A/N: So I got a prompt from someone in a private message and it intrigued me, especially since it was such a specific one, but here it is

Prompt: *Bakery AU set in America (California or something). Bakery owned -but not operated by- Ciao Ciao

Yuuri is the specialty baker (doing specific requests and special orders), doesn't know anything about ice skating

Other employees: Phichit, Sara, Mickey, Leo, Minami, whoever else you want

Viktor is still a legend skater, taking a break in Cali due to lack in inspiration*

Working with what I've been given, I hope it's alright. Hopefully our concept creator finds it enjoyable or I'll have to find a rock to hide under for ruining her ideas.

Let me know what you think!

Yuuri fell into the rhythm of the kitchen. His kitchen. He drifted from pastries to pies, from pies to muffins, from muffins to breads, and from there he lost track. He was hot and sticky under his coat, his sleeves rolled up and his collar undone. He'd only been going through the motions for three hours and already he had dark splotches of food coloring on his wrists, flour clinging to his cheeks and collarbone, and two different types of batter splattered on the front of his outfit. The sickeningly sweet aroma of dark chocolate hung in the air, feeding the ache in his temples.

It was magical.

No matter how tired he was, how overworked, or how pained, Yuuri loved all of it. The early morning rush was electrifying, lighting a spark in his veins that told him to just go. There wasn't any time to wonder if he was doing something wrong, if the cream could be a little better, if the filigree was crooked, if he was a horrible baker just imitating the greats he would never become. No, he could just tune all of it out as he stepped into the mad dash before the doors opened.

In the kitchen, as he worked on his own with no crowds or teachers watching, scowling, critiquing, he could remain in a carefully composed bubble of serenity. He could tune out his nerves that turned his best work into slop, and just set himself into a peaceful flow. The kitchen was anything but calm with its stagnant heat, blaring alarms, and bustling workers, but it gave Yuuri freedom from his troubles. He could focus solely on the roll of the pin beneath his palms, the flattening of the dough beneath the pressure, how perfect and beautiful the cookies would be when they came out of the oven, and the look on the customers' faces when they took their first bites.

His work would make people happy. That was all Yuuri really wanted. To make people happy. Not upset, or angry, or disappointed, as he was used to, but happy. He could sate their hunger and caress their taste buds, giving them a few moments of bliss, a reprieve from life and its harsh realities.

That was how he saw it, anyway. Other people's food had inspired those feelings in him. He figured he could do it, too. At the end of the day, and even in the beginning, and multiple moments throughout, that was what he looked forward to. Satisfying other people and making sure that they left his shop happier than when they entered.

Music drifted quietly through the speakers, his foot lightly tapping to the beat as he continued to roll out the dough. He scrunched his nose up in distaste as the dough began to stick, so he dusted some more flour onto the rolling pin and continued with even pressure. He was just about to grab the cookie cutter when the heady scent of hazelnut hit him from the stove. Turning, he caught a glimpse of the unoccupied pot and rolled his eyes.

"Phichit, unless you want burnt butter, you better get over here!" he shouted.

The door to the walk in cooler instantly sprang open. "Got it! I got it!" Phichit ran to the stove, collecting his wooden spoon and stirring as he set to work. "Thank you, Yuuri," he said, giving him a mega-watt smile.

"Mhm." He set back to work, only stopping when Phichit came and glanced over his shoulder.

"No cookie press, today? How daring."

Yuuri snorted. "Going old school. A woman ordered some emoji cookies for her daughter's tenth birthday."

"Ooooo. So they're going to be decorated with a bunch of outrageous expressions and little happy faces? So cool. I love emojis!"

"I know. Your texts are always full of them." He finished cutting his last one, filing it onto the tray with the rest before slipping the cookies in the oven. "I texted you that I was getting water at the store the other day and you replied with an 'ok' with like five emojis after it. We might actually have to get you some help. You're like some hyperactive thirteen-year-old."

The other man gasped, putting his hand to his mouth dramatically. "Why I never!" His expression dropped back into a smile as he began working on the other baker's table. "But I'm a cool thirteen-year-old, right?"

"You put unicorns in your texts," he said with a deadpan stare before opening the fridge and sliding out the cake he was working on earlier.

"Unicorns are cool," Phichit defended as he frowned.

