Chapter Text
As he carries Delilah with one arm and clings tightly to Archie’s hand with his own, Jack wonders why he even bothers asking them where they want to go out to eat anymore since it’s always, without fail, the same answer. Nando’s isn’t even in Jack’s top five favorite restaurants, but apparently his kids have some kind of love affair with the place. Or rather, with a particular person who happens to be there literally every time Jack brings his children. Not that Jack has been keeping track or anything. But the fact is, Archie and Delilah are troublingly obsessed with this (admittedly super attractive) stranger at Nando’s and Jack is pretty much at a loss as to what to do about this. He once tried bringing them to a bigger, much nicer Nando’s, but they were so upset that not only did Delilah kick up her usual fuss, but even the usually calm Archie threw a tantrum (and to be honest, Jack wasn’t feeling it either). So here they are, at probably the smallest Nando’s in the world, just like they have been every Tuesday evening for the past four months.
They enter and without meaning to (okay, maybe he kind of means to), Jack glances over at the far table in the corner and lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding when he sees the same guy sitting there as usual. Their eyes meet for a second and the guy gives him a slight smile before Jack hurriedly looks away, blushing.
“Oi, it’s been ages, mate!” A cheerful cry distracts Jack from his momentary crisis.
He sets Delilah down and puts Archie in charge (he loves when Jack does that), then walks over to the counter and grins. “Shove off, Gibbo, it’s been a week just like always.”
“That’s just his way of saying you need to come in more often, mate,” a new voice chimes in.
“Like I ever would, Chambo,” Jack says, rolling his eyes. “I’d rather not have my kids exposed to you lot more than once a week.”
Chambo gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m offended. Your kids love me.”
“I’m not sure it’s you they love, mate,” Gibbo smirks. “Look over there.” He gestures to that corner, and Jack tries his hardest to hide the fact that he’s screaming internally. He turns around, and sure enough, Archie and Delilah are sitting at the stranger’s table, giggling and listening attentively to something he’s saying to them. Jack tries not to think about how cute the guy looks as he uses hand gestures to tell them a story.
“Haven’t you taught them not to talk to strangers?” Chambo asks. “Oh, wait, that’s not a stranger, that’s the guy you’ve been pining over for months.”
“I should’ve taught them to not talk to you instead,” Jack grumbles. “And I’m not pining over anyone. Gibbo, the usual for all of us, please.”
“You know, technically you’re supposed to be seated before we can take your order,” Gibbo says.
Jack gives him a look. “Like that’s ever mattered to you before.” Gibbo grins and writes down the order. “I’ll go get them.”
“Good luck! Be safe!” Chambo sing-songs, and Jack flips him off before walking over to the table.
In all his years of being their father, Jack has never seen both Archie and Delilah so content to calmly sit in one place. When they notice him walking over, Archie jumps up excitedly and starts pulling him by the sleeve to the table.
“Daddy, come on, Woj is telling us a dancer story!” Archie says. Jack has no idea what that means, but he doesn’t have much choice except to follow his son’s lead.
The stranger, Woj, as Archie has just informed Jack, smiles at the two of them as they approach the table. “Hey, you brought a friend!” he says, presumably to Archie, but he only has eyes for Jack, who lifts Delilah onto his lap as he sits down next to Archie and across from Woj.
“This is my daddy!” Archie tells Woj proudly. “He’s the best.”
“I’m sure he is,” Woj says, and he really seems sincere even as he continues looking at Jack with barely disguised interest. His eyes are really blue, Jack thinks, and then he mentally scolds himself because what is wrong with him?
“Hi,” Jack says faintly. “I’m Jack. I suppose you’ve already met my kids.”
“Yeah,” Woj says easily. “They’re great kids by the way. I’m Wojciech, but you can just call me Woj.”
“Wojciech? Is that...Polish?” Jack blushes slightly as Woj’s eyes widen in surprise.
“That’s right, mate,” Woj says appreciatively. “Not many people bother asking, I’m impressed.”
Jack tries to force himself to stop blushing. “How long have you been in London? You barely have an accent.”
“Since I was 16, so about 9 years now,” Woj says. “Moved from Poland because there’s more opportunities for a dancer here than there.”
“So you’re a dancer? What are you doing here at Nando’s, then?” Jack asks curiously. “Not to be creepy or anything, but I’ve seen you here quite a lot, and I’m no expert, but that doesn’t seem healthy.”
