Chapter Text
“You’re not allowed to visit. I mean it -- don’t come by.”
“…sure.”
***
Like hell Ryoken is going to pass up an opportunity to see Yusaku in a maid dress.
Initially, when cultural festival planning had begun, Ryoken didn’t think too much of it. Maybe he was a little excited to experience this new milestone of normalcy in his life which, up to this point, had been more or less devoid of such a thing. And admittedly, the bright notes of excitement his classmates exuded were somewhat contagious as well.
Still, the tenor of his specific third-year class was on the serious side. They had collectively decided in a rather short time that they would only be presenting research projects, which a) potentially gave them to chance to catch the eye of important people of the adult world, should any come by and b) allowed them ample time in the afternoon to enjoy the festivities the rest of the school had to offer.
Thus, his class was ahead of the curve in terms of determining what to do, and over the next few weeks, Ryoken watched the dust settle everywhere else, especially in the two grades below, observing with detached interest as a few mini feuds broke out between neighboring classrooms with competing ideas.
Even with all the hustle of bustle breathing life into the student body, Ryoken’s interest was only truly piqued when he realized that a certain someone was being awfully cagey about what his class’ festivities were. Despite that most classes were already weeks into preparation for the upcoming cultural festival,Yusaku would actively extract himself from conversations about the topic, and, whenever Ryoken asked him point-blank, Yusaku usually turned his head to the side, almost bashfully (cute) and said either “We haven’t decided yet” or “No comment.”
Ryoken is not entirely sure why Yusaku bothered. For one, classes would have to put up posters eventually to promote themselves, and he should have known that even if he didn’t talk, there were plenty of others who would. Ryoken knows that he happens to have a particular hold on a good number of his fellow students - what he wants to know he gets, should he ask. But in Yusaku’s case, there were plenty of people who have already been volunteering that information proactively --
Shima, for an example.
“Aw man! Why did we decide on doing a maid cafe again?”
Shima burst into the cafeteria, stomping his way over to the lunch line. Yusaku trailed only a short distance behind, and Theodore and Zaizen appeared shortly after. Shima was fuming, a thin strip of paper wilting in his vice grip. Ryoken, who already got lunch and was heading back to his own classroom, paused to watch the situation unfold.
Yusaku, too, was wearing a grim expression, but he spoke in a flat tone, “I thought you were excited about this.”
“Well, yeah, but that was before this.”
“Cheer up, Shima,” Theodore said, resting a hand on the shorter boy’s shoulder, “Think of this as a… service?”
Shima didn’t seem convinced. “You’re one to talk, kitchen crew.”
At this point, Ryoken could no longer remain by the sidelines. He had known since long ago that Yusaku’s class was doing a maid cafe, but this is a new development. He stepped forward, and the rest of the group, having noticed his approach, quieted down immediately. “What’s all the commotion?” It didn’t escape his notice that at this, Yusaku stood straighter, then Yusaku’s gaze shifted immediately to Shima, who responded.
“Oh it’s terrible. ” Shima made a dramatic swooning gesture, then opened his hand, revealing the strip of paper he was holding. Ryoken noted a red mark at one of the ends. “We drew straws today to decide who was doing what --”
“--Shima,” Yusaku cut in, green eyes flashing. But the other boy was not listening.
“And I got maid. ”
Ryoken thought he knew where this was going, but decided to play dumb. “And what’s wrong with that? Aren’t you guys a maid cafe, anyway?”
Shima was more than happy to elaborate. “No, there’s also butlers and kitchen crew. But ‘maid’ means that in a month, I’ll be wearing a maid dress.”
Ryoken blinked slowly, and when he reopened his eyes, he locked eyes with Yusaku who, funnily enough, was already staring right at him. His expression was carefully blank, but Ryoken knew that he was actually examining his expression very closely. Ryoken stared back, never one to back down, and subtly raised an eyebrow in return. “How interesting.” So, Yusaku, what role did you get?
Yusaku’s shoulders went rigid. He broke his gaze away, turning back at Shima. Ryoken’s eyes narrowed.
Shima, of course, picked up none of this. “Interesting is not how I would call it. But,” his tone changed, lifted with slight optimism.
