Chapter Text
"Eivor. Did you hear me, mio amico?"
"Hm?" The words hover just at the edge of his hearing, lost among the white noise of their surroundings. His attention is elsewhere. His gaze trails the barista behind the counter as he goes about his tasks with practiced ease. It's not uncommon for him to space out or lose himself in his thoughts. Today, however, he's thinking of something else—or someone, to be precise. Someone who has somehow managed to catch his eye and fill his thoughts despite knowing so little of him.
The same barista, however, makes his way over to them, carrying their order on a tray. A fresh croissant for himself, and for Ezio... a vanilla latte. For a man who says that there's way better coffee in Italy, Ezio's tastes are awfully simplistic. Eivor could have at least convinced him to get a plain black coffee if he was going to be so boring about it.
"Tarben," Eivor greets warmly as Tarben sets down their orders. It's hard to keep from staring when he does, though. Maybe it's the impressive beard that gets him every time. Or maybe it's just how built and tall he is for a barista. It's quite easy to imagine him working on a farm of some kind. But, no matter how curious he is, Eivor tries not to stare too long, lest he risk offending him.
Ezio reaches out to take his latte with a grateful nod and blinding smile. "Ah, grazie mille, Tarben."
"You're welcome, Ezio." Tarben returns the smile before turning his gaze to Eivor. His voice is low and gentle, with a subtle accent that is reminiscent of the North. He lifts the plate with Eivor's croissant, placing it in front of him. Eivor finds his own mouth twitching up into a smile. The croissant is flaky, perfectly baked, and smells divine. This isn't the first time he's purchased one, but he thinks that each time he does, they only seem to get better. He's glad that there's someone around who appreciates the craftsmanship of making delicious pastries. "Here you go, Eivor. Your favorite."
"My thanks," Eivor replies, giving a soft nod of his head in appreciation. But the word "favorite" has his cheeks heating slightly. Does Tarben pay close attention to his orders? No. Surely not. Why would he care to pay attention to such things, especially with the number of people that come and go through these doors throughout the day. Perhaps it's just wishful thinking that has his mind wandering to the idea of being Tarben's favorite customer. "I appreciate your efforts. You are truly talented."
Tarben's expression morphs, as if unsure of how to react to the compliment. Eivor watches as the other man looks away shyly, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed by the praise. "Just doing my job," Tarben responds after a moment, waving a hand dismissively. It seems like Eivor may have made a mistake with his words. While he'd meant to compliment Tarben on his hard work, he hadn't meant to embarrass him.
Ezio seems to sense the awkwardness between them and intervenes quickly by kicking Eivor lightly under the table. It's quick, sudden, and leaves Eivor letting out a small huff of a noise. He can't even glare at Ezio when the man takes a sip of his coffee, as if nothing happened. When did he become a master of subtlety, anyway?
"What Eivor means to say," Ezio continues smoothly, leaning forward in his chair, resting his arms on the table, and clasping his hands together, "is that the quality of your baking skills surpasses what is expected by most other cafes. I've noticed you don't have very many of the store-bought treats in your display case, but those that are baked here by you, yourself, are always in high demand. Take the croissant, for example. Eivor is a discerning man, so do not take his compliments lightly. In fact, perhaps it is best to see it as a badge of honor, knowing that you have earned the praise of such a stoic Vichingo."
It's a good thing that Ezio's Italian accent is attractive and charming. Otherwise, Eivor might just throttle him. He rolls his eyes, lifting the croissant and taking a bite. As the buttery flakes crumble in his mouth, his mood improves.
Ezio really wasn't wrong, though. Tarben's bakery items were top-notch. Even as he eats the croissant, his thoughts trail back to the first time he tried it. It's hard to believe that this was the same café he used to complain about in his freshman year and the one reason he didn't like coming here. Of course, that was until he realized there was an actual baker running the café. And one who cared about quality, at that.
Not to mention one who hails from the same part of the world as he does.
"Well, I suppose that's fair..." Tarben's voice brings Eivor back to reality, and he looks over at him. Tarben is still standing there, shifting a little from side to side, his expression pensive. Finally, he nods and smiles a little. "Thank you, Eivor. I'm flattered by your words."
"Please, think nothing of it," Eivor assures him, waving a hand dismissively. He means it. Really, he's happy to give a compliment when it's earned. Especially to someone like Tarben, who never seems to get enough credit. Tarben's lips quirk at his words. "The quality of your products speaks for itself, and it shows. That is all I meant to say. So, no thanks are necessary."
At the end of the day, it's the truth.
"Ah, all right," Tarben responds, pausing before reaching up to scratch his chin. Is it Eivor's imagination, or does Tarben look disappointed? If he does, it's hard to tell. "I should probably get back to work, though. I hope you two enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"
"Of course! We will," Ezio answers before Eivor can even get a word in. A nod later, Tarben excuses himself, disappearing back behind the counter to tend to his customers.
Once he's out of earshot, Eivor levels Ezio with a mild glare. "Why the hell did you kick me? What was that for?"
"Hmm... I think you meant to say, 'Thank you, Ezio. You saved me from embarrassing myself,' no? 'Grazie. Mi dispiace, Ezio'." Ezio leans in conspiratorially, wagging his brows playfully as he steeples his fingers, his elbows resting on the table. It's quite the Machiavellian pose, if Eivor's ever seen one. "You're welcome, of course. But, as much as I love watching you embarrass yourself, you clearly needed saving, Eivor. Trust me. It's easier for a wild boar to chase a lion than it is for you to start a conversation with Tarben."
He grunts. Well, it's hard to argue with that. Even more frustrating is that Ezio's not entirely wrong about him. Still, it's not his fault. At least Eivor doesn't think it is. "Shut up, Ezio. That's not true."
Ezio raises a brow as if to say, 'Try me', and Eivor chooses to ignore him in favor of finishing the rest of his croissant. Ezio does, at least, allow the silence to linger between them, but that's the worst part. Eivor knows that, inevitably, Ezio is going to speak.
And he's going to be right.
"No one has ever made you lose your ability to speak more than a few sentences, Eivor. Yet, when it comes to Tarben, the second you lay eyes on him, you suddenly become less than eloquent. It's interesting, is it not?" Ezio muses as he takes another sip of his latte. It's strange that, with everything Ezio just said, it's those last bits that have Eivor's jaw tightening.
Is he really that obvious about his interest in Tarben? He hopes that he isn't, but the way Ezio's talking makes it sound as if Eivor's feelings are plastered across his forehead in bold, capital letters. A walking, living neon sign. Eivor is self-aware. He knows he's a little awkward when the situation gets the best of him, but he's usually good at speaking. Maybe a little too honest sometimes, but that's fine. But the point is, he's better than this.
Or, maybe, Tarben is simply an exception.
"Can we change the subject?" Eivor finally says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's getting a headache, and the last thing he needs is to let Ezio bait him into an argument. Especially over something that they both already know.
"All right, all right," Ezio concedes, holding his hands up in defeat. Thankfully, the topic shifts to talk about upcoming exams. Eivor finds that he's thankful for the reprieve, especially since it allows him to think.
They remain there for about half an hour more before deciding it's time to get going. They each gather their belongings and toss their trash away before heading outside into the cool autumn air. The breeze is crisp, and Eivor shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket.