It was a long night, with a group of stoners coming in at four am and ordering enough food to feed a family of four for several days; someone who bought just three large orders of fries and nothing else, all of which were, to Lovino's displeasure, no salt; and worst of all, a young couple with a screaming baby that they didn't know how to shush and instead just waited, hoping it would shut up eventually. It didn't. Even though he wasn't working the register that night, Lovino could hear it wailing all the way from the back, over the bubbling of the fryer.
Though he refused to admit it, the encounter with Antonio had shaken him quite a bit. He noticed his hands were trembling, and several times he forgot to step back after he dropped the basket of fries into the fryer and the grease bubbled and popped, splashing on his skin. Red spots burned into the brown of his forearms, already pockmarked with spots and scars from previous accidents, and he swore violently under his breath. This was all Antonio's fault, and he wasn't going to let it slide. Not this time.
He had been too lenient, he thought, back at the E-Z Mart. He had even let him walk him to his next job!- too risky, he decided, it might encourage Antonio; make him believe that everything was alright between them, when it wasn't.
He couldn't let things escalate between him and Antonio to anything over enemies, or at the most, acquaintances, for he knew what would happen if they did: he'd begin to forgive him, to trust him again. And as soon as he handed his heart over to Antonio, he'd crush it; just like he did when he told Lovino he had a girlfriend; just like he did when he abandoned him in the airport with no hope of ever seeing him again.
Lovino slept restlessly that night, for a while unable to fall asleep even though he was exhausted, and then, once asleep, woke frequently, tormented by the same repeating dream: white walls, shining so hard it hurt to look at them, and shoddily done pietra dura beneath him, cold and hard like ice. There was the feeling that something was leaving, something precious, yet he didn't know what, and couldn't move his head to see what it was. He was being dragged, slowly, on the floors, glistening stone beneath his fingers and he searched for a crack, a ledge, something to dig his fingernails into to curb his movement. There was nothing, except the screech of his nails against the viciously shining floor.
He was already awake when his alarm rang at 11:45 and had been for quite some while. Propped up against the wall, smoke filtering in and out of his mouth lazily, he stared at a crack in the ceiling. A spider, dancing on a single glistening strand, was lowering itself slowly, stopping every so often just to dangle, as if it enjoyed the view, before continuing its work. There was a glass of red wine in his hand, half empty- never half-full, he had come from a long line of pessimists and wasn't about to change that anytime soon- but for once he was ignoring it with a sort of half-hearted vigilance that broke every now and then, allowing him to glance at it, swirl it around, take a sip, and then drop it again for another ten minutes. His mouth felt dry, and the combination of cigarette and gas station wine was not a pleasant one, nor strong enough for him to even feel the slightest buzz. He closed his eyes wearily.
God, what he'd give to stay holed up in his room and get wasted out of his mind, clear out the crate in the corner of the liquor he had amassed in the past few months, but there was work to be done and a paycheck to be collected, and he needed that paycheck like he needed another drink, the emptiness of 35 cent Taco Bell bean and rice tacos and tinned, watery tomatoes catching up to him and his hollow stomach.
The alarm was really starting to bother him now, and though he wanted to be faithful to his mid-morning laziness, he couldn't resist shooting out an arm and punching the clock. It fell out the window, and a warbled, far away beeping was still audible from his room on the second floor. The spider, startled by the sudden movement, fell off its string and scuttled away into the corner behind a pair of dirty socks he had yet to clean. Lovino cursed and drained the glass of wine, placing both hands on his knees and pushing to give him a boost as he stood up, stumbling a little. He was already dressed, and washed, but he brushed his teeth again to hide his wine-breath. He washed his glass, and made a pot of coffee, drinking the first cup straight out of the pot, the black liquid burning his tongue and throat. The second he poured into a metal bottle to bring with him to work. He hesitated before closing it, deciding on second thought that a little caffe coretto wouldn't hurt, yet, he had no grappa or sambuca, nor even espresso. He had rum, he remembered, and found an old bottle in the crate he dubbed his alcohol closet, and poured a sizable amount in, shaking the bottle to get the last drops out.
"Carajillo," he muttered to himself, inhaling deeply, and with the familiar scent came old memories- that one Spanish nun at the home always making herself carajillo and letting Lovino have a sip, Sister Capello, wasn't it; the old smell of coffee and rum lingering in his nonno's beard, making him sneeze; his mother, waking them in the middle of the night and handing him a mug of carajillo or orange juice with vodka to keep them awake as they fled to a new home before her boyfriend woke up; the many, many steaming mugs he'd made himself after Antonio left, because he didn't want to go to sleep and return to the mattress where they had almost kissed, almost joined as one, before he fucked it all up.
Lovino closed his eyes, shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, then another, and placed the lid on the bottle. He picked up his bag containing his McDonald's uniform, lunch, and dinner, and headed down the stairs and out the doors.
