Work Text:
Denki's meet-cute happens fifteen minutes to midnight, when a criminally attractive man enters WcDonald's with his daughter.
Kaminari Denki, as his friends and family know, embraces crushes like hugs- with his whole self. Mina claims he's as in love with love as she is, but he knows better. Denki likes people, and some people just cause him to freeze on the spot and do a doubletake. He wouldn't call it love, but it's not a bad feeling, far from it. Having a crush feels like the sun is burning within him, filling him full of warmth and energy. Nothing has ever come of any of his crushes, aside from a handful of friendships he still has today, yet he sees no need to stop entertaining them. Maybe one day his crush will blossom beyond a brief, shared moment, beyond a stolen glance, beyond a joking flirtation. One day.
He hopes this is that day.
He's working the cash register when the man enters. He rarely works the overnight shift, but Tokoyami was out for the week, ill. Denki's offering the customer their generic greeting before he even lays eyes on him. However, when he finally looks up- Denki's momentarily speechless. Tall, broad shoulders, lavender-colored hair poking out from underneath a white beanie with cat ears. The sight causes his insides to swoop. Denki doesn't stop to question why the man's wearing sunglasses inside (or at night) as he spies silver peeking out from behind the thick, black frame. An eyebrow piercing. Maybe he has others? Denki can't see his ears, purple locks covering them. Sadly, he can't see the man's nose nor lips, as a soft-looking, charcoal-colored scarf obscures the bottom of his face.
Something moves in his periphery, and Denki finally sees that the stranger's not alone. A child's hand tightly grips his hoodie sleeve, tugging down on the solid black fabric. The girl's wearing sunglasses and a white beanie with cat ears. A soft, pink scarf rests on her shoulders and covers her face. They're matching. If he wasn't working, Denki would melt on the spot from the sheer adorableness before him.
Shit. That's the man's kid, isn't it? Is he already married? Maybe they're on a break? Open? Polyamor--
A deep voice shakes him from his daze. Shit, the man's husky voice has his knees weak.
And Denki's immediately reminded that he is, indeed, still on the clock and expected to provide the fine stranger with quality customer service. Denki locks in. "Yes! Welcome to WcDonald's where all your wacky cravings are available for low, low, low pricings! At WcDonald's we deliver great meals with better savings!"
Hitoshi's meet-ugly happens right as the brain fog sets in and words fail him.
Their new house is walking distance from a 24-hour WcDonald's. Hitoshi doubts their dads considered that when they looked for a larger place. However, it is a welcome happenstance tonight.
Hitoshi tosses Eri her scarf from the coat closet before reaching for his own. He does not trust himself to drive tonight, and Eri's in too much pain to complain about the trip on foot. He types in the address in his map app. The last thing they need on top of their pulsing migraines is getting lost in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar area.
They make the trek in relatively good time, though neither are aware of this fact, both too preoccupied by pain and their singular goal: WcDonald's.
He pulls the door open to let Eri drift past him. Together, they adjust their sunglasses; the bright overhead lights doing nothing to help. As they walk towards the order counter, the employee at the cash register greets them. Hitoshi can make out blonde hair, tied together in a short ponytail. The guy's not looked up yet.
Before he can respond, his mind blanks. His hands clench, his mouth frowns, his eyes narrow in a futile effort to glare his sense into returning. Eri must sense it because she tugs on his sleeve. Maybe she needs something? What does she need? WcDonald's. They're here to get something. He's done this plenty times before.
He groans in frustration, possibly also swears aloud.
Oh. The blonde's looking at him. The blonde's talking to him. He should listen.
"...low, low pricings! At WcDonald's we deliver great meals with better savings!"
Eri leans against him, a groan of her own leaves her lips. Right, he's here for a reason. They're here for a reason.
"Food." He says the one word his mind can grasp.
"We have food and more! Well, if you include drinks, desserts, condiments, plasticware, napkins, and toys as the more."
Too many words. His everything hurts, and the pressure behind his eyes seems to only be increasing. He doubts Eri's faring any better.
Hitoshi tries to grasp onto the words, the very important words, he needs. To communicate. To talk. Screw his head.
Eri tugs on his sleeve again. It takes all his focus to drag his eyes down to check on her. She peers up at him, face contorted in pain; tears leak from her eyes and run down her cheeks. His heart breaks at the sight. He hates that she suffers from the same cursed affliction, and at such a young age, too.
He will fix this.
"...more time to review the menu? Or I can suggest our top-sellers? Oh, oh no! I don't have to suggest anything!"
There's a hand shoved before him. It's holding out a wad of napkins. It's clear they're being offered, so Hitoshi takes them. Oh, he realizes. I'm crying, too.
This night could not get worse.
Denki's floundering. Why did they have to cross paths while he's working? He'd be so much smoother off the clock!
In his attempt to make his guests' experience better, he offers them additional time or suggestions. Then, he hears it. Sniffles. His eyes widen in shock as he finally sees the tears. From both guests. He swiftly backtracks his offer and hurries to remedy the situation.
