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The rumbling of the scooter and vibrating seat as the winter breeze travels past them is the only thing Lovro can make out in the midst of the warmth he's holding onto.
Lovro’s mostly got out the alcohol in his system. Puking out after promptly falling asleep when he was crossfaded hadn’t cured all his ailments, but it sure as hell lessened the vertigo he felt as soon as he woke up. Not as close as his worst trips, fortunately.
The police raid hadn’t been ideal, but to be honest Lovro kind of already wanted to leave the lipstick party. It’s nice Nora and Roko got their happy ending, coming back to Zagreb to be welcomed with a warm house party then officially going off, gallivanting somewhere in Amsterdam. Together. High school sweethearts style.
Fuck, don’t go turning green now, Jakov would jeer lightheartedly. Fuck the Jakov in his head, too. He is happy for them, in that distant way because he’s not close to them but he has a heart. Lovro’s just being fucking stupid. He’s got a good thing going on with Ema, why would he be jealous?
These thoughts swirl around his head endlessly, almost as dizzying as the first time he woke up. His grip on scooter boy — Ivan — tightens surreptitiously, a feeble attempt at trying to pull himself together.
At that moment, Lovro feels very self-conscious. His hands are clammy and he can’t stop staring at the tuff of dark hair peeking under the helmet in front of him. If he were to lean any closer, he thinks he might smell the waft of faint cologne Ivan’s using. “Sorry if I’m too close.”
He could’ve sworn he saw Ivan smile from behind, but he can’t tell if that was his imagination or the streetlights were messing with his brain or the annoying helmet being in the way was making him lose his mind. “No worries. It’s super okay.”
Ivan cruises through the routes with an ease that tells him he’s done this many, many times before. Lovro finds it strangely charming that Ivan keeps two helmets on his scooter when he arrived at the party alone.
He wonders what kind of history Ivan’s had with this scooter.
What does it matter, anyways? He’s never gonna see this guy again. Probably will be given shit for abandoning the stash at the house. Wake up again to his mom either in a mess or an eerily serene mood before she badgers Lovro to read her self-help books. Meet Ema. Kiss Ema.
Lovro’s eyes travel down to the nape of Ivan’s skin, up to his striped helmet, then to what he’s able to make out of his face from this position.
For one insane second, Lovro considers what it’d be like if he didn’t have this stupid helmet on and leaned his head on Ivan’s shoulder.
He immediately exiles the thought out of his mind, blinking harshly at the familiar roads and passing shops around them. He really should lay off the weed and alcohol combo for a while.
They eventually slow down to a stop on the side of a road, somewhere near the trams. His designated driver uses his foot as a makeshift kickstand when they’re parked out of harms way. “Hey, are you okay being dropped off here?” Ivan slightly turns around, an eye staring curiously at Lovro.
“Um. Yeah.” Lovro dumbly said.
It takes him a moment to realize that he still has his hands on the guy, and that he hasn’t made any move to step off the vehicle. He retracts his hands as if they were burnt and practically comes tumbling out of the beloved Tomos, clumsily unbuckling the helmet. “Seriously, thanks man. I owe you one.” He says, trying to mask his own embarrassment. He hands back the helmet, Ivan’s fingers centimetres away from brushing against his in doing so.
Ivan looks amused. Lovro never managed to get a good look on him earlier, but seeing him laid out under one of the fluorescent lights that’re littered throughout the city, all Lovro can see is his face earnestly looking up at him.
He has brown eyes, Lovro thought. He looks away.
“Well, don’t let me hold you back.” Ivan says after he secures his extra helmet.
“Why haven’t you left then?”
Ivan shrugs, turning the head of his running scooter left and right. “Why haven’t you?”
Lovro balks, “I don’t know.” He pulls his jacket closer to himself. Everything feels off-kilter. His hands, while still clammy, itch for the warmth it previously occupied itself with. It’s as if his head had been stuck underwater for a long time, only to re-emerge without prior warning, still stuck in a sort of haze.
Ivan’s face softens. “Relax. I’m messing with you.”
“Oh. Okay.” Lovro grimaces, wishing the ground would swallow him whole already.
Ivan flashes a smile, “Goodnight, Lovro. Take it easy next time, yeah?” He drives off to the one-way road. Lovro stays rooted to his spot, watching until the red in his vision disappears into a corner.
Lovro goes home that night unable to shake off the warmth of the man.