Work Text:
Kenma had never much liked the "third place" mentality that corporate tried to push in their coffee shop. The idea was that they should try to create a place for customers that was neither home nor work/school, but a third place of refuge and peace. It sounded nice in theory. In practice though, it meant that his managers were constantly pressuring Kenma to make small talk with strangers. The caffeine-withdrawn customers didn't want it and he didn't want it. It was a miserable experience for everyone involved.
The only people who he didn't mind chatting with that much were the regular customers who he had gotten to know somewhat well. They knew him too, which made it much easier to talk with them. They weren't expecting Kenma to be upbeat and chatty, and he didn't have to pretend that he was otherwise.
Some of them he had even gotten to be somewhat friendly with. There was that one nurse who came in twice a day for her venti 6 pump with mocha drizzle vanilla creme. Everyone called her Auntie Kimiko, even though she was no one's aunt. There was Jun, who came in at least six times a day for a coffee refill. He was an ex-drug addict who would casually tell stories about prison life to you if you were willing to listen. There was Mr. Takahashi, who worked from home as a graphic designer and in his spare time rode a horse named Ringo. They were all willing to chat about their interesting lives, and Kenma was willing to listen.
He would relax whenever he would see them come in the door. There was only one person who he would admit to smiling at when he came in through the front door.
He was a tall, young-ish man -- maybe around the same age as Kenma? -- who came in three times a day, and had done so since early September. He went to the local university, about 15 minutes away by bus, and he came in around 8 AM, 2PM, and 6PM, like clockwork. He would almost always order a venti dark roast -- except if it was French Roast, Kenma noted -- with no room for cream. Kenma noticed that he would always empty precisely two sugar packets into the cup at the condiment bar.
He was quiet, like Kenma. It wasn't hard to coax words out of him, when Kenma tried, but trying was the difficult part. When he did manage to pluck up the resolve, the man was friendly and witty. There was a strange warmth in his eyes when he gazed at Kenma that made him feel odd.
Kenma wanted to talk to him, he did. He sensed something in the customer, something that made him want to find out more about him. It wasn't the ridiculous "third place" mentality that pushd him, but simple, human curiosity.
He still didn't even know the tall, dark stranger's name. It was easy to find out someone's name if they were ordering something that the bar person made. They asked for names by default for that. But for brewed coffee or teas... Kenma had no idea how to ask that without looking silly.
One day, he just blurted it out. "I see you every day, but... I still don't know your name," he said, clutching the sleeved venti cup tight in his hand and looking down at the counter. Looking up at the stranger would be way too... much.
"Akaashi Keiji." Kenma looked up at him, his gaze cautious. Akaashi's mouth was quirked upwards somewhat, in what might have been a smile.
Kenma nodded, the name bouncing around in his head, echoing again and again, as he committed it to memory. "I'm Kenma."
That upward quirk of his mouth grew more pronounced. "I know." He nodded at Kenma's chest, and he looked down at his name tag.
It was with pink cheeks that Kenma poured Akaashi his usual dark roast coffee, and handed it to him with a quiet, "See you later."
The moments in which Kenma could talk to that man -- Akaashi Keiji, Akaashi Keiji -- were few and far between. His schedule was sporadic: while he mostly worked mornings, there was usually a lineup when Akaashi came in. So, they usually had no real time to talk. But sometimes, if Kenma was lucky, he would come in in the middle of a lull, and they could chat for awhile.
Kenma found out that Akaashi went to the local university to study engineering. He told Kenma that he came from Tokyo as well, but it was on the other side of the city. He got an apartment near this coffee shop so the morning commute was easier. He was in the same year as Kenma and played volleyball in his spare time. Kenma used to play volleyball too, before he quit after his first year of high school out of frustration.
"We might have played against each other if I didn't quit," Kenma said, smiling softly at Akaashi.
He smiled back. "Yeah, maybe."
If things hadn't gone the way they did in Kenma's life, things might have been different between him and Akaashi. They might have played against each other if Kenma hadn't quit volleyball. They might have gone to the same high school if Akaashi had lived a bit closer to him. They might have gone to the same university if Kenma had bothered to take entrance exams, instead of putting it off out of self-doubt about the future.
But here they were, a barista and a customer. Company policy allowed baristas to date customers, of course. He had even seen his more forward coworkers scribble down their cellphone numbers on customers receipts. But... he wasn't like that. He couldn't ask Akaashi out. Kenma wasn't built that way.
And Akaashi never lingered long. Small talk didn't mean they had a meaningful connection, no matter how he hoped otherwise. He gave Kenma his money, Kenma gave him his change, he put his change in the tip jar, Kenma gave him his coffee, and then he left. That 30 seconds of brief talk was nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Kenma was likely just another service worker to Akaashi. Nothing to get excited about. Nothing to get hopeful about.
One day, Akaashi came in looking a bit frazzled and out-of-breath. He wasn't the only student Kenma had seen looking this way. Finals were just around the corner, both for the high school down the street and the university a few bus stops away.
Akaashi barely even greeted him when he got to the counter: a cursory glance, a cursory nod, a cursory grunt. He was digging through his bag, trying to find his change. That was unusual -- usually he was ready to go with change in hand by the time he walked through the door. Kenma mentally shrugged it off. Akaashi was in engineering, and he knew that that was one of the hardest disciplines. The exams for it must be even more horrible than usual.
Kenma took the moment while Akaashi was digging for change to get the coffee ready. He poured a venti cup of Pike Place -- they were brewing French Roast for the dark coffee right now. He knew without asking that Akaashi loathed it. He had, in the mean time, pulled out a folded up $5 bill and left it on the counter. He took the venti cup of coffee the moment it left Kenma's hand. With a quick "Thanks" and nothing more, he sped off. Kenma stared at him as he went. He didn't even stop at the condiment bar for his sugar.
There, that was proof, Kenma told himself as he frowned at the $5 bill, working to unfold the tightly creased edges. Not a single word of greeting. Not even asking how Kenma was. That was proof that Akaashi saw Kenma as only a service worker, someone that Akaashi could ignore when they were no longer convenient. He didn't like Kenma, there was no way. He was just deluding himself, getting caught up with his fantasies like... well, like someone who was too scared to even ask someone out. Pathetic.
Just as Kenma was thinking how he would sit down for a marathon session of Katamari Damacy to clear his head when he got home, he finally managed to unfold the bill. His breath caught in his throat.
There, in the centre of the bill, previously enveloped in its folds, was a scrap of paper. On it was a scrawled phone number, and a name underneath: "Akaashi Keiji".
Before anyone could see, before his coworkers could spot the paper and tease him even more about his relationship with that one regular customer, he stuffed it in his pocket and opened his till, throwing the rest of the change into the tip jar. His golden eyes flicked up to the time ticking away at the corner of his screen. 37 minutes until he was off work.