Chapter 13:

The pencil felt alien in my hand at 6 AM, but I tried anyway. Circle for the cup. Curved line for the handle. It looked like a mutant donut, but it was better than yesterday's attempt.

"Why are you awake?" Yoriko's text interrupted my concentration. "And why did Hina see you buying art supplies yesterday???"

I ignored her, adding shading to my mutant donut. It somehow made it worse.

By lunch, Yoriko had assembled what she called "the investigation committee"—really just our usual friends who were bored and nosy.

"Art supplies," Hina reported. "Basic pencils and a small sketchbook. Very suspicious."

"She's been doodling all through morning classes," another friend added. "Circles. Lots of circles."

"They're coffee cups," I protested.

"They're evidence!" Yoriko slammed her hands on the desk. "Evidence that art student has gotten back to you. When's your next study date?"

"It's not a date. He's teaching me basic drawing."

"In exchange for?"

"Essay help. Byzantine art."

"That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard." She clutched her chest. "Bonding over dead saints and coffee cups. I'm so proud."

I escaped to the library for the rest of lunch, but found myself sketching in my margins anyway. Circles. Cylinders. Basic shapes that Sota made look effortless but fought me at every attempt.

Still, I kept trying.

The afternoon shift started with my usual pre-Sota nervousness. Which was stupid. We were just... friends who studied together... Friends who texted about vegetables... Friends who'd held pinkies during fireworks...

I was so doomed.

The bell chimed at 3:10—early for him. He stood at the counter with a white bakery box, looking oddly nervous.

"You're early."

"Yeah, I..." He lifted the box slightly. "Made a stop first. Nishiki mentioned you liked these."

I recognized the bakery label. Third Street, the expensive place that made everything from scratch. My stomach twisted from the gesture.

"Lemon tarts?"

"If that's okay? I thought we could—I mean, studying's better with snacks, right?"

The familiar weight of what I couldn't have settled on my chest. But his expression was so hopeful, so carefully casual despite the nervousness underneath.

"That's really thoughtful." I took the box, trying not to let my hands shake. "I'll put these in the fridge for later. Save them for after my shift when I can properly enjoy them."

"Oh. Yeah, of course." He rubbed his neck. "I should have asked first—"

"No, it's perfect. Really." I managed a genuine smile. "I love lemon tarts. Thank you."

His whole face brightened. "Cool. Good. Um, usual table?"

"I'll bring coffee."

I escaped to the back, carefully placing the box in the fridge. The tarts looked perfect through the clear lid—golden crusts, glossy lemon curd. I touched the box once before closing the fridge door.

Another thing I couldn't have. Add it to the list.

But when I returned with his coffee, Sota had spread out not just his textbooks but my sad sketchbook from yesterday that had been lying behind the counter.

"You practiced," he said, looking delighted.

"Yeah, its pretty badly isn't it?"

"No, look—" He traced one of my circles. "This one's actually round. Yesterday yours were more... interpretive."

"That's a nice way of saying lopsided."

Cough* "Art term. Very professional." He pulled out fresh paper. "Today we're doing perspective. To make your coffee cups three-dimensional."

"My circles barely exist in two dimensions."

"Then we'll work on that first." He drew a perfect circle in one smooth motion. "The trick is using your whole arm, not just your wrist."

He demonstrated again, slower. I tried to copy the movement and produced an egg.

"Better! See? Eggs are just circles with personality."

"You're way too optimistic about this."

"Someone has to be. You've been glaring at that paper like it personally offended you."

We worked through shapes for twenty minutes before I had to help other customers. When I returned, he'd drawn little faces on all my failed circles, turning them into a parade of lopsided characters.

"You defaced my practice."

"I enhanced your abstract art." He pointed to a particularly wonky circle with angry eyebrows. "This one's my favorite. Very expressive."

"That's supposed to be a coffee cup."

"Ah, but now it's an angry coffee cup. Much more interesting."

I laughed despite myself, settling back into the chair. "Fine. Show me more about this perspective before you turn all my cups into cartoons."

The lesson continued with him guiding me through basic three-dimensional shapes. His teaching style was patient, breaking everything into smaller steps when I struggled. Occasionally our hands brushed when he adjusted my grip, and neither of us pulled away as quickly as we should have.

"You're getting it," he said after I managed a recognizable cube. "See? You have natural talent."

"Liar... But thanks." I checked the time—break almost over. "I should get back."

"Same time Tuesday?"

"Actually..." I hesitated, then pushed forward. "What about Saturday? If you're not busy. The afternoon shift is quiet, and I could use more practice."

His smile was immediate and brilliant. "Saturday's perfect. I'll bring my Byzantine notes for round two."

"Bring easier homework. My brain can only handle so many saints."

"Deal."

The rest of my shift passed in a blur of coffee orders and stolen glances at our table. Sota worked steadily, occasionally looking up to catch me watching. Each time, we'd both look away, smiling like idiots.

"You seem happy," Yoshimura observed during a lull.

"It's a nice day."

"Indeed." He polished a glass that was already spotless. "The young man brings out something good in you."

"Manager—"

"I'm merely observing. It's rare to see you truly smile, Touka-chan." His expression grew thoughtful. "Life is complicated. But perhaps some complications are worth embracing."

Before I could respond, he'd glided away to help a customer. I stood there, processing his words. Manager never spoke without purpose.

Evening approached. Sota packed up slowly, clearly reluctant to leave which was cute to see.

"Thanks again for the tarts," I said as he shouldered his bag restraining a chuckle. "I'm looking forward to them later."

"Let me know if they're good? The bakery lady was very insistent about that batch being perfect."

"I will."

We stood there, the space between us full of unspoken things. Then he smiled—soft, understanding—and headed for the door.

"See you Saturday, Touka."

"See you Saturday."

After he left, I retrieved the bakery box from the fridge. The tarts were beautiful, perfect golden circles I couldn't enjoy. But I photographed one anyway, sending it to him with: Bakery lady was right. They do look perfect.

His response came quickly: Save me one? Want to hear the verdict.

I stared at the message, throat tight. He wanted to share them. Of course he did. Because he was kind and thoughtful and had no idea what I was.

I'll try, I sent back. But no promises. They look really good.

Fair enough. Enjoy them—you deserve something sweet after dealing with my art crisis all afternoon.

I locked my phone, carefully returning the tarts to the fridge. Tomorrow I'd give them to Yoriko, claim I was too full from dinner. She loved lemon anything.

But tonight, I let myself imagine what it would be like to actually share them. To sit across from Sota and enjoy something sweet without calculating the cost. To be the girl he thought I was—just Touka. Coffee girl waitress who was learning to draw.

The fantasy hurt almost as much as the reality.

But Mr. Yoshimura was right. Some complications were worth embracing.

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A/N: Anyone got a suggestion to use instead of 'complications'? it seemed fine at first but now that I've been writing them for quite a while I've been struggling to judge whether I've been using it too much.

Anyway, ciao!