Chapter Text
“Table 12 needs their drinks order taken!”
The kitchen is so packed full of people, both servers and kitchen staff, that you can barely hear Ijichi’s instructions being shouted over all the noise. Unfortunately for you, however, you catch the last part of his sentence and tilt your head up on instinct to see who’s speaking; once he sees that he’s caught your attention, he marches over so as to speak with you one-on-one.
You groan internally. As managers go, Ijichi is definitely not the worst - that title is reserved for Naoya, the bitter and abrasive boss of the breakfast shifts - but you know that whenever he makes his way into the kitchen, it means that the floor of the restaurant has become unbearably busy. And when the floor gets busy, it means you have to pick up extra tables no matter how full your hands are (... quite literally, you think to yourself, as you try to balance three plates on both arms).
“What’s up, Ijichi?” you inquire, politely as you can. The plates are hot and so you start to make your way out of the kitchen to your table, but Ijichi follows you, speaking as you walk.
“I need you to pick up Table 12. They made a reservation, so we can’t keep them waiting much longer.”
“Can’t Gojo do it?” you sigh, pushing open the swing doors with your hip. The chaotic sounds of the kitchen are replaced by the soft medley of the patrons’ conversations and easy-listening piano music, and you put on your best ‘customer service’ smile. Ijichi holds the door for you despite your snark, and follows you out to the main floor of the restaurant to make sure you don’t try and lose him amongst the hustle and bustle.
“Gojo’s helping Riko on the bar. The drinks orders are coming in faster than she can handle, so he’s taking the rest of the night to help her on prep and restock.”
“Or Utahime-”
“Utahime’s picked up Table 20, plus she probably shouldn’t even be here in the first place. She’s got a cold … allergies or something.”
You bite your cheek to suppress another sigh, conscious of the fact that you’re now within sight of your tables.
“Fine,” you concede. “But any more tables, and I’m gonna start mixing up appetisers.”
“Fair enough,” Ijichi quickly agrees, clearly relieved at your agreement. “And thank you. I would hop in and start serving myself, but the owner called earlier to say he’s stopping by, so I need to be ready for him to get here.”
Your eyes glance over to the table on the further left-hand side of the room, with its pristine and shiny ‘reserved’ sign on full display. The best table in the house considering it has a gorgeous view of the city from the window beside it, not to mention that it's far away enough from the kitchen and the bathrooms that it’s pretty much undisturbed.
That table is usually reserved for VIPs, and tonight, it is set for five people; the owner and his guests, you assume.
“No worries, Ijichi,” you say, more warmly this time. The pressure of a visit from the owner is weighing on all of you, and you don’t want to make this evening worse for anyone. “I’ll take their order right after this.”
Once Ijichi has thanked you yet again and you’ve set down the many plates in front of your original table, you spin around to take Table 12’s order.
One silver lining of the delays in service this evening is that the customers have both their food and drinks orders ready (not without a few complaints, however), and so you can head straight back to the counter to ring it in. You run your hands over your outfit of a black blouse and slacks to get rid of any creases that have formed since the rush began, then step inside the kitchen to help out where you can.
“Hey!” Utahime calls out to you from the salad station. Her voice is a little muffled, and you soon see what Ijichi was talking about when he mentioned that she was feeling sick. She makes her way across the kitchen to join you. “Fuckin’ crazy out there, isn’t it?”
You nod as you walk over to meet her halfway, pouring yourself a glass of water and gulping it down with the few seconds you have spare. “ Ridiculous. Haven’t had this many tables since Valentine’s Day.”
“At least we’ll have a certain someone visiting later,” Utahime says with a smirk, before wrinkling her nose to suppress a sneeze. “I know you’re looking forward to that, anyway.”
She’s referring to the owner of the restaurant - you know without a doubt she’s referring to him, unfortunately, because you made the very grave error of admitting to Utahime that you found him attractive at the staff party last December. It was a passing comment after a few too many shots of Sambuca, but Utahime somehow remembered the confession clear as day. Thankfully, she’s kept it between the two of you, but still takes the opportunity to make fun of you for it any chance she gets.
You don’t even know him that well, really, so it’s even not worth all this trouble. All things considered, you can probably count on one hand the total information you know about him: Nanami Kento inherited the restaurant from his father ten years ago, he’s somewhere between thirty and forty years old, he wears a lot of suits, and Ijichi always bursts a blood vessel when he comes to visit.
The last one probably doesn’t even count since it’s not technically about Nanami himself.
