Ashi's arms folded on her desk, and she sank, face burying into them, a muffled groan seeping out—surrender to the madness.
Across the room, Rafta rocked back in his chair, feet up again, arms crossed behind his head. A satisfied smirk curled his lips as he watched them crumble, cat video forgotten. She's way too fun to mess with, he thought, eyes glinting, king of the chaos he'd sown.
The office ticked on, keyboards clacking, oblivious to the twin wrecks at their desks.
A Few Days Later
Days had slipped by since the stapler-coffee clash, the incident fading into a weird blur, but its ripples lingered in Haari and Ashi's haunted stares.
Rafta and Oki. It was a paradox that defied logic. Their world had always been a clash of barbed quips, veiled threats, and the occasional near-brawl—staplers and coffee cups as weapons. But lately? They weren't just talking—they seemed… easy together. Comfortable. Like enemies who'd forgotten the war.
For Ashi and Haari, this wasn't a relief. It was a creeping horror.
Now, on their usual rooftop break, they sat at their spot, the table weathered under a crisp breeze. The sky sprawled blue and endless, sunlight glinting off the railing, but neither noticed. The air felt heavy, their usual banter drowned in quiet.
Haari stared into his lunch—rice and curry—like it might unravel the universe's secrets, chopsticks poking absently. Ashi sat across, picking at her own meal, her frown deepening with every bite.
Finally, she broke the silence, voice tentative. "Kichiro-san… don't you think Densi-san and Habi-san are getting closer than before?" She popped a bite of rice into her mouth, eyes flicking to him.
Haari chewed slow, calm as a monk, then answered without a hitch. "It's normal for couples to be close."
Ashi choked, a violent cough erupting as rice nearly shot out her nose. She gaped at him, eyes bulging, chopsticks clattering to the table. "Did you just say 'couple'?!" she wheezed, voice cracking. "When in the hell, did that happen?!"
Haari shrugged, unfazed, swallowing his bite. "They act like one when no one's watching."
Ashi's brain flatlined. Her jaw hung, a blank stare pinning him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "You're joking," she said, jabbing a finger at him, accusation sharp. "Tell me you're joking, Kichiro-san—right now."
He tilted his head, tapping his chin with a chopstick, casual as ever. "I mean, I'm not sure sure," he admitted, voice steady. "But they've been weird lately—too weird."
Ashi's arms crossed tight, her scowl digging in. "That doesn't prove squat. 'Weird' isn't dating. It's not like they're—" She froze mid-rant, Haari's blank stare unsettling her.
His mind flashed—Oki's tear-streaked face pressed to Rafta's back, his hand tilting her chin, their lips brushing close in that dim restroom. Then the cafeteria—Rafta's "I might be free," Oki's pause I think they're doing… more than just dating, he thought, the memory searing.
A hush settled over the rooftop, the breeze rustling their lunch wrappers. Ashi leaned forward, elbows planting on the table, her tone deceptively light. "Actually," she said, popping a bite of rice, "a few days ago, I overheard them planning to go somewhere together."
Haari blinked, chopsticks pausing mid-air. "…What?"
She chewed slow, savoring the suspense, her eyes glinting as she dangled the bait.
Haari's gaze sharpened, suspicious. "Since when do you start eavesdrop on people, Nicawa-san?"
"I wasn't eavesdropping," Ashi shot back, mock-offended, hand to her chest. "I was just… happened to pass by. Totally innocent." She smirked, taking another bite.
He narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "And? Where're they going?"
Ashi's grin turned sly, a fox with a secret. She leaned closer, voice dipping, teasing. "Oh, you're awfully curious, Kichiro-san. By any chance do you have a little crush on Habi-san?"
Haari's eyebrow twitched, a faint crack in his stoic mask. " No, I don't," he grumbled, voice low, chopsticks stabbing his rice like it'd offended him.
Ashi tilted her head, letting out a dramatic "Hmmm~," her smirk widening. "You sure? These feelings sneak up on you, y'know—slow burn, hidden sparks~."
