Work Text:
Lucy blinked at the manuscript in front of her and tried, for the third time, to remember if the protagonist’s ex was named Derek or Darren .
Her eyes ached. Her brain hurt. The fluorescent lights above buzzed in that quiet, insidious way that made her want to claw through the ceiling and pull the wires out herself.
She was pretty sure she hadn’t blinked properly in thirty minutes.
Somewhere in the building, a printer was jamming. Somewhere else, an intern was crying softly into their sleeve. And somewhere in the depths of her chest, Lucy’s soul was beginning to detach from her body.
The glamorous world of publishing.
Being a Junior Editor at L&L Publishing was supposed to mean something. Or it had, once. But after three rounds of rewrites from an author who didn’t believe in punctuation and two “urgent” meetings that could have been emails, Lucy was done.
Not the kind of done that meant quitting. Just the kind that meant: if I don’t get a chocolate bar in the next seven minutes, I might set this office on fire.
She checked the time in the corner of her screen. 3:11 PM. Her last fifteen-minute break had been scheduled for 1:00, but meetings had eaten that alive, and now her stomach was gnawing at itself like a feral raccoon.
She’d been thinking about that vending machine chocolate bar since before lunch. One of the good ones, with caramel and nougat and maybe a little bit of self-worth tucked into the wrapper. She didn’t even like chocolate that much, but today—today it felt like the only thing standing between her and a full mental collapse.
With great effort, Lucy leaned back in her chair. The synthetic upholstery squeaked beneath her, sharp and judgmental.
“I’m going,” she muttered, as if anyone could hear. “I’m taking my break. I dare someone to stop me.”
No one did.
So she stood, tugged the hem of her blazer straight, and made her way down the hall like a soldier marching to war—with vengeance in her eyes and vending machine chocolate in her heart.
The fluorescent lights buzzed above her as she rounded the corner, footsteps quick, purpose sharp.
The break room was mostly empty, thank god. Just the hum of the fridge, the scuffed floor tiles, and the holy grail of her afternoon: the vending machine. Rows of bright plastic packaging glinting behind glass. Her eyes locked on B2 instantly.
It was still there. The chocolate bar. Her chocolate bar. Caramel, nougat, and salvation in foil wrapping.
She dug into her purse with laser focus, fingers brushing past pens, receipts, loose change, until she found the exact coins she’d mentally set aside for this moment. She fed the coins into the slot one by one, the machine clunking like it hadn't had to work this hard since 2003.
She hit the button with reverence. B2. The chosen one.
Whir.
Click.
And then—nothing.
Lucy leaned forward. Squinted.
The chocolate bar had tilted forward… and gotten stuck. Wedged just so, caught between the spiral of metal and the edge of the drop tray. Dangling. Mocking.
She pressed the button again. Harder. Nothing.
“Unbelievable,” she whispered.
She gave the side of the machine a light smack. Nothing. Another, firmer one. Still nothing. The bar quivered slightly, enough to give her hope, then froze again.
“Oh, I see how it is,” she muttered, staring the machine down like it had insulted her bloodline. “This is personal.”
One more hit. Nothing. The bar remained just out of reach, suspended in evil.
Defeated—but with the smoldering dignity of a woman wronged—Lucy stepped back and pulled out her phone. Her fingers flew across the screen.
Lucy: this demon machine stole from me
Lucy: this is a crime. a betrayal. i will never recover
Lucy: anyway how are you
She hit send, then crossed her arms and glared at the chocolate bar like it might shame itself into falling. It didn’t.
Somewhere in the building, another printer jammed.
Lucy leaned against the counter and waited for Natsu to reply.
Natsu was mid-bite of leftover katsudon when his phone buzzed.
He blinked down at it, mouth still full, rice clinging to his cheek like a decorative sticker. The TV was playing some old martial arts movie in the background, volume too low to hear, but it didn’t matter. He’d seen it a dozen times. But then he saw the name on his screen.
Lucy.
And just like that, he was paying attention.
He picked it up with one sauce-slicked hand and opened the thread without thinking. Lucy never texted just to say hi.
