Work Text:
“Let’s see here... I’ve got plenty of cheese. Stroopwafels, and that cute bunny merchandise. What am I missing again?”
João refused to reply, staring at his excitable tourist of a brother. It was Antonio’s first trip to the Netherlands, the first time meeting João since he’d moved there months prior, and despite offers of a unique experience, Antonio had his own plans in mind. He needed windmills, canals and several hundred photos of tulips. He took selfies on Amsterdam’s bridges, drank only Dutch beer and finally, he remembered.
“I want clogs!”
“Klompen,” said João, trying to throw some Dutch in the mix. “Klomp is the singular form.”
“I see,” Antonio nodded, meaning: I didn’t really ask, but thanks. He polished off his pastry, washed it down with a beer -a mix even João thought rather strange- and wiped his hands upon his serviette. After that he got back to people watching, peering out the nearby window. “Is there a place you have in mind?”
“Lemme look,” João replied, whipping out his phone. That became a routine as of late, for he was useless at planning ahead, and therefore never ready for Antonio’s demands.
“I want to go somewhere nice,” Antonio added. “But that should be easy. It’s a beautiful country.”
“It certainly is.”
“Not warm though.”
João arched a single brow. Despite not living there very long, he was attached to his newfound home, and took all criticism to heart. He discovered peace in the fields of flowers, the direct nature of the Dutch themselves, and though he loved dear Portugal and Spain, the Netherlands was different and that suited him fine.
“What colour should I get?” Antonio wondered. “There’s so many, right?”
“Indeed,” João exhaled, laughing in dismay. Antonio was sweet, good-natured and kind, but he was just like any other sibling. Any younger sibling at that. An unseen crown adorned his head from birth, granting him forgiveness if he stepped out of line, and no matter how many photos or messages João sent, their parents still asked: Are you keeping him safe? Is he eating right? Has he slept?
Antonio, charismatic and bright, was the jewel of their little world. It didn’t mean to say that João wasn’t loved, or deemed an inferior child, but there was something -an invisible divide- which set the two apart.
Young Antonio excelled in their games, same with the arts and sport. Late at night, when their father read stories, the boys would re-enact those fairytale worlds. Antonio played princes and heroes, wise sages and noble knights. João, with his talent for strange voices, often wound up with the undesired roles. Things like witches, bumbling servants, evil kings and trickster goblins. They would stage battles -João always lost- and though he didn’t really hate those times, he often believed he might deserve better.
Wishful thinking, João paused to sigh. Even now, as a pair of adults, they had barely strayed from their parts. Antonio blossomed into a princely man, whilst João related to all of the villains. He understood why the fairy was angry, having been refused an invitation, and how the wicked stepmother often took to her mirror, praying her good looks wouldn’t fade.
“João...?”
Antonio closed in, and set a hand on João’s upper arm. He did that stare -not quite puppy eyes, but lethal nonetheless- and his lower lip popped out.
“I’m sorry, am I being too much? Why don’t we forget that last request, yeah? I’m sure there’s plenty of other things to do.”
No, that wasn’t an option. João wanted to make a good impression, and keep his brother happy. With that in mind he kept scrolling his phone, until a name finally caught his eye.
“Klompen Van de Berg?”
“Ta-dah,” João opened his arms. “Pretty enough, don’t you think?”
Like a postcard, Antonio agreed. The area consisted of several small buildings, a private house, a stable and more. Well-kept flowerbeds divided the zones, and oversized sculptures of clogs were scattered, perfect props for any good tourist photo. The scent of flowers mixed with coffee and syrup, and as they approached the clog workshop itself, a pleasant hint of wood joined the blend. Everything, from the signage to the doors, was handmade to an impressive standard, but imperfect as per design. The slip of paint, the slight bump or knock... It was a sign of human efforts, which a machine could only hope to achieve.
Inside the workshop -and shop, Antonio realised, gawking at walls of brightly coloured footwear- the smell of wood shavings overpowered the coffee. A cheerful woman at the till waved hello, and the young man beside her followed suit, standing with remarkable poise. His one exposed eye curved up when he smiled, and though he was dressed in casual clothes, João recognised that princely air. Clearly the man wasn’t actual royalty, but like Antonio he held a certain glow, a power to light any room. The two were drawn to one another in an instant, causing João to shrug in sync with the woman, and laugh upon having done so.
“Welcome to Klompen Van de Berg,” she announced, immediately charmed by Antonio’s appearance. He wasn’t even trying to get her attention, but his influence grew beside the other man. “My name’s Emma, and this is Noah.”
Noah politely bowed. “Pleased to meet you.”
“That’s Antonio,” João replied. “He’s visiting a while and wants some clogs.”
