A/N:

After three months, THREE ING MONTHS I finally completed this monstrosity. It's no behemoth but it's the longest one-shot I've ever written (and probably will ever write). It's been one hell of a ride, I swear. I've wanted to give up but hey, it's a birthday present so I had to complete it no matter the costs (my brain cells, sweat, blood, and tears). i,i 

Also, since the inception of that Inside Out Sehun version, I've been wanting to include more pairings in my stories so here's a warning — Luhan/Yixing and Chanyeol/Kyungsoo ahead! I ship them so much you have no idea. <3

To my recipient, happy birthday, girl! Hope you'll like it because you've heard me ranting about it one too many times (so you better love it). 

For the rest of y'all, 32k of words ahead! Enjoy and comment!

xoxo,

pandabiscuits

 

 

"The soba's for table nineteen, the udon's for twelve."

 

Isobel nods, briefly sending her fellow colleague a smile before she nimbly scoops the tray up onto a single hand, the other hand gripping onto the edge for balance. She then sets off, eyes sweeping her surroundings, feet taking her to the respective tables with a speed that shows off how long she has been working at the establishment. It’s not easy to walk fast with two bowls of piping hot noodles balanced on a single palm, with steps and obstacles in the form of customers and colleagues along the way.

 

Yet, Isobel reaches the first table in less than ten seconds, her free hand setting down the bowl of udon in front of a less-than-enthusiastic teenager whose mother prods him to thank the server. The boy merely grunts and Isobel politely smiles a little in return before she’s off, her feet taking her to the other table.

 

Her mind runs a mile a minute, the brain situated within trying to figure out where that table might be, figurative hands rummaging in imaginary folders to dig out that map of the restaurant she had committed to long-term memory within a week of working. Ah, the brain sighs in relief as it fishes out the important document, here it is. And it goes about relaying directions to her feet and within eight seconds of leaving table twelve, Isobel arrives at table nineteen.

 

“Shoyu ramen?” Isobel informs the table’s occupants with a standard, patronising smile that she directs to every customer she meets. No teeth, no wide creepy grin like a clown’s; just, a smile. The only adult at the table gestures to herself and Isobel promptly sets the bowl down in front of her, says enjoy your meal, and then she’s off again.

 

She works in that routine for around ten minutes before she almost spills three bowls of matcha ice cream onto a customer’s head. Almost, but a single stray droplet did make its way onto the man’s greying hair and Isobel terrifyingly thinks that her job stint at this restaurant is over. Amidst her continuous repetitions of I am so sorry and her offer of paying for a hair wash in which the man kindly and profusely declines, Isobel notices a pair of eyes that had fixed themselves upon her.

 

The eyes belong to a male, whom she recognises as the customer who towered over her when he walked past her minutes ago. She recalls staring at him for a few seconds, watching her colleague lead him and the same old man to a table, before she shook her head and got back to work. But even as he is seated now, Isobel thinks that she would only be a head taller than him.

 

Her eyes meet with his, and the man’s blow wide with surprise. He looks away then, a tinge of pink colouring his cheeks. Isobel a brow, confusion washing over her but it quickly dissipates when the man, whose hair almost became a common bowl for three scoops of matcha ice cream, beckons her manager closer to him and Isobel thinks again, that’s it I’m going to be fired. The two men talk in hushed voices for a few moments before Isobel’s manager pulls away and shoots her a what-are-you-still-doing-here expression. Isobel’s mouth forms an ‘o’, eyelids blinking rapidly in helplessness, but she quickly regains her composure and with a curt nod, she scarpers but not before she hears a snigger from the male.

 

Isobel freezes for a second, head turning slightly towards his direction to see his lips stretching wide and a gummy smile forms on his face. Her chest constricts immediately but as she notices his eyes about to dart to her, Isobel flees.

 

(The girl almost tumbles off the steps with yet another three bowls of matcha ice cream on her tray when her eyes subconsciously strayed and caught sight of another gummy smile.)

 

---

 

“Morning.”

 

Isobel mumbles, her lips barely peeling apart for the greeting to slip out loudly but her colleagues that greet in return as she steps into the establishment don’t seem to mind. It is normal for the girl to report to work in a sleepy state because she’s the only part-timer who willingly works a full-day shift as she waits for her university school term to start.

 

Besides, they have seen worse days where she came with her eyes barely open, face still holding remnants of sleep, and her hair in extreme disarray. And there was that one time where she actually reported to work in her pyjamas; her colleagues have no idea how that happened but they don’t talk about it because their precious youngest doesn’t seem to remember.

 

So as Isobel falls face-down onto a three-seater couch seat, her colleagues kindly leave her be. Her manager cautiously removes her bag from her arms, and traipses towards the back room. Along the way, he shoves his hand inside to retrieve the pouch where the girl keeps her keys. He emerges with it, picks out her locker key and opens her locker, carefully places her bag inside before taking out her apron. He then returns to his knocked-out employee and quietly places the neatly-folded apron on the table where he knows she will see when she awakes. With a fond smile, he gazes at her for a few seconds before leaving.

 

The man walks towards the cashier with a spring in his step, although the dark circles beneath his eyes betray the exhaustion he feels from being captain of this ship he singlehandedly manages daily. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he was about to step into the space when a shadow appears on the counter and he finds herself needing to crane his neck upwards to look at the person who has a smile on his face.

 

“Good morning,” The person politely greets, his raspy, deep voice breaking the silence of the restaurant’s pre-opening state. His eyes are obscured by several strands of hair, and the manager notices how tousled his locks are. The person’s face looks cleanly shaven and as the manager continues to sweep his eyes over him, the smile on his face gradually widens into a gummy smile. “I’m the new employee that’s due to start working here from today onwards.”

 

That is when the eyes of the manager finally flit back to the person’s face, dilating in recognition and he blurts out, “You’re the person who was with the customer whom Bel almost spilt ice cream on a few days ago!” At the mention of the name in the manager’s shriek, the new employee’s brows rise and he mouths at no one in particular, ah so that’s her name.

 

The manager finds the sudden action queer but ignores it as the familiarity of the person who still stands across the counter washes over him, and after he takes in his new employee’s towering stature and chiseled appearance, a satisfied smile forms on his countenance. “You’re good-looking. I think I’ll have more female customers soon.”

 

The taller male chuckles at that, “Thank you for your compliment, and I’m glad to be of service in attracting more customers for your establishment, Sir.” He then extends a hand across the counter and the manager slips his hand into the much larger one. He tries not to wince at the difference in size and the feeling of being overwhelmed, and instead focuses on correcting his new charge’s diction. “Aye, please don’t call me that, you’re making me feel old. Just call me Lu Han.”

 

“Lu Han,” The raspy, deep voice calls out and Lu Han smiles at that. “And I’m–”

 

“Welcome to our small family,” Lu Han interrupts, an involuntary manager-y reaction when he feels that conversations are getting too long to continue. (In actual fact, Lu Han just wants to remove his hand from the male’s; it’s getting sweaty.) “Kris.”

 

---

 

“Who’s the new kid?”

 

There are no customers yet, since the doors to the restaurant just officially opened, so Isobel sleepily leans against the counter, elbow propped on it which in turns supports her head, as she murmurs to the two sushi chefs manning their work station. Minseok, the older of the two men, clucks at his colleague’s slur of words but replies her anyway. “You can see him? Where are your spectacles?”

 

Isobel pointedly puffs out her chest, and in the front pocket of her black polo shirt hangs a pair of black-rimmed spectacles. Minseok winces at the girl’s action, mutters an inaudible no sense of shame this girl under his breath before he properly answers, “He’s Kris. He starts today as a part-timer but nobody knows how long he’ll be working here. Heard from Lu Han that he’s probably waiting for his university term to start too.” Minseok then glances at Isobel, “Maybe he’s in the same university as you, Bel.”

 

Isobel shrugs, her mind still trying to start up so she actually hasn’t heard most of what Minseok has said. Her eyes seem blank and the word ‘exhaustion’ is clearly written all over her face, no doubt the result of back-to-back full-day shifts Isobel undertook the past month.

 

The older sushi chef gives the restaurant’s youngest employee a long look, his mind recalling the one time he attempted to persuade the girl to opt for half-day shifts instead of a full-day ones but found himself being ignored as Isobel stomped away with a dark cloud of stubbornness hanging over her head, and he sighs.

