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The café is always quieter this time of night.
Kaoru’s work is laid out before him on one of the small round tables by the window while Kojiro putters around behind the counter doing what he does best—talking to people, flashing pretty smiles. Every customer leaves pleased with a coffee in their hands and hearts in their eyes, and Kaoru still remembers how infuriating it was to discover that he himself was equally pliable.
It’s the sound of the coffee as it’s poured into a waiting mug, and, regrettably, the sound of Kojiro’s voice—low and dripping with roasted hazelnut and sugar and whatever tactics he probably uses to seduce women. Kaoru, of course, frequents the café for the coffee. He's not been quiet about the fact that the coffee is without a doubt the single, only reason he ever visits the café at all. Still, it doesn't stop the heat that prickles at the back of his neck whenever Kojiro walks up to his table and says:
“Need a refill, sweetheart?”
“Do you use that line on all your customers?"
"Only the cranky ones," Kojiro winks before stealing a glance at the time. “Well, if you don’t want it, guess I’d better start closing up…”
“Oh, fine then. Do what you want.” Kaoru shoves his empty cup into Kojiro’s hands, and Kojiro smiles—far too nicely, Kaoru thinks, but who is he to judge a gorilla's attempt at flirting.
“Take your time,” Kojiro says then, returning the cup to the table. “It’s your favorite.” His other hand comes to a rest on Kaoru’s shoulder before he heads back to the kitchen, whistling as he goes, and Kaoru’s left feeling exceedingly restless.
After a moment, he brings the cup to his lips.
Damn it. It really is his favorite.