#girl if you know how metal letter blocks work in a printing press how did you get woodcutting so wrong???

[koushisun]

watching ascendance of a bookworm with my sis and i am very annoyed with main’s attempt at woodcutting

“it can’t be achieved with basic woodcutting techniques” YOU SIMPLY CARVED IT WRONG I’M??

[ravenbrenna09]

Jij Verliest - Chapter Five: Clip 7

master list previous

...

Vrijdag 12:21

Wedged between a jewelry repair shop and a pastel-colored clothing store, the dark exterior of Emilie’s Tattoo Parlor stood out amongst the others. The front of the shop was lined with large glass windows and dark-stained bricks. Above the black front door, there was a metal sign sculpted with Emilie’s spelled out against the brick. The glass was painted in red paint, depicting the special for the week, and Robbe almost immediately recognized it as Sander’s work. 

Swallowing nervously, Robbe gripped tightly onto his new phone and took a step inside. 

The lobby held a handful of people who were all waiting in plush leather chairs along the windows. The floor was adorned with light wooden panels. Three of the walls were painted a dark gray color and the fourth was the same color as the brick outside. There were framed photos all around the lobby of various designs and inspiration for tattoos. If Robbe looked close enough, he was certain he could find something that was Sander’s work. 

On the other end of the lobby, there were two tall black desks in the corner, positioned to look like a makeshift cubicle. Next to the makeshift cubicle, there was a door that led further back in the store. 

Behind the desk, a woman sat, dressed in a black shirt and a pair of jeans. Her hair had been dyed a shade of electric blue and she beamed at Robbe as he approached. The badge clipped on her shirt had the name Alicia printed out in large typewriter letters.

“Welcome to Emilie’s. Did you want to get a tattoo today?”

“Umm, no,” Robbe said. Alicia raised a confused eyebrow as Robbe collected his words. “I’m here to see Sander Driesen.” 

“Ah okay,” Alicia said, staring at him suspiciously. For a second, they were both quiet as Robbe waited for her instruction. Alicia simply blinked at him before a smile cracked on her lips and she said, “And you are? I have to let him know.” 

“Oh, right, I’m sorry. That would probably be helpful,” Robbe said. He ran a hand over his face and Alicia giggled as she turned to reach for the phone. “I’m Robbe. Robbe IJzermans.” 

Once Robbe had said his name, Alicia glanced up, her hand frozen in pursuit of the phone. She grinned at him with a bright smile. She practically raised herself from her barstool, nearly tipping it over as she reached her arm out to shake his hand. “Oh! You’re Robbe! The Robbe, right?” Robbe blinked at her, taking her outstretched hand, and his cheeks flushing. “Sorry, Sander won’t shut up about you and I’m just glad that you’re here. Maybe you can get him in a better mood.”

“What do you mean?” Robbe asked. 

Alicia let out a sigh as she straightened herself back on a stable chair. “He’s been really irritable today,” she said, patting the counter. She pivoted in her seat and pointed to the hall. “He might still be on his lunch break and one of his friends stopped by. His room is the third door on the right. If the door is closed, you can just knock and he’ll let you in.”

“Okay, thank you so much,” Robbe said. Alicia nodded, beaming at him before turning to one of the customers that walked up to the counter to ask her a question. Robbe moved to the doorway, stepping into the hallway. The walls were painted the same dark gray as the lobby and had photos of all shapes and sizes covering every inch. As he walked down the hallway, he spotted open doors where other artists were working with customers. 

As Robbe reached the third door on the right, closed shut, he paused outside the door, his hand raised to knock. As his knuckles made contact with the door, there was the sound of someone pushing a chair back, angrily. Someone—Sander, Robbe realized a second later—said, frustrated as footsteps sounded, “I don’t want to talk about it. Just drop it already.” 

“I just don’t understand, Sander!” a girl said, equally frustrated and angry. Robbe heard the footsteps stop on the other side of the door. “You were so sure on Tuesday! What happened between then and now?” 

“Britt,” Sander said. The bronze knob of the wooden door was turning. Unsure of which way the door was going to go, Robbe took a step back. “I said drop it.” Then, the door was opening, revealing Sander behind it. Sander was dressed in a black t-shirt with a pair of gray skinny jeans and Doc Martens. His hair was all shuffled like he had run his hand through it numerous times. Even though it was fleeting, Robbe managed to catch the panicked look in his eyes. “Robbe.”

“Hi,” Robbe said, nearly choking on his own breath. 

Over Sander’s shoulder, Robbe spotted a flash of yellow and his eyes followed it naturally. Sander pivoted, his shoulder dropping to show the girl sitting on the desk against the opposite wall. She was beautiful, with pencil-straight blonde hair that went to her shoulders. She wore a silver tank top and a pair of shorts that went to her mid-thigh. Her brown eyes went wide at the sight of Robbe in the doorway. At the sight of Jens’s ex-girlfriend, Robbe swallowed and avoided her gaze. 

“Britt,” Sander said, turning to her. Britt glanced at him and Sander nodded toward the door where Robbe was standing at. “You have to get back to your work, don’t you?” 

Even as Robbe remained outside of the room, he could see the heated but silent exchange between them. Robbe couldn’t read the expression on Britt’s face, but he had never been able to before. Quickly, Britt climbed off the desk, grabbing her purse from the back of the chair. As she placed a lid on the plastic container, Sander motioned Robbe inside and he stepped into the room. Britt moved past him, sending Sander a pointed look before disappearing into the hallway. 

Once she was gone, Sander closed the door, leaving the two of them alone.  

Robbe glanced around Sander’s room. There was a large black chair standing in the middle of the room. It was in the seated position, but Robbe knew that it could lean back fully. The walls were painted the same gray as the hallway and the lobby, but Sander had hung posters and record covers all over the walls. Most of them seemed to be David Bowie, but Robbe didn’t recognize a handful of them. 

“What are you doing here?” Sander asked, bringing Robbe out of his thoughts. 

Robbe swallowed. “We had talked about possibly going out to lunch when I got back,” he said. Robbe leaned against the black chair and shoved his hands in his pockets. Robbe could feel Sander’s eyes trained on him. “I should’ve texted or called. But the phone place was close so I thought I would stop by and see you.”

“Sorry,” Sander said.

“Did you want to go after work?” Robbe asked, raising his eyes to look at Sander. When Sander didn’t respond, simply avoiding his gaze by looking at the clock, Robbe felt his chest constrict heavily. Shoving away the instantaneous thoughts in his head, Robbe straightened up, adding, “You were talking about a really good place near here. Once your shift is over, I can come back and we can go out.”

Sander sighed and Robbe’s stomach dropped. “I can’t do today, Robbe,” Sander said. “Emilie had to go home early because her son got sick. She doesn’t know if she’s going to come back. If she’s not able to, I’ll have to close. I’m the only one working today with a key.” 

“Okay,” Robbe said. Biting down on his lip, Robbe took a step forward, hoping to get Sander to at least look at him. Robbe reached out to touch his arm and Sander glanced down at Robbe’s hand. Even though Sander wasn’t looking at him, Robbe could see the hurt and the pain on his face. “What about tomorrow? We can go to the place you were talking about and I can tell you about the beach and everything.”

Sander swallowed, biting his lip. Robbe waited patiently, his nerves gnawing on his stomach and his heart hammering in his throat. When Sander looked up at him, Robbe felt his stomach drop in his chest and a wave of nausea nearly knocked him off balance. Sander’s jaw was locked up and his face was impassive. His green eyes were set on Robbe, locking with his brown ones. Sander swallowed before saying, “My lunch break ends in a few minutes and I’ve got to get my station cleaned up.”

Robbe nodded, swallowing the hurt in his chest. “Ok.”

