Booze And Bongs (Spamano)

by soupsoupsoupsoup

Lonely, working myself to death, and balls deep in wedding planning, my high school peer returns to town to put the cherry on top of my burnt out sundae. He's more charming than ever, but not in a million years would I say that out loud, since mostly because he still smells potently of weed. Warnings: Heavy use and mention of weed and alcohol. Language. Sex. Gerita.

2. Chapter 1

Chapter One.

The Man Who Lit The Bowl For Me So I Wouldn't Burn Myself.

...

Our town has many small quirks.

In addition to only having one market to depend on for most edible and non edible goods, there is also a video store that still rents out VHS tapes, speed limits that don't go over 12mph, only just over 100 residents, and yet still having a town mayor (selectmen as we call it as he is not officially called a mayor). There are 24hr dance marathons and knitting contests, picnic basket auctions and a large, strangely spotless fountain in the town square. The largest crime that happened in the past 50 years was when a teenager from the local high school stole a garden gnome from Mr. Kirkland's front yard, who also happens to be this selectman, so it didn't end well for them.

Every Thursday night, at Mr. Kirkland's bookstore, him and his secretaries (Matthew and Alfred respectfully, a strange couple of brothers) gently move away the bookshelves to open the space up and put emphasis on a small raised "stage", to say liberally, where Mr. Kirkland would host open mic nights where young writers could come and share a short story or a poem in front of other literature enthusiasts. My brother would often drag me to this corner of the book store when we were in high school, along with our grandfather, to hear what poems he had written in his English class that he was especially proud of.

Every Thursday night, Mr. Kirkland would stand on that stage to host a town meeting, Matthew and Alfred sitting in metal folding chairs just next to where he stood. And every Thursday night I somehow found myself stuffed into the small storefront, along with the rest of the town. How I was swindled into such a tradition is beyond me, though I have a vague suspicion it came from grandpa's love for these meetings when he lived here.

"Now if everyone can settle down we can start this meeting," Mr. Kirkland (or Arthur, as I like to call him, as he was hardly so much older than me to warrant a 'mr.' ) spoke over the bubbly crowd.

I recall rubbing my temples submerged in the sea of people around me. It was true the town was rather rowdy that night, more than normal as I even remember Kiku, someone I often found very reserved and quiet, excitedly chatting with his neighbor who sat next to him. It was irritating and causing a headache, though that wasn't hard to achieve as I seemed prone to them. I always blamed my light eyes, akin to honey, but as I aged they darkened to a deep brown, much to my dismay. Regardless, the stinging pain swarming my forehead and behind my eyes dulled with a sweet sense of relief as Arthur managed to grab the attention of the room. His British accent managed to overpower others' conversations and he straightened the stack of papers he held in his hand.

"Thank you," he responded quietly, with an eye to the town. "Now the first item of business is as follows: our winter festival is coming up and we will need volunteers to help set up…"

I didn't pay an awful lot of attention to the town meetings.

I was half listening, but I already knew the jist of what was being said. We often had the same cycle of meetings every year, as much didn't really happen here. Hardly any conflict, hardly any drama, hardly anything out of the ordinary. Arthur was mostly interested in raising our tourism industry to compete with neighboring towns, always trying to find ways to come off more charming. The rest of the town would just let him do as he wished as we could hardly care less. Although there was a time where he wanted to mandate bug spray and spray pounds of it all over town to promise tourists a mosquito-free summer. We chimed in on that one.

We had just recently hit December and our annual winter festival was around the corner. I glanced over to my brother across the aisle to see him whispering something in Ludwig's ear, who sat next to him. They smiled at each other and I turned away, feeling a little nauseated. I knew the pair were planning on volunteering to help set up for the festivities, and no doubt they'd want to hold a little booth to sell hot chocolate or something. They were painfully involved in the town, and often dragged me along with them as the ultimate third wheel. The town enjoyed their energy, the town's royal couple practically, and I somewhat just got to stand in the shadows. I'm not complaining, but I would be lying if I said it wasn't annoying at times… most times. I saw some hands go up in favor of something and I forced my brain back into reality. Arthur was telling Matthew to jot down the names of the people volunteering and then announced the next subject.

"Alright," he started, shuffling the papers. "Next month we have a wedding coming up! One to be held in the town square, and I understand that everyone in the town is invited, yes?"

I rolled my eyes. This was a topic I was not forigen to, as I was practically balls deep in planning this wedding with my brother. Arthur looked at the couple, Feliciano and Ludwig, and Feliciano nodded at his statement, adding something about how he's grateful for how much help the town has been during the whole planning process. It's seriously been a pain in my ass the past year– who knew there were so many different shades of white? I certainly did not. And I did not care either.

Feliciano was wrapped up in if he should wear white, or if Ludwig should, or if both or neither of them should. I said who cares? It's their wedding. Though Feliciano cried he enjoyed the tradition of one of the pair wearing white. I remember Ludwig chiming in that it was a bit of a different situation for same-sex couples though, and agreed with me that they should do whatever they please. I was not exactly happy to have him agree with me, but I bit my tongue for my brother, who always desperately wanted us to get along. I mean, it's not like I hate him or anything, he's just not good enough for Feliciano. Plain and simple.

Feliciano insisted otherwise and I suppose I had to trust him. It's not my life after all.

That didn't mean I didn't keep my eye on him, though. They had been dating since high school and somehow managed to survive through college too. They never had a major fight. Disagreements, sure, but seemed to work them out maturely, while they also lived apart from each other for a while, doing long distance, and Ludwig seemed to pass the vibe check from our grandfather, who was arguably more protective of us. They seemed to be perfect for each other– that's what it looked like, that's what the town saw, but I was keen to keep an eye peeled. I would not let my guard down. My brother is probably the most infuriatingly pure thing on the planet, to a fault, and without him I probably wouldn't even be here, so as a silent act of gratitude I swore to myself to protect him from bullshit. And I still was not convinced that Ludwig wasn't full of bullshit, though he's done nothing to make me suspect him. Nothing except for being related to some blubbering, crass, aggravating–

"-and I know you have received and submitted all proper permits, so I give you my congratulations to you two!" Arthur was still talking. "Which brings me to a nice segue into our final piece of news, rather than business, which is I'm... happy… to report that our trio whom I'm sure we've all missed since high school, is returning home tonight."

