August nodded with all the heavy wisdom of an old wizard. “Because Reno.”
“He was the first to notice," Luka agreed, feeling burdened himself.
“Don’t you think that’s weird?” August said. “Wonder if he still has notifs for your Twitter turned on.”
“Not my business if he does," Luka replied. “He can do whatever he wants, other than bother me about my life. Which, by the way, he typically does not," Luka half-lied. “He’ll tease me.”
“Only I’m allowed to do that.”
“I know.” Luka watched August put the cookies into the oven and set the timer. “Don’t fret, no one else usually does.”
“Good. Why don’t you see if Reno can come? He has a night off, right?” August suggested, not understanding how ridiculous that was.
Luka barked a laugh. “No way. Besides, he's writing lyrics with someone named Sebastian. Something about French being a bastard language.”
“Does he speak French?”
“No clue, haven’t asked. The vocalist sings in it and a few other languages.” Even after a full day of pretty consistent back and forth between Reno and him, he didn’t feel comfortable asking personal questions. “And I’m not asking him out for a drink.”
“Your loss," August said, peering down to look at the baking cookies through the oven window. When they didn’t say anything else, Luka slid off the counter and left to get ready for the night.
The Corner Bar was a classic dive bar, nothing special; just sticky wooden tables and cheap drinks. So he changed his shirtand pulled his hair back into a low, messy bun, and made sure he didn’t have anything in his teeth or on his face and called it good enough. He grabbed the studded leather jacket from his closet after checking the weather; it was supposed to drop in temperature again, maybe even rain.
August was putting the cookies into several old ramen carry-out containers and sealing them shut to leave on the counter when Luka came back into the kitchen. He helped them clean everything up, eating dough off the side of the mixing bowl, then they fed Michael and took a rideshare to The Corner.
“Auggie!” Iris, August’s girlfriend, leapt out of her seat when they arrived on the patio.
“Gross," Luka said, and August punched him in the arm before scooping Iris up and giving her a spin. “Auggie.”
“Don’t you start.” August put their girlfriend down and looked ready to punch Luka again. Iris laughed and pulled them down to sit at the table.
“What do you want?” Luka asked them, still hovering at the side of the table.
“Hi, Luka," Iris beamed at him and for a moment, he was envious that she could be so beautiful, so openly warm. “You’re looking cute tonight.”
He gave her a once-over. “Thanks, I like your new glasses.” The jade frames really made the green in her dark hazel eyes pop.
“Thank you." She flipped her long blond and black box braids behind her shoulders, manicured nails glimmering in the neon advertising lights around the bar’s patio. “Get me a marg, would you?”
“I’ll take one too, not blended though," August said, already engrossed in wrapping their girlfriend’s hair around their fingers. Luka rolled his eyes and left for the bar; neither of them were getting blended then.
“Two margaritas on the rocks, an old-fashioned, two shots of tequila and one whiskey. Well is fine. Thanks,” Luka ordered when the bartender asked. He didn’t know the guy working tonight, which was unusual. He internally bemoaned the incoming bill with no friend discount.
[Unknown number]
How’s this sound?
My wings are made from glass, My sins scattered all around me.
I can’t see them—I can’t see them.
Up and towards distant past, Le vent emporte mon passé.
Ne pars pas—Ne pars pas
“Hold on a second.” Luka’s eyes bugged as he looked at his phone screen. “What is my life right now?” He tore his gaze away from the phone to stare at the TV over the bar. It was playingLooney Tunesand he had to fight the urge to put his head down onto the old bartop and scream. The bartender placed shot glasses in front of him and filled them.
He asked, “Need help carrying this?”
