You stood behind the counter, arms leaning forwards against the granite. The little cafe you worked at was stranded today, only regulars coming and going. You were waiting for your favorite regular to make his evening visit, his usual already made for him: a small hot chamomile tea with extra honey. You watched the steam pool its way out of the top of the lid, wishing he'd come soon so that it stayed warm to his liking.
As if on cue, the cafe door jingled as it opened, your head shooting up in anticipation as Inumaki stepped inside. You knew very little about him, but enjoyed his presence as he often chatted with you through the notes app of his phone, sipping his tea as comfortable silence enveloped you both.
This time around, you had prepared another thing for him besides the premade tea sitting on the counter beside you. You waved at him as he walked in, eyes lighting up with a smile when you made eye contact. Hands shaking, your hands moved nervously in sign language.
"Your tea is here," you signed, before sliding the still warm cup towards him. His eyes widened, pausing for a moment as he took in the gesture, a soft smiling taking over his features.
"Thank you," he signed back, grabbing his tea and holding it with both his hands.
You smiled back, a blush taking over your features. "I don't know much yet, but I'll learn more."
Inumaki chuckled softly, resting his body on the counter separating you. He pulled out his phone, signing along with his written message to aid in your learning.
You really don't have too, I'm just a customer
"Maybe so, but you're my favorite customer," you responded shyly, signing out "my favorite."
Inumaki hummed in response, tilting his head to the side as he looked at you for a moment before typing out his response and signing beside it.
Well, I guess I'll allow it as your favorite
"Good," you responded satisfactorily, as Inumaki pulled out his wallet to pay for his tea, "And you don't have to worry about that either."
Inumaki raised his eyebrows at you questionably. You assured him again that it was fine, but he stilled pulled out a few dollars, scribbling something down on one of them before putting it in your tip jar. He looked up at you again with a small smile as he got up to leave, waving goodbye.
You waved back as the jingle of the doors signified his exit.
Once you were sure he was gone, you pulled the dollar out of the jar, grinning at the sight of his number inked across the bill.
---
Inumaki knew he could never know you. He knew better than to involve you in the dangers of his life, but there were moments of weakness where he lost himself in thoughts of you. You were just so nice: the way you had a different hair clip to keep your hair up everytime he visited, the way you fidgeted with your hands as you awaited his responses, and the way you meticulously prepared his favorite tea that soothed his throat after missions—all of it occupied his mind more than he knew it should.
So, when he got his first text from you, he decided to ignore the dangers of his life for a little, and just savor your presence. You had sent him a picture of the dollar he left you, a little smiley face sent with it.
Inumaki: i wonder how that got there 🤔
You: lol yknow, I actually don't know your name
Inumaki: hmm, well they say im a man of few words. Inumaki :)
The messages flowed throughout the night, unveiling snippets of each other's lives. You had learned he went to a private school in the mountains, and that he had a small group of friends that he trained Jiu Jitsu with after classes. He gushed about them, happy that he had people who cared to put in the effort to understand him. You told him about your own aspirations and goals, why you were working so diligently to make the money to pursue them. You found that you both enjoyed the same shows and movies, and gave each other recommendations for ones to watch in the future. You eventually fell asleep watching the bubbles of his next message, waking up disappointed that you had ended the conversation. However, you smiled when you saw that he sent a goodnight text a few minutes after his response, when he realized you had fallen asleep.
The texting had continued for a few weeks, coupled with his visits during every evening shift that you worked. You had noticed it for as long as you knew him, but now felt more comfortable asking about the new injuries he always adorned each week. This week, he had taped hands that you noticed when he wrapped his fingers around his steaming tea. You absentmindedly reached out to brush your own hand against the covered injury.
"What happened here?" you asked curiously.
Inumaki shook his head in response, signing out Jiu jitsu. He took your hand, placing it back on the counter lightly, his hand hovering there for a moment to assure you it was nothing. You blushed from the contact, but nodded understandably. He had told you about his after school martial arts training, so the explanation eased your concerns.
What you hadn't noticed was that the contact made Inumaki blush as well, and the reluctance to pull his hand away was more for a selfish desire than an empathetic one. You wore a yellow claw in your hair in the shape of a butterfly, which was one of the first things he noticed upon walking in today. You wore a lot of different clips, but you wore this one most often. It matched the yellow lettering on your uniform apron.
Inumaki wondered for a while what it would mean for him if he had tried to explain the truth to you, so he could take you to meet his friends, and so they could meet you; so he could keep seeing you without lying every time, without having to cover up his injuries and his occasional disappearances. But alas, it was better this way for you, so he would have to make do.
Retrieving himself from his daze that was you, he pulled out a dollar from his pocket. You never let him pay for his tea anymore, so the least he could do was leave you with a tip. He made it a habit to write something or draw something on every tip he gave you. You kept all the bills though, never spending a single one of them, including the one with his number scribbled across. You liked to look at the silly one liners he wrote, or the little cartoon figures he'd doodle. Today, he had written something across the whole bill and slid it directly towards you instead of into your jar.
Go on a date with me?
You looked down at the bill and then back up at him, who was peering into your eyes in anticipation, but all you could do was look down at the bill again, nodding excitedly with a grin.
"Saturday?" he signed, smiling now himself.
"Perfect."
