Things I Wrote at One Time or Another

Past Lives; "An Almost One-Night-Stand"

A/N: lolol another (more recent) attempt at a modern au for The Arcana.

PAST LIVES AU

An Almost One-Night-Stand

Drool pooled from where his lips met the sheets, he groaned, wiping the rest of it off before settling his head back down. He reached for one of the pillows, burying his face into it and breathing in—it smelled different.

He raised his head, eyes squinting through the morning light. His shampoo didn't smell like lavender and honey, it smelled like strawberries and dandruff. He rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes, feeling for his phone on the bed stand. He knocked something over—a wooden toy? It looked like a fox. He stared at it over the edge of the bed, eyebrows furrowed as he made to check his phone.

Five missed calls from Portia, three from Calliope, a bunch of text messages from Yves— it was ten in the morning on a Sunday. He caught a glimpse of one of Yves' text messages:

[where'd you run off to with your new boy toy ;) ?]

He looked up and finally realized this wasn't his bedroom. This wasn't his bed, his sheets, his pillow— He lifted the duvet to find himself in just his boxers. He panicked, got up, and searched for his clothes. As he struggled to get his pants on he wondered where his partner was—maybe he left hoping Luca would get the hint. He would've been upset but he would rather go home and pretend nothing happened—maybe get tested just incase.

After minutes of searching for his shirt he decided to leave it and pulled on his sweater. He grabbed his sneakers and walked out into the hallway. He was passing the kitchen when he heard a voice call out towards him.

"Leaving?"

Luca turned around, shoes still in hand. In the kitchen stood an extremely handsome young man—an Adonis. His pearlescent hair was a mess but it still managed to make him look irresistible—his eyes were the oddest shade, amethyst. He wore a small smirk on his lips, along with a loose pair of sweats.

Luca swallowed hard. He scored last night and he hadn't even realized it.

This must've been a joke.

"Don't you want breakfast?" He was holding up a plate of freshly made eggs, setting it down beside a second plate. He had made breakfast for him? "Or, at least a shower?"

Luca opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself, suddenly self conscious. The stranger's expression relaxed into one more reassuring, "Don't worry you can leave once you've had your fill—coffee or tea?"

Luca slowly wandered into the small kitchen, settling himself down at one end of the table. The stranger handed him a fork and a mug, Luca mumbled a quiet thank you before berating himself in his head.

"Tea would be nice . . And—"

Before he even needed to ask the stranger dropped two Advil caplets next to his plate and a bottle of water. He went off to brew the tea without another word.

Luca enjoyed his eggs, but he also preoccupied himself with questions. Should he eat quickly? Does he smell? Are these eggs poisoned? Is this guy a serial killer? Who is this guy? He tried to recall last night, his eyes wandering towards him. He couldn't wrap his head around how he managed to convince someone so attractive into taking him home. I mean look at him, he thought. His eyes wandered down to his behind—

"Tea is served," the Adonis interrupted his thoughts, sitting down next to him and witnessing the fluster that erupted on his cheeks. He had brewed tea for the two of them and poured Luca's mug first.

"Enjoy," He said before digging into his own plate of eggs.

Luca was halfway done with his, so he found himself sitting there gazing at the man beside him. The stranger glanced up at him while he chewed, "I don't remember your name," Luca said finally.

He swallowed, smiling. "Asra," He said. "You were slurring a lot last night so you kept mispronouncing it—"

"No, that's not what I mean—" Luca settled his fork down. "I mean, I hardly know you but you made me eggs."

The smile never faltered, Asra glances down at his eggs again. "We know each other," He said.

"From last night?"

"No," he hesitated before getting up, leaving the kitchen and giving Luca enough to bolt out of there. But he didn't get up. He didn't know why.

Asra returned with a book—a yearbook, but it was all plastic and cheap. He turned a few pages and presented it to Luca, placing it on the table in front of him. "I realized—while you were still asleep—that I know you, we were in elementary school together," Asra pointed towards Luca's little face—teary eyed and covered in freckles. Then, he moved his finger towards another child's face—this one smiled brightly, revealing a missing tooth. His hair was a dark brown but still matching in curls, and his eyes were a clear amethyst.

He remembered him, "We were . . " he looked up at Asra. As a kid, Luca remembered he was considered strange. Stranger than the loner Luca was—he played with ants and told weird stories, he was absent a lot, or just disappeared midway through class. The last time Luca saw him was in fourth grade, everyone assumed Asra had moved away midway through the year. "You've . . . Certainly grown," why did he sound like a grandmother?

But Asra laughed, closing the book. "Guess you never thought you'd sleep with an old classmate, I mean, hopefully not—" his smile dropped for a moment, analyzing what he said. Luca intercepted.

"We—we slept together?" He asked.

Asra sat back down, chuckling. "Yeah—"

"Like, slept . . 'slept' as in not sleeping but—"

Asra stared at him for a moment, "Are you asking me to talk about what we did? Over breakfast?"

"No—"

He laughed, having to hide his smile. "You were great, I can tell you that," he chuckled to himself. "Very cute."

Luca's cheeks flushed, "I was high—"

"I know—"

"Were you high?"

"A little bit, I smoked a bit afterwards," he took another bite of his eggs.

Luca sat there, slowly panicking. He grabbed his mug, wrapping his hands around it before taking a sip. The warm liquid flowed down his parched throat, warming up his insides. He zipped up his sweater and collected his dishes, "Well, this has been nice," he said. "I appreciate . . . This," he gently placed the dishes in the sink. "Uh, I would do them but my aunt says that's weird when you're a guest so I'll just leave—have a nice day."

He grabbed his shoes and headed out the kitchen down the hall, he had reached the front door when Asra spoke from the kitchen doorway. "Luca," He said. It was the first time he had remembered hearing him say it—something surged through him at that moment. An odd feeling of relief, nostalgia, familiarity? His hand hovered over the doorknob.

"Have you been having any weird dreams?"

Luca turned around, his fingers buzzing. "Dreams?"

Asra nodded, leaning against the doorframe. Something in his eyes called out to him, pulling him away from the door.