Let them eat cake - AU. (Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres)
Title: Let them eat cake. [AU]
Pairing: Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres
Rating: PG-13 (if you forgive me some bad language)
Warnings: allusions to an eating disorder
A/N: this was written for the prompt 'Blowing off steam'. ... Set in a universe where Sergio owns a tiny café at the corner of a small street and Fernando, even though it's been roughly three years, owns more than a tiny corner of Sergio's heart still. [God how I hate summarizing - does it show?]
“A slice of chocolate fudge, two caramel muffins, two coffees with a little milk and a lot of sugar … there you go.”
“And table three just ordered two vanilla and strawberry tea. I think you’ll have to boil more water now.”
“Coming right up...”
Sergio helped Jesús putting the orders unto a small tray and then watched as the young waiter carefully made his way through the café, his eyes fixed on what he was carrying all the time as if he was mentally willing the coffee not to spill. The sight caused Sergio to smile. He had only hired Jesús a few weeks ago - Nuria had gone back to Malaga and with the new semester starting, finding someone to cover up for her hadn’t been as difficult - it seemed like he still needed a little time to fully indulge in his new job yet. Other than that, he had proven himself to be a worthy substitute, never making mistakes when calculating, always memoriziing the right faces fitting the right orders and always with that charming glint in his eyes whenever he talked to someone that he probably didn't even know about.
Whistling lowly, Sergio filled up the kettle and placed it over the stove.
It was a Tuesday afternoon in late October, awfully cold outside for this time of the year (at least it felt like it after the rich and warm summer days of the city); usually this would have made Sergio’s café packed with people. Not today, though. Then again, it was still a little early for the usual rush. As of now, the doorbell kept ringing every now and then - just like it did now - letting in all kinds of people.
Not particularly focused on who was entering the room, Sergio went back to measuring flour and sugar in the back of the counter area. He had decided on giving a new recipe a try today, some pastries from France, at least according to an old crumpled recipe he had found in one of his economics books rented from the library the other day. Only half-way through with the dough he realized that he had run out of eggs.
Just in time with Jesús returning with an empty tray, Sergio turned around and sighed, his features immediately lighting up as he spotted the waiter.
“Jesús. … Do you still remember the storage rooms downstairs? You haven’t been down there for ages, have you? … Mind fetching me a couple of eggs?”
Setting the tray down unto the table, Jesús furrowed his brows.
“Actually, you could very well …”
“Oh shush, Navas, may I remind you of the first rule of this establishment?…”
The dark-haired boy flashed him one of his far too rare smiles revealing his teeth.
“Let them eat cake?”
Sergio snickered.
“Close, but no, wrong. It’s ‘You’re on my payroll, you do as I say’. … And now get me some eggs, will you?… We're not getting younger, you know? ”
“Well, lazy old man, sounds like I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Jesús huffed, shying away quickly as Sergio made a move for him, downright giggling for that. “There’s someone new coming in at that table right in the corner, if I have to run to get your stuff, you just as well can take his order for me…”
And with that, Jesús disappeared through the backdoor heading towards the staircase.
Sergio wiped his hands before he grabbed a pen and a notepad, absentmindedly whistling to himself, satisfied with having avoided having to go down all these stairs, and slowly walked over to said table.
The man just having sit down there had his back turned on Sergio, his figure almost disappearing in between what seemed to be a far too big coat, the cool October sun painting a golden shade across his fair hair. Sergio’s steps faltered as the man reached out for the menu now, carefully and slowly so, his fingers long and pale and thin (a tiny voice in Sergio’s head couldn’t help but wail ‘anorexic’). He knew that hair, but most of all he knew the way the man moved. He knew these fingers…
“…Fernando?”
The man turned around and for a moment it felt like something had hit Sergio right in the face, at the same time knocking all of the air out of his lungs. Standing in front of him now, looking down at him, he couldn’t help but to shake his head over and over and over again.
“What … Fernando, what… shit, how did you … shit.”
The way Fernando looked up at him now - his eyes not as full-blown as Sergio’s clearly speaking of the fact that Fernando had been prepared for this encounter, whereas Sergio clearly hadn’t - tore something in his chest to shreds.
“Hello, Sergio.”
Sergio wanted to close his eyes, still shaking his head, so many words at the tip of his tongue, so many more at the front of his head but he just couldn’t get a single one of them out.
There was something strangely familar and yet to infinitely surreal about this, Fernando at his café, his Fernando at their place, a sight he hadn’t seen in what felt like ages (and had been more than three years), a sight he hadn’t been sure he had ever wanted to see again - until this very moment.
