Page 73 of Two for Charging

seelionssaylions: Howie in his costume among the WAGs makes him look like a tiny baby

grant16rules: love that Tom Crowler has framed pictures of Jax Grant with his dog on the wall

(From Hilde Gustafsson’s Instagram Live reel, posted on 11/01/2025)

“Han Solo? Seriously? You are not cool enough to dress as him, Lu. Not even a little.”

Pietro pulled an overdone considering face on the tiny segment of Luca’s phone screen reserved for him in FaceTime. “I don’t know—maybe grumpy old man Han Solo from the new movies?”

“You’re both terrible,” Luca informed his siblings.

“And another thing,” Pietro said, undeterred. “You do know that in the movies, Han Solo isn’t in love with Chewbacca? Every picture from the party shows you mooning over him the way Chiara pined over Zayn Malik when she was twelve.”

“Shut up.”

As one, they gasped.

“So it’s true!” Chiara cried.

“Shut up.”

“How long have you—”

“Be quiet. He lives here, and he speaks Italian,” Luca hissed. He had overplayed his hand so intensely Chris must know how he felt, but so long as neither of them mentioned it, maybe they could keep being friends and roommates.

The shock silenced both of his siblings for a few seconds, but they never stayed quiet for long.

“Luca,” Chiara cooed. “I’ve never seen you like this! How long have you—”

“Since I moved here.”

“And you—”

“Yes, I’m sad and pathetic and totally in love with him, and he will never feel the same. He’s too good for me, all right?”

This time, the silence was more judgmental.

“I’m sorry. This is the Canadian who thinks he’s from Italy, no?” Pietro asked.

“Yes.”

“The one who thought he invented a new version of pasta carbonara when he took out the cream?”

“Yes.”

“The one who dumped a girl when he found out her family might be…you know, la familia?”

“Look, I didn’t choose this,” Luca got out through gritted teeth. “And I know it’s a bad idea. I’m trying to get over it. It’s just not easy.”

Chiara, who had always been his favorite, softened in sympathy. “Poor Luca.”

Pietro, a perpetual menace, cackled. “Oh my God, this is why you spent all summer fucking big, beefy guys! You—”

“You spent all summer doing what?” Chris asked in English from the open door of his bedroom.

“Nothing.” Luca ended the call quickly. “Why are you awake?”

It was eight in the morning, and they didn’t have to be at the rink until noon for practice. Chris liked to sleep in and emerge doe-eyed and disheveled, and Luca liked to imagine waking up next to all that.