Chapter Text
Nicholas never expected it to get this bad.
He'd call himself many things, alongside the many adjectives his friends would use to describe his unique self, as Maki loves to call it. Creative, driven, eccentric, amongst some. But in this very moment, a certain word that starts with "pro-" and ends with "-crastinator" is written in bright red font on an imaginary board and nailed to his forehead.
He knew finals season was around the corner. He's hounded himself to "start earlier, Wang Yixiang, you gotta maintain that GPA!"
But time and time again, his ability to find more reasons to continue sweeping the arduous task of "studying at a leisurely pace" under the rug improves as he blatantly ignores the cyst-like lump underneath that grows every passing day. He'd watch one more episode of Gossip Girl, one more match of League, one more night out with Matthew, and eventually, he's here, two weeks away from his first written (yes, written!) paper.
Nicholas wishes the ground would swallow him. There shouldn't be Quizlet in hell. Maybe Anki? He isn't even tired, but his eyes glaze over the digital flashcards, words jumbling into gibberish that he can't comprehend. No amount of brown noise or classical music will pull him through. He'd rather watch paint dry on a white wall. He grumbles into his elbow. He's finally been defeated by the consequences of his own actions.
He checks the time. It's 9:54pm. He's been going at this since 3:30pm. Technically 2:00pm if he includes the time he spent setting up his desk, making a drink, forgetting to take out his calculator, getting lazy to walk to his backpack to get it, using his phone's calculator, replying to Kei, and doom-scrolling for an hour. Putting his phone behind his laptop does help, he finds, but three hours in, his ears were itching to listen to anything but Mozart and Chaikovsky. He can feel the beabadoobee withdrawal hitting him.
He groans aloud to no one in particular. Maybe the spider hidden somewhere in the cracks of his walls.
Raisin-like. That's a solid adjective. Eyes so dry that no amount of eye drops will moisturize them. He glances out the window of his room, watching the darkness that envelops the world. The cold mid-November air seeps through the glass windows and covers everything in its chilly sludge. But Nicholas needs anything but the smell of his textbooks filling his nostrils. Plus, as the adrenaline and anxiety of drilling facts into his brain slipped away, it's replaced with a persistent hunger that almost makes his stomach ache. He ought to get dinner.
He reaches for his phone and bag, double checking for his wallet and keys before slipping on his sneakers and closing the door behind him.
The streets are much quieter than he expected. Perhaps the exam panic has caught up to every living soul on campus, as it did with him. To his surprise, the bars and clubs that normally have lines that span block to block are almost empty. The bouncers are slouched over, a dazed look in their eyes suggesting that they haven't had to check an ID for most of the night. It's still 10:03 pm. They'll roll around soon enough.
Nicholas ponders at the possibilities of dinner. Despite the initial options, most restaurants are closed, including the Chinese noodle shop that he frequents with Maki. He was really hoping to get cumin lamb noodles.
After 10 minutes, he's walked along all the nearby shops, and they're all either closed, unappetizing (he grimaces at the "cheese" fries he got a little too curious with one time) or so out of budget that Nicholas would have to eat nothing but bread crusts for a week.
He lets out a defeated sigh. He just wants to eat his dinner and if he's lucky, maybe get his hands on some energy drinks to power him through the night. He's not asking for much.
He wanders a little further than usual, all that surrounds him being metal shutters and frail stray cats that roam the streets with their beady glowing eyes. He'd pet them if they weren't glaring him down like he would become their dinner instead.
As he turns another corner, ready to head back and curl into his bed malnourished and cold, warm light hits the pavement from a shop.
Salvation! He sees it in his mind's eye, like a beggar receiving moldy bread in his bowl.
The thought of sustenance powers his steps, and Nicholas beelines to the light like a moth to a flame. He practically leaps to the store, nearly breaking into a grin but catches himself because holy shit his lips might split from how dry they are. He digresses.
A humble storefront with... no name? His eyes scan the exterior for anything, but there's only a black board with chalk writing on it.
Today's menu:
- curry rice with fried pork, 18
- tofu bowl (vegetarian), 13
- lasagna soup, 16
- bread pudding, 10
Oh.
Lasagna soup does sound really good right now. Nicholas only accepts the devil fruit (tomatoes) cooked. He pushes the door open and the bell chimes.
Instantly, he melts a little. Radiators might be his favourite home appliance.
There's no tables in the place. Instead, a row of no more than 10 stools line up against a wooden bar, with dainty paintings scattered on the walls. The owner probably spent a good while collecting all these pieces. Nicholas can tell they're made by different artists, but each painting somehow compliments one another, whether in colour or texture of the paint. He must have a great artistic eye to even think of this scheme.
