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The small bell above the door rang as it was slowly pushed open, Astarion's pale, wrinkled hand gripping at the handle while the other held tightly to his cane. He ambled in, grumbling at a group of teenagers that barely moved out of the way, and then held the door open.
Gale followed at a snail's pace behind him, tennis balls scooting across the linoleum as he inched his walker forward. He nearly stumbled when his loafer caught on a chip in the floor. Astarion had told him he needed a new pair, but Gale refused, stating "I've had these for ten years. I'll have them until I die." Astarion would make sure they were buried with the old kook.
They made their way to the empty booth in the back, just as they did every Saturday. They sat down with grunts and groans. Astarion's plaid trousers shortened as he sat while Gale's suspenders became snug against his belly. They may have been at a small town diner, but there was no sense in dressing lazily. At least Astarion thought so. Gale went along with it to keep his husband happy.
A young waiter, not even in his twenties, came over to their table. His head was shaved on one side, piercings ran up his ears, and he had an arm full of tattoos. Gale mumbled under his breath. Astarion squinted.
"Who are you?" Astarion asked.
"Me?" The waiter pointed his pen at his chest. "Oh, I'm Brett. I'll be your waiter."
"Brett? Since when is there a Brett? What happened to Alisha?"
"Alfira, Astarion," Gale corrected, loudly.
"I know who I meant, and turn on your damn hearing aids, dear. The whole diner doesn't want to hear you shouting." Astarion looked back to Brett. "Where's Alfira?"
Brett shuffled back and forth, eyeing Gale as he toyed with the devices in his ears. "Uh, she's on vacation for two weeks."
Astarion hummed, unsatisfied. Gale tutted. At least his hearing aids were working properly now.
A minute passed by. Brett stood by the table, waiting. He almost turned to walk away when Gale spoke up.
"I'll have the Earl Grey tea with a dash of milk and an omelet with mushrooms, tomatoes, and spinach."
Brett scribbled onto his notepad and looked to Astarion. "And for you?"
"Coffee—two creams, three sugars—and I want the pancakes with a side of bacon. Extra syrup."
Brett smiled and said he would put the order in. He thought maybe he would receive at least a smirk back but he was only met with grimaces. Gale was already on the verge of falling asleep when he was walking away.
Brett dropped off the ticket and stopped by the register. His manager, Mayrina, was jotting numbers down on an order form.
"Hey, so, what's up with those two? They weren't very happy to see me." Brett watched the table where the old men had sat. Astarion rolled his eyes and tugged on his own pointed ear as he spoke to Gale. Apparently, the hearing aid situation wasn't fixed entirely.
Mayrina lifted her head and looked in the direction Brett was eyeing. She snorted and went back to the paper on the counter.
"The uppity one is Astarion and the sleepy one is Gale. Those two are older than half this town, I think. They've been coming in here before I started working here, back when it was still Raph's House of Hotcakes."
"Are they always that grumpy? Or was it just me?" Brett asked.
Mayrina didn't bother looking up. She just reach over with her free hand and patted Brett's arm. "It's not just you, honey. They're like that with everyone. They come in every Saturday, order the same meals, and then complain about it. Every. Single. Saturday."
"Every Sat—Why in the hells do they keep coming back?"
"Couldn't tell ya, but they pay and sit in the back where no one else hears them, so I don't care."
Brett couldn't understand why two people would want to continue to patron a place that they clearly dislike. There were plenty of other restaurants for them to torture, so why not spend their retirement funds in those establishments?
"Table thirty-one is up!"
Brett spun around, walked over to prepare the tea and coffee before placing the mugs on a tray. Then he snagged the plates from the window to head over to the table.
"Okay, gentlemen," Brett said, depositing the plates one by one. He grinned wide as he slid the side of bacon in front of Astarion. "How does everything look?"
"Bacon's burnt." Astarion sniffed, raising a brow at Brett.
Brett opened his mouth, but was cut off Gale.
"This tea is far too weak," he complained.
"And my coffee taste like ash," Astarion added.
"These eggs are like rubber."
"I asked for extra syrup."
Brett's left eye twitched. Mayrina was right. They were cranky old bastards, but he needed a job. He breathed in deep and let it out slowly.
"Would you like me to take it all back and have something fresh prepared?" It took every ounce of patience he had to offer such a thing.
"No. It's alright."
"No. This will do."
Brett's eyes darted between them. They acted as if he wasn't there, beginning to eat their meals as if they hadn't just ripped the cook's work to shreds.
Brett returned the tray and leaned against the counter with a toss of his arms. "I don't understand them."
Mayrina chuckled. "None of us do."
Fifty Years Ago…
Gale unwrapped the scarf around his neck as he walked into Raph's House of Hotcakes. He shook his hair, watching as snowflakes fell from the long strands onto the shiny floor below and melted.
