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Ivan’s hoodie could’ve been made of clouds with the way Lovro buried his face in the folds of fabric covering his back. He had stripped himself of his coat, knowing the familiar way the engine would surely warm him up, and had folded it up as a makeshift cushion for Lovro to perch on behind him. He was unsure if he had noticed getting on.
It was uncertain whether Lovro was asleep or not. Not unlikely, given the circumstances, only given the person he was dealing with. Ivan knew nearly nothing about the guy, but he figured he wasn’t the type to purposefully fall into a stranger. He must’ve been absolutely shattered. Understandable, Ivan thought, recalling seeing him and his friends smoking on the balcony. Then, he’d figured they were getting high, but who knew, they could’ve been trying downers.
Ivan was perhaps too aware of the fact that he smelled like a deep, rich wine, of the fact that this hoodie had been last washed on the wrong cycle and might be irritating Lovro’s face, of frankly everything. How could he not be? It wasn’t even attraction, not really, though he knew full well it could’ve been from experience. It was the fact that he had spoken to no one since he started at Prelog, and here, finally, he took a chance. In reality, it had been Sonja who had forced him out of the house, but it had been he who had completed the action.
So not attraction – but what? Admiration? At the brilliant blue of his eyes, even under the yellow lamp light, even in the soft way he looks down at him, unknowing of the role reversal which would occur when Ivan stood up beside him? At the gentle method of the name, the way the teeth bit the lip on the V, and rolled the tongue back timidly into an R? At the slope of his nose, the angle of the moles on his cheek, his friends who were much cooler than Ivan?
Maybe a little attraction.
But it wasn’t as usual, not the curve of a hip or dip of a collarbone. He was too covered for that. Even if he wasn’t, Ivan thought he couldn’t bring himself to deface Lovro in that way, to undress him with his eyes. He couldn’t help but think, though, if Lovro hadn’t been wearing that blanket of a jacket, if it had been the suffocating heat of summer, and if he had felt the sweat from his fingertips dampen the cotton shirt right around his waist, could he have helped it?
Would he have helped it?
The dwelling didn’t matter; it never did in the long run. That was how he managed to stay with Sonja so long. Blissful ignorance. Lovro stirred with the sort of soft murmur that made his grip on the bike handles tighten for fear of crashing.
Lovro’s voice was sleepy and quiet over the hum of the motor, and his body flinched a few times against Ivan’s. Ivan wasn’t sure if it was the contact between the two of them that did it, or if the motion of being on the bike had surprised him. A traffic light shone a brilliant, fluorescent red over their faces, Lovro’s half-shadowed by Ivan’s silhouette. Now that they were both on the same level, and Lovro had slightly straightened himself out, the difference in stature became increasingly apparent.
Ivan turned his head to glance back slightly. He caught Lovro’s eye, his fringe all over the place from burying his face into Ivan’s back. He thought he’d spare Lovro that information. For now. “You okay?” Then, upon further inspection of his hazed-out eyes, “Need me to pull over?”
Lovro shook his head and mumbled something slight, apologetic, mild. Something entirely against the look of his character.
Ivan didn’t bother trying again. He knew if it had been him, he would’ve only denied help. He simply took off when the light turned green. He was careful around the turn, one hand on Lovro’s to feel his weight shift with the vehicle, and pulled into a lit-up gas station. He helped Lovro up, slinging his arm over his back, though largely unnecessary, done only for touch, and escorted him in. Between the aisles lit insane shades of white that clearly burned Lovro’s eyes, Ivan searched for some kind of remedy.
“So what are you, drunk?” He prompted. “High?”
Lovro shrugged. He had closed his eyes and was letting Ivan guide him like some guardian angel who had come to him through sleep. “Both?”
“You had a fun night, huh? Well, you’ll have to help me out. I don’t do any of that stuff, so I don’t know what helps.”
Grunting, Lovro pulled away a little, before realising that’d mean he had to open his eyes and falling back into Ivan’s arms. “I’m fine, really. Just tired. I’ll sleep it off.”
“Not on the back of my bike, you won’t. Unless you’re intending to ragdoll off the back of it on the highway.”
“We were on the highway?”
Ivan chuckled, grabbing a bottle of water off the shelf. “No, but we will be. Your guys’ fault for planning a party so far out.”
“Yeah, wait, where are we?”
As Lovro’s eyes blinked open in confusion, adjusting to the visual stimuli, Ivan gave a short breath of laughter. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to kidnap you – hey, crackers? We’re gonna do crackers. You fell asleep five minutes in. We’re not far from the house.”
“No, that’s okay,” Lovro muttered, following Ivan to the register and watching him pay. “Thanks. For all of this.”
The cashier, mid-forties, dark hair, deep circles under his eyes, looked suspiciously between the two. Addressing Ivan, he asked, “Your friend okay?”
“He’s fine, just tired. Isn’t that right, Lovro?” Lovro nodded, and Ivan hoped to God he hadn’t hesitated over his name. He had a way of doing that – thinking his way into making a completely regular thing feel utterly perverse.
They paid, thanked the fed-up man, and sat on the curb near the bike. Lovro sipped at his water and nibbled at his crackers like a traumatised bunny, but did so out of politeness. “I will get you that three euro, you know. Eventually.”
“You don’t have to do that just for an excuse to talk to me, you know.” That might’ve been too forward. He watched the water in Lovro’s bottle tilt rather rapidly and grabbed his coat folded up on the bike seat. A car pulled into the lot, the silver glint of it catching Lovro’s eye and causing him to drop a half-eaten cracker. Ivan threw the coat over Lovro’s shoulders. “Here, are you cold?”
“Quit that, I’m not a girl,” Lovro bit, however soft a person could bite, and slid the coat off his back. His fingers lingered a little before letting Ivan take it back with a shrug.
“Okay. My bad, no worries.” Ivan craned his neck forward a little to hopefully catch Lovro’s eye, who was now staring at the gritty asphalt. “Come on. Let’s get you home, huh?”