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The odd flyaway joke about the never ending beeping of the McDonald’s fryer is common among the youth. Sadly, Himeko who is now officially not considered as one of the youth since entering her thirties, the odd flyaway joke is a nightmare that she cannot escape until one soul-sucking corporate firm will finally give her a job.
She thinks of all the nice things she could be doing with a yearly salary that doesn’t just about cover her rent. She wouldn’t have to scour the internet for coffee beans that are best value for the money, nor would she need to wake up at ungodly hours for the dreaded overnight shift. She certainly wouldn’t have to deal with this ridiculous woman who insists on selecting what toys she gets with her happy meals. She stands tall and proud, leaning on one leg as her hip juts out, gloved fingers tapping lightly on them. Who wears gloves in McDonalds unless you’re a delivery driver? Unless this lady with purple hair that cascades down her shoulders like nature’s waterfall is secretly a Deliveroo driver, Himeko easily puts her into the fourth type of customers that she receives at her brain-melting job at McDonalds. A representative of an overly loud family whom either shows a shred of remorse for the mess or an attitude the size of the Imaginary tree itself; those of the youth who are recovering or will be recovering from a raging hangover; the odd tourist that comes by in the quaint town they live as the local cuisine here isn’t well appreciated or; them . Them: a universal term for people who could not be categorised into the 3 other categories yet are equally or worse than all three combined.
“Are you sure you’re out of Pokemon cards for the day?” The purple lady has asked the same question for the fourth time, each phrased differently. The second time she did, she even suggested that somehow taking Himeko on a date would magically conjure a deck. Keeping a smile that she’s been drilled to plaster permanently on her face when behind the counter, she replies with the same saccharine voice that she only uses at work.
“Madam, the stock has unchanged in the past 10 minutes. There are no more Pokemon cards. If I may suggest again, there will be plenty tomorrow morning.” Please, please, please just take the goddamned chicken nuggets and fries (that Stelle hasn’t gobbled up) and the now-flat Coke, leave and never come back.
“A shame,” Oh thank god, “At what time will they be restocked tomorrow?” Internally, Himeko smiles to herself.
“At 4am sharp.” No way is this suave woman gonna waltz into McDonalds at 4am to get a pack of Pokemon cards. She’ll let March 7th and Stelle be in the same station if purple lady is.
“Wonderful. I’ll see you later,” says the woman. With a wink that has Himeko befuddled, she swoops and leaves, her deep black jacket flashing in the overhead fluorescent lights as it flutters behind her. There’s a particular pattern on the back that she doesn’t recognise in time. It has her curious for the second of peace she has, until the horrific beeping of the fryers drags her back into reality. The second baby crying in the hour, an angry balding man demanding to be refunded as he wanted no pickles, Stelle talking with March 7th about where the fire extinguisher is, Stelle is asking where the fire extinguisher is -
“Stelle, get away from March 7th. March 7th, hose the fryer down. Dan Heng, you’re keeping Stelle away from March.” Dan Heng’s figure visibly droops, dejected at how he’s been made to look after the new hire again. March 7th, being the sweet girl she is, tries to defend Stelle.
“ Himekooo. C’mon, me and Stelle were doing nothing wrong!”
“Your flirting made Stelle set the kitchen on fire!”
“Well actually-” Stelle tries to interject, a finger raised up to make a point. Himeko shuts her down like the USA does with any socialist movement.
“Stelle, you’re on drinks, or you’re handling the fire next time”. This is a blatant lie, Stelle should not be anywhere near a fire for the safety of anyone within a mile radius. But the point is made and everyone returns to their new stations that they’ll hopefully keep for at least another hour until Stelle manages to break something again. All Himeko can do is pray that it's not the ice cream machine. As the dust settles and the beeping of the fryer blends into the background, Himeko notes that a happy meal is left behind on the counter, forgotten. She wonders whose it was as she sets it aside. It can't have been the mysterious lady, she wanted her happy meal toy so badly. No way she would have left behind the meal. She’ll actually wear her actual uniform with the tie if she did.