Denki grabs far too many napkins, but better more than less. The man takes them and stares. Then, his face twitches. Denki silently watches. He hopes he's not ruined this family's night. Maybe he should switch off with Shouji and have the more reserved guy cover the front.
The man must shake out of his brief daze, as he eventually passes some napkins to his daughter. Denki notes how they similarly dry their faces, quick and with purpose.
The two turn their heads, searching for something. Denki snaps his fingers, as an actual good idea sparks. Swiftly, he squats down and pulls out the tiny trashcan under the counter. He pops back up, trashcan in tow.
"Here!" He smiles brightly.
The man and girl dispose of their used tissues.
"Sorry," apologizes the man.
Denki waves him off as he returns the trashcan to it's spot.
"You're not the first to weep within these hallowed halls. Take all the time you need," Denki reassures him.
Time. Hitoshi wishes that was the issue, but he knows he knew minutes ago what they were going to order. And now-- he doesn't.
"Eri?" he asks aloud. Maybe his sister remembers? Did she also get brain fog? He can't recall. Dad does, his brain replies. Not helping, he mentally huffs.
"Soda," she says.
Soda. Soda.
"Two large cocaines," Hitoshi orders, finally.
The blonde stares at him. Hitoshi stares back.
The blonde blinks first.
"Cocaine," the blonde draws out, questioningly.
"Soda," Eri repeats, louder. She stands on her tippy toes, to better address the employee.
"Uh," the blonde glances from Eri to Hitoshi, and back again. Then he snaps and shoots them double finger guns. "Cokes! Two large cokes coming up!"
Isn't that what he'd said?
"Food," Hitoshi adds, just as unhelpful as earlier. He hates this. He hates this. He hates this. They were here for the WcDonald's Cure! A large coke and a large-- "Salt!" He-- did not mean to say that so loudly. He lowers his voice and orders, "Salt," at a reasonable volume. Hitoshi mimes shoving potato sticks in his mouth. Eri copies him.
Thankfully, the cashier doesn't seem bothered by the outburst. Instead, he takes the order with a knowing nod and friendly smile. "Two large cokes and a large fry. Anything else?"
Eri lets go of his hoodie to hold up two fingers. Hitoshi nods in agreement.
"Correction, two large cokes and two large fries."
"Yes." Hitoshi reaches for his wallet.
"Booth?" Eri asks. Hitoshi nods as he taps his card. She darts away, her desired table already identified.
"We'll have that out to you soon," promises the employee.
Hitoshi doesn't have it in him to reply, so he turns away and looks for Eri.
Denki does not have heart eyes, but if this were a cartoon... Yeah, cartoon-him would have heart eyes as his gaze follows the attractive man.
Denki wonders why he's never seen them here before now. Passing through? Night owls? Were they vampires? Did the welcome signs on each entrance allow them safe entry by default?
"Kaminari."
Denki jolts back up to attention, sheepish. Shouji holds a tray with a bag atop. He peers inside, finding two large orders of fries. Right. The drinks.
Shouji gently sets the tray on the counter. He raises a brow, a silent inquiry.
"On it," Denki assures him. He grabs two large cups and fills them with ice. Next, he slides up to the drink dispenser. Two coca-colas coming up!
"Watch your step," Shouji reminds him, as he returns to the kitchen.
"That was one time!" Denki calls back. He does not intend to ever make that mistake again. He still has nightmares of the mess from tripping at work. However, his nightmares include the lovely additions of his uniform missing or suddenly having unexpected schoolwork due the next day. Denki places the prepared drinks on the tray. Then, he checks his shoes. Not a lace out of place.
Denki reminds himself to carry the tray carefully, despite the pep in his steps wanting him to move faster. No trip ups tonight, Satan.
"Here you are." A far too cheerful voice breaks the silence. Two drinks and a bag full of fries are set before them.
Eri stretches out her arms, eager for the cure's promise of relief. Hitoshi softly thanks the other man for delivering their food before also quickly pulling his half of the order towards him. In unplanned synchronization, Eri and him take a long sip from their cokes. Hitoshi misses when the blonde leaves, but he sees him back behind the counter when he finally looks up.
Eri smacks her lips after her extended drink. She wraps both of her hands around the cup and lifts it up to rest the side against her forehead, a make-shift ice-pack.
Hitoshi switches to his fries. They're still hot, fresh from the kitchen. They're golden, crispy, and drowning in salt. They're heaven in his mouth.
Hitoshi does not stop to consider how ravenous and uncouth the two of them must look as they shove fistfuls of fries into their mouths and drink their sodas like marooned men.
Eri bangs her cup down everytime she removes it from her forehead. At one point she accidentally kicks him under the table, causing him to choke on the fries he just unhinged his jaw to consume. His side of the table becomes a mess as he hits his chest and splutters up saliva and half-chewed fries. Some lands on his hoodie.
He rests his head in his hands; his elbows strategically placed to avoid the mess. This night could, indeed, get worse.
Denki periodically sneaks a glance to their only customers. They eat with such... passion.
Then the man looks like he's choking. Crap, he is choking!
