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Raivis has yet to meet the manager of the Leningrad Coffee Co., and he's been working there already two weeks now. He's met a good number of the other staff, however - from Toris who interviewed him in the manager's stead to Mircea who treats him like a little brother even though Raivis is plenty old enough and Mircea's actual little brother is, like, ten. But he has yet to meet Ivan, who owns the Leningrad Coffee Co.
Still, Raivis shows up to work, on time and with a variety of staff. At most eight people - more often seven when one calls in sick, which is a terrible thing because seven now have to do the work of what should really be ten people - are ever employed at a time, and only then in the morning when it is extremely busy. This is what coincides with Raivis' classes, so Raivis tends only to work with the same eight people. Raivis is not counting Natalya, because she only rarely works at all - cash for two hours on a single weekday, and Sundays to roast beans, where Raivis works with her every second Sunday when he is scheduled. He is also not counting Iryna, who comes in with the bakery delivery at 6 am, a half hour before they open, then Raivis has a half hour to set up the pastry display before the doors open at 6:30 and all hell breaks loose.
These seven-to-eight people are usually Raivis, Eduard, Toris, either Mircea or Boris, Erzsébet, either Libuše or Rasťo, and Feliks; and, later, Gilbert. But hardly ever Ivan, the manager.
The Leningrad Coffee Co. is at the intersection of two very busy streets. It is across from a Starbucks, but despite this it has not appeared to suffer under the weight of competition with the Siren. Raivis is not an economist but judging by how many people walk through their doors daily, they can't be suffering.
Eduard disagrees, however, and Raivis is willing to tolerate his opinion solely because it is Eduard, and Eduard is essentially perfect.
Eduard. Eduard. The gods made the most poetic name and it was his. Eduard is blond with seaweed eyes that sparkle and a glittery shine to his skin like he's just walked out of the water and Eduard has no idea how good-looking he is. Eduard makes the best foam of anybody there and free-pours the lattes with a hand that is steady and practiced, like he's been doing it for years - which, well, he has. Raivis, on the other hand, trembles too much to make so much as a weird white zigzag on the surface of the crema, but Eduard paints hearts and wings and doves with unbounded grace and precision. Eduard has a near-impenetrable cool and once when Raivis was faced with a nasty customer who must have gotten lost en route to their Starbucks where Their Drink is Known and They Are a Valued Customer and who thought that Raivis was just too stupid to take an order or make a drink, Eduard stood up for him.
Well, Eduard told him to go hang out in the back room for a few minutes with the bags of beans while Eduard finished Shitface McGee's latte, but that is basically the same thing.
Raivis would freely admit it to anybody (except Eduard, or anybody who works with them) - he's fallen in love. Plummeted. Face-planted. Capitulated to Cupid - Cupid-tulated. And Eduard is nice and lovely and smiles at him in a way that he probably doesn't smile at others, so Raivis has a candle lit, quietly nursing it in a private dark spot in his heart, and is waiting patiently for the day that Eduard might notice him and ask him out.
Thing is though, Raivis has no idea if Eduard's even gay. He's asked Eduard once before, shyly stammering his way through a rudimentary explanation of human sexualities, hoping Eduard would elaborate with his own, but Eduard did not, and shrugged, saying, "To each their own". Raivis takes this as a good sign. Maybe it means he's open to ideas.
--
Raivis is not the last person that joins their team. That would be Gilbert. Gilbert is well over twenty and therefore in Raivis' mind too old and weird for a job like this which only university students like Raivis should be doing, but who is Raivis to tell people what to do with their lives and Gilbert's life is his to waste if he wants. Gilbert is loud and obnoxious, but then one day a customer gets on Raivis' case and begins to swear and Gilbert stands up for him and tells the customer off, saying that he can't say such things about the staff, it's abusive, and that if the customer doesn't leave on their own merit, Gilbert will just have to kick their ass.
Thereafter Raivis thinks Gilbert is Pretty Okay, Actually, although apparently the manager has to have a talk with him when the customer in question calls in about Gilbert specifically.
