Chapter Text
It's not the most modern joint around, but the rustic aesthetic of the brick walls and industrial lighting is alluring nonetheless.
The windows overlook the apartment complex across the street, with cars almost constantly passing by. The barstools are a little worn out from so many years of use, but until an actual complaint is made they'll likely remain as they are.
The fireplace by the small lounge area is embedded in stone, surrounded by newly furnished leather chairs Rashid had put in just before retiring. Alibaba is seated in one as his gaze wanders around the room.
"It's all mine now," he thinks. Somehow, this had been the first time the thought had occurred to him.
Quiet jazz plays from the ceiling speakers. Aside from Alibaba's thoughts, it seems to be the only sound for miles.
The café is closed for the day. It's usually open every day––save for the usual holidays,––but today is an exception.
Alibaba glances towards the door as the music cuts for a transition, his eyes meeting the "Welcome, We're Open" side of the sign hanging in front of it.
He then turns to face the counter, the recently-dusted register no longer appearing to have come straight from twenty-five years ago––give or take––when Rashid had begun running the café.
The distinct smell of coffee beans and cinnamon is still ingrained in the walls. It's one that has formulated over the centuries the place has been around, and while the building has been renovated time and again over those years, it lingers regardless.
There's a slight jostle at the door soon followed by knocking, and Alibaba looks to find Rashid standing outside the building.
Hesitant, he rises from the chair and walks over to let the man inside.
"Hello, Alibaba."
"Hey Dad."
Rashid's hands are in his coat pockets as he surveys the space, and his eyes eventually fall back to Alibaba. "I can't believe you're finally running the place."
"Neither can I," he wants to say, but replies instead, "It's about time I took up the business," to which Rashid nods approvingly.
"That's very true."
There's a lull in the conversation then, one laced with an awkwardness only found between an estranged father and a son who could never quite call him "Dad" without it leaving a foreign taste in his mouth.
Rashid coughs to break it. "...I see you've cleaned up the place."
"Oh, yeah. Dusted it. The place...I dusted the place." Alibaba cringes––internally––at the slip-up, and he's almost certain Rashid does as well.
"Right. You did a good job."
Rashid places his hand on Alibaba's shoulder just a little too tight, squeezing it just a little more as if to express his approval of the blonde's work. Alibaba is too busy worrying Rashid might notice him sweating under his grip.
Though his father's hand slips off soon enough, and the man takes to looking over the room once more. He chuckles.
"It's strange to think I won't be coming in to work anymore."
"It must be."
Rashid nods, more to himself, however, before glancing out the window. "You know, I've been doing this job for so long that I nearly forgot a world existed outside of the building."
Alibaba almost smiles at that, but something holds him back. Perhaps the thought of sharing even a semi-personal experience with his father.
So he changes the subject. "Is Sinbad coming in tomorrow?"
"Well, Sinbad usually only works from Tuesday through Saturday."
"Oh." If he recalled, today was Sunday. "Well, who is coming in, then?"
Rashid hums in thought, finding support when leaning onto a table behind him. "Barkak, probably, and...maybe Sahbmad?"
Alibaba's lips purse. "That's...that's not a lot of people."
"It isn't." Rashid seems bashful as he says it.
"Are you sure we can even handle the shift with only three people–?"
"Possibly two."
"...with 'possibly two' people?"
"Probably two."
Alibaba is speechless. The café was one of the most profitable establishments in the area. Since when had it become so understaffed?
"Well, I think it was right after Kouen managed to 'coax' most of the staff into resigning last time he worked here with Ahbmad. We still have time to, ah, 'rebuild' though, so I wouldn't worry about it too much."
Alibaba is caught off guard by the response, before realizing he had said his thoughts aloud. A flushed look reaches his face, but he eventually composes himself.
"...when you say 'coaxed' into resigning, how exactly am I supposed to interpret that?" He decides to ask.
"I actually think the word 'coerced' might prove more appropriate in this context."
"Oh."
"I mean, we didn't just get that restraining order for the fun of it, Alibaba."
"Of course not."
"Of course not," Rashid affirms.
There's more small talk between them for a while, the unspoken tension just slightly less palpable as they discuss the building's history, how every Saluja has "left his mark" on these walls and within this community.
The weight of the responsibility seems set on Alibaba's shoulders as they proceed. Still, he manages.
The moment they finish having a stroll around the room, Rashid goes to take his leave.
"Tell Mom I said hi," says Alibaba, his father now standing by the entrance. The bell positioned above it rings as the man opens the door.
"I will."
As Rashid walks out, Alibaba remains by the doorway, his gaze following his father as he heads for his car and drives onto the road.
Alibaba slowly lifts his hand to wave, but Rashid is already out of sight, just another car speeding outside the window. He sighs, placing a hand on his now tingling shoulder where Rashid's hand had once been.
«- ·•· -»
Alibaba eventually leaves as well, though much later at around 6:45PM.
The sun has already begun to set by that time, and he takes a moment to look out and just admire the view from behind his car. Alibaba then lets out a breath, watching it turn to fog, and ignoring the slight chill biting at him in the open.
He then scans the sidewalk. Had there been more trees in the area, he imagines their leaves would've been shades of scarlet by now. He takes another moment to visualize it.
"We better have restocked on Pumpkin Spice" he thinks abruptly, and he wonders if Rashid would be impressed with his quick adjustment to the "Café Owner" mindset or already expectant of it.
Looking back, Alibaba realizes he hadn't actually talked to Rashid about the man's expectations regarding the position. He'd just taught him how to use the coffee machine and where to go to get the restraining order against one "Kouen Ren" renewed on a yearly basis––
apparently he and Ahbmad had almost managed to throw the café into bankruptcy by 'harassing' the customers into fleeing the establishment. It was for this very reason Alibaba had become the next in line for the position despite being the youngest in the family.-–
Alibaba huffs, instantly emitting another puff of fog.
It shouldn't matter. Despite having returned prosperity to the establishment, it wasn't like Rashid owned the café anymore.
Which meant that if it failed now, Alibaba would be the one left without a job or a retirement fund. As would all the other employees.
"Shit," he mutters. He hadn't thought of that till now.
«- ·•· -»
Alibaba returned to his apartment at around 10:00PM but had found himself unable to sleep at the thought of starting work the very next day.
What if he had forgotten to restock on Pumpkin Spice? What if the cash register had gotten jammed? What if he forgot to lock the door?
...did he remember to lock the door?
«- ·•· -»
There's fog flooding the streets that night, with lampposts nearby glowing eerily in its midst.
The second he's parked the car, Alibaba runs out towards the entrance and finds that it is indeed locked. He sighs thankfully, as the café has yet to get a proper security system installed.
This is supposedly the reason one of the windows has been unceremoniously shattered without having garnered any attention, and why the blonde can make out the silhouette of a person attempting to raid the cash register.
Alibaba's eyes widen as it dawns on him what's happening.
"Holy shit we're getting robbed."
Amidst the adrenaline rush now surging through him, the blonde opts to carefully enter in through the window, fearful that the culprit may hear the click of the door unlocking. It seems that in the heat of the moment, he forgets his ability to call the police station a mere ten minutes away from the café.
Though as Alibaba manages to make it to the building's hardwood floor unnoticed, he begins to take note of the stranger's familiar features.
Long dreadlocks.
Low grunting.
The thick smell of tobacco.
"It can't be," he thinks, and it's only when Saluja flicks on the lights that Kassim realizes he's been caught.