We meet in the kitchen after Junichi and Daiki have left. I’m already uncomfortable heading out the door together with Shun. He must be too because he seems to be making an effort to keep his face turned away from me.

The walk to the station is quiet as he stays half a step behind me the entire way. I glance at him a few times, but he just looks stiff. I remember the day he ran through the same street with me and his irritating laugh when I told him he was annoying. That Shun seems to have checked out.

We take the train one station over to Takadanobaba and he leads me down a busy street. Shun slows his pace when we near a café entrance decorated in leafy vines and strings of lights. Jazz music leaks out the front door. Above it is a red neon sign that reads “Café Cottage Club” in cursive letters.

Shun stops and turns to look at me for the first time since we left the station. Maybe to make sure I’m still here. Once inside, a woman in uniform greets us and leads us past a cocktail bar. Lights hanging from the ceiling mixed with the red and brown furniture give the room a dark orange tint. Almost all the seats are full, most customers appearing to be in their 20s.

Shun and I are seated at a table with a fake candle. Next to it is a plastic compartment with papers inquiring, “How was your experience at Cottage Club?”

The server explains the menu briefly before leaving me alone with Shun. He quietly looks at the menu, so I do the same.

I still haven’t finished looking through it when Shun lifts his hand in the air, looking over his shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he calls.

A server approaches us.

“A Fuzzy Navel, please,” he says.

“One Fuzzy Navel,” she repeats as she writes in her order pad.

Shun and the server look at me. I stutter and hastily turn the page to the drinks section.

“Um.” I run my finger through the list of cocktails. “Can I get a… vodka martini?”

“One vodka martini,” she says. “Shall I come back later for your food order?”

“Yes, please,” Shun replies.

After she’s gone, I lean in toward Shun while he’s eyeing the food menu.

“What’s a Fuzzy Navel?” I say in a low voice.

His eyes dart up at me. “Oh, I forgot you’re a minor.”

I pause. “And you’re not?”

He rests his chin in his hand, eyes aloof while he stares at the menu.

“How old do you think I am?” he says indifferently.

“Wait.” My eyes widen. “You mean you’re older than me?”

He sets his menu down and points to it.

“I’m gonna order us a scallop ahijo, shrimp and zucchini pasta, and a caesar salad. Is that alright with you?” he says.

Still dumbfounded, I nod despite not really considering his list.

“Is there anything you want?” he asks.

I flip back to the food menu.

“I’m twenty,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

My shoulders tense up.

“You’re twenty?” I exclaim before quickly fixing my tone. “I am so sorry. I have been speaking to you so casually this whole time.”

“It’s too late to speak politely now,” he states.

I sink into my chair.

A waiter brings us our drinks and Shun orders for us. I stare at the triangular glass of clear liquid in front of me, both excited and anxious to try it. I hold it up toward Shun, but he already has a straw in his mouth. Touching the rim of the glass to my lips, the smell stings my nose. The bitter liquid seeps in and burns the inside of my mouth. I quickly swallow, the sensation following into my throat, making me grimace.

“You’ve never tried alcohol, huh?” Shun watches me with amused eyes.

“Disgusting.” I stick out my tongue.

“Did you even know what you were ordering?”

“No and I wish I never found out.” I set the glass down and push it away.

Shun eyes the martini before plucking the straw out of his drink.

“Here,” he says, sliding the orange-colored beverage toward me. “You should be able to drink this.”

I look down at it, reluctant to claim it until I watch him take a sip from my martini. I grab the tall round glass and bring it to my nose. It smells like peaches. The taste is fruity and sweet like juice. I take one more swig to confirm that I can drink it before checking Shun’s expression. He’s looking away, casually dangling the martini glass from his fingers.

“Thanks,” I say, recognizing what’s probably his first kind gesture toward me.

He says nothing.

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence between us. Shun’s eyes are straying in every direction, clearly avoiding looking at me.

“So,” I start, wanting to make this easier. “How long have you been living in the shared house?”

“About a year and a half,” he replies, still looking away.

“Oh, that’s pretty long.”

Silence.

“Is your hometown far away from Tokyo?” I ask.

“No,” he says flatly.

I wait to see if he’ll tell me where he’s from, but he appears to be done.

“Are you a student?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Where do you go to school?”

“In Mejiro.”

“What do you study?”

“Fashion design.”

“Fashion design. That’s cool.”

Silence.

He has his arms crossed now, his body slightly turned away. The sight bothers me, but I try to ignore the growing frustration and rack my brain for a topic that will get him talking. The waters at home will continue to be rough if I give up now.

“What about celebrities? Who do you like?” I try again.

He shrugs. “Why do you care?”

“Shun,” I sigh and lean back in my chair. “Please. I invited you out because I don’t want to be at war with you anymore. We need to make a truce if we’re going to live together in peace from now on. That’s never going to happen if you don’t cooperate.”

