Archive of Our Own

Hiori sighed in defeat, his ham-and-cheese croissant half-eaten and a bitter, lukewarm coffee sitting on the worn wooden table. He would have drunk every last drop to get through the closing shift, but he was once again stuck in a corner of the break room, his phone held between fingers smudged with breadcrumbs.

​"For the last time, I don't understand you."

​At the counter, Isagi squeezed the damp cloth tightly. He frowned as he held the steel pitcher under the steam wand; the high-pitched hiss of the milk heating up sounded like the cry of his own patience. What he really wanted was to slam the thermometer into the blond man’s face right then and there.

"Ich sag dir doch, dass diese Lattes lauwarm sind, bist du dumm oder was?""I already told you these lattes are lukewarm. What are you, an idiot?" Kaiser protested, tapping his index finger over and over on the counter.

"So you don’t want to speak english?" Isagi raised an eyebrow, clenching his teeth so hard they threatened to break. "I’ll make you speak english."

Isagi brought his hands behind his lower back where the knot of his leather apron was tied. He was ready to undo it if not for Hiori’s quick hands, which gripped his shoulders in a gesture that tried too hard to resemble taming a dog with anger issues.

"Calm down, calm down. There’s no need to fight," Hiori spoke up in a tone that tried to be soft, yet had that slight high-pitched edge linked to nervousness.

"Ah, endlich mal jemand, der sich auskennt,""Ah, finally someone who knows what they're doing," the German smiled, standing tall with that arrogance that drove Isagi up the wall. "Hiori, can you tell your partner he’s no good as a barista?"

"Your mother is the one who's fucking worthless," Isagi spat out with a malicious grin.

Silence.

And then...

"Du Arschloch!""You asshole!"

What happened next was a spectacle.

Hiori didn’t know who threw the first punch, or rather, the first splash. He only remembered the flash of white flying through the air and the dull thud of plastic hitting Kaiser’s chest. Isagi hadn’t just thrown the latte at him; he’d "served" it directly onto his shirt. Kaiser, far from freezing in place, snatched the cup from the tray and emptied its contents over Isagi’s head before he could even step away.

The result was a dairy-soaked mess, shouts in German, and a furious manager who didn’t hesitate to pass judgment.

Now, three hours after the "Closed" sign had been turned, Hiori was dragging the cloth across the tenth wooden table. The smell of sour milk and stale coffee had clung to his skin.

"Everything’s sticky, Isagi... even the chair legs have stains," Hiori sighed, pausing for a moment in front of the bucket of warm water that had already begun to resemble a worn-out pipe.

Isagi, for his part, was on his knees scrubbing the floor near the counter with such fury that it seemed he was picturing Kaiser’s face on every tile in the café. His hair was still damp and stiff from the sugar.

"I can’t believe Reo had to come and force me to clean even the windows, inside and out," he growled, plunging the brush into the bucket with force. "Every single trace."

Hiori glanced sideways at the dessert display case, where croissants had once been displayed and which now gleamed empty and cold under the fluorescent lights. His fingers ached from using the disinfectant sprayer so much.

"Next time you want to bathe a customer, let me know," Hiori retorted, resuming his work with resignation. "That way I’ll have time to finish my break before they turn us into cinderellas."

"It’s all Kaiser’s fault."

"It’s your fault for not controlling yourself."

Isagi lowered his gaze; however, that didn’t mean he had accepted defeat. He might have gone too far this time, but that blond guy had fully deserved his hatred, transformed into a bitter, unsweetened latte—exactly the way his boss liked it.

He’d been working here as a barista for two months after his dream of becoming an actor had been reduced to coffee beans and slices of cheesecake. According to the casting calls, he didn’t have the look of a guy cut out for stardom. He wasn’t a leading man, just a 22-year-old with dreams and aspirations much bigger than his stature.

Fuck them all.

His place was in front of the cameras, not behind a display case with artificial flower arrangements meant to look real and inviting.

Isagi
@egoist

Imagine being the best employee in the company and still being treated like this

11:14 PM · Apr 18, 2026

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3 Retweets    2 Quote Tweets    15 Likes

Barou @_king · 2m
Replying to @egoist

Finish your shift before complaining to the world, you damn donkey

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Hiori @cyan_hiori · 1m
Replying to @egoist

Isagi, please stop tweeting and help me with the windows... I want to go home 😭

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"Phones away." In front of him, Hiori curled his fingers toward his palm in an impatient wave, demanding the phone that Isagi was clutching warily to his chest.

He tried to resist, at least until Hiori snatched it in one swift movement, hitting him in the chest with the damp cloth.

Take Five at this hour would have been eerie if it weren’t for the streetlights lining the road and that small, 24-hour artisanal food shop.

He knew the couple, an elderly pair with deep wrinkles and hearts always warm to offer help or a plate of food. Isagi had grown to know that kindness over time; it was a comfort back when the closing shifts were endless or the mornings were too freezing before the first golf cart came into view, carrying an actor on the verge of rising to stardom.

Isagi imagined himself in one of them, wearing a pair of pathetically dark sunglasses and a designer coat draped over his shoulders, looking like a young actor discovered in broad daylight while working as a waiter.

But the fantasy was far from his reality.

That was how he had ended up here: in a coffee shop as a barista. It was true that he wasn’t nearly as good as Hiori or his weekend partner, Chigiri. But he held his own; he was a genius at adapting, and making a cappuccino with almond milk and refined sugar wasn't the hardest challenge. He was just one step away from mastering the art of freehand latte art without using a single toothpick.

