Work Text:
"See you tomorrow!"
Yuri bolted out of the gym with a sigh of relief. After a shift where he, unfortunately, had to yell at some clients, his muscles ached, and his mind was consumed with thoughts of the nearby café where he’d order some overly sweet coffee. The sweeter, the better.
Anticipating the aroma and the sweetness on his tongue, he stepped onto the sidewalk. Shoving his hands into his pockets and fiddling with his keys, Yuri strolled down the street unhurriedly. The October wind hit his face, but his mood was light. Along the way, he glanced at passersby and shop windows, one displayed a mannequin in a jacket similar to the one his father had given him as a kid. He remembered sneaking sugar cubes from the sugar bowl when no one was looking. Even years later, Yuri remained a sweet tooth, visiting the café a ten-minute walk from his workplace every other day. He had his favorite menu items but always tried to order something new. Today, he was dreaming of a latte with chocolate syrup, something he’d been wanting to try for a while, and… some kind of pastry. A poppy seed bun. Crispy, the kind that crumbles in your fingers.
He turned at the intersection. His gray eyes scanned the signs, searching for the familiar one. Quickening his pace, he pushed open the café door. The barista, spotting him, smiled and nodded. Yuri felt a twinge of embarrassment, realizing they already recognized him here.
After placing his order, he leaned against the counter, eager to grab his coffee and head home, as he didn’t like eating in the café. Especially not alone. Better at home, in proud solitude.
Proud, sure. Yuri sighed sadly, reflecting on how truly lonely he was. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket and glanced at the clock on the café wall. It was still a forty-minute trip home, and there… nothing. No one. Most of his friends had already started families, while he didn’t even have a dog.
His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the street. Loud, laced with such a string of profanity that even Yuri, who grew up in rough neighborhoods, let out a whistle. He turned, peering through the foggy glass. On the sidewalk under a streetlamp stood a man about his age, in a black sweater rolled up to his elbows. One hand pressed a phone to his ear, the other gripped a cup with the café’s logo, nearly crushing it with the force of his grip.
“What the hell?! How is this my fault?!” the man shouted. A couple of passersby glanced at him but didn’t dare say anything.
Yuri, still leaning against the counter, smirked.
“Why the fuck should I deal with your mess?! Out of everyone, it’s always me…”
Yuri watched as the dark coffee sloshed in the man’s cup, threatening to spill with his sharp gestures. Some of his words were drowned out, but others rang out loud enough to overpower not only the sound of passing cars but also the hiss of the coffee machine behind him.
“Idiots, damn it,” the man growled, his sharp cheekbones tensing, his fingers gripping the phone turning white.
Yuri, narrowing his eyes, scanned the man’s figure. Not as muscular as Yuri, but fit, with a few tattoos peeking out from under his sweater.
“Yuri, your order’s ready!” the barista called. Her voice snapped him out of his trance, and he flinched, turning back to the counter.
The warm latte cup felt good in his hand, and the scent of syrup made him smile involuntarily. Rustling the bag with the bun in his other hand, Yuri nodded to the barista, briefly meeting her tired brown eyes. He turned toward the door. The man outside kicked an empty can lying on the sidewalk. Angrily shoving his phone into his pocket, he misjudged his strength and, with a sharp motion, spilled coffee on himself. A dark stain spread across his sweater, and with a frustrated, hoarse groan, the man slumped onto the café’s steps. He buried his face in his hands, his messy hair sticking out even more. For good measure, he kicked the cup, which rolled across the sidewalk, leaving a trail of coffee.
Yuri felt… not pity, but a spark of curiosity. Without thinking, he stepped toward the door and walked outside. Hesitating for a split second, he approached the steps.
“Rough day?”
The man, startled, lowered his hands and looked up. Yuri suddenly noticed his eyes were different colors. Striking. He’d only seen that in pictures before.
The man’s gaze was intense, almost piercing, and Yuri, unable to hold it, started studying him back. The guy was ridiculously attractive... Sharp features, tattoos visible even under the sweater, dark hair.
But the attractive man stayed silent, and Yuri, clenching his jaw, thought he’d done something stupid. He was already kicking himself, ready to look away and leave, when he heard:
“Not the word for it.”
Yuri mentally exhaled.
“My boss is an idiot. Been hounding me for a week about a project I didn’t Screw up,” the man grimaced. “The funniest part? He hasn’t even seen the results.”
