“Why were you out so late last night?”

Robin stops at the kitchen doorway. His mum and dad are both seated in the living room, watching some Vietnamese-language news.

“I was with a friend,” Robin replies blandly in Vietnamese.

“Don’t leave, we’re still talking to you,” his dad says, turning down the sound on the TV.

Robin bites back a sigh. “Yes, dad? Mum?”

“Your birthday is soon,” his dad says. “I was talking with a good friend of mine, he has a daughter.”

“No, not that again,” his mum says, scowling at his dad. “That friend of yours, all the two of you do is drink!”

“Well, our son clearly needs help looking for good girls! Or else, you’ll be turning thirty and single!”

“I know how to find people myself,” Robin says coldly.

“We’re not talking about men!” his father snaps. “Do you want people to look at you like you’re crazy? Do you want people to beat you up? You’re too old for this nonsense!”

“If you know already, then I don’t need to say.”

His mum sighs heavily. “What did I do wrong?”

“I could get beaten up for being Asian.”

“But you can’t change that,” his father says grimly. “You are not White, only white people are gay*,” he says, *using the derogatory Vietnamese term.

Robin narrows his eyes. “What about King Khai Dinh? What about King Vinh Thuy? What about Emperor Ai? There were gay people before the white people came! Haven’t you read a book? Do you even know how to use the internet? I can’t believe I know more history than you!”

“Why you—” his dad starts.

“I need to go to work now,” Robin cuts him off. “So I say goodbye to you, dad, mum.” He walks out the door, meeting Lark just returning from her morning run.

“Robin?” she says.

“It’s fine,” he says, grimacing. “They just need to read.”

“Maybe if they see that you’re happy, they might ease off,” Lark suggests.

“I’m not inviting Oliver to my birthday party with our parents around,” Robin says.

“Hmm. Does Oliver know it’ll be your birthday?”

Robin freezes.

Lark raises an eyebrow.

Robin groans, knowing that Lark’s threatening to tell Oliver herself. “Fine. I’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Lark says, patting Robin on the arm. “See you later!”

Robin farewells her and starts off to work.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Oliver. But rather, he doesn’t want that kind of pressure or anticipation. He’ll be happy just spending another midnight dinner with Oliver as usual.

*

It is currently the season for custard apples, so after Robin prepares all the standard fruit for the drinks, he starts on scoping out the custard apple flesh. It’s not easy, with all the large black seeds, but he’s already planned some desserts that would go lovely with custard apples. He’s just washing his hands when his phone buzzes.

Oliver Campbell: Hello, let me in? 🥺

Robin doesn’t bother replying, quickly drying his hands on a towel and heading out of the kitchen. He unlocks the door, smiling at Oliver.

“Hey,” Oliver says, pulling off his sunglasses. He ruffles his curls, and Robin’s heart twinges in his chest.

“Come in,” he says, locking the door again behind Oliver—it’s not yet opening time. “How are you?”

Oliver steps close, hand on Robin’s hip. Robin’s breath catches, a tingling of warmth when Oliver pecks him on the lips.

“Perfect,” Oliver says, lips curling up.

Robin’s eyes crinkle. “Good. I was wondering if you wanted your special 20th drink now.”

Oliver grins. “Haven’t you been giving me special 20th drinks for a while now? Like the Cereal Milkshake, or the Matcha Parfait.”

“The parfait isn’t a drink.”

“But it’s served in a glass,” Oliver says, grinning.

“You smartypants,” Robin drawls. He nudges Oliver to the space behind the counter, and starts blends up yoghurt, milk and ice. While the blender runs, he pulls out a cylindrical glass, and brings out eight different squeezy-bottles.

Oliver peeks over Robin’s shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?”

Robin turns his head and drops a kiss on Oliver’s cheek. “Be patient,” he says fondly.

