#teag reader

With this job, you can also make a reasonable guess as to who your client is. Your target: the elusive owner of a major hotel chain—which will remain unnamed due to the writer’s lack of creativity—who goes only by the name Nulla. To hold such a successful business, it’s only inevitable that you will cross the wrong person, or piss someone off in one way or another. And especially considering how ‘beloved’, or ‘beloathed’—however you want to put it—Mr.Nulla is in high class circles, his name, you figure, would’ve inevitably ended up on your list. It still shocks you that it didn’t happen sooner, all things considered. And as of late, Nulla has been a major thorn in Mayor Septem’s side. Of course, to the general public, they’re amicable, and friendly. The mayor is always seen hanging around the hotel, be it for conferences, or for another high profile party. Word is: the mayor has a taste for vintage Brunello di Montalcino. If anyone dares to put a hit out on him, you can always go for cyanide, considering the low sugar content… But that is irrelevant. The point is that the public believes Nulla and Septem to be on good terms; yet, most everyone whose worth is not truly reflected within their tax return can tell you that the two of them do not stand each other. The only reason why they’re seen next to one another is just to watch the other’s every move. And well, considering that your contract currently has Mr.Nulla’s name on it, the mayor grows sick of this little cat-and-mouse game they seem to be playing. But if anyone asks, you are none the wiser. 

Or you would be, if you weren’t tied to a chair with your head covered with some old sack. That is where you find yourself after being knocked out for who-knows-how-long, following you attempting to enter an employee-only area. You pride yourself on your skill, but even you sometimes make mistakes. It’s just that, in your field of work, mistakes can cost a tad more than a simple reprimand. In this case, you failed to notice someone’s pair of eyes on you whilst sneaking around the hotel. Alas, dwelling on your mistake is pretty useless when you ought to be focused on figuring out how to get out of your rather worrisome position. It isn’t like it’s the first time you were caught, but most of them were quickly mitigated by your irresistible charm. You figure that this time isn’t going to be any different. Once you raise your head, indicating that you are awake, you will instantly begin to beg and cry. Putting up a front of an innocent little lamb who accidentally stumbled upon the room they were never meant to enter. These people love to see others groveling, that one was sure. And with enough conviction in your puppydog eyes, they’ll surely have a hard time believing you to be one of the best assassins around. Who could ever imagine such a cute face to be this deadly.

Alright, you can’t take too long gathering your thoughts. Time is money, after all. And being dead would lose you both. 

You sharply inhale, frantically moving your head around, trying to get yourself out of the tight ropes. The harsh threads rub painfully against your skin. You want to instinctively hiss, but you suppress it in favor of a more pathetic cry. You have to play the part of a hurt doe. You flail for a little longer. Not hearing a response, you stop, as if tired out, and let out a weak ‘Hello?’. Play the part. Pretend. Even if there’s no one here, you need to keep it up for when someone will inevitably come to check on you. Or well, if more than about four hours pass according to your internal clock, you’ll figure out how to get yourself out of these ropes. They didn’t seem that hard to get out of, especially with the knife in your… Shoes… You realize that they feel a lot lighter than they should be. Okay… No need to panic just yet, you always have multiple weapons on your person. Perhaps you were careless enough to forget them. You are never careless. But maybe this time you acted uncharacteristically rash. You thrash some more, trying to feel if you have any other weapons you are supposed to hide on your person. Nothing behind your belt, neither on your garters. Oh, this is definitely not your mistake. They know who you are. You clench your jaw, preparing for the worst. If there was anyone with you in the room, they haven’t shown themselves yet. Not like you can check with this beg over your head. No matter. You can finesse your way out of any situation, even if it involves tearing the rope through only teeth and friction. You seize the aimless thrashing, and begin to move with a purpose. The chair is rough, and even if the rope and wood will rip your skin, you will be free to go and finish your mission. The contract is still on, after all. If you are alive to collect it, you will have to finish it. Otherwise, you’ll land yourself as another target. So, you either die from the hands of your target, or your employer will make you the target if you dare skip town upon incomplete assignment. You are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Or between a rope and a wooden chair, in your case. When you just begin to believe that you’re making some progress, feeling the heat beyond your torn skin.

But having an infinite amount of time to work yourself out of your binds is too good to be true. You hear the sound of a metal door opening, and you confirm your suspicions that you must be in some sort of a warehouse. Metallic echo from the walls work to confirm it. You stop thrashing, raising your head up at the source of the noise. You might not be able to see, but you are smart enough to acknowledge the presence. The person doesn’t speak. They simply slowly walk towards you. The steps sound like they are wearing shoes with a small heel—probably men dress shoes, and probably expensive, considering the poise and confidence within each step. You don’t make a sound as the person walks around you and stops right behind. They rip the bag off your skin, allowing air’s arid chill to reach your face. You inhale deeply, finally able to breathe freely. With that breath, you attempt to turn your head around to look at your captor, but a loud cocking of a gun right by the crown of your head makes you immediately stop. You chuckle nervously, letting out a soft ‘Let’s not be rash now…’ through another torn sigh. You swallow, mentally preparing to meet your maker with any wrong move. Heavy silence follows. You don’t dare break it, your entire body tense. Perhaps if your captor is the one to break the ice, your chance of survival will go up just enough for you to seize it.

A low, mellifluous laugh resonates throughout your body, making you shiver. Whether in fear, or in a perverse excitement behind the danger, you aren’t sure. Perhaps your blasé attitude towards life and death made you rather excitable towards the prospect of being on the receiving end of your professional scope. You choose to believe that it is the fear, and the realization of just whose laugh you just heard. Nulla himself decided to pay his prospective killer a visit. And alone, at that. He is either really confident that you are incapable of doing anything to him in this state, he has a death wish, or he is just plain stupid. Well, you suppose, it is reasonable to be confident that you aren’t much of a danger disarmed, with a gun to your head. Even if you were able to tear the rope within such a short amount of time since you woke up, you wouldn’t try to pull any risky maneuver to disarm Mr.Nulla. Not only does he, most definitely, have a finger on the trigger, you’ve also done your homework. Trying to research anything on the hotel owner’s life before his business grew disproportionately, yields you nothing. No past relationships, no business partners, no education information. Nothing at all. It’s odd. When it’s this odd, you have to assume the worst. And asking too many questions in this business is bad for your health. 

“It is a pleasant surprise that, out of all people who could’ve been sent here, it is you,” you can hear a smile within Nulla’s words. Not only that, he sounds just like he’s chatting up one of his high-class clientele. You are confused by the words. A ‘pleasant surprise’? That you came here to kill him? Maybe your guess that he is a loon isn’t too far-fetched. But you’ll have to play along if that means he doesn’t pull the trigger. 

He slowly steps around you, keeping about a meter distance between the two of you. Clever. It is close enough to be considered ‘intimate’ in a situation like this one, but is also far enough that you can’t lunge at him with your limbs tied to the chair. Infuriating, but clever. You hate to see this shrewdness, but you have to commend him for it, as well. Unfortunately, it does solidify your suspicions of his shady origins. But it’s better that he keeps talking. The longer he speaks, the longer you get to live. 

“I’ve heard really good things about you, you know?” You finally get to look at him from up close. A handsome gentleman, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties. He’s dressed sharply in a perfectly tailored burgundy suit, his raven black hair is slicked back, and his eyes are piercing obsidian shards, shimmering mischievously as he watches your expression shift between exasperation and confusion. You remain silent. You can’t really be the boastful kind with your occupation. You can’t chat about your accomplishments in the same manner as the regular office plankton can. How can you even bring up that last week you killed a man by putting a highly potent poison on the key of his prized grand piano during the cooler talk? Or that you had to drop a crystal chandelier on a business rival of yet another rich prick with more money than humanity within? Not that you can boast about your humanity, either. After all, you did take that job. But it appears that Mr.Nulla in front of you seems to have some sort of professional—or so you think—infatuation. He hasn’t said that, of course, but his eyes have a certain glint of recognition within them that you can’t place. The two of you never met before. 

“So many whisper about you like some sort of a boogeyman. Yet, everyone prays you’ll deem their offer good enough,” he lowers the gun, a wide smile still ever prevalent on his face. 

“So, imagine how ecstatic I was to learn that you’ve accepted my contract, cariño.”

What.

Huh?

Excusez-moi?

Прошу прощения?

You have a good poker face. You had a good poker face. Right now, you are looking at the man in front of you, mouth agape, blinking slowly. He isn’t just a ‘loon’. He is INSANE. If you are understanding him correctly, Nulla reached out to you through a third-party and paid you a frankly absurd amount of money to contract an assassination on himself? What for? You are frantically looking into his eyes for a hint of… Anything! For what purpose would ANYONE order you to kill THEM? Is he suicidal, and wanted an interesting way to go? Then why would he stop you? Did he want to check how tight his security is? That’s placing entirely too much trust in people who can be easily paid off. Which you, in fact, did. A couple of them, to be more precise. Or did he want the satisfaction of catching you whether to gloat about how he thwarted a professional assassin, or to destroy your reputation, to kill you? You scoff, you cough, and then you shake your head, trying to center yourself. How are you supposed to react to this confession? He still has a gun, so you can’t exactly be too snarky. But you also don’t know the purpose of this, for the lack of a better word, clownery. 

“I don’t think I understand…” The only thing you can reasonably muster. You aren’t lying, either. You cannot comprehend what’s going on through that head of his that made him think of this idea. You’ve encountered quite a few peculiar individuals, especially as an assassin for hire. But this is a new one for you. Are you lucky, or unlucky right now? This situation is entirely too unpredictable for you. 

“It’s quite alright. I don’t imagine you would remember,” his voice is oddly resigned, yet the smile on his face makes his words sound more playful. 

