Luca buys her flowers, yellow mums and pink snapdragon flowers. He isn’t sure if she'd like them any but they’re pretty, he guesses. Vibrant, bright colors. The sort of stuff she usually liked.

Pressing his lips into a grim line, Luca stares at the flowers wrapped in a clear floral sleeve. He really isn’t too sure anymore.

It'd been an impulsive decision to go to a flower shop, a choice pushed forward by the persistent mood that has been hanging over him for the past week, a mood that's been exacerbated by the meeting with Junho last Saturday. 

For moments out of the day, like it’s a regular Monday in his life, he'd been able to forget it, ignore it, disconnect entirely from it. He'd been able to focus on school work, quietly getting through the day by reading on his breaks and ignoring the world with a good pair of headphones.

Issue is, ignoring the world means everything else, namely his own problems, are that much bigger. By the end of the day, his methods are flagging in effectiveness and, much to his ever burgeoning distress, the moment he steps out of his school to cross the sixteen minute walk to his house, Luca doesn’t have any other choice but to sit in his thoughts and contemplate where the hell he's gone wrong.

Slowly, he’s coming to realize that, in the first place, he's never really done much right to begin with.

Clearly, he’s not a good brother. He’s barely decent as a person. As much as Luca tries to be better, he fails when it’s most crucial. How else to look at the way he’s failed his sister?

The thought is a constant in his mind, a fixation that makes him increasingly nauseated—he can’t leave it alone. Needs to do something.

So, when he gets home, he hops into his oft ignored car and sets up his GPS for the closest flower shop.

Now, after that specific journey is over, Luca doesn’t know what the hell to do next. Does he bring it to her grave? Does he tell his brother or father about it? They’re already planning to see her this Sunday, so what is the point in prematurely going?

When it’s more for his benefit than anyone else’s. When the intention is so selfish in nature.

Luca ends up going back home after a quick trip to the grocery store for ingredients for tonight's dinner—escarole and bean soup, one of his personal favorites—and finds that to be the best choice to make. He places the flowers on his desk, fixes up his bedroom, and gets to work on making dinner.

The evening passes by quietly. Nonna watches television, Rico gets in from the outdoors by six, and Pino never comes home. They eat dinner heartily, with most of the conversation carried by Rico and their grandmother. Rico is desperate to learn more Italian phrases and she’s desperate to hear about his schooling. In the end, they don’t say anything of much value to each other, but they both are in good moods that evening.

When eleven rolls around, Rico goes off to bed, and Nonna falls asleep watching a movie. Luca, upon seeing this, places a blanket around her and lifts her body carefully and settles her in the guest room. She doesn’t so much as stir, fast asleep.

Luca quietly leaves the room, pacing briefly in the hallway before deciding just to get ready for bed. He takes a shower, brushes his teeth, towels off, gets dressed and opens the door of his room—

He stills upon seeing the sight of the flowers on his desk.

And then he’s in motion again.

Luca grabs the flowers, his jacket, his car keys and shoes, and after, without feeling present in his body, he leaves.

. . .

St. Mary Catholic Cemetery closes, everyday, at six—something he knew before coming. So why the hell did he come?

He's been parked in the lot with that question bouncing through his skull for the past thirty minutes. As if it can answer him, his eyes are glued to the flowers in his grip, noting grimly that they’re looking rather wilted. Probably from the weight of his glare.

With a long sigh, Luca shuts off his car completely and lets himself sit in the silence, bringing his head down on the steering wheel. His car is the only one in the parking lot and for a moment, the thought brings him some lucidity.

The cemetery is closed. He can bring the flowers after school tomorrow, or, maybe a better idea, he can leave them in her bedroom. He doesn’t even have to come back to the cemetery that way. Well, until Sunday, with his family—but he won’t be alone.

And for some utterly bizarre reason, that’s important to Luca.

It seems an impossible task to ask him to confront his sister's memory when it still feels as if he lost her yesterday. It’s too much to ask of a coward.

