"Geez, okay." Makoto scratched his head, a casual gesture that belied the cold rage simmering in his gut. "You're welcome, Mafuyu-nee. It's nothing compared to how you treated us since back then."
He gave her a paper with his phone number on it. "You can just text me the time and address later."
Mafuyu-nee stared at the piece of paper in her hand as if it were a winning lottery ticket. A beautiful, heartbreaking smile spread across her face. It was the first genuine smile he'd seen on her all day, and it was a fragile thing.
"Thank you," she whispered again, her voice thick with emotion he couldn't quite decipher. She carefully folded the paper and tucked it into her pocket.
Makoto continued to grab the necessary ingredients, his eyes not leaving her. "By the way, do you want to join us for dinner too? Yuna has some friends coming over today."
The invitation seemed to snap her out of her daze. Her eyes widened, a flicker of panic in their depths. "Oh, no, I couldn't! I wouldn't want to intrude."
She took a step back. "And I have to go home and cook for Tatsuya." Her smile was tight and forced. "He gets upset if dinner isn't on the table by seven." She turned, her movements too quick, too jerky. "I'll text you," she called out over her shoulder, her voice too bright. And then she almost turned away, a small, fragile blur of motion.
He was left standing in the aisle, the scent of her sweet, floral perfume a ghost in the air. A cold, hard rage was simmering in his gut.
"Fuck that," he muttered, his voice a low growl. He rushed after her and grabbed her hand. "You're coming with me for dinner, Mafuyu-nee."
Mafuyu let out a sharp, terrified gasp, a sound like a small animal caught in a trap. Her entire body went rigid, and she tried to wrench her hand free with panicked strength. "No! I can't! Please, let me go!" she pleaded, her voice a raw whisper. "He'll be waiting! He'll be so angry!"
Makoto looked into her eyes, his voice firm and stern. "You can text him that you need to stay for an exam, or that you need to take your coworker's shift, or something. Otherwise, I won't go along with your three-way stuff."
The words seem to short-circuit her panic. She stared at him, then his words sank in.
He saw the terrifying calculation happening behind her eyes. The immediate, certain wrath of Tatsuya versus the future, potentially relationship-ending wrath of Makoto backing out of the birthday fantasy. She was trapped.
A single tear broke free and traced a path down her cheek. Her body went limp, the fight draining out of her in a single wave. "Okay, I'll try..." she whispered, her voice raw and defeated. It was the sound of a prisoner accepting her fate.
With a trembling hand, she pulled out her phone. Her fingers shook so badly she could barely unlock it. She didn't look at him. She just stared at the screen, her brow furrowed in concentration, as if composing this simple lie was the most difficult task in the world.
He saw her thumbs move slowly across the screen. She held her breath as she hit send. Then she just stood there, staring at the phone, her hand still held captive in his, as if waiting for it to explode.
A moment later, the phone buzzed. "Fine. Don't be late tomorrow." The reply was cold, clipped, devoid of concern. Mafuyu made a sound that was half-sob, half-sigh of relief. She sagged against him, her body a boneless, trembling weight. "Okay..." she whispered again. "Dinner sounds nice."
Mafuyu just leaned against him for a long moment, a boneless, trembling weight. The warmth of his body seemed to be the only thing holding her up.
Makoto let out a breath he'd been holding, then smiled softly. "Good. I was planning to make curry tonight, with some meat." He looked at her. "What appetizer should we make, Mafuyu-nee?"
The question seemed to surprise her. It was such a normal, mundane, domestic thing in the midst of this surreal chaos. She pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand. She wouldn't meet his gaze, but another small smile touched her lips. It was a fragile, broken thing, but it was there.
"Tamagoyaki," she whispered, her voice impossibly small. "Tatsuya doesn't like eggs." It was a confession, a small act of rebellion. Choosing a dish that her abuser disliked.
She looked up, and there was a flicker of something in her eyes, a tiny spark of her old self. The kind, gentle, nurturing waitress he remembered. "And maybe a simple salad," she added, her voice a little stronger now. "With a ginger dressing. Yuna is gonna hate it, but she needs some green in her food."
She finally looked at his shopping cart, at the bounty of meat and vegetables. "That's a lot of food," she said, her voice a soft, curious murmur. "How many friends does Yuna-chan have over?"
Makoto just giggled, a low, affectionate sound as he put some eggs in the basket. "Only two. Not so many. Are you gonna make tamagoyaki (Japanese omelette) again? You always made it so good that Yuna's friends and mine were jealous of our bentos."
The memory seemed to hit Mafuyu-nee. Her smile became a watery, trembling thing. Her eyes, which had just started to show a glimmer of their old light, filled with tears again. But these weren't tears of terror, just tears of nostalgia.
"Did I?" she whispered, as if trying to remember a person from a past life. "I used to enjoy it. Making all the little characters..." A single tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn't bother to wipe it away. "Tatsuya prefers to eat out," she murmured, the words a quiet confession. "He says my cooking is too plain."
She seemed to snap back to the present, a deep blush spreading across her face. "I'm sorry," she said, quickly wiping her eyes. "I'm being so silly." She took a deep breath, trying to regain some control. She looked around the supermarket, at the other shoppers going about their normal, happy lives.
"Are you sure they won't mind me coming over?" she asked, her voice small and pleading. "I don't have a gift or anything. I'll just be a bother." She was already trying to find an excuse to retreat, to go back to her cage.
"You're coming over. Otherwise, who would help me cook for those demanding, hungry girls?" Makoto just paid and pulled her hands to his car, slowly driving home. The pull of his hand was firm, undeniable. Mafuyustumbled after him, a small, lost thing caught in his wake. She didn't speak or protest. The fight, what little there was, had been completely extinguished.
In the car, she was silent. She curled up against the passenger door, making herself as small as possible, as if trying to physically shrink away from the world. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles white.
She just stared out the window, her expression blank and unreadable, as the colorful city lights streaked by in a blurry mess. The air in the car was thick with unspoken words, with her fear and his simmering rage.