Monotonous | Nanami Kento x Reader

3 | Y/N | On The House

A frown decorates your lips as the delicate crown of the pastry caved in from under the lightest pressure of your finger. The almost burning heat was nothing compared to your frustration that replaced your anticipation. How many times had you reached this same outcome no matter what you did? It was indeed irritating.

"That wasn't supposed to happen." You murmur in a huff.

You finally recoiled your hand, rubbing it against your apron to ease the hot sensation. You couldn't deny the irritation you felt, like no matter how hard you tried, you were always going to fail.

A passing by coworker leaned over your shoulder, giving you a teasing smile as they examined your work. "Give it some time, Y/N. Practice makes perfect. Believe it or not, I wasn't always the best like I am today."

"I know, I know, Shiori." You groan, rolling your eyes. "I'm just disappointed."

"Well, don't be too disappointed. Opening hours start soon."

A deep sigh escapes you as you go over to the sink. The warm water washes over your hands as you lather and scrub, making sure there would be no risk of cross-contamination. As you dried them on rough paper towels, you cast a glance back onto the tray of still warm macarons.

To your surprise, Shiori took one of the bases, and despite the failed rising of the top, she took a bite, letting the almond taste settle in.

"Mm, not bad. It's just the appearance that needs some work." 

Your eyes sparkled. There was still some hope after all. "Really?"

The older woman chuckled at your expression, akin to that of a child who found out their ice-cream ban had been lifted. "You're too hard on yourself. I'm sure my kids would love this. Mind if I take a couple home?"

"Of course not, take as many as you want!"

Shiori couldn't resist laughing at your giddy expression. "I'm serious, Y/N. Keep trying, and I'm sure you'll nail those macarons."

"I hope." You return her smile, then tease, "Maybe I'll be as good as you one day." 

"Heh, my ambitious protege." She ruffled your hair. "Now, shoo! Boss'll have your head if you open shop late."

"When have I ever done that?" 

You waltz over to the front of the store, humming a tune as you flip the sign and unlock the door. The weather outside wasn't bad, but it could've been better. The partly cloudy skies cast a dim gray look onto the streets like a muted shadow. 

You'd have to check the weather later, you remind yourself, so you don't get caught in the rain on your way home.

As you open the bakery door, right at the end of the block, you see your regular customer, the tall man.

He was looking off into the distance, perpendicular to your eyesight, so you got a good look at his sharp side-profile as he held a phone up to his ear. You were tempted to wave, but he was too focused on his conversation, an almost upset expression on his face.

Bad day, you guessed.

Since he was still quite a distance away, you closed the door, going back into the shop. To pass the time, you drummed your fingers on the countertop as you mused.

All the other days the man came in, he was reserved, never smiling, but not quite upset either. Neutral. But his eyes betrayed him today. He was vexed. It didn't suit him. Not at all. It only served to make his cold features icier. 

Speak of the devil...

The chimes on the door rings as footsteps enter the store, and you look up, immediately straightening up as you await the man.

He had hung up his call, his phone already placed in his pocket. Hair still perfectly combed despite having run fingers through it earlier, but you could still see the look in his eyes.

"Bad day?" The words spill out of your mouth before you realized.

They caught the mans attention, and you found yourself frozen in place as his eyes met yours.  The breath caught in your throat at the clarity in his gaze, strong and paralyzing, as if he was Medusa with her stony eyesight. 

For a moment, you thought he wouldn't answer. Then, with the same steady voice as ever, he responded. "The day has only just started."

"Doesn't mean it hasn't started off on the wrong foot." You retort. 

This was the most you've ever conversed with him, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was interesting to talk with the man who always examined the pastries in the casing before making his regular order. 

When he looked back up, you had an idea, and as he asked for bread like usual, you put it into the bag, but along with that, you went to the side with your tray of macarons, which had cooled down from piping hot, placing a few cracked ones in. 

The man noticed, speaking up. "I didn't order--" 

"It's on the house." You interject, promptly handing the bag over. 

He didn't accept it. 

"C'mon," you say, your tone softened. You shake the bag a little, the sound of the bread rustling was tantalizing. "It's nothing too much. In fact, you'd be doing me a favor since it was from an aesthetically challenged batch of macarons." 

"And the bread?"

"Free. At least for today, since you look so grumpy." Not that you don't every day. "If it helps, this will be the first and last time I make this offer." You smile, still urging him to take the bag. 

After a second, he took the bag, this time, making sure not to touch fingers. "Just this once." 

"Just this once." You nod, your smile growing. 

The man held your eye, but promptly looked away. Your eyebrows furrow in response. Did you overstep? As you were about to apologize for being too forward, the man walked off, stoic as always.

He's leaving again, but this time, it felt different. 

"Enjoy your day." You say like always.

Not expecting a response back, you figure out what that difference was. The feeling was akin disappointment. But unlike the earlier minutes where your macarons failed to bake properly, you didn't know why you felt that way.

You look down at the counter, biting your lip as you drum your fingers again, an irregular tapping of your fingertips against the cool surface.

Unexpectedly, a voice brings you out of your thoughts. Looking up with wider eyes, you connect the voice to your first customer of the day. The man had stopped halfway, a hand on the doorknob, and his head half-turned back, almost like he was second-guessing himself.

"Thank you. Goodbye." 

Sweet. Short. The combination fitting for his stiff formality. As quickly as he said that, just as quickly did he leave.

But this time, as the door chimed shut, a smile tugged at your lips.