Vash performs a kind deed, and receives a surprise in return.

...xXx…

Vash smoothed down the front of his apron and took a sip of his kaffee-crème, his second one of the day. It was mid-afternoon and he was rounding the way to the last half of his shift. It had been him, Bazil, and Toris for the remainder of the day, and all was business as usual.

Foot traffic had slowed down, and only a few patrons sat around a couple of their tables; a pair of friends chatting over some booze and espresso shots, and an older woman with a latte furiously typing away at her laptop.

Vash's green eyes glanced over from Bazil wiping down the line of machines towards the last customer hidden in the far back booth on his right.

The Austrian had been seated there only a half hour so far, and indeed it looked like he'd be there until closing like so many times before. A large black umbrella stood against the wall and his signature pea coat hung on a hook beside the booth, lit by the soft café lights like a cobalt spotlight. The man wore a deep, peacock blue V-neck sweater over a black undershirt, and tailored pair of ebony slacks. The lanky man was leaned comfortably in the corner of the booth and window, resting an elbow on the sill as he propped up his head in his hand. He'd brought a book with him, a thin, worn looking hardback, and he was savoring his drink of choice for the day.

A Mozart Café—one double espresso with a cap of whipped cream, sprinkle of brown sugar, and a cordial glass of sherry on the side. A little extra from his usual orders, but no problem. Vash made the espresso while Bazil handled the sherry.

Vash looked up as a customer entered the shop, the door bell tinkling. He relaxed as he saw the newcomer walk over to the bar section of the counter and let Bazil handle it. He peaked back towards the Austrian over the rim of his mug as he took another drink.

The gentleman had his book open in his lap, legs crossed, thumb marking the page, but his attention was directed through the window. The sky was a darkening grey and a mellow rain had been steadily bathing the city all day. The chestnut-haired man didn't look to be watching anything in particular, but there was a slight furrow to his brow that the Swiss could spy in his reflection.

He appeared sadder than usual.

Vash set down his coffee and ran a hand through his hair, tucking a few stray strands that had escaped his tied bun behind an ear.

I wonder what's bothering him, he mused.

Over the months the Austrian had become an earnest regular at The Café Raring. He'd either get a coffee to go or sit for hours, working on this and that or read. As such, they were on a "Hello, how are you today?" basis in a much more familiar manner; asking about each others' day, how their weekend had gone, etc. They weren't too personal, but it was nice all the same.

The Austrian was extremely polite and kind to him, and Vash appreciated the occasional courtesy of conversing in his native tongue. The blond would find himself looking forward to the next time he'd walk in. Always next time, next time.

However, earlier that day when the gentleman had entered the shop and placed his coffee order, the brunet had a nervous air about him.

As Vash prepared his cup, the man had said, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," the Swiss replied automatically, sprinkling on the brown sugar as the Austrian perused their displays of sweets and cakes.

"Do you happen to make Linzer torte?" the other inquired, glancing up to him.

Vash had to think about it for a moment, running down their long lists of items in his head and then double checked on the cheat sheet posted underneath the counter. His heart sank as he came up empty in both places.

"I'm afraid we don't." Vash very much disliked telling someone that they didn't have something particular—it felt like he was letting them down.

"Oh, all right." The Austrian simply nodded and walked around the counter towards his usual booth as Vash followed him with the tray of coffee and sherry.

"Is there something else that I can get you?" Vash offered, setting the drinks on the tabletop as the man shed his coat.

The hazel-haired man shook his head and turned to gesture at the coffee. "No, thank you, I'm good for now. I just thought I'd ask."

Vash had relented and bid him enjoyment before stepping away towards the counter.

Not very many customers had entered the shop since then, and the Swiss had nothing to distract himself with. The floor was clean, the counters were clean, the tables were clean, the machines were clean, the array of mugs and glasses were clean; everything was clean. Customers were in no need of service at the moment, Bazil had the front covered, and Toris was getting a head start on their inventory count for the evening in the back.