“Shima .” Yusaku tried again, only to be ignored a second time. Ryoken noticed that the tips of Yusaku’s ears were turning pink. Ryoken fought to keep his expression neutral, but he couldn’t suppress the giddy anticipation building inside his chest.
“At least misery’s got company!” Shima forcibly linked arms with his blue-haired classmate, who was as stiff as a board. “Right, Fujiki?”
“S-shut up.” With a grunt of effort, Yusaku extracted his arm from Shima’s hold, a blush spreading high across his cheeks.
“We drew straws to decide the roles. To make it fair,” Zaizen chimed in, but Ryoken was not really hearing her. Yusaku? In a maid outfit?
Ryoken couldn’t help himself. His right hand went to cover his mouth to conceal his laughter. Yusaku’s attention snapped to him. “Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing.” Ryoken took in a breath and got a hold of himself. He could still very much feel the residual smirk on his lips. “What, are you embarrassed?”
“No.” Yusaku’s face was still pink. He seemed like he wanted to look away, but his pride kept him staring back. He was indignant, mouth twisted into a little frown in such a way that Ryoken couldn’t help but feel a pang of affection, and Ryoken wanted so badly to --
Well, Ryoken wants.
Somewhere in the background, Theodore cleared his throat.
“You’re not allowed to visit,” Yusaku declared. He tilted his chin up and crossed his arms. “I mean it -- don’t come by.”
Ryoken grinned wider. “... Sure.”
***
That’s how, just a bit before noon on the day of the cultural festival, Ryoken finds himself heading down to class 2-B. There are throngs of people, balloons, and colorful signage. Students at the door sometimes recognize him and offer him a spot inside or a flier, but at least for now, he’s only interested in one thing.
The decoration outside of class 2-B with paper flowers and pastel streamers is tastefully cutesy, if not even more sparse than expected. Despite it being late for breakfast and too early for lunch, there are still three people ahead of him as he slots himself in line. As he waits, he resists the urge to adjust his bangs - there’s no reason for them to be out of place.
When he finally reaches the podium, he’s greeted by Theodore. His hair is wrapped up in a bandana, and there’s a grain of rice on his face. When Theodore sees him, he scowls. “We’re closed for lunch.”
“Mhmm.” Ryoken gestures at their opening hours sign, which clearly states 9:00-5:00. He waits.
Finally, Theodore relents. “Fine, I’ll get someone to get you a table,” he grumbles.
“Weren’t you supposed to be part of the kitchen staff?”
“I’m covering for someone.” Theodore looks behind him. “Hey, Yusaku! You have a customer.”
Ryoken’s heart skips a beat. Could it really be that easy?
He doesn’t even realize that he’s holding his breath until he lets it go when Yusaku comes into view, round tray and notepad in hand.
Yusaku nails him with a glare - he seems grumpy and disappointed rather than surprised. “I told you not to come.”
Ryoken needs a moment to collect his thoughts. Even with the sour expression, Yusaku looks cuter than he could ever have imagined. He can’t deny that he’s thought about it - more frequently than he’d like to admit but never too deeply - about what Yusaku might be wearing when the day came, but nothing he could conjure in his mind would ever match up to the reality. The dress is on the modest side, all black with full-length sleeves ending at starchy white cuffs, a fitted bodice secured with a neat row of round, white buttons up the neck, and a long, sweeping skirt going just past his calves, revealing his slender, white nylon-clad ankles. Ryoken is a little disappointed that Yusaku is still wearing his usual white-soled sneakers, but this is completely made up for by the frilly white apron he has on top of everything.
Ryoken’s mouth feels a little dry. “You should have made me promise.”
“Hmph.” Yusaku turns his head to the side to face Theodore, and Ryoken’s breath catches again when he notices that there’s a small, black hair clip pinning some loose strands above his ear. “I’m not serving him.”
Theodore shifts on his heels uncertainly. “... I mean, I guess , but.”
“Kougami-senpai! Are you stopping by? Do you need a seat?” One of Yusaku’s classmates, one who Ryoken vaguely recalls as having the surname Aomori, comes into view. Ryoken notes that her dress, while similar in overall color and design, is a little different from Yusaku’s.
“Ah, is Kougami-senpai here?” Another girl, this time in a black vest, tie and slacks appears behind Aomori.
