Chapter Text
"Good morning! What can I get for you?"
There it was again. That smile.
"A black coffee, please." Fushiguro says, as he looks at the blackboard hung on the wall, far too many drinks to choose from, and far too many that would make his teeth ache.
"Again?" The barista’s brows furrow as he adds the order to the till.
He remembered.
"Yeah."
"Not much of a sweet tooth huh?" He chuckles as he writes Fushiguro's order on the cup.
"Not really."
"Ah, must be because you're already sweet enough." The barista continues to smile widely, even when Fushiguro refuses to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
"Do you want anything else?"
"No, thank you, that's it." He replies politely, promptly pulling his wallet out of his pocket.
"Alrighty, that'll be ¥300."
Fushiguro hands him the coins carefully, having already prepared the correct change.
"Thank you..." he says as he feigns a glance at his name tag, despite the fact that already knew his name. Fushiguro had been here before a few times when it was really busy. "... Itadori."
"What's your name?"
"Pardon?"
"So I remember for next time," Itadori responds as he shakes his head, presumably to get the stray strands out of his face.
“Fushiguro.”
Fushiguro moves to stand by the other side of the counter to wait for his coffee, seeing, to his dismay, that someone had decided to sit in his usual seat.
"Ahhh, gosh darn this hair." Fushiguro hears the barista mumbling as he begins to brew a fresh cup of coffee. "Stay here, no- no, don't move, stay."
Fushiguro lips tug at a smile as he watches the barista talk to his hair as if it was sentient. Almost as if he sensed that his customer was watching, the pink haired boy looked up at Fushiguro, who quickly averted his eyes.
He returned to his previous mission, finding a new place to sit, it was a real pain. His usual spot was perfect, tucked away in the corner of the shop, hidden enough that not many people would pay attention to him, but advantageous enough that he could people watch.
His shoulder aches, the weight of his laptop back appears to grow heavier by the second. Of course, that sensation faded when Fushiguro saw the barista approaching with his drink, though he was more preoccupied with blowing the hair out of his face.
“Sorry it took so long,” Itadori says as he places down the cup. His fingers twist the lock of hair that dangles in front of his eyes. “I don’t usually let it grow this long, so it’s been getting in my way for weeks.”
“You should cut it, if it gets in the way that much.”
“I’m sure if you’re able to manage it, I should be able to adapt,” the barista responds and gestures to Fushiguro’s hair.
Before Fushiguro’s brain can catch up with his body, he pulls out a thin silver headband from the front pocket of his laptop bag. “I usually use this-” he mentally curses the way he begins to stumble over his words. “You can borrow use it-”
Itadori leans far forward, his doe brown eyes widening in amazement. “You, you are a genius, and if you weren’t a customer I would kiss you!” Itadori doesn’t seem to even acknowledge what he’s just said, far too busy admiring the plastic trinket that’s found its way into his hands. “Are you sure I could use it? I’ll reimburse you or give it back once I have the time to cut my hair.”
“You can keep it,” Megumi’s eyebrows soften, allowing himself to smile ever so slightly at the barista. “I have plenty at home anyway.”
“You are the best!” Itadori grins widely as he puts the headband on. He appeared to be testing it, shaking his head from one side to another, but the previously stubborn tufts of hair had submitted to the popper of the headband. If it were possible, it made him look even more goofy.“You’re officially my favourite customer, you know what that means? It-”
“Excuse me! Hello? Does anyone even work here?” An annoyed voice sounded loudly through the shop. “God, how difficult is it to get some service around here?”
Itadori was there in a split second, already donning an apologetic smile to the unimpressed caffeine hungry office worker. “Welcome to the Shrine, what can I get for you today?”
The coffee cup was hot in his hands, but Megumi didn’t flinch, he was far more busy looking at the coffee shop to notice - he still hadn’t made a decision on where he wanted to sit, and he couldn’t continue to stand up looking around like a fool.
As long as the seat wasn’t by the window it would do. His feet lead the way, though to where, he wasn’t quite sure. He found an armchair on the other side of the shop, it wasn’t too close to the door, and while it wasn’t completely in the corner, it seemed a rather nice place to sit.