-
It is 4am and Himeko, like any other overnight shift, has resorted to drinking the stomach-lurching black coffee from the machine that rattles every five minutes. It's the only thing that’ll have her keep her wits about her as the overnight team battles through their shift. Stelle and March 7th had left before midnight, leaving Himeko alone with Dan Heng and some other boring members of staff. Maybe it’s because of his stoic nature, but he’s a wonderful person to have a conversation with. Listens very well and says nice things back only. He knows little to nothing himself of coffee and Himeko strangely doesn’t feel wearisome whenever she explains the intricacies of it. Setting down her horrid concoction, she’s about to elaborate the importance of the grind to him when the automatic doors slide open. Heels clack against the concrete floor and that unmistakable, utterly annoying and smooth voice speaks.
“One Happy Meal please,” the woman earlier today says, mouth popping at the end of her sentence. Her? At this hour? A functioning human being who’s dressed so flawlessly that she’d wipe the floor at Paris Fashion Week? Why is she here? Is she in some hallucination induced by Stelle actually blowing up the grill?
“I’m sorry?” Himeko blurts out, her practised lines of customer service flying out of her mind.
“One Happy Meal please. With a Pokemon card,” she repeats. Her makeup is subtly bold, a dusting of pink eyeshadow paired with dark liquid liner makes her eyes stand out. She dons a dress shirt that fits her impeccably and an expensive looking pair of sunglasses nest on the crown of her head. With her full lips and pronounced cupid’s bow, everything about this lady screams hot . Himeko would never usually think like this, but the night shift has her going insane, to the point where she finds annoying customers hot. “With all this staring you’re making me think that you like me,” she says, propping her head with her arm on the counter.
Ignoring the warmth crawling up her face, Himeko clears her throat. She mentally reminds herself to make a stronger batch of coffee after this.
“I'm sorry but the delivery has yet to arrive. Unless you would like to wait until it does, which I cannot give a clear answer on when, I would advise that you return at a later time,” Himeko says in an emotionless tone. She adjusts her cap, hoping that the lady hasn’t noticed her blushing. The knowing look that she gives to Himeko says otherwise.
“How do you take your coffee?” the mysterious lady asks, drawing out her phone.
“Sorry?” It’s the second time that Himeko has apologised to a customer for no reason. She knows Dan Heng is silently watching her, documenting what's happening in front of him like a hawk.
“How do you take your coffee?” she repeats, thumb hovering over an icon on her phone.
“Black,” she replies almost as a question, “How come you ask?”
“You look tired. I think I could at least treat you with something,” the lady replies as she taps onto her phone, presumably messaging someone. Himeko stands awkwardly by the till as she listens to the explanation. She perches on the stools, lightly spinning as she waits. After waiting for another five minutes, Himeko finds herself to do something less mind-numbing than just standing by the counter. There were plenty of Happy meal boxes to fold.
After folding her 53rd Happy Meal box, Dan Heng comes looking for her, saying that a customer is asking for her. Sighing, she takes the stack of Happy Meal boxes that can be added to the never ending tower that really didn’t need to be topped up. The same lady who is still waiting stands by the counter again with a lidded paper cup in her hand. “For you,” she says as she passes the cup to Himeko. Immediately, she smells the unmistakable aroma of coffee, not the shit one’s from the machine here but actually coffee that has been brewed properly with care. It nearly makes her head dizzy as she takes it from the lady, all protocols about accepting gifts from customers leaving her head. The drink could be laced with arsenic and Himeko would still have it. If she dies from drinking a good cup of coffee, so be it.
Taking a small sip, she feels her body rejuvenating, organs mending itself as the hot liquid settles in her. The coffee has fruity undertones, a little too acidic for her liking but she won’t complain. Setting the cup down, Himeko takes a second to savour the moment. As annoying as this lady has been about Pokemon cards, she begrudgingly acknowledges that she should at least pay back the favour somehow.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, with all the gratitude she can muster. The woman is about to say something, mouth opening in response but a honk cuts her off. Himeko’s head turns towards the sound as she scowls for the umpteenth time this shift; Sampo is here. Sampo is the delivery man for McDonald’s. He’s a slippery worm, managing to be just competent enough that he won't be fired but dreadfully inconsistent at being so that it drives everyone up the wall. Himeko, who actually faces the consequences of his actions (or the lack thereof) would happily let him be fed to the crows. Her scowl doesn’t go unnoticed by the lady.
