UsaMamo Week 2024 - Day 3/6 - Inspired by a Song/Coffee
Late again, and it's tough to say how late because this is technically two prompts in one. I was originally planning to write this as a song fic, but wasn't really feeling it leading up to the event week. Then last night I read @caelenath's awesome song fic and felt inspired to take another look at my outline.
This is not the whimsical lark that my other UsaMamo week pieces have been (which is why I was torn about writing it) but it's an idea that's been nagging at me for a while now. This is only the first part of three, but I thought it would be nice to post it for the event.
Title: Happier Summary: Mamoru wants a cup of coffee. Rating: T (for language) Words: 1722
āThirty eight!ā
Chiba Mamoru is not a melodramatic person. He is not given to histrionics. Flagrant displays of emotion are simply not his thing. Indeed, he is a calm, composed, and exceedingly rational human being. Life is stressfulāhis arguably more so than mostāand he prides himself on his ability to ārise aboveā. But if this beanie-wearing, mouth-breathing barista doesnāt call his number in the next sixty seconds he might just lose it.
āThirty nine!ā
Mamoru stares down at his receipt and wills the numbers to change. Unsurprisingly, they remain the same. He can transform into a superhero in the blink of an eye, but he canāt change a number on a piece of paper. It may be the caffeine withdrawal talking but this seemsā¦unfair. Unjust. Unacceptable. He is a reincarnated prince, the rightful heir to the planet beneath his very feet, and yet he cannot get a simple cup of coffee.
āThirty seven!ā
Are they counting fucking backwards now? He takes a breath and stuffs the receipt in his pocket so he can run a hand through his hair. He needs to calm down. Heās just tired. Heās had another rough night of precious little sleep and this is just a bad morning. Thatās all. One bad morning. At the end of a bad week. At the end of a bad month. He justā
āForty!ā
He just really needs some coffee. Itāll be ready soon. So long as they serve him in the nextāhe checks his watchāfour minutes he can still make it to the hospital before his shift starts. He thinks. Heās only just started at UoT and heās still not used to the bus transfers. Getting to Keio was much simpler. He didnāt have to get up so early, and the coffee shop across the street was much faster. Not to mention better. He misses that coffee. He misses Keio. He misses sleeping. He missesā¦a lot of things.
āForty one!ā
Lucky number forty one strolls up to the counter to claim their prize. They walk away with a tall plastic cup full of frothy green liquid that looks like it was poured directly out of an infected nostril, and Mamoru canāt help but shudder when they take a long, noisy sip from the straw. Who comes to a coffee shop and ordersā¦whatever that is? This is apparently a trend nowāordering non-caffeinated beverages at coffee shopsābecause the last ten people who have walked away from the counter have had similarly ridiculous drinks. Why does everything have to be dessert, or snot, in a cup nowadays? Whatās wrong with a regular cup of coffee?
He needs to find another coffee shop.
āForty two!ā
He needs them to call his number.
He pulls out his phone to distract himself and scrolls through a list of notifications: weather, junk mail, update remindersāup to forty five now, heās got to get around to doing thatāand one text. His thumb hovers over the blue bubble for a moment or two before he eventually presses down.
Training session Fri or Sat ppl. LMK work schedules ASAP. No ghosting Chiba. Ur old ass is getting rusty. š“
As Mamoru rolls his eyes three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen. He holds his breath.
āForty three!ā
He doesnāt look away from those three little dots, doesnāt blink, doesnāt breathe. He just watches them, transfixed, until finallyā
Iāve got a shift at the restaurant Friday night, but I can do AM Sat wide open
He releases the breath heās been holding in a quiet sigh. Just Makoto. Notā His thumb hits the back button of its own accord then scrolls down through the list of chats, untilā¦there, near the bottom. Sandwiched between an old banking verification and a number he doesnāt even recognize. He reads the date to the right of the name and winces. Again, his thumb hovers.
āForty four!ā
He taps. A string of texts populate his screen. He doesnāt need to read them again, he knows them by heart. But he reads them anyway. Like he always does. He canāt help it. Heās weak; in these moments at least. When no one can see. He should stop looking now. Should close the window. Should delete the whole thread while heās at it. But he wonāt. He canāt. He can do a lot of thingsāhas done a lot of thingsābut he canāt delete those words.
I love you, Mamo-chan.
āForty five!ā
Iāll always love you. Even if youāve stopped loving me back.
āForty five!ā
I wish I knew why though. I wish you would tell me what I did wrong.
āForty five! Thatās four five, people. Four five!ā
Iām sorry, I get it now, I wonāt bother you anymore. Be happy, Mamo-chan. I want you to be happy.
āFor the last time, forty five! Going once, going twiceā¦ā
Mamoruās head snaps up. Forty five. Fuck. Thatās his number.
