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v3 oneshot: gift
"We're closed," Leonie says, arms crossed, somehow standing taller than she actually is through sheer willpower alone.
Claude watches from the counter, while making it seem like he's not watching at all. It's easy to do his hands are on automatic: cleaning the counter, storing away cups and straws to the side, double checking that the pastry case has been cleared out. Stuff he doesn't have to think hard about. That's important, because what's happening before him requires a lot more of his genuine attention.
The stand off has been lasting for ten minutes, now. They were closing for the night, store empty and machines shut off, but some woman had come running right as Ignatz had gone to flip the front door sign. The door hadn't been locked yet, and so there had been nothing stopping her from slamming it open... and knocking Ignatz right off his feet onto the floor. Fortunately, when Claude had rushed over, he hadn't found any scratches. Probably no bruises. He'd double checked.
Both of them are behind the counter, now, watching as Leonie squares off against some middle aged woman who looks like she should be the villain to the plucky protagonist in some kid's movie, a fact which has apparently decided her entire future in terms of how she interacts with other people. It's like an Almyran Stand-off, the way she's glaring at Leonie in clear frustration.
Their problem never-a-customer-again has been trying to toss everything she possibly can at Leonie, Claude is pretty sure. It's almost a mystery as to why. "One quick drink", as the woman had called it, surely can't be worth all this time. But Claude is pretty sure that, at this rate, it has nothing to do with the drink. Now, it's no doubt more out of pride, or spite, or both, than any genuine need for caffeine.
Unfortunately for this lady, she's really picked the wrong jock to try this with, and on the wrong day. Sure, Leonie would be an obstacle enough for the rogue pissy customer. While Claude takes up a lot of the leadership in the Golden Deer, despite not being a manager, Leonie has always viewed herself as a 'Retail Shield' of sorts.
She always wants to deal with the worst herself, because she's always hated seeing people mistreat those in customer service and retail. Claude is pretty sure her parents have had to do that kind of thankless work for ages. This isn't something Leonie has recently had to deal with; she's had front row seats to retail horror stories her entire life.
The only problem with Leonie being a "shield" is that sometimes this makes it seem like she might snap, leap forward, and get the cops get called on them when she soundly pummels some asshole with douchebag shades. Oh, normally she's pretty good, yeah. She has a solid head on her shoulders, a down to earth personality. Still. There are moments. And for moments like this, well, normally Claude would intervenet, slide into place and placate the problem with a smile and some charming words. You know, keep them all from getting arrested or blood on the floor...
But like he said. This lady picked the wrong day. Because it's been A Day, and they're all too exhausted to really give a fuck.
Sure, Claude had always sort of known that it would be busy today. A guy like him, he keeps his finger on the pulse of the city. He knew that some really famous horror-mystery writer was in the bookstore a couple of blocks down the street. This is the same day that a different famous person, a singer of some sort, was going to show up at a television show, some little news segment, and, well, people come in droves for that, of course... And then there's the convention at the nearest convention hall. While not open just yet, all the actual staff members and people setting up stalls have wandered in looking dead to the world, in desperate need of coffee.
None of that, individually, is something that Claude minds. Hell, theoretically, he doesn't even mind all of it happening in very close proximity to one another, on the same day, apparently all at the same time. That is, of course, assuming that human beings can remember that they are dealing with other human beings instead of just emotionless and brainless things that give them coffee in exchange for paper that pretends to mean something. (Or, occasionally, plastic that pretends even harder.)
It's... Gods. It's been a day. There is almost really nothing more that he can say in regards to that, and anyone else who has ever been in customer service likely understands. All the work is one thing; that's enough to completely exhaust them. But then everything else that happened in the interim. Apparently everything happened in the interim.
Claude can't speak for everything that Leonie and Ignatz have experienced today ever since they all arrived for their shifts, but him? Oh, he has enough stories to make up a book. Multiple stoners kept trying to light up in the bathroom. He had to convince a couple in the middle of a nasty break up to please leave. A fist fight broke up between two rival bridal store employees whose store are right across from each other, but decided to brawl in the local coffee shop. If someone had told him that a person had died in their stockroom, Claude would accept both the occurrence and that he had been too out of it to notice a corpse.
And then there was, of course, just the average shittiness of entitled customers. On the bright side, other not-entitled customers have stuffed their tip jars to the bursting. This is thanks to Ignatz, who drew up some sports team logos on the jaws so that people could "vote" in support of their fave. Thank god for artist ingenuity and the familiarity of being poor.
So yeah, they're all bone tired and have had to put up with more nonsense than any employee needs to deal with in a week, let alone all in the same day. While their piss-and-vinegar "guest" tries to yell at Leonie some more to see if the girl will say anything besides "We're closed", there's the dangerous sound of high heels clicking on coffee store tile. A voice rises up from the staff area. "What on earth is all this racket?"
Claude is grinning wide even before he finishes turning around to face the Golden Deer's one and only manager. "Hey, Manuela! We just got a customer who came through literally as Ignatz was closing up for the night!"
There is something delightfully beautiful about having Manuela as their manager. Oh, it has nothing to do with the way she looks, which Claude would say is more than lovely enough. It's definitely earned her a great many dates (although she's kept none of them). She has a wonderful singing voice, too, which she's treated them all to for fun on certain holiday nights when they close up.
There's even something to appreciate in the fact that she's the kind of woman who believes that high heels are something one wears to a cafe manager job - although, granted, she's a manager. She can get away with this kind of thing. Those same heels are a warning click as she comes through the small door connecting the prep area to the small amount of dining space the Golden Deer has.
Vipers like their problem customer can practically smell management from a mile away; this one in particular almost seems to swell up at the sight of Manuela. Behind his back, Claude can hear Ignatz give a quiet sigh. Well, Claude can hear it, but their not-a-customer obviously doesn't, because she launches right into her spiel about how terribly she's been treated and can Manuela believe this, such terrible customer service-
Manuela raises up a hand right in the middle of it all, cutting the other off quite soundly. Or maybe that's the grimace he can see passing over Manuela's face. She won't say it, not out loud, where this kind of person can hear it, but Claude knows it's because she only just got over her hangover headache maybe an hour ago. She doesn't need something else to start it up again.
