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I dropped the book box three times. Not because of the weight, but because Álex didn't stop talking.
"You're going to regret it," he said, while passing me a crooked lamp. Living alone sounds good until you realize that no one washes your underwear.
"You still live with my parents, Alex." You can't give advice from the comfort of your blue room.
He laughed. Not me. I was too tired, too nervous. Too aware that that night I would sleep alone for the first time in years.
The studio was small, but it had a huge window overlooking another building. Barcelona looked different from there. More intimate. Quieter.
When night fell, I couldn't sleep. I sat on the floor, with the gray blanket that my mother gave me, and looked out the window, or at least I would be entertained with the lights of Barcelona, but. That's when I saw him.
A man, in the building opposite. White T-shirt, pajama pants, glass of wine in hand. Tall, disheveled gold curls. Beautiful.
I didn't know who it was. Only that he had a way of moving that left me breathless. As if he danced with silence.
•
I already knew his name. Valentino. I heard it in the hallway, when a neighbor shouted: "Rossi, turn down the music!" I laughed. He didn't seem like the kind of man who listened to loud music. But what did I know. Another somewhat older neighbor, whom Valentino helped repair his motorcycle. One day he went home with a basket full of cookies that his wife had made him in compensation. The man shouted animatedly at him, as soon as Valentino opened the door a "Valentino, bambino!".
That night, I saw him again. This time, talking on the phone.
His dress shirt was unbuttoned. Not quite, but enough. He walked through his living room as if he were alone in the world. As if he knew that someone was looking at him... and he didn't care.
He leaned on the window frame, with the phone between his shoulder and ear, and began to laugh. That laugh went through me. I didn't hear her, but I saw her. And that was worse.
He ran his hand over his chest, slowly. I don't know if I was hot or if I just did it like that. He sat on the couch, with his legs open, and let his head fall back. The shirt opened more. The neck slipped. The glass of wine shone in his hand.
I didn't listen to anything. But I felt everything.
I don't know how long I was there. I only know that, when I got up, my fingers were numb and my heart was racing.
And maybe, I felt like my sleeping pants suffocated. I had time that I didn't feel anything, work and studies didn't let me feel anything but stress and anxiety.
But Valentino Rossi had managed to get me out of those emotions, to now get me into other deeper sensations. Without realizing it, you made me feel some levels of excitement just by seeing it. I know perfectly well that what I feel is wrong but I can't help it I became addicted to what it made me feel.
I don't know how long I'd been there, sitting on the floor, with the gray blanket over my legs and the glass of water intact in my hand. Outside, the city was sleeping. I noticed a slight tingling in the lower area of my abdomen, it was spreading pleasantly through my member and after a short time I already noticed how it was rising. I liked that feeling, but I liked even more what I felt when he brushed my penis with his leg.
But he doesn't.
Valentino kept talking on the phone. I don't know with whom. What matters is how he moved. How he laughed. How he ran his hand around his neck as if he didn't know that someone was looking at him. Or as if he knew it too well.
I kept my legs very close together brushing my member while I saw Valentino. So a short time later the pants tightened too much in the crotch area.
His shirt had opened more. It wasn't vulgar. It was art. The kind of gesture that is not taught. That you have. That you breathe.
He got up from the couch and walked towards the kitchen. I followed him with my eyes as if it were a ritual. As if every step of his activated something in me that I didn't know existed.
I began to rub myself against the floor, looking for a little warmth in it. Obviously I didn't get anything but the feeling was comforting. I began to caress the elastic of the pajamas, I didn't sleep with boxers.
More wine was served. He leaned on the countertop. He laughed again. And then he did it.
He ran his tongue over his lips. As if he savored something more than wine. As if I savored the night.
Fuck everything, I lowered my pants to my knees separating my sight a little from Rossi I saw him again. Repeating Rossi's action that had excited me the most and I began to touch my extension.
I simply caressed myself with my fingers and felt a lot of pleasure. After a short while, I began to pump my erection, I felt so much pleasure that I could no longer concentrate on the man in the window, now I could only concentrate on the pleasure I felt and on certain mental images of everything I would do to him.
I closed my eyes. But I kept seeing it. Because I already had it inside.
It didn't take me long to feel that I was going to come, but I felt so much pleasure that instead of stopping I kept pumping my erection more quickly, I did it instinctively.
Valentino was serotonin, it was oxytocin. It was that impossible mixture between tenderness and desire, between calm and storm. I had become addicted. And I knew it.
