Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

HIT ME BABY ONE MORE TIME

His alarm was ringing. Judging by how loud it was, and how far into that wretched song, it had probably been ringing for quite a while without him noticing. He hated that song. He hated that morning, he hated his life, but most of all, he hated his goddamn ex-girlfriend for picking that stupid song for his alarms. Well, actually, he probably hated himself more than anything for being a sentimental, clingy ass who wouldn’t change that song because it still reminded him of her.

Cursing mornings and worldly obligations, he shut off his alarm and swung his feet off the side of his bed. His head was swimming with thoughts of his father’s illness, the promise he’d made to him about the shop, and then there was the thing with Jokaste…

He had to clear his head and focus on what was ahead. Resolve strengthened, he stood up.

And immediately fell back down. His head was swamped with a little more than just his thoughts – he’d completely forgotten just how wasted he’d got the night before. Of course, it’s hard not to e when one is drinking with Makedon, but still. His balance was almost nonexistent and his reckless venture into the standing position left such an unbelievable ringing in his ears he was suddenly longing for some thrashy music.

Shit. He was even on the wrong side of the bed. Letting out a heavy sigh, he let his body fall back onto the bed, and rolled over until he felt the edge of the bed with his hand. Let’s try this again. Having successfully managed to get himself up on his feet, he ventured forward into the bathroom, washing his head with ice cold water, after which he put soap on his toothbrush – surely he hadn’t done anything that would have warranted that – making him plunge his head into cold water yet again. It looked like it was going to be that kind of day again.

“Well, would you look at that,” started his first interaction of the day. “Wrong side of the bed, eh?” joked his old friend, Nikandros.

Damen threw his backpack down on the counter and let all his frustration show on his face.

“You have no idea.”

Nikandros laughed in his wonderful hearty way, the first good thing that day, that somehow still made him dizzy with how loud it was.

“Can you laugh quieter please?” he said, pressing his palm to his forehead. Of course, his request only earned him another burst of laughter, his friend patting his back.

“I’ll do my best,” Nikandros promised, turning back to his previous occupation. “Get your stuff under that cabinet there, that’s where I like to keep mine too. Plenty of space.”

He turned to the place indicated and started sorting out his stuff. It had been a while since he’d had to work in the café, lately he’d been far too busy with his relationship, and now all that was for nothing, too.

“Here, put this on,” Nikandros handed him an apron with the café’s logo.

“Very… professional looking,” he replied with a smile. “So, how do I look?” he asked, having fastened the apron around his waist.

“Perfectly ready to make coffee for some sad bastards.”

At that moment, the doorbell jingled.

“Didn’t even know we were open yet,” he said.

“That’s because you were like half an hour late, sleeping beauty.” Shit. “You can make it up to me by serving that customer while I bring in the rest of today’s supplies, eh?”

“Well, only because you asked so nicely.”

* * *

Laurent woke up at precisely 6 AM as usual. He put on some water for his tea to boil while he got dressed up in his running clothes. By the time the water was boiling he was fully clothed and had his mug all ready. He then went out for his light morning run in his neighborhood. He had a little house in a nice suburban district that he was still trying to get comfortable living in. He liked to vary his route every time he went running, he was trying to get to know his surroundings better.

He got back home after about twenty minutes, took a shower and made some toast for breakfast. Drinking his tea, he read some of the latest news on his phone. He went out again at 7:30, taking the book he was currently reading with him, and headed out toward his favorite café, where he generally liked to spend his mornings. The place had a nice little gallery that was mostly empty, as people usually just came in for takeaways. He liked the quiet business of the place, and the comfortable, welcoming atmosphere.

He got there a few minutes after eight o’clock, pausing at the door. The sign on it still read closed, but the lights were already on, and he thought he could even see some movement behind the counter. Sloppy. Raising an eyebrow, he tried the door. It was, as expected, open.

There was no-one at the counter when he walked in, but someone was definitely talking behind the coffee machines.

“I understand that Mondays are hard for everyone, but you should at least try to be more welcoming,” he said as he moved up to the counter, checking the shop for any other signs of absentminded work ethic.

“Uh, sorry, did you say something?” a barista answered.

“Your door sign, it’s-”

He broke off when he saw the person looking back at him. His shock must have been more visible than he intended, because the man looked a lot more puzzled than he had any reason to be. What on earth is going on? The newcomer was a tall, olive-skinned, strikingly handsome man some years older than him, looking very ill-fitting in his waiter getup, and worn out like he’d been chewed up by a particularly nasty horse.

“I wasn’t aware the shop was hiring,” he said. The man just smiled.

“We aren’t, I’m just helping out,” he answered.

“If this is what you call helping, I’d hate to see what you mean by the opposite.”

The smile dropped immediately.

“What?”

How eloquent.

“The door sign. You haven’t switched it.” Understanding finally dawned on that giant face of his. “And you still haven’t asked for my order.”

“Oh, shit, um…”

“On second thought, the occupation waiter seems to suit you perfectly, seeing as I’ve done nothing but wait since I’ve laid eyes on you.”

That finally seemed to get through to the man, and he looked like he would now be able to do more than stare.

“Sorry.” It seemed like it physically hurt him to force the word out. Nevertheless, he did, which was the first acceptable thing Laurent had seen him do. “Are you ready to order?”

“I am, but for the sake of your job, let’s pretend I’m not, so you can flip that horrid sign.”

It took the man a while to understand what he was being told, then he moved away to the door at a notably sluggish pace.

“Good morning, sir,” came a familiar call. “What can I get you?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s actually nice to see you. That other oaf was about to make me roast my own coffee.”

“Just the usual, then?”

No fun, like always.

“All right. But please, brown sugar. You think I can’t tell, but you’re wrong.”

The brutish man got back just after he’d paid for his coffee and the waiter turned away to start working on it.

“I see you’ve already made up your mind,” he said, leaning ont he counter.

About you? he almost asked but stopped himself.

“And I see you’ve finally managed to do at least one thing right,” he countered instead.

“Well, I don’t exactly see customers streaming in even now,” he said with a small smile.

For a moment, he just looked into the face of this strange new man in his environment – really looked. He tried to imagine what kind of a person he must be like, what made him take this stand-in job at this suburban café. What he saw was both terrifying and somehow deeply intriguing.

“You don’t really know this place, do you?”

The question (statement) caught him off guard, and behind his surprise he thought he looked genuinely hurt. Laurent frowned, and thought of something to say.

“Laurent, your coffee’s ready!” called out the other man – the barista who actually did work there. Laurent stepped toward him, choosing to leave the conversation unfinished.

“You know you shouldn’t have to ask for my name every day.”

“But then how would I know who you are?” countered the barista.

He chose not to respond – seemingly a new habit of his – and instead climbed the stairs to the nice quiet little gallery, where his usual spot awaited him with open arms.

* * *

“Do you know that guy?” Damen asked Nikandros as Laurent disappeared up the stairs.

“Ah, that’s just Prince Charming,”

“Prince Charming?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah. He started coming here about a month ago, and barely missed a morning since. Our most loyal customer.”

Damen felt his stomach drop.

“So… he’s just gonna be here again tomorrow?”

“Most like.” Nikandros gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. “He’s a bitch to everyone. But don’t worry,” he straightened, “you’ll get used to it.”

I just hope I don’t have to be here that long, Damen thought.

Chapter Text

Waking up used to be one of his favourite things about a day. The morning sun, the promise of a coffee, and, more often than not, the face of a sleepy, sated partner. One partner in particular, whose golden locks and snowy white skin were always able to amaze and mesmerize him. Waking up next to her was like coming up for a gulp of fresh air; being with her was swimming in the clearest oceans. She felt pure, in a world that wasn’t; she felt luminescent in a world that was dark.

Waking up was now probably the worst part of his day. Sleep was ignorance, his dreams were sweet medicine, waking was a nightmare. His father hospitalized, his girlfriend cheating with his brother, and his forced return to his mother’s old café…

On the bright side, he would get to spend more time with Nik. His career had kept him busy enough, and there was enough distaste in Nik concerning Jokaste that is just seemed best to keep the two as far away from each other as possible. Distaste that, he understood now, was perfectly well founded.

Another morning, another hateful awakening, the sun hitting his eyes one more time. At least he managed not to get drunk last night, so that was a step forward. Thanks to his thoughtfulness, his morning was much smoother – if not less painful – this time around. His mind focused on his work (after a lot of effort), he found himself thinking about the ever-wonderful Prince Charming he would be forced to meet later that day. He found that, even though he didn’t plan on staying at the café for a long time, he didn’t want to make a bad impression on the patrons. He was supposed to be an integral part of the place. He had to honour it, for his mother’s sake.

Determined to make good impressions, he chose to have some breakfast – falling flat on his face the instant he stepped foot in the kitchen. Maybe he should have remembered kicking off his shoes on the doorstep, or maybe he shouldn’t have been so stupid in the first place. Mood already dampened, he slowly stood up, raising a hand to check his face, and rightly enough, his nose was bleeding. Tapping along the bridge of it gently, he determined that at least it wasn’t broken. He looked at the clock on his microwave.

7:34.

The choice before him was the following: show up late again, or perfectly on time, with a bloodied nose, face and probably shirt. Making good with the customers would have to wait another day, apparently.

* * * * *

He wasn’t surprised to find the door already open when he got to the café. Nikandros apparently had no private life of his own to return to and spent almost his entire time around the café. There seemed to be an endless amount of tasks to do: cleaning the gallery, fixing the chairs, taking inventory, trying out of every type of milk ever invented, looking for new serviette designs, making a new menu – and those were just the tasks he’d mentioned in their whole one day of working together. Some, Damen could understand. The chairs were, in fact, a little squeaky, and the menu did seem to be mostly the same that he remembered from about a decade ago, but the rest just seemed like a bunch of useless, endless tasks for him.

When he walked in that morning, he found his friend writing on the giant chalkboard behind the counters.

“Good morning,” he called out.

“Is that my new colleague I hear? And this early?” Nik replied without turning back.

Damen had to compress a very frustrated sigh that he instead channelled into throwing his bag down.

“Well, I did have to make a few compromises,” he answered.

“Let me guess, no more hangovers?”

“That was the least I could do,” Damen huffed, taking out his work clothes. “Making progress on the new menu finally?” he asked, looking up at the sign his friend was making.

“Yep, I’m very nearly done. I’d love to get your old man’s approval but, well.” He fell silent for a moment. Damen tended to forget just how close the two of them had become during their time working together in the café. His father’s sickness was probably almost as hard on Nikandros as him. “I just don’t feel like bothering him with such nonsense.”

Damen had to smile.

“Actually, I’m sure he’d love that. A little break may be exactly what he needs.”

Nikandros turned to him at that - “You think?” – and froze immediately. “What the hell happened to your face?”

“Ah, that.” Damen immediately turned into a six-year-old caught doing something nasty, shuffling his feet and scratching his head. “Well, I may have a-accidentally, tripped in my kitchen. Heh. So, there’s that.”

Nikandros had slowly climbed off the ladder and was now facing Damen with a scrutinizing look on his face.

“Is it broken?”

“Thankfully, no. Just, uh, bled a lot.”

“You might wanna check again,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

He held a hand up to his face and saw it come away bloody – again.

“Goddammit.”

Nikandros just sighed and pointed to the bathroom.

“Go clean up, I’ll finish with the shop.”

“But hey,” he called as he disappeared into the toilet, “I was on time today!”

* * * * * *

Laurent actually hadn’t thought much about the previous day’s proceedings, up until he got the door of his favourite café. Seeing the ‘open’ sign on the door triggered his memory however, and he stopped short with his hand frozen on the door. That guy was just irritating enough to make him rethink his opinion about the whole place. He’d chosen it because it was quiet, cozy and reliable. He wasn’t big on change at the moment.

But the café was nice. Very nice. He’d gotten used to his spot on the gallery. The coffee was wonderful and the food was also okay. He could give it another chance. One bad encounter wasn’t the end of the world. Plus, the place actually seemed more organised – judging by the accurate placing of signs.

Steeling himself and stepping in, he was surprised to see the board changed up from the previous day. New menu coming soon. Just great. Walking forward with his gaze stuck on the board, he completely forgot about the other intrusion he’d been thinking about.

“What is with this new menu? Aren’t you done trying to bring this place to the 21st century?” he said, addressing the usual ray-of-sunshine waiter he was used to.

“Nik is quite proud of that, actually,” that annoying bodybuilder responded. “He’s poured his heart and soul into it.”

Oh, right.

“Didn’t realise you were still working here,” he said, without lifting his gaze from the board. “Your boss loves this work so much he likes doing it twice?”

The man just laughed in a way that was surprisingly charming enough that Laurent actually looked at him and found himself, well, looking.

The man was, regrettably, still handsome. His complexion, even more horribly, was a far cry from the look he had about him yesterday. Still not exactly well-rested, he actually seemed sober and present. His clothes still didn’t seem to fit, he probably got the shirt from whomever had worked there before him, but at least he wore them a little less awkwardly. He looked like he was… trying to fit in shoes never meant for him in the first place.

“Huh, funny you should say that, I was actually just thinking that Nik is spends way too much working in here. I don’t even think it’s healthy anymore.”

Laurent held up his hand.

“No, don’t tell me your names. I don’t care that much.” He tilted his head, keeping his gaze on the man. “If I ask you for coffee, will you actually give me some or are you just here for small talk?”

“Guess you won’t know unless you try?” the man said with a small smile.

“I’d like your daily special please.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we currently don’t have specials,” he said with a small frown.

He meant to torture the man a little more just for still working there, he really did, but the door opened, and he didn’t want anyone else either involved or barking at him, so he just ordered something, and told the man to have it brought to the gallery for him.

Seated in his usual place, he quickly got immersed in his book of the day, barely noticing the people slowly starting to trickle into the shop below him. What he did notice, however, was the giant waiter waving a plate with a cup around the whole room. At that, he put his book down, and watched the show for almost a minute before the man finally saw him in the corner. Not standing behind that counter, the man’s size was somewhat scary. With skin that dark and muscles that huge, he looked like a regular Dwayne Johnson. The hair was a nice touch, though.

“You really do know how to hide,” he said as he made his way toward Laurent’s table.

“Excuse me, I have nothing to do with the placement of the tables. You’ll have to consult your superiors.”

“I don’t think I can, these seem to be bolted down.”

“I’m sure that can’t be a problem for you.”

“Heh. I don’t really do demolition work. Well, not yet.”

“You would perfectly be able to, should the whole waiter-thing not work out.” Then, in a flat tone, he added: “Which it won’t.”

His friendly look quickly vanished, the man left standing seemed hurt, somehow stripped, like all his size accounted to nothing.

“I’m not looking to stick around.”

With that, he smashed his mug on the table and turned around, strolling down the stairs. What a drama queen.

Chapter Text

The following morning, Laurent did remember his encounters with the weird new waiter, and he had time to deliberate whether to approach his lair again or not. His usual distaste with such overly friendly people threatened to keep him away, but there were several reasons lined up on the café’s side. Reasons he spent a long time searching for, hoping to convince himself that those were existent and valid reasons were the only thing he set out for again as he steered himself in the direction of the café.

He was definitely not ready to admit to himself that the single thing he was actually looking to find in the café that morning was the unusual disturbance he would normally – and should, really should – hate. He found himself intrigued with the man’s behaviour – he seemed endlessly open, like anything you asked him he would answer, and yet, every now and again Laurent made some off-hand remark the waiter reacted to completely abnormally. He figured that he only needed to keep meeting him and day by day he’d just give him more of the story. It was like a telenovela, but instead of watching, you were listening. Well, watching, yes, but more in a Chris Hemsworth-way, less romcom-like.

Having fought such extreme internal battles, he forgot to check the time, and ended up at the café little earlier than he would usually like. It is a little rude to walk into a place the minute they’re supposed to be open, is it not?

Realising he didn’t have much of an image anyway, he opened the door. The board still read the sign from yesterday, unsurprisingly. The new menu would probably be “coming soon” for months. Lowering his gaze, his mood dampened slightly.

“Finally fired that incompetent oaf?” he asked the guy he believed was the owner of the store. (No, he simply would not remember his name. They weren’t friends.)

“I can’t really do that, so no,” the man replied. “He’s just in the back. What can I get for you today?”

Ah, yes, he’d almost forgotten how simple ordering coffee could be. He still couldn’t stop himself for pausing a little too long when the man asked him if he’d like his coffee brought up to him.

“Tough choice, I agree,” the waiter joked, “so why don’t you go on up and your coffee will join you later.”

And then he had an idea.

* * * * *

When Damen was done sorting through their daily dose of their every-plant favoured pack of milk, he came back to the shop to find Nikandros staring a little dumbstruck at the entrance.

“Done with the milk. You okay there?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah,” Nik answered, torn out of his thoughts.

“Did something happen? You look weird.”

“Strangest thing. You know that blond guy that comes in every day?”

I was just thinking about him.

“You called him Prince Charming, right?”

“That’s the one. He just left.”

“What?!” Very smooth, Damen. I thought you didn’t want to see the guy again. “He was here already?”

“Yeah, but he just left. Took his coffee and just waltzed straight out.”

“He stole a mug?” Damen frowned.

“A paper cup.” With a shrug, Nik was back to his usual self. “Weird guy,” was his last comment on the strange occurrence, but Damen’s mind kept coming back to it the entire day. Was he just trying to avoid him? And why was he so early? Is he busy? Great, I’ve spent a whole of two days working here and I am now obsessed with strangers. Well done.

* * * * *

He was not going to let the guy avoid him, so he asked Nik to let him man the counter when they opened up the next da. His resolve was so strong, he even managed to arrive early, earning him the favour of his friend and granting his wish easily.

He was, therefore, perfectly ready for the blonde man when the doorbell jingled for the first time that day. And it was with a strange disappointment that he realised that his first customer was a woman. He, of course, knew how to be professional, and if his grunts were a little too curt, well, that was just the early morning.
As the morning began to drag on and the first rush of customers started to slowly stream in, the thought of meeting the strange blonde was pushed out of Damen’s mind. The day was just as busy as any other, Damen and Nik working back to back, barely noticing their customers.

It was only when they finally got a little break that Nikandros came up to talk to him.

“I see you’re finally working your charms again,” he said.

Damen frowned. “What do you mean?”

“No no, don’t try that nonchalance with me. I’ve seen all those ladies smiling at you. Finally moving on?”

Damen sighed. He actually hadn’t noticed any of the alleged smiles he’d been receiving that morning, or any other day, honestly. He hadn’t really felt ready yet, at least, he hadn’t consciously made that choice. To be open to such pursuits. But now that Nik brought it up, he felt that his friend was right. He certainly wasn’t all the way there yet, but he felt much better. A little more comfortable with the subject.

“I think I’m starting to, yeah.” He shuffled some cups on the dryer. “I mean, I haven’t thought about it as much lately, which I think is good.” He looked at Nik. “The work keeps my mind off of things. It’s nice.”

Surprisingly so, he thought, but didn’t say out loud.

