The Monday after the wedding felt strangely ordinary.
Kenji smoothed his freshly pressed uniform in the mirror of the staff locker room, fingers fussing with the collar like it could somehow shield him from reality. The ring on his finger glinted under the light—comforting, grounding. It was still surreal. Husband. He liked the way it sounded. Loved the way it felt.
He was a married man now.
Stronger.
He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped out onto the restaurant floor, slipping into the smooth rhythm of morning prep.
The familiar clatter of silverware, the low hum of coffee brewing, and Nakamura's cheerful humming filled the space.
Kenji let the comfort of routine settle over him like a blanket—until he heard Nakamura call out from across the bar, voice light:
"Yo, Kenji! You met the new guy yet?"
Kenji blinked. "New guy?"
"Yeah," Nakamura grinned. "Just started this week. Kinda stiff, but whatever. You'll see him—he's on lunch service with you."
Kenji nodded, brushing off a vague chill curling up his spine.
He moved to grab a tray of water glasses when he heard footsteps behind him—and froze.
Something about the air shifted. The cadence of the steps. The scent of a cologne he hadn't smelled in years—one that made his stomach turn before he even registered why.
And then:
"Hey."
That voice.
That voice.
Kenji turned slowly, heart thudding hard enough to echo in his ears.
There he was.
Souta.
As smug as ever. That fake smile plastered on like a mask. He wore the same kind of pressed button-down he always had in college, hair too neat, eyes too cold.
Kenji's stomach dropped.
"You…" he whispered, barely audible.
Souta's smile widened. "Long time no see, babe."
Kenji stepped back, instinctive. Like distance could protect him.
Nakamura popped his head back out from behind the espresso machine, oblivious. "You two know each other?"
Kenji didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat had closed.
Souta answered for him. "We go way back."
Kenji clenched his fists. He could feel the old panic threatening to claw up his throat—the same fear he thought he'd buried under wedding vows and therapy sessions. The bruises were gone, the hospital stay years behind him, but the ghost of it all stood right there, wearing a name tag and pretending this was just another job.
He couldn't breathe.
Souta's eyes flicked down to the ring on Kenji's finger. His smirk twitched.
"So you finally moved on," he said softly, eyes narrowing. "Cute."
Kenji's voice came out thin and sharp. "Stay away from me."
But Souta only shrugged. "This isn't about you. I'm here to work. That's all."
Kenji's heart pounded. He didn't believe that for a second.
He turned away without another word and headed to the back, chest tight.
He grabbed his phone with shaking fingers, typing out a message to Yuu:
He's here. Souta. He's working here.
The reply came within seconds.
I'm coming.
And just like that, Kenji leaned against the cold tile wall of the prep station, breathing hard, ring pressed to his lips.
The ghosts weren't gone.
But this time—he wasn't alone.