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You know what? The restaurant is actually a little nicer than you expected.
Not excessively so — though that probably makes sense, it was the only good one close to the hospital — but definitely nice enough that you’re second-guessing your outfit. Even Chishiya’s outfit is pretty simple in comparison to everyone else. A button-up and some trousers. He doesn’t look particularly bothered. When you glance down at yourself uncertainly, his hand finds the small of your back briefly.
“You look fine,” he murmurs, too quiet for anyone else to hear. You take that as enough to convince you of it.
The ceiling is low; the table is long. A thick, warm ambiance has already settled over the dining party, especially with the dim lighting and dark oak.
There’s roughly a dozen people from the paediatric cardiology department, and even some of their partners. You recognise a few faces from your first visit to the ward: including the nurse from the desk, whose expression had been priceless when you'd announced yourself as Mrs. Chishiya. She offers you a polite smile now, though her eyes still carry that faint glimmer of disbelief.
You take the seat beside Chishiya, your hands brushing briefly. He doesn't react, but you catch the slight shift of his gaze toward you. Acknowledgment, if nothing else. When you smile, he only nods and draws a customarily mannered smile across his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
Your gaze darts around. You wouldn’t feel so out of place if not for the fact that you’re the most unfamiliar to the ward, and that Chishiya probably isn’t friends with anyone here. You had to pry him out of the apartment: the others might avoid him forever if he doesn’t try now. Chishiya doesn’t look particularly comfortable, though he’s relaxed his body in his seat, since his eyes are surveying the room rather than meeting anyone else’s. At least you’re here, huh? As if sensing this, Chishiya settles a little closer to you, arms pressing together. A silent, “I know this is tedious, but we're leaving together.”
It helps.
After everyone’s drinks arrive, a conversation kicks up easily enough. Introductions, polite questions about your work, the usual. You smile and nod along to whatever they say. Across from you is Doctor “Yoshida”, one of the younger attendants with an easy, dimpled smile painted across his face and a tendency to lean forward when he talks. When you reply to his questions, there’s a genuine curiosity dancing in his eyes. Or, perhaps it’s just surprise at someone like Chishiya having a wife at all.
“So, Y/N,” Dr. Yoshida says, swirling his wine glass, “How did the two of you meet? You don’t entirely strike me as the type to put yourself out there.”
A few chuckles ripple around the table. You glance at Chishiya, whose expression remains as impassive as ever. He takes a sip of water, clearly content to let you field this one. Well, okay.
You clear your throat. “Uh, we met at a library,” you say, laughing a little. “I was working part-time as a clerk near his apartment when we were in university. He was a regular.”
“A library,” the nurse beside Yoshida muses, projecting the revelation a little further down the table. “That’s cute!”
“I didn't even think he read for pleasure,” another colleague mutters, which earns a few more laughs of mild agreement.
Now Chishiya’s eyes are on you. You meet them briefly, shrugging. “I’d seen him go into the library every now and again, usually to study with his own textbooks, but we never really spoke.”
He’d probably been too caught up in his own world, being a medical student and all. Browsing shelves, studying for an hour, then promptly leaving. Had he actually found books to check out, maybe you would have spoken sooner. But he never did.
“Did Chishiya catch your eye back then?” the nurse asks lightly.
Your brows shoot up. “Oh, no, no, I wasn’t the one who asked him out.”
That seems to surprise them a little bit, so you can’t help but laugh to yourself. You pause, eyes trailing toward Chishiya. His expression is unreadable, but there's the faintest hint of amusement at the corner of his mouth as he brings his water to his lips. So smug. He’d caught you entirely off guard when he’d done it: there didn’t seem like much reason for you to go on a date with a stranger. But the ease with which he did it struck you as intriguing. You can’t help it. Chishiya caught your attention too quickly for you to look away after that.
You hum. “He just walked up to the desk and asked me out.”
A bewildered laugh is punched from Yoshida’s mouth, mouth quirking in surprise. “Wow. Seriously? Just like that, Chishiya?”
Their eyes meet. Chishiya leans back slightly, but otherwise doesn’t emote much.
“Just like that,” he echoes.
You chew down the laugh in your throat at his indifference. If only the others could tell just how complacent he is right now. At the slight twitch of your lips and the vaguely choked sound you make under your breath, Chishiya’s gaze is drawn back to you. He seems satisfied.
