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Thankfully, it wasn’t too crowded this time. Convenience store coffee simply wasn’t cutting it any longer, and Yamato’s resolve of weighing a lack of eyes on him over a quality beverage had lessened as the days went on. Crowds always brought out the worst of his tics, but it appeared today wouldn’t pose such an obvious problem. The small cafe was sprinkled with just a few patrons, all of which were already seated and enjoying their own light breakfast in the small booths provided. To some, it was an awkward point in the morning; with the swell of customers going off to work, school or otherwise lessened, leaving behind a leisurely wave of customers in its wake. The pace would pick up in a few hours once brunch rolled around but, until then, the humble cafe was more of a peaceful getaway. Even so, that didn’t stop Yamato’s small grunts for bubbling up. The man hid them to the best of his ability — stifling a few and disguising others as a simple cough, but the interruptions wouldn’t completely disappear. Couldn’t, completely disappear.
A white-haired man was behind the counter, pouring a grande sized concoction while looking unyieldingly Yamato’s way. His eyes were a gunmetal gray, and lazy beyond belief. In fact, the barista looked about ready to keel over if his heavily lidded stare was any indication. Even from behind the barrier it was safe to say Yamato had some height on him, muscle too. Kashi, or was it ‘Kaka’? The nametag was smuggled, and dented…well, the masked man had a lithe build, evident even in his well-fitted army green work shirt. The apron was what gave it away, what with the knot tied tight enough to show off the man’s hips. Yamato was built much more like a sturdy oak, with tanned bronze skin and a thick, square shape to his form. There was something childlike about his eyes though, in its almond-like shape and huge, pitch black orbs. No matter how intimidating the man appeared on first glance, his eyes gave away what a soft soul he possessed. Shit, Kashi was speaking to him. Yamato blinked hard, trying to focus on what the stranger was saying. It was a habit for the brunette to look down at others’ lips while they spoke, what with anxiety always lingering with eye contact. Simple twitches could turn into full grimaces if stared at for long; it was his nerve’s doing, he knew but, that didn’t stop the old habit from being hard to break. Plus, having to to see another’s expression change from cordial to outright perturbed once a facial tic or uncontrollable flinch kicked in had become too painful over the years.
The only problem, was that this particular man was wearing a mask. A simple cloth mask, most likely to keep out dust, but a mask nonetheless. This time the brunette’s blinks came a bit more rapidly, the sort that forced his eyes shut for a second beyond his control. “Excuse me?” Yamato spoke aloud with confidence, despite the claw-like grip given to the counter-top.
“I said,” the stranger began, lowering the appliance to fix Yamato with that same unwavering glance, “‘What brings ya in today?’ Know what’cha want or you need some more time?” Yamato had successfully made it to ‘brings’ before his tics tore through him, causing an embarrassing cough and shoulder spasm combo. Oddly enough, once his eyes reopened to look back at the white-haired barista, he was still speaking, and didn’t seem disturbed…at all. “Oh, I uh, just a medium —” Another cough, doubled with a noticeable mouth twitch, and even then the masked man kept staring; nonchalantly even. ‘Must be some damn good customer service training they give here’ was all Yamato could think. “Medium iced coffee, please.” he finished with a sigh, grip over the counter loosening tremendously. With a curt nod the man sauntered away to fix the desired drink. What with the quiet atmosphere, what usually would be a silent waiting experience turned into small-talk; much to Yamato’s surprise. “Haven’t seen you in here for a while, now.”
Dark, doe-like eyes looked up as that same smooth voice carried on. Even if Kashi — or Kaka, never spoke above a yell, his monotoned voice still managed to carry over the sound of ice machines and blenders. “Seen…me?” Yamato questioned, naive even in his tone. Had his hands not been plastered to the cold steel of the counter, he was certain a finger would’ve beckoned to his own chest. With a simple nod, as though it were the most normal assessment in the world, the masked barista walked over once more, drink in hand. Had Yamato even paid? He was too busy staring at the shorter man’s back, mesmerized by his fluid movements and grace. If Kashi noticed he paid no mind, never even eluding to the cash register just waiting to be opened.
“Mhm. You came in a few nights ago but left right out. I remember.” Grabbing a permanent marker, the nameless barista began to scribble over the back of Yamato’s plastic cup. Strange…he couldn’t remember giving Kashi a name for the drink. Even beneath his mask Yamato had an inkling the man was smiling as he handed him the cup. Once in his own hands he knew why — where a name should be, there was a rather crude drawing of Yamato’s face, with doll baby like black eyes and comically messy hair as the tipping point. There was even a sloppily written ‘No Name’ above the piece, with a misshapen smiley in the furthest corner. Even the ‘muse’ had to chuckle at the attempt, entertained enough to ignore his left hand spasming under the counter’s surface. “A ‘no-name’, huh? Is this what I’m — hup-hup!” he barked, the tic catching even Yamato by surprise. A head turned from their perch by the window but besides that, others were too distracted by their music or papers to pay either men any notice. To his own credit Yamato recovered wonderfully, continuing on as though no outburst had transpired — and surprisingly, so did ‘Kashi’. “Is this what I’m known as around here? What should I call you in return?” It was a stab the dark, but Yamato had always been a natural flirt. Even if the man didn’t know it himself. He reached down to finally pull out a few bills, an extra one even for Kashi’s tip, before a pair of pale hands slid to rest atop his own. Looking up in shock, Yamato froze at the contact, but didn’t pull away either. He could see hidden mirth beneath those bagged eyelids, and could feel his own breath hitch as the man offered up his low reply.
“You can call me ‘Senpai’.”