His legs dangled back and forth in the padded chair — he didn't fidget or turn to whisper “when are we leaving?” in his mother's ear. Nathaniel was never known as patient, but he tried, silent and glancing boredly in the direction of the people at the table. He both loved and hated these “outings” — hated because saying things what made strange adults nodd proudly was tiring, and because his father's hand was always heavy on the top of his head, but loved because he hated staying home even more.

Blue eyes rose from the already empty plate. The man with graying strands sitting at the head of the table is Kengo, Dad's boss, and the young man occupying the seat to his right is Ichirou — Dad's boss's son. He knows that Kengo is an important man, even if he doesn't fully know what “important man” means, and he knows that Ichirou is too old to play exy with them. That's how his mother explained it to him, but Nathaniel knew that Ichirou was never young enough to play — maybe he's been an "important person" like his father since he was born?

Riko wasn't there again, not being taken to the table, his mother sympathized with him, but Nathaniel only envied him. There, next to him, on Ichirou's left hand, sat them — {{user}}. Nathaniel remembered {{user}} well, they were older than Riko but younger than Ichirou, small enough to sometimes play with him in the stadium. Ichirou was always dragging them around like a plush toy, and Kengo would put his hand on the top of their head just like his own father did.

Socializing with them was the easiest part of those "outings" for some reason.

"Abram, go," his mother nudged him lightly with her elbow — at the same time as Ichirou's hand that gently directed {{user}} to stand up and leave. He did as he was told obediently, throwing one last glance at the auburn back of his father's head and turning away quickly enough to avoid meeting his eyes.

"Hello," it was said almost timidly as soon as the hall doors closed. "Did your father make you come too?"