He was barely a block away from home when he heard a clunking from far away, and a cloud of exhaust rolled up like a storm and engulfed him as he coughed, choking, tears forming in his eyes. The clunking and loud bangs grew louder, and when he managed to open his eyes in the plume of noxious exhaust fumes, he saw what appeared to be the ugliest car he had ever seen, if it could even be called a car. The color, make, and model were all unidentifiable, it was so decrepit and coated in a mixture of dirt and bird shit that seemed to be at least an inch thick; there was so much duct tape, tarp, and even frayed rope in bits, holding it together that it was hard to see the actual car. Two windows were smashed, and a third had tarp taped hazardously over the gaping hole, and it flapped in the wind. A rear headlight was smashed, and a flashlight had been duct taped on in its place with Hello Kitty duct tape. The owner of the car seemed to have a childlike sense of style, for the numerous styles of duct tape striping the car were all that of a fourth-grader's back-to-school kit: leopard print, sparkly pink, penguins, turtles, camoflauge, rainbow, tie-dye, princesses, high heeled shoes, and of course, Hello Kitty.
It slowed to a stop next to him, and the window rolled down halfway, then got stuck, but Lovino could see Antonio's familiar green eyes peering over the edge of the glass.
"Can I give you a ride?" he asked, and though he couldn't see his mouth, Lovino knew he was smiling from the crinkling of his eyes.
"No," Lovino tried to say, but the refusal was overwhelmed by coughs from the gas.
"Admiring my car, are you?" Antonio beamed proudly. "She's a real beauty- most people are so shocked they can't even speak!"
"That's because it's a fucking shit car," choked Lovino, clutching his chest as he doubled over, tears forming in his eyes.
"Wha- no!" gasped Antonio, covering his mouth with his hand scandalously. "Don't say that, you'll hurt her feelings!"
"Her feelings?! It's a fucking car!"
"Her name's Betsy," pouted Antonio, crossing his arms and sticking out his bottom lip like an upset child. "And don't swear around her, she doesn't like that."
"Oh my god." Lovino rubbed his temples with his fingers, his head beginning to ache from the gas. "Look, I gots to get to work, I can't stand around talking." He began to walk again, eager to escape the cloud of fumes.
"Wait- let me give you a ride! It'll be faster that way!" called Antonio out the window desperately, attempting futilely to start his engine up again and follow Lovino. For a split second, the wreck of a car rolled forward, but then a great bang resounded and smoke began pouring from underneath the hood, fogging up the window. Struggling furiously with the controls, Antonio watched helplessly as Lovino walked further and further away until the window clouded up, completely obscuring his view.
It was late that night, around 9:45 when Antonio walked in up to Lovino's checkout counter and placed a bouquet, a dozen red roses, on the conveyor belt.
"Flowers go to floral checkout," Lovino said lazily, jerking his head towards a separate counter where a very bored blond clerk with ridiculously large and bushy eyebrows, wearing his E-Z Mart vest inside out over a too-small knitted sweater in a horrid shade of green was leafing through a year's old bridal magazine.
"I already bought them," Antonio grinned toothily, like a proud child. "They're for you."
He picked them up and handed them to Lovino, who took it delicately from him with only his forefinger and thumb, holding it at arm's length as if he were handling something slimy or gross.
"Wow, roses," enthused Lovino sarcastically. He relaxed his hand and let the bouquet drop to the floor, eyes widening in mock surprise. "Oops." He lifted his foot and stomped on the buds, hard. "Oops." He stepped on them again, grinding them into the floor with his heel, little velvety red petals sticking to the soles of his shoes.
"Wow, I'm really-" Step. "-clumsy today." Step. "Don't you think?" He stared straight into Antonio's eyes, trying to channel all his rage and anger and hurt from the past years into his glare; yet when Antonio's face fell, his whole body seeming to wilt with the flowers that Lovino trode repeatedly on, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse, of guilt.
"Fine." Antonio gave an awkward, shaky smile, taking a step back. "I, uh, I'll see you when your shift ends at McDonalds, then? To give you a ride?"
"You can come, but I won't let you give me a ride."
"Right." Antonio laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a familiar gesture, one he always did when he was embarrassed, and remembering this after so long made Lovino feel strangely lonely even though he was standing right in front of him.
"Fuck," he grumbled, resolve cracking slightly under the guilt from seeing Antonio's withered expression. "You- you can walk me to my next job, okay? Just don't, like, cry or something."
Lovino closed the register a bit late that night in order to avoid Antonio for as long as possible, and it was 10:12 when he met him outside the west exit sliding doors like he had the night before, doused in yellow light. A moth abandoned the lamp and fluttered towards the end of his glowing cigarette as he lit it, and the flame burnt its left wing and it fell, spiraling to the ground, flapping with its remaining wing desperately. It sizzled against the asphalt, and Lovino crushed it with the toe of his shoe before looking up, cigarette dangling from his lower lip.
"How was work?" asked Antonio, fidgeting anxiously as if Lovino might yell at him again or stomp on any more of his belongings.
