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“Stop,” Antonio said to his dog, who did as told quite happily and stood attentively at his side. He reached down and found the top of his head, scratching gently behind his ears. “Good boy,” he quietly praised, “just give me a minute…”
Antonio kept the harness leash short. His dog, Bear, was always a good boy, but he did share his owner’s curiosity, and when Antonio was standing on the corner of a street where two roads crossed, it was always safer to keep him close. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Bear; he just didn’t entirely trust every single person who walked past to know the courtesies around greeting guide dogs—namely, asking permission. It didn’t happen often, but it was often enough that it could become irritating (well, sometimes it was a kid, and the parent would chase after them and apologise profusely, which was easier to handle).
The reason he had stopped was so he could make a quick phone call. He asked Siri to call Ivan for him and a short conversation confirmed for him that yes, he was welcome to stop by the other’s coffee shop because it was nice and quiet and his favourite table was currently free. Antonio thanked him and informed him he was just around the corner. Ivan said he would be waiting for him with a little surprise. It’s probably another cake, he told himself, but he was looking forward to it anyway. He always did.
Ivan’s coffee shop was a small family-run place that Antonio had discovered thanks to one of his flatmates. The first time he had visited, Gilbert had assured him that it was a special one and that the sweet treats on offer were quite incredible things you couldn’t get anywhere else in the city. The second time, Francis had told him that nothing was in fact sweeter than the man who owned it. The third time, when he had ventured there for himself, he had made an acquaintance of Ivan and ever since, he made a point of visiting when he could so they could have a chat, have a drink and have some cake.
Antonio continued on his way with Bear along the main street and they took a turn, passed a tree, took a few more paces, and then he was greeted by the familiar voice calling to him from the entrance. Antonio had insisted before that Ivan didn’t have to wait for him outside (he usually hated it when people did so, because it made him feel less capable when, yes, he was vision-impaired, but he still had light perception and a decent sense of navigation to work with his guide dog) but Ivan had recently asked for permission to do so, purely because then he could greet him as a friend rather than a customer. In that case, Antonio had said back then, I guess I can live with that.
Now they had been doing it ever since.
“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by,” Antonio said as he and Bear walked towards the coffee shop’s entrance. A familiar smell of bread wafted out from the building (everything was made in house, from sandwiches to pastries), and he could already taste the hot chocolate. “Gil was supposed to come with me today, but he got called into work on short notice. But he says hi!”
“Ahh, there will always be next time," Ivan responded. Antonio could hear the smile in his voice. Though he'd never seen it (or the rest of Ivan, for that matter) he could imagine it; it reminded him of summer sunflowers and daisies. "Come on in," Ivan then said, "I have got the door. We will get you a drink and then we can sit down together, yes?"
"I like that plan," the other concurred as he smiled, too, and told Bear to go 'forward' so that they weren't letting the February cold seep into the café. He walked the same four paces ahead as he always did before they stopped again, and Ivan walked past them to get around to the other side or the counter. "Is it just you working at the moment?" he asked Ivan as he instinctively reached for the counter and found it, setting his hand down on the surface. It felt less like he was floating when he could feel something solid like that.
"Not just me, no," Ivan told him in the meantime; "Natalia is here as well, just behind the cake counter, pretending neither of us exist." There was amusement in his tone, and Antonio heard his younger sister sigh.
"You are making me sound rude," she chided. "I am not pretending you do not exist, I am just giving you your space. It is actually the opposite of being rude."
Natalia was an interesting soul. Antonio had not spoken to her very much in comparison to his interactions with Yekaterina, but she seemed headstrong and reserved (which he could understand), and incredibly done with everyone's bullshit. She sort of reminded him of Lorenzo—only usually, Lorenzo was done with Antonio's bullshit (in an affectionate way) whereas Natalia was incredibly nice to him. (Not that Antonio really cared that much. He had known Lorenzo for years, and had known Natalia for mere months; who was to say either way which one of them was acting more appropriately, haha. Ah, Lorenzo was a good friend to him. Honest, equally as brooding as Antonio…).
All the while, Ivan had said he would make Antonio's usual drink and also get some water for Bear. Antonio thanked him. He listened to the shuffling, the music playing quietly in the background for ambience as he heard the machine start heating the milk, and he gave Bear a little pat on the back to thank him as well for waiting silently and patiently. Such a good boy. Bear could have been a family dog—he was a Spanish Mastiff with a massive heart and massive fur—but Antonio was very glad to have him all for himself, the big cute beast he was.
“How are you doing?”
That was Natalia. She sounded closer and the shadows had moved, now that he was paying attention, so it seemed she was standing directly across the counter from him.
“I’m good, thank you,” Antonio replied; “how are you?”
“Still breathing,” she returned. Maybe for her, that was an achievement—Antonio couldn’t say for sure—but he nodded and smiled in agreement that the fact that she was still breathing was good news, at least. “Do you mind if I come around and say hello to your dog?”
Antonio did not. Neither did Bear.
Meanwhile, behind the counter, Ivan was finishing making Antonio’s hot chocolate. He added the usual marshmallows and cream (because the other had an insatiable sweet tooth, as he had learned on their first day of knowing each other) and set the cup down on a saucer on the side, before he went to the cake counter. Ivan had added something new to the small menu that he wanted the brunette to try for him—not because impaired vision supposedly enhanced the other senses, but because Antonio was honest and appreciated food, and he could only judge it by how it tasted and felt rather than how it looked—and that was what Ivan believed mattered most: the experience, not the presentation.
