Author's Note: Don't mind me, I'm just busy suffering emotionally. I need some happy AU now and this is probably the most overused theme for an AU so maybe this is super dumb but it's a happier deviation from the whole and-then-everyone-dies thing that Takahiro has going.

And uh I guess for ages, Lubba is fourteen, Mine is thirteen, Leone is sixteen, and Miss Najenda is like twenty-six. Does that work.

And since this has a modern-day setting, then Lubba's going to still be living with his parents, and there will be some side-effects of being born into such a wealthy family where he's given whatever and expected to do everything right. So yeahhhh.

Also I'm sorry that the title is very dumb.

It was the café Lubbock always went to after school—partially to have an excuse not to straight home, because he honestly hated his home life almost as much as he hated the unnecessarily expensive private school he was forced to attend, and partially to think something other than a certain principal whom also doubled as his physical education teacher.

Being the son of a successful businessman wasn't the easiest or enjoyable thing ever, and neither was crushing on one of your teachers. He wanted nothing more than to run away, but the best he could do for the time being was spend hours every day at the café watching the pink-clad girl, the daughter of the couple who ran the place, go from table to table serving drinks and small snacks.

He wasn't sure what to call her, and he never got the nerve to ask out of fear of possibly upsetting her, since she was a short-fused bundle of dynamite drenched in gasoline, and as such, could easily be set off by even the smallest spark, and she really didn't seem to care much for him. He knew how to pronounce her name at least, he just didn't know how to spell it. M-I-N-E, as the English boy he was—but since she was from the Netherlands and not Britain, maybe something like M-E-I-N, which looked more Dutch, and therefore more fitting, to him. She never wore a name-tag, which she shouldn't have to anyway, since she already introduced herself. She just didn't spell out her name.

Kayleigh and Kaylee are pronounced just the same, after all. Or maybe names seemed more insignificant to him than they did to most others. A rose isn't going to carry the same fragrance as a sunflower just because one referred to it as such. (He liked Shakespeare. A lot.)

But today seemed just a bit different than the others. According the the chatter, there was a new waitress to help out. He decided he could see what all the commotion was all about in a moment, once he got changed. He despised the clothes he always had to wear, so he always stuffed a casual outfit into his backpack to change into once he got to the café. It was far more comfortable, too, but he was sure he'd rather wearing it even if it wasn't.

Once he returned from the restroom, his regular clothing neatly folded and carefully put away in his bag so his parents wouldn't be able to tell he took it off in the first place, he sat at one of the tables to listen in on what was being said about the new waitress.

Apparently, she was hot, a former sex worker despite being a year or two shy of being a legal adult, and she had an attractive older brother around her age. She was single and hardly interested in anything other than a physical relationship, but there still remained no harm in taking a shot at something more than that.

Not that her employment history was anyone's business except her own. He respected other peoples's privacy enough to at least know that much. He sighed and rested his cheek against his fist, wondering when everyone would realize that all their talking about her might be a bit much.

Or until it was put to a stop, which it soon was. A high-pitched shout from behind the counter commanded everyone to shut up and sit down, or otherwise leave.

"If you insist on knowing things about her, maybe you should ask her yourselves instead of making up whatever crap that might seem fitting! And I swear, if you've got the nerve to crowd her, I'm going to personally kick you out and I'm not letting you back!"

Lubbock didn't know a single person who wasn't afraid of her, so it really wasn't any surprise that everyone did what they were asked. Rather, what was very furiously demanded. Again, she was the equivalent of a bundle of dynamite. Her petite build and her wardrobe made her look delicate and sweet, but she was quite the opposite.

He spent the next two or three hours—he didn't pay attention, he just knew when the alarm on his phone told him it was time to leave—reading and occasionally snacking on a slice of cake or a cookie. That was at six-thirty, so he probably still had some time to chat when he noticed someone sitting across from him at the small table.

He didn't move his gaze from the pages of the novel he was reading, but he could tell it was the new waitress.

"Hey, look up at me."

And so he did. And God, she was hot. Messy blond hair that reached a few inches above her shoulders, two locks of hair on either side on her head falling down to her chest, and gold eyes.

She smiled, reaching over the table to poke his nose. "You're cute. Your eyes are like emerald—have you heard anyone say that before?"

"No," he replied. His interest in this girl went no further than her appearance, and he was certain there was no chance of that ever changing. She was merely just better at talking to him than others, and probably more patient. No doubt she was after the same exact thing as everyone else who spoke to him. "But don't think I don't know what you're after. I'm not as naïve as people seem to like to think I am."