“I’m happy for you,” Nik said in a more serious tone. “And I’m overjoyed to hear you’re enjoying your work. I was shocked to see you come in early today.”

Ah, that. “Thanks,” he said a little awkwardly, suddenly reminded of his reason for being so zealous. Prince Charming, where are you? Maybe he was really serious about ignoring. Maybe he just didn’t have time to come into cafés anymore. Which would be weird, seeing as he usually spent almost entire days in there.

Nikandros seemed to take the cue. “Alright. I’ll go take a look around, start cleaning up a little, you hold the front.”

“Okay, boss.”

His friend just gave him a mocking smile at that, then went up to the gallery to look for empty cups.

Damen watched him go, then started scrubbing a particularly clean-looking spot on the counter. He actually hadn’t thought about Jokaste almost that entire day, which seemed like something he would at least notice, but hadn’t. Working at the café again, having mostly easy tasks to take care of, somehow shut his overloaded brain down, and allowed him to come to terms with everything. He even managed to forget about the very reason he climbed out of bed early that morning.

Having lost himself in his thoughts and his cleaning, he didn’t even hear the bell, or the approaching footsteps.

“I believe that counter is clean,” said a clear, authoritative voice. Damen’s head snapped up. He may or may not have been daydreaming about exactly this voice at that exact moment. Could he conjure people just by thinking of them hard enough?

“I know you have a very… discerning eye,” he said slowly, savouring the word, looking for any sort of reaction on the stranger’s face, and sure enough, there was a slow smile, and a momentary glint in his eye. “So I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How gracious of you,” he said with a sarcastic twist of his lips. He looked up at the menu on the wall – or at least the absent place of it. He seemed nervous? Damen didn’t even recognise it at first, it seemed impossible for this man to be anything but arrogant.

“I take it you’ll be wanting some coffee then?” he tried.

“Why haven’t you updated your menu yet? It’s been days.”

“There’s some last minute preparations, everyone has to be okay with everything, and the printing, you know.” He offered a shrug. “These things take time. Nik is just very excited, that’s all.”

“Do you still have a special?”

Damen looked around, as though physically looking for something that could be deemed their “special.”

“Not really, no, at least, not yet.” Laurent just frowned, still gazing holes into the blackboard. “But I’m sure I can come up with something, if you tell me what you’d like.”

He was rewarded with a highly suspicious gaze at that.

“Are you that sure of your abilities as a barista?”

“I’ve worked here before. And I’m not saying I’ll make you the best coffee you’ve ever tasted, just that I’ll try to make it a little more extra than usual.” The man was still not convinced, he could see that. “Anything for the day’s last customer,” he added with a smile.

Laurent went pale, his face closed up.

“I have to go,” he said, already half turning.

“You sure?” Damen asked, puzzled. “You could just have it to go.”

Laurent stopped, collected himself, and when he turned back to face Damen, he looked like he always did: haughty, beautiful, untouchable.

“Why would I? I can just have coffee at home, in peace.” He started toward the door again. “Next time I expect you to have something more to offer, or I’ll have to look for another place to spend my money.”

Chapter Text

Laurent had been on edge that whole day. It was impossible for him not to be. He had debated whether following his usual habits would be alright, but it was a special day, a very special one indeed, and such ordinary measures would not do. He deleted his alarms, stayed up late, rearranged his newly furnished bookshelf. He tried to sleep in, but sleep was just not possible. He had been tossing and turning the whole night, running through every scenario his tired and racing mind could concoct, and the sleepless night left him even more restless.

It was 9 am by the time he dragged himself out of bed. Noticing how late it was provided him with a giddy sort of pleasure, but also a pang of guilt. He’d built up his daily routine carefully, and he was very fond – and even a little proud – of it. Starting the day without it felt like going outside without any pants on.

He chose to spend the day cleaning, even though the house looked immaculate. He organised his shelves and the cutlery; he wiped the counters and dusted the windowpanes. He had thought long about dinner and food and decided to cook something himself. The house had a wonderfully stocked kitchen, it seemed like a shame not to use it. Especially for such special occasions.

Having prepared as much of the food as he could, he found himself unsure what to do. He checked the time. He still had over an hour. Of all the things he thought of doing, he wasn’t certain exactly why he chose to take a walk, but once he set out, he had a clear destination in mind. A little bit of coffee couldn’t hurt, after all.

* * * * * *

Except maybe like that. That was so embarrassing it almost hurt him physically.

Yes, he was nervous about his much-awaited visitor, but he still shouldn’t have been so stupid. So open. Defenceless. When he’d made his way over to the café, he’d really had every intention of getting some coffee. But heading in, he’d suddenly felt how impossible that was. He was not himself; or maybe just too much of himself. That oaf new waiter was absent-mindedly scrubbing the counter, the other one was not to be seen, probably attending some useless chore. The place itself was mostly empty, only a few people were stirring away at their coffees. It had been too intimate, that’s it.

But all that was in the past now, he shouldn’t beat himself up about it, nothing he could do could ever change what had transpired. It would be extremely foolish to get hung up on such nonsense when he was expecting his brother in – he glanced at his watch again – less than an hour?!

He quickened his pace. His brother had a car, he could drive, he had the address, he wouldn’t get lost, he told himself. Still, he was worried, and he had to stop himself from calling his brother. After a few long minutes of debate, he settled for a casual little text.

Laurent: hey where r u?

He forced himself to put his phone away, his brother must have been driving already, after all, surely he would need some time to answer. He was rather surprised, therefore, when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

Auguste: just leaving rn u ready?

HE was both relieved and a little disappointed at that. So he still had time, that was wonderful. On the other hand, his brother didn’t seem too eager to come, given how late it already was.

Laurent: what do you think? just get here in one piece u drive like a madman

Auguste: ha ha ok omw

* * * * *

He didn’t want to look overprepared, which he certainly was, so he didn’t boil the water he poured out, and then realised that simply having it already in the kettle was way too much of a preparation. He was about to just get rid of it when his phone started ringing.

Unsurprisingly, it was his brother.

“Hello stranger,” he greeted.

“Hey little brother. What number did you say your house was? 40? 42?”

He sighed. “24. Did you drive past it?”

“Nope, I’m still a few blocks away, just wanted to be sure,” his brother answered in a proud voice.

“You could have simply remembered.”

“Yes, well, too easy, that.” In the silence there was the noise of traffic. “Come out and welcome your brother like the big man you are, will you? Or else I really might get lost.”

“Such a charmer.”

“Aw, you love me and you know it, now get yourself out here, I’m in your street.”

As a response, he simply hung up and went out to his porch. And, sure enough, there was his brother’s car, already pulling into a parking spot just in front of his house. His brother stepped out, charming as ever, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. His gaze rested on the house, appraising it slowly.

“Have to say, little brother, you really do know how to live.”

Laurent felt his cheeks flush at that, and unlike any other time, he let it show. He was happy that his brother liked the place he’d chosen, his approval meant a lot to him – perhaps even more than it should have, but this one thing never really managed to bother him.

“Just wait until you see what it’s like on the inside,” he said with a girly giddiness to his voice.

Auguste stopped, and narrowed his eyes. “You turned a room into a library, didn’t you?”

“Come on,” he said, grabbing his brother’s hand, leading him into the house. “It is even more wonderful than I ever could have imagined.”

This was the first time he’d ever invited anyone to his own home, and there was never any question his first guest would be his brother. He’d finished up the rooms he knew would impress Auguste, he bought the fancy kitchen utensils his brother liked (he was an amazing cook). But most of all, he wanted him to see his library.

Having grown up with a love of reading that his family didn’t support, he’d sometimes had to hide away to read, under the tables or out in the yard. He’d always dreamed of having a place dedicated entirely to reading, a world of books, where nothing mattered other than the written word and the worlds they created. He chose a room on the first floor, a bigger one, and had floor-to-ceiling shelves installed on every wall. There was a huge window that let in lots of light, and two armchairs arranged around a small coffee table that looked like the little trolleys they had in libraries: you could put your books on the lower shelf and use the upper one as a table.

They settled there with their teas that Laurent had prepared and Auguste graciously accepted, looking out the window, seated in comfortable silence. After some time, Auguste looked over at his brother.

“Are you happy here, Laurent?”

Laurent had anticipated the question, so it didn’t take him completely by surprise. He had an answer prepared, he’d had it almost before he moved into the house, and as he opened his mouth to say it, he realised it would be a lie, and his brother would be able to tell. He wouldn’t press him, he didn’t think, but lying to him felt bad.

He put his mug down, choosing his words carefully.

“It isn’t exactly how I imagined it, but close enough,” he started. “I like the routine, and the solitude. Having my own place feels nice. I am definitely happier than before.”

His brother watched him for a little longer, then smiled, pleased with what he’d heard.

“That’s a start, I suppose.”

“Start?” Laurent lifted his eyebrows.

“You said happier, not happy. And, sorry, but I don’t like seeing you so alone. Do you ever meet with anyone?”

“You and Jord were out of town,” Laurent shrugged. “I go to that coffee place I mentioned every morning. There’s plenty of people there.”

“Yes, but do you ever actually speak to any of them?” Auguste frowned.

“How do you imagine I place my orders? Telepathically?”

Auguste laughed. “I imagine you could, if you ever tried hard enough. But seriously. Jord and I are going out to grab some drinks in a few days, I want you to join. He’ll be happy to see you, and you need some company.”

“I’ll consider it.”

* * * * *

Next morning, Laurent slept in. But just a little.

Foregoing his usual run, he chose to give himself some more time for sleeping, and upon waking, went to prepare breakfast. He’d managed to convince Auguste to accompany him to the café, but some food couldn’t do harm. His brother wasn’t entirely so punctual in his daily routine as Laurent, and they ended up leaving for the café at nearly 10 AM.

When they stepped in, the place was mostly empty, maybe three of the tables were occupied. They arrived after the morning rush. The regular waiter was manning the counter, not the newbie, and somehow Laurent found himself disappointed. He’d come to look forward to their eccentric conversations.

“Good morning,” the barista greeted them. “I was getting worried, what with you missing two days.”

Laurent shot him a cold look. “Don’t presume to know me. We’ll have two lattes.”

“To go?”

Laurent looked at his brother. “No, I think we’ll stay,” Auguste said.

With Auguste gone up to the gallery and Laurent was waiting for their coffees, there was quite a scene unfolding in the entrance. The bulky waiter stepped in and secured the door, then went back out. Laurent watched, frowning. Then the man returned, carrying several cartons of milk in his bare hands, muscles straining in the seemingly too small shirt. Laurent had to swallow. He had, of course, realised the man was big, but he never thought he’d also be… so… strong.

He spotted him only when he was only a few steps away, his vision mostly blocked by the milk.

“Oh, hey,” he greeted somewhat awkwardly, but rather enthusiastically. “Thought you’d found a new place to spend your money.”

And he just stopped. He was standing there in front of Laurent, perfectly calm, not a hint of strain in his voice, nor the slightest tremble in his muscles, holding up several pounds of milk.

“I am not really a fan of change,” he said, partially honestly.

Damen smiled. “Well, glad to see you. I gotta go put these down,” he excused himself, making his way behind the counters. His back showed even more muscle in the tight shirt.

* * * * *

After Damen arranged their newest supply of (this time) coconut milk, he went up to Nik.

“Prince Charming has returned after all,” he said.

“Yeah, and not alone, either.”

Wait. “What?”

Nik looked at him. “He’s here with a man, somewhat older, blond, very smart-looking. Probably a businessman of some sort.”

Damen frowned. Nik wasn’t the type to just notice these things.

“You know him?”

“Can’t say that I do,” he answered with a slight blush, turning away.

“You like him?”

“No!” he whirled back around. “Okay, maybe I know him? I’m not sure, I don’t know why, but he looks familiar.”

“Huh. Sure, if you say so.”

They both went back to their respective duties, Nik picking up an order and Damen doing the dishes, but the mystery man wouldn’t stop bothering Damen, and he was extremely sorry not to have an excuse to check him out. They left about half an hour later, without any of Prince Charming’s usual small talk or even a goodbye. They seemed to be very deep in conversation.

Damen sighed as he watched them go. Jealous of strangers now, are we?

Chapter Text

The following week, there was no sign of the mysterious stranger. Damen was both relieved and a little worried. Obviously, the meeting was not unusual for little Prince Charming, since he could carry on without even slightly mentioning the man, and yet, for Damen, it was all he could do not to ask every time the blonde showed up. It was obviously something he didn’t want to talk about. Obviously.

He sighed to himself and turned his attention back to the dishes. Blondie was up on the gallery again, haughtily ignoring him, as usual these days. Something changed with that meeting, and yet, he didn’t feel like it was his place to ask. He thought… well, he hoped, maybe? That they had been becoming friends. Well, acquaintances at least. Now, though… they still had their usual little conversations, but the man regarded him in a strange new way that Damen couldn’t quite place. It was not entirely horrible, like one looked at a car they were thinking about buying.

Then, over a few more days, Damen slowly began to realise that that was simply how the blonde worked. He flirted with the idea of Damen, then, when they became friendly enough, he simply had to decide whether he wanted to let that happen or not. He was carefully deciding whether he wanted to have him in his life or not.

For Damen, the choice was obvious. He never even had to consider it. His life was still in a strange place: his father’s condition was stable, but he still needed to remain in the hospital. He still refused to talk to his brother, even though Kastor had tried to reach him once or twice. He made peace with the result of his brother’s actions, but not with Kastor himself. He wasn’t entirely too unhappy without Jokaste, so he guessed, it was okay, but his brother had betrayed him, and that wasn’t okay. Maybe it never would be.

New people in his life, and by people, yes, he mostly meant lovers, were generally a welcome change, one that helped him forget his everyday problems and relax. And, yes, sometimes they also created a whole range of new problems and intrusive thought for him to worry about, but at least that added a little more variety.

Sometimes, the peculiar blonde arrived at a peaceful time in the shop, when Damen could stop to chat with him with a clear conscience, the man became, well, not friendly, but decidedly less arrogant. He was smart and witty, every word he spoke was carefully chosen. He was intriguing, stupidly charming despite all of his seeming efforts to appear otherwise, and Damen found himself drawn inexplicably closer.

“Prince Charming, your food has arrived,” he said one day, as he was bringing a sandwich for the man.

He looked up at him from his book, a slight frown disturbing his handsome features.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Nik started it, actually,” he explained as he put the food down. “I think it’s just because he’s really bad with names.”

“Can’t say I haven’t noticed. But why Prince Charming, still?” he pressed on.

Damen had to tear his eyes away, when he realized just how obviously he had been ogling the man. Surely, he had eyes? And a mirror?

“I think it’s supposed to be a joke,” he said finally, fighting the blush in his cheeks. “Because of your… well, uh, manners.”

That was not a lie. In fact, it was actually part of the truth. Perhaps even the original reason behind the nickname. For him, it had meant something different for a while.

“How droll.”

Damen shrugged.

“I like it. Suits you,” he added, then turned quickly away as he felt the color rising is his cheeks again.

He was at the stairs when the mystifying blonde called after him.

“My name is Laurent, by the way.”

He stopped dead. That was rather unexpected. Of course, he’d heard his name before, and his stupid brain chose to remember it after the first time, but this felt intimate, somehow. It was an acknowledgement of their, well, friendship? Whatever this was.

“I’m Damen. I’m also still on my shift, so I gotta go, but nice talking to you.” After a heartbeat, he added, “Laurent.”

* * * * *

As the bulky waiter – Damen – left, Laurent was left to wonder exactly what he had done. He even physically shook his head. What was he thinking? It was one thing for them to know his name, they frequently asked for it for his orders, but this casual introduction was just… not exactly what he was used to. Definitely not something he would expect from himself.

Maybe it was simply how sad the man has looked lately, or the fact that he’d somehow got used to his presence. It felt absurdly weird in that moment, not really knowing each other’s names. Or perhaps his brother and his stupid ideas that wouldn’t leave him alone.

Auguste had suggested, well, several things during his visit, but he’d been most insistent about one thing: going out. Not with him, or at least, not in that way, Auguste had by no means meant to ask him out, he’d simply said that Laurent should go out more. To party. He shuddered just at the thought of it, even now.

And yet, against all odds, this one notion really stuck with him. What would it be like, he kept wondering. All of the people he would ever consider going drinking with were finally back in the city, so really, why not? What harm could it do?

He already managed to make a fool of himself here.

He toyed with his phone as he gathered his courage, then called his brother.

“Laurent! Hi bro, what’s up?” Auguste inquired in his usual warm manner.

“Hello, Auguste,” Laurent replied, a bit more formally than he intended. He was nervous, and he hid it best when he distanced himself from everything. “I’ve been considering your proposal, and I have come to a decision that I believe will be mutually beneficial.”

“Ugh, you sound just like dad,” Auguste cried. Laurent stiffened. They didn’t usually mention their father to each other. Or to anyone, at all. “So, what is this huge decision?”

“I would like to join you when you go out this Friday.” He frowned, suddenly realizing something. “That is, if you were planning to go to a party or something this Friday,” he took a deep breath, “ count me in.”

Stunned silence.

“Wow. I-I was definitely hoping, but I never actually thought… Wow. You’d really come?”

“I am determined. Something has to happen.”

Naturally, his brother caught on. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve had too much spare time and too little of your chaotic personality, that’s all,” he chose to say. If you don’t want to be completely honest, you can still always stick to some truth.

Auguste didn’t sound convinced, but at least he let it go.

“Alright, cool. See you Friday, then.”

* * * * *

“Fridays are the worst,” Nikandros groaned as he finished stocking up their weekly shipment of brown sugar.

Damen just raised his eyebrows. “Oh really?” He leaned a hand on the counter. “Isn’t this generally the time you go out and have the time of your life in that weirdly forest-y bar of yours?”

“Okay, first of all, not my bar,” Nik jabbed a finger at him in defence. “I wish it were, I love that place, but no. Sadly.”

This sadness seemed to overtake him so much that he forgot he started a list.

“And second?” Damen prompted.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I don’t always go out, you know that.” He gave Damen a speculating sidelook. “Although…” There was a scheming glint in his eye. “I do actually have something planned for tonight. Maybe you should join me.”

Damen was dumbfounded. “Say what?!”

“Come on,” Nik elbowed him. “It really is time you started seeing people. I mean, well, you know.” Damen did know. He was there every time he went out drinking, after all, and every time, he ended up going home with someone. He couldn’t explain why, but he didn’t feel like casually having sex with a stranger. “It’s been over a month.”

Has it? It didn’t seem that long. The work in the café really made him experience time differently. How odd.

“I don’t really feel like it, Nik.”

“Hey, I see you flirting away with the customers, you know. I know you’re not still hung up on that bitch, so whyever not? You’d be helping me out!”

“With what?”

As Nikandros opened his mouth, their first customer arrived – not Laurent -, and they got to work. Mornings were always busy, and they didn’t have a lot of time to debate Nik’s private life for quite a while. People were thronging the little café by the time Laurent arrived, to his very visible dismay, so Damen couldn’t say more than a few words to him, and he was forced to wait out his coffee near the counter. He looked extremely angry. Damen made a small mental note to check in on him later but had to wait several hours.