Still, he was attractive - is attractive, and seems to get more good-looking every time you see him - and so as long as you keep your head down and work away quietly, you’ll hopefully be able to catch a few glimpses of him this evening.
God, maybe Utahime’s right. You are like a schoolgirl with a crush.
You can’t be too harsh on yourself, though; this shift is so busy, you have scarcely anything else to look forward to.
You’re snapped out of your reverie by the sound of Utahime sneezing into her elbow, which prompts the chefs to shoot her a glare even though she’d since moved away from the food prep area.
“You really shouldn’t be here with that cold, y’know,” you comment. “Even by the sinks or in storage. Head chef looks like he’s about to kill you.”
“I know,” she answers miserably. “Which is why Ijichi just told me to go home.”
She looks at you with guilt written all over her face, but you can’t resent her for it. She definitely could have - no, should have - just called in sick, and her being here in this state isn’t doing anybody any favours. You give her a warm smile just as one of the chefs calls out another order for you to drop out.
“Ijichi’s right, you know ,” you point out as you lift the plates. “You’re sick. I know you’re supposed to be on lock-up, but I’m happy to do it,” you say, cursing your conscience as you do so, “I could use the extra hours anyway.”
Which isn’t exactly a lie. Grad school means your funds are tight, and the two hours of overtime you’d get from closing up tonight would allow you to buy the brand of ground coffee you usually only treat yourself to on your birthday.
“You sure?”
“Certain,” you call out over your shoulder as you head out to the floor again. “Get well soon!”
The next fifteen minutes are spent running back and forth from the floor to the kitchen, dodging toddlers that are too distracted by their iPads to see where they’re walking, and trying to get Ijichi to spare a minute so he can help you with the crappy old credit card machine.
The only thing to catch your attention is the arrival of the owner at just after eight p.m. He walks into the restaurant with the sort of quiet confidence you’ve grown to expect from him, gives you a polite nod and heads to the table on the left; he doesn’t need to be shown to his seat, clearly, as he himself guides his guests to their chairs. He’s accompanied by two women and two young children, a boy and a girl, who all seem happy to be there. The two kids, in particular, look around the place excitedly as if they’d never been here before, both shooting you a big grin when you offer them a colouring book and crayons as you take their order.
Once all of their orders have been placed (Nanami had been straight-forward but polite when delivering his order of a Caesar salad and pasta puttanesca, giving you another quick nod and a half-smile as he spoke with you), you manage to take a second to grab a coffee to fuel the next few hours of your shift. You head over to Gojo who also seems to be taking a breather, a cloth tossed over his shoulder like he’s trying to be a bartender from the movies.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Ijichi’s not gonna keep you on the bar forever,” you quip as you accept the steaming cup of black coffee from him.
“He might,” Gojo retorts with a grin. “And I hope he does, too. Tips are better.”
“Sure,” you agree with more than a little scepticism.
“Better than the assholes you’ve been serving tonight, anyway. Did the couple from earlier even tip?”
You shake your head as you sip your coffee and rest your elbows against the bar, trying to not look over your shoulder at Nanami’s table.
“Plus, you got landed with the boss’ table,” Gojo says then, as if reading your mind. “Don’t envy you on that one.”
“He’s not so bad,” you answer, and you mean it, too; you don’t want to be as over-enthusiastic about your impression of Nanami as you were with Utahime, but he’s definitely not the worst customer you’ve had today- he hasn’t sent back three gin & tonics with the complaint that there were ‘too many botanicals’, unlike Table 12.
You chat with Gojo for the next few minutes, discussing how strangely busy it is and how you’re thankful Ijichi hasn’t called Naoya in to handle the rush - that happened once before, and you still shudder at the thought - before asking about Nanami again, subtly as you can.
“So who are those people at his table, anyway? Have we seen them before?”
Gojo shrugs. “His kids, I guess? Maybe his wife and a friend, I dunno - you should be the one to know, you’re serving them.”
“Somehow, we haven’t had much time to chat, so haven’t got those details yet,” you say, gesturing to the busy floor around you. Knocking back the last of your coffee, you get ready to resume working. “And speaking of, I’d better head back out. Ijichi’ll start crying if we don’t get everyone out of here by eleven.”
“Have fun!” Gojo calls out, a bit too loudly. “I’ll miss you from over here in the big leagues!”
You roll your eyes as you head back inside the kitchen, hoping you won’t have to make too much conversation with Nanami in front of his … guests? Family? Wife and kids? You don’t really want to think too much about it, so you launch yourself into your work.
