𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ☆ ᴀ 𝙼𝙷𝙰 𝙾𝙲 sᴛᴏʀʏ

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ: ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴇssᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴅ

Warnings: smoking (don't smoke!)

Word Count: 439

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ᴅʀᴇssᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴅ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Kaminari Denki is sitting in a café, alone, waiting for other guys in 1A to show up for their study session. He checks the clock on the wall and sighs again.

They're really late...

A waitress comes over with a milkshake, placing it in front of Kaminari and dropping to sit opposite him. He startles; she seems a little older, maybe late teens or early twenties, but she's by no means unattractive. She looks distinctly out of place. Visually so, with a cigarette in her mouth, a tattoo on her wrist, and bright green eyes that are staring into his own. But the real reason she's out of place is her demeanour, calm and commanding and sweet and terrifying all at once.

It's those eyes: they look at him with no emotion.

"That clock's broken, kiddo."

"What's the time?"

"About four."

Oh. Well in that case Kaminari is the late one. They probably gave up waiting for him a while ago.

Damn, if only he hadn't fried his phone...

"Thanks for letting me know. I'll get going, I suppose..."

"Wait."

Her tone has an authoritative air, her hand clamping down on his own and her neatly painted fingernails digging into his skin. She narrows her eyes, those familiar and haunting green eyes, until he sits down.

"Did I forget to pay the bill, or..." Maybe she's American. "Or... Do you want a tip, or something?"

She pauses and laughs, smoke filling the space around them.

"A tip? I suppose so, but not the kind you're thinking of." Her Japanese is a little broken, English words Kaminari doesn't know thrown in now and again, an odd accent too. "Yes, you, now you are Denki Kaminari, correct?"

"Yeah, Kaminari Denki."

"Here."

The girl— is she old enough to be called a woman? Kaminari isn't sure— hands him a phone number. The café is by no means crowded at this time, and between the dim lighting and the rain outside there's nobody to see or hear them.

"Call me if you want to help me."

"With what?"

"Check your receipt."

Kaminari leans forward and snatches the receipt off the table, eyes widening as he reads it once, twice, three times over. He looks up to see the waitress dumping her apron at the wooden counter, heading for the doors.

"Wait!

...Who are you?"

She smiles, hand on the door, back to him as she surveys the rain falling outside.

"You can call me K."

And she's gone, nothing more than mist in the rain outside, the only sign she was ever there the tinkling of the bell, her apron on the counter,

and the receipt in Kaminari's hand.