Maybe Nik was going somewhere with the whole hating Fridays idea.

“Hello, Laurent,” Damen greeted. “Just came to bring you this wonderfully crafted sandwich.”

Laurent raised a golden eyebrow. “Truly? And here I thought you were beginning to enjoy my company. What a letdown.”

Damen smiled, and pulled up a chair for him to sit on.

“I imagine two things can be true at the same time.”

Laurent seemed pleased.

“Maybe.”

Damen was actually hoping Laurent would be a bit more talkative, he usually was, but he seemed a little off today. Last time he’d been like this… but no. Tall handsome stranger hadn’t been seen nor mentioned ever since. This was probably something else.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, sounding like a concerned employee checking in on a guest, meaning so much more.

Laurent regarded him for a long moment, then spoke. “My brother convinced me to go out for drinks tonight, and I’m not exactly sure I want to.”

Ah.

“That’s it?” Laurent nodded. “Can’t you ask him to do something quieter? I don’t know, just grab a coffee, or meet at one of your places?”

“It’s not supposed to a social call between family members, Damen,” Laurent scolded him. Damen’s mind was spinning out of control at the sound of his name spoken in Laurent’s voice. “It’s meant to…” Another frown. “Honestly, I’m not sure what it’s meant to accomplish. My brother suggested it, and I felt like taking a break from routine, so here we are.”

Damen felt like laughing, but knew how inappropriate that would be. For Laurent, at least.

“If you don’t want to make some excuse and hurt your brother’s feelings, then there really isn’t much left to do. Just go. Try to have fun.” He regarded Laurent with a concerned gaze. “You do know how to do that, don’t you?” The other man’s gaze flew up to meet his, conveying his answer without words. Damen leaned back in his chair. “Nik invited me to have some drinks with him earlier,” he confessed. “I think it could be a good thing.”

It was Laurent’s turn to search his face.

“Why do you work here?”

Damen was caught off guard. “What?”

“Please. You’re built like a world-class wrestler, you look like you could star in a billion movies, and for some reason I don’t think you’re completely dumb. And yet, out of the blue, here you are. A barista in a small café that doesn’t even have a proper menu.” Nikandros had been stalling with the menu, that much was true. He’d decided that it could only be finalized with Damen’s father, but he still felt reluctant to go see him. It would take either weeks or Damen’s constant nudging to finally get him to go. “So why?”

He seemed genuinely curious, and after all, his place here wasn’t a secret.

“My dad owns this place,” he said. “He’s… he doesn’t have a lot of time for it right now, so he asked me to take care of it for a while.”

He didn’t look at Laurent as he said it. He somehow felt ashamed divulging such information, admitting he’s an inside man.

“A parent’s expectation can be a crushing thing,” Laurent said mildly. “Especially if you’re that bad at your job as you are.” Damen gave him a sharp look. “But at least you’re trying.”

Damen was a little shocked to receive such sympathy from such a notoriously mean person, and he just sat stunned there for a moment. Leaning back, he opted for a lighter topic.

“I’m actually even starting to enjoy it here. Let me tell you, Nik really enjoys my help with all the heavy lifting, and I’m glad not to be totally thrown out of shape by this job.”

Laurent gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher.

“Why am I not surprised the only part of this job you enjoy is the most brutish one.”

Damen cracked a smile. “I think I actually deserve that.”

“I must have said it wrong, then.”

“Must have.”

They gazed at each other for a moment, and Damen found himself inexplicably comforted. Their silence was easy, not awkward, and he felt that he was smiling. Then, suddenly, something changed in Laurent, and he wrenched his gaze away, suddenly focusing all of his attention on his sandwich. It was a very appetizing one, that much was true, but Damen still didn’t understand why it seemed to interest him all of a sudden. However, he felt he was no longer wanted, and fought back the sadness rising inside of him. It was just as well, they weren’t exactly close.

“Well, have fun on your night out,” he said as he stood up and replaced his chair at a nearby table. He stood waiting for a moment, but no answer was forthcoming, so he started down the stairs.

He was still deep in his thoughts when Nik called out to him.

“Everything okay up there? Did Prince Charming choke on his food?”

“Sorry but no.”

“There’s always next time.”

“Hey, Nik. I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh, no.”

“And I think I’d actually like to go drinking today. Who knows,” he shrugged. “Might be fun.”

* * * * *

Auguste chose a nice place, Laurent had to admit. It was a cozy-looking pub, with round tables and colourful plastic chairs, low music and just the right amount of people. Jord was, as always, late, and the brothers made sure to arrive a little early to have some time on their own. Laurent chose a table while Auguste pick up some drinks. Letting him do so was a mistake, Laurent realized, when his brother returned with shots he didn’t remember asking for.

“You know I don’t drink,” Laurent scolded his brother. “I seriously hope there’s no rum in this coke.”

“Come on, little brother,” Auguste smiled. “Just this once, for me? Jord is bringing some of his friends, and we might want to make a good impression.”

That did not sound good at all. The shot suddenly seemed somewhat tempting.

Auguste was setting him up with someone. He wasn’t even sure if his brother was aware of his… taste. He wasn’t that interested in romance at all, so it wouldn’t really be a surprise if his brother’d had Jord bring along a woman. It would be unbelievably embarrassing, though not for Laurent. He just felt sorry for the poor girl. Maybe Auguste, too, but he should have just minded his own damn business. Bringing him out here should have been enough.

“I thought it would be just us, catching up,” he offered instead of the turmoil in his mind.

“He has this old friend he’s been meaning to talk to since forever, and today worked for him, so he just invited him along,” Auguste shrugged. “I told him I wouldn’t mind and I still thought you weren’t coming at that time. So here we are,” and he pushed the shot closer to Laurent, who eyed it suspiciously.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Whiskey. I’m not a barbarian.”

Laurent might have disagreed, but at that moment, Jord stepped into the pub, accompanied by two rather bulky men, and Laurent’s mind emptied. The one thought remaining was the following: what the fuck?!

Chapter Text

Damen followed Nik and his friend, Jord into a pub that didn’t look like something either them would have chosen.

“Auguste chose the place,” Jord explained as they got to the door. “I prefer a bit cheaper pubs, but he’s bringing his brother tonight, and didn’t want to scare him off.”

“Not from around, is he?” Nik asked.

“Guess we’ll see,” Jord said as he opened the door.

The place looked nice, Damen had to admit, even though Nik probably had a lot of complaints. He hated plastic chairs. The wall behind the bar was tightly packed with all sorts of alcohol, with a shelf dedicated entirely to whiskeys. Impressive.

Looking into the crowd, Damen’s breath hitched. His eyes were trained to pick out blonde heads, his preferred colouring, and lately he got used to search for one person in particular. This resulted in him immediately spotting his favourite patron from the coffee shop – Laurent. He was sitting at a table with that other handsome man he once came to the café with, looking miserable, suspiciously eyeing a small shot glass in front of him.

Damen pondered whether he should say hi. Nik so far was oblivious to his presence; he was talking to Jord about getting drinks. Laurent had said he was going out with his brother. That was a relief.

“You want something?” Nik asked with all the tact of a man already too deep in his cups.

“Just a beer,” Damen shrugged.

“A shot?”

“Sure, if you’re having something, get me one, too,” he shrugged again. He really couldn’t be bothered by such mundane things when there was finally an answer to one of the greatest mysteries that had been haunting him lately.

Tall handsome stranger was his brother then. Good. Perfect. Couldn’t have been better, honestly. His gaze kept wandering back over to where the two of them were sitting, but he didn’t allow himself more than a quick look each time. He wasn’t there to stare, after all. No. He was there… to flirt, he thought with a shudder. When did such a thing become something he feared? Anyhow, he agreed to be here, he even sort of asked Nik to take him along, so he would do what was expected of him. He would find a nice little lady – or, after Jokaste, probably a guy was a smarter idea – he would be charming, he would flirt, and he would enjoy himself. Whether or not Laurent was accidentally staying in the same pub.

Maybe he should say hi. He really should. He didn’t exactly see Laurent watching him, but he was certain that the blond was aware of him being there. It would be rude not to at least acknowledge him.

Jord grabbed him by the elbow, shots perfectly balanced in his other hand.

“Come on, Damen, I’ll introduce you to the boys,” he told Damen as he started to pull him in the direction of - Laurent’s table, Damen realised with a shock. He only vaguely registered Jord calling grown men ‘boys.’

And, surely enough, the handsome stranger sitting next to Laurent stood to greet Jord as though they, too, were brothers, and clapped him on the shoulder, carefully avoiding the drinks Jord was holding.

“Auguste!” Jord called out in greeting.

“Hey, Jord!” the man – apparently Auguste – replied. “Look who decided to join,” he added with a carelessly charming half-smile and nodded to Laurent.

The thought of spending the night with Auguste entered Damen’s mind, then evaporated when he looked at Laurent. Now that he saw the two of them together up close, he could easily tell they were brothers: their features were both fine, with high cheekbones and wonderfully lashed blue eyes. They were both blonde, though Auguste’s head was golden like the sun, and Laurent’s colouring resembled the moonlight.

Damen could look nowhere else.

At the mention of his name, Laurent’s head snapped up from his previous sulking, and his eyes found Damen. He didn’t seem shocked, so he really must have seen him in the pub already. Or maybe Jord had told him he would be there? Whatever the case, he wasn’t exactly pleased with the outcome, judging by the rage burning in his eyes. Aside from that, his face seemed perfectly calm.

“Hey, Laurent, nice to see you out in the world,” Jord jested, as Laurent shot him a glare that would have killed a lesser man.

“Where else am I supposed to be?”

“This is Damen, a friend of the friend I told you about. Damen,” he turned to him, “this is Laurent, and the nice gentleman is Auguste. We went to the same school.”

Laurent chose not to look at him, but kept staring daggers into Jord, but Auguste gifted him with a warm smile, and offered a hand. Damen took it.

“Nice to meet you, Damen.”

“Likewise. Thanks for letting me crash your party.”

Auguste just smiled. “Ah, it’s nothing.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice kept low. “Though you might want to keep an eye on my brother, he doesn’t like newcomers.”

Finally, it was Damen’s turn to smile. “Actually, we know each other,” he said, eyes already on Laurent, who had to fight hard to keep his expression so decidedly neutral as before. “He likes to sulk in the café where I work.”

Despite his best efforts, a slow blush appeared on Laurent’s cheeks, but he made no other reactions.

Auguste, however, laughed with apparent mirth. Looking so alike, the brothers’ personalities seemed rather different. “That does sound like him. I hope he doesn’t give you too much trouble.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Damen said with a wink, and oh, he realised what Nik had been going on about. Normally, he wouldn’t have noticed he was doing something, and even now, it just seemed like natural niceties, but he could see just how much it drained Laurent to listen to them. He absolutely did not come here to flirt with the brother of such a newly gained friend, especially when their friendship seemed so fragile. Deciding to tune it down a little, he looked around just in time to see Nikandros coming up to their table with a beer meant for him.

“Thanks, I’ll take that,” he grabbed it greedily.

Nikandros seemed a little dazed, and a frown was just about to form on Damen’s face when Auguste let out a bewildered little ‘Oh.’

“Nikandros?”

Apparently, everyone knew everyone around here. Jord stood up to inquire exactly how these two, but separate old friends of his somehow managed to meet behind his back, and Damen found himself face-to-face with Laurent, who somehow managed to keep his expression blank despite everything that was happening.

“Hey, Laurent,” Damen called as he sat down next to him. He wasn’t really expecting an answer, but still felt a little hurt when Laurent cast a venomous glance at him. “Hey, this isn’t my fault. I had no idea you knew Jord. I mean, I barely even know the man.” Laurent did not seem appeased. He eyed Damen warily, then returned his gaze to his brother. Damen followed suit and tried for a different approach. “Do you know where they met? Nik never mentioned anything to me.”

“No idea,” Laurent mused, finally breaking his silence. Damen felt a huge grin stretching out on his face, and chose to disguise it by taking a sip of his beer. Something told him Laurent would like to know he was able to keep his cool.

“Well, I’m pretty sure Jord will tell us soon enough, so I wouldn’t worry.”

And, right on cue, Jord spun around to face them, already ecstatic from the wonderful revelations of people knowing other people around him, and began telling them exactly when and how Nik and Auguste had met, as though the two of them weren’t sitting right next to him. Apparently, it was some sort of a business meeting between Auguste and Damen’s father (regarding the café, he guessed), and Nikandros was invited along. Damen suspected there was something more to it than that, the way Nik kept stealing looks at Auguste, but he didn’t mean to pry that night. He was meeting Laurent outside of work. That deserved his whole and undivided attention.

Or at least, it would have, had Laurent not dedicated himself to being the most impossible drinking partner. The shot was still in front of him, untouched, and Damen was fairly certain that the glass he had in front of him didn’t contain any alcohol, either. Shame. Drunk Laurent would have been a marvel to behold.

Damen was forced to content himself with the company of his best friend, and two other interesting gentlemen. Not a bad outcome, really. Auguste was an easy talker, and a good one, too: his stories invited you to listen along and get invested, his gestures weren’t over the top and somehow still perfectly enough; one could see why he was so successful in his career. Jord was somewhat of a gossip, Damen thought. He knew everything about and everyone, and shared quite a bit of it, too. At some point, Auguste leaned in to whisper, “He’s not half so bad as all this, we’ve just been away for a while, and now he has to get it out of his system.”

Away? But where, why? And so, Auguste and Jord started explaining their 6-week business trip to Japan, with the rest listening and sometimes questioning.

At some point, Jord excused himself to take a ‘very important call,’ in the mysterious ways of someone obviously dealing with matter of the heart. Auguste nudged Nikandros into talking with Laurent – or at least, talking to Laurent, thought the two of them seemed to manage the task rather well. Laurent, as it turned out, could be quite the charmer when he chose to be. Damen leaned back, eyes lunging lazily on the three, then realised their drinks were running low, and offered to buy another round – something they took to heartily, and Damen made for the bar.

His wait promising to be a long one, he took a seat next to a woman with striking blonde hair that was done up in an orderly ponytail. She had glasses and little freckles underneath, and a neckline that put the word ‘plunging’ to shame. Damen’s interest caught and held. Boy, but he was out of practise.

“Hey,” he started lamely, “I’m ordering drinks for my friends, and I was just wondering if you’d like to have one. With me.” The woman looked at him, and in her eyes he saw the exact moment she decided that maybe he was worth her time. Not playing the easy girl, she just raised her eyebrows, with a slight smile to her lips. Damen hung his head and let out a small laugh. “I’m not very good at this, am I?”

Her smile was now comforting. “You’re not so bad, either. I’m Jane.”

* * * * *

Laurent was stuck in what was possibly the worst nightmare imaginable, except he wasn’t dreaming. He was in a pub, of all places, with an old flame of his brother’s, the only other friend of his gone to talk sweet nothings, and a random person he had somehow become somewhat close to over the past few weeks. It was exactly the type of situation he had wished to avoid. He could chat with Auguste and Jord well enough, Nikandros wasn’t much of a problem either, but the presence of Damen kept him on edge. He didn’t really know what he was afraid of, but something was holding him back. He’d eyed the shot of whiskey Auguste had brought him several times without bringing himself to drink it, hoping just the thought of alcohol would be enough to give him some form of strength. It both was and wasn’t.

That is, it proved to be effective up until the point when he saw Damen flirting with some woman at the bar. He was so surprised he forgot his brother had asked him something.

“Laurent?” Auguste asked, frowning. He followed his gaze and caught sight of Damen and that wench. Wonderful human being, Laurent corrected himself, though it did not escape his notice that the woman’s colouring matched his almost to a fault. “I’ve been wondering what was taking Damen so long.”

“Maybe I should just grab our drinks and we could let them be,” Nik offered. “He deserves to have some fun, too.”

Laurent didn’t know that was an option. He emptied the whiskey before he could think twice about it and stood.

“I’ll go,” he said with sudden determination, and stormed off before the two could protest. In the back of his mind he realised leaving the two alone might lead to disaster, but surely they could agree there were bigger atrocities to avoid.

Damen was so enthralled by whatever conversation this woman was able to have with him that he didn’t even notice Laurent walking up to him. That was nothing new, after all, Laurent had caught him unawares at the café several times. Damen got lost in his thoughts quite easily.

“How could you dare leave me alone like that,” he demanded as he stepped in front of Damen, right between him and blondie.

Damen looked like someone caught red-handed, as he damned right should. He first looked shocked, then embarrassed, and despite his dark skin, Laurent could see he was blushing.

When it became clear Damen had nothing to say, the woman talked for him. “Damen, care to introduce us?” she butted in.

Damen looked flustered, red reaching high up on his cheekbones, spreading in the part of his chest made visible by those undone shirt buttons and why did Laurent notice that again? He must have been going mad. Or drunk. Both were scary thoughts.

“Yeah, so Jane, this is Laurent, a friend of mine,” Damen said with a little cough, still unable to make sense of the situation. The alcohol must have made him sluggish, too.

“Friends?” Laurent repeated, tasting the word. “Is that what we are?” he asked, truly baffled. He didn’t really know what to do with friends. There was Jord, but he'd known him for a long time, so he didn’t really count. He was Auguste's friend first and became a friend to Laurent purely by association. Laurent was very glad to have him, all the same.

He kept his gaze on Damen, mood affected by the shot enough not to care about propriety in that moment. He liked watching Damen, his strong, muscular body, his face always full of expressions like an open book. He looked at him now to see what his reaction would be, eager to know whether he had been successful in gaining a new friend.

To his surprise, however, Damen wasn’t quick to come to the rescue of this conversation, which he now realised had turned awkward. Poor woman must be thinking such terrible things. He found he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was Damen’s answer.

He was shocked by Laurent’s words, he could tell, but now he looked uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure how to answer, and a bit like he was hiding something. Had Laurent offended him somehow? Damen’s gaze slowly found his own, and there was a renewed rush of colour in his cheeks. Maybe he was feeling the effects of the alcohol, too, Laurent thought, knowing it wasn’t true, but afraid to find out what might be. His cheeks may have blushed, his countenance may have been flustered, but Damen’s eyes were always honest, always warm, and Laurent found himself mesmerized.

Until the woman Damen had been chatting up made her presence known.

“Uhm, well, Damen, it was nice getting to know you,” she said, verbally tearing away Damen’s eyes from Laurent. He rewarded her with a vicious glower. “I think my friends want me back, actually, so… good night, you guys.”

“Well, hey, you sure?” Damen tried to keep her around, but it was very obviously a half-hearted attempt.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Have fun, though.”

And just like that, she left. Damen watched her go, and Laurent let the satisfaction he was feeling show on his face. When Damen turned back, it looked like he was about to say something, but when he saw Laurent’s expression, he just laughed.

“Thanks for running away my date,” he said.

“Your date?” Laurent retorted with raised eyebrows. “That woman looked like someone Jord might hook up with, but definitely not you.”

