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"Nikolai."
"Nikolai with a last-syllable-stress, that's not very nice now, is it?"
"I had no intention of being nice."
"Oh come on…"
The air smells like cinnamon toast all the way down the avenue, where heavy snow blankets the sidewalk and flakes dust every lamppost interval. Nikolai has been so generously offering the proposal to stop for cinnamon toast since the very moment they stepped into the avenue, besides all the yipping and yapping about the litany of things he wanted to do and buy all within one night.
"That's enough," Fyodor chides for what seems like the umpteenth time, "people would think I took you out just to starve you while we shopped when we had dinner half an hour ago."
"But we are. getting cinnamon toast, right?"
Honestly Christmas shopping with Nikolai is more like babysitting, yes to this, no to that, maybe to some, just to keep him satisfied and sane for the moment.
"Once Sigma has his turn buying something," Fyodor answers without much thought, examining the shop windows while purposely ignoring the amount of bags Nikolai has jingling and jangling in his arms. He has bought probably more than Fyodor's entire family has for the whole month.
"Buy up, Sigma! Dos-kun is paying for everything tonight, whatever we do!"
"I am not."
"Don't worry, he is, we've talked about it."
"No, you talked about it."
"You mean to tell me you won't treat your precious kouhai for one night?! Even when it's Christmas?!"
Fyodor stops in his tracks, turning his head to look at both boys behind him with the deadest expression of all year round. Nikolai has Sigma's cheeks squished in one hand and exposed, tilted upwards as though to prove to Fyodor how much of a predicament the younger boy was in and…honestly, it—it might be the case, but for an entirely different reason than Fyodor not agreeing to pay.
"Sigma's purchases are on me," Fyodor suddenly speaks, turning back, "all of yours, however…"
"Don't 'however' me, Dos-kunnn~ you brought your card!"
For Sigma in an entirely different world, their voices are but a blur in the background, just an empty argument lost in the falling snow and the buzzing chitchat of the pedestrians they are passing. It’s cold, it’s so cold, he’s only on this shopping trip because they agreed to it several months prior. In all honesty, he’d like to sit at home, curl up in a blanket with some hot chocolate and fall asleep reading or watching TV. After all, holidays are scarce and he’d like to enjoy his Christmas holiday to its extent before the next term starts. But alas, it’d be stupid to assume Nikolai would forget or brush off an opportunity to abuse Fyodor’s card, and a plan that he came up with first, there was no way.
Sigma is in a predicament, the Gogol treatment, the ‘I’d rather be anywhere else’ shopping trip, out in the cold in the middle of the street.
He’s not having a bad time, he does think that splurging on yourself every once in a while is fun and it is Christmas after all, plus Fyodor has even agreed to buy him what he wants, though he doesn’t know if he would be so willing after all the purchases Nikolai has made within the first thirty minutes.
But…it is nice. In a way. He gets to see the snow, see how beautifully the city gets decorated with all the ornaments and the diluted colors. The decorations are never too gaudy, never too flashy, always muted but special in the way that it makes you feel warm inside your chest for some odd reason. He’s always been the quiet and observant one among them, and what he does best, he will do best, no matter how thoroughly different the energy on the other side of the spectrum is. Speaking of…
Nikolai suddenly runs up to a shop window, pressing his face against the glass until it fogged up from his breath.
“I’ve always wanted to buy some of those!”
There’s rows upon rows of bottles of different sizes and colors, Sigma could see with a glance from afar, and at first he thought Nikolai has finally succumbed to the idea of trying out alcohol before he was of age (Sigma couldn’t safely say he hasn’t already, to be fair) but on a closer look, it was just—
“Fragrance?”
Sigma approaches where Fyodor was standing, close enough to see the labels on the containers displayed in the window, reading ‘Sea-breeze’ or ‘Warm Autumn’.
“Home perfumes,” Fyodor comments, eyeing the little bundles of twig-like sticks laid beside each bottle. “Fragrance diffusers or whatever their real term is.”
“They smell nice, do you wanna check them out?” Fyodor turns to Sigma before Nikolai could say anything and Sigma even flinches a little, taken aback by the offer.
“S-sure, are you coming too?”
“I—
“But cinnamon toast is like the most basic thing you can have on a night like this, Atsushi-kun!”
