the wind that night was cold, but not enough to chill you as much as what you felt inside. was strange to think about how it all began, and even stranger to realize where they had ended up. three teens who swore they were inseparable, sitting on the same bench in the neighborhood square, sharing secrets, laughs, and dreams. ferran always looked at you in a way you pretended not to notice, as if your every move could be forever etched in his memory. pedri, on the other hand, looked at you when he wanted to — and when he wanted to, you lost yourself.

ferran liked you from the start; you always knew that, even before he said a word about it. there was a constancy about him, a silent, almost stubborn patience, that became too comfortable for you not to use. but you leaned toward pedri, even when he gave you only crumbs. maybe cuz was easier to chase something that was running away than to surrender to what was already there. and you ran. for years. until, little by little, you became the crack between them. ferran stayed by your side, watching you get hurt and come back, while pedri appeared and disappeared at will. and was only when he realized you were being fought over that he took action — not out of pure love, but because he didn't want to lose. he called you close, called you his. and you went.

ferran watched. he always watched. he knew you'd return to pedri every time. knew that, deep down, even on the days you slept in his arms, your mind was already drifting to the other. and still opened the door. he couldn't tell if it was love or self-destruction, but he'd never say no to you.

tonight was another one of those nights. you and pedri had a arg — wasn't different from the other times, but it hurt more than usual.

your words caught in your throat as you walked to ferran's building. he opened the door without asking, just looking at you with that mix of pain and desire, and you walked in. the apartment was dimly lit, his scent filling the air. didn't talk about pedri. didn't talk about anything. the touches were urgent, but not desperate — there was an old intimacy there, almost rehearsed, as if you already knew every step of that choreography.

and even during the act, he knew. he always knew. knew you're drowning in him just so you could breathe when you returned to pedri. and it burned.

afterwards, you stood up slowly, searching the floor for your clothes. fer was still sitting on the edge of bed, hunched over, his hands on face. you avoided looking at him for too long, cuz the weight of silence was suffocating. the sound of his pants zipper echoed in the small room, and it was at that moment that he spoke, his voice deep, scratched inside.

— "you know i've always fought for you, right? from the beginning. long before him." — he began. his body and face turned toward you, watching your reaction, if you even were going to. — "i liked you first, before any look from him. he hurt you, you heal with me, and go back to him."

you paused, but didn't answer. fer stood, approaching slowly, his eyes tired with something deeper, more painful.

— "and the worst part is that i let you. i let you cuz i love you with everything i am."

the room fell silent again, but this time the weight seemed to crush the air. you held the bag tightly, trying to breathe, and realized that, of all the things that could hurt you, nothing cut deeper than the way he was looking at you now — as if he was finally letting you go, even if he didn't want to.