Eduardo knows it’s not right. He shouldn’t be doing this. Waiting for him. Waiting for another.
Eduardo knows it’s not right. He should have stopped it as soon as he met him, he shouldn’t have let him come into his life.
But it’s easier. It’s easier to speak to him and think about someone else. It’s easier to spend Saturday nights with him and remember another time, when he spent all his nights with someone else.
Eduardo knows he shouldn’t leave his kitchen door open to let him in whenever he wants to. He knows he shouldn’t be friendly with him. He should only be his landlord, not his friend, but Eduardo doesn’t have friends anymore, doesn’t want to. It’s too easy to believe in this. In him. In him being another one.
Eduardo shouldn’t let him in. That’s what he tells himself every Saturday. Yet as soon as James comes in through the kitchen door to spend the evening with him, Eduardo forgets every resolutions he took.
Eduardo knows he shouldn’t be this glad when he hears James’ footsteps whenever he goes straight to his room or stops at Eduardo’s flat. Eduardo knows he shouldn’t be this glad; that’s not Mark who’s coming to see him, but a student renting his attic.
Eduardo knows he shouldn’t be smiling as he gets up to meet James in the kitchen. He knows he shouldn’t feel his heart tighten when he sees snow in James’ curly hair.
Eduardo knows he shouldn’t be laughing at James when the boy is asking him to come out because “it’s snowing!” with childish excitement, while he only sees Mark and his flip-flops walking through the snowy yard of Harvard.
Eduardo knows he shouldn’t approach James, shouldn’t corner him against the fridge. He knows he shouldn’t cup James’ cold head in his warm hands.
Eduardo knows he shouldn’t kiss James, because he can only feel Mark in his arms, pressing against his body, the snow melting between them.