Work Text:
Despite working as a barista at your local café, you always found coffee to be unbearable. You were much more a tea person- much preferring its sweet, fragrant notes or the mild bitterness that came in a bag of earl grey. Coffee was acrid- dark and boiling, unable to grasp the delicateness of chamomile and fruit teas. So, naturally, when he came in, you found his beverage choice ridiculous. The man seemed perpetually irascible, ordering espresso shots daily- as if sleep was a commodity known only to beings on Mars. He never took his coffee to stay- always walking out the door after he received his order. On certain days, he seemed more at ease, ordering lattes instead of his customary black. Nevertheless, your distaste for him remained- regardless of his oddly sepulchral allure. You had only worked morning shifts, making espresso shots at 7 AM. It was pungent. The the smell of caffeine, however, kept you peppy; on your toes until your shift ended. Soon, your working hours had been moved to the evening, where you promptly discovered that he took those bloody espresso shots at 8 PM too.
The man was crazy.
But he was intriguing, in a way, because there was no common human being that could withstand such an excessive intake of dark roast. He made you curious. You questioned his health regularly, sure- but he had given your job some small light of interest.
One night, he came in- a stack of papers taken out onto his table and his coffee surprisingly served in a mug. You paid little heed to this- glancing over a few times, but none too concerned. You simply listened to the music drifting calmly in- finishing late-night orders and replenishing the bottle of vanilla syrup. Soon, the mundane tasks were complete. Yet, twilight dragged on- your shift not over until another two hours passed. Right foot tapping lightly on the linoleum to the rhythm of the clock, you felt restless. The night past the door of the café tempted you. Bright neon signs and cars speeding past; you had half a mind to run out. But you didn't. Until a proper job could be found- you had to stay.
"They're such idiots."
The man's soft mumble echoed in the small room- and you whipped around, ready to defend the competence of your intellect.
"Excuse me?" Your voice came out more hostile than you meant it, and you resisted the urge to clap your hand over your mouth.
The man looked up- Aizawa! That was his name, you scrawled it on his coffee cup yesterday- and sighed.
"Not you. My students," was all that he replied with.
"Oh- I, uhm- yeah sor-"
He cut off your flustered garble with a simple- "It's fine."
Burdened by the awkward silence, you wrung your hands. The boredom of the past hour kicked in, and you felt sticking your head in a cabinet would have been more entertaining. You spoke up- what did you have to lose?
"So...you're a teacher?"
"Yes." The word was gruff.
The ability to hold a normal conversation, apparently.
"What are you marking?"
"Math."
"Oh- I assume it isn't going well?"
"Yes."
His one-word answers were doing nothing to ease your impatience, so you tried again.
"Do you need help?"
"I could use a coffee."
"Right..." All you knew was that he liked coffee- a fact well-established long ago, and the minutes seemed to tick by even slower. You end up bringing him his coffee- again- and peer over his shoulder. There's an exam on the top of the pile- red circles all around. You pity whichever child this is. Aizawa catches you staring- and seemingly deciding he's completely and irrevocably fed up with the whole grading idea, shoves some 5-6 booklets in your direction.
You quirk an eyebrow, and it's as if he senses your confusion.
"The answer key is on the top. Just circle what's wrong- I'll calculate the total scores."
"Don't you need the answer key?"
"I've already memorized it."
Maybe it's the curt reply or the lack of pandemonium in the nearly-empty beverage shop, but you simply take the exams with a snort and run back to the counter- snatching a red pen from behind the cash register.
-
He returns for another evening the next Saturday- drafting something on a chart with a steaming latte beside him. With the failure of your previous conversation in mind, you kept silent- switching TV channels to watch a new release of your favourite show while wiping down the countertop. A new episode was airing- a hero interrogating crime suspects in police headquarters.
"That's the wrong conclusion."
You simply stared at him quizzically.
Sighing- he was tired, of course, but less exasperated than you thought- he rubbed his temples.
