Work Text:
The shop door opened with the soft jingle of the bell hanging above the frame as Graf headed toward the stairs leading to the upper floor of the building. It was late afternoon; most of the players had already scattered to take care of their own business. The sun was slowly disappearing beyond the horizon, and the streets around the financial district were growing emptier with every passing quarter hour. Even the usual murmur of conversations seemed muted, allowing the island to breathe and slow down with the approaching evening.
Graf climbed the stairs silently, barely making a sound. Only when he leaned out from behind the wall did he spot Juan trying to hold up a heavy wooden shelf with one hand while desperately fighting with a screwdriver in the other, angled completely wrong.
The entire structure swayed dangerously — the dark haired balanced the board with visible effort, barely avoiding dropping all of the painting supplies.
“Need help?” Graf asked in a neutral tone, ignoring the slight quickening of his pulse at the sight of the shorter man.
Juan jolted so violently he almost smacked himself in the face with the plank. Several brushes and tubes of oil paint slid to the floor with a loud clatter, scattering across the room. The man instinctively jumped back, clutching his chest while catching his breath.
“Geez, don’t scare me like that!” he muttered, glancing at the figure standing in the doorway out of the corner of his eye.
Graf smiled faintly under his breath and stepped closer, still keeping a respectful distance. He looked at the dangling shelf and then at the screwdriver in Juan’s hand, raising an eyebrow. “So?”
“I can handle it,” Juan muttered as he bent down to pick up the screw lying on the floor, as if the mere fact that Graf was standing there hadn’t completely altered the schedule of his entire day. He was supposed to survive another date? Better call Foolish.
“Mhm.”
Graf watched him struggle with the screws for another moment without even mentioning the supplies scattered all over the floor. Only after a while did he crouch beside him and start picking up the brushes, placing them back into the glass jar.
“This doesn’t exactly look OSHA compliant.”
“Thanks,” Juan muttered through clenched teeth, twisting his arm at an unnatural angle.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Juan snorted quietly and rolled his eyes. He adjusted his grip on the screwdriver, biting his lower lip in concentration — exactly the way he did while painting. With an ominous creak of wood, he lifted the shelf back into place and tried screwing the bolt in again.
Graf sighed softly and set the collected brushes down on the nearby table before stepping closer and holding the shelf from the other side practically with one hand. “It’s easier like this, don’t you think? You could’ve called me. I would’ve helped.”
Juan exhaled through his nose.
“I was supposed to do this yesterday, but I had to solve a conflict in the North, then people came in with more commissions, and afterward I kept fixing a painting because I didn’t like it. Plus Katie” — his expression soured at the mention of the girl’s name — “said the sight of my shop ‘emotionally attacks her.’ I kind of lost control over my schedule.”
Graf fell silent for a moment, as though genuinely analyzing every word.
“...emotionally attacks?”
“That’s what she said,” Juan shrugged, glancing out the window.
“Interesting.”
Juan burst out laughing, not even noticing that he had completely let go of the board. Now it was being held up solely by Graf’s grip.
The taller man fixed his gaze on Juan’s face. He watched the way Juan’s eyelids crinkled slightly when he laughed, how his glasses slipped just a little down his nose, and how absurdly beautiful he looked in the light of the setting sun streaming through the window.
Graf cleared his throat quietly and adjusted his grip on the shelf, looking away. “Try now.”
Juan leaned toward the shelf again, trying with all his might to ignore how close the other man was standing. From this distance, he could easily make out his scent — wood, a hint of honey, and something familiar he still couldn’t quite identify.
“A little higher,” Graf muttered with mild concern as he watched the screw bend under pressure.
“I’m holding it right.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
The shelf suddenly tilted to the left, ruining all the progress they’d made over the past few minutes.
“Mierda,” Juan cursed under his breath.
“Told you so.” A quiet snort of amusement escaped Graf.
