note: shoutout to zoetekohana for the prompt from last year's michi week!

I don't wanna bother, but what are you doing tonight?

("Slingshot" by Zach Seabaugh ft. Chance Peña)

"I didn't ask for coffee."

Taichi immediately lifts the paper cup off the take-out tray Miyako holds. "More for me then."

She's too slow, scowling when he grins sloppily at her. "You've had too much."

"Not possible. Hey!" because she'd almost snatched the cup back. Clutches it tight with both hands as he draws himself away from the table, the most precious cargo.

She's not looking at him anymore, accusing glare returning to the solemn man seated on the other side of the table. "Why'd you let him take it?"

"No one lets me do anything—," interrupts Taichi while Iori simply answers, always plainspoken, "I prefer not to advise him on inconsequential matters."

Miyako does not bother looking back at him, knows to spare herself from the smug smirk that'd greet her if she did. He really shouldn't take such secret pleasure from minor office dramas, of which the present situation already didn't particularly count, but he'd be lying if he'd have to admit the workday hadn't been a bit boring. Coffee drama it would be. "He's had too much."

"So you've said."

"There's no need to talk about me like I'm not here."

"So do something about it."

"There's no need for me to become involved."

"I said don't talk about me like I'm not—!"

"Will you all please stop talking!" Jou's pressed just his head through the gap in the open door, his whole face a dark red of barely contained emotion. "We can hear you from down the hall!"

Taichi sits a bit straighter, Miyako lowers her chin. Iori changes nothing about his demeanor, as he's never not adhered to social etiquette. Looks up from his laptop now, speaks pleasantly. "Would you like a coffee, Jou?"

Miyako's eye twitches, Taichi's turn to scowl. Jou just groans. "Why've you let him have more?"

"That's what I was saying!" bursts Miyako, vindicated, rounding on Iori, who stubbornly refuses to look at her.

"You know what he gets like with too much caffeine!"

"You think I don't?"

"I'm in the room!"

"Did someone say there's coffee?" The door at the other end of the conference room opens, a new face added to the chaotic mix, blue eyes dimming when he sees the empty tray. "Aw, got my hopes up and everything."

Miyako wields the tray like an extension of her accusing finger. "You shouldn't have any more breaks! You're behind on, like, four different briefs for Sora, and she's going to expect all of them on her desk by the time she gets in from Singapore on Thursday."

Takeru prods the door ajar with his foot to reveal the stack of papers he's carrying. "Why I'm here." Nods at Iori, "Need your eyes on this, my friend."

"Do you ever do your own work?" complains Taichi, but he's smiling over the top of the paper cup.

Returns the grin just as brightly, known co-conspirators. "Since when do scriveners do their own work?"

Iori raises a single eyebrow, the most extravagant of his facial expressions, reserved for the gravest of offenses. "That is the only nature of your work."

"Speaking of," and Jou looks meaningfully between Miyako and Taichi. She gives in, but he does not, spinning all the way around in his chair instead, nothing but the wall to look at now. Jou clears his throat, summoning seniority with the flattest tone. "All right, Taichi, you've won the standoff. Get back to your desk."

"Not a desk; a torture chamber." This, again, is addressed to the wall.

"That still doesn't make it our problem."

His mouth drops open, head twisted over his shoulder, comical gasp. "Did Kido just make a funny?"

"And here I am without my camera." Takeru leans over the table by Iori's elbow, papers spread over the glass.

"Recording devices are not allowed in the conference r—,"

"Give it a rest, Hida."

"You're one to talk about rest." Miyako continues to be moody.

"Why're you all so concerned about my health?" clucks Taichi. "I mean, I'm flattered, but—,"

"Because what you think is your being energetic is really just your being an asshole."

Taichi gasps again, but actually they're all a little taken aback. Iori only shrugs in response, steadily reading through Takeru's papers, while Takeru himself gapes at Jou, "Is he even allowed to say bad words?"

"Can't prove what can't be recorded." Jou's at the end of his rope, tone so wry his voice's wrung all the way through. "Get back to work. All of you. All of you, Taichi."

"Almost done." Lifts the paper cup like a white flag. Jou scowls, Miyako mirrors it, and then they're both gone, leaving Takeru to pull up a chair next to Iori, huddling over the paperwork, posture serious at last. "I'll get out in a minute," Taichi tells the pair, still pacing his sips.

"That's your problem," chuckles Takeru, chin propped up by a palm. Tips his blond head towards the cup Taichi holds. "You run out quick."

"Quick and cheap."

"Don't talk about yourself so meanly."

Taichi raises a middle finger at him.

"There's a new place a couple blocks away, you know. Even play live music most days, half decent busker. Out of the normal way, maybe," and Takeru shrugs, "but worth it."