Gilbert is still weird, however, and he gets very strange around the supervisor, Erzsébet, but this, Raivis discovers, is because they know each other in Real Life. (Raivis doesn't consider his job at the coffee shop Real Life. It is as though Real Life is on hold and when he is behind the counter with his apron on, he is another person who doesn't mind that people berate him for stupid things and details that don't matter because at the end of the day it is just a dumb coffee drink and putting on an apron doesn't make him deserving of abuse.) In fact, it was on Erzsébet's word that Gilbert was even called in for an interview, which was processed by Toris so that there would not be a conflict of interest (except that Toris and Erzsébet are currently dating in Real Life so they are the definition of conflict of interest).
Toris told Raivis later that he didn't think Gilbert would be a particularly good fit, but tells Raivis also that, under further questioning by Ivan, he admitted the particulars as to why Gilbert wouldn't be a very good hire, and Ivan - who ordinarily allows the customers to walk all over the waitstaff - had seemed downright delighted. So Ivan handles the next interview with Gilbert and if Raivis had been scheduled that day, it would have been his first meeting with Ivan the Elusive.
Alas, it is not, and Raivis comes in Tuesday after to a strange white-haired weirdo behind the cash register. He takes five minutes to ring in Raivis' latte because he doesn't understand the point-of-sale system yet.
Gilbert also can't make foam for shit. This is saying something because Raivis is a terrible drink maker himself, and this may be half the reason he gets on so poorly with so many of the customers because those who don't think he's cute enough to allow him to screw up so badly on their drinks, insist on their drinks being remade. Raivis cannot blame them for this, because a drink at Leningrad Coffee Co. does not come cheaply, but they need not ask in such a rude manner.
"Aw, they're just mad 'cause it takes so long to get the drink," explains Gilbert, "and then it looks like shit. Not your fault this place is so busy. Here, let me, kiddo."
Gilbert also treats him like a little brother but somehow, with Gilbert, Raivis doesn't mind like he does with Mircea. Maybe because Raivis is not attracted to strange boisterous Gilbert where he is to fey, pretty Mircea. Maybe because Gilbert so clearly has a crush on Erzsébet. Maybe because Gilbert is such a twat to Toris, and Toris has been nothing but sugar to Raivis.
Gilbert makes a drink twice as ugly and hands it over to the customer. The customer is clearly displeased but Gilbert's ugly mug is enough to repel her for the day. "Tschüss, bitch," says Gilbert under his breath, and Raivis bites back a cackle.
"Stop that," says Toris mildly, because he knows Gilbert isn't going to listen to him, but Toris is shift supervisor and feels obliged to say something, and also because Gilbert is usually asking for it.
"Like you really care," retorts Gilbert.
Mircea and Boris are each nice as well, in their own way, but both of them are better friends to each other than they are to others, so Raivis feels constantly excluded. This he does not like, but on the upside, Mircea and Boris spend their Saturday shifts - for they only have joint availability on the weekends - chatting. With each other, with customers. Occasionally, but not often, with Raivis. So Raivis' scheduled cleaning duties are easy to perform because neither of them pay that much attention to him.
Libuše is Czech, and she mostly works cash, only Tuesdays and Wednesdays, which suits Raivis fine, because a) he can get better practice making drinks as he sorely needs and b) she is clever and pretty and makes killer tips on the busiest mornings. This defies all logic, because whenever Raivis talks to her it is clear that she is Dead Inside and hates this place. She is the last to arrive in the mornings and the first to leave and if it is possible for labour to be cut she is the first to volunteer to go home.
As for Rasťo who is Slovakian (Raivis made the mistake of calling him also Czech once, but it's his fault because he and Libuše chat in what sounds like the same language), Raivis has worked with him seldom, because he is quick on the draw with the milks and so he always gets put on bar to make drinks because he can shoot drinks out lightning fast, balancing quality and quantity effortlessly. He's even quicker with the ice shaker in the summer - he's flashy, too - and Raivis thinks if he worked at a bar he would get many more tips than he gets in here, where the only tips are dispensed on cash. Raivis would give all his money (if he had any) to Eduard, but Eduard when he is working cash is apathetic and uncaring if the customers are not pleased with him. Some customers accept that coffee is coffee and there's no point in worrying about the service if the coffee really is that good, and these ones appreciate Eduard for his frankness. Most of the consumers, however, appear to have flocked in droves to the Starbucks model where the customer is not only always right but demands and expects to have the red carpet unrolled in front of their every step, and these are fools that Eduard does not suffer gladly, or in fact, at all.