The seconds drew on between them. Robbe simply stood in front of him, waiting for Sander to move or budge or say anything. As Sander’s green eyes flickered down to Robbe’s mouth, brief and fleeting, hope festered in his gut. The hope burned with an intensity he couldn’t describe as he thought about how much he wanted it. How much Robbe wanted Sander to step forward and press a kiss against his lips and say, “I’m just having a bad day. I’m sorry.”

Robbe tilted his jaw up, trying not to beg. 

But Sander didn’t step forward and kiss him. Instead, Sander turned around. He grabbed hold of the knob and opened the door to the hallway before stepping aside to let Robbe out of the room. The hope in his gut evaporated in an instant, leaving confusion and pain in its place. 

…

Vrijdag 12:24

Robbe felt numb. 

As soon as Sander closed the door behind him, Robbe fled the tattoo parlor. He didn’t stop to say goodbye to Alicia, who was talking to Britt by the makeshift cubicle. He fled out the front door with a haste that he couldn’t explain, eager to put as much distance between him and the parlor.  

His legs moved, taking him farther and farther away. It felt like something had seized control of his body and moved him through the streets. His emotions were filling his chest, spilling over the brim. His brain vibrated in his skull, on the verge of exploding, taking down a city block or twenty. 

“Robbe!”

What happened?

What did he do wrong?

“Robbe!” 

There was the sound of hurried footsteps behind him. But the voice sounded fuzzy and slurred beyond recognition. Robbe just knew that it wasn’t Sander who was shouting for him. The voice was lighter than Sander’s deep bass and he didn’t want to turn around if he wasn’t Sander. If he turned around, he would have to face what happened—or what didn’t happen. If he did, the impending explosion of his brain—and his heart—would become real.

“Robbe!”

This time, the shout of his name was accompanied by a hand on his shoulder. It pulled him to a stop, forcing him to turn around. Robbe found Britt standing behind him, holding her sandals tightly in her hand. She shifted from one foot to the other at a frequent pace. Once Robbe had stopped, reaching up to wipe away the wetness at the corner of his eyes, Britt used his shoulder to balance herself as she slipped her sandals back on her feet. Britt straightened her tousled hair and her brown eyes flickered over his face. 

“I’ve got to get home, Britt,” Robbe said, running a hand through his hair. 

“It’s okay, I’ll be quick,” Britt said. “I just wanted to talk to you about Sander.”

“Britt, I—” Despite trying to keep his voice steady, the words got caught in his throat. There was a look on Britt’s face and Robbe knew that she could sense his frustration and pain. Even though Britt had dated Jens, they were still somewhat comfortable with each other. They had known each other for years. Swallowing, attempting to return his voice to normal, Robbe turned back to Britt. “I can’t—I don’t feel up to talk about Sander right now. Especially with you. We haven’t seen each other since high school.” 

“I know, but it’s important,” Britt said, determined. “What about tomorrow afternoon? If you want, we can meet up, have coffee, and catch up.” 

“Britt, I still don’t understand.”

“Robbe,” Britt said. Robbe paused, letting out a breath. There was something in her voice, her insistence to meet up. If he argued, Robbe had a feeling he wouldn’t win. Even though Robbe couldn’t imagine what they would talk about, he had a feeling that she wouldn’t leave without him agreeing to meet up. Glancing around, Britt took a step closer to him, whispering under her breath, “Please.”

Staring at her, Robbe let out a frustrated breath. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Britt echoed. Robbe glanced at the buildings around them. None of the shops seemed familiar and Robbe didn’t know where he had gone in his numb state. Biting down on his lip, he turned, trying to find a street sign to give him an idea. Britt took a step away from him. There was a worried look on her face, barely visible beneath the mask she used to wear. “I’ll message you on Insta later and we can set up a time. Okay?”

Unable to form a response, Robbe nodded and Britt stepped away. 

Before Britt disappeared completely, she paused. Britt turned back toward Robbe, who was still rooted in the same spot. For a second, she hesitated, before she said, “It’s going to be okay.”

Somehow, Robbe doubted her statement.

[fanfictionized]

Help Me Help You -A Little bit Of Hartbreak By My Side (21/?)

Character: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader / OFC

Chapter summary: Annabelle finds out the painful truth. Turns out she'll have to pay for that at least a little.

Warnings: angst, descriptions of torture and violence

Words: 1.8k

Previous Chapter // Help Me Help You - Masterlist

When she couldn’t find sleep that night she knew it was because of all the guilt coiling inside her stomach.

She had tossed and turned under her covers for hours, heart rate already speeding due to the lack of sleep rushing the adrenaline through her veins.

She felt awful, but knew that she had a plan she had to go through with.Just another half an hour and Steve would be gone for his morning jog, giving her enough time to search for the folder in his room.

Twenty minutes.

She heard the shuffling around downstairs.

Ten.

The hiss of the coffee machine.

Five.

Footsteps leading to the elevator as she heard the Bing of the button.And with that he was gone.

And she was already sweating like on a hot summer’s day.

Jumping silently out of her bed she opened the door, looking for any sign of life on the hallway and beneath her in the living room.

Everyone was still asleep. Thankfully.On silent feet she stepped down one floor, the men’s story between the girls’ one and the living area and searched for Steve’s room.

“Come on.” She mumbled to herself, shutting her eyes close to remember the scenes in her head of her spotting him coming out of his room.

Now, was it the one to the left or the one next to it…?

She thanked the universe for having remembered it correctly, the door opening as quietly as possible. Her face was contorted with tension as she stepped inside, slowly closing the door behind her again. 

Stark had the rooms and walls designed to be more or less soundproof, so she knew she could go ahead without anyone noticing. She stood there, examining Steve’s room. It looked very minimalistic, the interior. It reminded her of how much his time in the military must have influenced him.She sighed deeply, her breath shaky, as she thought back to every single piece of Hollywood logic she could think of. She opened the cabinets, rummaged around in the drawers of his desk, between his folded clothes inside his closet…

Until she spotted the neatly made bed. It looked like straight out of an Ikea-magazine. The fresh linen of the bed giving the whole thing an untouched look. She’d have to be very careful not to mess it all up when she’d lift up the mattress.

She cautiously sneaked her arm between the bed’s frame, her fingers ghosting over the thin planks until she felt her heart jump at the feeling of something laying across them. Something rectangular with a smooth surface that her slender fingers enclosed and she pulled out what she had hoped for with a breathy laugh, flopping down to sit on the rough carpet floor.

She stared at the light-brown, cardboard-like file. There were a few lines of handwritten text as well as a few numbers and single letters stamped onto it, yet she couldn’t make out any of it, since it wasn’t any language she knew. She was guessing something Russian or East-European and for a split second she thought that perhaps Wanda would be able to read it, until she turned the first page, opening the file and seeing a print of a picture attached to the back of it.

Her mouth went dry, her scalp beginning to prickle painfully as a shudder washed over her skin that made goose bumps rise up on her entire body.What she saw, made every intake of breath so much harder, her lungs not wanting to work the way she needed them to.

Because who she saw on that blue-colored photograph was no other than James Buchanan Barnes.It was some sort of tank with only a small window to spy through to see his face lying behind it.

He looked dead. That was the fact that took her breath away. His features were expressionless, his eyes closed and… There was frost… on the edge of the glass.She couldn’t keep in the gasp that left her tightened throat. 

“I was frozen as well.”

Was the sentence that had stuck. And she guessed that now she had finally found an answer, although her subconsciousness had already known that it would’ve been better if she hadn’t.Something had kept him frozen. For a long, goddamn time. It all clicked.Tears pricked at her eyes and as her gaze wandered farther down she spotted another, smaller picture through her blurred vision.