“Bad news?” she asks, her hand brushing lightly against her own. If she had enough hours of sleep, she’d bat the hand away and become the professional Himeko that March 7th calls ‘mum Himeko’. Mother Himeko requires her to be not living off 3 cups of terrible coffee and one sip of good so she lets the hand be. She admits that it’s nice, it makes her insides feel warm and fuzzy.
“No, it's the delivery guy. He makes Stelle look tame,” she replies, not moving her hand away.
“Stelle?”
“A coworker of mine. Creates so much havoc but is a good kid.” The lady hums to herself, lost in thought with a small smile on her face. Himeko would ask what she is thinking about, but the second, much longer honk has her speeding away. Sampo would find a way to lose a bag of fries by doing absolutely nothing if she doesn’t go check the delivery. A shame to leave behind the impeccably dressed woman who’s admittedly, very attractive.
“Give me a minute,” she says before speedily walking to the back exit. She mutters to herself that she’ll kill him with a pizza cutter if those Pokemon cards aren’t there.
“Oh don’t spill any blood for my honour, however charming it may be,” the lady calls out after, managing to have heard Himeko. Rolling her eyes with a smile, she orders Dan Heng to ‘man the fort’ as she runs off to the van with a bright yellow ‘M’ emblazoned on the side.
The gods are kind to her today and miraculously, there were no issues with the delivery. Sampo nearly forgot to give them their allocated fries but Himeko’s thorough with checking and they won’t be in a fries shortage. KFC could never. Spending a little over half an hour restocking all of the packaging, frozen burger patties and happy meal toys, she nearly forgets about the customer who patiently stands by the counter. Had it not been for Dan Heng’s reminder, she would have ended her shift never having actually served the lady.
“One chicken nugget happy meal?” she remembers from last time.
“Yes, with a Pokemon card please.” Dan Heng is already preparing one for her, waiting for the fries to finish up as he rearranges the contents inside the box to waste time. In no time, the fryer beeps, the obnoxious noise turning off the moment it sounds. Before he can fold it shut, she chucks in another Pokemon card, a way of saying thanks for the coffee. Taking the box, she sets it onto the counter as she plugs it into the till.
“That’ll be £4.99 please.” Nearly instantly, an AMEX card swipes over the card machine interface and all is paid. Himeko wonders if there’s a large difference between a gold one and a silver one.
“One McNugget happy meal. Enjoy,” Himeko says on autopilot, the words ingrained into her brain.
“Thank you.” Like earlier, she walks away with a wink and a flash of the deep black jacket. Through her bleary eyes, she makes out the small spider embroidered on her back that has a silver outline; she’s never seen anything like it before. Maybe it’s custom made.
As the end of her shift finally comes at 6am, she notes that there’s still a half full cup of good coffee on the counter. It’s been left forgotten since she had to go find Sampo. She notices the numbers scribbled along the side in sharp cursive handwriting.She stares at the curve of the 0 and the slash of 7’s, thumb barely covering the 6. Before throwing out the cup, she logs the number into her contacts as ‘pokemon lady’.
-
Pokemon lady keeps returning, enough to become a regular customer who always asks for chicken nugget happy meals. Himeko has a good idea on how her character is: egotistical, annoying, hot, loquacious and mind-boggling. She ignores the fact that Pokemon lady had bought her a wonderful cup of coffee in the middle of the night when they barely knew each other. She also ignores the fluttering movement inside her whenever Pokmeon lady flashes her a wide smile. She should go and get a checkup from her GP soon, turning 30 might have health implications.
Each time the lady orders the McNugget happy meal, her hand finds its way to Himeko. A light touch of the fingertip or a hand clasping around her own, Hiemko can’t predict how much physical contact she’ll receive from her. Something about personal space crosses her mind each time she feels the graze of the woman’s touch, but she never voices her opinions, distracted by the electric feel of it. Every time she’s around, the lady is far too close, her body heat passing onto hers. Himeko has had to change into short sleeved shirts.
“You could always just tell her to stop,” Stelle suggests as she carefully loads more fries into the machine with March 7th’s help. Himeko keeps a steady eye on the basket that is lowering into the vat of oil.
“Oh, as if she’ll actually listen,” Himeko waves off as she does a stock check.
“It sounds like you’re making excuses for yourself,” March 7th interjects as she gives a quick high five to Stelle. No oil fire for now. “Didn’t she give you her number?”
