“Are you okay?” 

The thirty-sixth time someone had asked me that question. No, it wasn’t out of all the years I’ve lived. Neither was it the number of times someone asked this week. It was all within the ten-minute time frame of leaving the park, driving to Adrián’s house, and having him fuss over me. 

Just as I had said the first thirty-five times, I repeated, “Yes.” 

He took a throw pillow and propped my leg on top of it, asking if I was comfortable. After I nodded, he disappeared into the kitchen. 

Leaning back into the couch, I let my eyes wander the cozy little living room. The beige couches complimented white walls, lined with shelves that housed vases and books. A stack of CDs sat on one of the coffee tables, next to a large, black Bible, whose cover curled up at the edges. Potted plants sat on the windowsill, soaking up the sun through the parts in the curtains. 

Everything had a softness to it. Arranged with purpose, and knocked slightly askew with an absent mind. The room felt... lived in. 

Adrián returned with a bag of frozen peas and a napkin, knocking me out of my trance when he spoke. “It’s the best thing I could find.” Bending down, he cautiously grabbed my foot and held the makeshift ice pack against it. 

I smiled at him. “It’ll do. Thanks.” Nodding towards the window, I said, “I like the colours.” 

“Yeah,” he replied with a curt laugh. “My mom’s really big on decorating.” He turned the ice pack over, the coldness making me flinch a little. “Sorry. Would we need to bandage it too? Because I think there’s some in the first aid kit upstairs. I’ll go get---“ 

“Adrián, you worry too much. It’s fine. I’m not in pain—“ He furrowed his eyebrows at that. “Okay, unbearable pain.” 

“I read somewhere that compression would help with the swelling, so I think I should bandage it.” He was up before I could grab his hand and hold him in place. 

“Somewhere?” 

“Off of Google. When I was getting the peas.” Adrián laughed as he thought his words over. Not the delicate laughter; he was straight up guffawing. And it had me bursting into laughter, too. 

It died down when he returned with the bandage. “I’ll have to straighten your foot so I can wrap it firmly. Let me know if it hurts too much so I can loosen it a bit.” 

I nodded, bracing myself as Adrian unwrapped the strip and removed the ice pack. “I’m sorry this has been the worst first date in all of history.” Struggling to hold my tongue as he worked, I feared I’d make too much of a noise if I opened my mouth. 

After I was sure I could talk without strained breaths, I replied. “No, don’t say that. You’ve been great. This date’s been great.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Here,” I said, slipping off the hair ties on my wrist. Off the top of my head, it was the only sentimental thing I could offer. “This is to let you know I enjoyed today. The peach tea, and the little note, and the sketch... even the sprain.” One by one, I slid them past his fingers, decorating his hands in yellows, blues, and shades of pink. “After all, it led to us sharing this moment together.” 

For a while, Adrián’s gaze was drawn to our interlocked fingers, a small sigh escaping his lips when I rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand. We shared a glance, the presence of something unspoken, strong. 

He kissed me softly. Briefly. Pulling away the second his lips brushed mine. Yet staying close enough that I could feel the ghost of it pressed on mine with each of his breaths. 

His forehead fell against mine while his fingers slipped away. “I’m sorry. I—I shouldn’t...” Adrián started, “I mean, you’re hurt, and all I can think about right now is kissing you. That’s kinda selfish, isn’t it?” 

“If it is, then I’m just as selfish.” 

He looked at me. Really looked at me. Into my eyes, at my lips. Then he came closer until we were kissing again. 

Before I could stop myself, my hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him to me and making us both fall back on the couch. 

His body felt so unfamiliar, but I was open to the experience of having its weight pressed down on me. His hand slid behind my head, fingernail trailing down my jaw before his entire hand caressed my face, at the same time his soft lips coaxed mine open. 

“You taste sweet. Like peach tea. I like that,” I whispered. The next thing I tasted was his smile, right before he let me see it. A wide, gorgeous smile that sprinkled a blush across his cheeks. 

“Parker...” he started to say, but his head suddenly whipped up, body going rigid, and eyes locked on the front door. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Wait... I thought I heard the--“ 

Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of knocking came, following the jiggling of the door handle. 

“Shit,” Adrian whispered, lifting his weight off me. 

A smooth voice floated with the next rattle, almost inaudible as the door kept hitting the frame. “Mijo, did you lock the front door?” 

“Shit. Shit, shit. My mom’s back.” He raked a hand through his hair, a panicked look flashing in his eyes. 

“That’s a problem?” 

“A huge one. I’m grounded, so technically, our date wasn’t supposed to happen ‘cause I’m not allowed to leave the house. I thought we could spend time together because my parents shouldn’t be back for a while. But my mom’s early and, well... “ He shrugged, hand going back up to his hair, pushing stray curls off his face. 

“Wow. I never thought you had a rebellious bone in your body.” 

“Me neither. Also, they kinda don’t know about you.” The words tumbled out while he cleared the table, rushing away with the first aid kit tucked under his armpit. “Technically, I told my mom that I, eh, liked you.” 

