He buys popcorn and a soda. Quentin wants a box of candy, too, but he's already fishing for change in his pocket and the girl at the register is squinting her eyes at him. Quentin comes to the movie theatre enough to know that she gets off work (he looks at his watch as he drops the quarters on the counter) five minutes ago. He resists the temptation to make her spend even more time at the register by reminding himself that if he does, she'll probably spit in his drink next time he comes to catch a flick.
Glossy, garishly pink fingernails tap on the counter as he pulls out the last of the change from his pocket.
"Enjoy the movie," she says dryly, handing him a bucket of barely buttered popcorn.
It's a Sonny Chiba triple-feature. Who the fuck wouldn't?
*
Quentin can see what's happening in the film even when he shuts his eyes. He's seen it before, several times, but that doesn't mean he isn't more than happy to watch it again. Sonny Chiba is a fucking legend.
The doors in the back of the theatre open loudly, letting light shine in and illuminate the back few rows. Quentin cranes his neck to look, but gives the person standing there little thought and turns his attention back to the movie.
"You'll be unconscious soon after a lack of oxygen. It's an ancient technique," Tsurugi warns Junjou, and Quentin leans forward. He takes a bite of popcorn, and then --
and then he's covered in the stuff. Popcorn everywhere.
"Shit. Oh, shit, man, I'm sorry." It's the guy that just walked into the theatre. "You okay? Shit."
"Fine. I'm fine," Quentin says, brushing the popcorn off of his lap. "Don't worry about it."
"I'm apparently not so fantastic on my feet," the guy apologizes. "Sure you're okay?"
"It's just some popcorn. I'll live."
"Thanks," the guy says, relieved. "You could've been a real asshole about that." He sits down in a seat behind Quentin.
Quentin tries to focus on the movie again when the guy leans forward, draping his arms over the seat next to Quentin. The guy elbows Quentin's arm gently. "Mind telling me what I missed?"
"Um, no, sure," Quentin says, and the guy hops over the seat. He slides into the seat ungracefully, his feet hitting the floor with a loud thump. "Uh, that's Sonny Chiba. The one in black."
The guy tears open his box of candy. "You want some?" He holds the box out to Quentin, offering it freely. Quentin shakes his head.
"Uh, so, Sonny Chiba, at the beginning of the movie he was hired to kill this guy, right, and -"
"Man, you've got popcorn all over you," the guy points out, flicking a piece of popcorn away from Quentin's knee. Quentin brushes more of the popcorn away, and the guy's hand too, while he's at it. "Oh, is he supposed to be the good guy?" The guy points to the screen. Jesus, he had the focus of a goldfish.
"He's just a bad motherfucker," Quentin replies, and the guy smiles. He starts to laugh, and something about him makes Quentin want to laugh too.
Sometime during the opening titles of Sister Street Fighter the guy leans over.
"Hey, what's your name?"
"Quentin."
"I'm Robert," the guy whispers back.
Quentin finds himself not being able to pay attention for the rest of the movie.
*
"You got any more questions?" Quentin asks, following Robert out of the movie theatre. Robert karate chops his shoulder.
"Nope. Well, yeah. What time is it?"
"Midnight, I guess."
"You gotta be up early tomorrow for anything?" Quentin shakes his head. "Man, I'm fuckin' starving. You wanna grab a burger?"
Quentin's pretty full, he had an entire bucket of popcorn. Then again, Robert had spilled his own popcorn all over Quentin. So it's probably pretty fair that he's hungry.
"Yeah, sure."
*
The only place they can find that's open this late is a hole-in-the-wall joint called Rae's. Rae's Restaurant. The burgers are shitty, but the conversation is good. They talk about the movies they just saw (thank God Quentin has seen the Street Fighter movies enough to be able to recite the dialogue in his sleep, otherwise he'd be fucked), which spirals into a conversation about the legend himself. But Sonny Chiba's only enough to hold the attention of the discussion for so long when you're eating a late-night meal with a mysterious stranger.
"Enough about Sonny Chiba," Quentin says. "Tell me about you."
"Like what?" Robert dips a french fry into a glob of watery ketchup.
"I don't know. What you do, where you're from, your favorite color, your favorite movie star, what kind of music you like, turn-ons, turn-offs..."
He grins, and Quentin smiles foolishly. Maybe that was a little too much.
"Is this a date?"
"What?" Quentin asks. He takes a bite of his burger and really fucking hopes he isn't blushing.
"You heard me."
"Is this a date?" Quentin asks, trying to express incredulity.
"Yeah."
"I don't know, is it?"
"Ask me later." Robert steals one of Quentin's french fries. Quentin takes one back from the guy's plate.
"Why did you sit by me? In a theatre that was totally empty?"
"You didn't look like an asshole." Robert shoves his plate toward Quentin. It still has a couple of french fries left. "You can have these. I'll get the check."
