Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Some people said Gavin Reed was lucky.

Not a lot of people could brag that at a relatively young age of thirty-six, they had won the World Barista Championship and owned a coffee shop successful enough to be included in any decent food critic's itinerary when they visited this side of Detroit.

"Gavin's coffee in the morning, then lunch at Chef Carl Manfred's bistro, dinner at Jericho's Diner, and then drinks at Bar Anderson."

Any decent coffee enjoyer would admit that the reputation was well-deserved.

Not only because of the coffee, but also because of Gavin Reed himself.

Ambitious to a fault, Gavin was determined to always improve his skills, not once turning lax just because he had won awards in the past. If anything, the reputation was added pressure for him.

His loyal patrons would always make fun of his dark under-eyes, teasing that he should try sleeping instead of drinking his own espresso. Some of them would even bring him some herbal tonic and sleeping pills to make their point.

That's another key to the café's success. Gavin knew how to keep his loyal customers. He remembered each and every person, from their names to their specific tastes. And the coffee's atmosphere was always warm, as he treated his customers like family.

"Best cappuccino in the state, Gav," Chris Miller said one morning, taking his usual order before going to his shift.

"The state?" Gavin gasped exaggeratedly. "Fuuuck, my ears aren't working properly. You said 'best cappuccino in the country', right? Or was it 'the world'?"

Chris laughed. "Careful now. You know what they say about arrogance."

Gavin grinned and slid the tantalizing cup of cappuccino over.

"Not arrogance if it's the truth."

Many genuinely enjoyed bantering with the barista like this, so some cynics would say that the café only flourished due to his charm, and admittedly he was a good-looking man.

Some also whispered that his success must have been influenced by his ties to the Kamski name-- being the son of the tech mogul's mistress, growing up with his half-brother Elijah Kamski, the boy genius who ended up starting his own multi-million dollar company.

Surely the Kamskis had handed him the shop on a silver platter, they would murmur.

But that was further from the truth. Gavin Reed worked hard to practice his craft, day and night. He climbed up to world-class competitions and secured investors on his own. The café was filled with news clippings and printed articles to show the world that this shop was fully his. He even refused to use the name Kamski, preferring to honor his late mother by using her surname.

Still it annoyed him sometimes that the critically acclaimed Elijah Kamski himself liked to hang around, including this morning. Didn't help with the accusations.

"You're scaring my customers, Eli," Gavin scoffed. "Don't you have your own fucking office or something?"

Elijah sipped his caffè latte and continued sketching something on a notebook, his laptop and tablet also open in front of him. "Your coffee gets my brain juices going. And I'm not scaring them, Gavin. I'm giving your café credibility."

Gavin shuddered. "Credibility, my ass. Like my trophies and those news clippings don't count for shit."

Elijah would only smile, enigmatic as ever. He turned to his half-brother and nodded to one of the posters. "You still have that ridiculous thing up?"

Gavin turned to the poster in question.

Black words printed on a plain white paper, a contrast to the rest of the café's retro-vintage interior, stating in all caps:

FUCK MATCHA.

Another sign in front of the store also said:

Matcha drinkers not permitted. This is a coffee establishment. Respect the beans.

Gavin looked proud as ever. "It's a public service announcement, Eli. People deserve to know."

Chris, still enjoying his cappuccino, shook his head. "Here we go again…"

"Matcha," Gavin declared, "is pretentious wet grass, overpriced to take advantage of people who think they're being cool but are only riding on a trend. It's tea trying to be coffee. It's businessmen preying on the crowd."

"You're being dramatic," Elijah shrugged.

"I'm being fuckin' honest."

"You act like matcha is a threat to national security," Chris chuckled.

"Maybe because it is??" Gavin snapped. "The texture's all wrong, the color's like swamp water, and don't even get me started on how people convinced themselves that it's healthy because it's 'green'. It messes with your iron absorption too!"

"Only if you drink it excessively Gav, you know, like how drinking coffee excessively can mess with your heart rate and nerves…" Chris replied quietly.

"Come on, Chris, back me up!" Gavin threw his hands in the air. "I thought you're my loyal customer and friend, man."

"I am," the man snickered, "so I know when to stop you when you're going over the top."

Gavin huffed, but said no more. Another customer had walked in and needed his full attention.

In any case, nothing would change his mind. Not even if an angel came down from heaven and handed him a cup of matcha.

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--

The plane touched down at Detroit Metro safely, and the arrivals hall was crowded as always. People gathered to welcome their loved ones, and occasional shouts of joy could be heard when they found the ones they had been waiting for.

Connor barely noticed. He stepped through the gate with a slim suitcase trailing behind him, posture immaculate despite the long flight from Narita. He had missed Detroit, being born and raised there. But the past three years for his masters in culinary studies in Tokyo was an experience he wouldn't trade for anything. He had learned from the top experts on various Japanese delicacies, each recipe and technique filled with hundreds, even thousands of years of heritage.

He looked forward to meeting his brothers again-- his twin brother Conan and his younger brother Conrad-- and to fulfilling his dream: opening an authentic matcha shop in Detroit.

"Connor!"

The voice was unmistakeable, and Connor's lips formed a rare, genuine smile.

Conan waved wildly, tall enough to be spotted even in the sea of people. He looked the same as ever-- face exactly like his own, even the freckles.

