Y/N and Enzo share a drink at the bar, exchanging witty banter. But when she reveals a painful memory, his teasing fades. “You’re stronger than you think, love,” he murmurs, sliding his hand over hers.
The low hum of jazz and the clink of glasses filled the dimly lit bar, the amber glow casting long shadows over polished mahogany. Enzo St. John swirled the whiskey in his glass, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief as he studied you from across the rim.
"You always drink whiskey neat, love, or are you just trying to impress me?" he teased, tilting his head with a smirk.
You smirked back, raising your own glass. "Maybe I just like the burn. Or maybe I don’t feel the need to drown my liquor in sugar like some people."
Enzo let out a low chuckle, feigning offense. "Oh, is that so? And here I was thinking you had impeccable taste. But apparently, you drink whiskey just to prove a point."
You shrugged, taking a slow sip. "You think I have something to prove?"
"Well, you’re sitting here, trading quips with me instead of indulging in whatever brooding monologue I’m sure you had planned for the evening," he quipped, arching a brow. "Admit it, love. You find me amusing."
You exhaled a laugh, resting your elbow on the bar. "I find you... tolerable."
"High praise," he mused, taking another sip. "And what about devilishly handsome? Charismatic? Infuriatingly charming?"
You rolled your eyes. "All of the above. Especially the infuriating part."
Enzo smirked, placing a hand over his heart. "Ah, you wound me."
"You’ll live."
"Will I, though?" He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Because I think if you keep looking at me like that, I might just be in danger of falling hopelessly under your spell."
You scoffed, shaking your head. "You don’t strike me as the hopeless type."
"Only when whiskey and gorgeous company are involved," he admitted with a wink.
You were about to fire back another retort when your gaze flickered down, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. The laughter in your eyes dimmed, just slightly, but Enzo caught the shift immediately.
"You ever drink to forget?" you murmured, voice softer now.
His teasing faded. He studied you carefully, setting his glass down as if the conversation demanded his full attention. "Depends on what you're trying to forget."
A humorless chuckle escaped you. "A mistake. One I can’t take back."
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Then, slowly, Enzo reached for your hand, his touch firm yet reassuring. "You’re stronger than you think, love," he murmured, his voice like velvet and smoke. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, grounding, steady.
Your breath hitched—not just at the words but at the way he said them—like he meant it, like he saw something in you that you struggled to see in yourself.
For the first time that night, whiskey wasn’t the strongest thing warming you.
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You would know a finger rests on New York’s lips when Pam plays hopscotch on the crosswalk. She usually does it on our way to the open mic. We’ve been at it for quite some time now, waiting for a publishing agent bored out of her skull to wander into the café, hear us spit our little wounded poems, and turn us into overnight sensations. After gorging on Big Mac Meals day in and day out, though,…
“Keep make dat face an’ it’s gonna freeze li’dat. An’ is a valid question. Every one needs a mirror to hold demselves up to, an’ so I was jus’ tryin’ find a baseline. An’ I’ll have ya know...when I was in high school...I was so...” She waves a delicate hand dismissively. “Yeah. I cried back then when ya made me talk ovah phone. But okay. I’ll play. Who...fixes your situations?”
*me trying to explain my/general sexuality to my siblings while we’re at the pub*
Just a conversation I want to save to my blog for the future/share kind of lol
Me: Well I’m mostly into girls but I’m not totally opposed by guys either. Like it would be 90% girls and then maybe 10% guys..well.. maybe less than that I dunno.
Brother in law: Jesus Christ! that just makes you a lesbian!
Me: Well, no, because the possibility exists that I could be intimate with a guy. Could you be even a little intimate with a guy?
Brother: Hell no, I would throw up everywhere.
Brother in law: Yeah not for me, although apparently all of my ‘friends’ want a little taste of the Scotty *rubs nipples over shirt*
Me: Exactly, so that makes you 100% heterosexual.
Brother in law: Well okay so then you’re just a bisexual
Me: Actually I’m not technically that either.
Sister: I had a grad shoot where a girl came in wearing a suit, and when I asked her to check off one of the boxes for gender she frowned. So then I casually said “or whatever your pronouns are, y’know” and she lit up immediately and stopped being so cold, I was like -oh thank you my art student sister! I think she must have been pansexual or something?
Me: Well that’s good to hear, but gender identity doesn’t equal sexuality either.
Brother in law: Oh for fucks sake not this shit again!
Me: I’m sort of that though, like a pan/demi-sexual
Brother: Well okay try to explain this to me logically because I don’t understand the statistics you’re laying out here.
Me: *sips drink* Okay, so, pansexual is all encompassing. Pansexuals can be attracted to anyone of any gender. Bisexuals are just into two genders.
Brother in law: Any gender? It’s chicks or dudes, or dudes WITH boobs or chicks WITH dicks.
Me: Well think of people transitioning, for example. I could be considered pan because I could be intimate with a woman who has a penis. I’m attracted to the body and the “equipment” is just easier to work with. However, a man with a vagina wouldn’t fly for me.
Sister: Who the fuck could be with a man with a vagina? That’s just losing in all categories.
Brother: *wheezing from laughter*
Me: So you couldn’t be with Scott with a vagina?
Sister: Fuck no, I love him but damn I need that.
