why the hell does tumblr change words into emojis
Hi! I made a lil drabble based on this post:
And I’m kind of excited to share it with you guys! My writing may need a little more work, but it was difficult to fit this all in. I might make this a whole fic posted on AO3, but we’ll see.
Makoto was a pleasant man, as defined by his relatives and close friends. He had never missed the opportunity to open the door for someone, leave large tips after eating, or lend them his things in case of need. It was more of a subconscious habit he’s never grown out of, and never will grow out of. Somewhat like a personality trait.
He had hung up from a phone call with his mother, ambling through the cramped sidewalk of Tokyo. University has ended for the day, and Makoto was heading to the small cafe he works in. He was at his third day, and would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Makoto smiles at an old lady beside him.
The light turns green and Makoto jogs across the street. A ginger cat lazing in front of a closed shop opens its jaw in a soundless yawn, stretching its limbs. Makoto crouches down and scratches under its chin, grinning lightly. It purrs at the contact.
Makoto continues his journey, humming a tune. He spots Nagisa in front of the cafe, writing on the chalkboard. Makoto calls out his name with a wave, and Nagisa beams.
“Mako-chan! You’re here!” he exclaimed, dropping the pink chalk onto the ground. Nagisa spreads his arms and tackles Makoto into a tight hug. Makoto laughs.
“Good afternoon, Nagisa,” he greeted, patting his head. Nagisa pulls away and grabs onto his wrist, leading him to the back. The chalk is left on the sidewalk unattended. “N-Nagisa! Hold on!”
Nagisa shoots Makoto a stick of his tongue out and rummages through his apron pocket, pulling out a brass key.
“Come on, get ready! It isn’t so easy in there,” Nagisa warned him, waggling his finger. Makoto shoots him a bemused look, but Nagisa has left completely. He lets out a puzzled huff and unlocks the back door.
The kitchen was mayhem. Employees run back and forth, fumbling with desserts and spilling drinks. They whiz through the kitchen doors and come back only seconds later, shouting out orders and picking up new ones. Aiichirou turns to Makoto with a pleading look, wiping off whipped cream on his forehead.
“T-Tachibana-san! We really need your help!” he squeaked. “It’s...it’s crazy out there!”
Makoto stands, still in shock. He shakes his head and nods, rolling up his sleeves. Makoto swiftly picks up his apron from a hook and puts it on, tying it in double knots.
“What do you need me to do?” Makoto asked, slipping on his matching beret. Aiichirou stumbles and picks up a stack of yellow post-it notes, shoving it into Makoto’s chest.
“Orders,” he wheezes, pointing to the doors. Makoto takes them and pulls out a ballpoint pen from his jean pocket, nodding.
Makoto slips past his coworkers, pushing the door open with his back. He almost drops his pen when he sees why everyone is panicking.
The cafe is packed with waiting patrons. The line by the counter stretches ‘til the very back of the room, and at least four tables have hands raised. Customers look unsatisfied and grumpy waiting for their turn. Makoto turns to Rei, their manager, who seems to be muttering theories to himself while he prepares the perfect cup of coffee.
“R-Rei! Why...why is there so many people?” Makoto squawked, sweating despite the air-conditioners in full blast. Rei gives him a drained, haunted look, mechanically operating the coffee machine.
“Rush Hour,” he whispered fervently.
“I—what?” Makoto stammered.
“Every Monday...from afternoon to evening...ev-everyone i-is...”
“Rei! Where’s the matcha tea!”
Makoto stumbles backwards as Rei gets back to work on auto-pilot, ignoring his existence. He gulps and scrambles out, taking orders from disgruntled groups of friends and exasperated couples. Makoto apologizes to each of them deeply, bowing at an exactly forty degree angle. Their expressions softened.
He dashes back into the kitchen, yelling out the orders without breaking a sweat. Momotarou shoves a pineapple cake to his chest and pushes him out the kitchen violently.