Right beside him was Conrad, skin slightly paler and built slightly taller, he could pass for another twin if it weren't for those features and his gray-blue eyes.

He was holding a sign with the Spongebob rainbow meme printed on it, with a sad-looking sharpie cancelling out what the sign originally said:

GAY IS OKAY

WELCOME BACK BROTHER

Connor choked. "What the hell, Nines…" he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Nines-- that was Conrad's nickname from the time he was a Quarterback in high school-- only shrugged. "It's Sixty's idea".

Conan, nicknamed Sixty, also from the time he played football, grinned.

"Got your attention, didn't we?"

"You couldn't just write 'Welcome back' like a normal person? Without the Spongebob meme? Or even better-- don't write anything?"

"We wanted something special," Nines said, pulling his brother to a hug.

Sixty joined the hug with a sudden jump, almost making the three of them fall.

"Sixty!" Connor exclaimed. "Mind your strength. We're not kids anymore."

"Mmm shut up," the younger twin replied, burying himself in the hug. In the past, he would fight with Connor the most, and there was even a time where their relationship was so bad they didn't talk. But now, they were as solid as ever. Still annoying though.

Connor sighed, then ruffled his siblings' heads. "I'm home, brothers."

After a while, they all broke free and started chattering like they used to as they walked to get Connor's suitcases from the baggage carousel.

"So… Anything new while I was away?"

"Many things! Markus opened Jericho's Diner and it's one of the best in town," Sixty explained.

"Even made it to the Michelin guide," Nines added. "There's an article raving about how the son of Chef Carl Manfred didn't disappoint."

Connor smiled, happy for his childhood friend. "You did it, Markus…"

After Sixty and Nines helped Connor with the suitcases to their car, Connor settled nicely in the backseat, drawing a deep breath as he rested his back. "You both had your dinner?" he asked.

"Of course. You arrived at almost midnight, man," Sixty turned back from the passenger seat, Nines on the wheel.

"Have you eaten?" Nines asked, stealing a glance from the rearview mirror.

"Yes. Though the airplane food was rather unsatisfactory."

His two brothers chuckled at how polite their older brother could be. "Rather unsatisfactory" meant "it fucking sucks", but such words would never escape his mouth.

"We're going straight home?" Connor asked.

Sixty shook his head. "Hank insisted we drag you to the bar first. Proper Detroit welcome, he said. And he bet the plane food was not up to par for your refined tastes."

Connor smiled fondly. Hank was like a father to all three of them, especially after they lost their parents. They had all helped out at Hank's bar once they were of age, and that was when culinary business attracted them. At least for Connor and Sixty, as Nines was happier with a tech career.

"I could use some proper Detroit welcome."

With that, the brothers headed toward Hank's bar.

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__

Bar Anderson felt like second home to the brothers. This bar used to be a speakeasy during the Prohibition era, and the great irony was how it was run by a family of detectives and law enforcement. The wood-paneled walls, the neon signs that had been there since the 80s, the jukebox that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't, it was all the same as when Connor had left.

The only difference were the touchscreen panels, now decorating the wall with a slideshow of the different kinds of alcohol and their flavor profiles.

Hank Anderson was not someone who was quick to jump on any technological advancements. It took him forever even to adapt to the electronic payment system last time, he only did when the brothers had pushed him to, so this was a surprise to Connor.

The moment the brothers stepped in, Hank was already waiting, leaning at the counter.

"'Bout damn fucking time." He stepped forward, pulling Connor into a hug. "Three years in Japan and you came back lookin' like you stepped outta Vogue. Did you go there to learn modelling or somethin'?"

Connor laughed-- Hank was one of the few people who could draw a genuine laughter for him. "It's good to see you too, Hank." He looked around. "Where's Sumo?"

"At my house. Why the fuck would I bring him to the bar? Three years not seeing me and you asked where my dog is?"

Connor chuckled, and Hank shook his head. The older man called out to the bartender working on her shift.

"Hey Kara, four shots here please."

"Right away, Hank," the silver-haired young woman replied, getting the order with practiced ease.

"Shots?" Connor stared, eyes wide. "Hank, I just came back. Wouldn't want to be drunk senseless my first night here."

Hank brushed it off. "Luther, tell Ralph in the kitchen to make the buffalo wings and fries," he spoke to a tall, dark-skinned man whose voice was gentle in contrast to his looks.

"Of course, Hank," he said before disappearing to the kitchen.

Connor looked around. "New staff, huh? Your bar's growing, Hank. I should probably introduce myself to all of them later."

"Eh," the bar owner shrugged, "gotta keep with the times. Old man like me can't handle everything alone."

They raised their shot glasses.

"To coming back home," Hank started.

"To Connor," Nines continued.

"To the best damn food in Detroit," Sixty added.

"To family," Connor ended.

They all shook his head and laughed under their breaths, someone commenting how sappy Connor was, but they clinked their glasses anyway and cheered.

The night continued with a lot of banter and exchanges of old memories. They had settled into their usual booth, munching on food that satisfied Connor after whatever he had to put up with in the plane, beer coming pint after pint.

As they all loosened up, Connor finally spoke up about what had been on his mind.

"Do you all remember about what I said before? Opening a matcha shop here? I brought back tools, recipes, everything I learned. Detroit deserves to taste real matcha, none of those sugary nonsense."

Sixty raised a brow, smirking around his beer. "I'm ready to support you. Just say the word. When you're ready to start, I'll throw in my two-week notice."

