The Mailbox: Part 2
Okay, posting this three months to the day of the first chapter is kind of creepy, lol. And I had no idea about all the wonderful things going on in fandom until I got home today and I'd finished writing the chapter at work, so call it a nice coincidence. Oh boys *__*
Title: The Mailbox: Part 2/?
Author: Rissa
Pairing: TutixNagayan (hints of EijixDaiki?)
Genre: AU, supernatural forces at work, romance across time
Rating: PG, worksafe (for now)
Summary: Adapted straight from the movie "The Lake House/Il Mare". Tuti and Takashi share the same apartment during completely different years and find an unexpected way to communicate.
A/N: When do I not thank dria_uesugi these days for my fics? Thank you my dear for your awesome support and feeding my creativity whenever it goes through a dry spell ♥
Part 2 - Dispend Belief
Tuti was whistling when he stepped inside the apartment lobby of his former residence, gloved hands shoved inside his jacket pockets and forehead fastidiously guarded by a knitted headband striped in shades of brown and yellow. It was early evening and the winter sunlight no longer slanted through the building’s glass doors, which left only the pale fluorescent bulbs to light the tiles under his feet as he stepped across the space to the closed door on the opposite wall. The building’s office hours were listed on a sign hanging next to it (the closing hour having passed some time ago), but Tuti hardly spared them a glance before he knocked briskly on the painted wood.
As he waited Tuti continued to whistle, the tune echoing slightly in the empty enclosed area, and when no immediate answer was forthcoming he fisted his hand and proceeded to pound heavily on the door.
This second attempt prompted a muffled sound in the room beyond, followed by a lock sliding out of the frame. When the door opened Tuti was greeted by a furious scowl on Ijima-san’s wrinkled face. The angry look disappeared as Tuti grinned belligerently, but the glare that replaced it was hardly better.
“Evening, Ijima-san!”
“Tsuchiya-dono,” Ijima greeted testily. “I thought I got rid of you last week.”
Tuti laughed quite jovially. “Got your hopes up, didn’t I? But you know, like a bad rash, I just keep on coming ba-”
“What is it Tsuchiya-dono?” Ijima interrupted. “As you didn’t bother to note that my office closed hours ago, you’d be well to mind that some of us are too old to be up at all hours cavorting like drunken fools and disturbing folk at the dead of night.”
“It’s barely after eight!” Tuti scoffed. “Isn’t it possible I just missed my old landlord and wanted to come by to say hi?”
Ijima-san rolled his eyes.
Tuti coughed. “Okay it was worth a shot. Look, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d come by to ask a teeny tiny favor.” Tuti withdrew one hand from his pocket, bare index finger and thumb pinched a short distance apart to illustrate his request.
When Ijima-san continued to glare Tuti’s smile weakened slightly. “Um, I wanted to see if any mail’s come for me? Nothing’s been forwarded and… I don’t trust the post office. Can I take a peek, please?”
Ijima-san muttered several things under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘brat’, ‘loudmouth’, and ‘should’ve kicked him out months ago’ as he turned to head back inside his office. A dry cough floated through the partially closed door while Tuti waited outside, rocking on the heels of his feet and tapping the fingers of his free hand on his thigh. In a moment Ijima-san returned with a lone key dangling on a thin metal ring. “Check yourself. And bring it right back, you’re disturbing my dinner.”
“Thank you!” Tuti crowed with a smile as he caught the key. He chuckled aloud at Ijima-san’s despondent headshake before he spun around and headed back to the building entryway.
It came as no surprise that Tuti found a stack of letters and flyers resting inside the tiny mailbox, and it took two wiggles and a hard yank before the whole bundle came free from the narrow space. Tuti glanced across the top of the pile as he closed and relocked the metal door, mentally separating the junk mail from the pieces that had a little more relevance. He began thumbing through the stack as he reentered the lobby area, head tilted and mailbox key dangling from his gloveless pinky finger.
There were two magazines, a loose booklet of ads and flyers, and several envelopes hidden in the stack with pre-printed and handwritten labels alike. He recognized some of the return addresses on those few he bothered to flip over, the majority mainly of casual acquaintances he’d yet to inform of his new residence and a few shops and services he’d signed up to receive notes from. One envelope in particular caught his eye and Tuti pulled it from the stack with a puzzled frown.
The handwritten print on the front of the letter was his current address, written legibly over the pale pink envelope, but what had caught his eye was the oversized stamp covering half the characters that read, ‘Undeliverable: Return to Sender’. Well that was a bit backwards, wasn’t it? The letter hadn’t gone to his new address but back to his old one. Was the postal service really that screwy these days?
Curious, Tuti turned the letter over and faltered mid-step as he read the information written on the back.
His pulled his eyes away from the very familiar return address as he came to a stop in front of Ijima-san’s office, and with a half-hearted grin Tuti passed back the spare key as well as the majority of his junk mail to the man.
“And what am I supposed to do with these?” Ijima-san asked dryly.
“I dunno. Read them? Burn them? Start a scrapbook? I’m sure there’s gotta be ads for girls’ underwear in there somewhere.”
Ijima snorted and stuffed the flyers out of sight. “I hadn’t thought your interests fell in that direction, Tsuchiya-dono.”
Tuti attempted to look indignant. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
The man tapped the side of his head with a close-lipped smile. “When you get to be my age, you see things more easily than most people.”
“Yeah well, don’t go blabbing things you think you know loud enough for the whole world to hear,” Tuti huffed, his gaze returning to the pink envelope on top of his pile. He frowned thoughtfully. “Hey, I was wondering…”
“Should I call a paramedic?”
“Ha ha,” Tuti laughed dryly. “Not unless you’re feeling tingles in your left arm, old man. So no one’s moved into my old place yet?”
“Do you think I would have just given you the key if someone had?” Ijima-san asked with a sigh of exasperation. “We’re doing renovations on that side of the building. The units won’t be ready to move in for a few months.”
“What?” Tuti squawked. “You’re fixing things now? After I already left? That’s so unfair!”
He received a sharp rap on his calf from Ijima-san’s cane for the outburst. “And who are you to lecture me on how I run my building?”