"So let me get this straight," Manuela says, sighing. "It is...." She flicks out her wrist, checking her watch. "Good goddess, it's this late already?"
Already predicting that this may not go as she thought it would when confronting a manager, their uninvited guest falters. That's a good sign. When it comes to problem customers, it's the ones who get more obstinate that become problems, even when faced with Leonie's willfulness or Claude's charm or Ignatz's politeness. Fortunately, it's not any of them this lady is dealing with. She tries again. "I just want some compensation for this rude bullshit-"
"Well, you're not getting it," Manuela scoffs, holding her head high - something she can do thanks to the height her heels gives her. Is that actually a tactical choice? Intriguing if so. "Listen, lady, you saw our employee flip the sign that we were closed, but you forced your way in anyway." Does Manuela actually know if that's true or not? Doesn't matter. Judging by the befuddled look on her opponent's face, this chick can't recall if that was the case either. "We're under no obligation to serve you. Find a Starbucks that's masochistic enough."
For one hopeful second, Claude thinks she's going to leave... but apparently there's a hidden well of obstinance in her, because she puffs up a second later and says words that would spell doom in any other place. "I'm calling corporate."
"Go for it," Manuela says.
There's a beat in the conversation.
Manuela sighs and ferrets out a card from somewhere on her person. Claude has no idea where. Manuela only has pockets when she's wearing an apron. Sure, she had to wear one earlier when she was helping out with the rush, but she's sure as hell not wearing one now. "Listen, here's a company card. Call right now if you like! But trust me, sweetheart." She leans in close, and winks. "They'll side with me."
It's hard to argue against confidence like that. With the card clutched in her hand and a look of confusion stretched over her face, the wannabe shitstirrer wavers for only a second. "Fuck you!" she finally snaps, the words of a real winner, before she whirls around to storm out of the Golden Deer. She flings the card onto the floor as she goes.
All of them wait for a breath, just to make sure she doesn't whirl back in, before Claude whistles out a breath and Leonie goes to grab the card. Free of looking like a decent member of society who has her life together, Manuela lets out a moan of frustration and wobbles back to one of the tables. None of the confident clacking from before. "Yeesh! Trust there to always be one last prick before this already shitty night ends!"
Off to the side, Ignatz hastily whips her up some hot chocolate - the easiest thing to make when their other stuff has been cleaned up and put away at this point. They had a lot of downtime while waiting for Leonie to either successfully chase off the shitty interloper or get into a brawl, after all.
Leaning against the counter, now relaxed, Claude grins over to where Manuela is sprawled ungracefully in a chair. "You know," he says conversationally, "you really gotta tell me about the person who that card actually directs people to." They all know it's not actually corporate, after all.
But that brings more questions than an answer. Did Manuela actually pay for fake Golden Deer business cards? Did the other person pay for them? What kind of person is willing to fake being the corporate help desk for a smalltime coffee store? Do they get paid for it? How do they know to answer like a corporate help desk? Is there a code? He needs to know.
This isn't the first time he's asked Manuela this question, however, but the repetition of it makes her smile a little, and she winks. "My beloved B.A.E. isn't someone who I can give away just like that! Maybe if you become manager like I've been begging you to be all this time, Claude, I'll give you the number and you can finally have all that power."
"Oh, gods, no," Claude says, and earns Manuela's peels of laughter before Ignatz manages to get the hot chocolate over to her.
Blessedly, no other disasters happen as they finish cleaning, and the til checks out completely. While Manuela locks up, the rest of them sticking around out of solidarity and because they actually like her as a manager, she glances back at Claude. "You moved in with your man a couple of months ago, didn't you, Claude?" she asks, the wording of which tickles him, honestly. His man. It sounds so old fashioned, like he's a 1920s flapper or something.
But, right, her question. He rolls his neck, wondering if his feet can even last him the short trip to his apartment. "Yeah, I did. You sent us more of that champagne - he really likes it, by the way, he said thanks."
Manuela turns around, preening. "Well, of course he did, I chose it. I have excellent taste when it comes to drinks- and I mean that literally. Of course I know of the kind that aren't alcoholic." She shakes her head. "No, wait, that's not what I meant to talk about." Shaking her head, she shoos him off down the street. "I meant to say you shouldn't be hanging around here when you have a hot stud waiting for you at home! Go on, Claude, stop being so responsible and enjoy your youth!"
He laughs, trying to look over his shoulder at his coworkers. Ignatz is watching all of this with a smile behind one hand, and Leonie is grinning as well.. Although maybe it's not Manuela's antics that are making her smile, but the text she's gotten on her phone. He knows that smile, and can hazard a guess who won't be at the apartment tonight. "Well, I guess that's an order from the boss. Make sure none of you bruises, alright, Ignatz?"
"I've told you before that I'm a little tougher than that, I think, Claude," Ignatz tells him, smiling. "Maybe not by much..." That's around the time that Leonie, the person who's held up the best being on her feet and doing manual labor out of all of them, smacks his back, and Ignatz nearly crumples to the ground as she hastily catches him.
"Oh, sorry, sorry! I didn't think I hit you that hard!" Grinning sheepishly, she looks up at Claude. "Anyway, stay safe on the way home, alright, Claude? We'll see you later!"
Trying not to laugh too hard, Claude waves everyone off. "I'll see you tomorrow, assuming we haven't all died by then of over-exhaustion! Well, we know Leonie won't, but I'll keep you in my prayers, Ignatz!" And he turns away, laughing with what energy he has left after a day like today.
Honestly, making the move into Dimitri's apartment definitely has been one of the better decisions of his adult life, he reflects, forcing his bone-tired feet to keep him moving. The night is kept comfortingly illuminated by street lights, and business that still keep going even long after a little coffee shop closes. The proximity of the apartments to Claude's job, so much closer than his old apartment, would be worth it all alone.
