Archive of Our Own

“Come on Dos, it will be fun!” He said, “Working together and getting a taste of the Japanese life, doesn't that sound nice?” He grabbed his friend by the arm. This was it, the start of his master plan. Since college was taking up a lot of their free time, with tedious papers to write, strict deadlines to meet, and not nearly as much free time to hang out as before, he had the idea that since they both needed a part-time job, they should get one together! Who wouldn’t want to work with their best buddy, their intimate friend, the other side to their coin, who they also coincidentally happen to be crushing on. Really, really hard.

They had trailed across the vast city applying for any job possible, grocery stores, tutoring, anything that would pay a decent enough wage, but whether it was Nikolai's never-ending enthusiasm (read: immaturity) or Fyodor's apathy to literally everything , both were turned down. Again and again. After repeating this process a dozen hundred times they were exhausted, but this wasn't going to stop them! No, they’d stop for a lunch break and get right back to it.

After searching for a nearby place to eat, both ended up at an independent café, one that Fyodor had pointed out. It had a small homemade air to it that signaled that the coffee was going to be way out of their price range. As they drew closer, he realized that the place was more or less deserted, not a soul in sight nearby. If that wasn't a red flag, then he didn't know what was. 

"Are you sure you want to come here, Dos?" Nikolai questioned his companion.

“Trust me on this. I have a small hunch, if you will.”

“I mean, Dos-kun’s hunches are usually right, so I have no reason to object!“ The other grimaced at the nickname that Nikolai had been trying out since they moved to Japan. 

As they entered, a shiny bell sent a soft jingle through the shop. The only occupant inside, who looked to be the manager, was seemingly deep in his thoughts — most likely thoughts of existential dread judging by the expression he was wearing. Split and dyed lilac-white hair pulled loosely off his face, and his grey eyes were filled with anxiety. Before Nikolai could say anything, Fyodor put a hand over his mouth, muffling the monologue that was about to fall out.

“I’ll do the talking this time,” He murmured calmly before walking up to the counter and knocking three times sharp, leading to the manager finally acknowledging their presence, dragged away from his thoughts. 

“I don't know if you read the sign outside, but we're closed,” He wearily said to both men opposite him. His voice was laced with some sort of defeat, the voice of someone with very little left to lose. 

“You officially close at 8:30, and it's 1:30,” Fyodor replied. 

“Well, I need employees to run a café and my only one just quit on me." After heaving a long sigh that carried the burden of all his stress, he continued. “Could you please leav-,”

“Not to worry, sir! That is where we come in, you see. We happen to be looking for a job and we’ve been all over the city without luck so we decided to take a break and now we're here and you happen to need employees so it’s a win-win situation!” 

Nikolai was speaking as fast as he could manage, practically spouting out an entire essay within one breath. He would recount his whole tragic life story if need be, make it a tale of tears and sorrow, until they got this job. He gave an awkward smile, avoiding Fyodor's gaze, while the Manager ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating his options.

“Look, usually I would go through the interviewing process, but you know what? I really can’t right now, come back here tomorrow so we can do this properly."

“Thank you…err.” The Manager never actually said his name, did he?

“It's Sigma. Meet me here at 9:00am sharp tomorrow.” It was clear he was trying his best to be stern, but it really wasn't working out well for him with the obvious relief that shone in his eyes.

Both Nikolai and Fyodor bowed as they left the store, opting to get lunch elsewhere before heading back home to work on their respective classes.

“Wow, Dos, I knew I could count on you!”

Fyodor gave Nikolai a small smile. “It wasn’t hard to convince a desperate man, I'm sure he would have accepted anybody.”

“I doubt that.” 

~~

Despite their alarms blaring at them to wake up, they were late. And by they, Nikolai meant he was late, but somehow, with Fyodor's way with words, he managed to get them both the job. Oh, how he loved his dear friend. Always there for him, fixing his mistakes and patching up his flaws. That's why he wanted to work together in the first place. Spending over half your time with someone as irresistible as Nikolai was, it should be easy to get Fyodor to fall in love with him. He just had to turn up the charm.

~~

Flash forward, they were in their second year of college and he was still firmly in the friend zone. 

“Sigma-kun~"

“No, not today.” 

'Sigma-kun' in question had swiftly turned on his heels and began walking in the opposite direction, busying himself by wiping over already sparkling-clean tables. 

“But you don't even know what I'm going to say,” Nikolai moaned while following the other around the store. He swore Sigma had it out for him, even before the unnecessary oversharing of his personal life. 

“Nope, no, I can’t deal with it. I should have fired you by now, with how negligent you are and the insurance I've had to pay out.”

“That was only twice!”

“Two times too many,” Sigma replied, exasperated. 

“Just listen to me-”

“I’m not reworking the shifts.” 

“Please rework the shifts this week,” He groaned, flopping over the table Sigma had just cleaned.

“No, no way. I need a break from your awkward attempts at flirting, it’s ruining the atmosphere here!”

“This will work, this time I can feel it! Love is in the air! I get all breathless and dizzy and I'm sure it's only a couple more days till he will too!"

