A Late Lunch
Disclaimer: Gakuen Alice and anything related to it do not belong to me, but Higuchi Tachibana.
Every couple of weeks, Natsume found himself at this café.
It's called Which Witch.
Natsume denies everything from his shell-shock stare at the caricature of a sandwich with a witch's hat to the illogical laughter that ensued during his first visit.
He does begrudgingly admit that the ludicrous name and aroma of fresh baked bread wafting from the confines of the café slash bakery won him over.
Natsume passes by at least three bakeries and a large sandwich joint before he remembers to turn the corner off the main road bustling with businessmen on phones and bargain hunting mothers. The change in atmosphere is immediate as he finds himself in a quiet street that's part residential area, part shopping and eating district.
Part of Which Witch's allure for Natsume is that one can pass by it without knowing it.
Natsume knows from experience that the best things aren't easy to find or get a hold of, yet, when he has it within his grasp, he knows he found something worthwhile.
Natsume walked past the café's street entrance three times by accident trying to find it a second a time.
Which Witch is a café that is so American that there should be a line outside the door by curious Japanese foodies and trend-followers. It's just that… the outside is so plain and gray, not to mention it is off the beaten path, that the majority of people walk right past it and right into the clutches of the gimmicky and flashy cafes that line the other side of the street.
There's one café with strobe lights and a disco ball in the middle of the eating area shining down upon its patrons at 2pm in the afternoon. The waitresses are dressed in Hello Kitty motif. He'll take the off the beaten path in favor of Hello Kitty.
Apparently, Which Witch a badly kept secret to the locals. There's always a steady amount of customers. The first timers are always noticeable. Natsume refuses to admit he was one of those. Those, being the people who stumble into the alleyway and cross into the ruby-colored doors because they were preoccupied following the scent of baking French baguettes. They always widen their eyes and say out loud in an almost reverent whisper, "What is this place?"
Instead of bright color drinks and entrees that may or may not have a sparkler stabbed between the two slices of bread, Which Witch specializes in American-French baked goods and sandwiches. There's a display of cakes with the usual decadent triple chocolate with a chocolate butter cream frosting flaked with bits of crushed espresso bean. There's always one cake that stands apart from the rest. It could be due to the color ("Dude, it's a lime flavored cake!") or the amount of cake ("Count it, twelve layers of heavenly-bliss!"); his sweet tooth tingles as he passes by the cake display.
The owner could give Anna a run for her money with his creations.
Despite the appetizing array of pastries, Natsume's objective is the selection of sandwiches that range from ordinary (pressed turkey and stuffing sandwiches with a cranberry roulade; it's Thanksgiving on a plate) to the eclectic (fried peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwiches with a honey glaze; Natsume orders it once a year because ohmygod, this is good); all delicious in their unique ways.
Which Witch ensnares you into its carbohydrate-covered hands and refuses to let you go. Natsume comes for the food, but stays for… everything else.
Past the door, the main entrance is a bright and welcoming with its lemon meringue colored walls. Paintings are haphazardly splayed across the walls, ranging from the abstract ("It's a spoon." "Um, it's actually an artistic rendering of a waterfall." "It's a spoon." "Okay then.") to landscapes that stirs a memory of a life in the countryside; it's a childhood memory he thought he buried.
Which Witch subtly amazes Natsume to no end with its gray exterior to its lemon walls and avocado titled floors. Even on the inside, there are still understated characteristics of the café that constantly causes Natsume to pause and think, 'Was that there before?'.
One touch boldly looks down at its unsuspecting patrons. A chance look to the ceiling could possibly lead to a few good minutes of standing in awe. Splashed across the wall is a haphazard but meticulously cared for collage of scenes of Which Witch's regulars.
Right smack dab in the middle, he's a pre-dinner time guest that proudly proclaims he found this café first, is an older man sitting by one of the open windows. He's sipping a large glass of sweet tea as the sun sets overhead; the fading light piercing through the amber colored liquid and causes the condensation dripping from the sides to turn into sparkling gems. A half eaten croissant lies next to his open newspaper of the cartoon section. Adjacent is picture of a small group of teenagers grinning into the photo, several holding peace signs, purposely looking cheesy and on the verge of laughter as they pose for the cameraperson.
