Work Text:
Winter break is a time of relief for students at the Tokyo ESP Academy. However, way before their prized weeks of freedom can be attained, nearly all of them have to go through a series of exams, evaluations and projects. Thus, the first weeks of December are always pretty profitable for the Snowdrop Café– right across the street from the Academy building. Not only is the cold weather a strong motivator for people to buy warm drinks and stay inside the warm, cozy establishment, but the added stress and all nighters increase the consumption of caffeine and sugar amongst both the student body and teaching staff.
This bonanza did not come without its share of sacrifices, though; namely, with the café opening an hour earlier to service those needing a last bit of sweetened courage before their performances, Tomoya and Takahiro are obligated to arrive an hour earlier than they do the rest of the year in the freezing December cold. They crank up the heating as much as their supervisor allows them, before rolling up the steel curtains and turning that little “Open” sign on the front door. Tomoya fondly turns on the switches for the several fairy lights that decorate the hall; along with their new seasonal drinks and pastries, and with Takahiro switching out his usual vegetable themed apron for a Christmas sweater print one (per management’s request), the café is filled with holiday spirit. Not like most people, including Tomoya himself, give much meaning to the holiday unless they’re coupled (he’s not), but still, it’s nice to see a bit of cheer in the place he’s grown so used to. It’s also a sign there’s sweet, sweet vacation days to come, as the café closes down when their main consumer base leaves for the winter break.
Taka is already taking his place behind the griddle, cooking up some ready-to-grab sandwiches. Tomoya begins plugging his machines to life, an almost fond pat to the struggling frappe machine (because, believe it or not, people were ordering frappes at this time of year). As the first anxious faces begin rolling in, carrying with them instruments and books and requests for honeyed tea, he cannot help but become a little contemplative as he eyes them and hands them their drinks and pastries with practiced efficiency. As his hands move with technical precision, mixing and matching flavors, he wishes his only concern were still exams and acing his drumming to impress the latest teacher straight out of Whiplash that he’d been bold enough to enroll with. But those days, he thinks, as the first group of worried students exits back to the university building, are not his anymore. His days are now this, coffee machines and latte art and shakers, with two classes a week that he can barely concentrate on because he’s thinking of what needs to be done when he gets home and on the buses hopefully running quickly that late. He’s doing the bare minimum to still be able to claim the city scholarship for independent students, but he knows in reality he can barely call himself one anymore.
But he doesn’t let it deter him. Neither does Taka. While his friend is more willing to talk his ear off about his shitty parents and his shitty apartment and shitty roommate who he’s certainly not in love with, Tomoya takes things in stride. He smiles and chatters away with the patrons as he pours their coffee and brings them Taka’s latest bistro creation, to the point his regulars already recognize him and welcome his chatter.
Almost all of them.
“Tomoya, you’re staring again” Taka swats him with a spatula that is three seconds later dropped in the washing sink. Tomoya startles and nearly smacks him with his whisk.
“Can you blame me? He’s back again” he whispers, leaning on the bar. The mysterious man with bleached, choppy hair has returned to the café, just like he’s done for the past ten business days. His big headphones are always covering his ears, seemingly noise-cancelling, because whenever Tomo attempts to speak to him, he gets little to no answer. He sometimes carries a guitar case, but mostly seems to work on a chunky, worn down notebook.
“He hasn’t ordered anything. I should ask Masa to kick him out.”
“Nope, he’ll come soon” Tomo says with certainty. And indeed, a few minutes after, once the man has settled in, he approaches the counter without even looking at their new seasonal offerings.
“Flat white and strawberry sando” he requests in a practical, flat tone, pays quickly with a contactless card and sits back down at his table.
“Charmer” Taka rolls his eyes– for days now he’s been offended by the man’s lack of appreciation of their expanded bistro-like menu, all thanks to his very own talents.