Behind the bar is a mahogany wooden shelf lined with bottles of liquor and spirits. The variety is far smaller than what Nicholas is used to (he would know, of coursr) but it's a decent spread.
"Hello, how many?"
A man that Nicholas can only describe as "squishy" stands a few feet away, behind the counter as a crystal glass and microfibre cloth occupies his hands. His rounded features and wavy hair is a stark contrast to his broad shoulders and considerable height, based on how Nicholas isn't really looking at him at eye level.
"Hello, sir?"
Was he staring? "A-Ah yes, just me."
The bartender, Nicholas guesses, grins and gestures to the bar stools before him. "Take a seat, I'll bring you some water."
He hangs his bag on a chair, hard plastic keychains and plushies clinking and clacking against one another. They're not as many as Harua's, whose keychain ball rivals the size of his backpack, but it's enough to turn some heads.
A few moments pass and the bartender places a clear glass and a small bottle of water on counter. He leans forward, arms supporting his weight as he glances at Nicholas. "So, what would it be?" There's a faint sparkle in his round eyes. "I assume you would've read the board outside?"
Nicholas nods. "I'll try the lasagna soup, please. Is there cheese on it?"
"Of course."
"However much you're gonna put on, double it."
The man behind the counter nods in understanding with a chuckle. He smirks, and frankly, it's an interesting look, how a smug expression fits on a chubby-cheeked cute (who said that?!) face. "Any drinks?"
"... Do you have a strawberry milkshake?"
There's a still in the air, and Nicholas sees it, how he resists the urge to snort out a laugh. "Yeah, I have some strawberry ice cream in the freezer. I'll get that settled for you."
"Is anything the matter?" Nicholas asks, eyes narrowing.
The man smiles, and wow he's even cuter when he smiles (who said that?!). "No, no, it's nothing. I just find it very adorable that you look the way you do and ask for a strawberry milkshake."
What did he say?
Nicholas isn't even offended. He's genuinely stunned. The man simply retreats into the kitchen, and Nicholas mulls over how the cloth seperation decorated with black and orange cats was an indication that the conversation just ended with him being called "adorable." Yes he wears black and maybe he has a slight resting bitch face but that doesn't constitute anything!
... Yeah maybe he's right.
In hindsight, should he be mildly concerned at a dodgy-looking shop lot in the dead of night with a single man behind the bar? Possibly. However, he's mildly broke and looks crusted with sleep probably in his eyes and an old hoodie washed so many times it has watercolour staining. No one would rob that. No one would think to call that adorable either.
Right?
He forgot to bring his lactase pill. That amount of milk and cheese will be able to bring someone to tears. Again, he digresses.
He's brought out of his doom scroll when a glass is placed before him.
Pink. That's the best way to call this gorgeous monstrosity of a milkshake. It's so big that if he put next to a black hole, it wouldn't get sucked in but the hole would orbit it. There's so many sprinkles and strawberries on it it might topple.
Nicholas may have to amputate his leg after he finishes it from the sheer amount of sugar that's probably hidden within its innocent exterior.
The worst part?
It tastes fucking incredible. That first sip is pure ecstasy in liquid form. There's that familiar flavour of artificial strawberry that transports him straight to his childhood but there's also this fresh strawberry flavour that he's learnt to like over the years.
Yeah, this is amazing.
He downs a good third of it when his soup arrives. Again, the bowl is so big NASA might mistaken it for a star, and that amount of cheese... Nicholas nearly sheds tears of joy.
"Congratulations, you've used up the remaining cheese in the fridge," the man laughs. He tosses the cloth across his shoulder, leaning forward against the counter. "In here is a tomato and beef broth with noodles, shredded beef, mushrooms, onions, carrots, herbs, spices, and of course, mozzarella and parmesan cheese."
Maybe it's the studying exhaustion, but Nicholas completely forgot that there are veggies in a lasagna. "I'm not... too keen with vegetables in my food," Nicholas sheepishly admits. In his mind's eye, he can hear Maki guffawing at his childish tastes.
"I guarantee you that you won't taste them. If you do it's on the house."
Nicholas can tolerate a sliver of scallion in his noodle soup but can smell when someone boils a carrot. Needless to say, this is a bold claim.
He considers lying even if the man is right and getting a free meal but between him being the only customer here and the astronomical discovery of this milkshake, his morals decide that maybe he should play fair.
The cheese is so thick that for a moment he can't see any noodle. First bite...
Woah.
Holy shit this is fucking incredible.
