~Mochii Mochii~

The first time you saw them walk in, your heart practically teleported into your eyes. You had no doubt that anyone who'd seen you during that shift would've described you anything else besides the physical embodiment of heart eyes.

Tall, lean, articulate, and... oh, have you mentioned tall already?

Hange, their name was.

Every time they'd walk into the cafe, your mind immediately goes into overdrive with every thought popping inside of your measly head. Their name branding itself like a trademark.

You assure yourself that this is nothing but a simple happy crush. That each time you write Where have you bean all my life ;) or You're brew-tiful, it's nothing but a little gimmick to spice up your rather calm and boring life.

Each time you call out their name in the smoothest, flirtiest way you could, they'd always smile at you shyly before muttering a lighthearted thanks. Walking out with the ignored coffee note in their hand and a nerdy red hue on their face.

Today was no different.

Mikasa personally hands you the tall coffee cup, already knowing you'd prefer writing Hange's name yourself.

You grab a burgundy marker, writing the five-letter name plus a heart and a sparkle beside it. Already feeling giddy as you write out a new one-liner you read online.

This must be decaf, cause you're just dreamy!

A small laugh leaves your lips. Half because of how stupid you probably look like to the other baristas working the shift right now, and the other half because you know Hange only ever takes decaf.

From all the times you've managed to make their coffee, it's always the same order: one large hazelnut latte, decaf, with two extra pumps of hazelnut syrup.

Sometimes, you think if they're feeling particularly happy about the day, they'd order a second time—a decaffeinated cookie butter latte with extra salted caramel cold foam. You don't know what goes on in their laboratory, but it must be something extreme if they're buying coffee that tastes like that.

"I have a hazelnut latte for Hange," you sing-song softly, leaning over the counter with a smile your mother told you could charm an elephant dead with. You hope it could charm this tall scientist walking over right—

"For Hange?" They clarify, smiling sheepishly. One that has their eyes crescent-shaped.

Unknowingly, you take your bottom lip in between your teeth. "For Hange."

They nod, adjusting their glasses as they lean over to the small counter to the side to grab a cup sleeve and some tissue. You feel a nudge on your shoulder. Connie. He was wriggling his eyebrows at you, subtly jerking his head towards them.

You narrow your eyes at him before turning back to the counter. They were just in the middle of slipping on the cupsleeve when you cleared your throat.

Brown eyes peer up at you. Big and round, drawing you in until it's all you could see.

You feel that same nudge but this time it's from under the counter. Connie's definitely hitting your ankle with his foot. You make a mental note then to buy him a meal from the diner across the street.

"It's a nice day out, huh?"

You mentally slap yourself. It was fucking raining, idiot!

An awkward round of silence ensues between you two. Hange throwing a look over their shoulder and to the wide window overlooking the wet streets. "Y-yeah! It's, uh, it's really nice y'know... if you wanna get wet in the rain or somethin' like that."

You really fucked up this time, you think to yourself.

Unable to shake off the embarrassment gnawing at your insides as Hange looks at you with a confused smile. Probably trying to keep themselves looking friendly enough so you wouldn't think of poisoning their coffee next time.

"Sorry, she just hasn't gotten her caffeine fill yet. Not really good with small talk," Connie interjects, bumping shoulders with you.

You widen your eyes at him, about to respond with something that'd probably either make the situation more awkward or make you look like a bitch when their sweet, sweet laugh fill your ears.

"Oh, no, it's fine!" They shift their eyes from Connie to yours. The awkwardness from their earlier smile now gone. "You're good. We've all been there. See, I like rain anyway. It makes job at the lab surprisingly easier."

"Really? How come?" You found yourself asking.

You notice the shift in their features. The surprise washing through their face in a refreshing wave. A small smile grows on their lips as they speak.

"Well, it's actually hard getting a pure water source. Tap water, even without it being extensively filtered, is still filtered and also unintentionally contaminated. That makes it difficult to use during experiments," their eyes keep yours locked, words flowing with such certainty that you'd think you have a script taped directly on your forehead. "Filtered and purified water, they've been enhanced chemically. It's a better choice but not the best choice. Rain water is pure water. It's free from contamination as long as retrieved in an open space, and it's not tampered with chemically," they pause, lips widening in a way that shows teeth, "It's the best choice if you ask me!"

You don't exactly remember where they began and where they finished. You were way too entranced with the way they spoke so knowledgeably about something. In such a cadence that lacked the patronizing tone you had grown used to as a child.

Seeing them look smart is one thing, hearing and witnessing them actually be smart without being such an arrogant prick is an entirely different thing.

If it weren't for the continuous ringing of the bell by the counter, you would've kept asking them about it. Kept on asking even the dumbest things just to hear the smooth sound of their voice talk again and again.

"You'd definitely have to let her visit you sometime," Connie says, drifting all around the floor with numerous cups in his arms. "She's a real curious spirit beneath those nasty aprons!"

"Hey!" You hiss at him, turning sharply.

Hange chuckles at you both, "Of course! You can definitely come by! Just let me know and I'll... I'll, uh, clean up the lab for your visit."

"M-my visit?" You feel the butterflies crash into each other. Air suddenly caught in the middle of your throat.

A beat passes by with you two staring at each other.

Then, they stammer, pathetically, "Yeah—I mean, well, uh, if you want to! I know how busy is it and... Oh! Uh—speaking of, I'll get outta your guys' hair! Can't believe I've been hogging you two all to myself," they laugh again, this time with a hint of awkwardness laced in their voice. They definitely noticed the small circle forming behind them waiting for their coffee.

You can hog me all you want, Hottie, you think, giggling inwardly. I'll throw away all these cups if that meant you'd tell me more about the benefits of rainwater.

You watch as Hange walks away. Throwing the bar one last look over their shoulder before leaving the glass doors of the cafe.

"Oh my god," you finally breathe. Knees suddenly growing weak as you grip the counter to stabilize yourself like a pathetic fifteen year-old having her first kiss.

You look behind you, "Connie, you fucking imbecile."

Connie scoffs, crashing into your shoulder with a light bump to get you moving. "Hey, I saved you from making a complete fool out of yourself!"

"You made me look like an idiot!" You whisper-yell.

"You did that to yourself, boss," he shrugs, taking the empty cup in your hands and replacing it with another. This time a paper coffee cup instead of the normal plastic ones.

You sigh, still replaying that last smile of theirs paired with an exchange of have a nice day! to each other. You'd definitely have a nice night... not sure about a nice day though considering the line of empty cups begging for your attention.

When the bulk of the customers eventually disperse after the morning rush, you're left to sitting idly on one of the stools at the far side of the bar. Mikasa waited patiently at the counter for any customers coming in, meanwhile Connie busied himself by making his own drink.

"Hey, Connie, did you see if they noticed my note on their cup?" You put your chin to the counter, resting your head sideways.

"Nah," he says. "I don't think anyone really looks at the stuff on their cup anymore. You can probably draw a dick on it and they wouldn't notice," a chuckle finishes his words, grinning at you like a little shit.

"What great observation," you reply, eyes rolling back in sheer annoyance.

You put your attention on your other staff. "What about you, Mikasa? D'you think they noticed my pick-up line?"

"Ew, you wrote a pick-up line?"

"Shut up!" You hiss at Connie, murmuring under your breath a second later, "I always do."

Mikasa purses her lips, already telling you an answer before she even gives one. "I didn't really notice them, boss," she gives you an apologetic smile, bringing her own cup of coffee to her lips. You drop your forehead to the counter with a loud groan. "but, well, for what it's worth, I think they seemed fairly happy talking to you earlier."

"What!" You shoot up.

Connie immediately ticks his head, "Wrong move, Mikasa."

In the blink of an eye, you easily cross over the counter and shoulder up with Mikasa. Your eyelashes flutter at her, face resting on your palms, "Tell me more."

"Uhh... you know, it's nothing, I just—" you shake your head, assuring her you'd love to hear about her thoughts. "—every time I see them, they rarely look happy. Always occupied. Then earlier, when you asked about the weather, they laughed."

Mikasa glances at you, then back at the customer in front of them, "Ah, well, don't take my words to heart. I'm just saying what I saw... and I think they were genuine when they said you could come by their lab." The squeal that leaves you was almost as loud as the way she closes the cash register.

"Really? Shit, I knew it was an invitation. Do you think they like me? Wait, oh god, imagine our first date at the laboratory!" You stomp your feet excitedly, drifting around the small space, hitting the shoulders of those nearest to you—which was, of course, Connie. "Mikasa, you are a genius! I knew it, I knew I hired you for a damn reason."

"To validate your delusions?" she almost seemed against hearing your answer.

Unfortunately, you let out a loud yes! to that very question. Ignoring all the stares from the customers waiting for their drink. You grab a waiting cup, taking a quick second to read the order.

"Don't get your hopes up, boss. A scientist that good looking is definitely tied," Connie, ever the pessimist, brings up. You all but fire him on the spot for such a thought.

"Actually, I think they're single."

To you, the world stills.

Mikasa's words hanging in the air like stars from the very sky themselves.

"How'd you know?" you and Connie drift over to her, carrying your own respective cups. The hopeful glint in your eyes rivaling that suspicious one in his.

She sighs, crossing her arms, finally relieved of her work as all the customers finally finish ordering. "My friend Armin is their TA. I think Armin mentioned Hange taking multiple overtimes in the laboratory."

"And that implied they're single?" You blurt out. Forehead creasing heavily as you stare at her dumbfounded.