Deciding that this is all ludicrous of him, Luca straightens his spine, wipes at his tired, dry eyes, and turns the key, listening to his car revs to life. That’s about when he sees another car pull in, a strangely familiar car that he feels as if he's been seeing a lot of lately.

A mint-green mini-cooper—definitely not something you see just anywhere.

Luca squints at it, and then releases a spirited curse as the car parks and out steps Junho Baek himself. For a moment, Luca is thrown off by his appearance—is he donning a pizzeria uniform? Him?—but then he focuses on that unmistakable face and wonders instead how the hell he manages to pull off such an unappealing uniform, looking as elegant as ever.

Junho glances over casually, and then jumps, hand flying to his heart as his jaw drops and his eyes widen.

Gritting his teeth and further squishing the flowers, Luca pops his car door open and steps out, leaving his car still running.

Junho recovers quickly, schooling his features into a coy look, which Luca is beginning to suspect is his resting face.

"Fancy meeting you here," he says with great dignity.

"What are you doing here?"

Junho looks momentarily lost, losing all pretense. "I... I-I could ask you the same."

Luca lifts his hand holding the flowers. "At least I brought something."

Junho eyes the flowers with mute surprise. "I just got off work, okay. I sort of just came here without thinking, didn't have time..."

That much is obvious from his appearance. "Papa Julio's?" Luca wrinkles his nose. "You certainly smell like a pizzeria that'd be called that."

Despite the dark of the night, Junho's responding blush is only all too easy to spot as it climbs up his neck and flushes his cheeks to the point that sweat begins to bead off his skin. It doesn’t help that Pennsylvania is pretty humid this time of night, even with the chill in the air.

"I happen to like pizza," Junho retorts, hands going to his hips, drawing Luca's gaze down for a brief second before he forces his gaze back up.

Again, it disturbs him how magnetic Junho's every movement is.

"You mean, garbage, right?" Luca says without thinking, his attention distracted by the finger Junho is using to tap his hip.

"Pizza isn't garbage!"

"It's pretty shit as far as food goes."

Junho scoffs loudly. "And why the hell would you think that? It's one of the best things out there!"

"Well, I'm just saying, the world has a lot better food to offer than melted cheese on sauced bread."

"Oh my God, you're being ridiculous."

"Oh my God, I'm being sensible," Luca mockingly shoots back.

Junho glares. "Okay, you know what? Agree to disagree because I can't believe we're arguing about pizza at twelve thirty midnight, and for god's sake, in front of the gates of a cemetery that we're both clearly dumb enough to visit at night!"

"Ditto."

At that, Junho bursts into laughter, but it’s a frenzied, hysterical sound. "Ditto? Ditto?"

"What else am I supposed to say?"

His laughter cuts off abruptly as he focuses on Luca with renewed interest. "Give me your phone number."

Luca edges back warily, hand reaching out for his car door. "Why the fuck should I?"

"Call it," Junho begins, contemplating his words, "a sense of duty. Mine to you. Sort of like, I'm older so I have to take care of you, or something."

That has the effect of making Luca incredibly uncomfortable. "I can take care of myself just fine."

Junho instantly becomes flustered. "N-no, I m-mean, not that you can't already take care of yourself. Just that, well... just that, it's a Korean thing, I guess. Hyungs and dongsaeng."

Luca fixes him with a flat stare. "I don't know what either of those things are."

"Of course you don't," Junho grumbles, appearing deeply troubled. "It means older brother and younger sibling, but culturally it can apply to relationships with non-relatives."

As the information sinks in, Luca can’t help but wrinkle his nose. "You're trying to make me into a little brother? Dude." 

That’s just weird.

"It's not really that," Luca says, sounding equal parts desperate and exasperated.

"Then what is it?"

"It's—" Junho cuts himself off, tossing his hands up in his air. "Just give me your phone number already! I just want to get to know you, you fucking dumbass!"

Luca stares at him for a long moment, mulling over the decision as long as he damn well pleases. Watching Junho get antsy as he waits is just a bonus, really, as he decides whether or not he can stomach giving Junho direct contact to him like that.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to get to know me? You shouldn't have much of a reason to, right? By now, you know what kind of person I am, so why bother at all?"

