Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As he carries Delilah with one arm and clings tightly to Archie’s hand with his own, Jack wonders why he even bothers asking them where they want to go out to eat anymore since it’s always, without fail, the same answer. Nando’s isn’t even in Jack’s top five favorite restaurants, but apparently his kids have some kind of love affair with the place. Or rather, with a particular person who happens to be there literally every time Jack brings his children. Not that Jack has been keeping track or anything. But the fact is, Archie and Delilah are troublingly obsessed with this (admittedly super attractive) stranger at Nando’s and Jack is pretty much at a loss as to what to do about this. He once tried bringing them to a bigger, much nicer Nando’s, but they were so upset that not only did Delilah kick up her usual fuss, but even the usually calm Archie threw a tantrum (and to be honest, Jack wasn’t feeling it either). So here they are, at probably the smallest Nando’s in the world, just like they have been every Tuesday evening for the past four months.

They enter and without meaning to (okay, maybe he kind of means to), Jack glances over at the far table in the corner and lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding when he sees the same guy sitting there as usual. Their eyes meet for a second and the guy gives him a slight smile before Jack hurriedly looks away, blushing.

“Oi, it’s been ages, mate!” A cheerful cry distracts Jack from his momentary crisis.

He sets Delilah down and puts Archie in charge (he loves when Jack does that), then walks over to the counter and grins. “Shove off, Gibbo, it’s been a week just like always.”

“That’s just his way of saying you need to come in more often, mate,” a new voice chimes in.

“Like I ever would, Chambo,” Jack says, rolling his eyes. “I’d rather not have my kids exposed to you lot more than once a week.”

Chambo gasps, clutching his chest  dramatically. “I’m offended. Your kids love me.”

“I’m not sure it’s you they love, mate,” Gibbo smirks. “Look over there.” He gestures to that corner, and Jack tries his hardest to hide the fact that he’s screaming internally. He turns around, and sure enough, Archie and Delilah are sitting at the stranger’s table, giggling and listening attentively to something he’s saying to them. Jack tries not to think about how cute the guy looks as he uses hand gestures to tell them a story.

“Haven’t you taught them not to talk to strangers?” Chambo asks. “Oh, wait, that’s not a stranger, that’s the guy you’ve been pining over for months.”

“I should’ve taught them to not talk to you instead,” Jack grumbles. “And I’m not pining over anyone. Gibbo, the usual for all of us, please.”

“You know, technically you’re supposed to be seated before we can take your order,” Gibbo says.

Jack gives him a look. “Like that’s ever mattered to you before.” Gibbo grins and writes down the order. “I’ll go get them.”

“Good luck! Be safe!” Chambo sing-songs, and Jack flips him off before walking over to the table.

In all his years of being their father, Jack has never seen both Archie and Delilah so content to calmly sit in one place. When they notice him walking over, Archie jumps up excitedly and starts pulling him by the sleeve to the table.

“Daddy, come on, Woj is telling us a dancer story!” Archie says. Jack has no idea what that means, but he doesn’t have much choice except to follow his son’s lead.

The stranger, Woj, as Archie has just informed Jack, smiles at the two of them as they approach the table. “Hey, you brought a friend!” he says, presumably to Archie, but he only has eyes for Jack, who lifts Delilah onto his lap as he sits down next to Archie and across from Woj.

“This is my daddy!” Archie tells Woj proudly. “He’s the best.”

“I’m sure he is,” Woj says, and he really seems sincere even as he continues looking at Jack with barely disguised interest. His eyes are really blue, Jack thinks, and then he mentally scolds himself because what is wrong with him?

“Hi,” Jack says faintly. “I’m Jack. I suppose you’ve already met my kids.”

“Yeah,” Woj says easily. “They’re great kids by the way. I’m Wojciech, but you can just call me Woj.”

“Wojciech? Is that...Polish?” Jack blushes slightly as Woj’s eyes widen in surprise.

“That’s right, mate,” Woj says appreciatively. “Not many people bother asking, I’m impressed.”

Jack tries to force himself to stop blushing. “How long have you been in London? You barely have an accent.”

“Since I was 16, so about 9 years now,” Woj says. “Moved from Poland because there’s more opportunities for a dancer here than there.”

“So you’re a dancer? What are you doing here at Nando’s, then?” Jack asks curiously. “Not to be creepy or anything, but I’ve seen you here quite a lot, and I’m no expert, but that doesn’t seem healthy.”

To Jack’s surprise, Woj blushes slightly. But before he can reply, Gibbo is suddenly standing at their table and something like relief seems to flash across Woj’s face. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared though, so Jack doesn’t linger on it too much. “Hey, Wilsh, food’ll be out in a second,” Gibbo tells him. “Chambo’s too lazy to bring it out here, so come up and get it, yeah?”

“You two are the worst employees this place has ever had,” Jack says. “How you even still have jobs is beyond me.”

“We’ve got uni to pay for. The bosses know that,” Gibbo laughs as he leaves the table. About thirty seconds later, he’s calling for Jack to come up to the counter.

“Sorry, gotta get that,” Jack says as Woj looks amusedly at him and says, “Maybe you should get that.” They look at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“You can come sit back here, you know,” Woj offers as he tries to control his laughter. “I’ll keep an eye on the kids.”

“Yeah, definitely, thanks,” Jack says dazedly.

He makes his way over to the counter to find Gibbo and Chambo smirking at him. “So,” Chambo begins with a patronizing grin, and Jack really doesn’t want to deal with this right now. “When’s the wedding?”

“Shut up,” Jack says.

“Really, mate, you know how long it took for you to leave that table?” Gibbo asks. “Long enough for Rambo to invite me to a movie over text. And we all know how long it takes him to text with his perfect punctuation and capitalization and grammar, bless him.”

“Just give me my food,” Jack groans. “If my kids starve because you two wouldn’t leave me alone, I’m suing.”

“You love us,” Chambo says smugly. And yeah, Jack can’t even deny that, because somewhere along the line, coming to Nando’s and bantering with the stupid uni boy employees (who truthfully are probably the same age as him) stopped being a burden and became something Jack looks forward to every day. But he’s not about to admit that, especially not to them, so he deliberately leaves them a smaller tip than usual and returns to the table.

“What took so long? Got me worrying for a second,” Woj jokes as Jack sighs and takes the seat across from him again.

“Ah, nothing. It’s just them uni boys are a pain in my…” Jack sees Archie’s innocent eyes staring up at him and he trails off before finishing the sentence.

“A pain in your what, daddy?” Archie asks sweetly.

Woj bites back a smile as Jack struggles to find an appropriate answer. “Never mind, Arch. You want me to cut your chicken?”

Archie nods and Jack lets out a sigh of relief.

“So are you in uni too?” Woj asks as Jack expertly cuts up the piri piri chicken.

“Nah, mate,” Jack says. “Got my plate full with these ones always running about.” Almost on cue, Delilah starts reaching over and grabbing at Archie’s plate. “Delilah, give me a second, please. It’s rude to grab, how many times have I told you?” Delilah pouts.

