Work Text:
Yukimura makes the best coffee, or at least, that’s what Soutaro thinks. He wouldn’t know, not really, as Yukimura’s coffee is the only kind he’s ever had.
Always by the window, always by himself, with his hood drooping over his eyes, Soutaro stoops over a single cup of coffee and broods about God knows what. Well, not ‘God knows’-- he’s pouring over schoolwork, or arguing with his dad over text, or thinking about the cute boy that’s working the register whenever he sneaks a glance.
Yukimura. He’s… cute. Harmless, like some sort of baby animal, maybe? Soutaro isn’t good at poetry, but this boy makes his heart flutter, even when he’s flitting about the coffee machine, panicking as he messes up another order.
He’s only been working at this coffee shop for a few weeks, at most. His coffee isn’t even that good, actually. It’s a bit watered-down, and it has a slightly acidic taste, but for all Soutaro’s worried about, the coffee doesn’t even have a taste. Picking up the paper cup, he takes a small sip-- it burns anyways.
Yukimura likes to write on the cups he hands out, whenever he makes the coffee. Small little diddies, like inspirational quotes, or compliments. If this were a rom-com, maybe he’d give Soutaro his number, or something. The thought makes him chuckle, stifling the beginnings of a smile with his palm.
Though, if this were a rom-com, Soutaro would most definitely not be the protagonist, the love interest, or even a side character. After all, he couldn’t even talk to girls without freezing up, voice caught in his throat, and hands clammy. They were so… small. That was the best way he could describe it. Tiny, fragile things he could snap in two, easily. Perhaps not that easily, but he’d thought that way since he was young, and habits were never easy to break.
Yukimura looked like a girl, sometimes acted like a girl, but he wasn’t one: maybe that’s what drew Soutaro’s gaze to him so often. He was short, with thin wrists and pale skin dotted with freckles-- adorable was another word Soutaro might use, if he wanted to get creative. Big, doleful eyes that seemed to always be glimmering with tears, maybe if Soutaro prayed, those eyes would glance his way, by chance.
Was it creepy, to think so much, so deeply, about a person he barely knew? Perhaps. Soutaro knew, distantly, in the back of his mind that he was nothing more than a small blip in Yukimura’s day, but he couldn't help himself. The escapism that these daydreams provided him was like some kind of addiction, just an hour where he could forget about the rest of his life, and focus on someone else. Soutaro didn’t want to go home, after all. Had never felt comfortable in his own home, where the air felt so much colder, and the influence of gravity that much heavier.
At the sound of a yelp, Soutaro startled back to reality, coffee cup still in hand. Hastily, he pushed his thick-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose, and looked over to somewhere behind the counter.
It seems Yukimura had messed up, again, and was being scolded by his coworker. She smacked him on the head, then seemed to be ranting rather passionately about something, while he bowed his head and sputtered apologies. The sight was rather comical, and Soutaro quirked his brow as he watched it unfold.
Soutaro was about to return to his coffee, before his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling out the old, worn model, he scanned the message and made a sour face.
The bag he slung over his shoulder felt twenty times heavier than it would have, had the situation been anything but normal. He snuck a glance over his shoulder, one last time.
...Surely, it couldn't be that hard to make coffee?
Then again, the only time Soutaro went near the stuff was when he ordered it from Yukimura.
Slumping forwards in his seat, Soutaro groaned internally. This lecture felt like it would last for an eternity-- which it probably would, as it was Organic Biochemistry. Quietly hitting his head against the table, he let his eyes fall closed, the droning of his professor falling into the background.
Soutaro hadn’t had many expectations for life at university, but he hadn’t expected it to be so… lonely. Even when he’d tried to make friends, begrudgingly, it always seemed to fall through. Perhaps he had some sort of threatening aura, or some other social defect that caused people to avoid him?
Mumbling under his breath, Soutaro felt the edges of his glasses digging into his skin somewhat painfully. He let it happen, wishing time would fast forward already.
That is, until someone gently shook his shoulder, causing Soutaro to raise his head wearily, squinting at whoever had chosen to wake him up.
“I-I know biochem is really boring, but--! But it’s not good to sleep in class!” A light, feathery sounding voice whispered to him in a reprimanding tone, looking down at him with a worried expression.
“It’s just one lecture…” Soutaro sighed, massaging the crick in his neck. “Not like it’ll kill me.”
“But…” His seatmate griped, worrying away at his lip with discontent.
“Look,” Soutaro said flatly, turning to face the other boy. “Why do you care so much whether I--”
He felt the words die in his mouth as Yukimura, the Yukimura, the one from the coffee shop, was seconds away from a full-on panic.
“S-sorry!” He burst out, his hands balled up into fists. “I didn’t mean to--”
“No, uh, it’s fine!” Soutaro rushed to placate him, waving his hand. “I… was being rude. Sorry.”