To Jack’s surprise, Woj blushes slightly. But before he can reply, Gibbo is suddenly standing at their table and something like relief seems to flash across Woj’s face. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared though, so Jack doesn’t linger on it too much. “Hey, Wilsh, food’ll be out in a second,” Gibbo tells him. “Chambo’s too lazy to bring it out here, so come up and get it, yeah?”
“You two are the worst employees this place has ever had,” Jack says. “How you even still have jobs is beyond me.”
“We’ve got uni to pay for. The bosses know that,” Gibbo laughs as he leaves the table. About thirty seconds later, he’s calling for Jack to come up to the counter.
“Sorry, gotta get that,” Jack says as Woj looks amusedly at him and says, “Maybe you should get that.” They look at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.
“You can come sit back here, you know,” Woj offers as he tries to control his laughter. “I’ll keep an eye on the kids.”
“Yeah, definitely, thanks,” Jack says dazedly.
He makes his way over to the counter to find Gibbo and Chambo smirking at him. “So,” Chambo begins with a patronizing grin, and Jack really doesn’t want to deal with this right now. “When’s the wedding?”
“Shut up,” Jack says.
“Really, mate, you know how long it took for you to leave that table?” Gibbo asks. “Long enough for Rambo to invite me to a movie over text. And we all know how long it takes him to text with his perfect punctuation and capitalization and grammar, bless him.”
“Just give me my food,” Jack groans. “If my kids starve because you two wouldn’t leave me alone, I’m suing.”
“You love us,” Chambo says smugly. And yeah, Jack can’t even deny that, because somewhere along the line, coming to Nando’s and bantering with the stupid uni boy employees (who truthfully are probably the same age as him) stopped being a burden and became something Jack looks forward to every day. But he’s not about to admit that, especially not to them, so he deliberately leaves them a smaller tip than usual and returns to the table.
“What took so long? Got me worrying for a second,” Woj jokes as Jack sighs and takes the seat across from him again.
“Ah, nothing. It’s just them uni boys are a pain in my…” Jack sees Archie’s innocent eyes staring up at him and he trails off before finishing the sentence.
“A pain in your what, daddy?” Archie asks sweetly.
Woj bites back a smile as Jack struggles to find an appropriate answer. “Never mind, Arch. You want me to cut your chicken?”
Archie nods and Jack lets out a sigh of relief.
“So are you in uni too?” Woj asks as Jack expertly cuts up the piri piri chicken.
“Nah, mate,” Jack says. “Got my plate full with these ones always running about.” Almost on cue, Delilah starts reaching over and grabbing at Archie’s plate. “Delilah, give me a second, please. It’s rude to grab, how many times have I told you?” Delilah pouts.
“I can cut up her chicken if you want,” Woj offers. Jack hands him her plate gratefully and tries not to blush when their hands touch. Jack watches the tall, dark, handsome dancer take care of Delilah’s little tantrum like it’s nothing, and he thinks, Wow, I am so screwed.
The bell jingles to signal the arrival of another customer and Chambo tries to pretend like he’s not eagerly watching to see who it is. It apparently doesn’t work, because he can see Gibbo laughing at him out of the corner of his eye. The two men who enter seem to be entirely too well-dressed for a place like Nando’s, but they also happen to be a very familiar sight.
“Hi, um, sorry about your shirt the other week,” Chambo says meekly, resolutely ignoring Gibbo and the shorter guy snickering in the background as the taller man walks up to him.
“Ain’t a problem, mate. I’ve got myself enough suits. You could dump food on me once a week and I’d still be good,” he assures Chambo.
“Stop showing off, Jenko,” the other suit-clad guy says, amused.
“He can’t help it, Rambo,” Gibbo says, laughing. “The males of a species always show off their talents to impress potential mates.”
“Don’t mind Gibbs. Midterms have got him off his rocker this week. Not that he’s ever sane.” Chambo glares at Gibbo.
“Pretty sure he’s not the one who’s off his rocker, mate,” Rambo says. “Anyone who uses spilled Nando’s as a pick up technique isn’t in the right state of mind.”
“Ay, Rambo, always got my back,” Gibbo says, high-fiving his friend delightedly.
“And they call us gross,” Jenko says, shaking his head.
“Yeah, look at them,” Chambo agrees.
“Lads, do you want to know what is truly disgusting?” Gibbo points over to the table in the corner. “Take a look at them moon eyes.”
“Which one? Wilsh or his pretty friend?” Rambo asks. (Gibbo pouts dramatically and Rambo adds in amusement, “Not as pretty as you, of course.”)
“Both,” Jenko and Chambo say together in slightly scandalized tones. They glance at each other and blush.
“No, I take it back. You two tie with them for grossness,” Gibbo says. He shakes his head and sighs. “Alright, are you lads going to order anything or are we just going to banter all night?”