–asshole.

Speak of the fucking devil(s).

Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis. I related to the way Arthur hesitated on the word 'happy' with a jeer and a scoff. He was referring to three idiots most of the young-adult population remembered having gone to high school with way back in the day. I remembered them clearly. Since Ludwig was intertwined with my little brother, that was enough for them to loop me into their shit. Pinning things on me, pulling pranks, disrupting class, or embarrassing me while I'm trying to give a presentation about something or other. Apparently it was just hilarious that my face would go red when they'd shout something at me while I was trying to talk. They often got pulled out of the classroom to sit in the hall until the teacher would have time to go out and talk to them.

They smoked weed in the bathrooms and got drunk in the park on school nights, wherein they'd call me at 2AM to come and get them or else they'd blackmail me in some non threatening way, with another prank no doubt that I simply didn't want to have to clean up the next morning. So unfortunately, I spent a lot of long nights picking them up before the police could get to them for being so loud and then give them some sandwiches I brought from home to sober them up before they got home. Like hell did I need one of them blaming their intoxication on me if their parents figured shit out so then I could get chewed out by grandpa. They were fucking headaches, they made my days so much harder, and the day we all graduated was akin to the relief I imagine you get from heroine (don't do drugs, kids).

I didn't pay attention to the rest of the meeting, it seemed pointless to me now. This devastating news bummed me out to say the least and when Arthur called it over, I was probably the first one out the door to sulk. In the setting orange sun I dug my hands deep into my sweatpant pockets before there was a light tug on my sleeve. When I turned around, I saw my brother's face with something in his expression telling me he was thinking up something I would likely get mad at. He seemed mischievous.

"Hey, Lovi," he greeted, smiling and Ludwig tailing behind. "Some meeting, huh?"

"Sure," I scowled, then looked up to set my attention on the tall blond behind my brother. "Are they actually coming back?"

"I see no reason Arthur would lie," Feliciano said first.

"Oh, they're definitely coming back," Ludwig sighed. "When they got back to the United States Gilbert took it upon himself to call me every week to keep me posted. He says he thinks they'll be in town later tonight."

The two seemed to see my discomfort, something I wasn't really trying to hide, but my gut told me to be careful, the imagery of my scheming brother just moments before still fresh in my mind. I had a feeling I knew what he'd try to bring up, but wanted to leave it alone. I tried to act clueless and disgruntled.

"Well things are definitely going to get more interesting around here," my brother beamed. "That's for sure."

"Oh, yippie..."

Feliciano glanced at me before settling his gaze on Ludwig again. He smiled once more before pushing Ludwig back in the direction of his diner just across the town square where we stood. He posited that the diner very well couldn't run much longer without him, and that we'd (apparently I was being dragged along too) meet him there in a moment. He agreed, kissed my brother's cheek briefly, and then sauntered off. My arms were crossed.

"You two are insufferable," I said. "He better be making you happy."

"He is."

Feliciano reassured me like he always did, that sweet expression of his still plastered on his face in a way that you couldn't not believe him. Devilish boy, he always got us into way too much trouble as kids with that face despite popular belief. It was quiet for a moment apart from the noise of a passing car.

"Did you want to talk to me about something alone?" I asked, suspicious that Feliciano let Ludwig go on ahead to get us by ourselves. And even though I asked the question, just seconds afterwards I regretted it, suddenly aware that this was about to be the reason Feliciano looked so eager just after the meeting.

"Oh, come on Lovino," he giggled. "You know what I'm gonna say."

"I do not." My eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes you do!" he kept pressing forward. "About a certain Spainard coming back into town after about ten years?"

"Don't be an idiot, Feliciano! Let's just go already."

I started my way to the diner where I saw Ludwig pouring some coffee to a lone customer that sat at the counter, one that lined the whole back wall. (Damn, that man walked fast.) The faint light of the building seemed like a strange comfort to me as it was a way to escape this topic. But I heard my brother laugh again and skip in front of me, holding my sleeve.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, in a minute," he sighed. "But I am really just curious as to what you're thinking right now. What're you gonna do?"

"About what?"

"About Antonio!" his voice was raising with excitement at the sight of a slight pink on my cheeks. "Everyone knows you had a huge crush on him in high school."

"Shut up will you!" my stomach dropped as I glanced around us quickly. "I don't need untrue rumors spreading around the town!"

News traveled rather fast from where we were from, the town apparently bored with nothing else to do but bud into everyone else's lives. It was rather annoying and I didn't care for it. The only rumor circling around about me is that I'm the town loner, and I was perfectly fine with that. Content, I didn't want anything to change, and I didn't need my brother's carrying voice to affect that. Lord knows I'd just end it all if I overheard Alfred talking to Kiku about a false accusation about my affections for someone I haven't seen in years. My next words were tossed over my shoulder as I swiftly turned to the diner again and pressed forward.

"C'mon, just get your boyfriend to make me some coffee."

…

Luckily when we got comfortable in the diner Feliciano didn't prod on. He knew better than to do that in front of Ludwig, who was currently tucked away in the kitchen, its door also behind the long counter. We sat there, chatting about this and that for a while in the overwhelming silence. The one man that was in here before had already left, in the middle of a late dinner Ludwig had prepared for the both of us. I was happy to get free food any chance I got, not exactly being flushed with cash, so I withstood their couple-isms and enjoyed a burger and mac n' cheese. We hadn't noticed (apart from Ludwig, who was always aware of the time so he knew when to flip his sign to "closed") how late it had gotten as we emptied out an entire two pots of coffee. Nearing midnight, we were still going strong, me and Feliciano recounting some funny story about our parents while Ludwig was off counting his tickets down the counter a ways.