Megumi put his cup down gently on the coaster, using his pinky finger to cushion it as he set it down. He finally slid the laptop bag off of his shoulder, sighing at the relief of the lifted weight. He really should get a new laptop. Megumi scrunched his nose ever so slightly when he saw the floor, he would not be putting his bag down on that.
Instead he decided to put it on the chair across from him, a better place in any case, that way if the coffee shop got busy around lunch time as it usually did, he wouldn’t have any randomers sitting down across from him.
The thick laptop was still warm. Megumi tried to remember the last time he used it, but he couldn’t recall. Maybe he’d been writing last night, maybe he’d actually worked on his manuscript.
As he loaded up the computer, the notification popped up.
“The laptop was shut down while documents were still open, would you like to recover them?”
His chest warmed, maybe inspiration had struck once again, Megumi decidedly tapped ‘yes’ and opened the document. But nothing could’ve prepared him for what he saw next.
The empty page stared at him. It was undoubtable, it was completely blank. Megumi prayed, he’d never prayed, not so much as a silent ‘god help me’, but he prayed nonetheless, mumbling under his breath, “let this be some sick joke.”
Unfortunately, the writer had no such luck. His heart sank as he checked the title of the document, his last saving grace. If he couldn’t remember using his laptop yesterday, he could’ve opened a new document in his tiredness.
“Manuscript.”
And there it was, thirty-four pages of work, gone. A year’s worth of work. A measly thirty-four pages. Maybe this was his sign, he shouldn’t be a writer. Just like his family had said.
Fushiguro sat in the armchair brooding, staring at the door to the shop, watching the people walk in shaking their umbrellas and wiping their shoes on the welcome mat. When had it started to rain? He didn’t know, but Fushiguro certainly wasn’t looking forward to the walk home.
The minutes ticked by and the day wasted away. The coffee remained on the table, untouched and it had long since grown cold.
“Excuse me, are you using this chair?” A shrill voice asked, dragging Megumi out of his head. He reluctantly looked up to see a formally dressed woman wearing a pinstripe suit and who he assumed to be her colleague hiding behind her.
“Yes,” he replied, turning his head back to his laptop.
“Well, clearly you aren’t,” she insists as she moves to take the bag off the chair. “You aren’t doing much of anything, actually. Why don’t you leave so me and my colleague can sit here?”
It’s ‘my colleague and I’ not ‘me and my colleague’.
It didn’t really sound like much of a request, more of a demand.
“If you wanted a seat, maybe you should’ve gotten here earlier.” Fushiguro responds, as he goes back to typing, or rather feigning typing. A sentence about this rude lady and the errors in her speech. His eyes flick up, only to see her still standing there. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m waiting for someone.”
“What a liar, waiting for someone?” She laughs, her voice getting louder by the word. “Do you think I’m some kind of imbecile?”
“No, I just think you’re incredibly rude.” Fushiguro states, his expression remained disinterested, hiding just how annoyed he was at this interruption of his thoughts.
There were footsteps approaching, loud ones, he wouldn’t be surprised if management asked him to leave now that he’d made a scene. “You’re so kind, you saved me a seat? I’ve been on my feet for ages.” A familiar voice says, dragging out the end of the sentence.
It was none other than the pink-haired barista, here to save the day.
The woman scoffs and moves away, not uttering another word.
“Do you mind if I sit?” Itadori asks softly, pointing subtly to the green armchair.
Fushiguro nods, still weighing his options, he was clearly getting nowhere with writing, maybe a conversation would help his motivation reset again. He closed the laptop carefully and took the bag from off the other chair.
Itadori set his cup and plate down on the table heavily, he took a look at the green armchair, sucking in a breath as he sit - finally relieving his feet from their duty.
“It’s my lunch break, and thank gosh the lunchtime corporate crowd didn’t stick around for long otherwise I’d still be standing there.” Megumi studies his expression, he hadn’t worked in hospitality before but he couldn’t imagine being that tired after half a shift.
“They stuck around for longer than I'd like.”
