Work Text:
8:30 AM, Monday
Cliiing!
The door swings open, and the day is introduced by the mildly annoying yet somewhat comforting jingle of the doorbell chime. It reminds Suguru of how everything in this time of day is just right. As if he were in the Goldilocks zone of a regular day.
Traffic is light, the street isn’t too busy, but not eerily quiet as well. Customers that arrive are neither mean nor overly nice bordering on creepy, trying to hit on the other baristas…Suguru has seen his fair share of that.
Perfect was the word to describe this morning, and that’s what annoys him.
Any other person would be thrilled to start work on a perfect morning, but not Suguru. The wonderful morning spent at work just sounded miserable to him. Not because he hates his job, no. A lot of people assume that because he was working part time as a barista whilst being a student meant he loathed the job, but he was teetering on the neutral side.
It gave him enough money for him to stop relying on his parents like he’d promised them, and it provided him with just enough money to buy things he enjoys…
But on the downside, it meant having to deal with bratty, stuck-up customers who think they’re above everybody else just because they wear glasses and carry around a fancy laptop all the damn ti-
Kriiing!
Somehow, Suguru had memorized the slight differences in the way the door chime slams and echoes whenever that brat walks through the door.
Pushing up his glasses with a subtle smirk that Suguru didn’t fail to catch, he walks up to the counter, one hand on his backpack strap.
“How may I help you?” A warm smile, straight posture. Every other customer has seen it before.
“One black coffee.”
“Black coffee?” Suguru raised an eyebrow. He’s seen this guy way too many times to keep up formalities with him. For…legal reasons, and so he doesn’t get fired though, he makes sure to greet him with a signature smile and ask him what his order is, even though he probably already knows before this guy even opens his lips.
“Yeah.”
The man in question is Satoru Gojo. A college student at the same university Suguru attended. If there was a line between being a pain in the ass that Suguru dreaded to see walking through the door and being a valued customer that pretty much pays his bills, Satoru uses that line as a rope to choke him with.
He’s not lying. Suguru pretty much wants to choke himself whenever he talks to this man, and it’s easy to see why in the next few moments of this interaction.
“Alright, one black coffee for-”
“Actually no, I want a frappuccino.” Suguru erases his note and starts writing again. “Alright, what kind of frappuccino?”
“Strawberry.” Satoru says firmly, and Suguru locks in the order mentally before…
“Wait no, I want a caramel macchiato.” Erase…
“With a donut too.” Write…
“Hold on, scrap the donut,” Erase…
“Actually, scrap the caramel macchiato too–” And the paper was reduced to a crumpled ball. His knuckles would have turned white before he let out a breath and flashed a smile that slowly bloomed across his face.
“Would you like me to give you some time to think, sir?” His voice was all too smooth, too kind, too gentle. Yep, his irritation was reaching a new height with Satoru around. And he knew…he knew that the bastard was doing it on purpose. The next thing he’d be erasing is that damned satisfied smirk on his face!
“No, I’d prefer you stay here. Besides, you should be giving me some recommendations! I’m too indecisive for this!” Satoru whined dramatically and Suguru couldn’t help but just sigh in defeat. As entertaining as this was for Satoru, he wasn’t an entirely terrible person, just an annoying one. He knew customer service was a pretty hard job, and Suguru probably faced dozens of actual airheads who complain about the smallest details and are one second away from splashing their drink at him.
“Anyways, I’m serious now. The strawberry frappuccino with a glazed donut sounds good. Thanks.” He spoke with an innocent tone, one that could probably make flowers bloom. Suguru writes down the order and parts his lips to speak. “That’d be-”
“$12.40, I calculated it for you.” A condescending smile blooms instead.
“I know how to calculate it myself, thank you.”
“Never said you didn’t.”
“Alright that’s it, aprons off, let’s take this outside.”
…Is what he would have said if he didn’t have self control. Instead, he just furrows his eyebrows and smacks his lips before walking off, murmuring a begrudged, “pleasewaitforyourordersir”.
The following minutes were full of fidgeting from Satoru’s table. He started by bouncing his leg and looking out the window as though he was starring in some sort of dramatic music video, then it turned into shifting around in his seat. It may look like just trying to find a comfortable position to sit in, but to Suguru, it looked like the idiot was trying to subtly scratch his own ass in public.
Trying to hold on a snicker, he stopped by his table. “For Satoru,” he spoke, gently sliding the tray onto his table with the receipt. Satoru perked up and sat up straight, clicking his tongue and saying, “About damn time.”
Suguru snorted at his attempt to be cool. He watched as the guy adjusted his glasses in a pretentious manner. “Yeah, any longer and you probably would have had the bathroom clogged.”
The words were tucked underneath his breath but Satoru nearly chokes on his drink. He swore that it wasn't the wind. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know that my stomach is doing just fine! And that would imply that the way you make my order sends me to the bathroom multiple times!”
Stay professional, Suguru.
“Let me just correct you, sir. I don’t make your orders. Another worker does. I just serve them.”
“The way you walk probably messes with the quality of the liquid inside the plastic container!” Defensive, but Suguru is just as prideful. “That’s the sound of someone who can’t handle a simple frappucino,” he whistled subtly, looking to the side.
“Why you-”
At that very moment, a footstep interrupts the conversation. Technically speaking, it was just a regular foot step, but to Suguru, it echoed and rang, sending vibrations across the floor. He straightened his posture and fixed his expression.
“What seems to be the problem here, sir?” Flowers and rainbows practically circled Suguru as he asked with a polite smile, his manager, Yaga, slowly walking to observe the state of the cafe.
Satoru wants to blurt out every negative adjective that could come to mind at the moment, but he knows how important these evaluations are to workers. So, he flashed an awkward grin…which almost made Suguru break character due to how lopsided it was.
Once Yaga had left the area, Suguru let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was clinging onto that promotion lately, and he was glad Satoru didn’t ruin it…but he still wanted to poke fun at him a little.
“I must say, nice smile you’ve got there, sir.” Of course, the formal tone.
“Sure, whatever. My order’s complete and stuff, you can go.” Cool and composed, that was his target image… if only the tip of his ears weren’t pink with embarrassment right now.
Suguru nodded accordingly and bowed politely, making his way behind the counter yet again. After a few circles around the cafe and dozens of scribbles on his notepad, he barely noticed that Satoru’s table was empty once more. Silence lingered around it, finally some peace.
He approached the table, a cloth in hand to clean it for the next customer. When he leaned a little closer, there tucked under a napkin was a $5 tip. Beneath the napkin wrote:
‘ a guy like you might need it lol. ‘
‘that’s an insult btw’
Suguru gives it a blank stare…what does one do in this situation? A little puzzled, he just tucks the bill into his pocket and begins to wipe the table like he had planned to.
Only the last jingle of the door bell chime had his head lifted, he watched as the doors slowly fell back into its position, remnants of the ring lingering around the now empty cafe.
But before everything comes to a close, to another regular ending, Suguru notices the slight difference in the doorbell chime. Curious, and since he was assigned to clean up anyways, he steps towards the door, lifting the chime only to find…
A small white napkin with traces of blue ink squeezed between the chime, muffling the sound slightly whenever it was nudged, knocked, or brushed past. It doesn’t sound too loud, not too faint, but just right.
He pushes the door close and suddenly, every time it rang, it sounded just like the way it did whenever that damn bastard walks through the door.
Like the ring that lets him know he’s here.