23. Pink Carnation; I'll Never Forget You

(Itsumo)

Word Count: 1,387

Notes: This took a long, long time.

"No, you don't want that one."

Kale glanced up from the pepper he was holding, looking around the cigarette in his mouth at the man standing beside him.

"Why not?" he asked, not exactly interested, but sensing that the stranger wanted to explain.

The man took the glaringly red pepper out of Kale's large hand and flicked it expertly. The skin caved a little, and a small dent formed in the side. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his thumb and set the pepper back down in the tray.

"A ripe one would have made a solid sound, and the skin wouldn't have given in. You don't want that one." He tilted his head, passed his hand over the rest without really touching them, and then selected one at random. He held it up, flicked it, and the loud, reassuring thck that he got was enough to make the corners of Kale's lips curl.

"Very nice. You know your produce," he said, and took the pepper from the man's hand. Slipping it into the clear bag along with several other vegetables, he tied it up with a green twist and started for the cash registers.

--

Kale saw him again two days later, standing on the corner of two streets and rubbing his glasses on the hem of his sweater. His coat was open, and Kale shivered just looking at him. He had been meaning to go left, but he kept heading straight, having an hour and a half until he went on shift at the restaurant.

The light turned green before he got there, but he jogged a bit to catch up to the man and soon fell into step alongside him. The stranger turned, grinned at him, and shoved his hand into his pockets.

"If it isn't my pepper pupil," he said mildly.

"Bet you were waiting a lifetime to crack that one," Kale replied, shaking his head. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his down jacket and lit up, offered to the other man.

"Several, probably," he murmured, and then accepted one. "Maybe. Actually…yes. I'm supposed to have quit, though, so don't tell anyone." He took the cigarette and bent down to help himself to Kale's lighter. Righting himself, he took a drag, but let the smoke drift away gradually instead of the horse-like blowing method Kale used.

"It'll be our little secret," Kale promised.

They walked in silence for a minute, and then the man asked, "What's your name?"

"Kale Turner."

"Troy Gardener."

"Nice to know you," Kale said, and jogged across another intersection with Troy at his heels. They both hopped the curb over a sewer grate, and instead of heading straight down the sidewalk again, down 42nd Street, Kale stopped. The other man halted also, looking at him curiously. "My apartment's up there," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the building rising behind him. Troy looked up and admired it respectfully.

"I'm in Chelsea," Troy remarked, and gestured vaguely behind him with one hand. "The commute isn't that bad."

"What do you do?" Kale asked, and lounged against the side of the building, dropping the now burned-out cigarette and grinding the butt into the concrete. He extracted another from his pocket almost immediately.

"I'm a college professor." He paused, tilted his head, and then raked a hand through his shaggy brown hair. There was a massive fall of bangs over his right eye, almost hiding it completely. "Well, I'm going to be. Still a graduate student for the moment. What about yourself?"

"I switch jobs every couple a months or so. Get bored, you know? Right now I wait tables in some expensive club uptown, but before that I worked in the stockroom of Saks Fifth Avenue." He grinned wolfishly at Troy.

"Expensive taste," the other man said off-handedly, but returned the smile.

"It's the best," Kale said, shrugging his shoulders. Troy smoked the last of cigarette, right down to the filters, and then stubbed it out neatly on the wall of the apartment building and tossed it expertly into a sewer grate. Kale wanted to remark about his aim, but let it go; the companionable silence was fine by him. After a few minutes, he said lightly, "So, want to see my apartment? I have half an hour before my shift starts."

Troy shook his head and put his hands in his pockets again. "Better make it quick, then. You know how traffic gets."

--

Kale bumped into him one more time before he had to call it more than a coincidence.

"This is getting scary," he said, planting his hands on the bar. Troy grinned and leaned forward from the opposite side.

"It is," he agreed, then leaned over, as if scrutinizing the bottles lined up on the shelves behind Kale. "Especially considering you were waiting tables last we spoke."

The redhead ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "Too creepy," he muttered. Then, gesturing to the rows of bottles behind him, "What'll you have?"

"Your choice," Troy said, shrugging. "I'm not picky."

"Knew that already," the bartender replied with a wolfish grin, and started throwing together a gin and tonic. When it was finished, he slid it across the finely polished wood to the graduate student. Troy picked it up, gestured vaguely to Kale, and then took a sip.

"You're an expert," he said, a smile curving his lips.

"Saved up the money to go to bartending school. Not like it was a lot, but, you know. Responsibility, stuff like that. At least I have the skills for a steady job now. If you can consider this skills – I call it talent." He grinned wildly for effect.

"Oh yes," the other man agreed, and sipped his drink in silence for a few minutes.

Kale wiped down the bar with a damp rag while Troy drank, but then could withhold his curiosity and suspicions no longer. Stopping out of the blue, as if the thought had just occurred to him, he offered, "You think it's funny that we keep running into each other like this? Like, more than a coincidence?"

The graduate student paused with his glass halfway to his mouth, then set it back down on the cocktail napkin on the bar. "I was thinking the same thing when I first walked in here," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his thumb in that trademark way. He retreated into a sort of thoughtful trance, his eyes unfocused, two fingers drumming rhythmically on the wood. "It's strange, isn't it? Scary, like you said before. Running into each other on three separate occasions, completely by accident, and each time we sort of…connect. Is that a good word for it? Yes," he said, nodding, answering himself, "I think it is. Last time, especially. How does it happen?"

"Maybe we knew each other in another life or something," Kale joked, tossing the rag under the bar and leaning his elbows on the rail.

"It's possible," Troy said seriously after a minute, coming back to himself with the sound of the bartender's voice.

"You're kidding."

"No, not really."

The two of them didn't say anything for another minute, and Troy polished off his drink during the silence. Pushing the empty glass back across the bar, the ice inside clinking faintly, he pushed back his stool and stood up. "Classes were murder today. I felt I needed a reward."

"You got me – what better reward than that?" Kale gave one of his patented smiles. Troy laughed agreeably. "I'm off in a couple of hours. You want to go out or something? Had a bad day, you said."

"I did. It sounds like a good idea. Should I go home and come back, or do you want to meet me somewhere?" he asked, buttoning up his coat.

"I'll come and get you. You're in Chelsea, right?" Troy nodded. "Alright. I'll get you around…eight?" Kale hedged, eyeing the influx of customers over the other man's shoulder.

"Don't you need my apartment number, or at least my building?"

Kale grinned again, knowingly this time, and it reached his eyes in a devious sort of way. "Don't worry – I'll find you."