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May loves vacations. On vacation, you can be anyone you want. The idyllic backdrop of a perfect vacation makes way for May to be a completely new version of herself— a hilariously off-key singer bobbing and weaving amongst the throngs of people in a street party, a self proclaimed photographer aiming her phone at sprawls of blooming flowers and light-strung balconies. She switches her hair up more frequently on vacation too, letting the salty sea spray make her natural curls a little unruly, curling up around her ears and looping in loose ringlets along her hairline.
Every morning and evening, she sits on the balcony of her room and records a little video diary, nothing long, describing her plans and recounting her days. May sends them to her mother, a creative spin on her insistent morning check-ins, and of course to Harry, who pretends not to care too much but always responds within five minutes of her sending the message. It's nice to have something that brings them all together like this, May thinks. The past year had been hard enough and grief had a cruel way of fracturing their relationships with each other, pushing them apart. May was glad to be back on track, training to be a nurse, Harry a probie, and her mother finally trying her talented hand at being a detective. Things finally felt good again.
Well, almost.
Currently, a miserable rainstorm has appeared to have settled and made its home directly above the hole-in-the-wall bar, its bathroom staging an impromptu tug of war contest with May for her sandal. Huffing slightly, she hops inelegantly back into the white straps of her shoe, silently muttering a prayer of thanks that she didn't accidentally make contact with the array of unidentified substances coating the floor. May presses the heavy bathroom door open and turns in the direction of the bar, surveying the mass of bodies pressed together, swaying and turning in time to the music. The bass thrums steadily through the building and neon lights adorn the walls, haloing the crowd in bright yellows, blues and pinks.
Even without the uninvited guest of the storm, May supposes she still would've chosen to come here for her last night before leaving to go home. It seemed only right to finally submit to the tourist traps that lined the coastline.
All week long, May spent her time lounging comfortably on soft white sand, cycling along bicycle paths lined with beautiful flowers and dipping her toe into as many local food spots as she could. The market stalls became her favorite place to be in the mornings, quieter without the presence of as many excited tourists, making it easier for her to peruse the mounds of fresh fruit and neat rows of pastries, and to gape at hand woven souvenirs and homemade jewellery pieces glinting in the early morning sun.
Tonight though, it only seemed right to sip on some novelty cocktails and sway in time to whatever song was booming over the crowds. The bar is a cheesy holiday magazine spot, taking its rightful place in the resort town that May found herself exploring this past week — It had everything you would expect. A sea of Hawaiian shirts, mock palm trees in the corners and disconcertingly pricey drinks with decorative spears of tropical fruit and comically large wedges of pineapple on every glass. Perfect, May thinks to herself, scouring the dwindling muddle of people at the bar side. And then she spots him.
He's sitting in the corner of the bar, swinging absentmindedly on his bar stool and nervously nursing a dubiously coloured cocktail, swirling the tiny pink umbrella within it in a weak attempt to somehow make it look more appealing. He looks about May's age, maybe a little older but not by much, appearing tall even whilst sat. His hair is a brown-black, curls sitting pristinely atop his forehead, his warm brown skin slightly flushed from the growing heat inside the building. Adorably, his eyebrows furrow at his poor attempt to spruce up the sad drink sat sweating on the counter top in front of him, his thumb sweeping through the condensation forlornly.
With the evening slowly transitioning into the night, the bar begins to get louder, party goers hooting with laughter and slamming their hands and drinks on to the counter . The music pulses steadily through the room, though by now, most melodies are lost in the wave of people's off-key shout-singing and laughing. The storm seems to have corralled most people into this particular bar, and the constant flow of drinks has the crowd feeling jovial and looser.
But the brown haired man sitting quietly on his bar stool and his somewhat awkwardness makes him stand out from everyone else around him. In fact, almost everything about him screams that he walked into the wrong bar by accident and just decided it wasn't worth escaping. He's also now unusually engrossed in his phone, scrolling incessantly as if maybe it could magically transport him elsewhere if he scrolls hard enough.
