A few days later, Oliver is yawning as he heads to Robin’s shop as soon as it opens. He sees Robin through the glass—and automatically smiles in response—and one particular thought jumps back into his head:

Do gay guy friends share matcha parfaits?

It’s not that he and Robin haven’t shared food before—but not dessert, eaten from the same dish. Dessert is intimate.

Oliver tugs off his sunnies as he enters the shop. “Hey.”

“Hey there,” Robin says. “Sleep well?”

“Har-har,” Oliver says, scrunching his nose. “I need something with coffee in it,” he admits, handing over cards and reusable cup.

Robin looks at him consideringly. “Alright,” he says, nodding. His lips quirk, then, as the music in the background changes. “Have you heard this song? It’s about coffee and love. Right up your alley.”

Oliver blinks, and his breath gets tight. “Er, yeah, I’ve heard it… You like it?”

Robin smirks. “It’s perfect.” He turns to start the expresso. “And can you believe it was made here in Melbourne?”

Oliver lets out a breath of relief. “Well, Melbourne, coffee, unsurprising.” To his pleasure, Robin laughs.

Oliver leans forward in interest when Robin pulls out a large family size tin of Milo. Two generous spoonfuls of it go in the cup with the expresso shots, then ice, milk, a swirl of whipped cream and drizzles of chocolate sauce.

“Cafe Milo,” Robin announces. “Enjoy, good sir.”

“Like a mocha, but make it Aussie,” Oliver quips, taking the cup. He licks off some of the whipped cream and inserts the straw in. The taste is so nostalgic: Milo was a big part of his childhood. It’s more than just chocolate—there’s the malty taste too, the memories of drinking it with cold refreshing milk and laughter and playing with his brothers.

“It makes me feel both younger and older,” Oliver says, wrinkling his nose. “It’s been so long since I had Milo.”

Robin’s lips quirk up. “What else was in your childhood?”

“Weetbix,” Oliver immediately says. “So much weetbix.”

“You don’t eat cereal anymore?”

Oliver grins sheepishly. “I literally woke up less than an hour ago, and my first meal is lunch.” He takes another sip, and licks his lips. “Say, my friends—I told them—you know—and they wanted to invite you to a poetry night at the club. Tuesday at 6pm, every second week.”

Robin shakes his head. “I have work.”

Oliver nods. “Yeah, I told them that too. But our midnight dinner is still going ahead right?”

“Midnight dinner,” Robin repeats. He’s...smirking, and pulls something from one of the cupboards. “This is for you.”

Oliver perks up and accepts the book. On the cover, it says Children’s Cookbook - Step By Step. He flips through the book, rolls his eyes and grins. “Thanks, Robin,” he says dryly.

“My pleasure,” Robin says, sounding sincere. His eyes are sparkling, though.

Oliver tucks the book under his arm. “Look forward to some cutesy sandwiches for dinner then, Robin.”

Robin winks. “I will. Have a good day.”

“You too.” Oliver steps out of the shop, smiling.