Chapter Text
Every day for as long as he could remember, Kojiro would toss a coin into the fountain built into the mall’s first level.
It was a decrepit thing, not even functional or filled with water, but it brought him a small amount of satisfaction to watch the arc of the coin as it descended onto the many other coins scattered on the fountain’s tile interior. He never made a wish or anything, but with the amount of money accumulating within the fountain, Kojiro was sure he could ask for anything he wanted and get it instantly.
The Cheesecake Factory was situated right across from the old fountain and it was only natural that Kojiro had to walk past it every time he came into work. He always made sure to carry some loose change in the pockets of his work pants for the express reason of wasting a few seconds before his shifts. Today was no different.
It was a Friday morning and Kojiro would be working the 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. shift—a welcome change of pace after spending the entire preceding week starting with the 4 p.m to close dinner shifts. Being a cook at one of the “fanciest” chain restaurants meant spending a lot of time listening to middle-aged women complain that their food tasted microwaved, whatever that meant. Kojiro always rolled his eyes. It may be a chain, but the food was always made fresh. He would defend The Cheesecake Factory until he died. It was no three-star Michelin restaurant, but dammit, it was a wonderful place to work.
At least he didn’t have to interact with customers; that was a waiter’s job. Kojiro could camp out in the kitchen all day, prepare each ticket as it came in, and mess around with his own modifications during the down times. One day, he would think as he plated a combination of shrimp tempura with a red sauce of his own making, one day I’ll have my own place. I’ll run TCF out of business. Well, maybe not out of business, that would be impossible. But I’ll be a competitor, that’s for sure.
So, Kojiro found himself standing in front of the fountain in his black slacks and chef’s coat, just as he always did. He pulled a coin from his pants pocket and flicked it with his thumb, watching as it fell into a heap of other coins. He decided to switch it up and wished a silent wish for kitchen inspiration to pass the time today.
“Excuse me,” a voice came from behind him. Kojiro turned and was face-to-face with a slightly shorter man with glasses and a pink ponytail.
“What’s up?” Kojiro smiled.
“I’m trying to find the Hallmark store, but every map of this mall I’ve run into has been graffitied over.”
He looked like he expected Kojiro to help him, so that’s exactly what he did.
“Easy,” Kojiro replied. “If you follow me, I can lead you to it. First day or something?”
The other man maintained the same deadpan expression and didn’t move. “If I wanted an escort, I would have asked for one. All I need is a point in the right direction.”
“My bad, Mr. Independent. I happen to work right across from the Hallmark store, so I’m going this way anyway,” Kojiro gestured with a thumb over one shoulder.
“Fine. Lead the way.”
The walk was a short one with absolutely zero conversation. Kojiro tried to ask what the guy’s name was, but was met with a venomous sidelong glance. So, he didn’t push it. If anything, Kojiro was surprised to see a new face. The mall wasn’t usually teeming with people and, quite frankly, was held afloat by TCF’s business. New hires at any of the stores were few and far between, let alone the Hallmark store of all places. Kojiro wished Pinky (a very fitting nickname with the absence of a real one) a farewell and sauntered across the hall to clock in.
Kaoru hated name tags with a passion.
The thought was at the forefront of his mind when his over-eager manager nearly impaled him with the pin on the back of the ugly, yellow, oval-shaped piece of plastic bearing his name in a large, purple font. Why should his identification have to be broadcast to the entire world (or, more accurately, the demographic that shopped at a horrendous place like Hallmark)? Why were old ladies buying overpriced ‘Get Well’ cards entitled to his first name? The concept was appalling. Kaoru would be content with being known by the moniker Employee #3 for all he cared.
Linda, his manager, had placed an ill-fitting purple apron on him against his will and to seal the deal, gave him a pat on the chest where the name tag now sat.
“Now, look at you! We’ll make a Markie of you yet!”
Kaoru blinked down at her. “A what?”
“Oh, it’s just a fun little name for our team here!”
The ‘team’ referred to Kaoru, the newest employee, then Linda, the 50-something-year-old with a bad dye job and smile lines etching her face, and finally, Ichiro, a hunchbacked elderly man who looked like he should have retired into the countryside two decades ago. Kaoru fought the urge to sigh. Yes, get yourself a part-time job to help with college, it’ll be so easy and maybe even a bit fun. Hindsight was 20/20 and Kaoru kicked his past self for not applying somewhere more interesting and less . . . Hallmark-y.
In his search for just-above-minimum-wage jobs, Kaoru stumbled upon a listing for the Hallmark store situated inside what was known to the locals as ‘S Galleria,’ as the other letters in the name had fallen off the outdated neon sign. Years ago, it might have been the ‘Seaside Galleria,’ or the ‘Southern Galleria,’ but now it was just ‘S:’ a disappointing reminder of what happened when time wore away at a relic of a mall that must have been booming when his parents were kids. Personally, he had never stepped foot inside this dingy place before, much preferring the flashier malls closer to the downtown area. Now, as he stood in the small, gimmicky, Hallmark store, Kaoru wondered if it was worth it.
He would grin and bear such a job if it meant earning a little extra cash. He could respect his elders, even if it was begrudgingly. For all Kaoru knew, this could be the start of something wonderful. Yes. He’d be optimistic about it.
