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It’s posted right there on the menu, below the sizeable list of burgers and sides: a smile – FREE. To date, the only people who have taken him up on the offer are intoxicated office workers who leer at him in return before stumbling off to a table where they can drop their heads down and mourn their youth in peace. Personally, Karamatsu thinks it’s a bit of a shame. Todomatsu tells him he’d look cute if he shut up and stopped with the eye thing, and Karamatsu knows he has a perfect fashion sense – he’s seen Ichimatsu trying on his jacket in the changeroom during break. His Karamatsu girls have been too shy to ask so far, but once they pluck up the courage and stop crowding around Totty’s register, he’s sure he’ll be flooded with requests for smiles.
It only seems right, then, that he should practice. Karamatsu is all about that customer service; he believes life is a gift to be shared, and happiness the fruit of a beautiful soul, so he would be doing his customers a disservice if he allowed himself to deliver them anything but the highest quality.
“We’re a fast food restaurant,” Choromatsu tells him, after a botched attempt at latte art ends with the coffee machine out of commission for a week. “The customers aren’t expecting quality; just speed.”
Choromatsu doesn’t understand that love intimates a time commitment, but Choromatsu is also his manager, and capable of firing him. Karamatsu’s fairly confident that he’s too valuable an asset to lay off – there are at least two dozen Karamatsu girls who visit every day, even if they never call out to him – but he decides to play it safe and leave the coffee orders to Todomatsu. Instead, he takes pleasure in placing little oreo ears and Malteser eyes onto the soft serves, or creating psychedelic works of art with the frozen soft drinks. He’s learnt that children generally respond well to these, though the older crowd is harder to please.
“I just can’t win against the weight of their experiences,” he mourns, leaning heavily on his mop. Ichimatsu flicks a hot patty at him.
“Sorry,” he says, grinning…apologetically, Karamatsu thinks. In this context, it has to be apologetic, right? Ichimatsu shuffles along to grill more burgers, knocking the mop over and unbalancing Karamatsu on the way. Sometimes Karamatsu worries for him – he can be rather clumsy, though none of the other workers seem to have noticed. As Ichimatsu reaches into the freezer, he turns back to Karamatsu. “You should smile more around the customers,” he advises. Ichimatsu has always been a kind boy. “I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”
So Karamatsu does.
“Why did we hire him?” hisses Choromatsu over the phone to someone. He’s silent for a while. Then he slams the phone down and stalks back into his office, presumably to do some paperwork. Karamatsu grins and turns back to his empty register.
“Is anybody waiting?”
There’s a fair crowd of people. For better or worse, they all seem satisfied to stare at the boards and wait for Todomatsu, though Karamatsu himself is free as a bird. He smiles encouragingly at his Karamatsu girls, but they’re shy again today, whispering behind their hands to one another. He’s about to go get the broom and a garbage bag when this one guy crashes through the line and staggers to the counter, breathing heavily like he’s been running for his life.
“A happy meal and a large fries with a soft serve on top, thanks!”
And – oh. His expression’s a bit lop-sided; one eye’s half-closed and his mouth is turned up crookedly, but his teeth are pearl-white and his smile open, honest, and Karamatsu suddenly feels like he’s the one who’s out-of-breath and short on time. He’s so taken aback he doesn’t forgets to return the gesture with a (soon-to-be) trademarked smile of his own, but he shakes up the fries and breaks out the happy meal boxes on autopilot. They’re out of toys down at the counter, having been cleaned out by a swarm of large families earlier in the morning, so Karamatsu goes out back to get more and finds himself deliberating over whether his customer would prefer the long-necked swan in a tutu or the chubby pig. In the end, he goes with the tutu, part because the guy had run up to the counter flapping his arms like a bird, and part because the pigs had been strangely popular, so they’re overstocked with white plastic.
The fries are just golden by the time he returns; he prepares a set and packs a few bags for Todomatsu, then grabs a large and stacks them lovingly in parallel rows. He carries his burden over to the soft serve machine and proceeds to layer a careful dollop of soft serve on top – he knows full well he’s a sinful man, but that doesn’t mean he can’t strive for perfection. The customer’s tapping his foot impatiently at a table by the time Karamatsu gets back, but when he catches sight of the happy meal he lights up – his smile as breathtaking as earlier – and skips to the counter.
“Is that for me?” he confirms, then seems to get a better glimpse of the package in Karamatsu’s hand. “Wait – are those my fries?”
“Yes,” says Karamatsu, confused. “Large fries with a soft serve on top, right?”