Lucy: this demon machine stole from me
Lucy: this is a crime. a betrayal. i will never recover
Lucy: anyway how are you
Natsu stared at the middle text for a second longer than necessary.
A betrayal. I will never recover.
His chewing slowed. His brow furrowed.
He set the bowl down with purpose. No rush, no mess. This was a mission now.
Then he stood.
“Alright,” he said aloud, to no one but the room, “war it is.”
In one swift motion, he grabbed the roll of athletic tape off the coffee table and started wrapping his knuckles like he was about to enter a street brawl instead of… presumably confronting a vending machine.
Left hand. Right hand. Thumb loop. Even pressure. He’d learned from that one time he sprained his wrist trying to karate chop open a pickle jar for Cana.
By the time the tape was snug, he’d wrestled on a hoodie, slid into his sneakers, and was halfway to the door, phone in hand. He typed with his thumb as he walked.
Natsu: tell me where
Natsu: i will liberate your snack or die trying
He grabbed his keys, slammed the door behind him, and sprinted down the stairs like the fate of the world—and not an unidentified snack item—depended on it.
Because if it mattered to her, it mattered to him.
Simple as that.
Her phone buzzed barely a minute later.
Natsu: tell me where
Natsu: i will liberate your snack or die trying
Lucy stared at the screen, then let out a quiet snort, the kind that barely counted as a laugh. She shook her head.
Of course he took it personally. Of course he was matching her dramatics beat for beat like they were competing for a gold medal in vending machine vengeance.
Lucy: appreciate the bravery soldier
Lucy: it’s already too late for me
Lucy: tell my manuscript i loved it. lie if you must
She tucked the phone back into her blazer pocket with a faint smile—small, but real—then glanced at the machine one last time. The bar still taunted her from its clear glass cage, unmoved. Unapologetic.
“Coward,” she muttered, and turned away.
By the time she made it back to her desk, the glow of minor rebellion had worn off. The ache in her lower back had returned. The cursor on her screen blinked like it was mocking her for leaving in the first place.
She sat down, tugged her chair in, and cracked her knuckles. One slow inhale, one exhausted exhale.
Then she got back to work.
Same manuscript. Same chaos. Same ridiculous job.
She chipped away at it for the final stretch, dragging herself over the finish line with the grace of a half-dead typo gremlin. Most of her notes had been made. The last of the edits saved. Her inbox still looked like a warzone, but it could wait until tomorrow.
At 5:57 PM, she glanced at the time, drained the last cold sip from her mug, and stood with a sigh that came from somewhere near her soul.
She wasn’t even going to bother with more tea. She just wanted to rinse the mug, shove it in the office dishwasher, and escape the building with whatever fragments of her dignity had survived the day.
Almost free.
She grabbed her mug and headed for the break room, steps dragging but determined.
Halfway there, she heard it.
A loud thunk . Then another. Measured. Relentless.
Either a chair had collapsed or someone was losing a fight she didn’t want to get involved in.
Lucy slowed, eyes narrowing.
Another thud . Followed by a low growl. “Come on, you coward. Face me.”
She rounded the corner—and stopped dead in the doorway.
Natsu Dragneel stood in front of the vending machine. In her office break room. Wearing a hoodie, taped fists raised, eyes locked on the machine like it had killed his entire bloodline.
He looked ready to throw hands.
“WHERE’S THE CULPRIT,” he barked, addressing the machine with the full force of a man who had trained for this moment his entire life.
Lucy blinked. “Please tell me you didn’t break into my building.”
Natsu turned, his expression grim and noble like a knight answering a sacred summons. “You said you were betrayed. I came to restore your honor.”
“By boxing an appliance ?!”
He didn’t flinch. “That’s how justice works, Lucy.”
She stared at him. At the vending machine. At the taped hands. Then back at him.
And she didn’t know whether to laugh or call security.
Natsu narrowed his eyes at the vending machine like it was a boss battle and he was one move away from rage-quitting.
This thing had dared to steal from Lucy.
Lucy—who sent him unhinged texts in lowercase and still managed to sound classy.
Lucy—who was hanging on by a thread and just wanted a chocolate bar and five minutes of peace.
