Chapter Text
The hardware store was nearly empty that afternoon. A faint hum of pop music played through the speakers, tinny and faraway, as Andrew scanned the aisles for sandpaper and screws. He liked the quiet there—rows of tools lined up in predictable order, no one in a rush, everything in its place.
When he reached the counter, his gaze caught on a small, bright display beside the register.
Red boxes.
Pocky, the sign said, the letters scrawled in marker across a paper heart taped haphazardly to the stand. Below it, in smaller handwriting:
“11/11 – Pocky Day! Share one with someone special!”
He stared at it longer than he should’ve.
He wasn’t sure what Pocky Day even was—he vaguely remembered hearing about it online once. Something about people sharing the snack as a gesture of closeness.
He didn’t do that sort of thing. Not really.
But his hand still reached out, almost on its own, brushing over the shiny pink packaging. The strawberry flavor caught his eye. It was the same kind Luca always drank in milk form, the small cartons he’d bring to the workshop when he forgot to eat breakfast.
So Andrew bought a box.
He told himself it didn’t mean anything.
Luca’s apartment was only a few blocks away, up a narrow staircase that always smelled faintly of oil and coffee. He could hear the whir of machinery before he even knocked—the distinct buzz of tools, the faint crackle of a soldering iron cooling off.
When Luca opened the door, he had safety goggles still perched on his head and a smear of graphite on his cheek. “Andrew? You’re early!”
“I didn’t have much work today,” Andrew said. He shifted awkwardly, the box of Pocky hidden behind his back.
“Oh, come in then. Watch your step, the wires have multiplied again.”
Andrew ducked under the doorway, careful as always not to bump into anything. Luca’s workshop-apartment was a blend of chaos and warmth—half metal, half mess, but all alive. Tables littered with screws and blueprints, a kettle steaming gently on a side table, an old radio muttering to itself in the corner.
It smelled faintly of ozone and citrus cleaner.
Andrew liked it here.
He just didn’t know how to say that without it sounding strange.
He stood near the table as Luca rummaged for clean mugs. The pink box in Andrew’s hands suddenly felt too bright—a ridiculous, juvenile kind of gift that made him question his own judgment. But before he could tuck it away, Luca turned and caught him mid-motion.
“What’s that?”
Andrew blinked. “Uh… this. I brought it for you.” He held it out like an offering, the pink box almost embarrassing in his large, gloved hands.
Luca tilted his head. “Pocky?”
“Yeah. It’s, um… apparently a thing today. I saw the display.”
“Oh!” Luca grinned, tearing the seal with a casual flick. “Right, Pocky Day! You share it with someone—like a snack version of Valentine’s.”
“Valentine’s?” Andrew echoed, startled.
“Well, not quite that dramatic,” Luca said, laughing. “More like—friends sharing sweets. It’s a Japan thing, I think.”
Andrew could feel the heat creep up his neck. “Oh. Right.”
Luca chuckled. “Relax, big guy. I’m just teasing.”
They settled at the table. The kettle clicked off, and Luca poured two mugs of tea, the rising steam curling like pale ribbons in the air.
Andrew sat quietly, gloves off now, hands folded in his lap. The box of Pocky sat between them. The bright packaging almost looked out of place among the muted browns and grays of the room.
Luca pulled out one stick and bit into it. “You didn’t have to bring anything, you know.”
“I thought you might like it,” Andrew said. “You… like strawberry.”
Luca paused mid-chew, an eyebrow raising. “You remembered that?”
“You mentioned it before.”
“I mention a lot of things.”
Andrew looked down, frowning slightly. “Still.”
Luca’s smile softened. “Still, huh? That’s kind of sweet.”
He passed Andrew a stick, their fingers brushing briefly. The touch was light but grounding, the kind that left a trace even after it was gone.
Andrew bit into his, careful not to make eye contact. It was sweeter than he expected—bright, sugary, almost cloying—but somehow not unpleasant.
For a while, the sound of crunching filled the room. Luca leaned back in his chair, spinning a screwdriver between his fingers. “You know the proper way to eat these, right?”
Andrew looked up warily. “Proper way?”
“Yeah! The Pocky game. You bite one end, the other person bites the other, and—”
“No.”
Luca laughed so hard he nearly dropped the box. “Okay, okay, sorry! I couldn’t resist.”
Andrew sighed, but his lips twitched despite himself. “You make a lot of jokes like that.”