I sat up, grabbing the ice pack, and releasing the melting pack of peas from the confines of the napkin. “You did?” 

“Thanks.” He smiled a little. “And yeah. She didn’t scream bloody murder at me, but she threw a slipper. But I suppose she likes that you enjoy her cooking.” 

“You told her that too?” 

“J-just to lessen the impact of telling her I was into you. She doesn’t like your parents much.” 

“Understandable.” I shouldn’t have been smiling, especially in this situation. Mother Walks in on Son Making Out with Someone in Her Living Room---this was what terrible BuzzFeed articles were made of. And yet, I couldn’t suppress my joy knowing he liked me enough to tell his mother about me. In fact, he’d blatantly told me she didn’t like my parents, yet all I could do was giggle. 

“Shh,” Adrián covered my mouth, having as much control over his laughter as I did. But the insistent knocking wiped away every trace of humor. 

A moment later, his phone’s screen lit up, and he rushed to grab it from the table. Colour drained from his features as his eyes flit over the screen. “Fuck, she’s calling.” 

His mouth opened and closed several times as his gaze flitted front the front door, to me, to my foot. I knew what he wanted to ask. 

Hide. 

That was always the drill. Hide your partner in the closet or under the bed. But did it apply when your partner was an injury away from good running legs? Adrián didn’t seem to think so. 

“Oh God, I’m gonna be grounded forever.” He avoided my eyes as he walked towards the front door. 

I knew staying meant trouble for both of us. And I would not jeopardise our relationship when he only became my boyfriend a while ago. So with all the willpower in me, I rushed deeper into the house. 

With the bannister and wall as support, I hopped up the stairs on one foot, only crawling out of view in the split second the front door fell open. 

I couldn’t tell if Adrián’s mother had seen me, but I could only hope she hadn’t. 

“Why did you lock up?” I heard her ask. 

“So no one would get in.” 

There was a pause. Agonising and open to too many explanations I didn’t want to delve into. I couldn’t stay on the landing any longer, so my best bet was to hide inside somewhere. 

The first door I tried led to a bathroom. I thought of hiding in the tub, but the possibility of someone coming up to use the place made me realise it was a terrible idea. 

I crawled further ahead, opening the next door. It creaked as it gave way, allowing me a view of what was inside. A made bed with a selection of shirts laying next to each other, as if deliberately placed there. Something I’d do if I was going out. Adrián’s room. 

I let myself inside, filled with relief that nothing seemed off to Adrián’s mother. Hopefully. 

His laptop sat open on a large desk, next to several bottles of water and an unopened bag of chips. A couple of paintings were up on the walls---Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night, and one other piece I didn’t recognise. 

A framed photo caught my eye, and I lifted it from the nightstand. Behind the glass, a young Adrián slept, oblivious to the camera, just like the woman who held him protectively in her slumber. His mother. He looked just like her. Same soft facial features, same dark head of curls. It was a candid shot, taken in the very couch I had been making out with him on. 

My face heated at the thought. I thought it could be anymore embarrassed, but an accusatory meow directed at me let me know I was wrong.

It was a cat. The one that had sat outside with Adrián and me the night I pursued him. I didn’t realise it had been in the room, but now it sat watching me from the headboard. 

I reached out a hand, and it sniffed at my fingers. “Hey there, kitty. I don’t know if you recognise me, but I’m Parker.” 

It stared, blinked, then shifted its focus to Adrián’s bed. It seemed the tabby didn’t like that I was in Adrián’s space—its territory, perhaps—and it made me aware with a high-pitched hiss and a bat at my hand. 

Reflexively, I drew my hand away, but not before a claw scratched me. The photo fell, and the cat let out a satisfied mewl. I thought the damned thing, and I were friends. 

I reached down to pick up the photo, but before my fingers could touch it, the cat dove at me. I shrieked. My foot—the injured one—knocked a lamp over. 

Pain shot up my leg, and I clamped my palms over my mouth to hold back my scream. But I could do nothing to suppress the loud crash when the lamp smashed against the floor, glass shattering into a thousand pieces. Adrián’s cat took that as a sign to abandon me, bounding towards the door. 

Disappointment blocked its escape as the shut door, and it relentlessly scratched at the wood. 

“What was that?” Adrián’s mother’s voice floated up through the crack under the door. I heard Adrián reply, but his words were too faint to make out. 

I stopped breathing, too afraid that the smallest movement would cause me to be found out, in Adrián having to cut connections with me before our relationship took root. As if in understanding, the cat also settled down—either giving up, or realising we would be in trouble if someone came up here. The looks we exchanged were all that was needed.

There was a moment of quiet again, and I finally let out a full breath. Except I must have breathed too hard, because the house heard me. They heard me. 

And footsteps bounded towards the room.

~~

Wondering if you noticed there's a parallel with Adrián and Parker's second chapters: They both involve hurt legs. Although Adrián lied about his to save face xD

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