Chapter Text
“No. No! This isn’t right,” Enzo tore another page off his sketchbook, it was the third one he’d sacrificed since he’d started—or at least attempted—to portray his overwhelming emotions. They weighed heavy on his chest, and art was the only way he knew how to process them.
Stan Pines? Really? He’d only known him for half a day. It didn’t make sense. Usually he would need to know someone really well before experiencing whatever these feelings were. He was a conman, a total scam. None of his Mystery Shack artifacts looked anything but half-assed and cheap. He didn’t really seem like he had much else to him other than his overwhelming love for cash.
“Wrong.”
Come on, it was just one day . He couldn’t have developed something already. He didn’t know him. He had barely spoken to the man. This dream was nothing important. Just another mind trick.
“Porra! Idiota!” Another page torn, thrown to the edge of the room, a pile of orphaned pages was getting more cluttered on the cold floors. What would even justify a dream like.. that? They were strangers. That’s all they were. It wasn’t a crush. It couldn’t be.
“Fuck. Not again.” He exhaled faster and heavier after every failed try. Whatever it was that made him feel this way was clearly not easily replicable on paper. Even though Enzo had acquired and honed a great skill of sketching anything thrown in front of him with ease most of the time, this was not one of them.
“Again.” His thoughts raced faster, feelings weighed heavier on his conflicting heart.
“Too flat, meaningless.” Again . The chaos of torn pages and shaven lead covered the entire floors of the room by now.
“Too empty, too cold.” Again. He tried to ignore the atrocious feeling of his wet undershirt sticking to his body.
“No, no, no. This is not right. get it together Enzo, just..” draw. just.. draw.
The pencils got shorter, the sketchbook pages thinner, yet he wasn’t getting anywhere close to representing those feelings with lead.
He tried to slow down and breathe, but any hope of having a steady breathing pattern was long lost.
He ignored the rumbling in his chest, still determined to get this right, but he failed continuously on the only thing he knew how to do. The lines on paper were indistinguishable at this point.
“Too fucking flat!”
Every time he tried to add meaning, he fell short. It was always missing something, he couldn’t point at what nor why.
I can do this. I just need to calm.. down.. to.. focus..
His hands were near-black now with lead, the pencil shavings were pooling around him. He couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t get his hands to go where he wanted them to.
It’s just a drawing. Come on. Don’t be stupid . The vision was crystal clear in his mind, but the lines refused to behave. He tightened his grip.
His hands shook uncontrollably regardless of his attempts to steady them. The breath raced its way to his lungs like it was his last.
He pressed hard on the page, his grip got even firmer, like the pencil was gonna fling off of his hand if he didn’t hold it so strongly.
His sketches became more and more abstract, now looking like random disoriented scribbles. He could feel the walls of his stomach contracting, making him sick, the acid reflux battled its way to the top of his throat against his will.
Small line here…
He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t accept the possibility of defeat, not with something he’d grown so accustomed to and perfected like it was second-thought.
Very delicate, very sof—
A loud snap made him flinch—his pencil broke in half.
“FUCK!” He yelled involuntarily before he shoved his hand against his mouth, the last thing he wanted at that nightmarish hell of a moment was for Stan to wake up and see him in this horrifying mess. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Come on, you fucking idiot! This is horrible! You’re a failure. A FAILURE!” He pouted, tears gathering in his eyes, his throat closing.
He grabbed another pencil. One.. more.. time..
His last failed attempt made him fling the sketchbook against the wall. If his loud voice didn’t wake Stan up, the sketchbook definitely did now. He caved, accepting that there was no way out of this attack. Not this time. He curled up on his side, holding his knees close to his chest. The room spinned around him, his lungs collapsing onto itself.
B-breathe.. come on ju-just br-breathe..
The door creaked open slowly, the faint fluorescent lights from the hallway shined into the dark room.
“Enzo?”