 

Instead of wasting energy in trying to convince her to slow down, Minseok thinks, I should use it to make her some salmon rolls. And the chef discreetly hides a small plate of salmon at the back of his side of the chiller which he shares with his partner. He makes sure to stash it behind containers of sliced cucumber and radish where no one but him would be able to find out. Minseok shuts the door, smirking.

 

“Why are you smirking, Minseok? It’s creepy.” Isobel seems to have finally woken up, her eyes, now hiding behind the pair of spectacles, are bright and seeing, and she stretches her limbs. A low, drawn-out sigh of relief leaves her lips as her joints crack satisfyingly and the other sushi chef, Yixing, chuckles at the girl’s grandmotherly sigh. Isobel hears that and snaps her narrowed eyes to the male in question, a mock scowl already formed on her face. “Yixing, I know what you’re thinking but I can safely assure you that I am no grandmother!”

 

Yixing raises his hands in mock denial of his thoughts, mouth forming an ‘o’ before sliding into a pout. “I most certainly didn’t think that, but if you say so.” Isobel scoffs at that and the younger sushi chef lets out a peal of soft laughter. “But Bel, if you keep behaving like a grandmother, who would want to be your boyfriend?”

 

“I would.”

 

A foreign voice joins the party and Isobel feels a presence behind her. A hulking presence. A small wave of panic washes over her and Isobel quickly looks to Yixing who mouths Kris. The girl groans inwardly but immediately slaps on a patronising smile as she whirls around and she almost crumples onto the clean flooring. “Y-You…” Her eyes widen significantly and the panic within her surges. “It’s you!”

 

“Hey,” Kris grins, his hands sticking themselves on his waist as he looks down at his surprised colleague. “I hope you haven’t spilt any more ice cream onto people’s heads while I wasn’t here.” His upper lip curls upwards, revealing a set of white teeth and Isobel recognises this as Step Two in the formation of a gummy smile. (Isobel doesn’t acknowledge it but her mind might have accidentally recorded the entire scene of how Kris’ gummy smile was formed, and she rewinds it like a Youtube video put on permanent replay whenever she feels like it.)

 

Yixing is separated from Isobel and Kris by the sushi counter, but it doesn’t stop him from ruthlessly whacking the girl on the back of her head with a rubber glove when the chef figures out, from the lack of response towards the new kid’s statement, that she must have spaced out. So as Isobel snaps out of her daze and turns her head around to shoot him a murderous glare, Yixing nonchalantly replies for her. “Nope, Bel hasn’t committed another ice cream incident since that one, although she did almost spill shoyu soup onto Lu Han but damn, she didn’t.” He purses his lips, and Kris laughs.

 

Isobel’s breath hitches upon hearing the new employee’s low, throaty laugh, but as her eyes meet with Yixing’s mischievous ones, she hurriedly recovers and smirks at him. “I’m telling Lu Han.”

 

Colour drains from the younger sushi chef’s face and that expression alone is enough revenge for Isobel as she skips off, ears ignoring Yixing’s pleas of no, please, I don’t want to sleep on the streets echoing after her. Isobel hopes that their manager steps out of the kitchen right then to hear his boyfriend and issues a punishment she can’t do because of psh, age limitations. She can’t wait to hear of Zhang Yixing being thrown out of his shared apartment with Lu Han.

 

At that thought, Isobel snickers and she almost reaches the servers’ counter where a couple of figures lay sprawled over when– “Bel, wait up!”

 

She freezes, black sneakers skidding on the flooring and the goosebump-raising screech of soles against clean tiles reverberates in the quiet restaurant. She imagines Minseok flinching as he prepares the seaweed, or Yixing and Lu Han stiffening in the midst of their love squabble (if Lu Han has exited the kitchen). Isobel does see her fellow servers, Zitao, Sehun, and Jongin, falling off the counter right in front of her, though, their bodies piling on top of one another’s. Zitao yells for Jongin to wake the up as Sehun rolls off Jongin, sits on the floor and cackles maniacally at Zitao’s plight of being squashed by a bleary Jongin.

 

Isobel would have laughed at Zitao too if she wants to, but she can’t. Not when the hulking presence comes from behind her for the second time and Isobel cautiously spins around, the same patronising smile she gives to customers plastered onto her face. “Yes? Um. Uh...?”

 

“Oh. Oh, it’s Kris.” Kris points a long finger to himself, his lips pulling upwards and Isobel (to her delight horror) recognises it as Step One of the gummy smile formation. “Just, call me Kris?” And he blooms into a gummy smile, skipping all the steps that Isobel has uselessly identified, causing the girl to stiffen but as he continues to bathe his only female colleague in the beam of his dazzling smile, Isobel can’t help but smile a little in return.

 

“Okay,” She breathes. “Kris.”

 

---

 

“So you’re shadowing me?”

 

Kris nods. “Lu Han says you’re the only actually-serious worker in this restaurant.” Then he adds with a soft, low whisper, “Besides himself, of course.”

 

Isobel swallows at the deep baritone and wills herself to mentally ignore it before scoffing, “What a show-off, that manager.” But she breaks into a small, knowing smile because she knows that Lu Han actually is a serious worker, only taking off-days when he really can’t slink off his bed (according to Yixing) and report for work in the pink of health. Those days usually never happen.  

 

“Anyway,” Kris interrupts her cloud of thoughts and brings Isobel back to the Japanese restaurant. “Do take care of me, Bel.” Kris bows slightly, his long torso bending forward and his hair barely misses the tip of Isobel’s nose. She almost sneezes into the crown of his head (to her mortification).

 

“Um, actually,” Isobel begins, her ears having picked up on a word she wishes to correct her new shadow. “My name isn’t–”

 

“Bel! Get your moving and stop flirting with the new kid!” Lu Han hollers from somewhere in the restaurant and an awkward pause later, the laughs of men (boys really, Isobel thinks bitterly) fill her ears.

 

She eyes Jongin and Sehun making cooing noises from the servers’ counter and she shoots them a death glare. They don’t shut up, but a ninja-Lu Han’s whack on their heads with a towel silences them effectively and Isobel snickers as they cower under the man even though he’s shorter than them.

 

As Isobel has said, Lu Han is a serious employee.

 

---

 

“The sashimi is for table eight, and the handroll is table twenty-one.”

 

Yixing instructs Kris, and the latter nods seriously, his eyes sweeping across the establishment as he tries to recall the numbers of the tables. Next to him, Isobel watches but Minseok snaps her out of her daze by having her bring dishes to customers too. She waits for her shadow to set off, her feet trailing after his, as he makes his way towards the tables his dishes are meant for.

 

He makes a wrong turn and Isobel panics, seeing how he has his free hand on the plate of sashimi and looks about ready to set it on table eleven instead of table–

 

“Here’s your sashimi,” Kris whirls around at the last second, his eyes blowing wide at the presence of his colleague behind him, but he just smiles (no gummy smile though, darn) and places the sashimi on table eight. “Enjoy your meal.”

 

Kris then looks to Isobel, the patronising smile that the girl has taught him to slap on in front of customers blossoming into the gummy smile (and Isobel goes through the motions of the formation in her mind automatically), and he says, “Bet you were worried there, weren’t you?”

 

Isobel regains her sanity thoughts, a sneer playing across her face but Kris takes no notice of that. He continues to smile, gum and all, at her. Isobel’s about to lose it. “I wasn’t worried. Not at all.”

 

“Don’t lie.” Isobel’s breath hitches when Kris dips his head towards her, eyes capturing hers and his gummy smile is all that she sees until–

 

“Stop flirting in front of the customerssssssss.” Someone hisses from behind her and Isobel flinches when she recognises it as the manager’s voice. Great, she thinks, I’m going to be fired for something I didn’t intend to do– Wait what? There was no intention at all when she spoke to Kris. There wasn’t. Isn’t. Totally no intention of flirting at all. Totally.

 

By the time Isobel senses Lu Han walking away from her, his hiss still replaying in her mind like a broken recorder, her shadow was long gone and she finds herself standing between tables seven and eight foolishly with her dishes. The customers seated at those tables peer up curiously at her and she flashes the standard, patronising smile at them before traipsing on.