But with absolutely no warning whatsoever, the front door wanted to slam open. A large thud shook the glass on the door, startling all three of us as we turned to see its hinges still aching. Somehow I was not surprised to see that it was Gilbert outside, nursing his shoulder as I suppose he was trying to swing the door open for a dramatic entrance, but instead just throwing himself up against a door that Ludwig had only locked recently. I heard him sigh over his shoulder, immediate exasperation, before he walked from where his tickets were to let in the albino human tornado we all knew as Gilbert Beilschimdt.

"Mein kleiner Brüderchen!" were the first words out of his mouth. "Willkomm mich zu Hause!"

"Come in and sit down before you break something," Ludwig responded simply.

"So cold!" Gilbert exclaimed. "After all this time, not even a hug for your big brother? Oh! You haven't changed a bit!"

The pale man thrust himself forward into a forceful embrace with Ludwig who stumbled slightly, but his expression didn't lead anyone to believe he wasn't expecting this. Gilbert laughed as he squeezed him tightly and slapped him on the back.

"It is good to see you, bruder," Ludwig sighed.

"Of course it is! I can't imagine how boring things have been around here without me." He pulled away from the hug, finally noticing Feliciano sitting elatedly on a stool. "And Feli! It's wonderful to see you!"

They met halfway in another hug as Feliciano responded with a ditto in some form or another.

"I heard you and Lud are gettin' married," Gilbert beamed. "When's the ceremony?"

"Next month."

"So soon?"

Ludwig piped up once he was back behind the safety of his counter. "We've been engaged for over a year now, you know."

The brother knitted his eyebrows in an expression of hurt before he shouted back. "I did not!" he yelled. "I was traveling all over, it's not like I had an address to receive mail!"

He didn't respond to that, and I kept quiet too, not necessarily wanting to say anything to catch the man's attention. His loud voice was enough to cause a ringing pain in my ears that started to form another headache. I just sipped my coffee as Gilbert seemed to get over himself quickly and sit, changing the subject.

"I visited Opa a few months back," he said.

"Is he doing well? Is his knee still bothering him?" Ludwig asked.

"Oh you know him," Gilbert smiled. "Same tough, old, stubborn bastard. But yeah, he seemed good. Not any worse for the wear."

I went unnoticed for a quality and peaceful amount of time, and was grateful, having Feliciano sitting between me and the loud man. Quietly sipping from my mug and avoiding eye contact with everyone allowed me to melt back into the scenery, though I knew it wouldn't last long. It was only a matter of seconds after Ludwig stopped entertaining him and Feli ran out of things to say that I was discovered.

"Lovino! Damn, have you been here the whole time?"

I side eyed him, peaking over to my left to see him leaning his full weight on the counter. I sighed and mumbled something to myself. "Yep," I responded flatly.

"Well hell, it's good to see you man." He knew better than to get up and try to hug me like he did the others. At least he respected that much– but unfortunately for my throbbing head he continued to talk after I said nothing more. "Hey, if you're not doing anything now you should stop by and see Francis and Antonio too! We're all hangin' at Lud's!"

"They're staying with us?" Feliciano looked at his partner with a confused eye.

"No," he grumbled. "My old apartment. I'm subleasing it to Gilbert for now."

Gilbert's smiling face was still on me waiting for my response to his proposition and my brain short circuited. I was never one to really think quickly, taking a minute to form my thoughts properly before spitting them out. Maybe that's why I blurted out such fantastically obvious lies. But then again if you take time to think up your lie in the moment, that's just as big of a giveaway. You can't win. I was in the middle of this, trying to quickly think of a reason I had to go home– to feed my cat (I don't have any pets), I have work in the morning (I work in the evenings), I was tired (I just downed way more coffee than I should have). I sputtered and Gilbert took that as a "sure why not" to his question.

"Why not drag along your brother?" I spat instead, still holding out hope to wiggle out of the situation.

"Oh, he wouldn't approve of such activities we have planned."

He had a bright and smug look on his face, chest slightly puffed out with pride. I could sense the glare coming from Ludwig even from where I was sitting, and I was certain the albino could feel it burning into his skull. He seemed good at pretending not to feel it.

"What activities?" Ludwig's voice was low.

But with no shame whatsoever, Gilbert swung a small plastic baggie out from his pocket. "Look! Can you believe it? After all these years, I check my secret hiding spot and it's still there," he let out a hardy laugh before quickly stuffing it away before Ludwig could snatch it. He tried anyway.

I wasn't shocked at all in the slightest when I recognized the bag. I wasn't sure how I hadn't noticed the smell on the guy the moment he stepped in the door. Perhaps I was used to him smelling like that from high school, associating it with Gilbert more than that little illegal green plant. There were a few decent sized nugs left in there from what I could see briefly. Ten year old weed? Bugs and bacteria had to have gotten to it by now, but Ludwig spoke before I could pipe in with my question.

"Gilbert!" Ludwig scolded. "Du bist ein Vogel! Don't just flash that carelessly! You could get arrested!"

"Ain't that dick we went to high school with…uhh.. Alfred Jones! Ain't he the head of police here now?"

"Yes," his voice was extremely strained.

"Well fuck he sold it to me!" Gilbert laughed again and almost keeled over. Despite Feliciano's quiet attempts to calm Ludwig down, the brother was still silently crossed with a mixture of uncomfortableness and frustration.

"Don't expect me to bail you out if you get in trouble."

"Aw! Don't worry brüderchen, that's what we have Lovino for!" He looked at me. "Just like the old days, huh?"

I sighed. The old days.

…

It wasn't too long before I found myself in a surprisingly nice apartment, though destroyed by backpacks and a few stray boxes, old furniture that Ludwig likely left behind when he moved in with my brother, and a bong.

