Chapter Text
Yahaba hates his job.
He’s a manager at an American-style diner run as a front for a Yakuza group. And that’s a lot to unpack.
Firstly, all retail and customer service jobs suck, and being the manager mostly means working overtime (but salaried, so not for any extra money), all while picking up the slack and getting yelled at by customers.
Secondly, the food sucks. Like really sucks. The only edible things on the menu are eggs (because Watari actually knows how to cook those), hash browns (because they come from giant frozen bags), and the bacon (hard to fuck up, even when Watari is stoned out of his gourd). Everything else is trash, and Yahaba doesn’t even want to think about what’s actually in those breakfast sausages. The milkshakes used to be good, then the machine broke four years ago and it’s still not been fixed.
Thirdly, and the reason why the shithole is even still running, is that it’s a front for Seijoh. So long as they can launder their filthy drug money through the tills the shitty plastic little neon We’re Open! sign out front remains on.
He can’t even get away from work because his apartment is a tiny one-bedroom conversion in the attic space above the diner. So even when he’s home he’s still on call. The actual apartment isn’t too bad though– he has a decent tv and a carefully curated DVD selection to fill the hours he doesn’t work– he just needs to fix his toilet flush so that using it doesn’t set off the cubicle on the far left of the diner’s buck’s bathroom at the same time.
If he wasn’t in debt he would have quit a long time ago. He would probably have gone to college too.
The part of Yahaba’s job that doesn’t suck, or at least sucks a lot less, is his group of Sunday morning regulars. He does have to get up at four in the morning (but hey, at least there’s no commute) to open but at five o’clock, just after his coffee kicks in, his favourite customers walk in without fail.
A couple of streets over is a strip club– also owned by Seijoh– and after a long Saturday night of pretending to be interested in very boring, horny bucks, the dancers traipse over to have breakfast at Yahaba’s shitty little diner. They come straight from work, in their pyjamas but still fully made up and covered in glitter, and must have just enough good will left to humour his terrible jokes and attempts at flirting.
They’ll roll their eyes when he calls them gorgeous, but they always laugh as well and leave him decent tips since it’s American style and it’s not rude over there. The money comes with the joking invitation that he should use it to come see them at their work. Yahaba’s never actually gone to the strip club (not during its operating hours at least) since he prefers using any extra cash to pay off Hanamaki, but he likes to fantasise about it anyway.
The group fluctuates in size, but there’s always a core three that come and they’re the ones of which he knows the names and temperaments. There’s Tanaka Saeko; tall, blond, big tits, and neon eye shadow as loud as her personality; then there’s Shimizu Kiyoko, sultry, dark haired, and the most beautiful woman he's ever seen; and, finally, Kyoutani Kentarou, gothy, grungy, funky haired and possessing the worst attitude he’s ever come across. He wears a spiked collar as part of his outfit every week.
Presumably his ‘thing’ must be verbally abusing his clients because otherwise Yahaba has no idea how this guy makes money. He just glowers around the diner every Sunday, but he doesn’t say anything when Yahaba clumsily hits on his friends, so he’s tolerated and still gets the customer service smile with his order. Even if the smile is a little more forced.
It’s 4:57am on a Sunday morning and from the grill, where he’s ignoring table twelve’s pancakes, Watari yells, “Hey Yahaba, the strippers you like to creep on are here!”
Yahaba gives him the finger because he refuses to be drawn into an argument he definitely won’t win. Instead he grabs his apron with the order pad and pen in and goes to enjoy the highlight of his week.
This Sunday, there are four people at the table and the tag-a-long doesn’t look like she’s a dancer. She’s in actual clothes for one and doesn’t have winged eyeliner for another (well, that’s what Yahaba thinks that style of makeup is called). She looks upset too, shaking like a leaf and constantly scanning the diner like someone’s going to burst through a window in a hail of bullets. It is a Yakuza joint though, so the chances of that aren’t zero.
The new girl doesn’t calm down at all when he arrives, pen poised, and maybe even looks more distressed. So regretfully, Yahaba kisses goodbye to his morning flirting and tries to adopt as non-threatening a manner as he can manage.
“Good morning, good morning,” he says cheerily to Kyoutani’s absolute disgust. “I’m Yahaba, what can I get for you today?”
The girl, an absolute cutiepie with blonde hair who is one hundred per cent his type, squeaks in fear and hides behind her laminated menu. Bob hair-cut, pink sweater and denim skirt with sneakers, it was like god had read his mind and sent him the perfect woman. Just a shame it looks like she’s terrified of him.
“Shall we start with drinks?” he tries again. It feels like he’s interrupting something serious, but if they want breakfast he needs their order, and if he gets it now then he won’t have to come back and inconvenience them again. The girl looks like she might cry from having to make this decision.