There was nothing, and no one, to stop Vash from looking up Linzer torte recipes online.

Scrolling down his phone, he tapped on a few results. The only thing he knew was that it was some sort of cake from Austria—why am I not surprised—but he'd never really seen it before. Not even while he was in Switzerland. Vash read through several recipes; scanning the ingredient lists and preparation steps, flipping to reviews to see which one garnered the most positive feedback.

The elegant man still sat in his corner, violet eyes shining in the misty window.

I think I have time, Vash assured himself, grip tightening on his phone. The café wouldn't close for hours more, and the cake could be completed in that timespan if he hurried.

The Swiss shook away the last bit of his reservations.

I have time.

Vash spun around on his heel and pushed through the door to the kitchen. The large room with its many counters, cupboards, and ovens smelled of warm sugar and flour, the sharp scent of beans becoming sharper as he walked towards the back pantry. He spied Toris standing along one wall, clipboard in hand, listening to one earbud worth of music. The man turned as he heard the Swiss approach.

"Is it still slow out there?" Toris asked and Vash nodded as he stepped up next to him.

He cleared the ball of anxiousness from his throat and asked, "Hey, can you take over for me?"

Toris raised his eyebrows in surprise, blinking at him.

"Sure thing," the Lithuanian said slowly, setting down his clipboard on a nearby counter. "What for?"

Vash sheepishly pointed at his phone, glancing towards the ovens. "There's a new recipe that I wanted to try."

Toris gave him an odd look. "How long will it take?"

"I'll be quick, promise." Vash gestured to the freezer. "It needs time to chill so I'll also start prepping for tomorrow morning while I wait."

"All right, if you say so." The man shrugged and headed for the door, waving his hand with a small laugh. "Just try not to burn anything."

Vash agreed and set to work.

...xXx…

He stared at the cake.

I think it's done.

The cake stared back.

Just take it to him.

He leaned his hands on the counter, staring harder.

The cake had turned out . . . Well, he wasn't sure. He'd made two tortes, what with them being small and him needing to taste one of them to make certain that it had turned out correctly. It tasted delicious. To him, at least, considering he didn't know how a Linzer torte was supposed to taste in the first place. He'd never had it before.

The cake was different. The texture was altogether something he'd never experienced from a cake before. It involved almonds and hazelnuts in the dough, and currant jam for the topping.

There had been a panic moment towards the start of his quest when he couldn't find currant anything in the pantry or refrigerators, as there weren't many desserts they used it for. He'd eventually found some black currant reserve in the very back of the third pantry, after asking Toris, admittedly. The rest of the process went smoothly enough: stirring the ingredients into the dough, placing said dough in the freezer, then pressing the chilled dough into the pans he'd laid out and covering it with the jam, and then the Swiss had done his best to work a fine lattice grid overtop the torte before placing it into the oven to bake.

After all's said and done, a single slice sat prettily on a ceramic plate. Vash added a dollop of whipped cream on the side, with shaved almonds and confectioner's sugar over top the whole thing.

The yellow-haired man straightened up and forced himself to take a deep breath. It'd taken more time to complete than he thought it would—considering he had to wait around three hours for the dough to chill. In that time he'd returned to help serve a few customers, give the Austrian a refill on both the espresso and sherry, and done a bit of inventory work in lieu of Toris.

And now he was just wasting the last bit of daylight.

The shop was near closing time; only around an hour left on the clock, and the wet streets were already lit up by lamps.

His nerves were all a-tangle under his skin, and he smoothed down the front of his apron. He swore softly as he accidentally left white dusty trails on the dark fabric.

It's just cake.

Vash exhaled a deep sigh, picked up the plate, and headed for the kitchen door. Every step felt like he was going uphill.

Shouldering the door open, he breathed in the cooler café atmosphere, already feeling calmer once he left the stuffy kitchen. Toris and Bazil were busy serving a group of walk-ins, some dead-eyed looking college girls, and took no notice of him. He glanced around and saw that the two friends and older woman had all left, leaving only one patron still lounging inside the shop.