Before Denki can react or call Shouji, the man manages to unlodge the obstruction. Denki looks away as he spits up, trying to offer the stranger a semblance of privacy. It's not his fault, Denki knows, yet he still feels guilt curl in his gut.
He's reaching for the napkin dispenser before he's aware he's doing it.
With a handful of napkins, he approaches the booth.
Neither customer greets him. Maybe they didn't hear him? Regardless, he doesn't take it rudely. He's only here to help.
As he sets the napkins down, his eyes land on the table's own dispenser... at the far side of the table... because each table has a dedicated napkin dispenser.
He feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, instantly mortified with himself.
Denki makes a hasty retreat.
Hitoshi and Eri lean back in their seats, satisfied. They sit in a shared silence that's finally comfortable, both of their migraines relenting.
The fog's finally lifting from his mind.
A car pulls up through the drive-thru. Hitoshi absently listens as the employees work.
He feels eyes on him. He glances towards Eri. His sister points at him in reply.
Oh. Right. His hoodie's a mess. He picks up some napkins, not remembering when they moved some to this side. Oh well. Hitoshi wipes at his chest. The stain's harder to make out now, but he will still spray some remover on it before throwing it into the washer.
"Thanks, Hitoshi," Eri voices, a small smile on her face. "Can we do this next time?"
He shrugs, not seeing why not. He's glad to learn the WcDonald's Cure seems to be effective for her, too.
Someone walks up to their table. The siblings turn, finding the cashier from earlier standing there with a--
"Milkshake!" Eri shouts excitedly. She's definitely feeling better.
Kaminari, as his name-tag reads, is looking anywhere but at them. He sets two chocolate milkshakes down between Hitoshi and Eri. Hitoshi looks back at Kaminari, confused. They didn't order these, but it couldn't be for anyone else; they were the only customers in the building.
"I--" Kaminari starts, stops. He reaches into a pocket on his apron. Hitoshi hears the rustling of plastic. Kaminari hands Eri a mystery kid's toy.
Milkshakes. Toy. Hitoshi didn't pay for these. He pulls out his wallet, stumped and determined to rectify this.
Kaminari must see what he's doing because he raises his hands and shakes his head. "These are on the house." Kaminari briefly meets Hitoshi's eyes, and he wonders what shade the blonde's eyes are. He's not about to derail his progress, though, by subjecting his eyes to the overhead lights just to look at some cute guy's eyes.
Hitoshi stares, waiting for the inevitable "gotcha."
Kaminari only smiles, a crooked, cute smile. "Really. I should have realized earlier, but--" he trails off, before picking up on a different thought. "My friend swears by chocolate milkshakes for her headaches. I-- in case the other-- well, I thought you might like one. Both of you."
"Thank you, Mr. Kaminari," Eri beams, delighted by the night's turn of events.
"Of course, Miss," Kaminari smiles back. "I hope you feel better, and thank you for patronizing our fine establishment."
Oh yeah, he is fine.
Kaminari takes a step back, then two. He offers Hitoshi a small wave before seeming to second guess himself and shove his hand back in his apron's pocket. Hitoshi's not even certain that had been a wave, least of all a wave for him.
Eri rips open the toy's packaging. Kaminari bumps into the table behind himself, almost falling onto his butt in surprise. Eri's not too distracted to catch it and laughs. Hitoshi pulls up his scarf to hide his own amused expression.
Kaminari bolts upwards, squeaks, then flashes them a bright grin and twin finger guns, as if he'd intended that collision all along. Then, he practically sprints back through the employees only door.
Hitoshi supposes they can stay a little longer. To finish the shakes.
Eri, high on sugar and the sweet, sweet relief of finally being migraine pain free, does not miss how her brother keeps looking at Mr. Kaminari. Nor does she miss how Mr. Kaminari keeps stealing looks her brother's way, too.
As she fiddles with her new fidget toy, a plan easily forms.
Next time, she'll need to remember to order Hitoshi something from WcDonald's. She suspects it'll be available.
"Two large cokes, two large fries, with a side of boyfriend, for my brother, please!"
"Boyfriend?! Eri!"
"Brother?! She's your sister?!"
"I-- She--"
"Uh, well--" a hesitant swallow-- "will that be for here or to go?"
"No!"
"No?"
"No, yes. Here. No, to-go." Hitoshi's hand slaps the back of his neck, nerves sky-rocketing. "The food order's for here."
"And... the boyfriend order?"
A beat.
"When do you get off work?"
Golden eyes sparkle. "In two hours! Kaminari Denki, boyfriend at your service!"
"Shinsou Hitoshi. Flustered older brother of this twerp."
"Hey! This twerp just got you a date, Hitoshi."
"And how's that migraine, Eri?"
His sister's shameless. "Terribly awful. Might need to add a chocolate milkshake to the order."
Hitoshi ends up paying for the milkshake, but he can't find it in himself to act upset by his sister's logical ruse. He doesn't know what he did to catch Kaminari's eye and can barely remember their first encounter while he was still in pain. Regardless, he's not going to pass on the chance before him.
Hitoshi smiles to himself as his nerves settle and he slides into their favorite booth.
He has a date later.