That brings Fyodor to a halt, not because he knew it wasn’t Nikolai saying it, but because the all-too-familiar voice happens to be that of the person he dreaded not to see on this night the most, and one whom he has been trying to shove to the back of his mind all evening.
All three gazes turn to the opposite direction of the avenue, where the other party was walking closer, and they seem to stop too, the person at the front jamming his hands into the pockets of his beige coat and giving a smirk.
“Well, well, if this isn’t who I think this is.”
Fyodor gives him a look. Dazai has always been the one for obnoxious greetings if not a little backhanded and at this moment, Fyodor does not feel himself welcoming it. His kouhai, the white-haired boy, is right beside him, seeming to have also come out for shopping and they just happened to have met on this very sidewalk.
Fuck.
It just had to be tonight?
“Dazai Osamu,” Nikolai says in lieu of greeting, not exactly warm in his tone, and though he is one to mess around and crack inappropriate jokes at any given time, Dazai seems to be a topic he trudges over lightly, with much care and wariness especially around Fyodor, and because of Fyodor.
Nikolai doesn’t exactly know why Fyodor and Dazai broke up, after almost two years of dating. It’s not like Fyodor talks much, let alone about his lovelife or private life or about Dazai of all people. He isn’t flashy in the way he lives his life, and a person of little words. If he speaks that much around Nikolai, that’s probably the most he would speak anywhere at all.
Gogol doesn’t like or dislike Dazai that much, he’s just a figure in his life only because of Dos-kun. While they were dating, Dos-kun would have this annoyed affection for Dazai that Nikolai thought made him look younger, so it was a good thing. When they broke up, Fyodor looked indifferent like he always does but Nikolai notices that he seems more pondering than usual. And maybe just maybe, there is a bit of jealousy as to why Dazai happens to be the person to possess the ability to cause all those feelings in Fyodor when Fyodor isn’t even that expressive half the time.
“Nikolai Gogol,” Dazai returns, the same cold smirk on his face, and he steps just a bit closer to Atsushi, as if shielding the boy from god knows what. If he’s acting like Fyodor was going to exsanguinate Atsushi alive right there, Fyodor is rolling his eyes, to hell with looking petty or giving away his emotions. He doesn't give two shits about Atsushi.
“Seems the encounter is unexpected,” Dazai comments somewhat nonchalantly and—
“We could say the same,” Nikolai is quick to reply, though it’s not his intention to be speaking over Fyodor or for him. It’s not that Fyodor needs Nikolai to speak up for him or banter with Dazai in his stead, far from it. It’s just that…if Fyodor doesn’t wanna talk, he doesn’t want to talk.
He doesn’t want to see Dazai.
And especially not right now.
The air between them is thickening by the minute and the one who seems to suffer the effects of it the most is Sigma, because whenever the boy gets uneasy, it’s evident to everyone in a close vicinity, and Fyodor is no exception.
He puts a hand on Sigma’s shoulder. “We’ll be on our way if—
“Actually, I was wondering if we could talk for a while,” Dazai says, just like that, and Atsushi looks up at him. Clearly, they had not planned to leave the house with Dazai saying ‘hey, if we happen to meet my ex-boyfriend while we’re out Christmas shopping, I’m going to stay back to talk with him for a while so think of ways to preoccupy yourself for a few minutes’.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Fyodor says, expressionless.
“You’re not interested in what I have to say either then,” Dazai lifts an eyebrow. It’s not exactly a question, nor an accusation, and this is exactly the type of stuff that pushes Fyodor onto the edge about Dazai, that he revels in being oh-so-unpredictable about everything. They’re relationship had never been one of open adoration or attachment, if it could ever have been called love. There’s a sense of rivalry, never the competitive type, a level of understanding so deep that only the two of them can comprehend and it drives something in both of them that made them cling to each other until they didn’t. Both could argue that they still felt like they knew the other more than anyone else ever could but knowing each other a little too well has its own fair share of consequences.
Nikolai senses Fyodor’s hesitation, sees the hand on Sigma’s shoulder start to slip down and he quickly replaces it with his hand, suddenly drawing Sigma closer.
“There’s too many varieties to the perfumes, the longer you choose, the better you will find,” he delivers it in the most unawkward way possible, steering the boy away from the small crowd they’ve formed and toward the direction of the entrance of the shop.
“Wait.” Fyodor stops them suddenly and tosses something which Sigma fumbled and nearly fell to catch.
His wallet.