Tuti winced and retreated out of reaching distance. “Well I think it sounds kinda fishy! I wouldn’t have minded having a few improvements around the place, like an a/c that wasn’t so noisy or walls that were thicker so I didn’t have to listen to Kadowaki-san’s sentai marathons until two in the morning. You weren’t just taking all my rent money for nothing!”
There was a moment of silence before Ijima-san’s face split into a crooked grin. “Now now, Tsuchuya-dono. Your move came at such a convenient time, I only had to relocate two tenants to clear out that side of the building so they could begin construction.” He cackled. “I dare say I couldn’t have done it without you. Or with you, in this case.”
“Wait, you mean you were just waiting for me to leave? That’s so- Ijima-san!” he yelled in protest as the office door was shut in his face.
Tuti could still hear the building owner’s fading laughter beyond the door, and he couldn’t help grinning as he shook his head and turned to head for the exit. Sometimes he missed the snarky old man and the conversations, or arguments as they often were, that erupted between them. Ijima-san seemed to have an even more twisted sense of humor than him, and that was something over twenty-five years he’d discovered was hard to find.
Halfway to the front door Tuti slapped his free hand against his forehead. He’d nearly forgotten about the strange letter, and he was even more curious now to read the contents and find out who this person was that (allegedly) lived in his old apartment. Which he’d just found out was impossible. Unless the roaches had learned how to write.
Shuffling the other letters until they were snugly tucked inside his jacket Tuti tore open the (pink!) envelope and drew out the folded stationary inside. He felt his brow quirk at the abundance of red strawberries printed at the bottom of the lined paper before he shifted his eyes to the top and began to read:
Dear Tsuchiya-san,
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nagayama Takashi and one week ago I moved into your former apartment. I thank you for your letter of introduction and as you requested I’ve kept a diligent eye for miss-delivered mail, but so far none has come my way.
Tuti snorted in disbelief.
I can only assume that enough time has passed since you left that the postal service has kept up its end of forwarding your mail. I will continue to be on the lookout just in case, but please don’t expect me to pay for shipping anything larger than a letter. You can come pick those up yourself.
Thank you for your advice, but I’ve only had the chance to speak to the building manager twice: once to settle my paperwork and once during my move-in. I’m beginning to wonder if he has something against turtles. A childhood phobia maybe? It’s possible he’s the type to enjoy turtle soup, which would be even more disturbing. If you can shed any light on the matter it would be appreciated.
Tuti blinked rapidly and turned to the next page.
I haven’t tested my luck with your deaf neighbor, but loud music isn’t my thing anyway. Regardless of her hearing troubles I think she’d probably enjoy the quiet as much as the rest of us.
Tuti huffed. Whoever this guy was, he was starting to tick him off!
The apartment is just as you described down to the last squeaky floorboard and leaky faucet. However there was one thing that you mentioned in your letter which has, only very recently, come to my attention. It is for this reason that I’ve decided to write you.
You mentioned an unmistakable stain in the genkan that was there before you moved in. Well I’m sorry to inform you but when I moved in there was nothing there that matched what you described. I searched the area anyway, but judging by your description it didn’t seem to be something I’d have to look hard for. And in fact, there was nothing unusual about that part of the apartment at all. Until today.
Are you as puzzled right now as I am?
Tuti threw his hands up. “Of course I am! You’re either a crazy stalker, some creepy psycho squatter, or… or a cockroach!”
Spurred by his agitation, Tuti began pacing around the enclosed area, the open letter clutched in his hand with its innocent black handwriting and horribly pink and red paper. He’d be better off ripping up the letter and throwing it away in the first burnable trash can he found, or turning it into the police and telling them to watch out for some insane freak who went around stealing letters that weren’t intended for them.
Once he’d finished a full circuit of the small room Tuti looked down at the crumpled pages, his curiosity already getting the better of him. He should finish reading it, if only to find out if it was just a prank to get him riled up. He did know a few guys that fit the profile to do that sort of thing, which upon reflection wasn’t terribly reassuring.
Tuti smoothed out the page and continued reading.
This afternoon I came home with a few bags of supplies, including one pint of white epoxy paint. It was an unfortunate accident, but the can of paint fell from my hand and left an impressive mess on the floor. I don’t even want to consider Ijima-san’s reaction when he finds out that I’ve ruined his floor, or how much I’m going to have to pay to get it cleaned up. The nature of the paint makes it difficult to remove from concrete without something stronger and more expensive than water. In fact I’d go so far as to now call it a “big stain in the genkan.” To use your words precisely.
So my question to you, Tsuchiya-san, is this: how did you know I was going to spill the paint and make this stain? What kind of a game are you playing at? I can assure that this is not a joke and I’m certainly not in the mood to play games. I think it only fair and polite of you to explain yourself and alleviate some of the stress this incident has caused me.
I await your response.
Current resident of 13-C,
Nagayama Takashi
Tuti spluttered incredulously. “How should I know!? Do I look like a fortune teller to you? And he says I’m the one playing games! Sorry buddy, but I think you’ve got more important things to worry about than a stain. Did you forget to bring home your crazy pills with the rest of those groceries or something? You’re barely making sense and you expect me to answer your impossible questions. Right, that makes sense! No no, here, let me write you an apology for confusing you and drop it off at the apartment where no one lives. So terribly sorry, Nagayama-san!”
Tuti realized he was pacing again and stopped to stare at the ceiling and run a hand over his face and through the back of his hair. The day was going so normally, and now this? He didn’t even know where to begin figuring out what this letter was or who this claimed ‘Nagayama’ was or if it was all some big joke. Nothing made sense!
He really needed a cigarette.
Tuti refolded the letter and stuffed both it and envelope in his jacket pocket before he turned to leave the building. Not caring a rat’s ass about smoking laws, he pulled out a cigarette and lit up in the chilly night air, taking several long puffs as he strode furious, long strides down the sidewalk. The smoke that rose around his head reflected the cloudy nature of his thoughts and Tuti polished off the first cigarette before even reaching the corner at the end of the block of apartments. He still didn’t feel much better for the manic smoking and so pulled out a second one, heading in the direction of the nearest subway station as he smoked and dragged the calming nicotine through his lungs.
