Chapter Text
Ernst liked to think he was a nice guy.
He smiled at people and he petted kittens.
He was always polite, he said please and thank you. He was very personable.
He never said he was smooth.
He was always tripping over his words and blushing and maybe he tripped over his own feet, but gosh darn it he was going to get these cookies to the new flower shop with his dignity and limbs intact.
It was all Moritz’ fault.
Okay, Ernst couldn’t do that to Moritz, it was his break and it wasn’t his fault that he just happened to be looking out the window when he noticed the new shop opening up across the street. And it wasn’t his fault that everyone had been placing bets on what the new shop would be, so it wasn’t his fault that he decided to shout “The sign’s going up!” causing everyone to rush to the windows. And it’s not his fault that Ilse won the bet. But that part wasn’t important.
What was important was that when everyone finally went back to work, it was just Ernst and Moritz at the window. And what was important was that Ernst saw what was probably the prettiest boy he’d ever seen. And Ernst had seen a lot of boys. He had golden hair. And a nice face. That was pretty much all Ernst was able to comprehend before the boy made eye contact with him and his brain short circuited. The newcomer smirked at Ernst and winked before going inside the shop. Ernst turned to look at Moritz to make sure that happened, you saw that too right, when he realized that Moritz had snuck away to eat.
That was all Moritz’ fault.
Ernst stumbled back from the window and promptly fell on the floor.
“Smooth,” Ilse laughed, looking up from where she was hunched over a sketchbook.
“It’s a flower shop. They’re opening up a flower shop.” Moritz was in the exact same position as Ernst was, staring out the window. And he did the exact same recoil, except he purposefully fell on the floor and crawled underneath the counter.
“What?” Ilse asked, looking out the window. She sighed and had this goofy grin on her face not a minute later.
Ernst needed new friends.
He crawled to Moritz who was blushing under the counter. Ernst tilted his head and Moritz made an incoherent sound before burying his face in his arms.
“I am pathetic,” the other boy muttered.
“No, you’re not,” Ernst reassured, pulling his friend into a hug. Ilse finally snapped back into reality and crawled to join in the hug fest.
The bell above the door rang, shocking them to their feet. A boy with brown hair walked inside, his jacket hood up. He coughed and gave them a pursed smile, adjusting the flower pot in his hands. He looked even more soulful and sleepy than Moritz, according to Martha later in the week when she caught sight of the boy who was currently standing in the doorway.
“Hi,” the newcomer flashed them a charming smile, “My name’s Melchior Gabor. My friends and I are opening the shop up across the street, Spring Awakening, and one of them said to be nice and give you these as a present. I don’t understand why since we’re moving in here, not you, but nonetheless here you go.” He handed the flower pot to Moritz who squeaked and nearly dropped it. Melchior laughed and adjusted it in Moritz’ hands, smiling before going back across the street.
“He seemed nice enough,” Ernst said, ever the optimist. Moritz was almost in a daze, staring at his hands then at the spot where Melchior had just been occupying.
“Oh great, he’s in love,” Ilse groaned, going back to her sketchbook. “When’s Otto coming back in?”
Otto was another one of their friends. He used to work full time, but now he only worked part time while he went to culinary school. Or was it law? Ernst liked him, he was nice enough.
Moritz finally snapped out of his daze to look at the pot in his hands. The pot held only one type of flower, the ones that look like tiny pineapples. Moritz was staring at it like it held the answers to the Latin homework he never did in high school. “They’re florists, I bet they’re trying to tell us something,” he said, narrowing his eyes. He looked ready to solve a conspiracy about the flowers they were given.
Ernst gasped. “We need to get them something!"
Ilse looked up. "What? It’s not like we can just give them free tattoos or something."
Ernst shrugged. "I don’t know, but we have to do something! I’ll make cookies!”
“You could always paint something for them to hang in their store,” Moritz suggested.
“I’ll bake cookies!” Ernst shouted, louder than before.
“I like Moritz’ idea with the painting, honey,” Ilse said nervously.
“Cookies!"
That was the secret about Ernst Robel. While the tattoo covered boy could bake just about anything, he could never bake a good cookie, even if his life depended on it. He was just bad. But the worst part was that no one ever told him. He friends liked him too much to say "sorry, Ernst, they taste like cement” especially when he looked so proud of them. No one liked to kick kittens.
“How about I bake cookies and you paint them something?” Ilse suggested, trying to spare everyone. Ernst the humiliation and the newbies the pain.
“I’ll do the painting another time, we have to move quickly!” Ernst said, pulling up a recipe for cookies that he’ll probably misread or disregard altogether. But he wanted to bake cookies for the new people so much, Ilse and Moritz didn’t have the heart to stop him.
And that was how Ernst ended up standing in the doorway of his tattoo parlor, regretting everything that led up to him walking to the flower shop and giving them his cookies.
He looked at his shoes. They were secure and tied.
He looked at the street. There were almost no cars.
He looked at his friends. They were sitting there looking terrified. He didn’t know why.
He took a deep breath. And turned around to hide because this was such a bad idea.
Ilse stopped him and spun him around. “Ernst. You baked those cookies. You are going to march right over there and give them to Melchior and that really hot girl who had put the sign out front.”
He was going to give them to the golden haired angel he had seen out front. And to whatever girl Ilse was talking about.
He marched outside and scurried across the street and into the shop before common sense could stop him. He marched to the counter and didn’t realize someone was standing there until they cleared their throat.
“Can I help you?” they purred.
Ernst squeaked. It was the man from before. He was giving Ernst a once over, smirking the entire time. Ernst thrust the plate towards the other man’s face, his tongue tied in a knot. The man laughed and took one of the cookies. He took a bite out of it and made a face, one Ernst couldn’t read. He schooled his features and stared at Ernst as he finished off the cookie, licking his fingers as suggestively as he could, removing it with an obscene pop.
“Hanschen Rilow.”
Ernst tried not to squeak again. “Ernst Robel.”
Hanschen leaned forward. “Lovely to meet you, Ernst.”
“Same to you.” And that was all Ernst could say before he rocketed back to the safety of the tattoo parlor, hiding behind the counter the rest of the day, blushing.
“I can’t believe he actually ate the cookie!” Moritz exclaimed, slightly hysterical.
Ilse patted his shoulder. “This one could be promising.”
Ernst sighed to himself from his position behind the counter. It was all Mortiz’s fault. He had to remember to buy him a good birthday present.