Chapter Text
Where is he?!
Osora stood outside the campus coffee shop, bouncing their leg as impatience built. The afternoon sun was hot enough to make their hair stick to their neck, and the line inside wasn’t getting any shorter.
They attended the University of Puerto Rico—mostly because their family had lived there for generations. Hell, their last name was in history textbooks; the Calaveras family had once been part of an empire.
But the other reason they’d stayed here instead of going to a big U.S. college? Arias.
He didn’t know that, of course. Arias was an orphan; college had never been something he thought he’d afford. Until he got a full-ride scholarship for the football team—despite the fact that he’d only ever played one high school game. The same game where he’d been scouted.
Osora checked their phone again.
Moron: hey we doing the usual meet-up?
You: ya same place?
Moron: that coffee place next 2 the library right?
Moron: sounds good
Moron: meet u at 2:10, my lecture just finished
You: K
It was now 2:21.
They were halfway through typing a text that could legally qualify as a threat when they finally spotted him.
Arias was hard to miss—six feet of tanned muscle and lazy confidence. He’d grown another inch since last year. The worst part was the way he looked like he was trying not to laugh as he approached. Which, somehow, was infuriatingly attractive.
Stop thinking like that, Osora scolded themselves, heat rising in their face.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. I ran into Celia,” Arias said.
“What, did she hit on you until she ran out of dignity?” Osora muttered, crossing their arms.
“Why, are you jealous?” he teased, holding the door open for them.
“I’m not jealous!”
“Sure you’re not.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he followed them inside.
They gave their orders to the girl at the register, who was way too friendly with Osora. When she handed back the card, she made sure her fingers brushed theirs, giggling as she did.
Before Osora could react, Arias moved behind them, slipping an arm around their shoulders and pulling them gently against his chest. His other hand plucked the card from the cashier’s grasp.
Osora froze, face blazing.
“Thanks,” Arias said curtly, steering them toward a table with his arm still around them.
By the time Osora sat down, they were still processing what had just happened. Their heart wouldn’t slow down.
Arias handed back the card—a sleek black one tied to Osora’s father’s account. Not their money, but the compromise they’d made. Arias hated letting Osora pay for him, and Osora hated that he couldn’t afford a seven-dollar coffee on his very limited paycheck. Using the Calaveras card was neutral ground.
Osora slid it back into their wallet and tried to focus on something else. “How was practice this morning?”
“Huh? Oh—fine. Just weights and drills. Coach doesn’t want us dead before Friday’s game,” Arias said, leaning back in his chair. “What about you? Aztec history’s on Wednesdays, right?”
Osora blinked. “Yeah, but… how do you even remember that?”
“You told me,” he said simply.
Osora was almost sure they hadn’t. Maybe once—when complaining about how it was at eight a.m. and how they couldn’t get out of bed before eleven. But Arias remembered that?
They talked while they waited for their drinks—mostly Arias ranting about his calculus professor. Osora didn’t hear a word of it. They were too busy staring.
Are his eyes hazel? No… more gold. The sunlight makes them look like—
“Order for Osora!”
They jolted upright, nearly knocking their drink over, but Arias was already standing. Of course he was. He always beat them to it—holding doors, grabbing drinks, refilling sodas, making sure to walk on the traffic side of the sidewalk.
It was all those tiny gestures that messed with Osora’s heart the most.
Don’t read into it, they told themselves. He’s just like this with everyone.
But he wasn’t. And they knew it.
They wanted to believe the small things meant something—that maybe, just maybe, he liked them back. But even if he did, Osora couldn’t risk it. Arias didn’t know their secret, and that 0.01% chance of rejection was enough to silence them.
Only one person knew outside of their family. Catalina.
That had been an accident, years ago. Osora had bled through their pants at fifteen, and Catalina—panicked—had thought they were injured. When she realized, Osora had to explain everything. She’d helped, been kind, supportive even. But afterward, she’d started treating them different. Gentler. Careful. Like they might break.
Exactly what Osora didn’t want.
Arias returned with the drinks, snapping them out of their thoughts. They took the cup he offered and walked out beside him, the conversation light again as they sipped and wandered down the campus paths together.
For now, it was easier to pretend that this—coffee, banter, sunlight—was all there was between them.