But the place is good, too, with no need to worry about being mugged on a pleasant summer evening. Sure, there's other things to worry about, that he doubts any of his friends have thought about, with him living in such a nice neighborhood... but Dedue seems to be doing fine from what he's heard, so Claude tries not to think too much on it if he doesn't have reason to.
Regardless, it's comforting to be in the lobby, and even better when he's in the elevator as the doors slide shut. Leaning against the bars along the wall, Claude fights the urge to close his eyes. Everything has just happened so much today... He knows that if he closes his eyes now, in the elevator, there's a chance he'll fall unconscious right there. While a struggle, he manages to keep awake all the way to his floor, and he shuffles down the hall to home sweet home.
On the way down, he of course passes by Team DAAM's apartment, and he can't help but cock his head to the side as he does so. There's the muffled and distant sound of conversation, buzzing - must be watching television, whoever is there. On other nights, he's occasionally dropped by just to say hi, but not tonight. Tonight, he's just glad they all seem to be doing well, and fumbles for his keys.
The apartment isn't completely dark when he slides in, although it is a bit dimmer than usual - definitely dimmer than if Hilda were home. A couple of pots and a pan have been left to gently warm on the stovetop. Toeing out of his shoes, Claude gives a sharp whistle to the hollowness of the apartment. "Hey, anybody home?"
Nothing from the top level that Hilda has claimed, and he wasn't expecting Lorenz to start with... But, still, it's a relief to hear Dimitri's voice come from the depths of the apartment. "I'm in our room!"
Thank goodness. If Dimitri weren't inside, then the only other alternative at this time of night would be over at Team DAAM's place, and Claude doesn't feel up to walking anymore, even if it's just back down a hallway. Tossing his apron aside over the couch, where he swears he'll pick it up again instead of leaving it around, Claude immediately shuffles deeper into the living space and around to the tiny little hallway leading to their room. And, you know, laundry, and a bathroom, but mostly their room.
"Mityaaaaaaa," Claude whines, dragging his socks along the ground in a way that's wholly unnecessary. "You won't believe the day I've had." His hand finds the door handle. "It was like every single thing in the world had to happen at once." Sweeping one hand through his hair, he sweeps open the door at the same time. "It was only me and-" Aaaand that's around the time he freezes for a split second as his brain takes in what's waiting for him in his and Dimitri's bedroom.
It's Dimitri. That's normal. What is decidedly not anywhere even near the norm would be the fact that he's almost completely bare ass nude, seated on the edge of their bed as he faces the doorway that Claude has just taken one step into.
Sleeping in the nude without the prior action of sex might be the norm for some people, but it sure as hell isn't for Dimitri. Dimitri is one of those people who has actually proper sleepwear - not tee shirt and jogging pants like the average person, but an actual matching (and incredibly soft) set of blue clothes that he does his absolute best to remember to wear before he tucks in for the night. It doesn't always work, especially if Claude is persuasive, but he tries.
No sleepwear tonight. No cozy matching set of blue shirt with blue pants. No tee shirt with an old rock band slogan on it and jeans because he accidentally dozed off while trying to figure out figures for his job. Just his impressive chest that Claude loves to bury his face against, those sinfully beautiful abs all tensed up that he's run his hands all over more than once, and then, down below... The reason Claude can only say he's almost completely bare ass nude instead of fully.
It's Dimitri's dick. Erect. Hot as always. With a red ribbon tied around it and topped with a bow, right beneath the very head.
Claude makes a noise that, to his own ears, sounds not too unlike a squeaky dog toy's dying breaths before his shoulder hits the doorframe, fingers scrambling for purchase, and he promptly loses his shit.
He'll be honest, things get a little blurry after that. Literally, as tears of pure unfiltered mirth begin to fill his eyes. It makes it impossible to see anything but blurs of color. Laughing so hard hurts, even moreso when he's been aching from the coffee shop rush he's only recently been freed from, but this hurt? This hurt is a good one. He thinks that even as both his hands fail to keep him upright, and he begins to slide downwards.
Against all odds, Claude doesn't crumple up against the floor. This is impressive considering he's in such a state that he'd absolutely expect himself to be lost to a laughter coma. Like that, he'd expect to wake up just face down in a puddle of his own tears and spit.
He doesn't, because a pair of large familiar hands get him by the shoulders. Gently, they lift him up until he's resting against Dimitri's shoulder, although his knees still dig into the floor. "Claude!"
Even as his laughter strains wonderfully against his ribs, Claude feels something a little warmer and softer blossom behind it, too. There's no describing this kind of love. It's not even the romance of it. Just the... general feeling of it, how lovely it is to be wrapped up so neatly in the warm emotion as Dimitri does the same thing, but literally, with his arms.
But then he looks down and sees the way Dimitri's dick bobs, bow jauntily tied around it still, and he makes a high keening noise that shatters into more laughter he promptly muffles with Dimitri's shoulder.
Maybe a couple of minutes later, with tears streaked across Dimitri's collarbone, and Claude finally manages to look at it again without absolutely losing it. Immediately, he makes a small noise of mingled giggles and despair. "Oh nooo, it's going limp. Don't go, buddy."
"Don't talk to my penis," Dimitri admonishes gently. "Do you feel like you can actually talk to a person now?"
Resisting the urge to reach down for Dimitri's dick - it would be mean to get him all worked up tonight, or at least worked up again, apparently - Claude rolls his head back to grin at him. He can see Dimitri's heart practically soften in real time. "Only if you tell me why you're sitting on our bed naked with a bow around your erect penis."
Dimitri's face has already been kind of red, ever since Claude first took a step into their bedroom, which makes sense. Again, actual sleepwear kind of guy. It gets a little more red now, as Dimitri tries to fumble out an explanation. "Gifts are not demands, or- obligations. Gifts are freely given, with no expectation attached to them, and can be returned, if they are not satisfactory. But sometimes gifts need to be made identifiable, so..."