Shit. Shit! Stan couldn’t see him like this nor the room in such a terrible mess. He tried to shove the papers back into his bag. There were too many scattered everywhere.
“Can I come in?” Stan hesitated. The door creaked audibly as Stan peeked inside. After multiple call-outs and no response from Enzo’s end, he just walked in, footsteps slow and heavy.
Stan stopped near the door frame, worried, his eyes hovering around the room. Enzo tried to hide the sketches before Stan could see them, but it was far too late.
“I.. I heard some noise, so I came to check in. Are.. are ya okay?” Stan asked, his tone concerned. His eyes glossed over Enzo’s shaken frame. “Are you uh.. crying?”
God fucking damn it.
Enzo couldn’t help it. He’d lost control the moment he’d woken up and grabbed that pencil. His mind told him to run as far away from here as possible, but his body acted on its own, falling onto Stan’s stomach and his arms wrapping around his waist. The oceans gathered in his eyes finally found a safe haven to fall onto, Stan’s chest.
And I’m crying.
“Enzo? W-What happened?” Enzo was crying heavily on his chest and all he could think was that it was somehow his fault. His hands hovered over Enzo’s back, hesitantly, before he replaced the doubt with confidence. He rubbed his back gently.
Here he was, crying on the shoulder of a man he met yesterday.
“Come on now, kid, let it out.” Stan's breaths were heavy, unsteady, as if he were trying to calm himself.
“Hey, hey, now.. Focus on me, okay? You’ll—you’ll be okay. You’re safe here.” Enzo’s head was spewing nothing but deafening, self-depricating torture. His eyes were unable to look up at the face above him.
Enzo’s body was tense and rigid against Stan’s touch, the only sound coming out of him was his heavy sharp breathing and his heart beating fast and loud. Stan didn’t stop, he kept caressing his back and began humming a song, his chin laying gently on top of Enzo’s head.
“Hush now, hush now, you will be okay. Don’t you worry, you are safe, I got you today.” He hummed and hummed, his voice low and coarse, yet had a unique softness to it. As time went by, he tightened his arms around Enzo more.
Enzo would instinctively stretch an arm out for his sketchbook every once in a while in Stan’s grip, before remembering where he was. Art had always been his only way of coping with anything. But now, he was wrapped by the arms of this complete stranger, confused on why he hadn’t just ran away like he always did.
The humming seemed to help ground him back to the real world, added with the feeling of Stan’s hand caressing his back, his face buried in his robe, and the sound of Stan’s heartbeat—calm and steady. He took a deep breath in, and out. In, then out again, taking note of the route the air took in his lungs, how his body felt as it slowly, yet steadily started exiting fight or flight, or well; freeze or flight.
Sweet and smokey. Just like the dream.
All of a sudden, the walls around him vanished into thin air, hot sun shining on his body, feeling a humidity around him that wasn’t the same as Gravity Falls’, birds chirping outside. Not any birds, though. Birds he’d heard when he was just a little kid. A distinctive cacao smell entered his nose, kids playing around him with joyous laughter, the feeling of hot concrete under his feet even though he wasn’t barefoot.
He kept looking around, this wasn’t Gravity Falls anymore, it was his hometown in Brazil when he was five, Rio de Janeiro. When he looked back to where Stan was, he’d disappeared, only an emitting glow from where his frame used to be was left behind.
Enzo walked slowly to explore the street he was in, confused, but intrigued. He continued checking the scene, the houses on the street were eerily familiar, he could swear he knew this neighborhood. Trying to find out more he started to go down the street slowly, but his attempt was disrupted by a random kid that tugged at his hand.
“Porque você parou de correr? Enzo, vão te pegar.”
As if this wasn’t weird enough, this random kid grabbed his hand telling him to ‘run before getting tagged’. Pega-pega? He muttered ‘tag?’ under his breath, his vision blurry.
“Oque?” Enzo exclaimed to the kid, bewildered, and only now realized that this wasn’t a random kid, but his best friend from his early childhood.
