Chapter Text
Monday, November 1st of 2021, 10:02AM.
In the blink of an eye, an entire year passed.
A phone buzzes incessantly on the nightstand, an alarm signaling quite aggressively to Luca (in bed) that the day has started even if he'd prefer to not acknowledge it and sink back into dreams. And while he could ignore it, there's a difference between naturally sleeping past your alarm on accident and waiting it out, right? That is to say, falling back asleep with a loud sound blaring through your room is pretty hard and kind of pointless, so he gives in and fumbles around; hand haphazardly slapping against the wooden table to find the cool screen of his phone and tap his finger onto the stop button.
He's barely awake, still slipping away from a dream where a man in purple hues dances with a version of him in blue-green. A recurring dream as of late, one where he can never see exactly who it is, nor can he hear the man's voice even if his lips move to form words. But he gets the feeling the two of them are happy to be there, in that little space. That's nice, right? Maybe some dream god was looking out for him, giving him pleasant ones instead of the nightmares he used to have. Somehow, he knows the dream man is good and that, when he's there with him, swaying to a silenced song, an unheard rhythm… well, there's no place he'd rather be. With him, he feels warm. Content. Safe? Yeah, safe. Safest.
Luca pulls his covers up above his shoulders, hissing at the cold air that signals winter is settling in. He turns on his side, squeezes his eyes shut, and wonders if, just for a moment, he can return to that little bit of happiness and maybe, just maybe, that guy is real and will just, umm, magically appear?
… But it's pointless. Now he's awake, and the man is gone like petals in the wind.
"Ugh," He opens his eyes again to the white ceiling of his bedroom. "do I have to get up today…?"
Trick question. Of course he does. He has to go to work. And as if the universe intends to scream that in his face so he really gets it, his phone rings and the screen lights up to reveal the caller is Patricia. And he very well can't ignore her, so he supposes that's another sign from the universe. Like the gods are shoving him out of bed and saying get your sorry ass up! You've gotta listen when spirits tell you things, so he's been told. Something, something… There's definitely a saying for it somewhere.
Luca rubs his eyes as he lifts the phone to his ear and in a voice rough from having just woken up, answers: "Hello?" He props himself up halfway on one side with his elbow and rakes a hand through his hair. "G'mornin'?"
"Morning, sleepyhead. Just got up?"
"Yeah." He pushes himself up completely and sighs, "As much as I'd like t'stay in, I'm gettin' up now… How're you doing, though? What's up? Still in New Orleans visiting your mom?"
"For a little while longer, yeah." Patricia says. On the other side, there's music from the streets filtering in from the windows of her hotel room. He hears her shuffle around to push the window fully open, chilly air loud through the speakers for a moment. "It's been weird, actually. Trying to get to know her after everything. I do get her reasons, but…" She laughs bitterly, "She's still a stranger right now. It's hard to get used to. But, that's not why I called. It's almost… you know. The anniversary."
"Of the day mama died." goes unspoken. This would be the first whole year without her in their lives. How any of them made it through all those days is a question none can answer, but how Luca made it was a whole other ballgame. He'd often find himself going over to the apartment on impulse, just to remember there was nobody there left to see. Sometimes, on really bad days, he'd find Patricia had done the same and they'd end up just staying in the apartment together, unwilling to leave quite yet. It was half the reason she'd left to visit her mother. A change of pace, she'd told him, because she needed it desperately. To not wallow.
That was big of her. Because Luca couldn't muster up the courage to do that, so he hadn't traveled since he got back from Mexico the last year. He knew his great-grandmother would want him to move on, but his legs felt as if they couldn't walk. Emotionally, of course. Like he was glued in place, and time wouldn't really feel like it was going forward until some sort of key unlocked the shackles and kicked him forward. Aesop had told him it was something like death often looms over the people left behind, and it's much easier for someone to die and tell you to go along with your life than it actually is to do that. And Joseph would reaffirm it, muttering something about how the living have to live on while the dead stay dead. What a dynamic duo, right? It's amazing those talks with them somehow never brought the mood down.