"That just sounds like carbon monoxide poisoning! You’ve been here for a year now with no progress whatsoever. I am fed up with your whining, we have customers to serve." While walking around the back, Nikolai looked around. It was 7:30 in the morning, and the only people within a mile radius of the shop were people on their morning run, and even then, the work rush wasn’t coming as it was Saturday.  

“How about you think about it like this,” Nikolai shouted, even though he doubted Sigma was paying attention anyway. “You either deal with me talking in your ear all day about my depressing love life, or you get front row seats to watch my attempts to woo Dos-kun!”

"I think it goes more like trying to get Dostoyevsky to at least try to be friendly to customers before 11am, and that's hard enough already."

“You win some, you lose some.” He shrugged.

“No, and that's final.” Sigma had that steely look in his eyes now, and steely-eyed Sigma is someone you do not want to mess with. 

Eventually, the sound of the ringing bell signaled that customers had arrived, so their debate was temporarily put on hold (temporarily because as he knew from experience, if he begged enough, Sigma had to cave.)

Fyodor arrived just after his lunch break, which consisted of leftover baked goods from yesterday, allowing Sigma to go out and get some food for himself as people trickled in and out of the café at a steady pace. In the short time it had been open, it gathered a small group of regulars who didn't mind paying a couple of hundred yen more than they probably should to enjoy a fresh brew and the calming aesthetic, with smooth jazz and scent of coffee and jasmine (as well as top-notch customer service.)

He was telling Fyodor a super hilarious story, and even though the coffee machine muffled most of his details, he tried anyway.  

“So then I said-” He stopped in his tracks as the sound of the bell yet again rang through the room. Oh no, not this guy again. 

Dazai Osamu, a man who was notorious for having intellect rivaling even Fyodor's, a man who also had a habit of coming in and flirting with whoever was on till — which was usually Fyodor. And so Nikolai could do nothing but watch on as his heart was toyed with right in front of him.

“We just keep bumping into each other, don’t we, Fyodor?” Dazai drawled, leaning onto the counter opposite Fyodor. 

“What do you want?” The man in question replied, seemingly unbothered.

“Your number.”

“No. From the menu – or do you need it read out?”

“I already know what's on the menu, it’s me n' u.” 

 “I’ll carve out your heart with my bare hands.”

“I noticed you're looking a little under the weather?”

 Wait, really? Didn’t Fyodor usually look that pasty?

“I think you could do with some vitamin me.” Wow, that was bad, even for him. 

“You must be kidding right now.”

“I can do this all day.”

Lord help Nikolai. 

“Someone should phone God, cause he's missing an angel." Even after the lack of response, he continued, without hindrance. "Any chance you have an extra heart? Because mine’s been stolen-" 

Nikolai couldn't take the pain anymore, cutting him off.

"I'm not even sure if Dos-kun has a heart, let alone one to spare," he joked, putting his arm around his friend’s shoulder, totally not in a slightly possessive way. Not at all. Not. At. All.  

"Thank you, Nikolai and Dazai, for this performance." Fyodor finally decided to interject, while shrugging off the other’s arm. "You’ve come here for the past 3 months, I know you take a black coffee by now. it's at the end of the counter with your name on it." 

"And your number, I hope?” Dazai asked with a wink.

"No. Take your coffee and leave."

"Sorry, I'm afraid I can't. I'm waiting for people,” he responded, not sounding sorry in the least. 

"Then go and sit down." 

Soon enough, Dazai went and found a table with two other seats, but not before shooting a cheesy grin and finger guns in Fyodor's direction. As if he would have seen it. The other had already turned his back and started cleaning some cups from the morning. 

"I hate that guy…" Nikolai muttered under his breath, going to help Fyodor.

"Me too." 

"You don't seem too bothered about it."

He shrugged in reply. "It isn’t worth my attention." 

Nikolai continued on about the story he was telling before the rude interruption, fitting in some complaints about Sigma’s shift scheduling as well. 

~~

Sigma soon came back with lunch from around the corner, which took a bit too long to collect, but luckily, it was slow business at the moment, so his absence wasn’t a problem.  

He strolled inside, heading toward Nikolai. "What did I miss?"

"Just Dazai’s horrendous flirting."

"Thank god.”

"I'm glad somebody here finds it disgusting! Especially in this pristine workplace-"

"Hold on, you’re saying Dostoyevsky enjoys it?"

"Well, I mean, he doesn't really seem bothered by it-"

Before he could properly explain what happened with a mildly exaggerated re-enactment of the scene prior, two boys a few years younger than them walked in, looking a lot less than happy to be near to each other. 

“Where is he?”

“Probably late, knowing how Dazai-san is." Of course the two boys were there for Dazai. 

"Dazai-san is never late."

From the little Nikolai knew about Dazai, he could say that he didn't think punctuality would be at the top of his to-do list, not that he would dare get into the middle of whatever this was.

