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Yosuke grips his phone tightly. “Hey, this is Hanamura,” he says with faux cheerfulness. “You’re listed today for the evening shift, do you know when you’ll arrive?”
The distinct sound of karaoke (must be Okina) hits the speakers.
Who’s that? he hears through the noise.
Spam caller, the Junes part-timer shouts back. Then the call cuts.
The other call goes just as well as he expected. Getting thrown under the bus is as pleasant as always, and Yosuke can feel his plastered customer service smile twitching at the ends.
Then he spots the shock of silvery hair, and he can feel himself brightening. Yu spots him too, wandering over.
“What’s hanging, partner?” Yosuke asks with a grin, elbows coming to rest against the counter. “Out buying groceries for Dojima-san again?”
“Something else this time,” Yu responds. He’s got a tiny smile if one looks close enough. Something’s got him in a good mood. “You’re by yourself tonight?”
Ughhh. “Sure am,” Yosuke groans, peering around for customers before dramatically slouching. “You know the score. Seriously, if you’re not going to show up, don’t apply for the position!”
“Positioning is important,” Yu agrees nonsensically, but Yosuke grins anyways.
They shoot the breeze for a while longer, and even after Yu begs off, Yosuke thinks that this shift might not be so bad after all.
—
Every Sunday, a nice old lady in mourning clothes stops by, buys the same thing, exchanges pleasantries, and wanders off.
Today is a little different.
“Thank you, young man. It’s lived a good life,” she reminisces, clutching the cushion carefully. “I wasn’t sure if I could find a replacement.”
“It’s a nice brand, isn’t it?” Yosuke agrees, collapsing the ladder. “That line’s discontinued, but I’m glad we still had it in stock. Anything else you need, Kuroda-san? I can help take those to checkout.”
“You’re such a helpful young man. I’m sorry for dragging you away when you’re so busy,” Hisano Kuroda thanks, looking with worry at the line forming up front.
“It’s no problem,” he replies cheerfully.
It’s a problem. Where the hell is Teddie?
—
Religion is complicated when the manifestation of his friend’s personality is supposedly a primordial god. Yosuke prayed at the shrine yesterday anyways.
Not that it seems to have done much. Teddie is woefully jubilant as always, and very much in danger of knocking down his carefully-built tower of featured merchandise.
Yosuke gets between them. “Teddie, what’d I tell you this morning?”
“It’s Yosuke!” Teddie bounces comically off him, which makes him grunt, but better him than the merch. “When were you going to tell me about these roller babies, Yosuke?”
“Rollerblades,” Yosuke corrects, pushing the bear away. “Take those off; they’re not for you. C’mon, Ted. No playing around today. You’re making me look bad!”
“Because of your inspection?” Teddie draws out the last word from the comfort of the floor, kicking his stubby little roller-blade-covered feet in the air. “That’s right… I’m supposed to be a good bear for the inspector!”
Then the bear slumps. “I’m going to get so sweaty, though.”
Yosuke ignores him, crouching down to deftly undo his skates. “You want to handle the checkout lane instead?”
Teddie wiggles in place. “But my paws are too big. It’s hard to use the cash register. And if they see my youthful beauty, they’ll be beary distracted checking me out instead! I wouldn’t want to cause you more problems, Yosuke.”
“Then get back on the aisles,” Yosuke demands, illicit pair of skates now in hand. He helps Teddie back up, and once he’s sure the dejected bear is headed in the direction of a customer in need of assistance, Yosuke heads back to the checkout lane, shoulders slumping.
—
The line is long, but begins to peter out. And at the end, well. He’d been expecting Yu to eventually check out, sure. And yet…
“Yu, what are you doing,” Yosuke squeaks, eyes trained on the cans coming down the line. Then he’s looking around frantically for onlookers. “These aren’t for the TV, right?”
Because sometimes Yu brings in random vending machine drinks, days or even weeks old, lukewarm and frankly disgusting and yet effective, healing their wounds over on the TV side with each rancid sip.
If this is some new ploy for better healing, then yes, maybe he’ll consider helping Yu smuggle alcohol out of Junes. But he really would have appreciated a heads-up!
“They’re not,” Yu says instead.
“Huh?” Yosuke’s mind is still on the TV world. “What do you want them for, then?”
Yu’s student ID slides across the counter as smoothly as the male himself. “Celebrating,” he answers vaguely.
“My dad (you know, the manager?) is in the lane behind us,” Yosuke stresses, nervousness bleeding away into exasperation. He pushes the underage ID back. “Go put those back or grab an adult. I can’t let you buy alcohol, partner - not even if it’s you.”
Yu just looks thoughtful. “So I just need an adult. Okay.”
Then his brazen friend picks up the packs like they weigh nothing, and slips back into the store. Yosuke feels the panic lift, but gets the feeling he’s developing a headache.
Not that he has time to nurse it. “I can take the next customer over here!”
