Oliver rushes home that evening to prepare before heading back out to Robin’s shop.

It’s now past closing time, and there’s just a hint of light open in the back kitchen.

Oliver shoots off a quick text to Robin.

Oliver Campbell to Robin Quan: guess who 😉

Robin Quan: A michelin star reviewer? 🤔

Oliver snorts, and sticks his hands in his pockets as he waits. Not too long after, the lights in the back kitchen turn off and Robin emerges. He’s carrying a slim black backpack and a box in a plastic bag.

Oliver remembers to pull off his sunnies. “What’s that?” he says curiously. The box has the Matcha & Milk logo on it.

Robin blinks. “Oh, this? Don’t worry about it. And good evening to you too.”

Oliver grins back sheepishly. “Hey there. My flat’s close by.”

They exchange how-are-yous as they walk, and Oliver’s chest gets increasingly tight. He fumbles with his keys, but then finally, they’re in.

“And this is it,” he says, spreading an arm. “—You don’t have to take off your shoes.”

“I insist,” Robin says firmly, and continues to take off his shoes. His socks underneath are grey...with little cat faces on the ends. Oliver has to rip his gaze away.

He shows Robin the living room first. “You can leave your things here.”

Robin nods, while Oliver shifts uneasily. While his pride flag isn’t hanging across the wall, he has made a conscious decision not to hide it nor the other pride stuff, like the collection of badges on the coffee table, or the gay books on the shelves. There’s even a little rainbow sticker on his guitar case leaning against the wall.

If Robin makes a face of disgust, if Robin looks away, then...

Robin leans his backpack against the sofa. “It’s a very nice apartment. And not a bachelor pad,” he says with a quirk of his lips.

Oliver rolls his eyes, relaxing. “You missed out, like five years ago.”

“This better go in the fridge, if you have space,” Robin adds, holding up the dessert box, because it has to be a dessert box.

“Right! Yeah! Okay! I have some ingredients in the fridge, but we have to take them out anyway for dinner…I was thinking pasta. Oliver Campbell’s one-of-a-kind Michelin-star pasta.”

Thankfully, Robin laughs. He nudges his shoulder against Oliver (oh god their shoulders are touching), and says, “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

The dried spaghetti and tinned chopped tomatoes are already on the kitchen bench. Oliver takes out the premade meatballs, shoves aside bits and bobs in his fridge, and makes space for Robin’s box.

“I hope you’re not too hungry,” Oliver says, as he takes out a large saucepan.

“Hmm, nothing I can’t wait for,” Robin replies. He leans against the counter, watching as Oliver fumbles with the garlic. “Can I help?”

“I make this all the time,” Oliver says. “And you’re a guest.” He wins over the garlic skin, roughly chops it, and adds it to the saucepan. At least adding in the chopped tomatoes, basil, and salt and pepper is easy.

“It needs to simmer before the next stage.” Oliver turns the heat just to the high-side of moderate to speed it up. “I have Netflix, and cards, and boardgames?”

“Any,” Robin says easily.

They head back to the living room, and Oliver ends up turning on his TV and pulling up Netflix.

Robin watches with interest as Oliver scrolls. “You know, I don’t have Netflix at home. Me and my sister watch Crunchyroll instead.”

“There is anime on Netflix,” Oliver defends.

“But it’s not OG, is it?” Robin drawls. “It’s very peculiar to see shows I’ve heard about only on the internet.”

Oliver ends up playing a whole variety of trailers for Robin’s benefit. It’s not hard at all to watch Robin from the corner of his eye. Is that a blink of interest at the queer shows? Oliver’s an adult, damn it. He should just ask and—

—something is burning.

Oh no.

Oliver jumps to his feet and races to the kitchen. The sauce is burning, and so much thicker than it should be. Oliver turns off the heat and swears. He turns, and almost jumps back when he realises Robin’s right next to him.

“Robin, I—”

“Hey, it’s fine, Oliver,” Robin says. “We can still save it. Do you have another saucepan?”

“Y-yeah.”

Robin browns the meatballs, adding the unburnt top layer of sauce with additional water, while Oliver has the job of cooking the spaghetti. They plate together, topping with cheese and fresh basil, and it actually looks like dinner.

However, Oliver can’t help the disappointed sigh when they finally sit down to eat.

“We should have just gone out for dinner,” he says heavily.

“At this time?” Robin nudges Oliver’s feet under the table. “It tastes good, I promise.”

“Says the man who’s drunk soy-sauce smoothies,” Oliver says. At Robin’s wink, Oliver snorts. “Fine,” he says, his lips cracking a smile when Robin raises one eyebrow, and then the other.

The spaghetti does taste good. It tastes better than it does when he’s eating it mindlessly while watching Netflix. The tomato sauce has a sweetness he appreciates—and Robin was much more patient in browning the meatballs than Oliver usually is. He grins when Robin goes back for more cheese—and then more cheese again.

“I should have just made mac and cheese,” Oliver realises, shaking his head in exasperation.

“I adore milk products,” Robin says, tilting his chin imperiously. “Bubble tea, milk tea, fruit milks, hot chocolate, cake, cheesecake, cheese, low fat milk, no fat milk, full cream milk…”

Oliver can’t help but laugh.