Fortunately there are three other people at the table who can help. Yahaba notes down the usual round of coffees for his regulars, and then Tanaka orders the girl a hot tea since she doesn’t seem capable of actually talking.
“Coming right up,” he promises, and tries not to take the fear personally.
There’s a fresh carafe of coffee ready anyway so it doesn’t take long for him to pour boiling water onto a tea bag and then serve them their hot drinks. He just about manages to pry the food orders out of them before retreating to the kitchen to slam the ticket down in front of Watari (the only way to get him to notice it).
“Try not to fuck up the waffles this time,” he says, although he knows it’s futile. He’ll likely have to comp the meal because Watari still hasn’t learnt how the waffle press works and that’s unlikely to change anytime soon. His pupils are also eclipsing his irises so none of their orders are looking good.
Yahaba nonchalantly makes a circuit of the mostly empty dining room while keeping an eye on his regulars. The group all sit closely around the new girl, protectively, while she tries not to sob into her tea. The vibe is completely different to usual; there’s no laughing and joking, Kyoutani isn’t struggling to seem aloof and keep a straight face. Even Tanaka looks serious. Whoever the new girl is, and whatever’s happened to her… Yahaba doesn’t want to think about it.
He ends up taking over her breakfast because he knows he’d feel bad about making an already shitty time worse for her. The waffles are slightly dry by the time he rescues them from the press, but at least they aren’t burnt. He delivers their food and then makes himself scarce because the moment he returns they all fall silent, and if there’s one thing Yahaba can spot a mile off, it’s when he’s not wanted.
He does bump into the terrified girl coming back from giving table twelve their check and she jumps before apologising profusely. There’s real fear in her glassy eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks when she stops repeating ‘sorry’ long enough for him to get a word in. “You seem like you’re in trouble…” He doesn’t really know where he’s going with this train of thought, he’s just worried for her. She’s clearly an omega, and she’s tiny. Like, not even five feet, tiny.
“Yes, I mean, no. I mean, I’m okay, I just wanted to go to the does’s toilets.”
“Down that corridor and to your right,” he instructs and then watches her flee.
It’s enough that Yahaba feels compelled to approach the table while she’s away. Kyoutani eyes him like he wants to put his very blunt butter knife between Yahaba’s ribs but Tanaka and Shimizu smile at him. The pair of angels.
“Your friend…”
“Yachi,” Tanaka supplies.
“Yachi, is she alright? She seems… scared.” She looks like she’s in withdrawal from something or suffering some sort of mental health crisis, but he’s not going to say that because he did have some manners impressed upon him as a child.
“She just broke up with her boyfriend,” Shimizu says, and that feels anticlimactic.
“An absolute piece of shit,” Tanaka adds and Kyoutani nods in agreement. “He’s going to be pissed when he finds out she packed up and left.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” It’s pretty much the only thing he can say in response to that. Yahaba is kind of surprised that it’s such a mundane reason, he’s had bad break ups before though, so he can sympathise. “If I can help in any way let me know.”
Kyoutani openly scoffs at that, but Shimizu looks thoughtful. “You wouldn’t know of any flexible jobs going, would you? Yachi’s never had one before but she’ll be in trouble if she can’t make any money.”
“We can always use more bussers.” It’s grim cleaning up here but they always get paid on time– Iwaizumi has a rule about only breaking one law at a time if he can help it; no speeding if you have guns in the car, shit like that. “Where’s she staying?”
“As if we’d tell you that,” Kyoutani snaps at the same time Shimizu says, “With me, for now, but that’s got to be one of the first places he’ll look for her.”
“So she’ll need her first and last then.” Yahaba grimaced; he could swing her a job, but he wouldn’t be able to give her an advance of that much. “I’m guessing her family isn’t very helpful? I can ask around to see if anyone’s looking for a roommate.”
“No. And thanks.”
“Her waffles are cardboard, by the way,” Kyoutani adds, picking one up and tapping it against the plate so it makes a dull knocking sound. Looks like Yahaba didn’t rescue her breakfast in time. “She didn’t want to say anything because she’s too nice.”
“I suppose it’s lucky for her that you aren’t. I’m gonna comp it for her anyway, Watari can’t cook these to save his life.” He was surprised that Kyoutani hadn’t warned her off them but he doesn’t voice that because he doesn’t want his nose broken. Kyoutani looks like he’s broken noses before.
Kyoutani scowls at him as he walks away.
Yahaba keeps himself busy with rotas, payroll and then taking orders when the breakfast rush (if it can be called that) starts around 6am. He mourns his lack of flirting but consoles himself with the knowledge that there’s always next week. For now, it’ll be just another day. When he returns to give the dancers their bill, however, Yachi gets up to bow to him.
