this place makes me happy.

   That’s how the rest of the week feels. Like you’re just constantly overenergized and bumping into tables while you wait for Saturday to arrive so you can ask Pero all the new questions you keep coming up with.    He, meanwhile, seems perfectly calm, which is kinda frustrating. But you also feel certain that he’s not nearly as unbothered as he so effortlessly makes it look.

   Thursday is pretty much okay. You arrive at work feeling rested, because you did end up falling asleep the moment you laid down at the end of the date. And you’d slept very soundly with the realization that you’d enjoyed every moment of the date and felt so safe and comfortable throughout the evening that it’s given you confidence for a lasting friendship and strong hopes of a potential romance. All of which gives you a sense of harmony within yourself as you go about your day, giving no external signs that you’re hitting an invisible table every fucking time you see him.

   Friday is much worse, though. The idea that your next date is only one day away makes it so much harder to contain yourself, and your coworkers obviously notice. You’re more energetic than most of them even on the worst of days, but now you’re even skipping breaks because the idea of sitting down is making you wanna jump out of your own skin.

   “You get laid, or something?” one of your female colleagues remarks when she returns from the 8am break and passes your station, finding you dancing on the spot while you operate the MAP.

   “Not yet!” you cheerfully reply, before turning towards her voice, only to find Pero walking right behind her.

   Your giddiness instantly turns into embarrassment, and you hurriedly return to your task with stark focus, even though you’re utterly unable to think about anything other than the fact that he definitely heard it, and you have no idea how he might feel about it.    Because while you do know that he’s genuinely interested and attracted to you, he’s made a point of not even touching you in the most innocent of ways yet, only ever after you’ve reached out to him or made it clear you’ve wanted him to. So, you know how important it is to him to take things slowly.

   “Ooh, so you are dating someone?” your coworker grins, clearly pleased with this unexpected turn of events, but thankfully she seems totally oblivious to your reaction shifting because of the man who’s now trailing slower behind her while she continues at the same pace towards her area, further east within the factory.

   “Um… yeah. I am,” you decide to declare, because you want him to know that that’s how you see the two of you right now, even if you would never tell anyone who you’re dating unless he made it clear he was okay with it.

   “Nice. I’m happy for you,” she chirps before leaving the subject and disappearing around a bend.

   And as she does, you feel fingertips brushing against the small of your back, where your t-shirt bulges out a little because you like to keep it tucked at work, which means it gets stretched out when you sit or squat.    He’s only just grazing your skin through the fabric. The lightest of touches, but you know exactly what it means, and it makes your whole body warm.    Without a word, he carries on with his work, probably on his way to help someone or fix something, or he wouldn’t be passing you at all since his station is in the other direction. Which is also why you didn’t think he’d be anywhere near you when you said it.

   By lunchtime you’re feeling the lack of a breakfast, so you hurry to the breakroom before all the microwaves are taken, getting there just before the onslaught of hungry workers.    Taking your seat once the food is warm, you dive into it while it’s still a little too hot and begrudgingly have to slow down and blow cold air on each bite, which is surprisingly annoying when you’re ravenously hungry.    But in your battle with the microwave heat, you don’t notice that Pero’s entered the room.

   You’re usually able to tell just from the shift in the energy of the space whenever he walks in, because everyone is always a little on edge around him, but you’re just too preoccupied and disappointed with yourself for not having breakfast, to realize it this time.    So, when a glass lunchbox and cup of water are placed on the table opposite you, you don’t react at all because there’s barely enough seats for everyone, so people generally sit wherever there’s room.    When the entire breakroom goes silent from one second to the next, however… you notice.

   He hears the words and sees your reaction before it’s even sunk in what you meant by them, but he feels bad for you once he realizes, because you seem so ashamed or embarrassed by them. And you shouldn’t. Wanting closeness isn’t wrong, not even wanting it from him, you should never feel so uncomfortable voicing that.    But he also feels certain you wouldn’t have reacted so strongly if it had been a less public affair. If you’d happened to say it just to him you would’ve probably smiled a little, perhaps felt a bit insecure as is normal for anyone exposing their desires, but that would’ve likely been the end of it.

   You say it in a way that makes it sound like a joke, and if you hadn’t so obviously regretted it once the words were spoken, your coworker would’ve probably left it alone. That’s the curse of involuntary reactions. There’s no way to edit them.    But Pero likes hearing it, and not just because it involves him. He likes that you’re apparently so excited about what’s happening between the two of you that you can’t help but blurt out unfiltered comments about your love life.    So, as discreetly as he can, he gives you a nudge. Just a truly tiny reassurance that your desire is wanted and appreciated, and he can feel your temperature change with the sudden comfort, even as he slowly passes behind you.

   It makes him smile, although you wouldn’t have been able to see it on his face had you turned around just then, because he’s a master at not showing it, however strongly he might feel it. But he will, if you want him to. If this goes where he hopes it will, he’ll show you everything he’s never wanted anyone to see.    You would be worth it.    For now, though, he carries on to the station furthest east in the factory, where an operator has apparently managed to break a forklift, which turns out to be an understatement.

   When he gets there, the machine in question is halfway underneath a shelving unit made of steel, which has demolished the entire cabin as the vehicle was forcibly crammed into the much lower space.    The forklifts are all electric and limited to indoor speeds, no more than 5mph, so this level of damage shouldn’t be possible.

   “Tovar, thanks for coming,” an older operator greets him, pausing his efforts to clear away debris while he steps closer to be heard over the general noise of the factory. “It suffered some kind of power-surge. Just went full throttle all on its own. Poor Jenny had to bail, there was nothing else to do.”

   Jenny works on the storage and goods team, they’re the only ones who have access to the forklifts, and she’s one of the workers Pero actually likes.    He likes the women more than the men, overall, because in his experience, women come to work and get stuff done. They like to keep busy, and they like to see results for their efforts, whereas the men are generally the ones who will happily stand around and gossip for an hour, while their stations are unmanned and producing nothing at all.    Which, in the end, always affects everyone else negatively, and especially the taciturn Colombian, since he’s the one who will invariably have to fix the equipment which they neglect to perform the daily maintenance on, because they’ve been too busy doing fuck all.

   “Is she okay?” he asks the older man, who is understandably surprised at the question, since Pero has never expressed concern for a colleague before now.

   “Concussed, most likely. But nothing life-threatening.”

   He merely nods in return, but the operator keeps looking at him like he just grew two heads.    Ignoring the staring he starts to inspect the damaged vehicle, but internally, he does feel a bit exposed.    These people know absolutely nothing about him, except that he can and will mess them up for life if they rub him the wrong way, but with this one little question, he’s revealed that there are things he cares about, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.    What is clear, though, is that you’re already having a lasting impact on him, as he never would’ve revealed any level of care for another human being before your date. And he’s not at all ashamed to allow himself to become a warmer person for you.

   He just hopes the crew won’t try to use it against him, because if they do, he’ll have to put them in their place and that won’t be pretty.

   “The engine seems unharmed, so it should be salvageable,” he concludes after a thorough inspection, having to crawl under lengths of bent steel rods and broken plastic and aluminium to make his initial analysis. “But getting it out will require a lot of work. We will need eight people, at least.”

   Ordinarily, no one is allowed to enter an accident site until a safety assessment has been made, but Pero is one of the people who makes those assessments, so despite the risks involved with crawling under an unsecured shelving unit that weighs about two tonnes, he gets to make that call himself. Any of the other staff present could lose their job if they attempted it, and that applies even after the safety check. Only qualified personnel are permitted inside active danger zones, unless anyone is specifically told otherwise.

   “All right, I’ll go see who among the specs that can be spared,” the older man offers.

   He’s referring to the staff members who have specified clearance to work in higher risk environments, meaning they’ve taken extra courses on how to safely work with riskier elements, while not giving them the same clearances as Pero, and just as the operator leaves, one of the suits arrives.

   It is mandatory for all inhouse accidents to be assessed and later reviewed by both the supervisor and two people from management, the one in charge of the factory floor security, and the one in charge of the entire factory.    This man is the head of security, and fortunately, he’s one of the really good guys in suits. He and Pero have had many rewarding conversations in the past, as the man recognizes his ability to visualize dangers and how he often comes up with good solutions for how to minimize risks.

   “How’s it looking, Tovar?” the man, casually referred to by his first name, Donny, asks as he takes in the scene before him.

   “Lots of structural damage to both the machine and the shelf, but the engine seems okay. Aside from whatever made it surge.”

   “That’s what happened?”

   “According to the operator who was driving, yes,” Pero recounts the information relayed to him earlier.

   “Jenny Ortiz, right?”

   “Yes. She is apparently alright, but they have taken her to hospital in case she has a concussion.”

   “Good. I’ll be sure to talk to her later.    So, we’ll need to secure the shelving unit before attempting to extricate the forklift. Any ideas?” Donny wonders, crossing his arms as he turns towards the damaged machine.

   “We have tall jacks, yes? Like the ones used to hold engines in place from underneath while being unbolted from a car, for example.”

   “The mechanics do, yeah. Are you thinking jacking up the shelf and just pulling the machine back?”

   “Seems like the simplest solution. But then, we would have to have a more permanent support in mind beforehand, cause we cannot simply leave the shelf balancing on the jacks for however long the repairs might take,” Pero suggests, and gets an approving nod from the suit.

   “I’ll get to work on that,” he offers, as always sharp and to the point. “You get started on organizing the extrication, I have a feeling it’s gonna take most of the day anyway.”

   “And I was having such a good day…”

   Donny’s just picked up his phone to start making the necessary calls, but he pauses and fixes the Colombian with a questioning brow, somewhere between amused and perplexed.

   “Sorry, I can never tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

   “Good,” Pero states simply, showing no emotion of any kind, which makes the other man chuckle drily while he returns attention to his device.

   Getting the vehicle out from under the shelf does indeed take a while, but by lunchtime it’s free and Pero can hand it over to the mechanics.    However, the process sours his mood with increasing ferocity with each passing hour, not so much because of the work itself, but because of the crowd of curious workers who come to stand around and watch, offering no assistance. And every fucking one of them is a middle-aged man, standing with their arms crossed or shoved into their pockets, happily gossiping and chatting away.

   It angers the Colombian for a number of reasons, but mainly, because half the factory is standing still while they lounge about, and not even because they want to help, but simply to satisfy their curiosity.    So, by the time the forklift is pulled out, he’s well and truly pissed. But he can’t start screaming at the entire shift, that won't help anything, leaving him fuming internally instead. As he has done so many times before.

   But then he starts heading for the lunchroom and remembers that you’re gonna be there this time, and it instantly makes his mind brighter, though not soothing the anger all that much. He was pleased to note that you never even passed by the accident site to see what all the fuss was about, so you’ve clearly been hard at work, as your colleagues should’ve been, which is just one more reason to like you.    When he walks in, you’re already working on your meal, although you seem to have misjudged or simply forgotten about the temperature, probably because you must be starving after skipping breakfast.

   He has to wait for a microwave to become available and then for his food to heat up, but once it’s done, he heads straight for the seat opposite yours.    Something about your very presence settles his temper, and he needs that right now. It’s like there’s a painful twist of his intestines somewhere and merely being within reach of your aura is enough to untwist it and let him breathe fully.

   “Hi…” you greet with a careful smile, although his decision to merely nod in return doesn’t seem to surprise you.

   He’s grateful for that, since he’s still not comfortable having casual but private conversations in a public setting.    But the moment his food is consumed, he takes both his own and your dishes and goes to wash them, before gesturing for you to follow him back out onto the floor. There’s still fifteen minutes left of your break, and he does want to talk to you.    You take the hint without hesitation, standing to accompany him as he holds the door for you, and the moment you’re on your own, he takes the liberty of slipping his hand into yours, hoping you won’t mind because he needs the connection. Although he’s not even sure why.

   The handholding is most surprising of all, but you welcome the contact. It’s strange though, because it’s almost like he craves it, holding onto you firmly while his hand keeps moving, his fingers shifting over yours, nervously tracing patterns which aren’t there.    Whatever’s going on it has to be stressing him out something terrible if he’s not only risking the control he’s so afraid of losing, but actually asking for comfort, albeit without saying it out loud.

   “What’s going on, Pero? Are you okay?”

   “Have you heard about the accident?” he wonders in return, which confuses you a bit.

   “What accident?” you demand, suddenly nervous yourself at the prospect of finding out something bad might’ve happened to him or one of your coworkers.

   He gives you the broad strokes and then carries on explaining what’s gotten him into such a mood, which eases your worries a bit. Not that hearing about him being riled up is at all nice, but it’s certainly better than anyone having gotten injured. Plus, you’re actually a bit pleased to hear him explain and express his emotions so clearly.    It gives you a sense of pride to know that he’s coming to you to unburden himself. That he feels safe to be so open with you.

   ”What is it about these men, hm?” he frustratedly questions, not exactly to you, if you’re reading him correctly, but more as though he wishes he could pose the question to the entire world. “Why do they all think they are exceptions to all rules and manners?”

   “Because that’s what happens when no one ever suffers consequences for their actions,” you shrug, answering him mostly just to carry the conversation along, since you’re certain he already knows this.

   “I would like to be in charge of handing out punishments for lack of production due to belly-button scratching,” he mutters, and you stifle a laugh at the mental imagery. “Then they would never dare lounge about again.”

   “Well, maybe it’s time you did punish them,” you suggest, which earns you a look of concerned confusion, so you hurry to elaborate. “You never berate anyone, even when you’re forced to fix their screw-ups and mop up their messes. You always just silently do what you’re told, and they know it.    So, stop helping them. Force them to fix their own fucking problems, and then we’ll see how much time they have to lounge about.”

   “Gary would not be happy with such a thing.”

   “So, what? It’s not actually your job to make his life easier, you know.”

   He seems to ponder that for a while, and by the time he speaks again, his anger appears to have faded.

   “I cannot decide if you are a good or bad influence on me, Sonriente. But I will apply your suggestion to my work from now on, because I am curious to see how long this place will keep running smoothly without my compliance.”

   “Atta boy,” you smile at him, and he finally returns it.

   And since he’s now in a better mood, you decide to bring up the incident from this morning, because you still want to air it out.

   “So, about my comment earlier…” you start, and his smile instantly widens.

   “Do not worry about it.”

   “No, I know, I just wanted to say that it felt so cheap once I’d said it, whether you’d heard it or not. I never wanted to suggest what’s building between us is that shallow.    At least, that’s not how I see it, and I’m pretty sure you don’t either. I just wanted to make that clear.”

   He stops walking then, turning to face you before he brings your hand up to his face and gently kisses the top of it, nearly buckling your knees in the process, because god damn does this man know how to properly convey affection, without ever making it feel like he’s expecting anything in return.

   “One of these days you’re gonna make me swoon for real,” you caution with what you’re sure are hooded eyes and a mouth which won’t fully close.

   You can’t quite tell, though, since your entire body is suddenly all tingly. From a pair of lips pressed against your hand…

   “Then I will catch you as well,” he simply declares, and then releases your hand before he sets off towards his station, walking slowly and turning back to look at you a couple of times.

   The afternoon passes quickly, as work ramps up with a very large order which has been held back because of a delayed shipment of necessary components, finally coming through the system. It means the MAP has to stay at peak efficiency all day, which requires a lot of fancy hands-on work from you, to keep all the mechanical arms on task with a perfect rhythm, preventing them from colliding with each other.    They’re only partially automated, to enable the operator to make instant changes to the process if it becomes needed, which generally happens about once an hour, so the machine can’t actually function entirely on its own.

   You’re glad for the distraction, even though it keeps you held up from going on the afternoon break, because by the time the next shift arrives, it feels like only about an hour has passed.    It’s by no means surprising to hear the gossip around the two shifts consist mainly of the accident that morning, but also circling around to Pero sitting with you at lunch, which earns you a fair few nosy looks, although everyone knows better than to ask about it. Especially with the grumpy Colombian within hearing range.

   You give your report to the operator which will be replacing you for the afternoon and then head for the locker rooms, starting to feel tired after what’s been an unusual day.    Hell, it’s been an unusual month.    But today was meaningful. The work might’ve ploughed on as always, but everything that happened in the background today was something which matters, and you want to take a minute to just absorb it all before you go home. So, you take a seat on the bench in front of your two lockers and just close your eyes and breathe.

   This means you’re the last person to exit the women’s locker room, and as you step through the door, Pero’s there waiting for you.    He silently falls in beside you as you make your way out of the factory and over to the parking lot, and it's only there that he finally speaks.

   “Thank you for today.”

   “You’re welcome,” you reply, not sure what he means exactly, since you haven’t really done anything.

   You expect him to veer off towards his car then, but instead, he walks with you to yours, again in complete silence. But he seems to be chewing on something, so when you reach your spot, you merely unlock your car and throw your bag in the back, before returning to him.    There’s something on his mind, you can tell by how his eyes are so focused, and again, he’s choosing you to talk to about it, so you wait patiently while he gathers his thoughts.

   “I have never reacted so strongly to anything happening at work before today,” he starts, and then he sighs and leans his back against the side of your sedan. “Ever since our date… I feel things a lot more strongly. Or at least, I cannot seem to hold anything in anymore.”

   He seems mostly confounded by his own words, as if there’s an ongoing process of whack-a-mole in his head, sending something new to the surface every time he thinks he’s figured something out. Which isn’t particularly surprising given how closed off he’s always been, only now starting to allow his barriers to be broken.    But this also means that he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, and since you’re the only one he’ll talk to, you’ll have to try and help him as best you can.

   “Oh. And this… unsettles you?”

   “Profoundly.”

   “Well, I guess that makes sense, doesn’t it?” you ponder, and he looks at you with raised brows. “Change is always hard, and especially when it involves letting someone else into the deepest parts of yourself. I think it’s kinda meant to rattle you, cause how else would you know how important and significant it is?”

   He takes a beat with that, but his expression is largely unreadable, so you can’t guess at how he feels about it.

   “I have never tried to change myself before. I have altered my way of thinking and my overall circumstances, yes, but I’ve never really tried to learn how to be… softer. Warmer,” he admits, which makes you feel a bit sad for him, but also hopeful.

   “I’m really glad you’re trying now,” you smile gently at him, and he returns the gesture after just a moment.

   “For you, mi Sonriente. Only for you.”

   Pero spends the evening going over his bike, doing extra meticulous checks just to be sure nothing can go wrong tomorrow.    He wants this second date to be as nice as the first one was, and since he gets to plan this one, that means he has an opportunity to surprise you. And that’s exactly what he hopes to do.    There’s a place he knows of outside the city, which is magical even for those who have been there before, but the first time anyone sees it is always special and he’s sure you haven’t. The trick is how to make the journey there enjoyable as well, and not just a quick highway dash.

   So, once he’s satisfied the motorcycle is flawless, he sets to work on checking roadmaps and planning a route. He’s driven most of the roads in that area before, but there are lots of them out there, and they all intersect with each other which makes it easy to get lost, and that’s not an adventure he wishes to have with you on a date.    It’s almost midnight before he feels satisfied with his plan, and goes to bed with a smile on his face just from knowing he’ll get to spend all day with you tomorrow.

   As promised, the weather is perfect when he gets up the next morning. Cool enough that full protective gear isn’t gonna get sauna-hot, but warm enough that the winds won’t be too cold when you ride.    You’d agreed to meet at 11am, so he takes his time packing everything, double-checking that nothing’s forgotten, and he still has enough time left to do another inspection of the machine, before he decides that you probably won’t mind if he’s half an hour early, because he really can’t wait any longer.

   He sets off and feels the familiar buzz in his blood as the engine comes alive, but he doesn’t gun it. He’s got more than enough time and it would be the stupidest thing in the world if he went and got into a crash on his way to meet you, just because he was too eager.    No, he’s made more than enough mistakes in his life to know that sometimes, taking it slow is the only sensible option. Which applies to his way of thinking with you as well. Although, that is becoming increasingly difficult the longer he’s around you.

   Arriving outside your building, he leaves the bike on an empty section of a bicycle parking area, which is hardly ever used because no one cycles in this city, not even delivery services. And there’s good reason for that because the layout of the city is odd.    It doesn’t conform to the usual block type of main streets and cross streets, but rather a single winding main street which is then accessed by smaller roads coming in from all directions, not at all linear but crisscrossed all over the place. Some coming from way out in the countryside, slithering their way to the city center as if built on old trade routes from back when people walked or rode carriages everywhere, forced to weave through the natural landscape.

