by R. Cooper
“No, no, no.” Rocco drew Iz’s attention to him, which made Rocco go quiet for a moment before he recovered. “This isn’t to make you anxious, okay? But we talked about you. It would have been impossible not to.”
“You don’t have to feel sorry for me.” That needed to be clear. “This was my choice.”
“Oh, we know.” Rocco tightened his jaw, then sighed. “This is completely out of my experience but it’s—we want—”
“You,” Ronnie finished, then jolted. “Around. You around. However much you’re comfortable with. We want you.”
“But we kissed,” Iz pointed out gently, although knowing they missed him was even more of a good feeling than the weight of Rocco’s jacket. “It will be awkward.”
Ronnie’s eyes were so bright, as if the kissing didn’t bother him in the least. “It won’t be awkward, I promise.” He stopped, measuring his words. “Well, not more than usual dating levels of awkward.”
“If you’re comfortable,” Rocco stressed, then sat back in something like exhaustion.
Their hands were still linked. Iz stared at the sight with his heart thudding heavily and his throat inexplicably dry.
“Think about it,” Ronnie said, sweetly patient. “Deal with the feelings. There’s no rush. That’s all we wanted to say. And in the meantime, we can study. Maybe go get pizza.”
“And it won’t be weird?” Iz didn’t see how.
“It might be.” Rocco was blunt and honest. “But if no one likes it, we stop.”
He closed his eyes, tried to count and then to breathe. “I don’t like not being around you. More, I think, then whatever sick, jealous feelings I’ve been told to expect.” He opened his eyes. “Though I haven’t. At least, so far. Okay.” A shock went down his spine. “Okay.”
His cheeks were especially warm now.
“So,” Ronnie said in a daze, almost stunned. “Pizza?”
“I might actually be too nervous to eat,” Rocco commented, to Iz’s bewilderment.
“Not now. Later,” Ronnie clarified. “How about it, Iz? The family-style place has Friday night specials. I checked.”
“That sounds like a date.” Iz brought his hands up, spread them slowly over the table top. “Should I be there?” He asked Rocco, who could be counted on to be more objective where Iz was concerned.
“We’re trying not to add any pressure,” Rocco answered, nearly calm. “And I bet you haven’t eaten in a while. Well, something that wasn’t chocolate.”
Iz wasn’t sure he hadn’t missed something. “You really want me to go? We weren’t friends. You said that.”
“You said that to him?” Ronnie gasped dramatically. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“We weren’t friends like you and Iz are friends,” Rocco defended himself. “And I wasn’t talking about now.”
“I think he’s teasing you,” Iz informed him. “He does that.”
“He does,” Rocco agreed, with a tiny curl of pleasure in his voice. He addressed Iz again. “I also told you why we weren’t close then. It doesn’t mean I wasn’t paying attention to you. You… like plain cheese pizza but you’re surprisingly into Hawaiian. And you and I—” He stopped when he caught Ronnie’s smug, expectant glance. “You and I have a habit of exchanging looks when in a crowd. You should be around more,” he finished.
He turned his hand over. Ronnie clasped it tighter and looked very excited and very frustrated all at once.
“You missed me,” Iz summed up slowly, trying to make himself believe it.
“Am I being too subtle?” Rocco demanded, to Ronnie.
Ronnie pursed his lips. “I mean, yes? But also—yes. But I know you’re working on it.”
Rocco’s sigh was long-suffering and only made Ronnie smile more. Except for the hand-holding, and the way they kept looking at each other and seeming surprised to find the other looking back, they were the same as before.
Iz put a hand over his mouth and watched them.
“So Hawaiian pizza, then?” Ronnie wondered, still glowing and happy and in love. “Are we going to have this fight about how not liking pork and pineapple together is racist?”
“I have never said you couldn’t have it. I said do not put pineapples on my part of the pizza. Ever.” Rocco was uncompromising on this one issue, apparently.
“His ancestors will cry,” Ronnie explained, sharing a smile with Iz that made Iz wriggle inside the jacket and fight back a sound. A delighted sound. Almost a laugh.