"Are you sure, Six? Aren't you working in a prestigious hotel lounge?" Connor questioned, taking a fry.

"Eh," Sixty shrugged, eating the fry off Connor's hand. "The new manager's a fucking buffoon. Storms in like he owns the place, but he knows jack shit about accounting. Everyone on my team's resigning soon."

"Wasn't he the one who got blacklisted from this bar?" Nines recalled.

Hank grunted. "Perkins, that fucking cocksucker. Got drunk as an ape and started throwing insults at my regulars. Luther hurled him out, picked him up like a fuckin' baby."

He chuckled at the memory, and then turned his attention to Connor. "You sure you wanna open a matcha shop? You ready to fight people who run on coffee and Stroh's?"

"I don't intend to fight," Connor smiled patiently, "I intend to educate. Real matcha is an art form, you see. It's a heritage that deserves respect. I want people from my hometown to experience the beauty."

Nines, more grounded, leaned forward. "Have you scouted any locations yet?"

Connor shook his head. "Not yet. That's where I need your help. You three know this city more than me in the past three years. Where would be a good place?"

Hank thought for a while. "There's a row of shops down a few streets from here. One just got vacated. Good foot traffic, near offices and a university. Damn good spot."

Connor's eyes lit up. "Sounds perfect."

Hank didn't look as excited. "Only problem is… it's right across Reed's place."

Sixty snorted. "Oh shit. That café? This I gotta see."

Connor tilted his head. "Reed?"

"Gavin Reed. He won the World Barista Championship two years ago and opened his café there," Hank replied before chugging the rest of his pint. "Best coffee shop in town, if I have to be honest. Cocky asshole, that guy, but he talks shit 'cause he can back it up."

"Then what's the problem? It's even more strategic, isn't it? People who pass by will notice a new shop, and maybe they'll try out my matcha."

Sixty's grin widened. "I don't think it's that simple."

"We'll have breakfast there tomorrow. It's worth it, the coffee's excellent, and their bacon and eggs go really well with it," Nines sipped his beer calmly.

Connor didn't like to be kept in the dark, but there was no way he could pry the truth from his brothers.

"Fine," he sighed. "Breakfast at Reed's tomorrow."

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--

Connor was too tired from the flight to search the internet about the mysterious coffee shop.

Now that the brothers were standing in front of the establishment, with the glaring Matcha drinkers not permitted sign, Connor suddenly understood why his siblings and Hank were so secretive last night.

"This is what you both wanted to show me?" he asked, his tone neutral but his eyes were hiding calm fury.

Sixty was struggling to hold his laughter. "There's a better sign inside. You have to see it yourself. Gavin pasted it personally."

"The breakfast is really good," Nines reminded. "Please, Connor. You have to try it. At least if it's bad, you can have the last laugh."

Connor sighed, but he had promised his brothers. And he wouldn't back out on a promise.

He walked in, bells jingling as the door opened. The café was warm and inviting, decorated in retro-vintage style. Leather seats, brass lamps casting a soft glow, old concert posters framed on the walls.

The air smelled of freshly ground beans and caramelized sugar, the hiss of coffee machine blending with soft rock tunes-- enough to wake people up, but not to dominate their conversations.

Connor's sharp nose could smell that all of the ingredients used were fresh and high-quality. And the room temperature was just right.

He could almost forgive this place if it wasn't for the sign, mocking him behind the cashier, a stain in the beautifully decorated place:

FUCK MATCHA.

He mustered all his self-control to not leap behind the register and rip out that hideous paper.

"Any recommendations?" Connor asked, voice tight.

The cashier, a bright-eyed man with red hair and an earnest smile, beamed. "Welcome! First time here? My name is Jerry. I recommend our house blend or the cappuccino. Both customer favorites."

Before Connor could reply, a new voice cut in. "Who do we got here?"

A man emerged from the back. Dark hair, gray eyes, sleeves rolled up, confidence in every step. He recognized Sixty and Nines, eyes lighting up.

"Hey Sixty. Nines," he greeted.

His gaze landed on Connor.

"Gavin Reed," he offered his hand with casual ease. "Owner here. I like to know everyone who walks through my doors."

Connor shook his hand politely, although his eyes were guarded.

"Connor. I'm Sixty's twin, and Nines' older brother."

Gavin grinned at Sixty. "Haven't seen you in a while, asshole. You still take your espresso with two sugars?"

"Yup," Sixty said, grinning back.

"And Nines," the café owner continued, "flat white, oat milk?"

Nines nodded. "Correct."

Connor was quietly impressed. He didn't expect this gruff-looking man to remember such small details. But he was secretly annoyed that his siblings were friendly with a matcha hater.

"My brother has a sensitive tongue," Sixty spoke, trying to sound nonchalant. "He just got back from studying masters in Japan. Culinary arts. Trained under famous chefs there. He wants to open a shop soon."

"Oh?"

"And," Sixty added with a smirk, "he's certified in mat--"

"Give me your best menu item, please," Connor cut in. "I heard your shop's gained quite a reputation in the past two years."

He was smiling politely, but Gavin couldn't help thinking that his words sounded like a challenge. The world-class barista nodded, already making his way to his work station and smirked.

"I'll make you my signature caffè latte. Any request for the latte art? Something you like?"

Connor thought for a moment. What's a difficult one?

