November 26th, 2016.
New York City
– Do you want these higher? –
Desmond tried to meet Lucy's eyes as he lowered his head and looked into the space in between his open arms, stretchedupward and holding a wire full of Christmas lights. Lucy moved back on the sidewalk from the ladder Desmond was perched on so that she could see the full picture of the composition.
– Mmh. –
She was thinking.
– Lucy? –
Desmond asked, starting to doubt that his boss was still around.
– The right end, just a bit higher. Leave the wire hanging down in the middle. –
Lucy put her hands on her hips, sharpened her stare and waited. If there was a step higher than perfection's, she wanted to be on it. Desmond followed the instructions, thinking that he never hated the Christmas climate that had started with Black Friday so much. When he finally placed the last end, he exhaled a breath of relief. He couldn't wait to be back inside the shop, because not even the wintercoat was preventing his nose from freezing after an hour outside. With his well-gloved hands he grasped the ladder's sides and slowly descended every step. Once his feet were on the ground, he glanced around to find Lucy, hoping that the people walking like splinterson the sidewalk wouldn't run into him. The woman, a bit behind him, was keeping her arms folded, with her wool beanie only letting the edges of her fringe out, while a big cream scarf swallowed her face, from chin to nose. Lucy motioned for Desmond to come closer and her employee obeyed, considering that he wasn't dependent on her just from a work-related standpoint. He moved on her side, smiling for a moment and inhaling, just to make sure his nose was still attached to his face and he didn't lose it thanks to the biting cold. He looked at his work: it seemed straight.
– Do you like it? –
Desmond asked sincerely, as he always was. Lucy was taken from a sudden chill that froze the answer in her throat. She turned to Desmond and he infected her with his lips curved upward.
– I'll tell you in a moment. –
She motioned towards one of the windows behind which Michael was standing. With a lot of patience, he had waited that moment for one single, simple gesture, though fundamental. Michael moved away from the glass he was leaning against and moved his index towards the light switch to which the plug for the entire, wire-y machine was attached. He pressed it and it was immediately Christmas: all the lights around the shop's sign and windows turned on at once, lightening the sidewalk and making sure that everyone walking on the street looked up to check that whirlwindof colors.
– Nice. –
Desmond was standing enchanted in front of the decorations turning on and off. Blue, red, yellow, purple and green were exploding vividly in his irises and it was enough to make him feel like he was a child all over again, a bit. Lucy was smiling, satisfied, and gave Michael thumbs up that was reciprocated from behind the glass.
– Thanks to you. –
Lucy told the young man while a small cloud of mistleft her lips. It was a rotten cold, but she liked cotton too much, and courage wasn't enough to keep her warm. Desmond looked at her like a young pupilwho just got a great grade on knowing the times table,and he stayed silent, watching the fluorescent hues of color that those light kisses left on her skin.
– How are you doing, Des? –
Lucy spoke again, still contemplating that paste-made show. And she added:
– On the job, I mean. –
Desmond blinked, like someone who's just gone back to Earth after years spent among aliens. Work, right. What else?
– Great. –
Desmond shrugged, forgetting the cold and feeling warmed up by something else.
– I like the kitchen and the guys are amazing. –
He added, without pretending anything. Lucy smiled with her eyes, because her mouth was under the scarf, and she uncurled her arms, her hands going into her coat's pockets.
– Yeah, they are. –
A soft silence fell in between the two of them and both stood still like two street vendors who have nothing left to sell anymore. If it had started snowing in that moment, it would have been a perfect setting for a movie.
– Do you miss the bar? –
Lucy asked, maybe feeling like chatting that evening. Desmond curled his lips while he moved his eyes to the heads of people passing by. Of course he missed it.
– Nah. –
He lied, knowing he wasn't good at it. Lucy cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, and there was nothing to add. Desmond went back on it.
– The work, maybe… but the owners were assholes. –
Desmond's stare got sourjust thinking about it.
