#and then buckled down (and made it a sticking point with his successors/managers)

[shih-coulda-had-it]

At work there is an ice maker we call bertha we refill the ice machines with it and sometimes when we are refilling ice the lid falls and hits us I head cannon for the coffee shop au gran has access to the store to grab a taiyaki before and after patrol as long as he does small misc. Things around the shop like refill ice, take out trash etc.

“You’re not closed yet?”

Nana whips her head up from under the counter, startled by the familiar voice at an unfamiliar time. Gran Torino, looking a little worse for wear, lingers at the storefront. Half-in and half-out, like he is unsure of his welcome.

It’s nearly seven in the evening. She had sent Toshinori off at six, and she doesn’t plan on closing until nine. Even if customers aren’t looking for an evening fix, Nana likes to brew herself a cup and survey the sidewalks.

“Don’t I have my hours listed on the door?”

“It doesn’t have numbers,” he informs her. “You wrote in kaomojis, and I’m not sure what the shrugging one means.”

“It means, ‘try your luck’! And lucky you, I’m still open.” She grins and beckons Torino inside. Does she still have taiyaki warming in the display case? Maybe he has enough time to wait for Nana to pour a new batch. “You really are new to the area, aren’t you?”

“Mn.”

“What can I get you?”

“The regular, please,” he says. Then he catches himself. “A small black coffee and…”

“If you can wait fifteen minutes, I can get you one fresh for the patrol?”

Gran Torino stiffens. A little mechanically, he says, “What patrol.”

“Well, Torino-san,” Nana drags out, spinning around to pluck a paper cup, fit it to a sleeve, and situate it under the dispenser. “You don’t have your messenger bag, and that sure isn’t civilian clothing. You wouldn’t be the first pro-hero looking to get a snack before patrol, y’know? Even the underground heroes need their kicks.”

“Room for cream, please.”

That was different. Nana obliges, caps the cup, and turns around to slide it over the counter. “Is that a yes to taiyaki? Fifteen minutes, I swear.”

He glances at the clock. “... I can wait.”

“Excellent!” she crows, and rings up the purchases. “That’s six-hundred yen.”

“I remember,” he says drily. Gran Torino dips his fingers into his belt, and then he freezes. Nana observes the flash of panic twisting his mouth into a grimace and the almost serene way he rechecks his person for money. “Um. Shit. I, uh…”

“Happens to all of us,” she says, not unkindly.

“Sorry.” Torino pushes the coffee back over to her end of the counter, but Nana steadies his wrist and holds him there.

“It’s okay,” Nana says firmly. Except she knows that Gran Torino is not the type of person to accept charity, even as a flirtation, so in the way of all managers, she finds a task that needs to be done. “In exchange, would you mind refilling the ice machine? Lots of customers in summer means lots of iced drinks, so it needs a bucket or two.”

Gran Torino considers the proposal for only a second. “Done,” he says. “Tell me what to do.”

“Ah, it’s self-explanatory. Walk in from over there,” as he follows her directions, Nana darts to the kitchen and preps the taiyaki pan, giving it a quick brushdown with melted butter and turning the stove on medium-low.

“Found the ice maker,” he reports from the front.

“The white bucket next to it, fill up as much as you can carry,” she calls back. “Oh! And be careful of the lid, it’s got--”

A low thonk and subsequent curse. Nana winces as she retrieves the chilled batter and red bean paste, stirring the former as she peeks out of the kitchen.

“You okay?”

“I’ve been told I have a hard head,” Torino says, and hefts the bucket of ice onto his shoulder. Nana tries not to stare. “Where does this go?”

“Uh,” Nana stalls. He doesn’t even look strained by the weight. His shoulders are broad and his chest is, well, present. Manufacturers of pro-hero gear must have some kind of agenda, because Nana can’t think of a good reason why a jumpsuit needs to be so tight. Even flight suits have some give, not to mention the necessity of insulation. Wait, what’s happening?

“Shimura-san.”

“Stepladder. One moment,” she blurts out, and hastily returns to pour the batter into the pan mold. Nana adds a generous scoop of the red bean paste, ladles additional batter over that, closes the pan and flips it.

Muscle memory helps her set the timer for two minutes, and then she is out behind the counter again.

Just in time to see Gran Torino brusquely dump the bucket of ice into the machine’s canister. Nana has the perfect line-of-sight to see the curvature of his rear. Is that what the cape’s for? To hide how the angled lines of Torino’s yellow belt, the ones she suspects trace the vee of his hipbones, connect over a truly enviable butt?

She can never talk gossip to Toshinori about his homeroom teacher again.

It’s just--it’s just unfair, that is.

“It’s near capacity.”

