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It's late, Tastyville is cold. Roy sits curled up under his covers, wrapped up tight in a soft duvet and his baby blanket. The occasional car alarm and the odd light of indeterminate origin carries the city, keeps it from getting too stagnant and too lonely. Today is Roy's birthday. Or, it was his birthday three hours ago.
Joy had given him a tight hug, Louie had showed up from taking care of some business in another city to do about the same thing, slapping a check in his hand as well, after a long winding story in Sicilian Roy struggled to keep up with. Overall, it had been a pretty good day, by normal birthday standards. He was turning twenty six after all, he didn't need an all out fiesta, just a little small thing and a tiny cake with his name written on it. But, still by the end of it he'd ended up crying in his bed. It wasn't for any fear of mortality of loss of youth, though. His phone sits on his bedside table face down, Carlo has not texted once.
Roy is new to this whole romance thing, but it shouldn't be too much to ask for a happy birthday at least, maybe a text back? Maybe a call? Nothing. Even Bruna had reached out, but no Carlo. He didn't tell her that, didn't want her to drag him over by the ear and force something artificial out of him. If he didn't want to see him, fine!
The only remaining issue was that, Carlo had known. He'd known for weeks. Roy never made a big deal about his birthday, but he did nudge him a little, mutter something about wanting to spent the day together, to watch a movie, just something that he thought couples were meant to do, something he'd hoped Carlo would do without asking. He's always expected to be swept up off his feet; Portallinians were notorious for their romance, the cliche rose in the mouth and serenades underneath windows. Maybe that was a little overkill in Roy's opinion, but a date night every once in a while shouldn't have been too much to ask for.
He's still awake, he's been sitting here with his eyes closed for god knows how long but his body just won't let him sleep. No, this is bugging him too much. Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, he turns over onto his other side, facing the window that looked out across the road. He could see just barely through the slats in the blinds, the light polluted sky and the street lamps. He isn't sure why, but it's almost enough to set him off crying again.
Sitting in his call history is three outgoing calls to Carlo, one twenty second long voicemail asking him to call him back. Getting ignored was upsetting enough, but begging, and begging, and begging for attention just made him feel childish. Roy bets he was out partying, out doing whatever big shot celebrities did instead of just being normal people. Every day some big star got mixed up in a new drug scandal or some other awful accusation. All of the Romanos had been in their fair share, even the quietest and most friendly of the four of them. It was just what fame did. It made people jealous, made them spin up lies, made them dig too deep into your personal life and figure out things you would have much, much preferred be private.
Carlo had no business spending time with Roy. Roy's eyebrows furrow angrily and his eyes squeeze shut till color bursts behind them. No, no, Roy had his fair share of publicity too, he deserves to hang out with the people in higher places just as much as Carlo.
But, no, not really. Roy hiccups and curls up a bit tighter, rubbing his socked feet together and clenching his blankets in some childish attempt to self-soothe. He was just his zio's shadow. He just wasn't cool enough for the mandolinist's circle, apparently.
Roy would go get hammered with him, go to the club and make friends with randoms for the night and do whatever substances Carlo told him to, if it meant the two of them could laugh and have a nice time. His social battery had never been high enough for that, and he had never been courageous enough to do drugs. Realistically, he would have pussied out in the middle of the night, stumble onto the streets of Starlight City disoriented and overwhelmed, and Carlo would have been upset with him for cutting the night short.
Pulling the duvet to his face, he uses it to soak up the hot tears that were beginning to well up again. His cheeks were stinging and dry from the salt, and his head hurt, and his heart hurt, and his everything just ached. He shoots an almost desperate, blurry glance to his phone. It was still dark, still silent. To think he could just will Carlo to pick up the phone and call this late at night was stupid. Roy tries not to get himself worked up again, he's spiraled enough for one night.
Roy pulls the covers over his head like a child, the sense of defeat settling deep in his stomach. What was the point of fighting, or asking for anything really.