Luca comes back to himself, finding his hand in his hair, having been twisting and untwisting a strand around his finger. "Sorry, I spaced out. So you're coming back home then? For… it."
"Of course," She says, "I just wanted to let you know. I'm sure all your friends will come over too. Obviously. Since that place—"
Crash.
Luca sits up straight at the sound of glass hitting the ground. In just a few seconds, he'll hear…
Yup. There we go. "Hey, Pat, can I call you back later? My dad definitely just dropped something and my mom is about to lose it. Swore I could've almost forgotten they were here with how peaceful things were for a bit."
"Alright." Patricia chuckles, and Luca can just feel that she's rolling her eyes; amused. "Talk to you later, Luc. Love you. Don't forget to call me back."
"I won't! Love you too. Bye." Luca clicks his phone off and shoves it into the pocket of his pajama pants. It's quiet again and, maybe… just maybe! He thinks he doesn't have to go break up a fight between his parents…? But then, of course, his dad has to sigh really hard and Luca knows he's about to open his mouth and say something that will have his mother contemplating the risks of a possible murder charge, so he kicks off his blankets and slips his sandals on and runs down the stairs in just the nick of time.
His mother is holding one of her sandals in her hands, poised to throw it.
He slides between them, noticing his mother's angry expression; lip curled back in an almost snarl. "Hey! Morning! What a lovely day it is, isn't it! For you two to help me pack and not kill each other!"
"Morning." His father speaks up first, with that lack of tact Luca can't even complain about because he inherited it. "You're out of bed late."
His mother deflates a little bit now, though she keeps a trained glare on his dad as she responds, "You shouldn't sleep in so much, Lu." She claps her hands after and points to the living room, stacked and packed full with boxes. "But! Everything is almost finished for you to move into mama's old apartment." No help from your father, she says beneath her breath.
Before his dad can restart the argument (which he will, these two were born to fight with each other), Luca wraps his arms around one of his mother's and nuzzles his face into her shoulder. "Is it? Thanks, love youuu. You're the best, ma."
"Hm," She uses her other hand to pet his head, the last vestiges of rage melting out of her. Praise and adoration always works with his mom and her overwhelming pride and ego. "I know. What a great mom I am! Still," She pulls him away and places her hands on her shoulders, "are you sure about this move? We can take all this stuff out. You worked hard to live on the Upper East Side. Why move back to the hood now?"
"I'd feel more at home at mama's old place." Luca pulls away to shrug, "I never really felt right here anyway. It's better to be happy than have all this luxury or whatever. And," He holds up a hand as she opens her mouth again, "I know you'd disagree, which is why you're moving in here. So let it go, ma." He pats at his sides for his phone then digs into his pocket. "What time is it even right now…"
"Almost eleven." His father answers, "Why?"
"Oh shit."
Luca nearly slips and hits the ground with the speed he picks up to run back to his room. "I'm gonna be late! Shit!"
"That's why you need more alarms! You've gotten more and more forgetful lately!" His mom shouts, following him down the hall.
Well, yeah. But he got to sleep in, so there's at least that win? "No worries!" Luca laughs as he barrels into his room and digs for his clothes inside his closet, "I'll rush and be on time! This isn't like high school anymore! I've got, like, a car!"
"No worries, he says… Luciano! Start carrying those boxes downstairs then, ."
He can hear his father laughing his ass off down the hall, barely managing to choke out: "Aye, aye."
*
Everyone is hard at work at their desks when Luca comes into the office like a storm — hair all over the place from the New York November wind — and out of breath from the desperate run. "Made it!" He boldly announces before lurching forward to put his hands on his knees, forcing himself to catch his breath like he's schooling himself on remembering what it feels like at all to have his lungs not on fire. As he moves to stand up straight again, a hand comes to rest on his head, keeping it down.
When he looks up, there's José smirking down at him before messing up his hair some more. "Ey, you're cutting it real close, aren't you?"