It is strange, thinks Raivis. Eduard is so classically handsome that he could butter anybody up, but he never bothers.
"What if one of these days he says something that gets him fired?" Raivis asks Toris one day. Raivis is legitimately worried. What would be the point of working at the Leningrad if Eduard is not there?
Toris looks over at what Raivis refers to - Eduard is in conversation with a customer, or rather, they are in conversation with him, and not a very happy one, and Eduard is being impassive and unapologetic and firm. Toris sighs.
"I should say something," says Toris drily. "But I won't, it's pointless."
"You say things to Gilbert all the time about his bad behaviour," points out Raivis.
"Gilbert's asking for it, and he was just hired and I don't think Ivan likes him all that much, he only finds him amusing. Eduard's been here since the start and he and Ivan - well, anyway, Ivan would never fire him. Don't worry, Raivis," Toris says. Toris' accent is endearingly thick enough that his v's turn into w's when they are in the middle of a word, and like his calm tone of voice, this softens Raivis. "This cafe would have to be taken over for Eduard to be fired."
"I- I wasn't worried," covers Raivis, but it's clear from Toris' face that he doesn't believe him. Toris sees much and, unless it's Gilbert doing something he shouldn't, speaks little.
--
"You know, it wasn't always this way," muses Eduard, one day when they are both on cash. Raivis remembers this day very fondly. A metre away from Eduard, and between customers they would chat and Eduard was relaxed and, if Raivis could believe his conclusion jumps, perhaps flirtatious? "The Leningrad really used to go for the whole coffee shop culture. We had comfy chairs, great big upholstered armchairs," he mentions, and gestures to their current setup - wood chairs with no cushions and a stiff-back. "Those chairs were for the long table, communal style sitting, people could work or chat or read, whatever they wanted." Now, the tables are tiny and hardly seat two. "It was a place where we used to be open really late, and we'd get customers well after ten pm. There were jam sessions and poetry slams -"
"Poetry," says Raivis distantly. "Oh, that sounds so terribly romantic. I love poetry."
"Really?" Eduard grins, and Raivis melts. "I wouldn't've pegged you for it. You said you were studying earth sciences."
"I can't believe you remembered!" says Raivis, flattered and bubbly with excitement. "And yes, it's true what you say, but I am thinking to minor in philosophy next year, when I have enough credits."
"Ah. That explains it. You struck me as more, fantasy sci-fi kid. Or maybe that is just me. Anyway, back then everyone was lot more friendly, lot more human. The customers, I mean. People wouldn't come in expecting push button receive coffee, now now now, it was lot more about the service. We were ... like bartenders. People staying for hours, talking, reading, writing, something creative to pass the time. This place used to nurture spirits," Eduard says. He sighs, a derisive laugh somewhere lurking inside his exhalation. "It used to nurture mine."
"It sounds like a wonderful place," says Raivis. "I wish I'd been around at the time."
"It was awhile ago, you would've been too young to have coffee at all," Eduard teases.
"I'm not that young," Raivis protests.
Eduard smiles wistfully. "Ivan... Ivan had a dream, and I know he tries to maintain it, but it's slowly being ground down," he says. "Our coffee is still legitimately good, and he doesn't want to give that up, but he has had to make concessions everywhere else to keep this. And sometimes I wonder if it is worth it. After all, how much he has already given up? Do you know, Raivis - do you know we process over six thousand transactions a day? Six thousand! What kind of coffee culture is that." Eduard looks at the clock, then the door, where a pair of customers are walking through. "Sorry, I'm blathering. You probably think, listen to this old timer talk about good old days."
"N-no!" says Raivis. "No, I don't mind, I love listening to you talk." Eduard quirks an eyebrow and Raivis realises he has said the L-word. "You, ah, you have. A really lovely voice!" he confesses instead, trying frantically to backpedal somewhere better. "You should maybe, maybe read audiobooks, or something?"
Eduard laughs. "My accent is too thick for that, I think," he says modestly.
