Work Text:
Ten minutes to go.
Ten minutes to freedom, if you can call it that.
Working late shifts on Fridays might give her that tasty extra 200 yen an hour for all of the two hours she can manage it, but there’s a certain kind of unsatisfying sensation to finishing her shift at midnight. Sure, it’s cool that her parents are chill with it, but when you’re done you want to get out of your uniform and do something, not just head on home and collapse into bed, seeking the sweet release of sleep for about eight golden hours. No-one from Roselia is up for partying ‘til the early hours (except Ako, but she’s got to wait a couple years more before Lisa invites her out anywhere), and half the time Yukina wants to see her for practice before it’s even noon, so…
Well, you gotta do what you gotta do. For now, Lisa stands behind the counter, hoping that no-one suddenly decides that they want to pay their monthly electricity bill through a convenience store at 11:50PM and makes her go into the back to deal with the stupid printer that shuts itself off as soon as you ask it to do anything more than exist, counting down each and every second until midnight hits. The store’s mostly empty, aside from a foreigner looking excitedly through the varieties of potato chips, a girl who’s walked in from the midsummer night heat just for the air conditioning, and someone in a hoodie looking through the chilled cans of booze, picking each flavour of chuuhai up and staring at it intensely—
It’s, uh, a very familiar looking hoodie, and whoever’s wearing it is reaching for two very familiar cans of drink, and Lisa’s sweating at the idea that she’s going to come up to the counter and try to buy them.
Moca.
Ohhh my god. Are you serious.
(And, of course, it’s that exact moment Moca chooses to turn around, with the hugest, goofiest grin on her face, and two cans of stuff that Lisa is absolutely not meant to sell her in her hands. Lisa’d grin back, except she’s scared it’ll give the entire game away.)
Her hood’s up, for whatever reason – hiding her identity? Lisa sees through it immediately, because she’d know that worn turquoise jacket anywhere, but maybe Moca wants to keep her booze-buying fit mildly less suspicious than going full dark glasses and a face mask. Wouldn’t be great if she got caught trying to illegally buy booze in the store she literally worked in, yeah, but the problem is that Moca’s not actually all that good at keeping a low profile – she drags her feet over the vinyl flooring, shuffling across the store in a way that looks vaguely like she’s some creepy stalker, wearing down the soles of her already beaten-up Vans even more and making a noise so inherently suspicious that even the foreigner looks up from his potato chip appraisal to watch Moca pass.
Lisa, on the other hand, clenches in preparation.
“Good evening.”
“Heyyyy.”
The cans clatter onto the counter, and Moca reaches into her pocket, already fumbling around for the 500-ish yen she needs to afford her petty criminal act.
“Your total will be—ah. Could I ask for some form of ID?” In response, Moca nods, catching Lisa off guard – as wild as Moca was, she didn’t seem like she’d have a fake ID. Mostly because Lisa couldn’t imagine her going through the effort to actually get one, but still. Moca seems utterly unfazed by the request, though, grabbing her wallet, fishing through it, and presenting Lisa with a laminated piece of paper, covered in scrawled handwriting.
Dear Lisa,
Please just give Moca the alcohol so I don’t have to keep on buying her 24-packs from the market and telling her to drink them responsibly.
Kind regards,
Tomoe
“Thank you, now, if you could just press this button…” Lisa drones, doing her best ‘convenience store worker who really doesn’t care’ voice – which is the same voice she’s been doing for the last two hours, but right now she actually does care about what’s going on, only she’s trying not to show it. The little “Are you over 20?” button shows up on the terminal facing Moca, and she stabs at it, multiple times, with glee.
They’ve been working together in this store for a few months, now, but Moca’s never attempted anything like this – in fact, Lisa’s confused why Moca’s here anyway. There’s this thing they have, when one of them ends up cancelling a shift due to band practice/school stuff/Moca just texting the rota manager ‘deuces lol’ and somehow still having a job here; the other meets them once they’re done so they can go and sit on Moca’s porch for some consolation drinks.
