Work Text:
"You didn’t tell him."
Vanessa was performing an inventory check; classes had been postponed and the holidays had finally begun. It wasn’t that she had wanted to find a part-time job for fun; in fact, she had been forced into it after her father told her the best thing she could do was help her family out of the financial situation they found themselves in.
She had searched all the public job networks for something essential, but her stint as a hairstylist wasn't working out so well. She had started the year on an upward climb until she hit a different reality: a lack of sufficient experience in such a vast market. Furthermore, proposing the idea of studying something related to fashion to her parents terrified them beyond measure; they decreed it wasn't necessary, especially in a country that still depended on others to coexist. She found that statement highly discriminatory, as she had seen girls skillfully find ways to set trends or follow them at school.
Regardless, her parents remained unconvinced.
So, there she was, working the shift of the simplest job offer available: a supermarket located three blocks from her street, a trip that took her approximately seventeen minutes. She always stalled her pace, conscious of her desire to be disliked by the boss who still doubted her—a man who had judged her in the face-to-face interview solely because of her skin color, warning her about the cameras at every corner and a stock record that he always supervised himself.
Vanessa couldn't help but wonder why he had hired her if he distrusted her integrity so much; she didn't voice it, of course not, but it was evident that her other coworkers always tried to avoid her out of fear or simply a silent rejection. Most were adults, along with a few hungry university students who wouldn't stop joking in the clothing sections, flouting the rules. Luckily, the only one who seemed to respect her enough was the store manager, who saw her effort and offered her some compensation bonuses when he noticed her staying late because, once again, an elderly couple decided to taste the ginger from its packaging before paying for it.
Today it wasn't her turn to be a stocker, and she preferred the days when she wasn't. She was sick of answering such obvious questions; customers always made sure to be foolish enough to drop senseless sentences or check if there were items they supposedly couldn't find, when the things were clearly right in front of their eyes. It was just that they weren't looking anymore; they preferred to keep their eyes down on their phones, with some short video playing on a loop. Vanessa had already seen the delivery drivers coming and going every hour throughout the week; indeed, people preferred to stay home—something she envied as much as she hated. She didn't like being in her own home: it was too noisy, with no space for her, and millions of chores every minute because her mother preferred seeing her busy rather than her brother, who still asked for an allowance on weekends.
The worst part was that her parents still gave it to him.
The establishment was open, and the morning routine was always the quietest, filled with slow steps or the soft murmurs of the workers. No one arrived until after midday. Her colleagues were still in the warehouse, so Vanessa found herself alone at the register, checking the bills kept from the previous day. She liked counting money, holding it in her hands and pretending that someday she could create all that with her own effort. Her nails were unpolished because of the frozen containers she had to move from one aisle to another, but she didn't mind; she had already lost count of how many times she had sworn to herself she'd go home and reapply the polish. At this point, the most she did in her dwelling was feign ignorance, listen to music, and sleep.
That was why, when a tall man with a messenger bag across his chest entered the local shop, she was surprised to recognize him. They hadn't seen each other since Ema’s exhibition, and she only knew small details through Eva, who wouldn't stop whispering in group calls about how much she liked the group’s new relationship. Or well, the second-to-last one, because now Mario and Tina existed—who hadn't wasted any time and would have almost been engaged if it weren't for Tina, who still wanted to go slow, which was rare for her. The point was that Ivan Kovacic entered the store with a slow pace, observing the checkout counters with subtle precision. She began to wonder how he had found out she worked there, or who had told him; how he got information about her when they only had a short message from three years ago on his device, abandoned at the end of her contacts.
They hadn't interacted much when Ivan transferred to her institution. Her brother hadn't even made a sound when she confided the information that she had seen Ivan wandering around Zagreb long before the start of classes. It was a surprise to see him in the hallways with that relaxed attitude he used to flaunt, but with a gaze that was a bit more lost, as if he hadn't really been focused on life or the present itself during those first months. She had seen him at a few common events where he mostly went unnoticed, especially that day during the tour for the freshmen. She had been standing next to Tina, who was cheerfully looking at the newcomers with hopeful eyes, looking for a future boyfriend, looking for something to distract her from her misery. While they were trying to locate a classroom, Tina had shouted almost in her ear that she had just seen the most attractive man in school, surpassing Roko.
