Chapter Text
Yoshida didn't particularly like his job. It was tedious at times, annoying most other times, and customers tended to rub him the wrong way. But it was something easy to help pay his rent and get him through school while he was living on his own. If his old man wasn't gonna support him, at least he was nice enough to help him get this job at the nearby Starbucks he managed. It was all too easy really—even if dealing with the customers sucked—the benefits were nice and having Kishibe as his manager also came with its own perks, so overall, the pros outweighed the cons.
Well, most of the time anyway. Sometimes the occasional high-maintenance customer would make him question his employment here. It didn't take much to wonder if getting free snacks at the end of the night (that he wasn't supposed to take but was his own dad really going to fire him for it) was worth it. So far though, nobody has pushed him past his limit yet. The key word being Yet. For all he knows today could be the day.
It’s quiet in the store when Yoshida begins his shift working front till today. Most of the early afternoon rush had already left before he started, with only a small number of customers seated in the café dining area. He spends his hours ringing up customer orders with his branded black apron tied tightly around his waist. He hates it. Front till is his least favourite position—having to personally deal with all the customers that come in is the worst part of his job—and he would much prefer a bar or restocking position, away from every pompous loser that comes in for the overpriced coffee. At least Yoshida can get his coffee for free.
Thankfully though, not every customer that comes in is a pretentious jerk. Occasionally, they tip him nicely; and they can even be cute sometimes, like the one customer currently walking in through the front door of the café.
Sandy blonde hair frames his amber eyes and he’s wearing a muted orange hoodie. The colour looks really nice on him, accentuating the autumn tones of his eyes. Those eyes that Yoshida can’t help noticing are darting around in… confusion? That might be a hint of disdain too. Though Yoshida wouldn't blame him, the disdain for this establishment is mutual. But he’s able to hide it very easily with the charming customer service smile of his, perfected over his years of working here. The disgruntled-looking stranger approaches the front register and Yoshida lets the practised automated greeting fall from his lips.
“Hi! Welcome to Starbucks, how can I-“
“Your smile is creepy…” The decidedly rude customer interrupts.
“ Excuse me -“ Yoshida feels affronted. He’s never been insulted like that for his looks before. As far as he knew, they were perfect. Customers often told him so. Sometimes, they even slid him napkins with their phone numbers on them.
Not this customer though. Instead of staring dreamily into Yoshida’s eyes like others often did, he’s staring blankly at the menu above Yoshida’s head, as if he couldn’t read it.
Wow, he really looks lost… he can read it, right?
“Can I get a… uh,” he not-so-subtly lifts his hand to take a look at something written on his palm and furrows his eyebrows, “… puppy cheerio?”
This still leaves Yoshida wondering whether this guy can read the menu or not. Yoshida rubs his hand down his face in exasperation and grumbles out, “Do you mean a puppuccino?”
Amber eyes light up as a finger is pointed in Yoshida’s direction in what seems to be an ‘Aha!’ moment for him. “Yeah, that's the one Nayuta told me to ask for!” The big, stupid grin that he’s sporting is shining right in Yoshida’s face, and he is unsure of the reason he feels heat start to dance across his cheeks. He’s suddenly reminded of his initial assessment of the boy when he walked in; that he was still kinda cute, even if he might be a little stupid.
“Yeah, I’m gonna need eight of those,” the stranger deadpans.
What. Yoshida gawks, “We don’t usually do that.” This boy and his strange request were both really testing how much Yoshida could tolerate for a cute face.
“But you could for me, right? I have eight dogs and I can't come back with only one treat in hand or they’ll all maul me.” He nearly begs.
Of course, he’s a dog guy. He even kind of looks like one, with his scruffy blonde hair and big round eyes. He’s reminiscent of what a golden retriever might look like if an evil witch cursed it to become a raggedy-looking boy who didn’t know how to brush his hair yet. Yoshida isn’t a dog person himself but he almost feels compelled to pet this one. Not in a weird way or anything though .
The stranger clasps his hands together in a pleading gesture while looking up at him with those big brown eyes of his and Yoshida is slowly finding it more difficult to say no. With a sigh, he finally surrenders.
“Sure, can I get you anything else?” The boy silently pumps his fist in victory and considers Yoshida’s offer for a moment.