Upon spotting this time bomb just waiting to explode, Sigma rushed to eat his lunch outside before things got tense. The traitor. Soon, Dazai caught their attention and  beckoned the two boys over to put down their stuff. They seemed to be going to order something. It looked like one of them was getting angry, he was looking at someone as if waiting for something — oh shit, he was looking at Nikolai. The man had black hair with white tips styled in an… odd fashion, to say the least, a permeate scowl on his face, clearly in desperate need of anger management classes.

Nikolai strolled over with a notepad and pencil in hand, small poorly-drawn doodles decorating the page’s corners. 

With his best customer service voice, he asked them for their orders. “Heyo, what can I get for you today?” 

“A black coffee.” 

“Getting a drink like Dazai-san’s won’t make you like him." His companion(?) interjected. "He can get his own drinks himself."

"It's not for him , it's for me." 

"I see how many sugar blocks you put in your tea every morning, not in any universe whatsoever are you drinking that!”

"You put more sugar in your coffee."

"But I drink coffee with no milk, I can justify that."

"Is that all for you?" The tension broke away from them with Nikolai’s interjection. As much as he was enjoying the bickering, he wasn't even halfway down the list of things he needed to do to win Fyodor's heart. He was a busy man. He couldn’t stand around all day. "Before a fight breaks out, you can wait for your coffee over there."

And if he thought the haircut of the first man was bad, this was one of the worst hair jobs he had ever seen: slanted bangs and the worst layers ever.  

"And you?" Nikolai asked.

"Sorry about him, he's like this with everyone, unfortunately,” the boy shyly apologized, “I'll take a green tea, thanks." Whoa. This guy's attitude did an absolute 180 on him. 5 seconds ago he would have probably been all too happy to punch the hell out of the emo-looking guy. 

"Okay then! We’ll have that ready in just a moment."

Once he finished the orders, Nikolai was about to go and join Fyodor around the back to slack off. How come Fyodor never got caught for slacking but he always did? Unfortunately, a large group of teenagers walked in, and judging by their looks, their orders were going to be complicated as fuck with no tips.

Once that shit show had left, he was so relieved that he failed to notice Dazai making his way back to the counter — not until it was too late.

“Returning again so soon? Dos-kun’s around the back,” Nikolai said stonily, the utter opposite of his usual jovial personality. 

“Oh no, I just need a refill! It’s tiring work making sure they don’t kill each other," Dazai explained while glancing back at the death stares the two boys were giving each other.

“Another black coffee?”

”Yup! Also, I noticed you don’t wear name tags here-"

Nikolai could never turn down an opportunity to entertain an audience, even if said audience was Dazai. 

“Well, actually, there's a funny story about that, you see! I-"

"-So is it okay if I call you mine?"

Wow, okay, this is where things were going, then? Nikolai was an actor, he could manage a bit of improvisation. (Even though his heart would always belong to Dos- it was a slow day what about spicing it up a little?)

“What a forward thing to say!”

“Well, there's no harm in being bold.” 

"I’ll admit I agree with you there." it’s not like he totally had been doing the opposite of that by harbouring a crush on his best friend for over a year now.

From outside, Sigma could notice a line of people forming through the window and went to check what was happening, only to find Dazai very close to Nikolai and- 

Wait. No way-

Fyodor. Fyodor Dostoyevsky, who never looks anything but smug and sleep deprived. Well, if looks could kill, Dazai would have his annoying death wish granted on the spot. Glowering out of sight, his purple eyes burned with nothing less than absolute hatred, but within a moment his face had gone back to its usual neutrality, and he was putting his entire soul into preparing that cup of coffee (yet Sigma wouldn't have been surprised if there was a drain cleaner slipped inside.)

He walked up to the counter and slammed the cup of coffee down so hard it splashed onto his hand, but his face was still perfectly neutral. 

Gogol jumped. "Dos! Are you okay?" 

It was hardly a severe burn, running it under cold water would be just fine, but this was Gogol, when are his reactions ever level headed? Usually Dostoyevsky would shake him off and rationalize the situation, but now he seemed perfectly content to let Gogol drag him around the back to disinfect it, but his eyes were firmly trained on burning a hole through the back of Dazai's head. 

Gogol called out to Sigma as he rushed.

"Sigma-kun, would you man the tills while I sort this out? Thanks, bye!" Not leaving room for any objection. Yet Sigma nodded silently, still in shock at what he had witnessed.

Maybe this crush wasn’t as one-sided as he first thought.

Once they returned, Sigma began picking up on the small hints both dropped, and it was becoming unbearable! The constant pining from both ends! Yes, Gogol’s was much more obvious and annoying, but seeing the other brood, oblivious to his friend's attempts, seemed to be exhausting! 

And what did this mean? 

Well, it meant he needed to take matters into his own hands. 

~~

Sigma sighed quietly, lowering his head and thinking hard, taking a sip of his coffee from where he was sitting at his desk. He was the manager of this cafe, ensuring everything went according to plan — his customers were happy, his employees were happy, he was happy. It seemed simple enough, right? However, he’d been noticing some less-than-ideal behaviours in his employees lately, pining like stereotypical lovesick fifteen year old girls. He had known about Gogol for some time, but left it alone. Why should he do anything about it? His employees' life is none of his business, after all. 