Brother in law: *frowns*
Brother: Well I’m glad this is so simple for me because I could never come near a woman with a penis. That’s like what they warned me about in Thailand.
Me: Right? So there’s a spectrum, gender gets messy sometimes, and sexuality starts becoming more about features rather than the genitals.
Brother in law: I’m so glad we grew up when this shit was simple and not so fucking deluded *laughing*
Me: But then there’s more to it. You get these two segments which are like homo romantic pansexual, which could apply to me, also homo romantic demisexual, either could work.
Sister: So like, what does that mean? What would I be?
Me: Well you prefer men but you’ve been with women so I think you’re some form of bisexual? Unless you would be with a woman with a penis too.
Sister: I wouldn’t say I prefer guys, I think I was just raised to go along with that norm? And it’s sort of ingrained in me. I could find a life partner in a woman probably, I don’t know, I’d probably be with a woman with a penis too- nothing matters to me honestly *laughing*
Brother in law: *disturbed wide eyed face*
Me: Well then you’re maybe bi romantic pansexual?
Brother in law: This is the most horse shit I’ve ever heard. What TWO segments now? This shit gets more complex EVERY time I talk to you.
Me: Well between art school and tumblr I’m sure a lot of this is over labelling and completely unnecessary but whatever. Anyway, another example... you could be like.. completely straight, but still find the same sex attractive? I’m pretty sure that’s what the first part is. Your preference for attraction/romance, and then who you could actually have sex with. Sort of like how Asexuals can experience attraction but not want the sex.
Brother in law: *laughing with bewilderment* What?! Oh m-just-I’m going to the fucking bathroom.
Brother: But I thought you could always have sex with someone you’re attracted to?
Me: Not necessarily, from what I understand anyways. Again I have the demisexual factor so it’s not like I’m finding out any time soon.
Sister: So what’s demisexual again?
Me: When you can only have sex with someone you feel an emotional connection to.
Sister: I thought that’s how it generally was?
Me: Well what about people who have one night stands?
Brother: Yeah okay I can understand that.
Sister: I think even with a lot of those you make some kind of connection beforehand don’t you?
Me: Well maybe it varies? Either way mine has to be pretty deep.
Brother: Well I certainly feel more enlightened after this discussion.
Sister: I just wish we could figure out why all of Scott’s friends want to have sex with him.
Me: *laughing*
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Over the bitburger, the driver keeps me posted on his bachada lessons.
“It’s cool,” he says. “I mean, if you wanna do something just to have fun, it’s really good. But it’s not so good for meeting people -- I mean, meeting people seriously.”
“Why?” I ask.
“They’re too young,” he replies. “Like early twenties, even.”
“Sometimes that’s not so bad...”
“But it is. For me, I mean. It’s not what I’m looking for. And it’s kind of worse that they mistake me for around their age.”
“Most people think of that as a good thing.”
“Yeah, I know. But it just...I don’t know, the fact that they think I’m their age kinda scares me. Even more so the fact that I could get away with it.”
“And exploit it, ha ha. How responsible of you...”
The waitress sets the dunkel down in front of me and then leaves us. The driver nods in her direction. “What do you think of her?”
“Her? She’s all right,” I say. “Janet? Or Janice. I forget what it was.”
He puts his phone on the table to show me the profile picture of the woman who messaged him earlier today. Blondish, a big smile. “I prefer the term ‘curvy,’” she writes, in describing her body. The entire profile description is less than a hundred words.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“The last line is funny,” I point out. “Sarcastic...maybe that’s a good thing.”
The driver nods, hopeful. Some of the recent hits, he says, have been less than inspiring.
“It’s my profile,” he explains. “All my profile pics, they just suck.”
I don’t ask why, but I assume it’s because most of the pictures that show him genuinely happy or enjoying himself have his ex-girlfriend in the frame.
“Hey, maybe I’ve got something,” I say. “You know, from the park or from the road trip or whatever. If I find one, I’ll send it to you.”
On the rocks. Not a phrase I use, I don’t order those kinds of drinks. A couple hours ago I heard someone say it, about them (who were out of earshot).
I didn’t realize it was on the rocks...
Later, at the bar (they aren’t with us), we don’t talk about it/them -- and maybe it’s better that way. Someone is going on about the utility of the half-dishwasher, and the woman next to her tells us that her cat behaves like a dog and that her roommate’s messiness is finally starting to annoy her.
“Are you gonna finish that?” the half-dishwasher owner asks, pointing to the cat owner’s beer mug, which has been sitting half empty.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“’Cus if not, I was gonna take one for the team and do it for you. So...you forfeiting?”
“I dunno yet. Gimme five minutes.”
“Okay.”
I don’t have roommates, so I tell them about one of my old landlords, Madam Sim. For a year and a half, I left the rent money in cash in a glass bowl inside her living room cabinet. Once a month, she (or her daughter) would sneak into the apartment and collect it while I was away at work.
“Why not send her a check?”
“It was an illegal sublet, so it had to be cash.”
“She ever mess with your stuff? I mean, I totally would.”
“It’s possible. But I didn’t have much stuff back then -- a suitcase and a duffel bag, that was it.”
There’s an empty pause, the kind where if someone suddenly got up, everyone would follow suit and just go home. We wait for someone to speak.
“張, are you ordering another beer?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
The inertia now renewed, we stay glued to our seats a little longer.
