Matthias wondered why he'd never been to this side of the neighborhood. Really, the bakery he stood in front of was down the street a ways from the university campus, and Matthias tended to skirt the campus as much as possible.

Lillebror Bakeri, the sign read. A Norwegian flag hung proudly over a scalloped blue awning. A flowerbox was attached to the windowsill, colorful and flourishing. Autumn kept the bakery's patrons inside, but Matthias imagined the patio's metal bistro furniture occupied in warmer weather. It was after noon and Matthias entered the bakery.

Björk.

Björk was playing through the speakers.

A young man sat hunched over the register. He held his chin in a hand, elbow on the light marble counter. He looked bored.

Matthias directed his attention to the glass cases showcasing the pastries. He smiled upon seeing some familiar pastries and examined the unfamiliar ones, intrigued. The Danishes attracted him first: braids, pinwheels, spirals, and filled pastries; some with a simple glazed sheen, some stuffed and topped with creams, custards, and fruit jams. His eyes roamed hungrily over Kringles, punsch-rolls, Skolebrød, Swedish scones, and more. Many featured apple and lingonberry fillings, almond glazes, and rum infusions (those ones all seemed to be Finnish).

"Hey," the teenager at the register greeted, nodding his head to the music. "What do you want?"

Matthias didn't even mind the kid's rather unprofessional manner, he was too distracted by the food. He ordered a braided Danish, filled with vanilla custard and topped with almond slivers.

The boy put it in a paper bag and all but tossed it across the counter to him.

"Four eighty-five," he said.

Another man appeared from what Matthias supposed was the kitchen. Flour was lightly dusted at the rolled up cuffs on his shirtsleeves. The man smacked the boy at the back of his head and said, "That's not the way to talk to customers. Go wipe down tables."

Blank-faced, the boy skirted the counter without complaint.

"Sorry," the man in front of him said. "He's sixteen, my little brother, and not used to working."

Matthias laughed lightly. "That's all right. I'm just glad I found this place."

The man quirked an eyebrow. "Really."

Matthias grinned. "Being a real Dane, it's been ages since I've had a real Danish."

The man looked him up and down. As Matthias watched him study him, he noticed that the man had deep blue eyes framed by pale eyelashes. They were rather… beautiful. His sleek, pale hair – lighter than his eyelashes –brushed over high cheekbones.

"Uh." Matthias coughed. "Do you… bake everything?" he asked, gesturing helpfully to his flour-dusted sleeves.

"Not everything," the man replied. "But I did make your Danish."

Matthias' brows rose.

"I remember distinctly making the custard for that exact Danish. I sliced those almonds by hand."

Matthias laughed nervously. "Aha… you, uh, you didn't…"

The corner of the man's lips quirked up and he smirked. "No. I didn't." He turned back toward the kitchen and from over his shoulder said, "Enjoy."

A little stunned by the man's dry wit, Matthias mechanically sat at a nearby table and all thoughts were reprioritized when he pulled out his pastry.

Before he could take the first bite, the boy from the register slid gracefully into the seat across from him, elbow on table, chin in hand. His gaze was flat, unamused – just like his older brother's.

"So, hey," he said.

Matthias looked at him. "Hi."

"My name's Emil."

"Matthias," he replied warily.

"Nice to meet you. Enjoying that?" he indicated to Matthias' pastry with a flick of his eyes, similar in color to his brother's.

"Um, yeah."

"So were you, like, trying to flirt with Lukas?"

Matthias blinked. "Ah, Lukas?"

"My brother. Were you trying to flirt or something?"

Matthias scoffed. "No. Why would you think that?"

Emil's expression never shifted. "I could hear every word." Finally, his lips curled up. "It's no big deal. People flirt with Lukas all the time. Apparently he's pretty or something."

Well, Matthias couldn't fault him that one. He was a little embarrassed at being caught though.

"He's totally gay, so you're fine there."

"Ah, what–"

"What are you, like bi? You look like you could be bi."

Matthias tried to find words. "Um –"

"I'm sorry. Am I being – what does Lukas call it? – rude?"

Matthias scratched the back of his head and smiled bemusedly. "No, uh, you're fine."

"Lukas says I don't have a filter sometimes." He shrugged. "It doesn't bother me any if you think I'm weird. I get it."

Matthias smiled, finding himself liking the kid, strangely enough. "Seriously, it's okay. Why are you, uh," he paused, trying to find a polite way to say it, "asking me questions?"

"You mean why am I being invasive? Because I like playing matchmaker for Lukas from time to time."

Matthias almost choked on his pastry.

"Sorry, I'm being blunt again. Hey I have a proposition for you. Come back tomorrow at four-thirty. We close at four but I'll let you in. There's something I want to show you."

Matthias cocked his head to the side. "Are you sure that's okay? No offense, but I don't really know you, and you don't really know me."

Emil shrugged. "You seem cool. And Lukas likes you."

His eyes widened. "Wait, how do you know that?"