“How do you know that?” Himeko whips around, hair nearly hitting Stelle over like a bowling pin.
“Dan Heng told us,” she replies as Stelle wobbles to regain her balance. Dan Heng gives out an arm for stability.
“And why did you do that?” she turns to him, who is quietly reading a book with one hand as the other is being held on with a death grip by Stelle.
“They asked if anything interesting had happened last night. I gave them an honest answer,” he replies absent-mindedly, more interested in the events of Gulliver’s Travels. Groaning, Himeko leaves the youngsters as she hears customers waiting by the counter. Somehow, she’d rather deal with an angry man wanting his double cheeseburger. Adjusting her cap so that her bangs won't be a complete lost cause, she stands tall and readies herself for the wretched job that she hates for the millionth time this shift.
“One happy meal please, with the Pokemon card,” a familiar voice asks. Today, she doesn’t have her jacket or gloves on, exposing parts of her shoulder. Creamy unblemished skin that makes Himeko’s fingers twitch at sight. Maybe the weather is warm outside for an autumn day.
“Of course,” she says with a faux smile. She punches in the order and waits for someone to give it to her. Hopefully Stelle, since that would mean that she’s not about to break something.
“I hear that the Pokemon cards will no longer be a part of the happy meal selection,” the lady comments as she inspects her trimmed nails. Himeko catches the sheen of the burgundy polish coated upon them, a colour that would never work for herself.
“Yes, today is the last day,” she replies indifferently, looking over to see where the Happy Meal is.
“How much can I offer to buy the remaining stock?” Himeko stops her movements, eyes twitching at what she just heard. She’s not going to bother asking the lady to repeat herself, knowing that she should have expected something so ridiculous to be uttered out of this irritating but enticing woman’s mouth.
“I’m sorry but they’re not available for sale,” replying as she looks at her, their eyes meeting.
“A hundred?” she offers, bringing out a pen and a chequebook.
“They are not for sale maam,” Himeko would let her have toys if she was allowed to give them, but she needs this job and she can’t risk losing it. Unless this woman is willing to give an entire year's salary for the Pokemon cards, she wasn’t going to budge.
“A grand?”
“I cannot sell them to you,” Himeko persists, thinking about all the things she could get with a grand.
“Ten grand and a date?”
“As I have said before- sorry what?”
“Ten grand and a date. It’ll be on me,” the lady says as she begins writing down the cheque.
“Look, I can’t give the extra stock to you no matter how much money you offer me. They need to return to the production factory.”
“What if I buy the production factory?”
“You can contact my general manager, rather than trying to bribe me with money.”
“Money and a date dear, don’t forget the specifics,” capping her pen, she slides the check towards Himeko. “Or would you like the guarantee of more dates?” Speechless, she tries to find the words to say.
“You can’t give me money, you don’t know my full name,” she weakly argues.
“Well, that can be fixed easily,” she claps her hand together, “Stelle!” she calls. Himeko is lost on why she is calling for Stelle, the girl who is the biggest hazard in any kind of kitchen. Stelle comes out from behind, probably rearranging the packaging in the storage room. She stops for a second but continues walking towards the front.
“Aunt Kafka?” Stelle replies. Aunt? This lady is Stelle’s aunt ?
“Hello dear, how are you?” Kafka says with no hint of surprise in her tone. At this point, Himeko wouldn’t be surprised if the entire thing was set up. She can’t be too sure, since Stelle had just knocked over a bottle of Big Mac sauce that was narrowly caught by Dan Heng.
“I’m um, good. What are you doing here?” caught off guard by the sudden appearance of her family member.
“I’m trying to give your lovely manager Himeko a cheque but I need to know her full name to do so” Kafka mentions nonchalantly, as if she isn’t offering to give over ten thousand pounds. Stelle looks at Kafka, then Himeko and back at Kafka who wiggles her eyebrows. Somehow, this prompts Stelle to give Kafka Himeko’s full name. Mindlessly, she dawdles back to where she was before, leaving her with a lady who doesn’t know when to stop. Sighing, Himeko puts a hand over Kafka’s hand, stopping her from finishing the cheque.
“Look, you can give me all the money you want but I can’t give you those Pokemon cards. You should try eBay or something instead. I’ll lose my job.” This stops Kafka’s movements, in thought, only if for a moment.