You spend the rest of the shift on autopilot; taking orders, delivering plates to customers, smiling and laughing at all the cheesy jokes from your tables. The only benefit to a dinner rush is that time flies by, and it isn’t too long before you’ve closed out the last table’s bill. You hadn’t been the one to finish serving Nanami’s table, having taken your well-earned fifteen-minute break drinking coffee with Gojo, but you assume he’s headed home like the rest of the diners.
Gojo clocks out shortly after the front door closes to customers, slapping you on the shoulder and making some annoying comment about sharing his riches with you when this is all over. You brush him off and snap at him (albeit fondly), before seeing the rest of the kitchen staff start to pack up and leave.
Your coworkers seem to have taken some pity on you and cleared up most of the kitchen, leaving only the front-of-house clear-up for you to take care of. Cleaning the floors, wiping down tables, polishing silverware, and sorting out the credit card machines for tomorrow … should take ninety minutes, maybe two hours tops. Not nearly as awful as it could be, given the circumstances.
You get to work again, leaving the floors for last since it’s your least favourite task. You turn off the piano music and switch to a playlist of your own; probably a silly move considering you haven’t checked to see if anyone’s left in the building - Ijichi might be out back doing inventory - but you figure that after the evening you’ve had, nobody can begrudge you the chance to play your own music.
You work away diligently, humming to yourself as you make your way through task after task, until it’s finally time to mop the floors. Summoning the last sheds of your motivation, you pick up the mop bucket and add some floor cleaner, mixing it in with hot water. Dragging the bucket out to the restaurant you start cleaning the wooden floorboards, lost in your thoughts until someone calls out to you.
At first, you think you’ve just misheard some of the music, but when the person repeats themselves, you know for sure that someone is speaking to you specifically.
And it’s not Ijichi.
“You’re here late.”
The voice that calls out to you from the back office is deep, authoritative, and matter-of-fact; since the rest of the kitchen staff packed up over an hour ago, you are fairly certain you know who’s speaking to you.
Coincidentally, it happens to be the very last person that you want seeing you after a ten-hour shift - with your face sweaty and hair in disarray from being stuck on floor-cleaning duty, you’d much rather slip away unnoticed.
Still, you owe it to Ijichi to keep the owner happy. Your overworked and underpaid manager has done you enough favours over the years - allowing you to swap shifts last minute, or letting you head home early when it’s quiet and you’re sick of hearing Naoya’s grumblings - so the least you can do for him is exchange a few polite words with his boss.
Nanami didn’t strike you as the chattiest of men, anyway; it’s likely he’s just making small talk out of obligation. You can’t imagine he has much interest in what time you clock out as long as the work gets done.
Just force smile for five minutes, empty the mop bucket, turn on the security alarm, and then you’re done for the evening. Easy.
Plus, as Utahime so constantly teases you about, you definitely don’t think he’s too bad to look at. How awkward could it be to chat with him?
“Yeah, just finishing the floors,” you call back to him cordially. “Utahime had to head home a little early - she’s got the flu, or something - and it was so busy this evening that we didn’t get much chance to do it til now. If you're in a rush, I won’t be long - just another minute or two!”
“Not in a rush,” he replies. You spin around when you realise his voice is considerably closer than before, and find him standing by the kitchen door, surveying the now-empty restaurant. “Just checking to see if you were alright."
“All good,” you say, still smiling in spite of your exhaustion. You go back to your task, trying to wrap things up as soon as possible.
It’s pretty hard to focus with him looking, though. He’s not looking at you specifically, but still; heat travels up your neck despite your best efforts, and you find yourself mopping the same spot four or five times over in your distraction.
Not your preferred reaction, but at least Utahime - or worse, Gojo - isn’t here to see it.
“It’s funny seeing it so quiet,” he comments after a moment of silence. “After the rush this evening I thought this damn place would never be empty.”
“You don’t come by that often?” you ask, though you know the answer.
“No,” he answers politely, clearly aware that his dislike for the place is well-known. “Don’t make it down too much, but that’ll be changing soon.”
From the way he finished the sentence, you’d assume there’s more information there, but you don’t ask any follow-up questions. This is the longest time that the two of you have spoken one-on-one, so he’s probably not too eager to have a deep, personal conversation with a server whose name he probably still doesn’t know.
As if on cue, you’re snapped out of that train of thought by Nanami calling your name, clearly trying to catch your attention.
“I’m sorry?” you ask, a little embarrassed at having zoned out so much.