She took it into her hand, marveling at the very old picture of Bucky. It was black and white, with his face on it, looking somewhere into the distance.

He looked like he was wearing a uniform, the hat on his head confirming her suspicion. He looked so different. Her heart clenched at the thought of how much so.There was a small smile on his lips and she swore that she had never actually seen him like this. At peace. At ease.

A serious, not-so-sad-looking smile. Not just a smirk at Sam’s joke that didn’t quite reach his eyes. She suddenly longed for the wish to having met him before…

this

happened.

She flipped through the pages, every single one written full with letters she had never seen and could not decipher. She skimmed through them until she spotted more pictures. 

And had her stomach not been empty before, it would’ve been now at the sight of them. 

Nausea flooded her senses and she started to cold-sweat as she saw a picture taken from above, one person looking down at a passed-out Bucky laying on a hospital bed with medical equipment next to his left arm that was merely a stump anymore. Sawn off until right under his shoulder and since the picture was black and white, the pool of liquid under him was black, yet the sight of it still made her throw the folder away as she tried to calm her erratic breathing. Her hands were shaking as she pressed them against her heaving chest. Her breathing became more rapid, more shallow and she had to close her eyes as a whimper left her tight throat, tears rolling over her face freely. She felt like she was gonna black out.It wasn’t the flashbacks that caused her to hover on the brink of another panic attack, but the pain she felt in her own limbs at the sight of those photos.

She could literally

feel

his pain surging through her.

And it didn’t give her any satisfaction whatsoever, no. She was certain she had never felt this bad, this fucking shitty in her entire life.What are you

doing?

Get the fuck up, go the fuck away and pretend this

never fucking happened. 

Her voice was taunting her and this time it was right. More than right.

That was why she couldn’t understand or stop herself when she noticed herself going to grab the folder in front of her. She had no control.She flipped through the pages once more and under that horrible picture were a few more. Bucky with his metal arm, attached to tubes and cables.

Him cowering naked inside a small cell.

Doctors holding him down while they cut on something on him, while he stared into the distance.

He must’ve found a way to block it out

, she thought. She hoped.The anatomy of his metal arm. Brain scans.The last page inside was the only one written in English and she read the words, every single one as careful and slow as if to memorize it all.

WITH THE NEW APPENDAGE IN PLACE, APPROVAL WAS GIVEN FOR DEPARTMENT X TO BEGIN THE WINTER SOLDIER PROJECT.

Annabelle hadn’t noticed with her hand covering her mouth to muffle her sniffs and silent cries, that the door to the right of her had opened ever so slowly to reveal a blurry figure standing in the doorframe.She gasped as the movement appeared in the corner of her eye, making her drop the folder and it landed opened, splayed out in front of her. Her head whirled around to see no other than Bucky towering over her, still a few feet away as he looked at her in confusion before his head lowered to see the pictures of himself.

His gaze lingered there and slowly but surely his expression turned from confusion over to shock, his jaw clenching and his fist closing around the door handle.She had never felt so ashamed in her entire life. Her face grew hot, the heat smothering her under the hair sticking to her tear-streaked face. He still hadn’t looked up to her, his eyes trained on the floor, his form shaking.

With anger

she presumed and felt new tears welling up. She just wanted to disappear.

“Bucky” She croaked out, her voice wobbly and shaking as well through the lump in her throat.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry.” she whispered. He didn’t look back up. Just turned around and left. Her mouth hung open in shock and terror and it took her a few moments to collect herself, making her legs obey to her will and wiping her nose and her tears away with the sleeve of her shirt. She got up and stumbled against the door frame, checking downstairs before seeing his closed door. “Bucky?” She asked, her voice almost back to normal, no longer whispering and also not caring if anyone heard.

“Please, I’m so…” She took a deep breath, trying to come up with the right words through her clouded mind.

“…So. So. Sorry. Please believe me, I-” She realized he had seen her in Steve’s room and another wave of shame flooded through her and made her toes curl with the shudder of disgust she felt for herself in that moment.

“Fuck, I’m… ugh!” She rested her head against his door, the adrenaline not making it able for her to even say a proper apology. Let alone remember the English language, all while her nerves felt like on fucking fire.

“Bucky, I- I… I fucked up and I’m so fucking sorry. I…” She stuttered and sighed, another tear dropping onto the floor “I had no right to do what I did. And I understand if you don’t want to see me again, like ever.” Her voice broke as she stared up at the ceiling “And I get it if you don’t want to forgive me. I just want you to know I’m so sorry. I really am.”

She sniffed and listened for any other sound coming from behind the door. Nothing.“Fuck.” She hissed and walked off, stepping up the stairs to her room and closing the door behind her only to let herself fall against it until she had slumped down, her arms slung around her knees and face resting against them as she cried freely, her sobs echoing in the bedroom.

.

.

.

Taglist:

@humanexile @alt-er-love-er-alt @sam-jae @kimmiestrawberrykiwi

[artificialqueens]

Love Is A Losing Game - Chapter 2 - Trixya - Kitten

A/N: Two updates in less than a month, I’m on a roll! 

Thank you for all the lovely notes, it honestly means the world! Trigger warning in the tags

Hi Alex!

“Me and my head high, and my tears dry, get on without my guy…” Back to Black - Amy Winehouse

“Trixie please just listen to me for a second, please.” This was the most uncomfortable Trixie had ever seen Katya. Stood in the middle of the store, wringing her hands and tugging at the black skater skirt that sat just above her knees, it almost softened the stony glare Trixie shot in her direction.

Fury rose like burning bile in Trixies throat “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t drag you out this fucking store by your hair.” Katyas lip started to tremble at the threat, clearly the meeting wasn’t going exactly as she’d planned.

“Because I know you need answers.”  

Katya wasn’t wrong. She needed to know how she could just leave without a trace. She needed to know why she didn’t come and talk to her first. She needed to know why she’d lied about loving her. She needed to know what was so wrong with her that she drove the only person she’d ever felt true love for away. But answers could wait. The anger she felt for the woman stood before her was nothing compared to the anger she had for herself, because Trixie knew, after all this time, Katya just had to click her fingers and she’d come running back.

“I need…” Trixie finally looked away from Katyas face and took what felt like her first breath since she’d seen her. “I need you to get out of my shop Katya. You’re usually so fucking good at leaving, so do me a favour and fuck off once again.”  

Meeting Katyas eyes again, Trixie saw her wipe away a stray tear that had fallen down her porcelain cheek. “Okay, okay I’m going.” Reaching into her oversized purse, Katya closed the distance between them to press a red business card on the counter. “I know you won’t call, but my number is on the back if you change your mind. I’m sorry for coming here Trix.”  

The younger woman stayed silent as she watched Katya leave, surprised that her glare didn’t turn her to stone as she went. “Fuck.” Trixie sat on the stool behind the counter and buried her head in her hands, focusing only on her warm breath heating up her hands. Looking at the card before her through parted fingers, Trixie couldn’t decide whether to burn it, shred it or save it.

FIRST MEETING – SIX YEARS AGO

“It’s just a summer job. It’s just a summer job.” Over and over Trixie chanted to herself as she categorised the “HEAVY METAL!!!” Section of Peaches Records & Tapes. It wasn’t a bad job for a college student to have, it paid well enough to cover the rent on her small apartment, the work wasn’t hard, the boss was nice enough, and it worked well around her music course. Its only downfall was its customers, or lack of.  

Trixie was almost shocked at the sound of the bell chiming, signalling another person coming in to browse without buying anything. Glancing up to see the strangest woman she’d possibly ever seen, Trixie put on her best customer service voice to disguise her intrigue. “Hi I’m Trixie, can I help you find anything today?”

