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“Listen, I… I know it’s pretty late, but I…” a shaky sigh, “will you… be, uh… Will you please be my valentine?”
A gasp, then three beats of silence. Incomprehensible stuttering eventually turned into, “Yes… yes! Oh, I—”
With a barely suppressed groan, Espresso slapped his hands onto his ears and focused on his breathing. Could they not have done this somewhere more PRIVATE?
The coffee mage was waiting for the flow of foot and animal traffic to slow down to cross a cobblestone road. While waiting, he was forced to overhear his third valentine confession of the day, which was this time held at the doorstep of someone’s home that was right behind him.
Once the traffic lightened, Espresso started walking briskly down the cobblestone street, allowing himself to get lost in thought. The day had been long, filled with experiments and endless calculations in his cluttered laboratory.
As he walked, he couldn't help but notice the vibrant shades of red and pink that adorned the shop windows, signaling the arrival of Valentine's Day. The city was buzzing with excitement, couples strolling hand in hand, flower shops adorned with bouquets, and the unmistakable scent of love lingering in the air.
Valentine's Day had never held much significance for Espresso. He found the overt displays of affection and commercialized romance rather tiresome. Plus, he and Madeleine had never explicitly discussed celebrating the occasion. The absence of any conversation about the holiday left him assuming Madeleine had no interest in it, and either way Espresso hadn't felt compelled to initiate such a discussion himself.
Once he reached their shared home, Espresso was greeted by the disconcerting aroma of smoke and something vaguely resembling cooking steak. His brow furrowed in confusion as he approached the front door, finding it slightly ajar. Warily, he entered, setting down his bag and giving the air a few big sniffs.
“Madeleine?” Espresso called out, a sense of foreboding settling in. A surprised noise echoed from the kitchen, accompanied by a symphony of clanging pots and pans. Something crashed to the ground, rattling loudly, followed by a passionate string of words in French.
Madeleine emerged from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair hastily tied in a partially-fallen bun, and covered in a splatter of indistinguishable ingredients.
Espresso opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could escape, Madeleine rushed toward him, a mixture of determination and poorly masked panic in his eyes.
“YOU’RE HOME EARLY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Madeleine blurted out, his words tumbling over each other. He attempted to usher Espresso back out the door, his hands flailing in urgency. “COME BACK LATER, LATER, LAAATER! AAHHH!”
Espresso's confusion deepened as he resisted Madeleine's attempts to push him out, pressing back against the hands on his shoulders. “Madeleine! What is going on? And what's that smell?” he questioned, trying to peer past Madeleine into the kitchen.
But Madeleine, seemingly on the brink of a culinary disaster, cut him off once again, his eyes wide with alarm. “NO TIME TO EXPLAIN! JUST GO, AND COME BACK LATER!”
With that, he practically shoved Espresso out the door, a trail of unpronounceable noises and the distant clatter of pots from the kitchen following him.
As the door slammed shut behind him, Espresso was left standing at their doorstep, bewildered. Whatever Madeleine was attempting in the kitchen, it seemed he was determined to keep it a surprise.
That’s how he found himself at Latte’s house, where he retold everything in excruciating detail. He was sitting on a loveseat, which was across from the sofa Latte and Raspberry were snuggled together on.
“He’s so stupid,” Raspberry hummed fondly, knees pulled up to her chest and head resting on Latte’s shoulder. Espresso decided to brush off her comment, since Raspberry and Madeleine were practically siblings. “And you really thought he wasn’t going to do anything for Valentine’s Day?”
“Well,” Espresso protested weakly. “We never talked about it.”
Latte rolled her eyes, hard. “Probably because he assumed it was a given. Hello? Why are you so stupid?”
Espresso bristled. “Nobody ever explained how Valentine’s Day worked to me!” he flopped back into his chair and buried his face into his hands, muffling his following words. “I feel awful. I didn’t get him anything. I’m a horrible boyfriend.”
“You’re not a—” Latte cut herself off with a sharp and heavy sigh. “The fact that you feel this way implies that you aren’t a bad boyfriend. It’ll be fine. You can make it up to him later.”
When Espresso didn’t reply and continued to sink down the loveseat, Raspberry spoke. “Madeleine would feel worse knowing you feel this way than if you didn’t do anything for Valentine’s.”