   All in all, it makes traffic here really weird, and anyone trying to navigate it by bicycle must simply not be concerned with their safety, because confused drivers will make erratic turns and generally behave very unpredictably, at all hours of the day and night.    There’s a running joke that you have to be a local to be able to drive here, since trying to follow the signs will invariably leave you going the wrong way. You need to just know the streets by heart, which takes time and presence of mind.    Pero had it figured out within weeks of moving here, but then, he’s not exactly normal.

   Your apartment building is of the kind that has a reception, where visitors must sign in before they’ll be allowed to enter the elevator or stairwell, but there’s no mandatory ID check. The high-definition camera surveillance in the reception area is enough to deter most criminals, and the security officers who work there are trained to spot people under the influence of drugs or alcohol. They also have the authority to search any visitor’s bags or the person themselves if they suspect the presence of weapons or paraphernalia, all of which Pero approves of.

   The two guards on duty today are the same ones he met on his last visit, and they greet him as politely as they did on that occasion. He’d been carrying two heavy bags of groceries that time, which they’d requested to look through since they’d never seen him before, to which he’d agreed without any complaints. But he isn’t carrying anything at all today, and his clothes would be difficult to hide any weapons in, so they buzz him through without hassle.    Reaching your floor he knocks on your door, feeling the increasingly pleasant nervous excitement which accompanies any moment spent in your presence these days, and in the seconds that pass until the lock turns and you appear before him, this feeling only intensifies.

   “Hey,” you greet with a big smile, and your eyes are actually twinkling even in the cold artificial brightness of the stairwell.

   “I’m early, sorry,” he mumbles, too overwhelmed by the mere sight of you to come up with anything more elegant.

   “That’s okay, I could use some advice on what to wear or bring. I haven’t ridden in a very long time.”

   With that, you turn and head back into your apartment, leaving the door wide open for him to follow, but it takes him a couple of seconds to unlock his legs and step through the opening.

   You’re wearing a base layer of thin thermals, designed to transport moisture away from the skin to prevent you getting sweaty, since that will then make you cold. And while they’re certainly the correct types of clothes to wear closest to your body for a motorcycle ride in these temperatures, they’re also very snug. Despite covering everything but your head, hands, and feet, they reveal every feature your body has, and while Pero has seen you at least partially undressed before, this somehow seems even more exposing.    And it certainly doesn’t help his already enticed state of mind that he likes everything he sees while he slowly walks inside and closes the door behind him.

   “I don’t have any leathers anymore, but I do have this all-purpose, non-tear, weatherproof jacket and pants combo, I’m just not sure how much to wear underneath,” you prattle on while showing him the clothes in question, completely oblivious to how much he’s struggling to just not stare at you.

   The combo is of a good brand, designed for use in all environments, from skiing in the alps to riding motorcycles, able to withstand even the stress of skidding over pavement, should something terrible happen. He focuses entirely on the clothes to get his head out of the gutter, doing his very best not to look at you while he responds.

   “The weather is mild and it’s going to get warmer in the afternoon, so you should be okay with just this. But bring an extra sweater in case the windchill bothers you. I’m not planning on going too fast, but it can get uncomfortable anyway.”

   “Okay,” you cheerfully reply, before whirling around to take something out of the hallway closet, and he risks another glance at your enticing form while your back is turned.

   But he fails to look away fast enough when you suddenly turn back towards him, catching him ogling, and he immediately feels like a damned pervert.

   “I’m sorry… you look very nice,” he tries to deflect, reverting his attention to the floor in front of his own feet while he waits for you to tell him off.

   “So do you, Pero.”

   Surprised, he looks up to find you grinning while raking your eyes over his fully leather-clad body, lingering here and there where you apparently see something you particularly like.    And when you notice his confidence grow with your scrutiny, you step closer and then take a slow spin on the spot to let him look at you, and it feels so much better to do that when he knows you want him to.

   Once you’ve completed the turn, he reaches for your hand, waiting for you to take his outstretched one rather than just grab yours, and when you give it to him, he again kisses the back of it, knowing how much you like it when he does that.

   “It has not even been one full day since I last saw you, and yet, I have missed you,” he admits, and a tingly warmth spreads through him when you step even closer.

   “I could barely sleep I was so excited about today,” you grin, and he’s happy to note that you don’t look at all embarrassed to admit how much you’ve come to like him.

   He never thought you would. For all the times he’s thought about talking to you over the past year, all the times he’s wished that he was more eloquent, that he knew how to not be so unfriendly, he never once believed you might give him a chance even if he tried.    And then, when he did try, fixing up that Valentine’s Day evening for you, he still expected you to treat him with suspicion and possibly disgust. But the thought that you might actually see him differently and give him the benefit of the doubt, never really seemed possible.

   So, to then suddenly have you not only willing to have deep and meaningful conversations with him, but also want to help him become better at expressing himself, willing to be a sounding board for his evolving emotional understanding, and even open your heart to the possibility of being intimate with him… none of this was part of any plan.    Everything that’s happened since that trip has been another shock to his system and he’s still trying to catch up. Still working on believing that this is real, even as you keep inviting him to have more.

   You’re close enough that if he leans forwards, he could kiss you, and the thought is extremely intoxicating. Which is why he does the opposite instead. Testing himself, checking that he’s still in control, that you’re still safe with him, because the moment he gives you cause to believe differently, he’s already lost you.    The incredibly accepting way in which you’ve thus far seen his more violent side doesn’t mean you’re impervious to fearing him. He must never forget this.    Taking a step back, he reaches for the pants of your combo suit, handing them to you with a smile on his face, relieved and strengthened to have kept himself in check once more.

   “Let’s go, Asombro.”

   He looks so unsure as he comes into your apartment, but once you realize it’s because he’s trying not to be disrespectful of your attire, you make a point of making sure he knows that you don’t mind his eyes on you. And it works. He’s immediately more relaxed and comfortable, although he continues to keep a safe distance between you, entirely as you’d expected given how clear he’s been about his fears of losing control with you.    It’s an unexpectedly touching feeling to see his smile blossom not because of your comfort with his closeness, but through your acceptance of his boundaries.    He is a truly unusual man. But in so many good ways, most of which you weren’t even aware of before starting to date him.

   “Do I need to bring anything else? Like snacks, or something?” you inquire, because he hasn’t told you anything at all about what’s gonna happen today, so you have no clue what to expect.

   “Nothing at all,” he cryptically answers, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes which tells you that he’s got it all planned out, and he wants to surprise you.

   Having no intention of spoiling this for him, you zip your jacket up and then grab your phone, but you hold it up rather than put it in your pocket.

   “Should I leave this too?”

   “Maybe bring it in case of emergency,” he nods, to which you respond by turning all sound and vibration off on the device, before slipping it into your small backpack, along with the extra sweater.

   “Alright,” you declare with a big grin, “I’m all yours, sir.”

   He likes that. Leading the way downstairs, he keeps looking for reasons to take your hand or place one of his on your back, none of which you object to.    Reaching the lobby, you find Jimmy and Alice on shift, both looking mildly surprised to see you leaving with company, since that’s never happened in all the time you’ve lived here. So, while Pero signs out as required, you shoot a very obvious look of pride at them both, because you genuinely feel your ego swell at the notion that someone as objectively good-looking as this man, is interested in you.    Jimmy looks mostly dumbstruck, but Alice winks at you just as Pero drops the pen, having finished his autograph.

   “Take it easy, you two,” she smiles, clearly reading everything you’re giving off correctly, while her colleague is apparently not too well versed in the female forms of silent communication, and merely stares between you as though he knows he’s supposed to understand what’s happening, but just doesn’t.

   The bike is leaning on its kickstand by the bicycle parking, and somehow, you’re surprised at the type of machine it is. You’d imagined that he’d have a real crotch-rocket, something built for speed and flare, but instead, what you’re looking at is a touring bike. Still a high-performance machine but also made for comfort over long distances.

   “What model is this? It’s a BMW, right?” you ask, wanting to see how well your knowledge has kept up after so many years of not being on the bike-scene.

   “Yes, it is the R 1250 GS. I have had many different ones over the years, but this is the only one I like all around. It has a good engine, it’s reliable, and it doesn’t kill me to ride it for hours without stopping.    Have you kept up to date on motorcycles after your brother abandoned the interest?”

   “A little bit. I never lost my fascination with them, and for a while, I did try to connect more with him by engrossing myself in his passion. I do tend to remember things pretty well once I’ve learned them.”

   “Mm, I have noticed this about you,” he says with a bemused chuckle, probably remembering how quickly you’d picked up on all workings of the MAP.

   It still gives you a little thrill every time you hear any form of laughter coming from this man. You’ve known the quiet, grumpy version of him for so much longer than you’ve been around this lighter, happier side of him, that it just doesn’t conform to the fixed mould he still sits in within your mind.    All of which is why you find yourself standing there, just staring at the upturned curves of the corners of his mouth, until he notices.

   “Do I have something in my teeth, Sonriente?” he jokes, smiling at what has to be a more or less dumbstruck expression on your face.

   “Oh, no. I’m just… not used to your smile yet. That’s all,” you shrug, feeling a bit stupid, but also feeling entirely okay with that, because you’re supposed to get most of the stupid out of the way while dating, it makes way for more fun in a future relationship.

   “Well, that makes two of us.”

   He says it softly, almost reverently, changing a perfectly ordinary sentence into something much more. It’s as if even the words that might suggest a pairing between you are overpowering to his senses.    But then he holds up the helmet he’s brought for you to use, and you step closer to take it from him, examining what type of chinstrap it has so you’ll know how to work it once you can’t see it anymore. He’s even brought a balaclava for you to wear underneath, and by the looks of it, it’s a brand new one.

   “Thank you.”

   “You may keep it, if you like. I buy them in packs of five, so I always have spares. This one has never been used before, so it’s fresh.”

   “How uncharacteristically thoughtful of you,” you grin with a slightly mocking tone. “I wouldn’t have minded a used one, just so you know.”

   “Ay, Sonri, I have seen you work in layers of your own sweat, use someone else’s grimy old t-shirt covered in stains as a towel, and use the men’s bathroom without a single complaint. I know you will put up with whatever you might need to.    However, if I can ensure you don’t need to, you can be certain I will.”

   While he speaks, he comes over to help you put the thing on without getting your hair all in your face, and once it’s in place and all he can see of you is your eyes, his smile widens.

   “Yes, this is a much better look. So much less distracting.”

   His tone tells you that this is a joke, but you feel like it’s also an invitation for you to be playful, as if he’s testing to see if you’ll take the bait and add to the humour, or if you’ll take offense and get defensive.

   “I can be plenty distractive if I want to, mister. Don’t tempt me…” you caution, matching his tone precisely, allowing the smile to fill your voice, and his expression gets even brighter with the confirmation that you’re all for a little playful banter.

   “I will keep this in mind.”

   With that, he picks up his helmet and the balaclava he’s got stuffed in there, puts both on and then checks that you’ve managed to clip the chinstrap on correctly, before he moves to start the bike.    It comes to life with a rumble that’s somehow both deep and sharp, speaking to the duality of a good touring engine, built to accommodate speed as well as stability. And when you climb on behind him, relieved to not have lost your balance stepping up on the small peg, your body instantly begins to tingle with the burgeoning rise in adrenaline.

   It’s been almost twenty years since you last rode, but it comes back to you in an instant, as though the physical sensation has been stored within you all that time. Leaning with the machine, alternating keeping your arms around Pero’s waist or pushing against the gas tank depending on whether he’s accelerating or breaking, it all seems to happen without any thought process required. As if you still did this regularly.

   You were never a driver. Not really. You’d tried it, back when you’d been looking for ways to connect to your brother, but it had never gotten to a point where you’d felt confident with it.    No, you’re a backpack, in rider’s terms, and you’re perfectly fine with that.    Your date, however, is incredibly confident. He doesn’t drive aggressively or even particularly fast, but therein lies the proof of his mastery, not only over the machine but over his own ego as well.

   An insecure rider wouldn’t feel comfortable driving this leisurely, they’d insist on trying to prove their skills or bravery by driving fast and being edgy, as if risking one’s life and the life of a passenger is somehow a desirable quality in a person…    But Pero effortlessly glides through traffic, weaving almost elegantly between cars and trucks, as if he already knows who’s gonna turn or change lanes before they do, and planning his route accordingly. He’s fully aware that each vehicle on the road with you are a threat, yet he also knows that he can avoid them, not through the arrogance of thinking that accidents can be avoided by skill alone, but simply because he never stops expecting them.

   The only assumptions he seems to make are that no one sees or hears the smaller machine and adjusts his driving to ensure there’s always a margin for error. It isn’t glaringly obvious, although anyone with a bit of rider experience should recognize it.    In any case, it takes only minutes for you to realize it and feel safe enough to relax into the trip, leaning into his back and focusing on the scenery as he steers towards the outskirts of the city and then leaves it behind completely.

   You’re not someone who venture out into nature nearly as much as you should, so these roads are unfamiliar to you, which only makes the journey that much more interesting.    Since your father’s work had taken him all over the country, your family moved several times during your childhood, meaning this city holds no childhood memories for you. You moved here as an adult only seven years ago.

   The same is true for Pero, although his biking interest will surely have taken him on many trips out here, especially since he’s also lived here longer than you. You feel certain there aren’t many roads in the entire state he hasn’t travelled at some point after over a decade of exploration, so in all probability, the only novelty of this journey for him will be the addition of company.    Still, you suspect that aspect alone is surely going to make this a completely new experience for him.

   The first stop comes after maybe fifty minutes of driving, half of which have been on winding country roads, as he left the interstates and highways behind at the first available junction. But as he merely turns into a very small rest-stop at the side of the road in a largely featureless landscape, you’re assuming this is just a leg stretching intermission.    You’re quick to disembark as soon as he turns the bike off, though, as it makes it easier for him to get off, but when he removes his headgear, there’s a big smile on his face.

   “You will want to leave your helmet and gloves here. There’s a bit of a walk next.”

   Oh. So, this is part of the agenda then.    Mildly confused, you turn in a circle before taking off your helmet and balaclava. There’s literally nothing of note anywhere within visible range.

   “How long a walk are we talking about, here, mister? Cause these boots ain’t made for hiking,” you joke, but not really.

   You’ve picked your toughest shoes for this ride to protect your ankles in case of a crash, and they’re not designed for extended walks, especially not in woodland terrains.

   “I have no intention of torturing you, my lady,” he smiles, before taking your headgear and putting it on the bike.

   “My lady?” you question, instantly making him nervous.

   “Uh, I just mean… It wasn’t.. You are not mine, that’s not what I-…”

   “Relax, Pero, I’m kidding. It just sounded uncharacteristically old-fashioned of you,” you cut him off before he chokes on his own uncertainty, and while it does seem to ease his nerves a bit, he’s still terribly unsure when he speaks next.

   “Considering I have never dated before, and have no friends to guide me, all I have to draw on are the movie I have seen, and in that sense the old-fashioned ones are better. In my opinion, at least.”

   The reminder of his inexperience takes you by surprise, but you welcome it. You always prefer his honesty and appreciate that he wants you to understand what he’s going through, so even though your smile fades while you listen, you bring it back the moment he falls silent.

   “Agreed,” you nod firmly. “As long as you leave out the bigotry, racism and common belief that women are inherently weak.”

   An audible laugh that turns into a kind of soft snort escapes him then.

   “I would pay good money to get to watch you scold anyone who tried to describe you as weak. My lady.”

   “Pfft, I’d do that for free, any day.”

   The vibrant return of his smile tells you that the tension has been successfully removed, so you step closer to him and offer your hand, which he takes without hesitation.

   “Alright, lead the way, darling,” you offer, in keeping with the language of the older movies he’s referencing, and you could swear a faint blush appears in his cheeks as he ducks his head and sets off, seemingly heading straight out into the wilderness.

Thank you for giving this story a chance, and please don't hesitate to shout at me about it if you want! 🥰

   That’s how the rest of the week feels. Like you’re just constantly overenergized and bumping into tables while you wait for Saturday to arrive so you can ask Pero all the new questions you keep coming up with.    He, meanwhile, seems perfectly calm, which is kinda frustrating. But you also feel certain that he’s not nearly as unbothered as he so effortlessly makes it look.

   Thursday is pretty much okay. You arrive at work feeling rested, because you did end up falling asleep the moment you laid down at the end of the date. And you’d slept very soundly with the realization that you’d enjoyed every moment of the date and felt so safe and comfortable throughout the evening that it’s given you confidence for a lasting friendship and strong hopes of a potential romance. All of which gives you a sense of harmony within yourself as you go about your day, giving no external signs that you’re hitting an invisible table every fucking time you see him.

   Friday is much worse, though. The idea that your next date is only one day away makes it so much harder to contain yourself, and your coworkers obviously notice. You’re more energetic than most of them even on the worst of days, but now you’re even skipping breaks because the idea of sitting down is making you wanna jump out of your own skin.

   “You get laid, or something?” one of your female colleagues remarks when she returns from the 8am break and passes your station, finding you dancing on the spot while you operate the MAP.

   “Not yet!” you cheerfully reply, before turning towards her voice, only to find Pero walking right behind her.

   Your giddiness instantly turns into embarrassment, and you hurriedly return to your task with stark focus, even though you’re utterly unable to think about anything other than the fact that he definitely heard it, and you have no idea how he might feel about it.    Because while you do know that he’s genuinely interested and attracted to you, he’s made a point of not even touching you in the most innocent of ways yet, only ever after you’ve reached out to him or made it clear you’ve wanted him to. So, you know how important it is to him to take things slowly.

   “Ooh, so you are dating someone?” your coworker grins, clearly pleased with this unexpected turn of events, but thankfully she seems totally oblivious to your reaction shifting because of the man who’s now trailing slower behind her while she continues at the same pace towards her area, further east within the factory.

   “Um… yeah. I am,” you decide to declare, because you want him to know that that’s how you see the two of you right now, even if you would never tell anyone who you’re dating unless he made it clear he was okay with it.

   “Nice. I’m happy for you,” she chirps before leaving the subject and disappearing around a bend.

   And as she does, you feel fingertips brushing against the small of your back, where your t-shirt bulges out a little because you like to keep it tucked at work, which means it gets stretched out when you sit or squat.    He’s only just grazing your skin through the fabric. The lightest of touches, but you know exactly what it means, and it makes your whole body warm.    Without a word, he carries on with his work, probably on his way to help someone or fix something, or he wouldn’t be passing you at all since his station is in the other direction. Which is also why you didn’t think he’d be anywhere near you when you said it.

   By lunchtime you’re feeling the lack of a breakfast, so you hurry to the breakroom before all the microwaves are taken, getting there just before the onslaught of hungry workers.    Taking your seat once the food is warm, you dive into it while it’s still a little too hot and begrudgingly have to slow down and blow cold air on each bite, which is surprisingly annoying when you’re ravenously hungry.    But in your battle with the microwave heat, you don’t notice that Pero’s entered the room.

   You’re usually able to tell just from the shift in the energy of the space whenever he walks in, because everyone is always a little on edge around him, but you’re just too preoccupied and disappointed with yourself for not having breakfast, to realize it this time.    So, when a glass lunchbox and cup of water are placed on the table opposite you, you don’t react at all because there’s barely enough seats for everyone, so people generally sit wherever there’s room.    When the entire breakroom goes silent from one second to the next, however… you notice.

   He hears the words and sees your reaction before it’s even sunk in what you meant by them, but he feels bad for you once he realizes, because you seem so ashamed or embarrassed by them. And you shouldn’t. Wanting closeness isn’t wrong, not even wanting it from him, you should never feel so uncomfortable voicing that.    But he also feels certain you wouldn’t have reacted so strongly if it had been a less public affair. If you’d happened to say it just to him you would’ve probably smiled a little, perhaps felt a bit insecure as is normal for anyone exposing their desires, but that would’ve likely been the end of it.

   You say it in a way that makes it sound like a joke, and if you hadn’t so obviously regretted it once the words were spoken, your coworker would’ve probably left it alone. That’s the curse of involuntary reactions. There’s no way to edit them.    But Pero likes hearing it, and not just because it involves him. He likes that you’re apparently so excited about what’s happening between the two of you that you can’t help but blurt out unfiltered comments about your love life.    So, as discreetly as he can, he gives you a nudge. Just a truly tiny reassurance that your desire is wanted and appreciated, and he can feel your temperature change with the sudden comfort, even as he slowly passes behind you.

