#monstro lounge

monstro lounge after hours. azul's got competition...

Participating in @fanartfrenzy and I drew a scene from Chapter 2 of The Monstrous Eel and His Cuttlefish.

Azul Ashengrotto --"Accrued Interest"

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Azul Ashengrotto does not give things away for free.

This is a fundamental truth, on par with gravity and contracts written in triplicate. Everything has value. Everything has a cost. Even kindness, if you are careless enough to distribute it without structure, will bankrupt you eventually.

So when he realizes—several weeks too late—that he has been offering free tea refills to the same handful of students every afternoon, he nearly drops a tray.

Not because the tea is expensive.

But because he didn’t notice himself doing it.

It starts small.

A first-year who comes in every day to sit by the window and study, nursing the same cup for hours. Azul tops it off once, absentmindedly. Then again the next day. By the third day, the student thanks him with such earnest relief that Azul finds himself nodding, flustered.

A second-year who asks too politely if the Mostro Lounge has any non-caffeinated options. Azul experiments after closing, muttering to himself about “market gaps” and “underserved demographics,” and introduces a chamomile blend the following week.

No contract. No obligation.

Just… tea.

Jade notices first.

“You’ve been hovering,” Jade says mildly, watching Azul rearrange cups that are already perfectly aligned.

“I do not hover,” Azul snaps. Then, after a pause: “I manage ambience.”

“Mmm,” Jade hums. “And ambience now includes remembering regulars’ preferences?”

Azul freezes.

“…That’s good business,” he says weakly.

Floyd grins. “You like ‘em.”

“I do not—!”

But Floyd has already wandered off, laughing, and Jade’s smile lingers like a mirror held at an angle Azul doesn’t want to look into.

The truth is, the lounge is quieter lately.

Not empty—never empty—but calmer. Less desperation. Fewer whispered pleas, fewer trembling signatures.

Azul should be pleased. This is what success looks like.

Instead, he feels… strange.

He finds himself lingering after closing hours, polishing glasses already clean, listening to the echo of earlier laughter. He replays small moments in his mind: a compliment on the pastries, a relieved sigh over a warm drink, someone saying “I like it here.”

No leverage. No debt.

Just that.

The realization hits him one evening when a student trips on the stairs.

Azul reacts without thinking.

He’s there instantly, catching them before they fall, steady hands firm but gentle. The student blinks up at him, startled, then laughs nervously.

“Sorry! I’m fine, really—thank you.”

They bow, thank him again, and leave.

No trembling. No fear. No expectation of payment.

Azul stands there long after they’re gone, heart pounding for no discernible financial reason.

That night, he dreams of the sea.

Not the crushing depths. Not the cold, endless dark.

But shallow water, sunlit and warm, where the current is gentle and nothing is chasing him.

He wakes up unsettled.

The next week, Azul adds something new to the menu.

No announcement. No dramatic unveiling.

Just a small line at the bottom:

“House Special — On the House (One per Guest)”

Jade raises an eyebrow. Floyd squints at it like it might bite.

“This is a terrible idea,” Floyd declares cheerfully. “You’re gonna lose sooo much money.”

Azul straightens his tie. “It’s a controlled loss. A… calculated goodwill investment.”

Jade’s smile is softer than usual. “Of course.”

The first person to order it looks genuinely confused.

“You’re sure… it’s free?”

“Yes,” Azul says, bracing himself.

They smile.

It feels like interest compounding somewhere in his chest.

Later, when the lounge is empty and the lights are dim, Azul sits at a corner table with a cup of his own tea.

It’s not the best blend he’s ever made.

But it’s warm.

And for once, there is nothing attached to it. No clause. No expectation. No fine print waiting to snap shut.

Azul exhales slowly.

Maybe—not everything needs to be earned.

Some things, he thinks, staring at the quiet room he built with his own hands—