Raivis does not think so. Raivis adores Eduard's accent. He rolls the r's and trills them and it sounds desperately sexy. But this he absolutely cannot say. "Well," he says shyly, "until your voice acting career takes off, at least you have this job here at the Leningrad. Haha! Right?"
"Hmm," says Eduard, noncommittal. The customers approach their cash, and this concludes the conversation.
--
Raivis cannot decide whether Gilbert hates Toris more, or Toris hates Gilbert more. They have a very equal relationship in this regard. Toris has to be told to take his break by today's shift supervisor, Erzsébet, so one very busy Wednesday morning as he is hanging up his apron, Toris yells over to the bar and asks for a latte. "Yeah, sure, whatever," says Gilbert, who is busy with the espresso pumps. Raivis is certain that this is why he likes working bar - so that he can pump the espresso and show off his biceps. To be fair, Raivis thinks Gilbert's biceps are positively sculpted. He clearly spends a lot of time on them. (Unlike Eduard, who has the musculature of incidental quotidian gym. Raivis imagines his skin is softer and more supple for it.)
Raivis watches as Gilbert over-aerates the milk, creating foam the consistency of cotton candy, and plunks it into a paper cup instead of a real mug, which is both wasteful and rude.
Toris looks at it on the bar. "Yeah," he says, "I think I'm going to have to get you to make that again. And if you ruin a second, I'll write you up. You know Ivan doesn't like waste."
Gilbert glowers. "Free latte?" he shouts out. "Anybody want a free latte? Princess over here says it's not nice enough for him, so it's fair game!" Nobody claims the latte. Eduard, Gilbert's double on the bar, disposes of it quietly.
Gilbert meanwhile grinds the beans. He is definitely grinding the decaf beans. By this point he has been here long enough that he is well aware of what he's doing. He sets these in the machine and pulls the lever for the water to shoot through the compressed grounds, a cup waiting beneath, and aerates the foam a little more expertly this time.
"Hey, Gil," asks Eduard, sweet as sin, "I think you are taller than me, can you get me the tea on the top shelf?" If Eduard asked Raivis anything like that Raivis would give it him in a heartbeat.
It works on Gilbert too. "Sure thing," he says. Gilbert is not taller, Raivis has spent enough time dreamily gazing at Eduard to tell the difference. But Gilbert loves to be told lies about how he looks. While Gilbert's back is turned, Eduard swaps out Toris' decaf for the drink he's working on.
"Hey, when's my drink coming out?" asks a blond man with glasses. "I gotta get going. Chop chop, guys!"
"One sec, Mr Jones," says Eduard, pouring his beautiful foam into Gilbert's decaf shot. He presents it with a slight flourish of his elegant wrist and slender long fingers. Raivis has had the filthiest dreams about those hands. "There, just like you like it."
"'Bout time." Jones scoops it up and downs half of it without enjoying it or even noticing what beautiful crafted handiwork Eduard has painted upon the surface of the drink. "You guys could do with a little organisation, y'know? Everyone's just everywhere on this floor. It's nuts."
"Hm," says Eduard, pouring Toris' latte. "Well. See you tomorrow." They'll be back. They always are.
"There," says Gil. "What'd you need this for?"
"Put it on your head and do a tapdance," says Eduard. He flicks his wrist once, twice, then Toris' drink is finished. It's a masterpiece, as always, and Toris, having guessed what has transpired, smirks. Eduard catches Raivis' eye over Gilbert's shoulder, and winks. Raivis' legs feel like jelly. He's probably going to collapse -
"Excuse me?!" says the woman at Raivis' cash. "Are you gonna take my order or stare at the boys all day?" Natalya, on the cash next to him, daydreams twice as hard and is no help. But Natalya is not daydreaming at the boys. The woman is clearly talking about Raivis.
"I," says Raivis, feeling caught. "I - I don't -"
"Large decaf one-splenda latte, hold fat hold foam, one-ninety degrees, fill it to the top," she says with a twang. Her customer card is extended for Raivis to punch, which he does silently and mechanically. The woman has one drink left before a free drink. "And honey, between you and me, you could do better."
