Work Text:
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Bee–
“God, fuck off,” Akito grunts, almost slamming his alarm off the bedside with the force he uses to switch it off. He doesn’t mind waking up early, but damn that thing could do with a lower volume setting.
He rolls himself out of bed– come on, Akito, up and out. He enjoys his morning routine, truthfully; he wakes up at 6, jogs, heads home, showers, and then goes to his morning shift at 8. It’s simple, repetitive. Just what he likes.
He watches the sun rise through his jog, smiles as cats stretch out in the early-morning light. Around 7, he arrives back home; by far the best thing about having his own dorm is that he can have nice, long showers without his sister nagging him to hurry up, Akito, I have a life to live too. He gets out, dries himself off, dresses into his uniform. Simple, comfortable routine.
He curses the cold when he finally heads out to his car; it is close enough to walk, but the January weather isn’t the kindest, and he’d frankly rather die than have to call Kohane and say he’s missing his shift because he fell on his ass on the ice. Not that she’d ever be unkind.
So, his routine continues, arriving at the café just as Kohane turns the open sign. She smiles at him through the glass, pulling the door open, “Good morning, Shinonome-kun!”
“Yo, Kohane,” he says, sighing blissfully at the warm air of the café. “Open up okay?”
“Yup! Everything’s all ready!” She’s always so cheery in the mornings. He loves her. “Did the cold give you any trouble?”
“Nah, I drove in.” He hears Kohane head back to the counter as he goes to the back room, tossing his scarf and coat into his locker and pulling on his apron. The branding is nice, colours all mixing well (to be honest, he wouldn’t have worked in some shitty place with ugly aprons), and he gives himself a quick check-over in the bathroom mirror before heading back out to the café.
It’s still empty. He and Kohane quickly start preparing things for the eventual influx of customers, chatting all the while; at one point she becomes so caught up in their conversation that she almost burns herself on hot water, but they laugh it off.
Their first customer arrives around 8:15, as always. It’s the same boy as always.
Akito’s heart does that weird jump, as always.
He quickly moves over to the order counter, watching the boy as he tucks a loose blue hair behind his ear. Get your head in the game, dumbass.
“Good morning,” the boy says, dipping his head down politely. “Could I get–”
“Black coffee, right?” Akito curses himself for the interruption, but he’s proud in equal measure; this boy comes in every day, at least when he’s working, and always orders a plain black coffee. He sits in for half an hour, reading what Akito can only assume are study notes, and then leaves, occasionally with the company of a girl. He’s pretty. Undeniably pretty.
And Akito is the most normal and professional barista to ever exist.
The boy nods with widened eyes; Akito taps it into the cash register, “Anything else?”, and hits enter at the boy’s shake of head. “We’ll bring it over, please make yourself comfortable,” Akito says. Usually, he finds some displeasure in keeping up the tone and smile that comes with the job, but he never minds with this particular customer.
Again, he lingers for a moment as the boy walks to a table by the window, more-or-less dragging himself away from the view to actually make the damn coffee. Kohane watches him, eyebrows raised. She knows, for sure.
He fixes up the coffee quickly; truthfully, he’s still a little perplexed by the choice of plain black coffee, but he can't judge the beautiful boy for it.
A few more customers trickle in by the time the drink is finished; Kohane handles the counter whilst Akito goes to serve the pretty boy. Mug held carefully in his hands, he makes his way over to the table; as always, the boy is diligently running through notes and textbooks, pretty lips moving ever so slightly as he mumbles under his breath.
It almost feels wrong to break his focus, but it is Akito’s job; he places the cup just to the side of the books, “Here you go,” smiling when the boy looks up at him. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you very much,” the boy returns, voice soft and preened into perfect politeness; his expression doesn’t change, but it’s already plenty pretty. Akito dips his head and (just a little hesitantly) heads back to the counter.
More orders have started to pile up; still nothing they can’t handle, perfectly accustomed to weaving around each other between the machines, trading tasks with natural instinct. But today, Akito finds his focus to be unsteady. Each time he stills for a moment, idly waiting for water to boil and cups to fill, his gaze drifts back over the counter, back to that table by the window. He watches as the boy turns the pencil in his hand, dedicatedly slaving over his notes, taking tiny sips of his cup every now and then. Akito has picked up a few little habits of his; the way he always tucks back his hair when it falls over his cheek, how he purses his lips when he seems stuck.