"Hmm..." Connie shovels ice into the cup, lips jutting out in thought. "Yeah, I'm with you on that, Mikasa. I think they're single too."

You raise your eyebrows at him.

"C'mon, boss. Would someone in a relationship spend all their time holed-up in a lab?" He scoffs, puffing his shoulders like an idiot. "Of course not! They're probably burying themselves there for a lack of a significant other."

You smack the back of his head with the side of your elbow, receiving a complaint in return. "Don't use fancy words, Connie. It sounds weird."

"Excuse me?"

"I agree. That was pretty out of character," Mikasa adds.

You stifle a chuckle. Finishing the cup of iced coffee for a moment of reflection before you find yourself back at Mikasa's side.

"So, this friend of your's is their TA," Mikasa hums thoughtfully. "Did this friend ever mentioned seeing Hange anywhere else aside from the university? Maybe an apartment nearby I can add into my daily walk?"

"Wow, you've graduated from a barista to a stalker now," Connie remarks.

"Not really. Armin never mentioned anything like that. He says Hange's always at the lab, that all Hange ever talks about is their experiments. Though Armin really looks up to them so they must be a really nice person," Mikasa shares. Suddenly, she perks up, a brush of red already coloring her cheeks.

Your eyebrows knit. Mikasa's always calm and composed. She hardly ever looks tense or shy. But, you hear the bells on the door chime ever so softly. You turn your head, ready to look at either a sleep-deprived university student or a tired corporate worker, only to see a rather young-looking man.

You glance back at Mikasa. God, you know that look all too well. That poor girl's entranced. Bewitched, even.

That's how you look at Hange so you know it very well!

On that note, you scoot yourself over to the open counter. Finishing up the remaining pending orders in record time.

"Is that her boyfriend?" You throw a look at the pair by the cashier.

"Think so. I know Mikasa has a boyfriend but she never really showed me his picture," Connie responds, giving them the same look over his shoulder.

"They look... like it's their first time meeting," you comment, taking note of the way they stood so straight with each other. How their faces barely looked bright. Mostly they just talked, voices too quiet for the two of you to eavesdrop in anyway.

You watch as the brunette man adjusts the red scarf on Mikasa's neck. The small gesture made Mikasa sink into the thick piece of fabric even more. He lets a small smile come on his face before a jarring, annoying voice fills the cafe.

"I have an Iced Americano for Eren!"

Today, you have a plan.

Today, it's a Wednesday.

Wednesdays always meant Hange has some free time to spend an hour in the cafe with their cup of decaf and banana muffin heated for exactly two minutes. So, today, you plan on actually making a move on them.

Not just silly little notes on their cup, no. Today, you plan on actually going up to them and taking them up on their invitation the other day. The one where they'd happily take you out mid-shift, show you to their lab, maybe a little kiss here and there, then they'll bring you to the park and plan both of your futures while watching the stars—

"I can't believe you actually got dressed up today."

"Dressed up for what?" Sasha, your third part-timer, the one subbing for Mikasa today, asks out.

"For her parasocial crush on this innocent scientist working at our university," Connie deadpans.

He'd been in charge of making everyone's morning cup of coffee for the day, and so he slides a hot mug in front of you while an iced one to Sasha. She was already eating a pizza bun when he did.

"Scientist? Dr. Zoë?" She asks with a mouth full of food.

"You know them?" You gasp, clutching their shoulder.

Her big brown eyes widen with a particular bite, her cheeks expanding to twice its usual size. "Yeah thmm armnghh pre—"

"Oh, dear, eat your food first," you grimace. Connie laughing loudly as he points out how much Sasha likes the new kind of pastry. When Sasha finally manages to swallow the thick bite of bread, she swipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I was saying... They're pretty popular on campus, y'know? Them, Professor Ackerman, and Professor Smith," Sasha starts, taking a sip of her coffee. "I heard their classes were real tough. They extend classes for an hour or two before finally letting the students leave." She eyes you carefully before sighing, "At least they're tall."

"I knoooow," you drag, draping yourself over the counter with a lovesick smile. "Aren't they so dreamy?"

Connie rolls his eyes at you both, "You really gotta get yourself out there, boss. Go on a date for once."

"I am! I'll be taking Hange up on their invitation to their lab, remember?"

"They invited you? Really?" Sasha looks at you with wide eyes, hand instinctively planting itself on your shoulder.

"It wasn't an invite," Connie says before you could even speak.

"It is an invite."

"Nuh-uh. Didn't you see how they were trying to run away from us when I asked them about it?"

You scoff, "Yeah, well Connie, anyone'd run away if it's you asking them."

"For your information, I've gone on a date," Connie says with his entire chest. You already know what's coming next. "You haven't. And, what, you're a full on adult now meanwhile I'm still a college student?"

"An unemployed college student if you don't shut up," you snicker, sending him a death glare from where you stood.

"I'm just saying... If you really plan on approaching the poor scientist later, make sure you don't make a fool out of yourself like last time," he says, singing his words as if seeing him wasn't enough of an annoyance to you already.

The three of you head back to work at the drop of seven. People already ushering in to pile up for the morning rush.

Sasha manned the counter while you and Connie worked on the usual coffee and pastries. Before, you used to have their roles reversed. With Connie at the cashier and Sasha at the bar. Unfortunately you found that combo highly likely to lead to the cafe's bankruptcy.

Hour ten rolls by and your tall, brunette scientist is still nowhere to be seen. You could feel a significant decrease in your energy the longer you spend the day not seeing even so much as a glimpse of them.

By now the morning rush has already died down. Your cafe regulars sitting quietly at their spots with their laptops, typing away whatever it is they're doing. You make yourself another cup of coffee, pouring two espresso shots in your personal glassware before slipping to the storage. You rummage through the racks. Eyes shining when you see that good ole vodka bottle on the farthest part of the rack.  

You pour two shots into your glassware, fighting back the smile as you put the bottle back.

"Oh my god," you let out a contented moan, inhaling the remaining scent of espresso in your glass before it gets totally overpowered by the alcohol. The liquid slides down your throat, the slight burn keeping you sane. "This is perfect. I'm perfect. I can do this," you look at your reflection bouncing from the steel fridge, "you can do this."

You quickly fix the storage rooms for a quick minute. Arranging the cardboard boxes so they weren't crowding the floor. Throwing out all the plastic lying around and peeling off the random strips of packaging tape one of your part-timers neglected to direct to the trash.

You were about to head back to the bar when a figure blocks you head on.

It was Connie.

A smiling, scratching-the-back-of-his-head Connie.

"What are you doing?" You ask suspiciously.

"Hey boss!" He says with an oddly loud voice. "I think you should take a break. Me and Sasha got this. There's no customers... not until the lunch break anyway."

Your forehead creases, "What the hell are you talking about?" You take a step forward and immediately he moves to block the small entryway off with his body. "Connie, I will actually smack you in the head if you don't move."

"I swear, boss! We can take it from—" You push past Connie with a glare. Throwing off the arm he put up trying to stop you.

The regret seeps in right after you did that. The sight that greets you, waiting ever so patiently at the bar, was a hundred times stronger than the vodka espresso you had moments prior; Your tall, brunette scientist stands at the bar, a beautiful blonde right beside them wearing the same white coat you previously envisioned Hange wearing as they take you out on that laboratory date.

When their mouth opens and you see the genuine smile that rests on their lips, the laughter coming from something the blonde has said, your heart actually aches.

Like actually aches.

You haven't experienced a heart attack yet, but you fathom it'd be somewhat similar to what you were feeling right now.

It was way past closing time now. The three of you had waited for Mikasa's class to finish so she can come by the actual debrief. Now, you laid down on one of the couches with your arm draped over your forehead, shoulders slumped, spirits down lower than hell.

An actual cocktail sat on the coffee table for you, while your employees had their own beverages. Mikasa still had her dri-fit shirt on, sipping an electrolyte drink her boyfriend apparently got her. Clearly your personal love life was way more important than whatever plans these three part-timers have.

"I don't understand, were you two together?" Sasha's the one starting the conversation. A burger in her hand from the diner across the street.

"No," you drag out the word.

"Oh. Then is it a crush?"

You can't see the three of them since your eyes were closed, but had they been open, you already know both Connie and Mikasa would be shaking their heads at her.

"It could have been a date," you say, voice devastated. "It could have been a date, guys! Imagine. I could have been at the university right now. They could have been showing me around right now, we could have been flirting—god, we could have been flirting!"

A warm presence comes beside you. Mikasa. She has that usual apologetic look on her face as she sits on the nearby stool. 

"Are you sure they have a girlfriend? Like really sure?"

"Uh-huh," you groan her name, turning around the couch like a child. "They were so close. Literally. Their shoulders were touching. Hange was even laughing at something she said... I've never seen them laugh like that! Connie saw it too—right, Connie?"

He hums, lazily scrolling through his phone. "I think Hange even carried the umbrella for them both."

You sob, though not really the real thing, "God, shut up, will you?"

Connie does a zipper motion with his hands. Out of the three, he was the one that received the bulk of your mopping during the day. Having to hear you rant about that single moment during the entire shift, each drink being made was sprinkled with a little bit of despair for toppings.

By now he was pretty much immune to your lousy sobs and sudden mood changes.

"Hey, at least that means you can get over your crush and actually find someone to date!" Sasha suggests, bright and happy. "That is what we want... right? You to date someone?"

"No, I want to date them," you admit.

