Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

19 years.

In all 19 thankless years of Nagai Kei’s life, he’s never had to rely on the false comforts of caffeine or guarana to get him through tight deadlines and sleepless nights (mostly because they had never applied to him before).

Except right now, he’s standing in front of one of the very coffee shops he’s shunned, staring blearily into the frosted glass as the bitter morning chill threatens to seep in through his hastily dressed socks. He’s never expected himself to stoop so low, but the circumstances call for drastic measures, and the circumstance’s name is Nakano Kou.

Kei had prepared himself for the possibility of obtaining a less-than-stellar roommate, it being pretty much inevitable from the moment he moved the last half-empty cardboard box into the dorm. Nothing short of divine revelation would have prepared him for Nakano. The worst that could possibly happen, he’d reasoned initially, was that he’d end up with a roommate that had a penchant for parties and being too loud than was strictly necessary. As long as they didn’t try to pry into his business, he’d thought, packing a pair of ear plugs and a last resort mp3 player, he would likely live with minimal casualty.

He therefore never expected the infuriating presence of a man that ignored all hints and threw them straight to the wind, insisted on knowing completely trivial details of his life, would not leave him alone even when their unlikely paths crossed on campus, and refused to shut the hell up.

If this is what having a friend means, he would have preferred to remain friendless till the end of his days.

There’s a tinny jingle as he pushes open the door, bringing absolutely no attention to himself even when the door slams shut and shakes the foundations of the building. The warmth of the café is pleasant for all of ten seconds – then it’s unbearable, at least half the heat being generated through sweat and all-nighters. It is way too early to be around this many people, and Kei almost backs straight out of the shop and fucks straight off to class, caffeine be damned. Then he remembers the ten page reason he’s here at all, and he grudgingly steps into line.

It’s not even like he’s never been in a café before. Hell, it’s not even that he hates having to order and jump through a hundred etiquette hoops to interact with another human being. No, the problem is that he has to jump through a hundred etiquette hoops to interact with another human being and all his patience and energy for socializing has already been completely sapped by a very special and unavoidable circumstance. This problem cannot be solved short of dramatic personality upheaval or straight-up murder. The only reason he hasn’t seriously considered it is because employment would be nothing short of impossible with a criminal record.

Still. Kei is an adult. And like all adults, he, too, is capable of plastering a big fake smile on his face and pretending he’s functioning on any conscious level. For this reason and this reason only, he manages to keep himself from leaving the line, counter coming ever closer.

He only hopes that whoever’s at the counter isn’t anything like Nakano. Inescapable peppiness may be what finally drives him to dropping out and living in the country, medicine be damned. Politeness, he can manage – faux energetic, he cannot, at least without his entire body shrivelling in on itself.

“Hi, what can I get for you?”

The man at the counter looks barely older than Kei, hair a blond too bright for this early in the morning, and he’s counting change even as he greets him, eyes at his hands. Kei doesn’t particularly like making eye contact, but he finds himself miffed about it, anyway.

“Venti, black, no sugars. Please.”

That gets him to look up, drawer shutting with a small clang. There isn’t a hit of red around his gilded eyes, and the detail makes Kei feel a little less bad about tacking on ‘please’ as an afterthought.

“You want a shot of espresso or two in that? You look like you could use it.”

Kei narrows his eyes. The cashier’s face had been schooled into an expression of amiable blankness, but now the corner of his mouth is twitching upwards, eyes crinkling slightly in amusement. Still, there’s nothing obviously malicious about it, and Kei sighs.

“Okay. Sure.”

“Name?”

“Nagai.”

The cashier hums. Then he’s looking down at his hands again, fingers pressing keys on the register.

“O-kay. That’s 300 yen.”

He’d somehow managed to draw out the ‘okay’ without sounding either sarcastic or enthusiastic. In Kei’s books, that already put him about a marathon’s length ahead of Nakano. Then he pauses, a few coins hovering above his open wallet.

“Doesn’t espresso cost extra?”

The cashier shrugs.

Kei stares at him blankly. The shrug doesn’t become a sensible, verbalized answer, no matter how hard Kei squints at him. Nagai Kei is not a naturally suspicious person. (At least, regarding anything that doesn’t warrant suspicion.) But he’s also not the sort of person people would go out of their way to be nice for, so either this man genuinely doesn’t care about the pocket-change’s worth of extra, or Kei has every right to be suspicious. Maybe if he accepts, he’ll be forcibly inducted into a drug ring through obligation, or, worse – he’ll be forced to hold a conversation with him for no reason.

He has about half a mind to just chuck the extra coins at him (the other half is the part of him that isn’t still asleep) when the cashier breaks out into a grin.

“Like I said, you look like you need it. You don’t come here often, right? It’s on the house.”

Kei continues to stare. Then, because he’s already late and, as a university student, he naturally loves saving money, he says, finally, “okay.”

Then, more awkwardly and haltingly, because by saying so he feels like he’s admitting his indebtedness and locking himself into an inescapable contract, “thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

His grin grows more crooked. Kei notes that his jaw appears misaligned, making his smile tilt further to his left and dimpling there. The drawer shuts with a shuffle of coins.

“Wait just over there and it’ll be ready in a couple of minutes. Thank you for your patronage.”

The next time Kei goes to the coffee shop is approximately three days later.

(Approximately, because at this point, sleep is a meaningless concept.)

The only reason it hadn’t been sooner is because he’s not exactly eager to submit himself to caffeine reliance after so long resisting it, but also because his caffeine-free body hadn’t anticipated the effects of a large cup of coffee with (apparently) espresso in it. Either that man had put in more than just two shots, or Kei really is completely weak to caffeine. Currently, Kei is regretting this vulnerability, as his three days of wakefulness have only made Nakano that much more annoying.

Had it not been for the fact that assessments tend to come in flocks rather than solitary stragglers, he might have been content to sleep for the rest of the week.

This time, it’s emptier. Which is only logical, since Mondays would tend to be busiest, and also because it is 12:15 in the afternoon.

“Didn’t expect to see you here again,” the cashier, that same one from about three days ago, says. He looks less surprised than he does amused, one thick eyebrow raised ever so slightly above the other. Kei is too tired to even think about scowling.

“Neither did I,” Kei mutters. At least, it was meant to be a mutter. At this point, even a whisper sounds like a shout, an annoying voice intent on aggravating the growing headache between his temples. Either his sense of volume has been completely shot, or the café is quieter than it sounds to him; the cashier’s shoulders shake with a quiet huff.

“Okay,” the cashier says. If Kei had been even half as aware of his surroundings as he usually was, he would’ve noticed the way the cashier lowered his voice significantly. As it is, the only person to notice is the man standing behind him, rolling his eyes from the coffee machine.

“What can I get for you?”

“Venti, black, no sugars, no espresso.”

He cannot stress this enough. If he has to stay up for any longer than another 24 hours, he is going to actually kill Nakano, and then immediately turn himself in to the authorities. It’s possible that at this moment, he’s not in complete control of all his faculties. (The very fact that he’s willing to admit this much to himself probably speaks volumes of how little grasp he has on reality at the moment.) It completely escapes him, for example, that he failed to tack on a ‘please’, however half-hearted.

“That bad, huh,” the cashier says. Kei drags his gaze up long enough to glare witheringly at the other man. Sympathy isn’t an emotion Kei is trained to recognize, but he can guess well enough that it’s what he’s trying to show on his face. That, or it was pity, which Kei is also not trained to recognize, but the idea makes him indignant enough, anyway.

