He spent almost all of Sunday with Anna in Antwerp. They had gone early in the morning, the dark circles under José’s eyes deeper than ever. Anna, though, seemed happy the moment they stepped into the grand Antwerp train station, with its striking architecture and the zoo just beside it.

The dark circles came from a night with almost no sleep.

He kept thinking about that kiss. While Anna slept peacefully next to him, he would sometimes catch himself touching his lips, wondering if it had really happened—or if he had dreamt it.

If he had dreamt it, then it was a nightmare. A story he had fallen into, and his instinct told him he wouldn’t escape it easily.

Carlos had turned his life upside down. That short, broad-shouldered man in his early thirties had driven him out of his mind. He felt ready to surrender to whatever Carlos wanted. All weekend, he stayed up late, dizzy with the thought of him. When he didn’t see him, he felt like an empty vessel—a body drifting along the edges of night and day, as they passed, lost and misled. Someone deceiving himself.

And yet, at the same time, he felt disgusted with himself. Ashamed. Afraid. Everything was new, raw, unfamiliar. These feelings were so exposed, so intense, so brutal—they gnawed at him from within, like worms hollowing out an apple.

He couldn’t forget.

Carlos could not be forgotten.

Everything felt like madness. He was starting to lose himself.

Carlos was like a rose. His kiss was made of thorns. It had pierced José’s lips, his mind, his entire being. And José, that Saturday, had let himself go. He had bled. His heart had been seized, ruled, made to bleed. That blood, that kiss they exchanged, was like a curse, like a stain that would not wash from his mouth.

And still, he wanted to surrender to him. To that thorned kiss. To that mind, that smile that had taken hold of him. Despite the war of contradictions inside him, he longed for Monday, for the chance to see him, to speak to him.

But that never came.

And José’s heart, his anticipation, dropped all at once, like an elevator whose cables had snapped, plunging from the sixth floor to the ground.

On Monday, and all week, Carlos was distant, severe. He wouldn’t look at him. He threw him a dry “Good morning,” and only if José said it first. Every time José tried to start even a simple conversation (not about Saturday night, but anything at all) Carlos would turn to someone else or find an excuse to walk away.

It was clear. He wanted nothing to do with him.

On Thursday afternoon, José sat alone in the kitchen. The cleaners usually came between one-thirty and two, so everyone ate earlier. He had eaten with them, but came back for the quiet, for a moment to settle his mind, and with it, his soul.

He was watching something pointless on his phone when a notification flashed across the top of his old Samsung screen.

Anna.

My love, a bit sudden: my friend Beatriz came to visit today. She said she would, but I didn’t know when, and she surprised me. You know I told her if she ever came she could stay with us. Would it bother you if she stayed? She’ll sleep on the couch.

José sighed, frowning. Anna needed people, needed company, and he saw it for what it was: a small blessing. It would do her good. Last weekend, she hadn’t seemed happy when he refused to lie down with her.

How could he, with that man still wandering through his mind? How could he dare do that to her?

How had he already dared enough to kiss someone else? Anna, whom he had known since they were children. Anna, who had been there when no one else was.

How could he have done that to her?

After so long, guilt pierced him like needles.

How…?

How could he?

He opened the message and typed quickly.

No problem, my love. Stay with Beatriz. I know you want time with your friend. I’ll only get in the way. I’ll rent somewhere.

She read it immediately.

And you’ll pay for three nights at a hotel? She leaves Sunday.

He replied at once.

It doesn’t matter. Money isn’t the issue. What matters is that I want you to have a good time. And I know you’re alone and I haven’t been treating you the way I should, Anna. I’m sorry. It’ll be good for you to spend time with your friend. I’ll find something to do. I’ll rest this weekend.

His apology held everything. The kiss. The shameless thoughts. The distance. The way he had failed her.

Why are you apologizing? It’s okay. You can come out with us if you want. Thank you so much, my love <3.

José smiled faintly. It would be a chance to think. To untangle what he had done, what he felt. To quiet the torrent inside him.

It wouldn’t just do Anna good.

It would do him good too.

Who was he kidding? It would do him good first.

I’ll come by after work to grab some things. I love you.

He closed the messages and opened a page to look for hotels or apartments. Somewhere central. Somewhere far from Diegem or Zaventem.

As if on cue, he heard someone enter the kitchen behind him.

He sat with his back to the door, but he didn’t need to turn. He saw the familiar broad back of the short man moving toward the coffee machine.

Carlos.

He didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak. Didn’t acknowledge him. He pressed two buttons. A paper cup dropped into place and began to fill. The hum of the machine and the smell of coffee spread through the silent room, which felt even darker under the heavy clouds outside.

José cleared his throat.

“Carlos, how long are you staying today?”

Contractors worked long shifts, ten, twelve hours, sometimes more. Paid, of course. But they took breaks, left when they needed. Safety came first in aviation. The human factor, second.

Carlos glanced at him, took his cup, and walked toward the door, ignoring him completely.

José stood abruptly and grabbed him by the elbow.

“Ah—!”

Carlos let out a sharp sound as hot coffee spilled onto his skin. José hadn’t noticed his sleeves were rolled up.

He reached for a napkin.

“Leave it,” Carlos snapped, pulling free. “Forget it.”

He wiped his arm with his sleeve, frowning.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“What do you want?” Carlos shot back, his look sharp, almost hostile.

Why was he like this? What had he done?

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I think you’re imagining things, Fidalgo.”

José opened his mouth, then closed it. He reached for his elbow again, more gently this time.

“I’m not imagining it. I don’t know what you’re doing. Are you playing? Do you like playing with me?”

Carlos tried to pull away. “Let me go. We’re at work,” he muttered, irritated.

“Funny. You didn’t seem to care about that before.”

“What do you want from me? Let me go.”

“What do you want from me?” José shot back, shaking him slightly. “Why are you doing this? Why are you playing? Why that Saturday night...”

“Nothing happened Saturday night,” Carlos cut in sharply.

He set the coffee down, then yanked his arm free.

“Nothing happened. Do you hear me? I had been drinking. You had been drinking. That’s all.”

“You hadn’t been drinking. You know that.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave me alone. I have a girlfriend.”

His eyes sparked. His chest rose and fell with tension.

“And you think I don’t?” José pressed a finger hard against his chest. “You. You were the first who...”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

They both turned.

A dark-haired girl with large glasses stood at the door. She paused, taking them in: the tension, the sharpness in their faces. She seemed about to ask something, but thought better of it. She simply nodded and walked in to get her miserably watered-down mocha.

Carlos seized the moment and stormed out of the kitchen like a gust of wind.

José stood there, frozen.

The girl, waiting for her coffee, turned toward him, arms crossed.

“Everything okay?”

José nodded absently. “Yeah… yeah. Everything’s fine. You?”

She nodded lightly, then tilted her chin toward the paper cup.

“Your coffee,” she said.

“It’s probably cold.”

It wasn’t his.