He had kept this mentality for a while, but then, after witnessing some God-awful flirting, a shocking realization came to him: Dostoyevsky returned Gogol’s feelings! And what realization hit him right after that? The realization that this could only mean more pining. 

Now this simply wouldn't do! 

He was the manager of this cafe, ensuring everything went according to plan — his customers were happy, his employees were happy, he was happy. However, because his employees' happiness relied on each other requiting their feelings (absolutely not because he was sick of having to bear witness to them and their pining) he decided to take matters into his own hands. 

With an idea coming to mind, he smiled. 

~~

A foolproof plan. 

Something even Sigma himself, someone completely inexperienced in the world of love could pull off. Love letters! 

Love letters — they were a classic according to all the romance movies he had watched to try and figure out how to matchmake his two employees together. If you wanted to communicate your undying love for your typical highschool crush, you did it through a letter. 

Now, Sigma was the first to admit that he was absolutely not an expert in romance, but the neon pink letters twice the size of his hand covered with various 3-D hearts that he'd bought from a convenience store screamed love ! There was no mistaking it for anything else.The cheesy pick up line on the front of the card was vomit-inducing, but the rest of it was good enough.

Here was his plan; whilst both Dostoevsky and Gogol were working at the front, he would sneak back to the workers lockers’ and slip in love letters addressed to each other. A love letter to Gogol from ‘Dostoyevsky’ and a love letter to Dostoyevsky from ‘Gogol’.

Not a flawless plan, but it was good enough to get them talking to each other. 

Besides, he'd even expertly copied their signatures and handwriting to a point almost unidentifiable from the real thing, being the perfectionist that he was. 

It should be convincing enough, it better be, with the amount of effort that went into it — he spent hard-earned money on those cards.

He stood right in front of Gogol's locker, just about ready to unlock it using the keys he had (manager privileges). This will do it, he thought, slipping the letter in the locker, when a disaster struck. 

And that disaster came in the form of a voice behind him. 

It was in that moment that he knew, he fucked up. 

"Sigma-san?" 

He froze, a bubble of dread slowly inflating in his stomach. He whipped back around, coming face to face with Dostoyevsky. The man himself stood casually, as he always did, and his expression was simply indifferent, and yet Sigma felt his body entering the fight-or-flight response. Why was it that he was suddenly so nervous? Of course, he had just been caught in his act of attempted matchmaking, but it had to be more than that to make his limbs freeze with nothing more than a disconcerting stare. 

The aura emitting from the man opposite him seemed no different than any other day; tired and slightly menacing, but still, Sigma thought his eyes looked a little darker, a little more conspiring.

"I was unaware you held feelings for Nikolai," the other man spoke. 

Sigma immediately jumped to take the letter back and hide it behind his back, slamming the locker door shut and relocking it. The love letter addressed to Dostoyevsky burned in the pocket it resided in. "F-feelings for Gogol?! Absolutely not! What gave you that idea?!" 

Don't get him wrong: Sigma was an excellent actor. Working in a profession that often required having to look sane while talking to entitled customers taught one that skill, and yet it all evaporated in the gaze of the other. There was no acting his way out of this one – he'd been caught red-handed!

Shit fucking shit were the only words that seemed to be able to run through his head. Sigma was beginning to question why he had even gotten involved in the first place. 

"You just attempted to sneak a large heart-covered card in Nikolai's locker," Dostoyevsky responded with a slow blink. 

"This- this isn't - what are you doing here, anyways? You're supposed to be working at the front!" 

"I was seeking you to request that you take over for a few minutes, as I need to use the bathroom."

"Why couldn't you just ask Gogol?" He was grasping at straws at that point, anything to distract him from the hard-to-hide letter behind his back. 

"He hasn't arrived yet. He's late." 

Sigma held his eye back from twitching. 

"May I see the card you wrote?" Fyodor asked, holding out his hand slightly. "After all, I am quite close with Nikolai." Was it Sigma's imagination, or had the light from the ceiling above flashed kinda menacingly through Dostoyevsky's eyes? "I would know what he would fancy," he finished off. 

" No ! There’s no one upfront, I'll take over your position, go to the washroom as you need," Sigma exclaimed, rushing past Fyodor to the front of the store. "And this isn't a love letter!“ He hollered in a final attempt at saving the shreds of his pride.

He felt Dostoyevsky's eyes on his back right up until he left his frame of view, and tried to shake off the unpleasant feeling he'd gotten from the other. 

Just his luck. 

~~ 

So his first attempt was less than successful, but what was Sigma if not well prepared? Of course had another trick up his sleeve, as Gogol would put it. Ever so slightly over the course of the past few days, he had been making a few adjustments to the playlist that set the mood of the cafe. 

What used to be soft jazz now had just a couple more romantic love songs sprinkled in, in hopes of getting his employees to hurry up and confess, leaving him to be able to work in peace (if that was even possible around here.) Peer pressure? No. Encouragement. This was always done in the quieter hours of the day, usually as the sun was beginning to set and the temperature was just about to drop, and all that were left were regular patrons and the odd college student here and there cramming in some caffeine for a next day deadline.

