"Wish you'd stop saying that 'round here." The Miyamoto's eldest son muttered, almost visibly deflating for a second or two before he returned to his usual, at least approaching friendly expression and the associated swagger. Still, he couldn't look too irritated; Saitou Kimiko was more of a regular than an addict was. Without fail, every day, she would arrive at the McDonalds to order fries. And then she would wander back in hours later (usually near ten to midnight) and ask if they still sold soda.

Which, obviously, they did. Didn't stop their primary beverage in the six hours it took for her to wander back.

She was an odd one, but not in a bad way. Good sort. Nice person. All that good shit. So he favored his (friend?) acquaintance with a rare, almost apologetic grin while he turned to face her. "Sorry, Kimiko, not gonna be me tonight. Boss couldn't give me the hours. Ain't working today."