Chapter Text
I rub the outside of my eyelids and my ears perk as I hear one of the many teenaged baristas yell, “Black coffee for Reki?” I drag myself away from the tall counter and swiftly speed walk to the pick-up counter, swiping the warm cup from the marble. I look at the–probably sixteen year old–girl as I take a long sip, feeling her judgemental eyes drill into the back of my head.
Who drinks straight black coffee, she must be thinking.
If I’m being honest, it’s not my first choice, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I take another sip and hold it in my mouth, hoping to keep some extra warmth as I walk outside, the unusual chill sitting on my neck. I swallow, finally, bidding a farewell to the last bit of warmth I have left.
I start to laugh, mentally kicking myself because only I would accept a job promotion that relocates me somewhere that has frequent snow .
“Stupid promotion, why did it have to pay so good?” I groan in exasperation. I stop at a convenience store, quickly checking my smart watch for the time. I swing back and forth, debating whether or not I really need an overpriced rice ball that’ll most likely give me food poisoning.
Before I can step away from the entrance to move back into the flow of the sidewalk, the door to the store swings open, damn near knocking me over. It happens quickly, but one second my hot coffee is safe in my cup and the next it’s spilled all over a tall gentleman, making his once–what I imagine to be–beautiful, white, button up collared shirt a muddy brown.
“Oh god,” I sputter out, widening my eyes at the man. I step forward, taking my warm hand out of my pocket, wiping it on his dress shirt, like an idiot. “I’m so sorry, let me–”
The pale skinned man swats my hands away, giving me a sour expression.
“Just stop, get away,” he mumbles, just loud enough to be heard. His lip quivers in disdain as he shakes off the coffee spilled on his hands, droplets falling on my shoes. I look up at him, trembling with rage.
Are my shoes anything special? No. Are they the most expensive things I own? Yes.
“I said sorry, you asshole,” I scoff, bending down to wipe off the coffee before it stains my shoes.
“What?” he blinks at me, with furrowed eyebrows covering his eyelids. He looks me up and down, adjusting his clothes, and begins to step back. “Whatever.”
I simply watch his face turn away until I’m only facing his back which makes me even angrier because what kind of jerk walks away when someone is trying to make amends?! God, I hate Tokyo. I attempt to shake off this anger but I can’t keep my eye off his annoyingly broad shoulders as he walks away, which he’s taking his sweet time doing.
I groan, picking up the coffee cup, still feeling a good amount of coffee at the bottom. I glance at the man again and before I can reason with myself, I flick the lid off and sprint towards him. I reach his back and splash the rest of the coffee on his blazer, stopping him in his tracks. I stride past him, the sharp words, “Enjoy the free coffee, city boy,” sliding off of my tongue.
I can vaguely hear him calling out in anger, but for the first time since I moved to this godforsaken city, I feel good.
⋆꙳❅*‧͙ ‧͙*❆ ͙͛ ˚⋆
After two coffees, one missed train and three too many wrong turns, I finally stand in front of the store with the cursive lettering of ‘Kaito Jewelry’ in bright lights. I pull the door open, the warmth of the heated shop practically setting my skin on fire. I smile, the smell of pine vaguely, and temporarily giving me a reminder of home. I look around catching the eye of a brown headed man, behind the counter.
“Good morning,” he greets with a warm smile. “You’re Kyan-kun, right?”
“Reki, please.” I smile, waving my hands politely, because I’ll be damned if I use my family name. “Shokichi?”
“Oka,” he corrects. “It’s so great to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Good things, I hope,” I laugh.
“Please, I would love to hear one bad thing about you,” Oka chuckles. “Then maybe I’d know for sure that you’re human.” I give a soft chuckle in response. I can't say I blame him–making sure my flaws are nonexistent or imperceptible is my life mission.
“Well, all the same, we’re really happy you’re here,” Oka exclaims, leading me into the break room.
“We?” I tilt my head at my manager, taken aback.
“Sorry about that, Oka.” A voice says from a far. “There was this guy that got his coffee all over me, I can’t even tell you—” As the man’s soft, but irritated voice grows louder, I watch the tall gentleman from earlier turn the corner, the brown stain still visible.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
This is a joke, right? This is just some joke that my coworkers are playing. Ha ha, hilarious! Good one guys! God, this can’t be real. Because if it were then the tall coffee guy from this morning is not only my new coworker, but also my supervisor. Great. That’s just awesome.
“Langa, meet Reki Kyan, the transfer from Okinawa, “ Oka clasps his hands together, bringing us closer together, which brings me probably just as much anxiety as Langa—at least I hope it does. “Reki, this is Langa Hasegawa. He’s my assistant,”
I bow slightly, but only as low as Langa bows, the cheap little bastard.
“Nice meeting you,” I mutter under my breath. Langa simply hums in response, ‘wiping off’ the coffee stain on his shirt, briskly pacing out onto the sales floor. I follow him out, leaving Oka to his peaceful quiet.
