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“smoking’s bad for you.”
prosciutto, with one hand on the railing of the fire escape and one hand holding a lit cigarette, doesn’t turn around.
he hears the flick of a lighter, followed by the sound of someone exhaling slowly. the moon is bright, casting long shadows onto the metal under his feet. the person takes a few steps forward, resting his hands on the railing as the burning end of the cigarette in his right hand glows in the dusk.
“you know it’s three in the morning, right?” prosciutto speaks into the night, still not turning to look at the person next to him. he can hear movement as the other man shakes his head. “it’s been a long night.”
there’s silence. the wind is hot and sticky, carrying summer on its way, and the blonde man runs his hands along the cool metal of the banister.
“you don’t talk much.” it’s not a question- more like an observation. it comes from the person next to him, and this time, prosciutto turns to face him. he’s wearing sunglasses- it’s the first thing the blonde notices. nothing else about the other man stands out too much; he’s handsome, with light hair that’s a strange shade of almost-white. he’s dressed in jeans and a black sweatshirt. his sleeves are rolled up, and he’s fiddling with the lit cigarette in his hand. prosciutto thinks, overall, that he looks like a complete tool.
“none of your business!” prosciutto has a sour taste in his mouth and puts out his cigarette, rubbing the ashes on the railing before sweeping them off and watching them disappear into the wind. “what are you even out here this time of night for?”
the other man shrugs. “i could ask you the same thing.”
prosciutto glares at him.
“fine- i locked my key in my room, i’m not sober or awake enough to pick the lock, it’s three a.m., and i need a fucking smoke.” the man runs his pale hands along the banister again, and prosciutto looks down over the railing to where cars sit sleeping in the street.
“you serious?” the blonde doesn’t need an answer, but asks for one anyway. the man in the sunglasses wrinkles his forehead. “no, i’m joking, i just like walking around at three in the morning for fun.” prosciutto pouts at the sarcastic edge of the man’s statement. sighing, he considers retaliating but drops the thought as soon as it appears.
“you can-- god, fuck it, you can sleep at my place!” he makes eye contact with the white-haired man again, runs a hand through his own pale blonde hair. he digs in his pocket for another cigarette, finding nothing but an empty box.
“i don’t even know your name. you don’t have to do that, i’ll sort it out in the morning.”
“and what, sleep in the hallways? don’t argue, i’ve got bad judgement and a guest bedroom for a reason. and my name’s prosciutto!”
“like the food?” the other man smiles briefly. “but alright, fine, looks like there’s no use arguing.” he snuffs out his cigarette and tosses it over the fire escape, watching it fall until the dark swallows it up. “i’m risotto- risotto nero. pleasure meeting you.”
“like the food?” prosciutto’s voice is mocking but he’s grinning, a weird thing that seems to take years off his old-looking face. he extends his hand for a handshake and risotto, smiling wryly, takes him up on it.
it starts to rain.
--
prosciutto’s apartment is quiet and tidy, and risotto expected nothing less. his hood is up, now, and lightly spotted with raindrops- he’s still wearing his sunglasses, and the hallways seem dark. he follows prosciutto the short way to the guest room, hardly keeping up with the blonde’s long strides. they’re the same height, risotto realizes, but the man in front of him seems to be all legs.
rain drums on the roof of the building, and the low rumbling of thunderclaps seems to say that a storm is on its way. the guest room is small but surprisingly homely, for a dark corner of some apartment in the city.
“make yourself at home, or something.” it’s the first thing prosciutto’s said since they came inside, and risotto nods. the blonde leaves the room fairly swiftly, as if he’s in some kind of a hurry. when he returns, it’s in boxers and a t-shirt with his dusty hair loose and barely touching his shoulders.
upon walking back into the guest room, he realizes his mistake. “oh, shit! i forgot you were here for a minute- i’ll change, i’ll be right back.”
risotto shakes his head, smiles slightly. “don’t sweat it. we met an hour ago and i’m already sleeping in your house, the least i can do is tolerate you in your underwear. i have to say, though- you don’t look like the kind of person who’d be living in a place like this.”
prosciutto looks confused, as if he’s not sure whether or not to be offended. “what’s that supposed to mean!?”
“well, i mean, most of the time when people think of people who live in big-ass apartment buildings in the middle of Nowhere City, they picture someone a bit less…” he grasps at straws in his mind for a different word, and finds nothing. “less handsome than you. you know- less sharp looking.”
the blonde raises his eyebrows. “what, you think i’m handsome?”