“But how … I mean, what are you … why aren’t you … I don’t …”
“Understand? …”, Fernando finished the sentence for him, his face blank still, only his eyes restlessly searching something in Sergio’s own features, it seemed. “I … I don’t know, either. I just … I think I wanted to see you. … No, I needed to see you. I’ve waited so long because … I didn’t want to fuck it up again. But I’ve been staying away from you since spring and I moved to a different city but it all felt so wrong and … I had to come back. I had to. And because I don’t know where you live anymore, I thought … maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Was it? ... God, I'm sorry, I'm rambling but just ... I'm sorry.”
In a movement so shockingly familiar still that it struck Sergio like a second blow to the head, Fernando lowered his head to hide it behind his hands, shaking his head softly, mumbling something that Sergio could not make out. This time, Sergio closed his eyes for real. He could finally stop himself from shaking his head, but now his fists were shaking uncontrollably. Opening his eyes again, he realized mortified that there were tears burning up within him, burning their way right to the corners of his eyes.
“No no, please no, it’s not that… I mean yes, it’s kind of… Jesus Christ, do you ... do you have got any idea how much I’ve missed you?”
Cutting himself off, Sergio bit his lip.
This was not at all what he wanted to say. So many things he wanted to say, none of them which he could find the words for. Because he wanted nothing more than to take Fernando into his arms right now, wanted nothing more than to feel him there (because Sergio had learned to look through Fernando’s attempts of hiding in his clothes long ago (a learning process painful beyond words), Sergio could see past that wide coat, could see every limb veiled beneath it, could see that Fernando had grown muscles and looked better now, better even than after the first time), wanted to yell at him for just showing up like this, for leaving the way he had left (even though Sergio knew that it had been the right thing to do), for not calling him the moment he had been allowed to leave the psychiatric ward, wanted to tell him how gorgeous he looked right now, how absolutely infinitely motherfucking perfect, wanted to tell him to leave and never come back again, to stay and never ever again leave him alone like this, wanted to ask him where he had been and how his grandmother was doing and a million other things. Most foolish of all, he wanted to tell him that he loved him (still and always). He didn’t.
Instead, he just stood there, incapable of doing anything but stare at Fernando in absolute wordless shock.
The kettle behind the counter Sergio had set up what felt like ages ago was steadily blowing off steam by now, making a piercing high sound. Sergio could sense some of the none-regulars becoming slightly irritated, shooting him a vicious look, but it seemed like their tea and cake was made well enough to keep them sitting at their places (- it always was. Sergio’s place quite had a reputation by now, a reputation which always kept the little café properly filled with people who’ve had heard about the young man having a knack for all things pie and tea).
Fernando seemed to feel it, too, as he shook his head lightly now, a tiny smile fighting hard to loosen the tight line of his lips, fighting his apart from it expressionless features. His voice still sounded raspy, unsure, very soft; he seemingly still had trouble holding Sergio’s gaze, trying to hide his eyes beneath his long lashes; his whole body as fragile-looking as Sergio remembered it (and then again, so different).
“You might want to take care of that. … You’ve got orders, I guess?”
In return, all Sergio could do was stare (still stare, still look at him, he had changed so much in all the right places and so little at the same time, too), the idea of doing what Fernando said very close to the front of his head, knowing it was the only sensible thing to do, yet he couldn’t understand how Fernando could think of something as trivial as making sure Sergio didn’t put off his guests in a moment like this. In the moment they just shared.
“I’m sorry, just … stay right here, please? I’ll be right back. Don’t …” Sergio broke off, straightening his shoulders, his voice dropping to a whisper. “… don’t leave again, please. I promise I … I’ll be quick.”
He turned around quickly after that, crossing the café in a few deliberate strides, carefully making sure not to glance back at Fernando again as he quickly put the boiling water to use and filled it into the teacups neatly aligned on the counter. But even the smell of tea immediately blossoming in the air wasn’t enough to stop his fingers from shaking.
Because Fernando (his Fernando) was back.
Sergio had been there before, roughly two years ago. And he sure as hell wasn’t ready to put himself through that, again.
He wasn’t ready for it - but he could already feel himself being dragged into it, into him, all over again.
+ because I always wanted to write that fic where Fernando just loves cake and this is as close as I've ever come to actually writing it + and I just know that Sergio's cake would be the best ever. + and I met a waiter looking like Jésus Navas when in Greece so I wanted to write that story for a very long time, too.