God, she appreciates it so much, seeing Moca’s dopey sleepy happy face, but… why? They share their shifts when they can because the job is way less of a pain when they’re working together, but it’s also nearly midnight on Friday. Doesn’t she have something better to do, like jamming with the rest of her band, or smoking up with Tomoe in that alley behind Circle where Marina promises not to call the cops on ‘em, or, well, not being at a convenience store at midnight? Unlike Lisa, Moca seems like she hangs out with girls who don’t head to bed at 10PM sharp, and if she wanted to see Lisa, then—
“Your change will be 76 yen.”
…Moca came to see her, huh. Showing up at the end of Lisa’s self-inflicted suffering and charging in like a knight in scruffy blue armour.
That feels pretty nice.
“Thank yo—Ah, would you like a bag?” Lisa’s nearly forgetting the steps she’s been following without exception for the last four hours, and Moca’s unchanging amused smile isn’t helping matters. It’d almost look like Moca was making fun of her, if Lisa didn’t know that Moca was better than—no, wait, Moca isn’t better than that. Screw her. Next time, she’d be the one sneaking through the booze purchases.
“Suuure.”
She reaches over, into the draw containing a seemingly endless supply of plastic (seriously, she’s never seen the bottom of them) and grabs one of the flimsy little bags, scooping up the drinks and double-checking—
One can of Asahi Super Dry, the shiny patches of the can free of condensation showing where Moca’s been clutching onto her drink of choice.
One can of Strong Zero, held much more gently, just in case Moca accidentally warmed up Lisa’s fave.
--it’s really hard not to break into a slight smile, at the very least.
“Thank you very much. We hope to see you again soon!” Lisa chirps, the last part of the script she’s made to spout at every single customer carrying some genuine meaning for the first time in a long while, and Moca gives a little jerk of her hand towards the exit to the store as she walks away.
The remaining eight minutes she’s got on the clock are gonna feel painfully long.
When she’s finally out of there, her uniform replaced with her own breezy dress and heeled pumps giving her that little boost to her height that’s sorely lacking in the slides that the store provides, Lisa steps out into the humid midnight summer air with just a tiny lil’ bit of expectation.
…so she’s a bit disappointed when she can’t immediately find Moca waiting outside; not a hint of self-satisfied dumbassery anywhere to be seen. She has to squint into the darkness ahead of her for a few more moments until she hears a hoarse whisper, a muted “Heyyyy.” that lets her know to turn around.
“Are you hiding?” It sure looks like it, Moca emerging from behind the bike racks with her hood still up, and the shopping bag in her hand.
“Uhhhh, yeah. Iunno about you, Lisa, but I don’t think ‘being caught outside my workplace chuggin’ ill-acquired cans of alcohol’ is gonna look too great.”
“So where should we go?” The usual spot is kind of a trek, and Lisa’s pretty done right now.
Moca shrugs, looking at just how dark out it is and pointing in a general direction away from the well-lit front of the store. “The other side of the parking lot?”
She’s not sure if there’s all that much safer than squatting right outside the convenience store itself, but Lisa isn’t in the mood to complain – besides, does anyone really care? Neither of them look like they’re about to start trouble – okay, Moca’s white-dyed hair and general look is like, 25% delinquent, but the type of delinquent that just skips classes and listens to indie EDM and threatens her parents by saying she’s gonna get a tattoo of deep Vocaloid lyrics – and the bitch who works the evening shifts on Wednesdays and leaves Lisa to clean up all the time isn’t around to get weird at them, so it’s probably okay.
Moca hums something as they stroll over there, keeping the bag with the cans in it tight to her stomach like she’s almost worried about getting caught, or maybe she’s just keeping her Super Dry close to her out of some sort of protective instinct. Either way, it’s kinda cute.
“That worried about losing your job?”
“I need cash. Afterglow don’t pay for itself, y’knoooow.”
“You’d find somewhere else, I bet.”
“See, I’ve looked around for mildly less shitty retail before, but the Yamabukis won’t hire me.” She sounds honestly sad, and Lisa gets why. After all, in her eyes, Moca’s the one saving grace of the working experience. “Saaya says I’d be a, uh, ‘danger to inventory stock management.’”
“You’d just eat all the bread, huh.”