“We’ve met before. I know you frequent my hotels. Of course, you would. After all, you have to study your targets. But while you wait, you blend in so effortlessly… You do love to chat up bartenders, don’t you?” Nulla winks, and you attempt to recall every time you spoke to a bartender before, if any of them looked like the man before you. You can’t parse through your memory as he stares at you with trepidation. You can’t remember any of their faces. 

“I do love to sometimes chat with the patrons, and our conversations—even if brief—are always a delight, the highlight of my week.” You remember a bartender with a dashing smile, and a pair of hungry, onyx eyes. Surely, you weren’t unknowingly chatting up the owner of the hotel, then. If that is the case, you’ll have to rethink your entire career because you aren’t supposed to miss these details. It’s impossible for you to miss these details. 

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, mi vida. I love to play a little dress-up, if you will. No one would blame you for missing it.” You will blame yourself. You should have known. You are better than this. Your eyes reflect confusion once more, finally registering the nickname Nulla gave you. It is way too intimate for just simple chatter than the two of you allegedly shared. Pointedly, you also were not aware of these meetings. You definitely haven’t earned the title of ‘mi vida’. Not yet. Not that you are planning on that, either. But Nulla seems to have his own plans, way beyond what you can ever come up with.

“I’ll ask you to forgive me for such a dramatic meeting, but I grow tired of our rare, brief encounters. But you are rather hard to come in contact with in a more casual setting. I appreciate how guarded you are. Can’t be too careful…” 

You interrupt him with indignation, having a hard time taking this seriously. He has to be punking you.

“You paid three hundred thousand for us to have a conversation?” 

You make him laugh. Its sound: soothing, velvety. You can see how he can charm his way anywhere. 

“Always straight to the point. I like it. But no. I paid to open a conversation about a partnership. Of course, I would love to have you by my side, but that can come later…” He sighs wistfully. “I want you to be on my payroll, and at my professional disposal. Someone of your skill is hard to come by, so I’d like to have you for myself. And you do know that I pay well.”

You close your eyes, processing the information, seriously considering his words. The contract’s terms do offer an absurdly high payout. You might be one of the best, but the total amount, upon completion, stipulated over half a million. And Mr.Nulla paid half of it upfront, no questions asked, check cleared. Having him as a form of constant, ridiculous income doesn’t sound half bad. Too good to be true. 

“Forgive my bluntness, but it can’t be all there is to it. You want to pay me exorbitant amounts of money to have me occasionally get rid of people you dislike, and to have a chat with me sometimes? What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he raises his hands, feigning innocence. “I suppose, the only other stipulation would be that I want you by my side. Physically, during public events, of course. The other can come later.” 

“And if I say no?” you speak slowly. He might seem calm, but you can never be too sure with people who would do something like this.

“You are free to go,” he snickers. “Well, I would ask you to still have these passing conversations we have. But you can leave.” 

You don’t like the way he says ‘ask’. He isn’t asking. You know definitively that he isn’t just asking. You ponder for a moment. The terms are sweet. And it’s not like you have particular moral aversion to working as an assassin on a payroll, instead of for-hire. An odd equivalent to an office job, but you might like it that way. Not only that, you can definitely tolerate chatting with Nulla. You may not know him, but for an insane person, he is rather agreeable. You can also always terminate the contract. In any way you can read that phrase. You aren’t going to think too long, and wait for him to grow impatient. 

“Yes,” you break the brief silence, seeing the man’s face light up. “We can negotiate the terms. I agree with the general description, but I’d like to take the time to review the duties and expectations.”

“I’m so glad to hear it, cariño!” Nulla stretches his arm out for a handshake. 

You stare at him blankly.

Neo has been in the shower for a frankly exorbitant amount of time. Not that he is particularly cleanly—Nulla's the one who spends over an hour grooming himself—Neo is an in-and-out type of person. He isn't dirty, but you'd never find him hogging up the bathroom for as long as he is today. This isn't a deliberate change to his routine, not at all. In fact, he isn't putting minimal effort into it. No. Neo is staring off somewhere into the distance, letting the damn near ice cold water wash over him. His actions weigh heavy on his shoulders, and the cold water gives him something to focus on that isn't his transgression against self. Frankly, he is horrified with himself. If he is capable of doing something like that, how much further can he go? How slippery is the slope he found himself on? Was he always destined for this? Is it an inevitability that he turn to this? Does this run in the family? Is being a loser like Nulla a familial curse? Is there any way to circumvent this? Maybe a lobotomy? That would surely be preferable over wherever he is heading. What if—

"Neo, Dios mío, if you don't come out of there… It's been an hour!"

Speak of the devil.

"La concha de la lora, Nulla, fuck off! I'm busy!"

"Busy?!" Nulla's irritation matches that of Neo's. "You use a three-in-one shampoo, what on Earth are you busy with?!"

"Use your brain, dipshit! What can a young man be doing in—"

Nulla groans loudly at his brother's retort. He knows that Neo's saying this just to further annoy him, but he'd be damned if it wasn't working. Neo's brazenness never fails to get under the older brother's skin. How can someone this uncouth come out of the same family? Mary and Nulla are both polite and sweet. Neo, on the other hand…

"Just… Get out of there," Nulla sighs in defeat. He isn't going to humor this idiocy. Nor does he want to annoy Mary with a yet another fight between him and Neo.

Neo himself isn't particularly in the mood to fight, either. And he never passed up a chance to have a cat fight with Nulla. It's been almost a week since the two of you smoked together. Yet, only now does he even begin to realize what he had done to himself. He has been in a state of shock these past few days; and now that he has managed to begin unpacking the reason behind his stupor, he wants nothing more than to bang his head against the wall until he gives himself a concussion. Maybe then he'll be able to forget the way you looked at him that day. Or maybe he'll slip in the shower, and break his neck. Anything is preferable to the burning feeling in his chest when he thinks about your face. If only you could leave his mind even for a moment…

Neo turns the water off, but hesitates to get out of the shower. If he stays here for longer, maybe the cold air will grant him release. He begins to slowly settle down into the icy absence of thought, but a stray memory of the sound of your voice makes him spiral once more. He groans, not sure if he's more upset with you for rudely taking over his every thought, or if he's upset with himself for letting you do that to him. Neo grabs his towel as he carelessly stomps out of the shower. Towel around his waist, he stares daggers at himself in the bathroom mirror. He is a fucking moron. Stupid fucking moron. For letting you join him. For letting himself look into your eyes for a moment too long. For letting himself think these ridiculous thoughts. Neo meant to tease you when he shared the lighter. But he ended up playing an insanely cruel joke on himself when he felt his breath hitch at your proximity. Merely thinking back on it leaves him reeling, scolding himself for either letting you bewitch him… Or for not tossing those nasty cigarettes aside to kiss you.

Neo slaps himself, his eye twitching. What is he thinking about? Why does he sound like Nulla? In his own mind. Without mockery, no less. Why is he seriously considering how soft your lips would've been, and if the taste of coffee would've still lingered on them? He slumps—or rather, nearly folds himself in two—banging his head on the cold stone bathroom counter. Should he start crying out of frustration? Or maybe bite the stone to not scream bloody murder about the ridiculousness of his condition? Why on Earth did he let you near? Let you climb into his chest like a parasite, slowly devouring his aorta. Frankly, he'd prefer if you were a literal heart-eating parasite. Then, he wouldn't have to deal with the ugly thoughts of your warmth. Neo makes an earnest—for once—attempt to compose himself, giving himself a couple more, smaller slaps. Grown ass man, acting like a high school girl with a crush, he scolds himself. Okay. Okay. He has to stop sulking, and face it like said grown ass man.

Meaning, actively suppress his feelings, and avoid you like the plague. The latter being something he has been doing since that day. What else is he supposed to do? Face you, and address his feelings? Tough luck. He isn't Nulla with his cheesy romanticism. Neo would much rather toss himself off a cliff than be like his older brother. Ridiculous, and annoying. He just needs to wait these feelings out before facing you again. Yes, that's a sound plan. Or as sound as he could come up with. Is it realistic? Well… He surely hopes so.

It takes Neo around ten more minutes to drag himself out of the bathroom, most of that time spent cursing the very foundation of this world for dealing him such a shitty hand. High card being a seven of hearts. And he's afraid that he has to fold unless he manages to bluff his way to a win. If only he had played poker more than twice in his entire life. Both he lost to Mary, but that is irrelevant. Because he is planning on winning this one. Or experience spontaneous human combustion immediately following your smiling at him. Double or nothing, so to speak.

Neo carelessly throws on a shirt—cleanliness of which is up for debate—and some slacks. The bakery is, thankfully, closed today, so, Neo is free to laze around all day long. Which isn't necessarily a good thing since it gives him more opportunities to think back on your lovely face. But it also gives him an opportunity to distract himself enough to figure out how to shove his feelings somewhere deep within the crevices of his wretched soul. Probably.

"Finally!" Nulla's voice is glass on a chalkboard. "There is no reason for you, of all people, to be spending an hour in the shower."

Nulla is the the last person Neo wants to be talking to right now. His grating voice reminds the younger one of the horrid love affair he is trying so desperately to avoid. Nulla's heartthrob self is annoying on a good day, and utterly unbearable now.

"You can shut your pie hole, and go do your beauty routine, princess," Neo barks out, plopping on the couch like a sack of potatoes.

Staring back at his brother, Neo begins to feel cold sweat gathering on the back of his neck. The look on Nulla's face is one he hasn't had a chance to see before. It's not his usual mildly disgruntled stare after another minor spat between the two of them. It's a knowing, displeased glare which carries entirely too much weight behind a single look. Neo is unsure what exactly he did to earn it. There is no way that a simple change in routine is worth a death stare. He didn't fall on the couch with too much attitude, either. And he isn't as much of a fat ass as Nulla is, so there's no way he'd break it.

