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his stare that lingered on your ass when you walked by traveled to your eyes.
the hand that squeezed your waist when he slipped past you brushed past your hands instead.
the trips to his apartment were no longer communicative. your visits were quiet with frank spending extra time on his phone and never taking off his earbuds. instead you watched as he laid in bed mumbling to himself.
these are just a few signs that maybe you were reading your relationship with frank all wrong. all signs are pointing to needing to return the spare key to his apartment.
an apartment that was practically emptied until he asked to you move in a couple of your things. a toothbrush next to his turned into your skin care next to his. the drawer with your clothes turned into a dresser.
the uber rides to your apartment became less frequent and you even started to wonder why you still pay rent.
but it’s days like this where you’re glad you do.
“i’m leaving frank.”
your words are soft, purposely so. they don’t even stand a chance over whatever frank is playing in his earbuds.
with a growing fire inside you, you simply pack your things, just some clothes for tomorrow’s shift and your toothbrush.
“woah, woah, woah, where you going, mami?” frank panics, earbuds still on.
the sweats on his hips hang low and the hair on his chest is full on display. it makes it hard to not roll your eyes at him.
“ya me voy.”
frank waits for you to translate with a stupid look on his face, acting dumb so you don’t leave.
“i’m leaving,” you punctuate.
“why?”
you ignore him, bending down to your bottom drawer to grab some clothes. as if your lack of words were an invitation, frank stands behind you.
with a cocky smirk his hands fall to your hips and its seconds later that you feel him pressed against you.
instead of pressing yourself onto him, like you normally do, you push him away. you don’t mean to push him that hard, but he falls onto the bed.
“i’m not in the mood.”
his earbuds are long gone, tucked away in their case, charging so he can use them again for when you leave.
“what happened? did i do something wrong?”
“nothing’s wrong.” your answer is curt and dismissive, an obvious lie.
“are you mad at me?”
“do i have a reason to be mad at you?”
the question catches him off guard.
“no?”
you laugh through your nose, zipping up your bag before throwing it over your shoulder.
“then i’m not mad.”
this time, it’s frank who laughs. you watch as he shakes his head in disbelief.
“then why are you leaving?” his words are sad. almost like he cares.
its almost enough to make you rethink your decision. to make you unpack your bag and slip under the blankets with him.
but you’re in too deep. your bag is packed and an uber is on the way.
“my landlord texted me. saying there’s a leak or something.”
it’s the first thing you can think of.
it’s quiet for a moment.
he knows you’re lying.
and you know that he knows you’re lying.
with a long sigh, frank stands, “alright.”
you watch as he gets a t-shirt, then reaches for a pair of socks.
“¿qué estás haciendo?”
he stops.
“what do you mean ‘what am i doing?’ i’m driving you to your apartment.”
“i called an uber.”
if you thought his sigh was long before, this one is longer.
you walk out of his bedroom, not checking if he follows, but all of you hopes he does.
“amores, talk to me,” he pleads, his footsteps mimic yours.
funny. now, he wants to talk.
“frank, my uber is here,” you say as your pocket your phone.
“text me, yeah?”
instead of nodding, you roll your eyes, “see you at work, don’t forget to bring your airpods.”
the door closes before frank can get the words out. te amo.
-
“spicy, just how i like it.”
“cállete,” you spit.
it’s clear you’re still mad. you walked in the hospital hoping to resolve the issue, but saw him glued to his phone earbuds locked in place.
“that’s not nice,” frank shakes his head as he pulls off his gloves.
“what?”
“no need to tell me to shut up when you claim you aren’t mad at me.”
it isn’t the ending part of that sentence that stops you, but the lack of translation you needed to do beforehand.
just a few weeks ago you said the same thing and got a flirty reply of ‘love when you talk spanish to me, mami.’ his reply being a perfect indicator that he didn’t know the meaning of your insult. an insult you masked with a smile then.
“te veo,” he winks.
his accent is silly, like any non-native speaker trying to learn spanish; however, the effort is there.
leaving you in shock, frank walks out the door with only an hour left on your shared shift.
the last hour of your shift is a blur, your head still spinning over frank’s words.
“gonna let me drive you home?”
‘home’ meaning his place.
silently you nod and follow him out of the sliding hospital doors.
“come on, mami, vente.”
there is it again.
the effort he promised he’d put when he first realized he loved you. the effort he mentioned and whispered between your thighs; whispers of wanting to love you in two languages.
like a lost puppy, you follow frank to his car. you slip into the car and awkwardly smile at him for holding your door open.
it isn’t long until the two of you are trapped in the quiet car with heavily tinted windows.
“your comment when you left made me realize,” he hands reach for yours, but you don’t let him.
“i know why you’re mad at me,” he smirks when you slap his hands away, again.
“i said i wasn’t mad.”
you’re stubborn.
it’s what he loves about you.
“i can understand why you may have some bad thoughts. i’ve been on my phone recently. my earbuds are always in. it’s not like im making myself available to talk to you, or connect with you, or love you.”
he waits for you to reply, but you say nothing.
“just want to clarify, i’m not giving anyone else my time,” his eyes search yours, desperate for you to hear his words, “but i am giving my time to something.
he hands you his phone.
a green owl sits on his screen, waving at you.
“what am i looking at?”
“duolingo.”
your eyes look at his blue ones, confused.
“it’s an app that helps you learn a new language,” he taps on his screen.
“i have a 328 day streak,” he brags.
your confusion only grows, “why 328 days?”
“that’s how long you’ve been working at the pitt.”
he says it like it’s casual. as if he didn’t just make your heart skip a beat or release butterflies in your stomach.
“you started learning spanish the day i started?”
he nods.
“told you i want to love you in two languages.”
you don’t know how you do it, but suddenly you’re on his lap, ignoring the way the driver’s seat gives you little space to sit comfortably.
you arm reaches for the handle to recline his seat and the two of you fall.
hands that you slapped away earlier grip at your waist before traveling to your face.
with a smile and tears in your eyes, you lean into his touch.
his thumb caresses your cheek, “te amo.”
“te amo más.”
you meet him halfway, slotting your lips between his for a soft kiss.
kisses when you first started dating were hungry and filled with lust.
you don’t know when you made the subtle change, but kisses slowly became more soft, less greedy.
hands that gripped your waist while you were in his lap, caressed your face. lips that rushed to kiss your skin, slowed to worship it instead.