"Huh, I thought it was just a happy crush?" Connie questions.

"What do you mean happy crush, I literally styled my hair just for today!" You exclaim, sitting up on the couch. The three of them all looked like they had different opinions about the situation.

Mikasa's the most concerned. Still nursing your shoulder with soothing rubs like an older sister does to their younger sister, only now the role's are reversed because for once it's you who's unlucky with romance and not her. She's probably the most supportive of your little infatuation with Hange. Always handing you the counter whenever they're ordering, always encouraging you to keep on writing those silly little notes on coffee cups.

Connie just seems oblivious over the entire situation but trust he feels quite apologetic about it. He kept you company the entire day. Trying to brighten your day with his jokes of utmost stupidity and despair. He even let you take over the remaining orders for a while, anything to get your mind off of that tall, brunette scientist. After all, he was the one that stirred up this whole lab date with you and Hange.  

Sasha barely takes morning shifts so she seldomly witness you gush about Hange. When she does, it mostly you discreetly writing love notes on Hange's cup, nothing more than that. Though you do talk about your interactions with Hange in the cafe group chat a lot, Connie's pretty much brainwashed her to think it's just some lousy happy crush.

"Should I just give up?" You ask. The words feeling heavier than you anticipated.

Truth be told, you never really expected this happy crush to be so consuming. You never expected to think about them day and night, each time you get home and see your empty apartment. You never expected to wait for their presence every morning at the cafe, waiting for their usual order of hazelnut latte with two extra pumps of hazelnut syrup.

It was supposed to be just a crush. Something you foolishly started just so you don't feel bored and lonely every time you go about the mundane task of managing the cafe.

"Up to you, boss. There's plenty of good looking people coming by the cafe," Connie responds, stretching his arms out.

"Yeah, some of them even ask for your number!" Sasha adds.

You laugh dryly, letting a tired smile come on your lips.

"It's you who don't give your number," Mikasa notes, nudging you casually on the shoulder.

"I guess," you sigh, defeated.

You finally let them go now. Adamant on letting them go home before the streets get too empty. You do the last checks in the storage rooms and at the back door, moving to the entrance as you start locking up.

The walk to your apartment is quick and quiet. The sweet bald doorman you usually brought coffee to at the end of the day greeting you with a smile.

At your apartment, your shoulders slump almost immediately. Dropping off your bag at the couch, kicking off your shoes, and heading straight to the daybed you set up by your window.

The image of them laughing a few feet from the counter haunts you every time you close your eyes. Her blonde hair against their brunette hair. The height difference perfect for forehead kisses, or roughhouse hugs where their arms engulf your entire body, pulling yourclose enough that their scent invades your every sense—leaving you a signature of what romance is... or what it could have been, rather.

You imagined it so perfectly.

The idea of you and Hange going on coffee dates, learning about each other's preferences. You coming by their workplace just to drop off an extra cup of coffee and a kiss on their cheeks. Them staying at your cafe after hours, waiting until you've closed out so they could walk you home—or you walking them to theirs, you don't really care. The very idea, after all, was you and them spending the mundane moments together, filling it with a sense of familiarity and companionship.

Their oddly interesting fun facts revolving around everything science. Your cheesy coffee-related pick-up lines.

The story you'd tell your future children was already written in your mind.

Yes, you're insane.

Yes, you don't think you're the one to blame. It's your therapist from years ago that told you delusion is another way of manifestation.

You truly wonder how such a simple crush could snowball into this... whatever this is!

There's a wine glass on the counter as you finish your evening bath. Thirty-minutes in the bathroom with your trusty friend Eleanor certainly boosted your mood in a way. You pour yourself a generous amount, then a bowl of freshly popped microwave popcorn, taking both as you head to your couch.

The next day comes and you decide against showing your face at the bar. Tending to all of the administrative tasks needed at the backrooms: managing inventories, balancing numbers, looking through résumés of potential employees—you name it, you did it.

You always check the clock before heading out to the actual cafe, deadly committed to making sure you don't catch even a single glimpse of that person. Whenever the coast's clear, you're helping Miche with the drinks.

Miche, the only other full-time employee besides you, who just recently come back from a week-long mandatory vacation.

Contrary to Connie, Miche's a silent worker. He barely talks. Whether to you or the customers — matter of fact he sniffs them more than talks to them. God knows the amount of customer complaints you've received because of it. You don't even think he gets along with the others part-timers.

The only good thing about it is he never fails in making his coffees. No complaints. Perfect brew every time.

You walk back to the storage rooms, about to go continue whatever it was you'd left unfinished, not really feeling the vibe to lounge around one of the tables like you used to do.

"Fuck!" Miche hisses, immediately stopping you in your steps.

Turning around, you see him with his palm towards the customers, head bowing apologetically as liquid pools at the bottom of his shoes, shards of glass littered across.

"I'll take care of it," you mumble, darting out to get the mop at the back when Miche grabs your arm. "It's fine," he grunts, "I'll clean it up. That one's only missing a caramel cold foam anyway." You look to the cupholder, three out of four slots filled.

"Sure," you nod.

You turn around, bending your knees to open that small steel fridge where the cold foams were kept, heading back to the bar once you got it.

Even after you've poured the cold foams on top, sealing the drink up with a lid and placing it on the now-full cupholder, you hadn't realized how familiar the appearance of the drink was. Or, how there was only ever one customer who willingly chose caramel cold foam on their coffee.

The realization sets in a few moments after the group of coffees get picked up by some stone-faced guy named Levi. 

You had your back resting against the counter, stunned as you hold up a new empty cup, still too busy with your thoughts to begin with the new order. Before you could even begin to calculate the very possibility of them being there, you hear a hand land on the smooth slab of the open counter.

"What's—"

Words seem to erase themselves from your mind as you're face-to-face with a scowling Hange. Their thick eyebrows furrowed, black eyeglasses resting on the crown of their head as they squint at their cup.

"Hey, uh, I'd like to file a complaint?" They pause, rotating their cup as if looking for something, "There's nothing written on my cup. It's been that way two times now. Usually the barista would..." their eyes finally land on you, a still and unmoving image of you still clutching an empty cup in your hand. "...write a, well, something on it."

The two of you stand there utterly dumbfounded. You could feel the apples of your cheeks blooming with color already, your hands heating up—whether from embarrassment or not is something you're not sure right now—you hope they don't notice it.

You don't remember how long the two of you stand there. If not for that same man—the one that took the cupholder—walking behind Hange and clearing his throat, the two of you probably would have stayed way longer.

"I, uh—well, I haven't seen you these past few days," Hange chuckles awkwardly. Dropping down their glasses back to the bridge of their nose and shyly brushing the front pieces of their hair. "I thought you were, uhm, sick? I hoped you weren't though," they laugh again, this time louder and a lot more gracelessly.

You lick your lips. Every voice screaming in your head to just speak.

"Thanks for the thought, I guess," you say as you pull on a tight smile, "I... I wasn't really feeling all that well."

"Really?" Their voice heightens, "Why? What happened? Are you dizzy? Should you be working right now?! It's hard working sick. Are you missing a few workers? Maybe you guys can close up early so you can rest," words leave their mouth like a machine gun, spilling out endlessly with that tone of urgency and worry that has you feeling butterflies fluttering inside of you.

You laugh shyly, looking away from the intense brown orbs staring at you, "I'm fine now! Don't worry about it, Doc."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." You nod, pursing your lips.

They nod as well, slower than you did, one eye narrowing as if checking for the validity of your words. That man from before walks by one more time, clearing his throat again, prompting Hange to hand their cup to you.

You raise an eyebrow, gaze flicking from the small dorky smile on their face to the blank cup. "My name's Hange Zoë. I don't think we've been properly introduced to each other."

Replying back with your name, you jerk your head towards them, "The cup?"

"Ah! Well, you weren't here the past few days, you weren't here earlier when I got my first cup too. You can write my name on here now," they explain, the smile on their lips widening until it practically brightened up their whole face.

You feel something warm blossom inside of you, fighting the urge to smile back as you grab the marker on your apron's pocket. Before you can touch the cup, Hange uses the sleeve of their white coat to wipe the condensation off. A small dry space left for your writing.

Focus! You're moving on, remember?

You shake your head subtly, proceeding to write the five letters of their name and pulling away.

"You forgot the note."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean the note. You always put a note on my coffee. Usually they're pick-up lines but—"

"Hange, we have to go," a tall, blond, hair-gelled man in a formal attire comes by behind Hange now, his voice was deep and sophisticated. "We're going to be late for the lecture."

"Yeah, I'm comin'! Just a sec," Hange says, turning their back at you expectantly.

You swallow down on nothing, biting the inside of your cheek, "I can't think of anything to write."

Complete lie. You memorized fifty pick-up lines related to coffee after the first time you saw Hange.

Disappointment washes over their features only to be replaced by a hopeful one a few seconds later. "Of course you can! C'mon, don't be pressured by them. The lecture's not staring for the next—" they look at their wrist, smiling, "—two minutes!"

"Fine, whatever... don't look at it now, though. Look at it later," you tell them.

"Of course."

Once you've finished, you can't help but comment, "I didn't know you read them before." Looking away as you speak, too flustered to look at them straight.

Their response comes in a few moments later, in a quieter voice as well, "I do read them... a lot of times, actually. I—Levi! What's with the pulling!" their shoulder gets pulled before they can even finish their sentence.

"That's enough flirting, four-eyes. We gotta go," the man says monotonously. He spares you a glance, "Apologies. You two can continue this another time."

