Journey to the Center of the Coffee Shop

Youji’s key was in the pocket of the pants he’d worn yesterday, currently drying at Isao’s apartment…

***

It took a while to locate the coffee shop again, not only because of how tiny it was, but because of its name: FRIED TACO SUSHI (GUITARS!!!!). Yet it was a coffee shop. It smelled like such. Besides, a crack had formed where Isao’s skull landed yesterday.

When Youji walked in, the girl that’d come to help after Isao passed out showed up again. The only costumers were a woman drinking tea and some schoolgirl bent over worksheets at the corner. Which was probably why. “Kiryuuin told me you’d come,” she greeted.

Youji nodded. The background music made the shop’s name slightly less nonsensical. Lots of guitars. Too many. He’d borrowed this suit from a neighbor, so it was a bit tight. With his luck, if he breathed to deeply, he’d tear it. “Is the boss here?” He asked.

“Yeah. That’s why the music sucks right now. Come on, he’s waiting at the break room.”

He’d grown used to distorted screams and the like due to his neighbor, thankfully…? At the break room, a lanky man with a top hat and dark skin leaned back against the chair Youji had sit upon yesterday. It’d creaked quite a bit. He braced himself for it possibly breaking. “Hi hi,” said the man, smiling. “You must be Kentaro.”

The girl from yesterday burst out giggling. Same. Where was Isao, anyway? He’d said he had a shift today. That he’d be here to help. That he’d do his best. He hadn’t even given his boss the right name. “Natsume Youji,” He corrected. “Pleased to meet you.”

It’d been silly to assume he had cheered Isao up with the omelet rice. He had laughed, though…

Oh, well.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Yoshi! Sit down, sit down. You can call me Clarence. So! Tell me about yourself.”

He sat. Isao had also asked if Youji hated him, so there was that. It could be one of those things where you shifted your feelings on somebody else to avoid confronting them. There ought to be a name for that. Before this kept getting worse, Youji took the executive decision and thus, replied in English: “I’m not a professional, but I’ve worked in kitchens before for years. Here is my, uh…” How did you say resume again? “…job paper.”

The girl from yesterday stayed there for some reason. Clarence didn’t take the job paper. Instead, he noted, in the same language: “You speak English!” As though this weren’t an observational fact already. “Where did you learn?”

“…school?”

“Did you go to school overseas? I also noticed your Japanese is different.”

“No. That's just because I'm not from Kansai.”

Mr…? Clarence folded the resume. What. While he made a paper boat, he continued, “I’ve talked with plenty of people that know English around these parts, but it’s usually not tas good. You can understand me, right? Yes, okay. I speak fast when I get excited, but I’m trying not to. That’s pretty cool. You’re not with the yakuza or anything, right? No, okay. Just making sure. Now, this is the most important question I ask to all candidates: what’s your favorite band?”

Discreetly, Youji glanced around for any stray CD he could read, any logo, anything that could resemble a title on the song blasting from the speakers; he couldn’t understand that English, however.

“That’s fine,” said Mr. Clarence. “You’ll learn about culture here. Do you have a pen? Hey, Ootsuki-chan. Pen?” The girl—Ootsuki—handed him one. It’s almost as though she expected this. Mr. Clarence wrote on Youji’s-resume-turned-paper-boat, then slid it over to him. “Here. If you listen to those albums once you’re at home, then you can start tomorrow. Or today, if you want. Since—”

Somebody burst through the door.

“—Kiryuuin isn’t… never mind, he’s here. Mind telling me what happened?”

Isao said: “I’m sorry I’m really sorry my kitchen caught fire I can show you the records someone called the police but it’s okay nothing happened nobody died I just tried to cook lunch it won’t happen a… again. H-hi.”

“Hi,” said Youji.

“Bye.” Isao then left the room. He’d avoided looking at Youji the whole way through.

Mr. Clarence gestured at the door. “Well, that’s Kiryuuin Isao for you. This is Ootsuki Rima. There’s another girl, but she tends to take shifts at night. That’s it. If you could also take shifts at night that’d be great. Yes? Amazing. See you tomorrow at four.”

“Uh. Thank you.”

“What’s up? Do you have schedule issues? Because that's when the shop opens."

“No, no, I'm fine. Looking forward to it. Really.” Weird. Maybe he had another job.

“Really...” Mr. Clarence rubbed his chin. In Japanese now, he said, “You look sad, Mr. Kentaro. I mean, Yoshi.”