It was one of those autumn evenings where everything was hazy, surprisingly mild, and autumnal leaves followed the path of the wind, when even Gogol had found it within himself to take it easy. Dostoyevsky had started cleaning the machines as the shop was almost empty, despite it being only 7:00 and not formally closing until 8:30. Everything was lit in a dream-like glow, hues of burnt pumpkin orange and soft amber. As the final customer left the store with a thankful smile, the bell jingled softly one final time for that evening, and over the speakers Хочешь? By Zemfira began to play. A song that caused Dostoyevsky to look up and give Sigma a suspicious look. 

Okay, so maybe Sigma had broken into Gogol’s phone to have a little look at the romance songs Gogol listens to. But in his defense, it wasn’t even that hard to guess his password! Luckily, he didn’t have to deal with an interrogation this time, as Gogol came to his rescue. 

“Fedya, Fedya, dance with me!” Gogol was practically begging Dostoyevsky, going all out, puppy eyes and all, but unfortunately all he got was a bored stare in response. 

“C’mon! I know you know how…” 

And with that, Dostoyevsky was being half pulled onto the ‘dancefloor’ which was really just the seating area with tables and chairs pushed to the side, tables and chairs that Sigma would have to push back later, but for that moment he allowed himself to relax and bask in the strangely heartwarming scene as the two swayed and the sun dropped below the horizon.

“Fedya…” Gogol started, murmuring low under his breath (not low enough, because Sigma could hear.) 

“Yes, Kolya?”

“I’ve- well- basically- ” 

Spit it out, goddamn it!  

Sigma felt as if he were watching just another trashy romance series. 

“The thing is, I-”

Suddenly, the music scratched to a stop, and the three men were blanketed in darkness. The power! Just when everything was going so smoothly, the power went out, leaving them in nothing short of complete darkness. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” 

His two employees immediately turned to face him, having forgotten Sigma’s presence, lost within their own little world, shocked expressions only semi-visible within the darkness. 

“Oh my, what’s got you so mad?” Gogol questioned, teasingly. 

“What’sgotmesomad -  this power cut!” Sigma replied, pissed off in every sense of the word. “And how I’ll need to stay here until it turns back on to make sure everything in the store is turned off properly! Shit… ” He was practically melting at the thought of not being able to leave until who knows when. 

“Don’t worry, Dos and I will keep you company!” Hell no. With that sound exclamation, Gogol continued, “We can tell scary stories, eat the leftover pastries we have, it'll be like a sleepover!” Gogol gave him a toothy smile within the dark, while Dostoyevsky looked less than enthusiastic beside him. 

“You really don’t have to do that-” Sigma started.

“No… but it’ll be fun!” 

That was… debatable, to say the very, very least. 

10 minutes later, Sigma found himself sitting in a circle with Gogol and Dostoyevsky like teenage girls going to tell each other about their latest crush (honestly, if they did that, it would save him a helluva lot of trouble). Gogol held a phone flashlight under his chin, the exaggerated shadows and light bouncing off his face almost in a comedic way. That would be, if he wasn’t telling the others the most horrific horror story Sigma had ever heard, in the middle of the night — all with a straight face and a deadly serious voice that contrasted his usual persona as much as the light and shadows on his face. 

Don’t get him wrong, Sigma wasn’t the bravest during horror movies, but he could deal with a good ghost story. In fact, he might've even said that he enjoyed the adrenaline rush! But no, not tonight. Tonight, his hands were trembling uncontrollably despite how he was trying to will them into staying still, he could feel the hairs on his neck standing up straight, and a cold bead of sweat trickled down his face. Point blank: he was fucking terrified. 

Dostoyevsky was somehow as unfazed as ever, and even seemed to be smirking. How . 

As soon as Gogol finished his story, he quickly stood up and drew in a shaky breath. Whatever he was going to say got lost in the abyss, however, because Sigma decided to interrupt him before he could utter a single word more. 

“Thank you for your company,” he interrupted, pushing the two men away towards the door, “But I would appreciate if you’d leave me now, I’m sure you have classes anyways-”

“Well, actually-” Nikolai tried to protest. 

“Let’s just go,” Dostoyevsky spoke up — Sigma’s saviour, “I doubt we’ll be paid any overtime for this anyway.” 

Sigma wished them a safe journey before returning to his office to wait out the rest of the time until the power would come back, opting to brainstorm more ways of getting the two to confess. At least today wasn’t a complete waste.

~~

It was a new day, and despite only getting a limited 5 hours of sleep the night before, Sigma had a good feeling about today. Technically, he wasn’t needed upfront, so he decided to take refuge in his office and get through some paperwork that had been bugging him all week. 

He was around a quarter way done with the paperwork and halfway through the day when he rushed through from his office to the front of the store, wondering what all the noise he had heard was about. The reason he was only a quarter done with the paperwork was that he may have also been thinking up of new ways to string Gogol and Dostoyevsky together (and, for anybody wondering, no, he had still not gotten over his previous failures) when he'd heard noises coming from the front. It sounded like nothing serious, so he left it to his employees. When the noises started sounding suspiciously like arguing and attempted murder and had grown louder, though, he got up from his desk and walked exhaustedly to the source of the noise. 