“How bold,” the nurse marvels, squinting her eyes at Chishiya like she’s trying to reconcile this story with the version of him she’s familiar with. “I wouldn't ever have expected that.”
Chishiya speaks again, his tone as dry as ever. “Why waste time? I knew what I wanted,” he exhales.
Your side of the table falls into a brief, almost reverent silence. They really must be surprised. You bite back yet another laugh; even despite the smile that’s spreading across your face at his bluntness. Chishiya’s proving every rumour wrong in one clean stroke — who said he isn’t capable of being in a happy relationship?
“Well,” Yoshida says, recovering with a grin, “That’s definitely one way to do it. And clearly it worked.” He tilts his head toward you, smile widening. “You must have been quite surprised.”
“Of course I was,” you admit. “I thought he was joking at first, since I’d never done much to get anyone’s attention before.”
“And yet here you are,” Dr. Yoshida says slowly, his gaze lingering. “Married. That’s… Hm. That’s really something.”
You nod politely, but something about his tone makes you pause, smile tightening around the seams. It’s not overt. No, not really. But the warmth laden in his face feels out of place, too unearned for only having spent about an hour together.
Oh, well. You’re probably imagining it.
But, beside you, Chishiya’s eyes are set on Yoshida.
The conversation has already shifted away from the two of you once the appetisers arrive, but Dr. Yoshida doesn't seem ready to let it go. He leans forward a little more, resting his arms on the table.
“So, Mrs. Chishiya,” he says, an almost playful edge to his tone, “What’s your husband like at home?”
What? You purse your lips. Despite Yoshida’s almost pervasive casualness, everyone else seems to be as curious as him. An awkward laugh exits your mouth: how can you even put it into words? He’s different, you guess. More relaxed, by the slightest margin? Mulling over an answer, you find yourself rapidly draining most of the wine in your glass. Chishiya watches.
The first word that jumps to mind spills from your mouth. “Calm.” You blink. The alcohol will probably make you feel better about being so honest, settling warm in your body. “…He likes being quiet. I enjoy it too,” you continue, thinking about it.
Usually his favourite activity is to sit on the sofa in his work clothes and go through patient files until you prod him to go change. Sometimes he’ll watch TV with you. Usually you’ll eat dinner together. But what sticks out to you the most is that Chishiya spends a lot less time speaking when you’re alone — where you’d assume he’d throw in some wry remark, he’ll just roll his eyes and look away, instead. You’ve grown comfortable with communicating with him silently for years: a smile in his eyes means more to you than any verbal affirmation now.
“I imagine it must be difficult, though, with Chishiya’s hours. Do you get to see each other much?”
The strangely probing nature of the question makes you clear your throat again, picking at your plate of scallops. Feels like you’re being interrogated. You mean, Chishiya is usually busy, though that’s not his fault.
“We manage,” you say lightly. “Ah, I’ll bring him lunch if he forgets it again.”
At the memory, a few people seem to laugh. But Yoshida's smile only flattens out. Just barely. Chishiya's expression doesn't change much, but his fingers twitch once against his water glass. Ah. That’s the closest he gets to fidgeting. He probably hates that you’re so eager to bring him lunch. Not necessarily because it annoys him, you think, but rather because he doesn’t think it should be your responsibility to fix his problems like that.
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Yoshida says. “You're very lucky to have such an attentive wife,” Yoshida affirms, turning to Chishiya.
You follow Yoshida’s gaze. Chishiya looks indifferent, albeit slightly irked by his coworker’s invasion of his love life.
“I know,” is all Chishiya says in return.
Trying not to wince, you force your eyes back to your place. There’s a certain awkwardness in the air that’s sending a chill down your back — especially when twined with the vaguely challenging tone Chishiya is using. But, with his deadpan response, the table’s eyes are drawn away from the two of you.
Under the table, your knee knocks his, and you look his way. He doesn’t look back. And yet as you’re turning away, his knuckles just slightly graze yours. That pulls a smile onto your face. You quickly hide it behind your glass, polishing off the rest of your wine, and you’re suddenly feeling as though you poured yourself a little too much. Lunch was a while ago. The drink’ll probably get to you soon.
