Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shirabu leaned his elbows on the counter. "Goshiki, calm down."

"It's a disaster." Goshiki dusted himself off. No hand gesture could lift the stains off his clothes, but he swatted at himself and pinched the stains.

"It's not that bad."

"I spilled food all over. Look."

Shirabu slid down, his arms crumbling to his hands on the edge. "It's only on you. Change your clothes and get back to work."

"There's extra clothes?"

Shirabu gestured at a supply closet. "There should be some in there."

"...But that's the supply closet."

"Clothes are supplies. Restaurant supplies."

"But it's cleaning supplies."

"Goshiki."

"I'm going!" Goshiki swiveled and hurried to the door.

Shirabu huffed a sigh and raised his hands to the shelf for a pan. He started up the stovetop and stepped to the fridge to retrieve a few portions of chicken and beef.

"You keep spare uniforms around? That's clever." Tendou nodded as he rested against the wall.

"I don't. I have no idea what's in there." Shirabu raised his head, angling out from the fridge to peer at Tendou. "Did you already finish?"

Tendou flourished a hand over a cutting board of chopped vegetables. "You're slow."

Shirabu closed the fridge, his hand tight on the handle, the sentiment of a slam in his fingers. "Do you know what we've been doing today?"

"I've been right beside you, the entire time."

"Taichi's been making phone calls all day trying to fix our supplier problem. Goshiki's having a wardrobe breakdown right now, and you're not helping with anything."

"Taichi? I kind of doubt he was on the phone the entire day just for that. And Tsutomu's fine."

Goshiki walked out and closed the door behind himself. "It's too big."

Tendou turned and balanced a hand onto the counter and tilted his head down, redirecting the sounds of snickers.

Shirabu rubbed his eye. "It's...fine." He waved. "Just go back out."

Goshiki hesitated. The space of time left him opening and closing his hands at his sides, his eyes flickering.

"It's not that big. Roll up your sleeves and take this out." Shirabu walked to a different counter and slid the plate in the direction of the door. "Either you go back to work, or go home without pay for the hours you don't do."

Goshiki cracked his knuckles and lifted the plate. He carried it with the same care, and Shirabu lost interest in the problem.

He rubbed at the side of his neck, and he breathed out a slow-drawn sigh, calm and low enough that it blended in with the noise of the restaurant, and could be mistaken for the wind at the window. "Sorry I snapped. Finding a new fruit and vegetable supplier has been a pain."

"Sounds bad."

"We have months left to find one, but the closer we get, the more of an annoyance it is."

Tendou flapped his hand in a loose wave. "We'll do fine. Relax."

Shirabu's hands lowered and stilled. "I don't know why, but I'm suddenly relaxed," he said flatly.

"You know what I meant."

Shirabu's stare pierced him for a few more moments. His head tipped down, and his gaze sloped away to seamless focus on the chicken cooking in the pan.

Kawanishi walked into the kitchen, his head halfway turned back. "Why is Goshiki wearing oversized clothes?"

"He spilled food on himself," Tendou said. He moved on and walked to the table island in the middle of the room. His hands stopped on either side of a plate of small castella cakes. "Doesn't this look tasty? Hayato made it."

Kawanishi glanced around. "Where is he?"

"Bathroom." Tendou readjusted the plate.

Kawanishi faced away from him. "I have some good news," he told Shirabu.

Shirabu gestured at Tendou and at the vegetables. "Go on," Shirabu said.

Tendou relocated some to a bowl and poured it into Shirabu's pan of chicken. He took over the pan of beef on the other stovetop burner. Another chef retrieved more ingredients from the fridge and handed them to Tendou.

"Our produce man has a son that's taking over."

Shirabu threw a hand up. "You'd think he would've told us that instead of giving us a heart attack that he's moving and leaving."

"He probably didn't mean to give you a heart attack," Kawanishi said, raising an eyebrow.

"So his son is just taking over?"

"I guess."

"It doesn't sound like he knows anything or has any experience." Shirabu groaned. "He better sell at good prices."

"Why are you so interested? I'm the one who manages finances."

"I'm the one in charge of food. This is food. You can't buy if I don't like the fruit."

"If it's cheaper, does it taste better?"

Shirabu's mouth fell closed, pressed tight into a disapproving frown.

"I'll stop," Kawanishi said.

"Besides, if you spend too much, then we can't buy as much, and I have to use less."

"Wow, are you crabby today." Kawanishi stretched his arms out. "Well, that's all I've got for the day."

"Do you even know his son's name?"

"Ushijima."

"I know the family name."

Kawanishi laughed. "His name's Wakatoshi. And that's all I know about him. But," he started at Shirabu's glance up at him, "he's going to work around the same prices his dad gave us. I don't think he'll give us a hard time."

"When can we meet him?"

"Uh, I don't know. I didn't ask," Kawanishi said.

"We have to meet him."

"Of course."

"And soon."

"O-kay, you're getting pretty touchy about the produce."

Tendou bent a little forward and eyed Shirabu. "Kenjirou?"

Shirabu pointedly leaned ahead and narrowed his eyes.

Yamagata strode in, his arms matching a brisk walking rhythm. He slowed to a stop. "What's going on?"

"We've found ourselves a new fruit and vegetable supplier." Kawanishi crossed his arms.

"Did you run it by Shirabu?" Yamagata asked. He returned to the cooking sheet on the counter and reached for measuring cups.

"No. I didn't run out on the street and grab the first person I saw. It's the produce man's son."

Yamagata shook his head with a tongue click. "You should've run it by him."

"I'll ask him to come by. There. Are you happy?" Kawanishi asked.

"I'm throwing a party tonight," Shirabu said.

Kawanishi nodded to Yamagata. "Point taken. I'm never doing that again without asking."

Shirabu rested his hand at the back of his neck. "It's too hot outside."

"We can go to the movies. All you have to do is sit with your eyes open, in an air-conditioned theater," Kawanishi said.

"I'm too tired to go out."

"We're staying in again, then?"

Shirabu sat back into the couch, frowning at the inactive TV ahead. "I don't feel like doing anything."

"It's a Friday night. This is pathetic. We should be at the movies, or out at a restaurant."

"I work all day at a restaurant. I don't want to." Shirabu leaned his arm on the couch armrest. "I'm bored. Can't you come up with anything?"

Kawanishi picked up the remote and turned the TV on. "I'm putting on a movie."

"We're grown adults. Is this the best you can do?"

"You're not even trying."

Shirabu mumbled and gestured to mock the inflection of Kawanishi's voice as he stood up. He came back with his laptop tucked under his arm, and he sat next to Kawanishi and balanced it in his lap. "Can you make popcorn?"

Kawanishi sighed, but he complied and made his way to the kitchen. He opened a closet and crouched down to the bottom shelf. "You don't have any of the kind I like," he called out.

He didn't hear a response. He resigned himself to what he had and threw a packet into the microwave for Shirabu.

He walked the bowl out into the living room, and he handed it to Shirabu. "You know, it's kind of obvious that you didn't buy any for me. You go all out on shopping lists and never forget a thing."

