Chapter Text
Denji finds himself standing in front of a door with layers of help wanted signs taped across.
Devilish Finds is a rundown thrift store sitting smack dab in the center of the city. It shares the same lot as some high end grocer, trendy boutiques, and a luxury home goods shop — there’s other stores but Denji stopped caring immediately after Aki dropped him off, leaving him with two copies of his résumé they workshopped together last night and a half empty tin of mints.
To the left of him is a haphazard cluster of mismatched shopping carts that were likely stolen from said grocer, boutiques, and home goods store.
He has a good feeling about this place.
Emboldened now, Denji steps forward to peer into the display windows. In-between the layers of signs, his vision is immediately eclipsed by a never ending sea of clothes.
According to Aki, this is where he found the bulk of his (theirs, now, since Denji moved in last week) clothes, hanging from yellowing plastic hangers or discount bins he spots near the door. Out of their shared closet, oversized tees and loose cargo pants are what Denji naturally gravitates to but Aki is a stingy bastard and expects him to find his own clothes and a job to start chipping in for bills.
Makima, in true Makima fashion, hadn’t warned him of any of this before leaving him stranded at Aki’s and the two got into it after she left. But after experiencing the luxury of hot running water and multiple cereal options for breakfast, he’s grown a bit soft. So for the sake of sugary cinnamon squares soaked in milk, Denji is willing to abide by his new roommate’s demands.
Denji pops open the tin and tips the rest of the mints into his mouth while unbuttoning Aki’s only white collared shirt. It’s early spring but by midday it’ll already be sweltering, so he makes sure to roll up the sleeves to the elbows so his favorite tee is on full display: baby blue and buttery soft, with an orange splotch in the middle that’s faded and crackly.
He shakes out his hair, pausing to check his reflection and mess with it some more until satisfied. After one last look, Denji grins to himself and rips off one of the taped signs.
Rusty Christmas bells jangle when Denji pushes the door open and he takes in the smell of cheap detergent and pop crackling from speakers mounted in each corner of the store as he marches over towards the front, passing a clump of people.
“Hey! There’s a line here!” Someone shouts.
“Fuck you dude,” Denji throws back with ease. If whoever that was had really wanted to check out they wouldn’t have been standing around waiting.
Denji is a man of action, so he shoves more people to the side and makes his way to the counter, passing by what looks to be a successful customer scurrying away with two plastic bags stuffed with clothes.
With a few more strides he makes it to the front and immediately he gets distracted by what’s underneath the counter slash display case. Denji crouches down to take a closer look.
There’s delicate earrings, flashy watches, and glossy sunglasses, all organized in neat rows. In spite of his limited ‘fancy’ brand knowledge, there’s no doubt that what’s behind the glass is likely worth far more than he can imagine. And that’s even after seeing how much the deposit was for his and Aki’s apartment — the sight had left him feeling a bit queasy after.
Taped right underneath the beautiful display is a comically ugly orange poster. With thin, jagged lettering written across, it reads:
[ ASK ABOUT OUR OPEN POSITIONS ☆ ]
Denji is no critical thinker but the number of signs and even more posters in-out-and-all-around the store are higher than what should be okay, even by his standards.
But despite it all, the store is clean and the goods are beautiful and bountiful. Everyone here looks equally cutthroat for a piece of luxury to claim as their own. Therefore-
“Shits gotta be fake,” he deduces aloud, flicking the glass like he would stray Cheerios off Aki’s dinner table.
“Hey now, everything here's the real deal.”
Denji cranes his neck back to the register and finds the person behind it staring down at him. He looks amused, with dark eyes and a smirk playing across soft, pink lips. “Need any help there?”
The employee is dressed simply in black slacks and a thin long sleeved top that’s loose around his wrists and tight across the shoulders. He’s built like a model and pretty like one too; haloed by a mess of black silky hair, sharpened by the glints of obsidian along his ear, all completed with a beauty mark just below the corner of his mouth.
It takes a long second to realize that shit, he’s staring.
Jesus. Denji feels like he’s on the receiving end of a grand piano free falling from the top of a building at the revelation.
In a mess of limbs and nerves, he scrambles back up. Denji takes a step forward to drop his crumpled résumés on the counter alongside the torn off help wanted sign. “I need a job so I can keep taking hot showers and eat more Captain Crunch,” he half explains-half yells, looking straight into the worker’s eyes and stubbornly ignoring the heat rising up his ears.
The clerk smiles and Denji frowns at the dimple peeking from his right cheek.
“Well, lucky for you we’re looking to hire,” he says lightly, as though the dozens of help wanted signs out front haven’t completely bulletproofed their doors and windows. No shit.
The insult that Denji was ready to let fly at the obvious statement completely fizzles out when long, slender fingers pull one of the crumpled résumé corners closer to the register.
“Nice shirt. Was it thrifted here?” The worker asks smoothly as he flattens the page with his palm.
Denji refocuses his attention on the bright orange pin on the clerk’s shirt instead of his hands before he does something objectively terrible but subjectively not that bad, only for him though. Yoshida.
“Probably?” He manages to say, his eyes instinctually darting to the side when the clerk makes a pointed sound of disbelief. Yoshida is more invested in this than should be for normal small talk.