“Shut up.” Juan rolled his eyes, though a smile still forced its way onto his face. And that was exactly the problem. Everything has been turning into a problem lately.
Because Juan was supposed to reject him.
At first — when Graf confessed his feelings. Then after the first date. The second. The third. He was supposed to keep his distance, simplify everything, not let the situation spiral out of control.
Meanwhile, Graf kept showing up at his workshop as if nothing had changed, just to help him with shelves or bring him a stupid cheeseburger, acting so naturally as though he wasn’t completely messing with Juan’s head.
And Juan hadn’t even noticed the moment he started treating it like something normal. Like something he looked forward to.
=====
Fixing it together took them significantly less time than it would have if Juan had tried to do everything on his own. Not that he had any intention of admitting that to anyone.
Day by day — though Juan had already been fully aware of it before — Graf kept proving himself more and more competent.
On top of that, he was tall. And strong.
And apparently completely unaware of the fact that Juan had been shamelessly staring at him for the past several minutes, as if trying to analyze his every movement.
Juan sat on the stool by the easel, watching as Graf checked the stability of the shelf, making sure nothing would come crashing down on top of them this time.
“Done,” he finally announced, wiping his hands on the fabric of his pants.
Juan got up from his seat and grabbed the shelf, trying to move it in any direction. It didn’t even budge. “Oh wow.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Mhm.”
“I told you to call me earlier. You know I would’ve come.”
Juan waved his hand dismissively and smiled faintly, glancing off to the side. For some reason, he could feel the tips of his ears growing warmer.
Weird.
He sighed quietly and looked back at Graf, immediately meeting his gaze. The man was smiling softly, looking almost dreamy. And there it was again. That stupid feeling in his stomach returned twice as strong, making Juan want to grab his most important belongings, lock himself in his room at the North, and scream into a pillow for the rest of the day.
He quickly looked away, this time staring at the curtains by the window with exaggerated interest.
“Want something to drink?” he asked quickly, desperately trying to distract himself from his own emotions.
“Sure.”
They moved to the other side of the room, where there was a small stove with a kettle that had definitely seen better days, a scratched countertop, and far too many cans of paint.
Graf dropped onto a stool with a quiet sigh, sinking into his own thoughts. Someone could’ve said the silence between them was pleasant.
Juan would’ve disagreed.
He busied himself at the counter for a little too long — partly because he was genuinely making tea, but mostly because it was strangely difficult to look Graf directly in the face. Not after the past few weeks. Not after the dates they’d been on.
Not after catching himself more and more often automatically searching for Graf across every room, while that strange feeling in his chest only kept growing.
“You’re quiet today,” Juan finally said, breaking the silence.
Graf only shrugged and tilted his head slightly.
“I’m a little tired.”
Juan frowned almost instinctively. There was something distant in his voice, as if something genuinely felt different.
Graf was still kind. Still helped him without being asked. Still looked at him with that calm, warm gaze of his.
But there was something cautious in it now. Like he was taking a step back.
Juan placed a mug in front of him, trying not to analyze every reaction and every word.
“Thank you,” Graf murmured, taking a sip of the hot tea.
Juan didn’t answer. He sat down as well, wrapping his hand around his own mug. The room fell into complete silence, interrupted only by the ticking of an old clock somewhere in the main part of the shop.
Graf turned the mug slowly in his hands while Juan watched his calm, thoughtful face. After a moment, he forced himself to stop.
Before his brain started asking uncomfortable questions again. Questions about his own feelings.
“So…” Juan started awkwardly, drumming his fingers against the mug. “Are you coming to karaoke tomorrow? Most of the North is gonna be there.”
Graf looked up, parted his lips, but said nothing for a moment. Then he glanced back toward the window, as if whatever was beyond the glass had suddenly become more interesting than this conversation.
“Perchance.”
“Perchance…?”
“I’m not sure if I’ll come yet.”
