Hi hello! Im on the Gachiakuta hyper fixation and my favorite is August, Jabber, and Gris😋 (I actually love everyone but these 3 have a special place in my heart <3 )
poppy says: he just doesn't know how to talk to people, your honor. it's not his fault.
content warnings: food (bagel and coffee); slight angst
This time. This time, I’ll ask them out.
WAKATOSHI stands outside the bakery, the faint scent of fresh bread mingling with the morning air, his fingers restlessly tapping on the sides of his legs as he tries to boost his confidence. In times like these, he wishes he could be more like his teammates. They always praise him for how talented and strong he is; but he would give anything to have the social skills they do.
If your bakery were a volleyball court, he would know exactly how to act. Professional Athlete Wakatoshi Ushijima would walk out onto the court confidently. He would have researched the team weeks in advance, staying up late into the night to watch old game footage and analyze their strengths and weaknesses. New moves would be in his arsenal. He would be prepared for anything.
Off The Court Wakatoshi Ushijima is far from that, though.
That Wakatoshi is an idiot. Off The Court Wakatoshi feels like his heart is simultaneously in his throat and in the pit of his stomach whenever you smile at him. That Wakatoshi once laughed too loudly at a corny joke you had learned. And when you raised your eyebrows in response, he blurted out “APOLOGIES”, and then ran straight into the door, apologizing to the door on the way out too.
He didn’t come back for two whole weeks.
Wakatoshi lets his eyes fall shut now, stilling his fingers as he starts to breathe in a slow, steady rhythm. If he can just put your bakery inside a court . . .
After a few moments, though, he gives up. It’s not working. The mere thought of talking to you is a thousand times more anxiety-inducing than any team he’s ever encountered.
He’s being ridiculous. All he has to do is open the door. He just has to open the door and say good morning to you. He just has to talk casually to you, ask how your morning is so far, and not act like he wants to throw up. All he has to do is casually steer the conversation toward asking you out.
Is it really conversation? His brain teases him. It takes two to take part in a conversation.
Regardless, it’s become his favorite part of his morning routine: munching on his bagel and sipping his coffee while you fill the silence. It strikes him as funny that you chatter away exactly like Satori and Shoyo do, jumping from one topic to the next with ease. But unlike with Satori and Shoyo, he doesn’t mind it one bit.
And while he has shared little about himself with you — “It’s always wise to be cautious and stay vigilant when you’re a famous athlete.” Or at least, that’s what his coach tells him — You don’t seem to mind it. He’d much rather listen to you anyway. You’re far more interesting than he could ever be.
But you know he has a dog (his phone’s wallpaper). You know that Satori is his best friend (Satori had switched the wallpaper to a picture of himself). You found out through the TV that he plays volleyball professionally. And you know he can’t stand the greasy texture of sausage on his breakfast sandwiches.
The last one still makes him cringe thinking about it. You tried to persuade him to taste a custom-made breakfast sandwich, boasting about the hearty protein infused in every layer, from the dough to the flavorful toppings. But the face he made betrayed his polite “No, thank you”.
And though you never pried for information about himself, he still found himself talking at length about his protein sources and about tips for boosting protein in one’s diet, all while catching the bright sparkle in your eyes as you listened with fascination.
And he learned that day that maybe Coach could be wrong.
Maybe letting your guard down is okay, if that’s what he gets to see in return for sharing.
Wakatoshi reaches for the door handle now, his fingers brushing against the cool metal, his gaze lingering on the smudged handprints marring the glass.
Shit.
Wakatoshi has no doubt in his mind that these are from Kotarou. They can’t not be. Because Kotarou had arrived for their practice match last week, kicking open the gym doors and practically pirouetting across the court, with his voice bouncing off the goddamn walls, announcing that he had found a new favorite shop - and possibly a new lover - on his way there.
Kotarou was gushing, his words painting a picture of your delightful nature — your kindness, humor, and the exquisite taste of your pastries. Knowing exactly who Kotarou was talking about, Kiyoomi’s head swiveled in Wakatoshi’s direction, and they instantly made eye contact. Kiyoomi had given him a firm nod to let Wakatoshi know he’d shut Kotarou up if that’s what he wanted, but Wakatoshi only shook his head once, and that was that.