Well. This was awkward. Pursing his lips, Soutaro wanted nothing more than to dissolve into a million pieces. As far as first impressions went, Soutaro had made an absolute fuck up of the job, and hoped Yukimura would suddenly develop short-term memory loss.
Alas, dreams were only dreams, and they carried on the conversation in stride.
“Ah, it’s okay!” Yukimura said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I-I just figured… well, uh-- I see you a lot at work, and I-- uh, well, I dunno, um--”
Yukimura actually remembered him…? That was news. Soutaro looked down at him with mild surprise, his cheeks beginning to warm.
“Yeah, no… it’s fine. Thanks, I think.”
The pair of them stared in opposite directions, sweating nervously and barely taking notes, until the professor signaled that class had ended. All at once, tired, frantic, and tired-and-frantic college students began rustling through their bags and rushing out of the building at an inhuman speed.
Yukimura opened his mouth hesitantly, as if he were about to say something, but Soutaro was already packing his bags. No use in sticking around when the only thing that awaited him was more awkwardness, and possibly Yukimura saying he now hated Soutaro. Nope. He wasn’t going to deal with that in the slightest.
Besides, it was almost time for ‘work.’ He tended to call it a part-time job, but if anything, the work called for him to be available at the oddest hours of the day.
Yet another good excuse as to why he had no intentions of following up with Yukimura.
Shutting the door behind him, Soutaro wondered distantly if he had maybe jumped to the wrong conclusions.
‘Work’ was hell. Anyone could say that about any job, but this was Soutaro’s ‘special hell,’ as his… coworker coined it. That guy was an asshole, though. Always grinning smugly about something, or annoying the girl everyone knew he had a massive crush on.
Soutaro couldn’t understand that kind of ideology. After all, if you like someone, you should just tell them . It’s so easy!
Well, it’s easy until a person with said crush’s face is standing over you, dressed in black from head to toe, holding a knife to your throat. Then it’s not easy at all.
Had Soutaro ever mentioned what kind of job he worked? Oh well. For all intents and purposes, he was an amateur, part-time superhero. Minus the ‘super,’ and on many occasions, minus the ‘hero,’ as well.
His ability was useful, but not particularly powerful. Since he was young, Soutaro had the innate ability to hypnotize people, whether by using props, or simply staring into their eyes for a few moments. His dad called him a freak, and before his mom left, she’d told him she was afraid of what he could do-- what he might to do her.
Breath coming quick, Soutaro held his back up against the brick wall of the building, the rough material biting into his skin. The stupid hero suit he’d been insisted upon to wear wasn’t doing him any favors, and if anything, it was pretty itchy in the cold weather.
The villain who looked suspiciously like Yukimura was clever, though. Soutaro would give him that. He’d managed to pin Soutaro, and cover his eyes, so that he couldn’t use his abilities. The villain’s gloved hand was warm, through the cloth, and made Soutaro’s skin prickle uncomfortably. His glasses had been thrown to the ground long ago, and he really hoped they weren’t broken.
Glasses were expensive, and as a broke, crime-fighting college student, Soutaro didn’t really have insurance.
Though he couldn’t see his attacker, the man clearly had something he wanted from Soutaro. The curve of his knife was both burning and icy against his skin, a bead of blood beginning to well up from the uneven hold he kept.
“Where is it?” He hissed in a-- yep, that was most definitely Yukimura’s voice.
Soutaro felt his heart thumping in his chest, blood drumming in his ears as he became overwhelmed by confusion. He didn’t know what was more frightening-- being in a life-or-death situation, or being in a life-or-death situation with Yukimura, who just a couple hours ago he’d been convinced wouldn’t hurt a fly.
‘W-where’s what?” Soutaro rasped, palms flat against brick, feeling the cold against the rips in his flimsy costume. “The money you stole…? Because that’s long gone.”
His shoulder slammed into the brick again, and he shouted in pain, groaning as his skin grated against the wall painfully. Yukimura’s lips were near his ear now, he swore it up and down, and he spoke in a cheery voice that sent shivers down Soutaro’s spine.
“I want my fucking money back,” he said sweetly, words clear and concise, ringing alarm bells in Soutaro’s head. “You understand, don’t you? You’re s-smart-- FUCK!”
At his stutter, villain-Yukimura tightened his grip on the knife, seething with some unexpected rage that had him shaking up and down.
“I should kill you right here, right now, Hypno. ”
He spat out Soutaro’s alias like it was some sort of curse, a bug to crush under his shoe.
“I… respectfully disagree with that conjecture, but I admire your tenacity, Mystère .”
It was such a stupid name for a villain-- mystery, but in French? Really? Soutaro could do better into his sleep, even as the said stupid villain was threatening to end his life.
Yukimura might have been cute, but attempted theft and murder were where he drew the line… at least, he hoped so. Leave it to him to show up the next morning and still be head over heels in love, somehow.