—
Ai Ebihara is different in many ways from the residents of Inaba, but shares one characteristic with a portion of its inhabitants: displeasure radiates in waves when she steps into Junes.
Sure enough, after disappearing into the aisles for a bit, she beelines straight for him. He straightens, and mentally prepares himself.
“Hanamura, why isn’t what I requested in stock yet?” she demands, one hand on her hip as she gestures at the conveyor belt full of supposedly inferior product. “It’s been a whole month already! What am I supposed to do with these?”
“We’re a regional chain,” Yosuke tries to placate, hands held up. “It takes time for these things to be reviewed. I don’t have much more say in this than you do.”
“And I’m telling you that going to Okina for good makeup remover is a pain,” his fashion-forward classmate grumbles. “So you’re just going to hang me out to dry, is that it?”
The words die in Yosuke’s throat. It’s been weeks, yes, but Saki’s absence still hurts, especially when he’s not prepared for it. “That’s…”
“…Sorry.” Ebihara’s finger curls around her hair. “I misspoke. Still, your store sucks, Hanamura.”
“No, it’s fine.” This isn’t the time or place to think about such things. That’s what the TV is for. “Look, I can give you another intake request form, but that’s about it. Unless you’d like me to actually ring these up for you this time?”
“I don’t need any of these,” Ebihara sniffs. “I brought them here as examples for you. You’re lucky I already put the rest back.”
Yosuke’s smile twitches. “Wow, thanks for your consideration. Okay, have a great day, Ebihara-san.”
Hmph, his headache of a classmate responds, and makes for the exit in confident strides.
He pulls out his transceiver and hopes Teddie is listening. “Hey, Ted? Yeah, Ebihara just dropped by. You need to put all of them back. Can you hurry over here? It’s a lot.”
—
It’s unusual to see Namatame in the checkout lane, and not in the loading dock. The beer on the conveyor belt is a familiar brand, one that Yosuke remembers Saki explaining is too low in alcohol to be carried by their specialty liquor store.
“Sorry for asking for your ID, Namatame-san,” Yosuke apologizes after ringing up the alcohol. “We’ve got an inspection today.”
“Never apologize for doing the right thing,” the disgraced politician says serenely, fishing out his wallet. Time’s been good to him.
Namatame’s ID is sharp and clean.
—
Adachi’s ID is worn. It slides across the counter under his friend’s fingers, Yu’s other hand busy occupying the grip of a familiar, older, and spluttering detective.
“I brought an adult,” Yu says seriously.
Maybe he’s holding hands to stop the adult from running away? “Checks out, I guess. Adachi-san, you can have this back.”
Yu pockets it instead. “Thank you.” He doesn’t move.
Yosuke opens his mouth, then closes it. Adachi looks flustered, but he’s not exactly complaining…
He shrugs, and rings up the plethora of beer, snacks, and cabbage instead.
—
The workload doubles down when the inspector shows up and pulls his father away. Having only one lane operational is a little rough, but for the most part, there are no hiccups.
Take Ayane Matsunaga, for instance. She shows up with perfectly normal ingredients for a perfectly normal dinner. Small blessings!
—
Yukiko shows up with completely awful ingredients for a surely terrible dinner. He’s not going to ask further.
“Hm? I thought the shrimp was usually cheaper,” Yukiko says, peering into the screen. “Same with the blueberries and matcha-jio.”
Yosuke tries not to gag, but it’s a tough fight. “That’s because you’re used to the bulk discount from the Amagi Inn’s orders. This is personal, not business.”
His classmate (and teammate) looks deep in thought. With her eyebrows furrowed like this, she looks like the quintessential beauty. Yosuke knows better, now.
“What if I cooked it here instead? Would you give me a discount if I gave you a portion?”
And there it is. “First of all, the cookingware is display-only,” Yosuke says firmly. “Secondly, no. I’ll charge my hospital bill to you if you do that.”
Yukiko blinks. “Why would you cook yourself, Yosuke?”
He resists the urge to facepalm. “Something I ask myself every day. Well? Still feel like checking out?”
“…I suppose so,” Yukiko says thoughtfully. “Oh, but leave the curry bun up top. I’ll eat that now.”
And that would be fine, if she hadn’t chosen to continue. “After all, I haven’t quite figured out the trick to boiling it, yet.”
—
One of the first things Yosuke learned, way back when he first got roped into this job, was not to pay attention to what the customers buy. The easiest way to circumvent a headache is to avoid its cause altogether, i.e., acknowledging what is being bought.
It’s good advice he sometimes forgets, though in this case, he thinks he can be forgiven for the slip. Yosuke watches, flabbergasted, as Yu lifts Adachi up onto the conveyor belt with a barcode slapped to his suit-clothed ass, revealing other strange objects in the cart.
“We forgot some things,” Yu explains.
“Don’t acknowledge me!” Detective Adachi hisses, tucked in the fetal position, face hidden behind hands and mortification in his voice.