"This isn't your place. Go home if you want your own food." Shirabu accepted it from him carefully as he sat down beside him. The popcorn filled the bowl in a hill, almost overflowing, and he picked off the hilltop to pop one into his mouth. "So when are we going to meet this son you have high hopes for?"

"What son?"

"Our new fruit and vegetable supplier?"

"Oh." Kawanishi scratched at his face as he flipped to another channel. "It's next week. I didn't forget. He'll drop by the kitchen on Tuesday."

"Why did you suddenly go quiet?"

"No I didn't."

Shirabu grabbed the remote from his hands. "There's something weird about him. You don't think I'm going to like him."

"He's a perfectly fine person. Nothing out of the ordinary." Kawanishi wrenched the remote back, and he eased his arm to a deliberating pause. He switched hands.

"You talked to him? What? What's the matter?"

"Yeah, I talked to him. He's polite."

"In other words..."

"He's just polite." Kawanishi glanced at Shirabu's computer screen, and after a tentatively satisfied retreat, he rotated his head again for another look. "What is that?"

"No idea. Tendou sent me a link to this."

Kawanishi tilted his head. "Is that a...cat sitting in a giant coffee cup?"

"I don't know why he sent this. I'm not really into animals. And for the record, not every cup is a coffee cup." Shirabu grabbed another piece of popcorn. "Leave it there," he said, waving at Kawanishi's head.

Kawanishi lowered the remote. "Fine."

"I'm not finished. What's the matter with the new produce man?"

"But you just told me to stop changing channels. That implies that we should stop talking so you can watch."

"Stop changing the subject."

Kawanishi shrugged. "You'll see when you meet him. I have to say, though, he sounds really...dedicated to his crops."

"I'll take your word for it," Shirabu agreed with a grimace.

Shirabu swept his hand over his hair. The current restaurant occupancy spelled out a slight lull in their work, and Shirabu could rest against the fridge for a break and watch Tendou chop ingredients for sushi.

"Knock, knock." Kawanishi rapped on the wall of the doorway. "I brought a visitor."

Shirabu shifted against the fridge and stood straighter. "About time. Bring him in."

Tendou and Yamagata paused at Kawanishi and his companion's entrance. Kawanishi stepped aside to reveal him.

"This is Ushijima's son, Wakatoshi."

He bowed. "I'm honored to be your new produce supplier. I've heard remarkable things about your restaurant. "

Shirabu's head nodded up and down to take him in. "What kinds of things?" he asked.

"Sorry about Shirabu," Kawanishi said under his breath, his head tilted to Ushijima. "He means well."

Ushijima glanced between them. "Why are you apologizing?" he asked at normal volume.

Kawanishi dismissed it with a vague wave.

"Well?" Shirabu asked.

Ushijima's gaze fixed on him. "Everyone really enjoys the food. And this seems to always be a high traffic area, sought after by tourists and Sendai citizens alike." He glanced around. "You have a well equipped kitchen."

Shirabu stared back at him. "Thanks."

Kawanishi's eyes lingered on Shirabu, his mouth quirked to the side with his eyebrows wrinkled. "You just met our head chef, Shirabu, but let me introduce you to the others. That's Yamagata, our dessert chef," he said, pointing at him and everyone in turn. "Tendou's the one in charge of salads or anything that involves a lot of chopping."

Tendou brandished his knife in the air for a flashy second. "I'm the best at it around here."

"And Shibata, Sagae, and Akakura are assistant chefs."

They nodded from their respective places, cutting and seasoning along the counter.

Ushijima strolled to a window. He traced his hand on the shelf built into the middle of the window, accommodated seamless into it, like branch out of a tree. Window panes pieced together almost half the entire wall, down to the countertop covered in plates.

Shirabu linked his hands together and cracked them. He returned to the stove and prepared a pot of water to boil.

"Do you like plants?" Ushijima asked.

"Huh? Oh." Shirabu glanced at him and found him examining a row of small pots, each filled with a diminutive plant. "Taichi decorated. They're nice, though. Not edible." He turned and glimpsed Tendou stirring a pot of simmering sauce, one of his hands covering his mouth to disguise his snickering. He elbowed him. "Get back to work."

Ushijima placed it back on the window-shelf. "They need to be watered more often. They're getting too much heat and sunlight."

Shirabu's free hand hesitated in the air, his fingers curling, and he dropped it. "I'll try to remember that."

"He takes his job seriously," Kawanishi said. He clapped his hands together. "Alright, I've got to go, so, nice meeting you, Ushijima. You can stay a little longer if you'd like." He waved at everyone and left.

Ushijima stepped around Yamagata and paused at the stainless steel utility table island in the middle of the floor, which was armed to the top with pans hanging from hooks on the elevated second story. Metallic clinking chimed with a few touches from his hands. Shirabu bristled.

"Everything is top of the line. The decor and furnishing outside in the dining room is well-appointed, too. You've invested a lot of money in your restaurant."

"I co-own it with Taichi." Shirabu tapped the countertop. "Shibata, can you get some shrimp ready for that tempura?"

Shibata hurried to the fridge and retrieved a package of shrimp. He spread them out on a plate and began peeling, deveining, and breaking the joints to straighten them.

"Well, I think I've seen everything in your restaurant. I can start supplying you with produce next week, if you'd like," Ushijima said.

"What about your dad?"

"He's still in the process of letting restaurants and other businesses acclimate to the change. He can start withdrawing services in exchange for mine at the same time I start next week."

Shirabu scratched his neck. "That sounds fine. What are we supposed to call you, though?"

"I believe Kawanishi has my number. He can give it to you. I don't have any paper on me to write it on."

"I meant your name. Should we call you Wakatoshi?"

"Ushijima is fine." He headed to the other side of the room and surveyed the fridge. Stainless steel, like anything else in the kitchen, and bigger than a large home fridge, standing in at an industrial size, complete with an electronic interface. Ushijima refrained from touching it. "Since I've seen your kitchen, would you like the return favor? You can see the fields."

"Maybe some day. We're kind of busy," Shirabu said, gesturing around the kitchen. "So if you don't mind, can you please leave? You're taking up space."

"Oh. My apologies." Ushijima dipped his head and left.

Tendou chopped an onion on a cutting board. He shook his head. "Our heater broke."

Shirabu lifted his head. "It feels fine. Doesn't it?"

"Ice."

"What're you talking about?"

"You just sent that poor man out on a terrible goodbye."

"I said please to him when he left." Shirabu turned. "Did you finish with the shrimp?"

Shibata managed to sprinkle sake on the plate as Shirabu commandeered it from under his hands. He swayed to keep up with it and almost fumbled when it left his reach completely.

"I guess I am..."

"Uh, Shirabu, there's no need to rush," Yamagata said. He paused to look.

Shirabu's hands carried the plate with a dance-step. "See, I'm going at a normal, easy pace."