“I can cut up her chicken if you want,” Woj offers. Jack hands him her plate gratefully and tries not to blush when their hands touch. Jack watches the tall, dark, handsome dancer take care of Delilah’s little tantrum like it’s nothing, and he thinks, Wow, I am so screwed.

The bell jingles to signal the arrival of another customer and Chambo tries to pretend like he’s not eagerly watching to see who it is. It apparently doesn’t work, because he can see Gibbo laughing at him out of the corner of his eye. The two men who enter seem to be entirely too well-dressed for a place like Nando’s, but they also happen to be a very familiar sight.

“Hi, um, sorry about your shirt the other week,” Chambo says meekly, resolutely ignoring Gibbo and the shorter guy snickering in the background as the taller man walks up to him.

“Ain’t a problem, mate. I’ve got myself enough suits. You could dump food on me once a week and I’d still be good,” he assures Chambo.

“Stop showing off, Jenko,” the other suit-clad guy says, amused.

“He can’t help it, Rambo,” Gibbo says, laughing. “The males of a species always show off their talents to impress potential mates.”

“Don’t mind Gibbs. Midterms have got him off his rocker this week. Not that he’s ever sane.” Chambo glares at Gibbo.

“Pretty sure he’s not the one who’s off his rocker, mate,” Rambo says. “Anyone who uses spilled Nando’s as a pick up technique isn’t in the right state of mind.”

“Ay, Rambo, always got my back,” Gibbo says, high-fiving his friend delightedly.

“And they call us gross,” Jenko says, shaking his head.

“Yeah, look at them,” Chambo agrees.

“Lads, do you want to know what is truly disgusting?” Gibbo points over to the table in the corner. “Take a look at them moon eyes.”

“Which one? Wilsh or his pretty friend?” Rambo asks. (Gibbo pouts dramatically and Rambo adds in amusement, “Not as pretty as you, of course.”)

“Both,” Jenko and Chambo say together in slightly scandalized tones. They glance at each other and blush.

“No, I take it back. You two tie with them for grossness,” Gibbo says. He shakes his head and sighs. “Alright, are you lads going to order anything or are we just going to banter all night?”

“I’m only here because he made me,” Rambo tells him, gesturing to Jenko.

Gibbo rolls his eyes. “You gotta give that story up, mate, I know you love our chicken.”

“Won’t ever hear those words coming out of my mouth, though,” Rambo says with a grin. “I’ll take the mango and lime butterfly chicken again with the salad and peas. Gotta get them vegetables too.”

“Why does everyone forget that this is actually a sit-down restaurant?” Chambo complains as Gibbo doesn’t bother writing down the order because he knows it by heart.

“If we sit down, we’ll have to wait ages for you lot to serve us. We’re just being efficient,” Jenko says. “And I’ll have the quarter breast, hot, with the chips and garlic bread.”

“A man after my own heart.” Chambo nods in approval without thinking. His eyes widen in horror when he realizes what he’s said. “I mean, yeah, that’s a good choice, mate.” Gibbo and Rambo are unabashedly laughing at him again, but Jenko’s grinning at him with a genuine smile, so Chambo can’t bring himself to care too much.

“Go sit your fancy asses down somewhere. We’ll call you up when the food’s ready. Midterms’ve got us too tired to move so you two’ll get some exercise,” Gibbo says.

“Oi, I don’t need more exercise!” Rambo says indignantly.

“I know you think that, mate, but-” Gibbo starts sympathetically with a mischievous smirk before Rambo cuts him off with a playful slap on the arm. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, you’re very fit.”

“I appreciate it, mate. I know I’m fit.” Gibbo rolls his eyes at his friend’s smug grin and shoos him away.

“Hey, Wilsh,” Rambo greets Jack as he passes his table. “Finally manned up, I see. Are you gonna introduce your new friend to us?”

“I’ve a right mind not to,” Jack mutters in annoyance. “I don’t know how you managed to get out of uni early. You’re still as block-headed as the lot over at the counter.”

“Don’t be rude. What’s your friend gonna think of you?”

Jack sighs. “Woj, this is Aaron, better known as Rambo. Rambo, Woj. And that other bloke is Carl, but we call the idiot Jenko.”

“Great to meet you,” Jenko says, grinning widely. “Heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise,” Woj says easily, noting Jack’s blush. “Finally worked up the courage to ask out that lad by the counter yet?” Jenko looks stunned and Jack looks at Woj with open amazement. Woj winks at him, feeling proud.

“I like him. A keeper, this one is,” Rambo says.

“Sod off. Go find a seat or something.” It takes all of Jack’s self-restraint not to flip them off.

“Oof, you talk like that in front of your kids?” Rambo smirks. At Jack’s glare, he holds his hands up. “Alright, alright, We’re going. Catch you later, mate.”

“Hey Kieran, Alex,” a voice calls. Chambo and Gibbo spin around to see Mikel Arteta, one of their managers, trying to get their attention. “Shouldn’t Calum be here by now?”

“Who?” Gibbo is momentarily thrown.

Mikel rolls his eyes. “Calum Chambers. The intern who works here 5 nights a week? Blond, blue-eyed, friends with that nice Spanish lad? Ringing a bell?”

“Oh, lil’ Chambo!” Gibbo realizes who this mysterious “Calum” is.

“Yes, lil’ Chambo,” Mikel sighs, his nose crinkling at the nickname. “Where is he? He’s only in secondary school, but he’s a better employee than you two idiots.”

“Hey, uni is a lot of pressure, boss. We’re coping best we can,” the older Chambo protests.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mikel waves him off, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “I still would rather have him here.”

Just as Chambo is about to open his mouth again, the door flies open and Calum comes running in with his friend Hector close behind. “Sorry, boss. London traffic was worse than usual,” he says.

Mikel turns to Gibbo and Chambo. “See? At least he has better excuses. What was the excuse you two tried to use last time?”

“It wasn’t an excuse. It was true! A horde of Tottenham fans attacked us! They saw Gibbo’s Arsenal hat and the lot of them were still bitter about the derby loss.” Chambo’s haunted expression earns him a snort from both Mikel and Hector.

“Just get back to work, Alex.” Mikel turns and walks back to his office.

“What’s got him in such a mood?” Gibbo wonders aloud.

“Shut up, Rosicky might hear you!” Calum says worriedly.

“Tomas wouldn’t yell at me if I set this place on fire, lil’ Chambo. Why don’t you be a lad and take this over to Rambo and Jenko. Maybe we can actually appear like we’re a legit dine-in place for once.” Gibbo hands him a tray of food.

“Actually, I can take it over. I don’t mind,” Chambo says hurriedly.

“Had a change of heart, have we? By all means,” Gibbo smirks. “Don’t just spill it on his shirt this time. Try and get it on his trousers.”