Wow he's like borderline burning the roof of his mouth but this might be the best thing Nicholas has ever put in his mouth (pause.)
"I'm going to assume that your silence means it's good."
Nicholas swallows before he speaks. Not risking spitting on another person ever.
"I'm actually shocked," Nicholas admits. "It's so, like... rich but not greasy, and its not overcooked, it's not too salty, the cheese is just right and like yeah i can't taste a single vegetable that's actually crazy work my guy like wow this is incredible--"
He stops. Peering up for how he's practically nose deep into the bowl, he sees the man smile, and his eyes fold into little crescents. "What's your name? I feel like I'll see you here more often."
"Solid claim." Nicholas extends a hand. "I'm Nicholas."
"Euijoo," he pauses. "But if it's hard to pronounce, EJ is fine."
Nicholas smiles. "Euijoo is fine. It suits you."
"Thanks," Euijoo laughs. Wow it's so soft but bright. "Nicholas suits you too. You're an exchange student?"
"Yeah, I'm from Taiwan actually. Studying human nutrition."
"Kind of ironic for a human nutrition student to not like their vegetables, isn't it?" Euijoo jokes, removing his apron. Nicholas barks out a laugh. "How're you gonna promote healthy eating if the sight of an onion bothers you?" There's no malice in his comment, and he is kinda right.
"I condone and support individuals having personal preferences with their food choices. I can eat a cucumber but that's about it. You're the owner I assume?"
Euijoo waltzes to the door and turns the little signboard to "CLOSED". "Yeah, I am. One man show here, but I like it. Hidden and I get maybe 20 to 30 customers a day. It's slow."
He pauses for a moment as he scans the alcohol shelf. "Would you like a drink? On the house, of course."
Nicholas hesitates. "Thanks, but I actually have to continue studying once I'm done. Came out here just to get dinner."
He tries not to sound apologetic, and... Is he... pouting?
That's so fucking cute what the hell.
He lights up again, like a lightbulb turned on. "I can make you a mocktail. That is of course," he gestures to the gargantuan pink thing on the counter, "you can handle that much liquid in your stomach.
Frankly, he's getting full. In the midst of Euijoo closing up shop he's already undone the strings of his sweatpants. But the offer of a free drink tempts him.
"Oh what the hell, sure."
Euijoo grins. "Yay! I'm feeling like peach and... lychee. You cool with that?"
"Yeah, sure."
In a flurry of motions, Euijoo goes from mashing the fruit to shaking the canister. The sound of ice clacking against the metal is quite exciting.
The drink pours a light ivory colour with specks of peach (duh). He passes a considerably small glass to Nicholas, decorated with a mint leaf and a sugar rim but pours his own, the remaining, into a mug. It even has polka dots.
And once again, it tastes amazing.
"To be honest, I don't know you're doing all of it," Nicholas starts, downing the last of the soup. He'd usually leave slices of onion, but not a speckle is left.
Euijoo chuckles. "I'd better know what I'm doing if I've worked in food service for like, 10 years."
Nicholas' eyes bulge out of his skull. "Sorry, how many years?"
"Ten?" Euijoo says it so matter-of-factly, like he's merely stating how the sun rises and sets every day.
"How old are you? No offense."
"No offense taken." Euijoo pulls up a chair, taking another sip of his mocktail. He makes a self-impressed face, swirling the drink in his mug. "I'm turning 23 in a few months."
"You're the same age as me?" Nicholas can't believe it. "So you've been in food service since you were," a pause of mental arithmetic later, "thirteen?"
Euijoo nods. "My parents ran a diner, and I'd help them after school."
"That's crazy man. This is seriously really good I'm like, slightly distraught."
He laughs again, soft. "I'll take that as a compliment."
The conversation stills, and the rest of the night included Nicholas sipping on his (two!) drinks with beeabadoobe in the speakers. It's relaxing, far better than flashcard hell. He'd give the occassional compliment, and Euijoo would giggle, thanking him while he continued sipping. Eventually, the sound of the straw slurping fills the restaurant.
"That was amazing. Thank you," Nicholas says, grabbing his bag. "I should be heading out. Wouldn't want to hold you from closing."
Euijoo smiles. "It's alright. I'm in no rush. Plus, it's nice meeting new people. I appreciate your visit."
"Oh my god, are you kidding? That was, like, hands down the best meal of my two years here." He pauses, reaching for his wallet. "You take card right?"
With a beep of the machine and a small wave, Nicholas is back on the streets, the air cold but his stomach warm.
There is, however, a slight problem.
The shop is locked, his dorm is at least a 10 minute walk away, and he really, really needs the bathroom.