December 15th, 2016.

New York City

Christmas was in the air.

It wasn't just about the decorations inside the main room of the shop or the fake spruce in the corner, stuffed with lights and ornaments; it was also the shopping bags of the clients, hiding the first presents for the most abused holiday of the year. The smartest ones, who do away with it earlier. Some kept the gifts in between their legs, others on their laps or the empty chair nearby; others abandoned those bags on the ground, just so they could better block the passage during rush hour. It was almost seven PM and people were hungry. Michael hadn't managed to leave the check-out for a moment; Shaun and Altair were serving clients at the counter non-stop, and the line of people waiting for their turn was on the outside, on the sidewalk in front of the shop. Yeah, Lucy had done well in starting with the Operation Looking For Personnel. For the last week people had gone in and out of her office: and someone, in between them, would have become a new co-worker soon.

– Altair. –

The addressed man was wrapping an extra-large kebab when he heard someone calling. He looked around, immediately noticing Desmond walking towards him. His cousin almost ran into him for how much he was hurrying, immediately attaching his lips to Altair's ear so that the words wouldn't be covered by the chattering in the room.

– I'll cover for you a moment. Lucy asked for you. –

Altair then looked for his boss in the middle of all that mess, recognizing the blonde woman at the corner between hallway and bathroom. She was holding a file in her hands, crossing something with a pen. Meanwhile, the hungry girl waiting for her kebab stared Altair with a vexed look in her eyes while the smell of meat and onions was filling her nostrils and feeding her fantasies. Exhausted, she cleared her throat to bring back to attention the distracted man at the counter. Desmond also offered his contribution, hitting the cousin's shoulder so that he'd get a move on. Altair snapped to attention, leaning over to hand the kebab to his client and tried to get himself forgiven with a smile, but the girl was too busy tearing her dinner from his hands to notice his pretty face. She disappeared like chips during happy hour, Desmond took Altair's place and Altair walked through the counter, jumping from the small step at the end. Before moving near Lucy, he managed to glance at the room: it really was full to the brink, like every night at this point.

– Hey. –

Altair said, elbowing her on the shoulder even if his strength was badly calibrated; that day she had come to work without tying her hair, not respecting her usual routine.

– Ouch. –

Answered Lucy without moving her eyes from the piece of paper. She was crossing the last name on a long list. Then she sighed, raising her face from the file and shaking her head, moving a few strands of blonde hair from her eyebrows. She barely managed to put her eyes in a straight line against Altair's when he spoke before she could.

– How is it going? –

He asked with sincere interest. Lucy's cheeks puffed and she huffed air out; she seemed tired.

– Good. In the last few days, there were some who came who could work out. –

Altair smiled, the best silent answer.

– Goodbye then. –

A voice behind their shoulders broke the familiarity of that moment and surprised Altair, who moved away to let a man around thirty pass, with a short dark beard and long hair under his shoulders, not really combed. He kept a backpack on one shoulder and keys in his hands. That said, the guy had been talking to Lucy, not to him.

– Goodbye, James. And thank you. –

Answered Lucy politely, like an answering machine. The man nodded, walked past the both of them and started making his way in between the clients to reach the exit. Then Altair could move back to his friend.

– Is that the guy you just crossed? –

He asked, neutrally. Lucy shrugged and stretched her arms, holding on to the sheets with her fingertips. She stared at the crowd, satisfied like an empress on her throne.

– Let's say you won't meet him again. –

– But he looked like Jesus Christ. –

Altair commented, seriously ironic, leaning against the wall with a hand.

– Are you saying I should hire him to promote peace in between religions? –

Asked Lucy, faking seriousness as well, and starting one of their nonsense driven conversations, the kind that leads nowhere except a moment of respite in between friends.

– You should push on the multiethnic angle some more. –

Altair kept on, almost with passion.

– My personnel is already multiethnic. –

Lucy said, with a bit of pride.

– One Arab, one Englishman, three Americans. You can do better. –

Altair put a drop of provocation in that suggestion, but he didn't know that a cold bucket of water of reprimand was expecting him.

– Two Arabs. –

Lucy specified, her stare and tone becoming sharper.

– Michael is not an Arab. –

He answered with certainty, puffing up his chest, as if he had to put someone back in line.