“Mm, typically my part-timer needs two trips to get the ice in,” she says distractedly. “I usually top it up overnight.”

“Do you,” he says.

“One less task to do in the morning. Budge over.” Impulse has her joining him on the stepladder, sneakily using Float to make sure Nana doesn’t topple them to the floor. Checking the capacity of the machine is just an excuse, since there’s no reason to doubt Torino’s judgment.

He’s quiet. Belatedly, Nana realizes that he is reassessing something. She cancels Float and balances her weight on one foot.

“Guess you were right,” she says, cheerful.

“I have a good eye,” Torino murmurs. “You wouldn’t be the first to use your Quirk for minor things in public, Shimura-san.”

“I won’t be the last to do it, either.”

“So long as others don’t catch you.”

“I’ve made it this long without a ticket,” Nana teases. “Are you gonna be the first?”

“I’m not on-duty yet,” Gran Torino says, and deliberately looks at his coffee. “So before you ask, you can’t bribe me with taiyaki. That’s strictly payment for the ice.”

“I’ll be sure to time my transgressions better.” Her timer beeps. She has about thirty seconds before she really has to flip the pan again, so Nana pulls out her best customer service voice. “When does your patrol end anyway, Torino-san?”

“... Midnight.”

“I’ll keep the second taiyaki ready for you, if you drop by again tonight,” she offers. Nana hops down to the floor, Float flickering on and off, just to soften the clap of her sneakers’ soles on the tile.

“I can’t ask that--”

She ducks into the kitchen and flips the pan, resets her timer and pokes her head out to check on Gran Torino exiting the employee-only space. He snags his coffee and pops the lid; he fills it with cream and sugar.

Aha, she thinks gleefully. She knew he couldn’t possibly like coffee straight from the pot. The taiyaki from the afternoon might have sweetened the bitter brew, but as of the evening’s coffee?

“Will you be impressed if I tell you that I basically live upstairs?” she asks Torino.

“You’re renting both the business and your apartment?”

“I own the land and the building,” Nana corrects.

“That can’t be cheap.”

“I’m a responsible business owner!” In response, he snorts into his coffee. “Anyway, if you don’t have anyone to check in with after patrol, just check in with me. Underground pro-heroes are advised to have some kind of handler, right?”

“We’re not government agents,” Torino says, frowning.

“Just say ‘yes,’” she tells him. “‘Yes, I will drop by your balcony and pick up my other taiyaki, Shimura-san.’”

Because she’s watching for it, Nana sees the slight twitch of his lips curling up into a smile.

“Yes, I will drop by your balcony and pick up my other taiyaki, Shimura-san,” he parrots.

[jigensass]

A Thousand Years-sonoftheinfamous

Stephen adjusted his tie while making faces into the mirror provided for him. It had been the 20th time he adjusted it. Wong was counting.Despite being completely sure and confident about today, his wedding day, he was nervous as ever. His wedding vows were just another spell he had to remember, but he felt he would buckle under anxiety and forget everything. 

Wong held a large face of concern behind him. “Stephen I- are you sure about this? You can go back, you can still be Sorcerer Supreme...” 

“No, Wong.I made this decision and I’m sticking with it. I didn’t give all that time, all those prayers...I’m not going back on my word. I made a promise...to the man I love. You remember Clea, I can’t let that happen again.I love Duncan and if I were smart, I would have done the same for her.” Wong gave him a face of disapproval but sighed. “Alright. I’ll inform Mr Kaplan formerly-” 

“No...I will tell Billy the process will be complete when the ceremony is over.” He inhaled deeply one last time and turned around. “Be honest, is there something in my teeth? Everything near perfection?” He managed to get this look all without magic. It was a step to moving away to rely on it so much. A black tuxedo and bowtie with a purple cummerbund to compliment the one thing that Duncan told him about his suit: the color. His cufflinks went with the opal ring he got for Valentine’s Day from his fiance quite nicely. The Cloak of Levitation rested upon his soldiers one last time before being passed to his successor. “It has been a long time, my friends, but our time is at an end. I enjoyed the journeys we had together and will cherish them always. I will visit if I can. We leave for Turkey in two days’ time for our new home.” 

His second best gave him a thumbs up one last time and opened the door for Stephen. Walking out, he kept his eyes fixated on the floor so he didn’t spoil himself directly. His heart was thumping in his chest when he saw the other’s feet, but when his eyes fluttered upward and transformed into saucers. Stephen stood frozen in place for a moment, but gained his composure back quickly.

“Duncan....I...you’re flawless...I...I...” By this point, his heart was ready to leap out of his chest, his face was as red as the roses they ordered, and he felt sweat dripping down in places he never knew was possible.