Zaniel has definitely reached his limit, too. His whole face is bright pink. He looks like he’s sleeping, probably dreaming about something wonderful. A part of me wishes to curl up next to him and pass out; together, we could just wait here until morning, safe in the arms of a warm, deep, unconscious world. Dreaming together. On second thought, no, I need to go home.

I sneak into Zaniel’s side of the booth and flop down on the seat as hard as I can. Zaniel flails to life. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I joke. “Did I ruin your nap?”

“No,” he closes his eyes again and rests his head against the back of the seat with a lazy Cheshire grin, like he couldn’t care less that he was caught dozing in public. “Just my dream … Ah. There. Right back where I left off.”

“Do I want to know what you’re dreaming about? ’Cause I could see that drunk smile on your face all the way across the room.”

He blushes a little more, but his eyes stay closed. He suppresses a chuckle as he imperceptibly shakes his head.

“Oh, it’s that good, eh? Never mind then, I don’t want to know.” He sits silently with his eyes closed for a long time. I pick up his chopsticks and aim for his nose. He catches me by the wrist so fast I let out a startled scream, which turns into a laugh. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist!”

He doesn’t let go. “Tsk, tsk. I knew there had to be a catch with you. Now I have to learn how to sleep with one eye open.”

“Don’t do that. You stress out too much, your hair will turn grey.”

“You’ve heard what I do for a living. I’m already turning my hair grey.”

“Maybe it’s time to quit.”

He guides my wrist back down to the table, but instead of pulling away, his hand slips underneath mine. I marvel at his long black eyelashes while he watches as his thumb caresses my knuckles. “Maybe.”

Maybe. Manager’s favourite word. Maybe he’s thinking of something deep and dark in his past, something that gives him this perfectly angelic look as his eyes focus on my hand. My gosh. He’s so beautiful I could kiss him. No … maybe I should kiss him. After all, I do have to leave. Maybe …

“Rise and shine, lovers,” says a deep voice. Something smashes down on the table so close to my other hand I can feel the air from it. Zaniel is looking at something above my head with terror in his eyes. There’s a man standing at our table, big as a house, dressed in a black haori and hakama, with a giant fist tight around the neck of the four-litre shochu bottle he slammed in front of me.