Chapter Text
In retrospect, he should have brushed up on his Portuguese before traveling. It was embarrassing really, as a linguist, but in Joe's defense, this entire trip had been a surprise. Andy and Quyhn had basically forced him to get out of the country.
“What is the point of doing all of this research if you’re not going to hear people from somewhere other than the Netherlands speaking? Get out of here, Joe.” Quyhn had said while her wife booked an airplane ticket out of Rotterdam behind his back. At least they had chosen his destination well; Rio de Janeiro (the city, not the state) had been a hub for Syrian-Lebanese immigration between the 1920s and 1930s, and perfect for his study on Changes to the Arabic Language and Related Dialects Based on Relocation. Joe even had a contact in the city, Professor El-Hajji, who was more than happy to help and guide him around town.
Alright, maybe this was more of a work-vacation, which is an oxymoron.
After some days of meeting both descendants and recent immigrants and perusing the marvelous city, Joe decided to be spontaneous. Brazil is a big country; the sightseeing options are truly numerous and Andy did not buy a return ticket. What kind of scholar would he be if he passed on an opportunity like this? So, he let his short hair down and randomly choose where to go next. The linguist’s idea was to rent a car and drive across the country towards the city of Manaus to see the Amazon, crossing five states and stopping in historical cities. A very ambitious idea that he would probably give up on half-way through. Or maybe not even half-way through, as, some miles after leaving Rio (the state, not the city), his rented car started making some worrying noises. The noises turned into complete silence, and, soon after, into a broken car.
When the sounds started, Joe immediately turned around and followed the directions in a highway sign he assumed led to a town. It was hard to miss; big, green and blue, with a white text that read: Juiz de Fora.
And now here is Yusuf Al-Kaysani, absolutely drenched thanks to the unexpected rain, in the middle of some unknown town looking under the hood as if he has any expertise in fixing cars. At least he managed to park the damn thing. He is near a cozy-looking little green area, and some people stare at his helpless form from under the safety of umbrellas and storefronts. Joe wants to scream, but is too polite to do so on a busy street. He is not too polite to cry though, but just as he starts sniffling the rain stops abruptly. He would think it a miracle if not for the shadow now looming over him. Joe straightens up and comes face-to-face to the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
The beautiful (Green? Blue? Grey?) eyes are attached to an equally beautiful man holding an umbrella, with longish mousy brown hair, a strong roman nose, broad shoulders, and plush pink lips, and Joe spends a few seconds searching his brain for the little vocabulary he has, under the concerned gaze of his rescuer.
“Uhhhh...” Very eloquent Yusuf. “!” He swallows in an attempt to recompose himself. “.” Joe tries to smile, but it comes off more like a grimace. The other man looks concerned for a moment, but his expression clears with realization.
“” Joe can’t help but notice how his words sound. His voice is low and husky, and the man lets his S sizzle a bit more in his mouth, in a post-alveolar palatalization that creates a Sh sound. His vowels are open and his final syllable is stressed. It sounds similar to the carioca accent the linguist had been hearing before instead of what he expected from the state of Minas Gerais, but maybe it’s because this place is near the border between the two states. “..ak English?” Oh wait, he’s speaking again.
“What?” Joe slips into English automatically after catching the end of the question. “I am going to see that as a yes.” The stranger says, a hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth. “Do you want help?” He has a strong accent, lightly pronouncing the final Ts and seamlessly adding a little vowel at the end of some words. It sounds so nice. Joe is half in love already.
“Yes! Yeah, that’d be great, uh, I’m not quite sure of what to do here…” Joe rubs the back of his head, a bit sheepishly. “It just broke down.”
The man seems to parse through his words for just a second before coming closer. He hands Joe his umbrella and bends over the open hood to take a better look, giving a once again speechless Joe a nice view of an ass a white dude like that has no business having. But hey, he's is definitively not complaining.
“” his savior murmurs to himself before turning back to him. “It’s ummm, I don’t know how to say it… but it’s a electricity thing? The battery is old.” He closes the hood with a bang and lets out a little puff of air as he puts his hands on his hips, like a disapproving father. Oh no, he has a little silver hoop in his ear. That’s hot. “You need to call the help service. Now. Change the battery.”
“It’s not my car. I rented it.”
The man huffs and makes a disproving sound. “They stole your money.” He looks offended on Joe’s behalf, and that ends up stealing a laugh out of him. He turns away for a bit at that, but he can see the return of that mysterious little smile from before when looks at him again. Something moves around in his stomach. “You need to call them. Get it back. Maybe you get another one for free, they like foreigners.” Hmmm, he also rolls his Rs in an alveolar trill.
“Yes, you’re right, let me just…” Joe pulls his cell out of his pocket, only to be met with the little no-signal sign on his screen. “Shit.”
“No signal?” Joe shakes his head, and the man nods knowingly, as if that happens a lot. “Come with me. You can call on my phone.” He must mean his landline, as he makes no move of pulling out a cellphone and instead gestures for Joe to follow him down the street. The man leads him to a little storefront, nestled between a drugstore and a pet shop, with a plastic banner that says Lanchonete Cruzado. Its entrance is an open archway, and Joe sees a small counter with four stools and two display cases filled with pastries. They go deeper into the store, to a dusty plastic telephone in the wall. His savior gives him a ‘go ahead’ nod and Joe fishes the rental place’s cards out of his pocket. He proceeds to have a very confusing conversation in his broken Portuguese until the man frowns and tells him to give him the phone. Joe does so, and the man starts arguing with the attendant, his face contorting in annoyance.
“… …” He goes on for a bit longer, and then quietly asks Joe for his contact information. After that he hangs up, calm demeanor back in place. “They are going to give your money back, and come get the car. They offered another one for the same price, but I think you should rent from a better place.”
“Oh wow, you’re really good at this.” this being making Joe feel a little too hot in his clothes with that angry tone in his voice. “Thanks, man, you didn’t have to do that.” The man actually smiles at that, bashful, and Joe realizes he hadn’t even introduced himself. “I’m Joe, by the way. Well, Yusuf. But everyone calls me Joe.” There were probably smoother ways to do that, but the man doesn’t seem to mind.
“My name is Nicolo. But everyone calls me Nicky.” His eyes rake over Joe’s body, and the linguist thinks that maybe the car breaking down was more good than bad luck. “Nice to meet you, Joe.”