“Oh! Hi! Wow, Trixie! Really? That’s such a cool name! It’s almost as weird as mine!” Trixie raised her eyebrows in shock at the speed the woman spoke, but couldn’t help but giggle at the blinding smile she gave her. She had one of the most oddly beautiful faces, in one of the ugliest outfits Trixie had ever seen. She’d paired a neon green graffiti print jacket with an orange mesh t-shirt, giving a glimpse at the black lace bra she wore underneath it. Her toned legs were a saving grace, clad in black skinny jeans, and her petite height was helped with some hideous gold pumps. Her hair sat just below her sharp jawline, which she continued to scrunch some volume into as she smiled at Trixie.  

“Yeah! Well it’s actually Tracy but nobody has called me that since I was born. What’s your name?”  

“Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova. Odd name for someone from Boston, right? But people have just called me Katya, since birth. You can call me anything you want Trixie.” The wheeze that left Katya sounded more like an asthma attack than a laugh, but it was infectious, and Trixie found herself laughing along. There was nothing that particularly funny about what she’d just said, but more the energy that Katya exuded was infectious.  

“That’s a lot of letters to remember for one name. Well, Katya, is there anything I can help you with today?”  

“Shit, yes! That’s what I’m doing here, right. Look at me, one conversation with a pretty girl and I forget the world exists around me.” Trixie blushed at her comment, her cheeks turning the same colour as the pink gingham dress she wore. It might have been slightly “Brady Bunch” but it was hot in the city, and Trixie couldn’t find a pair of shorts that were work length appropriate. “I’m looking for your foreign language section. I’m trying to find something Russian, maybe connect to my roots a little more than just a name.”

Katya didn’t walk out of the store with a CD filled with Russian pop songs like she’d hoped, but she did walk out with Trixies number.  

PRESENT DAY.

“I can’t believe you called.”

“Neither can I. But you were right, I need answers.” Trixies tone had softened considerably since they had last spoken, but the tension between the pair was painful. “I’m sorry for calling so late.”

“No, no don’t worry. Do you want to talk now, or maybe we could meet up soon?” She sounded like a kid on fucking Christmas morning.  

“Can I come over? I know it’s late but there’s not a chance I’m sleeping tonight, and I’d prefer to see your face as you explain everything to me.”  

“Oh. Of course you can, I couldn’t sleep well either. I live on Cherry Lane.” Katya sparked her third cigarette in a row and looked around her messy apartment. Art supplies cluttered her large dining table and a large canvass stood against a wall, drying amongst completed works.  

“You live on Cherry Lane? As in two blocks away from me Cherry Lane? How long have you lived there Kat?”  

Katya stayed silent for a moment, contemplating lying. “Two years.”

“Two years? Two years you lived this close and I never saw you?” Trixies stomach twisted at the thought of the person she wanted to see more than anything being so close for so long, just out of reach. “Right. Well, I’ll be there in 20.”

___________________________

Trixie stood outside Katyas door for a solid five minutes before knocking, debating whether or not to walk away now and forget that she’s ever walked back into her life. But the masochist in her couldn’t miss the chance to spend time with her, even after all this time, Trixie still needed to be near Katya.

“Hey Trix.” Katya answered the door in an oversized white wife beater with “PARTY” scrawled across it in black cursive text. Her overly tanned legs were on show in a tiny pair of cotton pyjama shorts, and Trixie had to force herself to look away. Her skin looked softer than she’d remembered it.  

“Hello.” Giving a tight smile, she stepped past Katya into her living room. Everything about it was very… Katya. Rich green coated the walls, with various tapestries and her own art work filling the larger spaces. The vibrant red sofa clashed terribly, but that didn’t matter in Katyas world. Trixie glanced briefly at the family photos that sat on her mantle, a stupid photo of her and her siblings as kids pulling funny faces, one of her and her Mom together on her childhood homes back porch, a few photos with friends. One particular photo stood out.  

In a silver frame sat a photo of Trixies own group of friends, well, Trixie and Katyas old shared group of friends, before Katya left. Kim, Pearl, Violet, Justin, Max, Katya and herself all huddled together in one tight group, posing with wild grins for the photo. Katyas hand sat comfortably on Trixies thigh, and Trixies face was turned slightly towards Katya. She remembered that day well, and knew that the grin was for Katya really.

“Sit down, do you want a drink of anything?” Katya stood in the doorway awkwardly, looking at Trixie take in her apartment.

Trixie shrugged off her yellow raincoat and sighed. “No thank you. Sit down Kat.”

The small sofa left them no choice but to sit next to each other, but Trixie made sure that there was the most possible space in between them. She was here for answers, not to look at Katyas fucking tanned legs.  

Looking Trixie in the eye for the first time since she arrived, Katya wanted to cry. She could see the exhaustion and pain in her eyes, and they hadn’t even started their conversation yet. She would take back the past four years in a heartbeat if it meant that Trixies eyes would never look so sad again.  

“Well?”  

“Well. I don’t really know where to start Trixie.” Katya worried her bottom lip as she saw the defensive mask slip back on to Trixies face.

“How about you start with why you left me, and then we’ll go from there.”  

Clearing her throat, Katya started on what she knew would be a hard night of explaining herself. “Honestly? I was so scared.”

Trixie tried to keep her face neutral as she listened. “Of what?”

“Of ruining you Trixie. Please don’t ever doubt that I loved you, because I truly did. I think realising that made me realise I had to leave. You were 20, Trix. A whole life ahead of you. I have so much shit that follows me everywhere, I couldn’t weigh you down with that.” Katya looked Trixie dead in the eye, pleading with her to understand her reasoning.

“How can you say you loved me, when you just left like that?” Gritting her teeth as her voice cracked, Trixie allowed the memory of that day to come flooding back.

“I thought it would be kinder to just go. I knew you wouldn’t take that for an answer and I knew you’d try and fix me, I didn’t want you to waste any more time on a fuck up like me.”

“Well I’ll tell you what Katya, should I tell you what happened when you left? Tell me if this is a better use of my time. Kim had to move in with me for a month, after she found me passed out on my bathroom floor after taking a bottle of sleeping tablets. I wouldn’t eat. I wouldn’t shower. I wouldn’t talk to anyone. I just slept all day and waited for you to walk through my door. Is that a better use of my time Katya?” Trixie hadn’t realised her hands were shaking until Katya took hold of them. Her skin felt like fire against her own, like something magical that shouldn’t be touched.

Katyas eyes streamed with tears as she listened to the consequences of her actions. “Why would you do something like that? Oh my god Trixie.” She picked up Trixies hand and pressed her lips to her clenched fist, half expecting Trixie to snatch her hand away.  "I have never been worth something like that. Have never and will never be worth your life. What made you do that?“

"I loved you Kat.”  

Pressing a final kiss to Trixies hand, she looked up at the other girl with red eyes. “I am so so sorry Trixie. That word doesn’t even feel big enough. I can’t ever expect you to forgive me but can w-”

She could call it impulse? A mistake maybe. Or pretend it was part of a clever plan of revenge on Katya, but Trixie would be lying. Because in all honest truth, she didn’t know what went through her mind when she pressed her lips against Katyas.

[jjkyoongiee]

cream & two sugars

based on this coffee shop au that no one asked me do to but i did anyways

this was supposed to be a quick drabble, but I got carried away. I stayed up til like 4am writing this even tho i know nothing about barista-ing. 

read on ao3

Yuuri’s life wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped it would be. After being “let go”, as his manager had put it, for his poor performance and requesting too many sick days for his third job that year, he’d lost all hope he would ever get a steady income. 

The coffee shops he’d worked in were always packed with businessmen and women on their way to work or on their breaks. It didn’t help that they were always so upset over the slow service. It wasn’t Yuuri’s fault their computers crapped out every five minutes or the espresso machines were old and causing every problem under the sun that made Yuuri’s job unbearable. 

