Exactly when he said he would be there, he was. Ivan knocked on the door and there was a brief scramble inside the apartment before Alfred jerked the door open, looking at him with wide eyes and then stepping out somewhat sheepishly. "I didn't have a clue what to wear, since I don't go out to these places a lot, but I tried. Hope it's not a train wreck." In Ivan's opinion, his outfit was simple and yet elegant enough for even the classiest restaurant.

Black slacks, a clean white shirt, a smooth jacket…he looked intelligent and refined. Of course, there was a smudge of toothpaste in the lower right corner of his lip, which Ivan pointed out and got a blush before it was wiped away. "I think you will fit in perfectly, if I may say so myself." After a few mental recitations of this is not a date, Ivan tilted his head towards the door and they went out into the street.

"Would you like to walk? It isn't actually all that far, I go on foot all the time." He turned to Alfred who simply shrugged and grinned. "Lead the way." They took off in the general direction of the building, which Ivan pointed out to Alfred over several rooftops, and wove among hundreds of other pedestrians on their ways to hundreds of private destinations. That was something Ivan loved about the city. Though you were never alone, you were still singular. Independent. Your destination was your own and hardly anyone would trouble you about it, yet if you moved just slightly to your right you would brush shoulders with someone. Another person was always there, and yet you two were always separated by the mere boundary of individual bodies.

"So, I guess you wear that scarf for this walk in particular, huh?" Ivan blinked at the question, having gotten a bit lost in his reverie, and turned to look at Alfred. "Oh…ah, my sister made it for me." Unconsciously, he tucked it a little tighter around his neck. "I thought that looked handmade, but very well done. It looks good on you." That bright smile flashed again, and yet again Ivan could not resist giving his own slight one in return. It was like their lips were somehow linked, even from feet away.

"She is back home in Russia, and gave it to me when I was a child to keep me warm whenever we walked somewhere, like school. All three of us went to the same school, my sisters and I, and she would walk us there every morning. I would complain on and on about the wind hurting my neck, so she made this for me herself, and gave it as a surprise. I guess you could say that it is my personal treasure." For a moment, he could have sworn the emotion in Alfred's eyes was tender wonderment as his gaze locked onto the garment, then swooped again over Ivan's face.

"Yeah….I guess my "treasures" are these glasses. I got them when I went to college and moved out of my parents' place. It was sort of my gift to me, when I discovered I needed some. Reading all those tiny figures in text books probably did me in, so I grabbed these and have hung on to them ever since." Crossing his eyes, Alfred slid the wiry frames off his face and examined them, breathing on either lens and wiping them off on his jacket.

"They suit you." Ivan said, and at a blink from Alfred he elaborated. "With them, you are The Architect. You said you got them while in school to become an architect, so it only makes sense that those glasses represent that aspect of you and your personality, that creativity that is limited to you. They are a singular thing that sets you apart from everyone else and makes you distinctive, I believe. As though they are your very own logo. Only Alfred wears those and they are forever associated with you, like a piece of your face. Without them, you're still recognizable, but you seem vastly different in an unnamable way." Alfred looked at the glasses, speculative, then back at Ivan. "I have to admit, you're the first person that's said that, and definitely the most poetic of anyone who's ever commented. Most people say that I just look younger without them, but I'd say you have a valid point. I've never thought of them that way…huh. I guess you're right. I am The Architect!" He nodded, and then offered Ivan a smile.

"Come on, though, I'm freezing half to death, and you promised me dinner! Food is one promise you just can't go back on!" They took off for the restaurant at a brisk step, facing the chill wind together and winding among the crowds. Soon enough the large building kneeled over the street and they ducked towards the entrance, slipping out of the grip of the crowd. Politely, Ivan held open the door and Al walked into the calm interior with a grin at his chivalry.

In contrast with the crowds outside, tonight the restaurant only had a few people within, all scattered about the room. The wait staff and the cooks, a few notable patrons; even the owner himself was there to celebrate. Champagne and cocktails floated between smoothed hands and occasional laughter broke out from one of the groups. It wasn't like a normal night, but Ivan felt more comfortable bringing Alfred here among his friends when no one was stressed or tired.

Turning back to Alfred, he found the younger man looking around with wonder on his face and clear in his eyes. Was this not the sort of place Alfred came to often? Ivan decided not to ask directly, but rather allowed Alfred to soak it all in, from the swinging music playing from invisible speakers to the laughing ladies bedecked in pearls and diamonds.