– But you are. –

Lucy threw the dagger at him, before starting to doodle useless circles on her piece of paper. Altair felt the blow coming and smelled the danger.

– I'm American, not Arab. –

His stare was inflexible, and his voice as well.

– Sure, Altair Ibn-La'Ahad. –

Lucy pronounced the name perfectly, just so he'd feel bad about it. Altair moved his hand from the wall and huffed, irritated, as foreseen.

– Your real- –

– Do you know you can be both things, don't you? –

She interrupted him, looking up at him from her piece of paper, with that firm and confident patience that wants to turn into hope. Altair didn't feel like disappointing her and kept his mouth shut.

– For that matter, Syrian is more correct than Arab. –

She kept on, turning a side to him, too. He seemed confused.

– Why, isn't that the same? –

Lucy raised her eyes to the sky, trying to not smile.

– Christ's sake, do you know in how many countries people speak Arabic? –

She said, sighing like a mother trying to explain her son that the sun doesn't go to sleep beneath the ground but it's the Earth going around it. Altair nodded, entirely too proud of his lying. Lucy wasn't fooled and arched her eyebrows waiting for him, daring him to go on and surprise her. She knew it wouldn't happen. Altair, who never had the guts to give up a challenge, looked around for a bit, crossed his arms over his chest and drummed with a finger on his tattooed biceps, guessing.

– …A whole lot? –

Lucy sent him a flat stare that closed the topic in common and silent agreement. She was ready to raise a white flag. Out of exhaustion, not because she lost that argument. She went back on the piece of paper, tapping her hand on the recycled cellulose.

– Any plans for the holidays? –

Altair tried to keep up and jump, along with his friend, to the next topic.

– Mmm, sort of. –

An answer that meant no. Lucy smiled, ahead in the understanding of the general picture and translating from Altair to English.

– I might have a proposition. –

She looked at him, stopping the pen. Altair leaned against the wall, his arms still crossed.

– Go on. –

He answered, concise as usual. Lucy decided to go for a similar strategy, informing him of the few elements that she knew would have convinced him to join.

– There will be everything you can think of that you can drink. –

With a small step on the side, she leaned towards her friend.

– There will be a lot of girls… –

She whispered, letting the words hang, as light as lavender-scented essential oil vaporized over linen.

– …and boys. –

She couldn't have done more than that. Now it was up to him. Altair stared at her with thinned lips, bright eyes and attentive ears. He was weighing the offer, which at the moment seemed to consist only of advantages. There was just a small missing detail.

– Okay. –

He started, looking down at his feet.

– And the entertainment? –

Lucy bit down on her bottom lip, satisfied that she had piqued his interest.

– Dj set non-stop on a dancefloor, until you can't feel your feet anymore. –

Altair lifted one corner of his mouth. Now the picture was absolutely perfect.

– Done deal. –

He said with a half-smile, as if he was getting rid of a weight. Lucy reciprocated with a complicit stare, until something penetrated in their reserved bubble out of osmosis.

– I'm sorry. –

Lucy immediately snapped to attention like a prairie dog, finding herself in front of a young man, tall, a Mediterranean tint to his skin; also, he had dark and long-ish hair, slightly wavy, with a thick but well-kept beard and green eyes that lighted up the remaining darkness, like sweet paprika on hummus. Long story short: he was hot.

– I'm here for the job interview. –

The intruder said with a smile. He even had a nice voice, the kind you want to listen to the radio when you're on your car and come back from the office. Lucy took her sheet again, running the list of names with her pen, but a suggestion came soon.

– Yusuf. –

The young man said, moving towards her and cracking the formalities that two people who don't know each other generally entertain.

– Yusuf Tazim. –

He completed his own name. Altair remained there, staring at him as he moved away from the wall, studying him with his aquiline eyes, in the silence typical of introverted people. Technically he was the second after the James guy, but since Lucy liked to follow the philosophy of the early bird catches the worm, she decided that she would allow him to go first. Lucy raised her eyes from the piece of paper and smiled to Yusuf. She already liked the name, but it would take more than euphony to convince her.