“300 yen. Nagai, right? Hope your week gets better.”

Kei peers at him.

It might just be because he’s started to dread Nakano’s long tirades and run-on sentences, but it seems like the cashier’s sentences are becoming shorter and shorter. (Compared to the wealth of data Kei has to compare it to, that being the entirety of the half minute he’s spent ever talking to him.) Short, but not clipped, as in irritation – if he’s doing it on purpose, it’s because he thinks it’ll make it easier on Kei. Worded and intoned carefully, so as not to prompt a response. It’s probably the easiest exchange he’s had the whole week, if not semester – well, besides the fact that this cashier’s facial expressions are downright inscrutable, for all the world seeming perfectly calm and amiable at all times.

Kei drops the coins into the cashier’s waiting hand. If anything, the sheer comfortableness the other is making the interaction is making him uneasy. Maybe his lack of sleep was making him overanalyse his conversations. It’s entirely possible that interactions with this man are always smooth, and Kei isn’t sure which makes him more irritated.

“Thanks.”

“Venti, black, no sugars?”

Kei pauses, fingers scraping the zipper of his wallet. The cashier grins, cheekily.

It’s the fourth time Kei has been to the café. A good week after the second – he’d been right to leave off the espresso, which meant he didn’t need the coffee until a few days later. That third visit had been uneventful enough, but this time, he doesn’t even get a word in edgewise before he’s being interrupted.

“Yes,” Kei says, very slowly. Then, because he can’t stop himself, “isn’t it too early to be establishing usual orders? I’ve visited all of – what, four times?”

“And you’ve ordered the same thing all four times,” the cashier points out, leaning on his forearms. The angle makes the light from the window flood his face, and it glints off something bright. He stands, straight, and Kei realizes it’s an earring with a smiley face on it. “It’s not too hard to remember.”

Kei stares. There’s a feeling he can’t place settling in the back of his throat, threatening to spill out – it might just be because he’d forgone breakfast.

Then he says, decisively, “no.”

Dark brows rise and gold eyes widen; the cashier is actually surprised.

Kei would not be the first person to call himself a boringly predictable person (though perhaps some would say otherwise). If you thought about the most sensible course of action, then Kei’s life plan is as familiar as the back of one’s hand. Up to this point in time, however, many people in Kei’s life have proven incapable of considering that course of action, and, not pointing fingers, but Nakano has proved this to be expected rather than uncommon. Apparently what seems most sensible to him involves trains of thought that typically don’t occur to others – unless they were a particularly malicious or ‘repulsive’ person, not his words.

Still. Having this complete stranger claim him predictable, even in such a small way, so casually – it bugs him. Especially when there’s very little he can glean of him back. He doesn’t even have a name tag.

“No?”

“No,” Kei says, again, and he’s really trying very hard to ignore that small tug of triumph at his mouth. He blames the caffeine, personally. His brain must not be used to processing so much dopamine. “Not a venti, black, with no sugars.”

“And this change of heart,” the cashier starts again, slowly, and while his brows haven’t lowered any, his lips are starting to curl up in an attempt to reach them. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the wound inflicted on your individuality.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Kei agrees, pleasantly. His wallet is feeling a tad lighter than it had been a couple of minutes ago, but he reasons that a few yen here or there wouldn’t hurt anybody.

“Alright then, what can I get for you?”

Kei takes a moment to look up at the menu. To buy time to think, if anything, the characters slipping his cognition like water off a slide. To say that he knows nothing of the intricacies of coffee and its various components, regardless of how instant, appropriated or mass-produced it is, would be an understatement. Having to decide on the little knowledge he has would take more time than he cares to think about, since in the first place he’d only planned to pop in and out on the way to class, and, in the end, Nagai Kei is nothing if not a disappointingly predictable human being.

So he says, folding his arms across his chest, “surprise me.”

Another surprise this early in the morning would have the cashier’s eyebrows rise to meet his hairline.

Not a word comes out of him for a few very distinct seconds – he is, for the first time, genuinely speechless. Perhaps, Kei thinks, he had put him on the spot, revealing a deficiency in improvisation, and that this is the moment the man who seems to always be working in the back will finally sigh his last, step up and put him out of his misery. Maybe it is too early in the morning for everyone, and Kei shouldn’t have tried his luck. Maybe he had just uttered secret words meant to imply knowledge of hidden dealings, and he had just initiated himself into a cult-like conspiracy. In any case, he’s quite sure his words didn’t warrant this long a pause.

“300 yen,” the cashier says, sudden enough to have the other worker look up with a raised brow. The small curl of his lip is slowly braving into a full-blown grin. “Give me a minute.”

“No change in price?”

He shrugs, cheekily. “That wouldn’t be a surprise.”

The brief wait has Kei regretting opening up the opportunity for the cashier. He has, after all, just handed him on a silver platter the opportunity to do something unsavoury to his drink, like spit or piss in it. Maybe to make up for all the time he’s wasted so far holding up the line.

“Here,” the cashier says, handing Kei a cup that looks about the same size as Kei usually orders. It has him squinting at it apprehensively. A quick sniff tells him that it isn’t significantly different from his usual, and also that he probably didn’t piss in it (though it’s possible the heat eliminated any rancid odours). The apprehensive stare shifts to apprehend the cashier, whose growing smile tells Kei that he should probably dispose of the cup as soon as he leaves without drinking from it.

“Surprise,” the cashier says, hands splayed theatrically. “Thank you for your patronage – come again soon.”

The bell jingles as he exits, and Kei walks a half block before daring to take a sip from the mystery drink. The cashier, he reasons, does not seem like the sort of person to purposefully leave disgusting bodily fluids in others’ drinks, and in the off-chance that he had, at least Kei had motive to go back and kill him.

It tastes more chocolate than it does coffee, but it isn’t overly sweet. Grudgingly, Kei decides, it isn’t terrible, but he isn’t about to ask what it is. He pulls away from the cup, turning it in his hands as though somewhere on the cup will be something distinguishing its contents, and.

There it is, scribbled in thick black katakana, handwriting large and blocky – Kaito.

Well, Kei thinks. The cashier – Kaito, apparently – definitely didn’t piss in his drink. It doesn’t stop Kei from almost disposing of the drink all over the sidewalk, having to stop in his tracks to stop it from spilling.

Surprise, indeed.

Chapter Text

“Nagai,” the cashier greets, the next time Kei walks in.

“Kaito,” Kei says in response, tilting his head. The smile on Kaito’s face widens.

“What can I get for you today?”

Kei tries not to feel too smug.

Chapter Text

It takes a hot cup of coffee already waiting for him on the counter for Kei to realize that he’s been showing up almost every day.

In the mornings they show up without fail, sitting innocently in the open by the time he arrives at 8:30. Sometimes black, sometimes just different enough to have him wondering if he’d had the same thing last time, only rarely something completely different (and Kei is starting to suspect these instances occur as a result of forgotten orders). In the afternoons, less often – his attendance is spotty then, but he has a feeling that if this keeps up, eventually he’ll have something waiting for him then, too.

Kei doesn’t know why he does it – specifically, he doesn’t know why he does it for him. So far as he’s aware, other regulars don’t receive the same treatment.

(He’s not as irritated about the fact of his not knowing as he probably should be. Troubled, maybe, but not irritated. He’s not even irritated about the fact that he’s apparently predictable enough for a cup to be reliably waiting for him.)