Tendou placed his knife down and moved his hand over his chest to hold himself at a mocking lightness, his other hand flourished in the air. He waltzed for a few moments,

"Stop making fun of me." Shirabu groaned and scratched at his arm. "You're lucky we're in a kitchen, where I can't do anything."

"I thought this is where you can do the most damage," Tendou said.

Shirabu gave him a flat leveled gaze as he accepted a bowl of prepared tempura flour from Akakura.

Shirabu bent his arm behind his head and rubbed at his back. The early-summer sun shined in the streets, and its light fell darkened through his sunglasses. He stood waiting for a stoplight to change color and let him walk across the street.

"Shirabu?" Ushijima asked. The accompanying footsteps told Shirabu he was approaching, and the small pattering ones drew his eyes to the floor.

A corgi beamed back up at him. It sat down beside Ushijima's feet and gave Shirabu an open-mouthed smile, its eyes sloping to a halfway closed squint against the sun. Its tail thumped on the concrete, and its tongue stuck out in a pant.

"You live around here?" Shirabu asked.

Ushijima nodded. "My farm's on the outskirts of Sendai."

"If it's that close, I'm surprised I haven't seen it at all." Shirabu glanced down at the dog again.

"Maybe you forgot?"

"That's a big thing to forget." Shirabu rubbed at his back again. "So you live around here."

"I do."

"Do you go out often?"

Ushijima readjusted his grip on the leash, his eyes flickering down. "I...don't, really. Why do you ask?"

"Well, if you live here, then I'm going to run into you once in a while like this. I probably already did before, but I didn't know who you were, so I couldn't remember."

"What are you getting at?" Ushijima asked.

Shirabu let the silence fill in the space of time, expanding like water freezing to snow. The wind blew at a low warbling whistle in the tree branches near them, and the rustling of the leaves brushed close to them.

"Nothing, really. You just don't have to feel like you need to talk to me every time you see me. I'm bad at small talk."

"Oh." Ushijima swayed his arm a little, and the leash swung, jiggling the clasp and tags on the collar.

His dog wriggled and stood up. It sat right back down, squirming on its haunches and wagging its tail harder.

"I think he wants to say hello," Ushijima said. "He loves meeting new people."

The light changed, and the other bystanders on the sidewalk stepped into the street. Ushijima's dog took the initiative and drove ahead, and Ushijima and Shirabu followed.

"You're heading the same way?" Ushijima asked.

"For a little while." Shirabu pulled out his phone and scrolled through it. He didn't have any new messages or notifications, but his fingers itched to idle.

He alternated between holding it at his side and in viewing distance. He bristled against the heat and fidgeted to maintain busy appearances, but when he finally checked, Ushijima wasn't looking at him. He was staring down at his dog, and the effort in attention left him walking slow enough to stay beside Shirabu. His dog tilted his head up in return, trotting and opening its mouth to pant and smile before facing ahead again.

Shirabu slipped his phone back and turned to another direction at the next street corner. Ushijima waved goodbye.

"See you soon. In a few days," Ushijima said.

Shirabu went on his own way down the block. He glanced behind himself and saw Ushijima continuing on the same route. From the new view Shirabu could see his dog walking a comfortable pace, its feet casual and at ease carrying its chubby body. It stopped to sniff the floor, and Ushijima had to give a small shake to the leash to encourage it to move again.

Kawanishi snapped his fingers. "Are you awake today?"

Shirabu refocused. "Here already?"

"Yeah." Kawanishi dropped his hand and led them closer to the shop in front of them. "Come on, we have some shopping to do. You said you'd help me."

"I did."

"You sound like you're already going to leave."

"Why would I do that? I can't run away. We work together." Shirabu picked up a package of novelty erasers in the shapes of fruit. "How old's your cousin again?"

"Twenty." Kawanishi motioned at Shirabu's find. "That looks nice."

"These? They're erasers."

"Everyone uses pencils and makes mistakes. Everyone needs erasers."

Shirabu framed his hand under it to showcase it. "This."

"You don't like it. Why'd you pick it up?"

"I was on my way to something else. I'm just browsing." Shirabu dumped it and reached for a plush elephant.

"Why're you picking up everything you see? This'll take forever."

Shirabu pushed it into Kawanishi's shoulder. "I wanted to feel how soft it was."

"You're not helpful at all." Kawanishi shrugged it off and ducked under his arm to venture into an aisle.

Shirabu left the front cases of merchandise and followed him.

"Besides, I don't think a stuffed animal is something you'd give an adult on their birthday," Kawanishi said.

"Why not?"

"It's too cute."

Shirabu groaned, and he deflated, his arms sinking down his sides. "Ugh. It's not too cute. And the stuff considered adult is really boring. I'd rather have something happy than death in a movie or...really dull office humor." He turned around. "Do you have an idea of what she likes or wants? Anything?"

"She likes green, hates peas, and her favorite animal's a horse."

Shirabu placed his hands on the ledge of a shelf. After a moment of aimless contemplation staring into a price tag, he pulled his hands away. "I've got nothing."

"Don't try to come up with something from scratch. Look around with me."

"What about candy? Chocolate? There's a candy store a few blocks away," Shirabu said.

"Nah."

"You're making this harder." Shirabu offered a phone case. "What about this?"

"I don't think she has that phone."

Shirabu returned it and threw his hands. "I don't know. She should be happy with whatever she gets."

Kawanishi back and stared at the shelf. "Maybe I should just give her money."

"You're not her uncle."

"I thought anything's fine?"

"Not money." Shirabu scratched his head. "Just get something decorative. That sounds like a maximum obligation present."

"Decorative? Like a paper weight?"

"No, not a fancy rock." Shirabu glanced further down the aisle. "I don't see any, but little fake plant things would be good."

"Little fake plant things," Kawanishi repeated.

"You know, like a terrarium," Shirabu said, his hands miming a square. "With glass and fake moss or whatever else goes inside."

Kawanishi moved to walk around to another aisle, and Shirabu followed.

"If someone gave me a fake plant, I think I'd be offended, like I don't know how to keep one," Kawanishi said.

"That's not what it says. It's thoughtful, so you don't have to care for it. I hate caring for them. They always die, like goldfish."

"Are you kidding? Goldfish are harder. You have to take the fish out and change the water all the time, and clean the tank. With flowers, all you have to do is water."

"It's harder than it sounds," Shirabu said.

"No it's not."

Shirabu stopped beside a few shelves of small cheap gardening supplies on sale, including packets of seeds and kits of pots. He motioned with his elbow. "Go ahead. Try it."

"I'm not that impulsive."

"This isn't an impulse. It's almost a bet. I know you can't do it."

"You can't manipulate me like that." Kawanishi drew his hand over the back of his head. The delayed movement padded a moment of reluctance in his twitching mouth.

"I'm not."

"I might get it for my cousin."

"Good idea."

"If you're here to make fun of me, you can leave," Kawanishi said.

"I'm not leaving."

Kawanishi heaved a sigh and picked up a boxed potting kit. "I think this is fine for my cousin."