Instead, Wakatoshi had held his hands at his sides, clenching them until pain seared into his palms.
How could this have happened? The bakery was his spot. Was it just sheer dumb luck on Kotarou’s end he found it? Or did Wakatoshi, yet again, have the bad luck of a friend swooping in before he got the courage to ask them out?
Anyway. Leave it to Kotarou to not read. Wakatoshi could just see it. Kotarou pressing his entire body flush against the door, his golden eyes darting around the empty shop soaked in sunlight, wondering why the door was locked, when the answer was right in front of him.
The bell above the door chimes as Wakatoshi swings it open with just a little more force than necessary.
This time. You have to ask them this time before Kotarou can. You can’t keep putting it off.
But instead of being greeted by your smiling face, Wakatoshi is greeted by . . . Nothing.
Nothing more than an open bakery, with no one manning the counter.
Wakatoshi looks around, trying to find any sign of you. It’s not like you to not work this early. Are you ill? You occasionally liked to flirt with danger, snacking on a small cup of raw cookie dough while you told him your plans for the day. He isn’t the least bit surprised if you’ve gotten salmonella.
When he told Kiyoomi this a month ago, Kiyoomi went on and on about hygiene, his eyebrows scrunching together as he just kept shouting “But WHY?” and “It’s a BUSINESS!”. Wakatoshi told him that your shop was the cleanest place he’d ever seen, and you were always fussing about keeping things in an orderly fashion. You deserved a little treat of raw cookie dough now and then for how hard you worked.
A sweep of the shop confirms to Wakatoshi that you aren’t here. Only an older gentleman at one of the far tables, doing what looks like a crossword puzzle while he occasionally takes bites of his muffin.
Surely someone’s here. The old man wouldn’t have just climbed over the counter and plucked out the muffin himself.
“GOOD MORNING, WAKATOSHI!”
Wakatoshi inhales sharply as you magically materialize behind the counter.
“Good morning.” He answers, regaining his composure and giving you a nod. “I was starting to think that you weren’t here.”
You cock your head to the side, frowning a little as you wipe your hands on your apron. “Why would you think that? I’m always here.”
“I thought the raw cookie dough got you.”
He wants to smack himself upside the head for such an honest response, but your sudden burst of laughter calms his nerves.
“Not yet. One of these days, though, probably.” You say, before giving him a small wink.
His heart hammers away even harder in his chest.
“So, what will it be today?” You ask, leaning over the counter as he comes closer. “Do you want to be adventurous today? I got some strawberries this morning. I could make you something with them if you can hang around for a bit.”
“No.” He says, just a little too quickly. He wants to shove the word back into his mouth when your eyes flicker with sadness.
“I mean, not today.” He clarifies, “Maybe another day. Just a—”
“Yeah, yeah. Just an everything bagel with cream cheese and a black coffee. I know.” You sigh, pushing yourself up from the counter. “One of these days, I’m going to get you to try something else! I don’t just make delicious bagels, you know!”
Wakatoshi watches on as you go about creating his usual order - coffee that’s, you once joked, “as black as your soul” and a lightly toasted bagel with a hefty amount of cream cheese.
(When you had asked him once why he preferred just a light toast, he shyly admitted he didn’t like thoroughly crunchy items. Although this preference probably came about from being Satori’s guinea pig for many, many trial and error baked goods, now that he thinks about it. You don’t need to know that, though.)
“Tasty as always!”
Wakatoshi nearly jumps out of his skin at the old man’s voice cutting through the quiet. How long has he been standing next to him? Such a big voice for someone so small.
“I’m glad you enjoyed!” You grin back at the old man before reaching across the counter to hand Wakatoshi his bagel.
Wakatoshi quickly closes the gap, his fingertips brushing yours while you ask the man how he did on his crossword today. He’s thankful you’re looking in a different direction because the less you see him blushing, the better.
Wakatoshi carefully unwraps the bagel now, half-listening in on you and the old man.
How in the world is he supposed to ask you out now without making it awkward?
What on earth is he supposed to do? Ask for your phone number? No, you might give him the phone number for the bakery as a misunderstanding. But what if he’s late for practice? Coach will have his head. Maybe he should just text the group chat and tell them he isn’t coming today.
