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Toni doesn't know whose idea this was, only that it was stupid. Perhaps it had even been his own, he doesn't know: doesn't know much other than the candid and yet decidedly erotic way that James' lips form the words that he slowly tries to coax Toni to repeat.
"...contigo," he's saying, the t ringing somewhat melodically. He's staring at Toni expectantly, a gentle beam of sunlight coming in through Toni's open window and hitting his face, making his freckles stand out. This is pure and absolute torture.
Toni opens and closes his mouth, trying to make his brain process the words he had to repeat. "Contigo," he says, nowhere near as good as James had made it sound.
Toni's Spanish was shit, he would willingly admit. Just why he had chosen to come to Madrid was beyond even him, probably another one of his stupid ideas, such as the one as asking Marcelo if he knew anyone that could teach him the language. Marcelo had excitedly proclaimed he knew a friend of a friend... and then came James, with his otherworldly smile that had Toni stammering on his own doorstep when he went to answer it. He was expecting some middle-aged guy, someone with nothing better to do on a Wednesday afternoon. He hadn't been expecting this. He didn't even know he was attracted to guys, less of all brunettes.
"That's good," James encourages, though Toni knows it was awful. "You'll be learning it in no time. You just gotta lose some of that German stiffness."
Toni nods, looking down at his lap. He had none of the fluidity that James and the other speakers had. "Thanks. I think."
James blushes. "No, I mean, it's not a problem, but you need to, you know, let it go."
Toni smiles. "I got it, yeah."
James sags against his seat. He looks apologetic, probably thinking he had somehow offended Toni. "You could listen to music. To practice. Have you tried it?"
Toni actually laughs. "Not so much."
"You could listen to Shakira."
Of course James would suggest that. Toni honest to god can't imagine himself listening to Shakira, but James looks so excited that in no time he's downloading all of her discography onto his cell phone. "… And this one, it's so good. You should watch the music video too," James says, but Toni isn't really paying attention, with the way James is suddenly so close to him, swiping his screen this way and that. He wafts out a fragrance unlike anything Toni had ever felt before: something warm and sweet, like cinnamon. "What do you think?" James asks, and Toni's soul almost jumps out of his body. Shakira had just finished kissing a guy on his cell phone, the sudden silence a proof that her song had ended.
"It's good."
-
"Dude," Sami says. Toni doesn't like the way he's staring at him, like he'd discovered something wrong with him and doesn't know how to say it.
They're in the locker room, Toni unlacing and storing his boots back in his bag while Sami is still taking off his shirt, the process stalled by his staring at Toni. "What?" Toni shrugs.
"Why don't you tell him?"
Toni frowns. "Tell him? What are you talking about?"
"James," the name makes Toni's heartbeat pick up. Sami says it the right way: Ha-mez, the way James had been trying to teach Toni how to pronounce and that he still hadn't been able to. He feels a sudden jealousy of his best friend.
"What about him?" Toni looks away, sitting and lacing his shoes back in place. His group of friends – which were actually Sami's group of friends as he was the only friend Toni owned that lived in Spain – always played football after college on the beat-up pitch behind the Humanities building every Friday. It didn't really help that today James had come to watch the match and Toni had lost at least seventy percent of his passes and behaved like an overall nuisance to his team-mates. He kept glancing at the bleachers, overly aware that the cheering figure sat at a distance was James and that he was watching Toni's every move.
"Well," Sami says, and something about his tone makes Toni look up. "He's cute, isn't he? Do you know if he's single?"
Toni flushes, furious that Sami- Sami, his best friend- Sami is laughing. "See? You're totally into him. So," he taps his locker, which swings shut with a clang. "Why don't you tell him?"
Toni gulps, getting back on his feet to grab his bag. "I'm not into him," he lies, "he's a nice guy and he's helping me with Spanish and-"
"And I thought you'd murder Marcelo when James came to hug him after the match," Sami wiggles his eyebrows. "And you're listening to Shakira."
Toni freezes. "How do you know that?" He murmurs, taking quick looks around. Most of the team is prancing around, joking and laughing loudly. No one's paying attention to their conversation.
Sami rolls his eyes. "I know everything about you."
Toni shoves at his clothes until he's able to pull the zipper shut on his bag. He really is into James, and he really wants to do something about it. But how could he? He doubted James felt anything for him; he wouldn't want to expose himself and possibly sever their friendship forever. "Well, I can't just straight out tell him, right?"
"Why not?" Sami asks, separating his stuff to shower.
"Because-Because that would be lame. And he's just helping me with Spanish, I don't want to, I dunno, harass him."
Sami laughs. "You don't look like a rapper. Just, I don't know, improvise."
"How?" He asks, but Sami is already heading to the showers.
-
Toni doesn't know how he could've come up with another one of his stupid ideas. Out of all the ones he's had so far, this one is actually the worst.
As always, James is calmly reading something out haltingly, looking up at Toni from time to time over the page. Toni has his hands in fists on his lap. He can feel the nervous sweat pooling on his back, the clamminess of his palms and the indentations of his own nails digging into it.
"Yo" James says, gesturing to his own chest and looking back at Toni expectantly. Toni repeats it. "Voy a la playa," he points out the window.
"Voy a la playa." Toni repeats.
"That's great. You're getting very good at this, see? I told you."
Toni smiles. "Well, I have a great teacher."
James blushes, and it's the sweetest thing Toni has ever seen. He smiles shyly and takes a look at the hours. "Oh, I think I should go," James says, and bends to grab his backpack from Toni's floor. Toni's smile slides away. "But you're doing really good, Toni. Just keep listening to music and such. You can call me if you have any doubts or anything, right?"
James heads for the door. Toni almost lets him slip away, can already feel the defeat taking over just by imagining James walking out the door. But he doesn't.
"Actually," he says, and James pauses, looks back, hand at the doorknob. "I think I have a doubt."
"Oh."
"Yes, uh-" Toni scratches the back of his head. "I was thinking about- well, unh- how do I ask someone on a date?"
James' eyes widen. "Oh," he looks at the floor. "Oh, I see. You should just ask quieres salir conmigo."
Toni repeats it. It comes out wrong. He's sweating, and he's really nervous. James says it again: his red lips forming the words perfectly. Toni repeats it, and James nods. "That's right. So, you should just, you know, say that," he shrugs, freckles standing out when he blushes, "and I bet the person will say yes. I mean, sí." He laughs shortly, and gives Toni a small, sad smile. "Bye, Toni."
James turns the doorknob. Toni feels it again: the defeat. Let him go, ask him another day..., the coward part of his mind whispers, but Toni can't do it, can't watch, can't let James walk away on him with that uncommon sad smile.
"James," he calls out, and James looks back at him. Toni is standing up, heart almost jumping out of his chest, perhaps James can even see it. "I- I meant you. Like, quieres salir conmigo?"
James blinks at him, and the wait makes Toni's breath stutter. "Oh," James finally says. His face breaks into a smile, and Toni thinks he's become temporarily blinded by it. "Yes, sure," he nods. "I mean, claro. Claro, sí, sí, Toni."
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