“How about a bet?” Himeko doesn’t even bother replying and just stares at Kafka with confusion. “If Stelle doesn’t set anything on fire for the rest of the week, I get a box of Pokemon cards and a date. If she does, I’ll leave this McDonalds alone.” She snorts to herself.
“Sure, good luck with that. Stelle is due to break something in the next minute.” She thinks about how it would be to go on a date with Kafka, seeming like someone who would go all out to impress someone. A limousine seems too tacky, maybe something more classy like a movie premiere. Kafka’s voice takes her out of her thoughts.
“Let me just have a small chat with her. I haven’t seen her since new years,” she asks, putting her shades down even though they are inside. Begrudgingly, Himeko calls for Stelle again. She watches the two have their conversation with crossed arms in the corner, snapping at March 7th’s claims that she’s pouting. Kafka does more of the talking and Stelle just enthusiastically nods, but she’s wasting time since it is scientifically impossible for Stelle to not destroy something. She waves at Himeko as she leaves, jacket billowing behind her. Through this angle, the spider looks tremendously larger.
Somehow, through the power of god or something else equally omnipotent and omniscient, Stelle doesn’t break anything for the rest of the week. Every movement that she makes is carefully coordinated, actively moving at a considerably slower pace than usual. There’s been some times where she’s nearly broken some machinery, but each close call is saved by March 7th or Dan Heng. Himeko concludes that Kafka must’ve thrown in something good for Stelle since what she witnesses throughout the week should be scientifically impossible. She’s half tempted to sabotage the entire thing but she remembers instantly that if Stelle does obliterate the grill into pieces, it’ll be her own responsibility to take care of it.
Kafka returns Sunday evening with a coy smile and extra swing to her hips. She knows that she’s won the bet and Himeko will have to give up the Pokemon cards. Kafka doesn’t know that management doesn’t care about petty bets and has already collected the Pokemon cards.
“I apologise, but the Pokemon line is now longer in range,” Himeko states once Kafka reaches the counter, smiling smugly.
“Oh don’t worry I got those Pokemon cards,” she smoothly says, finger tapping on the counter.
“How can I- wait what?” Himeko can count on one hand the number of times a customer has made her go nearly speechless, and all of them have been by Kafka.
“I have the Pokemon cards. Meet me tomorrow outside here at 7,” tangling her hand into Himeko’s. This time she does swat them away.
“How the hell did you get them?”
“I rang up management as you said,” frowning at the loss of touch.
“Then why carry on this bet?”
“You’re gorgeous darling, I’m not going to let someone else catch you up.” Every word on Himeko’s tongue disappears, thoughts scattered as she processes what Kafka just said. She’s not in high school where each confession would leave her out of service for 3 working days, but right now Kafka has her mind screeching to a stop as it repeats a phrase: hot gay woman
Now she’s known that Kafka is a woman, unless she’s going through personal issues that Himeko’s unaware about. She admits that Kafka is incredibly hot, subtle makeup and piercing eyes that would have anyone swooning. She also knows that she’s interested in women, considering the amount of flirting Kafka’s been doing. Yet, when Kafka outright confesses that she has been hitting on Himeko since she finds her “gorgeous”, it has Himeko questioning the entire fabric of existence. Her university thesis paper comes back to her mind on interstellar space travel. Maybe Kafka could make interstellar space travel possible. No, that’s utterly stupid.
“And if I say no?”
“Well I’d have a hard time believing you after listening to Stelle talk about how you keep mentioning me in the morning briefings,” her hand finds its way back over Himeko’s, who’s too stunned to react after hearing what Kafka just said.
“I do not!” she defends herself indignantly, knowing well that she does.
“I mean you do…” Stelle pipes in, nearly knocking over a stack of medium cups. Himeko turns, barely keeping in her anger.
“You! You are on toilet cleaning duty until I decide to forgive you for this,” she points an accusatory finger at her and then the toilet.
“Which would be…”
“Not in the near future.” Stelle grumbles as she goes towards the back to find the cleaning supplies. Having dealt with her, Himeko redirects her attention back to Kafka, who stands smugly, smiling at Himeko. Clearing her voice, she fiddles with her cap as she resumes her conversation.
“I don’t leave work until 11 tomorrow. I can’t, I’m so-” This time, March 7th cuts in.
