Chapter Text
It was a peaceful and mundane sunday evening at Uzumaki like any other.
The calm atmosphere, mixed with the sweet scent of milk and cookies, fill you with warmth and somewhat make up for the distasteful morning you've had. You greet every customer who walks up to the counter with a smile and ask for their order as politely as can be and need be. For some reason, a burst of good energy has been cupping the café in its hands so invitingly today and it's practically full! The usual number of customers are about five or so, and now only two tables are left untouched. Even five is being generous, because the accurate number would be three. Three being the very representatives of the people keeping this city safe from harm.
"Hi!" You smile as he, Fukuzawa and Yosano walk in, waving at them. Ranpo smiles back and jerks his head towards you in his own way of greeting you back, his mouth too busy chewing on caramel popcorn(from what you can tell, if the bits of golden brown-ish crumbs on the sides of his mouth and the crunchy chewing noises are anything to go by).
"Hey, L/N." Yosano replies in that friendly- yet so casual it borders on nonchalance or plain boredom- tone of hers, giving you a small nod. You pick up on the stifled, half-hum in her voice, coming to the conclusion that she must be tired. The bags underneath her magenta eyes only tell you as much and you frown sympathetically. "She must be working on a difficult case," you think to yourself. Then, schooling your expression back to corporate demand, you smile and gear up for Ranpo's order.
"The usual?" you foolishly ask, already knowing the answer.
"No," Ranpo replies. You stifle a sigh. "Of course he's doing this again. He always does this. Every single darn morning." The young detective, smugly grinning, clears his throat dramatically. This singular action is enough to give your hand a head start within the small second it takes him to raise his hand to his mouth and the sound softly yet obnoxiously ripple in his throat, your fingers positioned on the letters of the first word you're absolutely sure he's going to say. You look up at him expectantly, a small sign to him that you're ready to type. Finally, his lips part. He inhales deeply, then...
"Three slices of--" "apple pie," you nod to yourself. "--Strawberry cheesecake," "huh?" "Three slices of--" "more cheesecake?" "--apple pie," "the heck?"
Despite your confusion, you hastely manage to change your fingers' trajectory and nervously look over at him to continue when he pauses. As if Ranpo had been waiting for you to look at him, he keeps on going. "One--" "Large." "--medium--" "I swear to whatever divinity, if he doesn't say Iced Tea-" "Iced Tea," "THANK you," "Two--" "I'm guessing small or large, since he seems to be inversing things today?" "--medium--" "Guess some things stay the same, then-" "--banana smoothies," "SINCE WHEN DOES HE LIKE BANANA?! HE'S NEVER ORDERED BANANA!??" "One large-"
Now, this is Fukuzawa's order, so you assume it'll be the same, since... well, let's be real, the man has such a specific way in which he wants his coffee made. It never changes. Ever. Ranpo can't possibly- "--mint tea," "Well, that's new, but not so much. Large mint tea, two sugars-" "Five! sugars," Ranpo sharply corrects, putting emphasis on the "Five!" as if he'd read your mind. You hold back the urge to punch him because these small changes feel deliberate in a way that has nothing to do with his preferences, debate saying sorry, but he keeps on talking and that is enough of an indicator that he doesn't expect any apology of some kind. Your fingers keep on typing. You'd expect them to be tired at this point, but all you can feel is annoyance bleeding into the joints rather than muscle pain.
"One large black coffee with three sugars," "Clearly not for him, is it? Unless he is messing with me." "Three crêpes, no maple syrup," You almost let a "WHat?" of utter disbelief and confusion slip out, but quickly clamp your barely parted lips shut and keep typing. "They're just small changes to his order, F/N. Nothing to fuss about. It's not like he said-"
"And five pieces of Sakura Mochi!"
.
"Who is this guy and what has he done with Ranpo?"
"Will that be all?" You tentively ask, eyebrows knitted together in perplexed thought. Ranpo's grin widens at your expression. "Smug little shit knows what he's doing." He shakes his head. You hold back another sigh of irritation, "Okay. What else?" repositioning your hand on the keyboard.
"Nothing."
This time, you do sigh, but it's quiet and careful, carrying none of the true, heavy exhaustion you felt. "Alright, then. What's-"
"I said two medium banana smoothies," Ranpo cuts your off, his tone full of intuitive condescension. "You wrote strawberry."
You stare at him blankly and raise an eyebrow. "I-" And sure enough, when you look down at the white screen and quickly skim over the order, you notice a big "S." next to "2 M SMOOTHIES" instead of a "B." Your eyes dart back to him and you smile, bitting the inside of your cheek in embarrassment at getting such a simple detail wrong. "It does, wow, sorry about that! How'd you know?"
