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“You know you’ve got to get off that couch at some point, right?”
“Don’t wanna.”
“I need my couch back, Yuya.”
Takaki usually prides himself in being able to stay composed, but the director is a mean butt and he is definitely not going back there again. He can’t, even if he wanted to, since he was practically fired from his internship at Johnny’s. In his defence, it had only been his third day, how the hell was he supposed to know that he was the one in charge of fixing the curtain? He didn’t have the slightest idea what the scene looked like on camera, how was he supposed to know that the curtain was in the shot? Not to mention his co-workers, who were total butts as well, leaving him alone to face the wrath of the director.
Takaki cringes at the memory, shovelling another spoon of ice cream into his mouth. “It’s my couch too,” he retorts weakly. On the television screen, Gabriella tells Troy she has to go her own way. It is inevitable that Takaki sniffles a little.
“Which is why,” Takaki typically tries to tune out Yamada and his long-ass lectures, but he finds his feet being shoved off the sofa just when Troy starts protesting.
“Rude!” he grumbles, when even his ice cream gets snatched away from him.
Yamada sets the tub of cheap chocolate ice cream on the coffee table and turns back to Takaki expectantly.
Takaki squirms in his blanket under Yamada’s gaze. “I’m going to be a NEET, aren’t I? Just because I didn’t know when to rearrange the curtains.” He groans, shrinking more into the blanket sushi in frustration.
“Well,” Yamada gets this extremely creepy grin on his face that sends all the alarms in Takaki’s head ringing. “You could get employed.”
“Please don’t suggest prostitution.”
Yamada has the decency to look offended. “What kind of friend do you think I am? I would at least let you keep your clothes on!”
“So, a host club?”
Turns out, the mall the Yamada works in has a Levi’s that is hiring.
“Plus, it’s a great chance for you to get a proper pair of jeans and banish those hideous pants of yours!” Yamada says, and then starts raving about the benefits of employee discounts that he heard about from his friend.
His friend, who happens to be Chinen Yuri, the manager, takes one look at Takaki’s behind and hires him on the spot. Takaki doesn’t say that it makes him feel like he’s in a host club, even though it does.
He is no Kim Kardashian, but the skinny jeans Chinen insists that he starts wearing immediately make him feel like he has a sizable butt.
But then on his first day he sees this boy, this bespectacled boy from the unit opposite theirs with long limbs that are awkward in the most adorable way. On the boy’s feet are a pair of winged sneakers, and it’s so outrageous Takaki scoffs a little internally, who does he think he is, Heracles?
The boy’s eyes widen, seemingly taking notice of Takaki. The latter is prepared to give hipster shoe boy from ‘If The Shoe Fits’ a polite smile as a greeting, when the boy looks down at Takaki’s feet and frowns.
It may have slipped Takaki’s mind that morning to shoe properly. He’s clad in a black mandatory polo and the skinny jeans that Chinen insisted that he wear—which were definitely different from the bootcut ones he was used to, but his toes stare back at him as he looks down, through his worn flip-flops.
Who knew hipster shoe boy would be such a judgemental shoe snob?
Besides the good view, working there is mostly a pleasant experience. Mostly.
Occasionally, they get psychos who come in to spend two whole hours browsing and ask questions like, “do you have anything more distressed?”
Takaki almost gave that guy a pair of scissors to cut up the jeans himself.
It takes Takaki completely by surprise when he runs into hipster shoe boy on his day off.
Maybe fate loves him a little, Takaki thinks, when he goes to help an old lady carry her bags, and finds the other boy offering to do the same as well.
“You’re such good boys,” Yamaguchi-san smiles, it’s more gums than teeth, but it’s very endearing. She even pats their heads. Her mannerisms are familiar; Takaki is reminded of his late grandmother who liked to knit sweaters for her tiny dog.
Takaki tries to decline the peach she presses into his palm, but her grip is firm for such a tiny old lady. “You boys make such a cute couple,” she says, without warning, and the other boy freaks out a bit at that.
“No, no, we aren’t like that,” he says, trying to wave her off and return his peach. “I don’t even know this guy.”
Takaki tries to pretend he isn’t affected by this statement. It fails terribly, his awkward apologetic smile turns into somewhat of a grimace. He’d thought they would at least be considered acquaintances, because he recognised the other boy.
Maybe he’s a little hurt.
Takaki just thought hipster shoe boy recognised him as well.
On other days, he tries his best not to stare, and mostly fails.
“Hey Yuto,” Chinen gives hipster shoe boy a wave before disappearing behind the cashier.
That traitor.
He knew hipster shoe boy’s name! And didn’t bother letting Takaki know! That little shit knew about Takaki’s not-so-secret crush on shoe boy—Yuto, and didn’t say a word? Trust Chinen to be friends with Yuto, but Takaki shouldn’t be surprised, Chinen is even on good terms with Hikaru, the security guy.
