A/N:

[All characters in this story belong to Sunrise/Bandai Namco Pictures, the creators/owners of Tiger and Bunny. Brand names referenced also do not belong to me, nor am I associated with them in any way. Any portrayals of company actions or views are not meant to be taken seriously, as this is entirely a work of fiction not meant to defame in any manner.]

I was debating whether or not to just make this a really long one-shot or a two-shot, but here I am and here it is in this state. This was really fun to write. Well, challenging, definitely, but still very fun :P I put the prompts below (and by the way, didn't quite follow them too strictly), and, for the most part, no story warnings for anything except coarse language and dirty-ish humor/situations, heh. The perspective is dual first-person, so heads up to make sure no one gets confused. Hope ya enjoy, peeps!

(Also, shout out to Ninjabobo529 for showing the me the prompts and helping me find a way to lead into the third one! Hope you're having a nice summer so far! o3o)

-Reddie

Prompts:

I'm a barista and you're the obnoxious customer who comes through and orders a venti macchiato while talking on the phone the whole time so I misspell your name in increasingly creative ways every day AU

I'm a busy businessperson and my barista keeps misspelling my name in increasingly disrespectful ways, honestly, who does this person think they are AU

I saw you trying to hit the "door close" button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you later for work, but now we're stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don't know what to say other than "you started it" AU

-KOTETSU T. KABURAGI-

You know, I get along pretty well with a lot of people.

I get along with Keith and his obnoxious habit of repeating every other thing he says twice because he's a good guy. I get along with Nathan and all his come-ons because he really is a caring person behind it all. I get along with that one snooty high schooler who comes through here after three every Thursday because I've seen how loyal she is to her friends.

But I don't get along with that guy because I absolutely cannot think of a single redeeming quality about him.

Now, I won't lie. The first time he came through here, I forgot how to talk for a second, because, fuck, was he attractive, with that lush blond hair and those cool green eyes cutting right into me. But like hell I'd let anyone, especially Nathan, onto that. I mean, I'm mostly into women, but every now and then, I might get a bit warm-faced over a particular guy passing by. It's mostly the slender, tinier guys that get me, but I've had my exceptions, seeing as that guy is actually kinda tall, little over my height, and a little built too. He might be a model, since he always comes in wearing some get-up that looks like it's meant for magazine pages. I don't know.

But what I do know for certain is that he's an absolute dick.

Because, at that first meeting, as I fumbled to grab an empty venti cup, I asked, "Can I get your name?"

And at that moment in time, he was clearly speaking on the phone with someone, which really wasn't a hassle in itself. I was patient, and there was only this one girl with a pretty scarf behind him, so I awaited his reply with a smile. The fact that he took so long to hang up wasn't what made him a dick.

No, it was that little glance over at me, and that little shit-eating smirk that said he knew he was holding things up and I couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Brows furrowed, I repeated, "Can I get your name?"

And with a sigh, he finally muttered into the receiver, "Hold on a second—" and said it so quickly that I barely caught it, "Barnaby—Anyway, as I was saying, I just wanted to know if we could reschedule around—"

"I'm sorry?" I leaned in a bit, tilting an ear in his direction, because, like a decent human being, I just wanted to make sure I got it right. But at this, he only rolled his eyes and continued speaking, merely giving a dismissive hand wave, his silent permission to write whatever the hell I thought I heard onto his cup.

Just for that, I put down his name as "Barnabby" and watched with crossed arms and a smirk as he squinted at the name heading out.

That was the first of many times I would screw up his name on purpose.

I would've stopped, but he never put his phone down, the arrogant little prick. So really, he brought it on himself. The first few times were just relevant to his attire. The day he came in wearing a yellow sweater with a honeybee on it, I gave him "Barnabee" with an adorable little doodle of the smiling bug on his chest. I thought maybe it might make him laugh a bit and we could just sweep things under the rug, but he scrunched up his face slightly without out turning to look back at me, the sourpuss. Then, when he came in wearing a shirt with a bakery name, I gave him "Barnabread", earning a look of confusion. After that, the day he came in wearing something fuschia, I gave him "Barney" with the thought of a certain dinosaur brought to mind (my daughter used to love the hell out that show), thinking maybe that'd get him this time, but then he just sort of looked up at me in disbelief, before turning tail, nose in the air.

And that was when I was starting to wonder who exactly shoved a stick up his ass.