He straightened up his back as he strutted and set his face in all seriousness, the very image of a hardworking cafe manager. After all, he had an image to keep, whether or not he was losing sleep over trying to instigate the love life of two grown men. 

The sight that greeted him was a… memorable one, for sure. 

It was Dazai. Of course it was Dazai. 

He was accompanied by another man, short and ginger, who he had seen occasionally alongside him, though this was the first time Sigma was witnessing him trying to murder the other with a chair, Dazai flipping over a table and using it as a barricade.

Two drinks had shattered onto the floor, spread everywhere by footprints, and chunks and crumbs littered the cafe from what Sigma assumed to be some cake that they ordered. 

A myriad of noises accompanied the sight. Arguing from the two parties, one chasing the other and attempting to impale him with a chair, screams of both requests for help and promises of death, and what were his employees doing? 

Gogol was simply standing behind the counter and cheering Fight! Fight! Fight!  While Dostoyevsky stood alongside him, eyeing the chaos as if it were the calm scenery of a springtime park, with something close to mirth in his eyes.

Clearly, if Sigma didn't intervene now, his cafe's reputation would lower — nobody wanted to go to a cafe in which second degree murder occurred. 

"You damn mummy wannabe,” The ginger yelled across the room, “Stop running away and fight me like a man!” 

"Fight! Fight! Fight!” 

"I have no-," Dazai jumped over a still standing table, "-such interest in-," he slid behind another one just as a chair was thrown his way, "-fighting a brute like you." 

"Fight! Fight! Fight! 

Sigma cleared his throat, making his presence known. Immediately, the entire cafe froze. The ginger man stood paralyzed above Dazai, seconds away from bashing his head in with a flower vase he found. Dazai stared at him with a smile, clearly not a single thought behind his eyes. Gogol was still as a statue, arms still stuck up from where he was cheering, and Fyodor gazed at him just as usual. 

"Uh…" Gogol muttered, "Fight?" 

Sigma stormed forward, a super intense aura radiating off him. 

"This cafe is meticulously kept clean and elegant," Sigma began to his employees. "My employees receive high wages in order to put forth their best effort. My customers receive the best customer service they could ever find in a cafe shop, perhaps even the best storewide. Every day, I thoroughly scan the cafe before it opens and after it closes for flaws that could indent its overall quality, and I even clean it myself before the janitor arrives." 

"Simply put," He lectured as he stood before his employees, a clear scolding, "This is a prestigious place and its elegance must be preserved. Does that," he glared at the two customers, "Look like the type of behaviour acceptable in this cafe, let alone encouraged?" 

Nikolai visibly deflated. "No…" both employees muttered. He'd have a longer talk with them about this another time. Now that Sigma had taken care of his unfocused employees, he walked to the customers, who stared up at him as if sensing impending doom. 

Thankfully, there was nobody else in the store. As long as he wrapped things up quickly the cafe's reputation shouldn't be affected. 

"You two," He started, looming over them. Even the aggressive ginger looked awed by his coolness, gaping up. "I hope you are very aware I could charge the two of you with multiple fines for destruction of property. CCTV footage, multiple eyewitnesses, and a crime scene full of evidence is more than enough to guarantee that the fine you would pay is well up in the thousands." 

If he tried to charge them with the aforementioned crime, he'd have to take them to court. Cases like these, even if oftentimes tedious, usually ended up in newspapers or online articles; there was nothing anybody could do to prevent it. If he went to court with them, his cafe might be seen in a negative light, because people would always associate it with criminals and courts, not to mention the costs. As such, it would be much easier to simply let these two men off with a stern warning; nobody would have to know anything, and his cafe's reputation would be unchanged. 

"I will let you both off this time, on the condition that you will be the ones to clean this up. I will pay for the replacements, but if this happens a second time, there will be more severe consequences." 

He leaned down towards them. 

"Am I understood?" 

Dazai sighed and drawled out a lazy yes, the ginger man seemed to try and swallow his pride momentarily before agreeing, clearly pissed off by being scolded. 

Sigma leaned back up with a sigh. If only the life of being a cafe manager wasn't so difficult. He never got a break! Not only was he busy with his employees, he now had to use some of the money he'd been saving up for the cafe for some upgrades to replace the broken items. He clearly wasn't going to get much sleep that night. Talk about perpetually sleep deprived… 

He turned back around to his two employees. "Gogol, Dostoyevsky, go retrieve the cleaning supplies from the janitor's closet. And," he added, a last minute thought, "Make sure none of our bleach has gone missing again," He finished, squinting at the bandaged man suspiciously, who had stood up and was now stretching. Memories that he was very much unwilling to remember started resurfacing in his head — he tucked them away. 

Nikolai brightened up again, jumping on the tips of his toes and mock saluting. "Yes sir!" He hollered as both he and his friend started walking towards the back. 