"Yeah, yeah. Buuuut I made it." Luca insists, bold grin at his lips. He ducks his head away and rearranges his bangs; standing upright again. "What're you doin' here anyway? Last I checked, you're in that importing business, not working on my little game development team. Matter of fact, you're not even in this building."
"What? Can't come to see a family friend during my break?" José then mock-gasps with a hand over his heart, "Are you embarrassed to see me? After all those years I spent babysitting your sorry ass?"
Luca scoffs, "Take that up with your mom! I was just the super adorable innocent genius you got the pleasure of seeing from three to seven every weekday."
"Same kid that kept somehow setting something on fire?" José raises a brow, "Huh. Crazy world."
"Jealous because I was a way cooler kid than you. I get it." Luca puts up his hands and backs away towards his office, José following after him. Luca spins around and, finally, properly greets everyone with an enthusiastic hello and a great big wave, before opening the door to his cutaway glass walled space, holding it open for his friend then following him in.
"You know," says José as he sits down on the couch, "really cool people don't actually have to say it out loud."
Luca sticks his tongue out and collapses onto his desk chair; the wheels at the ends steering him aside a few inches but he digs his heels in and pulls himself back to center. "So? What's up?"
"Came to check on you, really. Your memory's been getting worse, hasn't it? Your mom called mine, and so here I am."
While true, Luca winces. Leave it to his mother to get that worked up over something so small this morning. It's not so much that his memory has gotten worse, per say… but more like the things he always remembers takes up more space than the things he should remember. Instead of dinner reservations and how long he left the microwave going, the space inside his head, in some little mental world where every memory is a little flower petal dried and kept in a book; suspended in time… all he remembers is things that aren't real.
But god, do they feel real.
Like his dreams with that mystery man. Or this one very specific snake graffiti he saw on his walk home two months ago he swears was watching him, sugar skulls set out during October by some of the families in the Heights that appeared to be chattering, and that one very specific guitar tune he heard on his way back home last year on the Day of the Dead in Mexico, which felt like the voice of someone he really misses but can't describe well enough.
It all sounds crazy, doesn't it? And he's a man of science! Of math and logic and also someone who firmly believes in remembering to take his Adderall! And all that other stuff!
"I'm okay. I've got alarms for everything and anything now. The glory of smartphones, am I right?" He twirls a pen around his fingers, "My memory won't get worse. It's not like it's an early on-set of what my mama had. Promise. I checked with the doctors so many times. Your mom and mine worry too much if you have to get sent over just to hear this."
"Hm," José laughs softly, "maybe so. That doesn't mean we're all not worried for you, Luca. Even if we disregard your memory problems lately, you're not fully here with us all the time. Where you float off to in the spaces between our talks and your thoughts I have no idea. But try and remember to come back sometimes."
"I always do!"
"When we shake you out of it." José points out. Luca slumps in his seat and blows at his bangs. "Come on. What's so good that's happening in there? Can't you take us along at least?"
Luca launches back up, "That's why I'm making it into a game! Then you guys will see what gets me so worked up."
"Yeah? Here I thought you'd stick to inventing your whole life."
Fair. Genuinely, for a long time, he, too, had believed he'd always be hunched over a desk, sticking to creating things like "improved air conditioners" and "solar powered cars" or even "a more accessible insta-cool invention, like a microwave but cold!" Cool, right? Not a freezer, by the way. Like a microwave but cold. It exists already, it just costs too much for the common household. That's what Luca wanted to do though: make things so that everyone could use them. Anyone. Whoever needed it. It's a side project, making that thing, he'll get to it after this. Luca knows he can do it, so everyone can have homemade ice cream instantly or freeze juice into ice cubes in a snap so your drink doesn't get all watery!
Despite all that, he was a man of many talents. Game design wasn't a far cry from engineering and coding and all that shit he learned in STEM classes.
"Well, there's things you can invent that aren't done the way I usually do it. You can make new books, new shows, new movies, new games. And those stories can change the world too. I want to do that. Make this world better." Luca beams at José, singular fang showing, "Any way possible. Like a shot in the dark. Like lightning in a bottle! 'M a genius, after all. Remember?"