If he let him, Claude is sure that Dimitri would keep going, stopping at a point that doesn't really answer the question, at least not directly. It's a part of the schizophrenia, from what Claude understands, the way thoughts or words don't come out entirely connected, or relevant to the conversation at hand. Sylvain is apparently pretty good at unraveling it sometimes, able to figure out roughly what Dimitri might have been trying to say in a game of "five degrees of separation". But even he can't always nail it, and they have to remind him of the question. It takes a bit of patience, sometimes.
Tonight he's pretty lucky because it's rather clear to see what Dimitri means right now, and Claude taps his thigh to interrupt him. "So you wanted to give me a gift of dick tonight?" he asks, amused. "What's the special occasion?"
Understanding that he was going off track a little bit, Dimitri pauses. Granted, that doesn't necessarily mean his next words always come out as they should be. Another lucky night, because he manages to explain well enough. "Earlier today I thought about dropping by the Golden Deer to see how you were doing. Perhaps get a frappe. But then I saw how filled up the dining area was, and how long the line had become. I thought you might be exhausted, since it didn't seem like it was going to stop anytime soon."
With his free hand, the one not ensuring Claude avoids meeting the floor with his face, Dimitri rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "I know you've... said that you like it when I take the lead, and make it so that you can't think anymore. So I thought, well, I could do that tonight for you. It would tire you out, and you could... go to sleep quickly."
With that explanation given, Dimitri drops his hand in a vague sort of gesture and just... stares at Claude pointedly, mouth scrunched up a little like he's waiting for him to agree that everything makes complete sense.
Claude doesn't think he could adore a man more, and he smiles. "I love you so much, Mitya," he sighs, feeling worn out but in all the ways he'd ever want. Dimitri's eye gains that painfully soft and loving look in turn. If he had a little more energy, Claude would kiss him. "But tonight... I just wanna cuddle."
Dimitri lights up like a harvest moon, warm and brilliant and comforting. "Of course," he murmurs, pressing his nose into Claude's hair. "I prepared for that idea, too. Let's get you undressed." Already he's gathering Claude up into his arms, heaving himself up with his legs. "I washed one of the better blankets for today."
Sighing in bliss at the idea of a warm and fluffy blanket, Claude nonetheless manages a playful grin into the crook of Dimitri's neck. "And get the ribbon off your cock? I'll love to see it again sometime."
"Hush, you. Maybe another time."
And Claude hushes, gladly. He stays silent while he drapes himself across their bed, Dimitri gingerly peeling his pants off of his hips, his shirt from his body, and only makes a soft laugh when Dimitri presses a gentle kiss along the curve of his jaw. There is nothing better than being silent as Dimitri fetches the blanket he promised like an excitable puppy. Claude is already drowning in some of his old shirts; being wrapped up snugly in a warm blanket means he's pretty sure he could fall asleep just like this.
He doesn't fall asleep, although it takes some effort, and effort is the last thing he wants to do right now. Instead, Claude forces himself to stay conscious as Dimitri sets him along their couch, in front of the television. He gets one of Claude's favorite MST3K movies - the kind where he can laugh freely, and not have to pay too much attention to whatever silly nonsense pretends it's a plot.
It's nice to watch, amusing, but he much prefers forcing himself upright after a few minutes, as a familiar and comforting smell wafts in from the kitchen. It's rice, and spices, and the sight of Dimitri glowering down as he carefully works over the pots and pan. Even at a distance, Claude can tell what he's arranging into a pair of bowls.
"Punjabi kadhi?" he murmurs when Dimitri is done. He's missing a little bit of the movie, but it just started. It's fine. "Since when did you learn how to make that, Mitya?"
Carefully balancing the bowls in his hands, Dimitri beams at the praise. "I've been visiting Ashe, on his days off. He's been wanting to practice Duscian cuisine for Dedue, and he thought we might be able to practice two cuisines at the same time. Well, I imagine he's finding more use out of it than I am, considering how good he is in the kitchen... but I think it's come out well enough?"
There's occasionally a question mark on the end of Dimitri's tongue when he talks about how something tastes. Claude has noticed that, over the years. Not all the time, sure, but sometimes. This is especially true when it comes to things he's made, where occasionally then becomes often.
And Claude won't lie, Dimitri seems to have a pretty broad palate when it comes to food, to the point that he seems like he'll eat just about anything with no regrets, even when it makes even so-polite-always-cleans-his-plate Lorenz pause. It's texture, and smell, that Dimitri pays attention to.
But the bowls he sets down in front of them, on the coffee table... Claude immediately reaches for his own, taking in a deep breath of the scent and nearly purring in bliss. "If this is how it smells, then I can't wait to eat it," he tells his boyfriend, and bathes in the brilliant look of relief and delight that crosses Dimitri's face. In a lifted mood, glad as always to have made someone he loves happy, Dimitri settles down besides him, and Claude leans against his sturdy body.
He'll always love that Dimitri tries. That he dedicates himself fully to doing the most he can for anyone he loves, that he'll try things that he knows makes Claude laugh or light up or smile. But he doesn't need any of that. Not really.
All he really feel he needs is... this. Wrapped up and warm, not only from the freshly dried blanket around his body, not only from the comforting food resting in his stomach, but from Dimitri simply being here, with him. With him.
Sometimes, it feels like he doesn't need food at all, when it's just him and Dimitri sitting together, watching a silly old movie be mocked by a dude with some robots.
Claude isn't sure when he starts to doze off. He barely remembers when he wakes up long enough to greet Hilda, when she comes home from wherever Dimitri begged her go for the night. All he remembers is the reassuring smell of Dimitri, that little bit of cologne he always wears just because he caved to a mall salesman once for a sample and Claude said he liked it. He does. He likes having something he can associate with Dimitri whenever he takes a breath, even when Dimitri isn't there.
Tonight, he doesn't have to worry about that. Tonight, when he wakes up a little later, sleep schedule thrown off enough for it to be a matter of time, it's to Dimitri's peaceful sleeping face. It's in his arms, in their room, everything warm.