“I’ll forget about it,” Tuti muttered to himself as he tossed his last glowing butt into a nearby aluminum can bin and stuffed both hands into his jacket pockets, the sharp edges of the folded paper enclosing in his fist. “Crazy… stupid… letters… makes no difference to me. Just going to forget about it, drink some wine, go to sleep, and never go back there again. Yeah. I got what I went there for, so not going there again. Doesn’t concern me. You don’t care about weird letters, right? Right.”
At that moment, as Tuti stomped his way down a flight of stairs to the subway, he genuinely tried to believe those words.
* *
The reply to Takashi’s letter came several days later. Not as soon as he’d hoped but certainly not as late as he’d feared. It hardly helped that he’d been on tenterhooks the past few days.
It was difficult not to think about what had happened when he stepped across the very threshold that had started the whole thing every day on his way in and out of the apartment. The letter he’d mailed in his haste remained stuck in his mind on a permanent loop, and he spent more hours going over his own accusations and lame attempts at congeniality than he focused on the original letter from Tsuchiya. Had he been too forthright? Had he spent too long rambling about the stupid building? Would the man think him crazy and not reply at all? Was there some rational explanation for it all that he simply hadn’t seen yet? The risk of embarrassment and the complete mystery of it all was enough to give him several sleepless nights and a mildly cranky attitude during the day.
More than anything Takashi hated being cranky.
As he stood in front of his mailbox with the letter in hand, plain white envelope and a familiar return address on the back, Takashi couldn’t stifle his curiosity long enough to wait and read it inside his apartment.
The lined paper inside looked like the kind torn out of a notebook and Takashi noticed that the left edge had a telltale ragged edge to it as he unfolded the single sheet. The letter itself was surprisingly short.
2005/01/12
Nagayama-san,
Even if I were to believe, for one minute, that your story had any truth to it, I would have no reasonable answer to your question because I have no idea what you’re asking. Was there a stain there when I lived at the apartment? Yes. Why did it mysteriously vanish when you moved in? I have no idea.
But I do have a few answers that might interest you. Like for instance that I was personally told by the manager that no one is living in my old place, or will be for the next few months. Or that your claim there was no mail for me is completely false because I removed all of it from the box myself the other day.
Maybe you better check your facts the next time you go making up wild stories. You’d be better off not taking letters that weren’t meant for you. They like to lock people up with problems like yours.
Tsuchiya Yuuichi
“Wha…” Takashi gaped as he finished reading the letter. “He… that… what a bastard!”
Takashi realized how loudly he’d shouted when he heard the front glass doors bang shut and glimpsed the back of a figure scurrying away down the sidewalk. He sighed and looked at the letter again, a severe frown settling on his mouth.
“I know it was a weird thing to ask, but you didn’t have to get all rude like that,” Takashi growled, shaking the letter as if picturing the neck of the pompous Tsuchiya between his fists. Not only had the man been arrogant and unhelpful, he’d made absolutely no sense either! Now he was accusing Takashi of lying, when it was the lies in the man’s letter that had started it all! And what was this about Ijima-san saying that he didn’t live there? And collecting his mail? It didn’t make sense!
There was a big misunderstanding going on here, but whose fault for it was hard to say. There was, however, one common denominator in the whole thing, Takashi realized.
Refolding the letter and stuffing it in his jacket, Takashi headed through the second set of doors and approached the lobby’s front counter. It was still office hours but Ijima-san was nowhere in sight behind the low barrier. A small bell sat on the countertop for just such an occasion and Takashi slapped his hand down to ring it.
It was a moment before the building owner emerged from his office, gait slightly stiff with the help of his cane, and he gave Takashi an indifferent glare as he approached from behind the counter. “Yes?”
“Hi. I’m Nagayama, I moved in two weekends ago?”
Ijima continued to stare and Takashi shifted slightly.
“I wanted to ask… that is, did the person who used to live in my apartment come by the other day to get a key to pick up their mail?”
“I’m not in the habit of handing out keys to individuals that don’t live here,” Ijima-san said shortly. “Was that all?”
“Wait, so you didn’t give him a key?”
“Give a key to who?”
“To the guy who used- this Tsuchiya guy. Former resident? He left a letter.”
“A letter for who?”
“A letter for me. Well not me, whoever moved in. It said he used to live here.”
Ijima shook his head once. “They come and go so fast, names aren’t worth remembering. Pay your rent on time, that’ll get you in my memory. Pay up and don’t cause any trouble, got that?”
“Okay,” Takashi agreed, growing somewhat impatient. “But that guy…”
“Who?”
“The… look, did you tell some guy the other day that I wasn’t living in my apartment?”
“Excuse me?”
“He said you told him-”
“And why would I do such a thing?” Ijima snapped.
“I… didn’t mean,” Takashi faltered. “I just thought there was a misunderstanding somewhere.”
“I fail to see where,” Ijima-san said, rapping his cane once on the floor. “I have no knowledge of this phantom individual. You are demanding information from an event that did not take place and I have no answers for you. In fact, it looks as if you have spoken to them more than I, so I don’t see why you find it necessary to drag me into it. I don’t appreciate being disturbed for trivial matters or things that waste my time. If that is all, Nagayama-dono, have a good day.” Ijima turned his attention to a small pile of paperwork on the counter, and that seemed to be that.
Takashi stalked away from the front desk feeling even more confused and angry by the whole situation. “What’s a guy have to do to get some straight answers?” he grumbled to himself as he headed for the stairs.
The walk up three flights only took some of the edge off his mood, and Takashi rejoiced in the satisfying slam his door made as he walked into his apartment. Though if what Tsuchiya had said was true, the deaf little old lady next door had probably heard nothing.
“That… argh!” Takashi vented aloud to the empty apartment. “If it isn’t some stupid stain its senile managers or little old ladies. Why can’t this guy leave me alone?”
As he took off his coat and scarf Takashi withdrew the folded letter from his pocket and placed it on the small table adjacent to his bed, tossing the clothing articles where they fell, half off the bed and mostly on the floor. With a loud sigh Takashi sat down at his desk and stared at the folded sheet of paper. On the desk’s surface his laptop, a lamp, and a mug of pens and pencils were the other sole occupants, now joined by the letter and its ripped envelope.
Above the desk a small collection of photos and postcards were tacked to the wall with room left between them to add more in the future, and between the candid photos were a few business cards of various companies and individuals he’d met over the years - from record producers to aspiring clothing designers to the ramen shop around the corner from his old apartment. It was a collection of names he hardly recognized anymore but was always hesitant to throw away if there was a chance they’d come in handy later. When you were as directionless about life as he was it seemed like a good idea to keep as many doors open as possible.
