March watches with slight horror as Daehyun dumps more dishes on the growing pile. Confused by Daehyun’s odd behavior, March simply stares at the spectacle made—though whether good or bad, March cannot discern. There are some people in life that March simply has no idea how to respond too. Daehyun is one of them, apparently. March tries to act casual.
“I’m messin’ with ya. You don’t know me, but you might in time. Dae-Hyun, pleased to meetcha’.”
March messes with his hair again, because words elude him. “Uh. Yeah.” after a second of heavy awkwardness, he realizes he should introduce himself. Trying to make a quick amends, he splutters out “I-I’m March!” He feels like he ought to salute, but that would be weird. Especially with the cat ears.
Thankfully, Amelia saves him from further humiliation by chiding Daehyun. Upon the mention of his uniform, however, March glances down at it and hurriedly brushes off flour—it was never there, trust him—and straightens his bowtie. Again.
This moment might be nice to ask Amelia about a dishwasher, but the second he opens his mouth, she’s gone. Next he’ll be faster than her—if that’s even possible.
“It might be nice— Ah, never mind, he mutters, strangely self-conscious. In truth, not only would it be useful to have a dishwasher, it also would be nice to have another person working back here. It’s not like he’s lonely or anything, but he wouldn’t mind the company. (Okay, well maybe he’s a little lonely, but he’ll live.)
With Daehyun shooed off nicely, March is once again left to his own devices. He turns back to the slightly squished butter, cringing at his own awkwardness. He checks his elbow—very little damage done—rolls up his sleeves, and pulls the fresh batch of croissants out of the oven.