– I remember what Altair told me. –
Lucy showed her emphatic side, which she sometimes kept too relaxed. Desmond looked at his feet, inhaledagain and suddenly he joined his cousin, Lucy and his thankfulness in one single soap bubble.
– Thanks for what you did for him. –
He said, inserting Altair into the conversation as a silent and unknowing participant.
– He will be eternally grateful for that, you know? –
Desmond kept on, with a final question mark that was actually a full stop. Lucy shook her head, relenting and laughing such a small laugh that it got lost in the scarf's wool.
– Now don't start again. –
But Desmond latched on that smile that he didn't want to let go, still, and he insisted.
– No, really … –
He turned his feet and moved completely on his side, as if her profile wasn't enough anymore.
– Thanks. –
Desmond stayed there, staring at her blonde curls showing out of the beanie and those blue eyes that sometimes, with the right light, seemed grey. Lucy lowered her scarf, imitating him and staring straight at him, too.
– Don't thank me. –
She glanced at the window and saw that Michael had disappeared.
– We help each other in between friends. –
Desmond nodded and smiled at Lucy, the girl he had liked since he was a teenager with too little hair on his chest to play being a man.
– I see that he's doing really all right. It seems like he settled now. –
He commented, trying to get some feedback.
– Don't you think? –
Lucy smiled and, like an eraser on a blackboard that cancels chalk, it was enough to kill every insecurity. She turned to look at the lights, exploding on her, and she offered the young man a verbal confirmation, too:
– Yes. –
Desmond found the angle he was looking at Lucy right now absolutely perfect: if only he could have brushed the soft, turtle-dovecurve of her neck, he was sure he'd have found it smooth and polishedlike a quartz sculpture. But Desmond let that wish go with a sigh.
– He could do with seeing someone. –
Lucy added, after a pause so long that she forgot when the silence had begun. At that point Desmond made an association in a flash, because his friend's comment had reminded him of info he had obtained a while ago, during an unexpected conversation.
– But you know… he might have a secret admirer? –
Desmond said with even too much enthusiasm. Lucy turned and stared at the young man.
– Altair? –
She asked, wanting confirmation. Desmond nodded like a guy who's just been asked if he likes chocolate. Lucy's face stained with a few drops of doubt.
– Come on … –
She didn't know if she should be surprised or happy. She found it strange that Altair hadn't told her any of it yet. If it was the case, she'd have felt (secretly) offended.
– Malik told me that some guy he knows asked information about Altair. –
Desmond confessed without feeling any weight on his shoulders for it, not thinking that it might have been a reserved information to keep with more care and secrecy.
– Ah. –
Lucy didn't add anything at that statement, told as if it was nothing. Then her attention fell on a specific part of that sentence that didn't seem at all irrelevant to her.
– Wait, did you say a guy? –
The phlegmyrumble of a four-cylinder came out like smoke from the muffler of a sports bike, large as a cow, that braked with a squealon the edge of the sidewalk, just behind Lucy's shoulders; she turned, disturbed, while Desmond was already with a smile on his face.
– Speaking of the devil! –
Desmond raised his closed fist towards his reckless cousin, as the latter never lost a chance to show off how much he could be a coarse hick. Altair, with the helmet still on, turned off the engine and straightened up, returning Desmond's fist, hitting his knuckles.
– What, you were talking shit about me? –
Altair asked, the tone smoothedby the whole entrapment around his head. Lucy shook her head, taking a step back from the bike and realizing just then that Altair had been less than three feet away from hitting the both of them. Typical. In his case, one's teens weren't a phase of life, they were a choice.
– Us? Nah, why would you say that? –
Desmond said, sticking his gloved hands inside his pocket and laughing on his own. Altair took off the helmet, uncovering his beautiful sharp face and his combed hair, because it was too short to get ruffled. His amber eyes, hit by the Christmas lights, changed tonality like a chameleon's skin.
