A Firefly's Glow

Chapter Nine: Part Three

“I’m going to put this in the kitchen,” Sora chirped, hauling the contraption out of my hands. “You go on ahead.”

I obeyed Sora’s instructions, stepping out from behind the counter and into the restaurant.

“Ah, Hotaru!” Mikan hurried towards me with brightly colored orange cloth clutched in between her fingers. “Come on! You’re going to take your Monday shift, aren’t you? You’re not in uniform yet. Jeez . . .”

“Sorry, I was kinda busy—“

I was interrupted as something soft collapsed over my head.

“Wear this. It’s kinda late to change now, isn’t it?”

I traced the cap that sat upon my head with my fingers. “Mikan, isn’t this your—“

“—Manager Cap,” Mikan finished, firmly nodding her head in sheer confidence. “You better not have any head lice.”

I felt the cold metal of the serving tray slide into my arms, and the sharp edges of the notepad that had entered my grasp nearly sliced off my fingers.

“Go! Hungry customers don’t enjoy fart employees!”

I scrunched my nose in bemusement, though before I could remark, I was lunged towards the customers.

It felt peculiar to begin scribbling orders in just a T-shirt and sweats. It felt much more comfortable without the tugs of the flared uniform.

I rapidly scribbled the orders down onto the smooth paper I clutched in my hands.

I slid a segment of paper onto the countertop and hollered words into the kitchen. Once I heard the response of Amanatsu’s voice and the sizzling of his stove, I would run back onto the battlefield for more.

I was filled with delight. I disliked running, although I wish that this very moment would stay in place.

This was the happiest moment I’ve experienced in days. I enjoyed the sounds of Mikan’s determined squealing and the sizzling that emanated from the kitchen.

I haven’t noticed any of this before, but I regret taking anything in the café for granted.

But then, this moment ended.

I spotted a figure move into one of the stations and I immediately hurried over towards him. Mustering a cheerful grin, I whipped open my notepad and pinched the pen’s tip against its surface.

“My name is Hotaru and I’ll be your server for this evening. How may I help you?”

A voice sounded in reply, and once it did, I froze in place.

“I’d like a dish of fireflies.”

How peculiar this order was. Though I considered that it would be a fun idea to have a dish named after myself, I knew that fireflies served as a food dish was just plain gross.

But the shock lingered into thought once I laid eyes on the customer.

His familiar blonde hair was flawlessly combed over his forehead. His piercing mauve stare peered towards mine. Resting his check against a lazy palm, the boy tweaked his eyebrows a few millimeters over his forehead.

And all I did in response to his appearance that moment was vigorously scribble ink onto the notepad in whatever random swirls seemed fit as one of those strange reflex habits from before.