“that’s what i said.”
prosciutto rubs the back of his head with a stray hand, giving some kind of half-assed smirk. “well, fuck- i’m definitely not going to be attractive tomorrow if i don’t get some sleep. i can feel the dark circles already.”
the white-haired man grins, waves a hand nonchalantly. “alright, yeah, good idea.”
“yeah. see you in the morning, then- and if you need me, you know where to find me.”
risotto watches him walk away, before taking his shades off and laying them on a small nightstand. the bed isn’t anything special, but it’s fairly comfortable, and nero only has a few minutes to consider his good luck before falling asleep.
--
the apartment is empty when prosciutto wakes up. he's not sure what he expected, and not sure whether or not all of last night actually happened or if it was some sort of far-out dream.
the bed is made in the guest room. it's strange, and by now the blonde and groggy man knows he couldn't have dreamt the whole thing.
he never makes his bed. not unless people come over, that is.
there's a scrap of paper resting on the bed's pillow. the writing on it is hurried and messy, letters sprawled over the small slip in a way that contrasts strangely with the neatness of the bed.
732-555-2200
call me
- risotto
short and sweet, prosciutto thinks, and stuffs the slip into the pocket of his boxers. it's only then that he realizes he's late for work. it's too late now, he knows, and he's still tired as all hell, his own fault for staying up until the crack of dawn.
he stays at home, sleeps. the sun’s setting by the time he wakes up again, brought back to consciousness by the sound of his phone buzzing by his ear.
“mmh--what do you want?”
“you sound terrible, man! you get hit by a steamroller or what?” it’s melone- prosciutto’s old friend, and an annoying one at that. the man’s got the hair of a god and the lips of one, too, and is the flirtiest - not to mention loudest - drunk the blonde’s think he’s seen in his lifetime.
“or what.”
prosciutto swears he can hear the sides of melone’s mouth turning up through the phone. “well, grumpy, guess you’d rather not come have a few beers with me and the gang in an hour or so then?”
“‘the gang’? who’s it this time, just ghiaccio and...and that one redhead, what’s his face?”
“well, yeah, them. few others two. it’s friday, come on, have fun once or twice in your life!”
“i have plenty of fun in my life!”
“fun sleeping and doing your hair.”
“go fuck yourself.” melone cackles at that. “see you tonight, then!” the sound on the other end cuts out, and prosciutto puts the phone down.
awesome, he thinks, another night out entirely too late- boss is going to kill me.
but no matter how hard he tries to block them out, melone’s words echo in his head. have fun once or twice in your life!
fuck it, he thinks. he pulls out his phone, digs the now-crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. luckily enough, the number is still legible. it rings a few times- prosciutto almost hangs up and calls it a failure.
“hello? who is this?” saved by the bell.
“it’s me- it’s prosciutto, from last- yesterday.” gee, because ‘prosciutto from last night’ doesn’t sound weird at all.
“i was startin’ to think you’d never call.” prosciutto snorts.
“i was starting to think that too. but, hey- are you...doing anything tonight?”
“are you asking me out?”
“what?! no- i mean- a few friends of mine are heading to the bar tonight. the one off the highway, you know...i was wondering if you’d wanna come along.”
“sure.” he answers almost immediately. it surprises prosciutto, though he doesn’t know what he was expecting.
“alright, then- hey, did you ever get into your room?”
risotto laughs. “front desk has extra keys. so...your car or mine?”
jesus, he’s smooth, prosciutto thinks. “eh, mine.” he looks at his wrist for a watch, finds it on the table ten feet away. “hey, what time is it?”
“‘bout seven.”
“alright, then...you wanna leave around nine?”
“well, when are your friends gonna be there?”
“sometimes i feel like they never leave.”
risotto laughs again, more sincerely this time. “see you at nine, then? at your place.”
prosciutto nods, before realizing the man on the end can’t see him. “you got it.” he hangs up and there’s a weird feeling lingering in his chest. he ignores it, though, and goes to get dressed.
he figures it’s going to be an interesting night.
--
prosciutto’s a relaxed driver, one hand on the wheel and the other fiddling absently with the radio. he finally leaves it on some station that plays vaguely old american music- the radio host mentions the grateful dead once or twice. risotto hasn’t been to this part of town, and he spends the time gazing out the window, taking it all in.
“you haven’t been here long.” it’s an observation, not a question.
nero raises his eyebrows. “not bad!” it’s dark out, and the city is littered with lights speckling the sky. risotto’s still got his sunglasses on- he knows the blonde beside him is curious about it, but neither of them bring it up.
“but, yeah- i moved a little while back. job stuff.”