The boy has a name, Akito knows. He’s heard it off the lips of the girl that accompanies him some days, light and simple.
Toya.
It’s a nice name. It suits him. Akito doesn’t tend to use it in his head, though; it feels wrong to first name someone he’s never properly spoken to, or even to know his name at all. Akito does feel a little like a creep for harbouring this fascination in the first place, to be honest, but what can he do. Barista isn’t the most exciting job in the world, he may as well take solace in what he can.
“Shinonome-kun?”
He almost jumps out of his skin. Cursing under his breath, he turns; Kohane is smiling sheepishly, obviously amused. “Sorry,” she giggles, “your drink is done.”
…Ah, so it is. He feels his cheeks flush at the fumble; Kohane knows what the problem was, if the glint in her eyes says anything, but she’s kind enough not to comment. “I’ll finish it off, can you handle the counter for a minute?”
“R-Right, yeah,” he mumbles, absolutely catching her little laugh but letting her off for it. He can’t exactly blame her, he is acting just a little stupid. Shaking his head in hopes of clearing the stupid gay thoughts, he heads back over to the counter, once again donning his smile as he begins to take an order.
Still, his mind drifts. Akito can’t stop his gaze from flickering back over to him. Before too long, the boy’s friend arrives; a girl with blue-black hair, pretty like the boy (though Akito doesn’t harbour the same feelings). He watches as she greets him, smiling widely and clapping her hands on his shoulders; his expression lightens, and Akito’s sure he sees the boy chuckle at her cheeriness. They talk for a moment. The boy begins packing up his books, and the girl walks over to the counter.
Akito doesn’t know her order like he does the boy’s; she doesn’t come in often enough for him to memorise it (or maybe you’re just gay, his brain retorts). He smiles as she approaches, “Good morning. What can I get for you?”
“A black tea and two cookies to go, please!” Her expression is blindingly bright, despite her red nose from the cold; Akito nods, tapping the items into the register.
The tea brews quickly, and he places two cookies into paper bags. She gives him that same beaming smile with her thanks, quickly walking back over to the boy’s table just as he zips up his bag. One of the cookies is handed to him; his eyes widen, and he smiles, so soft and pretty that it makes Akito’s heart skip a beat. The two of them begin to move toward the door.
Just for a moment, the boy glances back. Olive eyes meet silver.
Akito smiles. The boy– Toya– smiles back.
—
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
He slaps his alarm. Stupid device.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
Why the fuck won’t it turn off? It literally has one job. He hits it again. It clatters off the bedside.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
How is it still—?
…Ah, that’s not his alarm. Sluggishly, he feels around for his phone, tugging it onto the bed with him; the source of the noise is a pending phone call, Kohane’s contact displayed on the screen. He hits answer. “Mmh… wha’d’ya want? Early…”
“M-Morning, Shinonome-kun.” Her voice sounds a little off, lower than usual; that, plus the early call, already sets off alarm bells in Akito’s sleepy senses. “Sorry for calling you so early…”
“‘S fine, jus’... what’s up?”
“Ah, well…” she pauses, sniffling, “I-I think the cold made me sick. I feel horrible, and I slept through my alarm…”
“Hm.” He blinks. “…So no one’s there to open up.”
She sniffs again, voice nasally, “Yeah. I-I’m sorry, I know you weren’t scheduled today, but Meiko can’t get anyone else in yet… c-can you go in for opening? I–” she coughs, “I’ll make it up to you, I swear…”
Huffing, he sits up, lazily rubbing his eyes. So much for sleeping in. “Yeah, yeah. What time is it…?”
“U-Uh, about seven-thirty…”
He groans. “Seven…”
7:30. The café opens at 8. Shit.
A sudden rush of panic hits him, and he shoots up, messily swinging his legs over the side of the bed and switching off his phone. Kohane will understand. His mind goes into overdrive; his morning routine is completely thrown off, grabbing some workwear from his closet and taking the quickest shower physically possible. It isn’t until he’s finished, running out of the house with a piece of semi-toasted bread in his mouth, that he realises it’s snowed in the night; he groans, messily wiping the snow from his windshield and damn near giving up on life when the engine stalls. But, eventually, he sets off. The weather slows him significantly.