“They told me about your offer for a job,” she says, twisting the bottom of her pink sweater in her hands. “I would be really grateful, if, if, if you’d interview me, of course! I don’t expect you to just give it to me–”
“Come to the office and I’ll get you an application to fill out.” Yahaba could probably just say yes and there wouldn’t be much more to it– like he said, he always needs staff members– but having some paperwork is just useful and it might make Yachi feel like she’s not just being pitied.
She definitely is though.
Kyoutani stands up abruptly and glares like he wants to kill him, and he might. It takes a moment for Yahaba to realise it’s because Kyoutani absolutely does not trust him around Yachi, he thinks Yahaba is going to come onto her or worse. It’s insulting but he’s not going to fight him on it, like he said, Kyoutani looks like he’s had practice.
“Pick a friend to come with you,” he adds. It would probably calm her down a bit more– best not to accidentally pressure her into accepting hours that don’t actually work for her or something.
Yachi chooses Shimizu and together they accompany Yahaba to the small office out the back and watch him print out the form. They carefully fill it out in front of him; name, date of birth, individual number, experience (or lack thereof), all in blue pen.
“What do I put down for my address?” she frets. “I can’t put down yours– Kaito will go through your mail when he finds out…”
“You could always put the diner’s address or the apartment above and just pick up any mail or whatever when you come to work,” Yahaba suggests. He thinks perhaps this is worse than the standard bad break up, then thinks he’s a dickhead because he should have realised that sooner.
“Is the apartment available at all?” Shimizu asks hopefully.
“Only if you want to sleep on my couch, I’m afraid.”
He reviews what they’ve written. He doesn’t really need to– the only qualifications for cleaning tables are the abilities to arrive on time and pick things up– but he makes sure to appreciate the effort. Yachi has spectacularly neat handwriting.
“When would you like to start?”
Yachi starts work that Monday and must spend half her time apologising for something or other, but the booths are no longer sticky and she’s called him Yahaba-sama several times now, and that’s just adorable.
He’s tried to schedule her for when he’s working so he can keep an eye out for her, but he’s also made sure to threaten the bucks on the staff to stay in line just in case. The front of house can bang each other to their hearts’ delight so long as they leave Yachi out of it, she definitely doesn’t need their bullshit.
It all seems to be going well until Thursday at closing time. Yahaba is mopping the floor– trying to get the smell of vomit out of the linoleum– when his newest employee appears, and it’s clear Yachi’s been crying again. His first thought is that a customer has hit on her, or worse, then he remembers she has a terrible ex and feels like a jerk for not realising how much of a problem it would be if he turned up here.
She bows to him. “Please, I know it’s a lot to ask, but can I stay on your sofa for a few days?” she begs. “I haven’t been able to find another place and Shimizu’s landlord won’t allow guests to stay for more than a few days. I’ll pay you rent! And I’ll clean, and I’ll cook all your food for you, and you won’t even know that I’m there!”
She looks like she could keep going and, despite Yahaba very much wanting to tease her by asking how he’d fail to notice her presence if she made him his meals, he makes the merciful decision to cut her off.
“Yachi, it’s fine. You can stay with me for as long as you need, okay? I should warn you though, there’s not a tonne of room, so there’s no point in you paying me anything.”
He’s flooded with gratitude and praise and she bows repeatedly at him until he can persuade her to stop. They do still have their jobs to do even if it’s the customer service equivalent of polishing a turd.
Yahaba is cleaning out his apartment (making sure all of his dirty socks are in the laundry hamper and none of his dirty magazines are out in the open) when a persistent banging starts on his door, angry and impatient. Yahaba puts down the bedsheets he was changing and debates just not answering.
There are only a few people who hammer on the door and none of them are particularly welcome. It’s not the first of the month so it’s not Hanamaki here to collect his repayments, there have been no police snooping around the diner so it’s unlikely to be Iwaizumi, and definitely no need for Matsukawa’s services.
Which means either something has gone terribly wrong and it's Mizoguchi, ready to whisk him off to an unmarked grave, or Watari has got too high and forgotten he has a key.
He’s wrong on both counts.
On the other side of the door is Kyoutani. He’s not in his dancing facepaint so it takes Yahaba a second to realise that it’s him– dark denim, leather jacket, small gauges in his ears, but still eyeliner so heavy it could be mistaken for bruising.
“Fucker,” Kyoutani curses, and Yahaba nearly, nearly says I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on since this is the first time he’s seen Kyoutani not in pyjamas but manages to shut himself up before he’s misconstrued and rightfully punch in the mouth.
