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The mighty Bossa didn’t do crushes. Crushes were reserved for children, a dumb feeling of infatuation that only grade schoolers would giggle and kick their feet at. He was callous, stoic, a real man’s man…and feeling a little more faint than usual. But not in a stupid way, he reassured himself, anyone would feel that way around someone like Sens. Sens is like, the coolest person ever, and that’s why his cheeks burned so bad when he was around them. How could he not feel flustered around someone who could name every album in a record store, who had seemingly endless knowledge of psychology, who could…uh…fix a car if they needed to?
“You good over there?”
Bossa snapped out of his daze, the sound of music hazy through old shop speakers. He held a record in his hands, thumbing at the opening of the cardboard jacket mindlessly, his eyes fixated down on the bin in front of him. He lifted his head, his eyes connecting with Sens’ as they stood in the aisle directly in front of him. They stared expectantly, a mixed look of concern and amusement on their face.
“What?”
“You look like you’re gonna pass out.” They had a record tucked under their arm. “Or like you’re having the worst bout of flashbacks known to mankind. Are you good?”
“Oh yeah.” Bossa waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”
They’d known each other for a while now. Well, a while in Bossa time. It was no surprise that they’d become instant friends a few weeks ago. Trip had introduced Bossa to his Wolfguard teammate, prefacing the interaction with a “you two have a lot in common” and “they’re pretty cool, you’ll like them”. Everyone was a friend to Bossa. Sens was no exception.
“Sens?” He’d stuck his hand out. “Nicholas told me to come say hi.”
“Hey.” They’d taken his hand, giving it a friendly shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Bossa, but you can call me Marcelo.” There was a smile on his face. “I heard that you’re a cool person.”
“I try my best. I have my moments, though, we can’t always be perfect.” They smiled back. “Marcelo…that’s nice.”
“Thanks. Picked it myself.” He’d half-joked. “What about you?”
“Néon.” They’d responded warmly. “I picked mine too.”
“You’re doing it again.” The sound of Sens’ voice cut through Bossa’s daydream. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bossa reassured them.”I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Work stuff, y’know?” He looked around dramatically, cupping a hand over his mouth before loudly whispering. “Top secret cool guy stuff.”
“Pfft.” Sens snorted. “Whatever you say. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t about to collapse.”
“Nah. Could you imagine?” Bossa flipped through the records in front of him. “That’d be embarrassing.”
The pair flipped through each respective box of records in front of them, the sound of cardboard flopping together almost rhythmic. Bossa peeked up at Sens, their face deep in concentration as they searched.
“You have a record player, right?” Bossa asked earnestly.
“Nope, I just came here to look.” Sens kept their eyes down. “Of course I do, silly.”
“Oh.” Duh, idiot.
“Do you?”
“Uh…no.” Bossa responded sheepishly.
“Well, shit.” Sens looked up. “You’re probably bored out of your mind then. Did you want to go somewhere else?”
“No! It’s fine, I promise.”
“It's alright. I found what I was after anyway. I’ll check out and we can head back.”
“Wait,” Bossa wracked his brain, not wanting their time together to end so soon. “I found a few albums too. And have nothing to play them on, but maybe you’d like them too? And you have…can…”
“Uh-huh.” Sens grinned as Bossa struggled with the sentence.
“See, I used to have a record player but it was when I lived with my parents.” Bossa elaborated, his ears burning red. “I left it there and uh…well that part doesn’t matter. You ever listen to any Brazilian music? Bossa nova? It’s nice. They have a few albums here.”
“I haven’t.” Sens lied. “Do you want to show me?”
“Yeah!” Bossa said louder than he’d hoped. “Here, I’ll buy your records too. My treat.”
“Oh that’s alright-”
“No, no. Please, it’s the least I can do.”
“For what?”
“For uh…” Bossa stared at them blankly.
“You don’t even know what you’re saying.” Sens giggled. “Do you think before you talk?”
“I guess…sometimes?” Bossa grinned, his face red.
“Marcelo.” Sens put a hand on their hip, cocking their head as they looked Bossa up and down. “Are you inviting yourself to my place?”
“What?” He blinked hard. “No! I’m so sorry that’s-”
“Dude, it’s fine.” Sens held their stack of records out for Bossa to take. “I’ll order us dinner if you really want to get these for me.”
Bossa took the records into his hands, flopping two of his own on top of the stack.
“Is this all?”
“Yep.”
“You don’t want anything else?”
“Dude, the cost adds up quick. Don’t spend that much on me.”