Emma’s face did a little twitch. She wasn’t insulted by the half-introduction, and stood back as if seeing something- no, someone she recognised. “As you wish, Meneer No-Name, I’m sure we can sort something out.”
“Off you go then,” João nudged his brother.
“You’re leaving me?”
“I’ll stay in the shop, but I want to nose around a bit.”
And with that settled João was gone, hands clasped behind his back, admiring the plethora of clogs. If Noah was bothered, he hid it well, whilst Emma crossed her arms, head shaking and laughing softly.
“Sorry about him," Antonio sighed.
“No harm done,” Emma insisted. “He’s your older brother, I take it?”
“You could tell?”
“I had a feeling,” she said, stopping there. “Now then, let’s talk clogs.”
The further João wandered through the shop, the more he realised he’d done the right thing. From the lifestyle, to the food and the arts, the Netherlands suited him well. He gazed at the thick wooden beams overhead, reminiscent of a farmhouse or barn, and yes- even that was good. João loved the tiny details, the delicate patterns upon the shoes, and the general feel of the craft itself. It was worlds away from sterile steel, office desks and smog-choked cities, and if he could move to this place he would. He’d spend hours in the gardens alone, and devote the rest to learning the trade.
When he found the workshop machinery, he couldn’t help his dreamy sigh. João yearned to hop the division fence, inspect the well-used -well-loved- tools, and feel the grain of wooden blocks, ready to be turned into clogs. Upon the back shelves were tins of paint, pots of brushes and then- João frowned, cocking his head as if he might see clearer, he noticed a familiar bird. The Galo de Barcelos. It disguised itself well in the colours, same with a peculiar hand-painted horse, and suddenly João was ten years old again. Standing in his grandpa’s treasured workshop, helping him carve their country’s symbol.
“Sorry, we don’t make those.”
João came back from his trance. The nearby doorway was filled with a man, both in height and the great width of his shoulders, whilst his face gave nothing away. Spikes of blond hair brushed against the doorframe, and so he ducked to stand in the work zone, eyeing the little bird.
“I know,” João replied. “It’s from Portugal.”
The man blinked. He seemed impressed. Nevertheless with his wrinkled, scarred brow, and naturally hardened stare, João imagined his social life suffered. Unlike approachable Emma and Noah, he gave the impression he disliked most people. The tense body language supported the image, and yet looking at him close enough, João could see a gentler side. The man’s trousers were faded at the knees, signs of constant bending. Upon his feet were a pair of clogs, and somehow -despite his aloofness- he pulled the look off well.
“You ever been there?” the man asked.
“I’m half Portuguese, so I grew up there a while. My family makes those in their shop.”
João’s admission blew a hole in his shield. The man’s guard begun to lower, and he appeared to be recalling something.
“I bought it on a trip,” he explained. “Beautiful country. You’re here on holiday?”
“Nope. I live here.”
João couldn’t tell if he was happy, surprised, or disliked the sudden interruption. Only that pale cheeks had gained some colour, and- well, it was embarrassing to say, but João found him rather handsome. A rugged package of grunting and gestures, and a refreshing absence of arrogance.
“Name’s Abel.”
“João.”
Abel nodded. This was the part where he should’ve said welcome, and carried out his salesman routines. He should’ve offered a tour of the workshop, all the tactics passed down through the family, and yet... he suddenly couldn’t.
“I’m distracting you, aren’t I?” João realised, stumbling on a hasty apology. “I’m just- I’m here with my brother, he’s visiting. Not that you even asked but-” he raised a hand, fumbling with long curls of hair, “yeah. I should go-”
“Need some help?”
João halted mid-turn, one foot still hanging in the air. Abel crossed the fence like it hadn’t existed, and with it went João’s composure. A weird tingling teased his chest, like a flutter and- Oh god. He put his foot down. What was this unusual feeling?
“... If you’d like,” he eventually replied, letting Abel take the lead. He hadn’t planned to buy, let alone try, and still he got settled down on a bench, slowly removing his boots.
“You’re in-between sizes,” Abel reckoned.
“You can tell just by looking?”
The question caught Abel off guard. “Comes with the territory, that’s all. Excuse me if I seemed too forward.”
“You know your stuff,” João replied, and ow, his cheeks were aching. How long had he been smiling?
Whatever the case, it smoothed Abel’s brow. He wandered over to the samples -tester clogs for customers to try, before choosing the pattern they liked- and set down a couple of options. So far so good, João liked the service, not much different to the city’s shoe shops. He spoke his thanks and hunched forward to grab them, until Abel dropped down on one knee, and caught João’s hand in his own.
“I’ll do it.”