In the room you could only hear an accelerated breathing and the movements of my hand in contact with a preseminal fluid that had already smeared my penis. It took a few minutes for semen to flow from my penis, quite a lot.
I knew it was wrong. That I shouldn't look at it like that. That I shouldn't wait for him every night as if it were a secret date.
But I couldn't stop.
I ended up exhausted, made a mess on the living room floor, I knew I had to clean it, but I grabbed the sleeves of the shirt and cleaned myself with that. Tomorrow I would wash the shirt and all the mess.
Valentino turned off the light in the living room, but before he turned it off I saw a protruding bulge in his pants while going to his room, I hadn't noticed that his call came to an end.
•
Another night where Marquez continues to watch Rossi. Marc is alone. It's night. Valentino appears in his window, as always. But this time, he stops. He looks towards Marc's building. He doesn't smile. Not saying hello. He just stays still.
Marc feels he has seen it. That he has discovered it. Who has seen everything; the nights, the looks, the gestures, the rituals.
"He saw me. He saw me. He saw me."
Marc gets up suddenly. He stumbles on the blanket. The glass of water falls. His heart beats like a race.
He locks himself in the bathroom. He looks in the mirror. It is said that he is exaggerating. But he can't stop shaking.
"If he knows... then he knows everything. He knows I look at him. He knows I want it. He knows that he "excited" me when I see him."
•
Days pass after that event. Marc continues to observe Valentino at night but more carefully.
One night, Pecco visits him with beers and a celebrating face.
"We passed our thesis, Márquez!" he shouts, entering without asking permission. “Now we are functional adults. Or almost. We still need to present it but that doesn't mean that we're out of that ordeal.”
Marc smiles, but he is distracted. They sit in the living room. They talk about the university, the midterms, the teachers. But every five minutes, Marc looks at the window.
Pecco notices it.
"What's up? Do you expect them to bring you pizza by telepathy?”
Marc laughs, nervous.
"Nothing." It's just that... I like to see the city at night.
Pecco gets up, approaches the window, and looks towards the building opposite.
"AHA... and that boy who lives there? Do you know him?”
Marc freezes.
"What boy?"
"That one. The one with the open shirt. The one who walks around as if he were in a French movie. Are you watching it every night?”
Marc doesn't answer. Pecco looks at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Márquez... are you falling in love through the window?"
Marc laughs. But he doesn't deny it.
That night, Marc can't sleep. He sits on the floor, with the gray blanket, and writes. It's not a love letter. It's a letter of obsession. Of desire. Of necessity.
"I don't know your full name. I don't know if you know I exist. But every night you make me feel things that I didn't know I could feel. You make me tremble. You make me wait. You make me write. You make me look. You hurt me. You do me good. You do everything to me."
Don't sign the letter. He doesn't keep it. Leave it on the table. As if it were an offering. As if one day Valentino could read it.
•
Pecco didn't say anything during lunch. But I knew something was on his mind. He looked at me as if he knew. As if I had seen something I shouldn't have.
"And the boy in the bay window?" he asked, at last, while washing the dishes. Have you talked to him yet?
"What boy?"
"Marc... I'm not an idiot. You look at it as if it were your final exam.”
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Pecco dried his hands and sat in front of me.
"I'm going to find out who it is." Not for you. Out of curiosity. For morbid.
He laughed. Not me.
That night
I didn't see it. The window was dark. I felt empty. As if my heart had been turned off.
At eleven, I decided to cross. I didn't know what I was going to do. I just knew I couldn't keep waiting.
The building opposite was more elegant. Quieter. I went up the stairs, not knowing which floor to go to. I stopped at the third. Intuition. Desire. Madness.
I didn't knock on any door. I just walked down the corridor, as if the air guided me.
•
Back in my studio
I sat on the floor. Gray blanket. Glass of water. Heart racing.
And then he appeared.
Valentine.
Black shirt. Tight dress pants. As if he came from a meeting. Or a ritual.
He stood in front of his window. Arms crossed. Looking directly at mine.
He didn't move. He didn't smile. He didn't blink.
I froze.
After a few seconds, he turned around. He walked to the back of his room. I thought he was gone. That he hadn't seen me. That everything was in my head.
But he came back.
With a chair.
He placed it in front of the window. He sat down. He opened his legs a little. He crossed his arms. And he stayed there. Looking. Directly. Without saying anything.
I was shaking.
I didn't know if he was watching me. Or if I was seeing something behind me. Or if I was just playing with my mind.