“Get some food after you’re done,” he says to both of them, and Nikolai smiles, but it’s clouded, disappearing into the store before he knows it. “Want to make this as quick as possible? Sigma has a curfew.”
“So does Atsushi,” Dazai retorts, dismissing the boy after mumbling something, and they’re left alone, standing, not far enough for people to pass between them but not that close either.
For the briefest moment, Fyodor actually takes pride in the fact that, according to his assumptions, Dazai must be the one feeling more awkward between the two of them. (His assumptions are rarely wrong.) But the brunet is, as always, careful to mask it, keeping his expression neutral and even trying to appear somewhat uncaring.
“Out with it if you will,” Fyodor prompts because he knows Dazai’s waiting for it.
“Graduation’s not far,” Dazai starts, poorly, if Fyodor may comment, but he doesn’t, letting his ex carry the burden of the conversation alone. “Crazy to think I won’t be around to be a senior anymore to Atsushi, but he would be taking good care of Kyouka, so.”
Build-up hasn’t been really a necessity for any of their conversations because they’ve both been too readable to each other and too straightforward to care anyways. With this, at least Dazai is making an effort to tone down the tension, and the iciness of the atmosphere, one which wasn’t of the cold.
Fedya isn't making it any easier for him by not replying.
"This wouldn't be necessary if we aren't meeting in the future of course, I'm not talking to you because I'm dying to or anything—
"It's not like you to think beating around the bush is necessary," Fyodor interrupts, turning around, ready to leave—
"We're going to end up together."
His boot stops mid-step, gently lowering back onto the ground, but still facing away from Dazai. Through the glass, in the store, Fyodor can see Sigma sniffing at a bottle of something lilac, while Nikolai was expressively talking about something beside him. Maybe he'll buy that one.
"You're not going to choose anything else," Fyodor says, and it's like he can almost see Dazai spread his arms in a carefree manner, his lips turning up at the corners.
"I'm not giving up on my project just because my ex will be the same major as me."
This isn't even part of the plan or one of the discussions they've had during high school. They've both known since long ago, even before they started dating, that both will be accepted into the highest ranking college there is, just from the statistics of their academic advances. It's not up for discussion, it was simply a given. And with both having a knack for creating literary projects here and there outside of school, there's no doubt that two spots in the literature department have already been occupied.
"And your point is?" Fyodor turns his head sideways.
"Mah, I'm just merely saying. We can both come to a mutual agreement on something if we're gonna be taking the same classes, right?"
"Mutual agreement."
"Mn."
Now Fyodor is facing him again. While he can't bear to look at Dazai's stupid face right now, he can at least be civil.
"What are you suggesting?"
"I'm not saying that we should definitely be friends like nothing ever happened at all but it won't do good to make each other uncomfortable every day."
"It's not like we'll be living together."
Dazai's smirks, his cocky attitude, how he always seems to know what Fyodor would think about something before Fyodor voices it…..Fyodor has found these all very fascinating and that is mainly what sparked his curiosity in Dazai too, back in junior year. But it's…., frankly put, extremely annoying right now, as in, if Fyodor really was the type, he would walk right up and punch the smirk right off of his face. Not that it wasn't annoying before but it was laced with the shine in Dazai' eyes, the excitement that bursts in Fyodor's chest when he does realize Dazai understands. Dazai understands more than anyone he has ever met.
But what exactly was it that they had?
"I can't care less, ignore me if it irks you that much to see me."
There’s that smirk again, every time after Fyodor says something about how he would have better things to do than mope over his and Dazai’s breakup, or than to think about how awkward it would be. The world doesn’t revolve around them. He won’t die.
“Your friend there surely would be of help, I assume. He’s pretty chatty.” Dazai says with a jerk of his chin in the perfume shop’s direction and ‘chatty’ could only describe Nikolai.
He’s trying to get the upper hand, Fyodor notices instantly, by implying that Fyodor is only finding random distractions to get Dazai out of his mind, and while it might have been true or not, it's none of his fucking business.
“He’s not yours to make assumptions of,” Fedya says coldly and Dazai snorts, walking back the way he came, probably to go look for Atsushi.
“Much protective of him, aren’t you?”
Fuck him.
God, fuck him.