“that so?”
“yeah. had to leave a few good friends, all that...but hell, i got a damn good promotion. and a raise.” he shrugs. “this place isn’t so bad. but i’m still trying to figure out whether it was worth it.”
“i moved here five years ago. i’m trying to figure that out, too.”
risotto snorts. “gee, that’s sure good news.”
prosciutto looks away from the road for a second just to roll his eyes at him. “it’s not a bad place! just uninteresting. it’s the same shit day after day. but i’ve met some good guys- the people we’re meeting up with are some of ‘em. but i wouldn’t say it to their faces, the little bastards.”
“little? how old are you, anyway?”
“none of your damn business!” there’s a pause. “twenty-nine.”
“twenty-nine!” risotto looks pleased. “i’m twenty-seven, grandpa.”
“can it! two years is hardly enough to call me grandpa! i get that enough from the kids at work anyway.”
“what, your friends we’re meeting at the bar? are they really that young?”
prosciutto rolls his eyes again. “barely above drinking age. i feel like a damn babysitter.”
risotto smirks. “sounds like a good time, then!”
the bar comes into view on the passenger side, and risotto is a little surprised by how dingy it looks on the outside. it’s warm out again, and nero’s got a short-sleeve button-down. the blonde who drove him there is similarly dressed, but with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. it’s a subtle thing, risotto knows, but it seems to somehow complete the look.
the two make eye contact through nero’s dark sunglasses and nod before stepping inside.
“look who decided to show up!”
a hand waves in the air as prosciutto enters, and he groans. “jesus, melone! could you be a little louder? i don’t think i caught that!” the voice came from across the bar, and the culprit’s got a cheeky grin that stretches across his whole face.
the two follow the hand and the voice to find melone sitting at a round table off to the side of the bar with a group of others. they’re joking and laughing, and risotto is a bit caught off guard by his companion’s change in attitude. he’s joking around just like the others, and it’s as if he’s a hedgehog who’s just put down his little spines.
“prosciutto?” it’s a voice risotto doesn’t recognize- though that’s most if not all of the bar. the blonde seems to find it familiar, though, and turns around with a surprised look. “holy shit!”
the man in front of them is nearly as tall as prosciutto, with a strange hairstyle, a bright green tuft on his head. the two break into huge smiles, and nero thinks he must have seen it all now.
“pesci, pesci- it’s been forever, where the hell were you?! christ!” he sounds like he’s trying to be angry, but the grin on his face gives him away.
melone - at least, that’s who risotto thinks the blonde with the long hair and the mischievous grin is - leans over to nero, points at the two men. “they’re brothers- at least, that’s what they say. no one here thinks they’re actually related, but they might as well be.” melone pauses, sizing the whole situation up, before turning again to risotto. “who the hell are you, anyway?”
the long-haired man’s face is a bit flushed, and he’s got an empty class in front of him. he’s speaking a little hastily, and with a little more giggles than in a normal conversation, but risotto thinks he’s amusing if nothing else.
“risotto nero. i’m prosciutto’s friend.” he holds out his hand for a shake, but melone just bursts into laughter. “oy, guys- molto bene! hammy’s got a new partner! welcome to the fam.” he accepts the handshake, shaking nero’s hand vigorously with two of his own. risotto is completely caught off guard- and so is prosciutto, spluttering angrily and loudly enough nero can hear him over melone’s chatter.
“he’s not--he’s not my fuckin’ boyfriend, melone, jesus! i haven’t had a boyfriend-”
“since me?! aww, cute.”
“zip it! fuck- ignore him. he’s insufferable enough when he’s sober.” melone and prosciutto’s other friends are off to the side cackling. he shoots them daggers from his eyes.
one man steps forward; to risotto’s surprise, he’s got bright blue hair, held in tight curls about his head. he’s got thick-rimmed glasses and is fairly short, but his face is more malicious-looking than that of some typical nerd. “oy, you! i’m ghiaccio. excuse the hippie-looking asshole, he’s my dickbag boyfriend.”
nero has to take a moment to look around and double check if it’s a gay bar he’s walked into somehow. the blue-haired man laughs harshly as if he could read the other man’s mind. “it’s not a gay bar! ham just likes to hang around, y’know, weirdos. chill out!” risotto has no idea if he’s joking, but decides to roll with it. “that would explain why i’m here, then.”
ghiaccio raises his eyebrows. “alriiiiiight! melone, you’ve got good intuition!” melone’s not around to listen, but the man takes no notice. “here- i’ll introduce ya to the rest of the gang.” he turns around, waves a hand vaguely in front of him.
his pointing finger rests on two men, sitting at a back table. one has dark hair, pulled back into a neat ponytail, but the other’s got a buzz cut the color of a sunset. just from their appearances, risotto would assume they were polar opposites, but they seemed to be carrying on a conversation amiably enough.