“Actually can you make it nine?”
Yoshida might maul this guy himself. “Whatever,” he sighs instead and goes to fetch a whipped cream canister. The boy stays silent by the register to watch as each tiny cup is filled with whipped cream before Yoshida arranges them on the counter. When he’s finished, Yoshida double-checks to make sure there are nine. “Do you need a tray-“ it’s automatic, before he remembers this is just one guy ordering nine little treats and his question is thrown out the window, “nevermind, I’ll get you some trays.”
After fetching two trays and packing up the pup cups for this mess of a guy, Yoshida’s still left with an extra tiny cup. “Sorry, good luck with this last one,” he says, only mildly apologetic, before shoving them over to the other boy's side of the counter.
“Don't worry dude, I got this one,” the blond stranger answers before snatching it out of Yoshida’s grip and shoving it into his own face, tongue darting out to lick at the whipped cream inside. It was actually exactly how Yoshida imagined those eight dogs would do it.
So the ninth one was for him. This guy really has no shame, huh?
The barista can only stare in bewilderment as the boy in front of him skillfully empties his cup of any leftover cream right in front of him. He looks borderline rabid.
God, he’s not going to eat the cup too, right?
Minimum wage isn’t nearly enough for what Yoshida has to deal with right now. Watching this show of animalistic devouring unfold right in front of him was already one thing, but the shame of now feeling his blood travelling southbound might’ve been even worse.
Yoshida is unable to tear his eyes away from the spatter of cream littering this boy’s upper lip. It’s not even hot. It’s downright nasty the way he's licking the edge of that cup like he’s never eaten anything in his life. It’s actually obscene and this guy doesn't even know it. He doesn't know what he’s doing to Yoshida at this moment and he feels that should be considered some kind of crime.
He’s not into this is he?
Yoshida can't decide if he should be praying for this absolute mutt of a boy to leave immediately or to stay right where he is and keep doing what he’s doing. His conflicting feelings on the matter are concerning enough that he considers quitting his job right then and there.
But before he can form the words ‘oh my god this is insane, I’m outta here, I quit’, this nasty stranger suddenly decides he’s finished. Yoshida watches him swipe up the rest of whatever is remaining on his upper lip with a finger before popping it in his mouth, as if Yoshida wasn't already feeling tortured enough.
“Man, that was good. I get the hype now, thanks man, or uh,” glancing down at the name tag attached to the barista’s chest, slowly sounding out the name he reads as it rolls off his tongue, “Yo-shi-da.” The blondie gives him a thumbs up as a ‘compliment to the chef’ and turns around to overhand toss the now empty cup into the garbage bin like a basketball. Yoshida watches as the tiny cup bounces off the rim of the bin and tumbles to the floor. It’s a bit hard to watch, but he feels a lot like that cup right now, a victim of what just happened. He can't even say anything in response.
As the guy pretends he didn't just completely biff that shot, the eight remaining cups of whipped cream are collected and he heads for the door. Yoshida just stares at him, mouth slightly agape. He can't even muster up a farewell when the departing customer struggles a little bit while shifting the trays to one arm to give him a goodbye wave.
As the café doors close behind him, Yoshida realizes he forgot to ask for the guy’s name when he took his order. He’s usually better at doing that. Oh well, he’s got another problem to deal with, and he does so by excusing himself to the back room, quickly tucking it up into the waistband of his pants and willing it away. The rest of his remaining shift is spent in a half-daze, with nothing but whipped cream on the brain, despite all efforts to think of literally anything else.
Those images of the incident haunt Yoshida even after his shift is over and he’s lying alone in his bed. In fact, now that he’s alone, his imagination seems to have taken what he’s seen and run even further with it. Now he’s dreaming of a weird boy with a strangely sharp little mouth doing various other things with it. Maybe that guy would really enjoy a popsicle.
When the dream starts gravitating towards that pink tongue doing things to him , that’s when he finally decides it’s time to properly deal with his little problem from earlier. Just remembering the way that mouth looked and a few pumps of his hand was all he needed to get himself hard enough again so he could get this feeling out of his system. If whatever god is out there is willing to show any mercy on Yoshida, then hopefully the little freak won't come back.