“Shut up,” Chambo hisses before bringing the food over. He manages to successfully deliver it without incident.

“D’you think you could get me some wine by the way?” Jenko asks as Chambo sets his plate down in front of him. “Long day.”

“Sure, of course. Red or white?”

“Don’t sweat it, mate. They all taste the same. Surprise me.”

Chambo runs back to get a glass and a bottle of the red wine to bring over. As he pours the cheap alcohol the door opens and he looks up to see who it is. In the split second that Chambo takes his focus away from pouring, his hand manages to completely miss the glass and pour the wine straight onto Jenko’s lap.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” Chambo is acutely aware of Rambo’s stifled laughter, and he’s 97% sure than Gibbo has also seen the entire thing unfold, but he’s slightly more preoccupied with the fact that Jenko’s pants are currently covered in red wine. “I swear I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“It’s alright,” Jenko reassures him as he dabs at his trousers.

Chambo runs to the cutlery station to grab more napkins and returns. “Here, let me help.”

“Do you want me to help too?” Rambo asks amusedly.

“No, that’s fine,” Jenko says quickly to Rambo while simultaneously allowing Chambo to help him. He tries hard not to think about where Chambo’s hands are fumbling.

“Oh, my bad,” Rambo grins. “I’m clearly not wanted here, I’ll just go over there, then.” He walks back to the counter, and neither Jenko nor Chambo can see him, but there’s no doubt that he’s recounting the entire situation to Gibbo.

“I’m so sorry,” Chambo says again. “You probably have to go on the tube with damp trousers.”

“It’s only a few stops. Really, I’m okay,” Jenko says. I’m more than okay right now.

“I don’t even get why you keep coming back here since I keep spilling things all over you,” Chambo says. “You must really love your chicken.”

“Mate, really, stop worrying about it.”

Chambo suddenly comes up with an idea. “Hey, Gibbo and I only live a block from here. I could walk you to our flat and get you some dry clothes. The bosses won’t mind me taking off a few minutes. Lil’ Chambo is here to cover me, Mikel’s too buried in that novel he’s writing anyways, and I haven’t seen Tomas in like, three days.”

“Uhh,” Jenko says eloquently and Chambo immediately thinks he might have been too forward. He’s about to take it back when Jenko seems to recover and continues, “Yeah, that sounds great, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all, mate.” Chambo tosses the wet napkins in the trash and turns to the counters. “Be back in a few. Cover for me, yeah?”

Gibbo and Rambo stare open-mouthed as Chambo and Jenko walk out the door. “You gotta give it to him. That was pretty smooth,” Rambo admits.

“Our little Chambo and Jenko are growing up,” Gibbo says, wiping away imaginary tears.

“Why is it always so weird in here?” Hector complains half-heartedly as he watches them. “Why do you keep dragging me here, honestly, Chambers. I have better things to do with my life.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like the food, mate,” Calum says. “Plus, I see your hero worship for Arteta. You love coming here.”

The previous commotion is all but ignored at the table in the corner. Delilah is happily sitting on Woj’s lap as he feeds her, which Jack would usually be surprised about, seeing as Delilah hates being fed, but apparently there’s nothing that Woj can’t do because he’s pretty much tamed her.

“Please.” Delilah gives Woj her best dimpled smile. “Please, ‘nother story.”

“I’ll tell you another story if you finish your dinner,” Woj promises. Even Jack still struggles to resist the little girl’s dimples; he can’t believe Woj is doing it so easily. He tries his hardest not to confess his love to this frankly perfect man right then and there.

“How are you so good with her?” Jack finally blurts out. “I mean, I love her, but she’s more than a handful on a good day.”

“Well, I, uh,” Woj says, scratching the back of his head almost nervously. “I’m not really sure. I’ve always wanted kids, you know? But I guess it’d be kind of difficult for a bloke like me to have kids.” Jack furrows his brow in confusion. “I mean, unless I adopt. But yeah. Not really interested in the ladies, ‘f you know what I mean.”

“Oh! Oh, well, yeah, I know that feeling,” Jack stammers. “I mean obviously, women are, you know, seeing as I have two kids, but recently, well, yeah.” He trips over his words but Woj seems to get it, smiling understandingly at him after he stops talking. “Truth is, sometimes I wish there was someone else around to help me. I love them with everything I have, but it’s tough sometimes, y’know?”

“I’d be happy to help out,” Woj says right away. Then he backtracks and adds, “You know, if you wanted me to. I could babysit when I’m not rehearsing or performing.”

“Yeah! Yeah, that’d be great. But how much…” Jack trails off, embarrassed. “I don’t make very much so...I mean, I’ll pay of course, just I -”

“Listen, mate, spending time with y- with them is payment enough,” Woj interrupts. Jack tries to protest but Woj continues, “No, seriously, you don’t owe me anything. I’m happy to do it.”

“I- are you sure?” Jack asks hesitantly. Woj just nods, a wide smile already creeping across his face when he sees that he’s won. “Okay, well. Thanks mate, really, I- I really appreciate it.”

“So when are you working this week?” Woj asks. “We should work out a schedule.”

“I’ve got work at the cafe by the uni six days a week and I coach football on my free day. I usually run out around 3 to pick up the kids, Archie from school and Delilah from daycare, and they wreak havoc in one of the back rooms of the cafe or I set them loose on the pitch.” Jack suddenly seems worn. For the first time, Woj notices the bags under his eyes and the tired way he’s leaning on the table and he wants nothing more than to help him.

“Alright, well, I’m usually out of rehearsal by 2:30 so I’d be able to pick them up. Would you want me to bring them to you, or somewhere else?” Woj answers his own question before Jack can even open his mouth. “Actually, it’s probably best if they don’t bother you at work, right? I can bring them to my flat or to yours if you’re okay with that.”

Jack just stares at him in wonder. “So you’re really okay with this, then.”

“Of course, mate. I want to help.” Woj smiles reassuringly at him, and if Jack wasn’t already enamored, he sure is now.

Back at the counter, Gibbo and Rambo are doing their best to hide that they’re eavesdropping on the conversation. “I can’t decide who’s smoother. Woj or Chambo? I mean, using the kids? Classic technique right there.” Gibbo nods appreciatively.

“The real question is, who’s gonna get together first?” Rambo ponders. “My money’s on Wilsh and Woj, they’re gonna be spending at least a little time together every day. I bet eventually they’ll wake up one day and realize that Woj has literally been living at Jack’s place for weeks and that they’ve actually been dating the whole time.”

“But Jenko’s literally taking off his trousers in Chambo’s room at this very instant,” Gibbo says. “I will slap Chambo if he wastes this fine opportunity.”

“He probably will,” Rambo sighs. “You know him. I would recommend not slapping him though, Mikel and Tomas might not take too kindly to that.”

“Yeah right,” Gibbo scoffs. “I know you. You’re just a softie. Nonviolence and all that.” Rambo gives him a look and he holds his hands up in surrender. “Not saying that’s a bad thing, mate. Hey, what movie did you wanna see today?”