"It's okay," you say, unsure. "And we weren't flirting, by the way."

Hange makes a noise of protest, a laugh escaping you as you watch them try to pull off Levi's hand on their shoulder all the while the hair-gelled man held the door open for them, waving at you.

Your shoulders relax, finally. The moments that had just gone by only registering to you now as you feel a plethora of emotions run through you.

They noticed me being gone. They were looking for me every time. They read my notes. They wait for my notes. They—don't they have a girlfriend?

"Where's my coffee?" A customer speaks out, tone displeased.

You snap out of it, blinking a few times before bowing apologetically. Your body turns around and Miche's already intercepting you, handing a cup of coffee to that very customer.

"Took you long enough," was all he says, wrinkling his nose at you.

"You sure you don't want us to stay, boss?" Mikasa asks, already dressed in her casual clothing.

"Yup! All good here. I just need to do some extra auditing on stuff," you assure them with a smile, "Be safe, okay? Message the groupchat once you guys get home."

Mikasa and Connie acknowledge your words with a hum, waving their arms at you, the door jingling as they leave.

You wait until they've reached the bus stop, watching from the big window of your store as they got on and the bus speeds away. An overly-excited grin creeps onto your face, already fishing out your phone from your pocket.

Before you get to even message that number on your phone, three loud taps on the glass window makes you jump. Your heart practically escaping your ribs.

Hange's face stretches into one of embarrassment. Their chestnut eyes crinkling upwards with a slight laugh you didn't really hear. Your hand was placed right over your chest, breathing heavily from the sheer surprise.

You walk to the front door, push your head out, and call them, "Did you have to do that?"

This time you hear their laugh. Light, sweet, and gentle. Way more addicting than you'd expect. Hange jogs up to the front of the cafe, holding the door with a hand as you stand up straight.

Their hair was way more disheveled than usual, freckles in full display as you flick on the lights to your cafe. Gone was the plain white doctor's coat as they now wore a khaki-colored trench coat over their red and white pinstripe button-up.

"You look..."

Cute? Adorable? Kissable?

"...nice. Really nice! I, uh, I don't really have any clothes to change into in the cafe right now." You look away out of embarrassment, resorting to walking over to your seat and slinging your bag on your shoulder.

Hange's cheeks heat up with color at your compliment, though thankfully you were too busy worrying about your own coyness.

"It's fine! You look really nice today anyway... I mean—you always do. You just, well, ha... look really nice today—tonight," they practically trip all over their words, choosing to end that little statement with a carefree laugh to maybe lessen the tension.

You laugh with them, finally having the guts to look straight at them. The two of you descend into a rather awkward silence, standing still in the empty cafe for god knows how long. Too shy and too anxious to make any moves.

Fortunately, that awkward silence is finally broken when your phone sounds with a notification. The coffee groupchat's name popping up with two separate messages.

"Sorry, it's Mikasa and Connie. They probably just got home right now," you say, wrinkling your nose habitually.

"Oh, that's great!" Hange responds, "Do you wanna, y'know, go right now? Or if you still have stuff to do—I can wait for you, no biggie."

"Yes—No, I mean, it's fine, I'm done already! Double-checked the stuff out back as well," you affirm with a smile, shaking your head lightly.

Their lips stretch wider, "Great!"

For the next thirty minutes, the two of you walk by the streets of Shiganshina with nothing but a few lousy questions and a dream.

You've asked them about what they do, when they started, where they came from—all the basic facts you already did know but just wanted to hear it come from them personally.

Hange was definitely no different. They asked you about your coffee shop, how you started, what your favorite coffee was, if you bake or cook the food and pastries; you honestly began to think they were asking so they could apply as a part-timer.

When you brought it up, Hange was cackling.

"Believe me, I have nothing against working at a cafe. I actually think you guys are the absolute best," they say, taking bigger steps to overtake you and change sides as you cross the road, "It's just funny. I don't think I'd be a good coffee maker. I might blow up the shop."

"Speaking of blowing things up, have you blown up anything?" You suddenly ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

They hum teasingly, looking to the sky, holding their chin as if they were searching the depths of their memories.

"Zero. The only times I've ever caused a boom was because it was necessary," Hange finally answers after a minute of thinking. Giving you that fake look of arrogance that you notice they like doing.

You raise an eyebrow, "Really?"

They nod assuringly, yet that good-for-nothing grin tells you otherwise.

"I'm no scientist, doc, but I'm sure a boom is almost never necessary for something." You jerk your eyebrows at them, letting the side of your lip extend as Hange finally drops the look. Both of you laughing loudly once more.

Once the laughter died down, you and Hange walking in a comfortable silence now, you couldn't help but feel warm beside them.

Who would've thought you'd be spending the last work day of the week going to your used-to-be-ex-crush's workplace? Let alone be able to tease and hold a conversation with them without turning into a tomato.

Well, who are you kidding? You wrote your number as their little note, dummy.

Get yourself together. They have a girlfriend, remember?

The two of you soon arrive at Hange's building. They flash a smile at the security guard, grabbing the visitor lanyard he was holding and placing it on your neck.

"I work on the twelfth whenever I'm not in the university," Hange shares.

"Do your friends work there as well?"

"Nah, not really. Erwin's in International Relations while Levi's in Mathematics. My friends in the lab usually stay in... y'know, the lab." Hange rocks back and forth on their heels, pursing their lips until their cheeks puffed out.

You nod, "How's university then? I hope it isn't as stressful as mine."

"You're still in uni?" Hange turns to you, pressing the elevator buttons.

"Mhm. I couldn't take all the required units at the same time because I had to look after the shop... with my progress, I think it'll take me two more years to finish," you ramble, watching as the floor numbers slowly increased. "But don't worry, I'm not underaged or anything. We're the same age! I swear!"

"I'm not doubting you on that," Hange chuckles.

Your eyebrow arches once again, an idea popping in your mind, "So you're saying I look old?"

Surprise colors their face again, immediately raising their hands as if in surrender. Their eyes wrinkle with slight embarrassment, stammering as they try to explain themselves. You on the other hand simply continue the act, glaring at them playfully.

The elevator door opens after some time. A clinical-looking room appearing into view. The walls were lined with glass cabinets containing laboratory paraphernalia and some disorganized rows of worn-out books. Counters and tables were littered with either different notebooks and loose-leaf papers or trays that had test tubes holding funky-colored liquid. The largest piece in the room was a wheeled-whiteboard that had all kinds of calculations and marks.

Before you can look at it longer, Hange thrusts themselves in front of you, blocking your view with their tall stature. "Shit—I, uh, forgot to clean up... kinda," they chuckle dryly, scratching the back of their head.

"Do you wanna head back down? I can show you the specialty rooms! Or maybe the dry labs? I heard we just got in some new high-powered computers from the government. That's a lot of—"

"You have this whole place to yourself?" You push past them gently, darting your head to the side as you looked around even more.

"Well not really. I share it with two others—Yelena and Onyankopon—but they usually get off early. Sometimes interns do their experiments here but most times they stay at the experiments hall and meeting rooms downstairs." They take a step back, blocking your view again with a sheepish look, "So, uh, yeah, I usually do have it to myself. Anyway! Downstairs?"

You look at them, finding the shy look on their features way too persuasive. So with a sigh, you nod, heading back inside the elevator as Hange loudly exclaims ha-ha!

That little research facility tour lasted you both two hours of more walking before you decided it was time to head home. Instead of letting you go home via taxi, Hange offered to walk you home—or as near to home as you'd let them.

You had no problem with that, you loved to walk. In fact, you'd happily walk the entire city if Hange'd accompany you.

Alas, all good things have to come to an end.

Your fairytale in some random ice cream parlor down the street from your apartment building.

Hange was across from you, eating their abomination of an ice cream as they specifically ordered two scoops of mint chocolate chip with all of the toppings available.

"Still can't believe you like mint chocolate chip," you mumble out. Having grown comfortable with teasing them now.

"I can't believe you chose coffee crumble. Aren't you tired of coffee yet?" Hange seems to be the same with their response.

The two of you laugh at each other, mumbling touché like some high school kid at their after school hangout. Only difference is right now you two were the only ones inside of this ice cream parlor.

You, Hange, and a middle-aged man who looked too tired to worry about the blue-white striped hat slipping on their head.

This is nice. Your mind soothes the fluttering mess inside of your stomach, This must be a normal occurrence for their girlfriend. Late night ice cream runs.

And there it is again.

They have a girlfriend.

That singular piece of information prompts you to stand up from your seat. Nervously dusting off your sleeves as you grab your bag.

"Are you okay? Something wrong?" Hange quickly asks.

"Oh, ah, well it's way past..." you look at your wristwatch, trying to think of a quick excuse, "...the time I should've been at home."

Their eyebrows crease in confusion. Nevertheless, they stand up as well, wiping their hands over their thighs, wiping their mouth with a nearby tissue. "Yeah, yeah, sure—just give me a sec."

Standing underneath the dingy signage of the ice cream parlor, streets empty and windy, Hange stays there with you in the same exact awkward silence as when you two had first met.

"I really enjoyed today," you break the bubble, giving them a timid smile.

"Me too," Hange agrees, following you as you walk down the street where the only lights remaining were that of the street. Shops all closed off now. "Not everyday someone actually wants to tour the empty facility with a crazy scientist."

You can't help the laughter that bursts out of you, "You're calling yourself a crazy scientist now. That mint chocolate chip really is bad for you."

