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“Just put it on my tab,” Kaoru said nonchalantly, massaging a crick in his neck as Kojiro took his plate, which only held some leftover sauce from the penne alla vodka that had once been there. Kojiro didn’t bat an eye at the comment, making hardly any indication that he even heard it.
“Tab? What’s that?” Langa asked from across the room, head tilted slightly like a confused puppy (some Japanese words or phrases still tripped up the Canadian). Reki seemed to be practically attached to the other boy at all times, and in this instance he was standing behind where Langa sat on his chair, leaning over his shoulder so they could both read some skating magazine that was on the table.
“It means that I’ll be paying for it at a later date,” Kaoru supplied, but with a smirk that said there was more to the situation.
“Yeah, except your tab has been going on for nearly five years,” Kojiro mumbled in mock annoyance. In reality, though, he couldn’t care less whether he was paid or not.
If you were to ask Kojiro and Kaoru where the concept had come from, they would lie and tell you they couldn’t quite recall. But, indeed, both remembered quite well the first circumstance in which Kaoru put something on his tab. It was years prior, the restaurant only a few months old. It was the first time Kaoru burst in after hours without his "S" getup on.
“We’re closed,” Kojiro had said with little actual conviction before catching sight of his friend’s expression. Though Kaoru tried to remain stony as usual, Kojiro was able to see right through it. His jaw was clenched a little too tight, his forehead a little too wrinkled.
“Adam is back,” he said simply, causing Kojiro to freeze in his actions.
“Oh, is he now?” the chef asked with a quirk of his eyebrow and a frown. “How do you know?” This question came with far less contempt than the last.
“He was at 'S', apparently,” Kaoru explained, pulling up a photo on his phone and holding it out for Kojiro to see. The latter took the device into his hands and yup, that was Adam, alright. Perhaps he was a bit more costumed than the last time they saw him, his hood replaced with a mask, but both of them knew that hair, that twisted smile.
“Nice of him to pay us a visit,” Kojiro remarked sarcastically, handing the phone back to Kaoru, who was now seated at the bar. “I’ll be right back.”
When Kojiro returned, placed a plate of veal picatta in front of Kaoru.
“It’s just extra leftovers, wouldn’t want it to go to waste,” he fibbed, not quite meeting his friend’s eye when he did so. He was planning to eat the meal himself, but determined that perhaps his friend needed some the comfort food more than he did. Adam had been closer with Kaoru (and though the stubborn bastard would likely never admit it, Kojiro had his suspicions that he and Adam had previously had something going on beyond friendship). The way Kaoru had flopped down into the seat and the way he was rubbing a loose strand of pink hair between his pale fingers told Kojiro that he was frustrated but perhaps unwilling to talk about it immediately. He took a quite aggressive bite of the meat, juxtaposed by a hum of delight when the flavors settled on his tongue. It was his way of telling Kojiro the food tasted excellent without actually uttering the complimentary words aloud. Underneath most of their insults lay a secret language only the two understood. Sure, they had been a bit more tender to each other in their youth, more willing to share their emotions before their walls had gone up with adulthood. To most, it might have almost appeared that their relationship was progressing backwards, but, well, Kojiro and Kaoru were never ones to do things the normal way.
“He thinks he can just leave and arrive at his leisure without so much as a warning to us,” Kaoru said coldly after a few bites of his meal. He hated using a fork and knife, but always got a retort from Kojiro about it being an Italian restaurant when he complained about the cutlery. He carved angrily into the veal.
“That’s Adam for ya, just doing whatever the hell he wants with no regard for others.”
“You think he’d accept if I challenged him to a beef?” Kaoru’s hands stopped moving, waiting for an answer before he took his next bite, eyes trained on Kojiro’s expression and body language.
“Nah,” he said, “plus, I don’t think you’d want to. He plays dirty.” Kojiro couldn’t help but think of all those who had to find that out the hard way. Too many times he had winced and turned his head before he actually said something in opposition to Adam. He was able to recall Kaoru’s reaction to such races, too. He never looked away like he did, but Kojiro could tell from the stiffness of his body that it was taking everything in him not to.
“You act like you wouldn’t ask him, either,” Kaoru said smugly, though there was no teasing smile on his lips like usual. His gaze on Kojiro was hard, staring right through the facade he didn’t even know he had put up. He did not reply to Kaoru’s accusation, allowing the silence to speak for itself. Neither of them should race Adam, but both knew they would, given the chance. For what? They didn’t quite know. Once upon a time, Adam had been fun to race against, but that wasn’t quite the case anymore.
Both of them stayed quiet as Kaoru polished off his meal, leaving the plate almost as clean as it was directly after being washed by some pimply teenager in the kitchen earlier.
“I don’t have a means of paying for this,” Kaoru realized, patting the pockets of his yukata, to no avail. He had stormed over to Sia La Luce in an agitated rage, foregoing his wallet.