Wakatoshi chews his bagel slowly, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine as he senses something watching him. He glances down to his right, and just as suspected, the old man is smiling warmly up at him.
“You look strong.” The man says, giving Wakatoshi a once-over.
“I am.” Wakatoshi confirms, then takes another bite of his bagel.
The old man’s eyes dim, his mouth curving downward as he turns to you.
“He doesn’t mean anything by that. He just talks like that.” You whisper from behind your hand to the old man, and he nods knowingly.
“Did you know that Wakatoshi here is a professional athlete?” You say proudly, attempting to change the subject. “You should see him on TV! He’s really good! When he’s — what’s it called? Serving? Hitting? I dunno. But he goes BAM, and the ball goes flying!” You exclaim, and the old man chuckles.
“What do you play, son?”
Why is everyone talking about him as if he’s a child who has just joined their first sports team? It’s condescending.
“Volleyball.”
“Ah. I’m sure all that height and strength is an advantage for you!”
Wakatoshi chews some more, then swallows. “Sometimes.”
The old man’s eyes crinkle as he throws his head back and laughs, giving Wakatoshi a firm pat on the back.
“I like this one.” He says to you, motioning to Wakatoshi. “He’d be a good boyfriend for you.”
Wakatoshi almost drops his bagel onto the gleaming floor, his fingertips pressing into the creamy spread as he hurriedly tries to catch it. And when he looks down, he finds he no longer has a bagel at all in his hands, but a taco.
A very smushed taco.
When he looks at you for your reaction to the man’s suggestion, you’re too busy having problems of your own.
“He doesn’t mean anything by that, Wakatoshi!” You yell at the counter, frantically tearing off paper towels to blot at the coffee you’ve splashed across its surface. “He just talks like that!”
Wakatoshi meets the old man’s gaze once again, who is only looking back at Wakatoshi with a smug grin, his eyebrows doing a little dance of amusement.
What a strange man.
“Well, I’m off!” The man announces, giving you a wave and Wakatoshi a nod. “I’ll be back next week!”
“Okay! See you then!”
You’re still talking to the counter.
The bell above the door chimes as the old man exits, and Wakatoshi’s attention shifts to removing the cream cheese from his fingers, twisting his body so you don’t see him sucking on them. When he turns back around, though, you’re nowhere to be found again. What are you, a magician on the side?
“Don’t mind him.” You say, popping up from the floor and avoiding eye contact with him, inspecting your now clean counter. “He likes to stir up trouble. He was just joking.”
Wakatoshi has his doubts, because your tone is light, but the sweat forming on your forehead says otherwise.
Still refusing to meet his eyes, you place a larger, empty to-go cup on the counter and pour the coffee with intense focus, as Wakatoshi savors the final crumbs of his bagel-taco.
When Wakatoshi reaches for his wallet to pay, you dismiss him with a wave. “Oh, it’s all free today! The least I can do after he embarrassed us both like that.”
Embarrassed?
Do you . . . Do you not think he’d make a good boyfriend? Has he been reading this wrong the entire time? Of course he has. Idiot. He’s just a patron. He was a fool to think it could have gone somewhere.
Kotarou would be a much more appropriate boyfriend for you, anyway. Kotarou knows how to talk to people and how to make them more comfortable instantly. He can make an entire room of strangers feel like they’re best friends in a simple matter of minutes.
He can't compare in that way. He would just make things awkward for everyone you knew.
How would you introduce him to your friends, your family? Prepping them beforehand that he can be blunt, but it’s unintentional? You wouldn’t be able to take him anywhere.
He may be equals with Kotarou on the court, but not at this.
At this, he’ll always be a thousand steps behind.
“Okay,” He says, realizing he’s been quiet for much too long. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome! And please, don’t let him deter you from coming back here. He just likes to tease. You’ll get used to it.” You reassure him, handing him the new coffee.
The warmth of the cup in his hand becomes his sole focus, a welcome contrast to the sharp sting behind his eyes. He can’t cry. Not now. He has to get to practice, and he can work it out there.
The smudges left by Kotarou mock Wakatoshi as he approaches the door and pushes it open with a shoulder. They’re smudges that belong to hands that will get to hold yours eventually, probably, if Kotarou gets his way.