 

Chiding herself in her head, she quickly delivers her dishes and returns to the sushi counter where Minseok and Yixing give her knowing looks, and Isobel wishes she could slap them both with her dirty table-cleaning towel. Minseok would probably scream because germs germs germs! while Yixing would just stare blankly at her, the action not registering in his mind. (Isobel highly reckons that Yixing only thinks about two things — sushi, and Lu Han.)

 

But no, she shall not be the one to make a mistake first (even if she really, really does want to whack the sushi chefs and probably the rest of the now-cackling crew into space). Instead, she will tolerate. And tolerate, she will.

 

(Isobel whacks Yixing’s chef hat off his head a while later when she spies Yixing making kissy faces at Minseok and Minseok tattles that Yixing had pretended to be her while Minseok’s Kris. Isobel very much wants to tell Lu Han about this and have Zhang Yixing sleeping on the streets.)

 

---

 

“Your home is in this direction, too?”

 

A familiar hulking presence makes itself known seconds later after Isobel steps out of the restaurant and takes a left turn, her arms stretched above her head as she yawns and wills herself to not drop onto the pavement and just, sleep forever.

 

She freezes, heart beginning to thump in her chest as a long shadow appears next to hers. “Um, yep. I live about ten minutes from here.” Isobel replies and walks on, her mind still running a mile a minute even though work ended thirty minutes ago. She half-prays that Kris wouldn’t follow her, or trail behind her like a stalker would; then again, she half-hopes that Kris would fall into step and easy banter with her. The girl can’t handle awkward situations too well. She can hardly hold a conversation with herself for more than three minutes. (Not that anyone can, actually. Unless you’re mentally unsound.)

 

“Oh,” To her relief, Kris catches up to her (long legs and all, y’know) and immediately falls into step with her. “Me too; though I’m about fifteen minutes away but walking is healthy.”

 

And, the conversation lapses into silence. Isobel is about to lose it, again.

 

“Um, why are you working at the restaurant, if you don’t mind me asking?” Isobel gingerly asks, her hands slipping into the front pockets of her black jeans, as she turns her head slightly towards her colleague. “Money? For fun? Knowledge?”

 

Kris’ tongue darts out and he holds it between his thin lips, not moving it as he thinks. Isobel thinks he better answer soon, and keep his tongue before her fingers flit over and just–

 

“Knowledge,” Kris answers just then, his tongue disappearing back into his mouth and Isobel mentally heaves a sigh of relief, though an inexplicable pang of regret shoots through her chest. “For… knowledge.”

 

The girl looks at her giant colleague, her mind having picked up on a brief pause and hesitation in his reply, and confusion washes over her so she probes. “Knowledge?”

 

Kris nods slowly, his eyes darting to the corners of his eyes but he doesn’t turn to look at Isobel. “You could say I’m trying to learn how restaurants work and operate on a daily basis.” His tongue then sticks out again and he drags it nervously across his lips.

 

Isobel notices that and she feels her fingers twitching in the pockets. She ignores them and chooses to focus on her colleague’s answer. “Are you studying about that? Culinary practices, or managerial duties? Because if it’s the latter, I’m sure Lu Han would be more than happy to help you out.”

 

Kris doesn’t reply, he just stares straight ahead and walks, their steps still in sync with each other.

 

“Or if you enter the kitchen, our chefs Chanyeol and Kyungsoo would help you out too.” Isobel continues to look at him, never mind her heart seemingly about to rip its way out of her chest or that her face was the colour of ripe tomatoes. Why is her new colleague so darn good-looking? Whyyyyyy– “The guys are all very nice.” Then she mutters under her breath, “Most of the time.”

 

“You seem to be very close to them.” Kris finally speaks, but Isobel doesn’t miss out on his tone. Suddenly cold and sharp, quite akin to Minseok and Yixing’s sushi knives or Kyungsoo and Chanyeol’s insane accuracy at slicing carrots into sticks at the speed of light. Confusion seeps into her.

 

“Well,” She begins, her running-a-mile-a-minute mind phrasing her words properly because Isobel reckons that a single incorrectly-spoken word would lead to disaster.

 

And she would know, because she deals with annoying customers all the time, what with is this soup shoyu or miso or are you sure this is sashimi and Isobel always barely manages to keep her anger in check otherwise she’d be flipping tables at those morons who don’t seem to know Japanese cuisine at all. Excuse them but who is the one working in a Japanese restaurant — them, or her.

 

“Sehun was the one who recommended me this job, because he’s kinda my childhood friend even though we drifted apart when I had to move away from his neighbourhood. Now his best friend is Jongin, but sometimes we hang out together.”

 

“Mm.” Kris grunts and Isobel clears silently while she resignedly thinks, great this conversation is going downhill. Mental note to never walk home with Kris ever again.

 

“Why… Why do you ask?”

 

“I was just curious.” Was his matter-of-fact reply and Isobel doesn’t know how to reply to that. The conversation goes to ruins.

 

The girl arrives at her home minutes later and with a curt bow, she dashes up the steps and lets herself into the lift lobby with deft fingers on the number pad. She feels his eyes on herself the entire time but she doesn’t look back, doesn’t turn back, doesn’t say good night.

 

Isobel just flees.

 

---

 

“Here, let me help you.”

 

Isobel shuts her eyes, in exasperation more than the sudden onslaught of delight that washes over her, as a more-than-familiar hulking presence appears behind her and it wasn’t long before a long arm reaches over her head to grab the basket of chopsticks stored high up on the shelves. At times like these, Isobel wishes she was taller because she doesn’t need any more height jokes directed at her (courtesy of ex-childhood friend Oh Sehun and new best friend Kim Jongin). She prays that new-colleague-slash-giant Kris Wu hasn’t conversed much with them yet.   

 

“Thanks.” She whirls around, hands immediately gripping onto the red basket held between their bodies, eyes transfixing themselves on the abundance of chopsticks, and she was about to side-step past him when Kris pipes up, “I see that you’ve been leaving rather early these few days.”

 

Isobel freezes and Kris takes the chance to step in front of her again, the tips of his black sneakers meeting with hers. Isobel feels his breaths on the crown on her head and she sees his chest smack right in front of her. If she leans forward just a little bit, just a little bit, her forehead would be able to rest itself on those comfortable– ugh shut up, shut up, shuddup!

 

“Lu Han wasn’t too happy that you left without refilling the vinegar and soy sauce bottles yesterday.” Kris fiddles with his apron and Isobel’s eyes follow the movement of his fingers like a hawk eying its prey. Her mind begins to note down the gentle folds of skin that adorn those long, svelte digits (to her belated horror because oh my god I’m a er for this– and is that a scar?). “He asked if you had something on.”

 

“Um,” Isobel’s mind whirs, having shut down since break time had started and she had been waiting for Chanyeol’s staff lunch to be ready since ten minutes ago. “I-I had to run some errands for my mother, so that’s why I’ve been leaving earlier this past week.”

 

Isobel doesn’t tell him that she wanted to avoid walking home with him. Like she had said, awkward situations ain’t her thing. And, well, it’s Kris. The dude with the gummy smile that she has come up with steps for its formation. The dude that just makes her want to flee for reasons unknown. The dude that sends her heart into overdrive with everything he does, mopping the floor included.

 

“What kind of errands?” Kris probes, unaware of Isobel’s trembling fingers and reluctance to continue this conversation. His eyes still see the top of her head, the black roots of her dyed brown hair distracting him. “I could help you out so you’d be able to refill those bottles before Lu Han blows his top any night now.” His attempt at a joke falls extremely flat and Kris thinks he hears crows cawing right outside the restaurant. He mentally face-palms himself for a job well done. He was never good with jokes, unfortunately.

 

“Just– Errands.” Isobel sighs. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have chopsticks to bring out.” And the girl finally side-steps past her tall colleague and exits the back room. She notices the rest of her colleagues standing in a row right outside and rolls her eyes as they scarper the moment they see her emerging from the door. As if pretending to clean the seats or counter top, or throwing oneself over the counters and back into your working space doesn’t make you suspicious or a busybody.

 

Isobel works with idiots. Lu Han the-only-other-serious employee included.

 

---

 

“She seems to hate you.”