Yuuri just shook his head and pat his friend's back as he passed by. "Of course, of course. They're the coolest." He set his cake down, collecting a piping bag and filling it with frosting. It was a three layer chocolate cake with raspberry buttercream filling. A smooth vanilla buttercream coated the outside. So far it was blank, nothing but a row of piped shells decorating the bottom. He'd just begun to work on the swoop design when there was a loud crash from the other side of the kitchen. Yuuri didn't flinch. "What was that?"

"…Nothing," came a high pitched, mousy voice that could only mean the opposite.

"Minami, what'd you drop?"

There was a lull of silence. "A bowl of filling?"

Yuuri chuckled. "Is that a question?" He turned to find the usually bubbly Minami crouched low as he frowned down at the mess with tears in the corners of his eyes. One of their mixing bowls had shattered on the floor by his feet, most of the pieces still miraculously held together by the large glob of cream filling in the center. Giving a resigned sigh, he looked to Phichit who'd finished his job with the drizzling of his tarts. "Could you help him clean it up? I've got to get this cake decorated before my frosting gets too warm."

Phichit gave a nod of confirmation, making his way over to the boy as he laughed into his hand. "You've really gotta watch that enthusiasm, Minami."

His cheeks puffed, but he didn't deny it. "Yeah, I know."

"That's like the third dish this month."

"Fourth," the blonde corrected. "But that's way better than last month!" A proud smile took over his face as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

Yuuri turned back to his work as they cleaned up. Setting the tip to the cake, he eased the frosting out of the bag with a continuous squeeze, gliding it along the outside of the top coat. The frosting dropped down low into a swift, yet elegant 'u', coming back up and dropping down from a narrow arch. He carefully dropped one hand to spin the cake on its pedestal, continuing the swoops until there was one row, two, three, up to the final one that he finished with a flick of his wrist. Switching the tips, he set in to start the lavender rosettes on the top. His eyes glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes later and he was nearly done. "Who's working the counter, today?"

"Mostly Mickey," Phichit replied.

"So no Sara," he said more than asked. "How come they never work on the same shifts anymore?"

Minami popped up beside him, his sudden presence at his side startling him into twisting his rosette too much. "I don't know. Maybe she's tired of her brother cock blocking her whenever there's a cute customer."

Phichit gawked at the vulgar words coming from such a seemingly innocent boy, before laughter bubbled up at the truth in the suggestion. "That last time was hilarious. He thought he could talk down that burly man, all 6'2" with two hundred pounds of pure muscle on him. He's lucky he didn't get walloped in the face."

Glaring over at the youngest baker, Yuri scooped off the failed rosette and placed a fresh one. "Probably for the best. His, um… odd affection has been scaring away some of our customers." Quickly switching out the lavender, he grabbed his prepped bag of black frosting. The letter 'h' was half written before he felt a terribly familiar prickling sensation come over him. He paused, his eyes warily glancing over at Minami who was still beside him. The boy was frozen in place, eyes wide with his gaze fixed on the cake in front of them. "Minami, w-what are you doing?"

"Just watching," he responded, eyes still glued to Yuuri's work.

The raven haired man began to feel uncomfortably hot as he stood there, thinking about what was on Minami's mind. What he was looking at. How he was looking at it. Why he was looking at it. Was there something wrong? Had he made a mistake? I had to have made a mistake. He's staring at it, critiquing it. There must be something wrong. He's just too polite to say anything.

Yuuri began to second guess his work, his thin veneer of confidence cracking more and more as the blond stared. He took a moment to step back and look, eyes glimpsing over every inch. The color was fine, a crisp white that stood out with a pure glow, the lavender warming the otherwise sterile color. The cake wasn't crooked or anything. It stood tall, proud on its pedestal. Maybe it's the decorations? He tilted his head to the right, taking in every swoop and rosette. Oh god, it's crooked. The swoops on the middle cake are crooked. Crap, I should swipe them off and start over. But then I should do the bottom, too. If the middle's crooked, then I should definitely redo the bottom, too. A small whine escaped Yuuri's throat as he froze. But what if I make it worse?!

"It looks wonderful, Yuuri."

Phichit's voice bulldozed over his thoughts, bringing him back to his task. "But!"

"No buts. It's great," he assured, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a small squeeze. He narrowed his eyes as he looked over at Minami. "Don't you have work to do?"

Minami deflated at the accusatory stare. "But it's so pretty! I wanted to watch the great Katsuki-sensei at work! How else am I gonna learn?"

