Chapter Text
[ “Arriving at the Sia La Luce. The date is December 24th, Time is 8:34 AM.” ]
“Thank you, Carla.” The reminder is automatic, but Cherry praises the robotic voice coming from his bracelet nonetheless. A sigh of fog dissipates around his mouth as he enters the establishment, feeling the warm air instantly surround him. Soft lighting dances off of chestnut shades of brown, a stark contrast forebodingly icey shade of white that envelops the sky behind him.
He stops at the front counter, distracted by the absence of Sia la luce’s most important component. Joe is usually already standing there when he arrives, preparing for the first lunch orders. While Cherry has arrived quite a bit earlier than opening today, he expected Joe to do the same, given it's the holidays. Still, Cherry being Cherry, he lets himself past the ‘workers only’ area without another moment’s hesitation.
The layout is as familiar as his own home, every step of this establishment etched into him like muscle memory. Every turn he takes is second nature. And as expected, when he approaches the breakroom, he finds who he’s looking for, but honestly, it takes him a second to register that it’s really Joe. The look of him is simply unusual, even from the back as he faces away from the doorway. His stance, his expression. It’s not a side of him Cherry is given the chance to see very often, but it’s still fairly easy to recognize.
To put it in a single word; . . . sad?
Joe sits before a table, one hand on the side of his head, gripping green locks which curl around his fingers like vines. It’s not quite a stress grip, it’s self soothing, as though perhaps deep down, he wished that it was someone else’s fingers resting there instead. The other hand tenderly holds a letter, one Joe seems to be lost in.
Cherry is fast to notice rest of the table is covered in papers, seemingly less important to Joe, but by the look of the hastily torn envelopes, and the red, urgent looking stamps littering each one, he can assume it’s not good news. Probably overdue bills and bank statements, Cherry thinks. But the paper in his hand. . . it looks different. Older, slightly discolored. It might even be handwritten.
As his curiosity temporarily gets the best of him, he leans forward to try and catch a closer look. The floor creaks so abruptly, he could swear the building was trying to spite him. He manages to pull back behind the door frame, graceful and successfully undetected. He hopes. Seconds pass in silence. After feeling the air has settled, the composure rushes back, and he walks through the door again, playing it off like he had just arrived.
“. . . Are you really slacking off this early? It's Christmas Eve, why are you hiding back here, Gorilla?” He mutters as he enters the room. He had always been considered a pro at hiding his emotions, and donned a rather convincing expression to feign his innocence, one lacking all the concern he held towards his previous inspection.
Yet, there the composure nearly falls again, as he catches Joe . . . ‘smiling’ at him.(?) The letters seemingly causing his grief are in a pile now, messily swept away behind him. He faces Cherry, cheeks pulled into a cocky, irritated grin. It’s identical to any look he’d give his friend for barging in like this, aggravated and challenging, as fitting as it can be, yet somehow. . . not identical at all. Completely counterfeit, fake. Cherry could catch a cheap knockoff like that from a mile away, even if he hadn’t seen the state of him seconds prior, he’d see right through it. It's almost insulting.
“Question is, what are YOU doing back here? You need your glasses cleaned or something? Sign says ‘WORKERS ONLY’. Learn how to read.” He tosses out barks with no real bite to them, just like always. Every aspect of his performance is realistic, down to the last detail, but still, Cherry’s mind stalls. It seems they’re both acting now, and neither are well rehearsed.
“. . . Of course I can read, dimwit. I'm a calligrapher. I just don’t take orders from the likes of you.” Cherry retorts, finally summoning his internal script.
Joe growls. In the end, nosiness prevails as Cherry’s eyes slowly gravitate back towards the pile of letters, scanning for the one Joe was holding, a search that he finds comes up empty. He tries to be inconspicuous, but the way Joe’s grumbling phases into a tense silence lets him know that his efforts are futile. His own blunt prying is actually becoming annoying to himself, the way he seemingly can’t help but wonder what it says. His thoughts are almost transparent. They read on his body like headlines on newspaper. He hates it, but before he can nip that unnatural level of vulnerability in the bud, Joe beats him to the punch.
“Seriously, what do you want?”
Cherry crosses his arms. “This is a restaurant, yes? Why else would I be here?”
“We’re closed.” He replies with a lighthearted scoff.
“That's never stopped you before.”
Joe rolls his eyes, seeming more than ready now to dive back into their usual bottomless pit of arguing.
