Chapter Text
The fancy, glass tables and slick, modern vases in the room clashed with the man's unnerved expression, worn brown suit, and fading tie. He was rigid, whereas you slumped over yourself in exhaustion, too overwhelmed to keep up a facade.
The man looked down at your resignation forms in distress. Then back up at you, then down again. It was an awful pattern that he continued, as if the minute, startled movements of his head could fill the gaping silence. Uncomfortable, you avoided the spear of his gaze, and settled with picking stray clumps of lint from the sleeve of your cream sweater.
"Is this because.." the man shifted in his seat, clearly perturbed by your suddenly standoffish approach to the matter, "because of..?"
"No," you blurted, perhaps a little too quickly. The lint tufts drifted like pieces of falling snow, trapping themselves in the carpet beneath your feet or catching along the stitches of your drab jeans. You cringed at the hint of desperation in your tone, and grappled for a more sane, level-headed response.
"No," you repeated, a bit softer, "I'm going to, to create a new future. For myself."
Your fingers trembled on a loose thread of your sleeve, unable to themselves still. Your gaze trailed to the scuffed wood of the man's desk. Not once did you look up to meet his eyes.
"If this is what you've decided," The man said, tone resigned but accepting, "I won't stop you."
He stood, the carpeting making a muffled noise beneath him, and stode from the room with an air of solemn finality. The door closed behind him with a click. You were left alone, fiddling with the string on your sweater.
You pulled a little too hard. The thread unraveled.
"What do you mean you won't put alcohol in my bubble tea?"
"I swear to god, Denki, you came here to help me. Not leech off my supplies."
The aforementioned man slammed his head onto the counter, letting out a horrific noise, something between the squeal of car tires and the grating shriek of nails on a chalkboard. You scoffed, fed up with your friend's attitude, and continued pulling out glasses from a scuffed-up cardboard box, setting them in perfect rows on the shelving behind the register.
"Besides," you mentioned, "This is a café. For tea."
Denki complained even loader, rubbing his head against the table like a distressed feline. "But tapioca would taste so good with rum—"
"I'm not getting you drunk. Go bother someone else."
The blond sunk more into the wood, face pressed so low into the counter that he seemed to be morphing with it. His cries didn't lessen, so you rightfully decided to tune him out and fiddle with the potted plant next to the cookie display. Its leafy fronds hung limply over its ceramic pot, even after receiving a healthy amount of water and sunlight. Despite your reverent care, it remained a very depressed plant.
Sighing and promptly letting go of the matter, you turned once more to your childhood friend, who was sprawled out on the bar like a sobbing drunkie. And that was without alcohol involved. He'd certainly changed a lot, you noticed; though you'd been keeping touch with him by text since you graduated high school, he'd become a completely different person over time. During your childhood he was a lanky, four-eyed geek with an unhealthy obsession of shoving metal forks into the math room's outlets.
..Actually, he hadn't really changed much at all.
Though he'd gotten taller and filled out to fit his pre-puberty frame, he was still the same Denki who decided combining a live wire with his chemistry project was a good idea. He'd lost his painfully square glasses, thank God, but kept his ridiculous black-streaked dye job: he'd grown out his spiky blond locks into some sort of half-assed man bun. You were not entirely sure if it was better or worse.
He completed his newfound 'biker look' with a black leather jacket. The article had an odd-looking patch on the shoulder, depicting some sort of pearly white mouse-looking creature. Overall, he looked like some sort of goth background character from Grease. You decided to tell him this on a later date, since he was too depressed at the moment to take any more degrading comments.
"Please," Denki begged, cheek pressed into the counter top, " I haven't had alcohol since breakfast, I'm going to die."
Christ. You had terrible taste in friends.
Moving to this juncture might've been a bad idea. You'd seen the news: gang outbreaks, street fights, massive arsonist attacks, and, oddly enough, multiple escape attempts from the animals in the local zoo. Nothing about the city seemed promising. You moved here due to Denki's unrelenting persuasion, and because you were desperate. You were just hoping you had enough customers to support yourself, and that your cafe didn't erupt into flames or anything of the like.
The bell above the cafe door chimed, interrupting you from your wallowing regrets.
"Did someone say alcohol?"
Lo and behold, in strutted a girl you hadn't seen in years. Ochaco Uraraka hadn't changed much, but she'd chopped her thick chestnut hair to her chin and wore ripped jeans to pair with that oddly popular black leather jacket. Her eyes widened when she recognized you, and she skipped across the polished floors and practically leaped over the counter, her arms around you in an instant.