At your empty glass, Chishiya’s brows rise in amusement. Of course, he says nothing. But Yoshida seems to notice too.
“Wow,” he almost laughs. “Someone’s here to have fun.”
You laugh nervously, pushing the glass away. “Guess so.”
When the waiter comes around to refill drinks, Yoshida reaches for the bottle of wine before anyone else can. He pours a glass and slides it toward you with an easy smile.
“Here, Y/N,” Yoshida says.
You frown, face warm. And just as you’re mindlessly reaching for it, Chishiya's hand is already there, fingers curling around the stem of the glass and exchanging it with his water.
He says nothing. You watch him uneasily, a confused laugh bubbling in your stomach.
He’s still smiling. But the exasperation in his gaze speaks louder. When Chishiya’s eyes meet yours, devoid of their characteristic glint, you can’t help but raise your brows questioningly. He never has alcohol.
Chishiya stares at you. “I’ve had a change of heart,” he mutters.
From that point on, Chishiya genuinely drinks. Not excessively, nor obviously. But consistently. Another glass when the waiter passes by; another refill when someone offers; another long sip when Yoshida laughs at something you say. And, with each glass, he becomes more talkative than you.
His tone is empty of the drunken slurring that should be there, instead brimming with a surprisingly candid involvement.
Chishiya begins to tell stories you’ve already heard — narrating clipped, sardonic anecdotes about medical school that get the table thrumming with collective laughter despite themselves. He answers questions about his work with more detail than usual. His explanations are, of course, entirely precise, and yet oddly accessible. Chishiya is charming, though his own strange methods, and you can see the others leaning in, fascinated.
Yoshida, meanwhile, is becoming increasingly sidelined. Every time he tries to steer the conversation back to you, Chishiya streamlines it elsewhere.
“Mm, well, Mrs. Chishiya was just about to tell me about—”
“Actually, that reminds me,” Chishiya intercepts smoothly, rolling each word off of his tongue with deliberation. He moves into another story that has absolutely nothing to do with you, and everything to do with keeping your attention on himself.
He’s not very subtle. Not to you. But you're not entirely sure anyone else notices.
By the time dessert arrives, there's the faintest flush to Chishiya's ears — almost completely hidden, unless you're seeking it out behind his hair. Every time you see it, you find yourself choking back a laugh. You’ve never seen him like this. That loose carelessness he’s speaking with now feels almost calculated in its entirety. Even when inebriated, he’s still measuring his words. You can’t help but smile.
When Dr. Yoshida excuses himself to take a call, Chishiya leans back in his chair, his gaze following the other man as he steps outside.
“He's persistent,” Chishiya muses, just loud enough for you to hear.
His eyes flick to yours, and there's something cold in them. Something amused. Your eyes round slightly in response.
“He's just being friendly. I hope. Flirting with another man’s wife in front of him is a little…” You exhale slightly, pressing your knee to Chishiya’s. “Anyways, don’t sulk, Shuntarou.”
“I don’t sulk.”
“You said you don’t drink, either,” you say drily, brows raising.
Chishiya's mouth twitches. He doesn't answer. Instead, he takes another sip of wine, his gaze returning to the door where Dr. Yoshida disappeared.
By the time the dinner winds down, Chishiya is quiet again. He doesn't contribute much to the conversation, content to sit back and observe. When you place a hand on his crossed arms, silently asking if he's ready to leave, he doesn't pull away. So, the two of you say your goodbyes, and you guide him out into the cool night air. He walks steadily enough, but there's a faint unevenness to his gait.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” you ask as you hail a cab.
“Fine,” he mutters.
Suppressing a laugh, you watch him frown at the pavement. “You’re drunk, aren’t you, Chishiya?”
“From a few glasses of wine? You’re underestimating me.”
“No?” you hum wryly.
He says nothing.
The ride home is surprisingly quiet. Chishiya stares out the window, his jaw tight, his hands resting in his lap. You reach over, threading your fingers through his. And unlike usual, he doesn't pull away. But he doesn’t speak to you either. Instead, Chishiya’s thumb traces a slow circle against your knuckles - repetitive, almost rhythmic. It's what he does when he's thinking. You've learned it means he's working something out, not shutting you out. So you wait.
