He was an idiot. Just paranoid and crazy.

Why would he send something like that? What on earth had he done?

He jumped up from the couch and ran a hand through his hair. He began pacing back and forth.

Why did he send it? Why message Carlos? After all, Carlos had made it clear he didn’t want anything to do with him. And what was that “come hang out”? Hang out?

Yes. Yes. He was right. Hang out. That. That’s what he wanted too. To sit. To talk. Maybe watch a game. The TV picked up plenty of sports channels. They both had girlfriends. José had sent this message to restore the relationship they’d had before: the 'just collegaues' one. They weren’t friends, but he didn’t want enemies either. He had no enemies. He just wanted to clarify his position. Everyone would forget everything. Nothing had happened. Carlos was right. Maybe he was drunk. José would forgive him. They’d move on.

Yes. Yes. He was right. That’s why he sent the message. To make amends.

But what was there to make amends for? What had he done wrong that needed fixing?

He grunted lightly and sank back onto the couch.

Carlos was the one who started it. He was the one who kissed him. He was the one who made the mistake. Why should he be the one to apologize? He should be the one asking for explanations and apologies from him.

He jumped up abruptly and began pacing the room again, as he had for the past four hours.

During those four hours, he had eaten, drunk a beer and two coffees. He considered making tea-maybe not. He had also started leafing through the books on the shelf from the publisher TASCHEN fashion design volumes, from A to Z.

During those four hours, he hadn’t received a single reply from Carlos, except a “seen” notification. Carlos had seen the message within about twenty minutes. And he never replied.

What an idiot he was.

He went to the bathroom and stripped off his shirt, then his pants, then his underwear. He opened the shower door and stepped inside. He turned the handle.

The water was freezing.

He turned it to hot.

Across from him, through the bathroom glass, he could see his naked reflection in the mirror. He studied himself closely. For a moment, he felt shame-at the few hairs, the belly, how he’d let himself go.

He turned his head away until the steam fogged the glass.
What exactly was he expecting? Like this, he was lucky Anna had chosen him, and only her. Anna was Anna. And Carlos was Carlos. Carlos would never choose him. He shouldn’t ever have chosen him.

He stepped under the shower, letting the water hit him hard.
For a moment, he imagined him coming. Knocking on the door. Him opening it. And the room filling with kisses from the floor to the ceiling.

Was he in love? He didn’t know. He was scared. Afraid to name what he felt out of nowhere.

How strange all these feelings were. They made him ache for no reason, tear him to pieces, then give him a reason to live. They sparked instincts that drove him mad, yet betrayed his heart at the same time.

They burned him mercilessly.

Was he really in love with Carlos?
Since when?

Carlos was like the sea in his mind. And it was drowning him. Yet no matter how much it drowned him, he didn’t want to go anywhere. He wanted to stay there. Even as it delivered the killing blow, even while he was hurt, he wanted to take it.

Because he wanted him.

For some reason, he couldn’t think of anything else, day or night, except him. Those moments. That numbness and warmth inside him.

He shook his head.

No. It was wrong. They were colleagues. Just colleagues.

And yet he had invited him to “hang out” together in a hotel room. How 'just colleagues' could that be?

He had risked everything. All in or nothing.
And it was probably for nothing.

Carlos, with his behavior, despised him. Played with him. Drove him crazy.

Carlos. Carlos. Carlos.

Why had everything become “Carlos”?

He knew why.

That night. Those nights. Initially after the company party and later at Marco’s birthday, Carlos made him feel like a child again. He chased away all the “shoulds.” He was invigorating, as if resurrecting him. Unpredictable, sweet, and serious where it mattered.

If he came, if he even came for a moment, José knew he wouldn’t survive it. He would explode. And Carlos would feel all his five senses. Feel everything he felt, everything he kept inside, all he held for him.

In those desperate nights, among the coffees, beers, city lights, echoes of his loneliness, and the fog in his mind, he wanted him desperately.

But Carlos never came.