Their eyes soften at the sound, lips parting in a way that almost scares you. They offer no argument however.

"I mean it," they began, "I really did enjoy tonight."

Your heart jumps. Having to physically restrain yourself from squealing too loudly.

"I... ah," a shaky breath was all you could return.

"Thank you, Hange," you take a daring step towards them, throwing all your sanity out of the window.

Hands place themselves on their shoulders, willing them to lose a few inches of height just to be as your level, and after that, you feel just how soft and textured the skin on their cheek was.

Your body pulls away quickly, Hange's brown eyes illuminated by the faint glow of the warm streetlight overhead. Their eyes were round with surprise... and intrigue? Your lips part the same time theirs do, the stupidity of what you had just did—kissing a person in a relationship—only dawning to you right then.

Before you even manage to utter the disgusting words that is your apology, a hand had already snaked itself around your waist. Your body is pulled forward with a force that knocks the air straight out of your lungs, their face coming in so closely and so suddenly that you lose all rational sense.

As if there even was some left after you'd kissed their cheek.

Plush, broad lips press onto yours, perfectly molding between them as if they were made for your mouth. A warm and gentle muscle slips out and slides across your bottom lip, you all but gasp as the hand around you squeezes the nearest bunch of fabric, holding with it the muscle at your waist.

Your hands come up to hook at the back of Hange's neck. Eyes closed, inhibitions thrown out into the road. You were taking every last bit they were willing to give you, enjoying every second they were spending exploring your own mouth.

The way their tongue tangled with yours was intoxicating. Your senses zero in on the lingering taste of caramel on their tongue, hindering you from noticing just how tightly they're holding onto your body now. Pressed flushed onto them, big hands clutching you close as if you'd disappear.

Hange kissed in a way you never imagined. That says a lot considering how much you'd used them as your material whenever you had to take a train down to orgasmville.

You'd always imagine them as inexperienced; someone that would pull away in less than ten seconds with a random laugh, or a toothy grin, mumbling an apology for being bad at kissing—which they're definitely not. The first kiss you imagined having with them was in a random theatre, like how most awkward first kisses go. They'd bloom red in embarrassment, a stuttering mess under your gaze.

You never imagined them like this—hungry, aggressive, and... well, hot.

A sharp hiss leaves their lips as your fingers pull at the hair close to the back of their neck. The intensity of their kiss coming back tenfold as they smash their lips onto yours harder, sucking on your tongue as if it's their lifeline.

The skin under your clothing was getting more and more warm. You could feel the fabric of your panties slowly getting wetter, your core clenching uncontrollably. It took everything in you not to grind on them right then and there.

The kiss seemed to go on endlessly. The air from your lungs slowly disappearing the longer this continued; You didn't want it to end, scared thinking about what'd happen once you—or they—pull away.

Are they going to be shocked and yell at you to never see them again? Are they going to scream that they have a girlfriend? Are they going to just turn around and walk away like it's nothing?

You don't get to overthink much because a loud honk interrupts you both. The blur of a yellow cab with its blinding headlights dash by as you two jump away abruptly, your chest heaving up and down. Even as it had drove off, you couldn't look at Hange right away.

Both of your heavy breaths lingered in the air, loud in such a quiet street that you couldn't help but feel funny and somewhat excited. The adrenaline of just finishing a sudden make out with someone you should definitely not be making out with rushed through your veins like caffeine.

It didn't help that this literally happened at some street close to your apartment building. You two could've been seen by—literally anyone!

"That was, uh," Hange's voice sounded heavily then. Croaky and groggy, deeper than it definitely is.

You turn your head to them, feeling a tickle inside you as you see just how swollen and messy their lips are; your gloss was swiped all over them, red lipstick ghosting their skin.

"You kind of have a—uh, mess," Hange points out. Their hand darts out and holds your chin, thumb poking out and wiping the side of your lips. You figure it's your smudged lipstick. "Sorry about that." A toothy smile lights their face, the one you imagined.

"It's... wow," you laugh dryly, truly at a loss for words.

The awkwardness seeps in and you two can't do anything then but laugh at each other. Embarrassment evident in the way you two tried to steal looks at each other all the while trying to act chill about the entire situation.

"Is your apartment here? I forgot—got kinda sidetracked there. I should bring you to your building, it'd be foolish of me to just leave you here—but, uh, if you don't want me to—that's fine as well. I can go now if you want me to." They shove their hands in their pocket, rocking on the heels of their feet.

You smile, sucking in your cheek like a little schoolgirl. "I can head home myself now, doc. Can you?"

"Can—Can I?" They echo your words with heavy disbelief before scoffing lightheartedly. "Yeah, of course, I can."

"Great."

"Great."

You're definitely fucked.

He blinks at the pixelated picture of her sweet, smiling, deceased face; and tries to decide if he should take this as a portent regarding the consequences of asking for help, or as a reminder of the relentless march of time.

Time, which you and Osamu were spending together at this very moment.

Atsumu has to resist the urge to bang his head against one of the lockers. 

 He tries his best not to think about it; but it’s early afternoon, he’s done with practice, the last one in the locker room, and unfortunately, has far too much time to not only think about it, but vividly picture it too. It’s like a goddamn movie in his mind, complete with subtitles. 

(They’re hard coded in; because of course, he’s third wheeling so hard in this scenario, he had to resort to watching said movie on the shadiest of websites, battling the pop up ads telling him about the hot singles in his area— just to rub salt in the wound.)

It went like this: you and Osamu are baking a cake together. You tell Osamu he’s got flour on his face, giggling for some reason, and he asks where. So you point to your nose, and he smears some on your face with a grin. Barf. 

Oh Osamu, you’re so much more fun than Atsumu, you say, all doe-eyed. Your subtitles are pink. The sweetest thing I’m allowed to make him is sugarless raisin bran cookies.

Yer damn right about that, Osamu replies (looking right at the camera, deadpan), Let’s get married just so we can not invite him to the wedding.

Okay, maybe Osamu wouldn’t go that far. 

And maybe it wasn’t fair to hold the raisin bran cookies against you like that. He really did think they were chocolate chip; but in hindsight, it wouldn’t make much sense for his nutritionist to be giving those to him when he was supposed to be on a high-protein diet.

(Sue him, he thought you had enough of a soft spot for him to sneak him a treat.)

Atsumu sighs, and unlocks his phone again to pull up the post from last night. There are a few more replies— some calling it a fake story, a few asking for an update, and one person inexplicably telling him to go no contact with his brother. 

Ridiculous. The whole idea was ridiculous; and surely msbygirlie (bless her) would eventually see through his half-assed attempt at disguising who he was.

His index finger hovers over the delete button. 

And then his eyes land on that reply he’s been thinking about since last night. 

well you don't have to talk to either of them... you said someone took the original photo. maybe they're still stalking?? ask them what they think?

It was insane. He’d be adding fuel to a fire that was dying down. It would drive the publicist crazy. 

He wants to do it.

(Fuck, he’s going to do it.)

Atsumu Miya’s Guide to Finding and Trapping Your Local Paparazzi

Set a live trap in the location you expect your target to be.

“Shoyo,” Atsumu calls out, as he spots his wing spiker near the gymnasium exit, “ya free right now?” 

Hinata comes to a halt with a little hop, somehow still full of energy despite the full training session. “More or less. Why?” 

Why? Because Sakusa would scoff and walk away, stopping only to report his plan to Meian; and because Bokuto would accidentally blab and give him up, probably during a livestream. (She reprimanded them a lot, but really, it was him and Bokuto keeping the publicist employed.)

“I need yer help catching a pest. Want to take a walk with me?”

2. Bait the trap.

Atsumu stops abruptly at the crossroads. He snaps his head toward the convex mirror on the corner just in time to see a nondescript man, with a baseball cap pulled low over his face, ducking into the small general store just behind them. It’s quick— the doors are already propped open since it’s not quite warm enough to justify running the air conditioning.

Perfect.

Hinata nudges his elbow. “Why did we stop? Do you want something to drink?”

Atsumu takes a deep breath. “Do ya trust me, Shoyo?”

He looks perplexed at the question. It’s not an expression that’s often on Hinata’s face, so Atsumu takes a moment to appreciate the novelty.

Of course, it’s gone in a second; replaced with his natural enthusiasm. “Oh, did you want to practice at the park? I see, you wanted to bring me to a different environment because our rapport on the court was—”

Atsumu claps his hands over Hinata’s shoulders, lowering his voice. “If ya trust me, do exactly as I say. Go to the park. Got it? Do not follow me. Go straight to the park.”

“Aren’t you coming with—”

Atsumu fills his lungs with air, and firmly plants his feet on the ground. 

(A quick glance in the mirror at the man with the baseball cap. Still there. Good.)

Forgive me, Shoyo.

“GOOD LUCK ON THE DATE!” he says as loudly as he can, before it's shouting. 

Hinata goes red, sputtering. “Huh? Date?”

Atsumu claps his shoulders again, and gives him a subtle push. Hinata, still wide-eyed, stumbles along in the direction of the park, glancing back over his shoulder a few times. 

3. Wait.

Atsumu jogs the long way around the block to get to the park. 

It only takes five minutes of lurking behind a row of vending machines, and feeling a little sorry for Hinata who’s sort of nervously wringing his hands on a bench— he's the only other person in the park at this time on a school day— before the man in the baseball cap shows up. 