   It makes him smile, although you wouldn’t have been able to see it on his face had you turned around just then, because he’s a master at not showing it, however strongly he might feel it. But he will, if you want him to. If this goes where he hopes it will, he’ll show you everything he’s never wanted anyone to see.    You would be worth it.    For now, though, he carries on to the station furthest east in the factory, where an operator has apparently managed to break a forklift, which turns out to be an understatement.

   When he gets there, the machine in question is halfway underneath a shelving unit made of steel, which has demolished the entire cabin as the vehicle was forcibly crammed into the much lower space.    The forklifts are all electric and limited to indoor speeds, no more than 5mph, so this level of damage shouldn’t be possible.

   “Tovar, thanks for coming,” an older operator greets him, pausing his efforts to clear away debris while he steps closer to be heard over the general noise of the factory. “It suffered some kind of power-surge. Just went full throttle all on its own. Poor Jenny had to bail, there was nothing else to do.”

   Jenny works on the storage and goods team, they’re the only ones who have access to the forklifts, and she’s one of the workers Pero actually likes.    He likes the women more than the men, overall, because in his experience, women come to work and get stuff done. They like to keep busy, and they like to see results for their efforts, whereas the men are generally the ones who will happily stand around and gossip for an hour, while their stations are unmanned and producing nothing at all.    Which, in the end, always affects everyone else negatively, and especially the taciturn Colombian, since he’s the one who will invariably have to fix the equipment which they neglect to perform the daily maintenance on, because they’ve been too busy doing fuck all.

   “Is she okay?” he asks the older man, who is understandably surprised at the question, since Pero has never expressed concern for a colleague before now.

   “Concussed, most likely. But nothing life-threatening.”

   He merely nods in return, but the operator keeps looking at him like he just grew two heads.    Ignoring the staring he starts to inspect the damaged vehicle, but internally, he does feel a bit exposed.    These people know absolutely nothing about him, except that he can and will mess them up for life if they rub him the wrong way, but with this one little question, he’s revealed that there are things he cares about, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.    What is clear, though, is that you’re already having a lasting impact on him, as he never would’ve revealed any level of care for another human being before your date. And he’s not at all ashamed to allow himself to become a warmer person for you.

   He just hopes the crew won’t try to use it against him, because if they do, he’ll have to put them in their place and that won’t be pretty.

   “The engine seems unharmed, so it should be salvageable,” he concludes after a thorough inspection, having to crawl under lengths of bent steel rods and broken plastic and aluminium to make his initial analysis. “But getting it out will require a lot of work. We will need eight people, at least.”

   Ordinarily, no one is allowed to enter an accident site until a safety assessment has been made, but Pero is one of the people who makes those assessments, so despite the risks involved with crawling under an unsecured shelving unit that weighs about two tonnes, he gets to make that call himself. Any of the other staff present could lose their job if they attempted it, and that applies even after the safety check. Only qualified personnel are permitted inside active danger zones, unless anyone is specifically told otherwise.

   “All right, I’ll go see who among the specs that can be spared,” the older man offers.

   He’s referring to the staff members who have specified clearance to work in higher risk environments, meaning they’ve taken extra courses on how to safely work with riskier elements, while not giving them the same clearances as Pero, and just as the operator leaves, one of the suits arrives.

   It is mandatory for all inhouse accidents to be assessed and later reviewed by both the supervisor and two people from management, the one in charge of the factory floor security, and the one in charge of the entire factory.    This man is the head of security, and fortunately, he’s one of the really good guys in suits. He and Pero have had many rewarding conversations in the past, as the man recognizes his ability to visualize dangers and how he often comes up with good solutions for how to minimize risks.

   “How’s it looking, Tovar?” the man, casually referred to by his first name, Donny, asks as he takes in the scene before him.

   “Lots of structural damage to both the machine and the shelf, but the engine seems okay. Aside from whatever made it surge.”

   “That’s what happened?”

   “According to the operator who was driving, yes,” Pero recounts the information relayed to him earlier.

   “Jenny Ortiz, right?”

   “Yes. She is apparently alright, but they have taken her to hospital in case she has a concussion.”

   “Good. I’ll be sure to talk to her later.    So, we’ll need to secure the shelving unit before attempting to extricate the forklift. Any ideas?” Donny wonders, crossing his arms as he turns towards the damaged machine.

   “We have tall jacks, yes? Like the ones used to hold engines in place from underneath while being unbolted from a car, for example.”

   “The mechanics do, yeah. Are you thinking jacking up the shelf and just pulling the machine back?”

   “Seems like the simplest solution. But then, we would have to have a more permanent support in mind beforehand, cause we cannot simply leave the shelf balancing on the jacks for however long the repairs might take,” Pero suggests, and gets an approving nod from the suit.

   “I’ll get to work on that,” he offers, as always sharp and to the point. “You get started on organizing the extrication, I have a feeling it’s gonna take most of the day anyway.”

   “And I was having such a good day…”

   Donny’s just picked up his phone to start making the necessary calls, but he pauses and fixes the Colombian with a questioning brow, somewhere between amused and perplexed.

   “Sorry, I can never tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

   “Good,” Pero states simply, showing no emotion of any kind, which makes the other man chuckle drily while he returns attention to his device.

   Getting the vehicle out from under the shelf does indeed take a while, but by lunchtime it’s free and Pero can hand it over to the mechanics.    However, the process sours his mood with increasing ferocity with each passing hour, not so much because of the work itself, but because of the crowd of curious workers who come to stand around and watch, offering no assistance. And every fucking one of them is a middle-aged man, standing with their arms crossed or shoved into their pockets, happily gossiping and chatting away.

   It angers the Colombian for a number of reasons, but mainly, because half the factory is standing still while they lounge about, and not even because they want to help, but simply to satisfy their curiosity.    So, by the time the forklift is pulled out, he’s well and truly pissed. But he can’t start screaming at the entire shift, that won't help anything, leaving him fuming internally instead. As he has done so many times before.

   But then he starts heading for the lunchroom and remembers that you’re gonna be there this time, and it instantly makes his mind brighter, though not soothing the anger all that much. He was pleased to note that you never even passed by the accident site to see what all the fuss was about, so you’ve clearly been hard at work, as your colleagues should’ve been, which is just one more reason to like you.    When he walks in, you’re already working on your meal, although you seem to have misjudged or simply forgotten about the temperature, probably because you must be starving after skipping breakfast.

   He has to wait for a microwave to become available and then for his food to heat up, but once it’s done, he heads straight for the seat opposite yours.    Something about your very presence settles his temper, and he needs that right now. It’s like there’s a painful twist of his intestines somewhere and merely being within reach of your aura is enough to untwist it and let him breathe fully.

   “Hi…” you greet with a careful smile, although his decision to merely nod in return doesn’t seem to surprise you.

   He’s grateful for that, since he’s still not comfortable having casual but private conversations in a public setting.    But the moment his food is consumed, he takes both his own and your dishes and goes to wash them, before gesturing for you to follow him back out onto the floor. There’s still fifteen minutes left of your break, and he does want to talk to you.    You take the hint without hesitation, standing to accompany him as he holds the door for you, and the moment you’re on your own, he takes the liberty of slipping his hand into yours, hoping you won’t mind because he needs the connection. Although he’s not even sure why.

   The handholding is most surprising of all, but you welcome the contact. It’s strange though, because it’s almost like he craves it, holding onto you firmly while his hand keeps moving, his fingers shifting over yours, nervously tracing patterns which aren’t there.    Whatever’s going on it has to be stressing him out something terrible if he’s not only risking the control he’s so afraid of losing, but actually asking for comfort, albeit without saying it out loud.

   “What’s going on, Pero? Are you okay?”

   “Have you heard about the accident?” he wonders in return, which confuses you a bit.

   “What accident?” you demand, suddenly nervous yourself at the prospect of finding out something bad might’ve happened to him or one of your coworkers.

   He gives you the broad strokes and then carries on explaining what’s gotten him into such a mood, which eases your worries a bit. Not that hearing about him being riled up is at all nice, but it’s certainly better than anyone having gotten injured. Plus, you’re actually a bit pleased to hear him explain and express his emotions so clearly.    It gives you a sense of pride to know that he’s coming to you to unburden himself. That he feels safe to be so open with you.

   ”What is it about these men, hm?” he frustratedly questions, not exactly to you, if you’re reading him correctly, but more as though he wishes he could pose the question to the entire world. “Why do they all think they are exceptions to all rules and manners?”

   “Because that’s what happens when no one ever suffers consequences for their actions,” you shrug, answering him mostly just to carry the conversation along, since you’re certain he already knows this.

   “I would like to be in charge of handing out punishments for lack of production due to belly-button scratching,” he mutters, and you stifle a laugh at the mental imagery. “Then they would never dare lounge about again.”

   “Well, maybe it’s time you did punish them,” you suggest, which earns you a look of concerned confusion, so you hurry to elaborate. “You never berate anyone, even when you’re forced to fix their screw-ups and mop up their messes. You always just silently do what you’re told, and they know it.    So, stop helping them. Force them to fix their own fucking problems, and then we’ll see how much time they have to lounge about.”

   “Gary would not be happy with such a thing.”

   “So, what? It’s not actually your job to make his life easier, you know.”

   He seems to ponder that for a while, and by the time he speaks again, his anger appears to have faded.

   “I cannot decide if you are a good or bad influence on me, Sonriente. But I will apply your suggestion to my work from now on, because I am curious to see how long this place will keep running smoothly without my compliance.”

   “Atta boy,” you smile at him, and he finally returns it.

   And since he’s now in a better mood, you decide to bring up the incident from this morning, because you still want to air it out.

   “So, about my comment earlier…” you start, and his smile instantly widens.

   “Do not worry about it.”

   “No, I know, I just wanted to say that it felt so cheap once I’d said it, whether you’d heard it or not. I never wanted to suggest what’s building between us is that shallow.    At least, that’s not how I see it, and I’m pretty sure you don’t either. I just wanted to make that clear.”

   He stops walking then, turning to face you before he brings your hand up to his face and gently kisses the top of it, nearly buckling your knees in the process, because god damn does this man know how to properly convey affection, without ever making it feel like he’s expecting anything in return.

   “One of these days you’re gonna make me swoon for real,” you caution with what you’re sure are hooded eyes and a mouth which won’t fully close.

   You can’t quite tell, though, since your entire body is suddenly all tingly. From a pair of lips pressed against your hand…

   “Then I will catch you as well,” he simply declares, and then releases your hand before he sets off towards his station, walking slowly and turning back to look at you a couple of times.

   The afternoon passes quickly, as work ramps up with a very large order which has been held back because of a delayed shipment of necessary components, finally coming through the system. It means the MAP has to stay at peak efficiency all day, which requires a lot of fancy hands-on work from you, to keep all the mechanical arms on task with a perfect rhythm, preventing them from colliding with each other.    They’re only partially automated, to enable the operator to make instant changes to the process if it becomes needed, which generally happens about once an hour, so the machine can’t actually function entirely on its own.

   You’re glad for the distraction, even though it keeps you held up from going on the afternoon break, because by the time the next shift arrives, it feels like only about an hour has passed.    It’s by no means surprising to hear the gossip around the two shifts consist mainly of the accident that morning, but also circling around to Pero sitting with you at lunch, which earns you a fair few nosy looks, although everyone knows better than to ask about it. Especially with the grumpy Colombian within hearing range.

   You give your report to the operator which will be replacing you for the afternoon and then head for the locker rooms, starting to feel tired after what’s been an unusual day.    Hell, it’s been an unusual month.    But today was meaningful. The work might’ve ploughed on as always, but everything that happened in the background today was something which matters, and you want to take a minute to just absorb it all before you go home. So, you take a seat on the bench in front of your two lockers and just close your eyes and breathe.

   This means you’re the last person to exit the women’s locker room, and as you step through the door, Pero’s there waiting for you.    He silently falls in beside you as you make your way out of the factory and over to the parking lot, and it's only there that he finally speaks.

   “Thank you for today.”

   “You’re welcome,” you reply, not sure what he means exactly, since you haven’t really done anything.

   You expect him to veer off towards his car then, but instead, he walks with you to yours, again in complete silence. But he seems to be chewing on something, so when you reach your spot, you merely unlock your car and throw your bag in the back, before returning to him.    There’s something on his mind, you can tell by how his eyes are so focused, and again, he’s choosing you to talk to about it, so you wait patiently while he gathers his thoughts.

   “I have never reacted so strongly to anything happening at work before today,” he starts, and then he sighs and leans his back against the side of your sedan. “Ever since our date… I feel things a lot more strongly. Or at least, I cannot seem to hold anything in anymore.”

   He seems mostly confounded by his own words, as if there’s an ongoing process of whack-a-mole in his head, sending something new to the surface every time he thinks he’s figured something out. Which isn’t particularly surprising given how closed off he’s always been, only now starting to allow his barriers to be broken.    But this also means that he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, and since you’re the only one he’ll talk to, you’ll have to try and help him as best you can.

   “Oh. And this… unsettles you?”

   “Profoundly.”

   “Well, I guess that makes sense, doesn’t it?” you ponder, and he looks at you with raised brows. “Change is always hard, and especially when it involves letting someone else into the deepest parts of yourself. I think it’s kinda meant to rattle you, cause how else would you know how important and significant it is?”

   He takes a beat with that, but his expression is largely unreadable, so you can’t guess at how he feels about it.

   “I have never tried to change myself before. I have altered my way of thinking and my overall circumstances, yes, but I’ve never really tried to learn how to be… softer. Warmer,” he admits, which makes you feel a bit sad for him, but also hopeful.

   “I’m really glad you’re trying now,” you smile gently at him, and he returns the gesture after just a moment.

   “For you, mi Sonriente. Only for you.”

   Pero spends the evening going over his bike, doing extra meticulous checks just to be sure nothing can go wrong tomorrow.    He wants this second date to be as nice as the first one was, and since he gets to plan this one, that means he has an opportunity to surprise you. And that’s exactly what he hopes to do.    There’s a place he knows of outside the city, which is magical even for those who have been there before, but the first time anyone sees it is always special and he’s sure you haven’t. The trick is how to make the journey there enjoyable as well, and not just a quick highway dash.

   So, once he’s satisfied the motorcycle is flawless, he sets to work on checking roadmaps and planning a route. He’s driven most of the roads in that area before, but there are lots of them out there, and they all intersect with each other which makes it easy to get lost, and that’s not an adventure he wishes to have with you on a date.    It’s almost midnight before he feels satisfied with his plan, and goes to bed with a smile on his face just from knowing he’ll get to spend all day with you tomorrow.

   As promised, the weather is perfect when he gets up the next morning. Cool enough that full protective gear isn’t gonna get sauna-hot, but warm enough that the winds won’t be too cold when you ride.    You’d agreed to meet at 11am, so he takes his time packing everything, double-checking that nothing’s forgotten, and he still has enough time left to do another inspection of the machine, before he decides that you probably won’t mind if he’s half an hour early, because he really can’t wait any longer.

   He sets off and feels the familiar buzz in his blood as the engine comes alive, but he doesn’t gun it. He’s got more than enough time and it would be the stupidest thing in the world if he went and got into a crash on his way to meet you, just because he was too eager.    No, he’s made more than enough mistakes in his life to know that sometimes, taking it slow is the only sensible option. Which applies to his way of thinking with you as well. Although, that is becoming increasingly difficult the longer he’s around you.

   Arriving outside your building, he leaves the bike on an empty section of a bicycle parking area, which is hardly ever used because no one cycles in this city, not even delivery services. And there’s good reason for that because the layout of the city is odd.    It doesn’t conform to the usual block type of main streets and cross streets, but rather a single winding main street which is then accessed by smaller roads coming in from all directions, not at all linear but crisscrossed all over the place. Some coming from way out in the countryside, slithering their way to the city center as if built on old trade routes from back when people walked or rode carriages everywhere, forced to weave through the natural landscape.

   All in all, it makes traffic here really weird, and anyone trying to navigate it by bicycle must simply not be concerned with their safety, because confused drivers will make erratic turns and generally behave very unpredictably, at all hours of the day and night.    There’s a running joke that you have to be a local to be able to drive here, since trying to follow the signs will invariably leave you going the wrong way. You need to just know the streets by heart, which takes time and presence of mind.    Pero had it figured out within weeks of moving here, but then, he’s not exactly normal.

   Your apartment building is of the kind that has a reception, where visitors must sign in before they’ll be allowed to enter the elevator or stairwell, but there’s no mandatory ID check. The high-definition camera surveillance in the reception area is enough to deter most criminals, and the security officers who work there are trained to spot people under the influence of drugs or alcohol. They also have the authority to search any visitor’s bags or the person themselves if they suspect the presence of weapons or paraphernalia, all of which Pero approves of.

   The two guards on duty today are the same ones he met on his last visit, and they greet him as politely as they did on that occasion. He’d been carrying two heavy bags of groceries that time, which they’d requested to look through since they’d never seen him before, to which he’d agreed without any complaints. But he isn’t carrying anything at all today, and his clothes would be difficult to hide any weapons in, so they buzz him through without hassle.    Reaching your floor he knocks on your door, feeling the increasingly pleasant nervous excitement which accompanies any moment spent in your presence these days, and in the seconds that pass until the lock turns and you appear before him, this feeling only intensifies.

   “Hey,” you greet with a big smile, and your eyes are actually twinkling even in the cold artificial brightness of the stairwell.

   “I’m early, sorry,” he mumbles, too overwhelmed by the mere sight of you to come up with anything more elegant.

   “That’s okay, I could use some advice on what to wear or bring. I haven’t ridden in a very long time.”

   With that, you turn and head back into your apartment, leaving the door wide open for him to follow, but it takes him a couple of seconds to unlock his legs and step through the opening.

   You’re wearing a base layer of thin thermals, designed to transport moisture away from the skin to prevent you getting sweaty, since that will then make you cold. And while they’re certainly the correct types of clothes to wear closest to your body for a motorcycle ride in these temperatures, they’re also very snug. Despite covering everything but your head, hands, and feet, they reveal every feature your body has, and while Pero has seen you at least partially undressed before, this somehow seems even more exposing.    And it certainly doesn’t help his already enticed state of mind that he likes everything he sees while he slowly walks inside and closes the door behind him.

   “I don’t have any leathers anymore, but I do have this all-purpose, non-tear, weatherproof jacket and pants combo, I’m just not sure how much to wear underneath,” you prattle on while showing him the clothes in question, completely oblivious to how much he’s struggling to just not stare at you.

   The combo is of a good brand, designed for use in all environments, from skiing in the alps to riding motorcycles, able to withstand even the stress of skidding over pavement, should something terrible happen. He focuses entirely on the clothes to get his head out of the gutter, doing his very best not to look at you while he responds.

   “The weather is mild and it’s going to get warmer in the afternoon, so you should be okay with just this. But bring an extra sweater in case the windchill bothers you. I’m not planning on going too fast, but it can get uncomfortable anyway.”

   “Okay,” you cheerfully reply, before whirling around to take something out of the hallway closet, and he risks another glance at your enticing form while your back is turned.

   But he fails to look away fast enough when you suddenly turn back towards him, catching him ogling, and he immediately feels like a damned pervert.

   “I’m sorry… you look very nice,” he tries to deflect, reverting his attention to the floor in front of his own feet while he waits for you to tell him off.

   “So do you, Pero.”

   Surprised, he looks up to find you grinning while raking your eyes over his fully leather-clad body, lingering here and there where you apparently see something you particularly like.    And when you notice his confidence grow with your scrutiny, you step closer and then take a slow spin on the spot to let him look at you, and it feels so much better to do that when he knows you want him to.

   Once you’ve completed the turn, he reaches for your hand, waiting for you to take his outstretched one rather than just grab yours, and when you give it to him, he again kisses the back of it, knowing how much you like it when he does that.

   “It has not even been one full day since I last saw you, and yet, I have missed you,” he admits, and a tingly warmth spreads through him when you step even closer.

   “I could barely sleep I was so excited about today,” you grin, and he’s happy to note that you don’t look at all embarrassed to admit how much you’ve come to like him.

   He never thought you would. For all the times he’s thought about talking to you over the past year, all the times he’s wished that he was more eloquent, that he knew how to not be so unfriendly, he never once believed you might give him a chance even if he tried.    And then, when he did try, fixing up that Valentine’s Day evening for you, he still expected you to treat him with suspicion and possibly disgust. But the thought that you might actually see him differently and give him the benefit of the doubt, never really seemed possible.

