It was almost five years exactly since they had first met when Antonio stumbled into the closest E-Z Mart at nine forty-seven on a Friday night a week before Halloween, looking to buy a feather boa and gold lamé booty shorts.
The club dress-up showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show started at ten, and he had promised his friends he would be Rocky, so that Francis could be Dr. Frank N' Furter and Gilbert could be Riff Raff, hence the need for gold lamé shorts and, if possible, some oil he could rub on himself to make it look like he hadn't neglected working out for two months.
The feather boa was inconsequential. He just really, really, wanted a feather boa.
He found the feather boa easily- "For your daughter?" the shop clerk had asked when he told them he was looking for a boa, to which he responded in all serious, "It's for me." They had looked shocked, and a little bit concerned, but had helped him to the costume section, where thankfully everything was on sale due to the upcoming holiday. The booty shorts had been a bit harder to find, but he found a (sort of) mustard colored pair of boxer briefs that hopefully he could glue glitter onto before the show. He gathered glitter, glue, and baby oil, along with his other things, and made it to the check-out booth with the shortest line.
He dumped the things on the conveyor belt and moved to the till without looking up, taking a ten dollar bill from his pocket. He noticed with distaste that it was the last of his money, and that his paycheck didn't come for another week.
"Good evening sir, how are you?" asked a bored, melodic voice. It sounded strangely, painfully, familiar, with a thick accent that for some reason brought about the smell of grapes.
"Fine, fine," muttered Antonio, placing the ten on the counter and rifling through his pockets. He hoped to god that the sum came under ten dollars- if not, he'd have to say goodbye to his brand new, unnecessary pink feather boa which he had already christened Carlos.
"I'm sorry, sir, your total is eleven twenty-four."
"Shit," cursed Antonio under his breath, checking his back pockets and wallet. Didn't he usually keep a twenty dollar bill inside his phone case for emergencies? No, he remembered, he had squandered it on three tubs of ice cream because the season finale of his favorite show had been very emotional and he needed ice cream to get through the pain. Goddamn his childlike sensibility to cartoon characters dying and his intense need for masses of ice cream to deal with anything.
He heard a rustle above him, and then a slender, light brown hand extended. Clutched in its long fingers was a dollar bill, and as the fingers unfurled delicately like a flower revealing its petals to the world, there was a single quarter in the palm.
"Th-thanks so much," Antonio stammered nervously. He reached out and took the money, fingers brushing against the clerk's smooth hand briefly. A shock of static electricity jolted him, ran from the tips of his fingers all the way through his body. The clerk seemed to have felt it too, for they recoiled immediately.
"Sorry," he apologized instantly, looking up. "I-" He paused, at a loss for words.
His skin was several tones darker, as was his hair, which was scruffy and unkempt, the back uneven. He cuts his own hair, Antonio remembered suddenly, feeling as if another wave of electricity had just zapped him in the chest. He was a couple inches taller, but still shorter than Antonio by far, and his jaw was harder, more angular, making him look slightly more masculine but still retaining the same androgynous look he had always loved to admire. The first button on his collar was unbuttoned, exposing his neck and the shadow of a collarbone- if only he could see the rest, he thought briefly- yet despite these minute changes, he was still, radiantly, undeniably, Lovino.
"Lovi..?" managed Antonio, reaching out and then hesitating. Lovino's eyes- oh god, his eyes, Antonio had somehow forgotten how beautiful they were- flashed green.
In an instant he grabbed the plastic stick that served as a lane divider and, screeching angrily, began to whack Antonio over the head with it.
"Ow- hey, Lovi-" Antonio raised his arms above his head, trying to protect himself, but Lovino only hit harder, calling for security in the intercom device. A fat man in a black security suit came jogging over, holding his pants up by the belt. He surveyed the scene for a couple seconds, before seizing Lovino under the arms and attempting to drag him, kicking and swearing in Italian, away.
"I- I'm so sorry, sir," he apologized, mustache twitching nervously. "I'll have him fired immediately- just please don't call the police."
"No, no, it's fine," said Antonio hastily. "Don't fire him. He's my friend."
"We are not friends!" snarled Lovino, spitting at him. It landed on the toe of Antonio's shoe, and he rubbed it off on the back of his jeans, balancing awkwardly.
"Ha, ha, very funny," laughed Antonio falsely, trying to convince the security guard that this was all some elaborate prank in order to stop Lovino from losing his job. He looked at Lovino intently, trying to send a message to him somehow that he was trying to help. Thankfully, he seemed to understand and stopped struggling, breaking free of the guard's grip and stepping towards Antonio with a forced, twitching smile on his face.