It wasn’t until exactly three days after he was fired and he was accompanying his friend Phichit on a shopping spree that he noticed a small local cafe was hiring called the Figure Eight Cafe. 

“You should apply,” Phichit had suggested enthusiastically, dragging him into the shop and asking the person behind the counter where to drop off a resume. 

It was a small cafe with a warm, fresh smell of croissants and coffee. The interior was mostly white, or cream as Phichit had corrected him later, and the metal wire tables were decked with tiled marble. But the rest of the shop’s walls were bare, making the place seem empty and unused.

Behind the counter, a red haired girl wearing all black was currently making a cup of coffee, “with the manager is fine,” she said. 

The next day Phichit had forced Yuuri to print out a resume and a cover letter and drop it off at the cafe. 

Exactly three days later, he received a phone call. 

“Hello, my name is Yuuri, I’m new. I’m here for training?” Yuuri says tentatively to the small blond boy in black at the register. 

The boy narrowly eyes Yuuri up and down before grumbling something unintelligible as he walked to the back room. 

Yuuri looks around the small store to calm the nervous fluttering in his fingers, taking in the place he would be working in for the next while, fingers crossed he wouldn’t get fired from this place, he was starting to like it, before his eyes land on the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. 

Standing behind the counter, with his back turned making coffee was a man, taller than Yuuri and more built than him, but his slender features were soft and pretty, Yuuri didn’t want to take his eyes off of him. But his hair, silver and almost glistening metallic in the afternoon sunlight that was bursting through the storefront window as he moved, perfectly framing his face, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

His long, thin fingers worked smoothly and quickly over the machine, pressing buttons, wiping the steam pipe clean, taping foam on the counter. But what made Yuuri’s knees weak was watching the man’s muscles grow more prominent as he pushed the tamper down into the coffee grounds, twisting his arms, allowing Yuuri a fuller, more appreciative view of his biceps.

He’s vaguely aware of his name being called from somewhere in the distance as he watched the man pour coffee into a mug and call out a person’s name and order. But something had stepped in front of him and blocked his view. 

“Yuuri Katsuki?” The person says, “is it?”

Yuuri was shaken out of his trance as he focussed on the person in front of him, an older, less beautiful, balding man, “oh! Yes, Yuuri. I’m Yuuri. Hi—Hello.” 

“Welcome, I’m the manager, Yakov. Nice to meet you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri shook Yakov’s hand. He was already feeling scared of him. His seemingly irritated demeanor was putting Yuuri on edge and made him want to crawl under his blankets and bury himself into a hole. 

“I’ll have one of the employees train you today and we’ll see how it goes from there,” he said as he nodded toward the blond boy who had his arms crossed and was glaring daggers at Yuuri.

We’ll see if we like you or not, Yuuri could hear the statement in the undertones of his voice. His heart sank. If he was training with this intimidating, moody blond boy he surely wouldn’t get the job. 

Yakov walked away as he left the task for the kid. Yuuri just stared at him before the boy waves him to come around the counter. 

“Is the dress code to wear all black?” Yuuri starts as he walks around the counter, “‘cause I saw the other day a girl wearing all black and you’re wearing all black and he’s wear—”

“No,” the boy says, “there’s no dress code. That’s just something we like to do.” 

“Oh,” Yuuri mumbles under his breath. 

The boy points to the cash register, “do you know how to work that?” 

Yuuri glanced at the computer, the program they were using was exactly the same as the one at his last job, “yeah,” and the debit machine was similar to him as well, “I’ve used these before.”

“Good,” the boy points at a box underneath the counter, “this is where the debit and credit receipts go, that’s the garbage, if you need more change you ask Yakov, and the extra paper is here.” 

“Okay,” Yuuri nodded along with the boy’s instructions.

“Moving on,” the boy walked over to the glass counter display, “if people want a pastry or savory item, you ask them if they want it heated and for here or to go.” 

As the boy listed off instructions, he couldn’t help but turn his head to watch the man with silver hair cleaning up the counter and the espresso machine. He looked up and caught Yuuri’s eye, blushing faintly as he smiled brightly at him. Yuuri immediately blushed beet red and focused back at the food in front of him. 

He could barely take in all the things the boy was telling him as his heart was pounding and his nerves were fluttering in his fingers and his whole body felt warmer and— oh, the man with the silver hair had sidled up to the pair with a sly smile on his beautiful face, “hi, there.” 

“H—hi.”The man leaned forward onto the boy’s shoulders as he gazed into Yuuri’s eyes, “what’s your name?” 

“Uhm,” Yuuri stutters out, “Yuuri.” 

“Yuuri,” the man says, drawing out the syllables into a dip of his deep voice, causing Yuuri’s heart to stutter, “that’s a pretty name. Hey, you have the same name as Yuri here!” 

“Ugh, Victor, go do your job, old man,” the boy pushed the man, Victor off of his shoulders, “and stop flirting with the newbie.” 

Flirting. Yuuri’s brain short circuited, was that flirting?

“It’ll be confusing having two Yuri’s working here. Maybe I’ll call you Yurio!” he says to the boy. 

“What?” Yurio yells. From the corner of the cafe Yuuri saw a man coughing as he slammed down the mug of coffee he was drinking from, giving the trio a glare. 

“Yurio, isn’t it time for your break?” Victor says suddenly with a finger pressed to his lips, pushing the boy toward the back room, “don’t worry, I’ll take over the training for you.”

Yuuri was at a loss as to what was happening. Before he knew it, Victor was standing in front of him again without Yurio in between them and with a shy smile on his face. 

“So, Yuuri,” Victor purred, “have you ever worked as a barista before?” 

Clearly Yuuri has. Has been fired from three barista jobs in the past five months, but Victor doesn’t need to know that. He knows how to make coffee and is pretty good at it too, or so some people say. What he’s not good at is talking to people, or dealing with people, or talking loudly when people can hear him. 

He wants to tell Victor all this, but his piercing blue eyes are staring at him, boring holes through the back of his mind and he panics, “no.” 

Victor’s grin grows, “then I can teach you!” 

“O—okay,” Yuuri stumbles towards the espresso machine as he follows Victor. No turning back now.

“This is an espresso machine,” Victor says simply, waving to the shiny machine on the counter. 

Yuuri smiles at him. Victor rattles through all the parts of the machine and then moves on to the different types of coffee beans the cafe uses in their drinks.

“—and this one is from Ethiopia. This one is more gentle and fragrant with floral undertones.” Victor opens the bag and brings it closer for Yuuri to smell and as he does so, Victor moves closer, brushing his arm against his shoulder. Yuuri feels warm where Victor touches him. He blinks up into Victor’s eyes and sees they’re shining in the light. He almost gasps at the sight, wanting to tuck his hair behind his ear and stare at him all day. 

He smiles bashfully at the man, placing his hands on Victors to bring the bag closer all while maintaining perfect eye contact.

The bag crunches between them as Victor squeezes it hard, it almost startles Yuuri as he’s hit with a cloud of coffee, “um, this next one is from Brazil,” he rushes to continue.

The day continues with Victor telling Yuuri about all the intricacies of coffee and how things are done at Figure Eight Cafe while Yuuri stares into his gorgeous blue eyes and Victor makes all the excuses to touch Yuuri’s arms and smile at him.

Yuuri finds himself correcting his earlier response that he has in fact worked as a barista in many cafes before. At Victor’s cute pout, Yuuri rushes to tell him that he can still train Yuuri, “I’m a little out of practice, so a little refresher wouldn’t hurt,” he says to Victor as he looks up at him through his eyelashes, tugging the hem of his sweater down subconsciously. 

