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If you were to ask Lorenzo on a new moon—for that is when he becomes the most aware of his feelings and the most honest, for one reason or another—how he feels about banquets, he would tell you: “…Dah.” Which roughly translates to: “I would rather be back on the streets of Napule.”
It’s not the gathering of people that gets under Lorenzo’s skin, or even the speeches that sound sprinkled with gorgonzola aged too long, the blue veins turned to oceans. In fact, Lorenzo isn’t sure what the reason is, probably because it isn’t a new moon and thus his feelings evade him. Except for one.
Regardless of day or night, sunshine or moonlight, there is one feeling Lorenzo is always aware of. It is a feeling he has become all too familiar with, having held his hand through the ages and the inevitable passage of time. It is a feeling linked to a particular someone his head has been filled with every hour of today up till the banquet.
“I’m going to confess to Michele.” Lorenzo declares out of the blue, attracting the attention of the person across from him in the Cadillac Escalade. It is only the both of them.
“Have you not already countless times?” Snuffy enquiries, although it isn’t much of an enquiry at all because he was there every moment Lorenzo confessed his feelings for Michael, with or without the latter around.
There’s a soft smile on Snuffy’s face, as there always tends to be whenever Lorenzo brings up Michael, iridescent stars falling from his lips—stars that would otherwise be filling the holes on Michael’s cheeks.
“This one is serious though, you know? I’m going to get it into his head.”
“How so?” Snuffy asks with another soft smile—well, he’s been smiling, but it always seems a new one is swapped out every time he speaks.
It is something Lorenzo has always understood as magic; like those stickers he had as a child that changed images whenever you moved it this way or that. It was one of Lorenzo’s most prized possessions, and one of his first independent purchases, too. As a child would declare, it was truly valuable.
“I’ll keep confessing until he understands it’s real.”
Snuffy laughs a little, his finger tracing around the ring on his finger, “Is that not what you’ve been doing this entire time?” He teases.
“This time is different.” Lorenzo reaffirms, persistent in the fact that this confession will be the one.
There’s a gleam in Snuffy’s eye. “Because Noel Noa is retiring?”
“Because Noel Noa is retiring.” Lorenzo repeats in confirmation. “This will be the one.”
Snuffy laughs a tuba, a contrast from his usual squeaky laugh that always sounds like wet crocs walking. And then Snuffy smiles with his entire face—his cheeks and eyes, and his chin and forehead.
“I’m sure it’ll go well.” He says lightly, his entire face wrinkled with smiles. Lorenzo bites down on his lower lip as an attempt to keep the excitement in.
It is then that the car halts, having arrived at their destination, the quiet of the backseat a contrast to the bustling outside. It’s a private event, so a number of attendees are outside, chatting and lighting cigarettes.
“OK.” Lorenzo breathes out, and then in. He opens the door and steps outside the Cadillac Escalade, keeping the door open as Snuffy steps out, too.
“Thank you.”
Lorenzo nods in acknowledgment, his mind distant as he thinks of Michael and how exactly he’s going to do this.
It’s not a new moon tonight, so he’ll have to suffice with the usual, “I like you.” Surely the same words he’s been using for more than a decade will be enough to get inside of Michael’s head.
If Lorenzo were to try and verbalize an essay of love on the spot, he’d stumble and say something strange like, “I want to eat you.” Which is a sweet sentiment—to Lorenzo, at least—but won’t be such a good start on a love confession. It is much more suited for a Catholic confession. Or for their wedding vows. Okay, Lorenzo may be thinking a little too ahead.
Lorenzo walks in with Snuffy by his side, who pats him encouragingly on the shoulder in the lobby before the open doors leading to the main room, giving him a nod and a closed smile when he diverges towards Noel’s table.
For a moment, Lorenzo remains still, his eyes searching for Michael amongst the many people and many tables. Is he even here yet? Or is he even coming at all?
Of course he’ll be here, Lorenzo shakes his head with a light chuckle. He wouldn’t miss this night for the world.
And it’s exactly then that his eyes fall on Michael, who is sitting on a table near the back but close to the center of the room. Lorenzo takes another deep breath in, and then he begins to advance.
