The rain was light but persistent, a fine drizzle that clung to Sasha's fluffy black hair in little diamond droplets. He clutched his oversized tote bag to his chest, giggling softly as he darted out of the taxi and almost slipped right on the slick curb.
"Ah—ah! Silly boy, silly silly boy, Sasha, you're ridiculous," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a bright pink blush rising to his cheeks. He giggled anyway, hopping once to steady his balance before taking off in a series of tiny, fast, uncertain steps.
The sidewalk was packed tonight, and every few seconds he had to twist his narrow frame between umbrellas and briefcases and pairs of people too busy chatting to notice him.
"'Scuse me! Oops—sorry! Ooooh, cute coat—sorry sorry sorry!" he chirped out to everyone he nearly knocked into, one after another, his voice both flustered and bright.
A man grumbled something gruff behind him when Sasha tripped over his own shoelace and bumped his elbow.
"Watch it."
Sasha only grinned sheepishly without looking back, waving a damp hand, his blush deepening as he scolded himself under his breath.
"Smooth, Sasha. So smooth. Totally graceful. Oh my god," he giggled to himself as his untied shoelace slapped pitifully against the pavement. "Honestly. You'd think you'd learn to tie your shoes by now, you sugar-addled idiot."
But he didn't stop. His mind was already full of one thing, and one thing only: chocolate.
Chocolate made everything better.
He was practically humming by the time he pushed open the door to Ciel Pâtisserie, cheeks flushed pink, hair damp at the tips, and sweater sticking slightly to his shoulders. The warm air hit him like a hug, all sweet cocoa and fresh pastry dough, and Sasha let out a soft sigh of pure, unfiltered joy.
"Oh, heaven," he whispered reverently, stepping inside as though he were crossing the threshold of a cathedral.
Ciel was busy tonight, like always — laughter and murmured conversations rising softly around him, forks clinking against porcelain plates, the glass counter glowing with its perfect rows of glossy tarts and delicate truffles. The staff darted efficiently around, clad in pale pastel aprons, filling orders and smiling brightly at the usual customers.
Sasha bounced up on his toes, scanning the room eagerly until his wide eyes landed on it — his booth. His little corner spot, just for him. Empty, waiting, with its pastel cushions slightly askew and the little window lamp glowing like it knew he'd come.
Beaming, Sasha practically skipped his way over, wiggling his fingers at a waitress who nodded and waved back with a knowing little smirk. He slid into the seat with a faint little plop, carefully setting his tote down beside him and unzipping it immediately.
Inside was his emergency box — of course. His little velvet box of truffles he'd picked up earlier from another shop on his way here, because who could risk being caught at Ciel and waiting more than two minutes for their order? Absolutely not! A boy could starve.
He popped the box open on the table, practically humming to himself. The scent of dark cocoa and caramel hit him in a soft wave. He took a deep, dreamy inhale like someone about to faint.
"Oh my god. You smell like love," he whispered at the chocolates, eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss as his fingers carefully plucked one perfect square.
It melted on his tongue like a prayer answered.
Sasha actually clutched his own cheek with his free hand, giggling quietly to himself.
"You are so whipped," he scolded himself in a whisper, shaking his head with a grin. "You're pathetic, you sweet-toothed little disaster. God, what would Brie say if she saw you right now? 'Hopeless,' that's what."
He popped another truffle anyway.
So caught up was he in his private sugar-coated euphoria that he didn't even notice the sharp, dark figure sitting only a few feet away.
His glare towards the boy was unflinching, cutting, like black glass. It could set paper on fire with how hot it was.
---
Dominic was already on edge.
He hated being here.
He hated the smell of sugar sticking to his clothes. He hated the cheerful little bell on the door that jingled every time someone came in. Most of all, he hated his brother Collins for insisting on this ridiculous blind date.
"Trust me," Collins had said. "You need someone to soften those sharp edges of yours. Just one dinner. The kid's your type — I promise. Cute. Small. Dark hair. You'll love him."
So Dominic sat here. Impatient. Annoyed. And already regretting it.
He drummed his fingers on the table, checking the time again. His supposed date was late. Of course.
Then — movement caught his eye.
He glanced up, more out of habit than interest. And froze.
A boy. Small frame. Silky black hair, a little mussed from the rain. A pastel sweater clinging to his delicate shoulders, dark skinny jeans showing off lean legs. Glossy lips curled into a little smile as he skipped — actually skipped — toward the corner booth like he owned the place.
Dominic's jaw tightened.
He fit the description almost perfectly.
And yet — he was sitting in the wrong booth. His booth.
Dominic's mood, already sour, dropped another notch.
He sat back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as he watched the boy unpack his little box of chocolates and pop one into his mouth like he hadn't a care in the world.
This was what Collins thought he needed?
A child?
Dominic exhaled sharply through his nose, already imagining the words he was going to have with his brother later.
---
Sasha, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of the storm brewing just a few feet away.
He lounged against the cushion, swinging one foot lazily under the table, the untied lace of his sneaker flopping with every little kick. A faint smudge of chocolate clung to his thumb as he licked it clean, sighing softly, content. He reached for another piece of cake, humming faintly to himself.
A tall shadow fell across the table.
Sasha didn't even notice.
Not until a sharp, low voice cut through the gentle clinking and chatter of the café.
"Sit up."
Sasha blinked, the fork halfway to his mouth, and looked up — straight into a pair of dark, cutting eyes that made him blink again in surprise.
The man standing there was… intense. Impeccably dressed in a perfectly pressed charcoal suit, his hair slick and neat, shoulders broad, posture straight like he'd been carved from authority itself. And his eyes — oh, his eyes pinned Sasha in place, burning into him like he'd committed some unforgivable crime.
Sasha froze, blinking owlishly at the stranger for a long beat.
Then, almost like an afterthought, he straightened a little, setting his fork down and blinking up at him.
"…Hi?" Sasha offered finally, in the smallest, softest voice, like that might somehow help.
The stranger — who was clearly not impressed — didn't so much as flinch. He reached down without a word, grabbed Sasha's little bag from the seat beside him, and dropped it unceremoniously onto the table.
Then he fixed Sasha with a look so withering it could have melted glass.
"You're late. Sit properly."
Sasha just stared at him, big brown eyes blinking fast as he processed the words.
"…Late?" he echoed, voice faintly higher than usual. "For…?"
The stranger's jaw ticked. "Don't play dumb."
At that, Sasha only tilted his head — like a confused little bird — and blinked again. "I'm… not playing anything…"
Dominic's eyes narrowed even further, a muscle jumping in his temple.
That voice. That soft, airy little voice. That stupid, clueless look on his face. The faint smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, and the swing of his untied lace.
He was adorable.
And it annoyed the hell out of Dominic.
Sasha, for his part, simply sat there looking mildly baffled yet somehow calm, his brows knitting faintly as if he was the one being inconvenienced.
...