Chapter Text
Till finds himself at that stupid cafe again. He doesn’t know why the hell he came back to it and he's just about to turn heel and leave when the door swings open with a chime of the bell. He doesn't give a fuck about the person exiting, but he does curse under his breath when he catches sight of that stupid barista. You know the one. Stupidly tall, stupidly handsome, the envy of all men and the desire of all women. And then that barista turns to make eye contact with him and just- absolutely lights up. The barista calls his name -why does he know it by heart??- and before he knows it, Till finds himself standing on the other side of the counter with his cheeks ablaze.
“The usual?” comes that suave voice that Till wants to drown in- but he won’t! He slightly inclines his head in confirmation instead. The barista -Ivan, his name tag reads (not that Till needed to read it to know by now)- turns to make his drink and it gives Till a brief chance to catch his breath. He’s not staring at those broad shoulders and thinking about how nice it would feel to be wrapped up in his arms, he’s not. When he notices a slight turn from Ivan, Till spins on his heel and goes to find himself a table instead. He can hear that dumbass chuckle fading away behind him, but he pays it no mind.
Till has only just taken his seat in the booth when Ivan is suddenly sliding into the chair across from him. Till’s eyebrows furrow and his expression tenses and he is not happy about this development, he isn’t.
“Aren’t you on the clock?” Till grabs the drink that Ivan pushes toward him anyway.
“I’m on break now.” Ivan responds and gods, does he ever stop smiling? Till fixes him with an incredulous look, but sighs. It’s not his job to risk. The two share their drinks in silence for a while but something is off. The more time that passes, the more anxious he looks. Till already thought he was a bit pathetic, but what the hell is he doing now? Till observes him from his peripheral and finds that Ivan keeps glancing at his drink. And that Ivan has barely drunk even half of his own.
“What the hell are you doing?” Till can't keep quiet a moment longer. “Did you lace my shit or something? Did you lax yours? Quit squirming.”
“No, I..” Ivan actually looks nervous. Incredibly so. Till didn't think he was even capable of such an expression. It’s kinda aaaaa-gonizing to watch, yup. No other word that starts with an A.
But before Till can prod for more details, a young woman at the register calls for Ivan with what Till can only perceive as disdain. Ivan, lord save his soul, looks at Till with the most pathetic expression yet. He almost looks like a kicked puppy. Ivan looks down at the cup again before his gaze flicks up to Till. He opens his mouth only to be interrupted by the other barista once more. She seems moments away from throwing a coffee at his head and maybe she has done such a thing in the past because Ivan reluctantly rises to his feet. He hesitates, shifts his weight between his feet.
And then finally, he speaks in a timid voice lacking all the swagger Till was used to hearing from him. “Look at it before you throw it out.”
Before Till has a chance to form even a single thought, Ivan rushes back behind the counter. Till watches him go with not a hint of fondness to be felt, none at all, but he does derive amusement when the young woman bats Ivan on the back of the head with a roll of paper towel. Till shakes his head to himself and watches as Ivan works- unintentionally, of course. There’s just nothing else interesting going on in the cafe, that’s all.
But soon enough, his drink is finished. He stands to throw his cup away when he notices that Ivan left his own drink behind. Till doesn't realize a smile tugs at his lips as he picks it up and makes his way toward the trash. He’s nearly forgotten Ivan’s request when something peculiar catches his eye. Ink on the clear cup. Till’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and he retracts his hand to bring the cup closer to his face. He reads it once, twice, three times, seven-
“Stupid..”
Till shoves the cup into the trash before he spins on his heel to approach the counter. Ivan is already looking at him, never making eye contact for longer than a second at most. Unusual, for Ivan. Till comes to a stop on the other side of the counter and sets Ivan’s drink down on top with a little more force than necessary. He can feel his cheeks burning all the way even to the tips of his ears and he hates Ivan for it, he hates him.
“If you don’t-”
“Friday at 7, I’ll pick you up.” Till interrupts him with a fixed glare, nearly crushing the coffee cup in his hand.
Ivan is shocked into silence, his lips parted with the unfinished sentence hanging from his lips. Till does not want to slot his own against them.
“If you’re joking around, I will personally castrate you.” Till all but snarls. Ivan stares at him for another two beats before a wide grin breaks over his lips and he nods.
“You won’t regret it, really! Thank you Till, I-”
“Shut up already and do your damn job!” It’s Sua’s turn to interrupt now and she shoves a carton of milk into his hands. She fixes him a glare and then turns to Till. He can’t lie, she’s pretty terrifying.
Ivan looks like he wants to say more and Till does too, but there’s no time for that now.
“Friday at 7.” Till reaffirms but whether it’s for himself or for Ivan is to be determined. Ivan nods a few times and Till knows he won’t be able to focus with him there, knows he won’t look away first. So Till does it for him and leaves the cafe, his heart pounding with the anticipation of their planned first date.