"Taichi, I know you're not getting it for her."

"I'm not buying anything else. There's nothing else to give her." Kawanishi turned to head to the cashier, and Shirabu waited next to him as he paid.

"I saw our new produce man earlier," Shirabu said.

Kawanishi pocketed his wallet and grabbed his shopping bag. "Ushijima? Why?"

"I saw him walking his dog."

Kawanishi snorted, his face expressionless as his chest rose and fell in a huff. "Did you duck away?"

"No, I didn't duck away."

"Must've been awkward."

Shirabu looked down at Kawanishi's bag. "Not as awkward as when you give your cousin a bunch of seeds."

"It's not that bad."

"I think i'll give my mom an unhatched parakeet egg for her birthday."

"Okay, you can't compare the two," Kawanishi countered.

"It's the same thing."

"But you get a parakeet and a plant for completely different reasons."

"And yet, you're dumping a bunch of unwanted responsibility on her. I didn't know you hated your cousin."

"I give up." Kawanishi raised his bag. "I'll get a backup gift."

"Do you need to go shopping for that too?"

"...No."

Shirabu cracked his neck as he stepped into the kitchen. The morning sun poured in beams through the window, and birdsong faintly rung outside. It was too early for the restaurant to be open to customers, but food supplies were arriving for the day, and Shirabu almost always met them at the same time to inspect them.

Ushijima came into the back entrance and unloaded a small crate of vegetables onto the middle table. "I'll go get the rest," he said.

"Wait." Shirabu approached and glanced inside. "I... I didn't order this."

"No, you didn't."

Shirabu looked at him and placed his hands on the other side of the table. "Are you. Are you kidding me. Why didn't you bring what I asked?"

"I checked my zucchini crops, but they haven't been faring well these past few weeks. So I brought cucumber."

"It's not the same thing." Shirabu shoved it across the table. "Take it back."

"You don't want it?"

"No," Shirabu emphasized. "I need zucchini."

"I didn't bring any for you."

"Why not."

"I didn't think you'd approve of low quality zucchini, and all the available zucchini are low quality."

Shirabu leaned closer. Ushijima remained unresponsive to his frustration, staring steadily back with the same composed calmness in his eyes. Looking into them made Shirabu twitch.

"You made the decision without even asking?"

"It was obvious to me that you wouldn't want them," Ushijima said.

"Next time, bring them anyway."

Ushijima frowned. "Even if you probably won't like them?"

"I have to see it for myself." Shirabu pushed it further, completely into Ushijima's stomach. "What else? Were any others unacceptable?"

"No, that was all." Ushijima picked up the cucumber crate. "I'll get them."

He walked out, and Shirabu rummaged a hand over his hair. He sunk onto his elbows and waited.

Ushijima fulfilled the rest of Shirabu's orders, as he said. He carried them in with the help of someone else.

"I don't recognize you," Shirabu said. "Are you new?"

"I'm Semi Eita. Some of the farmhands left, but I came with a few other people." Semi dusted his hands off his pants and raised it.

Shirabu eyed him, but he still shook his hand. "Nice to meet you. I have to get started on work and organizing all this produce, so I have to keep this short. Sorry you can't stay." He pulled away and moved to the sink to wash his hands.

Semi's shoulders squared. He leaned to mumble something to Ushijima. He didn't respond, he only shifted his eyes to indicate attention to Semi, and Semi left.

Shirabu picked up a bunch of vegetables by hand and relocated them to the fridge. He poked his head out. "Didn't you hear me? I said I'm busy, and I'm pretty sure you are, too. So you can go now."

"Alright. Have a good morning, Shirabu." Ushijima carefully closed the door to the worker's exit and disappeared to complete more deliveries.

Shirabu finished organizing the fridge and moved on to prepare a few cutting boards as Yamagata, Tendou, and Kawanishi came in. Yamagata and Tendou drifted in their morning routines, with Yamagata turning on the coffeemaker and Tendou selecting pots and pans.

Kawanishi rested against the counter beside the coffeemaker. "How'd things go on the first day with Ushijima?"

Shirabu opened his hand, blunt and sudden, as if he was dropping a knife. He rooted his hands on the counter and turned to him. "You want to know how it went?"

Yamagata snickered. He disguised it under his arm in the movement of making coffee.

"It couldn't've been bad," Kawanishi said.

"Remember the time our poultry supplier accidentally brought us another restaurant's orders, and they got ours?"

"Yeah, I do."

"This was worse. Ushijima brought cucumbers instead of zucchini."

Kawanishi shrugged his crossed arms. "So?"

"He did it on purpose."

"Why?"

"He told me his zucchini crop wasn't good enough. Just decided it on his own and brought a bunch of cucumbers," Shirabu said, his hand reflecting his voice as he waved it dismissively.

"Ouch," Yamagata said without looking their way, dutiful in his fluid multitasking between checking on the coffee and mixing ingredients together in a bowl.

"That's...kind of weird," Kawanishi admitted.

"I can't believe it." Shirabu jabbed a cutting board into Tendou's arm, evoking a groan and jolting him awake. "We're already at the whims of nature and the weather, and to whatever the suppliers and farmers feel like doing in the first place, but he had to make decisions on his own without bothering to ask..."

"He's reached that low mutter no one can hear," Kawanishi announced.

Tendou accepted the cutting board and set it down. "I'm so tired," he mumbled.

"You do this every morning," Yamagata said. "Wait for the coffee."

"Or get a normal sleep schedule like everyone else." Kawanishi turned back to Shirabu. "So what happened?"

"Ugh. I made him take it back." Shirabu grabbed a metal mixing bowl from a cabinet and filled it with vegetables from the fridge. "He thought he could just replace zucchini with cucumber. I need it for summer salads I wanted to try next."

Kawanishi opened and closed his hand, bringing it to his chest. "I'm probably going to regret asking this, but isn't there no difference between them? They sound really similar to me."

Shirabu flattened his hands and glared at him, his eyes darkening.

"Go with your gut next time," Yamagata mumbled. The coffeemaker beeped, and he poured a couple cups and gave them to Tendou and Kawanishi.

Kawanishi took a sip. "I should've had this first," he said. "My mistake."

Shirabu recovered and settled into chopping, filling the void until Tendou could wake up and help without the sleepiness-induced probability of cutting himself looming over him.

Every morning started with this ritual, along some similar thread. Sauces had to be cooked, and ingredients cut for them, and they began their mornings with prepping breakfast dishes before actually making them. Shirabu changed the specials every day, and made them offer a large rotating roster of specials, but the basic menu that customers ordered from didn't change as often.

"How does the farming stuff work?" Kawanishi asked.

Shirabu dumped a pile of leafy greens onto Tendou's cutting board. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you can only harvest once a year, and then the plants are empty."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Kawanishi breathed out lowly over his coffee to cool it. "Then how does it work?"

"I don't know, but it's not like that."

"How do you know, then?"

"I know it's not like that," Shirabu defended.

"Do you either of you know anything about gardening at all?" Yamagata asked.

