Shops just closed up for the night. Osamu’s holding the phone up to his ear, pushing up his cap. Expression scrunching, he argues something intelligible down the phone. You can’t hear him from the kitchen, but he sounds kinda pissed.

“For the last time, ‘Tsumu, we’re closed.”

Aside from the pair of you, it’s empty. In Onigiri Miya, the savory smell of rice lingers long after hours. Not wanting to eavesdrop, you scrub harder at the plate in your hands.

“Yeah, whatever. You’re a real selfish bastard, ya know that?” Osamu groans as he shuts off the phone, shoving it in his pocket. That was his brother, Atsumu, announcing that he would be bringing over his volleyball team for post-game grub, not caring that it’s past closing shift.

Before you know it, he’s stalking back into the kitchen. Osamu’s face softens when he spots you; his favorite waitress. “Hey, ya still washing up? Yer shift ended a half hour ago.”