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That's Not My Name

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“Misaka!” a toneless voice called out in the overcrowded, noisy cafe. Mikasa’s head shot up, and her eyebrow ticked once. With a sigh she approached the counter and took the coffee with ‘Misaka’ messily scrawled on the cup.

“It’s Mikasa,” she muttered in irritation at the cute blonde barista.

“Good for you,” the blonde shot back. She lifted a brow, waiting for a comeback. 

“You get it wrong every time,” Mikasa insisted. She pulled a pen out of her shoulder bag and corrected her name on the cup. Then she turned it so that the blonde could see, and stabbed a finger at it. “Mi. Ka. Sa,” she pronounced. “Not that difficult.”

“Dude, I get a million customers every day.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Yet you find creative ways to misspell my name each and every time.”

“Are you insinuating that I do this on purpose?”

Mikasa paused, concerned that she had just offended the woman, but then the blonde smirked and flicked her blue eyes down to the cup. “Yes,” Mikasa answered. “I am.”

“When you’re irritated,” the blonde said. “You get a little furrow between your brows.” She lifted her hand and touched the spot on her own forehead. “And then you press your lips together.” She grinned. “It’s cute.”

Mikasa frowned. “You couldn’t just hit on me like a normal person?” She leaned forward and squinted. “Annie?”

Annie snorted and shrugged her shoulders. “I get bored sometimes, you have a weird name.”

“I’m utterly flattered.”

“That’s great, Madonna, but I’ve got other customers to serve.”

Mikasa frowned more deeply. “Seriously?”

“Come by again, Mikalene!”

Mikasa left the cafe, brows furrowed, lips pressed firmly together. Annie watched her go, and almost together, the both of them grinned in amusement.