"What?" Neo is raised an eyebrow, acting annoyed, to avoid thinking about why he is getting stared at so intensely.

"You're acting weird," Nulla's coldness is palpable.

"I'm acting weird?! Have you seen yourself, weon?!" Neo should channel his irritation, rather than the sudden nervousness over what the hell exactly is going through Nulla's mind to be acting like this. "You're acting weird my ass!"

"Is it about them?"

It's Neo's turn to dispense death glares. Who does Nulla think he is to be talking like that?! Well, he isn't entirely wrong, anyway. It is about them… Them? No name, no nothing? There's a lot of assumptions happening from both sides right now. And Neo is hoping, and praying that the aforementioned 'them' isn't the one he's thinking of.

"Them?" Neo feigns ignorance, his expression one of exasperation.

"{Name}," Nulla clears his throat, collecting himself. He doesn't want to get overzealous. Not yet, at the very least. "Something happened between you two to warrant your acting shifty this past week, no? You've been avoiding them."

"What the hell are you talking about?! You can keep your little delusions to yourself!"

Nulla falls silent at Neo's scoffing. He doesn't need any more confirmation to know that his brother's antics are what caused you to be dejected for the entire week. A chill ran down Neo's spine at the prolonged, freezing cold stare he receives. The older one is acting odd enough to almost make Neo forget about the past week of idiotic yearning, or whatever one would call the trance state you've put him in. Almost. And now, even Nulla is going cuckoo. That isn't to say he wasn't already messed up in the head in some way. Neo speculates that the older brother had been dropped on his head a handful of times as a child. But the brain damage seems to be catching up to him faster than ever. Who would've thought?

"Oh well," Nulla hums, relaxing his expression. "I suppose, I'm just imagining things."

"Fucking lunatic…" Neo pulls his phone out in an attempt to zone out the older one's attitude. He doesn't want to catch whatever disease Nulla has that made him like this.

"But I am planning on taking {Name} out to make up for your attitude," he what. "I want to cheer them up. You should really be nicer to them."

These were the last words Nulla had spoken before retreating to the bathroom for his 'princess routine'. Neo wants to say that Nulla walked away too fast to give him a chance to come up with a usual snarky response, but that would be a bold faced lie. In fact, Nulla stood in his spot, waiting for a response, before—presumably smugly—walking away. Silence is enough of an answer. In fact, louder than anything Neo could've ever conjured up. Nulla leaves uncertainty in the air behind him, having sucked all the confidence out of the room. He shouldn't care. Truly, Neo shouldn't care. He shouldn't. He doesn't. Of course, he doesn't. Why would he? Why would he care? Another scoff under his breath. What is Nulla thinking? That his little love venture with you has anything to do with Neo? In fact, he shouldn't even begin thinking about how much he doesn't care. In fact, it's a good thing that Nulla is doing this. He can finally relax, having confirmation that this week-long mental escapade can finally come to an end. He is content, really. There's no need to be skittish around you anymore… Not like he is skittish around you, to begin with. He wasn't around you at all. But not because he is going to great lengths to avoid you, no. He is just really busy. Yes, there has been way too many orders to be taking chatting breaks, like Nulla does. Irresponsibly, mind you! But would this affect Nulla's already lackluster productivity? After all, you're incredibly distracting. To Nulla. Incredibly distracting to Nulla, yes. Neo is worried about their productivity, and the bakery's success. After all, he wouldn't want Mary to be disappointed in their performance. Maybe if Nulla finally gets his little outing with you, he'd realize that you're not worth his time, and he'll be able to focus, once again. Yes, of course. After all, talking to you is fruitless. You barely talk. You two didn't talk during the smoke break. And it was for the better, yes. The sound of your voice is grating. He just didn't want to be rude to you. But yes, the sound of your voice is distracting. He should tell you next time he sees you that you distract him… Distract him by being so annoying. He needs to clarify that for you because you're just such a dimwit, of course. No other reason. It's not like he's been distracted this past week by the mere thought of you. It's not like you've been on his mind all this time, occupying nearly every thought of his. It's not like he is thinking about you when he is decorating those tiny pastries, putting an extra flourish into their design, because you told him you like those cute creme bows. It's not like the thought of you haunts his every waking moment. It's not like he dreamt of you three night out of the four that he managed to get a wink of sleep in…

"FUCK!" Neo groans loudly, digging his fingers into his face. Maybe if he claws his eyes out, he won't have to deal with you.

"Dios mio, Neo, you startled me!" Mary's voice knocks him clean out of his you-induced stupor. He didn't even notice when she entered the room. "What was that for?"

"…My stocks plummeted?"

"You don't own any stocks."

"Bitcoin. Invested four grand into it yesterday."

"Right."

***

New work day, and Neo couldn't be happier. He hadn't had any weird dreams involving you last night, and he is so content about it. Couldn't be any more content. If he could ignore the fact that he didn't actually have a wink of sleep to get that result. But it is a result nonetheless, no? Thankfully, he remains confined to the back of the bakery. Perks of being a mean nuisance. He is free to focus on baking and decorating, rather than the eye-twitching thought of Nulla inviting you out; and the idea of you giving him that bright smile of yours as you say 'Yes'.

He definitely didn't just squeeze the piping bag to hard, spilling way too much cream all over these poor cookies, requiring him to scrape it all off, and begin anew. And Mary definitely didn't spend the whole day, throwing sardonic—or knowing, he hasn't decided yet—glances at Neo. She is waiting on you with trepidation. Simply can't wait for your daily visit. Oh, Mary is so ready for whatever is going to happen today. Neo is certain that Nulla had already informed their sister of his intentions. But nothing escapes her eyes, and she, most definitely, knows exactly about Neo's recent affliction… Or rather, lack thereof, of course. She knows that he is entirely impartial towards you. In fact, finds you irritating. And she simply wants to see how smoothly Nulla's invitation will go through. Mhm. Obviously.

Like clockwork, you come to the cafe at the same time you always do. You pensively glance over the empty spot where Rafael usually hangs around. It's as if this Septem client of his has Rafael locked in his studio. Poor guy. You give the entire cafe a once over, and as you spot Mary, so does she—you. She waves at you to come quicker with that bright smile of hers you love, making it impossible for you to both smile back, and pick up the pace. Maybe she has some new gossip for you? Oh, you can't wait to hear what she has to say. Of course, you'd love to say 'Hello' to all three siblings, but Mary is the only one you can see manning the front. But you also don't hear any loud spats in the back of the cafe, so either the two brothers finally found a middle ground, or—which is a lot more likely—one of them is out today. You hope that no one is sick. You're always ready to bring a little care package, of course, but you hope that you don't need to.

"Mary! Hi!" You match her smile. "You're energetic."

"That I am," she giggles, having already pulled a shot for your drink. Yet, she doesn't elaborate, remaining cryptic.

"So, um, what's up?" You don't want the silence to turn awkward. "Is someone out today?"

"Oh, no," Mary waves you off, quickly finishing your order, and sliding it over to you. She didn't even try to ask if you wanted to switch things up today. Something got her excited, but she doesn't want to share with you for whatever reason. "Los gorditos are giving each other the silent treatment."

"What? Why?"

"Oh, you know…" She winks at you, leaving you with even more questions. Did you miss some sort of a memo? The groupchat's been silent since yesterday. And Mary's lax attitudes tells you that it's nothing serious. But her shiftiness isn't particularly reassuring, either.

"Um… No," you're honest. "I don't know… Please, enlighten me."

Mary pauses, looking at you dumbfounded. You two share a long stare before Mary bursts out laughing, startling you. It's a long, gleeful laugh. The kind of laugh that leaves her eyes tearing. She tries to compose herself, brushing away the tears. You hear faint 'No way…' from under her breath. Did you say something funny? Is there some sort of an inside joke you aren't clued into? You raise an eyebrow at your friend, waiting for her to catch her breath. She isn't making it easier on you to understand what she's talking about on bit.

"Okay, okay…" She wipes the tears off her face one last time, finally able to take her laughter under control. "So, you know how Neo has been avoiding you since your little smoke break?"

"He has been avoiding me? I was sure you guys are just busy… Why would he do that…" You sound hurt, but it slowly begins dawning on you the kind of intonation Mary used. "Smoke break? We just smoked, it's nothing crazy that would warrant him avoiding me!"

Your attempt to minimize the damages feels futile, as you watch your friend's smile turn to a smirk.

"You do know that we have CCTV, right?"

"…"

"…"

"I will elect not to internalize that information."

"That's too bad because I've seen the whole thing from two different angles."

"I will not be talking to you without my lawyer present, Mary."

"Oh, come on," she chuckles. "I know you were giggling and kicking your feet when you got home, amigo."

"You are the worst," a deep, dark blush is spreading across your face. "And besides, it was just Neo teasing me. Nothing more than that."

"Ah, yes, and the fact that he's been out of it for an entire week is 'nothing'," Mary rolls her eyes. "Sure thing."

You slam your forehead on the counter, whimpering out some indiscernible curses. You want to cry out of embarrassment. In fact, you're suddenly glad that Rafael is locked up somewhere in his client's basement, instead of witnessing this display of public humiliation that you're currently enduring from your dear friend. How can anyone be so cruel to you? You haven't done anything to deserve this type of treatment. You try to think back, if you can conjure up some grievous sin that the universe might be punishing you for, but you get nothing. Nada.

"Why would you do this to me…" You draw your words out, mixing them with whines.

"Good news for you is that I have Neo hostage in the back for the two of you to talk about your little high school crush. You two can't keep me in suspense forever, you know?"