"Are you kidding? I'm amazing," says Gilbert, and he strikes a pose. "Baby, look at this gun show!"
"You have two drinks in the queue, and two arms on your body," says Eduard, one eyebrow raised, a perfect slender arch, "I count no spare arms for you to flex."
"Your math must be wrong," says Gilbert.
"Unfortunately," says Eduard quietly, "that's rarely the case."
--
One Monday Raivis comes back from his break (which he spends outside, with one of Eduard's lattes in hand, because he doesn't want to make it so obvious how much he enjoys it, and because from this angle he can peek in the window at Eduard and nobody catches him doing it) and there is a strange giant man in a huge overcoat with a massive scarf, hunched over the desk with paper and pencil.
"Oh! Hello," he says with a very thick Russian accent. His face breaks out into a wide dimply grin and he looks younger than Gilbert. His shoulders are mountain ranges and his chest a continent. "I am Ivan!"
"I - I," says Raivis. "But I thought you were an old man!"
"What?" says Ivan.
"I mean!" Raivis is immediately beset with coughs. "I thought - ah - excuse me!" He begins to stutter and shake even more. Ivan has not even stood up yet. Surely Ivan is well over six feet. Oh god, if he should stand! Raivis grabs his apron and holds it, balled in his hands, in front of him like a shield. "You look very very busy, I shouldn't, should not disturb you!"
"Nnnno, not really," says Ivan. He gestures to the paper. "Is just bean order. You must be Raivis, yes?"
"How do you know?" Raivis asks, petrified. What if he knows everything? Does he keep tabs? Is he watching??
"I am reading your nametag on your apron," Ivan explains. "That apron? The apron you are holding?"
"Yes!" exclaims Raivis. He panics and flings the apron forward. It hits Ivan's head, square in the face. Raivis reaches over for another, the first apron he sees, a bit of cloth the same colour strewn over the back of a chair. He grabs this, plunges it over his head and struggles into it, tying it around his shoulders. "I have to go now and work," he shouts, "it was nice meeting you goodbye!"
A little while later, after Raivis has mostly calmed down and righted Rasťo's apron about his waist, Eduard takes his break and spends it all in the back room. When he comes back out he draws near to Raivis, to pass him his (correct) nametag. Eduard draws closer still. To murmur private talk? Raivis is elated. But Eduard only asks, in a low and confidential voice, "Are you okay? Ivan said you looked nervous."
"Of course I'm not nervous!" Raivis says, in his screechy nervous voice. "Why wouldn't I be okay! Just because our boss is a literal giant!"
Eduard shrugs. "Well, Russians, you know. Sometimes more bear than human. But he's not scary, you know, once you get to know him. He can't help how he looks." Eduard thinks. "Or is, sometimes. He can be quite strange. But then again, so can we all."
Eduard must know Ivan well. This makes sense, because after all Eduard has been working at this cafe for years and it is Ivan's cafe.
But it is one thing to know this superficially and another thing, when Raivis comes in on a Sunday while Natalya is roasting beans to find Eduard and Ivan in the back room, chatting. Raivis had initially been excited about his Sunday shift, and had come in early to try and talk to Eduard. There is little point to that when Ivan is there - they are such good and old friends that much of their attention is on each other.
Raivis logs in early for his shift and leaves for the front of house, feeling awkward and like a third party. "So, have they been in there long?" he tries.
"I don't feel like talking today," says Natalya icily, "don't take it personally, I have to listen to the beans." This ends their conversation.
--
"I wish I knew who I hated more," says Gilbert one day, "Erzsi or fuckin' Toris."
Up to this point Raivis and Gilbert have spent a lovely lunch being quiet with one another - Raivis reading his little book of poetry and thinking careful thoughts about Eduard, and Gilbert flipping through his phone. Outside it is a madhouse and the drinks are flying and the milk is all over the bar and there's water on the other side of the countertop and the ice bin probably needs refilling and it's buy-one-get-one drinks for the next half hour and it's been so busy that 'lunch' for Raivis and Gilbert is now at 3:30 because needs must and Toris could not justify giving anyone their break until now.
"You are jealous," says Raivis, surprised.
"Mm-hmm," says Gilbert. He says it quickly, and his face reddens.
