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Saiko Metori stepped into the restaurant, a casual smile on his lips and a spring in his step. Beside him, Saiki Kusuo looked as neutral as ever, but Metori could see the slight tension in his eyes, the way he focused on nothing.
“It’s just dinner,” he reminded his boyfriend gently. “An hour at most.”
‘I don’t like being around your father – he thinks I’m too poor for you,’ came the grumbled reply. Metori sighed softly – he’d heard the same argument far too many times in the last six months for it to really phase him.
Then again, his father wasn’t big on talking, so he had no clue what his father thought – and Kusuo couldn’t read his mind either, as for some inexplicable reason Saiko-Senior thought that wearing one of every element he physically could in jewellery form was a sign of his true wealth. He had a Germanium ring on his pinkie finger, embedded with an obscene amount of gold, silver and gemstones – among a myriad of other pieces that adorned him to such an extent that it was nearly impossible to see his clothes for the amount of jewellery he had practically dripping off of him.
It hurt to even look at him, he was that shiny.
The waiter directed the pair to a table in the corner of the restaurant, sat upon a raised dais with privacy screens set up on three sides. Metori’s father barely turned to acknowledge them, and even then, that half-hearted movement sent beams of light through the establishment from his jewellery reflecting off the chandeliers.
One woman pulled out a pair of shades to try and cover her eyes.
“Good evening, father,” Metori greeted politely, inclining his head as a replacement for a bow.
“You’re twenty-three seconds late,” came the blunt reply. “I expect better from you, Saiko.” Kusuo took a deep breath.
In the kitchen, a single empty champagne glass suddenly shattered without warning.
“Yes father,” Metori replied plainly, used to his father’s weirdness around punctuality. A waiter stepped forward to pull out their seats – though Kusuo chose instead to pull his own chair out, much to Saiko-Senior’s disdain. Kusuo’s lips turned down at the edges.
“Saiki-san, there are staff who are paid for such things,” sniffed the older man. “Or at least, there are here.”
Kusuo grabbed Metori’s hand under the table and clenched it. Metori rubbed a soothing thumb across the meat of Kusuo’s palm. Kusuo took a long, drawn-out breath before evening out his face until it was it was a perfect copy of his usual blank indifference. Metori didn’t dare to breathe a sigh of relief, not yet – not when Kusuo seemed about ready to launch over the table at the slightest provocation.
Not that his father was doing anything to ease the tensions, saying almost nothing through the entirety of the entrees apart from one snide, underhanded comment about Saiki-Senior, who he’d had the displeasure of meeting while touring one of Saiko Conglomerate’s various publishing companies.
Metori was secretly rather pleased at the restraint Kusuo was showing – were it anyone else, the psychic teen would probably have exacted revenge already, but he was doing his best to put in an effort for Metori.
It was a sweet gesture; one that would have been infinitely sweeter had Metori’s father been any less of an elitist. It was made all the worse by the fact that Saiko-Senior had spent six months saying almost nothing – and now he was saying far too much.
“Waiter, I will have the Australian Rock Lobster and the matsutake mushroom Gohan with black truffles for my main. Pair as you see fit.” He turned to the other two.
“And for you both?”
“The wagyu beef wellington for me, with the seasonal vegetables,” Metori said politely.
‘The Unagi no Kabayaki for me,’ Kusuo added, folding up the leather-bound menu and handing it over to the waiter. Metori turned, keeping very deliberate eye contact with his father; daring him to say something.
“So low brow?” quizzed his father the moment the waiter left. Metori scowled. “Eel – you are beside a Saiko, you ought to eat with more class than your… father.” Kusuo grabbed his water glass and chugged it.
“Father, allow him his preferences. Deciding that he would like the eel is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I see… Your words have been noted, but your… friend… why have you not instilled any sense of class in him? I mean—” The older man flicked his eyes up and down, sizing up Kusuo’s outfit. Kusuo poured more water into his glass and knocked it back as quickly as he could – but his eye still twitched at the insinuation.
At the other end of the dining hall, a woman sliced through her steak, only for the plate to shatter under her knife. Metori’s eyes darted to the disturbance, then back.
‘I generally prefer sweeter foods,’ Kusuo finally replied, his eyes smouldering with barely-concealed fury – fury that Saiko-Senior took no notice of.
“Ah, a sweet tooth,” sniffed Saiko-Senior. “Then you must try the Chocolate Pudding they make here – it’s made from four flavours of Belgian chocolate, edible gold leaf, fresh fruit and champagne caviar, all in the shape of a Fabergé egg. Ah – but it costs ¥4.5 million. Perhaps Metori will be gracious enough to gift you the dessert, in return for your, uh… whatever it is you do for my son.”
Metori stood up, startling both his father and Kusuo.
“Enough! Kusuo, dear, I think that it’s time we leave.”
‘Right. Have a pleasant evening, Saiko-san,’ Kusuo replied, pulling out his wallet and placing a few bills on the table – just enough to cover what he’d had ordered for himself. Metori did not place any money on the table, instead grabbing Kusuo’s yen as the pair left and stuffing it into his pocket. Saiko-Senior glared at the pair but said nothing. Instead, he grabbed his empty wine glass and held it up – a waiter was by his side in an instant to fill it.
Kusuo and Metori strode out into the crisp evening air.
‘Thanks,’ hummed Kusuo. ‘I don’t know how much longer I could have taken that.’
“I can’t believe that father decided to act like that,” muttered Metori furiously. “He acts so politely and normally for six whole months – but now—”
‘Isn’t it normal?’ mused Kusuo politely. ‘They try and create a sense of indulgence for their family while trying to push their significant other out. Like in that one American flick about Singapore.’
“It isn’t right!” snapped Metori. “I don’t care if it’s normal, it’s infuriating! I should walk right back in there—”
“Metori,” Kusuo said suddenly, startling the wealthy teen. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But—”
“No.” Kusuo’s voice rasped out the word, hammering it home, right into Metori’s heart.
“Fine. Let’s go get ice cream then – my treat. We deserve it after that.”
Kusuo nodded – and then pinched Metori.
“Ow! What was that for?”
The money came hovering out of Metori’s pocket, before floating back to Kusuo.
‘I left that money for dinner.’
“Father can pay for it, that money belongs to you,” huffed Metori. Kusuo rolled his eyes fondly, stopping suddenly and turning to plant a soft, chaste kiss on Metori’s lips.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ Metori thought back. And the pair walked off hand-in-hand, having a conversation only they could hear.