Chapter Text
A thick, syrupy smoke billowed from the lit cigarettes haphazardly hung from the lips of the tired men strewn around the room. The stale air of the room had been replaced by a heavy, dirty, disgusting tar infused haze. It had long tinged the fluorescent bulbs a sickly yellow from yet another late night session in this godforsaken boardroom.
“This is fucking bullshit!” Sanemi slammed the stack of papers he had just been reading onto the large mahogany table in front of him. “We’ve been with this fucking company for how long now? This kind of grunt work is below us.”
“Just think of how much money we make, Shinazugawa. I’ll dry my sorry ass tears with the stacks of cash I’m about to shove into a stripper’s g-string,” Tengen drawled from where his towering frame was draped over a couch along the wall. “Plus, we’re still kinda young enough to pull the kind of late nights we used to.”
Sanemi grimaced and stubbed out what was left of his current smoke. He somehow had managed to find an open space among the countless butts shoved into the closest ashtray. His back and shoulders ached from sitting hunched over in these cheap-ass swivel chairs. Sure, he could have wheeled in his nice, expensive chair from his corner office down the hall–but he frankly couldn't be bothered for the half an ounce of respite he’d get from it.
“Listen, if we just pick something, Himejima will just approve what we give him and this whole thing will be behind us,” Uzui tried. “Here, this one sounds promising.”
Tengen tossed the proposal he had just been reading toward Sanemi. The binder clip holding it all together clacked harshly on the wood before continuing to slide right in front of its target.
It took less than ten seconds of skimming it for Sanemi to realize he was handed garbage.
“This is shit too! What the hell is going through that big gorilla head of yours?”
“I thought it was nice.”
“So you would parade this in front of the investors? Really?”
After a long draw from his cigarette with an exhale just as slow, Tengen calmly sat up, carefully letting his feet settle onto the floor. “Well, I’d maybe throw a little glitter on it and wrap that ‘shit’ up in a bow. That’s what we’re fucking here for, Shinazugawa. We make things all shiny and pretty to make the people happy. If Ubuyashiki doesn’t have to lift a fucking finger to keep the company running, Himejima lines our pockets.
“And if that’s such shit, why don’t you propose something then? Grunt work is right up your alley, buddy.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Sanemi growled as he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He relished in the pressure taking away a bit of the heaviness clinging to his eyelids as his body begged him to sleep. The work he did never bothered Sanemi. Deep down, he loved it, but would never dare to say something like that out loud. He was too proud.
He really owed everything to the Ubuyashiki family. They had all but physically pulled Sanemi from the streets and gave him this opportunity–his whole future, really.
The bus fare he had hidden for years in the vent above the fridge finally came in handy the night his father broke a beer bottle across his face. The strike was intended for his mother, but Sanemi was so used to being the main punching bag for his old man that he didn’t have to think anymore when he would jump in front of his mom or siblings to spare them.
With blood pouring from the newly formed gash spanning across his cheek and over his nose, Sanemi saw the crazed look in his father’s eyes flash with something that might have looked like regret before it sunk into the depths of more hatred and anger.
He didn’t even hear what evil his father was spewing his way as he shakily used the stepstool his mother used while washing dishes to reach up and pop the dusty vent from the curling wall paper around it.
Loose bills in hand with nothing else but the clothes on his back, he ran out the back door into the cold night air.
The rest of that night was largely a blur. The sheer amount of blood dripping from his face seemed to cause a lot of panic at the bus station, but Sanemi didn’t have it in him to care. As soon as he could step foot onto that bus, he wasn’t going back. He just needed to get on that goddamn bus.
Only once he settled into the loudly decorated seats and the bus started moving was when he felt the first sharp sting of pain screaming from his face. He looked down to see his white t-shirt and the front of his jeans completely soaked through with blood. Had he been this dizzy the whole time?
Before panic could set in, a woman with neat, slicked back white hair sat in the open seat next to him. She had bright, shining eyes, which unfortunately reminded him of his mom. Her soft gaze mimicked his mother, too, which made him feel sick with guilt.
She didn’t give any pleasantries before offering up what she had in a first aid kit. A rough patch job sufficed for the time being. While he was grateful for the help, he was even more grateful when she introduced herself and asked Sanemi where he was going.
As far away as I can.
Apparently her and her husband were entrepreneurs, and she offered him a busboy position at one of the restaurants she ran in a major city. What could he do besides say yes? Plus, the city was as far away as he could possibly get from his family while remaining in the same country, so the destination worked well too.