"You add water," Shirabu said.

"I'm almost positive that there's more to it than that." Yamagata kneaded his hands into the lump in his bowl that was resolving to resemble dough.

"I know it. Taichi doesn't. He thinks it's as easy as those little plant apps on a phone." Shirabu huffed.

Kawanishi poured himself another cup of coffee. "All I know is, no one in this room has ever successfully grown so much as an herb."

Tendou raised his knife to the window. "Those plants look alive."

"I remember Ushijima saying that they're dying, and we're not watering them enough," Yamagata said.

Tendou tapped his knife in the air. "Still alive."

Shirabu placed a hand on his arm. "Put the knife down, before you hurt someone."

"I'm great with the knife. I've never hurt anyone in my life, on accident or on purpose."

"Can we not talk about work related accidents? I don't want to relive the time the wall caught on fire." Kawanishi glanced at his watch as the rest of the kitchen staff filed in. "All three of you are late."

"Sorry," Akakura said.

They hung their coats in the closet and hurried to help Tendou and Yamagata. Shirabu continued working on his own, and he paused to write something on a notepad.

Kawanishi looked over the latecomers. "What were you three doing?" he asked.

"I was stuck in traffic."

"My dog threw up and I had to clean it up."

"I forgot to set my alarm to loud."

Kawanishi rested back on the counter. "Do you really expect me to believe you were all late for completely different reasons, and then arrived at the same time?"

Tendou chuckled. "It'd be funny if it was true. All the newbies late at the exact same time. It's like it was planned."

"It's not that funny," Kawanishi said.

"No, see, the fact that it wasn't on purpose makes it funny."

"The more you explain it, the less funny it gets." Kawanishi made a noise of contentment after finishing his drink, and he deposited the mug in the sink.

"Can't you at least wash it? It just makes more work for us," Shirabu said.

Kawanishi looked him in the eye and picked it back up in a forceful and careful motion. "Fine." He rinsed it under a running tap and scrubbed.

Shirabu stopped writing and picked up a lettuce leaf. "This looks crispy and fresh. This is the kind of produce I like." He sighed, and it segued into a groan. "The produce man had to be him."

Kawanishi shrugged. "What can you do? We can't exactly switch. That'd take forever."

"The other suppliers probably suck," Shirabu mumbled.

"That's the right attitude." Kawanishi nodded with his eyes closed as he dried the mug with a towel and stowed it away.

"Do I really need to be here for this?" Kawanishi asked.

"Yes." Shirabu plugged in the coffeemaker. "Make some if you have to."

Kawanishi trudged to it and turned it on. "Yamagata makes it better," he muttered.

"You just don't want to use any energy."

"Can you blame me? Usually the coffee's already made by the time I come in, or it's almost done." He bent forward and folded his arms to rest on them. All that could be seen from him at any angle in the kitchen was his hair tufted from his head, burying his unresponsive and motionless body.

The back entrance opened, and Shirabu nodded to Ushijima and Semi carrying in produce. He stepped away from the wall and walked up to them.

"Brought everything?" Shirabu asked.

"Everything you requested," Ushijima said as he stared down a clipboard.

"...Really?" He rummaged into a crate. He came up with a confused emptiness occupying his face, his mouth slack. "You brought everything..."

"Is something wrong?" Ushijima asked.

Kawanishi gathered himself back to his normal height, his mouth in a sloppily kept smile, smug but sleepy. "No, nothing's wrong. Kenjirou here's just paranoid."

"I'm not paranoid." Shirabu shoved off the table and wrenched the fridge open to store everything away.

"Better watch closely next time. He might slip in a free batch of strawberries." Kawanishi silenced himself into another sip of coffee.

Ushijima looked between them for a long moment. "What?"

"Ignore him. He's joking." Shirabu waved at them without removing his head from the fridge. "You're taking up space in the kitchen now. You should leave."

"O-oh, alright."

"Now he's joking. Don't take him seriously." Kawanishi lowered his mug to his chest, his hands obscuring every centimeter of surface area and keeping it close for its steady warmth. "You said our plants in the window are dying, huh?"

Ushijima and Semi looked to the large expanse of glass in the wall. The pots on the shelf in front of the window still housed plants, but the tips of their leaves were browning, fading dry and light into the sunlight.

"Now they are," Semi said. He snorted. "Anyone can see that."

Kawanishi slipped closer to Shirabu and elbowed him, his eyes fixed on Ushijima and Semi. "So, since you're the experts, what should we do to keep them from dying?"

"To start, give most of them more water, and take them out of the direct sunlight." Ushijima approached the window and moved them himself.

"Ha," Kawanishi said to Shirabu. "Nothing fancy has to be done. Just water."

Ushijima's hand slid under a leaf and lifted it. The plant stood to the far right on the shelf, tucked into a dark wooden crevice. "This one in the corner looks like it has a fungus. You'll need to treat it for it to have a full recovery."

"Ha," Shirabu said.

Ushijima's mouth contorted. "Have any of you...taken a look at these plants lately? This one hasn't been getting any sunlight, and it's been overwatered. Keeping it in the corner like this is bad for it."

"We really should leave." Semi pulled on Ushijima's arm. "C'mon, let's go."

"But their plants," Ushijima said.

"Their problem. We'll be here all day like this if we don't leave."

Ushijima frowned at him, but he complied and exited.

Shirabu grimaced. "He has some nerve."

"He didn't do anything. Other than what he was supposed to," Kawanishi said.

"Yeah, well. He did it last time." Shirabu shuffled to the supply of pans in a cabinet.

"He did it one time. So what? I doubt he'll do it again."

"He proved he's capable." Shirabu set a pan on the stove. "Farmers are so entitled."

"I don't know," Tendou said as he strolled in and strode past them. "They're pretty down to earth."

"Nobody asked." Shirabu grabbed Tendou by his shoulders and maneuvered him in front of the stove.

Tendou's mouth opened in blank surprise. "Eh?"

"Just take this over." Shirabu crouched to the oven.

Kawanishi sighed. "Don't tear Ushijima apart next time he comes."

"I won't." Shirabu stood up. The deliberate pause and silence drew Tendou and Kawanishi's attention to him. "Why was there a pan in the stove? Everyone knows I hate that."

"Don't look at me," Tendou said. "I don't do the baking. Ask Hayato."

"He's not even here."

Tendou squinted. "That's pretty suspicious."

Shirabu's hand rose to the top of his head, but he reconsidered and moved it to his neck. "I'm already tired."

Normally, the kitchen was left neat and organized in the span of time when nobody was around, from dusk to dawn. Shirabu and Kawanishi opened the earliest, and throughout the day entropy won over, cluttering with the byproducts of work and excess of food.

The stainless steel sheen of the kitchen appliances lost their glare in the dim sky and waning night. The sun had just begun to dawn, and the light was too weak to completely color the sky. It crept blue on the horizon, and the orange and pink of dusk faded instead of mixing with the day.

