It’s almost noon, and Robin is placing the new cakes under the display counter, ready for the upcoming day. The coffee song is on the radio again, and Robin can’t help but smile as he remembers Oliver playing it for him. And while Robin’s chest aches a little whenever the memory comes up, it’s not a bad feeling. In fact, it feels really good, like Robin could walk on clouds.

There’s motion outside, and Robin glances up. His heart swells when he realises it’s Oliver.

“Hey there,” Robin says, definitely casual, as he leans over the counter.

“G’day,” Oliver returns with an exaggerated broad Australian accent. “How’ya doing today, mate?”

Robin's lips quirk up at Oliver’s antics. “Nothing much.”

Oliver nods with deep seriousness. “I have it in good word that there’s a package here for me today.”

“Oh? From whom?”

“From a Michelin star dessert chef.” He drops some cash on the counter, and gives a cheesy wink. “Ya wouldn’t happen to have it under the counter, do you?”

Robin presses his lips together. “Oliver.”

Oliver pouts, holding up his rewards card. “Look! I’m almost at 20, aren’t I?”

At that, Robin cracks a smirk. He accepts the cash, “For now,” he adds pointedly, and stamps the 15th circle on Oliver’s rewards card. “Eat in?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm.” Robin pulls out a large glass. To make the dessert, Robin pulls out multiple tubs of breakfast cereals. He blends cornflakes and Weetbix with milk til it’s a milkshake consistency. He builds the layers of milkshake, clotted cream ice cream and cereal—Nutrigrain and coco pops and Fruit Loops, and tops it with slices of strawberries and banana and a crumbling of Milo powder.

“Et voila,” Robin says, presenting the completed dessert with a spoon and straw.

Oliver meets Robin’s eyes. “Is that—Milo too? It’s—breakfast—” he shakes his head and laughs.

A warm glow spreads through Robin’s chest. “Come on, you haven’t even tasted it,” he says with a touch of fond exasperation.

“Okay, okay,” Oliver’s laughter transitions into a bright grin as he calms down somewhat. He sips, and makes a pleased sigh. “Oh wow, it tastes exactly like cereal milk. I haven’t had Fruit Loops in ages…” He continues grinning between mouthfuls. “I can’t believe you literally made me breakfast.”

“If you can call ice cream breakfast,” Robin says.

“Ice cream. On pancakes. Definitely breakfast.”

“You’re right,” Robin concedes, lips quirking up.

Oliver hums, low in his throat as he continues to eat. There’s a brightness in his eyes, and today’s Melbourne noon sunlight makes Oliver’s loose curls look soft and almost gold (not that Robin would be so presumptuous as to touch it).

“I think I’ll make this a new menu item,” Robin decides. “Should I name it the Ollie?”

Oliver gives him a mock glare. “Don’t you dare!”

Robin smirks. “Have you been enjoying your cookbook?”

“Maybe you should come by my place again to check up on my homework,” Oliver replies with a sparkle in his eye.

Robin raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should.”

“You’ll need to warn me ahead of time, so I can cram,” Oliver adds.

Robin makes an exaggerated grimace. “How could you, uni flashbacks…”

“You went to university?”

“Business degree,” Robin admits. “And then baking school, to my parents’ dismay.”

“And to my benefit,” Oliver returns. “How could we have met otherwise?”

“It’s so weird, isn’t it?”

“I’m not complaining,” Oliver says, and takes a pointedly large mouthful of cereal. “Friday midnight?”

Robin huffs a laugh. “Friday midnight,” he confirms, and reflects back the smile that’s also growing on Oliver’s face.