A busboy. Newspaper deliverer. Shoe shiner. Cashier. Bartender. Bouncer. Janitor. All odd jobs he had ultimately used to pay his way through school. Eventually, he was introduced to Amane’s husband, Ubuyashiki Kagaya. His start-up company had started to take off right around the time Sanemi was finishing his degree; six years wasn’t too bad, he supposed, for a bachelor’s degree. If he didn’t have to work so much, he’d have done it in three.
Another job offer, well, more of a career offer. This time, with a salary that made his jaw drop. How could he refuse? Not even five years after that, Sanemi had more money in the bank than he could even dream of having as a kid.
The flick of a lighter to his side pulled him from his thoughts. As his hands fell away from his face, he looked up to see Kyojuro offering a cigarette with the lighter at the ready. His borderline unnatural hair glowed in the office lights, mimicking the sun at two in the morning.
Sanemi muttered a quick thanks before taking the cigarette between two weary fingers and letting Kyojuro light it for him.
“Here, this one actually doesn’t suck,” a disembodied voice cut through the dense air that was starting to make Sanemi feel ill. Obanai slowly rose from underneath the other side of the long table Sanemi was sitting at.
“Jesus, I forgot you were even here,” Sanemi said flatly around his fresh cigarette.
“Fuck you,” Obanai made out between a wince as his back audibly popped under his shifting weight. “Here.”
Another proposal was flung his way.
He glanced at the highlights, Kyojuro peering over his shoulder to read along. A shrug from Sanemi and a grunt of approval from Kyojuro was three out of the four tentative yeses they needed to end this nightmare.
“Hey dipshit,” was all Tengen got before Sanemi frisbee tossed the proposal over.
With all somehow in agreement to take this to the meeting on Friday, they were finally freed. Sanemi only had the energy to walk to his office and flop himself onto the couch there. The fresh oxygen in his lungs was damn near intoxicating from how nice it was.
One of these days, I’ll quit smoking.
Just as quickly as the thought rattled itself off in his brain, the more base parts of himself craved just one more before bed. He rolled his eyes, loosening his tie and kicking his shoes off before rolling on his side and quickly letting the sleep that was so desperate to have him take him away.
In what felt like the blink of an eye, the gentle voice of his secretary woke him from where he was drooling on the armrest.
“Mr. Shinazugawa, I’m so sorry to wake you up.”
He wiped his mouth and sat up, waving his other hand briefly in dismissal. He didn’t really like being in charge of people, so he hated the groveling he got from the people below him at the company. Even with her, he had insisted for months that he didn’t need a secretary. Himejima finally broke him down to at least getting one to help. Begrudgingly, he had to admit it was nice to have some help with the mundane office shit.
“Mr. Douma’s office called. They were asking if they could move your eleven o’clock meeting up by fifteen minutes.”
Sanemi blinked a few times before glancing down at his watch. 9:21 already?
“I fucking hate that guy. I guarantee he’s just doing it to piss me off, too,” pointing aimlessly for emphasis before groaning and sinking back into the couch. “Tell them that’s fine. I’ll see him at 10:45.”
“Will do, sir. Thank you.” She bowed slightly before quickly exiting the room.
He took stock of himself. He’s completely exhausted. He should have just asked her to cancel all of his meetings for the day. Especially with that asshole with his ‘fifteen minutes’ bullshit. What the fuck difference did fifteen minutes even make?
His old clothes clung to him uncomfortably. He’d clean up before his day really started; this wasn’t his first and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time he’d slept at the office. First priority was getting coffee in his system asap.
Shoes on, jacket slung over a shoulder, and lit cigarette freshly perched in his mouth, he made his way back out to the common area. Nameless faces said good morning to him as he passed them on the way to the elevators. He would have gotten out of verbal interactions entirely, if it wasn’t for Tengen intercepting him as he pressed the down button for the elevator.
“Well, well, well, look who we have here!” He beamed with way too much energy for them all having the same amount of sleep. “Sleeping beauty has graced us with his presence.”
“I feel like shit,” a puff of smoke accompanying his words.
“You look like it, too,” he said in a mocking sincerity, twirling Sanemi’s loosened tie between his fingers.
“Stop that,” he swatted at Tengen’s hand, quickly adjusting his tie to look at least slightly more presentable before he left the building. “I’m going to the usual spot, do you want anything?”