“Hey! Heyyyy. She says I am. You know me, you can trust Moca to take care of the breadington…” Going from sad to outright dejected, Moca curls up into defence position and pulls the cans further away from Lisa like some kind of warning.
“I hear you, though. If you quit, I’d probably end up leaving too.”
“Are you being real, or…”
“Wouldn’t be worth it without you here.”
“Damn... a career double suicide. Shit’s romantic, Lisa...” Moca makes no secret about being a sucker for praise, and it seems like the bread diss is all good now, because she’s holding the bag of swag in Lisa’s direction, cans clinking like they’re offering some relief from this midnight heatwave. She raises her hand to meet Moca’s, assuming she’s being offered the bag to carry - but all that happens is that their hands press up against each other, like they always end up doing, staying there way too long for it to be a coincidence; and they only stop when it’s clear that Moca’s not actually passing her the bag and they’re out of excuses.
“Hey, it’s not suicide.” Not that Lisa misses a single beat. “Gives me a chance to use my impressive resume to move up in the world.”
“Damn... Gonna live the dream... non-shitty retail... floor assistant at Aimerfeel...”
“Oh, yeah, of course that’s your dream. You just want to stare at lingerie all day, huh?”
“People don’t wanna do that?” Moca asks, and she turns to Lisa with a shock and determination that doesn’t feel like Moca at all, gazing insistently into her eyes with a fierceness that borders on Sayo’s reactions to, well, uh, anything.
Lisa laughs, and Moca can only remain deadpan for a few moments more before she breaks out in her own low, wheezing chuckle, hunching over a little as she does. “Heehh… I mean, for real, though, the stuff in there’d really suit your whole ‘sthetic, yeah?”
“Aw, shaddup~!” Just because she’s right doesn’t mean she can say it, and Lisa yanks down that silly hood and throws a playful little smack at Moca’s cheek, the other girl leaning into it with a happy little smirk. She rests her head there for a second, pale skin glowing in the even paler light of the convenience store, and that gives Lisa a lot to think about.
And when they do find a place to sit – or, well, squat next to each other, Moca resting her ass on the raised little stone at the head of the parking space while Lisa goes without a support – Moca wastes no time in fishing out the two maybe slightly-overhyped cans from the bag, handing Lisa’s over to her with a tap to its side, trying to ease up the bubbles just a little. When Lisa takes it from her, she does the same – even though she still has that weird phantom sensation of expecting her nails to hit against the aluminium before her bare, slightly calloused fingertips do instead.
Moca’s already started on her drink before Lisa opens hers, and she gulps down what seems like half of the can at once, ending with a worn-out but satisfied sigh – Lisa’s not really sure what Moca’s got to be so tired about, considering she’s been on the tills tonight and Moca hasn’t, but hey, free booze.
“Should’ve bought some snacks while I was there, too.” Borderline out of character that Moca didn’t, now Lisa thinks about it.
“Hey, they’re open twenty-four hours. Not too late.”
“Whaaat, and walk all, uh, 50 metres back there? Naaah. We’re just gonna starve.”
“Rest in peace, us. Here’s to Hina finding our bodies and selling our bones on the internet.” It’s a toast, alright, and the two raise their cans in silent salute to their inevitable demise.
Popping her own can open – and meeting barely any fizz as she does so – Lisa props up her chin on her free hand, takes a gentle sip of the alcoholic lemonade, and keeps an eye on Moca as she does os. She never knows when Moca’s looking over at her, running her eyes up and down Lisa for something to comment on – she’s seen this dress, and these heels, maybe even in this combination before, but she’s got a good eye when it comes to picking something out.
…though, in fact, Moca’s just staring into the middle distance, holding her can from the top with the claw and gently swaying it left and right. She’s probably thinking about something. Something not too deep, or too smart, but something really… Moca.
Somethin’ Mocalicious.
God, she can even hear her voice just looking at her – for better or worse, she’s definitely one of a kind. Lisa knows a lot of, uh, interesting people, but Moca’s a cut above.
…it’s pretty embarrassing when Moca wakes up from whatever trance she’s in in to look over at Lisa and sees her staring at her in a trance right back, though.