“Oh she’ll be there,” she interjects with the weekly rota in one hand. Her official shift for tomorrow has been roughly scribbled out and been replaced with a block. “She’s off tomorrow!”
“March 7th, what are you-” she’s cut off again.
“Fabulous, I’ll see you tomorrow at 7. Wear something nice,” it’s the last thing she says before grabbing hold of the happy meal with the Pokemon card and waves a little goodbye to Himeko. Dumbfounded with mouth ajar, she watches the sway of Kafka’s hips as her heels clack against the floor. The spider on her back shines brightly.
The noise of the automatic door shutting brings Himeko out of her stupor.
“What on earth did you do?!” she turns to March 7th, cap flying off in the process.
“You’ve literally just stared at her arse,” she mentions, not bothering to explain herself.
“I did not!”
“Yeah… you kind of were,” adds Stelle.
“One more word from you and I’ll report the damages you’ve done here.” Immediately, she quiets down.
“The interest appears mutual. I think you should at least try something out.” Dan Heng’s suggestion goes ignored.
“If you go out with her you can finally shut up about those ugly men that you find attractive,” Stelle proudly says, bleach in one hand and a mop in another.
“You’re a lesbian Stelle,” March 7th half whispers, as if anyone else wouldn’t be able to hear.
“And?” Stelle’s ready to form an argument on her perception of men when Himeko decides that she’s had enough.
“Stelle, I am going to write up that report right now if you don’t clean the toilet immediately.” Sulking, Stelle wanders away and there’s a distant clatter of buckets. But she can tidy that up later, there are bigger issues on hand. Refocusing her attention to March 7th, she pokes her in the chest with her index finger.
“You can’t just change my rota like that, I spent my own time making that.”
“Yeah well, you shouldn’t just let this opportunity go by. Kafka is like, loaded.,” March 7th massages where Himeko attacked her, as if it was anything more than just a light touch.
“And how would you know?”
“She wears Gucci sunglasses!”
“They could be a present.”
“Her entire outfit is more than what I earn in a month!”
“How do you know that?”
“I like fashion! I’m not a millennial like you who likes coffee too much.” Spluttering, Himeko is lost for words. Her employees (she is an employee) are launching a mutiny! In broad daylight! “Look, I’ll like, take two overnight shifts next week if it goes terribly. I’ll even leave Stelle alone for the rest of the day,” March 7th offers, knowing the seriousness of what she’s done. Himeko thinks she hears weak protesting from Stelle.
“Fine, fine,” she sighs loudly, deflating as the air leaves her lungs. As their manager, she really should be putting up more of a fight. But she is a manager of a small McDonalds and is not paid nearly enough to care. “Just make sure Stelle doesn’t blow up anything tomorrow, okay?” With a gleeful smile, March 7th hops in the air in victory. Assuring multiple times that they will be on their best behaviour and that she can ask Dan Heng for proof, she speeds away to tell Stelle the news. Himeko shouldn’t let the two be together, next moment they’ll be exchanging kisses like a straight couple on a trashy rom com. She leans against the broken ice cream machine as she reconsiders her life choices not for the first time. Somehow, a bunch of youngsters are now more in control of her love life than she is herself.
“I think this will be good for you,” Dan Heng comments as he looks through the till, looking for any wrong orders.
“And why do you think that?” Himeko asks defeatedly, uncaring of whatever answer she’ll receive.
“You’ve been a little brighter since she started coming,” she’s about to ask what he means exactly by that, but they're interrupted by a loud crash, the noise of what sounds like multiple boxes tumbling after one another and continuous ‘ouch’s from Stelle. Of course, March 7th confirms the worst.
“Himekooo, I think Stelle might have a concussion.”
-
She cannot believe that she’s been roped into going along with March 7th’s plan. It's 6:57pm, standing outside McDonalds wearing a loose fitting white dress with gold accents. She can see Stelle flashing multiple thumbs up as they deal with a massive language barrier between a moderately sized group of tourists. She had to go through the depths of her closet to find the dress, having not been on an actual date for a couple of months. Bafflingly, Stelle thought the best outfit would be jeans and a t-shirt. March 7th told her to buy a ball gown. Thank god Dan Heng had some sense to suggest something nice but not too over the top. The air’s been getting colder, seasons slowly but surely changing into winter. Rubbing her arms together, she hopes Kafka has a ride.