"Friends," he chuckled loudly, slapping Antonio on the shoulder. "Friends." He cast a glare at the security guard, who quailed and returned to his post, glancing at the pair of them nervously, hand on his belt. Lovino waved at him jerkily, before turning back to Antonio.
He grabbed his shirt collar, pulling him towards himself violently. "You fucking asshole," he hissed. "What the fuck do you think you are doing, coming here and-"
"Everything okay over there?" hollered the security guard, rolling his weight back and forth between his heels so that his shiny bald head bobbed up and down, flashing in the dimmed light of the E-Z Mart.
"Yeah," Lovino called back, contorting his face into a smile that looked more like a grimace. His eye twitched with the effort. "Fine. We're fine." He glanced over Antonio's head, at the clock on the wall, then relinquished his grip on his collar.
"My shifts over," he grumbled, stepping back. He unpinned the E-Z Mart cap from his unruly dark hair and lifted the apron over his head, taking off the nametag. He folded them and placed them carefully in a plastic bag, then signed off a small piece of paper. He talked briefly with the night guard, signed something else, and then returned to his till, turning the light off and taking his plastic bag. Realizing that the person he had restlessly waited to see again was once more slipping away, Antonio called out,
"Wait!"
Lovino stopped short of the automatic doors. His grip tightened around the handle of his plastic bag, knuckles white. The glass doors whooshed open, a gust of cool night air ruffling his dark hair and t-shirt.
"What do you want?"
"Can I- can we talk?"
Lovino paused, deliberating. After what seemed like decades, he spoke. "Fine," he said. "But it has to be quick." And with that, he walked out of the store.
It took a moment for Antonio to remember to follow, and another to run back and grab Carlos and the rest of his Rocky Horror gear. He said a silent apology to his friends in his head for missing the show, and jogged ahead to catch up with Lovino.
He was waiting outside, tapping his foot impatiently. Yellow lamplight pooled in the hollows of his cheeks and folds of his shirt, and when he looked up, it was reflected in his irises like a light shining from within.
"Sorry," apologized Antonio, clutching his bag. Lovino shrugged and swung his plastic bag into the crook of his elbow, reaching into his back pocket with his other hand and drawing out a small white box with a red stripe across the front. From his sweatshirt pocket he produced a blue Bic lighter, and as he shook the white box with the red stripe, a white cylinder revealed itself. It was only then that Antonio realized it was a cigarette, and he raced over and smacked it out of Lovino's hand.
"The fuck?!" exclaimed Lovino angrily, picking up his box- it flashed briefly in the lamplight and Antonio saw it was Marlboro's- and shaking it, checking to see if the contents were safe.
"Th-Those things will kill you!" cried Antonio. "They'll shrivel your lungs and fill them with tar and then you'll-"
"Shush," Lovino shushed him, clicking the lighter open. On the third try, it lighted, and with delicate precision he lighted the end of his cigarette, placing both the lighter and Marlboro's box in his sweatshirt pocket.
"No, really!" insisted Antonio fervently. "Your lungs must still be bad from the pneumonia, so-" he broke off, coughing, as Lovino blew smoke into his face.
"I told you to shush," he warned him, beginning to walk. "If you don't stop going on about it, I'll leave and you won't see me again."
Antonio bit his lip, suppressing an argument. "Fine," he wavered, and quickly strode to Lovino's side.
"So, um, how've you been?" he asked nervously. For years he had dreamed of what he would say, would do, when he was finally reunited with Lovino, yet now all his preparation failed him.
"Fine," said Lovino concisely, drawing on his cigarette heavily as if he relied upon it for air. His accent was thicker than it used to be, Antonio reflected, or it could possibly be that he just hadn't seen or heard him for so long that the once-familiar accent was now foreign. The thought made him sad, for some reason, and he fought to stifle it.
"I was sorry to hear about your grandad," he said. "That letter was you, right?"
Lovino stopped briefly, clutching his plastic bag so hard his knuckles were white. "Yeah," he said finally, beginning to walk again. Smoke blew from his nostrils and mouth as he spoke and rose into the air in tendrils, following him dedicatedly.
"When'd you get back to America?" asked Antonio.
"Couple months ago. Feli got me a green card, so it's okay," said Lovino quickly, drawing again on his cigarette, the tip glowing orange as he puffed.
"That's good." Antonio nodded, racking his brain for things to say. Instead, it was Lovino who spoke, startling him.