Walking is truly as simple as one, two, three—but tonight is special and Lorenzo’s legs feel like they’re made of only bone with no supporting fat or muscle.
It doesn’t feel like he’s walking towards Michael at all. Rather, it feels like he’s walking in the same spot with Michael right in his sight. As it has always felt—walking and walking and walking towards Michael across the span of a ten-year old’s life, only to still be in the same spot.
The closer Lorenzo gets, which is a gradual process, the more of Michael he can see. His hair is pinned back in a low bun, the strands clearly put together, an open circle formed in the middle. His face looks the same as always, impassive and streaked red, but even so, Lorenzo almost misses the third step—he’s been counting up and down from one to three since the first repetition.
When Lorenzo gets even closer, he notices the glittering gold jewellery. There’s some on Michael’s ears and on his fingers, but the one piece Lorenzo is honed in on is the necklace.
It’s a gold chain with a ruby at the end of it and a golden serpent coiled around it, its mouth open near the stem. The serpent of deception and the forbidden fruit. Lorenzo finds it fitting.
The most of Michael’s attire, as Lorenzo draws nearer, is a yale blue. The corset vest he’s wearing is brocade, the shapes resembling something close to spiralling flowers and hollows of tress, fitted over a white, ruffled shirt.
The blazer is also yale blue, and when Lorenzo is close enough to see part of Michael’s lower half, he can see that the dress pants are black.
One, two, three. Three, two, one.
Two last repetitions of Lorenzo’s treadmill walk, and he is finally standing before Michael, the respective blue and purple of their outfits for the night complimenting.
“How unlucky.” Michael mutters, his gaze falling on Lorenzo’s as his fingers remain busy with the piece of bread in his hands. “I was so close to not having to deal with you at all tonight.”
A broad smile stretches across Lorenzo’s face, the width crinkling the corners of his eyes and turning them to arches as he takes a seat across from Michael.
“I could never miss a night to grace you with my presence.”
Michael scoffs a laugh, “If only you would.”
And then it is quiet.
It’s not anything out of the ordinary. Most of their conversations consist of a few snarky remarks at each other and then silence. And then a few more snarky remarks and some more silence and maybe a bonus confession by Lorenzo truly.
It’s not something Lorenzo minds much, especially when that silence consists of Michael leaning his head on his shoulder or playing with his hand.
“You look gorgeous tonight.” Lorenzo says, in a small sounding voice, like a little boy telling their teacher that they like their outfit for the day.
Michael spares Lorenzo a short hooded glance as he chews on the last of his bread, swallowing.
“Thanks, I know.”
A few moments later, a waiter comes by their table with a plate in their hand and places it before Michael. And then another moment later, the same waiter is placing an almost identical plate before Lorenzo.
It’s a steak with some sides Lorenzo isn’t registering in his head because it’s food and he’s only now realising how much he hasn’t eaten today.
“So much for hoping I wouldn’t be coming tonight.” Lorenzo comments as his finger trails along the rounded edge of the plate—the sophisticated and adult way of playing with your food because you do not want to eat it.
Michael clicks his tongue with his mouth closed, “I didn’t order for you. The food service here is five stars.”
Lorenzo laughs airily, “Right. I didn’t know five star services brought you food as soon as you arrived.”
“Well, now you do.” Michael says, his fingers curling around his cutlery. “You learn something new every day.”
The smell of the food in front of Lorenzo is bothersome, so he pushes it away from him, far enough that the smell has diminished but not far enough to be disrespectful. Lorenzo keeps his eyes on Michael, watching as he cuts into the tough steak on his own plate, his attention focused like a butcher.
He observes the way Michael’s hair falls around his face, the strands not obtrusive whatsoever, as if even the hairs on Michael’s head know not to bother someone like him. As if they, too, are in love with Michael and are simply admiring his beauty up close.
Lorenzo inhales, his heart heavy between his ribs like an inflated balloon, and then he exhales words he has exhaled plenty of times before.
"I really like you. OK?”
Michael stares at Lorenzo with an incredulous expression, his right hand poised holding a knife, the other keeping the steak steady with a fork.
