Chapter Text
There is a Jackal’s Den before and after Sakusa Kiyoomi.
“Did you leave any money on the counter yesterday?” Akaashi asks, before Sakusa Kiyoomi.
She looks back at him for a moment, uncertain, because honestly, she really can’t remember. Yesterday was the weakest of all days they had that week. There's a memory of her packing her stuff once the last customer left — old man, insistent in drinking to an early grave — and wanting nothing more than just to get home and wash away whatever reek was that place left in her, but not of any money.
It wasn’t unusual, more like too familiar. The lack of regulars and the boredom of it all usually makes it easier for some to sneak their hands where they shouldn't.
Jackal’s Den has been open for a little longer than two years now, and unlike the usual bars on this side of town, they were much less overwhelming. She gives Akaashi kudos for that, even if sometimes she thinks he’s a bit too strict with it. Truly, maybe they don’t need the dancers or the blinding lights, but they should try some low music to keep her mind occupied for few moments, at least so she doesn’t have to pass the time staring at the same customer sitting in front of her for the hundredth time.
The last of those two years were spent trying to convince him at least this much. He says something about liking hearing people talking and making the place comfortable for them to just do that. She thinks Akaashi just has this opinion because he isn’t the one behind the counter all day.
She also thinks he’s closer to giving in to her plea, so she doesn’t really complain about any of it. Especially not when he’s, once again, bringing his notebook with numbers and showing it to her.
“We are low on a few hundreds,” he shows her a few pages, and still, nothing seems to shake her memory if anything special happened yesterday.
“Sorry, Keiji. I really don’t remember,” she sighs, hands finding her pockets, “might have been my fault. I can pay a bit but I’m afraid you should deduct from my payment instead-”
“Not this again,” he shakes his head, closing his notebook and putting it above the counter, “I already told you; I’m not doing that.”
“If it keeps missing during my work hours than-”
“You’re the only one with work hours, can’t expect you to play bodyguard and serve drinks” he shrugs, pulling a stoll closer so he could sit down next to her.
She sneers, “well, you’re the one that believed I could do the latter and look at me now.”
Those words are spoken in amusement, but it’s true. Akaashi always said it was her biggest flaw, always too good at fitting in — and still, when she asked if he was willing to open Jackal’s Den with her, he couldn’t be more surprised with how easy it was to get used to it.
When her face shines at hearing something their first customer said, he realizes how much she really enjoyed those stories, and all of this worked in their favor for the first few months. Akaashi told her, in one of those months, that this wouldn’t keep up too long. It took two more after that to prove his point once they fell into the slower routine, and since then, working at Jackal’s Den had become just that. Work.
“Sorry for that,” he answers, and she immediately shakes her head.
“Not this again,” she mimics his tone from earlier, hand reaching for his notebook and pushing it under his hand again. “We got this, it’s going to be fine.”
They don’t say the money isn’t worth it. They don’t say that working their ass off to keep up a bar in this location is physically draining the both of them. She doesn’t say it because it doesn’t matter. Akaashi doesn’t say it because he knows she will ignore it until it comes crumbling at her feet. Always too good at fitting in, not leaving.
Two years to waste seemed like a joke, she wouldn’t give up now.
“You know I always suspect Sato looks behind the bar far too much,” her voice is softer after she squeezes his arm and starts walking towards the exit.
“Where are you going? We should be opening in a few minutes,” he calls once she grabs her bag, throwing it over her shoulder, but she’s already with her hands on the doorknob once he looks back at her.
“Give me a few, I’ll go talk with the local police and-”
The door is pushed open, slowly, but not by her. It almost seems heavy in her hold when it moves so she quickly takes her hands off the doorknob until she sees a man, well dressed, apparently out of his office work. It escaped her mind that it wasn’t even past two in the afternoon.
She wonders if he’s lost until he asks, “are you open?” His tone was friendly, holding the door ajar still, eyes between her and her friend.
Akaashi probably sees something she doesn’t because he is quick to jump from the stool, grab the rag above the counter he never once touched in the past few months, and nods.
“We were just about to. Feel free to make yourselves at home!”
Happens a little too quickly between those words and the next, spoken by the man at the door, she sees a shadow behind him move the second he does, followed by half a dozen men behind. Akaashi calls for her with his hand, grabbing some alcohol under the counter and starts pouring to a few of them that immediately sat down on the bar.