If he were honest with himself, though, he’d admit that he has a feeling of what he wants the reason to be.

But Nagai Kei isn’t the most honest person on earth, and he’s honest enough with himself to admit that much. There’s no chance of him admitting it to anyone else – not until he knows why he wants it to be that way.

For now, Kei is just glad that he’s both making it to class on time and saving on money and time. He won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but it’s fine to glance from time to time.

“You have a name to go with Nagai?” Kaito says, one slow afternoon, shop near empty and leaving the sound of pouring coffee the only thing cutting the silence.

“Nagai isn’t enough?” Kei says, mock-surprised, leaning forward on the counter. His afternoon lecture was cancelled – he can afford to not be in a hurry. That, and there’s no line buzzing impatiently behind him. Three-weeks-ago-him would have been appalled that he was visiting a coffee shop in his spare time for no reason, but three-weeks-ago-him also didn’t have a caffeine dependency.

“Well, you have been calling me by my given name. Seems sort of unfair that I don’t even know yours.”

“Well, you didn’t have to write down your given name.”

“How can I argue with that logic?”

There’s a lull, then, as Kaito steps away to hand a middle-aged man his drink. The few people that are in the shop, huddled in small groups, don’t attend the local university and are a near-permanent fixture on weekdays. It makes Kei wonder what they’re supposed to be doing, if anything at all. Then Kei reminds himself that there are things he's supposed to be doing, too, and, wisely, shuts up mentally.

“How ‘bout this,” Kaito says, resuming his previous position. “Tell me your name, and you get half-price off.”

“Kaito,” the man in the back says, warningly, and Kaito laughs.

“Alright, so no on the discount front,” Kaito says, shaking his head sadly. “Guess that means all I have left to give you is full-priced coffee. Don’t suppose that’s worth anything to you? Not even a name?”

Three-weeks-ago-him would have boggled at the idea of Kei giving in so easily, giving a stranger he barely knows his given name. They aren’t even friends, barely acquaintances – he has nothing to gain by telling him and nothing to lose by not telling him. In any case, Kaito is contractually obligated to serve him no matter how much he pisses him off, and Kei maintains he’s not the sort of person to leave unwelcome surprises in others’ drinks. Logically speaking, Kei should tell him to hurry up with his coffee, and the only thing full-priced coffee is worth to him is 300 yen and a few hours of borrowed alertness.

Then again, three-weeks-ago-him wouldn’t even be standing in a coffee shop.

(It has nothing to do, for example, with the fact that three-weeks-ago-him didn’t know a man with blond hair and gold eyes who was unnervingly easy to talk to. Well, perhaps a little. Kei needs to take whatever welcome conversation he can get in order to make up for the hours spent tolerating Nakano.)

“Nagai Kei.”

“Kei,” he says, dragging out the syllable. There is no thrill to run up his spine, nor a quickened heartbeat or a flush to his cheeks. Kei finds himself surprised by the weight of it on his tongue, anyway. “Not ‘Keito’?”

Kei snorts. “Only if your name is actually ‘Kai’.”

“For you? Anything.”

Kei stares. Kaito continues to stare at him expectantly, meaning that he had indeed let those ridiculous words pass through his mouth. He can’t help it.

Kei laughs.

“You’re gonna regret that in the future,” he says, because the only thing a person can be called after saying something so horrendously terrible is a nerd and an embarrassment, but right now he finds he cannot say either of these things. Not without being a hypocrite, for letting himself be touched, even if only slightly.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” says Kaito, face schooled into something approximating sombreness. “Use it wisely, Nagai Kei.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Kei says, face equally sombre. “Kai.”

Then, because he needs to keep him on his toes, “also, just a tall black coffee with no sugars. I don’t think my wallet can take anything else.”

Chapter Text

“How come you keep going to that coffee shop? It’s so far away. There’s one on campus, you know.”

Kei would bother looking up at Nakano (really, he would) if doing so didn’t require him taking his attention away from his coffee. It is most definitely not something he’s had before, that much is obvious just by the sickly sweet smell, but it has an intriguing taste that is definitely worth more than the pocket change he’d scrounged up for it.

“Campus coffee is overpriced,” Kei drawls, slumping further onto the table. “It’s close enough to be convenient and far enough to not be plagued with overinflated prices.”

“Huh,” Nakano says. Kei takes another sip. This definitely has hazelnut in it. He’d ask what it was, but it’d feel like he’d lost, somehow. Nakano still hasn’t moved, staring down at Kei contemplatively from beside the round table. Then he brightens, and Kei officially loses any sort of motivation to divert his attention from his coffee.

“Hey, I know,” Nakano starts, looking too pleased with himself. “I’ll go with you! It’s cheaper, right? And if you keep going there, then it has to be good.”

“No,” Kei says without a thought. Nakano is suitably unimpressed.

“You can’t actually stop me, y’know,” he says, and his chastising tone is making Kei seriously reconsider his reservations about criminal records. “It’s not like it’s illegal.”

“There are many things that aren’t illegal, so long as you aren’t caught.”

And while Kei can talk a good deal of smack out of his ass, even he knows when he’s lost, Nakano squawking indignantly next to him. For him to tag along – that would defeat the entire point of him leaving in the ungodly hours of the morning and whenever his schedule would allow. It’s still not enough to explain that unstoppable surge of urgency bubbling up at his suggestion. Rationally, it would be less trouble in the long run to let him do what he wants, but it does nothing to quell the nausea in his gut. He decides it’s a problem for another time, another place, preferably one without Nakano.

He should have known that the idea of having a moment to himself would be completely absurd.

Monday morning finds Kei trying not to drag his steps on the pavement as a trail of meaningless chatter follows him. The only reason he hadn’t immediately slammed the door in Nakano’s face upon leaving was that Nakano offered to pay for both their coffees. He’d almost refused – on account of his pride and the fact that he’d likely use it as leverage in the future – but a free coffee is a free coffee, and he’d take it if it meant he could keep his work-free life. Now he just has to decide whether he’ll go with his regular order, or suck it up and ask what that last drink was in order to maximise this opportunity.

He’s – well, dreading isn’t necessarily the word. Nagai Kei does not dread. He doesn’t feel nervous pulsing beneath his skin, or uneven beating, or anything that would indicate that he isn’t in complete control of his physical reactions at all times, but up until a couple of weeks ago, he hadn’t visited coffee shops regularly, either. But thinking is what he does best, and he hasn’t been given any time to think. With Nakano behind him, he feels pressured into finding the best way to hide something, even though he has no idea what he’s trying to hide. All he knows is that right now, he doesn’t want it to show, not in front of Nakano, and especially not in front of Kai.

It being Monday, the café is packed more than usual, those on the short-end of the work-week barely keeping on their feet as they shuffle in line. Nakano looks a bit overwhelmed, eyes wider than most people can even attempt at this hour, but it’s far from being enough to scare him out of the shop. He’s staring at the menu overhead, mouth ajar, and Kei decides then that he’s going to go for the most expensive thing he can manage, embarrassment be damned.

“Kei,” Kai greets, inclining his head. Kei feels Nakano jump behind him, and he wills himself to ignore it. “The usual?”

“Actually,” Kei starts. “That thing you gave me last week. On Friday. That wasn’t black coffee.”

“No?” Kai raises a brow. Nakano sounds like he’s having a coronary behind him, probably thinking that while he’s always known Kei has never been the social type, he’d never expected him to outright argue with employees. At the very least, that tells Kei that he hadn’t seen the small quirk of Kai’s lips as he spoke.

