Chapter Text
It had been years since he had felt uncomfortable, but as a creature of habit, Kendo's usual hang-out spots had gotten used to his presence. Trying to re-establish a home in a new part of the city and around new people was nerve-wracking, no matter how much he brushed it off or claimed otherwise.
The way people just generally seemed to be nervous around him was the biggest deterrent. His size was obvious; brushing over eight feet, Kendo was a mountain of a man, but coupled with his obvious strength it made most people nervous. His genetics didn't allow him the ability to blend in at all. Until he became a "regular," dealing with people's innate fear would be a regular occurrence. Mothers scolded their children for staring when they also snuck glances toward him out of the corner of their eye when they thought he wasn't paying attention. Yeah, he could leave and find a new cafe, but it was barely seven in the fucking morning, he was groggy from sleep, and he just wanted a cup of fucking coffee.
The coffee that Mimic bought was the worst. It tasted like some moron had burnt the beans rather than roasting them, and dregs always found their way into his cup. Nemoto was a superior bastard with a smug face that Kendo wanted to punch anytime he opened his mouth, but at least he knew where to find a good cup. It was one of his few redeeming qualities. He'd given Kendo three places to try, all within walking distance of the compound.
Walking distance or not, he still towered over everyone. He was intimidating, he knew, and he would have avoided going out altogether except Mimic's piss-ass coffee kept him from staying in. He'd taken it for as long as he could: nearly two months, which was a feat.
This shop was the quaintest of the three he'd been to. The others were modern and open with a minimalist design, but this one was quiet and darkened. Exposed brick covered one wall, and plush seats had been scattered about. Some were even big enough to fit someone his size. At least the place was considerate. And the line moved quickly, too. The man in front of him took his cup and stepped out of the way as the cashier greeted Kendo.
"Yeah, I'll have the regular black," Kendo said without greeting and reaching for his wallet. The best way to judge a place was to order their most basic coffee. If they managed to fuck that up, there wasn't enough cream or sugar in the world to fix it.
As he took out his card to pay, the cashier, who was a scrawny kid with messy black hair, held up his hand. "It's not needed," he said politely.
Kendo must have mis-heard. "What?"
"The lady in front of you paid for yours." As Kendo tried to comprehend what kind of joke this was, the barista placed his cup of coffee on the counter in front of him, and the cashier handed him what looked like a folded receipt.
He took his cup and stepped back, away from the line to let the next person order. The receipt was small in his hands, but Kendo unfolded it. A note was written inside.
I haven 't seen you before, and you look like you're having a bad day. Hope this cheers you up!
Speechless, he read the note a second time. "The lady in front of you," the cashier had described her. Fuck, but that gave him zero information. A man and a woman had been between himself and another guy at the register when he'd walked in, but Kendo hadn't bothered to try to notice anything about them. They had just been people.
He'd noticed her eyes on him, sure, but he'd thought his presence had put her off somehow. Turns out, she had just been noticing his mood.
Fuck, what had she looked like? Glasses? Light hair? That felt right. But glancing through the coffee shop, no one matched that description.
It was a long shot, but he stepped back onto the street as he tried to find her there. No such luck. The shop was off a quiet side-street, but no one lingered outside.
Whomever she was, she'd left.