#either that or the French dub fucked up which wouldn't even surprise me

[terresdebrumestories]

Power Ranger

✗ TECHNICAL DETAILS

FANDOM: Digimon Adventure 01/02/Tri RATING: General Audiences. WORDCOUNT: 1 964 words PAIRING(S): Pre-Taito/Yamachi. CHARACTER(S): Taichi Kamiya, Yamato Ishida, Genai, and a special appearance from Miyako. Mimi is mentioned in passing. GENRE: Coffeeshop disaster. TRIGGER WARNING(S): None, but Taichi may make you feel some second hand embarassment. SUMMARY: So there’s this guy. He has a Power Rangers shirt, and he’s cute. He’s also a walking catastrophe, but in a cute way.

“I hope your boss doesn’t know you call his clients shitheads,” the guy with a Power Rangers shirt chuckles as the miffed ass stomps out of the door, “you could get in trouble.”

 He’s cute, Yamato will give him that, as well as a bonus point for the pun on his shirt, but that doesn’t mean he’s about to take that kind of criticism lying down. Not with the mood he’s in.

 “First of all,” he says while he gathers the coffee cups on a nearby table, mostly so he won’t start punching people, “I called him a fucking shithead, which he should take as compliment because it assumes he does get laid. Second, barista doesn’t have ‘act as a punching bag for assholes and bigots’ on the job requirement.’

 He wipes at a stain with more force than necessary for several seconds, breathing through his nose until he’s reasonably sure he’s not going to shout his next sentence:

 “Third, this is my shop. I get to throw homophobes out if I want to.”

 Power Ranger blinks at that, grows very red, and bursts into laughter, loud and uninhibited to the point of borderline obnoxiousness. It’s a hearty sound, though, and the way he throws his head back to get it all out sends heat blooming at the back of Yamato’s neck, so he doesn’t really try to hush the guy.

 Yamato does have to keep working, though. His regulars are used to the occasional odd person coming into the shop, but he holds no illusion as to his personality’s power to keep people coming if he stops doing a good job at hosting them.

He’s walking back to the counter with a tray full of dirty dishes when Power Ranger follows him, having apparently forgotten where he is, just to hiss:

 “Sorry, I just—fucking shithead. It’s hilarious!”

 It’s...really not? At least, Yamato doesn’t think the joke is that good. And it certainly doesn’t compensate for having to deal with an asshole like that, but hey. At least Power Ranger isn’t telling him to be more patient or accept that some people want him dead and that’s just how life is, so there’s that.

He still shoots a look at Mr. Genai over the counter, rolling his eyes and smirking a little when Mr. Genai gives him a ‘people are strange’ kind of shrug. It used to be Mr. Genai would rebuke Yamato’s outbursts at clients, sometimes even though he thought Yamato was in the right.

Nowadays, he’s either changed his stance on how to deal with terminal assholes, or come to the conclusion that Yamato is a good enough owner to keep the shop afloat without having to kiss everyone’s boots. Either way, it’s a show of support that means a lot, considering Mr. Genai is the last vaguely parental figure in Yamato’s life.

 He nods at Power Rangers in acknowledgement, and maybe in thanks, too. Just a little. He’s not that starved for positive attention that he’ll admit it out loud but, well. It is a nice change to meet someone who appreciate his sense of, uh. Humor.

Power Ranger doesn’t seem to realize the exchange is over, though: he follows Yamato to the back of the shop, and barely stops in time to avoid a collision with the half-door marked ‘employees only’. Yamato is emptying his tray into the dishwasher, which is finally full enough to run, when Power Ranger calls out over the wood:

 “What kind of college-age guy has his own coffee shop though? I mean you’re, what, twenty-five? Ish? I’m not good at white people ages but—”

 The tray rattles when Yamato sets it down on the counter top.

 “I’m Japanese.”

 Technically, he’s a quarter French, but it’s not even like it shows that much outside of the eyes and hair, damn it!

 “Oh, cool!” Power Ranger exclaims, the grin audible in his voice. “Do you speak Japanese?”

“Yes.”

 Yamato was born in Japan, even. Spent the first eleven years of his life there until his mother’s job as a journalist moved the family to San Francisco. He may have spent more time outside of Tokyo than in, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten it, and having to prove he’s Japanese enough to people like Power Rangers who wear their origins on their faces got tiring something like five minutes into the first iteration of that particular conversation.

 “That’s nice,” Power Ranger continues, still in Japanese, “because you look really cute and it’s easier to flirt without an audience.”

“Mr. Genai speaks Japanese as well.”

 Yamato turns around to get back in the main room just as Power Ranger throws a barely-embarrassed grin toward Mr. Genai, and he almost chuckles at the sight. The guy, if nothing else, doesn’t seem to have a shy bone in his body.

 “With all due respect to Mr. Genai, if he’s your employee he can’t tell you off for being seduced on the job.”

“Who says any of what you’re doing is working, here?”

 Yamato does not shiver when he brushes past Power Ranger on his way back to the counter—no, really, he doesn’t. He does feel some heat creeping up his neck and into his ears, though.

 “No one, but being optimistic doesn’t hurt,” Power Ranger retorts with an even wider grin that does things to Yamato’s insides.

 It’s a little embarrassing, but then again, the guy is good looking, cute, somewhat funny in an accidental way, and he’s also not even trying to be subtle about his intentions. There’s no harm in indulging in the charm while it lasts, right?