" I've already told you not to call me tha- ugh."

Sigma watched their backs retreating when a thought struck him in the head, an idea rapidly forming. He played it out quickly in his head — a much higher success of completion rate for matchmaking than his last quests, a higher possibility of the matchmaking working than his last quests, a much higher possibility of losing both sanity and patience alike than his last quests — he was going to do it. Nevermind the fact he had just thought of it. 

As soon as both his employees were out of view and out of earshot, he turned to the once-again arguing men and briefly told them he'd be right back, gracefully and swiftly turning back around to follow Gogol and Dostoyevsky. He wasn't worried about Dazai and his friend (if he could even be called that) running away, no, as he still had plenty of evidence of their destruction of property. He was showing exceptional mercy only letting them off with cleaning duty, and both were well aware of that. If they wished to try and escape them, well then, Sigma really would have no choice but to take them to court. So he took his mind off of them for the moment and turned his attention to keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. 

He heard the two before he saw them, Gogol energetically chatting while collecting various cleaning supplies in his arms as Dostoyevsky counted the bleach bottles under his breath. He slinked up to the door of the janitor's closet they were in, suddenly grabbing hold of the door just as the two men inside noticed, and slamming it shut, keys in hand as he locked them in from the outside. 

Various confused mutters of "Sigma-kun?" came from Gogol, accompanied by knocking, while Dostoyevsky just asked him what he was doing. 

Sigma took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to say. And what was he even about to say? He didn't know, but he was sure it would be something overwhelmingly stupid, as anything regarding these two usually is. 

Alright, here it goes.

"As your manager, I order you two to remain in this closet until you figure out whatever's going on in your weird-ass relationship. I'm tired of seeing all this pinin- ahem ! You may call for me when you're done." 

Various more confused calls accompanied him while he strode back to his office, but he ignored all of them. 

A particularly loud "Sigma-kuuuuuuuuun! What about the cleaning stuff?" Made him scoff, but he was heading towards his office for a reason. As he had mentioned to both his employees earlier, every day he did a general cleaning of the cafe before the janitor. Because of this, he had many of his own cleaning supplies in his office, making sure to provide enough for both the janitors and himself. He'd just give those to Dazai and his friend.

He opened his office door, taking a sip of the already cold coffee he'd left on his desk before he had left to check on the ruckus earlier. It was going to be a long day. 

~~ 

Sigma sighed, staring at the sign over the window of his cafe. A turned off neon light, words OPEN in neat cursive, its other side spelling out CLOSED in the same font, facing the outside, the public. The sun had already lowered, Sigma now faced with only the mischievous night stars, twinkling at him through the glass panes. He strolled over to the espresso making machine, making himself a quick brew. Yes, he knows, he wasn't supposed to use the cafe's resources for himself, but he was the manager, and he was utterly fucking exhausted. Besides, it's not like anybody would know. 

Dazai and the other man, whose name he learned was Chuuya, had left not long ago, a few hours after they had caused the cafe to look like a violent crime scene. He'd been forced to close up early because of their cleaning and took it on himself to personally apologize to each customer who stood disappointed by the doorway. Thankfully, many were regulars, and they didn't ask questions, only shrugged it off and wished him luck (with exceptions to snobby middle aged couples and some of his regular grandmas, who walked away not with a relaxed smile or an egocentric middle finger, but who squished his cheeks and pat his head, gushing on about what a responsible [and handsome] young man he was growing up to be, apologizing to each customer and all. He still shivered when he recounted the memories, the sting on his cheeks afterwards never quite leaving.) 

They had done a good enough job at cleaning, Chuuya berating Dazai into putting in more effort again and again, most likely out of guilt to the poor manager who had to work on one of the still-standing tables in the dining area to try and keep an eye on their work. Needless to say, amidst their constant arguing that they couldn't seem to stop no matter how many times he asked them to, he wasn't able to get much work done. 

It took quite a while for them to finish up, and now Sigma would have to work overtime (he always worked overtime, but now he would have to work overtime on his overtime.) 

It was exhausting. 

So now it was just him sitting on a survivor chair, sipping his espresso infused with triple the shots of caffeine it was probably healthy to consume (still delicious, of course. Brewing these sorts of things were his specialty, the skills he prided himself upon. Would he have been a proper café manager otherwise?), wondering how his life had come to this. 

He threw out his cup in the garbage once he was done. He strolled to the door, pulling his keys out and ready to lock everything up for the day, pausing his hand just as the key was about to reach the lock. 

Should he go back and unlock the closet door for Gogol and Dostoyevsky? He hadn't heard any calls for him the entire time since they were both locked in there. Alright, that might have been mostly because he could hardly hear his own thoughts amidst Dazai and Chuuya's arguments when they were cleaning earlier, but he hadn't heard anything after they left, either! 

He briefly wondered if they had suffocated in there. There was a clear gap underneath the door, so oxygen should've been able to pass through, but… 

There were two facts stopping Sigma from going back and unlocking that door. 

He looked down at the key in his hand, a long-ago memory starting to replay itself in his head. 