"I like dogs."

Gavin nodded, didn't seem troubled. Then he got to work.

The brothers gave the rest of their breakfast orders to Jerry and paid, then took a seat.

As Gavin prepared his order, Connor watched him meticulously, as if trying to spot any miniscule mistake.

The way Gavin's hands moved was deliberate, practiced. Grinding, tamping, steaming, not a single wasted movement. Connor noticed from the callouses of his hands that he must have practiced a lot.

Shit. He's good.

Connor continued to watch despite himself, and he indignantly noticed how good-looking Gavin was, eyebrows furrowed and mouth set in concentration, forearm muscles exposed with each movement.

"Ridiculous," Connor thought sharply. "Don't fall for it, Connor. Now you see. This café is crowded because a man with above-average looks run it. That must be it. He's not even that handsome."

The hiss of the steam wand filled the air. He poured the milk in a beautiful motion, and from the looks of it, he was crafting the dog latte art Connor had requested. After a while, Gavin looked satisfied.

"Your caffè latte," he personally brought out the cup, something he liked to do with new customers.

Connor recognized the latte art instantly. Round head, blunt snout, floppy ears, eyes that looked tired yet full of love. The Saint Bernard that he longed to meet these past three years. It wasn't just cute. It was a testament to Gavin's technical mastery.

Sixty broke into laughter. "Holy shit. That's Sumo!"

Nines glanced and shamelessly took a picture.

Gavin shrugged. "I know you guys are close to Hank. I saw him walking his dog sometimes. Thought you might appreciate it."

"What do you say, Connor?" Sixty asked, clearly trying to cook some drama.

Connor adjusted his posture, pretending to study it with professional indifference.

"Acceptable," he said.

Gavin smirked. "Tough crowd."

He went back to his work station to conjure Sixty and Nines' coffee orders.

Meanwhile, their bacon and eggs arrived.

The smell alone was enough to pull Connor out of his fortress for a second. Rich, smoky, warm. The eggs were cooked just the way he liked it-- whites barely set and jiggling, yolks gleaming as if they were yellow lava. As Connor cut into it, it spilled against the crisp edges of the bacon beautifully. Each strip was a perfect balance of chew and crunch, and it was a perfect marriage with the toast, buttered just enough for it to have a crispy, salty crust without sacrificing the bread's structure.

The taste was even better than it looked. A myriad of flavors exploded in his tongue, though not the type that would tire out your receptors after only a few bites.

Umami. So simple yet so complex.

It was probably the best breakfast Connor had ever had, and having spent the last three years of his life in a country known for its obsession with quality, in addition to being born with a sensitive tongue and nose, this wasn't an opinion that came easily.

Then Connor tentatively lifted the cup of coffee that had been sitting on the side, expecting nothing but a standard latte.

But the first sip moved his world.

The bitterness of the coffee was there, but not overwhelming. Like velvet on his tongue. There was a note of dark chocolate and caramel, which confused him because he knew that those things weren't in the ingredients. The milk was very smooth, as if it belonged with the coffee beans from the moment it sprouted.

Connor hated how good it was.

His expression remained polite and neutral, but he was seething inside. Both from how good it tasted, and also the kind of establishment and the barista who were able to make such a masterpiece.

"Food this good doesn't deserve to be served by such a ruffian," he thought.

As they were finishing their food, Gavin returned to their table, as it was common for him to chat with his guests if it wasn't busy. Luckily, the brothers had arrived earlier than the usual breakfast rush.

"Well?" Gavin asked, arms crossed and leaning on a wall. "What's the verdict?"

Connor dabbed his mouth with the napkin. "Competent."

"That's all?" the barista smirked. "I've had critics call this life-changing."

"Well it's… certainly not bad," Connor continued carefully, trying his best not to gaze at the direction of the cashier, with that goddamn FUCK MATCHA poster taunting every cell in his being.

"I'll take that," Gavin shrugged.

He checked in with Sixty and Nines, who gave him the praises that he was looking for. Mostly from Nines, as he was fine with both coffee and matcha. But Sixty enjoyed Matcha more, and he knew that if Connor got into a bad mood, he would be the one dealing with it more than Nines. So this time he limited his compliments.

Gavin went back to Connor.

"So, Japan was it? You studied food there?"

"Culinary arts," Connor answered politely. "Specifically on wagashi sweets and…"

He hesitated. "…ceremonial beverages."

Connor was pissed that he couldn't even mention "matcha" in front of this man.

But why? Not that he was going to be arrested if he did? Connor wondered if Japanese politeness had affected him too much.

"Well, my brothers like this place," he thought. "I shouldn't ruin this for them."

But just when he thought he was in control, Gavin just had to say it.

"I hope that they didn't force you to drink that matcha shit."

That did it.

Connor gave the most saccharine look ever-- the kind that informed Sixty and Nines that Connor was about to lose it.

"What exactly is your problem with matcha, actually?"

Gavin pushed off the wall, ready to go into his usual anti-matcha speech.

"Where do I even start?" He lifted his shoulders dramatically. "It tastes like grass, it looks like grass, it smells like grass. It's a fucking overpriced swamp juice, a tool used by greedy businessmen to ride on trends and fads to thicken their own pockets."

"Have you ever thought that maybe the matcha that you've had is not authentic? Not well-made? Not prepared with regard to tradition and heritage?"