 “Maybe you’ve got it wrong and I’m not queer. I could be keeping homophobes out of my shop for the sake of a friend or family member. Or just as a decent human being.”

“As one of my best friends would say,” Power Ranger quotes with a finger in the air while Yamato wipes down the counters and sets on cleaning the coffee machine, “'the quest for true love was always dependent on taking risks'. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll catch the gay bug after a while.”

“’Sur un malentendu ça peut marcher’,” Yamato mutters, and Power Ranger’s eyes widen into a look of pleased surprise so intense he all but leans across the pick up station to ask:

“Was that French I heard?”

“Get off my counter, you’ll get me in trouble with the hygiene division. Yes, it was.”

“So, wait, you’re the college-aged owner of a fairly popular shop, a blond Japanese guy and you speak French? The thick plottens! You must explain!”

“Sorry,” Yamato replies, unashamedly quoting Tumblr, “you have to be at least a level three friend before you can unlock my tragic backstory.”

“What if I take you out on a date though? Do I have to be a level three date mate to unlock your backstory or does that come with its own set of rules?”

 At the orders station, Mr. Genai tries and fails to cover a laugh under the scrap of his chair on tiled floor, which gives Yamato just enough time to smooth a stupid grin off his face before Power Ranger looks back to him.

 “I think Mr. Genai likes me.”

“I think Mr. Genai thinks you’re ridiculous.”

“I think Mr. Genai can do both of these things at the same time,” Mr. Genai says from the counter.

 The wind catchers on the door chime at that moment, as if to punctuate the exchange, and Yamato starts on a tall soy latte as soon as he hears Mr. Genai greet Miyako. She’s one of Takeru’s school friends, and she mostly comes to the neighborhood to visit Mimi’s pastry shop, across the street, but considering she swings by for an order almost every time, Yamato isn’t about to complain.

 “I’m still at work,” he tells Power Rangers without bothering to put any heat in it, “you need to order something or let me do my job.”

“Do I get your number if I order something?”

 Yamato turns around to the sound of Miyako choking on her own laughter, face hidden behind her hands as she stands next to Power Ranger and makes a valiant attempt at pretending she’s not laughing at the both of them. Yamato just sighs and hands her her usual drink, with a reminder for the dinner at his place the next weekend.

 “I know you remember but Takeru would kill me if I didn’t make really really sure.”

“No worries. See you Saturday!”

“Please,” Power Ranger all but whines, “tell me Takeru isn’t your boyfriend.”

“He’s my little brother.”

“Oh! Little brother is fine—I’ve got a little sister, if they’re the same age—”

“Will you please go order something?”

 Power Ranger dissolves in apologies, words coming out of his mouth at almost superhuman speed for the next ten seconds, before he goes to the counter and asks Mr. Genai for whichever dairy-free cold drink he likes best.

Yamato makes extra sure no one can see him grin like a loon, grateful that he decided to grow his hair out again this year. There’s nothing to be done about his ears, but at least that way Power Ranger can’t see him flush redder than a tomato.

Or, you know, write his number on the paper cup he pours the drink in.

 “Thanks,” Power Rangers says with a wide, wide smile when he retrieves his drink.

 Then he walks out of the shop like he hasn’t just spent the past half-hour flirting at Yamato like his life depended on it.

 “Not to be intrusive,” Mr. Genai remarks in soft Japanese, “but it seemed to me like a rather speedy departure.”

“Yeah,” Yamato agrees, more disappointed than he cares to admit, “that was fast.”

 He’s barely finished his sentence when Power Ranger pops back into view, slams the door to the shop open hard enough to make several customers jump in place—Mrs. Izumi even spills her tea—and runs up to the counter, red faced and out of breath:

 “I’m so sorry,” he heaves in English, “I’m so stupid, I completely forgot to ask for your number!”

“It’s on the cup,” Yamato replies, too puzzled to to anything more than point at the item in question.

 Power Ranger nods, turns around to leave again and, halfway through the shop, swirls back around to say:

 “Almost forgot: my name’s Taichi. I’ll talk to you soon!”

 This time he opens and closes the door like a normal human being, which is a relief. Yamato might find Taichi’s flustered attitude adorable—flattering, even—but that doesn’t mean it’s very good for his business.

He watches Taichi pause outside the door for a wide fist pump, then realize everyone inside the shop can see him and walk off with his face in his hands...straight into a streetlight.

 Yamato may or may not choke in laughter at the sight, and he may or may not still be laughing about it when his phone buzzes.

 ‘So,’ Taichi’s text reads, ‘I will totally understand if you ask me to delete your number after this truly stunning display of human disastrousness.’

‘Honestly,’ Yamato replies, opting for Japanese just to see if Taichi can read it, ‘I get the feeling this kind of thing is why I will agree to go on a second date.’

 It takes a while, but Taichi does reply with a long, long string of relieved, then happy, then dancing emojis.

 (He pretends to be offended when Yamato shows the text exchange off on their wedding night four years later, but the way he keeps bragging about seducing Yamato through unabashed weirdness kind of gives the charade away.)

#digiotpweek #Yamato Ishida #taichi kamiya #Yamachi #Digimon #Digimon fic #Fanfiction #If you don't think Taichi 'once vomited in Sora's hat' Kamiya could do this #then we definitely don't see the same character #either that or the French dub fucked up which wouldn't even surprise me #ANYWAYS enjoy the fic #15n #20n #30n