Ten

What had she been thinking? Kaho's mind was a typhoon. She lost herself in her thoughts, she'd just succumbed to daydreams, which was normal enough to her, but usually they were of long baths or a good ice pop on the way home from school, or skipping stones on the canal while the cicadas chirped. But this was different. This was a fantasy about cheating. She'd never thought she'd be one of those girls. 

Was she fighting for Tatsuya? Was he fighting for her? They talked every day, even if it was only fleeting. He still hadn't said he loved her. But before Naseru, that hadn't been as much of a problem. Why was that a nail in the coffin now? After all, she didn't know this boy, this boy that a future iteration of herself was desperate to save. Surely if he wasn't someone important, she wouldn't have done that. 

But what was this feeling, this compulsion, longing, desperation to hold his hand and be by his side. It was a burning ferocity she'd never felt toward Tatsuya. She'd known from the get-go she didn't ever have him to herself. But with Naseru, he could be all hers if he wanted to. 

"Are you okay, Aigawa?" Naseru asked, interrupting her furious thoughts.

Kaho looked up from the floor, Naseru was looking over his shoulder at her, brows furrowed, slightly upturned. She met his gaze and nodded, praying he didn't have a good read on her. 

"Oh! Yeah. For sure." Kaho replied. 

"It's late," he muttered, "I lost track of time."

"Is that a problem?" Kaho asked.

"I don't want to keep you out late," Naseru said, "I shouldn't be a bad influence on you, Aigawa." 

Kaho snorted, "You're worrying now? After we spent the night in a cell the other day!"

An amused look crossed Naseru's face. 

"I'm just as capable of being the bad influence here," she said. Kaho smirked at him and skipped ahead, leading the way so she was the one tugging Naseru behind her, the neon lights of the high street ebbing into bright blurs in her periphery. If she drew Naseru now, it would be a mixed media piece, the lights from the storefronts being splashes of mixed watercolours or inks, poured from height onto the canvas so it could spatter and bleed onto the canvas. Then she would sketch that dumbfounded look on his face, immortalise it with pencils or pastels. She wished she could commit him to canvas, produce one from thin air and make him her muse. Everything in his wake was art. 

"Aigawa," Naseru said, digging his heels into the floor, pulling her back. Kaho stumbled forward. She looked up at him through her messy hair. 

"We're here," he said, gesturing to the restaurant he'd taken them to. The same one Kikiyo still worked at for three nights a week. 

The restaurant by the station. Had he taken her through a shortcut? 

Naseru held the door open for Kaho, and a woman in her early twenties with a pierced nose and severe pillar box red bob was waiting at the front, ready to usher guests inside. Whatever customer service smile she had plastered on her face crumbled and reformed in a smaller, toothy grin, "Evening Matsuoka. You're not on shift tonight are you?" 

"Not tonight Michimiya, just here for the food." 

She snorted and rolled her eyes, "Come on in, Narita is going to want to serve you, you know."

She led them to a table for two that faced the kitchen and handed them each a menu. Naseru didn't look at the meals on offer, probably because he knew what was good already. Michimiya, the redhead, walked into the kitchen, "Mr Narita! Matsuoka's here."

An elderly man shuffled out of the kitchen, his hands behind his back. He had a heart-shaped face, a balding head, with thinning white hair and tanned skin. His face was covered in smile lines. 

"Hello, hello Matsuoka. How are you?" 

"I'm good thank you, Mr Narita." 

"Not had enough of us when you're at work." 

"Never, sir." 

"That's why I keep you around." 

Kaho stopped listening. It was clear they were going to blank her. She nodded demurely and let her eyes roam the restaurant. The lighting was dim, and inviting, giving guest privacy and a sense of intimacy. Candles burned on all the tables where guests ate, encased in glass cases for the wax to fill. There were three on their table, mismatched glasses that could have easily been picked up at a thrift store as they could have been meticulously chosen for this precise table at the restaurant. Large windows faced out to the street, where guests could see the train station. A little notice board with train times was erected on the corner above the window where many restaurants would have a TV. The kitchen had bright yellow lights burning through the galley, and massive white doors that contrasted with the warm rustic vibes in the rest of the room. The servers wore white shirts and black trousers of some variety, and music played from an overhead speaker mounted on the wall, jazz music filling the room. 