"How is this good news?! I can't do this today! Or tomorrow! Or any other day, for that matter!"

"I am not hearing any convincing arguments against you two talking it out," Mary shuts you down. "So, c'mon. Come around. You know your way."

"I don't want to!"

"I'm not asking."

Mary drags you over behind the counter, and shoves you towards the kitchen. Against your will, or your better judgment, for that matter. You can't fathom looking Neo in the eye after you got a confirmation that he did, in fact, avoid you like the plague since your smoke break. Mistakes were made. Not by you, you want to say, but you have to be honest with yourself. You let Mary peer pressure you into talking to the object of your odd desire. Twice. You begin to consider stopping letting her have this much power over you because it keeps ending in detriment to you and your mental health. But alas, you're already standing in the kitchen, watching Neo's back as he's working on decorating something. You are surprised that he didn't notice all the commotion that Mary and you caused, but you can also sense the tenseness in his shoulders as he's decorating the hell out of those poor cookies. You stand there, watching him, thinking over every single mistake in life you had made which lead you to this very moment. You can still make a run for it, right? You doubt that Mary would tackle you, or anything… Or you can dash past Neo, and run out the back. There is a chance that you might run into Nulla there, since you haven't seen him yet. You can only hope that Nulla's simply somewhere in the walk-in freezer, or something.

Your musings are interrupted by the very person you are actively avoiding talking to:

"¡Mierda!" Neo nearly jumps in his place, not expecting to see you, of all people. "How long were you planning on creeping around here, you fucking weirdo?!"

"I just walked in. You're being dramatic," you sneer. "Maybe pay attention to your surroundings next time. I don't know."

The conversation died there, as it started. You expected Neo to scold you more, to curse, or even to yell. But now, he is just staring at you, as you are at him. Like deer in the headlights. Should you wait for him to break the silence? Or should you? Does he know why you're here? If so, he seems to be entirely too quiet for his usual self. Where's the scolding, the cursing, the… Everything?

"Are you just going to stand there, staring at me, or what?" There he goes. "Why are you here?"

Neo's voice is low, uncertain. He knows the answer already, but he doesn't want to admit it.

"Um…" You begin. One of you two has to be brave. "It's about last week."

"What about it?" Neo looks away from you. He doesn't want you to see the heat rising on his face. Especially when he has plausible deniability of needing to finish decorating these cookies. He isn't a coward. And other lies he can hide from you this way.

"Well," you have to be the brave one, unfortunately. "You have been avoiding me since then, and I wanted to know—"

"I haven't been avoiding you, what the hell are you talking about?!"

"Can you let me finish, damn?!" If he's going to get defensive, you have to be more straightforward.

"Wow, don't you think we're moving too fast?"

"Bitch?!" You stare daggers at Neo who begins to snicker to himself. He can't talk his feelings, but he can definitely deflect. "I'm serious. What you did then… The leaning in, and…"

Neo freezes. There is a knot in his throat he can't clear. He doesn't want to talk about it. Hell, he wanted the both of you to move on, and forget that it ever happened. He was an idiot for doing that, and he maintains that position firmly. Will he say that out loud to you? Absolutely not. Will he scold himself, however? Most definitely. He hears your voice falter. You are the braver one of the two of you, but even you can only do so much under pressure. Neo isn't the nicest guy around to be emotionally vulnerable with. Perhaps Nulla's admission that he wishes to ask you out was actually a good thing. It's easier this way, really. As much as he'd like to stick it to his older brother, and snatch you up for himself, he doesn't know what he'll do with you. It feels… Wrong to treat you like a toy to be fought over like little kids. You don't deserve this. Even now, having you here with him, he somehow—for the first time in his life, perhaps—feels regret.

You are an idiot for thinking that that little exchange meant anything. And Neo is an even bigger idiot for putting the meaning out there.

"And nothing," he speaks up, finally gathering enough courage. He resumes his decorating, needing something to focus on, instead of thinking too long, and too hard. "I don't know what you conjured up in that peanut brain of yours, but me not wasting time, and simply lighting two cigs at once, means nothing."

"Ah."

"Don't project your little fantasies on me."

"I see. Sorry."

He doesn't need to be facing you to hear the painful dejection in your voice. He doesn't want to be facing you. It's for the best, he reasons with himself. He doesn't need this. He hates feeling this way. He hates being haunted by the mere thought of you. If he shuts down these ridiculous feelings now, he won't need to suffer their consequences. Vulnerability is a scam he doesn't want to fall for. There's a long silence between you two as you're watching him work, feigning nonchalance. He prays to every deity he can think of that you will let it go, and won't push any further.

Your fading footsteps are the confirmation that his wish has been granted.

In your silence, you contemplate going through the back, but your legs choose for you. You dejectedly drag yourself out to where you came from. You walk past Mary, intending to simply head home, your coffee left forgotten on the counter. You don't want to look her in the eyes, still trying to collect your scattered thoughts and feeling. You don't know what you've expected, frankly. It's Neo, after all. You are unsure why, in your heart of hearts, you've believed Mary's speculations… Or your 'little fantasies', as he put it. Why would your feelings be, in any way, shape, or form, reciprocated? Neo has been right to call you names for your childish naiveté. It's real life; not some sort of a cheesy Hallmark movie where the love interest only pretends to dislike their deuteragonist while harboring intense feelings for them. You have to take things at face value whenever you can to spare yourself this ugly, conflicting feeling. You can't read minds. And you shouldn't waste your time, chasing your heart's every whim. You can't go around humoring it. It might get used to the princess treatment.

Mary looks at you with confusion. There's no way it didn't go smoothly. Not according to her predictions. You reciprocate Neo's feelings, and she forced you to confront him with your feelings, and undivided attention. What else did her little brother want? She quite literally presented you in a perfect gift wrap with a pretty bow. Hell, he didn't even have to do anything except smile and nod! Well, maybe just nod, in Neo's case. How can anyone fuck up that part? Your look tells her that he managed to fail the simplest of tasks to guarantee his and yours happiness. Your friend catches your wrist before you can walk away. You were right: she doesn't tackle you. But she might as well have by the look you give her. Mary's grip on your wrist tightens with an irritated eye twitch. Oh, is she angry. Not at you, of course. Somehow, even you can feel how hard Mary is clenching her jaw. She wants to go, and immediately give her younger brother a piece of her mind. But right now, her priority is you—her dear friend. Her hold on you relaxes, and her features soften. You're holding yourself well, too proud to cry over spilled milk. Well, at least, not in front of the entire cafe clientele, and your friends. Or perhaps, you're simply too shellshocked to emote.

Mary gently wraps her arms around you; and as you reciprocate her embrace, she looks up behind you, searching for a glimpse of Neo in the kitchen with a murderous glare. Neo is lucky—or smart enough—not to show his scrawny frame immediately following his biggest fumble to date. She'll give him a piece of her mind after hours. And he won't be escaping it. He can't escape it.

Well, her other brother also seems to have the hots for you. And while she would've preferred matchmaking the youngest with someone who as readily puts up with his bullshit, as you do, Nulla is objectively the better choice. And she wants nothing more than for you to be happy. He'll treat you better than the dunce in the back of the house. With a sigh, Mary lets go of you, giving you a pitying look, seeing you keep face as well as you do. You want nothing more than to break down crying right now, but you also can't give Neo the satisfaction. Well, he wouldn't get any satisfaction from watching you sob your heart out—it's more awkward than anything. But you also simply don't want to address your feelings before you can sort them out. It's all too overwhelming right now. So much so, you begin to slowly disassociate just to numb yourself, to steady yourself.

"I'm sorry," Mary offers you an apologetic look. "I shouldn't have rushed you to talk to Neo. He's… A handful, I suppose."

She isn't going to talk about his feelings. She knew her brother well enough to understand that this isn't coming from a place of contempt. She will show him contempt when she gets her hands on him, or so help her.

You open your mouth to respond, but you notice Nulla's familiar frame approaching the two of you with from behind. His hands are full, and the smile on his face is even more radiant than usual. He has a dapper, white three-piece suit that sits perfectly on his frame. You'd compliment him, if you weren't on the verge of breaking down from making a single sound. The surface tension of your emotions is spread as thin as it can be. You aren't even entirely sure what you were going to say to Mary before Nulla's presence interrupted you. Made a single sound, and immediately began sobbing? What a plan. Just simply foolproof. Ironclad. Like a Swiss wristwatch.

Nulla takes long steps to close the gap between you two; his smile shifts to worry, seeing your tense face and twitching eyebrow. He throws Mary a brief quizzical glance which is instantly replaced with a polite, disgruntled smile. Neither of you need to say anything for Nulla to put two and two together. He doesn't even need to be as perceptive as he is to comprehend what exactly went down that got you down in the dumps. You find it hard to look either of the two siblings in the eyes, electing to let your eyes wander, counting the crumbs on the floor, until you finally notice that Nulla's hands are full. He is carrying a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Which he stretches out to you, seeing the surprise on your face. You want to ask how he knows that since you can't recall ever talking to anyone in your friend group about flowers. It must've slipped your mind, you reckon. You silently accept the bouquet, finally getting your lost courage back to look up at Nulla. He is positively beaming. You are unsure if it's from your acceptance of his gift, or from him trying to wordlessly cheer you up. But you can't say it isn't working. Nulla's charm is undeniable, and it's hard for you not to return him a weak smile.

"Thank you…" Is all you can muster right now. You'll pull yourself together slowly. You should be strong. You can't let Neo, of all people, get you this upset.

"Of course, mi bombón," the nickname earns Nulla an eyebrow raise from Mary, but he ignores it. "I see that I've come at a perfect time to cheer you up, haven't I?"