"We've talked about this."

Minami pushed his lips out into a pout, stomping away. "Fine."

"It's crooked," Yuuri muttered, mostly to himself. He pushed up his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "What can't I just-"

"Yuuri," Phichit started, voice calm as he turned the other toward him with a firm grip on his shoulders. "There's nothing wrong with the cake."

"But it's-"

"It's not crooked. Nothing's crooked. Look at it again." He turned Yuuri back around, using some force as Yuuri didn't want to keep staring at his own mistakes. "It's gorgeous. I wish I could make a cake like that. I hate decorating cakes. You know why?" Yuuri shook his head, even though he did know. He'd heard it before. In the same situations in many different places. "Because mine would be completely crooked. I despise piping intricate designs. I have no talent. But you, my dear," he looked back over at the cake, a proud gleam in his eyes, "that's talent."

Yuuri huffed. "You're sure it's not crooked?"

"Not a single swoop out of place. Now go on and finish the address."

Giving a determined nod, Yuuri stepped back in front of it and brought the bag back up. He attempted to start the next letter, but the tip was all over the place. His hands were shaking, his palms beginning to sweat around the plastic, causing it to slide from his grip. Come on, Yuuri. Just do it. Any average baker can write a proper address on a cake. It's just the word 'happy'. You want that for them, right? You want your customers to be happy. There was too much tension in his shoulders, too much pressure stiffening his fingers to where they couldn't move, only twitch along the outside of the bag.

Minami was no longer there, his analytic stare gone. Phichit was beside him, but Yuuri was fine with Phichit. He was comfortable performing before Phichit. The man wasn't even looking anymore, anyway. But the interruption was enough. The added attention was enough. He couldn't do it. He was in the wrong headspace. His nerves were taking over, making his nice cursive turn into a lazy, squiggly scrawl.

He let out a heavy breath and tossed the piping bag to the side. "Can…" He swallowed down his disappointment, his anger. "Can you put this in the fridge, Phichit? I'm going to take a break and finish it after."

Giving him a sympathetic smile, he nodded, carefully picking up the cake and putting it up. Yuuri watched it go, a knot in his throat as he watched it disappear. He felt conflicted, wanting to grab the cake back and finish it, but also wanting to run away from it and the disaster it could become. He needed to have it done by three, and he would have had it done already, had he not let his stupid worries mess him up. He knew it was his anxiety that was screwing with him. He'd been doing just fine up until he started second guessing himself, worrying nonsense paralyzing his body.

It'd been the same problem he had back in culinary school. Having people watching him, other students, his teachers, he'd been a knotted ball of stress. But when he was left alone, it was like he could breathe again. All pressures to be perfect, to use the perfect techniques, to execute them perfectly, to come up with a perfect product, pushed to the back of his mind. You'd think that after so many years of experience, and after finishing school, that he would have a handle on it.

Nope, I'm still just the stupid kid with stage fright. Turning back, he washed his hands and wet a towel with cold water under the sink. He brought it to his face, wiping away the sweat and any remnants of flour.

Stepping out to the front of the store, he met the sight of the day's first couple of customers over at a corner table. Mickey was at the register, brows stressed as he stared down at his phone. He caught sight of Yuuri after a few moments, relief crossing his features.

"Yuuri, can you cover for me for a few? I really need to make a call."

Torn, Yuuri only stared back at the darker skinned man, lips parted as he readied his reply. He didn't want to work the counter. He really wasn't one to deal with customers. Sara knew that, that's why she never put him there. He was the lead baker, the behind the scenes guy. The one no one needed to see, or wanted to see, for that matter. He didn't have the winning smile or the effortless charm. His looks were sub-par, at best and he stuttered too much when he got flustered. Plus, after the incident with the cake, he just wanted to find a nice hole to bury himself in.

"Please?"

The pleading tones to his voice had Yuuri reluctantly agreeing before he could think better of it. Mickey grinned, practically flinging himself out the entrance with words of gratitude tossed over his shoulder.

Resigned to his fate, Yuuri crossed the threshold into his least favorite spot in the bakery. He took his glasses off, cleaning them with his towel, before placing them back on his nose and slinging the towel over his shoulder. A few quick customers came and went, Yuuri awkwardly handling them as best he could. He rearranged some of the pastries in the display during the downtime, and idly ran his hand over the counter to catch crumbs. Mostly, he was just mentally counting the seconds until Mickey came back. It was a slow day, at least. Tuesdays usually were. He could take comfort in that.