   So, to then suddenly have you not only willing to have deep and meaningful conversations with him, but also want to help him become better at expressing himself, willing to be a sounding board for his evolving emotional understanding, and even open your heart to the possibility of being intimate with him… none of this was part of any plan.    Everything that’s happened since that trip has been another shock to his system and he’s still trying to catch up. Still working on believing that this is real, even as you keep inviting him to have more.

   You’re close enough that if he leans forwards, he could kiss you, and the thought is extremely intoxicating. Which is why he does the opposite instead. Testing himself, checking that he’s still in control, that you’re still safe with him, because the moment he gives you cause to believe differently, he’s already lost you.    The incredibly accepting way in which you’ve thus far seen his more violent side doesn’t mean you’re impervious to fearing him. He must never forget this.    Taking a step back, he reaches for the pants of your combo suit, handing them to you with a smile on his face, relieved and strengthened to have kept himself in check once more.

   “Let’s go, Asombro.”

   He looks so unsure as he comes into your apartment, but once you realize it’s because he’s trying not to be disrespectful of your attire, you make a point of making sure he knows that you don’t mind his eyes on you. And it works. He’s immediately more relaxed and comfortable, although he continues to keep a safe distance between you, entirely as you’d expected given how clear he’s been about his fears of losing control with you.    It’s an unexpectedly touching feeling to see his smile blossom not because of your comfort with his closeness, but through your acceptance of his boundaries.    He is a truly unusual man. But in so many good ways, most of which you weren’t even aware of before starting to date him.

   “Do I need to bring anything else? Like snacks, or something?” you inquire, because he hasn’t told you anything at all about what’s gonna happen today, so you have no clue what to expect.

   “Nothing at all,” he cryptically answers, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes which tells you that he’s got it all planned out, and he wants to surprise you.

   Having no intention of spoiling this for him, you zip your jacket up and then grab your phone, but you hold it up rather than put it in your pocket.

   “Should I leave this too?”

   “Maybe bring it in case of emergency,” he nods, to which you respond by turning all sound and vibration off on the device, before slipping it into your small backpack, along with the extra sweater.

   “Alright,” you declare with a big grin, “I’m all yours, sir.”

   He likes that. Leading the way downstairs, he keeps looking for reasons to take your hand or place one of his on your back, none of which you object to.    Reaching the lobby, you find Jimmy and Alice on shift, both looking mildly surprised to see you leaving with company, since that’s never happened in all the time you’ve lived here. So, while Pero signs out as required, you shoot a very obvious look of pride at them both, because you genuinely feel your ego swell at the notion that someone as objectively good-looking as this man, is interested in you.    Jimmy looks mostly dumbstruck, but Alice winks at you just as Pero drops the pen, having finished his autograph.

   “Take it easy, you two,” she smiles, clearly reading everything you’re giving off correctly, while her colleague is apparently not too well versed in the female forms of silent communication, and merely stares between you as though he knows he’s supposed to understand what’s happening, but just doesn’t.

   The bike is leaning on its kickstand by the bicycle parking, and somehow, you’re surprised at the type of machine it is. You’d imagined that he’d have a real crotch-rocket, something built for speed and flare, but instead, what you’re looking at is a touring bike. Still a high-performance machine but also made for comfort over long distances.

   “What model is this? It’s a BMW, right?” you ask, wanting to see how well your knowledge has kept up after so many years of not being on the bike-scene.

   “Yes, it is the R 1250 GS. I have had many different ones over the years, but this is the only one I like all around. It has a good engine, it’s reliable, and it doesn’t kill me to ride it for hours without stopping.    Have you kept up to date on motorcycles after your brother abandoned the interest?”

   “A little bit. I never lost my fascination with them, and for a while, I did try to connect more with him by engrossing myself in his passion. I do tend to remember things pretty well once I’ve learned them.”

   “Mm, I have noticed this about you,” he says with a bemused chuckle, probably remembering how quickly you’d picked up on all workings of the MAP.

   It still gives you a little thrill every time you hear any form of laughter coming from this man. You’ve known the quiet, grumpy version of him for so much longer than you’ve been around this lighter, happier side of him, that it just doesn’t conform to the fixed mould he still sits in within your mind.    All of which is why you find yourself standing there, just staring at the upturned curves of the corners of his mouth, until he notices.

   “Do I have something in my teeth, Sonriente?” he jokes, smiling at what has to be a more or less dumbstruck expression on your face.

   “Oh, no. I’m just… not used to your smile yet. That’s all,” you shrug, feeling a bit stupid, but also feeling entirely okay with that, because you’re supposed to get most of the stupid out of the way while dating, it makes way for more fun in a future relationship.

   “Well, that makes two of us.”

   He says it softly, almost reverently, changing a perfectly ordinary sentence into something much more. It’s as if even the words that might suggest a pairing between you are overpowering to his senses.    But then he holds up the helmet he’s brought for you to use, and you step closer to take it from him, examining what type of chinstrap it has so you’ll know how to work it once you can’t see it anymore. He’s even brought a balaclava for you to wear underneath, and by the looks of it, it’s a brand new one.

   “Thank you.”

   “You may keep it, if you like. I buy them in packs of five, so I always have spares. This one has never been used before, so it’s fresh.”

   “How uncharacteristically thoughtful of you,” you grin with a slightly mocking tone. “I wouldn’t have minded a used one, just so you know.”

   “Ay, Sonri, I have seen you work in layers of your own sweat, use someone else’s grimy old t-shirt covered in stains as a towel, and use the men’s bathroom without a single complaint. I know you will put up with whatever you might need to.    However, if I can ensure you don’t need to, you can be certain I will.”

   While he speaks, he comes over to help you put the thing on without getting your hair all in your face, and once it’s in place and all he can see of you is your eyes, his smile widens.

   “Yes, this is a much better look. So much less distracting.”

   His tone tells you that this is a joke, but you feel like it’s also an invitation for you to be playful, as if he’s testing to see if you’ll take the bait and add to the humour, or if you’ll take offense and get defensive.

   “I can be plenty distractive if I want to, mister. Don’t tempt me…” you caution, matching his tone precisely, allowing the smile to fill your voice, and his expression gets even brighter with the confirmation that you’re all for a little playful banter.

   “I will keep this in mind.”

   With that, he picks up his helmet and the balaclava he’s got stuffed in there, puts both on and then checks that you’ve managed to clip the chinstrap on correctly, before he moves to start the bike.    It comes to life with a rumble that’s somehow both deep and sharp, speaking to the duality of a good touring engine, built to accommodate speed as well as stability. And when you climb on behind him, relieved to not have lost your balance stepping up on the small peg, your body instantly begins to tingle with the burgeoning rise in adrenaline.

   It’s been almost twenty years since you last rode, but it comes back to you in an instant, as though the physical sensation has been stored within you all that time. Leaning with the machine, alternating keeping your arms around Pero’s waist or pushing against the gas tank depending on whether he’s accelerating or breaking, it all seems to happen without any thought process required. As if you still did this regularly.

   You were never a driver. Not really. You’d tried it, back when you’d been looking for ways to connect to your brother, but it had never gotten to a point where you’d felt confident with it.    No, you’re a backpack, in rider’s terms, and you’re perfectly fine with that.    Your date, however, is incredibly confident. He doesn’t drive aggressively or even particularly fast, but therein lies the proof of his mastery, not only over the machine but over his own ego as well.

   An insecure rider wouldn’t feel comfortable driving this leisurely, they’d insist on trying to prove their skills or bravery by driving fast and being edgy, as if risking one’s life and the life of a passenger is somehow a desirable quality in a person…    But Pero effortlessly glides through traffic, weaving almost elegantly between cars and trucks, as if he already knows who’s gonna turn or change lanes before they do, and planning his route accordingly. He’s fully aware that each vehicle on the road with you are a threat, yet he also knows that he can avoid them, not through the arrogance of thinking that accidents can be avoided by skill alone, but simply because he never stops expecting them.

   The only assumptions he seems to make are that no one sees or hears the smaller machine and adjusts his driving to ensure there’s always a margin for error. It isn’t glaringly obvious, although anyone with a bit of rider experience should recognize it.    In any case, it takes only minutes for you to realize it and feel safe enough to relax into the trip, leaning into his back and focusing on the scenery as he steers towards the outskirts of the city and then leaves it behind completely.

   You’re not someone who venture out into nature nearly as much as you should, so these roads are unfamiliar to you, which only makes the journey that much more interesting.    Since your father’s work had taken him all over the country, your family moved several times during your childhood, meaning this city holds no childhood memories for you. You moved here as an adult only seven years ago.

   The same is true for Pero, although his biking interest will surely have taken him on many trips out here, especially since he’s also lived here longer than you. You feel certain there aren’t many roads in the entire state he hasn’t travelled at some point after over a decade of exploration, so in all probability, the only novelty of this journey for him will be the addition of company.    Still, you suspect that aspect alone is surely going to make this a completely new experience for him.

   The first stop comes after maybe fifty minutes of driving, half of which have been on winding country roads, as he left the interstates and highways behind at the first available junction. But as he merely turns into a very small rest-stop at the side of the road in a largely featureless landscape, you’re assuming this is just a leg stretching intermission.    You’re quick to disembark as soon as he turns the bike off, though, as it makes it easier for him to get off, but when he removes his headgear, there’s a big smile on his face.

   “You will want to leave your helmet and gloves here. There’s a bit of a walk next.”

   Oh. So, this is part of the agenda then.    Mildly confused, you turn in a circle before taking off your helmet and balaclava. There’s literally nothing of note anywhere within visible range.

   “How long a walk are we talking about, here, mister? Cause these boots ain’t made for hiking,” you joke, but not really.

   You’ve picked your toughest shoes for this ride to protect your ankles in case of a crash, and they’re not designed for extended walks, especially not in woodland terrains.

   “I have no intention of torturing you, my lady,” he smiles, before taking your headgear and putting it on the bike.

   “My lady?” you question, instantly making him nervous.

   “Uh, I just mean… It wasn’t.. You are not mine, that’s not what I-…”

   “Relax, Pero, I’m kidding. It just sounded uncharacteristically old-fashioned of you,” you cut him off before he chokes on his own uncertainty, and while it does seem to ease his nerves a bit, he’s still terribly unsure when he speaks next.

   “Considering I have never dated before, and have no friends to guide me, all I have to draw on are the movie I have seen, and in that sense the old-fashioned ones are better. In my opinion, at least.”

   The reminder of his inexperience takes you by surprise, but you welcome it. You always prefer his honesty and appreciate that he wants you to understand what he’s going through, so even though your smile fades while you listen, you bring it back the moment he falls silent.

   “Agreed,” you nod firmly. “As long as you leave out the bigotry, racism and common belief that women are inherently weak.”

   An audible laugh that turns into a kind of soft snort escapes him then.

   “I would pay good money to get to watch you scold anyone who tried to describe you as weak. My lady.”

   “Pfft, I’d do that for free, any day.”

   The vibrant return of his smile tells you that the tension has been successfully removed, so you step closer to him and offer your hand, which he takes without hesitation.

   “Alright, lead the way, darling,” you offer, in keeping with the language of the older movies he’s referencing, and you could swear a faint blush appears in his cheeks as he ducks his head and sets off, seemingly heading straight out into the wilderness.

Thank you for giving this story a chance, and please don't hesitate to shout at me about it if you want! 🥰

   That’s how the rest of the week feels. Like you’re just constantly overenergized and bumping into tables while you wait for Saturday to arrive so you can ask Pero all the new questions you keep coming up with.    He, meanwhile, seems perfectly calm, which is kinda frustrating. But you also feel certain that he’s not nearly as unbothered as he so effortlessly makes it look.

   Thursday is pretty much okay. You arrive at work feeling rested, because you did end up falling asleep the moment you laid down at the end of the date. And you’d slept very soundly with the realization that you’d enjoyed every moment of the date and felt so safe and comfortable throughout the evening that it’s given you confidence for a lasting friendship and strong hopes of a potential romance. All of which gives you a sense of harmony within yourself as you go about your day, giving no external signs that you’re hitting an invisible table every fucking time you see him.

   Friday is much worse, though. The idea that your next date is only one day away makes it so much harder to contain yourself, and your coworkers obviously notice. You’re more energetic than most of them even on the worst of days, but now you’re even skipping breaks because the idea of sitting down is making you wanna jump out of your own skin.

   “You get laid, or something?” one of your female colleagues remarks when she returns from the 8am break and passes your station, finding you dancing on the spot while you operate the MAP.

   “Not yet!” you cheerfully reply, before turning towards her voice, only to find Pero walking right behind her.

   Your giddiness instantly turns into embarrassment, and you hurriedly return to your task with stark focus, even though you’re utterly unable to think about anything other than the fact that he definitely heard it, and you have no idea how he might feel about it.    Because while you do know that he’s genuinely interested and attracted to you, he’s made a point of not even touching you in the most innocent of ways yet, only ever after you’ve reached out to him or made it clear you’ve wanted him to. So, you know how important it is to him to take things slowly.

   “Ooh, so you are dating someone?” your coworker grins, clearly pleased with this unexpected turn of events, but thankfully she seems totally oblivious to your reaction shifting because of the man who’s now trailing slower behind her while she continues at the same pace towards her area, further east within the factory.

   “Um… yeah. I am,” you decide to declare, because you want him to know that that’s how you see the two of you right now, even if you would never tell anyone who you’re dating unless he made it clear he was okay with it.

   “Nice. I’m happy for you,” she chirps before leaving the subject and disappearing around a bend.

   And as she does, you feel fingertips brushing against the small of your back, where your t-shirt bulges out a little because you like to keep it tucked at work, which means it gets stretched out when you sit or squat.    He’s only just grazing your skin through the fabric. The lightest of touches, but you know exactly what it means, and it makes your whole body warm.    Without a word, he carries on with his work, probably on his way to help someone or fix something, or he wouldn’t be passing you at all since his station is in the other direction. Which is also why you didn’t think he’d be anywhere near you when you said it.

   By lunchtime you’re feeling the lack of a breakfast, so you hurry to the breakroom before all the microwaves are taken, getting there just before the onslaught of hungry workers.    Taking your seat once the food is warm, you dive into it while it’s still a little too hot and begrudgingly have to slow down and blow cold air on each bite, which is surprisingly annoying when you’re ravenously hungry.    But in your battle with the microwave heat, you don’t notice that Pero’s entered the room.

   You’re usually able to tell just from the shift in the energy of the space whenever he walks in, because everyone is always a little on edge around him, but you’re just too preoccupied and disappointed with yourself for not having breakfast, to realize it this time.    So, when a glass lunchbox and cup of water are placed on the table opposite you, you don’t react at all because there’s barely enough seats for everyone, so people generally sit wherever there’s room.    When the entire breakroom goes silent from one second to the next, however… you notice.

   He hears the words and sees your reaction before it’s even sunk in what you meant by them, but he feels bad for you once he realizes, because you seem so ashamed or embarrassed by them. And you shouldn’t. Wanting closeness isn’t wrong, not even wanting it from him, you should never feel so uncomfortable voicing that.    But he also feels certain you wouldn’t have reacted so strongly if it had been a less public affair. If you’d happened to say it just to him you would’ve probably smiled a little, perhaps felt a bit insecure as is normal for anyone exposing their desires, but that would’ve likely been the end of it.

   You say it in a way that makes it sound like a joke, and if you hadn’t so obviously regretted it once the words were spoken, your coworker would’ve probably left it alone. That’s the curse of involuntary reactions. There’s no way to edit them.    But Pero likes hearing it, and not just because it involves him. He likes that you’re apparently so excited about what’s happening between the two of you that you can’t help but blurt out unfiltered comments about your love life.    So, as discreetly as he can, he gives you a nudge. Just a truly tiny reassurance that your desire is wanted and appreciated, and he can feel your temperature change with the sudden comfort, even as he slowly passes behind you.

   It makes him smile, although you wouldn’t have been able to see it on his face had you turned around just then, because he’s a master at not showing it, however strongly he might feel it. But he will, if you want him to. If this goes where he hopes it will, he’ll show you everything he’s never wanted anyone to see.    You would be worth it.    For now, though, he carries on to the station furthest east in the factory, where an operator has apparently managed to break a forklift, which turns out to be an understatement.

   When he gets there, the machine in question is halfway underneath a shelving unit made of steel, which has demolished the entire cabin as the vehicle was forcibly crammed into the much lower space.    The forklifts are all electric and limited to indoor speeds, no more than 5mph, so this level of damage shouldn’t be possible.

   “Tovar, thanks for coming,” an older operator greets him, pausing his efforts to clear away debris while he steps closer to be heard over the general noise of the factory. “It suffered some kind of power-surge. Just went full throttle all on its own. Poor Jenny had to bail, there was nothing else to do.”

   Jenny works on the storage and goods team, they’re the only ones who have access to the forklifts, and she’s one of the workers Pero actually likes.    He likes the women more than the men, overall, because in his experience, women come to work and get stuff done. They like to keep busy, and they like to see results for their efforts, whereas the men are generally the ones who will happily stand around and gossip for an hour, while their stations are unmanned and producing nothing at all.    Which, in the end, always affects everyone else negatively, and especially the taciturn Colombian, since he’s the one who will invariably have to fix the equipment which they neglect to perform the daily maintenance on, because they’ve been too busy doing fuck all.

   “Is she okay?” he asks the older man, who is understandably surprised at the question, since Pero has never expressed concern for a colleague before now.

   “Concussed, most likely. But nothing life-threatening.”

   He merely nods in return, but the operator keeps looking at him like he just grew two heads.    Ignoring the staring he starts to inspect the damaged vehicle, but internally, he does feel a bit exposed.    These people know absolutely nothing about him, except that he can and will mess them up for life if they rub him the wrong way, but with this one little question, he’s revealed that there are things he cares about, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.    What is clear, though, is that you’re already having a lasting impact on him, as he never would’ve revealed any level of care for another human being before your date. And he’s not at all ashamed to allow himself to become a warmer person for you.

   He just hopes the crew won’t try to use it against him, because if they do, he’ll have to put them in their place and that won’t be pretty.

   “The engine seems unharmed, so it should be salvageable,” he concludes after a thorough inspection, having to crawl under lengths of bent steel rods and broken plastic and aluminium to make his initial analysis. “But getting it out will require a lot of work. We will need eight people, at least.”

   Ordinarily, no one is allowed to enter an accident site until a safety assessment has been made, but Pero is one of the people who makes those assessments, so despite the risks involved with crawling under an unsecured shelving unit that weighs about two tonnes, he gets to make that call himself. Any of the other staff present could lose their job if they attempted it, and that applies even after the safety check. Only qualified personnel are permitted inside active danger zones, unless anyone is specifically told otherwise.

   “All right, I’ll go see who among the specs that can be spared,” the older man offers.

   He’s referring to the staff members who have specified clearance to work in higher risk environments, meaning they’ve taken extra courses on how to safely work with riskier elements, while not giving them the same clearances as Pero, and just as the operator leaves, one of the suits arrives.

   It is mandatory for all inhouse accidents to be assessed and later reviewed by both the supervisor and two people from management, the one in charge of the factory floor security, and the one in charge of the entire factory.    This man is the head of security, and fortunately, he’s one of the really good guys in suits. He and Pero have had many rewarding conversations in the past, as the man recognizes his ability to visualize dangers and how he often comes up with good solutions for how to minimize risks.

   “How’s it looking, Tovar?” the man, casually referred to by his first name, Donny, asks as he takes in the scene before him.

   “Lots of structural damage to both the machine and the shelf, but the engine seems okay. Aside from whatever made it surge.”

   “That’s what happened?”

   “According to the operator who was driving, yes,” Pero recounts the information relayed to him earlier.

   “Jenny Ortiz, right?”

   “Yes. She is apparently alright, but they have taken her to hospital in case she has a concussion.”

   “Good. I’ll be sure to talk to her later.    So, we’ll need to secure the shelving unit before attempting to extricate the forklift. Any ideas?” Donny wonders, crossing his arms as he turns towards the damaged machine.

   “We have tall jacks, yes? Like the ones used to hold engines in place from underneath while being unbolted from a car, for example.”

   “The mechanics do, yeah. Are you thinking jacking up the shelf and just pulling the machine back?”

   “Seems like the simplest solution. But then, we would have to have a more permanent support in mind beforehand, cause we cannot simply leave the shelf balancing on the jacks for however long the repairs might take,” Pero suggests, and gets an approving nod from the suit.

   “I’ll get to work on that,” he offers, as always sharp and to the point. “You get started on organizing the extrication, I have a feeling it’s gonna take most of the day anyway.”