Shirabu tucked a clump of hair behind his ear. His eyes sunk dark with bags under them, and he blinked multiple times, forcing them open. Plates of food lost steam to the lingering night-chilled air that came from the window. Shirabu had them clumped together on the countertop to keep them in clear separate groups, each one representing a different set of courses.

The supply entrance opened, and Semi held it open with his foot as Ushijima transported a case of produce. They stepped away from the door to let it shut, and they glanced around.

"Where...do you want this?" Semi asked.

Shirabu raised his head. He stared at them for a dazed moment, unfocused and eyes flickering, and then he moved to clear a place on the utility table.

"What's going on? Why do you look so tired?" Ushijima asked.

"There's a wedding reception coming up that's being hosted at the restaurant," Shirabu said hollowly, echoing like there was nothing to repeat.

"You're in pretty bad shape to host a wedding reception," Semi said.

"It's not today."

"Alright."

"I just can't decide on the menu, and I couldn't sleep."

"Okay. Good luck." Semi turned to Ushijima and pointed out behind himself with his thumb. "The last one's small, so I'll go on ahead. Meet you later."

"See you." Ushijima watched him leave the whole way, until the door slammed on its own.

"What are you waiting for?" Shirabu asked, still fixed on his cooking.

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't you going to leave?"

Ushijima hesitated in a movement. "You seem incredibly tired. That's not healthy."

"I'm really picky about this menu," Shirabu said as he bent over the counter to write something down on a notepad.

"I see you writing something down every morning. Is it the menu?"

"Yes, it's the menu," Shirabu said.

"It changes that often?"

"Yes."

Ushijima let a moment fill with silence. Shirabu breathed out the tension in his shoulders and lowered his pencil to rest back on his elbows and look at him. Ushijima's feet were halfway angled between the exit and Shirabu, on his way out the door but still watching Shirabu in curiosity.

Shirabu flicked his fingers at his idle pencil. "This restaurant changes its menu all the time. That's kind of the theme. Seasonality."

"Oh."

"What do you know about this restaurant?"

"You and Kawanishi own and run this place," Ushijima said.

"Taichi's in charge of the financial end, and with decorations and everything miscellaneous. I cook and make the menus. I don't know how long you've been around, but once the season ends, most of the entire restaurant decor changes, too." Shirabu pushed off the counter and stood back to his normal height. "I have to get back to work."

"You should take better care of yourself when you're stressed." Ushijima nodded and raised his hand in a small wave of farewell.

Shirabu leaned forward in hunched shoulders and watched him leave. He wasn't taking off too quickly, but Shirabu still felt a disorienting change of pace that left him unable to say anything else.

"How was the wedding reception a few days ago?" Semi asked.

Shirabu grunted, refusing to interrupt himself from his focus on the stovetop. His hand remained on a pan handle, tilting it enough for the pieces of chicken to slide around.

"We made a lot of money. Rich people," Kawanishi answered. He placed his hands on a vegetable crate and looked inside. "Don't you want to check them out, Kenjirou?"

"Yeah, fine." Shirabu tapped Shibata's shoulder to catch his attention. "Take this for a few minutes."

Shibata fumbled to claim it in an instantaneous moment, intent on a fluid switch as soon as Shirabu let go of it. The vegetables he abandoned fell to motionless stillness.

Shirabu elbowed Kawanishi aside and inspected the produce crate without touching anything. His exhaled breath brought him to lay his hands on the crate edge.

He strangled on a few sounds. "You...you did it again. I didn't ask for this." Shirabu shoved the crate away from himself.

"My arugula crops aren't faring very well at this time of month," Ushijima said.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Shirabu asked. His voice rumbled into a groan. "Why can't you just give me what you have?"

"I don't think it'd be up to par for what your restaurant's expected to serve."

"I thought you didn't know that much about our restaurant," Shirabu chided.

"Should we stop them?" Semi asked Kawanishi. Kawanishi shrugged.

"I know about your reputation. That's why I chose to help you. It's an honor."

"Well then help me and don't give me kale when I asked for arugula. I don't even like kale. I'd never order it." Shirabu grabbed the crate and slid it back. He withdrew most of the produce from it that fit his order, and he busied himself with filing it away in the fridge.

"I thought I was helping you," Ushijima said as he and Semi watched Shirabu walk back and forth and carry the goods on his own. None of the other chefs stepped in to assist him.

"Stop substituting one thing for another. That's not how you cook."

"I thought your food would do poorly if you used poor quality produce."

"Poorly? You think it'd go poorly? Do my dishes need to be saved? Is that it?"

"Oh, my god, just leave it alone," Kawanishi said. He wrenched the crate free from Shirabu's hands and pushed it back to Ushijima. "Sorry he's a stick in the mud. Some of the best chefs are temperamental as hell."

"That's fine. He didn't touch it. I can still sell it to someone else." Ushijima lifted the crate, his arms stretching out to his sides to accomodate it with ease.

"Are you sure you don't need compensation?" Kawanishi asked.

"No, I don't need it." He turned to face Semi.

"C'mon, let's go," Semi said. He led them out, and when he opened the door, he angled his head to mumble to Ushijima, "You should probably stop doing that at some point."

"He's so nice, and you weren't that nice," Kawanishi said, his voice lilting to deliver a teasing lightness.

"That was annoying. This is just making more work for me." Shirabu dragged his pen across a piece of paper, inserting enough force to maintain a stabbing strength and cross out a line in applied darkness of ink.

"How hard is it to make a salad with one less vegetable?" Kawanishi asked.

Shirabu's head swiveled.

"Are you out of your mind? Kenjirou's in one of those moods." Tendou clicked his tongue, his focus unabating from his chopping.

"I'm not questioning you, I'm making a suggestion, kind of."

Shirabu dismissed Shibata and resumed his original place. He tilted his head down and stirred the pan contents with chopsticks. "Eat kale, Taichi."

Shirabu slouched back in his chair. He didn't have any qualms about the appropriate angle of reclining in public, and he slid his feet along the floor almost as far as he could go, his body taking the toll in other ways and curling at his neck.

"How are you comfortable at all?" Kawanishi asked.

"Would it make you any more comfortable if I explained?"

"No." Kawanishi picked up his drink and sipped.

According to Shirabu, the summer heat today wasn't unbearable. Kawanishi had suggested they capitalize and take some time off, and they came to a small shop for lemonade, relocating to the shop's patio under an umbrella.

Shirabu looked at him and copied him, reaching for his drink and tilting it to fit the straw to his mouth.

Kawanishi lowered his drink. "Alright. There's no way that's comfortable."

"I don't understand why you're more surprised. I didn't move at all. I just moved my arm for some lemonade. I'm thirsty."

Kawanishi closed his eyes. "On second thought, I don't care."

Shirabu placed his drink down and leaned forward over the table, his arms sprawling spread-eagle. "I'm starting to wonder..."

Kawanishi shifted, his head lowering to listen. "What?"

"What if I run out of ideas for food? What if I get boring? Is that possible?"

"I don't think so. Where is this coming from?"