Takashi picked up the letter and unfolded it. “Let’s see if you make any more sense this time around, okay? ‘No idea what you’re asking,’? Well I think I said it pretty clearly in my letter I just wanted an answer, or at least an idea, you know, think about the problem? You’d think I was blaming the guy for the stupid accident the way he got so defensive. I felt rotten enough anyway! And I still haven’t told Ijima-san…”
Takashi sighed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes on the ceiling as he nudged the chair to swivel around.
“This is so stupid. He’s mad at me for the mail, and there was never anything in the box, I checked almost every day. And he accuses me of stealing other people’s mail. Like that makes sense! Either I’m taking his mail or I’m not, not both. The idiot doesn’t even know what kind of accusations he’s making, jeez.”
The slow spinning came to a stop after a few turns and Takashi sat up, frowning at the empty room and stained entryway floor. “I know what I saw with my own eyes. I’m in the right here, not him. If he’s going to tell me about a stain that doesn’t exist until after I move in, then he’s got some explaining to do. It’s my place now, and my mail to do with as I please. And that whole story about Ijima-san… was that just a lie?”
Takashi pushed his seat around to look at the letter. He frowned thoughtfully. “Tsuchiya the pathological liar? Maybe? But to say something like that one moment and then turn around and say something else… is he just hiding something? Secret powers to see into the future? Gah. Get a grip Takashi, the guy’s an idiot, not a psychic.”
Opening one of the drawers under his desk, Takashi pulled out his pad of stationary and grabbed the nearest black pen out of his mug. He tapped the end of the pen against his bottom lip as he stared into the distance, mentally forming his response to Tsuchiya. After a few minutes he glanced down at the open letter next to his pad, tracing the clean pen strokes more than seeing the words written there. The guy had nicer handwriting than he did, which was kind of annoying now that he’d noticed it.
“Wait a second.” Takashi set down his pen and picked up the letter, the date in the top corner having caught his attention. “2005? Is he crazy? The date’s right, but that year is totally off.”
Inspired with a direction to go in, Takashi set his pen to the stationary and began writing.
* *
“… and for your information, it’s 2003, not 2005. Did you jump ahead of yourself or was that just a mistake? … You see!” Tuti cried as he came to the end of his latest letter from the ever insufferable and infuriating Nagayama-san. “You see what I’ve been putting up with? This guy just won’t get a clue, and now he’s making up all new stuff!”
“2003!” Tuti repeated, waving the letter in a huge arc over the lobby counter and coming within a few inches of Ijima-san’s forehead in the process, who had maintained a surprising amount of patience while Tuti had ranted over his latest letter from the mysterious apartment occupant.
The story, or rather the most recent letter, had come to light after Ijima had caught Tuti trying to sneak up to the third floor in an attempt to disprove Nagayama’s persistent claims that he lived in Tuti’s former apartment. The manager had been none too happy to discover Tuti in a rather unstable and still heavily constructed side of the building, but Tuti had insisted on having a good reason for the investigation. Thus came reading aloud the letter, with much commentary and disbelief thrown in for good measure.
“Ijima-san, should we call the police?” Tuti suddenly asked, bouncing nervously on the heels of his feet. “Do you think this is dangerous, someone writing me these letters and thinking that they’re living two years in the past? What if I’m being stalked? Big stars get stalkers all the time, maybe I’ve got one too? Okay I never thought I’d ever get famous enough to get my own stalker, but there’s a first time for everything. And you never know what kind of person they are, if they’re just your average nice person on the outside but really on the inside they’re this completely utterly obsessed crazy person that thinks you’re the most amazing thing in the world and goes to see all your shows and buys anything with your face on it and every magazine interview you’ve ever done… actually, on second thought, this is kind of cool. Me, Tsuchiya Yuuichi, getting stalked! I mean if you ignore how creepy that is it’s actually a compliment, someone likes me so much that they have to be near me all the time and want to own everything remotely related to me and buy all the same clothes as me and shop at the same places as me… You know they’re probably just too scared to come up and talk to me so they think they have to write strange letters just to get atten-”
Ijima-san coughed loudly, interrupting Tuti mid-sentence. “Tsuchiya-dono,” he said gravely. “I don’t believe this is a stalker.”
Balked by the sudden change, Tuti blinked in surprise. “Huh? Why not?”
“It was Nagayama, you said?” Tuti nodded and Ijima stroked his whiskered face in thought. “I knew this young man. He used to live here, at this building, before you moved in. He lived in your former apartment, come to think of it. Yes, I’m almost positive that was his name.”
“Wait, so…” Tuti began, pausing for a moment to think. “So this Nagayama-san used to live here, but that means he doesn’t anymore. So how’s he still getting my letters when I send them here? And why are the ones he sends me always here too after being returned-to-sender? That doesn’t make any sense, Ijima-san. Are you sure this is the same guy?”
Ijima lifted his thin shoulders in a small shrug. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. The year fits, and there was a Nagayama who lived in that apartment before you did.”
Tuti sputtered. “But… but, are you saying he’s writing to me from two years ago? That’s impossible! How could something like that happen?”
“Stranger things have happened, Tsuchiya-dono,” Ijima-san replied with a small, wry smile. “Maybe you should suspend your disbelief just this once?”
“I… don’t know.” Tuti stared down at the letter in his hand, eyes wide with the new turn of events. “Every part of me knows this kind of this is impossible, but… it would be something else, wouldn’t it?”
Ijima-san chuckled. “Sending letters across time? What’s so fantastic about that? I can send a letter halfway across the world from my office and the person on the other end gets it less than a minute later. That’s something worth being amazed over. Now, I have to close up for the day. Don’t let me catch you going upstairs again, a grown man like you should know better than to venture into dangerous areas. If you’ll excuse me, Tsuchiya-dono.”
Ijima left a stunned Tuti in the lobby as he returned to his office, and it was a long moment before Tuti was able to pull his eyes away from the letter in his hand that had suddenly become much, much more interesting. Was it possible? Was it real? Would Nagayama even believe him if he told him? Tuti knew he had to find out, one way or another.