His face darkened, a storm brewing. Those dead, bloodshot eyes locked onto hers—hers twinkling with mischief, his heavy with exhaustion. "I'm dead sure," he said, voice gravelly, deliberate. "I don't care if she dates a random nobody. Marries some dirt-poor villager? I'd throw rice and cheer. Fine by me."
A pause stretched, thick and heavy.
Then, quieter, darker— "But… Rafta's another story."
Ashi's smirk faded, her nod slow and grave. "Yeah. Out of all the possibilities, Habi-san and Densi-san together is just…" She grimaced, like she'd bitten something sour. "…Un-digestible."
Silence crashed down, the rooftop air turning leaden. They stared into their lunches, the horrifying notion sinking deep—Oki's steel melting into Rafta's chaos, an alchemy too twisted to stomach.
Ashi exhaled, breaking the spell. "Anyway, it was food shops they were talking about," she said, voice lighter but still edged.
"Food shops?" Haari echoed, brow furrowing as he processed.
She nodded, leaning back. "Yep. Heard 'em plotting—Sunday, I think."
"Sunday, huh…" Haari muttered, rubbing his chin, eyes narrowing. The gears clicked—Oki's tears, Rafta's "I might be free," now this. His curiosity flared, a spark in the ashes of his daze.
The evening air was crisp. Haari walked home from the office, his hands tucked into his coat pockets.
Turning a familiar corner, Haari's eyes fell on a small, cozy shop, Inside, the scent of simmering broth and grilled meat wrapped around him like a comforting embrace. The shop was modest, with wooden tables, shelves lined with old books and trinkets, and a long counter.
Behind the counter, an elderly man with silver hair polished a glass, his rag moving in slow, practiced swipes. At a corner table, Mina, Nilu, and Riya huddled, their chatter and giggles bouncing off the walls, filling the modest space with a cozy buzz.
"This is so good, Old Man!" Mina beamed, chopsticks diving into her noodle bowl, her face glowing like she'd struck gold. "How'd I not know our city had food this tasty—in such a cheap price?!"
Nilu nodded, still chewing, her spoon hovering. "Seriously. Restaurants these days? Overpriced garbage. You pay a fortune, and it tastes like cardboard half the time."
Riya, sipping her soup slow, tilted her head toward a framed photo behind the counter. A young man stared back—sharp jaw, cocky smirk, eyes glinting with fire and promise. "Old Man," she said, pointing, " is that, your son?"
Mina and Nilu swiveled, intrigued, leaning in. "Whoa, he's hot!" Nilu blurted, squinting at the picture. "Total catch."
Mina tapped a chopstick on her chin, grinning wide. "Yeah—what college does he go to? Bet he's got girls lining up."
The Old Man set the glass down, arms crossing as a low chuckle rumbled out. "Nah, that's not my son."
The trio blinked, heads cocking in unison. Riya's brows knit. "Wait… then who's that?"
He leaned on the counter, a nostalgic smile creasing his weathered face. "That's me—back in the day."
Silence slammed the shop, a beat of pure shock. Then— "Whaaaaat?!" Mina, Nilu, and Riya yelped together, voices cracking the air. Nilu's spoon clattered, nearly hitting the table.
"You're kidding!" Mina's eyes ballooned, darting between the photo and the Old Man, hunting for proof. "No way!"
He laughed, deep and rich, clearly relishing their meltdown. "Easy, easy—why'd I lie about that?"
Nilu leaned forward, peering at his face like a detective. "But… how?! You were a total heartthrob! What happened to that guy?"
The Old Man grinned, wiping his hands on the rag, eyes twinkling. "Time happened, kid. Wears us all down eventually—turns swagger into wrinkles."
Mina slumped back, still gawking. "That's wild. You were, like… movie-star hot."
"Still got the charm," he winked, tapping the counter. "Just comes with creakier joints now."
Riya's eyes lingered on the photo, her expression a soft riddle—half-dreamy, half-pensive. If I'd been born a few years earlier, she mused, no way I'd let a guy like that slip through my fingers… The young Old Man smirked back from the frame, all sharp edges and untamed fire.