“Yeah” Tomo nods, as he carefully prepares the man’s drink, making the milk foamy and inviting. He looks up and his gaze lands on the man’s lip, that slight cat-like curve pursed as he scribbles in concentration. Their gazes meet for a moment and Tomoya panics, suddenly caught but he’s saved by Taka’s high pitched ‘order up’. He picks up the strawberry sando (along with an amused look from his coworker) and along with the steaming cup, he leaves it gently on the man’s table. He notices he’s taken his headphones for a second to pull his hair up, and it’s adorable, so much it nearly makes him miss this chance to speak to him without the chunky ear covers. “You come here often lately. A lot of work this month?”
The blond just gives him a silent look with those deep set, huge eyes, before casting them down in avoidance, making Tomo confused. He hadn’t said anything he wouldn’t say to another customer, hadn’t gotten too close, but the repeat visitor shut himself like a clam, even shutting the beat up notebook he’d been writing in.
“End of semester” he replies curtly, that voice as deep and even as usual. He doesn’t carry on with the conversation and it makes Tomoya’s stomach churn with embarrassment as he retreats back to the bar, taking in the next customer.
“Wow” Taka snickers at him, getting a rag thrown in his face, yet he still taunts him, voice muffled by the fabric. “Your crush is certainly a sweetie.”
As often in his life, Tomoya is obstinate when it comes to his aloof customer. He tells himself that the last time he must have just interrupted him in the middle of some important task for a final. He’s a charming barista and waiter, and he holds the record for most tips in a single day for a reason. He’s managed to school his provincial lightness into something appropriate yet affable for Tokyoites, and even the grumpiest, most tired students usually fall for his spark. Despite Taka’s jabs, he tells himself this is about not making a bad impression and keeping good business.
Right.
His latest attempt is in the form of food. Taka has sorted through Western recipes for the winter season, most of them Christmas focused. After getting a reality shock from their supervisor on the cost-benefit on adding roast turkey dishes to the menu when their consumer base was mostly broke students, he poured himself into baking– a rare sight for him, who was more at ease in the world of savory. He came up with localized versions of shortbread and gingerbread cookies with a dash of matcha. Small, round fruitcakes with fresh lychees, and puff pastry filled with red bean paste. Novelty pastries were a guaranteed hit with a young audience, and Tomoya was charged with offering free samples to the customers. The worn out students reacted enthusiastically, many rushing to the counter to buy the full-sized versions.
He approaches the usual table of his target, surprised to find him with another man, golden haired and resembling a young lion cub. Both seem chatty and at ease with each other, yet fall silent when approached. Not a good sign, but Tomoya doubles down.
“Care for a free sample? We’re introducing our new Christmas line of desserts.”
The new guy smiles a bit sheepish, taking one for himself and for the blond. The latter’s face seems to light up at tasting the gingerbread cookies dotted with matcha, and Tomoya smiles. Taka had struggled for days to find the right balance between the two strong ingredients, and his success was also Tomo’s pride.
“These are good” says the friend, smiling with sincerity shining through the slight shroud of shyness. From the usual suspect, silence. “I’ll go buy us some.”
Tomoya is barely aware of the shutter of a camera going off as the newcomer captures the rows of prettily garnished pastries and Takahiro gloats like a peacock. His eyes soon go back to his regular customer, who doesn’t even speak and has buried his face back in his notebook.
It gets to a point, really. Tomoya has given in to hopelessness, the cutting winter air seeping into his bones is too much, even for his sunshine personality. He is done with trying to be friendly to someone who isn’t interested. His doodles on his notes as his professor goes on about their grades tell another story, strawberries all over the margins of his notebook as he stares out the foggy window. He receives his passing grade with apathy, the same his teacher shows everyone but the overachievers. He’s busy chucking things into his backpack and nearly misses someone coming in, paying it no mind until he hears a quiet, subdued voice that makes him hit his head against the desk.
The hell?
His gloomy regular from the café is right there, chatting with the teacher about some other subject. He speaks in short, efficient phrases, but it’s still the most he’s heard him speak. He’s heard his voice more in those minutes than in the weeks he’s been serving his repeat order. He appears way more at ease here, as if he’s more comfortable discussing music than making small chat.
Funny.
Inevitably, Tomoya is not a quiet person, and the teacher assistant (apparently that’s what he is?) notices him leaving. He feels as caught as when he’s been spotted staring at him from across the café, but offers an awkward smile and wave once the teacher leaves them alone.