When we arrived I was nervous to see who'd answer the door, my nerves just being easily jumpy at that moment I guess. Gilbert had been talking to me about a time they almost got arrested in Hungary before he paused at the front door and asked me if Elizabeta still lived in town. She didn't. But I didn't have a chance to respond, Francis swinging open the door in front of us. He seemingly knew we were there based on instinct but something more believable he could've said was that he heard Gilbert's loud, boisterous voice through the door.

I recall feeling stiff as they ushered me in and sat me on the couch. On either side of me, the two sparked up some random conversation, and I was glad to temporarily be out of the spotlight to catch my breath, no doubt in for a treat of loud laughter and drunken singing later in the night.

Just like the old days.

While they were talking, I got used to my surroundings. I glanced at the nicely painted, soft blue walls where lonely nails with no picture frame to call a friend were perched. Empty shelves and a TV stand with no TV. An archway to my left leading into a small kitchen, the threshold halfway interrupted by a small bar jutting from the wall, cutting the doorway in half. Two stools, one with an uneven leg, sat next to it. I assumed that the hallway beyond that led to the bathroom and whatever bedrooms there were in the small place.

"Oh and we've just been ignoring our guest," Francis slapped my back. "What terrible hosts we are."

I supposed my short time hiding in plain sight was over once again. I cleared my throat at the slap while their gazes landed on me and my bored expression. My brows were relaxed, resting low over my eyes with laziness and I remember my mouth being in a pointed frown. I looked to Francis with a grunt as my half hearted response. I clearly did not want to be there, despite what Gilbert and Feliciano had to say.

"Would you like anything to drink, Lovi?" the blond offered to me.

I wrinkled my nose at the nickname, something I hardly let my grandfather call me on a good day, and shook my head. "Like you have anything more than tap water right now," I scoffed.

"Not true!" Gilbert erupted beside me, gathering my attention and turning around. He sprung up from his space on the couch and quickly shuffled over to their fridge. Eagerly I watched him open the freezer (and an empty one at that apart from one thing) and pull out a handle of vodka. "And Toni's out gettin' more," he sneered.

"You motherfuckers haven't changed a damn bit since high school," I blurted.

"And neither have you with that tongue, I see," Francis said back, standing as well to join Gilbert in the kitchen, who was now fishing through a small box on the countertop.

I cringed at myself a bit. I always knew I had a sharp tongue, quick to the insult or curse word, and I was never ashamed of that. Even through all the lectures from family and teachers, pleas from Feliciano to keep my voice down, or Arthur's annoyed statement rather than a request at town meetings, I never bothered to change that. They were just words to me, and they added fun embellishment to things, and I still believe that. But somehow coming from the two as a retort to them staying the same, never maturing or growing, after all these years, stung a bit. For the first time in my life it challenged me to watch my language, just out of pure spite to prove that I had matured way more than the rest of them. Because I knew I had, or at least that's what I believed then.

I shook it off for the time being, deciding to stand, feeling rather alone on the couch. "Why do you need more than one handle at a time anyways?" I eyed the rather large bottle, now in Francis' hands as Gilbert pulled mismatching shot glasses and mugs from the box.

"We like options!" the albino yelled.

"You're such alcoholics…"

I always thought so. The way I saw it, the way grandpa had raised me, was that the only alcohol giving half a damn to was Italian red wine. Maybe French, but it depended on what kind of red wine and the brand then. It was a delicious way to wrap up the flavors of every bite of food at a meal, a conversational piece, not something to get drunk off of. A buzz with a smile and a giggle was ideal, just for making you crazy enough to splurge for the extra fancy dessert. I never understood people who drank just to drink, just to get drunk, but when I got to college I understood.

Those were rather rough times, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy a period of my life just going to house parties on the weekends and waking up in my dorm room with no recollection of how I got home. Very safe. It lasted me until the middle of grad school, where it slowly petered out and became less fun. My tolerance had gone way up and I was gradually waking up with more and more of a hangover so eventually the cons outweighed the pros and I just gave it up. It wasn't a very important part of my life anyway. I only enjoyed drinking when grandpa invited me and Feliciano over for dinner. The appropriate way to enjoy alcohol, I knew.

I just simply didn't understand how the trio had such an endurance for the stuff all the years, though they'll likely all die from liver failure. But they were adults, I couldn't tell them what to do, just make fun of them for it.

As I saw Gilbert open his mouth to spout some unrelenting but undoubtedly lazy comeback, the door slammed open, as if kicked with a hard boot. Swiveling around, I saw that I was correct, firstly seeing a pair of old battered and brown boots that have been loved beyond trying to recognize the brand name. Flicking my eyes upward, I saw no one other than–

"Antonio!"

Gilbert immediately got distracted and ran to his friend at the front door, whose arms were chalk full of brown paper bags, no doubt filled to the brim with an obscene amount of alcohol. He was talking to him a mile a minute as he grabbed a few bags, freeing up one of the man's arms.

"What took you so long?" he complained.

Then a nervous laugh bubbled through the room, and suddenly I felt different and oh lord is that the time? Maybe I should get going–

"Sorry!" Antonio responded, eyes closed in a smile as he shut the door behind him. "Bella still works at the market! And when she was checking me out I just wanted to–"

I was hanging on his words, for a reason I can't quite remember, but he suddenly stopped. I wouldn't have noticed though, as the disruption came from me. My eyes. His eyes. The gazes snapped together out of nowhere, and he finally realized that I was there. I was hiding a bit in the corner, on the living room side of the bar instead of the Spaniards two friends who were busying themselves in the kitchen half. The moment he recognized me his words faded away and his hand lingered on the door, as if he froze for a little bit, and I didn't dare to say anything to snap him out of his trance. Because even though I would have never admitted it then, I was really glad to see those green eyes again.

"Just wanted to…?" Francis heard him trail off, confused. "Catch up?" he finished with a question.

"Oh–" Antonio shook himself back to reality. "Yes, that's right."