“that’s illuso - ponytail - and formaggio - the redhead. they’re good friends but you’d never guess it by the way they act sometimes.” he grins malevolently, before shouting at nearly the top of his lungs over to the table. “hey, assholes!” formaggio smiles, showing all his teeth, and flips ghiaccio off joyously. illuso just waves, and risotto waves back, amused and confused all at once.
he feels a tap on his shoulder- it’s prosciutto, back again, with his face just a bit flushed. he’s holding two drinks in his hand, and holds one out for nero to take. risotto doesn’t know what it is, but he accepts it anyway, walking with the rest of the men over to a larger table now. risotto gives a few more introductions, orders a few more drinks, and perhaps subconsciously becomes aware of prosciutto gravitating closer and closer to him.
the sunglasses stay on the whole time. he gets a few questions, brushes them off with a half-assed story or two. as the night progresses, no one seems to care- it may just be a night out with friends to everyone else, risotto thinks, but it’s the most fun he’s had since arriving in the city.
the long night ends fairly quietly, with everyone gradually heading home to get some sleep until prosciutto and risotto are the only ones left.
the car ride home is a quiet one. risotto offers to drive; he’s the most sober of the two, and claims to have a good enough sense of direction that he can get them home. prosciutto gives a half-assed warning about not putting a single scratch on the car, but to nero’s amusement is apparently sleeping like a baby ten minutes into the trip.
risotto hums along to the radio to the whole ride home and prosciutto, feigning sleep, listens with a smile.
--
the next morning comes early, to prosciutto’s dismay. he finds himself in his bed when he wakes up--three hours late for work, covers thrown all over, room a bit too tidy, note on the bedstand.
call me.
- risotto
p.s. - you’re welcome.
the blonde turns over, sleeps for another two hours to clear his head, calls his boss, gets yelled at a little, is told he better work his ass off next time he comes in. he agrees.
he calls risotto in the late afternoon as the sun slides down the sky hesitantly. they meet at the fire escape, offer each other cigarettes, stand in silence, hands on the banister.
“last night--” the white-haired man is fumbling with words in a way prosciutto thinks is unlike him. “i had a good time. it was fun. i don’t really...get to do that kind of stuff, often.”
prosciutto shakes risotto’s shoulder, grins. “well, i’m glad, mr. new in town.”
nero smiles, and his sunglasses reflect the sunlight and clear blue sky. it reminds prosciutto of a question that had been gnawing at him, and with a moment’s hesitation, he lets it loose.
“what’s with the shades?”
the white-haired man scratches at the back of his head, waits a long minute before answering. “not much.”
“yeah?”
“yeah. you’ll see. eventually.”
it sounds like a promise, so the blonde shuts his mouth.
and opens it moments later.
“wanna come to my place?”
risotto grins. “now we’re talking.”
--
they barely get in the door before risotto’s lips are on prosciutto’s, and the blonde is damned if the other man isn’t a good kisser. he isn’t sure what he expected, but he is finding it a bit hard to think about that kind of thing as the two of them are half-walking, half-stumbling to the bedroom.
the sun is setting now, and risotto is kneeling above prosciutto, smiling in a strange kind of charming way. prosciutto reaches up, gently takes the sunglasses off the white-haired man’s face, and places them on the bedstand.
the blonde is a bit confused, a bit frightened, and a bit reverent--the whites of the other man’s eyes are dark as night, his irises bright as day.
“it’s a bit hard to explain,” nero says, but he knows he doesn’t have to say anything. prosciutto reaches up, kisses him on the neck, and the two become one until the sun disappears below the horizon.
--
“i have work tomorrow.” prosciutto is drawing circles with his finger on risotto’s chest.
“yeah. me too.”
“but that was--i mean--jesus.”
nero smiles, wider now than before. “i know. god, i know.” he takes a breath, turns his gaze from the far-away ceiling to the blue eyes of the man beside him. “we could do it again sometime.”
“we could.”
--
an hour passes, and the two men feel again the cold metal of the fire escape beneath their feet.
risotto, in borrowed clothes, offers prosciutto a cigarette.
there’s twinkling in the sky above. neither man knows whether it’s planes or stars--neither cares.
“no, thanks.”
he leans in.
“smoking’s bad for you.”
their lips meet.
the moon rises.