"You're serious about that?" Michael asks with a raised brow, successfully cutting a bite of steak and lifting the fork towards his mouth. Lorenzo blinks at Michael, then narrows his eyes.
"Are you homophobic?" Lorenzo enquiries, the piece of steak knocking on the door of Michael’s mouth forgotten as he bursts into a laugh, his fork clattering against the plate as he sets it down.
“I thought—“ Michael breaks into another laugh, dabbing a personal handkerchief embroidered with blue roses around his lips, even though there are no stains. “I thought you were joking.”
Lorenzo makes a noise, something between gargling and choking and drowning, staring at Michael like he’s laughing at a funeral, of all places. Though, at this point, he may as well be.
Lorenzo didn’t expect Michael to acknowledge his confession this time around—especially the first one of the night—let alone expect that Michael didn’t have a single darn clue to begin with, all the way to interpreting it all as an elaborate joke.
A joke, of all things.
The conversation seems to be forgotten as Michael returns to his food, the scrapping of the knife and fork against the plate stabbing Lorenzo’s eardrums. Lorenzo stares at the plate, the steak no longer a steak as Michael dips his knife into Lorenzo’s heart.
"I've been confessing my feelings for years." Lorenzo says, his voice much too monotone, nowhere close to expressing the sound of screaming hellfire beneath his Adam’s apple. Curse the lack of a new moon.
Michael scoffs indulgently, his voice muffled around a piece of steak he just plopped into his mouth, "I didn't believe you were serious."
It is right then that Lorenzo wonders if he’s a special variant of zombie, specifically an aquatic one, because all of a sudden it feels like he can’t breathe and only a body of water can help. Preferably one that reaches past his nose and likes long hugs.
Michael continues to eat a few moments more, enough time for Lorenzo to pass on and get over his feelings if only the jug of water on their table was human sized, or if he was simply smaller.
He watches Michael eat his heart, bit by bit, the squelching sounds filling the room and blotting out everyone’s voices. Lorenzo wonders if this is what eating sounds like in the ocean. Is there even a sound to begin with?
Or maybe it’s as quiet as it is now, Lorenzo’s heart almost fully gone and Michael’s cutlery set down and glinting white. Fully gone or only half, Lorenzo could learn to live without a heart if it were to sate Michael’s hunger.
“How long?” Michael asks, his elbows propped on the table and his hands clasped together in a bridge to hold his head like it’s the moon.
Lorenzo meets Michael’s eyes, his posture terribly arched in his chair, like that of a slug’s if it had a neck, a contrast to Michael’s elegance.
“Hm?”
“How long?” Michael repeats, his eyes swimming with oceans.
Ah, Lorenzo thinks. If he were an aquatic zombie variant, that is where he would live.
”From day one—"
"From day one?" Michael questions, his face twisted in amusement and his chin placed against his clenched fist as he watches Lorenzo with mirth. "When you declared you're going to make me fall in love with you?"
"SÍ!" Lorenzo's voice raises, the heads in the room turning to look at their table. Michael laughs and Lorenzo's skin feels like the carcass of a hot air balloon.
Then Michael smiles, although Lorenzo can't see it due to his lower face being hidden behind his hand, he can tell by Michael’s practically closed eyes. Or maybe he is closing his eyes so as to not look at Lorenzo any longer. You can never know when it comes to Michael Kaiser.
"You are a stupid man." Michael voices, the chandeliers above them reflecting in his eyes to the point there appears to be only sclera—in the ocean of Lorenzo’s home, there is only marine snow.
“Grazie.” Lorenzo says with a half-smile, three and a half gold teeth on display. “You are a stupid man, too.”
Michael bows his head in a laugh, “That’s not what you say to the man you’ve loved since day one.”
“Well, since it took you so long to figure out, I believe it’s quite fitting.”
Michael’s eyes shine, “You should have been more direct.”
Lorenzo shakes his head at Michael’s attempt to annoy, who is laughing shortly before falling silent. As Lorenzo shakes his head, the wafts of mushroom sauce from his plate register and the smell of food upsets his stomach, even though it should be doing the opposite considering how empty it is.