"Of course. The great Luca Balsa." José laughs, trailing off. He looks to the side. "Just don't forget to eat and sleep. You get so obsessed with your ideas sometimes."
"I know." says Luca, "I'll be fine."
José waves a hand, "I believe that much at least. So. Is that Nahuatl specialist coming in today? For this grand idea of yours."
Luca nods eagerly, glad for the change in topic. Especially to something way easier to talk about. "Yeah! After I go over some things with the team, I go get lunch with some friends? Then he'll be here by… uh. Man, what was it…?"
"See what I said—"
Luca leaps up and snaps his fingers. "Three! Three thirty. Ha! I remembered."
"You looked at your planner on the desk." José smiles wryly.
Luca crosses his arms and, again, sticks out his tongue. "Whatever."
"Well!" José sighs and slaps his hands on the arms of the chair before rising up and turning for the door. "Let me get out of your hair. As long as you're doing okay, then everything's alright. But, Luca," Holding the handle, he looks over his shoulder and looks him right in the eyes, "don't forget we're all here for you. Whenever. Anytime."
Any life.
Luca blinks once, twice, then shakes his head clear, a nervous laugh sputtering past his lips. "Yeah, I know. Thanks. Come by again sometime, y'hear?"
"Of course."
The door clicks shut and now Luca sighs, shutting his eyes. Right then and there, it happened again. Those weird thoughts; something forgotten yet not even a memory. Usually, he can chalk it up to inspiration for his game like all those other times before; a heavy work in progress still untitled. But sometimes he can't help but stop and really think about it. Why does it keep happening? If he told his grandma, she'd call it brujeria and cover her ears and if he told his mom, she'd wave it off and say it's stress or some side effect of his medication. But that's definitely not it, that's just their old generation thinking. So then what?
Serpents and temples and brightly colored marigolds.
He presses his knuckles against the corners of his eyes and breathes in. There's this vague scenery in his head, actually. He hasn't told anyone, but it's somewhere he feels is familiar even if he's never been, not that he can think of. Out of reach, but somewhere he should be able to. A more colorful place, with more people. Tons of music, and laughter too.
Maybe he should've gone on that vacation. Burke said to come down again, that his work could wait (which is so funny, hearing it from Bad Example Numero Uno), but Luca had decided to stay. Sure, some of his family was in Mexico celebrating the Day of the Dead but his work was here. And he had to finish it, as much as he'd like to go. He misses that hill with that big tree, in the middle of the graveyard. He's sworn up and down to Tracy ever since last year that there was something there before, besides the tree, but she's always waved him off and reminded him he's always had the worst memory but the greatest imagination.
It's aggravating.
You can't expect people to believe something that isn't real, though. It's then that his phone rings in his pocket and he knows it's an alarm, reminding him it's time to go check over the recent developments to the game. He groans, turns it off, and leans over to the side, pulling out his laptop from his bag and opening it up.
There's a ton of files to look at before lunch with his friends. The anticipation that thrums in his blood and makes his leg bounce impatiently has to do with… his excitement for that. Probably. What other reason to feel like something's about to happen?
"Mr. Balsa," An employee opens his door and taps on the glass of it, "can you come look at something real quick? We can't spot what's making this code bug out."
"Yeah," Luca gets up and heads over, "but. Please, by the way. Just call me Luca. You'll make me feel like my dad."
*
Not to prove José right or anything, but he did almost miss his lunch date with his friends. Almost, keyword. That seemed to be a recurring theme for today — him nearly being late to everything — and he's gotta wonder if that's some ominous warning. Like he might miss something important if he doesn't start paying proper attention to things. There's gotta be some wise phrase about that too; missing the world around you when you're in your head? Words of wisdom aside, he doesn't want that.
Thus, while he's in this restaurant with his friends, he's giving this conversation his full and complete attention. Whether anyone is listening or not, however… that's another story?
"Soooooooooooooooo," Mike drawls. Across the table from Luca, he takes his straw wrapper and wads it up, "anyone want to talk about something more fun than Luca's weird alien language?"