Bingo, May decides triumphantly.
She pushes an unruly curl behind her ear and sets off in strides towards him. As she gets closer, his eyes do not waver from his phone screen, finger dragging the screen slower now in concentration. May catches a glimpse of a boldened title 'TOP 10 NEW VACANT APARTMENT LISTINGS - SELLING LA THE DREAM.'
He's…reading about apartment listings. At a bar.
May slides onto the bar stool next to him and turns to face him expectantly.
"Hey, you."
He slowly raises his gaze, revealing deep brown eyes that stare quizically at her.
"Hey?"
"Do you come here often?" May asks, sliding slightly closer, propping her head on her fist. The man studies her intently for a moment, clearly cycling through various responses before landing on a resounding, "No, I don't live here actually." May opens her mouth to respond but before she can get a word out, the man continues,
"Even if I did, which I do not, I have a cat. Very clingy. He's very particular about his care. Makes it a little difficult to get out much aside from work."
May frowns, thrown a little by the response, but recovers quickly.
"I'm so sorry. Dealing with that, on top of coping with a death must be hard."
"A death?" the man replies, squinting in confusion. May waves a vague hand at his attire, varying shades of grey, comically devoid of any colour besides his striking eyes.
"So you're not here for a funeral?"
His mouth morphs into an unimpressed pout. "I am not. No."
"Then what brings you to this paradise? Paradise being the town obviously. Not here," May says.
"My friend." he replies, giving up on reading his phone and resuming his sad attempt at rejuvinating his equally sad cocktail.
"Oh? They live here or something?" May supposes, catching a quick glance at the murky liquid. The man's mundane stirring was unfortunately just making it look more unappetising, making May grimace internally.
"Nope. She dragged me here," he rectifies. "For vacation." The man frames the last word in disdainful air quotes and drags it out with cheery sarcasm, which May valiantly chooses to ignore.
"No way! I mean, just think of your cat. Alone and definitely not enjoying a vacation which I'm sure was suggested to you with the intent of fun and enjoyment. Some friend."
He continues to swirl the cocktail umbrella around his glass, less with the intention of actually drinking it and more for just something to do. "Some friend indeed. I don't know how I manage." he replies wistfully. His answers refuse to give May much leeway, but she powers on with no intention of giving up on what is clearly a dwindling conversation.
"So, what's your friend like? She smart? Hot?"
"Short," he begins, still not looking at May. "Talkative. Like really talkative, she could talk for the whole of LA about any topic ever. Has alright music taste,"
"Alright?"
"Subpar at best. Sobs at every Disney movie ever, is superstitious about the order in which you put on socks and shoes. For the record, it's sock, sock, shoe, shoe. She has a deep obsession with fashion that she refuses to admit to, despite only ever logging onto Twitter once a year to rate the Met Gala outfits, and has a mild latte addiction. Oh, and what else? She's weirdly into shitty bars that serve concerningly coloured drinks. The Yelp Reviews about this place are something from a nightmare."
May huffs and crosses her arms indignantly, rolling her eyes. "Are you serious?"
"Well," the man counters, pretending to mull her question over, "I didn't actually read any of the Yelp reviews, but yes, May, you do have a mild, maybe borderline scary, latte addiction. It's okay to admit."
"Ravi!" chides May, breaking character and swatting him on the bicep. "Fuck you, you're not helping!"
He rubs his arm, fighting to keep in his laugh. "First of all, it's cute that you think this is 'helping'. Second, help me with what exactly?"
"I thought we agreed it's finally time for you to get back out there? You were literally just complaining about how it's been 'soo long'?" May replies, widening her eyes with emphasis. "And honestly, if you're gonna start off with your codependency with your weird cat, we've got a lot of work to do"
Ravi whips his head to face her, his expression mildly amused. "Marzipan Panikkar is not weird, he's a very distinguished little guy. Don't talk about my son that way."