He considers cutting off a piece and having a bite just to spit it out, or trying one of the side dishes, which Lorenzo now sees are hasselback potatoes and a summer farro salad; some of his favourites. Michael—no, the food service truly knows what he likes.
Lorenzo grabs a single potato with his bare hand, and then another, and a third—until he gets sick of the taste, wiping his fingers on a cloth napkin. Michael hasn’t bothered to touch the remainder of his own food.
All of a sudden, Michael rises from his seat, Lorenzo’s eyes following his ascension just like Icarus followed a line towards the sun.
He thinks Michael is going to hit him.
Until he recognizes the distant, impassive expression on Michael’s face, the thought dispersing along with the amusement park atmosphere. It diminishes to that of a mirror maze’s, the air growing thicker and thicker the more reflections you see and the more mirror walls you bump into. Lorenzo has always hated mirror mazes.
“I’m going to get a breath of fresh air.” Michael excuses himself, his fingers fiddling with the button of his blazer before he’s walking away and out of Lorenzo’s grasp.
Not so fast. Tonight will be the night that Lorenzo makes Michael fall for him. As he promised their first meeting.
Tonight is different.
It has to be.
Lorenzo follows Michael, because he’s been following him for over a decade now, a habit rooted in their youth with leaves ever-extending.
Lorenzo follows Michael past all the tables, his hips bending left and right a moment before collision with chairs as flawlessly as skaters weaving through cones, Lorenzo’s awful gait suddenly the best characteristic of his body.
Lorenzo follows Michael past all the tables and chairs holding various important peoples, and up the short steps to the lobby of the building, and then up the longer steps leading to the second floor, and then down the corridor and round a corner and through a door, all the way until they’re on the balcony.
The sudden stillness after all that movement makes bile bubble in Lorenzo’s stomach like a gremlin in water, even though he hasn’t eaten a single full meal tonight. Or maybe that is exactly why it is bubbling to begin with.
It is a battle Lorenzo faces every single day. Is he nauseous because he hasn’t eaten? Or has he not eaten because he is nauseous?
Never mind the complexities of his digestive system. Michael is leaning against the ledge of the balcony, the city skyline twinkling in the background, and Michael standing hunched in the foreground. For a moment, Lorenzo forgets he is looking at a real scene in front of him and not a photograph.
Lorenzo’s head is beginning to throb from the combination of stillness and silence. He stays idle near the entrance, at least eight steps away from Michael, watching the wind play with Michael’s bangs.
He takes a step. And then another, hesitating.
There’s something inside Lorenzo warning him of approach. There’s something inside Lorenzo telling him that if he isn’t careful, his opportunity of earning Michael’s heart will be gone.
He takes another step. This time backwards. It feels like there’s a grip on his shoulder dragging him back.
Lorenzo considers walking away to give Michael space, just in case he really does hit him this time, but then he remembers Snuffy telling him that it will go well, and he takes three steps forward, a pause between each one.
Michael is like a Katze. If you approach him too fast, he’ll run away. If you don’t approach him fast enough, he’ll wander off over the fence and into the neighbour’s backyard, out of reach. You must balance your approach.
Then Lorenzo takes two. And a half step because he stumbled, staying still as the Pixar lamp after committing homicide.
Time remains still for a moment.
Then Lorenzo crosses the empty space between them and occupies the spot beside Michael’s right side.
Lorenzo waits for Michael to run off.
He does not run off.
And then Lorenzo waits for Michael to tell him to fuck off.
The quiet remains.
The skyline continues to blink itself awake before them, or blink itself asleep, the light of the hallway coming out through the entrance to the balcony and casting the both of them in shadow.
It feels like they are the axis on which the whole world revolves. Though, to be honest, Lorenzo has always felt as such around Michael. Whenever Michael is around, he always plays satellite.
"I didn't believe anyone could fall in love with me."
The silence is broken by Michael, the statement surprising the muscles holding Lorenzo’s face together, both of their gazes still fixed on the skyline.
Lorenzo side glances Michael, analysing the pockmarks on his face, counting to eight and then counting down. He finds it quite beautiful how Michael has carved constellations into his skin from his anxious pubescent picking. Maybe that is how the universe got its stars to begin with.