But that night, I didn't sleep.
Valentino didn't say anything.
But he disarmed me with every second of silence.
•
Pecco returned two days later. He brought beers, bread and that amateur detective smile that makes me nervous.
"I know who it is," he said, without saying hello. “Valentino Rossi He lives in the building opposite. Businessman, rich. He has a design company, I think. Quite reserved. Quite... magnetic.”
I didn't say anything. I just swallowed saliva.
"And you?" Have you talked to him yet?
"No."
"Are you going to do it?"
"No."
Pecco laughed. But this time not with mockery. With something like worry.
•
Valentino appeared in his window. But I wasn't alone.
A man came in behind him. Stop. Blonde hair and blue eyes. White shirt. Smiling. I hadn't seen it before. Never.
Valentino greeted him with a hug. He served him wine. He showed her something in the kitchen. He prepared dinner.
I saw everything.
From my corner, with the gray blanket, the glass of water and the heart torn to pieces.
I hadn't seen him with anyone before. Always alone. Always mine. Even if I didn't know.
But that night, he cooked for another.
Pecco notices it
"Who is that guy?" asks Pecco, from the couch.
"I don't know."
"Have you seen it before?"
"No."
"What if he's his boyfriend?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because the gestures were intimate. Because dinner was warm. Because Valentino laughed like never before.
They sat on the couch. They talked. They toasted. The guest took off his jacket. Valentino unbuttoned his shirt.
I got up. I locked myself in the bathroom. I looked in the mirror.
“It's not yours. It never was."
That night, I wrote again.
"I don't know if you do it on purpose. I don't know if you know that I look at you. But every gesture of yours breaks me. Every smile that is not for me disarms me. Every dinner I don't share poisons me. I don't want to see you anymore. But I can't stop doing it."
I didn't sign the letter. I didn't save it. I burned it in the sink. I saw how it turned into ashes. Like me.
Valentino cooked for another.
And I ran out of hunger forever.
Valentino wasn't at home. I knew it because the window was off. But the man who had had dinner with him did. I saw him move around the room, pick up things, talk on the phone. He didn't seem uncomfortable. It seemed installed.
•
Pecco was in my kitchen, looking for something that didn't exist.
"Don't you have decent coffee?"
"No."
"And since when do you look so much through that window?"
I didn't answer. He approached. He looked at the building opposite. He frowned.
"Is that guy still there?"
"Yes."
"And you still don't know who he is?"
"Yes."
Pecco remained silent. But I felt it. Something in him had been activated. Something like worry.
That afternoon, the man went out. Black jacket, backpack on the shoulder, firm step. I followed him. Not like a stalker. As a witness. Like someone who needed to know.
I saw him enter a bookstore. Talk to the manager. Buy something. Walking through the neighborhood as if I knew it by heart.
I didn't approach him. I didn't look at him directly. I just followed him. Until he returned to the building. He went up. He disappeared.
I stayed outside. With his heart beating as if he had run a race.
That night, Valentino returned.
White shirt. Dark pants. Wet hair. He sat in front of the window. He lit a candle. Just one. He placed it in the center of the table. Wine was served. He unbuttoned his shirt. He stayed there. Looking towards my building.
Not towards me. But close.
He ran his hand around his neck. He stretched. He laughed alone. He got up. He took off his shirt. He sat down again.
I was shaking. I don't know if it's out of fear or excitement. Since Valentino's arrival in my life I only felt a mixture between those two sensations.
I didn't know if it was a provocation. I didn't know if he knew. But that night, I felt seen. I felt exposed. I felt broken.
The next day, Pecco looked at me as if he could no longer ignore him.
"Marc... are you okay?"
"Yes."
"It doesn't seem like it."
"I'm fine."
"You're not eating. You're not sleeping. You're not talking. You're just looking.”
I didn't answer.
Pecco approached. He put his hand on my shoulder.
"This is not normal. This is not healthy. This is not you.”
I looked at him. But I didn't say anything. Because I didn't know how to explain that Valentino was more than an obsession. It was a necessity. It was my oxytocin. My serotonin. My everything.
•
I thought I had already seen everything. That nothing could surprise me more than that intimate dinner with the mysterious man. But then another one appeared.
A new boy.
Younger. More beautiful. More... magnetic. He entered Valentino's apartment with a paper bag and a smile that seemed to be made to break me.
Valentino greeted him with a hug. He served him wine. He showed her something in the kitchen. They laughed. They sat on the couch. The boy took off his jacket. Valentino unbuttoned his shirt.