Did he think Natsume was Youji’s given name or something? Not that it mattered right now. Youji stood up, shaking his head. “I’m fine, I promise. Thank you. It’s great to have been, uh. Accepted. Thank you.”

“It’s empty right now, so you can take a seat outside. Kiryuuin will get you some coffee. Would that help?”

Youji opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded. Mr. Clarence didn’t seem like a no type of guy. Someone else might have just told Youji to fuck off if he didn’t appreciate the opportunity.

He did.

He really did.

It just didn’t feel like ‘he really did’. Youji took a seat where he wouldn’t scare anyone off (hopefully). The woman had left, so now the only real costumer was the schoolgirl. Youji toyed with a figurine he presumed to be decoration until somebody placed a cup of coffee before him.

“Isao.”

He still couldn’t get over how he’d correctly guessed Kiryuuin Isao’s name the first time yet had forgotten it later. Youji didn’t look at him. “Y—”

“I—oh. Sorry. Continue.”

“Um. No. It’s fine. You continue. Please.”

“Can you sit?”

Isao did. A bit of his hair at the side of his head had been charred and he probably hadn’t noticed.

“I know your full name now, so I guess I’ll call you Kiryuuin.”

“Okay.”

Youji had, too, wrongly assumed that he’d celebrate with Isa—Kiryuuin if things were to pass. It’d been the laugh. It’d been the way Isao’s face lit up when he first saw the omelet rice.

If he hadn’t admitted to forgetting last night, then maybe Kiryuuin wouldn’t dislike him now. Maybe?

It’d be awkward to work in the same place, that was for sure.

It wasn’t like he could quit, though.

“Isao is fine.”

He looked at Isao.

Isao looked at him. “If, um. If you want. To call me that.”

“I—”

“Do you hate me?”

“No,” he replied. “I can call you Isao if you want, but. Are you sure? You can call me Youji too.”

“Yes pl—” He cleared his throat. Again, without thinking, Youji smiled. He bit it back lest Isao interpret it in the worst way possible, as he often seemed to do. “I mean… I’m sure. Yeah. Also, I. Um. I know I made you uncomfortable. Earlier. I’m sorry about that. I won’t do it again. Really. Usually when I scare people off I just never talk to them again because. Because it seems pointless to try, but…”

“But…?”

“But... um. The coffee’s getting cold. Which reminds me.”

Youji took a sip. It was nice. Hearing Isao say that warmed him up more than the drink—more than getting a job. They didn’t even know each other, though. It was okay if he pretended it didn't matter.

Isao waited for him to put the beverage down to continue. “One, I brought your clothes. They're not wet anymore, obviously, so that's why I brought them. Also, they're clean. Two, you told me you didn’t ‘know about that stuff’ but you used my fancy coffee machine and you got a job here, so you lied. Why did you lie? Also, did you really learn school like that in E—learn English in… ugh.” He covered his face with his hands.

“…well.” Youji had no excuse for the coffee thing, but maybe Isao would forget if he obviated this. “I watch a lot of movies. That’s how I learned.”

“Lies.”

“I’m serious. I could show you my Blu-ray collection sometime. Most of it is in English.”

Slowly, Isao lowered his hands. How he didn’t worry about staining his glasses would forever stay a mystery. He asked: “Can I call you Youji?”

“I just s—nevermind. Sure."

“It's just that you’re ‘Natsume Youji’ in my head.”

“The whole thing? Why?”

“Because that’s your name?”

They didn’t even know each other. Not really. Why, then, did he think that was a very Isao thing to say? “Well,” Natsume Youji said, “I’m that we cleared that up.”

Isao nodded. Tentatively, he smiled. It wouldn’t last for long—if at all—but it existed at the moment, and that’s what mattered. “So, um. Welcome to the, um. To the coffee shop. I’d say the name but I can’t pronounce it.”

“Don’t blame you. I thought it was a joke at first.”

“I did too. So. Will you start tomorrow?”

“Yeah. What's wrong, by the way? Is there something on the suit?” Isao kept looking at it. Youji did, too, but he couldn't find anything of note.

”No. No? Just. Tight.”

”It's not mine. Does it look bad or something?”

”No. Just tight.”

“Like I said—”

“Oh look a client walked in I have to mop the table I mean clean I mean drink but not the floor I mean... bye.”

”Bye,” said Youji.

Despite—or because—of everything, it felt more like a hello.