“Doesn’t he want his lunch?” Chihaya asks absently, frowning as she skims her notes before class. Her pencil is tapping against the table’s surface, a meditative sound.
Taichi blinks, coming back from idle daydreams about cherry blossom viewing along Sumida River.
“His lunch?” he asks, craning his neck to look at the counter beside the sink, where a neat bento is still sitting.
Taichi doesn’t bother swearing, just dashes across the floor to cram his feet into a pair of shoes as he reaches for the door.
“Can’t he just buy something?” Chihaya calls, the door swinging shut behind him.