Shirabu let his head rock to the side. "I heard someone talking about this, but with music. What if we run out of songs? Every single combination of notes and words will be used up."

"Did...did you hear this from Goshiki?"

"No. Why?"

"He was asking Tendou this the other day."

"...I might've heard this from Tendou." Shirabu groaned a breath. "We've all been hanging around each other for too long."

"What're you suggesting? That we get more friends?"

"I'm not saying that, but it's boring and a little pathetic that we're stuck on a tiny circle of people."

"I don't know what you want me to do about it."

"I'm not asking you to do anything." Shirabu gathered himself up and sipped again. "It's still really hot out."

"This is as good as it gets, relatively speaking. I miss having good breezes, though."

"Can we go somewhere where there's A/C? I can't stand this." Shirabu held his lemonade out and shook it. The melting ice cubes shook inside the plastic cup.

"It's not even that hot."

"It feels hot."

"You said it wasn't too bad when we left."

"I changed my mind."

"Are you sweating? That's the only way I'd see it as bad."

Shirabu stared at him. "I don't understand why you don't agree that heat is disgusting."

"I just agreed that sweat is disgusting."

Shirabu stood up and collected their napkins in a fist. He threw out them in a nearby trashcan. "I'm already up. Let's go somewhere cooler."

Kawanishi made a small wordless grumble and slid his arms apart to rest them on the table. Shirabu's gaze deepened, his eyes fixed on Kawanishi, maintaining the contact for a growing moment that multiplied its own flat insistence.

"Fine. I'm going." Kawanishi sucked one long last sip before tossing out his drink altogether.

They turned down the street and gravitated toward the same general direction, a small intangible acknowledgment hung between them that guided them in a shared feeling. A pet shop passed by in the view, followed by a hairdresser, a clothes boutique, and a small shop specializing in bento boxes.

Shirabu finished his lemonade and fell into directionless whistling at a streetlight. He didn't carry a tune, he only drew his mouth into a whistle to channel the sound of wind alongside the brief breeze floating with them.

"Have you thought about making ice cream for the restaurant sometime?" Kawanishi asked. "It's the perfect seasonal thing."

Shirabu stopped whistling. "I don't know. That depends."

"On what?"

"If Ushijima will stock the right fruit."

"Oh, here we go." Kawanishi's eyes slid to a point next to Shirabu's head, slight enough that Shirabu didn't notice.

"What if I asked for pineapples to make pineapple ice cream, and he brought mangoes? Anything goes with him."

"Don't you think you're being a little overdramatic?" Kawanishi asked, his voice breaking up a few syllables for emphasis.

"What about this. We hire an accountant or financial manager or whatever to handle our money. The bills, paychecks to employees, produce orders, decoration costs, everything."

"Why? We don't need to. That's almost all I normally do," Kawanishi said.

"We might as well have Ushijima cook in my place at this rate."

"I don't really understand the point of that argument, but..."

Shirabu stood taller at the sight of a produce stand, and he walked faster in its direction. Kawanishi hurried after him.

"What -- oh, really? Really? Is this what you've reduced yourself to?"

"I'm not doing anything. This is harmless." Shirabu stopped in front of one of the vegetable stands and placed his hand on the edge of a crate housing a load of broccoli.

"You can't buy a restaurant's worth of broccoli from an independent buyer. I don't think they have enough. This isn't even wholesale price. It's cheaper to buy a lot of it at once."

"I'd buy it from him if he let me." Shirabu stooped down to eye the crate. "This doesn't look too heavy."

"I'm not helping you carry that. You're not supposed to be thinking about work, either, this is supposed to be a break."

Shirabu's arms fell from the crate table, and he straightened, a dawning realization shaping a frown. "Didn't you...kind of know about Ushijima before we decided to go on board with him?"

"No? I didn't know him."

"Yes, yes you did. Before, I asked if he was weird, and you dodged the question." Shirabu flicked at Kawanishi's shoulder. "You knew he was going to be like this."

"I didn't know. His friend told me something about him being picky in a roundabout way, but that's it."

"His friend?"

Kawanishi's tired exhale eased his shoulders back. "Y'know, Semi."

Shirabu put his hand to his forehead. "I can't believe you knew about this the whole time."

"I didn't exactly know, but I thought having a picky temperamental produce guy would've give you a taste of your own medicine, and it'd be funny, and also an easy fix for our supplier problem. Except he's not temperamental at all. He's just a kind and inconveniently eccentric man. And only a little picky."

"Well, you're paying for it now. Help me carry this back." Shirabu went through the effort to step around Kawanishi and make his way to the proprietor. "I'll take that whole crate of broccoli, please."

"You could've just taken the cauliflower from Ushijima."

"They're only a little more similar to each other than other vegetables," Shirabu said without looking at him, throwing his voice to the side. "You can't just replace one with the other." He paid from his own pocket, and together, they approached the crate again.

Kawanishi deflated at the prospect. "It gained a few kilograms when we weren't looking."

"It can't be that bad. If Ushijima and Semi can each hold one on their own, than we can do it together."

"They work in fields all day. Of course they're strong."

Shirabu attempted to lift it on his own, his hands catching in the holds on the sides, and he abruptly yelped and dropped to the floor with the weight.

"We can do it together, huh? Makes you appreciate just how strong Ushijima and Semi are." Kawanishi slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved his phone. "So should I call someone to help us take it down to the restaurant?"

"...Please."

Kawanishi scrolled through his contacts and let his phone dial. He pressed his phone to his ear. "Yamagata? You're not busy right now, right? You're never going to believe what happened."

Shirabu breathed out slowly over a bowl of food. Steam billowed out from a bowl of udon, losing itself in the air conditioned room. A couple other plates clustered around it and delivered their own steam, but Shirabu intended to eat his soup first.

Semi opened the door and hefted a supply of vegetables in on a counter. His movement came to a slow stop, his arm still over the crate, as he took in Shirabu. "What're you doing?"

"I'm having breakfast. I didn't feel like eating before I came." Shirabu lifted a clump of noodles for a bite. His eyes flicked to the doorway when he heard Ushijima's approaching footsteps and affected grunts.

Ushijima placed it on the middle table and wiped his forehead. "That's everything."

Shirabu surveyed the produce crates with careful glances inside. "I suppose it is everything."

"Is something wrong?" Ushijima asked.

Semi crossed his arms and leaned against the window-wall. "Yeah, is something wrong?"

Shirabu paused, his hand on a carrot. He raised an eyebrow. "I just said everything's fine. What's with you two?"

"Wakatoshi saw you shopping the other day at a produce stand. You bought a restaurant's worth of broccoli."

"So?" Shirabu asked. "I needed them." He didn't break from his step to the fridge for a bottle of water.

"If you already have a supplier, then you shouldn't need to go somewhere else."

"Then sell me what I asked for."

"We're doing our best, but you have an obligation to the supplier you signed up with."

Shirabu's head lowered with his shrinking, questioning height. "Am I dating one of you somehow?"

Semi fit his hands together to crack his fingers. "No."