You stay silent for a couple moment, taking in the sight of the flowers. He did come at a perfect time. You draw the bouquet closer to your chest, inhaling the pleasant scent. And despite how hard you were trying to pull yourself together, you begin tearing up. But to maintain even a shred of dignity, you continue smiling, letting out a weak laugh.

"You have…"

“My apologies, mi vida, I got caught up with—” he broke the silence of the room with his presence.

 Usually, you were the one startled by his sudden appearance, but as soon as he arrived late to your call, you damn near took him off his feet! You cupped his face, placing one kiss, another, third, fourth… You lost count as you relentlessly peppered his face and neck with kisses, feeling him smile widely embracing you within his arms. He laughed giddily, happy to accept your unadulterated love and adoration. He couldn’t be happier. 

As you leaned away for just a moment to get a breath of air after forgetting how to breathe – you were that happy to pepper him with kisses – Nulla took this chance to, in turn, cup your face and place a deep, meaningful kiss on your lips. 

As you two parted after moments that felt entirely too short-lived, he smiled cheekily at your blushing self:

Chapter 1: Frozen Dough

Your favorite cafe closed a couple of months ago, and you’ve been devastated since. How can you not be? You have to look for one that’s just as cozy, open past three in the afternoon, and has pastries and coffee just as delicious as the one you frequented. And to rub salt in the wound, as you’re reminiscing on the simply delectable croissants, you are caught in the rain without an umbrella, like a dummy. Thankfully, you aren’t in the middle of nowhere, finding shelter in a cafe that you’ve been passing by every day. You never dared to step inside before, having been so distraught over your favorite place’s closure. Your mourning prevented you from checking it out, feeling as if you would be cheating on a relationship that had sailed away long ago. But today is the day, since you aren’t given any other choice. Well, you do have the choice of braving that downpour outside. But for some reason, you aren’t too excited over the prospect of getting soaked through to the bone. And besides, the place itself seems nice: warm, and homey.

You are greeted with a chime, and a pleasant, sing-song voice of a woman you can’t quite make out behind the counter. Smooth, jazzy music, and a pleasant aroma of coffee accompany your sopping wet shivers as you slowly make your way to the counter. You scrutinize every detail: the pastries behind the glass display, the decor, even a couple of other unfortunate patrons in the same predicament. You still feel like a cheating spouse, betraying your partner who had long passed; but coming in, and not ordering anything is worse than the unfounded way-too-personal feeling towards the place you’ll never visit again. As you come up to the register, you are greeted by that girl with a sing-song voice, and as you can now see, a very bright smile. You can’t help but smile back, feeling welcomed, and warm inside. You can even ignore your drenched shirt, and the feeling of betrayal. Her raven hair is carefully tied back in a high ponytail, her chocolate brown eyes look at you with the warmth that matches her smile, and her light brown apron only complements her features. It’s as if a warm cup of coffee you are craving materialized right in front of you. A gentle blush peppers your face as she asks you for your order. You stare at her for a moment, still stunned; as her words register in your mind, you stumble, trying to form a sentence. The woman chuckles while you’re looking for the right word. You can only muster up a couple of “um”s, and a singular “I’m still looking…”, trying really hard to look around at the various baked goods, and pastries. She hums a soft “Take you time”, and walks away to finish putting the rest of the pastries for the day on display. Just before she turns away, you catch her name, embroidered on the apron. Mary. You aren’t too sure what to do with this information, since you aren’t the type to call a barista by their name before they formally introduce themselves… But it’s good to know. Probably. You stare up at their drink menu, and consider if your months away from any cafes made you a socially inept weirdo who is unable to interact with people. You already know what you’re going to order. You always know what to order at a bakery to figure out if it’s worth coming back to. Coffee with an espresso base, and an almond croissant. If they mess up almond paste, they aren’t worth your time. It is an iron-clad method for anyone not allergic to nuts. If you are, a regular croissant should suffice, as well. You feel as if the thought is imposed on you, rather than being something that would naturally come up when you’re alone. You brush that feeling away. 

You take a long, deep breath, and look around some more. You suppose, since you already volunteered yourself to be “still looking”, you’ll do just that. There’s a plethora of pastries to choose from, as you begin to lazily follow the length of the display shelves. There is, of course, quite a wide selection of various croissants, and other flaky pastries on one side. On the other, among macarons and bon-bons, there are cake slices, and pastries with tiny handwritten signs. Leche Asada, Opéra, Brazo de Reina, Pavlova, Fraisier, Milhojas, various mousse cakes, and tarts. “They know their stuff,” you whisper. You begin to contemplate grabbing more than just a croissant, and a coffee. You don’t want to admit, but being surrounded by all these made-in-house sweet treats is beginning to give you a choice paralysis. Especially, since you’ve been depriving yourself of the joys of local bakeries after your previous heartbreak. Well, that, and the fact that you haven’t eaten all day. You want to taste everything, but you also know how corny it is to answer “Everything!” to someone asking what you want to order. So, for now, you are stuck in this self-imposed limbo of indecision. You’ll get there. Eventually. 

Your trance-like state is interrupted by a man’s silky voice that startles you awake. You frantically look around, thinking that he might be talking to someone else. At the confirmation that you are, in fact, the only one staring holes through the pastries, you look up. You are met with a man, maybe a smidge younger than Mary. Yet, as you look at him, it’s as if you’re looking at her spitting image, only with shorter hair, and lower voice. He has a similar pleasant smile, and gaze, with a hint of mischief that Mary’s eyes lack. Or a hint you missed behind the stuttering mess you made of yourself. And well, this gentleman doesn’t help you fix that mess as you swallow an attempt to suppress another blush creeping up your face. You might not be returning to this place not because you don’t like it here, but because you’re going to make such a fool of yourself that you’ll have to go into witness protection just to avoid the embarrassment. 

“You seem like you have some questions, lindo.”

Good lord. You blink slowly, trying to collect your thoughts. You cannot afford fumbling any harder than you have already. You need to FOCUS. You’re here for pastries, and coffee. You need to warm up. And you need to do some reconnaissance on the potential replacement for your long lost cafe love. You are a socially apt person. Your face is red because you’re just moments away from running a fever due to the rain. Not because you’re suddenly visually assaulted by the most beautiful baristas around. It’s their job to be nice to you. FOCUS.

“Um, yes… Your fraisier cake–do you put Kirsch in it?” You finally muster up a question. You don’t particularly care whether or not the strawberry shortcake has that tiny brush of cherry liqueur. But you can’t just stand there, mouth agape, staring at the handsome gentleman trying to help you. 

“We do,” he nods, his eyes dropping to your hands, tightly grasping the straps of your bag, before looking back up at your face. You begin to relax. If you can stir the conversation towards a more professional direction, you can ignore the rising heat in your chest. 

“There’s also Grand Marnier in our Opéra, if you worry about the liqueur," the man hums softly, giving you another once-over. “But something is telling me that you should grab something warmer.” 

With his words, you finally notice the shiver in your hands that you can’t subdue even by white-knuckling your poor bag’s straps. You are freezing. And you failed to notice that behind your ogling of the people behind the counter. Great. You are officially a weirdo. Maybe you may still have a chance to play it cool, and showcase your nonchalance by ordering like a normal person. Back to your checking-if-the-place-is-worth-it agenda, you need to get a cappuccino, and a croissant. That’s it. That is all you need to get. Nothing more, nothing else… You look back at the barista behind the counter. Okay, you might want to get something else. He seems trustworthy enough for you to fall for his upselling. Better word would be handsome, but you aren’t vain like that. You hold the silence for a couple moments longer, your eyes traveling over the pastries once more. Cappuccino, croissant, and a dessert of his recommendation. Yes. 

“I suppose, you are right,” you finally break the silence, with a shaky chuckle. From the shivering, of course. “I know what I want to order, but since it’s my first time, I’ll ask you for a recommendation…”

“Nulla,” he introduces himself with a cheeky smile. If you weren’t blushing before, you’d be blushing now. “You may call me Nulla.”

“And I do have a couple of recommendations to choose from.” Oh no, not a couple… How are you supposed to pick just one? 

“Our croissants are to die for, if I do say so myself,” he taps the glass, moving smoothly over to the register counter, so he can lean over for a better look at you. You take a couple of steps to follow him. You tilt your head curiously, intent on hearing him out. Even if you weren’t motivated by how handsome he is, you’d still listen. You need to know what you’re working with here to see if the menu is worth braving the absolute humiliation you just put yourself through to come back. After all, you do need to move on from your toxic attachment to the last place you frequented. It’s time to put yourself out there, so to speak. 

“Brazo de Reina is pretty cozy for the weather. Especially with coffee…”

Nulla trails off, describing how each dessert is delectable in its own way, seemingly forgetting that he was supposed to recommend just a couple of things to warm you up. You feel the passion in each word, and frankly, you are all too happy to listen to his euphonious speech for hours. You are warmed up just by his voice alone. It’s as if the two of you are acquaintances who haven't seen each other in a while, and only now are able to catch up. You lean on the counter to mirror Nulla, occasionally asking follow-up questions. He is so pleasant on the ear that you forget why he is talking about the pastries in the first place. It’s supposed to be a sales pitch, yet his love for the craft turns it into a passionate discussion of various sweets, and how they’re made. 

