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He didn't look forward to seeing you any more than he looked forward to seeing his boss at work every day. You weren't exactly the type of stranger he'd give a second glance to - that was just the inoffensive fact of the matter. Despite his opinionated nature, he held very little interest for things in general, and anything he did he usually tired of quickly.
Before he met you face-to-face, he remembered how tiresome it was to watch your comings and goings. Judging by your wardrobe arrangement and how often you were seen passing by the flower shop, you worked in a nearby office block, doing god-knows-what asides from escorting company sponsors and commissioners to business meals. Those were the only things he could see you doing. People-pleasing as part of a profession looked stifling, but you weren't caught tripping over it, not once as far as he could observe.
He probably wouldn't get along with someone like you.
You always arrived for work earlier than the flower shop opened, yet never seemed to leave the office at a fixed hour. Rinse and repeat. In his boredom, Minegishi found the unimaginative, tireless cycle of your days to be a bit of an eyesore. You alone were the rush hour out on the streets.
Sometimes, you swung out solo in the middle of the day and returned with a vending machine beverage in hand, face looking more void than you'd ever been seen. You never really stopped to smell the roses, so to speak, and he never ran into you while out on his breaks, so there was little to consider on an incident until he actually did.
He didn't know it was possible for anyone to hold up a line at a vending machine.
You already had a drink in hand by the time he came up from behind for his turn, but as you stared at it, then at the machine, he realized you must have screwed up and dispensed the wrong item. As someone who seemed to have your act together at all times - partly why he thought very little about you, being unable to relate - this was something of a show for him. But whatever, he thought, assuming you would be mindful of your dawdling and play things off so things could move along.
He ended up staring at the back of your head for half a minute more as you stood there, counting out loose change in the palm of your hand. After finally dispensing what you were probably aiming for, a can of shiruko, you glanced left and right, spotting a streetlight with a raised base. As you approached it, he realized you intended to abandon your extra drink in a visible place for any passersby to swipe. That's when you spotted him out of the corner of your eye.
"Whoa!!"
... Why on earth was there a need to shout?
"That was a scare. I didn't hear you come up," you gulped, eyes wild, both drinks tucked against your chest. "Are you a cat?"
Minegishi wasn't sure whether to be offended. He wasn't concerned with anything asides from what he came for, so there wasn't much to offer in response. But now that you had connected, he was admittedly a little intrigued by how you seemed a lot more grounded and accessible after he'd caught you messing up with something as basic as a vending machine you frequently used. Not to mention starting at the sight of another human being...
It seemed like, beneath the surface, you were fairly relatable, nothing too out of reach.
You had an allure which he found easy to appreciate - your prettiness and personality were remarkably well-rounded up close, like an aesthetic. Whereas before he thought your looks were all you had, he later realized you had the same look about you as a female protagonist of a specific horror genre, as though you had stepped right out of the pages of a Junji Ito work. The smile you had was a taking one, but that was about as supernatural as you could get and he could feel it.
Your eyes lit up despite his lack of response, and you thrust out a can - ah, wrong one - before switching to the other, palm upturned. "Say, do you drink coffee?"
It was the only thing he drank from the vending machines. Honestly, he was a little startled to be offered it. "Yeah, but..."
"Then this one's got your name on it," you announced cheerfully, pressing the canned coffee out further. "I messed up and bought the wrong thing. It's okay, take it. I can't handle the taste of coffee. Oshiruko is the only drink for me."
Sure, it was the same brand of coffee he drank and the only brand the machine carried, but it was white coffee, a roast he'd never considered nor wanted to consider trying. Slightly reluctant but also not wanting to decline your generosity, he fished out 130 yen, only to have it turned down faster than he could think. Your insistence was kind of blistering. Although it was just a drink, he felt uneasy to be in a position of being obliged - but appreciated the gesture regardless. How couldn't he? He watched as you planted the warm aluminum can into his open hand.
"Don't forget to pay it forward."
You created little additional fuss over the incident and bade him goodbye with a take care, after which he watched you disappear into your office building thinking that'd be the first and last exchange between you two. It sure wasn't.
He didn't end up thanking you for the coffee until your fourth or fifth run-in at the vending machine. Seeing as his break times were usually fixed but yours weren't, it could only follow that the sudden coincidences were, in fact, your doing. As for why you did? He drew up an inkling but wasn't about to be caught dead flattering himself. Still, you were quite genuine and unafraid to show your attention, asking questions in efforts to arrive at a common interest. It started with the god-awful, redundant remark on the weather - he'd been going about his own business, squatted to one side of the vending machine with his coffee when you peered out from the other and expected him to say something engrossing in response to great weather, isn't it?
"Uh huh," he grunted, for severe lack of better response.
The next run-in was different. You came straight after him on sight. He realized as you greeted him warmly with a, "hi," that you had thought things through and were raring to seize this second chance. He, on the other hand, had not put much effort into weighing conversation topics and was staggered when you vaulted a few steps ahead to bring up the flower shop manager, with whom Minegishi was not aware you were acquainted. He's a lot like a dad you would know, if not your own dad, huh? You laughed from your side of the vending machine, cradling your shiruko can between both hands. The weather had chilled steeply by that time of year.
"I wouldn't know about that. I don't recycle memories of my dad with any fixation."
"Oh, come on. Aren't we about the same age? When I see someone around the age of my dad, I can't help but think of him like one too. The same goes for when I'm with my supervisor. It doesn't really help that he treated me to mazesoba the other day and told me adding grated garlic was the only way to eat it. As if we didn't have work the next day," you exclaimed horrifically, then broke out into another laugh. "He must be mad. He's totally my second dad!"