– Please, Yusuf, follow me. –

Lucy waved goodbye in silence at Altair, also suggesting him to go back to work. She left down the hallway and Altair lost sight of her, when on the contrary he could see Yusuf waving at him after winking, as if they were old friends biding each other goodbye. Altair reciprocated with a strange contraction of his face, friendly, but not adjusted to the confidence that had just been bestowed upon him. For a moment he stood there in the hallway, and took advantage of it to check his cellphone: he answered a couple of WhatsApp messages and scrolled through his Facebook for less than a minute, saving a link from a series of parkour itineraries that seemed interesting from the preview. He went back to work, sighing heavily before giving Desmond a heavy pat on the back and telling him to run to the kitchen. With his cousin gone, he turned towards the crowd, always more tenacious and hungry, starting again with the usual whose turn was it? What can I do for you? How do you want your kebab, yogurt or spicy sauce? and so on: it was the steady stream of an agony, the agony of repeated survival; and sometimes it bored him to pieces.

Rush hour was gone, and closing time was approaching. But that didn't stop the customers from sitting at the tables, comfortably, tasting their involucres of meat and flour dripping in between their fingers; and it didn't stop new clients from walking in the last fifteen minutes to order a complete dinner, from appetizers to dessert. But Manhattan was like that. The entire city was: the night was the moment where the alternatives to sleeping abounded, and they stripped in front of the wallet of whoever wanted to convince themselves that rest was useless, and having fun was better.

Altair was leaning against a stool beyond the counter, kind of distracted in one of those parentheses in which you could get a break in between clients. Shaun was serving a couple and no one else had walked in. He looked at the clock on the wall, counting the seconds that would eventually make a whole minute. He didn't know why but that shift had seemed longer and more tiring than usual. The job interviews with the candidates had finished about two hours ago, and Altair would have willingly snuck into Lucy's office in order to ask her if someone had beat the laborious quest of convincing her. But he knew he couldn't take advantage of being Lucy's little friend. That didn't stop him from not giving a damn when it was convenient to him, because he was (badly) adjusted to feeling always one step above the others, one step in front of other people his age, one but in the middle of a crowd, a bolded text in the middle of a page of boring Times New Roman. But that temptation to rebel died down when he saw a client walk in. It took a quick glance at Shawn to see that he was still too busy with the couple, trying to make them understand the difference between sambusa and samosa: none. So Altair had to raise his lazy ass from the stool and drag himself to the side of the counter while he tried to hide how much he wanted to leave. But an unexpected jolt helped him to wake up as he recognized the young man he was about to serve.

– Hey, Altair. –

The man at the counter, who wasn't so bored now, ran his palm over his apron, not because they were sweating or oily, but as a physical response to the surprise.

– Hey, Kadar. –

Altair returned the greeting, and the kid with fresh and summer-y traits smiled.

– How are things going? –

Added Kadar, as politeness required.

– Everything's okay. –

Altair replied briefly, and exhaustively. He wouldn't have known what else to add. He noticed Kadar glue his eyes to him and lean with his elbows on the counter's glass, absolutely not caring about the menu's choice. It was far from intimidating Altair, who had the same relationship with embarrassment as rubber has to electricity. Anyhow, Kadar could be in the shop for possibly three reasons: one, he was there for Malik; two, he was there to eat; three, both things. Given that Malik was not on shift, he decided to investigate. So, taking advantage of that silent pause which winked at a subtext not too well-defined, he finally spoke.

– Malik's shift was this morning, he's not here now. –

Altair said, without getting perturbed. But Kadar didn't, either.

– Yeah, yeah. I know. –

He replied, his mouth the shape of a half moon, and nodding with his head. He didn't add anything else. Okay, Altair said, then he wants to eat. It was the logical conclusion; if not one, it was the other. He stood on one foot, his hands on his hips, and jumping to the only possible question at that point.

– What can I give you? –

Altair asked, moving his stare in between the containers full of salad, greens, sauces, fried pieces…

– Your number. –

Kadar's smile was only as big as the insolence of what he was asking: a request at a counter in a shop, during the man's shift, when his older brother wasn't there and couldn't be a nuisance. On the spot, Altair tensed his muscles, but allowed Kadar the benefit of the doubt. He didn't like how that conversation was heading, if those two lines could be defined a conversation.