“Pitch Perfect 2 is out,” Rambo says. “A capella is cool.”

“Mate, I’m gonna do you a favor and forget you said that.”

Rambo rolls his eyes. “You liked the first one, don’t even try to lie to me.”

“Ah, you know I never would,” Gibbo says with a grin, gazing dramatically at Rambo’s face.

“It’s decided then? Pitch Perfect?”

“If you insist. I’m only going for your sake, after all.”

“Are they dating or something?” Hector finally blurts out to no one in particular after watching this exchange for several minutes. “I literally have to sit through this every day, these idiots on opposite sides of the counter, bantering and flirting and god knows what.”

“We don’t even know, mate,” Calum says solemnly. “They sure act like it, but then again, they don’t really seem the type so we just go with it.”

“Why are we even here,” Hector complains. “No one is ordering anything. Those two have been flirting this whole time even though there are kids near them. That old man has been sitting there in silence for the longest time. What is going on?”

“That old man’s the owner,” Calum informs him. “Arsene Wenger.”

Hector is silent for a moment. “Oh. Well, what’s he doing here?”

“We think he lives here,” Calum says conspiratorially. “He basically never leaves. You can’t have never noticed him before.”

“I’ve been distracted by everything else. One old man usually isn’t enough to catch my attention when there’s everything else going on.” Hector stops and frowns. “Wait, where’s the Spanish crew?”

“That’s the later rush. I can’t believe you haven’t memorized all this by now.” Calum shakes his head in disbelief. “6:00 is the first rush with these idiots, and usually Rambo stays for the next round too, which is at 8:00.”

Hector glances at the clock, which reads 7:15. “I guess we have 45 minutes to prepare for the next rush then.”

Calum laughs. “Just enjoy the peace, Hector. Enjoy the peace.”

Chapter Text

At promptly 7:45, a short Spanish man shows up at the door with a bright smile and a loud “Hello, my friends!” directed at the counter.

Gibbo and Rambo stop their conversation long enough to wave at him before returning to their banter, leaving Calum to work.“Hey, Santi! The usual table?” Calum asks.

“Yes, but I will need another chair,” Santi says excitedly.

“New student?” Calum picks up an extra menu and drags a seat over to the largest table in the tiny restaurant.

“Yes, my friend, a new boy from Chile!” Santi says, beaming.

“Chile? Now that sounds pretty exciting, you’ll have to tell me the story behind why he’s come here of all places at some point,” Calum says cheerfully.

“Of course, my friend, of course!” Santi promises.

Calum returns to the counter to find Hector looking at him oddly. “What?”

“You’re actually pretty good at this whole waiter thing,” Hector admits grudgingly. “I never noticed before, but they apparently knew what they were doing when they put you here.”

“Well, there go my dreams of being a nuclear physicist. I’ll just quit school now and work at Nando’s forever.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to be a nuclear physicist. Isn’t physics like, your worst subject?”

“Mate, that’s because the teacher is shit. You need a really good teacher to teach something like physics. Or at least, oh, I don’t know, a slightly competent one.”

“Like Arteta? He seems like he’d be a great teacher.” Hector glances at the closed office door.

Calum shakes his head. “You’re obsessed, mate.” Before Hector can protest, the door opens and the restaurant is filled with loud Spanish chatter as a small mob of people makes its way inside. “Santi’s waiting over there,” Calum tells them.

Some of them seem to understand right away, but a few still look slightly confused. “Santi está esperando allá,” Hector clarifies for them. “Hay muchos asientos, por favor sentaos.”

It takes at least five minutes of the guys scraping their chairs on the tile and moving about in a disorderly way before everyone is properly situated. Back at the counter, Calum is trying desperately to get Gibbo to wait their table. “Come on mate, I love them, but I wait them every week!”

“Exactly, they’re used to you now,” Gibbo says. “If I go over there they might feel lost or something.”

“That’s the most ridiculous excuse I’ve ever heard," Rambo says. “Honestly mate, it’s not like they don’t know who you are, you literally work here.”

“But Rambo,” Gibbo tries, but he’s interrupted.

“Come on, Kieran,” Rambo says sternly, and they all know he’s serious because he’s using Gibbo’s real name. “It’s your job, mate. I’ll be right here when you’re done, promise.”

Gibbo sighs. “Fine, Aaron, just for you.”

“Thanks mate!” Calum chimes in. “I know you hate actually waiting tables, but I always do it.”

“Because you’re actually good at it,” Hector points out. Gibbo’s pout deepens.

“It’s okay, Gibbo,” Rambo says. “You may be number two at waiting tables, but you’re number one in my heart.”

“Shove off mate,” Gibbo says, but they can all see that he’s trying to hide a grin.

“So, how is everyone this week?” Santi asks slowly, allowing everyone to catch each word.

“Estoy bien,” Nacho says.

“En inglés, tonto.” Emiliano lightly shoves him with his shoulder. Everyone looks at him. “Oh. Uh, sorry.”

“It was a good week,” Alexis says, rolling his eyes at the others. “I walked the dogs two times for every day.”

“My sister is married now.” David smiles proudly. “To a nice...¿cómo se dice? To a nice lad, James.”

“Good, good.” Santi nods in approval at their English. “You’ve gotten very good! Now, everyone open their books and we can start.”

Fifteen minutes into the lesson, the door opens and a tall man with perfect hair walks in conversing rapidly in French with a shorter man who's following close behind.

“Does anyone here speak actual English?” Hector asks.

“Just because you learned perfect English in like, three months doesn’t mean everyone can,” Calum says. “Besides, what’s wrong with speaking your own native language? I wish I didn’t only speak English, it’s boring as hell.”

“It actually took me two and a half months,” Hector mumbles as Calum walks up to seat the two men.

“Hi, Olive. Table for two today?”

“Oui, this is mon ami, Mathieu.” Olive swings an arm around his “ami” and plants a kiss on his cheek.

“Mathieu, are you an artist too?” Calum asks as he guides the two to a table.

“No, just a model,” Mathieu says.

“Just a model?” Olive raises an eyebrow. “He is being modest, of course. He is my muse!”

“I can see why!” Gibbo calls from the counter, not bothering to hide the fact that he's been listening in the whole time. Rambo hits him on the arm and pouts.

Olive laughs at the exchange. “Bonjour, Gibbo et Rambo! But where is Chambo?”

“You French lads will understand. He’s chasing after romance, my friend,” Gibbo says overdramatically, causing Rambo to slap him on the arm again.

“Ah, the suit man, no?” Olive guesses confidently. He beams as Rambo and Gibbo nod in confirmation. “Finally! It has been ages! The English take so long with their...what do they call it, Mathieu?”

“Flirting.”

“We all can’t be like you, Olive. Some of us enjoy the chase,” Rambo says, a hint of smile pulling at his lips.

“You certainly do,” Gibbo smirks.

