Work Text:
Your name? You know your name, don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need to tell you. By day, your employees refer to you as their manager, and of course they don’t know any different, that was precisely how you’d set it up, on the advice of your grandmother when you took over the coffee shop. It was hers first, she opened it with the money she’d been saving from the weekly allowance her husband gave her before he mysteriously died, under entirely normal circumstances, if the police ever ask. She made sure everything was in your name before she died, so she could be there to help out with any initial aches and pains that came with learning a new job. It was her that had given you all the advice you still used to run your business each day.
“Don’t tell anyone.” She’d told you.
“What? But.. this is my job now, how can I not tell people?”
“Because people are greedy. People you’ve known for years will change because you have something they don’t. They’ll act as if you owe them somehow, or their attitudes will change just cause you’ve got money now, they’ll act like you’ve changed even if nothing is different. So don’t tell them. Nobody needs to know you’re my grandson.”
You’d made a mistake almost immediately. You’d figured she meant employees, new people, friends you’d only met in college. Not your closest friends who you’d known since you were kids, the people who’d seen you through breakups and family deaths and exams and all that other shit life throws at you. But grandma had been right - people change when you have something they don’t. Money is a funny thing, and jealousy is a bitch.
So you stopped telling people after that.
It wasn’t hard to hide anyway, it wasn’t exactly a huge business, just a local brick and mortar coffee shop, with freshly ground coffee and handmade pastries cooked in the kitchen each morning before the baristas ever arrived for their shifts. Just the way your grandma had run it. You began working there as the manager, so you could be on the ground and helping out, seeing customers, and solving problems as they arose. Not a single employee had even the slightest idea that you might be the owner, the person at the very top of the chain. They had no reason to believe anything but what you told them. Which was that you were the manager, and you knew the owner, so you were hired to keep an eye on things. A lie that was ultimately harmless, and helped keep your life calm.
Grandma visited sometimes, and some of the kitchen staff and veteran baristas recognised her, and she was always treated like royalty. You’d always take your break to have a coffee with her, and nobody ever asked. You’d told them you knew the owner, after all - was it such a stretch to think you knew the founder too? Most of them assumed you were a friend of her son, or something of that sort, and you never corrected them. As far as they knew, you’d never heard that assumption anyway.
She kept visiting right up until she got sick. You started taking your lunch break out of the building, so you could visit her and take her pastries made fresh. Til she couldn’t eat those anymore. You were there when she died, holding her hand. She told you for a final time just how proud she was, and you’d gone back to work with red-rimmed eyes to finish your shift. Nobody asked, and you didn’t tell. Customers left tips, and you thanked them warmly. A regular asked the next morning if you needed anything, and you assured him that you didn’t.
There was a party thrown in her honour a week later, and you spent most of it watching from the sidelines. She lived a damn good life considering everything that had attempted to be an obstacle, and she was the most brilliant woman. You could only hope to be half as amazing as she was.
You were working the open shift when you got the call from her lawyer. You were in the will, and the reading would be at the end of the week. You organised for someone to cover your shift that day. Nobody asked why when you said it was personal. You were glad you’d decided to work alongside everyone, they were all good people, and they took care of each other. You’d like to think you helped foster a good work environment, the type that had loyal employees that stuck around because they loved the people, even if not the work.
That week, because of course it was, seemed to be the week from hell. The sort where you dragged yourself home after each shift and barely managed to convince yourself to change out of your uniform before you collapsed into bed to sleep, only to do it all again tomorrow. So Friday finally arriving was almost a relief, even if you weren’t looking forward to seeing the other members of your family.
Your mother, your uncle, your cousins, and some more extended family. All of them had been mentioned in the will, but all of them knew that you’d already gotten the coffee shop she built - she had been biased towards you. “Of course she was” you wanted to scream at them “I’m the only person who ever gave a damn about her”. But you said nothing instead, because after all these years, it wasn’t worth fighting with them. You’d found your peace now, and it involved staying far away from all of them as much as you could.
The reading was relatively brief. Most of them got more of a scolding than anything else, in the form of a letter she’d written before she’d lost her ability to do that. By hand, with her fanciest pen, all in the name of spite. You struggled not to laugh. Some younger cousins got lump sums of money, kept in accounts that strictly couldn’t be accessed until they turned eighteen, and if the money were to be used for something other than university, rent, or other essentials - what remained would be donated to charity, and there was a limit on how much could be drawn at one time. Checkmate, uncles and aunts who were planning to take that money and waste it.