“Table fourteen!” he yells before slamming the kitchen doors shut. Makoto twists back incredulously, then forward, holding the ceramic plate carefully with both hands. He gasps for air in the claustrophobic cafe, trudging through the crowd. He carves a way through with his arm forward, glancing at each table’s number. Makoto suppresses a shudder at the breach of personal space on all ends.
Makoto almost sinks to the ground in relief when he spots the number, but shock holds him intact. A lone person with black hair sits unfazed, fingers interlaced on his lap, and a peculiar coat of some type is draped over his armchair, which Makoto could identify was made of animal skin. He swallows and approaches the table, putting on his best smile.
“I heard you ordered pineapple cake?” Makoto said unsurely, holding it out. The man turns around slowly to regard him, and it almost knocks Makoto out breathless.
The first thing he notices was his eyes. They were a brilliant blue shade, and Makoto already knows he would get lost in them voluntarily. His skin was ashen, contrasting to the blue hue of his irises, but they compliment each other astoundingly. Makoto swallows a second time, forgetting the use of words.
“...Thank you,” he whispered, taking the plate with a brush of fingers. Makoto’s heart skips a beat.
“I-um...I...call me if you need anything!” Makoto laughs nervously, dashing back behind the counter. The boy doesn’t look amused, or annoyed, even. His face stays stoic, unknowing, uncaring. He was trapped in his own little universe within his mind, filled with different tales and thoughts Makoto would never be able to perceive.
Asahi shakes him frantically to remind him of Rush Hour, and Makoto is back to working, struggling to keep the stranger off of his mind.
Closing time nears in tedious seconds ticking excruciatingly slow. The remnants of Rush Hour have gloriously thinned out to a few patrons sipping drinks, eating desserts, and conversing with one another. Makoto wipes off the sweat on the arch of his brow and leans leisurely against the counter, supporting himself with his aching hands. The man he’s served is still on his seat, staring out into oblivion at blinking traffic lights and blaring car horns. He has finished his cake long ago, but makes no attempt to leave his spot.
Makoto would glimpse at him from time to time, engrossed with his mysterious aura and natural beauty. He would have to wipe the corners of his mouth in case he drooled, because just one look at that boy has got Makoto wrapped around his finger. It was almost humorous.
The boy tilts his head upwards, gazing at the moon in wonder. It was the most emotion Makoto has caught him expressing, and it was astounding. Makoto smiles to himself, looking down at the cracked tiled floor.
A couple raise their hands and Makoto quickly scrambles over to them, dusting off the flour on his apron.
“May I help you?” Makoto asked, clasping his hands together behind his back. The couple ask for their bill and Makoto nods frantically, skipping over to the counter. He glances once more at the man he served, then skids to a halt. The table was vacant, save for the ceramic plate and spilled crumbs, but what caught his attention was the coat draped on the now empty armchair, swaying with the breeze of the air-conditioning. Makoto looks between the couple he was supposed to attend to, and the forgotten valuable. He chewed on his bottom lip, cursing himself.
Makoto grabs the coat and dashes out into the moonlit sidewalk. Streetlights illuminate the outline of passing cars and trucks, whizzing by in a flash of red orange. Makoto looks from side to side, desperately seeking for the dark-haired owner. An abnormally green headlight irradiates an eloquent silhouette in the distance, and Makoto sucks in a breath, sprinting for the patron.
“W-Wait!” he shouts over the roar of air in his ears. The man looks back in confusion, tilting his head in an insufferably adorable manner. Makoto catches up to him and grasps his knees, panting and heaving. He raises up the coat and looks at the man who stares at him in astonishment. Makoto straightens his back, towering over him with a minor height difference but extremely little confidence as he grips the coat even tighter. “Y-y-you...you left...this...”
Makoto looks away, cheeks tainted pink. His slimmer, longer hands brush with Makoto’s larger, warmer ones for a second time, and his heart skips a beat once again. Makoto finds the confidence to look back at him again, puffing up his cheeks.