Rambo shrugs, a full-blown grin now spreading across his face. “You don’t seem to mind it either.”

Mathieu glances back and forth between the pair, his confusion written openly on his face. “Wait, are you two…” He doesn’t get to finish his thought as the bell jingles to indicate new customers and everyone’s attention turns to the new pair walking through the door.

“Bonjour Lolo!” Olive leaps out of his seat and pulls Mathieu up with him. “And ah, of course, hello Per.”

“Hello everyone!” Per booms with a massive grin.

“I am glad to be back!” Lolo says happily. “I love it here!”

“I don’t,” Per says cheerfully.

“Yeah right, mate,” Calum scoffs. “You say that every time, yet you're here without fail week after week.”

“He’s probably here more for the company than anything else,” Hector says, not bothering to hide his utterly unsubtle gesture towards the oblivious Lolo.

“Lolo would be lonely without me!” Per says. “I am only being a good friend.”

“There’s literally at least ten other people in here,” Gibbo deadpans.

“They are all Spanish! Who would he talk to?”

“I don’t know, maybe the two other Frenchmen in the room? Per, you don’t even speak French. You’re German right?” Calum grins as Per runs out of excuses to use.

“Yes, Per is German!” Lolo suddenly joins the conversation, unaware of the context. “But he is also friendly. The Big Friendly German, I like to say.”

“I prefer the F to stand for something else. He wasn’t so friendly when I accidentally gave him the extra spicy chicken,” Gibbo mutters.

“Don’t be rude,” Rambo scolds him. “What? It’s your job to get people’s orders right, don’t try to argue with me.”

“Excuse moi,” Olive interrupts before Gibbo can open his mouth to argue about arguing. “My lawyer is also coming, can we have a bigger table?”

“Why the hell do you have a lawyer?” Calum asks, astonished. “And more importantly, how?”

“Why is that more important?” Hector wonders aloud.

“Well, if it is more important, he is a friend. And I have him for art, you know?” Olive glances at blank expressions on everyone else’s faces. “Art show contracts,” he clarifies.

“Don’t you just need a manager for that?” Hector continues talking to himself.

“Ah! There he is! And he brought a friend!” Olive ignores Hector.

“Mesut?” Per eyes widen when he sees the lawyer’s friend. “What are you doing here?”

“You know him?” Lolo asks in confusion.

“From Germany. We are old friends,” Per says.

“I just move here,” Mesut says, taking a few moments to organize his thoughts in English. “Flamini take me out to eat.”

“His name is Mathieu too!” Olive says proudly. Everyone ignores him.

Mesut, who has been quietly observing his surroundings, perks up when he spots the table where the Spanish group is learning English. "¡Puedo hablar español!" he says excitedly. "De verdad, mi español es mejor que mi inglés." The group looks at him, each person with a different level of shock and amazement on their face.

"Hablas muy bien," Santi compliments sincerely after a pause. "¿Por qué sabes español?"

"Viví en Madrid por tres años," Mesut says, looking delighted to be able to carry out a full conversation in Spanish.

"Santi, since he can understand, he will be able to learn English with us!" Alexis suggests, looking proud of his idea.

"Yes, that is a good idea," Santi says. "Mesut, ¿quieres aprender inglés con nosotros?"

"¡Sí!" Mesut looks delighted to join their English lessons, dragging an extremely confused Flamini along with him.

"Calum, it seems like we will be needing more chairs!" Santi calls. "Welcome to our lessons, Mesut, my friend!"

When everyone is happily digging into their meals, Gibbo leans back onto the counter and looks around, frowning slightly. “What’s wrong?” Rambo notices the frown immediately.

“I feel like one of the usuals are missing. I just can’t put my finger on who.”

Rambo looks around the restaurant and slaps the counter. “Oh, I know! That guy...Welbz!”

“How could I forget?” Gibbo shakes his head disbelievingly. “He’s always here.”

“What’s his real name? It can’t possibly just be ‘Welbz,’ that sounds more like a nickname.”

“You know, I haven’t asked. He’s a nice lad though. Moved here from Manchester, I think. Good thing he got out of there, in my opinion.”

Rambo snorts. “That’s because you despise anything that has to do with Manchester.”

“You don’t understand. You’re from that place in Wales, what’s it called again? Anyway, you don’t get how awful Manchester is.”

“Mate, 'that place in Wales' is called Caerphilly. You’ve met my parents there, I can’t believe you don’t even remember the name.”

Before Gibbo can come up with any kind of excuse, three people enter the restaurant. The first comes barreling in at top speed, followed by the other two walking in more calmly and looking slightly embarrassed. “You will not believe what I just witnessed. I am scarred. I need to burn my eyes out.” The first man is rambling and gesturing wildly. Rambo and Gibbo share a look before addressing the man.

“Theo, mate, calm down,” Gibbo says. “What’s the matter?”

“I walk into the dorm to grab a book before coming over and do you know what I see?”

“No, that’s why we’re asking,” Rambo says. Theo glares at him as Gibbo tries not to crack up. “Sorry, sorry, continue.”

“Chambo had his tongue down Jenko’s throat and Jenko had his trousers off.”

For a moment, no one reacts. Then Gibbo turns to Rambo with a victorious expression on his face. “I told you it was gonna happen!” he says gloatingly.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” Rambo grumbles. “At least you won’t have to slap him.”

“Guys, are you even paying attention? I had to witness it. I need like, therapy or something.” Theo continues to gesticulate in a distressed manner. “Jenko was in his briefs. In my room.”

“For the record, his trousers were half on,” Chambo says weakly. “He has boxer briefs and it’s our room.”

“Chambo, my boy, I’m so proud.” Gibbo wipes away imaginary tears. Chambo and Rambo both roll their eyes at his antics. “But now that you’re back, you should get back to work. The French lads need to be served.”

“Uh no, you’re serving them.” Calum pushes the tray toward Gibbo. They spend the next 5 minutes arguing over who’s going to serve before they hear the office door swing open.

“Unfortunately, lads, in a few months, it won’t matter who wants to serve and who doesn’t.” Mikel steps out of the office with an unreadable expression on his face. “I’ve got some bad news.”

“You’re firing us,” Gibbo guesses immediately. “Oh wait, that’s not bad news.” Mikel gives him a look.

“You and Rosicky are getting divorced,” Chambo says cheekily.

“Uh, no, we’re not even married.”

“You’re getting married, then,” Jenko amends.

“It has nothing to do with marriage! This is a serious matter, guys.” Mikel knows how to take a joke, they all know him well enough to know that, but now he looks almost sad.

“What is it?” Hector asks timidly.

He throws a piece of paper on the counter and goes back into his office, closing the door more forcefully than usual. Rambo is the first to pick up the paper. Gibbo scans the paper over his shoulder and his grin vanishes immediately.

“What’s happening?” Olive asks as Rambo drops the paper in shock.

“Sepp Blatter.” Gibbo's face is grim.