He let himself into the room with some steps forward, his eyes looking at his friends with no confusion. He seemed to know what they were doing, while I was struggling to understand why Gilbert had stuck his head in the dishwasher and Francis was pouring vodka in a wine glass. Antonio completed his journey across the room, coming to stand next to me and place the remaining bags down on the counter. He hesitantly looked down at me, as he was a lot taller than I remembered him being.

"Hey Lovino," he greeted. "It's nice to see you again. How long has it been? Nine, ten years?"

"Eleven," I corrected, eyes downward.

"Eleven," Antonio repeated to me.

"Oui isn't it so crazy!" Francis butted in at that point leaning forward on his elbow on the other side of the counter. He was swirling the vodka in his glass as if it were wine, but he didn't yet take a sip. I had guessed that maybe he was preparing to take a shot, the glass being his shot glass of choice. And an odd one at that. "We haven't seen you since we were all 18!"

"Ay and now we're nearing 30…" Antonio sighed with a nostalgic grin on his face.

"Don't remind me!" Francis whined.

I didn't add much to the conversation. I didn't want to. I merely just stood by as I saw Gilbert finally emerge from the dishwasher to present even more newly cleaned cups and glasses. He messily laid them out in front of us, organizing them in order of size before tearing away the brown paper around the booze Antonio had picked up. To my horror, it was just more vodka. New Amsterdam, Grey Goose, Absolut Vodka, Smirnoff, Svedka…

"Are you guys insane?" I spoke up, interrupting a conversation I wasn't listening to. They all looked at me with inquiry, and I groaned, nodding my head to the mass amount of liquor. "All Vodka? I thought you said Antonio was out getting more options?"

"Oh you deeply misunderstand," Francis smiled at me. I glared back. "We are conducting a compare and contrast experiment with all the vodka we could find in town. Sounds fun, non?"

"It sounds terrible."

I deadpanned my speech as they all laughed at me. It certainly sounded like a dumb idea that they would come up with, or moreso Gilbert who then somehow got Francis on board and dragged Antonio along because he was always just happy to be with his friends, no matter what illegal or inconsievable thing they were up to. He was certainly a man who valued loyalty– that was evident enough based on his cheery and honest demeanor alone. I elected to say nothing more to them, though, letting the beginnings of a terrible night of blackout dancing, vomiting, and possible alcohol poisoning happen in front of me. But I felt Antonio stay beside me, letting his friends do all the setting up.

He was leaning forward on the counter, both elbows propping him up in a casual manner and that permanent smile still plastered over his features. His position allowed me to watch him closely, but not the other way around. So, I used the opportunity to see how my former classmate had grown up. His skin seemed tanner, likely because he loved the sun and was traveling all around for years. The dimples I remembered were still there, accompanied by his freckles and crooked nose that he earned when he came to school tipsy and managed to get one of the football players so pissed that he broke his nose. I was sure he deserved it, and I doubt Antonio would disagree with that. His hair seemed longer, but no less wild and tangled, maybe even more so, and through a thinly veiled shirt I could see the muscles in his back flex as he adjusted his elbows.

Quickly, I looked away, deciding that was enough. I didn't want someone to think I was ogling at him, which I certainly was, looking back, but at the time I would've definitely denied it. To justify myself, I joined Antonio in watching Gilbert and Francis pour samples of each vodka and label the cups messily with sticky notes that kept falling from the glasses. I tried to do the same with them, evaluate what I saw had changed since I last saw them. But I saw nothing. Which certainly couldn't be true. They had to have changed in some ways, right? Perhaps in stature or the bags under their eyes, but for the life of me I couldn't remember what they had really looked like in high school either. I never paid them much mind, I realized, but suddenly pushed away the thought as to not let my brain wander with those words.

"Let the tastings begin!" Gilbert announced loudly, grabbing as many glasses as he could in his two arms before scurrying off back to sit around the coffee table. Antonio and Francis followed suit, bringing the drinks over as well. "Which should we try first?"

Gilbert decided to sit on the floor across from the couch, where Francis joined him. Antonio sat on the couch, and after a beat I suppose he noticed I wasn't moving and patted the seat next to him as he looked over. I reluctantly complied and sat down.

"I vote for the one that was actually in the freezer most recently," the blond frenchman sighed, leaning forward (not letting anyone time to object) to take the cup and first sip with a wrinkle of disgust in his expression at the first sniff of the stuff. It certainly did smell like nail polish remover.

I only watched for a while, refusing a cup anytime it reached me in the rotation. Even when I did drink a lot, I never just drank straight liquor with nothing mixed in, or at least a chaser. It burned my throat and triggered my gag reflex no matter the brand or type, so a bottle of orange juice or sprite was a must. These guys were just taking small sips straight up, and the thought of that taste alone made me want to recoil back. The more they drank though, the more distracted they would get in between ratings, or they'd forget they already drank one and drink it again. Gilbert at one point challenged Antonio to a chug contest of the bottom two thus far. To my disgust, he agreed, and I watched in horror as Antonio managed to swallow down approximately four or five shots of cheap vodka without needing a break to cough or wince. He surprisingly won, Gilbert spilling most of his cup all over his face.

It was a shocking night to say the least, and I was the most sober one there. It was at one point that Antonio offered me some cranberry juice that I did actually take a shot or two with him, their incessant nagging easier to ignore while being a little tipsy. Another thing that never changed since high school was how they handled their alcohol. Gilbert was always an obvious drunk, not a lightweight, but just never shy in letting the world know how many drinks he had that night. Francis knew his sweet spot and never went over his limit to avoid a hangover in the morning. He hasn't blacked out to this day. It was rather impressive. And Antonio was always the most composed. His idiocy was prevalent whether he was intoxicated or not, that goofy smile always remaining as well. It was hard to tell when he had enough, but I thought at that moment that since traveling the world and drinking copiously, he figured out his limit too and hopefully wouldn't throw up all over me. He seriously felt like a ticking time bomb with no clock, no one ever knowing when it'll go off, with no warning.

