Robin takes his hands out of his coat pockets when he spies Oliver standing outside the chosen Mexican place for brunch. Oliver has his sunglasses on, looking rakish in his black jacket.

Oliver Oliver Oliver! Robin wants to reach out to him, touch his arm.

Oliver turns to him, and Robin’s lips curl up.

Robin’s burst of happiness tempers though as he spies the three people who are Oliver’s friends, even though he knew they’ll be here.

“Hello, good morning,” Robin greets them.

“Hey,” Oliver says, smiling a little. But he doesn’t take off his sunglasses. “Everyone, this is Robin. Robin, this is Nina, Anderson, and Kyle.”

Robin nods. Oliver had already told him their names during their dinner together last week, and it’s easy enough to reconnect names to faces.

They file inside, and the waiter leads them to a table by the window. Robin ends up seated next to Oliver—Oliver, who still hasn’t taken his sunnies off.

Robin inwardly frowns, stomach sinking in disappointment that he can’t see Oliver’s eyes. He hopes Oliver is okay. Or perhaps Oliver keeps his sunnies on when with his friends? But Oliver’s friends don’t say anything, so Robin stays silent.

“So, Robin. Have you ever eaten here before?” Kyle says, holding up the menu.

“No, do you have recommendations?” Robin asks politely. Kyle seems fully committed to forgetting their past incident, and Robin’s not going to rock the boat.

Kyle smirks, his voice turning sly. “Everything is good, but I recommend the torta ahogado. Roast pork sandwich, a lot of hot sauce, if you can stand it.”

“The tacos are really good,” Oliver interjects.

“Because you’re weak,” Kyle says dismissively.

Robin’s lips tighten a fraction. He understands teasing, yes, but Kyle’s tone rubs him the wrong way. “I don’t mind a bit of heat,” Robin says.

Kyle’s smirk widens. “Great,” he says, and flags down the waiter to order.

“—And can you bring out a bottle of Habanero hot sauce?” Nina adds, after everyone has ordered.

“Yes, of course,” their waiter tells them, and collects the menus.

“So, what do you do?” Kyle asks.

“...I work at a dessert shop,” Robin says evenly.

Nina snorts. “Seriously, Kyle.”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Fine, I walked into that.”

“I went to baking school,” Robin says.

Nina tilts her head. “How was it? Was it necessary for you to open a dessert shop? Why did you open your own place instead of joining a larger bakery? Surely the hours would be better.”

Robin answers evenly, and continues to field Nina’s questions. Kyle’s chatting to Anderson. And as for Oliver…

Oliver’s head is tilted down, and Robin can see only a glimpse of Oliver’s eyes from the side.

Robin’s heart pinches. He wants to ask him what’s wrong, but it doesn’t feel right—it’s too public. Instead, he subtly nudges his leg against Oliver’s. Oliver startles, but he sits up more.

“But you know what I do,” Robin says to Nina. “I heard from Oliver that you also do music?”

Even though Robin’s question is directed to Nina, Kyle is the one who talks next.

“Yep, we’re all musicians here—well, except you. Did Oliver tell you how he used to be part of a band with us?”

“Robin can play the piano,” Oliver says.

Kyle’s eyes narrow. “You do?”

“Back in secondary,” Robin allows. “Asian parents and all.”

Kyle scoffs. “Asian parents, huh.” He cuts a look at Oliver. Oliver’s expression is flat, and the set of his mouth is just towards the side of don’t you dare make another comment about that.

Robin’s heart softens, and shifts his attention back to Kyle. “What kind of music did you play?”

“Queer rock, punk covers,” Kyle says, emphasing the word queer. “It was pretty good, until Oliver ditched us for the Melbourne Music Production Company and went all straight-laced.”

Oh. Robin glances at Oliver, glad that Oliver has a job that involves music. He nudges Oliver gently. “Sounds like a great place to work,” he says.

“It was more stable than those gigs,” Oliver says, shrugging. “And the band was too small for so many guitarists.”

Kyle makes a face. “Seriously though, we had so much fun. Ugh, and now you act so old! Remember that gig when that guy came with...”

He continues on some story filled with hijinks, and Robin listens politely, concern for Oliver still firmly lodged in his chest. Kyle only stops when the waiter comes by with their dishes.

Robin has the torta ahogado: an open faced sandwich with roast pork, beans, marinated red onions, and covered in an almost soupy spiced tomato sauce. Meanwhile, Oliver has a selection of tacos.

“Now,” Kyle announces, picking up the habanero hot sauce. “Are you ready for the first round of heat?”

“Come on already,” Nina says, rolling her eyes.

“Sure,” Robin says.

Anderson nods.

Oliver shakes his head. “Yeah nah, I want to taste my tacos.”

“Bor-ring,” Kyle says, and gives everyone else a healthy dollop of the sauce.

Robin cuts up a portion of the sandwich with a knife and fork and dips it into the original sauce. The bread is still lovely and crispy, with a soft interior that has soaked up some of the flavourful sauce. The hot sauce adds a bit of spice and heat that elevates the dish.

“More hot sauce?” Kyle says slyly.

“Sure,” Robin says evenly.

It’s really odd how Kyle keeps adding more hot sauce to everyone’s dishes through the meal—even Oliver’s, once, though Oliver doesn’t touch it.

In another setting, Robin might have used the hot sauce on Oliver’s plate. He musters a smile when Kyle says something and tries to look more attentive towards Oliver’s friends, all the while yearning to get out of here and have Oliver to himself, to pick apart why Oliver is avoiding eye-contact...