He waited to get an explanation, but his childhood’s best friend just sighed, letting go of his arm and running away. Before he could ponder longer about the weirdness of this all, a familiar warm voice called his name; it was his mother.
Come inside! Help me roll Brigadeiro or you’re not gonna get any if you’re late. You can play afterwards.
He furrowed his brows following the sound of his mother. His jaw unclenched, his grip loosened.
The moment he opened that door with sheer excitement to experience his childhood once more, his vision blurred out, and a thick red rope slowly morphed back into the picture. He looked up, and there he was again, Stan, looking down with glossy eyes. Though this had never happened to him before, he shrugged off the unexpected childhood train, and went back to Stan’s chest, his forehead pressed against it.
“Don’t ya worry, kid. I’m not going anywhere ‘till I know you’re okay.” Stan continued rubbing his back. Enzo could feel the warmth from Stan’s neck and shoulder slowly transfer to his forehead. The smooth texture of his red robe was grounding, and it smelled great, too.
It took about ten minutes of Stan humming and caressing him for Enzo to finally fall to a calm state and out of the panic attack. It felt weirder this time, trying to calm down with company around, he’d always had to do it himself. He’d never felt safe enough unless he had been completely alone. People coming in on him mid-panic-attack had only made him feel worse every single time. Getting yelled at by his father and being told to quit crying like a whiny bitch had never stopped a panic attack. Go figure.
And yet, it was comfortable, for some odd reason he felt safe around Stan, a reason he couldn’t completely point out.
Enzo exhaled a big breath, his knees suddenly became weak; they’d been holding all this tension for so long. “I-I’m so sorry, Stan. I..”
“Shh now, it’s okay kid. Ya don’t have to be sorry about anything. Ya feeling any better?” Stan asked with a tone that was soft and assuring, his hand patting Enzo’s back.
“I’m… yeah. I am. Thanks to you, Stan.” Enzo finally lifted his face off of Stan’s red robe, wiping the salty tears off his cheeks, and tried to look up at him. Stan’s shoulders dropped, his chest puffed out a big breath.
“I’m really glad. We don’t have to talk about it now, okay? Let’s get ya out of here for some fresh air. Put on some new clothes, we’re going out.” Stan squeezed Enzo’s shoulder, his eyes soft and genuine.
“Going out?” Enzo took a breath in, then out. “Where to? Sorry I’m uhh.. my head hurts, I don’t know if I can go anywhere.”
“Ya hungry?” Stan asked, now smiling.
“Oh, I think so, it was kinda hard to focus on my hunger during… well, that.”
“Well, nothing to get rid of a headache like a good hearty breakfast and a hot cup of coffee. Come on, wouldya join me? My treat.”
Enzo smiled, he felt a slight coldness on his shoulder when Stan’s hand left it.
“Coffee? I mean, you don’t gotta say it twice. I’ll get changed and um, clean this mess… Sorry about that.” Enzo looked down around him, observing the chaos of his own creation, before getting interrupted by Stan’s hand almost cupping his face. Stan’s thumb softly traced around his blue star earring. His touch sent tingles in the back of his neck. He held a breath in.
“Did ya sleep in this?” Stan nodded to his earring, grinning. Enzo exhaled sharply.
“Being cool sure comes with its own consequences,” He laughed awkwardly, Stan joined him, but his laugh was genuine. “No seriously though, I was too tired and lazy last night to take them off, I don’t usually sleep in them.”
“That so?” Stan let go of his face, once again leaving a trace of warmth behind. “C’mon, we can catch it early before it’s too crowded, have a quiet time.”
“Meet you at the door in ten?”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
Enzo started cleaning up his room, listening to Queen in his headphones. The more he cleaned, the more he felt like it was an endless trap.
He managed to pick up all the pages, shoving them in the trash. He saved just one, to keep record, of course.
