Chapter Text
Yuuri usually loved working at his family’s bookstore. It was a quiet, well-loved place where the customers that visited almost always knew each other by name. His family had done their best to make Yu-topia Akatsuki as comfortable as a library, and they had succeeded. Old chairs with patchwork pillows and bean bags were scattered around the room for any who wished to sample the books before buying. It often smelled of the fresh baked goods his mother insisted they offer (though Yuuri couldn’t complain, given that he ate most of them). Sometime ago, there’d even been a little poodle that would sit in the window and entreat all who passed to wander in and pet it. That poodle was gone now, but his memory lived on in the little picture by the counter.
What made Yuuri doubt his love for his job were moments like this. A strange man with a personality that managed to take over the entirety of the bookstore had stumbled in during one of Yuuri’s unofficial breaks and was doing his best to make sure Yuuri knew it. This was mostly through unnecessarily lengthy eye-contact and too wide smiles while he leafed through books he obviously had no interest in.
Before the strange man had interrupted, Yuuri had been in the process of trying to start the newest book from his favorite author, Viktor Nikiforov. It was supposed to be some dramatic story of a skater on the verge of retirement who turns to coaching after watching a young skater dance his program, and the relationship with his new pupil. It’d been getting rave reviews, and Yuuri had practically cried when they’d gotten the first copies. It had taken Mari to convince him not to ‘misplace’ a book into his personal collection.
While Yuuri gazed mournfully at the book sitting unread beside him, the new guy finally got up the courage to approach the counter. Up close, Yuuri could admit the guy was pretty attractive. He was tall, and built like a model. His hair, a silver-ish gray, was styled to perfection. His eyes were the kind of blue poets would write sonnets about, and had a mischievous glean that would probably ensnare most who looked at him. Maybe it would have even worked on Yuuri, if circumstances were better.
Too bad he’d gotten in the middle of Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov.
“Soooo,” the man said, drawing out the sound. His accent, thick but artificially so, was one the Yuuri couldn’t quite place, “what would the cute clerk recommend for me?”
Yuuri sighed, and plastered on his best customer service smile on, “Well, what are you looking for?”
The man blinked, maybe surprised he hadn’t elicited at least some reaction from Yuuri, but quickly recovered, “Whatever you like is fine.”
Yuuri pursed his lips, “We’ve just received Viktor Nikiforov’s newest novel, if that would interest you.”
“Viktor… Nikiforov. You are recommending me Viktor Nikiforov,” The man said, his eyes lighting up and something like a laugh escaping his lips.
Yuri’s brow furrowed. Did this man have some kind of problem with Viktor’s work? Yuuri wasn’t even aware it was possible to have problem with the world’s greatest author. Feeling as though he somehow needed to defend his answer, Yuuri continued, “Yes, I did. He happens to be my favorite author. Is there something wrong with that?”
“No, nothing wrong with that,” the main said, his too wide small fading into something more natural. He leaned forward and propped his cheek up with his elbow, “So what about him do you like?”
If Yuuri were to give a truthful answer, they’d be here all day. He could write papers on Viktor Nikiforov’s work, and nearly had on one memorable occasion. Of course, he doubted that this man would want to hear Yuuri ramble on like an obsessive fan, even if that was exactly what he was. A condensed version would have to suffice, “He’s just… It’s like he’s found the way to inscribe magic into his novels. It’s cliché, I know, but with each word he pulls you into this world he’s masterfully created. The people, the places, it all feels so real, like I’m flipping through an old scrapbook instead of a storybook. He really loves his work, and it shows.”
“Is that so?” The man muttered, seeming more focused on Yuri than the words he spoke. His eyes closed, and he let out a joyful hum before they fluttered open again. In a flurry of motion that had Yuuri’s head spinning, the man jumped up, clapped his hands together, and said, “I guess I’ll start with this one,” before reaching for Yuuri’s copy of Victor Nikiforov’s newest books.
Yuuri stared in horror at the book held in the stranger’s arm. He reminded himself that the proper response to someone trying to buy a book was not a screech befitting of the last cry of a dying animal and gave the man a weak smile. “Will that be all?”
“I believe so,” he replied, his accent noticeably lighter than when he’d first approached the counter. The man went to hand over the book before pausing, “Ah- Uhm-”
Yuuri reached forward to take the book, but felt resistenance when he tried to pull it towards him. “Yes?”
The man’s cheek turned a shade of pink and his demeanor shifted into something almost bashful. “I- Uh, want to know- and don’t think this is a date-”
Yuuri wondered if the man knew that the simple use of that word made Yuuri think this man was moments from asking him on a date.
“But, would you be all that opposed to maybe going out for coffee sometime? To talk about the book, of course. Nothing else,” the man said, giving Yuuri a gentle smile. “You seem to know a lot about Viktor Nikiforov.”
And well… Yuuri wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He really wasn’t the kind of person to skip out on a chance to talk about his idol. Then again, given that the man had opened up with some awkward attempt a flirting, he doubted that any coffee-shop book meet-up would stay strictly coffee-shop book meet-up.
Yuuri gave the man a once-over. He was sort of cute. It couldn't hurt to give him a chance, could it?
“Sure, I’d love to,” he said, hoping desperately he wouldn’t come to regret those words.
Yuri, who had been waiting outside the bookstore since Viktor had decided that the boy sitting at counter was ‘too cute to pass up’ (his words, not Yuri’s), took one look at the book Viktor was holding in his arms and scoffed, “You seriously bought your own book because the cashier was cute?”
Viktor got that dreamy, love-struck fool look on his face that always made Yuri want to throw up a little. He hugged the book in his arms tight, and mumbled more to himself than to Yuri, “I think I found my muse.”