Chapter 4: The Rain and the Clock

The electronic chime above the door let out a brief, two-note beep as a sudden gust of wind rattled the glass pane, but no one came in. It was 3:12 AM now. The deepest part of the night, where even the city seemed to hold its breath.

​Mizuki had gone back to her parfait, scraping the very last remnants of strawberry syrup from the bottom of the plastic cup. The soft clinking of her spoon against the plastic was the loudest sound in the store.

​"Hey," she said, looking at the empty cup with a small, disappointed pout. "Do you think people would notice if I gained weight from eating these every Tuesday?"

​Kazuki was leaning against the register counter, his chin resting in his palm. He didn't even look up from the digital screen showing the store's inventory. "You're a model. Isn't your whole job based on people noticing things like that?"

​"Sadly, yes," she sighed, spinning the empty cup around on the counter. "My manager weighs me every Monday morning. It’s terrifying. I practically starve myself on Sundays just so the scale doesn't make her sigh."

​"Sounds miserable."

​"It is. But then Tuesday night comes around, and I get to sit here." She looked over at him, a soft, sleepy smile on her face. "Honestly, the terror of Monday makes this taste twice as good. It’s like a little rebellion."

​Kazuki finally looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. He stayed quiet for a second, processing how exhausting her life sounded, before he let out a small huff. He walked over to the hot snacks display by the counter—the one that was supposed to be emptied and cleaned an hour ago. Inside, sitting on the heated metal rack, was a single, lonely pork bun.

He pulled out a paper bag, grabbed the bun with a pair of metal tongs, and slid it inside. He walked over to her stool and set it down next to her empty parfait cup.

​Mizuki blinked at the bag, then up at him, her eyes wide. "What’s this? I didn't order this."

​"Waste reduction," Kazuki said smoothly, crossing his arms and looking out the window. "The timer expired at 3:00 AM. If I don't write it down as spoiled and throw it away, my manager yells at me for bad inventory management. But if I write it down as spoiled and then someone happens to eat it, it’s not my problem."

​Mizuki stared at the warm paper bag, the heat radiating through the paper and casting a faint, savory scent into the air. A sudden, soft warmth flooded her expression. "Tachibana-san... are you feeding me because you feel bad for me?"

​"I'm feeding you because I don't want to clean grease off the bottom of the heating rack," he muttered, though his eyes darted away, a faint tinge of pink touching the tips of his ears. "Just eat it. It’s better than celery."

Mizuki didn't tease him this time. She could see right through his prickly exterior, and it made her chest feel incredibly light. She opened the bag, took out the steaming, fluffy bun, and broke it in half. A small cloud of steam rose between them, smelling of ginger and seasoned pork.

She held out one half toward him.

"What?" Kazuki asked, looking at the half-bun in front of his face.

"Half each," she said firmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "A proper rebellion needs co-conspirators. Plus, if my manager somehow finds out, I'm dragging you down with me."

Kazuki looked from the pork bun to her face. She looked entirely too determined for a girl sitting in a convenience store at three in the morning. With a slow, defeated sigh, he reached out and took the half she was offering.

"Fine," he grumbled, taking a bite. It was warm, savory, and exactly what a graveyard shift needed.

They ate in silence, side by side under the harsh, bright lights of the Lawson, listening to the rain slowly taper off into a soft drizzle outside. For a few minutes, there were no cameras, no managers, and no expectations. Just a warm bun shared between two people who were glad to have the company.