   “And I was having such a good day…”

   Donny’s just picked up his phone to start making the necessary calls, but he pauses and fixes the Colombian with a questioning brow, somewhere between amused and perplexed.

   “Sorry, I can never tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

   “Good,” Pero states simply, showing no emotion of any kind, which makes the other man chuckle drily while he returns attention to his device.

   Getting the vehicle out from under the shelf does indeed take a while, but by lunchtime it’s free and Pero can hand it over to the mechanics.    However, the process sours his mood with increasing ferocity with each passing hour, not so much because of the work itself, but because of the crowd of curious workers who come to stand around and watch, offering no assistance. And every fucking one of them is a middle-aged man, standing with their arms crossed or shoved into their pockets, happily gossiping and chatting away.

   It angers the Colombian for a number of reasons, but mainly, because half the factory is standing still while they lounge about, and not even because they want to help, but simply to satisfy their curiosity.    So, by the time the forklift is pulled out, he’s well and truly pissed. But he can’t start screaming at the entire shift, that won't help anything, leaving him fuming internally instead. As he has done so many times before.

   But then he starts heading for the lunchroom and remembers that you’re gonna be there this time, and it instantly makes his mind brighter, though not soothing the anger all that much. He was pleased to note that you never even passed by the accident site to see what all the fuss was about, so you’ve clearly been hard at work, as your colleagues should’ve been, which is just one more reason to like you.    When he walks in, you’re already working on your meal, although you seem to have misjudged or simply forgotten about the temperature, probably because you must be starving after skipping breakfast.

   He has to wait for a microwave to become available and then for his food to heat up, but once it’s done, he heads straight for the seat opposite yours.    Something about your very presence settles his temper, and he needs that right now. It’s like there’s a painful twist of his intestines somewhere and merely being within reach of your aura is enough to untwist it and let him breathe fully.

   “Hi…” you greet with a careful smile, although his decision to merely nod in return doesn’t seem to surprise you.

   He’s grateful for that, since he’s still not comfortable having casual but private conversations in a public setting.    But the moment his food is consumed, he takes both his own and your dishes and goes to wash them, before gesturing for you to follow him back out onto the floor. There’s still fifteen minutes left of your break, and he does want to talk to you.    You take the hint without hesitation, standing to accompany him as he holds the door for you, and the moment you’re on your own, he takes the liberty of slipping his hand into yours, hoping you won’t mind because he needs the connection. Although he’s not even sure why.

   The handholding is most surprising of all, but you welcome the contact. It’s strange though, because it’s almost like he craves it, holding onto you firmly while his hand keeps moving, his fingers shifting over yours, nervously tracing patterns which aren’t there.    Whatever’s going on it has to be stressing him out something terrible if he’s not only risking the control he’s so afraid of losing, but actually asking for comfort, albeit without saying it out loud.

   “What’s going on, Pero? Are you okay?”

   “Have you heard about the accident?” he wonders in return, which confuses you a bit.

   “What accident?” you demand, suddenly nervous yourself at the prospect of finding out something bad might’ve happened to him or one of your coworkers.

   He gives you the broad strokes and then carries on explaining what’s gotten him into such a mood, which eases your worries a bit. Not that hearing about him being riled up is at all nice, but it’s certainly better than anyone having gotten injured. Plus, you’re actually a bit pleased to hear him explain and express his emotions so clearly.    It gives you a sense of pride to know that he’s coming to you to unburden himself. That he feels safe to be so open with you.

   ”What is it about these men, hm?” he frustratedly questions, not exactly to you, if you’re reading him correctly, but more as though he wishes he could pose the question to the entire world. “Why do they all think they are exceptions to all rules and manners?”

   “Because that’s what happens when no one ever suffers consequences for their actions,” you shrug, answering him mostly just to carry the conversation along, since you’re certain he already knows this.

   “I would like to be in charge of handing out punishments for lack of production due to belly-button scratching,” he mutters, and you stifle a laugh at the mental imagery. “Then they would never dare lounge about again.”

   “Well, maybe it’s time you did punish them,” you suggest, which earns you a look of concerned confusion, so you hurry to elaborate. “You never berate anyone, even when you’re forced to fix their screw-ups and mop up their messes. You always just silently do what you’re told, and they know it.    So, stop helping them. Force them to fix their own fucking problems, and then we’ll see how much time they have to lounge about.”

   “Gary would not be happy with such a thing.”

   “So, what? It’s not actually your job to make his life easier, you know.”

   He seems to ponder that for a while, and by the time he speaks again, his anger appears to have faded.

   “I cannot decide if you are a good or bad influence on me, Sonriente. But I will apply your suggestion to my work from now on, because I am curious to see how long this place will keep running smoothly without my compliance.”

   “Atta boy,” you smile at him, and he finally returns it.

   And since he’s now in a better mood, you decide to bring up the incident from this morning, because you still want to air it out.

   “So, about my comment earlier…” you start, and his smile instantly widens.

   “Do not worry about it.”

   “No, I know, I just wanted to say that it felt so cheap once I’d said it, whether you’d heard it or not. I never wanted to suggest what’s building between us is that shallow.    At least, that’s not how I see it, and I’m pretty sure you don’t either. I just wanted to make that clear.”

   He stops walking then, turning to face you before he brings your hand up to his face and gently kisses the top of it, nearly buckling your knees in the process, because god damn does this man know how to properly convey affection, without ever making it feel like he’s expecting anything in return.

   “One of these days you’re gonna make me swoon for real,” you caution with what you’re sure are hooded eyes and a mouth which won’t fully close.

   You can’t quite tell, though, since your entire body is suddenly all tingly. From a pair of lips pressed against your hand…

   “Then I will catch you as well,” he simply declares, and then releases your hand before he sets off towards his station, walking slowly and turning back to look at you a couple of times.

   The afternoon passes quickly, as work ramps up with a very large order which has been held back because of a delayed shipment of necessary components, finally coming through the system. It means the MAP has to stay at peak efficiency all day, which requires a lot of fancy hands-on work from you, to keep all the mechanical arms on task with a perfect rhythm, preventing them from colliding with each other.    They’re only partially automated, to enable the operator to make instant changes to the process if it becomes needed, which generally happens about once an hour, so the machine can’t actually function entirely on its own.

   You’re glad for the distraction, even though it keeps you held up from going on the afternoon break, because by the time the next shift arrives, it feels like only about an hour has passed.    It’s by no means surprising to hear the gossip around the two shifts consist mainly of the accident that morning, but also circling around to Pero sitting with you at lunch, which earns you a fair few nosy looks, although everyone knows better than to ask about it. Especially with the grumpy Colombian within hearing range.

   You give your report to the operator which will be replacing you for the afternoon and then head for the locker rooms, starting to feel tired after what’s been an unusual day.    Hell, it’s been an unusual month.    But today was meaningful. The work might’ve ploughed on as always, but everything that happened in the background today was something which matters, and you want to take a minute to just absorb it all before you go home. So, you take a seat on the bench in front of your two lockers and just close your eyes and breathe.

   This means you’re the last person to exit the women’s locker room, and as you step through the door, Pero’s there waiting for you.    He silently falls in beside you as you make your way out of the factory and over to the parking lot, and it's only there that he finally speaks.

   “Thank you for today.”

   “You’re welcome,” you reply, not sure what he means exactly, since you haven’t really done anything.

   You expect him to veer off towards his car then, but instead, he walks with you to yours, again in complete silence. But he seems to be chewing on something, so when you reach your spot, you merely unlock your car and throw your bag in the back, before returning to him.    There’s something on his mind, you can tell by how his eyes are so focused, and again, he’s choosing you to talk to about it, so you wait patiently while he gathers his thoughts.

   “I have never reacted so strongly to anything happening at work before today,” he starts, and then he sighs and leans his back against the side of your sedan. “Ever since our date… I feel things a lot more strongly. Or at least, I cannot seem to hold anything in anymore.”

   He seems mostly confounded by his own words, as if there’s an ongoing process of whack-a-mole in his head, sending something new to the surface every time he thinks he’s figured something out. Which isn’t particularly surprising given how closed off he’s always been, only now starting to allow his barriers to be broken.    But this also means that he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, and since you’re the only one he’ll talk to, you’ll have to try and help him as best you can.

   “Oh. And this… unsettles you?”

   “Profoundly.”

   “Well, I guess that makes sense, doesn’t it?” you ponder, and he looks at you with raised brows. “Change is always hard, and especially when it involves letting someone else into the deepest parts of yourself. I think it’s kinda meant to rattle you, cause how else would you know how important and significant it is?”

   He takes a beat with that, but his expression is largely unreadable, so you can’t guess at how he feels about it.

   “I have never tried to change myself before. I have altered my way of thinking and my overall circumstances, yes, but I’ve never really tried to learn how to be… softer. Warmer,” he admits, which makes you feel a bit sad for him, but also hopeful.

   “I’m really glad you’re trying now,” you smile gently at him, and he returns the gesture after just a moment.

   “For you, mi Sonriente. Only for you.”

   Pero spends the evening going over his bike, doing extra meticulous checks just to be sure nothing can go wrong tomorrow.    He wants this second date to be as nice as the first one was, and since he gets to plan this one, that means he has an opportunity to surprise you. And that’s exactly what he hopes to do.    There’s a place he knows of outside the city, which is magical even for those who have been there before, but the first time anyone sees it is always special and he’s sure you haven’t. The trick is how to make the journey there enjoyable as well, and not just a quick highway dash.

   So, once he’s satisfied the motorcycle is flawless, he sets to work on checking roadmaps and planning a route. He’s driven most of the roads in that area before, but there are lots of them out there, and they all intersect with each other which makes it easy to get lost, and that’s not an adventure he wishes to have with you on a date.    It’s almost midnight before he feels satisfied with his plan, and goes to bed with a smile on his face just from knowing he’ll get to spend all day with you tomorrow.

   As promised, the weather is perfect when he gets up the next morning. Cool enough that full protective gear isn’t gonna get sauna-hot, but warm enough that the winds won’t be too cold when you ride.    You’d agreed to meet at 11am, so he takes his time packing everything, double-checking that nothing’s forgotten, and he still has enough time left to do another inspection of the machine, before he decides that you probably won’t mind if he’s half an hour early, because he really can’t wait any longer.

   He sets off and feels the familiar buzz in his blood as the engine comes alive, but he doesn’t gun it. He’s got more than enough time and it would be the stupidest thing in the world if he went and got into a crash on his way to meet you, just because he was too eager.    No, he’s made more than enough mistakes in his life to know that sometimes, taking it slow is the only sensible option. Which applies to his way of thinking with you as well. Although, that is becoming increasingly difficult the longer he’s around you.

   Arriving outside your building, he leaves the bike on an empty section of a bicycle parking area, which is hardly ever used because no one cycles in this city, not even delivery services. And there’s good reason for that because the layout of the city is odd.    It doesn’t conform to the usual block type of main streets and cross streets, but rather a single winding main street which is then accessed by smaller roads coming in from all directions, not at all linear but crisscrossed all over the place. Some coming from way out in the countryside, slithering their way to the city center as if built on old trade routes from back when people walked or rode carriages everywhere, forced to weave through the natural landscape.

   All in all, it makes traffic here really weird, and anyone trying to navigate it by bicycle must simply not be concerned with their safety, because confused drivers will make erratic turns and generally behave very unpredictably, at all hours of the day and night.    There’s a running joke that you have to be a local to be able to drive here, since trying to follow the signs will invariably leave you going the wrong way. You need to just know the streets by heart, which takes time and presence of mind.    Pero had it figured out within weeks of moving here, but then, he’s not exactly normal.

   Your apartment building is of the kind that has a reception, where visitors must sign in before they’ll be allowed to enter the elevator or stairwell, but there’s no mandatory ID check. The high-definition camera surveillance in the reception area is enough to deter most criminals, and the security officers who work there are trained to spot people under the influence of drugs or alcohol. They also have the authority to search any visitor’s bags or the person themselves if they suspect the presence of weapons or paraphernalia, all of which Pero approves of.

   The two guards on duty today are the same ones he met on his last visit, and they greet him as politely as they did on that occasion. He’d been carrying two heavy bags of groceries that time, which they’d requested to look through since they’d never seen him before, to which he’d agreed without any complaints. But he isn’t carrying anything at all today, and his clothes would be difficult to hide any weapons in, so they buzz him through without hassle.    Reaching your floor he knocks on your door, feeling the increasingly pleasant nervous excitement which accompanies any moment spent in your presence these days, and in the seconds that pass until the lock turns and you appear before him, this feeling only intensifies.

   “Hey,” you greet with a big smile, and your eyes are actually twinkling even in the cold artificial brightness of the stairwell.

   “I’m early, sorry,” he mumbles, too overwhelmed by the mere sight of you to come up with anything more elegant.

   “That’s okay, I could use some advice on what to wear or bring. I haven’t ridden in a very long time.”

   With that, you turn and head back into your apartment, leaving the door wide open for him to follow, but it takes him a couple of seconds to unlock his legs and step through the opening.

   You’re wearing a base layer of thin thermals, designed to transport moisture away from the skin to prevent you getting sweaty, since that will then make you cold. And while they’re certainly the correct types of clothes to wear closest to your body for a motorcycle ride in these temperatures, they’re also very snug. Despite covering everything but your head, hands, and feet, they reveal every feature your body has, and while Pero has seen you at least partially undressed before, this somehow seems even more exposing.    And it certainly doesn’t help his already enticed state of mind that he likes everything he sees while he slowly walks inside and closes the door behind him.

   “I don’t have any leathers anymore, but I do have this all-purpose, non-tear, weatherproof jacket and pants combo, I’m just not sure how much to wear underneath,” you prattle on while showing him the clothes in question, completely oblivious to how much he’s struggling to just not stare at you.

   The combo is of a good brand, designed for use in all environments, from skiing in the alps to riding motorcycles, able to withstand even the stress of skidding over pavement, should something terrible happen. He focuses entirely on the clothes to get his head out of the gutter, doing his very best not to look at you while he responds.

   “The weather is mild and it’s going to get warmer in the afternoon, so you should be okay with just this. But bring an extra sweater in case the windchill bothers you. I’m not planning on going too fast, but it can get uncomfortable anyway.”

   “Okay,” you cheerfully reply, before whirling around to take something out of the hallway closet, and he risks another glance at your enticing form while your back is turned.

   But he fails to look away fast enough when you suddenly turn back towards him, catching him ogling, and he immediately feels like a damned pervert.

   “I’m sorry… you look very nice,” he tries to deflect, reverting his attention to the floor in front of his own feet while he waits for you to tell him off.

   “So do you, Pero.”

   Surprised, he looks up to find you grinning while raking your eyes over his fully leather-clad body, lingering here and there where you apparently see something you particularly like.    And when you notice his confidence grow with your scrutiny, you step closer and then take a slow spin on the spot to let him look at you, and it feels so much better to do that when he knows you want him to.

   Once you’ve completed the turn, he reaches for your hand, waiting for you to take his outstretched one rather than just grab yours, and when you give it to him, he again kisses the back of it, knowing how much you like it when he does that.

   “It has not even been one full day since I last saw you, and yet, I have missed you,” he admits, and a tingly warmth spreads through him when you step even closer.

   “I could barely sleep I was so excited about today,” you grin, and he’s happy to note that you don’t look at all embarrassed to admit how much you’ve come to like him.

   He never thought you would. For all the times he’s thought about talking to you over the past year, all the times he’s wished that he was more eloquent, that he knew how to not be so unfriendly, he never once believed you might give him a chance even if he tried.    And then, when he did try, fixing up that Valentine’s Day evening for you, he still expected you to treat him with suspicion and possibly disgust. But the thought that you might actually see him differently and give him the benefit of the doubt, never really seemed possible.

   So, to then suddenly have you not only willing to have deep and meaningful conversations with him, but also want to help him become better at expressing himself, willing to be a sounding board for his evolving emotional understanding, and even open your heart to the possibility of being intimate with him… none of this was part of any plan.    Everything that’s happened since that trip has been another shock to his system and he’s still trying to catch up. Still working on believing that this is real, even as you keep inviting him to have more.

   You’re close enough that if he leans forwards, he could kiss you, and the thought is extremely intoxicating. Which is why he does the opposite instead. Testing himself, checking that he’s still in control, that you’re still safe with him, because the moment he gives you cause to believe differently, he’s already lost you.    The incredibly accepting way in which you’ve thus far seen his more violent side doesn’t mean you’re impervious to fearing him. He must never forget this.    Taking a step back, he reaches for the pants of your combo suit, handing them to you with a smile on his face, relieved and strengthened to have kept himself in check once more.

   “Let’s go, Asombro.”

   He looks so unsure as he comes into your apartment, but once you realize it’s because he’s trying not to be disrespectful of your attire, you make a point of making sure he knows that you don’t mind his eyes on you. And it works. He’s immediately more relaxed and comfortable, although he continues to keep a safe distance between you, entirely as you’d expected given how clear he’s been about his fears of losing control with you.    It’s an unexpectedly touching feeling to see his smile blossom not because of your comfort with his closeness, but through your acceptance of his boundaries.    He is a truly unusual man. But in so many good ways, most of which you weren’t even aware of before starting to date him.

   “Do I need to bring anything else? Like snacks, or something?” you inquire, because he hasn’t told you anything at all about what’s gonna happen today, so you have no clue what to expect.

   “Nothing at all,” he cryptically answers, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes which tells you that he’s got it all planned out, and he wants to surprise you.

   Having no intention of spoiling this for him, you zip your jacket up and then grab your phone, but you hold it up rather than put it in your pocket.

   “Should I leave this too?”

   “Maybe bring it in case of emergency,” he nods, to which you respond by turning all sound and vibration off on the device, before slipping it into your small backpack, along with the extra sweater.

   “Alright,” you declare with a big grin, “I’m all yours, sir.”

   He likes that. Leading the way downstairs, he keeps looking for reasons to take your hand or place one of his on your back, none of which you object to.    Reaching the lobby, you find Jimmy and Alice on shift, both looking mildly surprised to see you leaving with company, since that’s never happened in all the time you’ve lived here. So, while Pero signs out as required, you shoot a very obvious look of pride at them both, because you genuinely feel your ego swell at the notion that someone as objectively good-looking as this man, is interested in you.    Jimmy looks mostly dumbstruck, but Alice winks at you just as Pero drops the pen, having finished his autograph.

   “Take it easy, you two,” she smiles, clearly reading everything you’re giving off correctly, while her colleague is apparently not too well versed in the female forms of silent communication, and merely stares between you as though he knows he’s supposed to understand what’s happening, but just doesn’t.

   The bike is leaning on its kickstand by the bicycle parking, and somehow, you’re surprised at the type of machine it is. You’d imagined that he’d have a real crotch-rocket, something built for speed and flare, but instead, what you’re looking at is a touring bike. Still a high-performance machine but also made for comfort over long distances.

   “What model is this? It’s a BMW, right?” you ask, wanting to see how well your knowledge has kept up after so many years of not being on the bike-scene.

   “Yes, it is the R 1250 GS. I have had many different ones over the years, but this is the only one I like all around. It has a good engine, it’s reliable, and it doesn’t kill me to ride it for hours without stopping.    Have you kept up to date on motorcycles after your brother abandoned the interest?”

   “A little bit. I never lost my fascination with them, and for a while, I did try to connect more with him by engrossing myself in his passion. I do tend to remember things pretty well once I’ve learned them.”

   “Mm, I have noticed this about you,” he says with a bemused chuckle, probably remembering how quickly you’d picked up on all workings of the MAP.

   It still gives you a little thrill every time you hear any form of laughter coming from this man. You’ve known the quiet, grumpy version of him for so much longer than you’ve been around this lighter, happier side of him, that it just doesn’t conform to the fixed mould he still sits in within your mind.    All of which is why you find yourself standing there, just staring at the upturned curves of the corners of his mouth, until he notices.

   “Do I have something in my teeth, Sonriente?” he jokes, smiling at what has to be a more or less dumbstruck expression on your face.

   “Oh, no. I’m just… not used to your smile yet. That’s all,” you shrug, feeling a bit stupid, but also feeling entirely okay with that, because you’re supposed to get most of the stupid out of the way while dating, it makes way for more fun in a future relationship.

   “Well, that makes two of us.”

   He says it softly, almost reverently, changing a perfectly ordinary sentence into something much more. It’s as if even the words that might suggest a pairing between you are overpowering to his senses.    But then he holds up the helmet he’s brought for you to use, and you step closer to take it from him, examining what type of chinstrap it has so you’ll know how to work it once you can’t see it anymore. He’s even brought a balaclava for you to wear underneath, and by the looks of it, it’s a brand new one.

