Someone To Lean On

To Fill the Spaces in Between

THE SMOKE FILLS MY LUNGS, and then I let go. I watch as the clouds of smoke disperse, gone from my eyes and in the wind. I sigh, dropping the burnt cancer stick from the space between my fingers and crushed it with the heel of my shoe. I decided that I'm done with consuming those, as I have none left anymore. I opt to look at the sky, which is the mix of orange and pink as the sun sets. It's still gorgeous even if it doesn't really match the emotion I'm currently feeling.

     Then I remember him.

     I smile a bit as butterflies began to riot in my stomach and up in my chest. My hands which are now empty from the lack of cancer stick in between its spaces, clenches as it remembers the feeling of being intertwined with his.

     In fact, it isn't just my hands who remember him—every bit of him. My eyes, which have seen him at his best and worst as well as the many emotions that swirl in his own eyes; my nose, which has a favorite towards his scent that is an odd mixture of grass after the rain, vanilla-caramel, and his favorite cologne; my ears, which have heard all of his happiness and sorrows through talking and singing, all in his native language and English; and my lips, oh how it yearns for them to kiss him again and again and again just to feel how their lips fit with each other's—

     A flash of reality strikes me, the image way too vivid and maim at my already wounded heart. I feel tears beginning to accumulate at the corner of my eyes but luckily, I'm able to blink them away. It's funny how a split-second is able to make me feel this way, just as I did back then.

     It brought me back to reality.

     "Lovi! I'm home!"

     I wish I have more of that cancer stick. I wish I could act as if everything's fine even if it's not. I wish I wouldn't have to see his face for a while longer. I don't think I can do this any longer. I'm just hurting myself more by doing this; by being with his side; by continuously dreaming of scenes that will never happen anymore; by suppressing all my feelings for him; by forgetting it all.

     I make my way to meet him at the door, however, which betrayed all of my thoughts and my intentions. I think it's because deep down, I know that I still want to see him. I want more stories of us to be written. I want to be always a part of his life. I want him to be with me.

     I want Antonio to love me even if it's just to feel alive for a while.

     When I see him, he doesn't kiss me; not anymore. Not even a hug, which he would always do even before the kisses began. I recall that it wasn't even a week ago that he would do both of those to me only. He only smiles at me as he removes his shoes, walking past me and to the kitchen. A feeling of frustration and relief flooded me, and I could only let out a deep sigh. Maybe this change is for the best. I follow him into the kitchen.

     "How's work?" I ask, crossing my arms as I lean against the doorframe. He stares at me momentarily, as I wouldn't normally ask him that. He chuckles and coos at how 'cute' I was for worrying about me. I only grumble in return, my heart doing the happy flips that I got whenever he compliments me or whenever he's just there.

     "It's good," he shrugs as he fetches himself a glass of water. "I mean, the new guy's pretty much getting it with just a few instructions. He's not new to the work, after all. One problem is just he's too tense."

     I fight back the jealousy that is beginning to crawl up in my chest and in my throat. It's always like this, whenever he mentions the new guy at his work. This is maybe the third or fourth time he's mentioned that co-worker of his every time he's home, and every time he does, I feel my heart crack just a little bit. He wasn't like this before.

     Well, I can't complain much, anyway. It's not like I'm his boyfriend or anything. Those touches, the kisses—it doesn't mean anything to him, all of it. Although, it does to me and it hurts so much. I hate myself for letting him do those to me, but at the same time I don't because I don't think he'll ever do those to me ever again. At least I was enabled to feel how his hand intertwines with mine; how his kisses were feather-light against mine; and how his touches warm me up, especially on the cold, winter days.

     Sometimes I wonder, 'What was I to him? What am I to him?'

     When I focused my attention back to him, he's still talking about his work. There is a new fire in the way he talks and in his expressions. They are nothing like the ones which were directed at mine. And at that moment, it just clicks.

     I smile bitterly. So much for hoping that he feels the same way, even if it's only little and almost to none.

     "Lovi?" he calls out to me, and I realize that he's done with his narrative about his work. He must've noticed that I've spaced out during that. "Care to share your thoughts?"

     I shake my head, "I don't think you can handle it."

     "I could say the same to you, if you keep bottling it up." He shot back, concern now evident on his face. He's always been an honest man, but for some reason, there are some things about him that I couldn't figure out.

     "It's just..." I ponder at what I would say. I look everywhere but at him, therefore failing to notice him advancing towards me. His hands have already forced me to look at him, directly at his eyes and right then and there, I see it. It is clear as the day, glaring back at me.

     I laugh as Antonio looks at me with confusion. Then, the tears that I've been holding back for days fell, one by one until it soon turns into waterfall. This sent him in a panic, questions of 'Are you okay?' and 'What happened?' spouts from his mouth as he hugs me, finally, in an attempt to comfort me.

     All my doubts from before have disappeared and now I know better. His eyes show that deep in his heart, there is a little space for me. He loves me, even if it's not the same way as I do love him; even if his heart was never officially mine. Although I can't help but still be happy at that.

     Maybe those little touches and those little kisses did mean something to him.

     "Can I kiss you?" I ask, involuntarily. It's an out-of-blue request and I shouldn't have asked  in the first place, but this will be the last kiss I will ask him. "Please. I won't ask for more."

     He nods, hesitant but willing. He leans down and I catch his lips, my hands lightly tracing his face, his body, everywhere I could touch. The kiss was quicker than I would've liked though, but if I don't withdraw as soon as possible, I might want more. This is enough for us; especially for me.

     "I'll never get over you, Toni." I say, catching his gaze. He seems dazed, whether it was from the kiss or from my statement (and nickname), I don't know. I detach myself from him. "I'm gonna go make dinner, so you better shower and change your clothes into something much more comfortable than that stupid uniform you're in. Now shoo!"

     I make my way in the kitchen, pulling out the different ingredients I'll use for tonight's dinner. However, a hug from behind interrupted me from continuing further. I sigh, and let Antonio have his moment. His face is buried in the crook of my neck, and although it kinda tickles, I endure the funny feeling that his breath does to my neck.

     "You were my first love, Lovi." He murmurs, making me smile a bit at the fact.

     "Yeah, I know. I kinda figured that out a little while ago." I whisper, then chuckle a bit at the last sentence. I know that he heard me though. "You are mine too."

     And I'll always have a space for you.