– What do you mean? –

He asked, coming off a bit like an idiot, because the question didn't need many clarifications in itself. But he had decided to put aside suppositions, hints and tricks and be as literal as possible. If Kadar was really asking for his number, he had to understand why. So, Altair stayed there, looking at him with a flat stare, not sure of how to react, while Kadar started laughing, his elbows sliding off the counter's glass before scratching his nose. He was cute.

– I mean, your cell. –

Kadar said, amused, his hand miming a phone handle with thumb and pinky finger, like you'd do with someone who's being an idiot. The kid was smiling, though, the antithesis of contempt. Altair managed a smile, feeling like he was being an idiot, but also a bit in danger. Kadar was asking for his contact: nothing bad in exchanging them in between two regular people. But in Altair's head echoed a thought, a murmur, a warning. Malik is going to be pissed off. Altair lowered his eyes, not out of embarrassment, but to find the right words to refuse that request, or at least, lose some time, changing the topic, waiting until suddenly he'd turn invisible.

– What do you want to eat? –

Altair asked with a smile, as if nothing happened. Kadar's eyes narrowed into two slits, but he played the game: he glanced through the counter, weighted the food offer, curled his lips, and then pointed to some fried greens. Altair grabbed a paper bag that he started filling with the veggie balls, deluding himself into having managed to dodge that bullet. Kadar, who was far from giving up, took out his phone and remained with his thumb on the keyboard, ready, smiling at Altair like a very patient salesperson would do.

– Come on, tell me. –

The younger man said, reaching out to grab his night snack. Altair became evasive again, his eyes roaming around the room, which was emptier than before. He couldn't ask anyone for help, or, who knows, a client that suddenly would slide off his chair so that he could go and help him out. Nothing. Altair then decided to stop beating around the bush and do away with his doubt. Being informed on Kadar's real motivations was essential to better weigh his answer.

– Why do you want it? –

Altair moved, starting to empty a few of the trays, putting the food together, cleaning. Staying still with Kadar looking at him was making him feel just guiltier. He didn't know why for sure, himself. Maybe because if he looked at Kadar, he couldn't help thinking about Malik?

– Why do I want your number? –

Asked Kadar rhetorically, finding admirable the way Altair was trying to deflect. Maybe he had embarrassed him, or maybe he was shy, underneath. Both possibilities looked very juicy to him.

– Because I think you're nice. –

He candidly confessed, without too much fuss. He walked along the counter's glass, the fried greens still boiling hot in one hand and the cellphone in the other. Altair glanced at him and smiled in his own way (as in, weirdly). He grabbed two trays of salad and put in only one of them what edible food was left.

– You are, too. –

Altair replied, sincerely. That was not an invitation to go on with that pseudo-courting, but just his honest opinion. Then again, it was the year of the lord 2016, two men could exchange appreciation without looking… well, you know what people end up thinking.

– I wanted to ask you to go out with me. –

Okay, maybe that was more ambiguous now. Altair lifted the empty tray, putting it on a shelf behind him. Then he glanced at Kadar, while he leaned down to grab the fried veggies' bowls that had to go back into the fridge.

– Go out, how? –

Asked Altair, who at that point was walking the thin line of sounding like a total retard with those requests for more clarity. If that conversation had been with anyone else, he'd have already proposed a time and hour, if interested, or he'd have gently turned that offer down if not. But this was different. This was Malik's brother and he had to handle it with extreme care. Even if he ended up looking like a complete fool, he had to be absolutely sure of what was being asked of him, because as it was, Altair was sure that Kadar was hitting on him. Kadar laughed again, his hand slipping inside the bag with the fried veggies, biting at the side of a veggie ball. The kid, other than having a pretty face, also had an excellent technique, which didn't seem to go on with a correctly developed sense of shame.

– Something calm. –

Kadar answered, with serenity, shrugging and munching on his food. He had no idea of what Altair was being so cautious, but he liked it.

– We can take a walk, go to the arcade, watch a movie, grab a beer… –

Two clients stood up and went to the check-out to pay, leaving them even more alone. Kadar was distracted by that movement, Altair wasn't.

