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Carlos signs the paper with finality on the tip of the pen.
He holds the pen while he signs It, with a delicacy of someone who knows how to touch things.
At least, thats what Charles thought while he stared at his hands.
Roberto and Joris were there as well, to serve as witnesses.
There's no goodbye, no wave, no kiss on the hands, no smile, no fake politeness in anything that surrounded that brief, solemn event. No look in the eyes, no look in the face. But he looked at his tanned, large hands one last time.
"You're free to Go" says the judge in hold of the event
Charles goes for the handshake first cause he hates being second to anything to him. Even now that there's nothing left between them.
He thinks of looking back when he's walking towers his car though, but he knows he's stronger than his mind sometimes so he does not look back. But he can hear the steps.
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Carlos entres in the car and released a breath he didnt know he was holding.
"Ei tío, everything's alright?" - Roberto asks, not worried, just casual, like someone's asks if the weather is fine.
"Couldn't be more", Carlos answers, with the same tone.
They drive towards Carlos' home.
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6 months have passed.
Charles stills wakes up in the middle of the night.
No particular reason at all, that's what he says. He's been trying to teach his brain but he fears he might have to start taking some pills to sleep.
He dreams of a face with no full form, but with a prominent nose and big dark eyes. Longe eyelashes, tanned skin. Distant sounds of laughter, a blurred smile. He feels a firm touch, even, some nights.
He goes back to sleep.
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Carlos wakes up by the sunrise. He still loved to go on his bike around the neighbourhood by the mornings.
Sometimes he goes with his close friends, like Roberto and Pierluigi, but there are days when its okay to go alone like today.
He feels the wind around his body, feels the sweat dripping off his skin. He feels the fresh air from the seashore entering his lungs. Life feels okay after all.
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One year after the divorce.
Carlos has met someone.
He likes the way his name sounds. Alexander. Properly british, but not too stoic. A bit of a dork, like himself, but with more wit, he cant lie. He enjoys his company and plans on meeting him again in future dates. Its a kind of chemistry that IS very undercurrent, very calm and peaceful but with enough humour and flirtness to keep the spark. It feels hopeful, promising.
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Charles met someone too.
He doesnt remember his name, exactly, but he remembers the sex was good. Great even, which was a honest surprised after the sometimes medíocres, frustrating nights in the single life. He has been meeting people for the past 5 months through hook ups and one night stands, feeling deeply the freeness after that divorce. That stupid guy that held him back during those 4 years, how could he let him? Anyways, its all in the past now. He will check his contacts to text the lady for future dates again.
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One year and 6 months have passed.
There's this place that works as a great local for events. Sometimes its charity parties, others are art exhibitions. Today there's something wrong in the cold freezer of the night air, though.
Charles contemplates the space around him. Its an outright muting visual, made of white walls and chess-pattern floor, but there's this air of elegance with a view to the Sea through think , sleek pane glasses between the walls. He knows the place like he knows the palm of his hands but he always enjoyed the architecture of the place. He's with a petite, slim lady, holding her by the waist.
But then he looks across the room. And he sees a familiar face.
There's that Man. That man that he grew so resentful of, right there across the room, talking Very casuality, confidently, with his hands in the pockets. Hes talking with the host of the event but there's this taller guy besides him.
Then he says something that seems to be funny and looks at the taller guy eyes.
That look.
That face. That expression.
That face and that look that felt só intimate during 4 years. That face that he particularly, specifically liked during those years. That face that looks like he's going in for the kill, for the killer kiss right there and then. That he didnt know he still thought it would be reserved only for him. But why would it be? Carlos is still the same man. He looks at him and in fact he's still the same man. It was him, Charles, who have changed.
"Oh i think that piece is lovely"- the lady besides him interrupta, snapping him out of his thoughts. He swallows, and let her guide him away. Carlos didnt look back, later he thought on the way back home. He didnt, either.
Life goes.