Ranpo adjusts his glasses and opens those dreaded green eyes of his. "You assumed it was strawberry because I've never ordered banana before. But when your hand misspelled, you didn't even register it because you're so used to clicking on those specific letters right after all those other orders, right?" You slowly nod and blink, your expression blank again. He keeps on staring into your eyes with that analytical, knowing glare of his and it makes your irritation burn hotter. "Stop that." "You've gotta expect the unexpected sometimes, L/N. Accept the fact that you're not always right."
You both stare at each other for a minute or two, completely silent, while his food gets prepared. Once the large portion has been handed to them to go, Ranpo turns to you one last time. "Don't let routines and patterns dictate how you go about your life, kid. It might kill you one day." The three of them then leave, Sakura Mochi abandoned on the counter and a long since forgotten emptiness settling within you.
"It would seem that I've..." you hurriedly flicker on a welcoming expression for the next customers. "...been seen through."
The sounds of laughter and cheering fill the air of the park, little kids tumbling and running after one another excitedly.
"That was awfully soft of you just now, Ranpo." Yosano questions curiously with a slight smile, bringing the lid of her coffee cup to her mouth, her voice slightly muffled by the rim. "You almost sounded like a mentor."
"I felt like being nice is all! Like HELL I'd ever be that brat's mentor, she's such a pain!" Ranpo replied, eyebrows furrowed and lips taut into a thin pout as he crossed his arms. He looked on, eyes fixated on the children who played in the wide grass field, soccer ball bouncing and rolling in between their feet.
"Sure, she's got issues! But she isn't all that bad." Yosano lightly protested, tilting her head to the side. She looked over at her brother again, blinking. "You look rather serious."
"I am."
"...I'm quite surprised."
"Kh- what's that supposed to-!?" Yosano laughed at his offended reaction, her smile widening in amusement.
"I'm just kidding~ I know you're not as immature as you act."
Ranpo sighed, his gaze turning to the sky. It was quiet again. After a few moments of thought, he finally spoke, voice back to its unusually grim tone again. "Someone needed to give her a reality check. That's all."
-----❤😏🔫-----
(hehe)
You finally reach the end of your shift, facial muscles tired of being forced into a cheerful expression since nine. It is now fifteen, and you walk out of Uzumaki with your bag swung over your shoulders and a back aching from stress. You close your eyes and sigh heavily, going over the things you do have and don't have to bake your sister a cake with; Flour, vanilla, sugar, eggs, milk, raspberries, strawberries, blueberries, butter, sprinkles- nothing on that list seems to be missing from the pantry or the fridge last you remember. Still, you can never be too sure, so you turn the corner instead of crossing the street and walk into the supermarket. For s plit second, just as your foot is halfway through the door, you spot a flash of orange hair in the corner of your vision. It doesn't linger long enough for you to see what or who it belonged to, nor do you linger in the doorway to look at it long enough to see if you can catch the running object mid-duck as it disappears into a more crowded space.
The redhead pushes his elbow into the prodigy's side, not gentle enough to not sting but not harsh enough to do any damage whatsoever. He glares at the taller boy, hands in his pockets. "A simple "Hey, Chuuya! Mind moving into her peripheral view?" would've sufficed, asshole." Despite his foul language, he's quite calm, albeit his annoyance. The brunette whined as his ribs were met with a jab, clutching the side of his torso in exagerated pain. "No need to push me."
"Ah-how! That hurt, Chuuya!" Dazai cried.
"Oh, please." Chuuya grumbled back, rolling his eyes at his partner's theatrics. "Well," He then kept on walking as Dazai did so, the pair crossing the street and continuing straight past the supermarket. "What now?"
"Now," Dazai's voice had been completely erased of any complaining and feighed sobbing from earlier, back to how it normally was. If normal was even the right word for how stoic and almost emotionless this child could be. "We walk to the bus station and wait."
"Okay, but..." Chuuya pulled out the blue yoyo, holding it up to look at it in the sun's light curiously. "When does this thing come in handy?"
"Patience, Chuuya! So eager to start a fight already? How aggressive." Dazai scolded in a patronizing manner, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I already told you, act all cocky and annoying like you always are and don't interrupt me! Simple as that. Or are you too much of a mutt to the point you can't follow such comprehensible instructions?"
"Keep talking like that and the only thing I'll be using this yoyo on is your fucking skull."
Dazai's eyes shimmered brightly and he gave a wide, excited smile. "That would kill me, wouldn't it!? Do it, Chuuya!" He reached for the ginger's wrists and pointed the toy towards himself, bouncing on his feet. "Try it, try it!"
"LET GO O'ME!"
"NUH-UUUH, NO TAKE BACKS! YOU SAID-"
"THEN HOW ABOUT I MAKE IT SUPER FUCKING PAINFUL!?" That seemed to be enough to make Dazai let go of him. "God, you're insufferable..." The suicidal boy grumbles and mumbles to himself in annoyance, kicking the rocks beneath his feet with each step.
