AN:

I do not own Yuri! On Ice.

I guess my goal is to cover every cliché in the book because here you are: the coffee shop cliché. I don't know why we're all obsessed with coffee shops, misunderstandings that lead to angst and college romances, but those are the three biggest clichés that can be found in almost every fandom I'm obsessed with involved in.

As usual, I have no idea were I'm going with this. I'll update roughly every other week and, for anyone like me who gets mortally offended when someone posts late without notice (I have high standards. Sue me), I'll give heads up when I'll be posting late.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: James Taylor and Kaleidoscope Eyes

When I first saw him, it was like a revelation. Like everything had been blurry your entire life, only you hadn't noticed until he came around and it all snapped into focus. It was like being used to the dreary grey sky and not knowing anything different, until he came and turned the sky bright blue. It was like being pulled by a tether as strong as iron wrapped around your waist that tugs and tugs and tugs until you go where it wants you to, which is straight into his arms. It was like your mind buzzing with a million quicksilver thoughts zipping like fireflies through your mind during a 3 a.m. caffeine-induced study cram where it seems like colours are so bright they dazzle you and the world is so big that—

And those eyes. Don't get me started on his eyes…

His kaleidoscope eyes that seem so dreamy and far off, like he lives in a nonexistent, magical realm that's worlds away from me. It's like no matter how hard I try, I can't reach him because he sees lamp light and thinks stars, he sees dew drops and thinks monsoon, he sees child and thinks humanity. His eyes transform his surroundings until they match his own relentless ingenuity, his colourful imagination, his bright creativity.

But, regardless of his scintillating mind, he is damaged. I didn't realize this at first, but this changes nothing. Especially when I myself am just as, if not more, damaged than he. He has clipped wings like clipped shoe laces, too short and scrappy to be functional. He bleeds emotion freer than the ocean waves as they crash unforgivingly on the shore, no matter how the sand pleads for relief. Regardless of his pain, he possesses a spine-chilling power and an aura like a storm cloud, breathing electric fire and tasting of rain. Despite his ominous strength, he has the grace of a wilting flower pounded down by wind, but still dancing nonetheless, slightly limp and weak.

He is effervescent. He is prepossessing. He is bewildering. He is—

Dearlordhe'slookingatme

I snapped out of my dazed fog, sending daydreams flittering away like that last beams of moonlight at dawn. In my sudden rush back to reality, I found myself hacking and coughing roughly as a lovely epiglottis malfunction welcomed me back to the cold, harsh world.

"O мой Бог!" shocked by the exclamation of what sounded to me like gibberish. I looked up and blinked rapidly with watering eyes, finding myself staring up into really bright arctic blue eyes.

It was a really nice blue.

"… huh?" I asked eloquently, still blinking rapidly. That's when I realized that, yes, the eyes also had a face. A very nice face. A very concerned looking, nice face.

"Are you okay?" and ohmygod the face's voice was like honey. Beautiful enough to stop my coughing fit. I stared up at the nice, concerned face with its honey voice and its bright blue eyes before realizing that I was expected to respond to what the voice said.

"I— uh, yeah, sorry." I croaked, letting out one last meek cough into the crook of my elbow. "Sorry." I muttered again, gazing at the floor, embarrassed.

"Don't apologize, please! Are you sure you're okay? Can I get you some water or something?" I looked up to respond and almost had another coughing fit. The new barista at my local coffee shop was a model. He had to be.

His skin was pale with virtually no blemishes and he was nibbling his pink bottom lip distractingly. His hair, which was so light it looked silver, was parted to one side and made me want to test whether it was as soft as it looked or not. Under the café issued apron, he wore a plain white collared shirt and dark jeans, a simple outfit that looked runway ready on him.

"Wha— oh! No, I'm fine. Sorry about that," I laughed nervously, finally tearing my gaze away from the new barista long enough to respond to his thoughtful question. I dragged a hand through my hair and tried to focus.

"If… if you're sure… could I take your order, then?" the tall man before me, his icy blue eyes staring right through my soul with a slight gleam of suspicion. They were kaleidoscope eyes. They were bright blue but had flecks of grey, and darker blue and random colours like a rainbow of geometric shapes—

His eyes were rainbow kaleidoscopes. I was officially losing it.

