Kaito closed his eyes briefly like a man reconsidering every life choice that had led him here tonight.

Haru, meanwhile, remained irritatingly calm.

“You approached him first,” he said.

The girl blinked. “What?”

Haru gestured lightly toward Kaito’s untouched table. “Single dining setup. One bowl. One drink. One seat occupied before you arrived.” His gaze shifted toward the chair across from it. “Your bag is still there. Meaning you sat down willingly.”

The girl was out of words.

Kaito stared sideways at Haru. “…Are surgeons always this terrifying socially?”

“Only recreationally.”

That almost earned another laugh from Kaito despite the fact he was still damp from head to shoulder. The girl’s frustration visibly cracked further. “Why are you defending him? You don’t even know what happened!”

Haru finally looked directly at her then. Something in Haru’s tone made the restaurant fall silent again. “Because false accusations can destroy someone’s life,” he answered evenly.

The girl looked away first.

Kaito’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly beside him. Then one of the restaurant managers returned holding a tablet with the expression of someone spiritually exhausted by humanity. “We reviewed the footage,” the manager said carefully. The girl immediately stiffened. The manager hesitated before continuing. “The recording shows Mr...”

“Tanaka,” Kaito replied tiredly.

"Yes. Mr. Tanaka remained seated during the interaction. There was no visible inappropriate contact.” Another pause. “It also clearly shows the drink being thrown.”

Several diners suddenly became very interested in their food. The girl’s face burned bright red almost instantly.

For several horrible seconds nobody spoke. Then, abruptly, she grabbed her bag from the chair. “Whatever,” she muttered. And stormed toward the exit fast enough that the bell above the restaurant door rattled violently after her.

Silence lingered in her absence.

One nearby diner quietly returned to eating like nothing had happened. An elderly man muttered, “Young people are exhausting,” before sipping his tea. Honestly, fair.

The manager bowed apologetically toward Kaito. “We sincerely apologize for the disturbance tonight. Your meal will be fully compensated.” Kaito looked emotionally beyond compensation at this point. “I would also like compensation for mental damage,” he said flatly. The manager looked genuinely uncertain whether he was joking. Haru rubbed a hand briefly against his mouth to hide another laugh.

Kaito narrowed his eyes immediately. “Cut it out...You are enjoying this far too much.”

“You’re drenched.”

“I’m aware of it.”

“You look like a divorced poet standing in the rain.” That finally broke Kaito’s composure.

A startled laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Quiet. Slightly disbelieving. But real. The sound caught both of them briefly off guard. Because lately most of their conversations had revolved around grief, trauma, recovery, fear. Heavy things.

Yet somehow here they were in the middle of a restaurant disaster arguing over whether Kaito resembled emotionally devastated literature.

The manager awkwardly offered napkins again before retreating wisely from the situation.

Kaito finally sighed before running a hand through his damp hair. “Well,” he muttered, “this has certainly been one of the evenings of all time.” Haru’s shoulders still shook faintly with restrained amusement.

Then his expression softened slightly as he looked at Kaito properly again. “…Are you okay?”

For a moment, some of the dry humor faded from Kaito's face.

Then he answered honestly. “Mostly annoyed,” he admitted. “Slightly humiliated and deeply resentful."

Haru snorted quietly.

But relief loosened subtly inside his chest too.

After everything Haru had been carrying lately, it felt nice to be the one standing beside someone else for once instead of the one falling apart.