Untouchable

𝟎𝟑

Pinto  sat at the bar, nursing a drink he didn't really taste. His mind was still racing with what he had seen barely a day ago—Sharky's video, his words, the audacity of it all. He couldn't believe it. Not after everything. Not after the years they'd spent as friends, the unspoken things that had always lingered between them.

Sharky was a master of provoking others, but this was different. This wasn't a game. This was about Isabelle, and Pinto couldn't just sit back and watch Sharky toy with her like he had with so many others before. Pinto has told himself it wasn't jealousy— he reasoned with himself claiming he was upset because Pinto had known Isabelle since they were kids. She was his person, his constant in a world that was always changing.

And here came Sharky, back for the first time in years since Pinto moved. Stepping into the one thing that was a constant in his life. Pinto wasn't about to let him mess with Isabelle's head. He had to protect her.

So, he typed the message with a barely tamed fury and drunken thoughts taking control.

He hit send, leaned back, and waited.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes felt like hours. 

Pinto's frustration turned to anxiety, the feeling of helplessness growing. He couldn't let Sharky win, not when it came to Isabelle.

Sharky,  meanwhile, sat on his bed with a smug grin plastered across his face. He had been waiting for a response from Pinto. It had taken longer than he expected, but finally, there it was.

"Stay away from Isabelle."

His lips curled into a smirk. "So protective, huh?"

This wasn't about Isabelle. Not really. It was about making sure Pinto knew that Sharky wouldn't be pushed around. All these years, Pinto had been the golden boy—the one everyone liked and trusted, whilst Sharky had been left behind, branded the "bad boy" or the "player." 

Sharky was never denied love, regardless of his reputation. However, he never spewed the words "I love you" to a girl because Sharky had always thought of love like a storm, something to be weathered, something that could be thrilling at the moment but ultimately left you drenched and disoriented once it passed. He was no stranger to the chaos it caused, the unpredictability of it all. He had watched people drown in it, seen them torn apart by it, and somehow always managed to stay afloat—never allowing himself to be swept too far from shore.

He used to find comfort in that. The way love came and went like a storm on the horizon, always threatening to break but never quite hitting him full force. It was easy to keep it at arm's length when you knew how to read the winds, predict the swell of emotions, know when to anchor yourself to the ground, and when to let it pass you by. He'd always considered himself a survivor of love's tempests, unbeknown to himself and the world, but capable of navigating the highest of seas without ever being wrecked by a storm...

...Until now... now, there were moments when Sharky wondered if he'd been fooling himself all along. Sometimes, late at night, he'd find himself staring out into the blackness of his room as if waiting for something to come crashing through the window. Love was a storm, sure, but it was more than that. It was also the calm before the storm—the lulling quiet of knowing you were in too deep and yet too afraid to go under.