"Sir…?" the barista hinted timidly. That was when I realized I was leaning on my elbows against the counter, chin propped up in my hands, probably glaze-eyed and drooling.

"Wha— uh, yeah, I…. uh…" I glanced up in a panic, suddenly forgetting what I'd been ordering for the past five years or so. I was glad to find a handwritten chalkboard sign hanging from the ceiling above the barista's head. "I'll have the, uh… can I get a mocha?"

"What size? And is that hot or cold? Is whipped cream okay? How much espresso would you like?" the barista shot off questions rapid fire like he was quizzing me for an exam. I stared at him, dumbfounded, realizing I clearly hadn't planned my order well enough.

"Large, I guess…. Um, hot," I blushed looking away from the barista.

"Whipped cream?" he prompted, unphased or simply oblivious.

"When is whipped cream not okay?" I scoffed, earning a deep chuckle. I glanced up at him, in awe of the music his laughter made. I was glad I looked up, because I caught a glimpse of the rose petal blush spreading across his cheekbones—

Chiseled cheekbones, my mind purred. I felt my face warm and I coughed into my elbow again.

"You, ah… have a lot of questions," I managed dumbly. Really? You have a lot of questions? That's what you're going with? If I had a 2X4, I'd smack myself with it.

"Sorry," the barista rubbed the back of his head sheepishly with a crooked grin that I couldn't help but return.

Cute, crooked grin, my mind corrected. I pinched myself through the thick material of my jeans.

"It's my first day and I've been memorizing the menu and all the questions I have to ask for each order. I'm so worried I'll forget something that I keep listing questions too quickly…" So much for "and aura like a storm cloud." He was more like an awkward ball of sunshine and dandelion fluff, once he opened his mouth.

"I totally understand," I gushed with way too much feeling as I leaned forward against the counter.

"You do?" the barista cocked his head like a puppy.

"Well, sure! First day on the job is always stressful!"

"Thanks for understanding," he said, sounding honestly relieved. "A lot of people aren't as… kind this early in the morning." His grin sent butterflies fluttering through my stomach. "Anyways, the last question was about how much espresso you wan—"

"All of it," I blurted out without thinking. "I want all the espresso." All the espresso. All the espresso? Really? Can a black hole split the walls of reality apart, suck me into it and—

"Um… how much exactly is… all the espresso—"

"Ah, Yuri!" a familiar voice interrupted the confused barista and my mortal embarrassment. Both of us turned to see a jolly man coming out of the employees only room.

"Toshiya!" I exclaimed with a grin, feeling much more at ease with the presence of my sort-of adopted-father. Toshiya, the owner of the coffee shop, and I went a long way back. I'd been a regular for a good five years and, while I don't go out often, I usually make an exception to visit the shop. The first time we met, I had come into the shop in search of refuge.

I remember it was pouring and I bolted into the shop, slammed the door behind me and raced across the room, ducking behind the counter. Toshiya had been dealing with a customer and basically played it off like I was a relative of his so the customers wouldn't freak out. He let me hide behind the counter until closing, when he brought me a mocha full of espresso. He sat us down next to each other in the window seat by the huge bay window and proceeded to question me about who I was, where I was going, why I was here and where I'd been. After hearing my story, he must have felt a lot of pity, because he took me in and the shop became my favourite place, other than hiding out in my home.

"Good morning, Yuri, I haven't seen you in a while. Are you doing well?" Toshiya asked, clasping my hand with a firm grip across the counter. His hands were huge and warm, covered with callouses and scars from years and years of work. They were very kind hands.

"I'm just fine," I assured him, ignoring his skeptical eye. I felt my racing heart and scatter-brained mind slow in Toshiya's presence, despite the watchful eye he had on me. "Are you well?" I asked before he could demand to know every detail of what I'd been doing while I was away for so long.

"Oh, don't you worry about me," he scolded lightly. "I'm holding up well. Especially now that we're getting some young folk around here," Toshiya clapped the barista on the shoulder for emphasis. "I see you met our newest edition, Victor. What a lovely boy he is, I expect he'll bring in a lot of customers." He said with a knowing lilt in his voice. I blushed, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Oh, yes." I turned to Victor. "I'm Yuri, nice to meet you." I stammered awkwardly. Victor slowly reached a hand across the counter as if he didn't really want to touch me but felt obligated to. Belatedly I reached up, grasping his slim, cool hand in mine.