Pairing: Sergio Ramos/Fernando Torres
Rating: PG-13 (if you forgive me some bad language)
Warnings: allusions to an eating disorder
A/N: this was written for the prompt 'Blowing off steam'. ... Set in a universe where Sergio owns a tiny café at the corner of a small street and Fernando, even though it's been roughly three years, owns more than a tiny corner of Sergio's heart still. [God how I hate summarizing - does it show?]
“A slice of chocolate fudge, two caramel muffins, two coffees with a little milk and a lot of sugar … there you go.”
“And table three just ordered two vanilla and strawberry tea. I think you’ll have to boil more water now.”
“Coming right up...”
Sergio helped Jesús putting the orders unto a small tray and then watched as the young waiter carefully made his way through the café, his eyes fixed on what he was carrying all the time as if he was mentally willing the coffee not to spill. The sight caused Sergio to smile. He had only hired Jesús a few weeks ago - Nuria had gone back to Malaga and with the new semester starting, finding someone to cover up for her hadn’t been as difficult - it seemed like he still needed a little time to fully indulge in his new job yet. Other than that, he had proven himself to be a worthy substitute, never making mistakes when calculating, always memoriziing the right faces fitting the right orders and always with that charming glint in his eyes whenever he talked to someone that he probably didn't even know about.
Whistling lowly, Sergio filled up the kettle and placed it over the stove.
It was a Tuesday afternoon in late October, awfully cold outside for this time of the year (at least it felt like it after the rich and warm summer days of the city); usually this would have made Sergio’s café packed with people. Not today, though. Then again, it was still a little early for the usual rush. As of now, the doorbell kept ringing every now and then - just like it did now - letting in all kinds of people.
Not particularly focused on who was entering the room, Sergio went back to measuring flour and sugar in the back of the counter area. He had decided on giving a new recipe a try today, some pastries from France, at least according to an old crumpled recipe he had found in one of his economics books rented from the library the other day. Only half-way through with the dough he realized that he had run out of eggs.
Just in time with Jesús returning with an empty tray, Sergio turned around and sighed, his features immediately lighting up as he spotted the waiter.
“Jesús. … Do you still remember the storage rooms downstairs? You haven’t been down there for ages, have you? … Mind fetching me a couple of eggs?”
Setting the tray down unto the table, Jesús furrowed his brows.
“Actually, you could very well …”
“Oh shush, Navas, may I remind you of the first rule of this establishment?…”
The dark-haired boy flashed him one of his far too rare smiles revealing his teeth.
“Let them eat cake?”
Sergio snickered.
“Close, but no, wrong. It’s ‘You’re on my payroll, you do as I say’. … And now get me some eggs, will you?… We're not getting younger, you know? ”
“Well, lazy old man, sounds like I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Jesús huffed, shying away quickly as Sergio made a move for him, downright giggling for that. “There’s someone new coming in at that table right in the corner, if I have to run to get your stuff, you just as well can take his order for me…”
And with that, Jesús disappeared through the backdoor heading towards the staircase.
Sergio wiped his hands before he grabbed a pen and a notepad, absentmindedly whistling to himself, satisfied with having avoided having to go down all these stairs, and slowly walked over to said table.
The man just having sit down there had his back turned on Sergio, his figure almost disappearing in between what seemed to be a far too big coat, the cool October sun painting a golden shade across his fair hair. Sergio’s steps faltered as the man reached out for the menu now, carefully and slowly so, his fingers long and pale and thin (a tiny voice in Sergio’s head couldn’t help but wail ‘anorexic’). He knew that hair, but most of all he knew the way the man moved. He knew these fingers…
“…Fernando?”
The man turned around and for a moment it felt like something had hit Sergio right in the face, at the same time knocking all of the air out of his lungs. Standing in front of him now, looking down at him, he couldn’t help but to shake his head over and over and over again.
“What … Fernando, what… shit, how did you … shit.”
The way Fernando looked up at him now - his eyes not as full-blown as Sergio’s clearly speaking of the fact that Fernando had been prepared for this encounter, whereas Sergio clearly hadn’t - tore something in his chest to shreds.
“Hello, Sergio.”
Sergio wanted to close his eyes, still shaking his head, so many words at the tip of his tongue, so many more at the front of his head but he just couldn’t get a single one of them out.
There was something strangely familar and yet to infinitely surreal about this, Fernando at his café, his Fernando at their place, a sight he hadn’t seen in what felt like ages (and had been more than three years), a sight he hadn’t been sure he had ever wanted to see again - until this very moment.
