Work Text:
The bell above the door jangles.
You straighten up behind the counter, wiping your hands on your apron. The morning has been dead quiet—just you, the hum of the meat cooler, and that ridiculous sign your boss taped to the front window last night:
COUPLE'S SPECIAL — BUY ONE, GET ONE FREE ON FLAVORED SAUSAGES.
His handwriting. His idea. "Trust me," he'd said, tapping his temple. "Romance moves product."
You don't know about romance. What you do know is that business has been sluggish for the past month. Maybe the islanders have lost interest in ham and sausage altogether—the shop hasn't introduced a popular new flavor in ages. Or maybe it has something to do with the drop in the quality of their meat supply. Either way, you're desperate for this gimmick to boost sales. The stock won't keep forever, and you'd rather not watch it spoil on the shelves.
The door swings open.
A man steps through first, holding the door for his companion with an easy, practiced grace. He’s tall and lean, blond hair falling in a smooth wave across one side of his face, the kind of gold that looks like it belongs in sunlight. His smile is wide, almost dreamy, as if he’s just heard something wonderful and is still savoring it. His shirt is crisp, and his arm is bent at the elbow, a perfect perch.
Hooked through that arm is the hand of a woman.
Orange hair. Not red, not auburn—orange, like a tangerine peeled fresh. It frames her face in short, sharp layers, and she’s looking up at the blond man with a small, private smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her eyes are large and strikingly bright, lashes dark against her skin, and there’s a glint of cleverness in her gaze, like she’s already three steps ahead of whatever room she walks into. She shifts her weight, and the movement is fluid, confident. She knows she’s beautiful. She doesn’t need to prove it.
For a moment, the two of them just stand there in the dusty light of your little shop, looking at nothing but each other, and you feel something strange—a brief, borrowed warmth, like you’ve accidentally stepped into someone else’s happiness. It makes your chest ache, just a little.
Then the woman—the orange-haired one—turns her head and catches you staring. Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it sharpens.
"Hi," she says, her voice light but direct. "We saw the sign. Buy one, get one free on flavored sausages?"
You blink. "Ah, yes. That's for couples. One free sausage per couple."
"Only one?"
"Just one free sausage, miss." You're counting on this promotion to draw in customers—you don't want someone walking in and clearing out the whole stock in one go. The flavored sausages with the freebie are priced ridiculously low, practically a steal.
The blond man's attention drifts toward you now, and his dreamy smile settles into something more grounded, more curious. He tilts his head, reading the sign again, and then glances at the woman on his arm.
"We are a couple," he says, as if confirming it to himself. His voice is smooth, warm, faintly accented. "Aren't we, Nami?"
"Absolutely," she says, patting his arm.
Their exchange sounds like there's more beneath the surface, but you're not about to risk calling them out on it. Why would you? A sale is a sale. You pack up the items the man requested—judging by his questions about ingredients and the scrutinizing look in his eye, he knows his way around food, and his choices are spot on, all top-quality cuts. At the end of his list, he adds a flavored sausage. Then, with the hand not linked through his companion's arm, he pulls out his money, pays in full, takes the paper bag, and the two of them walk out.
If that had been the end of it, there would've been nothing strange about the day. Just another ordinary shift. But a little over ten minutes later, the bell above the door chimed again. You looked up—and saw another couple.
Another couple…… maybe?
The man was one you'd never seen before. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a build that suggested he could break things without trying very hard. His hair was dark green, cropped short, and his face was all hard lines and quiet intensity. He wore a dark, loose-fitting shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle. Three gold earrings glinted from one ear. But what really made you pause were the three swords tucked at his hip—one white, two darker—worn with the casual ease of someone who absolutely knew how to use them.
The woman beside him, though, you recognized. Same orange hair. Same sharp, clever eyes. Her hand was hooked through the crook of his arm, the one with his hand shoved deep into his pocket, and she seemed to be tugging at him, as if dragging him in against his will. The man didn't look particularly happy to be here. His gaze was somewhere off to the side, pointedly not at you.