– That's all. –

Kadar added, finishing the sentence. An invitation that didn't look evil or dangerous, apparently, but that Altair saw as a burning charcoal: if he had ended up holding it in his hands, he'd have ended up with a bad burn. Just at the idea of going out with Kadar his initial fear had turned immediately into from Malik will be pissed to Malik will kill me. He couldn't do it. At least not before consulting with Malik. He had to keep an equilibrium and he didn't want to ruin that lukewarm sense of understanding that seemed to have gotten a bit better in the last few weeks. Or maybe he wanted to believe it. Anyway, going out with Kadar in ambiguous terms, without Malik knowing first, would have made him turn hostile. Or better, more than usual. It wasn't a risk he wanted to run.

– Malik told you that I'm gay, didn't he? –

Asked Kadar, clear as a question on the weather, as his teeth sank in another fried veggie ball. He had lifted the veil of misunderstanding, not leaving any room for interpretation. As much as it presented new issues, Altair was grateful. He'd rather have the truth over examining his clues.

– Yes. –

Altair answered, without a particular tone to his voice. He hadn't lost his cool at all. If Kadar's question had been, Malik told you I'm straight, didn't he?, he would have been shocked. Instinctually, his first thought had been one can see from miles that you're gay. And maybe that was why he had immediately replied yes to that question, because in truth he had always known, having imagined from the beginning. That said, he got there but Malik hadn't told him so, logically, Altair had just lied. For a moment his brain got caught in a contortion, trying to go back through his reasoning, but he understood that something wasn't adding up, so he decided to be clearer.

– I mean, no. –

Altair was quick to precise, letting the bowls be so he could raise his hand and be more convincing.

– He didn't tell me, it's that… –

His brain short-circuited again. He'd have finished that thought saying he got there on his own, that Kadar was gay, because… because you could see it. But how would that consideration have sounded to the kid's ears? Would it have been offensive to say it? Would it have sounded homophobic? Just rude? Or maybe there was nothing wrong in saying you look gay because there's nothing bad in being gay after all.

Was it him not creating enough problems, or other people who created more than necessary?

– You understood. –

Kadar replied coming in to help, with a smile as big as a Big Mac. Altair sighed and shrugged, with a relieved expression that shook off a bit of the tension he had accumulated. That welcoming smile gave him instant peace, and he thought that such an answer could come just from someone who liked himself enough that he could go for what he wanted without too many problems. And Altair always felt at ease with people who, before anything else, were at ease with themselves. Maybe Malik's little brother was a cool guy after all.

– Okay, come on, let's do it like this. –

Kadar started, as he finished munching on his food and fixed his backpack on his shoulder. He glanced at the time on his cell and put a hand on the counter's glass.

– I swear I won't call or text. You think about it, and I only keep the number. –

His clear eyes were standing out on that lively face with pleasant features, and were begging him to make him happy with a smiling silence; a bit like a Labrador puppy waiting for someone to throw him a ball to play. It was all a bit strange, a bit suspicious, and very much impulsive. Altair didn't want to take any false steps, and that small percentage of a contemplative nature that belonged to him was screaming to be cautious, very cautious. And eventually, to say all the truth, he wondered, was Kadar one of those people who just went for it, playing with the risk factor, or did he know for sure that Altair liked men, as well? Did Malik tell him? Altair's guarded expression was gradually turning into a poker face, trying to anesthetize any clue that might give out how that entire situation was turning his guts inside out.

– Hey, calm down, I don't bite. –

Kadar added, laughing to himself, as cute as a high school senior. He was trying to get rid of Altair's diffidence with composure and irony. He had no idea of why he was getting that rigid, but he liked something in the fact that it was because of him. He stayed there looking at him with the brightest of his smiles, swaying on himself and sticking another one of the fried veggies in his mouth. Really, he wasn't in any hurry. Altair raised the corners of his mouth, his face finally gaining an expression that wasn't the same as a block of chalk. He smiled, putting a hand on his hip and glancing around. It was time to close and he didn't have too much time anymore to waste with winks and hints from ephebic pretty faces. He needed to stop stalling. So, he thought about it, and he thought that in the end it was just a number. He wasn't signing a contract and anyway he would talk about it with Malik the following day. He couldn't be guilty of anything, and Kadar was old enough to decide who he should flirt with without asking anyone for permission. Maybe. He was still in the dark about how the dynamics in between the two Syrian brothers were, but he absolutely didn't intend to bend them at all; not intentionally, at least. So he took a decision, as in, that he'd give him that number. More so that he'd back off and not because he gave up, but Kadar didn't need to hear that. He wasn't the kind of person to humiliate their fans, after all.