“No, it wasn’t. But I think I can keep it a secret from the higher-ups, so long as you tell me what it was. I’ll pay however much it costs.”

Now Kai has given up any pretense of nonchalance, lips curving into an easy smile.

“Well, for the record, it was a black coffee,” Kai begins, continuing before Kei can interrupt. “So, officially, it’s still the same price. Still, I think I can work something out for you.”

“I’m not the one paying,” Kei blurts, before he can think better of it. Now Nakano is sputtering, and Kei resolutely refuses to turn around, even when Kai blinks and takes in the man standing behind him. His smile manages to grow even wider.

“Oh?” he says, crossing his arms in amusement. “Well, that’s a different story, then. That was a venti hazelnut mocha latte, and the total is 550 yen.”

Now Kei has to turn around. Nakano is gaping, face the picture of betrayal. It’s all Kei can do to not burst out snickering, and Kai’s shoulders shake a little with laughter. Still, from what he knows of the barista, it’ll only be a few more seconds before he takes pity on the speechless man and lowers the price again, and then Kei’s efforts will have been for nothing. Then Nakano straightens, jaw set in a determined line.

“Okay, I’ll have the same - iced. Go big or go home,” he says, more confident than he looks, before he adds, a bit more resigned, “this better be godly coffee.”

Kai raises a brow. He looks at Kei, as if asking whether he should let him go ahead and pay for overpriced coffee. Kei shrugs.

“The total is 1100 yen. You taking it to go?”

“Yep,” Nakano says distractedly, fumbling with his wallet. The line behind him is growing slightly impatient, shuffling and groaning worthy of a shitty B-list horror film, and Kei tries not to feel like it’s his fault for talking to Kai for too long. “Yep, alright, hang on… here you go.”

“Name?”

“Kou.”

“Alright, Kou,” Kai says, still grinning, even as his voice takes on the polite I-work-in-fast-food-service tone. “It’ll be just a few minutes – wait right over there, if you please, and thank you for your patronage.”

Then he adds, as if that wasn’t enough, “it was nice seeing you, Kei. Come again.”

Kei pretends that if he nods and turns away fast enough, no one will notice his ears burning. He doesn’t want to chance a look at Nakano, who is already looking up despairingly at the ceiling at the impulse buy.

“Dude,” Nakano starts, after taking a long inhale of his drink, complete with disgusting slurping noises and ridiculous facial expressions. Kei doesn’t even try to hide his grimace. “I’ve never seen you look like that. How come you never smile at me?”

“I wasn’t smiling,” is what Kei wants to say, and only barely manages to stop himself from saying out loud. It’s too obviously defensive, over something that obviously actually happened, that even Nakano would pick up on it. On what, Kei still isn’t sure, and he’s disinclined to find out while Nakano is still staring intently at his face.

“You never give me a reason to.”

Nakano’s face twists, offended, but then he settles down far too quickly, looking down longingly at his drink. “Well, the coffee there is really good.”

Kei hums noncommittally. Nakano is back to slurping noisily on his straw, barely managing to walk in a straight line as the campus comes into view. He thinks that’s the end of it, tossing his empty cup into a bin (the only reason he’d finished first is because Nakano spent approximately 60% of the walk over babbling about how divine the coffee was), but of course, he’s never been so lucky.

“Still, did you know that guy? He called you by your first name – you seem pretty chummy.”

Kei immediately regrets having finished his drink so quickly. His scowl is clear for everyone to see, and now he has nothing to hide it behind, nor something to hide his lack of response. Nakano takes one final slurp out of his straw, and then his cup is empty, sitting in his hand. Now Kei can’t even reprimand him for talking without finishing his drink.

“I saw him when I first went to the shop,” Kei says, eventually, keeping his eyes off Nakano. If he’s lucky, he’ll just think that he was trying to remember exactly when they’d met. “I’m pretty sure he’s the only person working there, most of the time. He remembers most of the regulars’ names.”

“Uh huh,” Nakano says, unconvinced. Kei’s responding snort is at least partly justified, seeing as how he wasn’t even lying. It’s true that Kai has a tendency to remember the names of regulars, not bothering to ask for a name as he takes their order, but so far as Kei is aware, he has the sole privilege of being referred to by first name, and what’s more telling is that Kei uses his first name back. Nakano hasn’t seemed to pick up on it, though, which is at least one small miracle he can be thankful for.

“I can’t believe all it took for Nagai Kei to crack was a bit of good coffee,” Nakano continues, almost mournfully, and Kei’s thoughts slam to a screeching halt and force his feet to remain rooted to the spot. “You better keep this one, Nagai. There aren’t a lot of people willing to call themselves your friend.”

Kei is at least a little grateful that he got away with free coffee. With this in mind, he resolves to make Nakano’s death as quick and painless as possible.

Chapter Text

(“That was your infamous roommate?” Kai says, completely foregoing a greeting the next time he comes in. Kei groans.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Try saying that when you’re woken up at two in the morning because he decided popcorn was a good idea.”

Kai chuckles. He rolls his shoulders forward, cracking quietly as they go, and when they settle they’re minutely lower than before, slopes less rigid and taut. Kei wonders how long he’s been awake – does he ever take a break? His eyes are as clear as they were the first time they met though, when he looks up.

“Thought some guy was tryin’ to cosy up to you and was being a bother.”

Kei can’t stop the incredulous laugh from leaving his mouth. “Uh, you’re not wrong, but if you meant what I think you meant, there isn’t exactly a line of people waiting to get to know me.”

The register lets out a merry little chime as the order is rung up and the coins dance their usual jig. “You’d be surprised, Kei – I'd be first in line.”)

Chapter Text

“What can I get you,” an unfamiliar face drones at him one morning. Kei blinks, slowly.

“Venti, black, no sugars.”

The man behind the counter grunts, scribbling on a plastic cup. Kei has seen him working the machine sometimes, but he’s never manned the cashier before, not so much as glancing at any other human in the vicinity. It makes sense, since the set of his face seems inherently unfriendly, the best he can apparently manage being a tersely polite expression.

In any case, Kei isn’t about to do something so ridiculous as to ask about Kai. He wouldn’t even have thought about him, had he not walked into the shop and had his routine disrupted. That’s what manages to get him to hold his tongue, anyway.

“Name?”

It turns out he shouldn’t have bothered.

“Nagai.”

The man looks up at him. He holds his entire body preternaturally still, hands hovering midair as though they’re made of wax, the lines of his shoulders cut straight into the air. His eyes bore into Kei’s, and he refuses to blink.

“Nagai Kei?”

“Yes,” Kei says, slow and apprehensive. Then, because he doesn’t want to think too much about why, exactly, this stranger would know his name, he glances down at the name card and says, “Kotobuki Takeshi.”

‘Kotobuki’ outright scowls, the lines under his eyes deepening even further as his brows furrow, and Kei is beginning to understand why they don’t let him talk to customers. Still, he says nothing, at least assuring Kei that he’s not going to attempt murder with witnesses, unnerving gaze still on his even as he scribbles onto the cup.

“Don’t bother,” he says, as Kei reaches for his pocket. “Kai said it’s on the house. For not being here.”

“Right,” Kei says, clipped. Kotobuki looks completely unimpressed at his adamant refusal to ask the unspoken question, and while Kei is starting to feel a bit like a recalcitrant child, he’s not going to let himself be cowed by someone he doesn’t even know.