She gave a confused look, cocking her head to the side. "I'm not sure exactly what you're talking about... Mine doesn't seem to think very highly of you, but she does notice how much you hate what you wore into this place. It's near the end of my shift, there's not really anyone left here, so I'd like to know why you'd wear it at all if you hate."

"Are you stupid, playing dumb, or just new around here?"

"I moved here from Russia about a week ago. Guess you're one of the ones people bug a lot, aren't you?"

"Riiiight. That's a French accent you seem to have. If you're going to say you're from Russia, you could at least try to do the accent right."

She shrugged and leaned forward on her elbows. "My brother is Russian, I'm not. I haven't been living with him for much longer than a couple years, and I still don't know how to speak the language."

Lubbock still wasn't sure he completely believed her, but she did seem to have more patience than most. No one even tried to hold a proper conversation with him unless they immediately got something from him. It had reached the point where he would either walk away with his fists angrily clenched at his sides or he would throw a bag of assorted coins from various countries and then ignoring anything else that person said. He was sick of wasting time on people who wanted nothing more from him than his money.

And so maybe he was being stupid when he decided to take a gamble and put any kind of trust in her.

"By the way, the name's Leone." She grinned at him as she introduced herself.

"Lubbock," the boy said simply. She seemed to be the rather informal type, and he wished he could be, so he decided that one of his more proper introductions wouldn't be the most appropriate.

"Oh! Oh!" Her eyes lit with realization and she covered her mouth with her hands. "Lubbock! You're that rich kid, aren't you? The one who doesn't like people."

"I don't like the people who are after my money. Other than that, I guess people are fine. I think I prefer books, though."

"Then maybe you'll like this." She pulled a booklet from her shirt and held it out to him. "My brother lends this to me before I do something potentially frustrating. I'm sure he won't mind if I give this to you for a while. You've probably already read it, but maybe not."

He took it and read the cover. The Dhammapada. His parents never allowed him to read anything religious, as they were always telling him that religion and business should never mix unless one was trying to make money through religious items. He'd decided that he was an atheist, though, at least for the time being. He just loved reading the words of wise people long passed, and that was the entire composition of The Dhammapada. He tried and failed to hide his excitement—nothing but a poker face was acceptable in business, or any of the other careers his parents pushed him to pursue—as he held the pocketbook against his chest.

"Thank you—I'll return it in perfect condition, I promise. I'd also like to thank your brother personally as well."

Leone giggled and ruffled his hair. "Hey, no big deal. I thought it might appeal to you, and my bro's a pretty nice guy."

For a moment, Lubbock had no clue how to respond. No one was bold enough to touch his hair, let alone mess it up. It just wasn't something a person had the audacity to do to a rich boy from a prestigious family. Either he'd whine to his parents to do something that would ruin the rest of your life or he would use his power to demolish your reputation himself.

But he hated his social standing, so it wasn't as if he'd do anything. He liked this girl too much anyway, even if he was one to be grateful to having everything served to him on a golden plate. So he pulled a comb from his bag, quickly fixed his hair, and gave her a smile. It wasn't a fake he put on as he politely obliged to what he was told so as to make all the adults he met like him, but instead a sincere one. She would have cared just as much about him if she'd bumped into him on the street on her way home, and so he couldn't help liking her.

She pulled out her little notepad and one of her pens, scribbling down an address and a number, then she ripped the paper out and handed it to him.

"If you wanna call, there's my number. And my address, if you wanna come over tomorrow. Friday nights, my bro makes some traditional Russian dish. He's super good in the kitchen, and everything he makes tastes amazing. Usually his friend comes over to join us, but he's pretty cool, too."

Lubbock gratefully took the slip of paper and tucked it in his backpack, just in time for his phone's alarm to begin going off. He let out a sigh as he dismissed it. "I have to go get changed and leave. If I take too long and my parents come by and see me wearing this, I'm dead."

"Yeah, I'd think so." She waved as he headed to the restroom to put on the detestable clothes his parents always made him wear. And when he left, she was waiting at the door to bid him a goodbye.

"One more thing," he said, walking backwards for a couple moments to talk to her.

"Yeah?"

"Your eyes—they're like gold. Especially now, with the sunset lighting them."

She gave nothing but a smile as he turned around and raced off to his house.

Miss Najenda was gentle without being too soft, efficient, and good at everything she tried; but Leone was kind, friendly, and generous.

At any rate, he thought that perhaps Miss Najenda didn't have anything on Leone.

Author's Note: so should I add to this or...