A camera is slung casually around his neck. The recording light is taped over. He’s so fixated on Hinata, he doesn’t notice Atsumu as he saunters up the path towards the machines.

(Which, all things considered, was quite surprising— Atsumu is not a small man.)

“Hey,” Atsumu says, once Baseball Cap is close enough. “Long time, huh? Two things. One, give me your camera. I know it's recording. And two, I have a few questions.”

4. Dispose of your paparazzi responsibly and ethically.

Fifteen minutes later, Atsumu is no closer to the truth; and is considerably more irritated.

“What am I supposed ta do with that?”

“Is he going to hit me?” Baseball Cap anxiously asks Hinata, “Can you hold my camera if he’s going to hit me?”

“Atsumu wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Hinata assures him. 

“I ain’t gonna hit ya, ya scrub! Don’t you go writin’ that up on yer damn blog next.” He pinches his nose, trying to calm himself. “I’m done with ya, go home. But wipe the memory card in front of me first.”

r/relationship_advice • 1 hour ago

u/fattytuna95

UPDATE: I want to ask out my twin brother's girlfriend.

I didn’t want to come back here again, but I don’t know what to do.

Like one of you suggested, I asked the guy who took the picture. You were right. He's been following them.

(Creepy as hell, to be honest, but he didn't seem like a bad dude. And he was pretty skinny. Guess being a privacy invading douche doesn't pay well. I think even my female colleague could take him down if she tried, so that's fine.)

What he told me is this: she stayed overnight at his place twice this week. 

Now I know what you're thinking. It's a lost cause. Pack it up and move along. Right? 

No.

Here's the thing— I was worried my brother was developing feelings for her, and I still am, but if they were already sleeping together he would have told me. There's something else going on here. I mean on top of the fake dating bullshit.

And for some reason, they're not telling me.

How do I find out what without telling them how I know?

↑ 65 ↓ •••

u/unicornpoodle • 4 minutes ago

wowww

dude, are you sure you want to keep going through with this? There's a lot of things you can unsee but walking in on your  brother fucking your crush is probably not one of them...

(and you're a twin to boot! You'd see exactly what could've been. Now that'll mess you up!)

↑ 15 ↓   •••

u/fattytuna95 • 4 minutes ago Shut up!!! I don't want to think about that!!!!!! ↑ 10 ↓   •••

u/guiltyassassin_ • 10 minutes ago

lol I was lowkey joking about asking the guy, didn't think you'd actually do it. good for you. but uh, I might be with poodle on this one. you don't want it to be true, sure. but maybe they just didn't tell you? so it wouldn't be awkward at work?

↑ 12 ↓   •••

u/fattytuna95 • 9 minutes ago I shared a womb with the guy. I'm sure. You're an only child, aren't you? ↑ 12 ↓   •••

u/msbygirlie_13 • 5 minutes ago

This is exciting!! I don't agree with everyone else, I think you should get to the bottom of it!!! Like atsumu said in his volleyball monhtly interview in june '21, the game isn't over until the ball falls to the floor!!!!! the ball is NOT on the floor yet!

maybe you should go over to your brother's apartment and see if there's any evidence.and you should just show up. don't give him any time to clean it. you can do that right???

↑ 12 ↓   •••

u/fattytuna95 • 5 minutes ago Hmm that could work actually. I've been there so much, I'll definitely notice if something's out of place. ↑ 10 ↓   •••

u/unicornpoodle • 3 minutes ago are you saying this because you believe in it, or because you want more update posts? this shit is going to be hilarious ↑ 5 ↓   •••

u/msbygirlie_13 • just now ofc I believe in everything atsumu says, omg!!! he's the best, fattytuna will agree with me. ↑ 1 ↓ •••

Osamu frowns at the cloudy night sky as he pulls the shutters down over Onigiri Miya's window. The moon is hidden, only a hazy hint behind the grey.

"Looks like rain," he comments, glancing over his shoulder. "Sorry I kept ya waitin'. We should've just done it another night."

Behind him, standing under the streetlight, you can already feel the tiny droplets drizzling on your face. But you shake your head. "I can just stay over again. We always end up losing track of time, and your place is closer to work than mine anyway."

The lock in Osamu's hand clatters against the corrugated metal. "Want ta move in and really sell it?"

You roll your eyes. "I would, but we're not a good match. We'd feed each other too much and end up gaining so much weight."

He chuckles. "Hey, at least I can appreciate raisin bran cookies. Ya won't catch me spittin' food outta my mouth."

You laugh at that. It wasn't his fault, you want to say, smiling fondly at the memory. He didn't realise I was joking about it being chocolate chip.

"Hey, Osamu?"

"Yeah?"

"Should we just tell him?"

“It was a nail-biter of a game here at the New Tokyo stadium tonight, folks. Right off the bat, both teams were going neck and neck, toe-to-toe. And it seemed like neither one was willing to give an inch! Our home team managed to pull off a narrow victory in the end, and by narrow, I mean narrow, Kiba.”

“That is absolutely right, Sasaki. I truly have never seen anything like it in my entire career. And you know- you know I know a lot of baseball. You know I’ve been doing this for many years, but wow! Just- insane.”

“Truly a close call. Eight additional innings? To break the tie? I cannot believe it. Let me tell you, neither the Hiroshima Toyo Carp nor the Yomiuri Giants wanted to lose today.”

“If you look at the crowd, It looks like everyone’s been wanting to go home.”

Exhausted was an understatement. Kenji hadn’t felt this drained after a game since, well, only months ago: when he was still juggling the responsibilities of raising a baby Kaiju, carrying the weight of being Ultraman, and maintaining his reputation as a well-known baseball player. All of these, on top of the sleepless nights, no longer hindered him from his work. He usually left the stadium feeling brand new every single time — regardless of whether they won or lost. He had grown and learned to lean on people, to ask for help, accept defeat. Which was good and all that, but the point was: he was exhausted from this game. You had him panting for air like an overworked dog.

Shimura had Kenji on the field for longer than he should have been. While his younger, more egotistical self might have loved his moment in the spotlight, running base to base for six innings in a row was unsurprisingly really tiring. The teams had hit a clean tie by the ninth inning, and the tie-breaker lasted for eight more. You were eating their rookies alive and having their journeymen for dessert. When Shimura realized that Sato was the only one batting your pitches, he had him play for every round after the tie. The only times Kenji wasn’t on the field was when you weren’t either. Which wasn’t a lot. It scared him how you looked like you could throw that ball for days.

“Hiroshima’s L/n is just- an absolute unit, isn’t he?”

“He certainly is, Kiba. He certainly is. I mean his performance was near inhuman tonight. Each pitch was a gem and we- he really wanted us to know that he’s here, he’s ready, and he’s willing to change Japanese baseball. He was a major force out there on the field.”

“I cannot agree with you more. But credit where credit is due, we all know that the only reason the Giants are coming home with tonight’s win is because of none other than Ken Sato himself.”

“That’s right, Sato really put up a fight. L/n was throwing him off balance every time, but he always found his footing. I think tonight might have been the hardest I’ve seen him work. You know he- he usually makes his plays look effortless — disregarding last season’s slump.”

“I say he held his own very, very impressively. The team was right to rely on him. I know we’ve spoken a lot about their tension, but I’d say it’s their dynamic that really drove the point home. They were like- mirrors of each other out there. When you put two equal forces together, they deflect. You know what I’m saying?”

Kenji’s hand shook with a weakness he wasn’t familiar with. He stared at his calloused palm and noticed his fingers twitching. Shit. It really was some game. He might have been hitting the ball, but he was barely getting it through the field. Not only were your pitches fast, but there was weight to them, too. He was witnessing the caliber of your capabilities; understanding why you were the talk of every city.

The rest of the Giants came walking into the locker room, jeering and laughing amongst themselves. “That L/n is a real piece of work, ain't he?” Shirakumo, number 24, sat himself next to Kenji, unlacing his shoe. “Never seen anything like it.”

“Did you see the look on Tateoka’s face?” Yuki laughed, smacking his thigh. “Dude was scared shitless!”

“Hey!” Tateoka frowned in reply, tugging his jersey off his arms. “You try standing in front of that guy and telling me you don't feel a little threatened.” He shuddered, remembering the look in your eyes. Dark and pointed and menacing. “He was staring me down like he was gonna—”

“Eat you alive?” Kenji scoffed.

The team went silent, then erupted into a cluster of teasing ‘oooh’s. God. It reminded him of highschool.

“Oohh, yeah.” Yamada, number 21, slid over to him with a teasing tone. He wrapped an arm around Kenji’s shoulder and squeezed him closer. “I don't think I've ever seen Sato so shaken!”

He laughed, playfully pushing him away. He was also actually really sore on that shoulder. Hell, he could already feel the pain he’d need to go through just to get up tomorrow. He was going to need another ice bath. The rest of the boys jumped in on the jokes.

“Did you see the way he was looking at you Ken?” Tokuda opened his locker, grabbing a shirt from the top shelf. He whistled. “Like he wanted your head on a plate.”

Tanaka chuckled. “He wanted you dead, man!”

Kenji rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Let's not get carried away. I never said I was shaken.”

“But that last bat was sweet as hell.” Yuki nodded. “I doubt any of us would've gotten through the guy if it weren't for Sato.”

“Well, duh.” Shirakumo shrugged. None of the Giants denied it. Ken was their star player. And tonight proved it more than ever. “We owe you for drinks, bud. Give us a date and we'll treat ya’ to someplace you like.” He slapped Ken’s back affectionately, which elicited a pained groan. “Shit, sorry.”