He shuffled through his suitcase hazily for something to wear. His wardrobe wasn’t much of a bright color fest; filled with earthy tones and dark blues and blacks and the rare whites (band shirts, mostly). The single pop of color in the bunch was a purple dress shirt and a fancy set of black pants he packed for special occasions. He finally picked out a forest green knit sweater and a pair of black denim with some black Converse.
“Hey, sorry for being late. Finding every pencil shaving turned out to be a nightmare.” Enzo approached the door, rubbing his eyes, and only now noticed that Stan was wearing something different; a blue Hawaiian shirt with a white flower pattern, unbuttoned, revealing his white undershirt beneath, and a pair of khakis. Enzo smiled, it was a different look compared to his signature Mystery Man suit.
“No worries about that. Ya ready?” Stan asked. “Nice sweater.”
Enzo nodded. “Thank you! I see you’re wearing something different today?”
“What, ya don’t like it?”
“I do, Stan. It looks comfortable.” Enzo walked up to Stan and smoothed out the top of his shoulder, where his shirt was crinkled.
“Good, ‘cause it is.” Stan laughed.
“Didn’t expect the Mystery Man act to drop so soon, though.”
“Ya not getting rid of that one easy,” Stan grinned. “Mystery Man by day, good ole’ Stan Pines by night.”
“So you say?” Enzo smiled. His eyes darted to the golden chain that popped up from beneath Stan’s chest hair. “The thrill of the double life, huh? I like it.”
“You could say that,” Stan grinned. He opened the door for Enzo. “After you.”
“So, where are we going?” The cold early morning breeze ruffled his hair when he stepped out, the sun shining soft on his skin. The smell of fresh pine made him take a deep breath in.
“Follow me.”
Stan walked to the side of the Mystery Shack where the cars were parked, heading to a beautiful red convertible shining in the distance, Enzo followed suit.
“So… whaddya think?”
Enzo’s mouth dropped. “Woah! Is this your car?”
“Yup. my sweet ole Stanmobile, a ‘65 El Diablo that I’ve had for more years than I could count. She’s a beaut’, ain’t she?”
“A beaut’ is an understatement, I mean, look at her! ” Enzo's hands reached slowly for the shiny exterior, his fingers tracing over the edges of the top which was matte white. “The paint is gorgeous, this shade is perfect. The texture is smooth but rustic, the accents are lovely, it fits you perfectly Stan. Don’t think I've seen anything like it before. They really don’t make ‘em like they used to.”
“That’s what I keep saying! No one has ever appreciated my girl like you do.” Stan laughed loudly, his hand brushed Enzo’s for a second. “She’s been with me through thick ‘n thin. Not sure what I woulda done if I didn’t have her with me all these years.”
“And you named her your Stanmobile? Aww.” Enzo smiled warmly.
Stan looked away for a second, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah. You like the name?”
“I do.”
Stan opened the door for Enzo to get in. The first thing he noticed was the positive sensory input flooding his brain. The smell of that rustic leather was wavering out of the car, the seats in front were brown leather, connected. Enzo took a good look around, admiring the quality of the interior.
“C’mon, we’ll be late for pancakes.” Stan gestured, he went ahead to his door and went inside, the leather squeaked under the weight of his body.
“Oh, we cannot be late for pancakes! One of the seven deadly sins, I’m pretty sure.” Enzo said theatrically. Stan’s side of the El Diablo looked like it fit him perfectly. His seat shaped his figure comfortably, while on the other hand the passenger seat looked almost new.
“The seven deadly sins?” A chuckle left his lips, his brows raised.
“Yeah, greed, envy, gluttony, missing pancakes, of course, you know the rest.” Laughter filled the car with a smooth, gentle air as Stan started the engine, then reached out for a compartment in his door, picking up a metal case. He took a brown cigar and offered Enzo another.
