A Responsible Roommate, Huh?

The night had finally started to settle (sort of).

The chaos that had consumed the izakaya for the past few hours had dulled to a manageable level, not because anyone had suddenly developed a sense of self-control, but because exhaustion was finally catching up to them.

Most of the guests had hit that in-between stage of drinking, where exhaustion dulled their enthusiasm, but sobriety hadn’t fully returned.

People were slumped over tables, laughter coming slower, voices a little hoarse. Every now and then, someone would groan, realizing how much they were going to regret this in the morning.

The bartender, who despite looking like he had aged ten years in the past two hours, wordlessly dropped a stack of menus onto their table. Or more accurately, their two tables that had been forcibly shoved together in a hasty act of diplomacy. It was an unholy fusion of IT department and circus folk, lopsided, unstable, and on the verge of collapse, much like the people sitting around it.

Akio sighed, wrapping his fingers around the ceramic cup in front of him. It was green tea, a desperate attempt to sober up to prevent the inevitable hangover. He took a careful sip, ignoring the way his eyelids felt heavier with every passing second.

Akio found himself sandwiched between Kubo-san and Amaya. Amaya had finally run out of steam. Like a deflated balloon, she had collapsed against his shoulder, murmuring soft complaints about being hungry while making no effort to do anything about it.

For once, Akio wasn’t even annoyed. For the first time in the past 4 hours, Amaya was: not yelling, not climbing things, not causing public disturbances and not attempting to radicalize the youth.

She was just… quiet. And for that he was grateful.

He hesitated for a second, then tilted the menu toward her. “Are you going to order something, or are you just going to keep whining?”

She made a noise in response, a tired, pathetic little grumble, followed by a sound somewhere between a sigh and a dying cat.

Akio sighed right back, adjusting the menu in his grip.

"That's not an answer."

Still no response. Just more weight against his side, more warmth pressing into him. He frowned down at her, where her face was half-buried in the fabric of his sleeve.

“…You’re useless,” he muttered, but he didn’t shake her off.

Across from them, Mio and Juliya were still going strong. Talking, laughing, and drinking, with Soba-chan looped loosely around them, sound asleep. Akio, to his horror, realized he actually found it kind of endearing.

…He had clearly been here too long.

Everyone else at the table had become a blurry background mix of IT nerds and circus weirdos, all in various states of exhaustion. And yet, for all its dysfunction, it was almost... tolerable. It wasn’t great, but after everything that had happened tonight? It was better.

They ordered food, unsurprisingly, Akio ended up ordering for Amaya. By that point, she had fully entered dead battery mode, draped over the table like a forgotten coat, barely reacting to anything except the occasional effort to mumble an approving noise whenever he listed a menu item.

"Mmm, that sounds good," she slurred when he read off grilled squid.

"Mmm, that too," when he got to the karaage.

By the time he reached the rice bowls, he was pretty sure she was just responding on autopilot.

Whatever, it wasn’t his problem.

When the table was filled with spreads of food, Akio could finally let himself relax.

The end was in sight, nobody was on fire anymore, nobody was breaking any laws and surprisingly, Kubo-san hadn’t lied, the takowasa here really was godly.

He took a bite, delighting in the perfect balance of chewy, briny octopus and wasabi heat.

To the side, Naomi was mid-heist, her fingers sneaking toward Kubo-san’s plate. Kubo-san slapped her hand away with the reflexes of a seasoned warrior.

Naomi hissed, cradling her stinging hand.

“Oi,” she whined. “I thought we were friends!”

“We are,” Kubo-san said. “But even friendship has boundaries.”

Naomi shook her head in disbelief. “This betrayal. Right in front of my miso-soup.”

Akio rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back to his food, only to pause when he realised Amaya was struggling.

Her chopsticks wobbled, fingers adjusting awkwardly. She locked her wrist, steadied her grip, and closed in on a piece of karaage. The moment she lifted it, it slipped.

She tried again. It shot across her plate like a cannonball.

Amaya puffed out her cheeks, pressing her lips into a pout. Determined, she abandoned technique altogether and desperately started stabbing at the food.

It was so unbelievably stupid; he couldn't help it. A burst of laughter escaped before he could swallow it down.

“...You’re awful at this.”

She immediately scowled, narrowing her eyes at him. “No, I’m not! I just—”

She was lying, she was terrible, and it made absolutely no sense.

Her motor skills were borderline superhuman, he has witnessed this firsthand. Just tonight, he had watched her balance on the palm of her hands, holding a full conversation in four different languages while doing so. And yet...Chopsticks. Tiny, stupid, wooden sticks had completely and utterly defeated her.

