Work Text:
The tanginess of citrus lingered in the air. Blue stains littered the countertop as Rumi scrubbed at them with a sponge. Soaps suds spilled onto the tiles and Rumi scrunched her nose together while she asked herself an age-old question: was the light blue ice cream supposed to be cotton candy or blue raspberry?
Tossing the sponge away that was starting to fester with mold, Rumi wiped off her wet hands onto her work uniform. She scowled at the pastel pencil skirt with a candy stripe pattern that was only made worse by the matching pillbox hat. And to rub salt into the wound, the damn hat kept slipping out from between her fuzzy ears because apparently the fucking ugly uniform wasn’t designed for mutant quirks.
Rumi bit her tongue and shut her eyes. Her fists curled up and unclenched in repetitive motions. After counting to eight a few minutes, Rumi had successfully managed to shift her slightly murderous expression into a mildly annoyed one.
She had promised Fuyumi that she would remain as cool as a cucumber while she was the only one on shift. Inhaling deeply, Rumi stepped up to vitrine containing rows of ice cream. Rumi was a woman of her word so she would find a way to keep her chill no matter what it took.
Besides, how hard could it possibly be for Rumi to make it through the next fifteen minutes without punching someone before Fuyumi finally arrived half an hour early before she started her shift?
With a huff, Rumi tied her hair into a loose ponytail and turned on the sink. As she let the stream of water rush over ice cream scoopers, Rumi smiled softly to herself. If there was a good thing to come out of her shitty afterschool job, it was Fuyumi.
At first, Rumi had wanted to sock her coworker in the stomach. God, she had hated Fuyumi’s guts so much back then. Though to be fair is there anything more infuriating than a goody-shoes giving you a death glare because apparently if you aren’t fifteen minutes early you were already late?
Worse yet, Fuyumi was a soft dainty thing. The sort of girly girl who had stickers of horses in her notebooks and glittery barrettes in her hair. Someone from a traditional household who could embroider flowers onto a handkerchief and drop into a curtesy without batting an eye.
Fuyumi was the embodiment of the soft femininity Rumi was supposed to represent.
Because rabbits weren’t meant to be strong. On paper, Rumi was meant to be a fragile creature with snow-white hair who was expected to accept the boys in class tugging on her ears without a fight. Rumi had spent countless hours in the dojos wresting people twice her size to the ground just to prove that she was anything but at the bottom of the food chain.
Yet with time spent behind the ice cream shop’s counter, Rumi found a quiet strength in Fuyumi’s cool gray eyes. When a customer had planted a cockroach in his ice cream to demand free food and a refund, Fuyumi had held Rumi back from strangling him. Then, batting her doe eyes Fuyumi had fished out some yen and free ice cream to adhere to the customer’s demands all while sniffling loudly to make the liar’s gut twist with guilt. The second Fuyumi started blubbering over how her manager might fire her over the roach, the customer broke and raced out of the store without taking his ice cream scoop or refund.
Once the glass door had slammed shut, Fuyumi covered her manic grin behind her hand. Part of Rumi had wanted to pull Fuyumi’s hand away and see her mischievous expression in all its glory.
She had wielded her image as a “weak girl” as a weapon – and, yeah, call Rumi cheesy, but she thought that sort of quiet defiance was awestriking. So much so that Fuyumi’s reaction to the roach incident left a scarlet blush crawling up Rumi’s cheeks.
So even if the customers that came in today placed bugs in their food, Rumi would find a way to resist the urge to use her quirk in full force and attempt to kick them out of the earth’s orbit. After all, watching scammers choke out their guilt while they dug their cheapo plastic spoons into waffle cones would be a million times more satisfying.
The ice scoop clinked as Rumi set it on the counter, and the bell hanging over the door resounded. A lanky teen in a trench coat who looked like he had stepped out of a Hot Topic ad entered the store. The scent of cheap hair dye followed him. Rumi’s nose twitched as she noted how he smelt like burnt flesh and sulfur. Based on the guy’s deep purple scars, Rumi could assume that he had been the one that got burned – but there was no telling whether or not he had taken anyone else down with him.
But his devilish smile practically told Rumi that he most definitely did.
Rumi’s cheeks strained as he forced her face into a bright customer service smile. The action hurt like hell, but Rumi would be damned if she gave some guy who most definitely seemed like an asshole the satisfaction of making her angry.
“One blue raspberry,” the guy said in a husky voice.
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Rumi retrieved a scoop. Would it kill the guy to say please? Yet Rumi gritted her teeth. Stay calm. Like Fuyumi asked. Don’t you want to see one of her pretty smiles that leaves your organs in a tangled mess?