“Ijima-san!” Tuti hollered, leaning across the low counter. “Got any paper out here I can use? I need to write a letter!”
TBC
Title: The Mailbox: Part 2/?
Author: Rissa
Pairing: TutixNagayan (hints of EijixDaiki?)
Genre: AU, supernatural forces at work, romance across time
Rating: PG, worksafe (for now)
Summary: Adapted straight from the movie "The Lake House/Il Mare". Tuti and Takashi share the same apartment during completely different years and find an unexpected way to communicate.
A/N: When do I not thank dria_uesugi these days for my fics? Thank you my dear for your awesome support and feeding my creativity whenever it goes through a dry spell ♥
Part 2 - Dispend Belief
Tuti was whistling when he stepped inside the apartment lobby of his former residence, gloved hands shoved inside his jacket pockets and forehead fastidiously guarded by a knitted headband striped in shades of brown and yellow. It was early evening and the winter sunlight no longer slanted through the building’s glass doors, which left only the pale fluorescent bulbs to light the tiles under his feet as he stepped across the space to the closed door on the opposite wall. The building’s office hours were listed on a sign hanging next to it (the closing hour having passed some time ago), but Tuti hardly spared them a glance before he knocked briskly on the painted wood.
As he waited Tuti continued to whistle, the tune echoing slightly in the empty enclosed area, and when no immediate answer was forthcoming he fisted his hand and proceeded to pound heavily on the door.
This second attempt prompted a muffled sound in the room beyond, followed by a lock sliding out of the frame. When the door opened Tuti was greeted by a furious scowl on Ijima-san’s wrinkled face. The angry look disappeared as Tuti grinned belligerently, but the glare that replaced it was hardly better.
“Evening, Ijima-san!”
“Tsuchiya-dono,” Ijima greeted testily. “I thought I got rid of you last week.”
Tuti laughed quite jovially. “Got your hopes up, didn’t I? But you know, like a bad rash, I just keep on coming ba-”
“What is it Tsuchiya-dono?” Ijima interrupted. “As you didn’t bother to note that my office closed hours ago, you’d be well to mind that some of us are too old to be up at all hours cavorting like drunken fools and disturbing folk at the dead of night.”
“It’s barely after eight!” Tuti scoffed. “Isn’t it possible I just missed my old landlord and wanted to come by to say hi?”
Ijima-san rolled his eyes.
Tuti coughed. “Okay it was worth a shot. Look, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d come by to ask a teeny tiny favor.” Tuti withdrew one hand from his pocket, bare index finger and thumb pinched a short distance apart to illustrate his request.
When Ijima-san continued to glare Tuti’s smile weakened slightly. “Um, I wanted to see if any mail’s come for me? Nothing’s been forwarded and… I don’t trust the post office. Can I take a peek, please?”
Ijima-san muttered several things under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘brat’, ‘loudmouth’, and ‘should’ve kicked him out months ago’ as he turned to head back inside his office. A dry cough floated through the partially closed door while Tuti waited outside, rocking on the heels of his feet and tapping the fingers of his free hand on his thigh. In a moment Ijima-san returned with a lone key dangling on a thin metal ring. “Check yourself. And bring it right back, you’re disturbing my dinner.”
“Thank you!” Tuti crowed with a smile as he caught the key. He chuckled aloud at Ijima-san’s despondent headshake before he spun around and headed back to the building entryway.
It came as no surprise that Tuti found a stack of letters and flyers resting inside the tiny mailbox, and it took two wiggles and a hard yank before the whole bundle came free from the narrow space. Tuti glanced across the top of the pile as he closed and relocked the metal door, mentally separating the junk mail from the pieces that had a little more relevance. He began thumbing through the stack as he reentered the lobby area, head tilted and mailbox key dangling from his gloveless pinky finger.
There were two magazines, a loose booklet of ads and flyers, and several envelopes hidden in the stack with pre-printed and handwritten labels alike. He recognized some of the return addresses on those few he bothered to flip over, the majority mainly of casual acquaintances he’d yet to inform of his new residence and a few shops and services he’d signed up to receive notes from. One envelope in particular caught his eye and Tuti pulled it from the stack with a puzzled frown.
The handwritten print on the front of the letter was his current address, written legibly over the pale pink envelope, but what had caught his eye was the oversized stamp covering half the characters that read, ‘Undeliverable: Return to Sender’. Well that was a bit backwards, wasn’t it? The letter hadn’t gone to his new address but back to his old one. Was the postal service really that screwy these days?
Curious, Tuti turned the letter over and faltered mid-step as he read the information written on the back.
His pulled his eyes away from the very familiar return address as he came to a stop in front of Ijima-san’s office, and with a half-hearted grin Tuti passed back the spare key as well as the majority of his junk mail to the man.
“And what am I supposed to do with these?” Ijima-san asked dryly.
“I dunno. Read them? Burn them? Start a scrapbook? I’m sure there’s gotta be ads for girls’ underwear in there somewhere.”
Ijima snorted and stuffed the flyers out of sight. “I hadn’t thought your interests fell in that direction, Tsuchiya-dono.”
Tuti attempted to look indignant. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
The man tapped the side of his head with a close-lipped smile. “When you get to be my age, you see things more easily than most people.”
“Yeah well, don’t go blabbing things you think you know loud enough for the whole world to hear,” Tuti huffed, his gaze returning to the pink envelope on top of his pile. He frowned thoughtfully. “Hey, I was wondering…”
“Should I call a paramedic?”
“Ha ha,” Tuti laughed dryly. “Not unless you’re feeling tingles in your left arm, old man. So no one’s moved into my old place yet?”
“Do you think I would have just given you the key if someone had?” Ijima-san asked with a sigh of exasperation. “We’re doing renovations on that side of the building. The units won’t be ready to move in for a few months.”
“What?” Tuti squawked. “You’re fixing things now? After I already left? That’s so unfair!”
He received a sharp rap on his calf from Ijima-san’s cane for the outburst. “And who are you to lecture me on how I run my building?”
Tuti winced and retreated out of reaching distance. “Well I think it sounds kinda fishy! I wouldn’t have minded having a few improvements around the place, like an a/c that wasn’t so noisy or walls that were thicker so I didn’t have to listen to Kadowaki-san’s sentai marathons until two in the morning. You weren’t just taking all my rent money for nothing!”