 “Told me to tell you he had pressing obligations,” he continues, now not bothering to look at Kei as he rings up the order. Then he looks up. “Actually, he’s meeting with his parole officer. Seein’ if they gotta throw his ass back into jail.”

Kei stares.

Then his eyes narrow.

“That isn’t information that’s yours to give out,” Kei grounds out, managing to keep his words level. Whatever this guy is expecting out of him, he won’t give it to him. Not with that expectant gaze, half-condescending.

He must get something from him, though, because he smirks, the register shifting with a merry ring. Belatedly, Kei realizes that’s probably how he smiles. “Take it as an extra service, to complement the free coffee.”

The lid pops on without issue, and Kotobuki pushes the cup forward. Kei moves to pick it up, still eyeing him warily. Kotobuki looks content to just watch him, face giving away nothing. The café is fairly empty, today, leaving no agitated presence to rush Kei forward, making the silence all the more prominent.

“He’s a good kid,” Kotobuki says, before Kei can turn around and chalk the meeting up to a fever dream. Kei pauses, coffee almost spilling onto his hand. “If a bit slow. Don’t be too hard on him.”

Then, because he’ll probably get fired if he doesn’t, “thank you for your patronage. Come again.”

“What’s got you in such a bad mood?”

“I’m not in a bad mood,” Kei mutters into his coffee, which is starting to go lukewarm in his hands. “I’m always like this.”

“Well, yeah,” and Kei kicks him as hard as he can under the table, “ow. But, like. You seem worse than usual. Like you’ve given up being passive-aggressive about it and are outright ripping into people instead.”

“You don’t even go to this lecture.”

 “I don’t have any classes right now,” Nakano says, breezily, and Kei resists the urge to kick him again. “Thanks for the concern.”

“Don’t you think that maybe I would’ve liked to concentrate in this class?”

“Psh. You’ll be fine. You totally read the slides and shit like, two weeks ago, and are four weeks ahead or something. You could probably stop attending and still come first.”

Kei doesn’t bother gracing that with a response. It’s true that he barely remembers what this lecture is supposed to be about, but he’s not about to give Nakano the satisfaction of knowing that. Nakano is staring at him, as if he’ll suddenly gain the ability to read minds through sheer willpower, and Kei has to close his eyes and take a deep breath to convince himself not to punch him and just storm out.

“I know,” he says, hitting his palm with his fist triumphantly. Despite himself, Kei’s heart jumps into his throat. “You got the wrong coffee this time!”

Kei’s head hits the table.

“No.”

“Drat,” Nakano says, without feeling, turning to look at the screen. A minute, then two – Kei might’ve actually been convinced that he was paying attention, eyes trained to the front and mouth blessedly still. Then he lives up to his expectations by talking again.

“You ran out of change?”

Kei can’t hold in a snort. On every rare occasion that he does come up short, Kai never says anything and slips in an extra 10 or 100 yen from his own pocket. Kei would bother to stop him, except that the one time he tried, Kai had just smiled at him and said, “What missing change? Says 200 yen, right here.”

Nakano goes quiet again. Maybe he’s finally given up.

“Was that hot barista guy not there today?”

Or not.

Kei wonders if he could convince Nakano that he’d fallen asleep on the table, or something. Then Nakano is dropping his head down too, squinting and trying to peer at his face, and Kei turns away.

“Holy shit.”

“Shut up. That’s not it.”

“Yes it is, oh my god. Nagai Kei didn’t get his piece of hot barista action this morning and is grumpy about it.”

Kei sits up, then, and revels in the startled flinch he gets from Nakano, who is suddenly less inclined to sitting so close to him.

“First of all, his name is Kai, and it says more about you than it does about me that you’re calling him a ‘hot barista guy’. And I’m telling you, that’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?” Nakano pauses. “Wait, Kai, as in his first name? You’re calling him by his first name?”

Kei groans, loud enough to make the professor stop and ask ‘the people in the back to please quiet down’, and he slumps onto the desk. There’s no point responding to him anymore, Kei thinks, if he stays quiet long enough, maybe Nakano will get himself kicked out.

That really isn’t it at all. If Kai hadn’t been there and someone even mildly pleasant had been behind the counter, Kei would’ve shown up to class like nothing was amiss. The interaction with Kotobuki had left a bad taste in his mouth, brought up too many questions for what was supposed to be thoughtless routine. What, exactly, was Kai saying about him while he wasn’t there? Why would Kotobuki know his name? Was he just speaking louder than he thought, or was Kotobuki just a nosy eavesdropper? Was the only reason he knew his name that Kai had told him to pass on that message?

The way he spoke made it sound like he was close with Kai, though – he’d have to be, knowing about something like his parole (assuming he’d been telling the truth at all). There was an edge of protectiveness to his voice, one that Kei feels that he didn’t deserve. He made it sound like he was out to hurt Kai, or something, which, of course, is ridiculous. They’re not close – in the end, all they are is a barista and a regular, maybe on particularly good terms with each other.

His stomach lurches.

He decides that he’s put off his coffee for long enough.

Kei takes a sip.

He stops.

“This has sugar in it.”

Chapter Text

“That’s it,” Nakano announces, dropping down ungracefully onto the seat opposite Kei.

“I can’t take this anymore. Are you having a fight with Kai or something?”

Kei stares, unimpressed, taking a sip of his coffee. It tastes like complete and utter shit, and Kei mentally crosses off the coffee shop near the train station from the list of potential caffeine-driven destinations.

“What makes you think that,” Kei intones, flatly. Nakano casts an apprehensive glance at the cardboard cup in Kei’s hands, not at all subtle.

“You haven’t been going to the coffee shop.”

“How do you know I haven’t been going without you?”

“Dude,” Nakano says. “Every time I walk in, he gives me this look – not like he’s disappointed or got his hopes up, he just looks really unimpressed at me? Like he went, ‘oh, you’re that guy who was with Nagai that one time but you’re not him but also you made me remember that he’s not here so now I hate you’.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Listen, there’s no reason for him to act like that unless you haven’t been showing up or you got in a fight with him!”

Kei has to admit (in the privacy of his own thoughts, of course) that such behavior seemed uncharacteristic of Kai. Of what he’s seen of him, anyway – he’s never been privy to his bad side.

Instead, he says, just managing to sound nonchalant, “but he hasn’t brought up my apparent absence, has he.”

“He’s just waiting for me to break, I know it,” Nakano hisses, wild-eyed. Kei gives up on finishing his sad excuse for a drink entirely, settling in for a long, gruelling talk. “He’s not asking on purpose. He’s waiting for me to crack first and spill.”

“Spill on what,” Kei scoffs, shaking his head.

“The deets on your life? What other coffee shops you’ve been going to? The scary guy in the back has started glaring at me too and I’m pretty sure he’s ready to kill me.

“Please,” Nakano implores, actually bowing his head against the table with palms flat on the plastic. It does little to stoke Kei’s sympathy. “Please go make out with him. Up with him. Whichever! I just want good and cheap coffee! That place has ruined my coffee standards!

“Also,” Nakano continues, raising his head enough to narrow his eyes at Kei, “you’re drinking coffee. From a different shop. You never even drank coffee before. You’re obviously avoiding him. I never thought I’d see you, Nagai Kei, running away like a scaredy-cat.”

It’s bait. Kei knows it’s bait, and Nakano knows it’s bait, because for all that he is a complete dolt he knows how to rile people (read: Kei) up.