So I started pushing it a little further, seeing where the limit was until I could get this iceberg of a hottie to crack a nice, warm smile in the very least. I gave him things like "Barbany", "Barbie", and even "B'rn'b'", but nothing loosened him up. No, this guy was just a big, impenetrable ball of grump who tightened up his lips and brows a little more every time I tried put a bit of sunshine in his life. And as obnoxious as it was that he continued talking on the phone no matter what, I couldn't help but start to feel a little bad for him.

Exactly what made a charming young stud like him so cold, so uptight? It really was so unbecoming, so unfortunate, so… uncute for someone so good-looking to only ever smirk like an asshole when he smiled. And as much as I very badly wanted to see him genuinely grin, I was running out of ideas until one particular encounter, during a shift where I was very, very glad to be indoors.

Rain is no stranger to Manhattan, especially now as November rolls in to greet the streets by dumping buckets over everyone's dirty cars. So as I'm minding my own business mixing together a matcha frapp for some pale-haired guy fiddling with a paper crane, he comes in, dripping rainwater all over the floor—and making my job a lot more difficult—as he shakes even more droplets out of his hair without bothering to brush his feet on the mat at the door… all while still talking on the phone.

"Jeez, ever heard of an umbrella?" I can't help but mutter under my breath with a chuckle as he begins towards the counter. I hand the crane guy—Ivan, that's what's on his cup, I think—his drink, earning myself an unexpected bow, and then, when the sexy asshat gets within about a foot of me, I see his pert, pink little nipples under his thin, white dress shirt. I want to snort, to laugh out loud, but that's mean, because hell, he can't help wearing what he needs to for work. "Hey, what can I get ya?"

"Hi, I'd like a venti caramel frappuccino." He says a bit out of breath, eyes flickering between me and the flip phone against his cheek.

"Oh, would you now?" I tease, leaning in and knowing now he can't say a damn thing. I make a very clear point to look down, before suggesting, "Because you look more like you could use something to warm you up instead."

The guy doesn't know what to say. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then, opens it again, no sound coming out. He seems to be at a loss for words, and I can actually see how torn he is between continuing his call and actually putting down his phone for once. Not to mention, the flush on his face is priceless.

"Yes." He pauses, eyes on the ground, his face still incredibly red, "That would be good. Thank you."

"Alright then!" I reply just as he hangs up, instantly jotting down my latest revelation of a perfect misspelling.

"N-No, wait," He begins, eyes panicked, "that's not what I—"

"Hey, no worries! It's on me. And it should be quicker than a frapp, anyhow." I smirk, handing it right back to him.

"Oh. Well then, thanks, I guess." There's a hint of hesitation as he takes the latte from me, and for a moment, I swear I see the smallest smile as he takes a sip. Sure, it seems a little smug, but I can't help but feel like, maybe, there might be a bit of sincere happiness in there. And that kind of warms my heart just a little, thinking when he finally looks at what I wrote that he might actually burst into full-on laughter.

But no, he just… chokes on his coffee, that's all.

"Whoa, hey buddy," I say, putting my hands up, "you okay?" How can he choke over that? All I wrote was "Barnaboob"!

At last, the cough settled, and he got out the reply, "I'm fine."

"Ya sure?" I ask in concern, placing my hand over his. Instantly, he swats it away, face still blushing like hell.

"Do not." He warns, pushing my hand back towards me. "Touch. Me."

"Um. Alright?" Is all I can say, smiling sheepishly back at him. His eyes harden into a glare for just a moment, before he closes them and pinches the bridge of his nose. Apologetically, I nudge the latte towards him and add, "You can still have the coffee."

"Well, it'd be a waste to throw it out." He scoffs, swiping it off the counter as the fluorescent lighting above us flickers, sort of like twitching the way his eyebrow just did. Just then, he makes a face and snaps his phone open against his cheek, dialing someone up before saying, "Hello, Barnaby Brooks Jr. speaking. I have a complaint I'd like to voice about customer service. Uh-huh. I see. So then, when and where should I go to file a complaint? Alright then."

"Er, have a nice day!" I slip in at the last second, hoping for a nod in the very least, but it's just the same stupid whatever hand wave and his back faced towards me.

And just to top it off, I hear him say, "Who was that? Oh, no one special, don't worry about it," right before walking out the door. With that, I hang my head with a groan.

"Dammit!"

But before I can throw myself a pity party over… whatever that little disaster was, a puff of breath passes right over my ear, causing me to jolt.

"Ooh, honey, you really shouldn't have done that." Nathan shakes his head with a chuckle, elbow propped up on my shoulder.

"Done what?" I harrumph, crossing my arms, "Given him a drink out of my own paycheck? I don't see anything wrong with that."

"Phooey, that is soooo not it."

"What'd I do wrong then?" I huff, "I was just trying to get him to smile a bit."

