One

The door chimes abruptly, and a tall, unfamiliar man walks in without preamble. Amu looks up from scrubbing the counter to greet the customer, and notes offhandedly that she's never seen him before.

It's a small enough café that her lack of recognition is an anomaly. The people who come are either loyal customers, introduced by loyal customers, or college students. He is none of those. It's early in the morning, and most of her regulars haven't arrived yet.

"Hi," she says, with a bubbly smile, because that's customer service for you. "Can I help you?"

He drifts forward, towards her, towards the counter. There is something familiar about him, on second glance. There is something about him that makes anyone do a double take. It's his eyes, she realizes - the deep glint in those midnight eyes, and the purple shadows under them. He's even taller up close, with broad shoulders and a well black, tailored suit jacket.

A dark coat and gray scarf completes the colour scheme. He looks out of place with the pale yellow walls and round tables and the pastries served with doilies on the plate.

"Large black coffee, if you please. "

His voice is pleasantly deep, and although she tries to recall, she can't remember if they've met before. Amu tilts her head, moving to the cash register. "Would you like any cream or sugar?"

The response comes crisply. "No thank you."

"So you take your coffee like your soul?"

She doesn't mean to blurt it out. The words just tumble out of her mouth like the filter between her thoughts and her speech momentarily collapsed. Perhaps it's too early, and her functions haven't switched on yet. There's a telling silence.

Amu swallows, cheeks flushing. Her first reaction is to cross her arms and lift her chin, but that's hardly going to gain her any favours. She begins with an apology, knitting her eyebrows together when he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

"My, is that how you treat all your customers?"

His lips are quirked. There's enough of a joke in it that she meets his gaze sheepishly. Her face feels hot.

"No," Amu murmurs in response. "I think you're just special."

He lets out a quiet sound of amusement, and by the time she looks up he's already moved on. The man flashes a gold American Express card, and she lets gaze wander absently as he pays. His scarf is soft wool, and the bottom of it dangles just over the counter. She wonders what he does, and why he's so familiar. She wonders why she cares.

Her coffee shop is enough, just because it's hers. It's compact and painted in sweet pastels and the cakes in the display are frosted with meticulous care. Amu wouldn't have it any other way. She moves to make his coffee, black, as requested.

She'll probably never see him again.

They're walking past a magazine stand when Amu holds up a hand. She moves closer to the offending glossy cover. This time, there is no doubt about the recognition. The man from her coffee shop from yesterday morning is smiling at her from a magazine cover. No — the bare curve of his lips hardly qualifies as a smile — it's a smirk.

"Seriously, Amu?" Rima rolls her eyes from where they've stopped, crossing her arms and looking around with barely concealed impatience. "These are the magazines tweens buy. Why are we standing here?"

Amu blinks, once, twice. A name is written at the bottom left, declaring, Tsukiyomi Ikuto: on music, family, and life.

"Do you..." She trails off. "Do you know him?"

Rima's lucid eyes flicker towards the magazine. "Vaguely. He's that violinist that's been quite popular recently." She shrugs, lightly. "I've heard his work has been hitting it off with old people and teen girls. And you're neither. So can we go."

"Wait," Amu protests. "Just a moment."

Rima stands by with a blank expression as Amu picks up the offending item with gentle fingers. She flips through it, and it briefly crosses her mind that it's rather a waste of her time to read about the opinion of some guy that bought coffee from her shop and plays violin.

And rationality trumps the curiosity, but it's something entirely beyond curiosity that compels her to pick it up, and make her way to the cashier. She fishes out a crumpled paper bill from her jacket pocket and purchases the magazine before returning to the front. The packet of glossy pages just barely fits into her purse after it's rolled up.

"Done?" Rima drawls out, raising an eyebrow. When Amu nods in agreement, she tips her chin down, and gestures in the general direction of the food court. "It's been a horrific week, and I hear the ice cream calling my name."

Amu smiles, a little helplessly. "Your dentist will despise you if you keep this up."

Rima is silent for a long moment, and around them the buzz of conversation seems to rise. It's the crowd of a Sunday afternoon at the mall. The ice cream shop is just up around the corner, and it's quite popular. Amu turns to suggest that they wait in line now to speed the process of procuring a nice, large waffle cone with chocolate chip cookie dough, when she catches Rima's gaze.

It's almost soft, something light in the golden depths. The flicker lasts only for a moment, and then it's gone, but Amu doesn't imagine the accompanying flush that rises to Rima's cheeks.

"There's a concert on Tuesday," she mutters gruffly. "If you actually like violin, if you want to go see..."

It takes a moment to understand the offer. "That's in like three days," Amu says. "Surely it's sold out by now if Ikuto is that popular. And —"

Rima looks away. "I can ask Fujisaki and his stupid chain of hotels. If he can't procure some sold out tickets, then there's obviously no point to him being all rich and everything."

And that's that.

Thanks for reading. Any feedback is very much appreciated.