Victor beams at him and makes him a latte and it’s easily the best latte he’s ever tasted in all his life. He thinks he crushes harder on this guy after tasting what he can make.

Before he knows it, his training shift is over and he’s standing in Yakov’s office waiting for the verdict. 

Yakov sits in his chair behind his cluttered desk as he eyes Yuuri up and down under the fluorescent light with a finger to his lips in thought, “when would you like to start?” 

Yuuri’s first shift is a Wednesday. He’s working the cash register under Yakov’s orders. It’s quiet. The only two people working today are him and the red haired girl in all black, Mila. Yurio said there was no dress code, so he wore black jeans and a fading blue sweater where the sleeves covered his hands because they were too long.

“Is it always this slow on Wednesday mornings?” Yuuri asks. 

“Yes,” Mila says, flipping through a lifestyle magazine, “ever since that new coffee shop opened up across the street, we’ve been getting less and less customers. Now, it’s just regulars who come in. I think that new place is built to look like a train station.” 

“Oh,” Yuuri says, wiping down the counter, “that’s cool.” 

They don’t get another customer for at least the next hour. 

Yuuri spends most of his shift trying to remember the exact colour of Victor’s eyes when the sun hits it at the right angle. 

The next time Yuuri works is Friday. This time he’s working with Yurio. The boy is less intimidating than the first time he met him, seeming more childlike than anything. He likes to make fun of people that place complicated orders and get upset when the shop doesn’t have something they ask for. 

It seems Yurio is warming up to Yuuri after spending a day with him, even showing him tricks he’s acquired over the months working there. He finds out from Yurio that Victor has been working at the cafe since he can remember, even before any of the others started working there. Yurio thinks Victor may even be the first ever employee, which is why Yakov lets him work whenever he wants.

Yuuri’s working the register again. He’s itching to get his hands on that machine. Everytime he hears the machine creak with pressure or the steam pipe frothing milk, he gets a pang of jealousy at the person working it. 

“Can I have a medium latte?” The short lady in front of him asks, bringing him back down to earth. 

“One medium latte to go!” He calls out to Yurio.

The sun shines through the windows as he watches people go in and out of the coffee shop across the street. He can’t help but hope his next shift is with Victor. 

His next shift is with the other employee, Christophe, the tall handsome one with long eyelashes that always seem to flutter like a butterfly when he winks at Yuuri.

As Chris began making a customer’s coffee, Yuuri watched as he worked, making mental notes about how much milk Chris poured, much more than Yuuri would. And how long he frothed the milk, much shorter than Yuuri would. And how he did the latte art, which always seemed to come out particularly more phallic than the others. He couldn’t help but wonder how the drink tasted and if it was better than what Yuuri could do.

Chris placed the cup onto the counter and Yuuri watched as the woman took a sip from the almost overflowing liquid. She smiled as she tasted the coffee, seemingly pleased with the results, before she placed a lid on top and left with a thank you. 

Yuuri looked away, not wanting to be caught as a creeper staring at Chris work.

 Yuuri was folding up the receipts as he felt a hand snake around his waist, he jumped, “Yuuri,” Chris crooned in his ear. 

“Chris,” he yelps. 

“You’re so quiet,” he smiles at him, “but you seem like a party boy. You are, aren’t you? The quiet ones always make the best party boys.” 

Yuuri clutches the receipts in his hand closer to his chest, “I—um.”

Chris smiles at him and slaps his ass, “I’m only playing around, Yuuri. Loosen up, this place is dead,” he chuckled.

Yuuri feels just a little bit less tense during work, although he avoids Chris and his advances and practically runs to the refrigerator in the back when Chris asks him to go clubbing that night.

Yuuri doesn’t see Victor for another two weeks and the longer he goes without gazing into his beautiful blue eyes the more he fumbles with handling money and cleaning up and being a good employee. 

“You’re too slow,” Yurio pushes him aside as he’s wiping down the counter at the end of the day, “let me do it.” 

It’s raining outside and it’s dark. He had hoped Yakov would close up early due to the lack of customers on the dreary afternoon, but he was never so lucky. So instead, him and Yurio were holed up in the empty store, with nothing to do but clean.

Yuuri steps aside, rolling the hem of his shirt in his fingers, and watches the teenager take over the simple task.

Just as Yurio is finished wiping the counter and smiling at Yuuri, showing him how fast he’s done it, the bell on the door rings loudly and in walks none other than Victor. But he’s not alone. Behind him walks a large brown poodle, fur soaked to the bone and his tongue panting between his lips. He shakes his body back and forth and the water splashes on the floors, windows, and all the furniture, leaving dark, wet-dog scented stains behind. 

Yuuri’s heart jumped at the sight of Victor in all his glowing beauty, but his eyes absolutely lit up at the sight of the scraggly dog that ran up to him and nearly knocked him over as he greeted Yuuri with his two front paws on his shoulders and a slobbering wet kiss. 

“Yurio, I’m freezing,” Victor says as he shakes off the rain from his large umbrella, shucks off his coat and backpack and chucks it down onto a nearby table, “can you make me a hot chocolate? I just came to pick up my paycheck.” 

The dog trotted over to a table near the milk and sugar counter and made himself comfortable, curled up around the legs.

“Hey, you idiot! We just cleaned the floors!” He bickers at the man. 

Victor looks up to see Yurio fuming as he yanks the mop from the cupboard behind the back door and stomps to the front to mop for the third time that day.

But Victor doesn’t pay the angry teenager any mind as his eyes are only looking at Yuuri, “hi, Yuuri.” 

“Hello,” Yuuri says. 

“I didn’t know you work today?” Victor’s head tilts to the side as he gives Yuuri a warm smile. 

Yuuri can feel his cheeks flush, “yeah, I’m still on my trial period, so I don’t have a set schedule, but it seems to be Monday’s, Wednesday’s and Friday’s.”

“Shame,” Victor scratches his head, “I only work on Thursdays.” 

“Oh,” Yuuri blushes harder.

Victor took a step forward unaware of the mop at his ankles as he went flying forward, a loud unceremonious yelp came from his throat as his body hit the floor with a hard thud. His dog jumped up to his feet and started licking Victor’s face. 

“Ow,” Victor whimpers.

Yuuri rushes around the counter to kneel at Victor’s side, “are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Victor attempts to hide the pain in his voice, but it came out as a cute squeak. He cleared his throat and says, “yeah, no, I’m fine. I’m okay, I’m—”

Yuuri grabs his hand and placed the other on his back to help him back to his feet. They were pressed face to face with their hands linked in between their bodies. Victor’s lips looked so soft from up close, he felt a strong urge to reach up and press his thumb to the centre of his pout. When Victor moved closer to him, he found his lungs had stopped working and his pulse was racing.

“Stop flirting with the newbie, Victor!” Yurio shouts through the door to the back room. 

Yuuri jumps from his arms and backed up into something soft and wet. 

“This is my dog,” Victor said, “Makkachin.” 

“Hello, Makkachin,” Yuuri crouched to be the same height as Makkachin to pet the dog. 

Makkachin was a very happy dog, his tail wagging back and forth at an alarming pace. He was quite taken with this dog if he was being honest. Makkachin leaned forward, placing his front paws on Yuuri’s shoulders and licking his face clean. 

“Yuuri,” Victor said, in all his grace and beauty, he was blushing like a teenager in front of the cute teacher, “can you make me a hot chocolate? I think Yurio is avoiding me.”

Yuuri sets out to make the hot chocolate. It’s simple; just powder and hot water, swirl on some whipped cream, drizzle on the caramel, and sprinkle it with cocoa powder. Put an extra chocolate wafer in it and voila! 

“One hot chocolate for Victor!” Yuuri calls out as he placed the mug on the counter. 