"Because he was being sarcastic. He doesn't like to expend that kind of energy and effort if he wasn't into someone."

Matthias supposed that made sense, but it didn't change the fact that he'd only exchanged a few words with Lukas – and Emil's personality almost flip-flopped completely from when he'd walked in. But Matthias wasn't one to judge, and as long as there were more Danishes to try…

"You done with that? I'll throw that away for you," Emil said as he crumpled his pastry bag and tossed it in the nearby trash. "Remember, four-thirty."

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Matthias managed as Emil walked him to the door, all but shoving him outside. He looked back at the door Emil just shut behind him. He supposed he'd return tomorrow at four-thirty.

Matthias knocked on the door of the Lillebror Bakeri and he'd barely retracted his hand when Emil swung the door open.

"Matthias, halló."

"Um, hej."

"Come in, we just finished cleaning up."

Matthias followed him inside. The place was clean and empty and he was answering Emil's barrage of questions. How was his day? Was he a student? No? What did he do?

"How do you get your hair to do that?" he asked, miming with his hand the way Matthias' hair stuck up in the front.

Matthias laughed. "It kind of just does it on its own."

"Oh. I wish mine did something like that. It's always flat."

"So what are we doing exactly?" Matthias asked. He could vaguely hear the sounds of music coming from the kitchen. Was that an acoustic guitar?

"On Fridays after closing we all jam in the back for a few hours."

Emil pushed open the kitchen doors and Matthias was surprised. The kitchen was bigger than he'd imagined. On one side of the kitchen was the typical bakery kitchen set-up, but the other side was completely open. Some chairs were set up around a low coffee table and that was where three other people were currently seated.

Matthias recognized Lukas, but then there were two other blonds he didn't.

The three of them swung their gazes toward him.

"Hey guys, this is Matthias," Emil introduced him.

The smiling blond greeted him as if they'd been friends for years. The more severe looking blond simply raised his hand in a small wave. Lukas slanted Emil a look.

"Emil," he said flatly.

"What? No one said we weren't allowed to bring friends."

"I didn't think you had friends."

"Rass. You remember Matthias from yesterday."

Lukas looked to Matthias and he recalled what Emil had said: Apparently, he's pretty or something.

Well, the people who said that were certainly right. His pale hair fell like a waterfall and was tucked behind one ear. It looked soft.

"I do. The Dane, right?"

Matthias grinned and nodded.

The smaller blond laughed. "Our Nordic group is completed then. I'm Tino, by the way. I'm Finnish," he mentioned helpfully to Matthias. He nudged the larger man next to him with his shoulder. "This is Berwald. He's Swedish."

Berwald had an acoustic guitar propped on his thigh, his arm draped over it and his other hand poised on the neck.

"I'm Icelandic," Emil said.

Matthias raised a brow and looked from Emil to Lukas. "Icelandic?" It wasn't every day he met Icelanders.

"He's Icelandic," Lukas corrected. "I'm Norwegian."

"Different dads, you know," Emil finished for him.

Matthias figured that was a story he'd get later, as Lukas reached down to pick up another acoustic guitar next to his chair.

"I suppose Emil brought you here for this?" he asked.

Matthias smiled. This was a subject he could entertain. "If I'd known you guys were jamming I would have brought my violin."

"The guy plays violin," Emil interjected. "He's perfect."

Lukas cocked a brow. "Do you? Maybe you should bring it next time."

Matthias grinned, and a warm feeling spread through his stomach. Next time.

"I don't think we've jammed with a violin before, have we Ber?"

Berwald shook his head. "Not in a while," he said. His voice was not so surprisingly low and rumbling.

Emil nodded and told Matthias, "Lukas and Berwald duel on guitar–"

"We do not duel, we harmonize," Lukas mumbled.

"And Tino sings sometimes."

Tino nodded and said, "Berwald sings too, don't you?"

Berwald was suddenly much more interested in fingering the frets, though he nodded slightly. Tino laughed. Matthias wondered if there was something going on there.

"Well, we all sing sometimes. Tino more often than not," Emil finished.

"What do you guys jam?" Matthias asked Lukas. He was seated next to Lukas, wondering vaguely if that weren't purposeful on Emil's part.

"We'll take turns choosing popular songs. Often we'll freestyle."

Matthias loved freestyling. He hadn't had the opportunity to find a group to play with since he moved to the city so he was eagerly looking forward to next Friday. He told them as much and everyone seemed equally as eager to welcome him back the following week. Well, Tino seemed eager. Berwald and Lukas tended to be more modest in their expressions, Matthias was finding out.

"So, Berwald, are you going to start us off?" Emil said. "Berwald does acoustic renditions of ABBA."

Berwald looked like he did not appreciate that and glared at him before a titter came from Tino.

"Mamma Mia is surprisingly nice on guitar," he said, placing a hand on Berwald's shoulder.

"Why doesn't Berwald choose what he wants to start with," Lukas said pointedly toward his brother.

Emil shrugged.