"Gilbert, you're twenty-five," says Raivis, "Erzsébet can't be the first person you've ever liked -"
"It isn't Erzsi," hisses Gilbert.
A beat of not-quite-silence as the din from outside grows suddenly louder. Feliks has burst in through the door. "Need more goddamn ice," he grumbles to Gilbert, "so move your dumb German ass."
Wordlessly (this is a novel development, realises Raivis), Gilbert scrambles to his feet and gets out of the way.
"That's more like it," says Feliks, and dives in with the scoop, taking enough to fill the entire bucket, which must be thirty pounds of ice. How Feliks has the strength for this is beyond Raivis for unlike Gilbert it is not clear where Feliks keeps his muscles but like Gilbert he evidently has them and he hefts the bucket easily on one hip and saunters back out to Hell.
Once the door has stopped swinging back and forth behind him, Raivis looks at Gilbert with new eyes. "You're gay?" he exclaims.
"Shhh!" says Gilbert, frantic and huffy, his face bright red, "shut up! Shut up, don't - don't say it like that - and I'm not!"
"That's what you meant, isn't it," says Raivis.
Gilbert looks like he might cry. "Can't friggen' fight it anymore," he says, "it's useless anyway, way this place is going. It doesn't matter. Doesn't matter who knows."
"It clearly does to you," says Raivis.
Gilbert picks at the hem of his apron, soaked through with milk and syrup and who knows what else. "I wish I knew who I was more jealous of, between the two of them," he says. "I can't even be mad. They look good together. They seem happy - happier than Erzsi ever was with me - and ah, they're both so fuckin' pretty." Saying it aloud seems to lift a weight off his shoulders. "You know, kiddo, this is the first time I ever said something like this to someone," Gilbert confesses. "Aloud."
"Oh," says Raivis, not sure what to say to someone who is really upset about the whole Gay Thing. Raivis has never been upset about it, himself, but he might have some privacy concerns, like making sure that Eduard doesn't know about Raivis' feelings until Raivis is certain Eduard might return them. Gilbert seems to have different concerns. "Is it a problem here? In this cafe?"
"Shouldn't be," says Gilbert, "given Ivan, Eduard, Boris. Maybe Feliks? Don't know, seems too obvious. And I'm still not sure about Natalya. She's hard to read."
Raivis' mind, of course, has completely shut down by half of the utterance of this sentence.
Eduard?
Eduard??
"Eduard's gay?!" shrieks Raivis.
"Shut up! Jesus," says Gilbert. "They'll hear you out there."
No, they won't, they have a roar of screaming customers. "Eduard is gay?" Raivis says again, softer. "Are you sure?"
Gilbert lifts a shoulder. "Well, I dunno the guy's story," he admits, "he isn't exactly spilling secrets, but he's certainly not straight. I mean, he told me. And there's other reasons, besides -"
And with that, Raivis' day - week, month! - is made.
This - Eduard being gay - makes things so much easier. Now he's attainable, so long as Raivis can get him to see how adorable and likable Raivis is. It shouldn't be too hard, because adorable is exactly what Raivis is, so says everybody.
He wears his pretty scarf to work the next day, the one that brings out his eyes, and it's maybe his imagination but Eduard's gaze lingers a little longer. Confidence boosted, Raivis skips into the back of house.
Feliks is there on break. "Nice scarf," he yells, loud enough that they can hear him outside, "you look like a hipster!"
"Sh-shut up," mutters Raivis.
"No, no, kiddo, you got me wrong, I meant it as a compliment," says Feliks, "you look like super chic and shit," but the moment is broken and Raivis is hastily shoving his pretty terrible scarf into the arm of his jacket so he can hang it up on the mountain of jackets (there are never enough hooks) where it slides off and falls onto the floor. He pulls his uniform on and clocks in. Eduard doesn't say anything about the scarf but this time, Raivis is careful to keep his gaze level with Eduard's instead of coyly dropping it like he usually does, hoping Eduard has noticed the shade, which Raivis is told is his best and most unique trait.
--
"...which concludes your evaluation," finishes Erzsébet. "Any questions?"
