~Danganronpa oneshots~

Barista ||mondogami||

Main Ship/character(s): mondo x togami.
Genre: fluff
Requested: no one, I just liked this idea!!
AU: non-despair

POV: mondo

"I hate this job." I sigh, shoving my key into the door of the shop. I was put on the opening shift and its absolutely terrible, I have to wake up early AND the people who close are idiots. The door clicks open and I kick it, rattling the glass. The dingy overhead lights flicker on as I click the switch and I walk in, the old floor boards creaking beneath my boots. I take a look around and grimace at the state of the place, I'm going to kill whoever closed last night.

A bitter taste is left in my mouth as I put my cigarette out and start to clear up. The warm bubbly water envelops my hand as I dip the cloth into it and wipe down the counters and tables. I turn everything on and a few customers start to dot themselves around as I tie my apron on. I flip the sign to open, the regulars who already entered take this as a sign that I'm ready to start doing my actual job and make them their coffee.

They pile onto the stools by the counter and put in their orders, same as every day. Whoever's supposed to working my shift with me bailed, probably called in sick. I start to make the different orders, tea with two sugars for the old lady by the window, she always tips well so I give her a free cookie. Not like it comes out out my pay check, and the managers are almost evil.

I go about my usual day, making the regulars that I have memorised orders, and making a few new ones for friends they may have invited along with them. Someone gives me their number with their payment and I shove it into my pocket, ready to throw it away later. It's not that I didn't like them, it's just that they weren't my type. The bell on the door rings and I look up, not expecting anyone else today. We're a small shop and only regulars come here, so it really confuses me when a hot guy walks in.

He's about my age, really tall, blonde, and very attractive. He's on the phone, talking in a hushed, harsh whisper about firing someone. A suit jacket sits nicely across his shoulders and he has good posture, definitely a businessman. He practically struts over to the counter and looks me up and down, quite obviously judging me. I grin at him and he scoffs, waving me off and telling me his order.

Rude.

I glare in his general direction as to not annoy him more than whoever he's on the phone to apparently already has and mumble an insult under my breath before getting on with his order. Every good impression I had of him quickly simmers away and I inwardly sigh at myself, a little too loudly. He coughs loudly, no longer on the phone. "Is there an issue? With my order, perhaps?" He asks, sarcasm practically seeping from his words. "Not with your order, no." I shoot back, rolling my eyes and handing him his coffee.

"There's an issue with something else?" He questions, and honestly, he's practically asking for the sarcastic response he gets. He doesn't like the answer though, and he looks as though steam is about to erupt from his ears, honestly I'm surprised it doesn't. He goes on a rant about who his father is and who he is and 'how dare I disrespect him' and I snicker, grinning at the look on his face. I should stop annoying him, I really should, but I don't.

"I know completely well who your father is, you know, I was with him just the other day." I smirk, testing his limits. Apparently, mystery man has a short temper, because next thing I know, he's got a handful of my shirt in his fist and I am inches away from touching his nose. He smells like expensive cologne and lemons and I can't help but think it's quite nice, despite the fact I want to punch him straight across his snobby face.

"Don't you ever talk about my father like that. Do you know who I am?! I am Byakuya. Togami. The heir to the most impor-" he starts, pulling me closer to his face and becoming progressively more angry. My hand wraps around his wrist, his skin is soft and completely opposite to my rough, burned-too-many-times, calloused hands. I rip his hand away from my shirt and straighten my clothes out, wiping now spilled coffee from his hand off of my apron.