Work Text:
You read the email on your computer screen, then read it again. The words weren’t registering in your brain. Okay, maybe the screen was just too big. You read the text sent to your phone. Its words were identical to that of the email. None of it made sense to you still, but it didn’t matter anymore. The huge “CONGRATULATIONS Y/N” at the top of both messages, given to you by one of the lotteries you played was finally sinking in, and the rest of the content frankly meant fuck all to you right now.
You needed to flex. Luckily for you–and you were clearly very lucky–your phone was already in your hand.
“I HIT THE JUCKPORT 1 TRILLION$” you tweeted. That was mistake number one.
Mistake number two was going to work. You didn’t need to be there, and you made that fact obvious from the way you sauntered into the movie theater to your spot behind the counter. Just to really hammer the point home, you handled your tasks at the concession stand with an exaggerated swagger. The side-eyes from your boss and coworkers meant nothing to you. They never did to begin with, but they meant even less to you now that you had “fuck you” money. Nobody acted like they cared because they hadn’t seen your tweet yet. Once they did, though, they’d all be sorry.
The only person at this entire movie theater you cared about–your regular customer–appeared exactly when you needed him. Your eyes lit up as he walked across the room. Finally, someone you could brag to in real life.
“Donnie, baby, there you are!” you grinned, leaning over the counter. “I was just thinking I’m tired of being around people who aren’t at my level, financially.”
“Yo, Y/N,” Lorenzo grinned back. The bright lights bounced off his gold teeth, forcing you to look away. Normally you wouldn’t forgive being made to do such a submissive action, but Don Lorenzo was your favorite customer, so you let it go. “Last I heard you’re worth nothing at all, right? Got some good news?”
You knew he already knew what the news was. Lorenzo was the one who told you to play the lottery in the first place; surely he already connected the dots. More importantly, he was the only person who liked your tweet so far.
“Actually, I’m worth €2 million,” you said. Taxation was not a concept you concerned yourself with. As you spoke, you handed him a large bucket of caramel popcorn, filled up a little more than it was supposed to be.
Lorenzo’s grin widened while he paid. “Not bad, but not very much. Maybe gamble some more and you’ll make what I do, okay?”
You flipped him off. Lorenzo just laughed. Popcorn bucket in hand, he waved at you from over his shoulder, already heading to the exit. “Bye-bye, Y/N! Welcome to the world of the rich!”
The words gave you a high like no other. It was ruined almost instantly by your newest coworker rushing to your side to ask a stupid question like always.
“Did that guy just buy popcorn and leave? He’s not going to watch a movie?” he asked, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
You gave him a dirty look. “Yeah, duh. Don only ever comes here for the popcorn. We don’t play any good movies here.”
The dirty look didn’t deter him in the slightest. “What? I thought he comes here multiple days a week. Why waste all that money?”
“You wouldn’t get it ‘cuz you’re broke,” you answered smugly. “When you’re rich–like me–you can do whatever you want.”
“You make minimum wage just like the rest of us, Y/N,” another coworker chimed in. “Anyway, that was Don Lorenzo . Like, literal pro-footballer Don Lorenzo. I’m more confused as to why he comes here and talks to… you.”
“He’s my friend,” you shrugged. Neither coworker seemed to believe you, but they weren’t interested in continuing the conversation. The rest of the day passed by with you planning how to live it up as a multimillionaire while your coworkers whispered to each other about who knew what.
At the end of your shift you went up to your boss, told him he was scum and you were quitting effective immediately, and left through the emergency exit so everyone would hear the alarm go off.
Under your tweet about never having to work your lame ass job again were two replies. One was from your former boss. It said something about how your behavior was inappropriate and he wished you had shared your grievances with him instead of choosing to make a scene and some other stuff you only skimmed over.
The other reply was from Lorenzo. He asked if you would still make him caramel popcorn because he liked yours best.
You responded to both: “L + ratio” and “ofc babey anything for you <2 inlove you” respectively.
At some point during the night it occurred to you that you should probably figure out how to navigate your new life as a rich person. Illuminated by the light of your phone, you googled what to do after winning the lottery. The search pulled up a lot of news articles about people whose lives were ruined after winning big. You amended your query to include “reddit” at the end.
Thanks to your genius move, you found some advice that would be useful to a different person. As you read through different threads, you came across three long comments, the first of which started off by informing you that you were fucked.
No matter where you looked online you were bombarded by statistics of how overcoming insurmountable odds to win the lottery was actually the worst thing that happened to you. Did no one want you to be happy? Only Lorenzo seemed pleased with you hedging your bets and coming out on top. Whatever, none of the advice meant anything to you. You got here by taking risks, not playing it safe. Why not wager on proving all these randoms online wrong? You didn’t need to hire some guy to manage your money.
Closing out your tabs, you began a new search query before you realized you didn’t need to bother with such busy work—your admiring fans online could do that for you. So instead of posing your question into the search bar, you tweeted, “ik bictoin is highkey a scam but like do yall think i could profit off this? ive always wanted to be a con artist tbh i have the rizz for it.”
Go big or go home, you always thought. Maybe this, too, was a mistake.
The next few days were a blur.