"Coffee doesn't need to be 'worth it.'" This fact learned by necessity rather than choice. For the longest time hadn't been able to afford better to test another theory, needing any fuel available to keep up with coursework, clerkships, caring for his sister. How else would he have gotten here, a year out from partner—if the office gossip were to be believed—the youngest in the firm's history to even get this close, this soon? "It just needs to work."

Takeru shuffles through a stapled packet, shaking his head. "That's the point. Yours is so cheap, it doesn't work for long. This place's will. Less bad coffee is more coffee effective."

Maybe. But why mess up a good routine? Rubs his nose with a thumb. "Qualified risk is still a risk, or so Kido tells me."

Iori glances at Taichi, thoughtful. "Takeru's recommendations have a proven value."

Cracks a grin at that, blue eyes swimming back to Taichi to add, "You'd just need one, maybe two coffees from this place, and you'd be set all day."

"That good?"

He's still not very interested, but doesn't mind humoring well-meaning junior colleagues. Well, the ones he gets along with enough to spend precious afternoon breaks around, anyway. Had no choice but to milk these breaks for all they were worth. Loves his job, the charismatic thrill of a winning case, making a living out of the glory of a persuasive argument. One of the reasons he excelled in law school, drawing out his competitive nature, back then every day a new adventure. But the hum of the routine of his now stable career growth had caught up to him, these coffee breaks the one respite within a fairly repetitive daily diary, on those weeks he didn't need to travel for business. A restlessness that he couldn't quite place properly, unnamed. Either anxiety over awaiting the pending shift in professional power, or the life he knows that will cement the routine further once it happens. In private, he's not sure what he'll do, if he doesn't make partner. He's even less sure what he'll do when he does.

Takeru smirks at him, a sly wink. "Hikari liked it, if that helps."

It does, though he doesn't say this part aloud, his sister's opinion superseding just about everything else in his life. Taichi finishes his cup, stands and stretches. Puts all other thought behind him. "All right. Later this week, maybe. I have Koushiro's crossworlds legal counsel seminar on Thursday at some stupid hour."

"Really?" They say this together, twinning wide-eyed surprise, both of Iori's brows all the way up.

Taichi rolls his eyes. "I take advice sometimes."

Takeru sighs. "I really wish we could record in here."

"I thought you talked to him."

"I did!" Mimi puts both hands on her hips, elbows bent and chin raised. The power stance, like she'd heard on a mindfulness podcast during that morning's commute and had kept assuming randomly throughout the day, asserting herself where no one had really quite asked her. Like now, for instance, when Daisuke has to take a step back so as not to be impaled on her elbow, squeezed behind her at the narrow counter. "I said, 'Daisuke told me to talk to you.'"

He immediately deflates. "Why would you start it that way?"

"Because you did tell me—,"

"Mimi!" Daisuke groans, then snuffs his tone when Yamato glances over at them. He drops to a whisper to avoid being overheard, evidently forgetting that neither he nor Mimi have ever successfully whispered anything in their lives. Indeed, their entire conversation continues to be audible throughout the coffee shop as Daisuke continues, "You were supposed to tell him he can't keep bumming customers out!"

Mimi protests, "But he's so good at it—and who are we to keep people from achieving their dreams?"

"Who dreams about bumming people out?"

Her elbows flap a little at her sides, an attempt at a shrug without rescinding the power stance. "How should I know?" because Mimi's indestructible support of friends' goals had always had very little correlation to meaningful personal interest in these goals herself. " He's the musician."

"He's the only musician." He corrects the emphasis as plainly as he can, tilting his head to the side and arching his brow a few times.

Mimi blinks up at him, not quite following. "Today, yes?"

Daisuke cracks. " Every day he is! Every week he—Mimi, we can't keep letting the guy make all our customers miserable with his dopey songs!"

Yamato leans over the bass he'd been tuning, finally speaking, "Dopey, is it?"

Mimi shuts her mouth, while Daisuke's ears burst red. He decides not to be embarrassed—for having been caught whispering or having been caught not knowing how to whisper, one cannot be sure. "I read it on a comment card."

Yamato, surprising no one, is unimpressed. "We don't do comment cards."

Finally, her time to shine. She resumes the power stance, pivoting to address both men. "Actually, I think we should do comment cards." ("There's no we ," stutters Daisuke at Yamato, remembering this fact—and most facts—a little late. "You don't work here!") "I think we would learn a lot about what our customers need if we used cards, or maybe even a suggestion box!" ("Then why do I get more tips than you?" replies Yamato in an unblinking deadpan.) "And we could make it a very cute box, so people feel encouraged to use it! And put it right by the door!" ("That's not true!" Daisuke turning to the top jar on the counter, digging through them for desperate proof, folded papers revealing themselves to be not banknotes but phone numbers and social media handles addressed generally to the cute busker pls & thx! ) "Or make some kind of raffle prize? I think people'd participate, if there was a prize, like free coffee for a month or a complimentary bag of roasted beans of their choice, don't you think? You'd participate in that, wouldn't you? Doesn't it sound fun?"