“Running away from what,” Kei says, anyway, because he’s never liked not being able to get the last word in, and also what the hell does Nakano know?

“Your feelings,” and Nakano is fucking (un-)lucky that he was already starting to move away from the table or else he would have gotten a face full of shit coffee. “Don’t try to hide it! You’re just torturing yourself, man! And me! So hurry up and make up with him!”

Kei contemplates running after him and throwing his coffee at his face after all, but by then Nakano is already half-way across the courtyard and yelling, and anyway they’ll be forced to see each other eventually at the dorm. Then, Kei decides, will he exact justice.

Nagai Kei does not run, especially from something like ‘feelings’.

Chapter Text

“After months of not calling, we finally hear from you,” the voice down the line says, clipped and haughty. “I suppose you need something from us then, don’t you.”

Kei rolls his eyes. “Nice to hear you’re well, Eri. Where’s mom?”

“So you really do need something!”

The exasperated groan that escapes his mouth reaches the very heavens, and the divinities that be only jeer at him. It’s true that it’s been a while since he’s called, and it’s also true that for the most part it’s because he hasn’t needed to. In his defense, the last time he called (upwards of three months ago), his mom went through brief pleasantries, asking how his studies were going and if he had a job yet, before asking why he was calling and almost immediately hanging up when he said ‘no reason’. His mom gets him. She understands. Conversations with Eriko ended up being entire expositions on their daily lives (as per demand) that left Kei with zero phone credit and zero energy.

“No, I don’t. Mom’s not picking up, where is she?”

“At work,” Eri says, the unspoken ‘duh’ almost tangible. “She must have turned off her phone. If you don’t need anything, then what are you calling for?”

“You accused me of calling for favours and now you’re telling me to go away because I need none?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re suddenly calling because you care and want to see how we’re doing,” and, ouch, but it’s true, so Kei doesn’t comment. “So what else could you be calling for?”

And that makes Kei pause, staring aimlessly out the balcony. It’s the middle of the day and classes just started – the field by the dorm is mostly empty, save for a few lounging on the grass. Why was he calling? Kei turns, glancing back through the glass door. No movement – Nakano isn’t back yet. Kei runs a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know,” he says, honestly. “Maybe I did just want to know how you were doing.”

“Uh huh,” Eriko says, unconvinced, but she’s not hanging up, so that’s a plus in Kei’s books.

“Well, there’s nothing new. You know how it goes. Visit the doctor, get some terrible news, have you considered palliative care, have some asshole push my wheelchair without asking. The usual. I’m thinking of getting my hair cut because it’s too difficult to tie it up now, and I keep losing hair ties whenever I try. I know mom could do it for me, but I’m, like, seventeen. She shouldn’t have to do everything.”

“You’re not going to cut your hair yourself, are you?”

“I’m not stupid, Kei, of course not,” but she sounds morose as she says it, frustration tearing at the corners of her words. A deep sigh, a steadying breath. “I’ll go get it cut somewhere. I don’t want to ask mom to do it, but also who knows how well she can cut hair. Something that isn’t a straight cut across would be nice for a change. What do you think?”

“Uh,” Kei pauses, frowning. “Don’t cut it too short because it’s freezing. Your ears will be cold for all eternity.”

“Helpful,” Eriko snorts, the sounds of fabric shifting and scuffling fuzzy in the background.

Then comes the other reason Kei is not inclined to call Eriko often: the silence. It’s something he’s always appreciated, but not when it exerts itself as a persistent pressure, pushing them to say meaningless things lest the phone credit be wasted. Face to face, Kei would be content to sit for hours in silence with Eriko (especially now that he’s rooming with Nakano).

“Nothing new on your end?”

It’s an assumption more than it is any sort of question. Usually, she would be right. But this time, something makes Kei stop himself.

It wasn’t in the plan for him to talk to Eri about it – the plan, slipshod and noncommittal as it was, had been to ask his mother. But asking his mom about it is becoming less and less appealing, in part because he feels like a fool the more he concerns himself with it, and also because his mom will definitely make him feel like a fool if he brings it up. The fact that he just admitted there was a plan driven by a Concern, no matter how roundabout, is absolutely not helping his situation.

Great. He just admitted there was a situation.

Kei inhales, deeply, forearms heavy on the balcony railing. If enough oxygen gets to his brain, maybe it’ll feel like a good idea. The tension coming from the silence on the other end of the call is almost palpable, fraught piano wire pulling tight at his reluctant words. He’s already made an admission of something being amiss through his prolonged quiet.

Kei exhales.

“How would mom feel if a friend of mine,” and Kei makes very sure that there are no suspicious pauses or points of emphasis around the word ‘friend’, “had a criminal record?”

Silence.

If Kei had the power to turn back time, he wouldn’t be so short-sighted as to only prevent this conversation from happening. He would go back to the moment of his birth – or, hell, maybe Kai’s – and prevent this entire disaster from happening entirely.

“Is it your roommate?” Eriko finally says, a rushed whisper.

“He is not my friend,” is Kei’s kneejerk reaction, the very notion provoking a deep sense of ‘no’. He regrets it immediately. “His only crime is his presence anywhere in proximity to my person. Which is likely more heinous than any crime my friend had committed.”

Eriko makes a vague sound of uncertainty. More shuffling noises – probably giving the room a once-over for improbable eavesdroppers.

“Well, she won’t be happy,” Eriko allows, slowly, reluctantly. When she doesn’t elaborate Kei can only repeat her words, dumbfounded.

“She won’t be happy?”

“Is she ever?” Eriko retorts, and Kei knows she’s rolling her eyes the same way he knows that she can see his suspicious squint. “It’s just... honestly, she’ll probably just say they’re an idiot for getting caught.”

That almost surprises a laugh out of Kei, because, well, okay, fair enough, but Eriko isn’t done, and she continues without pause.

“And she’ll probably be more sceptical that you have a friend. Or that you actually called them your friend.”

“I said ‘if’.”

“Ugh, fine. So there’s someone with a criminal record that you want to be friends with.”

Kei stares.

The scenery is about as bland and stagnant as ever, but Kei’s stare bores holes into it as if digging will give him the secrets of the universe. Instead, he only receives the knowledge that he’s been digging holes six feet deep, and also he’s been standing in them this whole time.

He wants to be friends with Kai?

The thought almost makes Kei forget that he’s the one that initiated the call in the first place. Does he want to be friends? Are they already friends? What does that mean in practical terms? If not friends, then what are they? The only accurate descriptor Kei can think of is that Kai is a habit, which is honestly more damning than anything else he could be called. If they are friends, does Kei want something else?

If he doesn’t want anything, then why is he calling his sister about it?

“I can hear your gears turning from here,” Eriko groans, startling Kei out of his existential crisis. “This is what you’re worried about? Geez, you’re supposed to be happy about having a new friend. You know mom wouldn’t care that much, and anyway you’re an adult now – what’s she gonna do about it? You’re really gonna let her stop you from making friends? You? An adult?”

“Mom isn’t stopping me from doing anything!”

“So you’re stopping yourself? Are you using the record thing as an excuse to avoid being friends with them?”

“Why would I do that?”

Kei hears Eriko shrug, and she says nothing. She doesn’t have to; she probably knows exactly why he would do that (if he were doing that). It makes him want to fill up those six-foot holes with dirt while he’s in them.

“Well, for the record, I really don’t think mom would care,” Eriko continues, after a moment. “So that’s what I think. Did you really call because you were worried about that? It doesn’t really seem like too big of a...”