"Cut all that crap," Gavin mocked, "how can you have different tastes when it's just leaves turned into powder?"

"Maybe like how coffee can have different qualities when different beans are used and different hands make it? Something that can easily be learned if you leave your own backyard for once."

Gavin's smile faltered. Then a glint showed in his eyes. "I see," he began, "you're one of those pretentious matcha pricks, aren't you?"

"And you are one of those judgmental coffee minions who look through things through your limited looking glass," Connor replied.

Gavin stepped forward, a dangerous look on his face. "Are you saying coffee-drinkers are narrow-minded?"

Connor stood up, meeting Gavin. "I'm saying you are narrow-minded, Gavin."

The morning crowd was starting to form, but the few people queuing at the register were silently listening to the drama unfolding. Even Jerry had to pause from taking an order, the customer in front of him standing quietly, fully invested.

"Should we stop them?" Sixty whispered.

"I thought you wanted to see this," Nines muttered back.

"Yeah, true. But they wouldn't have a fist fight here, would they?"

"…I don't know."

The two men stared for a moment, like they were preparing for a boxing match.

Gavin scoffed. "Okay, smartass. You talk big for someone who couldn't even admit that my coffee was good. Grass water didn't prepare you for a real drink?"

"Your coffee was average, at best," Connor said, lying, "I thought your sensitive little heart couldn't handle the truth, given that--" he nodded to the poster, "--you needed to ease your insecurity by trampling on the very things you don't have: discipline, respect, precision, heritage."

Gavin barked a laugh. "That's rich, coming from someone who knows jack shit about creating something people will fucking love and be loyal to."

He continued, stepping forward. "Go on then, Matcha Boy. Show me. Your grass drink won't last a day in this part of town."

Connor smiled, but his eyes were filled with anger. "Challenge accepted."

With that, he turned his back on Gavin and stormed toward the door, Sixty scrambled to grab his coat and followed.

Nines lingered behind and stole a glance at Gavin, who was scowling now and giving him a dirty look.

"Your brother's a fuckin' prick, Nines," he hissed. "I know you love him but fuck, I knew he's a pretentious asshole from the first second I saw him."

Nines wasn't offended. He partly knew that was just how Gavin spoke, and he also knew that Connor was being dishonest. Both of them were at fault, really.

But he just smiled, amused and unbothered. "Just be careful, Gavin," he said calmly. "You just declared war on a man who's scarier when polite than most people are when angry."

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--

A few weeks had passed since that incident, and Gavin had almost forgotten about it as the café got busier due to the holidays, along with him attending events and running workshops.

But Gavin arrived just in time one morning to see the newly renovated store opposite his shop revealing its new sign, written in bold and crisp neo-Japanese style:

良家族 RYO KAZOKU

Matcha and Wagashi House

He stared at the sign as if it had committed war crimes.

"What the fuck--"

He didn't finish whatever he was about to say as Connor arrived, surveying the storefront with quiet pride.

Gavin was seething when Connor called out from across the street.

"Want a real drink? First one's on the house."

The barista felt like he wanted to lunge at Connor and punch him in the gut.

But he still had enough self-control and reputation to stop him from doing that. Instead, he just scowled, flipped him the finger, and he stomped inside.

Connor shrugged, a rare smug smile forming on his face.

"Have a nice day, Gavin Reed. While it lasts."

He entered his shop, ready to take Detroit by storm.

a few weeks later…

The popularity of Ryo Kazoku Matcha and Wagashi House-- or simply RK Matcha-- was through the roof.

It wasn't just popular. It was viral.

Within weeks, the place had been reviewed by multiple Detroit food critics, and even some from out of state. The articles agreed: it was the new spot. Social media exploded with photos of pastel-colored wagashi plated like works of art, influencers raving about them being "the health-conscious plant-based alternative to sweets", and also videos of emerald matcha being whisked with perfect precision.

Another highlight was also Connor himself. He became an icon, both for his quiet charm and encyclopedic knowledge about Japanese tea. Customers went crazy for how he explained the differences between hojicha, matcha, and sencha, while serving them the wagashi sweets he had shaped himself.

Sixty played a crucial role in this, as he handled the shop's account and social media, always quick with playful captions and behind-the-scene videos. Capturing Connor's best angles and even making questionable edits that garnered hundreds of thousands of views-- one even reached a million views.

Many were hooked by "the hot Matcha brothers" and their interactions, and a lot of fans would frequently visit the place just to see if they were lucky to catch all three brothers at the same time, as Nines was busy with his own job most of the time, so catching him there with his brothers was like a jackpot.

"People now are saying that this completes the Detroit food experience," Chris pointed out one day, scrolling on his social media. "Breakfast at Reed's, lunch at Carl Manfred's bistro… tea time at RK Matcha, dinner at Jericho's, and then finish the night with drinks at Bar Anderson."

"Lucky," Tina Chen, Gavin's childhood friend, chimed in. "Glad that it's not seen as a replacement to your breakfast. Right, Gav?"

Gavin was wiping his counter too aggressively.

"As if some fucking grass drink could replace my coffee," he muttered.

"Don't be a grumpy cat, Gav," she teased with a smirk that made Gavin's blood boil, "I went there a few days ago, and it was really good. It's authentic-- almost like the matcha you will get in Kyoto itself."

Gavin gaped in disbelief. He pointed at his FUCK MATCHA poster and Matcha drinkers not allowed sign.