He’s charming and joyful and easygoing and all the things he’s not.
And he’d be lucky to have you.
“You’ve got handprints on your door,” Wakatoshi informs you, his tone carefully controlled as he stands with the door half open.
“Oh?” You say, walking out from behind the counter. “Oh, yeah. I see ‘em. Thanks for letting me know!”
“You’re welcome.” A beat. And then, “Goodbye.”
“Bye! Don’t work too hard!”
Working is all he’ll be doing now, but he keeps the thought to himself.
Idiot. Why didn’t you ask them?
Wakatoshi takes a long, hot gulp of his coffee, his footsteps echoing faster on the pavement as he makes his way down the sidewalk now. A grunt escapes him as the searing heat of the liquid instantly burns the roof of his mouth. Adding insult to injury, he sees. Or is it injury to insult? Would that be more fitting in this situation?
It’s for the best this way. He won’t have to talk to Kiyoomi when he inevitably asks how things went this morning. He won’t have to talk to Kotarou when Kotarou announces to the entire world with his megaphone mouth he has a date lined up with you. It will be awkward when Kotarou introduces you to everyone, but he’ll just deal with it.
When is it his turn to fall in love? Why is he always on the damn sidelines when it comes to this sort of stuff?
Maybe he can move out of the country and start playing internationally. Coach has to know somebody who knows somebody.
“WAIT! Wakato — WAKATOSHI, WAIT! HOLD UP!”
Wakatoshi slows his pace and turns to witness your desperate sprint, your legs pumping furiously to close the distance. By the time you get up to him, you’re heaving like he is at the end of a match.
“How f—” A deep inhale from you, shielding your eyes from the sun to look at him properly. “How fast can you run?! I couldn’t even keep up with you walking!” You wheeze, bending over and toward the street. “Oh my god, I’m dying. . .”
“Do you need medical attention?”
You cackle, then immediately wince, clutching at your side. “Ohhh, ow! Ow ow ow ow! Don’t— Don’t make me laugh. It hurts t—” Another deep inhale. “It hurts too much.”
Wakatoshi stands there, watching you as you try to catch your breath, when his eyes catch something glossy in your left hand. When you finally stand upright, you take a deep breath and then exhale slowly before presenting the object to him.
A cookie?
“I know you probably can’t eat it until, like, later or whatever. I can only imagine how strict your coach is about nutrition and stuff. But I want you to have this! Just to, y’know, prove I can do other stuff besides bagels.” You say.
Wakatoshi’s fingers brush yours as he hesitantly takes the cookie. It’s a fair size, roughly matching the span of his palm. The sweet scent of sugar wafts from beneath the crinkling cellophane, his gaze fixed on the pristine icing.
“I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I figured a sugar cookie was a safe bet, being plain and all. I even put a little volleyball on it, see?” You point at the cookie. “And your jersey number too!”
He silently marvels at the great attention to detail; the lines on the volleyball meticulously applied, and he’s impressed by how perfectly straight the numbers appear.
He recalls your complaint that you detested personalizing your items, citing that “working with icing is always unpredictable.” He tried to relate to you on some level, saying he had opponents who were also unpredictable. Even with all his intense research weeks beforehand, he still couldn’t predict what they would do come game day. When he had finished his spiel with “All you need to do is practice”, you had sighed heavily and nodded your head. “You’re right.” You had said. “Why are you always somehow right?”
Looks like you practiced.
But this is still a sick joke. One last parting gift before he has to see you with Kotarou all the time. The Universe is twisted.
And while he appreciates the sentiment, a cookie won’t solve anything.
He doesn’t want his jersey number on a cookie. He wants his jersey number on you. He wants to look out into the stands and see you cheering him on, smiling from ear to ear every time he adds another point to the board.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Just then, Wakatoshi's phone buzzes incessantly in his jacket pocket. He doesn't even have to look; he knows who it is. Only one man blows up the group chat at any given time.
Wakatoshi bites the inside of his cheek as you glance down at his jacket, the fabric shifting with every buzz.
“Are you gonna get that?” You ask.
“No,” He answers after a moment, and you laugh.
Honestly, he had no intention of being funny. He's mostly worried about what he'll see if he looks. It could be Kotarou saying that he's going to go to the bakery today to see you.