Eriko stops. “Is it because they’re your girlfriend?”

This time, Kei is just stunned into silence.

“Because if they’re your girlfriend, that’s a different story. Mom might disapprove of you marrying, especially if you’re gonna be some big-shot doctor, but honestly I think you should go for it because who else would–”

“There’s no girlfriend,” Kei finally cuts in, still reeling at the accusation. “There’s no marrying!”

“Well, okay,” and Kei is really starting to dislike how unconvinced Eriko sounds about literally anything he says truthfully, “but like, just in case.”

Just in case what? Kei regains enough presence of mind not to ask. He’s also smart enough not to ask where she even got the idea, because rationally it would make sense. Wouldn’t that be the sort of thing worth worrying and calling about, after all?

Distantly, Kei registers that Eriko is still talking about something or other, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. She might have asked him a question, but he must have made some sort of sound because she keeps going like he hasn’t been astral projecting out of the dimension for the past five minutes. He hears himself say, “Sorry, I’ve got to go,” and he feels himself hang up the phone, and he doesn’t hear her response.

If Kei prides himself on one thing and one thing only, above absolutely all else, it’s his common sense. The way he saw it, making sensible decisions meant that even if things got dicey, at least it wouldn’t be your fault. Why else would he be studying to be a doctor? He’s smart, he memorises things easily, he isn’t queasy about guts, it pays well, you’re considered a valuable and integral part of society... the point being, if he was a doctor, and he was considered brutally rude, well, that was just something society was going to have to forgive him for. If everyone did what makes the most sense, life would be a hell of a lot easier.

It’s perfectly sensible, for example, for him to stop drinking coffee, because coffee is a stimulant and fosters physical and psychological dependence, and nipping that in the bud saves time, energy and money and promotes good health, so it makes sense to do. Not going to the coffee shop and not seeing the barista there is just an accidental by-product of aforementioned sensible decision, so there’s nothing about what he’s doing that could be considered by anything or anyone as insensible.

Absolutely nothing.

“Who the fuck am I kidding,” he mutters under his breath, pushing the glass of the door open with a gloved hand. Another thing he values is not being an idiot. Unfortunately, sensibility and idiocy are not mutually exclusive. For example: the fact that he’s in this coffee-shop at this very moment.

Not a friend, but not not a friend. Not a habit or acquaintance or barista-and-customer, not girlfriend or boyfriend or partner and definitely not spouse or soon-to-be-one.

Why is he making such a big deal out of one offhand comment, if they can’t even be called any of those?

The line shuffles forward, and Kei’s feet, fuelled by muscle memory, follows unbidden.

No.

It’s not about the comment. It’s not even about the fact that he’d had to hear it from some guy he only knew off his name-tag.

It’s about the fact that for some reason, all these things – any of these things – are actually affecting him.

The idea that something – someone – could not only ingratiate themselves into his routine, but produce a noticeable disruption in his behavior and his ability to perform competently, is, frankly, unacceptable. It’s a disaster waiting to happening. Heck, maybe the disaster has already happened, maybe it’s happening right now. If he wanted to prove that his routine hadn’t been radically altered, he was doing a hell of a job by being affected by the lack of him.

It. The coffee.

God. He should have just failed that paper. So much for making sense.

And all this, over...

Over what?

Kei stands, face impassive as the line, the rest of the world, comes to a halt. For a moment, he’s alone – then gold eyes look up and then back again, a tinny note of surprise in the gaps of white. He’s in front of the counter, staring, and he thinks the guy in the back is barking at the cashier to say something – it’s a burst of white noise in a flood of silence ringing. The guy could have said that there was a pig flying out in the street and Kei would have no idea.

The man in front of him gazes at him, mouth parted on an unspoken nicety.

Once. He doesn’t see Kai once. And how long had he been coming regularly to the shop? It was just once, but somehow Kei thought it appropriate to avoid going for over a week in response. Because if it hadn’t been noticeable, then it wouldn’t be called avoiding, it would’ve just been a change of pace. But Nakano noticed, and he noticed because Kei was acting strangely. Therefore, the only thing Kei could have been doing is avoiding.

(How long had he been to the shop and Kai only managed to be absent once?)

So he’s been avoiding Kai. But why?

“Kei.”

“It’s not because of parole,” Kei says, apropos of nothing.

It doesn’t matter how sensible he’s been. He really is a complete idiot.

Kai says nothing, apparently not comprehending his outburst. Then, a small, secretive smile spreads, like he knows something Kei doesn’t.

That’s when he turns abruptly on his heel and stalks out of the shop, almost shoving past people in his single-mindedness to just get out of there. He opens the door stiffly, and the bell jingling almost drowns out Kai’s call of ‘see you around’ as the door slams shut behind him.

Almost.

Chapter Text

Kou finally cracks.

Nagai still isn’t going to the coffee shop. But he must have done something because something has changed. For one, Kai doesn’t look so wholly unimpressed with Kou’s entire being every time he comes in anymore, so that’s definitely a good thing. On the other hand, Nagai’s getting weirder and cagier (if such a thing were even possible); he’s stopped responding to Kou’s jibes entirely, which was unsettling enough that Kou stopped making them. There are less coffee cups around the dorm room, but somehow Nagai seems to be getting even less sleep than before, and it’s getting hard to make eye contact with him when he seems intent on glaring silently at the wall 24/7.

Once, when Kou was studying in the room (because he does study once in a while, he’s not trying to fail), Nagai started drumming his fingers on his desk out of nowhere. From his pinkie to his index finger like a wave, over and over again like gunshots in the silence. Nagai does not drum his fingers on the table. He’d said nothing, and didn’t look over at Kou. He just kept drumming his fingers, otherwise sitting absolutely motionless, before abruptly stopping half an hour later to stand up and leave the dorm room. Kou legitimately thought Nagai was going to snap and finally kill him, and was only able to breathe once he heard the door lock behind him.

He’s been walking on eggshells ever since. He’s waiting for Nagai’s inevitable meltdown, and he’s losing his fucking mind. He just wants to relax and drink good coffee without fearing for his life.

So Kou cracks first, and this is how he finds himself sitting across Kai at a small table in the corner of the café.

“Five minutes,” the guy now manning the counter warns, levelling Kou with a dark look. Kou does not want to find out what will happen if he keeps Kai any longer than the allotted five minutes, especially during the beginnings of the afternoon rush. This does not make it any easier to get any words out.

He’s surprised he even got this far. Or, well, maybe not that surprised. He’d guessed from the start that if he mentioned Nagai, he’d have all of Kai’s attention from the get-go. Which is exactly what happened. What he did not expect was Kai being forcibly ejected from the counter by the other worker and being corralled onto a table. Now he knows that Kai had been absolutely waiting for him to crack, and had prepared an interrogation procedure for this very event.

Except that Kai isn’t saying anything. Just sitting there, the picture of tranquillity. Is this some sort of advanced psychological warfare? No, but, Kou is the one that called him out, so shouldn’t he be the one to start speaking first?

“You know,” Kai starts, when it becomes clear that Kou has lost the nerve to say absolutely anything. “Kei didn’t exactly have a sparkling review about you.”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Told you I’m a pain in the ass, right?” Kou can’t help but laugh as he says it, relaxing into his seat. This, at least, is familiar territory. “I’ll admit I’ve done some pretty dumb shit, and he’s bound to get annoyed of me since we’re literally living together. It’s not like he’s the most pleasant guy to be around, either.”