“Just…” Kojiro looked thoughtful for a moment, “I’ll put it on your tab,” he finished, taking the plate away from the counter, placing it on the counter behind him. He made a mental note to bring it back to the kitchen later (he would ultimately forget to do so, accidentally leaving it to be cleaned up by waitstaff in the morning).
“My tab?” Kaoru asked. He knew what the concept of a tab was, but still asked anyway, eyeing Kojiro suspiciously.
“Yeah,” he confirmed, “you don’t have to pay for it now. Just pay me back before you die and we’re all good.” He said this with a wink, and Kaoru allowed himself the smallest of smiles despite his sour mood.
~~~
Kaoru did not, in fact, ever pay Kojiro back, and both of them knew he never would.
At first, Kaoru only used the tab when he had forgotten his wallet or was in a particularly sour mood. But as technology developed and apps that saved one’s credit card information came into existence, a forgotten wallet became an inadequate excuse. Eventually, though, Kaoru ended up just “putting it on his tab” more than he paid without justification. Ultimately, he knew that if it bothered Kojiro, the chef wouldn’t hesitate to let him know through a passive-aggressive (or just an aggressive-aggressive) remark. It never came though. Kojiro always just nodded or hummed in response, taking away Kaoru’s plate wordlessly. Of course, when Kaoru was there on business he always paid, no one needed to know the pair knew each other (that was history he did not want to get into in front of clients, knowing that they would inevitably politely inquire about their friendship).
It wasn’t that Kaoru was cheap, but the two had a mutual understanding that this was one of Kojiro’s ways of showing his affection to his dear friend. As their exchanges grew more and more playfully argumentative, Kaoru paid less and less for his meals. As they matured, they found that they didn’t need obvious sentiments to communicate their emotions, and that Kojiro communicated through sharing food, undeniably one of his passions.
Occasionally Kaoru would spend an evening at Sia La Luce updating the chalkboard which displayed the seasonal menu, his expert calligraphy skills being put to good use.
“God, I hate working with chalk,” he grumbled one evening, sitting uncomfortably on the floor, leaning over the board. He had pink chalk in his hand, and his navy yukata was powdered with a rainbow of different chalk colors. “At least when I use brushes and ink, it dries so I can’t smudge it,” he explained to no one in particular. Kojiro couldn’t help but chuckle from the kitchen, where he was cooking. A few minutes later he strolled out, throwing his apron on a chair and leaning over Kaoru to inspect his work.
“Looks great,” he remarked. He smelled strongly of oregano.
“To the untrained eye of a gorilla,” Kaoru said, gesturing to his writing. “The letters are all sloppy and smudged. I hate using the Latin alphabet.”
“Well, this is an Italian restaurant, so it makes sense that the menu is in Italian, quattrocchi .” Kaoru didn’t recognize the italian expression but assumed it was an insult by the arrogant smirk Kojiro wore. “I’ll get you a towel for your hands, princess,” he said eventually, standing up and taking the scent of oregano with him.
A few glasses of wine later, Kaoru was finally satisfied with his work. So Kojiro gave him his meal: a large, thick slice of sicilian pizza, fresh out of the oven. The dough was airy, a generous amount of cheese melted on top, and an unknown combination of spices enhanced the flavor even more. Kojiro watched as the other enjoyed the pizza, almost forgetting to eat his own. Watching him eat was Kojiro’s favorite part of Kaoru’s free meals.
“This is really good,” Kaoru commented. Perhaps it was the alcohol or maybe it was just that tasty, but the verbal compliment was uncommon for the calligrapher. Kojiro stared for just a moment before replying.
“Yeah?”
“Your food always is, ‘jiro.” Yeah, it was the alcohol.
“I’d hope so with how much I feed you,” Kojiro replied, taking note of Kaoru’s pink-flushed cheeks. How many glasses of wine had he poured for himself? Kojiro had been occupied with making the pizza, leaving the other to his own devices after he delivered the requested bottle of booze. One glance at Kaoru’s workspace on the floor told him that apparently Kaoru needed an entire bottle of white wine to get through the process of writing on a chalkboard in Italian.
Kaoru did not walk back home alone that evening, Kojiro leaving him at the door of his apartment with a small wave. He resisted the urge to kiss Kaoru goodnight.
~~~
“I want a tab!” Reki exclaimed childishly, glaring at Kojiro. Langa looked indifferent.
“I already give you a discount, and you don’t need to go into debt at seventeen,” Kojiro replied, putting a hand on his hip as he leaned an arm against Kaoru’s chair. Soft pink locks tickled his forearm, and twirled one on his finger.