There were many empty tables for two, but a few older couples were dining by the candlelight, eating udon and drinking spirits, their joy joining the saxophone solo playing from the speaker. 

Kaho's eyes, however, fixed on the far distance, where a mural of vintage photo frames, all painted bronze hung from the back wall. Pictures of couples, some in black and white, some with camera beauty filters, and others taken on ancient digital cameras were crammed together on the wall. The photographs were of pairs sat at various points in that very restaurant, clinking glasses, posing, smiling, and laughing. It was a shrine to romance. It made Kaho's heart swell. As a place on the verge of transience, it seemed crazy for men for so many dates and romantic dinners to take place.

"Katsudon, please, Mr. Narita," Naseru said, "Kaho?"

"Sorry, what?" Kaho asked. 

"Food. What do you want?" Naseru prompted. If it had been anyone else at the table, Ryota, Kikiyo or Mariah, Hell, even Tatsuya, she would have had a kick in the shin along with that question. 

"The same," Kaho said. She wasn't listening. The waiter nodded, and bowed, scuttling to the back. Naseru looked at her pointedly. 

"You know I ordered a batch of deep-fried pickled eel livers on a bed of al dente rice, with raw green peppers and wasabi, you know." 

Kaho rolled her eyes, "Sure you did, because this place would ferment eel liver in a pickle jar just for you Matsuoka." 

"It's actually the owner's favourite. I'll prove it," Naseru said. 

The waiter came back, a small tray with their soft drinks in hand. He placed the diet cola in front of Naseru and the lemonade in front of Kaho. 

"Mr Narita, please tell Aigawa here about the jar of eel livers." 

Mr Narita's eyes widened. A small crossed his face that split his round cheeks in two. He nodded vigorously, "They're very good, Miss Aigawa. You'd enjoy them." 

Kaho gulped and lowered her head, praying he was pulling her leg. After all, if Naseru worked there, maybe this was a running joke among the staff? Sometimes people made jokes like that, right?

"Do you want a picture?" Mr Narita said.

"Of the eels?" Kaho squeaked. 

He laughed, clutching his sides. Naseru snorted too, and turned away, the faintest tinge of pink dusting his cheeks. 

"No, no, of you two. Young love! A picture for this wall here, where you can remember your first date! A picture for your wedding! For your kids and grandkids and everyone after. A picture for your parents. A picture for young lovers and your wallets. Let's take a picture!" Mr Narita exclaimed, clapping his veiny hands.

The restaurant staff and patrons clapped their hands, occasionally gesturing to the back wall. Michimiya was laughing, filming the whole thing on a phone she probably shouldn't have on her as the usher. Her phone's camera was trained on Naseru's grumpy face, and Kaho's deer-in-the-headlights look. 

"Cut it out, old man," Naseru muttered, "She's just a classmate."

"A classmate, eh? Who do you know whose still out with their classmates at ten pm on a school night, Matsuoka? You're a real Cassanova. So, picture? Picture?"

Kaho laughed, "I mean, why not?" 

"Exactly! The lady is right. Even if you are classmates, it doesn't mean you can't have a special moment captured, right?"

"Yeah, Matsuoka," Kaho said, grinning, "Consider it a celebration of you joining the basketball team. Hey, should we toast? To friendship." 

Naseru rolled his eyes as the shutter and flash of a camera went off. He blinked furiously and reached a hand out to Mr Narita. He laughed spiritedly and handed the digital camera over. Naseru huffed to himself and passed it across the table to Kaho. She'd been mid-sentence when Mr Narita was talking, her animated expression was full of joy and wonder. She smiled and handed it back to him. 

"Could I leave my email address? So you can send me that?" 

"I er, I don't know how to do technology, see. But Kirami over there will help, I'm sure," he said, gesturing to the redhead Naseru had called Michimiya. She had a beautiful name. It suited her. 

She strode over and took the camera from Mr Narita and snorted, "I'll send this straight over, can I take that email?" 

She handed Kaho a little notebook and a pencil. Kaho wrote her email address and handed it back. While the two waited for their meals, she felt her phone buzz. She opened the email and downloaded the image. A souvenir; preserving a memory that, in years to come, might hold a story much deeper than a simple dinner between 'classmates'.