– So, you were talking about how hot I am? –
Altair kept on asking, without even pretending he was joking. Lucy raised her eyes to the sky, her entire demeanor screaming, here we are again. She turned completely towards the shop's sign, fixing her woolen hat on her forehead and slipping that conversation with Desmond, brutally interrupted, in her drawer of memories.
– Come on, you idiot. –
Desmond replied, still showing off a toothy smile. Altair was the purest moronic nonsense made flesh, as in, it was never put in doubt; but it was also because of this that Desmond loved him: feeling insecure, bored, or under pressure with the man at your side was practically impossible. Desmond's good qualities balanced Altair's, and harmony reigned.
– Ah, then, discussing how big am I? –
Altair added with the tone of a certain hypothesis. He was still comfortably sitting on his bike: the helmet under his arm, his back straight and up, his reproductive equipment pressing with arrogance against the seat as if he was about to grind against a girl. This time it was Desmond to raise his eyes to the sky, while Lucy pretended she hadn't heard. The small smile on Altair's thin lips wasn't going away and he was asking an answer – or at least an insult. This was one of the disadvantages of being friends with him: the total lack of boundaries. All of them, without exclusion.
– A-ha, sure, that topic exactly… –
Desmond commented as the great amusement of a few moments before was reshaped by embarrassment. The problem wasn't, of course, the comment in itself – Desmond was used to hear way worse from Altair – but the fact that Lucy was there. It was as if Desmond felt the need to disinfect everything the girl came in contact with: nothing was supposed to disturb her, anger her or hurt her. The reasons of this duty that he had imposed on himself, he knew, and he confessed them to himself in a whisper. But then Desmond thought that Lucy must have heard a lot of equally dumb bullshit like that, if not worse, spending her teenage years with Altair in school. Maybe the blonde, who Desmond was afraid might break like a tulip's stem, had a tougher skinthan even his own.
– Ask Lucy. –
Altair kept on, insisting as he tugged the rope of good taste, still not appeased. With a nod of his head, he motioned towards his friend who had moved a bit away, sure that he had harpoonedher for good with that comment. Lucy finally turned towards the both of them; she was composed and absolutely in control, and she wisely managed to keep at bay uncomfortable flashbacks from their youth that she'd rather not think of right now.
– She knows that. –
Altair concluded, winkingwith the corner of his mouth. Now he had put too much mischievousnessin the plate's seasoning, and Lucy didn't like that dish, and Desmond didn't either, who didn't want to know anything about the saucy details of their friendship: it would have made him feel inadequate.
– Your shift starts in ten minutes. –
Lucy said with the tone of a military general, looking at Altair, with the clear intention of stopping that game without rules started for a narcissistic whim. Altair understood where this was going, but he knew he had won anyway, so he put the helmet on again and closed his fists on the handles.
– I know. –
He deadpanned, without adding anything else important to the conversation. Simply, he just wanted the last word. He turned on the engine and ran off, tires screeching, a while ahead so that he could turn around and park on the other side of the street, where the space for motorcycles was. The only reason Lucy would have agreed with Altair about the size of his cock was to confirm that he was a great dick when he wanted to.
The clock read four PM, and Malik was free.
Once he handed Rebecca the last mirepoixthat he had been worrying about, he had left the kitchen with a relieved breath. Some shifts just ran slower than others. Malik walked inside the changing room, opening the door with his shoulder, and found Altair and Shaun inside: the first was already dressed, good to go for his shift, and was leaning against the lockers with one hand; the second, whose shift had ended along with Malik's, was still wearing his uniform and he was curled on himselfon the bench, blathering something about fish and mercury percentages. Malik walked quickly inside the scene, since he had no time to lose: he had a date. He got close to the lockers, next to where Altair was leaning. On his side, Altair was obviously faking listening to Shaun – especially now that the Syrian cook had entered the scene. Malik ignored them both, with no grudges, but when he realized that Altair's position was preventing him from opening his own locker he had to speak out: with a sigh in between gritted teeth he slowly raised his eyes, meeting Altair's hand first, pushing against the small locker with its long, slender fingers. He let his eyes move over to Altair's left arm, which could say for itself that showed off an excellent definition of biceps, triceps and deltoid. From that point onward, the colleague's tattoo immediately was noticed, because the sleeve of the t-shirt, rolled over, made it visible. That stylized eagle fit him, because it spread its wings the same way Altair did with his ego. Then Malik's eyes ended where Altair was waiting for him, as in, in his eyes. Now it was the two of them not listening to Shaun anymore, if he was even still talking. They had locked themselves in their bubble made of glances, silence, competition, dirty flirting and low blows, words that sank like teeth into whipped cream and innuendos that neither of them wanted to make explicit.