"They're not innocent. Look at their body language. One has his arms crossed- that's a self soother. The other has a wrinkled glabella- that's the area of skin between the eyebrows. They're worried about something. The interrogation isn't a favourable situation, but its plainly clear that they're guilty."
You were surprised. The customer was astute- and you never would have imaged that he'd be that observant- especially due to the gallons of coffee he consumed. However, you had your doubts about his conclusion.
"But last episode, their fingerprints weren't found at the crime scene, and Officer Shoko- the female in the blue suit- said she thought a Villain was behind this- not a buddy-buddy pair of civilians."
"People can wear gloves," came his monotonous reply.
"But that's so commonplace! There's gotta be something smarter than that!"
"It's either they're associates or they're the culprits. Plus- people leave more than fingerprints behind."
"You mean stuff like hair?"
Aizawa looked up- nodding slightly- and resumed his work.
"But there's no way Officer Shoko's wrong- she's the best cop in the precinct!"
And so it continued- your defence of the show and his logical attacks on it. You spent the remainder of the evening debating on whether the two men were guilty at all- and whether the Shoko's skills were truly something to marvel at. As the episode neared its end, you found yourself hoping you were right. All the coffee must've addled the man's brain.
"They're guilty, Detective," said the TV, and you scowled. Turning to the table behind you, you found the raven-haired regular giving you a deadpan look- the slightest bit of mirth in his eyes. Your scowl intensified, and Aizawa left with a free cookie from the morning's batch.
-
Weeks had passed by, and Aizawa came back each Saturday- settling into his regular spot. The conversations were bland at first, but then you would flip through the channels and settle on a popular show- bickering over every nuance.
The two of you were in the middle of a mildly-heated discussion- him typing on his laptop while supplying you with quick-witted remarks, and your eyes fixed on the television. Tonight's viewing was a horror series; the female protagonist backing away from the rattling bedroom door. You braced yourself for whatever paranormal being that would pop up- heart beating a bit faster. The bedroom door creaked open. In the lowly lit corridor, a child's giggle was heard- the head of a fractured, yellowing porcelain doll barely visible through the gap. The main character was yet to notice- back turned and body shaking, never looking back as she headed towards the stairs. Your palms felt sweaty- and you gnawed on your lip in trepidation. Then- the girl stopped, held by an unknown force- and crumpled to the ground; face pale with shock and fear. She turned her head, breath trembling.
The doll was right in front of her.
And then the lights turned off. You screamed- high on the show's terror and the loss of illumination in your workplace. The room was deathly silent. Clapping a hand over your mouth- you felt heat colour your cheeks. A chuckle soon grabbed your attention; Aizawa's face aglow with the light of his computer. You struggled to say something- mouthing soundlessly like a goldfish - and settled on huffing indignantly, walking into the back room to find a light source. Then, a screech was heard- wood against linoleum in a cacophony of shrill cries. You whirled around, forearms close to your chest-
And then you saw him- scooting his chair back for the same sharp sound with a grin. As dark as it was, your glare was crystal clear, and you took a moment to gather the courage to find the light switch. Aizawa only widened his smile.
-
It was a customary weekend night shift- you and your companion munching on the leftover pastries and sipping flavoured drinks -because you just had to spike that black coffee of his with some pumpkin spice. A new series was on air- but at some point it became more background noise than anything. The pair of you had evolved from chatting over television dramas to having various conversations over anything at all.
You would laugh yourself breathless- almost overpowering his light chuckles. Soon enough- you looked forward to night shifts- your distaste for coffee coupled with an unexpected fondness for him. You would create odd, sugary concoctions or use anything in the walk-in to make something to share- and twilight was eventful and left you smiling throughout the evening. It had been more than two months of these gatherings- and you finally let down your coffee prejudice enough to try a sip of the espresso shots he ordered in bulk.
As soon as it passed your lips, you almost gagged. It was dark and putrid- absolutely inferior to tea. It was much too bitter for your taste.
But you took another sip anyway- because you supposed you had him as a sweetener.