Chapter Text
>>from: nyakamaki
i'm just saying, i think that you could totally just take the food and go. especially if it came from the wilton. who would even know?
>>from: shee-ho
yeah, ryuji. take the food. what could go wrong?
>>from: nyakamaki
take the food
>>from: shee-ho
take it.
>>from: nyakamaki
i'll text you a picture of my knees again if you do
>>from: shee-ho
i'll send you one knee. you'll have to guess which one it is.
>>from: nyakamaki
ooh yes that's a better idea
i'll only send one too then you'll have to guess which one is who's
It's honestly a relief to pocket his phone before Shiho and Ann get too far into things. The worst goddamn part about this goddamn job is the amount of time he has to piss around on his phone between orders(and as a result, the amount of time Ann and Shiho have to tear little strips off him for fun). The second worst goddamn part about this goddamn job is the smell.
Sure, you'd think hauling bags of Big Bang Burger(™) brand Burgers and Burger Accessories across Tokyo at the ass-end of the night would be a lucrative and delicious experience, fulfilling for mind, body, and soul?
Well, you'd be wrong. He'll never be able to get the smell of the ”special sauce“ that spilled all over his floor mats out. Who even wants to order a drink cup full of special sauce?! Crazy people, who are the only people he delivers to, because his life is a nightmare.
There is a special place in hell for the people who order a full cup of special sauce. Ryuji knows this, deep inside where all the truths live. Hell for the special sauce, and his goldfish didn't actually run off to join the circus when he was eight.
But a job is a job, and Ryuji needs to pay for cat litter and tuna and gas, and fruity margaritas at the end of the month (which is rapidly approaching). Rent is rent, but fruity margaritas make his terrible overlords happy, and happy terrible overlords make for a happy home life.
Or so they say.
What do they say again?
What his manager is saying is the important thing, shoving a sack full of hot meat and sad potato into his hands. His phone ding s with the directions to his latest reverse fetch quest, and once he has everything settled into his car he double checks them—
Oh, hell yes.
[46 unread messages]
>>from: shee-ho
muah muah muah my beautiful knee princess, i would conquer whole realms of thigh socks for a glimpse of you
>>from: nyakamaki
ooh my gallant kneeight ooh
>>from: snackamoto
can you perverts just shut up for a minute
you'll never guess who i'm delivering to again
>>from: nyakamaki
the wilton?
>>from: shee-ho
take the food, ryuji. your son is starving.
>>from: snackamoto
its not the wilton gdi
its the dude
>>from: shee-ho
oh my god. big tip dude?
>>from: nyakamaki
mon/wed/thurs burger dude?
>>from: shee-ho
lil undie slip got you fixated dude?
>>from: nyakamaki
frizzy bedhead guy at the serial killer apartments?
>>from: shee-ho
batted his eyes at you once and now you’re begging to bounce and moan on it dude?
>>from: snackamoto
SHIHO
>>from: nyakamaki
the guy who just gets the same order three times a week and has for the last three months???
>>from: snackamoto
look i gotta drive but yes yes no yes please for the love of god shut up and yes
>>from: shee-ho
hahaha. i still think you should kiss him on the mouth if he slips you another 5k
Okay, so.
The thing about this guy is.
He's just.
So Ryuji's been at this job for the last six months, right? And for a good five and a half of those six months he's been on the graveyard shift of deliveries. It sucks, yeah, and going anywhere at this time of night in and around Tokyo sucks even more.
But the people , man. The people either suck the most, or make this job completely worth it.
Half the time when he delivers something it's to an area that he wouldn't want to walk into even in broad daylight. He's been met at the door by a dude or a couple of dudes with red eyes reeking of the devil's lettuce, and sent on his way with a 50 yen tip if he's lucky. The other half of the time he's twiddling his fingers in his car or at the “delivery aggregate center” (the HUB, it's the HUB, he's not calling anything an aggregate center since the last time Shiho gave him a gold star for spelling “aggregate” correctly) waiting for his next trip out to the slums.
It's a shitty job, but he gets paid marginally more than minimum wage, and plenty enough to keep him in cat food and fruity margaritas. He's lucky enough that his terrible overlords don't want him to pay any rent, and that he's at the tail end of his degree (just a couple more classes, hard enough that he's taking them one at a time even if it draws out how long it's gonna be until he gets that paper in his hand and flips the bird to everyone who ever doubted him, Kamoshida .) Gives him time to go over his notes in the light from the dim LEDs in his car, at least.
Even so, he would've quit by now to go work in a 777 or something if it wasn't for the guy.
And he should still quit, on god, there's no reason for him to waste 18 hours a week when he could be sleeping (or trying to sleep, fending off Mona's horrible paws and even more horrible tuna breath from his sensitive bits, it's like that damn cat has x-ray vision to know exactly where to put pressure on his kidneys and his balls) just so he can bring a burger to one of the worst areas in town, but.
