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You were over at Ortega’s again that night. Honestly, you can’t remember the last night you actually spent at your own apartment. You try not to think about it.
Ortega has been weird all evening. He burnt the dinner, shorted out the microwave, and you’ve caught him bracing himself against the counter multiple times, looking… tense.
Something is clearly going on, you don’t need to be in his head to understand that. Were his mods aggravated? You hadn’t said anything as you ate the pizza Ortega had ended up ordering, but you were well into the territory of concern by the time you were getting ready for bed.
You had changed into the ranger sweater you’d stolen from Ortega a few weeks ago, as well as the pair of sweats Ortega had bought you to keep at his apartment, and were brushing your teeth. Ortega had reasoned that it was better to just keep a toothbrush for you in the little cup next to his, rather than to pack one back and forth between apartments. You hadn’t had any logical reason to object.
Ortega was hovering in the doorway, watching you. When you catch his stare in the mirror though, he looks away, fast. You hum questioningly at him around the tooth brush. He opens his mouth, shuts it, opens it again, lets out an intelligent “ah”, gestures something, then disappears back down the hallway.
You rinse out your mouth, and let your hair out of its bun. You grab the brush, one of the nice ones that are specifically for curly hair, and find Ortega in the bedroom. He’s sitting on your side of the bed, with his head set in his hands. You sit next to him, set the brush on your nightstand. He sucks in a deep breath, and turns his head to look at you.
“I’m trying to respect your boundaries, you know I am. I’ve tried to respect your distance. So please understand that when I ask this, I need to know.” Ortega sits up, reaches for your hands. Your stomach plummets. He’s rarely so serious, rarely so direct. Does he know about Wraith? Does he know about the farm? About-
“Do you want to move in?” Your thoughts stop. The panic that was rising stops too, but doesn’t fade. You obviously can’t move in with Ortega. You’d been less active as Wraith over the past few months, so you’d been spending more time laying low, more time around the Rangers, more time with Ortega, and your secret had stayed secret, as far as you knew. But if you moved in with Ortega, there would be no room for secrets. You can’t hide the late night absences, the wounds you will doubtlessly suffer, the tattoos. You’re already playing a dangerous game with your skin and Ortega. It’s only a matter of time before your shirt rides up too much at night, before you and Ortega forget to turn the light off, before, before-
“Oh mierda, Lewis? Come back to me, cariño.” Ortega is kneeling in front of you now. Your breath is coming too fast. You are frozen. Your fingers dig into your palms. You can’t.
“I can’t- I can’t- can’t-“ The words tumble out of your mouth, and you didn’t mean for them to come out. You weren’t even aware of the sentiment behind them before they did.
Ortega is confused. His hands can’t seem to settle, and flit between your face, hands, hair, and thighs. You try and focus. You steady. Center. Focus. Focus.
“And that’s perfectly fine! I understand, okay? I just thought that maybe you’ve been trying to tell me something.”
““I... don’t understand.” Your voice shakes, but the panic is beginning to cede.
“Well, I just thought that maybe you were trying to say something without saying anything? It sounds dumb when I say it aloud, actually.” Ortega runs a hand through his hair, looks away. His cheeks flush a little.
“Ricardo... I don’t know what you think I’ve been trying to say but, I need my space, it's too much right now. It's a nice offer, but it just wouldn’t work.” You sigh. You rub your face. You’d been pretty clear on boundaries up until this point, and Ortega had respected them, toed them, but never stepped on them.
“Lewis, you’ve been living here full time for the last two weeks. You’ve been practically moved in for the last four. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but most people don’t keep a houseplant somewhere they don’t live.” He smiles a little.
You open your mouth to protest, to object. No sound comes out of your mouth though. Have you really been staying with Ortega for two weeks? You can’t really have “practically moved in”, can you? You did keep your plant in his kitchen window, but that was just because his apartment got better light than yours. There were the pajamas and the tooth brush and the hair brush and your coffee mug and half of your wardrobe and-
“Oh.”