He wanted to stay here like this. He couldn’t, but he wanted to, and ducked his head while Ronnie and Rocco debated how many pizzas to order and how many slices of plain cheese Iz needed.
Chapter Eleven
The following Tuesday, Iz poked his head inside the small book shop to look around before he came in. He had not gotten coffee here the day before on the off-chance Rocco had a shift. Iz was being careful. Friday night had been wonderful, and Ronnie had messaged him on Sunday with some idle questions about his schedule, but Iz wasn’t going to take up more of the new couple’s time.
But he did want coffee, and seeing Rocco behind the counter was a pleasure.
Rocco frowned down at a textbook on the counter, studying while the shop was slow. Iz glanced at him as he crept toward the coffee carafes, only to get caught when Rocco unexpectedly looked up.
“Izzy,” he said, with a smile wide and warm enough to show the gap in his teeth.
Iz bumped softly into the coffee counter. Things rattled, but nothing fell. He beamed through the sudden overwhelming sensation of cold nerves and hot skin. “Hello.”
He’d felt this way on Friday night too, sitting at a table meant for two in a crowded pizza restaurant, elbow knocking into Ronnie’s side, his feet ensconced between Rocco’s.
“I wasn’t sure you were working,” Iz said, although he’d been confident. Rocco’s schedule was fairly regular, except for his days off to attend competitions.
“Just here for the coffee, then?” Rocco wondered, eyebrows up, and Iz had to take a moment to remember that Rocco could be as bad as Ronnie when it came to teasing.
But since it was still new for Rocco to be teasing him, Iz merely huffed a breath. “I can be here for two things.”
Rocco blinked, lost his smile, then gave Iz a different one—this one quieter but exponentially warmer. “So you can.” He gestured toward the coffee. “Don’t let me stop you. Though I could suggest decaf.”
Iz hadn’t even taken his reusable cup from his bag. But Rocco thought he shouldn’t have any more. “I don’t think I’m jittery.”
“Didn’t say you were. Simply made a suggestion.” Rocco wasn’t paying the least attention to his textbook.
“Your use of ‘suggestion’ seems pointed,” Iz commented. They had all talked this way through most of their dinner on Friday, half-serious and half-smiling so hard it hurt. “There is no point to decaf. I might as well drink water.”
Rocco’s eyebrows went skyward.
“Which implies I did not drink any water at any point recently, and that might, in fact, be true.” Iz couldn’t remember anything but coffee in the past twenty-four hours. “I will drink some water,” he compromised. “After this.”
Rocco inclined his head like a king granting a boon.
Ronnie would have stuck his tongue out at him. Iz kept an eye on him as he took out his cup and chose a coffee.
“You don’t seem to be studying much,” Iz observed.
“Studying can happen when you aren’t here.” Rocco tugged a stool closer to the counter and sat on it. He leaned on his elbows to better watch Iz.
“You two enjoy doing this to me.” Iz put one hand against his cheek, which was hot and probably red.
Rocco shrugged. “Still a miracle.”
The sound of rustling paper from one of the aisles stopped Iz before he could ask about that. He had been so focused on Rocco that he hadn’t looked around. He frowned and tiptoed over until he saw Professor Donalson flipping through books, likely in search of l
etters.
Iz turned back to Rocco. “It’s not a miracle. You both feel the sort of things that other people only wish they could.” He paused thoughtfully, then approached the counter to set down his coffee. “The letters in the books, I want to read one now.” The glimmer in his heart, the loneliness of weeks without his friends, did not deserve to be in the hands of someone who did not appreciate them.
Donalson stopped in the middle of putting back a book when Iz came down the aisle. He held onto it awkwardly, then went through it again, only to freeze in consternation or shock when Iz started at the closest, lowest shelf and systematically shook each book in search of a letter.
Rocco didn’t say anything, so Iz assumed this was appropriate.
He glanced at Professor Donalson only when a torn slip of yellow legal paper fluttered from a book of Egyptian art. Iz knelt down to capture it, then held it in both hands to read it.
“Is it love if I’m content to look at you?” Iz read aloud. “Unsigned.” He stared at the writing for another few moments before he carefully returned the paper to its book and placed the book back on the shelf. “So, others are confused as well. I suppose that’s a comfort.”