Understanding something was always less fun than playing.
– You mind? –
Malik said without even needing to point at Altair's hand, still there, blocking his locker just to mess with him, he was sure. The colleague dusted his face with a bit of (fake), well-meaning stupor and shrugged, good-natured.
– Not at all. –
Altair stretchedhis arm like a rubber band and moved away. He gave a hint of a smile and said goodbye to Malik with his eyes, turning back and leaving. This time he had been bothersome but at least condensed.The cook opened his locker and started with his usual routine, while Shaun's voice filled his ears again, and then the sound of the door opening and closing added itself to it. He didn't even need to turn around to know it was Altair. Finally, he was leaving to start his shift and be out of Malik's way. Malik, instead, would have been ready to run in five minutes, and leaving, he would have found Kadar waiting to him, they would eat together and then they would go to the cinema, according to one of their usual hang-outswhich Kadar seemed to participate to with more initiative lately. Malik said goodbye to Shaun, knocked on Lucy's door and said goodbye to her as well, then he walked into the main room and while he nodded towards Desmond, he realized that Altair, at the counter's corner, was talking to someone: Kadar. Malik's eyes stung, as if that picture alone was giving him hayfever; he got closer quickly, like a mother accelerating when she sees her two-year old play with a precariously placedvase. Kadar had a paper bag in his hands from which he was eating a meatball, or most likely a falafel, and the smile printed on his face was so sugary that it couldn't have been brought away not even by a shot of insulin under his skin. Altair, maybe corrupted by Kadar's skill in influencing people and bringing them where he wanted to, was smiling, too, but a bit more congested. From the way he was looking at Malik's brother, he was finding him amusing. Which was a bad thing, because Altair shouldn't in any way, shape or form get close to Kadar if not for serving him something to eat, at most. The bare idea of those two having any degree of confidence with each other was enough to give Malik nightmares.
– What are you eating? –
Asked Malik, effectively stabbing that conversation, without worrying about being polite. Kadar almost jumped where he stood when he saw him, not evenas if his grandmother had caught him with his fingers in a jam container. Then, with his mouth full and risking to spit the food in his face, he replied:
– Falafel! –
He chewed, took some time and swallowed.
– Altair offered them to me. –
Kadar added, smiling like a sixteen-year old girl who just was gifted flowers.
– A-ha. –
The Syrian cook commented, giving Altair a deathly glare: he had to understand that he couldn't overstep his boundaries. He was lucky that Kadar was in the middle of it, putting a limit on his bluntness, but that didn't stop him from trying to express with body language the largest mind your own fucking business he could.
– Are we going? –
Kadar asked, grabbing another falafel warm from the oven from the bag. Malik nodded and he moved away so his brother could go first; Kadar turned towards Altair to say goodbye with an ironic military salute,which should have rather been translated as hasta la vista.