This is directed at the man standing on the other side of the counter. He's not the only customer in the shop, but he is the only one currently waiting for his order. Had been long enough to have taken a step or two back, inching toward the door, wary as he looked between the odd trio and their even odder conversations. Takeru and his goose chase pranks. It was far too early for this, but at least the early hour meant he'd have plenty of time to plot his revenge.

"You know, I think I'm good," says the man.

"For what?" Daisuke looking him up and down, like there could be no plausible reason for someone appearing in his place of business wishing to exchange money for a good he advertised as being able to provide.

Yamato goes back to his bass. "The coffee, Dais."

Realization dawns, a sight to see.

The customer shakes his head anyway. "It's fine."

"Relax, it'll be out in a minute," Daisuke still in a mood, Mimi cheerfully picking up the new empty paper cup he'd written the order on along with the man's name, not even minutes prior. "It's not about tips, it's about the customer experience. The ambience, if you will."

"I would very much like to not." Yamato's stopped looking at him by then, too.

"Our customers deserve nice, happy music with their coffee. Right? What kind of music do you drink coffee to?"

This directed again at the man now having made his shuffle almost all the way to the exit.

"I'm really fine—,"

"See! You're literally driving customers away!"

" You're the one he's literally trying to get away from—!" and then, half horrified with himself for adopting the bad habit in his outburst, Yamato snaps back, "And that's not how you use the word 'literally'!"

"Lavender honey latte," Mimi squints at Daisuke's poor handwriting, "for…Taisei?"

They all look at the man, who looks back at them. Has already thought up five different ways he's gonna make Takeru pay for this.

"That's not me." When no one among the trio even blinks, he clarifies, "I ordered an espresso."

Mimi beams. "I know you think you want a boring little espresso, but this latte is an improvement, trust me."

Up to eight ways now. "I think I'd just prefer the espresso."

"But why, when you could start the day with an adventure?" When she smiles, a hint of a dimple kisses the left corner of her mouth. The picture of temptation. Nothing if not persuasive, devil on the shoulder.

Daisuke is wandering off to confront Yamato some more over his selection of music. Mimi is still holding out the fresh latte in an inviting hand. A few more customers file into the shop, one of the younger part-time baristas taking over the till. Taichi is about to be late for Koushiro's seminar.

It's just one little step to reach her. He can take one little step. What could happen?

Takes a sip as she looks on expectantly.

It is, without a doubt, the single worst thing he has ever tasted.

"Well?" This close, she smells like honey and shortbread.

Taichi puts the drink back on the counter. "You got a comment card?"

Her face lit up, Mimi yells over towards the window where Daisuke and Yamato are still squabbling, "Yes, we do have comment cards! You are welcome to leave a comment!" and pulls out one of the folded papers from the tip jar, handing it over along with the lime green gel pen she'd had tucked behind her ear, holding her long hair back. The soft waves fall over her face, pooling past her shoulder as she bends to cross out the flirty note some other customer had left for the cafe's resident musician and writing How would you rate your service? in an aggressively curly print before sliding both the paper and the pen to him.

He's honest. I would like an espresso.

The change in her expression so dramatic he forgets to be put out about how late to work he really is going to be now. "You're not very fun, are you?"

"Not before coffee." Offers a smile, hoping she knows he's mostly joking, but of course they don't know each other at all. Somehow, and suddenly, this becomes the more distressing fact of his morning. He frowns, and she misreads the look on his face, turning to remake his order as requested before he can take his foot out of his mouth. "But, I mean, it's appreciated."

Mimi sets a shot of espresso in a separate paper cup on the counter. Sighs as she looks at him, like it's a true pity. "No, it's a tragedy."

Taichi looks down at the cup. "It's an espresso?"

She's shaking her head, mournful, already moving on from the conversation in her head. "I'd never let a day go by without an adventure in it." Sighs big to herself, the conversation at an end, for her.

He keeps his hand around the espresso shot in its to-go cup, still set on the counter. Lets his gaze longer on the rejected latte, not one to hesitate this much over things this small. Pops open the lid, pours his espresso in with the latte, gives it a taste. Lets it all settle on his tongue, watching her walk away.

It's a mild improvement, if still bitter and strange to his preferences, something different. Glances at her one last time, feels something in the old world slip out of place, or into a new one, when, like she'd sensed it, she looks back, and then right at him. Her eyes smile before her mouth can catch up, which is when he feels the slip of the world's axis most. A break in routine, a bit out of his way, and still. An adventure.