“Really? Can’t believe I don’t recognize you, Denji.”
The sound of his name on Yoshida’s lips isn’t not unpleasant — like the tingle up his spine when Yoshida lets out another petulant noise.
“No, really,” he continues. “Must’ve been while I was out. There’s no way I would have missed you.”
Somehow Denji gets a hold of his lungs again and squeezes out something that sounds like yeah, really so Yoshida can drop it and be normal.
“When was the last time you were here? I’m here everyday except Wednesdays and Saturdays. That sound familiar?”
If Denji was a stalker slash criminal he would’ve filed that information away for nefarious hijinks and shenanigans. But in reality he’s only a barely adult with the threat of financial doom looming over his head and a desperate need to secure the few things that have only recently made life okay again.
Denji also has the clearest sinuses known to man — all the mints sloshing around his mouth earlier have finally melted, leaving his nose feeling like he just snorted snow fresh off the Alps or he took a quick dip in a tub of VaporRub. In-between Wintergreen and cheap detergent, he picks up a sort of sweetness in the air.
There’s a quiet snort, not unkind sounding but it’s enough to bring him back to where he is, i.e his breaking point if Yoshida says something, anything, again.
“Got an answer for me yet?” Yoshida asks, eyebrows raised just slightly, his eyes glittering in amusement.
He shakes his head both as an answer and to wake himself up from this nightmare. Unfortunately Denji folds, like meringue cut into batter when Yoshida’s lips curve up, still staring but with renewed focus, like he’s done something worth the extra staring.
He fidgets under his attention and ultimately decides to deflect. “You make it a habit of memorizing everyone that comes in?” Denji asks.
Denji is only able to take a few moments of silence before he turns back, only to have Yoshida staring right back at him.
“No, not everyone,” the worker replies with a smile.
Then he focuses back to Denji’s poor excuse of a résumé, scanning it quickly, pausing every now and then to nod like he’s pleased with what he sees, like a real employee.
At the sight of that, Denji lets out a soft sigh of relief, shoulders sagging. Rocky start but things are going great now. Fuck Aki for wasting his time last night running through interview prep questions.
“So, Denji,” Yoshida begins, voice criminally smooth and attractively low. “Why do you want to work here?”
Fuckkk. Denji tries to remember what Aki had said last night..
and almost immediately gives up, deciding instead to come clean.
“My roommate says I can’t handle a desk job.” He shakes his head and drops his jaw in an open grimace. “Too professional.” But Denji knows that Aki is absolutely correct; that he'd be better off in a telephone booth boxing match with a grizzly bear than try and navigate office politics and act accordingly with class and decorum.
Yoshida smiles with an odd glint in his eye and nods. “Of course. Desk work was never my thing either.”
Liar. But for some reason Denji can’t find it in him to climb over the counter and throttle the guy and that infuriatingly smug smile. There’s not enough indignant anger in him to lash out. Well, he’s plenty indignant, but there’s also a strange warmth of shyness that has him too tongue tied, sweaty, and embarrassingly pink to do anything more than grunt and play with his pockets as a distraction.
Thankfully still impressed by mostly lies and deceit, Yoshida lifts his palms off the crumpled page and brings them together in a soft clap, dark eyes sparkling now.
“Before continuing, any positions in mind?” Yoshida asks. At Denji’s blank reaction Yoshida reaches over the register to tap at the orange poster.
[ ASK ABOUT OUR OPEN POSITIONS ☆ ]
“Uh.. can we go over that together?” Denji asks. It looks like Yoshida is the only employee here, meaning all but one position must be open, but he’ll take almost anything at this point.
The employee draws his arm back and folds them across the counter before leaning over with a grin.
“Of course, I’m very pleased you asked.”
Denji’s mood immediately flattens at his playfulness and Yoshida's grin widens further in response.
“Because, I can show you in all kinds of positions, Denji.” When his head tilts just so, Yoshida’s eyes sparkle under the lights above. “Put you in every single one of them. If you’d like.”
Denji does not like any of what the man in front of him is saying.
“Aki said I needed to find a job to stay. Why the hell would I want any of that other stuff?!”
Yoshida's smile drops. His eyes widen, and he stares, stunned.
The silence between them is absolutely brutal.
Denji pieces together that this must be what shame must feel like. He gnaws on his bottom lip and makes the executive decision to get the hell out of here, fumbling for his phone in his back pocket. Luckily there’s a bomb threat he typed out in advance for situations like this, all ready to be sent from Aki’s email so his roommate can ditch school to pick him up.
His thumb is ready to hit send when Denji hears a hiccup, then a wheeze, and looks back to catch Yoshida break into unexpected, full bodied laughter.
That shy, achy feeling is magnified times a thousand with every little shake of Yoshida’s shoulders and pathetic hee-hee’s the employee lets out. Denji stands there awkwardly, heart flopping around inside his chest.
The last round of giggles finally leave Yoshida, who looks back up at him with tears in his eyes. “Alrighty,” he replies, still smiling. “Let’s put a note on it for later.”