Lucy—who didn’t even know how much he liked hearing from her, even if it was just to rant about malfunctioning snack tech.
He wasn’t going to let her down.
He tightened the tape around his knuckles with one good pull, rolled his shoulders, and glared up at the stubborn plastic display.
“Alright. You wanna play dirty?” he muttered. “Let’s go.”
He gripped the sides of the vending machine and shook it . Nothing happened. Not even a rattle.
The thing may as well have been bolted to the Earth’s core.
Natsu stepped back and tried the classic method: one solid karate chop to the side.
He hit it dead-on, palm first.
Immediate regret.
“ Ow, ” he hissed, shaking out his hand. “Okay, that was mostly for intimidation.”
From behind him, Lucy let out a soft, incredulous, “Oh my god.”
But he wasn’t done.
Not yet.
He took two steps back, sized it up like a rugby tackle, and launched himself forward with the full momentum of a man who had absolutely not thought this through.
BAM.
His shoulder slammed into the side of the vending machine with a solid, echoing thud. For a second, the screen flickered. The machine let out a confused electronic beep, like it was trying to decide whether to break or comply.
And then—miraculously— clunk .
The chocolate bar fell.
Then another.
And another.
And then one more, like a final act of reluctant surrender.
He turned around slowly, like he hadn’t just body-checked an appliance in broad daylight, and held the chocolate bar out to her like it was a trophy he’d earned in combat.
“Told you I’d fix it,” he said, smug as hell.
She was just standing there. Staring at him like he’d grown a second head and painted it neon orange.
Her eyes dropped to the chocolate in his hand. Then to the vending machine. Then back to him.
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Then opened again.
She stepped forward and took the candy bar from him like it might bite her. Like she wasn’t sure if this was real. Like he was some kind of urban legend brought to life by chaos and too much caffeine.
For a second, she didn’t say anything. Just blinked at him, her brows drawn together in that way she did when she was either deeply confused or on the verge of quitting her job.
And then she said it—quietly, like she didn’t mean for it to come out loud.
“You are… completely unhinged.”
That made his grin widen. He didn’t even try to hide it.
Maybe he was. But she was holding the chocolate bar. Her shoulders had relaxed. And the corner of her mouth was twitching like she wanted to smile and didn’t quite know how to let it happen yet.
He tilted his head slightly, just enough to catch her eyes. “Yeah,” he said, voice light, chest warm. “But you’re smiling.”
From up close, Natsu looked way too pleased with himself.
Lucy stared down at the chocolate bar in her hand—the original one, the one she’d emotionally tethered herself to all afternoon—and tried to process the fact that he had actually showed up. Had actually taped his knuckles. Had actually shoulder-rammed a vending machine like that was a normal thing to do on a weekday.
And worse— it had worked.
She didn’t even have time to fully unpack it before the door swung open behind her.
Footsteps. Heavy. Professional.
Lucy turned just as one of the building’s security guards stepped into the room.
He paused in the doorway, frowning slightly. His eyes moved from the vending machine—now visibly emptier and missing several snacks—to Natsu, standing in front of it with taped fists like a man who’d just finished a sparring round. Then to Lucy, who was holding one candy bar like it might incriminate her, frozen mid-step with the wide-eyed guilt of someone who’d just been accidentally dragged into a crime scene.
He didn’t say anything. Just stared at her. Calm. Professional. Assessing.
Her brain short-circuited.
And before she could stop herself—before her tired, overcaffeinated, dignity-deprived body could even consider a better option—her mouth moved.
“He’s my boyfriend.”
The words hung there.
Sharp. Clear. Inescapable.
Even Natsu turned his head slightly, eyebrows lifted like really?
The guard blinked. His face didn’t change, but Lucy could feel the mental filing system behind his eyes reshuffling itself in real time.
Her heart pounded. She tried to look relaxed. Casual. As if this was a completely normal thing, to have a hoodie-clad boyfriend body-slamming snack machines in your break room.
The guard’s expression remained unreadable. He looked from her to Natsu and back again. Slowly. As if he was deciding whether to call for backup or just go home early.