"Seriously?!" She exclaimed, "Seriously?! Why didn't you say you were moving here?!"
"Christ, Ochaco," you choked out, "you're as strong as ever,"
Ochaco leaned back but took you along with her, and you almost toppled over the counter.
"Denki!" Ochaco lamented in betrayal, "Why the hell didn't you tell me?!"
The blond, still suffering from the lack of tequila in his veins, groaned out a barely audible "I forgot," from beneath the shield of his forearms.
"It seems we've all been a bit out of touch," You chuckled, and forcefully removed yourself from Ochaco's vice grip. "We've got a lot to catch up on."
Her hands now free, Ochaco took the opportunity to slam her fist into the back of Denki's head. He was saved the pain of backlash by your forgiving wooden counter top. Not so forgiving, though, since his nose gave a muted crack.
Denki yelped, whirling back, barely saving himself from falling out of his chair. A bit of blood trickled down his lip.
"First things first," You smiled, "how have you both been?"
"I've been livin' life on the edge!" Denki exclaimed, though his words were a bit pitchy since his nose was clogged.
Ochaco giggled bashfully. "Better, now that you're here."
You laughed. "I'm glad."
"Ugh, just save the pleasantries and feed me," Denki groaned.
Ochaco was quick about slapping him upside the head. When she turned, however, you notice a familiar mouse-patch on the shoulder of her jacket. The same one Denki had on.
"Just wondering," you began, "why are you both wearing matching jackets?" You paused and gave the blond a suspicious glare. "Denki, did you finally join a cult?"
Denki and Ochaco glanced at each other then burst into high-pitched fake laughter. When they both cut themselves off abruptly, multiple things spilled from their mouths at once. Their words were too jumbled to make out but you assumed that they were numerous lies and fake excuses. Finally, they both realized that they were talking over one another and fell silent.
Ochaco gestured toward you with her eyes and then shook her head.
"Should we tell them?" Kaminari whispered, loudly.
"No!" Ochaco hissed, even though they were literally standing two feet in front of you, "then they'll be in danger!"
The conversation didn't seem to be going anywhere. And, frankly, you weren't curious about what they were up to in their free time.
"Guys," you sighed, "I was joking around. I don't really care."
"Oh thank God," Ochaco slumped in relief, as if a large weight had been removed from her shoulders. She then giggled. "I forgot how indifferent you are!"
Kaminari grinned, just as relieved. "Yeah, you really don't give a shit about anything!"
You raised a brow. "I'm not sure if you're complimenting me or not."
"Psh, of course we aren't!"
"Don't be so mean to them!"
"Well, you're the one who didn't know they were coming."
"That's your fault!"
You huffed, turning your attention to the potted plant on your counter top, which still drooped depressingly and was turning a sickly shade of brown. Did you need to start using a different fertilizer? You'd heard about a flower shop down the street, maybe you should take it there, for some much-needed advice on how to care for it.
"You're always making the stupidest decisions, Denki! Like last week, with the ice cream truck!
"That was an accident! I wasn't trying to blow it up!"
You checked the clock hanging a little ways away. It was almost noon, so time for watering. With a sigh, you bent down to rummage in a nearby cardboard box, before pulling out a watering can that was red and resembled an elephant. You stood and held the can under the sink's spout, water slowly filling it and beginning to trickle out the nozzle.
"I told you to keep your hands off the grenades!"
"That was Bakugou's fault and you know it."
The plant seemed to brighten a bit under the small shower of the elephant watering can. In response to this, a little smile formed on your face. You'd had the plant long enough now, right? It needed a name. You decided give it a joyful name. Something silly, to give it something to be happy about.
After a moment of silent indecision, you settled with Gilbert. Yes, that would do.
You turned back to your friends. Ochaco's face was bright red with fury and Denki looked torn between launching the brunette out the window or bashing his face into a wall. Neither were options you wanted to deal with. You set the can down next to Gilbert's pot and clapped your hands together to gain their attention.
"Okay, okay, kiddos. Settle down." You waved your wrist toward the menu on your right. "The last box is unpacked, so this shop is open. First drinks are on the house."
Denki and Ochaco beamed. Nothing like free food to boost the mood.
"So," You smiled a genuine grin, leaning over the counter toward your two friends. "What'll it be?"
"Mango flavored please!" Kaminari yelled, throwing a hand up like a preschooler waiting to be called on, "With rum!"
"Oo, can you put some tequila in mine?" Ochaco piped up.
You slammed a hand on the counter, irked. "Stop asking me for alcohol!"