“Huh?” A sparse eyebrow raising. “That place shut down last week. Didn’t you see all the closing signs?”
“What? No, what the hell? Where am I supposed to get coffee now?”
“Well, you could use the coffeemaker…”
Tengen loved pushing Sanemi’s metaphorical buttons. Sanemi hated when someone brought up the goddamn coffeemaker. He’d burned himself on that stupid thing more times than he could count. The final time he bothered trying to use it, it mildly electrocuted him. Mildly, because he blacked out momentarily and swore he felt his heart stop for a second.
“You’re real fucking funny this morning, huh?”
“Well, the only cafe in the immediate area is that one a few blocks away.” The elevator dinged, doors opening to a thankfully empty lift.
“Oh god, that’s not the one with those hippie fucks is it?”
“My sister works there!” Kyojuro loudly exclaimed from the printer. How the hell he even heard their conversation is beyond him.
“Well, there’s your answer. Now go get ‘em, champ.” Tengen clasped his baseball glove-esque hands around Sanemi’s shoulders and shoved him forward into the now closing elevator. He didn’t even get the chance to complain more before the doors shut in front of Tengen’s smug grin.
This morning was already off to a shitty start. Maybe the coffee wouldn’t be so bad? That was the only shred of optimism he was clinging to as he got to the lobby and started heading down the street after properly sliding his jacket on.
Only a block away from the building, he heard the shrill chirp of his ringtone coming from his pocket. He grumbled to himself before fumbling with his phone and flipping it open.
“Hello?” Voice swimming with annoyance.
“Shinazugawa, did you all decide on the proposal for Friday?” Great. A Himejima call.
“Yeah, we found something that wasn’t dog shit. Can’t promise it’s great, though.” He was approaching the final crosswalk he needed to just get to that damn cafe.
“You’re going to have to make it good, that meeting is moved to tomorrow afternoon.”
“What?! Are you fucking serious?”
“Unfortunately. Ubuyashiki has more pressing meetings that got moved up, so yours did as well.”
“Fucking hell, Himejima. This is ridiculous and you know it.” The cafe with those gaudy beaded curtains in the window came into view. Dropping his cigarette to the pavement, he rolled his eyes before tugging the door open.
“I tried to see what I could do, you know I wouldn’t do this to you unless it was absolutely necessary.”
The counter was empty, thankfully, as Sanemi stalked up with arguably way too much hostile energy for it being only a little after 9:30. A girl with purple streaks throughout her dark hair walked up to the register just as Sanemi was. She plastered a bright smile on her face.
“Good morning, what can I–”
“Red Eye,” he propped his phone between his ear and shoulder as he started fishing for cash in his wallet. “No, that wasn’t for you Himejima, Jesus.” His attention was split too many ways for him to actually focus on anything happening around him.
Luckily he was able to catch her high-pitched voice between Himejima’s deep, echoing voice and his own loud bitching. “What size?”
Sanemi scowled and used his hands to try and communicate ‘the biggest size you have’ before slapping a larger than necessary bill on the counter and walking toward the general direction of the pick up area.
“Well can you have Iguro do that? What the fuck else is he even doing?” He continued his arguing, snagging eye contact with a few patrons that glared over the tops of their large, bulky laptops that sat on the vintage tabletops sprinkled throughout the small cafe. Even though they were probably also working, Sanemi was definitely the odd one out.
Heavy yellow, red, and purple drapes were weaved throughout the interior. Large patterned rugs covered the scuffed wooden flooring. More beads hung from the sparse number of gold chandeliers on the ceiling. The decor was… a lot. The other patrons on their computers gave the impression that they weren’t drafting business plans or responding to stupid emails; instead likely writing a boring script that stupid actors would perform for twenty people in a pathetic underground theater. Or maybe editing the book they swear would make them famous.
Whatever, this would have to do until he found a new coffee shop to frequent. One where upstanding business men weren’t ogled at just for trying to get a drink while working.
Maybe it was the scar. He got a lot of looks for it-it didn’t heal smoothly and was a standout feature on his face. Or it was just Sanemi’s demeanor as a whole. Wild, white, spiky hair. Large, bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep. He probably did actually look like shit. Was he yelling too loud indoors? Whatever, who even fucking cares?
“Here’s your order.”
Sanemi turned around to see a drink sitting on the counter, open. It felt like the drink was staring at him from what had to be the most laughable ‘large’ size he’s seen.
