Chapter Text
"𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳"—𝘝𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘝𝘢𝘯 𝘎𝘰𝘨𝘩
Not every story begins quietly. This one especially. Not like that kind of thing is expected in Tokyo—the city that never sleeps.
However, even one of the most quiet place of the city had its gem—and in this story, the so called gem only shines at night.
Atleast that's what everyone said about it—and Dazai's only thought of that imply was that it was absolutely 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥. The only thing that shines at night in this café is the smile on Dazai's face when he gets to finally leave.
---
Being a waiter 𝘢𝘯𝘥 sometimes a chef that prepared all kinds of meals wasn't as easy as it sounded. Hell, it might even be one of the most tiresome jobs the brunette has ever experienced, which is 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵. If he's lucky, he might get a few tips—and a good night's rest for once in a while. Probably not today—but 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯.
However, it was break time. 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, he thought.
Another chance to butt around the bar stool and stare into nothingness. Something he 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 did on break time. It was a miracle he never got bored. But why would he?
Sometimes, he'd also brew himself a cup of coffee, only to not look like he's just trying to pass time and lay around the bar counter—which he 𝘪𝘴, really. But other than that, he actually quite enjoys the break time. Mostly because he gets time to actually think, and sometimes because he gets more sleep at the bar table than he does at his apartment—but its still a cherished part of the day.
And honestly? He wouldn't trade it for anything.
---
"Oi, Dazai!" Scowls straight from the kitchen in the back, and Dazai is awakened from his thoughts. With a growl, the boy sits up from the bar counter—going to see what he could've possibly done wrong now.
"Oh my 𝘨𝘰𝘥, what?"
"Here." Kunikida hands him another full food tray—mostly just deserts and drinks. "Take this to table number 15—oh, and give them the price check."
"Jeez, whatever.." But he goes.
Approaching the table, Dazai greets the two girls gracefully, setting all the food and drinks on the table. Along them, a small envelope, where the girls are supposed to leave the money. Hopefully a tip.
"Your drinks, m'ladies," The brunette winks, as he leaves to go back to the bar counter.
---
The shift passes by in the same usual habits. Sometimes serving, sometimes helping in the kitchen...sometimes even preparing full ass meals, for the 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦 number of customers that Dazai couldn't even 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵.
The café is almost full, the usual. And that's not really 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 much of a surprise, considering that at night, this place turns into a fucking 𝘣𝘢𝘳.
And at that moment, no one is sober—except for Kunikida(not the manager, but does way more work than him) and Dazai. Not even 𝘈𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪 is sober. The poor boy, who almost can't stop stuttering while taking orders, is now 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨?
Considering the fact that Kunikida bailed on work and left earlier, Dazai must be the only sober person in the room. Along with the redhead who's kissing him right now.
How did he end up here? No idea. But is he protesting? Not in the slightest. Especially when this redhead smelled 𝘴𝘰 good—and kissed like it was life's purpose. Their height was pretty short—it must be a girl. Yeah. Definitely a girl. Girls can also have strong hands, right?
And so, Dazai kissed back fiercely, his hands tangled in red hair, as he leaned down to take more of the said redhead in.
It was strange. Infuriating in a way.
Dazai had never imagined that he would experience a kiss like that. Seriously, though, this girl was 𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘴—who even kisses like that? He couldn't pull away. He didn't 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 to pull away.
The rush of adrenaline increases and spreads all the way to his spine after a while, when the redhead grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him even lower. Closer.
And he doesn't remember pulling away. Because he didn't.
The café was completely full. Not a single seat was empty, some people were just standing in random places and talking, some were at the bar table...just everywhere. And no one was leaving soon.
---
An unfamiliar ceiling. Twisted bed sheets. Clothes on the floor.
It wasn't an unusual sight. Dazai was actually pretty used to it, if anything. But it hasn't happened in a long time—a very long time, he thinks.
He layed wide awake on his back. His torso was exposed, so were the few scars on it.
And when Dazai flicked his gaze a little bit, right beside him was a 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, completely covered in white sheets. The only thing that crept to the surface was a strand of red hair.
