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"Turkey or ham?" Kaede called out to Shuichi. She leaned halfway into her refrigerator as she pushed away bowls of leftovers, fruits, vegetables, and soups. Her fingers strained heavily as she reached back towards the top row; from the way her heels were hanging in the air, all it would take was one unstable shelf to send her tumbling.

"H-huh?" Shuichi looked up from his phone and closed out of his crossword app. "Can you repeat that?"

The pianist huffed angrily, her fingers beginning to ache. Using the last bit of her strength, she inched her body close enough to brush her fingers against the wrapper. "Never-mind. Turkey it is, then. I don't have enough ham anyways."

"Ah, do you need help?" Shuichi asked nervously. He quickly stood up and started walking towards her. "S-sorry, I didn't realize how much you were struggling."

Kaede shook her head. "Don't worry, I've got it under control." She enclosed her fingers around the packaging and began retrieving the turkey from its location. "You can sit back down, Shuichi."

The detective frowned. "Are you sure? I want to help in some way I can."

She turned around to face him and placed a hand on her hip. "I said I got it, Shuichi. Don't worry, alright?" Her expression suddenly darkened. "Unless you wanna argue with me again."

The words slipped out of Shuichi's mouth before he could stop them. "Is that a challenge?"

The pianist raised an eyebrow, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "Do you want it to be?"

No, of course not. After all, he hadn't meant to say something like that. Well, at least not out loud. After the slight struggles in learning piano basics, as well as the playful bickering over the Creative Writing project, he'd rather they remained civil. That wasn't to say that he didn't enjoy the playful banter,--he honestly lived for it, even tried to get Kaede to start it at times--but he was exhausted. All he wanted to do was eat and return home before it got too dark outside.

He glanced out the kitchen's window. The sun wasn't visible anywhere due to all the clouds, but he could tell that it was dim enough outside to be around six p.m. Maybe around six-thirty. If he actually knew how much time he had spent at Kaede's, he'd probably be more surprised, but he stupidly forgot about time in general shortly after entering her house.

Upon hearing no response from him, Kaede lightly pushed him away and turned back to the refrigerator. For the next few moments, the kitchen was filled with the occasional shuffling noises, clinking of glass, and angry sighs from the fatigued pianist. In fear of accidentally setting her off, Shuichi backed away and walked towards the table. It was a bit lower than what he was used to--as he often had his meals on counter tops--but he could still manage. Overall, he was impressed that the circular glass table still matched with the kitchen's theme.

"How old is your house?" Shuichi questioned. He pulled out a black pen from his shirt pocket and instinctively slipped it between his teeth. The ink container was nearly halfway empty from all the notes he scribbled earlier. If his estimations were accurate, he'd have to replace 9t sometime later this weekend.

The rustling and clinking noises stopped. Kaede moved away from the fridge and let out a strained squeak; she had about three bowls of ingredients in her grasp. "About thirty, maybe thirty five years old. Why do you ask?" Her eyes then landed on the pen rolling between his teeth. "Oooh~! Are you gonna interrogate me, Mister Detective?"

At the sound of her tone, Shuichi's shoulders stiffened. He then winced at the sudden jolt of pain; he had re-applied the ointment about ten minutes ago, but it was taking a bit of time to settle in. He slipped the pen out from between his teeth and shoved it in his pocket.

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