“But how … I mean, what are you … why aren’t you … I don’t …”
“Understand? …”, Fernando finished the sentence for him, his face blank still, only his eyes restlessly searching something in Sergio’s own features, it seemed. “I … I don’t know, either. I just … I think I wanted to see you. … No, I needed to see you. I’ve waited so long because … I didn’t want to fuck it up again. But I’ve been staying away from you since spring and I moved to a different city but it all felt so wrong and … I had to come back. I had to. And because I don’t know where you live anymore, I thought … maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Was it? ... God, I'm sorry, I'm rambling but just ... I'm sorry.”
In a movement so shockingly familiar still that it struck Sergio like a second blow to the head, Fernando lowered his head to hide it behind his hands, shaking his head softly, mumbling something that Sergio could not make out. This time, Sergio closed his eyes for real. He could finally stop himself from shaking his head, but now his fists were shaking uncontrollably. Opening his eyes again, he realized mortified that there were tears burning up within him, burning their way right to the corners of his eyes.
“No no, please no, it’s not that… I mean yes, it’s kind of… Jesus Christ, do you ... do you have got any idea how much I’ve missed you?”
Cutting himself off, Sergio bit his lip.
This was not at all what he wanted to say. So many things he wanted to say, none of them which he could find the words for. Because he wanted nothing more than to take Fernando into his arms right now, wanted nothing more than to feel him there (because Sergio had learned to look through Fernando’s attempts of hiding in his clothes long ago (a learning process painful beyond words), Sergio could see past that wide coat, could see every limb veiled beneath it, could see that Fernando had grown muscles and looked better now, better even than after the first time), wanted to yell at him for just showing up like this, for leaving the way he had left (even though Sergio knew that it had been the right thing to do), for not calling him the moment he had been allowed to leave the psychiatric ward, wanted to tell him how gorgeous he looked right now, how absolutely infinitely motherfucking perfect, wanted to tell him to leave and never come back again, to stay and never ever again leave him alone like this, wanted to ask him where he had been and how his grandmother was doing and a million other things. Most foolish of all, he wanted to tell him that he loved him (still and always). He didn’t.
Instead, he just stood there, incapable of doing anything but stare at Fernando in absolute wordless shock.
The kettle behind the counter Sergio had set up what felt like ages ago was steadily blowing off steam by now, making a piercing high sound. Sergio could sense some of the none-regulars becoming slightly irritated, shooting him a vicious look, but it seemed like their tea and cake was made well enough to keep them sitting at their places (- it always was. Sergio’s place quite had a reputation by now, a reputation which always kept the little café properly filled with people who’ve had heard about the young man having a knack for all things pie and tea).
Fernando seemed to feel it, too, as he shook his head lightly now, a tiny smile fighting hard to loosen the tight line of his lips, fighting his apart from it expressionless features. His voice still sounded raspy, unsure, very soft; he seemingly still had trouble holding Sergio’s gaze, trying to hide his eyes beneath his long lashes; his whole body as fragile-looking as Sergio remembered it (and then again, so different).
“You might want to take care of that. … You’ve got orders, I guess?”
In return, all Sergio could do was stare (still stare, still look at him, he had changed so much in all the right places and so little at the same time, too), the idea of doing what Fernando said very close to the front of his head, knowing it was the only sensible thing to do, yet he couldn’t understand how Fernando could think of something as trivial as making sure Sergio didn’t put off his guests in a moment like this. In the moment they just shared.
“I’m sorry, just … stay right here, please? I’ll be right back. Don’t …” Sergio broke off, straightening his shoulders, his voice dropping to a whisper. “… don’t leave again, please. I promise I … I’ll be quick.”
He turned around quickly after that, crossing the café in a few deliberate strides, carefully making sure not to glance back at Fernando again as he quickly put the boiling water to use and filled it into the teacups neatly aligned on the counter. But even the smell of tea immediately blossoming in the air wasn’t enough to stop his fingers from shaking.
Because Fernando (his Fernando) was back.
Sergio had been there before, roughly two years ago. And he sure as hell wasn’t ready to put himself through that, again.
He wasn’t ready for it - but he could already feel himself being dragged into it, into him, all over again.
+ because I always wanted to write that fic where Fernando just loves cake and this is as close as I've ever come to actually writing it + and I just know that Sergio's cake would be the best ever. + and I met a waiter looking like Jésus Navas when in Greece so I wanted to write that story for a very long time, too.