Claude smiles, and closes his eyes again.
Claude watches from the counter, while making it seem like he's not watching at all. It's easy to do his hands are on automatic: cleaning the counter, storing away cups and straws to the side, double checking that the pastry case has been cleared out. Stuff he doesn't have to think hard about. That's important, because what's happening before him requires a lot more of his genuine attention.
The stand off has been lasting for ten minutes, now. They were closing for the night, store empty and machines shut off, but some woman had come running right as Ignatz had gone to flip the front door sign. The door hadn't been locked yet, and so there had been nothing stopping her from slamming it open... and knocking Ignatz right off his feet onto the floor. Fortunately, when Claude had rushed over, he hadn't found any scratches. Probably no bruises. He'd double checked.
Both of them are behind the counter, now, watching as Leonie squares off against some middle aged woman who looks like she should be the villain to the plucky protagonist in some kid's movie, a fact which has apparently decided her entire future in terms of how she interacts with other people. It's like an Almyran Stand-off, the way she's glaring at Leonie in clear frustration.
Their problem never-a-customer-again has been trying to toss everything she possibly can at Leonie, Claude is pretty sure. It's almost a mystery as to why. "One quick drink", as the woman had called it, surely can't be worth all this time. But Claude is pretty sure that, at this rate, it has nothing to do with the drink. Now, it's no doubt more out of pride, or spite, or both, than any genuine need for caffeine.
Unfortunately for this lady, she's really picked the wrong jock to try this with, and on the wrong day. Sure, Leonie would be an obstacle enough for the rogue pissy customer. While Claude takes up a lot of the leadership in the Golden Deer, despite not being a manager, Leonie has always viewed herself as a 'Retail Shield' of sorts.
She always wants to deal with the worst herself, because she's always hated seeing people mistreat those in customer service and retail. Claude is pretty sure her parents have had to do that kind of thankless work for ages. This isn't something Leonie has recently had to deal with; she's had front row seats to retail horror stories her entire life.
The only problem with Leonie being a "shield" is that sometimes this makes it seem like she might snap, leap forward, and get the cops get called on them when she soundly pummels some asshole with douchebag shades. Oh, normally she's pretty good, yeah. She has a solid head on her shoulders, a down to earth personality. Still. There are moments. And for moments like this, well, normally Claude would intervenet, slide into place and placate the problem with a smile and some charming words. You know, keep them all from getting arrested or blood on the floor...
But like he said. This lady picked the wrong day. Because it's been A Day, and they're all too exhausted to really give a fuck.
Sure, Claude had always sort of known that it would be busy today. A guy like him, he keeps his finger on the pulse of the city. He knew that some really famous horror-mystery writer was in the bookstore a couple of blocks down the street. This is the same day that a different famous person, a singer of some sort, was going to show up at a television show, some little news segment, and, well, people come in droves for that, of course... And then there's the convention at the nearest convention hall. While not open just yet, all the actual staff members and people setting up stalls have wandered in looking dead to the world, in desperate need of coffee.
None of that, individually, is something that Claude minds. Hell, theoretically, he doesn't even mind all of it happening in very close proximity to one another, on the same day, apparently all at the same time. That is, of course, assuming that human beings can remember that they are dealing with other human beings instead of just emotionless and brainless things that give them coffee in exchange for paper that pretends to mean something. (Or, occasionally, plastic that pretends even harder.)
It's... Gods. It's been a day. There is almost really nothing more that he can say in regards to that, and anyone else who has ever been in customer service likely understands. All the work is one thing; that's enough to completely exhaust them. But then everything else that happened in the interim. Apparently everything happened in the interim.
Claude can't speak for everything that Leonie and Ignatz have experienced today ever since they all arrived for their shifts, but him? Oh, he has enough stories to make up a book. Multiple stoners kept trying to light up in the bathroom. He had to convince a couple in the middle of a nasty break up to please leave. A fist fight broke up between two rival bridal store employees whose store are right across from each other, but decided to brawl in the local coffee shop. If someone had told him that a person had died in their stockroom, Claude would accept both the occurrence and that he had been too out of it to notice a corpse.
And then there was, of course, just the average shittiness of entitled customers. On the bright side, other not-entitled customers have stuffed their tip jars to the bursting. This is thanks to Ignatz, who drew up some sports team logos on the jaws so that people could "vote" in support of their fave. Thank god for artist ingenuity and the familiarity of being poor.
So yeah, they're all bone tired and have had to put up with more nonsense than any employee needs to deal with in a week, let alone all in the same day. While their piss-and-vinegar "guest" tries to yell at Leonie some more to see if the girl will say anything besides "We're closed", there's the dangerous sound of high heels clicking on coffee store tile. A voice rises up from the staff area. "What on earth is all this racket?"
Claude is grinning wide even before he finishes turning around to face the Golden Deer's one and only manager. "Hey, Manuela! We just got a customer who came through literally as Ignatz was closing up for the night!"
There is something delightfully beautiful about having Manuela as their manager. Oh, it has nothing to do with the way she looks, which Claude would say is more than lovely enough. It's definitely earned her a great many dates (although she's kept none of them). She has a wonderful singing voice, too, which she's treated them all to for fun on certain holiday nights when they close up.
There's even something to appreciate in the fact that she's the kind of woman who believes that high heels are something one wears to a cafe manager job - although, granted, she's a manager. She can get away with this kind of thing. Those same heels are a warning click as she comes through the small door connecting the prep area to the small amount of dining space the Golden Deer has.
Vipers like their problem customer can practically smell management from a mile away; this one in particular almost seems to swell up at the sight of Manuela. Behind his back, Claude can hear Ignatz give a quiet sigh. Well, Claude can hear it, but their not-a-customer obviously doesn't, because she launches right into her spiel about how terribly she's been treated and can Manuela believe this, such terrible customer service-
Manuela raises up a hand right in the middle of it all, cutting the other off quite soundly. Or maybe that's the grimace he can see passing over Manuela's face. She won't say it, not out loud, where this kind of person can hear it, but Claude knows it's because she only just got over her hangover headache maybe an hour ago. She doesn't need something else to start it up again.