Maybe he should just give up.
Unsurprisingly, he arrives late; 8:10, and he has to park down the road, because God hates him. He trudges through the snow towards the café, lights still switched off. He sighs. Today is gonna suck.
He approaches the café, and quickly notices something; someone stood outside, looking into the café. As he comes closer, he notices the forlorn look on their face. Closer, and he notices the soft blue hair under his hat.
Ah. It's the boy. Toya.
Just as Akito approaches, he begins to turn away; Akito sees white billow into the air as he sighs. Something overtakes him, and he rushes forward, “E-Excuse me!”
The boy halts, turns. His eyes widen.
And again, because God hates him, Akito has no clue what to say. He doesn’t even know why he called out.
“U-Um,” he stumbles, “sorry, Ko– my co-worker is sick, and no one was here to open.”
The boy nods; despite his mostly unchanged expression, there’s a clear disappointed shine to his eyes. “Ah, I see. I’ll find somewhere else, then. I hope your co-worker feels better.”
And again, Akito can’t help but feel that isn’t right; he takes another step forward as the boy turns away, gently grabbing his sleeve. The boy turns, clearly perplexed. Akito glances down, “Uh, listen… you wanna come inside while I open? I can get your coffee done whilst I set everything up, y’know…”
The boy’s eyes wide, and he tilts his head a little. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“No, honestly, it’s fine,” Akito says, trying not to let his current panic show. “You’re our most loyal customer, I’d feel bad leaving you to go somewhere else in the cold.”
They’re both quiet for a moment. Akito looks up again, and the boy’s lips are parted slightly, nose reddened by the weather and eyebrows creased as he thinks. “…Alright,” he says eventually, voice soft. “Thank you, um…”
“Akito.” He steps back, finally releasing the boy’s sleeve. God, that was weird of him. “Shinonome Akito, but, uh, first name is fine.”
“I see. Thank you, Akito-san.” The boy’s eyes light up. He’s so pretty. Dipping his head in a small bow, he holds out his hand, “Aoyagi Toya. I appreciate your kindness. You can call me Toya.”
A little awkwardly, Akito shakes his hand. He isn’t really a handshake guy. (That, and his heart is almost hammering out of his chest.) “Uh, good to meet you, Toya.”
Ah. It feels so good to finally say his name.
After a small moment of shared tension, they both pull back; Akito quickly unlocks the café door, holding it open for Toya. “You can sit at your normal table,” he says as he switches the lights on, “just gimme a minute and I’ll get your coffee on.”
“Alright. Thank you, Akito-san.”
God, his heart throbs just hearing his name in that pretty voice. “It’s not a problem, really.”
He’s as quick as he can, heading to the back to get his apron and switch everything on; he probably cranks the heat up a bit too high, but he doesn’t think he can be blamed with the borderline blizzard picking up outside. With a quick moment taken to fix himself up in the mirror, he heads back out, ready to face his inevitable oncoming gay panic.
Toya already has his notebooks set up when Akito returns; his dedication is impressive, coming here every morning to study. Akito can’t help but wonder what it is he’s always so focused on. He muses, beginning to run the machines, getting to Toya’s first. He doesn’t want to seem creepy, but surely it wouldn’t be so wrong to make conversation, right?
“Hey, you go to the university, right?” he asks as the machine starts to whir, leaning against the counter. Toya turns to him, nodding, “Yes. I study music.”
“Ah, cool.” Akito’s gaze falls to the violin case beside Toya’s chair; he’s noticed it before, so it’s no surprise. “I’m a student there too, but I do night classes. Fashion design.”
Toya hums softly, nodding, “That sounds like an interesting subject. It’s not something I put much thought into myself…”
Instantly, Akito disagrees, because he definitely pulls off his outfits; often a turtleneck and coat, cool, dark tones complementing his pale skin perfectly, though he distinctly remembers the boy sporting a more bold outfit one day that had damn near killed him. He’s been an inspiration to Akito’s own work, too, designing pieces with the thought in the back of his mind of Toya wearing them, so stupidly perfect—
“Could’a fooled me,” he lands on, because he is a normal and professional barista. Toya exhales softly, turning back to his work with an ever-so-subtle smile.