When you finally get him through the door of your apartment, he shrugs off his coat and heads straight for the bedroom. You follow, watching as he sits on the edge of the bed, and after a moment, pats the space beside him.
“Shun,” you say softly, sitting beside him.
He doesn't look at you. For a long moment, he says nothing.
Then, Chishiya mutters, “Do you find him attractive?”
You blink. “…Huh?”
“Yoshida.” His voice is flat. “It's a simple question.”
You study him, trying to read his expression. But his face is as neutral as ever, betraying nothing, even as he gazes solely at the wall opposite.
“No,” you shrug. “Why would I?”
“He must think you do.”
You frown. Chishiya's mouth curves into a strange expression that almost resembles a smile.
“Do I really have to explain it to you? He was testing boundaries. Seeing how far he had to push you before I intervened.”
“You're overthinking this.”
"Am I?" He tilts his head, his face having returned to being calm. “He asked if we see each other often. That wasn't small talk. He was fishing to see if you were lonely. If I neglected you.” Chishiya says it so matter-of-factly, but it almost feels like he’s rambling out of pure irritation. “Classic approach.”
You sigh, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “Then what?” you ask gently.
His eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment you think he's going to say something profound.
Chishiya says, “I could schedule him for the worst shifts.”
You blink. Then a laugh escapes your mouth, eyes rounding in fascination. “Wh— Uh, what?”
“Weekend on-call. Three months straight,” Chishiya grumbles purposefully. He's completely serious, which somehow makes it funnier.
“Please say you’re kidding.”
He looks you in the eye.
"Come on,” you laugh, the sound ringing in the room. Chishiya blinks softly. “That's insane."
He pauses. “And justified.”
You shake your head, still smiling. “You're ridiculous when you're drunk.”
“I'm not drunk.”
“Uh-huh. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
You help him into a pyjama shirt, guiding him under the covers. He lies back, staring up at the ceiling, his expression distant. When you move to turn off the light, his hand quickly curls around your wrist.
“Not yet,” he says quietly.
You pause. “You okay?”
You blink, surprised. “I'm just turning off the light, Shuntarou.”
Still, Chishiya’s grip on your wrist tightens, just slightly. “Stay,” he reiterates.
“So demanding,” you sigh, and yet you’re slipping into bed beside him, pulling the duvet up over both of you. His arm wraps around you immediately, pulling you close. His cheek presses against your temple, warm and familiar. He smells like wine.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. The apartment is quiet, save for the faint hum of Shibuya past the window.
“I made sure he knew,” Chishiya murmurs, voice slightly muffled against your hair.
“Knew what?”
“That you're married.” He pauses. Then, a little petulantly, he mutters, “To me.”
You have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing, eyes squeezing shut. The phrasing is so absurdly obvious, so unlike his usual precision, that it's almost endearing.
“I don't think anyone at that table was confused about that,” you say, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.
“Yoshida was.”
“Yoshida knew. He was calling me ‘Mrs. Chishiya’.”
“He didn't act like it.”
You really can't help it — a soft laugh escapes you. “Are you pouting right now?”
“I don't pout,” he says flatly, though it only makes you laugh more.
“You're definitely talking like you want to pout. Gosh, you’re cute when you’re drunk,” you grin, pressing your face into his neck.
“Tch.” His arm tightens around you, and you feel him press his face more firmly against your hair, as if hiding there. “He shouldn't have poured you that drink.”
Oh, so that was it? You laugh again, thinking back to Chishiya snatching your wine glass for himself. Oh. Oh, wow. It’s all so ridiculous — Chishiya, drunk and bothered, and trying to be possessive but coming across more sulky than anything — that you can't stop smiling about it.
“Stay,” he mumbles again, voice thick with exhaustion.
“I will.”
“Until I fall asleep.”
“I will,” you promise harder.
Just as he’s settling against you, you catch the one last thing Chishiya whispers before going quiet.
“I can’t sleep if you’re not here,” Chishiya says.
His breathing evens out, and, within a few minutes, you feel the weight of sleep pulling him under. He must be tired with all that wine in him. But, even as he drifts off, his grip on you doesn't loosen.
You stay awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, your fingers still entwined with his. In the morning, he won't mention this. He'll go back to being the same detached, unreadable Chishiya you married.
He’s going to hate hearing about this in the morning.