Just For Tonight

Chapter One

"Happy Birthday!"

    Shouto smiled wryly at the customer who definitely had no interest in celebrating Shouto's special moments nor his birthday. He collected the family's used plates, grimacing when he spotted a regurgitated carrot in the infant's plate because, obviously, the year-old was supposed to swallow one of the hardest, if not the hardest, vegetable with the sheer strength of it's pubescent gums.

    "Thank you," he said, cursing the birthday hat Toshinori, the owner of the establishment, forced him to wear. A little fun and joy - he lied. Shouto might just never forgive him for that one. It was tedious enough having to work the dinner shifts at Toshinori's restaurant, but add in at least a dozen customers per hour celebrating his single failure in life made his job a slow form of torture. He was counting the seconds like they were pins and needles against his skin.

    He walked into the kitchen, instantly hit with the scent of spices and fresh noodles. He placed the dirty dishes in the sink, politely acknowledging the dishwasher, Kaminari Denki, and then pinned a new order on the board by the chef. "There's an order for two spicy tonkotsu, medium spice."

    Katsuki, head chef, looked at the order and sighed. Shouto was sure Katsuki had formed a fully matured opinion of the customer with the order. He dropped his batch of noodles to boil and then called after Shouto again. "Peppermint!"

    Shouto turned around, accustomed to the moniker.

    "Take the trash out. It's overflowing and messing with my flow," Katsuki ordered, adding spices into the noodles before stirring it about.

    Yeah, Shouto had to take orders, but then he'd risk getting nagged by Katsuki for the rest of the night and maybe even the week. He kept his expression neutral as he walked towards the sink, pulling the full bag out. He squeezed through the chefs, careful with the bag the entire way until he reached the back door.

    In trance empowered by his utter exhaustion he opened the door and walked straight towards the bins against the opposite walls. He breathed in the cold air, shuddering in just a thin shirt and an apron. He ached to go back into the warmth so he quickly threw the bag in - not without tying the top off - and rushed to turn around.

    It wasn't until he nearly tripped on something that he took closer notice to his surroundings. At first it was something akin to a log, maybe a plank of wood from old furniture someone decided to dump into their restaurant's bins. Then he took a closer look and he made out a boot, attached to a leg, attached to a waist, which was, unceremoniously, attached to a torso, which was further attached to a biker helmet.

    Shouto gasped softly, blinking slowly once, twice, concluding he was delusional, and then realising he wasn't. His nose scrunched as he distastefully watched the drunkard's chest rise and fall slowly. At the end of the night, he knew he'd be the one forced to move the man from the premises - upon which he ruefully realised he'd be too late to grab a cake from the bakery since he took an extra shift. He'd have to sit alone in his house with the unfinished muffin from that morning and a candle that considered itself an organic, gluten-free, lactose-free, sugar-free form of icing. It was ridiculous. It was depressing.

    Shouto knew how to keep his emotions in check in front of other people, but, in the confines of that alley, it was just him, rubbish, and a half-dead man. He carded his fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands like a punishment as he cursed miserably under his breath. He didn't think his life could go any lower than this - working an extra shift to cover for his co-workers Tinder date on his god damned birthday. And, because Shouto's life wasn't pathetic enough yet, some piss drunk stranger decided to pass out at his workplace.