Chapter Text
Fifteen nights ago, a day before they met.
Ivan’s glasses hung on the bridge of his nose, slightly slipping every time he turned.
It was bustling today in the restaurant with orders flying all over the place, waiters yelling into the kitchen, and running out of it with multiple plates of scorching hot food that just came out of the oven being balanced on a tray in one hand.
There were grumpy faces all around, mostly complaining about the speed of food production in the kitchen and occasionally making waiter’s lives hell with excessive requests that were meaningless: adding more lemon into their drink, giving them another bowl when they asked for the exact same thing five seconds ago and so much more.
Ivan thrived in this sort of environment in a way. It was the kind where it was a perfectly transactional relationship where he knew the goals and intentions of the other person well.
He liked this kind of relationship. He knew what he had to do, and there were no questions or doubts about how to do his job: to serve people, to give polite smiles, to politely handle requests swiftly, and to resolve any arguments between customers or between himself and the customer.
Usually, his co-workers call him a saint for not losing his temper in front of any of those demanding customers.
They complained that they always wanted more, but Ivan would disagree and say ‘All humans always want more, and we are not different so I shouldn’t judge them for what I cannot resist myself from either.’
It was a truth that he had accepted.
All humans are greedy, even other organisms are not exempt from this.
Hell, even he was.
He wanted to understand more of this phenomenon of a stranger called Till who he conveniently spotted stalking him after their first few encounters in the night.
The first time he noticed this stranger was when they visited this restaurant every day when he first arrived in this town.
He would always sit in a corner and order the same food to the point where his co-workers would just write down the order confirmation on a piece of paper and slide it on the table.
They don’t speak to him—they just share a tactic understanding.
It was one Ivan didn’t understand. The rules blurred with this silver-haired stranger. He never needed to be served beyond having his food sent to his table, nor were there any other interactions beyond that.
He didn’t understand even more why his co-workers always placed a reserved sign on the table where the stranger always sat. He never reserved it because it had a price attached to that sign.
Except for this man, he supposes.
Just like how the sun shines down onto Earth, that seat is only reserved for that stranger.
(And he wouldn’t admit how he adores the way the sun shines down through the window and onto the stranger every time he comes around for lunch. The way the stray hairs from his silver locks glow, the edge of his figure enlightened by seemingly god themselves.
Ivan didn’t believe in god, but he did believe in their restaurant’s customary stranger coming back again and again like a ritual to be performed.)