 

Kris glances up from his rag, and finds Sehun standing next to him. The taller boy narrows his eyes, his mind recalling a fact that Bel had mentioned some nights before that Sehun’s kinda my childhood friend, and Kris automatically exits the conversation. Nothing to see here, nothing to talk about here. Nothing.

 

He flits over to the next table, rag immediately doing its duty by wiping on a small puddle of sesame sauce, but Kris notices with annoyance that Sehun had followed. “What do you want, Sehun?”

 

Sehun seems taken aback by the question, but more than that, he was surprised by his new colleague’s cold tone. Hmm, he thinks with a mental smirk forming in his head, this will be fun.

 

“Nothing,” Sehun replies, his tone flighty but he keeps the tease in it to a minimum. “Just wanted to see how our new colleague is faring. Also, I want to know if Bel’s been treating you alright.”

 

Sehun hovers around Kris, not minding the fact that he’s a couple of centimetres shorter than the establishment’s newest addition and Jongin had called him shortie for that a couple of days after Kris officially started work. His best friend must have forgotten about the giant in the kitchen called Park Chanyeol. But then again, Jongin tends to forget everything. Name included.

 

“Couldn’t you ask her that yourself? Seeing how you’re her childhood friend.” Kris remarks, not bothering to mask the bitterness in his words, as he slinks off to the servers’ counter to rinse his dirtied rag in a bucket of water.

 

In the midst of twisting the cloth dry, Sehun appears beside him again and almost makes Kris spill the contents of the bucket onto the floor that Isobel had painstakingly mopped clean before she crashed onto one of the couches for her daily Lu Han-approved lunch break nap. Kris thinks that the manager has a very soft spot for the establishment’s only female employee, and he finds himself not liking that thought very much (to his confusion).

 

“I could.” Sehun answers without hesitation, his eyes training themselves onto Kris’ less-than-amused face. “But I want to ask you. Besides, that girl is in no state for a conversation right now.” The boy then proceeds to let out a snigger for his supposed joke and Kris thinks in relief that yay, someone is as bad at jokes as I am. But he quickly pushes that thought to the recesses of his mind because ew, no, this is ex-childhood friend Oh Sehun I’m talking about. My love ri–

 

“Anyway, how’s Bel treating you? You okay?”

 

Kris snaps out of his thoughts and just nods, not wanting to elaborate because he really doesn’t want to have this conversation with Sehun at all. He feels the dormant rage in him beginning to stir as Sehun’s eyes continue to be fixed on him, his (annoying) presence still within his radius and even though Kris has pointedly kept his mouth shut in hopes of his senior understanding that he wants to be left alone, Kris is sorely disappointed when Sehun speaks once more.

 

“Not wanting to be a busybody, but are you, perhaps, interested in Bel?”

 

Kris’ legs almost give way.

 

“W-What!?” He splutters, eyes finally making contact with Sehun’s crescent ones. He doesn’t like that expression of absolute glee on the boy’s face. It seems as though he’s plotting something in that nutcase of a brain sloshing about in a skull filled with nothing but air. Yeah, that probably explains the question. That ing stupid question which could have caused heart prob– “No.”

 

“No what?” Sehun looks up, showing Kris a wonderful view of his nostrils. Kris tries hard not to stab the boy’s moony eyes with his fingers because he’s sure that Bel won’t want to have a blind ex-childhood friend and he doesn’t want Bel to hate him beca– wait where is this going…?

 

“No,” Kris clears his throat. “I’m… not interested in Bel.”

 

Sehun doesn’t deflate, but he does pull away (much to Kris’ absolute delight) and folds his arms across his chest. “Okay, I see.”

 

When Sehun doesn’t continue, Kris sees it as a chance to escape, which he does. Flashing the standard, patronising smile at his senior, he grabs the bucket and the rag, and darts into the kitchen where Chanyeol and Kyungsoo stare at him with large eyes (larger for the shorter chef).

 

He side-steps them, eyes transfixed on the massive cleavers in their hands for fear of them perhaps running after him with it (he better stop listening to Minseok and Zitao’s horror stories about the kitchen chefs), before dashing to the sink and dumps the bucket in it. His fingers grip the edge of the sink, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

 

Sehun’s question rings loud and clear in his mind even though Kris tries hard to push it out, to no avail. He doesn’t realise that someone had made his way next to him, a hand over one of his and it took the person more than twenty seconds to snap Kris out of his daze.

 

Kris darts his eyes to the right, making contact with an unamused stare of the short chef, Kyungsoo. Fear washes over him immediately as he sees the cleaver in the chef’s hand and Zitao’s story of Kyungsoo chopping off an ex-employee’s fingers because of his incompetence to deliver dishes correctly swims into his mind. He opens his mouth, an apology about to slip out of his lips when Kyungsoo gently interrupts, “Are you okay, Kris?”

 

“No.”

 

Kris doesn’t know what got into him, but he answers honestly and allows himself to deflate, fear dissipating as Kyungsoo’s large eyes gaze at him. Kyungsoo puts down the cleaver, placing it carefully next to the bucket in the sink and he leads Kris to a stool somewhere in the kitchen. Chanyeol comes bounding but Kyungsoo sends him out with a do-not-disturb glare and Chanyeol whimpers pitifully, but obediently slinks out with a hunched back. Kris likens the duo to master and dog, but he doesn’t voice that out because Kyungsoo and cleaver and fingers.

 

“What’s up?” Kyungsoo pulls up next to the establishment’s tallest employee with another stool. “Care to tell me?”

 

Kris doesn’t respond, just plays with his fingers and Kyungsoo notices a scar on his index finger. “Oh, where did you get that?” He points to the scar.

 

“I was slicing leeks for dinner a couple of weeks back when I wasn’t paying attention, and yeah it just happened.” Kris absentmindedly rubs over the small, thin scar.

 

“Was it because you were trying to replicate one of our hotpots?”

 

Kris nods, but soon does a double take when he snaps his wide eyes at Kyungsoo who has a knowing expression on his face. “Wh– Huh!?”

 

“I know everything, Kris.” Kyungsoo just says, his eyes twinkling with knowledge and Kris just sighs because yeah, he does look like he knows everything. “I know.”

 

“How… How did you find out?”

 

Kyungsoo scoffs, “Did you think that I wouldn’t recognise my boss that day?” He then edges his face close to Kris’.

 

“Or the boss’ son?”

 

---

 

“You are finally refilling the vinegar and soy sauce bottles!”

 

Isobel glances up from her work space, and her manager’s overly-exaggerated (and ugly) look of awe fills her sight. She promptly drops her eyes and goes back to stuffing the funnel into the rim of a soy sauce bottle. Her hand reaches for the large bottle of sauce but her fingers grab at air until someone unceremoniously shoves it in her face and Isobel gets a full inhalation of saltiness. Her eyes begin to tear due to the sudden invasion of salt and Isobel nearly flies over the table to strangle Lu Han.

 

Lu Han just laughs when his only female employee snatches the bottle out of his hand and resumes her refilling. He rests his eyes on her, a fond expression forming on his ugly now-pretty visage as he watches her work.

 

Isobel manages to refill that current bottle of soy sauce before she snaps, “Go away, Lu Han. Go watch someone else.”

 

A whimper comes from in front of her and Isobel stops her mind from coming up with an image of a Lu Han looking like a kicked puppy deer. Never pity the manager, even if he has a baby face and the character of a manchild that only Yixing can withstand (and lived to tell the tale). She mentally applauds herself for not giving a damn to the still-whining Lu Han before the whimpers stop and Lu Han clears his throat.  

 

“Not afraid that I’d fire you for your impudence, Bel?” Lu Han looks at her, his eyes trying to narrow themselves in a bid to look angered but he gives up when his employee doesn’t even bother to look up from her bottles. “Oi…”

 

“I’m the only serious employee you have, dear manager.” Isobel comments, her tone betraying the sarcasm she feels, and her eyes flit upwards for a moment to take in Lu Han’s wide-eyed look before returning to the vinegar bottle in front of her. “So how about you tell me? Would I ever be fired?”

 

“Tch, what a show-off.”

 

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Isobel retorts playfully, and she shrieks when Lu Han suddenly ruffles her hair and almost causes her to spill an almost-filled soy sauce bottle. Amidst the combined laughter of the restaurant’s only-two serious employees, Isobel doesn’t feel a longing gaze directed at her from tables away.