That certainly caught her attention. She focused her gaze on the young men and realized it was that head held high, that familiar face, and a knot formed in her throat as she realized she wouldn't be able to approach him as she once would have. Regardless, Tina was already on her way toward Ivan when Vanessa noticed it was too late; eyes met and Ivan gave Tina a quick nod before disappearing.
Since then, she herself avoided getting close. She saw him following Lovro a lot, trying to strike up dialogues, but she never observed them totally together until she heard the rumor of the courtship from Tina. She had to admit in her room, with the blanket over her, that she saw it coming; for some time Lovro had started acting strangely, and with the hunch she always seemed to have, she tried to talk to him, but obviously she was rebuffed. Tina had been ecstatic, in an energetic mood, but Vanessa, with repressed frustration, tried to stop her. It was too late because her companion was already running toward Lovro to tell him the gossip. Vanessa tried to defend them from the other students when some whispered in the middle of class about how two boys could be in love; she had earned a detention she didn't regret when she lashed out at them during Physics class. All from behind, in the shadows, trying to protect someone who was at one point a distant but present friend, because Ivan was never mean or cruel: he was very funny, always challenging Joseph in charades or looking for models for her fashion projects.
So present, that it hurt when Joseph came home that day with a bruise on his face. He had fought, or so she believed, because she saw Ivan’s guilt-ridden messages on her brother’s posts later.
At the exhibition, they had introduced themselves again as if what happened didn't matter. Ivan didn't comment on anything and neither did she, both under the mutual understanding that the past was left behind. And if Vanessa felt her heart ache a little, she didn't confess it to anyone. She had seen them together, Lovro and Ivan, sharing a kiss in front of everyone, and she couldn't help but feel proud to witness it, no longer afraid and being cheered on by everyone. Lovro had gone through a hard time while still trying to accept himself, and seeing him grow was a key point that encouraged her to want to close ranks again.
Therefore, when they started talking a bit more since his apology, she couldn't help but want to assist him with Ivan. In a small talk that didn't even last very long about how Lovro didn't know what to give him for their sixth anniversary, Vanessa dropped a detail from the past: something Ivan used to like. Or well, the Ivan she knew back then. Lovro had stayed still for a few seconds, with a stupefied grimace that turned into a confused one, and quickly tied the pieces together. She had never seen Lovro jealous—it was somewhat comical—but he explained it clumsily, and that led her to let slip Ivan’s brief past.
So she was expecting him, really. She was waiting for Ivan to finally decide to cut the truce they had built over the stupid slip of wanting to help Lovro with his gift. Obviously, the boy would have told him. Vanessa didn't blame him.
"You didn’t tell him."
It's the first thing she hears come out of Ivan’s mouth.
She rearranges the scanners of the cash register with almost obsessive meticulousness; the red, blinking lights of the sensors were starting to require maintenance that the boss would surely ignore until it was too late. The rhythmic beeping of the other registers felt like a distant pulse, a soundtrack for her nervousness. She avoided looking him in the eye for a few moments that felt eternal, preferring to concentrate on the cold texture of the plastic and the dust accumulating on the edges of the conveyor belt.
Ivan was there, right on the other side of the counter, occupying a space that suddenly seemed too small for his presence. He kept his hands buried in his pockets, his jacket open revealing a worn-out t-shirt and the messenger bag crossed over his chest, as always; it was an image that hadn't changed in years and that, for a second, transported her back to the hallways of her old life. However, something in the air was different. Ivan’s gaze, the focus with which he observed her, was much more present, stripped of the haze of distraction that used to accompany him. It wasn't the Ivan who floated through the world; it was a man anchored to the ground, searching for her with an intensity that burned her skin.