He left Donalson with the book he wasn’t reading and went to stand in front of the counter and Rocco. Rocco watched him approach, interested and warm and perhaps concerned.
“Is it love?” Iz asked, although he didn’t think Rocco was any more an expert than Ronnie. It had taken Rocco over two years and Iz’s intervention to do anything about his feelings. “What a gentle sentiment—content to look. Love is such a mystery. It can be a mother’s love, protective and soft, and something like this, a source of nothing but happiness even if it’s not returned. Then, at the same time, to others, it’s possessive and stormy, a source of soul-rending agony that can cause death or the destruction of a kingdom. Which is it? Selfless and giving? Bitter and all-consuming? Is that physical passion being confused for the true emotion? Does the true emotion exist at all?”
Rocco returned Iz’s contemplative stare with one of his own. “What do you think?”
This was so much better than Rocco turning to stone around him.
Iz smiled. “It’s a collection of reactions in the brain that are affected by environment.” That was extremely unromantic. So was Iz. It didn’t make him not in love. “But that doesn’t mean it’s unreal or imaginary. It just doesn’t make it fate or destiny. To some people, it’s all-consuming, the way some people can have one drink and have to get blackout drunk. To others, it means wanting to be around someone with no expectations, or wanting to ensure their well-being. My mother loves me. I love my friends. I love you. But although I was miserable without you, the world did not, as they say, end. Is that a disappointment to hear?”
“It’s about what I expected. And no, not a disappointment.” Rocco tried to flatten his lips, but it didn’t work. “Which version would you prefer?”
“Well, not the destruction of a kingdom.” Iz slid his hands over the countertop until his fingertips reached Rocco’s book. “And though I do love my friends, I admit that I don’t react to them the way I react to you or Ronnie.”
“That’s fair,” Rocco said, strain in his voice. “How… how do you react?”
“A plethora of physical symptoms,” Iz revealed in an almost-whine. “Though I still do not believe that love itself can be blamed for Troy or the fall of Camelot. Even if the effect of being in love can be like opium on the brain, how could one person do all of that?”
“Maybe legends are not the proper basis for your argument.” Rocco looked over Iz’s shoulder, a frown and then blankness settling over his face. But he focused back on Iz before placing a hand at the edge of the book. His fingertips were warm where they brushed Iz’s hand. “Or maybe it was a remarkable person.”
“No one is remarkable enough to singlehandedly take down a great king or his best knight.” Iz studied their hands where they touched. “That seems—blame-y.”
“Hmm.” Rocco made a rumbling noise. Iz looked up. Rocco seemed to be waiting. “So, in answer to the original question….”
Iz had lost that the second Rocco looked at him like this. He chased down his train of thought, but was distracted by the clear, bright interest in Rocco’s eyes. “The basic emotional response must be similar? But it’s people who make it all those different things, and somehow all those things are considered romance even if they are not the same, or close to the same?” He didn’t think this made total sense, but Rocco politely didn’t say so as he ran his fingers across the back of Iz’s hand. “I like the gentle version,” Iz added in a rush. “And I like what you two are doing.”
Such stillness. “You do?”
“How you’re working at it, you said.” Iz turned his hand over. It was amazing that Iz could receive comfort in any of his friends touching him, but feel so much more comfort when someone he loved in this way did it. Though, of course, Patricio or Rahim would never touch him like this and he did not want them to.
“Oh.” Rocco swept his fingers across Iz’s palm.
Iz curled his hand at the tickling sensation, then opened it again. “I find it reassuring to see two normal people striving to find their way.”
“’Normal people,’” Rocco echoed flatly.
Iz blew out a breath. “You know what I mean.”
Rocco took Iz’s hand. He pulled it to the center of his textbook and held it gently, his thumb over Iz’s wrist. He looked at Iz without blinking.
“Very well,” Iz continued in response to Rocco’s silent argument. “By normal, I mean people who have experienced various forms of love as they grew up, probably in mostly socially acceptable ways, and so have an understanding of love that seems innate to someone like me, but is, in fact, still acquired knowledge and learned behavior. And how they feel or don’t feel it has nothing to do with them as people, and thinking otherwise is the fault of things like the movies that Alistair likes. Will that do?”