“Whatever man.” Bossa cast a look toward the checkout. “I’ll be right back then.” He headed to the back of the store, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere. I dunno how to get back from here.”
Sens snickered as he walked away. They weren’t sure what he was trying to hide. The walls of secrecy around his feelings were like glass, he was a terrible fib. Whether or not he acted that way on purpose still perplexed them, though. Something about his character made it too authentic to write off as an act. He was fooling nobody with his tough-guy facade, anyone could break through the thin shell of machismo with the tap of a spoon. Sens liked it, Bossa’s energy, his genuine heart, his ability to become a blind, lovestruck idiot in a matter of seconds. Why he hadn’t confessed anything yet was another mystery. Sens had made it painfully obvious how they felt on their end, having done just about everything but straight up say it. They didn’t want to ruin the fun, though. Watching Bossa’s face get red at the very thought of standing next to them was a treat they enjoyed too much to give up just yet.
Bossa returned with a plastic bag in hand and a stupid look on his face. Sens raised an eyebrow at the look of mischief.
“What?”
“Wait wait, we have to get outside first.”
He put his hand against Sens’ arm and pulled them through the door. They stood under the awning just outside the shop. Bossa dug his hand into the bag and fished around, pulling from it two lollipops.
“They gave me free candy.” He held them up proudly.
“Did they give it to you? Or was it free at the counter?” Sens snickered.
“They gave it to me.” Bossa offered one lollipop to Sens. “Because I’m cute.”
“Ah, and they gave you exactly two?”
“They said you were cute too.” He waggled the candy around in his hand. “And that it would be unfair if I only got one.”
“I see.” Sens took one of the candies. “Didn’t want to share?”
“Nah. We still don't know each other well enough to swap spit.” He unwrapped the lollipop, sticking it into his mouth nonchalantly.
“That implies there's a chance someday, hm?”
The sound Bossa made sounded like a choke mixed with a stifled sneeze. He turned his head to the side, into his elbow.
“Bro.”
He coughed some more, dryly wheezing for dramatic effect. Sens snickered.
“What? I was only talking about candy.” Sens stuffed the lollipop into their jacket pocket. “What were you thinking?”
He blinked hard, his fingers pressed against the stick between his lips. A look of contemplation washed over his face.
“You said you'd order dinner?”
“I did.”
“Mmhm…” there was a rosy tint to Bossa’s face. “Are you sure? I can just… make us something.”
“It's my treat. You just spent who knows how much on me.” Sens patted their hand against Bossa’s shoulder. “How can I enjoy your company if you're stuck in the kitchen the whole time?”
“Ah, yeah.” Bossa jumped at their touch. “Did you have something in mind?”
“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” They let their hand rest against Bossa’s shoulder, taking a moment to untuck his stuck jacket collar carefully. “There’s a pizza place on the way back.”
“Uh…” Bossa sounded unsure. “That’s not a good idea.” He paused, his nose wrinkling as he thought. “No cheese.”
“You don’t like cheese?”
“Can’t eat it.”
“You’re missing out.”
“Yeah yeah…no need to rub it in.”
“Hmm…what else sounds good…” Sens pouted their lips as they thought. “A sandwich?”
“For the same amount of money, I could make you something and you’d also have leftovers for tomorrow.”
“You really want to cook for me don’t you?”
“It’s how I show my love.” Bossa inflected his voice comedically. “And I’m pretty good at it I think.”
“Can vouch.”
“Okay. Then why don’t you just let me do it?”
“And dirty up all my pots and pans?”
“I like you enough to clean up after myself.”
“Oooh-kay.”
“Prometo.” Bossa held out his pinky finger. “And if it’s not clean to your liking, you can invite me over and I’ll scrub your floors, yeah?”
“Alright.” Sens held their hand out, wrapping their pinky around Bossa’s. “You know you’re always welcome over right? No mess needed.”
The two made eye contact, which Bossa quickly averted. He let the feeling of both of their fingers, intertwined, linger for just a moment longer. Cooly, he pulled his hand away, bringing it to rest against the stick resting between his lips.
His eyes stayed stuck to the ground, scanning the concrete mindlessly while he rocked on his heels. He felt every ounce of swagger drained from him and flushed red into his cheeks.
“And no expensive records either.” Sens giggled, trying their best to ignore the flustered energy radiating from the man. “Like, you can just ask. And come over.”
“Just because?” Bossa looked up at them, a glimmer in his eye.
“Yeah.” Sens could feel their cheeks burn, too. “Just because