Vanessa set the laser aside, hearing the dull thud of plastic against wood, as the reality of her work shift finally blurred to give way to the truce. She took a deep breath, smelling the scent of the supermarket—a mix of industrial cleaner and cardboard—and looked at him steadily, accepting that the past had just walked through the automatic door and didn't plan on leaving without an answer.
"Of course not."
Ivan sketched a placid grimace as he diverted his attention toward the shelves. "Why not?"
"Why would I tell him, Ivan? It’s not my secret to tell, and much less something you haven't shared with him yourself."
Some of her colleagues returned to their posts. They passed by the exit and exchanged looks upon seeing Ivan there with nothing to purchase, but still, no one intervened.
"Aren’t you going to ask me why I haven't told him?" he questioned, frowning slightly. "Aren’t you going to ask me if I have already...?"
"What do you want, Ivan?"
The young man paused, clearly evaluating his own history. Vanessa hoped that Lovro had been there, listening or waiting patiently without forcing him to reveal something he still kept to himself.
"I don't know."
She nodded, trying to understand his mood. "No one at home says anything about what happened." She sees him blink. "It isn't talked about, it isn't dug up, nothing. That’s left behind."
The entrance bell activates and the beep distracts her for a moment; she silences it instantly. Ivan exhales, his lungs probably trying to work again. Vanessa had noticed that he stopped breathing for a few seconds upon hearing her, understanding exactly who she was referring to with that "no one."
"Really?" he asks in a low voice, eyes fixed on hers. His face is expressionless.
She nods calmly.
Both stay like that for many minutes, observing each other. It is an evaluation that seems eternal but helps Ivan relax his shoulders, to retake a breath he had needed for a while. He pulls his hands out of his pockets with deliberate slowness, revealing fists that were previously clenched in tension and are now undone, leaving his long and somewhat restless fingers in view. With a short step, he heads to the metal magazine rack that creaks slightly at the side of the register, a corner where the satin paper accumulates the morning dust. Ivan runs his fingertips over the headers of the city's most well-known newspapers, ignoring the political headlines and crime chronicles, until his hand stops on a publication that is out of tune with the rest.
He ends up picking a budget edition magazine, one of those that displays tabloid news and malicious gossip about the art world on the cover, adorned with strident typography promising to reveal bedroom secrets of painters and gallery owners. Vanessa observes the scene with a mix of irony and curiosity; she already perceived from her spot the oversaturated colors, the fuchsias and neon greens, alongside those cliché lines designed to attract the attention of distracted teenagers.
However, the sarcasm that was starting to form in her mind dissolves abruptly when she notices the detail Ivan detected first. It’s not the main headline that has captured his interest, but a small box in the bottom corner, almost hidden by the gloss of the laminate. Upon realizing what is there, Vanessa understands that the choice is not random at all: Ivan has found a bridge, a physical object that justifies his presence and, at the same time, serves as a silent offering for Lovro. It is in that moment that the magazine stops being media trash and becomes a coded message between them.
Behind the papers, in the last box on the last page containing a crossword, she sees an exchange coupon, like a gift. The coupon promises in cursive typography and bright shades that it can be redeemed at any supermarket to receive a packet of hair dye—the color of your choice. Vanessa smiles.
It’s for Lovro.
Neither makes a sound as Ivan reaches the publication to her with a looser, unconcerned attitude. She sees him take out his phone to scan the barcode on the back cover. He brings the device closer to make the digital payment and she notices on the terminal's screen the quick background of a photograph of Lovro. It is so fleeting she doesn't manage to recognize what he was doing, but immediately it warms her heart to know that neither of them is afraid; that they are both so committed to making it work that the magnetism scares her, recognizing the possible panic Ivan must have felt upon finding out Lovro might know something from a long time ago that he preferred to ignore.