The phone vibrates, thudding rhythmically against his bedside, and he freezes. No, no, not Carlo. Probably just Joy up late again, probably high, wanting to bumble on about how he's just the best baby brother ever, and to stop growing up. That didn't seem like something that he could tolerate right now, but his curiosity is getting the best of him. He pulls the covers off his head, and when he grabs his phone he has to look away to let himself adjust to the light of it. Squinting, he inhales sharply. Maybe Roy had cool magic powers after all. It isn't a very funny thought in the moment, because it is immediately replaced with all of the hundreds of harsh words he had bubbling up, pressing on his tongue. Carlo's name sits glaring on the middle of his screen, and for a long moment Roy wonders if he should answer at all.
Of course he does though, because he would never not. What was wrong with him? He holds the speaker up to his ear.
"Hello?" God, his voice sounds wrecked. He sniffles once for good measure, maybe just to see if Carlo would catch on and see he was upset.
All he hears for a moment is the sound of dry lips separating, the sound of light. It's completely silent in the background. Was he… not out partying? Had he gone home before calling? Had he just ignored him all day? He hates this silence, but he wanted to hear him talk, just to know it was him. Was he really that lame?
"Rrroy," No, no. He's definitely been out drinking. Or in drinking. Lord knows their liquor cabinet never ran dry. The sigh that leaves the pizza boy's mouth was a sentence in of itself: what is wrong with you?
His red-rimmed eyes flick back and forth, physically looking for the words to say, all of his bulletpoints to scream about suddenly gone. Roy opens his mouth to speak.
Carlo beats him to it. "Can you… ehh, grapi la porta?" It takes a second to decipher what he said; it sounds like he was hardly moving his lips. Christ, he must be fucking wasted.
"Wait—" woah, Roy clearly did not catch what he was actually saying while he was internally criticizing him, "you're, you're at the door? The door of my apartment? Right now?" His voice is less wobbly now, more angry, more… happy? Trying to figure out how he felt right now was not something possible in the present moment.
Carlo clears his throat, sighs softly as if irritated. "Se."
Roy's mouth hangs open, still sitting in bed like Carlo wasn't twenty feet away according to him. He throws his phone facedown on the covers, still on the call, and trips onto the floor untangling himself from his sheets. He's half naked, only in his boxers and a raggedy t-shirt, but his brain's prerogative was set. He didn't care to look fancy for Carlo this late at night, not when he was this upset.
He gropes and stumbles through his dark apartment till he ends up in the doorway, and when he opens the door it only opens an inch before hitching to a halt, and Roy cusses and closes it again to undo the deadbolt. Carlo stands there in all his drunken glory. He wasn't lying, huh. He reeks of alcohol and expensive perfume oils, his eyes are unfocused and half-lidded, and when he sees Roy, this huge grin splits his face.
Carlo herds Roy back into his apartment with surprisingly steady hands on his shoulders, and he hits the wall with an "umph!" His fingers fumble for the light switch inches away, and as soon as he flicks it on Carlo's lips are on his.
Roy freezes, thoughts stopping dead in their tracks, replaced with a weirdly pleasant hum despite the bitter taste of whatever his liquor of choice had been tonight. The door sits ajar, an invitation for anyone to come see him getting manhandled by his very, very intoxicated lover. When Carlo pulls away, he doesn't let Roy go far. His arms loop around him and presses his head against his chest, avoiding his jutting sternum, something Roy did not think he would remember to do in this state.
All the fight in Roy is gone already, and his arms hang limp at his sides as Carlo coos over him like a mother. "Royyyy," he chimes, swaying on his feet, "bon cumpliannuuu," all of his syllables are jumbled and indecipherable, but Roy knows what he said, "happy birthday", and suddenly he finds his anger again. Roy pushes him, harder than he intends to, and the mandolinist stumbles back with some sort of alarmed chirp.
"Did— did you fucking drive here?!" Is the first thing he can think to say. His eyebrows knit up into this… look. Carlo tilts his head at him.
"Uh-uh, caminai." Carlo scratches his face, then shrugs.
"So," Roy laughs in disbelief, pressing his palms into his eyes with a groan, "you were in town already and you didn't think to come see me? For my birthday? The one you promised me we'd spend together?"