– See you! –
Kadar said, leaving his position. Malik found that expression not correct because no, there was no other reason for which they should see each other again; actually, the fact that Kadar now was okay with coming to get him at the end of his shift to spend some time together, suddenly made him suspicious. And if it was just to see Altair more often? Could it be that he was serious when he said he was interested? Then he thought about how Kadar's crushes were ever-changing, inconstant and unpredictable, coming and going like clouds dragged by the wind, and he convinced himself to not get too alarmed and keep his extra-diffident nature under control. The answer must have been simpler than he thought: Kadar was just a narcissistlittle shit who took advantage of any chance he had to enjoy the nice things life offered him, with good-looking men on top of the list. That said, that attempt at rationalizing the situation didn't stop Malik from glancing wronglyat Altair before following his brother out. He didn't like the idea of those two talking, of Kadar making doe eyes at Altair who maybe was thinking about how easy it might have been to take advantage of it, just because Kadar looked like a disgustingly lovable puppy, ready to please the handsome and more mature adult just because he liked it. It was the second time that Malik saw him mess aroundwith his brother and it was one too many. The Al-Sayf brothers left the shop, Kadar tasting the cuminof the falafel in his mouth, while in Malik's there was just the iron-y taste of general aversion. But he knew it was going to disappear shortly.
Kadar and Malik stayed in Manhattan and took a stroll around the area, opting finally to go to the Time Warner Centre, so they could have fun walking inside every shop without buying anything. In the span of one hour, Malik had already forgotten the Altair topic and put aside every intention of scolding Kadar because of his noticeable feelinghe seemed to have with his colleague. He shouldn't worry about such trivialthings. What he actually did worry about, instead, was getting an update on what his brother was doing, especially work-wise. Kadar had received a couple work offers from private businesses, one of which a firm, for work on their online platforms. It sounded like good news to him, also because, from what he knew, Kadar's income had been this close to zero, lately. He also said he was happy about it himself, even if sometimes it seemed like nothing really could satisfy him. They had already confirmed his fee and booked an appointment for the next week. All in all, it seemed like a nicely wrapped little job; that said, Malik still kept on asking himself if Kadar really wanted to be a web designer, if – on the contrary – he was just lacking motivation, or if there was something completely different underneath instead. Kadar was good at what he did, but he also had some pretty bad faults: he was lazy and procrastinated a lot, and spoke frequently out of turn, along with a constant antagonizing of any authority and a frankly irritating know-it-all attitude. All of these are fantastic character traits to hook up in a gay bar on a Friday night, but definitely more problematic if the point is finding a steady job and pay for one's food. Either way, Malik would never stop worrying about him. It was instinct, that often turned into need, and then into nuisance(for Kadar, of course). Malik knew he could be suffocating when he put his mind to it. Around six thirty in the afternoon, they were hungry and ready to eat, so they left the Time Warner in order to eat somewhere more informal, in the Theater district, and then they would move on to the cinema. They chose a good Mexican with prices slightly above average, but whose food was well-worth it. Malik had tasted various foods from various places, and he liked pretty much all of them, with their differences; the only food he couldn't really stomach was American, but he was well-aware that it was also a question of ideology rather than taste only.
– Malik. –
Kadar broke the silence that had fallen between them since, more or less, the moment their nachos appetizers had arrived at their table, putting words in the background. Malik raised his head and finished chewing the triangle of cornflour that he had generously drowned in Tex-Mex sauce. Without hurry, he cleaned his fingertips with his napkin and drank half a glass of water.
– Tell me. –
He suspended the act of feeding. The fact that Kadar had called him by name out of nowhere and without any apparent reason was worrying him. Either he was about to talk shit or confess something that would make his brain explode. He was hoping for an unexpected third option.
– Can you explain me what are your intentions already? –
Kadar asked, still smiling, which didn't help with Malik's analysis of the situation. Was he being ironic? Was he just fooling around? Or was he being serious? But mostly, what the hell he was talking about anyway? Malik scowled, the typical expression of someone who's not following the conversation, or who hears someone else speaking Danish for the first time – well, not counting the Danes. He leaned against the seat, and he replied with his face warpedwith uncertainty. Kadar giggled, as if he had already foreseen each single inch of his disoriented reaction. He swallowed his nachos, dirtied with guacamole and cheese sauce mixed together, and then with his finger he pointed at the base of his neck and then bent his lips as much as he could upwards, his index still pointing at Malik. The cook still didn't understand. Did he get dirty? Did some sauce end up on him? But what did that have to do with the sibyllinequestion that Kadar asked him before? Imitating Kadar's gestures, he placed his fingers in the place his brother had pointed at before, at the left side of his lower neck, putting some effort into bending his neck so he could meet with his eyes that hidden area on his collarbone.