Juan blinked in confusion. Graf… skipping karaoke? Well, maybe not outright, but everyone knew karaoke was practically his favorite activity in the North. Missing even one night basically signaled the end of the world.
“What?”
Graf shrugged lightly and set his mug down on the table. “I’ll be a little busy for the next few days. You know, Polish Cave needs some work, especially since nobody helps me.”
It was absurd. Scandalous. Unexpected and… strangely hollow. Juan bit his lip, feeling something heavy sink in his chest.
“Oh.”
The two of them returned to slowly sipping their tea and staring off into space. The silence between them carried something unspoken; tension hung heavily in the air alongside the storm clouds gathering outside.
The first raindrops tapped against the windows.
Juan sat in the warmth of the small workshop, listening to the monotonous sound of rain, and for the first time in a very long time, he thought something truly awful.
What if he’s stopping trying?
The thought appeared suddenly and without warning, sending a chill through him all the way to the bone. If he had been standing, his legs probably would’ve given out beneath him.
But the worst part was something else entirely — that it shouldn’t have hurt this much.
=====
After finishing their tea, they quickly set the mugs in the sink and got back to the rest of the work that still needed to be done. Several heavy boxes filled with cans of paint standing by the front door definitely weren’t going to carry themselves upstairs, and Juan — despite complaining for the past hour — still apparently intended to do everything with his own two hands.
It didn’t take them particularly long, though; Juan carried one box at a time, Graf carried two.
And even though he initially tried to keep up with the taller man, it only ended with Graf giving him a pitying look before silently taking the extra box away from him.
“Why did you order so much of this?” he asked with genuine curiosity as he climbed the stairs with surprising ease, as if the boxes weighed no more than a couple pounds of feathers.
After all, he had already seen the amount of paint supplies piled up in Juan’s workshop before. So he was honestly surprised the dark haired needed even more deliveries.
“Do you know how many commissions I have?” Juan sighed dramatically, adjusting his grip on the box held in front of him. “There are over seven people on the waiting list. I’m gonna run out of paint before the end of the week, so I figured I should stock up.”
“Watch your step,” Graf reminded him calmly, walking right behind him. “You’re gonna trip if you’re not careful.”
“Oh, please.” Juan laughed quietly, though he still lifted the box higher so he could at least see the tips of his shoes. “Just because you were right about the shelf doesn’t mean I can’t handle this.”
Graf didn’t respond this time.
In silence, they carried the remaining boxes upstairs, placing them in designated spots between easels, cabinets, and stacks of canvases. Once they were done, Juan stretched with a quiet groan, yawning so widely his eyes watered.
Then he walked up to Graf and, without thinking much about it, lightly patted him on the shoulder.
“Thanks for the help, mi amigo.”
“Mhm. Happy to help,” Graf murmured with a barely noticeable smile.
And Juan felt it again. He couldn’t quite name it, but he could sense the change more and more clearly. That subtle shift in the atmosphere. Less effort. Less confidence. Like Graf was consciously taking a step back.
Like he was trying to accept something Juan himself still hadn’t managed to understand yet.
=====
The shop was already closed by the time they started placing the paint cans onto their proper shelves. Outside, the rain was still pouring, causing their communicators to fill up with worried messages and questions, though very few of them actually received responses.
Both of them hoped that this time, nobody would get kidnapped.
Juan still got chills whenever he thought about it. Not to mention the nightmares that kept waking him in the middle of the night.
Despite that, the sound of the rain didn’t feel threatening. Quite the opposite — it was strangely calming. More soothing than ominous, more comforting than a sign of another disaster or another entities attack.
Graf stood on a small ladder, adjusting the arrangement of tools on the highest shelf while Juan sat on the floor nearby, mixing color samples for a new catalog.
Neither of them spoke, letting the silence slowly consume them.
When the dark haired finally looked away from the paint-stained palettes and brushes, he heard Graf quietly humming something under his breath. So quietly that it seemed like he wasn’t even aware he was making any sound at all.