She stepped up to the counter and gave you a friendly smile. "We'd like to buy a buy-one-get-one-free flavored sausage, please."
You blinked again. What?
She'd already placed the money on the counter. You stared at it, then at her, your brain struggling to catch up. "Are you two... a couple?"
"Yes," she said smoothly, without missing a beat.
The man's eyes finally shifted to your face. You couldn't read his expression at all.
"Uh—but—you were just here with another gentleman," you stammered, the confusion spilling out before you could stop it.
"And?" Her voice lifted a note. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, casual as anything. "I switched. Is that not allowed?"
Switched? Switched what—a lover? "I don't quite follow..."
"She dumped the last one," the green-haired man said flatly, the words coming out in a low snort.
"Nami"—if you remembered the name correctly—shot him a sideways glance. Her grip on his arm tightened.
Perhaps because your silence had stretched a beat too long, she leaned in slightly and went on, her voice smooth as silk. "I know it's a little unusual, but can't you make an exception? We really are a very happy couple."
She tugged him closer, pressing her body against his side, her head coming to rest near his shoulder, just brushing the curve of his neck. For a fleeting moment, the green-haired man's rigid posture seemed to ease—a subtle loosening in his shoulders, a slight give in the arm she was clinging to.
Then her other hand came down on that same arm with a crisp slap.
"Right?" she prompted, all sweet expectation.
"...Yes." The word came out flat. Whatever brief ease had flickered through him was gone now, replaced by something distinctly like irritation.
You caved. As she took the bag with the two flavored sausages, a victorious gleam flashed in her eyes.
You were still trying to process what had just happened when the bell above the door jangled yet again. You looked up—and your eyes went wide. Twice their normal size, probably.
It was the blond man. The same one who had walked in not twenty minutes ago with the orange-haired woman draped on his arm. Except this time, the person he was dragging through the door was the green-haired swordsman.
They burst in like a small storm, the blond's hand clamped firmly on the other man's shoulder, steering him into place in front of the counter. Both of them were breathing hard, as if they'd been wrestling the entire way here. The shorter-haired one let out a huff of pure irritation, his jaw tight. The one with the kinder face smoothed down the front of his shirt with his free hand and cleared his throat.
"We'd like to buy one sausage," he announced, "The one with the freebie."
Alright. No.
This was officially too far. You weren't about to be made a fool of in your own shop. You had some pride left, surely.
"No way you two can be a couple." You crossed your arms, and your voice came out firmer than you expected. "You can't just—I can't keep giving out free sausages. Unless you two actually kiss.There are rules—"
You didn't get to finish.
The taller man moved fast. He grabbed the green-haired man by the back of the head, pulled him in, and kissed him. Deeply. Thoroughly. Their lips met with full contact, and then the blond began to savor it—mouth working against the other's with a slow, practiced rhythm, like they'd done this a hundred times before and he fully intended to do it a hundred more. A slight tilt of the head, a soft sound, the kind of kiss that made you forget momentarily where you were standing.
The green-haired man's eyes were screwed shut. His hands opened at his sides; one of them groped blindly across the countertop, fingers skidding over the wood, before finding the blond's forearm and gripping it—not pushing him away, not quite pulling him closer. Somewhere in between.
Then the blond released him.
The man with the earrings was left breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, his hands now crossed protectively in front of him like a shield. His face was a complicated mixture of fury and something else he clearly did not wish to examine.
"Just you wait," he ground out through clenched teeth, "When we get back to the ship. "
The blond extended a hand, palm flat, effortlessly blocking the other man's head as it leaned toward him in threat. With his other hand, he swept his bangs to the side in a practiced, elegant flick. His gaze settled on you, calm and focused, ignoring the seething presence beside him entirely.
Then he smiled.
"Now," he said, as if nothing unusual had happened at all, "can we buy the sausage?"
You sold the third flavored sausage.