikoshiba brothers while nagisa gradually went catatonic in front and center position of the living room's television display. (eyes glazing over like an overwound kewpie doll, shoulders bent and vibrating, fingers clenched obdurately around the remote in a chokehold tableau of self-preservation unknown to most 7 year olds: the hallmark of a steady progression from hyperactive pipsqueak to clinically deranged fruitcake in the making. eventually his parents caught on when he'd attempted to emulate one of the superheroes he'd seen on the big screen and soundly fell off the monkey bars, busting his left arm as well as a good portion of his pride over an outcropping of playground tanbark and dithering gaggles of juvenile onlookers. needless to say, that had been a hit-and-miss, but dishonorable expulsion was propped up on a non sequitur. nothing sousuke could've done that would've prevented the inevitability of mindless pratfalls in proportion to the imagination of the young and easily swayed.

seriously.

he'd shuffled on the mortal coil of children after that on less than minimal wage and a good deal of expended patience. being out of touch with the mentality of immature children pretty much entailed a state of sempiternal exasperation. there'd been the one time he'd waited outside the bathroom for several hours while tachibana cried his tinny, palpitating heart out over a saturday night pg-rated horror flick whose main premise centered solely upon the most moronic aliens known to man. no hack-and-slash, no gory splatter of visceral disembowelment, but he'd still gotten the bum rap from the parents later that night when makoto adamantly refused to leave the washroom for fear of second-rate galactic invaders hungering after his measly brain. yamazaki hadn't fared any better with nitori when he made the mistake of leaving that one measly tray of orange cupcakes out unattended and came back to the kid legitimately fritzing out on the carpet, neck-deep in the throes of sugar overdose and human compunction. looking back, ai might've also been allergic to citrus, a snap-judgment conclusion taken on from that wan complexion he effected after they pumped his stomach free of pastries in the operating room.

to be fair, it hadn't all been bad. his main staple client over the duration of successive months had been the matsuoka siblings, which knocked the rest of the past child contenders out of the ball park, and effectively out of the universe in resounding showmanship. gou had enough social prerogative to plan out her day and trump her meandering issues (from brother-sister arguments to snack plans to perfecting her cursive) to a point of virtual faultlessness thus heretical in any elementary student under the age of ten. interference was never necessary when she already resolved the issue in half the time it took to get the altercations going in the first place. and rin, while snarky and indubitably precocious in literally every encounter so far, was surprisingly good at belting out impromptu toilet humor and shoehorning in a bit of earnest sincerity for honesty's sake. sharp grins. lung-bursting laughter. a household built on sentiment and more else besides.

of course, that all came to a standstill with the surprise announcement of a work-related cross-country transfer to australia, of all conceivable places to form a working profession as sportswear spokesperson. he'd taken his resignation with only a smidgen of anything like empathy when their mother waved him off at the airport, and that had been that. shit outta' luck. it wasn't like he missed them.

not at all.

but his father apparently deduced, by way of amateur psychology and the nauseatingly maudlin proclivity of a parent with ulterior motives on the cerebrum, that sousuke needed a new distraction. somehow, that fell in-line with the chronological date of his parents' upcoming honeymoon, and he found himself on the receiving end of yet another sniveling kid on a bucket list of pathetic and untimely decisions made in post-haste ennui. at the tail end of final terms and a rapidly encroaching summer break vacation, there weren't many other options in mind. but as with all arrangements made on such short notice, he was apparently stuck chaperoning a kid who purportedly took out seven different babysitters over the course of one week, which was an olympic feat in and of itself, although not for reasons he bothered contemplating at any feasible length. they offered to quadruple his usual pay and in a manner not governed primarily by monetary surplus or actual greed, he all too willingly capitulated.

in the wake of two receding vehicles and entire month left to his own devices, he's not too keen about the current state of affairs. it might've been the fact they'd done nothing but stare blankly at each other for the past ten minutes straight when his parents ditched him without another word, or that the kid's soul-sucking, depthless eyes were at a distinct contrast to the rest of his physical body wilting to death at the bottom of the stone steps, rivulets of sweat streaming from every pore, jacket stubbornly plastered to his skin in defiance of the broiling heat. he'd sooner swelter out in heatstroke than maybe ask to be taken indoors, or even the nearest fan, so sousuke attributes the boy's lack of actual audible talking to shyness and peremptorily jumps the gun. ]


Nanase Haruka, right? What do you want me to call you?

[ he's a scrawny kid, sousuke decides. a tiny and near-intangible presence. a kind of translucent invisibility accrued from the lack of any receptivity.

other related but no less relevant aspects: haruka retains his spindly muteness and thinning eyes at the question, even as he blinks back at him in record-breaking silence, registering the inquiry before promptly ducking his head sideways, staring at nothing in particular. he strikes yamazaki as solitary, even in the midst of that desiccant, sweltering heat — a kid that wouldn't be remotely assuaged by saturday cartoons or the promise of wrapped sweets if sousuke decided to take off halfway through and neglect for a arbitrary jaunt downtown in the intercity shopping districts one town over. he grasps for another conversational straw. ]


Did your parents tell you who I am? I'll be watching you for a month while they're away.

[ out of off-beat impulse, he retracts one of his hands to tokenly ruffle haruka's hair.

unaffected as ever by the proceedings, sousuke provides no allowances with the movement — no squatting down, no cheap grins or forcibly wrenched laughs — and his impassiveness tends to scare off most of the kids under his jurisdiction to reacting. usually shock, anxiety, or fear, respectively speaking. there's no real reason to present himself as some insurmountable force to be reckoned with, but yamazaki figures there's no harm in messing with him.

nanase probably needs it. ]

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