As Mark talked about Wanda Maximoff, all I could see was his mouth moving, his lips shaping every word with a smooth rhythm that mesmerized me. What was happening to me? I couldn’t seem to break the spell, the way his messy hair fell perfectly across his forehead, making him look even more appealing. And then—"Diego." My name on his lips snapped me out of my trance. He must’ve noticed I wasn’t listening, that I was lost somewhere in my own thoughts.
“Yeah?” I answered, trying to pull myself back to reality, though my voice came out barely louder than a whisper.
Just as I felt like I might be able to get a grip on myself, his phone rang, breaking the quiet intimacy between us. Mark glanced down at the screen and I caught a glimpse of the name: Melissa. He shot me an apologetic look, then got up and slipped out of the living room, heading toward the guest room down the hall. I heard the soft click of the door locking, and a minute later, the low hum of his voice came through the walls, followed by laughter. The kind of laugh that’s warm and easy, the way you laugh when you’re talking to someone you care about. So, she’s probably his girlfriend, I thought, feeling an ache I couldn’t quite place. I forced myself to keep watching the movie, but it was hard to pay attention when every few seconds, I could hear him laugh again from the other room.
Eventually, my eyes grew heavy, and I drifted into a restless sleep on the couch. I started dreaming. I was in a hospital bed, with a mask strapped to my face, my mother sobbing nearby. She looked smaller than I’d ever seen her, her face drawn with worry and sadness. And then, suddenly, everything went black, and I was falling into a dark void. It felt endless and cold, and my chest tightened with fear.
A gentle touch on my shoulder jolted me awake. My eyes flew open, and there was Mark, his face inches from mine, his expression a mix of worry and relief.
“D, are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and comforting. He looked genuinely scared, his hand resting on my shoulder, steady and reassuring.
My heart was still pounding from the nightmare, my breathing heavy and uneven. “Hey, I’m here,” he murmured, his voice a calming anchor in my disoriented state. Without thinking, I reached for him, wrapping my arms around his waist, needing the solid warmth of him to ground me. I buried my face in his shoulder, and before I knew it, tears started to slip down my cheeks. I didn’t even know why, only that having him here felt like a relief I couldn’t explain.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, his arms folding around me in a way that felt so safe. He held me close, his hand moving gently up and down my back, soothing me like he had all the time in the world.
After a while, I pulled away, feeling embarrassed. “Sorry, I just... I had a bad dream,” I said, my voice shaky.
“Nothing to apologize for,” he said softly, a look of quiet understanding in his eyes. He took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Want me to come with you to your room?” he asked, glancing toward the hall.
I hesitated, then nodded, grateful not to be alone. When we got to my room, I sat down on my bed, which felt small and safe with its soft white sheets and the faint scent of my mom’s laundry detergent. Mark, meanwhile, seemed curious, his gaze wandering around, taking in the posters, the way I had lined up my books on the shelf.
He picked up one of my novels, settling himself on the windowsill, leaning against the frame with the book in his hands. In the soft glow of my bedside lamp, he looked almost ethereal, the light catching in his hair, giving him a warm, golden aura. I watched him, his profile perfectly silhouetted against the window, his eyes flicking across the page, a small smile curving at the edges of his mouth. He was beautiful, in a way that seemed impossible.
“Who’s Melissa?” I blurted out, immediately regretting it.
He looked up, surprised, then chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s just a friend,” he said easily.
“Oh,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “So... she’s not your girlfriend?”
He laughed, a soft, genuine laugh. “No. I don’t date.” He looked at me, a slight smile still lingering on his lips.
“Why?” I asked, feeling a bit more confident.
He hesitated, his gaze flicking out the window before he answered. “I just... haven’t found the right person, I guess,” he said, his voice soft. He met my eyes, a question there, as if he was seeing right through me. “What about you? Why aren’t you dating anyone?”
I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. But he waited, patient and understanding, and somehow, I found myself speaking. “It’s hard with... everything. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone who’ll look at me as anything but a sick person. I want someone who’ll see me as normal, who won’t remind me of everything that’s wrong with me.”
He looked at me, his expression softening, a sadness there that made my heart ache. “I don’t think you’re weird. Or broken. You’re... strong. And honestly, pretty cool,” he said, smiling at me with that easy, genuine warmth that seemed to make everything else fade away. He got up and came to sit beside me on the bed, close enough that our shoulders touched, sending a warm tingle through me.
“Wanna go somewhere?” he asked, a spark of mischief in his eyes.
I raised an eyebrow. “Where?”
“It’s a surprise,” he said, grinning.
I quickly threw on my sweater, and we slipped out into the cool evening. We walked to the bus stop, waiting in comfortable silence under the sky, where a blanket of stars shimmered against the inky blue. Crickets chirped in the quiet, the air filled with a calm stillness, broken only by the distant hum of the city. When the bus pulled up, we took seats in the back, and soon we were on our way, the city lights blurring past the windows in streaks of color.
Eventually, we got off near the base of the Hollywood Hills. The famous Hollywood sign loomed above us, and Mark led me up a winding path, the city spreading out beneath us in a sea of glittering lights. I’d never seen Los Angeles look so beautiful, like a city made of stars, stretching as far as I could see.
“How’d you find this place?” I asked, awestruck by the view.
He smiled, looking out over the city. “My family used to come here when I was a kid. We’d just sit and watch the lights. I’d forgotten about it until recently, but... it felt right to come here with you.”
We stood there in the quiet, taking it all in. For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace, like I could breathe without the weight of everything pressing down on me. Mark was beside me, quiet and steady, his presence a comfort I hadn’t known I needed.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, not sure if I was talking about the view or him.
Our hands brushed, and his fingers intertwined with mine, his palm warm and soft. He looked down at me, his eyes shining with a gentleness that made my heart race. I felt like I was standing on the edge of something new and terrifying and wonderful.
He leaned in slowly, his gaze never leaving mine, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. Our lips met, soft and tentative, his mouth warm and inviting. It was like everything else faded away, and all that existed was this moment, this gentle connection that felt like something I’d been waiting for my whole life.
I pulled back, looking up at him, and he met my gaze, a look of surprise and wonder in his eyes. And then he reached for me, his hand cupping my cheek as he kissed me again, deeper this time, his fingers threading through my hair, holding me close. His lips were soft but firm, moving against mine with a perfect rhythm, like we’d done this a hundred times before. I felt like I was melting, like every wall I’d ever built was crumbling in his hands.
After a long moment, he pulled away, his face flushed, his breath coming fast. He looked at me, his expression conflicted, almost... afraid.
“We... we should head back,” he said, his voice a whisper.
We turned back toward the bus, walking in silence, but his hand found mine again, our fingers intertwining as we made our way down the hill. We didn’t say anything on the ride back, but it didn’t matter. We both knew something had shifted, something deep and irrevocable, and whatever came next, we’d face it together.
YOU ARE READING
BORROWED HEARTBEATS
RomanceDiego has lived most of his life with a diagnosis hanging over him: emphysema, a rare disease that makes each breath a struggle. At 19, he learns he has only three months left, a brutal countdown he faces with resignation. But when his childhood fri...