Then came you.
Her house, all of the belongings inside (aside from a few specific pieces that had been willed to others), her shitty little car, and her plot at the allotment down the street from the coffee shop - you’d been maintaining it for years anyway, it was just a formality really. Then there was the money. You felt a dozen heads swivel to look at you when they learned anything that wasn’t kept in secure accounts for younger family members had been given to you.
Money is a funny thing, and jealousy is a bitch. You heard her voice whisper in the back of your mind. Damn right it is, grandma.
You walked out with your head held high, and you ignored all the calls of your name. They wouldn’t be getting a single yen from you, because she never would’ve wanted them to have it. You had already mentally planned where a lot of it would go, including holiday bonuses for everyone at the coffee shop. The sort of things your grandma would’ve done with money like that, when she’d been more capable.
Everyone else could eat shit, as far as you were concerned.
After that, you spent a week doing admin work instead of being behind the register, but you made sure to do all your work from one of the tables closest to it so that you were available if you were needed. Some people really do think they can treat service workers however they want. You spent some time chatting with one of the regulars, who still stubbornly insisted it was because of you that he ended up with his boyfriend - another one of the regulars - and wanted to check in since you’d never spent this long not working regular shifts. It was nice, if a little distracting. The new start had his lunch break at your table so he could have some peace and quiet away from his coworkers - who he liked well enough, but even you had to admit they could be a rowdy bunch at the best of times.
It was three days into your admin-related “vacation” week, that another one of the regulars stepped up to ask if he could sit with you. He wasn’t usually talkative, in fact other than standard pleasantries you weren’t sure he’d ever spoken to you at all, so to say it was a surprise for him to want to sit with you would’ve been understatement of the century.
“Good afternoon, Mr..” You trailed off, a brow raised as you look at the man now sitting opposite you.
“Nanami. Kento.” He simply replied, and you nodded slowly.
“Can I help you?”
He paused, briefly clearing his throat.
“It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen you in here without being behind the register with your co-workers.” He commented.
“Yeah. Sometimes managerial work keeps me from working the coffee machine.” You gestured vaguely to the laptop in front of you - generally, most people knew just little enough about the work you did to accept that explanation at face value and not ask any further questions about what work that was. Mr Nanami seemed to not be most people.
“I didn’t realise that the company was large enough for you to be working, without working alongside your co-workers, considering you do usually do so.” You blinked several times, then shook your head.
“I’m sorry?” You asked with a slightly nervous laugh.
“Oh, I’m sorry if that was presumptuous. I was just.. attempting to make conversation.” He replied, fingers shifting where they held his takeout cup. He wasn’t even planning to stay in, he just.. wanted to talk to you. Huh.
“No, I was just.. surprised I suppose,” you closed the lid of your laptop, and directed your full attention to him, “we do better than you’d expect, I suppose. I work the register mostly because I like to be with my co-workers. They make dreary days a little brighter.” He smiled at that and slowly nodded.
“That’s a refreshing take from someone in your position. Most middle management are..” he trailed off, and looked at you with a slight grimace. You laughed before you realised the sound was coming out, taking yourself off-guard. This wasn’t something you really did. You didn’t just laugh with people, sit making small talk.
But sure enough, he stayed. You talked until his coffee was empty, and then when he checked the time, he made his excuses.
“Nanami.” You called out just before he could leave, and couldn’t help the shift of muscles beneath his slacks as he turned to face you.
“Yes?”
“You never did tell me why you sat down with me.”
“Can’t someone just want to sit and make conversation with a handsome man?” He asked, and when you simply stared instead of replying, he turned and left.
It was one of the baristas that broke you from your trance, staring at the spot where he’d been standing.
“Boss?” He asked, leaning down to look at you.
“Did I hear that right?”
“Sure did. Mr Nanami called you handsome.” He replied with an amused smile.
“I see.”
You didn’t stay much longer. You made your excuses and took your leave too, and your feet carried you to your destination without you needing to think about it. It was a path you’d walked many times since she died, and you no longer needed focus to get you there. You sat on the bench you’d gotten dedicated to your grandmother, in her favourite park, and had a warm hot chocolate in hand.
“Fuck.” You muttered, just taking a moment to breathe. It wasn’t like she could actually reply anymore, but being here made you feel closer to her, and the wisdom she used to pass to you as easy as she handed you candy bars when you were a kid.