“I was just asking if you have plans this evening? I don’t want to keep you too long if you have somewhere to be.”
You shake your head as you wring out the mop for the final time, picking up the bucket to bring it back into the kitchen to empty.
“Nope, just heading straight home.”
His brow quirks up so slightly that you nearly miss it, but his face turns impassive once again almost immediately.
“No heading out with roommates, or a boyfriend, or something?”
When you shake your head no once again, he chuckles softly - a low, pleasant sound that makes your breath catch in your throat.
“You sound like me,” he notes. “Nothing going on either these days, except for this place.”
You’re not entirely sure why, but your skin feels hot, hot all over, and when you pass him to bring the bucket to the kitchen, you make the mistake of looking up directly at his face.
He looks down at you, his handsome face difficult to read as you try and slip by him to get into the kitchen.
He’s not deliberately trying to block your way, but he moves a bit too late, and you (very, very unintentionally) find yourself pressed up against him as you try to manoeuvre with the bucket.
Turns out, things could get very awkward.
You let out a gasp as you feel the planes of his chest press against you, but it’s just Nanami trying to move out the doorway to give you some room. He’s large - taller and broader than you had imagined, which explains why you couldn’t just slip past him - and you can’t help but take a second to take him in. Somehow, through the awkwardness and discomfort of bumping into him, the thought that’s taking up most of your mind is that Nanami smells amazing; something like sandalwood, earthy, warm and rich. It takes over the space in a way that’s enticing but not overbearing.
But once the novelty fades and you start to remember your situation, it becomes very dire; you’re here, essentially trapping your boss in a doorway with a bucket and mop, and you just gasped while looking up at him.
You regret your gasp as soon as it leaves your lips, but hope that it can be interpreted as surprise at having nearly hit him on the shoulder with the mop handle as you try to make your way through.
Professional as always, Nanami makes no comment on it once you’ve moved past him. He clears his throat a little and smooths his jacket, but holds out his hand to signal you to move inside ahead of him. He takes hold of the mop to help you bring it out back to empty it.
You make it out back to the supply closet before either of you says another word.
“So, how long have you been working here?” Nanami asks as the two of you clear out the bucket and organise the cleaning supplies for tomorrow. “I should probably know that, but … haven’t had too much of a presence around here the past few years, as you know.”
He sounds a little bashful, but you’re too preoccupied with the fact that he’s helping you clean up to take much notice of him not knowing the ins and outs of your employment history.
“Three years, on and off,” you answer steadily, hoping it’s clear that you’re not offended. You store away the mop and seal the cupboard, before heading back to the bar to give one last wipe of the surfaces. Naoya is opening tomorrow, and the last thing you need is another snide comment in the groupchat about ‘half-assed closing shifts’. Nanami trails behind you slightly so as to avoid another awkward run-in, but he seems genuinely interested in what you have to say. “Started working here in undergrad, then I took a little time off after graduation. Came back last year when I registered for grad school.”
“So you escaped this place for a bit?” he jokes with a soft smile. “I hope it was as nice as it sounds.”
“You really don’t like it here?” you ask as you pick up the cloth to wipe the surface down. The pitch of your voice conveys that you’re mostly joking, but part of you is very curious as to where his animosity for this place is coming from. Sure, it has its flaws like any part-time job, but as the hospitality industry goes, it’s one of the better places in town. There must be something going on behind the scenes that you’re unaware of.
His brow furrows slightly at that, but not out of anger; instead, he seems to be thinking of his answer. When he finally speaks, he surprises you yet again.
“Really, I love it here.”
Seeing the shock on your face, he hastily clarifies.
“Although I should say loved, past tense. Before I inherited this place, I used to work here - not as management, not as the owner, but actually worked here.”
“As what?” you inquire. Part of you should feel strange about making such casual conversation with the man who is technically your boss, but you don’t; he’s far easier to talk to than you anticipated.
He smiles at your question; it’s obviously a source of nostalgia for him. “A chef.”
“And you preferred that?”
He nods. “Much.”
“So, why did you quit?”
Again, a strangely personal question for you to ask, but he doesn’t mind. He answers it without hesitation.
You didn’t notice exactly when he did this, but only now do you pick up on the fact that he has picked up a cloth of his own and is cleaning the other side of the bar.
“I didn’t quit. I got … promoted, you could say. To this,” he gestures to his suit, drawling out the last word to show his distaste for it. “My dad retired and passed the place onto me, and it didn’t take long for me to realise how utterly … boring all of this management stuff is.”
“Boring?”