“Whatcha lookin’ at? Never seen a girl down a dad-drink before?”
“I’d say I’m kinda used to it by now?”
Moca grins, ruffling her own hair as she leans a little in Lisa’s direction, pressing the back of her hand against both the Strong Zero and Lisa’s tight grip on it.
“You’re hittin’ the hard stuff tonight, Lisa~”
“You bought it for me.”
“’cause it’s your fave.”
“It’s like, 8%.” Lisa lifts the can to her face and checks it, just to be sure. “Okay, 9%.”
“That’s like twiiice what I got. You’re gonna be drunk twice as fast.”
“Oh, please.” And she nudges Moca, grinning at her, sloshing around what’s left in the can for emphasis. “Bet you’d like that, though.”
“Whaaaat... Moca doesn’t make moves on drunk girls. Ow.” She looks away, clutching at her knee – for… some reason? – like she’s been genuinely hurt, seething for second, and when she looks back—
—when she looks back at Lisa, her smile’s smaller, muted, like she’s about to mean what she says for the first time in her life.
“cuz it means more if you kiss me when you’re sober, anyway.”
Not that Lisa--
“…I’ve only had like, one drink from it.”
--misses a single beat.
“Nah, you’ve wild off your game already tonight, tho’.” It’s a weird accusation – almost very slightly vaguely pointed when it comes from Moca, of all people – and Lisa feels like she could take offence, if she wanted.
Though she, uh, doesn’t really feel the want or need to.
“Yeah?”
“Yep. You forgot to ask earlier…” Reaching into one of her many pockets, Moca fishes out two pieces of plastic and one flimsy paper card in its own laminated pocket, flashing them in front of Lisa’s eyes with maybe just a bit too much smug satisfaction. “For these babies.”
“…oh, shit. Sorry.”
“It’s part of your job… where’s your Japanese hospitality, huh? This isn’t what I expect out of a bored young woman tending the tills at ten to midnight~”
Getting bullied by Moca for not remembering to ask for her point cards is like one of those ‘liminal space’ things that Yukina and Ako talk about sometimes, Lisa thinks; or well, something close enough to it. It’s the kind of thing that’d be surreal enough to start with, but between the smothering heat, like the sun should be up above them in the dark night sky, and with their faces only half-lit up by the white light of the store and its signs, it’s more like some insane dream.
It’s intense. Especially when Moca leans in really close, close enough that Lisa can smell the beer on her lips, while she jabs at Lisa with the cards.
And in the middle of this strange, not-quite-real trance, they both know that their faces are way too close together, and if they’d had a little more to drink before now, then—
“I know how much your point cards mean to you, Moca.”
“They’re my life.”
“Your daughters.”
“And sons, and non-binary blessings. House of Moca accepts all denominations of cost-saving.”
“So I’m really reaaaally sorry. Those two cans are gonna be lost to history forever, and I regret it.”
It’s a tense, quiet moment, and Moca opens her mouth to say something – then closes it again, chews it over, opens her mouth one more time, stops, leans back, nods sagely to herself, and finally speaks.
“I forgive you, I forgive you… I’ll live without 424 yen’s worth of points, somehow.”
Giggling, Lisa lifts her can up, nearly to her mouth, and watches Moca watch her, because this time Moca is watching—and then she remembers what Moca said earlier, and stops just before it touches her lips.
“Yeah?”
“You can forget to card me up for like, fifty thou’, and I’ll still love ya, Lisa.”
“You love me that much?”
“Sure do, babe. Love ya forever.”
Moca clicks her tongue and winks, breathlessly laughing at just how lame she’s being right now, and Lisa laughs back, and something something Sayo voice about how we’re all just chemicals and feelings are just an illogical imbalance and imbibing alcohol only makes us more vulnerable, but god who even cares. She doesn’t know why she’s reacting to that word, of everything Moca’s said and done, in this context, but Lisa doesn’t think about if she’s missing that beat or not, when it’s her heart that’s beating fast—
It’s too tempting, too good, too right for her not to just lean in and kiss Moca right then, because it’ll mean more to both of them if she does it while she’s (probably) sober. One hand is around her drink, the other’s slung over Moca’s shoulder, and Lisa goes for it, presses up against her with the kind of passion that sure as hell doesn’t feel like it’s their first kiss.