"So let me get this straight," Manuela says, sighing. "It is...." She flicks out her wrist, checking her watch. "Good goddess, it's this late already?"
Already predicting that this may not go as she thought it would when confronting a manager, their uninvited guest falters. That's a good sign. When it comes to problem customers, it's the ones who get more obstinate that become problems, even when faced with Leonie's willfulness or Claude's charm or Ignatz's politeness. Fortunately, it's not any of them this lady is dealing with. She tries again. "I just want some compensation for this rude bullshit-"
"Well, you're not getting it," Manuela scoffs, holding her head high - something she can do thanks to the height her heels gives her. Is that actually a tactical choice? Intriguing if so. "Listen, lady, you saw our employee flip the sign that we were closed, but you forced your way in anyway." Does Manuela actually know if that's true or not? Doesn't matter. Judging by the befuddled look on her opponent's face, this chick can't recall if that was the case either. "We're under no obligation to serve you. Find a Starbucks that's masochistic enough."
For one hopeful second, Claude thinks she's going to leave... but apparently there's a hidden well of obstinance in her, because she puffs up a second later and says words that would spell doom in any other place. "I'm calling corporate."
"Go for it," Manuela says.
There's a beat in the conversation.
Manuela sighs and ferrets out a card from somewhere on her person. Claude has no idea where. Manuela only has pockets when she's wearing an apron. Sure, she had to wear one earlier when she was helping out with the rush, but she's sure as hell not wearing one now. "Listen, here's a company card. Call right now if you like! But trust me, sweetheart." She leans in close, and winks. "They'll side with me."
It's hard to argue against confidence like that. With the card clutched in her hand and a look of confusion stretched over her face, the wannabe shitstirrer wavers for only a second. "Fuck you!" she finally snaps, the words of a real winner, before she whirls around to storm out of the Golden Deer. She flings the card onto the floor as she goes.
All of them wait for a breath, just to make sure she doesn't whirl back in, before Claude whistles out a breath and Leonie goes to grab the card. Free of looking like a decent member of society who has her life together, Manuela lets out a moan of frustration and wobbles back to one of the tables. None of the confident clacking from before. "Yeesh! Trust there to always be one last prick before this already shitty night ends!"
Off to the side, Ignatz hastily whips her up some hot chocolate - the easiest thing to make when their other stuff has been cleaned up and put away at this point. They had a lot of downtime while waiting for Leonie to either successfully chase off the shitty interloper or get into a brawl, after all.
Leaning against the counter, now relaxed, Claude grins over to where Manuela is sprawled ungracefully in a chair. "You know," he says conversationally, "you really gotta tell me about the person who that card actually directs people to." They all know it's not actually corporate, after all.
But that brings more questions than an answer. Did Manuela actually pay for fake Golden Deer business cards? Did the other person pay for them? What kind of person is willing to fake being the corporate help desk for a smalltime coffee store? Do they get paid for it? How do they know to answer like a corporate help desk? Is there a code? He needs to know.
This isn't the first time he's asked Manuela this question, however, but the repetition of it makes her smile a little, and she winks. "My beloved B.A.E. isn't someone who I can give away just like that! Maybe if you become manager like I've been begging you to be all this time, Claude, I'll give you the number and you can finally have all that power."
"Oh, gods, no," Claude says, and earns Manuela's peels of laughter before Ignatz manages to get the hot chocolate over to her.
Blessedly, no other disasters happen as they finish cleaning, and the til checks out completely. While Manuela locks up, the rest of them sticking around out of solidarity and because they actually like her as a manager, she glances back at Claude. "You moved in with your man a couple of months ago, didn't you, Claude?" she asks, the wording of which tickles him, honestly. His man. It sounds so old fashioned, like he's a 1920s flapper or something.
But, right, her question. He rolls his neck, wondering if his feet can even last him the short trip to his apartment. "Yeah, I did. You sent us more of that champagne - he really likes it, by the way, he said thanks."
Manuela turns around, preening. "Well, of course he did, I chose it. I have excellent taste when it comes to drinks- and I mean that literally. Of course I know of the kind that aren't alcoholic." She shakes her head. "No, wait, that's not what I meant to talk about." Shaking her head, she shoos him off down the street. "I meant to say you shouldn't be hanging around here when you have a hot stud waiting for you at home! Go on, Claude, stop being so responsible and enjoy your youth!"
He laughs, trying to look over his shoulder at his coworkers. Ignatz is watching all of this with a smile behind one hand, and Leonie is grinning as well.. Although maybe it's not Manuela's antics that are making her smile, but the text she's gotten on her phone. He knows that smile, and can hazard a guess who won't be at the apartment tonight. "Well, I guess that's an order from the boss. Make sure none of you bruises, alright, Ignatz?"
"I've told you before that I'm a little tougher than that, I think, Claude," Ignatz tells him, smiling. "Maybe not by much..." That's around the time that Leonie, the person who's held up the best being on her feet and doing manual labor out of all of them, smacks his back, and Ignatz nearly crumples to the ground as she hastily catches him.
"Oh, sorry, sorry! I didn't think I hit you that hard!" Grinning sheepishly, she looks up at Claude. "Anyway, stay safe on the way home, alright, Claude? We'll see you later!"
Trying not to laugh too hard, Claude waves everyone off. "I'll see you tomorrow, assuming we haven't all died by then of over-exhaustion! Well, we know Leonie won't, but I'll keep you in my prayers, Ignatz!" And he turns away, laughing with what energy he has left after a day like today.
Honestly, making the move into Dimitri's apartment definitely has been one of the better decisions of his adult life, he reflects, forcing his bone-tired feet to keep him moving. The night is kept comfortingly illuminated by street lights, and business that still keep going even long after a little coffee shop closes. The proximity of the apartments to Claude's job, so much closer than his old apartment, would be worth it all alone.