Another is of a young couple smiling at one another, their hands just shy of touching on top of the table. The female is speaking animatedly, her right hand flying wildly as she recreates her story to a softly smiling companion. He is leaning slightly forward, his lips twitching up trying to repress a smile. Tucked in the corner of the wall is a particularly large photo of two women and a dog sitting outside on the patio. While her dark-haired friend's back is turned, the other is sneaking the dog a small morsel of meat from what looks like her companion's plate.
Natsume doesn't look up to examine the pictures often, especially after an incident involving a waiter, an avocado and turkey sandwich on rye, and- no one shall ever speak of that event ever again.
When he does get a chance, when there's a lull and dull hum of light conversation, the other patrons are so stuffed with good food that they're merely talking about bringing a slice of cake or pie home, Natsume allows himself a moment to look up. He's surprised to find there's always another photo.
Natsume opens the door to the owner greeting him with an over exuberant smile. He knows him so well that his order is already assured before he's shooed away to sit at his usual table. Natsume's begrudgingly admits he does appreciate being a regular when he spots his usual seat outside in the patio in the corner, his back to a wall where he can see people walk along the street and in and out of the café.
Old habits die hard.
Not surprisingly, his spot is always empty.
"You don't have to reserve this spot."
"Oh please," a light-hearted glare the owner, he's a friendly person who, thankfully, only asks superficial questions. "By now, everyone knows that's your seat. I'd be afraid they would combust into flames."
Natsume scoffed, a little surprised and mostly grateful.
Every table is accompanied daily with a new potted plant instead of traditionally cut or plastic flowers. The owner is a quirky little thing with his plants and hipster ways.
Today's is a potted daisy; it's white with an orange center.
A waitress, she must be new, flushes pink under his quick gaze as she places a cup of lemonade in front of him.
Someone must have warned her about him because she doesn't set her number underneath the glass unlike the waitress before her when she circles again to refill his half-empty cup.
"Hey, it's been a while."
The thunk of a purse hits the floor as Natsume looks up; the sides of his lips automatically quirk into a small smile.
His grin is returned ten-fold.
"You're late," he replies, his accusation is lukewarm. The banter at the beginning is always the same; reminiscent of the first day they met for lunch after stumbling across the establishment after a particularly heated quarrel over where to eat.
Mikan huffs. "Oh please, I was only late because one of the students decided to blow up the west wing of the science lab,"
There's always a student blowing up various parts of the science lab.
"How is Hotaru?"
Mikan shrugs. "The same." The pride she holds for her childhood friend shows as she speaks, "You know how she gets in her lab. Earlier she said-"
Their conversation abruptly halts due to the fast-paced steps of the waitress signaling her approach. She doesn't notice the sudden silence as she places a cup of water, an orange slice floating on top, in front of Mikan.
Mikan lightly taps her fingertip against the glass, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes as the waitress scowls down at her behind her back.
"She must be new and unaware of your ways."
"She knows a catch when she sees one."
Mikan sticks out her tongue.
"She must be partially blind if that's the case."
The slight scent of burnt hair floated along the patio before Mikan rolls her eyes, willing away his Alice with her Nullification Alice.
Arrogant man.
These are the moments that Natsume wishes that she hadn't mastered her Alices.
She leans forward, pinching him on the back of his hand in retaliation. She rubs the slightly burnt tips against her fingers with her other hand wryly, "I should get it cut."
"No."
"There's no pleasing you."
She humors him. Mikan doesn't pretend to hide her amusement to his obvious dislike of her idea. She knows she needs a trim, and he knows she won't cut it, but she still likes to tease him about it. Despite the many years that have passed, he's still particular about her hair.
The waitress returns with their order, and their conversation rightfully stalls once more, for a different reason.
Silence because one's mouth is watering.
Natsume is a one-sandwich type of person when he's not feeling particularly dangerous with the fried peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwich.
He accepts the small comforts and possessively holds them close.
The plate in front of him is a roast beef sandwich, steam oozing from the fresh sesame roll. Homemade pickled peppers intermixing with the locally made cheese jut from the sides of the break, along with a trail of deliciously fatty meat. It lays beside a large pile of just-cut French fries, sprinkled with salt and crispy bits of fried garlic.
