Chapter Text
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Molly still hasn’t managed to convince himself that he runs a proper business now. A cat café, The Lavish Chateau, which is partnered with the local Human Society shelter to provide socialization for rescues, discount adoption fees for customers, and a soothing environment for people in which to enjoy various teas, coffees, and pastries.
In his ten months of running this café, Molly has seen many kinds of people enter the establishment, but no matter appearance and attitude, everyone who steps foot in the warmly-lit space and sits down in the soft armchairs loves cats. It’s one of Molly’s favorite parts of his job, seeing how an introverted teen that might remind him of himself can warm up in the company of a playing kitten, or how a cat finds its forever home with someone buffer than Fjord, the half-orc at who handles the shelter’s administrative work.
Today, Molly finds himself looking up at the sound of the bell the front door pushes against, only to see a person enter. They’re wearing a long, threadbare coat and has red hair that pokes out from underneath a raggedy scarf. They look around the room and pull their clothes tighter against their frame despite the comfortably warm temperature inside. Avoiding eye contact, the scraggly-looking person shuffles over to the counter and places a faded yellow sticky note on it. 1 chamomile tea, please, the note says in neat lettering that doesn’t quite fit the appearance of its author, who is intently studying the chips and divots on the wooden surface of the counter top.
Molly smiles unabashedly and pushes the order into the register. He communicates the total by both saying it out loud and gesturing at the till screen.
A tea bag, boiling kettle, and a steaming cup on the counter later, Molly thanks the person in voice and in sign and refrains to comment on how the customer winces when the metal spoon clinks against the ceramic mug.
“I don’t know if you’ve been here before,” Molly starts. He knows he hasn’t seen them around, but it’s a fitting lead-in. “But the door on the far wall leads to a room with less sensory stimulation. Dimmer lights, no music, soundproofed space.”
The customer’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly and they give Molly a small nod. Carefully leaning the mug a little bit to one side so the spoon doesn’t shake against the side of the container, the customer then heads towards the room.
It’s a room Molly is very proud of. When he visited the café for the first time all those months ago, he got overwhelmed within an hour and Yasha took him to the dimly-lit storage closet. Although it was decently sized, the room was crowded with crates and boxes and shelves covered in dust. But it was also quiet, far enough removed from the counter to muffle the sound of the coffee machine and the sound of customers was muffled as well.
When he started working at the café, Marion had him cleaning. It was nice and monotonous, and no customers demanded social interaction from him. He loves the attention now that he’s more secure in himself, but the work was a welcome comfort, steady and based on fast routines. One slow day, the tables had all been wiped down, all floors were sparkly clean, and Molly’s antsy energy had not waned at all during his six-hour shift. When he went to put away the broom in the storage closet, he noticed the dusty surfaces and stayed late in his first move to create an enjoyable and functional space.
“I don’t know why the thought didn’t occur to me before,” Marion told him. Yasha still interpreted Molly’s sentences to Marion, but his mind was most often now quiet enough that he could pay attention to what people told him. Her smile warmed him to the core. “It’s genius, Mollymauk. I’ve been thinking of expanding upstairs but the permissions and the logistics were a bit complicated, and I’m pleased there is a more accessible solution.”
Within the week, Molly and Yasha had cleaned and painted the room, alternating duties between shifts. Jester, the café’s pastry-maker, had helped with furnishing, and a month after Molly first suggested his idea, the café expanded with a sensory-friendly area. Both cats and customers loved it. Marion is the best employer Molly’s ever had. Also the only one he remembers, but he doubts she’s an example of the average boss, at least from what he’s picked up on through TV and his friends’ tales of previous workplaces.
About half an hour later, and the bell rings signalling the door being opened. Molly looks up from the cat he’s currently petting to see a shape covered in tattered clothing whirl out the door.
~~
The next time Molly sees the red haired mystery on legs, they’re with a customer he’s met before. Yeza, a halfling his age, who came here a few times with his wife and son. The three of them were intending on adopting a cat, but the puppy Jester had been fostering came with her one day and Nugget instantly bonded with the family.
This time it’s just Yeza and the stranger. Yeza nudges the other’s side with his elbow and goes to the room in the back, leaving them looking forlorn in the same clothes they were wearing last time. A minute passes before they turn towards Molly, fidgeting with the frayed ends of their scarf.
As the person walks up, Molly notices them casting a glance at the pronoun stickers deliberately placed visibly on the counter, next to the tip jar and the goat figurine Yasha is so fond of. Again, a faint yellow sticky note listing their order slides onto the counter.
A few minutes later, Molly turns back around with a fresh cup of chamomile tea as well as a coffee for Yeza. There on the counter is one of the stickers, with cursive letters spelling out He/him. Molly smiles and nods at the person. At him. He hesitates before taking out his pen to add another word. Caleb.
Molly’s smile grows wider and he points to his own name tag.
“Mollymauk, or Molly for short,” he says. The corner of Caleb’s mouth twitches, like it wants to curl upwards.
“Thank you,” Caleb mutters in a low, scratchy tone. He then turns around with his tea.
It takes Molly a good minute to get over the shock of hearing Caleb’s voice. It’s a good voice, rough and resonant. Caleb spoke. Molly’s sure that there’s a grin on his face by now.
The sticky note lies on the counter, the letters blinking up at Molly. Caleb is gone by now, has retreated to the smaller room, so no eyes fall on Molly when he plucks the note from the counter and runs his thumb across the imprints from the pen.
~~