He clears his throat. Normal and professional barista.
The coffee is finished by the time he snaps out of his thoughts, the machine beeping away behind him; he turns, quieting the incessant noise and quickly preparing the drink. He feels entirely unreasonable nerves run through him as he steps out from behind the counter. It’s just like any other day serving any other customer. He doesn’t need to act stupid.
“Here,” he murmurs as he reaches the table, carefully placing down the cup. Toya pulls his hands away from his books, “Thank you very much, Akito-san.” Akito watches as he picks up the cup, raises it to his lips; his expression is soft and content as he sips the coffee, exhaling slowly as he brings the cup back down. “The coffee here is delicious,” he says gently.
Akito hums. “Y’always have it black, then?”
After another small sip, Toya nods. “I enjoy the strong flavour, and the sweet drinks are too sickly for me.”
“That’s funny, I’m the exact opposite,” Akito says, smiling, leaning against the next table over. “I love sweets, the bitter shit makes me feel sick. My sister made me try black coffee once and I damn near coughed my guts up.”
At that, Toya laughs, soft and pretty; Akito feels his heart tumble over itself. “I suppose everyone has their own tastes,” the taller boy murmurs, picking up his pen again and continuing to work.
Realising he also has work to do aside from staring at a pretty customer, Akito quickly goes to continue setting up for the morning; he doesn’t take this shift as often as Kohane, but it still comes mindlessly enough. He and Toya exchange a few more words as they both work. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem freaked out by Akito’s interest; if anything, he returns it in equal parts, nodding and giving that small smile.
Akito glances at the boy’s work as he passes to set up a table. He has two notebooks and a textbook out; words are crammed onto the pages, highlighted and annotated so neatly that Akito wouldn’t believe it was handwritten had he not seen it himself. He leans against the table again, “Your writing is so organised. Nothing like my chicken scratch.”
Toya exhales a chuckle. “I find it much easier to keep everything tidy, but I know not everyone does. I tend to lose track if I don’t keep it all colour-coded.”
“Ah, maybe I should try that. I lose track anyway.”
And again, Toya laughs softly. It’s so unbelievably pretty. “You know,” he says, looking up at him, “if you struggle with note-taking, I could help you some time. It might be good to try a different method.”
Akito chokes on his own breath, because he is a normal and professional barista. “Uh, y-yeah, maybe,” he fumbles, “could be good some time.”
Toya hums softly, writing a couple more lines. Akito can’t help being curious. “What’s all that, uh, about, then? Didn’t think music would take so much writing.”
“Ah, yes… I study both classical and contemporary music. We discuss everything from the context the music was made in to the life of its composers, so there’s a lot to go over.” He hums softly, picking up a highlighter. “I enjoy it, for the most part.”
“Ah… you do play, though, right?” Akito gently nudges the violin case on the floor with his foot.
Toya nods. “Piano, too. I compose for class.”
“That’s so cool, man,” Akito says, smiling. The warmth in his chest grows; admiration for the pretty boy.
A moment passes; Toya tilts his head, and looks up at Akito, asking softly, “Would you like me to play something for you?”
Akito perks up. “E-Eh? Right now?” Toya nods, and Akito sputters, “You don’t have to do that, man—“
“I know.” Toya’s expression stays level, but Akito swears he can see the slightest pink on the boy’s cheeks. “I’m asking if you’d like to hear me play.”
Akito pauses, breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t have any reason to hear Toya play, but– he can’t help but want to hear it anyway, brain flooded with an unbidden fascination with the boy. His eyes, his expression, how his voice is perfectly polite but soft in all the right places– Akito is utterly enraptured with him, there’s no denying it now. He exhales.
“…Knock yourself out, man.” He can’t be even more embarrassing than he already has been.
Another of those soft smiles crosses Toya’s face, and any doubt in Akito’s mind vanishes the instant he sees it. The taller boy stands from his seat, picking up the violin case and setting it on a clear table; the instrument is sleek and pretty like its owner when he opens the case, some sheet music pulled out and leaned against the side of the case. Toya grabs the violin, carefully making a few preparations Akito doesn’t understand and setting it onto his shoulder, bow in hand and expression focused. “One of my compositions,” he murmurs, gaze flickering back up to Akito as he speaks. “I hope you enjoy it.”
