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Leaning back against the wall, Vincenzo’s ears were still ringing, looking down at his dressed down outfit. His jacket was long gone, but he realized he had never taken off his lazily done tie. With his thumb, he pulled the center of it up, loosening the handsome knot, and then separated the two ends of the tie with both hands. The motion of it had been irritating him while the shadows hit him, swinging the red fabric on his shirt lightly, but not light enough for him to ignore it.
But he still wasn’t satisfied. The buttons of his collar had been squeezing on the bottom of his neck under the pressure, and the linen fabric of his shirt had that feeling like paper rubbing on his skin. Really, he was just sick of his skin itself. He undid a few more of the top buttons on his shirt to feel more comfortable, and that was also when he realized he had no shoes to take off.
He had taken them off as soon as he walked into the suite. Jesus Christ, I just beat up a guy in pink and white socks, he thought and placed his fingertips on his temples. They would have just been a white match if it weren’t for Ren who wanted to wear the same of everything from shirts to their male lingerie.
I beat myself up in pink and white socks, he chuckled, but the laughter faded out to a sunken feeling as he remembered what he had done. He licked his lips, and looked down at the conversion between the wall and the floor. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadowy figure nearby; a tall, thin man, who’s second leg he couldn’t quite make out clearly.
He hadn’t really thought about who it could be, but instead just turned for clarity. That was when it all made sense.
Agastaya, facing Vincenzo’s direction, appeared to watch him with his knowing, dark eyes. He had been Vincenzo’s friend for some time, but they were currently in one of their “off” periods, so he didn’t really want to see the guy at that time. He wanted to see him even less in this moment specifically, at a low point. Enzo wondered how the man might have been perceiving him; his outfit a third of the way undone, bruised purple.
It was the same mess he would help clean up during spring, sometimes fall, maybe winter, but few summers. At least not this summer. It tended to be the period where they seemed to forget they were friends, like it wasn’t worth keeping in touch when everyone went home in June.
To Vincenzo, it wasn’t. Honestly, Agastaya made his skin crawl sometimes. He hated his condescending look of concern, his awkwardly-lengthed hair, the humility of his skinny frame. He looked like he had the knowledge of a hundred years, but you could hardly tell because he bathed in a fountain of youth that made his bold brown skin smooth. He hated the memories that he could not erase. But worse, he dreaded that they had to speak again.
”Yes, my summer was great, so glad yours was too.” The man approached, and Vincenzo sighed. Of course that was his opening line, why would he be any less obnoxious than usual?
*”What the hell are you doing?” He asked rudely.
“What does it look like, Staya?” He huffed, stung by the man’s insensitivity in asking that. Did he not remember how often this used to happen? How it still does? If the man wanted to rekindle their friendship, he was doing one hell of a job. He should have known by now that Vincenzo liked to hurt himself when he knew he fcked up, when he felt everyone staring and he began to be afraid of himself, too. Agastaya’s ignorant comments felt like knives tracing over his injuries. Granted, Vincenzo may have deserved it. He never asked Agastaya about his cancer, even though he sometimes worried that it would come back.
“You know the answer to your question,” Enzo continued, his voice low. He wanted to tell the man to leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He had done enough for today.
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@eunoia Oggy
@Madilfill bestie mentioned