"Ah, of all people, it had to be you."

He didn't look up.

"Are you listening to me?"

Nothing.

Isagi was too focused on, practically, not being focused. It wasn’t his fault; who the hell would think to talk to someone wearing headphones? It was stupid.

"Yoichi."

The headphones slid down, losing their grip in a slow, deliberate brush against the cold skin of his neck. The sudden silence was like a physical blow, deafening compared to the music that had isolated him from the world. Isagi felt a pang of pure irritation, a spark of violence rising at the base of his neck at the audacity of whoever dared to invade his bubble at this hour. Driven by inertia, he snapped his head up.

"What the hell do you want...?" Isagi froze.

It wasn’t because of the cold at these ends of the world, nor because of the wind violently tossing his hair. No, the answer lay in a pair of sharp, outlined eyes. Feline, dangerous, and far too attractive under the glow of the streetlamp above them.

He bit his tongue so hard it almost hissed.

"Do you usually have zero survival instinct?" Kaiser asked, but Isagi only snorted, snatching the headphones back from those hands, which were covered in gloves with woven leaf patterns. "You’ve got quick hands."

"Screw you."

"No, thanks. I’d rather be the one giving."

About ten minutes of deathly silence followed, so endless that Kaiser could see the tiny particles of that night's frost. He opened his mouth, trying to say something else, but the Japanese man beat him to it with a thunderous laugh that came from the very depths of his diaphragm.

"You, giving? For God’s sake, Kaiser. You haven’t even memorized the kind of slice Noa likes." The taunt was direct and aimed squarely at Kaiser’s jugular. With his hands tucked into his coat pockets, Kaiser shoved Isagi into the restaurant’s alleyway.

"Do you ever shut up?" he countered, muttering only a few feet away from Isagi. The mist of their breath dissipated in that narrow space.

"Are you never smart?"

Isagi’s insult hung between them, but Kaiser’s response wasn’t a sharp retort. Instead, the silence grew thick, almost physical. Under the yellowish light of the streetlamp, their gazes collided with a violence that had nothing to do with the incident from hours earlier. There was a dangerous challenge in Kaiser’s eyes, a silent "try me" that ignited something wild and unknown in Isagi’s chest.

The cold of the night ceased to exist; all that remained was the heat emanating from their bodies, an invisible gravity pulling them together. It was a stupid, urgent need that defied all logic. Isagi realized, with a fascinating terror, that he didn’t want to hit him; he wanted something else, something far worse.

"Asshole." he muttered, but there was something dangerously soft about the way the insult slid off his tongue.

Isagi didn’t wait for Kaiser to finish savoring his own arrogance. He lunged forward, not with the intention of humiliating him this time, but with the urgency of someone who had spent two months swallowing insults and the scent of fresh-baked bread.

"The asshole is someone else, Yoichi."

The impact was brutal. There was no slow build-up or background music; it was a collision of teeth and tongues that tasted of bitterness and the metallic chill of the night. Isagi shoved him with his shoulder against the brick wall of the alley, listening to the sharp thud of the worn coat against the rough surface.

Kaiser let out a muffled growl that was lost in Isagi’s mouth, but he didn’t back down. His hands, still in his pockets, shot out with feline speed to tangle in the collar of the apron Isagi was still wearing, pulling on it so hard that the leather creaked.

It was a fight disguised as a kiss.

Kaiser bit Isagi’s lower lip until a trace of blood emerged, which froze almost instantly. Yoichi responded by pulling at the blond hair with a clenched fist, forcing him to tilt his head back under the harsh light of the streetlamp. Their breaths mingled in disorderly, noisy clouds of steam, breaking the silence of the street.

Kaiser’s hands found a place on Isagi’s hips, pressing so hard that his knuckles turned white. It was an almost animalistic need to break him, to tear him apart in that spot where the light didn’t quite touch their faces. The alley was the right place, if only Isagi would beg him on his knees.

They pulled apart just a few millimeters, enough to see each other’s dilated pupils and moist, reddened lips.

“Do you always have to bite me?” Isagi gasped, still close to Kaiser’s hungry, needy mouth.

He could see the German’s blue eyes following the movement of his lips, like a hypnotized man who had been shown a pendulum for minutes on end.

“I never hear you complain, Yoichi." Kaiser murmured too close to his ear. A tingling sensation rose at the nape of his neck, descending down his spine with such intensity that he clenched his teeth to keep from letting out a gasp.

“Someday someone will see us.” Isagi’s warning was barely a whisper, a gust of air that dissolved against Kaiser’s jaw. It didn’t sound like real fear; it sounded like a wager.

“Does it scare you that they’ll see you sucking my cock?”

His throat went dry.

“Wasn’t it your dream to be an actor?” Kaiser’s long fingers reached for him again, sliding up his shoulders until his knuckles tangled in his dark hair.

In a single, downward, firm motion, he forced him to his knees.

The thud of his knees against the wet pavement produced a dull echo that seemed to seal his fate in that filthy alley. Isagi gasped, but the sound broke in his throat; it wasn’t physical pain that made him tremble, but the sickening pleasure of being subdued in this humiliating way. To be reduced, dismantled, and exposed like a mere toy for Kaiser’s whim.

"Lass mich das Spektakel aus erster Reihe miterleben, Yoichi.""Let me witness the spectacle from the front row, Yoichi."

Kaiser's shadow covered him completely as the blue gleam in his eyes bordered on the vulgar and primal.

And on a wall not far from there, Hiori heard it all.

As soon as the zipper went down.