The customer doubles over, drawing so much attention Todomatsu takes a break from serving to snap a few shots. Karamatsu leans over, about to ask if he’s alright when the customer shoots back up again clutching his ribs.
“I think I broke a rib,” he gasps, still giggling. “You actually put the soft serve on top of the fries – are you an idiot? …Though I can’t talk.”
Karamatsu is thoroughly lost, so he holds out the ice-cream fries and pushes the happy meal forwards. “I gave you the swan in the tutu,” he informs his customer, who promptly shrieks and falls into hysterics again.
“A swan in a tutu? I didn’t even know that was an option!” The customer wipes a tear from his eye and scoops up his order. “Thanks, man,” he says, sounding utterly genuine. “You just made my day.”
Karamatsu doesn’t even think about it – he beams, feeling light from the very bottom of his toes. He’s never been complimented outright before.
It feels amazing.
“I live to please,” he says, remembering belatedly to flash his (soon-to-be) trademarked smile, and for some reason that sets the customer off all over again; he laughs all the way to the door, and Karamatsu smiles at him the whole way.
“Strange customer,” he comments later.
Todomatsu looks askance at him. “You match.”
Mr Smiley, as Karamatsu dubs him (to Todomatsu’s endless amusement) drops by during his lunch breaks at university every weekday. He orders different things every time – burgers with eight patties and no lettuce; frozen Cokes with crushed M&Ms mixed in. Once he requests an entire basket of fries, then takes the heaped-up tray to a table and proceeds to try and stack them in a proper geometric arrangement. If Karamatsu had known, he would have taken them out a little earlier; half of them are so soft with salt they sag even as the customer picks them up.
It’s always Karamatsu he orders from; on the rare occasion that Todomatsu’s free, he hangs back until Karamatsu takes over the counter. For a brief moment, Karamatsu wonders if he’s a Totty boy, but he’s only met one Totty boy before, so it seems unlikely. Todomatsu congratulates him on having a regular; Choromatsu follows up by reminding them that they’re a fast food chain, not a host club. Ichimatsu flips burgers and tries to hide the stray cat he’s smuggled in from Choromatsu. Even their owner hears about it when he checks in for a visit; Jyuushimatsu’s an oddity in his own way, but he seems genuinely happy for Karamatsu.
“Secross!” he yelps sagely, and bounds off to harass Ichimatsu in the kitchen. Karamatsu wonders whether it’s some sort of code; a secret instruction he needs to decipher. He looks it up in the cryptic crossword dictionary, just in case, but no clear answer emerges from its pages.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, his regular stays a little later, taking shameless advantage of the free Wi-Fi to look up contraband porn in-store. Karamatsu’s surprised they don’t have firewalls up to prevent that sort of thing, but Mr Smiley seems the type to try and crack the firewalls anyway.
“He could at least try to hide what he’s seeing from the children,” Choromatsu says disapprovingly, shooing Karamatsu away from the counter. “Go and tell him off; it’s not like you’re serving anyone at the moment anyway.”
So Karamatsu sets off for a gander in his customers’ world, journeying to Mr Smiley’s table on his very important crusade. “Excuse me, mon frère.” He gestures to the stormy sky outside. “The world is dark enough as is; let the young ones bloom in the sunshine but a moment more.”
Mr Smiley looks up from the mosaic of flesh. “In other words?”
“The kids are trying to sneak glances at your porn, and it’s putting off the parents.”
He considers this. “Karamatsu, right?” He leers at Karamatsu, strangely reminiscent of the drunk old salarymen who request smiles for no reason, then inclines his head. “I’m Osomatsu. You want to entertain me instead, then?”
“I live to serve,” Karamatsu declares, spreading his arms out. He has a destiny, and though the road to fulfilment in the industry is paved with harried businessmen and half-melted soft serves, such are the trials one must overcome in this trying arena called Life.
For some reason, Osomatsu laughs at that; Karamatsu counts it a blessing. It’s a challenge to match; every time Osomatsu flashes his teeth, Karamatsu’s smile wobbles and softens to something entirely different, his stomach swooping down low, and that’s simply not acceptable for a man in his position. Personable professionalism are the words to watch, which absolutely does not equate to drooling adoration. For the sake of the great golden archers, Karamatsu cannot allow his customer to defeat him in the business of smiles. Even a free product is a product, deserving of all the quality control lavished upon the half-burnt burger patties Ichimatsu prepares every day.
While he’s attempting to school his expression, Osomatsu gestures to the adjacent seat. “Then, by all means.”
“I’m counting this as your lunch break,” Choromatsu calls from the counter, which strikes Karamatsu as a little unfair considering he’s putting a lot of effort into the provision of exemplary service to this customer, but sometimes in life you have to make a few sacrifices, and Karamatsu is a kind, long-suffering man.