"Toni! What're you at?" Gilbert asked sloppily after about two straight hours of drinking.

Antonio hummed next to me and started to count on his fingers. "Seven?" he responded in an unsure voice, referring to how many shots he had taken so far.

Gilbert made a satisfactory noise as he picked up the second to last cup to be tried in total. He offered it to Francis who sighed and rubbed his head with a chuckle, taking it with an eager hand. There was a small whiteboard on the ground between them, by now long forgotten, but had the early ramblings of their ratings in different tiers. But despite how the pair on the ground seemed to be crossing the threshold of tipsy to drunk, I knew Antonio was still rather grounded. He wasn't drinking as much as I thought he would. I thought briefly that maybe instead the bastard had just gotten even better at hiding his inebriation, but quickly dismissed it.

"Want anymore?" I heard Antonio say to me in a lower voice. He was leaning over a bit, close enough for our shoulders to be pressed together.

I glanced down at the cup in his hand, it's sticky note long gone and it's brand long forgotten. Whether it was top or bottom shelf booze was a mystery to us now, but at this point it didn't really matter. It was nearing 3AM and I didn't have work in the morning, so with a hesitant hand I grabbed it as my buzz started to fade. Slowly, I took a sip, looking up from the brim of the cup to see Antonio staring right back at me as I drank. I remember being grateful for the dark room around us, just one pink LED light illuminating from a lamp in the corner, hiding the fact that a light red dusted my cheeks at the attention. I pretended to cough and hiss at the burn more than was warranted to distract myself, but it only backfired as I felt Antonio laugh at me, say something I didn't register as the shots from previously started to hit, and his hand grab my shoulder to steady himself in his giggles. The touch moved the burn from my throat to where his hand was, setting my whole body on fire, and all of a sudden my knees shook in a panic.

"I'll be right back," I said, standing up and gathering everyone's attention. Not listening to what they had to say though, I stumbled into the kitchen and into the hallway beyond to search for a bathroom. I heard Gilbert coo 'aw you think he's gotten sick already?' as I came upon a small room with a toilet and shower and slowly thumped the door closed behind me.

Immediately I turned on the light with a flinch, then dove to turn the faucet on and wash my hands under the cold water. Leaning forward, I splashed some on my face, cleaning it from the remaining bashfulness and stickiness of whatever alcohol was around my lips. I didn't feel sick, not like they thought I was, but staring back up at my reflection made me a bit woozy. I had to get a fucking grip. The cold tile of the sink felt refreshing under my skin, pulling me from floating in space back to the ground. I focused on that feeling and let my fingers smooth around while never breaking eye contact with myself. It was infuriating, staring at myself like that. What was I thinking? Why was I acting this way? And towards Antonio of all people?

I recalled my brother's words from earlier that evening at that moment, bringing my face aflame once more to which I threw more water on my face. I had denied him then, wanted no one thinking that was true, and though I was also in deep, deep denial, I knew there was something there. No matter how it disgusted me and made absolutely no sense, I knew something about Antonio infatuated me. It was hard to admit, as the man made it incredibly hard to have a crush on him, being the idiot he was, but somehow my brain found a way back in school. Being a teenager didn't help things much either. It was when we were at our horniness and had absolutely no idea what the real world was like, felt the societal pressure to be dating someone, even if just to have a date to prom, and I didn't have many friends in high school. No one particularly interested me. Sure, I had high school girlfriends, but it was mostly for fun. Just to have someone to spend the weekends with. I always equated my strange attraction to the Spanish exchange student to just being another product of high school bullshit, stuffing it away to the back of my mind. And that's where I left it. But something changed.

The way he looked at me as I took that drink. Eyes so intently locked with mine with some kind of fond endearment, a face I remembered all too well when he had convinced me to skip class with him and was stuffed in a stall in the boys' bathroom. In that split second of non intimate intimacy, something happened. I could feel it in the involuntary actions that came from my body, sensations running down my spine even still as I stood in the mirror. All those childish thoughts from high school, ones I had dismissed without a care in the world, came crashing back around me. Even though those feelings had changed throughout the years in intention for me, their catalyst seemed to be that Antonio never changed. He still looked at me exactly as he did back then. And in that bathroom I had come to a devastating and reluctant realization.

I was attracted to Antonio.

I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but it was a fact nonetheless. I ran memories of the man through my head, mostly stupid ones, to calm my brain down and remind myself who Antonio really was. Not a Spanish god with a toned body and a sexy voice, an accent to kill and charm to drown you– he was the man who fell over standing still, the man who couldn't spell 'restaurant', managed to lock himself inside his car, and accidentally ended up with eight kittens when his cat got pregnant and sold them in a Walmart parking lot. He was an idiot.

So, when I felt I had steadied myself, I opened the door and turned off the light, letting my eyes adjust to the light change for a moment. Before I stepped forward, I heard the flicking of a lighter and the stench of weed and figured we reached the time in the night where alcohol was forgotten and getting high as a kite was the top priority. But I tried to ignore it, holding onto the stupid images of Antonio in my brain to control myself. It was rather frustrating simply because if I lived in any other town, one as big as New York, or even smaller (just bigger than my own town!) I could just hook up with him and get it out of my system– we'd only have to meet rarely when we bumped into each other in public and have an awkwardly polite conversation about what we've been up to lately. But that wasn't possible here, where rumors leaked faster than a flowing river and everyone knew everybody. If I hooked up with Antonio just to selfishly shake these urges, no doubt it would be known by everyone before noon the next day. So, controlling myself was necessary.

"Welcome back," I heard Antonio greet me as I wandered back to the living room, and I just nodded back at him. He was holding the bong I had spotted in the corner earlier and then Gilbert complained.

"Hurry up, you ass, hogging all the weed," the albino sighed, (un)patiently waiting his turn.

