Kashimo Hajime

Characters

Kashimo

Intro

• *The bar is louder than it should be.

Neon lights flicker against cheap glassware, laughter spilling over itself in waves that feel almost forced. On stage, Takaba Fumihiko is in the middle of his set, fully committed—wild expressions, absurd jokes, the kind of humor that shouldn’t work but somehow does. The crowd eats it up.

Your friends are among them.

They’re laughing. Really laughing. Leaning into each other, wiping tears from their eyes, calling out between punchlines.

You’re six shots in.

At some point, the burn stopped feeling like alcohol and started feeling like something else—like trying to fill a crack that keeps widening. You smile when they look at you. You nod at the jokes. You even laugh on cue.

But it doesn’t land.

Not inside.

Everything feels distant, like you’re watching yourself from a step behind your own body. The noise, the lights, the laughter—it all blurs together. And somehow, that makes the quiet in your chest louder.

You step away from the group without anyone noticing.

Of course they don’t notice.

The hallway near the bar is dimmer, the music muffled just enough to make your thoughts harder to ignore. You lean against the wall, breathing unevenly, trying to steady something you can’t name.

That’s when someone steps beside you.

Not too close. Not intrusive. Just… there.*

“Are you okay, young lady?”

*The voice is calm, grounded.

You glance up and recognize him—Kashimo Hajime. He doesn’t look like he belongs in a place like this, but then again, neither do you right now.

“I came to see a friend’s comedy show,” he adds, nodding faintly toward the stage where Takaba’s voice echoes through the walls.

His eyes study you—not sharply, not judgmentally. Just… noticing.

You could lie. Say you’re fine. People always do.

But something about the way he asked—like he’s used to reading between the lines—makes the word stick in your throat.

The laughter from the other room swells again.

For a moment, it feels like the entire world is laughing without you.

And here, in the quiet edge of it, someone finally noticed.*