[fic] it's that great time of year
Title: it’s that great time of year
Pairing/Character(s): Okamoto Keito, OkaMori and some other people. ^_^
Rating: G
Word count: 780~ words
Summary: [AU] Keito, the cake shop owner and the christmas eve rush, or not a rush.
Notes: Happy holidays, everyone! >.<
The night scene in Tokyo was a sight; streets filled with colourful blinking lights, white snow falling gently onto the pedestrians and shops were decorated heavily with holidays decorations to celebrate the season.
Cafés and cake shops were particularly packed at this time of year with young couples and little children running last minute errands for their parents. Working at any of aforementioned type of shops would require skills, something Okamoto Keito prided himself in.
After a while, the heavy traffic in the shop seemed to have lessened (something he’s entirely thankful for). All, except for a guy that has been standing in front of the array of pastry choices lay out in the counter. Sensing his aggravation, Keito decided it wouldn’t hurt to talk to the guy.
“Can’t choose?” he asked. He met a lot of customers just like this guy before, but just to be sure, he’ll ask first.
Jolted out of his reverie, “Uh, what?” he blushed from embarrassment. “Oh. Sorry. Am I holding any of your work?” worry was evident on his face.
“No, no. You look… indecisive about your purchases,” Keito said, chuckling.
“Yeah, well, I’m going to visit someone later,” he looked down on the floor.
Ah. This type, he thought. “Meeting the family?”
The reaction he’d gotten out of the guy was hilarious. He looked positively red even with the cold temperature of the city and tried to come up with a coherent answer before settling for a, “Yes. Yes, his mother invited me. I’m a little nervous to meet them. What if they don’t like the presents I chose for them?”
“Whoa, slow down there. Maybe I can help. What do you have in mind?”
He pointed at a cream-filled croissant and a chocolate mousse cake and looked at him expectantly.
“Oi, Keito!” yelled someone from the back. From the doorway, someone appeared and glared at Keito. “You promised you’d help me,” the new guy whined.
“Gomen, gomen, Ryutaro. I’m helping a customer,” he replied but Ryutaro simply pouted. On a second look, he realised why Ryutaro would be pissed; traces of flour on his face and hair wouldn’t make anyone happy.
Ryutaro sighed. “So, what is it that took you so long here? I would’ve thought you’re deliberately working slowly to avoid helping me.”
If Keito could sweat dropped, he would’ve. “He-“pointing at the guy, “-can’t figure out what to buy for a Christmas dinner.”
“Why not just buy anything?”
Keito cleared his throat. “It’s that dinner,” he emphasised and Ryutaro just aah’d knowingly.
He didn’t know what to think having his life being discussed by the shop workers even if he unwittingly ranted a little to Keito a while ago.
“Choices?” Ryutaro asked, cocking his eyebrow. With a sweep of his hand, Keito gestured at the croissant and the cake.
“Well, that’s easy. The mousse, of course. Now, how much will you need of these babies?” he already pulled out a couple of cardboard pieces and began folding them into petite looking pastry boxes.
“Err, why the mousse?” the guy asked, finally speaking up.
“Eh? Why? Erm… you tell him, Keito,” Ryutaro pushed Keito forward with his flour covered hand (“My shirt!” “Wash it when we get back.”).
“Hmm, let see. Mousse is… I think, if you want to impress the parents, something classy should be the way to do it,” he beamed at the guy.
“And ours is delicious, I guarantee,” Ryutaro piped in.
“Okay, I trust your judgement. Pack four of them, please.”
“That would be 800 yen in total,” Keito handed him two plastic bags. “And, mister…”
“Yuya, Takaki Yuya.”
“Ah, Takaki-san, good luck with the dinner,” said Keito, giving Takaki an encouraging smile.
“Thank you, Keito-kun,” he paid for the desserts and went out the door.
“You think it’ll go well?”
“I made it. Of course it will,” Ryutaro replied which earned him a light smack on the head from Keito.
(“Now will you help me in the kitchen?” “Hai, hai.”)
omake
Five steps away from the shop, Takaki’s phone rang and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to pick it up.
The moment he flipped open the phone, he was greeted with a high-pitched voice he knew all too well, “Yuyan! Where are you?!”
“I’m on the way to your house,” he replied.
“You’re running a little late,” Takaki could hear the pout at the end of that sentence through the line.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but I’ll be there soon.”
“Fine, but you’re making up to me for this later,” silence, “…I love you.”
-Click- the line went dead.
“I love you too, Chii,” he mutters to himself before setting off in a light jog.
notes: thanks a lot for reading~