"No," says Raivis, feeling ashamed. He hates this job but he doesn't mean for it to be so transparent. He got the equivalent of barely passing. Any lower and Erzsébet says she would have asked him to reconsider if he really wants to be here, or possibly have written him up.
"Great," she replies. "So sign here?"
"I don't agree with this," Raivis says sullenly.
"Signing doesn't mean you agree. It just means you saw it. Sign, Raivis."
Erzsébet's voice is stern enough that he does without any further protest. "Can I go now," he whines.
"Yeah," she replies, "briefly back to the store to get Mircea - he's up next on evaluations - and then I want you to go downstairs and help out Rasťo with the weekly order."
"I thought you were gonna get Gil to do the weekly order," says Raivis.
"Gilbert has to close, Rasťo's the next strongest who feels like hefting tetrapacks of juice onto a high shelf," says Erzsébet.
"I can't do any of that," says Raivis.
"No, but you being there means Rasťo will work faster and you're gonna finish my storeroom inventory, instead of mooning over Eduard like you ordinarily would," she snaps.
Raivis is at once shocked ice-cold and red-hot on the cheeks. "How dare you," he hisses.
"Pfft, how dare I? Listen, kid," she says. "I see a lot that goes on in this store. Supervisor, you know? It's kind of a big deal." It's not, according to Toris, but Raivis isn't going to volunteer such information. "And if you didn't sit there daydreaming about that sad, sad nerd -"
"He's not a sad nerd at all," says Raivis, but Erzsébet isn't listening.
"- like I've seen you do a thousand times before, then you'd be a little quicker on the draw on bar and on cash, and the customers wouldn't get so mad at you, and you'd have all around a better time."
"Well, that's easy for you to say, with you and Toris," retorts Raivis.
Erzsébet sits straight out of her slouch and fixes him with a glare. "Don't think you should really be talking back to a supervisor," she says.
Raivis withers. "Sorry."
"S'fine. Go get that Mircea." As Raivis stands, Erzsébet mutters behind him, "We're not even steady, anyway. It was one or two dates, and it didn't work out. And we can keep our heads normal when we're at work, which is more than I can say for you, loverboy."
--
Some time passes, and two or three events seem to stand out for Raivis as possible that Eduard likes him too.
One time, he goes on break, and before asking - before checking in - before his apron is even off - Eduard calls out a latte for him on the bar.
"Didn't want you to waste your time," says Eduard, sheepish. It's a typical Tuesday - too many customers, not enough workers - and the line is a hundred people deep. It goes out the door and around the block. If Raivis did like he was supposed to - stand in line to be able to order and receive his drink - he'd spend well over his entire break in queue.
"Eduard," says Toris, warningly.
"What? Don't look at me like that!" says Eduard. "You can ring it in later. Or remind me to. Doesn't matter. He was hot on cash today, he should rest up."
He thinks I was hot on cash today, thinks Raivis, he thinks I was hot. It's just an expression meaning good but surely, surely Eduard could have used any other expression. No, it was a slip of the tongue, a secret way into his feelings.
Another time, Eduard is in a clearly good mood. He spends his break in the back of the house, where Raivis finds him when he leaves for his own break, sitting with Ivan and keeping him company while Ivan does the schedule. Eduard grins and reaches over to fluff Raivis' hair. The moment is over far too soon and Raivis is left wondering if it really did happen. But his hair is mussed! (But his hair is usually mussed.)
"Welcome to the party," Eduard jokes. He leans back, folding his arms elegantly behind his head, and the loose fabric of his shirt is pulled backwards, tighter on his stomach. Raivis cannot look away. "I find this job is too easily broken down into break, second break, third break, home, I don't quite remember what transpires out there."
"I will note this," says Ivan tightly. "You know, Edik, if you do not like it, there are other jobs for you, yes?"
Eduard only laughs. It's clearly a thought Ivan has had more than once, and it rolls off Eduard like powder snow on a slope. "But I have so much fun here," he says, "and everyone I love is here." Ivan gives an affectionate smile while a warmth settles into Raivis' chest. Everyone he loves is here - could that include Raivis? It sounds like something one would say about a friend. Are they friends? Friends enough to say love? And he touched him - Eduard touched him with his bare hands!