Espresso dragged his hands down his face and stared at the all-knowing lesbians in front of him. Raspberry was grinning, and Latte was raising an expectant brow. Eventually, Espresso nodded and sat up.
“You’re right,” he muttered, slipping his glasses off and rubbing the lens clean. When he put them back on his face, there was a determined pinch in his brows. “I will find the perfect way to make this up to him!”
Raspberry giggled, leaning into the arm that Latte had snaked around her shoulder. “Of course.”
When Espresso returned to his doorstep, he found himself feeling like he did all those months before they started dating, when Madeleine invited him over for a simple night in. Espresso was so nervous for no real reason.
And it seems like things haven’t changed, because when Madeleine opened the door after three knocks, all of Espresso’s nerves immediately dissipated. What was there to be nervous about when it had to do with Madeleine?
The sight that greeted Espresso made his breathing stutter. Madeleine looked like an angel, worlds away from the chaotic mess he had encountered earlier. His hair was now pulled back into a chic ponytail, accentuating the strong lines of his jaw and the roundness of his eyes. A white dress shirt clung to his form, highlighting his physique—not overly broad, but perfectly balanced. His shoulders, not too wide nor too narrow, conveyed a sense of strength, while a small waist gave him an air of homely gentleness.
Madeleine's appearance was a perfect blend of softness and strength, a combination that, despite its contradictions, made him irresistibly handsome and cute.
Espresso swallowed. “Madeleine.”
Madeleine smiled in response, before stepping back. “Please, come in.”
As Espresso took in the refined image of Madeleine, he couldn't help but marvel at the transformation. Madeleine was calm and collected now, exuding a kind of confidence that resonated with the evening’s developing mood. Espresso couldn't help but think that Madeleine acting so put-together was a bit silly, but he decided to play along, offering a warm smile in response.
Madeleine led Espresso into the living room, where the soft notes of jazz music filled the air. A table for two was elegantly set up, accessorized with a delicate candle flickering in the dim light. Espresso internally gushed at the romantic setup, a mix of adoration for Madeleine and an overwhelming wave of guilt for not having prepared anything in return.
“Here, sit, sit,” Madeleine ushered, pulling a chair out. Espresso complied, biting back a grin as Madeleine pushed him in.
Madeleine brushed a knuckle over Espresso’s cheek, getting his attention. “I hope you like it. I wanted to do something special for you,” the knight confessed, a hint of nervousness peeking through his confident exterior.
Espresso’s guilt intensified, but he managed a soft, appreciative smile. “It’s amazing, Madeleine. Thank you for going through all this trouble.” He couldn’t fight the surge of love for the knight who had put so much effort into making the evening special.
Madeleine beamed at the appreciation, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Anything for you. Now, let me go get our food,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.
Left alone, Espresso couldn't shake the swirling emotions within him. The love he felt for Madeleine was overwhelming, yet the guilt for not having prepared anything tugged at his conscience.
The soft click of plates being set on the table drew Espresso out of his wallowing. Madeleine had returned, placing a serving dish in front of Espresso with a metal dome cover. “There's a bit more coming, hold on,” Madeleine said, rushing back to the kitchen.
He returned with two more plates, both without metal domes. “Here, we have bœuf bourguignon,” Madeleine announced, pronouncing it flawlessly in French, and Espresso shivered slightly at the melodic sound of Madeleine speaking his native language. The other plate held a simple salad.
Madeleine took a seat across from Espresso, and with a flourish, he lifted the middle metal dome from the final plate to reveal a cooked steak. Espresso's eyes widened in genuine surprise. “You really went all out. This is so impressive,” he gaped.
Madeleine preened, a delighted grin spreading across his face. “You deserve only the best,” he said, voice low with honesty.
Espresso's heart skipped a beat at the words. It wasn't the first time Madeleine had said something like that, but in the context of the evening, it carried a weight that left Espresso slightly flustered. He wrestled his heart rate to lower as Madeleine began to dish out the food onto their plates.
As Espresso took his first bite of the bœuf bourguignon, he quickly realized that the pasta was overcooked, and the meal was severely oversalted. He managed to steel his reaction, taking a sip of water before moving on to the steak. When he cut into it, he noticed it was entirely cooked through, but elected to ignore it. But then he took a bite, and the toughness of the steak made Espresso struggle to chew and swallow.