“I thought she was cute enough,” Damen said sullenly.

“Cute? Maybe. Beautiful? Not really.” Not like you, he almost added, but thankfully wasn’t drunk enough to be so thoughtless.

After a short silence, Damen regathered his good humour.

“So, who would you have me go out with?”

“Me?”

“Mhm. This woman was my idea, obviously not the right choice, so now it’s up for grabs.” Damen regarded him with an intent gaze. “Who do you think I should be dating now?”

Me, Laurent thought, and when he realised just how much he wanted that, he was shocked beyond words. Damen’s gaze was searching now, looking for the reason behind Laurent’s prolonged silence. He wasn’t sure he could give it to him now, so instead, he just picked up one of the drinks Damen had been sent to fetch so long ago.

“I imagine your friend must be dying of thirst by now,” he said. “I also think he might be a better judge on dates than myself, so why don’t we take the matter up with him?”

It was smooth, he thought. He got out of this unpleasant situation not by dismissing it entirely, but by making a perfectly natural counteroffer. Or at least he hoped.

Nikandros, as it turned out, did indeed have a lot of opinions on Damen’s dating life. Whenever Auguste tried to steed the conversation in Laurent’s direction, he evaded it skilfully, not letting himself be caught again. At some point, Jord returned, apparently satisfied with the topic of their conversation, and gave them some details about his mystery caller, though not nearly enough to go on.

The night dragged on pleasantly enough, Laurent had to admit. At some point, Auguste started yawning so often he was barely able to string a sentence together. Jord called an official end to their gathering, and collected the phone numbers of all those he hadn’t previously known.

“I like being responsible,” he said. “I want to know if you make it home in one piece, so text me. Also,” he added with a half-smile, “this was fun, and I see no reason why I shouldn’t be able to call any one of you at any point in time to come grab some drinks.”

With that, he shuffled out to the bathroom, leaving the rest of them to decide transportation. After a brief debate, the choice was made. Auguste would drop off Nik and Jord, while Damen and Laurent was left to decide: take a cab or just walk home. After a brief debate, Damen chose to walk it off, dragging Laurent along with him.

Goodbyes said, Laurent and Damen set off. Laurent had imagined it would be awkward, but Damen looked rather pleased, even if he didn’t attempt to have a conversation right away. He just walked next to Laurent, comfortably silent, smiling. Laurent slowly found himself enjoying this silence, too.

After a while, Damen started asking him some questions that he felt weren’t inappropriate: how long had he known Jord, did he go out often, and suchlike. The silence was comfortable, and the idle small talk was enjoyable. Laurent got to ask Damen his own share of questions, satisfying some curiosity he hadn’t known existed in him.

He was almost sorry when they got to his porch.

“Nice house,” Damen said, glancing around Laurent’s home. “I’m not really sure what I imagined, but it suits you. Truly.”

Laurent let himself blush a little at that. After all, it was the middle of the night, visibility was poor, and he was tired.

“Thanks, I guess.” Unsure of what else to say, he added: “Don’t forget to check in with Jord when you get home. He takes that rather seriously.”

Damen let out a small burst of laughter. “Alright, alright. I’ll just start now by telling him I have successfully seen you home.”

“Are you relieving me of my responsibilities? I would love to just fall into bed right about now.”

Damen smiled. “Well, don’t let me keep you, then.”

That’s not exactly what Laurent had meant, but okay then. He thrust up his chin defiantly, but all he said was, “Good night, Damen.”

“Actually, my full name is Damianos,” Damen said with a strange look on his face.

“Why is that important right now?” Laurent raised his eyebrows.

“I just thought you should know,” Damen said, now looking decidedly determined. “I wanted us to be properly introduced, so I could…”

He trailed off and raised a hand to Laurent’s face. When had he moved in so close? Their noses were basically touching already. Damen used his hand to tilt up Laurent’s face, and moved in just an inch closer, slowly, mildly brushing their lips together.

Laurent’s whole body caught on fire, and he thought he may have let out a small sound, too. He was beyond his own control, struggling for it. Struggling against it. Damen kissed his lips again, a touch more determined, then moved away, and brushed his thumb on Laurent’s cheek.

“I’ve wanted to do that the whole night,” he said.

Laurent stood still, trembling, one hand caught in Damen’s shirt where he’d absentmindedly placed it. His thoughts were racing.

He closed his eyes and licked his lips.

“Good night, Damianos.”

Chapter Text

Damen couldn’t sleep.

That in itself was a terrifying thing. He’d travelled a lot in his life – for purposes of both business and pleasure – often overseas, so he developed a knack for falling asleep quickly and easily. Wherever he was, whatever time it was, it took him perhaps less than a minute and he was fast asleep. Lying down, curled up on a sofa, sitting in a desk chair – it simply didn’t matter. Insomnia was a stranger to Damen.

Which is why, on this particular Friday night, when the already jumbled thoughts in his head were keeping him awake, the realisation that he was, in fact, still awake, simply worked to upset him more, and push his consciousness further toward wakefulness.

It was a nightmare.

It was all a nightmare. Worst of all, he had completely not expected this. Making the impulse decision to go out just because he was, what, jealous? That had been bad enough, but okay, he had some time, he had made himself get used to it, he’d even got to a point where he had been at least curious to see how well he would do. Laurent’s presence had changed everything. Damen had started to feel comfortable in their friendship, finding a weird rhythm in Laurent’s moods and occasional friendly gestures.

But seeing him outside of the café, in such a wildly different situation – one where they couldn’t simply refer to their customer-waiter roles, one where they were both just ‘hanging out’ – sent his mind spinning. Seeing Laurent chill in a bar from afar would have been bad enough, but being in his company was excruciating at first. Laurent seemed reluctant to acknowledge just about anyone and anything around him, wrapped up in his thoughts, but as he slowly began to unwind, Damen couldn’t help but spend more and more time watching him, every small inch of his otherwise well-guarded personality a wonder to him.

With the low buzz of alcohol in his mind, he hadn’t stopped to consider the warmth in his chest or the intensity of his gaze. It was his natural reaction, not something he’d planned, or planned to think about. When he saw the woman seated at the bar, he saw a chance, and even though he hadn’t dabbled with lovers in a while, talking to her also seemed natural. The only thing out of place was Laurent’s sudden appearance, his makeshift reason, but that was soon forgotten in the sense of rightness his presence brought.

And that kiss…

It should not have happened, he told himself, even as he felt the ghost of Laurent’s lips pass over his own. Such impulsive decisions would not win him any friends, and he should never make such a mistake again. Laurent, orderly, pristine Laurent would not approve, he scolded himself, trying but unable to shake the memory of Laurent’s hand crumpling his shirt. How his eyes had glistened.

He turned over in his bed, hoping he could turn his back on the images as surely as he did his windows. He pressed a hand to his eyes, willing himself to stop.

But when the images were no longer allowed, that one small sound flared up like a siren in his head. His body froze, then burned up as though the sound was a wildfire. That small sound, half moan, half surprised exhale, felt like a drug. Damen had his first taste, and now he only wanted more.

His mind would not be stopped now, and his head flooded with all the ways he might coax that sweet little moan from Laurent again.

* * * * *

He was in haze the whole morning, getting dressing without looking at his clothes, earning a disapproving glance from Nikandros.

“It’s Saturday,” he tried to apologize. “People won’t really mind, will they?”

His friend just gave a resigned shake of his head and went to the counter.

Laurent didn’t frequent the café on weekends, though every now and again he showed up to spend even more of his days there than usual: last Sunday, he was their first customer to arrive and the last to leave. He did have a rather heated argument with Damen over the necessity of menus in establishments such as the café, but Damen didn’t think that was the reason Laurent stayed so long. He simply had a lot of time on his hands.

Even though Damen was well aware of this, he couldn’t stop the frantic look he shot at the door every time someone walked in, or double-checking every customer that had even the slightest resemblance to Laurent. After about two hours, he’d craned his neck so much it felt like an elephant had stepped on it. Not even that could stop him from looking.

And yet, somehow, in the midst of all of his strange behaviours, Nikandros managed to be the weirdest of the two of them. Namely, because he hadn’t noticed any of it. He gave Damen’s horrifyingly crumpled clothes a disapproving glance but didn’t bring it up. Normally he would have been all over it. And then, not noticing how preoccupied Damen was. Something was definitely off.

He found him sitting on a crate of almond milk – his newest passion – huddled up with his phone, eyes shining brilliantly and a type of smile playing on his lips that Damen knew from his old romantic sort of days.

“So this is what the boss calls working?”

At first, Nik didn’t even notice what was happening, he just hummed, but when he looked up at Damen, he got such a fright he almost dropped his phone.

“Good god, Damen.” He took a breath to steady himself, then looked up at Damen with an expression that both guilty and accusing. “Do that again and you might not have a boss.”

“Yeah, I’m not too worried.” He frowned. “Or at least, normally I wouldn’t be. Why are you so weird today?” he asked, crossing his arms, looking every bit the inquisitive father.

“Just some stuff,” Nik tried. “Hangover, and such.”

Damen raised his eyebrows.

“You’re forgetting just how long I’ve known you, Nik. You don’t get hungover, and even if you did, you would be working extra hard to make up for it. Something’s off.”

Nik looked guiltily at his phone, then back up at Damen, chewing his bottom lip. Hell, he looked like a teenager caught looking at a Playboy.

“It’s… some guy I met yesterday.”

Damen was shocked. He truly wasnt expecting that. Nikandros wasn't the romantic type. Well, okay, he was, but he simply wasnt interested in running after guys and love and a relationship. He loved his work and kept himself focused on that.

Spending a workday chatting away with ‘some guy he met at the bar,’ now that was completely new.

“Say what?”

“Look, just….” He sighed. “I don’t really know what it is yet, but I know I care.”

So. Not just some guy.

Damen wondered who it could be, then stopped himself. He would trust Nik to tell him what and when he wanted to. That didn’t mean he wasn’t stupefyingly curious.

“Take your itme, buddy,” he said with a smile. He turned to leave. “I’ll keep watch at the counter, you just… hide out wherever. Maybe clean some tables.”

His encounter with this strangely romantic side of Nikandros served only to remind him of his own… endeavours.

A shock of arousal tinged with guilt burst through him at the thought of Laurent's lips on his own. He still couldnt decide whether the faint press of Laurent's lips was real or only something he imagined to justify his reckless actions. That little noise, on the other hand, was perfectly real. There was no way his imagination could ever come up with something so unexpected, so horrifyingly arousing...

When the door opened, he was glad. It didn’t even occur to him that it could be Laurent, walking in on him fantasizing about their kiss. A client could only mean one thing: distraction.

* * * * *

It was time.

His father would still not see him, his colleagues - no, employees - did not respect him. Even his lover told him he should come.

And so, here he was, feeling like a stranger in a place that should feel at least familiar. He looked around. It did not.

And there he stood. The man who was responsible for all of the damage in his life, who had ruined his chances simply by being born.

“Hello, Damen.”

His brother – half-brother, to be exact – was staring back at him from the other side of the small café, his gaze unfocused, unbelieving.

It had been almost two months since Kastor last saw his brother, on that fated night when Jokaste chose to bring them all together, to tell Damen that she was carrying Kastor’s child. Kastor almost felt sorry for Damen, the hurt and betrayal written plainly across his features. For a moment, Kastor thought he would hit him, but Damen just stood there, paralyzed, wearing the same expression that was plastered on his face now.

“Too soon for niceties, I take it.” He shook his head, looking around the café. “I get it. You feel hurt, and betrayed, and you’re not wrong. I’m not here to try and talk myself out of this.”

“Then why?” Damen finally spoke. He sounded strange, hollow and somehow strong.

“We’re family, Damianos. Our family can’t go on like this.”

“Dad’s still not talking to you, is he?”

Kastor felt his anger rise. He didn’t like being read so easily.

“He insists we clear this up so I came here to make amends. What can I do?”

“Not sleeping with my girlfriend would be great.”

His anger swept over him again, more insistently. She was never yours, his thoughts screamed. She never wanted to be. But he was here to smooth Damen’s ruffled feathers somehow, not to argue about things he would never understand. This man, who thought he knew Jokaste.

“I was thinking something different. Maybe a new car.”

Damen had always been a reckless driver, and his latest car ended up totalled when he tried to show off for Jokaste. It was his stupid luck that got him out of the wreck alive, with only some minor injuries. To Kastor’s knowledge, he still hadn’t decided to replace that car.

“How very thoughtful of you,” Damen said with a sneer, something that didn’t suit him at all. His brother was trusting, kind, honest – distrust didn’t look well on him. It made him seem like someone else.

“I’m open to your suggestions,” he responded, spreading his arms.

Damen regarded him for a while, then seemed to make up his mind.

“Alright.” He stepped forward, moving away from the counter. “Okay then.”

Had things been different, maybe he would have known what was coming. Had he understood how deeply he had hurt Damen. Had he understood Damen to begin with. But how he was, how they stood, he didn't realise what was coming until it was too late.

Damen walked up to him, and simply hit him. Hard.

Kastor’s head snapped back with the force of the blow, and he instinctively raised a hand to his face. He touched his nose, and felt warm blood begin to pool there.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, brother,” he said to the ceiling, trying to stop his nosebleed.

“Maybe before, I didn’t. Now I do.”

Kastor laughed. What sort of vengeful creature has his naïve little brother turned into?

“I’m glad. If I’d known a heartbreak was what it took to set you straight, I’d have slept with one of your other girlfriends.”

“It’s not about Jokaste. This is about us. About you.” Damen’s voice was heavy with his anger, his frustration, shaking occasionally with the strength of his emotions. “You’re my brother, Kastor. I trusted you. Loved you. We grew up together!”

Oh, this old debate. He looked back at his brother, returning his fiery gaze with his own.

“We were never truly brothers, Damianos,” he said, putting every last drop of his spite into the name. “You’re the golden boy, the legitimate heir, the one everybody was waiting for. Your mother’s family never acknowledged me, no matter how hard father tried. They hated me, hated father, for one misstep.” He beat his chest. “I never did anything wrong, I never even had the chance to do anything, and they already hated me. Cast me aside.” Damen was shaking his head. “You don’t know what its like to grow up surrounded by people who despise you simply for existing.”

“You have always cared too much about these stupid pretences. Who cares about the fucking company? Who do you think cared about mom’s shares when you were born? Noone-“

“They all did, Damen!” he shouted over his brother’s words. “They took one look at me and only saw some stupid little bastard coming for their money. That’s what I had to grow up in!”

Damen looked hurt.

“Why take it out on me, then? Why hurt me?” He shook his head and took a step closer to Kastor. “And why now? Why now, brother? I was finally happy, and you just- what? You couldn’t stand to watch me be happy?”

“You don’t know Jokaste, Damen,” Kastor said with a laugh. “You would never have been enough for her.”

Damen hung his head.

“She was after my money, I know that. But how can you-”

“I know her better than you,” he cut in. “She…” He didn’t know why, but he felt like he had to say the truth. It had been lurking around in his consciousness for a long time, but he’d always tried to hide it, to run away from it. Now he knew he had to face it. “I know she doesn’t love me,” he said. “I know she’s only using me to get a place in dad’s company. But I also know that she needs me for it. Dad hates her after what she’s done to you, so he would never let her get any sort of money out of the company on her own.” He shrugged. “And she’s carrying my child.”

Damen shook his head.

“I hope you can find some happiness in that, brother. But I cannot forgive you now.”

That would not do.

He opened his mouth, but when he started to speak, the doorbell jingled. He held a hand to his still-bleeding nose defensively.

“See you soon, Damianos.”

With that, he turned around and left, not even sparing a glance at the puzzled man standing in the doorway.

* * * * *

Laurent had been expecting a lot of uncomfortable situations and weird silences, but definitely not the one he was currently facing.

Damen looked like he’d run a marathon, or more accurately, fought in a boxing tournament – his chest was heaving wildly with his breaths, his face was reddened, his hands clutched into angry fists.

What the hell had happened here?

It was clear Damen was not going to speak first. He wasn’t even sure he had noticed he was there. He was still staring blankly after the man, the one in the expensive suit with the bleeding nose, who spoke so coldly to him.

“Who was he?” he chose to say. He was far better at cold, ugly truths than he was at emotional speeches and kind approaches.

Damen didn’t look at him, didn’t even flinch, he simply said: “My brother.”

For a moment, Laurent was relieved – not a lover then – but then he thought of Auguste. He couldn’t imagine the two of them ever behaving in this way.

“Why did you hit him?”

“Because he deserved it.”

Okay, then. He knew Damen didn’t owe him any explanations, they were not involved after all, they were barely even friends, and yet, he didn’t expect this from him. Damen had always been nice to him. Honest. This was a strange new side to him Laurent wasn’t prepared to face.

“Where’s Nikandros?”

That seemed to rattle Damen enough to get him to look at Laurent with a strange look of bewilderment on his face.

“Why?”

“Apparently you’re not interested in serving coffee any more, and yet I’d still like to drink some. Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Damen said with a frown, then seemed to realise Laurent was there. “God, Laurent.” He brought a hand to his face and tried to soothe his features with it, wiping away his anger. “Shit. I’m sorry. What can I get you?”

Laurent raised an eyebrow.

“A caramel latté, if you’d be so kind.”

“Sure, yeah. Go on up, there’s no one here. I’ll be there in a minute.”

This was wrong, Laurent thought. This was completely, utterly, horrifyingly wrong. And yet, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. That he could just show up and demand explanations when he’d been the one to turn Damen away last night? Or that Damen would just walk up to him and kiss him hi?

And even so, he never could have imagined this.

He took a seat and allowed himself ten seconds to fidget around, drumming his fingers on the table and nervously kicking his feet, then willed himself to stop and collect himself. Damen was his friend. He would tell him what he needed to know about his brother, then Laurent would ask him about last night, and that would be it. They would be in the clear again, friends.

Is that what we are?

“Laurent, I am so sorry,” Damen’s voice rang out before he even climbed the last of the stairs. “You shouldn’t have had to see that. My brother’s…”

“Probably got a broken nose, yes, I saw that,” he finished for him, taking his coffee. “Why were you fighting?”

Damen sagged into a seat next to him.

“My girlfriend cheated on me with him,” he said. “And now she’s pregnant, and it’s his child. And he took my job at our dad’s company.”

Laurent could not believe what he was hearing.

“I think he deserves more than a broken nose,” he offered.

Damen snorted. “Tell me about it.” After a pause, he added: “You know, I thought I was over it. I would wake up and not feel like my life was empty anymore. I wouldn’t think about her when I went to sleep. I don’t miss my old job anymore.” He frowned. “And then my brother just shows up here and blows it all to hell.”

This was wrong.

“Damen! Where the hell are you hiding?” Nikandros roared, clearly unhappy with the disappearance of his one employee. Colleague. Whatever.

“Sorry,” Damen excused himself with a shrug. “I’ll explain more later,” he promised, but it was clear to Laurent how badly he wanted to get out of this uncomfortable conversation. He couldn’t blame him. He was forced to tell Laurent things he was still battling with, things that made him – sweet, wonderful Damen – angry enough to throw a punch.