Luca, brought back from his impromptu lecture on coding, shoots him a friendly glare. "Alien language?"
"Yeah," Mike flicks the wrapper at Luca's forehead, hitting bullseye with a delighted giggle. "alien language. Oooohhh. C'mon! Talk about something we can comprehend. Y'know? Like your dad and sister and all that jazz."
"What he means is," Wujiu pulls Mike's ear, earning a yelp, but not minding it in the slightest, what with how he doesn't break eye contact with Luca. "something we care about."
"That wasn't said any nicer than I said it." Mike argues, rubbing his ear. "In fact, it was way meaner. But! Luca! Man, we get you just left work but this is lunch break! Get it? Break. With lunch. A break from work. Where you have lunch."
"I know, Mike." Luca reaches over and pokes Mike's nose in retaliation for earlier, "Fine. My family, right? I told you my dad, Burke, retired, right? Back to Mexico. Well, Tracy and Helena got engaged, so they're having the time of their lives traveling around the world first before the wedding. Helena said it's something about choosing the perfect place? Like a fairytale."
"Where are they right now?" Melly, having been silent until now, chimes in. She cuts into her pizza with a knife and fork; all refined grace that's… really unneeded here, but it's who she is. "I can't imagine planning a wedding like that is very easy. And I've been divorced."
Demi barks out a laugh at that from next to Luca, through a mouthful of pizza that she has to clap a hand over her mouth over. She chews, swallows, then elbows Luca. "Tell Trace to just not do whatever Melly did."
"Truly," Melly nods sincerely and folds her hands atop the table as she leans forward, eyes serious, "avoid marrying a man first of all."
Wujiu shakes his head and waggles his fingers in front of them all, showing off his simple jade band on his ring finger. "No takebacks. Good luck getting Bi'an to return me."
"You're so annoying." Mike snickers and shoves Wujiu's shoulder, "Only couple more obnoxious than you and Bi'an would be Eda and Emile."
"Oh, no, yeah. They're in a rank of their own." Wujiu says, "Like if Eda died, Emile would be dead right after from heartbreak. Instantly. And vice versa."
"Isn't that pretty romantic?" Luca pokes a fry around the little plate of it he's sharing with Melly. "Loving so much that even death can't separate you… Oh! Oh, that's how I should end the game? Maybe? Death is not the end… Oh, Aesop and Joseph would love this too. And I can ask Hastur about some spiritual ideas…" He starts to trail off.
"If he's not busy trying to keep Eli and Jack and Ripper from fighting over time with him, as cute as he swears it is." Demi says, "Can't imagine how he handles three partners like that. Chloe and I've got enough between just us two."
Mike throws someone else's straw wrapper at Luca, "Hey, Dems. We lost 'im."
"Seriously?" She looks over and sighs at the sight of him. "Melly, wave your fancy little handkerchief at him."
"Like those fainted maidens from forever ago?" Wujiu laughs.
"Exactly!"
Mike starts pulling a bunch (in all kinds of bright colors) out his sleeve on an uncalled cue, "Let me do it instead! Or we can all have a turn? I've got plenty!"
"Guys, I gotta go." Luca announces suddenly and gets up so fast his chair clatters, not that he cares. His face is practically buried in his notebook currently, packed with sticky notes and torn off pieces of paper he's written down on whenever he couldn't wait for actual paper. Napkins, tissues, candy wrappers. It's all stuck together with paper clips and tape and stickers; his rarely used glasses serving as a makeshift bookmark. He tucks his pen behind his ear as he snaps the notebook shut a minute later and throws his bag over his shoulder. Then Mike starts up with his whining and Luca sighs, checking his watch. "It's almost time for me to run anyway, Mike."
"Fine! But you can't escape at your housewarming party!" Mike gets up and slams a hand onto the table, the other pointing his index finger at Luca. "And for the love of god! Get a date! Or I'm inviting everyone I know on twitter to come try and rock your world."
"Uh-huh. See you guys." Luca replies absentmindedly, heading for the exit.
"That guy… He didn't even hear me, did he?"