Rumi rolled the ice cream scoop into a perfect sphere. She could make it through one customer service interaction without going off the rails. Anything for one of Fuyumi’s luminescent grins that sparkled brighter than icicles.
Still, she couldn’t help but judge the guy for picking the blue ice cream. Of course, some sort of edgelord wouldn’t be able to bring himself to select a normal. Though Rumi figured that maybe she was being unfair. After all, that was one of the ice cream shop’s most popular flavors. Perhaps she was just jumping to conclusions about being an asshole.
Yet as soon as the edgelord grabbed a hold of the ice cream cup, his piercing blue gaze grew sharper. “It’s not cold enough.”
“Darn,” Rumi hissed. “Lemme me check that the cooling system’s all good.”
Bending down, Rumi opened up the electrical panel of the display case. No short circuits. Opening the vitrine, she was met by the familiar blast of frosty air. She scooped up some more blue ice cream she found that it wasn’t even remotely close to melting.
Taking a deep breath, Rumi faced the customer. “Looks like your ice cream should be the right temperature.”
The guy shook his head. “This is supposed to be ice cream. How is this supposed to be remotely close to ice?”
Rumi’s knuckles cracked as she gritted her teeth so hard that her dentist was bound to lecture her at her next appointment. Jesus fucking Christ, she wanted to punch this customer into tomorrow.
But if she managed to keep wearing her plastered smile, maybe she could demand a hug from Fuyumi as a reward. Most people didn’t want to have anything to do with Rumi and embraces because they feared Rumi’s toned arms would crush them. Yet Fuyumi was different. She would hug Rumi back just as firmly without backing down.
And there was something so wonderfully calming about Fuyumi’s cold touch and the way that her hair brushed against Rumi’s cheeks felt even softer than the fur on Rumi’s hugs.
“Want me to stick some ice cubes in?” Rumi offered.
“Ew, no. The temperature wouldn’t be distributed evenly at all. That sounds fucking disgusting.”
Teeth dug into Rumi’s lip. Her eye twitched. She repeated the same mantra in her head over and over again. Don’t punch him. Don’t kick him in the nuts.
She could do this! This dumbass was not going to get between Rumi impressing Fuyumi by withstanding the perils of customer service.
“Then how about you wait until my coworker returns.” Rumi’s throat ached as she eased her voice into a higher pitch, but the disturbed expression on the guy’s face was worth it. “Kudos to an ice quirk we can get your ice cream to just the right temperature.”
“Fine.” The asshole threw his hands in the air. “But your coworker better hurry the hell up.”
Within the next ten minutes, the customer and Rumi got themselves ensnared in a battle of death glares. Something about the asshole’s face looked incredibly punchable. Maybe it was because the arrogant look in his eyes reminded Rumi of a top hero whom she wasn’t the biggest fan of. Her foot started thumping wildly against the ground of its own volition. She had no idea how much longer she could hold out without assaulting the guy.
As soon as the ring of Fuyumi’s bike sounded outdoors, Rumi’s shoulders slumped over with relief. Finally, someone much more equipped with handling asshole customers could get the guy out of Rumi’s face.
Yet calm did not follow Fuyumi when she entered the shop. As she looked eyes on the asshole customer and scanned his jawline and eyes, the room got cooler by dozens of degrees. Face going slack, Fuyumi gawked at him.
Wordlessly, the guy took over his jacket and threw it at Fuyumi in an attempt to distract her. As the customer sprinted away, Fuyumi raced after him and tore the trench coat to shreds in a way that left Rumi letting out an impressed whistle.
“Don’t you dare run away, you idiot!” Fuyumi screamed.
The guy practically flailed his wiry arms like a tyrannosaurus rex as he hurried into a sprint. Fuyumi’s expression had gone ice cold as he flung miniature ice spears at the rude customers. Rumi wondered whether she should intervene before Fuyumi did something she regretted but the ice evaporated on impact.
Leaning on the counter, Rumi chuckled over how Fuyumi had revealed yet another side of herself, had peeled away yet another layer of femininity’s paradoxical nature.
Girls were supposed to be firm but not cruel. They had to stand up for themselves but remain polite. They needed to keep their chill but also not attempt to bottle up their sea of emotions.
Rumi grinned as Fuyumi chased that emo kid around the corner. Her chest throbbed at how Fuyumi’s hair flickered in the sunlight while determination flickered in her eyes. Maybe Rumi and Fuyumi were both walking contradictions.
But between how Rumi had managed to maintain her cool while Fuyumi let out her frustrations, maybe the two of them were a little closer to detaching themselves from expectations.