“So,” he begins, smiling at Osomatsu the way Ichimatsu tells him is a big hit with the Karamatsu girls. “Tell me what you desire – a thrilling discourse on the weather? A classic rendition of Homer’s Iliad? A glass of the purest water straight from the taps of our radiant city?”
That sets Osomatsu off for real, and Karamatsu still isn’t sure what’s doing it, but Osomatsu’s smile is dangerously infectious. The children stare more as they dissolve into raucous laughter; Karamatsu spares a moment to send them a charming wink in return.
Karamatsu can’t be blamed for losing track of time in the ageless wonder of Osomatsu’s smile. Nevertheless, Choromatsu does blame him, and Karamatsu is forced to work in drive-thru for the rest of the afternoon. Normally, Karamatsu likes drive-thru; the customers tell him he has a nice voice, and when he delivers their order, custom-made to perfection with a perfect accompanying grin, they’re all eager to leave quickly so he can return to the next few customers in line. It’s a win for everyone, even Choromatsu, who’s overheard crowing to Ichimatsu that he’s finally found an out-of-sight place to put him.
Today is different. It’s Thursday, and Osomatsu’s still in the dining area. If Karamatsu doesn’t entertain him, he’s going to start watching pornography again, and Karamatsu has a duty to his Karamatsu girls and boys, no matter how young they are. Love should be a heartfelt, romantic affair, filled with roses and wine rather than strangely-shaped silicon.
Besides, Osomatsu has the most wonderful smile Karamatsu’s ever laid eyes on, and Karamatsu believes it is in the company’s best interests to discover the secret to that smile. “It is an angel’s smile,” he rhapsodises over the intercom.
Choromatsu doesn’t reply, but Todomatsu, who had been walking past, screws up his whole face. “No, it’s kind of creepy, honestly. Don’t you think he looks like you?”
Karamatsu doesn’t see the point. At a stretch, Todomatsu resembles him too, as does Choromatsu, their manager. The thing about living in a nation as monoracial as Japan is that people tend to look the same at times. In any case, Osomatsu’s different. He carries himself with an easy grace that has to have been inspired by all the porn he watches; there’s no way Karamatsu’s mind would wander to such territory otherwise. From a purely objective viewpoint, Osomatsu is charming, fascinating, alluring – no sane man would be able to keep calm in the face of his smile.
“Are you some sort of psycho?!” Todomatsu and Choromatsu’s voices ring out in tandem, which is impressive, considering Choromatsu’s all the way back in his office eavesdropping over the intercom. “Also, that’s insulting to us.”
Well, each to their own.
“Look,” says Todomatsu, turning serious all of a sudden. “I’m pretty sure he’s just making fun of you. You’re a real pain and an embarrassment to work with, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you get hurt.” He pauses. “I need someone to take out the trash for me; I refuse to touch that garbage.”
“Your real voice is slipping out,” Choromatsu warns, which is a little scary considering Karamatsu hadn’t been transmitting their conversation through his headset at that point. Then again, the office is right next to the drive-thru.
Ichimatsu pokes his head out from the kitchen. “He totally likes you,” he says. “You should go for it.”
For all that Ichimatsu is a kind, wise co-worker, occasionally Karamatsu can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Go for what?” he asks, then slaps his fist down on his palm in comprehension. “Ah! You mean I should ask him to teach me how to smile like that! Thanks, Ichimatsu! You’re such a wonderful person.”
Ichimatsu looks startled for a moment before his face relaxes back into its usual droop. “Don’t worry about it,” he mutters, sounding somewhat surly, then ducks behind the grills again.
“You’re still on drive-thru duty!” Choromatsu protests, as Karamatsu darts out. But love waits for no six nuggets and a spicy sauce. It doesn’t even wait for two spicy sauces.
“Why would you want to smile like me?” Osomatsu asks. “I like yours.”
Karamatsu’s quest to rebrand the McAtsuka smile is derailed mere moments after its inception. “I have a dazzling smile,” he admits, which causes Osomatsu’s lips to curve up again, “but see! That elusive vector! I need your smile.”
“Creepy,” Todomatsu confirms. Choromatsu nods.
Karamatsu puts his head in his hands. “Caught at first base!” he laments. “Shut out on all sides – Ahh, these are dark days.”
Osomatsu watches him with an utterly blank face. He only looks up when Osomatsu nudges him and says, “You don’t have to change your smile, Karamatsu. Other people can just come to like yours as much as you like mine.”