All because of a woman.

Any hidden hopes Laurent may have had were crushed, the desires he had allowed to bloom to life were erased, his imagination was stripped bare of everything except the picture of Damen with this undeserving woman who'd had the nerve to cheat on him.

Someone Damen apparently still hadn’t got over.

Disgusted with the world and disappointed in himself, he left the coffee house without touching his latté, slipping out as quietly as he could while the waiters were arguing in the back.

Chapter Text

Weekend came and went, and on Monday morning, Laurent could not recall a single useful thing he had done in those two days. There had been the incident, of course – two, if we count the one on Friday – but Laurent would very definitely not call those occurrences useful whatsoever. Nor had he been an active part in either of them.

He dragged himself out of bed and dressed for his run. Exercise usually helped clear his head, and it was no different this time. It worked until it didn’t: when he reached his house, his annoying problems flooded back in, the prospect of spending the day in the café choking in its intensity, and Laurent chose simply to keep running, from his life, his feelings. You got yourself even a little bit involved and this was what you got.

He ran and kept running, blissfully forgetful, barely minding his steps.

* * * * *

Damen’s head was still in a turmoil, his insomnia getting worse by the day, so he ended up driving into the shop early on Monday morning, texting Nik that he was taking over the morning’s duties. Putting down chairs, cleaning tables, then organizing crates. Soda guy actually got scared when he walked out to get their weekly order.

As he stepped out with the last of the crates, saying bye to a still rather shaken driver, someone smashed straight into him, making him drop the crates, and throwing himself artfully on the pavement, dripping with soda. Damen rushed over to him, picking his way through the broken bits of glass. He was glad to see not all of the bottles had been destroyed.

He was about to lend a hand to the fallen man when he whirled around on the pavement, face already reddened with rage, mouth open around whatever insult he was about to hurl, but all that actually came out was, “Damen?!” Had Damen been holding something, he would have dropped it all over again. Laurent was there, sprawled on the pavement, wet and dripping, looking like the dirtiest images Damen’s imagination had concocted. “The fucking hell were you thinking?”

So, Laurent could swear. Now that, that was definitely something new. Damen looked taken aback.

“Wow,” was all he could manage.

“Stop just fucking standing there, you damned brute, and help me!”

Damen regained his senses enough to offer Laurent a hand, pulling him up effortlessly, but in the moment when Laurent’s own strength was supposed to take over, his legs failed, and he ended up tangled in Damen’s arms. Both of them breathless, Damen’s mind jumped straight back to their kiss, and he could not stop himself staring straight down at Laurent’s mouth again. The nature of their embrace altered, Laurent flushed again, and extricated himself from Damen’s grip, standing on his own two wobbly feet.

“Can’t even manage this much, can you?”

Damen took a step back.

“I believe it wasn’t my fault.”

Laurent raised a single golden eyebrow. “I believe it was. Or perhaps I stepped in front of you, minding your own business?”

“Well, you ran into me,” Damen pointed out, earning a furious scowl from Laurent.

“I’ll be sure not to do so next time,” Laurent said, turning away.

“Laurent, come on,” Damen started after him. “Wait!” He was by Laurent’s side just in time to catch him when his legs gave out again. “Can’t even manage this much?”

Laurent tried to push him away, furious. “Let me go, you brute.”

“Not happening. I’m getting you inside and checking you out. I know a thing or two about sports injuries.”

Damen saw Laurent’s eyes open even wider as he leaned down to put an arm around his legs, and hoisted him up in his arms, Laurent clutching his shoulders like he was hanging on for his life, but at least he was silent.

Thankfully, Damen left the door to the café open while he was packing in the drinks, and he could bring Laurent inside easily. He put him down on a chair.

“Alright. Wait here, I gotta call Nik. Take off your shoes.”

He closed the door to the little storage room and leaned back against it. He knew Laurent was mad at him. He had no idea if they were still friends, but he just couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t seen Laurent in such flimsy clothing as this, his defined muscles on display. For heaven’s sake, he had almost kissed him again! He had to get his act together. After everything that went down a few days before, Laurent made it clear he was no longer interested. He had to let it go.

He took a deep breath and called Nikandros.

* * * * *

Laurent took off his shoe dutifully then simply sat and waited. He really should have minded better, else he would not have ended up here. His feet had betrayed him – several times, damn them. Ending up in Damen’s arms (quite literally) was not exactly part of his plan to see less of him. That damned bodybuilder, picking him up like he weighed nothing. Laurent should not have been as impressed as he was.

At least Damen was back to his usual caring, unbothered self. He hadn’t even seemed to care about all the drinks Laurent must have made him smash. The reckoning would no doubt be coming from Nikandros, the dreaded boss. The thought almost made him laugh.

He flexed his left foot, feeling a strain in his ankle. It didn’t look too bad, definitely not broken, but it was probably the smart choice to check it out quickly, he had to admit. He wouldn’t want to miss too many of his usual morning runs.

“Well, boss-man is angry,” Damen said upon his reappearance. “I sure hope you can make it out of here on your own, or you might get some of his wrath, too.”

“I’m sure he can just hold on to it for me,” Laurent drawled.

“Other foot’s okay then?” Damen asked, settling down next to him – on the floor of all things.

Laurent nodded.

“Alright. Tell me when it hurts.”

He took Laurent’s leg slowly in his hands, and Laurent noted with some guilt that his body was still eager for this man’s touch. Traitor, he thought. Damen slowly pressed around his ankle, then the lower parts of his calf, then foot.

“Okay,” he said, retrieving his hands and standing up. “Seems like a strain, nothing serious. I’ll get you some ice, and you can hop on home.”

“What, you won’t ever offer to run me home?” Laurent had no doubt he could.

Damen froze, then tried to laugh it off, somewhat awkwardly.

“I just can’t spare the time, I’m afraid.”

Then he just turned around to rummage for some ice. Laurent was left to put his shoe back on his very injured leg all alone. Maybe Damen wasn’t that caring after all.

“Here you go,” he said a little later as he handed Laurent a rather nicely proportioned pack of what seemed to actually be ice.

“I’ll just hop on out, then,” Laurent said, fastening the ice with his sock. To his shock, Damen took his hand and pulled him to his feet, forcing Laurent to swing an arm around him and taking some of his weight off his injured leg. They limped out to the pavement, where Damen helped Laurent stand on his own without saying a word, but keeping a hold of his upper arm. Laurent raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

“I am sorry, Laurent,” Damen said with surprising sincerity.

“As well you should be. I’ll be limping for days.”

Damen shook his head. “Not about that. Well, that too, but that’s not what I meant.” He sighed. “About Kastor.” When he saw Laurent’s puzzled expression, he added hastily: “my brother. The fight you walked in on.” Ah, that. Laurent felt the urge to shift his feet, but even injured and backed into an emotional corner, his control would not be broken so easily. “I know I owe you an explanation, and-”

“Actually, it’s fine,” Laurent cut in. “I feel I’ve heard enough to understand your brother got what you deserved, and your rage is perfectly justified, too. You don’t owe me anything,” he added with an empty voice.

Tell me otherwise, a tiny voice begged in the back of his mind.

Damen hung his head. “Still. We’re friends, right?” he asked, hopeful.

“Yes.” If that’s what you want.

At that, Damen smiled brightly up at him.

“Wonderful. Great. I’ll see you then, once you’re feeling better.”

“I take it you don’t do delivery, then?”

Damen laughed. “I’m afraid that’s beyond our abilities.”

“Pity.” They gazed silently at each other for a short while. “Well, nice running into you,” Laurent joked, then turned around.

“See you,” Damen called after him.

* * * * *

Laurent being grounded presented him with a wonderful opportunity: bossing his overly affectionate, very protective brother Auguste around. The minute he found out about Laurent’s injury, he cancelled his meetings for the week and made his way over to Laurent, carrying all sorts of medical and natural remedies he could get his hands on. Had Laurent been a nicer person, he would have told him it was nothing and that he should just go home, but Laurent was Laurent, and he enjoyed his brother’s company, spending the entire week with him. Occasionally, they would visit the café, exchanging a few words with the baristas, even Nikandros, who, at the sight of Auguste, seemed to find inner peace and didn’t deliver whatever sermon he had thought out for Laurent on the importance of his café’s undisturbed supply chain.

Auguste was pleasantly shocked when Laurent recounted his kiss with Damen, and absolutely horrified when he found out about the whole business with the brother and the ex.

“I really thought he liked you,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“Well, he looks very much like a careless little playboy.” Laurent added.

“And apparently, that’s just what he is,” Auguste finished the thought. “I’m sorry brother,” he said with a sigh. “It seemed like you were finally letting yourself relax a little.”

“Obviously, I shouldn’t be.” Auguste fell silent in a way that told Laurent he was planning something. “What is it?”

“I think you should be,” he started. “And, and! I might actually have someone who might be interested in you.”

“And I might pour a cup of coffee on you. The world is full of possibilities.”

“No, I’m serious.” So serious he even had to sit up straight. “This guy is a new colleague of mine, a bit of a flirt, but seriously handsome. I think he’s nice. You should meet him.”

Laurent gave him a look that would have obliterated a lesser man. “No, thank you.”

Auguste just smiled. “I’ll tell him about you, then. Give him your number. Let him make the moves.”

“If you do that, I just might kill you,” he said over the rim of his cup, as coolly controlled as though he was talking about the weather.

“If that means you actually talk to the guy, I’ll gladly sacrifice myself.”

* * * * *

A week after the turmoil of events that his brother’s visit caused, a somewhat unexpected customer ventured into the café.

“Hi, Damen,” he said shyly as he approached the table Damen was cleaning off. “Remember me?”

Damen looked up, puzzled. A tall, handsome man was standing a few feet away from him, with the same coloring as him: dark skin, dark hair, but perfectly sculpted, handsome features that probably made him look younger than he was. His eyes had a familiar glint in them, his features sparking memories…

“Pallas?”

The man let out a small laugh. “I thought you wouldn’t remember me,” he said.

"We played together on the athletic team, right? You were the surprise freshman." He bumped the man's shoulder with a friendly fist. "You did really well, I heard you made quite the career."

The man blushed a delightful shade of pink. It looked good on him. "Yeah, I may have won a few matches."

Damen nodded, letting his gaze rest easily on Pallas. "Congratulations."

“Thanks,” he said as his blush deepened.

Damen looked around. "So, what brings you here?"

"Common courtesy, I'm afraid. My dad and Nikandros' dad have been golf partners since forever, and my dad's been bugging me to visit Nik's café for weeks."

“I’m glad you’re here, Nik’s really proud of this place.” He found he had difficulty looking away from the sweetly blushed face of this old acquaintance. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

“Thanks, Damen.”

Nikandros did not seem surprised at the arrival of Pallas. Turns out, their fathers have truly been advocating for this friendship (and perhaps a little more as well, Damen thought).

Pallas stayed until the shop closed, then stayed some more, as the three exchanged old high school gossip and caught on everything that had happened since. Damen could not remember the last time he had enjoyed an afternoon so much. The easy companionship that came with reminiscence was heady, and before he knew it, he found himself walking home with Pallas.

“Hey, I really don’t want to keep you,” he said as soon as he caught himself. “Head on home and report on Nik’s wonderful barista abilities.”

Pallas smiled. “Yes, I’m sure my father is very eager to learn all he can about Nikandros.”

“He could have chosen worse.”

“He could have chosen better,” Pallas said, his meaning written in his eyes.

“Make sure to tell him about me, then.”

“I will.”

For a second, Damen thought Pallas would kiss him. But this was obviously as forward as Pallas got, so Damen asked for his phone and gave him his number.

“See you later, then,” he said with a wave, watching Pallas turn an even deeper shade of red, then turned to walk away.

* * * * *

“Guess what,” Laurent overheard Damen boasting to Nikandros.

“What?”

“I’m going on a date.”

Nikandros seemed almost as taken aback as Damen. “You what?!” he exclaimed with a not-so-subtle look at Laurent.

“Yeah. Guess I am ready.” Laurent fumed. It hadn’t been two weeks since their kiss. Had it truly mattered so little to Damen? Had Laurent truly been nothing more than a stepping stone on Damen’s trip to recovery? He felt ill. “Actually, I feel like I’ve been ready for a while, I was just… focused on other things,” he finished, sounding distant.

Laurent chose to return to his book. People were overrated.

A few minutes later, his phone chimed. Laurent looked at the screen then frowned. The number was unfamiliar. He ignored it and kept reading, then a few minutes later, another notification sounded. Again, that same unknown number. His curiosity won out, and he opened the texts.

hi laurent its lazar I got ur number from ur brother we work 2gether

can i take u out sometime?

What. The. Hell.

He called Auguste immediately.

“Oh, hey, Laurent-”

“What on earth were you thinking, brother?! Who the hell is this Lazar? Why does he have my number? Can you not stop fucking meddling?!”

Auguste let out a strangled sound. “Yeah, okay, I deserve that. But I told you about him before, and then I told him about you, and he’s actually interested, so I thought, why the fuck not? You deserve some fun, right?”

“FUN?!” Auguste seemed determined to forget just what kind of person his brother actually was. “Which part of this is supposed to be fun?”

“The part where you talk to someone, maybe get to know them, and even they turn out to be stupid, you can just laugh at them for their dumb ways and move on without any regrets,” Auguste said wit a sigh. “Look, if you don’t want to meet him, just… try to text back. If it’s really so bad, you can always just stop.”

“You are a madman, brother,” Laurent said, then hung up.

He was completely outraged. He kept staring daggers at his phone in the phones it might blow up from it. Then someone bumped into his table and knocked it on the ground.

“Ah, sorry, I’m not used to you sitting down here,” Nikandros told him. “Here you go.”

Laurent accepted his phone without a word, reminded of other, equally mortifying things in life.

Perhaps, he thought, I really should do this. He glanced at Damen, smiling at something a customer said. If he can move on so quickly, so can I. He gave himself a mental kick. There was, after all, nothing to move on from.

hi lazar

* * * * *

“Okay, so when is Damen’s date again?” Auguste asked.

“Thursday at 7, in that restaurant I told him about,” Nikandros answered with unmistakable pride in his voice. “I love the guy but sometimes he’s a little easy to manipulate.”

“Aren’t we all? You just gotta learn what moves people around.”

“How are you gonna get Lazar to take Laurent to that same place and time again?”

Auguste shrugged. “It’s his favorite spot, so that won’t be hard. After that, I can just drop some conversational morsels.” Another shrug. “He’ll catch on.”

“Well, let’s hope this works, then.”

Chapter Text

Laurent was super nervous, which was odd, since he usually didn’t care about things – or lets be honest, people – to anything to be nervous about. And yet, here he was, cradling a cup of coffee like it was his newborn, checking first the clock then the driveway in almost exactly thirty second intervals.

He had started pondering what the reason for his sudden nerves could be. The most obvious one was him not having really dated anyone previously. He simply had no experience, and unlike many other things, he believed this was a field where one was either a natural, or only managed to get better with actual real-life experience. He took a sip of his coffee. Experience he was about to start gathering, he thought.

Second reason was the fact that he had basically zero idea what he was getting into. His brother had told him about Lazar, both his physical and interior qualities, and yet he had no clear image of the man. He wouldn’t be able to recognize him if they were to pass each other on the street. Hell, maybe they had already done just that without realising who they were seeing. Would that be awkward? Would either of them even remember? He looked at the clock high on the kitchen wall, then out at the driveway.

Third reason was a bit more complex. Maybe even psychotic. Laurent felt that he had to do well at this date, and not simply because it was probably the only way he could escape feeling like shit about all of it, but also because it was his brother who had suggested it. (If he was being honest with himself, he could admit that Auguste literally forced him into it, with his constant nagging and suggesting and giving his phone number to Lazar, but right now, he was feeling forgiving and chose not to remind himself of this.) He wanted to show his brother that he was capable of this. Partly to make him proud, but mostly to make him fucking stop this whole messing with his private life that Auguste had clearly enjoyed so much. Another look at the clock high up on his kitchen wall, another look at the still empty driveway, this time crowned with a sigh.

There was another, stupid, idiotic fourth reason, too. But just like with Auguste’s involvement in all of this, Laurent was perfectly happy to lie a little to himself, because Damen most definitely had nothing to do with any tiny bit of this. His decision making was completely Damen-free. His head, admittedly, might not be, but the images of the seemingly unending amounts of muscle on Damen’s body, or even the feel of his lips on his own had absolutely no sway in Laurent’s choice-making process. This time, the look at the clock and the driveway was not enough, and Laurent took another sip of his coffee.

Immediate regret coursed through his body, along with the heat of the beverage he spilled on himself as someone rung his bell as he was lifting the cup to his mouth. He put it down, mortified. He had been checking the street dutifully for the past 13 minutes. How could he have missed his completely expected guest arriving?

Feeling terrible already, he went to open the door with shame tinting his cheeks pink. He was going to say something casual like hello, but he found himself a little shocked at the actual physical appearance of his date.

“Good evening, Laurent,” said the rather handsome man standing in his doorway. “I’m Lazar. Nice to meet you, finally.”

His brother, being mostly interested in women, certainly had a knack for finding beautiful men. Lazar was somewhat older than him, his features set whilst his own were still flowing, his dark purple suit chosen to complement his coloring in a way only experienced businessman can pick a suit, he looked positively dashing. His dark hair and lightly stubbled jaw completed the picture nicely.

“Hello, Lazar. Come in, please,” he stepped aside to let his guest in.

“Wasn’t expecting an invitation until after dinner, but sure, why not,” the man said with a smug smile.

“Already surpassing expectations, then,” Laurent said, but he was left to ponder whether he was the kind of person to invite someone in after just one date. Time to find out, he thought. “Would you like some coffee?”

“I don’t like to drink coffee when I’m not working. Sort of like, late hour PTSD. Doesn’t bring back good memories.”

Laurent made himself smile at that, and found it came easier than expected.

“Can I offer you anything else, then? I’m afraid I was clumsy enough to spill coffee on my shirt, and I’d like to change before we get going.”

“Uh, no, no, that’s fine, you go ahead and change, and I’ll just… admire your collection of tea,” Lazar said with some obvious amusement in his voice.

“If you look too long, I might have to tell you stories about it, so beware,” he said as he started up the stairs.

He checked the mirror before he took off his shirt. It really wasn’t that bad, or noticeable, even, but after seeing what Lazar chose to wear, he was really happy to be able to adjust his own clothing accordingly. A suit would, obviously, be too much, but a nice sweater…

* * * * *

Damen, surprisingly, was not nervous at all. He had imagined he would be, it being his first actual real date since Jokaste and all, but he found himself more excited than nervous. It had been shockingly easy to reconnect with Pallas after such a long time, and he felt it would be no different when they were having dinner. They agreed to meet in front of the restaurant, and that is where he was waiting when Pallas arrived, wearing jeans and a sinful white shirt that showcased his athletic build.

