“You don’t really strike me as the writer type,” I said, before taking a small spoonful of the vanilla ice cream.

   “What am I supposed to look like, then?” he chuckled. “Wear glasses, carry books around, and talk about elves and fairies?”

   “Yeah, pretty much. But you’d also need to carry a notebook everywhere, wearing the sort of expression that says you know exactly how to dispose of a body like a serial killer. You know, like Elisa.”

    He laughed, looking down at the table as if picturing himself exactly like that.

    “Well, I’ll have you know I do know how to get rid of a body,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes in a way that was meant to be intimidating, but only succeeded in making me burst out laughing.

   “Should I be worried?”

   “No, just making conversation, you see.” Pedro casually licked the mousse from his spoon, making me stare at his lips with a certain fondness. “You never know when we might find ourselves in one of those teen drama series where they stumble upon a body and apparently have no idea that the police have a number you can dial to report it.”

   “Are you writing a story like that?”

   “No, that’s not really the sort of thing I like to write.”

   “And what sort do you like?”

   He shrugged.

   “Romance, I suppose... Both to write and to read.”

   Looking at Pedro, I could picture him enjoying various genres, but romance certainly wouldn’t have been one of them. Outdoorsy and sharp, he looked far more like the type of bloke who’d prefer dystopias or sci-fi novels.

   Even though LoveHeart had plenty of romance woven into it, the books and the series focused heavily on the struggles of two young men who had just started university, navigating their sexuality and the hurdles of early adulthood.

   “Romance?” I questioned, eager to unearth more.

   “It might sound cliché, but I love romance. I could be having an absolute nightmare of a day, where everything’s gone wrong and my heart feels a bit lost in the complexities of life, but if I pick up a book, sit on the sofa, and read a romance, it all vanishes. The doubts give way to something bright and cosy, you know... It feels like a renewal. As if romances were a portal connecting me to a new world with every page I turn, making me a part of that story... I’m right there, seeing how the characters feel, what they think, yet at the same time, I don’t know quite as much about them as I’d like to... Romances pluck me out of the real world, where everything is just harder.”

   I thought about telling him what was crossing my mind, seeing him speak with such passion about something—and that was precisely what I did when I blurted out:

   “I love hugs.”

   Pedro went quiet for a moment, leaving me utterly mortified for having just vomited a piece of information completely irrelevant to his life. Even so, I ploughed on:

    “Not that I love it when just anyone hugs me, mind you, but when someone close to me does. It’s definitely one of my favourite sensations... I’m sorry, I don’t even know why I told you that... Sorry, but you looked so passionate talking about your books that I thought it only fair you knew something about me that I love just as much as you love romance.”

   I couldn’t bring myself to look Pedro in the eye.

   Why am I like this? I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs on a pure surge of anxiety, fueled by acting like a total idiot in front of him.

   As difficult as it was, when I finally found the courage to look at Pedro, his expression was entirely different from what I’d braced myself for. Instead of a judgmental stare, his eyes were bright, immersed in an admiration that, truth be told, I had never seen in anyone else’s gaze over something I’d said.

   Not one that genuine.

   “What do you love most in the world, David?”

Back then, I didn’t yet know that Pedro would become the thing I loved most in the world. So, I couldn’t give him anything less than the most honest answer possible.

   “No judging, right?”

   Pedro smiled.

   “No judging.”

   I rested my spoon beside the ice cream, which was melting down towards the chocolate cake with its passion fruit cream filling.

   “Leaving aside the fact that I love my family, which obviously comes first, I... I don't know if you’ve heard of it, but there’s this Japanese anime called Your Name, or Kimi No Na Wa, as many know it,” I began. “That animation is by far my favourite film. I’ve watched it dozens of times, and every single time, I cry like a baby during the scene where the song Sparkle starts playing... It’s ridiculous, I know, crying over the same film since I was seventeen sounds a bit daft, but Sparkle became my favourite song because of the emotion it stirs up in me... On rainy days, I like to lock myself in my sitting room, sitting near the window while Sparkle echoes through the walls, and I imagine myself as the protagonist of Your Name. It’s a very simple thing, I suppose, but listening to that song on rainy days is, without a shadow of a doubt, the thing I love most in the world right now.”

   Before I knew it, my fingers were twirling my arrow pendant, whilst Pedro watched me in a way that made it impossible to decipher what lay in his eyes.

   With just an unreadable look, Pedro managed to spark such a profound curiosity in me—I don’t think anyone had ever made me that desperate to know what was going on inside their head.

   “I don’t know if you’ve ever done anything like it, but it’s brilliant,” I said at last.

I didn’t really know what else to say, to be honest. I was simply obsessed with looking at Pedro. Noting the way he always offered a brief smile before he started speaking, even how he seemed to sigh when he finished a long sentence.

   Or, like in that exact moment, when the silence was excuse enough to just allow myself to look at him.

   “I hope I can have that experience one day,” Pedro said, his voice laced with tranquillity.

   We kept talking for a few more minutes that felt like hours—not in a bad way, but a wonderful one.

It felt as though everything we’d missed out on learning about each other during those five days was being gradually filled in by topics that flowed naturally into the conversation.

   I discovered that one of his greatest dreams was to travel to Egypt and see the pyramids—a trip I’d also thought about making one day. Besides Egypt, he intended to visit dozens of countries, leaving me intrigued as he listed each one as if discovering country names were some sort of hobby of his.