 

---

 

“Sashimi’s for table eleven, katsu-don’s for table sixty-eight.”

 

Isobel side-eyes Yixing. “Um, as much as Lu Han has prayed with all his might for an expansion of this joint, there’s no table sixty-eight as of now, Yixing.”

 

Yixing glances up from his rolling of a handroll, his fingers about to place a strip of egg onto the rice. He abandons the handroll to grab the order sheet from the tray, his eyes squinting as he tries to make out the blurred numbers written. “But it says sixty-eight though…”

 

Isobel twists her body, eyes attempting to read the numbers scrawled messily on the small scrap of paper, and indeed, a katsu-don 68 was written on it. She inhales deeply, and exhales just as much. From across the counter, Yixing pointedly scoots towards a surprised Minseok, handroll in tow. He knows that some serious is going to go down with whoever wrote that order. He better excuse his innocent self.

 

Just then, Kris rushes over with an eaten crab salad gunkan and Minseok hurriedly tends to him. “Customer doesn’t want wasabi.”

 

Minseok nods and quickly prepares another plate. Whilst he does that, Isobel sidles up to the new kid (of almost a month) and shoves the scrap of paper in his face. Kris blinks rapidly, not knowing what to make of it until Isobel practically screams in his face, “Did you write this?”

 

Kris only manages to exhale before Isobel continues, “There is no table sixty-eight! So what the is a sixty-eight doing here!?”

 

She removes the paper then and her rage-contorted expression was all that Kris saw before she throws the paper at him and stomps off. Yixing barely snatches the bowl of katsu-don off the tray and he sets it down on the counter, his worried eyes darting to a frozen Kris. “You okay, Kris?”

 

Kris opens his mouth, but no words come out of it. He finally stammers a disbelieved Wh-What just happened? when Minseok places the plate of wasabi-less crab salad gunkan on his tray and tells him to set off because he spies Lu Han coming over. “Go, hurry!”

 

Kris nods and hurriedly scarpers, his feet taking him back to the table that requested for the gunkan. He then darts his eyes back to the sushi counter, seeing both Minseok and Yixing shrugging their shoulders and Lu Han bending forward to retrieve the paper that Isobel had unceremoniously flung at him.

 

He wonders why she did that when a hiss comes from behind him and he side-steps to let a scowling Isobel pass. She glares up at him, but the standard, patronising smile flits onto her face the instance she sets a plate of handroll onto table eighteen. Isobel then stalks off, not bothering to acknowledge Kris’ hey–, leaving a large wave of confusion to wash over him.

 

---

 

“You scolded the wrong person, Bel.”

 

Isobel stiffens, her hands pausing in her now-daily routine of refilling sauce bottles before knocking off work. Errands be damned (not that there were any errands in the first place). Her hands now smell of a mixture of vinegar and soy sauce even after baths, but she doesn’t mind; smells like the establishment, which she fondly calls her second home, anyway.

 

She sees Lu Han sliding into the couch opposite hers, a familiar-looking scrap of paper pinched between his fingers, and it piques her curiosity so she gingerly asks, “Why do you have that?”

 

“I picked it up after you threw it at Kris.” Lu Han replies matter-of-factly, his fingers now toying with the tattered piece of paper. Isobel spies the faint scrawl of the number that riled her up in the afternoon, but now that she thinks about it, why on earth was she so furious at the incorrectly written number? She must have been crazy, some wire plugged incorrectly somewhere within her, causing that spur-of-the-moment insanity in front of customers– oh my god I am going to be fired. The third time is always the charm, after all. Isobel timidly glances at her manager.

 

“And you just mentioned that I scolded the wrong person…?”

 

Lu Han nods, sliding the paper towards her and jerks his chin at it. Isobel bends her head slightly and eyes the messily written katsu-don 68. “Can you guess the relation between katsu-don and the number sixty-eight, Bel?”

 

She replies in a heartbeat, “Sixty-eight corresponds to the item number of katsu-don–” Isobel then stops, and a sigh slips out of her lips. “Huang Zitao…”

 

“He’s done it again,” Lu Han winces, his hands gently coaxing Isobel’s fingers to release their grip on the funnel and he stuffs in an opened bottle. Glancing up at her while he refills it, the manager muses softly, “So that only means that Kris…”

 

“It wasn’t his mistake.” Isobel finishes, and promptly slaps a hand on her forehead. “.”

 

“Yixing mentioned how traumatised he had looked after that sudden screamo you pulled on him, and I do want my female customers to continue streaming in during tomorrow’s lunch time so I let him leave early tonight.” Lu Han caps the filled bottle and reaches for another empty one but Isobel beats him to it and takes the funnel from his hands. With her head bowed low in what seems to be repentance, Isobel resumes her refilling with quiet movements.

 

Watching her, Lu Han knows his job is done. It’s up to her, now.

 

---

 

“What are you waiting for, Isobel Lee! Apologise to him already!”

 

Sehun jams his hands onto his hips, lips pulling into a tight line as he stares down at his ex-childhood friend. She tilts her head up for a short moment, eyes making contact with his, before looking back down at her half-filled bottle of vinegar sauce. She resumes her pouring. Sehun feels his exasperation nearing dangerously to its boiling point. Any second now and boom, Oh Sehun is going to explode and his pretty innards are going to mess up Zitao’s mopped floor.

 

He keeps it in though, regulating his breathing as he fixes his eyes on the black roots of her dyed hair. Sehun makes a mental note to remind his friend to re-dye her hair; those black roots are hideous and oh my gosh Kris probably sees that everyday holy . “It’s been, what, almost three days and you haven’t even said a single word to the poor dude.”

 

Isobel scoffs, “Since when do you care about the new kid?”

 

“He’s been here for a month, I don’t think he counts as a new kid any long–” Sehun stops himself. “–just, apologise.”

 

“Like I said, since when do you care about Kris?” Isobel reiterates her question, her eyes not bothering to meet with her friend’s even though she knows that he’s been staring at her the whole time. “Are you guys friends or something?”

 

“We’re colleagues, excuse you, and while I do want to be friends with him,” Sehun hesitates then, a recent memory swimming into his mind of Kris’ cold tone the last time they spoke. “He doesn’t seem too keen on it. I have no idea why.”

 

“Maybe he just doesn’t like you.”

 

Sehun gasps in mock horror and feigns being knocked down by an imaginary large fist, body flopping onto the empty couch opposite her. That stupid move elicits a laugh from Isobel who belatedly hisses when her hands accidentally knock down the bottle she was filling and vinegar sauce spreads over the table. “Ugh, Oh Sehun!”

 

The boy in question sits up and his eyes widen immediately. Oh Sehun may be an but he has a conscience (somewhere), so he quickly bounds off to retrieve a rag. It takes less than three minutes for the pair of ex-childhood friends to clean the mess up and Sehun offers to wash the rags while Isobel continues to fill her bottles, otherwise we’d never go home at this rate.

 

Isobel watches her friend traipse towards the kitchen, both dirtied towels cradled in his hands. Along the way, Sehun almost skids on Jongin’s mopped floor and she gasps in worry. He maintains his balance, though, and safely makes it to the kitchen.

 

Isobel then finds herself smiling fondly (no one tell Sehun about this; he’ll never let me live it down) and shakes her head gently before continuing her job. A shadow soon appears in her peripheral vision, and thinking that Sehun has returned, Isobel looks up with the same smile still etched on her face, only for it to dissolve when she sees someone different instead.

 

“Kris...?”

 

---

 

“Why’d you come back?”

 

Isobel musters up whatever courage she has in her and manages to ask, even if she sounds like she’s dying and uttering her last words. She side-glances at her tallest-slash-wrongly-accused colleague but quickly drops her eyes when she finds him looking at her.

 

“Since I’m off for tomorrow,” Kris tears his eyes away from her seconds later. “I thought I’d bring my apron home for some overdue washing.”

 

“Oh,” Isobel breathes, eyes training themselves on the empty pavement that stretches endlessly ahead of them. She tries to not be overly conscious of how she’s walking home with him after a week or more of not doing so, of how she feels his warmth radiating off his skin, or of how safe she actually feels just by being next to him. Isobel tries, but fails.