Theodore sighs. “Hi guys, I figured I should assign him to Yusaku, since his last customer just left -”
“I can definitely take another!”
“Yeah, me, too! We haven’t hit the lunch rush yet.”
Theodore looks between the two of them. “Err…”
Meanwhile, Yusaku’s expression, already baleful, darkens just a notch. He turns to Ryoken, nodding curtly. “Right this way.”
Yusaku goes back inside, and Ryoken smiles fake-apologetically at the two girls before following closely behind him.
Yusaku brings him to a table right beside the window. There is a small menu card on a metal stand and a freshly-cut red rose in a tiny vase. Ryoken seats himself.
“I thought you had a research presentation today,” Yusaku says as he uncaps his pen.
“I did. It’s over now.”
“So early?”
“I volunteered for one of the morning slots. I wanted to enjoy the rest of my day.” Ryoken glances up at him.
Yusaku doesn’t pick up what he was putting down. Instead he sighs. “Shouldn’t you be taking your future more seriously? Aren’t there supposed to be some big shots coming today?”
“I spoke to one of them,” Ryoken replied. It was true, several people high up in a handful of prestigious college administrations had kids who attended Den City High School, so there were quite a few who saw this as a way to potentially get ahead of college admissions. “I’m surprised you remember that.” Yusaku never particularly cared about the finer points of networking.
“I listen to you when you talk.” Yusaku’s delivery is blunt.
Oh. “Well,” Ryoken glances again at the menu. “I left my email at my booth, so they’ll know how to reach me.”
Yusaku shrugs. “Whatever. Do you know what you want to order?”
“Yes. Could I have a coffee? Milk and sugar on the side, please.”
Yusaku notes this down and leaves with a perfunctory nod. Once Yusaku is out of view, Ryoken picks the menu card out of the stand and takes a closer look. There is a surprisingly long list of snack items available, and, hilariously, hotdogs are an option. Ryoken takes a moment to appreciate his surroundings as well. The cafe tables are mostly desks covered with a white table cloth, with single desks for parties of one to two, and two desks pushed together for larger groups. Ryoken himself is at a solo desk.
It’s almost noon now, but the sun hits the glass at an angle, providing ample light without being blinding. Ryoken looks out to the athletic grounds below and sees that a lot of the outdoor activities are now underway - hacky sack competitions, water yo-yos, and strangely enough, gerbil ball racing, with students racing each other from inside large inflatable spheres. He also sees a row of targets being set up, which catches his eye.
Despite his reluctance to serve him, Ryoken muses, Yusaku gave him a nice spot.
Ryoken watches Yusaku seat and serve three other tables, all who had arrived after him, before returning with his coffee.
He places the lidded paper cup down with emphasis. “You’re still here?”
Ryoken raises an eyebrow. “So you admit you were stalling?”
Yusaku ignores this. “Here.” He nudges the cup towards him. “Do you want anything else? The check?”
“I think I’m going to enjoy my coffee here, thanks.”
Ryoken’s glances at Yusaku even as he leaves to attend to the next guest. He reaches for his coffee and takes a sip, balking for a split second when he realizes he never added the milk and sugar, then realizing the next moment that first, Yusaku didn’t provide any, and second, that the coffee tasted fine.
Curious, Ryoken lifts the lid - the surface of the drink is a pale, creamy brown color, just the way he likes it, and despite the fact Yusaku himself only ever takes his coffee black.
He laughs to himself - Yusaku knows him too well.
***
Ryoken bides his time, savoring his drink. Whereas Yusaku may have been ignoring him intentionally before, with the lunch rush kicking in in earnest, Cafe 2-B is getting legitimately busy, and every maid and butler had plenty of customers to serve. Not that Ryoken strictly minds, as the people-watching is part of the fun.
400 yen for twenty or so minutes well-spent, Ryoken thinks, is an incredibly good deal, especially for his view of the whole room and the outdoors. He naturally rotates the subjects of his attention, but most frequently, he finds himself gravitating towards Yusaku. Generally speaking, and Yusaku himself may loathe to admit it, the outfit is very becoming of him, and Ryoken is absolutely going to be making the most out of this opportunity.