"Oh come on, what are you gonna do? Kick out your best friend from your shop?" Tina continued with an innocent smile.

"I'll kick traitors out," Gavin muttered, still glaring at her. But he said nothing more. He distracted himself by working on an order, but the way he grabbed the pitcher tightly and almost broke a cup from putting it on the counter too hard revealed how much this had affected him.

Then a young couple came up to the counter, new faces, and Gavin did his usual routine-- introduce himself, memorize their faces and coffee preferences, and answered their questions expertly.

"Absolutely. Different regions produce coffee beans with different flavor profiles," he explained happily. "For example, Brazilian coffee beans are known to be nutty and sweet, even spicy or citrusy. Whereas Indonesian beans are bold and smoky, ideal for dark roasts-- stronger flavor, but less caffeine."

He continued to impress and satisfy the two new customers by addressing all their questions, also sharing some anecdotes and stories, which had entertained them very much by the time they were finished with their drink.

"This is awesome!" the woman said to her husband. "The best coffee I've ever tasted. I'm so glad we moved to this place, right dear?"

"Oh yeah. The shops around here are no joke. That barista's an expert, just like that Connor guy at the matcha shop--"

"Shh!"

The wife glared at him, nodding at the FUCK MATCHA sign, and he shut up. But the damage was done.

Gavin pretended not to hear them, but his jaw clenched so tight it ached.

"Connor this, Connor that," he fumed. Fucking matcha boy probably was just flirting with his customers or something.

This was the last straw. Time for Gavin to take action.

His café's going to be closed for one day for an annual maintenance. Perfect time to check out what the fad was all about, just to prove people wrong.

Even if he had to wear a disguise.

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__

"Welcome to Ryo Kazoku!"

Sixty welcomed customers cheerfully as he manned the register that day. Where Connor was the calming presence, he brought energy to the place.

Today though, his cheeky smile was mixed with confusion.

A man, dressed in layers though it was a hot day, walked in. It was obvious that he wore a wig under his baseball cap, and he also wore shades and a mask.

Very suspicious.

"…How can I help you?" Sixty asked, wary. Hands hovering over the silent alarm in case the man pointed a gun.

But the mysterious man grunted.

"I know jack shit about this," the mysterious man, Gavin, choked out under his mask. "Just give me what's good."

"Of course. We have our signature Zen Garden Set, where you can taste different kinds of authentic Japanese tea, and it comes with our home-made wagashi sweets. Sounds good for you?"

Gavin grunted again, which Sixty took as a yes.

"Alright… thanks for your payment… and you're all set. You're lucky, our store's not that crowded today. We've got our regular tables and chairs, tatami mats on that other side if you wanna go traditional, also bean bags on that corner. Or…"

He gestured at the counter, where Connor was preparing his tools upon receiving the order.

"…Front row seat at the matcha show."

It wasn't a hard decision. Gavin strolled purposefully to the counter, sliding into a stool, and glared at Connor, who nodded at him with a smile and confused eyes.

Gavin looked at the interior, eyes scouring for details he could mock.

The walls were lined with framed certificates from a prestigious Japanese culinary school and tea associations, gleaming medals, also photographs of Connor smiling alongside world-renowned chefs-- some even Gavin recognized from culinary magazines. The decor was clean but cozy, a mixture of modern simplicity and rich tradition. The faint scent of tea leaves mixed with sweet wagashi in the air, in a way that says "you're home".

Everything was so perfect that it pissed Gavin off. He turned his attention to the obnoxious matcha shop owner, finding cracks in his little act.

Instead he couldn't look away.

Connor's hands were steady, precise, and graceful in the way he whisked the matcha into a vivid green froth. And Gavin knew exactly that he was watching someone with hundreds of hours of training, seeping through his confident yet fluid movements.

And what captured Gavin's attention the most was how Connor was smiling slightly while doing it. He looked like a man falling in love for the first time, even though he had been doing this forever. The soft gaze in his brown eyes showed the care he put into his craft.

The bastard even made shaping wagashi look easy, folding the soft dough into a delicate flower. Gavin knew damn well it wasn't easy-- like his own latte art. That kind of skill only came with discipline and sleepless nights.

When Connor placed the set, it was like looking at a garden of flowers and various shades of green on his plate. Fitting was the name "Zen Garden".

The tea master tilted his head slightly, a polite smile tugging at his lips.

"You might want to take your mask off," he suggested.

But the disguised barista was stubborn. "…No."

Connor nodded politely and explained the different kinds of tea being served-- hojicha, sencha, matcha, and a few others-- each from different regions of Japan, prepared in different ways. Gavin tried to trap him with difficult questions, but Connor was able to answer them all with ease.

"The sencha is light," Connor explained, "this is what people commonly have in mind when they think of Japanese green tea. The one you had before this was the hojicha-- the leaves were roasted first, hence it had that smoky taste. The genmaicha also has a smoky taste, but it comes from the roasted rice mixed into the tea leaves."

Gavin lifted his mask awkwardly every time he took a sip, making him look very cartoonish. Connor had to look away to hold his laughter.

He tried the wagashi, expecting it to taste too sweet for his liking. But, fuck, it was perfect. It's subtle and refined, and matched the tea very well. He wanted to hate it, but he couldn't. Gavin's own palate was too honest to do that.

Connor slid the last bowl. The one everyone was crazy about. His nemesis.