Natsume theorizes Mikan may not have working taste buds because her choice is always the weekly special. Usually it's tasty and inventive, but there are moments when he wonders what state of mind the owner or whoever created the sandwich ("why is there grape jelly in your pepperoni melt?") but she's always been eclectic.
Thankfully, today's dish is relatively normal. Mikan is picking underneath the chiabatta bread, prodding at the slightly wilted leaves of spinach, grilled eggplant, and thick slices of crispy bacon poking out underneath the toasted slices of bread. Beside it is a side salad of baby lettuce, thinly sliced cumcumber, and cherry tomatoes with a sprinkling of julienned carrot with a tangy citrus vinaigrette on the side.
Mikan is remarkably healthy for someone who lives so dangerously with her entrees.
She'll occupy herself with looking for napkins, and during that time, Natsume switches his half of sandwich for hers. He still trades with her when her sandwich is absolutely ludicrous ("the grape jelly really does make the sandwich-oh my god, I need another one.") because it's Mikan and she knows he'll exchange with her regardless.
After the first initial bites of their respective sandwiches, the silence familiar and the sandwiches a comforting weight from past lunches, conversation lulls back to the normal.
Mikan pops a cherry tomato in her mouth, munching thoughtfully, "How's Ruka?"
Natsume takes a sip of his drink, contemplating the answer. "He's doing well, he's probably even busier now since the mare finally had her fowl last night."
Mikan claps her together, "I have to see it!"
Natsume chuckles in-between the perfect bites of roast beef, melted cheese, and the lingering sharp bite of pickled pepper. He needs to come here more often.
He half-heartedly bats her hand as she grabs a fry.
Natsume wakes up late at night craving these fries.
Mikan chides him on his eating habits and spears a cucumber onto her fork.
"Eat."
"No."
"Yes."
"Make me."
Mikan is no longer surprised that Natsume reverts back to a seven-year old state of mind when facing vegetables.
Instead, she revels in the moments when she's allowed to tease him, prodding her fork at his face until he submits and methodically nibbles on the cucumber slice.
She covets the barely perceptible pout on his face.
They eat, watch people walk in and out of the café, speak to the owner who talks absently about the weather, and talk some more while carefully avoiding any discussion about Gakuen Alice.
The lively hooting of a nearby coo-coo clock is a dulling reminder that lunch is over and their responsibilities outside of the café.
Mikan sighs thoughtfully, laying several bills on the tabletop. It's her turn to pay for lunch. "Back to the bull-pen."
Natsume touches the back of her hand, his lightly callused fingers grazing the gold band on her ring finger. "Yeah."
They smile over their empty plates.
A promise of next time.
Mikan enters the Academy, the gate shutting behind her in finality. Walking back to her class, she can still smell the lingering scent of pepper.
She drops her purse on her desk; she still has fifteen more minutes until she has to run off to teach her next class. Her skin prickles.
"Hey."
"How was lunch?"
"It was good, the special was extremely tasty."
"Oh?"
"Mhmm…you should try getting one for yourself."
"Nah, I'm fine."
"Only because you always eat my half," Mikan mock-pouts, turning around to lightly punch Natsume in the arm.
He grabs her hand before it connects with his arm, a gold band on his left hand, similar to Mikan's, clinks against hers. Natsume squeezes her hand, smirking. "You like roast beef."
Mikan pouts, in begrudgingly agreement, "I do!" She attempts to protest though. "I'd like to eat a full sandwich though!"
Natsume pulls out a paperbag from behind his back, a smug grin on his face. She can smell peppers and bacon emanating from the bag.
Their afternoon lunch dates are always the same: Conversation as if it was a casual meeting in a universe where one of them left the confines of Gakuen Alice. Better yet, maybe it was a meeting in a different life; a life where they were two ordinary people casually eating at a cafe and happened to stumble into one another.
Their rings clink together again as she squeezes his hand. Mikan smiles. "You're still sharing some of your roast beef sandwich."
SS: Yup, I had to write another one. It's been snowing the past couple of days, so I thought I'd stray from cabin-fever by writing a little. I hope all of you enjoyed it! That, and the beginning of your year is going well. Reviews are always appreciated!