 

The short conversation lapses into silence, and Isobel fails to once again rein in her over-consciousness of the boy walking alongside her when she belatedly realises that the quietude is rather… comfortable. There’s no cloud of awkwardness descending upon her, no raining of droplets of ooh how awkward you two are on her head. She doesn’t trip on her two (left) feet while walking, doesn’t try to keep her breathing to an inaudible volume for fear of disturbing him, doesn’t correct her steps even after noticing that she’s walking in sync with him. She’s just being, her.

 

And Isobel smiles a little at that thought.

 

“You seem rather happy all of a sudden.”

 

Kris’ voice breaks the tranquility of the night and snaps the girl out of her small, happy daze. Isobel darts her eyes up to his and catches him looking at her intently. The gaze seems to pierce through her and kind of makes her uncomfortable but Isobel can’t bring herself to look away. So she just stares back, eyes dropping a little to his lips when he continues speaking and Isobel mentally groans when those pink lips embark on Step One of gummy smile formation. Damn.

 

“Did Sehun’s happiness infect you or something?”

 

Isobel shakes her head lightly. “Nah, I’m thinking of something.”

 

“Mm,” Kris hums in reply and his eyes leave her, though he flits them back a second later and Step One plays across his lips again. “He seemed rather happy just now.”

 

“Sehun’s crazy half the time, don’t mind him.” Isobel doesn’t elaborate. Kris doesn’t need to know that Sehun’s happy because the two of them are finally walking home together again, gladly 'sacrificing' their rare walk home together to let Kris walk her home. Instead, she looks ahead, the image of Step One on Kris’ lips freshly imprinted in her mind and Isobel breaks into a smile. It dissolves seconds later when a random thought shoots into her mind and Isobel slows her footsteps. Next to her, Kris does the same as confusion washes over him. “Is something the matter, Bel?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Isobel lifts her head, eyes soft and glistening, and she hopes that her colleague will accept her earnest, heartfelt, full-of-guilt apology. “I’m sorry for flaring up at you. I’m sorry for wrongly accusing you for something that you didn’t do. I’m sorry that I ignored you after that. I’m sorry that this apology is so overdue. I’m sor–”

 

A long finger places itself on Isobel’s lips, silencing her instantly. Her eyes round themselves and a cool breeze blows at them then, but it does nothing to quell the warmth blossoming within her. Isobel tries to distract herself from the rising heat, willing her hands to remain by her side and not flit upwards to rub foolishly at her chest.

 

“Stop apologising.” Step Two of gummy smile formation seizes Isobel’s breath, causing her to inhale sharply and Kris temporarily drops his smile in worry. His finger leaves the pink of her lips. “Are you–”

 

“I’m fine,” Isobel breathes, and tries to regulate her breathing. She reluctantly tears her eyes away from Kris’ face in order to accomplish that because one more look and I might just go into cardiac arrest. “I’m okay.”

 

“Are you sure?” Kris looks at her, and notices how she pointedly avoids meeting his eyes. An inexplicable bout of annoyance tugs at him but he shakes it off, and brings a hand up to her face. An index finger tucks itself under her chin and gently lifts her head. Isobel’s surprised eyes greet him and the annoyance within him immediately shapeshifts into yet another unexplainable emotion. Kris finds himself gazing at her until her voice breaks the silence.

 

“I’m still very sorry though.”

 

Her sudden apology makes Kris laugh and Isobel’s confused expression cracks him up even more as Kris attempts (but fails) to stifle his chortles. Finally realising that he’s laughing at her, Isobel bites on her lower lip and aims a kick at the giant’s shin but she softens at the last second and her shoe just grazes the fabric of his pants. She settles for staring (read: admiring) at him (and that cursed gummy smile) while he continues to wheeze, his attempts at trying to stop laughing somewhat working and moments later, Kris stops.

 

“I…” Kris pants, long fingers wiping at his eyes as the corners of his lips twitch in a bid to stop curving upwards. “I think I’ve heard enough ‘I’m sorry’ for a lifetime.” He peers at Isobel, hoping that his joke had worked but the girl’s unamused face tells him otherwise and Kris mentally laments at his inability to crack jokes. “Okay, not funny…”

 

Silence descends upon them again and Isobel scuffs her shoes against the pavement. She waits for him to speak, waits for him to break the awkwardness that had begun to envelop them, waits for him to acknowledge her apologies because she just realised that he hasn’t exactly said okay, I accept your apologies. So Isobel waits and Kris doesn’t disappoint her.

 

“Say…” He starts, a hand on the nape of his neck. “Are you free tomorrow?”

 

“Yes…?” Isobel doesn’t know where this conversation is going but she doesn’t feel an urge to put a stop to his words, even when Kris begins to stutter and Isobel struggles to make out what his jumble of words mean. She gives up and returns to what she was originally doing — waiting.

 

Kris stops himself, a large wave of embarrassment crashing onto him as he catches his colleague’s seemingly bored expression casted upon him. Kris gulps and wills his mind to right itself, to stop running a mile a minute, and just– just, say it already.

 

“C-Can–”

 

Just.

 

“C-Can we–”

 

ing say.

 

“Can w-we go out–”

 

It.

 

“Canwegooutonadatetomorrow?”

 

---

 

In Isobel’s defense, as she kept reiterating to Sehun (and Jongin, and Zitao, and Lu Han, Yixing, Minseok, Chanyeol, and Kyungsoo; all these busybody men) in their work-related group chat, it’s not a date.

 

“It’s not a date!” Isobel screams into her phone when Sehun calls her for the tenth time in thirty minutes, his evil cackle ringing out from the phone and it fills her kitchen. Isobel almost dropped her mug of coffee the first time her ex-childhood friend called and his shrill of congratulations dear friend! ruthlessly slices the peace of her calm morning. She regretted picking it up but then again, he is her childhood friend (read: ex) so when Sehun called again, Isobel gritted her teeth and answered. Which brings us back to the current situation.

 

“I am telling you,” Isobel punctuates each word with a stab of her finger into thin air. “It’s not a ing date!” She imagines Sehun’s face in front of her, and smirks when fake-Sehun flinches under her finger’s constant, hard prods, a plea of please stop, master Isobel, please stop destroying my pretty face slipping out of his mouth. Isobel doesn’t stop and continues to ruin his pretty (read: gross) visage.

 

“Yeah, yeah. And sashimi is actually chicken in disguise.” Real-Sehun retorts. “Like I’d believe you, Bel.”

 

“Fine, then tell me.” Isobel stops stabbing fake-Sehun for she feels a finger cramp coming, and drops her hand onto the dining table. She absentmindedly taps on her half-emptied mug of coffee instead. “How did you know that I’d be going out with the new kid today?”

 

A snort that doesn’t sound like Sehun’s travels to her ear and Isobel pauses in her tapping. A flurry of voices suddenly enter the conversation and Isobel catches snippets of Minseok going oiiii what the ?, and Kyungsoo’s I am going to hold you responsible if she comes after me, and Lu Han’s spare me master Kyungsoo– Hold on. “Is that everyone?” Disbelief washes over her when the voices go silent and she hears her answer loud and clear.

 

“Oh my god,” Isobel groans. “Holy f–”

 

“No swearing!” Lu Han’s voice comes through the receiver and Isobel wishes to just fly over to the restaurant and slap her manager (and everyone) because here she is thinking of how Sehun’s at home because it’s his off-day too but noooooo he’s at the restaurant for reasons unknown and oh, how the hell can everyone be listening in to our conversation when they should be ING WORKING RIGHT NOW. “I don’t think I can handle anymore expletives because you know what, EVERYONE HERE WAS LITERALLY SCREAMING THEIR HEADS OFF THIS MORNING–”

 

“IT IS MORNING YOU SORRY EXCUSE–”

 

“–WH– what?” Lu Han suddenly drops to a menacing whisper and Isobel hurriedly zips . “What did you want to say, Isobel Lee?”

 

“Nothing.” She quips. “Nothing, sir.”

 

Lu Han seems to be pleased with the sudden respectful call and doesn’t probe any more. He does, however, try to get his only female employee to tell him where their date (it’s not a date!) would take them but Isobel just deadpans back that she doesn’t know. Isobel then remembers that Sehun hasn’t answered her question of how he (or everyone for that matter) knows that Kris had asked her out.