"...Right." Dazai muttered.
After making a decision to get up, he rumagged through all the clothes on the floor to try and find his own—and eventually, he got ready, and gained his composure back. And turns out Dazai was, infact, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬.
He slipped his shoes on in a hurry to leave. Obviously—because that's what he did after every one-night-stand with a stranger. That's what every 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭 person would do, atleast.
But before he left, he looked back. Only once. Not at the person in the sheets, but at the clothes piled on the ground.
Something that was supposed to be girl clothes—probably a dress, and some tights, or whatever. Because what else do girls wear at nights out?
But inbetween those clothes was 𝘯𝘰𝘵 a dress. There wasn't even the slightest feminine feature in any of the clothes on the ground—nothing that would make a person see a piece of clothing and go like "𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨".
The said clothes were nothing more than a pair of ripped jeans, a black tank top and a leather jacket. And dark red converse, to go with it.
Sure, girls wear that kind of thing too nowadays, Dazai thought.
And slowly, he leaned down and took the tank top in his hands. The pants could be oversized, so could be the leather jacket. But the tank top is 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 tight by the torso.
Dazai reached for the size tag. It couldn't be over an XS, right? That's how tight girls prefer their shirts—
Except that wasn't girl clothing. It was a size M, to be exact. Nothing weird, right?
"𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘉𝘶𝘹𝘵𝘰𝘯—𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘔" was written on the tag.
Cole Buxton. A designer for 𝘮𝘦𝘯.
"What the—" He stopped himself. Maybe this girl just liked men clothing?
It wasn't any of his business, anyway. And even if it was, the girl is probably just a tomboy or something.
Dazai set the tank top on the ground next to all the clothing that was left. Turning back, he left, clicking the door closed gently.
When he exited the building, it was slightly cold—which was usual in the morning, but it was definitely 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 colder than the area Dazai's from.
He digs his hand into the pocket of his pants and reaches for his phone, only to stop dead in his tracks, because—
"...Shit."
"I left my phone."
---
After that, Dazai takes the train straight to work.
The day was still young, so it surely couldn't be past 7, Dazai thought.
He started his shift as if nothing happened. That's what he always did, after all. After every one-night-stand.
Due to the café being almost empty by the time he arrives to work, he decides to go and help Kunikida in the kitchen—well, if sleeping on a table in the back counted as help.
His 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘺 helpful actions come to an end after more customers keep coming in. Which was 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺—his job was chill.
Especially on days when his only job was to work on the bar counter.
He brewed coffee, tea, milkshakes, whatever kind of non alcoholic drinks the people asked of him. And it was nice. Even 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 in a way.
Dazai leaned his elbows on one of the bar counters. Sometimes it was nice just watching people enjoying something he did. Something 𝘩𝘦 did, not anyone else—even if it was something as low as brewing up a fucking 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬.
And in a short while, he's turned around—back facing the door, as he washes some of the glasses back at the bar table.
The small bell on top of the door rings. Someone new is here. If they wanted to eat, Kunikida would take care of them—and if they wanted a drink, Dazai would. And if the person liked it, he would, too.
By the time he turned around, the entryway was empty—but a new seat in the back was occupied. He couldn't see the person's face, but they had a slim figure. A leather jacket, and reddish—auburn hair.
He scoffed.
At this point, Dazai was sure that 𝘢𝘭𝘭 redheads for some reason took a liking to leather jackets. Specifically red ones.
Taking the round, metal black coffee tray from one counter, Dazai approached the table.
"Good morning, my name's Dazai, and I'll be serving you today," A cocky announcement, with a half wink. Nothing special. He does that to 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 single customer. So often people could identify him by that one day.
"...A tiramisu."
"And some milk tea."
Wow. Straight to the point? Okay.
"..Okay. I will bring your order shortly—"
And just as Dazai's about to walk back—the voice interrupts him. A bitter expression on the face of the person it belongs to.
"...And I'd appreciate if you took this back. I don't need it." His phone practically spawns from the redheads hands onto the table.
Oh.
𝘖𝘩.