Itadori hums, as he makes himself comfortable in the chair, lifting his legs up from the floor and crossing his legs. Clearly he took no notice of social norms. “Yes, I noticed.”
“You didn’t have to help me, you know,” Megumi states, looking at his bag beside him.
“You didn’t have to help me this morning, but you did.”
This morning? Is it afternoon already?
“I suppose, but this feels like more of a rescue.”
“Well then, consider me your knight in shining apron,” he smiles, picking up his drink from the coffee table, it was adorned with a copious amount of whipped cream, Megumi could swear he felt his teeth rotting at the sight of it. “Ahh, I almost got you to smile again.”
“Is that your mission, making me smile?” Fushiguro raised his eyebrows, watching the way the barista leaned forward in the chair.
“Indeed, but it’s very difficult from behind the counter when you’re sitting all the way over here.” Itadori pouts.
“A challenge doesn’t defer you?” Itadori would make a good protagonist for a book.
“No, it doesn’t.” Itadori lifts the sandwich from his plate and takes a bite, looking down at the table, when he notices the untouched cup of coffee. He swallows audibly. “You didn’t like the coffee?”
Megumi watches the way his expression falls. “I forgot about it,” he says in an apologetic tone. “I just lost my work.”
“You lost your job?”
Fushiguro lets out a breath. “No, I lost the document I've been working on.”
“Document?” the barista asks, muffled by the food in his mouth, he really was inhaling that sandwich.
“I’m a writer.”
“Oh, that’s so cool, I’m not very good with words, I mean, I talk a lot but if I could write all flowery like, that would be so cool.” He pauses. “You said you lost it?”
“Yes, the document is blank.”
“Did you have a lot done?”
“Not really, but I’ve been working on it sporadically for a year.”
“I see, so it’s like me with art,” Megumi’s eyebrows furrow, what was so similar between art and writing besides both being a creative medium. “Struggling with motivation and working in bursts when it strikes you, which burns you out.”
Fushiguro hesitates. “Exactly.”
“So do you come here to write?” he asks, wiping his hands over the carpet as he finishes his meal.
“With all the people around I feel the pressure to write, whereas when I’m at home there’s no drive to do anything.” Pangs of anxiety reverberate through Megumi, he couldn’t fathom why he was being so honest and… open. “Though it doesn’t seem to be helping much today.”
“Are you going to be here until the coffee shop closes?”
“I think so,” he answered, though not quite sure why it’s relevant.
“Alrighty, I have to get back to work, but if you want, you can borrow my headphones,” he reaches into his bag to reveal a well worn set of blue headphones. “Oh, and hand me your phone, I'll show you my playlist, it always helps me with motivation.”
Fushiguro offers up his phone absentmindedly, why he was complying with the demands was beyond him.
“Here you go, now before you get started, keep an eye on the counter,” he grins. “I’ll make you the best coffee you’ve had in your life, my treat.”
“Itadori, your break was over thirty seconds ago!”
Left with only the blue headphones and the lone crumbs on the floor, Megumi thinks through the last five minutes. Everything with Itadori was fast paced, his movements, the way he spoke, perhaps it was a side effect from working in the coffee shop. Maybe he had a caffeine addiction.
It wasn’t long before the eye-catching pink hair of the barista popped over the dessert counter, signalling the cup he placed on the side.
Fushiguro’s body fought him as he tried to stand up, his back complained and his feet stung. He would not be sitting in that chair again, not voluntarily anyway.
Fushiguro moved slowly towards the counter, it was like he’d been asleep for days, but not a good kind of sleep, an awful, restless one, twisting and turning, one that leaves oneself more tired than before.
He notices Itadori talking to a customer at the till, so he whispers a small thankyou, and makes his way back to his corner.
Fushiguro remembered his phone on the table, half expecting to find some kind of punk rock playlist displayed on his screen, but instead he found an instrumental playlist, he’d never really considered those before. He wasn’t really a fan of the piano anymore, his father had made sure of that.
