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There was only one colour in the sky: grey.
Specifically, a misery, dangerous grey that flashed white every now and then.
Earlier that morning, the news had broadcasted that there would be a heavy rainstorm in the late evening to which Lalo didn’t take their word for it. Who believed in weather forecasts anyway? They were always wrong, always miss. There were countless occasions where Lalo had to bring an umbrella, but he didn’t even use it at all throughout the whole day. Just another burden that he had to carry. Alongside the burdens of his life.
Sure enough, a heavy rainstorm did fall that late evening.
Clouds hung in mourning, reducing light to become the darkest of shadows. Fast-moving, heavy rain battered in an unpleasant temper. Lalo walked through the puddles, wetting his precious Mallorca balmoral boots and the ends of his black Polo Ralph Lauren overcoat. He was soaking wet despite walking underneath the small roofs the shops on the sidewalk had to offer. The city, or perhaps the entire state had never known a day without rain. Every day, waters poured that made everything seem underwater. How did Lalo survive being here for more than seven years?
A sudden flash in the sky. Then, a booming thunder.
For fuck’s sake. I need to find a shelter.
Since he was a young lad, he had never been fond of thunders. Well, he was fucking afraid of them. One of his buddies got struck by lightning once right in front of him. He died two days later at a hospital from respiratory arrest. Lalo never truly recovered from the incident. Rightfully so.
Goodness, he was going to die in the middle of the streets.
Most of the shops were already closed since it was so late. Almost midnight. Everything seemed foreign. He was venturing into the isolated part of London because he felt ‘adventurous’ for the first time in the last couple of years. Of course, the only time that he chose to be away, the sky had to bombard him with scary, lethal lightning.
The corner of his eyes caught something. A tiny neon sign flickered the word 'OPEN.’ Without a second thought, he entered the modest shop, or cafe, or whatever the building was. He just wanted to get out of the water as soon as he could.
“We’re closed.”
A voice said as Lalo shut the door behind him. The room was dark, as sombre as the rumbling sky outside. However, it was filled with warmth. Almost homely. It was cloistered and close, so many tables and chairs and limited space. Lalo found that was part of its charm. Eventually, Lalo located the man behind the voice. He was sweeping the floor at the far end, close to the main counter. A dark figure looming in the corner.
“The sign outside says otherwise,” Lalo said reasonably. “And the door’s unlocked.”
“I was about to get it actually.”
He approached Lalo’s way in careful strides. Gradually, the shape of him became recognisable, even in his simple white uniform.
“Sorry, mate,” Lalo said, eyeing the man’s every move. “Just want to let the rain pass a bit if that’s alright. I don’t bring an umbrella with me …”
Suddenly, everything became clearer. They were standing face-to-face about two meters apart. They scrutinised one another like cowboys in a shootout during the Old West. The man blinked slowly, just before his lips stretched into a smile. Yes, that smile. Lalo remembered that smile. “Salamanca?” He asked, pointing a finger.
Lalo had recognised the other even before he broke into that darling smile. He pointed a finger back and said, “Ignacio Varga.”
Ignacio’s face had grown mature over the years, and Lalo couldn't help but notice the drastic changes—the man used to have a clean-shaven face but now had a petite goatee, and his once luscious brown hair that sat messily on his round head was cut to an overgrown buzz. It fit him well. It made him seem tuff. But his eyes were the same brown, his flawless skin was illuminated by the street light just outside the café.
Ignacio pulled him into a one-armed embrace despite Lalo being wet from the rain. Lalo stopped himself from mentioning how strong and firm Ignacio’s arm was, as he did not want to sound too … observant.
“Have a seat,” Ignacio said eagerly. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
“That won’t be necessary—”
“Please, I insist.”
Ignacio was already behind the counter, grabbing a cup and a box of teabags. Lalo observed his expertise. It felt like they were always closer than just acquaintances.
The man returned with a small tray that held two cups of Earl Grey. After placing the cups for each of them, he settled down across from Lalo.
“So,” Ignacio cleared his throat. “Tell me everything I need to know.”