You can do this, Yuuri, he pep-talked himself. They're just people. People that want to order their food and go. They don't care about you. You don't exist beyond making their desserts and giving them to them. Yuuri sunk a little in his stance. That was a depressing thought. Mickey will be back soon and then you'll be back to your cake. He sunk down even lower. Right, the cake. The one your trembly little fingers have no right to touch.

The door chimed. Yuuri barely looked up, his body lethargic with annoyance. That better be Mickey, or I swear-

It wasn't Mickey. Just customers.

Yeah, right, just customers.

One man came in, laughing and huffing as he held the door open for another that had yet to make it. He was attractive. Tall with two-toned blonde and brown hair styled in an undercut. His face held noticeable stubble and his long lashes were apparent even from the distance between them. Tanned skin and evenly toned muscles were carelessly shown off with an open shirt and tight shorts. "And you said I couldn't beat you to the door," the man gloated in heavily accented English before the other finally stepped inside.

Yuuri's heart did a little jump, followed by racing palpitations that he was sure were the signals of a coming heart attack. If he thought the other man was attractive, then this one was downright gorgeous. A light tank top and shorts were all that covered beautifully pale, sweat slicked skin, his own muscles nicely pronounced in his attire. His hair was a glimmering silver, long fringe covering one eye, small, errant strands sticking to the sweat at his temples. There was a gentle slope to his nose, a light sunburn spread across it and the tops of his cheeks. His angular jawline was clean, well-shaven, the skin looking cake flour soft. But what stuck out the most were his eyes. Stunning blue-green eyes that reminded Yuuri of the resting sea on a clear day. Of glittering waters that sparkled with life, an unknown depth hidden behind soft reflection.

"Please, Chris. You wouldn't be talking like that if we were on the ice."

"But we aren't skating, now are we?"

The silveret shook his head at the other, shoving him away before he looked up at Yuuri, his eyes widening a fraction. And then they were walking to the counter. And Yuuri had to speak. "W-Welcome," he blurted. Yuuri inwardly cursed himself. Heh, and you thought you were stuttering before.

"Hiiii~" And his voice! That accent! Yuuri felt a shiver go down his spine at the smooth purr that slid through his eardrums. He ignored it. The man stared at him, like he was expecting a reply or more of a reaction. Yuuri just wanted to disappear.

The other man, Chris, whistled at the menu. "You've got a nice selection."

Yuuri was going to reply. He was supposed to reply. The man paid their place a compliment, so why wasn't he replying? Because I'm too busy staring at this god-like creature. Normally, he would have snapped himself out of it by now. It was rude to stare. Except… he actually wasn't the only one staring. The beautiful specimen of man, is he even mortal?, was staring at him, his eyes roving over his own form. Yuuri wilted at the attention, a reaction similar to the incident with Minami stirring in his mind. He knew he looked like a mess. His coat and skin were stained from a full morning in the kitchen. His clothes clung to him oddly, sticking to his own sweaty skin. The long morning had pulled pieces of his carefully gelled back hair out to lay haphazardly on his forehead. He was sure he looked nothing like a respectable employee, let alone an attractive person.

Yuuri dropped his gaze to compose himself as he stared at his shoes, noticing now that even they hadn't escaped the fray clean. He pulled in a shaky breath, reminding himself that the man was just a customer, and yanked his gaze back up. He was still looking at him, eyes bright with something like excitement.

"Found you."

Yuuri blinked, stare going blank, before confusion descended upon his brow and a tiny frown pulled at his features. Whaaaat? There had to be a mistake. He couldn't have said that. What would this silver haired Adonis want with him? Maybe he heard him wrong. He had to have heard him wrong.

"Hey, Yuuri? I think the cookies-"

Yuuri hadn't yet managed to pull his eyes away to acknowledge Minami when there was a deafening bang, like metal clattering to the floor, little thuds following. This time, Yuuri winced. That was the sound of a cookie tray, wasn't it? So much for happy faces. He slowly turned to find Minami, mouth agape as he stood there, his arms still in the air as if they'd yet to notice the lessening of the burden, and broken sugar cookies piled on his shoes.

"Y-You're… Viktor N-Nikiforov!"

Should I continue?