“That’s good,” says Karamatsu, smiling tentatively. Osomatsu beams right back, and it’s beautiful as the moon on a midsummer’s night.
“What’s good about that?!” Todomatsu hollers, leaping over the counter to tear them apart. “Stop smiling; you’re making everyone uncomfortable!”
Regardless of the tirade Todomatsu embarks upon when he spies Karamatsu gazing at himself in the polished metal of the deep fryer while he’s cleaning a few days later, it’s not an act of vanity. “I’m practising,” he protests, scrubbing a little harder. The subtle nuances of his expression simply don’t look as good when viewed through a mist of used oil.
Abruptly, Ichimatsu drops a new batch of hash browns into a basket and plunks it down, splattering hot oil all over Karamatsu and the newly-polished surface. “You should leave the cleaning for when we don’t have ten customers waiting,” he mutters, over the high-pitched screams that follow, then retreats back to the kitchen. It’s a fair point, but what Ichimatsu doesn’t understand is that Osomatsu should be arriving in two or three hours, and Karamatsu still hasn’t perfected his winning smile.
Todomatsu throws a Matsusawa Matsunosuke figurine at him. “Practice in your own time!”
“Minimum wage is too high for him,” Choromatsu grumbles. He’s taken over Karamatsu’s register for some reason, so Karamatsu doesn’t really see the need to help serve. Instead, he packs some more fries and opens up a line of bags ready to be filled. “What’s the point of being manager if I can’t fire the one person I’d like to fire? ‘Fire the cat’, he tells me. The cat doesn’t even work here!”
It sounds like Choromatsu has been on the wrong side of Lady Luck lately as well – or at least, the wrong side of boss-man Jyuushimatsu. Karamatsu doesn’t blame him. Their owner’s mind seems higher than the clouds at the best of times. He’s about to sing Choromatsu a song of consolation when the door swings open and Osomatsu walks in.
He’s not alone.
“That’s new,” remarks Todomatsu. Karamatsu doesn’t reply, because Osomatsu’s early, and he’s smiling at people; he’s smiling at people who aren’t Karamatsu.
“I think I have heartburn,” he says, his voice gurgling up weak and not at all the way he had imagined it would.
“You don’t have heartburn,” Todomatsu tells him. “You’re jealous.”
“I don’t get jealous,” Karamatsu says automatically. He is an accepting and open-minded lover. Comrade. Food server. He’s not quite sure, but the premise applies. “I’m taking this one.”
Todomatsu slides away from the register and goes to get a drink. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t be too obvious.”
“I’ve never had that before,” the girl with Osomatsu is saying. She sounds faintly disgusted. “Why would you put strawberry jam on your burger bun?”
“Try it once, Totoko-chan.” Osomatsu waggles his eyes at her. “The chef is extremely talented.”
When Karamatsu glances towards the kitchen, Ichimatsu looks half-pleased and half-extremely-murderous. “That’s not my work,” he’s muttering, smashing his spatula down over something charred beyond recognition.
Osomatsu’s cough snaps Karamatsu back to attention. He’s smiling all through his order today, bouncing on his toes as he waits. It’s completely different to how he is when he’s sitting there alone with nothing but breathy sighs for company.
“Your order,” says Karamatsu dully. He’s drawn the usual on top of it, but he’s not feeling himself today, and it shows.
The girl – Totoko-chan, he recalls – takes one look at the burger and makes an expression worthy of Totty when Choromatsu orders him to take out the trash. “Did he draw his own face on it?”
Osomatsu peers at the burger, then points at the lone teardrop. “What’s that? Is it a fake mole?” He cackles, all-too-loud despite the low hum of chatter around the dining area. “That’s so lame! You’re amazing, Karamatsu.”
“You’re as disgusting as each other,” Totoko declares. “I’m not staying for this, and I’m not eating that. Why did I agree to come out with you again?”
“I told you I’d introduce you to a really cool guy,” Osomatsu reminds her as she rushes to the door. He turns back to Karamatsu and winks. “She’s cute, right?”
There’s really only one good answer to that. “Super cute,” Karamatsu agrees, and when he looks more closely, pushes from his mind the image of her with Osomatsu, she is. The sort of girl he’d usually welcome to his flock of Karamatsu girls with open arms.
Totoko spins around at his words. “I am, aren’t I!” She shows no trace of the dissatisfaction that had surrounded her just a moment ago, beaming widely as she twists her hands together. “Have a nice day, you idiots. Cute girls are always busy, you know. Things to do, people to get complimented by.”
When she leaves, Osomatsu leans across the counter and pokes Karamatsu. “So what did you think of her smile?”