The dude .
Five and a half months ago Ryuji brought a slightly damp and greasy paper bag full of underwhelming fast food to a guy with frizzy black hair, misaligned glasses, and the worst under-eye bags he's ever seen. The guy opened the door, looked him up and down, whistled, and gave him 5000 yen and a grin that should have made him look like a ghoul or a creep but instead was just a pristine white slash against his face. That should have been the end of it.
But every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday since then, Ryuji's hauled a greasy paper bag straight to the guy (and no matter what his terrible overlords say he's NOT referring to him as “big tip guy“ or ”burger boy“, he's just a weird dude with terrible bedhead and a fetish for giving way too much money to his delivery guy) and gotten a crisp 5k and a wink.
It would be way creepier if the guy was any older, but as far as Ryuji can tell he's right around his own age. That probably should still make it creepy, just in a different way, right? The hell is he getting that much money if he lives in a dump like he does? Shitty little 1DK, maybe not even the D honestly, paint peeling off the sides of the building and the light outside constantly flickering.
But from the glimpses he's caught from inside, it's always clean and bright, and as scruffy as the guy looks, he's never smelled like he's under the influence, or looked like he's on anything except the high from a long lack of sleep.
Maybe he's an insomniac, or maybe he works nights, or maybe he's got shitty neighbors, Ryuji has no clue. Maybe he just gets his jollies from staying up late and giving obscene amounts of money to people.
He's not one to complain, when it's benefiting himself. Gives him a little extra to put in his savings, to go towards paying his terrible overlords back, to getting Mona a can of the good good stuff every now and then. But it makes him wonder.
He's got too much time on his hands to wonder. It's not good for him. Makes him think too much. Makes him make weird decisions. Like grabbing an energy drink from the corner store and tucking it into the bag every so often. It's what, 250 yen out of pocket for his best customer? The guy looks like he needs it, and though he's never said anything, the smiles he gives Ryuji always seem just a little warmer the next time he stops by.
Ann and Shiho think he's crazy, of course. They're always on his ass about something or other, so them being on his ass about the guy is nothing new, but usually they get bored and switch targets every so often. But every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday they make him tell them exactly where he's going, when he gets there, and when he gets back to the Hub. Shiho even threatened to put a GPS tracker on his phone so she could make sure he wasn't getting his organs trafficked, or that if he did that she could track down who did it and get a cut of the profits.
He told her he hoped her hair got caught in the blender the next time she used it, and then Ann made him do all the dishes to apologize while Shiho fake-cried into Ann's shoulder. He knows it was fake because she kept looking over at him with that evil little smirk whenever Ann wasn't looking.
His life is too full of catty feminine energy. Sue him if he likes to spend a little time with the one person in his life who doesn't try and tear strips off him physically or metaphorically.
...Aaaaand that's getting in the range of sad and shameful. He really has too much time to think on this job. Lucky for him that the directions from the Hub are all but muscle memory at this point, and he's already pulling to a stop in front of the guy's shitty, shitty apartment building.
The guy lives on the fifth floor and there's no elevators, which can be annoying or a relief at turns. Some days Ryuji's so pent up and frustrated that jogging up four flights of terrible steel-and-concrete stairs is just what he needs to take the edge off, and some days it's an exhausted slog. Today it's the former; he's got too many thoughts buzzing around his head to see a little physical exercise as anything except a blessing.
Up four flights, round the corner of the building, down three doors to the one with a cutesy little alien spaceship door mat. He has questions about that door mat, but never has the time or inclination to ask. Just one more mystery this dude holds over him.
He raps on the door, his usual rat-tat-tat, thinking idly about how soon he can get back home and shower the smell of fast food off of him. Maybe he can steal some of Ann's stupid expensive shampoo while he's in there; it's been a week or two and she's probably forgotten about the last time he did it. Makes his hair so soft afterwards, it's totally worth her bitching at him.
...huh. The guy's usually right there to open the door, like he's been waiting. Creepy, but endearing. Ryuji knocks again, and only then looks up from the door mat (is there a little winking alien in the ship or is that just the weave?) at the door properly.
He's greeted with a note exactly at eye level: ”Door's unlocked, money's on the table“.
What. The. Everloving. Fuck . Is this guy on?! Does he KNOW where he lives?! He can't DO that here, someone's gonna come in and knife him or something!
...what if they already did and that's why he didn't come answer the door?
...what does he do???
Tentatively, Ryuji tries the handle. It gives easily under his hand; the door opens without a whisper, smooth as butter.
There's no dead body directly in his sight, which is great. No bloodstains or screaming, or signs of a fight, which is even better. Faintly, he hears the sound of a shower, answering one question and raising a couple others.