He looks up and finds that Victor is gazing up at him with his head in his hands. His sparkling eyes cause Yuuri’s heart to palpitate. 

Victor takes a sip of the hot drink and when he puts the mug down with a surprised smile, there on the tip on his nose and the bow of his lips is a spot of whipped cream. 

Yuuri hides a laugh behind his sleeved hand.

Victor looks up at him with innocently wide eyes, “what?”

Still chuckling behind his hand, he points to his own nose and lips, indicating that he has something there.

“Do I have something on my face?” Victor wipes his face but completely misses the spot. 

“Here,” Yuuri grabs the towel that was left on the counter and brings it up to Victor’s face. Victor stands still as Yuuri wipes his nose and lips with the most gentle and slow press of the damp cloth. Yuuri gulps, his eyes fixed to his plump lips as he brings his hand away from his face. 

Victor’s eyes seem to be sparkling in the harsh light of the cafe, he lets out a slow breath as he watches Yuuri. They stand facing each other across the counter. Their moment is interrupted when Makkachin makes a soft borf from his place in the corner. 

“Sit with me while I drink this?” Victor asks, a blush high on his pale cheeks. 

Yuuri would’ve said yes to anything Victor asks him to do if he keeps looking up at him with those alluring eyes. 

They sit at a table by the window, chatting for hours as the sky grows darker and the rain slowly lets up and Yuuri’s heart grows bigger and his laughter grows louder with every story Victor tells him. Their eyes never leave each others except for when there is a brief silence and Yuuri cannot help but blush at the intense gaze Victor is giving him, so he looks out the window at the cafe across the street that closed up early due to the rain. 

“This hot chocolate is really good, Yuuri,” Victor says, “better than how the other’s make it. What’s in it?” 

“Oh, just powder and milk.”

“It tastes like magic. I’d like to see what wonders you can do with the coffee machine,” Victor winks. 

Yuuri almost has a heart attack, but he manages to keep his cool and answers, “I haven’t been able to make anything yet, Yakov only tells me to work the register.” 

“Well then, Yakov needs to try this hot chocolate, he’ll be crazy not to let you make coffee after tasting what you can do.” 

After Victor finishes his drink and they’ve exhausted all conversation for the night, Victor announces he’s going to see Yavok and for Yuuri to wait for him. 

I’m not going anywhere, Yuuri thinks, my shift isn’t over yet.

Victor returns and promises to walk him home at the end of his shift. He’ll wait.

In twenty-three minutes, they’ve closed up the shop and Victor follows Yuuri home with Makkachin closely behind. 

The more time he spends with Victor the more his heart flutters, and the more he feels confident in himself. He’s had an instant crush the moment he laid eyes on him in the cafe and that extends past looks. Victor is kind, fun, and lighthearted, but he gets this far off look when he’s not talking about the shenanigans he gets up to with Chris or the love he has for Makkachin. The small crease between his brows are quickly remedied when Yuuri laughs at the simplest joke or when his eyes crinkle with the softest smile. 

Victor is a mystery to Yuuri. He’s afraid he might shock himself if he gets too close. So he stays at a distance, pining from two feet apart. He stutters out a rapid goodbye and a see you later when Victor tries to lean in for a sweet kiss on the cheek and practically runs away at the first sign of nerves. 

This feeling is new to Yuuri and he can’t quite put his finger on what it is.

He shows up to work the next monday and is met with the sight of Victor grinning brightly at him from behind the counter. And the well trained Makkachin wagging his tail at him.

“Hi, Yuuri!” Victor beams, “I asked Yakov to switch my schedules around! I’m working Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays now!” 

Yuuri nearly has a heart attack then in the middle of the threshold of the cafe. At least Makkachin would be a soft pillow if he collapses forward.

Yuuri is thrilled to learn that Yakov has decided to let him work the espresso machine. It came as a surprise, but he finds out later from Mila that Victor had advised the manager to let Yuuri make coffee. 

Yuuri’s heart swells at the news. And he’s on the machine in an instant, at first he has to remind himself of the skills he had forgone for weeks, but quickly regains muscle memory. He’s making the best coffee he’s ever made in his life. 

All his customers remark how lovely his coffee is and how the store must’ve changed management, to Yuuri’s knowledge, Yakov’s always been the manager.

 When the morning get busier (Makkachin kept in Yakov’s office), him and Victor work side by side, gently scooting around each other, hands flying across the machine, overlapping as they grabbed cartons of milk or syrup. Every time their hands accidentally touched, Yuuri grows less aware of Victor being in such close proximity that it almost becomes easier to work beside him. He gets less conscious of the beautiful man standing shoulder to shoulder to him and more comfortable with Victor. 

By the end of the rush hour, Yuuri and Victor are practically dancing around each other and laughing as they do so. They’ve found an ease between them. 

He almost doesn’t want Wednesday to roll around which means he has to work with Yurio, the grumpy teen. 

He would trade all his days if he could spend more time with Victor and his dog.

Word gets around that Figure Eight Cafe’s coffee has gotten a lot better. The business is booming. Yuuri wonders if this is normal, to which Chris replies that it’s not. He’s starting to feel nervous, he can’t deal with a lot of people at once and there’s a long line at the register that ends at the door. 

If Yuuri works a little slower than normal that day, he blames it on the late night, but it was the shock of seeing the cafe so busy all of a sudden. He wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of customers that his nerves were preventing him from functioning properly and Chris wasn’t helping with his unabashed flirting. 

He later finds out that customers had heard about the new cute employee that makes the best coffee in town and they wanted to have a look and taste for themselves. He was shocked to find this out. Where was the praise at his other three jobs? 

“You didn’t know it, but Leo told me customers really liked you at The Grind,” Phichit had told him that night. 

Then his last three managers had been pricks. 

Friday rolls around, Chris had called in sick and he’s thankful for Victor’s presence. He somehow seems to calm Yuuri down and the rest of the world seems to disappear. The only person that matters is Victor and he’s chuckling at the way Yuuri makes a face when he sees the long line that spans the length of the cafe. 

“Everyone is here for you, Yuuri,” Victor says through a smirk. 

Yuuri chances a glance back at the line and sees that most of the patrons, especially the women, have been watching him and Victor work. 

“Are you sure they’re not here for you?” Yuuri smiles. 

“Why would they be here for me? You’re the star of the show,” Victor leans in and winks leaving Yuuri paralysed before the espresso machine. 

There’s one particular customer Yuuri can’t help but overhear that he’s in a hurry and it spurs Yuuri on while also raising his anxiety level. 

Victor and Yuuri’s hands fly rapidly over each other. Yuuri’s pouring coffee while Victor is bending to retrieve the milk from underneath Yuuri. Victor reaches over Yuuri’s head for the teas as Yuuri steams the milk. 

There’s a line of cups waiting for them on the counter and they take one at a time. Victor wraps his arm around Yuuri’s back, grabbing the cloth and Yuuri blushes. Victor bends to retrieve the milk from underneath Yuuri again and takes his time picking up the cap he dropped in between Yuuri’s legs, Yuuri glances down to where Victor’s hands are and is met with Victor’s playful smile. Yuuri blushes harder and feels his knees get weak, he almost drops the scalding coffee he’s holding all over himself, and Victor chuckles lightheartedly at Yuuri’s flustered appearance.

Yuuri is swirling whipped cream onto a drink and almost sprays it everywhere when Victor steps behind him and wraps both arms around him as he reaches for a lid and straw. Yuuri can feel Victor’s hair against his cheek and can almost feel the vibrations when Victor hums a soft “hi” in his ear. 

He clamps a hand onto the edge of the counter to stop himself from falling back into Victor’s arms. He hears Victor chuckle and then he’s back at the register where he’d taken his warmth with him. 