But the place is good, too, with no need to worry about being mugged on a pleasant summer evening. Sure, there's other things to worry about, that he doubts any of his friends have thought about, with him living in such a nice neighborhood... but Dedue seems to be doing fine from what he's heard, so Claude tries not to think too much on it if he doesn't have reason to.
Regardless, it's comforting to be in the lobby, and even better when he's in the elevator as the doors slide shut. Leaning against the bars along the wall, Claude fights the urge to close his eyes. Everything has just happened so much today... He knows that if he closes his eyes now, in the elevator, there's a chance he'll fall unconscious right there. While a struggle, he manages to keep awake all the way to his floor, and he shuffles down the hall to home sweet home.
On the way down, he of course passes by Team DAAM's apartment, and he can't help but cock his head to the side as he does so. There's the muffled and distant sound of conversation, buzzing - must be watching television, whoever is there. On other nights, he's occasionally dropped by just to say hi, but not tonight. Tonight, he's just glad they all seem to be doing well, and fumbles for his keys.
The apartment isn't completely dark when he slides in, although it is a bit dimmer than usual - definitely dimmer than if Hilda were home. A couple of pots and a pan have been left to gently warm on the stovetop. Toeing out of his shoes, Claude gives a sharp whistle to the hollowness of the apartment. "Hey, anybody home?"
Nothing from the top level that Hilda has claimed, and he wasn't expecting Lorenz to start with... But, still, it's a relief to hear Dimitri's voice come from the depths of the apartment. "I'm in our room!"
Thank goodness. If Dimitri weren't inside, then the only other alternative at this time of night would be over at Team DAAM's place, and Claude doesn't feel up to walking anymore, even if it's just back down a hallway. Tossing his apron aside over the couch, where he swears he'll pick it up again instead of leaving it around, Claude immediately shuffles deeper into the living space and around to the tiny little hallway leading to their room. And, you know, laundry, and a bathroom, but mostly their room.
"Mityaaaaaaa," Claude whines, dragging his socks along the ground in a way that's wholly unnecessary. "You won't believe the day I've had." His hand finds the door handle. "It was like every single thing in the world had to happen at once." Sweeping one hand through his hair, he sweeps open the door at the same time. "It was only me and-" Aaaand that's around the time he freezes for a split second as his brain takes in what's waiting for him in his and Dimitri's bedroom.
It's Dimitri. That's normal. What is decidedly not anywhere even near the norm would be the fact that he's almost completely bare ass nude, seated on the edge of their bed as he faces the doorway that Claude has just taken one step into.
Sleeping in the nude without the prior action of sex might be the norm for some people, but it sure as hell isn't for Dimitri. Dimitri is one of those people who has actually proper sleepwear - not tee shirt and jogging pants like the average person, but an actual matching (and incredibly soft) set of blue clothes that he does his absolute best to remember to wear before he tucks in for the night. It doesn't always work, especially if Claude is persuasive, but he tries.
No sleepwear tonight. No cozy matching set of blue shirt with blue pants. No tee shirt with an old rock band slogan on it and jeans because he accidentally dozed off while trying to figure out figures for his job. Just his impressive chest that Claude loves to bury his face against, those sinfully beautiful abs all tensed up that he's run his hands all over more than once, and then, down below... The reason Claude can only say he's almost completely bare ass nude instead of fully.
It's Dimitri's dick. Erect. Hot as always. With a red ribbon tied around it and topped with a bow, right beneath the very head.
Claude makes a noise that, to his own ears, sounds not too unlike a squeaky dog toy's dying breaths before his shoulder hits the doorframe, fingers scrambling for purchase, and he promptly loses his shit.
He'll be honest, things get a little blurry after that. Literally, as tears of pure unfiltered mirth begin to fill his eyes. It makes it impossible to see anything but blurs of color. Laughing so hard hurts, even moreso when he's been aching from the coffee shop rush he's only recently been freed from, but this hurt? This hurt is a good one. He thinks that even as both his hands fail to keep him upright, and he begins to slide downwards.
Against all odds, Claude doesn't crumple up against the floor. This is impressive considering he's in such a state that he'd absolutely expect himself to be lost to a laughter coma. Like that, he'd expect to wake up just face down in a puddle of his own tears and spit.
He doesn't, because a pair of large familiar hands get him by the shoulders. Gently, they lift him up until he's resting against Dimitri's shoulder, although his knees still dig into the floor. "Claude!"
Even as his laughter strains wonderfully against his ribs, Claude feels something a little warmer and softer blossom behind it, too. There's no describing this kind of love. It's not even the romance of it. Just the... general feeling of it, how lovely it is to be wrapped up so neatly in the warm emotion as Dimitri does the same thing, but literally, with his arms.
But then he looks down and sees the way Dimitri's dick bobs, bow jauntily tied around it still, and he makes a high keening noise that shatters into more laughter he promptly muffles with Dimitri's shoulder.
Maybe a couple of minutes later, with tears streaked across Dimitri's collarbone, and Claude finally manages to look at it again without absolutely losing it. Immediately, he makes a small noise of mingled giggles and despair. "Oh nooo, it's going limp. Don't go, buddy."
"Don't talk to my penis," Dimitri admonishes gently. "Do you feel like you can actually talk to a person now?"
Resisting the urge to reach down for Dimitri's dick - it would be mean to get him all worked up tonight, or at least worked up again, apparently - Claude rolls his head back to grin at him. He can see Dimitri's heart practically soften in real time. "Only if you tell me why you're sitting on our bed naked with a bow around your erect penis."
Dimitri's face has already been kind of red, ever since Claude first took a step into their bedroom, which makes sense. Again, actual sleepwear kind of guy. It gets a little more red now, as Dimitri tries to fumble out an explanation. "Gifts are not demands, or- obligations. Gifts are freely given, with no expectation attached to them, and can be returned, if they are not satisfactory. But sometimes gifts need to be made identifiable, so..."
