The Citylight diner was indistinguishable from any other diner in any other city anywhere in the world. It was made, for the most part, entirely of chrome and had more neon signs crammed in it than a block of the Vegas strip combined. Sometimes after he'd been staring at the computer screen all day, Touma's eyes were too tired to take it all in and he kept his sunglasses on just to block out the assault of all that blue and red. Typically he read the newspaper while he waited for his usual – a plate of fried eggs, toast and coffee, black. Tonight he was extra hungry and planned to order a steak with his eggs. He counted this as a step outside of mediocrity.
He was here again, without fail. Aside from the Wednesdays that he had off, he never missed a shift. His auburn hair had gone limp from the heat of the kitchen, and was falling forward into his eyes when it came untucked from behind his ears; his cheeks reddened, eyes bright and cheerful. He was exhausted, anyone could see that, but he was never anything less than upbeat and polite to his customers. He waited on the left side of the restaurant. Touma always requested to sit on the right. The view was better there, he said.
It had taken him a while, but through careful, discreet examination of his nametag and then a fellow waitress calling his name, Touma had learned that the boy's name was Shin. Shin was fond of the color blue, because under his apron (always perfectly white) and his collared shirt (always perfectly starched) he always wore a single rope of blue leather strung with puka shells. He had an easy laugh and perfect teeth – the only thing off about his appearance were the dark circles under his eyes that waxed and waned in their extremity.
Every Saturday night, Shin was on duty until close. Touma made sure he was there late enough to be one of the last customers, then hung around outside in the alleyway until Shin's closing duties were done. Then – at a respectable distance – he followed him home. Shin wasn't weak; his arms proved quite the contrary, but he was unobservant and Touma didn't like the thought of him walking home all by himself in the wee hours of the morning in the city. He lived more than a few blocks away, in an apartment building that had already seen better days at the last turn of the century. Touma, for reasons he cared not to analyze too deeply, felt better knowing that he'd seen Shin home safely – no matter how safe "home" really was.
Anyway.
Tonight the Citylight was hosting a party for a little girl turning twelve. She must have been a popular brat, too, because half of her class was there and a whole host of other kids that Touma was willing to bet she either bullied in to coming for the presents or her parents paid to be there. She was a beefy kid, with two stout braids that stuck out like horns on the sides of her head. Touma was willing to bet she had Nazi blood in her or something. In any case, the diner was cramped and he was apologetically ushered to the quiet side – the left side.
He took his seat stiffly and never removed his sunglasses. He scrutinized the menu as if he hadn't memorized it a year ago, and found a reason to look anywhere but toward the aisle where he knew his waiter would come from. There was no rule that said it had to be Shin. It could be the pretty girl with the glasses – she waited the left side, too. It could even be the girl with the lip ring who came in now and then to cover a shift. Maybe Shin would be sick. Maybe the manager would take his order personally. Maybe.
"What," a soft tenor said from beside him, "No toast and eggs tonight?"
All of Touma's statistical calculations flew out the window as he looked up and met eyes with Shin, who looked quietly amused.
Touma coughed gruffly to clear the hitch in his voice. "I guess someone else told you."
Shin's smile deepened. "No. Everyone here knows who you are. Half the girls speculate on which one of them it is that you like so much. The manager figures it's our five-star food." This was said with a kind of dry sarcasm that made the corner of Touma's mouth twitch.
"What do you think?" Touma tried his best to sound haughty.
Shin tapped his pencil against his lip – an endearing habit that Touma had only noticed weeks before. "I guess I figure that you're just not a fantastic cook and aren't much for microwave dinners."
Setting down his menu, Touma smoothly took off his sunglasses and watched with interest as Shin blinked in surprise. "So you've thought about me," he ventured softly.
A slight flush colored Shin's already red cheeks, hot from the back room. "I'll get your coffee," he said quickly, and disappeared.
Shit, Touma thought. Stupid, stupid. Way too forward. He had no reason to believe that Shin was anything other than perfectly straight, aside from the clean-cut way he presented himself and the gentle air he had. He was at ease with the girls who worked there and it was obvious they all adored him, but it seemed to be in that sort of brotherly way that never developed much past friendship. He was always giving them kisses on the cheek, or hugs on breaks. The girls returned to work looking unchanged for the most part, aside from the small smiles and brightness in their eyes. He imagined Shin had much that same effect on everyone.
He didn't notice that Shin was coming back until the cup of coffee was staring him in the face.
"Here you go," Shin said quietly, tucking his pad and pencil away.
"No creamer?" Touma asked pointedly.
Shin smirked at him. "You drink your coffee black."
Something bizarre happened in Touma's chest, something that made his breath go almost imperceptibly erratic. "I'm having a steak tonight."
Shin tossed his bangs out of his eyes and laughed. "I'm proud! It's nice to try something new. Next thing you know you'll be piercing your tongue and driving a motorcycle."
Touma's eyebrows lifted. "What makes you think I don't?"
Shin leveled a look at him. "You drive that black BMW parked on the curb."
Touma blinked. Shin smiled. "How d'you want that steak?"