As it turned out, Damen was right not to be nervous. Pallas was flustered enough for the two of them. Damen was hoping he would be a bit more relaxed when they got to their table, and perhaps that would have been the case, but as the waitress led them to their table, it was Damen’s turn to be completely fucking shocked.

“Laurent?!” he exclaimed, frozen in his tracks. Pallas looked back at him with a puzzled expression, and Laurent was staring at him with an empty gaze.

“Hello, Damen,” he said, voice carrying less emotion than a GPS. “So wonderful to see you out… on a date, I presume?” he continued, turning to Pallas. Poor guy looked lost.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back and forth between Damen and Laurent.

“Care to make the introductions?” Laurent’s date (Damen’s head swam with the thought) injected.

“But of course. Lazar, babe, this is Damen, he’s the barista at my favorite café. Damen, this is Lazar, a friend of my brother’s, who has graciously agreed to go on this most wonderful date with me.”

Damen’s mind short-circuited the moment Laurent called this pompous businessman babe, and barely registered the hand he was holding out.

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” he said, trying to sound acceptable. “Uh, this is Pallas, Pallas, this is everyone, I guess. Laurent likes to annoy me when I’m working. Pallas and I went to school together for a while.”

Sloppy introductions, but he was amazed at the amount of words he was able to string together. This guy, seriously? He looked like he might start talking about the business opportunities presented by digital currencies. What a prick. (What a charming smile on that immaculately dressed prick.)

“Great meeting you, Pallas,” babe said with a wink, not offering a hand because he was a jerk and definitely not because Pallas was standing about two tables away from him.

Had Damen looked, he would have noticed Pallas blush at the rather offhand attempt at flirting.

“Yeah, nice meeting you all,” Pallas finally found his voice.

“Had I known you were coming, I would have asked for a bigger table,” Laurent said into the ensuing silence. “The more the merrier, after all.”

“Yeah, absolutely!” babe chimed in. What was he, an inspirational coach? “Waitress, please! Can the four of us sit together, could you arrange that? Yeah? Oh, unless, of course, that’s all right with you guys, too? We wouldn’t want to intrude.”

This was the perfect opportunity to get out of this mess, away from Laurent and his stupid ‘babe’, to have an enjoyable dinner with Pallas and even more enjoyable night.

And yet, what Damen found himself saying was this: “No, that’s a great idea. Let’s get a table here.”

* * * * *

Laurent had not expected that dating would make him this aggressive, yet he found himself aching to kick both himself and Damen from the second the latter sat down – next to him, of all places. He deserved to be kicked for suggesting this stupid dining together idea, and Damen deserved it for agreeing to it. He also deserved an additional punch in that dumb stupid face of his for coming here. And another for going on a date in the first place.

Yet, stuck as he was in this tense, trying not to be too awkward dinner circle, he could not resort to violence. He had started to get comfortable talking to Lazar when Damen bombed their date, and now the lot of them were back to weird small talk. Granted, Lazar’s presence was helping a lot. He was quite the icebreaker of social situations, Laurent was learning. He could go on and on about himself when no one could think of anything to say yet jumped at the chance to have anyone else share. He even got shy little Pallas to relax a little before any kind of alcohol was served.

When the talk turned to orders, Damen took over the conversation, telling everyone about wines, politely asking Laurent whether he would be drinking with the rest of them, giving Laurent the chance to politely decline and look over at Damen without it seeming conspicuous.

He had to give it to the man, he looked fucking attractive.

He was wearing a dark olive green shirt that looked like it was several sizes too small for him, the top two buttons left unattended to offer the slightest peek at his muscular chest. His long lashes seemed even darker than usual and his curls fell freely around his face. Dam(e)n that handsome devil.

Wines chosen, food ordered, there was literally nothing left to do but talk. And talk they did. After a while, Laurent found himself having a surprisingly nice time. Thankfully, the conversation centered around Lazar and Damen first, the two finding common ground in their business careers – something that thoroughly surprised Laurent. Damen, a suit and tie office worker? It seemed impossible, but here he was, discussing the ups and downs of corporate life with Lazar. Pallas listened intently as well, obviously as unaware of Damen’s history as Laurent himself.

At some point during this intense conversation, Damen had the unhappy thought of clearing his forearms of clothing, and Laurent swore he was about to have a heart attack on the spot. How was he supposed to be a supportive, inquisitive date to Lazar when Damen was sitting next to him looking like he might burn hotter than hell, and folding his shirtsleeves up his arms like that… how could anyone ever compare?

When Lazar felt like he had talked enough, he looked at Laurent and Pallas, asking them about their work life.

“Laurent has to be unemployed with the amount of time he spends in the café every day,” Damen answered for him, and Laurent shot him an annoyed look. Had he never told him? “Pallas, however, is a star athlete, if I recall correctly.”

Pallas blushed at that, laughing defensively. “That might be a bit of a stretch.”

“Really?” Lazar purred, turning in his seat to look at Pallas. “How so?”

Pallas told them the story of his wrestling career, with Damen interjecting some lesser information every now and then, looking proud as though Pallas’ accomplishments were his own, and Laurent’s mood worsened by the second. The way Damen was watching that wrestler prodigy… had he ever looked at him that way? He couldn’t recall. He had long been telling himself that Damen never cared for him that way but seeing him so involved with someone else was unexpectedly hurtful. He couldn’t even pay attention to the wonderful story of Pallas wrestling in the nude at a traditional Greek-style competition. The rest of the company had no such problems, however, and they both nodded along eagerly as they no doubt tried to picture naked Pallas wrestling in the sand.

* * * * *

Hearing Pallas’ wrestling career recited for the second time in the space of a week was somewhat boring, Damen realised. After all, there really wasn’t much of a career to talk about, but it gave him the opportunity to showcase just how much he remembered from the first time he heard it all, to give Pallas winks and all signs of affection. After all, that was what someone did, when they were on a date with someone, and he wanted to leave no doubt as to who he was on a date with here. Laurent had to see how much he liked Pallas.

He probably would have sold it better had he not been looking at Laurent every minute, but he couldn’t help himself. He was just a weak mortal in the presence of two very attractive men. (Technically he could have counted Lazar as well but he could not forgive him the minor offense of taking Laurent out on a date, so he chose to exclude him for the time being.)

But when it came to listening to Laurent, he was lost. He could no longer pretend to care about Pallas. It was like he didn’t even exist. Laurent, apparently, was a writer. How could Damen have missed that? He used to write smaller articles, but always dreamt of publishing his own book, and a few months ago he had realised that dream. It was, as he described, “a small piece of fiction that helped him overcome several issues regarding his family and their expectations.”

“I’ve actually not spoken to my father since it came out,” he said solemnly, and Damen heard the implication in his words. Since I came out.

Just as he was about to reach out to comfort him, Lazar took Laurent’s hand in his, and pressed a kiss to it.

“You are indeed something else.”

His blood roared, and for a moment all he could hear was his own heartbeat thumping loud in his ears.

He stood. “Excuse me,” and left for the bathroom. Before he could convince himself not to, he grabbed Pallas and gave him a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. As he broke away, he whispered, “Be right back.”

* * * * *

Everyone was completely stunned by Damen’s outburst, but at least Pallas seemed to enjoy it.

“Is he always so… passionate?” Lazar asked pointedly, after a significant, awkward pause.

“He was probably just upset by your dad, that’s all,” Pallas offered, still blushing like a virgin.

“Yeah, man. I’m so sorry about that.”

Laurent had already said more than he had ever meant to tell these people about such an intimate matter, and he didn’t fully appreciate Damen leaving him alone in this situation, so he chose to do the thing he actually wanted to do.

“I’m going to go see what that was about, excuse me,” he said, and made after Damen.

The last few minutes seemed unreal. He hadn’t meant to talk about his dad at all, but he felt like he owed Damen some explanation as to why he hadn’t said anything to him about his life yet, and it all just burst out of him. Lazar, poor man, thought he was opening up to him. This double date idea was horrifying. He would find Damen, he would make some sort of an apology, and he would leave.

He thought he would have some more time to think of something, but there Damen was already, standing rooted in place, looking at him in a weird, almost painful way.

“I think we need to talk,” Laurent said.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Come, let’s go outside.”

He turned without waiting for an answer. If Damen chose to take his time, all the better. More time to figure things out.

“Laurent, look,” Damen stepped in next to him. “I am so sorry for doing that. It was just… I really don’t have an explanation. You looked really hurt, and I wanted to do something, and I couldn’t.” He spread his arms. “I am really sorry for the way your father’s treating you. That’s just fucked up.” Laurent huffed. “I just wish I knew sooner.”

For a long moment, Laurent searched Damen’s face.

“Why? We’re not that close, are we?”

Damen looked confused. “We’re friends, right? This is the sort of thing normal people would tell their friends about. I was totally shocked by almost everything you just said about yourself.” He looked away. “And you never would have told me any of it.” Damen sighed. “Look. I’m real sorry for crashing your date like this. Lazar actually seems kind of nice. He cares about you, I think. And you certainly have no trouble opening up to him,” he scoffed. “We’ll get out of your hair. We never should have stayed in the first place.”

He turned to go.

“Is that seriously what you think is going on?” Laurent asked, disdained. When Damen didn’t answer, he kept going. “Do you really think I could just talk to a stranger about things like that? Is that who you think I am?”

“I don’t know. I don’t. I thought I knew you, for a while. We were getting kinda close, and I liked that. Sometimes, I thought I knew what you were thinking, and that was great. Then…” He stopped, breathing hard. Laurent realised they had never actually talked about their kiss. He had discussed it with Auguste but had never mentioned it to Damen. In the wake of everything else, he had dismissed it as something Damen probably wouldn’t think twice about. Like the way he had just kissed Pallas.

“Then what?” Damen tore his gaze away, pacing in a small circle like an animal caged. “Then what, Damen? You met the real me?”

“I kissed you!” The words tore out of Damen with the force of an avalanche. “I kissed you, and you never even said a word about it. It’s like you just chose to run away.”

“You seem to be forgetting the small matter of your brother and how you fucking bashed his face in because of your wonderful little ex.” He tilted his head. “Or am I wrong?”

“Is that what you think happened?”

“Refresh my memory, please.”

“I don’t give a shit about Jokaste! I didn’t, not then, not now, not anymore! It’s about my fucking brother, betraying me. He tore my life apart.”

“He took your girl, and you just couldn’t get over it.”

“Yeah, he did.” He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to them. “But that’s- that has nothing to do with this.”

“It does. It was all you could think about, and honestly, I’m glad. Otherwise I may have waited around for you to finally discuss why on earth you chose to fucking kiss me, but this way, you made me realise that it doesn’t fucking matter, because that’s just how you are.”

“What?”

“You just go around in your life, dating pretty heirs and heiresses, and having fun with all the rest of us you just happen to meet on the street.”

Damen took a few breaths, visibly holding himself back – from saying or doing something, it was hard to tell.

“I know you don’t mean that. I know you can’t possibly believe that.”

“Oh, but I do. I just pity little Pallas in there, poor boy has a crush on you like he’s 13. And you’re just gonna go ahead and break his heart, aren’t you? How long are you planning on playing with him? Until your brother comes around again to remind you of your lost love? Or are you going to storm out on him like you did just now?”

“Laurent, stop.” Damen had his eyes cast to the ground, and despite his generous size, he looked small. “I don’t know what I did to make you think such horrible things about me, or why you’re choosing this moment to let it all out, but please, know this.” He looked at Laurent, meeting his gaze. “I am nothing like the man you’re describing. I did not mean to hurt you, and I don’t see how I did. I do not mean to hurt Pallas, either. He’s nice, and he’s easy to talk to, and I thought… I thought I was ready to try something romantic again. Clearly, I am not. Not with him. I don’t care about him, not really, and before you say anything, I don’t give a shit about Jokaste, either. I’m sorry I was so focused on my brother. I thought… I loved him, and I trusted him, and he broke that trust, and I was lost. And then I met you, you and your horrifying manners, your wicked tongue, and you became the one thing in life I was actually looking forward to. I like you, Laurent, and I kissed you because I wanted to, almost since I first talked to you. When you talked about your father, I wanted to think you were talking to me. And then Lazar held your hand, and I realised you weren’t, and I just couldn’t deal with it.” He paused, leaving Laurent too shocked to say anything, taking some time to gather his thoughts. “I can’t be your friend, Laurent. Not right now. But you were right, I can’t do this to Pallas. I’m going to leave now.”

“Wait,” Laurent called after him. “You were right, too.” He took a step closer to Damen. “I was talking to you.” He stopped in front of Damen, looking up at him. “Damianos.”

* * * * *

Damen couldn’t believe it. Laurent, who had, mere seconds ago, been furious with him, was now right there, his body trembling in his arms, his lips parting slightly under his own, a hand tangled in his hair, the other one resting lightly on his chest.

Then he made that sound again, that sound that had been driving Damen insane for weeks, and everything else was forgotten, Damen lost entirely in the feeling of Laurent, his lips, that sweet little noise he allowed himself to make, the passion mirrored in his kisses.

Damen was kissing Laurent, finally, and this should not be interrupted.

Chapter Text

Damen was startled awake by the shrill sound of his alarm, that stupid thing. Maybe he should have kept that terrible song, at least it didn’t give him a heart attack every morning. His bed was empty, and for a moment, he couldn’t realize why he was supposed to be surprised by that. Then his brain finally rebooted, and memories of the previous day – and, most importantly, the previous night – overloaded his mind for a moment, and he fell back down into his bed, clutching the sheets to his privates, because apparently, he had slept naked.

Everything about last night had been wonderful. Laurent had been so much more than he could ever have imagined, he still couldn’t quite believe it. Believe him. How open and yet strangely private he was with his affection. It would take a long time for Damen’s childish amazement to simmer down.

Time that he would, apparently, have quite a lot of, since Laurent was definitely not in his bedroom anymore. Had he done something wrong? He could not think of anything. And Laurent seemed to enjoy himself just as much as Damen. Was he afraid of their intimacy? Or maybe he had to get somewhere and simply left early. Maybe he left a text. Damen checked his phone. Many messages were waiting for him, most of them from Nikandros, but absolutely no sign of Laurent. He threw his phone down on the bed, disappointed.

He could not make out what could have gone wrong. He chose to disregard Laurent’s hasty departure for the moment, focus on the fact that they had spent the night together, get to work, and wait obsessively for Laurent to show up for his usual coffee. Yeah, that should work.

Some delicious smell hit his nose right after he opened his bedroom door. He made the short walk to his kitchen and felt his jaw drop when he saw Laurent standing there, wearing one of his shirts, cooking eggs like it was the most natural ting in the world.

He turned around slowly.

“Good morning, Damen,” he said, slowly looking Damen – very much completely butt-naked Damen – up and down. He smiled. “Quite the energy you have there. Maybe you should be the one making breakfast.”

He had a mischievous look in his eyes, and it took Damen a second to understand exactly what he was saying. Once he did, he blushed, heat spreading through his cheeks.

“You, uh, you tend to have that effect on me.”

“Had you walked around naked in the café, I’m sure I would have realized much sooner. Sadly, you seemed insistent on wearing clothes.”

“Well, I don’t want everyone to see me naked,” he replied, wrapping a kitchen towel around his rather insistent area.

“That is both disappointing and reassuring,” Laurent said with that same wonderful smile on his face, then turned back to his cooking. “You do eat breakfast, don’t you?”

“I’m famished.”

“I believe that’s not quite what I asked, but I’ll take that as a yes.”

As he was rummaging around in Damen’s kitchen (no doubt looking for seasoning he was fated not to find, considering Damen didn’t think he owned any) the oversized shirt he was wearing hiked up, and Damen found himself grinning like an idiot as he stepped closer to Laurent. They had, indeed, both slept naked.

“How about I have you for breakfast,” he quipped, and as Laurent turned to him to respond, he leaned down and kissed him. The simple fact that he could, that Laurent had not left, that he had chosen to stay here, half naked in his kitchen, cooking them breakfast before seven in the morning, was enough to send butterflies fluttering around Damen’s stomach. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” he breathed.

Laurent, feisty, unpleasant Laurent, who refused to even learn his name for weeks, smiled brightly up at him from his embrace.

“Yes, well, neither can I. This place is a whole lot better than I imagined.”

Damen frowned. “Did you think I was living under a bridge or something?”

“Or something.”

“Harsh.”

“You do know me, right?”

“I think I’m starting to,” Damen said, feeling warmth spread through his chest at the truth in those words.

“So, would you mind getting dressed so we can eat? I recall you saying you were ready to die of hunger.”

Damen was about to object, but as Laurent twisted out of his arms, he realized that a small towel might, indeed, not be the best form of clothing for a man of his build.

“Breakfast in bed? We can fight for the food while the other gets dressed.”

“You mean you want to watch me get all bendy in your bedroom again and can’t think of a different way.”

Exactly. “A man can want two things.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not entirely certain a man should.” He frowned. “Don’t you have to go to work sometime?”

What with the memories of last night and Laurent standing half-naked in his shirt, mundane things such as work seemed to have skipped his mind.

“Ah, shit.” He ran his hand over his face, rubbing wearily at an eye. “I actually… do, yeah.” He sighed. “Work.”

Laurent regarded him with a bemused expression on his face. “Is that so surprising?”

“I just really thought we could have the whole day to ourselves.” He was about to say how, before Laurent, he had simply skipped work when he took a liking to someone – someone he had woken up next to, that is. He had worked at his father’s company, at the time, and no one would have dared speak out against him. How times change. “But half a morning is something,” he added instead, taking a step closer to Laurent, idly tracing a finger along his cheek. “If you promise that we will have more time. Later on.”

Laurent blushed, a wonderful explosion of color spreading along his features. “Are you asking me out?”

“Yes.” Damen waited for the other man to look up at him and continued only when their gazes were locked. “Laurent, would you like to go out with me?”

Laurent looked down, then flicked his gaze up to Damen’s mouth. He slowly stood up on his tiptoes and gave Damen a slow kiss. “I would love to,” he whispered against Damen’s mouth.

* * * * *

He ended up agreeing to Damen’s proposal, and let him drive both of them to the café. Upon questioning, Damen disclosed that he did not always take his car to work, but on the rare occasions when he was running late (Laurent could imagine perfectly well just how rare those occasions were) the choice was either running to work or driving.

Laurent had no doubt he could have simply ran to work without breaking a sweat, but chose not to say it.

When the car stopped and Damen got out, the full reality of what he was doing hit Laurent. He was about to walk into a café, one that was not yet open, with a man who couldn’t have hidden the fact that he had just had sex from an uninterested blade of grass. But what was waiting for him in that café was something much worse than some plant. It was a very chatty man, who was somehow acquainted with his brother.

He really had to talk to Auguste.

Damen opened the car door for him.

“How gallant.”

“I thought you wouldn’t get out of the car if I didn’t make you.” He closed the door and looked at Laurent with a somewhat troubled expression. “You okay?”

Laurent raised his eyebrows. “We’re about to be faced with your boss who doesn’t seem to understand the concept of personal life.”