The snow is falling rapidly as the night deepens and while they had plans to go to the town square after shopping, maybe it might not be the case. Despite Dazai having gestured at the perfume store, Gogol and Sigma seemed to have exited the place a while ago, and are nowhere to be found. Fyodor isn’t worrying that much about Sigma being bullied, he knows Nikolai doesn’t mean any serious harm though he surely can spin someone off their rails just by talking to them if he wanted to, he possibly wouldn’t do that to Sigma who has suffered enough of their company—
“Dos-kun!”
By God's right hand—
"Where's Sigma?" Fyodor asks before anything, seeing Nikolai run up to him with even more bags than before, if that was possible. What did he spend on?
"Relax, I just told him to pick up some dessert for me. He's waiting in line."
"Cinnamon toast?"
Nikolai smiles, narrowing his eyes. "If he's fast enough for it."
With the plan for the town square ditched, it was ultimately up to Fyodor to drop them off both back at their respective houses. But Nikolai had suggested following Fyodor to his house for a movie and Sigma has never looked more frantic to get home.
The boy thanked Fyodor repeatedly, both for the gift and the evening, bowing at the front gates of his house till he made himself uncomfortable enough, then practically fled into his own house.
That leaves the two of them walking home, lazy in their steps but Nikolai would hum a playful tune every few minutes between light patches from the lampposts of the streets and shadowed corners, saying things like "Ah, Dos-kun, next year this time we'd be out drinking with our own college roomates or something, savoring winter break even more so just because of the sheer workload," when he notices Fyodor being too quiet.
He doesn't talk much, that's been a given for long enough, even at the moment, on the comfort of the worn-out couch in Fyodor's bedroom, he's just staring at the TV, while silently munching on a pirozhki that Nikolai had wrapped up in his overcoat lest it got cold on the way home.
And it is still very warm, comforting.
Nikolai sits right beside him, occupying the majority of the couch. He’s put up some vintage stop-motion film to play out as he consumes snack after snack from the mounds of bags he brought along, the foods seeming to have been conjured out of nowhere. At one point however, Fyodor’s hand suddenly falls onto his forearm—
“That’s your eighteenth kartoshka.”
Nikolai just grins, replying, “I heard if you eat past fifty of them, you can actually get drunk.”
“You can just drink from the bottle if you want to get drunk.”
“Oh, that wouldn’t exactly qualify as an experiment now, would it?” he winks, but puts down the plate.
“You’ll drag me into cleaning if you throw up like the last time when—
“Ahhhh! Such details, Dos-kun, on such a beautiful night!”
That actually makes Fyodor smile. It’s as if Nikolai mirrors Dazai sometimes, in their playful attitudes, the feigned melodramaticism, the theatrics they put up, though Nikolai is much more vibrant in that area, his energy seeming to be endless.
And the moment his thoughts steer to Dazai in some way, it makes him want to stop, because he had just made a comparison between the two of them without evening realizing it. He doesn’t need to think about Dazai right now, and Nikolai…he isn’t here just to be a distraction from Dazai.
Your friend there surely would be of help, I assume.
Nikolai doesn’t know what Fyodor is thinking of course, he’s not a mind-reader, but he does consider himself his best friend, and the shift in Fyodor’s expression is more obvious than ever to him, even if Fedya has been deemed hard to read by a lot of people around. He gets up suddenly, extending his hand to his friend who looks up, confused.
“Wanna dance, Dos-kun?”
Huh?
He doesn’t realize that he had said it out loud until he’s pulled, literally, against Nikolai’s chest, one hand in Nikolai’s hand and the other on his shoulder.
“Why?”
Nikolai shrugs. “Movement aids digestion, does it not?”
“You just want to drag me into this,” Fyodor inclines his head, looking unimpressed, and Nikolai sighs.
“This is my favorite part of the movie, yield for a bit, wouldn’t you?”
Between the patternless swaying and “dancing” that they're doing, Fyodor glances at the screen, where a small boy with a scar on his eye was composing a melody on a violin, his face solemn. That's ironic, considering how it was supposed to be a comedy, if he remembered correctly. Yet there's a longing so strong yet buried so deep inside of the music, that it was evident in the lilt of the sound, the way his fingers danced on the strings. He's looking at a snow-white bird right in front of him, trapped in a cage, the shadow of it cast on the far wall. Despite the tiny space offered, the bird looks perfectly content, happy even.
"Next thing I know, you'll be playing it on the cello just from one glance," Nikolai says, partly to praise Fyodor's immaculate memory and his friend rolls his eyes, but a smile is tugging at his lips.