Melly shakes her head, "Let him be. Isn't he at his best like that? Creating."
*
Back at the office, Luca covers what he dubs his "work wall" with more sticky notes with his latest ideas from out his notebook. He adds little reminders to the corners of some, to speak to specific people for references later too. The space practically has very little actual "wall" left, truthfully speaking. Instead, it's all paper and string and tape. Stickers too, because he always had an abundance of stickers from when he babysits Robbie.
Hands on his hips and chest puffed with pride, he steps back to evaluate his newest additions. It's going well. But now that he's gotten it all written down and put somewhere he can't possibly miss it and forget, he looks at the clock and realizes he's tapping his foot; unable to stand still. Antsy. Maybe, he thinks, he's just worried about meeting with that language specialist. Social cues to consider, unspoken boundaries to recall. People only put up with "weird" geniuses so much, after all?
… Maybe calling himself a genius is a little embarrassing.
"He's not here yet," Luca mutters to himself as he circles over to his desk and lifts a textbook Burke sent him from Mexico on request; one on the Nahuatl language. He moves to the white board (also up against the work wall) and grabs a marker, prying off the cap with his teeth and depositing it onto the table behind him, quickly facing the board again and raising the marker. "and since he isn't, I can just try on my own for a bit." Just to occupy his buzzing mind. "I mean, how hard can this possibly be?"
He soon learns the answer within, really, less than a minute: it's very hard. Is learning a new language ever easy? Let alone translating it, when you barely know it. Even with a book right in his hands. At least from a phone call with family, working together they'd gotten some of it down. Best as they could. Whether the translator coming approved of it or it made his life harder was another thing, but they tried. That's what counts. Fun bonding activity or something?
He flits his gaze over onto one specific corner of the board, where a paragraph on Quetzalcoatl is written. You couldn't get Luca to explain why this god specifically had to be so important anytime you asked, but they were. To him, at least, and he wouldn't hesitate to stress that. Serpents, his mind reminds him of earlier, serpents with feathers. A big serpent, in a cave, with lots of things.
No. If he stays in that train of thought, he knows a headache will follow. He can feel it at the edges of his mind, like barbed wire on tall fences — places he can't get to, inside his own head. It doesn't feel dangerous, like memories you block out when the worst happens. He knows because the feeling he gets when he tries to recall the accident he had years ago when he was young feels more heavy than this, like someone is screaming at him to not think about that, to turn around and walk a different path. Rather than that, this just feels like… high security? Like a museum, and inside there's priceless artifacts with so much history but it's not anything you need to know right now. In fact, if you did, the information would be so overwhelming, and then you'd fail the upcoming test in class because you didn't actually process it like you were supposed to. So all that studying was for nothing, and all you got was a failing grade and no sleep. There's a time and place for everything. This wasn't the time nor place yet. Eventually, though, he figured he'd bust those pieces out of that over glorified prison and return everything to where it belonged. Like a really cool Phantom Thief. For his, uh, memories.
Luca shakes his body out and rolls his neck. All that being said, he really likes this one. This specific god, that brought lightning and rain, in the body of a colorful feathered serpent. He rereads the translated text, written beside a cartoonish sticker of the very god.
Quetzalcoatl; yn ehecatl ynteiacancauh yntlachpancauh in tlaloque, yn aoaque, yn qujqujiauhti. Auh yn jquac molhuja eheca, mjtoa: teuhtli quaqualaca, ycoioca, tetecujca, tlatlaiooa, tlatlapitza, tlatlatzinj, motlatlaueltia.
Quetzalcoatl — he was the wind, the guide and road sweeper of the rain gods, of the masters of the water, of those who brought rain. And when the wind rose, when the dust rumbled, and it cracked and there was a great din, when it became dark and the wind blew in many directions, and it thundered; then it was said: "Quetzalcoatl is wrathful."
Off to the side of it is the rest of the work he'd gotten done days before with that aforementioned assistance. An assortment of phrases, because if you're going to put your all into something with a specific culture in it, you might as well throw in all the marbles, right? Go the full mile, seize every opportunity. It would feel much more natural, he thinks, and then right after: because I love the sound of it.