“I don’t.. do dating, grandma. What am I supposed to say next time I see him?”
You’d not bothered with dating since taking over the coffee shop. Sure, at first it had been because you were busy, then you weren’t interested in anyone, then you were rusty.. and now it was because some little voice in the back of your mind whispered that none of the interest would be genuine. A seed your own grandmother had planted.
Men are selfish. You knew that first hand, had watched it growing up, the way entitlement grew inside your peers like ugly green beasts. She’d made sure you wouldn’t turn out the same, and when you told her you were gay? She hadn’t skippped a beat. She told you the same things she’d told her granddaughters - men are selfish, entitled, they take and take until you have nothing left to give. Protect yourself, make sure nobody can take what’s yours, and certainly not any man. Then your own friends who you would’ve trusted with your life turned their backs on you after you refused to give them any piece of what your grandma had built for herself.
Not all men are like that, you know that. You’ve met plenty of good men - hell, you’d like to think you were one yourself. But that didn’t mean this guy was different from the norm. Maybe his interest was genuine now, but would it shift if he learned you weren’t just the manager, but the owner? That you were more than comfortable, owned your own home, could take multiple vacations each year? The sort of wealth other people aspired to, far from rich but.. just comfortable. You’d worked hard for that, your grandma had worked hard to make that happen for you.
“Thanks grandma.” You whispered when you eventually left. Your mind was no closer to made up, but at least you had more concrete pros and cons to consider than the flailing panic you’d felt when the word handsome had passed Nanami’s lips.
When you saw him next, you were working the register as normal. He approached with a polite smile, just a little warmer than it used to be, and placed his order without missing a beat. You were sure for a moment that maybe nothing would happen, that things would be normal and you had nothing to worry about.
Then, as he was waiting for his drink, Nanami elected to watch you of all things.
“Yes, Mr Nanami?” You politely asked, looking over at him since there were no other customers waiting to be served.
“You look..” he paused, taking a moment to find his words, “well, you look like someone who could use a break.”
“Are you telling me that I look tired?” You asked him, folding your arms over your chest. Watching him flounder slightly, and the tips of his ears tint pink was deeply satisfying.
“No- not that, I- I wouldn’t do that,” he denied with a quick shake of his head, “I just..”
The new start cut him off, “I’d take your coffee, and take your shovel to work with you, instead of digging this hole any deeper.” He suggested, holding out his coffee. Nanami cleared his throat, and nodded.
“I think you might be right, yes. I apologise.”
“No worries, I couldn’t help teasing a little. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Mr Nanami.” You told him, and you and the new start stood shoulder to shoulder as Nanami retreated from the shop.
“That was cold.” The other barista commented from somewhere behind you.
“It was funny.” You retorted.
“He’s handsome, and he’s flirting with you.” New start chimed, heading into the kitchen to fetch the fresh pastries that chef called out about.
“I noticed.”
He took a few days to come back, you were sure he spent that time licking his wounds. When Nanami stepped up to the register to place his order, it was your time to notice that he looked tired. You prepared his coffee seamlessly, hands working off muscle memory alone before he’d even tapped his card, because you’d prepared his order so many times by now.
“You look like you could use a break, Mr Nanami.” You said as you slid his coffee across the counter, and he chuckled softly.
“I suppose I deserve that.” He nodded, and lifting his coffee to his lips to take a sip.
“I’m feeling generous. Go take a pastry from the display, I’ll comp it.” You said, leaning against the counter.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that-”
“I know you like the croissants. Go take one, and get out of here, before you’re late to work.” You told him, and after just a moment more of hesitation, he turned to take one. If his cheeks were slightly pink, nobody pointed it out.
“You’re flirting back~.” One of your co-workers sing-songed from across the seating area where he was wiping down a table.
“I’m not. That was called a kind gesture.” You retorted.
“Which you did cause he’s been flirting with you.” New start said from the register.
“You two are conspiring against me.”
“Conspiring to what?” One of the regulars asked, arm in arm with Mr Kusakabe.
“Mr Boss Man likes Mr Nanami.”
“I do not.”
“Oh, he’s hot.” The regular said with an amused glint in his eye.
“I’m going to check on the kitchen.” You rolled your eyes at the chorus of booing that followed.
“You’re cheery this morning.” Mr Nanami said when he spotted you humming as you wiped down some tables.