I stayed on the floor. Gray blanket. Glass of water. Heart turned to dust.
Pecco notices it
"Is that another one?" Pecco asked, from the kitchen.
"Yes."
"And you still don't know who they are?"
"I don't know that one. I had never seen it.”
Pecco approached the window. He looked. He frowned.
"And the other one? The one with dinner. Is it still there?”
"Yes. He stayed to sleep. Several nights.”
Pecco remained silent. Then he turned around.
"I'm going out. I need coffee. And answers.”
•
I just wanted to buy coffee. But the universe had other plans.
I turned down the corridor of Italian products and yum!, my cart collided with another. Not strong. Just enough to pretend to be surprised.
"Oos, sorry!" I said, with the face of a professional imbecile. “I didn't see you coming.”
The guy looked at me. Blonde hair, light jacket, shy smile. It sounded to me somewhere.
"It's okay," he replied, with a soft accent. I was distracted.
"Are you new here?" I asked, like someone who doesn't want the thing.
"Yes." I'm staying at my brother's house for a few days. He lives in the building next to the market.
That's where I dropped the chip. The mysterious guest. The one Marc couldn't stop looking at.
"Ah, that's good." And do you like the neighborhood?
"Yes. Although my brother spends his time working. I'm taking the opportunity to meet people. Go out a little.”
He smiled at me. I smiled back at him. I didn't know if I was flirting or just being nice. But I still jumped.
"If you want, I'll give you my number. We can go out for a drink. I'll show you the good places.”
"Really? Thank you. It would be good for me. I'm Luca, by the way.”
"Francesco, but you can call me Pecco. Nice to meet you.”
We shod hands. We exchanged numbers. He left with his cart. Me with mine. But something in me knew that that conversation was going to complicate things.
•
That night, Valentino sat in front of the window. Black shirt. Tight pants. Wet hair. He crossed his arms. He looked at me. Directly.
He didn't smile. He didn't say hello. He just stayed there. As if I knew. As if he challenged me.
I got up. I locked myself in the bathroom. I looked in the mirror.
"I'm not part of his world. I'm just the one watching it."
•
Pecco arrived with a bag of bread, two beers and a dangerous idea.
"I have a plan," he said, as soon as he entered. “And before you say no, listen to me.”
I looked at him from the couch. I didn't have the energy to argue.
"Luca wrote to me last night. He asked me if I knew any cool place to go out. I said yes. That I had a friend who lived in the area. That the three of us could go out.”
I was silent.
"I didn't tell him that you watch his brother at night, don't worry," he added, with a crooked smile. “I just told him that you were good people. That you lived nearby. That you liked wine. And that you were... interesting.”
"Interesting?"
"Yes. Mysterious. Quiet. With a face of romantic trauma. People like that.”
I ran my hand over my face. I didn't know if I wanted to scream or laugh.
"Pecco, this is a bad idea."
"No, Marc. This is the idea. It's the perfect opportunity. Let me introduce you to Luca. We went out. They talk. You relax. And if all goes well, maybe one day you'll end up on the other side of the window.”
I kept quiet. Because part of me wanted to say yes. And another part... I was already shaking.
•
That night, Valentino's apartment was empty. I knew it because the lights were off. There was no movement. There was no ritual.
I felt calm. For the first time in weeks, the window didn't speak to me.
Until he showed up.
The pretty boy. The one that looked like it came out of a perfume campaign. The one who had already been before. This time, he didn't ring the bell. He didn't wait. He didn't hesitate.
He entered with a key.
As if it were his. As if I lived there. As if he were the invisible owner of everything I wanted.
He took off his jacket. Water was served. He sat on the couch. He lit a lamp. He took something out of a backpack. He got comfortable.
I looked at him from my corner. Gray blanket. Intact glass. Heart on fire.
There was no one else. Not even Valentino. Not even Luca. Not even noise. Only him.
At midnight, he turned off the light. He got into the room. He closed the door.
He stayed to sleep.
The sun had barely risen. I was already awake. Not out of habit. For anxiety.
I sat in front of the window. Gray blanket. Glass of water. Heart in alert mode.
And then I saw it.
Valentine.
White shirt. Linen pants. Hair up. Tray in the hands.
Breakfast.
I took it to the mysterious boy. The beautiful. The one who had slept there. The one who had a key. The one who wasn't me.
Valentino entered the room. He closed the door. I didn't see him anymore.
