It seemed, at the time, like a reasonable idea.
Kaito had been turning the proposal question over for weeks — not whether, but how, and specifically how to approach something this large without either trivializing it through scale or making any single person feel like an afterthought in a list. He needed advice. He didn't trust his own perspective on romance, having spent most of his previous life avoiding it entirely and the current one being thrown into it sideways.
So, on a slow Tuesday at the café, between customers, he made the mistake of asking Riku and Kenji.
"I need help thinking through something," he said. "Romantic advice, specifically."
Riku set down the cup he was drying with the speed of a man who had been waiting years for this exact sentence.
"Finally," he said. "FINALLY. Kenji, get the notebook."
"We don't have a notebook," Kenji said.
"Get a notebook," Riku said, with the urgency of a man who considered this a historic occasion.
