light headed | boyxboy

veintinueve|29|vingt-neuf

"y... ¿comprendes, no?"

miller is BAD at spanish. i dont think he's listening to me. there's little space between us, a stretch of warmth and coffee and what seems to be his pre-exam panic. my nimble fingers clutch the cup as to exude some of the heat from the drink that smells more or less like home. i curl my legs into the armchair like an aged cat. cats go off to another place when they know they're dying. they hide under thickets of grass or beneath houses. 

i consider this. a dusty library isn't the worst place to cack it (miller taught me that one). but it's definitely not on my top ten list of places to go to die. i'd probably be disturbing the angry bat of a librarian's important work.

seriously, i don't think your work is that life-changing, janine. 

"yeah. yeah, yo entiendo", miller replies, flipping through his spanish notes. it's all basic to moderate español, since in the years before most kids in our grade learned more simple stuff, like basics and culture. unfortunately most of these basics seemed to have tipped out of miller's head and onto the floor long ago. as soon as i try to make conversation, say on the demise of the ancient roman emperors and the byzantine period, he seems to get slightly lost.

"yo soy cansado", he puts the book down and picks up a fine liner pen. i sip my coffee and roll my eyes.

"that's a little too literal. you mean 'estoy cansado' "or "me siento cansado", i point at his notebook for him to write that down and he gives me a look as though seeing a traumatic past, a war flashback, or a boring shakespeare play. 

"you are so dramatic today, miller", i pronounce his name the way i would pronounce it in french and smirk. 

"you are so mean today, jacques", he leans back in his chair like a sad golden retriever.

i shake my head, watching the rain splatter to the ground on the pavement outside. "eres un super gringo"

"call me what you want, at least it's not perv", miller yawns, sketching what looks to be a small, cartoon penguin on his wrist. he doesn't like drawing on paper. i appreciate it. miller pulls off tattoos.

"eres bonito", he looks up after a while. i laugh. I'm a little taken aback. the artificial light in here is hurting my eyes. all i can think about is how this body is exhausted of me, my heartbeat a reminder that I am not a ghost hauling around his casket.

"no sè, miller wright. i think you can be more creative than that", i tease. 

he thinks for a second, flicking hair out of his eyes. "tu ojos... son como estrellas en la noche"

"my eyes are boring mud brown, like every other latino. how can they remind you of stars?", i sigh, however pleased.

"cada parte de ti es tan perfecta, de sus... freckles to the outline of your calf muscle. i know for a fact every star is unique and i see them in your eyes. i see what i can only dream of, jax de caliente", he finishes in english, looking frustrated and distracted again. my chest tightens as he looks back down at his notes for the exam.

"you... you seem to be improving", i remark softly, turning back to my drink quickly. i check my phone. levi still hasn't responded to any of my texts. i look back up at miller.

all i can wonder is whether he meant it when he said i was beautiful. 

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