He shrugged, blowing smoke out his mouth. Wordlessly, he swung his bag into the crook of his elbow and began to walk, figuring that perhaps if he didn't talk to Antonio, he'd get bored or discouraged and just leave.
"I, uh, I got you Olive Garden," said Antonio, holding out a take-out container. "I thought you'd like it since it's, you know, Italian food and all."
Lovino scoffed, rolling his eyes.
"W-What? Is something wrong?" asked Antonio nervously.
"Olive Garden," explained Lovino slowly, diminutively, as if talking to a particularly slow child, "is not Italian food."
Antonio looked down at the take-out container in hand. "Oh," he said, voice small. "Oh."
"Well, if you don't want it I'll-"
"I never said I didn't wanted it," said Lovino quickly, snatching it out of his hand. He found a bench, the back emblazoned with a bright red ad for a real estate agent by the name of Jones, and sat, opening the container.
"Fork," he said, holding out his hand. Antonio dug around in the plastic Olive Garden bag and drew out one, along with a knife and a napkin, which he handed to Lovino.
"Oh, and I also got you a Coke. Diet," added Antonio, placing it on the bench by Lovino's thigh. Lovino watched him suspiciously for a moment before opening it and taking a swig, maintaining eye contact as if Antonio might put something in it. "Thanks," he said slowly. He opened the styrofoam take-out container and speared a tomato slice with his fork, but did not pick it up or make any move to eat it.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked quietly.
"Huh?" asked Antonio, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"
"I said, why are you being so nice to me?" repeated Lovino.
Antonio blinked. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you hate me," said Lovino, as if it were obvious. Antonio frowned.
"I don't hate you," he said quickly. "How could you even think that?!"
"Because you left!" blurted Lovino loudly. Several startled sparrows fluttered from a branch and alighted on a separate tree, the flapping of their wings piercing in the still night. "You left me there, with- with him, and never came back! You never even called, or wrote, or anything! You just… left."
"But I didn't do that because I hate you!" protested Antonio.
"Then why?! Why'd you do it?" Lovino's grip tightened on the plastic fork until it was near breaking. "Because I didn't fuck you?! Is that it? If I had just laid there, and let you… let you f-fuck me, would you have stayed?!" Lovino's lower lip trembled, and he stuttered as he spoke.
"No! It's not that at all!"
"Then what was it?! What did I do wrong?!"
"Nothing! Lovi, you did nothing wrong!" Antonio reached out a hand to touch him, but was smacked violently away.
"Don't you fucking touch me!" spat Lovino. "And don't call me Lovi!"
"I- I'm sorry." Antonio withdrew his arm, wringing his hands nervously. "I didn't mean to hurt you, honest. I was going to tell you, but I just… forgot."
"You forgot to tell me that you were leaving and I couldn't come with you or ever see you again." Lovino tilted his head skeptically. "Really."
"Okay, fine, I just- I didn't want to hurt you."
"So you decided to hurt me more by leading me on to believe that everything was fine and then abandoning me at the last moment."
Antonio paused. "...yes," he admitted. Lovino stared at him a moment longer, then picked up his fork again and began to eat.
"You're really stupid, you know that?" he said thickly, through a mouthful of pasta.
Antonio sighed, staring at his feet. "Yeah."
Antonio tied Lovino's apron for him in the parking lot behind the McDonald's.
"Have a good day," he said, then paused. "Have a good night? Morning?"
Lovino rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said, adjusting his visor and brushing his bangs to the side. He opened the door and stepped in, then hesitated before closing it.
"I'll pay you back for the roses," he said. "And have a good night, too."
It was 5:20 when Antonio woke in the backseat of his car, where he had been sleeping while waiting for Lovino, to the sound of footsteps. Quickly he threw on a shirt and leapt out of the backseat to greet him.
"Good morning!" he beamed, trying to act like he hadn't just woken up, but Lovino just swept past him, yawning. He stuffed his earbuds in his ears, and pressed play on a small red Walkman.
"You're out early," Antonio said, trying to instigate conversation. Lovino paused, turned his head, and pulled one earbud out of his ear.
"Yeah," he said darkly, and Antonio could tell he was really angry about something.
"Isn't that, uh, good?" he smiled lopsidedly, realizing that his shirt was inside out and backwards.
"No," said Lovino, as if the answer were obvious. "It means I get less pay."
"But you get to sleep more! That's good, right?"
Lovino stared at him a moment longer. His eyes were drooping with tiredness, and bags dark as bruises hung underneath. "Whatever," he said slowly, and put the earbud back in his ear.
"Wait!" Antonio called after him as he began to walk away again. "Can I give you a ride?"
Lovino didn't answer, burying his hands in his pockets and walking, have stumbling with sleep, home.
Hi, I'm so sorry for the hiatus. I am now (ironically) working two jobs, although thankfully not to the extent Lovino is. There will probably be more waits inbetween chapters, at least until I am back on my feet. I'm so sorry and thank you for bearing with me through this.