Akito nods. A moment, and Toya starts playing.
Instantly, it isn’t what Akito was expecting. That’s not to say he actually knows what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this; a slow, tremoring melody, played at just the midpoint of high and low. He can’t entirely tell what the sound is meant to convey at first. It isn’t the bright melody of a happy song, nor the low drones of a sad one; it stays small, pensive, like a thought stuck in the back of one’s mind.
And then the melody flips.
It’s suddenly quicker, and yet soft and flowing, like the snowflakes drifting down outside. Akito wouldn’t quite describe it as peaceful, but it’s something similar; long strokes of Toya’s bow are followed by smaller skips along the wire, the sound chaotic and yet entirely harmonic. He feels drawn to it.
Or, maybe he’s just drawn to Toya.
The boy is beautiful as he plays; no other word could describe the image, and even that’s an understatement. Long lashes shadow his eyes, turned down to his violin. His lips are parted ever so slightly, it’s so easy to admire him and his focus; Akito can’t look away. His slender hands moving so expertly, it’s all just so perfect. Akito’s sure he could watch it for hours.
As is, he keeps his eyes trained on Toya until his piece ends. The music soothes him, and yet simultaneously exacerbates the feelings fluttering in his chest and stomach; Toya doesn’t seem put off, thankfully. The music soon comes to an end, and he lowers his instrument and bow with a slow exhale. He bows, “Thank you.”
It takes a moment for Akito to gather himself. He exhales, watching Toya as he puts his instrument away, “That– that was insane, man. I-I don’t know what to say. You seriously wrote all that yourself?”
Toya nods, smiling softly. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Thank you for letting me play.”
“No, man, thank you for letting me listen. Didn’t even realise I could like that kinda thing.” His other thoughts can go unspoken for now. (The subtle pink on Toya’s cheeks suggests that he knows anyway.)
“I think everyone can find something they appreciate, in all kinds of music,” Toya says, voice and expression somehow softened further with his words. “If the feelings of the composer resonate with you, the song will, too.” He looks up at Akito, and his eyes are knowing. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find something in those feelings.”
Akito’s heartbeat tumbles over itself, and his breath catches in his throat. This boy is going to kill him, isn’t he?
They’re both silent for a moment as Toya finishes packing away his violin, the case closing with a satisfying click. Akito exhales softly at the finality.
“Hey, uh…” He clears his throat as it cracks, “D’you think I could hear some more some time…?”
Surprise briefly crosses Toya’s face. “Well, if you’re interested, I’d be happy to show you more of my compositions. In fact…” Toya turns for a moment, pulling his wallet from his bag and leading through it for a moment. A small slip of paper is held out to Akito. “We– my class– have a concert this Saturday. I’m playing the violin concerto.”
Akito gapes at the ticket for a moment. He looks back up at Toya, “S-Seriously?”
Toya nods, smiling. “I’d be happy to see you there, Akito-san. Consider it a thank you for accommodating me today.”
Hands shaking ever so slightly, Akito takes the ticket, much more carefully than he typically would. “I– thank you, man.” He straightens up. “I… I’ll be there. Won’t miss it.”
Toya’s smile widens, eyes softening. “Thank you.” He turns back to his table, tapping his phone; he exhales shortly. “Ah. It seems I… rather lost track of time.”
Akito jolts. “Oh, shit, you have classes during the day.”
Softly, Toya laughs, beginning to close his books and reorganise his papers. “That I do. I’d best be going.”
Akito continues to watch for a moment as Toya packs his things; he perks up when the boy begins pulling his coat. He turns back to the counter, “Wait a sec.”
Toya tilts his head, but waits as instructed; Akito quickly grabs a paper bag and some tongs, carefully taking a cookie from the rack and sliding it into the bag. He rushes back out to where Toya is waiting by the door and presses it into his hands. “Here. On me.”
“Ah…” Toya’s gaze flickers down, then back up. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course. For the ticket, I guess.”
“Then… thank you.” Toya dips his head politely, beginning to push open the door. “I appreciate it.”
“Y-Yeah.” Akito smiles back, though he’s sure it’s shaky. “I’ll see you on Saturday, then, I guess.”
Toya smiles, warm, snow falling behind him. “Right. I’ll see you, Akito-san.”