“Oh man, haven’t had one o’ these since freshman year of college, was a bad one too. Thank you,” he reached for the cigar in Stan’s hand, his fingers accidentally touched with his. Enzo didn’t move his hand right away; it lingered for a moment. Stan was warm against his cold skin. He took the cigar, Stan cleared his throat.
“Ya know how to smoke it? Need me to walk ya through it?” Stan asked, his tone soft.
“Of course I know how to smoke it, Stan,” he laughed. “Hand me the cutter and the lighter.”
Enzo proceeded to cut the cigar’s head with Stan’s silver cutter in one sweep motion. He placed it between his lips and started lighting the foot with the lighter, rotating it consistently and taking short huffs until it was fully lit. He took a longer drag, admiring the taste of fine tobacco on his tongue.
“Looks like ya know what you’re doin’, I’m impressed.” Stan threw a smug face in Enzo’s direction.
“Think I can’t smoke a fucking cigar, Stan? You think so little of me.” Enzo laughed, Stan joined him. He handed Stan the cutter and lighter back before Stan began lighting his cigar. “This is incredible. Where’d you get these from?”
Stan took a long huff of his cigar, waiting a moment for the tobacco to linger on his tongue before answering. “Colombia. Got about 25 boxes from there before I returned to the states. Fine stuff.”
“Colombia? Did you smuggle the cigars? There’s no way they let you carry 25 boxes into the country without a permit.” Enzo laughed, taking a huff of his cigar.
“What do you think?” Stan was quiet for a moment, the realization set in and they both broke into a cackle, Stan laughing louder.
“I think…” He watched the smoke leave his mouth slowly, the aroma of fine tobacco and old leather was pure bliss. It had been a long time since Enzo experienced this. A sense of comfort and familiarity he’d only felt with his closest friends. “I should’ve never asked that question in the first place.” He glanced out the window, taking note of the pine trees around them. “Of course you smuggled them.”
“Ha! I think you’ll learn a lot more about this side of me the more we hang out.”
“Bring it on, Mr. Mystery.”
Enzo looked around him in the car, hesitating for a second. “Two very important questions.”
“Shoot.”
“The first: can you put the sunroof down? I need to have the ‘wind through my hair’ experience at least once in my life.” Enzo waited eagerly.
“Ya got it,” Stan pressed a button and the sunroof started coming down, disrupted by a squeal of triumph from Enzo’s side of the leather seat. The magical wind of Gravity Falls pushed their hair back, driving through the early morning serenity of the woods. No annoying family members to bug him, no obnoxious college mates, no one to interrupt. Just them, the wind, and fine tobacco.
“Lovely,” Enzo sighed deeply. “Important question number two: Do you have any cassettes? I would kill for some music.”
“Yeah, you can find ‘em right under…there. Pick whichever one that feels right to ya.”
Enzo shuffled through the cassettes, which were mostly random sixties and seventies bands he wasn’t very familiar with, except one he almost missed, hidden at the bottom of the pile.
“Oh my GOD!” Enzo yelled so loudly it startled the older man. “There’s no way!”
“What happened? Ya alright?” Stan shifted his sight from the road to look at Enzo, who was holding a cassette with an excitement resembling a puppy getting a brand new toy.
“Am I alright? Are you kidding me? It’s ABBA!” His pitch was higher than the trees above them, waving the cassette in Stan’s face.
Stan chuckled, returning his eyes to the road. “That’s a good one.”
“Oh oh oh, Stan Pines, you have no idea what you’ve just done.” Enzo pushed Best Of ABBA through the car's cassette player. “No. Idea.”
“I got it back in the eighties. They had a show in a neighboring state. I lured the security guard by making noise around the bins, sneaked in from the backdoor when he wasn’t lookin’ and watched the show from the corner. I managed to snatch a cassette on my way out when the guards started chasing me.” Stan laughed, his tone soaked with nostalgia.