The fucking matcha.

"The matcha," Connor continued, "is the main drink traditionally served in a tea ceremony called "sado" or "chado"-- the way of tea. You have a great instinct, naturally saving this for the last, after the wagashi. The taste will be prolonged better that way."

Gavin squirmed. The last thing he wanted was prolonged swamp water in his mouth. But it's too late. Let him take it like a man. Whatever.

He took a sip.

And he froze.

The taste was rich, layered, alive. Earthy, but not muddy. There was a subtle sweetness that lingered. It wasn't just tea. It wasn't a trashy trend. It was craft and heritage.

It was art.

Fuck.

Gavin set the bowl down carefully, almost reverently. He wanted to take a second sip but his pride was making him hesitate.

"…The way of tea," Connor continued, watching him carefully, "holds the philosophy of ichi-go ichi-e… that each meeting should be treasured, for it can never be reproduced."

He thought for a moment before he went to the back and returned with a small cake box.

"On the house."

Gavin took it tentatively.

"…Thanks."

Connor only nodded, folding his arms neatly. After a long moment he spoke again.

"Do you understand now, Gavin?"

The sound of his own name made Gavin's heart jolt. "What the fuck did you just say??"

Connor tilted his head, that dangerously polite smile forming again. "You really think a hideous wig, a baseball cap, a mask, and sunglasses would fool me? For the record, the way you walked already gave you away since you entered. Not to mention your rat-like screeching voice."

"You--!"

Gavin stood up so abruptly that the stool legs screeched against the floor. His elbow accidentally brushed the bowl of unfinished matcha and-- the porcelain cracked as it hit the floor, liquid spreading like green stain across the immaculate surface.

Connor stared in disbelief. His smile vanished.

For once, there was nothing polite about him. His jaw tightened, his voice cold enough to cut through glass.

"Get out."

Gavin froze. "I didn't--"

"Get the fuck out of my shop."

Connor's gaze burned into him, steady and furious. "And one more thing, Gavin Reed." He leaned forward slightly. "Your disguise is as pathetic as your coffee."

That broke whatever apology Gavin was about to give. He tore away his disguise, gray eyes now retaliating against the sharp brown irises. He clamped his jaw shut, fury and shame burned hot in his chest.

With a curse under his breath, he grabbed his wallet and the cake box absent-mindedly, and stormed toward the door.

The bell jingled violently as he exited into the street.

.

.

.

__

"Fuckin' asshole!"

Gavin slumped violently into the couch in his apartment, still fuming from the explosive encounter.

His half-brother chuckled. "It's not entirely his fault, you know. You didn't come with pure intentions."

"I don't need a fucking lecture, Eli," he groaned, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. "I didn't even insult his fucking tea this time. He's the one who brought up my coffee."

"Yes, real mature of you," Elijah replied lazily, reaching for the little cake box Gavin had thrown onto the coffee table. "What's this?"

Gavin had forgotten all about it. "Oh. Fuck. That son of a bitch gave it to me. Probably poisoned, don't touch it."

Elijah shook his head with an amused grin. He undid the ribbon neatly and peered inside.

"Matcha tiramisu." He helped himself to a bite, ignoring Gavin's protest, and nodded with delight.

"Fascinating."

Gavin frowned. It wasn't easy to make Elijah Kamski compliment anything.

"Bullshit," he scowled and grabbed a fork, jabbed it unceremoniously to the cake, and took a bite.

The earthy and elegant taste that he had experienced earlier returned, this time balanced against soft mascarpone. But what surprised him the most this time was how well the matcha complemented the coffee in the tiramisu. What the hell? His sacred coffee was tainted by matcha-- and he liked it??

Elijah gave a knowing smile. "Decent?"

"Shut up."

But Gavin didn't stop eating. Within minutes, half the slice was gone.

The brief peace was interrupted by sudden buzzes on Gavin's phone. Multiple notifications and mentions of his name, and his café's name. The fuck's going on now…

He tapped on the notification. It was a video of Connor, behind his matcha counter, whisking with the elegant movements Gavin had witnessed himself earlier.

And then it abruptly cut to Gavin's elbow knocking the bowl, green liquid spilling dramatically on the floor. Then the clip cut to a caption: "World-class barista can't handle real craft."

The comments made it worse.

NorthernStar✨: Did he do that on purpose?? Sore loser much??

TeacherPJosh500: Reed can't stand the competition lol.

RKMatcha🍵: The fucking disguise HAHA

>> Conrad9 replied to RKMatcha🍵: Sixty you're replying from the official account.

MyNameIsAlice‪‪❤︎‬: Go Connor. 🐶💕

Echo💙Ripple: Matcha > Coffee

Gavin's grip on the phone whitened his knuckles. "Fucking manipulative bastard!! He made me look like I thrashed his shop on purpose!"

Elijah leaned over his shoulder, unfazed. "The cruel world of business rivalry. His brother's pretty good with the social media game."

"Fuck this." Gavin shoved the phone down. "If he wants war, I'll give him war."

The next few weeks spiraled into open exchanges of sabotage between the two.

Gavin posted another video in retaliation, somehow getting the footage of Connor trying his breakfast and coffee for the first time, clearly enjoying it but not graceful enough to be honest, turning public opinion back slightly on his side.

Then it became a series of pranks.

Connor replaced Gavin's sugar packets with salt during a morning rush.