But he doesn't remember ever hearing someone speak it before.
Weird.
Nechmaca chicahualiztli means Give me strength.
¿Tlen nicchihuaz? means What will I do?
Xinechecana axan means Guide me today.
Mahuiztic motlahtol, ni nen paqui tlenon nechtlapoih means Your words are wonderful, I'm happy you told me them.
And now, beneath that, he hastily scrawled notes on the little Taíno he'd managed to find. It was a dead language, no one alive to speak it or pass it down, and so few references remained. He had to work with what he had, and what he had wasn't exactly bad but it wasn't ideal.
Daka means I am, waiba means we go, warike means we see, ahiyawoka means speak to us.
Speak to us, Luca laughs to himself. If only. "Where was I… Okay, I left off here." He readjusts the book in his hand and flicks his gaze between it and the whiteboard he's writing on; translating as carefully yet as quickly as possible. There was a housewarming party to get to tomorrow, and if he stayed at work until the sun rose again, several of his friends would be on his ass about that, relentlessly. "Tinotonalecapo… means you are my sun." And next to it, he draws a little sun with a smile inside it. "Pialli… I carry you in my heart. Yohyolitzin is… little by little, or one day at a time. And… zan ta tihueliz ticpatla monemiliz means… only you have the power to change."
Not half bad. But now, he's in one of his little "zones" again and — unwilling to break out of it — he doesn't bother to look up. If he does, it'll mess with his flow and, in his mind, whoever it is can either wait or knock him out of it. Sounds tell him all he needs to know for the time being anyway. Footsteps across the floor means the person has come inside, the sound of the table creaking means they've leaned against it, and the little snort they just let out means… they're amused by his struggle. They've been listening for awhile, apparently, even if they hadn't fully come in.
"Ni mítz tlazotlas ta ma míqui in tonalzin." Luca reads aloud next.
The stranger taps a finger against the table, "I will love you until the sun dies."
Oh. The language specialist. He almost forgot. Duh, of course that's him. He should've set a reminder for that one too, or did he? It probably rang and shut itself off without him noticing while he worked. That's one bad downfall to it. Nevermind it, though, he thinks, because it worked out in the end. Luca writes out the answer given, then straightens up and continues. "Tetlazotlaliztli noyecnemiliz ca."
"Love is my religion." They say. Luca notes that their voice is low, a pleasant rumble that sounds almost gravelly. Not in a bad way, it's pretty soothing actually. He likes the sound of it. "This is a funny way to start working someplace." Comes a casual quip as Luca's marker squeaks against the board again to jot the translation down, "What else?"
"Ha! Ain't it? Ummm… How 'bout this one?" Luca shuts the dictionary, dropping it onto the floor and pulling down sticky notes from the top of the board. "Amitla quipanahuia tetlazotlaliztli itechpa chicahuac. What's that?"
The translator heaves a sigh and in the blurry and vague silhouette on the board, Luca sees them cross their arms. "Means… like, love is the strongest force. Nothing's stronger."
Luca nods thoughtfully. "Mm, I doubt there's anything stronger."
"You think so?" They ask, "You a hopeless romantic or something?"
"Hardly," He shakes his head, "I've never really gone out with people. I've got no idea what I'm like in that case. Actually, I think I'd be pretty bad at it, with my tendency to forget important things. My partner would have their work cut out for them, y'know? Funny, honestly, since I'm writing a story that's so much about romance."
"Aren't some of the best writers of romance people who've never had relationships? More to fantasize about or something."
Luca shrugs and before his mind can catch up with his tongue, he blurts out: "Maybe they remember it from a past life."
If the translator thought that was odd, they didn't say it. Or show it. Luca tries not to kick himself mentally for saying something that stupid and weird out of nowhere. "That's one way to put it."
"Uh. Yeah. Anyway. Next one is," He lifts a note up and squints, "ugh, I don't get why I write like this sometimes… Sorry, I've got killer bad handwriting and I was real fast writing down these things I found. Umm… Ni mitz tlazohtla huan nicpia noyolo."
