Chapter Text
---05:43---
It’s somewhere around five-thirty when the sun begins to rise, squeezing through the gaps in the blinds to streak his comforter in meek light. The brightening room goes wholly unnoticed, Haruka sleeping soundly with quiet breaths, all until the high and fast tone of his phone’s alarm begins to go off and the ancient model adds to the racket with how it vibrates against the wood of his bedside table. He groans into the pillow half-heartedly attempting to smother him and automatically reaches over to put an end to the ruckus.
Forcing an eye open to confirm the time, he can’t help but notice how the lines of light line up with the others on his arm and decides, yeah, it’s definitely time to get up.
---06:37---
Water drips from his hair onto his face as he stands before the mirror after his bath, silently appraising himself as he drags a hand along his freshly shaven jaw.
Maybe Sousuke’s boyfriend—Rin?—was right. Maybe he did look at least a little better. Like he actually ate, like he actually slept. There was no helping how pale he still was, though. His only real friends were out taking the world of competitive swimming by storm, and why spend time outdoors, alone, surrounded by people who either couldn’t give less of a shit or cared way too much for a stranger when he could be here, at home? Besides, it’s not like he cares. It probably contrasts nicely with his dark hair, which is honestly beginning to get a little scraggly.
Maybe, if Haruka feels up to it after work, he’ll go have it cut.
---06:55---
His stomach full of reheated mackerel, rice, and miso soup, Haruka pushed through the Employee’s Only door into the café with five minutes to spare. Living only two blocks down from his job was both a stroke of sheer luck and extremely too convenient. While he could realistically procrastinate leaving for work until the very last second, it also obviously meant he was by default the one to be called upon for… well, literally almost anything, according to his boss. He’s come in before just to reach the napkin refills when Nitori was still new and had no idea where the step ladder was.
Not that he minds it too much.
Securing his apron’s tie around his waist, he shoulders the two-way door out into the store front and pushes up the sleeves of his undershirt, though not quite all the way, wondering when—if ever—he’ll get used to the smell of coffee.
---11:17---
“What’re you two whispering about,” he says more than asks, refilling the pastry display with what had been depleted during the breakfast time rush.
Both Ryuugazaki and Nitori jump, whipping around with similarly startled expressions at having been caught huddled together like a pair of gossiping high school girls. Ryuugazaki appeared more embarrassed, probably ashamed of what he considered ‘unprofessional conduct’, and Nitori looked downright scared.
“N-Nanase-san…! We, we were just…”
“It – it is nothing of importance, Nanase-san! Just silly nonsense. We apologize for lollygagging and will get back to work immediately!”
Haruka’s brows furrow as he frowns. “I’m not mad,” he states in a tone that probably says just the opposite. But it’s true, what he said. They’re not particularly busy at the moment, no customers waiting to be served, and so it’s not like anyone is slacking off excessively. “Just tell me.”
The younger baristas both look nervous to do so and even exchange nervous glances to one another as if asking themselves, ‘is it really all right?’ But before he had the chance to threaten them with freezer organization duty, Nitori, surprisingly enough, spoke up.
“Do you see that customer, there? I-in the flannel?” he asks in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in close and trying to point out who he meant as discreetly as possible.
Following the imaginary line from Nitori’s fingertip, his eyes did indeed meet a man’s back covered in noticeably red plaid. Offhandedly, he couldn’t help but think he’d seen Sousuke’s boyfriend in that exact shirt.
He nods. “Mm-hm.”
“Well…” Nitori pauses and, for a moment, it feels searching before he glances from his peripheral and sees the silver-haired young man’s cheeks colored pink. “He’s pretty attractive, isn’t he?”
Haruka nearly wonders out loud how it’s possible to deduce that from this angle, but then his attention catches on the parka neatly folded over the back of the man’s chair and its green color makes him remember. He was tall—taller than himself, and he was considered above average height, so that made this man practically a giant—with the kind of gentle demeanor he’s only ever experienced around puppies. His impossibly bright green eyes lit up even further, if it were possible, on finding his order on the board and that’s probably what made the memory stick. Such a large man, and he ordered one of the most indulgent drinks on their menu. Tachibana—he recalled from taking his order—probably still lives at home, loves animals and hates anything remotely scary.
“… Yeah, I guess.”
They’re all momentarily distracted back into working when the entry door jangles open noisily, two bright-haired young men bursting in. Neither look like they own a brush or a comb and they are smooshed against one another at the side, closest hands intertwined as they scan the practically empty café with what seems to be baited breath. But because it is so desolate the blond quickly finds their apparent target and makes no particular effort to be quiet.
“Mako-chan!”
“… Makoto-san!!”
The energetic couple trot their way to the table occupied only by none other than the subject of Ryuugazaki, Nitori and his gossiping, and briefly they relax from the prospect of taking and preparing two new orders. The shorter of them seems relieved even further and it doesn’t escape him how his soft blue eyes return to the large brunet.
“If you think he’s that cute, just ask him out,” Haruka intones as he returns to what he had been doing—what he should’ve been doing and thus would already be done.
He can hear Ryuugazaki’s noise of utter indignation, sure there’s a look matching it sent his way, but he knows for sure Nitori rolls that way. In fact, it’s the only direction he’s interested in going. They’re both well aware of that, but it appears Ryuugazaki isn’t ever going to quite get used to just how blunt he is about things.
When it’s been silent for far too long, he looks their direction only after finishing with overlapping the danishes and finds himself meeting two equally disbelieving faces. “… What.”
Nitori only smiles after a minute, and maybe it’s a little sad, but he shakes his head with a soft laugh and turns to mind their work station on the back wall. Ryuugazaki is more helpful, but only marginally.
“Nanase-san,” the bespectacled young man begins, replenishing what utensils he can with the stash kept under the front counter, and Haruka finds it fitting he’s studying to become a professor because he already knows he’s in for a lecture. “You have obviously not noticed it for yourself. But, that man—“
“Tachibana?”
This seems to amuse Ryuugazaki, which serves to only irritate him. “Yes, Tachibana-san. He has been stealing glances your direction ever since sitting down.”
---13:24---
And after that, despite the flush that traitorously started at the prospect of being checked out, his number one goal was to yank down his sleeves—both, just for good measure—from bunched just below the elbow once Ryuugazaki disappeared to the back for more cups. If either he or Nitori took notice of the change, well, neither mentioned a single word about it to him.
Even following Tachibana—the customer, damn it—and company’s departure, Haruka kept the hems of his sleeves close to wrist-level as possible.
The only, and greatest, relief was his anxiety walking straight out the door as the trio had.
---18:20---
Perched on his couch, in front of the television with a beer clutched between his hands as he awaited the next new episode of the sea documentary he was following to air, he idly recalled the last real time he’d gone out in a t-shirt without anything under it.
Last year, he remembered, head falling against the back rest. He stared blankly at the ceiling, catching pieces of an infomercial playing. Just after the last ones healed.
Haruka always kept them covered while there were still bandages, during the healing process until they no longer looked so angry or obvious. Once it was just a reminder of what had been there at some point or another, he couldn’t bring himself to care less who saw or what they happened to think about it. It didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter, until it did.
Blowing neatly trimmed strands of hair from his sight in a sigh, he refocused his attention to the TV and took a sip of his beer.