Chapter Text
The café always smelled like burnt espresso and despair.
This was, of course, not part of the marketing strategy. Just the natural consequence of a workplace where half the employees hated their jobs, the other half hated their lives, and you were a proud member of both categories.
The café wasn’t anything special. It was only a small, cozy place wedged between a laundromat and an even smaller bookstore that no one ever seemed to enter. It had decent coffee, passable pastries, and an espresso machine that made a sound like it was summoning demons every time it started up.
The morning rush had been a disaster, as usual. Some guy had ordered a "triple ristretto oat milk cortado with a whisper of cinnamon," and you'd fought the primal urge to ask if he wanted a therapy session with that. Then there was the woman who had stared at the menu for ten full minutes, only to proudly order "just a water" like she had done something revolutionary.
Like, sure, working at a café wasn’t the worst job in the world—there were no life-threatening situations (except for that one time Greg the Manager almost set the espresso machine on fire), and the pay was just enough to keep you from selling your left kidney. But there was something deeply soul-crushing about having to ask, “Would you like oat milk with that?” to people who wouldn’t hesitate to commit war crimes if you got their order wrong.
Still, you endured. Mostly because rent existed.
Now, with the lull between rushes, you were enjoying a rare moment of peace. There was only one customer in the shop: a guy sitting at the back, writing something aggressively in a notebook, occasionally stopping to stare into the distance like he was the main character in a tragic novel. You respected the drama.
Then the door opened, and you instinctively pasted on your Customer Service Smile™.
Two guys walked in. The first was a teenager with pink hair and a face that screamed "golden retriever in human form." He looked energetic, friendly, and like he’d never had a bad day in his life. He was smiling in a way that suggested he was either extremely friendly or about to ask if you had time to talk about your car’s extended warranty.
The second guy, though. Oh wow.
He was taller, older-looking, and had long black hair tied into pigtails. He walked in like a broken NPC. His movements were a little too stiff, like he was buffering between each step. Like he was following some kind of invisible instruction manual on "How to Act Like a Normal Person in a Café."
And was failing miserably.
His face was blank, aside from the faintly confused look in his brown eyes, and there was something weirdly intense about the way he stood there, as if he was waiting for someone to give him a quest.
You watched as the pink-haired guy - who had clearly dragged his companion here against his will - led them to the counter, grinning.
"Hello! Welcome to-" You trailed off when you saw the pink-haired one aggressively whispering something to his friend while gesturing toward the menu.
Pigtails nodded, his expression not changing even a little. "Understood. I will engage in an order transaction."
What.
Pinkie sighed. "Okay, man, just-just order like a normal person, alright?"
Pigtails turned to you. The eye contact was... unsettling. Not in a creepy way, but in a why does it feel like this man has never spoken to another human before way.
"Hello," he said, very seriously.
"...Hi."
"I am Choso. I would like a drink."
You blinked. "Uh. Yeah. That’s usually how this works."
Choso nodded slowly. Pinkie looked like he wanted to die.
"I will take... one coffee," Choso said, after a long pause.
Your deadpan stare could’ve rivaled the sun in intensity. "What kind of coffee?"
Choso blinked, staring at you like you had just explained quantum physics. Maybe he really wasn’t used to human interaction. Either way, it was kind of hilarious. "A normal coffee."
"There are a lot of normal coffees."
Choso looked at Pinkie, who was now staring at the ceiling like he was regretting every choice that had led him here. "Brother. What is a normal coffee?"
Pinkie groaned. "I told you, just say ‘latte' or a 'cappuccino.’"
"Latte or a cappuccino," Choso repeated, nodding.
"...Do you want latte or a cappuccino?" you asked. keeping your voice professionally neutral despite the immediate urge to start laughing.
Another long pause. Choso looked at Pinkie again. "Brother. Which one do I want?"
Pinkie ran a hand down his face. "Latte."
Choso turned back to you, face grave. "Latte."
You stared at him for a long moment, then pressed the button on the register. "Got it. One latte."
Pinkie, who you were now convinced was the only reason Choso had not accidentally wandered into traffic, exhaled like he’d just survived a war. "And I’ll take a cappuccino under Yuji, please!"
"Coming right up," you said, grabbing a cup.
As you worked on their drinks, you could feel Choso’s stare drilling into the back of your head. You stole a glance over your shoulder and, yep. There he was. Watching. Completely expressionless.
Yuji was whispering frantically. "Dude, stop staring, it’s weird."
"I am observing the coffee-making process," Choso replied.
"You’re making them uncomfortable."
Choso frowned. "I do not wish to cause discomfort."
"Then stop staring."
A pause. "Understood."
He pulled Choso toward a table by the window, where Choso sat so rigidly that it looked like he was about to be interrogated by the FBI. Yuji, in contrast, had already pulled out his phone and was scrolling through something with the casual ease of a person who had never been socially awkward in his life.
You caught Choso glancing around the shop, his brows slightly furrowed, like he was still adjusting to the idea of being here. The more you watched him, the more he reminded you of a stray cat—tense, a little lost, and not entirely sure whether he wanted to trust anyone.
Shaking your head, you set about making their drinks. It wasn’t until you brought them over that you noticed Choso still hadn’t moved from his original rigid sitting position. You slid his drink in front of him and waited, curious to see how this played out.
He stared at the cup. Slowly, his eyes lifted back to you. “What is this?”
You stared back. “Your latte.”
Choso blinked again. “Do I drink it?”
Yuji nearly choked on his cappuccino. “Of course you drink it! What else would you do with it?!”
Choso, apparently, had to think about that.
You bit the inside of your cheek. “Yes, it’s for drinking. But if you’d rather throw it on the floor, I won’t stop you.”
Choso took a long, considering pause before, finally, picking up the cup. He took a careful sip.
Then froze.
Yuji leaned forward. “You like it?”
Choso’s fingers curled around the cup, his blank face shifting just slightly, eyes widening, shoulders lowering. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked… moved.
"Brother. This is satisfactory." he murmured, almost reverently.
Yuji pumped his fist. “See? Told you you’d like it!”
Choso looked at you. "Barista. This is satisfactory."
"Uh. Thanks."
Choso nodded solemnly, like you had just exchanged some kind of sacred vow.
You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the urge to ask. “You’ve never had a latte before?”
Choso shook his head.
Yuji sighed. “He’s been missing out on a lot of stuff.”
That much was obvious.
Still, you watched as Choso took another sip, eyes half-lidding as he savored it. For someone who barely seemed present in his own body, he was taking this latte very seriously. It was almost kind of… cute? In a weird, vaguely unsettling way?
You shook off the thought, taking your place back behind the counter. Missing out on a lot of stuff though? What did that even mean exactly? Had he been living under a rock? In the mountains? Was he raised by wolves? Should you be concerned?
When they finally left, Yuji waved cheerfully. "Thanks for the drinks! We’ll be back soon!"
Choso paused at the door, looking at you like he was trying to process something. Then, after a long moment, he gave a slow, awkward nod.
“Farewell, barista.”
With that, they were both gone, Yuji chattering on about who-knows-what while Choso followed, silent and looming.
You let out a breath.
What the hell was that?