“Because you have the best reactions,” Luca said, grinning. “But alright, no games. Just sharing, scout’s honor.”
They fell into silence again, the easy kind that didn’t press for words.
Outside, the November light began to fade, painting the walls in soft orange. Luca got up to adjust the lamp near his workbench, its light pooling golden on the table. “Man, it gets dark early now,” he muttered. “You’d think time moves faster in winter.”
Andrew watched the reflection of the light dance on Luca’s wrist, catching the faint lines of solder burns. “Maybe it just feels that way when you work too much.”
Luca glanced over. “Says the man who spends half his week fixing things in the cold.”
Andrew shrugged. “Someone has to.”
“You ever take a day off?”
“Sometimes.”
“When?”
“Today,” Andrew said, almost quietly.
That made Luca pause. His grin faded into something smaller, gentler. “…You came here on your day off?”
Andrew hesitated, then nodded. “It’s quiet here.”
Luca looked away for a moment, a faint pink blooming across his ears. “Well… you’re always welcome, you know. I don’t mind the company.”
Andrew’s lips parted, but the words got lost somewhere in his chest. Instead, he just nodded, looking down at the Pocky stick melting faintly between his fingers.
By the time they finished the box, a light drizzle had begun tapping at the window. Luca stood, peering out through the fogged glass. “Guess the rain came early. You should probably stay until it slows down.”
“I don’t mind rain.”
“Yeah, but your jacket’s not waterproof.” Luca rummaged through a closet and pulled out a small umbrella. “You can borrow this.”
Andrew looked at it—bright yellow, with a chip on the handle. “You sure?”
“Positive. I’ve got another one somewhere… probably.”
He smiled again, and Andrew found himself smiling back, faintly.
Luca poured more tea, sitting across from him again. The soft hum of the rain filled the room, gentle and steady.
“Do you ever think,” Luca said suddenly, staring into his mug, “that small things like this end up mattering more than they should?”
Andrew blinked. “Like what?”
“This,” Luca gestured vaguely. “Tea. Snacks. Dumb holidays. Just… moments you don’t plan for.”
Andrew thought for a while. “Maybe they matter because they’re small.”
Luca looked up, curious.
“When things are big,” Andrew said slowly, “they break easier. Expectations, promises, plans. But small things…” He glanced at the box on the table. “They last longer. You can keep them. Even if they don’t mean much to anyone else.”
Luca’s expression softened. “You really think like that?”
“I try to.”
“That’s… kinda beautiful, Andrew.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. Beautiful wasn’t something people usually called him. Heavy, quiet, strong maybe—but not that.
He turned away, his throat tight. “You say that too easily.”
Luca chuckled under his breath. “Maybe. Or maybe you just make it easy to mean.”
The air between them felt heavier now, but not uncomfortable—just real.
When the rain thinned to a mist, Andrew finally stood to leave. Luca insisted on walking him downstairs with the umbrella. They stepped outside into the damp chill, the faint glow of streetlights flickering through the fog.
The umbrella barely covered them both, forcing them close—shoulder to shoulder, the rain pattering softly above.
“You really didn’t need to come all this way just for a snack,” Luca said, voice low but not teasing this time.
Andrew looked ahead, watching the wet pavement glisten. “It wasn’t just for that.”
“Oh?”
He hesitated. “…I wanted to see you.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them. They hung in the air, fragile and fleeting, almost swallowed by the rain.
Luca didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. He just smiled, a quiet kind of smile that reached his eyes. “I’m glad you did.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, the umbrella swaying slightly between them.
At Andrew’s gate, they paused. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, faint ripples pooling on the ground.
Luca handed him the umbrella. “Keep it for now. Bring it back next time.”
“Next time?”
“Obviously. You still owe me another box of Pocky,” Luca said, smirking. “Preferably chocolate.”
Andrew huffed a soft laugh. “Alright.”
“Goodnight, Andrew.”
“Goodnight, Luca.”
Later, when Andrew reached his small apartment, he set the umbrella by the door. He pulled the flattened pink box from his coat pocket and placed it carefully on his desk beside a half-finished wooden frame.
It looked out of place there, like a spark of something that didn’t belong in his quiet life.
But he didn’t move it.
The next morning, the faint scent of strawberry still lingered on his gloves.
And for the first time in a while, Andrew caught himself smiling without realizing it.