“I don’t want you to leave,” I murmur, realizing I’ve voiced something different than intended.
I was thinking about him leaving early, but the meaning of my words has relayed something else.
I look at him, my hand in his hand. A soft smile curves his lips.
“It’s funny because this is more or less what I wanted to talk to you about…” he says.
My mouth falls open in surprise.
He’s noticed what I’ve seen the entire night.
“You’re not checking yourself out, are you?” I ask, unable to conceal my concern.
I squeeze his hand.
He seems flattered by my reaction.
“It’s too early. Or isn’t it…?” I murmur. “Francisco?”
He ponders.
“It’s not about that,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s just that it’s become increasingly difficult to be in the same room with you and try to be someone else. Hide the way I feel… It’s visible. And it pisses me off.”
“Well… You sure fooled me,” I say seriously, using an ounce of humor to sweeten my comment.
He laughs.
“Yes, yes…” I say in response to his reaction. “You think you’re the only one grappling with conflicted feelings?” I murmur.
His smile withers away.
“No. And that is the problem. We’re all getting to a point where it all becomes pointless,” he says.
“You didn’t like how we fucked?”
He studies me before laughing, a wolfish grin sprouting on his lips.
“You’re playing cute now.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You know it’s not that. Although it’s part of the problem. You already know I want to be with you in a room. Alone.”
“We can do that…” I say.
He shakes his head.
“No, we can’t. I’d hate to do that and then leave and pretend that nothing happened.”
“So, leaving me now makes more sense?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m considering it. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
He looks down, and I don’t know what to say.
“This is not about asking for mutual feelings.”
“There are mutual feelings,” I say, afraid of experiencing my first breakup.