“Okay sweetheart, one small task for you before I start training you on the register,” Linda’s voice broke through and interrupted Kaoru’s thoughts. “See those boxes over there?”
Kaoru looked over to the corner. There were three massive boxes sitting there, all emblazoned with the Squishmallow logo on the side. Oh no.
Linda must have been able to smell fear. “Oh yes. Go ahead and open those up and start sorting them for me, would you? Ichiro can’t lift them all by himself.”
Ichiro, in all his elderly glory, offered a heartfelt wave from where he stood in the card section, an oblivious smile directed right at Kaoru. Gritting his teeth, Kaoru gave him a thumbs-up. I am going to kill everyone in here and then myself.
It was around 3 p.m. when Kojiro was finally able to breathe again.
The lunch rush at The Cheesecake Factory was arguably worse than dinner time, but he knew that it only lasted two hours at most before all the working patrons returned to their jobs. The hours between lunch and dinner were Kojiro’s favorite time to be working. It meant he got to experiment in the kitchen and then pester everyone else in the establishment to taste test whatever new recipe he was working on. Today, he decided to whip up a batch of spicy spaghetti carbonara, building on the existing lunch special that TCF already had on the menu. As a kitchen lead, it meant no one would bother him too much if he played around with the stock, and if his dish was good enough, he could say he earned the right to do whatever he wanted with the supplies.
Kojiro held a plate of his new pasta as he pushed through the kitchen doors and walked out into the restaurant. He hummed along to the ambient jazz music playing through the speakers and looked around for a willing participant to try his carbonara. A familiar pink head peeked out from over the back of a booth, and Kojiro smiled to himself. Did he usually pester customers? No. Did he want a chance to pester his new work neighbor? Absolutely.
He approached the table with renewed vigor and found Pinky aggressively chewing on the free bread. Kojiro took the opportunity to slide into the booth across from him, setting down the pasta on the table.
“Lunch break? How’s Hallmark treating you?”
Pinky raised an eyebrow and swallowed. “I don’t remember saying you could sit there.”
“It’s my restaurant.”
“It’s not your restaurant, you just work here. You don’t own—”
“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Kojiro interrupted. He pushed the plate of pasta across the table. “Here, wanna try this? It’s something I just whipped up.”
Pinky set down the piece of bread in his hand and eyed the plate. “Carbonara?”
“Hell yeah. I need to know if it’s too spicy, or not spicy enough. It’s on me.”
Kojiro watched carefully as Pinky twirled the fork on the plate and then lifted the bite of pasta to his mouth. He chewed, eyes closed, then managed a small smile. Kojiro’s knee bounced in anticipation as he waited for a verdict from the stranger across from him. The fork was returned to the plate and Pinky swallowed carefully.
Finally, he spoke. “Could use some more salt.”
Kojiro slammed a fist down on the table and exclaimed, “You’re kidding me!”
“I’m not kidding.”
“First, you don’t even tell me your name, now you insult my—”
Pinky held up a hand. “Not insulting, just observing. If you want to be a real chef, you should be open to criticism. And my name is right here,” he pointed to a name tag on his chest, “no need to get all defensive just because I didn’t want to divulge my entire life story to you this morning.”
Kojiro looked down at the name tag. Kaoru.
“Well, Kaoru,” Kojiro smiled, “I’ll have you know I am a real chef, even if it is at the stupid Cheesecake Factory. This recipe is my own.”
“It’s still not salty enough,” Kaoru replied.
Kojiro grabbed the salt shaker from where it sat against the booth wall and shook it a few times over the pasta just to get his point across, then set it back down. Kaoru frowned, but tried another bite.
“That’s better.”
“Thanks. Spicy enough?”
“Does this mall have a food court?”
At this, Kaoru dabbed a napkin to his lips and shuffled out of the booth seat, folding the cloth carefully next to the still-full plate of pasta as he rose. Kojiro watched as he stood, pushing his glasses up when they slid down the bridge of his nose. He stared dumbly.
“A . . . food court? Why?”
Kaoru crossed his arms. “I just need to know if I’ll be forced to spend my lunch breaks here, or if there are any other places I can eat. So?”
Kojiro fought the urge to curse at him. How dare he insult The Cheesecake Factory. It was as if Kaoru was spitting on everything Kojiro had worked hard to attain, discrediting all of his skills with just one statement. But, the glint in his eye and the smirk on his face was telling. This guy must like to push buttons on purpose.
“Yeah, there’s a food court,” Kojiro answered, getting to his feet as Kaoru walked toward the restaurant’s entrance into the rest of the mall. “But hey, I’m always in need of a taste tester, and you’ll get free food if you ever feel like stopping by, so don’t count me out altogether.”
“Noted.”
Kaoru did not offer a goodbye of any sort, just walked back across the hall to the Hallmark store, pink ponytail swinging as he left. Kojiro wondered if he could have been any more friendly to him, or if he’d done anything to warrant such cold treatment, but wrote it off as first-day jitters. He thought back to when he started at The Cheesecake Factory a year ago; he’d been nervous, shy, and friendless. Now, as a seasoned chef and long-time mall employee, Kojiro was no longer nervous and had grown into himself as a person and a culinary expert, but he was still friendless.
That would change, if he had any say in it, and he’d start by getting to the bottom of Mr. Hallmark’s attitude.