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Tito tossed his arm around Marc’s shoulders as their group stumbled out of the pub. His head was pleasantly foggy from the beers they’d already shared, and he couldn’t help but grin at the antics of the others as they caroused down the quiet street.
Alex and Marc weren’t even slightly phased by the late hour or the snow softly falling around them. Marc looped his arm around Tito’s waist, belting out the pop song his little brother had gotten stuck in his head.
Alex danced along a few paces ahead of them, tugging his best friend along with him. Rins laced his fingers with Alex’s, twirling them down the sidewalk. He might not be as loud as a Marquez, but he could certainly keep up with their levels of mischief.
The younger boys made a sharp left turn, scampering down a side street. Tito sighed, a smile still on his face even though he hated the idea of having to chase Team Alex through the streets of an unknown town.
Marc snickered at the expression on Tito’s face. They’d been friends for long enough that Marc already knew exactly what he was going to say. After all these years, Tito was practically an older brother to him, and as such, he was the most sensible of the bunch.
“Five beers and still worried about everyone,” Marc chided, giving Tito a sideways glance. “How much trouble can they get into?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Marc could predict the older rider’s argument. On cue, Tito’s eyebrows shot up. “Ok, ok. A little trouble,” he conceded, shushing Tito with his free arm.
“A little trouble?” Tito snorted. “Do you even know where we are?” He’d watched Marc put away more pints than usual, and Tito was fairly certain that neither Marquez had a great sense of direction to begin with.
Marc rolled his eyes. “We’re in Italy.”
“Where in Italy?” Tito prompted. Marc screwed up his eyebrows, clearly thinking hard.
“What does it matter? Italy all looks the same,” Marc shrugged.
They turned down the side street Alex and Rins had disappeared down earlier. The narrow street opened into a little courtyard, and Marc’s eyes lit up as he saw what was at the end. He slipped out from under Tito’s arm and took off running.
“Did you make a wish?” Marc shouted, rushing up to join Alex at the edge of an intricate fountain. Rins was standing knee deep in the water, his shoes discarded.
Alex scoffed, “You know wishes aren’t real.”
“Well, if you’d wished for Rins to look like an idiot, you’d have had it granted,” Marc laughed, ducking as Rins splashed water out at him.
“Look at the sign!” Rins instructed, gesturing to a plaque on the marble edge nearest him. Tito had joined them by now and read the sign out loud.
“If you are a dreamer, come in.” He took a step back, staring at the fountain sceptically. He’d never seen a fountain that encouraged people to hop in.
“There’s another sign on this side,” Alex added, moving to the other plaque. “Things become possible if you want them enough.”
The words were simple, but Marc felt a strange tingling in his chest. The statement resonated deeply with him. He dug a coin out of his pocket, not caring if his little brother thought he was being silly.
Marc held the coin tightly in his palm for a few moments. Something in him told him to do this; to cling to his wish to give it the proper power. I wish for someone to fill my life with joy.
He tossed the coin into the fountain, clinging to his wish. Marc had friends and family he was close to. By all accounts, he had a very full life. He was successful, respected, and typically happy. But… Marc wanted something more.
From his place in the fountain’s waters, Rins had begun to let his thoughts wander. His body kept dancing, but his mind was far away. It felt a lot like dreaming while he was awake.
In Rins’ dream, he was sprawled out on a plush couch. He almost snickered at the idea that his dream was to be napping, but he slowly started to register the weight of a body partially atop his. Someone was curled against his side, their head pillowed on his chest.
Rins grinned at the idea. He and Alex had been flirting for months, and Rins felt like it was a real possibility that they would be more. It was comforting to know that it was in his future, even if he was relying on a strange sort of vision from a magic fountain.
He held out his hands, inviting Alex to join him. He’d tried earlier, but Alex was still afraid of getting in trouble.
“Just take my hand, scaredy cat,” he grinned, his expression typically wild and full of promise.
Despite his misgivings, Alex reached for Rins’ hand. As their fingers brushed against each other, a loud whistle split their strangely quiet moment. The boys sprung apart and looked for Marc and Tito.
The eldest of them was already halfway down the lane they’d come from, taking off before his eyes even caught sight of the police. Marc waved his brother on, following after Tito. Alex grabbed for Rins’ hand again, practically pulling him over the side of the fountain. They ran down the street hand in hand, starting to laugh even as they kept running.
“What trouble, indeed,” Tito huffed, stopping to catch his breath once they were a safe distance from the courtyard. Alex and Rins were doubled over with laughter, their hands still tightly clasped.
Rins tossed a small wrench in the air, counting how many times it rotated before he caught it. Work was exceptionally boring today, and he regretted letting his phone die. At least being able to play games would make the day go faster.