The Austrian hadn't moved from when he'd last seen him, still intently reading from his novel. Head tilted down, a few strands of his dark hair brushed over his temple and tangled with the arms of his glasses.

Vash hesitated. His mind kicked him. The cake's getting cold, you idiot. He stepped from around the counter.

The man didn't notice his approach right away. Once the blond reached the table, the Austrian lifted his head in acknowledgement without taking his eyes off the pages of his book. "I'm all set on coffee for the evening," he murmured distractedly, with that silk laden voice of his. "Perhaps a little more sherry, though."

The brunet startled as the Swiss set the plate down in front of him. Lavender eyes glanced from the cake to him and back again, thin eyebrows raised in astonishment. Emerald eyes tried not to shy away as Vash stood before him.

The two of them stared at each other, both lost for the moment.

Vash was the first to break.

"I, ah," he began, inwardly cursing the shake in his voice. He waved towards the cake to draw the other's attention away from him, oh my God, he's just looking at me! "I'm not sure if it's exactly what you'd asked for, so I don't know if you'd think it's any good." Fuck, stop babbling, you idiot! Vash pushed more hair behind his ear. "I'm sorry that it took so long. I would have liked to have gotten it out to you sooner, but I had to make everything from scratch, so."

The bubble of tension between them popped the instant he'd opened his mouth, and the Austrian had straightened up, setting his book to the side. The gentleman composed his shocked expression to one of his usual tranquility, though his eyes sparkled with something that Vash couldn't discern.

"This is Linzer torte," the man stated. Vash bit the inside of his cheek, nodding. "You made this," he continued, pointing at the dessert. Another nod. "From scratch." Nod. "For me."

The tops of his ears and his cheeks began to burn bright, and Vash ducked his head as he finally looked away. The pattern of raindrops against the window were very intriguing right then. His heart seemed to beat in time to the tap, tap, tap against the glass.

The Austrian kept looking at him, however, apparently waiting for a final confirmation. Vash rubbed the back of his neck and plucked up the courage to meet that violet gaze once more.

"Like I said," he went on, "I don't know if it'll be any good or not. I've never made it before."

"Oh, my." The brunet blinked, then leaned back against the booth. He placed a hand over his heart. "I'm just sincerely flattered that you would do something like this. For me, I mean."

Vash was beyond flustered. He could only mutter some excuse about the whole endeavor and insisted that the man should try the torte to make sure everything was in order. Hopefully before he keeled over from the drumbeat thundering in his chest. Why was he so nervous? It's only cake.

Vash stopped his fidgeting as the Austrian picked up his fork and collected a piece of the pastry, along with some of the whipped cream on the side, and took a taste.

He hadn't expected those violaceous eyes to close, nor a small noise of delight to rumble in the man's throat.

"Well," the Austrian's voice lilted as he looked up at Vash, those dark irises sending sparks up the blond's spine. "I can say that you are a most talented pâtissier. It's honestly perfect."

The Swiss let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in. The way the man hummed the last word made Vash's blush simmer as the tidal wave of relief washed through him, untangling all of his nerves in a single pass.

He likes it.

"That's good," Vash rushed to say, trying to snap himself back into some semblance of professionalism before he embarrassed himself even further in front of the man. "Very good, I'm glad."

"How much do I owe you?" the gentleman asked.

Vash held up his hands and shook his head, blond bob falling slightly loose from its tie. "No charge. I'm just happy that you like it."

"Thank you." The Austrian gave him a small, beautiful smile. Vash felt his heart do a little flip at the sight, and for some reason he felt like he'd been given a rare gift.

The yellow-haired man patted down the front of his apron, bashful at the praise. He dipped his head as he felt even more heat creep into his cheeks, and said, "You're welcome. Please, enjoy."

Vash swiftly retreated back behind the counter and into the kitchen, running away from his beating heart.

What the fuck was that.

...xXx…

Vash busied himself with tidying up the kitchen while his heartrate came back down from the stratosphere.