It’s easy to fall back to her place. She could only guess they aren’t really working in offices or companies, taking by the sorry state of some of those guys’ suits, but it somewhat commands respect despite their voices sounding the complete opposite, so it compels her to try to do her job and do it well. One can never tell when new rich people will become regulars.
Once the commotion dies down for a bit, it has been about two hours and only one new customer made his way into the bar besides the group from early. She realizes this is probably the reason why that first guy approaches her when she’s cleaning one of the tables by herself.
“Hey, I didn’t catch your name.” He says, pulling the chair from the table back so he could sit down, pulling the chair on his side for her to do the same.
She answers him, hand on the chair as she looks back at the bar, still paranoid about her conversation with Akaashi earlier. “I should go back-”
“Mine is Meian. And don’t worry, I just need a few answers.” His voice has the same friendly tone to it, but there’s an edge that is only broken once he chuckles, hand pointing to the chair by his side. “They can handle a few minutes without drinks. Isn’t that right, Sakusa?”
That’s the moment she finally looks up, eyes scanning through the multiple layers of black clothing until her gaze finally locks with his. Meain’s shadow has eyes darker than she could ever have pictured and curly hair overshadowing all the features the dark mask didn’t hide. She thinks with the way the older between them spoke, that it would drive anyone to answer back. Instead, Sakusa scoffs, rolls his eyes and breaks eye-contact with her.
“Well, I believe them. Now, if you please.” Meian speaks again, as if this Sakusa has given him an answer, and pulls the chair by his side again. She feels obligated to sit down, and even if her eyes can't leave his shadow, Meian continues. “So, how is this place on weekdays?” he coughs, trying to snap her attention back to him.
Sakusa is staring behind her, still not moving from Meian’s side, and only sparing her a glance again once she finally looks back towards the question that was asked.
“Busier, but not by a lot.” She answers, bitterly even. It was in the first few months, about three times more than it is now.
This conversation is going to take that same path, she concludes before he asks again. Meian will learn they only serve drinks, not women and shows, and he will leave like the others did.
It bothers her because that's exactly what she always wanted to serve: drinks and a nice place. It bothers her because the bars and clubs around theirs, ones that treated some of her friends like shit before, make so much more money than they ever will. It bothers her that she still loves this job, despite all.
“It’s a nice place,” he rests one hand on the table, palm open, as the stone on his ring finger catches the light almost blinding. As carefree as Meian sounded, his actions and words seemed far more calculated than he lets on. “Have you been open for a while?” He asks, once she doesn’t say anything back.
“Two years, or so,” is her answer, quick. Not leaving her enough time to overthink.
“I see. Didn’t have any renovations done ever since, right?” His hand grasps his glass when he leans back, hovering it above his lips before saying, “it’s nice but some repair could do this place good.”
“We are not that kind of place.” She says voice firm as if her word was final.
When both hands find the table to stand up, he chuckles. “I was talking about the leaking in the bathroom and the lock of that window over there,” his hand holding the glass points to his side before he finishes the liquid inside it.
She knows the bar like the back of her hand, and still, she didn’t know that. That’s one way for money to disappear, she realizes, still refusing to look at all. She knew her bar more than this man, she tells herself repeatedly.
“What do you want here?” she asks, with an edge to her voice.
“Become regulars, in a way. A place to drink, bring some friends, make some deals-” she thinks his eyes darken there for a minute, “you know, the usual.”
“You don’t look like you want the usual.”
“You don’t look naive either, so let’s drop the pretenses.” He leans forward, clasps his hand together and she finally sees what Akaashi saw when he opened the door. His sleeves fall back, the ink in his pulse looks far darker than his suit, and still, it’s the low tone of his voice that catches her off guard. “Our deals aren’t exactly clean. What I’m asking is that you and your friend keep this between us, and nothing else.”
Akaashi’s voice sounds far away now, but she doesn’t have the nerve to break Meian’s gaze and look back for his support like she usually does.
“Why would I?” She asks, in that same tone from before, except this time, it makes Sakusa look back at her immediately.
Their eyes meet, and it makes her stomach curl before his step is blocked by Meian’s hand on his chest — preventing him from going further into her personal space. Her guess is that Sakusa is probably the answer to her question.