“Easily a ten,” replies Todomatsu, staring at the space where Totoko had just been. Choromatsu nods vigorously next to him; even Ichimatsu’s frozen in mid-air, lettuce dangling from his fingertips.
“Heh,” says Karamatsu. “All my Karamatsu girls have their own – ”
“Do any of you translate from painful-speak?” Osomatsu’s eyes are wide and innocent; Todomatsu takes an instinctive step back.
“Eh?”
Osomatsu sighs. “She had a nice smile, right?”
“Er, yes?” Karamatsu isn’t really sure where Osomatsu is going with this, but it sounds like he should agree. It’s not like he’d be lying or anything. “Yes, definitely.”
“Hmm.” Osomatsu thinks for a minute. “Better than mine, then?”
“No way,” says Karamatsu. He doesn’t even have to think.
This time, it seems he gets it right. Osomatsu’s smile blossoms right before his eyes, stealing his breath as easily as it had the first time, and Karamatsu thinks he’s going to pass out any second now, it’s so hard to breathe. His chest is tight, his tongue swollen thick and tender, and his ribs ache like Osomatsu’s must when he doubles over with laughter after something Karamatsu does.
“I’ll get kind of embarrassed if you say it so frankly,” Osomatsu admits, rubbing his nose sheepishly, and sure enough, Karamatsu can just spot the hint of a blush painted across Osomatsu’s cheeks, like a reflection of his saturated jumper. They stare at each other for what must be an age, a jumble of words locked up in their throats, until Karamatsu fumbles blindly for the tray and shoves it at Osomatsu.
“Your meal,” he says, almost desperately.
Osomatsu takes the tray, but he doesn’t step away. “You forgot something.”
“Eh?” Karamatsu grabs the receipt, but it’s all there – burger with strawberry jam and a McAtsuka Flurricane with two hash browns mixed in. “What?”
“You missed something,” Osomatsu repeats. His face is devoid of emotion now; Karamatsu can’t tell if he’s angry, or exasperated, or whether Todomatsu’s right and he’s just messing with Karamatsu. He points to the menu, and Karamatsu’s eyes follow his finger to the block of text in the mid-left of the screen.
“A medium meal?” he guesses. It’s hard to tell; the menu’s pretty far away, and Osomatsu could be pointing at anything.
Osomatsu makes a small noise of frustration and points harder. Karamatsu doesn’t have the heart to tell him it isn’t working. After a few more fruitless finger jabs, Osomatsu stalks all the way to the board and gestures to one particular line. “I haven’t seen you smile today!”
Oh. Karamatsu hadn’t realised that. He tries to flash his trademark smile, but somehow, he just isn’t in the mood. Inspiration isn’t falling on him today, and he doesn’t know how to make a nice smile. He turns the corners of his lips up and grimaces. Surely Osomatsu will forgive him this one transgression.
“That’s not quite right.” Osomatsu walks back up to Karamatsu and leans right in. “It was more…”
He’s too close. Karamatsu’s heart is thrumming against his ribcage, his whole body tensed in anticipation of something that’s never going to come. Osomatsu closes in even more and Karamatsu squeezes his eyes shut instinctively, feeling Osomatsu’s breath ghost across his lips, and for a moment – for a moment, he thinks he feels…
“That’s not a bad expression either,” Osomatsu muses, drawing back. He’s smiling again, a different smile. It’s almost cruel, this one, and yet Karamatsu finds himself drawn to it, hungry for more of that soft sensation. They're going to collide any second now, and Osomatsu's just standing there, rocking on his heels. Waiting.
“Alright,” snarls Choromatsu, slamming a hand down on the tray. “That’s enough. Karamatsu, you’ve got at least seven customers waiting. And you,” – he points to Osomatsu – “stop distracting my employee. He’s useless enough as is.”
“*beeeeeeep*…ock,” Osomatsu mumbles, pulling away. His words are bleeped out by the automatic sensor Jyuushimatsu installed to protect the innocence of their child customers, so Karamatsu assumes he’s talking to Choromatsu – at least until Osomatsu reaches across the counter one final time to stroke Karamatsu’s jaw. “I’ll be right back,” he promises.
Karamatsu stares after him the whole way out.
Osomatsu comes back with paper, sticky tape and a permanent marker. Shortly after, the board has been amended with a new menu item. It’s posted right there under the sizeable list of burgers and sides – a kiss – FREE.
Surprisingly, this menu item is much more popular than the smile, and after several hours of scowling at drunk old men, Osomatsu scribbles something else on his paper and posts it up.
Reserved for certified Karamatsu Boys only.