You know what they say. It's all about communication and compromise.
They say that, don't they?
.
At first, Noa insisted on paying whenever he and Ryo went anywhere. It was a matter of practicality for him, given that he knew Ryo stressed about paying the bills each month. A late-night stop at a diner wasn't even a footnote for Noa; for Ryo, it was the difference between eating well for a week and stretching out a box of ramen over two. A trip to see a movie at the theater was something Ryo had to budget for; he often started preparing for a movie several months in advance, just to make sure that one afternoon didn't set him back for half the year.
Noa didn't even look at receipts.
He wouldn't have kept them at all, except that Seto demanded he keep proper records.
Eventually, Noa stopped arguing. When Ryo offered to pay, Noa thanked him. They moved on. He realized that the best way to get Ryo more comfortable with gestures of generosity was to accept them. Noa forgot where he'd first heard it, but he remembered a social rule someone had told him once:
It's ruder to refuse a favor than to accept one.
They came to a system: Ryo would foot the bill for smaller ventures—a coffee, a quick snack at a convenience store, a stop at a taco truck—while Noa handled bigger bills. Noa discovered that Ryo was much happier and more engaged in whatever they were doing if he felt like he'd contributed to the day. Noa decided it didn't matter all that much if he thought it made more sense for him to pay, if the end result was that Ryo was happy.
"If this is how you're going to contribute to this relationship," Noa said, "I hope you understand that I'm going to have to redouble my efforts. You're not going to defeat me, even in this. I will conquer all, even social graces. You hear me? Oh-ho, just you wait for your birthday. It's going to be obscene, and I'm going to be insufferable about it."
Ryo, for his part, simply laughed his musical laugh and said: "Relationship?"
Noa felt his face go hot; he shoved Ryo off the sidewalk on which they'd been walking, onto . . . somebody's lawn. Who was that? Missus Jones? She was nice. Maybe she had some of those vanilla cookies she baked sometimes. Yes, that was an important thing to think about right now. Absolutely. They could mow her lawn. They could feed her chickens. That would surely be worth a cookie, right? She always seemed affronted if you offered to buy them, which . . . again, with the people who kept refusing money.
What a strange way to live.
". . . What?" Noa snapped.
Ryo, giggling, said: "You're blushing."
"Shut up, you." Noa stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It's the word. It's just what it's called. A relationship. That's what this is. Why do you have to make it weird?"
"I'm the one making it weird?"
Noa shoved him again.