Slowly, he nudged Alfred in the direction of the table that he had reserved for them, overlooking the street and all the people that bustled past. It was his favorite table in the entire restaurant, and he always seemed to end up cooking for whoever sat there, peacefully watching the world march past. Was it something they had in common, he and this unknown person? Was it something they mutually enjoyed? Or merely a random moment of chance; all the other tables were full or they needed the window's light? There wasn't a rhyme or reason to it, but he always gravitated to this seat in particular.

Alfred's eyes finally came to rest on him again, as though remembering that he was there, and a smile lit his face. "Nice place ya got here. I like the design, very Bauhaus." he said, seeming rather pleased by the building itself. "Alfred, what on earth is Bauhaus?" It sounded…German and bizarre, but the question drew a laugh from his companion. "Well duh. Not everyone is an art-historical nerd like I am. Bauhaus describes a style started in the early 1900's characterized by having really plain-looking walls and surfaces that give it a simple yet elegant feel. Like this place, though I highly doubt it's that old." Ivan just blinked, taking all that in. He'd never thought about who built this building and why. Was that something Alfred considered about every building he entered?

That was somehow both fascinating and frightening, that he could take apart a whole building at a moment's glance. "You really are an architect…" he mused, getting lost in his thought for a second. "Yeah, got a degree and fancy paper hanging on my wall to prove it." Alfred added cheerily. Ivan just gave his own light, quiet laugh and looked down at the champagne menu. Of course he knew all their menus by heart already, but he just wanted to make sure that he chose something appropriate for the occasion and the dish. Something rather warm and hearty was what he wanted….such as the flatiron steaks with tapenade. It would contrast perfectly with the lightness and crisp flavor of a good glass of champagne.

It was only when he looked up that he noticed Alfred was staring at the menu as though it was written in French. Well, it was partially in said language, but for someone who likely only spoke English that could be a frightening experience. Casually he leaned over the table and pointed towards a favorite of his, fingernail neatly resting on top of the curled black script and tapping twice. "Might I suggest this? It's very good if you plan on eating chicken or fish." Alfred looked greatly relieved by his benevolent suggestion and nodded vigorously. "Yep, I wanted to get the pecorino-crusted chicken. You're a total genius at this stuff, Ivan."

As he said that, an idea that could possibly be contributed to invisible lightning striking his brain occurred. Ivan stood, took up the menus, and smiled warmly at his companion before edging out of the table. "Well, if you know what you would like and I know what I would like, I think we will not bother Jacques and I will simply prepare the meal for the two of us, if you'd be so kind as to wait." It was once again the most obvious solution that was the best. He was the chef, so why didn't he simply cook? It wasn't like he didn't know all these recipes or didn't have the materials. This was his restaurant, after all!

Alfred just nodded and shooed him off with one hand, causing Ivan to hurry off to the kitchen and find the correct bottle of champagne in the cooler, pop it open, and pour it into two glasses. That he brought back immediately, not wanting it to flatten, and Al took it from him with a smile. They didn't know much about each other, and this was the first time they'd even had dinner or gone out anywhere, and yet Ivan felt that smile was special. Just for him. It couldn't possibly have been, not a chance in the world, and yet the tiniest part of him hoped that it was. A grin with his name on it, from Alfred in particular.

It is said that when you find the person with whom you want to spend a very, very long time with, that time stops for a moment just to let you make sure that this is the right one, and not some sort of doppelganger or long-lost twin. In the extra-long moment Ivan had to look at Alfred, he saw something that could only be described as beautiful. Actually, not only. There were many, many things that were suitable for the description of Alfred. Yes, that face; eyes he'd seen watching him for brief moments in reality in longer in his dreams, lips he'd seen in speech and tasted against his own imaginary ones. A beautiful, cherubic, Botticelli face. A man that was a genius, a man that was an artist, a man that was a builder from the ground to the sky. That was Alfred. Within that moment, frozen in time, he made a decision that would likely alter the course of his life forever; a decision to find out everything there was to know about Alfred if it took him the rest of his life.

What they don't tell you about those little pauses in time that account for love is that once they're over, time moves twice as fast in order to catch up with itself. It seemed in the blink of an eye that Ivan moved from serving Alfred his champagne and getting that private smile to standing over a sizzling stove and pan-cooking steak with tapenade and pecorino-crusted chicken. Yet it was pleasing to do so, even though the world had just got done whizzing past him at a dizzying speed, and Ivan took pride in the browning of the chicken and the tenderness of the meat. Like two ready assistants, his hands moved in to sprinkle on cheese or add in spices to the two dishes, and the sounds of the party outside faded under the quiet hum of the stovetop and the crackle of beef fat, two sounds with which he was incredibly comfortable. His safe zone. If there was anywhere in the world to quietly consider his new determination in life, it was right here. Or perhaps in the shower; showers had a long history of being excellent places to consider things. Yes, it was a frivolous thing to decide to do, but in reality, what else was he really looking forward to? This city was somewhere he wanted to be, this job was exactly what he wanted to be doing. It wasn't like he would ever really be interested in a woman, so why not dedicate his time to finding out everything about someone who he had such a…connection with? It only made sense.