“No can do, freeloader. I got a phone call this morning. . . Delivery truck broke down, if I want to stock up today, I have to go get the ingredients locally by myself. I’m low on a lot of stuff and it's supposed to snow later, so I doubt it'll be a quick trip. I can’t really afford to close up today, but I guess I have no choice if I wanna be able to reopen after the holidays.”
Before Joe’s dear frenemy can conjure up a good verbal balance of “I’m worried, are you okay, talk to me” and “Fuck you, eat dirt and die, trash”, the front door opens up again. He sighs, and much to Cherry’s displeasure, walks right by him, masked up in his fake smile again. Despite the growing tension, Cherry follows. They enter the main area of the restaraunt only to see piling in one by one, the youths of ‘S’, along with their not so youthful carpooler, Shadow.
“Joe!” Miya shouts, body language shifting comically fast from a quiet brooding pre-teen to a little kid. His smile is unable to hide the sudden excitement he feels as he rushes towards the front counter. “Merry Christmas!” He exclaims, the young boys behind him parroting the sentiment. Joe chuckles.
“It’s only Christmas eve, guys.”
“I’m just saying it now in case you aren’t here tomorrow. Besides, my parents will probably whisk me away for something lame.”
“Well, I don’t know about you toddlers, but I’m getting plastered.” Shadow boasts. Langa speaks up, but his accusation is cut short.
“. . . Oh, I see. . . you're still upset your boss-”
“NO I'm Not! It has nothing to do with that, I just feel like having some fun, that’s all. It’s the holidays! Leave me alone!” He replies, a starkly defensive anger barely masking a bit of resurfaced heartbreak.
Miya leans in towards the rest of the group.
“He’s gonna hear the chorus to Last Christmas and lose his mind, isn’t he.”
A small glint of evil shines in Reki’s eye.
“Laaast Christmas,” One line in is all it takes for Miya to join. “I gave you my heart~,” Now, even Langa joins in, quietly, as though his brain autofills the lyrics on autopilot. “But the very next day. . .” By then, Shadow is already walking away, waving them off.
“Oh SHUT UP, you bunch of gremlins! ” He shouts back. They share a quick laugh, feeling grateful his rebuttal sounds taunting rather than upset. They’re just poking fun, but these moments are sentimental between friends, and they don't want to push boundaries or step on toes. Besides, who would want to legitimately piss a guy like Shadow off?
Speaking of seeing someone upset, Cherry hesitantly sets his sight on Joe again. It's a bit out of character for him to hear an annoying round of karaoke start up and not join in. So, when he finds Joe appearing lost deep in his thoughts, somberness filling those maroon colored eyes, he almost outwardly facepalms.
He LOVES tormenting Joe, that’s just what they do, like cat and dog, day and night, yin and yang. But, maybe it’s the holidays, or the fact that his friend who’s usually radiating sunshine is now all thunder and lightning, all Cherry knows is he’s fighting off some strangely protective complex. Usually, Joe’s the root of his annoyance, but this dark air hanging around him. . . It’s grating. Like a mosquito buzzing around his head, he kind of just wants to locate the cause of Joe’s problem and mercilessly destroy it with his bare hands so that it’ll be dealt with properly.
. . . But, unfortunately, that’s the kicker. Of course he knows what the problem is, at least part of it, and there’s really not much he can do if that's the case. The thoughts rest heavily in his chest, and as always, they're made up of feelings he wants to ignore, push away, and perhaps drown in white wine.
Joe had lost someone, years and years ago, in a winter that felt much colder than this one. His mother came down with a sudden illness when he was a teenager, and as these things go, it all happened very fast, and very unexpectedly. He barely got to see her, barely got to say goodbye, and then she was gone, and that was that.
Nearly everyone has something sitting in their past, taking up space in their heart. A moment that made them stronger, or weaker. Even somebody like Joe isn’t immune to life’s ups and downs. But still, the idea isn’t easy to stomach. Anyone could agree, the guy is simply pure gold. He’s got big, strong shoulders to cry on. He’s not someone you want to see get hurt. Even for Cherry, who’s heartstrings may not be in tune these days, the concept is harsh, because if anyone can pluck those strings, it always has been and always will be Nanjo Kojiro.
Back then, even though Joe was still the more caring of the two, and Cherry’s emotional availability wasn’t much greater than it is now, he was there for him, and without hesitation. Somehow, he made sure his friend was held through the experience, metaphorically, and though they both might deny the memory, a bit physically too. At the time, he didn’t even have to say anything. It wasn’t much about words anyways. The care he provided was the most comforting thing either of them ever had to offer; the offer to not be left alone.