– What? –
He asked, having run out of the necessary imagination to understand what Kadar was aiming at. The younger man's smile turned into a laugh, and he cleaned his mouth with his napkin.
– Who's covering you in bruises? –
Asked Kadar raising up one eyebrow and crossing his arms on the table, interested in the answer like a dog might with a bone. Malik understood at once, and without holding back a smile he raised his eyes to the sky, sighing because of his brother's subtle idiocy.
– Is it really that obvious? –
Malik asked, winking. He reached out to grab another nacho, thinking back about the man who, two nights ago, had branded that bruise on him like you brand cattle. It wasn't his fault if it was really hot inside the restaurant, if Mexican food was spicy and if because of that he had to take off his sweater and remained in his soft shirt, which had a bit of a v-neck. And it wasn't his fault if that purple-ish hickey was peeking from his clothes. Kadar knew that he didn't need to answer to that rhetorical question, so he shook his head and kept on eating as well.
– Do I have to deduce that you're back to your old golden times? –
The waiter moved in between them and put on the table's center the two beers they had ordered, Corona and Bohemia, so that they'd stay coherent with the Central America-themed dinner. They thanked the man and the moment the guy took a step back, Malik started pouring the Bohemia, his own. He was thinking of how he should reply to his brother, because he had understood his intentions now.
– I'm single and I can have a bit of fun. That's all. –
He knew it was a superficial answer, but it seemed convincing enough. Kadar waited for Malik to finish pouring to steal his glass and take a sip. Malik didn't stop him, allowed him to, and waited, patiently. When he was back in the glass's possession again, it was his time to drink and Kadar started filling his ears with words.
– Mh, that's fair. –
He commented, but with the tone of someone who has barely started.
– As long as it's not compensating for something else. –
Kadar slipped a handful of nachos into his mouth, knowing he had just thrown a provocation at his brother, but also knowing his brother was perfectly capable of handling it. They were balanced brothers, they could fit well as pieces in Tetris do. Malik looked at him, knowing that there was no easy way to get off that curve if not by accelerating. He placed the beer bottle on the table and shrugged.
– Stay calm. I'm not exaggerating and I'm not hiding any kind of problem I have to put a balm on with sex. –
Malik thought it would be enough, but Kadar didn't.
– How many? –
Asked the younger man, as if Malik's reply had mattered none. The cook, who didn't need the subject to be specified, focused on his memories for a moment, calculating quickly how many nightly hook-ups he had had recently so he could give Kadar the most accurate esteem possible.
– Two, at most three each week. –
He said lightly, as if he was talking about the grocery list. Kadar took it less lightly.
– That's a bit high of an average. –
Malik moved his stare to the rest of the room and shook his head distractedly, thinking of how he could elaborate his thoughts and quickly leave that specific topic; not because it was a problem, but because there was nothing to discuss. He liked what he did and what he gained through it, he was in total control and therefore he felt free to fall into the temptation every time he felt the need; like a teenager with a piranha in place of his metabolism and who can stuff himself with chocolate without gaining weight. Malik moved his back from the chair and leaned towards Kadar.
– Really, chill. –
He said sincerely, without the shadow of a lie.
– Honestly, I've never been better. Holly was poison and I'm detoxing now. –
Malik took Kadar's Corona and poured it into his glass.
– It's what I need now. I pick the guys carefully and we have fun without a problem. –
The beer's foam stopped just below the edge of the glass and Malik put the glass to his lips to taste a bit, like his brother had done before with his Bohemia.