"I love you and I have you in my heart."
The way he says it makes a ticklish tingle of a feeling shoot up Luca's back. He awkwardly wiggles left to right, then hops once and shakes his head out. He remembers last year, when his cousins teased him about how inept he was, and right now felt like a metaphorical knife in the board. They've got him there, if even the way a total random person can say sweet nothings makes him feel shy.
"You good?" They ask.
Luca tenses up and then laughs the tension back out, "Yeah? Don't mind me. 'M a little weird sometimes."
"Weird can be good too." They say. "They say geniuses are usually pretty weird."
"Y'think I'm a genius?"
A laugh now; softened around the edges in sound, barely audible. "I'd have to see you in action more. So let's keep working together."
"Right," Luca giggles; happy all of a sudden. "then here's the next one. Nimitztlazohtla or nimitznequi."
One, two, three rather large sets of steps and the person has walked around the table, closer to him now. "Those mean," They drum their fingers against the wood, "I love you."
I love you. The voice rings around in his head, akin to something pulling and pushing; tossing him away then bringing him right back like a magnet — attraction and repulsion. Red eyes staring into his own, staring into his soul even. Strong hands in his hair, around his waist, at his shoulders; as if no amount of physical contact could ever be enough. Luca twists his neck around, cracking it and willing his imagination to settle. "Hey, have you always translated this stuff?"
"No, I used to be a mariachi. Still do it, in my freetime."
"A mariachi?" Luca gasps, "That's real off from translating. How'd you end up doing this?"
"Some kind of calling, I guess? Have you always been doing… I don't know. This?"
"No," replies Luca, "I used to be an engineer. I mean, I still am. But it's not the focus right now."
They whistle; an expression of awe. "How'd you end up doing this then?"
"I don't know," Luca parrots back with a snicker, "some kind of calling maybe?"
They snort. "Ha."
Clearing his throat, Luca sets his attention back on the papers in front of him. "This is the last part for today. Can you translate this one?"
"Nochipa nochi in xiuitl, nochipa nimitztlazotlaz." The man is behind him now, pleasantly low and rough voice sounding above Luca's head. They reach a dark-skinned arm over him and Luca notes the burn scars on them, and how strong they seem to be. "Forever and ever, I'll always love you."
There's a tightness in his throat. What Luca manages to spit out, comes out in an embarrassing croak: "Nochipa… you said it twice. What does that mean then?"
"Forever."
The way he says it feels like a key sliding into a lock. It twists and turns and at long last fits into place, clicking and turning and so the shackles come off, and Luca feels like his legs can move again, maybe with a push at his back from his great-grandmother even. He turns around finally, coming face to face with a man who wears a lazy smirk on his lips as he looks down at him. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and his messy hair with it's messy bangs don't very well obscure the burn scar over his eye at all; but he doesn't look bad. Not at all. In fact, it's charming. He is. Everything is, about him. Somehow.
I feel like I'm forgetting something… Luca thinks.
Oh! Introductions! They've been working all this time and they haven't even introduced themselves to each other. His mother always stressed you should do that (all proper and well-said) to make the best first impressions on someone you've never met before. Though they're stood with barely any room left between them, Luca looks up to meet the other's eyes; smile taking over his lips and showing his fang.
"Nice to meet you." He holds out a hand, "Luca Balsa."
"Norton Campbell." The man, Norton, laughs easily; taking Luca's hand with his own, much larger one. His thumb grazes across Luca's knuckles and there's a gentle warmth in his eyes Luca can't bring himself to look away from. Found you. is like a hidden message within those eyes reflected in Luca's own too, even if neither of them understand it. The magnets, perhaps inside them both having latched on forever ago, come to settle on an answer: attraction. Come close, closer now. Don't go. Stay. Norton smiles back, through tears that fall down his cheeks for no reason, because Luca chokes out gasps through his own; unexplainable tears. That large, warm hand rubs them away as he breathes out, "Pleasure's all mine."