are you dead yet?

As Natsume Youji took the spot next to me on the counter, I softened. Yeah. When would we ever need more than one person on the counter, anyway? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Oh, well. It's not like we served high cuisine or anything. I picked on this thing next to my thumbnail until the skin broke. "Ow," I mumbled, then pressed my other thumbnail against the wound.

Natsume Youji recited, "Something w—"

"No. Nothing's wrong. Why? Is something wrong for you? Why do you keep asking that?" Not even five minutes had passed and I'd already been rude to Natsume Youji. I would've sunk the nail more so it'd hurt, but then he'd notice what I was doing, which... yeah, was wrong. That's why I kept it a secret. 

A client ordered apple pie to go. Since I couldn't touch food like this, I went to clean my hand at the bathroom. Red it went. Pink it went. White it went. I covered what was wrong with a band-aid. 

After no one else new showed up for half an hour, I opened my textbook again. Plants also bled; it's just that they couldn't scream. Natsume Youji didn't tap at his phone the way anyone our age would to kill time. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, re-ordered the slices of cake we probably wouldn't sell, dusted the area, hummed under his breath. Right, he was new. But. Wait. He'd told me about his old job as a bartender before, back when he got drunk and cried and asked for cuddles. He should be experienced, so... he should be procrastinating. Right? Wasn't that how the world worked?

I had to focus. 

The girls still hadn't left. They kept giggling, gossiping, having a good time. It was kind of nice, honestly. I supposed it should've bothered me since they had laughed at me before, but it didn't. Sometimes I went to the cafeteria at college just to listen to people talk. I liked to picture how it'd be like to be somebody talking, too. It'd probably happen again eventually. I'd just have to be normal again. 

"Isao."

"Hm? Nothing's wrong."

Natsume Youji sat next to me on the table behind the counter; he must be bored out of his mind. "What are you studying?" He asked. Bored out of his mind indeed. Time to make it even worse.

"Plants," I said. 

"Ohh. What kind?"

"Just, um. In general."

"So you study botany?" So that's what he meant by 'studying'. I nodded. "It's the first time I meet someone studying that. Pretty cool." That's what they always said. "What's your favorite plant?"

"Rafflesia," I replied.

Natsume Youji rested his elbows on the table. Not content with this, he leaned forward to look at my textbook. I shriveled away. "That's the giant stinky one, right? I did a report about it for biology back in high school. When I was little, I was afraid they'd grow in the garden and eat me one day."

I snorted before I could stop myself. Natsume Youji grinned at me. To reassure him, I thought about telling him they didn't grow around these parts, but he probably knew that already. 

Talk. 

Please.

Say something.

Please. 

Don't be mean.

Anything.

"D-do you have a favorite plant?"

"Orchid."

"Oh. That one's. Nice." Which species, though? I began to scratch at the band-aid under the table. Since I had it as a shell, this wasn't something wrong anymore. It was getting hard to breathe. I'd end up being mean again sooner than later. It wasn't fair. He was so nice all the time and I couldn't even engage in small talk to amuse him. 

"...I'm bothering you, right? Sorry."

"Ah—" Whatever I said crashed in my throat before it could come out. Natsume Youji stood up. Back to the counter. Back to shifting his weight. 

I should quit. I had to quit. 

No. 

No, no, I'd just indebted myself for a new phone. Couldn't. Breathe. Quit. Talk. 

The group of schoolgirls talked among themselves. The businessman typed away at a computer. A woman around my age or so read a book. None of them seemed to care about the world behind the counter.

I stood up. Natsume Youji glanced at me, but didn't say anything this time so I wouldn't be mean to him again. Too late, though. I'd be mean. It was either making someone else suffer or slamming my head against the table until somebody called the police. 

Instead, I slammed my head against him. Wait, no, that sounded dirty. Slammed my head into him? I wished. I hoped nobody around could read minds. Perhaps a more accurate way to portray this would be to say that I placed my forehead against the back of his neck, but I didn't want to think about it that way, because if somebody did that to me I'd scream and think they were trying to kill me. I'd feel better once he pushed me away. Since he thought I was crazy I could just say something creepy like me feeling very cold and he'd accept it and act as though nothing bad happened as he so often did, or, conversely, and as a much, much better option, he'd finally leave me alone so we'd get to ignore each other in peace and eventually forget we'd ever talked outside of our job.

Please.

Shut up.

Don't ask what's wrong.

Don't ask if I need anything. 

Don't be nice to me.

Please.

Natsume Youji asked, "Do you have a least favorite plant?"

"...huh?"

"Mine is the tea plant."

"Is that a joke?"

"No. Dead serious."

I chuckled anyway, short and silent. What else could I do? I closed my eyes. "Maybe... um... oh, I know. Kudzu." 

"Why's that?"

"Because... have you seen it? You probably have. It's kind of... no, it's very scary. Very scary. It grows really fast on top of other vegetation, so it kind of... swallows...? Other plants. It's an invasive species. It grows almost two meters per week. Please don't look up pictures of it or you'll get s... uh. Sorry."

"Scared?" He asked.

"I'm sorry."

"I'll try to follow your advice."

I felt so stupid for talking about a fucking plant as though it were a serial killer... although I supposed it kind of counted. The only thing touching him was my forehead like the weird degenerate I was, but it reminded me of him crying. Well, specifically, asking for hugs. He didn't wait for confirmation, but it was okay because I wouldn't have told him no anyway, since he'd been crying. It'd been nice. Warm. He'd started talking nonsense—something about some Italian film guy that that died because of his movie. That made him weep more for some reason. Maybe he really liked the guy. 

"Client," he announced; I leaped off him. Back to business. Fortunately, this one was also to-go. I stood next to Natsume Youji. "Hey, it's fine. You can go study."

"You like movies a lot, right?" I asked. "What's your favorite one?"

Natsume Youji looked at me for a moment. It felt like a thousand of them, though. He uttered something incomprehensible, then laughed, probably due to the face I made when he said that. "It's in Italian."

"Oh! So that's why you cried when—"

He put his finger over his mouth. Holy shit. It was the second time I'd seen him frown.

"Sorry." Sorry. 

He didn't talk again after that. The schoolgirls left. Most people left. Ootsuki Rima's shift ended, as did mine. Natsume Youji's shift should end too even if he stayed during the night, given this only happened during the weekend. And Fridays. Those counted, kind of. Since he probably hated me now anyway, I went to the dressing room at the same time as he did with the full intention to gawk, but couldn't. 

"Isao?"

"I'm not looking."

"I just—what."

"Forget I said that."

Twenty seconds later (I counted), Natsume Youji asked, "Do you like men?" Like one did to people they barely knew. 

"No," I mumbled.

"I see. Um, sorry. That was kind of invasive, wasn't it?"

He'd just said 'um'. "Yes. But it's okay."

"Anything else? Girls?"

"I don't... know? How about you?"

"Men," he replied. Natsume Youji had finished dressing by then. I knew this because I looked his way, but he didn't do it back, thankfully. Maybe. "See you tomorrow, Isao."

I hadn't even started. "See you tomorrow, Natsume Youji."

...wait, hadn't he mentioned dating girls before?