Most of it was spent with Lorenzo. Now that you were wealthy, you could finally buy your way into every party he went to. The locations were far from where you lived with your parents, so you packed a few of your things and booked yourself a short stay at one of the nicest hotel rooms you could find. Looking out the window at the city below made you feel on top of the world. Given how high up you were, you literally were (provided you ignored the existence of other buildings, mountains, etc.).
Upon checking your Twitter, you saw Lorenzo liked all the pictures you posted of yourself in big faux fur coats and expensive sunglasses, all of them captioned with either “can’t belive this is my life” or “last night was a movie.”
Someone’s quote-retweet clowning your outfit in your latest photo went viral. Squinting at the profile picture of the account, you vaguely recognized your ex-coworker’s face, the hater who said he didn’t know why Lorenzo talked to you. In the months you spent together behind the counter you never learned his name until now.
“Mad cuz Lorenzo likes my popcorn more than yours arent you?” you replied. Mere moments later, you had a notification informing you Lorenzo liked the tweet before his name appeared on your screen as an incoming call.
“Yo, Y/N,” Lorenzo said. His smooth, lilting voice rolled right over your greeting. “Come over and watch a movie with me. Bring some popcorn too, okay?”
Lorenzo was at your side when you hit up the slot machines. He was there when you tried your hand at poker, when you bet exorbitant amounts of money over dumb shit with friends of his friends, and when you filled out numbers for every lottery in Italy you could think of.
Lorenzo was at your side when you celebrated your wins and when you shrugged off your losses. Some nights he was off with someone else. Other nights, you were in his arms, curled up with him in bed.
The sky—a bluer blue than you’d ever seen before—filled your window when you looked outside. Basked in the warmth of the sun you suddenly longed for rain.
“No money? That’s too bad,” Lorenzo said airily. Crumbs and whole pieces of popcorn tumbled from his mouth on to the sheets covering his bed. “You know how to party, Y/N, but you’re no good at gambling.”
“I didn’t lose it all on gambling ,” you couldn’t help but sound defensive.
He hummed noncommittally. Pushing forward, you continued, “I made more than I lost, by the way. And I skipped the cryptocoin stuff. It’s just… some complications came up.”
“Complications?” Lorenzo repeated with interest. He leaned over his bowl of popcorn to get closer to you.
“Complications,” you said again. You waited a few moments longer than necessary to elaborate, just to build up the suspense some more. “It wasn’t even my fault, really. Who could blame me for having such a kind heart?”
His eyebrows raised. Good. If you went about this right, he’d pity you and maybe give you a place to stay. “I gave all I had to charity. So many people out there are suffering more than me… well, they were . Now that I’m broke, I’m suffering more than them. You know how it goes.”
There was a curious look on Lorenzo’s face. It didn’t seem like he believed you, although he didn’t seem to not believe you either. You held his gaze for as long as you could. When you began to squirm in your seat, Lorenzo offered you the bowl of popcorn.
“Okay, look… it’s pretty stupid,” you reached into the bowl, sheepishly offering him the truth for his salted caramel popcorn. “I wanted to make it rain.”
“Huh?”
It was obvious he didn’t quite understand, which meant you were forced to elaborate despite your embarrassment. “I wanted to make it rain. Y’know, like how people throw their cash around? I did that outside of my hotel room with the rest of what I had. All the money got grabbed. I think it was on the local news.”
Lorenzo burst out laughing. It pleased you more than it hurt your feelings.
“That was you? You just threw away millions for fun?” The words came out between breathless peals of laughter. “I thought you got the money as a check?”
“I did,” your lips were pursed. Surely this wasn’t that funny. “I swapped it for cash, though. For the rain.”
Lorenzo burst out laughing again, albeit not as intensely. Before the pleasure gave way to hurt and indignation, he wrapped his arm around you and gave you a noogie. “Don’t worry—to me, you’re priceless, okay? I love you again, Y/N.”
“Gee, thanks,” you said. The words came out more sincere than sarcastic as intended. Unfortunately, the thought of Lorenzo valuing you soothed your bruised ego, and being close to him was nice even if you felt this sort of position was beneath you. Taking advantage of the opportunity, you hugged him tight and sulked. Sure enough, he hugged you back.
Two million euros down the drain, but for a moment you felt like it wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to you.
…You still wished you had the money.
“Hey, Donnie…” you started. It was comfortable laying quietly with him, the bowl of popcorn long since finished. You felt sorry for disrupting the peaceful atmosphere. Lorenzo’s soft “mm?” gave you the courage to continue. “Any chance I could stay with you for a while? My parents won’t let me come home.”
“No can do,” he said cheerfully. “I can’t have you here, okay? It’s bad publicity. But I’ll loan you some money until you find a new job. After that, we’ll go partying and gamble some more.”
The phone vibrated incessantly on the nightstand. With a groan, the man picked it up. Bright light from the screen forced him to blink rapidly, and it took a minute before he could read the text of the notifications popping up. The moment his brain was able to latch on to the words he felt wide awake. With shaking hands, the man opened up Twitter and stared in disbelief at the tweet he was tagged in: a picture of you and Lorenzo, captioned “haters mad their corn don’t pop the way mine does.”