It crosses his mind briefly that he could just lie to Kotarou and say that you have a boyfriend, and Kotarou would one thousand percent believe him, no questions asked. Because why would Wakatoshi lie? A fine, upstanding, trustworthy man like Wakatoshi? He would never.
But, then again, Kotarou will live this one time, right? It won’t be the end of the world if he doesn’t get what he wants. He gets shiny syndrome all the time. He'll dramatically nurse his heart and be onto someone new in two days.
But, then again, Kotarou wouldn’t hurt him intentionally, so maybe if he just explains to Kotarou that—
No, you know what? Screw it.
“Would you like to go out with me this weekend?” Wakatoshi blurts out, the cellophane loudly crinkling in his hand as he tries to put the nervous energy somewhere.
Eyes fixed on you, Wakatoshi holds his breath as you blink once, twice. And then a soft smile slowly spreads across your face.
poppy says: my husband made a joke about Last Podcast Network and Haikyuu and then i couldn't unsee it. go listen to/watch last podcast on the left if you're into true crime!
content warnings: (serious) a couple of food mentions; (unserious) wakatoshi's unseasoned chicken
alternate universe notes: just a fun little piece i wanted to write with the adlers trio hosting a true crime podcast!
The Umiwakayama True Crime Podcast (more affectionately known as Umiwakayama) is a mouthful to say, but KORAI, WAKATOSHI, and TOBIO have over half a million listeners now, so it's way too late to change the name. That, and Korai always gets a kick out of yelling "UMIWAKAYAMAAA!" in as many silly voices as he can.
It's a hell of a time listening — whether that be Wakatoshi a good four decades behind on the times (it's a running joke within the fandom he's a clueless vampire), Korai getting so worked up about something that you swear you can see him squatting crab style in his chair while he's yelling into the mic, or Tobio pausing from reading his gruesome script yet again to tell the audience how important a normal sleep schedule is.
Yes, three best friends who still can't believe they've made it this far. Because getting paid to learn about the most horrific true crime cases, with a touch of dark humor in the mix? They're living the dream! That drunken night when they decided to put Tobio’s meticulous research skills, Wakatoshi’s dreadful dad jokes, and Korai’s excessively loud voice to use could have easily been a terrible decision, but they're glad it all worked out for the best.
And then here comes you, the new little assistant producer, who brings their life to a screeching halt.
No, now it's no longer fun and games, and boys will be boys. Now it's "Oh my god, did I forget to put on deodorant today? Do I smell? Oh, fuck, I have to detail my car in case I offer them a ride. I can't let them see all that garbage in the back seat. What kind of music do they listen to? I should make a playlist. WAIT! I HAVE TO BUY AIR FRESHENER FOR THE BATHROOMS! THEY CAN'T WALK IN THE BATHROOM AFTER I'VE SHIT!"
But are you aware of this? Oh no. They’re very good at hiding it.
Well. Some better than others.
In the first week of work, you were pretty sure WAKATOSHI hated your guts. He would barely say two words to you whenever you asked him a question, and those two words (more like three) were always "Ask Korai" or "Ask Tobio" and he’d walk away. After the fifth time this happened, you straight-up cornered Korai in the hallway and asked him what Wakatoshi's deal was. What was so horrible about you that Wakatoshi couldn't even bother looking you in the eyes? Were you really that insignificant to him?
When you told Korai this, he only barked out a laugh.
"Welllll. . . I mean . . . It's not my place to say, but I think he's got a liiiiiittle bit of a crush on you."
When you had firmly responded that this could most certainly not be the case - the man acted as if you were the scum of the earth and not worth the time of day - Korai only laughed again.
"Trust me. He doesn't shut up about you whenever you aren't around. He’s always like, 'Does this outfit look stupid? Satori picked it out and said it was sexy. Does this shirt look sexy to you?'"
You then recalled Wakatoshi walking around the office for an entire week, swapping his typical white tee and jeans — which you had believed was his entire wardrobe — for short-sleeved collared shirts featuring loud, quirky designs.
Huh.
So that’s what that was about.