"Really? Because it looked more to me like you were trying to get yourself reported to HR for sexual harassment!"

"You can't be serious." I blink back at him, shocked by the accusation, from him of all people (as if I haven't seen him grabbing Antonio's ass before!). But no, he just puts his hands on his hips and glares at me.

"Sweetheart, do I look like I'm kidding you?" He leans over, eyes shifting around, before dropping his tone, "Don't think I didn't catch you. You looked and talked to him in an awfully suggestive manner before scribbling down that raunchy little pun of yours, so you're not necessarily innocent."

"But, my intentions weren't to—!"

"Doesn't matter what your intentions were, because that's how it came off to him. Listen, that phone call he made right before he left did not sound pleasant. So if I were you, I'd chase him down before he can formally file that complaint with HR and negotiate with him to reconsider reporting you."

"Hmm…" Well, Nathan's advice hasn't failed me yet. "Alright. You know the building I gotta go to then?"

-BARNABY BROOKS JR.-

It's always been this way for me, really.

With my looks and intellect, I've never truly known a moment's rest. As a grade-schooler, my life was acting for commercials and learning to read chapter books in first grade. As a high-schooler, it was running the afterschool robotics club and modeling for clothing stores over the summer at the mall. As a college student, it was commencement ceremonies and an internship at Apollon Garments. And now, thanks to that in to the industry with my college activities, I'm up and running as a successful model, hopping between the states for photoshoots and fashion shows, building my portfolio, and basically going nowhere but forward in the business.

I am a very busy man, you see, so I don't have time or patience for a lot of things, namely tomfoolery and poor customer service in general.

Which is why for the life of me, I have close to no tolerance for that one barista—Kotetsu, if I remember reading his name correctly—and that late-running electrician. Believe me, if I had the time, I'd whip up a caffeinated concoction for myself and take care of the lights in my apartment, but I simply don't have the time. Today alone, I have a number of places I need to be: turn in my updated portfolio to another agent, hit the gym to keep up with my exercise regime (with enough time to shower off afterwards), do a local photoshoot for a specialty costume café, file that complaint to the electric company in the hopes they'd send someone over immediately to fix the lights before I leave for Los Angeles tomorrow morning, and pack the last of my things tonight for my flight there.

At this point, I've grown used to this kind of run-around. Modeling, although a fulfilling endeavor, is excruciatingly unpredictable as it demands my presence at various venues day to day, so getting all of this done all boils down to how I manage my time. This is where multitasking had become my best friend. After three intense years in high school as president of the robotics club, I had always been good at calculating and planning for upcoming events, to the point where now I can easily arrange my time even on a last-minute basis. And in theory, my plans were all perfect. But, of course reality always throws in those unaccounted for variables. I like to think I leave enough room to deal with those, and that I possess just enough patience to take them on. But my patience has worn thin.

Before, there had been little risk to ruining my schedule involved in going for a quick caramel frapp. And quite honestly—though begrudgingly—I'd still have to say that was the case, seeing that the service I've received at the establishment has been close to nothing but excellent. As much as I hated to admit it, even that unwarranted suggestion to have a latte instead saved me some time this rainy afternoon (and likely kept me from catching a cold, which would've hindered me in my work). But I still despised Kotetsu's antics.

Who exactly did that man think he was, intentionally misspelling my name like that? I graduated as the salutatorian of my high school and maintained a 4.0 GPA throughout all of college. I've done photoshoots and even walked the runway for some of most elite designers in the fashion industry. I've spent years at this job maintaining my physique and reputation as one of the most stunning male models on the East Coast. And he has the fucking nerve to taunt me on regular basis with a ridiculous slew of name puns?

Obviously, he was just doing this to get a rise out of me, but like hell I'd let him get exactly what he wanted. No way I'd let someone who disrespected the name of Barnaby Brooks Jr. have his way with me so easily. Besides, I was above reacting to insults as petty as "Barnaboob". At the end of the day, indulging him with even a single retort would just be a waste of my time in the midst of my busy schedule. Therefore, it wasn't worth it, especially since I wouldn't be seeing him for the next few months (maybe even the next year, for all I knew) after I took off for California.

He was nothing worth wasting time on, and I'd leave it at that.

I'm not sure what place Kotetsu had in thinking he could hit on the man renowned as New York's sexiest (at least, according to the last magazine I posed for), but I'm at least half-thankful to have lingered for that little fiasco because the little flicker in the lights just then reminded me that I still had to call for an electrician to fix the lights in my apartment.

