Chapter Text
Every Tuesday at about ten forty-five in the morning, Hyakuya Mikaela comes to his local grocers to get the week’s supplies. He didn’t exactly intend for it, but it’s become routine since he first moved in the area three years ago. And he’s certain now that everyone who works there knows who he is. Well, he could be more certain, but he never talks to any of them and they just kind of stare at him sometimes, so he wouldn’t know to be honest. What he does know is that he’s definitely a regular now, and that guy—that one right there, at register number eight—is a new face he’s never seen before.
But of course, Mika doesn’t complain. It’s a cute face, anyways, and he kind of welcomes the change.
The trip, as usual, is a quick in-out procedure. He goes to the same places and buys the same things each time, maybe a different brand if he’s feeling it. He heads to the shortest line every time, pays the bill in as little time as possible, and leaves within fifteen minutes of entering. It’s an easy routine, and it’s the one part of his life besides his work calendar that is routine.
Tuesdays are his day off. He likes to pretend he’s doing something actually productive on a weekday.
The new employee at register number eight catches his eye again. He really does have a cute face, Mika thinks absently as he picks out apples from the bin, and the plastic bag nearly slips from his hands when he realizes what he’s just thought.
Mika hurries through the produce section, silently denying the light heat in his face.
Today, he’s feeling a bit adventurous. He takes the spicy kimchi ramen this time instead of the regular chicken kind. Everything else is as usual. He walks to the shortest checkout line, which is easy since there’s hardly anyone there to begin with. He puts his basket on the conveyor and takes out his wallet, walking up to the cashier without even looking up, and only when the voice of an unfamiliar employee greets him does he raise his head.
“Morning,” says the new employee at register number eight. Mika watches him take the canned broth from the basket and run it over the scanner. He can’t feel his tongue. “Nice weather, huh?”
“Yeah,” Mika answers, but he doesn’t care; Register Number Eight is much cuter up close, and Mika’s eyes can’t believe anyone could ever be so adorable.
There’s a comfortable silence for awhile as Register Number Eight scans the pack of Chips Ahoy and struggles to get the can of Arizona Iced Tea to do the same. Mika stares as nonchalantly as he can, and he takes this opportunity to check Number Eight’s name tag.
Amane Yuichiro, it reads. Mika decides he likes this name. Meanwhile, Amane Yuichiro cusses out the checkout scanner under his breath because this is his fifth try and the stupid can won’t scan, and Mikaela cannot believe this is an actual human being scanning groceries for people because this is a bit too much. This is too cute.
“Sorry,” Amane Yuichiro sighs after his seventh failed attempt. “This is actually my first day here, and I’ve always been shit at this.” He finally scans the damned iced tea, and Mika feels his heart stop at the triumphant grin that crosses his face.
“It’s fine,” Mika replies almost automatically. It’s not like he’s got anything else to do otherwise. “I can wait. Nobody’s waiting for us to finish up.”
Amane Yuichiro sweeps his green eyes over the nearly-barren store. “Yeah, that’’s true,” he agrees, and the little smile he shoots at Mika makes him feel like he has to lie down for a minute to recollect himself. “Well, maybe you’re just weird for coming shopping on Tuesday mornings. Kind of a weird time to buy stuff.”
“I guess it is,” Mika agrees. And it really is, because nobody else ever comes to the store at ten forty-five on a Tuesday morning. “You’re even weirder though, working the quietest shift.”
“Hey, I didn’t pick this shift,” Amane Yuichiro mumbles, dragging the bag of apples over the scanner. “My manager did, since she didn’t want me holding anyone up and I’m clearly shit with this stupid machine.”
“Well, you certainly don’t look like shit.”
Amane Yuichiro snaps his head up so fast that for a second Mika was worried he’d broken a bone in his neck, and Mika doesn’t realize his mistake until he sees the grin creep up on Register Number Eight’s adorable face. Everything in his body feels like it’s shut down for a split second. Shit, he panics, face heating. Now he’s gonna think I’m a flirt.
But Amane Yuichiro simply turns his face aside and gives Mika a lingering sidelong look.
“Sooo, anyways,” Yuichiro finally continues, “who are you?”
Mika feels like he’s breaking out of a trance when he breathes and answers “Hyakuya Mikaela.” He tries to ignore the way Yuichiro keeps staring until he’s forced to look away to punch in the PIN for the apples.
“Hyakuya Mikaela,” Yuichiro repeats slowly. He pulls the next item over the scanner. And then another three times, because it refused to scan until the fourth try.“I’m Amane Yuichiro,” he says when he finishes, extending a hand over the counter.
“I knew that already,” Mika says without a thought as they shake tentatively, and his face flushes again as his words catch up with him. He points to the plastic name tag pinned to Yuichiro’s breast. “It’s on your tag,” he adds a bit too quickly.
“Oh,” Yuichiro says, like he’d never even considered this. He tugs gently at the badge. “I keep forgetting about this thing.”
There’s a thick, awkward silence. Mika looks away and gnaws at his cheek, a habit he’s formed when he’s got things to say and can’t say them. He can’t get himself to look away from the bags of charcoal on the far wall because he can feel Yuichiro’s eyes running over every part of his face; tingles roll down his spine, and he wonders why he can’t get his words to flow like they usually do.
The rest of the groceries are scanned with quite some difficulty, featuring quite a lot of inconspicuous staring. Mika tries to believe that Yuichiro was doing at least a little bit of the staring, but if he was he was doing a much better job of hiding it than Mika.
“Here you go, Hyakuya-san,” Yuichiro says at last, pushing the paper bag across the counter; he looks rather embarrassed. “Come again soon.”
“I will,” Mika promises. He says so with such certainty that he’s struck with a strong mortification at himself, and it’s frustrating how quickly he hightails it out of there so he doesn’t have to think about what he’s just said.
It’s a fifteen-minute walk back to the condos in which he lives. Mika manages to keep his cool until he shuts to door behind him, and the moment he’s certain that nobody can see him, he leans against the wall and tries not to think about the utterly adorable gift of a person he had run into today on his weekly Tuesday morning trip to the grocery store.
Mikaela feels blessed, somehow. Like he’s been visited by an angel.
He stores the groceries in their rightful places, smiling to himself. It’s times like these that he’s quite glad that he lives alone.