That Mr. H opened WildKat after meeting Joshua seems unlikely, but I thought the scenario was neat at the time I typed this up.

Standard disclaimers apply, etc.

An Acquired Taste

"So this is it?"

"This is it," Sanae affirms as he produces a cloth from one of his pockets and gives the nearest table a quick wipe down. (Anyone would have called the table sparkling clean before, but he's feeling a little paranoid.)

"I liked the old place better," Joshua complains, crossing his arms as he leans casually against the wall post nearest to the door. "It had more of a homey feel if you ask me."

"Josh, it was next to a goddamn cemetery." His Producer gives him something similar to a withering glare, but unlike Joshua's own, it barely melts through ice.

"Your point?" The Composer grins toothily. At the end of the day, after all, they're just two dead guys catering to equally dead people.

"Whaddaya mean, 'your point'? Can't have a hip, swanky—oh come on." Sanae groans as he gets Joshua's joke. "That's terrible. Just sayin'."

"I give you permission to use a variation of it on Megumi whenever you feel it appropriate," Joshua says, giggling. "And you can tell him I said as much." As much as he likes needling Sanae, though, he has to admit that this café—his silly Producer calls it "WildKat"; Joshua thinks that's pushing the envelope on anonymity—has more of a Sanae feel to it. His old place, a little, run-down thing in Toshima, was more like a room with a coffee machine, table, and television in it; watching Sanae putt around it became increasingly more like watching a fish try to live on land.

It's a good thing, the Composer muses, that his Producer finally decided to value his health over old memories.

"That so?" And now said Producer is rummaging through his cabinets, digging out a cup and saucer while he heats up milk in the microwave.

"Indeed." Joshua slides into a seat. "You had a pot waiting?"

"Always will." Sanae pours a cup and then presses the button on his manual frother (The larger, mechanized one he ordered hasn't arrived yet.) to whip the milk into something similar to foam. The whole mess is then dumped (artistically) on top of the steaming drink.

Joshua nods appreciatively as Sanae sets the cup down in front of him before retreating back behind the counter to do some more cleaning. "Thanks."

Five minutes later, the Composer clears his throat. "Garçon," he trills.

Sanae glances up from the register. "…the hell?"

Joshua smiles mischievously and folds his hands in front of him. "Your patron requires a side of company for his coffee, if you wouldn't mind. As fast as you can make it." He unlaces his fingers and taps the side of the table across from him for emphasis.

Sanae sighs; he knows this is a request he can't refuse. Pouring a cup for himself, he sits down across from Joshua, lounging casually in the black metal seat– a stark contrast to the straight-backed young man in front of him. This is a scene, though, that has played out for years, has been conducted even before Joshua became Shibuya's Composer. Everything is part of a larger script.

Sanae makes the first move, eyes flickering briefly over the table, searching for stains. "So, how are you enjoyin' the company?"

Joshua regards his coffee amusedly. "I think he could stand to spend a little less time on his table tops." His eyes flick upward. "Don't you agree?"

"Right, right…" Sanae scratches the back of his head, somewhat embarrassed at being caught in the act. "Sorry, boss. Place is new, you're the first customer, good first impressions – that sort of thing. I'm just bein' careful."

Another trademark giggle. "Just don't make this extreme fastidiousness a habit, Mr. H. I would prefer to not have another Konishi on my hands."

They both laugh at that one; Konishi is famous for her bordering-on-obsessive neatness and organization (In fact, neither one of them has escaped a comment from her about the state of his hair.) and having another like her around would probably drive a few in their ranks to either murder or suicide, depending on the individual's tastes.

Sanae wipes his eyes with a napkin from the dispenser on the table. "Man, if I ever become like that, Josh, I give you permission to shoot me and then take the neat streak for an entry fee—hell, you can keep it permanently too, if you want."

"Oh, but what would I do with it?"

"I don't know. Use it for a coaster?"

"Konishi would think me wasteful, though - all that neatness, gone to waste. I might as well give it to her and let her drive herself insane. Sometimes I think that might actually be worth it." And they have another laugh at the female Reaper's expense.

The next thirty minutes pass in similar fashion as they talk and trade gossip like old friends do. Sanae refills their drinks whenever, and Joshua pays no attention to the position of the sun as it slowly sets, painting the sky pink.

Finally, Sanae gathers up the courage to ask. "So…so really, Josh, whaddya think? Not too bad for my new secret headquarters, is it?"

Joshua downs the last of his coffee. "It's certainly very colorful." This is an understatement; Sanae has flooded the side wall with swaths of bright pastels and paint splatters that just scream that there's an artist in residence. "And wild. And CAT-ty." He forms the quotation marks around "CAT" as he says it, ensuring that Sanae doesn't get the wrong idea. "A little too much so, if you ask me. Didn't you say that you wanted to be a secret super artist?"

"I had to, Josh. You should've seen the old wallpaper. It looked like the inside of a hotel's bathroom." All flowers and old lace and...Sanae was just making himself sick thinking about it. "I covered my tracks a bit, excuse the pun, though. This stuff ain't CAT." He waves a hand at the wall. "CAT doesn't do Abstract Expressionism."

"But a graphic design major from Tokyo Zokei University does?" Joshua asks lightly.

"Sure," Sanae replies with a shrug. "If he wants to. Always liked Jackson Pollock, myself."

"It must be an acquired taste." The Composer looks at the bottom of his empty mug. "But I'll pick it up somehow."

"The café or Jackson Pollock?" Sanae asks.

Joshua lays 520 yen on the table. "Which one do you think?"

A/N: So I did do some research in preparation for all the name-dropping, but it was very limited. Please kindly inform the ignorant American if there are any errors.

And for those who are unaware, "garçon" is an extremely old French term (it literally means "boy") for a waiter; by old I mean "please don't actually use this on French waiters". Joshua uses it partly because I think him the type to be weird and international like that, but also because we all know he would have no qualms about using it, even on Mr. H.