ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴛɪᴘ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴇʀᴠᴇʀ! ⋆˙⟡ᝰ.ᐟ
The guy at table nine has been snapping his fingers at you for ten minutes.
Not waving. Not making eye contact. Snapping like you’re a dog he expects to heel.
You finish dropping off drinks at table eight before you turn, schooling your face into something polite and neutral as you walk over.
He looks you up and down, eyes lingering just long enough to make your skin itch. “I asked for oatmilk in my coffee This is regular.”
You glance at the cup. The label is right. The order is right. You know it is.
“I’m sorry sir that’s my mistake. I’ll get you a new cup” you say anyway, already reaching for it.
He scoffs. “Unbelievable. Do you people even train your staff?”
Your staff. Like you’re not standing right there.
“I’ll have it remade,” you repeat, voice steady. “It’ll just take a moment.”
“It shouldn’t,” he snaps back. “I’m in a hurry. And honestly?” He leans back in his seat, arms crossed. “The service here has been terrible.”
Something tightens in your chest. Around you, the diner hums on silverware clinking, coffee pouring, the low murmur of conversation but your table feels too quiet. Too focused.
“I apologize,” you say, because that’s what you’re paid to do. “I’ll—”
“Get a manager,” he interrupts. “You’re clearly not capable of handling this.”
Nanami who was already out of his office, talking to a couple of regulars perks up at the mention
“I’ll get my manager,” you say calmly, even as your hands shake.
Nanami arrives at your side in seconds, posture perfect, expression unreadable.
“What seems to be the issue?” he asks.
The man launches into it immediately. wrong milk, slow service, unacceptable attitude. He gestures toward you like you’re an object, something defective he’s returning.
Nanami listens. Patient. Polite. Then he nods once. “I see.” He turns to you. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”
You step back and that’s when Gojo appears on your other side
“Heyyyy,” he says brightly, leaning an elbow on the counter near table nine. “Everything okay here?”
The man’s tone shifts instantly. “Are you the owner?”
“One of them,” Gojo replies. “What’s up?”
Nanami explains and Gojo hums, nodding along, then turns his attention back to the customer.
“Totally get being in a hurry,” Gojo says. “And yeah, mistakes happen. That one’s on us.”
The man has a snug grin on his face as he faces you “Exactly.”
“So,” Gojo continues, smiling, “your drink and your meal today are on the house.”
The man blinks. “Really?”
“Yep! On the house,” Gojo says cheerfully. Then his smile sharpens just a little. “And in return, we’re going to ask you not to come back.”
“I—excuse me?” the man sputters.
“We don’t tolerate staff being spoken to like that,” Gojo says lightly, but his eyes are cold now. “You’re welcome to finish your food. For free. And then you’re done here.”
The man stands, red-faced, muttering under his breath as he grabs his coat and storms out.
The bell over the door jingles.
Gojo turns to you. “You okay?”
You nod, exhaling for what feels like the first time in minutes. “Yeah. I think so.”
Nanami adjusts his tie. “Take five.”
⋆˚࿔ I’m pretty sure comping food all the time is bad for business but oh well
⋆˚࿔ trying not to be bias about which character gives reader attention since this is an otome esk story
⋆˚࿔ sugar daddy Gojo is gonna stick btw
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