   I shared my love for musicals with him, and how that was one of the biggest reasons why I loved singing so much, even if I hadn't been doing it as frequently as I used to months ago. But thanks to the upcoming party at the bookshop, that was about to change.

    I was delighted to learn that Pedro loved watching The Greatest Showman; it’s one of my favourites. Although the script for the musical was dreadful, I loved every single song. The best part of this conversation was watching Pedro humming Rewrite The Stars. I thought about joining in, just like in the film, but I didn't want to ruin his moment to shine.

   Did Pedro sing well? Absolutely not. His singing sounded a bit like a lorry tyre blowing out. However, he was so enthusiastic about it that he looked like a proper professional.

   Zeca. That was the name of his little dog, who had unfortunately passed away two years ago. According to Pedro, he hadn't had another pet since Zeca died. I couldn’t choke back my own emotion when I saw his eyes well up remembering his dog.

   I hoped I could introduce him to Henry, my dog who had stayed in London with my mum. I know, it’s not a very common name for a dog, but if a prince could have a dog with my name, why couldn’t I have one named after a prince?

   Lest it seem like I did nothing but listen to him speak—which wouldn't have been half bad—I also told him a few things about myself. Things I’d never posted online, like the fact that I’d slept with a soft toy every night until I was twelve... I probably shouldn't have told Pedro that.

I also shared my reasons for loving anything to do with the Royal Family. Perhaps it was just my British side talking, but I became truly fascinated by The Kingdom after the series started portraying the story of the great Lady Diana.

   At the end of dinner, I could have charged the restaurant bill to the room, but I thought it more appropriate to pay. After all, I had invited Pedro and I had to be a gentleman, hadn't I?

   By the time we left the restaurant, it was past eleven o’clock.

The hotel lobby wasn't particularly crowded as we headed towards the lift, yet I felt as though I were being watched by thousands of people, as if my every move would be judged at any given second.

   It was undoubtedly a sensation born from the fear of ruining a night that was becoming more perfect by the minute. In the lift, Pedro couldn’t take his eyes off his own reflection whilst squeezing his fingers together, leaving red marks.

   “Are you claustrophobic?”

   He blinked, as though he’d just snapped out of a trance.

   “N-No. I’m not claustrophobic, but I’m not overly fond of lifts.”

   Pedro swallowed hard, staring at the floor. Going up to the twentieth floor, provided the lift didn't stop at any other levels, would take about forty seconds. Forty seconds of misery that Pedro was enduring because... I didn't know the reason. But perhaps I could help him, couldn't I?

   I reached for his hand, feeling the tension wrought by his nervousness ease slightly as I squeezed his palm, just firmly enough to offer support.

   “I’ve heard that holding someone’s hand in moments like this can help,” I said. “I don’t know if it’ll work, but it can’t hurt to try, can it?”

   Pedro didn’t move, but I felt it when he squeezed my hand back. To try and soothe him further, I brushed my thumb over the back of his hand, tracing the infinity symbol repeatedly, watching the numbers on the display climb higher and higher.

   With the space being so confined, I could hear Pedro’s heavy breathing as though his lips were right at my ear, and I became entirely focused on the sounds he made just by filling his lungs, whilst my chest burned like the heat trapped between our palms.

   When the number twenty flashed on the display and the doors slid open, no words were spoken; I didn't let go of his hand as we stepped out of the lift and walked towards his room.

   However, upon reaching his door, Pedro gently pulled his hand away. Only then did I realise I was still holding it. He slid his hand into his trousers pocket, pulling out the key card and tapping it against the reader before opening the door, looking back at me with a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

   Pedro parted his lips slightly, wetting them, causing that heat in my chest to flare across my entire body.

   “Do you want to watch a film before you go?” he asked.

   I wanted to do so many things before I went.

   I wanted to give life to the thoughts flooding my mind's eye, thoughts that only Pedro could turn into reality. There were so many of them that I couldn't bring myself to answer him in any other way than to give in to the impulse of taking him by the waist as I stepped inside the room with him.

For the first time in twenty years, I wanted to kiss someone so badly that I felt my body would combust at the mere prospect of feeling his lips on mine.

   “I-I-I...”

   I couldn't hold myself back for another single second.

    A tiny fraction of courage took over my movements, and it was enough to make me risk everything.

   I pulled his body closer to mine as I leaned in to kiss him—but it didn't happen.

   I know I acted on impulse, yet I honestly thought Pedro would react in a way that would make everything fall into place just as it should. A kiss sparked by eagerness could have become something real, had it not been for the fact that Pedro went entirely rigid at my touch.

   Noticing his resistance, I pulled back instantly, feeling all the heat of desire morph into the scorching flames of sheer embarrassment, burning across my face.

   I should have thought more about what Pedro wanted instead of letting myself get carried away by my own whims. I had blurted into action, and once again, the result was tragic.

   I snapped my hand away from his body, feeling like an absolute arsehole as I took a step back. What I had misread as the same desire I thought I'd seen reflected in his eyes before, I now recognised as fear, sending my heart racing with immediate, crushing regret.

   “I-I...”

   “I’m so sorry,” I cut him off.

   I didn't know what to do.

   My pulse felt like a vicious battle between wild animals, whilst fear washed over me like an ice-cold shower, freezing everything that had just existed.

   “I-I’m sorry, Pedro. I... I...”

   There was no justification.

   I couldn't think straight in that situation.

   “I’m sorry,” was all I managed to choke out before fleeing towards the lift.