Her gaze glued to Meian’s hand stopping Sakusa makes it easier for him to snap and catch her attention again. “Like I said: you could use some renovation,” he clasps his hands again when she looks back at him, “we can arrange that for you.”
Sakusa falls back and she finally finds it in her to look behind her, like he was doing before. She watches Akaashi sliding through the bar, having some trouble finding the right bootle, before she snaps her head back to Meian, finding more breath in her lungs now.
“I’m not changing my bar to accommodate your man.” Her only condition.
Meian laughs quietly and his hands find the glass again as if he wouldn’t need either free anymore. “That’s the last thing I want. We chose this place for a reason.”
He doesn’t specify, but something in his voice is trustworthy enough for her to finally stand up from her chair, catch the tray behind her and offer it by the side of his now empty glass.
“Something else or more of the same?” It’s her question, with no other option. He should at least have the decency to drink some more.
Meian chuckles. “The same and bring one for Sakusa as well.”
The first time Sakusa spoke in her presence was after raising his head, his eyes back at Meian as his deep voice drags an annoyed tone. “I told you; I’m not drinking in a place like this.”
Her blood boils for a second before her attention snaps at Meian putting the glass in her tray.
“Bring an extra one either way. If I can’t convince him, I’ll take care of it.” He nods, and she takes this as her leave.
To clear her head from spitting in the second drink, she makes her way to Akaashi first and pulls him aside to explain what had just happened.
In the next few months, she learns new stories. The short one with bright hair has worked overseas in a place where her tongue can’t really seem to pronounce as well as he does, but his smile while telling her his memories makes her ask about it either way. Bokuto Koutarou, — or Bo, as he insisted every time he saw them — had a knack for narratives that made her almost suspect everything he ever said was a lie. But sometimes, he would look at Akaashi and stutter, and it made her realize that he probably didn’t have enough thoughts in his head in those times to come up with something half as ridiculous. Miya Atsumu is lying about pretty much everything he says, and that she’s certain. It makes half of them laugh, half of them groan, but it always catches all of their attention, so she realizes it isn’t as bad as it sounds.
Sakusa is there, but he doesn’t drink, doesn’t talk, and doesn’t sit in any other seat other than the couch by the other side of the room — when he isn’t standing next to Meian, which is when Meian isn’t around, which isn’t often; at least in the first months.
Akaashi is more often behind the counter with her. Not only when they are here, but especially then. Still, his mood is a lot better on most days and, the next time they visit, she’s smart enough to ask, “Keiji, can I put on some music?”
Hinata’s head snapped, “I thought you guys didn’t have any!”
He looks between the both of them and sighs. “Go ahead,” he says, and immediately walks away.
In those few months, they fix the window, the leaking in the bathroom and change the torn fabric from the chairs. They don’t change the one in the couch, Sakusa guesses it’s because it’s the most recent furniture they must have bought — which also is the reason he chose that exact spot to sit on that very first week.
It stays the same for a while, much to his relief, until the faithful day he saw her running slightly faster behind the counter. He lifts his face higher from his phone so his hair wouldn’t abstract his vision, and then, she comes back with her phone in her hand and a smile takes place as soon as she puts it down.
Slowly, music fills the atmosphere and he watches as her smile spreads when a low beat kicks in, supporting her weight on her hand above the counter as she practically melts above it, saying something to Hinata. She laughs, and when she shakes her head, her gaze finds him.
There’s a pause before she speaks, loud enough for him to hear, “let me know if it starts to bother you too much, I’ll turn it down.” Yelling by the other side of the room, and still, unbelievably warm.
She doesn’t smile at him like she was before, but the way her voice hits and replaces the feeling in his stomach with the same warmth, he wishes she would’ve done it. The polite smile that used to drop as soon as she looked away, he would rather have that.
However, she doesn’t immediately turn away this time. She seems to be awaiting for some kind of answer, anything that gives her a sign he heard her. Sakusa’s eyes drop to her hand fidgeting with the rag — new one, not that old thing she had before — and his head unconsciously drops to the side, his bang following the motion and giving him a better view when their eyes met again.
Hinata says something, it catches her attention as she turns to him and answers him sheepishly. She glances at Sakusa one last time before forcing herself to go to work.
Sakusa doesn’t feel the need to do the same any time soon, so instead, he watches her a little longer.