It’s a weird, uncomfortable angle and her calves are not happy, but it’s way too good for her to care. Even Moca reacts like Lisa’s found her one secret weakness, and Lisa hears a brief, muffled mumble from between their lips – and then a series of clatters, like Moca’s dropped her beer and her point cards from the kiss. She awkwardly jerks over to grab at them, but she’s holding onto Lisa’s dress with her left hand and pulling at her, keeping her there so that the kiss doesn’t end, wasted booze or not; and that just makes Lisa lean into her harder and give her more, until her legs are screaming at her to make out with Moca in a way that isn’t gonna make her sprain something.
When Lisa gives into her muscles’ demands and pulls away, she sways wildly on her heels, Moca yanking at her dress to keep her upright. They swing backwards and forwards, Lisa’s hands grabbing at the carpark floor in a way that would wreck her nails if she still had them, before she ultimately parks her butt on the little stone next to Moca. Not the most elegant, but Lisa’d prefer that to cracking her head open against the ground. She looks down, trying to spot the beer she made Moca spill, but it looks like Moca managed to save the can. (And she’s learned her lesson, because her hand is now clenched properly around her brew.)
“There. Your point card reward.” Lisa’s grinning like an idiot already, and that only gets worse when she says something that dumb.
“W-wooo. Uhhhh. That was… something, Lisa.” Her hood bounces back and forth as Moca rocks in place, staring into the dark inside the can.
“What, not sober enough for you?”
“You suuure you didn’t have something to drink before I got there?”
“Dry as they come.”
All joking aside, that seems to make Moca stop rocking, and turn her gaze from the depths of her can to the starless sky.
“…shit, uh. This’s pretty real, then.”
“Yeah.”
When they manage to look at each other again after half a minute of dodging the inevitable, Moca’s lazy smirk is somehow lazier and smirkier than ever, but her dim grey eyes are glittering, shining twice as bright as anything else in this hot, muggy summer night. Maybe they just look their best in the cold, white, artificial light of a 7-11. Sure, she doesn’t say it, because the only thing Moca’s reluctant to verbally vomit are straight-up words of happiness, but Lisa’s pretty sure she made the right stupid-ass impulsive choice in response to the girl she likes half-jokingly saying she loves her.
…yeah, she was, uh, kinda banking on the half-joking thing.
Moca’s letting the silence hang, though, and Lisa’s trying to figure out why. Could be she’s actually at a loss for words, or she’s just letting Lisa stew, provoking her into saying something else, that’s pretty likely. Honestly, all it makes Lisa do is take another quick drink from her can – and in the process she realises, yeah, maybe 9% is more powerful than you think after standing behind a till for five hours.
Of course, there’s also the slim chance that she’s just sitting there in the same kind of giddy happiness that Lisa’s got right now and savouring it, but that’s the kind of wishful thinking that makes Lisa feel a bit guilty. Moca reaches towards the ground again, fumbling around and squinting in the low light, until she finds what she’s looking for – and in response, she throws her head back and empties the rest of the Asahi into her mouth, aimlessly just dropping the can to the floor in a way that Lisa knows would make Ran mad.
“Need some courage, huh?” That doesn’t feel like Moca.
“Naaaah. Just don’t wanna risk spilling it any more, ‘cause, y’know…” Again, for the third – or fifth, or tenth, because it’s been so natural to them for a while now and they don’t even realise – time, Moca’s hand presses up against Lisa’s, and she wrestles the unfinished Strong Zero out of her hand, placing it down gently on the floor away from her. Weirdly sensible. “See, I got three here, so that’s two more cards here you didn’t ring up, heh…”
She’s pressing them against Lisa’s cheek as she moves in close, that droning chuckle like music to Lisa’s ears, and yeah, she’s ready to give Moca her rewards--
Though, when Moca kisses her again, lips wet from Super Dry, this time with both hands grabbing tight onto Lisa’s body, she doubts they’re gonna stop at just three.