It was near closing time when the party finally cleared out. Touma was muttering in his head about the chattering of prepubescent human spawn and their silly rituals (his mother and father often forgot his birthday, and made up for it later with cards and money) when Shin came by with the check. He'd been no more or less attentive than he had with his other customers, but Touma had caught him in the reflection of his water glass sneaking glances back in Touma's direction. Then the ice would shift and Shin would be looking somewhere else. It made him eat even slower than he normally did.
"Here you go. The manager said to tell you that the steak is on us, since you're one of our best customers," he said with a smile.
Touma rifled in his coat pocket for his wallet. "That's stupid. I'll still pay for it. It's not as if I'm ordering something huge every time."
Shin gave him a wry grin. "You're the first person I've met who's ever turned down a free meal."
Touma paused, and then realized that Shin probably skipped one meal a day, maybe two, to even barely eke out the living he was from the look of his apartment and his tightly belted waist.
Touma slowly put his wallet back in his pocket. "Tell him…tell him thanks for me, if you would."
The warmth returned to Shin's eyes. "Sure thing."
Before he could leave Touma said softly, "Wait." Shin turned, eyebrows raised. "When do you get off work?" he asked, as if he had no idea.
Shin checked his watch, tossing his hair out of his eyes again – another habit Touma was picking up on. "I close tonight, actually." Then, his innocence caught up with him and his face changed as he realized what Touma was asking. He didn't look upset – more like very surprised. "Which means…another hour?"
It was a question, implying that he wanted to know more about why Touma was asking. "Okay. Can I give you a ride home?"
Shin's surprised face remained. "I…I walk home, but…"
"I can walk, too."
It was out of line. It was forward and brash and tactless. A slow smile dawned on Shin's face. "…Okay." He picked up Touma's empty water glass and took a few steps away, then turned. "So it's me you always come for. I thought it was Himeko. She'll hate me when she finds out – she had a wedding dress picked out and everything." He left laughing at the expression on Touma's face.
The night was frosty, and their breath crystallized as they walked. Touma checked his watch – midnight. He hated to think that there were times when Shin walked home alone – truly alone – at this time of night. They passed three suspicious bums and one man fingering a knife. Shin paid them no mind, blending right in wearing his old brown duster jacket with the obviously home-knit scarf. Touma, on the other hand, stood out like a lighthouse beacon in his designer coat and gloves made of leather soft as butter. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked staunchly forward.
Steam rose and turned orange as it was lit by the streetlamps and their footsteps echoed wetly on the asphalt. Somewhere in the distance they could hear a siren and a crying child.
"This is the symphony of the city," Shin said, looking up and trying in vain to see stars. Touma grunted.
"You don't seem like a city kid," he said by way of conversation. Shin made a noncommittal noise.
"I'm not, really. I was born by the seaside. My family owned a pottery business, until my father died. Then my mother got too sick to work, my sister got married, and now it's basically up to me to support both mother and myself." He stopped in front of his apartment building and pointed up to his window. "See that one? That's me. I know it's not much, but mother keeps it very clean and even when the heat goes out, she knits all day long so we have plenty of blankets."
It didn't sound like the kind of wounded pride speech Touma had expected it to turn into. From the way Shin said it, he sounded genuinely content with his lot in life. Touma looked at him – really looked at him for the first time in almost a year. Shin felt himself being stared at and smiled at Touma, wrinkling his nose.
"You look that way much longer and your face will freeze."
Touma blinked, then chuckled. "You're happy, then?"
Surprised that his happiness would matter to a total stranger, Shin paused, thinking it over. Then, "Yes…I'm tired. I'm struggling. But that's all material stuff. I'm happy where it counts."
They stood that way, shifting their weight awkwardly in the patterned shadow of the fire escape. Finally, Shin sighed. "You could just ask. I'll give you my number, and you obviously know where I live, but it would be nice to know your name."
Touma, again off balance, couldn't believe he had overlooked something so elementary. He had taken for granted that because he knew Shin's name, nothing else mattered.
He stuck out a gloved hand. Shin shook it happily. "I'm Touma. Hashiba Touma."
"I know," Shin said impishly. "It's on your bill."
Touma laughed. "I'm Mouri Shin," Shin said helpfully. "But I bet you knew that, too."
Touma smirked, caught. "But the number would be nice, too."
Shin pulled a napkin out of his pocket and a pen, the motioned for Touma to turn around. Touma, perplexed at being used as a writing board, stilled. "Here," Shin handed him the napkin.
Touma stared at it, not really believing it was really sitting in his hand. He bit his lip then looked up and, meeting Shin's honest blue eyes, blurted: "Can I take you to dinner?"
Shin laughed, and his breath appeared as a gust. "Sure. So long as it's not for toast and eggs."
Touma laughed and shook his head. "No. I'll think outside the box for once, I suppose." Shin shivered. "Get inside before you freeze."
Shin's quicksilver smile flashed one last time and he went inside, winking at Touma before the door closed. Touma's hands lovingly folded the napkin in half, then tucked it in to his coat pocket.
He made the slow journey back to his car, neon lights reflecting on his face, listening to the symphony of the city for the first time in years.