An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Written as part of @idesofnovember‘s UsaMamo exchange for @goddamnrey. I hope you enjoy. <3 </p>
Nights like this, Usagi is grateful that Makoto spends the down time in the greenhouse. If someone comes in wanting more than coffee or pie, Usagi can run up the rickety stairs to the roof to get her, but otherwise, the diner is Usagi’s kingdom. She pushes off the counter, rocking back on her heels and stretching her hands up over her head. Her spine cracks as she does.
Shaking out her shoulders, Usagi lets her eyes wander over the tables, surveying her domain and decides it’s not too early to start wiping down banquettes and turns on her heel to fill a bucket and grab a rag.
Another hour passes and still no one comes in. Usagi has cleaned the coffee machine for the fifth time this shift, wiped the counter down to a sparkling sheen, and carefully refilled all the sugar containers. She’s back to leaning against the counter, this time resting on both elbows, chin in her hands and eyes fixed longingly at the clock when the bell over the door chimes.
A gust of wind accompanies the person who enters, and the scent of cold exhaust and damp pavement hangs in the air until the door shuts with a glass-rattling bang. Usagi straightens, dropping the rag onto the shelf under the countertop. He’s dripping onto the mat. Dark hair falls into his face, but he pushes it back with a gloved hand, and catches her gaze.
Usagi feels the moment their gazes connect like a jolt of lightning.
His eyes are dark, and echoing with something achingly sad. Usagi’s heart stumbles in her chest, a beat skipped with a twinge of pain deep between her ribs. His eyes, she thinks, hardly able to draw breath, his eyes. She knows them, knows the way they crinkle at the corners when he smiles, knows the way they flare wide with fear, knows the way they go soft with exasperated fondness.
She knows him, she can feel it, soul deep, but she’s never seen him before he swept in out of the rain. She doesn’t know his name, but she knows the slope of his shoulders and the line of his jaw, could trace the bow of his lips with the pads of her fingers in the dark.
He shrugs out of his coat, breaking their gaze, and a flash of red on the lining catches Usagi’s eye and her heart leaps into her throat. A vision of scarlet petals and the glint of moonlight on ivory sears across Usagi’s nerves, leaving her gasping in its wake.
( Keep reading on AO3 )