Yuri was genuinely intrigued. He’d had his share of clueless bosses on his less-than-stellar career path. He nodded sympathetically. His eyes fell on the stain on the sweater, and he remembered his latte. Trying to keep the conversation going and cheer up this gloomy stranger, Yuri nodded at his cup:
“Try this. Might help.”
The man shrugged, took the cup, muttering something. His slender fingers brushed Yuri’s hand for a moment, and Yuri, cursing inwardly, felt how much the situation flustered him. The man took a sip and immediately grimaced.
“Ugh, that’s sweet,” he groaned, looking at Yuri with such reproach, as if he’d been handed poison.
Yuri laughed.
“Sorry, it’s my thing.”
The man reached to hand the cup back, and Yuri braced for another brush of their hands, but it didn’t happen. He tried to find a reason for his disappointment and couldn’t.
The bag with the bun rustled in his other hand, a reminder he was supposed to head home. But he didn’t want to anymore, nor did he want the bun. Especially since the man’s face softened, as if the sweetness, though unpleasant to him, had knocked out some of his anger.
“Let’s get acquainted. I’m Vladimir.”
The fact that the stranger kept the conversation going made Yuri’s cheeks warm.
“Yuri.”
Vladimir. A noble name, Yuri thought, and fitting. A beautiful name for a beautiful person.
Yuri, shaking off his hesitation, sat down next to his new acquaintance. The conversation flowed easily. Vladimir, leaning back on the steps, kept venting about work, everything that had piled up. His profanity tapered off, and Yuri realized he could never talk to his own boss the way Vladimir did on the phone.
Yuri nodded, hummed in agreement, and occasionally shared his own stories, trying to keep the conversation alive, while Vladimir’s intense gaze made him slightly uneasy.
“You could at least drop a barbell or kettlebell on them,” Vladimir said. “I’m stuck in an office where every moron thinks they’re smarter than me.”
Yuri chuckled. Vladimir’s sense of humor was peculiar, but he could get used to it. Get used to it? Yuri quickly pushed the thought away. He was getting ahead of himself. They’d talk, say goodbye, and go their separate ways. Vladimir had plenty to do. Yuri would just go home.
Their conversation hit a lull. A heavy silence hung between them, and Yuri’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to leave. Not after this easy talk. He wanted to stay here, on these steps, next to this striking man with incredible eyes. Vladimir seemed to feel the silence too. Yuri, clenching his jaw, searched for words, anything to keep them here. But what do you talk about with a stranger?
Deciding that standing up and leaving would be worse than staying quiet, he exhaled and glanced at Vladimir. Worst case, Vladimir would say goodbye and leave, sparing Yuri the need to end the conversation. But Vladimir’s expression shifted, like he was lost in thought, and Yuri took it as him planning his exit.
The silence grew heavier until Vladimir cleared his throat.
“This day can’t get any worse, so I’ve got nothing to lose… How about I treat you to that sugary coffee sometime?”
Yuri froze. Did Vladimir just ask him out?
Clutching the now-forgotten, cold latte, Yuri barely managed:
“Sure.”
Vladimir’s brows shot up, his eyes widening in surprise, but his face softened into a pleased, almost boyish smile that made him even more captivating.
“Seriously?” he said with a chuckle. “I wasn’t counting on that.”
He leaned toward his leather briefcase beside him, rummaging through papers, pens, a pack of cigarettes, and keys.
“Friday work?” he asked impatiently, glancing at Yuri as if checking he wouldn’t bolt.
Yuri’s brain short-circuited. Friday? Was this real? Did he actually have a chance with this incredible man? Or was this just a friendly hangout? A joke?
“Sure,” he repeated.
Vladimir pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and an old black pen, scribbling quickly. His mismatched eyes flicked to Yuri, a hint of awkwardness in them, like he wasn’t sure about what he was doing. After jotting something else, he crumpled the paper and, standing up, quickly handed it to Yuri.
“Well, see you Friday, Yura,” he mumbled, flashed an awkward smile, and strode off. Yuri watched him until he disappeared around the corner. He looked at the crumpled paper and carefully unfolded it. Messy digits. A phone number. Below it, in sloppy handwriting, was “Volodya,” with a small, crooked heart beside it.
Yuri grinned foolishly and tucked the paper into his pocket after folding it neatly. The walk home didn’t seem so daunting anymore, even though he got there half an hour late.
Yuri couldn’t wait for Friday.