Well, that is until the two of you are interrupted by the loud slamming of a metal tray with unbaked croissants on the counter that makes the two of you jump. You look behind Nulla, where the ruckus came from, and you see another man–who looks damn near identical to the one in front of you–boring into Nulla’s back, and at you. Nulla rolls his eyes, his gaze not leaving your frame. You give him an awkward smile, and with a sardonic smile, he spins back around to look at the one who so impertinently interrupted your chat. Nulla props himself up by his elbows, leaning back on the counter, his shoulders relaxed. The casual gesture makes the loud one seemingly more upset, as you notice an eye twitch. Oh, you might witness a scene. Maybe even a catfight. You aren’t sure if you’re excited to see what’s going to happen, or worried about Mary potentially having to step in. You don’t know any of these people, yet you already feel protective over them, and their place. Okay, perhaps, you will be returning here, if only to witness if this hostility lends itself somewhere interesting. You aren’t particularly inclined to join the drama, but you’d be lying if you say that juicy workplace drama isn’t something worth witnessing from the bleachers. 

“Is the tray too heavy for you to carry, Neo?” He chortles. “Need some help?”

“Can you actually do your job, instead of chatting up customers? We have a bunch of orders for tomorrow,” the man named Neo hisses back. He definitely suppressed some choice words, based on the forced half-smile-half-scowl.

“I will. Once I’m done helping this beautiful person, of course.” 

“Maybe try being more efficient,” you see Neo’s fake expression slowly dropping. The two of them definitely do not see eye to eye. Or perhaps it could be sibling bicker. Too early to gauge. 

“Duly noted,” Nulla turns on his heels back to look at you with a cheeky smile. “How can I efficiently help you, bombón?” 

You blush at the nickname. Neo groans, heading to the back.

“Qué culiao…” you hear Neo speak under his breath.

“¡Culiao guapo, sí!” A sassy retort. 

“¡Ándate a la conchetumadre!” Neo’s vulgar yell sounds distant, and echoey as he disappears in the back of the kitchen, once more. 

“That’s why we keep you in the back of the house!” 

Nulla’s smile doesn’t drop as he is arguing with the man. Nor does he turn back the second time. His eyes are solely focused on you, expectantly waiting on your answer to his question. You are sure that he’d be way too good at poker, being able to maintain his composure so well. Or maybe, he gets a kick out of bickering with Neo. Or maybe it’s a two-way thing? Too little information to make assumptions. The only thing you can say for sure is: 

“He is… Charming,” you chuckle nervously, still shaken by the abrupt interruption. Looking to the side, where Mary was doing her thing, she is glaring at Nulla. She is, most definitely, waiting for your interaction to be over to give Nulla and Neo a smack to the back of their heads. Their fighting seems so homey that you can’t help but smile. 

“Not my first choice of words, but sure,” he chuckles back. 

“So, have you decided?” 

“I’ll take a cappuccino, pain au chocolat, and Brazo de Reina, please.” 

You return. Despite everything, you return. In fact, you begin to frequent the cafe on a nearly daily basis, having been thoroughly convinced by the simply delectable pastries. And most definitely not by the cute baristas, of course, not. You come here purely out of the love for the pastries. The fact that you chit-chat with the owners, and other regulars every time you come here, is a regular progression of your appreciation for the sweets. You even got an invitation to a couple of outings! You were a fool not to check them out sooner. In fact, you never got beyond the “talking stage” with the cafe you used to go to before. Not that there’s necessarily stages to cafe visiting, but you already learned some of the front house closing tasks. Sometimes, when you get too distracted chatting up Mary and Nulla, you begin to habitually help them out. Are you overly familiar with the baristas? Perhaps. But can you really call it “being overly familiar”, if you are all friends now. You don’t think so. There’s no reason to second-guess your relationships. Especially now that you’re opening the door, and hearing a familiar bell chime. It’s about as busy as it usually is around late afternoon. That is to say, not at all. You’ve gone here to grab your morning coffee a couple of times, but it was nearly a futile task with just how many people wanted to grab a boost before work. It only served to reinforce your belief in afternoon coffee runs’ superiority. Besides, you also like one of the regulars who… Who’s here! You watch a tall, and slim blonde man turn his head at the chime, and smile as he recognizes you. Rafael and you met each other not long after you began frequenting the place. Rather, the two of you were introduced not long after. He is always there around the same time as you are, but your conversation had to have been facilitated by Mary’s ever-benevolent self. What would anyone do without her? You strut towards him, and Mary who’s busy packing pastries for some catering order. She’s surrounded by a frankly impossible number of tiny cakes, but her bright demeanor doesn’t drop. She’s been talking to Rafael for a while now, you reckon. You three exchange “Hello”s.

“The usual?” Mary knows your order by heart. Not that you diversify that much, considering that you basically tried everything they had to offer. Not much left to experiment with. Well, that is unless Nulla or Neo come out from the back of the house with some new recipe they’re trying out. But those are special occasions.

“Yes, please,” you nod, handing her cash. Whatever change you get always goes in the tip jar. 

Mary turned her back to you, preparing your coffee. She hums a pleasant tune which gets immediately drowned out by the hissing of the steam wand. It saddens you that you don’t get to hear that melody uninterrupted. You’re always happy to listen to the sound of her voice. You swear, if she was to match Nulla’s flirtatious ways, you would actually combust in flames. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—you are spared the embarrassment of having a heart attack over a beautiful woman talking to you. It would be a true loss. 

“Anything new, Rafael?” You mirror the blonde man, leaning against the counter next to him, and he snickers.

“You saw me yesterday. What news do you think I can bring?”

“I don’t know… Maybe it has something to do with that massive portfolio bag you were carrying yesterday.”

“Oh, yes,” Mary slides your cappuccino and pastry over to you, and goes back to working on that order. “I remember you were talking about a potential big project not long ago?”

Rafael sighs and closes his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This is when you notice the deep, dark circles around his eyes. The poor guy is utterly exhausted. You consider giving his arm a reassuring squeeze, but you’ll wait for him to speak before offering any condolences over the death of a man’s sleeping schedule. Maybe it was self-inflicted, and you’ll need to offer up a good scolding instead.

“Yes…” He looks at you with the gaze of a kicked puppy, and you offer him a sympathetic look of your own. 

“I’ve been working on sketches for a three window panel mural for over a week now. Three out of five got scrapped. The client is now bouncing between the other two, having me adjust both for him to ‘have a better picture’,” Rafael plants his face on the cold counter and lets out a small, pathetic cry. “And now, he wants me to combine the two for another round of sketches…”

“Oh, pobrecito…” Mary coos, giving Rafael a knowing look. You, in turn, pat his back. 

“Is it that one client… ¿Cómo se llama?” She takes a piping bag of frosting, and begins writing something you can’t quite make out from behind her back on a cake. 

“Septem,” Rafael lifts his head, looking up at you two pleading. 

“He pays so well, but man, I miss sleeping more than two hours… These deadlines are something else…” 

You offer Rafael a half of your croissant, feeling pity for your friend. You really like him, and seeing the poor artists in such a state makes your heart bleed. Rafael lets out a fake, dramatic sniff. He slowly stuffs the entire pastry in his mouth, making you grimace in exasperation. As he is failing to chew on it, the three of you hear two voices shrieking in the back. You three instantly recognize them to be Nulla and Neo. The two of them are having their hourly argument, and from the couple of words you could discern, they’re about to make it your problem. The noises surprise Rafael, who begins to choke on the half of the croissant he foolishly shoved in his mouth. But you have to commend him, he is braving it like a champ, trying to finish chewing. You want to believe that it’s the sleep deprivation that made him do this to himself, but you hung out with him long enough to know that he is a fool. Putting the thought of Rafael’s poor life decisions aside, you smack his back a couple of times whilst looking in the direction of the kitchen. The three of you are about to be roped into something even more ridiculous by the brothers, if you know anything about them. And you know quite enough. 

Right on cue, you watch Neo stomp out of the kitchen, holding a plate, and two piping bags with what you can only assume to be custard. Behind him, graciously walks in Nulla with the same disgruntled face. Yet, as he notices you, he gives you a playful wink. Neo, on the other hand, remains irked. Which is his permanent state of being, you figure. You did grow accustomed to it, finding it oddly endearing. It is an unpopular idea, but you also never claimed to have conventional tastes. His eyes catch Rafael’s frame first, at whom he rolls his eyes, muttering an annoyed Imbécil before plopping the plate in front of you two on the counter. Neo’s gaze shifts to you with a complicated expression which you can’t quite catch before he sighs in exasperation. 

“You two big backs here, listen up,” he addresses the two of you. 

“Este weon here fucked up the new recipe,” Neo throws a disgusted side eye at Nulla who’s standing by his side. “But he’s trying to claim that his tastes better. I need you two to prove him wrong.”

“Well, unlike you, Rafael and [Your Name] have a good taste. Not fried by smoking a pack a day,” Nulla retorts smugly. 

“You are not the one to talk, you—” 

“Enough!” Mary shuts the two of them up with a single word which makes both brothers stiffen up.

“Can you two explain–calmly–what this whole ruckus is about? You’re scaring the customers.” 

Nulla and Neo open their mouths, beginning to speak at the same time; which instantly makes the two of them resume fighting, this time—over who gets to explain the situation. Mary groans, rubbing the bridge of her nose. On one side, she has two idiots screaming at each other at one hundred decibels, on the other, she has an artist having a coughing fit after finally managing to swallow the dry pastry. You’d comfort her, if you weren’t in the same position. Sometimes these idiots make you regret returning. That thought is quickly brushed off because, after all, they’re your idiots. Your circus, your monkeys, so to speak. And for some odd reason, it warms your heart. You suppress a smile, lest Neo calls you a crazy person. You are brought back from your musings by Mary’s smacking the backs of the brothers’ heads. It makes you and Rafael giggle, which earns an angry glare from Neo. 

“Nulla, speak!” Mary barks out, pointing at the older of the two brothers. 

“Neo and I are experimenting on the new flavors for the eclair fillings. We agreed—I know, shocking—on trying out Crème Mousseline with chocolate. Each of us made different batches to see which recipe is better. We cannot seem to come to an agreement.” 