There was a moment of silence before Ijima-san’s face split into a crooked grin. “Now now, Tsuchuya-dono. Your move came at such a convenient time, I only had to relocate two tenants to clear out that side of the building so they could begin construction.” He cackled. “I dare say I couldn’t have done it without you. Or with you, in this case.”
“Wait, you mean you were just waiting for me to leave? That’s so- Ijima-san!” he yelled in protest as the office door was shut in his face.
Tuti could still hear the building owner’s fading laughter beyond the door, and he couldn’t help grinning as he shook his head and turned to head for the exit. Sometimes he missed the snarky old man and the conversations, or arguments as they often were, that erupted between them. Ijima-san seemed to have an even more twisted sense of humor than him, and that was something over twenty-five years he’d discovered was hard to find.
Halfway to the front door Tuti slapped his free hand against his forehead. He’d nearly forgotten about the strange letter, and he was even more curious now to read the contents and find out who this person was that (allegedly) lived in his old apartment. Which he’d just found out was impossible. Unless the roaches had learned how to write.
Shuffling the other letters until they were snugly tucked inside his jacket Tuti tore open the (pink!) envelope and drew out the folded stationary inside. He felt his brow quirk at the abundance of red strawberries printed at the bottom of the lined paper before he shifted his eyes to the top and began to read:
Dear Tsuchiya-san,
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Nagayama Takashi and one week ago I moved into your former apartment. I thank you for your letter of introduction and as you requested I’ve kept a diligent eye for miss-delivered mail, but so far none has come my way.
Tuti snorted in disbelief.
I can only assume that enough time has passed since you left that the postal service has kept up its end of forwarding your mail. I will continue to be on the lookout just in case, but please don’t expect me to pay for shipping anything larger than a letter. You can come pick those up yourself.
Thank you for your advice, but I’ve only had the chance to speak to the building manager twice: once to settle my paperwork and once during my move-in. I’m beginning to wonder if he has something against turtles. A childhood phobia maybe? It’s possible he’s the type to enjoy turtle soup, which would be even more disturbing. If you can shed any light on the matter it would be appreciated.
Tuti blinked rapidly and turned to the next page.
I haven’t tested my luck with your deaf neighbor, but loud music isn’t my thing anyway. Regardless of her hearing troubles I think she’d probably enjoy the quiet as much as the rest of us.
Tuti huffed. Whoever this guy was, he was starting to tick him off!
The apartment is just as you described down to the last squeaky floorboard and leaky faucet. However there was one thing that you mentioned in your letter which has, only very recently, come to my attention. It is for this reason that I’ve decided to write you.
You mentioned an unmistakable stain in the genkan that was there before you moved in. Well I’m sorry to inform you but when I moved in there was nothing there that matched what you described. I searched the area anyway, but judging by your description it didn’t seem to be something I’d have to look hard for. And in fact, there was nothing unusual about that part of the apartment at all. Until today.
Are you as puzzled right now as I am?
Tuti threw his hands up. “Of course I am! You’re either a crazy stalker, some creepy psycho squatter, or… or a cockroach!”
Spurred by his agitation, Tuti began pacing around the enclosed area, the open letter clutched in his hand with its innocent black handwriting and horribly pink and red paper. He’d be better off ripping up the letter and throwing it away in the first burnable trash can he found, or turning it into the police and telling them to watch out for some insane freak who went around stealing letters that weren’t intended for them.
Once he’d finished a full circuit of the small room Tuti looked down at the crumpled pages, his curiosity already getting the better of him. He should finish reading it, if only to find out if it was just a prank to get him riled up. He did know a few guys that fit the profile to do that sort of thing, which upon reflection wasn’t terribly reassuring.
Tuti smoothed out the page and continued reading.
This afternoon I came home with a few bags of supplies, including one pint of white epoxy paint. It was an unfortunate accident, but the can of paint fell from my hand and left an impressive mess on the floor. I don’t even want to consider Ijima-san’s reaction when he finds out that I’ve ruined his floor, or how much I’m going to have to pay to get it cleaned up. The nature of the paint makes it difficult to remove from concrete without something stronger and more expensive than water. In fact I’d go so far as to now call it a “big stain in the genkan.” To use your words precisely.
So my question to you, Tsuchiya-san, is this: how did you know I was going to spill the paint and make this stain? What kind of a game are you playing at? I can assure that this is not a joke and I’m certainly not in the mood to play games. I think it only fair and polite of you to explain yourself and alleviate some of the stress this incident has caused me.
I await your response.
Current resident of 13-C,
Nagayama Takashi
Tuti spluttered incredulously. “How should I know!? Do I look like a fortune teller to you? And he says I’m the one playing games! Sorry buddy, but I think you’ve got more important things to worry about than a stain. Did you forget to bring home your crazy pills with the rest of those groceries or something? You’re barely making sense and you expect me to answer your impossible questions. Right, that makes sense! No no, here, let me write you an apology for confusing you and drop it off at the apartment where no one lives. So terribly sorry, Nagayama-san!”
Tuti realized he was pacing again and stopped to stare at the ceiling and run a hand over his face and through the back of his hair. The day was going so normally, and now this? He didn’t even know where to begin figuring out what this letter was or who this claimed ‘Nagayama’ was or if it was all some big joke. Nothing made sense!
He really needed a cigarette.
Tuti refolded the letter and stuffed both it and envelope in his jacket pocket before he turned to leave the building. Not caring a rat’s ass about smoking laws, he pulled out a cigarette and lit up in the chilly night air, taking several long puffs as he strode furious, long strides down the sidewalk. The smoke that rose around his head reflected the cloudy nature of his thoughts and Tuti polished off the first cigarette before even reaching the corner at the end of the block of apartments. He still didn’t feel much better for the manic smoking and so pulled out a second one, heading in the direction of the nearest subway station as he smoked and dragged the calming nicotine through his lungs.
“I’ll forget about it,” Tuti muttered to himself as he tossed his last glowing butt into a nearby aluminum can bin and stuffed both hands into his jacket pockets, the sharp edges of the folded paper enclosing in his fist. “Crazy… stupid… letters… makes no difference to me. Just going to forget about it, drink some wine, go to sleep, and never go back there again. Yeah. I got what I went there for, so not going there again. Doesn’t concern me. You don’t care about weird letters, right? Right.”