“You went to an ABBA concert?” Enzo exclaimed with a quick turn of his head. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “That was a bit louder than I expected…”
“Ha! I see, kid. You really like ABBA, don’t you?” Stan smiled at him, patting Enzo’s left knee.
“Hell yeah I do! My favorite band of all time. I love them so much. It’s one of my dreams to go see them live.”
“You will one day.”
Dancing Queen by ABBA started playing on the car speakers.
“See that girl? Watch that scene! Digging the dancing queeeeen!” Enzo sang ecstatically while Stan smiled with a warmth that wasn’t familiar to him. Seeing Enzo sing so freely and happily made his heart warm.
Enzo sang along to the music, his voice getting louder every passing second. Normally he’d rather bury himself in a pit before letting anyone hear him sing, but here, he didn’t feel the need to. It came naturally, the lyrics sung in perfect harmony. Stan didn’t know all the lyrics like Enzo did, but his eyes would switch to Enzo’s then back to the road every now and then. Stan smiled, his grip soft on the wheel.
“Ugh, what a great song. Deserves all the hype.” Enzo said as the song finished up, playing into the next.
“Sure does.” Stan chuckled.
Several songs later and many-a-broadway performances by Enzo, the car started slowing down, parking next to what looked like a log building, with the words Greasy’s Diner on top.
“We’re here, C’mon, lemme show you ‘round. introduce you to some people before sitting down.” Stan stepped out of the car and opened Enzo’s door for him. Enzo’s hands started shaking a little at the mention of people and introductions , he tried to hide it, steadying his hands and taking a deep breath in.
“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. These people are harmless, I promise. Don’t even gotta say a word kid, I’ll do the introductions for ya.” Stan said confidently, stretching out an arm.
Did he really notice? Enzo’s hands were shaking for mere seconds before he put the social mask on. He took Stan’s hand and stood out of the car.
“Thank you, Stan. I’ll be okay! Just a little nervous to meet new people is all.”
“I know,” Stan smiled softly. “All is well here.”
First thing Enzo did after stepping foot on the ground was take a proper look at Greasy’s Diner. It was definitely something he hadn’t seen before. The diner was shaped perfectly like a brown log resembling the tall trees Gravity Falls was known for. It looked cozy and welcoming.
“I’m definitely sketching Greasy’s, by the way.”
“Of course you are.”
The guest doorbell rang when they walked in the diner. Enzo was hit with the much welcomed scent of fresh coffee, butter, and bacon. Ah, America.
“Mornin', everyone,” Stan waved to the town’s folk in the diner before sitting at a table, Enzo sat on the opposite bench.
“This place feels so…” Enzo drifted, looking around him carefully,
“Warm?”
“Yeah! It’s so cozy.” Enzo sighed in relief, his shaking legs calming down slightly.
“That’s Greasy’s for ya. Everyone comes here, breakfast, lunch, and dinner served all day. See that old lady over there?” Stan pointed to an older woman in the distance with long blown silver hair, she had blue eyeshadow and a nude lipstick on, wearing a pink apron. She gave Stan a greeting nod and a smile before returning to wiping the counters.
“Yeah, who is she?”
“That’s Susan, she’s the current owner of Greasy’s. She wasn’t the original founder but she’s been workin’ here for as long as I can remember. People call her Lazy Susan, because she has a lazy-eye. Which… is a little funny story–well not really funny but I might have accidentally been the reason she has a lazy eye. A story for later, I suppose,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck.
“You gave her a lazy eye?” Enzo chuckled. “Yeah I have to hear that story sometime.”
“You will.” Stan smiled. “See the guy over there with the red hair sitting at the counter?”
“You mean the 400-pound-looking block of muscle? Yeah I see him,” Enzo looked behind Stan at the man sitting at the counter. He had wide shoulders and chest, his shirt looked like it almost ripped open against his muscle, his red hair seeping out from under his hat.
“That’s Manly-Dan,” Stan said.