Rocco’s smile split his face.
“We always talk about Ronnie’s smile, but never yours.” Iz sighed. “It’s a rare bloom.”
Rocco briefly closed his eyes, composing himself, probably. “You gonna be late?”
“Gruff,” Iz noted out loud. “I won’t say it again if it bothers you.”
“Didn’t say it did,” Rocco replied, still gruff. “But you’ll be upset if you miss class.”
He wasn’t wrong. Iz wrinkled his nose as he pulled his hand away and dug out his card to pay for his coffee. “I already dislike that class. But he makes a big deal out of students coming in late.”
“Dick,” Rocco commiserated, then stared at Iz’s card as if surprised to see it.
“Yes, he is.” Iz put his hands around his coffee cup, letting the warmth bolster his spirits for the class ahead. “Are you free tonight? Going to see Ronnie?”
Rocco swiped Iz’s card, and slid it and a receipt, of all things, back to him. He had undercharged Iz again. “Maybe. He thinks he’s getting a cold. We might watch a movie.”
Iz paused in the midst of putting his card away. “You’ll get a cold too.”
Rocco shrugged his broad shoulders. “Probably would anyway,” he said, because he kissed Ronnie all the time, of course. “You thinking of suffering too?”
“What?” Iz fell back a step to stare up at him. “I was curious if you had plans. I like to think of you two. But I wasn’t inviting myself along.”
“Hmm.” Rocco leaned over his textbook on crossed arms. It brought him closer to Iz and made his measuring stare harder to look away from. “You could always invite us to plans of your own. Or just Ronnie, if you prefer.”
It was on the tip of Iz’s tongue to ask if just Rocco was also an option. “I’m not going to presume,” he answered instead.
Rocco watched him fidget with his reusable mug. “Coming by tomorrow? I’m on an earlier shift, so—”
Iz bobbed his head in an energetic nod. “If you want. Yes.”
“—you’ll have to adjust your schedule if you want your coffee,” Rocco finished, growing quieter at the force of Iz’s reply.
“I could get decaf,” Iz insisted, although he didn’t think he would.
Rocco looked startled. “But you might as well drink water.” He was still quiet.
“Rocco,” Iz made sure he was clear, “I don’t always come here for the coffee.”
Somewhere behind them, maybe hiding down the aisle, Professor Donalson cleared his throat.
“You’re better at this than I am.” Rocco had all the signs of embarrassment. He was flushed and practically motionless. His voice was rough. “If this is what you want for now, then all right. I’ll see you tomorrow. But know that I’ll—I’ll look forward to it.”
That information was dizzying. Iz turned to look at Rocco twice on his way out of the door, nearly colliding with the doorjamb. Rocco didn’t even laugh. “Content to look,” Iz explained distractedly, and waved through the glass once he was finally outside.
Rocco watched him go as though Professor Donalson wasn’t standing at the end of the aisle staring at them.
He waved back, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth.
Iz was behind Ronnie, watching Ronnie choose between ramen flavors, when Ronnie got a call from his mother. Iz knew it was Ronnie’s mom before Ronnie answered and greeted her with a warm, distracted, “Nay, I tried to return your call yesterday but it went to voicemail.” Ronnie always ducked his shoulders before speaking with his mother, as if he had to brace himself. But then he’d be talking softly and happily seconds later.
“I did! I left a message. You can check and see.” Ronnie visibly held in a sigh, then turned to shoot Iz an apologetic look. “I don’t think that was talking back. I just wanted you to know I wasn’t ignoring you,” he went on as he picked up a twelve-pack of ramen noodles and dumped it in his grocery basket.
Half-past nine on a weeknight was not a busy time in grocery stores, which was why Iz preferred shopping late when he could. But they were here tonight because it was some of the only free time Ronnie had for the next few days, and he’d wanted to see Iz, and Iz had wanted to see him, and they both needed food. And Rocco had told Iz it was all right to do this, to hang out with only Ronnie.