Saturday morning were probably the best, and therefore laziest, mornings. Mathias refused to sing too loud because he was still hungover from Friday, and he walked softly around their coffee shop. Lukas never minded, he appreciated the quiet and never complained, relishing the fact that it was much easier to read his books, which still sat in heaps around the window seat. It was worlds away from Fridays where Mathias was drunk and loud and Lukas was silent and tense, watching Mathias with some mix of anticipation and fear. But they always ended with him passing out on the counter, so no one else paid him any mind.
Saturday mornings were home to lazy whispers across the room and silent conversation through notes on napkins. Tino refused to talk until noon, and Berwald never spoke anyways. So they would take a napkin and pass it back and forth, discretely brushing hands and tangling feet beneath tables as they did so.
"Morning, everyone." Leon would always whisper on cue every Saturday as he walked in, moving straight to the back to sit with Emil. He always looked ready and alert those mornings, as if he was five beats too fast above the rest of the boys sitting in the small room around him.
"I found a new quote for you last night." He always found quotes for Emil, and recited them each morning.
"'At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet'." He laughed and brushed the hair out of his eyes, smiling at Emil like he was telling a secret. "It reminded me of myself, at least."
Some quotes were forward, a declaration of love that even Mathias would wake up in surprise at. Some were in Chinese, and Leon refused to translate. Emil guessed they were dirty or something of that sort, but in all honesty, they never were. There weren't even quotes. Leon would just sit there talking about him. Some quotes were short and simple and incredibly odd. No one understood, and no one cared enough to try.
"Who is it you love then, Leon?" Emil would ask every day, blush brushed across his cheeks barely noticable.
"It's a secret." He responded, already two beats ahead of the question, words trampling Emil's before they could even escape his mouth.
Mathias liked to sing quiet songs when all the talking died down. It was either creepy sounding and unsettling, or relaxing and soft. There never was an in between.
"Alright, this morning's lovely cover will be "Love Love Love", for the wonderful, ever reading, ever silent Lukas."
He passed a soft smile to Lukas before whispering out the first words, watching him as he sang. He always did, and they started not to question it. Either way, it was nice to watch a smile creep onto Lukas's face. It was rare and beautiful, and it made Mathias's heart swell.
Tino giggled as Mathias started singing, holding up a little napkin with "no talking until noon!" scribbled across it messily, and Mathias just shook his head in response, letting out a soft laugh.
Tino's note passing always followed a predictable pattern. He'd tell Berwald good morning, and ask him if he wanted any coffee. He'd ask him how his drink was, and if he was enjoying the music. Berwald's responses were always short and simple and sweet. It was just how they worked.
But today, Tino passed him a note, with a simple "dance?" written across it. Before Berwald could answer, he was up and holding a hand out, grinning from ear to ear.
The Swede stumbled up clumsily, pushing his ever slipping glasses back up his nose and taking Tino's hands, attempting a small smile. He had never danced, and never planned on it. But there was a first time for everything of course, and when it was Tino he never minded.
It was quiet as they came together, just whispered singing in the background as hands found Berwald's waist, and his own hands made their way around Tino's neck, resting there as lightly as he could manage.
Lukas looked up from his book in time to see Tino bury his face in Berwald's chest, and he almost smiled at the sight. It was about time. His gaze shifted to Mathias who, for once, wasn't looking at him. Instead he was watching the two dancing intently, a sad smile uncharacteristically resting on his lips.
Of course he would be jealous. The Norwegian considered setting his book to the side in favor of going up there to give Mathias a kiss, but his stomach churned and begged him not to, so he returned to his book. He was sure he would regret it when trying to sleep tonight, but there were so many more days to kiss Mathias, and not many left when mornings would only be left to reading and thinking. He shouldn't waste them.