“But you’re here to talk about him,” Kai says, inclining his head. Kou hears the unspoken question loud and clear. Why?

Kou takes a deep breath. He knows exactly what he’s here to do. He might not have a way with words, and he might not have been completely prepared, but he came here with a purpose and by god he would not leave until he’d achieved it.

“So Nagai likes you.”

Kai does not react at all, just looking at him like, and? Kou doesn’t know what he expected, really. He sighs, scratching the back of his neck.

“But he’s been avoiding you.”

Kai stares at him, quiet. His arms are crossed on his chest. “And he told you why?”

Kou stares back, incredulous. “I told you, he thinks I’m a pain in the ass. He never tells me anything.”

Kai nods. He doesn’t uncross his arms, but he does relax minutely into his seat, gaze still intent.

“But you do know something.”

Kou shrugs. Takes another breath. Then, finally,

“Nagai is never going to make the first move.”

Kai’s expression finally, finally changes.

He raises his brows, blinking slowly. Kou rushes on before he can lose his nerve again.

“Listen. You’ve got to do something, man. You have to make the first move. Nagai is like, the complete opposite of a romantic. He probably started avoiding you because he’s freaked out that he caught feelings. He’s never going to do anything. He thinks that, like, if he meets you outside of coffee then he’s being ‘illogical’ because it costs more effort than it’s worth. Thinks it’s worth. He thinks it’s illogical to put in extra effort to meet you for no reason, I mean.”

At Kai’s blank look, Kou grimaces.

“He’s weird, okay? You’ve met him, you probably know that better than me. I’m pretty sure he thinks friends and partners and stuff is for chumps, or that it doesn’t make any sense. If he thinks it doesn’t make sense, he won’t do it. Full stop.”

“But it’s not that he doesn’t want to do it,” Kai says, slowly, and Kou almost starts tap-dancing on the table then and there.

“Exactly! The guy is just super repressed. I know it’s a lot to ask, especially for a guy that I just told you doesn’t want to put in extra effort to meeting people, not you specifically, he’s just like that... Actually, forget I said any of that. I’m not really sure why I’m trying to help him out but I figured you could use the heads up, so.”

Kou smiles sheepishly, ending his ramble in almost a question like he has, indeed, forgotten why he began his crusade in the first place. Kai regards him silently, hands folded neatly together on the table. It’s making Kou antsy, trying hard not to squirm under the table, especially since the guy behind the counter has started to glare at him. Hey, it’s not his fault he’s holding up Kai! Well, it is, but...

“And if I said I don’t want to?”

Kou stares, uncomprehending.

“...but you do,” Kou says, like it’s obvious. Which it is.

Kai sighs.

“But I do,” he agrees easily. “But if I don’t do it anyway, then what happens?”

Kou gives a helpless little shrug, shaking the table slightly. “He’ll probably convince himself that he’s being irrational and like, repress it forever. And just straight up not come anymore. Or he’ll just die. I don’t know! I can’t force you to do anything, but, just. Think about it, I guess? I mean, what if someone else gets to him first?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Kou regrets it immediately.

“Uh, not that there’s anyone else to get him. Especially not me. Not that he’s unlikeable! Because he isn’t. Unlikeable, I mean.” God, just kill him now. “Actually, you know what, I don’t really get what you see in him, but I promise he’s only got eyes for you.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m serious! It’s so obvious he likes you but he’ll never admit it even if it killed him. I just wanted to let you know before you died of blue balls or something.”

Kai quirks his lip at that. Kou hopes it’s not because he’s finally lost his patience and is going to put him out of his misery once and for all. Still, Kai says nothing, apparently fully expecting Kou to keep talking and have literally anything prepared for the situation. Well, Kou thinks, if he’s gonna die anyway, he might as well get everything out. He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“And, well,” Kou says, unable to bring himself to look Kai in the eye. His voice drops without it meaning to.

“Well. This is just a big thing for him, y’know? I mean, doing literally anything outside of classwork. I was convinced he was a fucking robot the first few weeks I moved in with him. He’d stay cooped up in the room or in a library somewhere. I’m pretty sure part of the reason he hates my guts is because I kept trying to get him out of the dorm. Not that I’m trying to kick him out, it’s just. He doesn’t get out much. At all. Maybe I’m just being too nosy or what, but it feels like one of these days he’s gonna lose it from stress. Assuming that he gets stressed. What I’m saying is, it’s the first time he’s seemed interested in literally anything that isn’t the top scores, so I just thought it’d be... nice. To keep going. You and him, I mean. Also, I like going here, I like the coffee, and I want to keep going and not get killed because Nagai is sexually frustrated.”

Kou finally clamps his mouth shut. He’s embarrassed himself beyond any hope of redemption, and his only salvation is his immediate death or the unlikely success of his extremely botched plan. There’s a cut off sound – did Kai just laugh? – but when Kou looks up, Kai’s face is as expressionless as ever.

“You guys get along better than you think,” Kai says, at last. Kou’s immediate response is to protest, but Kai makes to stand, and Kou stops again, stock-still in his seat. “I’m not doing anything Kei doesn’t want. And I’m not doing anything I haven’t already decided to do.”

Then, after a moment, before Kou can fully process what he’s been told, Kai raises a hand to point at the cup of cold coffee sitting on the table.

“You know you have to pay for that, right?”

Kou looks down at his cup.

“Aw, shit.”

Chapter Text

“Are you free sometime this week?”

Kai blinks. He has a distinct feeling that he’s not being asked out on a date.

“Sure,” he says, deciding not to ask. “When?”

“Just let me know when you’re available,” and Kai’s earlier intuitions are solidified by the totally nonchalant way Kei slides over a carefully ripped sheet with a crisply written number on it. He takes it with warm fuzzy feelings anyway. “I’ll work out what’s convenient for both of us.”

Then his eyes narrow, lips pursing as if to keep in the words, aren’t you going to ask? But Kai only smiles placidly, saying nothing, because there is no good way to say that he could ask of him anything and he’d probably do it without question. The moment drags on with neither of them saying anything, and for a second, Kei’s expression twitches into something between a smile and a scowl.

“See you,” Kei says finally, tightly, and he walks out without buying anything for the second time.

Chapter Text

("That was a dick move," Kai said when he'd found out, voice a low murmur between customers.

"You were going to tell him eventually," Kotobuki had drawled, ignoring a woman's confused look as he rang up her order.

"Kotobuki."

"Kaito." Then, as the line shuffled forward, "Sorry."

Kai made a vaguely dismissive noise, and that was that. Sometimes Kotobuki wished he'd actually get mad, for once, like actual anger and yelling instead of fleeting irritation, if it could even be called that. Maybe that's why he'd said it in the first place: ever since that Nagai Kei started showing up, Kai had been more expressive than he'd ever seen him.

"So? How'd it go?"

A shrug. "Checking in. All good."

"Damn. Looks like I'm still stuck with you," Kotobuki groaned, and this time Kai smiled, moving to the coffee machines.

"When's yours?" Kai asked, passing by with an order, and Kotobuki waited for him to return to the cashier stand before responding, eyes to the front.

"Soon."

"Think it'll be okay?"

"Who knows. Maybe you're not gonna get stuck with me after all."

"I'd bust you out," Kai said, and Kotobuki had to laugh at how serious he sounded. No, he did not doubt him for a second, even after all the shit he's given him.

He still gave him a good punch to the shoulder when no one was looking.)