When the rush hour is over, Yuuri collapses into one of the cafe chairs, Victor across from him, a coffee made by Yuuri in his hand and Makkachin at their feet now that the crowd had died down.

“We make a good team,” Victor says after a sip of coffee. 

“Can you believe Chris bailed on one of the busiest days?” Yuuri says. 

Victor shakes his head, “he was hungover from partying too hard last night.” 

“What was last night?” Yuuri asks, curious as to why Chris would be partying on a thursday night.

Victor’s gaze is serious as he says, “thursday,” confirming Yuuri’s curiosity; Chris is a party animal. 

They stare at each other for a moment before bursting out with laughter. 

When there’s a lull in the afternoon, Yuuri scours the back room, cleaning it up and organizing the old mess when he finds a small framed painting. Yuuri thinks it looks pretty and decides to place it next to the milk and sugar table where there just so happens to be a nail perfectly centered on the wall. 

Victor stops wiping down one of the tables to admire it. He smiles at Yuuri and gives him a thumbs up and Yuuri thinks it makes the place look just a bit more welcoming.

Two weeks later, Mila calls in sick. Mila never calls in sick. 

“Oh god, here we go,” Yuuri says as they’re flipping over chairs to get ready for opening. 

The shop had gotten much more pretty as Yuuri had found more paintings in the back and hung them up. He had even found a few photographs of the shop’s exterior and of Yakov when he was younger—with more hair and less wrinkles. 

One day, Yakov had walked out into the shop front and paused in his path to look at the wall, now covered in paintings and photographs. He shot an accusing glance to Yurio who pointed to a nervous Yuuri. Yakov had relaxed after a few seconds, pursing his lips and nodding before he walked back to his office. 

With a sigh of relief and a smile from Yurio, Yuuri felt like he was starting to belong, even when he felt the large crowds that came every morning should’ve brought with them an impending anxiety attack, it meant he got to be closer to Victor.

Victor has a glint in his eye, “we can do it, Yuuri! Just you and me, together.” 

Well, when you put it like that, Yuuri��s heart thumps.

“I bet I can make more drinks faster than you can,” Yuuri plays. 

Victor looks affronted, his hand on his chest, but there’s that glint in his eye as he grins at Yuuri, “you’re on.” 

They shake on it. 

They’ve set up a small area on the special of the day board for their tally. As soon as the first wave of people arrive, they’re ready for battle. 

Like clockwork, they work side by side completely in sync, dancing around each other like a routine. Their arms brush often and they find themselves reaching in front, behind, and around the other. Their eyes meet in between tasks and it’s sometimes playful, sometimes fleeting, too quick to catch any emotion, and sometimes Yuuri will see Victor’s crease in between his eyebrows upon looking at Yuuri’s expression. This usually happens when Yuuri is feeling particularly frustrated or rushed. But somehow Victor’s reassuring smile brings him back. 

At the end of the day, their tally is almost equally matched. But Yuuri won by a whopping three points. 

Victor accepts defeat with a smile and shining eyes, but it doesn’t stop there. Victor eyes the dirty dishes in the back and gives Yuuri a mischievous look.

They’re the last two in the shop the washing hadn’t been done yet. 

Yuuri knows exactly what Victor is hinting at with just a look. 

It takes them two seconds of eye contact before they’re racing to the back, pulling each other back by the waist in order to be the first and fastest to clean up.

The mugs and plates go in the dishwasher, but Yakov insists that the cutlery be washed by hand. 

When Victor sees Yuuri has washed more forks than he has, he splashes Yuuri out of desperation. 

“Ah!” Yuuri ducks behind his arm as he’s attacked by the soapy water, “that’s cheating, Victor!” 

Yuuri gives up and starts splashing him back and even takes the soapy suds and runs it in Victor’s hair which elicits a loud gasp and a “you did not just do that.” 

“I did,” Yuuri stands, his sleeves and apron soaked. Victor picks up a cup and fills it with the dirty water from the sink, standing across from Yuuri, daring to dump it on top of his head. 

“Victor,” Yuuri warns, “don’t you dare.” 

“Too late,” Victor says. He steps forward slowly, backing Yuuri into the wall, cup still in his hand. 

Yuuri hits the wall and his heart starts pounding, he hides his nerves with a cheeky grin and brings his hand up to coat Victor’s hair in more of the suds. 

Victor unceremoniously dumps the water onto Yuuri’s head. The water drips down his shoulders and his back, running down his spine and he shivers. 

His mouth is caught wide, disbelief has taken over him before he tackles Victor to the ground, messing his hair up even further. 

They’re rolling around on the wet floor, laughter filling the room. 

Victor rolls on top of Yuuri, pinning him to the spot. They’ve calmed down some and are gazing into each other’s eyes. 

Yuuri’s heart is pounding a tattoo against his chest that he’s sure Victor can hear it. The nerves in his fingertips and toes light on fire and his breath stutters. His lips part as he sucks in a nervous breath. 

Victor’s eyes flick down to his lips as he licks his own. There’s so much energy buzzing between them and Yuuri thinks if he moves, he might set off a chain of events that will either make or break this moment. 

“Victor,” Yuuri whispers in the space between their bodies. 

Victor’s eyes flick back up to Yuuri’s and he melts. In that moment, all he can see is blue and silver, and all the colours that make up Victor and all that Victor is. 

He smiles up at the silver haired man and in that moment Victor surges forward and captures Yuuri’s lips with his own. And he’s kissing him with the gentle care that is Victor’s being. And Yuuri kisses back. His fingers itching to grab hold of Victor’s hair and push him deeper. His nerves bloom, his lungs stop working and all he can feel is the soft lips of the man on top of him. 

Victor shifts so that he can cup Yuuri’s face in the palm of his hand. And Yuuri brings his hand up to Victor’s neck, feeling the damp hairs at the nape. 

He feels Victor’s tongue against his lips and he parts his lips wider as the kiss gets deeper and heavier. He lets out a soft moan into Victor’s mouth and they part for a breath. 

They’re both panting as they admire the wreckage they’ve left on the other person. Yuuri smiles at the mess of Victor’s hair, and Victor’s eyes crinkle with a grin. He leans back in and they kiss some more and explore each other’s mouths. 

Yuuri pushes at Victor’s arm and flips them over so that he’s straddling Victor. He leans in for a quick, sweet kiss, pinning Victor’s arms above his head. He parts just slightly so he can look into Victor’s eyes and whisper, “I still won.” 

Victor makes a face and pushes them to their original position. Yuuri laughs as Victor pins him to the floor. He plants kisses all over his face, “we’re both winners.” 

“No, I won,” he says breathless as Victor kisses down his neck, “you cheate—”

Victor kisses him again, “stop talking, more kissing.” 

If Yurio sends them an angry text complaining about the lack of clean cutlery the next day, both Victor and Yuuri pretend they don’t know anything about it.

Three months later, Yuuri is pinning a small polaroid photograph in the small space between the paintings. It’s of all of them behind the counter with Yakov standing proudly behind the group. Victor and Chris, the tallest, flank Mila, Yuuri and Yurio in the middle. Victor has his arms wrapped around his boyfriend as he gazes down at the smiling man in his arms. Makkachin is sitting tall in front of the counter, with his tongue poking out of his mouth, dripping drool onto the floor in front of him. 

They look like a happy family. And the cafe is filled with warmth. It stands out amongst the paintings and photographs as something intrinsically them. It belongs in their little sanctuary on the corner of the street. 

Every morning patrons fill the cafe and crowd around the counter watching Yuuri and Victor make eyes at each other as they work effortlessly together. And every morning he finds himself itching to come to work to see Victor’s face smiling at him as he makes coffee one after the other. 

Yuuri feels more and more welcome in this family and he can’t help but feel like he belongs.