"You named your 'son' Marzipan. Like, with a straight face."
"It encapsulates his character. He's sweet," Ravi insists, fully turning his body to face May. "You just don't understand his vibe."
"He doesn't even like being petted. What normal cat do you know that doesn't like being petted?"
"He does like being petted," Ravi says, "You just approach petting him with this glint in your eyes."
May scoffs defensively, brilliantly keeping her smile at bay, determined not to lose this little argument. "No I don't. I do not"
"May, you approach everything with that glint in your eyes," Ravi replies, levelling her with a stare of equal smugness and something like adoration at her stubborn expression. Before May can explore what that look even begins to mean, the bartender approaches in a frenzy, setting down a fruity, decidedly more pleasant looking cocktail at her hands. They both silently notice the difference in the drinks, and May takes an exaggerated sip, smiling around her straw when Ravi catches on to her jibe and subsequently rolls his eyes in fond annoyance.
"See? There's that glint." he says, something soft in the observation, almost awe in what would otherwise be a testy remark. May files it away for later and takes the comfortable silence between them as opportunity to really look at Ravi, who has gone back to aimlessly scrolling through apartment listings.
Ravi Panikkar is a layered and interesting person, as May has come to find out. In the field, he is a complete study in control— tall, broad-shouldered and confident assisting patients from the engine over to the emergency room, kindly comforting them before seamlessly switching to a competent firefighter at the sound of Chimney's instructions. May had the enjoyment of witnessing it firsthand, her training often resulting in friendly run ins with the 118 most days. She particularly had a soft spot for the slower days, the 118 lingering for a little longer than usual meant she and Ravi could get lost in conversation on the side, away from the rest of the hustle and bustle. It was then that she could finally reach the strangely silly and sweet individual that is Ravi, adorably chatty over a coffee and armed with countless pictures of his cat from every angle imaginable.
"By the way, this cocktail is probably the best thing I've had this week, so those Yelp reviews must be wrong. Also, notably not a latte. Look who's moving up in the world," May says, finishing the last drabs of her drink and sliding closer and turning, making Ravi's knees knock with hers. He smiles but doesn't look up, his upper body facing the bar and his legs somewhat facing May, his fake disinterest exposed immediately.
She looks at him again and smiles quietly to herself— as much as Ravi was pretending to be put out, he secretly loves the little side quests they had been going on throughout the week. May likes how he pretends not to beeline for the bar because he knows the weird and wonderful drinks will be the first thing she wants to check out, and how he stresses over how much eye contact is good eye contact with all the bartenders, cutely flustered every time one dotes around nearby. Truthfully, May would admit that she likes everything about Ravi, finding herself in his orbit, wanting their constant closeness.
"So," May starts, clapping her hands. "Let's take it from the top—I'll be the hot stranger at the bar, and you just be Prince Charming, but like, without all the cat stuff"
"You started off with 'hey you', I really don't think that's the epitome of hotness."
Ignoring Ravi's comment, May spins on her stool, her back to him, and flips her hair over her shoulders before flirtatiously spinning back. "Did it hurt…when you fell from heaven?"
Ravi shakes his head in disbelief and laughs, "You literally couldn't have picked anything worse to say, your so-called help is awful."
May slaps both palms onto the counter dramatically and leans in, "So, what do you say we get out of here?"
"You're awful at this, please stop."
"I just have to disagree. My lines are a hit with all the guys and girls, and it definitely helps that I'm gorgeous from multiple angles," May says, getting up from her stool.
Ravi stands, still laughing to himself. He leaves a couple of cash notes next to their drinks and falls into step next to May.
"None of that changes the fact that you're a little weird," he replies, looping an arm around May's shoulders and leading them out into the night. The rain was still persistent, a continuous shower now replacing the violent downpour from earlier.
"You still love me though," May points out, mock defensively, poking Ravi in the side with the hand not curled around his waist. He smiles and half shrugs, "Yeah I know."