He wiped the counters and stored away the leftover ingredients he hadn't used. He debated what to do with the two partial tortes while he cleaned up, and ultimately decided to use them. The cake was delicious, and it could make an interesting new menu item.

The Swiss cut two slices from the one he'd taste tested and prepared them much like he had before, with whipped cream and sugar. Bazil and Toris could be his fellow judges, and he'd save the last piece for Berwald to try in the morning.

Vash covered the cakes to keep them fresh for his companions to eat once their shift was over. He turned to the other torte and began to wrap it in wax paper for travel. Grabbing one of their box containers and a paper bag, the blond was neatly tying everything up when the kitchen door opened on his left.

"Whoa, it smells good in here," Toris called from the other side of the kitchen.

"That it does," Vash agreed, placing the box inside the paper bag and folding the top down. "What is it?"

The Lithuanian caught his attention and thumbed over his shoulder to the door he just walked through. "If you've got a minute, your special customer wants to talk with you."

"My—what?" Vash huffed, trying his best to keep the heat from flaming up beneath his cheeks at the insinuation.

"You know, the difficult man," Toris said. "The one with the blue coat and the really handsome hair."

"Yes, yes, I get it," the Swiss snapped. My special customer? Hah! He picked up the bagged cake and pushed passed the smirking man. At the door he thought to mention the other torte to the Lithuanian.

With that, Vash exited the kitchen and emerged into the café.

The gentleman in question was standing by the counter a meter or so away from him, dressed ready to leave. His pea coat was buttoned snugly, a black wool scarf wound around his neck. A pair of dark leather gloves adorned his twined fingers as they rested atop the counter.

He perked up as Vash walked over and came to a stop opposite him.

Not wanting to let his unwelcome shyness get the better of him, the Swiss plucked up with, "Hallo, again."

"Hallo," the Austrian breathed out. He straightened up further and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small wad of cash and held it out. "For my bill," he clarified as Vash took the money. "And the tip," he added softly.

"Of course, thank you," Vash replied automatically. The paper bag in his hand tugged at his attention, and the Swiss remembered why he brought it with him in the first place. He placed it on the counter and pushed it towards the other. "This is the rest of torte for you."

"Really?" the Austrian asked.

"Consider it your tip." Vash stopped himself from messing with his loose hair in horror. What the hell? He couldn't even look at the man after the words left his mouth. 'Consider it your tip'? God, that's so dumb! More than ever he wished that he'd fixed his messy hair bun.

"Very well, then. Thank you." The gentleman chuckled, and the sound made the Swiss feel warm. "Perhaps you'll allow me another."

Vash glanced up, giving the man a look of confusion. The brunet cleared his throat and spoke up again.

"Forgive me if this is too forward," the Austrian said, "but I really am grateful for what you did earlier." He tapped a gloved finger on the counter, once, twice. "To repay your kindness I was wondering if, perhaps, I could take you to dinner?"

Huh?

Vash's face flushed again and he clutched the wad of cash to his chest. His mouth fell open as he tried to sputter out a response, his mind not quite working as fast as he'd like. The Swiss only stood there in struck silence.

"You don't have to accept, of course," the other insisted. Lavender eyes cast themselves downward and the Austrian dipped his head. He tucked his book under his arm and adjusted his glasses, looking discouraged at the blond's reaction—or lack there of.

"Yes!"

Once the Swiss regained control over his motor skills, he immediately had the urge to throw himself through one of the café's many windows.

Wait, what?! 'Yes'?! Oh my god—

The hazel-haired man stared for several seconds in shock at his overly eager outburst. Vash looked down at the counter in embarrassment. "I-I, ah, I mean," he tried again. "Sure. That sounds . . . nice."

Vash tucked a hair behind his ear and glanced up. He knew that his face was even redder than it had been earlier. His heart was beating a million miles an hour at the idea, at the thought of agreeing to have dinner with the Austrian gentleman. His cheeks were too hot.