The guy's house is immaculate. Even with the standard greying carpets and beige-ish wallpaper that should make it look nothing but cheap, it's clean and tidy and smells like some sort of fresh...something. Kinda sharp and earthy, but not herbal. Big tall plants in every corner, green and vibrant, make the space seem both bigger and happier somehow. There's a low to the ground coffee table right in front of him, mostly covered with stacks and stacks of books and papers and a laptop that looks about as old as the birth of the universe. Ryuji's usual tip is sitting right at the corner under a bright yellow sticky note with a ”(;“ scribbled on it in permanent marker.
Weirdo. ”Sorry,“ Ryuji apologizes to the air, or the carpet, or whatever, for walking in with his shoes still on, and creeps across the floor towards the table. It takes him a moment to figure out where to put the food so it doesn't get any of the books greasy; he has to pick up a stack and move them gently onto the floor.
He takes a quick peek and almost drops everything he's holding. Every book in the stack has a title about 14 words long and has strings of words like ”socio-economic“ or ”political“ or “Meiji restoration”. The hell does this guy even do with his time?!
Anyway. Food delivered. He picks up the tip, stares at the post-it note for a moment or three or five and then, feeling strange about it, puts it in his pocket too. Then he hesitates again, because he can't lock this guy's door from the outside, and what if someone comes in after he leaves and does a murder on him? Wouldn't that make it Ryuji's fault?
He dithers, staring at the door, shifting back and forth from foot to foot. He could stand outside, but what if there's already someone in here waiting for him to leave and murderize his best customer? Wouldn't it be better to stay? Or maybe he should check out the door lock; if he can lock it from the inside and then just close it on his way out the guy will probably be fine—
A door opens behind him. There's a gust of hot, humid air and a pleasantly floral scent; Ryuji flinches and turns around, hands up, ready to chop on whatever intruder's been waiting to make their move.
He's greeted instead with the guy, standing a foot away from him in nothing but a towel.
Ryuji almost swallows his own tongue.
Holy shit. From what Ryuji knows of his diet there's no way he should look like— all pale skin and lean muscle, just a bit too thin, enough that the ladder of his ribs are cast in the faintest shadow from the overhead lighting, no ounce of spare flab to be seen. His calves are really sharply defined-- maybe he's an endurance runner, or does a substantial amount of cardio.
Ryuji's blank mind tentatively offers up a suggested exercise schedule and diet change including a lot more chicken breasts and a lot fewer burgers. He quashes it down, too busy with collarbones and water dripping from shaggy hair that's a lot less frizzy when it's wet, wow, and forehead?? huh?? he has a forehead?? weird?? and grey eyes meeting his own and crinkling up in humor—
Oh god. Ryuji's just been standing here staring at his almost-naked customer for who knows how long.
He opens his mouth, closes it, swallows, runs his hand through his hair, opens it again—
”Burger,“ is what comes out, choked and a little pathetic. He makes a limp gesture towards the table.
The guy looks back, giving Ryuji an excellent view of the mechanics of how his neck attaches so smoothly to his shoulders. ”Burger,“ he says, nodding in agreement.
Good. Great! Awesome!! Excellent conversation. He takes a step back, eyes firmly fixed above the guy's hair. ”You— really shouldn't leave your door unlocked, man,“ he babbles as he backs up. ”You never know who'll just walk in, y'know? You could get murderized, in this neighborhood.“
Murderized. Fuck, just kill him now.
The guy's eyes crinkle up again; he stays put where he is, thank god, but puts his hands on his toweled thighs and bows at a perfect 45° angle. ”Thank you for looking out for my health,“ he says, and though his tone is perfectly even Ryuji can just tell that he's laughing at him.
”Okay,“ says Ryuji helplessly. ”Well, bye.“
As he turns around and grabs the handle though, he hears the guy say “Hold on,“ and a shuffling sound. Ryuji doesn't turn back around, even when he catches the sound of soft footsteps on carpet, and another whiff of whatever that shampoo is.
There's a brief touch to his shoulder.
There's another brief touch to his— ass pocket?!
“For your excellent care,” says the guy, low and warm and basically directly in his ear. “Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”
And then Ryuji's through the door, and walking down the stairs to his car, and confirming the drop off and driving home and closing the door to his room and feeding Mona some dry kibble because his fat ass ate everything even though he set the bowl out not six hours ago and only then does he reach back and pull out whatever the guy slipped into his pocket—
“WHAT THE FUCK,” he says, just a little too loud, and when Ann shows up in his doorway he doesn't have the words to say to her, just opens his hand and drops the crumpled 10,000 yen bill into his hand.
Shiho, yawning, leans against the doorframe and peers at it with bleary eyes when Ann brings it over to her. They examine it, dark head pressed against blonde, and when Shiho looks back up at him Ryuji blushes.
He doesn't know why, doesn't know how to make it stop, all he can feel is that touch against his shoulder and the one that tucked another ten fucking thousand yen into his pants.
Shiho finally flicks the bill back at him, and around another yawn asks, ”You finally put out?”