Really, I'd been calling for over a month now for someone to do the repairs, but they still have yet to send anyone over, so I thought it was best for me to take advantage of the reminder right then and call them right away to file a complaint. Usually, that sort of shove was what it took to get the job done. And at this rate, things would proceed according to plan, as per usual.

"Barnaby!"

But, now, I can clearly see a new threatening variable has been thrown my way… because, there he is, chasing me down and nearly causing me to choke a second time on the coffee he bought me.

I grumble to myself under my breath, bewildered and displeased, "For fuck's sake…"

"Hey, buddy! Wait! I need to talk to you!" He calls out for me from behind, his voice signaling his growing proximity. With that, I speed up my pace—continuing to walk, but not running—to reach the empty elevator just then opening up to me. Stepping inside is only half the battle won, but the door is still wide open, giving him enough hope to charge straight for me, but like hell I'll give him the chance to get in!

Urging my will to be done, I tap repeatedly on the "door close" button to the elevator, wishing those damned doors would hurry up and shut him out already. But, by some unlucky draw at the expense of my fate, he manages to squeeze through the door right before it closes us both into the space.

And as he begins punching every single button for every floor in this building—there have to be at least thirty here!—I howl at him and frantically make a grab for his hands.

"Just what do you think you're doing, you crazy old man?"

"Buying some time! You and I need to have a talk!" He grunts, resisting my efforts, "And who are you calling old, pal? I'm only thirty five!"

"Like it matters!" I shout, banging my fist against the wall, "Listen, I don't know who you think you are to waste my time like this, but I have a list of things I need to do today, and enduring your yammering isn't on it!"

Just then, the elevator makes an awful buzzing noise, jarring both of us into dead silence.

Then, slowly, he begins to say, "What was that?"

And then, after a few minutes of realizing that the elevator has gone still and the doors are not moving, I feel all the blood drain from my face. No, this just can't be happening.

"We're trapped in here."

"What?" He gasps, pressing at the floor buttons again, "Agh, like hell we are! Come on, stupid elevator, you can't be serious!"

Swatting his hands away, I reprimand, "Quit pressing the buttons! You'll jam them!"

"Hey, you're the one who broke the damn thing with your little hissy fit just now! Did you honestly expect to just slam your fist against the wall without screwing something up?" He wrests his hands away and continues to press the buttons. I make a grab for them yet again, clutching his wrists even tighter.

"Dammit, I already said stop with that!"

"You started it!" He huffs childishly, breaking free from my hold again to cross his arms this time. "What the hell was that, trying to close the door on me?"

"If anything, I should be asking you what you're doing here! How did you even know this was where I was headed?"

"Obviously because of that phone call you made on the way out!"

I blink at him, confused by his train of thought, "What... are you talking about?"

"You came here to report me for sexual harassment, right? You were asking where you could file a complaint, and they told you this was the place to come, didn't they?" I'm at a loss for words because he really cannot be any more wrong as to why I'm here. Before I can even find a reply though, he sighs and hangs his head, then taking off his hat, "Well, you have adequate reason to. But at least let me explain myself. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable by writing 'Barnaboob' on your cup. I just… thought it could make you laugh."

"Make me… laugh?" I echo blankly.

"Yeah, or smile in the very least! I mean, I thought it was funny… but I guess I took it a little too far, so for that, I'm really sorry."

"Well." I lean back against the wall, stunned at how deeply our miscommunication ran, "I'd accept your apology, but… the fact of the matter is I didn't come here to report you for anything."

Snapping his sights back up towards me, he blinks, "What?"

I can only nod at him. But he keeps staring at me like he doesn't believe me, prompting an explanation on my part. With a sigh, I place my coffee on the ground so I can hold up the folder tucked inside my bag.

"I'm here to turn in my updated portfolio for work. And that phone call I made earlier was to complain about the fact that no one has come over to my place to fix the lights yet." I divulge, then pushing past him towards the panel of buttons. "Anyhow, I can't linger here too long. I have other places I need to be today, so it'd be best for us to cooperate on getting out of this elevator as quickly as possible. Did you press the call button?"

"I would've, if you had let me earlier." He harrumphs, sitting down.

"You were just pressing the floor buttons, like that was going to help." I rejoin defensively, looking over the panel before coming across the call button. "I was right to stop you. Now, sit there and stay quiet. Complaining won't get us out of here any faster."

"Urgh… fine then." He flaps his arm about in the air, before pouting and putting his hat back on. Then, with an ungraceful plop, he sinks to the floor to sit down, giving up an immature noise, "Hmph." Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I bring my attention back towards the panel, awaiting a voice over the intercom.

I'm just hoping today won't be as long as it feels like it's going to be.