July 24, Thursday

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"Miss!"

At the call of demand, Mai stopped messing with the arrangement on the condiments table and quickly skipped to the voice. She checked her pockets for her notepad and pen, and shuckedoff imaginary dirt on her new uniform—a ridiculously embarrassing short, frilly dress resembling that of a western maid's outfit.

("Oh, drop those eyebrows back to your forehead," Azami had said, smirking when she saw the look on her face.

"B-but!"

"What? You're cute. Might as well attract all the customers I can get.")

One could not simply gain without proper sacrifice, she supposed. The dress was not much of a bother anyway; she preferred the mobility its skirt provided her, as opposed to pants. She hated wearing pants.

"How may I be of service?" she asked the young woman before her, who was probably college-age.

"One 1837 Crepe please."

"And for your drink, ma'am?"

The woman skimmed the menu for a moment before answering. "Iced Vanilla Bourbon."

With a smile, she praised the customer for the wonderful choice and hopped back to Azami to hand in the order. The boss was a surprisingly hands on one—coming earlier than her employees and leaving even later, and strictly overseeing everything while helping out as well. At this moment, she was behind the counter, aiding the barista. Mai was supposed to be in her place, but they had recently discovered she sucked at making tea and coffee too.

"Mai, I need you to deliver one tin can of Earl Grey."

The words 'We deliver?' almost slipped through her lips before she thought twice. It was never good to question the whims of a boss, especially this one.

"Where did we put that again..." Azami mumbled, hands on her waist as she snaked her eyes across the rows of tea and coffee blends. "Aha, there it is."

The boss reached up and took the can from its shelf, wiping away invisible dust before handing it to her. It was about a foot tall, with a diameter of eight inches. Who in the world could possibly finish such a monstrous amount of tea?

"Should I change my clothes first?"

"You don't have to," Azami answered as she punched some buttons on the register.

"But... I can't go out like this," she mumbled, aghast.

"You don't have to, really. The place is right there." She points up to the ceiling. "Besides, more people might come if they see you wearing that."

After a wordless exchange of a smirk and a grimace, the large tin can was dumped into her arms along with its receipt. She marched out the door stiffly, self-conscious from what Azami said. The escalator to the second floor was easily found, and she willed her legs to climb up to hasten her journey; she could feel all the eyes trailing her hurrying form.

A hall of doors greeted her as opposed to the wide space she expected. There were about one... two... a hundred doors. Which one ordered the large-ass can of tea?

About to explode with exasperation, and thinking, 'No way I'm going back outside,' she glanced to the crumpled receipt in her clenched hand. She hugged the can using one arm and opened the ball. There were three letters written at the back—SPR.

It was her only clue and she'd rather take a chance at it than embarrassing herself outside with all those people. So she searched. And searched. And searched. All the doors looked alike. There were labels on them, yes, but the words were so tiny that she needed to walk up to the doors before she could read them.

...All the studying was worth it, but going blind might not be a good idea, she thought offhandedly.

Finally, she reached the end of the hall, and what do you know! SPR—and the letters on the door were huge, too. Even when she was a few meters away, she didn't have to squint her eyes to read them.

She sucked in a large breath and released it through her mouth, not because of the nervousness of someone seeing her in this kind of outfit, but because of relief. She could get this over with, finally.

And so she knocked. And knocked. And knocked.

But nobody answered.

Damn.

So she knocked again. Harder.

Inside, a loud bang shook the walls, presumably made by a violently shut door. There was a muffled scuffle, an 'Oof', and a 'Lin, have you lost your key again?' before she was forced to stop knocking. The wood beneath her fist was torn open.

A young man, who had hair as dark as ebony and skin as white as snow, stood in the entry. Irritation clouded his eyes before confusion took over, then recognition.

"You!" they said at the same time, one bewildered but calm, another bewildered and mortified.

And with not another second to spare, she shoved the gigantic can into his arms and ran away.

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A/N: I am so stealing the menu from this unmentionable ('cause they might jail me) prissy, pretentiously fancy cafe. And I can honestly see Naru in that kind of posh place. :P

Yeah, and I'm sorry for being an ass about updating. Love you.