"I don't think I'd be playing it that much next year."
Right. He's shifting his focus more on literature.
"You'll leave it at home?"
Along with a lot of things I'd be leaving behind, Fyodor thinks, looking at how Nikolai's hair falls into his eyes. Fyodor isn't moving that much than he is being puppeted around by Nikolai, with the other boy being taller than him and all.
"Don't even think about sneaking it into your dorm and—
"Mah, Dos-kun, such a jump to conclusions."
"For good reason," he looks down at their socked feet when he's swung all the way around, taking care not to step on Nikolai, but the other boy catches his attention again.
"You're the one with the talent for an array of things. Even if I take it, I wouldn't be able to play it."
"As if that will stop you from doing whatever you were planning to do to it."
Nikolai's head hangs, shoulders shaking from silent laughter, and it's almost like he has Fyodor in a tight embrace despite them dancing, the hand on Fyodor's waist touching the warm, soft fabric of his shirt. "Ahaha…Dos-kun sure does understand me so well."
That's what I thought I did with Dazai too.
"I know you're not worried about college in any way," Nikolai starts, smiling as he delicately avoids the coffee table and catching Fyodor before they smash into his bookshelf, "but it does feel like an important step of our lives and I'm grateful that I can call you my best friend, even if we're going separate ways."
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you're already drunk."
At this, Nikolai laughs, throwing his head back and Fyodor wonders how long he has gone without paying that much attention to how vibrant his laugh is. "I'm not but me being drunk or not doesn't change the fact that you're an intelligent person, Dos-kun! More than anyone I've ever met."
'More than Dazai' goes unsaid, though Fyodor knows Nikolai probably wants to steer the conversation into that direction, tiptoeing lightly, not to make Fyodor too uncomfortable. That's why his string of words are jumbled in the first place.
"You'd be the kind of person to ace college without trying, not that there's anything I can say that you don't already know of, of course."
In translation: Dazai isn't worth shit of your brain space.
"Intelligence could only get me so far," Fyodor remarks. The room is starting to spin a bit. "It takes something more than intelligence to act intelligently."
Nikolai raises his eyebrows, his steps slowing a bit, and his face melts into a smile, not the usual grin coated in mischief, but the kind that softens his face and narrows his eyes, perfectly endearing.
"And that is exactly why." He lets go of Fyodor's waist and spins him one last time, the surroundings blurring when the only thing linking them together is their clasped hands before he pulls him in again.
"H—" Fyodor ends up almost slumped onto him, noticing how close their faces are, feeling Nikolai's breath being shared with his own and it's a bit dizzying, his face a bit flushed, his hand warm in Nikolai's grip.
"I—
"Dos-kun?"
Fedya's face falls into his shoulder instead, trying to even out his breathing and consequently, breathing in the scent of Nikolai. He smells like the falling snow outside, and burnt sugar.
"Are you—
Fyodor's hand falls onto his other shoulder, and Nikolai's whole body tenses up.
"Bit dizzy, hang on."
Oh.
The world stops for the few minutes that they stand there together, in the middle of the room, Fyodor’s head on Nikolai’s shoulder but the other boy doesn’t hold him quite tightly anymore, arms hanging by his sides unsurely. If Fyodor needed it, Nikolai would’ve stood right there the whole night, being leaned on and used. He…it’s not exactly that easy to name what he feels for Fyodor, there’s inspiration of course, and Nikolai has never met anyone quite like Fyodor before, someone who understands him so thoroughly. But Nikolai would always be the comic relief whatever he did, not someone quite like Dazai in Fyodor’s eyes, who never lets Fyodor’s expectations down whenever it comes to anything—his wit, his thought processes that seem to parallel Fyodor’s, his charm and aura.
Dazai caught Fyodor’s eye just by being himself, while Nikolai could stumble, fall, make an utter fool out of himself, and Fyodor would still look Dazai’s way. Be Fyodor’s closest friend and his greatest admirer and yet not be able to inch any closer.
He helps Fyodor by his upper arms when he straightens up and chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Heh…sorry, must’ve dragged you too much.” Nikolai’s bags are scattered all over the room, and he starts piling them all into one corner, as Fyodor stands there, collecting himself. His friend has already grabbed his coat and scarf.
“I should leave,” he says, smiling. It’s always that smile, the world could be collapsing and Nikolai would keep smiling. “It’s pretty late anyways, thanks for the movie.”
