0011

“Why did you leave Italy?”

It was the middle of the night and Carter at him with wide, open
eyes. Eyes that were hazel in the florescents of the LaundroKing as
Carter leaned over the counter and looked up at Dean. He had perched
himself on top of the counter, long, lean legs drawn in. Jean tight
and taunt and his hooded sweater loose and falling over his wrists.
Dean looked down at him after a moment, dark hair neatly kept out of
his face, exposing his raised brow.

“Why did I leave Italy? Why would you ask something like that?”

“Because your accent is still sort of fresh, I was just wondering.”

Dean swallowed the saliva that collected in his mouth but he said
nothing. It was a delicate question. One he wasn’t often asked.
Everyone else he knew took for granted that he was foreign. They asked
him silly questions about Italy and Greece and food and customs and
good walls to paint on, but nothing else. Never any questions about
his family or his home. Nothing about the tiny apartment they all
shared overlooking the the city of Rome. Nothing.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Carter said,
shifting his hips and stretching his back out. He looked like some
sort of caramel colored lion cub.

“It’s just an interesting question, that’s all. Why did I leave?
Maybe I should have stayed?” Dean licked at his mouth. His lips looked
redder when slicked with spit.

“Not what I mean,” Carter groaned.

“I know, I know. My father died. So I left.” Dean shrugged. “It
seemed like the best idea and my mother had no problem with it either.
I was always getting into trouble anyway, better to be out of her hair
than her bailing me out of jail again.” He gave Carter a small grin,
sharp teeth peeking out and nibbling on the side of his lip.

“You’re a dangerous guy,” Carter mused.

Dean twisted himself, letting his legs drop off the laminate, back
facing the wall and the makeshift manager’s office that Carter was
always sitting in. He heard the squeak of the wheelie chair that
Carter was sitting in, but didn’t bother to look back. Instead, he
just lifted his arms above his head and stretched, snapping his back
in a few places.

“Nah. Just paint sticky.”