More often than not, you will find TOBIO trying to get his script finished, long after the others have gone home for the day. He'll be sitting on the floor of the shared lounge, his laptop perched on top of his legs, with loose-leaf papers, research books, and empty juice boxes surrounding him, muttering to himself as if he's trying to cast some sort of productivity spell. For all the lectures he gives Korai and the listeners about properly taking care of themselves, he sure is bad at taking his own advice.
One night after you had finished up your work and were locking up, the only reason you knew Tobio was there at all was that he had shouted "WHAT THE HELL?" from his office, almost giving you a heart attack. Leaving him be was an option you’d considered, but you also knew he was under immense stress, attempting to cram three episodes into one week before the holiday vacation. It wouldn't hurt to check in on him.
It did, in fact, hurt to check in on him - because the half-hearted wave and full-chested grunt he gave you when you asked him if he needed any help did hurt your feelings, if you were going to be completely honest. Through some verbal poking and prodding, though, it became obvious he was only grumpy because he hadn't eaten in a while, and it took you closing his laptop to get him to look at you. And after much hesitation (and a bit of light-hearted lecturing from you about what a hypocrite he was), he finally decided to join you for a late-night meal and pinky promised he would work on not overworking himself.
Listeners will tell you - and they don't even know how it's possible - that KORAI has gotten even more chaotic in recent episodes. A little joke machine, cranking them out non-stop on episodes and live streams. And yes, while it's true that Korai is good at making people laugh, there's one laugh in particular he's after each time he makes a fool of himself.
He’s always aiming to beat his previous record of making you laugh, which he achieved by climbing into an inflatable T-Rex costume during a live stream, a feat that clearly outdid Wakatoshi and Tobio’s coordinated ketchup and mustard bottle act. You were fighting for your life during that stream, trying not to be an auditory distraction, and he loved every second. Flailing in his oversized T-Rex costume, he’d poke Wakatoshi with his little arms every time Wakatoshi missed a pop culture reference. His big, bulbous head would bang against the microphone every time he attempted to whisper into it. Every one of your laughs made the struggle worthwhile. Every wide smile from you — he could feel it — was quietly reflected by him, concealed beneath his polyester layers.
It’s not until they’re all talking in the studio's kitchen one day that they realize having you on board has become a problem they can no longer ignore. It needs to be settled. And it needs to be settled now.
It’s Korai’s idea to play Rock Paper Scissors to see who gets to date you, and Tobio scoffs, calling it the stupidest way to decide. He has nothing else to offer, though, when Korai asks him for a better idea. And Wakatoshi’s suggestion is even worse than Korai’s.
“Why not just ask them who they like?” Wakatoshi says, unzipping his lunch box with a soft zip, then carefully placing the assorted Tupperware containers on the table in front of him.
“TO THEIR FACE?” Korai shouts, lifting the table’s edge and causing Wakatoshi’s Tupperware to careen across the surface and crash against the adjacent wall.
Wakatoshi turns to his lunch, now several feet away from him, and then to Korai.
“Is there somewhere else we’re supposed to ask them?” Wakatoshi says, his voice devoid of emotion.
With a swift palm strike, he effortlessly shoves the table back into its original position, easily overpowering Korai. Korai jolts forward and then glares at Wakatoshi in response, but Wakatoshi is too busy gathering his Tupperware back together to see it.
“Oh yeah! That’ll go over real well!” Korai goes on, standing upright. “’Hey there, producer, which one of us do you wanna take back to your place and fuck?’ They’ll loooove that!”
Tobio sighs heavily, leaning back against the kitchen counter and looking deeply into his tumbler of juice. “Please don’t make me call HR. I have too much to do already.”
“So, what’s the plan then? I’m expected to just come into work and have a crush every day for the rest of my life?!” Korai cries out, throwing his arms into the air, prompting Tobio to arch an eyebrow in response.
“I’m not even going to respond to that,” Tobio grunts, the fruity taste of juice a minor distraction as he lifts the tumbler to his lips and takes a sip.
“He’s right, though.” Wakatoshi says, opening a container of cottage cheese, and Korai’s nose wrinkles at the pungent smell. “This is going to tear us apart if we don’t find a solution.”
“And I’m saying there’s no solution that doesn’t involve HR getting heavily involved!” Tobio stresses to both of them, slamming his tumbler down next to him on the counter. “Just leave it be!”
