On a Sunday Morning


chess3_icon.gif ignacio_icon.gif

Scene Title On a Sunday Morning
Synopsis Chess tries to sneak out but isn't fast enough and Ignacio has a rule of his own for this friendship.
Date January 10, 2019

Red Hook Ignacio's apartment

There are curtains over the windows of Nacho’s bedroom in his apartment above the botanica, but they’re the sort of curtains that let a lot of light in. Considering it’s an east-facing window, that means early rising for anyone who can’t sleep through the sun on their face. At least it’s winter, so it’s not that early. Just kind of early.

Nacho stirs as it hits him, his eyes pressing further shut as he turns over with a grunt. A moment later he pushes himself up on his elbows, causes the blanket that had been covering him to fall a little bit downward, exposing almost the entirety of his back. He looks around, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

Will Chess be there? Has she snuck out without waking him up?!

She’s working on it.

Her back is to him as she wriggles into her jeans, hair disheveled from pulling on her sweater a moment before. She turns to look around for her boots, but the gray wintry light comes in at an angle that’s great for hitting the faces of those lying in bed, but not so good for finding dark shoes in the dark shadows of a still-mostly dark room.

Chess’ dark eyes catch on him sitting up in the bed. “Hey.” Her hand pushes her hair back out of her face, which doesn’t look too chagrined at getting dressed while he was still sleeping. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Hey.” Nacho turns over toward her, propping himself up with one hand as he regards her. “So you’re just gonna ditch me without even saying goodbye, huh? I see how it is. I feel so used.” The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk, but his tone is light, especially considering that the whole point of this was for him to be a distraction.

He holds a hand out, pointing in the direction of a couple shadows on the floor. “They’re over there,” he says, of her shoes. “This’ll teach you to wake up earlier next time so you don’t have to talk to your conquest in the morning.” Though he doesn’t actually answer her question.

She rolls her eyes; the light’s too dim to see the flush in her cheeks as he calls her out. She makes her way to where she’s kicked off her boots picking them up and moving over to the bed to sit down at the foot of it, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“I don’t sleep well. No reason to sit around and listen to you snore,” she says lightly, pulling the sock she’d shoved inside the boot out to pull onto her foot first. “You ever ask Eluggua how to stop that?” is asked with a small smirk, before she turns back away to pull her boot on, then drops her foot to the floor and pulls the other foot up to the edge of the bed.

“Please. I don't snore.” Nacho sits up then, scooting so that he's sort of half-behind and half to the side of her. “And it’s Elegua. Don’t blame me if you get into trouble.” He leans in to kiss the side of her face, as though he’s going to attempt to entice her to stay, but after a moment he pulls back.

“So does the dine and dash mean that I should expect not to hear from you again?” he asks, his eyes on her face, though in this position it’s more her profile than her eyes, especially if she doesn’t turn her head. “‘Cause you know, it’s cool. I’ll try to get through it. Knowing beforehand it’ll save me blowing up your phone like a creep.”

“Oh, pardon. Elegua,” Chess corrects, smirking as he gives her that cheek kiss, as she pulls her sock onto the other foot. She glances over her shoulder, eyes narrowing a little as if she’s appraising him and whether or not it’s worth it.

Once the boot is on the other foot, she turns to face him, one leg on bed, folded up toward her, the other dangling off. “It depends, I guess. We can do this now and then as long as you’re not going to get all romantic on me. I’m not gonna fall in love with you.” This is worded matter-of-factly, like she’s saying she isn’t going to make dinner. “It’s nothing personal. And if you want that with someone, cool, go for it, you know. Just… it won’t be me.”

She holds up a finger in warning. “Don’t get all psychologist on me about it either. I’m not asking for Elegua’s advice on it or yours.”

As she speaks, Nacho’s smirk fades a little bit, though not like he’s upset at her answer. It’s more like he’s genuinely confused. His eyebrows raise, and after a moment he just lets out a snort of amusement. “Nena, I’m just talking about hanging out and having fun, and you already jumped to sadly ever after? Coño, que creída.”

He stands up then, letting the blanket fall away as he moves to his dresser to grab a pair of boxers from one of the drawers. He isn’t moving particularly quickly, but he also doesn’t seem like he’s trying to give her a show, either. He just seems unconcerned with walking around without clothes. “I got no plans to get all psychologist or anything else. You want breakfast before you bail on our imaginary relationship, or nah?”

“Yeah, well, the last guy I tried to FTF decided he was in love with me after two nights, so I like to come with a warning label,” Chess says a little defensively; the light’s grown enough in the past few minutes and now she’s close enough he can see the flush on her cheeks. She’s not inhibited physically, but clearly easy to embarrass with words.

Chess watches him as he moves, huffing a small laugh at his words. “Just wanted to warn you. It’s..” and maybe to get back at him for his use of a language she doesn’t understand, finishes, “yuánmùqiúyú, so don’t try.” Suddenly a pillow sails through the air to hit his head. “Not that you would, of course.”

A second later, she says, “Do you cook?”

Nacho rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he steps into his boxers, then reaches to grab an undershirt to pull over his head as well. “I’m just saying. You asked me out, and you tell me to distract you, and then you come at me all, ‘don’t fall in love with me.’ Like, what? I feel like I’m in a novela, except I’m the girl.”

He turns around just in time to get a pillow to the face. It’s met with an incredulous sound, and he bends down to grab it and chuck it back at her. “Of course I cook,” he says as though he’s offended, though there is some amusement in his tone. “But I think I’m just gonna make something for me, ‘cause I don’t want you to spend breakfast all suspicious, looking around for a promise ring in your eggs. Feel free to pour yourself some cereal.” Though he does grin after he says this.

