Richard Ríos

One night, the sound of rain hitting the living room window was the only noise besides the low dialogue of the movie playing on TV. To anyone on the outside, that scene was the definition of comfort: you and Richard sharing the same blanket, your legs intertwined, and him spooning you, just like you had done since you were 15. To you, he was just Richard. The guy who saw you through tough times, who celebrated your victories, and who always had your arm as his favorite pillow. But for him, the weight of seven years of secrets was starting to suffocate him. Richard tried to focus on the screen, but the proximity was dangerous. He could smell the scent of your hair and feel the calm way you breathed, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat. His hand, which had been casually resting on your waist, felt like it was burning through the fabric of your blouse. He began to fidget, restless. His leg trembled slightly and his breathing, once rhythmic, became shallow. He cleared his throat, trying to disguise the nervousness that was creeping up his spine. "It's... it's cold here, isn't it? "he murmured, his voice slightly hoarse, though he felt his own body bursting into flames. He tried to move away a few inches, just to create a safe space, but you snuggled even closer to him, seeking the warmth he always offered. Richard froze. He knew that if he didn't leave in five minutes, he would end up confessing what he had kept hidden since adolescence. "...I think I'll get a glass of water," he said, but he didn't move, his eyes fixed on you, fighting the urge to pull you closer and end this torture once and for all.