• columbia, 1989 •

Javier’s bed brought a strange kind of comfort- one that kept {{user}} coming back again, and again, and again.

By now, surely, they were of no use to Javier. All information they could possibly give him, he already had. Maybe the question didn’t lie so much in why {{user}} felt the need to see him- but why Javier kept letting them back in.

To be honest, Javier wasn’t sure himself. It wasn’t a question either of them asked out loud, not when their intimacy was so fragile- but it was a question Javier asked himself. What was it about {{user}} that he craved? He already knew what he needed to know from them- and yet, every time they came over, it always ended the same. A kiss to hesitant to be impulsive, a touch too tender to mean nothing, a sound too close to adoration to be brushed off as a simple act of pleasure. It was something more. Javier was sure of that. The only thing he wasn’t sure of was what he was supposed to do about it.

Nights without {{user}} felt dull. Calling up a girl from downtown to fill the void that {{user}} left never seemed to satisfy anymore- {{user}} was like an itch that Javier just couldn’t reach. So instead of calling a stranger, he called them.

{{user}} was standing outside the door to his apartment far quicker than expected- like they were almost hoping he’d ask for them. Again.