Kenji’s watch started beeping. He flinched at the sound, eyes widening slightly. “Uh, see you in a sec, guys. I gotta take this.”

He was there a moment, then gone the next. Kenji rushed himself out the hallways and into an empty locker room to answer Mina’s call. “Hey!” he greeted, anxiously. A screen projected itself from his watch and lit up his face. “Hey. Hi. What's wrong? Everyone alright? I know I said I'd be home soon, but the game took way longer than–”

He was interrupted by cheering. His father clapped and whooped with excitement as Emi occupied the background, screeching with glee. Kenji could see the ground shaking as she was jumping around and doing her special dance. One of Mina’s arms was protruding from the wall and waving celebratory flags. It immediately put a smile on his face, easing the tension from his shoulders. He was always happy to see everyone alright, and even happier to see them as their silly selves.

“Kenji!” cheered Hayao. “That was an incredible game! You were unstoppable!” The professor chuckled. Emi picked him up into a hug, slightly toppling the camera over. His legs swung like a ragdoll’s. “Okay, okay girl-”

Ken laughed, slightly shaking his head. “Easy, Emi. Put Grandpa down.”

“It was a very impressive game, Ken. Perhaps one of your bests.” Mina’s calculative yet affectionate voice echoed from his watch.

Hayao fell to the floor with an ‘oof’. “You didn't tell me you were playing against THEE Mets’ Bullet!” He scrambled to stand up, barely leaning on his cane. “I wasn’t even aware that he was signed into the Carp!”

Kenji’s smile immediately faded. “Okay.” He rolled his eyes. “He was alright, I guess. And we don’t actually know if he signed into it or if he was traded. We barely heard anything about him from the press.”

“Alright?” Professor Sato gasped, appalled. “Kenji, he was spectacular! He’s a lot like you, you know. I’ve always suspected that the both of you equalled in skill, but to see it in action? Phew.” He wiped some pretend sweat off of his forehead. “What a show! Eight extra innings to break a tie? Unbelievable! I highly doubt that he was traded. Who in their right mind would purposely lose a player like that?”

Kenji scoffed. “He wasn’t that good.” His sore limbs would like to say otherwise.

“He had you chasing after his pitches like a dog!”

“I don’t like that analogy.”

“I ought’ to rewatch that documentary they made about him. You know they’ve done studies on the physics of his throws.”

“Dad.”

“And how fortunate for Hiroshima to have gotten him out of all teams! I can tell that this season is going to turn around really fast. Just today he’s already scored-”

“Dad!”

“Oh. Sorry.” Hayao chuckled. “I’m just very excited to see the both of you on the same field.” Kenji sighed, nodding his head. “Anyway, congratulations on the win, my boy. I’m so proud of you. I always am. Get home safe. It may be late, but we still have a lot of leftovers from dinner!” Emi made a noise that let him know she was waiting, too.

Going home sounded like heaven. Ken wanted nothing more but to rest. Maybe kick back and have a chocolate shake while he and his family watched cartoons to fall asleep. It was the perfect way to end his night. It had been an unexpectedly long day and he looked forward to tomorrow’s well-earned break. Eight extra innings might even win him a second day of rest. Or a third, if Shimura agreed not to schedule him for the next game. Which, he doubted, if it meant you’d be playing.

“I’m on my way.” He ended the call, and opted to take the fastest way out, desperate to avoid the press.

Ken collapsed onto the floor, snuggling into Emi’s arm. Having washed up and eaten his dinner, he felt the last remains of his adrenaline-fueled strength die out like a dwindling flame. He felt as if his limbs were about to fall off. “Ugh,” he groaned. “I’m going to be so sore tomorrow.” Emi didn’t much care. She seemed to be preoccupied by the new ( gigantic ) stacking blocks that Mina made for her. Ken sighed, sinking deeper into her arm. “She always smells so good after her baths.” The baby Kaiju’s warm and heavy grasp felt like a weighted blanket. It was a comfort that Ken would find nowhere else.

Professor Sato walked past them, chuckling into his coffee mug. “That, she does. You should have seen her earlier, you know. I’ve never seen her so invested in a game.”

Kenji hummed. “Is that right?” He rolled onto his stomach, facing Emi. “Hey. Baby.” He poked her cheek. “Is that true? Did you cheer for Daddy? I bet you did.” Giving into his cuteness aggression he rubbed at her cheeks. Emi expressed her annoyance through a small squeak. “God, that mean old Bullet had Daddy running laps, didn’t he? We hate him, don’t we?” Kenji pushed her cheeks up and down, leading her into a nod. “Yes we dooo.”

Professor Sato laughed. “Whatever happened to sportsmanship?”

“Whatever happened to loyalty?” He pouted. “My own father, rooting against me. I would never root against you, Emi.” Wanting to return to her blocks, Emi lifted Kenji up by his torso and placed him on her head. The batter laughed, laying on her with no protest.

“What!” The professor exclaimed. “I never said I was rooting against you. I was just— feeling enthusiastic, that’s all. For both teams.”

Mina entered the room, her mechanisms humming faintly. “Good evening, everyone.” The Sato’s greeted her accordingly. “I have a message for Ken.”

The mentioned Ken slumped into his daughter, rolling his eyes. “Here we go. I bet it’s the press.” He scoffed. “Let me guess, at least 30 emails asking for my statement. Or, better yet, it’s Shimura warning me not to miss the next game.” He raised his fist, mocking a reporter’s tone: “We’ve witnessed baseball history tonight, folks! Blah, blah, blah.”

“Actually, it’s an invitation for something else.” Mina hovered closer. “An event.”

This caught his attention. Kenji tilted his head. “For what?”

“A party, hosted by various sponsors.”

“Bit too early for an afterparty, don’t you think?” Ken sighed, resting his head on folded arms. “We’ve only won one game.”

“I suppose it’s to celebrate Mr. L/n as well.” Mina would shrug if she had the shoulders to do so. “His coming to Japan is quite a big deal.”

“Great.” Kenji was half-asleep by then, eyes already closed. “All the more reason for me not to go.” The professor had settled himself onto one of the desks, getting into some light reading. Emi had grown tired herself, and decided that she was not interested in the blocks anymore. Waddling to her spot, (with Kenji still on her head), she yawned, and opted for some much-needed sleep.

Mina’s light blinked. “I think you should go, Ken.”

The rightfielder cracked one eye open. “And why would I do that?”

“I think it would benefit you to interact with Mr. L/n more.”

“Mina, that’s literally the last thing I want.”

“Is it?”

Ken frowned. “What do you mean, ‘is it’? Of course it is.”

“Your vitals seemed to say otherwise earlier.”

Kenji scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was keeping careful watch of your vitals, as I always do. I have your daily status tracked and recorded.”

Kenji couldn't get rid of Mina’s voice in his head. Even amidst the warm crowd, with chatter swaying smoothly atop of light r&b music, he felt as if he could still hear her words ringing in the back of his mind. It remained vivid, though she had told it to him days ago. It was as clear as day. Like a broken record.

“Believe it or not, the heart beats differently for every emotion. There is a difference between fear, anxiety, excitement, and—”

Kenji stared at you from across the room, watching as you conversed with your team, nursing a glass of cold, hard whiskey. He watched as you bowed your head and smiled, listening for the faint, muffled sound of your laughter. He wondered what you were talking about; what joke might have made you grin that hard. He wondered why you seemed to illuminate a room, and why everyone seemed so drawn. His eyes were caught in the way the colorful lights sank into your hair.

“—Infatuation.”

You looked up, and your eyes met his. Kenji flinched. He felt his heart skip a beat. Shit, he thought. Mina was definitely going to catch that. She had probably already marked it down to tease him for it later. You held his gaze for longer than he could have standed and greeted him with that same annoying wink. The same one you gave him on the field. Confident, snarky, playful. You lifted your glass and took a sip, eyes still trained on his.

“What you may perceive as frustration for him might just be the opposite.”

Kenji's jaw clenched. Mina had no idea what she was talking about.

And he would prove her wrong tonight.

Like a soldier marching into battle, he waded through the party to make his way towards you. Was he intimidated? Yes. Unfortunately, he was. But he knew his way around a crowd, and his weapon-of-a-tongue knew all the right talk to make a conversation work. He was sociable like that. He was a poet, a wordsmith. If you weren't careful, one little exchange could have you wrapped around his finger. Some people called it his charisma, some blamed it on his irresistible good looks. Either way, Ken took it. He wasn't going to deny the fact that people loved talking to him — though he, admittedly, didn't really like talking to them in return. But he could do it. He could make it work.

Besides, how bad could you be?

With a newfound confidence, Ken dared to get closer. The distance between you and him lessened, and– oh, fuck, was that your cologne? He blinked. You smelled so good. Why did you smell so good? “Hey. Hi.” Shit. Abort mission. No, it's too late. Too awkward to back out. You were already looking at him. “L/n, yeah?” He spoke your name like he only just remembered you upon seeing you. When in truth, he hadn't stopped thinking about you since that damn first pitch. “Some game, huh?” Ken held his hand out for you to shake. ‘Fuck, I hope he doesn't notice how clammy it is.’

“Ken Sato.” It was the first time he heard your voice, as well as the first time he heard you say his name. He didn't like how his body reacted. There was a small shiver down his spine, a tingling flutter in his chest. You took his hand. Yours was cold. So cold. Kenji concluded that the icy glass of whiskey you had placed on the counter was to blame. He could feel your callouses against his. Your hands mirrored one another, marked with the battlescars of your sport. He was oddly sensitive to every detail. Touching you was.. a sensation.

