Work Text:
In the end, Yukio thinks, this can probably all be blamed on capitalism, but that is an enemy too big for him to tackle at eight in the morning on a Sunday. Which is why he redirects his internal rage at the next-best-thing, which is every customer that has the audacity to talk to him.
When he started the job at the coffee shop, he thought it was the greatest place in the world. Free coffee. Acceptable times. Due to the fact that he doesn’t have much time during the week, he’s allowed to take long shifts on the weekends. His manager showed understanding towards his full schedule and effort to attempt multiple degrees at once - which was the only way Yukio could explain his regular education and the exorcism business without straight-up stating he was doing it. He isn’t even sure why he lied about it. It’s not something he’s embarrassed about but the prospect of being just another normal young adult working at the coffee shop was too exciting to pass up.
As of now, it hasn’t backfired yet. He leaves his equipment at home, safe for a few summoning sheets tucked away in his coat pockets. Apart from that, it’s just… him. Glasses, uniform, smile. He greets every customer with a, “hello!” that breaks something deep, deep inside him.
People, somehow, manage to bring up a huge amount of audacity at eight in the morning. Yukio had to fight the urge to jump over the counter and murder someone with his bare hands twice already, which is not a good sign. The morning rush goes on and on and, God damnit, what did he do to deserve it?
It quiets down by ten, when the only people coming in are students who have late classes and tourists who let out a sigh of relief when Yukio effortlessly switches to English. He can handle this just fine, and once the last customer has left, he allows himself to sigh too.
“The things we do for money, huh?” Renzou whispers, except that he is not really whispering and Yukio can’t tell why he is using that conspiratorial tone for a simple fact.
“This is how most jobs work, yes,” he says, which causes Renzou to grin even brighter.
“Was that a joke?”
Yukio doesn’t bother to respond, but now Renzou somehow convinces himself that it was, in fact, meant to be a joke, which means that he doesn’t leave him alone for the rest of the shift. The minutes are ticking by agonizingly slowly. But, like all things, his shift ends and he turns around to get to the back and grab his things.
“Hey there!” a very familiar voice says.
Yukio stops dead in his tracks.
The thing is.
There’s a regular customer at the shop. Granted, there are probably more than once. But this one is a little harder to forget. His appearance isn’t exactly unusual or weird, but he has one habit that makes it almost impossible to forget about him: His coffee orders.
Not once did Chenglong (who doesn’t let them forgive that Yukio spelled his name Cheng-Long the first time he wrote it down) order a normal cup of coffee.
On the one hand, Yukio refuses to judge his customer’s choices of drinks, at least as long as they are doable and don’t take up too much time. Chenglong never orders an impossible drink, and he pays for all the extras he makes Yukio put in.
“What’s your favorite way to prepare it?” he asked Yukio on the first day, who was so taken aback by the question that he answered, “I drink it straight from the machine.”
Chenglong had stared at him for a few seconds after that, clearly picturing Yukio with his face squeezed under the coffee machine.
Yukio almost quit then and there. But he didn’t. He came back, and so did Chenglong. He doesn’t visit every day or week but often enough for Yukio to look forward to it. Sometimes, although very rarely, it even happens multiple times a week. Needless to say, by now those weeks are a lot easier to get through.
Right now, the man is scanning the menu with an amused expression on his face.
“Okay, are you ready?” he asks.
Yukio takes a deep breath. “Yes.”
Chenglong begins listing off his order. To his credit, he orders it in a way that makes sense. Size, type of coffee, type of milk, extra shots, pumps of syrups, any additional extras. This time, he seems to have done his research, because Yukio remembers a very similar order on a message board he once used to complain about the worst orders he ever had to make.
“Got it,” he says. “I’ll call you once it’s done.”
“Aren’t you going to ask for my name?”
Yukio raises an eyebrow. “Chenglong,” he says, praying that he doesn’t make the most embarrassing mistake of his life so far.
Chenglong gives him a bright smile. “Correct, Okumura-Sensei.”
Yukio thinks, Damn it, how does he know?
Then he remembers he’s wearing a name-tag.
“That’s me,” he says before he can stop himself. Great. This is how you talk like a normal person. “Anything else?”
At that, Chenglong leans closer, until he’s almost leaning over the counter. “No, that’s it. Seeing you really helps when I have a bad day.”
And with that, he pays for his drink and walks to the back to wait for Yukio to make it. And after a few seconds of stunned silence, in which he waits for… an indicator that it was a joke, an explanation from the universe what just happened, anything, he makes it. He writes down his phone number on the cup, followed by “Yukio” . Snow-Man.
He gathers all his strength before grabbing the finished cup and walking over to Chenglong.
“We-” he starts. “We can see each other when you have a good day too. If you want. If not, you can still throw away the cup. You know what, just throw it away and forget that I-”
Chenglong lifts a finger. Smiles.
“I’d like that,” he says. “Because I am pretty much out of fun orders, anyway.”