“Nice shirt,” I comment, taking a standing position next to him. “It brings out your eyes.” I taunt, craning my head towards him. He huffs out in response, the look in his eyes turning an icy cold.
As I watch him squirm, I truly take him in– in a way I couldn’t early this morning, due to the incident. Everything about him is elongated, from his hands, to his neck and his disturbingly smooth hair. If he wasn’t such an ass, he would be cute, handsome even. But as kissable as his face is, my dignity comes first.
“You—” Langa begins, squinting at me before I both feel a firm hand shake me by my shoulders.
“Alright, guys,” Oka says lowly, as if trying to be mysterious. “We’re super behind on sales and we’ve got thirty-six days left to get our shit together. You feel me?” He looks back and forth at me and Asshole, (as I’ve decided to call him) so quickly I’m slightly scared he’ll get whiplash, get sick, then make me work with this jerk alone .
“Yes, sir,” Langa nods at him, offering a smile as he turns to me, raising his eyebrow at me slightly. “Right?”
I grit my teeth, forcing a gleeful smile at him, damn near breaking my soul to maintain the peace. “Right.”
How long can I call in sick for? Is forever too long?
⋆꙳❅*‧͙ ‧͙*❆ ͙͛ ˚⋆
It doesn’t take me long to figure out how severe it really has been for this store. Three days in and I’ve already made ten sales, though they weren’t crazy expensive. whereas in Okinawa we’d have that much in a week, maybe two weeks if it’s slow. I press my fingers onto the glass, catching my breath from the third rush of the day, it being just two in the afternoon. My manager was not kidding about this place being insanely busy. I mean, I get that Tokyo is supposed to be the biggest location that makes the most money, but I was not ready to be thrown into the fire like this. How is Okinawa even open? This place makes my little corner shop look like a kiosk at the mall.
I sigh, stepping through the double doors to the backroom, catching sight of Langa at the whiteboard. I roll my eyes, knowing exactly what he’s doing–updating his tally. I feel a churn in my stomach just remembering when it was first introduced to me.
“Wait, so what is this?” I had said, squinting at the whiteboard with all of our names on it. I turned to Oka, scratching my head in utter confusion.
“It’s a tally board,” Oka had repeated, pointing at the anatomy of it, like a teacher. “You put what you sold, how much it cost and here you put how much in total. Most sales by Christmas Eve wins.”
“Wins what?” Langa asked, his eyes glued to the whiteboard. Oka smiled, his white teeth blinding me as he walked past me. “I am so glad you asked.”
He sprinted into his office, leaving me and Langa alone for a moment. I looked up at him to see him looking at me, with a pondering look on his face. I remember how much I hated it: I could never decipher what he was thinking about. Finally, before I made the executive decision to punch Langa in his perfect face, Oka sprang out of his office with an envelope in his hand.
“This is the prize,” Oka bragged smugly, which took me aback. “Go ahead, open it.”
I squinted my eyes at him as I took the envelope, pulling the slip of paper from inside–a check. Langa dropped his pen, leaning on the wall, as we both read the amount.
“That’s a lot of zeros, Oka,” Langa muttered, finally.
“Store credit only, but still cool,” Oka shrugged, taking the envelope from my hands, and with him, the check. As the money left my hands, I decided in that moment that I was going to win. There was no choice.
I attempt to walk past him to get a glance at his tally but Langa speaks up, not turning to face me, like a coward.
“Eighteen,” he states in a monotone voice, stopping me in my tracks behind him. Langa turns to me, putting pen into the cup hanging on the wall. I watch his hand move from the cup, into his pocket as he looks at me. He’s not even that much taller than me, but every time I face him, it feels like he towers over me.
“What?” I retort, receiving an intent stare in return.
“I’m at eighteen,” Langa repeats, gesturing to the board with a simple nod. “In sales.”
“Good for you, I guess.” I suck my teeth, balancing my weight on my heels. “I’m behind.”
“I know,” Langa nods, turning to the board again. I step forward, gripping onto the erase-dry marker, writing in my newest tally. I sigh, hoping he’ll get the hint and stop glaring at me, but his firm gaze could cut glass. I set the marker back into its cup and face Langa, slightly closer to him than I had expected to be. I gulp, standing my ground.
“I’ll beat you,” I declare, watching Langa’s chronically unreadable expression turn into slim shock.
“You think so?”
“I know I will.” I smile, determined. Langa nods slowly in response which only makes the flame in me burn brighter. He attempts to walk away, but I grab him by his shoulder. “I bet you I can make more in sales than you by next Monday.”
“Are you challenging me?” Langa narrows his eyes at me, but I don’t falter, crossing my arms. I shrug, offering a smug smile.
“Do you accept?” I ask, holding out my hand to Langa. He eyes my hand, taking it firmly.
“You’re on.”