Yosuke closes his mouth. Well, if the policeman is in on it too…
“You can’t do this, partner,” he says, turning to Yu. “You’re gonna break the conveyor belt. Maximum carrying capacity is 68.”
Yu thinks to himself. “Adachi-san is 63,” he comments, looking up.
“…Right,” Yosuke acknowledges, starting to zone out a bit. When he scans the slightly wrinkled barcode, the detective rings up as a cabbage. Heaviest cabbage he’s ever seen in his life.
A beep informs him payment is complete, but Yu’s still leaning closer, even after hoisting Adachi over his shoulder. “Yosuke, is there a place I can put my purchases down?”
The barcode is really distracting... No, no. Yosuke shakes his head free of his internal panic. Collected and friendly, that’s how the cashier should be. So what if Yu should’ve bought everything he needed at once? So what if Adachi’s cabbage-labeled rump still stares him in the face?
“Ask Teddie for access to the employee break room,” he says instead. “We’ve got a bench in there.”
—
A five-minute break is still a break. Yosuke pointedly does not head to the break room, instead closing the bathroom door gently.
Then he puts his hand to his face and screams into his apron.
What the hell was that? What is Yu doing? “Purchases” - is that what they’re calling it nowadays? It’s bad enough that he has to put up with this from his other part-timers, but he honestly thought Yu knew better!
And it is bad, but mentally, Yosuke is quick to make his peace with it. At least Adachi isn’t butt-naked, or tied up, or collared. At least Yu wasn’t holding a crop whip.
Maybe Yosuke needs to stop reading BDSM and substituting in his best friend and his bumbling cop tagalong. He can go back to reading about nurses.
—
Speaking of nurses, Uehara shows up close to closing time with mostly normal purchases. Yep, nurses are the best.
How does Yu keep getting so lucky? His partner gets to spend his long evening shifts with the sultry woman. Yosuke spends his with the closest thing he’s ever had to an annoying younger brother.
Though Teddie’s done a good job today, so far. It’s been a little too quiet, but his dad hasn’t sent any SOS messages yet. Maybe this inspection is actually going well!
—
By the time Teddie finally shows up, Yosuke is yawning discreetly into his palm.
The bear carelessly places a wad of sticky wrappers onto the counter. “That’s all for today…”
It’s a tradition Yosuke put in place after Teddie’s third or fourth shift, when he caught him skipping the line too many times. Now the bear remembers to check out for the Topsicles he’s devoured on shift.
“Yosuke, I want a raise,” Teddie complains, looking at the small pile of his trophies and clearly wishing it were higher.
Yosuke snorts. “Stop being a greedy hog. I think you… yep, you just wiped out the last of your paycheck.”
Then he notices the spuds. “Why is there foam on you?”
Teddie looks away shiftily. “Oh, you know.”
That’s a telltale sign if he ever saw one. “Teddie.”
One of the bear’s ears flicks. “…Fire extinguisher. There was, um, a beary small fire in the trash.”
Yosuke stares, dumbfounded. “Why was the dumpster on fire?” More importantly, why didn’t he hear about this? Even more crucial: did the inspector find out?
Oh, no.
“You’ll get a headache thinking so hard,” Teddie chides, suddenly perking up. “Okay, I’m going home now. See you there, Yosuke!”
“Oh no no no, you don’t get to sweep it under the rug like that!” Yosuke leans over and grabs hold of Teddie’s ear before the bear can take off running. The subsequent admonishment goes in that fuzzy ear and out the other, but he’s got to try!
As he’s doing so, he rings up Teddie for the few other Topsicles he knows the bear’s not reporting. The night can’t get any more eventful than this, surely.
—
The sound of a shopping cart has Yosuke looking back from where he was about to close up the store. The dumpster fire got reported, the inspector left the premises, he’s been summoned home to discuss the inspection results, Teddie ran away as soon as bearishly possible - what else is he forgetting?
Yu, apparently. Yu pushes his cart up to the checkout lane with a straight face. Yosuke comes back to the register, and when his classmate makes no movement, warily leans over to look inside.
Detective Adachi is ass-up in the shopping cart padded with blankets and a pillow, twitching minutely and clearly out of it. Yosuke spots a plastic tiara awkwardly shoved into his hair. Or maybe it’s halfway fallen out instead?
Either way, there’s plenty of barcodes stuck to his very exposed flesh. Yu gestures placidly at them, content to say nothing and looking distinctly satisfied.
Yosuke scans them all with a neutral face. What’s the point in looking at the screen? He doesn’t want to know what any of this is. All that matters is that the register happily reports the payment, and Yu is leaving the lane.
He waits until the couple is through the automatic doors, then closes the store behind them.
—
He dreads the cleanup, but has no choice. The cleaning cart is in the break room. He has to go in.
When he does, though, he finds the room suspiciously squeaky clean, a mop and a bucket placed in the center with a post-it note that says thanks for the help.
—
“I’m banning you from Junes for a bit,” Yosuke informs his friend the next day.