Raivis could explode, he is so wound up he cannot concentrate on his book for longer than thirty seconds. Finally, he says, "I'll take a walk," and leaves Eduard and Ivan there in the back room to sip at his drink outside. There he spends his fifteen minutes daydreaming and looking up at the beautiful zenith blue of the sky, loving life and trying to conjure up the feeling of Eduard's perfect, cool, soft fingerpads, through his hair.
--
One Sunday night, which Raivis does not realise will be his last night working at the Leningrad, Ivan is there late. He had been there earlier that day, looking worried and concerned. His giant face looks sad and wider for its sadness. Eduard and he are still talking about things. All Raivis hears before he enters the back room is Eduard: "You have to seize opportunities should they appear. They may not again - Oh, hey Raivis."
"Just logging out," Raivis explains.
"Ah, end of shift already?" Eduard tuts. Maybe... maybe he's regretful that Raivis is leaving? "Lucky. Well, have a good rest of the night. I'll close up shop here."
It is on the tip of his tongue that he could stay a little later, just in case, but it's a Sunday, there aren't likely to be that many people generally. And Eduard doesn't need anybody else's help, truly.
But something holds Raivis there. He stays in the washroom for a longer amount of time. He psyches himself up to ask Eduard if he might like to walk home together, or if he is walking home if they can walk in the same direction for some length of the way, or something that really sounded much cooler in his head than any way that he has phrased it. He would have asked earlier, but he could not ask with Ivan there.
Maybe Raivis can just keep staying here and eventually it will be time to close and he can walk with Eduard. But then he has to figure out how to explain why he's been here since the end of his shift. Something came up! He had a phone call that he took outside. That's why he waited!
After an hour he has concocted a very important story about a very important phone call (but not too important that it was an emergency, just something small involving the contents of his bag and whether he remembered something) all plotted out and it is watertight and well-rehearsed in case Raivis gets nervous. Raivis makes to head back and offer to Eduard to walk home at the end of his shift.
There is nobody at the cash and there is hardly anybody in the store anymore - in fact technically they are closed but the doors are not yet locked - so maybe he can finally get Eduard alone. He must be in the back room, so Raivis heads for the back room -
- and Eduard is there, kissing Ivan.
It is actually a really tame kiss, as far as kisses go, for all of the movies Raivis has seen. But this is so much worse. If it had been something passionate, with their hands all over each other, then it could just be physical. It could be simply lust. But the way Eduard kisses Ivan, it looks as though one - or both of them - have wanted this for a long time.
"Oh," says Raivis softly. Eduard and Ivan spring apart. Eduard is surprised; Ivan mortified.
"Raivis," says Eduard. "I didn't know you were still here."
"I just came to contents my phone call," says Raivis. "I mean bag. Very important bag. Contents." He points to the bag that is already on his back. "Well," he says. "See you tomorrow!" He races out before either of them can say a word.
And tomorrow when he comes in there is a sign on the Leningrad saying under new management.
He spots Gilbert across the street in the competition Starbucks. But Gilbert isn't drinking anything, merely walking out. "Traitor," says Raivis. "What's going on?"
"Didn't you check your phone?" asks Gilbert. "Ivan sent out a text like, a week ago."
Raivis' phone has to have pay as you go cash added, and Raivis is bad about adding it.
As Gilbert explains it, it turns out a developer, Jones Industries, took account of exactly how much business the Leningrad made and offered the owner a significant price point for the plot. Literally an offer he couldn't refuse, and so he didn't.
"But I thought this was Ivan's dream," says Raivis.
"Yeah, so did I," says Gilbert thoughtfully. "And he was a decent manager. Real principled." Which must have been why it looked like the first time Ivan and Eduard had ever kissed. It probably was, now that after so many years Eduard was finally no longer his employee. How foolish, how stupid of Raivis! He had never had a chance all along. "Oh well. Interviews with Jones for the new Starbucks are tomorrow. Just so you know, 'cause there was a text sent out about that, too, but you probably didn't get it. Come by 'round noon, Jones said he'll probably give everybody their jobs back, so long as they were decently good at them."
Raivis was not, but then again maybe Mr Jones won't remember him.
If only Raivis could not remember that kiss.