   “Thank you.”

   “You may keep it, if you like. I buy them in packs of five, so I always have spares. This one has never been used before, so it’s fresh.”

   “How uncharacteristically thoughtful of you,” you grin with a slightly mocking tone. “I wouldn’t have minded a used one, just so you know.”

   “Ay, Sonri, I have seen you work in layers of your own sweat, use someone else’s grimy old t-shirt covered in stains as a towel, and use the men’s bathroom without a single complaint. I know you will put up with whatever you might need to.    However, if I can ensure you don’t need to, you can be certain I will.”

   While he speaks, he comes over to help you put the thing on without getting your hair all in your face, and once it’s in place and all he can see of you is your eyes, his smile widens.

   “Yes, this is a much better look. So much less distracting.”

   His tone tells you that this is a joke, but you feel like it’s also an invitation for you to be playful, as if he’s testing to see if you’ll take the bait and add to the humour, or if you’ll take offense and get defensive.

   “I can be plenty distractive if I want to, mister. Don’t tempt me…” you caution, matching his tone precisely, allowing the smile to fill your voice, and his expression gets even brighter with the confirmation that you’re all for a little playful banter.

   “I will keep this in mind.”

   With that, he picks up his helmet and the balaclava he’s got stuffed in there, puts both on and then checks that you’ve managed to clip the chinstrap on correctly, before he moves to start the bike.    It comes to life with a rumble that’s somehow both deep and sharp, speaking to the duality of a good touring engine, built to accommodate speed as well as stability. And when you climb on behind him, relieved to not have lost your balance stepping up on the small peg, your body instantly begins to tingle with the burgeoning rise in adrenaline.

   It’s been almost twenty years since you last rode, but it comes back to you in an instant, as though the physical sensation has been stored within you all that time. Leaning with the machine, alternating keeping your arms around Pero’s waist or pushing against the gas tank depending on whether he’s accelerating or breaking, it all seems to happen without any thought process required. As if you still did this regularly.

   You were never a driver. Not really. You’d tried it, back when you’d been looking for ways to connect to your brother, but it had never gotten to a point where you’d felt confident with it.    No, you’re a backpack, in rider’s terms, and you’re perfectly fine with that.    Your date, however, is incredibly confident. He doesn’t drive aggressively or even particularly fast, but therein lies the proof of his mastery, not only over the machine but over his own ego as well.

   An insecure rider wouldn’t feel comfortable driving this leisurely, they’d insist on trying to prove their skills or bravery by driving fast and being edgy, as if risking one’s life and the life of a passenger is somehow a desirable quality in a person…    But Pero effortlessly glides through traffic, weaving almost elegantly between cars and trucks, as if he already knows who’s gonna turn or change lanes before they do, and planning his route accordingly. He’s fully aware that each vehicle on the road with you are a threat, yet he also knows that he can avoid them, not through the arrogance of thinking that accidents can be avoided by skill alone, but simply because he never stops expecting them.

   The only assumptions he seems to make are that no one sees or hears the smaller machine and adjusts his driving to ensure there’s always a margin for error. It isn’t glaringly obvious, although anyone with a bit of rider experience should recognize it.    In any case, it takes only minutes for you to realize it and feel safe enough to relax into the trip, leaning into his back and focusing on the scenery as he steers towards the outskirts of the city and then leaves it behind completely.

   You’re not someone who venture out into nature nearly as much as you should, so these roads are unfamiliar to you, which only makes the journey that much more interesting.    Since your father’s work had taken him all over the country, your family moved several times during your childhood, meaning this city holds no childhood memories for you. You moved here as an adult only seven years ago.

   The same is true for Pero, although his biking interest will surely have taken him on many trips out here, especially since he’s also lived here longer than you. You feel certain there aren’t many roads in the entire state he hasn’t travelled at some point after over a decade of exploration, so in all probability, the only novelty of this journey for him will be the addition of company.    Still, you suspect that aspect alone is surely going to make this a completely new experience for him.

   The first stop comes after maybe fifty minutes of driving, half of which have been on winding country roads, as he left the interstates and highways behind at the first available junction. But as he merely turns into a very small rest-stop at the side of the road in a largely featureless landscape, you’re assuming this is just a leg stretching intermission.    You’re quick to disembark as soon as he turns the bike off, though, as it makes it easier for him to get off, but when he removes his headgear, there’s a big smile on his face.

   “You will want to leave your helmet and gloves here. There’s a bit of a walk next.”

   Oh. So, this is part of the agenda then.    Mildly confused, you turn in a circle before taking off your helmet and balaclava. There’s literally nothing of note anywhere within visible range.

   “How long a walk are we talking about, here, mister? Cause these boots ain’t made for hiking,” you joke, but not really.

   You’ve picked your toughest shoes for this ride to protect your ankles in case of a crash, and they’re not designed for extended walks, especially not in woodland terrains.

   “I have no intention of torturing you, my lady,” he smiles, before taking your headgear and putting it on the bike.

   “My lady?” you question, instantly making him nervous.

   “Uh, I just mean… It wasn’t.. You are not mine, that’s not what I-…”

   “Relax, Pero, I’m kidding. It just sounded uncharacteristically old-fashioned of you,” you cut him off before he chokes on his own uncertainty, and while it does seem to ease his nerves a bit, he’s still terribly unsure when he speaks next.

   “Considering I have never dated before, and have no friends to guide me, all I have to draw on are the movie I have seen, and in that sense the old-fashioned ones are better. In my opinion, at least.”

   The reminder of his inexperience takes you by surprise, but you welcome it. You always prefer his honesty and appreciate that he wants you to understand what he’s going through, so even though your smile fades while you listen, you bring it back the moment he falls silent.

   “Agreed,” you nod firmly. “As long as you leave out the bigotry, racism and common belief that women are inherently weak.”

   An audible laugh that turns into a kind of soft snort escapes him then.

   “I would pay good money to get to watch you scold anyone who tried to describe you as weak. My lady.”

   “Pfft, I’d do that for free, any day.”

   The vibrant return of his smile tells you that the tension has been successfully removed, so you step closer to him and offer your hand, which he takes without hesitation.

   “Alright, lead the way, darling,” you offer, in keeping with the language of the older movies he’s referencing, and you could swear a faint blush appears in his cheeks as he ducks his head and sets off, seemingly heading straight out into the wilderness.

Thank you for giving this story a chance, and please don't hesitate to shout at me about it if you want! 🥰

   Your ordinary workdays on the morning shift are between 6am and 2pm. It’s only when working away that any operator can flex their hours a little, since it’s considered a big enough inconvenience just to live away and work with strangers. Which is why you’d pushed your schedule to start at 7 while you’d been at the sister factory.    But it’s back to the normal shifts now, which means he’s got four hours to kill before going to see you. And his entire body feels strangely charged and alert as he repeatedly looks at his watch, getting increasingly frustrated with how slow it seems to move.

   He stops in the aisle where they have household items, like coffee cups and vases, cutlery and dishtowels, but also scented candles and little knickknacks, as well as tiny stuffed animals and plushies.    Would you like it if he got you something for your apartment?    You’ve been living all alone for years, so you probably have your place decorated exactly as you want it. But a candle couldn’t hurt, could it? And most people love plushies, right?

   With a deep sigh of annoyance, entirely directed at himself, he starts picking up candles and sniffing the different scents, disliking practically all of them, until he finds a vanilla scented one which isn’t as strong as the others. A more subtle fragrance. And when he sniffs it, it somehow reminds him of you, which seems odd, until he realizes that your perfume must have a vanilla-based fragrance as well, which settles it.    He puts the thing in his basket and goes to leave the aisle. But right at the end of it, a frankly adorable grey teddy bear with a red heart stitched in on its right butt-cheek catches his eye, and without even stopping to consider if he should, he grabs it.

   Because fuck it. If you don’t like it… Well, he’d be heartbroken, actually. Not to mention the poor little bear.    Seriously shaking his head at himself, he continues through the store, wondering if you’re on the verge of driving him insane before you’ve even started dating. But also realizing, within just seconds of pondering on it, that he wouldn’t give a shit if you were, he’d still wanna see you.

   That smile you gave him right after he’d told you about wanting to cook for you was the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. He couldn’t describe it, or what it made him feel, even if it was the only way to save his own life, but he’d bring the stars down from the skies if it meant he’d get to see it again.    Honestly, he can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for you, just to make you happy, because your joy truly does infect everything around you, and that’s a precious thing. If his past has taught him anything, it’s that while he struggles to accept happiness for himself, he knows how important joy is, in how it prevents people from becoming the worst versions of themselves.

   He ends up spending almost ninety minutes in the store, and he notices the slight surprise on the cashier’s face when she scans the candle, the plushie, and the bouquet of flowers, little gift bag of small fridge magnets with smiley faces on them, and a miniature gift box of your favourite brand of chocolate, which he stumbled on closer to the checkout.    This is his regular store, so the staff recognize him and probably remember that he’s never bought anything of the sort before, although she’s kind enough not to get nosy about it.

   “Are they stupid?” he finds himself quietly asking while he gets the money from his wallet, since there isn’t anyone else in the que behind him and he really is nervous about getting this right.

   She’s about your age and several things in her appearance reminds him of you. He feels like you’re the same type of woman, if there is such a thing, so odds are you like some of the same things, at least.

   “Are you kidding? If my man brought me stuff like this, I’d be giddy for days,” she says with a genuine smile, understanding even without further explanation, that the items in question aren’t being purchased for his own use.

   “It is only a first date…” he admits, wanting to make sure it isn’t too much, and the woman quickly puts him at ease.

   “Oh, that’s lovely, congratulations! And don’t worry, first date or tenth, if she’s anything like me, she’ll love this.”

   “Okay.” He doesn’t have a smile for her because those only ever come natural to him when he’s around you, but he does nod politely and tells her that she can keep the change, which makes her smile.

   Once back home, he unpacks the groceries and then repacks them, putting everything that needs to be refrigerated into one bag and then putting the entire bag in the fridge, while he leaves a second bag with the room temperature stuff on the counter, ready to go.    He almost forgets to put the flowers in water, and then he spends a good twenty minutes trying to decide how to present all these gifts to you.    Why did he get so many?

   It’s still not even 4:30pm once he settles on an idea, and he’s too nervous to try and do anything relaxing, so he ends up cleaning his apartment instead. And then, when he’s only fifteen minutes away from having to leave, he remembers that he should maybe take a shower before the date.    Which is why, when he rings your doorbell a few minutes after 6pm, his hair is still wet, making him feel like a dog begging to be let in after taking a shit in the rain.

   You’ve been fretting ever since you got home. You don’t have adhd so far as you know, but you do have some of the very typical traits that many types of neuro-divergent people have, such as task-fatigue. Which means you sometimes just can’t bring yourself to clean your apartment or take care of the laundry, even though you absolutely hate seeing the dust and dirty clothes pile up.    But it also means that all it takes for you to feel motivated to take care of it, is knowing that someone is coming to visit.

   Which is why, the moment you step through the door, you start picking stuff up and, in your head, getting started on about ten different tasks simultaneously.    You had intended to start the laundry first, since that would mean you’d have time to swap it into the dryer while getting other things done, but while you’re picking up the clothes left on the sofa and the living room floor, you get distracted by the clutter on your coffee table and the used drinking glasses and cups you’ve had sitting there for the almost two weeks you’ve been away.

   There wasn’t time to take care of it before you left, and you haven’t had the energy to get to it in the one night you’ve thus far spent at home since, but it now disgusts you to see it, which is why it makes you forget all about the laundry.    Then, bringing the dishes to the kitchen and putting them in the dishwasher, you find empty food packages and other junk and start throwing that away, which then makes you remember that the bathroom trash can needs to be emptied.

   It carries on like this for over an hour before you eventually remember the laundry, at which point you’re about ready to slap yourself with how much you’re needlessly stressing over this. Because Pero is not gonna care if your home is spotless. At least, you don’t think so. Then again, he does always keep his station very neat at work.    You technically work at his station as well, the two of you alternating between operating the MAP, taking care of the orders on the computer and doing the daily maintenance work, so it’s never seemed strange to you that he always comes to help you clean up at the end of each shift.

   But what if he does it because he doesn’t think you’re thorough enough?    Two weeks ago you wouldn’t even have entertained the thought that he even cares about such things, but everything’s different now and you just don’t know.    At 5:30 you decide it looks good enough and hop into a very quick shower followed by the fastest and sloppiest blow-dry of your life, so you’ll have a few minutes to throw on some makeup, albeit very basic and neutral.    You finish with about five minutes to spare, and it’s only then that you realize you haven’t decided what to wear.

   Thankfully, since you both have to wear safety clothes at work and mostly arrive in sweats or other simple and soft garments, he hasn’t seen you wear any of your fancier items. The occasional jeans, sure, but not any of your truly nice pants, nor any blouses or dresses.    You hadn’t brought any of that for your hotel stay either, since it was a work trip, so literally everything you look really good in will be something he’s never seen on you. And yet, it still stresses you out, because it’s a first date. Which means it can’t be too fancy, but it also has to be a little fancy, otherwise it might seem like you’re not that interested.

   The doorbell rings just as you’ve thrown on the top, so you don’t even have time to check yourself over in a mirror before darting to open it, you just take a quick look down to make sure your top isn’t unbuttoned or anything.    You open the door to find him standing there in the stairwell with two full grocery bags leaning against his legs, wet hair and a generally sour expression, which then vanishes the moment he sees you smile at him.

   “Hi,” you greet, and for a moment, he looks paralyzed.

   “Uh… Hello,” he finally manages, before bringing his arms out from behind his back, revealing a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a large glass jar candle.

   The flowers are the grocery store kind, but you know the brand, and the chain of florists which the store collaborates with is an excellent one. It’s a spring bouquet, yellow and pink with white sprinkled in there as well, and it's so big that you suddenly can't believe you didn't notice it until he brought it out.    Then again, he is the broadest person you’ve ever met.    You take the bouquet and smell it, before doing the same with the candle, finding the fragrance of both to be subtle and sweet, which you approve of.

   “Oh, my goodness, thank you so much,” you grin, suddenly no longer the least bit stressed about anything because his presence seems to coat everything under a blanket of comfort and safety. “Come on in.”

   He looks you over thoroughly before stepping in, though, and you can tell that he likes the soft but tight pants you chose, and the simple and cute silk blouse with the widely cut V-shaped neckline, which sits further out on your shoulders and therefor shows off the thin gold necklace he gave you perfectly.    The blouse is designed not to be tucked but rather hang loosely over your hips where it’s cut to enhance the female curves, which always makes you feel a little more confident.

   You do the same to him in return, remembering you’ve never seen him in anything nicer either, and you’re surprised at how much it affects you.    He’s wearing dark blue jeans, clearly not new but designed to last and only get better with wear and tear. And on top he’s gone for a white henley underneath a black leather jacket which is unzipped.

   Now, you would’ve found him attractive no matter what he’d decided to wear, but this?    It’s not overtly sexual, but that’s also exactly what makes it so damned good. The combination of colours which manage to enhance his skin, eyes and hair, the way the jeans hug his male anatomy just right to give you a hint of what’s under there, how the shirt falls so that it just brushes over his softly muscular abs, and then the leather to frame it all in…    If he didn’t do this on purpose then he’s adorably ignorant of his own attractiveness, and if it was intentional, then he’s clearly a genius on more levels than you’ve given him credit for.

   To reign yourself in and prevent the ogling you’re already guilty of, you grasp at the first thing to come to mind as a conversation topic, while he grabs the bags and steps past you into the front hall.

   “Is that a motorcycle jacket?” you ask, since you recognize the distinct cut and collar.

   “Yes. But I did not ride here.”

   “No, I suppose it’d be kinda difficult to get all this on a bike,” you chuckle, closing the door while he takes his shoes off. “I’m surprised I’ve never seen you arrive to work on it, though.”

   He picks up the bags again and follows you to the kitchen, which is the closest room to the front hall and from which the spacious living room is fully visible, where he sets the groceries down on the counter and you grab a vase to put the flowers in.    You place the candle on the kitchen table, followed by the bouquet once it’s been trimmed, and suddenly it looks so much cozier.

   “I prefer to drive it only for the pleasure of the ride, not as a means of transportation,” he explains, and then proceeds to remove the jacket and push the sleeves of his shirt up over his forearms, which momentarily makes you forget how the brain connects to the mouth.

   “O-oh. I… don’t think I’ve ever met a biker with that perspective on riding before,” you finally manage, now awkwardly trampling from one foot to the next because you apparently have no fucking idea how to act in your own kitchen with him there.

   “How many bikers have you met?” he wonders, which would’ve been an innocent enough question, if not for the barely detectable competitiveness which sneaks into his voice.

   And since this very unexpected reaction brings some focus and clarity back into your brain, you jump on the opportunity to tease him a little.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You can see that he wants to press the issue, but he lets it go and starts unpacking the groceries instead, so you decide to reward him for his restraint. “My brother used to ride when he was younger, and he had a whole group of friends he’d go out with, so I’d end up hanging out with them sometimes when they were waiting for the group to gather at our house, or when they helped each other work on the bikes.”

   “I did not know you have a brother,” he says after taking a moment to absorb this new information, and he suddenly seems only openly curious.

   “Yeah, I don’t talk about him a lot since we kinda lost touch a while back.”

   “You said he used to ride. Does he not anymore?”

   “No. He stopped after losing his best friend to a road rage incident,” you explain, to which he simply lowers his brows in a silent question, so you start to elaborate. “The driver of an SUV got angry that they filtered to the front of the que at a stoplight, so she raced after them and at the next light, she tried to run them all over.    She clipped Richie’s back tire, and he went down right in front of the car, so she just gunned it and drove over him. Then she kept trying to get the rest of them, so they had to abandon their friend while he was dying in the street, to save themselves.”

   You haven’t talked about this in a long time, and now that you do, the memories make you sad, but it’s also a bit cleansing to sort of dust it off and air it out, so even though he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, you keep talking.

   “My brother escaped unharmed, but he was only twenty-one and it scared the shit out of him, so he never rode again afterwards. An accident would’ve been difficult enough, but knowing there are people out there who might try and kill him if he does something they don’t like, even if it’s legal… it made every car a weapon in his mind, and he couldn’t handle it.”

   “I have seen this behaviour as well,” Pero nods in recognition, and his tone is low now. “For me, it was never a problem because I know how to scare people into leaving me alone, but I know how dangerous these drivers are.    I am sorry it happened to someone you knew.”

   “It was a horrible day. But honestly, it was the aftermath that really messed things up.”

   “How so?”

   “Because my brother didn’t just lose his friend and his passion for riding bikes that day. It was like he lost a part of himself he didn’t know how to exist without.    At first, he got depressed, which then affected his grades and eventually got him kicked out of university. But as it progressed, his mental health got so bad that he tried to end his own life three times within the space of just one month.    So, our parents decided that the only way he’d have a chance to get himself out of that state, was to put him in an environment where his entire life would be controlled and structured.”

   “They had him committed?” he carefully asks while somehow locating the correct cabinet to find a bowl on the first try, which he then fills with water and dunks a packet of raisins into.

   “No. My father was a navy captain, so his solution was to force my brother to enlist. Although, he figured a young man wouldn’t be aided by being in the same branch of the military as his own father, but he wanted the strictest possible regiment, so he threw his weight around a little and that’s how my brother ended up in the Special Forces.”

   Your date gets a strange look in his eyes when he hears that, but you can’t pinpoint what the reason might be, so you decide not to ask him about it.

   “And this is how the two of you lost touch?” he wonders, while he begins to prepare the meal, so you take out a cutting board for him and watch him chop onions and garlic cloves as you answer.

   “Kinda. He’d already distanced himself from me at that point, because I didn’t understand what he was going through and just wanted my brother back.    I made it worse for him back then, just out of ignorance. Thinking if I could just find something that would make him happy, all his problems would magically disappear.    He stopped talking to me, and then he started getting mean. Until eventually, he even tried to hurt me, and I still didn’t understand that it was because I was adding to his stress.”

   “How much younger are you than your brother?”

   “Just over eight years. Our parents had him when they were pretty young, and then my dad had a period of time when he was away a lot, so it wasn’t until he was promoted that I came along.”

   “Then you were still only a teenager while this happened. This must have been very scary.”