It may not have seemed it to anyone else, but every move was strategic. Cherry knew, people always show up right away during tragedy and shower you in their support, and then when they feel they've done their job, they move on with their lives. He planned to be the friend he needed after everyone else had moved on. The first visit to her grave was between Joe's family and him, the second just him and his dad, but the third time, Cherry was there. After teachers had stopped giving Joe extensions and extra credit assignments, Cherry helped him study after school to catch up, and though half of these nights ended in yelling matches, the efforts eventually paid off. When Joe was ready, they skated, sometimes for hours and hours into the night without a single word shared between the two. Their usual bantering routine came back faster than expected, as did Joe’s warm personality. Even his holiday spirit came back, albeit different than it was before, but that was to be expected.
The question weighing on Cherry’s mind, is where on earth that regained spark went all of a sudden, and how he could help bring it back. The idea that he could have actually failed at his plan of being Joe's last support beam left standing makes his stomach clench.
“. . . Can we get breakfast?” Langa asks, snapping Joe and Cherry away from these distant memories they’re both privately toiling through.
“Ooooh, what do you guys eat for Christmas in Canada?” Reki questions. Joe rolls his eyes.
“This is still an Italian restauranttt~.” He hums the melodic reminder, some vexation peaking through as they always seem to forget where his specialty lies, treating him like a personal vending machine rather than a professional chef.
“Okay okay, fine, I still wanna know though.” Reki counters.
As Langa starts listing off far too many foods, until it’s pretty clear only he is eating that much on a holiday, Joe sighs. There’s at least some genuine affection behind it this time.
“All right, I can't stay long, but pull up a chair, I’ll make some bacon and eggs.”
Reki cheers as Joe heads towards the kitchen, the young redhead shaking his friend around like a ragdoll. Langa, despite the enthusiastic throttling, appears happier than usual, most likely thinking about food. Miya opens his gaming console just as Shadow finally returns from his sulking to sit and wait with the rest of the group. Everyone else is being their usual self. The only one still standing is Cherry, wrapped up in his confusion. Joe was JUST complaining about his lack of funds and stock, and here he is offering them free food like a soup kitchen. What an absolute fool.
“. . . . . . . . . .” Cherry thinks harder, closing his eyes, already regretting the unnecessary path his mind is wandering down. Obsessive mindsets are something he’s had to learn to fight off tooth and nail, but every now and then he gives in. Sometimes, the aftermath is actually easier that way. Right now, as much as he hates it, his focus is on Joe's wellbeing, and it won't be letting up until he finds a solution. He takes one cautionary glance towards the kitchen to ensure that Joe is still cooking, before turning his attention towards the rest of the gang.
“. . . . . . Listen. I’m not sure what plans you all had for today, but if possible, I’d like to ask you to do me a bit of a favor. Especially you, Langa.”
Reki stops jostling the teen in question, both staring up at him nervously.
“. . . Huh? What kind of favor?”
Before the question is allowed an answer, Miya chimes in to whine.
“Aw, come on dude, it’s almost the holidays, you can’t ask us to take part in your lame errands.”
“Unfortunately, I think you’ll all quite enjoy this.”
“What? Why is that unfortunate?” Reki grills.
“Because I need for you to not screw it up, all right? It’s not meant to be a game, so no goofing around. Got it?”
The children sturdy their looks, and comically, Shadow’s appearance hardens as well. Cherry continues once the group gives a collective nod.
“I want you to go into the storage closet and find all the boxes labelled “Christmas.” There should be at least a few, probably buried pretty deeply in the back. Then I want you to take everything out and decide amongst yourselves how you'd like to make the Sia la Luce appear a little more. . . festive.”
“. . . You want us to . . . decorate for Joe?” Reki asks.
“Yes. Is that going to be a problem?” Cherry quirks an eyebrow in annoyance.
“I mean, no, but why? It's Christmas Eve, if the guy hasn’t decorated by now, I doubt he’s really worried about looking ~festive~ enough.”
“It’s weird, he seems more like the type of person who would be excited about this kind of thing. . .” Langa mumbles. After another guarded look towards the kitchen, Cherry sighs.
“Usually, he is. He’s been stressed lately. Adult responsibilities and whatnot. This is our friend right? It’s a nice gesture, and believe it or not, I’m capable of these from time to time, even if it’s for an ape like him.”
“Wow, didn’t realize you were actually a big softy for your pal Jojo over there.” Reki snickers under his breath. Cherry smiles, and it's so cold it makes the icey outdoor temperatures feel like a tropical paradise.
“If you ever say that again, I’ll let him know about your little nickname, and then I’m sure you’ll never live down the one he unceremoniously bestows upon you in return.”
