Underneath the Red Trees

CHAPTER 41: SORROW'S HOLD

The rainy season came with the rumbling of dark grey clouds on the Tokyo sky. It stormed outside, turning the streets of Tokyo into a flowing river.

Satoru's part time job was at a high-end café in Shinjuku. It was the kind of place that asked ¥300 for an americano. Their customers were usually people with high paying jobs. Satoru had never bothered to memorise the faces of the regulars he served.

It was the middle of the day, right after lunch rush. The café was empty, safe for a young woman who was typing away on her laptop hiding away from the rain.

The bell on the door chimed. Satoru only glanced up momentarily. He did not take in the face of the person who had entered. "Welcome," Satoru said, "What can I get you?"

"Eye contact would be nice." Satoru raised his head. Where had he seen him before? "How are you, lonely boy?"

Makoto Iba. The name hit him like a speeding car. His gut turned. Satoru forced a smile onto his face. "What can I get for you, sir?" he tried to keep his voice steady.

"Don't you remember me?" Makoto laughed.

His jaw tensed. He wished Makoto would just order and leave. "Yes, I do," Satoru said in a lowered voice, "I'm at work. Just order and leave."

Makoto's smile widened. "I knew you would. No one forgets my hair."

"Are you going to order or not?"

"I like when you call me sir. Go back to that."

Satoru exhaled, exasperated. "Are you going to order, sir?"

Makoto bit his bottom lip coyly. He regarded the menu behind Satoru for a moment. He said, "I will order, but first tell me what time your shift finishes."

Satoru grinded his teeth. He was annoying. He glanced at his co-worker who was now staring at them. Satoru forced his smile again. "Four o'clock," he whispered. Then he said in a normal tone, "Now can I take your order, sir?"

A victory smirk spread out on Makoto's lips. "I'll have a large cortado. Make it quick."

At ten past four Satoru left his workplace bound for home. "Wow," Satoru cringed at the sound of the voice. Makoto fell into step beside him, holding his umbrella over Satoru' head. "You were honest. That's refreshing."

"Go away."

"What? Don't you want to call me 'sir' anymore?"

"You're not my customer anymore."

"Damn. Aggressive, aren't you?" Satoru did not say anything. "What's your name? I told you mine, but I never got yours."

Satoru stopped and turned to Makoto. "If I tell you, will you leave me alone?"

"For today."

Satoru sneered. Makoto Iba was a pest. Satoru did not know what his goal was, but he had a feeling he would see him more than he wished. He preferred to not interact with Makoto at all.

"My name is Satoru Akiyama."

Touma stared at the camera screen displaying the photograph he had taken of Hayate. Absentmindedly he touched his birthmark. Was it that? Had his birthmark really scared Hayate off?

"Stop that," Harin placed a bowl of spaghetti bolognaise in front of him. Harin, a food sciences student, was a good cook. She often tried out western recipes in Touma's kitchen.