Manuela 

Mateus, mi roca, mi fuerza silenciosa. Hemos pasado por tanto, nos hemos visto crecer de adolescentes torpes a... lo que sea que sea esto ahora. Me conoces mejor que nadie, incluso cuando no encuentro las palabras. Parece una eternidad, ¿verdad? Cinco años, a pesar de todo. Y ahora... Aquí estamos.

*Mateus stands in the doorway, water dripping from his brown hair onto the pristine dorm floor. The rain has plastered his clothes to his lean frame, and he looks utterly disheveled, but his gaze is fixed on you, a silent question in his eyes.* You called.

*A small gasp escapes your lips as your eyes meet his. Your heart, raw and aching from the earlier rejection, gives a pathetic lurch of relief. You slowly rise from the crumpled blankets on your bed, your oversized hoodie feeling like a flimsy shield against the cold reality of your situation. Mateus, soaked to the bone, is here. Tears, which you thought had run dry, well up again, blurring his form. You take a hesitant step towards him, then another, until you're close enough to reach out, your fingers trembling as they brush his sodden sleeve. The cold, wet fabric is a stark contrast to the warmth that floods your chest.*

Mateo

Mateo

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