“Who knew you were insecure." Lorenzo says, the words sounding sideways, the emptiness in his stomach growing even more empty, somehow.
He was too distracted by Michael at their table. Lorenzo thinks watching is enough to rid him of his own hunger anyway.
Michael scoffs a short laugh, which sounds more like an exhale, "Not insecure. Just... grown."
Lorenzo scrunches up his face and diverts his sight back forward, his gaze following the outline of the distant glowing skyline, tracing.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not a very likeable person.”
“Dah? Well, I like you a lot.”
Michael scoffs endearment. “I know.” He says softly. “Thanks.”
Lorenzo turns his body towards Michael, “All I get is a verbal thanks?” Lorenzo smiles gold bars, more than enough teeth showing to cause annoyance.
Michael rolls his eyes, his hands gripped around the parapet to hold his weight as he leans backwards, and then leans forwards again.
He repeats the action two more times before he stops and leans all his weight against the parapet. Michael’s face is half-turned to Lorenzo with an expression a pathologist would wear after taking a child’s blood test.
“Would you like a sticker?”
Lorenzo grins with his eyebrows, “Sì, per favore.”
Michael exhales a laugh layered with a scoff and a huff, his attention returning to the skyline before them. The quiet settles around them once again, and if it weren’t for the fact that they are the centre of the universe, Lorenzo might actually be able to hear the sounds surrounding them.
There are people mere metres away from them eating and chatting about, and there are even more people far before them sleeping and living. But none of it matters. The only thing that matters at this moment is Michael Kaiser, and the fact that he has galaxies carved into his skin.
When Lorenzo first met Michael, he forgot how to walk. Maybe that is why he has been struggling with walking towards Michael all of tonight. The sight of him is staggering, enough for a baby deer to fall over, or instead start running.
That’s the type of effect Michael has on every living organism around him. You either see the sight of him and forget all the basic things you’ve learnt, or you’re suddenly equipped with knowledge you’ve never been taught before.
Right now, as Lorenzo stares at the sight of Michael’s profile, he is hit with the knowledge of how to breathe in space without a suit to aid him. As Lorenzo stares, he gains knowledge on how to become one with the stars dotted across Michael’s cheeks.
“Why do you love me?” Michael asks, his tone hushed like he’s speaking to a baby, with several other babies sleeping around him.
If it weren’t for the earlier question, Lorenzo would poke fun at Michael for asking such a thing, but it is quite a fair question to ask considering their current developments. Why does Lorenzo love Michael?
He remembers every single snarky remark Michael has made, whether towards him or someone else, the collections spanning volumes in his head and in his heart.
He remembers every time that Michael has rolled his eyes and stopped listening, and every time after that wherein Michael ignored the lines of personal space.
He remembers every single moment that Michael Kaiser has been the most annoying, pretentious bastard in the world.
“Because you’re the worst person in the world.” Lorenzo answers without missing a single beat, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like there’s something worth loving in a scratched up linen couch left on the side of the road.
The thing is, Lorenzo has loved plenty of scratched up and broken things. He was born by people broken, and he has walked the streets of brokers while being broke. Lorenzo has also broken plenty of things, and loved them all the same afterwards, regardless of how many parts he had to replace and repair.
That’s the thing about Theseus’ ship. The amount of original parts do not matter. The amount of rebuilding does not matter. As long as Theseus loves his ship, it will continue to sail the world’s sphere under his name.
Poverty is an upbringing of thinking outside the box. Lorenzo has made worth out of terrible circumstances and shitty parts all his youth. What the world sees in Michael is scrap, but what Lorenzo sees in Michael is incomparable to all the money in the world.
It is why he is only ever focused on Michael, even if someone with a higher bid is before him. The numbers do not matter then because they are not Michael Kaiser. You cannot put a comparable price on something that isn’t Michael Kaiser.
There is a still quiet. Lorenzo can smell the seas swimming in Michael’s eyes, a deep urge to jump in overcoming him.
It is his home. It is where he belongs. So long as Michael sees Lorenzo, he can touch the sun. All he needs is for Michael to keep his eyes on him.
“Do you know why I confessed today?” Lorenzo asks, the silence washing over him in a warm current. The water is calm.