A time in the early days, hardly after he had hired Gogol and Dostoyevsky. Sigma had lost his keys to the cafe somewhere, his only spare keys were in his office inside (disclaimer: not a good idea), and in a haze of desperation, he had called Gogol for help, remembering an event that, at the time, had occurred a few days ago.

A slower day than usual, when Gogol took it upon himself to perform various magic tricks to Sigma (and, by default, Dostoyevsky as well), who had been working by the cafe's entrance, relishing in the feeling of the sun against his skin warming him through the ginormous window. Sigma had just been trying to work, but it was in light of that event that he had gotten the idea to call Gogol for help. He had hoped that, amidst all the magic tricks he knew, he had at some point learned to lockpick. After he had promised to give him a bonus if he was able to break into his own workplace, because giving employees a bonus these days was cheaper than hiring a locksmith, Gogol had enthusiastically headed over, even in the cold chill of winter's morning air. 

He had been digging around in his insanely large coat pockets for a couple of minutes for whatever he was looking for while Sigma just stood, confounded. How did he manage to hide a sheathed steak knife in a coat pocket? How did an entire 18-piece pack of piroshkis fit in his inside pocket? How did an entirely different pair of boots from what he was wearing fit in what looked just a bit bigger than his hand? Without making a bump, at that? Sigma wouldn't have been surprised if the other man pulled out an entire chainsaw. Or perhaps a WW2-style tank. For the sake of his sanity, Sigma had not actually voiced aloud any of his aforementioned wonders. 

After emptying his pocket of various suspicious items, he had finally found what he was looking for — a bobby pin. And he had used it to effortlessly unlock the door to the cafe, allowing another mostly normal day to resume. 

So Gogol could lockpick.

That was the first fact stopping Sigma from going back and unlocking the closet door. 

The second fact was from another memory around the same time period as the last. 

He had, at the time, very recently hired both men to work at his cafe. Like a good manager, he tried to become acquainted with all his employees, to get to know them better and to find ways to bring out the strengths in them (even if at the time he only had two). Now that both of them had been working for a few days, Sigma had thought that it would be a nice opportunity to ask them out somewhere of their choice (most would ask others out to places like a café, but, well-) 

He had already asked Gogol earlier that day, the man agreeing and stating that he’d go wherever Dostoyevsky wanted to go. Hence why Sigma went looking for Dostoyevsky.

So it was the end of Dostoyevsky's shift, and he was collecting things from his locker, getting ready to return to wherever he lived. Sigma had been standing on the other side of the closed door of the locker room, doing some last-minute pondering about how to go about talking to the man. He seemed… odd, after all.

Then he heard a voice coming from inside. 

"You can come inside and talk to me, Sigma-san, I'm not as intimidating as I look."

Sigma had stiffened up completely. Nonetheless, he put on a smile and opened the door cheekily. 

"Dostoyevsky-san! How did you know I wanted to talk to you?"

How did you know I was there?  

Sigma had been standing calmly. He had been breathing at an average pace, no panting or deep breaths. Their locker room was an average size, it wasn't small enough to notice every source of noise beyond its walls. Not to mention, with Dostoyevsky focused on his locker, how did he manage to pay enough attention to find a presence behind a door? 

"Nikolai has told me about your request." 

"Ah…" 

"I knew you were there," He pointed to the door from which Sigma had just emerged, "Because the light behind you cast shadows of your feet onto the floor, through the bottom of the door,” he explained. 

"O-oh! I see." 

That made sense, right? And yet Sigma got the impression that this man knew more than he was letting on. 

And it would be natural to assume Sigma was wondering how he knew he was there! Right? 

Dostoyevsky had given him a small smile and apologized, saying that he would be rather busy with college work for the next few days and therefore unable to go anywhere with Sigma. Sigma had just brushed it off and said they could always reschedule. They never did. Gogol ended up cancelling. That entire experience only left Sigma with an uneasy feeling that had taken a while to wear off and another fact known; 

Nothing escaped the eyes of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. 

Also, Dostoyevsky was a very good liar, saying he wasn't as intimidating as he looked, and giving Sigma his explanation as to how he knew Sigma was behind the door. 

Yet while Sigma had been thinking, rather than standing in front of the door, he was leaning against the wall, feet tucked in behind him as he thought, out of range of blocking any light- 

Which meant that there was no shadow of his feet cast on the locker room’s floor. 

Those were the two facts keeping Sigma from going back and unlocking that door. 

So if Dostoyevsky knew his plan all along and Gogol could’ve escaped at any time, it meant they were staying there by choice , and for what reason would they choose to stay for hours in a cramped, private, dark closet?

Oh, come on, Sigma thought to himself, as the only conceivable conclusion was made apparent for him. He could not be more grateful that he didn’t let his curiosity get the better of him, that he didn't open the door and… urgghh .

And as Sigma sighed for the umpteenth time that day, stepping outside and locking up the café, he walked back to his home in silence, staring up at the clouds ahead, feeling a cool breeze wafting through his hair, attempting to soothe his high blood pressure. 

Best not to think about it.