At that moment, as Tuti stomped his way down a flight of stairs to the subway, he genuinely tried to believe those words.
* *
The reply to Takashi’s letter came several days later. Not as soon as he’d hoped but certainly not as late as he’d feared. It hardly helped that he’d been on tenterhooks the past few days.
It was difficult not to think about what had happened when he stepped across the very threshold that had started the whole thing every day on his way in and out of the apartment. The letter he’d mailed in his haste remained stuck in his mind on a permanent loop, and he spent more hours going over his own accusations and lame attempts at congeniality than he focused on the original letter from Tsuchiya. Had he been too forthright? Had he spent too long rambling about the stupid building? Would the man think him crazy and not reply at all? Was there some rational explanation for it all that he simply hadn’t seen yet? The risk of embarrassment and the complete mystery of it all was enough to give him several sleepless nights and a mildly cranky attitude during the day.
More than anything Takashi hated being cranky.
As he stood in front of his mailbox with the letter in hand, plain white envelope and a familiar return address on the back, Takashi couldn’t stifle his curiosity long enough to wait and read it inside his apartment.
The lined paper inside looked like the kind torn out of a notebook and Takashi noticed that the left edge had a telltale ragged edge to it as he unfolded the single sheet. The letter itself was surprisingly short.
2005/01/12
Nagayama-san,
Even if I were to believe, for one minute, that your story had any truth to it, I would have no reasonable answer to your question because I have no idea what you’re asking. Was there a stain there when I lived at the apartment? Yes. Why did it mysteriously vanish when you moved in? I have no idea.
But I do have a few answers that might interest you. Like for instance that I was personally told by the manager that no one is living in my old place, or will be for the next few months. Or that your claim there was no mail for me is completely false because I removed all of it from the box myself the other day.
Maybe you better check your facts the next time you go making up wild stories. You’d be better off not taking letters that weren’t meant for you. They like to lock people up with problems like yours.
Tsuchiya Yuuichi
“Wha…” Takashi gaped as he finished reading the letter. “He… that… what a bastard!”
Takashi realized how loudly he’d shouted when he heard the front glass doors bang shut and glimpsed the back of a figure scurrying away down the sidewalk. He sighed and looked at the letter again, a severe frown settling on his mouth.
“I know it was a weird thing to ask, but you didn’t have to get all rude like that,” Takashi growled, shaking the letter as if picturing the neck of the pompous Tsuchiya between his fists. Not only had the man been arrogant and unhelpful, he’d made absolutely no sense either! Now he was accusing Takashi of lying, when it was the lies in the man’s letter that had started it all! And what was this about Ijima-san saying that he didn’t live there? And collecting his mail? It didn’t make sense!
There was a big misunderstanding going on here, but whose fault for it was hard to say. There was, however, one common denominator in the whole thing, Takashi realized.
Refolding the letter and stuffing it in his jacket, Takashi headed through the second set of doors and approached the lobby’s front counter. It was still office hours but Ijima-san was nowhere in sight behind the low barrier. A small bell sat on the countertop for just such an occasion and Takashi slapped his hand down to ring it.
It was a moment before the building owner emerged from his office, gait slightly stiff with the help of his cane, and he gave Takashi an indifferent glare as he approached from behind the counter. “Yes?”
“Hi. I’m Nagayama, I moved in two weekends ago?”
Ijima continued to stare and Takashi shifted slightly.
“I wanted to ask… that is, did the person who used to live in my apartment come by the other day to get a key to pick up their mail?”
“I’m not in the habit of handing out keys to individuals that don’t live here,” Ijima-san said shortly. “Was that all?”
“Wait, so you didn’t give him a key?”
“Give a key to who?”
“To the guy who used- this Tsuchiya guy. Former resident? He left a letter.”
“A letter for who?”
“A letter for me. Well not me, whoever moved in. It said he used to live here.”
Ijima shook his head once. “They come and go so fast, names aren’t worth remembering. Pay your rent on time, that’ll get you in my memory. Pay up and don’t cause any trouble, got that?”
“Okay,” Takashi agreed, growing somewhat impatient. “But that guy…”
“Who?”
“The… look, did you tell some guy the other day that I wasn’t living in my apartment?”
“Excuse me?”
“He said you told him-”
“And why would I do such a thing?” Ijima snapped.
“I… didn’t mean,” Takashi faltered. “I just thought there was a misunderstanding somewhere.”
“I fail to see where,” Ijima-san said, rapping his cane once on the floor. “I have no knowledge of this phantom individual. You are demanding information from an event that did not take place and I have no answers for you. In fact, it looks as if you have spoken to them more than I, so I don’t see why you find it necessary to drag me into it. I don’t appreciate being disturbed for trivial matters or things that waste my time. If that is all, Nagayama-dono, have a good day.” Ijima turned his attention to a small pile of paperwork on the counter, and that seemed to be that.
Takashi stalked away from the front desk feeling even more confused and angry by the whole situation. “What’s a guy have to do to get some straight answers?” he grumbled to himself as he headed for the stairs.
The walk up three flights only took some of the edge off his mood, and Takashi rejoiced in the satisfying slam his door made as he walked into his apartment. Though if what Tsuchiya had said was true, the deaf little old lady next door had probably heard nothing.
“That… argh!” Takashi vented aloud to the empty apartment. “If it isn’t some stupid stain its senile managers or little old ladies. Why can’t this guy leave me alone?”
As he took off his coat and scarf Takashi withdrew the folded letter from his pocket and placed it on the small table adjacent to his bed, tossing the clothing articles where they fell, half off the bed and mostly on the floor. With a loud sigh Takashi sat down at his desk and stared at the folded sheet of paper. On the desk’s surface his laptop, a lamp, and a mug of pens and pencils were the other sole occupants, now joined by the letter and its ripped envelope.
Above the desk a small collection of photos and postcards were tacked to the wall with room left between them to add more in the future, and between the candid photos were a few business cards of various companies and individuals he’d met over the years - from record producers to aspiring clothing designers to the ramen shop around the corner from his old apartment. It was a collection of names he hardly recognized anymore but was always hesitant to throw away if there was a chance they’d come in handy later. When you were as directionless about life as he was it seemed like a good idea to keep as many doors open as possible.