Somehow. . . that hits, and it feels more frightening than even the most violent of threats. Reki complies.
“So. Langa. I want you to oversee a lot of the decor. I figure your ideas would match closest to Joe's in terms of actual Christmas traditions.”
“That’s Canadianist, bro.” Miya states, not looking up from his Switch.
“And Italianist.” Reki adds, signaling for Langa to summarize.
“Yeah, we may both like pasta, but we’re not the same.” He concludes.
“Okay.” Cherry replies dryly, eyes half lidded and flickering in annoyance. After a moment of visibly coping with the rush of cortisol, he exhales. “Can you do this or not?”
Slowly, the confusion brewing in the eyes of young boys (and Shadow) turns into stars. Excitement floods the room as they scramble towards the storage closet, until Cherry moves to block it.
“Listen to me; do NOT break anything, do not make a mess, decorate how you see fit but do it well, don't be tacky, and have it done within a few hours or I’ll destroy you. Do we all understand each other?”
They nod fervently.
“Good. Keep me updated, I’ll be on the duty of keeping Joe busy.”
“Wait, who’s in charge?” Miya asks.
“Shadow, clearly. He’s the eldest.”
Hiromi smirks devilishly as the children roll their eyes.
“HAH, you hear that? The ‘old guy’ has been given TOTAL AUTHORITY over you now, you little punks!”
“Whoopty-doo, you can yell at us to put up Christmas lights a Little bit to the left.” Reki snarks back.
It's then that Joe abruptly enters with a tall stack of plates and silverware in one hand, and a large serving platter in the other. Half eggs, half bacon, all perfectly seasoned and steaming. The way it's been prepared is interesting, unconcerned with following any specific recipe or cultural presentation, nothing is meant to stick out, it's. . . kind of just food. It looks comforting, and frankly delicious.
"All right, order up you animals. Just do me a favor guys, leave the plates in the sink this time? It's a 5 second walk." Joe requests, the modest smile on his face betraying the scolding tone in his voice. It doesn't make much of an impact either way, the whole lot of them are currently distracted by the promise of good food. In one fluid motion, he places everything on the counter, before whipping around to grab his coat.
Cherry catches him fishing for something in his pants pocket for a split second, but is distracted when on the way out the door, the last thing he shouts back is enough to make his blood boil.
"Ey. Merry Christmas."
. . . Saying that today. . . Does he honestly think Cherry's not gonna see him on Christmas day? Oh. Ok. A true fool.
Cherry leans over to Miya, giving a quick “You’re second in charge.” as he beelines for the door. Miya salutes, throwing back an “I’ll try to keep them alive.” He leaves the restaurant amidst all the chuckles and jeering his comment brings so he can go find Joe. In more graphic detail, so he can bend the poor idiot's arm behind his back until he tells him what that stupid note said. He is his damn, mother fucking support beam. Fuck.
The chill in the air is no match for the heat surrounded Cherry's face as he stares Joe down, a strong enough expression that he stops midway through the action of sitting in his own car.
“. . . What are you standing there for?”
He rolls his eyes, giving a sigh Joe is very familiar with. Cherry’s classic “how dare you make me do this” when absolutely nobody is asking him to do anything sigh.
“Make room in the passenger seat.”
“. . . What, you wanna help me with grocery duty?”
Cherry's anger turns into a dangerous smirk. “Honestly, I’m not sure I trust you to do it all yourself. Don’t want you getting lost on your way to the market, ape. You’ll probably stray into the fruit aisle and get distracted by the bananas.”
The softened look that was building on Joe's face, perhaps gratitude, is dropped and shattered like a porcelain teacup with that last comment. He rolls his eyes at the -- frankly -- Eye roll worthy joke being made at his expense.
“Well, as much as I’d love your help, I think I’ll have to pass.”
“Wasn’t asking.”
“What are you bored or something?" Joe growls. "Don’t have anything better to do on Christmas Eve than shopping?”
“. . . Probably. But, I’m already here.”
He stares, slowly giving in under the weight of amber eyes. He knows when Cherry has latched onto something, he won’t go down without a fight.
“. . .” Joe sighs, brushing a few unimportant items to the floor as the man climbs in next to him.
- Ding!-
Cherry's phone displays the message "Miya Chinen has added you to groupchat; operation italian santa" followed almost instantly by another - Ding! - and "Miya Chinen has changed your nickname to 'Mom'."
Cherry smirks, buckling in and pocketing his phone before Joe has a chance to notice his reaction. If Joe wants to be coy and play games, Cherry thinks to himself, Then let the game begin.