You gave him a firm shake before promptly letting go.

“That's me,” he said, miraculously. Ken was oscillating between panic and confidence at a speed that likely wasn't normal. He was holding his own, though. Like the real champ he was. It was surreal to be standing in front of you without a ball to keep you apart. No bat, no competition. Just you, and a few shots of alcohol. “You adjusting into Japan alright?”

“As well as I can.” You shrugged. You had a tone to you; an elegant air of grace and self-assurance. You had no need to raise your voice because you knew he'd do his best to listen. It was pissing him off. “It's definitely different from the States.”

“I gotta say, I'm pretty surprised to see you here.” Ken usually knew what to say when it came to conversations. He never blanked out at interviews, nor left dead air hanging at conferences. But speaking with you made him feel like his vocabulary was on a limit. “After a game like that?” He whistled. “A lesser man would've taken a week off.”

“But we're not lesser men, are we, Ken?” A waitress passed by. Without the need to look, you had grabbed two shots of vodka from her tray. You handed the other one to him. “That's why you're here, too.”

He stared at you, brows furrowed slightly. “Exactly.” He took the shot from your hand and bumped the rim against yours. “Cheers.”

You grinned. “Cheers.”

Kenji tilted his head back, downing his drink, tasting the fire run down his throat. His face screwed up a little, but not enough for you to notice. You did the same, sighing the heat out of your nose. You allowed a small laugh to slip past your lips. “Japan’s liquor is surprisingly stronger.”

Kenji chuckled. “Yeah. If you know where to look.” The music felt like it was growing louder. He leaned in to speak to you better. “You know, I can't believe this is the first time we're meeting.”

You nodded. “Neither can I.”

“The Mets and Dodgers have always been at each other's throats, and yet—”

“Our schedules just never lined up.” You scoffed. “What are the odds of that, huh?”

It really was such a coincidence. If Ken had known that your interactions would've fired the press up as much as it did now, he would've fought to face you sooner. “When was it?” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Playoffs. 2019, I think. The Mets were set to face the Dodgers.”

“2019,” you repeated, brows raised. “I was there.” Kenji took notice of the way your head slightly shifted to the side. Like you were trying to get a better look at him. He swallowed thickly. “I was there.” You shrugged. “You weren't.”

“I was overseas.” He was wanting another drink. But, speaking to you was surprisingly not horrible. “Didn't get back until 3 months in. And when I did—”

“I wasn't there,” you chuckled. “Alright. I remember. 2019, I was gone for half the season. Injury.”

“The world was in shambles.” Ken grinned at you. A second waiter passed by. He grabbed you another glass of whiskey. He took scotch for himself. “See what I mean? It's like– divine intervention.”

“Big word.” To say that fate had a hand to play in yours and his meeting was beyond your beliefs. You didn't place your trust in things like that. But to know that he had thought about it was charming.

“Hey.” Ken shrugged. “Ya’ never know.”

The music shifted, and so did the lights. There was a moment of quiet between the both of you, and in that time, you found a common interest in people-watching. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, nor the absence of something to talk about. The two of you merely agreed upon the minutes it took to watch the party unfold. A good number of the guests were already drunk. The dance floor was alight and occupied mostly by women. Ken rested his weight on one foot, sighing at his still-aching muscles. He wondered if you were any sore too.

“They love it, don't they?” You leaned your back against the counter, arms crossed over your chest. Ken took quick notice of the necklace worn loosely around your neck. A silver dogtag, similar to his. “The drama. The intensity. Even the things that go on beyond the field.”

Ken shrugged. “It's baseball. Who doesn't?”

“Exactly.” You smiled. “Which is why it's important to always let the home team win the first game.”

It took a moment for Kenji to process what you said. He was distracted by the colorful lights, his favorite song coming on, and a tray full of hors d'oeuvres. “Mhm.” He reached over to take one, before— “Wait.” His brows knitted together. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Hm?” You had your lips pressed together into a thin line. Your expression feigned innocence, a stark contrast to your bold statement. “I said it's important to let the home team win the first game.”

Kenji made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. He couldn't believe his ears. Had he been standing by the speakers for too long? “No, I heard what you said. What I'm asking is what you're saying.” It was a dare of a reply, with a tone that commanded: go on. Clarify.

Your smile refused to leave your face. Nearing the batter, ever so carefully, you whispered:

“I'm saying you won because I let you.”

Kenji blinked.

And there it was. He knew you were too good to be true. Goddammit, he knew it! Beneath your seemingly-perfect self was something cold and rotten and he called it. He fucking called it. How thrilled he was to be correct, and oh, how utterly terrified.

But this was good. This was absolutely good. He needed something to hold onto, something to keep himself afloat. The next time he found himself drowning in your eyes again, he'd only need to remember that you were a grade A asshole. That you had the audacity to claim that you were in full control of the game. Surely it would solve all his problems.

Kenji broke out into a laugh. It started out as a small cluster of sarcastic chuckles, but erupted into actual laughter. You were funny. So, so funny. Unbeknownst him, you were watching with amusement. “Because you let me!” Kenji repeated, smiling, but, exasperated. Two can play at that game. “Right. Of course. Totally not because you're an average pitcher and I can bat anything you throw.”

“If that helps you sleep at night.” You shrugged. Your attention wasn't on him anymore. You were watching the crowd, disinterested.

Kenji felt his eye twitch. “That's big talk coming from someone who got struck out by a rookie.” He was referring to the eighth inning, when Tateoka managed to bat your pitch into a homerun.

“That's right, Sato.” You laughed, low and sultry. “Batted by a rookie. How could I have struck you out at the last inning but be batted by a rookie?” You tilted your head at him, brows knitted together. You spoke in a sickeningly soft tone. Like you were helping a toddler understand something simple. “Doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, does it?”

Kenji was growing flustered. His face was warm and his fist was itching to meet your cheek. Nobody spoke to him this way. Sure guys had been mean to him before, but it was mostly because they were threatened by him. They'd tried to put him down and pick apart his flaws, but what you were doing was something different. You weren't claiming that he was weak, you were claiming that you were stronger. You didn't deny the amount of talent that Ken had in his body, but you were fully convinced that you had more. You were bigger, smarter, and better. And you had him under your control.

“Oh, c’mon. Seriously?” God, your voice. It infuriated him. It drove him insane. You leaned in, closer, whispering your words, as if hearing you through the party wasn't hard enough. He could smell the whiskey on your breath. It mingled with your cologne. It was intoxicating. “Are you blushing?”

He scoffed in disbelief. “No.” Except he totally was. He could feel the heat radiating off of his face. His breathing had gone shallow, his heartbeat rapid. “Why would I– Tch. You— You don't know what you're talking about.” Holy shit. He was a mess.

He wanted so desperately to blame it on the alcohol, but he knew damn well he wasn't drunk enough to be acting the way he was. He was stumbling over his words stone-cold sober.

You were smiling. He was dying, and you were smiling. “You amuse me, Sato.”

Ken took a cautious step back, knowing that being that close to you for too long was only going to make him worse. “Who the hell do you think you are, huh?” He had to retaliate somehow. Like a soldier fumbling for his sword, he had to get up and do something. “You don't think I don't know what this is? Where you're heading?”

You tilted your head. “Do enlighten me.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Sure. Celebrity-Athlete from America waltzes into Japan thinking he's the shit— that he can rule the world. He's a shiny new toy and everyone's just dying to catch a look. Nevermind that his old team traded him off, nevermind that he goes home to an empty penthouse. He's got the stats to prove his skills and he thinks he doesn't need anything else.” Ken dared to retake a step forward. He sort of regretted it when you didn't take a step back. “Well, guess what,” he continued. “I've been where you are. I know how you feel, what you're thinking.

Everything you're trying to be is a shadow of what I already was.”

There was a beat of silence. You weren't smiling anymore. You were staring at him, stone-faced, seemingly indifferent.

Kenji narrowed his eyes. “So don't go talking to me like you're any better.”

He didn't know what to expect. You were quiet for such a long time that he thought you were going to snap. He partially expected a punch to the chin. But you were calm. There wasn't a trace of irritation on your face. Instead, you set your glass of whiskey — now empty — on the counter behind you. With a sigh, you shoved a hand in your pocket. “Are you done?”

Kenji blinked.

“Let me tell you something, Sato.” You raised a brow at him. Ken felt his heartbeat pick up again. Your once-approachable gaze shifted into something cold and commanding. He swallowed thickly. “There is a difference between you and me. And that difference is the fact that I don't settle.”

Kenji was glaring at you, brows fixed together.

A teammate called you from the other side of the room. You nodded at him, once, then returned your focus to the Yomiuri Prince. You placed a hand on his shoulder, tauntingly, smiling at him as if you'd known him your whole life. “I hope last season’s slump accustomed you to the feeling of losing those points.”

Kenji wanted to say something, but his lips refused to move. Somehow, the blaring music in the background had faded into a muffled blur. All he could hear was your voice. Like a moth to a flame.

You winked at him. Again. And like before, his body reacted in ways he didn't like. You squeezed his shoulder once, before leaving to go to your friend. With your back turned against him, Kenji released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He clutched his chest, watching wide-eyed as you moved through the crowd. He could still smell your cologne. The last thing he heard from you was,

“I'll see you on the field.”