   “It was, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished I could go back. Because I get it now. With what I know about life and mental health today, I would’ve been able to help him. But I guess there’s a reason why that stuff takes a lifetime to learn.    And now it’s too late,” you end in a sigh, which makes him pause his work to look at you.

   “Is your brother dead?”

   “No. But I’ve only seen him once since the day he enlisted, sixteen years ago. He showed up for mom and dad’s funeral about five years ago, but he never spoke to me or wanted anything to do with the inheritance, and he was gone the moment the ceremony was over.”

   “What happened to your parents?”

   “They died in a plane crash on their way to a favourite holiday spot of theirs, up north. It was a small prop plane, one of those for like four people, so a bird-strike was enough to take it out.    I’ve been afraid of flying ever since,” you admit, but he puts a warm hand over yours on the counter and when you look into his eyes, there’s no judgement in them.

   “I’m sorry to hear your family is no longer with you. I do not like to think of you all alone,” he offers with a slightly concerned tint to his features, which only makes you like him more.

   “Thanks. But at least I have you now,” you carefully suggest, not wanting to jump to any conclusions.

   But he gives you one of his rare smiles in return.

   “Yes, you do.”

   “So, what about you? Do you have any family?” you ask when he returns to the meal, moving on to the minced meat, so he locates a frying pan and turns the stove on.

   “No.” He first intends to leave it there, because he doesn’t like to talk about it.

   But then, it must’ve been just as hard for you to share these terrible memories from your past, so it’s only fair he does the same.    It does not come naturally to him, though, and he’s certain that you can hear the frustration in his voice, so he just hopes you won’t misinterpret the cause behind it.

   “I was an only child, and my father was out of the picture before I was even born.”

   “So, your mom raised you?”

   “For a time,” he starts, but then needs to pause to figure out how to explain, so he lets himself focus on the food for a beat, while you patiently wait. “I was born in Colombia, and my mother was not someone who could afford a good education, so her options were limited.    She worked as a dancer, but it was not always enough, so to make ends meet, she would help the Cali cartel.”

   “As a mule?” you quietly wonder, and in the depths of your voice, he can hear the other, more frightening options you’re also aware that the cartels might’ve used a woman for.

   “Yes. But when I was only ten years old, she got caught by the Narcos, and she was too afraid of the cartel to turn witness, so she was sent to jail instead.    I found out later… she died just six months after her sentencing. I was told it was due to dehydration after a very bad stomach flu, but I was never able to confirm if this was true.”

   “How much later? Were you able to go to her funeral?”

   “No. I only heard about it several years later.”

   “Why? What happened to you?”

   He pauses again, this time because there’s shame involved in what he needs to say next, and he’s never been good at handling that particular emotion.

   “The people she smuggled for knew about me, so when she was caught, they came to find me and took me away to work for them. They did this with orphaned children a lot, because it was an easy and cheap way to procure safe labour for them.”

   “Oh. I’m sorry, I’m sure that wasn’t an easy way to grow up.”

   “I knew of nothing else. I was a strong child, so rather than put me to work in the jungle factories, they taught me how to use weapons and hurt people. And for a long time, this was my life.” He doesn’t notice that he’s stopped working on the food until your hand lightly rubs his shoulder, bringing him back to the present.

   “I’m guessing you’re ashamed of that?” you correctly surmise, so he just nods in confirmation and returns to the task at hand, putting the finished pino aside to cool and getting started on the dough.

   He’s forgotten to boil some eggs, and while he prepares that and starts to melt the butter, you remain very quiet.    Still, he feels like it’s a loud kind of silence, hanging under the pressure of a million thoughts and reactions, none of which you’re letting him see.    Until the pressure seems to ease when you draw a slow and deep breath.

   “I can’t imagine the things you must’ve done, either because you had to or because you thought it was normal, but it doesn’t matter which.    We’re not responsible for the things we’re taught as children. How we behave when we realize that those things are wrong… that’s what matters.    So, what did you do?”

   You don’t know it yet, but you’ve stumbled upon the most difficult question you could ever have asked him, because the answer requires him to reveal the most cataclysmic event of his entire life, and he has no idea if he’s ready for that.    And even more significantly, he knows with almost complete conviction that you’re not.

   “Ay, Sonriente… I am not sure you are ready to know this. It is not… the happy ending you want it to be.” He says it while meeting your eyes, so you can see the honesty in him.

   He doesn’t lie and he isn’t going to, so if you ask him, he will tell you the truth. But he hopes you won’t. Not yet.    You take your time, examining his face, maybe looking for some clue to explain what could be so terrible that he’s asking you not to go there.

   “What does Sonriente mean?” you finally ask instead, and relief washes over him.

   He’ll owe you for this one, and if you somehow find it in your heart to keep dating him, he will tell you at some point. But for now, the lighter subject is a balm to his nerves, bringing a grin to his lips while he pours the melted butter into the mix of flour, salt and baking powder, followed by some water before he begins to knead it into a dough.

   “You have not looked it up?”

   “Asking you is more fun,” you shrug, allowing the playful atmosphere to blossom.

   “How do you know I will not make something up?”

   “Firstly, because you’ve never lied to me and that’s not a streak you wanna break if you want me to stick around. And second, because I’m obviously gonna look it up after you’ve told me.”

   “How would you know if I have ever lied to you or not?” he wonders, partly just playing along, but also making a little point for you not to assume he’s incapable of being dishonest.

   There’s a dramatic pause then, in which you throw him a look that clearly says this is a very stupid question, before you proceed to explain why.

   “Pero, I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve said a single thing to me that wasn’t a description of how to perform a task at work, and believe me, I remember them all in perfect detail.”

   “Oh, really? Name one,” he challenges, and you don’t miss a beat.

   “Two months into my employment, we were waiting for Gary when he was bringing that big shot visitor from Japan, and I sighed and complained about having to just stand around forever when there was so much work to be done. I finally resorted to asking you if you knew why it was taking so long, to which you replied: Gary has a thing for Asians.    And at the time, I actually assumed you were trying to be funny, especially when they finally arrived, and I saw no evidence whatsoever to suggest any secret interest in anyone.    So, you can imagine my surprise when the guest leaves, and Gary turns to me and says: Oh, thank god, I was running out of lemon-related content in my brain…”

   The memory makes him huff a tiny laugh, particularly at how accurately you’re recounting it, while you start fully laughing once you’re done.

   “I mean, it would’ve been a completely innocent little joke,” you add between giggles, “even if it had been made up, but the fact that it was true just made it so much funnier.”

   “I was nervous,” he admits, feeling a bit sheepish now.

   But the fact is, you’ve made him nervous from day one. And while he’s always been quiet and kept to himself, specifically because he hasn’t wanted to become friends with anyone and have to talk about himself and his past, he’s always been extreme with you because of how beautiful you are.    He’s known, from the first time he laid eyes on you, that if he ever allowed himself to start talking to you, he’d never wanna stop.

   “About meeting a big shot businesswoman?” you incredulously wonder, making him shake his head while he waits for another bout of your giggles to settle.

   “No… about just standing there awkwardly with you. You were talking so much, and I was trying not to engage with you, but then you asked me a question and it would have been rude not to answer.”

   “And instead of giving me some bland conversational answer like agreeing with me that it was a waste of time, or saying they’d probably be there soon, you chose to share a truth that no one else in the entire crew knew about him,” you question, but you’re not really looking for a reply. This is clearly your way of showing him how well you have him figured out. “That’s how I know you’ve never lied to me. Because even when you’ve had the chance to do it in the most innocent of ways, you still haven’t.”

   He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he returns to your original inquiry.

   “Sonriente means smile, or in this case, Smiley. It is how I think of you.”

   Nervously, he reaches into the left front pocket of his jeans, where he locates the little clear plastic-wrapped package of smiley magnets, which he then hands to you.    You take it, immediately realizing what it is, and while not a word spills across your lips, he knows without question that you love them. You rip the package open while mildly squealing with excitement, and immediately start to arrange the little faces on your refrigerator door, giggling to yourself as you come up with funny combinations of expressions.

   “Thank you! For the magnets and the nickname. I love them,” you giddily declare after stepping back to admire the now much happier-looking fridge.

   He nods in recognition of your thanks, feeling less nervous about whether you’ll like the little teddy bear, which he intends to give you at the end of the night.    But for now, he just keeps working on the empanadas. The dough is rolled, and he’s begun cutting it into pieces, and the eggs are done just when he’s about to start flattening the pieces into round little plates.

   “Something I’ve always wondered,” you start after waiting for him to discard the boiling water and return to the dough, “is why you never help anyone, unless they ask?”

   “Why would I assume they want my help, unless they ask?” he counters, to which you cock your head to the side with a sceptical frown.

   “When Eric accidentally crushed his foot right next to you, I’m pretty sure he would’ve appreciated a bit of assistance…”

   “Oh no, that was very intentional.”

   You obviously weren’t expecting that, so you’ve probably never heard about this particular operator’s lesser qualities.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Eric is a bully. He is scared of women, though, so you never became a target, but many of the younger crew were constantly heckled and ridiculed by him whenever he was alone with them. I was one of the few who noticed this, and I tried to get management involved, but I had no proof, and the victims of his abuse never spoke up themselves.    So, when I finally got fed up with it, I made sure he would not be able to work with us anymore.”

   “Wait, I’m confused. Are you saying that you caused his injury?”

   “Yes.”

   This is all news to you, and he can see how you’re trying to absorb it all while re-framing the memories inside your mind into such a different and surprising perspective.

   “But he was operating the press himself when it happened, so how did you…” you trail off, probably unsure of how to even phrase it, now that you’re no longer certain of anything regarding the situation in question.

   “The reason I was standing next to him was because I was working on the computer for that machine, so I created a temporary error, causing the press to glitch. And when he kicked it, which I knew he would because that is the kind of man he is, I reset it, and it fired up again.”

   Your jaw drops for a second, but there’s still a smile in your eyes, so even though this might be a bit disturbing for you to learn, you’re not put off by it, at least.

   “You are diabolical. And very clever, since you’re the one who does the diagnostics on those machines, which means you can hide your tracks,” you conclude after closing your mouth. “And I have no idea why this turns me on a little.”

   Now it’s Pero’s turn to be surprised and mildly confused, and he quickly turns all his attention back to the food. But he can’t help but smile with pride, despite the slight awkwardness.    He can’t deny that he does very much hope he’ll be able to turn you on more than just a little, in the future. Not tonight, though.

   “Come on, you can help me with this last step,” he offers, because the silence is too fucking loud, and he indicates the finished flattened pieces of dough which are ready to be filled and shaped into the final product.

   You’ve always been good at taking instructions, so once he’s showed you the correct technique, you pick it up and immediately start generating perfect little empanadas.    They need to sit in the oven for about twenty minutes, so in the meantime, you both clean up the kitchen and then you give him a small tour of your apartment.

   “It is bigger than I thought at first,” he observes after you’ve shown him your guest bedroom and the very large balcony which is accessible from both your master bedroom and the living room.

   “Yeah. I don’t really need the extra space, but I like to have it, and since the inheritance I got from my folks allows me to afford it, I figured I could give myself that.    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not rich, or anything. If I’d inherited that much, I would’ve bought a house.    But I set it up so that the bank releases a certain sum every month, designed to last for the rest of my life, so that even if something happened like I lost my job or got injured, I’d still have enough to survive on.    I wouldn’t be able to live here anymore, obviously, but I’d survive.”

   He has wondered how you can afford a place in the city on the same salary as him. Granted, he’s chosen to live pretty far out into the suburbs because the apartments out there have the same great quality as these city ones, at a fraction of the cost, which allows him to save a lot of money and still live comfortably.    But if you have the means, of course you should live where you wish, and these buildings are expensive because of their security rating as well as their top quality, which he approves of for you.

   “This is a very smart set-up,” he hums approvingly. “You must stop calling me clever when you are clearly the brighter of us two.”

   “Hey, I might’ve made some good decisions in my life, but you thought up the MAP. You built it… There is no comparison to be made.”

   “It is only a machine.”

   “A pretty darn impressive one.”

   “But still only a thing. When it comes to people… socializing, expressing myself, emotions… I am an idiot.”

   “Maybe, but not with me,” you counter, and he has no reply for that, because it’s true. “Anyway, it’s not that smart of a decision when I also waste the extra money on space I don’t need, rather than save it up.”

   “If this is how you wish to live, then there is no fault to your logic.”

   “Yeah, I guess. To tell you the truth, I’ve always dreamed of having a house, but I just don’t wanna live alone in one. An apartment somehow seems less empty even when it’s just me.”

   He understands that feeling, and he can appreciate how a single woman, in particular, might find it reassuring to have other people around.    For a split second, he imagines a future where you could have your dream house and not live alone, but it’s an image he doesn’t dare to linger on or allow to take footing in his mind, because even if it is a remote possibility, the present is what matters if he wishes to reach the future he glimpses.

   The food is finished just as your little tour comes to an end, so Pero takes the tray out of the oven and then you set the table while it cools a little. It makes the entire kitchen smell amazing, so you have high hopes for how good it’ll taste.

   “So, I might be revealing my total ignorance of foreign foods here, but I thought empanadas was usually like a starter, or a snack, not a full meal,” you ponder, thinking back on the few times you’ve come across them on a menu or heard someone talking about the dish.

   “It depends on the country and the recipe. When I was growing up, it was our equivalent to a Sunday roast. My mother would always make them on Sundays, and she made them large enough that two or three was a full meal.    Other families I knew only made the smaller versions, eating them as evening snacks while playing games or watching tv,” he kindly explains without giving any indication that he’s disappointed in your lack of cultural awareness.

   “We never did the Sunday roast thing in my family,” you offer in return. “Mostly because dad was away so much, and mom wasn’t actually that interested in cooking, so she’d stick to simpler and quicker meals if there wasn’t a celebration or other occasion where we might want something more elaborate.”

   “Did your father enjoy cooking, then?”

   “He loved it. Some of my fondest memories with him are the two of us out by the grill in the backyard, with him showing me how to prepare and cook different meats and fish and veggies.    For someone with such a serious job and so much pressure to live up to, he was extraordinarily good at just stopping to enjoy the simplest moments with his family. He was always relaxed and happy when he was home.”

   Pero seems to think on that while he finishes preparing the meal, so you wait to say anything more until you know whether he’s going to. And sure enough, a minute later, he rights himself up, leans his hip against the counter and looks at you with a curious but also knowing kind of gaze.

   “This is why you are so comfortable in a male workplace. Because your father taught you that real men are not cruel or unkind without cause, so when you have met this behaviour in your life, you have not tolerated it.    I have seen this strength in you many times, and I know it is the reason why the crew respects you. They can sense, even before they know you, that while they can certainly scare you, they can never manipulate you.”

   He says it so simply. As if it doesn’t even occur to him that this could be the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you.    Emotions deeper than you’re able to recognize in the moment, are making your chest ache and bringing tears to your eyes, but it’s a strangely wonderful feeling.    And then he smiles, just a little, and says the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

   “Your father lives in you in this way. Protects you, even from the grave, with the certainty he put inside your heart, that you are worth a man’s time and his respect.”

   The tears in your eyes spill over onto your cheeks, but when you smile back at him and start moving towards him because you want a hug, he surprises you by shifting his weight back, away from you.    You stop, suddenly feeling a sour pit begin to form in your stomach where the overwhelming gratitude was just swelling so warmly, with the abrupt expectation of something bad.

   “But…” he begins, and then looks away, back down at the plate of delicious food waiting to be enjoyed, and the look on his face is something you’ve seen before, but never thought you’d ever see on this man. “I don’t know if I can claim to be worthy of such a woman.”

   The feeling in your gut disappears when the warmth returns, and you take a soothing breath before finishing the motion you started before, closing the distance between you even though you can see him make another attempt to deter you.    He crosses his arms over his waist to limit how close you can get, so you settle for putting your hands on his cheeks instead, which prompts him to meet your eyes again.

   Unworthiness is a feeling you know painfully well, both from personal experience, and from how often you’ve seen it in people around you. It lies and contorts a person’s view of themselves until it becomes this unbreakable truth, built on nothing but the fear of not being enough, and yet so powerful it can make one turn away from the most wonderful and positive opportunities that might ever come your way.    All because of a single thought. Because that’s how it always begins. Just one moment in which you aren’t your best self, and someone happens to notice it, and suddenly it becomes a pillar of your existence, as real and significant as those biggest core memories which build your individuality from childhood.

   “If my father was here, he would be the first to tell you that it doesn’t matter what you’ve done before you met me, because worth isn’t measured by tallying up how much good you’ve done versus how much evil.    Worth is a gift that other people give you.”

   He almost flinches with how hard that hits him, and you can see how the words play on repeat in his head in the moments of silence you let him have before you hit him with the next volley.

   “You are worthy of me if I choose you. It really is that simple, Pero. And if you need proof, just go pet a dog. Because I can promise you no dog chooses to love or trust you due to some secret ability they have to detect if you’ve got more than fifty percent goodness in you.    And I’m no different, so if you want to feel worthy of me, just keep making me feel safe and cared for, because that’s all it takes for me to decide that you are.    Do you hear me?”

   You keep holding his face, waiting for him to either brush you off or accept what you’re telling him, but even before you’ve stopped talking, you can see in his eyes how deeply he wants to believe every word.    And sure enough, not two seconds later, he uncrosses his arms and wraps them around your waist instead. He holds you gently at first, but when you lean into the hug and squeeze his shoulders, his grip becomes so firm that even a deep breath is out of the question.

   “I got it wrong,” he whispers into your neck. “I should call you Asombro.”

   “Okay. Why?”

   “It means amazement and wonder, and I know of no human being who makes me feel such things like you do.”

   By the time you’ve sat down to dig into the meal, the empanadas are at perfect eating temperature, slightly cool on the outside while the pino is still nice and hot.    He watches you closely when you take your first bite, because your reactions are always honest, so he will see it if you don’t like them, you won’t be able to hide it.    But his worry is unfounded. Your immediate reaction is to close your eyes and actually moan with delight, taking the next bite before the first one is even close to chewed.

   You notice him watching you and a small laugh makes you hunch forwards and dip your chin a bit, so he can’t quite see your face. There’s too much food in your mouth for you to be able to speak and explain why, although he guesses it’s because you’re embarrassed about the sounds you just made. You don’t need to be, though, since he finds them only endearing.    There’s a big grin on his face as he quietly observes, incredibly pleased to have created something you enjoy, not just because he likes to see you happy, but because he’s never cooked for anyone before, and he was genuinely nervous about it.    This is the one recipe his mother taught him and he still has no idea why, after so many years lost to violence and rage, he remembers it so clearly.

   “Oh, Pero… this is so good!” you finally mumble, because you won’t stop stuffing your face with the food, and he can’t help but laugh heartily with the thrilling warmth that spreads through him at the scene.

   “I can see that. I am very happy you like it,” he muses, but it makes you pause, stopping your chewing to just stare at him, which in turn makes him unsure. “Is something wrong?”

   “No, I just…” You keep looking at him with this peculiar expression he can’t place, but it’s still a happy one. “I’ve never heard you laugh before. I mean, I’ve heard a few chuckles from you recently, which was shocking enough, but that was a real laugh just now.”

   He doesn’t spend much time reflecting on how often he smiles or laughs, but he does know it’s not a frequent occurrence by any measure.    Your reaction seems a tad excessive, though, since you should’ve learned by now that all bets are off whenever you’re involved.

   “I have told you before, Sonriente, your joy is infectious, it is beyond my control.”

   “Oh, really? Then how come you’re still fully able to control it at work?” you challenge with a confidently raised brow, surely thinking he won’t have a good comeback for this.

   “Because you are still the only one who gets to see this other side of me,” he smirks in response, to which you proudly square your shoulders, clearly happy to claim the privilege despite having your challenge bested.

   But his confidence falters somewhat as he thinks back to this afternoon and how he’d been nervous enough to ask a cashier for advice. And then his thoughts travel back further, to the sister factory, and how he’d all but lost his fucking head when going at those three assholes. Then every moment he’d spent after that, almost unknowingly checking where you were every few minutes, not to mention last night and the sudden inability to sleep well without you, and he can’t deny that things have changed rather drastically lately.

   “Although, I will confess… since that morning in the hotel room, I have had a much harder time controlling my emotions around you,” he quietly admits, feeling no shame, but a great deal more vulnerable than usual. “You might not see it on me, but there is a reason I still avoid getting too close to you around the crew.”

   “I did wonder at lunch today. But I figured you were just sticking to your routines.”

   “No. I wanted very much to sit with you.”

   “Then why didn’t you?”