A thin layer of the yoghurt smoothie goes first, then a layer of purple taro cream. Then, between successive layers of pale yoghurt, Robin layers blue vanilla-raspberry syrup, green matcha, yellow mango, orange persimmon, red strawberry and milk chocolate syrups. A swirl of whipped cream and little oreo-style heart shaped cookies on top finishes the drink.

“Here you are,” Robin says solemnly.

Oliver’s lips curve into a grin. “Subtle, much?”

“I thought of you,” Robin says truthfully. The drink has all the colours of the pride flag, separated by the yoghurt smoothie layers. “Though, it looks prettier than it tastes. Mixing it will obviously mix the flavours.”

“Easily solved,” Oliver declares, grabbing a spoon rather than a straw. He picks off a heart-shaped cookie with his fingers. “It’s ages till Valentines Day, you know.”

Robin leans back against the counter, corner of his mouth tilting up. “Then I’ll simply make something even better when it comes round. It’s a shame that my opening day missed Valentines.”

Oliver pops the cookie into his mouth, a satisfied expression growing on his face. He licks the cream, and digs into the first layer—chocolate.

“It’s like an adventure,” Oliver says, smiling happily at Robin.

Robin’s chest swells. “You’re an adventure.”

Oliver grins back. “There are a lot more adventures we can have, Mr. Quan,” he says, leaning forward, looking up through his lashes, one finger catched the collar of his shirt.

Despite himself, Robin’s cheeks heat up. “Not here,” he hisses, glancing to the front of the shop. He pushes Oliver into the private back kitchen, while Oliver just tilts his head and laughs.

“And what’s the blue flavour supposed to be?”

“Blue Heaven, like the ice cream flavour.”

“Ah, that’s alright then.”

Robin makes a face. “Unfortunately, blueberries are actually purple on the inside. There’s butterfly pea-flower tea, but it’s flavour is too mild for the drink.”

Oliver laughs. “So that’s the kind of thing you worry about.”

“Oh? Do you have nightmares about the strings on your guitar snapping or accidentally playing some evil music progression?”

“Hey!” Oliver retorts with mock outrage. “Accidentally playing the wrong thing can summon great evil! It’s very serious business!”

Robin can’t help himself. He wraps an arm around Oliver’s waist, lightly touching their heads together. “Very serious,” he says seriously.

“Come here,” Oliver orders, holding up a spoonful of yoghurt-mixed with matcha.

“It’s for you.”

“But I want to. Now, open wide, here comes the aeroplane.”

Robin rolls his eyes, but obediently opens his mouth. To his pleasure, Oliver chases it with a kiss on his lips. A kiss that quickly deepens when Oliver puts down the spoon and attempts to find an opening around Robin’s apron.

Robin huffs in amusement. “We shouldn’t, I need to prepare a lot of cakes today.”

Oliver pouts. “But our weekly dinner is so far away.”

“Ah. We’ll have to move it,” Robin grimaces. “My parents are setting up my birthday party on Saturday, and I’ll be going back and forth between here and home. I’ll give Jenny the spare key, but I still need to prepare everything the night before and the morning of.”

Oliver’s eyes narrow. “A birthday party? Oh. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Oliver’s lips turn down.

Robin’s heart clenches. “No, it’s not like that. You can come, if you want. But I thought we could just have our own private thing. Maybe...I could even stay over on Sunday night. And I say it’s my birthday party, but it’s really just an excuse for my parents to host a barbeque with their extended friends—” Robin cuts himself off before he can ramble further.

Oliver bits his lips. “You want to stay over?” he says, a pleased expression growing on his face.

Robin’s tension eases at Oliver’s clear wanting. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Heh.” Oliver smirks. “Alright.”

Robin narrows his eyes, but Oliver continues on casually.

“But Sunday’s still ages away. Then can we have brunch tomorrow then? Before you have to start work?”

“Of course.” Robin kisses him, sweetness between their tongues. “How about tomorrow?”

Oliver agrees immediately.