But I felt everything.
The phone rings
Pecco
"Marquez! It's all square. I talked to Luca. See you tomorrow night. I told him that you were going too.”
I didn't answer.
"Let's go to the bar near your house." The one with the red lights and the expensive drinks. So get cute. Don't go with your face of tragedy.
Silence.
"Marc... this can go well. But you have to stop looking like a sad poem.”
"What if it doesn't go well?"
"Then at least you tried. And you had a good wine.”
•
The day finally came. Pecco came to my house with a flowery shirt and a smile that scared me.
"Luca is already on his way. Get cute. Don't go with your face of tragedy.”
I put on a black shirt. Not for elegance. For defense. For emotional camouflage.
Red lights. Soft music. People who talked without shouting. Luca arrived first. Beige jacket, shy smile, curious look.
"Hello, Marc," he said, as if he already knew something about me.
"Hello."
Pecco asked for wine. Luca ordered beer. I asked for silence.
The conversation flowed. Pecco was talking. Luca laughed. I pretended.
Until he showed up.
The pretty boy. The one who had slept at Valentino's house. The one who had a key. The one who wasn't me.
He entered the bar as if it were his own. He greeted the bartender. He looked around. He saw us.
He approached.
"Luca!" he said, in a warm voice. “I didn't know you were here.”
"Marco! What a surprise. Come, sit down.”
Marco.
That was his name.
He sat next to Luca. He greeted Pecco. He looked at me. He smiled.
I froze.
Marco sat next to me as if nothing had happened. As if he didn't know that I had seen him sleeping at Valentino's house. As if he didn't know that I had seen him laugh, take off his jacket, stay.
"You're Marc, aren't you?" he told me, with that voice that always seemed about to laugh.
"Yes."
"I've heard about you." Luca says you're calm. Silent. Intense.
"Did he say that?"
"More or less." I translated it.
He smiled. Not me.
"And you?" I asked, without looking at him. What are you doing?
"Many things." None fixed. I move. I'll stay. It depends.
"And now you're... staying?"
"For now, yes." I like the atmosphere. The neighborhood. The view.
He looked at me. Directly. As if I knew.
"And you? Do you also live around here?”
"Yes. Right in front of Luca.”
"Ah..." he said, as if that explained something. “Then I'm sure you have good eyesight too.”
Luca was talking to Pecco, but he looked at me sideways. Not with judgment. With curiosity. As if something didn't fit. As if something in my posture, in my silence, in my way of not looking at Marco... told him more than I wanted to show.
He didn't say anything. But I saw it. He felt it.
Marco settled in his chair as if the bar were his. Pecco talked to Luca about motorcycles, wines and things he didn't hear. I was just trying to breathe.
Marco looked at me. He studied me. And he smiled.
"You're very quiet, Marquez. Is something wrong with you? Or am I intimidating you?”
"No." I'm just tired.
"Aha... of course." Tired. Or nervous.
Pecco laughed. Luca looked down at the glass. Marco leaned towards me.
"Have you met Valentino yet?" Luca's brother.
I swallowed saliva.
"No."
"Well, you should." He's handsome. Smart. A little intense. But she needs a boyfriend. Are you interested?
Pecco choked on the beer. Luca raised an eyebrow. I was frozen.
"I mean, you're like his type." Silent. Mysterious. With the face that you hide things.
He smiled. He winked at me.
"And you also live nearby." That always helps.
The bar was still full. Soft music. The red lights. The wine in my glass no longer tasted like anything.
Marco was talking. Luca laughed. Pecco was distracted by the menu. I was just trying not to explode.
"And you, Marc?" Marco asked, with his usual smile. What kind of person do you like?
"I don't know."
"Mysterious?" Intense? With large windows?
Pecco choked. Luca laughed. I froze.
"Oh, Marco!" said Luca. Don't start with your theories.
"What theories?"
- About Okay.
Marco looked at me. Luca too.
"Although..." Luca added, with a mischievous tone. If you like intense ones, you should meet my brother.
"Valentino?" Marco asked, pretending to be surprised.
"Yes." Lately I have told him that he is very lonely. Who needs action in his life. That his heart is going to rust.
"And do you think Marc could be that action?"
"I don't know." But it would be fun to see him try.
I laughed. Falsely. I poured myself more wine. I pretended that the comment didn't affect me. But inside, everything was burning.
Valentine. In need of action. And I, trapped in my own silence.