He’d asked Tito if he could borrow his phone for a bit, but like a true manager, Tito had told him to spend the time studying mechanic magazines. Rins had snorted at the absurd idea. He wasn’t going to waste his time reading.
“Hey, have you talked to Alex lately?” Tito asked, leaning against the counter next to Rins. He was wiping his hands on a grease rag, but Rins could clearly see the older boy watching him closely for a reaction.
Rins let out a deep sigh. Tito and Marc had both been on his case since the trip to Italy a few weeks ago. He was tired of the questions.
“It was just a kiss, and we were both drunk,” Rins groaned. He had desperately wanted to kiss Alex when he’d stepped out of the fountain. Honestly, he’d wanted to kiss him for weeks before that. But, as their lips had brushed, Rins was keenly aware of the nothing he felt. It was dreadful. The only consolation was that Alex seemed to be on exactly the same page. They’d giggled and shrugged after the kiss, neither one very upset that it hadn’t gone as planned.
Alex’s older brother, though, seemed much less keen to let it go. Marc was overbearing with his questions and pestering. If you asked Rins, Marc needed to get laid.
“But what if Alex doesn’t see it that way? Shouldn’t you call him and talk this through?” Tito continued, twisting his torso to face Rins. He felt protective of Alex, and Tito was afraid of seeing him get hurt.
“Just fucking drop it,” Rins growled. “Trust me, Alex doesn’t-” Rins broke off mid-sentence as a customer wandered into the shop, the bell above the door chiming.
The actual sound was soft, but to Rins it felt like an entire chorus of bells had gone off. In his mind, there were horns trumpting and birds singing, heralding the arrival of the most beautiful man Rins had ever seen. For a moment, he was so startled by his own reaction that he nearly tipped his chair over, barely avoiding falling backwards.
“Hello, hi, good… day,” Rins stammered, having no idea whether it was still morning or afternoon. Tito watched on in complete bemusement. He’d never seen the curly haired boy so entirely thrown off. Rins always had an easy confidence, so it was refreshing to see him suddenly at a loss for words. “Can we… how can I…” Rins continued to stumble.
The customer waited patiently for him to take a pause, a small smile on his face. When Rins finally stopped talking for a long moment, they both just continued grinning at each other for a few beats.
“Oh, I need a part for my bike,” the stranger said, giving his head a quick shake. He brushed a hand across the back of his head, fingers barely ruffling his closely cropped dark hair. Rins watched his movement, realising this boy’s hair colour was the same as the one from his vision in the fountain.
As the silence began to drag again, Tito decided to intervene. “Rins can help with that. He’s our bike specialist,” he explained, nudging Rins into action.
Rins nodded rapidly. “Yeah, I love you. Bikes! I mean bikes,” he half-shouted, his eyes wider than usual.
“Maybe we go for a drink first,” he chuckled, extending his hand. “I’m Mir,” he introduced, eyes dancing with interest. “First, though, I need to fix the chain on my motorcycle. The gear ratio is all off.”
There was no other way to describe it than Marc was in a mood . He was grouchy and sullen, and today, he was even more prickly than he’d been for the past couple of weeks.
Everyone had seen Rins and his new love interest all over town, disgustingly enamoured with each other. Marc was happy for him, but he was also jealous. He’d made a wish in that same stupid fountain. Where was his love?
The real set off, though, had been coming home to find Alex and some chiselled-from-marble Italian boy canoodling on the couch. His brother had squeaked and tried to hide whatever Marc had interrupted, but there was really no hiding their bright red faces. Or, a covert way to collect the clothing they’d strewn all over the flat before Marc would see anything.
Again, Marc didn’t begrudge his little brother’s happiness. He was thrilled to see Alex a bit relaxed and a bit silly over someone. But, to his knowledge, Alex hadn’t made a wish or stomped around in the fountain.
Marc grumbled under his breath as he wandered down the street. He was in such a foul mood that he’d decided to treat himself to a decadent dinner. He had a book in one hand, and he was prepared to enjoy this alone time.
The restaurant he’d selected had nothing but rave reviews. It had only been open for a short time, but Marc was willing to take a chance on something already so buzzed about.
Marc was grateful to be seated outside. People watching on the crowded street somehow made him feel less alone. It also gave him a way to pass the time once he’d realised his book wasn’t all that interesting.
He didn’t spend very long studying the menu, deciding to go with the chef’s special of the day instead. A very spicy arrabiata sauce with shrimp sounded like just the thing to really perk up his evening.
Marc ordered a glass of malbec to go with his dinner. He’d always felt sophisticated when sipping a glass of deep, red wine, and tonight was no different. A little part of him felt like someone else. Someone rich and worldly, who didn’t share a flat with their little brother or work as a courier to support his dreams of one day racing motocross full time.