Yoshida takes Denji’s confused expression in stride. With another huff of laughter Yoshida shuffles and pulls a set of keys from his back pocket.
“Give me ten to finish up here and I’ll meet you in the break room. Back of the store to the left.” He slides the keys across the counter. “Use the second gold key.” Yoshida tilts his head and blinks sweetly. “Wait for me?”
Denji frowns but pockets his phone and wipes his palms down his pants. His hands are very clammy. “Why should I?” He’s in no position to make demands but has enough audacity to do so anyways.
Yoshida laughs again, unfazed. “We can finish the rest of your interview there, away from the crowd.” His eyes flick over Denji’s shoulder but he doesn’t need to turn around to see the angry line behind them.
“Feel free to help yourself to whatever’s back there. I won’t be long. Swear!”
So Denji swipes the keys from the counter and quickly turns around to search for said break room. He could use a snack after all of that.
“..Don’t keep me waiting.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
His brain feeds itself that line and loops it over and over. It’s all he hears, his steps muffled and as he fumbles through the ring of keys, the jarring clatter that should be there is nothing compared to the rush of blood roaring in his ears.
Somehow Denji finds the right key. He lets it sit in the lock and takes his hands and presses them against ears to quiet the chaos. He’s at the home stretch, the sweet taste of victory right there for the taking.
Then Denji lets himself into the break room. There’s a couch, a few tables with metal folding chairs, a fridge, a coffee maker and microwave next to the sink. Bare bones, but everything looks clean and in working order. What he really cares about is the pantry off to the side.
Denji finds himself in the middle of assembling jelly sandwiches when Yoshida comes knocking ten minutes later. At his arrival Denji says, “Hey,” with peanut butter stuck to the roof of his tongue and back of his teeth.
“Hi Denji,” Yoshida replies, smiling. Hope I haven’t kept you waiting for too long?”
There’s that glint to Yoshida’s eyes that has brings that uneasy feeling back all over. “Ready for the next part of the interview?”
***
“So, any questions for me?”
There’s one that’s been burning in the back of his mind since the beginning.
“What the fuck is this place?” He didn’t mean to load that much vitriol into the question but what’s done is done.
“Well I personally wouldn’t insinuate that the place I'm applying for is shitty,” he teases.
“Never said that,” Denji bites back, his ears red hot.
Yoshida crosses his arms across his chest and looks up to the LED beams above, eyes closed and brows furrowed in mock contemplation — his grin still too wide and wicked for anything serious.
“As for how we’re able to run things here..”
Denji lets him set the stage and watch Yoshida tell all.
“The location is prime. Median income in this city is high and beyond the studios and sky rises, you can imagine the houses here are, well..”
Denji can imagine. He takes another bite of his sandwich.
“They’re where a good portion of our inventory comes from, rich people buying expensive clothes and going through them to buy something hotter and newer. And it happens faster than we can manage so items are priced low to cycle out, and in return we get a loyal customer base that‘ll also make sure the city helps keep Devilish Finds standing.”
Yoshida smiles that pleasant, soulless smile of his but Denji catches a glint of amusement when he opens his eyes. “Well, that, and the owner thinks messing with big shot developers is funny since they want to turn the store into a Starbucks reserve.”
Denji crosses his own arms and curls a bit into himself. “Sure, yeah,” he answers, like he hasn’t been rotating between the same six shirts for years up until last week, like he knows what Yoshida is talking about.
He’s left with a familiar sinking feeling as the differences between him and the world he’s in only continue to rise. The universe has him chasing behind an increasingly incomprehensible reality while he’s trapped in a hamster wheel.
But Yoshida hasn’t pushed to pry further as the silence between them stretches, so Denji takes this bit of mercy for bravery and nods at the other to go on.
Yoshida turns back to lean against his chair, stretching his arms out to rest behind his neck before continuing like nothing. “Not to mention Kishibe is friends with the landlord too, so those guys can keep submitting offers and she’ll still say no. It keeps the rent from being high as it should be.”
Denji nods again and relaxes into his own chair as he lets his brain whir. The business model makes sense. Ethos is questionable, especially when looking around them; it’s clear the budget for in-store maintenance is okay. Working here could be hell, with so much inventory and non stop flow of customers. But there’s charm in the imperfect-ness that Denji finds himself drawn to.
Ultimately it might be Yoshida’s dark eyes and enthused grin that have him handing over his phone so he can directly tap his number in, even though Aki’s email and number is right there on paper.
They leave the break room together after Denji finishes his jelly sandwich. The line at the register ends at the back of the store but Yoshida seemingly ignores this and opts to walk Denji to the door.
“I’ll talk to the boss and figure out a work schedule for us. Tuesdays and Sundays off, right?”
Denji nods, his hands shaking.
“Perfect. Once that’s figured out I’ll text you our work schedule.”
“Yeah.. yeah, that’d be good.”
“Wonderful. I’ll see you soon Denji.” He looks at Denji, only for a moment, flashing a quick smile, before turning away to the counter.
“See you,” he echoes back. “Wait.”
Yoshida stops midstep. Denji has to make sure, to ask, “This is real, right? I got the job?”
Yoshida turns to face Denji again. “The real deal, remember?”