#soup........

Currently, Sadık is trying to get ahead of bills, ordering, payroll and savings while the restaurant is closed for the day. Herakles, by comparison, has never really had a finance head; they made an agreement before Antonio's time that any thing covered in euros would be entirely in the chef's hands, and, in the meantime, Herakles would manage staff and customer relationships. It is more his forte.

(Though, even then, Antonio has now taken on some of that responsibility.)

As Antonio leaves the office, he bumps into Herakles himself. And Herakles asks him without missing a beat, "Where's my lunch?"

The Spaniard tries not to laugh, amused solely by the other's tone. "You never placed an order," he says.

"Neither did Sadık," Herakles counters.

"He's got a point," Sadık then joins in, before swivelling around on his chair and suggesting to Herakles, "You can always have mine," to which Antonio protests quite sternly.

"That plate does not leave this room," he warns Sadık—or both of them, really, "until you eat what's on it."

The way that Sadık and Herakles glance at each other reveals to him, quite naturally, that they are currently adding this incident to a mental pile of 'reasons why Antonio is also our mother'. He tries not to roll his eyes in response (for fear of it also being used against him). 

"I'll eat it, don't worry," Sadık goes on to assure him, before turning back around and facing his work. "I just need to chase this invoice, first…"

And with that, he shuts himself off. He is in an entirely different plane of existence, and Antonio and Herakles walk out into the short corridor between the dining room and kitchen. They'll check in on him in about an hour.

"So, about lunch."

Antonio glances at Herakles, does a sort of double-take, and then squints at him warily. "What about lunch?"

"Are you having any?" Herakles asks him. "It's nice of you to think of other people, even if I'm not included in that—" Antonio tuts. Strike two! "—but you also need food. No?"

"I do," he duly replies, "and I intend to. You wanna help?"

"You have something in mind?"

"Of course. I call it, 'raiding Sadık's stock and eating whatever needs using'," Antonio tells him, which earns an enthusiastic hum, followed by an eager prompt to lead the way.

To be clear, Sadık is fully aware of this arrangement. Sunday is a day where the three of them will double-check stock after Saturday's close and clean, and make sure anything that will not survive the night is used or removed so they can avoid as much waste as possible. 

Often, there is not much for them to go through (the kitchen team are very thorough on a Saturday) but today, a venture into the walk-in reveals some produce that won't be missed. 

Antonio proposes a soup for ease. Herakles does not object. There is still some bread from breakfast, after all, that they might as well use.

Over the next half an hour or so, they work together to prep the vegetables, make the base, and then begin cooking. For a while, the kitchen operates like a well-oiled machine, even if they are only hobbyist chefs. Then, once the vegetables are cooked, Antonio takes charge of the blending while Herakles sees to warming the plates and cutting the bread; it only takes a few minutes more.

Parsley is chopped, cream is sniffed and set aside for use, and then, once the Spaniard is satisfied and the Greek starts to sneak one too many tastes—et voilà.

They sit together at one of the tables in the restaurant, out of view of the front windows. It feels like a lunch date of sorts, and the atmosphere certainly settles as the pair of them start to eat. Food. Food has such miraculous powers. Antonio values it more than anything.

Though, even he has to admit, Herakles' company over the next few minutes is equally as dear. They talk easily, about food, about comfort food, about childhood food—and just as Antonio goes to ask Herakles why he hasn't considered having more Greek food on the menu, they are joined by a third person.

A plate is set down on the table as Sadık pulls up a chair. Antonio eyes the tostada, neglected, abandoned, untouched.

"I thought I said that this plate wasn't allowed to leave the office until you ate," Antonio reminds Sadık once he is seated, somewhat light-heartedly. "Do you hate tomatoes that much?”

Sadık gives him a wry smile. "You know I don't," he replies. "But I could smell whatever you were cooking—soup, it seems—and I, uh… Well, I wanted to join you two for lunch instead."

Antonio softens. "Do you want some soup, then?" he offers. "Your bread will be all soggy now, anyway."

"No, no… I'll survive."

Yet, "Go and get a bowl," Herakles encourages. "There is plenty there. And it will be better than…" He nods at the plate. "Whatever is left of that."

"Maybe so, but I don't want to waste something that he spent time maki—"

"It took five minutes at most. Really, let me get you a bowl."

"Toni, it's fine—"

"No. Sit," the Spaniard insists, however, rising from his own seat without hesitation. His hands falls on Sadık's shoulder. He smiles, and he says, "I'll get you a bowl, and then you'll feel like you're really having lunch with us, okay?"

He doesn't give Sadık a chance to argue, not that he's sure he would. But Antonio has learned that stubbornness and perseverance can go hand-in-hand, and that sometimes, it is okay for him to put his foot down like this.

After all, Sadık may be one of his employers, but now, he was also one of his People, and that feels far more important.