“I’m only here because he made me,” Rambo tells him, gesturing to Jenko.
Gibbo rolls his eyes. “You gotta give that story up, mate, I know you love our chicken.”
“Won’t ever hear those words coming out of my mouth, though,” Rambo says with a grin. “I’ll take the mango and lime butterfly chicken again with the salad and peas. Gotta get them vegetables too.”
“Why does everyone forget that this is actually a sit-down restaurant?” Chambo complains as Gibbo doesn’t bother writing down the order because he knows it by heart.
“If we sit down, we’ll have to wait ages for you lot to serve us. We’re just being efficient,” Jenko says. “And I’ll have the quarter breast, hot, with the chips and garlic bread.”
“A man after my own heart.” Chambo nods in approval without thinking. His eyes widen in horror when he realizes what he’s said. “I mean, yeah, that’s a good choice, mate.” Gibbo and Rambo are unabashedly laughing at him again, but Jenko’s grinning at him with a genuine smile, so Chambo can’t bring himself to care too much.
“Go sit your fancy asses down somewhere. We’ll call you up when the food’s ready. Midterms’ve got us too tired to move so you two’ll get some exercise,” Gibbo says.
“Oi, I don’t need more exercise!” Rambo says indignantly.
“I know you think that, mate, but-” Gibbo starts sympathetically with a mischievous smirk before Rambo cuts him off with a playful slap on the arm. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, you’re very fit.”
“I appreciate it, mate. I know I’m fit.” Gibbo rolls his eyes at his friend’s smug grin and shoos him away.
“Hey, Wilsh,” Rambo greets Jack as he passes his table. “Finally manned up, I see. Are you gonna introduce your new friend to us?”
“I’ve a right mind not to,” Jack mutters in annoyance. “I don’t know how you managed to get out of uni early. You’re still as block-headed as the lot over at the counter.”
“Don’t be rude. What’s your friend gonna think of you?”
Jack sighs. “Woj, this is Aaron, better known as Rambo. Rambo, Woj. And that other bloke is Carl, but we call the idiot Jenko.”
“Great to meet you,” Jenko says, grinning widely. “Heard a lot about you.”
“Likewise,” Woj says easily, noting Jack’s blush. “Finally worked up the courage to ask out that lad by the counter yet?” Jenko looks stunned and Jack looks at Woj with open amazement. Woj winks at him, feeling proud.
“I like him. A keeper, this one is,” Rambo says.
“Sod off. Go find a seat or something.” It takes all of Jack’s self-restraint not to flip them off.
“Oof, you talk like that in front of your kids?” Rambo smirks. At Jack’s glare, he holds his hands up. “Alright, alright, We’re going. Catch you later, mate.”
“Hey Kieran, Alex,” a voice calls. Chambo and Gibbo spin around to see Mikel Arteta, one of their managers, trying to get their attention. “Shouldn’t Calum be here by now?”
“Who?” Gibbo is momentarily thrown.
Mikel rolls his eyes. “Calum Chambers. The intern who works here 5 nights a week? Blond, blue-eyed, friends with that nice Spanish lad? Ringing a bell?”
“Oh, lil’ Chambo!” Gibbo realizes who this mysterious “Calum” is.
“Yes, lil’ Chambo,” Mikel sighs, his nose crinkling at the nickname. “Where is he? He’s only in secondary school, but he’s a better employee than you two idiots.”
“Hey, uni is a lot of pressure, boss. We’re coping best we can,” the older Chambo protests.
“Yeah, yeah.” Mikel waves him off, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “I still would rather have him here.”
Just as Chambo is about to open his mouth again, the door flies open and Calum comes running in with his friend Hector close behind. “Sorry, boss. London traffic was worse than usual,” he says.
Mikel turns to Gibbo and Chambo. “See? At least he has better excuses. What was the excuse you two tried to use last time?”
“It wasn’t an excuse. It was true! A horde of Tottenham fans attacked us! They saw Gibbo’s Arsenal hat and the lot of them were still bitter about the derby loss.” Chambo’s haunted expression earns him a snort from both Mikel and Hector.
“Just get back to work, Alex.” Mikel turns and walks back to his office.
“What’s got him in such a mood?” Gibbo wonders aloud.
“Shut up, Rosicky might hear you!” Calum says worriedly.
“Tomas wouldn’t yell at me if I set this place on fire, lil’ Chambo. Why don’t you be a lad and take this over to Rambo and Jenko. Maybe we can actually appear like we’re a legit dine-in place for once.” Gibbo hands him a tray of food.