“I’ve got tickets to the theatre.” You told him, returning to the counter so you could take his order. He was earlier than usual, you realised.
“Anyone to accompany you?” He asked, and it was far from subtle. You quirked a brow, typed in his order, and told him his total before you responded.
“No, I was planning on selling the spare ticket. One of my nieces was going to come with me, but when her mother found out I wasn’t willing to pay for her, her husband, and her two sons to come along she said my niece was suddenly busy.”
“Sister?”
“In law.” You confirmed, leaning against the counter.
“Not a great relationship?” He asked.
“That would be putting it lightly. Not to mention, not her, nor my brother, nor their sons actually like theatre. They’d be going purely because I was paying.”
Nanami took his coffee and sighed with a shake of his head.
“Sometimes I think I’m quite lucky to be an only child.”
“It has its perks.” You replied. He didn’t leave, instead just stood there looking down at his coffee. So, you waited.
“I would pay for the ticket if you’d allow me to accompany you.” He finally offered, and you felt it as several of your coworker’s heads spun to look at you.
“Not even going to ask what the show is?” You asked him.
“Theatre is theatre, and.. it would be more about the company than the event.” His warm eyes met yours, and something in your chest skipped. Oh, hell no.
A thousand things swarmed through your mind at once, most them reasons to say no.
“Sure.” Came out instead.
You stood there until he’d left, at which point you whipped around to look at your co-workers, panicked.
“I said yes.” You said.
“You did.”
“Did you mean to do that?”
“No!”
They laughed, but it didn’t soothe your nerves.
“I don’t- I don’t do dating!” One of your co-workers reached to gently squeeze your bicep.
“Hey, if it goes badly, Mr Nanami doesn’t seem like the sorta guy to go crazy about it.”
“I- you’re not wrong but that isn’t the point.” You protested.
“Then what is the point?”
You groaned, leaning heavily against the counter, and rubbed your hands over your face.
“I’m not explaining that right now, that’s what my therapist is for.” And when the barista just laughed, you knew it wouldn’t matter if you did try to explain. It wouldn’t make sense to them, not the way it did to you.
It went well. He picked you up at your apartment, you took the train together and walked to the theatre. You showed the tickets, he bought drinks for both of you. He wasn’t obnoxious, he watched the show, didn’t try any ridiculous ways of taking your hand or wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He really did just.. sit beside you and enjoy the show. Much better company than any of your family would’ve been if you’d let them come along.
Together, discussing the show, you walked to the train, and he got off at your stop so he could walk you up to his apartment. He admitted he’d need to go back to catch the train to take it another stop for his own apartment, but he was set on walking you to your door. A real gentleman.
“Thank you, Nanami-”
“Call me Kento.” He said, hands pushed into the pockets of his woolen jacket.
“Kento. Thank you, this was nice.” You said, watching as your breath turned to mist in the air.
“It was. I’d.. love to take you out again, some time.” He offered, and you wished you hadn’t noticed the helpful look in his eyes, the way his breath caught as he asked. He wanted another date, he really did.
“We can definitely discuss it.” That was the best you could offer him. It wasn’t a yes, so you had to face the way his expression slipped just slightly.. but it also wasn’t a no, so he nodded and tooked a step back.
“I’m sure I’ll see you some day soon, at the coffee shop.” He said.
“I’m sure.” You agreed with a brief nod, then slipped into your apartment and closed the door behind yourself.
Shit!
Shit, shit shit.
You had a day off the following day, and you’d never been so glad to have a day to yourself to just relax and think.
The issue with learning that nobody could be trusted, was that nobody knew the truth. Nobody knew all of you anymore - so you couldn’t really turn to anyone for advice about the situation, because nobody knew it. There was no friend, or family member that you could lean on. So, you made a physical pros and cons list.
The biggest risk was a long con. Him deciding that he wanted in on the money you had, marrying you, and running off with it in a divorce. Simple solution to that risk was a prenup. But.. it was one date - were you insane for thinking that far ahead? Maybe it would never go further than a second date.
Except.. God, it’d been so long since anyone had made you feel like this. Even though you were glad in the moment that he hadn’t tried to be some romantic, or to take your hand, or even kiss you, now you almost wished he had. You wondered how his hand would feel in yours, if he’d be warm, how he’d look without a suit jacket or sweater covering the bulk of his body.
Again, shit! That wasn’t the sort of thing you were supposed to think about.