Despite how fed up Chuuya is with his attitude, he can't help but feel something pinching at him at how truly bummed out Dazai looked at his words. "He looks way too damn sad about that." What was that pang in his heart? Pity? Worry? Chuuya didn't know, but he didn't like feeling it- not for Dazai of all people. Not a chance. Neither of them would let that happen.
The two of them bicker and yell at each other some more, throwing insults back and forth. Once they've reached their destination, they begin to go over their plan again. Well, Dazai's plan in which Chuuya is participating in- well, rather the plan that he's apart of, but who cares about semantics.
"No, you go up to her first!"
"No, you! I can't say that shit and keep a straight face, those words sound stupid!"
"Well, I don't want to say that either!"
For a moment, the yelling ceases, and they look at each other awkwardly, before Dazai decides to speak first, looking away. "Uh... hey, kid, ya want this... powder? Chuuya, what do drug dealers even say??"
"You're in the frickin mafia, you should know!" Chuuya whisper-screams in frustration, shrugging.
"You think Mori sends me out to initiate drug deals?" Dazai deadpanned rhetorically just as if not more quietly, glaring at the ginger in unamusement.
Chuuya sighs and lets out a loud, exasperrated groan, irritated beyond his limit. "Pick something else then, because I'm not saying that. It sounds creepy as shit." Dazai sighs as well, reluctant to listen to anything his partner proposes. But he had to admit that his script was too generic, far from the generic he was looking for. He leans back against the bench, arms crossed while he ponders. "Why not just tell her?"
Dazai paused, head snapping towards Chuuya to glare at the smaller boy as if he'd grown an extra pair of legs. "No??"
"For fuck's sake- hear me out for a second, would you." Chuuya pleads, more so annoyed than he was desperate for Dazai to let him talk. When the other finally seems to be considering to let him speak, Chuuya continues. "We could just act like some gang members who think they're hot shit and then see how she reacts. Just, you know, go up to her and be all like "Wanna join the Port Mafia?" and see if she picks up on the fact that we're fakin' our attitude."
"No one would believe that kind of talk, Chibi."
"Don't fucking call me-!" Chuuya catches himself before he begins yelling and quiets down a bit more. "I know. That's not the point, idiot. We're testing her deductive skills, right? If she can tell we're bullshitting and putting on a front, then that should give us an idea of how good she is at sniffing out liars."
"It would also be a good way to test her intuition..." Dazai mutters in thought and blinks slowly, eyes slightly narrowing. Chuuya smirks.
"Exactly." But then, his smirk falls and he stares at his rival colleague with wide eyes. "Hold on a minute- you're actually considering it?"
"I was going to say the same thing. Listening to Chuuya..." Dazai practically shivered in disgust, spitting his name out venomously. "Ugh."
"Why, you-"
"But it is a good idea. And I don't want to use it, because it's your good idea."
"My god, you're a stubborn little shit." Chuuya crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. "Think of something better, then."
"..." Dazai sighs. "Fine. But only because I think this could be a good opportunity for you to grow a brain in that empty head of yours."
"Who the fuck are you calling stupid, you slimy fish?"
"A brainless dog, is what."
"I'm going to KILL you, I swear to god!"
"You will!?" At that, it was Chuuya's turn to recoil in displeasure, his face scrunching in disgust.
"...Nevermind."
Then, they heard the tell-tale sound of their target's approach.
They straighten their apalled expressions and advance towards the girl side by side, flashing on the most arrogant looks they could muster.
Just as you're about to put your headphones on and press play, you feel a sense of impending doom weigh you down and your whole body goes cold. It feels as if you've opened the door to the café's walk-in freezer but someone's tricked you into getting inside and cranked the tempature down minus fifty degres. The hairs on your arms rise and your skin prickles in fear. Whatever soul is walking towards you does not have good intent. It feels calculating, deliberately and yet accidentally threatening, careless with its energy and leaving a trail of it wherever it's been and wherever it goes- a wide, empty trail that clings to your throat with the vice grip of ice tendrils. Next to it stands a presence rather underwhelming compared to its counterpart, too underwhelming. Its soul burns, leaving not a trail but irreparable impact akin to damage and improvement all at once. It was a hard one to fully decipher, yet you could understand the way it worked so well it was almost infuriating. It sounded, felt, smelled so simple but complicated in its existence and far too delightfully destructive to let in. Danger and love seemed drawn to it, swirling around whatever unfortunate person was the home of said spirit like a brewing storm, watching in the distance and waiting for someone or something to give it the go to- a catalyst, a stormbringer.
Whoever these two are, they sound like trouble and you do not enjoy the way that it's screaming at you.