“Actually, I can take it over. I don’t mind,” Chambo says hurriedly.
“Had a change of heart, have we? By all means,” Gibbo smirks. “Don’t just spill it on his shirt this time. Try and get it on his trousers.”
“Shut up,” Chambo hisses before bringing the food over. He manages to successfully deliver it without incident.
“D’you think you could get me some wine by the way?” Jenko asks as Chambo sets his plate down in front of him. “Long day.”
“Sure, of course. Red or white?”
“Don’t sweat it, mate. They all taste the same. Surprise me.”
Chambo runs back to get a glass and a bottle of the red wine to bring over. As he pours the cheap alcohol the door opens and he looks up to see who it is. In the split second that Chambo takes his focus away from pouring, his hand manages to completely miss the glass and pour the wine straight onto Jenko’s lap.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” Chambo is acutely aware of Rambo’s stifled laughter, and he’s 97% sure than Gibbo has also seen the entire thing unfold, but he’s slightly more preoccupied with the fact that Jenko’s pants are currently covered in red wine. “I swear I’m not usually this clumsy.”
“It’s alright,” Jenko reassures him as he dabs at his trousers.
Chambo runs to the cutlery station to grab more napkins and returns. “Here, let me help.”
“Do you want me to help too?” Rambo asks amusedly.
“No, that’s fine,” Jenko says quickly to Rambo while simultaneously allowing Chambo to help him. He tries hard not to think about where Chambo’s hands are fumbling.
“Oh, my bad,” Rambo grins. “I’m clearly not wanted here, I’ll just go over there, then.” He walks back to the counter, and neither Jenko nor Chambo can see him, but there’s no doubt that he’s recounting the entire situation to Gibbo.
“I’m so sorry,” Chambo says again. “You probably have to go on the tube with damp trousers.”
“It’s only a few stops. Really, I’m okay,” Jenko says. I’m more than okay right now.
“I don’t even get why you keep coming back here since I keep spilling things all over you,” Chambo says. “You must really love your chicken.”
“Mate, really, stop worrying about it.”
Chambo suddenly comes up with an idea. “Hey, Gibbo and I only live a block from here. I could walk you to our flat and get you some dry clothes. The bosses won’t mind me taking off a few minutes. Lil’ Chambo is here to cover me, Mikel’s too buried in that novel he’s writing anyways, and I haven’t seen Tomas in like, three days.”
“Uhh,” Jenko says eloquently and Chambo immediately thinks he might have been too forward. He’s about to take it back when Jenko seems to recover and continues, “Yeah, that sounds great, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all, mate.” Chambo tosses the wet napkins in the trash and turns to the counters. “Be back in a few. Cover for me, yeah?”
Gibbo and Rambo stare open-mouthed as Chambo and Jenko walk out the door. “You gotta give it to him. That was pretty smooth,” Rambo admits.
“Our little Chambo and Jenko are growing up,” Gibbo says, wiping away imaginary tears.
“Why is it always so weird in here?” Hector complains half-heartedly as he watches them. “Why do you keep dragging me here, honestly, Chambers. I have better things to do with my life.”
“Don’t act like you don’t like the food, mate,” Calum says. “Plus, I see your hero worship for Arteta. You love coming here.”
The previous commotion is all but ignored at the table in the corner. Delilah is happily sitting on Woj’s lap as he feeds her, which Jack would usually be surprised about, seeing as Delilah hates being fed, but apparently there’s nothing that Woj can’t do because he’s pretty much tamed her.
“Please.” Delilah gives Woj her best dimpled smile. “Please, ‘nother story.”
“I’ll tell you another story if you finish your dinner,” Woj promises. Even Jack still struggles to resist the little girl’s dimples; he can’t believe Woj is doing it so easily. He tries his hardest not to confess his love to this frankly perfect man right then and there.
“How are you so good with her?” Jack finally blurts out. “I mean, I love her, but she’s more than a handful on a good day.”
“Well, I, uh,” Woj says, scratching the back of his head almost nervously. “I’m not really sure. I’ve always wanted kids, you know? But I guess it’d be kind of difficult for a bloke like me to have kids.” Jack furrows his brow in confusion. “I mean, unless I adopt. But yeah. Not really interested in the ladies, ‘f you know what I mean.”
“Oh! Oh, well, yeah, I know that feeling,” Jack stammers. “I mean obviously, women are, you know, seeing as I have two kids, but recently, well, yeah.” He trips over his words but Woj seems to get it, smiling understandingly at him after he stops talking. “Truth is, sometimes I wish there was someone else around to help me. I love them with everything I have, but it’s tough sometimes, y’know?”