He had hoped to beat the incoming storm on his way home from the university, but the wind had changed directions, bringing the snow in faster than expected. He decided to wait out the worst of it in the tiny diner he passed on his way to work each day. At least he could enjoy a cup of tea and maybe grade some essays while there.
Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be the only one with that idea. The place was buzzing with people from all walks of life looking for shelter from the frigid outdoors. Every table and booth was filled. The waiters and waitresses were scurrying around trying to take everyone's orders in a timely manner.
Gale nearly gave up when he spotted one booth in the back, occupied by someone tucked behind a newspaper.
He walked over, gently clearing his throat. When the newspapers was lowered, he was met with an elf who had striking features and hazel eyes he could stare into for ages.
"Can I help you?"
Gale blinked. He didn't realize he had been staring. He brushed it off with a kind smile.
"Yes, actually. Do you mind if I sit here? It's the only empty seat available."
"Be my guest." The elf waved a hand at the other side of the booth.
Gale sat and began pulling out papers. As he marked them, he glanced up every so often. The elf still read over the newspaper. There was an awkward silence between them that had Gale shifting in his seat. Eventually, he jutted his hand forward.
"Terribly rude of me not to introduce myself after sitting. I'm Gale," he greeted.
The elf eyed Gale's hand and then brought his own forward to grasp it. "Astarion."
Clearly, Astarion wasn't in a talking mood, so Gale left him alone after that. A waiter came not long after to take their orders.
Gale hadn't planned on having dinner there. The roast he had planned for that night sounded much better than the all day breakfast fare the diner offered, but as he looked to the front window and saw nothing but white, he knew he wouldn't be leaving soon.
He ended up ordering a mushroom, tomato, and spinach omelet with Earl Grey tea. He would have liked feta with it too, but the best the restaurant had was processed American slices and pre-shredded cheddar.
Astarion ordered a stack of pancakes with bacon and extra syrup. Gale never understood the need to drown pancakes, but the eld obviously didn't mind anything too sweet with the way he had ordered his coffee.
Twenty minutes later, Gale had just finished grading the last essay when the waiter returned with their food.
Gale stared down at his omelet, unimpressed. He lifted a finger to grab the waiter's attention, but they were already off to another table.
He watched as Astarion lifted a piece of bacon, only for it to crumble back to the plate.
"Gods, did they cook this directly under the sun? It's burnt!"
Gale laughed quietly as he brought his mug to his lips. His laughter soon died as he took a sip, lips curling up at the taste. Or rather, lack of taste.
"This tea is still practically water. It's not been steeped nearly long enough."
Astarion coughed over his own mug. "Consider yourself lucky, darling. This coffee is nothing to rave about either." He scoffed as he looked at his pancakes. "And they didn't give me extra syrup."
Gale shook his head, picking up his fork and slicing off a bite of omelet. He popped the fork into his mouth and immediately regretted it. He pushed the plate away.
"I'll trade you. I think if you throw this omelet at the wall, it will bounce back to you."
That comment earned him a hearty laugh from the elf, one that was bringing tears to his eyes. Gale couldn't help but join in.
"This place is…" Astarion began, laughter growing by the second.
"Awful?" Gale finished, arms wrapping to his stomach as his ribs began to ache. "Absolutely terrible?"
They continued on like that for some time, throwing words back and forth as others started to turn their heads and see what all the ruckus was about. After some time and a few embarrassing snorts, they calmed enough, giggles escaping here and there as they poked at their plates.
Astarion leaned his chin onto his hand, staring over at Gale. Gale looked back, a soft grin on his lips and eyes shining.
"What did you say your name was again?" Astarion asked. "I suppose I should remember considering we're going to be spending quite some time together."
Gale's face flushed. "Gale. I'm Gale Dekarios."
Brett returned to the table once Astarion and Gale seemed to be finished with their meals. They were bickering over a misplaced book when he placed the check onto the table.
Gale slid over cash, triple the amount that was owed. Brett gathered it up and informed them he would be right back with their change.
"No need. You keep it." Gale reached across the table and patted Astarion's hand. "For putting up with us."
"But, sir, I couldn't—"
"Keep it, darling. You may not have anyone as kind as us come in for the rest of the day," Astarion said.
Brett couldn't even comment on the older mens' "kindness." He just glanced at the bills again and then back at Astarion and Gale. "Oh, uh, thank you then. Have a nice day."
The men didn't say anything else, so Brett left them. He went to deposit the cash, confused by the hefty tip, but he wouldn't question it. It would be extra gas money for the week.
"I don't understand them," Brett mumbled, elbows falling to the top of the register.
Mayrina was wiping a cloth over the baked goods case, stopping as she had clearly heard him. "I told you. No one does."
Brett watched as the couple made their way towards the exit. Astarion tucked an arm into Gale's, leaning over to kiss the top of his head. Gale's eyes wrinkled as he smiled back. There was a love there that was hard to find. It was evident in the way they looked at one another.
Brett found himself watching, lips upturning at the sight.
Maybe he could convince Alfira to give him all of her Saturday shifts.