This new cake was something traditional he had brought from home: a Medovik cake, which consisted of layers of honey biscuit and a vanilla-hinted sour cream, topped with crushed nuts and icing sugar. It also took literal hours to make—it was one of those things you really made the day before—but it lasted well in the fridge and the flavours always transported Ivan home to his mother’s kitchen when he was a good three feet shorter than he currently was.
He plated up a slice of the honey cake and told Antonio he would take his drink over to the table. The other nodded and called for his dog’s attention, before navigating the clear path (Ivan always ensured it remained clear before Antonio came by to keep it accessible and easier for him) back towards the door he entered through and down past the windows to the corner seat. Ivan knew it was Antonio’s favourite spot, but he had never asked why. Maybe it was for the sunlight; he knew the other still had light perception, so maybe it was a comfort to him, to see passing shadows of people walking the streets, still catching a glimpse of real life while he was able to watch from a distance…
Ivan asked Natalia if she would mind finding the water bowl and filling it for Bear (she never minded) and bringing it over, and in the meantime, he carried the goods to the table and set them down in front of the Spaniard. He sat down opposite, his back to the rest of the coffee shop, just like always. Antonio was back to petting Bear, who was lying down at his feet, and for a moment, tranquility befell them.
Then Antonio sat back up straight and leaned back in his seat, evidently comfortable, and a smile lit up his features. The sunlight coming through the window almost made it—him—look ethereal.
“So," Antonio said, his hands settling down on the table just in front of him, fingers tracing the old wood grain, "how have you been over the past few days? Keeping busy?"
"This place keeps me busy on its own," Ivan replied and nodded. "Business seems to have increased a little bit, which is nice. I may actually have to take on an extra pair of hands to help out here and there, just so my sisters can have a break."
"That's good! I'm sure Natalia will be happy to have a day off every now and then."
"You bet I will," Natalia assured him. She set down the water for Bear as she stroked a hand over his head, and pulled a sneaky (homemade!) dog biscuit from her pocket, offering it up to the fluffy beast like a sort of crumbly sacrifice.
From his seat opposite Ivan, Antonio turned his head slightly towards her, a brow raised, and said: "Are you feeding him something?" as though the chomping noise of teeth clashing together from under the table was not a clear enough sign.
"Of course not," Natalia denied.
"Hmm… Well, it had better be something healthy," Antonio responded, though he was halfway to a laugh, shaking his head to himself as Natalia stood back up. "He's been putting on weight—and I'm starting to think I know why!"
"Someone has to spoil him," she then defended; "he has to deal with you all day."
"My company should be a good enough gift for him. I even let him sit on the sofa, he's practically royalty."
Both of them had spoken in jest, of course. Antonio and Natalia had started to do this back and forth between each other, poking fun, getting along like old friends… It was warming, in truth. Natalia did not always do well getting on with other people, and Antonio was the most easy-going person Ivan had ever met, at the other end of the scale. He could take a joke. He could have a laugh. And his impairment was never, ever something that seemed to get in his way—like his blindness was not a burden but a gift. He may not have been born with it, but he had said so before: the accident happened for a reason—it helped me see more than I have ever been able to.
Ivan found that remarkable. He found Antonio remarkable.
When he had first met him, he was as open and smiley as he was now. It had only been months but it had felt like years, and he didn't quite fully know what it was that drew him to the brunette so easily, but… yeah, he didn't know… There was just something different about him personally and emotionally that intrigued him. Not to say he was unattractive (moss green irises that were still mostly visible, smooth olive skin, deep walnut curls…). But the appeal—the odd but pleasant feelings Ivan had—came from the other's heart, soul and mind.
He couldn't be sure, then, if his attraction was intellectual or emotional or physical or a sort of combination. He wasn't even sure if it was 'attraction'. Ivan had never been in a relationship and though he had had those schoolboy crushes, he was an adult now and only knew familial bonds. But being with Antonio, even just like this, felt right. It felt good. Whatever it was he was feeling, he would eventually work it out. For now… he just wanted to enjoy this blossoming friendship. He would continue his musings in private.
Meanwhile, Natalia parted with the promise to leave them to it for real this time, after directing Antonio to his drink, and Ivan blinked himself back into the present.
"It is always lovely to see you two getting along," he remarked whilst Antonio took his inaugural sip and wiped his face free of whipped cream.
"If 'getting along' is what you would even call it," Antonio snorted quietly, narrowly avoiding blowing the remaining cream on his drink onto the table. "Deep down, I think she's trying to steal my dog."
Ivan hummed and smiled. "Perhaps…"
"And he'd totally go to her with the promise of food, the little traitor. He only thinks with his stomach…"
"Reminds me of someone I know."
"Mr. Braginsky, are you trying to say something?"
"No, no, not at all. Not at all," he reassured the other.
But of course he was. Like owner, like canine companion, after all. The coffee shop owner did the (maybe underhand, but) experimental thing of pushing the plated cake just that couple inches towards Antonio and, as he imagined, the other locked onto the noise, the slight change in the shadows in front of him.
“...cake?" Antonio enquired, as if he ever needed to ask such a ridiculous thing.
"Cake," Ivan confirmed. "Honey cake, from Russia. I think you will like it."
"Alright, I'll humour you and be your guinea pig," he said, "on one condition."
"Which is…?"
"Share it with me."
Antonio's smile returned and Ivan felt himself smiling along with him—sharing in his smile—his warmth—and he said he would go and get another fork in that case, getting up from his seat and continuing to smile to himself as he walked, that same warmth blossoming in his chest.