As he dared to peek up at the other man, he saw that the handsome Austrian was giving him another small smile.

"When are you free?" the gentleman asked, sounding less dejected and more . . . excited? Why would he be excited to take me to dinner?

Vash quickly cut away that line of thought and swallowed. "Ah, I don't work weekends."

"Hmm." Those violet irises were glittering. "How's Saturday at seven, then?"

The Swiss nodded his head, breathing a small, "Sure." It felt like steam should have leaked off of his tongue with how warm he was getting.

"It's a date," the Austrian murmured, that smile growing. He dipped his head and grabbed the torte to go, his other hand picking up the umbrella that had been perched underneath the lip of the counter. "I'll see you then. Have a good evening," he said as he turned to leave the café.

Vash, fighting against the beat of his heart, remembered last minute to call out his own goodbye and his cheeks darkened as the man flashed him another bright smile as he exited the shop. The blond-haired barista watched the elegant Austrian lift his umbrella and stride off through the rain and down the street.

He slumped against the counter with a groan, heart beating too fast. He idly wondered if this is what a heart attack felt like.

Spending a few moments to compose himself, he fidgeted with money in his hand. Then a thought hit him and he immediately wanted to punch himself in the face.

Scheisse! I didn't get his number! Fuck, I don't even know his name! God, I'm so dumb!

As he fretted, Vash looked at the cash he was handed once more and attempted to count out the amount for the man's bill to try and calm down. One, two, three, etc. All of it was there, the exact bill amount. Except there was no tip like the man had said, which was fine, albeit confusing.

Then he froze. Inside the folds of money was a tiny paperclip that held another bill and a business card. Vash pulled out the ivory card and saw that the name Roderich Edelstein was printed in a fine cursive font on the front with a phone number underneath.

So his name is Roderich, he thought, nerves settling as he stared at the name. Roderich. It suited the gentleman. Vash was happy to finally have a name to a face, even if it was a handsome one, with or without a name.

He flipped over the business card, wondering what the man did for a living to require them. On the back of the card there was more writing.

Scribbled in an even more beautiful scrawl than the font were the words: Vielen Dank für den Kuchen.

Vash nibbled his lip, his chest warm and full. It had been a spur of the moment decision, the cake. He couldn't in a thousand years have expected the Austrian to have asked him out in response. He couldn't even believe he'd agreed!

Not that he regretted it or anything, only that he wasn't used to getting many offers.

Vash pulled out the last bill that had been held by the clip with the card. Is this the tip? As he unfolded the bill to see what it was, he nearly dropped it. Fifty dollars. The blond's mind was reeling. This is way too much! He probably gave me the wrong bill. He didn't think his heart could take any more surprises. He stared down at the cash and the business card. I told him he didn't have to pay for it, he thought. Yet he still did.

A throat cleared behind him and the Swiss just about jumped out of his skin. He spun around to see Toris staring at him from the kitchen entrance, halfway through the threshold.

The man's eyebrows were raised and he said, "So?" His quiet voice sounded a little too innocent.

Vash glanced over to see that Bazil was wrapping up the last two customers as they would begin to close up for the night. The blond treaded shyly over to Toris and ducked his head down, whispering, "How much did you hear?"

The Lithuanian tried to look nonchalant and failed. He just grinned at him. "Congrats on your date."

Vash groaned as the brunet laughed and patted him on the shoulder. He could count on Toris not to tell anyone else about his embarrassing predicament, at least not until after his date.

His . . . date. The idea was so foreign to him, and it made his heart flutter like a bee in a jar.

Vash looked at the business card again, thumb rolling over the words imprinted there.

His name is Roderich.

...xXx…

Kaffee-crème - "Coffee-crème," basically a long espresso

Linzer torte - Austria's number one cake export, apparently!

Pâtissier - French for "pastry chef"

Hallo - Hello

Scheisse - Shit

Vielen Dank für den Kuchen - Thank you for the cake

Second chapter, how exciting! The fluff is gonna start getting real, yo.