When she is wrapping the magazine in the plastic bag with the super's logo—a red sphere with the Croatian flag and the small dollar sign in the corner—she recognizes that the boss should get a new graphic identity, because without a doubt the colors do not harmonize and they hurt her eyes. Ivan clears his throat quietly and she looks at him.
"Thanks."
The young woman stops her actions with the plastic still in her hands and the magazine granting a light weight to her fingers. She feels the soft texture of the pages and smiles shyly.
"You're welcome."
He adds nothing more. It is evident that they will still have to work on their new friendship or that shared complicity, but she is glad to know she can now stop pretending she doesn't know Ivan. Now she knows why he sometimes prefers to pull away from the group or why Lovro murmurs excuses for him at the monthly meetings. Now she will be able to agree with her friend on many more things and provide him the support Vanessa has tried to give since she realized Lovro never asked for help.
Upon leaving work after a hectic day due to a special offer she wasn't aware of—because they weren't allowed to use their phones—she sees a missed call from Lovro at around eleven in the morning. All her friends knew she didn't answer until after four in the afternoon. With nerves and a bit of fear, she returns the contact to the boy who probably already knew about Ivan’s impromptu visit. For a moment she feared Lovro would say something cruel, but she doubted it when he answered on the second ring with an interrupted laugh.
"Hi. Sorry if I called in the morning, Ivan just told me you were working and that’s why you didn't answer. I thought you might be mad at me or something."
She listens to him prattle on for a bit longer, looking for problems where there are none. Vanessa felt weak for a second because she thought she had already surpassed that stage with Lovro: the one of having to explain oneself with giant sentences for fear of ruining something.
"No, Lovro, stop. You don't have to apologize for anything. You didn't do anything wrong."
He sighs through the line, away from the bustle of the city, probably on his apartment balcony. "Even so, I considered it was primordial to ask you if I should mention to Ivan that I found out you knew each other from before."
"You're his boyfriend, of course you should tell him something when you find out something like that."
"Don't you think that’s too cheesy?"
She laughs quietly as she crosses the street. There aren't many people wandering about, which makes her feel lighter. "Well, you did it anyway. So I think you really have become a softie, running to tell your partner the latest gossip you've heard, even if it's his own."
"I had to verify from the official source!"
"Fair enough," Vanessa laughs. "Everything okay with you guys?"
She imagines him nodding because it takes him a while to verbalize anything. "Yeah, obviously. I mean, we talked about it a bit. He asked me for some time to share the details."
"Good."
Lovro doesn't say anything for a few seconds before uttering in a low voice, almost a whisper: "Should I not insist?"
"No," she says with a pause, looking for wise words. "Not yet. He has to bring the subject up himself. The best you can do is wait, give him his space to process things. He loves you, Lovro, and he trusts you, but those are subjects that still hurt."
The traffic light on her street turns red and she crosses at the zebra stripes. Some primary school students pass by her side; she thinks of school and sighs with melancholy. She knows Lovro also needs time to assimilate all the emotions taking root in that head of his that is barely learning how to feel.
"I won't insist. Thanks for helping me with this. I was surprised he went to see you—he wasn't upset, was he?"
"No, just curious."
He laughs. "I can imagine. He has a funny face, doesn't he?"
"He does," she agrees.
"It's pretty, too. You should see him when I say no to something he wants. He always makes eyes in a way that... since they are dark, they get engraved in your bra—"
Vanessa interrupts him before he continues. "Okay, lovebird. Get back to your boyfriend."
"Sorry, I got distracted."
"I noticed."
Lovro laughs softly again. "See you soon, Vanessa."
She had already reached her porch when she recognized the silhouette of her brother in the living room through the open curtains of the large window. She sighs, feeling her shoulders tense for a moment before nodding to herself.
"See you very soon."
But before she hangs up, Lovro stops her with a hurried phrase.
"Wait! In the end, I did buy him what you recommended that day. That’s how the subject came up; he asked me how I knew he liked that."
She understood everything then.
"Thanks for that too, Vanessa. I owe you one."
She nods unconsciously, entering her home. "You owe me many."