– It's going great, believe me. –
He concluded, and then he dunked his lips into the foamy amber and left Kadar free to reply. His brother was looking at him engrossedbut with, on his face, the light of solace: Malik had convinced him. Malik hadn't lied at all in what he said, but he knew how hard it was to express oneself when it came to some of his habits and desires, which a lot of superficial people might have labeled as vices. He had appetites inside his emotive spectrum that he needed to satisfy and could only obtain in certain conditions and through specific practices. For that reason, he used men to obtain a range of gaining that he couldn't obtain with women; and, of course, the other way around was valid, too. Simply, it was a moment in which he wanted to be under someone else and be beatenlike egg whites, and in which he didn't need to unload but to welcomeand receive other people's unloading. The fact that he was perfectly able to both dominate and be dominated left him total freedom on the topic. People with no experience or Sunday school preachers would have called him depraved, but for him it was poetry bending to fluids' prose. And shame, luckily, was never his companion in life. He knew that she was the daughter of fear, and it was enough for him to push her away.
To shame, he rather preferred discretion.
Kadar, now assuaged, went back to polishing off the nachos, the asada meat and the beans that arrived a moment later; the Al-Sayf brothers filled their stomachs talking shop about things that were untainted by worry. An hour and a half slipped away like the Mexican beers in their esophagiand at the end they stood up so they wouldn't be late for the evening showing of the movie. This time, it was an animated Japanese movie that they absolutely had to see, or so Kadar had ordered. Malik paid for both, causing the younger man's ire – he protested firmly, trying to put cash back in his pockets, but it was to no avail. Malik had decided like this and so it was going to be. He tried to make his brother reason, bringing to the table faultlessarguments such as the fact that he had a steady job and a great paycheck along which a lot of saved up money, and so offering his little brother an evening made of a movie and dinner was not only a pleasure but also not a problem. At this point, Kadar just had to think about settling in and reach full economic independence. After a lot of grumblingand accusations of being paternalistic, Kadar gave up, but reluctantly.He dragged his feet and walked with his head down for the first five minutes after they left the restaurant. But before they got to the cinema he had already forgotten it and he had brought his hands out of his pockets and relaxed his cheeks, full with forgotten whims. They bought their tickets and waited just a few minutes before getting into the theater. Walking through the hallways, Kadar was spellbound by some gummy fruit-flavored candies and other licorice, and so he filled a small bag with an embarrassing quantity. He paid for those. Malik didn't insist; he knew he would have come off as haughty if he had, someone who caresses their own ego to feel superior with the excuse of making other people's problems lighter. They sat and the commercials started. It was hot even inside there.
– That said… –
Malik started, deciding to make clear a thought that had been trailing him since Kadar had given him the third degree, before, concerning his sexual life. Kadar looked at him, chewing a couple of gummy bears.
– You, instead? No… sentimental news? –
He leaned with his elbow on the armrest and then put his chin on his open palm, leaning towards Kadar and staring at the paper bag that smelled of glycemic overdose and colorant. Kadar shook his head, bored, as if he had nothing to say.
– Nah, an absolute zero. –
To Malik it sounded too quick, and therefore, it smelled.
– Wasn't that guy… Kevin-something? The one from the party? –
Malik went back in time with his memories, but he couldn't be more precise. Kadar's flings and his not-so-stable partners were marching at a way too speedy pace for him to keep up.
– Please, I've already let him be. –
Kadar rolled his eyes with a grimace, horrified at the memory.
– Mh. –
Malik commented, neutrally. Kadar never was the kind of person who needed a pat on the back or who was especially destroyed by being unlucky in love – because when it came to occasional sex, he was very lucky; also a merit of his beautiful, ephebiclovely face and of how easily he made friends with people. Malik put his hand inside the small bag and grabbed a piece of licorice, which he started nibbling at the sides. On the screen, the first trailer started: a sci-fi that reminded him of colors and lights of Luc Besson's movies.
