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The thing is that they're both too big for this, both chronologically too old and too physically grown, and the table is not even nearly large enough to comfortably contain them the way it once could have.
Surely, this must explain why he and the head of the Matoba clan are half-huddled and half–oh, who is he kidding, practically tangled together in this small, dark space.
Matoba Seiji, clearly, as always, is having the time of his life.
Shuuichi meanwhile can feel his soul incrementally leave his body with every passing minute for more reasons than he can count.
For starters, he's pretty sure he's nearly lost all feeling in his left leg.
Great, he thinks. This must be the precise moment where the lizard yokai has opted to curse him. Or, well, curse him even harder–curse him in its final form perhaps? Soon enough, he'll have to hobble across red carpets. He can see it all unfold now with perfect clarity.
In reality, it's the odd angle he's got it bent and probably something about Matoba's weight shifted onto his thigh, yielding the man half in his lap as the he strains to hear. He's bent awkwardly to get his ear close to the space between the floor and the flimsy table cloth to filter through all the chatter outside.
Shuuichi himself can only catch snatches of conversation...something about some exchange being made. Not uncommon for a gathering of this sort.
Shuuichi runs a hand over his face. If someone were to ask him if he pictured this being his life, he'd have laughed himself hoarse. Once again, he had no clue how he wound up roped into yet another tangled web of Matoba family business, which, more and more, was turning into his business, literally and financially. Once, that would have alarmed him far more than it does now. He wonders if he's growing desensitized.
More recently, it was chipping away less at his pride than it used to and it was hard to say why.
Perhaps, some concoction of Matoba somehow returning to the easily familiarity reminiscent of their childhood and Shuuichi's inability to walk away when he likely should.
And so, here they are.
The table better have re-stocked the canapés with better ones than when he was first pulled under, Shuuichi hopes.
Matoba shifts and whispers, "All set," and Shuuichi figures they can be done now and he's found what he came for.
Except–he then accidentally knees Shuuichi in the side while trying to orient himself into a proper sitting position, harder than it used to be with their limbs the size they are now. This draws a brief yelp from Shuuichi which is muffled by Matoba's hand on his mouth, lightning-quick.
"Are you trying to get us caught?" he hisses in Shuuichi's ear.
"Are you?" Shuuichi hisses back when he's allowed to speak.
The noise outside is loud enough that it's unlikely anyone heard who wasn't looking for it.
The outside chatter seems to migrate to a different hall signalling this room is on its way to emptying. Matoba reaches up at the table to swipe for something and winds up with small frosted cakes in a plate because of course he does.
Shuuichi swipes one from him and even in the low light, he can make out the man's discerning frown.
"You never had a sweet tooth."
"I've experienced great distress," Shuuichi whispers, deadpan, plopping one in his mouth. "I think I need to restore my blood sugar levels."
It is, as expected, way too sweet.
Matoba taps at the corner of his own mouth. To Shuuichi's curious look, he says, "On your face."
Shuuichi swipes at his cheek.
Matoba shakes his head almost exasperated and moves to rub a line with his thumb from the corner of Shuuichi's lips to his chin, easy, familiar, intimate.
"There," he says, satisfied.
Shuuichi stills suddenly, trying his damnedest not to think of this proximity or what it would look like if they were in fact caught, the endless gossip around a scandal that never even occurred: the Matoba head seemingly canoodling with the last and only sighted Natori.
If Shuuichi's heart stutters at that thought alone, it practically short-circuits altogether when Matoba Seiji brings his frosting-covered thumb to his lips, licking it clean, without breaking eye-contact.
Shuuichi is, in fact, going to be found dead under this table and he knows it.