Then, finally, with the bone-deep exasperation of someone underpaid for this exact kind of nonsense, he said, “...Right.”
A pause.
“Carry on.”
And then he turned around and walked right back out.
Lucy did not breathe until the door clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
Lucy did not breathe.
The silence stretched.
Lucy still hadn’t moved. Her hand was clutching the chocolate bar like it might anchor her to reality. Her brain had not caught up with her mouth. Her mouth, for the record, had betrayed her spectacularly.
She could feel Natsu looking at her.
And sure enough, a beat later, he scratched the back of his neck and said, “I mean… only if you want.”
Her head whipped toward him.
“What?”
He gave her a small shrug, not cocky, not teasing—just Natsu, standing there with his hoodie slightly crooked and the remains of his vending machine battle scattered at his feet.
“I’m just saying,” he went on, more casual than any person who’d just been falsely identified as someone’s boyfriend had the right to be, “you didn’t have to say it. So like… if you wanted to, that’s cool. But no pressure.”
Lucy opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Then—finally, stupidly, hopelessly—“I panicked.”
Natsu smiled, easy and warm. “Yeah. I got that.”
Lucy turned away quickly, hoping the motion would disguise the heat rushing up her neck. The mug in her hand felt suddenly too light, too obvious, but she crossed the room anyway and opened the office dishwasher like that was the most important task in the universe.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, she peeled the wrapper from the chocolate bar—slow, mechanical, like her fingers needed something to do besides shake.
She took a bite. Just a small one. Just to ground herself.
The caramel stuck a little to the roof of her mouth. Too sweet. Too soft. Exactly what she needed.
Behind her, Natsu’s voice dropped a little, like he wasn’t quite joking anymore.
“Okay,” he said, quieter now. “But like… hypothetically. If you didn’t panic… would you still call me that?”
She froze. Not dramatically, not all at once—but in that subtle way where every part of her paused just under the surface.
She didn’t turn around.
Didn’t answer right away.
Couldn’t.
Not with her heart caught somewhere in her chest and her brain trying to reboot and the weight of his question settling just behind her ribs like a warm, smug little fire.
She took another bite of chocolate. Slower, this time.
And she wasn’t sure yet.
But she didn’t hate the idea.
Not even a little.
Natsu watched her carefully, the silence stretching just enough to make his heart tap the inside of his ribs like a warning.
She didn’t turn around.
Didn’t say anything.
She just bit into the chocolate bar like it had something to tell her, slow and thoughtful, like the question still hung in the air between them and she hadn’t decided what to do with it yet.
He didn’t press. He didn’t need to.
Because she hadn’t said no.
She didn’t say anything else after that. Just folded the half-eaten chocolate bar back into its wrapper and nodded toward the hallway like the whole vending machine incident hadn’t just rearranged his entire brain.
He followed her without needing to be asked.
They walked side by side, her shoulder brushing his now and then, her footsteps lighter than before. She held what was left of the chocolate bar in one hand like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t literally shoulder-checked a machine to get it for her.
He didn’t mind carrying the extras—three more he’d stuffed into his hoodie pocket like some kind of snack-smuggler. Souvenirs from battle.
Lucy’s desk sat near the far wall, covered in notes and red pens and more paper than he thought one person could reasonably be expected to manage. She grabbed her bag and coat, moving through the motions with that quiet, bone-deep kind of tired he recognized in himself sometimes. The kind that caffeine didn’t fix.
And then she looked at him. No hesitation, just— asked.
“Wanna get dinner? My treat. Since you… you know. Saved my honor.”
He tried not to smile too wide.
Tried. Failed.
“Only if I get to pick dessert.”
She narrowed her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. “Fine. But no vending machines.”
“What, you afraid we’ll battle again?”
Lucy pulled her bag onto her shoulder, shaking her head like she was regretting everything and maybe kind of enjoying it anyway. “I’m afraid you’ll propose to the gumball machine.”
He laughed, loud and unfiltered, and followed her toward the elevator, matching her pace without thinking.
And yeah—he probably would propose to a gumball machine.
But only if Lucy agreed to officiate.