Your grandma’s face and words came to mind as you stood in the kitchen, dicing chicken for dinner. She was the one who’d taught you not to accept anything less than you deserved, not to let anyone take what was yours. But would she really have wanted you to be this alone? With nobody around to rely on when something hard came around. This wasn’t even hard - it was just a guy! So what would it look like when something actually hard happened? Who would you lean on then?
You arranged a staff meeting for Wednesday after work.
“I’ve been here for a long while now and.. it’s time to admit that I haven’t been honest with you.” You could feel your heart thundering, your hands clammy where you had them folded in front of you. Every pair of eyes in the room was on you.
“I’m not just the manager,” you admitted, even if every lesson engrained in you screamed that this was a bad idea, “I’m the owner. My grandmother was the woman who started this coffee shop, and she gave it to me after she retired. After some friends cut me out because I wasn’t willing to give them money or jobs or.. whatever else they wanted, I chose not to be honest. I wasn’t ready to face what money does to people you know, and instead.. I chose to come in as your manager. It technically wasn’t untrue, but the stories I spun around it over time were.”
You gave a moment to let everyone process, watching their faces as they cycled through various emotions.
“Nice.” Was the first audible response, coming from one of the baristas.
“Excuse me?” You asked before your brain could catch up with you.
“Means we never have to worry about some stuffy bigger boss coming in and fucking up what we’ve got. I like it here.” He said with a shrug.
“That’s true. We have a good vibe, and if you’re the owner then we don’t have to worry about.. well, corporate bullshit.” Another employee added.
“You’re nicer than I would’ve thought someone who inherited a business would be.” The new start offered, and there was various murmured agreements.
Your cheeks hurt from how broad your smile was.
“Okay then. Those of you who have work this morning, go put your aprons on, everyone else is free to do.”
“That was it?” Someone asked.
“I- haven’t told anyone that, other than my family who found out from my grandma. My grandma instilled it in me that.. money does things to people, and I should play my cards close to my chest. That’s the first time I’ve been honest with anyone in.. a long time.” You admitted, swallowing a lump as it rose in your throat.
“So that’s why you’ve been so emotionally constipated about Mr Nanami.” Everyone laughed, and you couldn’t help joining them.
Maybe things weren’t all bad.
You agreed to a second date with Kento, and then a third. He’d still hardly touched you, other than to help you up after you’d knelt down to tie your laces one time. He was beyond respectful, and with the confidence of your co-workers - your friends - behind you, well, you felt stronger than before. Like you’d survive someone else leaving.
“I’m really enjoying our dates.” Kento said, the sight of him outside your front door familiar by now.
“So am I.”
“You’ve really.. relaxed, since our outing to the theatre. It’s nice to see.” He admitted, and warmth rose in your cheeks in response.
“Kento..” You paused. Were you really ready to tell him?
“Yes?” His expression was soft, and open. You could tell him just about anything when he looked at you like that.
“The coffee shop..”
“It’s yours. I know.”
“What?” You stared at him, slightly slack jawed.
“I met your grandmother once, before she died,” he admitted softly, “made a comment about.. needing a strapping young man for her grandson.” You laughed, and opened the door wider to let him inside. He hesitated, before following behind you. He left his shoes and jacket by the door, then followed your lead to settle on your sofa.
“Tell me everything.”
So he did. He’d had lunch with your grandmother, just once. She’d teased him a little about being handsome, but lamented that he was far too young for her - but the right age for her grandson. You’d had to groan. They’d talked about just about everything, and she’d never even directly told him who you were. In fact, he’d never truly realised who you were until that first day when he’d approached you, and you’d said you were doing “managerial work”. He’d not been fooled even for a moment, and his mind had recalled the memory of his lunch with the old woman who first owned the coffee shop. Who’d mentioned her grandson, who struggled with connecting with others, with being afraid that people wouldn’t appreciate him for who he was.
“But I’ve found I rather enjoy your company,” he finished, “your money or your assets haven’t come to mind even once, outside maybe our discussions about splitting the cost for our dates.”
“That scheming old woman.” You sighed, and shook your head. The smile on your face wouldn’t budge, though.
“I hope you don’t mind that I never mentioned it.”
“I’m glad you didn’t, honestly,” you told him, “if you’d told me too soon.. I think I would’ve panicked, and refused to see you again.”
“But something changed.”
“I found out not everyone is out to get you.”
When his lips met yours, it wasn’t electric like they said in movies. It just felt a lot like coming home.