"I love you right back. Just for the record."
"I know that too. Just for the record."
Making some sort of makeshift umbrella over May's head with his free arm, Ravi leads them over to a precarious looking bus shelter, hoping for even just a slight reprieve from the poor weather while they wait to flag a taxi down.
"I really enjoyed this trip, you know. This was a good idea," May says, leaning into him. A flickering street lamp illuminates a spotlight over the shelter, making the rainfall in front of them glimmer.
"Best trip yet," Ravi replies, a sincerity in his voice that wasn't there before. "You know what I just realised though?"
"That those cocktails were actually crazy overpriced? I'm surprised you didn't say anything sooner."
Ravi rolls his eyes and continues, "I was going to say, I realised we didn't do an entry for your video diary thing." May turns her head to look up at him with a laugh, only to see a somewhat serious expression cross Ravi's face.
"Wait," she asks, smile slipping into fondness, "You're serious? I didn't think you actually cared about doing those with me." Ravi shrugs and says, "They're important to you, and they make you happy. Why wouldn't I care?"
May fights an incoming grin and hums. She thinks back to the entries she had made that week, sat at the rickety table on their balcony as Ravi slept, hidden in the background. Surprisingly, it wasn't the videos that she made in the early mornings, steaming mug of coffee in hand, that made her smile the most. It was the silly ones, the ones she almost selfishly wanted to keep for herself. The ones where Ravi is stood, sleepy with rumpled hair, in the back of the shot, nodding and thumbs up-ing stupidly at May, the ones where he's pulling faces behind the camera to distract her and the ones where he pops into frame and interjects, going off on a tangent and gesticulating animatedly.
Her favourite is one that she will probably never admit to anyone - she had been mid-sentence when Ravi made an off-handed remark off camera which completely set her off into an uncontrollable bout of laughter, so much so that she never finished recounting her day. May thinks of the video now, Ravi's comment long gone from her mind, but the rush of warm, fond happiness returning all the same.
"Let's do one now," Ravi decides, snapping May back into the present.
"This is horrible lighting."
Ignoring May's weak protest, Ravi pulls out his phone and holds it landscape, capturing his and May's face in the little rectangle, squinting at the rain occasionally blown into their eyes. He fumbles with the record button, finger sliding over his damp phone screen.
"Okay wait, how about a photo?" May suggests, "We can do the diary thing when we get back, this is just—this can just be for us?"
Ravi blinks at her and smiles then, really smiles, the apples of his cheeks squishing his eyes in glee. He pinches May's side to make her giggle and rapidly takes a series of pictures before she can compose herself again.
"That's so unfair! I was nowhere near ready!" May scolds, laughing at him and attempting to wrestle the phone from him. Ravi dodges her swatting and deliberately holds his arm far out of reach, grinning cheekily at his antics.
"It's just like you said—something just for us. You look perfect in it, I love it."
May narrows her eyes disbelievingly, "That is so far from perfect, are you kidding?"
Ravi shakes his head, still smiling, "Alright, perfect for me then. I'm not deleting it, so don't even try." May narrows her eyes even further, staring him down, but Ravi doesn't falter, just simply stares right back at her. Their stares soften and the both of them fall into a silence, laced with something warm, something that May still can't quite figure out, butterflies that weren’t there before fluttering around in her stomach. She decides to throw caution to the wind, shuffling closer and leaning fully into Ravi, reaching up to hold the hand wrapped around her shoulder.
"Next year, I'm picking where we go. Somewhere cold," Ravi says, properly lacing their fingers together and propping his chin on her head, staring out at the rain again. The quiet tension surrounding them melted away, the line between friends and something a little more blurring a little. A part of May distantly wanted to erase that line completely, somehow sure that Ravi felt the same. Instead, she snuggled impossibly closer and focused on the repetitive putter of the drizzle around them.
"Okay," May agrees, grinning. "Somewhere cold, it is."