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The snowstorm outside wasn’t normal even by the worst winters that hit the streets of France.
It was the kind that bites your face the moment you step outside, pushing the air back as if the city itself wanted to shut its doors on you.
The wind struck the streets with a white fury, dragging dense flakes that erased the edges of everything.
When they entered the café, the change was almost violent.
Warmth hit them all at once, like a heavy blanket dropping over their shoulders. Fogged glass, soft yellow lights, the smell of freshly ground coffee and toasted bread—everything contrasted too sharply with the cold still clinging to their clothes.
Hugo was the first to close the door behind them, making sure the cold didn’t seep in too much.
His dark coat was damp at the edges, melted snow leaving small stains in the fabric. He made no comment, only tilted his head slightly, as if registering the change in environment.
His eyes, always calm, scanned the place as if measuring the emotional temperature of the space.
“Comfort level is acceptable...” he murmured to himself.
Loki let out a soft exhale, calmly removing one glove.
His coat was also slightly wet, the tip of his nose faintly red from the cold. He stayed still for a second, as if only then his body fully registered that he was no longer outside.
He slowly raised both hands and brought them to his face, covering his nose with his palms. He trapped the warm air that escaped between his fingers, breathing into it slowly.
The contrast was immediate. The heat of his hands against the cold of his skin ran across his face like a soft tingling sensation—almost uncomfortable, but pleasant for a night that cold.
He blinked once, as if that small gesture was enough to restart his entire system.
“You could have simply said «it's warm»” He finally spoke, lowering his hands.
“It would be an incomplete description.”
The warmth of the café had barely reddened the redhead's cheeks, and the steam in the air made his expression look softer than usual.
And without warning, he took Julian's hand. The contact was firm but calm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The other didn’t move immediately; he only glanced sideways at him, evaluating the gesture without real surprise.
Then Vivian lowered his gaze to his hand. And then, with complete calm, he kissed the back of it.
“Would you like to order something?” Asked afterwards, without changing his tone.
Loki looked at him a second longer than necessary, then laughed and lowered his hand again.
“You've already decided I'm going to sit down, haven't you?” he replied, tilting his head slightly.
“Correct.”
“Then make it efficient. I'll choose a good table.” Vivian nodded while watching his boyfriend approach the tables.
Hugo approached the display case, the glass was fogged up on the inside as well. There were cakes, golden breads, steaming cups, desserts and pastries that seemed to promise more than the cold had taken away.
As soon as the girl behind the counter approached, he didn't hesitate to order immediately.
“A hot black coffee, please. Also a coffee with milk with two tablespoons of sugar.” He spoke while resting a hand on the glass while observing the Croque-Monsieur lined up. “And two Croque-Monsieur, please.”
The girl nodded, used to those kinds of customers who seemed to argue with the world but never with each other.
Minutes later, the order was ready and he headed to the table where Loki was sitting. The steam from the coffee rose in slow spirals, dissolving into the warm air of the café.
Outside, through the large window, the snow kept falling like an impossible white wall to cross. Inside, however, everything was soft: spoons lightly clinking, the crackle of toasted bread as it broke apart, the murmur of distant conversations that didn’t matter.
The midfielder placed his cup on the table with precision, Julian blew on his once before drinking.
There was a comfortable but strange silence between them.
The striker set his cup down on the table while again bringing his hands up to his face, letting a warm breath escape between them, trying to warm them a little more.
“You’re not often this quiet when we’re like this.” He said while resting his elbow on the table.
“I’m evaluating variables..” Hugo replied without lifting his gaze.
“Right.” He laughed a little, while cutting a piece of his Croque-Monsieur.
For a moment, both of them focused on that, as if it were easier than what came next.
“Julian.” The striker lifted his gaze slightly, putting the crunchy piece of bread into his mouth.
“Mm?” Vivian slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his still-damp coat. For a second, the gesture felt out of place in him, as if it didn’t belong to his own logical system.
He pulled out a small box and placed it in the center of the table, right between the coffee and the bread.
Loki looked at it and then at the redhead. He didn’t want to ask anything immediately.
“It’s not a calculation error.” He added, as if anticipating the doubt before it existed. “It’s a conclusion made with precision and care.”
The other didn’t open the box yet. He only observed it, resting his fingers around it without quite touching it.
“What a dramatic word for something so small.” He said in an almost arrogant tone, but without mockery.
“It’s not.. small.”
Julian finally opened the box.
Inside was a gold ring, simple, without excess. Strong in its simplicity, as if it didn’t need to justify anything.
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he let out a faint exhale, almost amused, running a hand over his chin while still observing the jewel.
“I see..” He took the ring between two fingers, turning it once, as if evaluating a play in midair. “You were quite direct this time for someone who believes so much in fate.”
“Fate does not require embellishments, allow me, please.” He extended one of his hands, waiting for Loki’s left hand in response.
He looked at it for a while longer before giving in. Then, without hurry, he extended his hand.
“You’re persistent..” he murmured, almost amused.
There was no rejection in his voice. Only that proud calm that seemed to follow him even in the simplest moments.
The midfielder took his hand with precision, as if he had already calculated that movement long before it happened. His fingers were firm, steady, but not invasive.
The kind of contact that doesn’t ask permission because it already assumes it is understood.
Then, he slid the ring onto his partner’s finger.
The metal fit perfectly.
Julian remained looking at his own hand for several long seconds, as if the image needed to be processed from different internal angles.
“It’s not bad..” he said, moving his fingers slightly, watching how the warm light of the café bounced off the gold.
Hugo, with the same calm with which he had ordered the coffee or taken his hand earlier, tilted his head.
And kissed the ring.
But with a strange kind of certainty, almost absolute, as if that contact were a final signature over something that had already been decided before the question even existed.
The striker let out a breath through his nose, amused, as if he found it absurd but not unpleasant.
“You’re getting sentimental, huh?”
“Incorrect.. It is behavioral coherence.”
“Yeah..” He rested his elbow on the table, letting the hand with the ring lift slightly as he observed it again. “It’s honestly not bad at all. Thanks, Hugo.”
“Julian.”
“Mm?” he replied, not looking at him fully, too occupied with turning the ring with his thumb.
“The variable «presence» with you.. is stable.”
“What a strange way to say «I like you».” He said, returning to his coffee, but the smile didn’t fully leave his face.
Rather, it stayed there, hidden at the corner of his mouth, like something that didn’t need to be explained or defended.
Loki leaned back in his chair, leaving his ringed hand on the table, relaxed but visible, as if he had no intention of hiding it at any point.
“Hey.” he added, Vivian only slightly lifted his gaze.
“Mm?”
“You didn’t do it on impulse, right?” The other shook his head almost immediately.
“No.”
“I see..” He lowered his gaze to the ring again, turning it once more, slower this time. “Then I suppose this also falls under your.. fate.”
“Our.. fate.”
The dark-skinned man simply smiled at hearing it.
Loki didn’t say it out loud, but he decided that that kind of «fate» didn’t bother him at all.