The next day, though warm and sunny, was almost entirely uneventful. Customers flitted in and out at odd times as though blown in by the wind, and the sun shine through the windows to cast green patterns through the leaves: a number of tiny rainbows swathed the walls as the light passed through drops of water on the glass.

I received my usual monthly delivery of supplies near midday, and had set about putting them away in any spare corner I could find within the already bursting shop. Humming to myself as I went about my work, I didn't notice the quiet creaking of the door as it opened and closed.

"Are you ready to go?" I heard a low voice ask from over the counter. I looked up from my spot on the ground, midway through stuffing a bag of compost beneath a lower shelf. Takashi was there, leaning on the countertop and surveying me and my dirty face and hands with mild expectation.

"Evidently not," I replied with unintentional irritation directed toward the sack that refused to just budge into its proper place: like a lazy fat cat, it was doing everything in its inanimate power to do the opposite of what I wanted. If I pushed from the centre, the ends popped out, and vice versa. There was simply no winning any time soon.

"Do you want a hand?" Takashi asked, and I shrugged.

"It might just need one, actually," I said, sitting back on my heels and folding my arms tetchily. I looked up at him and added, "If it's not a bother."

"It's fine," he said, hopping the counter with an air of surprising gracefulness: I supposed it was the athlete in him, as he crouched beside me on the earth-strewn floor. Even crouching down he was twice my height, which – I thought to myself – simply didn't seem fair with regard to genetics. I'd always wanted to be tall, because I feel like then my life could be so much easier and full of mobility: it's hard to be utilitarian about a deficiency of height.

Nonetheless, I smiled at him in genuine gratefulness.

"Thanks," I said, as we both placed our hands at opposing ends of the sack and pushed together. With a satisfying thump, the large bag was sandwiched between two shelves, with no hope of popping itself free without assistance.

"Don't mention it."

He stood up, wiping off the small excess compost on his tattered jeans. I marvelled at just how different he was to Tamaki, who actively avoided getting even a single speck of dust on himself and shamed me as a devil for my - and my shop's - 'appalling lack of cleanliness'. It was nice to have found a kindred spirit - in the sense that Takashi, unsurprising by the aesthetically-controlled chaos of his attire, didn't mind getting just a little messed around by what the day threw at him. In the very least, he didn't get his nails seen to every week and a half.

"So, are you ready now?" he asked, and I stopped as I straightened up to look at him. Once again he was expectant, and I was wondering just why he was so eager to be off with me for such a casual occasion as coffee. He reminded me almost of Tamaki's dog as she paced the front door, tail thundering from side to side, to be let out to chase the cars. Perhaps, I thought as I continued to stare with mild confusion up into his dark grey eyes, he and Tamaki were not so dissimilar after all.

"I'm kind of gross right now, Takashi," I pointed out to him, indicating to my earthy hands and cheeks, thinking that I'd attract more stares to our table for my slovenly appearance than anything else. As someone who seemed to be somewhat of a loner, I figured that Takashi wouldn't want that.

"I hadn't noticed," he shrugged, leaning back against the counter and twitching the corner of his lip in a smile at me. I cocked my head to one side confusedly, then looked down at my dungarees and shirt – both of which had been a pale blue that morning, but now were mostly brown, with various patches of green from a leaf or thorn that had decided to tag along for the ride. I couldn't help but feel somewhat sceptical with regard to his statement. I raised my head and opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted, "You look most comfortable like this. I think it's what makes you feel the most like you."

I paused a moment, then smiled.

"I think so too," I replied. He nodded thoughtfully, then pushed himself upright and flicked a piece of hair back from my face.

"You look cute like this," he said, his deep voice softer than I was expecting. Before I could respond, he put his hands in his jacket pocket and shirked his head toward the doorway. "Shall we go, or do you still wanna clean up a bit?"

I shrugged.

"I guess I don't mind it too much," I conceded, and he smiled very slightly.

"Alright, then."

He seemed so adamant about being off, that I followed his footsteps without question. I locked the door behind us, and he immediately began asking about my day as we made for the crossing at the side of the road. It almost seemed as though he had been waiting since the previous afternoon to engage me in this kind of conversation, and it was then that I realised what an endearing and unseen side of his personality could come to life after such a short time actually knowing one another. I wondered how it could be that such a silent and unapproachable individual was so willing to engage with someone who found interest beyond what he appeared: even though he spoke very few words, and no more than were necessary, he was genuine in his interest and manners.

By the time the traffic had slowed to allow us to cross, and we had entered the warm glow of the café, I realised I had forgotten my wallet.

"I'll be back in just a second," I said, making to open the door again. "I left my – "

"I'll pay," he said, and I looked over my shoulder at him.

"It's just across the street, really it's not – "

"I don't mind. Coffee's not that expensive anyway." He moved to the bar and tapped the countertop absently, casting a glance my direction as I still stood midway between entering and exiting, "It's a vanilla latte, right?"

"I…"

"And a… croissant?"

I looked from him, to my shop window, and then back. I sighed.

"Cinnamon swirl."

He smiled.

As we spent that hour together, I couldn't help but think that – despite the fact he said actually very little – it was like he was trying to fit in many hours' worth of conversation, like today was his last day on earth to get to know me and make up for the previous year or so we had been living side by side in silence. This idea drifted in and out of my head on an undulating trickle of thought, and the little questions it posed weren't really answered until he realised he was once again late to return to his customers.

"We need to get you an alarm or something," I said as he rose from his chair.

"Doubt I'd pay attention to it," he answered, "I'd be listening to you instead."

I rolled my eyes, but smiled nonetheless as I stood too.

"So, same time again tomorrow, or…?"

His face, primarily cool and chiselled as it was, took on an expression of near apology.

"I'm actually away in Osaka for the weekend," he said, and I unexpectedly felt a little saddened. "It's my – " He paused, as though catching himself, and cleared his throat. "Family thing, you know."

"Don't worry about it," I assured him, and he shrugged vaguely as if to indicate he'd really rather not be off for a 'family thing'. Without really responding, he started shifting toward the door with that same mild irritability. Thinking I needed to also get back to work, I went with him. The traffic lights allowed us across almost immediately, so within seconds we were outside our destinations.

"I hope you enjoy yourself, anyways," I said as we made to part ways for the next few days.

"Thanks, Haruhi."

"Have a safe trip."

"You stay safe too."

"I'll do my best," I smiled, turning the key in the lock and pushing my way into my little shop. Closing the door after me I saw him still standing there, looking after me, and I raised a hand in farewell. He smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, before entering his own shop.