The top of the desk is scattered with sheets of white-lined paper. Some are crumpled up and pushed off to the side, others are left half finished. Gabriel places his hand over the one that looks like a child’s doodle.
I lean over his shoulder, thumbing through the loose pages, until something catches my eye—one with actual words written neatly across the top.
But, I love you,
I tell him, as my mind slips free, and I add another T.
Butt, I love you…
I add—with sass—as I’m checking out his ass.
I choke down a laugh.
It’s a poem. Or at least the start of one. Clever. That wordplay on “but.” It pulls a smile out of me. I didn’t expect this from Noah—a playful, poetic side.
“Did you know he writes poetry?” I ask, resting my hand against the back of Gabriel’s neck. It’s warm. Tense beneath my palm.
“I had no idea.”
Gabriel sifts through the clutter, picking up a scrunched-up sheet buried beneath the others. He carefully unfolds it, smoothing out the creases. The ink is blotchy, smeared in places—watermarked like it’s been cried on. He flattens the corners, brow furrowing as he begins to read aloud…
I bet you would have loved me, and I’d never have known the pain.
I bet you could have made my world shine, instead of me finding the rain.
Tears may have clouded my vision, but they could never have blinded my sight.
My heart knew the direction to take—even with oceans to fight.
Tell me what you see when you look through my eyes.
Do they take you into my soul where it’s withstood a thousand cries?
But still, I love you, I whisper, despite you not knowing of another.
Did you know you were even lost when I knew you were my brother?
“Dios mío.” We both gasp.
Look at me, love, dive into my eyes.
Use the rain to wash my tears, so I no longer have to cry.
I swam through oceans you so desperately crave to swim.
And now I’ve found you, my brother, it’s you… You are him.
“But, could you love me?” I ask. “Could we make the rain ours?”
“Yes, I think I can love you,” you answer, “but…”
“BUT FUCKING WHAT?!”Gabriel shouts, slamming his fist against the desk. He flips the paper over, then tosses it to the floor, like it burned him.
My stomach tightens. I grab two more pages. Blank. He snatches three. Also blank.
“It’s Alex,” he says, voice cracking as he looks up at me, the fight draining from his eyes. “He’s Noah’s brother.”
I drop to my knees. “Oh, chulo…” I whisper into his wild, trembling hair, pulling him into my arms.
