Chapter Text
When Jan broke the news to his friends, they looked at him as if he had grown three heads in the time it took to speak the words:
“I’m leaving for the Netherlands.”
He’d come to expect this reaction, considering his immediate family’s similarly confused pseudo-support. Not to mention the endlessly entertaining (read: incredibly frustrating) “why?” questions from the more distant relatives.
It became so entertaining, in fact, that the moment Jan stepped into the arrivals bay at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, he let loose a relieved chuckle that turned into a full-bodied laugh. The bystanders barely paid him any mind, past the occasional concerned side-eye.
Which he was perfectly fine with, thank you very much.
A new start.
Fucking finally.
The next couple of days were a whirlwind of retrieving apartment keys, moving his meager few boxes into a one-bedroom, and being incredibly thankful that he’d gone with the option of an already-furnished space.
On the third morning, Jan saw himself as settled as he would be for the time being and eager to venture out. Something about a new city, he’d guessed.
As he locked his apartment door behind him, Jan praised his (admittedly accidental) planning, as it had at least gotten him into a walkable neighborhood. A quick Google search had him praising his skills further as he spotted a quaint bakery/coffee shop that was a 7 minute walk from his building. Mentally giving himself another pat on the back, Jan quickened his stride a bit.
Whether that was from the excitement of moving into a new city settling in his bones or the idea of caffeine, he’d never tell.
Entering the shop, which was filled with a pleasantly buzzing chatter, he was met with one striking realization:
There was no way he was functioning properly enough to speak Dutch this early in the morning.
…Maybe he could get away with English?
“Ik heb een bestelling voor Julia?”
Well, fuck.
Just as he was having an annoyed debate with himself about how ridiculous he’d look if he just walked out now, Jan heard:
“Pardon? Gaat u bestellen, meneer?”
Lifting his gaze toward the counter, Jan was met with a confused-looking brunet. To his credit, at least the worker gave him a polite smile following the question.
Again, fuck.
Too late to back out now, he supposed.
“Sorry, kan ik krijgen … latte?” Jan heard himself murmur, praying to every higher being that ‘latte’ wasn’t something completely different in Dutch.
The nod and rapid screen-tapping from the worker suggested that he’d at least ordered something on the menu.
Jan - 1, Foreign Language - 0.
“Oké, nog iets anders? Ik hoor dat de bosbessentaartjes erg lekker zijn,” the brunet teased, a playful glint in his eye. Jan paused.
Yep, definitely not awake enough for that.
“Sorry, what?” he choked out in English, giving a deer in headlights a run for its money with how wide his eyes were.
“Bojan, je weet toch dat je geen taartjes meer kunt krijgen als ze allemaal op zijn?” a voice chimed in from behind the worker, a tall blond with a flour-streaked apron rounding the corner with a still-warm pan in hand.
The worker at the counter (Bojan, Jan’s mind supplied helpfully) whipped around with a scandalized look. “Je bedoelt dat je er geen nieuwe voor me maakt als ze allemaal uitverkocht zijn?” Bojan pouted, already turning back toward Jan as he waved the other worker off. “Ik wil het zelfs niet horen. Go, shoo, ik heb een klant.”
Bojan flashed a winning smile at Jan and continued, “Nog iets anders?”
“Uhh … nee, bedankt.”
As he settled into a seat near the street-facing window, Jan mentally cringed at himself for his subpar language comprehension skills, but very quickly blamed it on the lack of caffeine in his system. Frantically Googling “English-speaking cafes near me”, he neglected to hear his order being called out until well-worn sneakers appeared in his peripheral.
“Ik heb uw drankje, meneer,” Bojan stated, placing a chipped mug down on the table in front of Jan.
“Oh, thanks. Sorry —“
“You speak English? Huh, no wonder,” the barista chuckled out, stepping back for a moment to look at Jan properly. “Thought I said something wrong, with the way you looked at me back there!”
‘Are you fucking kidding me,’ Jan thought.
“Uh,” he started intelligently, “yes, actually. My Dutch isn’t that great this early in the day, I’ll admit.”
That prompted another laugh from Bojan, more playfully pitying this time. “No problem, happens to the best of us.” Then he winked, sauntering off toward his place behind the counter once more.
It took Jan a couple of scalding sips of his latte before he registered that.
Did that barista just wink at him?