“I’d be happy to help out,” Woj says right away. Then he backtracks and adds, “You know, if you wanted me to. I could babysit when I’m not rehearsing or performing.”
“Yeah! Yeah, that’d be great. But how much…” Jack trails off, embarrassed. “I don’t make very much so...I mean, I’ll pay of course, just I -”
“Listen, mate, spending time with y- with them is payment enough,” Woj interrupts. Jack tries to protest but Woj continues, “No, seriously, you don’t owe me anything. I’m happy to do it.”
“I- are you sure?” Jack asks hesitantly. Woj just nods, a wide smile already creeping across his face when he sees that he’s won. “Okay, well. Thanks mate, really, I- I really appreciate it.”
“So when are you working this week?” Woj asks. “We should work out a schedule.”
“I’ve got work at the cafe by the uni six days a week and I coach football on my free day. I usually run out around 3 to pick up the kids, Archie from school and Delilah from daycare, and they wreak havoc in one of the back rooms of the cafe or I set them loose on the pitch.” Jack suddenly seems worn. For the first time, Woj notices the bags under his eyes and the tired way he’s leaning on the table and he wants nothing more than to help him.
“Alright, well, I’m usually out of rehearsal by 2:30 so I’d be able to pick them up. Would you want me to bring them to you, or somewhere else?” Woj answers his own question before Jack can even open his mouth. “Actually, it’s probably best if they don’t bother you at work, right? I can bring them to my flat or to yours if you’re okay with that.”
Jack just stares at him in wonder. “So you’re really okay with this, then.”
“Of course, mate. I want to help.” Woj smiles reassuringly at him, and if Jack wasn’t already enamored, he sure is now.
Back at the counter, Gibbo and Rambo are doing their best to hide that they’re eavesdropping on the conversation. “I can’t decide who’s smoother. Woj or Chambo? I mean, using the kids? Classic technique right there.” Gibbo nods appreciatively.
“The real question is, who’s gonna get together first?” Rambo ponders. “My money’s on Wilsh and Woj, they’re gonna be spending at least a little time together every day. I bet eventually they’ll wake up one day and realize that Woj has literally been living at Jack’s place for weeks and that they’ve actually been dating the whole time.”
“But Jenko’s literally taking off his trousers in Chambo’s room at this very instant,” Gibbo says. “I will slap Chambo if he wastes this fine opportunity.”
“He probably will,” Rambo sighs. “You know him. I would recommend not slapping him though, Mikel and Tomas might not take too kindly to that.”
“Yeah right,” Gibbo scoffs. “I know you. You’re just a softie. Nonviolence and all that.” Rambo gives him a look and he holds his hands up in surrender. “Not saying that’s a bad thing, mate. Hey, what movie did you wanna see today?”
“Pitch Perfect 2 is out,” Rambo says. “A capella is cool.”
“Mate, I’m gonna do you a favor and forget you said that.”
Rambo rolls his eyes. “You liked the first one, don’t even try to lie to me.”
“Ah, you know I never would,” Gibbo says with a grin, gazing dramatically at Rambo’s face.
“It’s decided then? Pitch Perfect?”
“If you insist. I’m only going for your sake, after all.”
“Are they dating or something?” Hector finally blurts out to no one in particular after watching this exchange for several minutes. “I literally have to sit through this every day, these idiots on opposite sides of the counter, bantering and flirting and god knows what.”
“We don’t even know, mate,” Calum says solemnly. “They sure act like it, but then again, they don’t really seem the type so we just go with it.”
“Why are we even here,” Hector complains. “No one is ordering anything. Those two have been flirting this whole time even though there are kids near them. That old man has been sitting there in silence for the longest time. What is going on?”
“That old man’s the owner,” Calum informs him. “Arsene Wenger.”
Hector is silent for a moment. “Oh. Well, what’s he doing here?”
“We think he lives here,” Calum says conspiratorially. “He basically never leaves. You can’t have never noticed him before.”
“I’ve been distracted by everything else. One old man usually isn’t enough to catch my attention when there’s everything else going on.” Hector stops and frowns. “Wait, where’s the Spanish crew?”
“That’s the later rush. I can’t believe you haven’t memorized all this by now.” Calum shakes his head in disbelief. “6:00 is the first rush with these idiots, and usually Rambo stays for the next round too, which is at 8:00.”
Hector glances at the clock, which reads 7:15. “I guess we have 45 minutes to prepare for the next rush then.”
Calum laughs. “Just enjoy the peace, Hector. Enjoy the peace.”