The Old Man caught her stare, his own smirk twitching up, knowing and sly. "Don't look so heartbroken, kid," he said, tapping the counter with a playful thud. "I might be silver now, but I've still got the pep I had back then—trust me."
Mina crossed her arms, smirking back. "Oh yeah? Prove it, grandpa."
His eyes flashed mischief, a glint of youth breaking through the wrinkles. "I have a special recipe… one I only make for someone truly special. Once you taste it, I guarantee you'll never forget it. My wife still loves that energetic recipe of mine. Once you try it, you'll never look for another restaurant ever again."
Nilu stretched her arms with a theatrical sigh, spine popping. "Sounds tempting, but we'll have to take a rain check. It's getting late." She glanced at her phone, screen glowing dim. "Gotta bounce before I'm toast at home."
Mina nodded, chair scraping as she stood "Yeah, we'll try that special recipe next time.. Right now, my mom's gonna kill me if I stay out too long."
The Old Man's smile softened, warm as the broth simmering behind him. "Fair enough. Come back, though—I'll have it ready. Don't leave an old guy hanging."
Riya rose last, stealing one more look at the photo, her lips curling faint. "We'll be back," she said, voice quiet but sure, a promise tucked in her tone.
"Take care, girls—get home safe," he called as they shuffled out, the door's bell jingling in their wake.
It swung open again, sharp and sudden—Haari stepped in, the evening chill clinging to his coat like a shadow. The shop's warmth hit him, thawing the edges of his daze, the scent of grilled meat and old wood wrapping around him.
"Ah, Haari," the Old Man said, tossing the rag aside with a flick, his voice warm but edged with knowing. "Been a while, huh? How you holding up?"
Haari raked a hand through his tangled hair, a sigh slipping out. "Same as always," he mumbled, slumping onto a counter stool, elbows planting on the worn, polished wood. The shop's glow softened the lines under his eyes, but the weight clung.
The Old Man chuckled, a low rumble, eyeing him sidelong. "You always say that, kid, but your face screams otherwise. Sit tight—I'll fix your usual." He turned, reaching for a knife, the clink of metal on cutting board starting up.
Haari hesitated, gaze drifting to the steam curling from a pot, the scent of broth tugging at him. "Actually…" he said, voice low, "I was thinking about that special recipe of yours."
The Old Man froze mid-slice, just a heartbeat, then spun back, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. "Special recipe? What's that? Never heard of it—I don't have such thing here." His tone was too innocent, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Haari's eyes narrowed, unconvinced. "That's strange. I could've sworn you had one. You seemed very eager to serve it to those college girls just now."
A hearty laugh burst from the Old Man, loud enough to rattle the trinkets on the shelves. He scratched his silver hair, sheepish. "Oh, thatI don't actually have anything like that. I was just having a little fun with them."
Haari exhaled sharp through his nose, shaking his head, a faint smirk breaking through. "I don't think you're at an age where you should be flirting with college girls, Old Man."
The Old Man gasped, hand slapping his chest in mock offense. "Flirting? Me? Perish the thought! That's customer service, my boy—good vibes, good eats. Keeps 'em coming back."
"Customer service," Haari deadpanned, brow arching. "Sure. More like false advertising."
"Pfft, details," the Old Man waved off, grinning wide. "You sure I can't whip you up something special anyway? Twist your arm a little?"
"Nah," Haari muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, tension knotting there. "Usual's fine."
The Old Man nodded, turning back to his work—knife flashing, veggies hitting the pan with a sizzle. His eyes flicked to Haari mid-chop, sharp despite the casual air.
"What's wrong, Haari? You're not eating," the Old Man said, peering over the counter, his rag pausing mid-wipe. "Office trouble?"
"Nah, office is fine," Haari muttered, pushing his bowl aside, eyes distant, fingers tapping the wood. Oki and Rafta at food shops Sunday…
The Old Man leaned in, voice softening. "You can talk to me, y'know. Might have some wisdom rattling around up here." He tapped his head with a grin.
Haari's gaze flicked up, a spark clicking. Right—he's been at this forever. He'd know the spots. "Hey, Old Man," he said, voice casual but edged, "you know any food shops where couples hang out?"