“Hey, just… just let me handle him. He won’t bother you.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Damen smiled and gave Laurent a quick kiss. “Come on. I’ll be late for work.”

“Nothing new, I’m sure.”

He was a little nervous as he followed Damen into the café, but he needn’t have worried: Nikandros was nowhere to be found.

“Ah, he’s probably in the back,” Damen said, craning his neck, looking for his boss. “So, uh, do you want him to know, or should I just… tell him I saw walking here, or something?”

Laurent felt relieved to such a degree he was ashamed of it. “The second thing, please.” He saw a flash of disappointment in Damen’s eyes, but almost immediately he was smiling again.

“Sure, whatever you want.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Damen,” he said, meaning it. He was making it a lot easier for Laurent to figure out just what this meant for him. “Now get me a coffee, would you?”

That made Damen laugh, that wonderful, deep laugh. “You got it. Something really sweet, right?”

“Extra whipped cream, please.”

He went to his favorite table on the small gallery and took a seat. He started to type a text to his brother.

call me when u have time to talk

He hesitated, then deleted the entire message. He did not want to sound cryptic. Or like someone had just died. He started tapping a finger on his phone, trying to come up with a suitably worded short text to send to his brother. Then the doorbell announcing a new customer gave him the perfect idea.

hey auguste, can u come to the café ? we need to discuss my date w lazar

Perfectly ambiguous, yet true to the last word. His brother responded in a few minutes.

omw

* * * * *

Nikandros wanted to know everything about Pallas, which was odd, since he had apparently been in touch with him for a long time. Not to mention their fathers’ infatuation with the idea of Nik and Pallas together. It still seemed funny to Damen.

But he did his best to answer his best friend’s questions as truthfully as he could: yes, Pallas was very nice. He did seem nervous, now that Nik mentioned it. No, Damen would not say whether he was a good kisser. But, well, yes, technically, they did kiss.

“Technically?” Nikandros scoffed. “What the hell?”

Damen could not really say he had only kissed Pallas because he was jealous of Laurent’s date, since he didn’t even plan on telling Nik about the whole double date debacle, so he tried to talk his way out of it.

“I just meant,” he started, trying to gather words, “that we… he didn’t spend the night, you know?”

The glint in his eyes indicated that yes, Nikandros knew. “Ah. Taking it slow?”

Very. “Something like that. He just seemed, I don’t know. Inexperienced?” He grimaced. “I don’t mean like in a bad way, but he just seems so innocent.”

“Hmm, I know what you mean,” Nik mumbled. “Well, no need to hurry. You’ll be seeing him again?”

Damen shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

“Did something happen?”

Laurent happened.

He finished decorating Laurent’s coffee with whipped cream, and looked around for a tray.

“Damen?” He deliberately kept looking. “Are you gonna drink that?”

“Nah, it’s for Laurent. He’s upstairs.”

Nikandros raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t hear him come in.”

“Yeah, he came with me.”

“He what?”

“I saw him walking around when I drove here, asked him if he needed a lift and he said yes,” he explained with a shrug.

If his expression was anything to go by, Nikandros didn’t buy half of what Damen was saying, but he was cut off by their first legitimate customer of the day, and Damen used this chance to sneak away with Laurent’s coffee.

* * * * *

Auguste was rather surprised when Laurent didn’t call him after his date. No text, no visit, no nothing. It was somewhat infuriating. After everything he and Nikandros had done to bring their dates about… the least he deserved was a call. He went to sleep angry.

And then woke happy. Laurent would have called him if he had the time, which meant he had spent the entire evening with his date – whoever it ended up being – and he’d had fun. And that was what really mattered.

And then he finally got his text from Laurent. So it had been Lazar after all. Maybe their plan hadn’t been as good as they’d thought. He gave a mental shrug as he typed back. It didn’t really matter now.

There was a rather long queue at the counter when he arrived at the café, so he chose to skip the ordering part and headed for the stairs. His brother was sitting alone at a table, looking at his phone. Odd. Laurent without a book?

“Hey, little brother,” he greeted as he fell on a chair next to Laurent.

“Good morning, brother. I got you a coffee,” he said and slid a cup of cappuccino in front of Auguste. “I knew you wouldn’t have the patience to wait for one.”

Auguste smiled broadly. “You know me too well.” He gave his beverage a stir and raised it to his lips. Damn, this place served some good coffee. “So. Tell me. How did things go with Lazar?”

“Actually, much better than I imagined.”

“That’s not saying much. Your expectation was a night of horrors.”

Laurent inclined his head. “That may be true. But Lazar is actually quite… gentlemanly, I’d say. He certainly knows how to create conversations.”

Something was off. “But?”

Laurent sighed. “But. We ran into Damen.” He looked at Auguste. “On a date.”

Auguste decided to play dumb. “And?”

Laurent stayed silent for a while, regarding his brother inquisitively, no doubt trying to decide whether he had a hand in this miraculous coincidence. When he started talking, Auguste could not tell what conclusion he had come to.

“Lazar had the wonderful idea of inviting them to join us. It went alright for a while, then Damen made a scene and stormed off.” He frowned. “Surprisingly enough, I was the one who knew him best, so I went to check on him.” He looked back at Auguste. “He kissed me again and asked me to spend the night with him. So I did.”

Auguste’s jaw dropped. Rather literally. He almost spilled coffee on himself.

“You what?!”

This was far better than he could have hoped for. His brother obviously had the hots for Damen, and Auguste thought the same was true for the bulky barista as well, but he had always been the weakest link in his plans. Damen was too considerate to do anything rash. He was too much of a nice guy to reliably ditch his date for someone else.

Auguste smiled as he realized what that meant.

“I had sex with Damen last night.”

Hearing those words from his brother’s mouth was some of the weirdest and weirdly proudest moment of Auguste’s life. Ever since his first encounter with sexuality, Laurent had chosen to just ignore it altogether. Their father had made his feelings known rather obviously, and it had hurt Laurent more than he had admitted at the time. Auguste had had no idea what to about it at the time but had made sure to support his brother any which way he may have needed. To make it here, to this moment, was a huge step.

Auguste couldn’t help smiling. “I honestly don’t know what to say. Congratulations.”

Laurent looked affronted. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, but what should I say?” he laughed. “I am happy for you. You deserved this.”

“Obviously.” He sounded calmer but his brows were still knit pretty tightly together. “The question is, what do I do next?”

Ah, so that was what this was about.

He shrugged. “Have sex with him again.”

Laurent threw a napkin at him. “I’m being serious!”

“So am I!”

“Alright.” Laurent sighed. “He asked me to go out with him tonight. Should I go?”

“Yes. Next question.”

“Auguste!”

“Come on, Laurent,” he pleaded. “Do you like this man?”

Laurent considered for a moment. “I do.”

“And, apparently, he likes you, too, right?” Laurent nodded. “Well then, what’s the problem? Go out with him. Talk to him. If you want, have sex with him again.” He stopped. “Wait. Is that the problem? Was it bad, or…”

“No, nothing like that,” Laurent cut him off. When Auguste remained silent, he added, “I found it… enjoyable.”

Auguste laughed.

“Well then, why don’t you give it another chance?”

Chapter Text

Damen had told Nikandros he would close up shop since he had left early yesterday to get ready for his date. Although he had failed to mention that the cause of this offer was, coincidentally, another date. He had debated for a long time where to take Laurent on their first actual date (not counting their drunken walk home together where they’d had their first kiss, nor the slightly embarrassing double-date that ended up in their first time having sex), but in the end, he’d realized that they already had – and in fact, were already in – the perfect spot. When Laurent had made to leave, he’d walked up to him, asking him to come back to the café 20 minutes after closing time.

“Should I bring some groceries or are you planning to offer me takeout?” Laurent had asked with a single raised eyebrow. Damen could not understand how such a man was ever able to earn his affections.

“Just bring yourself.” The urge to kiss him had been almost more than what Damen could withstand. He’d uttered a hasty goodbye and turned away.

He managed to light the single candle he had been able to procure with two minutes to spare. If he knew Laurent well, he would be utterly punctual. He gave himself a mental pat on the back, then made his way down to while away the remaining seconds with nervous pacing.

Funny. He usually didn’t get nervous before a date, but somehow, this was… different. He remembered the first time he had kissed Laurent, how much he had been expecting to be refused, and how wonderfully pliant Laurent had turned out to be. The sound he had made then still lived in his head rent-free.

But the sound of the door opening and the bell softly chiming in that moment felt just as sweet to Damen. However, the clicking of heels was unexpected, and when he turned he found himself face-to-face with someone he had wished never to see again.

“Good evening, Damen,” said the strikingly beautiful blonde standing a few feet away from him. She was casually but elegantly dressed, her clothing making the best of her – her situation. When she realized just what got Damen staring, she placed a hand on her belly, smiling. Damen’s hand curled into fists. “Don’t worry, it’s not yours.”

Damen swallowed and looked at the clock. 6:20 exactly, which meant Laurent could be there any moment.

“What do you want, Jokaste?” he managed to force out through gritted teeth.

“I’m not here for myself, don’t worry.” She fixed him with a determined gaze. “But you need to talk to Kastor.”

Damen was taken aback. “I have.”

“No, you haven’t. Not really.” She cocked her head. “You two need to make peace.”

“Or what, you won’t get any of my father’s money?”

The lines of her face hardened. “This is not about the money, Damen. You are Kastor’s brother, you owe it to him to at least hear him out." Fixing Damen with a strange look, she added, "you owe it to yourself as well.”

“I alreadyhave. And it’s all bullshit.” He turned away. “If that’s all you came here to say-“

“You know it never would have worked between us.” That caught Damen completely unawares, and he was left frozen in place. “You could never understand my ambitions. To love me would have ruined you.”

“It did ruin me,” he whispered. He felt raw, like someone had just poured salt into a wound he thought had healed. Slowly, he turned back to look at her. “I don’t blame you. You have never tried to hide who you were. I simply didn’t care.” He felt his anger flaring up inside him. “But Kastor is my brother, you’re right. He never should have done this to me.”

“He is a weaker man than you are, Damianos,” she said in a steady voice. “You cannot hate him for something he cannot change.”

“Are you done?” She sighed, a pretty sigh that displayed her cleavage effortlessly. Even now, she was putting on an act. “Give my best to Nikandros. This place looks amazing.”

“Nothing is ever real with you, is it?” Damen asked as she opened the door.

As she looked back at him, the blue of her eyes were alight with something like regret, a well opening up from the deepest depths of her soul, but she recollected herself quickly, showing nothing more than the artificial calm she always projected. “You were real, Damianos. Loving you would have broken me.”

With that, she left.

* * * * *

Laurent was so wrecked with nerves he thought he would faint. Or have a stroke. Or both.

Why on Earth did he ever think that dating someone would be a good idea? In what jumbled universe did that make sense? Feelings were messy. Love was a myth. He should have just stuck to his books and his lonely corners in cafés, but no, he had to go ahead and chat and be friendly with the stupid waiter, and he just had to kiss him, didn’t he?

He really fucking had to sleep with, isn’t that right?

He cursed his body for being so weak. He cursed Damen for being too attractive.

But, most of all, he cursed himself for being unable to resist.

The worst idea Damen had ever had was letting Laurent walk out of the café. With time to think and Damen being not in his proximity, everything they had done in the past 24 hours seemed crazy. Utterly, unbelievably senseless.

He was calling off the date.

That was it, he had decided, he was certain, he would call Damen and tell him he couldn’t make it. He was sorry, but this was for the best. He would also tell him that he would never go to the café again, because he was tired of his stupid face, his idiotic, unbelievably hot face and his ridiculously attractive body and…

Maybe he should just text Damen. Yes, that’s right. He was going to text Damen that the date was off, he had changed his mind, he would not be seeing him again. Thanks for everything, now have a good rest of your life.

Determined, he took out his phone and looked up Damen’s name. As he opened the chat, he was greeted with the abhorrent text Damen had sent him about an hour after he’d left the café:

just a reminder, don’t bring anything, i have a plan ;)

the least i can do after such a wonderful breakfast…i have a lot to live up to

Damen did love casual texting and flirting.

He settled on a phone call.

“Hey, Laurent, what’s up?”

“I can’t do this. I know you want me to, and I know you think it would be good for me, but I am unable to do this,” he rushed out.

There was a stunned silence. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I mean, nothing unusual, or… I just had a moment to think about everything, and it’s too much. I can’t do this.” He let out a laugh. “Look at me! I would be going on my second date in two days! Less than 24 hours! When have I ever done anything even remotely close to this?”

“Well-“

“No well, no nothing! This isn’t me! You just had to keep pushing me!”

“Wow, okay, what is that supposed to mean?”

“You were the one to tell me I should open up more! You gave my number to your fucking flirt of a colleague!”

Auguste laughed into their conversation, halting Laurent. “Yeah, okay, that was me. Guilty as charged.” He waited a bit for Laurent to respond, but he was too busy catching his breath after his rant to speak. “Okay. Look. You are finally in a place in your life where you feel comfortable! You have your own place, you don’t have dad judging your every move, you are finally free to be yourself! I just didn’t want you to miss out. If it were up to you, you would have just sat around reading your books and writing your own. Now, I’m not saying those are bad things, but you don’t have to be so alone all the time!” He let out a small sigh. “I know you don’t like it half as much as you say you do.”

Laurent was surprised by how sincere his brother sounded. Of course he knew Auguste cared for him, but he had never been this open about it. He had been protecting him his whole life, without asking for anything in return. Maybe this was the time Laurent could start paying him back, even if it was by going on some dates every now and then. He could not imagine a world where he didn’t have his brother looking out for him.

“I have you, Auguste. That’s… more than enough.”

“And I love that you think that way, little brother,” Auguste said with an audible smile. “But it doesn’t have to be.” He was silent for a second. “I think Damen really likes you. From what I’ve seen of him, I like him too. He seems like a decent guy, even if he is a rich bastard.”

Assured of his brother’s assurances, it felt like the right time to ask the one thing left on Laurent’s mind.

“Did you set us up for that double date yesterday?”

Auguste was stunned into silence. “Ah, that. Uhm, well,” he stammered, “I mean, I may… maybe I did… have something to do with it. I told you to go out with Lazar, after all.”

“And did you also happen to recommend a nice place for him to take me to?”

Auguste coughed. “Maybe.”

“Auguste,” he said with a demanding tone. “Tell me.”

“Okay, fine. Nikandros has been nagging me with-“

“Nikandros?!” Laurent felt his entire face go up in flames.

“Yes, we’ve gotten pretty close. Anyhow, he was always telling me how much Damen was swooning about you, and when his dad told him to meet up with Pallas, he kind of just, had the idea? I guess. I helped. Maybe.”

So this wasn’t even his brother’s doing? “What the hell is that brat thinking?”

“Hey, Laurent, come on, he’s a nice guy. He just wanted to help a friend. Damen’s breakup was really hard on him, he was probably just afraid to ask you out.”

“He kissed me. He most certainly was not afraid of me.”

“Yeah, that did feel weird,” Auguste mused. “But you were super cold to him after that too, right?”

Laurent considered. “He made it clear he was not over his ex. I did not want to become entangled in something ugly.”

“So, uh, excuse me asking, but why do you think that’s changed?”

“Actually, I heard him say he was ready. Right before he asked out that guy, Pallas, I think.”

“Wait. He said that to you? Ouch.”

“Not to me,” Laurent shook his head. “I overheard him talking to Nikandros.”

“Sneaky.”

Laurent smiled but said nothing for a moment. “In retrospect, it was indeed a lucky coincidence.”

“So, when are you seeing him?”

Laurent automatically looked at his watch and had to do a double take.

Ten minutes ago, the answer rang out in his head. “Shit. I’m late.” Fuck! “Gotta go.” Even as his mind was running wild, he took a last moment to say: “Thank you, Auguste. For everything.”

“Nothing you wouldn’t do for me, right?”

* * * * *

Damen’s head was swimming, despite the hollow feeling in his chest.

Jokaste had loved him, she had basically admitted it. Had he ever loved her, truly? Had he understood her then? It felt now like he hadn’t. He had been so lost in her beauty, her easy manners, he hadn’t bothered to look deeper.

He had thought himself in love, and indeed he had been. But he hadn’t known her.

Forgetting her had proved easier once he’d realized that, because he thought, surely, she had never loved him. He had been nothing more than a plaything, a means to an end.

What was it he had told himself? The truth would set him free?

He didn’t feel free, now. Just broken.

He could feel the tethers of his past rising to claim him once more, chaining him to what could have been. He could never be free. With the truth, Jokaste had bound him forever.

* * * * *

Laurent hated being unpunctual. It was disrespectful. Leaving for his date after it had supposedly begun was horrifying.

He kept checking his phone the entire way, yet Damen didn’t seem eager to reprimand him. In fact, it looked as though he had forgotten about him entirely. Laurent was getting a little scared.

When he got the coffee shop, it looked empty. There was only a faint light flickering on the upper floor. Laurent opened the door and stepped inside. The place looked just as deserted on the inside.

“Damen?” he called out, keeping his voice steady, if somewhat low.

He looked around tentatively. The lights were off, but the streetlights were enough to see by in the small shop. It seemed clean and neat, exactly like a shop closed down for the night, and, more importantly, there was no one in sight. What the hell…? He looked up toward the gallery, noticing again how it seemed lighter. He chose to go up.

His eyes went instinctively to his usual spot, and they were right to do so. There Damen was, sitting at a beautifully made table, lit by a lone candle burnt more than halfway down. He had to give it to him, he knew how to be romantic. The one thing lacking was himself.

Damen looked stricken. He was sitting slouched in a chair, gaze unfocused, breathing heavily. It looked like he was on the verge of tears.

“Damen?” Laurent asked warily. For a while, Damen didn’t react. Laurent wasn’t sure he’d heard, so he took a step closer and tried again. “Damen, what’s wrong?”

The other man looked up at that, his hollow gaze gaining focus, flitting all over Laurent before finally locking onto his gaze.

“Laurent, I…” Speaking seemed to hurt him. His entire body heaved with the words. “I’m…I…” His gaze fell again, and it seemed like he was about to collapse. Laurent rushed to hold him, helpless to do otherwise.

As his arms encircled Damen, the man broke down, buried his head in Laurent’s shoulder and started crying. What surprised Laurent most was how natural it all felt to him. Damen was distressed, so he came to him. He was crying, so he held him, consoled him. And it just felt right. As Damen held him closer, hands digging into his back, a crippling certainty slowly swept through him.

He was in love with Damen.

Chapter Text

When Damen was finally able to speak, he told Laurent everything. He had been somewhat embarrassed that Laurent had had to witness his breakdown, but not about his feelings. He was also aware that he should probably have told Laurent about the circumstances of his breakup before dragging him on a date. But he had felt so certain that it was all behind him…

Laurent was being unusually quiet. He had held Damen for a long time, and only turned away when it was clear that the other man would be okay. He had stepped away, turning his back to Damen, and stood silently staring out the window for a while. Once he had turned back, his face was clear of all emotion. He had simply looked at Damen and asked him to explain.