"Stop acting like it's cheating. It's just business. And you aren't even the supplier." Shirabu swallowed a gulp of water and faced Ushijima. "I know how Semi feels, but what about you? Are you somehow hurt by an imaginary scandal?"

Ushijima frowned. "Scandal?"

"Is it bad that I bought something somewhere else one time? Taichi was there, he knows what happened," Shirabu said as Kawanishi walked in, motioning at him and catching his attention.

Kawanishi swiveled to leave without a word, but Semi grabbed his arm. "You probably paid for it," Semi complained.

"No I didn't. I tried to stop him, too, but he didn't listen to me."

"So are you bothered by it?" Shirabu asked Ushijima. "I can't tell what you're thinking at all."

Ushijima's neutral frown shifted to the side. "I don't understand why you did it."

Semi released Kawanishi's arm. Kawanishi lifted his arm to his face, and he laughed.

"This isn't that funny," Semi said.

"It's pretty hilarious."

"I needed broccoli. I was desperate," Shirabu said to Ushijima. Kawanishi laughed harder.

Shirabu jabbed his elbow to quiet Kawanishi, but he dodged and shuffled away from everyone and settled into chuckling as he turned on the coffeemaker.

"Would you really rather buy from someone else instead of me?" Ushijima asked.

"If you refuse to sell me something, yes."

"Oh..."

Shirabu leaned his arms on the table. "I can't buy from you if you won't even let me buy. Don't make things so hard."

"You want to always buy from me, even if it's subpar quality?"

"Yes. Thank you," Shirabu said, throwing an arm up halfway and letting it drop. "That's what I want. Let me decide."

"Alright." Ushijima's head turned away. "We should go, Semi."

Shirabu kept his eyes on Ushijima as he made to exit, drawing up from his hands and searching his face. He remained inexplicable at the same calm intensity, his mouth flat and thin and expressionless, hollowing out an absence that left an impression of a frown instead of an expressionless neutrality. Shirabu couldn't read anything from him, but the unresponsive silence nagged at him.

As soon as the door fell shut, Shirabu succeeded in elbowing Kawanishi. "This is all your fault. We can't back out of this now."

Kawanishi choked, and his hand slipped on a button on the coffeemaker. He recovered and dusted himself off with a light glare. "You regret it that much?"

"I don't regret it, but it's still your fault."

"Suit yourself." Kawanishi hunched down and rooted in place as he carefully removed the pot and poured himself coffee. "By the way, how was the commoner's broccoli? Did it come out fine in whatever dish you used it in?"

"It was fine. I used it in salads."

"That's nice." Kawanishi locked his fingers around his mug and breathed in a delicate sip.

"It wasn't as good as Ushijima's plants, I'll admit, but it was good enough. No one noticed but me."

"Alright."

Shirabu returned to his breakfast. Everything had lost their heat by now, but it was still warm to the touch of his lips. He dragged in a stool from the supply closet and sat on it and ate a few bites. He stared into his rice.

Kawanishi waited a beat. "You hated the broccoli, didn't you?"

"I hate it. It wasn't as good. I might as well've just used kale." Shirabu snapped his chopsticks closed.

"Doesn't it not matter if no one noticed?"

"I noticed."

"Oh, well." Kawanishi sipped again.

"I still have to use it, don't I?"

"Unless it's coming out of your paycheck."

Shirabu's fist hit the table in a faint thump, and he shoved his chopsticks into his rice. Kawanishi snorted.

Shirabu walked by himself on some evenings. He wore earphones plugged into his phone and headed outside for a casual walk, dressed in sweats and a shirt with old running shoes. The sun had just started its descent to dusk, and the faded image of the moon hung in the sky, faint behind the orange-colored veil of evening.

The amount of cars and people on the sidewalks didn't change, but the makeup of them did. Shirabu rarely walked outside in direct summer sunlight if he could help it, he stuck to evening for the season, and he came to notice the general surroundings of people that followed the same pattern.

Ushijima, with a leash leading up to a tree, wasn't part of that.

Shirabu walked up to him and stopped at his side. "Ushijima?"

Ushijima glanced at him. "Nice to see you, Shirabu." He didn't lose any impassivity, his face held to a slight thoughtfulness.

"Are you walking your...dog?"

"You mean Aki? He's at home. He gets tired easily, and can't match my stamina, so I don't walk him every day."

"Then...what's that in the tree? Your cat?"

"Cats don't like going for walks. It's my bird, Hibiki." Ushijima faced the tree and jiggled the leash. "Hibiki, I'd like for you to meet someone."

He appeared in a flapping flurry of white wings, and he landed on Ushijima's arm to perch. Once he settled, his shape resolved into a large bird that dominated the space of Ushijima's arm. He raised his foot and made a squeaking noise.

Shirabu stepped back. "That's a bird? It's gigantic."

"Hibiki's an umbrella cockatoo. He likes stretching his wings outside." Ushijima stroked his back. "What do you say to strangers, Hibiki?"

Hibiki averted his head, his neck tucking close. He disguised it as a movement to preen the edge of his wing.

Ushijima lowered his arm to remove him from immediate view. "Hibiki's a little hesitant to meet strangers sometimes."

"Weird bird."

"Some of my other birds are more sociable."

"You have more?"

"Four more." Hibiki beat his wings and squawked, and Ushijima stretched his arm away. "They're a handful, but they're also curious creatures and wonderful companionship."

Shirabu scratched his neck and let his head sway to the side. "Listen, about the other day, when I bought food from somewhere else."

"I don't think I'm bothered by it."

"You don't think? You don't know?" Shirabu shook his head and dropped his hand. "Whatever. Look, I used the broccoli for a day, and I ended up hating it."

"The one you didn't buy from me?"

"Yes, hardiharhar. I know it's funny that I went through all that trouble and they ended up being terrible, but it's the truth."

"It's not funny to me."

"Thanks, but Tendou still laughed it up with Taichi." Shirabu sighed. "So I just wanted to let you know that it wasn't even worth it. I'm never buying from anyone else but you again."

Ushijima's hand fell still on Hibiki's head. "You're not?"

"No. I hate anything remotely close to promises, but I'm confident I'll never want to try someone else again." Shirabu rubbed behind his ear. "I guess I'm just used to the best."

Something shifted in Ushijima's face. He didn't look bothered or forced to composure before, he had been at a light indifference, but his face lost its wrinkles like the waves of a pond coming to rest. "Really?"

"I can't help it if you're better than everyone else. And we had your dad before you, so it's the same soil and crops we got used to."

"I'm glad to hear it. Thanks, Shirabu." The sides of his mouth faintly creased.

"You're welcome." Shirabu stuffed his earphones back. "I have to go."

"Don't let us keep you from your walk." Ushijima scratched Hibiki's neck. "Would you like to finish yours, Hibiki?"

Shirabu snorted. Ushijima's voice didn't change to address his bird. During their whole encounter, Ushijima had given Hibiki the same nuanced courtesy of voice that anyone would give another person.