"Likewise," Victor stated almost flatly. I couldn't get a read on this guy. One second, he's grinning and bumbling like a precious cinnamon roll and the next he's acting like he'd rather be anywhere but here. Taking his hand back, Victor ran his fingers through his silvery hair, looking back at the order screen on the computer.

"Well, I'll let you get back to taking Yuri's order," Toshiya said with a sweet smile. "Just holler if you need anything." He turned to head back into the backroom.

"Um, could you repeat how much espresso you'd like?" Victor asked in an unsure, but patient voice. I grinned timidly, cursing my awkwardness to the darkest pits of Hades' realm.

"Ah, yes. Yuri and his espresso," Toshiya said with a chuckle over his shoulder.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I pouted.

"Put him down for as much as the machine lets you," Toshiya instructed Victor, ignoring me. "I believe it allows 20 shots maximum, but actually put in 40." Victor's jaw dropped, and he turned back from Toshiya to face me.

"You put 40 shots of espresso in your mochas?" He asked incredulously.

"No, the baristas do," I corrected cheekily on reflex. "Er, I mean, yes. I choose espresso and coffee over sleep." Victor stared at me with a look of… was that fear? He visibly shook himself and began punching things into the machine, while I watched his graceful hands at work, until he turned around to make my drink. Scrunching my nose irritably as my view was cut off, I began to gaze around the shop while I waited.

The machines gurgled softly in a comforting way and the sweet strains of bird songs floated in through tall, open windows, bringing with them the fresh air and a musky floral scent from the window box flowers. Mismatched armchairs dotted around the café with tables of different sizes and colours thrown in between and the walls were decorated with paintings done by local artists. It was a very cozy room, even as empty as it was now.

Turning back to the counter, my gaze honed in on Victor as he danced back and forth between a few of the many humming machines that lined the back wall. He was singing along softly to the song that filtered softly over the radio through the speakers, his voice barely any louder than a whisper.

How sweet it is to be loved by you

How sweet it is to be loved by you

I needed the shelter of someone's arms and there you were

I needed someone to understand my ups and downs and there you were

I swallowed hard, feeling something heavy swell in my chest. Clenching my jaw, I attempted to distract myself by watching Victor, which was not at all very hard to do. I found myself immediately hypnotized with the swing of his hips as he swayed to James Taylor's mellow voice. It was tantalizing. Utterly, absolutely, 100%, max-distraction tantalizing. And it didn't help that he was wearing skinny jeans. Skinny jeans. As in "so skinny, a monk would tap that."

"Here you are, Sir. One large mocha, 40 shots of espresso, with whipped cream," Victor rattled off smoothly, interrupting my thoughts. I felt something stir in my gut at his deep, newly confident voice. I pinched myself through my thick jeans.

"Th-thanks," I squeaked at him without looking him in the eye. I pulled my wallet out of my pocket, relaxing at the familiar feel of the aged, yet strong leather. I flipped it open and handed over a few bills, mumbling that he could keep the change. Victor grinned like a child on Christmas and thanked me fervently as I stuffed the wallet back in the pocket of my blue track jacket.

I shuffled through the café, mumbling a quick farewell over my shoulder without pausing to receive one in return. I pushed the narrow wooden door open and stood under the alcove for a moment to collect myself. For some reason, I felt thrown off— distracted and confused, as if gravity had shifted and up was down. I blew on my coffee to cool the burning liquid that was probably stronger than vodka.

It looked like I was going to be getting coffee a lot more often now.

AN:

There you have it! Did you like it? Let me know what you think and feel free to suggest ideas or directions you want me to take with this.

All rights for the song lyrics go to the lovely James Taylor and his song "How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)."

This is dedicated someone who's very important to me that shares (or at one point shared) half of James Taylor with me. This person had a recent brush with death, and is recovering slowly but steadily. While said person won't ever know about or read this story, I still wanted to write it for them. This is for you, buddy, wherever you are.