Chapter Text
It was almost perfect.
Or rather, it was all perfect… except…
Steve's head jolted once more as the peak-time wagon took on a missing cobblestone with a sense of gusto he'd never before seen a glimmer of in the mule that pulled it. The slightly sweaty smell of too many bodies on one wagon was replaced with the aroma of blackmoss coffee. Which was nice.
Unfortunately, it came along with the sensation of someone's spilt coffee swirling around and a little bit into his shoes. He looked down in dismay. His nice leather shoes! Even a dream life with a dream job and a dream man could be brought low by an unhappy commute.
Descending gratefully if not gracefully from the cart, his heart felt lightened by the glowing windows of the bakery. Even in the early morning gloom Uthodern was busy, but he knew Steve had been in the bakery since silence slept in the streets. He'd converted part of the bottom floor of his narrow little terraced house into a modestly sized kitchen, and even now people were starting to queue down his hallway to put in their orders at the little hatch Steve had installed in the wall. A little flex ran through him as he remembered his muscles were still good for something except accounting.
A crash and a twang interrupted his reverie. A pink haired woman lay on the street in front of him, looking with horror at a bent case on the cobbles. His mind played catch up to process the memory of her bouncing off his chest.
‘Oh - FUCKYOUANDMAYYOURBONESROTINAPLACEYOUHATEONCEYOU’REDEAD she cursed, in a language Steve didn’t understand. Black, light sucking sparkles fell from her mouth as she hissed. Steve leapt backwards.
‘Um,’ he said.
‘No no no no..’ she gathered the case to her. More twanging.
‘I’m… sorry?’
She glared up at him and Steve shivered.
‘Sorry?! Start paying attention to where you’re lumbering!’ She jumped to her feet and started to square up, but was interrupted as the strap of her sad-looking bag slipped off her shoulder.
‘Can I help?’ Steve held up his hands non threateningly. ‘Can I carry your… bag for you somewhere?’
‘My BAG? Are you an instrument repairer? A lute mechanic? A musical artificer? No? Then you categorically cannot help!’ Steve thought he saw a flash of a skull in the shadows of her face.
‘Gosh.’ he said. ‘Well I’m not any of those… but I can get you a cardamom bun and a sweet coffee before you go to find one.’
Steve had never been so happy to hand a customer over to Steve. He was dusting buns with a pink hibiscus sugar as Steve let himself and the woman in through the back door of the kitchen. Steve raised an eyebrow at him but pivoted immediately into treasured host of treasured guest mode.
‘Hello and please make yourself at home in our kitchen! I’m Steve, and can I get you anything to eat? Drink?’
‘Gianna. I mean, I would happily take a couple of those buns off your hands, and someone mentioned coffee?’ She glared pointedly at Steve.
‘I’m also Steve. And yes, coffee coming your way!’
Gianna flopped into a chair and turned back to Steve.
‘I’m sorry to intrude on your lovely little kitchen, but your lumbering barista crashed into me on the street.’ Steve gingerly deposited a sweet milky coffee in front of her and scurried back out of the way.
‘And not only did he crash into me,’ she continued, ‘he crashed into my girlfriend’s lute!’ She flung open the bag to reveal the cracked neck of the instrument with more dramatic flair than Steve thought was entirely fair. He winced.
Unexpectedly, Gianna sniffled.
‘I was going to get it relacquered for her birthday as a surprise… but now… it’s… broken.’ Steve was astonished at the speed with which Steve swooped in, offered a tissue, and dropped another bun on her plate. Truly the years of coordinating highly-strung GUBO contestants with a smile and the crisp timeliness of a marching band had prepared him for this. Steve caught his eye.
‘Um, I don’t think we can fix that for you here, but when is her birthday?’
‘It’s tomorrow! There’s no time! She’s out at a day rave with her friends this afternoon, but she’ll be back this evening and then it’s her birthday in the morning.’
The Steve’s looked at each other.
‘I don’t think we can have this fixed for her by then…’ said Steve, slowly. ‘But there is something we can do to help.’
***
Steve dozed gently in the warmth of the kitchen. The air was still shimmering with gold dust, and the ovens smelled faintly of stardust spice. Blinking, he could see the cozy darkness of the early morning hours pressing in through the windows. Steve crouched beside him, lightly stroking his arm.
‘Come on, you can’t sleep in a chair all night.’
Softly cracking his neck, Steve peered in at the object of their feverish creation. It sparkled, it shimmered, it smelled amazing, and it expressed clearly their apologies. Gianna had left hours ago, but had layered her musical magic into the early steps. Steve groaned.
‘I suppose I should be heading home.’ He looked mournfully out at the dark streets. The wagons ran overnight, and at least it wouldn’t be so crowded, he supposed.
‘Hmmmm, you absolutely should not,’ said Steve, standing and trailing a hand up to Steve’s shoulder. Lightly, he began to knead out the twists in Steve’s shoulders, leaning down so close that Steve could feel his warm breath on his scalp. ‘Please, don’t go home now.’ He felt the softest kiss on the top of his head, and it was hard to argue with that.