 

“Oh, simple.” She hears Lu Han say instead of Sehun. “Kris told Kyung–”

 

“Kyungsoo!?”

 

“–yeah. He texted him last night. They’re kind of like best buds now and Chanyeol feels threatened.” She hears her manager sigh. “Don’t tell him but I think Kyungsoo is better off with Kris inste– AIEEEEEE!”

 

And the call abruptly ends.

 

Isobel just stares at nothing in particular but her mind, having been running a mile a minute the moment she woke up, concludes for the second time that yes, she does work with idiots. Lu Han the-only-other-serious employee included.

 

---

 

“Sorry that you couldn’t order the large plate of sashimi.”

 

Kris pauses in the picking up of a tuna gunkan, the tips of his chopsticks grazing the sides of it. A beat later, he picks it up and shoves it in his mouth. Flecks of seaweed stick themselves to the corners of his mouth and Isobel lets out a grandmotherly sigh (that, according to Yixing, wouldn’t get her a boyfriend), before reaching over to wipe his lips with her napkin. She belatedly discovers, after putting down her napkin, that her hand had moved without her knowing. Isobel mutters a curse under her breath.

 

Unbeknownst to Isobel, Kris had actually frozen for a few seconds, heart thumping erratically. He recovers quickly, though. “I didn’t know that you possess a rather colourful vocabulary of expletives.” Isobel feels an amused gaze on her. She wishes for a shovel to dig a hole and bury herself, but nope, no shovels allowed in a Japanese restaurant. Even if it’s a small and cramped roadside shop. Even if the girl is a frequent patron and often orders more than she can finish. “It’s funny.”

 

“I don’t,” Isobel mutters grudgingly, her chopsticks trying to pick up strands of udon but those pesky strings keep slipping off. “It’s all Oh Sehun’s fault.”

 

At the mention of her ex-childhood friend, Kris’ face falls. The amused grin dissolves immediately and a sour expression replaces it. Isobel doesn’t see the change, but she feels the mood around them darkening and hurriedly adds, “But it’s probably my fault too, y’know, some words just stick with you. Oh, the dark years of being a teenager.” She tries to joke, but it falls flat when she doesn’t hear Kris chuckling.

 

“Sehun’s a big part of your life, huh. Even if he wasn’t around much during your childhood.” Kris mumbles, his chopsticks mutilating the other piece of tuna gunkan on his plate and Isobel feels sorry for the sushi that is suffering in place of her. She knows, somehow, that Kris doesn’t like Sehun, or probably anything in relation to her ex-childhood friend. She can’t fathom why, but then again there are a million and one reasons to dislike Oh Sehun. Isobel can rattle off those reasons like a well-seasoned machine gun if you give her the time to.

 

Yet, even as Isobel harbours a little tad of dislike hatred for her ex-childhood friend and sympathises with anyone else who feels the same towards the boy, Isobel feels the need to hear, to know why Kris doesn’t like Sehun. Was it something that he did? Was it something that he spoke which offended their new colleague (most of the time it’s this reason)? What was it? What caused Kris to not like Oh Sehun?

 

(In Isobel’s defense, which she keeps repeating to herself later, that she doesn’t care about Oh Sehun one bit. Nuh uh. She just wants to satisfy her curiosity of wanting to know why Kris hates Sehun. Isobel doesn’t want to find out so as to tell Sehun to work on whatever he’s not doing right and be friends with the handsome colleague with the gorgeous gummy smile.)

 

So Isobel asks, why do you hate Sehun? cautiously and slowly, as if afraid of setting off a time bomb that seems to reside in Kris whenever the name ‘Oh Sehun’ comes up. She doesn’t expect an answer right away, but she certainly didn’t expect a snigger and a gummy smile to be thrown her way.

 

“I don’t hate him!” Kris clarifies, his lips pulled into the gummy smile that Isobel admires (read: loves) so much. He sets down his chopsticks, mutilated tuna gunkan forgotten, and he clasps his large hands together. The gummy smile falters slightly and in Isobel’s mind, she yells no no nooooo don’t disappear but in real life, she just maintains a straight face while she watches the smile fade completely and Kris’ eyes train themselves on something on their small table. She follows his gaze and finds herself staring at the small plate of sashimi.

 

Isobel wonders why he’s looking at that, her mind running a mile a minute again to find out why when scenes of their ordering process swim into her head — where Kris was about to order the largest portion of sashimi for them to share when Isobel shrieked just before the waitress walked off with their orders that I’m allergic to seafood and the first thing that Kris asked was does Sehun know this? and Isobel noted his crestfallen expression when she nodded.

 

She fathoms a thought in regards to that expression she saw — because Sehun knows that I’m allergic to seafood while he doesn’t…? Technically no one at the establishment knows of her allergy because hello, who in the right mind would work at a Japanese restaurant when you have a seafood allergy? Lu Han probably wouldn’t have hired her if he knew, and Isobel thinks back to the plates of salmon rolls Minseok prepares for her once in a blue moon, that she has to sneak off to Sehun and Jongin to polish off.

 

Isobel mentally shakes her head, to remove those recollections from her thoughts before going back to the more important thought at that moment. She thinks about it for a few seconds, before murmuring a you’re crazy Bel and pushes it to the recess of her mind but before she does, Kris replies and Isobel quickly fishes back the thought because–

 

“I’m jealous of him.”

 

---

 

Her eyes are slits. Her face holds remnants of a sleepless night spent tossing and turning in bed. Her hair is in a messy braid that Lu Han almost gave her hell for before he noticed how exhausted she looked and promptly sent her on his approved pre-work nap on the usual three-seater couch while he goes through the motion of retrieving her apron from her locker.

 

So as Isobel absentmindedly wipes a table, she doesn’t realise that her busybody men are staring at her from the sushi counter. Openly.

 

“Something must have happened yesterday,” Minseok speaks up first, his fingers pushing strands of his fringe into the hair net he dons everyday. He looks to Zitao for approval, and purses his lips when the younger employee reaches over to tuck several stray strands that he had missed. Minseok, however, doesn’t miss the aww, so cute our Minseokkie in a hair net expression on Zitao’s face and promptly issues a punishment in the form of a hard cheek pinch which caused Zitao to yelp in pain.

 

He rubs at the spot, but seconds Minseok’s statement. “No kidding, something must have gone down in yesterday’s date.” Zitao looks to Kyungsoo who coincidentally looks at him and the latter sighs after seemingly receiving a non-verbal message from the former. “I’ll go text that idiot.”

 

“Text who?” Chanyeol seems to have finally woken up, his mind beginning to process the situation he had gotten himself into and the first thing he properly hears is that his best-friend-slash-work-partner is going to message someone that is not him. “I’m right here, Soo. Who are you going to text?”

 

The rest of the employees burst into varying degrees of mocking sniggers and Kyungsoo feels himself getting smaller (than he already is). He does a bad job of hiding his displeasure towards his best friend’s morning stupidity and dishes a hard punch to Chanyeol’s arm, causing Chanyeol to bellow a deep ow what was that for!

 

Kyungsoo barely manages to not murder his work partner right there. Instead, he leaves the front of the sushi counter and makes a beeline for his own work space, choosing to abandon his stupid giant of a friend in the howls of his colleagues’ mockery. Kyungsoo regrets nothing.

 

(Not even when Chanyeol enters the kitchen in the midst of Kyungsoo texting that idiot and Chanyeol looks as though he’s been thrown off the cliff and fed to the sharks.

 

Kyungsoo groans shortly after Chanyeol sidles up to him, kicked giant puppy look and all, and tiptoes to softly ruffle his giant of a friend’s hair. All is well thereafter.)

 

---

 

“Why didn’t you reply to my text?” was the first thing Kris hears the moment he steps into the establishment and he jumps in fright because Kyungsoo had somehow materialised beside him without him knowing. “Kyungsoo! What– How– Don’t do that! I have a weak heart…” Kris walks past the short chef, his eyes pretending to not notice a stern expression on Kyungsoo’s face and the phone he clutches in his small hand.

 

He makes it to the back room and unlocks his locker, taking out his washed apron before shoving his bag into the small space. Kris bites on the fabric that smells faintly of pine as he turns the key, locking his locker, before stuffing it down his front pocket. He whirls around, hands taking the apron from his mouth when– “UGH KYUNGSOO!”

 

“You still haven’t told me why you didn’t reply me.”

 

Kris stares down at Kyungsoo, his stubbornness reflected in those large orbs of his, and Kris realises that he’s probably not going to be let go unless he gives his short colleague an answer. “Fine,” Kris brings the apron down to his waist and starts to wrap the long straps around his hips. “I was ill yesterday so I couldn’t reply. Happy?”

 

“Excuses.” Kyungsoo immediately quips. “But fine, whatever. Now, reply to the question in my text.” His large orbs dart upwards to Kris’ and Kris mentally swears because god, those eyes can hypnotise and send a man on a quest without even knowing what the quest holds, but he resists the searching gaze in Kyungsoo’s eyes to reply matter-of-factly, “Nothing happened.”

 

The next thing Kris registers is his back unceremoniously meeting with the cold surface of the lockers as Kyungsoo’s dark and steeled countenance fills his sight. “Don’t lie to me, Kris Wu. I know that something happened so why don’t you just confess?”

 

Kyungsoo’s hands tightly grip the collar of Kris’ polo shirt, giving him absolutely no way to escape because Kris (horrifically and admirably) discovers that his short colleague possesses the strength of a hundred bull elephants (he exaggerates). Kris attempts to budge but he can’t and promptly gives up struggling much to Kyungsoo’s surprise. “Giving up so soon?”

 

“Why couldn’t you just ask her, why can’t you just ask Bel?” Kris says in exasperation. His fingers fumble with the straps of his apron for he hasn’t even completed the knot before Kyungsoo smashes him against the lockers. He’s surprised that none of the other employees have come rushing in upon hearing the commotion (and they probably should have if most of them had arrived by then). But then a thought dawns on Kris that Kyungsoo probably told them to come late so he can jump on me like this and oh my god the horror stories that Minseok and Zitao have told me were probably true and I’m going to be hacked to death now. He chuckles bitterly but still manages to hear Kyungsoo’s barely audible reply that seizes his breath.

 

“I would if I could.”

 

---

 

“Where’s… Bel?”

 

Sehun looks up from his barely-touched lunch to find the person, whom he has wanted to be friends with since the first week he started working, looking down at him, a bowl of Chanyeol’s staff lunch in his large hand. Yet, at that moment, Sehun doesn’t feel like he wants to be friends with the guy so he pointedly ignores the question and continues to prod at his mess of rice and miso soup.

 

Kris swallows, clearly taken aback by his colleague’s lack of response (seeing how he has realised that Sehun had genuinely wanted to be friends with him). He stands at the table occupied by the servers, and musters the courage to sit down next to Zitao when– “Go sit at another table.”

 

Jongin’s sharp words slice the silence of the restaurant, which is in the middle of taking its afternoon break, and Kris flinches. He backs away, eyes taking in the expressionless faces of the usually happy-go-lucky servers. , he thinks, what on earth happened yesterday while I wasn’t here? as he continues to back up until a hand touches the small of his back and Kris jumps in shock. He whirls around to find Yixing smiling up at him, though the happiness doesn’t reach his eyes, and the sushi chef gestures to his table.

 

Kris darts his eyes to its occupants, sceptical at their acceptance of letting him sit at their table, but at Minseok’s sharp are you going to sit down or not, Kris obediently slides onto the seat after Yixing.

 

The table eats in silence as well, metal spoons scraping the insides of ceramic bowls with the occasional slurps of miso soup. Kris keeps his eating sounds to a minimum, terribly afraid of even a ping against the bowl igniting World War Three. And judging from the dirty looks Lu Han keeps throwing at him, Kris thinks the war isn’t too far away.

 

Lu Han finishes his lunch first, his gentle voice of thanks for the food Chanyeol resounding in the quietude as he directs that statement to the next table where the kitchen chefs sit together. Kris hears a rather jolly grunt of acknowledgement from the taller chef and resists the urge to sneak a peek at that table as fear of the shorter chef arises within him. Nope, he doesn’t want to meet with death (in the form of a small, fearless cooking dude) a second time in a single day.

 

Kris doesn’t realise that his table is waiting for his response until something cold meets with his forehead and pain reverberates in his head. He sees stars but Lu Han’s angry visage sharpens into view after the bout of dizziness clears. “H-Huh?” Kris dumbly hums.

 

“God, and I thought that the son of our boss would be smarter than this.”

 

That effectively snaps Kris out of his daze and he shrieks, “WHAT THE F–”

 

“No. Expletives. In. My. Restaurant.” Lu Han calmly enunciates, his face straight and not betraying any form of anger, but his voice overshadows Kris' greatly and Kris shuts himself up. World War Three is averted (at least for awhile).

 

Seeing Lu Han's less-than-amused expression, Kris carefully treads the ice that his manager has laid out, his steps slow and cautious. One wrong step would definitely mean disaster; or in this case, the inevitable war. So he speaks softly, gently, not a hint of hostility in his words. "Is something the matter?"

 

Kris feels three pairs of eyes on him in an instant he asks. The gazes are a tad uncomfortable, but he can deal with it. He can deal with it if he wants answers to his questions. And he isn't disappointed when Lu Han answers.

 

"Something?" His pitch goes high. "Something? Something?" His pitch borders on a screech then, and the table's occupants visibly flinch but no one says anything. Kris waits, waits for Lu Han to settle down because the manager had somehow stood up whilst shrieking those three words, his hands gripping the edge of the table rather tightly. Kris sees the bones of his manager's knuckles and thinks of whispering to Yixing um, help your boyfriend before his bones jut out would you?

 

But Kris just waits.

 

Lu Han finally sits back down, his face scrunched up as if he just swallowed a whole lemon. The manager pinches the ridge of his nose and it's then does Yixing reach over with both hands and gently massages his boyfriend's temples with his thumbs. Kris wants to look away, like Minseok has done with a roll of his eyes, but he doesn't. Instead he watches, and waits, as Yixing continues to rub circles on Lu Han's temples while the latter breathes. A faded image of Kris’ thumbs upon a girl’s temples swims into his mind and he realises that Bel–

 

"I'm okay," Lu Han says shortly after. Yixing promptly removes his thumbs, but his worried expression remains on his face. "Thanks Xing." An affectionate expression flits onto Lu Han's face then and Yixing simply smiles in return. The lovey-dovey exchange has Minseok mock-vomiting, and Lu Han pulls his colleague into a headlock.

 

Kris still watches, and waits, as Lu Han releases Minseok from his arm and earns himself a smarting whack on the arm. The noise echoes in the empty restaurant and from somewhere comes laughter of a low baritone. Chanyeol, Kris thinks. And to his credit, Lu Han hollers a shut up if you want your paycheck Park Chanyeol!

 

By then, Minseok has left the table and so has Yixing. The latter leaves with a nod to his boyfriend, and Kris catches a knowing smile on Yixing's face directed to Lu Han before he traipses to the kitchen. Now, only Lu Han remains at the table. Kris is still waiting.

 

"Bel won't be coming, if you're wondering."

 

"I realised that," Kris replies, his eyes still on Lu Han's. "Did something happen to her while I wasn't here yesterday?"

 

Lu Han keeps silent, and Kris gets his answer. "What happened?"

 

"She was already out of it, out of sorts the moment she reported for work." Lu Han drags a hand through his hair, and rests it at the nape of his neck. He drops his eyes from Kris', fixing them on his empty bowl instead. "I should have sent her back, I should have made her return home. But I didn't, and it happened."

 

"What happened?" By then, Kris' curiosity level has spiked. His large hands grip the bowl tightly, and Kris feels that if he's not careful, the ceramic bowl might actually shatter. He quickly places his hands on his lap, letting his fingers seek purchase within the pliable fabric instead. "What actually happened, Lu Han?"

 

At the call of his name, Lu Han looks up and Kris' breaths seize when he sees tears glistening in his manager's eyes. .

 

"She," Lu Han begins, his voice so soft, barely audible, vulnerable. "Bel, she–"

 

"Bel spilt boiling shoyu soup on herself and suffered burns on her forearms." Kris hears another voice that's not Lu Han's and he tilts his head upwards to find Sehun's hardened visage looking down at him. "She went to the A&E yesterday but she's currently a