Katsuko fidgeted. “Yeah, you could say that. I... wasn’t very nice, when I came back. We generally try to stay out of each other’s way now.”

He looked at her for a long moment, expression still. "You weren't very nice,” he repeated, slowly. “Were you supposed to be nice, after surviving your sensei's death and six months of torture an' experimentation?"

She chuckled, a little nervously, and slid her gaze somewhere over his left shoulder. “It’s not a big deal,” she said. “People fight. Friends grow apart.”

He gazed at her silently, long enough that she began to shift uncomfortably. Then he picked his chopsticks up again and started twirling them around his fingers. "Well, I don't talk to what's left of my genin team, either, so I guess I'm not the guy to be preachin' at you. What's good here?"

“The rice noodle soup here is awesome,” Katsuko said, leaping on the offered subject change. “Beef or chicken flavor. Wakahisa makes a new pot of broth every day. The fresh shrimp spring rolls are pretty good, too. Watch out, though, if he’s pissed at you he’ll put peppers in everything.”

Ryouma raised one dark eyebrow. "So is he more pissed at me or you?"

Katsuko considered this. “Me, probably,” she said, glumly. “Disappearing for six months, and all. This sucks. I hate peppers.”

"Gotcha." He drew his legs back, stood up, and headed towards the kitchen.

Katsuko blinked and stared after him. “Wait, what are you doing?”

"Making sure you don't get peppers," he said, not looking back. Katsuko got to her feet and trailed after him, curious despite herself. She hovered in the background as he sauntered over to the bar that separated the kitchen from eating area, leaning against the support-post and crossing his arms across his chest. "Got a moment, Yamada-san?"

Wakahisa looked up from the cutting board, wielding a bloody cleaver in one hand. “What is it?”

"Katsuko's sorry she hasn't been by in six months,” Ryouma said, casually. “She's awfully sorry now, since I went missing a while back an' they declared me dead. But I got back, eventually, an' now Katsuko's thinkin' hard about missin' people an' how important it is to tell 'em you care. So she brought me by, kind of like an excuse to drop in, but now her nerve's failin' her, so I think if you want a hug you're gonna have to initiate it."

There was a faintly strangled sound that took Katsuko a moment to realize she was making, and then Wakahisa’s narrow-eyed gaze landed on her and she mostly wanted to kick Ryouma in the knees. She covered her face with her hands, peeking out from between her fingers just in time to see Wakahisa slam the cleaver into the wooden cutting board point-first.

“Brat,” Wakahisa said. “Is this true?”

Katsuko let out a muffled sound of mortification, feeling her skin warm against her palms. “Just ignore Ryouma,” she said. “He was dropped on his head as a kid. Off the Monument. More than once.”

Wakahisa sighed and wiped his hands off on a damp towel. “Six months,” he said at last. “Six months of no word. I thought you’d died, girl.”

“I’m sorry,” Katsuko said, and stepped in closer. “I didn’t mean-- I’m sorry.”

“Nori and Beni won’t even talk about you,” Wakahisa said, turning to lean against the counter. He seemed older, suddenly, his face lined and tired. “You three used to be inseparable. I don’t know what happened, but--” he broke off, glancing at Ryouma, and made an impatient sound. “That’s neither here nor there. Get over here, brat.”

Katsuko shuffled awkwardly into Wakahisa’s outstretched arms, pressing her face against his shoulder as he patted her on the back. After a minute, she cleared her throat and said, “Does this mean you’re not going to put peppers in my soup?”

“Hah,” Wakahisa said. “We’ll see.”