   “Because I want it too much. More than I am ready for,” he tries, mentally kicking himself for not being able to explain it better. “Do you understand?”

   “I think so… You worry that if you just cave to all these strong feelings you’re not used to having, you won’t know how to control yourself?” you surmise, and again, he wants to kick himself because he should’ve been able to say this.

   “Yes, exactly,” he agrees, adding a nod of approval just to emphasize how much better you are at finding the right words to describe what’s going on in his head.

   “Well, thank you for thinking like that.” Your quiet voice surprises him enough that he pauses the bite he was just about to take. Because this is the sad kind of quiet. The kind he thinks you’re not even aware reveals all the pains inside you. “Most men don’t take much responsibility for their emotions, much less actively work on controlling themselves.”

   He hears the echo of conflicts from your past in those words, which is not unexpected, he’s seen enough traces of defensive behaviour in you to have known for some time that you’ve had bad experiences.    What is unexpected is how much it suddenly affects him to see it. How much he wants to ask you to name anyone who’s ever hurt you so that he can track them down.    Reminding himself that this is a first date and you’ve both already shared darker parts of yourselves, he instead settles for offering the most significant bit of wisdom he’s gained from the trials of his youth.

   “One thing I learned growing up among evil men, is that when all you pour into the world around you is anger and fear, this is also what comes back at you. You cannot expect to be met with kindness and generosity if you scream at people or beat them.”

   “Does that mean the reason why you’ve always kept away from everyone is that you wanted them to stay away from you?” you ask without even a second’s delay, as if you already had the question locked and loaded. “Because I assumed it was because you just don’t like anyone.”

   “No, you are correct, I dislike most people, and this is the reason I wish for them to stay away from me.”

   “Ah. Especially with your lack of control over your emotions and all that. Could get very messy.”

   “See? You get it,” he winks, and you smile back before delving into more of the empanadas.

   Neither of you speak for a minute then, allowing the good food to have undivided attention and satisfying your stomachs.

   “So, at the risk of biting myself in the ass here,” you start after finishing your fourth piece of stuffed pastry, “what is it about me that’s different? Why do you like me? Because I refuse to believe it’s as simple as you being affected by my smile.”

   He ponders on this for a bit, trying to decide if he should name the things about you which he just casually likes, like the way you’re always so honest, or the direct way you deal with things that bother you, like confronting those who talk shit about you behind your back. Or maybe the grace and dignity with which you’ve endured his unfriendly and probably often frightening behaviour for the past year.    But those are all largely superficial things. They’re not the real reason for his evolving and blossoming affection, and the problem is, he doesn’t know what that real reason is.

   “If I told you the number of hours I have spent wondering this myself… I wish I had a good answer for you, and for myself, but alas, I have not yet found it,” he finally admits, and is relieved to see you still smiling despite what must be a disappointing outcome.

   “Will you promise to let me know if you do?” is all you ask in return, and since he can’t wait to find out this answer for himself, it’s only fair you get to know it as well.

   “Yes. I promise.”

   Full and happy after that amazing meal, which was actually perfectly spicy in your opinion, the couch seems like the natural option for the next portion of the evening. So, once the dishes are squared away and the ice cream is just soft enough, you dig into the squishy pillows and blankets with your little bowl, while Pero takes a seat like a normal person, at the other end of the spacious two-seater.    Again, you’re a little bummed that he didn’t opt to sit closer to you, but since he’s explained why, you decide not to press the issue.

   “Wanna watch something?” you ask, before realizing you have no clue if he even likes movies, since the topics of this date have been very intimate and not at all light-hearted for the most part.

   “Sure.”

   “Okay. Anything in particular you prefer?”

   “Not really. I will watch almost anything, so you pick.”

   Oh, great. That’s not stressful at all, you just have to try and find something that won’t put him to sleep, potentially trigger his childhood trauma, or make him think you’re a total weirdo… Simple.    You scroll through one of your streaming services, eliminating genres like gangster films, period dramas and horror, followed by teen movies, steamy romance and anime, until you finally decide on adventure, because who doesn’t like a little adventure.    E.T is among the first films to come up once you’ve gone into the genre specific menu, and you haven’t seen it in at least ten years, so that’s your pick.

   “Have you seen it before?” you ask while the opening credits begin to roll.

   “Of course, I have seen all the classics, and all the 80’s and 90’s action movies. They were the best, in my opinion.”

   “I mean, you can’t really beat The Rock, The Long Kiss Goodnight, or Screamers. Not to mention RoboCop, Top Gun and Tremors.”

   “Yes, Tremors is one of my favourites,” he agrees with a grin, and you’re pleasantly surprised by his choice, since you consider it the best B-movie ever made. "I also like The Goonies, Karate Kid and Indiana Jones.”

   Since you’ve both seen E.T before, you’re okay with chatting quietly during the film, talking about your favourite cinema experiences and movies that made lasting impressions on you.    It’s a very comfortable kind of conversation, naturally paused by the more dramatic scenes before you, and then casually picked back up. It feels cozy, simple and safe, which is probably why you begin to almost doze off about two thirds into the movie, which Pero notices.

   “Perhaps we should call it a night,” he suggests, in a warm, also quite drowsy voice. “We do have to work tomorrow morning.”

   “We’ve worked for almost two weeks straight already, they really should give us Thursday and Friday off,” you sleepily mumble, mildly annoyed at the idea of having to end such a lovely evening.

   “Yes, they should. But they prefer to throw money at us rather than lose workforce, since that impacts productivity, especially when our shift has already gone understaffed for ten days.”

   “But that’s not our fault…”

   “No. It is just how the corporate world thinks.”

   He gets up and grabs both of the empty ice cream bowls, bringing them to the kitchen on his way to the front hall, even putting them into the dishwasher before he reaches for his leather jacket, while you simply follow him to say goodnight.    But before he slips the jacket on, he digs around in it for a moment, which you assume is just a hunt for his keys. Until he pulls a small flat box out of it and hands it to you.

   “What?” You stare at the little blue square with the familiar emblem, once more wondering if this man is even real. “This is my favourite brand of chocolate…” you point out, meeting his eyes with incredulity once more. “How do you know?”

   “I listen,” he shrugs. But when he speaks again, his tone suggests there’s uncertainty underneath the apparent comfort. “Especially when you speak.”

   It makes you smile, knowing that he’s been quietly absorbing all this information about you, not to use against you, but simply because he found it interesting enough to warrant his attention.    He slips the jacket on and moves on to his shoes, and once they’re in place, he stands before you in your hall, ready to leave. But he lingers, and there’s a restless kind of awkwardness to him, making you wonder if he’s pondering on the traditional first-date kiss.    You wouldn’t mind if he does want to go for it, but you’re not gonna try and persuade him either way. If there’s one thing this evening has taught you, it’s that this man is much more sensitive and fragile than his public behaviour would have you think.

   “I would like to do this again…” he finally says, earning another smile from you, which seems to put him at ease, “if you would not mind.”

   “I’d like that very much.”

   The grin that adorns his face is one of pure joy, and then he nervously turns to leave, reaching for the doorhandle and stepping out into the stairwell. But then he turns back a little too fast, startling you as you’re following him to close the door behind him.

   “Oh, sorry.”

   “That’s okay,” you reassure him, although you are wondering why he still seems nervous. “Was there something else?”

   “No. No, not really. I just… well… Listen, I spent way too much time in the store today, and it was not my intention to get you all these gifts, but I was nervous about tonight and what you might expect, and I wanted to make sure you would be happy. But now it all seems a bit silly…” he bumblingly explains, all of which sounds only endearing to you.

   But before you can tell him that, he continues.

   “Still, there is one more thing I must give you, and it is perhaps the silliest of all, and if it is you may say so. I am fully aware that you are a grown woman and not a child, it just looked cute, and I thought… heck, I don’t know what I thought.    But here…”

   From behind his back, he somehow produces the most adorable little grey teddy-bear with a bright red heart sewn onto its butt cheek, and aside from the question of where the hell he’s been hiding this thing all night, all you can think is that you’ve never been more happy to be proven wrong about someone in your entire life.    You take the gift with a squeal that morphs into an aww-sound by the time you’ve brought the teddy to your chest, where you hug him close while bouncing slightly on your toes.

   “He is not silly, he’s perfect! I love him, thank you so much! If being a grown woman means having to give up on teddy-bears then I don’t ever wanna grow up,” you assure him, pleased to see his uncertainty give way to comfort.

   “You’re welcome, Asombro,” he grins, looking stupidly happy now. “Thank you for tonight. Perhaps next time you will let me take you out on a bike ride?”

   “Yeah, I’d love that. The weather’s gonna be good this weekend, so maybe Saturday?” you hopefully suggest, and his smile seems to spread from his face all the way through his entire body.

   “I cannot wait. Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.”

   “You too. Goodnight, Pero.”

   He leaves down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, and you close the door, locking yourself in as always, already certain you won’t be able to sleep much tonight because there’s just too much to think about.    But you wonder how in the world you’re gonna go to work tomorrow and pretend like he hasn’t just given you the best date of your life. Because you know he’s still gonna act like there’s nothing special between you in front of your colleagues, and since you know it’s only because of his desire to keep people’s noses out of his business, you’re okay with that.    You simply have no clue how you’re gonna keep yourself in a purely professional state of mind around him.

   Chuckling to yourself at the thought that you’re definitely falling for him now, and it’s making you think and probably behave like a teenager again, you blow out the lovely candle he gave you, take one more whiff of the bouquet of flowers next to it, turn the tv off and leave the little box of chocolates on the coffee table, and then you head straight for bed, still holding the teddy to your chest.    No matter what, tomorrow’s gonna be a good day, because you’ll get to see him again. And the most wonderful thing of all is that that’s a thought you never would’ve dreamed of having two weeks ago.    What a difference a day makes.

Thank you for giving this story a chance, and please don't hesitate to shout at me about it if you want! 🥰

   “You are quite amazing, my dear.”

   Suddenly you’re back there, with him, in his room shortly before your first time making love to one another. He looks at you with those brown eyes, softened with compassion but also hardened by time, and so humbled by your feelings for him.    Your chest burns, but it isn’t with pain. Tears fall freely down your cheeks, staining your clothes, and he looks terribly concerned.

   “Are you alright?” he asks, tightening his embrace around you while he works to understand your reaction. “If you have any doubts about me, or us…”

   He trails off as your face breaks into a smile and you shake your head, trying not to laugh with the flood of joy which surges through you at the sight of him, so real before you again.

   “You do know… I am yours, don’t you?” he ponders, and somehow, you can tell he begins to understand.

   In his eyes you see a quiet but intense search for answers, although it’s like he knows he’ll find them in there even if you don’t say anything. He knows you’ve been to places and seen things beyond his comprehension, and so all he really discovers is, he’s fine with it.    Because he can tell that whatever’s happened to you, he was there with you. Because you love him more than he had ever dared believe possible.

   “You know better than I do,” he whispers, and tears begin to fill his eyes as well.

   He hasn’t lived your reality, this is just a memory, but even so, he knows how deeply you’re connected. And he sees how desperately you need him.    You let your head fall against his shoulder and sob in both grief and happiness.    He feels exactly the same. He smells exactly the same. Because this is how you remember him. And when his hand comes to rest against the back of your head, and he leans his cheek against your temple, all your feelings are blown away, replaced by the unparalleled harmony of knowing… you’re home.

--=¤=--

   Simon never reaches her, held back by the sheer mass of light produced as she surrenders to her spirit and Lux emerges in her place.    It has no form. It’s just a ball of light, so bright that no one can look at it, so strong that nothing can touch it.    The light reaches around the entire globe, for just a second, but it’s enough. All spirits are brought out of their darkened shells, and all creatures made of evil are turned to dust, save the creator himself.

   Then it’s gone. The light fades as suddenly as it appeared, no more than a flash to those who experience it, but at the same time an infinite moment.

   The owl knows what must be done. She still remembers the woman’s words, just as she knows in her heart that the Darkling will rebuild his army if he is not destroyed.    So, she calls to her sisters, calls for them to fight in the name of Freedom.    The beast has recovered from the light by the time they reach him, and he fights back with a fury to rival his losses.

--=¤=--

   On Faial, Andreia drops the stack of brochures she’s carrying to the front desk of the Volcano Interpretation Center, as she feels something leave her. She turns to the west, knowing what was lost was somewhere over there, just as a brightness which somehow comes into the room despite it being underground, forces her to close her eyes.    And when it’s passed, an emptiness follows.

   For years, she hasn’t felt sorrow or fear, blissfully unaware that the strange positivity, which was given to her by another, was only borrowed.    She slumps beside the desk and cries deeper than she ever has before. So lost in this overpowering grief, who’s origin she doesn’t even know, that she cannot tell how every other person in the building does the same.

   Nor does she know her sister, Daniela, is doing the same, thousands of miles away at the bottom of the world.    She doesn’t realize everything living now grieves the loss of this one person, connected to everything in her efforts to keep them alive. This one person who has affected the lives of literally everyone.

   But they will no longer remember her.

   What they truly grieve is the loss of the hope she brought into the world, not the woman herself. She was a mystery, and one not meant for everyone.    Each human is meant to find their own hope, however difficult it might be. That is the journey all living things must be willing to take, or they will never truly live.

--=¤=--

   He regains more strength with every second the battle rages on, pulling new evils out of the ground to protect himself as the spirits combat him across the continent.    They no longer recall the events which brought them here, only that their purpose is to end the darkness. It takes them nearly five days and a winding path which ends at Niagara Falls, but throughout all of this, they never falter.

   Two of them on each of his limbs is what it takes to hold him, while Scarabaeus crawls inside his chest through one of the cracks in his skin and continues into his heart.    When it explodes, the human male whom the dark one had been born into, reemerges for a little while. He is young and frightened. Someone haunts his thoughts while the pain ravages through his body, which is slowly being destroyed and sucked into the earth to be reborn in the future, as the cycle of light and dark continues.

   As a boy, this man suffered unspeakable things, taught to endure hatred and malice until he became dependent upon them. And so, when his torturer died, his world was upended, and the Darkling was unleashed.    Not born of anger or despair, but of the sudden absence of the pain this child had become so accustomed to. It was freedom which hurt him the most, and because of this, his monster was unlike all those before him.

   The Nine leave only when they’re certain his evil has been purged from the world, evident not just by the fading of the unnatural cloud but by how they can once more help the land to grow, returning it to its former vibrance within a few months.    Sadly, the animals and people who are lost can never be restored, but new ones will find their way here in time.

   Before she leaves this new land, Caelum lingers perched at the top of a spruce.    For a moment, she feels sad. But there is no longer anything to be sad about. Still, the feeling lingers, and she remains there, looking out over seven hills in the distance.    Somehow, she feels as though they have voices, speaking to her in a language she cannot interpret.

   But when she spreads her wings and flies over them, a melody seems to carry to her on the wind.    Something sad, but also hopeful.

--=¤=--

   You’re not sure what brought you into town today. You don’t have an errand or appointment or anything you need to do, so far as you can recall. But you have this strong sense that you’re missing something.    Like when you’ve forgotten something just as you’re about to leave the house, but you can’t figure out what it is, so you end up leaving and then halfway to work you realize that it was your fucking phone.

   It’s a small town in Sweden, quiet and calm, but not stale. You’ve lived here all your life, but in the woods twenty miles outside of the city center. And you’re an orphan, so you don’t have any family.    As a kid, going into town had always meant disappointment. Because you’d wanted to go to the movies or buy that dress which you’d been dreaming about for months after you’d seen it in a window once, or have the best ice-cream in town, or go to a restaurant for dinner.

   But your adoptive mother had been poor, only going into town for groceries, having to take you along since she lived alone, but unable to let you have any of the things you wished for.    She’d been a very kind woman, though, and you’d grown to love her as a mother before her unfortunate passing, shortly after you’d turned nineteen.    Sadly, the town has remained a negative to you ever since. You only go there for groceries or the occasional upgrade to your wardrobe, and each time it always feels like a chore, never anything you do just for the fun of it.

   Frustrated that you can’t work out what’s nagging at you, or why you think you’re gonna find it in the middle of the little city center, you take a seat on a bench in the main square, crossing your arms and legs and preparing to wait for exactly five minutes. If you haven’t thought of what it is by then, you’re going home.    Honestly, you feel incredibly stupid even sticking around for one minute. You don’t have any reason to be here.

   People are walking by, some rushing to get something done on their lunch break, others just moseying along without a rushed bone in them, but all of them with a purpose.    An elderly gentleman with a walker, and at least one gammy hip, sits down on the other side of the square, looking up and down main street, clearly waiting for someone.    He looks nice, but tired. His clothes are clean and very proper. He makes a point of not sitting too close to anyone else, so his walker won’t get in their way. He’s used to leaving space next to him for someone. A partner.

   When the people he’s waiting for turn up, it’s his grandchildren, and he lights up like a star in the sky.    But he’s not quite well. You can tell by… well, you’re not sure what exactly. You just know he’s not healthy. Probably fighting an infection of some sort.    Wait… How would you know that? How would you know anything at all about this man?

   This has happened before and it rattles you just as much each time, so you get up to leave, only then realizing it’s been twenty minutes since you sat down already, and you scoff at yourself as you quickly turn to your right, heading around the side of the bench you’ve been sitting on, to cut across a small patch of grass on your way to where you parked your car.    But you’ve only managed to get up and turn when you suddenly hit a wall.

   “Oof…” you breathe in surprise, just as you realize that you’ve actually collided with a person. A very broad and sturdy person.

   “My apologies, miss,” he politely says while he takes your right hand to keep you from losing your balance. “I’m afraid I have a habit of moving quietly.”

   He meets your eyes for a long moment and with each passing second, your insides turn warmer and strangely, you’re both pained and terribly relieved. As if you’ve missed him and never known it until now. As if you’ve been cut in half all your life, and his mere presence has made you whole.    And even more strangely, he feels the same. You can see it.    You know this man. His pain and his fears, but also his love.

   “…my Oberyn,” you whisper, having no idea where it comes from, half expecting him to start questioning your sanity.

   But instead, tears fill his eyes, and his hand tightens around yours as he pulls you closer.

   “Yes,” he answers, just as quietly, his voice strangled by strong emotions. “Yes, I am yours.”

   You will never come to recall anything from your previous life. Not the spirits or the dark one or even the dragon. Nor will you ever know why you and Oberyn had been granted the gift of rebirth as ordinary humans after the war.    In fact, no one knows the answer to that one.    Perhaps the Earth itself took pity on you both, after witnessing your sacrifice. Or maybe it was you, somehow realizing how to save your souls in those final moments of your life.

   But however it was accomplished, you will always know in your heart to cherish the man you fell in love with at first glance. You’ll always remember that he is the reason you’re alive, simply because without him, you’re incomplete.    The two of you are younger when you first meet this time around, and somehow you both know to cherish every day together, filling your lives with laughter and love, not ever worrying about what lies behind or ahead of you.

   Illnesses and accidents somehow pass your family by, as if some unseen guardian watches over you. And sometimes, late at night when the skies are the darkest and there’s no moon, there are moments when you could swear you see something gliding through the air on barely visible wings, and a pair of pale blue eyes looking at you.    Other times, sunlight tricks you into thinking there’s something in the corner of your eye, like green leaves seemingly moving on their own, or the flickering wings of an impossibly large butterfly. You’ve even heard the proud snorts and heavy hooves of a horse a few times, only to always look up and find nothing there.

   It happens rarely, not even once a year, but enough that with time, you begin to sense a familiarity with these things. An understanding that it isn’t just happening in your head. That some small part of you is connected to something bigger.    But you don’t care.    What matters to you is that your life is everything you want it to be. The rest is just white noise in the periphery.

   Your mother used to say that happiness is a choice, and that the mistake most people make is in thinking you only have to make it once, when in truth, you have to make it all the time. At every junction, crossroad, turn, and dip. You must choose to be happy, at every opportunity given, it’s not just gonna come to you automatically.    But she would always add that the very best way to live a happy life, is to find someone who makes the choice easier. Someone who makes your heart so light that you come to the right decision by simply existing in their presence.

   Most days, you feel like it was Oberyn who found you, though, not the other way around. You feel like he’ll always find you, no matter what happens.    Sometimes, you’re even absolutely certain that he found you eons ago, before the world had even become this world yet. That your paths are somehow linked by the cosmos itself. And every time this feeling hits you, it rings so true in your heart it makes you cry.    Then it passes, and you feel silly.

   But then again…

   What if…?

-=THE END=-

Thank you for taking this journey with me!