There’s a light scoff of a laugh. “You’ve confessed every single week we’ve known each other.” Michael says, matter-of-factly.
Lorenzo turns his head to object, only to halt when he realises it’s the truth, but also not what he was talking about to begin with.
“That’s besides the point. You didn’t take it seriously until now.” Lorenzo points out, his bicep brushing up against Michael’s due to his swaying. “I wanted to finalize my feelings tonight because Noel is retiring and—”
Michael bursts rainbows and sparkles from his mouth at the confession, his body turning to walk away from the balcony’s edge and then back, shaking with laughs. Lorenzo bites into his lower lip, his heart inflating into yellow.
“You—” Michael can’t get the words out due to how wide he’s smiling, his hand covering his mouth. Lorenzo wants it gone. “You purposely chose tonight because it’s Noa’s last banquet as a player?”
Lorenzo nods his head with smiling eyes. Michael’s smile grows wider—or maybe, he is simply closing his eyes.
Finally, the hand is removed from Michael’s face, a mock expression of annoyance now written across it as Michael leans both arms against the railing and stares off into the distance.
He hums. “You know me too well.” And then Michael shakes his head, his bangs kissing his face as he hangs his head low.
They’re close. Lorenzo can feel Michael’s body heat bouncing against his own, the warmth familiar and flooding Lorenzo’s hippocampus with past nights.
Some degrees above the twinkling skyline is held the moon, its belly full and bright, and the sight reminds Lorenzo of every night he has spent with Michael close to him.
If Lorenzo’s feelings become the most honest and clear during a new moon, then Michael’s physicality becomes the most warm and close during a full moon.
There have been a number of moments in which they are as close as they are right now, but Lorenzo has never felt quite this content in his life. And every other ranked content moment before this one contains Michael. It is with Michael that Lorenzo is content with.
There has been a question nagging Lorenzo for as long as he can remember—a question of when his life began—and if he were to pinpoint when, it would be when he met Michael.
Nothing has felt quite the same since he has met Michael. Nothing had quite felt as it does now before Michael.
There is a burning against Lorenzo’s shoulder that brings him out of his reverie, the warmth being Michael’s shoulder bumping against his own and sparking fireworks against his skin, flushing his body hot.
“You’re alright.” Michael utters, like the words have been on the tip of his tongue for the past half decade, waiting for the perfect skyline view accompanied with a full moon to finally be spoken.
“Does that mean you like me?”
Michael rolls his eyes, “It means that you’re alright.”
“Is that all?”
Michael gives Lorenzo a look, one that seems to speak more than any words he could put together, his smiling eyes going over Lorenzo once.
“That’s all.”
The silence between them would be cold if it weren’t for the brushing of their shoulders every other second, Lorenzo bumping his own against Michael’s, and leaving it pressed against it before his posture naturally slackens.
When Lorenzo had first met Michael, he stopped dead in his tracks. And when Lorenzo first versed Michael in an official match, he declared: “I’m going to make you fall in love with me. OK?”
He can’t really tell how well he’s been doing in regards to it, but whether terribly or perfectly, Lorenzo had made a declaration he still stands by today. He made a declaration that he will declare once again, with the most perfect skyline view and the brightest full moon to bear witness.
With all the air around them taut in the centre of his chest, Lorenzo turns around to face Michael, who spares him a curious side glance before turning enough of his head towards Lorenzo to make full eye contact, a single eyebrow raised. Michael looks beautiful curious.
“I’ll make you fall in love with me, Michel. Whether it takes all of eternity or not—OK?”
The air is released from Lorenzo’s chest and frozen in a pirouette position before it is spinning all around them. Michael’s Adam’s apple is bobbing as if holding in a laugh.
Inside of Michael’s eyes are the lights of the skyline reflected, even though he isn’t looking towards it. Michael's lips are pursed before he laughs shortly, breaking their eye contact momentarily and then smiling a new constellation, one that seems to spell Amoris.
“I don’t doubt you will.”
And Lorenzo is left with an epiphany.
Maybe he isn’t an aquatic variant of a zombie at all, but instead a galactic one, because there are no longer oceans in Michael’s eyes.
There are only stars.