Finally, he moved to the salad, finding it slightly bitter due to the lack of dressing. When he looked up at Madeleine, he saw the knight trying to gauge his reaction, his fork idly twirling a spaghetti string. His eyes kept bouncing between Espresso’s plate and face.
“I don’t know what to say,” Espresso admitted, because that was the truth. He tried to find a workaround to avoid saying that the food was barely edible. “I— I can— I can really taste the, um, love that—”
Madeleine cut him off, smiling sadly. “I knew it was bad, but I wasn't sure just how bad.”
Espresso sat in stunned silence, processing the unexpected confession. After a moment, he slumped forward with a weak grin. “It’s… hardly edible.”
Madeleine sighed heavily and leaned back into his chair, looking off to the side. “I practiced and everything,” he mumbled to himself. He looked up and met Espresso’s eyes, his own twisted with disappointment. “I just— I— I’m sorry, mon coco.”
Espresso felt a lump in his throat, ready to offer words of comfort, but before he could utter a syllable, Madeleine continued, his voice laden with regret. Madeleine buried his face in his hands and slid down his chair, his words muffled.
“I feel awful about this. I just wanted to give my perfect boyfriend a perfect Valentine's dinner, and I failed horribly.”
Espresso stared in shock, a strong sense of déjà vu washing over him. It was like an echo of his own insecurities from earlier, mirrored in Madeleine's anguish.
Unable to bear the sight of Madeleine in such distress, Espresso placed his hands on the table and leaned forward with an intense expression. Madeleine, however, kept his head in his hands, avoiding Espresso's gaze.
Drawing from the advice Raspberry and Latte had given him earlier, Espresso spoke with gentle determination. “Madeleine, the fact that you attempted all of this while aiming for perfection and then feel so defeated afterward implies that a lot of effort went into this. And you know what? That means more to me than the actual meal.”
There was a heavy pause as Espresso let his words hang in the air. Madeleine's hands remained on his face, shielding his eyes from the world, but Espresso could sense the emotional turmoil in the room.
As Espresso stares, he notices Madeleine’s sleeve slide down his forearm, revealing gauze wraps. They weren’t there earlier, when Madeleine scrambled up to him with his sleeves rolled up. Espresso’s heart clenches.
The coffee mage sat there for a few moments, his heart pounding. Unable to contain his swirling emotions, he finally scrambled out of his chair. He snatched Madeleine’s wrists and ripped them from his face. The blonde stared up at Espresso with wide eyes.
“Madel—” Espresso began, overlapping with Madeleine, “—esso.”
Without another word, Espresso grabbed the collars of Madeleine’s shirt and closed the gap between them. He pressed his lips onto Madeleine’s for a sudden, passionate kiss. Espresso’s glasses got smushed up to his forehead, his eyes were scrunched closed and his grip on Madeleine’s shirt was sure to leave wrinkles— but he didn’t care, and instead lifted the collar even higher, intensifying the urgent, compressed connection between their lips.
Espresso pulled away from the kiss with the same amount of urgency it initiated with, and his glasses fell back onto his nose, crooked. Madeleine’s cheeks, usually so pale, were colored pink.
They stared at each other, breathing a little heavily, until Madeleine properly stood up. He reached up to his collar and placed his hands over Espresso’s, squeezing them.
“I don’t have anything,” Espresso blurted, and then continued when Madeleine’s face screwed up in confusion, “for Valentine’s Day, I mean. I didn’t— Um. I thought we weren’t doing anything.”
Madeleine tilted his head, expression melting save for his furrowed brows before asking innocently, “What made you think that?”
“We never talked about it,” Espresso shrugged. His right hand itches to push his glasses up in a nervous habit. “And I’ve never cared for it. Well, until now.”
“Oh,” Madeleine murmured. He lifted up one of his hands to adjust Espresso’s crooked glasses. His hand lingered there, before settling on Espresso’s jaw. He stroked his thumb over his cheek a few times before letting his hand drop with a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time. They flinched, eyes wide.
A chaotic dance of stumbling words ensued, a tangled mess of apologies and reassurances that overlapped.