The melody didn’t sound completely familiar to Juan. It wasn’t one of Graf’s usual karaoke songs; he’d maybe heard this one once or twice before. Maybe Foolish had hummed it at some point. Maybe Tina.
It didn’t really matter.
Juan smiled faintly, letting the quiet melody fill the space between them. He grabbed a tube of white paint and squeezed some onto his palette, wanting to lighten the color he was mixing.
He almost stopped paying attention to his surroundings. Almost.
A moment later, he heard the taller man sing a little louder — just enough for him to make out the words.
“... but I wouldn’t mind if you liked me too”
Graf sang it softly, more to himself than anyone else, while arranging canvases on the highest shelf.
Juan lifted his head, analyzing the lyrics.
Sure, Graf sang a lot of romantic songs — at least that much he knew. Juan himself understood very little of the Polish songs sung during karaoke, but this particular line didn’t leave much room for interpretation.
Graf was still standing sideways to him and apparently hadn’t even noticed that Juan had stopped working in favor of, well… staring.
“What did you say?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound as natural as possible.
Graf froze for a second before clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses. “Nothing.”
“No, seriously, I’m asking.”
To Juan's own surprise, he kept pushing. He was absurdly curious about what had been going through the taller man’s mind.
“I was repeating the lyrics.”
“Now?”
“You mentioned karaoke tomorrow yourself.”
Juan frowned slightly. So he was planning to come after all? Just several dozen minutes ago, he hadn’t seemed convinced by the idea.
“You sing under your breath while organizing art supplies?”
“Multitasking.”
Juan snorted out a laugh, even though something unpleasant tightened in his chest. Because maybe the lyrics had been a complete coincidence, but they hadn’t sounded playful.
They hadn’t sounded like flirting or one of those light teasing remarks Graf usually threw at him.
It sounded ordinary. Dry. Like a normal conversation between friends. And Juan had already grown completely unaccustomed to that kind of distance.
He was pulled from his thoughts by a louder thud as Graf jumped off the ladder. He brushed the dust off his hands and set it in the corner of the room.
“Done,” he said casually.
Juan watched him carefully. The way he adjusted the sleeves of his shirt. The way he avoided eye contact. The way he kept a distance that practically hadn’t existed between them before.
And suddenly several things started fitting together in his mind. Like puzzle pieces he previously hadn’t known how to arrange.
Graf always remembered which colors Juan liked painting with the most. He always brought him food he liked whenever Juan spent too long alone in the workshop.
Whenever he spotted him on the street, he immediately came over, even if it was just for a short conversation. He switched to Spanish whenever Juan was too tired or irritated to speak English.
He always looked at him first whenever something made him laugh.
And he did all of it without expecting anything in return.
Juan knew that Graf liked him.
Maybe he realized it late. Definitely much later than he should have, considering all the signs the other man had been giving him. But he knew.
And that was exactly why he kept feeling that unpleasant pressure beneath his ribs.
Because once again that day, he thought: ‘what if one day he stops?’
=====
After gathering all the most important things, they closed the shop together. The rain had eased up a little, leaving behind only puddles and a light drizzle stretching across the streets.
After a short discussion, they decided that instead of using a waypoint, they’d walk part of the way back to the North villa. It wasn’t like they were in any hurry. They walked slowly down the street side by side. Like always.
Everything would’ve been fine if the silence between them still hadn’t felt so uncomfortable and full of unspoken words.
Juan kept glancing at Graf discreetly. One moment pretending to adjust his glasses, another retying the bandana in his hair, just so he could look at him for a few seconds longer.
He watched his profile, the light brown hair slightly damp from the rain. The tired look hidden behind the thin lenses of his glasses.
The world didn’t suddenly slow down, fireworks didn’t explode in his chest, and his vision didn’t dramatically narrow to only the silhouette of the man beside him.
The realization simply came. Not suddenly, not cinematically. He just thought. Simply thought.