“Disagree? You really think you can worm your way out of this one, you little--”
Overcoming his initial shock, Soutaro grabbed Yukimura’s wrists with his free hands, and flipped their positions, slamming him into the wall, and letting the knife clatter to the ground easily. Leaning in, Soutaro squinted, trying to get a good look at the shy coffe barista turned conniving villain.
A black mask was pulled up over his nose, leaving his eyes to glare at Soutaro with all his might, despite the fact that they were shiny with tears that threatened to fall at any moment. Fastened to his hair was a frilly, lacy white headband-- hold on.
Glancing down in disbelief, Soutaro realized that Yukimura’s ‘attire’ was, in fact, a black maid’s outfit, complete with a short, poofy skirt that ended mid-thigh, and tight, black stockings Soutaro had to quickly avert his attention from.
“Why are you dressed like a maid?” He asked incredulously.
“Why are you-- why are you such a stupid piece of s-shit?” Yukimura bit back, stumbling over his words as he tried to struggle out of Soutaro’s grip.
Frowning, Soutaro only kept his grip, holding him against the wall as he examined the other boy further. He really looked… out of place, wrapped up in all of this. Yukimura was on the defensive, attempting to kick and fight his way out of Soutaro’s hold in ways that displayed just how desperate he was.
“That’s not really a nice thing to say to someone preventing you from committing a serious felony.” He pointed out, gaze wandering back to Yukimura’s defiant look. “Is this seriously how you spend your free time? If you put half as much effort into your coffee as you did with… uh, this, it’d probably taste a lot better by now.”
Flinching, Yukimura paled significantly, looking up at Soutaro with wide eyes.
“How did you…?”
“I, uh, see you around pretty often,” he lied, looking the other way. “Hard not to recognize your face. Really, though, what’s with the get-up?”
Sighing heavily, Yukimura let his arms go limp, legs wobbling as he let the fight drain out of him. Underneath his mask, he seemed… exhausted. More worn out than Soutaro had ever seen him-- or had ever bothered to see him.
“I-I just really need this money…” He trailed off, looking up at Soutaro again, tears beginning to slip down his cheeks. “My sister-- she-”
Choking on his tears, Yukimura sniffled pitifully, screwing his eyes shut.
Feeling a pang of sympathy in his heart, Soutaro kneeled down onto the ground so that he was eye-level with Yukimura, searching his gaze through blurry vision.
“It’s... for your sister?” He asked softly, attempting to coax more out of him. “I’m, uh, really sorry to hear that, but… surely, there must be another way--”
As the words left his mouth, Yukimura leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, deepening it and moving against Soutaro as he loosened his hold, startled.
Yukimura’s lips were small, but indescribably soft, sucking on Soutaro’s bottom lip in a way that made him go weak. Sliding his hands down Soutaro’s costume, Yukimura explored his body, tightening his hold when he heard noises of approval from said hero.
The frills and ribbons of Yukimura’s costume were surprisingly high quality, Soutaro found, as he dipped Yukimura back to nibble at his jaw, placing kisses along his smooth skin. Feeling his hood fall back, Soutaro let his hands wander down, towards more dangerous territory-- particularly towards those stockings he’d been unable to take his eyes off. Yukimura’s skin was so warm and soft and--
Feeling something wet on his side, Soutaro opened his eyes to see that the very same knife he’d been threatened with had been shallowly stabbed into his side, staining his suit a dark, crimson red. He looked up, frantically, but Yukimura had already escaped his grasp, and was heading towards the railing.
“Ow-- holy shit, ugh-- Yukimura!” He called, gasping in pain as the knife moved when he stumbled to his feet. “Why the hell did you--!?”
“Insurance?” Yukimura said, directing another question back to him with innocent-looking eyes. “You’re so-- you’re so gullible, though-- I-it’s adorable, really. Thanks for the safe house’s coordinates, though!”
Heart threatening to leap out of his chest, Soutaro frantically searched his pockets, only to find them devoid of the directions to where the reclaimed money would be hidden. Mouth agape, Soutaro took a step forward, only to sway dangerously to one side.
“T-there’s also poison on that knife, by the way-- but don’t worry!” He said in an upbeat voice, stepping onto the railing and turning back. “I already called-- uh, called an ambulance. You’re welcome.”
“Yukimura, you--” Soutaro fell to the ground, gritting his teeth as he stared at the villain, who’s skirt was fluttering with the wind, rustling his hair. “This can’t be real. You… was everything a lie, this whole time…?”
Cocking his head to one side, Yukimura hummed, taking Soutaro’s words into consideration.
“Well… I do think you’re uh, pretty cute! But a maid never k-kisses and tells, right?” He said with a wink, grinning widely.
“Until next time, Hypno-chan--!”
The air whistled as he dove off the edge, Soutaro left to stare after him, dazed.
As the sounds of sirens came closer, flashes of red and white lighting up the sky, Soutaro had only one thought flit through his mind as he lay on the cold, hard ground.
Is that why his coffee’s so shitty?