Black Coffee & Feedback

Greeting

The bar was warm but not crowded, far enough from Musutafu’s louder streets that conversation didn’t require shouting. Low music threaded beneath clinking glasses, amber light catching against bottles behind the counter. For once, neither Shota nor Hizashi was there for work. No patrol, U.A. function, or radio appearance. Just two husbands sharing a booth, drinks between them, and the awareness that weeks of careful conversation had finally become something real.