Gavin sneaked in coffee beans into RK Matcha's grinder.

Connor swapped Reed's soft rock café playlist with Aztec death whistle compilation.

Gavin hired a marching band to play in front of Connor's shop during a matcha-making workshop.

The city laughed. Memes spread. #CoffeevsMatcha was trending, and to both men's horror, people began producing edits and fanfictions of the both of them.

"What kind of a fuckass name is #ConVin??" Gavin snarled one morning after Tina showed him a video edit of Connor and him to a sensual song.

"People are shipping you and him, Gav," Tina said in between laughter.

"I know that!! The question is, why??"

"Oh you know, two good-looking guys, both stubborn and petty? Sounds like fanfic material to me," Chris explained. "Listen to this one. 'Connor pinned Gavin to the wall, hot breath on his neck, inviting a soft whimper from the latter--'""

Gavin snatched Chris' phone before he could continue. If it weren't for his common sense kicking in, he would have broken that fucking phone.

"Shut up or no more espresso for you both."

Still laughing their asses out, Tina and Chris went back to their breakfast.

Gavin fumed and decided to check his mailbox. Unfortunately, Connor was in front of his own shop, doing exactly the same thing.

Their gazes met, and they both showed the middle finger to each other before returning inside their own shops with a huff.

A group of teenagers watching the scene was somehow squealing. Another video edit with hashtag #EnemiestoLovers was published not long after. Thanks to this unexpected hype, there were new customers who visited both of their shops for the memes, then stayed for the quality.

It was silly. But no actual harm was done.

Until one morning, Connor arrived slightly earlier at his shop and found a huge graffiti: FUCK MATCHA, all across his storefront, angry red all over.

It was hideous. Too far. Connor had to blink back hot tears when he found that the wooden sign that his teacher had given him from Japan was tainted by the ugly stain.

Just then, Gavin arrived, parking his car at his usual place.

Connor fumed. "Resorting to vandalism now, Reed?"

Gavin frowned at hearing Connor's voice first thing in the morning, but he looked shocked when he saw the graffiti.

"I didn't do that."

Connor scoffed. "Of course."

"I really didn't do that, you prick--!"

"Save it. I don't have time to debate with you."

With that, Connor left Gavin alone, already setting out to take cleaning equipment.

Gavin stood there, angry, but he was also just as confused as Connor.

The next day, it was Gavin's café that suffered.

His jaw nearly hit the pavement when he saw nasty blue graffiti, spelling out TRASH BARISTA.

Gavin's chalkboard sign, the one where he would always put his handwritten Daily Special menu, had been kicked and smeared with the blue spray.

Connor had just arrived, riding his bicycle as always-- a habit he picked up in Japan-- when Gavin stomped toward him and stood abruptly in front of his bike, nearly causing him to fall.

"What the hell are you--"

"I told you it wasn't me," Gavin scowled. "You did this because you thought I spray-painted your stupid shop!" He pointed accusingly at his own storefront.

Connor glanced at the mess, his expression unreadable.

Then he scoffed. "I'd never sink to your level."

Gavin grabbed him by the collar. "I've had enough of your shit."

Before Connor could react, someone cut in. "That's enough!"

Nines appeared from across the street, moving quickly to separate them. He pulled Gavin's hands off Connor's collar with ease, positioning himself between them. Although he was the youngest, his build, being taller and sturdier than both of them, did come to advantage in moments like this.

"Both of you, use your brains. Why don't we check each other's CCTV recordings from the nights both of your shops were spray-painted?"

Gavin scoffed. "Finally, someone in your family who has a brain."

Connor bristled, but Nines quickly spoke again. "Save it. Let's go."

Reluctantly, Gavin let them to his back office first. He searched for the saved footage… only to find that all recordings for the past three days had been wiped out.

"What the fuck??"

Connor's eyes narrowed. "Convenient."

"Don't start with me," Gavin clenched his fists, Nines already stepping forward in case either of them was going to lunge.

Connor sighed. "Let's check mine, then."

They crossed the street together, tense silence hanging in the air. Connor unlocked his office and pulled up his own system.

It was empty. For the past three days.

They looked at each other in dismay.

"The fuck does this mean…" Gavin muttered.

"It means," Nines stated, "there might be an outsider who is targeting both of you."

"Or," Connor proposed, "Gavin deleted both mine and his recording, and trashed his own shop so he's out of suspicion."

Gavin snarled. "If you don't shut your fucking mouth now--!"

"ENOUGH."

Both men were silenced by the amount of authority Nines carried.

"We will refrain from throwing blind accusations," he said, still with a dangerous tone. "As far as the facts provide us, both of you are victims. Until there is further evidence, we will treat it as such. And now," he looked at his watch, "it's almost 7AM. Both of you need to go man your shops."

With an unsatisfied grunt and huff, both of them returned to their domains.

What started as a harmless exchange had escalated.

They both wondered if this was just a one-time thing.

They were wrong.

next chapter:

Connor stormed into Reed's Coffee, the bell above the door jingling aggressively. He didn't care about the morning crowd that was forming.

Behind the counter, Gavin shot him a look.

"The fuck do you want now--"

"You went too far, Reed!"

He slammed a barista cloth onto the counter, unmistakably Gavin's, with his initials and the café's logo embroidered on it.

"My brother's in the hospital," his voice shaky. "This was on the floor when we found him."