25. Antonio
Antonio rolls over, eyes still closed, stretching an arm to the right side of the bed.
He frowns, unsure of which feeling is stranger: that no one is beside him, or that he expected someone to be.
Furthermore, once he opens his eyes, the minefield of clothes on his floor comforts him, as do the hums from below.
Antonio flexes his feet, grabs some lounge pants, and swirls some mouthwash. Then he makes his way downstairs to lean against a slim pillar between his living room and kitchen. “I thought you ditched me.”
Alex’s head swings around as she stands in front of his stove holding a spatula. “Did you?”
“Only for a second.” He nods at her. “But I see now it was worth it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You look like you belong there.”
She blinks hard. “In the kitchen?”
Aw, fuck. “No.” Antonio holds up a finger. “No. That is not how I meant it. I was only saying that I didn’t think I’d…enjoy having someone in my space like this. Okay?”
“Oh. Weird way to ask me to move in, but I’ll think about it.”
Alex turns around and slides a pancake off a skillet and onto a plate. Between her joke (at least Antonio thinks she was joking?) and that kind of comment coming out of his mouth in the first place, he’s left feeling a bit off balance. So he decides to change the subject just in case.
“How are you up so early?” he asks.
“Because my circadian rhythm has adjusted to the life I have, not the one I want. Which sucks, considering I’m usually a night owl. Although, it’s really not that early.”
It’s also not what he was getting at, but he supposes requesting a formal evaluation of his performance last night would be a bit much. “If you say so.” Antonio sits on a stool in front of the kitchen island. “I see why my drawer was half-open.” He eyes Alex’s choice of clothing: a pair of leggings and one of his college hoodies.
“Yeah, it wouldn’t close. I think there’s something stuck on the track.”
“Nah, sometimes you just have to kinda grip it with both hands and then,” —he makes a jiggling motion— “ya know?”
“So, that’s where that move came from.” Alex chuckles. “But yeah, apparently I packed everything but a shirt.”
“I’m not seeing the problem,” Antonio says, imagining if she had decided to come downstairs without one.
She shakes her head and turns off the stove before walking over with two plates of fluffy pancakes and eggs.
“And you know, technically, you didn’t ask to wear this. So I’d be well within my rights to ask you to take it off.” He playfully lifts the bottom of the hoodie, but Alex bats him away.
“Not only have I earned the right to wear it, I deserve to keep it, Mr. Moretti.”
“Hm.” Antonio wraps an arm around her waist and searches for her skin, the touch now evoking memories of bliss. “Okay. You can keep it. As a thank you for breakfast…and dessert.”
Alex raises the stretched mouth of the hoodie’s sleeve to her face. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
He smiles sheepishly and waits for her to sit before lifting a scoop of pancakes to his lips.
Despite Antonio being wholly unfamiliar with this kind of morning after, moving around each other feels innate. They eat breakfast. They clean up the mess they made. They lie on the couch, watch TV, and drift back to sleep.
Only Alex is successful with that last part. She makes Antonio’s arm her pillow, and his lap supports her legs. As for him…
Alex looks up. “What’s wrong?”
“Hm?”
“You sighed like six times. And you feel all stiff. Do you want to put something else on?”
The fact that she thinks it’s about what they’re watching makes him feel like shit.
She detaches from him, bones cracking, couch squeaking as she tucks a leg under the opposite thigh. “What is it?”
Antonio’s ears start ringing. “I think I…like you too much, Alex.”
Her mouth opens and closes several times. “Are you joking? What the hell does that even mean?”
It means the afterglow has worn off, and all that remains is the much needed reminder that they’ve been living in an alternate universe. There will be consequences to letting things get too far out of his control, and unlike his father, Antonio isn’t willing to sacrifice this Charlie for any reason.
“I think it’s clear things are heading in a different direction than what we planned,” he tries to summarize.
Her eyes lose a bit of their light. “I haven’t been planning shit. For me, the whole purpose of this was not to plan.”
Antonio sighs and drops his elbows on his knees. “Fine. But tell me you’d be OK with us being indefinite…bubble buddies, or whatever. Honestly.”
“What, like ten years from now? Of course not, but ten days? Ten weeks? I don’t know. Maybe.” Alex’s tone turns dark. “How convenient to save this conversation for right after fucking me though.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t make it seem like I–” He cracks his knuckles and huffs. “I couldn’t have it before, because I…didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?” She laughs, and taps her forehead. “Sorry. That you liked me too much. I forgot already. Silly me.” Her foot wags ferociously.
“I thought I was just doing what you wanted.”
“What I wanted?”
“Yes! I. Don’t. Do.This.” Antonio stands up and waves his hands in circles. “Okay? I don’t do this shit! I told you that! This isn’t re–” His voice gives out on him, so he pauses to breathe.
“Real?” a quiet, shaky voice asks. “Is that what you were gonna say?”
“The only reason you could even open that door was because of who you are. Now I’m stuck wondering if whatever the hell I’m feeling is because you’re Charlie Fox, or because you’re just…you. ”
“Wow.” Alex leaps off the couch and collects her purse.
“H-Hold up. Where are you going?” Antonio follows her as she scours the lower floor, stumbling over her heels.
“Fuck,” she hisses.
“Alex, wait.”
“Wait for what?” she asks grimly. “After how you looked at me, and touched me, and held me, you still don’t fucking know, Antonio Moretti? Fuck you.”
“Alex. Please just calm down, and then I’ll take you home.” He reaches out, but she pulls away from him, and the recoil feels like she’s spouting off acid.
“I don’t even want to be near you right now. I think I’d rather you told me you don’t feel anything. Because how can you look me in my face and tell me you feel something, but it might only be because what, I put you in a fucking genjutsu?”
Antonio feels his pulse and voice elevate. “Will you quit being a smartass for five minutes? Why do you think someone like Donny turned his business over to me, huh? How the hell do you think I just had two million dollars lying around to pay off your debt to Komarov? I was seconds” –he presses his thumb and forefinger together– “from breaking that guy’s arm yesterday and not batting a goddamn eye over it. But believe me, I’ve done worse, Alex. I’ve put people outta business. But I’ve also put them in the hospital. So honestly? It doesn’t matter how I feel. Your happy ending isn’t with someone like me, okay? Whatever it is you see in me isn’t…”
“Real, huh?” Alex whispers. “God, I can’t win, can I?” She shakes her head and tosses her bag on her back.
Antonio has experienced having an actual hole in his chest from a stab wound. That was nothing compared to what hearing those words just did. But he has to remember how and why this all started.
Alex walks to the door, standing with her fingers on the handle for a few moments. Then she exits without saying anything else.