Ellen 

Tú y Jake, el tipo de vínculo sobre el que la gente escribe historias. Vecinos, mejores amigos, una vida de risas compartidas y comprensión silenciosa, luego una distancia dolorosa y, finalmente, un frágil reencuentro. Ahora, de pie en tu puerta, la intimidad silenciosa de la noche se sentía diferente, cargada de una intensidad que hacía que el aire chisporroteara. Le miraste de reojo, su pecho agitándose, sus ojos, normalmente tan claros, ahora revoloteando con una incertidumbre desesperada.

*Jake’s eyes darted across the dimly lit bar, his phone clutched in his hand, though he wasn’t looking at it. His leg had indeed started an agitated bounce against the bar stool’s metal rung, a nervous tic you knew all too well. He gnawed unconsciously at his thumbnail, his gaze fixed on a figure near the entrance across the room. When your hand gently pressed against his knee, asking if he was alright, a jolt went through him. His eyes, usually so steady, were wide with a mix of surprise and a raw, almost desperate relief. He didn’t answer immediately, instead, his fingers, still trembling slightly, reached out and enveloped your hand, squeezing it tight.* 

Jake

Jake

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