“Cherry’s not even in debt,” Miya remarked. He had been around the pair longer, and was fully aware of their whole tab ordeal and exactly how it worked. His eyes were trained on his gaming console, feet propped up on the table where he sat
“Oh no, he’s in debt,” Kojiro joked, “he owes me tens of thousands of yen.” Kaoru raised an eyebrow at him, letting out a soft snort.
Consequently, the next time Reki and Langa showed up at Sia La Luce, they requested that the cost of their meal be put on Cherry’s tab. At first Kojiro almost refused, but after a moment’s consideration, he relented.
“That’s Kaoru’s problem, not mine,” he concluded, earning a fist pump from Reki. Langa just looked happy that an abundance of free food was going to be available to him. Kojiro had learned fairly quickly that the former snowboarder got excited about exactly three things: skating, food, and Reki Kyan. So, the food part of this was particularly appealing to him (plus, he likely felt inclined to take Reki’s side).
The two didn’t use the tab constantly in the beginning, much like Kaoru. They likely felt a little bit guilty at first for taking advantage of Kojiro’s kindness to them, but it seemed they got over that within a few months. Soon enough, they hardly paid for their food, either. Kojiro didn’t really mind this either, happy to keep the two teens fed. Miya and Hiromi asked to put the costs of their meals on Cherry’s tab, as well, not far after the other two boys. One evening all five of them put their meals on Kaoru’s tab at once.
“I wasn’t aware I’m paying for all of you now, too,” Kaoru had commented, narrowing his eyes. He was smiling, though.
“You’ve got to owe me at least a million yen with these guys tacking on,” Kojiro said, gesturing to the others with a jerk of his thumb. “But as long as you pay it back before you die there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I’ll just have to outlive you then,” Kaoru said snarkily, inspecting his nails like the pompous ass Kojiro considered him to be. “Shouldn’t be too difficult, humans do live longer than apes, after all.” Kaoru adjusted his glasses. Kojiro wanted to smack them out of his stupid hands.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you uploaded your brain to a computer just to avoid paying it. Maybe you and your robot can become one in the same, finally uniting in whatever weirdo bond you have with it.” The rest of the group watched as the pair continued to bicker, Miya rolling his eyes at the far too common occurrence between the two, focused on his game more so than the argument. Hiromi only let himself observe for a few minutes before turning away to finish his own meal. Langa, on the other hand, had not stopped eating, but still watched. Reki was leaning back in his chair with his feet resting on Langa’s lap.
“Would it kill you to call her by her name?” Kaoru spat, probably quite literally given how close to Kojiro's face he was.
“That thing is not even a ‘her’, it’s a robot!” Kojiro defended, not backing down. Yeah, their faces were definitely just a tad too close to each other to be considered normal.
“You dopey gorilla!”
“You four-eyed freak!”
“Oh my god, just kiss already!” The exasperated shout came from Miya, who had finally looked up from his game. Both froze for a moment before Kaoru managed to come up with a witty response.
“I’m not overly fond of PDA, unlike this disgusting pig,” he remarked, finally taking a step back from Kojiro.
~~~
“You know I’m never paying you back,” Kaoru informed matter-of-factly, a glass of white wine in hand as he watched Kojiro wipe down a table. He was in his casual wear, a short-sleeved button-down orange and white striped shirt and shorts. The crew of skaters left a little while ago, the high schoolers complaining about homework and Hiromi tasked with chauffeuring Miya.
“No, really?” Kojiro said flatly, only sparing Kaoru a glance for a split second.
“If you wanted me to, I would, though.”
“You and I both know I don’t want you to,” Kojiro relented, not even bothering to look at Kaoru this time. He knew he was wearing his usual aloof expression, all smoothed out and perfected as to show minimal emotion.
“I could think of a few ways to pay you back,” Kaoru said, standing from his seat and abandoning his half-full glass at the bar. He had hardly begun drinking, that glass being his first.
“Oh yeah, like how?” He turned to face Kaoru, who was far closer to him than he anticipated. A breath caught in his throat for a moment and he felt like a dumb teenager all over again, Kaoru’s steely, determined gaze boring right through him.
“We could take Miya’s suggestion,” he commented, and Kojiro wondered when Kaoru had become the flirty one. “I said that I don’t like public displays of affection, but, well,” his eyes flitted around the empty room, “there is no one here so this is fine for me now, as long as it’s fine for you.” Kojiro snorted softly.
“Yeah, whatever,” he said as nonchalantly as he could muster. Kaoru smirked before bringing just one hand to cup his jaw, pressing his lips firmly onto Kojiro’s. It wasn’t the first time they had kissed, but it was certainly the first time in a long time. It was softer, gentler than Kojiro remembered, but also steady and strong at the same time. Loving yet determined. It only lasted a few moments, Kaoru eventually pulling away and sauntering back towards the bar for his glass of wine, taking a sip of it and watching for Kojiro’s reaction wordlessly.
“Yeah,” Kojiro said eventually, “that’s a method of payment I could get with.”