In Which Things Are Done Properly, For A Given Value of Proper
"So," Mike said one day, about three weeks into their acquaintence, "Do you ever take a night off?"
"Sure," Kevin replied absently as he navigated them a route through the busy marketplace, staring down one or two kids who were staring hungrily at Mike's well-cut coat and heavy pockets. "When one of the kids is sick, or on somebody's birthday."
"Does it have to be the birthday of someone you know, or can I cheat and justify that every day is somebody's birthday?"
Kevin looked up at that, smiling as if he wasn't sure he wanted to be amused just yet until he knew better what was going on. "Is there a reason you'd want to try and use that?"
Mike looked a little shifty at that, as if he didn't really want to answer. He cleared his throat and finally said, "I was hoping, maybe, you'd have a chance some time for a proper date. With me," he tacked on hurriedly.
"As opposed to all the improper dates so far?" Kevin asked archly, smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"I mean proper, the way you're supposed to date--restaurant that doesn't mostly exist to serve alchohol, a meal that isn't sandwiches, dinner instead of lunch so we've got an excuse for candlelight, I walk you home, kiss goodnight, you know," he shrugged. "A proper date."
"Hmmm," Kevin mused. "We could do that, I guess. I'm afraid I'm not quite reputable enough for your restaurant, though. Want to come for dinner at my place instead?"
Mike shrugged. "Only if I can bring the meal," he counter-offered, already mentally thinking up a menu of things Kevin might like yet not be able to get in the slums.
"Sold," Kevin said with a sheepish smile. "I'll ask Ryan if my brothers can stay in his room for a bit--not much of a proper date with the whole family around, is it?" Mike shrugged - he hadn't even thought of that, so used to a house with so many rooms you often didn't even know there were other people there until they came down to dinner.
Kevin smiled brightly the whole way home, turned to Mike at the door to the building as he always did, but said, "Til tomorrow," like a promise against Mike's lips, and walked up the stairs with a bounce in his step. Mike felt as though he'd finally done something right. He turned and headed back up the hill--he had a lot of work to do to make this extra special.
In the meantime, Kevin had some convincing to do, himself. It wasn't hard to ask Ryan if his brothers could stay in his room; Ryan may have grinned teasingly, raised a mocking eyebrow, but he left it at that. It was harder to convince his brothers to go.
Frankie didn't seem to mind the idea of a sleepover in Ryan's room, but Joe was a wealth of teasing suggestions and lacivious gestures. Nick was just...cold, though, a little absent, but he shrugged and went along with the plans willingly enough, so Kevin put it out of his mind.
After arrangements had been made, Kevin looked around his room and felt the same unaccustomed panic that he had the first time he invited Greta over; his home was not exactly built for entertaining. It also hadn't had more than a desultory clean in months. He immediately whipped his brothers into his own cleaning task force. Joe was openly laughing at him now, but Nick was scowling. "Why do we need to make an effort for him?" he snapped.
And to be honest, Kevin didn't really have a satisfactory answer for that--why should they, really? He tried one desperate, "Please, Nick, for me," and was surprised when it worked; the grumbling didn't end, but the sound of it got softer as Nick walked away towards the broom.
"For me," didn't seem like all that good of a reason to Kevin, but he wasn't about to question it, just silently promised himself he'd find his brothers some sort of treat at market next week. And then it was cleaning and sweeping and dusting, and then, too soon, it was time for his brother's to go for the evening.
Joe waggled his eyebrows at him. "Have fun!"
Kevin felt the sudden urge to throw something out the door after him--nothing to heavy, just something small, something that might bounce off Joe's smug little head. But then they were gone, leaving Kevin alone with a sudden and surprising bout of nervousness. Left alone with nothing else to occupy him, Kevin found himself starting to pace around the small room. He nearly leapt out of his skin when there was a knock, and he eased the door opened it slowly. Mike was there, grinning, wearing a heavy coat and carrying a large hamper. Kevin grinned back, reached to take the hamper. "Right on time."
The hamper was heavy, and Kevin went to lift the lid.
Mike playfully slapped his hand away. "Hey, no peeking." Instead, he produced a blanket and laid it over the bare boards.
Kevin was suddenly very grateful they swept up. He laughed a little nervously. "Is this part of the proper date experience?"
Mike didn't look away from Kevin's face. Absolutely. Wine?"
"Please," Kevin said, throat suddenly dry.
Mike had even brought glasses, fine, delicate things that chimed like a bell whenever touched. Kevin's fingers were a little shaky on the fine dishware and ornate utensils, uncomfortably aware that each was worth more than his income for an entire month. He helped lay out the picnic neatly, grinning appreciatively in the right places and hoping against hope that Mike wouldn't notice his discomfort.
Brendon, Kevin reflected, or even Joe, would brazen in out cheerfully, acting as if they handled such things every day. Nick would glare and try to look unimpressed. But Kevin, Kevin remembered his mother bringing out the fine china on special occasions, dishware she carted around with care--a remnant from her affluent upbringing. When he was older, she'd let Kevin help her set the table. He couldn't forget the care with which she'd taught him to lift bone china, the strict order not to get fingerprints on the silver.
Mike watched him with an indulgent smile, and Kevin blushed as he realized he'd been busted. He tried to be like Brendon and brazen it out. "Well, sir," he said, dipping his head and looking up through his lashes in a way that had Mike swallowing hard as he stared. "You promised me dinner."
Mike grinned and delved into the hamper once more. He came out with an honest-to-god soup tureen and a loaf of soft white bread. He said, "I was so sure I was going to spill on the way over here."
Kevin was staring. It was one of the fancy ones, like they use on the zeppelins, and as Mike cracked the lid, warm scented steam billows out. "Well, I'm glad you didn't," Kevin managed.
Mike produced a ladle, and it was strangely reassuring that Mike had to awkwardly juggle everything for a minute as he inexpertly filled two bowls. After handing one to Kevin, he tore apart the loaf. "I have butter here, too," he adds casually, diving back into the hamper.
As such, he missed Kevin's little mew of pleasure. "Real butter?"
Mike sat back up, grinning in pleased surprise as he handing over the small chafing dish. Kevin considered trying to be polite, but Mike just made a noise under his breath and pushed the dish more firmly at Kevin, and he gave up on polite. The layer of butter was only marginally thinner than the bread itself, and Kevin groaned as he took that first bite.
The taste brought back with it a stream of sense memory, things he'd almost forgotten, like sunday dinner with all the trimmings, and how his mother used to sometimes sneak him a curl of butter off the corner of a fresh pat. Kevin blinked back sudden tears, agonisingly aware that Mike was studying his face. But Mike didn't press. "Try the soup," was all he said.
They ate in companionable silence, but it wasn't awkward. There was ham after the soup, with fresh, crisp vegetables. Kevin ate slowly, savouring every mouthful, until he felt fit to burst, and even then they'd barely eaten half of what Mike had brought. Kevin thought of his brothers next door, and frowned. "Can I leave the tureen here tonight," Mike asked suddenly. "I'll take it back with me next time, it's just I'll need time to prepare to sneak it back in."
Kevin knew what he was doing, but didn't call him on it. They were too proud to beg, mostly, but Mike giving them food strangely didn't taste of charity. "Sure," he mumbled, sipping at his wine.
"Thanks," Mike said warmly, like he didn't know exactly what Kevin was thinking. He shuffled over, and Kevin let Mike press up into his side. "I have pie, if you have room."
Kevin put down his glass and his worries about his brothers. Tonight was for them; after everything, surely he could take just one night. "Mike," he said softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. "There is always room for pie."