– Okay, okay. –

Altair said, keeping on his lopsided half-smile and reaching over the counter. He was clearly asking for the cellphone. Kadar seemed surprised: all that effort and that pantomime, and now he didn't even believe it himself. He quickly grabbed the cellphone from his pocket, putting on the side the half-eaten veggie ball that wasn't so interesting anymore. He went on his tiptoes and handed Altair the cellphone, observing in detail and emotion each motion of his fingertips as he typed on the screen: a groupie at the first signed t-shirt. Altair was quick and saved it without nicknames, changing the last digit intentionally or other clumsy misses. In three seconds, he handed it back and had the clear sensation of having walked through the door of someplace he couldn't go back from anymore. That idea created an iron-y taste in his mouth, and his smile, strange as it was, died.

– I've got to go now. –

Altair said a moment later, a bit because he really had to work, a bit because he really wanted to get away as fast as possible from something that might have turned into a mistake, even if he didn't know yet. Kadar swallowed the veggie ball and took a step back, happy to have obtained what he desired, and honest in not pushing any further. He made a gesture of understanding with his hand, winked at him and smiled again – or better, had he ever stopped?

– Hey, I'll ring you just once, so you have my number back. –

Kadar shaking his cellphone with his hand, his body language screaming I'm about to do it, I'm about to do it, I'm doing it. He took a couple steps back, staring at his phone, while two clients walked behind him and saying goodbye at the whole of the place, without addressing anyone in particular. Just three stubborn people were still inside, and then there were the two of them, the Syrians: the hunter and the prey. Who was which, was an intersectional question.

– Done. –

Kadar said, putting his phone in his pocket. He was clearly waiting for a reaction on Altair's side and it came, bland and frayed, as usual. He grabbed the bowls and started tidying up other kitchen tools on the counter, knowing he was late both time-wise and work-wise. He only answered glancing at him as he moved his head under the counter to take back the trays.

– It's in the other room, I'll save it later. –

Kadar smiled and threw in the garbage the oily bag with the fried veggies. He was finished, and not just with eating. He stuck his hands in his pockets and he smiled, feeling fulfilled, ready to leave the scene knowing he obtained something.

– I'll leave you then. –

The younger man said, waving goodbye. It was clear that Altair was busy and couldn't pay attention to him anymore. He understood it, same as he hoped Altair understood the reasoning behind his request for a date. Altair should better make peace with it.

Altair made a graceless motion with his face while he stood back up: his way of saying goodbye. He stayed with his eyes glued to Kadar's back until he saw him leave, and then he let a lumpy and dirty breath leave his mouth, the kind you keep in your lungs for a long time. He put his things on the counter and put both his hands on the surface, his head half-bent down while he admitted to himself that he was tired because of this unforeseen circumstance he hadn't asked for.

There was no doubt that Malik was a complicated person; and there also was no doubt that for some reason Malik didn't like him, either. So, needing to stop and maybe change strategy because of a glitch named Kadar which was, maybe, showing a crush on him, was pretty much disheartening. And irritating, too. He was daydreaming about screwing the older brother, and the younger one was asking him out. Could something go the right way, for once?

He saw Shaun walk inside the main room and grabbing dishes from the last dirty tables, and maybe his intervention was seen from the few remaining clients like a shaded menace that said, please get your ass out of here already. Whoever had to pay still did, whoever had to leave, left. Altair kept on doing his job, but in a more distracted manner than usual. In that last hour of closing down and cleaning he ran into Shaun, Desmond and Lucy, but he only reserved to all of them the usual façade of an attention that was actually elsewhere, inside him. He was thinking of what to do, and how. He felt sad because he felt unlucky, but at least he felt comforted in having an excuse to talk to the object of his desires. He wouldn't tell him the words he wanted to, but at least he would talk to him. He had to turn everything on its head to his advantage so he could stay ahead of Malik or, at least, still in the right lane. He needed to look disinterested but also attentive. He had to approach him as a friend, but also as a possible risk. He had to tell him about what happened, but take advantage of it as well to scratch beyond the surface.

He had to talk to Malik.