When they did decide on a song and Berwald began playing, Matthias watched in fascination as Lukas listened, his back slightly hunched over his guitar. He tapped his foot to Berwald's timing and then joined him.

When Lukas started playing Matthias couldn't take his eyes off him. His head bobbed slightly to the beat, his hair glimmering in the lights. Matthias faced his profile and his eyes were downcast on his guitar, those pale eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. All the lines of his face were strong; the straight slant of his nose, the sharp curves of his lips, and the defined line of his jaw. Though his face was otherwise relaxed. His brows weren't furrowed in concentration nor his mouth screwed up in focus – like Matthias did himself when he played.

Sometimes he barely registered Tino singing, though Tino was a great singer and he smiled whenever his and Berwald's eyes met.

Berwald plucked the last note and it hung in the air for a few seconds before he shifted, adjusted his glasses, and looked up to the group.

"Where's Emil?" Tino asked.

Matthias looked around. When had he left?

"I've returned with provisions," Emil said, pushing through the kitchen door. He was holding a platter of pastries.

"Those are just today's left overs," Lukas said.

"And that's the glory of owning a bakery."

Emil offered Matthias a Danish and Matthias accepted with relish.

"Do you guys make snitter?" he asked them.

Bewilderment entered Lukas's eyes. "Snitter?"

"Hindbærsnitter." Matthias laughed when Lukas continued to stare at him like he'd grown another head. "Are you telling me that you run a Scandinavian bakery and don't know what hindbærsnitter is?"

Emil bit into a Danish. "Aren't they those pop-tart things?"

"They are not pop-tarts. Pop-tarts wish they were hindbærsnitter."

Emil rolled his eyes. "Sure. So what's the next song guys?"

Matthias pouted and shoved the rest of his pastry into his mouth. He heard the sound of a soft snicker and found Lukas hiding a smile behind his hand.

"You've got a little," Lukas said, gesturing to his face to show where crumbs littered Matthias's face.

Matthias wiped his mouth with the napkins Emil brought in. He laughed and he felt that warm tug when he saw Lukas continue to smile as he watched him.

The following week, Matthias entered the bakery once again. It was eight in the morning, but the bakery had already been open for an hour. And from the sound of it, the day was already going to be a long one.

"For the love of God, Emil, I am not listening to Björk again," Lukas said exasperatedly.

"Too bad, it's not your day to pick the music," Emil retorted.

"I thought Tuesdays were Sigur Rós days."

"I'm switching Sigur Rós day and Björk day. Sigur Rós will be on Thursday."

Lukas dragged his hands down his face. Matthias approached the counter.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Lukas just doesn't appreciate fine Icelandic talent."

Lukas snapped his head up. "Fine talent?"

"Hey, hey," Matthias tried. "How about Fallulah?"

Both boys stopped and stared at him.

"Fallulah," Lukas repeated dryly.

"He's got a point," Emil said, looking suspiciously devious. "He's been in here often enough, let him have a day to choose music."

Matthias's cheeks heated, though he didn't think Lukas picked up on that. At least he hoped.

"Better yet," Emil continued. "Why don't you just hire him, Lukas? That way you don't have to keep running between the kitchen and the shop."

"If you weren't so lazy." Lukas sighed, pausing. He gave Matthias a serious appraisal and Matthias swallowed. "If you accept you'll have to deal with Emil."

"Hey, we'd make a great team," Emil said, slinging and arm around Matthias's shoulder. He tried to anyway; Matthias was a lot taller than the kid.

Tino made a sudden appearance from the kitchen, mood cheerful, but he said, "Berwald says to just hire him already. Oh, and that he's been working on a slew of Prinsesstarta cakes for three days and if any of you make him screw up his icing he'll kick your ass." The three of them stared at Tino. "His words."

Tino grinned, hummed, and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Prinsesstarta?" Matthias asked.

"It's Prinsesstarta week," Lukas said. "Berwald won't let anyone else do the cakes, so he focuses solely on those for a majority of the week."

"So it sounds like you need some help around here," Matthias said, grinning.

Lukas huffed and rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Fine. You're training under Emil for now, but since I don't want him corrupting you with his bad work habits I'll train you once the week is over. Can you stay for today?"

"I'm not doing anything today."

"Good. I've got to finish the cookies. Don't put too much stock in what Emil says."

Emil let out another Icelandic explicative under his breath.

"And Matthias?"

Matthias looked up at him again, watching his lips quirk up at the corner.

"Thanks."

Warmth burst and fluttered in Matthias's chest.

There's a Norwegian bakery near my school and so I've had this idea marinating for a while.

Please note: I have little experience with the Nordics. I've never really considered them much. But since I'm always inspired by food and feel-good tropes I thought I'd challenge myself with different characters. Therefore, I'm using this as an experiment for writing them, and some things will get fleshed out, plus much more relational development in the next part, don't worry. Also, a sort of sorry-not-sorry for Emil. He kind of just started doing his own thing, really.

Thanks for reading part 1 darlings!