Junho's response is instantaneous, direct, and for a moment, leaves Luca stunned into silence.

"Ciana told me about you. She made you out to be some kind of dream boat anytime you’re brought up, which was pretty often all things considered. She said you were earnest and kind, that you'd grown up shy and hadn't been able to get past it. She said that I would like you a long time ago too, and well, she's never been wrong about me yet—or, ever, really," he finishes weakly before choking and adding, "I-I don't mean like as in like-like, okay? I mean, like, friendship, ya know?"

It’s that last line that shakes Luca from his stupor. He cracks a smile. "And here I thought we shared a moment."

Junho sputters. "W-we—we didn't, not really! I-I mean, you're straight, right? And while I might be gay, you're not exactly my type."

Two things, Luca takes from that. First, an odd sense of relief as he hears Junho admit his sexuality so openly, and second, a surprising surge of indignation at the latter part of the statement.

So then, what is that whole stupid moment business? Just jokes? This is why he fucking hates flirting, it’s so damn confusing, he doesn’t know how to make heads or tails of the damn thing.

Luca crosses his arms, careful not to squish the flowers any further. "And how do you know I'm not gay myself?"

Junho falters, his eyes widening. "Are you?"

"I don't really know," Luca admits behind a gruff cough. He shifts his feet and scuffs his shoe against the asphalt. "I..."

"You?"

God, why is he admitting this shit so freely to Junho fucking Baek, of all people? 

Well, maybe because Junho, sans his own damn relatives, is the only person in a long while who gets beyond his gruff exterior and mannerisms. In fact, Luca realizes, Junho doesn’t look the least bit intimidated by him, appearing, by all accounts, interested in him.

"I don't have experience," he says finally, the information slipping out his mouth before he can clamp his teeth shut. Now it’s his turn to blush and sweat in equal spades.

"We can test it!" Junho blurts and then sucks in a breath, as if surprised by himself.

"What the hell that's supposed to mean?" Luca growls, already having too good of an idea of what the hell that is supposed to mean.

"I mean," Junho says quietly, taking a step closer, "you could touch me and we'll see if that—"

Luca's hands go for Junho's hips, feeling the unlikely sturdiness of his narrow waist as he pulls him closer, the flowers crinkling loudly in their package. Tip to tip, their noses touch, Junho's breath misting over Luca's cheek as he glances away from his gaze and instead towards where their bodies meet.

Something about the sight makes his skin begin to tingle, and he forces himself to swallow, nervous now.

Junho's hands come down on Luca's ass, eliciting a low guttural sound out of him that neither of them expects. Yet Junho doesn’t move away or lift his hands. Rather, he squeezes his palms and rolls his hips, grinding, sending a rush of warmth down Luca's spine, and a ball of heat begins to pool in his gut.

He’s feeling a bit light-headed now.

Their gazes connect. Junho leans in, Luca leans in—

"I'm not feeling it," Luca lies quickly, and forces his nose to wrinkle as he pulls his face away and drops his hands. "You smell too much like pizza."

"Guess that means you're either a straight dude, ace, or I'm just not your type," Junho summarizes, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. Disappointment? 

Whatever.

Luca shrugs, saying nothing as he chews on the self-revelation he's just made.

Definitely—something he long suspected but never had the courage to admit—he can find himself attracted to a man. And definitely—somehow much more surprising—despite being the kind of person that grates on Luca's nerves the most, Junho isn’t not Luca's type.

Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.

Pursing his lips, Luca steps away and shoves the deformed flowers into Junho's chest, waiting just long enough for him to take them before stepping further back and sliding into the front seat of his running car.

"Get my number from Rico, loser," he says, slamming his door shut and very quickly setting his car into motion to peel out of the parking lot.

He doesn’t bother to look back. 

Very often.

And somehow, even just from glances, Luca knows that when he gets into bed that night, in the space of time that he'll be falling asleep, it will be to the sight of Junho clutching flowers to his chest, gazing after his exit with an expression Luca has difficulty putting words to.

It has the mysterious effect of moving something deep within him.