“Cooperate?” he scoffs, but doesn’t look at me. “I am cooperating.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it. I’m starting to get the feeling this is a waste of time,” I retort, threatening to leave by pushing my chair back.

I give him a moment to react and he surprises me with a sigh.

“Fine.” He faces forward and reaches for the pen on the table. He takes his unused napkin and begins scribbling something on it. I lean in to try and see what he’s doing.

“Here.” He slides the napkin across the table in my direction.

“What’s this?” I pick it up to examine it.

Signed at Tokyo, April 17th, 20XX
Shun Adachi

“You sign it too.” Shun offers me the pen.

I find myself grinning as I take it from him. It feels like I’ve gone back to elementary school, but I set the napkin down and add my signature under his anyway.

“Happy?” he says emotionlessly.

“Yeah, that’s better,” I chirp and slide it back toward him.

“You can keep it,” he says.

“No,” I refuse. “You take it so I know you won’t go back on your word.”

He finally looks me in the eye as he slowly reaches for the napkin.

“Whatever you do, don’t throw it away or lose it. Keep it filed somewhere safe so no one can steal or damage it,” I order, only half-joking.

He stares at it blankly before finally tucking it into his jacket pocket. Another awkward silence follows, so I try to think of another conversation starter.

“What about you?” His sudden question throws me off. “Which celebrities do you like?”

It’s happening! He’s doing it! He’s making peace with me! I can’t hold back a smile.

“Well, my favorites are Rio Fujita, Emi Nagai, Nanasa, Katey Hara,” I trail off, trying to remember who else I like.

“Nanasa, Katey Hara…” Shun echoes. “Aren’t all of those women known for their ridiculously long legs?”

“Yes, exactly!” I verify, pointing a finger at him. “I love nice legs. They drive me mad.”

He rolls his eyes, a corner of his mouth quirking up.

“I know you don’t get it because you’re not into girls, but if you were straight you would go crazy over attractive thighs!”

He gives me an impassive look. I shake my head, wondering why I’m saying this to Shun.

“Well, I guess you have your own thighs, so—” I try to swallow the words back immediately, but it’s too late.

“What?” I have no idea what kind of face he’s making as I shamefully stare down at my hands in my lap.

This is bad. He doesn’t know I’ve seen his blog photos. No, there’s an even bigger proble—

“Are you saying I have nice thighs?” he asks.

I wince and look up, finding a smirk forming on his face. I stammer, my brain searching for ways to save myself. At the same time, I’m distracted by the burning sensation in my cheeks, convinced my whole face is about to go up in flames.

“Why are you getting red?” He laughs.

“I think the alcohol is starting to kick in.” My voice shakes. I’m unable to look him in the eye.

“You had half a drink.” He continues to laugh, forcing me to realize there’s no saving myself now.

“Okay,” he says teasingly. “Maybe if you’re nice, I’ll let you rub my thighs.”

“N-no, I’m good.”

“But you just implied you’d go crazy over them.”

A server carrying our food is my savior. He places it front of us while explaining something I don’t bother listening to. I take a deep breath to calm myself as I try to think of something—anything—to say so Shun doesn’t try to continue the conversation after he leaves. There has to be something I can use as a distraction.

“By the way,” I start the moment the server walks away. “I noticed you wear V-3 shoes.”

“Yeah.” He nods as he dishes salad onto his plate. “Why? You like them?”

“Yeah! I’ve been wanting a pair of V-3 sneakers for a while now, but I can’t afford them.”

“I see. I bought mine for just under 8,000 yen.”

“What!” I exclaim.

“I have a friend who runs a secondhand clothing store in Shimo-Kitazawa. They almost always have V-3 sneakers in stock,” he explains.

“For under 8,000 yen?” I perk up.

“With a friend discount,” he adds.

“Oh,” I sit back again, disappointed.

There’s a minute of silence while we eat. I really want to check out that thrift shop, but Shun and I aren’t exactly ‘friends’.

“I can get you the discount if you want them that badly,” Shun says, his eyes still glued to his food.

“You can?” My spirit rises again.

“Yes, but you would have to go there together with me,” he trails off, uncertain.

“Sure!” I respond excitedly.

He looks up at me, eyes widening.

“Alright, time to get me some new shoes!” I shove a fork full of pasta into my mouth.

“You really don’t hold back, do you?” Shun comments as he watches me.

I look back up at him while I chew and swallow.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I thought you just had a bad temper, but you’re straight up when you’re happy, too.”

“Oh,” I utter. “Yeah, I guess I don’t like beating around the bush. Sorry if I came off as a jerk.”

“It’s actually kind of refreshing,” he mumbles.

I wonder what he means by refreshing, but I’m not curious enough to ask.

We eat our food, only saying a few things here and there. This time the quiet feels a little less uncomfortable. I think I may have achieved my goal for the evening. If I’m reading the situation right, after tonight, Shun and I will go home and there will be no more glaring, no more yelling, no more tricks. There will only be peace.