Takashi picked up the letter and unfolded it. “Let’s see if you make any more sense this time around, okay? ‘No idea what you’re asking,’? Well I think I said it pretty clearly in my letter I just wanted an answer, or at least an idea, you know, think about the problem? You’d think I was blaming the guy for the stupid accident the way he got so defensive. I felt rotten enough anyway! And I still haven’t told Ijima-san…”
Takashi sighed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes on the ceiling as he nudged the chair to swivel around.
“This is so stupid. He’s mad at me for the mail, and there was never anything in the box, I checked almost every day. And he accuses me of stealing other people’s mail. Like that makes sense! Either I’m taking his mail or I’m not, not both. The idiot doesn’t even know what kind of accusations he’s making, jeez.”
The slow spinning came to a stop after a few turns and Takashi sat up, frowning at the empty room and stained entryway floor. “I know what I saw with my own eyes. I’m in the right here, not him. If he’s going to tell me about a stain that doesn’t exist until after I move in, then he’s got some explaining to do. It’s my place now, and my mail to do with as I please. And that whole story about Ijima-san… was that just a lie?”
Takashi pushed his seat around to look at the letter. He frowned thoughtfully. “Tsuchiya the pathological liar? Maybe? But to say something like that one moment and then turn around and say something else… is he just hiding something? Secret powers to see into the future? Gah. Get a grip Takashi, the guy’s an idiot, not a psychic.”
Opening one of the drawers under his desk, Takashi pulled out his pad of stationary and grabbed the nearest black pen out of his mug. He tapped the end of the pen against his bottom lip as he stared into the distance, mentally forming his response to Tsuchiya. After a few minutes he glanced down at the open letter next to his pad, tracing the clean pen strokes more than seeing the words written there. The guy had nicer handwriting than he did, which was kind of annoying now that he’d noticed it.
“Wait a second.” Takashi set down his pen and picked up the letter, the date in the top corner having caught his attention. “2005? Is he crazy? The date’s right, but that year is totally off.”
Inspired with a direction to go in, Takashi set his pen to the stationary and began writing.
* *
“… and for your information, it’s 2003, not 2005. Did you jump ahead of yourself or was that just a mistake? … You see!” Tuti cried as he came to the end of his latest letter from the ever insufferable and infuriating Nagayama-san. “You see what I’ve been putting up with? This guy just won’t get a clue, and now he’s making up all new stuff!”
“2003!” Tuti repeated, waving the letter in a huge arc over the lobby counter and coming within a few inches of Ijima-san’s forehead in the process, who had maintained a surprising amount of patience while Tuti had ranted over his latest letter from the mysterious apartment occupant.
The story, or rather the most recent letter, had come to light after Ijima had caught Tuti trying to sneak up to the third floor in an attempt to disprove Nagayama’s persistent claims that he lived in Tuti’s former apartment. The manager had been none too happy to discover Tuti in a rather unstable and still heavily constructed side of the building, but Tuti had insisted on having a good reason for the investigation. Thus came reading aloud the letter, with much commentary and disbelief thrown in for good measure.
“Ijima-san, should we call the police?” Tuti suddenly asked, bouncing nervously on the heels of his feet. “Do you think this is dangerous, someone writing me these letters and thinking that they’re living two years in the past? What if I’m being stalked? Big stars get stalkers all the time, maybe I’ve got one too? Okay I never thought I’d ever get famous enough to get my own stalker, but there’s a first time for everything. And you never know what kind of person they are, if they’re just your average nice person on the outside but really on the inside they’re this completely utterly obsessed crazy person that thinks you’re the most amazing thing in the world and goes to see all your shows and buys anything with your face on it and every magazine interview you’ve ever done… actually, on second thought, this is kind of cool. Me, Tsuchiya Yuuichi, getting stalked! I mean if you ignore how creepy that is it’s actually a compliment, someone likes me so much that they have to be near me all the time and want to own everything remotely related to me and buy all the same clothes as me and shop at the same places as me… You know they’re probably just too scared to come up and talk to me so they think they have to write strange letters just to get atten-”
Ijima-san coughed loudly, interrupting Tuti mid-sentence. “Tsuchiya-dono,” he said gravely. “I don’t believe this is a stalker.”
Balked by the sudden change, Tuti blinked in surprise. “Huh? Why not?”
“It was Nagayama, you said?” Tuti nodded and Ijima stroked his whiskered face in thought. “I knew this young man. He used to live here, at this building, before you moved in. He lived in your former apartment, come to think of it. Yes, I’m almost positive that was his name.”
“Wait, so…” Tuti began, pausing for a moment to think. “So this Nagayama-san used to live here, but that means he doesn’t anymore. So how’s he still getting my letters when I send them here? And why are the ones he sends me always here too after being returned-to-sender? That doesn’t make any sense, Ijima-san. Are you sure this is the same guy?”
Ijima lifted his thin shoulders in a small shrug. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. The year fits, and there was a Nagayama who lived in that apartment before you did.”
Tuti sputtered. “But… but, are you saying he’s writing to me from two years ago? That’s impossible! How could something like that happen?”
“Stranger things have happened, Tsuchiya-dono,” Ijima-san replied with a small, wry smile. “Maybe you should suspend your disbelief just this once?”
“I… don’t know.” Tuti stared down at the letter in his hand, eyes wide with the new turn of events. “Every part of me knows this kind of this is impossible, but… it would be something else, wouldn’t it?”
Ijima-san chuckled. “Sending letters across time? What’s so fantastic about that? I can send a letter halfway across the world from my office and the person on the other end gets it less than a minute later. That’s something worth being amazed over. Now, I have to close up for the day. Don’t let me catch you going upstairs again, a grown man like you should know better than to venture into dangerous areas. If you’ll excuse me, Tsuchiya-dono.”
Ijima left a stunned Tuti in the lobby as he returned to his office, and it was a long moment before Tuti was able to pull his eyes away from the letter in his hand that had suddenly become much, much more interesting. Was it possible? Was it real? Would Nagayama even believe him if he told him? Tuti knew he had to find out, one way or another.
“Ijima-san!” Tuti hollered, leaning across the low counter. “Got any paper out here I can use? I need to write a letter!”
TBC