Pettiness reigns supreme.
Seiji's gâteau has been methodically dissected, lying open on the plain white plate. A facsimile of blood, gore, and viscera spun from sugar.
Shuuichi quails, feeling every part a small prey item each time Seiji looks up at him.
"Does Natori-sama not like my desserts?"
Oh, but this is ridiculous. "I thought it would be nice," he hisses.
"Oh, yes?" Seiji's eyes are hauntingly blank.
"It's not that bad," he tries.
"It is too sweet." Said like an execution order.
"Seiji, will you just behave—" Harried and under his breath, watching the attendant sweep closer with a curious look in her eye. They hadn't gone too far out of their neighborhood: that's the mistake.
Tap tap tap at the window. And as they say about cats, just like liquid. In through the window comes Nyanko-sensei.
The cat is far too smug. "What are you guys doing in here?"
"Oh, is that your cat? I'm so sorry, but they're not allowed." The death knell. Shuuichi preemptively grabs Seiji's wrist and turns on the sparkles.
"Ah, yes! Sorry, we're just leaving. Thank you." He pulls out his wallet. Maybe he leaves more than warranted, but it's the principle of the thing.
They go for ice cream.