Chapter Text
“This suit sucks. The food is taking forever. I’m starving,” Masamune grouched, ticking off his reasons for wanting to leave one by one, “I can’t believe this is supposed to be most people’s idea of a good first date.”
“The food is supposed to be pretty good, at least,” King sighed, scrolling through Yelp reviews on his phone, as there weren’t any photos to be taken at the moment, “I’m starving too, you know.”
Upon arrival at the bustling establishment, although their reservation allowed them to be seated relatively quickly, they had been waiting over an hour so far for their food to arrive. It seemed there were too many customers for the restaurant to serve by the time they got there. Neither of the two felt particularly enthusiastic at this point.
After looking through the variety of options the restaurant provided, Masamune had settled on a classic: a hamburger with 2 steaks sandwiched in-between. Either way, it was sure to be different. Unfortunately, it had not yet arrived.
“I bet your order is what’s taking them so long,” Masamune continued, scratching the arm of his suit. It was itching again, “How long does it take to make a burger, anyways? Even when me, Ginga, and the others were traveling for the World Championships, our stuff didn’t take this long!”
“Hey! I didn’t order something that complicated, either!” King stood up, slamming both hands on the table harder than intended, causing the restaurant patrons around them to turn and look. He waved at them sheepishly, sitting back down, “Every time Coach Steel shows me how to make pasta, it only takes eleven minutes!”
“All they’ve got is fancy pasta at this place,” Masamune drew out, rolling his eyes. “Who knows what the chefs are doing back there. Besides, you ordered the spank-a-no-pita or whatever it was before that.”
“Spanakopita,” King corrected, “was supposed to be the appetizer. You know, the food that comes before the main course? We were gonna share it, like I said earlier.”
“Okay! Explain why this place is taking forever to make it!”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a waitress had walked up to their table with a plate of complimentary bread, “Sorry for the wait, would you both like some rolls with garlic butter dip to get you started?”
“Aw, thanks!” King turned to look at the plate, eyes lighting up. Then, after considering potential manners for the place they were at, tacked on a, “Uh—miss.”
Masamune was also eyeing the plate as the waitress set it on the table. As soon as she was out of earshot, he dug in viciously, getting out between bites, “Finally, some fucking food!”
King hadn’t fared much better. He ate the other half of the bread supply wordlessly, in favor of chewing as quickly as possible. Both of them intermittently drank water from the wine glasses the restaurant had provided, pouring from a pitcher to refill. It was probably the healthiest liquid they ever willingly consumed with the grain-based stuff.
Once the bread had been completely finished, neither of the two having touched the dip in their rush, the two commenced their wait for their meals to arrive.
—
The spanakopita, as it turned out, was a flaky sort of spinach-feta pie, which came shaped into triangles. King stuffed one into his mouth right away, then looked pointedly at Masamune.
Masamune took a bite as his date continued to watch, almost impatiently. Huh, it was tasty—the spinach blended well with the cheese, and a few intermittent onions in the filling carried a juicy kick.
“So, how is it? Pretty good, right?” King asked, a smile adorning his face.
“Yeah, not bad, gonna be honest!” Masamune nodded, before consuming the rest and reaching for another. This seemed to be a satisfactory answer for King, whose smile grew toothy before taking another savory pastry for himself.
“You know, these things were some of my favorites back in Greece,” King began, reminiscing, “I had no parents. Most of the time, when they weren’t too busy preventing me from blading, the village people just didn’t care about me. But there was this one baker, when I used to sneak into the local bakery and watch him make these, sometimes he’d let me have the ones that were slightly too burnt to sell. I could never afford to buy one, but the smell was enough to make my mouth water, even then.”
King paused, reflecting further on his past. "It might seem silly, but it reminded me there were good things in life, even when everything else was falling apart. That there was still kindness and beauty in the world, even if it's just in a bite of delicious food."
Masamune took his hand across the table. He was still getting used to it, but he felt like he had to to reassure King, somehow. "That's not silly at all! I get it, food has a way of bringing back memories and comforting us. But you're no longer alone, right?"
“Yeah,” King grinned, though he seemed to be holding something back, “I’ve got you, don’t I?”
Regardless, Masamune grinned back. “You do.”
—
The rest of dinner continued fairly uneventfully, with pictures of each dish being snapped as they continued to be served at glacial speed. It was as if the camera were more easily drawn to food than faces; the two seemed to have forgotten the purpose of taking the photos in the first place. Even when they took photos together, they gave off an air of informality that juxtaposed their formal location.
Nonetheless, the more food continued to be served, the more their moods continued to improve. The time flew by as they dined and conversed.
The beef stew with pasta that King had ordered did indeed arrive later, much to his chagrin. Masamune wouldn’t stop holding the fact over his head, he could be quite insufferable when he was proven correct.
When it had finally come time for dessert, neither of them were sure what to order. They agreed on a circular brownie with vanilla ice cream on top and hoped for the best. Contrary to their expectations, the brownie arrived swiftly, disproving their theory that the restaurant had been making everything from scratch.
To their delight, it was just as chocolate-y and melty and delicious as they imagined. In their excitement to devour the confection, however, they had not taken a picture beforehand. The photo of their faces, mouths covered in crumbs and ice cream next to the cocoa-smeared ceramic plate was the only evidence they had ordered dessert at all.
In retrospect, the few pictures they got in return for spending a grand total of five hours at the restaurant had not nearly been worth it.