He spins, and I see that he’s upset. “Alexander,” he whispers, then glances at our friends.
“What?” I ask, confused again. “They know you forget your wallet all the time, Rafael.”
“Alexander,” he says again, but there’s an edge to his voice this time. He lowers his voice, and it comes out with a hiss. “Maybe you shouldn’t answer my letters.”
I blink, shocked. “What?”
Rafael is mad. Why is he mad? We barely ever argue, but suddenly I feel like he’s picking a fight, and a horrible sense of dread falls over me.
What if we’ve screwed it up?
Rafael shakes his head, squinting behind his glasses. “It’s embarrassing,” he tells me, and his voice sinks, the anger fading and hurt replacing it. “And I don’t like it.”
Stone approaches us, coming from inside the bar with Joey behind him. His face opens up as he starts to greet us. Then he sees the looks on our faces and turns away quickly.
Oh no. I feel like I’m crumbling.
Rafael locks eyes with me. He doesn’t say anything, but I can read his expression. He feels insecure, hurt, afraid.
I know because I feel the same things.
I want to take it all from him. He’s a beautiful, unique, kind person, and I want him to smile, like he makes me smile. It doesn’t matter that he’s messy and kind of disorganized. I just love him.
I take his hand. “Come inside,” I say and pull him back into the bar. “What’s going on?” I ask as soon as we get over to Ms. Pacman.
Rafael jumps right in. “The shop,” he says quickly. “Caesar wanted me to bring my work in to share with him last week, and I was late that day, and I forgot it, and now he put me on probation.”
“Probation?” I ask.
“Fuck.” Rafael looks down at the ground. Arcade noises ding around us, and Ms. Pacman makes a loop on the screen. “What if I’m a failure as an artist?” There are tears in his voice, and I know just saying those words is painful for him.
“You’re not a failure of an artist,” I insist. “You just had your first big show, and you started an apprenticeship with a legendary tattoo artist. You’re a huge success.”
“But what if I’m not good enough for you?” he says quietly.
Now, I realize I’m crying. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re good enough for me. You’re so, so good for me, Rafael.”
He turns his eyes back up to me and shoves his hands in his pockets. “If you have to spend the rest of your life taking care of me, we’ll resent each other. It can never work.”
“Do I resent you for making me dinner every night?”
“That’s different.”
“We’re different,” I say. Then we both smile, although I choke on my breath, and there are tears running into Rafael’s beard.
I hate that he doubts himself.
I was terrified something horrible was wrong a second ago, but now that I’m holding his hands and looking into his eyes, I know that we can make this right. Nothing is stronger than us, just so long as we still have each other.
The advice my dads gave me comes back to mind. Sometimes, you can’t prepare for every possibility. Sometimes, things get messy, and it’s not only okay, it’s necessary.
I’m not just his best friend now—I’m his boyfriend, too. It really is my job to make sure he’s okay, although honestly, it’s always felt like it was.
“I can stop answering your mail for you,” I tell him. “If you want me to. But I don’t mind taking care of you, Rafael. And you really do take care of me, too, in so many ways.”
Rafael squeezes my hands. “I know. Thank you, Alexander. I’m just… disappointed in myself.”
“I’m sorry that you are. I wish I could believe in you enough that you believed in yourself a little more.”