It was your fault that Minegishi began subconsciously thinking about his manager like one, too.
He overcame a hurdle on your third run-in. You delivered a question that might have been a long time coming: so, what are you studying outside of work?
He'd plausibly read the curiosity in your eyes beforehand and went ahead and volunteered a story of sorts omitting the gory details of his recent past employment. Revealing his psychic background definitely wouldn't run; if his academic credentials turned you off, who knew what would happen if he claimed to be an esper? He didn't entertain the thought.
"I'm not attending any university. You probably noticed it already, but I'm a full-timer at the shop. I've been hopping from one job to another ever since high school ended. I... haven't had the faintest clue what I want to do, honestly."
He wasn't about to break a sweat over it - but to say he wasn't at least somewhat apprehensive after giving you the unadorned truth of it would be lying. Education was both decisive and divisive in this country. He wouldn't fault you if you turned tail at this point, but as a fair result, he wouldn't just think little about you.
He'd end up thinking very little of you.
"Oh. But, you'll end up working with a weighted decision once you come to it, right? I wish I could say the same for myself. I followed my family's expectations because they made it seem like a battle against time... And now that I've beaten time itself," you remarked sarcastically, "I've had to start thinking about how to live with workplace malady."
You breathed, dispersing some of the hot steam from your drink. "I deserve better. I'm still so young. You, too. I was wondering which school you might have attended because you're so intellectual - and then it turned out our differences were like this. I suppose one can really go through school and still come full circle..."
If he felt flattered enough to smirk, it meant you made a compelling case, even if your self-abasing modesty was overdone. He decided to play along wryly.
"I can't imagine. I'm not the one punching the wrong buttons on a vending machine with my university degree."
"Oh, you know what?" You pointed your nose up into the air in retaliation. "I gotta get going - I think I just heard my supervisor calling me."
"From the 8th floor. Incredible," he commended in a monotone. "Go on, then."
"Telepathy." You snarked matter-of-factly, blissfully unaware of the irony. You then gave him a cheery wave of the hand. "Anyway, he's probably really waiting to hear from me. I'll talk to you later. Have fun at work."
He felt lighter after that conversation. Asides from your Olympian ability to handle barbed jokes, he also couldn't hate your unconventional way of thinking. He wouldn't deny that he'd faced a dilemma or two after losing his status in Claw; it happened after he'd passed the socially-constructed 'crucial phase' of his life. Age was a load of garbage to think about, but it remained an issue that he could do better for himself, even if the flower shop manager was like a da-- was a reasonable guy to work with.
He could hang in there until something better surfaced. The plants at the shop wouldn't flourish the way they do without his diligence, anyhow.
"Ooh. That's a nice parka you've got there. Where did you buy it?"
You even met each other on a day the streets were canvassed over with powdered snow. It was out of an unspoken arrangement that the plan came together, as though the two of you had become nine-to-fiver companions commiserating with one another. The only reason he'd seen you that morning was that you arrived late for work, no doubt due to traffic delay, and you'd given him a wave through the flower shop window on the way that he'd hesitated to, and hadn't, returned. But for your synchronized break that day, he kept your seat warm. It was a good thing you were punctual. As you made a beeline for the vending machine, he'd stared long and hard at you, before interrupting as you tried to insert money, unable to fathom such inattentiveness.
Tapping the side of the machine to alert you, he jabbed a thumb in the general direction of 'your side.' A can of unopened shiruko sat there.
It wasn't any cause to shout, but you'd done so anyway. "Minegishi--!!"
You burst with joy over something so simple and unpretentious, he ended up being unsure where to look, or what to think other than that you probably couldn't be expected to be a "flowers-and-chocolates" kind of girl. Your laughter rang excitedly into the frost-dense air as you popped the can open. Your boots crunched through the snow, crossing you over to his side so you could hunker down next to him, drink cradled between fingers that were stiff from the sheer cold. It was a decidedly familiar move, but you still kept a respectful measure of space between your shoulders. He wasn't uncomfortable with your decision to close the distance. Your impartiality and kindly nature tied in with his quietly-demanding personality and appreciation for straightforwardness. Your liking was getting to be mutual.
Two full-grown adults, squatting in the snow in the middle of the weekday, resisting the idea of returning to work.
"We're making great strides," you remarked, drawing the collar of your tweed jacket up around your neck. Towards what, he didn't ask. "Thank you. I really needed this."
As you sipped at your drink, he'd left his forgotten in one hand as he stared down at you. You went from oblivious to having to pretend you hadn't noticed; it was a little embarrassing when you didn't know what was on his mind, especially with him keeping to his silence. But there was some manner of wonder in his gaze that you weren't catching, reflecting that he was learning or, at the very least, taking something away from your ability to be so open-hearted. It didn't do much to help that his staring was gradually wedging you into a tight corner. Unable to bear it, you peered up. Apparently, eye contact was all he must have been waiting for before he'd broken into a reserved, but earnest, grin.
"... Don't mention it." You had picked him up once or twice, too.
"Oh," you blurted after your heart had nearly stopped, before giving a half-suppressed laugh, something he'd been aiming for, except you were now additionally flustered by the figurative step he'd taken to put you shoulder-to-shoulder. Having returned to his coffee, he relished the mood that had been set by your contentedness.
It was nice to know he could keep you on your toes.