“I...I need to go,” the stranger whispers, holding the coat tight in his trembly hands. If Makoto squinted, he could perceive a faint blush tinting the pale of his skin. He slowly turns around, ready to leave.
“Wait!” Makoto repeats, holding his hand out. The man’s foot hovers over the ground, casting a dark shadow on the hard concrete. Makoto swallows away the negative thoughts swirling through his mind like a whirlpool, and his arm stiffly drops to his side. “What...what is your name?”
He doesn’t turn back, but his foot is firmly pressed onto the sidewalk. Makoto crosses his fingers behind his back, blinking furiously.
“Haru...” he pauses. “Haruka.”
Haruka. Haruka. Makoto likes the way it rolls down his tongue. He mouths the name a few times, getting used to the tingly sensation that crawls up his back. Makoto tilts his head upwards to look back at him, but Haruka had disappeared from sight, no trace left of his appearance.
Makoto looks down to his palms, frowning.
“Strawberry shortcakes and green tea!” Makoto said happily, placing the order down on the round table. The girls ogle him shamelessly and giggle to each other. Makoto laughs nervously, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. Nagisa whistles from behind the counter and a blush spreads across his face.
Makoto quickly leaves the situation in a flustered mess, slapping his freckled cheeks to get rid of the unmistakable red contrasting to his sun soaked skin.
“Mako-chan’s really popular with the girls, huh?” Nagisa teases, elbowing him on the stomach.
“Nagisa...” he whines, sticking his bottom lip in a pout. Nagisa chuckles and steals a cookie from the display.
“You get too embarrassed too easily,” Nagisa said over a mouth full of diabetes. Makoto shudders.
“Yeah, well it’s not my fau—“
“You get too embarrassed too easily,” Nagisa said over a mouth full of diabetes. Makoto shudders.
“Yeah, well it’s not my fau—“
The bell hanging over the front door chimes, and Makoto and Nagisa straighten their backs, plastering a customer service smile.
Makoto’s words die in his throat when he makes eye contact with blue eyes staring directly at him, gleaming with wonder and astonishment. Makoto blushes harder this time, but he keeps his gaze.
“Haruka,” he whispered airily.
Haruka steps forward gently, keeping his hand firmly behind his back. He has on a hoodie three sizes too big and khakis shorts. The colors clash with one another, but Makoto barely notices as Haruka stands in front of him, only separated by the counter.
“H-Hi,” Makoto stammered intelligibly.
Haruka tips his head, pulling his hand away from his back. Makoto blinks in interest at the black, velvet box he carried on his palm.
“What’s this?” he asked, leaning over the counter. Haruka blushes to the tip of his ears, looking away, and it was the most endearing action Makoto has witnessed. The chatter of customers and Nagisa’s teasing slowly die down into background noise when Haruka opens the box, revealing a silver dolphin curved into a perfect ring. It sparkles under the rays of sunlight. The colors were iridescent and rainbow prisms dance over the intricate design, resembling a kaleidoscope. Makoto’s mind blanks.
“I-I came back be-because I thought we should get married by...human customs as well...” Haruka muttered almost inaudibly. A woman on the nearest table gasps, and unhooks her finger from her cup. Makoto’s eyes widen when she stands up and claps for them.
More and more patrons stand up to clap, and some even whistle for the two. Makoto backs away from the counter slowly, shaking his head. The blush is furious, obscuring his skin color with a deep crimson. Rei stands a few feet away, brushing away a tear. Nagisa hoots and wraps his arm around Makoto’s shoulders.
“Mako-chan, you never told me you were dating!” he hollers into his ear deafeningly.
He trails off, looking at Haruka who seems to be just as embarrassed and... disappointed? Makoto’s trembling, and he clenches both hands into a tight fist. The crowd and staff chant ‘YES OR NO’, holding in their breath while they wait for the fateful answer. Makoto is overwhelmed to a high degree. He takes a deep breath and swallows dryly.
“I—uh, er...we...” Makoto almost slaps himself.