“Neo,” Mary points to the youngest. “What is your take?”

“His recipe is fucking garbage. It’s way too sweet, and the amount of sugar makes the texture feel like you’re chewing on sand,” Neo complains. 

“But Nulla’s trying to claim that it tastes good. I need these two to prove him wrong.” 

Their explanation makes Mary rub her temples with a heavy sigh. Of course, their squabble would be over something that can be arbitrarily decided with no effort. What else would it be? She wordlessly returns to her task to focus on something else. The other two siblings know what to do. They just decided to be nuisances over a triviality. She isn’t going to waste her time and nerves on this. And besides, the stone-cold silence makes both Nulla and Neo shiver. Neo is the first one to break it by clearing his throat, and trailing his eyes towards you and Rafael. He picks up one of the piping bags, and makes two perfect, tiny cream roses. 

“You two know what to do,” he does the same motion with the second bag of cream, addressing you. 

“I need you to tell Nulla off.” 

What a mission Neo set the two of you on. He’d lose his mind if you like Nulla’s batch over his. You imagine his disgruntled expression with a cutely scrunched up nose, and unknowingly smile cheekily which earns you a weird glance from the object of your wistful musings. The thought of his pouting face makes you want to giggle giddily. Since when did you begin to find Neo’s horrible attitude endearing? Perhaps something is wrong with you, if you’re having trouble containing yourself. You’ll never tell him about these weird feelings, of course. As much as you like his ridiculous expressiveness, you don’t particularly feel up to being made fun of by the very object of your crush. You’d rather repeatedly stab your toe on a corner than admit to Neo that you like him. He is too much of a prick not to bury your feelings. Another time. 

Nulla gives you and Rafael two teaspoons, and leans back on the counter behind him. You find his smug expression cute, considering that everyone here knows about his propensity for accidentally overdoing it on sugar. His sweet tooth sometimes blinds him to the fact that most people don’t ingest a hundred grams of sugar a day. But it was somewhat adorable that a man as classy as him was this much of a dork. You’d tell him that, but he’d definitely twist it in a way that would leave you blushing. You don’t understand how two brothers can be so different in their ways… And somehow, your heart skips a beat over the rude one. Such a cruel, funny mistress life is. 

You exchange glances with Rafael who has already stolen a sip of your drink to remedy his scratched up throat, and pick up your fork. You don’t mind sharing with Rafael, but he needs to stop putting himself in the predicaments that make you share. You sigh, and pick at one of the cream roses on the plate. Neo never pointed out which one is which. Clever on his part, because you can’t rig the vote just to annoy him. The first one you taste is fluffy, with just the right amount of sweetness. It is so delicious, you close your eyes, keeping the spoon in your mouth for a moment longer, savoring the flavor. You miss the tiny smirk that formed on Neo’s face behind your closed eyelids. You silently nod, and prepare to taste the other cream. You put the spoonful in your mouth, and damn near choke on the sweetness. The cream is smooth and airy, but the flavor of pure sugar nearly numbs your tongue. You scrunch up your nose, which earns a loud, triumphant laugh from Neo. He doesn’t let you, or Rafael give your verdict before turning on his heels to face Nulla, ready to gloat. He is stopped from announcing his win to the entire cafe by another one of Mary’s death stares. But it doesn’t stop him from hissing out a cocky whisper. 

“You are nothing,” Neo bares his teeth in a wicked grin. 

Nulla sighs, looking at you with betrayal in his eye. All you can do is shrug. It would be wrong to lie about the quality of the cream, despite how much you want to see Neo mad. After all, it’s about the cafe’s menu, rather than your own feelings. And besides, Nulla looks kind of adorable, pouting like that… You aren’t sure what to make out of your delight over the brothers’ dejection. You’d discuss it with a professional, but why should you when you can look at these two faces? 

“Sorry, Nulla, but you got a tad too overzealous with sugar,” Rafael speaks up. 

“Yes… As much as I hate to give Neo this ‘I told you so’, his tastes better,” you scratch the back of your neck, and avert your gaze. 

“You wound me, cariño,” Nulla dramatically grasps at his chest, earning an elbow to it from Neo. 

“You lost! Don’t try to farm pity points now, weon!” 

You let out a soft chuckle, gracing Neo with an unusually gleeful expression. He raises an eyebrow at you, corners of his lips twitching. You aren’t sure if it’s in annoyance, or if he’s trying to suppress a matching smile. As much as you wish it was the latter, you know Neo enough to assume the former. Neo doesn’t waste any time, looking away from you, and heading to the back. 

“I’m going on a well-deserved smoke break!” He announces, giving everyone a last one over. 

“This creme bullshit stressed me out. Later, losers!” 

Nulla groans, and with a playful wave at you, forces himself to follow his brother close behind. They had closing tasks to do, and Neo’s twenty are going to set them back, if Nulla stays behind on the floor. Nulla’s departure prompts Rafael to look at his watch, and nearly jump in his spot. 

“Why didn’t you tell me it was 4:30?!” He startles both you and Mary, who turns back to you two after purposefully ignoring her brothers.

“What are you talking about, Rafael?” She rests her hands on her hips.

“My deadline’s at six!” Rafael whines, turning around, and taking quick, long steps towards the exit. 

“I love you, guys! I have to go! Bye!” He sputters out, barely allowing any time for Mary and you to say bye to him. 

“Bye…” Mary sighs, unsure if Rafael even heard her. She gives you a tired look. 

You two look at each other in silence for a couple moments longer. The sudden absence of the usual ruckus is so jarring that it makes you stiffen up briefly. You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and relax your shoulder. You grab the half of your leftover croissant, and begin to pick at it. Mary stares at you meaningfully which makes you return the stare with one of confusion. There is purpose in her eyes, something you aren’t entirely sure what to make of. You only saw her direct that look at either of the other three of your ‘crew’ when she figured something out about them that they’ve been keeping quiet. Mary is incredibly perceptive. Comes with the territory of being the oldest sibling, you figure. But you also don’t enjoy being under the scrutiny of her watchful eye. You’re unsure of what unspoken truth of yours she is about to reveal. You’re both curious, and absolutely mortified. Frankly, you’re considering pulling the same exit strategy as Rafael’s damn near instant retreat before Mary reads you to filth. But between fight or flight, your body chooses to freeze up, expecting a guilty verdict. What are you guilty of? Only Mary knows. Is it even worth speculating? She can always stay quiet, and make you second guess your every move just for the fun of it. She never did that before, preferring to speak her mind, but maybe, this one time, she will spare you. 

“Do you like my brother?” 

“Huh?”

What? Where did she even get that from? The entire interaction between you and Neo, she was facing away. There is no way she could’ve seen your ogling. Or maybe she has eyes in the back of her head? Or do you always stare at Neo like a fool? In which case, you are going to promptly run out into the oncoming traffic. You can’t bear the thought of your embarrassing feelings being perceived. Were you always that obvious? Or oblivious to your obviousness? She never said which brother, though! Maybe you have a chance to get out of this one, yet. 

“It’s been on my mind for a while now,” Mary admits. 

“I’ve figured it out some time ago, but I never had a chance to talk to you one on one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, praying to all gods above that she’ll accept this half-baked answer. 

Mary never goes for half-baked. 

“You stare at Neo like a middle schooler with a crush, bud,” she scoffs.

“It’s actually harder not to notice your staring.” 

You avert your gaze, choosing to believe that the look of your crumbled croissant is preferable over Mary’s piercing eyes. It’s the one quality all three siblings share. Mary and Nulla more so than Neo. But man, did you want to hide out in shame from being so brutally read. What can you even say to defend yourself? You don’t have any plausible deniability. There’s no way to deny, or deflect. You are caught red-handed. And if you lie to Mary, your pants may combust together with your already beet red face. You slump, splaying across the counter with a dramatic sniffle, and hide your face in your forearms. Your dramatic display earns you a snicker from Mary; which, in turn, earns her an unamused glare from you. She leans closer to you, and gives you a comforting pat of the back. Mary’s perceptiveness sometimes makes you question if she is capable of reading people’s thoughts. Yet, her kind eyes let you know that your thoughts are safe with her. 

“I’d tease you, but I’m sure that Neo will have it covered in no time,” she laughs her bright laugh, and you stifle a pathetic whine with your sleeve. 

“Can you not tell him, please?” You resign, acknowledging that Mary did, in fact, see right through you. Which, in retrospect, seems to have been unavoidable since you two grew closer. 

“I won’t.”

You let out a sigh of relief.

“But you will.” 

The look on your face is one of indescribable horror. Mary’s insinuation that you are not to hold onto your feelings until your deathbed doesn’t sit right with you whatsoever. Why would you ever do that to yourself? You might like his generally rude attitude, but you are not that much of a masochist as to put yourself out there like that. You’re also not insane. There’s no telling what Neo would do the moment that knowledge reaches his ears. Well, he will ruthlessly make fun of you, of course. What else would he do? You may be a masochist—which you aren't ready to address—but you aren’t ready for that level of disrespect. 

“No. Absolutely not. You and I are taking this to our graves, or so help me…” You threaten Mary. Not like you can do that effectively, but you’ll still try. 

“I know he’s a pain in the ass,” she tries to reason.

 “But come on, you found something in him, didn’t you? He’ll appreciate you looking past his rough exterior…” 

“And rough interior… But that’s besides the point.” 

“I am not confessing anything to him without my lawyer present!” Now, you’re just being overly dramatic.

“Claro, fine,” Mary rolls her eyes, acknowledging that straightforwardness may not be the way to go with Neo. 

“But you can still go to the back to chat with him, if you can handle the smoke.” 