Before he could even think about what he was doing, his hand moved on its own.

He picked up a piece of gyoza and popped it straight into her mouth.

Amaya froze.

Her lips parted slightly, her chopsticks slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the table as her cheeks flushed pink.

First, he wondered why he did that? Then he wondered when did she become so pretty? No, she’s always been pretty, but right now she was even more pretty.

Until now, he hadn’t realised how close her face was to his, how soft she looked. Her wide, glossy eyes still locked onto him in surprise, her cheeks dusted pink, her loose braids framing her face in gentle, messy waves.

His heart skipped a beat, and before the thought could fully take shape, heat crept up his neck, pooling under his collar.

He snapped his gaze away, stuffing rice into his mouth, trying not to think about it.

“Holy. Shit.”

Akio froze mid-chew.

Naomi slammed a hand on the table, causing a bottle of soy sauce to topple over and roll across the table. Her eyes gleamed with unholy excitement.

“Oh my god.” She grinned, positively demonical. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a prime example of unresolved sexual tension. Right here. Front and centre.”

“I can’t wait for this to explode spectacularly in their faces! It’s going to be so good!” She mimed an explosion with her hands, her fingers bursting apart like fireworks.

Akio slammed a fist against his chest, violently choking on his rice while cold dread crept up his spine. He gulped down some tea in a panic, before finally managing to croak out a weak: 

“…What?”

“Oh, you know.” Naomi leaned forward, propping her chin in her hands. “The way you just oh-so-tenderly fed Amaya, like a devoted husband making sure his precious wife is well-nourished.”

Akio tensed.

“It’s NOT like that,” he snapped. “I was just—I was just being a responsible roommate.”

Kubo-san set his drink down and raised a humoured brow. “A responsible roommate, huh? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

Akio turned on him immediately.

“Don’t you start.”

“Ohhh, I get it.” Naomi nodded sagely. “You two have a will-they-won’t-they thing going on. It’s a classic.”

“We don’t—”

“But it’s so obvious,” she cut him off. “Enemies-to-lovers. Star-crossed roommates. Forced proximity. Ooh, ooh! I bet there’s only one bed in your apartment!”

Amaya’s blush had spread all the way to her ears. She slammed her hands flat on the table, the soy sauce bottle the gothic clown had just picked up fell over again.

She shot to her feet, her voice high, panicked, and a little too defensive.

“THERE ARE TWO BEDS!”

Akio was very aware of Naomi and Kubo-san who were shaking, trying to smother their laughter behind their palms.

He grabbed Amaya’s wrist and yanked her back down. She let out an indignant squawk as she flopped black into her chair.

“Why did you say it like that?!” he hissed.

The entire table stared.

“But we’re not sleeping together.” She complained. Her face was still pink, and she refused to look at Akio.

Akio, for his part, refused to look at her, too.

They sat there, silent, awkward, and not looking at each other.

Kubo-san grinned. “I give it three months, tops.”

“Two.” Naomi countered.

Akio felt himself burning up. He tugged at his collar, desperate to vent the overheating.

“I am never,” he muttered darkly, “going out drinking with you people again.”

Naomi burst into raucous laughter. “Oh, honey. You’re stuck with us now.” She beamed.

Before Akio could complain, Kubo-san cleared his throat loudly, cutting through the lingering laughter.

"Alright, alright," he announced, tapping his glass against the table just hard enough to grab everyone's attention.

With a lopsided grin, Kubo-san turned to Akio, lifting his drink higher. “To our newest teammate! Welcome to the family Hosonuma-kun!”

The IT team cheered, drinks lifted, glasses clinking together, mild enthusiasm and alcohol-induced loyalty rang through the air.

Akio muttered something resembling gratitude and raised his cup of green tea in defeat, mostly to avoid looking like a sore loser.

"And to Amaya-chan!" Juliya declared, raising her own cup.

The circus crew exploded into cheers, a mix of shouting, hollering, and someone juggling random cutlery.

If Amaya was embarrassed before she had forgotten all about it, the second the attention swung back in her favour she bounced right back.

She snatched her sours glass with an elfin grin and knocked it loudly against Juliya’s.

"Yay, me!" She chirped, downing what was left of her sours.

Akio rolled his eyes as she set the glass down with a little too much force, looking far too pleased with herself (even though she was barely surviving two sours). 

She was a total lightweight, no featherweight. If she had any less tolerance, she’d get tipsy off mouthwash.