A creak from outside, Roy's neck twists so fast it cracks and he just barely catches a pajama clad Cooper slipping back into the safety of his own apartment before he got caught in the crossfire. Roy looks back to Carlo, then at the hallway, then to Carlo, then back, and stomps forward to slam the door. It rattles on the hinges and probably woke up the rest of the floor in the process. Roy didn't care.
When he turns back around though, there isn't anger anymore. This look is just sad enough to make Carlo's face twist up to mimic him just slightly, the way he did when he was trying to read someone. "You promised me, Carlo!" His voice breaks and tapers off into silence, and all he can do at this point is motion at the air in front of him and stare. When he blinks tears roll down his flushed cheeks, and he moves to wipe them with the back of his hands. Carlo's lack of response is killing him.
Roy stands there for a long moment, breath coming in cut off sobs, something he tried desperately to hide with his head pointed at the ground.
Still Carlo says nothing, but Roy gasps when he sees his feet shuffling forward towards him. Long spindly fingers find his chin and tilt his head up, something Roy lets happen with no resistance. His face is wet and his teeth are grinding and his lips are quivering. He must look like a toddler from so far up, and he feels like one with his neck craned up to look at Carlo. His thumbs swipe over the pizza boy's cheeks and smear saltwater across them, and for a fleeting moment Roy swears he sees an emotion flicker on his face. He can hear it in his voice though, when he finally speaks.
"Amuri," Carlo sounds weirdly sober now, it startles Roy, and he hates how the pet name melts him right into his hands like it always did, "mi dispiaci." It's all he can think to say, all his brain can conjure up through the cloud of alcohol. He leans down to touch his forehead to Roy's, and Roy just completely gives up. His fingers grab for Carlo's cardigan, and this time he's the one initiating a hug. He's buried his face in warm fabric before Carlo can even get his arms around him. He cards his fingers through his cowlick, and stares at the wall. He knows he has no excuse, knows that he is just causing himself easily avoidable issues. What was romance without a proper fight every once in a while, though? Carlo blinks sluggishly, petting Roy and letting him get the rest of his tears out till he pulls away snot-faced and red-eyed.
"Y-you," Roy huffs, then inhales sharply, "are such an asshole!" With his voice pitching up like that, it's hard to take him seriously, but Carlo just presses his lips into a thin line, like he knew he was right, and he did.
Carlo only responds with one word: "Bed." and he's dragging Roy through the dark without a second thought. He enters first, turns the light on, lets Roy's hand go and begins to take his clothes off.
Roy is silent, watching, then suddenly blurts, "I don't want to have sex with you when you're like this." His voice is so quiet and tiny now, tired from crying, and the tiniest grin pulls at Carlo's lips.
"Va beni, non cercu di fari lu sessu." He slurs, shoes and socks and cardigan and whatever else falling into a messy pile so unlike his neat persona. He gets down to his white undershirt and boxers just like Roy, then flicks the light off. Roy watches as his shadow moves over to the bed, then crawls into it, and he knows his chance to yell is really, truly gone now, and all he can do is follow.
When he settles under his covers, Carlo crawls on top of him, and Roy's breath stops, thinking maybe he'd already forgotten what he just said, but Carlo just settles himself on Roy's chest and leans forward to kiss his cheek.
His fingers hold Roy's face still so he can press kiss after kiss to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. Roy squirms, then whines, trying to tilt his head out of the line of fire. When he does though, Carlo simply gets what he can, peppering his neck and muttering soft pet names and praises. Roy tries to be irritated, but that plan falls apart as soon as lips find his throat.
"C-Carlo—" His voice breaks into giggles after Carlo calls him cucciolu for the hundredth time and when he targets that sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder, his hands come up to push at him much more playfully than the shove he had given him earlier. When he relents Roy is out of breath from squirming and laughing and squeaking for the other to stop, and he settles at his side.
Carlo's tongue is heavy in his mouth, that little attack taking what little energy he had left in him as he curls around his warm body. "Bon cumpliannu," he hums again, muffled against thick brown hair and old bedsheets. Roy nuzzles close. He still smells of alcohol, he's still drunk, he still ghosted him on his birthday, but he thinks that maybe, this wasn't an awful way to make up for it. Maybe Roy is too forgiving.