You contemplate Mary’s words for a moment. You would like to chat with Neo tête-à-tête. If not to spill your heart out to him, to simply spend some time together. After all, you are all supposed to be friends. What’s one private hangout going to do? And besides, you don’t think anyone ever joins him on his smoke breaks. Maybe he gets lonely over there. It’s highly improbable, and you know it. But maybe. He can always tell you to leave. Neo’s not shy about telling people off, that one’s for sure. So, if he lets you spend time with him in private, even if in silence, it’s going to be a win in your book. As well as in Mary’s, if her expression is anything to go by. She is way too excited to see you seriously considering her words. Her smug smile makes you straighten up, ready to deny any allegations of wanting to join her brother during his break. But you can’t come up with a defense. There’s no reason—nor is there a way—to lie to Mary. Why do you keep coming to this place, if the barista reads you to filth like this. Bad customer service. Atrocious. 

“Come on, let’s get you to the back. Come around.” 

You follow Mary’s orders, and circle around the counter to head out to the back. You already know where to go, of course. It’s not your first rendezvous in the back of the house. It’s only your first time joining Neo, specifically. You give Nulla an awkward once-over, trying not to draw much attention to yourself. Neo is already going to be making fun of you; you don’t want Nulla teasing you as well. You, unfortunately, can’t pass without questions. Your presence is welcomed, but your path is questioned. Why would you pass him by? Especially after such a ruthless betrayal of you choosing Neo’s recipe over his. He doesn’t hold a grudge, of course. He does want to wrap you around his finger, and not let go, however. And to do just that, he sometimes has to play the strings of your heart just right. 

“Where are you going, bombón?” 

His velvet voice makes you freeze in place. Nulla’s eyes don’t leave you whilst he continues carefully piping teeny-tiny merengue roses. These piercing onyx eyes leave little for you to hide. After all, he is just as perceptive as his sister. Or so you’re told. He might match  his sister in perceptiveness, but he is a lot more coy and cheeky. While Mary would approach you directly, Nulla would go about it from afar, making you dig your own metaphorical grave. And even now, he is scrutinizing you completely differently from Mary. You swallow a knot, forming in your throat, not quite sure why his voice sounds just an octave lower. If you were able to look him in the eye through the anxiety of your predicament, you’d see not just his usual mischief. There’s more within. Something unreadable. At least, not to you. 

“To the back,” you say, feigning nonchalance. 

“I wanted to chat with Neo.” 

Nulla hums softly, surprised that you own up to your true destination. Not that you aren’t brave, but you are sometimes reticent. 

“He’s stinking up the place with smoke over there,” Nulla states plainly.

“You’re better off hanging out with me here while you wait on him, you know.” 

He always wants to spend time with you. And even now, when you want to chat with his brother, Nulla attempts to have your attention all to himself. Neo keeps calling him an “attention whore”; Mary, in turn, gives Nulla a stern, meaningful look you can never quite discern. But Nulla always takes both reactions in stride, laughing them off like regular sibling banter. You look up at him with a raised eyebrow. He is making a lot of sense. Of course, not to you, since you seem to prefer Neo’s rude company more. You contemplate Nulla’s words for a moment before responding.

“I have something to tell him. One-on-one.” 

You are vague enough that you might be able to get the older brother off your case. And he knows not to press you for answers, electing to pout at you. He has to take it slow, despite how much he’d love to have you for himself for the brief time when both his siblings are away. That isn’t to say you don’t like spending time with Nulla. On the contrary, he is pleasant company. It’s just that you just got enough courage—or rather the insistent encouragement from Mary—to talk to Neo. You’d hate to miss out on your rare preparedness. Neo’s hard to get alone, and in a good mood, at that. And with his winning a fake competition with Nulla, you’re sure that he is in high enough spirits to make you stay around for a bit. If not, you’ll most definitely take Nulla up on his offer to keep him company while he works. An emergency plan to not disappoint Mary. You shouldn’t be worried about such silly things, but how can’t you when she’s been nothing but good to you. You have to go through with this. You had the older sister’s blessings. That is more than enough to give you the much needed push. 

“Well, good luck,” Nulla sounds disappointed, but he doesn’t stop you, which catches you off-guard. Perhaps the loss wounded him more than you think. You hope it didn’t. You’d hate to upset your dear friend. 

“He is in good spirits for the little shit that he is. Prime time to chat, I suppose.” 

“Just know that the smell of smoke is pretty hard to get out of your clothes, cariño.” 

You nod wordlessly, relieved that you don’t have to let Nulla down more than you already did. It truly isn’t his day today. Under normal circumstances, he’d insist on you staying. You’ll have to take some time to apologize for your culinary transgression of picking Neo’s recipe over his. You were being honest, but you can’t ignore how much Nulla seems to be pretending not to sulk. How can you be so rude to him? Truly sinful behavior. 

You make your way to the back, and after taking a couple of moments to mentally prepare yourself to face Neo one-on-one, you sheepishly open the door. You are surprised to see that he isn’t smoking. You do see the pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the air conditioning unit he is leaning on. He seems to just be relaxing. Neo sharply turns his head to look at the sound of the door opening, but once he recognizes your frame, he looks away once more. On any other day, he’d start making fun of you, but—

“Came here for some second-hand smoke?” He scoffs. 

That’s more like it. You don’t have a retort, however, as you take steps outside. You choose to lean against the wall some feet away from Neo, in case he needs his space. He is like a mean cat. Always hissing and scratching, even if he likes you. You are used to it already. You grew to like it, for some reason. You need to reconsider your priorities. Maybe it’s not too late to come back to a safer place, away from Neo’s ridicule. But you choose to stay. 

“Cat got your tongue, weon?”

“I wanted to spend time with you,” you finally muster up. 

You are honest. More honest than you planned on. It catches Neo off-guard. You only saw Neo surprised a couple of times. And apparently, your candor adds to the list of a handful of things that can get him tongue-tied. Or perhaps it’s the notion that you willingly sought out his company. There’s a long, uncharacteristic silence between the two of you. It’s odd, and awkward. You reconsider Mary’s words. You want to go back. This is too embarrassing, and you are definitely about to receive the most ridicule you’ve heard in your entire time. But you stay still, just as when Mary read you to filth. It would be wrong to come back now, wouldn’t it? You aren’t sure if it’s the notion that you’ll disappoint Mary, or if it’s getting into the territory of sunken cost fallacy, but you remain still. For some reason, Neo doesn’t tell you off; it’s already more than what you had expected to happen. It’s progress, you think. 

And once again, Neo is the one to break the tense silence. 

“So, you came here to bum a cig, huh,” he deflects.

“I don’t really smoke,” you admit.

He considers your words for a couple moments more. You are unsure of what’s going through his head as he’s mulling over your words. He is having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that you are here of your own volition. Surely, you need something; you just won’t admit to it. 

“Did my sister send you?” Neo raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Tell her I don’t need a cheerleader to smoke. I’m not Nulla.” 

“Not that,” you look away, forcing yourself to stay longer. You have to commit.

“I mean, she did send me here, but not because she thinks you need someone to keep you company…” 

You’re having a hard time coming up with a reason as to why she sent you that wouldn’t immediately out your feelings. You aren’t ready for what would come next after you admit your feelings to someone like Neo. You don’t want to own up to your affection because baring your heart out to someone whom you know to be highly volatile is a recipe for heartbreak. But despite all of that, you really like him. You don’t know why, nor do you know how. Yet, you somehow managed to fall for someone like him. Cruel joke, isn’t it? Perhaps, he’ll go easy on you, seeing your anxious fiddling with your thumbs. 

He remains silent, his expression—undreadable. The seconds of silence feel like minutes, and you swear that cold beads of sweat are forming on the back of your neck. You’re so stressed out that you don’t even notice Neo reaching for his pack of cigarettes until he stretches out his arm to offer you one. You look up at him with confusion, but you accept the gesture. You watch Neo set the cigarette between his lips. You mirror him, and before you can ask for a light, he takes a long step towards you. The proximity startles you, and you are entirely unprepared for his next action. Neo leans in, hovering the ends of your cigarettes mere millimeters away from each other. He shields them from the wind, and lights both at the same time. Staring blankly into your eyes, he leans back, releasing the smoke away from you. Neo takes steps back towards his previous spot. He looks away as you’re trying to process what just happened. You only take a moment to gather yourself back up. Your thoughts may still be a tangled up mess, but you’d be damned if you give Neo the satisfaction of catching you off-guard.

“You’re weird.” 

He speaks plainly; there is no mockery within his words that you’re so used to. He is being candid, but not facetious. You almost want to deride the odd behavior. You stop yourself, taking the time to enjoy this somehow gentler, relaxed side of him. He insulted you, yet, you can’t take his words that way. Perhaps because he simply observed what you already know about yourself. You are weird for seeking him out, instead of spending time with his more affable older brother. But Neo doesn’t seem to mind your presence. Which, knowing his crass self, is basically welcoming you. So, you chuckle. What else can you do?

“I suppose so,” you cast your gaze somewhere far away, as well. 

There are no more words you two share until you finish your slow death sticks. There’s not much you two can say to each other right now, is there? You’ve reached an understanding within a single, rare act of sharing. The unspoken words float about somewhere within the air like dust bunnies you disregard. Perhaps, another time you’ll be able to say one more word. Or perhaps, there won’t be another time. You’re unsure what you should expect later. But is there a reason to be musing over what will be, instead of enjoying the unusual comfort between the two of you? You let go of the thoughts of what the future would bring, electing to breathe in the smoke of the moment—which, somehow, doesn’t burn your lungs. And it’s definitely not because Neo has some fancy cigarettes. These match the owner. 

Kinda shitty, but definitely scratch the itch you didn’t know you had.