Whereas Takaki only gets the evil eye every time he has to open, like Hikaru suspects he’s going to rob the store or something.
“Are you looking for something?” Takaki blurts. Oh god, did he just ask Yuto that?
Yuto holds up the pair of jeans he was looking at and shoots Takaki a small grin, making his way to the changing rooms.
Takaki facepalms. This is Levi’s, why would anyone come here for anything other than jeans?
Takaki sighs, following after Yuto. He is only slightly aware of how much his behaviour resembles that of a lost puppy. Takaki pretends to busy himself by folding and refolding the same pair of jeans twice, until he hears the latch of the door close.
He is somewhat happy the repairmen haven’t been scheduled to replace their noisy but still not faulty (says Chinen) locks yet.
Quickly, Takaki turns to Chinen, who is watching him with a shit-eating grin on his face. ‘Help me,’ Takaki mouths, to which Chinen sticks out his tongue in response.
His manager is five years old.
Takaki sighs again, burying his head in his hands and repeatedly asking himself, “why”, when he hears the door unlatch.
He turns fast enough to get whiplash, but that is the least of his concerns, because woah.
Yuto is standing there in their jeans, and he looks beautiful. Takaki wants to write songs about Yuto’s legs and he can barely play the guitar.
Yuto just had to pick the skinniest pair of jeans that hugged his legs perfectly, making them look captivatingly long.
Takaki isn’t staring. Except he kind of is.
“Do these jeans make my butt look flat?”
What.
“I mean, you don’t look very impressed by them, so I guess—oh my god! You are totally judging me aren’t you?”
Takaki blinks, and swallows.
“I swear I don’t just have those pair of black jeans, they are different pairs! I just always end up buying similar ones and—”
Takaki totally notices Yuto’s black jeans; and he definitely knows that they are different pairs—he sells jeans, damn it. He also appreciates Yuto’s black jeans with all his heart often enough, when he pretends to be dusting Heather (their half mannequin) all the way from Levi’s.
“It… it looks… nice.” Takaki finally says.
He doesn’t expect Yuto’s response at all.
“My butt?”
“Lookin’ good, Yuto!” Chinen calls out from the counter, an enthusiastic thumbs-up waving in the air.
“You would too, Yuyan! In <i>those</i> jeans!” Chinen very indiscreetly points to Yuto, and winks exaggeratedly.
Yuto flushes an adorable shade of pink, and Takaki has never been more thankful for his longer hairstyle that hopefully covers his burning ears.
They look away from each other.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, kids! The both of you are wearing the same type of jeans, see?”
A look confirms that, and Takaki looks away from Yuto again, suddenly feeling too warm again.
“Is he always like this?” Yuto’s voice drops to a softer whisper.
Takaki shrugs. “Just be glad that he can’t come over to slap your butt or something because of the cameras.
Yuto’s eyes widen comically at that, mouthing, ‘what a pervert!’ to Takaki. The latter nods enthusiastically in response.
“Anyway, he made me come buy a new pair, said I needed to get another pair or grow one…”
“I know,” Takaki says softly, when Yuto trails off. “I can tell the difference between the jeans with real back pockets and the pair with the fake ones.”
Yuto blinks at him, and Takaki rambles on.
“I mean, it isn’t so hard,” Takaki continues, “You keep your phone in your back pocket when you wear the one with real pockets and—”
He meets Yuto’s eyes as he looks up, panicking when he sees them wide with disbelief.
“I’m sorry,” Takaki blurts, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “This is really creepy, isn’t it?”
Yuto frowns, obviously upset. “Stop it.”
“Okay.” Takaki breathes out. “I’m really sorry for creeping you out, I promise I—”
“No, just—” Yuto groans, reaching over to Takaki’s head. He messes around with Takaki’s hair for a bit, while the latter tries not to hum when slightly calloused fingers brush against his scalp as Yuto threads his fingers through Takaki’s hair. From the mirror though, his hair looks exactly the same.
“Ugh! How did that make you look better?”
“I thought you were trying to fix… my hair?” Takaki sort of squeaks. He is not proud of it.
“Yeah, because I can’t concentrate on having a normal conversation with your hair looking all gorgeous.”
“He’s using Dove this month!” Chinen helpfully supplies.
Takaki wants to get mad, because how the hell does Chinen know the brand of shampoo he uses? But Yuto is standing in front of him and calling him gorgeous (his hair, at least), and he loses the battle against the smile that blooms across his face.
The next time they help Yamaguchi-san carry her bags, she puts foil-wrapped candy into their pockets as thanks.
When she comments again on how cute they look together, Yuto trips over his own feet as he leans in a little closer to Takaki, beaming.
Takaki catches him.
It’s a nice weight.