“My, I knew you’d come well dressed but… This is very nice,” Kafka’s unmistakable voice whispers in her ear. Himeko nearly does her in with a judo throw, but Kafka gracefully swoops away from her arms with a giggle.
“Where did you come from?” Himeko asks as she checks nothing’s out of place. Her hair is fine, purse in bag, shoes on feet.
“Here, there, everywhere. We can talk more once we get there.” Kafka holds out her hand, waiting for her to make the first move. It's then that Himeko see’s what she’s wearing. It’s not that different from what she usually wears, but cleaner, more composed. She wears the same jacket properly, no straps across her chest but instead a purple tie, sleek black trousers and a pair of brogues rather than her usual heels. She knows she’s staring, but anyone would be weak in their knees for how Kafka is dressed right now. Unknowingly gulping, Himeko takes her hand and lets herself be led away.
Kafka rides a motorcycle. An actual one, not those pathetic mopeds that overconfident men like to rev on. It’s sleek and shiny, exactly something that Kafka would like. She throws Himeko a helmet as she clips her own on. “We don’t want any accidents, do we?” Fiddling with the straps underneath her neck, Himeko leans slightly against the motorcycle so that she can use the side mirror to properly get the helmet on.
Gloved hands take her own and guide her to secure her helmet in place. She sees Kafka’s unwavering smile and they’re close enough that she can see the faint glitter of her makeup as her breath fogs up the visor. Heart thumping wildly against her chest, her cheeks warm as Kafka rubs a slow circle on her hand. “It looks good on you,” she says before turning away. The motorcycle engine revs alive. Sitting down firmly on her seat, Kafka pats the space behind her, beckoning Himeko. She obeys, swinging a leg over the padded spot. It’s a little uncomfortable, but hell, she’s on a motorcycle. She looks cooler than any of her exes right now.
Her hands waver around Kafka’s waist, knowing the theory behind what she should do but they don’t move, just hovering. Silently, Kafka takes hold of her hands once against and moves them around her midsection, squeezing her hands as she does so. Mind buzzing, Himeko leans into her body as the engine roars to life. Before she even knows it, they’re off, leaving McDonald’s behind.
The thrill of the ride has her forget most of the journey aside from the warmth that radiated from Kafka, even through the jacket she had on. Never once did she loosen her grip.
They arrive in a quiet place that’s brightly lit by overhead streetlamps. It looks like a residential area but Kafka isn’t someone without tact, there’s no chance that Kafka just wants a quick lay. Himeko’s proven correct as she raps against the door with a certain rhythm. With a click, it swings open. Holding a hand behind Himeko’s lower back, Kafka leads her in.
Inside is warmly lit by overhanging lights spaced evenly across the ceiling. The walls are bare bricked but it’s warm, most likely due to the real fireplace, albeit covered. A piano plays in the corner, jazz melody in the air. Despite the welcoming ambience, dread fills HImeko.
“It’s a bar,” she states, matter-of-factly.
“Yes, it’s nice, isn’t it?” Kafka replies with a smile, different than the ones before.
“I…”
“What’s wrong?”
“I, er, I don’t really drink a lot.”
“How do you feel about virgin cocktails? They do coffee here as well.”
“We can try some,” she ignores her usage of ‘we’ as if they're already something important together and established as the word ‘we’. She hasn’t used that word in a while.
They sit at a small table, Himeko comments on the quality of the wood, at a loss for words at how marvellous Kafka looks in the cosy lighting. A menu has been provided and she’s at the comment “can be served as virgin” in the corner. Unsurprisingly goes for an espresso martini. It’s probably not going to be the best coffee in the world, but the sight of an actual coffee machine and a grinder gives her some hope.
“You really like coffee, don’t you?” Kafka’s gone for a simple whiskey. It fits her.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“You were talking about it with your coworker that one night, it seems like quite a detailed process.”
“It’s a very precise process. There’s so many factors going into it. There’s the humidity, the roast date, grind, extraction time,” Himeko carries on about the elegance of it and the calmness it brings her. Kafka patiently listens, her eyes staring back into hers, like bottomless pits and she’d happily fail into them. “Sorry, I got carried away,” Himeko apologises as their orders are placed on the table. Not everyone is into coffee like she is.