Both dishes were gently placed on plates and arranged just so, and carried in a way that ensured they were as perfect upon arrival as during preparation. Alfred grinned at him as soon as he saw him coming back, a bit of the nervousness that had clouded his face from being in a foreign place disappearing. He hastily picked up his fork and knife as Ivan sat the plate down, and only waited just long enough for Ivan to do the same before digging in. Ivan could have chuckled at his eagerness, but was interrupted by what surprisingly sounded like a groan from Alfred.

"Dude, what did you do to this? Put angel dust on it? It's delicious!" He looked quite genuine about the compliment as he carefully sliced off another piece and put it in his mouth. "Actually, it's pretty simple and involves cheese and mayonnaise." This got him a raised eyebrow. "Seriously? That's what this is? I could swear it was like food of the gods or something." That did make Ivan laugh, something Alfred apparently had a penchant for making him do. They conversed for a long while on the merits of French-invented dairy products and the irony that these things were now being reapplied to a chicken, and the champagne in the bottle got progressively lower and lower until Alfred's cheeks were bright red and even Ivan thought the lights were a little bit brighter.

"Okay, okay man…I've like…gotta go home now." Alfred mumbled, still laughing from something Ivan had said about chickens before, and his own story of encountering one such creature that liked to eat shoelaces back at home. Ivan checked his watch and nodded in agreement once he made out that the tiny hands read past nine o' clock. He hadn't meant to keep him out this long…but when the heck had they gotten here, anyway? Six thirty? Seven? Time was being a royal bitch tonight, and Ivan just mentally shrugged and went to hold open the door for Alfred.

Most of the return walk home was filled with silence and little comments that were always answered with laughter, especially at how silly Alfred had gotten in such a short period of alcohol. Al-cohol. Alfred-cohol? Ivan mentioned the similarity to Alfred, who smiled brighter than the streetlights and ended up tangled in his own shoes. By a miracle they made it inside the building, still giggling like a pair of teenagers, and Alfred reached his door first, turning back to Ivan.

"Hey…can I ask you something without you like punching my brains out if I'm wrong? 'Cause you totally could, you've got arms like a gorilla…." Alfred trailed off, then looked up, face suddenly rather serious. "Do you like men?"

It was really simple, but even Ivan's not-fully-functional mind took a long minute to think about it. Was Alfred asking him if he was gay to say no? Was he frightened by Ivan's advances? What was the answer to this unanswerable question? Yet his lips moved without him asking them to do so, seemingly bound to the truth. "Yes, yes I do." And as he had feared, Alfred turned away from him, unable to even meet his eye. A moment of regret flooded him; he wondered why he had to say that and why he had to be so damn honest and why-

"Can I say thanks for the date, then?" Alfred was looking up at him, and his face was mysteriously even redder than it had been before. Ivan, for the record, couldn't have been more dumbstruck if Alfred had whacked him over the head with a mallet. He just nodded, and that grin filled his definitely not watery vision. Something warm was placed on his cheek and it took the Russian a moment to process that it was Alfred's lips, suddenly against his skin as he'd wished so many times before, making him shiver. Then, ever so carefully, they dragged across his skin and hovered just over his own, their mouths close enough that he could feel Alfred's breath against his own. It wasn't a movie moment, it was a personal one. They didn't devour each other, they just brushed against in that infinity of closeness. Alfred's lips were chapped yet soft and Ivan just allowed himself the feeling of them against his own for as long as he could. He felt a hand behind his head press him closer, and allowed a tongue to slide inside his mouth, gloved lightly in champagne. A bare hint of his teeth pushed into Alfred's lower lip, and something buzzed between them as he'd imagined so often it would. Warmth, yes, and it made his breath hitch, just from their lips meeting.

When they drew back, it was with lightly hazy eyes, and Alfred just murmured a "goodnight" to him, and faded into his apartment while Ivan's own farewell faded into the apartment building's inexorably long hallway. He didn't even think about it, just sort of turned and walked back to his own home, fingers touching his own lips as though he expected them to be missing, wrapped up and carried away on a dream.