chemical romance [tadahoney one-shots]

She's Got To Be Illegal

This was from archiveofourown.com by arthoetchalla

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"I'll be back soon," I say.

"Not soon enough," Honey replies, pecking my cheek.

I leave her in my room to her own devices. Hiro is at school, and Aunt Cass has demanded that I assist her downstairs, despite my protestations concerning the blonde now waiting patiently for me in my room.

As I enter the kitchen, having put my apron on in approximately one millisecond during my descent down the stairs (I've gotten adept at tying the strings over the years) I dash over to the countertop to begin dwindling down the stack of orders which have piled themselves high. One by one, each customer leaves, a bit miffed from the wait but satisfied overall - I've offered free cookies to placate them as per Cass's request.

My hands and fingers fly between the counter and espresso machine, steam billowing from my work, thinking not of the infinite line before me but of Honey and what's waiting for me at the end of this line. Finally, the last customer toddles in kitten heels up to the counter, a green dress hugging her lanky frame, fire-engine red lipstick smeared on her lips. I recoil immediately.

"Mrs. Matsuda," I say. I hope that my face doesn't betray my apprehension.
She smiles, and I notice that she's managed to cover her teeth with red gunk as well. Most would think of septogenarian women as kindly and sweet, but Mrs. Matsuda has taken on a character of her own - she's loud, tenacious, messy, histrionic, and sometimes downright mean, with a penchant for coming upstairs to our apartment and a tendency to refer to me with condescending pet names.
She speaks. "Getting in the Christmas spirit, are we little guy?" she says, pointing to my face. "But, I don't see any mistletoe around!"

I tilt my head, perplexed by her laughter until my hand finds its way to my face, and I feel a sticky spot. My head snaps to the left, toward a silver candy jar that catches my reflection nicely.

Oh no.

All this time, I've been taking orders with a bright pink lipstick mark on my cheek. Honey's lips are outlined so beautifully on my face, I almost don't want to rub it off, but for the sake of salvaging what's left of my pride, I swipe my hand across the mark. Mrs. Matsuda cackles even louder.
"Oh, look at you! You've got a girl now! I want to see this girl, is she ugly? She'd better not be ugly or I might just have to show you what a real woman is! You know, my granddaughter is very available, and I can assure you that she's worth your time. She got her sexiness, obviously, from myself. She's my mirror image! "

I vomit a little.

"Mrs. Matsuda," I say through clenched teeth, "What can I get for you today?"
She waves me off. "Oh no dear, I just wanted to come ask who that broad was that walked in with you."

Unbelieveable!

I'm this close to commiting old-lady-cide when she slams her hands down on the table, eyes wide. "JOSEPH!" she screams. Her voice thunders through the cafe, several patrons nearly breaking their necks to stare at the crazy old woman. The cook, Joseph, who has the unfortunate fate of being desired by Mrs. Matsuda, turns to look from the kitchen as she continues her yelling fit. "I KNOW YOU SEE ME JOSEPH! HAVE YOU BEEN WORKING OUT? UGH, LET ME COME SEE YOU YOU SEXY MOTHERF -"

"MRS. MATSUDA!" I interject. She makes a fake pouting face at me, and turns on her heels with a flip of her thin, heavily dyed wig. I think I hear her mutter something about me ruining all her fun.

Bone tired and embarassed, I throw my apron off, not even bothering to put it back into its proper place on its hook. Climbing the stairs, I catch a hurried "Thank you!" from Aunt Cass who is chatting with one of the regulars, and I wave in return. Good riddance.