“Manly-Dan? Is that a nickname you have for him or something?” Enzo asked curiously, his eyes darting back and forth between Stan and Manly-Dan.
“No, that’s what he calls himself, weirdly enough,” Stan huffed, looking confused.
“Well, he does look pretty manly I guess,” Enzo joked.
“Eh, I guess so, I don’t think you have to carry an 800 pound log to be considered manly though.” Stan grunted, his arms crossed.
“If you’re asking if you’re manly enough, Stan, just say so.”
“Wh-What no! I’m not asking that, of course I’m manly enough! Do you.. think so, though?” Stan looked away avoiding Enzo’s gaze, tense, his fingers tapping against the cold table. Enzo laughed loudly, making Stan look back at him.
“Stan, you’re manly enough, whatever that means,” Enzo affirmed. “I think masculinity is being weaponized these days, men care too much about how manly they appear to others because they’re afraid they’re gonna get made fun of. It’s sad, I know I struggled with my masculinity all my teen years when I showed the slightest sliver of femininity or vulnerability. Society made us think there’s one way that ‘Masculinity’ presents. Hell, I think Manly-Dan might have gone through a similar thing. Maybe it was trauma or something that made him feel the need to present that way.” Enzo trailed off.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“To answer your question in more detail, though, you are pretty masculine to me. Not in the way society wants to see masculinity, but in the way that actually matters.” Enzo leaned in against the table. “You’re masculine because you’re yourself. You’re honest when it matters, and you strike me as the type that fights for what he believes is right. I think you are brave, that you challenge your fears and overcome them even with time, that you stand true to your virtues even if everyone else is against them. Now, I don’t know you long enough to know these things for sure, but that’s the impression I got.”
Stan was quiet for a moment, he then corrected his posture and smiled. “You got all this spot-on after knowing me for a day? Are you a wizard or somethin’?”
“Might as well be,” they both laughed. “I’m told I’m good at reading people.”
“You sure are,” Stan smiled. “Anyway, Dan is Wendy’s dad, the kid that works at the Shack, you met her yesterday. Dan owns a woodworking shop with his family.”
“Yeah I remember Wendy! I knew he resembled her closely, makes sense he’s her dad.” Enzo’s eyes darted to a man sitting at a table alone in the far corner of the diner. “What about him? The awkward guy with the glasses sitting over there?”
“That’s Toby Determined, he’s a total geek but he’s pretty harmless.” Stan shrugged. “That’s about all of ‘em right now, at least for the ones in the diner, since we came in pretty early. More people come in a bit later in the morning.”
Lazy Susan walked up to their booth, laying two menus on the table.
“Morning Stan! Who’s that new pretty face with you?” Susan asked, then turned her eyes to Enzo. “You look wonderful darling,”
“Says you! Walking down to us like a goddess descended from the heavens! Also, that lipstick fits you perfectly, sweetheart,” Enzo said warmly. Stan looked at him with surprise.
“Oh you sweet little thing! Aren’t you the cutest? Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your adorable friend, Stan?”
Stan cleared his throat, “Yeah, that’s Enzo, he came in from out of town and I gave him a job, so he’ll work at the Mystery Shack for the summer. I just gave him introductions of the people here.”
“Well isn’t that sweet! Look at ya, giving the kid a job on his first day here!” Susan said, her voice and whole demeanor was bubbly and welcoming. Stan coughed, looking away for a second then back at her. “Here are your menus, let me know when you want to order! I’ll just be over there behind the counter.”
“Will do! Thank you, Susan,” Stan said.
“You’re much welcome! And Enzo, it was nice meeting you! Please come by sometime this evening, I’ll bake you a fresh batch of cupcakes, consider it a welcome gift for joining our little community for the summer!” She smiled warmly, her face bright.
“Oh you are too sweet! Thank you, darling, it was nice meeting you as well! I’ll make sure to stop by later for these cupcakes, I have such a sweet tooth.” Enzo greeted her warmly, she smiled and left. “Well isn’t she the cutest thing?”
“What was that?” Stan laughed.
“What was what?”
“The way you talked to Susan, it was all… confident, sweet? I thought uhh, it was hard for you to talk to strangers, but you handled that pretty well.” Stan hesitated.
“Oh, yeah, that’s the courtesy of the social mask,” Enzo laughed, playing with the sleeve of his sweater. “It’s not that I can’t be social with people, in fact, I excel at it when I have to, but I dread it so much and it ends up leaving me charging my social battery in solitude for three weeks.”
“Makes sense,” Stan laughed. “So what do you wanna order? Did you take a look at the menu yet?”
“Ooh good question!” Enzo flipped through the menu. “Coffee, for starters.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m not sure what to order, I would love to have pancakes, but eggs and bacon sound so good too.” Enzo’s fingers tapped against the menu, puzzled.
“We can order both and share, if you’re okay with that,” Stan said, smiling.
“That’s an incredible idea, Mystery Man.”
“Then that settles it,” Stan gestured to Susan and she came over.
“So have you decided?” Susan asked, holding a little notebook and pen.
“We’ll have the egg bacon special and Greasy’s pancakes, with two coffees please.” Stan ordered as Enzo watched carefully. His eyes darted back to that golden chain popping against his thick silver chest hair. He tried to stop himself, really he did; but something about that golden chain spoke to him in a way that piqued his interest. The view of his chest muscles wasn’t bad either, if he was being honest.
“You got that! I’ll get that started for you.” She headed into the kitchen.
“I can’t wait, I’m starving.” Enzo expressed, fidgeting with his fingers. There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again. “Listen, Stan, about what happened this morning—”
“Hey, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, okay?” Stan said softly.
“I know! I want to.”
“Then go ahead, I’m all ears—literally—look at my big ears,” Stan joked, Enzo chuckled quietly.
“What happened today.. It’s not exactly an unusual thing. I get these… panic attacks regularly. I’ve always had them.”
Stan leaned in closer, his hands perfectly still on the table, the sound of his shirt crinkling was audible.
“I have General Anxiety Disorder. It’s… crazy, because this is the first time I’ve said it to anyone other than my mom. I was diagnosed at a young age, 9 or 10 years old. I’ve had these, these nightmares, or I guess they were daydreams but… bad? I’m not making much sense, I’m sorry.”
“No no, I’m listening. Go on, if you’re comfortable, of course.”
Enzo took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’d be scared, at all times. Seemingly of nothing at all. These thoughts would take a hold of me and my body, freezing me in place. It’s not always triggered by something. Of course, it worsens with stress, like school or emotional distress, but it always happens regardless. These anxiety attacks were constant. Sometimes they turn into a panic attack, like the one this morning.”
“I see.”
“I guess the reason why I’m saying this isn’t to.. to warn you or anything, or that you should expect to do what you did today which was, was—“ Enzo choked. He felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, so he corrected his posture and cleared his throat, shifting his mind to his happy place for a moment. “Sorry, as I was saying, what you did today was wonderful. I don’t… expect you to do it again, it’s not why I’m telling you about this, I just need you to be aware that this might happen again, and it isn’t because of you or anything. It’s me.”
Stan took a moment of silence which didn’t last long, he leaned in a little closer against the table. “I understand, kid. Believe it or not, I’ve had my fair share of anxiety and panic myself, back in the seventies and eighties when it was really bad. I get it. I still have them every once in a while, ya know? Less frequent but definitely still there. I hear ya, kid. It’s not easy.”
“Thank you Stan. For what you did today, for… being you. It’s not easy to find someone who can understand.”
“I can say the same about you.” Stan smiled, it looked genuine, like it was filled with joy. He leaned back against the bench, his posture more relaxed now.
“I have an idea! Let’s play a game.” Enzo spoke.
“A game?”