oh boy

The borders of your tentative acquaintanceship begin to grow beyond the bounds of your bedroom and your front hall. It drifts slowly from your bedroom, into your kitchen, and into your living room. He starts to come over to come over, not just to blow through your room and stray into your bed.  He lingers by your windows and smokes a cigarette; he watches you cook, and teases you for making the same two or three things all the time. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it,” You grumble, eyes set on the food in front of you. You ignore Javier as he comes deeper into the kitchen, as he plasters his bare chest against your back, and rests his hands on your hips; he becomes harder to ignore as his lips skim along the line of your neck, as he murmurs, “I like it,” In a way that’s mean to reassure you (though you can hear him teasing a bit, still). You assume it’ll start and stop there. It’s a wonder, frankly, that Javier has let you draw him out this way. But Javier starts drawing you out, too— out of your bedroom, out of your kitchen, out of your apartment. You start going to his place. Sometimes you’ll meet for a drink or two first. You’ll pry into his life your questions, but he starts to pry into yours. Well, maybe pry isn’t the right word— it’s not harsh as all that. Your steps are still cautious, but you think you may be toeing the line of tentative friendship. But the night that you come and see Javier, that you stay with him because he’s had a long day, that the two of you do nothing more than hold, you know that you’re far more than a toe over that line. You don’t know what it is the two of you have these days— it’s new, it’s fragile, and Javier Peña can still be a tornado when he wants to be. That conversation would likely come with its own storm warning. 

-- “You’ve been here three years,” Javier’s reminder is spoken as a reprimand. “I know, I just… Christmases away from home are still weird, I don’t know,” You laugh, looking around. You aren’t complaining, though— Christmases in Bogotá were beautiful: temperate, ornate and lovely. You're just so used to spending them alone. But now Javier is at your side, drifting down the street, pointing out different displays and storefronts. 

You can make out the sounds of Christmas music drifting out of shops, the chatter of conversations around you. You aren’t focused on that, though— your mind is set more intently on the odd brush of Javier’s fingers against yours. It shouldn’t be so exciting; you know his touch well enough. You just aren’t used to the idea of it somewhere anyone could see you. But then Javier’s fingers are wrapping around yours, and he's tugging you along to a nativity scene made entirely of lights. “This one is my favorites—” He tells you, and he’s telling you about the first time he saw it, the fact that he comes back every year, but you can’t focus. Javier has taken hold of your hand so readily; he’s holding onto you— does he realize that he’s holding on to you? You look up at the nativity, taking in the likenesses made in lights, but honing on the warmth and weight of his palm pressed against yours. “...It’s beautiful,” You say softly when you hear Javier stop speaking. It’s true enough, it is, but so’s Javier’s touch. You’re sure he’ll let go— but he’s murmuring, “C’mon,” And drawing you further down the block. You’re careful not to squeeze his hand, not to intertwine your fingers, certain it’ll jolt him. “Are you hungry?” You ask when your tongue manages to unstick from the roof of your mouth. “A little,” Javier nods, “Which of your three recipes are you gonna make for me tonight?” You scoff, turning your nose up at him, “Well none of them now that you’ve sassed me.” Javier opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s cut off by the ring of his sat phone. You’re used to that— it’s drawn Javier away from you on more than one occasion. The two of you stop walking, and you wait as Javier reaches into his jacket pocket and fishes the phone out. You watch as he answers it, looking around and listening to the person on the other end. And then he gives you an pouting little look before answering Murphy. You nod a little bit, forgiving him before he can even apologize. “I have to—” “I know,” You murmur, watching him put away the phone. He cups your chin and pecks your lips. “I’ll call you,” He promises softly. And he makes to step away before his eyes drop to where the two of you are still holding hands. It takes you both another couple of seconds to let go, and when he does, Javier has the most unreadable look on his face. You panic a little and reach up, giving him a light punch in the shoulder, tacking on, “Go get ‘em. And— be uh, careful. You know.” Javier nods a little bit, taking a couple of steps back. You watch him go, almost disappointed when he doesn’t look back to you, when you see him shove the hand that was holding yours into his pocket. 

-- He doesn’t call. 

-- 

It’s a couple of days before you see him again. He doesn’t give you a chance to say a thing before his lips are on yours. It isn’t a tug of war this time— it’s like the old days, you just let him rattle you. --