“I’ll do it then.” Korai beats a fist against his chest once. “I’ll take one for the team and get in trouble. I’ll ask.”
With lightning speed, Tobio is up and seizes Korai by the forearm; their bodies a blur of motion as they spin and Tobio pins him against the counter to keep him from leaving.
“Are you insane?!” Tobio hisses, leaning into Korai, gripping his arm so hard it’s forming marks now. “What part of HR involvement do you not understand?”
Korai rips his arm away and massages the tender flesh. “Then HOW are we going to SOLVE THIS?!”
“Knock knock!”
As you step into the kitchen, the three men abruptly stop talking, their eyes fixed on you while the hum of the coffeemaker awaits your touch. The quiet, broken only by Wakatoshi munching on his lunch, feels unsettling. You’ve never heard them so silent.
“What happened?” You ask, getting a mug from the cupboard and pouring yourself a cup of coffee. “Did someone die?” You joke.
When you turn back around, though, the three men are just staring at you as you take your first sip of coffee.
“Sorry,” You say sheepishly. “Lame joke for a true crime podcast. You guys have probably heard that dozens of times before, huh?”
“How do you feel about Korai?” Wakatoshi asks you point blank, and he points a speared cherry tomato in Korai’s direction.
The coffee machine gurgles away as you look at Wakatoshi, then at Korai, then at Tobio.
“I don’t — I don’t understand the question.” You finally say, your grip tightening around your mug.
“You don’t have to answer that!” Korai leaps in front of you, the sudden movement making you press yourself back against the cold kitchen counter. “You really don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. He’s just trying to be funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny.” Wakatoshi grumbles before piercing more cherry tomatoes with his fork and shoving them into his mouth.
You look over to Tobio for any sort of clarity, but he’s too busy trying to glare a hole into the side of Wakatoshi’s head, so he’s no help. Korai is no help either, because even though he said you don’t have to answer, his eyes are practically begging you to.
“I mean, you’re . . . enthusiastic?” You finally say.
“The word you’re looking for is loud.” Tobio responds, looking over at you, and now it’s Korai’s turn to glare.
“The word you’re looking for is annoying.” Wakatoshi adds.
Korai stomps up to the table and swipes Wakatoshi’s cottage cheese container off it.
“I’M GOING TO DUMP THIS SHIT ON YOU!” Korai threatens Wakatoshi, holding the container level with Wakatoshi’s head, but Wakatoshi remains unbothered, chewing on his unseasoned chicken breast.
With cottage cheese still in hand, Korai swivels to face you and says, “Sorry if he made you uncomfortable. Just forget we said anything.”
“No, it’s fine!” You shake your head. “I mean, I have nothing against you. I like you, you know, like you would a brother.”
The only sound to cut through the uncomfortable quiet is Wakatoshi snorting into his Tupperware.
“Oh, a brother?” Tobio finally speaks, his face breaking out into the biggest shit-eating grin. “Did you hear them, Korai? Like a sibling.”
“Can I get back to work?” You interrupt them, nodding towards the kitchen entryway. “Sorry. I just have a lot of catching up to do. I’m not trying to be rude.”
Korai waves you away with his occupied hand, cottage cheese dangerously close to spilling onto the floor. “Of course! Please! Sorry we bothered you!”
Tobio’s smile is irrepressible, his eyes still fixed on Korai as you walk by the trio and out of the kitchen. Korai stares intently at the cottage cheese in his hands, as if its creamy curds hold the key to unlocking the mysteries of time travel if he looks hard enough, while Wakatoshi calmly continues to eat.
“Like a brother.” Tobio says to himself, rubbing more salt into Korai’s giant gaping wound.
“So he’s out of the running.” Wakatoshi says, matter-of-fact, before taking another bite of chicken.
“SHUT UP!” Korai shrieks at him. “SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!” He slams the cottage cheese container down onto the table. “ENJOY YOUR CURDLED GARBAGE!”
Korai stomps out of the kitchen, ranting about how they just hate him because he’s funnier than both of them combined, leaving Tobio and Wakatoshi to stare at the table, wall, and what’s left of Wakatoshi’s lunch now sprinkled with cottage cheese bits.
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