Work Text:
"Are you sure we need to crack so many nuts for this?" Tsimikas groaned, dropping another sack of almonds onto the counter. "It's just marzipan."
"Yeah, marzipan for fifty people. And that's not counting our family and friends, as well as the mail delivery people and the Anfield staff." Thiago leaned against the sink edge, staring at the large amounts of almonds and sugar on the counter. "Yep, that should do it. Want to help me, carino ?"
"Okay, I'll start cracking the eggs. We do need eggs, right?" Tsimikas lifted a bag of sugar off the counter, revealing three cartons of eggs. "Yep, we definitely need eggs."
Thiago shook his head fondly. He loved Tsimikas with all his heart, but Tsimikas was completely oblivious to the most basic things. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he poured the unshelled almonds into a porcelain bowl.
"What are you doing?" Tsimikas got distracted after cracking a grand total of one egg. He leaned on Thiago's shoulder, sticking a teaspoon into the sugar bowl and helping himself to a cube. "Sorting the nuts into the Thiago and Kostas categories?"
What does that even mean? Thiago decided to let it slide. "I'm shelling the almonds. After that, we'll pound them into flour and mix it with sugar and egg white."
"Why not just buy almond flour?" Tsimikas watched as Thiago's nimble fingers broke almond shell after almond shell, placing the almonds in a bowl of boiling hot water. "You wouldn't have to deal with all the skins this way."
"Because the almonds are more aromatic when you break them from the get-go. Plus, with all those oils, you don't need to add as much almond extract." Thiago grunted as he struggled to break a particularly tough shell. "Could you please hand me the nutcracker, amor ?”
Tsimikas chuckled. “Do people even use nutcrackers?”
"I do, now please get me that nutcracker before I smash this maldita almendra into pieces."
Tsimikas looked around the kitchen until something caught his eye. It was a wooden nutcracker doll, painted and varnished and standing its post in a corner. It looked like it had just teleported itself from 17th-century Germany.
"This one?" Tsimikas held up the nutcracker doll. "Because it looks like something the boss brought back from a TARDIS."
"It's been here forever," Thiago chuckled. "Since Shankly. It's supposed to bring good luck, but for me it just cracks pistachios well."
Tsimikas' eyes brightened. “For baklava?”
“Maybe after, carino . Now let's get cracking.”
“That joke sucks and I love you for it.”
“ Tios!” In between their back-and-forth, Bajcetic had somehow made his way into the kitchen. “Get a room, please!”
“We had a room, Stefanito,” Thiago pointed out, “and it was nice and private.”
Bajcetic groaned, facepalming his very red face. “This is the kitchen! What part of public don’t you understand?!”
“This is Kirkby, Stefanito. Nowhere is private except our rooms, not even the gaffer’s office.” Tsimikas watched as Thiago finished up the marzipan and put it in the fridge, wiping his hands on his apron. It had been a birthday gift from Tsimikas to Thiago the year before. The Greek had tried embroidering, but he'd failed miserably despite Konate’s lessons in it. He'd given in to ironing on the cheesiest kitchen puns he could find in the craft store and boxed it minutes before Thiago's birthday party, bracing himself for laughs.
When Thiago had opened the gift box with the apron, he'd sobbed . Loudly and awkwardly for fifteen seconds, before Firmino had asked if he was alright. Thiago responded by pouncing upon Tsimikas—despite his injury—and tearfully proclaimed it was the best thing he'd ever set his gaze upon. That was when everybody had started calling them a couple.
Bajcetic rolled his eyes and sighed. It was clear the teen was in no mood for drama that day. “Fine, but if the boss walks in on you it’s your problem.”
Thiago just laughed. “Love you too.”
Bajcetic tossed something into the air, grabbed three bottles of apple juice from the fridge, and walked out, leaving the two of them alone.
“You know what?” Tsimikas watched as his boyfriend hung his apron on the coat-rack. “You’re perfect. You’re absolutely perfect and right now I want to show it to you.”
“You already showed it to me, Kosti. You showed me with this apron, you show me every day. I’ll bet you the angels are sick of watching us be so lovesick.” Thiago looked up to the ceiling as if to prove his point, but then his expression sunk. “I swear to Dios, I will take away that kid’s Wifi.”
“What? What did Stefan do?” Tsimikas looked up as well, only to see what was hanging over them. “Oh dear…”
It turned out that Bajcetic had been in the mood for drama that day. Because on the ceiling was a large sprig of mistletoe, berries and all. Judging by the glue dripping off the plant, it had recently been glued onto there.
Thiago glanced at Tsimikas. “What do we do now?”
A sly smirk grew on Tsimikas’ face. “Only one thing to do now, agápi mou .”
*
“Did you get the blackmail, Marcinho?” Nunez asked, leaning against the wall outside Kirkby. It was freezing outside, yet the team still had to train to keep in shape for the matches coming up. “Or did you chicken out?”
Pitaluga dug something out of his pocket and laid it on the table. “I nearly did. Dang, romantic kissing is so disgusting when you’re seeing it from the third-person point-of-view. But yeah, I think I got it here.”
Nunez and Bajcetic took one look at the picture and burst into laughter. There were Tsimikas and Thiago, embracing while glaring at the camera. Tsimikas was even holding up the finger.
“So you got it, huh Celo?” Bajcetic teased, elbowing the keeper. “What a photo.”
Pitaluga glared, but his relief at not having to see that was clear to see. “Shut it.”