“This isn’t what I ordered.” He’d managed to keep his voice shockingly neutral. Not angry, just stating a fact. He had finally looked up at the barista who placed the drink down. Blue eyes threatening to be hidden by a mop of fluffy black hair that trailed down into a low ponytail.
His face… his face was blank. Truly devoid of any semblance of emotion. Was he moving?
“This is a Red Eye.” Oh, so he wasn’t just someone Sanemi hallucinated in his exhausted daze.
“I ordered a large.”
“This is the biggest size we have. Research shows that coffee is best consumed in smaller quantities to preserve flavor as it sits and cools down. Our store’s mission is to provide quality over quantity.”
Sanemi didn’t even really know what to say. Himejima had still been yapping in his ear about something that he didn’t really care about.
Weirdly enough, a strange sort of calm washed over him. Well, maybe not calm. But he wasn’t on the verge of exploding, so he’d take that as a plus.
He let his eyes crawl down the barista in front of him. All he could really see of the man’s body was that he was pretty much the same height as Sanemi, scrawnier for sure. He wore a frumpy sweater that looked fresh from an estate sale. A pattern so heinous, only the elderly losing their eyesight could find a charm in it. Covering it all was a black apron tied in the back, various buttons and pins he couldn’t be bothered to read adorning the strap around his neck. The rest of the apron looked like it had seen better days; stained and fraying at the edges.
“Excuse me?” Eyes snapped back up to the blue ones ahead of him.
“Our store’s mission is to provide quality over quantity. See?” He pointed a slender finger toward a wooden sign that hung from the lip of the pick-up counter. The words and flowers decorating the edges were etched in with a wood burner, forever scorching a solid oak slab with non-important bullshit.
Himejima’s voice ceased with a click as Sanemi snapped his phone closed.
“And your normal customers are okay with that sizing?” His eyes darted over to the menu hanging above the register. “Fucking hell, you’re charging an awful lot for hardly anything.”
The barista shrugged.
Sanemi properly approached the counter, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Are you sure you don’t have something bigger? I’m a busy man and have a long day ahead of me.” He tried playing it off, a soft, velvety voice rolling off the tongue as he relaxed his shoulders.
He worked in business, he’s used to reading the people he talks to and adjusting as he goes; tailoring his approach to the individual in order to get exactly what he wants. But… this guy isn’t giving him anything to work with. Maybe if he plays ‘mellow good guy’ he can get something out of him.
“You’re free to buy a second drink.”
“I shouldn’t have to. ‘Large’ is a size descriptor, and this hardly fits the description. You wouldn’t want to falsely advertise to your customers, would you?”
The barista narrows his eyes just slightly, head tilting minutely to the side to reveal a cheap stud shining from an earlobe hidden under his hair. The change was so miniscule, blink and you’d miss it. He rested his fingertips on the counter and leaned in a little. “Are you saying you couldn’t afford a second drink?” His voice quirked with just enough personality to ride the line of genuine curiosity and mocking.
The…fucking… nerve! Just who the fuck did this guy think he was?!
“Of course I can afford it! It’s the principle of it!” Cool demeanor immediately melting with the rage burning within him. Now he was also leaning onto the counter, just to get in this dickhead’s space a little more. Intimidation was more Sanemi’s speed anyway. “Where the hell do you get off? It’s a simple concept, I don’t understand–”
He cut himself off, eyes following the barista as he reached over the counter to the stack of lids directly next to Sanemi’s elbow. The barista gently placed the lid over his drink and slid it closer to him.
“Maybe you won’t be such a miserable prick after you drink your coffee. Enjoy.”
With that, the barista walked back to the bar to start working on other orders he assumed the purple-haired girl had been taking since he walked in.
He could hear blood rushing in his ears, his heart was threatening to pound right out of his chest. He failed. Sure, the stakes were low. He wasn’t closing the deal on a massive account, it was just a fucking drink.
Even though he could admit that he was acting like a petulant child, frustrated that he didn’t get what he wanted, that’s not totally the reason he was so pissed off. It was his pride. That brat fucking won. Some dead eyed little shit won.
Before he could make himself look even more like an asshole, he grabbed his drink and huffed toward the exit.
The morning breeze felt all the more icy as it hit his bright red cheeks while charging down the sidewalk.
“God fucking dammit!” He finally let fall from his lips set in a deep frown. Since leaving home, he had genuinely done a lot of work to not be such an angry person–he refused to be anything remotely like his fucking father. Genetics were cruel, however, Sanemi inheriting both his father’s looks and rage issues. At least he got his mom’s long eyelashes to counteract the intensity of everything else.
Being able to tamp it all down to just being unpleasant to be around was something to be proud of. That didn’t stop the growing urge to throw his drink at the first car that passed by him. He would have done so… if he didn’t actually need the stupid fucking caffeine.
If this coffee was disgusting, he’d just go back in tomorrow and let them absolutely have it. Just imagining it gave him solace. You parade around this false superiority about the quality of your drinks and it’s all bullshit! What? Are you afraid you customers will figure out the drinks are actually fucking terrible if you give them a proper fucking serving? Oh, so that’s why the cups are so small. I bet you have a small dick too, you ponytail having f–”
Oh… that took a weird turn. Sanemi shook his head and with gritted teeth decided to chance his first sip of the drink. He’s used to the intense bitter taste that accompanies his order: it’s just black coffee with espresso. The way his body always shuddered from the taste was easily overlooked, the coffee was warm and woke him up. That’s all that really mattered.
He tilted his head back slightly, letting the drink slip over his tongue and ease its way down his throat. As he swallowed, he paused. Cup still on his lips, legs now rooted in place.
That had to be a fluke, right?
Another sip, and then another. His body didn’t fight it on the way down. He didn’t grimace at the taste.
“You’ve got to be shitting me right now.”
It was actually good. Could coffee actually have a flavor just beyond coffee? Is that what people went on about when they ‘detected notes’ or some shit when they drank things? It was just barely sweet with a hint of earthiness swirling together in a way that his body didn’t try to reject.
He stared down at the lid of his drink. The logical part of his brain told him he should maybe apologize to that barista for being a dick. Not for being wrong though, the cup is still way too small.
The logical part of his brain, unfortunately, was much smaller and weaker than the part of his brain that ran on pure instinct and emotion and was easily overtaken. Rage flooded his senses again as he started stomping back toward the office.
After suffering through someone trying to talk to him on the elevator, he finally reached his floor and beelined to his office.
“Wow, what happened to you?” Obanai was perched on the edge of someone’s desk in the bullpen. His voice was slightly muffled from behind the mask he wore.
“For such a huge germ freak, you’re sure up my ass a lot lately.”
“Harsh, my man!” Unfortunate timing to have Tengen pull up around the corner. “Your face is all red like after your meetings with the Muzan Corporation. Someone piss you off?”
“No,” the lie quickly turning sour on his tongue.
“Bullshit,” Obanai chimed in, pulling his mask down to place a cigarette between his lips. “Where the hell did you get that coffee? The place you always go to shut down.”
“Yeah, I fucking know.”
“Oh yeah, how is it? Was Mitsuri there?” Tengen leaned over to light Obanai’s cigarette for him.
“It was fine, and no she wasn’t there.” Sanemi attempted to leave the conversation by starting to walk away.
“Just fine? Your face doesn’t say so.”
“I said it was fine!” Sanemi made it to his office door and slammed it shut. In the quiet of the room, he looked out at the skyline of the city through the floor to ceiling windows and tried to take a few deep breaths. Calm down… calm down…
He plopped down into his desk chair, setting his drink on his desk and completely deflating back into the plush leather of his seat. What a stupid fucking morning.
The lack of sleep wasn’t helping anything or anyone. It wasn’t fair that everyone else seemed at least decently put together this morning despite all having the same night. Would he have still snapped at the guy at the cafe if he was well-rested?
Well, yeah, probably.
What was with that guy anyway? The way he didn’t really react to much, barely speaking. And when he did, he was fucking rude!
He groaned and brought his elbows on to his desk. As he sank further forward, his arm caught on a pale yellow sticky note.
Don’t forget about your 10:45 meeting!
It was punctuated with a smiley face, something his secretary did often. While he would normally find something like that annoying, it pulled at what little heart strings he had left. One of his sisters would often doodle all over the homework he’d help her with. Hearts, stars, smiley faces, etc. Sure, he’d have preferred if she paid attention to him helping her, but he loved his siblings deeply, so he let it slide.
Before he could journey too far down memory lane, he straightened slightly. 10:45… He looked at his watch to see it just after 10:00.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” he whined pathetically, balling the sticky note up and whipping it into the trash as he stood up to get ready for a meeting that was guaranteed to make his day worse.