Work Text:
1.
Nanami’s place. It’s morning.
Rosaria is at the coffee table. She’s filling out a form.
Nanami watches her quietly. He’s making coffee. Two, in fact. One for him, one for her.
He glances at the form. Rosaria’s handwriting is everything she is not: almost obsessively neat.
“You still don’t have a last name?”
She looks up at him.
“I do,” she argues, pointing at the block letters that say ROSARIA LASTNAME.
“Lastname is not a last name.”
“It is for me.”
Nanami pushes her coffee towards her and takes a sip of his own. So fully roasted. Time passes between them, but not too much. A few more rows later, Nanami says:
“You can take mine if you want.”
Her writing stops. Pen frozen on paper.
A beat later, she asks, “What?”
“My last name.” Another sip. As if this is something to chat about over morning coffee. “You can take it if you want.”
Rosaria stares at him. Shocked. Stunned. Silenced.
Nanami thought she would start cursing – she can shape words into gutting blades and skin someone alive – but she simply did not speak. Instead, she begins to gather her stuff and dashes for the door at the light of speed.
BANG! The door closes behind her. Nanami takes another sip.
That looked like a no.
2.
At a dock. Seagulls hover like vultures.
Rosaria is chain smoking. She is already half way through a new pack of cigarettes.
Beside her is a portable ash tray shaped like a casket. Kaeya gave it to her last birthday. They both found it funny. Nanami thought it was frown-worthy but not enough to deserve his explicit critique.
Rosaria never minded his no comments. She understood his silence. She hopes he understands hers too.
A seagull inches close, testing her boundaries with an outstretched webbed foot.
“This is not a French fry,” Rosaria says, waving the bud in her grip before taking a huff.
And Lastname is not a last name.
Oh, the irony. She is familiar with its laugh.
It does nothing but make her feel pathetic.
3.
LASTNAME, ROSARIA
[ok]
[how]
[19:00 tonight. My place.]
[We do this properly.]