"How's Emma?" he asked, eyes staring off into the distance, glassy and unfocused.
"Uh.." Antonio scratched the back of his neck. "Fine, I guess."
"You guess?" Lovino turned to him, eyebrows raised questioningly.
"We broke up. A couple weeks after I… uh.."
"Abandoned me heartlessly in an airport with a relative who hated me?" suggested Lovino humorlessly.
"Yeah," admitted Antonio abashedly, unsure of whether he should laugh or not. "I'm, uh, sorry for that, by the way."
It was dark, so Antonio wasn't sure if this was his imagination or not, but in the flickering light of the cigarette he thought he saw Lovino roll his eyes.
Lovino checked his watch, holding it to the end of his cigarettes so he could see the time, then quickened his pace.
"Where are we going?" asked Antonio, looking around at the surrounding area doubtfully.
"The park, so I can eat dinner, and then I'm going to my next job."
"Your next job? But it's already so late!"
Lovino shrugged. "It's not that big a deal." He stopped suddenly, causing Antonio to almost run into him, but he caught himself in time. He seated himself on a bench, and Antonio sat beside him, watching as he took something from his bag.
"What is that?" he asked.
"Avocado," replied Lovino, slicing it open with a small knife he took from inside his sock. He washed it in the nearby water fountain, then concealed it once more. From the depths of his bag he procured a plastic spoon, and a small Ziploc bag full of a thin brown liquid. He cut slits into the avocado, then poured the liquid which Antonio recognized as vinegar, mixed with something else, judging by the smell- onto the avocado, where it seeped into the slits. He did this with both halves, which he had balanced on his bony knees, and then began to scoop bits of vinegary avocado out and eat it delicately.
"That's your dinner?" asked Antonio skeptically.
"Yeah. So?" Lovino looked at Antonio pointedly, a fierce glint in his eyes. He wisely decided to abandon the subject.
"So how many jobs are you working?" he asked.
"Two."
"Two? When do you sleep?"
"From around six am when my first job ends, until a bit before one pm, when my E-Z Mart shift starts."
"Holy shit." Antonio stared at him, wide-eyed in astonishment. "Why do you need to work so much? Do you have a kid or something?"
"No, no, nothing like that." Lovino stood up, disposing of the picked-clean avocado shells in the nearby trash can. He began to walk, then paused, calling over his shoulder,
"C'mon. I'll be late."
As he walked, he had Antonio hold his bag, which was surprisingly heavy, while he shimmied out of his sweatshirt and threw on a thin red button-up t-shirt, buttoning it all the way up to his collar. A golden 'M' embroidered on the pocket glimmered in the dark. He placed a red visor on his forehead, brushing back his bangs impatiently.
"You work at McDonald's?" asked Antonio, watching him curiously.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Lovino frowned. "What do you mean, 'why?' I work because I work."
"But why do you need that much money? Shouldn't working one job be enough?"
Lovino groaned, adjusting his visor. "If I just worked at McDonalds full-time, I'd earn around $15,000 a year, and a little more than that if just worked at E-Z Mart. On the bare minimum, I usually spend around $14,000 a year, and that's not including doctor's visits, occasional treats or presents, or insurance."
"But then what about all that surplus money?"
Lovino pursed his lips, coming to a stop in front of the familiar stucco building, the golden M shining in the night like a beacon.
"Tie my apron?" Lovino dodged the question, holding the strings out for Antonio.
"Sure." Antonio placed the bag on the ground and stopped, taking the strings into his hands, which seemed too large for the small strips of fabric. His fingers brushed against Lovino's briefly, and he heard a sharp intake of breath as Lovino quickly pulled his away, folding them first against his chest, then crossing them, then shoving them in his pockets, as if he didn't know what to do with them.
"Stop fidgeting," said Antonio irritably, thick fingers fumbling with the strings. "You're making it harder for me to tie your apron."
"Maybe you just suck at tying aprons," grumbled Lovino, kicking Antonio lightly on the inside of his ankle with his heel.
"Hey," chastised Antonio, though despite himself, he was grinning. Finally he managed to tie and double knot the apron and stepped back, admiring at first his handwork, although he found his eyes wandering, surveying the slope of his back, his thin waist and hips.
"I have to go," Lovino interrupted, pulling a key from his back pocket and taking his bag back from Antonio. He unlocked the back door and stepped in, a gust of hot oily air warming his cheeks. For a moment Lovino stood, illuminated by the cold yellow light and the sounds of fryers clunking and bubbling oil, until the door slammed shut behind him and he was lost.