He liked this. He liked being beside him. He liked their dates.
He liked when Graf listened to his rambling monologues and helped him work through his own internal conflicts. He liked when he absentmindedly fixed the bandana in his hair. He liked sitting close to him during karaoke and other North gatherings.
He liked when Graf came to see him for no reason at all. Just to spend time with him.
And the thought that all of it could disappear, fall apart just as easily as it had appeared—
“Juan?”
The brunette realized he had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Graf looked at him questioningly, and despite all the distance between them, there were still sparks of concern dancing in his eyes.
“Everything okay?”
Juan opened his mouth — and immediately closed it again.
Suddenly, he completely lost the ability to find words. He couldn’t describe the chaos underneath his skin. He wasn’t terrified of falling in love. Not even of the fact that Graf returned his feelings.
He was afraid of something else — that he genuinely didn’t want to let him go. He didn’t want to lose him and feel hurt all over again.
“Yeah,” he lied quickly, pushing the conversation off for another time. “I just zoned out. Sorry.”
Graf looked at him carefully and pressed his lips into a thin line, as if stopping himself from saying something more. In the end, he only nodded, and they continued walking.
=====
They arrived back at the Northlate. The rest of the group was still awake — laughter, music, and the occasional louder shout echoed from the farther parts of the villa. But Juan barely heard any of it. His entire mind was focused on that strange, painful feeling spreading beneath his skin.
Graf stopped by the door to his room. He looked at him gently, with a soft smile that still didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Thank you for helping today,” Juan said quickly, unable to withstand the weight of the returned gaze.
Graf looked slightly surprised. “You know I like helping you. And spending time with you.”
Juan fought with all his strength to stop the smile pushing at his lips while simultaneously trying to ignore the soft warmth spreading through his chest.
Graf smiled faintly again and grabbed the doorknob, as if he was about to close the door behind himself and separate them once more with another invisible barrier.
“Goodnight, Juan.”
That was probably the moment when Juan felt a sudden rush of panic. Or maybe confidence.
He stepped a few paces closer, overwhelmed by the strange feeling that if he let him walk into that room now — if he let him leave — he would be letting him slip from his grasp himself.
Letting him slip through his fingers. Giving him silent permission.
Or worse — a silent command: stop trying.
“Graf, wait a second.”
The taller man turned back toward him. There was genuine surprise written across his face, though not in a negative way. More cautious. Like he truly hadn’t expected Juan to say anything else.
Juan felt his heart begin pounding in his chest at an absurd speed.
“Could we…” he started, before trailing off, completely unsure how to put his request into words.
God. He was pathetic. Foolish was going to kill him.
Graf looked at him calmly, patiently, as if with his gaze alone he was assuring him that he could take as much time as he needed.
Juan swallowed and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Could we keep going on those dates?”
If anyone had asked them, even Roier’s loud laughter several floors above them had been drowned out by the silence that fell between them.
Graf blinked slowly, like he genuinely wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “Excuse me?”
Juan nervously adjusted the bandana in his hair and his glasses, which absolutely did not need adjusting. He started fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt, doing everything possible to avoid Graf’s gaze.
“Uh… I just… I know I was supposed to reject you, and I think I completely ruined everything somewhere along the way, but—”
He laughed awkwardly, unable to bear the silence from the other side. “I think I like spending time with you a little more than I probably should.”
Graf stayed silent, and it was fucking awful. Juan could feel heat rising to his face from stress and embarrassment. What if Graf had already moved on? What if Juan had simply realized it too late?
“Could you say something, please…?”
Eventually, he forced himself to look up, and Graf smiled very slowly. Not that small, polite smile of his. The real one, warm, soft. And the most important thing — completely happy. Like someone had just given him air back into his lungs.
“Okay,” he laughed quietly, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.
And for some reason, that one word alone was enough to make Juan feel like he had just made the best decision of his life.
Because maybe he really could fall in love with him.