And so, Damen did. He made sure to be as brutally honest with Laurent as he could be with himself. This was not the time for apologies and empty promises. Laurent had literally given him a shoulder to cry on without question, the least he deserved was the truth. There he was, sitting across the table from Damen, listening, contemplating.

When Damen was done, he looked up at Laurent, waiting for him to react, but the blond was just as rigid and emotionless as he had been during Damen’s speech. He wasn’t even looking at him. Damen hung his head.

“Are you still in love with her?” came Laurent’s voice, so cold and controlled, it sent a chill down Damen’s spine.

“I… I’m not sure,” Damen responded honestly. “I don’t think so. I haven’t thought about her for,” he wracked his brain for the exact number, “wow, I don’t even know. It’s been a while.” He chanced a look up at Laurent, who was now watching him with a calculating gaze. “No,” he said with sudden clarity. “I’m not in love with her.”

Laurent regarded him for a while longer, then nodded slowly. “I believe you,” was all he said as he looked away.

“Laurent, I am so sorry.” He wanted to say something more, but there was simply nothing new to add. It was up to Laurent to decide whether he still wanted Damen after everything he’d told him. There was only one truth left to voice. “You deserve better.”

“Yes, you’re probably right.” After a while, he added, “But so do you.” He took a deep breath, then stood up. Damen watched him expectantly. “I cannot say Jokaste was wrong to do what she did. You deserved to know the truth. She should have told you sooner, but I believe it would have hurt just as much if she’d told you even later.” He looked at Damen. “The one thing you haven’t told me is what you want right now.”

The way he was standing there let Damen know that, despite everything, Laurent had not yet given up on him. He didn’t know if he deserved it.

“Laurent…” he started. He pleaded in his mind, empty promises and half-truths that he knew Laurent would despise. He smoothed a hand over his face, gathered his courage, and looked at Laurent. “I want to be with you. But I don’t want you to feel like…” A rebound. Second best. If I can’t have her, I guess you’ll do too. That’s not what this is. “You are the reason I’ve been able to get over everything. Seeing you here, getting to know you, it’s been…” He let out a long breath. “You are the one thing in my life that I look forward to. But if you think, if you feel like…”

Hold on a second. What was Laurent thinking? How could he be feeling right now?

Searching his expression, Damen came up empty. His look was not quite so closed off anymore, his features lost some of the cutting edge they had possessed a few minutes ago, but it was clear Laurent was still doing everything to keep his emotions in check – and secret.

“What do you want, Laurent?” Damen asked. His voice was weaker than he would have liked. Unlike Laurent, he could not control himself quite so effortlessly.

Laurent’s mouth opened a little at that, his surprise escaping through his otherwise perfectly crafted mask, then quickly looked away. Damen wondered if Laurent had ever been asked what he wanted, if he’d ever even considered it. His heart was beating so loudly he was sure Laurent could hear it as well, impatience coursing through his veins with every pump, and yet he willed himself to do nothing, to give Laurent as much time as he needed.

“I want you, Damianos,” Laurent whispered, so quietly Damen thought he was only imagining it. But when the blond finally looked back at him, his mask was no longer in place, his face was a collection of soft lines and pleading looks, and Damen was powerless to resist.

He strode up to Laurent, took his face gently in his hands, and kissed him.

Chapter Text

Perhaps the most surprising thing Laurent had found out about Damen in their first month together as a couple was that Damen was a grumpy sleeper.

He hated going to bed, insisting every night that he could stay awake as long as Laurent did, that he could just watch a movie or read one of the books Laurent was always recommending him. Most of these attempts ended up with him sleeping like a log before Laurent could count to ten. He’d actually timed it once. When they didn’t spend their night together, Damen again found reasons to complain, mostly about being alone in a cold, empty bed, at which point Laurent always felt compelled to remind him that his body was literally a furnace, and he didn’t even need blankets because he would just set them on fire. (That, he was a little afraid to try on the off chance he was right.) However, Damen was seldom deterred by this truth, and would just keep on complaining until Laurent announced that he would be going to sleep (which, yes, most often meant solitary reading).

Despite all of this, mornings were possibly even worse. Damen had about six alarms at irregular intervals, four of which he slept through and two he got really mad at, tossing around and moaning like a wounded boar. Naturally, Laurent was wide awake after the first useless attempt of the alarm clock, and even though Damen’s habits should have been abhorrent, he found they offered a lot of possibilities. Sometimes, Laurent would make them some breakfast, which never failed to sweep Damen off his (unsteady-early-morning) feet, earning him an endless amount of kisses and other less appropriate forms of physical affection. Which was one other thing he liked to indulge in while Damen was sleeping through his alarms. Even in his sleep, he was a very hands-on person, so when half-awake Laurent crawled into his arms they automatically tightened around him, Damen curling around his body like a blanket with the welcoming heat of his body. Sometimes, he liked to a little more, and he would touch and kiss and lick all over Damen’s body until he awoke already dizzy with pleasure and want.

This particular morning, however, turned out to be rather different. They had spent the night in Damen’s apartment (Laurent still had some reservations about inviting Damen to his home, so most of the time they just hung out in Damen’s place) meaning they were supposed to be following his morning routine, yet when Laurent woke up it was not to some old pop song, but to the sun shining lightly on his face. Stretching languidly with a yawn, he wondered how he could have slept through Damen’s impossible amount of alarms. He tossed his head to first one side then the other and flailed his arms to the side just to make sure, but no, Damen wasn’t there. He didn’t know whether he should be impressed or scared.

Perhaps a bit of both?

Frowning, he stood up and picked a discarded shirt up off the floor.

“Damen?” he called as he stepped out of the bedroom.

“In here!” Damen shouted back, perhaps a little louder than necessary. His flat wasn’t that big.

Laurent made his way to the kitchen, leaning himself against the counter, then watched Damen try to make French toast for a minute or two. For some unknown reason he had decided to forgo clothing and was cooking in only a pair of rather tight black boxers.

“Need a hand?” Laurent offered once he’d looked his fill.

Damen turned to him with a smile. “Good morning,” he drawled, then blushed slightly. “I thought this would be easier. You do it so well I just thought, y’know, can’ t be that hard.” He looked back at the pan with a disapproving frown. “It is.”

Laurent smiled and gave a small kiss to Damen’s cheek. “My master chef.”

Damen blushed a little deeper, then placed his hands on Laurent’s hips and leaned down to kiss him, moving his lips slowly against Laurent’s.

“Good morning indeed,” Laurent joked as they parted. “I don’t understand how you could wake up before me, though.”

“Ah,” was all of Damen’s eloquent answer for a while as he turned back to his cooking. “I’m a little nervous. Couldn’t sleep.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “Nervous? Of what, having to cook for yourself?”

“It’s Sunday.”

Laurent frowned, puzzled. “So, what’s the big - Oh.” Right, that Sunday. The day Damen and Nikandros would be visiting Damen’s father, who he hadn’t seen in months. That day. Laurent took a tentative step forward, reaching to rest a hand on Damen’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, I’m nervous,” Damen replied without turning. “I don’t know,” he exhaled, his chest falling visibly. He looked a little broken just then. “I’m afraid to see him, you know. That’s why I haven’t been before. But Nik really wants to, and for some reason he won’t go without me, so now I have to, too, and I absolutely do not wish to be there.” He chuckled. “You know?”

Laurent closed the distance between their bodies, hugging Damen and resting his head on his back, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. “I know.”

He was thinking about his own father, the man who had practically disowned him when he’d heard he was gay. He had never had an easy relationship with his father, being nothing like Auguste, but since then, they hadn’t spoken a single kind word to one another. Would he want to?, he wondered, but couldn’t be sure.

Damen turned around in his embrace, worry etched into the lines of his face. “Shit, Laurent, I’m sorry. I have no right to complain to you about this.” He kissed Laurent’s head, hands warming his back as they rubbed his muscles. “Are you okay?”

Laurent smiled. “It’s okay. I just meant that I understand what you’re going through and it is not easy. I’d be surprised if you weren’t at least a little anxious.”

“Your life must be pretty with me in it, then.”

He stood up on his tiptoes to give Damen a chaste kiss. “Never. Like right now, I have no idea what you’re planning to do with your burning toast. I don’t really know what to do with the fact that you haven’t even seemed to notice.”

Damen whipped back around, watching in horror as his morning creations charred to black.

“Oh, fuck.”

Laurent stood back and let Damen handle this small crisis, hoping it would take his mind off the meeting with his dad, and turned instead to pour them both some cereal.

* * * * *

Damen’s father was staying in the most modern and ridiculously expensive hospital the world had to offer. He was a little intimidated by the place, actually; it looked more like an office than a place of death and healing, bringing back memories from the time when he had still worked in his father’s company, when he had been expected to take over for him. How much things can change in the space of a few short months, Damen thought bitterly as they entered the building.

Nikandros was seemingly even more nervous than him, never settling, tapping his feet in the elevator, scratching his head or straightening his sleeves.

“Nik,” Damen said as kindly as he could. “It’s okay. He will be happy to see you.”

“You think?”

“I’m sure,” Damen nodded. I’m not sure whether he wants to see me, he added in his head, but didn’t want to burden Nikandros with his own troubles. He could only hope his father wouldn’t.

A nurse showed them to his father’s room after a rather thorough questioning – after all, Damen’s father was a well-known man and an important patient even in such a prestigious establishment.

“You wanna go in first?” Damen wanted to make sure, even though it looked like Nikandros was about to either vomit or run away.

“No, no,” he shook his head. You go ahead.”

Damen regarded his friend for a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied Nikandros would be able to follow him inside.

He opened the door and stepped in.

“Hey, dad,” he greeted the greying man reading a newspaper in the bed.

The room was rather large, the hospital bed pushed against one wall and a sizable TV mounted on the opposite one. There was a coffee table with two small chairs arranged around it, several newspapers scattered on its surface. A rocking chair also stood next to the bed, which Damen was sure was only allowed in because his father specifically requested it. He really was fond of that chair.

His father looked up from his reading with a small frown on his face, but his features cleared instantly when he spotted Damen. A smile spread across his face as he put down the paper and held his hands out for a hug.

“Damianos.”

He sounded amicably, loving even, as though he truly was happy to see Damen. Maybe he really was, Damen thought as he gave his father a hug that turned out to be less awkward than he’d anticipated. After everything that had gone down in his family, he was surprisingly glad to be seeing his old man again.

“How are you, my boy?” he asked once he let his son go, sizing him up with a glance. “You look well.”

“I am, thanks. Yeah.”

“About what happened with your brother,” he cut in before Damen could continue, eager to get everything out in the open. “I’m not proud of what he did. Perhaps I’m even ashamed,” he added quietly, casting his gaze down. “He’s always felt… like the second choice, you know? And it was never his fault. He’s turned bitter and I chose to ignore it.”

“We all did.”

His father looked back up at him, holding his gaze while he spoke. “His actions are my fault, because I failed him as a father. I failed you both, and for that I am sorry. I can only hope that, with time, you two can find it in yourselves to forgive each other.” Damen felt his anger rising in his throat again, scorching his insides, but chose not to say anything, and let his father continue. “I will do my best to make it up to you.”

Damen considered this for a long moment. He had always looked up to his father, he had practically worshipped him. How he’d built a corporate empire from the ground up all while he was raising two boys practically alone was unthinkable to Damen and he revered his father for it. He still did, he realized, he had simply begun to reexamine his dealings with the two of them, how he’d handled their rivalry, and didn’t always like what he saw.

Was Kastor’s betrayal the fault of their father? In part, perhaps. But Kastor could not be acquitted. His actions were his own, even if his motives may have arisen from a life that left him constantly on the sidelines. However, his father had admitted his guilt, and that was much more than what Damen had hoped for.

“Thank you.” He put a hand on his father’s shoulder and squeezed, trying to convey just how much he meant it. His father grabbed his hand in one of his own and smiled up at him. They would be all right, Damen decided. “Actually, there’s someone else here to see you,” he said, and turned around to signal Nikandros that he should come in.

His friend, bulky as he was, seemed to have a knack for making himself appear small and unthreatening. When he walked into the room, he had the air of a frightened puppy. Damen smiled and stepped back, letting Nikandros take his place closer to his father.

“Hello, Theomedes,” he greeted a little too stiffly, but Damen’s father didn’t mind, and leaned forward to wrap Nikandros up in a hug much the same way he had done with Damen.

“Nikandros my boy!” he said, patting Nik’s back enthusiastically. “How have you been?”

“Pretty nervous, actually.” Nik straightened, shifting his feet. “You know, about the café…”

“Oh, of course! How is that old place doing? I hope you haven’t run it into the ground?” Theomedes joked.

“No!” Nik answered hastily, and Damen was forced to cough into his hand to mask his laughter. His father had always known how to rile Nikandros, ever since they had first taken him in after his own father had passed. Damen had been 15 at the time, Nikandros 16. “Of course not! We’re doing really well, right Damen?”

“Yeah, as far as I can tell, business is booming,” Damen assured them, sharing a conspiratorial smile with his father.

“I’m sure you’re managing it well,” Theomedes assured them both.

“Actually, I think so too,” Nik said cautiously, on the alert for any sign that this might be an unwelcome topic, but Theomedes said nothing, simply looked at him patiently.

Damen chose to leave them to it. They had already talked over the most urgent matter with his father, and once Nik got talking about the café, it was his father alone who could really keep up with him. He squeezed his father’s shoulder with a smile, then walked out of the room, giving Nikandros an encouraging nod on his way.

Once he was outside in the hallway, he leaned back against the wall and took a deep, steadying breath, thinking over his brother’s betrayal – again. It seemed to become something of a pastime for him. Go jogging, make some coffee, contemplate the fact that your brother may never have loved you. Usually when he was forced to remember the events it was because something unpleasant had happened, thankfully, this time was quite the opposite.

His father was right, after all. They needed to look forward, to think about forgiveness and try to do better. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, and it most definitely would not happen overnight, but he felt he could finally let go of resentment. His pain would remain, but he could start healing now.

He pulled out his phone.

Damen: just talked to my dad. went surprisingly well

The answer was almost immediate.

Laurent: rly? what did he say?

Damen: he basically took all the blame can u believe that…

Damen: he said hed do better, by kastor and by me

Laurent: im looking forward to that

Damen: guess well just have to wait and see

Laurent: are you ok?

Damen: i really am

Damen: i mean i havent forgiven kastor but im not angry anymore

Laurent: thats good.

Damen agreed wholeheartedly.

* * * * *

It seemed like an ordinary day. The sun was shining just neatly enough not to be bothersome, there was no sign of rain, the weather was altogether perfect for late summer. Nothing seemed to suggest that it wasn’t just an ordinary Tuesday.

For those involved with the little coffee shop called Akielos, however, this Tuesday was extremely special, for it would be the long-awaited unveiling of Nikandros’ new menu. He had been working on it for over two months, taking down their old one and making customers guess as to what kind of specialty coffee they may be serving on any given day. However, at long last, once the assent of the shop-owner had been obtained, the new menus were finalized, stylized, and printed, then carried into the little storage room in the back by a rather bulky employee and his ogling boyfriend who wasn’t really there to help so much as stare unreservedly at the nigh-perfect muscles of his significant other. If asked, both would state that he had indeed been a huge part of the proceedings, which might lead one to question just what those proceedings could have been, and why the unloading of a few boxes took them almost an hour.

Therefore, it was best not to pose such questions, and so, no one did.

At first, the new menu had not been thought of as an event deserving spotlight, but an overzealous friend of Nikandros had suggested that they should throw a small party for it. It would be good for the business, he’d said, it would help to draw in new customers and the old ones could feel a bit more involved. It would be fun, he’d said. MY brother would organize it, he’d also said. After all, he hadn’t really had much else to do. Aforementioned brother had been forced to admit, rather begrudgingly, that he had indeed had a lot of spare time on his hands, most of which he would have spent in the café anyways, fawning over his books and his Damen, so he had been forced (read: emotionally blackmailed by not just one, but two of the most important people in his life) to accept the honor of planning this little party.

Arriving at the scene of this horrendous crime, one would have to admit that this brother was more than up for the challenge. The café was subtly decorated, a few extra candles here, a small bouquet there. The huge blackboards behind the counter very misleadingly still did not showcase any actually purchasable beverages, they instead advertised the little event and the menu itself, which would be made available at 4 pm that very day, and, as a way to promote the new additions, each of them would be 20% off, as well as every second cup of coffee within the same purchase. There would also be a raffle held at closing time, where everyone with a receipt from that fated Tuesday could win. At 3:50, the influx of people increased. At 4:30 they almost reached their full capacity, and by 5 o’clock, people were milling about on their feet, talking, laughing, and, most importantly, drinking coffee.

Those interested enough to ask could find out how long the menu had taken to be prepared, why they had waited so long to reveal it, who had made it, and all sorts of different questions were to be answered on this day, this afternoon.

However, some things were withheld from the public.

Perhaps the most intriguing one (the one most closely concerning the shop at least) was the recent change in ownership, for much more had been accomplished that one day in the hospital than the approval of the new tastes. The previous owner had apparently given a lot of thought to the fate of his café and all his other enterprises as well and had decided to leave all of his sons with something to occupy them, after the oldest one had found it necessary to take these matters into his own hands. The café, he had decreed, would pass onto his foster son, Nikandros, who had been rendered speechless for such a long time Damen had hurried back into the room embodying fear. But Theomedes would not accept refusal and, within a few days, the whole matter was settled, and the café was officially owned by none other thank Nikandros, the man who had worked hardest for it. Thankfully, he had an overzealous friend to help him celebrate, who would show up on this fairly average Tuesday afternoon to become a little bit more than just a friend.

Another secret was buried within the ranks of the guests themselves. Somewhere around 5:10 a handsome man with olive skin stepped into the crowded shop, smiling sheepishly, even blushing a little as Damen waved to him. Once he was safely inside the establishment, another figure followed him through the door – a somewhat older, somewhat lighter skinned but impeccably dressed gentleman, who proceeded to order and pay for both of them and refused to leave his partner’s side during their entire stay. One might say they looked pretty good together.

The deepest of secrets, however, wasn’t in any of the guests. It had nothing to do with such trivial matters as the ownership of the entire place. No, it was much more hidden, a thousand times more intimate, and would remain secret for several days as the two involved chose to keep it to themselves for as long as they could. It was in the way the bulky, playboy-level handsome waiter smiled at the strikingly beautiful blond sipping his coffee, the hurried steps that took them to the small storage room behind the counter, the whispered praises and heated kisses they exchanged in there. It came to life in the way the dark-skinned man slowly traced the lines of the other’s face, committing every inch to memory, and answered in the way the blond’s heart began to race at the featherlight touch. For a moment, it felt impossible to put into words, this secret bigger than the two of them or anything they had ever experienced. Yet somehow, in the moment their gazes were locked between kisses, it was spoken.

“I love you,” Damen breathed.

To see the surprise on Laurent’s face right before the purest joy took over it was breathtaking. “I love you too, Damianos,” he whispered, as he stood up on his tiptoes to kiss Damen again.