“Who?” Everyone has gathered at the counter now, sensing that something is very wrong.

“The owner of the entire Nando's franchise. He’s shutting us down.”

Chapter Text

To: Wilsh [loves Woj]

so uh

dunno if uve heard the news

To: Gibbo :D

what news?

To: Wilsh [loves Woj]

well theyre uh

shutting us down

To: Gibbo :D

what

Jack stares at the message again in disbelief. What does he mean, they’re shutting us down? He debates about it in his head for a few moments before gritting his teeth and dialing Gibbo’s number. He needs to hear this explained in words.

“Hey Wilsh.” Gibbo picks up after just one ring, which means he was probably expecting the call.

“Gibbo, they’re not actually - they can’t -” Jack struggles for words.

“They can, unfortunately, and they are,” Gibbo says softly. Jack can hear the sadness in his voice.

“Our Nando’s?” Jack asks, his voice breaking slightly.

“It’s - Sepp Blatter, the owner of the franchise, said it’s too small. Doesn’t provide enough revenue apparently.” He mumbles something else that sounds like it’s in a different language. Jack guesses it’s probably Welsh.

“I - I can’t believe it,” Jack says numbly. “What’re we supposed to do?” Sure, Jack has joked many times that their Nando’s is the smallest one he’s ever seen, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t become a home to him. “And what about the kids?” he realizes suddenly. “God, they’ll be devastated.”

“I know, mate,” Gibbo says sympathetically. “Look, I gotta go, me and Rambo had to cancel our movie plans because we’re babysitting the lads as they drink away their sorrows.”

Despite the despair he feels right now, Jack manages to crack a smile at the image of Gibbo and Rambo trying to handle a drunk Chambo, Jenko, and Theo. “Yeah, go for it.”

“And, uh.” Gibbo hesitates for a moment before continuing. “You may want to tell Woj about this too, Wilsh. He’d want to know.”

Jack’s heart sinks further as he imagines how that conversation is going to go. “Yeah. I will. Talk to you later, mate.”

“On the bright side, at least you have an excuse to talk to him all night now. Bye!” Gibbo hangs up before Jack has a chance to tell him to shove off.

He sits in silence, staring at his phone and wondering whether it’s too late to text Woj. After several minutes of indecision, Jack decides that this is too important to wait another second.

To: the real one <3

is it too late for bad news

To: Dimples <3

am i already fired D:

To: the real one <3

NO of course not

its kind of worse actually :/

To: Dimples <3

what could be worse?

To: the real one <3

just got word from gibbo

our fav restaurant is gonna shut down :’(

To: Dimples <3

is this a joke

To: the real one <3

some prick named blatter is shuttin us down no joke mate

To: Dimples <3

mate his name is a joke

blatter? rly? is he named after what he resembles? old sack of piss

“Daddy? What are you laughing at?” Jack looks up to see Archie standing in the doorway, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

Jack sighs and quickly says goodnight to Woj before setting his phone aside. “Why aren’t you in bed, big man?”

“Heard you laughing,” Archie mumbles sleepily. He walks to the couch and settles down next to his father, his head on Jack’s thigh. Jack runs his hand through the boy's hair affectionately, making his bedhead even messier. “I wanna know the joke.”

“Daddy’s friend was just being funny. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He lifts his son into his arms and carries him to his room.

“Was it your friend Woj?”Archie asks through a yawn once Jack has tucked him into bed.

Jack tries to hide his surprise as he answers. “Yeah buddy, it was Woj.”

“Good. I like Woj.” Archie smiles up at his dad before closing his eyes and snuggling deeper into the blankets.

Jack strokes Archie’s hair gently and sighs. “Me too, Arch, me too.”

Gibbo has had to deal with Chambo and Theo while they’re drunk countless times, but he’s never witnessed the combination of his roommates and Jenko being drunk all together. Just by glancing over for a second, he can tell that dealing with those three on his own would be downright impossible. The only upside of the entire situation is that Rambo would never just abandon him and leave him to be the designated driver alone. Gibbo has never been more grateful for Rambo’s company, and that’s saying something because he’s never not grateful for Rambo’s general existence. The two of them sit a short distance away, talking quietly and observing their friends drown their sorrows in alcohol.

The pub isn’t Chambo’s favorite, but the music is loud and the liquor is flowing, so it’s good enough. Jenko is next to him, wearing a pair of his jeans and a t-shirt he also ended up borrowing. He looks so different wearing something other than his usual suits and Chambo likes it, a lot.

“Jenko,” Chambo slurs. “Jenko, I gotta tell you something. It’s a secret. You can’t tell anyone, okay?” Jenko nods. “Sometimes I spill things on you on purpose so that you talk to me.”

“I knew it!” Gibbo says quietly to Rambo. “There was no way he could naturally be that clumsy.”

“Woah, that’s so weird. I wanna talk to you too!” Jenko says, grinning stupidly. “You didn’t have to get food on me though. I woulda talked to you anyway.”

“Glad I did though. You look hot in that shirt, mate. So good,” he says, trailing off at the end.

“Oh god, kill me,” Theo groans. “They’re gross.”

“But I can’t do it anymore,” Chambo says sadly, ignoring Theo. “No more Nando’s.”

“No more drinking either, I think,” Rambo says before they start getting too emotional. “It’s about time we headed home.”

They pile into Rambo’s car with the three intoxicated members of the group in the back. Halfway into the drive, Chambo drops his head on Jenko’s shoulder and starts snoring. There’s a little bit of drool, but at least it’s not ruining yet another one of Jenko’s suits. Gibbo manages a weak smile at the sight. The rest of the journey goes smoothly, but when they reach the dorm, they face a dilemma.

“Wanna stay with Chambo,” Jenko pouts. He makes drunken grabbing motions in Chambo's direction. “Lemme stay with him.”

“You can see him tomorrow,” Gibbo tries, but Jenko just holds Chambo more tightly. “Okay, um, Rambo, what do we do?”

“Let Jenko stay here and you come with me to my place,” Rambo says immediately, as if he had been planning it all along.

“Are you sure, mate?” Gibbo asks, but he’s not doing a great job of hiding how pleased he is. Rambo gives him a look and he raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, let’s get these ones to bed first then.”

After ten minutes of struggling and arguing, Gibbo manages to convince Chambo to sleep in his own bed rather than on the couch with Jenko.

“Listen lads, I like to sit on this couch from time to time and I am not letting the two of you do anything funny on it,” Gibbo warns. “And my bed is strictly off limits, thank you very much.”

“Remember...I’m...still...here,” Theo manages to say before collapsing on his own bed.

Gibbo makes sure to leave a bottle of aspirin on the table in the middle of the room before he turns off the lights. Theo, Chambo, and Jenko are all fast asleep before he even leaves the dorm.

“You alright, mate?” Rambo asks when Gibbo returns to the car. “You’ve been quiet and you look all hassled.”

