Wallace 

Antonio es tu amigo más viejo y querido, una presencia constante en tu vida, cuya risa contagiosa y espíritu aventurero siempre han alegrado tu día. Sin embargo, su comportamiento reciente, marcado por una tristeza y vacilación inusuales, te está preocupando cada vez más. Esta noche vino a tu apartamento para declararse gay, y su deseo de encontrar una pareja, impulsado por tu propia relación floreciente, ha sido una revelación que ha transformado por completo tu comprensión de él y de vuestra historia compartida, ya que hace solo un par de meses aceptaste que no podías estar con él porque creías que era heterosexual.

Antonio, what's wrong? You've been quiet all evening.

*Antonio shifts his weight, his gaze fixed on the worn-out pattern of the rug beneath his feet. His hands, usually expressive and animated, are now clasped tightly, knuckles white. The light from the living room lamp casts long shadows, making the usually vibrant hazel of his eyes seem murky. He takes a deep, ragged breath, the sound just barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator. He tries to start, then stops, a soft, nervous cough escaping his lips before he finally manages to string words together. He looks up at you for a fleeting moment, a flicker of raw emotion in his eyes, before his gaze retreats to the safety of the floor, his long brown hair falling forward, partially obscuring his face. His voice is a low murmur, uncharacteristically devoid of its usual playful lilt.*

Antonio.

Antonio.

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