– Even if, truthfully, I did tell you already that there was an interesting guy… –
Kadar went back on the running track, lowering his voice now that more people were inside the room and the dolby surround's basses were audible. Malik leaned more in his direction.
– Who? –
He asked, taken by surprise. It was impossible that he could have forgotten such an important information, or at least he wouldn't have if Kadar had discussed it in serious terms with him. Malik turned more on his side, so he could look at him and not just listen. His eyebrows moving so close towards each other suggested that he missed a piece of the puzzle and he needed a hand. Kadar smiled like a kid who's just scored on penalties and stuffed another sweet into his mouth. Malik thought he was having too much fun, and there was something fishy underneath. Maybe Kadar was just having fun at his expenses.
– So, you have any news for me about Altair? –
Kadar asked, whispering inside his brother's ear. Malik couldn't believe it: he had managed so well, before dinner, to forget any thought related to him and now that the name was whispered in his ear it brought back up all the nachos with annexed sauces. Without even filtering his reactions through his thoughts, he moved back at once towards his seat, letting his face turn into a disappointed, hostileexpression.
He tore another piece of licorice with his teeth and looked at Kadar again.
– Can it, you idiot. –
He insulted him gently, because he understood that he was joking, or at least he really hoped so. Kadar laughed heartily, immediately covering his mouth as he worried about disturbing the rest of the audience. The lights were turned off by now and the trailers almost over. The movie was going to start any moment now; if he wanted information, he had to grasp them quickly.
– Come on, answer me! Did you ask him? Do you know anything? –
Kadar urgedhim, whispering, almost plastering his face all over his brother's, and Malik leaned back in reply. Kadar was looking at him with those huge eyes that he turned on people when he wanted something really bad. On the spot, Malik found revolting the insistence with which Kadar was showing interest in Altair, and inside him, he knew that it wasn't a hypothesis that might end up turning into reality, even just because he would never allow it. But then he convinced himself to go back to reality, repeating to himself that Kadar was just dicking around as usual, and he was having too much fun being a nuisance and making him nervous. Fully aware of these considerations, Malik tried to soften the scowl that had come on his face, and most of all, he tried to not have his evening ruined thanks to an idiot who wasn't even present. He just had to be less sensitive about the topic and pull out some of his usual, sharp sarcasm. So he smiled at the large, blue eyes looking at him as they begged, cleared his throat and bit off another piece of licorice.
– Actually, I do have an update. –
He whispered like sea breeze during a summer dawn. Kadar jumped on his seat, holding back with effort the enthusiasm and the gummy bears inside his mouth.
– What what what? –
He asked, wound-up, or maybe even delirious. The end of the last trailer was coming up and the last chattering was dying down. He wanted to know everything in the condensed density of a few seconds. Malik smiled as he bit down on his lower lip and shaking his head. Kadar really could be an idiot, but an adorable one. Malik bent down, leaning towards his brother again, and almost placing his lips on his ear, aiming at slipping that information as deep as possible inside his brain. Not because he wanted Kadar to think he could have a chance with Altair – that wasn't even a faraway chance – but to get him lost in imagining something that would never happen. With a voice as thin as a spider's web but letters full with an oboe's sound, Malik let slip into his brother's auditory canal that inspiration he had dreamed of so much, and left him alone to deal with it: he spoke to him in Arabic, their mother tongue, the one they often used when they were alone but most of all when they met with their parents. Malik thought that in that moment, their most intimate code of communication, and most secret, could add one more overindulgenceto the situation, which was already fun on his own. A touch of mystery and ambiguity that Kadar wouldn't have scrolled off his shoulders for the entire night. He parted his lips, let air run through them without even getting stained with the blame of lying, because he was actually confessing the truth. The screen turned black, and with that, also the breathing in the room. Swallowed in the dark and in the total silence that precedes a movie's opening titles, Malik, secretly pleased, slipped the bug inside the ear of his younger brother:
– He's bi. –
