Antonio arrives later to work than intended. He blames the ice on the road, forcing him to drive slower along the country lanes than he would usually dare, combined with that one unfortunate stretch he got stuck behind a tractor. Of course, he called ahead of time to warn the school’s head that he may be late, but even if he has been assured that it’s fine, he rushes from his car into the school reception area faster than is wise.
Narrowly avoiding a fall as he reaches the doors, Antonio catches his breath and himself, before he lifts his ID card to the sensor and lets himself into the building. Almost instantly, the warmth greets him, sympathises with him over how cold it is outside, and his hands start to burn as they get accustomed to the comparatively tropical temperatures indoors.
A glance at the clock reveals he is, in all, only ten minutes late. It is not a total disaster. Children will start arriving in school within the next fifteen minutes so he still has time to get himself positioned, his computer on, the phone loud, and to make himself a hot drink (and maybe even some toast) in the staff room so he is ready to deal with some of the world’s most obnoxious adults.
(Yes, he means parents. Some of them are… characters, for sure.)
Today, Antonio is alone in the office. The other receptionist is part-time, Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays. But today is a Wednesday. And there is no one else to make conversation with other than the plant on the windowsill, which he greets as he enters the room—Paco—and the currently very smiley emotional-support plush octopus—Pablo—that lives on his desk and makes a good headrest, at times…
Today, Antonio is alone in the office. However, after greeting his only 'companions' for the day, and flicking on the lights, he realises that they are not entirely alone.
On his desk is an unusual addition: a cup steaming with what looks like a simple coffee, on closer inspection. Next to it is a pink Post-it note. Antonio sets down his bag and carefully pulls the note off the table surface, and begins to smile as he reads its short and sweet message.
Thought I’d save you the staff room kettle rush. Milk, one sugar. Hope you like it.
While they have evidently kept themselves anonymous for fear of someone wandering into the office and seeing the note, Antonio already knows who this mysterious saviour of his is. It has become a bit of a trend for a certain Maths teacher to stop by at break time to offer to make him a drink while he’s mid-call to a supplier or parent—a Godsend.
And he always gets it just right. It’s impressive for someone who doesn’t like coffee, but Arthur… seems to have put the effort in to remember the perfect ratio of coffee granules to boiling water to milk to sugar. Antonio appreciates that. Not even his own colleague in the office can remember how he likes it—sometimes, not even his own family! But Arthur? Arthur remembers. And that feels good.
More surprising is that, upon lifting the cup, it is still quite hot. Not scorching, but not tepid, either. That means Arthur must have made it recently, which makes Antonio only happier, for some reason.
From that moment on, Antonio’s morning is alarmingly smooth. The parents who come to his window are pleasant, well-tempered, and generally have simple enquiries he is able to deal with or otherwise signpost without any aggro. The phone barely rings. Attendance is high. Abel, the head, swings by but has no request for him—just a greeting and short conversation about his icy commute—and even the emails that appear in his inbox are child’s play.
The coffee, he starts to wonder, has perhaps brought him some good luck. Good luck caused by good intentions.
He has not seen Arthur yet by the time the lunch hour (or rather, lunch forty-minutes) rolls around. But while teaching is suspended, Antonio seizes his opportunity, closes the office for lunch, and begins to search for the evasive Maths teacher.
The search begins in the staff room. To be honest, finding Arthur there would have been nothing short of a miracle; he seldom pops in unless it’s to make himself a drink, but with how busy it becomes at lunch time, he tends to avoid it altogether.
Instead, Antonio leaves the main building of the school and ventures to B-Block, where Maths and English are located. Arthur’s room is up the first set of stairs, and the second room on the right. B7. A box-standard classroom for thirty students and about as void of life as one would expect a Maths classroom to be. That is, void of life, minus Arthur, who sits at his desk, glasses on and brows furrowed, until Antonio knocks on his open door.
Arthur looks up.
Antonio flashes a pink sticky note at him.
Arthur sits back in his seat, glances at his screen, and then back at Antonio.
“Got a message for me?” he asks, which, fair enough, is usually why Antonio would be visiting classrooms and flashing notes—but in this case, it makes the administrator shake his head.
“I think you’re the one who had a message for me, actually,” Antonio remarks, pocketing the note. He walks into the room, approaching the desk so that he doesn't have to speak so loudly, so publicly. “I appreciated that gesture this morning, you know. I never had a chance to find you and thank you, but, well, thank you.”
The other shrugs. “Abe said you were going to be late. I thought you might need a hot drink, and not the distracting chit-chat that you’d face in the staff room.”
“You weren’t wrong,” Antonio concedes. And then he says, “Thanks.”
“You’ve already thanked me,” Arthur returns, however.
Antonio’s smile turns lop-sided. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say ‘thank you’ enough to you,” he confesses, his eyes drifting briefly to the windows, through which he spies the Art rooms in the main building (his subconscious thinks it may spy his brother, but Antonio knows he will already be downstairs). “I haven’t worked here all that long,” he goes on, “but I feel like you’ve made more effort to get to know me than some people have. Than most people have, in fact.”
Arthur dismisses the comment with his typical modesty—often mistaken for scorn—and says, “It’s just polite, I wouldn’t think too much of it,” even though Antonio already thinks the world of it, and of him, and knows that Arthur knows that, too.
It does not dampen the mood.
Antonio does not intend to hang around and disturb Arthur for much longer, but before he hurries off once more and returns to the phone and solitude, he tells the other, “Let me know if you ever need anything, won't you?”
“Anything, huh?”
“Anything,” Antonio nods to confirm. And, without further warning, he turns and goes to leave the classroom and Arthur and all of the thoughts he has provoked
Just as he reaches the door, however, the other calls to him—asks him to wait, semi-frantic—and Antonio tries not to smile too widely at how it feels to hear the other say his name. Arthur, in the meantime, has left his chair and steps somewhat awkwardly towards the door. Although there remains a gap between them still, Antonio feels as though they are somehow closer than they have ever been.
“Can I… ask you something?”
“You just did,” Antonio remarks in jest, but invites him to go ahead.
“Do you have any plans, or… anything… today? After work?”
Antonio loves how he fumbles.
“Not until later in the evening,” he duly replies. He's seeing his brother, but that's all. “Why? Are you asking me out?”
That only makes it worse.
“J-Just for a drink, yeah,” Arthur says. “Coffee, tea—whatever takes your fancy. Just a friendly sit-down in a café or— or something.”
Antonio can’t help but smile, now. “You know what,” he responds, “I’d like that. I would actually very much like that.”
“Yeah? So, today? Right after work?”
“Office closes at four, so as long as you’re okay with that.”
“That’s perfect, yes.”
“Good. Then, you know where to find me,” he muses. “I'm looking forward to it.”
To which Arthur starts to smile, too—a rare sight, and a charming one at that. "So am I. Here's hoping the rest of the day flies by, eh?"
Antonio is sure it will. Because now, for the rest of the day, nothing else is as important or exciting a goal for him to reach, and not even a snappy call with an angry parent will be able to put him in a bad mood.
A humble coffee date with Arthur... What an unexpected but lovely birthday present... His brother would certainly have a hard time beating that!
[ final wordcount, 1520! ] [ also available on ao3! ]
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