Chapter 1 #17
He stands up. "They have a projector. A fucking projector in this house. This is an elite level Airbnb." He points to the hallway. "Go puke. Go pee. Go cry. Whatever you need to do, get it done. Because in ten minutes? We're pressing play."
I drop my head into my hands. "We're so fucked."
I survive the shower. My body is still screaming. My soul has already left.
But I make it back to the bed, clean-ish, damp hair, water bottle in one hand. I sit down with my back to the wall, letting my spine settle into the cold concrete.
Then Rava comes over. He just drops between my legs, head right on my chest. He lets out a soft exhale against my shirt and immediately goes still.
And that's it. Except…fuck. It's here again. Emotion. Love. Real, fucking aching. This little piece of shit can't stop making me feel things. I curse under my breath and tilt my head back against the wall, trying to ignore it.
His hair keeps falling into his eyes, so I reach up and gently push it back. Keep one hand there, resting on the side of his head.
My other hand reaches for his glasses on the nightstand. I hand them down to him. "Here." Rava slides them on without moving from my chest. "Thanks," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
"Can I join the hangover cuddle puddle?" Lorenzo asks.
I don't even look at him. "Not a chance."
"I'd take you," Noah says to Lorenzo.
"But I'm busy presenting the absolute unraveling of our collective dignity." He holds up his phone, then sighs. Palm to forehead. Full-on funeral director mode.
"Gentlemen…it's time."
The projector clicks.
First image:
Me and Rava, face to face, tongues touching, eyes locked like we're starring in the horniest indie romance of the decade.
We're laughing. We look fucking good. Too good.
Noah turns around. "Tell me that's not a fucking Spotify album cover!
" Lorenzo is half-melted on the floor. "That's actually kind of…
iconic. It's art. I hope I have a photo like this in here. "
"Can we not thirst over this and just continue, please?" Rava says. I'm staring. There's absolutely no way I'm jerking off to that photo at some point.
Zero chance.
"Agreed," I mutter. "But also…send me that. For science."
The next photo hits the wall.
The fuck?! It's me on some sketchy mattress, leg stretched, some guy tattooing the back of my calf like it's fucking Tuesday and we're not completely hammered.
I look halfway between euphoria and full mental collapse. Everyone leans in. I twist around, lift the leg of my sweatpants. I have…a small, perfectly outlined…something.
I stare.
Oh God. Noah is squinting at the screen, trying to crack a code. "I can't tell if that's a condom wrapper or a piece of ravioli." I look up. We all look at each other. Instant panic. "It's a condom wrapper," I blurt. "It's definitely a condom wrapper. Why would I get ravioli tattooed on me?!"
Lorenzo turns and stares at Noah, face unreadable. Noah starts wheezing.
"You two are the worst," I snap. "Go fuck yourselves. Both of you. I'm getting it removed. No big deal." I drop my pant leg.
"Next photo, let's go. I'm already dead inside."
The photo hits the wall, and the room explodes again. Noah, mid push-up. Lorenzo, fully perched on his back, grinning. And in his hand? A small, very real, very alive-looking mouse. I blink. "What the actual—"
But Lorenzo gasps. Loud. "THAT'S GIUSEPPE.
" He sits up straighter like he's just recognized a long-lost lover.
"I found him before I got completely wasted!
He was just in the hallway, like…vibing.
I took him in. We bonded." He clutches his chest. "I don't know what happened to him after that. I blacked out."
"Damn. The alcohol gave me strength. You think I could do push-ups with your entire body on my back while you held a rodent? Sober? Never."
Rava is wheezing into my shoulder.
I can feel his body shaking from how hard he's laughing. I love that sound. I'm just staring at the mouse.
"…We need to find Giuseppe." Lorenzo adds while nodding. Noah nods. "He lives on. In our hearts. And possibly the pantry."
I cover my face. "Next photo before this turns into a eulogy." Next slide.
Oh, fuck me sideways.
It's me and Rava. Tiny-ass bathroom. I'm standing, laughing like a maniac, one hand reaching out toward the camera, clearly trying to hide it.
Rava's on his knees. Head tilted up. Glasses on. Both hands on my thighs. The look on his face? Ready and starving. It is, without question, a photo taken 0.3 seconds before he goes down on me.
That motherfucker can't stay away from my dick for literally one night. Or maybe I can't stay away from his mouth. I literally don't know. I stare at the screen.
"YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
Lorenzo absolutely screams, nearly knocking over his coffee. Noah is choking. Hard. On what? Who knows. Rava lets out a noise I can't even describe, dives into my chest like he's trying to disappear into another dimension. Face fully buried. Ears red. Entire body stiff as hell.
