Work Text:
Now that the word had publicly gotten out about Kirishima and Yokozawa’s relationship due to Henmi’s lack of common sense and/or brain cells, things have gotten a lot tenser at the office. Or lax, depending on how you look at it (or the type of person you are). Yokozawa isn’t stupid; he knows people are acting weird around him. Distant. Not to mention, all authority he once held over his underlings has nearly diminished. That being said, they now eat lunch together, occasionally drop “my partner”s in conversations, don’t exert such uncomfortable energy around one another. At last, Yokozawa could move in with the Kirishima’s with the “our boss will find out” thing out of the way. Yokozawa considered wearing his ring on his finger at work. Considered.
This time, when Kirishima drops by Yokozawa’s desk to deliver whatever things need to be checked over, he says, “By the way, do you wanna go out for an early lunch? There’s a new café a few blocks away that I want to check out,” without worrying about word choice, context, volume.
Yokozawa’s surprised when a chorus of oohs and aahs doesn’t come from his underlings; the chatter produced by statements like these has slowly decreased with time, but he never thought their relationship would normalize. He sighs, rolls his eyes. “Sure. When were you thinking?”
“Whenever you’re ready to go. Shit has really hit the fan upstairs. I need a break.”
Yokozawa glances at his laptop with a sigh. “...Wait for me in the lobby. I’ll be done with this report in five minutes.”
Thus begins the lunch date. They take to the streets of Tokyo, already holding hands, already getting looks, already growing slightly uneasy. They push that aside, mutually complain about the situation at work, tell stupid jokes. Yokozawa doesn’t even really want to go to the café; he just wishes that they could continue this conversation forever (with the added bonus of avoiding work).
Yokozawa grows nauseous at the pink glow emanating from the place. He doesn’t even have to see the Tokozawa Yakafumi sign before knowing what he’s about to step into. “Is this the ridiculous thing Aikawa-san made me approve?”
“Don’t ruin the surprise!!” Opening the door, Kirishima conveniently stands in front of the life-sized cardboard cutouts of his cartooned self, boyfriend, daughter, and cat.
Yokozawa prays, for all of their sakes, that poor Hiyori never stumbles upon this joint. He doesn’t have much fight left in him at this point to chew Kirishima out for bringing them, in broad daylight, to such a wretched place. He just sighs, shakes his head, and walks in.
The exterior doesn’t do the interior justice; it feels like they just waded into a bottle of Pepto Bismol. Yokozawa has to rub his eyes to adjust to the sickly shade. Not just that, but large bouquets of roses, streamers, glitter, candles, paper lanterns, twinkling lights... Whatever plans Yokozawa signed into existence, this café seems much more extravagant. And definitely more flammable. “Remind me to badger Aikawa into getting a better insurance plan for this place. It’s bound to go up in flames any second now,” Yokozawa quips to Kirishima under his breath as they wait in line. Hell, the fact that there’s a line for this place makes the experience a whole lot worse. There has to be a ridiculous amount of people taking pictures of them if Yokozawa can hear the flash go off every few seconds. It’s taking all of the strength in Yokozawa’s body not to go on a tirade, or at least flip them the bird.
And, somehow, it manages to get worse.
“Welcome to the Tokozawa Yakafumi Café! Me and my hunk of a husband are so excited to serve you and personalize your experience—” the Yokozawa-double—wearing the most horrendous wig real Yokozawa has ever laid his eyes on—pauses his recited, fake-delight-ridden speech when he looks up, “Wow! I love your cosplay! We look just alike!” Fake-ozawa does some ridiculous spin that feels like a hate crime. Fake-ishima towers ominously behind him, his mouth contoured into a wide grin, his head also consumed by maybe an even worse wig.
Yokozawa facepalms. “Kirishima, could we please just go somewhere else?”
“No!!” Kirishima clings onto his arm, which makes a troupe of women screech behind them, “It’ll be fun!!! Let’s just get something to eat quick and then we can head back to the office!”
Yokozawa groans as their twins take them to their table, providing some ridiculous show of affection that makes the whole building erupt into a sheer “KYAA!!!!”
Yokozawa’s ears ring. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he mutters under his breath at the actors, taking his seat with a huff.
Kirishima takes the chair opposite his partner, immediately taking his hand with a warm smile. Cue another round of screaming from the obnoxious girls that fill the café. They should’ve brought earplugs.
The food wasn’t great, which is to be expected. Going here and expecting some perversion of fine dining would be ridiculous. Yet, Yokozawa was fond of his latte with a cream Sorata on top. He even found the little heart-shaped cookies paired with it… charming? And, after all, it was a date. He loved spending time with Kirishima, no matter how embarrassing it might be to admit. The whole twin thing was a bit creepy (and nauseating) but… a bit romantic. Maybe.