Their conversation was so much more than words; it's the sparkle in their eyes, the grins, and the soft shrugs. Even the brief pauses were soothing, and it was clear that they were both elevated by each other's presence. They were laughing and joking about the good days of being pre-pubescent boys. No responsibilities, no money, no worries. They found themselves going back in time. Lalo listened and watched the way Ignacio’s eyes became animated and bright when he talked about his achievements in hockey back in the day. How their school went to the Nationals a couple of times. Lalo remembered. Lalo was there. Lalo had admired the boy since then. Until now, the same boy that had grown mature over the years. He expressed a playful envy whenever Ignacio told him about the good things that he had received in life. Ignacio did the same, too, when it was Lalo’s turn to talk about his.
It felt like they were always closer than just acquaintances. Good friends. Maybe more.
Lalo wasn't sure what drove him to say the next words. The fear of the uncertain future gnawed him. Also, living by the motto "Live life with no regrets" led him to do some questionable and dumb things at times. What did he get to lose anyway?
“I used to have a massive crush on you.”
Ignacio’s brown eyes widened. Lalo saw a faint sliver of dark hazel within them. It was unfortunate that Lalo only noticed them more than a decade later. He could’ve admired them much longer. “Shit, man. You don't say!”
How could I? Everybody in the entire school adores you.
A new rush of memories washed over. Unspoken desires. How Lalo had written them on papers a few times but bailed at the very last second. I wasn’t sure if you were for the guys, he had said. To which Ignacio had replied, I’ve been for the guys for the longest time. Got a partner? No.
Lalo didn’t want the answer to be no. Lalo wanted Ignacio to tell him that he was married and lived in a house in a quiet neighbourhood with cats and a loving partner. He didn’t want Ignacio to give him the chance to hope. The unspoken desires that were now spoken, Lalo partially wished he could take it all back. Even with the exposure of the confession, the tension remained unchanged. Their chatter flowed beautifully like before. No shameful remarks. But, a sliver of regret.
Lalo couldn’t look at Ignacio in the face when he said, “I’m moving to Germany tomorrow.”
The gravity of the statement hung in the air. Lalo heard Ignacio’s low exhale, and he knew that it wasn’t a playful envy. Neither of them dared to look at one another as they cradled this heavy moment in their arms. Lalo explained the reason why he went abroad: an important business that would change the course of his life. He was an important man in the company that he was working for. His absence would be a great loss to the automotive business.
Perhaps Lalo should’ve confessed his feelings sooner. Years ago, when they were just pre-pubescent boys that knew no responsibilities, had no money, and had no worries in the world. Perhaps Lalo should’ve ventured on this side of London sooner. He would’ve reunited with the man way earlier then, making up for lost time. All the days that they let pass, all the nights that they slept through.
Lalo handed him some cash for the tea and hospitality, but Ignacio put his palm on Lalo's hand. "It's on the house," he said softly. Then, Ignacio stood up, and Lalo followed. He disappeared into the kitchen while Lalo waited. When he emerged from the dark room, his hand was holding a plum-coloured umbrella. Lalo accepted it, letting his fingers brushed against Ignacio’s. This could be the last time he ever touched the other.
The sky was only drizzling now. Bearable, unlike moments ago. Still, an umbrella was needed. Lalo stood in front of the cafe with one hand holding the umbrella while the other sat in his pocket. Under the coat, he was shivering. The emptiness of the outside stole a breath from his lungs. They talked some more, the conversation now laced with something melancholic, a little breathless, knowing the inevitable of separation was approaching. It took the form of an overpriced, fancy black cab.
“Keep the umbrella,” Ignacio said. “Something to remember me by.”
“I’m sorry we didn't have much time.”
“Life's unfair, mate. What can I say?”
The storm had quelled down, and so did the distance. But only for an hour. Or maybe two. Once again, the distance grew. All too quickly, Lalo was hailing the overpriced, fancy black cab; the cab was stopping, and Lalo was closing the umbrella before entering the cab. The men waved at each other as the driver was shifting gears. Their eyes locked as the car began to move. Lalo closed his eyes, remembering the changes—his goatee, his overgrown buzz, and his strong arms. The familiar brown eyes with a sliver of dark hazel, and his flawless skin illuminated by the street light just outside the shop.
One last time, Lalo opened his eyes and took pleasure in the brief avidity found at the quiet streets. When the driver turned the corner and Ignacio was out of sight, Lalo gazed up the window.
There was only one colour in the sky: blue.