“I really didn’t mean to—”
Espresso shook his head. “I have no excu—”
“I should’ve—”
“No, Madeleine, you—”
Madeleine tightened his grip on Espresso’s hand. “Please, just listen—”
“I'm listening, but—”
The verbal jumble continued until Espresso, in an attempt to bring order to the chaos, slapped a hand onto Madeleine's mouth. Their eyes locked, and Espresso spoke with a newfound strength, his voice cutting through the verbal maelstrom.
“I'm sorry. Regardless of how I felt about Valentine’s Day, I should’ve asked you about it.”
Madeleine blinked, surprised by the sudden assertiveness. He gently peeled Espresso’s hand off his mouth.
“I forgive you, even if it’s not something you should be apologizing for.” Madeleine tucked in part of his bottom lip and chewed on it, a telltale nervous habit. “Regardless of the effort that went into it, I’m sorry for creating such a poor product for such a special day.”
“Madeleine,” Was all Espresso softly said, smiling sadly. He brought his hands up to frame Madeleine’s face, and pulled him in for another kiss.
This time their lips met in a delicate embrace, a sweet twirl of love and understanding. Espresso's hands lingered on Madeleine's face, thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. The kiss held a soft innocence, a poignant connection between two souls entwined in a tender moment of forgiveness. Espresso's hands traced a slow path from Madeleine's face down to his waist. The touch was both gentle and reassuring for both of them, fingers dancing across the lines of Madeleine's form.
Madeleine broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Espresso’s. Their breaths mingled, creating a shared space of intimacy. “No more apologies, mon coco,” he whispered.
Espresso nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Agreed,” he murmured, and they stayed there, forehead against forehead, bodies pressed together, savoring the silent language of love that bound them.
But tranquility only held its reign for so long. The gentle moment shattered when a low grumble echoed through the room—Espresso's stomach, a reminder of the dinner that never quite made it to their stomachs. Laughter bubbled up from both of them.
Madeleine grinned, tone bright and teasing, “We better hurry before you get all hangry,” eliciting an indignant scoff and an eye roll from Espresso, who laughed along anyway.
“I can make us something,” Espresso suggested, turning to break the embrace, but Madeleine grabbed his shoulders.
“No. I can make us something,” he insisted, a determination shining in his eyes, not unlike from earlier in the afternoon.
Espresso chuckled nervously, saying it was fine, but Madeleine persisted. Hungry and admittedly pretty tired, Espresso gave in. In no more than five minutes, they found themselves in the kitchen, with Espresso working on pasta to ensure it wouldn't end up overcooked, and Madeleine expertly crafting a sauce.
They chatted. Espresso slowly stirred the pasta to keep it from sticking to itself, and Madeleine was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Espresso thought he looked quite attractive with how undone and crumpled his shirt had become, alongside his loosening ponytail. Madeleine didn’t notice Espresso’s blatant ogling, too caught up in his typical passionate storytelling.
As the aromatic blend filled the kitchen, Espresso put down his spatula and sought out their strainer. With his face buried in a cabinet, Espresso asked, “Where is this recipe from?”
When Espresso pulled his face back out and glanced over at his boyfriend, he found him softly smiling, eyes full of an adoration reserved for someone irreplaceable. “My maman used to make it for me when I was younger. When I was learning how to make it, she always told me to measure with my heart. That way, I’ll never make it wrong.”
Espresso cooed, genuinely endeared, and playfully teased Madeleine about his imagined younger self being a dorky little French boy. Madeleine blushed and tried to deflect, flicking a dismissive hand in Espresso’s face, “Ah, enough!”
Once dinner was served for the second time that night, they transitioned to the sofa, and they ate pressed up against each other's side. They easily engage in casual conversation about their day, with Madeleine still doing most of the yapping.
Espresso, being a fast eater, finished first. He gazed at Madeleine, who was still eating, using a hand to help describe an encounter he had with Raspberry the other day.
Espresso hummed, nodding, half-listening as he dragged his eyes over Madeleine’s form. As he gazed, he caught sight of a dried-up ingredient on Madeleine's collarbone. Without a word, Espresso reached out and wiped it away, causing Madeleine to stop mid-sentence in confusion.
“What is it? What was that?” Madeleine questioned.
Espresso just smiled fondly, shook his head, and said, “It's nothing.”