#rodolfo

𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 '𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭' 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲

part one

𝐊𝐨̈𝐧𝐢𝐠

part one

a surprise

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 '𝐒𝐨𝐚𝐩' 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐡

part one

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞

𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 "𝐆𝐚𝐳" 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬

𝐑𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐨

He shifts beside you, the blanket wrinkling under his shifting weight. The night is cool; the stars are out; the city is far enough away to be forgotten but not to far away to become imaginary.

“Why do you say that?” Rodolfo asks, softly, no bite of argument on the back of his tongue.

“I mean, what if I end up just like my parents?”

“I’ll love you.”

That stupid, sweet, sticky, suffocating warmth seeps into your bones to your ribs, filling your throat with a burn.

“We could try to be like my parents,” he jokes, “we could work until we’re 40 then go insane.”

You laugh, breaking the warmth off your ribs, letting yourself melt into the blanket again. Your fingers tingle, cold.

“But what if you die?”

“Baby,” Rudy murmurs, half a scold and half a pity.

“I’m serious,” You whisper, barely making noise, the heat that chokes you catching cold air in your throat, “what then?”

“Then you can come talk to my headstone, I’ll listen.”

“Rudy.”

He laughs. You sound like his mother. His pinky wraps around yours, pulling your hand closer to him; he is warm.

“I don’t plan on dying.”

“But what if you do?”

“I just won’t.”

You sigh, defeated, that stupid boyish reasoning and manly cool. Infuriating.

“I’ll crawl back to you if anything happens.”

“If you die, I’ll kill Alej to keep you company.”

Macabre. He laughs.

“I’ll have to haunt you if you do that,” He smiles into his sigh, “If I don’t die, we’ll grow old together.”

“I’ll get all wrinkly.”

“Yeah, and so will I.”

“Marriage has always scared me,” You admit, his pinky tightening, keeping you close, “But I want to have a last love.”

“We can be just like my parents, then.”

You tighten your grip on him, his fingering wiggling out just to grab your whole hand, paw covering your hand.

“What about forever?” You ask.

“I don’t know anything about forever, but I know I wouldn’t mind spending it with you.”

“How can you be so confident?”

“I want to push Alejandro off a bridge sometimes, but I know I want to be his best friend till I die,” he starts, his voice soft, “and I feel like that with you.”

“You want to push me off a bridge?”

“I feel like the second part of the sentence.”

“I mean, I get it if you do, I can be annoying—”

“I don’t want to push you off a bridge—”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did—”

He pushes his hand and yours against your mouth, gently, hushing you.

“I am not going to push you off a bridge.”

“That sounds like a Dateline intro,” You joke.

“I am not going to kill you.”

“Sounds like something a killer would say.”

Rodolfo dramatically sighs, pulling the hands back to him.

“I don’t think we have to wait on becoming insane like my parents, I think we’re already there.”

You chuckle, scooting closer to him, your shoulder touching his.

“Love can last a pretty good long while, you sure you want to give that to me?”

“I already did.”

You hum.

“Love doesn’t go away. It either sticks around or it was never there. It changes shape though, and it’s just about keeping shapes that go together.”

“You sure you want to go get shot, you could be a poet.”

“I don’t want to get shot, it’s just a part of the job description.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be a bit of a masochist.”

He squeezes your hand, a light little non-existent warning.

“Being a poet doesn’t pay too well, I don’t think. Unless we have World War III soon, then I can be sad and traumatized and publish 15 books.”

“If you make it.”

“I will,” Rodolfo lowers his voice, pulling you against him, head resting on his shoulder, “I will make it, and I’ll come home to you, and we can go crazy together until Alejandro tries to get us admitted.”

“If we pull him down with us, he can’t admit us.”

“That’s the plan.”

He rests his nose against the crown of your head, kissing your head softly, his arm around your shoulders warm as his fingers rub your skin, your body melting against his.

“Do you think Valeria and him will make it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Confident.”

“They are oil and water. The flame is whatever they’re feeling. And it’s just whoever gets to the fire first and does something with it.”

“Are you comparing their relationship to a grease fire?”

“Yes.”

You pause, letting the words hang in the air for a moment.

“Have you been in a room with them for longer than 30 minutes?”

“I mean, yeah.”

His thumb rubs you.

“He just wants what he never got to have. And he doesn’t get that what he wants doesn’t have to be painful.”

“Do you think that’ll kill him?”

“It won’t kill either of them. It’ll just tattoo them.”

“Do you think they’ll kill each other?”

“They might try but that’ll just end in them being bickering skeletons.”

“Are they both that hot headed to where death won’t make them stop?”

“Probably. I don’t want to find out though.”

“I don’t either.”

There’s a bug, or something, making noise. The moon is high. The stars have shifted.

“We’ll be just like my parents, and we’ll grow old together, and when all of that is over, we’ll have forever. Does that sound alright?” Rudy asks, his warmth seeping into your skin.