In spite of that, Fushiguro connects the headphones and begins to play the music. He took the cup in his hand and gave it a hesitant look, the aroma of creamy chocolate, and buttery notes infiltrated his nose, beckoning him to take a sip. Fushiguro didn’t often like sweet things but he was willing to give it a try. It tasted like coffee, with a hint of chocolate, a slight - manageable - amount of sweetness. It kick-started his brain, his hands warmed, the tension drained from his jaw.
From the second he opened his laptop the words began flowing out, almost as if they were writing themselves, all the ideas Megumi had appeared on the page, not with perfect spelling or grammar. But what did that matter if he could finally write again, the words didn’t come as begrudgingly as before.
Itadori gave an occasional glance at the troubled creative he’d left in the quiet corner of the shop, watching as he typed away, seeming pleasantly inspired. Even witnessing him taking a sip of the drink he’d made with the hint of a smile.
The sky continued to darken as the afternoon dragged on, not that Fushiguro took any notice, he’d already written seven pages, even if they were bare bones paragraphs, it was something he could work with. It would be better than an empty page and an awaiting cursor any day.
But Megumi’s fingers appeared to slow and his mind started to lag - the sentences no longer came with ease, the right words were at the tips of his fingers and yet they refused to be written.
He selected his favourite song from the playlist after taking another sip of the coffee, searching for the inspiration that eluded him, but it was gone, no trace left.
The laptop was back on the coffee table, the mechanisms underneath the keyboard running hot and the fan could be heard desperately trying to cool its systems down.
Fushiguro checked his watch, it was almost five, the shop would be closing soon, he couldn’t stay and be in the way. He drank the remainder of his coffee, despite it being cold, he didn’t want to make Itadori frown.
“Hey, I noticed you were getting ready to leave,” a voice says as Fushiguro feels a hand on his shoulder, to which he flinches. “You can just leave the headphones on the table, I’m in charge of tidying up tonight so I’ll remember them.”
Itadori walks past him, a determined pep in his step. Probably eager to get home, Fushiguro assumed.
“Thank you for your help today,” he says, placing the headphones on the table.
“Was it a success?” The barista turns his head to Megumi, a hopeful look displaying on his face.
“That is an understatement,” he looks at his bag, recalling the completed seven pages of work. It wouldn’t be enough to replace what he’d lost, though this story was going to be completely different regardless.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Itadori smiles as his hand slips from Fushiguro’s shoulder and begins to walk away. He looks back. “Will you be coming here again?”
“I think on Friday,” Fushiguro swings the laptop bag onto his shoulder, having placed the laptop in it.
“I look forward to seeing you again, I’m working then too.” And with that, he leaves.
Fushiguro turns around making sure that he hasn’t forgotten anything before heading for the door. And much to his dismay, it’s still raining, perhaps not as bad as before, but raining nonetheless.
He grimaces as he grips his laptop bag to his chest and pulls his coat over it. Better for that to stay dry than him.
Save for the barista’s rescue, today had provided him with a distinct lack of luck. By the time he got home he was soaked, he could barely see as his hands fumbled around in his pockets, desperately looking for his keys. The wind showed no mercy either, violently disturbing the chimes Gojo had hung beside the door.
Finally he clicks his key into place after finding them and attempts to turn it.
His breath hitches in his throat. It was already unlocked. The door creaked open, stopping halfway by something blocking its path.
Megumi should probably call Gojo, but he stays still, his eyes trained on the darkness in his apartment. He takes a step forward anyway.
There’s a clatter, the sound of books falling on the ground. His body tensed, there wasn’t anything worth stealing. There’s another inaudible sound, he steps forward, maybe it’s just a stray cat that got through the open window.
Another step.
The unmistakable sound of a knife ringing, singing out its warning, a foreboding melody. Too quickly for him to react, someone darts forward from the shadows, metal glinting, red eyes.
The assailant barges forward, slicing Megumi’s cheek before pushing him to the floor. For a second he’s certain the man isn’t finished with him by the way that he hesitates, but then continues fleeing from the apartment.
The only thing he sees as he scrambles to turn around is short pink hair peeking out from under the black ski mask before the man disappears from view.