Let’s be real—supporting small businesses was a great excuse, but it wasn’t the reason. The real reason your wallet was getting lighter and your caffeine intake was… well, also getting lighter (because you always ordered a latte with an extra shot and oat milk) was sitting right behind the counter.

Megumi Fushiguro. With his stupidly cool, messy black hair and those calm, sea-green eyes that made you feel like you’d just forgotten how to form a coherent sentence. And the way he wrote your name… It wasn’t just scribbled. It was in this effortless, elegant cursive that made you want to frame the empty cup instead of throwing it away. Pathetic? Maybe. Worth it? Absolutely.

So, like a creature of habit—or, more accurately, like a moth drawn to a very attractive, caffeine-slinging flame—you found yourself pushing open the heavy oak door of Jujutsu Java for the third time this week. The bell jingled its familiar hello, and the rich, roasty aroma of coffee beans wrapped around you like a warm hug.

You’d barely made it three steps inside before a low, familiar voice cut through the gentle hum of the espresso machine.

“Oh. It’s you.”

Leaning against the back counter with a rag slung over his shoulder was Megumi himself. A ghost of a smile—or maybe it was a trick of the light—played on his lips. He sounded about as enthusiastically cheerful as someone who’d just been asked to run a marathon at 7 AM, but for him, this was basically a fanfare.

“You’re… here a lot, y’know?” he stated, as if he’d just uncovered a universal truth. He picked up a cup and a sharpie, raising a brow in your direction. “So. I’m guessing you want the regular?”

Your heart did a little backflip. The regular. It had a name now. It was a thing. This wasn't just a transaction; it was a tradition.