Chapter Text
Suguru tapped the metal pitcher on the counter to burst the little bubbles, swirled the espresso to warm the mug, and topped up the steamed milk until he had the perfect blank canvas of a fresh cappuccino.
Technically, he was only allowed one free drink per shift. This was free drink number six. Suguru justified it because he was the only one working a shift meant for three and time moved twice as slowly on the overnights. He’d generally been trying to be a better person—upstanding, polite, less inclined toward money laundering or incredible acts of violence—but everyone needs a vice.
The mug was hot in his palm. He caught his tongue between his teeth and drizzled foam with a steady hand, going for a swan design he’d seen in a book of latte art. It was easier to recreate designs from tutorials than from photos, but Suguru was fundamentally opposed to being told what to do. He was very aware of this personality flaw but, having obeyed too many shitty orders for too many shitty years, had no plans to remedy it.
With a dainty little flick, he ended the pour and leaned back to observe the finished product, tilting the cup this way and that to consider all the angles.
“Graceful neck,” he orated, like he was judging a breed standard. He was so fucking bored. “Nice, uh. Feathering.” Suguru was rapidly forgetting what swans looked like. They were famously mean, though, and this one wasn’t threatening at all. He wiped his hands on the apron tied around his waist and started grinding beans for free drink number seven.
There were no customers in the cafe to bear witness to his blatant theft of espresso. There had been no customers since just after midnight, actually, which had given Suguru ample time to work through the supplementary course material he’d brought with him—a journal submission out of America on gang-involved youth, because he was an ironic motherfucker and had plans the change the world—but had also condemned him to the inanity of caffeinated waterfowl.
He didn’t understand the business model behind a twenty-four hour cafe, but he wasn’t about to complain. The cafe was a hotspot during the day, buzzing with students and harried professors, but even its prime location on the border where the campus met the city couldn’t keep it full in the wee hours of the night.
That was fine with Suguru.
The eccentric owner, Yokoyama, had been glad to gain a reliable employee with a preference for the night shift—especially after he’d quietly and somewhat illegally secured a far cheaper trade deal on the coffee she imported from Indonesia. She had rapidly earned his loyalty in return.
She was a nice change from the bosses he was used to.
He liked that she scheduled him for solo shifts and didn’t give a shit if he studied on the clock. He liked that she hadn’t asked for references and had been willing to train him from the ground up. He liked that she shared his love of ceremony and never rushed him when he ritualized a pour. He liked that she’d seen the webbing of scars across his knuckles, and the curl of his tattoos, and hired him anyway.
And he liked that after two years of working for her, she’d never once chewed him out for his flagrant disregard of the free drink policy.
Free drink number seven was closer to an ostrich than a swan. Definitely looked meaner, definitely wasn’t right. Suguru sighed and set it with the others.
Yokoyama would arrive in an hour or so to do the baking before the morning rush. Usually Suguru would complete his shift-change duties and start prepping her ingredients right about now, but he’d already done all of that somewhere between free drinks number four and five. He cleaned up the line of seven tepid swans to remove the temptation of a free drink number eight and resigned himself to an hour of staring at the wall.
Bells chimed as the door burst open.
A young man entered the cafe at speed, wild-eyed and panting. He locked eyes with Suguru and a moment later had vaulted over the counter and crouched at his feet, back pressed against the bar.
Suguru watched this happen with the vague detachment of the extremely overtired. He thought absently that it was lucky he’d cleaned up the swans or they would have impeded what had been a rather impressive hurdle. The athlete in question was looking up at him with the most stunning blue eyes he’d ever seen.
He looked fucking terrified.
An unwelcome but not unfamiliar chill stole up Suguru’s spine, long dormant instincts shuddering themselves awake. Something was very wrong. Something that went beyond customers launching themselves over the bar.
Suguru patiently waited for his hapless customer to catch his breath. Before he got his chance to ask him just what the fuck was going on, however, that very wrong something shouldered open the cafe door and stopped just inside.
Ah. Suguru’s lip curled and he dug a thumb into his hip, right over the old scar. He was familiar with men like this. The new interloper had a nasty demeanor and a face well suited for the business end of a fist. Greedy eyes, loose jowls, a soft chin. He searched the cafe with sharp jerks of his head and had the exact sort of meanness that Suguru hadn’t been able to capture in his swans.
From the corner of his eye, Suguru saw Blue cover his mouth with both hands to mute the sound of his own breathing. Call it pretty privilege, but Suguru was already solidly in his corner. He took half a step to the side to cage him between his legs; now he’d be impossible to see unless Jowls came directly over the counter.
“Can I get something started for you?” Suguru asked Jowls, perfunctory and cool.
Jowls twitched his head to stare at him. He really was vile. Suguru half wanted him to try something, just for the excuse to split his knuckles on that wobbly chin. He’d always liked that part of the old job, anyway.
“You seen a man come through here?” Jowls asked. “White hair, white hair—you couldn’t miss him.”
Blue dropped his head against Suguru’s thigh. Suguru could feel him trembling.
“Haven’t had any customers in hours, I’m afraid.” Suguru gave his best customer-service smile to mask his growing disgust. Inspired, he added: “And none with white hair. Have you lost a grandfather?”
Jowls stepped further into the cafe, toward the bar and Suguru and his extremely white-haired customer.
He took another step.
And another.
“Not an elder,” said Jowls. “A student. You couldn’t miss him.”
“So you said.”
Suguru let his smile grow a bit sharper and curled his shoulders forward. Jowls was big, but Suguru was bigger. He knew how to make his frame threatening. He knew how to communicate malice. Jowls stopped his advance.
A pleasant jazz piece started playing over the cafe sound system, incongruous with the hostile atmosphere.
Suguru’s voice went flat. It had been years since he’d had to speak like this. He ignored the moronic little thrill he got from shrugging into his old persona.
“Were you planning to order a drink?” he asked, making it very clear there would be no drink. He bared his teeth. “To go, of course.”
Jowls took a step back, glaring. God, Suguru had to remember this for his swans. Maybe he’d try for free drink number eight, after all.
“If that will be all,” Suguru said, and nodded to the door. Jowls took a final abortive glance around the empty cafe and left. The little bell above the door jingled merrily to see the back of him.
Suguru dropped a hand to Blue’s head, just a light touch to keep him from moving, and glanced at the security feeds playing on a monitor above the register. He watched Jowls stand steady outside the cafe for a beat, a minute, several minutes.
“He’s still outside,” Suguru murmured, not looking down. Blue’s hair was soft under his fingers. He’d stopped trembling, but he still had his forehead pressed to Suguru’s thigh.
Just as Suguru began to consider going outside and dragging Jowls away by the neck, the nasty bastard slunk off. Suguru thought unhappily of missed opportunities. He waited a little longer to make sure Jowls hadn’t doubled back before he removed his hand from Blue’s head and looked down. Blue stared back up at him, letting his hands drop from his pretty mouth and huffing an unsteady breath. Fuck, those eyes. He really was darling.
Suguru smiled, a fond thing that had no business in customer service.
“Can I get something started for you?”
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