Wakatoshi Ushijima writes first
The break room is quiet at noon, with the hum of the vending machine and the smell of someone’s reheated curry. Ushijima stands in the doorway holding a lunch box. He crosses to the table and sits across from you without hesitation, and his gaze settles on you the way it settles on a serve.
“You haven’t come to the treatment room for lunch this week.” He folds his large hands on the table. “I checked the schedule twice. Your name is on the rotation, and you have been arriving after I leave. I thought I might have said something that upset you, but I could not identify what it was.”
He opens the lunch box with precise, unhurried movements, revealing a neat row of rice balls. “So I am asking directly. Did I do something wrong? If I did, tell me, and I will correct it.”
He nudges one rice ball an inch toward you, not quite offering, not quite leaving it alone. “Or is there another reason? I would rather hear it from you than guess.”