“Don’t worry, it’s cute,” Kafka reassures, eyes twinkling. Her face warms up again, as if she’s a virgin who’s never been wooed before. God, Kafka is so hot . She peels off her gloves and sets them atop the table as she takes a small sip of her drink, giving a wink. Himeko cannot believe that she is being reduced to this, this, gay mess over someone who had caused her so much grief over some stupid Pokemon cards. Kafka tangles their hands together, thumb brushing circles. “How is your drink?” she asks, head tilted slightly.
Bashfully, with her free hand she takes a tentative sip. The flavour of the espresso is clearly there, a little muted but pleasantly sweet. The faux alcohol is tolerable and doesn’t leave a sour aftertaste.
“It’s good,” Himeko doesn’t miss Kafka’s eyes darting back and forth between her lower face and eyes. Her own can’t stop staring at her mouth.
The rest of the night is spent exploring one another’s life. Kafka’s undisclosed company explains how she affords all the clothes, whilst Himeko never says but hints at some of her own difficulties. Neither poke around too much, leaving both parties satisfied. She learns that Kafka likes to touch a lot. Her hands skim her arms and play with her hair as she listens to what Himeko has to say. Kafka does it so often that Himeko begins to get used to it, until a finger brushes her cheek. Breath hitching, she immediately grabs her hand but doesn’t move it away. Himeko keeps it at where it is, just grazing her skin, which sends sparks down to her toes.
“Have I gone too far?” Kafka whispers, eyebrows furrowed in worry. HImeko could say yes and walk away from all this, the Kafkaesque life, and return to her norm back at McDonalds and slave away at the ice cream machine. Boring, but safe. Yet, she remembers the exhilaration of the motorcycle, the way she clung onto Kafka as they rode through the night. Her hair still remembers the windswept journey.
Without saying anything, Himeko pulls Kafka away from the table and out of the bar, ignoring the shouts from the bartender. She thinks she sees Kafka wave at them in reassurance. Still holding onto her hand, she scans the street for somewhere quiet, secluded, away from all the bustling of the bar. Finding a small alleyway, Himeko hurriedly pulls Kafka along behind her, desperate for some privacy. Seeing that they are away from prying eyes, she holds Kafka by the shoulders, the two barely illuminated in the dark of the night. Kafka’s mouth is slightly agape and eyes are glossed, her breath rising methodically up and down, up and down as Himeko lightly pushes her forward, until her back hits the alley wall. She continues forward as her hand wraps around her waist, other cradling Kafka’s jaw. Breath quickens, everything becomes quiet and the purple in her eyes glow. A heart thumps in her ears, is it hers or Kafka’s? Her eyelashes flutter, she closes in and closes her eyes.
“Hey! You need to pay the bill,” the bartender destroys the moment, holding a card machine as he makes way towards them.
(Oh this guy is going to get the worst of her, she has 5 years of judo training under her belt once she gets her hands on him hes fucked).
“It’s okay,” a warm hand brings her back and Kafka smoothly pays for their drinks. Card swiped and a small tinny beep from the machine, the disgruntled bartender grumbles and goes away. Himeko lets go of a breath that she’s been holding and hastily releases Kafka’s waist from her iron like grip. Apologising profusely and refusing to meet her eyes, she mutters something about going home. “There’s something we need to do first,” Kafka says. It’s that word again, we , but they're not anything, Himeko has nothing to offer, there’s just no point and- “Relax dear. I think you’ll like this.” Brusquely, she takes Himeko’s face into her hands, takes one final look at her astonished face and kisses her. Her lips are still, chaste, not wanting to cross a line that could send Himeko running. Kafka waits. And Himeko gives.
She gives it all to her, lips working feverishly against Kafka’s. She pushes her against the wall as their mouths open, tongues meeting. She holds, clings onto Kafka as they stand together, away from the lights of the street and the noise of the bar. Someone pants, a gasp and a sudden break for air. Himeko draws back, she can feel how swollen her lips are, her hair is ruffled and unorderly. Kafka doesn’t give her time to look, because she descends upon her as she closes in again. Her heart flutters, wings beating against the web of the spider as warmth fills her, recharging something carnal in her and fills her with want and need.
“I told you you’d like it,” she says as she tucks in Himeko’s fiery hair behind her ear. Heart ablaze, Himeko leans in again.