He stuffs his phone in his pocket and rushes up to the counter and beanie-boy does not look happy. Mamoru begins to mutter an apology then stops as the barista shoves a large mug topped whipped cream, caramel, and chocolate shavings toward him. Mamoru looks from the mug to the mouth-breather and back again as his brain tries to comprehend what is happening. After an eternity of waiting they finally called his number and yetā¦this is not his drink.
The barista is staring at him with a bored, somewhat vacant expression and Mamoru can clearly see that he is wondering why Mamoru isnāt taking the mug and walking away. Apparently the barista canāt tell from Mamoruās assumedly apoplectic expression that he has no intention of taking the mug. This mug is not his. Itās not what he ordered. Itās not what he wants. Apparently thatās just his life now. An endless string of miserable disappointments that heās supposed to suffer through silently. But heās fed up with being silent.
He wants his damn coffee, and he wants it right fuā
āOh, hello, uh, hey, sorry, excuse me butā¦I think thatās mine actually.ā
Mamoru blinks as a cheerful man with sandy blond hair steps up beside him. He points to the confectionery concoction on the counter and shoots Mamoru an apologetic smile before turning to the barista. āYes, chocolate macchiato with caramel, right? I believe thatās mine and not this gentlemanās.ā
Beanie boy looks from Mamoru to sandy-hair and blinks.
Sandy-hair glances at Mamoru and shoots him another overly apologetic look. āRight, umm, well, if itās all right, Iāll just grab this and get out of your way.ā Mamoru steps to the side and sandy-hair takes the mug and hurries away. Presumably to overdose on sugar.
Mamoru turns back to the barista.
Barista scratches his temple. The beanie must be itchy. Mamoru hopes it is.
āSoā¦what was your order again?ā
āLarge. Black. Coffee.ā
āRight. Thatāll take a couple of mināā Beanie boy must have just learned to read facial expressions because his eyes widen and he takes a step back. āIāll go get it now.ā
Mamoru feels a little bit of the tension ease in his shoulders and he breathes a weary sigh. Heās being an asshole. Heās doing that more and more often now. He keeps telling himself itās the long work hours and the lack of sleep, but he knows what the real problem is. Itās her. He misses her. But thereās nothing he can do about that so he needs to find a better way to cope than being rude to baristas. And co-workers. And neighbours in his apartment building.
The barista comes back with his to-go cup and Mamoru tries to smile and thanks him for the drink. The guy nods but appears otherwise unaffected and thatās fine. Mamoruās not looking for a new friend, heās just trying to be a decent human being. A tinkle of bells sounds as he reaches for his cup. A gust of air follows, and a familiar tingle between his shoulder blades compels him to turn. He follows the innate instinct before his mind can warn him against it.
The unmistakable sight of blond odangos makes his heart soar before the inevitable sensation of crushing gloom comes down hard upon his ribs. Just when he thought his morning couldnāt get any worse. He canāt handle this. Not right now. Not again. Heās not strong enough to face another awkward meeting, another painful interaction, another agonizing opportunity to break her heart. Why are they always bumping into each other? Why, in a city as big as this, can he not get through one single week without running into her? Why?
Mamoru knows why. Because theyāre soul mates.
He looks around for an alternate exit, a side door, a window, anything so he can avoid being seen. Before he can consider hiding in the bathroom he realizes sheās not approaching the counter where he stands, sheās rushing over to a table. Sheās out of breath, her cheeks are pink, and sheās spouting a string of apologies. Heās seen her look exactly like this countless times before, and he canāt help the smile that spreads across his face as the memories replay.
His smile disappears as a new memory implants itself in his mind.
Of Usako, rushing up to a table where a man with sandy blond hair is standing in wait. Where a man with sandy blond hair is taking her hands. Where a man with sandy blond hair is pulling her forward. Kissing her cheek. Making her blush.
āDonāt worry,ā sandy-hair says, āyour timing is perfect. Your drink just came out. I wasnāt sure if you wanted a muffin, a danish, or a doughnut, so I got one of each.ā
Usako laughs with delight.
Usako laughs with delight.
Usako laughs with delight.
Mamoru heads for the door like the building is on fire. He doesnāt hear the barista calling after him, telling him that heās forgotten his coffee. He doesnāt hear the tinkling of bells as he shoves through the door or the loud rush of traffic as he hits the sidewalk. All he can hear is Usakoās laughter play over and over in his head.
When was the last time he heard her laugh? When?
Mamoru doesn't know when. He canāt remember.
***
Aināt nobody hurt you like I hurt you But aināt nobody love you like I do Promise that I will not take it personal, baby If youāre moving on with someone new
***
Happy Birthday, Mamoru! Sorry bud, this is a breakup fic. What can I say? I both love and hate the breakup arc. The song that inspired this fic is Happier by Ed Sheeran.
Thanks for reading! ā¤ļø
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