I'm processing. Slowly. "That…" I say, blinking at the photo. "That is art you fuckers, don't laugh."
"Gio—" Noah gasps, tears forming. "Your fucking face in it. You look like you're about to pitch a reality show called Blowjobs & Betrayal."
"I was laughing," I defend. "I was trying to stop the photo."
"You failed," Lorenzo yells. "And I've never been happier." This photo is fire.
The lighting is perfect.
The timing is suspiciously perfect.
The expressions are filthy.
It looks like a high-budget screenshot from the sexiest film of the decade. "Send me that," I say, pointing. "I'm gonna make it a poster. Right on my door. Make sure everyone knows who the fuck I am."
Next slide.
And it's me, mid-arm-wrestle with a girl that looks like she could throw me through a brick wall and then sue me for bleeding on her boots.
Braids down her back. Tank top. Arms like a Greek statue.
She's gritting her teeth, and I'm struggling.
Veins out. Face red. Sweat forming. Pure battle.
The second I see it, something clicks. "OH MY FUCKING GOD—I REMEMBER THAT BITCH.
" Everyone jumps. "I don't know what she did, but I remember her face. That evil, snake-ass face."
Rava is wheezing, shaking in my arms again. "You almost fought her, dude. You challenged her to a drinking contest after she beat you at arm wrestling."
I blink. Processing. "I lost?"
"No," he laughs harder. "You won. You made her throw up like Exorcist-style. It was kind of…impressive?" I grin, proud. "I bet it fucking was." I glance down at Rava, smirking. "That's probably why we ended up in the bathroom. You were rewarding me."
Lorenzo groans from the floor. "Can you not—I'm trying to heal. You two are the reason I crave human touch." Noah is sipping his coffee. "I genuinely can't decide if I'd rather be Gio or Rava right now."
Lorenzo shrugs.
"Be the lube. That way you get to touch both."
Noah's mouth falls open.
Just pure stunned expression.
Rava whips his head up like he just got struck by lightning. "DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?! Are you still drunk?!"
I press my hand to his forehead, calmly, and push him back down onto my chest. "Relax. It's just Lorenzo."
We see more photos, each one worse than the other:
-Rava dancing tango with Lorenzo. Shirtless.
-Noah passed out inside a trash bin.
-Me shaving some random guy's eyebrow in the hallway with a hotel razor.
-Rava lying on a poker table, sunglasses on, eating Pringles straight from a random plate.
-Lorenzo giving a motivational speech to a group of…ducks.
-Me and Rava in the back of a random car, he's kissing my neck, I'm giving Lorenzo my middle finger.
-Noah carrying Lorenzo bridal-style through a fountain. Both soaked.
-Rava holding a churro in his mouth while I light a sparkler.
Damn.
-Lorenzo flossing with the string of a balloon.
-All four of us under the dining table. Just lying there. Dead.
I'm pretty sure one of those photos is gonna end up in court someday, and honestly, fair.
13) Worth Staring At
Gio
I'm waiting for Rava to come over. Using my key. It's just a key, right? A piece of metal. I keep looking at the door. Then my own key on the table. Then the door again. Then the key.
Did I do well? I don't know. Feels good. What's the worst that could happen? He robs me? Yeah, right.
I've seen this man take ten minutes to decide which biscuit to choose with his coffee because he doesn't want the other biscuits to feel "left out".
He's not robbing shit. He doesn't look like the type anyway. He's too polite. He still asks if he can use my bathroom. I swear he thinks the sink is gonna file a complaint or something.
I've met thieves.
Hell, I've been a thief.
Rava has main-character anxiety, not felony energy. Still. It's a lot. A key means…
"Come in even if I'm not ready."
"Come in even if I'm asleep."
"Come in and see the mess I didn't have time to hide."
It means you're allowed to see the unedited version. And I don't really do that. The unedited version of me usually tells everyone to fuck off. I could still take it back. Say it was a joke. Say I gave it to him just in case of emergency.
Say, "Hey, Weston, actually, can I have that key back, I remembered I like being unavailable."
I'm not gonna lie, there's still that part of me screaming I'm being too much. But that part has been screaming since the first night I kissed him and didn't manage to stop.
"Are you sure I can just…walk in?"
"Yes, Rava. It's my house, not the Vatican."
He makes it sound like he's planning a heist. I hear the key in the lock. He takes the stairs way too fast, I can hear his footsteps rushing up. I smile a little. Then the door flies open.
He just throws it wide like he wants to scare me, even though I already heard him coming upstairs.