“It’s nothing,” Gibbo says quietly. Rambo clearly isn’t buying it, but doesn’t press any further. Once they reach the flat, Gibbo heads for the couch the second Rambo has the door open, burying his face in his favorite pillow. Rambo shuffles awkwardly around before he clears his throat. “Mate, it’s been a rough night, I don’t mind sharing a bed. The couch is pretty shit.”

“I’ve slept on it before,” Gibbo says halfheartedly even though he knows from experience that there’s no way he can deny the couch’s mediocrity.

“Yeah, but not today.” Rambo makes the decision for him. “Come on, up you get.”

They pad their way to the bedroom with Gibbo still fiercely cuddling the pillow. Rambo digs through his drawers and throws Gibbo a pair of clean sweats and a t-shirt. Gibbo mutters a thank you and changes quickly before burying himself under the blankets.

“Okay, seriously,” Rambo says, sounding worried. “There’s clearly something wrong, so when are you gonna tell me, mate?”

“I just - I feel like a part of my soul is being ripped out, and I don’t even like working there,” Gibbo says softly.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Rambo says.

“Mate, I only half-like it because you-” Gibbo breaks off abruptly. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. There’s not much we can do.”

“Is that really the only reason you’re upset? It seems like there’s a bit more to it than that.”

Gibbo sighs and turns to look at Rambo. “It’s stupid, okay?” Rambo just looks at him expectantly and he sighs again. “Just - just promise you’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

Rambo looks back at him, confusion written all over his face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You know, I know you’re working all the time, you’ve student loans to pay off and all. And, well, now there’s not really a reason for you to visit.” Gibbo shrugs. “And anyway, we’re so different from each other, and I’m still in uni, for god’s sake. Soon, I’ll be shipped off to some med school. There aren’t exactly high hopes for keeping this friendship going.”

Realization spreads across Rambo’s face. “Gibbo? Remember how I said some people enjoy the chase? When we were talking with Olive?” It’s Gibbo’s turn to look confused as he nods. “Okay, well, do you really think it was the food that had me coming back to that place every day? Mate, I had chicken five times last week. I almost threw up on day five. The chase is bullshit.”

Gibbo looks blankly at him. “I don’t get it.”

“You know, for a biomed major, you’re really dense sometimes, you know that?”

“Stop talking in stupid riddles then, god, you English majors are ridiculous,” Gibbo says.

“God, I can’t believe I have to actually say it. You’re in my bed, for god’s sake.” Rambo's Welsh accent is unusually heavy as he rambles before taking a deep breath and making his confession. “I’m completely mad for you, mate.”

“You - wait, what?” Gibbo has to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“I fancy you, Kieran. I have no idea when or how, but at some point, you stopped being just my best mate and became so much more than that. And I wasn’t gonna tell you because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but now you’re so worried that I might just forget about you and I need you to know that I can’t. God, I actually missed you the two days I didn’t come in for dinner the other week. How could I possibly deal with any period of time longer than that?” Gibbo seems to be speechless. He stares at Rambo with his wide, innocent eyes, unable to find the right words. At first, Rambo stares back patiently, knowing that it’s a lot to process, but after a while, fear starts to kick in. “Gibbo, say something, please,” he begs.

“I-” Gibbo starts. “I tried to tell myself that you didn’t, you couldn’t…”

“Look, if you don’t feel that way, I get it. I just thought it’s time you knew.”

“Aaron, if this is gonna happen, you gotta stop cutting me off,” Gibbo manages to joke weakly.

“Sorry,” Rambo mumbles before he registers what was said. “Wait, if what is going to happen?”

Gibbo shakes his head. “Now who’s the dense one?”

“So you - you like me?”

“God, we sound like we’re in secondary school. But yeah, I do, and I have for so long.”

Rambo laughs in both disbelief and relief. “I can’t believe this is happening in my bedroom. This is definitely not how I imagined it.”

“But at least it’s happening,” Gibbo says, smiling his first true smile of the night. “Took us long enough.”

It’s silent for a moment and Rambo awkwardly walks toward the bed. “So, I’m not one to do anything on the first date,” he says, flushing red.

Gibbo smirks. “Always the gentleman. I wouldn’t expect anything less. Now hurry up and get over here. Just snuggling, no funny business, I promise.”

“Hector,” Calum repeats for what feels like the millionth time. “Hector, come on, listen.”

“What?” Hector finally says. “I’m trying to think, mate.”

“Me too, that’s why I’ve been trying get you to pay attention for the last ten minutes.”

“Alright, I’m paying attention. It better be a good idea. I’m stopping my train of thought for this.”

“What a tragedy,” Calum says dryly. Hector glares at him. “Okay, okay, well, I think we need to do something to save the restaurant.”

“That’s your grand idea? I thought you had actually come up with a way to do that.”

“I actually do have an idea, but since you’re clearly such a genius maybe now I won’t tell you,” Calum says, frowning.

“Aw, come on, I was only teasing. You know studying for A-levels always puts me in a bad mood. Come on, Calum, enlighten me.”

Calum rolls his eyes. “Well, since you asked so nicely. I think we should make a petition.”

“Huh. That’s actually not a bad plan.” Hector looks grudgingly impressed.

“No need to sound so surprised,” Calum grumbles. “My ideas are always good.”

“May I remind you of your brilliant idea to get an internship at Nando’s?”

“Mate, I seem to recall you telling me just a few hours ago that I am ‘actually pretty good at the whole waiter thing,’ which is pretty much proof that my ideas are always good,” Calum says. “True, I didn’t think they’d actually give me an internship there, but I mean, you can’t deny that it’s been pretty awesome.”

“Mhm.” Hector makes a noncommittal sound, refusing to admit that his friend is completely right. “Now, how are we going to create a petition to save what’s possibly the smallest Nando’s in the area?”

Woj rings the doorbell and waits nervously at the front door of the address Jack had texted him in the morning. It’s only supposed to be a small meeting, just so Jack can show him around the flat and give him a few pointers before he starts working on Monday, but for some reason, Woj’s hands are shaking.

The door opens, and when Jack sees Woj, his face lights up. “Hey! You’re right on time. I just got lunch on the table for the kids, so they won’t bother us for a while.”

Jack steps aside and lets Woj into the flat. It’s a decent sized place, bigger than what Woj has, at least, but the mess of toys makes it hard to walk around without getting a minor injury. “I like it,” Woj says.

“Yeah?” Jack grins, showing off his ridiculous dimples. “It’s a bit of a mess, but it’s home.”

“It’s perfect,” Woj says. You’re perfect, he almost adds, but at that moment, Archie bursts into the room.

“Woj’s here, Woj’s here!” he exclaims delightedly. “Lilah, look, he’s here!” A moment later, there’s a squeal of happiness and a streak of purple as Delilah runs into the living room and clings to Woj’s leg.

“I swear, I don’t know how she manages to get out of her high chair by herself,” Jack sighs. “They must really like you, they dropped their grilled cheese sandwiches to see you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Woj says, grinning. “Seeing as I quite like them as well. And their dad’s alright too, I suppose.”