After taking a wad of bills out of his pocket and dropping a few on the table, Robert leans forward and grins.
"Where to next?"
*
Quentin leads Robert through the door he just unlocked, a hand on his back to guide him. "No peeking." He made Robert pull his bandana down over his eyes before they got here.
Quentin flips the light on, and Robert pulls the bandana back up to the top of his head.
It's a video store.
"You work here?"
"Pretty fucking awesome, huh?" For someone who loved movies, yeah, it was pretty fucking awesome. "I just hang out most of the time. Watch movies whenever I want."
"I'm jealous," Robert admits. He pokes at a copy of Escape From New York. "You get paid a lot?"
Quentin scoffs. "Of course not."
"Why don't you leave?"
"Better than a real job," he answers. Robert finds himself agreeing. Robert follows Quentin to a row of shelves and watches as Quentin tilts a movie back with his forefinger. "You ever seen Rio Bravo?"
Robert grins. "I love it."
Quentin slides the movie back into place, and as he turns back around to face Robert life seems to play in slow motion. Robert steps forward and corners Quentin against the shelves.
"I'm about to kiss you," he says.
His hands are on the shelves behind Quentin and their mouths are touching before Quentin even thinks to say "okay".
*
The thought that maybe things are moving too quickly enters Quentin's mind very briefly before Robert's touch on his skin burns that thought out of existence. They've moved on to Quentin's shitty apartment, and they're in his bed, and... aw, hell, it's way too late for any kind of regrets.
Quentin doesn't know what kind of luck let Robert bump into him at the movie theatre - literally bump into him - but somehow it must've been fate. It had to have been fate, otherwise there was no way the burgers would have happened or the kissing or the impending sex.
Robert straddles Quentin, and Quentin runs his palms back and forth over Robert's jean-clad thighs as they kiss.
*
Robert is gone for forty-five minutes before Quentin stirs enough to notice the bed is empty and that the window is open. It's cold enough at night that Quentin realizes he ought to get dressed. He throws on some clothes and pulls on a jacket as an afterthought.
He finds Robert out in front of the billboard adjacent to his apartment building, leaning against it and smoking a cigarette. He's wearing one of Quentin's sweaters. Quentin zips up his jacket and steps up to Robert.
"What's up?" Quentin asks, but quietly. The neighbors will kick his ass if he gets too loud at this time of night.
Robert takes a drag from his cigarette. He fidgets, agitated.
"I gotta tell you something, Quentin."
"What's that?"
"I didn't just... run into you at the movies. I was paid to be there."
"What, you work there? Why didn't you say anything?"
"I don't work there. I'm... I sleep with people. For money."
"You're a whore?" Quentin asks. What. the. fuck.
"No!" His hands fly up. "It's different. It's not that. This is only my fourth day on the job, or something like that. You're my third... customer."
"What?" Quentin breathes. What the hell is going on?
"Fuck," Robert mutters. "Here we go. Okay. You know the movie store? The one you work at? Your boss... what's his name?"
"Does it fucking matter what his fucking name is?"
"No, no. It's... he's the guy. He wanted to get you something for your birthday. He wanted me to act like I showed up... just ran into you..." Quentin doesn't look mad, but he isn't smiling, either. "Are you mad?"
Quentin thinks about it for a moment, then shakes his head. "I ain't gonna lie to you, that's one of the best nights I ever fucking had. The night and the sex." Robert looks a little relieved. "I guess I knew something was up. There was no way you could've liked me that much."
"Fuck. Quentin, this... This isn't me. I'm not about-" Robert waves his hands, smoke from his cigarette curling around him. "This. It's not what you think it is. I'm a good guy, I swear to fucking God."
Quentin kind of wishes he had his own cigarette right now. This is sort of a lot to take in.
"I just... When it comes to relationships, I'm one hundred percent, alright? All in. I don't sleep around. I'm with one person. If I'm with you, I'm with you. Nothing else fucking matters."
"Yeah?" Quentin can't resist taking the cigarette from Robert and taking a drag before handing it back. Robert looks him in the eye.
"Yeah." Robert puts the cigarette to his lips and draws in a final breath of smoke before dropping it to the floor and rubbing it out with the heel of his boot. "Hey, did you mean what you said about that being a really good night?"
"It's probably the best time I've ever had with somebody, if you want the truth. I mean, you like the same movies, you like the same music, you don't like pickles on your burgers-"
"Look, man, I feel sort of dumb saying this because I've only known you for one night and because of what I do or whatever, but I'm really, really into you."
Quentin grabs him by the front of the sweater (his sweater) and pulls him closer, close enough to stare into his eyes from a dangerously short distance before shutting him up with a kiss.
"Come back inside."
"Alright," Robert agrees.
He lets Quentin take his hand and lead him back in through the window.
― omar little, Thursday, 16 December 2010 18:53 (fifteen years ago)