Having seen Yusaku’s retreating back, he can admire the very large but neat bow that tied the apron around his waist. The swishing of the skirt as he goes to-and-fro, hem dancing a few inches above his feet. The view from afar also allowed Ryoken to see the outfit more holistically, particularly the silhouette created by the generous puffs at the shoulders of the dress, which taper inwards into narrow sleeves that hug the outline of his arms. This, combined with the outward flare of the large skirt contrasting with how the apron cinches Yusaku’s waist just so gives Ryoken an entirely new appreciation for his fine figure.
What is troubling, Ryoken notices as he continues to take in the atmosphere of the room, is that he is not the only one who has picked up on how enticing Yusaku looks today.
Yusaku is naturally blessed with good looks: delicate baby skin, soft cheeks, cute nose and lips, and show-stopping, striking green eyes. But it seems that the outfit and the temporary impetus he has to socialize have caused longtime classmates and others to notice what has been there the whole time.
Ryoken frowns.
From the edge of the room, Ryoken sees all. Where Yusaku goes, other eyes follow. Girls whisper among themselves and giggle when he leaves. Men and women lean forward with too much interest when he takes their order, or when they try (and fail, Ryoken notes with ugly self-satisfaction) to extend the conversation by asking for his recommendation.
He thinks he sees a handful of people ask to take a photo with him, to which he refers them to their no photo policy. He thinks he sees one person try to pass him their number on a napkin, which Yusaku is oblivious to and throws away.
Maybe it’s because he’s been in one place for too long, but Ryoken is starting to feel agitated.
The students are still working at full force, and many maids and butlers who had been on break had returned to help out. Trays are laden heavy with drinks and food items as friends groups sat down and chatted. Some people even broke out their decks to play Duel Monsters and some maids, Shima included, had even seated themselves down to join the fun despite the ample work needing to be done around them.
While Yusaku has more experience than most doing food service work, standing in one place to grill hot dogs at Cafe Nagi is a completely different ball game than working at the maid cafe. Ryoken notes with some concern when Yusaku is tasked with carrying a heavy tray with four very tall, very full glasses.
Yusaku arrives safely at his destination and places one drink down. When he reaches over to get the next one however, some idiot who isn’t watching where they are going bumps him from behind, causing Yusaku to nearly lose his balance. Yusaku braces himself on the edge of the table, but the side holding the drinks -
A guy from a table over catches his arm and steadies the tray. Yusaku mumbles some words of thanks, and the guy, face glowing, helps Yusaku set down the remaining drinks with this free hand. The other hand remains resting on Yusaku’s arm, then creeps up to the tray itself to where Yusaku is holding it, close enough for their fingers to brush, and.
Ryoken doesn’t like that. At all.
Without thinking, he calls his name. Yusaku perks up in recognition, and, to Ryoken’s own sick contentment, he immediately disengages to come over.
“Did you need the check? I thought someone else might have already given it to you.”
“No,” Ryoken forces a smile. He doesn’t know why he’s so mad. Shouldn’t he be happy that Yusaku avoided disaster? “I’m actually making another order. Could I have an iced coffee? Black.”
Yusaku blinks. “Black? Nothing added?”
“Yes, just black.”
“...ok then.”
This time, Yusaku returns with the order swiftly. He places a cup down once again in front of Ryoken, but as he begins to turn away, Ryoken stops him.
“Did you think this was for me?” He gestures at the empty seat across from him. “Sit.”
Yusaku’s eyes widen. He looks between Ryoken and the drink, realization clicking into place. He frowns. “I’m still on duty.”
“And Shima is playing Duel Monsters, and Theodore is chatting it up with the group over there. I think you can afford to sit a few minutes.”
Yusaku looks over his shoulder, as if confirming for himself whether what Ryoken is saying is true.
Finally, he relents. “I’m not paying you back for this.” He pulls out the chair on the opposite side, and seats himself. The quiet sigh of relief that escapes Yusaku’s lips upon finally sitting down doesn’t go unnoticed.
Now that Yusaku is up close, Ryoken notices that some strands of hair are sticking to his forehead. His hair clip is askew. He’s not quite sweaty, but his cheeks are a touch flushed from exertion. The top two buttons that were right up against his neck have been undone in an effort to cool off, showing just enough for Ryoken to see his throat bob when he swallows.