Fyodor watches him struggle the bags out the door-frame, not exactly able to move. He knows he should've said something but doesn't know what, no words on the tip of his tongue, no action sensible at the moment.
"Kolya…" his mouth slips, and Nikolai looks up, pure innocence in his face, and it’s…so rare, to see Fyodor uncertain, not knowing how to continue the sentence. There’s so much that he could say and so many things that he could do, but they all halt and disappear the moment he thinks of putting them into action.
“It’s okay, Dos-kun,” Nikolai smiles again, and this time, it shows the crinkles near his eyes. “Merry Christmas.”
The door closes with a soft click, cloaking Fyodor in silence with only the faint sound of the movie from behind.
Two hours earlier,
Sigma stands in front of the glass showcase in the bakery, primarily empty considering it was already late evening and this shop runs out pretty fast. He doesn’t notice how his hands are fidgeting, fingers on one hand picking at the skin near his nails on his other hand. God, to hell, hell, hell with Nikolai, Sigma’s never bending to any “polite request” ever again. The bakery's seats are too packed despite there being not much to sell anymore after a long, bustling day; the line is not long enough to for him to arrange the words of his order properly, and—
There’s exactly one piece of cinnamon toast left.
It’s fine, he’s not even buying anything, his only job is to buy this one thing and one thing only.
It’s one order.
He can do it.
That was before he notices someone standing right beside him, and he almost flinches, noticing how close they had become while he didn’t know.
“Oh, sorry—” he moves away quickly, but then the other person laughs nervously.
"Oh! No, no! Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I was trying to look at what's left."
Oh god, that's the boy he just met a few minutes ago, wasn't it? The boy talking to who was supposed to be Fyodor's ex, Ashisu or whatever.
He flashes a smile and how—what exactly is the deal with people who are naturally friendly, it's like their presence just pulls you in like a magnet, whether you agree to it or not.
Goddammit, goddammit—
"Also uh…I think our seniors know each other. I'm Nakajima Atsushi, by the way."
Thank whatever being up there that Sigma didn't talk to him first and got his name wrong before they had even had a proper conversation.
He returns the introduction with an awkward smile. "Sigma."
"Oh, I think we're in the same grade but we take different classes so that's probably why we haven't seen each other much at school, I do remember seeing you in Gogol-san's drama club. You're pretty good with card-play."
His tone is nothing but pure honesty, innocence bare down to his core and Sigma couldn't help feeling a bit embarrassed that he couldn't say anything similar about the other boy because he really hasn't been that observant of anything, so instead he murmurs a small "...thanks".
"Oh and by the way, are you going to be taking the last cinnamon toast?"
Huh?
The silver-haired boy points with his finger against the glass, indicating the lone toast in the corner.
If Sigma didn't know better, he would've thought, this was all part of his scheme—get the trembling person near the showcase comfortable as much as you can, draw them in with your charm, and drive the nail into the coffin.
He couldn't possibly say a hard cold 'yes' after replying to everything Atsushi had said with no more than two words, right?
Nikolai asked him to fight tooth and nail for it, he's here for cinnamon toast and cinnamon toast only—
"You can take it," he says, flashing a smile like Atsushi did and the boy grins.
"Oh, thanks! I was worried if there was none left."
"You guys decided on your order?" The lady behind the counter says and only then does Sigma realize the line is gone?!
He—
"I, uh."
Both Atsushi and the lady—Lucy, her name tag reads—are staring at him.
Oh god—fuck—
"That," his finger lands on the glass blindly and Lucy raises an eyebrow.
"How many?"
"Uh."
What even were those?
"Um…whatever's left of those?"
Now Lucy raises both eyebrows. Surely, it's near closing time, there couldn't be that much left of those, right?
"You want," she glances down at the display for a second, "...six boxes of the kartoshkas?"
"Yes," he says while his mind goes "no".
She stares a very uncomfortable second longer that feels like forever and shrugs. "Okay, what about you?"
"I'll take the cinnamon toast, please," Atsushi answers from behind, and she finally withdraws the counter, placing the order in the back and typing something for their receipts.
….Fyodor san surely wouldn't complain that he bought six boxes of those cakes with his wallet right?
Sigma's purchases are on me.
"Anddd there you go," Lucy totals up his bill, which is displayed on a small monitor facing them and both Sigma and Atsushi freezes, eyes going wide.
All of yours, however…
….right?