"Oh shut up you addict," Antonio chuckled, turning his attention back downward.

As I slowly neared I watched intently as he sparked a flame to life and smoke accumulated in the bong's body, before he removed this stop gap looking piece (I wasn't familiar with the anatomy of bongs) and sharply inhaled. He held his breath for a moment before leaning over the coffee table and handing it off to Gilbert, who took it up with hungry but gentle hands. Antonio just leaned back into the couch next to me with a smile, letting the smoke trickle out of his mouth instead of forcefully puffing it out. I caught myself shamelessly watching the smoke pour upwards in front of his relaxed expression when Antonio noticed my gaze and his grin widened a bit. I swiftly turned away.

Control yourself.

Francis had refused the bong when it came to him, declaring he was done that evening and was likely going to turn in soon, much to Gilbert's dismal disapproval. But the French beauty queen couldn't be persuaded, we all knew, as he simply must get a good night's rest in order to maintain his 'heavenly glowing presence.' We all seemed to scoff in unison, but it didn't reach him. So the bong once again ended up in Antonio's hands, and he looked at me.

"Want any?" he offered. Wordless once again, I just shook my head. "I think it's all ash anyways." He sighed and poked his pinky nail into the supposed weed that seriously did look like it was all ash at this point. Just to make sure any remaining was put to good use, Antonio lit up a rather large hit, but only managed a small amount before exhaling. He then took the piece and tapped out the ash onto a paper plate on the coffee table.

Gilbert didn't seem interested in packing another one and it looked as if Antonio knew this in their silence. He just sat the bong down on the table and sucked in a deep breath before letting out a content hum. He recounted something and reminded Francis to stay awake until he was at least in bed. The Frenchman's response to that was to dramatically fling a hand outward and request an escort to his room, because unfortunately his feet no longer worked. Antonio complied easily, happy to, and stood to take his hand and yank him to his feet, dragging Gilbert up from the floor too. Bedtime creeped around the corner and I felt a yawn work its way up my throat. When Antonio left and returned from taking his friends to bed, I couldn't help but notice that the man still seemed rather sober.

Irritated, I interrupted him as he was scratching his head, running his hand through his hair.

"I hate that I can never tell when you're fucked up," I spat from my place on the couch.

I guess what I said was funny, as he laughed quietly and made his way back next to me. Before he spoke he grabbed the grinder from the table and responded as he was unscrewing the top.

"It's from years of practice."

He joked and I rolled my eyes. Then the top of the grinder came off and inside the little, shallow tray was about a pinch of weed left. Antonio scooped it together with his finger, messing with it a little bit like he was lost in a daze.

"Are you going to smoke that?" I asked, just genuinely curious, but once again he laughed at me.

"Why?" he turned to me. "You want some?"

His gaze didn't stay on me because we both knew he was telling a joke, seeing as I never really was a weed type of person, and I had rejected a hit a mere two minutes ago. I was around it a lot in college, but never took interest enough to try it for myself. The smell was distasteful and I was content with my alcoholic tendencies for the time being. It was just something I stayed away from, maybe because my grandpa would go on about how people who smoked it were washed up nobodies. Which was strange to me. In high school I assumed the trio would fall flat on their faces, but none of them did. Even though I wasn't entirely sure what they ended up doing after graduation, looking at Antonio at that moment, I knew he didn't fit my grandpa's description. So I squinted at him, the few connotations I had about drugs being peeled away a little. To my surprise, before my mouth knew what it was saying, I loudly agreed.

"Yes," I breathed. "I would."

Antonio's head jerked back in shock, not expecting me to answer so candidly or in the manner that I did. I didn't really expect it either, but something about being alone in that pink room with Antonio made me want to explore– that or it was the several shots I had, perhaps also getting a bit second hand high from the lack of ventilation in the apartment. He just stared at me for a moment, as if his drug ridden brain needed a minute to catch up before a small, smug smile creeped over his lips. An energy overtook him the longer he sat still and eventually he stood one last time to dig around in a kitchen drawer, but shortly he was right back next to me with something small, yet pretty, like blown glass. I knew though it was called a bowl, and suddenly I recognized it from high school, seeing Antonio more than once using it to get high in the bathroom.

I wasn't entirely sure how it worked, much like bongs, not really getting the science behind them no matter how simple it was. Although from what I could see it functioned like a miniature bong. He pinched the weed in between his fingers and gently placed it in the bowl.

"Couldn't you have used Gilbert's bong?" I said quietly, not wanting to break his concentration. But it didn't falter even when he spoke back to me.

"Well there's not too much left," he said as he finished packing it and snatched the lighter from the table. "Besides, if I'm going to get the Lovino Vargas, infamous goodie-two-shoes and wet blanket, high– well then it has to be from my bowl."

I ignored his little insults because I knew he was only trying to bait me, and with a twitch in my eyebrow I accepted the little art piece (basically, it was a lovely blue color swirled with white) and turned it over in my hands. I was careful not to let the weed fall out as I examined it. Briefly I considered asking how long he had actually owned the thing, but before I could say anything his hands were on mine.

"Hold it like this," he instructed. He guided my left hand with its palm upward and placed my thumb on the side of the bowl where apparently there was a hole I needed to cover up. He additionally gave me a tip on how to angle my hand with the lighter so I wouldn't burn myself. "Now bowls can be harsher than bongs because they're smaller, so I recommend just taking a small, baby hit. A quick, sharp inhale."

I nodded dumbly as I awkwardly shifted the bowl around in my hand to be more comfortable. I went to light it, but then Antonio pressed the bottom of my hand to press the bowl to my lips with a smile.

"You have to breathe in to create the smoke in the chamber," he whispered, as if he didn't want to embarrass me. "Then when you take your thumb from the hole you can inhale the smoke… and well… Do you.. just want me to light it for you?"