João.exe stopped working. What was breathing? How did he function? He couldn’t discern one clog from the next, forming a colourful blur in the background. Only Abel and their hands remained clear, and hell, he didn’t know how long they stayed there, holding hands and caught in a stare-off, but he knew he missed the warmth when it left, and squeaked as the same fingers cupped his bare ankle.
“You alright?”
“A bit ticklish,” João lied, holding onto his breath. He could feel every mark and callous, the respectable wear upon Abel’s skin. His hold was surprisingly gentle, treating João like his body were glass, and for a minute he simply did nothing. A hot, heavy silence filled the gap, both men swallowed and Abel asked first:
“You said you live here, correct?”
“That’s right.”
Abel hummed low and tried the first clog. It went on fine, but the sides were snug. Hours of wear would result in blisters.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it,” said João, watching Abel set the shoe to one side. “This place is incredible.”
“The workshop?”
“All of it. You’re very-”
“It fits!”
Forever the king of terrible timing, Antonio’s voice rang through the building. He waved at João with big swings of his arm, and pointed to the clog on his foot. “I feel like Cenicienta!”
Abel was right back to frowning. “Ceni...?”
“Assepoester,” João translated. Cinderella. “He’s a huge fan of fairytales, that one. Always wondering when his prince will come.”
“And what about you?”
João shrugged. “I have dreams. I’d love to own an area like this. Live out in the open, doing a craft.”
Abel seemed to like his answer, slipping a new shoe on his foot. As expected there was far too much wiggle room, and fine, he knew what to do.
“When I was younger,” Abel began, just loud enough for João to hear. “I had all sorts of ideas. I wanted to study abroad, take up photography, or become an artist. Then I had a literature phase, and-” Abel stopped his story, looking around the shop. “The world shrinks the older you get. You realise there’s things that have to be done, whether you wanted to pursue them or not.”
“Don’t you like it here?”
“Not at first, I didn’t. I’m the eldest son, and heir to it all.”
João followed his stare to the shelves, where the rooster and horse sculptures sat.
“You know the first one,” Abel went on. “The other’s a dalahäst, bought it in Sweden. That’s the last trip I made before my father called, telling me to come home for training.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I’m not.”
João let his eyes drift across, travelling the gradients of red to yellow. Green clogs merged into teal, then indigo, purple and black. To him, it was a glimpse of heaven, a home from home and his beloved grandpa. “How many of these did you make?”
“Most of ‘em,” Abel quietly boasted. “My father’s moved on to the farm, but he takes over on my days off. We’ve got several businesses you see, but this one’s the centre of it all, and where I’ll remain until... no, excuse me,” he faked a cough, distracted from the task at hand. “I love my work now, and that’s what matters. But seeing him, your...”
“Younger brother.”
Abel nodded, thankful for the help. “He’s rather carefree isn’t he? I’m jealous.”
“You and me both,” João sighed. “But you know, I stand by what I said. I think this place is beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
“But you’re lonely, aren’t you? I can tell.”
Abel had never been a good liar. His mother caught him out on the first attempt, and so he’d told the truth ever since. “It’s hard to meet new people. And that’s what I meant, about your brother. He’s looking for that someone whilst I-... I’m being ridiculous. I'm a little tired. Forget what I said. You didn’t come here for this-”
João’s hand went out without thinking. He found Abel’s cheek and held him steady, meeting his pitiful gaze. He couldn’t claim to understand the pressure, but he knew that even if a person did like their job, slumps happened, and well -he sighed, watching Abel lean into his palm- João couldn’t imagine facing it alone. Tucked away in the same four walls, without a change of scene or opinion.
“I moved from my family,” João uttered. “Even though I love them, we have disagreements, and honestly... I admire what you’ve done. I think I’d still be rebelling, if I were you.”
Abel snorted. “There’s always time. But I won’t, not after this.”
“After what?”
Abel sat up on his knees and reached back, grabbing a single clog. “I met you today, and that’s something.”
“I-” João’s fingers curled. He brought the hand to his chest. “I just brought Toni here, that’s all.”
“D’you ever think about those stories he likes?”
“We’re talking fairytales again?”
Abel laughed deep from the stomach, turning the shoe in his fingers. “There’s some truth behind those things. Always a message, a moral and such. A sign that we shouldn’t give up.”
“I came here by chance.”
“Perhaps.”
João fought down a blush, crossing both arms tight. “So you’re saying this was meant to be?”
“Take it as you will. Your dream was to have a place like this, and- ah,” Abel swelled with pride, leaning back to admire his work. “A perfect fit, Assepoester.”
“So it is,” João agreed, secretly enjoying the tease. “But if I’m her, what does that make you?”
“Whatever you want me to be,” Abel answered, slipping on the second shoe.