If he let him, Claude is sure that Dimitri would keep going, stopping at a point that doesn't really answer the question, at least not directly. It's a part of the schizophrenia, from what Claude understands, the way thoughts or words don't come out entirely connected, or relevant to the conversation at hand. Sylvain is apparently pretty good at unraveling it sometimes, able to figure out roughly what Dimitri might have been trying to say in a game of "five degrees of separation". But even he can't always nail it, and they have to remind him of the question. It takes a bit of patience, sometimes.
Tonight he's pretty lucky because it's rather clear to see what Dimitri means right now, and Claude taps his thigh to interrupt him. "So you wanted to give me a gift of dick tonight?" he asks, amused. "What's the special occasion?"
Understanding that he was going off track a little bit, Dimitri pauses. Granted, that doesn't necessarily mean his next words always come out as they should be. Another lucky night, because he manages to explain well enough. "Earlier today I thought about dropping by the Golden Deer to see how you were doing. Perhaps get a frappe. But then I saw how filled up the dining area was, and how long the line had become. I thought you might be exhausted, since it didn't seem like it was going to stop anytime soon."
With his free hand, the one not ensuring Claude avoids meeting the floor with his face, Dimitri rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "I know you've... said that you like it when I take the lead, and make it so that you can't think anymore. So I thought, well, I could do that tonight for you. It would tire you out, and you could... go to sleep quickly."
With that explanation given, Dimitri drops his hand in a vague sort of gesture and just... stares at Claude pointedly, mouth scrunched up a little like he's waiting for him to agree that everything makes complete sense.
Claude doesn't think he could adore a man more, and he smiles. "I love you so much, Mitya," he sighs, feeling worn out but in all the ways he'd ever want. Dimitri's eye gains that painfully soft and loving look in turn. If he had a little more energy, Claude would kiss him. "But tonight... I just wanna cuddle."
Dimitri lights up like a harvest moon, warm and brilliant and comforting. "Of course," he murmurs, pressing his nose into Claude's hair. "I prepared for that idea, too. Let's get you undressed." Already he's gathering Claude up into his arms, heaving himself up with his legs. "I washed one of the better blankets for today."
Sighing in bliss at the idea of a warm and fluffy blanket, Claude nonetheless manages a playful grin into the crook of Dimitri's neck. "And get the ribbon off your cock? I'll love to see it again sometime."
"Hush, you. Maybe another time."
And Claude hushes, gladly. He stays silent while he drapes himself across their bed, Dimitri gingerly peeling his pants off of his hips, his shirt from his body, and only makes a soft laugh when Dimitri presses a gentle kiss along the curve of his jaw. There is nothing better than being silent as Dimitri fetches the blanket he promised like an excitable puppy. Claude is already drowning in some of his old shirts; being wrapped up snugly in a warm blanket means he's pretty sure he could fall asleep just like this.
He doesn't fall asleep, although it takes some effort, and effort is the last thing he wants to do right now. Instead, Claude forces himself to stay conscious as Dimitri sets him along their couch, in front of the television. He gets one of Claude's favorite MST3K movies - the kind where he can laugh freely, and not have to pay too much attention to whatever silly nonsense pretends it's a plot.
It's nice to watch, amusing, but he much prefers forcing himself upright after a few minutes, as a familiar and comforting smell wafts in from the kitchen. It's rice, and spices, and the sight of Dimitri glowering down as he carefully works over the pots and pan. Even at a distance, Claude can tell what he's arranging into a pair of bowls.
"Punjabi kadhi?" he murmurs when Dimitri is done. He's missing a little bit of the movie, but it just started. It's fine. "Since when did you learn how to make that, Mitya?"
Carefully balancing the bowls in his hands, Dimitri beams at the praise. "I've been visiting Ashe, on his days off. He's been wanting to practice Duscian cuisine for Dedue, and he thought we might be able to practice two cuisines at the same time. Well, I imagine he's finding more use out of it than I am, considering how good he is in the kitchen... but I think it's come out well enough?"
There's occasionally a question mark on the end of Dimitri's tongue when he talks about how something tastes. Claude has noticed that, over the years. Not all the time, sure, but sometimes. This is especially true when it comes to things he's made, where occasionally then becomes often.
And Claude won't lie, Dimitri seems to have a pretty broad palate when it comes to food, to the point that he seems like he'll eat just about anything with no regrets, even when it makes even so-polite-always-cleans-his-plate Lorenz pause. It's texture, and smell, that Dimitri pays attention to.
But the bowls he sets down in front of them, on the coffee table... Claude immediately reaches for his own, taking in a deep breath of the scent and nearly purring in bliss. "If this is how it smells, then I can't wait to eat it," he tells his boyfriend, and bathes in the brilliant look of relief and delight that crosses Dimitri's face. In a lifted mood, glad as always to have made someone he loves happy, Dimitri settles down besides him, and Claude leans against his sturdy body.
He'll always love that Dimitri tries. That he dedicates himself fully to doing the most he can for anyone he loves, that he'll try things that he knows makes Claude laugh or light up or smile. But he doesn't need any of that. Not really.
All he really feel he needs is... this. Wrapped up and warm, not only from the freshly dried blanket around his body, not only from the comforting food resting in his stomach, but from Dimitri simply being here, with him. With him.
Sometimes, it feels like he doesn't need food at all, when it's just him and Dimitri sitting together, watching a silly old movie be mocked by a dude with some robots.
Claude isn't sure when he starts to doze off. He barely remembers when he wakes up long enough to greet Hilda, when she comes home from wherever Dimitri begged her go for the night. All he remembers is the reassuring smell of Dimitri, that little bit of cologne he always wears just because he caved to a mall salesman once for a sample and Claude said he liked it. He does. He likes having something he can associate with Dimitri whenever he takes a breath, even when Dimitri isn't there.
Tonight, he doesn't have to worry about that. Tonight, when he wakes up a little later, sleep schedule thrown off enough for it to be a matter of time, it's to Dimitri's peaceful sleeping face. It's in his arms, in their room, everything warm.
Claude smiles, and closes his eyes again.