“Thanks, mate.” Jack bends down to pick up Delilah to hide his blush. “Come on, I might as well show you the kitchen while I put the little ones back in their chairs.”

Unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen is clear of toys. The gas stove looks like it’s state-of-the-art and the granite island doubles as a breakfast bar. Jack sees Woj’s amazed look and smiles. “It took me working two steady jobs for three years with no breaks and a few other odd jobs here and there to pay for this room alone.”

“You must really love cooking, yeah?”

“Daddy’s the best cook in the world!” Archie says. “He makes bru - brusetta when me and Lilah are good.”

“Bruschetta,” Jack corrects, smiling at his son fondly. “But yeah, I’m the cook over at the Highbury Café. I like to test out new recipes at home.”

“Mate, bruschetta is my favorite, I’ll definitely be trying that at some point,” Woj says.

“You’re more than welcome to stay for dinners,” Jack says quickly. “It’ll be nice to have someone trying the food besides these ones.”  He lowers his voice so the kids can’t hear him as he continues, “And it looks like I’ll be cooking a lot more anyway with Nando’s shutting down and all.”

“I’d be happy to stay,” Woj says immediately. “For dinner, I mean.”

“Woj stay?” Delilah asks through a mouth full of grilled cheese.

“Yes, honey. Now, can you be a good girl and stay here while I show Woj your rooms?” Delilah nods and continues to stuff her face with grilled cheese.

Jack leads Woj down a small hallway and opens the first door on the right. “So this is Delilah’s room. It’s a princess-lego-football mashup because that’s what she demanded as soon as she was old enough to talk and point,” Jack says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“That’s quite the combination,” Woj grins.

“Her toys are in the corner and her books are in a chest under the bed. She likes to wear her blue dinosaur robe in the mornings and the pink heart one after she showers at night, but the blue fuzzy slippers are for the night and the pink ones are for the morning.” Jack points to where everything is and smiles. “Yeah, she’s quite the handful, but she’s my little girl.”

“You’re great with her,” Woj says. “With both of them. They’re lucky kids.”

“Thanks, mate. I mean, with Archie, it’s a bit easier.” Jack leads him to the next room. “He likes stars. The big man wants to be an astronaut. I’ve got to save up because he’s definitely going to uni.”

“And Delilah?”

“Mate, she’s going to be a footballer. Never seen a three year old nutmeg anyone until this little monster came along. She’s a huge fan, too.”

Woj narrows his eyes. “What team?”

“Arsenal, obviously. Wouldn’t be able to live with myself if it were anything else,” Jack says.

“You’ve got good taste,” Woj tells him, feeling relieved. “I was seriously afraid you’d say Chelsea or something.”

“You’re a Gunner too? That’s a relief. I might’ve had to fire you otherwise,” Jack jokes. “I tried a babysitter who was a Tottenham fan once. Delilah didn’t like him. I wasn’t too keen either.”

“How about your new babysitter?” Woj asks faux-innocently.

“Definitely cuter than the last guy, that’s for sure.” Jack says it without thinking, and a second later his brain catches up to his mouth, his face turning bright red. “Well, the last guy was an old man,” he adds quickly.

Woj somehow manages to raise an eyebrow and smirk at the same time. “Alright, well thanks mate, I’m flattered.”

“Shut up,” Jack says without any heat.

“They couldn’t wait until I was finished with this novel to close down this place, could they?” Mikel slams his laptop shut, frustrated.

“Mikel…” Tomas tries to interrupt, but Mikel continues to pace back and forth, gesticulating wildly.

“Do they not understand how much effort we put into this place? We’ve been at it for years now! And for what? For them to just shut it down, taking away the only source of inspiration I’ve had for months!” He stops abruptly in the middle of the room and finally looks at Tomas. When he speaks again, his voice is much softer, much sadder. “What are we going to do, Tommy?”

“We could always ask Blatter to reassign us. We could manage at another Nando’s.”

Mikel looks at him pointedly. “You know the restaurant isn’t the only thing I’m talking about.”

Tomas sighs. “Yes, I know. We can’t just leave them all behind.” He shakes his head slightly. “It’s kind of ridiculous, isn’t it? We must be the only restaurant managers in the world who managed to become emotionally attached not just to the employees, but to the customers too.”

Mikel manages a weak laugh. “I mean, it’s not really normal for the same twenty people constantly come in week after week either. They’re just as attached as we are. And they’re great character inspirations.”

Tomas nods in agreement. After a few moments, he brings up another thing neither of them really want to think about. “You know we’re gonna have to talk to Arsene about this. That man never checks his emails.”

Mikel groans. “That’s gonna be awful. He really wanted us to do better than that Jose Mourinho’s place. I’m going to kill Terry if he rubs this in my face. He’s always on about how great that place is doing.”

Tomas is silent for moment, lost in thought. “We could try to save this place,” he says.

“How the hell do we do that?” Mikel asks.

Almost as if the universe was waiting to answer this question, there’s a loud and frantic knock at the door. “Who would possibly come here at this hour?”

Before either of them can invite the person in, the door bursts open to reveal a slightly out of breath Hector accompanied by Calum. “Um,” Hector starts awkwardly when he notices Tomas and Mikel staring at them with a mixture of shock and confusion. “The door was unlocked. And also, I didn’t think this through. Sorry.”

“I always say you never think things through,” Calum adds helpfully. “But no, why would anyone listen to Calum?”

Mikel clears his throat. “Why are you boys here? It’s one in the morning.”

They look at him in surprise. “It is? Time sure does fly when you’re...well, not having fun exactly, what would you say we were doing?” Calum turns to Hector.

“Plotting?” Hector offers.

“Boys! This isn’t helping!” Tomas shifts the attention back to the issue.

“Alright, one of you tell me what you’re here for and the other one, shut up. Hector, why don’t you do the talking?” Mikel says.

Hector stands a little straighter, pleased to have Mikel’s attention (Calum rolls his eyes at his friend’s antics). “Well, me and Calum were obviously very upset about the news, and we decided that we need to do something about it. So I was thinking -” he breaks off as Calum kicks his shin. “Ow! Okay, fine, it was Calum’s idea. Anyway, the idea is to make a petition to save the restaurant.”

“How would a petition help? This is Sepp Blatter we’re talking about. He only cares about money. A few names means nothing to him,” Tomas says.

“I’d say it’s probably our best option, though,” Mikel says.

“That’s because it’s our only option,” Tomas says. “I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, I’m just saying to keep in mind that it probably won’t have the effect we want it to.”

“Well, maybe if Sepp sees that these customers love this place and are constantly bringing their friends, he might reconsider,” Hector says.

Mikel laughs humorlessly. “That’s a nice sentiment lad, but this man has no emotions. Tommy was right when he said that Blatter only cares about money.”

Calum hands Mikel the petition. “Well, we can at least try.”