“ Boring, yes,” he repeats, still smiling even though this situation is weighing on him heavily. “Every morning, afternoon, and night, it’s all the same; money, budgets, placing orders, and so on. A whole other ball game than what I thought I knew about the restaurant industry. I used to like the creativity of being a chef, the ability to make something different every night and seeing how people enjoyed it. Not like this.”
You finish your side of the counter and move to walk around to the other side of the bar to wring out your cloth, but Nanami beats you to it, gently taking it from your hand to go wash it for you. You blink at him, unsure of what to say.
You settle on a quick “thanks”.
“No problem,” he answers as he starts to clean his own, “you’ve had a rough shift, it’s the least I can do. Consider it thanks for putting up with my complaining. You’ve had it worse today alone, I should be grateful I didn’t have to put up with those entitled shits at Table 12.”
You laugh at that - partly from surprise at how forthright he is considering his role, and partly from relief at someone else knowing what you went through this evening - and he chuckles too, having been witness to the chaos first-hand.
“I hope the rest of your table didn’t mind the scene,” you say, embarrassment sinking in as you hope and pray that it’s not too overfamiliar for you to bring up his guests.
“My sisters?” he asks, and you manage to nod in spite of your surprise. “No, they were too busy trying to keep my niece and nephew from tearing the place down. They’re … enthusiastic, as I’m sure you saw.”
Huh. Not his wife and kids, then. You’re not exactly sure how that piece of information makes you feel, but you’re sure that if Utahime were here, she’d make fun of you for it.
“And how about you?” he inquires then. “How do you find things here?”
You finally return his polite smile with a grin of your own. “Are you asking as my boss, or are you just asking?”
“Will your answer change either way?”
You pause for a moment. “Not really. Just curious.”
“I guess I’m just asking, then,” he smiles. “No judgement here.”
You’re not sure when the distance between you closed, but you’re only an arms length away from him now - him at the sink, you leaning on the other side of the counter. He’s still intimidating up close, but in a different way than he was before; it’s not his authority that commands your attention, it’s something you can’t quite place.
“It’s good,” you answer sincerely. “Decent hours, fun people, and Ijichi is always fair when we have to ask him a favour.”
“Is there a ‘but’ to that statement?”
“It’s just tricky sometimes, I guess,” you admit. “Balancing work and classes. Nothing I can’t handle.”
He’s stopped his cleaning now, looking directly at you from his side of the bar. “And do you like what you study?”
“Yeah, I guess,” you say. A pause follows, Nanami still looking at you, before you correct yourself with a firmer, “no, I really do. I love it, actually.”
“Then that should take priority over work,” he says, as if it’s the most straightforward thing in the world. “If it ever gets too difficult to balance the two, come talk with me - I’ll sort something out.”
Not for the first time today, you’re stuck for words. He’s somehow exactly how you pictured him, yet at the same time completely different; he carries himself confidently and has the air of responsibility he’s well-known for, but there’s also something brewing underneath the surface that you hadn’t anticipated. He seems to resent the authority that he’s been given, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s enjoying this conversation with you - a normal, no-frills conversation between people who work together - more than he’s enjoyed any of the events held at the restaurant the past few months.
Amongst all of this overthinking, you forget to thank him - something you regret later on. It’s Nanami who speaks next, cutting through the silence with his distinctive voice.
“It’s getting late, I’ve kept you here long enough. You should head home - the place is as clean as it’s ever going to get, I’d say.”
You slide your elbows up off the bar and straighten up, stretching out your shoulder to shake off some imagined ache.
“Ok, will do,” you say, finally speaking up as you pace around to the back. “I just need to grab my stuff out the back and I’ll lock the side door.”
“Have a good night,” he tells you after saying your name, and you decide that you like the way he says it. “Thanks for your work today.”
“Goodnight,” you reply, coolly as you can. “I’ll see you around!”
As you leave to lock up, throwing your bag over your shoulder, your mind is racing. Save for a few chats with Utahime and one drunken venting session with Gojo, that was one of the more profound conversations you’d had with someone at the restaurant. Usually, when people ask what you do outside of work, they’re either being polite but don’t actually care, or they’re too busy to stick around for the answer.
It’s strange to fall into a rhythm like that so easily.
You arrive at your car, sit inside, and place your hands on the steering wheel. You don’t drive away for a few minutes, though; instead choosing to sit and repeat parts of the conversation over in your head until you’ve recapped the whole thing.
Well, shit, you whisper internally as you move to reverse out of the parking lot, this had better not become a problem.