I got home with the smell of wine, laughter and emotional tension. I took off my shoes. I poured myself water. I sat on the couch.
The phone vibrated.
Luca Marini
"Hey, Pecco! I just wanted to tell you that we loved the night very much, both Marco and I. It was really a pleasure to meet you and spend time with you. I hope it will be repeated soon."
I smiled. But the message went on.
"Well, sorry if at some point Marco and I went overboard with Marc and with the jokes... but honestly, I would be the perfect boyfriend for Valentino. Literally. He likes them like this: serious, intense, with that mysterious air. And physically... just like Marc."
I was silent. Then I did what any friend would do.
Screenshot.
Sent to Marc.
"If you're not going to do your part, I will."
"It's not worth it, calm down. We also laughed. I know Marc didn't say it, but he's single. And who takes away... maybe he does give it with your brother. Although I don't know what Valentino is like either. But if you say he likes that kind of person, well..."
"Oh, Pecco! Don't make me dream. But well, if you think there's a chance, I'll take care of making them cross. My brother needs something to take him out of his intensity. And Marc... he has that energy that could balance him."
•
Pecco wrote to me in the afternoon.
"You and I went out today. Nothing strange. Just a quiet night. But get cute. Shirt, shoes, no face of tragedy.”
It seemed strange to me. But knowing what Pecco is like, I assumed he wanted photos for his Instagram. So I got dressed. Black shirt. Dark pants. Soft perfume. Heart in defense mode.
I arrived at the bar before him. I sat down. I asked for water. I looked at the menu without reading it. The place had dim lights, soft music and too many mirrors.
•
Luca entered the kitchen with a smile that scared me.
"You have an appointment tonight."
"What?"
"A blind date. With one of my friends. I don't accept excuses.”
"Luca..."
"Valentino, please." You're very lonely. I've told you a thousand times. You need action. You need air. You need someone to get you out of your intensity.
"I don't like surprises."
"But you like the mysterious ones." And this is it. You'll like it. Trust me.
I sighed. I got dressed. White shirt. Beige pants. Loose hair. Heart in alert mode.
•
He entered the bar with a firm step. He saw me. He stopped.
The eyes crossed.
Time stopped.
Valentino approached. Cautious. As if I didn't know if I should smile.
I looked at him. I felt the air become dense. That the heart was racing. That the hands were shaking.
Valentino sat in front of me. He didn't say anything. He just looked at me.
I felt that the world was closing. That the chest tightened. That the air didn't arrive. That he was about to disappear.
Valentino sat in front of me. He didn't say anything at first. He just looked at me. As if I were reading something that I didn't know was written.
I tried to hold my gaze. But I couldn't.
"Do you like this place?" he asked, in a soft voice.
"Yes..." I replied, barely audible.
"Me too." It has good light. And good acoustics. You can talk without shouting.
I nodded. I couldn't say more.
Valentino smiled. Not with mockery. With something warmer. As if my discomfort seemed endearing to him.
"Are you always this quiet?" he asked, leaning a little.
"No..." I tried to say something else, but the words got stuck.
"It's okay." I like silence. It says more than many conversations.
He settled in the chair. He ran his hand through his hair. He looked at me again.
"You have an energy... interesting." As if you were about to say something important. But you didn't do it.
I swallowed saliva. I felt the air getting denser. That the heart was racing.
Valentino leaned a little more. He looked at me carefully.
"Is something wrong with you?"
"No... I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
He smiled. This time with tenderness. But his eyes had something else. Something that seemed suspicious. As if he already knew that I had seen it before. That I had observed it. That he had wished for it.
But I didn't notice it. I just felt like I was disarming myself.
The night was perfect.
Valentino spoke calmly. He was raying elegantly. I was asking myself things that no one had asked me. I answered. I let go. I laughed. I fell in love.
We walked together to my building. The air was fresh. The street was empty. The silence had music.
We stoped in front of the door.
"Thank you for the night," I said, with a trembling voice.
"Thanks to you," he replied, with a soft smile.
There was a silence. One of those that don't bother. That they prepare something.
Valentino approached. He looked me in the eyes. With tenderness. With something else.
"I hope that with this," he said, slowly, "you stop watching me from the window... and finally get closer to me.
I remained silent.
"So maybe you can stay with the owner of the large window."
And before I could answer, he leaned over and stole a kiss from me. Soft. Precise. Loaded with intention.
It wasn't long. But it was enough to disarm me.
When I separated, he was already turning around.
"Good night, Marc."
And he left.