“Didn’t expect to see you here. I mean, I did expect you were a student, but not my teacher’s assistant, of all people” he chuckles lightly as they walk out the hallway. “You must be good.”
“It’s a requirement for my master’s” the blond man’s words are as direct and brief as always, and still blow holes into Tomo’s smile. Of course. They’re roughly the same age yet Toru has already finished his degree and is moving on to a master’s degree. Of course.
“Right” Tomoya nods. “So it’s been you grading my exams? Should I blame you?”
“I didn’t know it was you. It wasn’t personal” he clarifies, taking Tomoya’s joke to heart, a little indignant.
“Hey, I know. Just kidding” he tries to reassure the young man.
“I… really didn’t expect you to be a student here.”
“I’m hardly one” Tomoya scoffs, self-depreciating, but he receives a head tilt and a confused look in exchange.
“You’re a student” he points to Tomoya’s student ID lodged between the pages of his textbook, the slight poke causing it to slip out and down the stairs in front of them. “Shit” he immediately fumbles in trying to stop it, his own leather notebook dropping down the stairs in an almost cartoonish way. “Double shit.”
“Hey, don’t, I’ll get it” Tomoya insists even despite the insistent pleas not to, following both items to the stair landing. He pockets his student card quickly, not wanting the other to see how much younger he was in the picture, then his hand hovers over the notebook and he notices it’s fallen open right on the ribbon marker. His eyes are inevitably curious over the messy scrawl, written as if in a rush. He takes it before it can be snatched from his hands, curious about what courses the other might be taking, before being shocked to disbelief.
Work schedule: full shift?? (I always leave at 4, maybe he leaves right after?)
Name: Tomo? (doesn’t carry a name tag, blond shorty calls him that)
Likes: spinach quiche, spicy gyoza, creamy noodles, COFFEE (duh), taiyaki, anime??? (ask Ryota)
Below those notes, a crude drawing of a pin he recognizes from his own apron, a classic style Beyblade. Underneath continues a confusing, unlabelled bullet list.
-Order something simple so you can order several without it being too expensive and stick around for longer
-(Is it weird to drink the same thing every day???)
-Don’t waste their time when it’s busy
-Start arriving early so it’s not that busy
-google slowest hours for cafés
-so it’s rude to hit on someone who is doing customer service! great!!!!
-act cool and calm. don’t wanna look pushy or harassing!
“That’s- don’t look at it!” the notebook is soon taken from his hands, but he’s a quick reader.
“Tomoya.”
“What?”
“That’s my full name. Kanki Tomoya” he grins, sincere, brushing his curls out of his face. “For your notes.”
If it was possible for the other man to go any redder, he would’ve. His hands shake a little around the notebook he’s now clutching like it’s an explosive.
“Your name?”
“Oh. Right. Toru. Yamashita. Yamashita Toru” he nods, stammering but seeming slightly more at ease. “That’s my name.”
“Toru. I’ve been wondering what to call you for weeks” he grins, offering a cigarette to Toru to fight the cold. “Why do all of this, though? You could’ve just talked to me. I’ve been trying damn hard to get you to talk to me.”
“You talk to everyone. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to talk back? I… didn’t want to come on too strong.”
“No such thing” Tomo leans in, lighting Toru’s cigarette for him and watching the flame light up his dark eyes. “Coffee is best when it’s strong and bold. That same goes for other things.”
Toru sighs, relief flooding his features as he exhales the menthol smoke. Tomoya should probably be more freaked out by the situation, and some would maybe call it stalking. But he can see the patience and persistence in Toru’s actions. His steadfast presence carries the promise of promises themselves, of someone who won’t turn back on a whim or let him down.
“What if it’s too much-”
Toru has no time to finish. The light peck on his lips from Tomoya has him going strawberry red.
“So, you’ve got yourself a boyfriend right in time for Christmas” Takahiro’s voice mocks him through the phone speaker. “How cliché. How very American movie of you.”
“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of my super cute boyfriend taking me ice skating tomorrow.”