She catches the pillow easily. “Okay, okay. I sound like a crazy person, I get it. But that’s the deal. You don’t fall for me, I don’t fall for you, and if one of us finds another or starts to feel more than general friendly and/or tingly things that are super shallow end, we end shit, yeah? And it won’t be me.” So she’s said.

Rising, Chess follows him to go to the kitchen. “Promise ring? What are we, sophomores in high school?” she asks with a roll of her eyes, but she can’t help but smirk a little. “I’ll just look for the cubic zirconia in the Cheerios, then.” And she seems content to do so, moving to where she presumes he keeps his cereal boxes to help herself.

“Whatever you say, mamita. You’re the boss.” Nacho just heads out the door and to the kitchen, and he opens the fridge, looking around before he pulls out some eggs in a bowl, since they’re probably from actual local chickens nowadays and cartons are outdated. He removes two and puts the rest back, so he must be serious about only making some for himself. Can’t have his cooking make Chess fall in love with him, now can he?

“Maybe we are. It wouldn’t be any weirder than anything else that’s happened since I woke up.” He casts her a look, before grabbing a pan down from one of the cabinets. “And if you find anything in that box you better hand that shit over quick. I only buy cereal for the prize and I’ve been waiting on that ring for a minute.”

She finds a box of cereal and glances at him when he says the morning’s been ‘weird,’ but she doesn’t retort, opening cabinets and drawers until she finds a bowl and a spoon, then brushing by him to go to the refrigerator. She doesn’t seem too upset that he’s only cooking for himself. Maybe she’s not an egg person.

“There’s some weirdass time shit that’s been going on, but I don’t think any of it involves going back in time. Thank god. No one needs to see me at 15 again, least of all me.” Chess picks up the milk and takes it to the counter to pour in the bowl along with some of the cereal. “I bet you were a little loud-mouthed short kid, class clown type, who hit puberty late,” she suggests, lifting a brow at him, before heading back to put the milk away. When she returns to her bowl, she hops up on the counter to eat, clearly not too worried about waiting for his eggs to be ready.

“Weirdass time shit, huh? I’m glad I got no clue what that’s about. I just hang out in my shop doing my readings, no one tells me anything.” Nacho breaks the eggs on the edge of the pan and drops them in to fry, before glancing over his shoulder at her. “Yep,” he says, apparently without taking offense. “Pretty much. And now I’m medium-sized loud mouth adult. Thank god my balls dropped.”

He looks up at her then, studying her with a little tip of his head, before he says, “I bet you were one of those kids who kept to themselves but talked shit about how dumb everyone else was behind their backs, even the ones who tried to be friends with you.”

The guess about her past persona makes her eyes narrow a little, but then she looks downward into her bowl of cereal, smirk or smile and everything between slipping away into something more serious. Perhaps a little hurt.

“Wrong,” she says flatly, finishing the spoonful of Cheerios she had in her hand, before dropping the spoon into the bowl and the bowl into the sink. “But thanks for playing.”

She hops off the counter to head back to where she’s left her bag and jacket, looking at her cell phone for a moment, but as usual, there’s no bars. Figures. She pulls her jacket on, a scowl thrown out the window at a rainy day she’s not dressed for. It certainly matches her mood at the moment.

“Mm. Well, you can’t win ‘em all.” Nacho doesn’t really seem that concerned that he’s clearly pissed her off, either — of course, what did he expect after what he said? “I guess you got the mean streak as an adult. But I guess it’s better to talk shit to people to their faces instead of behind their backs, so good for you on that one. At least people know where they stand. I can get behind that.”

He doesn’t look at her as she gets up to leave, just flips the eggs over to continue cooking them. “See you,” he adds, reaching up to the cabinet to grab a plate. Though the way he says it makes it clear that he does not expect to see her, and it’s hard to tell whether he cares.

Chess stands, looking up at the ceiling, irritated at his words, her posture tense, defensive. She begins to move toward the door but then sighs, and turns to look back. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t look upset that makes her turn back. Because that’s the kind of person she needs for arrangements like this, after all.

She watches him for a moment, before crossing the distance between them again, leaning on the counter nearby. “For the record, I always thought the loud-mouthed short kids who hit puberty late were pretty fucking clever and cute,” she says. “Nice to see how one filled out.”

She looks like she might say more, maybe apologize. Explain. But she just shakes her head and offers, “I’m pretty screwed up. But you knew that.”

Nacho just snorts when she comes back, and says this. “Not all of them turned out as hot as me.” He does look up at her then, just as he slides the eggs onto his plate, and he studies her for a couple of seconds with a thoughtful look. “Yeah,” he finally says, “no shit.”

He reaches up to run a hand back through his hair, already a little messy since he hasn’t fixed it yet. “Look,” he says, a little more seriously, though not particularly heavily. Just like he’s laying out some facts. “You can have all your rules and shit about love and feelings and whatever. I don’t want to be your boyfriend. I got my own shit going on. You’re cute, and you’re good in bed, and I think we had fun up until like five minutes ago. I really don’t care how screwed up you are because we all got demons, like you said. But I’m not interested in being your emotional punching bag. So if that’s what you want, find someone else. That’s my rule.”

“And modest, too,” quips Chess, but it’s teasing and not meant to be a dig.

She quiets, her dark eyes studying him as he speaks, and when he’s done, she nods.

“Deal. Finish your eggs and we can go back to having fun,” she says, with a nod to his plate, her smirk returning. “I’m going to go use all your hot water.” She slips off her jacket to drop onto the back of a chair, apparently not leaving after all.

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