“Good afternoon to you too,” he goes with instead.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Well, I was changing bedsheets, now I’m answering the door because some asshole was trying to break it down.”
“Ha, no sweet words when it’s just me, huh? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, inviting Yachi to come ‘sleep on your couch’. She’s been through enough without you creeping on her, no rent, right?”
“Woah, woah, woah.” Okay, Yahaba should have foreseen that some people could hear about his offer and jump to conclusions. “I’m not extorting her for sex.”
“Yeah, because you’d tell me if you were.”
“You know what.” Yahaba opens his door as wide as he can and steps to one side. “Come in, have a look around, then tell me if this–” he waves his hand at the nicotine stained wallpaper peeling at the edges and the fridge that hums at forty decibels “--is worth paying rent for. Would you pay me money to live here?”
Kyoutani takes a step into the apartment, wrinkling his nose with suspicion. He doesn’t look convinced but he also looks less like he wants to wrap his hands around Yahaba’s neck and squeeze until the twitching stops.
“Alright, you live in a shithole.” Yahaba tries not to bristle– it’s not that bad. “But give me a reason you’re not just gonna try to fuck her once she has nowhere else to go?”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yeah, we’ve all got yakuza connections, dickhead, you’re not going to scare me.”
“No, I mean that literally. Do you know who you’re talking to right now because I genuinely think you have me confused for someone else.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re not exactly a treat yourself,” Yahaba bites back. He’s getting pretty tired of Kyoutani treating him like he’s some kind of rapist. There’s only so much he can placate himself with the reminder that Kyoutani and his friends must deal with some of the scummiest bucks alive. He takes a deep breath and prepares to be the bigger person. “Would you like to have a closer look around? Make sure I’m not hiding rohypnol in the fridge?”
He’s pretty sure Kyoutani cusses him out under his breath, but it’s quiet and his unwelcome guest does take him up on the offer and starts rummaging through his things. Yahaba feels pretty vindicated about using his afternoon off to clean.
Once the couch has been thoroughly searched (it’s a surprise the cushions haven’t been opened with a knife, he supposes Kyoutani just doesn’t have one on him), Yahaba sets out the spare pillows and a blanket pile on one arm.
“Hide your filth properly,” Kyoutani yells and that’s the only warning he gets before several copies of Bejean are thrown at his face. Yahaba rolls his eyes even though he knows he’s definitely going red. “It’s so vanilla, it’s not even interesting. I thought for sure you’d be into something freaky.” Kyoutani narrows his eyes as if he’s contemplating whether there are worse paraphernalias hidden elsewhere.
“Thank you for your judgement on my pornography choices,” Yahaba says flatly.
“Nice pink sheets too,” Kyoutani snorts, having already moved on to sharing his opinion on decor.
“They’re for Yachi, she seems to like pink.” She’s worn something pink, even just nail polish, every day he’s seen her. Kyoutani gives him a look and he rolls his eyes. “Obviously she gets the bed, I get the sofa. As you said: she’s already suffered enough.”
“Why do this for someone you have no plan to fuck?”
Yahaba is silent for a moment. It’s a good question, truthfully, he would very much like to have sex with Yachi. She’s cute, sweet, and pretty, who wouldn’t? But it’s never going to happen so there’s no point in even considering it. Daydreaming about it in the shower, maybe.
“Is it not enough that I can help so I do?”
“Not with that shitty couch.” Kyoutani crosses his arms. “You’re telling me if she offered you’d say no to her?”
“Why? Has she mentioned wanting to?” Yahaba says sarcastically.
“Don’t fucking defelect.”
“Yeah, I’d say no. The only reason someone like Yachi would ever ask me to… ask me that is because they felt obligated.” He makes a disgruntled face at the thought.
“Why wouldn’t you take advantage of that?”
“Why wouldn’t I…?” Yahaba stares at him in disbelief. “Because who the hell wants to have sex with someone who isn’t into them?! You need to spend time with better people.” He mutters that last bit because he’s not sure he’s safe from a pummeling.
He needn’t have worried though because Kyoutani actually looks stumped by his outburst.
“Fine,” he kicks at Yahaba’s carpet with his heavy boots (that he of course didn’t take off before he barged in, dickhead). “But I’m going to check on her all the time.”
Yahaba reaches into the small basket on his breakfast bar (misnamed since this was the only place to eat every meal) and throws a key at him. Kyoutani catches it in one hand.
“Take the spare key, I’ll have another one cut for Yachi. If I come back and the tv is gone I know who to blame, though.”
“It’s a shit tv anyway.” Kyoutani gives him the finger and then walks out of the apartment without even closing the door behind him.
Asshole.