I suppose he noticed my face as I was trying to absorb everything he was telling me. My face was likely wrinkled with focus and determination, looking way too serious about something as easy as smoking from a bowl. I was entirely new to it after all, and secretly a little grateful he offered so he could regulate my hit. With my ignorance I'd likely burn all of it at once, making way too much smoke that my throat wouldn't be able to handle. It was an entirely forgein world, and a world I damned for a very long time. But I felt safe. I was safe. My brain so desperately wanted to believe that as long as I was with Antonio, he wouldn't let anything bad happen.

Control yourself, idiota.

I followed his instructions as he took hold of the lighter and leaned in. I felt his breath on my face, which smelled of weed, but I strangely didn't mind it then. He flicked the lighter a few times before he got a steady flame and dipped his hand deftly down for a split second. The green in the bowl burned a beautiful, bright orange color and I heard the plant sizzle under the intense heat. I almost forgot I needed to inhale, I was so enamored by how pretty it was. But true to what I was told, I took a fast breath in and removed my thumb, my throat suddenly burning as I sucked in. I didn't take in as much as I thought I could before I ran out of breathing room and coughed unceremoniously. Antonio just patted me on the back and stole the bowl from me so I didn't drop it in my small fit. But with a moment and a clearing of the throat I recovered and looked up only to see Antonio flawlessly finishing off the bowl. He coughed too afterwards but smiling, looking happier than ever as smoke barreled out of his mouth. Once again he slapped my back, causing me to choke on my spit one more time.

"Wonderful job," he praised. "A+"

"Don't patronize me, it was a C- at best," my voice sounded a bit hoarse. "I coughed too much."

Antonio just waved me off though. "Oh, everyone coughs, even the pros. That's how you know you got a stellar hit."

A small laugh bubbled in my throat at the thought of there being such a thing as a professional stoner– like you went to the office everyday to test different strains. The most mellow job in the world. And while I was thinking about this, I failed to notice Antonio's hand never moved from my back, him being so close due to the way too soft couch cushion's give that his arm was almost all the way around my shoulders. Perhaps it was the alcohol that let it slide, not noticing, or the weed was hitting me already. Which reminded me of a question.

"How do you know when it hits you?"

I looked up at him and leaned back into the couch a bit, more comfortable and him following me. His face was so much closer, maybe closer than when he lit the bowl for me, but again, my intoxicated mind couldn't register it. When I came sober in the morning I tried to forget it, embarrassed with how casually I was laying there with Antonio.

Antonio, the man I hadn't seen in eleven years.

Antonio, the one with the green eyes and crooked nose. Freckles and dimples, a stupid gait and thick Spanish accent that never eased during his time in the States. Antonio the stoner who owned a blue and white bowl and somehow didn't get suspended from school for having weed clearly in his backpack. The man that had no fragile masculinity, unafraid of wearing some mascara or lip gloss, who came out in high school and was targeted by the football team. Antonio the man with no fear for being what he wanted to be and doing what he wanted to do.

Antonio, the man who lit the bowl for me so I wouldn't burn myself.

I was shocked that such a big personality in my life, someone I tried to pretend was a fleeting crush and exclusive high school memory, was gone for so long. I had completely forgotten what it was like to be around him, and Francis and Gilbert too, their whole gang. They had an energy about them, something nostalgic and annoying, but comforting.

"It hits everyone at different times," Antonio sighed, looking down, back at me. "For me I can feel it when it hits pretty heavily… it feels like a wave washes over me with like… like… " he giggled at himself for a moment at his stutter. "Like sparkles or something."

"A wave of sparkles?" I confirmed, eyebrows raised. "That sounds horrible."

"No, no, trust me," he responded. "You'll love it."

"Whatever you say."

I sat there patiently waiting for the feeling to come, making eye contact with Antonio in the meantime. He held my stare for a while since it seemed like he wanted to say something else, I could see the cogs turning over in his head as he thought.

"What?" I said, hoping to maybe inspire his words a bit.

"Nothing…" he whispered. "Just… thinking about something…"

"About what?"

His brows knitted together in thought, a hesitant smile on his face. I felt his fingers twitch on my shoulder, perhaps with nerves.

"About… something I've always wanted to do."

Though perplexed, my face didn't reflect it. It was slack of any emotion besides comfort and relaxation. My eyes must've looked large too from his angle, as I was looking up at him. In his own eyes, they were drooping but I watched as they flitted over my face. He was waiting for me to say something, but I didn't. I don't recall having any thoughts at that moment, the ends of my own fingertips starting to tingle, like a soft and gentle static. I couldn't tell if it was just the drugs, but the static feeling followed up to my forehead almost like my skin was reacting to the contact of Antonio's hair. He was getting closer to me, and I just sat still to let it happen. It felt almost as if he was still waiting for me to say something. I didn't.

But then the wave hit me. The wave of sparkles. The wave of stupid sparkles, and it flew all over my body in a sort of indescribable wave of pleasure and disembodiment. Like one fluid motion I reacted and my face almost fell onto Antonio's. It seemed though that he caught me. It was before I knew it that I felt the soft pressure of his hand threading itself in my hair on the back of my head and the sweet taste of his lips on mine. The wave continued to rock me, putting tension against me, like I was drawn forward. And I wanted to be drawn forward.

My mind foggy, I hardly remember much of the details, now. Nothing apart from the way his mouth smoothed over mine in one of the best kisses I had in a long time. Nothing apart from the firm hold he had on me to support my head and him pressing further so my nose touched his cheek. Behind the wall of weed he smelled like fresh laundry and sweat, and when my hand slowly went to his shoulder to grab onto the fabric of his shirt, I suddenly also smelled what must've been his shampoo. We must've broken apart for air at some point, but with the fluidity of it all, I wouldn't have noticed. Shifting against me like he was indulging in a dream, maybe thinking he was dreaming. When I remember opening my eyes again I know we were both out of breath.

We kissed more, sat in comfortable silence almost falling asleep, and then he walked me home before I watched him walk away from my apartment window.