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“Where’s my green juice?” Oscar said with fake sadness.
Lando, lying on the sofa with his phone in hand, looked up for a second. He glanced at him with little interest and turned his attention back to the screen without saying a word.
At that moment, Carlos walked in, drying his hair with a towel and shirtless. They had both returned from their morning run, but Oscar chose to eat breakfast and then shower, while Carlos had gone straight to the shower.
Oscar’s mouth watered at the sight of him without a shirt. Carlos walked over to Lando and offered him a fist bump. Lando returned it with a murmur.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing interesting,” Lando muttered, bumping fists half-heartedly.
Then, Carlos headed to the kitchen. He leaned over Oscar, who was still rummaging through half-empty bottles and Tupperware containers. His arm reached into the back of the fridge, behind the jug of orange juice, and pulled out a glass filled with a thick green liquid.
With one hand on Oscar’s waist, Carlos leaned in and kissed him on the cheek as he said:
“Here’s your smoothie, cariño.”
Oscar rolled his eyes but accepted the juice anyway.
Apparently, it was a miracle he was still alive with so much cholesterol running through his veins. Carlos had taken the task of improving his health very seriously, so every morning, after exercising together, he made him a different smoothie. And every morning, Oscar pretended that juice was the worst thing he could possibly put in his mouth.
But the truth was that he loved the attention from Carlos. He loved that he cared enough to make him a juice every day. He loved that even after all these years together, Carlos still thought of him—and of something as mundane as a stupid juice to regulate his cholesterol levels.
Oscar leaned against the kitchen island, eyeing the green smoothie suspiciously.
“One day you’re going to poison me with this,” he said, taking an exaggerated sip while making a theatrical grimace. “It tastes like grass.”
“Thanks for the feedback, mi amor,” Carlos laughed. “But that lawn, as you call it, is going to keep you alive much longer. Long enough to keep putting up with me for many more years.”
“What a blessing,” Lando muttered from the sofa without looking up. “Why am I even here while this is happening?”
Oscar took another sip. He made a dramatic face and pretended to cough. Carlos wasn’t fooled.
“It’s not that bad today, is it, mi amor?” he said, smiling like he’d won a small battle.
Oscar took another sip, this time without complaining, and said:
“It’s not. Thanks for the juice.”
“Really?”
Oscar scrunched up his nose.
“No. But thanks anyway.”
Carlos laughed and rested his forehead against Oscar’s temple for a moment. He took a deep breath, as if trying to soak in that moment into his chest. Small. Intimate. Quiet.
“I just want you to live for many years,” he murmured. “And I also enjoy torturing you a little in the process.”
“I know,” Oscar said simply, with a crooked smile.
Lando cleared his throat loudly from the sofa.
“Oh my god, can you stop being so… you?” Lando interrupted. “I’m trying to ignore you with dignity and you’re making me want to rip my ears off and pour acid into my eyes.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder at him.
“You live here, Lando. You can’t escape our love.”
“Yes I can. I have noise-canceling headphones and a contract that ends in November.”
Oscar let out a low chuckle and looked back at his smoothie. He felt light. Tired from the run, still a little sweaty, with a smoothie that tasted like dirt in his hand—but happy. Ridiculously happy.
“You got lucky this time, but if it has ginger tomorrow, I’m throwing it out the window.”
Carlos smiled against Oscar’s shoulder.
“Is tomorrow Wednesday? Wednesdays are celery and orange, my love.”
Oscar let his head fall back with a groan.
“That sounds even worse.”
“But it has love in it.”
“Shut up, Carlos.”
And still, Oscar finished it all.