When the food arrived, Marc tucked into it eagerly. It was beautifully put together in the bowl, looking every bit the fancy meal he’d been hoping for. Steam rose off his fork as he wound some of the pasta around it. Despite its mouth-watering looks, the food didn’t knock his socks off.
Marc took a second bite, chewing thoughtfully. He tried to let the sauce linger on his tongue a bit longer, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. The food just wasn’t very flavourful. His frustrations with life melded into the lacklustre payoff of his dinner.
“Everything alright?” the waiter asked, stopping by the table as she noticed the frown on Marc’s face.
“Yeah,” he fibbed, forcing himself to smile. The food probably wasn’t as bad as his mood was making it seem.
“Are you sure? You don’t look very pleased,” she commented, offering him another chance to admit that he wasn’t happy.
“Well,” he relented, letting his smile fade, “It’s just not very spicy.”
“Would you like for me to have the chef add a bit more peppers?” she offered, gesturing toward his plate.
“Oh no, I don’t want to cause a fuss. It’s probably just me, anyway.”
“It’s no trouble.” The waiter scooped up his plate, offering Marc a reassuring smile. She disappeared into the restaurant, leaving Marc to feel a bit troublesome. He hadn’t intended to send the food back, but he was a little relieved to have someone else make the decision for him.
Just a few seconds later, the chef appeared at his table, holding the plate of linguini. He didn’t look like it was ‘no trouble’. Despite the offended grimace on his face, Marc took note of how incredibly handsome he was. The man had fiery brown eyes and very, very broad shoulders.
“You sent it back,” he said flatly, clunking the plate onto the table in front of Marc.
“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Marc spluttered, caught off guard at the chef’s stony expression. “It just wasn’t what I expected. Arrabiata is usually so flavourful, but-” Marc went silent as the chef grabbed his glass of wine. For a moment, he thought the man might throw it in his face.
He swirled the wine for a second, bringing the glass to his nose. He inhaled deeply, a frustrated noise bubbling in his throat.
“This is your fault,” he snapped, disappearing back into the restaurant before Marc could even come up with an argument.
Marc sat rigidly in his seat, blinking in the direction the chef had just vanished. He’d never been talked to like this before, and he could feel his face going red as he tried to keep his cool.
“How dare you talk to me like that,” Marc began, wanting to get the words out as soon as the man came back to his table.
“How dare you order the wrong wine,” the chef shrugged, sitting a glass of white wine in front of Marc.
“I did NOT order the wrong wine,” he argued, bristling at the way the chef just smirked at him. “You’re very rude, Chef… Chef whoever you are. I’d like to make a complaint about you,” Marc snapped, folding his arms over his chest.
“Yes, well, I’d like for you to use that pretty mouth to taste this wine instead of complaining,” the chef replied, still grinning at Marc. “And, it’s Chef Lorenzo.”
Marc’s mouth opened and closed a few times. He was still flabbergasted at the man’s behaviour, but his brain was caught on the idea of using his pretty mouth on something else entirely.
“Now, be a good boy and give it a chance,” Lorenzo insisted, holding the glass out to Marc.
He wanted to argue, but instead, Marc just accepted the glass. He took a generous sip, not missing the way Lorenzo was watching him. The wine had a bright, fruity taste. It was nearly opposite to the red wine Marc had been drinking.
Without additional instruction, Marc reached for his fork, taking another bite of pasta. This time, the flavours exploded on his tongue. The tomato sauce was robust and full of savoury spices. It was a completely different experience, and Marc had to stop himself from moaning at just how delicious it was.
“I guess it is a little better,” he lied, the look of satisfaction on his face completely betraying him.
“A little better,” Lorenzo snorted, shaking his head.
“Alright, it’s a lot better,” Marc admitted, taking another big bite.
The chef grinned. “It’s all about the pairing. Two dominant tastes cancel each other out,” he explained, still watching Marc’s mouth as he licked a drop of sauce from his bottom lip. “I could teach you sometime.”
Marc wasn’t entirely sure they were still talking about food. “A-about wine pairings?” he stuttered, feeling his face heat as Lorenzo quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Unless there’s something else you’d like to learn,” he offered, the same smug grin in place. Marc wasn’t sure how to answer, and Lorenzo seemed to sense it. “Whatever you decide, I work every night except Tuesdays,” he shrugged, pulling a business card out of his pocket. He placed it on the table, sliding it under Marc’s wine glass so that it didn’t blow away. “Have a good evening.”
“You, too,” Marc said quietly, watching as Lorenzo made his way back inside. It wasn’t the most casual interaction he’d had, but Marc was certain the chef had been flirting with him. He slipped the business card into his wallet, a small smile on his face as he finished his meal.