“It’s pretty different from working at Cafe Nagi, huh?” Ryoken offers.
Yusaku nods, angling himself just a bit forward as he takes another long sip of the iced coffee. He props his elbows on the desk. “My feet are pretty sore,” he admits. “I regret the long sleeves, also.”
Ryoken lifts his coffee cup, but remembers that it’s now empty. He puts it back down. “Does this mean that you picked this dress?”
Yusaku’s voice gains a defensive edge. “It’s not like there were a lot of options. There was this one online store that had them for cheap, and it was a matter of picking based on the available size and price.”
Ryoken leans forward. “So do you get to keep it then?”
Yusaku is indifferent. “I don’t, since I used the pooled funds. They’ll probably keep it for the next time someone decides to do this.”
Ryoken hums. “Well, that’s a shame.”
Yusaku’s head snaps up, lips parting. “What?”
A few beats of silence pass between them. Yusaku stares at him - Ryoken revels in it.
Instead of answering his question, Ryoken just smiles innocently. “Here, your hair clip’s come loose. Let me fix it for you.”
The table is so small that Ryoken only needs to shift slightly forward in his chair to close the distance. Careful not to knock the iced coffee over, he reaches over, pinching the black clip between two fingers. Yusaku’s hair brushes up against his skin - softer than he would have thought. He hears Yusaku breathe in sharply, and he squeezes his eyes shut. His thick, dark lashes cast long shadows on his cheeks.
Ryoken carefully removes the pin, then regathers the pieces of hair he wants to secure. Doing this simple motion, rearranging Yusaku’s hair with Yusaku waiting expectantly, he feels like he has all the power in the world.
He casts a brief glance over his shoulder. The guy from earlier is staring right at him. They make eye contact. Ryoken keeps his expression deliberately neutral before he turns back to the matter at hand.
Once everything is in place, Ryoken leans ever so slightly closer, close enough to feel Yusaku shudder when he whispers in his ear. He lets his knuckle brush the side of Yusaku’s cheek. “Could you turn your head a bit more to the side for me?”
Yusaku’s eyelashes flutter, and he opens his eyes a crack. “Just get this over with, will you?”
Ryoken grins at him. “In a hurry?” He presses the clip back, fastening it shut, all while holding his gaze. “All done.”
“Geez.”
“You’re welcome.” As Yusaku withdraws to return to his coffee, Ryoken glances over his shoulder again. The other guy has left the establishment.
At this point, Zaizen rolls up to join them. She’s neatly dressed with a fitted vest and tailcoat. Ryoken wonders if the tie might belong to her brother. “There you are. If you’re going to slack off,” she informs Yusaku, “I have a job for you.”
Yusaku makes a move to get up. “This wasn’t my idea.”
Zaizen just shrugs. “Honestly, it was about time anyway. You already worked most of the morning and through rush hour.”
Zaizen turns to Ryoken next, “And you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you loitering here for the past hour. Isn’t it about time you checked out?”
“I wasn’t here for an hour,” he points out, as if 45 minutes wasn’t already pretty close. “And also, I fully intend to pay for the goods I consumed.”
Zaizen rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”
“Yes, yes, I’m on my way out.”
Yusaku stands straight, smoothing out his apron. “Well, then I’m going to go sit outside, then.”
Zaizen stretches an arm out, halting him. “Wait. Your job.” She produces a large sign promoting their cafe. “If you’re going to go out, you might as well be useful. You’re going to hold this.”
Yusaku gives Zaizen a look that Ryoken interprets as slightly annoyed. “I was only going to sit on a bench for 15 minutes.”
“And miss out on the rest of the cultural festival? You should go walk around!”
Ryoken knows an opportunity when he sees one. “I’ll go with him.” He tilts his head, as if in thought. “It’s my first cultural festival after all. Maybe Yusaku can show me around.”
Zaizen makes a face like she’s eaten a raw lemon. Yusaku on the other hand, shakes his head and sighs. He takes the sign from Zaizen. “Fine, just for a little bit.”
“Great.” Ryoken puts a bill down on the table. “Keep the change.”
It seems like his fun day with Yusaku has only just begun.